Author Topic: Fragged (Ongoing Writings and an Index of Sigil's Works)  (Read 56848 times)

Sigil

  • Lieutenant
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  • Posts: 807
**This is the complete index of my writings and other projects.**

Technical Readouts
TRO 3028:  Know Thy Enemy
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=52091.0
TRO 2866:  Rise of the Scavengers
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=48828.msg1127429#msg1127429
Touman 3049: Eve of Armageddon
https://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=65075.0
Dark Age Warbook (Draft)
https://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=64762.0

Unseen: A History of FASA, Battledroids and BattleTech
http://www.sarna.net/wiki/Unseen:_A_History_of_FASA,_Battledroids_and_BattleTech

Multi-Part Series
Chronicles of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force (.zip pdf download)
https://drive.google.com/open?id=1WCbLqU2FiIeH2EkcnZrPPekVSzMik9iu
First Sanglamore Training Cadre (Part 1-5)
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1050855#msg1050855
Iktomi (Part 1-5)
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1065850#msg1065850
Short Circuit (Part 1-3)
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1131020#msg1131020
Through a Mirror Dimly (Part 1- 18)
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1148259#msg1148259
The Noble Leaf
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1231433#msg1231433
The Liberator
https://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1489732#msg1489732

Short Stories
#134 - Been there, salvaged that
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=11988.msg953400#msg953400
#135 - Cinderella
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=11988.msg954132#msg954132
Tribble #136 - Project: Venom
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=11988.msg954948#msg954948
Tribble #137 - Untitled
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=11988.msg954995#msg954995
Tribble #140 - Untitled
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=11988.msg955840#msg955840
Tribble #148 - The Old Ways Are Dead
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=11988.msg957187#msg957187
Tribble #149 - Untitled
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=11988.msg957357#msg957357
The Medium Laser - a lecture delivered by Dr. Garbald Hansen in 3025
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45577.msg1049456#msg1049456
Assassin ASN-99 "Green Destiny" (3068)
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45602.msg1049975#msg1049975
Dual Fusion Technology - A speech by Dame Leslie Zeeman delivered on 15 Nov. 2840
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=49553.0
Big Fish, Little Pond
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1050265#msg1050265
Good Business
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1050267#msg1050267
Tales from the Cobalt Tale #13
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1050277#msg1050277
Demons and Angels
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1271027#msg1271027
Carnwath Industrial Equipment and the Reaper IndustrialMech
https://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1599058#msg1599058
Black Caravel
https://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=45614.msg1617499#msg1617499
----

"Big Fish, Little Pond."

Sian
Capellan Confederation
10 March 3056
 
Mandrinn Dan Lao-Tzu, CEO of Shengli Arms, had put on his hanfu for this occasion.  The style of dress reached all the way back to the Shang Dynasty on Terra some 4,000 years before.   It consisted of a yi, a narrow-cuffed, knee-length tunic tied with a sash, and a narrow, ankle-length skirt, called chang, worn with a bixi, a length of fabric that reached the knees.
 
The silk was dyed a vivid Capellan green, and richly embroidered with the orange sunburst and black markings of his company’s logo.  He had chosen to wear a weimao gua on his head, shaped vaguely like an upturned cup, it denoted his importance as a high official of one of the major defense industries of the Confederation.
 
He had deliberated deeply on his choice of attire for this important conference.  Every element he’d chosen had been done so with careful attention to its symbolism.  Here in Zi-Jin Cheng, the Forbidden City, everything held deep meaning.  An entire conversation would take place simply by examining the attire of the other attendees, statements made, and opening positions staked out by nothing more than the choice of their headwear.
 
He had been summoned here from Victoria, where Shengli’s primary factory, located deep beneath the surface, was located.  Initially discovered as the Third Succession War was winding down, Chancellor Romano Liao had made a valiant effort to restore the Star League era BattleMech research facility in the aftermath of the devastating losses the Confederation had sustained during the Fourth Succession War.
 
The facility had been designed to produce four different lines of BattleMechs, along will almost all of their associated components.  Of the four, the only one which had ever actually made it into production was the Sling, a fast 35-ton fire support ‘Mech.  But only a few had been manufactured, never having progressed past the prototype stage.  And all of them had been taken by Aleksandr Kerensky with him on the Exodus.
 
However, Chancellor Romano Liao had seized a dubious opportunity during the War of ’39 to strike at what she believed was the lightly defended border of the Federated Suns by sending McCarron’s Armored Calvary on a series of the deep raids. 
 
Unfortunately, her efforts had ultimately come to nothing after the then, Capellan March commander Duke Morgan Hasek-Davion, led a successful counterattack targeting Victoria, among a number of other industrialized planets, in retribution for the raids by the Capellan sponsored mercenary group.
 
The counterattack all but destroyed the facility, delaying its reconstruction for years.
 
Until Chancellor Sun-Tzu Liao's Xin Sheng or ‘New Birth’ movement.
 
The Chancellor had poured resources into the damaged facility, and in conjunction with the wealth of information from the Helm Memory Core, and with the help of the nearby Victoria Academy of Arms and Technology, also reinvigorated by Xin Sheng funds, Shengli Arms was born.
 
The first run of ‘Mechs from the refurbished facility were being field tested even now.  The 25-ton Duan Gung, based on the Star League Sling design, symbolized Xin Sheng, the exterior of the ‘Mech having been completely changed to adhere to the new design esthetic.  A fast fire support ‘Mech, it incorporated many of the recent technological advances, including an Endo-steel chassis, an Extra-light fusion engine and double heat sinks.  Armed with a Zeus LRM-10 missile launcher, a pair of Martell medium lasers, and protected by four tons of Valiant DefCo armor, it introduced entirely new capabilities for CCAF scout ‘Mechs.
 
The light ‘Mechs of the CCAF were dominated by the centuries old triumvirate of the Locust, Stinger, and Wasp, augmented by the few Jackals they managed to purchase from Earthwerks Limited’s flagship Keystone plant in the neighboring Free Worlds League where it was headquartered. 
 
The irony was not lost on him.  The Confederation had lost the massive Earthwerks Limited facility on Tikonov during the Fourth Succession War and along with it access to numerous BattleMech and aerospace assembly lines, most notably the Quickdraw along with the venerable, but still capable, Thunderbolt, and the Transit and Thrush aerospace fighters.
 
Earthwerks Limited had been founded on Tikonov, but between the Federated Suns gains during the Fourth Succession War and the subsequent succession of the St. Ives Compact, only their plants on Ares and Grand Base remained in Capellan hands.  And of the two, only the Grand Base plant produced BattleMechs, all older upgraded designs with the exception of the Cataphract.
 
The Cataphract was a story in its own right.  Desperate for an entirely locally produced heavy ‘Mech after decades of losses during the Succession Wars, the 70-ton design was made almost entirely from components found in other ‘Mechs the Confederation could still produce, notably the Marauder, Shadow Hawk and Phoenix Hawk.  And it was referred to derogatorily as a “FrankenMech” for just that reason. 
 
To make matters worse, shortly after launching production of the Cataphract on Tikonov, the Armed Forces Federated Suns took control of the planet, leaving the sole production line in the hands of their enemy.  House Davion modified the original design incorporating newly available technology, and suddenly the Capellans found themselves facing their own ‘Mech.  By now, however, it had been relegated primarily to AFFS militia units.
 
Subsequently, Earthwerks Limited opened another Cataphract production line at their Grand Base facility, once again producing a Capellan version of the heavy ‘Mech, but it would always carry the stigma of having been fielded by the AFFS in larger numbers.  But the ultimate outcome was that Earthweks Limited was simply no longer able to provide the CCAF with the sheer number of BattleMechs it had in the past.
 
However, Hellespont Industrials, founded here on Sian, had stepped in to help fill that gap with the production of their Raven, a 35-ton ‘Mech optimized for electronic warfare.  It was generally regarded as the first entirely new design in centuries when they had first begun production in 3024.  In fact, its introduction also marked Hellespont Industrials return to BattleMech production.
 
Once second only to the vaunted Earthwerks Limited in terms of BattleMech production for the CCAF, their flagship factory on Betelgeuse had been reduced to scrap by the repeated attacks of the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery and the Free Worlds League Military over the course of the Succession Wars.
 
In an effort to save as much of their production capacity as possible, Hellespont had relocated what it could here to Sian, where they now produced the vast majority of combat vehicles and light ‘Mechs for the CCAF.
 
And their CEO, Mandrissa Alana Morgaine, would also be at the conference.
 
In fact, so would Duchess Lindon Rivoli, the CEO of Ceres Metals, headquartered on Capella, and undeniably the strongest and largest off all the defense industries located in Capellan space.
 
It was also the least trust worthy.  Ceres Metals maintained facilities on St. Ives, Indicass, and Warlock, all located in the rebellious St. Ives Compact, where they manufactured arms for the St. Ives Military Command led by the traitorous Prime Minister Candace Liao.  And, as if to add insult to injury, their production plant on Tikonov, along with Earthwerks Limited’s plant, had been in the hands of the Federated Commonwealth since the end of the Fourth Succession War.
 
Nonetheless, Ceres Metals was a huge and successful conglomerate, conducting business across the entire Inner Sphere, with over 500 factories on over 100 worlds, producing everything from personal firearms to civilian ground vehicles. 
 
Which made them loyal to one thing, and one thing only.  Money.  Ceres Metals sold their products to whoever could pay, and converted their factories to produce whatever people wanted to buy.  Nowhere was this more clearly demonstrated than on St. Ives, where Ceres Metals had converted the iconic Capellan Vindicator production line over to the Blackjack BJ-3, one of the first ‘Mechs to utilize double heats as standard equipment, and a model much more palatable to the fledgling St. Ives Compact. 
 
But with its long arms, and extensive interstellar network, it was a necessary evil.  Able to get materials and components not available in Capellan space, it was a critical source of materials even outside of its production facilities on Capella and Menke.
 
StarCorps would be here as well.  Founded, and originally based on Fletcher, the Succession Wars had reduced their lines there to a shadow of their former self, and while nominally under the control of the Federated Commonwealth, Capellan nationals even now contested the planet.  Their current headquarters were on Crofton, in House Davion space, but they still maintained facilities on Menke producing the Liao version of the iconic Warhammer.  They also had factories in the Free Worlds League, the St. Ives Compact, and also in the House Steiner portion of the huge Federated Commonwealth.  What made them notable, however, was the fact they produced almost exclusively heavy and assault class BattleMechs.
 
Lao-Tzu smiled.  Assault class BattleMechs.  There was not a single manufacturing center in the entire Capellan Confederation capable of producing assault class machines.  But that would change soon enough.  Shengli Arms already had a working Yu Huang prototype.   Ninety tons and built with all the latest advances in technology including a Chariot Type II Endo-steel chassis and a massive Hermes 360 XL engine, the LB-X Class 20 autocannon in its right arm was the true crowning achievement.  A weapon so massive, so destructive, it took not only the entire right arm, but a section of the right torso as well to fit it into the chassis.  And it was fully jump capable.
 
It had been designed at the Chancellor’s personal request and named after the Jade Emperor that rules the Heavenly Court in ancient Chinese mythos. The Chancellor had described his goals for the ‘Mech by saying, “it shall sit in judgment over a battlefield, meting out justice to those who would transgress against us."
 
And with seventeen tons of Star Shell armor, it would be able to sit in judgment for a long time.
 
Jiang-juns from the Strategios, which oversaw the military bureaucracy of the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces, would be at the conference as well, along with officials from the Ministry of Defense.  Shengli Arms had already received generous grants, resources, and technical expertise as part of Chancellor Sun Tzu-Liao’s Xin Sheng program.
 
It was a great honor to be invited to the Forbidden City, and the people attending were all highly placed business, military, and political leaders, some who even had the ear of the Chancellor himself.  It was his first time attending.  Shengli Arms had not yet even delivered its first BattleMech to the CCAF, and he was already being placed on equal footing with Hellespont Industrials and Ceres Metals.
 
He would make bold, strong promises.  Starting with the Duan Gung next year, he would restore another of the four assembly lines every two years until the facility reached full capacity.  The Jinggau would come next.  Sixty-five tons and built around another massive weapon, the Zhi-tong-yao Gauss Rifle, it also utilized both Endo-Steel and the latest weight saving advances in fusion engines.
 
With rediscovered nationalism spreading like wildfire, he’d had no trouble finding people, good people, willing to work around the clock even in the underground caverns that housed the bulk of the facility.  People who believed in the Korvin Doctrine, which deemed subservience to a ‘greater humanity’ a necessary trait of human beings in the star-faring age.  The ‘greater humanity’ meaning, of course, the Capellan Confederation, and the subservience, to the Chancellor’s will.
 
He found himself swept up in the fervor as well.  The time for living in fear of the vaunted Federated Commonwealth, which extended across the entire Inner Sphere, was over.  The paranoia had died along with the former Chancellor, Romano Liao.  And the Chancellor’s fiancé, Isis Marik, was the daughter of Captain-General Thomas Marik, the leader of the Free Worlds League.   And it was generally accepted that meant the border they shared was now secure.
 
Shengli Arms stood ready to do their part to return the Capellan Confederation to their rightful and respected place among the Great Houses of the Inner Sphere.  It was why he’d accepted the opportunity to lead the recently rejuvenated defense contractor.  They were by far the youngest defense company represented, not yet even a hundred years old.
 
His first meeting was with Mandrissa Alana Morgaine, the CEO of Hellespont Industrials.
 
He stopped to admire the stone and brick temple before entering it.  Eight graceful wooden columns, topped with ornate five-clawed dragons, supported the red tiled multi-inclined roof.  It faced due south, as did all the important buildings in the Forbidden City, perfectly bilateral and highly articulated.  Barely three stories high, it was based on architectural techniques developed back in the Song Dynasty on Terra, almost 2,000 years ago.
 
The Forbidden City itself was a source of Capellan pride.  It symbolized the enduring nature of their culture, serving as a tribute to its rich and ancient history.  The bracket and cantilever arms, the dovetail and stepped bevel splice joints of the tie and cross beams which supported the temple, were all faithfully reproduced from the most ancient of building manuals, the Yingzao Fashi.   
 
And auspicious place indeed for a meeting.
 
He passed up the steps of the siheyuan, appearing moments later in a large meticulously maintained courtyard.  Precisely laid granite slabs formed a winding, twisting path through the lush gardens.  Primrose, rhododendron, wisteria, spiraea, Chinese orchids, corylopsis, all perfectly manicured, dotted the garden providing rich bursts of pink, red, white and vibrant purples.  Unlike the temple itself which was perfectly symmetrical, the garden was a study in curves and asymmetry.
 
The overall effect was one of profound serenity and tranquility.  As he softly tread across the granite walkway, Lao-Tzu could hear the musical notes of flowing water as it cascaded into a large pool speckled with floating lotus blossoms.
 
There was something so enticing, so primitive, so instinctual about water.  It inevitably drew the soul towards it.  As he strode around the bend, drawn to its sound as if it possessed some intrinsic form of gravity all its own, he saw Mandrissa Alana Morgaine standing in front of the pool lost in contemplation.
 
She was dressed in a traditional ruqun, her blouse, or ru, was made of silk dyed a brilliant gold, while her wraparound skirt, the qun, was dyed a rich earthy burnt umber, the cuffs and borders each dyed in the complementing color.  An ornate red braid hung from underneath her waist skirt, ending in a jade ornament styled after the Hellespont Industrials company logo.  Her steel gray hair was piled artfully atop her head, a jade bianfang holding it in place.  It was plaited into the shape of a swallowtail in the classic style of Manchu nobility, known as qitou.

He approached the meditation pond quietly.  A school of Choten gan, or Celestial eye goldfish, swam lazily through the clear fresh water, stopping occasionally to nibble at the lily pads, their paired fantail fins undulating gracefully in the gentle current.

Without looking up, Madrissa Alana Morgaine broke the silence.

“We represent the strength of the Confederation.  We alone remain true to the Celestial Throne.  The others ply their wares throughout the Inner Sphere, including to our enemies.  Except, perhaps, Lord Jason Hollis, but with Corey in the hands of the Federated Commonwealth, there is little he can do but wait.”

Morgaine lifted her head and turned, fixing him with her steely eyes.  Though she had seen the passing of two Chancellors, her eyes revealed her strong vitality.  “But he will not have to wait much longer, Mandrinn Dan Lao-Tzu.  Chancellor Sun-Tzu Liao will restore all that has been taken from us in the past decades.  The madness that took his grandfather, Maximilian, and his mother Romano, will not take him.  I have seen his inner conviction, his strength of mind, his dedication.  And I have guessed his purpose.”

Lao-Tzu lifted his eyebrows as he held her gaze, but said nothing.  He felt as if her look was excoriating his mind, ripping away the outer layers, stripping his mind bare and leaving his most private, most sacred thoughts exposed to her.  She had been the CEO of Hellespont Industrials for over 30 years, and had seen the waning of the Confederation first hand.

Her eyes never left his as she continued.  “The Chancellor intends war.  You would do well to heed my prognostication.  At this conference, Hellespont Industrials will make two major announcements.  The first is the development of the Men Shen.  Based on our successful Raven, although significantly heavier, this will be the first Capellan ‘Mech to incorporate modular Omni-Pod technology.  It will be the first Capellan OmniMech and it will be built right here on Sian.”

Mandrissa Morgaine’s lips cracked into a smile, revealing a set of heavily tea stained teeth.  “I will also be gifting the Chancellor a number of our latest BattleMechs as a token of appreciation for the generosity his Xin Sheng program has shown my company.”

She folded her hands together, lowering them to indicate he could speak now if he wished.

Mandrinn Dan Lao-Tzu steepled his hands in front of him.  “Shengli Arms has benefitted greatly from the Chancellor’s initiative as well, Mandrissa.  I would be honored if you would allow me to contribute to your gesture.  I have a pair of Duan Gungs and an early version of our Jinggau if it pleases you to accept them.”

Morgaine inclined her head slightly.  “It does, Mandrinn Lao-Tzu.  I intend to approach Lord Jason Hollis, Mandrinn Trenton Volgers, Duchess Lindon Rivoli, and Dame Juri McMahon as well.  Your generous additions will encourage their participation as well.”

Lao-Tzu smiled.  “It is my sincere hope that Shengli Arms and Hellespoint Industrials can work together on many things for the benefit of the Confederation.”

Morgaine looked at him appraisingly, her shrewd eyes glittering with interest as she waited for him to continue.

“The Star League factory we rebuilt on Victoria was more than just a BattleMech production facility.  It was also a center for SLDF research and development.  I am sure you have heard of the Star League’s Null Signature System.  It appeared on only two ‘Mechs, the EXT-4D Exterminator and the SPR-4F Spector.”

“The Exterminator was produced exclusively by General Systems on the then Terran Hegemony world of Caph until their assembly line was destroyed in 2793 shortly after the start of the First Succession War.  All of the Exterminators were thought to have been destroyed by the end of that conflict, and since then there have only been rumors of the -4D model among the ComGuards.  Of course, before we lost Nanking to that traitorous dog Pavel Ridzik, Kallon Industries briefly resurrected the design, but lacking both the speed and the advanced stealth systems, they only produced twenty-five of the -4A variants before ultimately shutting the line back down.”

“However, the Spector’s story is much more interesting.  It too was thought lost with the fall of the Star League.  However, Griff Storm, the Commanding Officer of the mercenary group Storm’s Metal Thunder, discovered another old Star League ‘Mech factory, this time on the Lyran Commonwealth planet of Loxley in 3034.  By 3046, Griff Storm, along with his new business partner Samuel Norse, had resurrected the defunct factory and founded Norse-Storm Technologies Incorporated with the help of the Lyran government.  In 3053 they began producing the SPR-5F Spector.  Like the -4A Exterminator, it too lacked the original stealth systems of the -4F, but as a light ‘Mech design it has proved quite successful even without the advanced technology.  In fact, McCarron’s Armored Calvary has purchased a number of SPR-5Fs from Norse-Storm Technologies for their own use.”

Lao-Tzu smiled, pausing for moment to savor his upcoming revelation.  “Norse-Storm Technologies also recovered a number of original Star League era SPR-4F Spectors as well, likely from a cache located within the rediscovered factory.  I suspect this is where the Spector memory core, along with the material samples Shengli Arms has been provided with came from, although I cannot confirm that.”

Morgaine arched her finely chiseled eyebrows in interest.

“However, what is not generally known, is that when the data recovery teams completed their work on the memory core of the reactivated research facility on Victoria, they were able to recover an almost complete set of blueprints for the Star League Null Signature System.  Working with the materials engineering department of the Victoria Academy of Arms and Technology, we have been able to produce armor plating which integrates the heat baffles as well as the required components directly into the armor itself.  We refer to this product as ‘Stealth Armor.’”

Lao-Tzu smiled in satisfaction as Mandrissa Morgaine’s eyes sparkled with interest before continuing.

“Hellespont Industrials is well known for their pioneering work on the Guardian electronic warfare suite.  And it is here that I propose we combine our efforts.  Our incarnation of the ‘Steath Armor’ requires an ECM suite to manage its operation.  Your Raven is well established as the premier electronic warfare platform, and as such, includes both the Guardian ECM suite, as well as the Beagle Active Probe.  I believe if our two companies work together, not only can we perfect the ‘Stealth Armor,’ we can create a variant of the Raven with enhanced stealth capabilities, and I can think of no ‘Mech better suited to introduce this new technology on.”

It took only a fraction of a second for Morgaine to respond.  “The Chancellor’s confidence in Shengli Arms is well placed.  Working together we can produce a generation of Capellan ‘Mechs even more advanced than those produced by the vaunted Star League.  This new technology will all but guarantee the Confederation will regain what has been lost.  This is a new day indeed.  The Chancellor’s Xin Sheng programs will restore the glory of the Confederation and ensure the other Great Houses treat us with the respect we deserve.  Let us work out the details of your proposal.  Hellespont Industrials stands ready to aid in your efforts.”

Mandrinn Dan Lao-Tzu lowered his head in respect.  “Thank you, Mandrissa.  I look forward to a long to mutually beneficial relationship between our two organizations.”
---
« Last Edit: 18 January 2021, 07:56:26 by Sigil »

Sigil

  • Lieutenant
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  • Posts: 807
"Good Business."
« Reply #1 on: 29 March 2015, 19:50:59 »
Corey
Federated Commonwealth
13 November 3057

Hauptmann Jake Dickinson, the acting CO of the Corey SMM, shook his head in dismay.  3057 was not shaping up to be a good year.  No sooner had Archon-Prince Victor Steiner-Davion officially taken the reins of the Federated Commonwealth barely even a year ago now, then his sister, Katherine Steiner-Davion, now calling herself Katrina Steiner, succeeded from it, declaring herself the Archon of the Lyran Alliance.

Rumors were flying, and it seemed everybody had their own idea of what was really going on and who was behind it.  Most, including Katherine herself, blamed the succession on Victor’s decision to replace Hauptmann-General Thomas Marik’s son, Joshua, with a body double.  Others saw the assassination of Ryan Steiner and the quelling of his Free Skye movement as the true reason.  Some even blamed Katherine for the death of her mother, Melissa, although he’d never been satisfied with how that would contribute to Katherine declaring herself Archon unless she was trying to frame Victor for the assassination.

Whatever the true cause was, he would never know.  But what he did know was that the sundering of the Federated Commonwealth had wreaked havoc with his unit and supply lines.  Victor had already moved his court to New Avalon and Katherine Steiner had recalled all traditionally Lyran military units from the AFFC, sucking up just about every available JumpShip in the process.
All which left Corey, along with the entire Sarna March, both lightly defended and with little hope for reinforcements.
So here he was, left holding the bag, and basically trapped on planet.

And the Capellans were on a rampage.  In some ways, he was already behind enemy lines.  The Warrior Houses had taken the Chancellor’s ancestral planet of Liao, and just about everything rimward of Corey had already fallen.

As he watched the four Capellan DropShips descend along with their aerospace fighter escort, he realized Corey would likely soon be in their hands as well.  An instantly recognizable Union-class DropShip and one of the new Lung Wang-class DropShips would land all too soon along with a pair of aerodyne troop carriers, a Condor-class and a Fury-class.  Conservatively, that would give the Capellans over a company of ’Mechs, and a reinforced battalion of mechanized infantry. 

Against his single company of ’Mechs and two companies of mechanized infantry.  The other half of his unit, the Lyran half, had packed up and gone home shortly after the Archon’s call.  Leaving him with the disturbing realization that the integration of the AFFS and LCAF into the Armed Forces Federated Commonwealth hadn’t, in fact, been all that it was cracked up to be.

His forces, or at least what was left of them, were all stationed at the only objective on the planet with any significant military value:  The headquarters of Hollis Incorporated.  Hollis was best known for designing the 85-ton Battlemaster, and for a time, they had also produced the 90-ton Highlander, both before the factory was largely gutted in 2791 in the chaotic aftermath of the fall of the Star League.  But its glory days were far behind it, and for the most part they now just produced Catapult refits, and the newly introduced Huron Warrior.

With nowhere else to turn, he’d gone to Lord Jason Hollis, CEO of Hollis Industries, for help.  Hollis Incorporated had happily taken Federated Commonwealth money for years to help rebuild their facilities, including the assembly line for the new 50-ton Huron Warrior, and there were rumors they were working on reestablishing production of the venerable Battlemaster assault ’Mech as well.  The Federated Commonwealth had been quite generous to Hollis Industries, and it was time they returned the favor.

Surprisingly, Lord Hollis had generously offered to have his own security forces join in the defense of the factory.  And frighteningly enough, if you counted the static defense turrets dotting the perimeter, the Hollis security forces were roughly equal in firepower to his own.  Led by an original BLR-1G Battlemaster escorted by a pair of the new Huron Warriors, the Hollis lance was rounded out by an old WSP-1A Wasp.  A full company of infantry in tracked APCs provided ground support.  While not a battle-tested unit by any stretch of the imagination, he was happy to take anything.

But it still didn’t change the fact that here he was, defending the wedding gift Hanse Davion had given his bride Melissa Steiner.  Now they were both dead, and their children were all but at war fighting for control of the massive realm they had left behind.  He saw the writing on the wall.  The Federated Commonwealth was dead, even if the Prince-Archon didn’t realize it yet.  Victor’s obsession with the Clans had blinded him to the troubles of his own realm, and Katherine hadn’t wasted any time swooping in and claiming half of it for herself.  Likely, before all was said and done, she’d try to claim the entire thing.

He grimaced.  Civil war was on the horizon.  Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that he wouldn’t be alive to see it.  He’d already gotten a preview when Kommandant Gerald Willington, the former CO of the Corey SMM, had abdicated his position and left for the Lyran Alliance with half of the unit in tow.

Between Willington abandoning the unit and the ongoing activities of the pro-Liao insurgent group, Zhanzeng de Guan, he’d already been forced out of the capital Valasha.  The insurgents had been prosecuting a ruthless campaign of terror targeting the Federated Commonwealth government and police force for close to a year now.  Firebombing, targeted killings, sabotage, there was barely a functioning government as it was, and he lacked the manpower to institute the martial law they had already asked for.

As he watched the Capellan DropShips disappear beneath the fading horizon he caught a glimpse of the Great Game in which he was, at best, a pawn.  It had been rumored that Lord Hollis had traveled to Sian barely a year ago.  The terrorist attacks had increased in both frequency and intensity shortly after his supposed return.  Then the news about the death of Joshua Marik, followed by Katherine Steiner’s creation of the Lyran Alliance, and the subsequent withdraw of Lyran forces leaving the Sarna March ripe for attack.  And that didn’t even include the Free Worlds League’s attacks along their border with the March.

It was almost enough to make a solider cry.  Almost.

But politics aside, he had his assignment and it was his duty to protect Corey to the best of his ability.  In the end a man had to believe in something, even it turned out just to be his own sense of pride and professionalism.  Men and women had already given their lives to take this planet from the Capellans more than a quarter century ago, and countless people had died to see the Federated Commonwealth born.

And he’d be damned before he would let their sacrifice be in vain.

---

In the darkness, Sang-wei Heng Chen crept up on another remote sensor in her 35-ton RVN-4L Raven prototype, blasting it into nothing with the pair of Diverse Optics extended range medium lasers in the ’Mech’s stubby right arm.  It was the third such sensor her Beagle Active Probe had located, and by now there was a huge gaping hole in the Federated Commonwealth surveillance network surrounding the headquarters of Hollis Incorporated.

They had built a good net.  Overlapping fields, well-spaced, visual, infrared, electromagnetic, even seismic and motion sensors.  The Raven’s advanced Stealth Armor would defeat most of them, but it couldn’t mask her motion or make 35-tons of military hardware move silently.

She glanced over at her tactical, looking for the next sensor array, when she caught the first of the Federated Commonwealth ’Mechs appearing at the far end of the Apple Churchill 2000’s scanning range.  At extreme range, the targeting system was unable to provide her with an ID, that would have to wait until they were within at least a kilometer.

She turned her Raven around, accelerating as she left the scene of her latest crime, heading deep into the electronic void she’d just created.  Activating her Ceres Metal Model 666 communications system, she reported back to her commander.

“Sao-shao Jiang An, there is a lance of unidentified ’Mechs heading my way.  I have created a hole in their advanced warning system.  I’m sending you the coordinates now.  As long as we stay within the designated area, they will have no way to determine our exact location or the strength of our forces until they are within weapons range.  I request permission to designate targets for the Catapults.”
Sao-shao Jiang An gave a predatory smile in the cockpit of her 65-ton JN-G8A Jinggau.  Armed with the recently developed Zhi-tong-yao Gauss rifle, a quartet of Diverse Optics ER medium lasers, and a Raker-IV medium pulse laser, it was both fast and jump capable.  And like Sang-wei Chen’s RVN-4L, it was also an early prototype. 

Chancellor Sun-Tzu Liao had been presented with the so-called “Xin-Sheng Jundui” barely three months ago.  Composed entirely of BattleMechs utilizing the absolute latest in military technology, the Chancellor had tapped him personally to lead the company of ’Mechs.  At least half of the units were not even in production yet, and his Dropship, the Panduola mo-he, was filled with technicians from all of the major Capellan defense contractors anxious to see their latest designs in action.

Her greatest fear was that the Federated Commonwealth defenders would surrender without a shot fired.  But much to her relief, Sao-shao An’s report revealed the defenders were willing to fight after all.

She flipped the microphone on the Dian-bo communications system open.  “Permission granted, Sao-shao.  Yi-si-ben-bing Nuan Yong and Si-ben-bing Kun Tai are standing by for targeting data.  I will have Sao-wei Chao He and the remainder of your lance move up to support you.”

“Thank you, Sao-shao.  We will make short work of these scouts.  For the Chancellor and the Confederation we will retake this planet.  Standby for targeting solution.”

Sao-shao An nodded in agreement.  The victory would be a symbolic one.  The Chancellor himself had picked the target.  They would retake the Hollis Incorporated facility using a number of BattleMechs that had been provided by Lord Hollis himself.  He had given the Chancellor one of his new Huron Warriors and a pair of CPLT-C5 Catapults to add to the jundui. 

She was particularly interested in the capabilities of the new –C5s.  The previous model, designated the –C3, was the first BattleMech to house the massive Arrow IV missile system.  Unfortunately, its usefulness was severely limited by the paltry amount of ammunition it carried.  With a capacity of only five rounds, it could exhaust its ammunition in less than sixty seconds, consequently it was forced to stay close to supply lines.  The new –C5 addressed just the problem by quadrupling the amount of ammunition, while at the same time increasing its armor and upgrading the four original Martell medium lasers to extended range models.  It also dissipated 50% more heat than the previous version.

Of course, she had heard the engineer’s boastful claims regarding the ’Mechs in her unit time and time again.  Now it was time to determine the truth of their statements.  If they should fall short, the penalty would be severe.

And she herself would have to answer to the Chancellor personally.

“Sao-wei He, move your unit up to support Sang-wei Chen.  The rest of us will follow in behind you.”

“Yes, Sao-shao.  Moving now.”

---

It was bit like hunting grouse back on his native plant of Beecher, Leftenant Leon Gardiner thought to himself as he piloted his PXH-3D Phoenix Hawk through the darkness.  There was scant chance the sensor net had malfunctioned only hours after the Capellan forces made planetfall.  Hope for the best, plan for the worst, and never believe in coincidence.  Either way, he’d flush out whatever was hiding out here.  Too bad he didn’t have his dogs with him, though, a little early warning would be nice right about now.

He was holding the point position of the diamond shaped formation of his recon lance. Private Moss and Private Peacock were about 100 meters behind him, holding the flanks in their WSP-1S Wasps.  Corporal Parkes was bringing up the rear, piloting her 35-ton VLK-QD Valkyrie.  At least the FedCom had given them decent equipment.  They were all running the newest models incorporating Star League tech, not just upgraded refits of the originals.  Even the Wasps had Endo-steel chassis and Ferro-fibrous armor and his own Phoenix Hawk featured an Extra-light fusion engine.  The Sarna Match Militia didn’t rate any of the new designs with the exception the Hauptman’s 65-ton Axman, the heaviest ’Mech left in their unit.  That was thing about the Lyran side of the command, they had all the heavy stuff.  Which, he suddenly missed quite acutely.

His musings were interrupted by Leftenant Gordon who was running the sensor net back at their makeshift HQ.  “Got anything yet, Leon?  I’ve been going over the readings.  Just before the feed cut out, I saw some rumblings on the seismic sensors, and I got a couple readings off the motion ones too.  Nothing too heavy or big.  Likely a light ’Mech if you want my guess.  But I’m almost positive there’s something out there.  Watch yourself, you’re in the hole, I don’t have anything near you.”

Dickinson frowned.  “I got nothing on thermographic or electromagnetic, nothing unusual on the seismic either, but it’s kinda hard to tell with my lance of ’Mechs stomping around out here.  I’m switching the Octagon Tartrac over to StarLight to conduct a visual.  I’m coming up on the location of that last remote sensor that went out.  ETA thirty seconds.  Standby, sending you a visual feed now.”

---

Sang-wei Heng Chen chuckled as she watched the lance of SMM ’Mechs approaching the sensor array she had destroyed less than a half an hour ago.  Her Raven was hunkered down on its backward canted legs, and it was already obvious the FedCom ’Mech’s targeting and tracking systems were unable to detect her presence with the Stealth Armor engaged.  In addition, the darkness would make visual detection difficult at best.  She was just another innocuous dark lump on the landscape.

Her fingers twitched in anticipation as the lead Phoenix Hawk entered the extreme range of her Target Acquisition Gear growing closer with each passing second.  Its current course would take it within about 350 meters of her current position at the closest, and would place one of the Wasps out at a little over 400 meters.

It was all in the hands of the material engineers at this point.  Either the radar and electromagnetic absorbent materials the armor was made from, along with the system of heat baffles, would work or they wouldn’t.  The technicians from Shengli Arms had already warned her that the Stealth Armor’s effectiveness began to drop off considerably beginning around 200 meters, although it varied depending on the tracking system.  They had even tested it against the Beagle Active Probe with varying degrees of success.

But this was its true test, right here, right now.  The Phoenix Hawk slowed to a walk as it approached the destroyed sensor.  She’d kept her reticule centered on it from the moment it had entered her range, but now she pressed the firing stub sending an invisible targeting beam at the 45-ton ’Mech.

A red flashing outline appeared around the FedCom ’Mech indicating the TAG had acquired a successful lock and was now transmitting the Phoenix Hawk’s exact location to the two waiting CPLT-C5 Catapults.  She held her breath as she waited for the volley of homing missiles to make their debut, keeping a sharp eye on the closer of the two Wasps.

---

Leftenant Gardiner kneeled to examine the tracks he’d found near the destroyed sensor.  It was clear it wasn’t a malfunction.  The remains of the array had been scorched and melted, providing clear evidence of laser fire.  A glance at his tactical radar showed a trio of unidentified ’Mechs just entering the far range of his Octagon Tartrac, some 2.5 klicks away.

“Gordon, I’ve got ’Mech tracks around the array and signs of laser fire.  You can rule out a malfunction.  In addition, I’ve got three unidentifieds heading south-south-west at approximately 65 kph.”
 
He tweaked the image enhancers as he examined the tracks in closer detail.  The prints almost even looked like a grouse, except they only had three toes instead of four, but they were undeniably bird-like, and judging from the depth, which was always a tricky thing, he figured it was likely a light ’Mech.

The realization crept over him slowly, the blood draining from his face.  A Raven.

His head whipped up and around just in time to catch the flaming contrails of a huge salvo of missiles arcing down upon him.

---

The Stealth Armor system wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, Sang-wei Heng Chen thought to herself.  It had two major flaws.  When cloaked, the system created an enormous amount of heat.  When engaged, it alone used half of her Raven’s ability to dissipate heat.  The use of double strength heat sinks minimized the problem, but it required her to keep a close eye on her heat levels when firing her weapons.  The other was that it created an enormous amount of electromagnetic interference.  It was almost like being attacked by an enemy ECM system.  But overall, it was well worth the inconveniences.   

She timed her own strike to coincide with the arrival of the Arrow IV missiles.  The barrage of artillery caught the Phoenix Hawk while it was kneeling, covering the 45-ton ’Mech from head to toe in vicious explosions.  She sent her pair of ER mediums right into the heart of the devastation finally revealing her own location.

As she levered her ’Mech back up, she reported to her commander.  “Engaging the lead element now.  Standby for additional artillery targeting data.”

The Sao-shao’s voice responded.  “Sao-wei He, make best possible speed to the Sang-wei’s position and assist in the elimination of the scouts.  All other units advance on my line.”

As the smoke cleared, she could see the Phoenix Hawk pushing itself back onto its feet.  The left side of its chest had a deep hole in it from the repeated missile strikes, but it still appeared fully functional.  Its three lance mates had moved up, fanning protectively around it.  She eased the throttle up, arcing gracefully to the northeast at an easy gait maintaining her distance.

Keeping her crosshairs over the Phoenix Hawk, she triggered her dual medium lasers once more as she kept the FedCom ’Mech illuminated with the TAG.  The upgraded Hawk carried a pair of extended range large lasers, one in each hand, and both came spearing through the night seeking her out.  One flew wide, but the second drilled her dead center, melting over half the armor protecting her engine and the delicate gyro assembly.  Next to it, the Valkyrie sent a flight of LRMs at her but they flew harmlessly over her head.

The second salvo of missiles arrived from the Catapult’s Arrow IV batteries once again blanketing the ’Mech in detonations as she added her ER mediums to the attack.  The two Wasps were now advancing towards her trying to get her Raven within range of their medium pulse lasers, as the Valkyrie remained stationary providing fire support.

Glancing down at her tactical, she saw Sao-wei He and the rest of his lance had accelerated to over 100 kph as they raced to support her.  The Phoenix Hawk blinked out, indicating it had either lost power or simply been destroyed by the last salvo.

Shifting her attention to the first of the two Wasps, she slid her crosshairs over the leaping 20-ton ’Mech, the flames pouring out of its legs and back making it all to easy to target.

“Engaging the Wasps now.  Watch for the targeting solution.”

As it descended, the pulse laser in it’s right arm lit up the night, stitching a line up her right leg as it’s comrade’s shot created a series of small fires across the ground in front of her.  Her missile lock warning blared to life seconds before a half dozen long range missiles from the Valkyrie exploded against her right side.

The heat was now beginning to build in her cockpit, so she triggered only her Harpoon-6 this time in addition to the TAG.  The combination of the Stealth Armor, her movement, and the lasers was proving too much for her heat sinks to handle.  Her own short range missiles disappeared into the massive fireball created by the arrival of the Arrow IV rounds. 

Amazingly, the Wasp stumbled out armless, having endured the punishing strike and remained functional.  It staggered off to her right as it sought to disengage. 

---

On the grounds of Hollis Incorporated, Hauptmann Jake Dickinson watched grimly as the Capellan lance raced towards his scouts at breakneck speed.  The Leftenant’s Phoenix Hawk had just ominously disappeared from radar.

“Hauptman!  It’s the Raven!  It’s calling in arty!  Leon’s down!  My right arm is gone! Falling back to the base!  Three unidentifieds inbound!  No ID!  I don’t know what they are, but their moving fast!”

He activated his Johnson Wide Band responding, “Come on home, Private.  There’s nothing more you can do out there.” 
But even as he said it, he knew Moss would never make it back in time.

---

Still arcing left, Sang-wei Chen shifted her crosshairs over the undamaged Wasp as it closed to within 200 meters.  Suddenly remembering the Stealth Armor was not effective at close range, she flipped it off, allowing her heat sinks to concentrate entirely on dealing with the heat from her weapons.

“Sao-wei He, I will deal with this other Wasp, and then I will put a Narc Beacon on the enemy Valkyrie.  Keep the artillery coming.”
Even before she finished her sentence, she sent her full complement of weapons at the approaching light ’Mech.  Her lasers sent armor pouring from it’s right arm and chest as she peppered it with missiles.  The TAG achieved lock, once again guiding another round of the powerful missiles to their target.

The salvo from the Arrow IV hit low, blasting both legs off the Wasp as it managed to return fire before spilling to the ground.  The pulse laser scored a line up her undamaged left leg, but the Wasp was finished.  Tearing up the ground as it came to a smoking stop, there was little left of the war machine, the entire right side having been ripped off the already legless ’Mech.

But once again her missile lock indicator screamed another shrill warning of an incoming strike from the Valkyrie.  Eight warheads savaged the armor on her stubby left arm, blasting away a half ton of armor, leaving it barely protected.  The wire diagram projected on her HUD showed most of her ’Mech in orange, her protection dangerously close to being breeched in multiple locations.

Her tactical showed the two Duan Gungs would be within LRM range in seconds, so she angled her Raven towards the Valkyrie activating the Myomer Accelerator Signal Circuitry as she did so.  The Raven accelerated to almost 130 kph as she closed the intervening distance in a flash.  As soon as she was in range, she fired her Narc Missile Beacon at the 35-ton FedCom scout.

The pod rocketed out from the launcher in her left arm, the nose opening up as it sought to attach itself to the target.

No sooner had the wicked pod attached itself, broadcasting its homing signal, then the two Duan Gungs fired their Zeus LRM-10s from some 600 meters behind her.  The right side of the Valkyrie took multiple missile strikes as it targeted her once again.

The missile lock indicator blared to life once more as missile after missile slammed into her already damaged left leg, followed by its medium pulse laser.  Warning klaxons now came to life as the damage report scrolled down her screen. 

“Left Leg Hip Actuator:  Offline.”
“Left Leg Lower Actuator:  Offline.”
“Left Leg Foot Actuator:  Destroyed.”

The Raven stumbled, it’s ragged left leg catching in the dirt, sending her pitching violently forward to land brutally on the ground.  A series of Arrow IV rounds detonated somewhere nearby having lost their guidance, throwing geysers of dirt and rock high into the night air.

Even as she clawed her way back to her feet, the Duan Gungs sent another salvo at the Valkyrie, the damaged Wasp now fleeing back towards the factory as quickly as possible.  But the Valkyrie sensing the kill, subjected her ’Mech to another fusillade of missile and laser fire even as she staggered back to her feet.

The Raven weathered the storm, but Chen knew she was on the ragged edge now, and everything happened at once.  The Valkyrie breeched her chest, damaging the shielding around the Hermes 210 XL fusion engine, as an incredible array of firepower coalesced on the FedCom unit.

LRMs from the Duan Gungs, her own SRMs and medium lasers, combined with two salvos from the Catapults all converged simultaneously on the 35-ton ’Mech.  The shockwave from the resulting explosion caused her own ’Mech to stumble backwards as huge gouts of flame sent burning chunks of armor, structure, and ’Mech guts spewing high into the air.   

For a long moment she stood still, watching the burning remains of the Valkyrie showering down from the sky like an epic firework.  The Duan Gungs raced past her in pursuit of the damaged Wasp.  Moments later Sao-wei He arrived next to her in his 60-ton Ti Ts’sang.

She smiled as she opened her com link.  “Sao-wei, the new Raven has performed admirably.”

But Sao-shao Jiang An was the one who responded. 

“The risks you took were unnecessary, Sang-wei.  But it was an impressive demonstration of your ’Mech’s capabilities.  Return immediately to the Panduola mo-he for debriefing and repairs.”

“Yes, Sao-shao.  I am on my way now.”

She turned her Raven around and began limping slowly back to the DropShip.  Her role in the battle was over.

---

Hauptman Jake Dickinson watched as the last of his scout Mechs, Private Matthew Moss’s Wasp, disappeared from his scope, run down by a pair of still unidentified Capellan ’Mechs.

The two fleet Capellan ’Mechs turned back well before they were in range of his forces, relinking with the line of ’Mechs now advancing on the factory proper.  Behind them, numerous APCs rumbled along carrying a full battalion of ground forces.

His own infantry, along with the Hollis ground forces were entrenched along a series of defensive fortifications.  Six fixed weapon turrets, each housing dual LRM-20s, along with a bevy of lasers and point defense machine guns, dotted the sprawling factory grounds providing critical fire support.

Counting the lance of Hollis Incorporated ’Mechs, he still had a full company with which to defend.  The odds were surprisingly close.  Now barely a kilometer away, the Capellan’s line of advance showed clearly on his Rander Pinpoint.  Of the nineteen advancing BattleMechs, four remained unidentified, and another three lagged well behind the main line, outside of his targeting systems ability to ID.

The heaviest units among the attackers were the 70-ton Thunder and the Cataphract.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized there were likely no assault ’Mechs among them, but that was a chronic problem from the CCAF.  Which was fine with him, he didn’t have any either, with the exception of the Hollis Incorporated Battlemaster.

He walked his Axman backwards, returning to his own defensive line.  The Capellans would be within LRM range of the turrets momentarily, not to mention Corporal Nelson’s Crusader and Molly’s Archer.  The advance would cost them dearly, and it might just prove enough to turn the tide in their favor and let them eek out at least a temporary reprieve. 

He shifted his glace over as he saw the turrets swiveling, then his Wide Band came to life.  Lord Jason Hollis’ voice was instantly recognizable.

“It’s nothing personal Hauptman Dickinson.  It’s just good business.”

Then his missile lock indicator screamed to life as the turrets tracked him, disgorging huge volleys of LRMs.  At the same moment the ancient Battlemaster unloaded into the thin rear armor of his Axman and everything went black.

---

END
« Last Edit: 29 March 2015, 19:58:23 by Sigil »

Sigil

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« Reply #2 on: 29 March 2015, 20:12:16 »
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« Last Edit: 17 September 2015, 11:59:19 by Sigil »

Sigil

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Tales from the Cobalt Coil #13
« Reply #3 on: 29 March 2015, 20:19:02 »
Author's Note:  This piece is written in the style of the "Tales from the Cobalt Coil" series from the old BattleTechnology magazines.  A special shoutout to S. Jansfield who I believe originated the series.

It was Friday night at the Cobalt Coil, meaning the PPCs were half price, and going faster than a Fireball with MASC engaged.  The holovids were all dark.  On Solaris most everybody lived and died by the games, with far too many falling into the latter category.  The Coil was a respite from all that.  You could go anywhere to watch The Games, but at the Coil, people came for the storytelling.

Conversation slowly turned to the mythical intersection of pilot and machine.  Morgan Kell and Yorinaga Kurita’s duel on Mallory's World, reported sightings of the Great Gaffa’s Ghost, the Minnesota Tribe, the Vandenberg White Wings, the Disappearing Battleship of Merope, the history of the Inner Sphere was replete with examples of the unexplainable and mysterious.

The regulars all had their theories.  Sensor failures, ComStar, Wolf’s Dragoons, the Clans, stress induced hallucinations, worm holes, time and space distortions, you name it and somebody had a theory to explain it. 

But all eyes turned when the newcomer come through the door.

He was wearing a standard Lyran service uniform with the blue and black triangle of a Hauptman pinned to the collars.  His nametape read “Weddle.”  One shoulder sported the trademark yellow sun obscured by white clouds on a blue sky, the insignia of the Skye Rangers.  Numerous campaign ribbons were pinned above his left breast pocket, stretching all the way back to the War of 3039, including ribbons showing he had fought against the Draconis Combine and the Free Worlds League, then both Clan Ghost Bear and Clan Wolf during the Clan Invasion.  A miniature golden disc hung below the bar of ribbons, denoted he had received the Honor of Skye as well.  A dark green silk sash marked him as a graduate of the prestigious Sanglamore Academy. 

It was clear he wasn’t associated with The Games, and he certainly wasn’t a member of my typical clientele.  He was far too clean and had too much money.  But, everyone is welcome at the Coil, and I work hard to make sure anyone who comes through my doors feels welcome here.  He glanced around the bar, as if he were looking for someone, and then came on up to the bar.  Putting aside my latest copy of BattleTechnology, I looked straight at him with a smile. 

Service always came with a smile at the Cobalt Coil, at least when I’m behind the bar.  And I’m always behind the bar.  “What can I get you?”

“A Steiner PPC.”

I placed the PPC, the Steiner variant cut with Peppermint Schnapps, in front of him.  I’d made it a double just so help him feel more comfortable.  The regulars all turned back to their own conversations and he tossed it back with a smooth motion, then settled in at bar.  I could tell he was listening to the conversations going on behind him, as his eyes continued scanning the room.

I poured him another PPC, and then he cleared his throat, and I could tell instantly we were going to be in for a treat.

A new story was always welcome at the Coil, and I had the feeling this was going to be an especially good one.  I poured a full round of PPCs, lining them up along the bar for the rest of my customers.  Sometimes, even on Solaris, it isn’t always about the money.  And besides, I knew from previous experience, that a few free drinks always paid dividends in the long run.  Besides, I was curious about what the Hauptmann was going to say.  He was a bit older than most of my clientele, and the years of combat, loss, and close calls were etched in the lines on his face.

Free drinks draw people faster than a Dart with a supercharger, and in seconds most of my regulars started gathering around the Lyran Hauptman.  He smiled wryly as an audience formed around him, and then he began.

“I heard some of you talking about sensor ghosts, disappearing ’Mechs, and the crazy things that happen on the battlefield.  Well, I’ve got a story for you.”

More and more people drifted over towards the Hauptman as he pulled out a cigar, a good one too, from York on Woodstock, clipped the end and lit it up. 

“I knew this tech turned MechWarrior, Sigil.  Smartest tech I’ve ever met.  Called himself a TechWarrior.  Constantly tinkering with stuff.  His first ride was an old Grasshopper.  But he could never leave well enough alone.  We’d drawn a diversionary raid assignment back when we were both with the Third Lyran Guard.  We went up against the Second Legion on Vega during the War of ’39.  Anyway, he pulled off the original Conan/S LRM-5 and Diplan HD heavy laser, replacing them with a Lord’s Light particle beam weapon he’d salvaged from one of the Second Legion Panthers we’d scrapped earlier.  It might have been OK if he’d stopped there, but he didn’t.

I’m sure you’ve all heard of a PPC capacitor.  Well, he jacked not one, but two, in parallel, with the PPC.  I saw him do it too.  The entire right arm of that Grasshopper was stuffed with power cables, couplers, capacitors and coils.  The entire assembly stuck out well past the elbow of his ’Mech’s right arm.  I took one look at it and I knew it was going to be trouble, but the CO had just informed us the Second Legion was moving again so there wasn’t time to do anything about it.”

He chuckled, taking a long draw from his cigar and sending a smoke ring drifting lazily up towards the air purifiers.  I don’t begrudge a man his smoke, but that doesn’t mean I want to breath it.  The Coil has a serious bank of conditioners, I like to keep my air as clean as my bar.  Tamping the ash off, he picked back up.

“So we take to the field and sure enough the Second Legion is throwing some serious iron at us.  He’s assigned to hold the flank, along with one of our Warhammers, when a Kurita assault lance arrives on scene.  A Stalker, an Awesome, an Archer, along with a Rifleman providing fire support.  So what does he do?  The maniac  charges up his arm cannon, slams the throttle forward and barrels straight towards the Stalker.  His lancemate is backing him up with the ‘Hammer’s dual Donal PPCs and they both lay into the 85-ton assault ’Mech.  Sure enough, his enhanced PPC works, and between the two of them, they manage to set off one of the Stalker’s ammunition bins.  Of course he didn’t realize his entire right arm was glowing dull red from the incredible heat generated by the modified Lord’s Light.  Oblivious, he continues to fire it just as fast it recharges.  By now his ’Mech’s about shot to pieces and he’s charging the Awesome that is only about a hundred meters away.

The crazy git flips off his field inhibitor, charges up both capacitors, and starts letting fly at the Awesome.  A midnight blue vortex forms around the barrel of the Lord’s Light and the most intense particle stream I have ever witnessed arcs out of the ‘Hopper’s right arm straight into the right side of the Awesome.  I swear to Kerensky that stream must have melted a good two tons of armor right off that beast, but Sigil’s ’Mech was finished.  Both ’Mechs were covered in a spider web of man-made lightning even as the ‘Hopper’s right arm simply melted off.  But the Awesome was finished too.  A second later the ‘Hammer nailed it center mass with its dual PPCs, and the Awesome hit the ground right next to the melted remains of Sigil’s Grasshopper and the dead Stalker.”

Daniels, one of my regulars, and a ‘tech for Blackstar Stables over in the Davion district, laughed and shook his head.  “That dude has a death wish!  I can believe that Lord’s Light didn’t go supernova on him the first time he tried to fire it!  I mean, I’ve put in a few capacitors at Blackstar, but two?  That’s insane!”

Weddle grinned.  “I remember him saying he got a few tips from one of the Rhonda Irregulars ‘techs before he did it.  Something about power output and timing.  Of course even back then the Irregulars were fielding ER PPCs on some of their Star League BattleMechs.  And he was convinced he could one up them.”

Fritz, another of the regular ‘techs, spoke up next.  “Kinda reminds me of a Blazer.  Basically taking two heavy laser cores and fusing them into one gigantic cannon.  Defiance Industries produced a run of the Zeus back in the day that used ‘em.  ‘Course it basically melted all the myomer bundles around it into goo.  They ended up moving it to a shoulder mount, but the damn thing threw out so much heat, they finally just gave up on it.  Ronin tried it too, on their Marauder.  By then you could get Freezers, so I guess it worked out better, but obviously it never took off.  They still show up every now and again in one of the arena fights.  Kinda like your buddy’s work, thing does massive damage, but it’ll melt your damn arm off!”

Weddle laughed and nodded.

“Yeah, but Sigil, he didn’t just tinker with weapons.  A few years later, after he’d trashed the Clint that had replaced his former Grasshopper, and an Assassin after that, the CO assigned him to a Hatchetman.  Thing was, by then, he’d gotten used to the speed and the jump capacity of his former ’Mechs.  The Hatchetman isn’t fast by any stretch of the imagination, but it did at least have jump jets.  But not enough for Sigil.”

Daniels started chuckling.  “Oh boy.  I can’t wait to hear this one!  Reminds me of Dr. Jorge Belasco’s Super Griffin project already!” 

By now, most of the other conversations in the Coil had died away, as the Hauptman’s story took center stage.  For my part, I just kept pouring the drinks and trying to stay out of the way as he spoke.

“So Sigil pulls a pair of Lox Lifter exhaust ports off the remains of his Assassin and installs them on the back of the Hatchetman hoping to increase its jump capacity.  Now, Sigil never was much on tactics.  His idea of a battle plan looks something like Pickett's Charge.  And when we took the field, he was true to form.  We’d been pushed back onto a peninsula, our backs literally against the sea, when the enemy advanced on what was left of our unit.  And, sure enough, as they started to approach, Sigil laid into those Lox Lifters with a moment’s hesitation.

Surprisingly, they actually worked.  The Hatchetman rocketed into the air, flames pouring out of its legs and back until the entire ’Mech looked like it was on fire.  But it just kept shooting higher and higher into the sky, fire beginning to pour out of every conceivable crack on the 45-ton modified war machine until it looked like the entire thing was going to melt down mid-air.  Which it did seconds later.  Only the full-head ejection system of the Hatchetman saved his life from the catastrophic explosion that followed.  The incredible heat cooked off the ammunition, then the entire fusion engine went supernova a split second later.  He hadn’t even fired a single shot.”

A chorus of laughter erupted from the crowd.  “I bet!  Probably melted the damn exhaust port controls off and couldn’t damp ‘em back down!  The most expensive bottle rocket ever built!”

Weddle shook his head chuckling again, and I slid another Steiner PPC in front of him.  He tossed it back easily before taking another long puff from his cigar, causing my purifiers to keep earning their keep. 

“Yea, I spent most of my career chasing his sorry ass around and trying to keep him from killing himself, but in end, he saved my life.”

The laughter quickly died down as the Hauptman’s look turned serious.

“Someone mentioned the duel between Morgan Kell and Yorinaga Kurita earlier, which reminded me of all this.  See, Sigil’s true love was actually electronics.  He could hack a satellite with a broken holovid and roll of tin foil.  And he’d held onto the remains of his old Clint for years at this point.  Well, the unit had a year, year and a half, rest and refit on Galatea, and frankly, we were flush with cash at this point.  So naturally Sigil blew his entire wad, and then some, getting his Clint back up and running, because there was no way in hell the Colonel was assigning him another ’Mech.  He’d trashed every ’Mech he’d piloted the very first time he’d taken it out on the battlefield.  If he hadn’t been such a wiz-bang tech, he’d have been Dispossessed long ago.

By the time he was finished with that Clint, the only thing left that was original was the Andoran Model III chassis and a few of the actuators.  Except, of course, for the Sloane 220 Lockover targeting and tracking system and the Raldon R1 communications unit.  Which, as it turned out, were the exact things that had made him keep the Clint for all this time.  It must have been hanging from chains in the ’Mech bay for almost eight years at this point.  That’s another thing about the Clint, it’s probably the most difficult ’Mech in the entire Inner Sphere to find parts for.”

A number of the ‘techs nodded their heads in agreement.  Willford, an old crusty bear of a man who’d been fixing ‘Mechs for longer than the Third Succession War, called out.  “He musta been a glutton for punishment.  That Assassin you mentioned earlier ain’t exactly easy to get parts for either.  Don’t suppose he ever got his hands on a WSP-105 LAM?  That’s gotta be the rarest of the rarest!”

Weddle shook his head as he finally tapped out his cigar and I breathed a sigh, a clean sigh, of relief.

“No, but he did drop over seven million C-bills on an Edasich Motors 280 XL fusion engine to replace the original Pitban 240.  Designed for the ARC-5S Archer, he’d adapted it to power his 40-ton Clint instead.  Adding another Andoran Model JJII jump jet to the center torso, he managed not only to increase the top speed of his ’Mech to almost 120 kph, but also increase its jump capacity to over 200 meters.  It was a real crotch rocket.

But even then, what he’d done to the electronics is what really blew my mind.  He’d gotten his hands on a full shipment of electronics straight from Sian.  A Beagle Active Probe, Guardian ECM Suite, Target Acquisition Gear, even a satellite uplink with a foldable antenna.  He’d also bought a bunch of Dalban Hi-rez displays, and I kid you not, the cockpit of that Clint rivaled a mobile HQ by the time he was finished.  The entire command couch was ringed with secondary and tertiary displays, along with more control surfaces than any single man has a right to.  I doubt Jamie Wolf himself could have piloted that thing.

He named his Clint ‘Rose’, after this ComStar Adept he had a fling with, who was later killed, but that’s another story entirely.  Classified.  She’d piloted a Spector, and looking back on it now, I think that’s where he got his inspiration from for his Clint.  Anyway, after the rest and refit, we got word the Colonel, Jason Henley, had landed himself in trouble on Damian, way out on the coreward side of the Free Rasalhague Republic, so we packed up and headed out.

And ran head on into the Clan Invasion…”

Weddle grimaced, and I could see a flood of painful memories come rushing back.  Everyone had lost someone during the Clan Invasion, entire units had disappeared, capital worlds had fallen, and now even after the ComGuard victory on Tukayyid, there was still a sense of impending doom.  Too many worlds had been lost and too many lives cut short for anything to ever be the same again.

I poured another full round of Steiner PPCs for everyone as a long somber silence descended on the assembled crowd.  I could see that everyone was relieving his or her own harrowing experiences of the Clan Invasion.  It had touched everyone and everywhere, and not in a good way.  The Hauptman tossed back another PPC with practiced ease, gritting his teeth before he continued on.

“We make a hot drop onto Damian to rescue the Colonel, but the planet is crawling with Ghost Bear ’Mechs.  Just after we land, Sigil uses his newly tricked out Clint to hack a SS/L Meteosat weather satellite and we get the big picture.  It’s even worse than we thought.  The Colonel’s unit is down to two functional ’Mechs and there’s at least three full clusters of front-line OmniMechs in pursuit.  Turns out he’d pissed them off real good before we got there.

Suddenly, the comlink in my Enforcer crackles to life and I hear Sigil broadcasting over an open frequency loud and clear.  Crazy wanker challenges Clan Ghost Bear to a Trial of Possession for the Colonel.  This all happened during the second wave of the Invasion, and if I’m not mistaken, this very incident probably has something to do with the Ghost Bear hatred of mercenaries they develop later.  Anyway, the Galaxy Commander accepts and the stage is set for the Trial to be held the very next day.”

A five klick circle is set up, centered on the remains of the Snowmane, our Union-class DropShip the Ghost Bear Omnifighters shot down after our initial drop.  More OmniMechs than I’ve ever seen before, or ever want to see again, ring the circle to watch.  Now the DropShip Captain was a woman, Varukka Salt, but she had more balls than most any man I’ve ever met.  Varukka, along with Sigil’s recon lance, race off towards the wreckage of her DropShip just as the Trial starts.”

Zach, one of the MechWarriors for the relatively new Banshees Stables, and a veteran of the Clan Invasion himself, guffawed.  “I can’t wait to hear how in the hell ya manage to pull this off!  I was on Soverzene when the Third Bear Guards dropped in, and lucky to have survived.  They came at us hard and never let up, whole thing devolved into one long nasty close quarters brawl.”

Weddle acknowledged him with a nod.  “We had an early prototype of the Schiltron with us that we managed to salvage from the DropShip crash.  It’s an 80-ton wheeled fire support vehicle carrying a pair of Arrow IV batteries.  A nice piece of tech.  So, a Ghost Bear Mad Cat and Ryoken peel off from the main force to intercept Sigil’s bug lance.

When the Ghost Bear forces arrive, the weapon turrets of the DropShip along with the Arrow IV strikes Sigil starts to call down with his TAG, gives them one nasty surprise after another.  Those two, Salt and Sigil, had been up all night working to bring the turrets back online.  When all was said and done, both Ghost Bear ’Mechs were down, along with the remainder of Sigil’s lance, a Jenner, Locust, and a Stinger.  Not a bad trade.”

Weddle glanced over at me, and after years behind the bar, I could read him like a book.  With a short nod, I placed another Steiner PPC in front of him, which just as quickly disappeared.  He could hold his liquor, I’d give him that, but he’d be feeling it in the morning.  Still, there was something eating away at him, and I could see that he needed to get it off his chest, and a little liquid courage always helps.  You see being a bartender isn’t all that different from being a Psychologist, it’s just way more fun, and pays a whole lot less.

“Now the lance I was commanding was assigned to keep the Bear away from the Schiltron for as long as possible.  We also had two squads of infantry in APCs screening it as a last resort.  We were all piloting older stuff.  I was in an ENF-4R Enforcer, my second, Jeff Hamilton, in an ancient OSR-2C Ostroc with retrofitted Freezers, and there was a DV-6M Dervish and a VLK-QA Valkyrie rounding out my lance.

After Sigil started calling down the arty strikes, the Bear wised up real quick and dispatched a pair of Black Hawks to silence our long guns.  I set us up on an intercept course, but the Clan Hawks were faster than anything we had, so I knew we were in trouble right from the start.”

They came screaming in at about 100 kph.  The Ostroc and Devish manage to close on one of them, which is when we discover they are both carrying a star of Elementals.  They lay into the Clanner, but the Toads swarm the Dervish setting off the ammo.  The Valkyrie and I are on fire support and by the time the smoke cleared, we’d only managed to take down one of the Black Hawks while losing two of our own.  The second Black Hawk made it free and clear into the rear and neither my Enforcer or Hamilton’s Ostroc were fast enough to chase it back down.”

That’s when we saw the Daishi approaching on our scanners.”

At the mention of the legendary 100-ton Clan dreadnaught, I watch as grimaces of pain cross the faces of many in the impromptu audience.  No other ’Mech in existence could boast the deadly combination of heavy armor and sheer firepower the Clan ’Mech carried.  It was easily the equal of an entire lance of Inner Sphere ’Mechs, and then some.  It had destroyed countless machines, ended innumerable lives, and helped take a myriad of planets.  Invariably piloted by only the best Clan Warriors, House Kurita had named it aptly.

The Hauptman looked to me for another drink, and I poured it.  When a Daishi enters the story, you can be sure your getting close to the end. 

“By now Sigil had linked back up with us in his one armed Clint, so I ask him what the plan is.  Crazy bastard just laughs and asks me if I trust him.  I’m watching 100-tons of Great Death approach, and I know nothing short of a miracle is going to get us through this.  The Ostroc got all shot up by the Black Hawk earlier, making my Enforcer the only ‘Mech left in decent condition.  So I ask him again, and he tells me his plan.  And it’s Pickett’s Charge all over again.   He rambles on about needing to get within 150 meters of the monstrous Clan assault ‘Mech.  Why, I never understood.  At least not until later.

So the three of us fan out.  Since I’m the only guy with any armor left, I’m bulling straight in.  The Ostroc is coming in along the left flank, and Sigil’s Clint on the right.  The Daishi splays out both arms, sending a wicked Guass rifle slug at the Ostroc that drops it like a rock.  Now after dropping that 280 XL into his Clint, I knew Sigil’s ’Mech was fast, but I didn’t know just how fast.  He comes screaming in towards that Daishi at over 150 kph, the ground behind him being chewed up by a stream of heavy pulse laser fire from the Daishi’s other arm.  Turns out simply replacing the engine hadn’t been good enough.  He’d jacked a supercharger in there as well.”

Both Fritz and Wilford nod in approval as the Hauptman continues, but at this point the normally boisterous Coil is about as quiet as I’ve ever heard it, and I even find myself leaning over the bar in rapt attention.

“Suddenly, my Federated Hunter T&T and my com system blink out.  But the Daishi is such a massive machine, I didn’t really need the targeting system anyway.  Especially this close in.  Sigil’s Clint is dancing, pirouetting, and spinning in a display of piloting the likes of which I have never seen, nor will probably ever see again, as he closes on the Clan monster.  Still, it’s not enough, and finally the Daishi manages to put a couple of its heavy pulse lasers on his damaged machine, cutting out one of his legs from under him.   The Clint hits the ground, skidding a good hundred meters before coming to smoking stop just in front the Daishi.

By now, I’ve closed the distance as well.  I’m all alone facing this thing, and it barely has a scratch on it.  The Daishi’s torso starts tracking left and I can see its plethora of massive barrels heading right for me, and I know this thing can core my Enforcer with just a single salvo.  My cockpit is eerily quiet, the T&T system is still down and my com unit remains jammed.”

The Hauptman paused then.  Looking up and away, his eyes glass over, and I could tell he is reliving what happened next.

“Then, just like that, the Daishi freezes up.  Goes completely still, its torso locked into place halfway through its swivel.  It’s as if the entire ’Mech just shut down right then and there.  Totally immobile.

I’m right in its face at this point.  I put my Federated Autocannon and ChisComp special heavy right on its head at point blank and pull the trigger.  A second later it topples over, the entire head simply gone from my two shots.”

Weddle’s eyes drift slowly back down, a wry smile crossing his face as he looks once again at the audience gathered around him. 

“My targeting and tracking and communications systems all come back online right after.  The battle’s over.  We won.  The Schiltron had switched to bore sights, and combined with the infantry, they’d managed to drop that last Black Hawk and the Elementals too.

Of course everybody thought I’d capped that Daishi.  Thought I was the hero.  But once the Daishi was decapitated, I climbed out of my ‘Mech and went over the Sigil’s Clint.  As I approached it, I swore I heard Sigil’s voice and a woman’s voice coming from the cockpit of his downed ’Mech.  I popped the canopy to check, and there was Sigil. 

Dead.

The entire top of his head had been burned off by neural feedback.  The electronics ringing his command couch were all half melted. 
But I heard that woman’s voice one more time.  Coming from the ruins of one of the speakers.
 
She said, ‘I love you.’

And it was the voice of that dead ComStar Adept he’d fallen in love with.”

Weddle shook his head, laughing in disbelief.  “The way I see it, Sigil must have overloaded that Daishi’s control systems and caused it to spontaneously reboot.  I was the only one who saw anything.  Turns out Sigil burned up all the transponders on that Meteosat, using it to create a wide area ECM field.  Then he turned his own electronics against that Daishi, frying it, and himself in the process.”

“I wasn’t the hero.  He was.  Or maybe she was.”

---

END

snakespinner

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #4 on: 30 March 2015, 02:13:56 »
Tag.
Some excellent short stories, to keep us enthralled. [cheers]
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
Growing old is inevitable,
Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

MechRat

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #5 on: 30 March 2015, 07:40:08 »
More great works from Sigil!  O0

Thanks for posting them, I'm looking forward to reading them all. I'm hoping to read something from you about The Adventures of Jason Henley and The Great Clan Ghost Bear.  ;)

Shadow_Wraith

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #6 on: 30 March 2015, 09:40:15 »
nice stories

DOC_Agren

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #7 on: 30 March 2015, 19:03:48 »
Sigil once more... great stuff
"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!"

Arvanna

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #8 on: 30 March 2015, 23:45:08 »
More great works from Sigil!  O0

Thanks for posting them, I'm looking forward to reading them all. I'm hoping to read something from you about The Adventures of Jason Henley and The Great Clan Ghost Bear.  ;)

Hopefully that story will start and end with him taking a Gauss rifle to the face, the end of the story there annoyed me, so many people died trying to save his arse only for him to turn traitor effectively in the end to save his own skin. Henley becoming a Clanner wasn't worth the price in blood of everyone else.

Dave Talley

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #9 on: 31 March 2015, 07:29:54 »
Tag
Resident Smartass since 1998
“Toe jam in training”

Because while the other Great Houses of the Star League thought they were playing chess, House Cameron was playing Paradox-Billiards-Vostroyan-Roulette-Fourth Dimensional-Hypercube-Chess-Strip Poker the entire time.
JA Baker

MechRat

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #10 on: 31 March 2015, 07:31:56 »
Hopefully that story will start and end with him taking a Gauss rifle to the face, the end of the story there annoyed me, so many people died trying to save his arse only for him to turn traitor effectively in the end to save his own skin. Henley becoming a Clanner wasn't worth the price in blood of everyone else.

Maybe it wasn't, but I'd still like to see where Sigil takes the story.

Sigil

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First Sanglamore Training Cadre - Part 1
« Reply #11 on: 31 March 2015, 09:52:56 »
Sanglamore Academy
Skye
Lyran Alliance
12 July 3062
 
From the cockpit of his heavily modified TDR-9SE Thunderbolt, Hauptman Jochen Weddle watched as the four cadets marched their ’Mechs in a disappointingly ragged line across the training grounds of Sanglamore Academy.
 
“Reinhardt!  Straighten up that line!  I didn’t call for a wedge or a vee, I want a line ******!”
 
Weddle shook his head, even after almost a decade of teaching, or perhaps because of it, his patience had worn thin.  He listened as Private Anke Reinhardt called out to her lance mates.
 
“Kohler!  Step on it!  Get up here with the rest of us!”
 
Weddle smirked, at least he’d managed to maintain his sense of humor.  Recruit Gabriele Kohler was piloting a HNT-151 Hornet, making her at least 10 kph slower than the rest of the ’Mechs in the lance.  Reinhardt was in a COM-2D Commando, Meister in a COM-1D Commando, and Schmidt in LCT-1S Locust.
 
Predictably, Schmidt was ahead of everybody in his fleet Locust while Kohler was lagging behind.  He’d seen it a thousand times before. 
 
Kohler called out over the command frequency.  “I’m sorry Anke, but I can’t make this thing go any faster!”
 
Private Reinhardt, the cadet lance leader, growled back over the communications net.  “Schmidt!  Slow it down!  Fall back in line with me and Meister!  You comin’ Kohler?!”
 
Weddle smiled.  Like herding cats.  The Private had her hands full.  Slowly the Hornet closed up as the Locust drifted back until they were all in a passable line.
 
His own Thunderbolt had a VOX 325 XL fusion engine giving it the same top speed as Kohler’s Hornet.  He chuckled.  It was also equipped with MASC, allowing him to surpass even the speed of the two Commandos, albeit only for brief spurts.  The perfect ride for shepherding around a bunch of greenhorns.
 
He watched them fighting to maintain their line as they approached the first of the rolling hills.  Sure enough, as they started to ascend Kohler’s Hornet began falling predictably behind and once again Schmidt’s Locust pulled ahead.
 
He opened his Neil 8000 communications system again.  “Reinhardt!  Apparently I need to repeat myself!  A line!  L-I-N-E!  When you hit the top of that hill you better crest it all together!  Otherwise, I’m going to tan your hide with my Diverse Optics ER!  A lance isn’t just an organizational structure.  It is the smallest tactical unit.  Not let’s see some cohesion out there, Private!”
 
Weddle triggered his MASC, his Thunderbolt suddenly sprinting around the hill at over 100 kph as he set himself up to watch the cadets storm the hill.  It’d been over 25 years since he’d been a cadet at Sanglamore, and during the intervening time he’d had quite a career.
 
Fresh out of the Academy, he landed a spot with the Third Lyran Guard just in time see action against the Dragon during the War of ’39 on Vega.  After that he’d helped found the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force, a small company sized mercenary unit that fought on Carbonis, Alshain, and Talisker before temporarily disbanding then reforming to fight Clan Ghost Bear on Damian during the Clan Invasion.

Their unit had been crushed on Damian, but at least they had managed to escape, along with a considerable amount of Clan salvage, although the unit permanently disbanded shortly afterwards.  It was at this point that he, along with his longtime friend and fellow Sanglamore graduate, Jeff Hamilton, made their way back to their home planet of Skye.

A few months later he received quite a pleasant surprise.  The 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force had liquidated their remaining assets and as a founding member of the unit, he was entitled to 10% of the money.  Given the premium Clan salvage demanded, the Union-C-class DropShip they’d captured, and their Scout-class JumpShip, he and Hamilton both got a check for a whopping 36.5 million C-bills.

Which is how he’d been able to afford to purchase a new TDR-9SE along with the expensive custom modifications he’d had done to it.  He’d also made good on an old promise he’d made to Jeff Hamilton years ago.  On Alshain, he’d gotten Hamilton’s factory new WHM-6K Warhammer completely wrecked fighting one of the Combine’s Ghost Regiments.  So, when he’d purchased his Thunderbolt, he’d picked up a new WHM-7S Warhammer for his friend.  He always paid his debts, and the look on Hamilton’s face had been priceless.  It also made them among the few of the faculty who had their own personal BattleMechs.
 
Bringing his Thunderbolt back to a slow walk, he looked up at the ridge line of the hill.  His RCA Instratrac Mark X showed the cadets were just about the reach the top.  Surprisingly, their line was in pretty good shape, but they had slowed their rate of advance considerably.
 
He flicked his Neil on.  “You’re not piloting Urbanmechs boys and girls!  Move those throttles up!  You should be able to make at least 55 kph over the top of that hill!  Now move it!”
 
The four ’Mechs popped up over the top of the hill in decent formation, and began advancing down the slope picking up speed.  This time Schmidt managed to keep his Locust from getting out ahead of his lance mates and Kohler kept her Hornet up with the rest of them.
 
Weddle nodded approvingly.  “Reinhardt!  Echelon Left!”
 
It was actually a fairly complicated maneuver requiring Reinhardt to shift to the lead position on the east side while Kohler shifted her Hornet to the rear position on the west side, and the two Commandos took up staggered positions in the center. 
 
Kohler slowed her ’Mech, shifting west behind the rest of the unit as Reinhardt accelerated taking the lead position.  The entire movement was accomplished in less than thirty seconds.  Not exactly fast, but they had at least accomplished it without any accidental collisions or massive confusion. 
 
Weddle barked out his next order.  “Wheel west on Kohler to a heading of 300 and advance in an extended line.” 
 
He brought his Thunderbolt to a stop as he watched them maneuver.  Kohler came almost to a stop as the rest of the lance began sweeping westward anchored on her position, the three other ’Mechs increasing the space between them as they advanced.  Once they formed a rough line, she started her Hornet moving again and the lance headed off West-North-West.
 
Not bad for a bunch of cadets, he thought to himself.  He started his Thunderbolt forward once again following behind them, as he called out over the command net, “You bunch might make MechWarriors yet!  Wedge.”
 
Reinhardt moved up front as Mesiter and Kohler both fell back.  On Reinhardt’s opposite side, Schmidt pulled his Locust back as well, forming the requested wedge.  Unfortunately, they remained well over sixty meters apart. 
 
“Tighten it up Reinhardt!  I could drive an Atlas between your units!”
 
Reinhardt quickly responded.  “Collapse in on me!  Thirty meter spacing!  Maintain current speed and formation.”
 
Slowly the wedge coalesced until all four units were fairly tightly spaced.  They were approaching another series of small hills when Weddle issued his next order.  “Reinhardt!  Establish a coil atop Hill Charlie.”
 
Reinhardt began issuing her orders immediately.   “Kohler!  Shift directly behind me.  Once we reach the top of the hill, take the east facing.  Schmidt, you take the south, Mesiter the north.”
 
His eyes swept across the four light training ’Mechs.  It was a study in cost effectiveness.  The 20-ton Hornet cost a paltry 1.2 million factory new, the Locust less than 300,000 C-bills more, making the two Commandos the most expensive at a meager 1.8 million each.  Each of them were ancient designs, the Hornet being the newest, if you could call it that, having been introduced almost 300 years earlier.  The weapons were all old tried and true designs, and none of them featured any of the technological advances made since the recovery of the Star League memory core, or the subsequent strides made possible from the examination of captured Clan equipment.  They could all have come straight out of the First Succession War.
 
But as training ’Mechs, they were perfect.  Cheap and easy to maintain.
 
Weddle was watching them tromp up the hill when his Neil 8000 lit up over the encrypted main command frequency.  “This is Sierra-Alpha-Hotel-Quebec.  Flash all after.  Initial reports of multiple inbound unidentified DropShips.  Destination unknown at this time.  Return home ASAP.  Redcon Four.  Say again.  Redcon Four.  Acknowledge.  Over.”
 
Weddle keyed his mic, his eyes narrowing.  “This is Tango-Charlie.  Wilco, Sierra-Alpha.  Out." 
 
Switching back over to his local command net, he barked at his cadets.  “Disregard my last order.  Form a column on me.  We will proceed immediately back to base.  This is not a drill.  I say again.  This is not a drill.  Voice procedure in effect.  Acknowledge by the numbers.  Over.”
 
Reinhardt responded first.  “One.  Out.”  Followed by Mesiter, “Two.  Out.”  Then came Schmidt, “Three.  Out.” And finally Kohler, “Four.  Out.”
 
If there was an unknown force out there, or even the potential of one, he sure as hell didn’t want to give them any free chances at discovering their whereabouts.  Best to just keep quiet and move as quickly as possible.  “Silence.  Out.”
 
It was strange the things you took for granted after years in the cockpit.  Proper voice procedure and technique, while second nature to him, was actually something that had first to be taught, but then more importantly, practiced.  He’d been sloppy about it earlier, and looking back at it now, he belatedly realized it welcomed an informality that could cause problems later.  He’d have to make a note to go over that in class and to provide a better example himself.
 
As the four cadets angled towards him, he started slowly throttling his Thunderbolt up.  The four cadets lined up behind him as he eased up to around 75 kph as they began to make their way back to the Academy.
 
A few minutes later, his Neil 8000 lit up again, except this time the voice coming out was much older.  “This is Sierra-Alpha-Hotel-Quebec.  Immediate all after.  Confirm two Union-class and one Leopard-class DropShip in atmosphere.  Unconfirmed reports of BattleMech drops near Avanti Industries and Drago, Ltd.  Redcon Three.  Say again.  Redcon Three.  Out.”
 
Weddle’s fingers twitched as he gripped the throttle.  As much as he wanted to open it wide, it would risk leaving Kohler’s Hornet lagging behind.  He grit his teeth.  The last thing he needed was to be caught out in the open with a bunch of recruits.  He hadn’t actually seen combat since ’52, and was suddenly left wondering if he might break that decade long streak. 
 
But why would anyone be interested in attacking Sanglamore anyway? 
 
Then again, the balance of power in the Inner Sphere had been gyrating wildly ever since the Clans had shown up just over a decade ago.  Well, in truth, even before that.  The Fourth Succession War and the subsequent creation of the Steiner-Davion super-state might arguably have been just as destabilizing as the Clans themselves.
 
In fact, it was shortly after the formation of the Federated Commonwealth and the subsequent creation of the now all but now non-existent Free Rasalhague Republic, that his native Skye had erupted in violence for the first time in a century.   He’d been a teenager back then, in ’34, when Prince Hanse Davion had sent AFFS forces to violently put down the cries for a free and independent Skye.  Crushed them, really.  Hundreds of civilians were killed before Ryan Steiner finally stepped in and negotiated a settlement.
 
Afterward, the anti-Davion sentiment slowly ebbed away as the economic advantages of the merger began to make themselves felt.  Then the arrival of the Clans threw everyone for a serious loop, causing the calls for a free Skye to almost totally peter out, at least until Melissa Steiner was assassinated in 3055.
 
Duke Ryan Steiner openly accused Victor Steiner-Davion of having Melissa killed so he could ascend to the throne and become the first ever Archon-Prince.  He even went so far as to the send the Fourth Skye Guards to attack Glengarry, the home of the vaunted Grey Death Legion.  Ultimately, returning elements of the Legion along with units of the Northwind Highlanders arrived on Glengarry, and the Fourth Skye Guards were forced off planet.
 
Barely a year later Ryan Steiner himself was assassinated and it was generally accepted that Victor himself had ordered the killing.  Ryan was succeeded by his son, Robert Kelswa-Steiner, and with the death of the Duke once again the secessionist fervor died down. 
 
But the more he thought about, the more the entire situation looked like one huge powder keg.  Victor was as bloodthirsty and ruthless as his sister Katherine.  He’d proven that when he switched out Captain-General Thomas Marik’s son with a body double in order to keep the military supplies flowing from the Free Worlds League during the Clan Invasion.  And then again when he’d ordered the death of Ryan Steiner. 
 
Sun-Tzu Liao was also on the move, reclaiming worlds House Davion had taken decades earlier.  Even ComStar had splintered into competing factions with the Word of Blake taking Terra in ’58, ironically, the very same year the Star League had been reformed.  Theodore Kurita was the current First Lord, but the Star League was a dim, practically non-existent, shadow of the original.
 
His speculations were interrupted as his Neil 8000 relayed another incoming transmission.
 
“This is Sierra-Alpha-Hotel-Quebec. Priority all after.  An unidentified Leopard-class DropShip is now on a trajectory that will take it within 10 kilometers of the main grounds.  Reports now confirmed of First Skye Jaegers engaging units of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars in and around Avanti Industries.  This is not a drill.  Say again.  This is not a drill.  Redcon Two.  Say again.  Redcon Two.  Out.”
 
Weddle glanced once again at his RCA Instatrac, ensuring the cadets were still closely following him.  All of the cadets were nearing the end of their third year at Sanglamore, still struggling to master the basics of piloting and gunnery.  If they were standing still, they might hit something, but it would be a real crap shoot to throw them into real combat.  They weren’t even close to being ready yet.  Between that and the antiques they were piloting, they’d get torn to pieces by the Regulars if they got caught. 
 
His stomach flip-flopped as the Neil 8000 crackled to life yet again.  “This is Sierra-Alpha-Hotel-Quebec. Flash all after.  Radar indicates four BattleMech drops from the unidentified Leopard-class DropShip in sector 654.  Redcon Two.  Say Again.  Redcon Two.  Out.”   
 
A second later a different voice came over his private frequency.  “This is Hauptman-General Stockard.  Hauptman Weddle, you are the only unit in position to reconnoiter the drop zone.  Make best possible speed to sector 654 and report.  Weapons Tight.  RoE Code Three.  Acknowledge.  Over.”
 
Weddle grimaced, shaking his head.  Orders from the Hauptman-General himself.  “Acknowledge.  Proceeding to sector 654 for recon.  Weapons tight, RoE Three.  Over.”
 
The Hauptman-General answered back still on his private frequency.  “I know you’re running a group of plebes out there, Hauptman.  Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you.  I’ve already requested assistance from the Skye Jaegers and the Militia, but there is no way they can get here in time and they’ve already got their hands full defending the industrial sites.  If that lance of Snakes makes it onto post, they will raise holy hell.  With a bit of luck when they see you, it’ll scare them off.  This isn’t an invasion, just a little raid.  It’s up to you to convince them Sanglamore isn’t a soft target.  Keep me posted, Hauptman.  Out.”

---

Sigil

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First Sanglamore Training Cadre - Part 2
« Reply #12 on: 31 March 2015, 09:55:25 »
Sanglamore Academy
Skye
Lyran Alliance
12 July 3062
 
With a deep breath, Weddle keyed his local command frequency.  “Listen up everyone.  This is not a drill.  Say again.  This is not a drill.  I’ve just received orders directly from Hauptman-General Stockard.  There are reports of ’Mech drops in sector 654.  We’ve been assigned to check it out.  I will take point on a modified wedge.  Schmidt, take my right flank, Kohler the right wing.  Mesiter, my left flank, and Reinhardt the left wing.  Come to a heading of 345 and let’s go see who wants to pay us a visit.  This is the real thing boys and girls.  Consider yourself lucky to have the opportunity to see some real action.  Perform weapons check, safeties off, and verify auto-eject.  Weapons tight, RoE Three.  We are under Redcon One.  Say again.  Redcon One.  Acknowledge by the numbers.  Over.”
 
Private Anke Reinhardt responded first.  Her voice was tight and her anxiety was obvious even in the short words she uttered.  “One here.  Acknowledge weapons tight and RoE Three.  I’m locked and loaded, sir.  Out.”
 
Recruit Marco Meister was next, his voice calm and steady.  “This is Two.  My Harmon heavy laser is charging now, and the Six-Shooter is loaded, sir.  I’m ready.  Out.”
 
Recruit Swen Schmidt followed, his voice curt and clipped.  “Three.  Acknowledge.  Out.”
 
Recruit Gabriele Kohler was the last to answer, and Weddle could hear her voice quavering.  “This is Four.  Auto-eject engaged, lasers charged and LRMs hot.  Out.”
 
As the four cadets fanned out behind him, he slowly throttled up his Thunderbolt to its maximum sustained speed, keeping one eye on Kohler’s Hornet to make sure she didn’t start slipping behind.  His sensors would be in range of sector 654 in a few all too short minutes.
 
The Fifteenth Dieron Regulars.  He’d cut his teeth against the Dragon decades earlier.  Grown up with an ingrained hatred and mistrust for the Draconis Combine.  Even now far too many of the original Federation of Skye planets, including what was once known as the Kannon Shire, now belonged to House Kurita.  Skye had been a frequent target for Kurita raiders for centuries, in particular Cyclops Incorporated, producer of the Drillson hover tank and the popular Maxim hover transport, along with Shipil Company, one of only a few defense contractors with the facilities to produce DropShips, including the massive Overlord-class.
 
Which is why it had come as a surprise when HQ reported the Regulars were attacking Avanti and Drago Ltd.  Avanti produced civilian aircraft and Drago fairly unsophisticated tracked combat vehicles.  Compared to Cyclops and Shipil, they offered almost nothing of military value, but then again, they were likely only lightly defended compared to the other two.
 
Weddle hated it when things didn’t add up, and nothing so far about this entire raid was making much sense.  Even Sanglamore Academy wouldn’t generally be considered a military target even though its campus was once an SLDF facility.  Unfortunately, it lacked the static defenses of a true military base, leaving only the cadets and him to try and defend it.
 
As his sensors came within range of sector 654, the leading edge of his sweep broke apart.  He slammed his fist down against his arm rest.  Jamming.  Dammit!  He’d seen it before.  Likely there was a unit mounting a Guardian ECM suite out there making his job all that more difficult.
 
He flicked his Neil on.  “This is Tango-Charlie to Hotel-Quebec.  I’ve got an active in sector 654.  Lots of music.  Permission to conduct visual id.  Acknowledge.  Over.”
 
“This is Hotel-Quebec.  Permission granted.  Weapons free.  Chattermark.  Acknowledge.  Over.”
 
Weddle tripped the frequency jumping mode of his Neil 8000 on.  As he got closer to the Buzzer, communications would become increasingly difficult, perhaps even impossible depending on the proximity.  And not just communications back to base, but also to the cadets following him. 

He growled.  The situation was deteriorating rapidly.
 
“Tango-Charlie.  Closing.  T&T is sour.  Wait Five.”   
 
His hit his command net.  “It’s going to get messy.  I’ve got strobing on my radar.  I confirm at least one bogey, likely running ECM, assume three more under the cloak.  Weapons free.  Recommend visual sights.  Coms are going to be dicey with all the music out there.  I will confirm hostile.  If coms are jammed, wait to engage until I am committed.  Chatterbox.  Acknowledge.  Over.”
 
A series of radio clicks came back, the number of clicks indicating each cadet.  Good.  They must have been paying attention when he’d reviewed radio brevity.  But he’d been through enough battles to know that once ordinance starts flying, things would quickly descend into chaos.  Better if he gave them a little more direction.
 
“Kohler and Meister, I want you to drop back and provide fire support.  Reinhardt and Schmidt you stick to my flanks like glue.  I will designate the target.  Everyone will engage the same target until that target is neutralized.  Then I will designate the next target.  We are a unit, not a group of individuals.  We act together, not separately.  Stick to the plan and you’ll make it.  Out.”
 
Weddle punched up his optical magnification.  He knew the general location of the intruders by the distinctive interference pattern created by the ECM field.  Adjusting his heading, he set his lance on an intercept course.  They should intersect with them well before they reached Sanglamore.  Behind and out to either side of his Thunderbolt the cadets matched his pace.
 
Judging from the noise, the unidentified force was moving fast.  Real fast.  He kept adjusting his heading further and further west as he tracked the hole in his radar.  He’d been holding back just a little on his speed, but now realized he could no longer afford to.  Bringing his Thunderbolt up to its maximum sustained speed, he kept one eye on the formation behind him to make sure no one started falling behind.  The Locust and Commandos responded to his increased speed easily, they were faster than his own machine, but Kohler’s Hornet fell back a good 50 meters before she managed to maintain her position in the now slightly exaggerated wedge.
 
Then, he caught his first sight of the invaders on his magnified optical scanners.  The Jenner was a no-brainer, squat, no arms, head thrust forward, he’d seen hundreds of them.  The distinctive back fins gave away the identity of a Spider, though it was stockier than he recalled, and lacking the trademark webbed armor pattern on its chest.  It’s not a Spider, it’s a Venom, Weddle realized.  Just as nimble, five tons heavier and much more heavily armed.
 
A pair of distinctive horns sprouted from either side of the head of the third ’Mech, its left arm ending in a cluster of three barrels.  A smooth, sleek, intimidating looking design, it didn’t appear any heavier than the other two, putting it around 30-tons.  A Hitman. 
 
Bingo. 
 
It carried both a Guardian ECM suite and a Beagle active probe if he recalled correctly.  A new design, it was basically the DCMS version of the CCAF Raven, a specialized electronic warfare machine. 
 
And it had just become his primary target.
 
The last ’Mech was completely foreign to him.  About the same size as a Stinger or Wasp, its head had a distinctive helmeted shape to it that left him guessing.  Clearly it was just as fast as its lance mates, and what appeared to be missile launchers were located on either side of its chest.  No other weapons were visible, and he was confident he had never seen the design before.
 
Sure enough, all four sported the coiled Dragon of the Draconis Combine, and the white and red starburst on a circle of gold marking them as members of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars.  So, it was the Dragon after all. 
 
He radioed back to base.  “Tango-Charlie.  Tally four bandits.  Say again.  Tally four bandits.  Report visual.  ID Jenner.  ID Venom.  ID Hitman.  Estimate one 20-ton BattleMech, model unknown.  All bandits bear markings of the 15th Dieron Regulars.  What’s the picture?  Over.”
 
“Hotel-Quebec.  Bandits declared hostile.  Cleared hot.  Hit a grandslam Tango-Charile.  Out.”
 
He clicked over to his command frequency.  “Cadets, we are clear to engage.  Primary target is the Hitman, it’s the one with the horns.  Secondary is the Jenner.  Acknowledge.  Over.”
 
Another series of clicks emanating from his Neil 8000 confirmed his four cadets had received his orders.
 
The four Combine ’Mechs continued racing towards Sanglamore, not yet deviating from their heading as they sought to get as close to their target as possible.  These were professional soldiers.  They wouldn’t turn until they were within firing range.
 
Weddle tied his Diverse Optics ER large laser and Delta Dart LRM-15 to his first two firing studs, putting his three matched ER mediums on the next as he prepared to open the fighting.  The Regulars held the advantage in both speed and experience, though they were closely matched in overall tonnage and firepower.  The question was whether the Regulars would commit or try and simply blow through his reinforced lance. 
 
He shrugged.  He was just about to find out.  Slowly his laser rangefinder ticked down.  900 meters.  800 meters.  700 meters.  He could see them all clearly now as his lance angled in on them.   
 
His finger twitched over the trigger as three of the Combine ’Mechs abruptly changed course, heading straight for his unit as they fanned out into an extended line.  But the Hitman hung back behind the screen as both sides unleashed their first salvos of long range missiles.
 
Altering his initial orders, he barked out across the command net even as he watched his LRMs spiral down towards the Hitman.  “Reinhardt, take command!  Helmethead is your primary!  Helmethead is primary!  I’m taking down that ECM field.  Out.”
 
Engaging his MASC, his 65-ton Thunderbolt raced ahead as the small flight of LRMs from the Hitman exploded against his right leg.  He had thrown three times the number of missiles back at the light ’Mech.  He smiled in satisfaction as his strike blasted chunks of armor from the Hitman’s legs and laser bearing left arm.  Seconds later he followed up with his ER large laser as that too came within range, melting away the armor covering its left breast clear down to the structure.
 
He would just eat the fire from the three other Combine ’Mechs.  His T-bolt carried twice the armor, and then some, of any other unit on the field.  And hopefully present a target too tempting to pass up.  The ’Mechs in Reinhardt’s lance all had paper thin armor.  The professional soldiers of the Fifteenth would cut them to razor blades in no time.
 
As he rapidly closed with the line of fast approaching enemy ’Mechs, sure enough they all opened fire on him.  A blistering array of laser fire from both the Jenner and the Venom sent armor pouring off his ’Mech as if it were water.  A split second later, a series of short range missile strikes from the Jenner and helmethead pockmarked his war machine.
 
He’d held his own trio of medium lasers back, waiting until he was within range of the reticent Hitman.  The three fast Combine ’Mechs sprinted past him as he bulled ahead exchanging fire once again with the 30-ton electronic warfare ’Mech.  The first drilled into the sensitive shoulder junction, throwing out a shower of blue sparks, as the second hit the already weakened left leg burning into the support structure underneath.  The third scored a line across its chest as it returned fire. 
 
The damage to its left arm was obvious as the pilot struggled to bring it in line, two of the beams missing wide as the third returned his shot.  Portions of his wire diagram turned yellow and red as the first warning message flashed across his HUD.  “Left Leg Armor:  0%.”
 
Then his ’Mech was thrown violently to the ground as he was blindsided by a massive volley of guided missiles.  Dirt and rock skidded across his glassteel canopy as he went down in a cloud of dust and fire.
 
The realization hit him as hard as the artillery strike.  Target Acquisition Gear!  The Hitman carried TAG!  No wonder it had stayed back!  It was calling down strikes from a mobile artillery battery, probably deployed at the LZ of the Leopard that had dropped them here!
 
As he began struggling back to his feet, he saw the Hitman accelerating towards him.  Both his Instatrac targeting and tracking system, along with his Neil 8000 communications gear, started throwing alarms as they encountered the full strength of the ECM field, effectively cutting him off from both the cadets and the Sanglamore HQ. 
 
That thing had to die.  And it had to die now.
 
As he staggered back up, they both unleashed on each other once more.  His bevy of medium lasers drilled straight through the left side of the Hitman’s chest as his heavy laser completely destroyed its already damaged right leg. Then his was view was obscured as another barrage of guided missiles slammed into him, throwing him back to the ground as his ’Mech was engulfed in explosions.  Alarm klaxons blared as warheads breeched both his left arm and his chest, one of them damaging the delicate gyro assembly which kept his ’Mech upright.
 
Blissfully, the ECM field died and as the smoke cleared he could see the Hitman was out of commission.  Clambering back to his feet, his whipped his Thunderbolt back around just in time to see Schmidt’s Locust shred apart under the concentrated fire of the remaining three Combine ’Mechs as they raced past the stationary ’Mechs of the other three cadets. 
 
Reinhardt’s voice suddenly erupted from his Neil.  “Meister!  Kohler!  Turn and tighten up the line!  Keep targeting that Jenner!” 
 
Weddle engaged his MASC once again, his Thunderbolt accelerating with a quickness usually found only in ’Mechs thirty tons lighter.  The cadets turned around to face the three fleet Combine ’Mechs that were now coming back around for a second pass.  Reinhardt was running to join the line, and Weddle noticed for the first time smoke trailing from both of the Jenner’s stubby arms.  At least someone had managed to hit.
 
Even at over 100 kph, he wouldn’t make it to the line before the nimble Combine ’Mechs did.  But he had range.  Sliding his reticle over the damaged Jenner as he ran, he let fly with both his Delta Dart LRMs and his extended range large laser.  The missiles clustered heavily along the legs of the 35-ton ’Mech causing it to stumble head first into his heavy laser.  The powerful Diverse Optics laser burned straight through the light armor of the Jenner’s head and into the cockpit, undoubtedly killing the pilot.  It crashed face first into the ground ripping a large furrow through the dirt as it came to a smoking stop.
 
The three cadets opened fire on it as well sending a series of short range missiles corkscrewing through the air followed by brief laser fire.  They managed to score a few scattered hits but it mattered little at this point as the ’Mech was already down.
 
The Venom and the helmeted ’Mech vented their fury at Mesiter’s Commando.  The Venom’s four pulse lasers opened holes all across the 25-ton scout and the helmethead’s dual SRM-4s ruthlessly exploited them.  The head of the Commando split open as Recruit Mesiter’s auto-eject sent him rocketing into the air and away from what little remained of his war machine.
 
The DCMS ’Mechs once again raced past the stationary cadets just as he took Mesiter’s place in their line.  He twisted his Thunderbolt back around tracking the two enemy ’Mechs as they arced around at top speed lining up for a third pass on their position. 
 
He hit his command frequency.  “Come around to a heading of 280.  Target the helmethead.  Hold fire until they are within short range.  Out.”
 
Snarling, his lined up his crosshairs on the unknown light ’Mech.  Time to see how well armored it was.  His ER large smacked it center mass as LRMs rained down on its right leg.  Next to him, Kohler sent her LRM-5 long, throwing up geysers of dirt well behind the target.  But the ’Mech bucked awkwardly, shedding speed just as fast as it was shedding armor, now lumbering ahead with a pronounced limp.  At least one of its leg actuators had been destroyed.
 
As they came within 200 meters, the two Combine ’Mechs fired on Kohler’s Hornet.  The combination of pulse lasers and short range missiles proved deadly once again, spinning her 20-ton ‘Mech around before sending it sprawling to the ground, smoke pouring out of the right side.
 
Weddle unleashed the matched ER mediums in his left torso at the limping helmethead.  All three vaporized armor all along its left side, but amazingly the tough little ’Mech refused to go down.  Reinhardt managed to hit as well, his medium laser savaging the internal structure of its chest as a pair of SRMs added to the damage, but still it wasn’t enough.
 
It limped directly up to Kohler’s downed Hornet, kicking it in the side with its undamaged leg.  The entire right side of the Hornet buckled in severing its right arm clean off.
 
The Venom hit its jump jets for the first time, rocketing off and away, leaving its damaged comrade well behind as it now sought to get away.  Enraged, Weddle turned on the helmethead just as it swiveled its torso to meet him.
 
It launched another full salvo of eight SRMs at him as his combined laser fire sheared off the entire right half of the ‘Mech sending it collapsing to the ground.  Warheads exploded all across his own ’Mech, blowing off the bottom half of his left arm, and damaging one of the jump jet exhaust ports in his leg.
 
A quick glance at his Instatrac revealed the Venom was out of range, and even if he wanted to, he lacked the speed the catch the incredibly fast ’Mech.
 
He keyed his com, reporting back in, “This is Tango-Charlie to Hotel-Quebec.  Three bandits splashed.  Venom has bugged out.  No joy.  Drop track.  Last heading 15.  Three cadets WIA.  Request immediate dustoff.  Acknowledge.  Over.”
 
“This is Hotel-Quebec.  Acknowledge.  Transport is on the way.  What’s your status?  Over.”
 
“This is Tango-Charlie.  My Thunderbolt has moderate damage.  Reinhardt’s Commando is clean.  Be advised enemy has arty.  Over.”
 
Hauptman-General Stockard’s voice answered this time.  “Sierra-Alpha-Actual.  Maintain position until relieved.  Fine work, Hauptman.  Out.”
 
---

MechRat

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #13 on: 31 March 2015, 11:13:05 »
Excellent! More goodness from Sigil!  O0  8)

Sigil

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First Sanglamore Training Cadre - Part 3
« Reply #14 on: 31 March 2015, 12:44:13 »
Sanglamore Academy, Skye
Lyran Alliance
13 July 3062
 
Hauptman-General Vin Stockard coolly regarded Duchess Margaret Aten, the ruler of Skye, as he entered her opulent office.  She had requested this meeting, but given her title, her request amounted to a command.  As soon as he was seated in one of the overstuffed leather chairs facing her domineering mahogany desk, she spoke.
 
“You have my sincere condolences on the death of Cadet Swen Schmidt.  He was a son of Skye.  I have personally reached out to his family to express my gratitude for the sacrifice he made in the defense of Skye.  And you, Hauptman-General, also have my heartfelt thanks for Sanglamore’s role in helping to drive off the Combine raiders.  It is a sign of just how unsettled things are that the Dragon would strike at an institution of higher learning.”
 
She watched as the anger began to slowly leak out of the Hauptman-General as she sought to calm his nerves.  Still, he needed more.
 
“The First Skye Jaeger’s losses were much higher.  The initial attack on Drago, Ltd. and Avanti Industries was just a ruse.  One that I must admit young Colonel Steve Pitcher fell for.    The Dragon’s real target was Cyclops Incorporated.  The Dieron Regulars were able to overrun the defenders there and appropriate a considerable amount of equipment, including one of the Fulcrum hover tank prototypes, before he was able to react and drive them away.  They also took a number of Drillson hover tanks and Maxim hover transports as well.”
 
Stockard’s face switched from guarded to interested.  Military men were all so wretchedly predictable.  Just stroke their ego a few times and before you know it they’d be begging like a dog for another treat.
 
“I’ve already spoken with Colonel Pitcher about the… deficiencies in safeguarding my planet.  But I confess, it came as a surprise to both of us when word reached us of an attack on Sanglamore.  The snakes have been raiding Skye for centuries now but they haven’t attacked Sanglamore since the Third Succession War.  And obviously he was ill prepared to deal with it.”
 
She learned forward, smiling gracefully as she continued.  “Thankfully, you were able to drive them off, even though it cost Cadet Schmidt his life.  These are dangerous times, Hauptman-General.  With Katherine’s succession from the Federated-Commonwealth and her creation of the Lyran Alliance, times are more uncertain that ever I have seen.  And I have ruled Skye for a long, long time.
 
Even Sun-Tzu Liao’s Capellan Confederation has been on the move, along with House Marik.  And now, apparently, so is that devil Theodore Kurita.  And why not?  Victor Steiner-Davion is now the new Precentor Martial for ComStar.  And Theodore himself just assumed the mantle of the First Lord.  No doubt he will do just as his predecessor did and use Star League Defense Force units to either garrison the worlds he wants to take, or free up front line units to do so.”
 
Stockard nodded and she knew it was time to reel him in.
 
“I know you were a good friend of Ryan Steiner’s before his untimely death.”
 
She paused, indicating Stockard could respond, which he did so in short order.
 
“Yes, Duchess.  It is no secret I believed in his vision.   Even now I maintain ties with his son, and heir, Robert.  Victor all but stripped the Skye March of defenders in his obsession with the Clan Invasion, troops which never returned even after the Invasion was over, leaving us dangerously vulnerable to the Combine.  And Katherine did little better, practically giving away the entire Sarna Match to the Captain-General of the Free Worlds League.  My concern lies where it always has, Duchess.  Skye.”
 
Aten smiled warmly.  She had been almost certain of it, but now that Stockard had confirmed his loyalties, she no longer harbored any doubt.
 
“I know Robert as well, General.  And there is no doubt he is his father’s son.  And I’m sure we would all agree given the current situation that Skye must look to its own defense.  Therefore, I would like you to form the First Sanglamore Training Cadre.  I have already spoken with Duke Simon DeGrange of Shipil Company, and William Durant of Cyclops Industries, and they have both made generous donations to assist in the formation.  In addition, I am friends with Duke Greydon Brewer, the CEO of Defiance Industries, and Duke Isaiah Grantrel of Coventry Metals Works who have also both made generous contributions.
 
In short, Hauptman-General, I will provide you with enough equipment to outfit an entire reinforced combined-arms company, including eight new BattleMechs.  I have been remiss to not have done this earlier.  Both the Nagelring and NAIS have long fielded training cadres, it is past time Sanglamore Academy does as well.  And I can’t think of a more fitting time for the presentation of the forces than at Cadet Schmidt’s funeral.”
 
Stockard was obviously pleased, and just as obviously surprised, as he responded.
 
“I will make the formation of the First Sanglamore Training Cadre my administration’s top priority, Duchess, and I will see to it personally.  And I have just the man to lead it.  Hauptman Jochen Weddle.  He is a Skye native, and an alumnus of Sanglamore himself.  He was in charge of the lance of cadets that engaged the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars.  He’s been on the faculty for almost ten years.  Before that he served in the Third Lyran Guard during ’39, was the XO of a mercenary outfit and fought against the Clans.  He has as extensive combat experience as anyone on the faculty, and the students have a healthy respect for him.”
 
Aten smiled indulgently.  The conversation would soon become tedious.  After ruling Skye for almost 40 years, she had a keen sense for such things. 
 
“I have complete confidence in you, Vin.  The equipment will be delivered immediately prior to the funeral.  I’d also like you to coordinate your activities with Colonel Pitcher.  You two should become friends.  He could benefit considerably from your wisdom, and you both share such similar interests.”
 
Stockard nodded again.  He was hers.
 
“Of course, Duchess.  And thank you.  Sanglamore is every bit as good, if not better, then the Nagelring, and Skye is every bit as important, if not more so, than Tharkad itself.”
 
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Sigil

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First Sanglamore Training Cadre - Part 4
« Reply #15 on: 31 March 2015, 12:45:15 »
Sanglamore Academy, Skye
Lyran Alliance
14 July 3062
 
Sanglamore was an ancient institution, dating back more than 250 years.  Both the LAAF and AFFC were riddled with Sanglamore graduates, many of them in command of field units.  Among the most famous were General Kathleen Heany, commander of the Donegal Guards brigade, Leftenant-General Leonidas Brannock, former CO of the Fourth Skye Guards, and even Frederick Steiner, the then Archon Katrina Steiner’s cousin, who went on to command both the Seventh Lyran Regulars and then the famous Tenth Lyran Guards before he was killed in action against the Combine during the Fourth Succession War.
 
And as befitting a military institution with such a long and storied past, it maintained a private cemetery reserved for alumni who had given their lives in service to Skye.  A massive viewing stand had been erected, along with a podium and voice reinforcement system for the coming burial ceremony.  The entire cadet corps would fill the stands, along with numerous government, business, and industry leaders. 
 
Duchess Margaret Aten, Hauptman-General Vin Stockard, and Colonel Steve Pitcher would be all present.  There were even rumors Duke Robert Kelswa-Steiner might make an appearance.
 
But it was the Union-class DropShip descending from the sky that drew Weddle’s full attention.  He watched as it slowly made its way down to the surface, its four massive altitude engines and maneuvering thrusters filling the sky around it with fire.  It landed barely a kilometer away from the grounds of Sanglamore Memorial Cemetery.
 
Hauptman Jochen Weddle continued to watch as a series of gleaming new BattleMechs marched out of the equally new Union-class DropShip.  Hauptman-General Stockard walked up next to him watching the unloading as well.  First off was a pair of COM-7S Commandos, the newly re-designed model easily recognizable by the fact it sported medium lasers in both arms, instead of the original single medium laser in the left arm. 
 
But what caught him most off guard wasn’t the fact they were the latest models, but that they were painted in the distinctive dark green of Sanglamore with the Academy’s colorful logo stenciled on their shoulder and opposite leg.  Next to him, General Stockard nodded approvingly, an unmistakable gleam in his eye. 
 
Next off was a ’Mech renowned for its speed.  Topping out at over 150 kph, only a small handful of ‘Mechs could claim to be faster.  Lacking the three chest mounted weapon ports, Weddle was confident it was the up-armored 6S variant of Coventry Metal Work’s Dart.
 
The next ’Mech was just as easy to ID.  Carrying a hatchet in its right arm, the left arm carrying a quad-pod laser array, it was a Scarabus.  Sporting both Target Acquisition Gear and a Guardian ECM Suite, it was, in fact, one of the few ‘Mechs faster than the Dart, and an excellent scout ’Mech.  Originally designed by VEST on Solaris VII, Coventry Metal Works had bought the design and now mass produced it for the LAAF.
 
Another 30-ton ‘Mech followed.  With a trio of medium pulse lasers in its right arm, a Streak SRM-2 in the left, it was the head mounted Anti-Missile System that gave it away.  A BH-K305 Battle Hawk.  It was the sole light ’Mech produced at Defiance Industries on Hesperus II, a company best known for producing heavy and assault class units.  Lackluster speed, only partially offset by the inclusion of jump jets, and the limited range of its weapon systems, had left little to recommend this model except for its relatively low cost when compared to other new designs.  Still it was a tough little machine, and far surpassed anything Sanglamore had now.
 
The first medium ’Mech came down the loading ramp next, a 45-ton HCT-5S Hatchetman, making it the second ’Mech to carry a physical weapon.  His former mercenary unit had fielded an earlier model and he knew it well.  The full-head ejection system had saved the life of one of his comrades, but that seemed like a different lifetime now.
 
Another medium ’Mech followed behind it, bearing yet another hatchet, and jump capable as well.  It was, in fact, the successor to the previous ’Mech.  Also designed by Defiance Industries, it was 5 tons heavier than the Hatchetman, significantly faster, and carried an extremely accurate array of pulse lasers.  The Nightsky was an extremely popular ’Mech among both the AFFC and LAAF front line forces.  Heavily armored, and also featuring a full-head ejection system, it was a highly sought after design and he was surprised to see it.
 
Next out was an iconic Archer.  Dual LRM-15s, matched Streak SRM-2s, and a blistering quartet of medium pulse lasers, two of them rear mounted, made it obvious at a glance it wasn’t one of the early models.  The Narc Missile Beacon made which variant it was clear.  An ARC-5S Archer.  Also built by Defiance Industries at their legendary Hesperus II facility, it was the sole heavy ’Mech of the bunch.
 
As the eight ’Mechs lined up, Hauptman-General Stockard once again nodded in approval.  All of them bore identical dark green paintjobs with the Sanglamore logo highly visible.  But as they came closer, he noticed there had been a modification to the iconic logo.  It was overlaid on a field of green with a Fleur-de-lis in the center.  The Sanglamore logo had been placed atop the planetary flag of Skye.  It was an insignia that while it contained familiar elements, was one he had never seen before.
 
Hauptman-General Stockard turned to him and spoke. 
 
“The Duchess has been beyond generous.  Through her connections, both Defiance Industries and Coventry Metal Works have each donated a lance of ’Mechs to the First Sanglamore Training Cadre.  In addition, Shipil Industries, here on Skye, has donated the Union-class DropShip, a combined-arms variant.  Cyclops Industries has contributed as well.  They have provided us with a lance of their upgraded Drillson hover tanks, along with four of their Maxim hover transports, configured for fire support.  All considered a formidable force, wouldn’t you agree Kommandant?”
 
Weddle froze.  “Kommandant?”
 
Stockard put his arm on his shoulder with a smile.  “That’s correct, Kommandant.  I want you to command the First Sanglamore Training Cadre.  Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to Duchess Aten and Colonel Pitcher before the ceremony gets started.”
 
As they approached the Duchess, it was obvious she was engaged in an animated discussion with Colonel Pitcher.  As the General and he passed through the ring of security surround the two, they both turned to look at them, abruptly ending their conversation.
 
General Stockard went first to the Duchess.  “Duchess Aten, I would like to introduce you to Kommandant Jochen Weddle, the commanding officer of the First Sanglamore Training Cadre.”
 
Her steel grey eyes turned on him and it was as if he were suddenly caught in a spotlight.  Her eyes ran over the lines of service ribbons and awards pinned to a board atop his left breast pocket, and he had the odd feeling that even though she was a civilian, she knew what each and every one of them represented. 
 
“General Stockard has spoken highly of you, Kommandant.  Given you extensive military service, and combat experience, I have no doubt the First Sanglamore Training Cadre is in good hands.  I look forward to watching it develop into a unit every bit as good as the one the Nagelring fields.  It brings me comfort during these dangerous times to know that Sanglamore will now be well defended.  I would also like to express my gratitude for your successful defense of the Academy during the recent Combine raid, as well as my sympathies on the loss of Cadet Swen Schmidt, who I understand was under your command.”
 
Weddle nodded graciously.  “Thank you, Duchess.  I was born and raised on Skye and I consider myself fortunate to have been able to return home to help train the next generation of MechWarriors.  After I graduated from Sanglamore, my first live combat experience was against the Second Legion of Vega during the War of ’39.  I’ve been defanging snakes for decades and I’m confident after getting bested by a bunch of cadets, the Combine will think twice before attacking Skye and the Academy again.”
 
Out of the corner of his eyes, Weddle saw Colonel Pitcher stiffen at the mention of his success against the Dieron Regulars.  He stepped forward, entering the conversation.
 
“I was just outlining my plan to the Duchess.  The First Skye Jaegers leave tonight for Ko, the current headquarters of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars.  We will fall upon them like hawks and rip them to shreds.  If we let this attack against Skye go unanswered it will serve only to further embolden the Combine and feed their imperialist dreams.  We will teach Theodore Kurita, even if he is the First Lord of the Star League, that the Isle of Skye is not be trifled with!”
 
Duchess Aten gave a fierce smile.  “Theodore Kurita has done just as his predecessor, Sun-Tzu Liao, did.  DCMS regiments have been stationed throughout the Lyons Thumb, ostensibly as peacekeepers under the banner of the reformed Star League, but it is obvious his true intention is to claim those worlds for House Kurita.  Mark my words, war is coming, the Dragon is mobilizing, and already it is testing our defenses.”
 
General Stockard entered the conversation.  “Both Victor Steiner-Davion and Katherine Steiner have both publically welcomed the Combine ‘peacekeepers.’  When war comes, and it will come, Skye will have to look to itself for her own protection.” 
 
He looked over at Kommandant Weddle.  “That is why, in part, Duchess Aten has graciously enabled the formation of the First Sanglamore Training Cadre.  Skye will soon need all of its sons and daughters to bear arms in her defense.”
 
Their conversation was cut short as General Stockard’s aide appeared, informing them the ceremony would begin shortly and asking them all to take their assigned places.
 
Much to his surprise, Weddle found himself seated on stage directly next to the Hauptman-General himself.  Duchess Aten, along with her two daughters Ilse and Hermione, Duke Simon DeGrange of Shipil Company, and William Durant of Cyclops Industries, along with Cadet Swen Schmidt’s family were also seated on stage.
 
Moments later the ceremony got underway as General Stockard took the podium to address the assembled Cadet Corps. 
 
“Cadets, esteemed colleagues, faculty, and honored guests, I welcome you to this celebration of Cadet Swen Schmidt’s life.  When called upon, may all of us exhibit the same bravery and dedication to Sanglamore Academy and Skye as he did.
 
There comes a time in each of our lives when we must ask ourselves:  What is it I hold most dear?  What is it I am willing to lay down my life for?  Nor far from this very stage, Cadet Schmidt faced this very question not two days ago.  His answer was obvious. 
 
The Isle of Skye, the place he called home. 
 
We can all see, and the recent attack serves as a blatant proof, that we are surrounded by enemies.  Some obvious, some well disguised, some even masquerading as friends.  The need to be a ready at a moment’s notice to defend that which we cherish has never been clearer, or more urgent.”
 
Stockard gesticulated to the line of dark green BattleMechs bordering the cemetery.
 
“Duchess Margaret Aten, with the help of Duke DeGrange, William Durant, and others, has made possible the creation of the First Sanglamore Training Cadre.  Never again will the Academy be forced to look to others for its defense.  I have named this newly formed unit, ‘Schmidt’s Fusiliers’ in honor of the ultimate sacrifice made by Cadet Schmidt, and the crisis that made its formation possible.
 
Let none of us forget his heroism, and may we all find the inner strength and conviction Swen found within himself during his last moments.  Kommandant Jochen Weddle will serve as the first commanding officer of the FSTC.”
 
The distinctive sound of a rotors cutting through the air, along with a steadily increasing breeze, caused the assembly, along with General Stockard to pause. 
 
A sleek 25-ton Calvary transport helicopter swooped down out of the sky, setting down barely 100 meters away from the grandstand as a trio of Warrior H8 attack helicopters remained patrolling the skies.
 
The Calvary was emblazoned with both the planetary flags of Porrima and Tamar, along with the sword and shield insignia of the Tamar Cavaliers.  A cluster of heavily armed soldiers quickly disembarked the VTOL followed by a younger man wearing a red and silver cape, his hair jet black with a pronounced widow’s peak. 
 
A murmur began going through the assembled cadets, quickly rising in intensity as the man’s identity became clear.  Duke Robert Kelswa-Steiner, the de facto leader of the Free Skye secessionist movement.  Isolated pockets of cadets stood up applauding his arrival, then more and more, until practically the entire Corps was on their feet, their thunderous applause drowning out even that of the Calvary’s rotors spinning down.
 
He strode purposefully up to the stage, leaping gracefully atop it as General Stockard wordlessly surrendered the podium to him.  Weddle glanced down the line of VIPs he was seated with and he could see the Duchess smiling, but the expression on her youngest daughter Hermione’s face is what really caught his eye.  She was practically beaming at the attractive young man and as he watched Duke Kelswa-Steiner move to the podium, he could have sworn he saw him winking at her.
 
Now behind the podium, he held up both hands, motioning for silence.  The cadets quickly obliged, and settled back into their seats.
 
“You all know of my father Ryan Steiner’s deep regard for Skye and her people.  When he first came here at the request of his cousin, Archon Katrina Steiner, to put an end to the violent clashes between AFFS forces and the local population, he feel in love with Skye and her people instantly.  A love he passed on to me before his unexpected death at the hands of an assassin only six short years ago. 
 
As the Duke of Tamar, which endured many attacks from the Draconis Combine, and now lies in the hands of Clan Wolf, I know only too well what it feels like to be surrounded by enemies.  And now my beloved Skye has been attacked as well.  And just like these brave people behind me, I too will not stand idly by while Skye is targeted by her enemies.   
 
Victor Steiner-Davion has taken up the mantle of the Precentor Martial of ComStar.  Katherine Steiner-Davion now sits on the throne on New Avalon, and her aunt Nondi Steiner serves as her regent on Tharkad.  Our age old enemy, House Kurita, has taken control of the reformed Star League, and even now have all but stolen the Lyons Thumb from the Lyran Alliance without even a shot fired in its defense.
 
To whom can we look to for help?  The Great Houses of the Inner Sphere have done what they always do.  Look out for their own best interests.  And who pays the price for their ambitions?  Cadet Swen Schmidt paid the price.  Cut down in the glow of his youth defending Skye from her enemies.  How many more will have to die?”
 
Duke Kelswa-Steiner shook his head sadly. 
 
“Many more, I am afraid before it is all over.  It is no secret to the Capellans, or to the Combine, or to the Free Worlds League, that the Federated-Commonwealth has been sundered.  The Lyran Alliance is more vulnerable now than ever before.”
 
The Duke drew himself up to his full height before continuing.
 
“Each of you will help form the bulwark that will defend the Isle of Skye.  Each of you must form that bulwark.  The cost of doing nothing is far too high.  And I have seen that cost.  I have to look no further than the Tamar Pact, now just a sad shadow of its former self.  A terrible fate I would wish on no one.  But especially upon Skye.
 
So I exhort you to bear down in your studies.  To put forth your best effort in everything that you do here.  To take every advantage of the fine instruction available here at Sanglamore Academy, the finest academy in the Inner Sphere.”
 
He paused, letting his eyes sweep across the assembled cadets.
 
“I said earlier that I too would help.  Skye can always count on me.  To that end, I am providing a sizable endowment to Sanglamore Academy to help restart the Aerospace and Naval training programs it had in its heyday.  Skye will need skilled Aerospace pilots along with Naval crews if it is to survive the storms already brewing on the horizon.  Cadet Schmidt’s performance on the battlefield serves as testament to the quality of MechWarrior Sanglamore is already producing, and its armor and infantry programs are second to none. 
 
So this promise I make to you:  You will not stand alone in the storm.  I am with you.  And to our enemies I give this notice:  Skye takes care of its own.  Beware.”
 
As the Duke finished his speech, the cadets leapt to their feet, shaking their fists in the air and screaming.  Chants of “Free Skye!  Free Skye!  Free Skye!” reverberated across the field, as the assembly descended into bedlam. 
 
The stands vibrated dangerously under the stomping of thousands of feet as the fervor of the cadets played itself out.  Duke Kelswa-Steiner turned from the podium taking a hastily vacated seat next to Hermione Aten, as General Stockard tried to return some semblance of order to the ceremony, but the cacophony of noise drown out even the voice reinforcement system and he was forced to wait it out.
 
Long minutes later General Stockard finally managed to continue the ceremony and Cadet Swen Schmidt’s body was finally committed to the ground, replacing the previous boisterousness of the crowd with a pronounced solemnity.
 
Not long after, Kommandand Weddle found himself among a small circle of VIPs gathered at the graveside.  After he paid his personal respects to his former student, he discovered Colonel Pitcher waiting for him.
 
“Kommandant Weddle, the First Skye Jaegers will soon have their revenge upon the Fifteenth for their brazen attack.  I could make room for another lance if Sanglamore wishes to send its own message as well.  We lift off for the zenith point this very night so you must decide here and you must decide now.  If you chose to go, I will personally accompany you and your cadets to the New Glasgow StarPort.”
 
Weddle shifted his gaze to General Stockard who was nearby speaking with Duchess Aten and Duke Kelswa-Steiner.  Stockard met his gaze, giving him a short nod, and then returned to his conversation.
 
The siren’s call.  The pied-piper.  Pitcher was playing the music of combat with a baseline of revenge and missiles on percussion.  His eyes drifted over to the line of factory new BattleMechs nearby, standing tall, proud, and as yet unmarred by war.
 
Next he saw the clusters of cadets kept a reasonable distance away by the Duke’s heavily armed security team.  They had come to pay their own respects to their fallen brother-in-arms as well as to see the son of the revered Ryan Steiner in person.  He tried hard to remember what it felt like to be that young, that eager, still armored in the belief of your own immortality. 
 
But he could tell from their faces that armor had been breached.  Death had touched each of them.  A grim promise of what lay ahead for some, perhaps even many of them, in their chosen profession.  Still, they remained undeterred.  They would have to face the beast sooner or later.  Why put off the inevitable?  Would a few more months, a year even, really make a critical difference at this point?
 
Finally his eyes came back to meet Colonel Pitcher’s. 
 
“Sanglamore has been wronged.  A student lies dead.  We will serve our own justice upon the Combine.  Blood cries for blood.  I will choose three cadets and prepare to leave with you as soon as possible.”
 
Pitcher nodded.  “There are numerous Sanglamore graduates among my First Jaegers.  I’m sure you will find my unit a friendly and skilled group.  We are always looking for talented MechWarriors.  May this be the beginning of a long and mutually beneficial relationship.  I will be sure to include you on our mission briefings.  Time to go and skin some snakes, Kommandant.”
 
Pitcher extended his hand and Weddle gave it a firm handshake.   
 
Excusing himself, Weddle passed through the security perimeter, his eyes scanning the clusters of cadets for Private Reinhardt.  He spotted her a few moments later surrounded by a group of her fellow cadets.  As he came strolling up, the cadets broke apart, their conversation dying away as he approached her.
 
He noticed Recruit Meister and Recruit Kohler were present as well.  No doubt they had been giving yet another recounting of their battle against the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars.  Having now seen combat during the successful defense of the Academy, the three Cadets had become something akin to rock stars in the eyes of their fellow students and, as such, were treated with a certain degree of deference.
 
“Reinhardt, Mesiter, Kohler!  I’ve got an assignment for you if you’re willing to take it.”  Marco Mesiter and Gabriele Kohler stepped out of the crowd to stand alongside Private Reinhardt, the three of them drawing to attention and snapping a crisp salute.
 
“As you know, Hauptman-General Stockard has given me command of the First Sanglamore Training Cadre, and I have accepted my first assignment.  I cannot discuss the specifics publically, but it is a combat assignment.  I would like you three to accompany me on this mission.  If you should choose to accept, you may have your pick from among the eight new BattleMechs Duchess Aten has bequeathed to the unit.”
 
He swept his hand out gesticulating towards the line of dark green factory new BattleMechs.  It was a practically irresistible offer.  Few MechWarriors ever got the chance to pilot a new ’Mech and it was almost unheard of for a Cadet to get such a chance.  During his own time at Sanglamore, he had piloted old Commandos for the most part with the odd Stinger thrown in for practice with jump jets.  These ’Mechs all featured the latest military technology and half of them were recently introduced designs.       
 
Recruit Meister was the first to respond.  “You can count on me, sir!  It’s an honor to be among the founding members of the FSTC.”  His eyes slipped past Weddle’s as he began examining the freshly delivered BattleMechs off in the distance with a newfound interest.
 
Private Reinhardt was next.  “When do we leave, sir?  I’m ready.”
 
Weddle gave a curt nod, then turned his gaze towards Gabriele Kohler.  If he’d been making his selections based on merit alone, Kohler wouldn’t have made the short list.  He could tell from the look of surprise on her face that she knew it too.  But sometimes ability wasn’t the only thing to consider.  The three cadets all knew each other, had trained together, had faced fire and seen death together.  Taking cadets into battle was risky enough, and the last thing he needed was some hot shot kid charging off halfcocked into the fray convinced they were the next Kai-Allard Liao.
 
First and foremost he needed people who could work together as a unit, not as a collection of individuals, and in that regard Kohler was a solid choice.  She was a team player, always followed orders, and was a competent enough pilot to pass muster.  As for her gunnery, she had shown a knack for long range missiles and even indirect fire in simulations.  If she could just develop the self-confidence every good MechWarrior needs, she could make a fine fire support specialist someday.  In any case, his preference was to maintain the integrity of the training lance if at all possible.
 
The ring of cadets around them went quiet as they watched Kohler consider the offer.  Weddle could see almost all of them were chomping at the bit for a chance to join the FSTC and the envy in their eyes was obvious.  A few of the cadets were even shaking their heads, trying to make sense of his choice.  He hadn’t approached any of the top students in the class, with the exception of Reinhardt, a fact which was clearly not lost on them, especially the ones who’d been passed over.
 
He fought down his own rising sense of trepidation as he realized the importance of this moment.  It was an issue of morale, of pride, and hopefully an affirmation of his choice of cadets.  If she turned him down, it would be a strike against his own ability and integrity as both a professor and a commanding officer.
 
A long moment passed before Kohler finally found her voice.  “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, Kommandant, but I would like to pilot the Archer.  It suits my disposition well.  The other ’Mechs are all scouts or strikers and I prefer fire support.”
 
A ripple passed through the assembled cadets.  The Archer was the sole heavy ’Mech in the lineup, and traditionally the senior most cadet, in this case Reinhardt, would be given the first choice of units.  It was a breach of etiquette on Kohler’s part.
 
Reinhardt stepped in quickly defusing the situation.  “Kommandant, I am looking forward to the opportunity to pilot the Nightsky, assuming that choice meets with your approval.  Its movement profile is very similar to that of the Commando but with the jump capacity of a Stinger.  And frankly, the array of pulse lasers will significantly enhance my combat effectiveness.”
 
Meister grinned as he revealed his own selection.  “That Scarabus has my name on it.  My minor is in electronic warfare and it carries a Guardian ECM suite along with TAG.  Faster than most any other ’Mech out there and carrying a hatchet to boot, I can’t wait to saddle up in it, Kommandant!”
 
Weddle nodded in approval.  “I’m brevetting all of you effectively immediately.  Leutnant Reinhardt, Corporal Meister, and Corporal Kohler, return to your quarters immediately and pack for an extended deployment.  In 30 minutes, meet in the ’Mech hangar and from there we will depart immediately for the New Glasgow StarPort.  Dismissed.”
 
Without further ado, the three cadets practically sprinted back towards the barracks.  Weddle snapped an about face, returning to the cluster of VIPs to give General Stockard and Colonel Pitcher the news.

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Sigil

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First Sanglamore Training Cadre - Part 5
« Reply #16 on: 31 March 2015, 12:46:12 »
Sanglamore Academy, Skye
Lyran Alliance
14 July 3062
 
Leutnant Anke Reinhardt clambered up the ladder hanging down from the cockpit of her new NGS-4S Nightsky.  As she reached the top, she unslung her hastily packed holdall and muscled it into the small compartment behind the command couch.
 
As she took her place in the cockpit, she took a long deep inhale savoring what might be the rarest smell in all of the Inner Sphere.   The smell of a new ’Mech.  Which was when it suddenly struck her that she didn’t have her own neurohelmet.  In the rare instances when the cadets were given an opportunity to pilot a true BattleMech, they had always been provided with one.  A brief surge of panic shot through her as she realized she’d be unable to pilot the ’Mech without one.
 
Casting her eyes about the cockpit, she noticed a relatively small compartment tucked away above and behind her command couch.  Flipping the latch open, she breathed a sigh of relief as she discovered its contents.  Pulling the neurohelmet out of its small cubicle, she was surprised at how light it was.
 
The ones Sanglamore provided were bulky affairs requiring shoulder pads to support their weight.  They were so massive in fact you couldn’t even turn your head while wearing one.  They compressed a full 360 degree view into just 160 degrees along with three targeting reticules, one for each of the primary firing arcs.  Targeting information, along with other critical data, was projected directly onto the visor creating a head-up display.
 
This is one was entirely different.  Not only was it smaller and considerably lighter, it featured a much larger visor.  She slipped it easily over her head, lacing the control cables into their respective ports.  Next, she powered on the powerful Vlar 300 XL fusion engine causing the war machine to come to life.
 
A full-bodied voice chirped out of the speakers.  “Security is disabled.  New pilot detected.  Standby for brainwave scan and neurohelmet initialization.”
 
A wave of nausea washed over her as the helmet probed her primary and premotor cortex, cerebellum, along with other smaller sections of her frontal lobe.  She’d taken a course in physiology that focused on in the interface between flesh and machine.  The primary purpose of the neurohelmet was to impart the pilot’s sense of balance to the BattleMech.  And while that sounded deceptively simple, the truth was that balance itself was a complex process depending on a whole host of sensorimotor control systems, including sight, touch, motion, equilibrium, and spatial orientation.
 
All of this information is processed by the cerebral cortex, cerebellum, and brain stem, and once integrated, the brain stem then sends signals to the muscles that control movement.  One of reasons MechWarriors crave as much cockpit time as they can get is actually a physiological one:  neural pathway facilitation.  With repetition, it becomes easier for impulses to travel along that nerve pathway and even complex movements can become practically automatic given enough time and practice.  Piloting a ’Mech literally leads to synaptic reorganization, physically changing the pilot’s brain.
 
She felt the 50-ton BattleMech shudder slightly as the three reaction wheels spun up inside their housing deep in the chest of the Nightsky.  A brief sense of disorientation and vertigo swept over her as the Diagnostic Interpretation computer began passing her sense of balance to the armored war machine.  There was a residual hum left in her head, a sign the calibration of the neurohelment still required additional tuning, but it was good enough to least get the machine moving. 
 
As the remaining systems came online, she noticed the HUD was projected directly onto the viewport itself, rather than on the visor of her neurohelmet, another welcome change.  There was a compass along the top third showing cardinal directions along with the current orientation of both her torso and legs.  The bottom right displayed her weapons information, including currently configured interlocks, cool down time, and maximum effective range.  Centered along the bottom was the radar display showing the immediate area around her.  The map was bracket by a heat level indicator, throttle setting, and current jump jet capacity.  To the left of that was the familiar wire diagram, showing current armor and structure status.
 
As she took her first tentative steps out of the ’Mech hangar, she realized she was now piloting true front-line military hardware, and the feeling filled her with a sense of awe.  As she emerged into the sunlight, she saw the Kommandant Jochen Weddle’s familiar Thunderbolt standing there watching her every move. 
 
A second later, the communications systems relayed an incoming message from her new commanding officer.  “Welcome to the First Sanglamore Training Cadre, Leutnant.”
 
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Corporal Marco Meister vaulted up the steps to the third stoop of the barracks, throwing the door to his shared quarters open.  In seconds he had his holdall open and was dumping the entire contents of his dresser drawer by drawer into the large sack.  Tightening the compression straps, he hoisted it onto his back, staggering slightly under the weight, then humped it to the ’Mech hangar.
 
He came to unsteady stop in front of his 30-ton Scarabus as he saw it up close for the first time.  Originally designed by the famous Viking Engineering and Salvage Team on the game world of Solaris VII, Coventry Metal Works had bought the design and began mass producing it for the AFFC in 3053.  At its unveiling, it was considered a showcase of new technology.  Built on an endo steel chassis, powered by a massive Vlar 300 extralight fusion engine, and protected by 5.5 tons of Valiant Gauntlet Ferro-Fibrous armor, and with a top speed of over 160 kph, it was one of the fastest and most sought after Scout ’Mechs in existence. 
 
But it was the Wilson Silicon Siren enhanced by a Guardian ECM Suite that had really called to him.  Communications, Cryptography, Sensor Operations, Security Systems, Stealth, he’d eagerly taken every course available at Sanglamore that had even the slightest bearing on Electronic Warfare.
 
He was convinced that electronic warfare would play an increasingly important role on the modern battlefield.  The innovations in military electronics had been coming fast and furious over the past two decades and they showed no signs of slowing down now.  Rumors were swirling that ComStar had already developed an advanced version of the Beagle Active Probe and one of trade rags he obsessively read, BattleTechnology, said an advanced ECM suite was on the horizon as well based largely on Clan technology. 
 
And of course there was speculation that the Capellan’s were on the verge of reproducing the Star League era Null Signature System, a theory he found quite plausible given the Infiltrator battle armor the Fed-Com already had in the field, not the mention the Free World’s League Achileus or the even the DCMS Kage powered armor suit.  It was just a matter of time before somebody, and it was usually the Capellans, was able to scale up the solution so it could be utilized by BattleMechs and just as likely combat vehicles as well.  With stealth systems coming, the need for advanced sensors would increase by leaps and bounds.  You can’t hit what you can’t see, and the need for electronic warfare specialists would increase right alongside of it.
 
But of all the recent advances, including the wild speculation, the one the fascinated him the most was the Draconis Combine’s C3 network.  The concept was as simple as it was effective.  Network ’Mechs together and each would benefit from its companion’s radar and targeting information.  In practice this allowed a lance, or even a company, to use the most advantageous targeting solution from among all the members of the network.  Reportedly, this level of electronic collaboration significantly increased the accuracy of its members, allowing a disproportionate number of difficult long range shots to hit their target.  The C3 network also conferred the benefits of Target Acquisition Gear, allowing any member of the unit to direct artillery strikes, including both homing rounds and traditional area saturation rounds.
 
Meister smirked as he heaved his holdall into the cockpit of the Scarabus.  You never know, maybe he would get to see a C3 network in action.  Or, more to point, maybe he would get to disrupt one.  The Guardian ECM Suite was known for its ability to jam a C3 network.  Now wouldn’t that be fun!
 
Stuffing his bag in the back, he lifted up the surprisingly light neurohelment, settling it comfortably on his head.  Then, he smacked the startup button with a grin.
 
 ---
 
As Corporal Gabriele Kohler looked up at her 70-ton ARC-5S Archer, it was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream.  It was, and had always been her dream ’Mech, and was the reason that even though she wasn’t sure if she was really ready for combat, that she had accepted the Kommandant’s offer.  She took some small solace from the fast she had seen action, albeit only briefly, once before and had managed to maintain her poise even after the two Combine ’Mechs had ganged up on her Hornet, destroying its leg and taking her out of action.
 
She hadn’t panicked, not even when the helmethead had kicked her while she was down.  But the Hornet had been all of 20-tons, the lightest of light ’Mechs, and the Archer was a heavy weight.  Armed with a pair of FarFire LRM-15s, two Coventry T4H Streak SRM-2s, four Diverse Optics Type 20P medium pulse lasers, what really made the variant standout was the inclusion of the Doering Electronics Glowworm Narc Beacon.  It was unusual to combine both a Streak missile system and a Narc Beacon, and, if truth be told, she would have preferred the 4M variant produced by Earthwerks Incorporated.  The 4M retained the original LRM-20s, adding an Artemis IV FCS to both, and included both CASE to protect the ammunition bins and upgraded the heat sinks to doubles.
 
But she wasn’t about to complain.  As she clambered up the ladder settling herself in the cockpit she was gratified to find the controls remained unchanged.  She had the layout of the Archer memorized by the time she was eight and in her dreams it was always the ’Mech she piloted. 
 
Her love of it had come from her uncle, who had risen to the rank of Hauptmann in the Third Donegal Guard.  She had practically grown up on his knee listening to his stories of Operation Götterdämmerung.  During the Fourth Succession War he had fought on Orestes, Grumium, and Shirotori in his ARC-2S Archer.  And he swore by it, especially its heavy armor, claiming it was the best fire support ’Mech ever designed.  In fact he pointed to fact that it was still produced today, almost 600 years after its introduction.
 
She smiled as she found the neurohelmet, pulling it onto her head.  It had definitely withstood the test of time and as she fired it up, she felt herself become a part of famous ’Mech’s long and rich history.  Jaime Wolf, Morgan Kell, Alexander Carlyle, some of the Inner Sphere’s most famous MechWarriors had chosen to pilot this very same machine.
 
There was a lot to live up too.  But the Kommandant had given her the chance.  She was afraid she was being presumptuous when she’d asked to pilot it.  It was the heaviest ’Mech in the lot of eight, heavier, in fact, then even the Kommandant’s own Thunderbolt.  But now it was hers.  The neurohelment ran through its calibration routine, then the heavy ‘Mech purred to life under her.
 
She was ready for this.
 
---
 
Kommandant Jochen Weddle watched as the three cadets made their way out of the ’Mech hangar.  He turned his trusty Thunderbolt around as they approached and his activated his Neil 8000.  “This is Sanglamore One.  Alpha-Check.  Over.”
 
“This Tamar Actual.   Bearing 23, 112.  See you at the StarPort, Sanglamore One.  Over and out.”
 
Weddle watched as the four VTOLs quickly disappeared from his tactical display as they raced back to the StarPort at New Glasgow.  Interesting, Colonel Pitcher must have gotten a ride with Duke Kelswa-Steiner.  Bet they were having an interesting conversation. 
 
He switched his Neil over to his own command frequency.  “Staggered column on me.  Maintain 50 kph.  We’ve got a long walk ahead of us, estimate two hours to destination.  Out.”
 
He chuckled to himself.  They’d have their hands full just trying to pilot their new machines, especially given the fact their neurohelmets hadn’t been fine-tuned yet.   They’d probably all have splitting headaches by the time they got to the StarPort.
 
Of course his own T-bolt felt like an old lover at this point, but then he corrected himself.  While he’d piloted Thunderbolts for decades, this particular T-bolt he had never actually taken into combat before.  It was more like an expensive toy than an engine of war.  He had lavished the vast majority of his considerable wealth on it.  The entire cockpit had been reupholstered in the finest synthetic leather, the command couch was made of memory foam, even the instrument clusters were housed in simulated wood.  The various switches, throttles, levers, and dials featured custom ivory controls, and the canopy was made from a laminated sapphire glassteel that had cost a fortune in of itself.
 
He wasn’t a vain man, however.  The rest of his life was dominated by a strong practical utilitarianism.  This was his sole vice, the single comfort he allowed himself in a life otherwise dictated by strict militaristic discipline.  The military was comforting in that sense.  He owned four sets of BDUs, one dress uniform, two pairs of boots, and one toothbrush. 
 
His days invariably followed the exact same schedule.  He woke up at First Call, did PT from 0500 – 0600 and began instruction at 0630.  Lunch at 1200 with field exercises beginning at 1230 straight through to dinner promptly at 1700.  Mail Call at 1730, personal time, and then lights out at 2100.  Like clockwork every day.
 
He eased the throttle up to just over half noting that Corporal Kohler’s Archer was maintaining formation.  He’d take it as a sign of good things to come.
 
Behind him, engraved on the steel bulkhead of the cockpit, was row after row of BattleMechs, including duplicates, signifying the opponents that had fallen to him in the past.   
 
He smiled.  There was always room for a few more.
 
---

END

Sigil

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #17 on: 31 March 2015, 15:29:02 »
This series of shorts originated in my desire to explore the various eras in the BattleTech Universe.  Thus far I've wandered around from the Third Succession War to the beginnings of the Fed-Com Civil War and all points in between.  Currently I'm reading my way through the MechWarrior series of novels covering the Dark Age era.

It remains an open question as to whether I will write anything set in the heart of the Fed-Com Civil War, Jihad, or Dark Age era. 

I haven't put any words on paper yet, but my mind keeps pulling me back to the Third Succession War.  Of all the eras, I would say that one was the darkest, grittiest, most desperate time period, though I'm sure many would say the Jihad would give that a run for its money any day.





 

Dave Talley

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #18 on: 31 March 2015, 16:40:26 »
Moar!!!


Of course you could always jump up fifteen years for that secret son of Sigil and whats her name and put him in Sanglamore ;-)
Resident Smartass since 1998
“Toe jam in training”

Because while the other Great Houses of the Star League thought they were playing chess, House Cameron was playing Paradox-Billiards-Vostroyan-Roulette-Fourth Dimensional-Hypercube-Chess-Strip Poker the entire time.
JA Baker

ckosacranoid

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #19 on: 31 March 2015, 20:32:49 »
Thank you for sharing this short ideas sigil. Very cool storys. Have to go back and follow the links later for your other short stuff. Nice to a follow upnyears later with one of the crew from thev69th.

snakespinner

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #20 on: 01 April 2015, 02:06:29 »
Good to see Weddle back up and fighting. O0
The Third SW should be an interesting period to write about as it provided the original setting for BT.
It will be good to see how your masterful stories deal with it.
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
Growing old is inevitable,
Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

MechRat

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Abandoned Writings)
« Reply #21 on: 01 April 2015, 07:47:09 »
As much as I enjoy reading stories from all eras in BT, the 3rd SW is by far my favorite. I think it's because I started playing in 1984 and that was where it all began. It just stuck with me after all these years.

I'm always looking forward to reading anything you decide to write, Sigil.  O0

Grognard

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Orphaned Writings)
« Reply #22 on: 20 April 2015, 07:47:54 »
most excellent short stories.

GROGNARD:  An old, grumpy soldier, a long term campaigner (Fr); Someone who enjoys playing tactics and strategy based board wargames;  a game fan who will buy every game released in a certain genre of computer game (RTS, or computer role-playing game, etc.)

Sigil

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Iktomi - Chapter 1
« Reply #23 on: 06 May 2015, 16:12:11 »
Kessel
Lyran Commonwealth
10 April 2866

Hauptman Rachel Kamua scanned the orders the Kommandant had just handed her.  They were the kind of orders that ought to make a solider cry, except soldiers never cry.  At least not if you believe the stuff they show on the Immortal Warrior holo-vids.  Of course anybody who’s seen real combat knows the truth, and rest assured there is no shortage of real tears on the battlefield.  What they were are the kind of orders that make you look deep inside yourself and force you to answer the question of just what kind of soldier you are.     

In this case, she gave them a stiff upper lip and a curt nod.  At least the Kommandant had the decency to look her in the eye and hand deliver them instead of just radioing them over. 

Kommandant Ross Alan, CO, Third Battalion, Eighth Skye Rangers, searched her face for a long moment before finally speaking.

“I picked your unit because it has the best chance of pulling this off.”

Hauptmann Rachel Kamau snorted.  “What are you expecting me to say?  Thanks?  With all due respect sir, you can forget any hope of gratitude from me.  We both know what this is, so you can skip the whole king and country bit.”

Alan grimaced.  “Colonel Muir got the orders to pull out directly from High Command.  Kannon, Vega, and New Wessex, they’re all in the same situation as we are.  The Dracs have launched a full-scale invasion all along the border with the Federation of Skye.  The Eighth has been ordered to fall back to Dromini VI to reinforce the Fifteenth.  We’ll make our stand there.  Looks the grand opening of the Third Succession War and we’ve got front row seats.”

Kamau scowled.  “Tell me something I actually give a shit about, Ross.”

Alan’s eyes tightened as he took in the anger plainly etched on her dark features.  It was a shame really.  She had the looks of an African queen combined the predatory nature of a lioness.  The higher echelons of the LCAF were riddled with the nobility of the Commonwealth, placed there by birthright as opposed to ability for the most part.  Truth be told, Colonel Muir himself was a Social General.

Only three short years before, the Archon had dispatched diplomats to try and negotiate peace treaties with both the Draconis Combine and the Free Worlds League.  And while her entreaties were rebuffed, the Estates General and pushed for, and gotten, a partial stand-down of the LCAF just over a year later.

They’d been lulled into a sense of false security.  Things along both borders had been quiet for almost two years.  Until now.  The Third Dieron Regulars had arrived on Kessel in force, a full regiment of BattleMechs accompanied by at least two regiments of armor and another four regiments of mechanized infantry.  Nothing said planetary assault quite like dozens of military DropShips. 

No sooner had Colonel Muir received reports of three DCMS Overlord-class DropShips inbound, accompanied by multiple Triumphs, Condors, and Gazelles, then he’d ordered the entire Eighth to relocate to the sparsely populated southern continent of Gershtad, effectively seceding the capital, Sverdlovsk, along with the entire northern hemisphere to the Dracs without even a shot fired.  Including the headquarters of Diverse Optics Incorporated, one of the largest producers of military grade lasers in the entire Inner Sphere.

Alan shook his head, his eyes burning into hers.  “I’ll keep Echo Base open as long as possible, and you have my word my DropShip will be the last one to lift off planet.  The Third has already established an LZ near Kiev and it won’t be long before they coming looking for us.  It’s your job to slow them down, Hauptmann, at least for long enough for us to get cleanly off planet.”

Kamau shot him a look of pure disgust.  “This is bullshit and you know it.  The Colonel is just giving this entire planet away.  He didn’t try to contest their initial landing and he didn’t even have the balls to try to stop them from landing here on Gershtad.  It’s no wonder the militia never fully mobilized.  If the ****** LCAF isn’t willing to fight, why should they?  How the hell can you follow a man like that, Ross?  Tell me that!”

Alan looked away, running his fingers through his close-cropped sandy brown hair.  Taking a deep breath, he redirected his gaze back at the incensed Hauptmann.  “Orders are orders.  Look at the bright side, Rachel, you wanted to fight and here’s your opportunity.”   

---

Leutnant Jake Fox shook his head and chuckled to himself as he watched Dances-with-Water chop down saplings with his primitive stone axe.  Originally from Syrma, which was only a short jump from Skye, the road that had taken Dancer to the LCAF was as unlikely at that of the Black Pearl, Angela Franks, herself. 

She’d been a gorgeous and wildly successfully holo-vid star who had abruptly enrolled in Sanglamore Academy, ultimately winning a slot with the famous Stealths under Colonel Raymond Winfield before the unit’s destruction on Sakhalin.  A Lyran news crew had been present during her famous last stand capturing the eerie final moments when her headless Battlemaster destroyed the Kurita commander’s Warhammer with one last volley.  It was the stuff of legend now.  Some said it was a freak short circuit, others that Angela had somehow survived the destruction of her cockpit long enough to pull the trigger one more time.  Whatever the case, the surviving Kurita forces had literally torn her Battlemaster apart afterwards leaving no question at to her ultimate fate.

Dancer’s road was equally odd, but decidedly less glamorous.  His home planet of Syrma had been settled in part by decedents from the Lakota, an indigenous people of the Great Plains of North America on Terra.  They claimed the entire continent of Quan as their home and returned to their primitive tribal lifestyles.  Syrma was known for harboring numerous Luddite enclaves, however the planet’s abundant natural resources had predictably led to the development of mining and refining industries.  But to hear Dancer tell it, the Lakota had fiercely, and successfully, resisted the exploitation of Quan.

Leaning up against his 35-ton Firestarter, Fox watched as Dancer began staking the dozen saplings into the ground, arranging them in a rough circle.  As he began bending them over and lashing them together to form a dome, Sheldon Roberts, the Stinger pilot, walked over.

“Dancer up to more of his mystical voodoo shit?  That guy’s ****** crazy.  How the hell he ended up in a ’Mech cockpit, I’ll never know.  What’s he doing anyway?”

Fox shrugged.  “He said something about a purification ritual.  Says he’s building a sweat lodge.  He talked Jackson into building a big fire to heat up a bunch of rocks.  Apparently Jackson is the ‘Firekeeper’ and he wants us the rest of us to strip down and join him inside that thing once he’s done making it.”

Roberts laughed derisively.  “Shouldn’t you be the ‘Firekeeper?’  After all, you pilot the Firestarter.”

Fox shrugged again.  “According to Dancer, Vulcan is the god of fire, and since Jackson pilots the Vulcan, guess that makes him a better choice.  Don’t ask me, like I have any idea what’s going on.  Whole thing looks like something out of a historical holo-vid to me.”

Roberts looked speculatively over at Dancer as the Lakota warrior finished forming the dome and began tying sapling cross braces to reinforce the structure.  “You gonna go in there?”

Fox turned to look at Roberts.  “Sure, why not?  Like I’ve got anything else to do.  Hauptmann Kamau and her lance are over at HQ.  When she gets back, I bet we’ll be pulling stakes and heading to Echo Base for evac.  This whole operation has been one long strategic withdraw.”

Roberts scowled.  “Strategic withdraw?  That some bullshit they teach you in OCS?  It’s a ****** retreat is what it is.  The Old Man doesn’t have the stones for a fight.  Might interrupt his tea time or actually require him to get off his fat ass and actually do something.  ****** douche bag.”

Leutnant Jake Fox frowned.  “Colonel Muir is the commanding officer of the Eighth Skye Rangers.  I could bring you up on Article 89, disrespect towards a superior commissioned officer, for talking like that.”

Roberts grinned.  “But you won’t, ‘cause you know I’m right.  Well, if you’re doing it, and Jackson is in too, I don’t want to be the only one left out.  How about Leutnant Sullivan and her lance?  Are they invited too?  I’d love a chance to sneak a peek at her missile racks.  Darby ain’t half bad looking either.” 

With a wink, Roberts strolled over to Dancer asking him if he needed any help. 

Moments later Roberts headed off into the brush shaking his head and muttering something about grasses and flowers.

---
   
Garamond Jackson stared into the flames of the fire he was tending.  The fire fascinated him as he tried to capture its essence in his well-worn sketchbook.  Ironically, it was like trying to capture water.  Ever changing, constantly in motion, always evolving, how could you draw something that was never still?  Regardless, he valiantly struggled on, enthralled by the individual shapes of the myriad of flames.  At its heart lay a pile of roughly cantaloupe sized stones Dancer had collected earlier.  His mind drifted back as he watched the swaying, undulating flames, his hands dancing without a thought as the fire slowly emerged from his page.

Unlike the rest of the men in his unit, he actually owned his ‘Mech.  Technically, it was leased to the LCAF.  His family had worked for generations on the line at the Coventry Metal Works plant until that fateful day some four years ago.  Some hotshot engineer had shown up and reorganized the assembly lines.  Production at the plant had been slipping for years due to the lack of spare parts and the loss of understanding of how to fix some of the advanced robotics and chip fabrication equipment.

But the guy had managed to turn things around, and hired a lot of new line workers in the process becoming something of a local hero.  As production began to ramp up once more, Coventry had resurrected an ancient tradition.  If a given line managed to exceed its production quota, which hadn’t happened in decades at that point, they would hold a lottery.  The winner received the ’Mech that had exceeded the quota. 

And his father had been the winner.

A factory new VL-2T Vulcan was easily worth over three million Kronas, and he’d assumed his father would take the money instead of the ’Mech.  But it hadn’t turned out that way.  Instead, much to his chagrin, he discovered his father had dreams of becoming the patriarch of an influential MechWarrior family.  Dreams of land grants, titles, debutant balls, hobnobbing with the elites, and sitting on the planetary council had left his father with stars in his eyes.

And left him a ticket straight to Sanglamore Academy.

It wasn’t fair.  While most kids dreamed of being a MechWarrior, he’d never wanted to be one.  He hadn’t wanted to work the line like his father either.  His own dream was so vastly different than his reality that at this point it was laughable.  He’d wanted to go to the Newbury School of Performing Arts on Tamar to study studio art.  Now the best he could hope for would be to follow in footsteps of Jamison Henry, the famous MechWarrior-Poet. 

Glancing down at his sketch, he grimaced in frustration.  It was only a hollow echo of the infinite beauty of fire, failing to capture even a hint of its true majesty.  Ripping it out, he crumpled it. Tossing it into the fire, he watched it burn, his sketch going up in smoke just like his dreams.

---

Dances-with-Water finished covering the sweat lodge with heavy blankets.  He could speak Lakota, had completed his Hanblec'iya, or vision quest, as well as danced the four full days of the Wiwanyang wac'ipi, the Sundance Ceremony, without food or water.  Even then, he knew Iron Bear, his tribe’s Pejuta Wicasa would not have allowed him to serve as the Wichasha Wakan of the Inipi.  But Iron Bear wasn’t here, and he had had a sacred vision.

Motioning to his lancemates, he gathered them around beginning the ceremony.

“Four is the sacred number.  Just as there are the four directions, four seasons and four elements, our lance is also four.  It is good that it is such.”

Producing a primitive pipe, he held the stem with his right hand, the bowl with his left. 

“This is the Chanupa, the sacred pipe, given to the First People by White Buffalo Woman, Ptecincala Ska Wakan Winan.  This is the chan-shasha, red willow-bark tobacco.”

Pointing the stem of the Chanupa to the east, he sprinkled a pinch of the tobacco onto the ground followed by another into the rough stone bowl.

“The East is Red.  The Rising Sun, the Star of Knowledge.  We give thanks to the Great Spirit for each day we are allowed to live on Mother Earth and under Father Sky.  The East Wind is the Teacher.  We pray for Knowledge, for from Knowledge comes Peace.”

Pointing the stem to the south, again he sprinkled tobacco on the ground before continuing to pack the stone bowl of the Chanupa.   

“The South is Yellow, the color of Spring.  We give thanks for the strength, the growth and healing that comes from the South Wind.  It is the time of planting and the miracle of the seed that grows into new life.” 

Turning the stem to the west, he offered tobacco first to the ground then to the pipe.

“West is Black, where the sun sets, where the Spirit Helpers live.  We will all go to the Spirit World and know one another for our deeds.  We ask for wisdom from the West Wind and pray for help from our Spirit Guides.”

Turning the stem to the north, he repeated the offerings of tobacco, first to Mother Earth then to the Chanupa.

“White is for the North.  White Buffalo Calf Woman came to us from the North.  The North Wind is the Warrior.  It is from the North we draw our endurance, and the strength of our physical bodies.  We pray to the North Wind to help us scatter our enemies before us so that the tribe may endure.”

Holding the pipe high above his head, then touching it to the earth, Dancer flipped the stem of the pipe straight up finishing his supplication. 

“Great Spirit, Creator of us all, Creator of all things, Creator of the four directions, Mother Earth, and Father Sky, we offer this pipe to you."

Reverently placing the pipe down, he turned to his lancemates, explaining what would happen next.

“You must crawl into the lodge in a sunwise direction to take your place in the sacred circle.  Sit cross-legged upright against the wall of the lodge.  I will place seven heated stones in the fire pit, starting with the west, and ending in the center with Grandfather.  Then I will begin the ceremony to purify our mind, body, spirit and heart for the upcoming battle.  You may not leave the Inipi without my blessing.  To do so will leave you forever stranded between this world and the Spirit World.  I am the Wichasha Wakan, the Sweat Lodge Keeper.”

One by one they stripped off their clothing and crawled into the lodge, Dancer, the last to enter, closing the flap behind him and sealing them all into the Inipi.

The interior was aglow with the luminance of the red hot stones.  Dancer began striking a crude drum, an exotic chant issuing from his lips in the ruddy light.  Then he ladled four scoops of water onto the heated stones as he continued to intone the sacred prayers of his ancestors.  Searing hot steam filled the lodge in a flash as the four MechWarriors entered the womb of the Earth Mother.

---

Garamond Jackson began sweating profusely almost immediately.  His head swam as Dancer continued his rhythmic pounding of the Water Drum chanting in some esoteric language he was almost beginning to understand.  Across from him, he could just barely make out Sheldon and Jake in the eerie red glow of the billowing clouds of steam.

Closing his eyes, his let his mind drift aimlessly.  His father’s face came swimming out of the misty vapor full of ire and anger, his voice booming like thunder in his ears.

“This isn’t about you, Garamond!  It’s about the entire ****** family!  No son of mine is going to become some pussy foot cartoonist!  You’re gonna be a MechWarrior!  You hear me!?”

Suddenly stars flashed in front of his eyes and he raised his hands reflexively.  He fell to the ground, curling into a tight fetal ball as he felt his father wailing on him, knocking the wind from his already burning lungs.  He gasped desperately for air as he flailed on the ground moaning under the brutal assault.

His voice raw and hoarse, he screamed.  “Stop!  Stop!  Please stop!”  But the assault never waivered.

“You hear me boy!?  Loud and clear!  You’re gonna be a ****** MechWarrior!  Now get up and be a man, you coward!  Most kids dream of this!  Most kids would give anything for the opportunity to become one of the elite warriors of the Commonwealth!  But look at you!  Crying and screaming like some newborn baby!  Time to man-up, son!  Be a ****** man!”

Torn papers rained down upon him like confetti as he was surrounded by a blizzard made from the torn scraps of his most treasured drawings. 

“Forget this shit!  It’s garbage!  Trash!  Do you hear me!  Forget it!  You think the Commonwealth needs another shitty artist?  I’m doing you the biggest favor of your crap filled life!  You’re going to Sanglamore!  You’re going to be a MechWarrior!  The next time I see you, you better be in uniform or so help me Kerensky, I’ll bury my son with my own two hands!”

---

Sweat poured off Sheldon Roberts in salty rivulets, burning his eyes and streaming down his body.  It felt like he was being purified, the toxins of a lifetime forced out of his body by the incredible heat thrown off by the stones. 

Actually, it felt kinda good.  He smiled as he gave himself over to the intense steam bath.  It wasn’t really all that different from the cockpit of his Stinger.  Between the jump jets and dual Omicron 3000 medium lasers, he had felt this kind of heat before.  Dancer was banging away on a makeshift drum and suddenly Roberts found his own voice rising to meet him as a sudden onslaught of images deluged him.

He was a gambler, a thief, a cheat, a lair, and, some would say, a murderer to boot.  He had more vices than a ton of machine gun ammunition, and a love for each one that rivaled his passion and enthusiam for the highly skilled women of Kooken’s Pleasure Pit.  Rot-gut liquor, synthetic tobacco, the only greens he ate were candy mints.  If ever there was a body in need of purification it was his.

His sweat reached an intensity that at moments made him feel as if he were a living waterfall.  If sweat purged sin, he ought to be the Virgin Mary when it was all over.

As he weighed his morality, he saw the scale of justice swinging to and fro as it sought to determine the balance of his soul.  On the other side lie loyalty.  Loyalty to the Commonwealth.  Loyalty to the system that made all of his indulgences occasionally possible, and he was surprised to see that it was enough.

He knew the truth of himself, which was perhaps a much rarer thing than he realized.  He knew his own measure, and more importantly, he found he was entirely at peace with who he was. 

As his vision passed, through the steam he saw Jackson sprawled on the grass-covered floor of the Inipi.  He was curled into a ball his lips moving though no sound came forth and it was obvious he was either wrestling with his own internal demons or in the process of succumbing to the incredible heat. 

He turned his head, looking over towards Leutnant Fox.

--             

Faces, faces everywhere.  He couldn’t escape all of the faces.  Newborns, elderly, teenagers and middle-aged.  Men, women, boys, girls, short, tall, skinny, fat, but all undeniably Lyran.  They wouldn’t stop coming. 

But their eyes were the worst part.  Full of pity, anger, hopelessness, disappointment, he watched each and every one of them die.  The method of death was as varied as the people themselves.   Some simply exploded in a burst of red mist and gore, others crumpled silently to the ground, as others burned screaming as their flesh melted off and bones charred.

And through it all rode the Four Horseman of Apocalypse.  What had Dancer said?  Four was a sacred number.  First came Pestilence upon his white horse firing his bow, a brass quiver filled with terrifying biologic agents hung from his back.  War upon his flaming red charger swinging a massive sword came next cutting down thousand, millions, with each pass of his colossal blade. 

Upon his black destrier, scales clutched in his boney hands, followed Famine promising an end to civilization.  Men and women reduced to scavenging jackals fighting tooth and nail for the few remaining scraps of food left in a shattered world.  Clouds of locust and ravenous insects trailed out behind him as if they were a kind of living cape. 

Last of all came the Pale Rider, Death, upon a horse the color of a putrefying corpse.  In his skeletal hands he carried a scythe and behind him the Land of the Dead greedily devoured everything in his wake leaving nothing.

Nothing.  A horrifying emptiness.  An utter and final void that obliterated even the most minute trace of existence.  But it was more than even that.  Enough to reach through time and into the past to utterly annihilate that as well.  Not only did the Pale Rider end the now, but obliterated the past even as he denied a future of any kind other then his own.

Into the void he screamed.  A primal, base, skull shattering scream.  A scream, a plea, to make it all stop before he was driven completely insane.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  The stink of sulfur, the heat of the hellish inferno, the guilt of freeing the Fenris Wolf from his chain. 

He was a coward.  He was fleeing, running, abandoning everyone else, in a desperate attempt to save his own worthless skin.  And he didn’t care.  Anything to get away, anything to make it stop.

---

Dances-with-Water watched as Jackson writhed on the ground, his soul being purified by the sacred vapors rising from the heated stones he relentlessly ladled water over.  Next to him sat Sheldon Roberts in a peaceful trance like state, his voice adding to his own as he chanted the ancient songs and prayers of his ancestors. 

Suddenly, Fox leapt up like a man possessed of some evil spirit and lurched towards the flap leading out of the Inipi.  Dancer moved to block him, but he was an instant too late and Fox disappeared screaming from the sweat lodge.

Dancer closed his eyes.  There was nothing he could do, not now.  As Wichasha Wakan he dared not break the sacred Lakota rite until it was finished.  But as Wichasha Wakan, he had also failed.  Fox was lost in the Spirit World, consumed by his visions.  Driven mad by a soul that having seen the cost of purification had been found wanting and was now irrevocably damaged.   

---

Garamond Jackson saw what had been done to him.  He’d been forged into a MechWarrior, willing or not, it mattered little at this point.  Forced by his father’s violence, the unspoken desires of his mother, or the dream of a better life in his sister’s eyes, what’s done is done.  He recognized for the first time his own role, his own complicity in the heinous deed.  He could have stood up to his father, he could have struck out on his own, disappeared into the universe rather than ever arriving on Skye. 

But he’d gone to the Academy, graduated, and accepted a commission in the LCAF.  He’d done those things.  It was fear.  He saw that now, and it wasn’t fear of his father either.  It was the fear that his art wasn’t good enough, that he wouldn’t have shown enough promise to be admitted into the Newbury School of Performing Arts. 

Becoming a MechWarrior had actually been the easy way out.  With a Vulcan to call his own, he was a de-facto MechWarrior even before he’d learned the rudiments of piloting it.  A free ticket into the club.  Subsequently, his family had in fact been granted a small landhold and given an honorary title.  Sir Chris Jackson.  Between the income from their hold, the lease payments from the LCAF for the use of his Vulcan, and his officer’s salary, they had effectively left their blue-collar trappings behind. 

Being a MechWarrior didn’t need to prevent him from following his own dreams, however.  That is the enlightenment that comes with acceptance and understanding. 

Slowly he uncurled himself from the grass strewn floor of the Inipi.  Dancer and Roberts were both chanting in the steaming vapors, of Fox there was no sight.  Moving back to sit cross-legged against the wall of the lodge, Jackson could actually feel the purification taking place as he sweat. 

Dancer caught his eyes and the Lakota warrior gave him a small nod as if acknowledging his journey.

---
« Last Edit: 06 May 2015, 16:14:58 by Sigil »

Sigil

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Iktomi - Chapter 2
« Reply #24 on: 06 May 2015, 16:14:11 »
Chapter 2

Kessel
Lyran Commonwealth
11 April 2866


Hauptman Rachel Kamau looked at Leutnant Jake Fox with concern.  He looked like shit.  Massive dark circles hung under his haunted, bloodshot eyes.  His uniform was rumpled and disheveled.  He looked like a man who’d just been shoved out of bed after a non-stop 3-day liquor fueled orgy in one of the pleasure domes of Dustball.

Leutnant Amy Silluvan, the other lance commander in her company, actually wrinkled her nose at him.  He stank too.  Not the been-humping-the-boonies solider kinda stink that could be expected from anyone in a warzone.  More like an I-don’t-give-shit-about-personal-hygiene pungent reek.

“Leutnant Fox, what’s going on?  You look like death warmed over.  I just got orders from Kommandant Alan and we’re moving out ASAP.  We’ve been assigned to keep the Dracs from interrupting the Eighth’s little going away party.  Are you fit for duty?”

Fox’s hollow eyes stared at her, or possibly through her, his face devoid of any expression except perhaps exhaustion.  Even his words were listless and flaccid.  “Yes, sir.  I can have our lance ready in fifteen minutes, just as soon as I return to our camp, sir.”

She didn’t like it.  He just didn’t look right.  She’d have to keep an eye on him, check in on him physically over the next few days.  He didn’t look combat ready to her, but maybe his lance have gotten a little over enthusiastic during their stand-down.  Well, it would likely be a few days before they found what they were looking for anyway, plenty of time to cure a hangover.  She’d had her own fair share of those, and Kerensky’s knows after Ross had handed her the orders, she would have loved a good bottle of bourbon to go with it. 

“Good.  It’s your job to find to find them.  Leutnant Sullivan and I will destroy them.  Kommandant Alan has seen fit to grace us with Third Squadron for air support, or at least to keep the sky over our heads clear of hostiles.  Two up, two ready-fives, and two on stand-by.  If we can locate a significant concentration of enemy forces we can call in a strike.  Best guess intel is three to five combined-arms battalions fanning out from Kiev looking for us, and again as many held in reserve back at their.  Typical composition is a mixed company of BattleMechs and hovertanks, an armor company, and a mechanized infantry company.  We all know the DCMS is short on ’Mechs so we actually hold the edge there.

I’ve drawn up a number of preliminary attack maneuvers and contingencies we will review shortly.  But first, here are the initial sectors I want you to search, Leutnant Fox.”

Leutnant Sullivan looked skeptically at the map displayed on the datapad.   “Chances are the battalions will be in position to support each other, Hauptmann.   I don’t mind tangling with one, but we could end up over our heads pretty fast.  If we start out that far from Echo Base, we’ll be all on our own, sir, with no chance for support.”

Kamau fixed her with a steely glare.  “There isn’t any support, Leutnant.  The Eighth is pulling back and leaving for Dromini VI.  It’s our job to make sure they get cleanly off planet.  Kessel is finished.  High Command is going to try to hold the line there.  Now, any questions before I begin reviewing the preliminary operational mobility plans?”

---

Kessel
Lyran Commonwealth
13 April 2866

Dancer was a good two klicks out in front of the rest of his lance.  Just the way he liked it.  Iktomi, his 30-ton Spider was significantly faster than anything else in the unit.  In fact, it was the fastest, most jump capable BattleMech ever built.

During his accelerated training at Coventry Military Academy he’d originally been trained on a Commando.  However, during a training run that had him piloting a Stinger, his instructors saw his ability to jump the giant war machine with such ease that they’d immediately switched his ’Mech assignment.  When he’d entered the LCAF they had tried to assign him a Phoenix Hawk, but by then he’d learned about the existence of the Spider and would accept nothing else.

It was a revelation.  During his Hanblec'iya, he had been visited by the great spider-trickster spirit, Iktomi who had given him his sacred visions.  He had even painted his ’Mech red, yellow and white with black rings around its eyes mirroring how she had appeared to him in his wanderings through the Spirit World.  And it was just those visions that had led him to leave Syrma and his tribal lifestyle behind.

Unktehila, the Horned Serpent, had awoken, and in his dreams the mighty snake had coiled around his home world, squeezing the life from it.  The existence of his tribe, all of the tribes, was threatened and he knew he had been called to become a Warrior.

After telling his sacred vision to Iron Bear, the chief had revealed secrets known only to a small handful among the tribes.  Dances-with-Water’s entire cosmology shifted as Iron Bear revealed the universe in which the tribes existed.  The Star-Walkers, the Iron Men, and Steel Birds.  The multitude of planets and the constant warring between the Great Tribes of the Inner Sphere. 

Iron Bear knew.  He had been a MechWarrior himself untold moons ago.  He had become an Iron Man when Syrma was last threated by Unktehila.  He gave Dancer what preparation he could, told him of what he must do, then sent him to the SpacePort on Lothair in the planetary capital of Skopje with instructions to take passage to Coventry.  Iron Bear had given him a bundle of papers and a bag of gold and precious gems which the White Man prized. 

He himself had taken only his medicine bundle, filled with powerful spiritual and supernatural artifacts including the Ulun'suti, a blazing crystal said to have been taken from the forehead of Unktehila.  It was the tribe’s most sacred artifact, filled with Wakan, and with it all things were possible.  Iron Bear had carried it with him when he had taken the Steel Bird to face the enemies of the tribe and he had returned victorious. 

Now it was Dances-with-Water’s turn.

Iktomi moved with preternatural grace across the rough badlands of Gershtad.  Rocky spires jutted from the ground like wicked teeth and clumps of tough fibrous shrubs dotted the landscape.  Here and there the earth had been wrinkled up as if squeezed together by the hands of some great giant creating a haphazard series of low sharp ridges.  In the distance rose the Altai Mountains running roughly perpendicular to his course, the water of the Lake Baikal lie at their feet, but he was far too distant to see their shining waters.

His sharp eyes, honed by years stalking his tribe’s hunting grounds, saw a distant series of dust plumes, the first sign his quarry was near.

He slowed Iktomi down, suddenly aware of the faint dust cloud caused by his own ’Mech’s footfalls.  Moments later his O/P TA1240 confirmed what he already knew and filled in the details he didn’t.  A PKR-T5 Packrat reconnaissance vehicle, escorted by a trio of J. Edgar light hovertanks, sped across the landscape searching.  With of few deft flicks of his dexterous fingers, he sent his sensor readings to the rest of unit alerting them to the approaching forces.

The lead elements of one of the Third Dieron armored columns.

He angled his ’Mech over towards one of the short sharp ridges which marred the bleak landscape, keeping an eye on his scanners.  Sure enough the Combine scout lance altered its course, the Packrat dropping behind the advancing screen of J. Edgars, a sure sign they’d spotted him.  Pulling behind the ridge, he hunkered his ’Mech down, trusting the ridge and the red iron ore rich rock to at least temporarily conceal his presence.  Well behind him, the rest of his lance moved into a similar position, disappearing from his own scanners moments later.

Iktomi was every bit as fast as the light hovertanks and jump capable as well.  It would be no trouble at all to escape from the approaching Combine forces.  Dropping to all fours, he crawled his ’Mech to the top of the ridge to watch.  The three J. Edgars formed a line abreast about 150 meters long, the two on the flanks with their turrets cheated to the outside giving the formation an excellent field of fire.  200 meters behind them came the eight-wheeled Packrat with its potent long-range sensors.

The hovertanks were closing quickly, their speed nearing 120 kph as they approached the ridge.  He let them come within 500 meters of his position before he fully revealed his presence.  Firing his sophisticated Pitban LFT-10 jump jets, he leapt Iktomi down from the ridge and away from them, turning a full 180 degrees as he landed almost 250 meters away.

He hit the ground shedding speed as he stumbled forward, giving the J. Edgars hope of catching him.  The trio of hovertanks came screaming around the edge of the ridge as his throttled his ’Mech back up the tanks now less than 400 meters away.  The ground was littered with chunks of rock making the footing treacherous as he sprinted away, but riding on a cushion of air above the ground, the hover tanks had no trouble with it.

He tore across the landscape, angling towards another rocky fold but he held back just a hair on the throttle allowing the J. Edgars to slowly gain on him, tricking the Combine armor crews into thinking the rough terrain was slowing him down.  To their credit, the three tank crews maintained formation even as they altered their course in pursuit, now forming an echelon left.

They had managed to pull within 300 meters of him when he fired his jump jets for the second time, sending his 30-ton ’Mech arcing high into the air only to disappear from sight behind the ridge he’d been racing towards.

Once again the Combine tankers shifted course to make an end run around the ridge and catch him on the other side.  But as they came around, Leutnant Fox, Jackson, and Roberts were waiting.

A devastating fusillade of heavy and medium lasers, along with a stream of 20mm rounds from Jackson’s light autocannon ripped into the closest J. Edgar completely gutting it in a fraction of a second.  Secondary explosions from the SRM ammunition it carried ripped the 25-ton tank apart consuming it in a huge orange fireball.

The two remaining tanks swung their turrets around to face their new attackers even as one of them began skidding wildly in a hasty attempt to turn around.  Once again Dancer shot into the air on streams of plasma as he leapt down from the ridge towards the now isolated Packrat, putting the ridge between him and the two remaining J. Edgars.

The Packrat saw him a moment to late, it’s attention fixed on the trio of Lyran BattleMechs that had suddenly appeared from their concealed positions.  Dancer hit the ground running, slamming the throttle wide open as he coaxed every last bit of speed he could from his war machine.

Behind him the earth shook again as another of the Combine hovertanks was reduced to burning shrapnel by his lancemates.  The Packrat, lacking the turret of its escorts, was forced to face him down in order to defend itself.   A series of short range missiles came rocketing towards him from the 20-ton scout vehicle, but he easily sidestepped them with a short lateral burst of his LFT-10s. 

Both of his chest mounted Aberdovey medium lasers drilled straight into the front of the vehicle but amazingly its armor held.  The Packrat came to a screeching halt, a billowing cloud of dust obscuring it as the driver threw it into reverse and began backing away as quickly as possible.  Another brace of missiles belched forth from its roof mounted launcher, two of them blasting ragged craters into the Durallex Light armor protecting the right side of his chest.

This time his Abderdovey’s did their work in spectacular fashion.  Impaling the wheeled scout car with twin ruby spears, they burned straight through what little remained of the front armor before passing through the crew compartment and erupting out of the rear.  The Packrat collapsed in on itself now nothing more than a molten mangled hunk.

As he whipped Iktomi back around, he saw the last J. Edgar’s air filled skirt sundered by Jackson’s autocannon as it tried to flee.   A split second later, the heavy laser of Fox’s Firestarter finished the job leaving nothing but a gutted burning ruin.

---

Leutnant Jake Fox smacked his Transech Omni-7 communications system.  The damn thing had a bad habit of intermittently shorting out.  The Eight’s techs had been working on it for years.  Literally.  But they could never reliably recreate the problem and all of their fixes proved to be equally unreliable.  He suspected the problem was related to the Harmon large laser that had it’s own problems.  The cooling jacket occasionally freaked out causing the heavy laser to generate ungodly amounts of heat. 

He shook his head.  He’d been pushing Hauptman Kamau to have both the communication system and the Harmon replaced, and to her credit she’d taken his request up the chain of command. 

Only to be told by the Quartermaster, “We can barely keep the regiment in the field as it is!  You want to me to start going around replacing every single system with some small sporadic glitch!?  If I did that, it’d take the entire output of Hesperus II for an entire year!  You think I’ve got factory replacement parts just sitting around in nice little boxes waiting for you!?  I’m lucky I’ve got armor to spare!”

At least his Firestarter was still being made, although the vast majority of them were the classic FS9-H incendiary model, not the –K like his.  In fact, it was produced not far away on Skye unlike Dancer’s Spider, which was Free Worlds League salvage making it all but impossible to get parts for.  Dancer was one unlucky shot away from being Dispossessed.   

After giving the Omni-7 a couple extra smacks, it decided to spark back to life.  Dialing it into the Hauptman’s frequency, he keyed the microphone built into his bulky neurohelment.

“Foxtrot to Romeo-Kilo.  Tally four Bandits.  Id.  Three J. Edgars.  One Packrat.   Location.  Foxtrot-Juliet-One-Two-Six-Seven.  Grandslam.  All targets destroyed.  Standby for squawk flash.  Acknowledge.  Over.”

He flicked his IFF transponder off and on a few times praying the thing wouldn’t suddenly go on the fritz.

“This is Romeo-Kilo.  Acknowledge.  Nice work.  Resume…”

Suddenly, Robert’s voice overrode Kamau’s.  “Yo!  Jake!  I got four bogeys coming fast!  Headin’ straight for us.  Looks like we pissed them off.  No id, but a case of Timbiqui Dark says they ain’t friendly.  They’re comin’ from the same direction as that first bunch.  Whatcha wanna do boss?”

Fox glanced down at his C30-97 targeting and tracking system.  Unlike the one in Robert’s Stinger, his had target identification.  Four Harasser light hovertanks.  Fast as the devil.  Faster even than Dancer’s Spider. They were notoriously cheap to build but their dual SureShot VI SRM launchers demanded respect.

“Foxtrot to Romeo-Kilo.  Four Harassers on fast intercept.  Advise.  Over.”

“This is Romeo…”

Again Hauptman Kamau’s voice was cut off, but this time by Dancer.

“Leutnant, add a pair of Jenners to that.  Bearing Two-Two-Zero.”

Fox scowled as the Hauptman’s voice returned.  “… Repeat.  Status.”

“Foxtrot here.  New picture.  Id.  Four Harassers.  Two Jenners.  Bearing Two-Two-Zero.  Distance three kilometers.  Closing fast.  Acknowledge.  Over.”

“This is Romeo-Kilo.  Switch to a heading of Zero-One-Zero.  Best possible speed.  Evade.  Engage if bandits close to within Four-Five-Zero meters.  Pull them as far away as possible before you commit.  Acknowledge.  Over.”

“Acknowledge Romeo-Kilo.  Evade as long as possible.  Out.”

Dialing the Omni-7 over to his local command frequency, he relayed the Hauptman’s orders to his lance.

“Bugout.  Heading Zero-One-Zero.  Dancer, range ahead.  Find us a good place to engage.”

---

As Iktomi tore across the badlands, Dancer was reminded of his youth.   Running with wild abandon through the tribal hunting grounds, his hair streaming back, his nostrils full of the earthy fecund smell of the rich temperate forest.  He had dreamed then of becoming a Warrior, and now that dream was fulfilled.  He had fought Unktehila and lived.  And now he would fight again.

Scanning the field for some advantage, he saw a ridge looming in the distance perpendicular to his course.  No more than half a kilometer long, it was fairly steep, likely too steep for the hovertanks to navigate, buying them time and providing his lance with both an excellent field of fire and the chance at some cover.

A quick glance as his sensors revealed the four Harassers were closing fast on his three slower lancemates.  In fact, they were closing on him as well even though his ’Mech was traveling at close to 120 kph.  Given their speed, he was out of other options.  He adjusted his heading, aiming straight towards the ridge.

“Fox, the hovertanks will have to go around that ridge straight up ahead of me.  If we can keep the ridge between us and the Harassers by jumping back and forth, that will help offset their greater numbers.”

Roberts growled over the lance net, “Ain’t gonna do shit for those Jenners! Why aren’t we pulling them towards Rachel and Amy’s lances!?  They could waste them all with a single volley!”

Leutnant Fox answered.  “They’re going to advance on the main DCMS column, that’s why.  This is just the opening scene.  We’re pulling off the screen and it’s our job to make sure they don’t get a chance to circle around behind the Hauptman when she makes her move.  Which would you rather be doing, Roberts?”

Roberts shot back.  “Neither.  I’d rather be parking my Stinger in a nice little ’Mech bay aboard one of the DropShips like everybody else.   I hear the fishing is great on Dromini VI, the gravity is light, the beer is good, and the women love men in uniform.”

Fox snorted.  “It isn’t real if you’re paying for it, Sheldon.  We’ll take the ridge.  At 400 meters, Garamond and I will pop a shot at the lead Harrasser, then everyone down the other side.  Once the Harassers start coming around the side, we’ll jump back over the ridge and engage the Jenners.”

Roberts laughed.  “If you want a job done right you hire professionals, right?  So, I want to be done right, so I hire a professional.  You should try it sometime, Jake.  You might learn something.”

As Dancer closed on the ridge, he fired his LFT-10s sending him sailing through the sky and giving him an excellent view of the ridge he was about to land on.  At its widest it was maybe 100 meters across.  It ranged in height from six to as much as forty meters high in places.  There were no obvious passes up to the ridgeline so he felt confident the hovertanks would be unable to get up its sides.

He brought Iktomi down on atop a rocky spire, turning to face both his lancemates and the incoming DCMS forces.  As he watched the race unfold, he began chanting, his hand wrapped tightly around the medicine bag that hung from his neck.  The others had been amazed at how he’d known they would be ordered to fight Combine forces even before the Hauptman had returned from Echo Base, but he’d had the vision.

The Harassers were going all out, black smoke belching from their exhaust pipes as they dumped fuel into their massive GM 120 Classic II power plants closing inexorably on his lancemates.  At this point, the two Jenners were almost a kilometer behind the racing hovertanks. 

As his comrades drew near, they all fired their jump jets launching themselves towards the jagged top of the ridge.  Seeing the Lyran ’Mechs join him atop the ridge, the hovertanks broke suddenly to either side, peeling back around to link up with the two Jenners.

Dancer spun Iktomi around, but he already knew what he would see.  The area surrounding their position was largely clear and if they came down from the ridge now, the DCMS forces would almost certainly catch them out in the open before they could make it to the next ridge.

Below him, Leutnant Fox and Jackson both partially concealed their ’Mechs behind a series of rock spurs as Roberts hung back.  Off in the distance the DCMS forces formed up with both Jenners taking point.  Two staggered ranks of Harassers followed on their heels.

Fox’s voice broke the silence of the waiting.  “Target the Jenner on the east side first.  After we take down their ’Mechs, we’ll mop up the armor.  Engage at maximum range.  Weapons free.”

Dancer punched up his optical magnification, examining the Harassers as they drew near.  His brow furrowed as he noticed that two of them had only ten missile tubes instead of the usual twelve.

Keying his mic, he informed his brothers-in-arms.  “Looks like rain.  Two of the Harassers are carrying LRM-10s instead of dual SRM-6s.” 

---

Garamond Jackson grinned as he watched the approaching forces.  The brief fight against the J. Edgars had given him his first real taste of combat, and much to his surprise, not only had he enjoyed it, but found he wanted more.  And with his Armstrong light autocannon’s range of over 700 meters, he would draw first blood. 

Damn the Jenners, and the Leutnant for that matter, Dancer was right.  Those long-range missiles were the real threat.  He’d have to thread the needle, the two carrying the LRMs were at the rear of the DCMS formation.  Bracing himself against the rock that surrounded him, he took his time lining up his shot.  Apparently, the Kurita commander wasn’t the most imaginative.  They came straight in, fast to be sure, but straight as an arrow.

As his rangefinder ticked below 700 meters, he pressed his firing stub, sending a long stream of high-explosive armor-piercing rounds at one of the Harassers.  He stitched a line up the front of the hovertank and across its turret as it, along with its partner, both launched a volley a long-range missiles.

Missiles began exploding all around him showering his Vulcan with shrapnel and jagged shards of rock as next to him Fox fired his Harmon heavy at the lead Jenner nailing it on its left side.

The two LRM equipped Harassers hung back as the remainder of the Combine forces powered ahead.  Even as the two Jenners leapt atop the ridge, he held his sights on the damaged Harasser continuing to send rounds pounding into its front armor.  Again it held against his onslaught, sending another series of LRMs raining down upon their ridge top position.  His Vulcan shook violently as warheads detonated all across his front cratering his StarGuard armor.  Apparently their aim was improving.

His ’Mech carried the only weapon capable of reaching the distant fire support vehicles.  All around him short-range missiles spiraled by from it compatriots as dense laser fire crisscrossed the sky.  Snarling, he continued pouring fire into the Harrasser.  This time he was rewarded as his rounds finally chewed through the armor and into the chassis.  The hovertank began listing heavily on its left side as he damaged the air skirt as well causing it to slew around, his rounds now beating against its right side.

Then he caught sight of Dancer’s Spider sprinting across the field, one of the SRM equipped Harassers hot on his tail.  Dancer sent his pair of medium lasers into the crippled Harasser causing it to erupt in massive fireball.  A third volley of LRMs rained down on him, lighting up his damage board and destroying one his arm actuators in the process.

Training his autocannon on the second Harasser carrying LRMs, he fired on it, his shells colliding with it at the same time as Dancer’s dual medium lasers.   The combined firepower blew the turret clean off, completely gutting the craft in the process. 

The Harasser pursing Dancer sent a full spread of a dozen SRMs at the nimble Spider, and even Dancer couldn’t avoid them all.  Four, maybe five, of the fat powerful missiles detonated against the lightly armored ’Mech and Jackson could tell from the oily smoke that at least one of them had hit something important.

Dancer flew into the sky of pillars of flame, turning mid-air to bring his weapons to bear against his assailant as Jackson lent what help he could.  One of Dancer’s medium lasers spalled armor from its front, the other melting a long line across its left side.  Then his 20mm rounds ripped through the damaged side of the hovertank and into the crew compartment as the vehicle drifted to a stop, smoke billowing out of the gaping hole in its side.

---

Leutnant Fox fired his Harmon heavy laser for the second time, catching the leaping Jenner square in the chest.  Then his Firestarter was transfixed by a quartet of lasers, a pair of them drilling deep into his left arm, knocking one of his small lasers offline.  At the same time a wicked wave of heat hit him like a brick wall causing his Omni-7 to cut off.

The damn cooling jacket was crapping out again!

Next to him, Roberts sent his Stinger’s pair of medium lasers into the same Jenner he’d been targeting, all but blowing off the stubby laser bearing left arm and opening a huge hole in the 35-ton ’Mech’s chest.

He swung his ‘Mech around as the two Jenners landed only a few dozen meters away, now atop the ridge where they were making their stand.  He cut loose with everything he had, including his chest mounted flamer, just as the two Combine ‘Mechs did the same.

---

Roberts watched as the Leutnant’s Firestarter all but disintegrated under the massive firepower of the two Kurita ’Mechs, collapsing to the ground one arm gone, its chest a tangled ruin of mangled structure, damaged engine shielding, and myomer.   

At the Leutnant had managed to take one down with him. 

Activating his Chilton 360 jump jets, he leapt away from the remaining Jenner, coming down from the ridge to land on the side opposite the remaining hovertank.

Looking back up to the ridge, he growled in frustration at the lack of targets.  The other Jenner hadn’t followed.  Then again, maybe he shouldn’t complain.

---

 Jackson’s attention was ripped away from the last of the Harassers as it tore off seeking to make an end run around the ridge, his Vulcan taking a full broadside from the DCMS Jenner.  Staggering violently off the left, he was now in danger of losing both of his ’Mech’s arms.  A quick glance around revealed a prone and unmoving Firestarter and of the Stinger there was no sign.

Gritting his teeth, he centered his reticle over the 35-ton ’Mech and gave it hell.  Autocannon rounds, his sole Randell medium laser, along with his machine gun chiseled away at its untouched armor and he knew it wasn’t going to be enough to drop the undamaged machine. 

The Jenner opened with its own alpha-strike just as he bathed it with his final weapon, covering it with super-heated plasma vented directly from the core of the miniature that lay at the heart of his ’Mech.  The force of the return fire sent his ’Mech stumbling away as holes opened up all across his crippled machine.  Wrenching the controls, he fought a valiant battle to remain standing and failed.  His Vulcan came down hard on its left side crushing the arm and whipping his head violently off to one side leaving him dazed.

A thunderous explosion rocked the ridge line sending flaming chunks of metal cascading down upon him and leaving him even more disoriented.  Rolling his ’Mech over on one side, he saw all that remained of the Jenner, a pair of half melted legs.

The damn thing had already been running hot, his flamer must have sent it over the edge and set off the SRM ammunition. 

Damn lucky break.

---

Roberts saw the Harasser come screaming around the end of the ridge, side slipping as it sought to straighten itself back out.  Launching his Stinger into a charge, he fired his dual Omicron 3000s just a second after the hovertank unleashed its matched Sure Shot VIs.

And it was a spectacular shot, both coalescing on its right flank and burning straight through the armor and directly into the sensitive innards leaving it a burning hulk.

His Stinger bucked violently as it took a half dozen missile strikes, but his -3G variant carried a full third more armor than the common -3R and the damage was light.

Hitting his Chiltron 360s once more, he leapt back atop the ridge.  As he came down he saw Jackson’s Vulcan on the ground struggling to get back up.  The Leutnant’s heavily damaged Firestarter remained still.  A glance as his Dynatec 990 targeting and tracking system revealed the area was now clear of hostiles.

As he helped Fox’s Vulcan back to its feet, Dancer’s damaged Spider returned to the ridgetop as well.

---

It took Jackson a long moment to realize that he was next in command.  Technically he was a Leutnant, the rank largely a courtesy due to the fact he owned his own BattleMech.  Or what was left of it least.  The left arm was gone, the right arm all but, the gyro damaged and the only thing keeping the fusion engine from falling out were a few remaining undamaged structural braces.  She was a wreck.

A quick glance at Dancer’s Spider revealed the left side was shot up pretty good and there was a sizable hole in its left torso.  Robert’s Stinger sported a few craters, but it was by far in the best condition.  Fox’s Firestarter was also missing its left arm and its chest was a sparking, smoking ruin.  Heavy engine damage had shut it down and sent it crumpling to the ground and it didn’t look like it would be getting back up anytime soon.

“Dancer, get out and check on Leutnant Fox.  Roberts, keep an eye on that downed Jenner.  I’m going to call in to the Hauptman.”

He turned his Hartford 200S over to the company command frequency.  “Foxtrot to Romeo-Kilo.  Bagged six bandits.  Four Harassers.  Two Jenners.  Fox is down.  Dancer has moderate damage, Roberts light.  I’m mobile with severe damage.  Two salvageable ’Mechs including the Leutnant’s.  Area is secure.  Advise.  Over.”

“This is Romeo-Kilo.  Good work.  Maintain current position.  We are moving against the main armor column now.  Watch for leakers.  Out.”

---

Sigil

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Orphaned Writings)
« Reply #25 on: 06 May 2015, 16:22:22 »
Author's Note: Would love some comments on this one.  I haven't put this one to bed yet, so I might continue to develop it.  I wanted to do the Third Succession War, but so far, it just doesn't seem gritty enough.  But the war just started, so I might be able to get there yet ;)

Dave Talley

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Orphaned Writings)
« Reply #26 on: 06 May 2015, 20:09:28 »
damned nice work
deep info on the characters
full background explaining the clusterfubar they are in

nicely done fight, almost wish we had a screen shot to keep track sometimes
:-)
Resident Smartass since 1998
“Toe jam in training”

Because while the other Great Houses of the Star League thought they were playing chess, House Cameron was playing Paradox-Billiards-Vostroyan-Roulette-Fourth Dimensional-Hypercube-Chess-Strip Poker the entire time.
JA Baker

snakespinner

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Orphaned Writings)
« Reply #27 on: 06 May 2015, 21:17:19 »
Hope you don't mind a bit of criticism.
I thought your story started off a bit lame.
The office scene just did not set the tone for the rest of the story.
Once you left the office you went into overdrive and really got me into the story.

The details about the rituals of the Lakota and the combat scenes were excellent. O0
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
Growing old is inevitable,
Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

Dave Talley

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Orphaned Writings)
« Reply #28 on: 06 May 2015, 21:34:08 »
there was a touch of interpersonal drama missing

like maybe Rachel and the Colonel were dating and this was his dump you message
Resident Smartass since 1998
“Toe jam in training”

Because while the other Great Houses of the Star League thought they were playing chess, House Cameron was playing Paradox-Billiards-Vostroyan-Roulette-Fourth Dimensional-Hypercube-Chess-Strip Poker the entire time.
JA Baker

ckosacranoid

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Re: Fragged (Collected Short Stories and Orphaned Writings)
« Reply #29 on: 11 May 2015, 23:38:45 »
intresting story and cool adding in the bit about the black peral and her death and this was a cool setup.

 

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