- Pronouns
- Reader
[x] Binithia
[x] Attempt to search for a Panther -9ALAG at full price and with no promise of success.
[x] Attempt to search for a Panther -9ALAG at full price and with no promise of success.
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For Want of a War: A Battletech AU Quest
- Thread starter 4WheelSword
- Start date
- Sci-Fi
- Location
- USA
[x] Binithia
[x] A Wyvern WVE-6N at 85% price
[x] A Wyvern WVE-6N at 85% price
- Location
- New England
[x] Binithia
I gotta say, I do not like any of those three mechs, but if I had to pick, I'd choose the Wyvern, even with its terrible heat management, slow speed for a medium and low armor. The Hermes just blows, and the ALAG Panther is all the bad stuff of a Panther without any of the good stuff.
[x] A Wyvern WVE-6N at 85% price
I gotta say, I do not like any of those three mechs, but if I had to pick, I'd choose the Wyvern, even with its terrible heat management, slow speed for a medium and low armor. The Hermes just blows, and the ALAG Panther is all the bad stuff of a Panther without any of the good stuff.
[x] A Wyvern WVE-6N at 85% price
- Location
- Russia
- Pronouns
- He
[X] A Wyvern WVE-6N at 85% price
[X] Binithia
A discount is a discount. I wonder what we are we ordered to extract. Also, @4WheelSword, who are the opposition - pirates or another Great House?
[X] Binithia
A discount is a discount. I wonder what we are we ordered to extract. Also, @4WheelSword, who are the opposition - pirates or another Great House?
KnightDisciple
Brotherhood. Unity. Peace.
- Location
- Midwest, USA
[x] Binithia
[x] A Wyvern WVE-6N at 85% price
[x] A Wyvern WVE-6N at 85% price
1.4 The Start of a Long War
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Date: 02/03/3045
Network: HPG-Alpha-Net-Circuit-Line
Sender: Precentor Procyon
"The Explorer Corps has been a black hole of funding for decades now. They haven't found anything and we've had more than a few good ships with good crews go missing in that time. More resources wasted on what may or may not be a fool's errand.
It has been three hundred years. There is nothing out there to fear more than we already face. We would be better off utilising the resources we have gathered to expand our protectorate in the core. I may be speaking out of turn herein but I cannot abide such waste when there has been so much need within our own territories.
People are starving. People are dying. We could make a real difference, and instead we have entire armies under lock and key. This is a fool's errand. We must change our ways!
Nonetheless, I will continue in my duty and maintain the network."
ADDENDUM - Precentor Procyon has been removed from their position permanently.
The six days journey to Bithinia are strangely tense. Normally the company would have almost a month in transit to prepare for the next contract but this time you have barely a week. It isn't even enough time to get a proper rest but at least the 'mechs will all be functional by the time you land.
Getting into the system is a little more tense than it had been on Eom. Flying a tight formation with the FWL leopard, your Manatee evades sensor buoy's and defence grids all the way into close orbit. It's not until the final descent, crashing into the thinner-than-average atmosphere, that sensor warning lights start flaring into life. Missiles are launched from stations but by the time they begin to accelerate to intercept you're already almost on the surface.
Bithinia itself is a problem. Home to a major manufacturing centre, a command team training facility and tank training school, it is vastly more heavily defended than Eom could ever have been. One of the Capellan Warrior Houses is based on the planet and is ready just as soon as your dropship puts down. With vehicle and infantry support, there is every chance that you'll be facing far stronger foes than you did on Eom or anywhere else before. This is supposed to be a rapid strike, a few months on planet and then gone - hopefully the FWL hasn't miscalculated and most of the Warrior House is off-world as expected.
If you're facing more than a garrison then there are going to be problems.
You land late on the 11th and by the early hours of the next morning, with the moon high and the sun deep below the horizon, enemy forces are already moving in. With Orixsky and Leathem in mission control, their 'mechs held back as reserves, you lead the original Ranger Lance out into the darkness.
Your four 'mechs, and another from the FWL Leopard (again landed close by your Manatee), stride away from the dropships and into the forest.
"Control, Ranger Lead. What's on scan?"
"Two Heavy 'mechs, two Vee's and reinforcements inbound. Might want to get this done quick, lead."
"Keep it cool, Orixsky. Leathem, no ID on the 'mechs?"
"Nothing yet, Lead. Going to have to wait till you see them."
"That's what I was worried about." Heavies are a concern. With the heaviest unit in your team being Sharpe's 45 ton Phoenix Hawk, a 60 or 70 ton machine is a nightmare. But there's only two of them. You outnumber their 'mechs more than two to one. You can outdance a lumbering heavy, right? Just have to keep getting lucky.
That's going to end well.
"Watch your screens, Ranger Lance. We're gonna be right on top of them before we know it." You say, attempting a calming tone.
"Roger that- Shit, Crusader! Range, thirty metres!" Sharpe shouts, a bubble of panic swamping the radio channel.
A crusader wasn't the worst option. Sixty tons and with a primary armament of LRM's, you could stay inside it's weapon range and tear it apart. But if it had managed to get that close…"
"Two, move to support Four. Three, have you got eyes on that friendly Stinger?"
"Negative, Lead, they're out there somewhere."
"Copy that. Stick close, let's hunt the vee's."
A crackle of gunfire blasts through the quiet night, flashes of laser beams igniting bright trails through the forest canopy. A light blinks on somewhere in the dark, a 'mechs targeting lamp. Boywifed's autocannon cracks out a shot and the detonation rings loud, the lamp sputtering out.
Something heavy falls in the darkness, a 'mech collapsing under heavy fire.
"Sabre Lead, I'm in a bad way."
"Corporal Cook?" The FWL pilot sounded desperate, "Eject if you need to, we'll recover your 'mech."
"Affirm, Captain. Ejecting!"
The line cut as a rocket flared. Hopefully he'd be safe for the rest of this fight.
You look up, spotting the silhouette of a tank rolling through the undergrowth. You charge your lasers, pulling the trigger a split second before your world turns into a fireball. Your Wolfhound is slammed by what feels like an unending stream of concussions, missiles slamming you off your feet and into the dirt. You black out on impact, coming too to a bee hive of warning alarms and armour breach caution lights. Coolant is seeping from a hundred cracked feeds and your energy systems are borderline.
A crusader looms over you as you roll your Wolfhound onto its side and then climb unsteadily to your feet. Blinking blood from your eyes, you refocus and continue the fight.
With Gotzman on your flank, you rush down the Hetzer. Stamping on it as you run across it, you crush it down into the mud and leave it spinning its tyres impotently. Another barrage of missiles patters across your hull but this time you stay upright.
"Lead, Two. I'm on the ground." Boywifed, engaging both heavy 'mechs, is suffering for it. You turn and push your throttle open, but the flash of fire from the other enemy 'mech punishes you for your eagerness. It stands as you slide to one knee, a Warhammer with its twin PPC's charged and ready.
From then on it's a blur. You remember Boywifed ejecting and Sharpe putting their foot through the SRM carrier that had given you so much trouble. You remember the Capellan forces retreating but as you look around the battlefield afterwards, you don't feel victorious.
Everything hurts, and your 'mechs are battered. It's all you can do to crawl back to base and collapse into a cot, waiting for the Doctor to come around and see you.
"Hey Doc." You blink awake in the morning sun with a horrendous headache and the feeling of grit between your joints. Doctor Jailyn Ibrahim hasn't been with you long but they've already been invaluable to the unit.
"Shane. Are you feeling okay?"
"Head hurts. How's the Sergeant?"
"Boywifed? Concussed and badly bruised, but they'll live. I've had to ban Sergeant Kang from the infirmary. Apparently he'd only just got the Clint's systems tuned right and then our dear pilot got it blown up."
"Yeah, well, that's the job. Everyone else?"
"They're fine. Worried about you. I've told them you're fine, but they seem attached to their kind Captain." She looks at your notes, frowns, "When was the last time you had a T-booster?"
"Uh, before Eom. Must be coming up on three months?" She gives you a sharp look, "Okay, maybe more like four."
"I'll draw one from stocks, since I've got you at my mercy."
You laugh weakly when she gives you a mean little smile.
"Yeah. Thanks, Doc."
You assemble Ranger Lance a few hours before their next deployment, feeling anxious. The key word is 'their' - you're not going with them. Your Wolfhound is still being repaired and the bandage on your head implies more than enough about the state of your health.
"Okay, listen up!" You say to the four members of the company seated in front of you. Boywifed is still healing in the infirmary, their concussion making them nauseous whenever they stand. "Command on this op is Corporal Sharpe's, but I want to impress some standing orders on you before you deploy. Order One! Do as I say, not as I do. If you end up engaged by multiple heavy mechs, pull out before you almost lose an entire pilot."
Orixsky grins, knowing he's only in the roster because of just that occurring,
"Order Two! You come first. I know the FWL are sending a LAM with you today. Let it be your eyes and ears, and smash anything too stupid to run. You're likely to see a lot of vee's. Give 'em hell."
The four pilots give a little cheer, excitement bubbling in their veins.
"Order Three. Hit 'em hard, make 'em pay. Papa wants a new 'mech. You get me?"
"We get you, Captain!"
"Copy that. Ranger Lance, move out."
The four pilots race towards the ready line. You look after them, a small pang of sadness chasing up your spine.
Standing in the control room aboard the dropship with a set of headphones pressed against your ears, you're being forced to listen rather than engage with the coming fight. You've taken Orixsky's place with the barest pleasure and you feel yourself pining for the cockpit of your Wolfhound. It's painfully detached - you don't know how either of the previously dispossessed pilots coped with it.
It probably helped that they didn't have an option.
"Moving into the city"
"Copy that, Four- Scratch that last. Ranger Lead, Control, continue your advance."
"Affirm, Control. Ranger Lance, advance."
There's a brief silence. You can feel sweat trickling down the back of your neck as you watch the screens, the green readouts showing nothing wrong. You can't fight the feeling of being unsettled though.
"Lead, Six. Eyes on a Vedette."
"Copy. Move to engage."
"Missiles away!"
Ammo counters start to dip on your panels, LRM tubes emptying against the small tank the lance has sighted. Heat gauges rise and you can, in a way, track weapons fire from the 'mechs you're so used to fighting alongside.
"Shit, spider on my ass."
"On my way, Lead," Leatham calls and you watch her jump jet indicators flash on. The Wyvern isn't the most mobile, but it's quick enough for city fighting.
"Trebuchet at long range, Lead. Engaging." Gotzman is driving a much smaller platform than the Treb' he's apparently found, but he should be able to outdance it.
There's a ping on your board and you hurry to bring up a long range sensor, a note of panic threading its way into your heartbeat.
Shit. Air support, and it's not for you.
"Ranger lance, Control. Eyes on the skies, you've got Cappy air coming in."
"Copy. Vedette is down." Sharpe responds, clearly focused on what they're doing.
"And another." Orixsky whoops.
Jesus, how many of those little tanks were out there?
"Chalk a Vedette up for me!" Leatham adds only furthering the impression that they're fighting a whole tank company.
"Got the Treb's arms."
The comms go silent again. A minute passes. You begin to wonder if something desperately terrible has happened. Then, finally, Sharpe lights up the net again.
"Control, Ranger Lance. The Capellans are in full retreat. Might want to send out the salvage rigs. The FWL have some new toys."
Word came down on the 28th of March - the Free Worlds League had finally made contact with their extraction target. A group of scientists from Bithinia Ballistics had agreed to defect and bring some House Liao secrets with them. Sabre Company were tasked with pulling them out safely and ensuring they made it out of the combat zone intact.
An easy job, right?
Your Wolfhound is still out of action, so it's up to Sharpe to lead Gotzman, Leatham and Orixsky into the fight. They set out into the night to make contact with the defectors without a backward glance. The rendezvous point is an open stretch of ground a few tens of miles from the industrial centre and you make it before too long. Unfortunately, it appears word has slipped out about the operation. The Capellan's have deployed a heavy tank unit to intercept the civilians.
"Enemy sighted, Control."
"Call them out, Sharpe. Don't leave me in the dark here." In the dark, hah. It's night but even so you can only watch the battle begin to unfold via sensor readouts and status reports.
"Von Luckner, Condor, Manticore and an SRM carrier. We're in for a rough one."
"Copy that, Lead. Keep safe, but those civvies are the primary objective. Killing tanks is secondary."
"Confirmed, Control. Ranger Lance, move in!"
Three heavy combat vehicles and a missile support truck. Against Ranger Lance's light 'mechs? You just have to hope they can stay mobile and avoid getting hit. It's not like the FWL's stinger is gonna add much to the fight.
"Shit, the Condor just slagged a J-27. It's gone."
"Copy that, Three. Continue engaging."
"No argument from me. The SRM carrier is trying to find range on me."
You can well imagine the sixty small missiles streaking through the darkness, flaring orange and splashing across the ground in a massive fireball. Gotzman is lucky he hasn't been hit yet.
"Three, Lead. The SRM carrier isn't going to give you trouble any more."
"Ranger Lead, Control. Congratulations, you're an ace now."
"We'll celebrate once we're home, Control. I'm facing down a Manticore right now."
The comms channel falls into the battle chatter of an operational lance and you resist the urge to comment further until the battle is won. And oh, how it is won.
"Lead, all targets destroyed. Three defector units on their way to extraction."
"Copy that, Ranger Lead. Good work."
The FWL handed over a bunch of salvage as thanks for the successful extraction. Little of it has much worth - the coolant truck will be useful and the LRM-equipped APC might find a role as a personnel transport, but the 'mech they hand over is a particularly strange choice. A Crossbow CRS-X primitive 'mech. It's probably 5 centuries old and why nobody has updated its systems you have no idea. You load the sixty ton primitive into the dropships holds and, frankly, forget about it.
More importantly, it's time to celebrate. Corporal Michael Sharpe has become an ace with seven kills to his name. A Hunchback, Griffin and two Wasp's are his 'mech kills, with two SRM carriers and a Condor making up the Vee's.
The current formation of Sabre Company is relatively new and it doesn't have many traditions yet. It's up to you how to reward your new ace.
How do you reward Corporal Sharpe?
[ ] A promotion and first priority for command.
[ ] A call sign (write in new callsign, KnightDisciple gets first choice)
[ ] Some other reward (write in)
There are willing defectors amongst our Capellan prisoners, two vee gunners and a driver. Should we recruit them?
[ ] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
[ ] Yes, and we should find them a tank
[ ] No, just ransom them when the contract ends.
We have the option to recruit a new Mechwarrior. Should we purchase them a 'mech or hope to salvage one?
[ ] Yes, buy them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
[ ] No, salvage them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
Network: HPG-Alpha-Net-Circuit-Line
Sender: Precentor Procyon
"The Explorer Corps has been a black hole of funding for decades now. They haven't found anything and we've had more than a few good ships with good crews go missing in that time. More resources wasted on what may or may not be a fool's errand.
It has been three hundred years. There is nothing out there to fear more than we already face. We would be better off utilising the resources we have gathered to expand our protectorate in the core. I may be speaking out of turn herein but I cannot abide such waste when there has been so much need within our own territories.
People are starving. People are dying. We could make a real difference, and instead we have entire armies under lock and key. This is a fool's errand. We must change our ways!
Nonetheless, I will continue in my duty and maintain the network."
ADDENDUM - Precentor Procyon has been removed from their position permanently.
The six days journey to Bithinia are strangely tense. Normally the company would have almost a month in transit to prepare for the next contract but this time you have barely a week. It isn't even enough time to get a proper rest but at least the 'mechs will all be functional by the time you land.
Getting into the system is a little more tense than it had been on Eom. Flying a tight formation with the FWL leopard, your Manatee evades sensor buoy's and defence grids all the way into close orbit. It's not until the final descent, crashing into the thinner-than-average atmosphere, that sensor warning lights start flaring into life. Missiles are launched from stations but by the time they begin to accelerate to intercept you're already almost on the surface.
Bithinia itself is a problem. Home to a major manufacturing centre, a command team training facility and tank training school, it is vastly more heavily defended than Eom could ever have been. One of the Capellan Warrior Houses is based on the planet and is ready just as soon as your dropship puts down. With vehicle and infantry support, there is every chance that you'll be facing far stronger foes than you did on Eom or anywhere else before. This is supposed to be a rapid strike, a few months on planet and then gone - hopefully the FWL hasn't miscalculated and most of the Warrior House is off-world as expected.
If you're facing more than a garrison then there are going to be problems.
You land late on the 11th and by the early hours of the next morning, with the moon high and the sun deep below the horizon, enemy forces are already moving in. With Orixsky and Leathem in mission control, their 'mechs held back as reserves, you lead the original Ranger Lance out into the darkness.
Your four 'mechs, and another from the FWL Leopard (again landed close by your Manatee), stride away from the dropships and into the forest.
"Control, Ranger Lead. What's on scan?"
"Two Heavy 'mechs, two Vee's and reinforcements inbound. Might want to get this done quick, lead."
"Keep it cool, Orixsky. Leathem, no ID on the 'mechs?"
"Nothing yet, Lead. Going to have to wait till you see them."
"That's what I was worried about." Heavies are a concern. With the heaviest unit in your team being Sharpe's 45 ton Phoenix Hawk, a 60 or 70 ton machine is a nightmare. But there's only two of them. You outnumber their 'mechs more than two to one. You can outdance a lumbering heavy, right? Just have to keep getting lucky.
That's going to end well.
"Watch your screens, Ranger Lance. We're gonna be right on top of them before we know it." You say, attempting a calming tone.
"Roger that- Shit, Crusader! Range, thirty metres!" Sharpe shouts, a bubble of panic swamping the radio channel.
A crusader wasn't the worst option. Sixty tons and with a primary armament of LRM's, you could stay inside it's weapon range and tear it apart. But if it had managed to get that close…"
"Two, move to support Four. Three, have you got eyes on that friendly Stinger?"
"Negative, Lead, they're out there somewhere."
"Copy that. Stick close, let's hunt the vee's."
A crackle of gunfire blasts through the quiet night, flashes of laser beams igniting bright trails through the forest canopy. A light blinks on somewhere in the dark, a 'mechs targeting lamp. Boywifed's autocannon cracks out a shot and the detonation rings loud, the lamp sputtering out.
Something heavy falls in the darkness, a 'mech collapsing under heavy fire.
"Sabre Lead, I'm in a bad way."
"Corporal Cook?" The FWL pilot sounded desperate, "Eject if you need to, we'll recover your 'mech."
"Affirm, Captain. Ejecting!"
The line cut as a rocket flared. Hopefully he'd be safe for the rest of this fight.
You look up, spotting the silhouette of a tank rolling through the undergrowth. You charge your lasers, pulling the trigger a split second before your world turns into a fireball. Your Wolfhound is slammed by what feels like an unending stream of concussions, missiles slamming you off your feet and into the dirt. You black out on impact, coming too to a bee hive of warning alarms and armour breach caution lights. Coolant is seeping from a hundred cracked feeds and your energy systems are borderline.
A crusader looms over you as you roll your Wolfhound onto its side and then climb unsteadily to your feet. Blinking blood from your eyes, you refocus and continue the fight.
With Gotzman on your flank, you rush down the Hetzer. Stamping on it as you run across it, you crush it down into the mud and leave it spinning its tyres impotently. Another barrage of missiles patters across your hull but this time you stay upright.
"Lead, Two. I'm on the ground." Boywifed, engaging both heavy 'mechs, is suffering for it. You turn and push your throttle open, but the flash of fire from the other enemy 'mech punishes you for your eagerness. It stands as you slide to one knee, a Warhammer with its twin PPC's charged and ready.
From then on it's a blur. You remember Boywifed ejecting and Sharpe putting their foot through the SRM carrier that had given you so much trouble. You remember the Capellan forces retreating but as you look around the battlefield afterwards, you don't feel victorious.
Everything hurts, and your 'mechs are battered. It's all you can do to crawl back to base and collapse into a cot, waiting for the Doctor to come around and see you.
"Hey Doc." You blink awake in the morning sun with a horrendous headache and the feeling of grit between your joints. Doctor Jailyn Ibrahim hasn't been with you long but they've already been invaluable to the unit.
"Shane. Are you feeling okay?"
"Head hurts. How's the Sergeant?"
"Boywifed? Concussed and badly bruised, but they'll live. I've had to ban Sergeant Kang from the infirmary. Apparently he'd only just got the Clint's systems tuned right and then our dear pilot got it blown up."
"Yeah, well, that's the job. Everyone else?"
"They're fine. Worried about you. I've told them you're fine, but they seem attached to their kind Captain." She looks at your notes, frowns, "When was the last time you had a T-booster?"
"Uh, before Eom. Must be coming up on three months?" She gives you a sharp look, "Okay, maybe more like four."
"I'll draw one from stocks, since I've got you at my mercy."
You laugh weakly when she gives you a mean little smile.
"Yeah. Thanks, Doc."
You assemble Ranger Lance a few hours before their next deployment, feeling anxious. The key word is 'their' - you're not going with them. Your Wolfhound is still being repaired and the bandage on your head implies more than enough about the state of your health.
"Okay, listen up!" You say to the four members of the company seated in front of you. Boywifed is still healing in the infirmary, their concussion making them nauseous whenever they stand. "Command on this op is Corporal Sharpe's, but I want to impress some standing orders on you before you deploy. Order One! Do as I say, not as I do. If you end up engaged by multiple heavy mechs, pull out before you almost lose an entire pilot."
Orixsky grins, knowing he's only in the roster because of just that occurring,
"Order Two! You come first. I know the FWL are sending a LAM with you today. Let it be your eyes and ears, and smash anything too stupid to run. You're likely to see a lot of vee's. Give 'em hell."
The four pilots give a little cheer, excitement bubbling in their veins.
"Order Three. Hit 'em hard, make 'em pay. Papa wants a new 'mech. You get me?"
"We get you, Captain!"
"Copy that. Ranger Lance, move out."
The four pilots race towards the ready line. You look after them, a small pang of sadness chasing up your spine.
Standing in the control room aboard the dropship with a set of headphones pressed against your ears, you're being forced to listen rather than engage with the coming fight. You've taken Orixsky's place with the barest pleasure and you feel yourself pining for the cockpit of your Wolfhound. It's painfully detached - you don't know how either of the previously dispossessed pilots coped with it.
It probably helped that they didn't have an option.
"Moving into the city"
"Copy that, Four- Scratch that last. Ranger Lead, Control, continue your advance."
"Affirm, Control. Ranger Lance, advance."
There's a brief silence. You can feel sweat trickling down the back of your neck as you watch the screens, the green readouts showing nothing wrong. You can't fight the feeling of being unsettled though.
"Lead, Six. Eyes on a Vedette."
"Copy. Move to engage."
"Missiles away!"
Ammo counters start to dip on your panels, LRM tubes emptying against the small tank the lance has sighted. Heat gauges rise and you can, in a way, track weapons fire from the 'mechs you're so used to fighting alongside.
"Shit, spider on my ass."
"On my way, Lead," Leatham calls and you watch her jump jet indicators flash on. The Wyvern isn't the most mobile, but it's quick enough for city fighting.
"Trebuchet at long range, Lead. Engaging." Gotzman is driving a much smaller platform than the Treb' he's apparently found, but he should be able to outdance it.
There's a ping on your board and you hurry to bring up a long range sensor, a note of panic threading its way into your heartbeat.
Shit. Air support, and it's not for you.
"Ranger lance, Control. Eyes on the skies, you've got Cappy air coming in."
"Copy. Vedette is down." Sharpe responds, clearly focused on what they're doing.
"And another." Orixsky whoops.
Jesus, how many of those little tanks were out there?
"Chalk a Vedette up for me!" Leatham adds only furthering the impression that they're fighting a whole tank company.
"Got the Treb's arms."
The comms go silent again. A minute passes. You begin to wonder if something desperately terrible has happened. Then, finally, Sharpe lights up the net again.
"Control, Ranger Lance. The Capellans are in full retreat. Might want to send out the salvage rigs. The FWL have some new toys."
Word came down on the 28th of March - the Free Worlds League had finally made contact with their extraction target. A group of scientists from Bithinia Ballistics had agreed to defect and bring some House Liao secrets with them. Sabre Company were tasked with pulling them out safely and ensuring they made it out of the combat zone intact.
An easy job, right?
Your Wolfhound is still out of action, so it's up to Sharpe to lead Gotzman, Leatham and Orixsky into the fight. They set out into the night to make contact with the defectors without a backward glance. The rendezvous point is an open stretch of ground a few tens of miles from the industrial centre and you make it before too long. Unfortunately, it appears word has slipped out about the operation. The Capellan's have deployed a heavy tank unit to intercept the civilians.
"Enemy sighted, Control."
"Call them out, Sharpe. Don't leave me in the dark here." In the dark, hah. It's night but even so you can only watch the battle begin to unfold via sensor readouts and status reports.
"Von Luckner, Condor, Manticore and an SRM carrier. We're in for a rough one."
"Copy that, Lead. Keep safe, but those civvies are the primary objective. Killing tanks is secondary."
"Confirmed, Control. Ranger Lance, move in!"
Three heavy combat vehicles and a missile support truck. Against Ranger Lance's light 'mechs? You just have to hope they can stay mobile and avoid getting hit. It's not like the FWL's stinger is gonna add much to the fight.
"Shit, the Condor just slagged a J-27. It's gone."
"Copy that, Three. Continue engaging."
"No argument from me. The SRM carrier is trying to find range on me."
You can well imagine the sixty small missiles streaking through the darkness, flaring orange and splashing across the ground in a massive fireball. Gotzman is lucky he hasn't been hit yet.
"Three, Lead. The SRM carrier isn't going to give you trouble any more."
"Ranger Lead, Control. Congratulations, you're an ace now."
"We'll celebrate once we're home, Control. I'm facing down a Manticore right now."
The comms channel falls into the battle chatter of an operational lance and you resist the urge to comment further until the battle is won. And oh, how it is won.
"Lead, all targets destroyed. Three defector units on their way to extraction."
"Copy that, Ranger Lead. Good work."
The FWL handed over a bunch of salvage as thanks for the successful extraction. Little of it has much worth - the coolant truck will be useful and the LRM-equipped APC might find a role as a personnel transport, but the 'mech they hand over is a particularly strange choice. A Crossbow CRS-X primitive 'mech. It's probably 5 centuries old and why nobody has updated its systems you have no idea. You load the sixty ton primitive into the dropships holds and, frankly, forget about it.
More importantly, it's time to celebrate. Corporal Michael Sharpe has become an ace with seven kills to his name. A Hunchback, Griffin and two Wasp's are his 'mech kills, with two SRM carriers and a Condor making up the Vee's.
The current formation of Sabre Company is relatively new and it doesn't have many traditions yet. It's up to you how to reward your new ace.
How do you reward Corporal Sharpe?
[ ] A promotion and first priority for command.
[ ] A call sign (write in new callsign, KnightDisciple gets first choice)
[ ] Some other reward (write in)
There are willing defectors amongst our Capellan prisoners, two vee gunners and a driver. Should we recruit them?
[ ] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
[ ] Yes, and we should find them a tank
[ ] No, just ransom them when the contract ends.
We have the option to recruit a new Mechwarrior. Should we purchase them a 'mech or hope to salvage one?
[ ] Yes, buy them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
[ ] No, salvage them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
- Pronouns
- Reader
[X] A call sign and personalized emblem of his choice, a bottle of fine wine/brandy
[X] Yes, and we should find them a tank
[X] Yes, buy them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
-[X] Sell the Crossbow to give you a little more bugget for the new mech.
-[X] Howard Firenze. A young merc who's old company was caught in an unexpected clash between two local militaries during a salvage run and wiped out. Fighting his free by thickness of his armor and daring rush of enemy lines, he was the only member of his lance to make it back for safe extraction.
[X] Yes, and we should find them a tank
[X] Yes, buy them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
-[X] Sell the Crossbow to give you a little more bugget for the new mech.
-[X] Howard Firenze. A young merc who's old company was caught in an unexpected clash between two local militaries during a salvage run and wiped out. Fighting his free by thickness of his armor and daring rush of enemy lines, he was the only member of his lance to make it back for safe extraction.
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- Location
- Pilipinas
[X] A call sign and personalized emblem of his choice, a bottle of fine wine/brandy
[X] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
[X] Yes, buy them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
-[X] Sell the Crossbow to give you a little more budget for the new mech.
-[X] Diego Del Mundo. A man who can trace his lineage from Paraguayan Caballeros on old Earth. His old school roman catholic belief of forgiveness to his enemies hides his passion for besting every foe he meets in the battlefield
[X] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
[X] Yes, buy them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
-[X] Sell the Crossbow to give you a little more budget for the new mech.
-[X] Diego Del Mundo. A man who can trace his lineage from Paraguayan Caballeros on old Earth. His old school roman catholic belief of forgiveness to his enemies hides his passion for besting every foe he meets in the battlefield
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- Location
- Russia
- Pronouns
- He
So we have at our disposal:
[X] A call sign (write in new callsign, KnightDisciple gets first choice)
Call sign is a marker of skill, rank is a marker of command ability.
[X] No, just ransom them when the contract ends.
Especially if they are experienced - may be very profitable. Capturing an infantry squad whole can net you around 500k C-Bills.
- Valkyrie
- Phoenix Hawk
- Wolfhound (still being repaired?)
- Wyvern
- Vindicator
- Crossbow
[X] A call sign (write in new callsign, KnightDisciple gets first choice)
Call sign is a marker of skill, rank is a marker of command ability.
[X] No, just ransom them when the contract ends.
Especially if they are experienced - may be very profitable. Capturing an infantry squad whole can net you around 500k C-Bills.
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
And a Clint, tho it was out of action for a while
- Location
- Russia
- Pronouns
- He
Got it, I thought the Clint was completely cored in that first engagement.
How did you get rid of the Warhammer, though? Just hit the threshold for the enemy to retreat?
- Location
- New England
[X] A call sign (write in new callsign, KnightDisciple gets first choice)
[X] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
[X] No, salvage them a 'mech
But let's wait until we're off world before we give the defectors a tank. As for the new mechwarrior, only hire them if they're any good (none of this "6/7 ultra-green" stuff). That Crossbow can be made into a real heavy duty hitter if we refit it with standard armor instead of primitive armor. No way to get rid of the primitive cockpit, but bringing the armor factor from ~120 to ~180 is a major improvement.
[X] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
[X] No, salvage them a 'mech
But let's wait until we're off world before we give the defectors a tank. As for the new mechwarrior, only hire them if they're any good (none of this "6/7 ultra-green" stuff). That Crossbow can be made into a real heavy duty hitter if we refit it with standard armor instead of primitive armor. No way to get rid of the primitive cockpit, but bringing the armor factor from ~120 to ~180 is a major improvement.
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Just popped it's head off. Boywifed ejected rather than risk an ammo bomb.
I think we retreated iirc. We were losing badly.
KnightDisciple
Brotherhood. Unity. Peace.
- Location
- Midwest, USA
[X] A call sign and personalized emblem of his choice
--[X] Call Sign: Paladin
--[X] Logo: Simple, but dashing.
[X] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
[X] Yes, buy them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
-[X] Sell the Crossbow to give you a little more budget for the new mech.
-[X] Diego Del Mundo. A man who can trace his lineage from Paraguayan Caballeros on old Earth. His old school roman catholic belief of forgiveness to his enemies hides his passion for besting every foe he meets in the battlefield
I'm open to other callsign and logo ideas, mind.
--[X] Call Sign: Paladin
--[X] Logo: Simple, but dashing.
[X] Yes, buy them a 'mech (write in warrior name)
-[X] Sell the Crossbow to give you a little more budget for the new mech.
-[X] Diego Del Mundo. A man who can trace his lineage from Paraguayan Caballeros on old Earth. His old school roman catholic belief of forgiveness to his enemies hides his passion for besting every foe he meets in the battlefield
I'm open to other callsign and logo ideas, mind.
- Location
- USA
[x] A call sign
[x] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
[x] Yes, they can drive the auxiliary vehicles.
1.5 Ace for a day
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
"Hey, hey, hey!" You shout, cutting across the celebration of a recently completed mission. All of Sabre Company has been gathered in a mess tent after you called in a few favours to convince the Free World Leaguers to take guard duty for the evening.
Someone taps their plastic glass with the edge of a knife - it's not quite the ring of crystal but you raise your mug in appreciation anyway.
"Listen up, Sabre Company! We're here tonight to celebrate a good hunt, but we're here for another reason as well." You turn and hold your mug up to Corporal Sharpe, "Our first Ace. Michael 'Paladin' Sharpe. The first of many, I'm sure."
"Thank you, Captain." he leans forward and clunks his mug into yours, spilling thin beer on the table. He's already been drinking for a couple of hours, as have most of the other pilots. You can't blame them. There aren't many reasons to celebrate on the battlefield.
You drain your mug and step behind the plastic stool you've been perching on.
"Come up with some nose art for your 'mech, huh?" You add, though you pause as he leans over to refill his mug, "But maybe in the morning."
You walk out, leaving the troops to celebrate without the imposition of rank looming over them.
Waking up in the morning is still a pain. You scratch at your chest, scars itching in the cool morning air, trying to work out exactly why you've woken up an hour and a half before you're due on duty.
Are you ever off-duty? A question for another time.
"Captain? Are you awake?" A voice asks from outside the tent.
Well, there's the answer to your question. Both your questions, in fact. You're awake and on duty from the moment someone needs you it seems.
"What is it, Ing- Dr Siggurdson?"
The tent flap is pushed open, letting in a beam of golden light. You blink, your eyes taking a few seconds to adjust from gloom to daylight.
"You asked for an update on the asset situation."
"The what?"
"The Crossbow, Captain. And turning that money into a new battlemech. And seeking recruits."
"Yeah? I'm assuming this isn't going to be a nothing-to-report type situation, given that you've woken me up."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing important. Go ahead."
Dr Siggurdson gives you a filthy look before looking down at his papers and reeling off a list of updates.
"We have found a buyer for the primitive Crossbow and they're willing to pay four-point-eight million C-bills for the privilege. I've funnelled a little of that money into budget for purchasing spares for the Manatee and the 'mechs, but-" He looks around as if he's going to see someone eavesdropping inside your tent, "there's word floating around of a less than legally acquired Thunderbolt -5S being put up on the market."
"What's the asking price?" A thunderbolt would be an absolute coup for the unit. Sure, you don't have a pilot for it but between the long range missile pod on its shoulder and it's battery of lasers it would make an ideal complement to Sabre Company.
"Four-point-three million C-bills."
"You have my blessing, Doctor. Buy me a shiny new toy."
"Of course, Captain. As for recruitment, well… There's one man, dispossessed and on-planet."
"On-planet? Ingvar, are you mad? He'll be a Capellan spy!"
"I'm not so certain - and I'm certainly not mad. He claims to be a devout Catholic and has served with at least one other mercenary outfit."
"If you think House Liao wouldn't employ Catholics-"
"I am not stupid, Captain. Please trust me to do my job."
You pause, realising that you've perhaps made a mistake.
"Okay, okay. Bring him in for a test run. What's his name?"
"Diego Del Mundo."
"Right. Is that everything?"
"For now."
"Good. Get out and let me sleep."
Ranger Lance's next deployment was a mess. Not a disaster; it went too well to be called a disaster. But it was an exercise in absurdity writ large.
You finally led the lance again from the cockpit of your Wolfhound, taking Boywifed and their Clint, Orixsky and their Vindicator and Leathem and her Wyvern with you. Another group of defectors were ready to pull out and once again you were on escort duty. In your way was a lance of Capellan 'mechs including a Crab, a Shadow Hawk, a Hermes II and a Trebuchet.
Once contact was made with the enemy it all went to shit almost immediately. The Crab was blown off of it's feet by sustained missile fire. A primitive Shadow Hawk, driven by one of the defectors, punched the Trebuchet so hard in the cockpit that it knocked the pilot out cold. Unfortunately neither of the defectors' combat platforms lasted long though and both pilots had to be recovered by Sabre 'mechs.
Their other two stolen vehicles, a J-27 and a Crosscut Indymech, lasted longer because that was about the time the fighting began in earnest.
Orixsky scored a kill on a Scimitar before retreating under heavy fire. You slashed a Pegasus's air skirt with your lasers and sent it plunging into a lake. J. Boywifed battered a Hunter with their main gun until it's armour collapsed inwards and its fuel tank detonated. Even Leatham scored a kill, stamping on a Vedette hard enough to crush the turret into the hull.
By the end of it there was only a single Capellan Hunter left able to retreat. The Liao mechwarriors were either unconscious or captured and the other vees were smoking piles of wreckage.
Sabre Company decided to exercise their salvage rights and claim the Trebuchet-5N, the Shadowhawk-2H and the Crab-20 for themselves. Did they have pilots for them? No. But once they were able to get off of Bithinia and back into the galaxy it wouldn't take long to fill those slots. And with ten 'mechs, well, that would be enough to run a second lance.
"Interesting news, Captain." Siggurdson appears in the door to your office unannounced, speaking before you even notice that he's there.
"Come in, Doctor."
"Yes. We have a new applicant. A junior 'mech pilot in the FWL has petitioned to sign up with us instead."
"Huh… Are they bringing their own 'mech?"
"No. Whatever they were driving, it belonged to the League."
"I suppose we have enough 'mechs. Think they've got what it takes?"
"We can never have too many mechwarriors. Their name is Quinn Kay."
"Good, okay. Anything else?"
"Yes. The League has a surplus 'mech."
You blink, trying to work out exactly how that's your problem.
"They wish to sell it to us." Ingvar finishes.
"What is it? And how much?"
"A Wolverine-6R. And it's half price. Two-point-four million C-bills."
"That's… that's a massive discount." The Wolverine might as well be a big Clint. Fifteen tons heavier, it trades one of the ML's for an SRM-6 and runs almost as fast despite being a mean medium 'mech.
"About 50%, Captain."
"Well take it, damn you, take it."
The Company is now made up of eight mechwarriors and eleven 'mechs. How should they be organised?
[ ] Maintain Ranger Lance (Cavalry) and form;
[ ] A missile boat lance
[ ] A brawler lance
[ ] Another formation (Write in)
Who should command this new Lance?
[ ] Sergeant J. Boywifed, trained in tactics.
[ ] Corporal Michael Sharpe, unit ace
[ ] Another mechwarrior (write in)
The Wolverine is a command 'mech. Who should it be given to?
[ ] Captain Shane Leather, replacing his Wolfhound
[ ] The commander of 2nd Lance, replacing their 'mech.
[ ] Leave it in mothballs for now.
Someone taps their plastic glass with the edge of a knife - it's not quite the ring of crystal but you raise your mug in appreciation anyway.
"Listen up, Sabre Company! We're here tonight to celebrate a good hunt, but we're here for another reason as well." You turn and hold your mug up to Corporal Sharpe, "Our first Ace. Michael 'Paladin' Sharpe. The first of many, I'm sure."
"Thank you, Captain." he leans forward and clunks his mug into yours, spilling thin beer on the table. He's already been drinking for a couple of hours, as have most of the other pilots. You can't blame them. There aren't many reasons to celebrate on the battlefield.
You drain your mug and step behind the plastic stool you've been perching on.
"Come up with some nose art for your 'mech, huh?" You add, though you pause as he leans over to refill his mug, "But maybe in the morning."
You walk out, leaving the troops to celebrate without the imposition of rank looming over them.
Waking up in the morning is still a pain. You scratch at your chest, scars itching in the cool morning air, trying to work out exactly why you've woken up an hour and a half before you're due on duty.
Are you ever off-duty? A question for another time.
"Captain? Are you awake?" A voice asks from outside the tent.
Well, there's the answer to your question. Both your questions, in fact. You're awake and on duty from the moment someone needs you it seems.
"What is it, Ing- Dr Siggurdson?"
The tent flap is pushed open, letting in a beam of golden light. You blink, your eyes taking a few seconds to adjust from gloom to daylight.
"You asked for an update on the asset situation."
"The what?"
"The Crossbow, Captain. And turning that money into a new battlemech. And seeking recruits."
"Yeah? I'm assuming this isn't going to be a nothing-to-report type situation, given that you've woken me up."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing important. Go ahead."
Dr Siggurdson gives you a filthy look before looking down at his papers and reeling off a list of updates.
"We have found a buyer for the primitive Crossbow and they're willing to pay four-point-eight million C-bills for the privilege. I've funnelled a little of that money into budget for purchasing spares for the Manatee and the 'mechs, but-" He looks around as if he's going to see someone eavesdropping inside your tent, "there's word floating around of a less than legally acquired Thunderbolt -5S being put up on the market."
"What's the asking price?" A thunderbolt would be an absolute coup for the unit. Sure, you don't have a pilot for it but between the long range missile pod on its shoulder and it's battery of lasers it would make an ideal complement to Sabre Company.
"Four-point-three million C-bills."
"You have my blessing, Doctor. Buy me a shiny new toy."
"Of course, Captain. As for recruitment, well… There's one man, dispossessed and on-planet."
"On-planet? Ingvar, are you mad? He'll be a Capellan spy!"
"I'm not so certain - and I'm certainly not mad. He claims to be a devout Catholic and has served with at least one other mercenary outfit."
"If you think House Liao wouldn't employ Catholics-"
"I am not stupid, Captain. Please trust me to do my job."
You pause, realising that you've perhaps made a mistake.
"Okay, okay. Bring him in for a test run. What's his name?"
"Diego Del Mundo."
"Right. Is that everything?"
"For now."
"Good. Get out and let me sleep."
Ranger Lance's next deployment was a mess. Not a disaster; it went too well to be called a disaster. But it was an exercise in absurdity writ large.
You finally led the lance again from the cockpit of your Wolfhound, taking Boywifed and their Clint, Orixsky and their Vindicator and Leathem and her Wyvern with you. Another group of defectors were ready to pull out and once again you were on escort duty. In your way was a lance of Capellan 'mechs including a Crab, a Shadow Hawk, a Hermes II and a Trebuchet.
Once contact was made with the enemy it all went to shit almost immediately. The Crab was blown off of it's feet by sustained missile fire. A primitive Shadow Hawk, driven by one of the defectors, punched the Trebuchet so hard in the cockpit that it knocked the pilot out cold. Unfortunately neither of the defectors' combat platforms lasted long though and both pilots had to be recovered by Sabre 'mechs.
Their other two stolen vehicles, a J-27 and a Crosscut Indymech, lasted longer because that was about the time the fighting began in earnest.
Orixsky scored a kill on a Scimitar before retreating under heavy fire. You slashed a Pegasus's air skirt with your lasers and sent it plunging into a lake. J. Boywifed battered a Hunter with their main gun until it's armour collapsed inwards and its fuel tank detonated. Even Leatham scored a kill, stamping on a Vedette hard enough to crush the turret into the hull.
By the end of it there was only a single Capellan Hunter left able to retreat. The Liao mechwarriors were either unconscious or captured and the other vees were smoking piles of wreckage.
Sabre Company decided to exercise their salvage rights and claim the Trebuchet-5N, the Shadowhawk-2H and the Crab-20 for themselves. Did they have pilots for them? No. But once they were able to get off of Bithinia and back into the galaxy it wouldn't take long to fill those slots. And with ten 'mechs, well, that would be enough to run a second lance.
"Interesting news, Captain." Siggurdson appears in the door to your office unannounced, speaking before you even notice that he's there.
"Come in, Doctor."
"Yes. We have a new applicant. A junior 'mech pilot in the FWL has petitioned to sign up with us instead."
"Huh… Are they bringing their own 'mech?"
"No. Whatever they were driving, it belonged to the League."
"I suppose we have enough 'mechs. Think they've got what it takes?"
"We can never have too many mechwarriors. Their name is Quinn Kay."
"Good, okay. Anything else?"
"Yes. The League has a surplus 'mech."
You blink, trying to work out exactly how that's your problem.
"They wish to sell it to us." Ingvar finishes.
"What is it? And how much?"
"A Wolverine-6R. And it's half price. Two-point-four million C-bills."
"That's… that's a massive discount." The Wolverine might as well be a big Clint. Fifteen tons heavier, it trades one of the ML's for an SRM-6 and runs almost as fast despite being a mean medium 'mech.
"About 50%, Captain."
"Well take it, damn you, take it."
The Company is now made up of eight mechwarriors and eleven 'mechs. How should they be organised?
[ ] Maintain Ranger Lance (Cavalry) and form;
[ ] A missile boat lance
[ ] A brawler lance
[ ] Another formation (Write in)
Who should command this new Lance?
[ ] Sergeant J. Boywifed, trained in tactics.
[ ] Corporal Michael Sharpe, unit ace
[ ] Another mechwarrior (write in)
The Wolverine is a command 'mech. Who should it be given to?
[ ] Captain Shane Leather, replacing his Wolfhound
[ ] The commander of 2nd Lance, replacing their 'mech.
[ ] Leave it in mothballs for now.