Registered Contract: FW-PA-02-01
Region: Free Worlds League
System: Telos IV
Galactic Coordinates: X: 44.34 Y: 40.68
Days to Jump Point: 4 days
Planet: Telos IV
Primary Planetary Climate: Arid
Approximate Population: 2.440 Billion People
Capital City: Triumph
Contract Type: Planetary Assault
Primary Operational Terrain: Badlands
Contract Duration: 2 Months (30 Days in REAL TIME) negotiable
Employer: Draconis Combine
Employer Contact: Tai-sa Elizabeth Carrols, CO of the 15th Dieron Regulars
Command Rights: Faction Command
Forces Recommended: A Company Strength Detachment
Supporting Forces: 15th Dieron Regulars
Enemy Forces: ULTRA Assets
Supplement Contracts Offered: Planetary Assault
Bounty Per Word: 1,200 C-Bills
Minimum Bounty: 8,000 Word Transcript
Bonus Salvage Bounty Target: 32,000 Word Transcript
Bonus Salvage Category: Type-E Salvage
PLANETARY DETAILS:
Cursed with a weak ozone layer that lets in more than the average amount of solar radiation, Telos IV is a warm, dreary world of continual rainstorms and freak tornadoes that ravage all four of its island continents in the middle latitudes. Surviving despite these hazards, the people of this world have developed a reputation for being stubborn and fiercely independent, a reputation that has caused them no small share of problems over the centuries when dealing with the greater realms.
Shiro Kurita, founder of the Draconis Combine, manipulated the people of Telos IV into joining his growing state through guile and political trickery. When the deceit was discovered, the Telosians revolted, which prompted the first Coordinator to invade the planet as a demonstration of the Combine's superiority. In the years that followed, the population remained stubborn. Though suppressed for a time, the Kuritas found the Telosians difficult to deal with, as they resorted to passive resistance instead of outright rebellion.
Since Telos IV lacked significant mineral or agricultural wealth, the Combine willingly ceded the world to the rising Terran Hegemony, hoping its dissident population would give the Camerons as much trouble as it had the Kuritas. At first, the Telosians did just that, but Hegemony efforts to improve relations with the planet, which included placing several storm inhibitors (similar to those employed on Bryant) in Telos IV's orbit, helped win over the locals. This amicable relationship helped during the Amaris Crisis, when the Usurper, finding little of value on Telos IV, abandoned the world after demolishing the storm inhibitors and planetary defense network.
Kerensky's forces found support on Telos IV when they arrived and easily advanced on their campaign of liberation. Returned to Kurita rule after the fall of the League, the Telosians resumed their attitude of passive resistance, which prevented the Dragon from exploiting the planet's modest resources to the fullest, even centuries later. However, this attitude underwent marked improvement after the reforms enacted by Coordinator Theodore Kurita.
The capital of Telos IV, Triumph, is located on the large northern continent of Dulles. Telos IV's other three continents - Rustov on the equator and Fellin and Haranshire in the southern hemisphere - are home to a scattering of large cities and mining towns.
Socio-Industrial Levels:
Technological Development:
World of moderate advancement; average educational systems and medical care; microelectronics can not be manufactured.
Industrialization Level:
Basic heavy industry at level of 22nd century; fusion engines possible but no complex products (including BattleMechs).
Raw Material Dependence:
World/system produces all the raw materials needed and occasionally exports a small surplus.
Industrial Output:
World has a moderate industrial base that produces a few different categories of products, exporting some of the output.
Agricultural Dependence:
World is agriculturally poor and must import much of its food to supplement what is grown.
EMPLOYER SITUATION REPORT:
Telos IV is not a particularly valuable world. Dreary and rich in neither agricultural means nor mineral wealth. But it is strategically important in proximity to the line of recharge stations on the route to Terra from the core worlds of the Combine.
The planet is protected by a planetary defense network that would cost us a lot more to take the system. A unit is needed to temporarily disable this system to allow the invasion force to make approach without the extra risk. It is an orbital system that was a relic of the Star League days, equipped with capital-grade weapons to defend against approaching fleets or invasion forces bound for the surface.
You will be under the direct command of Tai-sa Elizababeth Carrols of the 15th Dieron Regulars, the unit that will spearhead the assault on the system once you have disabled the defense system. Once they arrive, you may be ordered to participate in the invasion at the Tai-sa's discretion.
PRIMARY OBJECTIVES:
1) Disable the orbital defense system of Telos IV.
2) Ensure the system remains disabled until the invasion force has reached the planet's surface.
SECONDARY OBJECTIVES:
1) Collect any intel if the opportunity arises.
2) Destroy any targets of opportunity in advance of the invasion.
From Start Date June 1st 3094 to End Date August 1st 3094
SYNOPSIS:
At the behest of Tai-sa Elizababeth Carrols, Commanding Officer of the 15th Dieron Regulars, Onishi Razan’s; Razan’s Ronins are requested to stay on station for an additional two months as a reserve force to participate in the invasion at Tai-sa's Carrols discretion, since the Ronins have already completed all this mission objectives on the Objective Raid contract to the same system.
Onishi was ordered by her Modern Innovated Tactics Unit Handlers, to put a new resurgence of Land Air ‘Mechs through some real world testing; on a contract on Bjarred. She dispatched the required force, a company, on to Bjarred via the Combined Arms Union Class Transport, Dragon’s Nest.
Onishi accepts the Planetary Assault supplemental for the Telos IV system, figuring she could use the time to conduct some training exercises in the event that Tai-sa Carrols does not utilize her Ronins and to finally get her Fortress Class DropShip, the Ulvenwald, repaired and online. The Razan’s Ronins maintains imminent domain over the capture Telos IV Space Station, however; relinquishes their control of the two Invader Class JumpShips to DCMS Procurement Department. And besides that, the pay is Good.
The Ronins park most of their units in orbit above Telos IV, giving her AeroSpace contingents an extreme responsibility, however; Onishi’s Ronins are not so fortunate as to sit out an entire contract with assault level reimbursement without firing a single shot. Her unit gets the call to Hotdrop a company onto the planet to disable a forward enemy base. After successfully razing the base, a week later the entire Ronin’s unit gets the call to reinforce the 15th in engaging the enemy.
FW-PA-02-01 #01
Draconis Combine/ULTRA Contested
Dieron Prefecture
Dieron Military District
Al Na'ir Province
Telos IV
Orbit
Overlord Class DropShip
The Heaven Scent
Deck 9
Command, Coordination, and Communication Room
Friday June 1st 3094 0900 Local
Tai-sa (Colonel) Onishi ‘Rough Ryder’ Razan had called this command level meeting to inform her commanders of the two contracts that the Ronins were undertaking and to get their situational reports on the unit’s current status. The aging Overlord was kept up in good repair. Onishi had devoted an influx of Ryu into getting the 3C room up and running to code. She could see the improvements and new equipment all around the room. Half the C3 room was dominated by a small holo tank at which the ten officers of the Ronins were seated in a bloated oval shape, including herself, each at their own computer consoles. The remaining half of the room entail computer stations, monitors, communications equipment, and everything necessary to provide a commander with a decisive edge in planetary assaults. Her monitor currently displayed the Ronin’s Unit report. Her eyes drifted to the Dragoons Rating field. Razan’s Ronins had dropped to a ‘B’ rating but was now ‘officially’ classified as a Regiment..
The holo tank’s projection tube was in the process of warming up; so currently there was nothing showing at the moment. Onishi was seated at the middle of the holo table on the bulkhead side of the holo tank. Directly to her right and left sat her two Sho-sa’s (Lieutenant Colonels) Owen ‘Kestrel’ Callaghan, with green eyes and auburn hair, progeny from the ConMag and her Executive Officer of Ronin Legion Battalion and the handsome Kuritan from Kagoshima, Kintaro ‘Iceman’ Tanaka. He ran her Draconis Elite Strike Team Battalion. Well . . . he was ‘handsome’ to Onishi anyway. The Tai-sa (Colonel) wrinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of cigar smoke. She liked the way cigar’s smelled. It was cast off from Chu-sa (Lieutenant Colonel) Reece ‘Buddha’s Fist’ Kimura. He was head of her vehicle Battalion, Steel Dragon, and sat to the left of Callaghan. Directly across from Onishi, at the fat part of the oval, were seated her two Chu-sa’s (Light Commodores), the Veteran, fifty four year old, with salt and pepper grey hair, Georgi Draganov. He was the senior captain of the Ronin’s DropShip Wing, Flying Dragon. And to his left was the venerable, John Dryden, responsible for the Ronins two Invader Class JumpShips, Red Storm and Hydra’s Bane. Flanking these two officers like book ends were the Ronins two Tai-i’s (Captains). The petite Kuritan, Torii ‘Nemesis’ Nashiro, AeroSpace Fighter Pilot in charge of the Ronin’s Ice Dragon Wing; and Onishi’s newest ebony skinned officer, Reid Mediate, who headed up the Human Services Section of the Razan’s Ronins. At the narrow or elliptical ends of the oval holo tank table were her two Sho-i’s (Jr Captains); the short in stature but big on ‘Napoleon’ complex, Lead VTOL Pilot of the Dragon Flight Squadron, Daniel ‘Slinky’ Taylor; and the grimy yet always professional head of the Ronin’s Repair and Logistics Lance, Harold ‘Bokor’ Fairbanks. Rounding out her officer cadre was the uber focused Chu-i (Lieutenant) Doctor Mariana Cocos, the lead physician over the Ronin’s M.A.S.H. unit. Doctor Cocos sat off to Onishi’s right, between her XO, Callaghan and Sho-i (Jr Captain) Taylor. Onishi swore that Mariana was part Manei Domini due to her slavish devotion to her patients.
The last two officers, Sho-i (Jr Captain) Fairbanks and Chu-i (Lieutenant) Mariana weren’t required to be her being that they each only commanded a lance. ‘Technically’ they reported to Tai-i (Captain) Reid Mediate. He had asked if they could attend not quite feeling comfortable providing Onishi with their sitreps. Since he was the new guy, the Tai-sa (Colonel) had cut him some slack, but he’d needed to get up to speed quickly from here on out.
“Let’s begin with hardware losses, shall we?” offered Onishi. Just then the holo tank sprang up a 3D image of Telos IV hovering in it’s center, rotating on its axis. Onishi manipulated the image from her console, zooming it in close enough to see the Heaven Scent floating in orbit while Reece Kimura fielded her query.
Reece prefaced his reply with a cough. “Yes Onishi-san,” he began in the honorific, “We suffered seventy percent losses in hardware of the platoon dispatched to retrieve Doctor Haney,“ he responded, eyes downtrodden as if it was his personal loss.
“And in Men?” Onishi was quick to ask. She didn’t give a damn about hardware when compared to the loss of life.
“One Onishi san, the Pegasus tank Driver.”
“Sho-ko (Master Sergeant) Brian Veurink?” questioned the Tai-sa (Colonel).
“Hai.”
“How did you manage to lose three tanks and only one man?” Onishi asked incredulously. Then thinking better of it, she held up a hand to forestall any explanation that was forthcoming. “Nevermind Chu-sa (Lieutenant Colonel). I won’t take everyone here through this.” She cut her gaze to include everyone seated at the holo table. “I can simply read the report myself. Under the circumstances, your lance performed admirably. The butcher’s bill?”
“Domo Arigato, Onishi san. Twenty million, six hundred sixty eight thousand, six hundred seventy five,” Reece answered sheepishly.
A long low whistle emanated from the far end of the table in Reid Mediate’s direction.
“Is that in Ryu or C-Bills?” Onishi asked the Steel Dragon Commander.
“C-Bills, Onishi san.”
“Ouch. Very Well. We will just bill it back to the MRBC under the Battle Loss Compensation clause. Anyone else?”
Seated beside her to her left, Sho-sa (Lieutenant Colonel) Kintaro Tanaka interjected his losses, “We lost two Oni Battle Armor Suits during the raid on the BattleSat Station and the two warriors that piloted them. Wendell Hammerstien and Jasmyn Rudd.”
Onishi Razan briefly shielded her eyes from the assembled officers with her right hand before hastily removing it to show the fierce sparkle of her emerald colored eyes. “We will have memorial services for all three fallen Ronin for anyone who wants to attend and pay their respect. Tai-i (Captain) Mediate, add that to your ‘to do list’ and make it priority, please.”
“Ma’am, Yes Ma’am,” the Tai-i (Captain) acknowledge his ranking officer.
“When will we have replacements for our fallen warriors?” Onishi asked no one in particular.
Tanaka spoke first, “We have already identified two replacement battle armor pilots, Russell Awan and Aasiya Taysir. They will be arriving here to Telos within the week. If they successfully complete the DEST training program I will be making them offers.”
Onishi nodded and turned her attention to Reece.
“You’ve previously signed off on Tank Commander Sho-ko (Master Sergeant) Pedro Romero’s induction into the Ronins, Onishi san.”
“Commander? How’d he come in as a Commander? Didn’t either one of the Pegasus’ other crew members, Alfonso or Fujiko, want the promotion?” Onishi questioned unbelievingly.
“Romero was exponentially more proficient at reading the sensor contacts on the Beagle Active Probe and quite frankly, No. They did not desire the promotion. Neither wanted the additional responsibility.”
Onishi blinked her eyes and shook her head. “Okay. Any other personnel issues before we get back to hardware.”
Doctor Mariana shot her hand up half way before lowering it to adjust her spectacles. She started by clearing her throat. “The medical staff has had the usual influx of patients whenever we enter a new world, sprains, flus, viruses, common colds that are anything but common. We also have three vehicular crew members in the infirmary, Sivakumar Veeramani, Tomas Madaras, and Yi Kuang Lin. Tomas Madaras is suffering from plantar fasciitis . . .”
Mariana was cut off by the Tai-sa (Colonel). “Hey, hey, hey. What have I told you about that Doc Speak? Huh? Japanese girlfriend or at least the King’s English.”
A soft laughter went up from around the table.
Mariana’s cheeks blushed cherry red as she adjusted her glasses again and started over. “The three crew members all have severe bruising, cuts and abrasions.” She looked over the rims of her glasses at Onishi seeking Onishi’s approval of her new jargon. The Tai-sa gave her a curt nod so Msarianna continued. “Nothing that a few days of bed rest won’t heal ; however, I am keeping them off duty under medical care for another seven days.” Mariana stated the last part like she expected a challenge.
Onishi hunched her shoulders and said, “Okay. Fine. Three soldiers out on medical. Sho-i (Jr Captain) Fairbanks, where do we stand on repairs?” she asked the Logistics Chief.
“Uhm, Lemme see,” he stalled for time. He must have been playing the latest 3D holo vid game and needed a couple of seconds to retrieve the data Onishi had requested. “All ‘Mech assets are up at 100% as far as armor, sensors, and weapons are concerned. The Technical Staff and I are still fighting with a few glitches in actuators locking up from sand and grit clogging there joints and jumpjets failing to fire. But that’s nothing major. If you’ll authorize a little overtime I’m sure we could get all of these kinks worked out.”
Onishi smiled at the Sho-i (Jr Captain) and shook her head from side to side in the universal sign that said ‘No’.
“Oh well. You can’t blame a guy for trying, can you?” Chuckling, Fairbanks continued. “Uhmmm, those six AeroSpace Fighters we brought onboard back on Dieron were poorly maintained if at all. Each one is going to require a full scale maintenance overhaul. I’m talking the whole nine yards, like one hundred twenty man hours or roughly two weeks. I’ve got Butch Treybrig already started on one Lucifer. We’ll only do a single bird at a time due to the length of time it’s going to be offline. We currently at 75% of our power strength with three birds down. The Lucifer, an Aven with a rotary auto cannon linkage issue, and the Striga with a faulty Master's Sight 2-Psi targeting and tracking system.” He paused to look up from his console across the holo table at Onishi.
Her eyes were down peering at her own screen, she gave Fairbanks the necessary ‘Uhm mm’ so he took that as sign to continue with his sitrep.
“Your Vee’s are the in same state as your BattleMechs, 98% on armor, sensors, and weapons with some small motive system and stabilizer issues . We do have one small issue however. The Cizin clan ECM suite just conked out on us. I have had are best clan tech, Faraz Sha, work on it for three straight days and even he could not get it fixed. So I went ahead and ordered a refurbished unit. Its due to arrive in system by the 13th of this month.”
Now with the revelation of who the Tech was, Onishi’s head snapped up from her monitor to take in Fairbanks with her eagle like glare. Faraz was assigned to her Naginata with its mix of clan and Inner Sphere technology.
“Ahh, three days straight between his other duties, . . . of course,” backpedaled the Sho-i (Jr Captain).
“Yes, of course.” Onishi did not address his opinion that this was a ‘small’ issue. She would address that sentiment offline. The head of the Razan’s Ronins made sure that there was at least one ECM capable unit in each combat lance. She insisted that her lances be able to shield themselves from enemy detection. The Cizin was that single one for her Infantry Support Lance. This would not do. “And so what are you doing to avoid this type of delay going forward?”
“Ma’am, ah . . .er . . . excuse me?” Fairbanks stammered.
“Sho-i (Jr Captain) Harold Fairbanks, what, if anything, have you put into place to ensure that “I” do not lose another Clan ECM unit for more than your contractual 72 hours?”
“Oh, yeah. I see now. I uhm ordered two more units. One will be here within the next 60 days and the second one is due to arrive 30 days after that one. That way we’ll always have two in stock and when I use one of those two, it will trigger a search for another unit Tai-sa (Colonel). ”
Onishi relinquished her glowering at her now sweating Logistic Chief and got him back on track. “Where are we on the repairs to the Fortress Class DropShip?”
“Yes Tai-sa (Colonel), we can utilize the BattleSat Station’s docking facilities as a Dry Dock. We have the required manpower, parts, and tools. Once we get it into the Dry Dock, my projection shows us having it fully functional in ten weeks, twelve at the most.”
“Good. Make it happen. That’s more than a quarter million in Ryu asset sitting around collecting mothballs.” Onishi reflected out loud, slightly miffed that she had authorize the cash expenditure for a ‘Derelict’ Fortress. But she had to accept her own fate when dealing with unsavory black market purchases. “Sho-i (Jr Captain) Fairbanks and Doctor Cocos, you may return to your duties. Tai-i (Captain) Mediate will update you on what you need to know with the rest of his command.”
There were conversations that sprung up while the two shut down their terminals and left the C3 room. Doctor Cocos leaned over and said something to Tai-i (Captain) Mediate before she left. After they were gone, Onishi grabbed everyone’s attention again.
“Still no changes nor additions to the ‘Mech Battalion, Ronin Legion. But myself and the two Sho-sa’s (Lieutenant Colonels) have decided to implement some changes to the vehicle battalion, Steel Dragon, again. Halberd Section has increased to a full company by moving the Mobile HQ lance from Glaive to Halberd. The Mobile HQ Lance will be replaced in Glaive by a dedicated spotter lance. The spotter lance will be based on the Minion from the Arty Logistics Lance and the M3077 HMMWV from the Artillery Lance and will be brought up to full strength with two Crow Strike VTOLs.”
“The M3077 in the Artillery Lance will be replaced by the Teppo from mobile HQ which in turn will leave an opening in the mobile HQ Lance which will be filled by a Drone Hi Scout Drone Carrier. The vacancy in the Logistics Lance will be filled by a Coolant truck. And Glaive Company will be under the command of Sho-i (Jr Captain) Todd Karry. I know, I know. Its like trying to play the ancient terran shell game. I promise you the remaining changes won’t be so hard to track.”
“Moving on to the Draconis Elite Strike Battalion. We have decided to veer away from unarmored infantry. Our DEST platoon will be upgraded to Tornado PA(L)s complete with Basic Stealth armor and either Small Lasers, Machine Guns, or King David Light Gauss Rifles. We have also incorporated a second DEST platoon, in Nighthawk PA(L), designated as Breach Platoon. They will be equipped with Standard Stealth Armor and a mix of Assault Rifles, the 960 Mauser Assault System, and Heavy Grenade Launchers. With the advent of a whole other infantry platoon it required the Ronins to need more transportation capacity so we purchased four Heavy Wheeled APCs, and attached them to the DEST Battalion’s transport company and called them Spitting Dragon.”
“Last, but in no way the least, the Ronins have taken on a Field Medical Squad and two Firefighter platoons. We intended to move the Rescue Ailette PA(L) Squad to a new Lance called Fire & Rescue along with the, that’s right, you guessed it, the two Firefighter platoons. The Field Medic squad will replace the Ailette PA(L) in the M.A.S.H. Lance.”
“So there, that wasn’t too bad, now was it?”
Onishi lays out the details of the two contracts that the Ronins’ are accepting, the follow up Planetary Assault from their Objective Raid here on Telos IV and a Pirate Hunting contract on Bjarred. At the behest of Tai-sa Elizababeth Carrols, Commanding Officer of the 15th Dieron Regulars, the Ronins are being requested to stay on station for an additional two months as a reserve force to participate in the invasion of Telos IV at Tai-sa's Carrols discretion.
The Tai-sa (Colonel) divulges her intent of using the time to conduct some training exercises in the event that Tai-sa (Colonel) Carrols does not utilize the Ronins and to finally get their Fortress Class DropShip, the Ulvenwald, repaired and online. The Ronins plan to maintains imminent domain over the capture Telos IV Space Station, however; to relinquish their control of the two Invader Class JumpShips to DCMS Procurement Department.
Onishi goes on to explain that the Ronins’ were ordered by their Modern Innovated Tactics Unit Handlers, to put a new resurgence of Land Air ‘Mechs through some real world testing; on a contract on Bjarred. The DCMS Modern Innovated Tactics Liaison wants the Ronins’ to test out the capabilities of these LAMs while investigating escalating raiding activity in and around the Bjarred Prefecture. ISF Intel reports that over the past several months the fringes of the Pesht district have seen increased raiding activity by what intelligence believes to be pirates, though none of House Kurita’s attempts to stop these raids has resulted in the successful capture of any interrogatable personnel. The Bjarred Prefecture has seen the most notable rise in this kind of activity. The Internal Security Force has several leads, but has been unable to positively identify any of the attackers thus far.
The Ronins’ mission is to find out who is conducting these raids and put a stop to them. They are to report all of their findings directly to DCMS Liaison, Tai-sa Bernard Johnsson, Commanding Officer of the 7th Pesht Regulars , the Kurita unit stationed on Bjarred V at a crumbling Castle Brian known as the Bird's Roost. The Pesht Regulars are under strict orders not to leave the system and have limited aerospace and naval assets.
By lunch time, the commanders had reached censuses on whom they were going to send to Bjarred and the best way to get them there. They decided that their Dragons Eye recon pilots and an AeroSpace pilot were the most reasonable selections. Recon, because this mission required their special brand of skills. So they sent their Dragon Eye pilots and an AeroSpace pilot to learn how to pilot the LAMs. They also included their vehicle scout lance and their scout battle armor and their LRP (Long Range Patrol) Aerospace flight. In the end they figured that the main body of the Ronins could keep up the units reconnaissance duties with their VTOL assets.
WORD COUNT 3120
Name: Onishi Razan
Callsign: ‘Rough Ryder'
Rank: Tai-sa, Commanding
Hardware: Naginata NG-RO1
Company: Ronin Legion
Lance: Fire Dragon
Assignment: MUCO
Unit: Razan's Ronins
HOUSE: DRACONIS COMBINE
FW-PA-02-01 #02
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
Department of Mercenary Management
Castle Brian
Mercenary Ward
Razan’s Ronins Recruitment Center
Tuesday 5th June 10:15 3094 Local
“What does your middle initial stand for?” the recruiting Gunsho (Sergeant) asked. “I’ve got to have your full name.”
From the age of eight, Joseph F. Dean despised the middle name his parents had saddled him with . . . Finucane, after his maternal grandfather. It was in that ill-starred eighth year of his life, on the first day of his enrollment at the Red Dragon School for Gifted Children, that a ten year old upperclassman took to chasing him during recesses and after school, boxing his ears and kicking his rump, singing, “Fin u can, Fin u can, I can kick your new can!” Dean endured the torment as long as he could, and then one day he laid the bully’s head open with a field expedient cosh made from a sock and a piece of concrete he’d found in the street. The next day he was expelled from the prestigious school. Joseph Finucane Dean was not only an intellectually gifted child, but in the art of attack and defense, a precocious one.
“During your initial interview, Mr. Dean, you did not give your full name,” the recruiting Gunsho (Sergeant) explained.
“Uh, Finucane, sir.”
“Is that with an E?”
“Yessir,” Dean answered, “terminal E,” he emphasized, and then felt embarrassed at maybe sounding too pedantic. Joe Dean was sitting in the Razan’s Ronins recruiting office as the result of a spontaneous decision on his part . . . especially since he’d always dreamed of signing on to a mercenary unit, in the footsteps of his late father, who had been a highly decorated veteran of the Ronin War of 3034. He had lived and breathed mercenary and could hardly wait until he finished college to enlist.
On a warm and muggy day, a too familiar kind of day in the bleak and inhospitable city called Harlech by its wearily cynical inhabitants, Joe Dean had felt good for a change. He walked lightly through the portals of the DMM and slipped into one of the interview booths reserved for the Razan’s Ronins recruiting office. Immediately, a computerized display activated and he found himself staring into the face of a young woman dressed in a rich maroon, infantry duty uniform of the Razan’s Ronins. She was very pretty, and he wondered idly if it was the image of the recruiter herself or one generated in cyberspace.
“My name is Gunsho (Sergeant) Serah Fernandez-Dukes of the Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment Outreach Garrison,” the image on the screen announced. “May I have your full name?” Dean felt a twinge of doubt, almost dismay. Somehow, the beautiful woman with the alluring voice just didn’t fit his idea of what it was he wanted to be if he donned a uniform.
“Uh, yes, ma’am: Joseph F . . . ”
“Gawdamn, Bulldog, I was so hungry I could’ve eaten the north end of a southbound Kyotan armor bear!” a powerful voice announced from the corridor at just that moment. Joe Dean stuck his head out of the booth and instantly the image of Gunsho (Sergeant) Fernandez-Dukes disappeared from the screen. Two men, one short and squat and the other, the one who had just spoken, big . . . Dean estimated his height at about six four and guessed he must weigh fully 250 pounds . . . were passing by. Both were dressed in impeccably tailored uniforms, deep maroon tunic with a stock collar over black trousers. The bigger man’s sleeves were adorned by huge gold chevrons worn points up with rockers underneath, so many Dean couldn’t remember moments later how many there were. Other stripes marched up from the cuff in diagonal slashes to meet the lowermost rocker of the man’s rank chevron. A blood red stripe slashed down the outside seam of the big man’s trouser leg, and a bronze collar device . . . an dragon rampant on with a scepter in each talon, and wearing a crown . . . glinted powerfully in the light. Tucked under the big man’s right arm, the one closer to Dean, was a plain ten inch stick of black ebony capped by the same dragon device. He carried the stick wedged tightly in his armpit, his right hand grasping the stick just below the dragon’s head.
The other man was short and squat with broad shoulders and thick arms on a short torso mounted on short, bow legs. He walked bent forward aggressively, his head thrust out while his arms pumped energetically back and forth, his hands balled into huge fists. Dean could see he talked out of one side of his mouth, and when he laughed, it sounded like a dog’s bark, rark! rark! rark!
The two men passed on down the corridor, talking and laughing loudly, their footfalls echoing sharply on the marble floor. They disappeared through a door marked Non Commissioned Officers.
Slowly, Joe Dean got up and followed them. Later, when he thought about that moment, it seemed as if scales had fallen from his eyes and everything he’d ever learned about mercenaries, and all his dreams of joining it, just floated right out of his head. A man mesmerized, he drifted down the hallway past a long row of booths.
Some were filled with young men and women earnestly talking to the computerized recruiters. He didn’t bother to look to see which services they were talking to. The three booths at the end marked Razan’s Ronins marines were empty. Joseph Finucane Dean slipped quietly into the first one.
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
Department of Mercenary Management
Castle Brian
Mercenary Ward
Razan’s Ronins Recruitment Center
5th June 11:30 3094 Local
“Gotta get all these details straight,” Shujin (Master Sergeant) Riley-Kwami said, leaning back in his chair. He was the bigger of the two men Dean had seen in the hallway. From his neck hung a silver pendant with a gold star on a ochre green ribbon with the diamonds clusters just like the one Dean’s father had won . . . except the NCO’s pendant bore the face of what looked like a three carat diamond instead of the garnet on his father’s. He could not help staring at the decoration. The recruiter was being patient with Dean because the scores on Dean’s intelligence tests were among the highest he had seen since going on recruiting duty two years earlier.
The initial recruiting interview was completely automated.
The interview booths worked up a complete physical profile on the prospective recruit while also checking, through other computer databases, every facet of the individual’s life. Even before Dean stepped out of the booth, the Razan’s Ronins knew he’d been kicked out of school at age eight and why, as well as the state of enzyme function in his stomach. Within five minutes, as he calmly answered innocuous personal questions, he had been found fully qualified and a highly desirable prospect for enlistment. Also, the first entries in his service record had been completed.
“Elly, terminate,” Riley-Kwami said. “Elly’s our pet name for the recruiting program,” he explained. “I wanna shut her down for a few seconds so we can talk off the record. I’ll turn her back on when we get back to the official stuff. She might know how to spell your name, Mr. Dean, but you gotta speak up to make sure. Funniest things happen to you when you rely too much on all this razzle dazzle technology. Goddamn thing should’ve caught that during the interview and asked you to spell out your middle name.” The big Shujin (Master Sergeant) shook his head. “Gotta get a tech man down here to fix that. Gawdamn Quartermaster’s got the money to run all this shit, but what we got is real crap. Was it mine or the Bulldog’s image on the computer screen in the interview booth?” he asked suddenly.
“Not you, sir. A heavyset man with two stripes over a gold star.”
“Go-chu (Corporal) Bildong, known affectionately throughout the Ronins as ‘Bulldog,’ for obvious reasons.” The recruiter nodded. “And Mr. Dean, don’t call me ‘sir,’ for two reasons: first, I’m not an officer . . . I work for a living. Sorry,” he added quickly as a look of bewilderment passed over Dean’s face. “Old service joke, Joseph. You’ll catch on. And second, because I’m a Shujin (Master Sergeant) and that’s how I like to be addressed . . . as Shujin (Master Sergeant).”
Joe Dean smiled broadly, feeling comfortable and natural in Riley-Kwami’s presence. He wanted to be like him.
“Finucane?” Riley-Kwami mused. There was something about this Joseph Dean that made the older man want to sit back and relax, tell a few war stories. He sensed they would not be wasted on this prospect. “A Gaelic name, isn’t it,” he said, a statement, not a question. “Ethnology is sort of a hobby of mine. You can get curious about that sort of thing in the Ronins, because we get to so many places downstream where you gotta know such stuff. I mean way downstream, places the House armies never get to unless there’s a serious war on. So I always wonder where people come from. Languages you get to know too. You should hear me cuss in Sino Hindi. I picked that up on New Kyoto’s, when we were training the constabulary there, oh, twenty years ago now. Bulldog was my fire team leader then and he’s still a two-striper.” Riley-Kwami laughed shortly. “But a damn fine Trooper, Bulldog. New Kyoto’s,” he sighed, an indication that there was more to duty there than training the constabulary. “Hell of a tour, New Kyoto’s. The armor bear’s come up and shit right in your mess kit, you don’t watch real careful. But the girls . . .” He let his voice trail off. “ ‘Finucane,’ huh? A beautiful sound that name has to it, Mr. Joseph Dean.”
“My mother’s maiden name, si . . . uh . . . Shujin (Master Sergeant) .”
“You’re learning, kid, you’re learning,” Riley-Kwami said, shaking his forefinger at Dean. He looked at the young man’s red hair and freckles and decided he was probably Irish through and through. “We don’t see too many pure Anglo-Irish anymore. We don’t see many pure anybodys anymore. Look at me: Most of my ancestors came from West Africa back before the Second American Civil War. But some on my father’s side came from the Auld Sod during the Potato Famine. So my family name’s Riley-Kwami. You gawdamn Irish jumped all kinds of fences these past five hundred years!” Shujin (Master Sergeant) Riley-Kwami slapped his palm on his desk and roared with laughter. “Okay, Elly,” he said to the computer, “we’re on again.” Then to Dean, all business now, “Mr. Joseph Finucane Dean, do you hereby honestly and freely express the intention to enlist into the Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment for a period of not less than three years? And do you also acknowledge that if you are enlisted into the RRMR, you receive no guarantees of training, schooling, or assignment beyond those stipulated by the Ronins as in the best interests of the Ronins?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then, Mr. Dean, be here tomorrow morning at eight hundred hours for your formal enlistment and swearing in. When you come down here tomorrow, bring only the items of personal hygiene you can carry in a small bag. Dress casually for the weather, but wear only those clothes you do not want to keep. Do not even bring money, is that clear? You will sign some papers and then be formally sworn into the Ronins by the Tai-i (Captain). You will then be transported directly from here to a port of embarkation to be determined in the morning. Your next stop after that will be Boot Camp. Is all this clear to you, Mr. Dean? You will be given a full briefing before you depart tomorrow. Tell your family that by midday we will contact them with information on how they can get in touch with you. Mr. Dean, you will be leaving this world for a very long time. Your training will be very hard and very long and you will most likely be assigned to duty in some of the most disagreeable places in the Inner and Outer Sphere. You may very well die there. Do you still intend to be here tomorrow at the appointed time?”
“Yes, Shujin (Master Sergeant) .”
“Elly, take a break.” Shujin (Master Sergeant) Riley-Kwami reached his big paw out to Dean. Joe Dean stood and shook it firmly. “You have made the right decision, Mr. Dean.” Riley-Kwami smiled. “It’s a hell of a tough life, but you’ll love it, Mr. Dean, you’ll love it!” He grinned fiercely. Behind Shujin (Master Sergeant) Riley-Kwami’s glittering eyes Dean thought he saw something, a wild spirit called up from the Ronins of long dead tribal warriors or Gaelic clansmen that thrilled and frightened him at the same time. And then he knew: it was the thing that won you the ochre green ribbon with the diamonds clusters.
Word Count 2253
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #03
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
At the Lake
On the Docks
Razan’s Ronins Recruitment Center
Tuesday 5th June 14:15 3094 Local
Back at work, Joe Dean announced to his shift leader, Mr. Buczkowski, that he was quitting. “Butch” Buczkowski was a powerful man, physically hardened after nearly seventy years working ‘out of doors’ on the lake. At eighty two, he was still a decade away from the mandatory retirement age. He shifted the cigar stub from one side of his mouth to the other before he spoke. “What the devil are you telling me, Joe?” Buczkowski squinted hard at the young man. His cigar shifted one more time.
“I went down to the DMM building and enlisted in the Razan’s Ronins, Butch.”
Butch took the cigar stub out of his mouth and spat leaf fragments onto the ground before he stuck it back in. “Joe,” he said patiently, “do you have any idea what the devil you’re getting yourself into?”
“I have some idea,” Dean answered almost defiantly.
“The devil you do!” Butch exploded. “Joe, you ever been on an interstellar ship, ’specially a goddamned troopship? You’ll be cooped up in there thirty some odd days before you get to that training world, Ascella, or whatever they’re calling it these days . . . I think it some where’s in the Draconis Combine . . . but we recruits called it Asshole, because that’s what the Inner Sphere turned it into when they begin fighting over it a hundred years ago and the DCMS up and made a planetary training center outta it. Yeah. Those Commonwealthers were some smart people, unloading all that worthless real estate on the Draconis Combine. Yeah. I was there during the Ronin War, the one where your daddy got his medal.”
Butch was silent for a moment, regarding Dean.
“When ya leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Jesus.” Butch sighed. “I’d give you some money, kid, but you know, there won’t be anywhere to spend it until you get your first liberty, and that probably won’t be for another year. Hell, they might not even give you any pay until you’re through with your basic training.” Butch took the cigar from his mouth and removed more masticated leaf with a stubby index finger, which he wiped on his coveralls. “I was in the DCMS, Joe, and our depot was in the temperate region of the planet. The Infantry’s depot was in the tropics. We trained there for two months, and Joe, I was never so glad to see snow again! The dumb ass Troopers took most of their training in the tropical zone, except for the mandatory month on one of Asshole’s airless moons . . . we called it the Turd . . . where we learned to live in near zero gravity and all that shit.” Butch stuck the cigar back into the corner of his mouth.
“Hey!” Butch exclaimed suddenly. “Why a Mercenary Unit? I thought you were settled on the DCMS?”
Dean shrugged and his face reddened. “I don’t know, Butch, I just changed my mind.” He didn’t want to explain what had happened . . . he didn’t know if he could explain it.
Butch reflected for a moment. Dean had been working for him for five years, all through college. The young man would have quit to join the Ronins much earlier, but when he’d finished high school, his mother wouldn’t sign the papers to waive college. “Ah, well, Joe, you’ll make a good Mercenary!” Butch stuck his hand out. He remembered the time a drunken deckhand on a Sea Skimmer hydrofoil had threatened to throw some passengers overboard. When he began roughing one of them up, Dean, only sixteen at the time, had stepped up and knocked the man unconscious with one blow. “Ah, shit, kid, I’ll miss you! You’ll make a damn fine Mercenary. Good luck to you!” They shook hands.
For the first time since he’d decided to enlist, Joe Dean felt a twinge of sadness. He never thought he’d regret leaving Harlech, a dreary place on the shores of the lake, about twenty miles west of the site that had been Camden, in the state of Yorkshire, before the Ronin War. The old city had been completely destroyed in the war and then rebuilt farther west a few years afterward. But he’d liked Butch Buczkowski, a rough and profane but honest and fair man.
Saying good-bye to his mother was much harder. But she had known this was coming for years and had prepared herself for it. He had not been prepared, though, and the next morning as he trudged away from the dingy complex where they lived, his throat was so constricted he could hardly breathe. His mother had refused to go with him because she knew he’d need the long walk to recover from their parting. She hugged him long and hard and silently right at the last. He had almost made it to the DMM building in the downtown section before the tears in his eyes had dried enough so he could see clearly.
Word Count 897
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Lieutenant Colonel)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #04
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
Department of Mercenary Management
Castle Brian
Mercenary Ward
Razan’s Ronins Recruitment Center
Wednesday 6th June 08:00 3094 Local
“Recruits!” Go-chu (Corporal) Bulldog Bildong barked. “Stand at . . . ease!”
The slim officer who had just administered the Oath of Enlistment to the fifty five men standing before him looked them over before saying anything further. The officer, a Tai-i (Captain), Dean thought, looked to be about thirty five years old. He was wearing a blood red tunic with an epaulette on each shoulder and a high stock collar bearing the scantily clad, kneeling female samurai; his trousers were a black. On each shoulder board was his insignia of rank, one gold orb. The Tai-i (Captain) had told them his name was Samson Malimaliumu. He began speaking in a clipped, rapid-fire voice:
“At ten hundred hours you will depart here for the New Kearny spaceport, where you will board a shuttle bound for the WarShip DCS Amber Lotus, which is in docking orbit three hundred kilometers above Outreach, for transit to our training world Ascella. Ascella was more than one hundred fifty light-years from Outreach. The trip, mostly in traveling to the planet at a 2G burn, will take approximately thirty three Outreach days. The Amber Lotus has a complement of one hundred eight naval personnel. You will be traveling with approximately three hundred other recruits, most of them infantry, armor and support enlistees, very few of them navy enlistees, an even fewer still aerospace and battlemech pilot enlistees, from all over the inner and outer sphere. The other recruits will be rendezvousing at the depot from other ports on our itinerary. Once all the other Ronins recruits are aboard, you’ll be formed into your training company en route to Ascella. You’ll train in that company until you graduate . . . if you live that long. Ascella is a very tough world and the drill instructors are even tougher. Upon graduation from Boot Camp, you will be assigned to the Razan’s Ronins. Other training companies are being formed on the other worlds where we recruit and they will arrive at Ascella at different times during your training cycle, but you won’t have much contact with them, or with any Ronins other than your drill instructors, until completion of your recruit training. In peacetime, Outreach ships out recruits every six months. Your training will commence the moment you board the Amber Lotus. You will be issued all necessary items of clothing and equipment while aboard her. By the time you reach our training base on Ascella you will be familiar with the organization, history, and traditions of the Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment; the rank structure of the Regiment; the MRBC’s system of military justice; the basic school of the Ronins, including military courtesy, the manual of arms, close order drill, how to wear the uniform, basic squad formations and the duties of the combat infantryman; you will learn basic weapons assembly and disassembly.
“Any questions? No? Go-chu (Corporal)!”
Go-chu (Corporal) Bildong came to attention facing the Tai-i (Captain). “Sir!” he barked.
“You have command, Go-chu (Corporal).”
“Aye aye, sir.” He turned back to the recruits. “Detachment, atten-HUT!” Behind him Tai-i (Captain) Malimaliumu marched out of the room.
At Bildong’s command, the recruits tried with considerable lack of success, and many imaginative variations, to assume the military position of attention.
The Go-chu (Corporal) rolled his eyes and snorted. “Well, my little dukbirds, at least you got a job for the next three years!” A few of the recruits laughed at the remark and Bildong silenced them with a ferocious frown. “Okay, stand at ease,” he commanded resignedly. “You’ll learn all the military stuff when you get aboard the Amber Lotus. Right now, here are meal chits for all of you. There’s a cafeteria in the basement of this building. Go on down there, eat breakfast, and wait there for further instructions . . . that means don’t leave the cafeteria, not for any reason. That gives you an hour to eat and get acquainted. Take your personal stuff with you.”
“How soon do we get our guns and go and fight?” someone asked abruptly.
Bildong quickly fixed him with a steely look. “You want to fight?” he snarled, then continued in a calm but firm voice, “Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance. You’ll get more chances to fight than anybody could want.” He walked over to the recruit, a short, skinny, uncommonly black man. “And I guarantee you,” he continued, staring into his eyes from inches away, “the first time you get into a fight, you’ll wish to whatever god you pray to that you’d never heard of the Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment. When Ronins fight, people die. And some of those people are Razan’s Ronins. Maybe you. If you go into combat with the attitude you seem to have right now, you’ll probably die in your first firefight.” He stepped back and swiveled his head to look at everyone. “Any of you think you’re tough guys? You think you know how to fight? Well, what you know is fun and games. This is no game, people. This is about life and death. A lot of death.”
A long silence descended upon the recruits, fifty six pairs of young eyes glued to the figure of the Go-chu (Corporal). A chill had run through the room. These young people had enlisted in the Razan’s Ronins for the usual reasons people had been joining mercenaries since at least the time of the Romans: to test themselves, to get away from home, to travel, to have fun in foreign ports . . . both geographical and anatomical. Now, dimly, they were beginning to realize that the MRBC registered mercenary Regiment of the Razan’s Ronins might have its own serious plans for them that had nothing to do with travel and fun, especially not fun.
“Anybody else have a dumb question?” Bildong asked when the silence had stretched long enough to be uncomfortable.
“Uh, Go-chu (Corporal), when will we get the full briefing Gunsho (Sergeant) Riley-Kwami mentioned yesterday?” Joe Dean asked innocently.
“Gunsho (Sergeant) Riley-Kwami?” Bildong asked. “I don’t know any Gunsho (Sergeant) Riley-Kwami.” Then an expression of surprised realization slowly came over his face. “Or do you mean,” he began slowly, “Shujin (Master Sergeant) Riley-Kwami?”
“Uh, yes, uh, aye aye,” Dean stammered, uncertain what he’d done wrong.
Bildong shuddered, then looked away and waved a hand at him. “Never mind with the ‘aye aye,’ you’ll learn how to use the word properly later on.” He looked back at Dean. “You did mean Shujin (Master Sergeant) Riley-Kwami?” Not trusting his voice, Dean nodded.
“A Gunsho (Sergeant) has one more stripe than I do,” Bildong explained with exaggerated patience. “A Shujin (Master Sergeant) has a good many more than that. We’re not a house unit . . . we make the distinction.” He paused to see if his point had gotten across, then continued, “Now, I believe you asked a dumb question?” He waited, and when Dean didn’t answer, said, “Repeat your question.”
“Uh, what about the full briefing Gu . . Shujin (Master Sergeant) Riley-Kwami said we were going to get before boarding ship?”
Bildong regarded him with wide eyed amazement for a moment. “Sweet Jesus Muhammad, you a comedian or sumptin’?” Then he shook his head. “Recruit, you just got all the ‘briefing’ you’re gonna get until you step aboard the WarShip. Then they’ll ‘brief’ you until it oozes outta your ears. Now go on down and get some slop. Might as well start getting used to the Razan’s Ronins food. Take the first ladder . . . that’s what you probably call a stairway . . . on the left after you exit this room. When you’re done, stay in the cafeteria. An NCO will join you there later to escort you to the port.”
. . . .
The cafeteria indeed served something that resembled “slop,” and within seconds, with the fifty six recruits crowding in, it was overfull and noisy. Fortunately, Dean was one of the first recruits in line, so he was able to find an empty table in a corner where he set his loaded tray. He took a taste of the glutinous material dished up as hot cereal and marveled at what they’d managed to do with plastic these days.
“Sit with you?” someone said. It was the skinny black kid who’d asked when would they get to fight. “My name’s Frederick Douglass McNeal. But everybody calls me Fred.”
“Joe Dean,” he replied, and shook McNeal’s outstretched hand. He was struck by McNeal’s dark complexion. It seemed as out of place in this room full of shades of brown as did his own fair face. He remembered his recruiter saying, “We don’t see many pure anybodies anymore.” In a way, his almost-pure Irish ancestry and McNeal’s evident almost pure African gave them something in common.
“Guess we’re both on Go-chu (Corporal) Bildong’s shortlist with our dumb questions, huh?” McNeal asked. Before Dean could respond, he said, “Look over there!” Dean glanced in the direction McNeal nodded and saw nothing but other recruits. “Look, look.” McNeal pointed with his fork. “That girl.” He indicated one of the cafeteria’s counterwomen. Dean hadn’t taken much notice of the cafeteria workers. This one looked pretty plain to him.
“What about her?”
McNeal leaned his head closer and whispered, “Does she shuck?”
“Huh? What?”
“You know.” McNeal arched his shoulders and made an open gesture with his hands. Seeing Dean still didn’t catch his meaning, he pounded one fist gently into a palm.
“Oh,” Dean said. Redness instantly crept up to his hairline from under his collar. The survivor’s benefit from his father’s pension wasn’t very much and he’d had to work most of the way through high school and college to supplement it, and didn’t have much time or energy left over for an active social life. So he was particularly inexperienced with women, and in fact had never done anything more daring with a girl than hold her hand. The only woman with any meaning in his life up to then had been his mother, whom he loved, and he saw all other women in the same light.
Seeing Dean’s embarrassment, McNeal apologized quickly. “I’ve got a big mouth.”
“That’s okay,” Dean said. He was relieved that McNeal wasn’t going to rib him about his inexperience.
“Where you from, Fred?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Churchville,” Fred answered quickly, then launched into his favorite topic: “They named me after a saint,” he began, and enthusiastically told Dean all about himself. Dean reciprocated. By the time they were finished with what they could eat of their breakfast, the two had become friends. They were an incongruous pair, Fred McNeal, short and wiry and very black, and Joe Dean, tall and fair with reddish-brown hair and a face full of freckles.
After a while Dean leaned over and asked McNeal, “Say, have you ever, you know, did it, uh, with a girl, Fred?”
“Hell no.” McNeal laughed, covering his own embarrassment at the directness of the question. “Who needs a woman when you got these,” and he held up the fingers of his right hand.
Word Count 1923
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Lieutenant Colonel)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #05
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
Department of Mercenary Management
Castle Brian
Mercenary Ward
Razan’s Ronins Recruitment Center
Wednesday 6th June 10:45 3094 Local
Breakfast over . . . the recruits were still too raw to think of the meal as “morning chow” . . . they cleared their trays and sat at their tables, waiting for the escort NCO to show up. And wait they did, sitting and standing around the way enlisted men of all armies at all times in all places have always waited.
“Why’d they make us come in at eight?” McNeal asked after more than an hour of sitting at the cleared breakfast table.
Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. My dad was in the infantry, and he always complained about ‘Hurry up and wait.’ I guess this is what he was talking about.”
“Didn’t that officer say we were going to the ship at ten?” another recruit, who overheard him, asked.
“I think so.”
“So it’s half past now.”
Dean shrugged. His father had been a career infantry man, and he didn’t really know any more about the Ronins than his companions, probably less since he’d made the decision to join the Ronins only the day before.
Clearly annoyed that the recruits were lingering so long after breakfast, but unable to do anything about it, the civilian cafeteria workers tried as best they could to prepare for the noon meal.
At 10:45 a voice cracked over the hubbub. “Attention on deck!” About half of the new recruits continued their conversations.
The man who had called for attention was a sharp looking Go-chu (Corporal) who’d entered the cafeteria quietly and unnoticed. When he saw he didn’t have the room’s full attention, he sighed and jumped onto a chair and from there onto an empty tabletop. “SILENCE!” he bellowed in a voice that carried more than two hundred years of parade ground authority. Startled, the recruits turned their attention to him. The civilian workers had all heard this routine before and, since it wasn’t directed at them, ignored it.
“That’s better,” the Go-chu (Corporal) said in a voice still powerful and penetrating but several decibels lower. He was of average height and build, with a dark complexion. His main distinguishing feature was a fierce, sweeping, black mustache. But with all eyes in the room fastened upon him, he seemed somehow larger than his actual physical size. Dean recognized the voice he’d used. His father had often projected his own that way and he called it his “command voice.” He also realized that this Go-chu (Corporal) was a man used to commanding and being obeyed.
“I am Go-chu (Corporal) Singh, and you are in my charge. From this moment until you finish your training on Ascella . . . those of you who survive it . . . I will be with you, day and night.”
“Oooh, one powerful, take charge bozek, that Go-chu (Corporal)!” McNeal whispered into Dean’s ear.
Somehow Singh heard. “Who said that?” he shouted. Again the recruits jumped at the sound of the Go-chu (Corporal) ’s parade ground voice. The cafeteria workers continued about their business. “Now you people listen up,” Singh shouted. “Two things I do not want to hear from any of you while I’m talking: your chow hole and your asshole!” The “hole” of “asshole” echoed in the corners of the room and out in the hallway, and people passing along the corridor on the floor above wondered idly who was doing all the shouting about holes. The silence that now descended upon the recruits was profound.
“Now listen up! You people may think you’re about to embark on some kind of camping trip or big adventure. Well, I’m here to set you straight. The Ronins’ Regiment has been around for 5 years and we proudly trace our lineage all the way back to the Terran 12th Century Tokugawa Shogunate, and through them to the Muromachi Dynasty . . . two of the fiercest bands of warriors ever to grace humanity. My job is to see that none of you screws up my Regiment, and by all the prophets, I will see to it! We are Ronin! That’s our sole reason for existence. We fight and we kill. Believe me, that is no kind of camping trip or big adventure. For more than four centuries the infantry have fought in campaigns and wars everywhere there has been fighting.” As he spoke he paced back and forth on the tabletop. The recruits slowly edged closer to each other for protection from this suddenly very fearsome man. “Not once in the Razan’s Ronins history have we been bested on the battlefield. Some of the fiercest fighters in Inner Sphere have surrendered by the thousands without a shot being fired rather than risk being defeated by a seven man squad of the Ronins DEST Unit.”
“People, you are about to be tested,” Singh continued. “Shake all the civilian dust from your shoes. We are a proud force. We can go anywhere in the Inner Sphere and do more with less than anyone else. We go to places no one else has ever been. Beginning right now, we are going to find out which of you are good enough to qualify for membership in my Ronins’ Regiment.”
All eyes were intently trained on Singh. Dean stood aghast with his mouth hanging open. For the first time he thought that maybe he should have stayed with the navy’s female recruiter instead of following Riley-Kwami and Bildong down that corridor.
Carefully, very carefully, McNeal nudged his new friend and, braving the wrath of Go-chu (Corporal) Singh, whispered ever so quietly into his ear, “You trying to catch flies, your mouth open like that?” Dean’s face turned beet red for the second time that morning.
“You!” Singh shouted, and pointed his finger directly at McNeal.
McNeal’s eyes widened, and he looked around. “Me?” he asked.
“Yes, you, recruit! Get over here! Now!”
McNeal stood at attention before the table.
“What is your problem, recruit?”
“I have a big mouth, Go-chu (Corporal)!” McNeal answered immediately.
“Yes, you do, young man,” Singh replied in a fatherly tone of voice. “Now assume the position!” he shouted, pointing at the floor. McNeal just stood there, uncomprehending. “Get down on the floor, on your belly, hands flat on the floor under your shoulders,” Singh said in a patient, schoolmasterly tone of voice, “and do push-ups. Count each one off as you do it. Now begin. That’s right, that’s right. Good.”
To the sound of McNeal’s steady “One, two, three, four,” Singh addressed the remaining recruits. “You will form up in ranks there.” He pointed to the side of the large room, where there was a bare space, bereft of tables and chairs. “From here I will march you to the bus that will take you to the shuttle that will lift us to the DCS Amber Lotus in docking orbit. Do you understand?”
A few voices said, “Yes, Go-chu (Corporal) .” A few more voices quickly chimed in. Singh looked at the group expectantly. Someone got the hint and shouted, “Yes, Go-chu (Corporal).” This time more than half of the assembled recruits echoed the reply.
“Let’s try it again. Do you understand?”
This time nearly all of them yelled out, “Yes, Go-chu (Corporal).”
“The Amber Lotus is in a stable orbit. It can wait up there for a long time if it has to. Now let me hear it. Do you understand?”
Everybody shouted back, “Yes, Go-chu (Corporal).”
“All right, then, do it. Over there, four ranks. Tallest to my left, shortest to my right.”
The cafeteria erupted into a chaos of movement as all fifty-six recruits scrambled to get to the open space Singh ordered them to.
“Not you,” Singh snapped to McNeal, who had joined the scramble. “You’re doing push-ups.” McNeal groaned and rubbed his already aching arms before dropping back into position.
Many of them knew how to line up in ranks, but the concept of lining up by height wasn’t familiar to all of them, and that caused confusion in getting lined up. More important, though, nobody wanted to be in the front row, where they’d be close to the Go-chu (Corporal) with the fearsome voice. Instead of getting into something resembling a military formation, they wound up huddled in a mass against the wall.
Singh looked at them with an expression of amazed pain and lightly dropped off the table. He stalked toward them with slow, deliberate paces, stopped a few feet in front of the middle of the mass and drew himself up erect, facing them. “What are you trying to do to my Ronins’ Regiment?” he began softly. “Are you all political appointees? Is that it?” He began moving with brisk steps and sharp movements, bent forward at the hips, head jutted forward, sticking his face into the faces of the unfortunates in the front of the mass of recruits. His voice rose in volume as he paced and spoke. “Are your daddies and mommies influential? Influential enough to get around the law and have you enlisted into my Ronins Regiment even though you aren’t qualified? Did they even manage to get some politician to promise that you’d get commissions, even though the MRBC requires that no one be commissioned an officer of a Mercenary Unit until and unless he’s proved himself as an enlistee? Well?” He stopped in front of one edgy recruit and almost shouted that last word directly into his face.
The recruit looked nervously side to side, tried to press himself farther back into the bodies to his rear, but they were too tightly packed for him to squeeze through.
“N-n-no, Go-chu (Corporal) ,” he finally stuttered. “My parents didn’t do that. They don’t have any political friends.”
Singh pulled back from him, looked disdainfully at the others. “Any of you? I want to know who the political appointees are so you can be washed out of my Ronins Regiment now, before you have a chance to become a blight that will rot this Regiment at its core!”
Nobody spoke up.
“You’re sure,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh said. “None of you are political appointees. We’ll see. I guarantee you, anyone in this room who isn’t fit to be a Ronins won’t last out the training on Ascella. Now, form up on me. Four ranks. By height. Move!”
The recruits milled and shuffled about, but came no closer to getting into formation . . . nobody wanted to be in that front rank.
“Aargh!” Singh finally cried out. “You, you, you, and you.” He pointed to the four tallest. “Over here.”
The four reluctantly went to where he pointed and clustered against the wall.
“You.” Singh pointed to one of the four. “Stay where you are. You,” he pointed to a second, “stand three feet in front of him. You,” he pointed at the third, “three feet in front of him. You,” the last, pale recruit, “three feet in front of him. Now,” he said when the four were lined up as he directed, “that didn’t hurt, did it?”
Singh returned his attention to the others. “You, you, you, and you.” He pointed to the next tallest. “Line up next to them, an arm’s length away.”
One of the four sprinted to stand next to the one against the wall. The others saw him and ran as well. The slowest looked aghast as he realized he was going to be in the front row.
Singh turned back to the remaining recruits. “See, it’s easy. Now, look around you, see who you’re taller than, who you’re shorter than, and line up accordingly. If you don’t see anyone shorter than you, get to the end of the line.” He moved back several paces to give them as much room as they needed and stood easy with his arms folded over his chest. It took longer than it might have, but less than it could have, before they were standing in formation. It was a sloppy formation. Hardly anybody was directly behind anybody else, and their left to right dress was as crooked as a broken backed snake. But it was a formation.
“I’m not going to give you proper marching orders,” Singh said when the recruits stopped milling about and were all standing still, facing him. “You wouldn’t understand them and I’d only have to repeat myself.” He still used his parade ground voice, but it held no trace of anger or frustration. “You will do what I say, when I say, and how I say, and we will all be on the bus in a few minutes and on our way to the SpacePort. Once we are aboard the Amber Lotus, the next stop will be Razan’s Ronins Recruit Depot, Ascella. Welcome aboard, people. Start walking through the door. You too, bigmouth.” McNeal scrambled to his feet and joined the rear of the formation. On the way out of the cafeteria, Dean realized that Go-chu (Corporal) Singh had walked into a room full of noisy, energetic young men . . . none of whom knew him, and most of whom were bigger than he was . . . and gotten them all to be quiet, listen to him, and do what he said. Singh had not hit anyone nor threatened violence . . . he had done it all strictly with the force of his voice. Suddenly, he knew this was something he wanted to be able to do himself, he wanted that parade ground voice . . . and everything that went with it.
Word Count 2317
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #06
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Romulus
Harlech
New Kearny
SpacePort
United Atmosphere’s
Small Craft
SA-7 Bus
Flight 402
Wednesday 6th June 12:30 3094 Local
When the fifty six recruits finally boarded the SA-7 Bus and the flight attendants checked that the restrainers holding them into the acceleration seats were fully deployed, the recruits’ anxiety about Go-chu (Corporal) Singh changed to excited anticipation. Many of them had been off Outreach before, visiting one of the orbiting recreation parks. Some had been to the moon. A few had toured Marshome on the fourth planet, or Amoropolis the 1st planet, or Vepus the fifth, Outreach was the 8th planet in this solar system. One claimed he’d been to Cyclops I Orbital station in the asteroid belt, but not everybody believed him.
Joe Dean had never been higher above the surface of the Outreach than a short hop in a conventional airplane on a class trip that took him from the shores of the Lake to New Columbia District. McNeal claimed never to have flown in anything, but that was harder to believe than the kid who claimed to have been to Cyclops I Station. Just one day earlier, when he’d decided to sign up, Dean had taken the biggest step of his life; then he’d taken another when he swore his oath of enlistment; now he was aboard a small craft shuttle bus to take the longest trip he’d ever been on, three hundred kilometers straight up and halfway around the world to a waiting WarShip.
A WarShip that would take him on a journey so far that, even though the trip would last only a month, the light he saw from the star at his destination wouldn’t be seen on Outreach for nearly two centuries. Later, as a Ronin, he expected to journey even farther, probably to stars so distant his great-grandchildren might not live long enough to see the light that would shine on him. The thought made him feel cosmically insignificant.
Joe Dean desperately needed to believe that at least one of the recruits he was embarking on this journey with had been at least as far as Cyclops I Station, even if none of them had ever been on a WarShip. None of the recruits had even visited a real WarShip before, and soon they would be boarding one.
Without warning, the small craft shuttle began to shake as its jets whirred up. Dean looked out the nearest porthole. The air was shimmering around one of the atmosphere jets that would lift the shuttle to the top of the stratosphere, where its ram jet would take over to lift it the rest of the way to docking orbit.
The public address system clicked, and the recruits stopped to listen . . . no matter what any of them claimed about familiarity with space flight, none of them had been lifted into orbit enough times to have become jaded about it.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen . . . ” The P.A. voice laughed, then said, “This is Tai-i (Captain) Wu Chalmers. It’s my pleasure to welcome you aboard United Atmosphere’s orbital shuttle, Flight 402. We’ll be lifting off in a few moments.” His well modulated voice exuded confidence and calm. “Our flight plan today calls for us to take off on a southeasterly heading and climb to Launch Point, which at this hour is a few hundred kilometers east of the Tropics. Don’t bother looking out the portholes to see that island paradise, because we’ll be close to fifty kilometers up and it’ll just be a speck in the ocean. At Launch Point you’ll experience a moment of weightless-ness, but don’t let that disturb you. It’s normal to go into momentary free fall when the shuttle switches over from atmosphere jet to space thrusters. When we reach orbital altitude, which is way up there in the thermosphere, and the engine cuts off, we’ll be in null g for the rest of the trip. Along the way we’ll pass within visual range of the interplanetary shipping docks. I’ll let you know when we do so you can take a look. One third farther around the Outreach we’ll reach the interstellar docks. Flight time from takeoff to docking should be approximately seventy five minutes.
“Take a nap, read, whatever. Just, please, remember, the Independent System Aviation and Orbital Administration rules require that you remain in your seats for the duration of the flight. If you must relieve yourself during this time, draw the privacy curtain around your seat and use the convenience console in the seat. Your flight attendants will demonstrate how to use them when they show you the emergency procedures. Thank you for flying United.”
There was another click and the senior flight attendant came on to give the emergency instructions, which were almost the same as those on a conventional liner; hardly anybody paid any attention.
. . . .
“There it is!” someone gasped.
“Where?” another recruit asked, excited.
“There,” McNeal said, awed.
As the pilot maneuvered the small craft, the passengers got an excellent view of the WarShip where it hung silhouetted above the terminator.
“My God,” someone whispered.
“Is it the Amber Lotus?” another asked.
“Yeah, I can see the name,” his companion responded.
“How can you see the name?”
They’d all seen images of WarShips: trivids, holos, even two-D’s. But mere images couldn’t do justice to what was floating before them. The ship was vaster and far more ugly than they’d imagined. The DCS Amber Lotus was an enormous ebony conglomeration of metal more than a kilometers along its main axis including it’s Jump Sail and several hundred meters at its greatest girth. Dozens of tenders and service shuttles swarmed busily about her sides, doing maintenance or delivering passengers and supplies. On the shadow side, work parties encased in protective suits scuttled over her hull, laboring under lights as brilliant as tiny suns.
As the Amber Lotus loomed larger and larger through the ports, the recruits’ exuberance turned gradually into awed silence. They were overwhelmed by the sense they were in the presence of a leviathan that could live only in deep space where it had been born, never to make planet fall. When the ship became outmoded or was damaged beyond repair in the unimaginable ferocity of battles fought in the farthest reaches of the Inner Sphere, she would be returned to an orbital port like this for salvage and her reusable components incorporated into another vessel.
Gradually, as the shuttle entered the enormous shadow cast by the WarShip, it was engulfed in darkness. Closer up, the activity about the Amber Lotus seemed to be even more frenetic. They passed by tenders shuttling back and forth, and Dean flinched at their passage, afraid they might crash into one of these other craft that so ponderously maneuvered about their mysterious business around the WarShip’s hull. An enormous square of light loomed larger and larger in the hull as the shuttle neared, and almost before its passengers realized, they were inside an enormous berthing compartment.
Guided by two green suited sailors, an accordion tube snaked out of a bulkhead forward of the shuttle’s wing. A loud bang reverberated through the shuttle’s hull as the tube made contact with the hatch’s locking ring. Thunks and pings penetrated the hull as the tube was locked into place. A flight attendant undogged the hatch and a sailor inside the tube opened it from the outside.
“Listen up, people,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh called for their attention. “Stay in your places until someone comes to move you. I don’t care how many times you’ve been to an amusement park, this is a navy WarShip. It’s different. Very different. Stay where you are until I tell you to move.”
“I’ll take over now, Marine,” an off white clad navy chief petty officer said as he swam aboard during Singh’s little speech. He gave a slight push against the hatch frame and drifted out of the way of two sailors who swam through behind him. Each pushed a large, spool like object ahead of him. “Hook’em up,” the chief ordered.
“Aye aye,” replied one sailor. He hooked his spool to a stanchion and led the other sailor, who kept his spool, to the rear of the shuttle. Using well practiced movements, the sailor with free hands pulled out the end of the thin cable wound around the spool. He attached a clip on the end of the cable to the man in the outermost portside seat. The sailor pulled out more cable. Two meters along was another clip, which he attached to the second man, and so on. The cable was studded with clips at two-meter intervals. In moments every recruit on the port side of the aisle was attached. Back in front, the sailors retrieved the other spool, took it to the rear of the cabin, and repeated the hooking process on the starboard side.
“We’re going to disembark in an orderly manner,” the chief announced when the sailors had completed hooking up the recruits. “As you might have noticed when the shuttle was in final approach, this ship is big. It’s easy to get lost if you don’t know your way around . . . and you aren’t going to be aboard long enough to learn. That’s why the tether, so nobody gets separated on the way to the troop area. Now, when I give the word, you,” he pointed to the recruit in the port side aisle seat, “will go with this sailor,” he indicated one of the two ratings who’d hooked the recruits together. “When the last man on the port side reaches me, you will all stop so the first man on the starboard side can be hooked to him.” He looked at the chief flight attendant for the first time since boarding the shuttle. “They’re ready to be unlocked, ma’am.”
The chief flight attendant did something outside the sight of anyone in the shuttle’s seats and all the safety restraints unbuckled and retracted.
“All right, you, move,” the chief ordered the recruit in the first seat. The recruit gripped the arms of his acceleration seat to keep from drifting away. The chief gave him a hard look. “I said ‘move.’ That means now. Go.” The recruit looked back over his shoulder at Go-chu (Corporal) Singh.
“Time to move out, people,” Singh said. “Do it like the chief says.” He grinned at the chief petty officer as the recruits started stringing out, floating not quite under control behind the sailor leading them.
The chief glowered at Singh, then returned his grin. “Maybe you got yourself a good bunch here.”
Word Count 1825
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #07
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Orbit
Aboard the DCS Amber Lotus
Deck 23
Training Deck
Area Whiskey
Wednesday 6th June 13:00 3094 Local
Beyond the tube that connected the shuttle to the interior of the ship, they were immersed in the sounds and smells of a WarShip preparing for flight. The continuous stream of shuttles arriving and departing sent clanks echoing through the interior of the ship. Incoming cargo being shifted about in the airless loading bays clanged harshly through the metal bulkheads. The engineers working on the ship’s outer hull made a steady rain of pings. This exterior cacophony overlay the constant thrumming and thudding of machinery deep within the ship’s bowels. Dollies, hoists, and salvage arms whined and screamed and whirred as they moved cargo and people about. AsTechs at work shouted and chief petty officers barked a constant string of orders. The odor of fresh lubricants taxed the ship’s air scrubbers. The body smells of sweaty deckhands wafted over the recruits as they rushed by them in their work.
One of the sailors grabbed a downward passing elevator cable and hauled the first recruit in line with him. The cable only went “down” in the sense that it ran perpendicular to the deck they were on, and as far as anyone could be sure, it went “down” according to how the shuttle was oriented in the docking deck. Singh helped the chief and his other sailor link the rest of the recruits onto the cable until the chief signaled him to grab hold and go. It seemed like a long time before the sailor in the lead stepped off the cable and started unlinking the following recruits and pulling them into a passageway that was empty of anything but them and a monorail car. Most of the noises that had assailed them on the loading deck were muted down here.
Wasting no time, the chief and his men crowded the recruits into the waiting car. As soon as everyone was aboard, he pulled himself into the front of the car, grabbed a handhold, and picked up a microphone. The handhold wasn’t for decoration . . . the car lurched forward immediately and the chief would have sailed down the car’s length if he hadn’t had a grip on it.
“Listen up,” he said into the mic. “This ship has twenty five decks . . . that’s ‘levels’ to you landlubbers. You’re on Deck Twenty three. You will not leave Deck Twenty three for the duration. Remember that! Your training area for this flight is half a kilometer sternward, in Area Whiskey. Remember that! You will be confined to that area for the entire voyage. Don’t worry, it’ll be big enough for all of you. When we arrive there, I’ll hand you back to your Go-chu (Corporal) and won’t have to worry about you until it’s time to jettison you on Asshole.”
The monorail disgorged the fifty six recruits into a huge, well lit bay. To their surprise, at least 168 other recruits were already there, gripping handholds sticking out from what Dean thought of as the ceiling. They faced a raised dais behind which a group of Ronins managed to hover without seeming to hold on to anything. They were dressed in green jackets and trousers with khaki colored shirts. Each wore a brown leather “Theodore Kurita” belt over the green jacket . . . the Class A uniform, as the recruits were soon to learn. That was the only uniform they were to see, except for garrison utilities, until after they graduated from Boot Camp and were assigned to the Unit. Each of the Ronins on the dais wore a kaleidoscope of ribbons fastened above his left jacket pocket.
Go-chu (Corporal) Singh nudged and pushed his group into the rear rank of the bobbing recruits already holding on there and made sure each grabbed a handhold. He nodded toward an officer on the dais, a Tai-i (Captain), judging by the gold orb that graced each shoulder strap on his jacket.
“At ease!” the Tai-i (Captain) shouted. “That means, shut up and listen up, in civilian,” he added. He spoke with a distinct but unfamiliar accent. Silence, punctuated only by the humming of the air ducts, the creak of expanding and contracting metal, and vast booming noises far within the hull . . . sounds that would accompany them all the way to Ascella and soon go unnoticed . . . was immediate.
The Tai-i (Captain) smiled and nodded approvingly. “You’re learning. My name is Tai-i (Captain) Quinn and I am your company commander. Welcome to Company A, First Battalion, Razan’s Ronins Training Regiment. These Ronins up here with me are the company executive officer, the company Kashira (First Sergeant), and your drill instructors. Your squad leaders and fire team leaders . . . you’ll learn what all those are very soon . . . will be selected from among you, once we get organized and get a few things straightened out. We are all going to get to know each other very well over the next three months. Now, painted on the deck in front of each bulkhead . . . that’s ‘wall’ in civilian . . . you will see large yellow squares numbered one to four. When your name is called, you will move smartly, and I emphasize smartly,” a ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, “to your designated number. That will be your platoon assignment. Later, you will be organized into squads and fire teams by your drill instructors.” Tai-i (Captain) Quinn turned to one of the other Ronins. “Kashira (First Sergeant).”
The company Kashira (First Sergeant) didn’t appear to make any movements to direct himself, but still drifted sharply to the front of the platform. “When I give your name and platoon assignment, move sharply.” He barely glanced at the clipboard in his hands when he began calling the names off: “Abercrombie, one . . .”
The Ronins had an ancient expression they used to describe what happened when the Kashira (First Sergeant) started giving platoon assignments to the recruits: Chinese fire drill. None of the recruits had much experience with movement in null g, and most had none at all. There was chaos in the compartment for several moments until, at a soft command from Tai-i (Captain) Quinn, the drill instructors took over and started physically moving the recruits from their handholds to their designated platoon areas.
Dean found himself assigned to the second platoon. Fred McNeal joined him there and the two shook hands happily.
The following hours passed in a whirlwind of ‘hurry up and wait’, punctuated by moments of frenzied activity and confusion. Before they were through, all the recruits streamed perspiration from every pore. First, all personal possessions, clothing, watches, rings, even toothpaste, were confiscated and locked away, to be returned when the recruits joined the Razan’s Ronins; everything they would need over the next twelve weeks would be issued to them.
Word Count 1211
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #08
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Orbit
Aboard the DCS Amber Lotus
Deck 23
Training Deck
Area Whiskey
Wednesday 6th June 15:45 3094 Local
Second platoon’s chief drill instructor was a barrel chested Shujin (Staff Sergeant) of about forty, named Neeley. The first assistant D.I. was an older man, very slim and immaculate in his Class A uniform, named Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty. No one dared laugh when he said his name, though. His embroidered red chevrons consisted two numeral ones, laid on their backs connect in the middle by a slanted bar and a faced down ‘L’ with a flaming dragon device in the center. These ones were much larger and utilitarian than those worn on the dress uniform Dean had seen on Riley-Kwami at the recruiting office. Go-chu (Corporal) Singh was the junior drill instructor. The three instructors quickly put them through their paces. On the double . . . which was quite a trick in null g.
“Line ’em up, line ’em up, line ’em up,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley cried out for what felt like the five hundredth time since Tai-i (Captain) Quinn turned the recruits over to the D.I.’s. “In alpha order.” This time . . . in reality the sixth . . . it took only a fraction of the time it had the first; by now they knew whose names came before and after theirs.
“Name,” demanded the Gunjin (Lance Corporal) seated at yet another battleship gray desk.
“Anderhalt, Shaqlim X,” said the first recruit in line.
The Gunjin (Lance Corporal) typed the name into his computer, then glanced over the personnel display that popped up on his screen. “Date of birth?”
“April eighth, 3075.”
The date of birth matched. “Mother’s birth name.”
“Lahani Schwartz.”
That also matched. One last check for verification . . . or maybe it was just for the annoyance factor. “Blood type.”
“AB negative, N, Duffy,” also matched.
“Put your left wrist in there.” The Gunjin (Lance Corporal) pointed at a buff colored ring on top of a box on the corner of his desk nearest where his subject gripped a handhold.
Anderhalt put his wrist in the ring. The Gunjin (Lance Corporal) pressed a large red button on the side of his keyboard. The ring contracted until it was in full contact with his skin. There was a muted click, then the ring expanded back to its original size.
“Next.”
Anderhalt, not having been told to move, stayed where he was. The Gunjin (Lance Corporal) looked at him for the first time.
“You can go now. And take your wrist with you, I don’t want it.”
Anderhalt flushed and hastily did what he was told.
“Name,” the Gunjin (Lance Corporal) said to the next recruit in line.
Everyone strained to see what the shrinking ring had done to Anderhalt, but Pretty and Singh were hustling him down the passageway, and they each had to wait their turn to find out what was happening.
After his turn, Dean was still examining the featureless bracelet the ring had clamped onto his wrist when the chief D.I. called the platoon to attention.
“You have just been issued your personnel record,” Neeley said when all of his recruits were looking at him. “Right now it’s just about blank, because you’re blank. All it contains is your personal data, your medical history, and the results of the tests you took when you enlisted. Every company office and every personnel department from battalion or squadron on up in the Ronin Regiment has a reader for it. Every company, battery, and squadron in the Regiment controls a writer that will update your record as things happen that need to go into your record. Every time your company updates your record, the update will also relay to the next higher command, which will relay it to the next-higher command, and so forth, until your record is completely updated in Central Data on the Heaven Scent, an Overlord class DropShip and the Tai-sa Flagship.
“You can’t muck about with it. There is no way you can read the data it contains, and no way you can alter it. There are only two ways that bracelet will ever come off you. One is if you are released from active duty at the end of an enlistment, through retirement, or as the result of a court martial that kicks your worthless hindquarters out of this man’s Ronins Regiment. The other is if some felonious aggressor out there on some godforsaken planet you’d never set foot on if MRBC didn’t say you had to blows your hand off.
“If anyone tries to muck about with the data in that bracelet, the bracelet will erase. If you are the one who did it, stand by for a court martial. More likely, though, anyone mucking about with it will be a scum sucking aggressor who had the rare good luck to take you prisoner, something that doesn’t happen very often, let me tell you. If that’s the case, well now, that’s why the data is programmed to erase in case of unauthorized entry. We don’t want any rat snorfing Tango getting their sklit licking fingers on that data.
“By the way, if you should ever be taken POW, stand by for rescue. In the entire half decade of the Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment, only one Ronin has remained a live POW for more than ninety-six hours standard. In that instance, the Ronin in question was on leave and it was seventy three standard hours before anyone knew he’d been taken. A rescue mission was planned, mounted, and executed in under twenty four hours. The only thing that went wrong with the mission was the Ronin being rescued was in enemy hands for nearly ninety seven hours.
“Enough grab assing for now. You’ve got more processing-in to undergo. Go-chu (Corporal) Singh, move them to the next station.”
McNeal wondered if he was the only one who thought it was ominous that Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley had said only one Ronin had ever remained a live POW for more than ninety six hours.
. . . .
“Let’s sidestep briskly through that line, people,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty said to the line of recruits clad only in whatever underwear they’d worn when they left home that morning. “The sooner you get through, the sooner you get to stop for chow. The longer you take to do everything, the longer it will be before you get to stop to sleep. I don’t need much sleep, so it doesn’t matter to me if you don’t get any. And I don’t have anywhere to go for the next month, so it doesn’t matter to me if you want to spend all that time milling around when you could be moving briskly and getting your processing in done with.”
That looks too much like a coffin, Dean thought as he approached the first position on the line. They didn’t really sidestep; they pulled themselves along a chain of handholds standing out from the bulkhead. The contraption at the first position resembled a coffin only in general dimensions: a box seven feet by two feet by three feet. But it wasn’t laid out flat, it stood up.
“Remember to keep your eyes closed when you’re inside,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh said to each man as he moved into the box.
Dean moved up to the box, glided into it, and flinched as the door closed behind him. He closed his eyes as instructed and didn’t see the sensors as they measured him. Ground to crown. Toe to heel to ankle, height of arch and instep. Ground to crotch, ground to waist. Hip to armpit to shoulder. Neck. Shoulders, delt to delt. Chest width and depth. Waist width and depth. Hips width and depth. Chin to crown to nape. Temple to temple. Occipital bulge. Height and width of brow. Spacing of eyes. Length of nose, breadth of nostrils. Width of mouth. And more.
It was over in less than a second.
The door popped open. Dean pushed himself out of the box, hand holded himself to the next station, held out his basket, and accepted the two pair of brilliant yellow sweatpants that were dropped onto it by the robot server.
Handhold again and be issued two equally bright sweatshirts. Another handhold and receive three sets of underwear. Again, and get four pair of socks. Once more for cloth shoes, two pair. At the last position, robot hands fitted a Ronin Tornado G13 Power Armor helmet onto his head.
Back in line with the others who’d received their clothing issue, waiting for the rest of the platoon to go through the line, Dean examined his cache. The sweatshirts bore a large gold emblem on their fronts: scantily clad female Ronin kneeling in front the Kurita Dragon, the emblem of the Razan’s Ronins Regiment . . . the same insignia worn on the collars of the dress uniform. The word Ronins ran down the outside of each sleeve. A gold stripe ran down the outside of each pant leg, with the word Ronins in red running its length. The underwear was utilitarian, the socks were thick, with cushioned soles. The white shoes were soft and flexible, and had rubber soles. Only the helmet was different.
It was drab, almost colorless. Dean snaked an arm through the basket’s handle and used that hand to grip the handhold. With his free hand he took the helmet off his head and examined it. It seemed to be sort of green, sort of gray, sort of . . . Dean blinked, sort of red. He moved his hand and held the hat against the side of his basket. It turned almost the same tan as the basket.
“Hey, look at this,” Anderhalt exclaimed.
Dean looked at the other recruit, who held his helmet against the bulkhead. The helmet was distinctly gray. Anderhalt started looking around for a different color to hold his helmet against.
“Belay that, people!” Neeley roared. The drill instructor was suddenly in front of Anderhalt, glowering at him, then glared down the row of recruits who had already received their clothing issues. “Just hang where you are and wait. When everyone has their issue, I’ll explain everything you’ve been issued . . . including the basic stealth effect.” He started to return to the line of recruits who hadn’t yet received their clothing, then briefly turned back. “Don’t just stand there in your skivvies, get dressed.”
Soon enough they all had their clothing issue and were standing in formation, each recruit a brilliant splash of yellow against the battleship gray of the compartment’s bulkhead. Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley stood front and center to address them.
“You will not be issued proper uniforms until we reach Ascella,” he told them. “There are two reasons for that. The first is you will undergo a strenuous physical fitness program aboard this ship, and you will be eating a diet carefully calculated to help bring you to peak physical condition. That means you will change shape . . . for most of you, that means lose fat and replace it with muscle. Some of you will gain weight. Either way, the clothes that fit you today won’t fit a month from now. Before you disembark this ship, you will step into the coffin again to be remeasured. These two measurements, today’s and on your last day, will be one gauge of how your fitness has progressed.
“The second reason is a very practical one. Shortly after you came aboard the Amber Lotus, you were told that you would be restricted to this deck for the duration of the voyage.” He paused to sweep his gaze across the faces of everyone in the platoon. “Let me assure you, no one else on board this ship is wearing bright yellow sweat suits. Should you attempt to go to any other part of the ship, you will be seen and reported. Let’s not find out what will happen to anyone who leaves Deck Twenty three.” He paused to consider for a moment, then continued.
“A number of you have examined your headgear and wondered why they don’t seem to have any particular color . . . or that they don’t seem to stick to one color. Maybe you’ve heard of Power Armor Light. That’s what we wear in the field, Battle Armor or Power Armor Light. The Ronin’s have done away with unarmored infantry units. Tornado Power Armor is only worn on combat operations, except that the headgear is worn with the standard green garrison utility uniform. Within limits, Tornado Power Armor picks up the color pattern of whatever they are closest to. That makes a fighting Ronin very hard for an enemy to see. You may well wonder why you have Power Armor headgear now. Again, there are two reasons. The first is so you will get used to the idea. The second is so you will look as empty headed as you are at this time.”
Neeley looked at Singh. “Move them on to the next station.”
Word Count 2233
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
Transcript for FW-PA-02-01 Planetary Assault Telos IV
-
Iceman
- Posts: 66
- Joined: Wed Jul 06, 2016 10:51 pm
- affiliations: Name: Kintaro Tanaka
Callsign: 'Iceman'
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
Hardware: Kage BA (DEST)
Battalion: DEST
Company: Shadow
Platoon: PA(L) DEST Platoon Alpha
Assignment: Breach
Role: Executive Officer
Unit: Razan's Ronins
House: Draconis Combine
Transcript for FW-PA-02-01 Planetary Assault Telos IV
Name: Kintaro Tanaka
Rank: Colonel
Callsign: 'Iceman'
MH: Steele Dagger Spec Ops BA
Role: DEST
Assignment: CO Battle Armor Regiment
Platoon: Black Ops
Company: SWAT
Battalion: HQ Battalion
Regiment: Smilodon
RESTLESS SOULS MERCENARY DIVISION
Rank: Colonel
Callsign: 'Iceman'
MH: Steele Dagger Spec Ops BA
Role: DEST
Assignment: CO Battle Armor Regiment
Platoon: Black Ops
Company: SWAT
Battalion: HQ Battalion
Regiment: Smilodon
RESTLESS SOULS MERCENARY DIVISION
-
Iceman
- Posts: 66
- Joined: Wed Jul 06, 2016 10:51 pm
- affiliations: Name: Kintaro Tanaka
Callsign: 'Iceman'
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
Hardware: Kage BA (DEST)
Battalion: DEST
Company: Shadow
Platoon: PA(L) DEST Platoon Alpha
Assignment: Breach
Role: Executive Officer
Unit: Razan's Ronins
House: Draconis Combine
Re: Transcript for FW-PA-02-01 Planetary Assault Telos IV
FW-PA-02-01 #09
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Orbit
Aboard the DCS Amber Lotus
Deck 23
Training Deck
Area Whiskey
2nd Platoon’s Billet
Wednesday 6th June 22:15 3094 Local
The recruits knew their day was nearing its end when they discovered they could hardly drag themselves any farther through the maze of corridors and compartments that constituted Area Whiskey. At last Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty led them into a large compartment equipped with bunks and personal gear lockers.
The bunks . . . called “racks,” to the great mystification of the recruits . . . were fastened to the bulkheads or to vertical pipes running from overhead to deck, three high. There were just enough for the men of second platoon. Their spacing looked odd . . . there seemed to be exactly as much space below the bottom rack as there was above the top one.
The recruits of the training platoon were told for the time being just to stow their gear in the lockers as best they could and secure the lockers with the padlocks that were part of their issue. In the morning, Pretty promised, he would come around with Go-chu (Corporal) Singh and show them how to do it properly, to be ready for the continuous round of inspections that would soon form a major part of the routine of their life aboard the WarShip. “If any of you must jerk off in the night, kindly see none of it gets on the guy on the bottom,” Pretty announced just before he led them to the galley for their first WarShip meal.
Sometime during all this rushing around, getting issued clothing, personal and hygienic supplies, personnel-record bracelets, and everything else they’d need during the one month voyage, the WarShip pulled out of Outreach’s orbit and headed for its first jump point. For this first phase of its movement, the Amber Lotus rotated around its long axis. The rotation created centripetal force, which gradually restored an ersatz gravity. The transition was so gradual that the recruits were in the galley, eating solid food off plastic trays, before they realized they weren’t floating anymore.
The galley was enormous, more than big enough to hold the recruits of Company A. The food was plentiful and delicious and the recruits ate ravenously. Even McNeal was so hungry he finished his meal with hardly a word between mouthfuls.
Back in the platoon bay, Pretty announced that the time was 22 hundred hours. “Your day while on board this ship commences at zero six hundred hours and lasts until twenty two hundred hours. On Ascella you’ll be lucky when your days don’t last twenty four hours. The training schedule for this voyage allows for half a day of free time once a week. That isn’t for four more days. Hop into your racks, people, the lights will be doused in exactly five minutes!” And they were.
* * *
The young men and women of the training platoon strapped themselves into their racks. The ship’s centripetal gravity kept them secure in their racks, and the straps were provided in case an inflight emergency caused the ship to cease its rotation. During the sleep period, the only light in the compartment came from small emergency lamps near the deck and the overhead to guide men in case of an emergency. Too tired even to talk with McNeal in the next bunk below his, Dean lay and listened to the ship as it groaned and cracked and hummed all about him in the darkness. From far, far away came the dim but incessant boom of the Amber Lotus’s many motors, engines, and machinery.
Dean thought for the first time that day of his mother and wondered what she was doing. He thought about what he’d learned that day. The last thing he thought that first night was that he was just too excited to sleep.
* * *
The Amber Lotus reached jump point in the middle of the Third day sometime in the afternoon, and the D.I.’s herded their charges back into their compartments.
“Everybody, in your racks. Right now, right now. No dilly dallying here. Believe me, you don’t want to be standing when we make the jump. Move it now.”
Pretty and Singh swam through the compartment, hustling the recruits with staccato commands of “Move, move, move,” and using their hands to rush them into the racks.
“Everybody, lie supine.” Singh saw someone on his stomach and shouted, “I said supine, dummy, not prone. Prone is a position for shooting and fucking. You aren’t doing either right now. On your back. Everybody, on your backs and strap in.”
The three drill instructors made another pass through the compartment, making sure each man was properly strapped in.
Once everyone was secured in his rack, the three D.I.’s went to the compartment hatch. “Stay where you are, as you are,” Neeley said, “until we come back to let you out.” He opened a small panel next to the hatch and pulled a lever concealed behind it, then hit the light control as he followed the other two D.I.’s out of the compartment, plunging the compartment into darkness broken only by the emergency lights.
“Hey, what’s this?” Dean shouted as a webbing suddenly dropped from the bottom of the rack above him and secured itself to the frame of his own rack. He wasn’t the only one asking that question, but nobody could answer it. They found out a moment later when the artificial gravity shut off and the ship jumped into hyperspace.
With an abruptness so complete it seemed that it had always been this way, the universe went gray. Or was it black? Weight vanished; it wasn’t a floating sensation like null g had been, but a total absence of weight, as though mass had disappeared altogether. All the weight that ever was, was now, and ever would be, settled onto him. There was no sound. There was such a volume of sound, he thought the universe must be ending in the collapse of everything into a primordial speck that instantly exploded in the big bang.
It ended as abruptly as it began, so suddenly that it was a few stunned seconds before anybody screamed. And only a few more seconds before everybody was yelling and struggling against the restraints that held them in their racks.
The pandemonium lasted only until the three drill instructors entered the compartment and reactivated the lights. The three Marines went through the bay just as they had moments earlier, this time calming everyone down. They weren’t totally successful; some of the recruits were upset by the unexpected experience, and would remain so for some time to come. When relative calm was restored, Neeley stood by the compartment hatch and spoke to the platoon.
“I know that some of you think it was unfair of us to let you experience a jump into hyperspace without warning of what was about to happen. But this is an important lesson for you to learn. The Razan’s Ronins are warriors. We fight battles. Sometimes we know a fight is coming; we set the time, the place, and the circumstances for it and are fully prepared. But sometimes we have only a few moments of warning . . . or no warning whatsoever. There’s a big universe out there, with a lot of surprises. Most of those surprises are nasty, and can kill you if you aren’t prepared to act immediately and decisively when they happen. What you just experienced was an unpleasant surprise, but nobody got hurt.” He looked at them with mild disgust. “And every one of you panicked. Try to do better next time. The next time you get surprised, your lives may well depend on your reaction. The next surprise that jumps out at you just might kill you.” Finished with his speech, Neeley turned and left the compartment.
Pretty snorted and followed the senior D.I. Singh shook his head. He said one word, softly, but loud enough for all to hear: “Boots!” He pushed the lever that released the restraining webbing before he left, and dogged the hatch behind him, so the men of the training platoon were left on their own to ponder what Neeley had said about surprises.
Only then did they notice that gravity had returned. It took several more minutes for anyone to notice that what had been the compartment’s overhead was now its deck. “Down” was now toward, rather than away from, the ship’s core. The racks had rotated during the jump. Now they understood why there was as much space below the bottom rack as there was above the top one.
Word Count 1493
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #10
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Sunday June 10th 3094 11:30 local
Hojuhei (Recruit) Jamila walked down the ramp from the Karnov slowly. In front of her flew another cargo helicopter, divulging fresh Hojuheis (Recruit) just like herself. Several battlemechs scattered around, with technicians, pilots and engineers all around them. Jamila was psyched. Her field training was a complete success, bringing her to the top five graduate with seven helicopter, three tank and one mech kills. She was transferred to the Razan’s Ronins Live Fire grounds as one of the test pilots for their replacement battlemechs they had received. The Razan’s Ronins had acquired a battalion worth of pristine, brand spanking new Military Hardware. Being the first batch to pilot the replacement ‘Mechs made her thrilled.
She walked down to the HQ building with other new graduates. Inside they formed a line while two officers inspected their dossiers. Forming up the line, Jamila inspected the building. Blueprints were hanging on the walls, engineers and soldiers in uniform strolling back and forth, some of them chattering over their com link.
"Alright, newbies, welcome to the Razan’s Ronins Live Fire Training," one of the officers said. "My name is Tai-i (Captain) Luke Quinn. I am responsible for the screening of the new pilots for the MHB battlemechs. That's why you're here. You are selected from the best new graduates from all around Inner Sphere. You have exemplary records throughout your training. Some of you will be selected to be the first to man these, awesome machine that will set a new standard in the battlefield.
"These ‘Mechs, names are Raven, Javelin, Tessen, and Jenner. The Jenner combines the speed and agility of a Locust with the armor and firepower of a Wolfhound. Floats like a Flea, stings like an UrbanMech. It is designed with one task in mind: hunter killer, to kill enemy scouts. This ‘Mech is by no means a scout, even though it is equipped with a Bk-309 Targeting and Tracking System, so those of you who expect to sneak behind enemy lines, with its ‘state of the art’ stealth armor and Angel ECM, for a few photographs, you don't belong here. That job is for paparazzi. Your job is to kill enemy paparazzis. Got me?"
"We got you, Sir!" Jamila and the other Hojuheis (Recruit)s replied in unison.
"Remember, I expect you to exceed my expectation. Briefing tomorrow at 900 hours, then you'll have your first taste of this ‘Mech, but only in simulation. I want you to be fully familiar with this ‘Mech before I put you in the real one. This ‘Mech costs more than six million c-bills. Now dismiss and follow Chu-i (Lieutenant) Rolf to your bunks."
Jamila followed the Chu-i (Lieutenant) and walked to two barracks, not very far from there. The Chu-i (Lieutenant) assigned the male Hojuheis (Recruit)s to one barrack and the females to the other. When she entered, Jamila found her name engraved on one of the lockers beside a bed. She slammed herself on the bed. She was 18 year old, 5'5" 125 lbs with shoulder length hair and dark eyes. She grabbed a bar of soap and walked towards the shower.
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Briefing Room
Monday June 11th 3094 9:00 Local
"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP!"
Jamila was standing in the briefing room with the other Hojuheis (Recruit)s. Tai-i (Captain) Quinn was standing in front of a map hanging on the wall. There were almost twenty Hojuheis (Recruit)s in the room, everyone was as eager as Jamila. Although today was just a simulation, everyone was anxious to get to know a ‘Mech that floated like a Flea, stung like an UrbanMech, just like Quinn said the other day.
"Today we will play the classic 'Capture the Flag' game. Your job is to defend your flag while trying to take the enemy's flag. Simple, but effective. I will divide you into Red Team and Blue Team. Red Team consists of Adam, Joy, Marge, Leif, Voght, Zander, Troy, and Gil. Blue Team consists of Cedric, Jamila, Fowl, Jensen, Piet, Bruno, Hajji, and Leroy.
"You will power up immediately around your flag. You know the rule, so stay in the game as long as possible. I will review your combat skill personally. Remember, we only need four pilots. Half of which will come from the Razan’s Ronins Ascella training Academy. Two of those will be mid to senior ranking officer, the last two will be from among you. That means, by the end of the screening, some of you will go home. Now go to your simulator."
Jamila quickly followed the others to the simulation room. There were a lot of simulation pods, more than the number of Hojuhei s (Recruit)s. Each pod was operated by two technicians. Jamila took the pod in the middle, and one of the techs asked her if she was red of blue. Jamila said blue, and the tech connected the blue cable into the main slot. Jamila entered the pod, which was an exact replica of a battlemech's cockpit. She put on her neuro helmet, sat on the command couch, and initiated the start sequence.
The screen in front of her came to life, and for the first time Jamila saw the ‘Mech. It was chicken walker, with a cock pit similar to a Thunderbolt’s. The Jenner sported six Kajuka Type 2 Bright Blossom Medium Lasers . Its missile weaponry was completely dropped in favor of increasing the 'Mech's medium laser armament up to six. It is an experimental variant of the Jenner developed during the fifth Succession War. It is a test bed chassis for LAW on New Samarkand in 3072. Using the JR7-K as its base, with extensive revisions. Its internal structure was upgraded to a Composite Internal Structure. Its engine swapped out for a 245 rated XL Engine, which helps maintain the Jenner's original speed. The designer moved the forward jutting cockpit to a Torso Mounted Cockpit. The Jenner’s Jump Jets were increased from base module to seven. For the 'Mech's protection, it has an Angel ECM and its hull has been encased with seven tons of Light Ferro-Fibrous Armor. For its stealth capacities, the 'Mech has been given an Experimental Null Signature System. Defensively the high speed and Stealth Armor made the Jenner particularly difficult to hit. This allowed the Jenner to dictate the pace of the fight and maximize its advantages. Seven other ‘Mechs stood by her side, and one hundred meters behind her flew the blue flag. Another group of ‘Mechs, denoted as red dots in her radar, stood roughly one kilometer away from her position.
"Come on, let's kill the Red Team!" somebody yelled. "Charge! Charge!"
Without warning, the Blue Team rushed toward the Red Team, while the other did the same. Jamila gunned her engine into the center. Her ‘Mech responded quickly to her demand, running smoothly on the coarse, arid terrain. Jamila could only hope that the real ‘Mech had this exact treat. She pushed the throttle to maximum as the Red Team loomed closer and closer.
Soon, all hell broke loose. Laser bursts blasted the front armor of the other ‘Mechs, spreading molten armor into the air. Missiles leapt from their tubes and erupted upon impact. The battle was quick and confusing. In a state like this, it was hard to determine which one was enemy and which one was friend. Ironically, some Hojuhei s (Recruit)s blasted their own comrades without realizing that they were on the same team. All guns blazed, and after several minutes of confusing battle, arms and legs started to fly to every direction.
Jamila triggered her jump jets, bringing her flying over the main battlefield below. She landed fifty meters behind an enemy ‘Mech and rushed toward the red flag. She was adjusting her course when she heard several beeps on her radar. Suddenly several rounds of missile slammed into her back. Jamila yelped as her ‘Mech almost toppled, but her quick reflex saved her from tumbling. She turned around and another ‘Mech from the Red Team was firing medium lasers at her.
Jamila knew she had to deal with this attacker, so she let out a quick burst of lasers. Her bursts flew wide without harm. The other ‘Mech tilted up and spread its missiles, one of which caught Jamila on the center torso. Jamila staggered, but quickly reestablished her footing and fired off her own lasers as quickly as they could recharge, but the other ‘Mech was quick enough to get out of the way. Jamila leapt into the air and sprayed the other ‘Mech with her medium lasers. Three of the 5cm coherent light beams hit the other ‘Mech on the left arm, boroughing deep black scars into the armor. Jamila landed smoothly, but two enemy SRM streaks darted her torso. Warning sign glared on the console, she lost sixty five percent armor on the front. She winced, yanking the joystick to other directions. Missiles burst all around her.
"Come on!" Jamila taunted. "You want a piece of me? Come on, give me your best shot!"
The other ‘Mech took off into the air and fired its entire arsenal at Jamila. She floored the pedal and savagely tugged the stick until it touched her crotch. Her ‘Mech jumped into the air, missing all the lasers and missiles. Tracers of light and smoke blasted from her guns as she hit the alpha-strike button. The six laser beams slammed into the other ‘Mech's midst and three of them ravaged its left arm. The Red Team ‘Mech lost balance, then crashed to the ground as it slipped upon landing.
"Hell Yeah! Eat dirt, asshole!" Jamila screamed, letting out her frustration.
Suddenly, two medium laser beams stroke deep into her left torso. Hydraulic fluid was incinerated, causing major fire near the rotor. Jamila groaned as her left arm lasers were destroyed. She glanced back and saw two Red Team ‘Mechs, shredded to pieces but still functional, taking pot shots at her.
"Damn cowards, shooting in the back!" she turned her ‘Mech around. "Here, eat my lasers and die!"
She fired her four remaining lasers as soon as they blinked green at a Red Team ‘Mech that lost one leg. At her present range it was all but impossible to miss the enemy Red Team ‘Mech. The ‘Mech didn't have time to flinch. All four laser beams burned into the center torso, the energy beams quickly ate the remaining armor apart and incinerated the ammunition bins. The ‘Mech blasted in a huge fireball. Jamila twisted slightly to the right and targeted the other ‘Mech. She fired two of her lasers, two at a time in double round salvos from her remaining armament into its midst. The ‘Mech, battered from the previous brawl, rocked back and forth as Jamila's 5cm laser fire destroyed its reactor. It toppled to the ground.
Jamila watched the ‘Mech tumbled but suddenly felt a rush of explosion hit her from her back. The other Red Team ‘Mech had regained its footing, and was shooting Jamila from the back. Jamila turned around, but the other ‘Mech fired its entire arsenal. She bit her lips as quakes overcame the cockpit. Her ‘Mech lost power, then slumped to the ground.
"Crap!" Jamila cursed, watching the other ‘Mech rushed freely toward the blue flag. As soon as it arrived at the blue flag, the screen went off. Jamila realized that she was the last one standing from the Blue Team. Had she won over the other ‘Mech, she would have been the one that waltzed over to the red flag and scored the victory. But it was too late. She stripped her neuro helmet off and got out of the simulator.
Outside, Tai-i (Captain) Quinn had been waiting for them. "Some of you did exceed my expectation, but others failed to impress me. There will be two more screening tests for you before I make my decision. Carry on, ‘Mechwarriors, but don't make yourself comfortable yet."
WORD COUNT 2086
NPC
Hojuhei (Recruit)
Jamila Shani
Call Sign: Ferret
Recon Training Lance
Kiridashi Company
Ronin Legion Battalion
Jenner JR-10X
Razan’s Ronins Mixed Arms Regiment
DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: MyKayla
Rank: Sho-ka (Master Sergeant)
Callsign: Sy-Berian Starr
Lance: Dragon Sword
Company: Katana
Battalion: Ronin Legion
Military Hardware: Daboku DCMS-MX92-E
Role: Assault
Unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #11
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Red Light District
Bourbon Street
Yodel Bar
Monday June 11th 3094 14:30local
After a quick shower, Jamila went to the bar to cool off. She was still mad about the simulation in the morning. She thought the other ‘Mechwarrior cheated her by shooting her in the back. She knew that there was no rule about shooting in the back for Mercenaries, but she still felt that each other should not do it.
In the bar, several Hojuhei s (Recruit)s were gathering on a table, smiling and talking about the simulation. Judging from their elaborate talking, Jamila could see that they were from the Red Team. One particular Hojuhei (Recruit) laughed and smiled and talked like he was the hero of the team. Jamila immediately knew that he was the one that shot her in the back, the last Hojuhei (Recruit) standing. She thought she should say a few words to him, so she came to the table and stared at the Hojuhei (Recruit) rudely.
"You cheated in the simulation!" she snapped. "Everybody saw what you did, and yet you gloat like you're a war hero or something! You make me sick!"
The group of Hojuhei (Recruit) suddenly stopped talking. The one that Jamila tongue lashed got up, but instead of yelling back, he offered her a handshake. "You must be the last one from the Blue Team, the last one I fought. Good moves you have. My name is Leif. Leif Benzon. Nice to meet you."
Jamila shied away from his outstretched hand as if has some sort of contagious disease. "What is wrong with you?" Jamila flamed. "You cheating bastard! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"Why?" Leif frowned. "Shooting in the back is a quick way to kill your enemy, because the rear armor is thinner than the front armor. And as far as I know, we don't have 'rules' like the Clans. All is fair in love and war."
Leif had a good point, and Jamila admitted it. But she didn't want to show it, not to an arrogant Hojuhei (Recruit) like Leif. "You knew I was fighting two of your friends. You knew I was outnumbered. Yet you took advantage of that and singed me with cheap shots from behind! I hope you got expelled from the Academy!"
"Why are you so upset about it?" Leif chuckled. "It's only a game! There will be two more simulations, and if you think I owe you a fair duel, then I'll see you in combat." Leif chugged his beer. "And to make you feel better, I only cheat if I don't think I can do it the right way."
Jamila didn't know if she should feel better. But his last comment did make her feel a little good. She decided that she didn't want to pursue the fight anymore. She stepped back and gave Leif a quick snort, saying, "I'll be waiting." She quickly exited the bar and went back to the barracks.
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Simulation Room
Wednesday 13th 3094 09:30 local
The Hojuhei s (Recruit)s were assembled in the simulation room where Quinn held the briefing. Jamila stole a quick glance at Leif. He was a man in his early twenties, with crew cut hair and arrogant face. Jamila could hardly wait to fight him again. He was a good fighter and had good moves, but Jamila was confident she could beat him, considering he didn't find a way to cheat.
"This time, Red Team will guard a depot, and Blue Team will attack it," Quinn explained the simulation plot. "You have 10 minutes. Blue Team wins if the depot is destroyed, and Red Team wins if the depot still stands after 10 minutes. Above all, one team wins if all the other team members are destroyed. I will reshuffle the team to give you a chance to work with everybody. Red Team is Fowl, Adam, Joy, Piet, Voght, Zander, Troy, and Hajji. Blue Team is Marge, Leif, Cedric, Jamila, Jensen, Bruno, Gil, and Leroy. Alright, you know your objective. Get into the simulators and get it done!"
"So, this duel of ours will have to wait," Leif said as Jamila slipped into the simulator. "We're on the same team now."
"Doesn't mean you're my friend," Jamila retorted. "Just get out of my crosshair."
"Sure," Leif smiled. "See you on the battlefield."
The simulation started, and the Blue Team was deployed one kilometer from the depot. Jamila quickly set her throttle to maximum and joined the rest of the Blue Team to charge the depot. She set aside all thoughts about Leif and focused on the depot.
"Hey, girl, this is Leif," suddenly her comlink crackled with Leif's annoying voice. "Wanna win this round quickly? Don't waste your time and energy fighting the Red Team. We win as soon as the depot crumbles, and hitting the depot is much easier than hitting ‘Mechs. It's big, stationary, and doesn't shoot back."
"What the hell is your problem?" Jamila yelled. "What do you want from me?"
"Come with me and I'll show you the way to a quick, painless victory!"
As much as Jamila wanted to ignore Leif, she knew Leif was right. Being in the offense gave her considerable advantage. She started to see a different side of Leif. He was bright. He knew what to do to win, and he didn't waste his time doing anything else. She decided to follow him. "Alright, what do you want me to do?"
"Slow down and let others pass. Let them engage the Red Team."
"Are you nuts? The Blue Team will be outnumbered! You're pimping your comrades so you can get the prize! Dirty scum! We can't do that in real combat!"
"If we strike the depot quickly, none will get hurt. Are you with me?"
Jamila still felt Leif's tactic was very risky, but she understood what he was trying to do. Quicker fight resulted in less casualties. But her comrades had to suffer, and some of them might 'die'. She was torn between completing her objective quickly and saving her comrades. She couldn't make a decision.
"Hey! Make up your mind quickly!" Leif snapped. "In real combat, you'll die if you hesitate!"
"Dammit, I'm gonna regret this!" Jamila decided she would go with Leif. "Alright, I'm slowing down!"
She depressed the pedal and held the joystick backward to make her ‘Mech slow down. The Blue Team rushed on and started engaging the Red Team. Missiles and lasers slammed into each other, gouging deep gashes in the armors and putting several cracks in the internal structure. The Blue Team fought a respectable struggle, but missing two members caused them to be overwhelmed. The Red Team quickly pressed the Blue Team, pushing them back, away from the depot.
"Jamila! Leif! What the hell are you doing?" Quinn's voice exploded on Jamila's comlink. "Get back in rank and help your friends!"
"Ignore him," Leif crackled. "It's time. Follow me!"
Leif's ‘Mech broke into a sprint, then jumped into the air. Jamila gunned her engine then fired up her jump jets, making her ‘Mech soar above the Blue and Red Teams, and landed only fifty meters from the depot. The Red Team, startled by their sudden move, started to disengage the Blue Team but the Blue Team kept them busy. Jamila and Leif pummeled the depot with everything they had, and soon enough, the depot crumbled in pieces and went up in flames.
"See?" Leif quipped as the simulator screen went dark. "We destroyed the depot quick enough before our team suffer any casualties. Thanks for your help. I couldn't have done it without you."
"Do you think we'll be in trouble for disobeying an order?" Jamila asked.
"Trouble? What kind of trouble? We completed our objective, Blue Team won without casualty… what could possibly be better than that?"
"I don't know," Jamila sighed. "Tai-i (Captain) Quinn didn't sound too happy."
"If he makes a big deal out of it, then he's an idiot. Let's get out."
As soon as Jamila got out, Quinn greeted her with flaming eyes. Jamila knew that she would lose her place as the pioneer ‘Mechwarrior of the Jenner ‘Mech. If she did, then she swore she would kill Leif.
"My office… Now!" Quinn roared. "You too, Leif!"
"Don't say anything," Leif whispered while they followed Quinn. "I'll take care of this."
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Tai-i (Captain) Quinn's Office
Wednesday June 13th 3094 10:45 local
"You disregarded a direct order from your ranking officer and acted recklessly!" Quinn screamed in front of Leif's and Jamila's faces. "You left your comrades fighting the enemies alone! That is a lethal dose of insubordination, Hojuheis (Recruit)s! I will put this in your dossiers and no Razan’s Ronins Captain will ever want you in their Company!"
"With all due respect, Sir," Leif responded. "The Blue Team's objective was to destruction of the depot. We accomplished our objective, Sir, and in addition to that, the Blue Team did not lose a single member."
"Don't smart up with me, Hojuhei (Recruit)!" Quinn hissed. "Are you saying that your objective is more important than the lives of your comrades?"
"Sir, no Sir! That is the motivation that I acted beyond my order. I know the fighting will stop if the depot is destroyed. To minimize casualties, we need to destroy the depot as soon as possible."
"Then why didn't you lead your comrades to carry your bright idea?"
"They wouldn't listen to me, Sir," Leif answered ‘matter of factly’. "Only an intelligent ‘Mechwarrior with an open mind would understand my plan, and carry it with trust."
"And this is your intelligent, open minded ‘Mechwarrior?" Quinn switched his attention to Jamila. "Is that true, Hojuhei (Recruit) Jamila?"
"Sir, yes Sir!" Jamila didn't have anything else to say. "Hojuhei (Recruit) Leif's presented his plan to me the moment we touched down. I considered it. The more time we took the more lives it would cost. Under the parameters of our mission it was the best thing for the Blue Team, so we did it."
Quinn stared at Leif and Jamila interchangeably, then walked behind his desk and slammed himself onto the chair. "In my twenty some odd years of experience, this is the first time my Hojuheis (Recruit)s make me feel like a moron. No Hojuheis (Recruit)s had defied me before. Newbies… they carried my order as if I was the Coordinator. You two are stupid enough to overlook the fact that I, though not the Coordinator, decide your fate in this project.”
"However, you manage to take advantage of the flaw in the computer simulation," Quinn looked at Leif. "Someone with your observation skill will be very helpful to the Regiment."
"Does that mean I pass your screening, Sir?" Leif asked.
"You and your intelligent, open minded ‘Mechwarrior," Quinn glanced to Jamila. "We have one more simulated battle before we go on the field test. Obey my command and I'll give you the first two spots on the field test, along with my recommendation to go to whatever Ronins Lance you wish to join. Now dismiss."
Jamila smiled from ear to ear. When they got out, she tapped Leif's hand. "I never liked you, Leif. You're the most arrogant, reckless cheater I have ever seen. However, you take responsibility for your actions and you gave me a spot in this project. I highly respect that. So thank you. I owe you one."
"You owe me nothing but your name," Leif winked. "I think we are never properly introduced. Hi, I'm Leif ‘Silver Shark’ Benzon, first of Class of ‘92, An Ting University."
"Jamila ‘Ferret’ Shani, third of Class of ‘92, Minoru Kurita University," Jamila shook Leif's hand. "Wanna hit the bar? I think this whole situation made me thirsty."
"Sure, why not," Leif smiled and walked with Jamila. "I'm buying."
WORD COUNT 2080
NPC
Hojuhei (Recruit)
Jamila Shani
Call Sign: Ferret
Recon Training Lance
Kiridashi Company
Ronin Legion Battalion
Jenner JR-10X
Razan’s Ronins Mixed Arms Regiment
DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: MyKayla
Rank: Sho-ka (Master Sergeant)
Callsign: Sy-Berian Starr
Lance: Dragon Sword
Company: Katana
Battalion: Ronin Legion
Military Hardware: Daboku DCMS-MX92-E
Role: Assault
Unit: Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment
House: DRACONIS COMBINE
FW-PA-02-01 #12
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Simulation Room
Monday June 18th 3094 09:15 local
The third simulation went well. Knowing that their places on the field test team were guaranteed, Leif and Jamila played it safe and didn't pull off any reckless stunts. Today was the announcement of the field test team, the ‘Mechwarriors that were deemed fit to pilot the ‘Mechs for the first time. Unsurprisingly, Leif and Jamila found their names among the four names that were selected for field test on Ascella. ‘Mechwarriors that found their names on the list rejoiced and celebrated the event in the bar.
"I don't know if we should go with them," Jamila said to Leif. "We've known we'd be in this team since last week."
"It'll be awkward if we don't," Leif replied. "Others will suspect foul play. Come on, it doesn't hurt going to the bar and have a few drinks with them. Just fake excitement and congratulate each other for an hour. Then you can do whatever you want."
"I suspect you're right," Jamila said unenthusiastically. "Alright, let's go."
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Red Light District
Bourbon Street
Norton Hotel
Honeymoon Suite
Tuesday June 19th 3094 13:15 local
"Ugh!" Jamila woke up with a massive headache. She massaged her temple to clear her mind, then realized that she was not in her bunk. She was in a room unfamiliar to her, with clothes and shoes and bedsheets scattered all over the floor. She didn't remember how she ended up here, and then she realized that she was not alone. A man was snoring next to her, naked.
"What the hell?" she flipped the man over, and gasped when she realized that it was Leif. She shifted to the other side of the bed, then realized that she too, was also naked. "No!" she choked, thinking of the only thing that could have done between them. "No, no, no!"
"Shut up, Jamila!" Leif mumbled. "I'm trying to sleep…" Then Leif jerked his head when his senses came to him. "Oh shit, oh shit! This can't be happening!"
"What the hell are you doing?" Jamila yelled, covering her body with the bed sheet. "How could you jeopardize our careers by acting this stupid?"
"Me? How come it's me?" Leif retorted. "Do you think it's my idea?"
"You're the one that acts reckless all the time! I'm not a slut that sleeps with anybody!"
"But even if I asked you, you could've said no! What, do you think I'm a psychopath that put a knife under your chin while having sex with you? Do you think I enjoy the company of a helpless woman? Face it Jamila, you're as guilty as I am. We… we could've drunk too much."
"Aw phuk!" Jamila smacked her head with her palm. Of course she drank too much. She couldn't remember what happened to her, she smelled like a can of beer, and she still was hungover. She regretted her decision to go to the bar that led to sleeping with Leif. The Razan’s Ronins would not allow a couple at Hojuhei (Recruit) rank in the same unit. One of them, or worse, both of them would have to leave the Regiment.
"Quinn cannot know about this," Jamila stated.
"What are you talking about? Nobody should," Leif added. "If anybody asks, we say that we just had some fun."
"Just casual, no string attached."
"Right," Leif got up and started collecting his clothes. "We'd better get back before anybody notice."
WORD COUNT 667
NPC
Hojuhei (Recruit)
Jamila Shani
Call Sign: Ferret
Recon Training Lance
Kiridashi Company
Ronin Legion Battalion
Jenner JR-10X
Razan’s Ronins Mixed Arms Regiment
DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: MyKayla
Rank: Sho-ka (Master Sergeant)
Callsign: Sy-Berian Starr
Lance: Dragon Sword
Company: Katana
Battalion: Ronin Legion
Military Hardware: Daboku DCMS-MX92-E
Role: Assault
Unit: Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment
House: DRACONIS COMBINE
FW-PA-02-01 #13
Draconis Combine/ULTRA Contested
Dieron Prefecture
Dieron Military District
Al Na'ir Province
Telos IV
Lower Atmosphere
Union Class DropShip
Black Ronin
Deck Seven
‘Mech Bay
Saturday 7th July 3094 2250 Local
Nobody ever found out what happened to Leif Benzon and Jamila Shani. It was as if it never happened. But for Leif and Jamila, that night became their nightmare. The journey from Ascella to Telos IV became the longest 4 weeks in their lives, because they always kept their distance. They tried to act normal, but the fear of getting caught haunted them in every occasion. Leif and Jamila never conversed longer than 5 minutes, and if they did talk, they only talked general things.
For Jamila, it was the worst scenario possible. Leif transformed from the one she hated, to the one she liked, to the one she bedded, to the one she had to avoid at all cost. She didn't even remember if she enjoyed her time with Leif, but she had to pay the price nonetheless. Sometimes she thought that she was just being paranoid, that nobody would ever find out about that night. But other times she felt everybody stared at her mockingly.
After 4 weeks of traveling, they finally arrived at Telos IV. All the mission’s ‘Mechwarriors gathered in the Black Ronins’ briefing room to hear the mission. It was a real mission where she would take the Jenner ‘Mech into combat for the first time.
"For months, the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army ‘Dissidents’ have been a thorn in our side," Sho-sa (Major) Shannon ‘Crone’ Parish said. "They want to segregate from the Free Worlds League and establish their own fiefdom. The loyal contingent of the Telos IV Dieron Military District Militia, reported that there is a camouflaged base near the city of Triumph. There are no ‘Mechs in sight, just some armor companies and laser turrets. The DMDM also reported that some helicopter landing pads were spotted north of the base.
"Dragon’s Watch Lance’s objective is to level that base. Recon Lance objective is to break off into pairs with a lead and a wingman and to scout the terrain 50 klicks around Triumph. Dragon Lair Lance’s objective is to engage any enemy ‘Mechs that either of your individual lances may encounter. Drop off point is 2 kilometers outside the base. The techs have uploaded the nav points on your computers. Follow the nav points, kill everything in sight, and get back to the rendezvous point, and wait on a signal from the regiment to call for our DropShip. This mission should not take more than 30 minutes. The ULTRA armor should not pose a problem for our ‘Mechs Dragon’s Watch. Recon, you are here on a paparazzi mission. Don’t get bogged down in a prolonged firefight. Any questions? Good, drop off is in 20 minutes. Good luck!"
Jamila jogged to the hangar bay inside the Union Class DropShip where a dozen battlemechs waited. Her 35 ton Jenner was painted in traditional Razan’s Ronins urban camouflage, and the smell of the fresh paint filled the hangar. Two medium laser barrels peeked menacingly from either side of its head, one on each side, two more off the stubby little ports graced her left arm and right arm in an over under configuration just like a Marauder’s. Jamila quickly climbed up to the cockpit and, assisted by two techs, turned the ‘Mech on. A soft whirl echoed in the cockpit, and her console hummed to life.
"Go-chu (Corporal) Jamila reporting to duty," she spoke on the comlink. "All system nominal, ready to go." The other eleven pilots similarly checked in as well.
"Hey Jamila," Leif called her from her private channel. "Sorry that things had been awkward for us."
"Yeah," Jamila sighed. "Me too."
"When we get back to Ascella, can we start over? I mean, we were on the wrong track since we first met, and things got out of control until we arrived in the predicament that we find ourselves in now. I want to fix it."
"Why are you asking this now?" Jamila smiled. "Your timing couldn't be more perfect!"
"Well, we never had a chance to talk privately. Eyes and ears are everywhere. So what do you say?"
"I don't know. I have to think about it."
"Should I leave you my number?"
"Shut up!" Jamila turned her comlink off.
* * *
“That’s it, Sho-sa (Major), we’re on our way.” Kashira (Talon Sergeant) Zach Evans half turned in his seat to look at Shanon, who was dropping to Telos IV’s surface in her Hitotsume Kozo HKZ 1F behind him watching over the XO of the Dragon’s Lair Lance’s shoulder at the faint gleam that marked Kiridashi Company’s destination. At a distance of over several kilometers, the base all but disappeared in the distant lights filling the Hitotsume Kozo’s narrow view screen.
“Aye, Kashira (Talon Sergeant),” Shanon said. “Let’s start releasing our own decoys.”
Evans pressed a black plastic stud, which to Shanon’s eye looked exactly the same as the score of similar buttons surrounding it.
“Decoys away,” Evans said, casting a suspicious eye on the control he’d just touched. “Do you think that Sho-sa (Major) Karen Tsang, our Intel officer, really knew what she was talking about, ma’am?”
“Doesn’t matter what “I” think, Chu-i (Lieutenant). Both Chu-sa (Lieutenant Colonel) Reece Kimura and Sho-sa (Major) Owen Callaghan thought so,” Shanon answered. “So does Tai-sa (Colonel) Onishi Razan. I’m willing to take their word for it.”
In addition to the route of the ULTRA Supply train, Sho-sa (Major) Karen Tsang had provided the task force with a wealth of intelligence on new regime . . . their communication frequencies and codes, force compositions, transponder settings, and the like. Shanon knew from attending mission strategy sessions that the intel Regiment officer’s report was long and somewhat unorganized, as though Karen had recorded it as she went along, rather than entering the data into a framework of categories and classes. As a result, one had to sift through a great deal of speculation and partial information to glean what Shanon would have classed as solid, reliable intelligence.
Based on Karen’s report, the Black Ronins’s Identify Friend and Foe transponder had been reprogrammed. Now, if any Marik pilot or ground bound sensor operator interrogated that particular instrument, it would respond by transmitting an IFF code belonging to a civilian DropShip named Lynx.
“Humph.” Evans shook his head. “If the Free Worlders have changed their identity codes, we could land in a world of trouble in very short order.”
“Things could be worse,” Shanon reminded him. “We were originally supposed to make a high altitude drop from the Ulvenwald, neh? The Free Worlders don’t have anything that even vaguely resembles an Fortress Class DropShip. If we hadn’t use this Union Class, imagine what would happen if some nosy Marik pilot decides to make a close visual inspection rather than relying on his electronics? This whole operation would be blown even before our company made our drop.”
“I am willing to die for the Ronins. It is my job to do so if necessary, and it is the highest tribute for a soldier. But dying uselessly because a Marik fighter pilot showed some initiative is another thing altogether. This way, even if our code is wrong and they decide to make an inspection pass, at least we’re in an ovoid ship. The Free Worlders will probably think twice before shooting down an overweight ship just because it has an ‘out of date’ IFF code.”
“And if they shoot us down anyway?”
“Then it will have been our honor to serve Onishi Razan faithfully unto death.”
Kashira (Talon Sergeant) Zach Evans didn’t respond to Shanon’s half proud, half cheerful statement. He merely shrugged and turned his attention back to the business of grounding his medium class Wolf Trap Battlemech.
* * *
Five minutes later, the DropShip shook and rumbled as it pierced Telos IV atmosphere, all the way down to the surface. As the bay door opened, the Kiridashi Company launched and touched down and raced to find cover, quickly forming three lances. The lances split up and sprinted toward their own objectives. It was nighttime, and the urban camo paint of the Ronins’ ‘Mechs helped Dragon’s Watch Lance to camouflage while inching toward the base.
Eight hundred meters from the base, laser bolts started pouring from the base’s turrets. The night turned bright as the turrets intensified the counter attack. As Dragon’s Watch Lance closed with the base, several Myrmidons powered up and pumped up their PPCs.
Jamila jiggled her stick to dodge the laser and PPC rain. She was too far from the base to use her weapons, but the Free Worlders’ counter attack became more and more intense. One PPC bolt hit Leif’s Raven on Jamila's left, squarely on the chest. It punched a hole in the Raven's torso, taking away armor and exposing its engine and fusion reactor to air. The light ‘Mech staggered violently, the sudden change in balance made it swing and then twist around. Three consecutive laser bolts streaked out and hit her lance mate’s Javelin to the right and in front of her. The Javelin crashed to the ground in flames.
"Jamila! Their defense grid is too strong!" Leif yelled. "We have to swing around to the right flank! If we can find the power generator or control tower, we can turn off the turrets!"
"I'm coming with you!" Jamila yanked her joystick to the right, bringing her ‘Mech sprinting amidst laser and PPC barrages. She spotted Leif's ‘Mech and throttled up to follow him. Burning chunks of armor were thrown at every direction as their lance commander’s Tessen exploded in front of her. The Tessen’s explosion almost threw her off her feet, but Jamila grappled her joystick as hard as she could, keeping her ‘Mech up right.
Suddenly a laser bolt slammed into her Jenner’s torso, searing through armor and almost penetrating through to the internal structure. Jamila growled in frustration as she rattled the joystick. She slowed down, coping with the loss of balance, engaged her Angel ECM which made her null signature way more effective, then rammed her throttle to the full stop to keep running. The closest laser turret had fallen within the range of her weapons. Jamila punched the trigger and yanked the joystick to the right. Her laser beams flew dead on target to the turret while her right arm weapons carved it from the side. Fire burst from the impact, and smoke billowed from the crack. Jamila repeatedly raked the turret with her medium lasers, until it exploded in a fireball.
Meanwhile, Leif had reached the right flank of the base, leaving Jamila behind. He spotted the turret control tower and moved in to destroy it. He raked it with wave after wave from his SRM six pack, until it collapsed in on itself amidst falling bricks and a thunderous noise. Suddenly a squadron of Warrior helicopters boxed him from two directions, showering him with missiles. Leif lit his jump jets, but half of the missiles slammed into the ’Mechs massively armored chest. Leif was rocked back and forth as his ‘Mech was enveloped in a shroud of high explosive warheads. His Raven crashed back down to the ground, unceremoniously, ablaze.
"Leif!" Jamila cried out, whipping her ‘Mech to full speed to get to Leif in order to help him. "Hang on! Regiment this is Dragon’s Eye Three, requesting an emergency evac and an air ‘bus’ at grid Tango Whiskey Niner. I repeat, this is ‘Ferret’ requesting immediate assistance at coordinates TW9. Over!" she was met with static. “Regiment, this is 073, do you read me. Over! ‘Crone’!! Anybody? Over!”
"No! Forget it, Jamila!" Leif replied amidst a burst of static. "Fall back to the rally point!"
"No! I am NOT leaving my wingman!"
A wave of missiles swept the place where Leif's ‘Mech occupied, kicking up dust, soil, and chunks of armor flying in the air. Leif's Raven, venting tiny fires and thick roiling black smoke, regained its footing and retaliated with his single rack of six short ranged missiles, a extended range small laser, and a pair of extended range medium lasers. The medium lasers sliced a deep gash on the left side of a Warrior and the small laser caught one in its fragile rotor and his missiles clipped another Warriors tail. Both VTOLs lost control and crashed in a ball of fire and debris. But their remaining squadron mates sent another wave of missiles and gouged a deep scar on Leif's ‘Mech’s back, right under the reactor. Fire and smoke enveloped the 35 ton ‘Mech.
"Leif, eject! I'll get you out!" Jamila screamed. "Eject now!"
"It's too late! Don't come back here. Go on and save yourself!" Leif yelled back. "Get out of here, Jamila!"
The Warriors struck again. Twelve missiles chopped off the armor on its torso, and four consecutive blasts cut the power line on the Raven It was jolted backward, plummeted to the ground in a loud clang. With one mighty blast the ‘Mech released it’s nuclear sun, turning into a ball of fire.
"Nooooooo!!!! " Jamila watched as Leif went out in a blaze of glory. She froze for a moment, mourning the loss of her closest friend, until the Warriors started firing missiles at her. The field was littered with burning carcasses; half of them were ULTRA tanks. Jamila realized that there was nothing she could do. She turned around and ran as fast as she could, leaving the battlefield behind. The Warriors peppered her back, but as soon as they got into the treacherous no fly zone of the mountains, they retreated.
As the excitement subsided, Jamila realized her rookie mistake. She had engaged her Angel ECM suite and that had prevented anybody from communicating with her lance and that’s why no one had responded to her cries for assistance. Reaching down she flipped the switch to disengage it. The comm was instantly overrun with battle chatter. She linked up with the Dragon’s Lair Guard Lance. An hour later the Black Ronin returned for pick up.
Jamila entered the DropShip as the last survivor from Dragon Eye Lance. As soon as she got in, the DropShip blasted for orbit, leaving Dulles.
WORD COUNT 2447
NPC
Go-cho (Corporal)
Jamila Shani
Call Sign: Ferret
Recon Training Lance
Kiridashi Company
Ronin Legion Battalion
Jenner JR-10X
Razan’s Ronins Mixed Arms Regiment
DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: MyKayla
Rank: Sho-ka (Master Sergeant)
Callsign: Sy-Berian Starr
Lance: Dragon Sword
Company: Katana
Battalion: Ronin Legion
Military Hardware: Daboku DCMS-MX92-E
Role: Assault
Unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #14
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Helen
Nadir JumpPoint
Aboard the DCS Amber Lotus
Deck 23
Training Deck
Area Whiskey
2nd Platoon’s Billet
Tuesday 10th July 15:45 3094 Local
Each day started with the shrill blare of a bugle over the public address system and the drill instructors’ banging their batons against the bulkheads shouting an ancient chant: “Reveille! Reveille! Drop your cocks and grab your socks! Reveille!” Then, even before most of the recruits were fully awake, an hour of calisthenics, followed by showers, morning chow, and finally a thorough cleaning of the living compartments. After that, one hour of close order drill.
“Close order drill hasn’t changed much since the time of the Romans,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley announced, “and it hasn’t gotten to be any more fun since then either, but we require all our Infantry recruits to be able to march in matchless formations. After we land at Ascella, you’ll probably never use this skill, and it is a skill. So why do we teach it? This, recruits, is your introduction to following orders and working as a group, so pay attention! And don’t ever anticipate a command!”
Punishment for minor infractions of the rules on board the Amber Lotus was to practice close order drill between 22 hundred and 06 hundred hours and on the free half days. For those really recalcitrant offenders, kitchen duty . . . known for some unfathomable reason as kitchen police . . . was available.
* * *
On the second day, Dean had a medical exam by a real doctor, the one he’d been promised back at the recruiting station. He sat in the womb like chair of the examination table in sick bay, fully clothed, waiting for the physician’s instructions.
Doctor Jamie Sammons sat at a desk, reading Dean’s medical history, compiled back at Outreach, on the monitor of her computer. After a moment she nodded and said, “You’ve been a pretty healthy lad.” Dean didn’t know if he was supposed to say something, so he didn’t say anything. The doctor made some keystrokes and examined the screen again. Evidently satisfied with what she saw, she cleared the screen, then said, “Private Dean, did you know you have an ingrown toenail in your left big toe?”
“No, ma’am.”
The doctor nodded and added a few keystrokes to Dean’s computer file. “Okay, Private, keep your eye on it. If it gets worse, report to sick bay and a corpsman will cut it out for you. Dismissed.”
Dean just sat there, unbelieving. He hadn’t been examined yet. The doctor hadn’t even looked at him other than a quick glance when she told him where to sit.
“Did you hear me, Dean?”
“Yes, ma’am. But aren’t you going to examine me?”
The doctor looked him in the eye. “What do you think I was doing with you in the examination table? You’re in perfect health, anybody can see that. Report back to your platoon.”
* * *
As the days flowed into weeks, the recruits became used to the routine and to the minutiae of Razan’s Ronins training. They were issued weapons with which to practice the manual of arms, and which they were expected to field strip and clean. And clean them they did . . . endlessly.
“Always handle every weapon as if it were a loaded weapon, even when you personally know it’s not,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh told them the day they were issued the weapons. “This will be drilled into you once you’re on the ranges and patrolling on Ascella. Weapon safety will become second nature to you. ‘Unloaded’ weapons have killed more people than I care to think about. We really want to avoid having them kill some of our own. Start learning that now.”
They learned both the fire capability and nomenclature of their weapons. The basic infantry weapon in the Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment, they were told, was a miniaturized oxy hydrogen laser rifle, commonly called a “M61A,” but in the manuals a “weapon.”
“These weapons are semi automatic,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh told them, “that is, they fire one beam each time the trigger ‘Mechanism is activated. The ‘special issue loadout’ for a Razan’s Ronins trooper in combat,” he went on, “is two hundred forty ‘rounds’, or four high capacity military power packs or ‘magazines’ capable of shooting up to a sixty bolts each before they are depleted.
“There are also handheld versions of these weapons which are carried by officers, NCOs above squad leader, and the gunners on crew served weapons,” Singh continued. “Two ‘Mech grade weapon are also authorized for each Infantry squad. This is what’s called a ‘crew served’ weapon, because it requires three men to operate it. Its either short or long range missile tube, a machine gun, or a small laser and can fire any where from two missiles to a hundred armor piercing rounds per trigger pull. The fire team crew carries a bipod, a tripod, two extra barrels, and each man in the fire team carries extra power packs, ammo, or missiles that amounts to three times as many reloads. You gotta change the barrel on a crew served weapon every six hundred shots or so or it’ll crystallize on you. And if your fortunate enough to make it to an assault team or a Battle Armor squad then you’ll be what we call a Battle Armor Pilot and open up a whole new assortment of ‘Mech ass kicking weapons ” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh always became very animated when he talked about weapons, moving his hands as if firing at an unseen enemy.
* * *
During a break, several recruits pretended to shoot one another with the unloaded weapons. Singh was upon them instantly. The men had never seen him so angry.
“You damned fools!” he shouted. “These weapons are not toys! They are the most deadly killing machines known to mankind!” The veins on Singh’s neck stood out clearly as he shouted at the hapless recruits. Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty came over, took Go-chu (Corporal) Singh aside, and they talked quietly for a few moments. When Singh came back he was calmer, but very firm, and there was no more horsing around with weapons.
After the third day they carried their weapons everywhere, and at night they fixed them into slots beside their racks. “You’ll get plenty of practice firing real ammunition when you get to Ascella,” Pretty announced, “and for the rest of the time you’re in training, your issue weapon will stay with you always, except when you go on liberty or if you wind up in the brig. I mean your weapon will always be with you, when you eat, when you sleep, when you shit, and if you’re lucky enough to draw duty on an inhabited world where the people don’t stink worse than orangutans and the women aren’t uglier, you’ll keep your weapon handy when you phuck!”
“Once, I pulled a month’s duty on the Kurita capitol, Luthien,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh offered, apropos of the universal monosyllable just uttered by the normally straitlaced Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty, “and all I had between me and the ground at night was one of their thin native girls.” The men of the Razan’s Ronins Training platoon had come to like Go-chu (Corporal) Singh. He proved to be a very professional non com, but easygoing in his manner and with a lively sense of humor that tended toward the bizarre and earthy.
“Yes,” Pretty replied, “and your weapon.” And that was the only joke Pretty attempted to make during all the weeks he was the training platoon’s drill instructor.
* * *
“All right, recruits,” Neeley announced one day during a classroom training session, “I’m gonna give you Neeley’s Thirteen Rules for Staying Alive in Combat. You listening?
“One: Incoming fire always has the ‘right of way’.
“Two: Keep it simple, stupid.
“Three: Keeping it simple is the hardest thing in the world.
“Four: Never stand next to anyone braver than you are.
“Five: If things are going too well, it’s an ambush.
“Six: The easiest way is mined.
“Seven: The one thing you never run out of is the enemy.
“Eight: Infrared works both ways.
“Nine: Professionals are always predictable.
“Ten: We always wind up fighting amateurs.
“Eleven: When the enemy’s in range, so are you.
“Twelve: When in doubt, shoot until your power pack is empty.”
Neeley placed his hands on his hips and smiled fiercely. “You remember those rules and you’ll be okay.”
“Shujin (Staff Sergeant), you said there were thirteen of your rules,” McNeal reminded him.
“McNeal! You again! Recruit, you got a big mouth! Down, down, down!” Immediately McNeal assumed the push up position. “Give me fifty.”
“Dean! I saw you standing next to this big mouth trouble maker. Get up here and get down. Give me seventy five! I just made up a new rule: Never stand next to anyone dumber than you!”
To the accompaniment of the pair’s steady counting, Neeley, still smiling fiercely, turned back to the recruits.
“Thirteen: Remember the other twelve.”
* * *
As the days passed, the relationship between the recruits and their D.I.’s began to solidify. Their company commander and Kashira (First Sergeant) were everywhere, observing them in classrooms and in the exercise areas, making on the spot corrections, conferring with the drill instructors. Their own drill instructors stuck to them like leeches during every waking hour. It seemed either Neeley or Pretty or Singh would be there whenever someone made a mistake or needed a question answered. At first the recruits were apprehensive under all the scrutiny, but gradually they came to understand that the D.I.’s were there to teach and instruct, not criticize and belittle. Singh in particular used some of the most foul language any of them had ever heard, but he never used it to demean a recruit, it was just his nature to talk that way. When a recruit did something right, which began to happen more often as the days passed, one of the D.I.’s would be quick with a pat on the shoulder or word of praise. For many of the men it was the first time in their lives anybody had ever complimented them on doing something right.
Even close-order drill became fun for the men and women of the Training platoon. Once they got the basic facing movements down pat, Go-chu (Corporal) Singh taught them cadence counting and the ancient ditties that went along with it. One they particularly liked went:
‘I don’t know, but I’ve been told, that Tharkad pussy is mighty cold.’
When the entire company was in the parade bay practicing at the same time, the platoon commanders had their men count cadence at the top of their lungs . . . “One, two, three, four!” . . . to try to outshout the other platoons maneuvering there. Dean and his mates took to the competition with abandon, shouting until they were red in the face and the veins in their necks stood out. They made the bulkheads ring and finished their drilling flush with the belief that they had won the decibel contest. Best of all was the sense of pride in accomplishment the men derived from marching well together, instantly responding as a group to Singh’s shouted commands, maneuvering as if all of them were one. Each recruit was given the chance to drill the others under the watchful eyes of the D.I.’s.
Occasionally, members of the ship’s crew on work parties in Area Whiskey would come by and watch the recruits drill, and then the two groups exchanged the time honored insults that pass between PBIs and MidShipmen. But generally the crew was not much in evidence, although navy officers would sometimes confer with the Skipper. Once, the lieutenant colonel commanding the training regiment came to talk to the recruits for a few minutes. He was in his early seventies, and told them that more than fifty years before he had stood right where they were now. He emphasized that regardless of rank, every Soldier, Tanker, MidShipmen, AeroSpace Pilot, and ‘MechWarrior had started his career doing exactly what they were doing . . . every Mercenary, from the most recent graduate from Boot Camp on Ascella all the way to the Tai-sa (Colonel) herself.
Dean was the first in his platoon to be selected as an acting squad leader. All the recruits were given a chance to practice leadership skills, as fire team leaders for a day or two or drilling the platoon for a session in the parade bay, which was called the “grinder.” The most outstanding were selected to be squad leaders for one week.
Dean, with his quick intelligence, even temper, and natural ability to work well with others, would have stood out even without the test scores in his record. At the end of the voyage, Tai-i (Captain) Tomasio, in conference with his respective platoon commanders and platoon Gunsho (Sergeant)s, would pick the best of the men to be acting squad leaders during the time they would be training on Ascella. By the end of the third week they had unanimously selected Dean as one of the recruits upon whom they would confer that honor.
The personal relationships between the recruits began to take shape also. Of course, Dean and McNeal were inseparable buddies after the first day, but platoon and squad friendships soon developed. All the men were from Outreach, so they had geography in common, and since English had been the official language of the entire Independent System since its inception, they were able to communicate. But they also had a common culture that stretched far back into Terran history. This was due in part at least to the Borden Act of 2010, introduced by a U.S. Senator, G. F. Borden of Virginia, which provided the legislation and funding for the Library of Congress to digitize all its holdings. Not only did that make all the books in the library’s collections available electronically to future generations, it preserved all the motion pictures ever produced by Hollywood. Joe Dean’s favorites were those starring John Wayne, especially The Sands of Iwo Jima.
Word Count 2417
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Heishi (Private)
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #15
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Ascella
Askahr
Southern Peninsula
Kahuzi Jungle
Training Op
Wednesday 25th July 13:45 3094 Local
A persistent thrumming filled the humid air about the platoon as it sat in classroom formation in a jungle clearing. They had been on Ascella a month by then. Every day it had rained, sometimes all day, sometimes day after day. Just then there was a temporary break in the monsoon and Ascella’s sun poked through the clouds, driving up the humidity and heat in equally stifling proportions.
As the noise became louder and more insistent, the ground beneath the recruits began to tremble. The men could clearly hear small trees and bushes snapping and cracking as a large man made object pushed its way inexorably toward them. Suddenly, a behemoth burst through a fringe of bushes and came rumbling to a stop about ten meters from the platoon.
“People, meet the vehicle the box kickers in procurement called the Firestorm T 14 MASH Hover Transport not to be confused with is little brother the Firestorm T 11,” Neeley shouted over the thrumming, which gradually ceased as the driver powered down the engine on his armored hover vehicle. “The Firestorm T 14 MASH Hover Transport’s spacious infantry compartment is designed for battle armor soldiers. Adjustable handholds and equipment hooks line the walls while storage bins offer space for ammunition, power packs, support weapons, and other combat essentials. Each multifunction, fold down station has configurable restraints for both biped and quad suits and a quick release system for egress. These stations can also accommodate various types of conventional infantry, giving the Firestorm T 14 MASH Hover Transport considerable flexibility as a multi-role transport. On the T14's right side it has a host of Paramedic Equipment for emergency trauma gear more extensive than found in a typical first aid kit, consisting of defibrillators, chemical stimulates and tranquilizers, preserving sleeves, and other medical instruments. The T14 is equipped with a MASH component and has a single surgical theater, lab facility, pharmacy/dispensary, supply storage, laundry, and administrative office. As an afterthought and at the behest of Tai-sa (Colonel) Razan, Buda Imperial Vehicles equipped the T14 MASH variant with a recon camera and a searchlight. The T14 is more than just a transport slash MASH unit. It’s a transport/MASH/Search & Rescue/Recon unit, which is far too much of a mouthful for you to try to memorize right now. Anyway, we aren’t box kickers, we’re warriors. We call our equipment by warlike names, not namby pamby ones. We call this beast the Firestorm T 14. Its baby brother is referred to as the T 11”
As the Firestorm’s hover fans cut off and the heavy machine dropped suddenly several inches to the ground, the NCOs briskly but unobtrusively walked to the rear of the platoon formation, where they were shielded from the wave of muddy water that gouted up from underneath the Firestorm, drenching the unsuspecting recruits, drowning out their shocked screams and curses. “You may remember that somewhere along the line I told you something about ‘unpleasant surprises',” Neeley said calmly as he returned to the front of the formation. He blandly watched the recruits in their attempts to wipe the runny mud off their faces. “This is another lesson for you. Never assume that anything you’ve never seen before is benign. Especially not something big and mean looking. Most particularly not something that says ‘Razan’s Ronins’ on it.”
The normally staid and straitlaced Pretty even cracked a tiny smile as the recruits grumbled and muttered among themselves.
Three more of the vehicles roared into the clearing to join the first one. This time the recruits followed the example of their NCOs in getting behind something and avoided most of the mud bath. The machines measured eight feet high by twenty long and twelve wide.
“These are the combat workhorses of the DEST,” Neeley announced. “The Ronins transportation company has four Firestorms, two T 11s, a T 14, and a T 20. Four Heavy wheeled APCs, and two Cavalry Attack Infiltrator Helicopters. Only the DEST Battalion has access to the Transport Company. The rest of the Regiment use the Suzakus or the Triremes. Each Firestorm can transport one platoon of fully equipped and armed Infantry, or four troopers in full Power Armor suits. The Cavalry VTOLs can transport Two platoons of stripped down infantry or five Battle Armor Troopers. The Heavy APCs can carry two platoons of fully equipped and armed Infantry, or six troopers in full Battle Armor suits The T 14 can transport THREE platoons of fully equipped and armed Infantry, or eight Battle Armor Suits. They depend on their low profile and high maneuverability to avoid enemy fire, but each has an integral ‘Mech grade weapons and Nimakachi Type 3 Vehicular Stealth armor to protect it against most infantry weapons. A chassis can do 129 kph on the open road, a hundred over broken ground, and sixty-five knots or more on the water. Each weighs fifty tons. A Firestorm has a crew of three: a driver, a gunner, and a navigator. One out of six in the DEST combat configuration carries a heavy gun.”
“Firestorms are climate-controlled.” Neeley grinned and wiped away the perspiration dripping down the side of his face. “Now to go for a ride. Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty?”
“Listen up now,” Pretty shouted. “You will mount through the rear ramp.” There was a whirring noise, and heavy armored doors lowered to form ramps. “One squad per vehicle. Once inside, fasten in. Squad leaders, pay close attention because after this morning you will be responsible for making sure your men and equipment are secure whenever you ride these things. No duck shit, people; if you are not properly secured when you hit rough terrain, you can be seriously injured, even killed. Yeah, they’re ‘air-cushioned,’ but watch out when you don’t got the air or the cushion. Now, mount up by squads as I call you out, left to right. Keep your communicators open to the platoon net. Fill up front to rear as you climb aboard.”
Twenty eight high backed jump seats lined each flank of the Firestorms inside. Each man secured himself into his seat with two heavy shoulder belts secured by a fast release device centered in the middle of his chest. The seats were called “mummy boxes” because once inside, the rider looked like a mummy in its sarcophagus, except that the seats provided extra protection against a crash or a hit by a heavy weapon or a mine. Weapons and other items of equipment locked securely into forms molded into the seats. Mass confusion reigned as the inexperienced squad leaders tried to sort out the unfamiliar conditions.
The NCOs watched their men in silent amusement for a while. “At ease!” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh announced at last. He stepped into the interior of the Firestorm that held Dean’s squad. “Now watch. I’m going to show you how all this stuff works.”
* * *
It was well after dark when the platoon was delivered back to the base camp. Dean limped down the ramp, kicking caked mud off his boots. A pain shot up into his right buttock. Now he knew what Pretty had meant about not having the air or the cushion. The platoon fell into formation beside the Firestorm.
“All right,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty shouted. “Now somebody tell me what he sees there.” He pointed vaguely toward the hulking Firestorm. The men stared intensely but could see only the dim interior lights inside the vehicles. “Look!” Pretty shouted. “Mud!” he screamed. “Somebody’s gotta clean up those vehicles!”
McNeal groaned.
“McNeal! Front and center!”
* * *
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Ascella
Askahr
Southern Peninsula
Kahuzi Jungle
Saebeth River
Thursday 26th July 10:15 3094 Local
On the shooting range, they saw their first dead man. A recruit in another platoon discharged his M61A into his own jaw. The beam sizzled up through the man’s brain and burst out the top of his head, vaporizing his face. He died instantly. His trachea lay completely exposed to the goggle eyed recruits who swarmed around his still smoking corpse. Little bloody bubbles, the remnants of what was being expelled from the air left in his lungs when he died, mixed with the gooey gray matter of his brain and shredded skull fragments. Some of the men gagged, and all of them held hands to their noses because the man’s bowels had let loose. None had ever smelled anything so foul before.
“Whew! Closed coffin ceremony for that boy,” McNeal muttered.
Go-chu (Corporal) Singh wheeled about and glared at McNeal, as if he was going to launch into him, but he said nothing and after a moment turned back to the dead man. Singh knew his men were learning a hard but valuable lesson. When you live and breathe death and violence, you have to deal with it somehow. Denying death by making light of it is a safety valve by which those who must face it
deal with the stress.
* * *
They marched all morning through the sopping jungles, alternately drenched by heavy downpours and then steamed like crabs when the sun came out and turned everything into a sauna. Thirty minutes before they saw the stream, they could hear it. Few of the recruits could identify the sound, a dull roar punctuated by heavy thumps, the sound of boulders and uprooted trees bouncing down the stream, which was in flood, as was the Saebeth river and all the streams in that part of the southern peninsula of Askahr during the monsoon season.
Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley halted the platoon on the lip of a steep gorge. Ten meters below the precipice the Saebeth river roared and surged, the water beaten into a froth of white foam by the force of the current. A heavy mist hung above the banks as far as they could see up and downstream. The air about them was redolent with the clean, bracing aroma of wet foliage and water spray. Combined with the roar of the flood below, the atmosphere was charged with the danger and excitement of nature unleashed. Most of the recruits were from the cities of Outreach and had never seen such a display. All of them were awed by it.
Suddenly, the sun burst forth from behind the overcast for a few moments and a brilliant rainbow glowed and shimmered over the gorge. Several men gasped involuntarily at the sight. Few of them had ever seen a real rainbow before . . . the polluted air of Outreach’s cities hid them from most people. In seconds the clouds rolled back over the face of the sun and the platoon was shrouded again in gray wetness, but the men remained dazzled by the display for several moments after it disappeared.
“People, this is one of the most dangerous operations you’ll perform while in training here,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley said, shouting over the roar of the torrent. His words were punctuated by a heavy ‘bump bump bump’ as a boulder bigger than a Firestorm rolled by on the bottom of the river bed. Neeley nodded. “Yep, the force of that water is so strong it can roll an object weighing hundreds of kilos along like a child’s rubber ball.”
“You fall in there,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty added, gesturing over the lip of the gorge, “and we’ll never find you again. Don’t get too close to the edge,” he warned. “We have to get a man on the other side of that gorge,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley shouted, pointing to the jungle forty meters on the other side of the raging river. “Any volunteers?” He grinned.
Go-chu (Corporal) Singh began to unpack the platoon’s single Jump pack. Powered by energy cells and maneuvered by a system of tiny but powerful jets, it could lift a man a ninety meters straight up. The device permitted trained couriers and scouts to negotiate miles of rough terrain completely free from the restraints of gravity. Recruit training companies were never permitted more than one jump pack, and nobody except a man trained in its operation was ever permitted to strap it on. The recruits breathed a silent and collective sigh of relief as Go-chu (Corporal) Singh began to climb into the harness.
“The object here,” Neeley was saying as Go-chu (Corporal) Singh fastened the jumper harness, “is to get a line across the gorge. Then each man will cross . . . Get away from there!” Neeley started toward three recruits standing on the lip of the gorge who’d been staring down at the rushing water. He was too late. The ground upon which the men had been standing crumbled suddenly and sent them plummeting down into the foam. They dropped so quickly none even had a chance to let out a scream.
“Goddamnit, get the fuck back from there!” Neeley shouted at the other recruits as they instinctively surged in a group toward the bank to help their comrades. Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty immediately began speaking into his headset while Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley and Go-chu (Corporal) Singh herded the platoon away from the raging Saebeth and had the men sit among the trees. The three NCOs conferred hastily. “We stay here until help comes,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley told them. Nobody suggested trying to rescue the three men; they hadn’t a chance in that torrent. Within minutes, it seemed, Tai-i (Captain) Tomasio was alighting from a command and control chopper followed by several staff officers. Seconds later, personnel from the Regiment medical staff arrived on another chopper, followed immediately by two more that carried other platoons from the Regiment.
“We’re going to form search parties,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley announced. “The Saebeth river empties into a larger one about sixteen kilometers down river. Delta Regiment Angel platoon will be airlifted down there to form a cordon across the water, try to catch our people if their bodies make it that far down. We’ll take this side of the river and Bravo Regiment Comet platoon the other and start looking right now.”
The search stopped after dark and resumed at first light the following morning. The first victim, a pimply lad from Yed Posterior named Schwartzer, was found about mid morning. His mangled remains were pulled from among the branches of a large tree bobbing in an eddy. The men gasped as his corpse was laid out on the bank. He was covered with huge gashes and abrasions, through which stuck the white ends of jagged bones.
Dean found the second man three days later. He was closest to the bank when the body suddenly rolled over in the middle of a raft of driftwood and the corpse’s booted foot stuck up above the water. The body was swollen to twice its natural size, and aquatic animals had been at it for some time before it surfaced. At first Dean hesitated to touch the thing rocking obscenely in among the flotsam. He knew the three men who had fallen in, but could not recognize which of the remaining two this one was. Dean stepped cautiously into the shallow water, hesitant to touch the swollen, discolored skin surface, looking for something to grab on to that wasn’t rotten flesh. Evidently all the man’s clothes had been ripped off by the force of the water, leaving only the boot on his left foot. He tried to drag the body closer to shore using a stick he’d picked up out of the water.
“Goddamnit, Dean, get in there and pull him out!” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh snarled. Everyone was on edge by then, even the D.I.’s. Dean grabbed the booted foot and dragged at the body. Under Singh’s prodding, several other men jumped into the water and helped haul the body to shore. Once the corpse was fully exposed on the land, the stench of rotting water logged flesh was terrible. Worse, as it lay on its back, everyone could clearly see the damage done to the body by the animals. The man’s face had been destroyed and his genitals had been completely eaten away. The recruits stumbled into the nearby bushes and vomited. Dean heaved until there was nothing left in his stomach. Even Fred McNeal, the acknowledged joker and wise guy in the platoon, remained stoically silent and avoided looking at what had once been a friend.
Two days later the search was given up and training resumed. The third man was never found.
Word Count 2815
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Gunjin (Private 1st Class)
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #16
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Ascella
Askahr
Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Parade Ground
Tuesday 31st July 13:45 3094 Local
The weeks of training in the temperate zones and mountains came as a blessed relief from the tropics and the zero gravity training on the larger of Ascella’s two moons . . . the “Turd,” to the generations of soldiers and recruits who’d been there . . . and was an exciting challenge, all the more so because it marked the unofficial end of Boot Camp.
* * *
Graduation Day was hot and clear. The sunlight beat down steadily on the men and women in their ranks; the rainy season was over. The troops of the training Battalion stood rigidly at attention in their new cream and olive dress uniforms. Not a man in the company had ever felt prouder of himself than he did that morning, Dean more than most, because the single golden chevron of a PFC was emblazoned on his sleeves. He was one of five men in the platoon to win meritorious promotion for conduct and achievement during the training cycle.
Presentation of the marksmanship badges was another high point in Joseph Dean’s mercenary life. He’d qualified as one of the best shots in the training Battalion, scoring High Expert. “Not one recruit in fifty has shot as high a score as you since I’ve been in command here,” the Major (Sho-sa) said as he pinned the golden cross onto Dean’s tunic. “Congratulations, Mercenary.” Dean’s chest almost burst right through his tunic. He wished his parents could see him. After the Sho-sa (Major) passed down the rank, Dean permitted himself a huge grin. Tai-i (Captain) Tomasio, glancing back from where he stood next to the Sho-sa (Major), scowled ominously and then winked. With great difficulty, PFC Dean wiped the smile off his face.
* * *
“Here you go, Razan’s Ronins Troopers,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley announced, but then had to pause while the new Ronins of the training Battalion cheered . . . it was the first time one of their drill instructors had called them a Razan’s Ronin, a title they’d just spent three months striving to earn.
“Okay, okay,” he continued when the shouting had died down. “Here are your assignments for specialty training:
oh one, ‘MechWarrior, the king of battlefield;
oh two, aero space and VTOL pilot, you ground pounders’ll love them the first time they show up when you need air support;
oh three, armor and combat transports, you remember the Firestorms;
oh four, battle armor, we depend on them in a pinch;
oh five, infantry and combat engineers, can’t fight a war without ’em;
oh six, navy, we rely on the navy for noncombat condition;
oh seven, maintenance, we don’t operate without maintenance, you break your weapon, they fix it;
oh eight, logistics, that’s rations and power packs;
oh nine, administration, it’s a dirty, unappreciated job, but somebody’s got to do it.
There are others, but don’t worry about them now, because nobody gets ’em right out of Boot Camp.
“MechWarriors, you’ll leave for the BattleMech training tomorrow morning. The rest of you will go to your specialty schools . . . right here on Ascella.” This was met by a chorus of outraged screams. “At ease, at ease,” Neeley calmed them down. “Actually, outside Boot Camp, duty on Ascella is pretty good.” Several men loudly expressed disbelief. “Pretty good,” Neeley continued. “You can even have cold beer in the evenings.”
“Aaaah!” McNeal yelled. “I’d reenlist for a cold beer!”
“As you were,” Neeley said shortly. “Here are your assignments: Anderhalt, Shaqlim X, oh two, aero space and VTOL; Rathi, Palmer, oh one, you leave tomorrow . . .” and on through the alphabet. Dean did not hear his name called. “McNeal, Frederick D, oh five,” Neeley announced. Neeley droned on, and each successive announcement was greeted by shouts of joy or groans of despair as the newly minted Ronins contemplated their fates for the next three and a half years. Those going to the same schools broke up into little groups and began speculating loudly about what to expect. At last Neeley was finished.
“Miss anyone?” he asked. Dean raised his hand, bewildered. “Dean, huh? I called your name, Dean, were you asleep or something? Oh five. PFC, you will start here on Ascella in the morning.”
Word Count 777
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Gunjin (Private 1st Class)
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho sa (LMajor)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #17
Draconis Combine/ULTRA Contested
Dieron Prefecture
Dieron Military District
Al Na'ir Province
Telos IV
Dulles
Triumph
Outskirts
Wednesday 1st August 3094 1130 am Local
The constant booms and whistles of Long Tom artillery rounds and Arrow IV missiles were already ringing in the air by the time the Razan’s Ronins arrived on the front lines around midday. Gunjin (Private 1st Class) Nicolas ‘Buckshot’ Tupak eased forward on the throttle of his Guillotine, swiftly walking his ‘Mech down the open ramp of the Heaven Scent, a Overlord Class DropShip that was parked on the dunes outside the silver colored city along with the other combat DropShips of the Razan’s Ronins; a Fortress – the Ulvenwald; and a Union – the Black Ronin. Nicolas squinted at the sandy horizon, looking past the shimmering heat and mirages to get a grasp of what was going on. Beyond the 15th Dieron Regulars’ bunkers and fortified positions, countless scorched craters littered the dunes and rocky ground, evidence of the artillery exchanges between the invading forces and the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army defenders. Every few seconds, a new fiery explosion bloomed on the ground, creating another crater.
Tai-sa (Colonel) Onishi ‘Rough Ryder’ Razan's Naginata led the mixed arms Razan’s Ronins Regiment across the battlefield, and her voice spoke clearly into the 15th Dieron Regulars battle channel. "Razan’s Ronins Actual. What's the situation, Komandā (Commander)?" Onishi referred to Tai-sa (Colonel) Elizabeth Carrols in the honorific due her role as the overall leader of the invasion force of Telos IV.
Tai-sa (Colonel) Elizabeth Carrols, the commanding officer of 15th Dieron Regulars' invasion force, responded sharply. "We've been forced to give a lot of ground to the enemy forces. We had to give up some good flanking positions to the east, and our artillery spotters keep getting attacked. At this rate, only the ULTRA forces will have the ability to fire artillery with any accuracy. Reports suggest that they have an airstrike coming in from the north, but that has yet to happen."
"Is the current line of defense holding?" Onishi asked.
"It is," the Komandā (Commander) responded firmly. "We’re out number by their Battlemechs and vehicles nearly two to one, and our bunkers and fortifications are keeping their offensive back. But we can't cover the entire city's perimeter at once, and the superior maneuverability of the defending forces will let them exploit our weaknesses sooner or later. We have to inflict maximum casualties on the Marik forces to disrupt their plans."
"Right." Onishi trotted her 95 ton ‘Mech toward the other 15th Dieron Regulars ‘Mechs and vehicles, and Chu-i (Lieutenant) Akita Fujinaka and the other Regimental command lance elements stayed close behind her. Close by, a quartet of Glaive Company’s Artillery pieces all fired one after the other, rattling the air with the sheer force of their shells. Four explosions blasted into the outlying desert, scattering the enemy Battlemechs out there. Countless loyalist Battlemechs and vehicles surged forward, sticking together in lances and companies to confront the ULTRA defenders. As the Sho-sa (Major) from Ronin Legion’s Assault Lance watched, bright red lasers, streaks of Autocannon shells, and clusters of missiles flew back and forth in a stunning display amid the artillery ordinance explosions.
The heavier 15th ‘Mechs often found themselves surrounded and pestered by speedier Free World ‘Mechs, and Sho-sa (Major) Owen ‘Kestrel’ Callaghan realized that all over the battlefield, the ULTRA forces could take down several friendly ‘Mechs and slip away before taking return fire. Callaghan activated his zoom and watched a stranded 15th Dieron Regular Awesome lumber around, it’s heavy armor smoking and chipped all over. A trio of 30 ton enemy Razorbacks scurried onto the scene, stabbing the Awesome on its left leg with their large lasers. The hulking Awesome stumbled and swayed as the three deadly beams sliced through its armor, cutting apart its myomer muscles and inner metal bones. Before the Awesome could return fire with its PPC array, the three Razorbacks quickly fled the scene, escaping the Awesome's PPC range. Meanwhile, the Awesome slumped limply to its side, collapsing on its left arm, crushing the limb into twisted steel and torn myomer muscles. The pilot of the ‘Mech streaked into the sky in his ejection pod, knowing better than to stay in his ruined machine.
"It's like this all over," Onishi lamented, apparently watching the same Awesome that Callaghan was. "All right, Ronins, here's the plan. Komandā (Commander) Carrols needs a heavy artillery barrage on sector D 7, but all of her spotter ‘Mechs went down and the Free World forces are quickly getting into flanking positions. The ULTRA guys are tearing apart the 15th Dieron ‘Mechs from that position, taking no return fire due to their long range weapons and superior speed. So, we're going to escort our contingent of spotters into position and give Carrols an old fashioned, Razan’s Ronins artillery barrage."
“Ronin Legion Scimitar Section you’re up!”
“Ma’am? Yes Ma’am,” was the simple reply the Tai-sa (Colonel) received from the new Tai-i (Captain) from aboard her Warhammer heavy class ‘Mech.
“ ‘Dragon Lady’, take Scimitar Section’s Black Dragon Lance, Kiridashi Company’s Dragon’s Lair Lance, and your own Red Dragon Lance. Two by Two formation and escort all of our spotters; the Artillery Support Lance, the Fury, the Wolverine, and the Puma, to sector D 7.” Onishi gave the order to Tai-i (Captain) Terri ‘Dragon Lady’ Sicoe.
“Aye, aye, Actual,” Terri Sicoe replied in the affirmative. Quickly linking the frequency of the four lances to a single company command channel she said, “Alright! You heard the ‘Sensi’. Form on me in two by two formation and lets move out!”
"Roger that," Gunjin (Private 1st Class) Ise ‘Blaze’ Fuqua responded crisply, her Grasshopper from the Black Dragon Lance turning to face the specified sector. Her voice took on a slightly playful and energetic tone. "So, Nicolas... ready to dance?"
Nicolas smiled. "Lead the way, ‘Blaze’."
"You kids don't get cocky out there, you hear me?" Onishi half joked, but she was more than dead serious.
Terri’s Warhammer walked toward sector D 7 with utter military precision. Along with her marched Go-chu (Corporal) Jules ‘Spider’ Chattan's Caesar, equipped with primarily medium pulse and extended range medium lasers. Near Jules' ‘Mech walked Gunjin (Private 1st Class) Kim Carns' humanoid Wolverine, another ‘Mech designed for medium to short range combat with an array of ballistic and laser weaponry, which included pulse technology. Half of the assembled twelve ‘Mechs were all equipped with PPC and of those six, three of them had extended range PPCs and her Warhammer had two of them . The Caesar pilot, Jules, meanwhile, would make sure that her Gauss Rifle would soften up the enemy from a safe distance.
A new, accented voice entered the comm. " ‘Dragon Lady’, this is Chu-i (Lieutenant) Claude Burrows,” the husky voiced, black commander of Glaive Company’s spotter team said. “My men and artillery spotters are prepped and ready to go. Cover us."
"Understood," Terri told him. Up ahead were eight units; four vehicles, two VTOLs, and two ‘Mechs, all light and medium designs. The eight spotter units broke out into a brisk flank speed toward sector D 7, going slowly enough so that the Razan’s Ronins' heavier machines could keep pace. Nicolas kept his fingers tense on his joysticks' firing buttons, feeling nervous sweat bead on his chest and face.
After just under two minutes into their trek, a sudden blast rocked Nicolas' Guillotine, throwing the 70 tonner to the right. Nicolas wrenched his joysticks the opposite way, forcing his ‘Mech back into balance before it crashed into the sand below. The damage screen indicated that five LRM's had exploded against his left torso, chipping away a little armor. His heart suddenly hammering, Nicolas twisted his torso to the left and spotted a cluster of ULTRA ‘Mechs and vehicles moving to intercept the Ronin’s convoy, mainly medium ‘Mechs and various tanks. Several Bushwackers led the way, their LRM 5's and large lasers slashing apart the Razan’s Ronins' armor bit by bit. The Ronins' ‘Mechs turned to fire back, PPC's filling the air. Spotting the bright blue PPC beams from afar, the ULTRA ‘Mechs scattered and fell back, letting the beams pass harmlessly past.
Annoyed, Nicolas slipped his crosshairs onto one enemy Bushwacker and mashed his thumb on his firing stud. His ‘Mech jerked back from the recoil, but Nicolas grinned in satisfaction as his twin ER Large Lasers flashed through the air in a blur, and then the Bushwacker reeled back from the kinetic force due to the energies impact. Armor goblets melted off the Bushwacker's torso, splattering onto the battle churned dunes. Even better, a hideous burn hole on the Bushwacker's torso appeared, throwing the 55 tonner off balance. Jules aimed her Caesar’s right torso mounted port into position and her ‘Mech spat out the high velocity nickel ferrous Gauss Rifle slug. The first one shot through empty air while her second shot slammed into another Bushwacker, punching into the dent Chu-i (Lieutenant) Jung ‘China Doll’ Li had created with her LRM 15 rack from aboard her Shadow Hawk. This time, the Bushwacker lost its balance, its legs scuffing uselessly on the dunes. The ‘Mech flopped flat onto its back, and the fire of eight medium lasers from nearby Heishi (Private) Deborah ‘Sutra’ Depp’s Komodo destroyed the Bushwacker for good.
Terri's Warhammer moved to block a pair of ULTRA Centurions from attacking the spotter units, and her ‘Mech's left ERPPC tore into one Centurion, frying its center torso armor. Two seconds later, Terri's right ERPPC lit up, the sizzling blue lightning slashing even more armor from the Centurion. Acting fast, Terri triggered her twin extended range medium lasers, peppering the Centurion yet again, this time with 5cm coherent light beams. Puddles of melted armor ran down the injured Centurion's chest, exposing delicate inner machinery.
However, the ULTRA fighters were far from finished. The other Centurion slipped to the side, easily evading PPC fire from other Razan’s Ronins. Getting revenge for its lance mate, the Centurion hammered Terri's Warhammer with its ten rack LRM volley and 122mm Autocannon, blasting chunks of armor plating from the left torso. Terri's lumbering ‘Mech ambled to the side, but the large Battlemech was too slow: a large laser from an ULTRA Bushwacker sliced into Terri's Warhammer's right leg, melting layers of metal off the limb.
Then, a pair of large Free World tanks rolled onto the scene, their bulky, heavily armored hulls giving Nicolas the chills. He recognized them as Challenger tanks, each armed with a Gauss Rifle, 122m scatter shot Auto cannon, and a ten rack, long range missile launcher as their primary firepower along with other smaller weapons. The Challenger’s aimed their turrets and let loose, their Gauss slugs wreaking havoc. One slug smashed into Gunjin (Private 1st Class) Jac ‘Skully’ Aboss’ Puma, shearing off its left leg in one blow. The hapless light Spotter ‘Mech toppled to the ground like a drunkard, tumbling down a dune. Nicolas released a sigh of relief as he witnessed Jac’s rescue beacon illuminate on his console. Another Gauss slug pummeled the left torso of Kim’s Wolverine, shattering the armor like glass. The Wolverine regained its balance a few seconds later, however, its armor far from depleted.
"Get it together, Ronins! Don't let them destroy any more spotter units" Terri growled as her ERPPC beam narrowly missed a Marik Razorback. Meanwhile, Gunsho (Sergeant) Christy 'Teak' Brinks’ Griffin landed a solid blow with its own fifteen rack LRM launcher, pushing back an ULTRA Bushwacker in a burst of flames. Jules' Gauss Rifle slug smashed apart the frontal armor on the Challenger tanks, but the huge vehicles easily withstood the blows and rolled closer, returning fire with a vengeance.
One tank's scatter shot 122mm auto cannon burst, shredded the armor on Ise's Grasshopper's right arm, throwing the ‘Mech off balance and exposing the limb's inner systems. Aggravated by his company mate’s plight, Nicolas stomped into position with his Guillotine, dropping his reticule on the Challenger. Before he could fire, however, an enemy Trebuchet's LRMs exploded across Nicolas' ‘Mech, blinding him with fire and smoke. Nicolas strained against the controls again, his stomach lurching as his Guillotine rocked back on its feet, and he was painfully aware of how much armor he had just lost. ‘Damn it... can't afford to fall down! Stay with me, ‘Mech!’ he screamed inside his head.
"I've got you, ‘NicK’," Jules Chattan's reassuring voice said on the comm. Nicolas heard a ‘Mech stomp around close by, and then he saw half a dozen streams of energy beams being fired filling the air, ER medium and pulse lasers and a snubbed nosed PPC blast. Nicolas forced his ‘Mech back out into open air, watching Jules' energy light show streaking through the air. The SNPPC caught a nearby enemy Razorback center mass, throwing the ‘Mech onto its back and blasting away its torso armor in a surge of flames. The other Marik ‘Mechs backed off, and Nicolas shook his head to clear it, lining up his reticule once again. His ER Large Lasers lit off more coherent light; green energies, and Nicolas felt a thrill of elation when his twin beams tore into one Challenger, adding to the damage Chu-i (Lieutenant) Li’s Shadow Hawk had dealt earlier. An internal explosion rocked the heavy tank, blowing its LRM launcher out of commission. Smoke leaked from the gaps in the tank's hull, but the huge vehicle wasn't done yet. Its Gauss Rifle slug pounded into Jules's Caesar tearing away armor from the ‘Mech's left torso.
"Damn it," Jules muttered as she pulled back, unable to return fire from this range. Nicolas pushed up on his ‘Mech's throttle, trotting into a new position on the battlefield. As he went, another Razan’s Ronins spotter unit, a Crow Scout VTOL, vanished in a fireball of LRM's launched from the ULTRA defenders.
"Keep it together, folks!" Terri demanded as the ULTRA ‘Mechs wore down the Razan’s Ronins and spotter units with their relentless hit and run tactics, dealing heavy damage while taking little in return. At some point, Terri simply turned her guns away from the slippery enemy ‘Mechs, instead turning to face the twin Challenger tanks. One ERPPC beam from her ‘Mech slashed into the more heavily damaged Challenger, the energy bolt adding to the damage that Jules’ Gauss Rifle had dealt. The tank rolled back as fire and smoke leaked from its wound, its turret spinning like crazy. Terri's second ERPPC raked the Challenger, triggering even more internal explosions. The tank's armor plates fell off in flaming chunks, the tank's crewmen frantically scrambling out the hatch before the vehicle fell apart entirely.
"Enemy airstrike incoming!" Tai-sa (Colonel) Carrols's voice boomed on the 15th Dieron Regular and Ronins battle channel.
"We'll cover the north flank, Komandā (Commander)!" reported the Razan’s Ronins Steel Dragon assault adhoc ‘anti air’ unit commander Chu-sa (Lieutenant Colonel) Reece 'Budda’s Fist' Kimura. Onishi had anticipated this so she had all the tank units load out their LRM launchers with Anti Air missiles and their LBX auto cannons with all cluster rounds. So they could put up a veritable wall of flak and PPC and laser fire. Kimura immediately started issuing orders to his battalion of ‘anti air’ platforms.
"Negative! Change to the west flank!" Carrols snapped back. "We broke into ULTRA battle channels and they're changing their assault vectors, trying to catch us by surprise. I repeat, cover the west flank! Now!"
Nicolas' ER Large Laser sizzled into an enemy Razorback's thigh, throwing the 30 tonner off its feet and sending it tumbling down a dune. However, he still checked the west vector, hoping that the incoming enemy airstrike wouldn't hit the Razan’s Ronins. He could already hear the roar of the enemy Aerospace fighters as they arrived on the battlefield.
The ULTRA airstrike came from the north.
Nicolas winced as the battle channel was flooded with confused shouts and status updates. Six ULTRA Lucifer fighters roared across the fields, unloading their assault class long range missiles, twenty per salvo and large lasers all over the Ronins and 15th forces. Multiple friendly ‘Mechs and tanks toppled and burned apart from the barrage, and none of the invading forces were able to fire back. The Lucifers soared away before they could take return fire, and the nine lances of Razan’s Ronins ‘AA’ tanks sat dumbly in the western area, unsure what to do.
Unable to help herself, Onishi tapped into the comm. "Komandā (Commander), this is Onishi Razan of the Razan’s Ronins. I thought you said the airstrike was coming from the north?"
"Watch your tone, Razan’s Ronins Actual," the Tai-sa (Colonel) barked impatiently. "I am just as surprised as you are right now. The ULTRA comms were cleanly hacked into, and their officers clearly ordered an airstrike to the north!"
"May I hear it?"
"Fine, for all the good it will do you." A few seconds later, a recorded message played out on the Razan’s Ronins' comms. "This is General Dupont. Bomber team, you will redirect your airstrike to the west. The 15th Dieron Regular forces will never see that coming."
"Sounds legit to me," Sho-sa (Major) Karen Tsang, the Ronins Intel Officer, commented from back at the LZ aboard the Ronin’s Daimyo Mobile HQ. "How did the ULTRA bombers know to change direction? Or did they disobey orders?"
Onishi huffed. "It's not our problem. We just have to survive this weirdness. But the Free World forces' speed is still a problem." The words had barely left her mouth when the Marik forces came back in force, with multiple Razorbacks, Bushwackers, and Centurions raining fire on the Ronins. Nicolas and the others dodged as best they could, but the ULTRA ‘Mechs clearly gained the upper hand. Already, two Ronin Hatamoto’s and a Griffin went down, and the surviving ‘Mechs were all in bad shape. "We could really use a short range battle here!"
"I can help you with that, ‘Rough Ryder," came a breathless but cheerful voice.
Callaghan recognized that voice as belonging to Mizra Ludwig, the commander of the Summer's Storm mercenary Battalion. He watched as thirty six mercenary ‘Mechs came up from behind the enemy ‘Mechs, hammering them with fire. Caught off guard, the ULTRA ‘Mechs backed away from the Summer's Storm, but that moved them much closer to the Razan’s Ronins.
"All Commands. You are weapons free. I repeat, you are weapons free. Go Hot Now! Pulverize them!" Onishi boomed across the Ronins broadband frequency.
Terri’s ERPPCs and medium class lasers sliced into an enemy Bushwacker, shearing off its left arm. Kim’s Wolverine marched straight toward an enemy Razorback, raising all guns to fire. The twin deadly medium pulse lasers mounted in the ‘Mech's head and right torsos roared to life, their energy darts ripping into the Razorback's thin torso armor like a hungry shark. The Razorback stumbled and reeled from the sheer kinetic force, fighting to stay balanced. Showing no mercy, ‘Sutra’ raised her Komodo's left arm and her four arm mounted Hellion V medium lasers and over rode her heat automatic shutdown warning and showered the Razorback, obliterating its armor and inner machinery. The blazing ‘Mech slumped in a confused heap, its legs bending and twisting under the pressure as the ‘Mech collapsed.
Kim Carns’ SRMs pummeled an ULTRA Bushwacker, blasting off the ‘Mech's arm and destroying its shoulder mounted LRM launcher. Before the Bushwacker could react, Gun-sho (Sergeant) Viva Thuen’s Venon cut loose with a fierce, close range medium pulse laser barrage that sliced apart the injured Bushwacker. The 55 ton ULTRA ‘Mech fell to pieces, its pilot barely ejecting in time. A badly damaged enemy Centurion wandered close to Nicolas, and Nicolas took careful aim, finishing off the Centurion with his four ER medium lasers.
The remaining ULTRA vehicles and ‘Mechs in the area slipped away to regroup with the rest of the ULTRA army, leaving the Razan’s Ronins standing with the Summer’s Storm. "We owe you one," Onishi said on the comm. "Good work."
"It was nothing," Mizra said cheerily, waving her Grasshopper's arms. "You guys were fighting well, but too many ULTRA guys were surrounding you. We need those spotter units in position, so my men came to help." The various Warhammer, Grasshopper, and Catapult ‘Mechs of the Summer’s Storm marched over to the remaining spotter units, offering protection. Terri assumed the lead, and she led the entire convoy closer to sector D 7 for the artillery strike.
"Enemy bombardment incoming!" Chu-i (Lieutenant) Kyle Kennebrew noted from overhead in the Command Cobra VTOL, noticing the Lucifer fighters approaching from the east. This time, however, ten more Aerospace fighters roared onto the scene, riding on the tails of their after burners. Two Lucifer II fighters, two Suzaku fighters, two Aven fighters, two Koroshiya fighters, a Striga and a Transgressor all bearing the Razan’s Ronins logo intercepted the six enemy fighters.
“I heard you ‘Mech Jocks could use a little help,” it was the statically distorted voice of Tai-i (Captain) Torri ‘Nemsis’ Nashiro, the Ronin’s Ice Dragon Wing CO. “Sorry we’re late to the party ‘Rough Ryder’ but you know how ‘we’ like to make an entrance and like they always say . . . better late than never.” Then keying up the AeroSpace Fighter frequency she ordered, “Ice Dragon Actual to all Ice Dragon elements, you are weapons free! Engage targets of opportunity! I repeat, let’s take’em down flyboys and show our ground bound counter parts who the ‘real’ kings of the battlefield are! Tally Ho!”
Showering them with LRM, ERPPC, and large pulse laser fire, three Lucifer planes erupted in flames, spiraling down toward the dunes and crashing to the surface. Quick on the upkeep, the three remaining Lucifer returned fire, focusing it expertly. Two of the Ronins' Aven fighters, overwhelmed by LRM and large laser fire, blew apart in chunks and the pieces rained down on the battlefield. The enemy Lucifers roared past the surviving Ronins fighters, intending to turn around and make another pass.
Chu-sa (Lieutenant Colonel) Kimura came onto the comm. " ‘AA’ lances, take out those enemy fighters! Support our aerial assets!"
Nicolas watched in excitement as the Razan’s Ronin’s assault, ‘anti air’, tank battalion opened fire with their Anti-Air LRMs, and their 40mm and 90mm, double rate and scatter shot, Auto cannons, showering the Lucifers in their awesome firepower once the Lucifer planes made their return strike. Two more Lucifers succumbed to the combined fire of the ‘AA’ lances and the Razan’s Ronins aerospace fighters. Realizing that they couldn't escape, the last Lucifer fighter simply focused its fire again. Combined LRM's and lasers sliced apart one Razan’s Ronins Suzaku, shearing it in half. The Suzaku's two halves fell to the battlefield, smashing into the dunes. Then the last Lucifer went down, its armor torn apart by the combined fire of the ‘AA’ lances and Ronins aerospace fighters.
"We're here!" Mizra announced at last. Nicolas checked his radar and confirmed that this was sector D 7, and from here, the six surviving spotter unit had a clear view of the enemy flank, they were already scrambling in retreat.
"Thanks for the escort. We'll take it from here," Chu-i (Lieutenant) Claude Burrows, Commander of the spotter team, announced. The Artillery Support Lance, the Fury Command Tank and the Wolverine BattleMech moved into their positions, their TAG lasers painting key ULTRA ‘Mechs. The Razan’s Ronins Regiment and the Summer’s Storm’s Battalion all backed up, knowing what was coming. Twenty or so seconds later, nearly a dozen Long Tom artillery shells arced through the air, whistling like angry banshees. Then, the very earth erupted in a roiling pit of fire as the shells landed. Dozens of ULTRA ‘Mechs, vehicles, and infantry platoons vanished in the inferno, taking a lot of pressure off the tattered loyalists invaders. Before a second artillery strike could be called in, the surviving ULTRA forces turned tail and fled, their superior speed quickly putting them out of the range of the 15th Dieron Regular forces' guns. A ringing silence fell over the battlefield as both sides ceased fire from all ‘Mechs, vehicles, and artillery.
"That's it, men. They're in total retreat. Fall back and regroup at the fortifications," Tai-sa (Colonel) Carrols announced crisply. "We've done it. Triumph remains ours. Those ULTRA bastards got what they deserved."
"Do you need us to reinforce the city for now, Komandā (Commander)?" Onishi asked, referring to her Ronins.
"Negative. Razan’s Ronins your contract concludes today. I suspect you’ll want to be packing up. It’s been a pleasure fighting by your side. Summer’s Storm, requesting you to keep the city secure for a while. Further details pending," Carrols told them heavily. "Do you realize that we were nearly beaten by a force only half the size of ours? Pound for pound, the ULTRA army dealt 2.56 times as much damage as ours did. We don't yet have a good counter for their advanced tech, speed, and intelligence. But the ISF is working on it."
Nicolas felt his stomach knot. ’That was pretty tense’, he thought. How long and bitter is this war going to be from here on out? Us Ronins are good, but this was a real test of our mettle. A thought occurred to him and he grinned as he followed the rest of the Ronins back to their LZ to prepare for lift off. ‘Then again, the sharpest swords are forged in the hottest fire’.
Word Count 4278
Name: Onishi Razan
Callsign: ‘Rough Ryder'
Rank: Tai-sa, Commanding
Hardware: Naginata NG-RO1
Company: Ronin Legion
Lance: Fire Dragon
Assignment: MUCO
Unit: Razan's Ronins
HOUSE: DRACONIS COMBINE
Independent System
Old Freedom Theater
Outreach
Orbit
Aboard the DCS Amber Lotus
Deck 23
Training Deck
Area Whiskey
2nd Platoon’s Billet
Wednesday 6th June 22:15 3094 Local
The recruits knew their day was nearing its end when they discovered they could hardly drag themselves any farther through the maze of corridors and compartments that constituted Area Whiskey. At last Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty led them into a large compartment equipped with bunks and personal gear lockers.
The bunks . . . called “racks,” to the great mystification of the recruits . . . were fastened to the bulkheads or to vertical pipes running from overhead to deck, three high. There were just enough for the men of second platoon. Their spacing looked odd . . . there seemed to be exactly as much space below the bottom rack as there was above the top one.
The recruits of the training platoon were told for the time being just to stow their gear in the lockers as best they could and secure the lockers with the padlocks that were part of their issue. In the morning, Pretty promised, he would come around with Go-chu (Corporal) Singh and show them how to do it properly, to be ready for the continuous round of inspections that would soon form a major part of the routine of their life aboard the WarShip. “If any of you must jerk off in the night, kindly see none of it gets on the guy on the bottom,” Pretty announced just before he led them to the galley for their first WarShip meal.
Sometime during all this rushing around, getting issued clothing, personal and hygienic supplies, personnel-record bracelets, and everything else they’d need during the one month voyage, the WarShip pulled out of Outreach’s orbit and headed for its first jump point. For this first phase of its movement, the Amber Lotus rotated around its long axis. The rotation created centripetal force, which gradually restored an ersatz gravity. The transition was so gradual that the recruits were in the galley, eating solid food off plastic trays, before they realized they weren’t floating anymore.
The galley was enormous, more than big enough to hold the recruits of Company A. The food was plentiful and delicious and the recruits ate ravenously. Even McNeal was so hungry he finished his meal with hardly a word between mouthfuls.
Back in the platoon bay, Pretty announced that the time was 22 hundred hours. “Your day while on board this ship commences at zero six hundred hours and lasts until twenty two hundred hours. On Ascella you’ll be lucky when your days don’t last twenty four hours. The training schedule for this voyage allows for half a day of free time once a week. That isn’t for four more days. Hop into your racks, people, the lights will be doused in exactly five minutes!” And they were.
* * *
The young men and women of the training platoon strapped themselves into their racks. The ship’s centripetal gravity kept them secure in their racks, and the straps were provided in case an inflight emergency caused the ship to cease its rotation. During the sleep period, the only light in the compartment came from small emergency lamps near the deck and the overhead to guide men in case of an emergency. Too tired even to talk with McNeal in the next bunk below his, Dean lay and listened to the ship as it groaned and cracked and hummed all about him in the darkness. From far, far away came the dim but incessant boom of the Amber Lotus’s many motors, engines, and machinery.
Dean thought for the first time that day of his mother and wondered what she was doing. He thought about what he’d learned that day. The last thing he thought that first night was that he was just too excited to sleep.
* * *
The Amber Lotus reached jump point in the middle of the Third day sometime in the afternoon, and the D.I.’s herded their charges back into their compartments.
“Everybody, in your racks. Right now, right now. No dilly dallying here. Believe me, you don’t want to be standing when we make the jump. Move it now.”
Pretty and Singh swam through the compartment, hustling the recruits with staccato commands of “Move, move, move,” and using their hands to rush them into the racks.
“Everybody, lie supine.” Singh saw someone on his stomach and shouted, “I said supine, dummy, not prone. Prone is a position for shooting and fucking. You aren’t doing either right now. On your back. Everybody, on your backs and strap in.”
The three drill instructors made another pass through the compartment, making sure each man was properly strapped in.
Once everyone was secured in his rack, the three D.I.’s went to the compartment hatch. “Stay where you are, as you are,” Neeley said, “until we come back to let you out.” He opened a small panel next to the hatch and pulled a lever concealed behind it, then hit the light control as he followed the other two D.I.’s out of the compartment, plunging the compartment into darkness broken only by the emergency lights.
“Hey, what’s this?” Dean shouted as a webbing suddenly dropped from the bottom of the rack above him and secured itself to the frame of his own rack. He wasn’t the only one asking that question, but nobody could answer it. They found out a moment later when the artificial gravity shut off and the ship jumped into hyperspace.
With an abruptness so complete it seemed that it had always been this way, the universe went gray. Or was it black? Weight vanished; it wasn’t a floating sensation like null g had been, but a total absence of weight, as though mass had disappeared altogether. All the weight that ever was, was now, and ever would be, settled onto him. There was no sound. There was such a volume of sound, he thought the universe must be ending in the collapse of everything into a primordial speck that instantly exploded in the big bang.
It ended as abruptly as it began, so suddenly that it was a few stunned seconds before anybody screamed. And only a few more seconds before everybody was yelling and struggling against the restraints that held them in their racks.
The pandemonium lasted only until the three drill instructors entered the compartment and reactivated the lights. The three Marines went through the bay just as they had moments earlier, this time calming everyone down. They weren’t totally successful; some of the recruits were upset by the unexpected experience, and would remain so for some time to come. When relative calm was restored, Neeley stood by the compartment hatch and spoke to the platoon.
“I know that some of you think it was unfair of us to let you experience a jump into hyperspace without warning of what was about to happen. But this is an important lesson for you to learn. The Razan’s Ronins are warriors. We fight battles. Sometimes we know a fight is coming; we set the time, the place, and the circumstances for it and are fully prepared. But sometimes we have only a few moments of warning . . . or no warning whatsoever. There’s a big universe out there, with a lot of surprises. Most of those surprises are nasty, and can kill you if you aren’t prepared to act immediately and decisively when they happen. What you just experienced was an unpleasant surprise, but nobody got hurt.” He looked at them with mild disgust. “And every one of you panicked. Try to do better next time. The next time you get surprised, your lives may well depend on your reaction. The next surprise that jumps out at you just might kill you.” Finished with his speech, Neeley turned and left the compartment.
Pretty snorted and followed the senior D.I. Singh shook his head. He said one word, softly, but loud enough for all to hear: “Boots!” He pushed the lever that released the restraining webbing before he left, and dogged the hatch behind him, so the men of the training platoon were left on their own to ponder what Neeley had said about surprises.
Only then did they notice that gravity had returned. It took several more minutes for anyone to notice that what had been the compartment’s overhead was now its deck. “Down” was now toward, rather than away from, the ship’s core. The racks had rotated during the jump. Now they understood why there was as much space below the bottom rack as there was above the top one.
Word Count 1493
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Recruit
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #10
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Sunday June 10th 3094 11:30 local
Hojuhei (Recruit) Jamila walked down the ramp from the Karnov slowly. In front of her flew another cargo helicopter, divulging fresh Hojuheis (Recruit) just like herself. Several battlemechs scattered around, with technicians, pilots and engineers all around them. Jamila was psyched. Her field training was a complete success, bringing her to the top five graduate with seven helicopter, three tank and one mech kills. She was transferred to the Razan’s Ronins Live Fire grounds as one of the test pilots for their replacement battlemechs they had received. The Razan’s Ronins had acquired a battalion worth of pristine, brand spanking new Military Hardware. Being the first batch to pilot the replacement ‘Mechs made her thrilled.
She walked down to the HQ building with other new graduates. Inside they formed a line while two officers inspected their dossiers. Forming up the line, Jamila inspected the building. Blueprints were hanging on the walls, engineers and soldiers in uniform strolling back and forth, some of them chattering over their com link.
"Alright, newbies, welcome to the Razan’s Ronins Live Fire Training," one of the officers said. "My name is Tai-i (Captain) Luke Quinn. I am responsible for the screening of the new pilots for the MHB battlemechs. That's why you're here. You are selected from the best new graduates from all around Inner Sphere. You have exemplary records throughout your training. Some of you will be selected to be the first to man these, awesome machine that will set a new standard in the battlefield.
"These ‘Mechs, names are Raven, Javelin, Tessen, and Jenner. The Jenner combines the speed and agility of a Locust with the armor and firepower of a Wolfhound. Floats like a Flea, stings like an UrbanMech. It is designed with one task in mind: hunter killer, to kill enemy scouts. This ‘Mech is by no means a scout, even though it is equipped with a Bk-309 Targeting and Tracking System, so those of you who expect to sneak behind enemy lines, with its ‘state of the art’ stealth armor and Angel ECM, for a few photographs, you don't belong here. That job is for paparazzi. Your job is to kill enemy paparazzis. Got me?"
"We got you, Sir!" Jamila and the other Hojuheis (Recruit)s replied in unison.
"Remember, I expect you to exceed my expectation. Briefing tomorrow at 900 hours, then you'll have your first taste of this ‘Mech, but only in simulation. I want you to be fully familiar with this ‘Mech before I put you in the real one. This ‘Mech costs more than six million c-bills. Now dismiss and follow Chu-i (Lieutenant) Rolf to your bunks."
Jamila followed the Chu-i (Lieutenant) and walked to two barracks, not very far from there. The Chu-i (Lieutenant) assigned the male Hojuheis (Recruit)s to one barrack and the females to the other. When she entered, Jamila found her name engraved on one of the lockers beside a bed. She slammed herself on the bed. She was 18 year old, 5'5" 125 lbs with shoulder length hair and dark eyes. She grabbed a bar of soap and walked towards the shower.
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Briefing Room
Monday June 11th 3094 9:00 Local
"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP!"
Jamila was standing in the briefing room with the other Hojuheis (Recruit)s. Tai-i (Captain) Quinn was standing in front of a map hanging on the wall. There were almost twenty Hojuheis (Recruit)s in the room, everyone was as eager as Jamila. Although today was just a simulation, everyone was anxious to get to know a ‘Mech that floated like a Flea, stung like an UrbanMech, just like Quinn said the other day.
"Today we will play the classic 'Capture the Flag' game. Your job is to defend your flag while trying to take the enemy's flag. Simple, but effective. I will divide you into Red Team and Blue Team. Red Team consists of Adam, Joy, Marge, Leif, Voght, Zander, Troy, and Gil. Blue Team consists of Cedric, Jamila, Fowl, Jensen, Piet, Bruno, Hajji, and Leroy.
"You will power up immediately around your flag. You know the rule, so stay in the game as long as possible. I will review your combat skill personally. Remember, we only need four pilots. Half of which will come from the Razan’s Ronins Ascella training Academy. Two of those will be mid to senior ranking officer, the last two will be from among you. That means, by the end of the screening, some of you will go home. Now go to your simulator."
Jamila quickly followed the others to the simulation room. There were a lot of simulation pods, more than the number of Hojuhei s (Recruit)s. Each pod was operated by two technicians. Jamila took the pod in the middle, and one of the techs asked her if she was red of blue. Jamila said blue, and the tech connected the blue cable into the main slot. Jamila entered the pod, which was an exact replica of a battlemech's cockpit. She put on her neuro helmet, sat on the command couch, and initiated the start sequence.
The screen in front of her came to life, and for the first time Jamila saw the ‘Mech. It was chicken walker, with a cock pit similar to a Thunderbolt’s. The Jenner sported six Kajuka Type 2 Bright Blossom Medium Lasers . Its missile weaponry was completely dropped in favor of increasing the 'Mech's medium laser armament up to six. It is an experimental variant of the Jenner developed during the fifth Succession War. It is a test bed chassis for LAW on New Samarkand in 3072. Using the JR7-K as its base, with extensive revisions. Its internal structure was upgraded to a Composite Internal Structure. Its engine swapped out for a 245 rated XL Engine, which helps maintain the Jenner's original speed. The designer moved the forward jutting cockpit to a Torso Mounted Cockpit. The Jenner’s Jump Jets were increased from base module to seven. For the 'Mech's protection, it has an Angel ECM and its hull has been encased with seven tons of Light Ferro-Fibrous Armor. For its stealth capacities, the 'Mech has been given an Experimental Null Signature System. Defensively the high speed and Stealth Armor made the Jenner particularly difficult to hit. This allowed the Jenner to dictate the pace of the fight and maximize its advantages. Seven other ‘Mechs stood by her side, and one hundred meters behind her flew the blue flag. Another group of ‘Mechs, denoted as red dots in her radar, stood roughly one kilometer away from her position.
"Come on, let's kill the Red Team!" somebody yelled. "Charge! Charge!"
Without warning, the Blue Team rushed toward the Red Team, while the other did the same. Jamila gunned her engine into the center. Her ‘Mech responded quickly to her demand, running smoothly on the coarse, arid terrain. Jamila could only hope that the real ‘Mech had this exact treat. She pushed the throttle to maximum as the Red Team loomed closer and closer.
Soon, all hell broke loose. Laser bursts blasted the front armor of the other ‘Mechs, spreading molten armor into the air. Missiles leapt from their tubes and erupted upon impact. The battle was quick and confusing. In a state like this, it was hard to determine which one was enemy and which one was friend. Ironically, some Hojuhei s (Recruit)s blasted their own comrades without realizing that they were on the same team. All guns blazed, and after several minutes of confusing battle, arms and legs started to fly to every direction.
Jamila triggered her jump jets, bringing her flying over the main battlefield below. She landed fifty meters behind an enemy ‘Mech and rushed toward the red flag. She was adjusting her course when she heard several beeps on her radar. Suddenly several rounds of missile slammed into her back. Jamila yelped as her ‘Mech almost toppled, but her quick reflex saved her from tumbling. She turned around and another ‘Mech from the Red Team was firing medium lasers at her.
Jamila knew she had to deal with this attacker, so she let out a quick burst of lasers. Her bursts flew wide without harm. The other ‘Mech tilted up and spread its missiles, one of which caught Jamila on the center torso. Jamila staggered, but quickly reestablished her footing and fired off her own lasers as quickly as they could recharge, but the other ‘Mech was quick enough to get out of the way. Jamila leapt into the air and sprayed the other ‘Mech with her medium lasers. Three of the 5cm coherent light beams hit the other ‘Mech on the left arm, boroughing deep black scars into the armor. Jamila landed smoothly, but two enemy SRM streaks darted her torso. Warning sign glared on the console, she lost sixty five percent armor on the front. She winced, yanking the joystick to other directions. Missiles burst all around her.
"Come on!" Jamila taunted. "You want a piece of me? Come on, give me your best shot!"
The other ‘Mech took off into the air and fired its entire arsenal at Jamila. She floored the pedal and savagely tugged the stick until it touched her crotch. Her ‘Mech jumped into the air, missing all the lasers and missiles. Tracers of light and smoke blasted from her guns as she hit the alpha-strike button. The six laser beams slammed into the other ‘Mech's midst and three of them ravaged its left arm. The Red Team ‘Mech lost balance, then crashed to the ground as it slipped upon landing.
"Hell Yeah! Eat dirt, asshole!" Jamila screamed, letting out her frustration.
Suddenly, two medium laser beams stroke deep into her left torso. Hydraulic fluid was incinerated, causing major fire near the rotor. Jamila groaned as her left arm lasers were destroyed. She glanced back and saw two Red Team ‘Mechs, shredded to pieces but still functional, taking pot shots at her.
"Damn cowards, shooting in the back!" she turned her ‘Mech around. "Here, eat my lasers and die!"
She fired her four remaining lasers as soon as they blinked green at a Red Team ‘Mech that lost one leg. At her present range it was all but impossible to miss the enemy Red Team ‘Mech. The ‘Mech didn't have time to flinch. All four laser beams burned into the center torso, the energy beams quickly ate the remaining armor apart and incinerated the ammunition bins. The ‘Mech blasted in a huge fireball. Jamila twisted slightly to the right and targeted the other ‘Mech. She fired two of her lasers, two at a time in double round salvos from her remaining armament into its midst. The ‘Mech, battered from the previous brawl, rocked back and forth as Jamila's 5cm laser fire destroyed its reactor. It toppled to the ground.
Jamila watched the ‘Mech tumbled but suddenly felt a rush of explosion hit her from her back. The other Red Team ‘Mech had regained its footing, and was shooting Jamila from the back. Jamila turned around, but the other ‘Mech fired its entire arsenal. She bit her lips as quakes overcame the cockpit. Her ‘Mech lost power, then slumped to the ground.
"Crap!" Jamila cursed, watching the other ‘Mech rushed freely toward the blue flag. As soon as it arrived at the blue flag, the screen went off. Jamila realized that she was the last one standing from the Blue Team. Had she won over the other ‘Mech, she would have been the one that waltzed over to the red flag and scored the victory. But it was too late. She stripped her neuro helmet off and got out of the simulator.
Outside, Tai-i (Captain) Quinn had been waiting for them. "Some of you did exceed my expectation, but others failed to impress me. There will be two more screening tests for you before I make my decision. Carry on, ‘Mechwarriors, but don't make yourself comfortable yet."
WORD COUNT 2086
NPC
Hojuhei (Recruit)
Jamila Shani
Call Sign: Ferret
Recon Training Lance
Kiridashi Company
Ronin Legion Battalion
Jenner JR-10X
Razan’s Ronins Mixed Arms Regiment
DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: MyKayla
Rank: Sho-ka (Master Sergeant)
Callsign: Sy-Berian Starr
Lance: Dragon Sword
Company: Katana
Battalion: Ronin Legion
Military Hardware: Daboku DCMS-MX92-E
Role: Assault
Unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #11
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Red Light District
Bourbon Street
Yodel Bar
Monday June 11th 3094 14:30local
After a quick shower, Jamila went to the bar to cool off. She was still mad about the simulation in the morning. She thought the other ‘Mechwarrior cheated her by shooting her in the back. She knew that there was no rule about shooting in the back for Mercenaries, but she still felt that each other should not do it.
In the bar, several Hojuhei s (Recruit)s were gathering on a table, smiling and talking about the simulation. Judging from their elaborate talking, Jamila could see that they were from the Red Team. One particular Hojuhei (Recruit) laughed and smiled and talked like he was the hero of the team. Jamila immediately knew that he was the one that shot her in the back, the last Hojuhei (Recruit) standing. She thought she should say a few words to him, so she came to the table and stared at the Hojuhei (Recruit) rudely.
"You cheated in the simulation!" she snapped. "Everybody saw what you did, and yet you gloat like you're a war hero or something! You make me sick!"
The group of Hojuhei (Recruit) suddenly stopped talking. The one that Jamila tongue lashed got up, but instead of yelling back, he offered her a handshake. "You must be the last one from the Blue Team, the last one I fought. Good moves you have. My name is Leif. Leif Benzon. Nice to meet you."
Jamila shied away from his outstretched hand as if has some sort of contagious disease. "What is wrong with you?" Jamila flamed. "You cheating bastard! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"Why?" Leif frowned. "Shooting in the back is a quick way to kill your enemy, because the rear armor is thinner than the front armor. And as far as I know, we don't have 'rules' like the Clans. All is fair in love and war."
Leif had a good point, and Jamila admitted it. But she didn't want to show it, not to an arrogant Hojuhei (Recruit) like Leif. "You knew I was fighting two of your friends. You knew I was outnumbered. Yet you took advantage of that and singed me with cheap shots from behind! I hope you got expelled from the Academy!"
"Why are you so upset about it?" Leif chuckled. "It's only a game! There will be two more simulations, and if you think I owe you a fair duel, then I'll see you in combat." Leif chugged his beer. "And to make you feel better, I only cheat if I don't think I can do it the right way."
Jamila didn't know if she should feel better. But his last comment did make her feel a little good. She decided that she didn't want to pursue the fight anymore. She stepped back and gave Leif a quick snort, saying, "I'll be waiting." She quickly exited the bar and went back to the barracks.
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Simulation Room
Wednesday 13th 3094 09:30 local
The Hojuhei s (Recruit)s were assembled in the simulation room where Quinn held the briefing. Jamila stole a quick glance at Leif. He was a man in his early twenties, with crew cut hair and arrogant face. Jamila could hardly wait to fight him again. He was a good fighter and had good moves, but Jamila was confident she could beat him, considering he didn't find a way to cheat.
"This time, Red Team will guard a depot, and Blue Team will attack it," Quinn explained the simulation plot. "You have 10 minutes. Blue Team wins if the depot is destroyed, and Red Team wins if the depot still stands after 10 minutes. Above all, one team wins if all the other team members are destroyed. I will reshuffle the team to give you a chance to work with everybody. Red Team is Fowl, Adam, Joy, Piet, Voght, Zander, Troy, and Hajji. Blue Team is Marge, Leif, Cedric, Jamila, Jensen, Bruno, Gil, and Leroy. Alright, you know your objective. Get into the simulators and get it done!"
"So, this duel of ours will have to wait," Leif said as Jamila slipped into the simulator. "We're on the same team now."
"Doesn't mean you're my friend," Jamila retorted. "Just get out of my crosshair."
"Sure," Leif smiled. "See you on the battlefield."
The simulation started, and the Blue Team was deployed one kilometer from the depot. Jamila quickly set her throttle to maximum and joined the rest of the Blue Team to charge the depot. She set aside all thoughts about Leif and focused on the depot.
"Hey, girl, this is Leif," suddenly her comlink crackled with Leif's annoying voice. "Wanna win this round quickly? Don't waste your time and energy fighting the Red Team. We win as soon as the depot crumbles, and hitting the depot is much easier than hitting ‘Mechs. It's big, stationary, and doesn't shoot back."
"What the hell is your problem?" Jamila yelled. "What do you want from me?"
"Come with me and I'll show you the way to a quick, painless victory!"
As much as Jamila wanted to ignore Leif, she knew Leif was right. Being in the offense gave her considerable advantage. She started to see a different side of Leif. He was bright. He knew what to do to win, and he didn't waste his time doing anything else. She decided to follow him. "Alright, what do you want me to do?"
"Slow down and let others pass. Let them engage the Red Team."
"Are you nuts? The Blue Team will be outnumbered! You're pimping your comrades so you can get the prize! Dirty scum! We can't do that in real combat!"
"If we strike the depot quickly, none will get hurt. Are you with me?"
Jamila still felt Leif's tactic was very risky, but she understood what he was trying to do. Quicker fight resulted in less casualties. But her comrades had to suffer, and some of them might 'die'. She was torn between completing her objective quickly and saving her comrades. She couldn't make a decision.
"Hey! Make up your mind quickly!" Leif snapped. "In real combat, you'll die if you hesitate!"
"Dammit, I'm gonna regret this!" Jamila decided she would go with Leif. "Alright, I'm slowing down!"
She depressed the pedal and held the joystick backward to make her ‘Mech slow down. The Blue Team rushed on and started engaging the Red Team. Missiles and lasers slammed into each other, gouging deep gashes in the armors and putting several cracks in the internal structure. The Blue Team fought a respectable struggle, but missing two members caused them to be overwhelmed. The Red Team quickly pressed the Blue Team, pushing them back, away from the depot.
"Jamila! Leif! What the hell are you doing?" Quinn's voice exploded on Jamila's comlink. "Get back in rank and help your friends!"
"Ignore him," Leif crackled. "It's time. Follow me!"
Leif's ‘Mech broke into a sprint, then jumped into the air. Jamila gunned her engine then fired up her jump jets, making her ‘Mech soar above the Blue and Red Teams, and landed only fifty meters from the depot. The Red Team, startled by their sudden move, started to disengage the Blue Team but the Blue Team kept them busy. Jamila and Leif pummeled the depot with everything they had, and soon enough, the depot crumbled in pieces and went up in flames.
"See?" Leif quipped as the simulator screen went dark. "We destroyed the depot quick enough before our team suffer any casualties. Thanks for your help. I couldn't have done it without you."
"Do you think we'll be in trouble for disobeying an order?" Jamila asked.
"Trouble? What kind of trouble? We completed our objective, Blue Team won without casualty… what could possibly be better than that?"
"I don't know," Jamila sighed. "Tai-i (Captain) Quinn didn't sound too happy."
"If he makes a big deal out of it, then he's an idiot. Let's get out."
As soon as Jamila got out, Quinn greeted her with flaming eyes. Jamila knew that she would lose her place as the pioneer ‘Mechwarrior of the Jenner ‘Mech. If she did, then she swore she would kill Leif.
"My office… Now!" Quinn roared. "You too, Leif!"
"Don't say anything," Leif whispered while they followed Quinn. "I'll take care of this."
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Tai-i (Captain) Quinn's Office
Wednesday June 13th 3094 10:45 local
"You disregarded a direct order from your ranking officer and acted recklessly!" Quinn screamed in front of Leif's and Jamila's faces. "You left your comrades fighting the enemies alone! That is a lethal dose of insubordination, Hojuheis (Recruit)s! I will put this in your dossiers and no Razan’s Ronins Captain will ever want you in their Company!"
"With all due respect, Sir," Leif responded. "The Blue Team's objective was to destruction of the depot. We accomplished our objective, Sir, and in addition to that, the Blue Team did not lose a single member."
"Don't smart up with me, Hojuhei (Recruit)!" Quinn hissed. "Are you saying that your objective is more important than the lives of your comrades?"
"Sir, no Sir! That is the motivation that I acted beyond my order. I know the fighting will stop if the depot is destroyed. To minimize casualties, we need to destroy the depot as soon as possible."
"Then why didn't you lead your comrades to carry your bright idea?"
"They wouldn't listen to me, Sir," Leif answered ‘matter of factly’. "Only an intelligent ‘Mechwarrior with an open mind would understand my plan, and carry it with trust."
"And this is your intelligent, open minded ‘Mechwarrior?" Quinn switched his attention to Jamila. "Is that true, Hojuhei (Recruit) Jamila?"
"Sir, yes Sir!" Jamila didn't have anything else to say. "Hojuhei (Recruit) Leif's presented his plan to me the moment we touched down. I considered it. The more time we took the more lives it would cost. Under the parameters of our mission it was the best thing for the Blue Team, so we did it."
Quinn stared at Leif and Jamila interchangeably, then walked behind his desk and slammed himself onto the chair. "In my twenty some odd years of experience, this is the first time my Hojuheis (Recruit)s make me feel like a moron. No Hojuheis (Recruit)s had defied me before. Newbies… they carried my order as if I was the Coordinator. You two are stupid enough to overlook the fact that I, though not the Coordinator, decide your fate in this project.”
"However, you manage to take advantage of the flaw in the computer simulation," Quinn looked at Leif. "Someone with your observation skill will be very helpful to the Regiment."
"Does that mean I pass your screening, Sir?" Leif asked.
"You and your intelligent, open minded ‘Mechwarrior," Quinn glanced to Jamila. "We have one more simulated battle before we go on the field test. Obey my command and I'll give you the first two spots on the field test, along with my recommendation to go to whatever Ronins Lance you wish to join. Now dismiss."
Jamila smiled from ear to ear. When they got out, she tapped Leif's hand. "I never liked you, Leif. You're the most arrogant, reckless cheater I have ever seen. However, you take responsibility for your actions and you gave me a spot in this project. I highly respect that. So thank you. I owe you one."
"You owe me nothing but your name," Leif winked. "I think we are never properly introduced. Hi, I'm Leif ‘Silver Shark’ Benzon, first of Class of ‘92, An Ting University."
"Jamila ‘Ferret’ Shani, third of Class of ‘92, Minoru Kurita University," Jamila shook Leif's hand. "Wanna hit the bar? I think this whole situation made me thirsty."
"Sure, why not," Leif smiled and walked with Jamila. "I'm buying."
WORD COUNT 2080
NPC
Hojuhei (Recruit)
Jamila Shani
Call Sign: Ferret
Recon Training Lance
Kiridashi Company
Ronin Legion Battalion
Jenner JR-10X
Razan’s Ronins Mixed Arms Regiment
DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: MyKayla
Rank: Sho-ka (Master Sergeant)
Callsign: Sy-Berian Starr
Lance: Dragon Sword
Company: Katana
Battalion: Ronin Legion
Military Hardware: Daboku DCMS-MX92-E
Role: Assault
Unit: Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment
House: DRACONIS COMBINE
FW-PA-02-01 #12
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Training Facility
Simulation Room
Monday June 18th 3094 09:15 local
The third simulation went well. Knowing that their places on the field test team were guaranteed, Leif and Jamila played it safe and didn't pull off any reckless stunts. Today was the announcement of the field test team, the ‘Mechwarriors that were deemed fit to pilot the ‘Mechs for the first time. Unsurprisingly, Leif and Jamila found their names among the four names that were selected for field test on Ascella. ‘Mechwarriors that found their names on the list rejoiced and celebrated the event in the bar.
"I don't know if we should go with them," Jamila said to Leif. "We've known we'd be in this team since last week."
"It'll be awkward if we don't," Leif replied. "Others will suspect foul play. Come on, it doesn't hurt going to the bar and have a few drinks with them. Just fake excitement and congratulate each other for an hour. Then you can do whatever you want."
"I suspect you're right," Jamila said unenthusiastically. "Alright, let's go."
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Planet Ascella
Continent Askahr
Capital City Tarawa
Red Light District
Bourbon Street
Norton Hotel
Honeymoon Suite
Tuesday June 19th 3094 13:15 local
"Ugh!" Jamila woke up with a massive headache. She massaged her temple to clear her mind, then realized that she was not in her bunk. She was in a room unfamiliar to her, with clothes and shoes and bedsheets scattered all over the floor. She didn't remember how she ended up here, and then she realized that she was not alone. A man was snoring next to her, naked.
"What the hell?" she flipped the man over, and gasped when she realized that it was Leif. She shifted to the other side of the bed, then realized that she too, was also naked. "No!" she choked, thinking of the only thing that could have done between them. "No, no, no!"
"Shut up, Jamila!" Leif mumbled. "I'm trying to sleep…" Then Leif jerked his head when his senses came to him. "Oh shit, oh shit! This can't be happening!"
"What the hell are you doing?" Jamila yelled, covering her body with the bed sheet. "How could you jeopardize our careers by acting this stupid?"
"Me? How come it's me?" Leif retorted. "Do you think it's my idea?"
"You're the one that acts reckless all the time! I'm not a slut that sleeps with anybody!"
"But even if I asked you, you could've said no! What, do you think I'm a psychopath that put a knife under your chin while having sex with you? Do you think I enjoy the company of a helpless woman? Face it Jamila, you're as guilty as I am. We… we could've drunk too much."
"Aw phuk!" Jamila smacked her head with her palm. Of course she drank too much. She couldn't remember what happened to her, she smelled like a can of beer, and she still was hungover. She regretted her decision to go to the bar that led to sleeping with Leif. The Razan’s Ronins would not allow a couple at Hojuhei (Recruit) rank in the same unit. One of them, or worse, both of them would have to leave the Regiment.
"Quinn cannot know about this," Jamila stated.
"What are you talking about? Nobody should," Leif added. "If anybody asks, we say that we just had some fun."
"Just casual, no string attached."
"Right," Leif got up and started collecting his clothes. "We'd better get back before anybody notice."
WORD COUNT 667
NPC
Hojuhei (Recruit)
Jamila Shani
Call Sign: Ferret
Recon Training Lance
Kiridashi Company
Ronin Legion Battalion
Jenner JR-10X
Razan’s Ronins Mixed Arms Regiment
DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: MyKayla
Rank: Sho-ka (Master Sergeant)
Callsign: Sy-Berian Starr
Lance: Dragon Sword
Company: Katana
Battalion: Ronin Legion
Military Hardware: Daboku DCMS-MX92-E
Role: Assault
Unit: Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment
House: DRACONIS COMBINE
FW-PA-02-01 #13
Draconis Combine/ULTRA Contested
Dieron Prefecture
Dieron Military District
Al Na'ir Province
Telos IV
Lower Atmosphere
Union Class DropShip
Black Ronin
Deck Seven
‘Mech Bay
Saturday 7th July 3094 2250 Local
Nobody ever found out what happened to Leif Benzon and Jamila Shani. It was as if it never happened. But for Leif and Jamila, that night became their nightmare. The journey from Ascella to Telos IV became the longest 4 weeks in their lives, because they always kept their distance. They tried to act normal, but the fear of getting caught haunted them in every occasion. Leif and Jamila never conversed longer than 5 minutes, and if they did talk, they only talked general things.
For Jamila, it was the worst scenario possible. Leif transformed from the one she hated, to the one she liked, to the one she bedded, to the one she had to avoid at all cost. She didn't even remember if she enjoyed her time with Leif, but she had to pay the price nonetheless. Sometimes she thought that she was just being paranoid, that nobody would ever find out about that night. But other times she felt everybody stared at her mockingly.
After 4 weeks of traveling, they finally arrived at Telos IV. All the mission’s ‘Mechwarriors gathered in the Black Ronins’ briefing room to hear the mission. It was a real mission where she would take the Jenner ‘Mech into combat for the first time.
"For months, the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army ‘Dissidents’ have been a thorn in our side," Sho-sa (Major) Shannon ‘Crone’ Parish said. "They want to segregate from the Free Worlds League and establish their own fiefdom. The loyal contingent of the Telos IV Dieron Military District Militia, reported that there is a camouflaged base near the city of Triumph. There are no ‘Mechs in sight, just some armor companies and laser turrets. The DMDM also reported that some helicopter landing pads were spotted north of the base.
"Dragon’s Watch Lance’s objective is to level that base. Recon Lance objective is to break off into pairs with a lead and a wingman and to scout the terrain 50 klicks around Triumph. Dragon Lair Lance’s objective is to engage any enemy ‘Mechs that either of your individual lances may encounter. Drop off point is 2 kilometers outside the base. The techs have uploaded the nav points on your computers. Follow the nav points, kill everything in sight, and get back to the rendezvous point, and wait on a signal from the regiment to call for our DropShip. This mission should not take more than 30 minutes. The ULTRA armor should not pose a problem for our ‘Mechs Dragon’s Watch. Recon, you are here on a paparazzi mission. Don’t get bogged down in a prolonged firefight. Any questions? Good, drop off is in 20 minutes. Good luck!"
Jamila jogged to the hangar bay inside the Union Class DropShip where a dozen battlemechs waited. Her 35 ton Jenner was painted in traditional Razan’s Ronins urban camouflage, and the smell of the fresh paint filled the hangar. Two medium laser barrels peeked menacingly from either side of its head, one on each side, two more off the stubby little ports graced her left arm and right arm in an over under configuration just like a Marauder’s. Jamila quickly climbed up to the cockpit and, assisted by two techs, turned the ‘Mech on. A soft whirl echoed in the cockpit, and her console hummed to life.
"Go-chu (Corporal) Jamila reporting to duty," she spoke on the comlink. "All system nominal, ready to go." The other eleven pilots similarly checked in as well.
"Hey Jamila," Leif called her from her private channel. "Sorry that things had been awkward for us."
"Yeah," Jamila sighed. "Me too."
"When we get back to Ascella, can we start over? I mean, we were on the wrong track since we first met, and things got out of control until we arrived in the predicament that we find ourselves in now. I want to fix it."
"Why are you asking this now?" Jamila smiled. "Your timing couldn't be more perfect!"
"Well, we never had a chance to talk privately. Eyes and ears are everywhere. So what do you say?"
"I don't know. I have to think about it."
"Should I leave you my number?"
"Shut up!" Jamila turned her comlink off.
* * *
“That’s it, Sho-sa (Major), we’re on our way.” Kashira (Talon Sergeant) Zach Evans half turned in his seat to look at Shanon, who was dropping to Telos IV’s surface in her Hitotsume Kozo HKZ 1F behind him watching over the XO of the Dragon’s Lair Lance’s shoulder at the faint gleam that marked Kiridashi Company’s destination. At a distance of over several kilometers, the base all but disappeared in the distant lights filling the Hitotsume Kozo’s narrow view screen.
“Aye, Kashira (Talon Sergeant),” Shanon said. “Let’s start releasing our own decoys.”
Evans pressed a black plastic stud, which to Shanon’s eye looked exactly the same as the score of similar buttons surrounding it.
“Decoys away,” Evans said, casting a suspicious eye on the control he’d just touched. “Do you think that Sho-sa (Major) Karen Tsang, our Intel officer, really knew what she was talking about, ma’am?”
“Doesn’t matter what “I” think, Chu-i (Lieutenant). Both Chu-sa (Lieutenant Colonel) Reece Kimura and Sho-sa (Major) Owen Callaghan thought so,” Shanon answered. “So does Tai-sa (Colonel) Onishi Razan. I’m willing to take their word for it.”
In addition to the route of the ULTRA Supply train, Sho-sa (Major) Karen Tsang had provided the task force with a wealth of intelligence on new regime . . . their communication frequencies and codes, force compositions, transponder settings, and the like. Shanon knew from attending mission strategy sessions that the intel Regiment officer’s report was long and somewhat unorganized, as though Karen had recorded it as she went along, rather than entering the data into a framework of categories and classes. As a result, one had to sift through a great deal of speculation and partial information to glean what Shanon would have classed as solid, reliable intelligence.
Based on Karen’s report, the Black Ronins’s Identify Friend and Foe transponder had been reprogrammed. Now, if any Marik pilot or ground bound sensor operator interrogated that particular instrument, it would respond by transmitting an IFF code belonging to a civilian DropShip named Lynx.
“Humph.” Evans shook his head. “If the Free Worlders have changed their identity codes, we could land in a world of trouble in very short order.”
“Things could be worse,” Shanon reminded him. “We were originally supposed to make a high altitude drop from the Ulvenwald, neh? The Free Worlders don’t have anything that even vaguely resembles an Fortress Class DropShip. If we hadn’t use this Union Class, imagine what would happen if some nosy Marik pilot decides to make a close visual inspection rather than relying on his electronics? This whole operation would be blown even before our company made our drop.”
“I am willing to die for the Ronins. It is my job to do so if necessary, and it is the highest tribute for a soldier. But dying uselessly because a Marik fighter pilot showed some initiative is another thing altogether. This way, even if our code is wrong and they decide to make an inspection pass, at least we’re in an ovoid ship. The Free Worlders will probably think twice before shooting down an overweight ship just because it has an ‘out of date’ IFF code.”
“And if they shoot us down anyway?”
“Then it will have been our honor to serve Onishi Razan faithfully unto death.”
Kashira (Talon Sergeant) Zach Evans didn’t respond to Shanon’s half proud, half cheerful statement. He merely shrugged and turned his attention back to the business of grounding his medium class Wolf Trap Battlemech.
* * *
Five minutes later, the DropShip shook and rumbled as it pierced Telos IV atmosphere, all the way down to the surface. As the bay door opened, the Kiridashi Company launched and touched down and raced to find cover, quickly forming three lances. The lances split up and sprinted toward their own objectives. It was nighttime, and the urban camo paint of the Ronins’ ‘Mechs helped Dragon’s Watch Lance to camouflage while inching toward the base.
Eight hundred meters from the base, laser bolts started pouring from the base’s turrets. The night turned bright as the turrets intensified the counter attack. As Dragon’s Watch Lance closed with the base, several Myrmidons powered up and pumped up their PPCs.
Jamila jiggled her stick to dodge the laser and PPC rain. She was too far from the base to use her weapons, but the Free Worlders’ counter attack became more and more intense. One PPC bolt hit Leif’s Raven on Jamila's left, squarely on the chest. It punched a hole in the Raven's torso, taking away armor and exposing its engine and fusion reactor to air. The light ‘Mech staggered violently, the sudden change in balance made it swing and then twist around. Three consecutive laser bolts streaked out and hit her lance mate’s Javelin to the right and in front of her. The Javelin crashed to the ground in flames.
"Jamila! Their defense grid is too strong!" Leif yelled. "We have to swing around to the right flank! If we can find the power generator or control tower, we can turn off the turrets!"
"I'm coming with you!" Jamila yanked her joystick to the right, bringing her ‘Mech sprinting amidst laser and PPC barrages. She spotted Leif's ‘Mech and throttled up to follow him. Burning chunks of armor were thrown at every direction as their lance commander’s Tessen exploded in front of her. The Tessen’s explosion almost threw her off her feet, but Jamila grappled her joystick as hard as she could, keeping her ‘Mech up right.
Suddenly a laser bolt slammed into her Jenner’s torso, searing through armor and almost penetrating through to the internal structure. Jamila growled in frustration as she rattled the joystick. She slowed down, coping with the loss of balance, engaged her Angel ECM which made her null signature way more effective, then rammed her throttle to the full stop to keep running. The closest laser turret had fallen within the range of her weapons. Jamila punched the trigger and yanked the joystick to the right. Her laser beams flew dead on target to the turret while her right arm weapons carved it from the side. Fire burst from the impact, and smoke billowed from the crack. Jamila repeatedly raked the turret with her medium lasers, until it exploded in a fireball.
Meanwhile, Leif had reached the right flank of the base, leaving Jamila behind. He spotted the turret control tower and moved in to destroy it. He raked it with wave after wave from his SRM six pack, until it collapsed in on itself amidst falling bricks and a thunderous noise. Suddenly a squadron of Warrior helicopters boxed him from two directions, showering him with missiles. Leif lit his jump jets, but half of the missiles slammed into the ’Mechs massively armored chest. Leif was rocked back and forth as his ‘Mech was enveloped in a shroud of high explosive warheads. His Raven crashed back down to the ground, unceremoniously, ablaze.
"Leif!" Jamila cried out, whipping her ‘Mech to full speed to get to Leif in order to help him. "Hang on! Regiment this is Dragon’s Eye Three, requesting an emergency evac and an air ‘bus’ at grid Tango Whiskey Niner. I repeat, this is ‘Ferret’ requesting immediate assistance at coordinates TW9. Over!" she was met with static. “Regiment, this is 073, do you read me. Over! ‘Crone’!! Anybody? Over!”
"No! Forget it, Jamila!" Leif replied amidst a burst of static. "Fall back to the rally point!"
"No! I am NOT leaving my wingman!"
A wave of missiles swept the place where Leif's ‘Mech occupied, kicking up dust, soil, and chunks of armor flying in the air. Leif's Raven, venting tiny fires and thick roiling black smoke, regained its footing and retaliated with his single rack of six short ranged missiles, a extended range small laser, and a pair of extended range medium lasers. The medium lasers sliced a deep gash on the left side of a Warrior and the small laser caught one in its fragile rotor and his missiles clipped another Warriors tail. Both VTOLs lost control and crashed in a ball of fire and debris. But their remaining squadron mates sent another wave of missiles and gouged a deep scar on Leif's ‘Mech’s back, right under the reactor. Fire and smoke enveloped the 35 ton ‘Mech.
"Leif, eject! I'll get you out!" Jamila screamed. "Eject now!"
"It's too late! Don't come back here. Go on and save yourself!" Leif yelled back. "Get out of here, Jamila!"
The Warriors struck again. Twelve missiles chopped off the armor on its torso, and four consecutive blasts cut the power line on the Raven It was jolted backward, plummeted to the ground in a loud clang. With one mighty blast the ‘Mech released it’s nuclear sun, turning into a ball of fire.
"Nooooooo!!!! " Jamila watched as Leif went out in a blaze of glory. She froze for a moment, mourning the loss of her closest friend, until the Warriors started firing missiles at her. The field was littered with burning carcasses; half of them were ULTRA tanks. Jamila realized that there was nothing she could do. She turned around and ran as fast as she could, leaving the battlefield behind. The Warriors peppered her back, but as soon as they got into the treacherous no fly zone of the mountains, they retreated.
As the excitement subsided, Jamila realized her rookie mistake. She had engaged her Angel ECM suite and that had prevented anybody from communicating with her lance and that’s why no one had responded to her cries for assistance. Reaching down she flipped the switch to disengage it. The comm was instantly overrun with battle chatter. She linked up with the Dragon’s Lair Guard Lance. An hour later the Black Ronin returned for pick up.
Jamila entered the DropShip as the last survivor from Dragon Eye Lance. As soon as she got in, the DropShip blasted for orbit, leaving Dulles.
WORD COUNT 2447
NPC
Go-cho (Corporal)
Jamila Shani
Call Sign: Ferret
Recon Training Lance
Kiridashi Company
Ronin Legion Battalion
Jenner JR-10X
Razan’s Ronins Mixed Arms Regiment
DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: MyKayla
Rank: Sho-ka (Master Sergeant)
Callsign: Sy-Berian Starr
Lance: Dragon Sword
Company: Katana
Battalion: Ronin Legion
Military Hardware: Daboku DCMS-MX92-E
Role: Assault
Unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #14
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Helen
Nadir JumpPoint
Aboard the DCS Amber Lotus
Deck 23
Training Deck
Area Whiskey
2nd Platoon’s Billet
Tuesday 10th July 15:45 3094 Local
Each day started with the shrill blare of a bugle over the public address system and the drill instructors’ banging their batons against the bulkheads shouting an ancient chant: “Reveille! Reveille! Drop your cocks and grab your socks! Reveille!” Then, even before most of the recruits were fully awake, an hour of calisthenics, followed by showers, morning chow, and finally a thorough cleaning of the living compartments. After that, one hour of close order drill.
“Close order drill hasn’t changed much since the time of the Romans,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley announced, “and it hasn’t gotten to be any more fun since then either, but we require all our Infantry recruits to be able to march in matchless formations. After we land at Ascella, you’ll probably never use this skill, and it is a skill. So why do we teach it? This, recruits, is your introduction to following orders and working as a group, so pay attention! And don’t ever anticipate a command!”
Punishment for minor infractions of the rules on board the Amber Lotus was to practice close order drill between 22 hundred and 06 hundred hours and on the free half days. For those really recalcitrant offenders, kitchen duty . . . known for some unfathomable reason as kitchen police . . . was available.
* * *
On the second day, Dean had a medical exam by a real doctor, the one he’d been promised back at the recruiting station. He sat in the womb like chair of the examination table in sick bay, fully clothed, waiting for the physician’s instructions.
Doctor Jamie Sammons sat at a desk, reading Dean’s medical history, compiled back at Outreach, on the monitor of her computer. After a moment she nodded and said, “You’ve been a pretty healthy lad.” Dean didn’t know if he was supposed to say something, so he didn’t say anything. The doctor made some keystrokes and examined the screen again. Evidently satisfied with what she saw, she cleared the screen, then said, “Private Dean, did you know you have an ingrown toenail in your left big toe?”
“No, ma’am.”
The doctor nodded and added a few keystrokes to Dean’s computer file. “Okay, Private, keep your eye on it. If it gets worse, report to sick bay and a corpsman will cut it out for you. Dismissed.”
Dean just sat there, unbelieving. He hadn’t been examined yet. The doctor hadn’t even looked at him other than a quick glance when she told him where to sit.
“Did you hear me, Dean?”
“Yes, ma’am. But aren’t you going to examine me?”
The doctor looked him in the eye. “What do you think I was doing with you in the examination table? You’re in perfect health, anybody can see that. Report back to your platoon.”
* * *
As the days flowed into weeks, the recruits became used to the routine and to the minutiae of Razan’s Ronins training. They were issued weapons with which to practice the manual of arms, and which they were expected to field strip and clean. And clean them they did . . . endlessly.
“Always handle every weapon as if it were a loaded weapon, even when you personally know it’s not,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh told them the day they were issued the weapons. “This will be drilled into you once you’re on the ranges and patrolling on Ascella. Weapon safety will become second nature to you. ‘Unloaded’ weapons have killed more people than I care to think about. We really want to avoid having them kill some of our own. Start learning that now.”
They learned both the fire capability and nomenclature of their weapons. The basic infantry weapon in the Razan’s Ronins Mercenary Regiment, they were told, was a miniaturized oxy hydrogen laser rifle, commonly called a “M61A,” but in the manuals a “weapon.”
“These weapons are semi automatic,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh told them, “that is, they fire one beam each time the trigger ‘Mechanism is activated. The ‘special issue loadout’ for a Razan’s Ronins trooper in combat,” he went on, “is two hundred forty ‘rounds’, or four high capacity military power packs or ‘magazines’ capable of shooting up to a sixty bolts each before they are depleted.
“There are also handheld versions of these weapons which are carried by officers, NCOs above squad leader, and the gunners on crew served weapons,” Singh continued. “Two ‘Mech grade weapon are also authorized for each Infantry squad. This is what’s called a ‘crew served’ weapon, because it requires three men to operate it. Its either short or long range missile tube, a machine gun, or a small laser and can fire any where from two missiles to a hundred armor piercing rounds per trigger pull. The fire team crew carries a bipod, a tripod, two extra barrels, and each man in the fire team carries extra power packs, ammo, or missiles that amounts to three times as many reloads. You gotta change the barrel on a crew served weapon every six hundred shots or so or it’ll crystallize on you. And if your fortunate enough to make it to an assault team or a Battle Armor squad then you’ll be what we call a Battle Armor Pilot and open up a whole new assortment of ‘Mech ass kicking weapons ” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh always became very animated when he talked about weapons, moving his hands as if firing at an unseen enemy.
* * *
During a break, several recruits pretended to shoot one another with the unloaded weapons. Singh was upon them instantly. The men had never seen him so angry.
“You damned fools!” he shouted. “These weapons are not toys! They are the most deadly killing machines known to mankind!” The veins on Singh’s neck stood out clearly as he shouted at the hapless recruits. Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty came over, took Go-chu (Corporal) Singh aside, and they talked quietly for a few moments. When Singh came back he was calmer, but very firm, and there was no more horsing around with weapons.
After the third day they carried their weapons everywhere, and at night they fixed them into slots beside their racks. “You’ll get plenty of practice firing real ammunition when you get to Ascella,” Pretty announced, “and for the rest of the time you’re in training, your issue weapon will stay with you always, except when you go on liberty or if you wind up in the brig. I mean your weapon will always be with you, when you eat, when you sleep, when you shit, and if you’re lucky enough to draw duty on an inhabited world where the people don’t stink worse than orangutans and the women aren’t uglier, you’ll keep your weapon handy when you phuck!”
“Once, I pulled a month’s duty on the Kurita capitol, Luthien,” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh offered, apropos of the universal monosyllable just uttered by the normally straitlaced Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty, “and all I had between me and the ground at night was one of their thin native girls.” The men of the Razan’s Ronins Training platoon had come to like Go-chu (Corporal) Singh. He proved to be a very professional non com, but easygoing in his manner and with a lively sense of humor that tended toward the bizarre and earthy.
“Yes,” Pretty replied, “and your weapon.” And that was the only joke Pretty attempted to make during all the weeks he was the training platoon’s drill instructor.
* * *
“All right, recruits,” Neeley announced one day during a classroom training session, “I’m gonna give you Neeley’s Thirteen Rules for Staying Alive in Combat. You listening?
“One: Incoming fire always has the ‘right of way’.
“Two: Keep it simple, stupid.
“Three: Keeping it simple is the hardest thing in the world.
“Four: Never stand next to anyone braver than you are.
“Five: If things are going too well, it’s an ambush.
“Six: The easiest way is mined.
“Seven: The one thing you never run out of is the enemy.
“Eight: Infrared works both ways.
“Nine: Professionals are always predictable.
“Ten: We always wind up fighting amateurs.
“Eleven: When the enemy’s in range, so are you.
“Twelve: When in doubt, shoot until your power pack is empty.”
Neeley placed his hands on his hips and smiled fiercely. “You remember those rules and you’ll be okay.”
“Shujin (Staff Sergeant), you said there were thirteen of your rules,” McNeal reminded him.
“McNeal! You again! Recruit, you got a big mouth! Down, down, down!” Immediately McNeal assumed the push up position. “Give me fifty.”
“Dean! I saw you standing next to this big mouth trouble maker. Get up here and get down. Give me seventy five! I just made up a new rule: Never stand next to anyone dumber than you!”
To the accompaniment of the pair’s steady counting, Neeley, still smiling fiercely, turned back to the recruits.
“Thirteen: Remember the other twelve.”
* * *
As the days passed, the relationship between the recruits and their D.I.’s began to solidify. Their company commander and Kashira (First Sergeant) were everywhere, observing them in classrooms and in the exercise areas, making on the spot corrections, conferring with the drill instructors. Their own drill instructors stuck to them like leeches during every waking hour. It seemed either Neeley or Pretty or Singh would be there whenever someone made a mistake or needed a question answered. At first the recruits were apprehensive under all the scrutiny, but gradually they came to understand that the D.I.’s were there to teach and instruct, not criticize and belittle. Singh in particular used some of the most foul language any of them had ever heard, but he never used it to demean a recruit, it was just his nature to talk that way. When a recruit did something right, which began to happen more often as the days passed, one of the D.I.’s would be quick with a pat on the shoulder or word of praise. For many of the men it was the first time in their lives anybody had ever complimented them on doing something right.
Even close-order drill became fun for the men and women of the Training platoon. Once they got the basic facing movements down pat, Go-chu (Corporal) Singh taught them cadence counting and the ancient ditties that went along with it. One they particularly liked went:
‘I don’t know, but I’ve been told, that Tharkad pussy is mighty cold.’
When the entire company was in the parade bay practicing at the same time, the platoon commanders had their men count cadence at the top of their lungs . . . “One, two, three, four!” . . . to try to outshout the other platoons maneuvering there. Dean and his mates took to the competition with abandon, shouting until they were red in the face and the veins in their necks stood out. They made the bulkheads ring and finished their drilling flush with the belief that they had won the decibel contest. Best of all was the sense of pride in accomplishment the men derived from marching well together, instantly responding as a group to Singh’s shouted commands, maneuvering as if all of them were one. Each recruit was given the chance to drill the others under the watchful eyes of the D.I.’s.
Occasionally, members of the ship’s crew on work parties in Area Whiskey would come by and watch the recruits drill, and then the two groups exchanged the time honored insults that pass between PBIs and MidShipmen. But generally the crew was not much in evidence, although navy officers would sometimes confer with the Skipper. Once, the lieutenant colonel commanding the training regiment came to talk to the recruits for a few minutes. He was in his early seventies, and told them that more than fifty years before he had stood right where they were now. He emphasized that regardless of rank, every Soldier, Tanker, MidShipmen, AeroSpace Pilot, and ‘MechWarrior had started his career doing exactly what they were doing . . . every Mercenary, from the most recent graduate from Boot Camp on Ascella all the way to the Tai-sa (Colonel) herself.
Dean was the first in his platoon to be selected as an acting squad leader. All the recruits were given a chance to practice leadership skills, as fire team leaders for a day or two or drilling the platoon for a session in the parade bay, which was called the “grinder.” The most outstanding were selected to be squad leaders for one week.
Dean, with his quick intelligence, even temper, and natural ability to work well with others, would have stood out even without the test scores in his record. At the end of the voyage, Tai-i (Captain) Tomasio, in conference with his respective platoon commanders and platoon Gunsho (Sergeant)s, would pick the best of the men to be acting squad leaders during the time they would be training on Ascella. By the end of the third week they had unanimously selected Dean as one of the recruits upon whom they would confer that honor.
The personal relationships between the recruits began to take shape also. Of course, Dean and McNeal were inseparable buddies after the first day, but platoon and squad friendships soon developed. All the men were from Outreach, so they had geography in common, and since English had been the official language of the entire Independent System since its inception, they were able to communicate. But they also had a common culture that stretched far back into Terran history. This was due in part at least to the Borden Act of 2010, introduced by a U.S. Senator, G. F. Borden of Virginia, which provided the legislation and funding for the Library of Congress to digitize all its holdings. Not only did that make all the books in the library’s collections available electronically to future generations, it preserved all the motion pictures ever produced by Hollywood. Joe Dean’s favorites were those starring John Wayne, especially The Sands of Iwo Jima.
Word Count 2417
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Heishi (Private)
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #15
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Ascella
Askahr
Southern Peninsula
Kahuzi Jungle
Training Op
Wednesday 25th July 13:45 3094 Local
A persistent thrumming filled the humid air about the platoon as it sat in classroom formation in a jungle clearing. They had been on Ascella a month by then. Every day it had rained, sometimes all day, sometimes day after day. Just then there was a temporary break in the monsoon and Ascella’s sun poked through the clouds, driving up the humidity and heat in equally stifling proportions.
As the noise became louder and more insistent, the ground beneath the recruits began to tremble. The men could clearly hear small trees and bushes snapping and cracking as a large man made object pushed its way inexorably toward them. Suddenly, a behemoth burst through a fringe of bushes and came rumbling to a stop about ten meters from the platoon.
“People, meet the vehicle the box kickers in procurement called the Firestorm T 14 MASH Hover Transport not to be confused with is little brother the Firestorm T 11,” Neeley shouted over the thrumming, which gradually ceased as the driver powered down the engine on his armored hover vehicle. “The Firestorm T 14 MASH Hover Transport’s spacious infantry compartment is designed for battle armor soldiers. Adjustable handholds and equipment hooks line the walls while storage bins offer space for ammunition, power packs, support weapons, and other combat essentials. Each multifunction, fold down station has configurable restraints for both biped and quad suits and a quick release system for egress. These stations can also accommodate various types of conventional infantry, giving the Firestorm T 14 MASH Hover Transport considerable flexibility as a multi-role transport. On the T14's right side it has a host of Paramedic Equipment for emergency trauma gear more extensive than found in a typical first aid kit, consisting of defibrillators, chemical stimulates and tranquilizers, preserving sleeves, and other medical instruments. The T14 is equipped with a MASH component and has a single surgical theater, lab facility, pharmacy/dispensary, supply storage, laundry, and administrative office. As an afterthought and at the behest of Tai-sa (Colonel) Razan, Buda Imperial Vehicles equipped the T14 MASH variant with a recon camera and a searchlight. The T14 is more than just a transport slash MASH unit. It’s a transport/MASH/Search & Rescue/Recon unit, which is far too much of a mouthful for you to try to memorize right now. Anyway, we aren’t box kickers, we’re warriors. We call our equipment by warlike names, not namby pamby ones. We call this beast the Firestorm T 14. Its baby brother is referred to as the T 11”
As the Firestorm’s hover fans cut off and the heavy machine dropped suddenly several inches to the ground, the NCOs briskly but unobtrusively walked to the rear of the platoon formation, where they were shielded from the wave of muddy water that gouted up from underneath the Firestorm, drenching the unsuspecting recruits, drowning out their shocked screams and curses. “You may remember that somewhere along the line I told you something about ‘unpleasant surprises',” Neeley said calmly as he returned to the front of the formation. He blandly watched the recruits in their attempts to wipe the runny mud off their faces. “This is another lesson for you. Never assume that anything you’ve never seen before is benign. Especially not something big and mean looking. Most particularly not something that says ‘Razan’s Ronins’ on it.”
The normally staid and straitlaced Pretty even cracked a tiny smile as the recruits grumbled and muttered among themselves.
Three more of the vehicles roared into the clearing to join the first one. This time the recruits followed the example of their NCOs in getting behind something and avoided most of the mud bath. The machines measured eight feet high by twenty long and twelve wide.
“These are the combat workhorses of the DEST,” Neeley announced. “The Ronins transportation company has four Firestorms, two T 11s, a T 14, and a T 20. Four Heavy wheeled APCs, and two Cavalry Attack Infiltrator Helicopters. Only the DEST Battalion has access to the Transport Company. The rest of the Regiment use the Suzakus or the Triremes. Each Firestorm can transport one platoon of fully equipped and armed Infantry, or four troopers in full Power Armor suits. The Cavalry VTOLs can transport Two platoons of stripped down infantry or five Battle Armor Troopers. The Heavy APCs can carry two platoons of fully equipped and armed Infantry, or six troopers in full Battle Armor suits The T 14 can transport THREE platoons of fully equipped and armed Infantry, or eight Battle Armor Suits. They depend on their low profile and high maneuverability to avoid enemy fire, but each has an integral ‘Mech grade weapons and Nimakachi Type 3 Vehicular Stealth armor to protect it against most infantry weapons. A chassis can do 129 kph on the open road, a hundred over broken ground, and sixty-five knots or more on the water. Each weighs fifty tons. A Firestorm has a crew of three: a driver, a gunner, and a navigator. One out of six in the DEST combat configuration carries a heavy gun.”
“Firestorms are climate-controlled.” Neeley grinned and wiped away the perspiration dripping down the side of his face. “Now to go for a ride. Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty?”
“Listen up now,” Pretty shouted. “You will mount through the rear ramp.” There was a whirring noise, and heavy armored doors lowered to form ramps. “One squad per vehicle. Once inside, fasten in. Squad leaders, pay close attention because after this morning you will be responsible for making sure your men and equipment are secure whenever you ride these things. No duck shit, people; if you are not properly secured when you hit rough terrain, you can be seriously injured, even killed. Yeah, they’re ‘air-cushioned,’ but watch out when you don’t got the air or the cushion. Now, mount up by squads as I call you out, left to right. Keep your communicators open to the platoon net. Fill up front to rear as you climb aboard.”
Twenty eight high backed jump seats lined each flank of the Firestorms inside. Each man secured himself into his seat with two heavy shoulder belts secured by a fast release device centered in the middle of his chest. The seats were called “mummy boxes” because once inside, the rider looked like a mummy in its sarcophagus, except that the seats provided extra protection against a crash or a hit by a heavy weapon or a mine. Weapons and other items of equipment locked securely into forms molded into the seats. Mass confusion reigned as the inexperienced squad leaders tried to sort out the unfamiliar conditions.
The NCOs watched their men in silent amusement for a while. “At ease!” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh announced at last. He stepped into the interior of the Firestorm that held Dean’s squad. “Now watch. I’m going to show you how all this stuff works.”
* * *
It was well after dark when the platoon was delivered back to the base camp. Dean limped down the ramp, kicking caked mud off his boots. A pain shot up into his right buttock. Now he knew what Pretty had meant about not having the air or the cushion. The platoon fell into formation beside the Firestorm.
“All right,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty shouted. “Now somebody tell me what he sees there.” He pointed vaguely toward the hulking Firestorm. The men stared intensely but could see only the dim interior lights inside the vehicles. “Look!” Pretty shouted. “Mud!” he screamed. “Somebody’s gotta clean up those vehicles!”
McNeal groaned.
“McNeal! Front and center!”
* * *
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Ascella
Askahr
Southern Peninsula
Kahuzi Jungle
Saebeth River
Thursday 26th July 10:15 3094 Local
On the shooting range, they saw their first dead man. A recruit in another platoon discharged his M61A into his own jaw. The beam sizzled up through the man’s brain and burst out the top of his head, vaporizing his face. He died instantly. His trachea lay completely exposed to the goggle eyed recruits who swarmed around his still smoking corpse. Little bloody bubbles, the remnants of what was being expelled from the air left in his lungs when he died, mixed with the gooey gray matter of his brain and shredded skull fragments. Some of the men gagged, and all of them held hands to their noses because the man’s bowels had let loose. None had ever smelled anything so foul before.
“Whew! Closed coffin ceremony for that boy,” McNeal muttered.
Go-chu (Corporal) Singh wheeled about and glared at McNeal, as if he was going to launch into him, but he said nothing and after a moment turned back to the dead man. Singh knew his men were learning a hard but valuable lesson. When you live and breathe death and violence, you have to deal with it somehow. Denying death by making light of it is a safety valve by which those who must face it
deal with the stress.
* * *
They marched all morning through the sopping jungles, alternately drenched by heavy downpours and then steamed like crabs when the sun came out and turned everything into a sauna. Thirty minutes before they saw the stream, they could hear it. Few of the recruits could identify the sound, a dull roar punctuated by heavy thumps, the sound of boulders and uprooted trees bouncing down the stream, which was in flood, as was the Saebeth river and all the streams in that part of the southern peninsula of Askahr during the monsoon season.
Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley halted the platoon on the lip of a steep gorge. Ten meters below the precipice the Saebeth river roared and surged, the water beaten into a froth of white foam by the force of the current. A heavy mist hung above the banks as far as they could see up and downstream. The air about them was redolent with the clean, bracing aroma of wet foliage and water spray. Combined with the roar of the flood below, the atmosphere was charged with the danger and excitement of nature unleashed. Most of the recruits were from the cities of Outreach and had never seen such a display. All of them were awed by it.
Suddenly, the sun burst forth from behind the overcast for a few moments and a brilliant rainbow glowed and shimmered over the gorge. Several men gasped involuntarily at the sight. Few of them had ever seen a real rainbow before . . . the polluted air of Outreach’s cities hid them from most people. In seconds the clouds rolled back over the face of the sun and the platoon was shrouded again in gray wetness, but the men remained dazzled by the display for several moments after it disappeared.
“People, this is one of the most dangerous operations you’ll perform while in training here,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley said, shouting over the roar of the torrent. His words were punctuated by a heavy ‘bump bump bump’ as a boulder bigger than a Firestorm rolled by on the bottom of the river bed. Neeley nodded. “Yep, the force of that water is so strong it can roll an object weighing hundreds of kilos along like a child’s rubber ball.”
“You fall in there,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty added, gesturing over the lip of the gorge, “and we’ll never find you again. Don’t get too close to the edge,” he warned. “We have to get a man on the other side of that gorge,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley shouted, pointing to the jungle forty meters on the other side of the raging river. “Any volunteers?” He grinned.
Go-chu (Corporal) Singh began to unpack the platoon’s single Jump pack. Powered by energy cells and maneuvered by a system of tiny but powerful jets, it could lift a man a ninety meters straight up. The device permitted trained couriers and scouts to negotiate miles of rough terrain completely free from the restraints of gravity. Recruit training companies were never permitted more than one jump pack, and nobody except a man trained in its operation was ever permitted to strap it on. The recruits breathed a silent and collective sigh of relief as Go-chu (Corporal) Singh began to climb into the harness.
“The object here,” Neeley was saying as Go-chu (Corporal) Singh fastened the jumper harness, “is to get a line across the gorge. Then each man will cross . . . Get away from there!” Neeley started toward three recruits standing on the lip of the gorge who’d been staring down at the rushing water. He was too late. The ground upon which the men had been standing crumbled suddenly and sent them plummeting down into the foam. They dropped so quickly none even had a chance to let out a scream.
“Goddamnit, get the fuck back from there!” Neeley shouted at the other recruits as they instinctively surged in a group toward the bank to help their comrades. Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Pretty immediately began speaking into his headset while Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley and Go-chu (Corporal) Singh herded the platoon away from the raging Saebeth and had the men sit among the trees. The three NCOs conferred hastily. “We stay here until help comes,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley told them. Nobody suggested trying to rescue the three men; they hadn’t a chance in that torrent. Within minutes, it seemed, Tai-i (Captain) Tomasio was alighting from a command and control chopper followed by several staff officers. Seconds later, personnel from the Regiment medical staff arrived on another chopper, followed immediately by two more that carried other platoons from the Regiment.
“We’re going to form search parties,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley announced. “The Saebeth river empties into a larger one about sixteen kilometers down river. Delta Regiment Angel platoon will be airlifted down there to form a cordon across the water, try to catch our people if their bodies make it that far down. We’ll take this side of the river and Bravo Regiment Comet platoon the other and start looking right now.”
The search stopped after dark and resumed at first light the following morning. The first victim, a pimply lad from Yed Posterior named Schwartzer, was found about mid morning. His mangled remains were pulled from among the branches of a large tree bobbing in an eddy. The men gasped as his corpse was laid out on the bank. He was covered with huge gashes and abrasions, through which stuck the white ends of jagged bones.
Dean found the second man three days later. He was closest to the bank when the body suddenly rolled over in the middle of a raft of driftwood and the corpse’s booted foot stuck up above the water. The body was swollen to twice its natural size, and aquatic animals had been at it for some time before it surfaced. At first Dean hesitated to touch the thing rocking obscenely in among the flotsam. He knew the three men who had fallen in, but could not recognize which of the remaining two this one was. Dean stepped cautiously into the shallow water, hesitant to touch the swollen, discolored skin surface, looking for something to grab on to that wasn’t rotten flesh. Evidently all the man’s clothes had been ripped off by the force of the water, leaving only the boot on his left foot. He tried to drag the body closer to shore using a stick he’d picked up out of the water.
“Goddamnit, Dean, get in there and pull him out!” Go-chu (Corporal) Singh snarled. Everyone was on edge by then, even the D.I.’s. Dean grabbed the booted foot and dragged at the body. Under Singh’s prodding, several other men jumped into the water and helped haul the body to shore. Once the corpse was fully exposed on the land, the stench of rotting water logged flesh was terrible. Worse, as it lay on its back, everyone could clearly see the damage done to the body by the animals. The man’s face had been destroyed and his genitals had been completely eaten away. The recruits stumbled into the nearby bushes and vomited. Dean heaved until there was nothing left in his stomach. Even Fred McNeal, the acknowledged joker and wise guy in the platoon, remained stoically silent and avoided looking at what had once been a friend.
Two days later the search was given up and training resumed. The third man was never found.
Word Count 2815
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Gunjin (Private 1st Class)
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho-sa (Major)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #16
Draconis Combine
Dieron Military District
Al Na’ir Prefecture
Ascella
Askahr
Tarawa
Ronins Keep
Parade Ground
Tuesday 31st July 13:45 3094 Local
The weeks of training in the temperate zones and mountains came as a blessed relief from the tropics and the zero gravity training on the larger of Ascella’s two moons . . . the “Turd,” to the generations of soldiers and recruits who’d been there . . . and was an exciting challenge, all the more so because it marked the unofficial end of Boot Camp.
* * *
Graduation Day was hot and clear. The sunlight beat down steadily on the men and women in their ranks; the rainy season was over. The troops of the training Battalion stood rigidly at attention in their new cream and olive dress uniforms. Not a man in the company had ever felt prouder of himself than he did that morning, Dean more than most, because the single golden chevron of a PFC was emblazoned on his sleeves. He was one of five men in the platoon to win meritorious promotion for conduct and achievement during the training cycle.
Presentation of the marksmanship badges was another high point in Joseph Dean’s mercenary life. He’d qualified as one of the best shots in the training Battalion, scoring High Expert. “Not one recruit in fifty has shot as high a score as you since I’ve been in command here,” the Major (Sho-sa) said as he pinned the golden cross onto Dean’s tunic. “Congratulations, Mercenary.” Dean’s chest almost burst right through his tunic. He wished his parents could see him. After the Sho-sa (Major) passed down the rank, Dean permitted himself a huge grin. Tai-i (Captain) Tomasio, glancing back from where he stood next to the Sho-sa (Major), scowled ominously and then winked. With great difficulty, PFC Dean wiped the smile off his face.
* * *
“Here you go, Razan’s Ronins Troopers,” Shujin (Staff Sergeant) Neeley announced, but then had to pause while the new Ronins of the training Battalion cheered . . . it was the first time one of their drill instructors had called them a Razan’s Ronin, a title they’d just spent three months striving to earn.
“Okay, okay,” he continued when the shouting had died down. “Here are your assignments for specialty training:
oh one, ‘MechWarrior, the king of battlefield;
oh two, aero space and VTOL pilot, you ground pounders’ll love them the first time they show up when you need air support;
oh three, armor and combat transports, you remember the Firestorms;
oh four, battle armor, we depend on them in a pinch;
oh five, infantry and combat engineers, can’t fight a war without ’em;
oh six, navy, we rely on the navy for noncombat condition;
oh seven, maintenance, we don’t operate without maintenance, you break your weapon, they fix it;
oh eight, logistics, that’s rations and power packs;
oh nine, administration, it’s a dirty, unappreciated job, but somebody’s got to do it.
There are others, but don’t worry about them now, because nobody gets ’em right out of Boot Camp.
“MechWarriors, you’ll leave for the BattleMech training tomorrow morning. The rest of you will go to your specialty schools . . . right here on Ascella.” This was met by a chorus of outraged screams. “At ease, at ease,” Neeley calmed them down. “Actually, outside Boot Camp, duty on Ascella is pretty good.” Several men loudly expressed disbelief. “Pretty good,” Neeley continued. “You can even have cold beer in the evenings.”
“Aaaah!” McNeal yelled. “I’d reenlist for a cold beer!”
“As you were,” Neeley said shortly. “Here are your assignments: Anderhalt, Shaqlim X, oh two, aero space and VTOL; Rathi, Palmer, oh one, you leave tomorrow . . .” and on through the alphabet. Dean did not hear his name called. “McNeal, Frederick D, oh five,” Neeley announced. Neeley droned on, and each successive announcement was greeted by shouts of joy or groans of despair as the newly minted Ronins contemplated their fates for the next three and a half years. Those going to the same schools broke up into little groups and began speculating loudly about what to expect. At last Neeley was finished.
“Miss anyone?” he asked. Dean raised his hand, bewildered. “Dean, huh? I called your name, Dean, were you asleep or something? Oh five. PFC, you will start here on Ascella in the morning.”
Word Count 777
NPC
Joseph Finucane Dean
Gunjin (Private 1st Class)
name: Owen Callaghan
Rank: Sho sa (LMajor)
callsign: Kestrel
lance: CO Dragon Sword Lance
company: XO Katana Company
battalion: XO Ronin Legion Battalion
military hardware: Battlemaster IIC
role: Assault
unit: RAZAN’S RONINS MERCENARY REGIMENT
FW-PA-02-01 #17
Draconis Combine/ULTRA Contested
Dieron Prefecture
Dieron Military District
Al Na'ir Province
Telos IV
Dulles
Triumph
Outskirts
Wednesday 1st August 3094 1130 am Local
The constant booms and whistles of Long Tom artillery rounds and Arrow IV missiles were already ringing in the air by the time the Razan’s Ronins arrived on the front lines around midday. Gunjin (Private 1st Class) Nicolas ‘Buckshot’ Tupak eased forward on the throttle of his Guillotine, swiftly walking his ‘Mech down the open ramp of the Heaven Scent, a Overlord Class DropShip that was parked on the dunes outside the silver colored city along with the other combat DropShips of the Razan’s Ronins; a Fortress – the Ulvenwald; and a Union – the Black Ronin. Nicolas squinted at the sandy horizon, looking past the shimmering heat and mirages to get a grasp of what was going on. Beyond the 15th Dieron Regulars’ bunkers and fortified positions, countless scorched craters littered the dunes and rocky ground, evidence of the artillery exchanges between the invading forces and the United Leadership of the Tikonov Republican Army defenders. Every few seconds, a new fiery explosion bloomed on the ground, creating another crater.
Tai-sa (Colonel) Onishi ‘Rough Ryder’ Razan's Naginata led the mixed arms Razan’s Ronins Regiment across the battlefield, and her voice spoke clearly into the 15th Dieron Regulars battle channel. "Razan’s Ronins Actual. What's the situation, Komandā (Commander)?" Onishi referred to Tai-sa (Colonel) Elizabeth Carrols in the honorific due her role as the overall leader of the invasion force of Telos IV.
Tai-sa (Colonel) Elizabeth Carrols, the commanding officer of 15th Dieron Regulars' invasion force, responded sharply. "We've been forced to give a lot of ground to the enemy forces. We had to give up some good flanking positions to the east, and our artillery spotters keep getting attacked. At this rate, only the ULTRA forces will have the ability to fire artillery with any accuracy. Reports suggest that they have an airstrike coming in from the north, but that has yet to happen."
"Is the current line of defense holding?" Onishi asked.
"It is," the Komandā (Commander) responded firmly. "We’re out number by their Battlemechs and vehicles nearly two to one, and our bunkers and fortifications are keeping their offensive back. But we can't cover the entire city's perimeter at once, and the superior maneuverability of the defending forces will let them exploit our weaknesses sooner or later. We have to inflict maximum casualties on the Marik forces to disrupt their plans."
"Right." Onishi trotted her 95 ton ‘Mech toward the other 15th Dieron Regulars ‘Mechs and vehicles, and Chu-i (Lieutenant) Akita Fujinaka and the other Regimental command lance elements stayed close behind her. Close by, a quartet of Glaive Company’s Artillery pieces all fired one after the other, rattling the air with the sheer force of their shells. Four explosions blasted into the outlying desert, scattering the enemy Battlemechs out there. Countless loyalist Battlemechs and vehicles surged forward, sticking together in lances and companies to confront the ULTRA defenders. As the Sho-sa (Major) from Ronin Legion’s Assault Lance watched, bright red lasers, streaks of Autocannon shells, and clusters of missiles flew back and forth in a stunning display amid the artillery ordinance explosions.
The heavier 15th ‘Mechs often found themselves surrounded and pestered by speedier Free World ‘Mechs, and Sho-sa (Major) Owen ‘Kestrel’ Callaghan realized that all over the battlefield, the ULTRA forces could take down several friendly ‘Mechs and slip away before taking return fire. Callaghan activated his zoom and watched a stranded 15th Dieron Regular Awesome lumber around, it’s heavy armor smoking and chipped all over. A trio of 30 ton enemy Razorbacks scurried onto the scene, stabbing the Awesome on its left leg with their large lasers. The hulking Awesome stumbled and swayed as the three deadly beams sliced through its armor, cutting apart its myomer muscles and inner metal bones. Before the Awesome could return fire with its PPC array, the three Razorbacks quickly fled the scene, escaping the Awesome's PPC range. Meanwhile, the Awesome slumped limply to its side, collapsing on its left arm, crushing the limb into twisted steel and torn myomer muscles. The pilot of the ‘Mech streaked into the sky in his ejection pod, knowing better than to stay in his ruined machine.
"It's like this all over," Onishi lamented, apparently watching the same Awesome that Callaghan was. "All right, Ronins, here's the plan. Komandā (Commander) Carrols needs a heavy artillery barrage on sector D 7, but all of her spotter ‘Mechs went down and the Free World forces are quickly getting into flanking positions. The ULTRA guys are tearing apart the 15th Dieron ‘Mechs from that position, taking no return fire due to their long range weapons and superior speed. So, we're going to escort our contingent of spotters into position and give Carrols an old fashioned, Razan’s Ronins artillery barrage."
“Ronin Legion Scimitar Section you’re up!”
“Ma’am? Yes Ma’am,” was the simple reply the Tai-sa (Colonel) received from the new Tai-i (Captain) from aboard her Warhammer heavy class ‘Mech.
“ ‘Dragon Lady’, take Scimitar Section’s Black Dragon Lance, Kiridashi Company’s Dragon’s Lair Lance, and your own Red Dragon Lance. Two by Two formation and escort all of our spotters; the Artillery Support Lance, the Fury, the Wolverine, and the Puma, to sector D 7.” Onishi gave the order to Tai-i (Captain) Terri ‘Dragon Lady’ Sicoe.
“Aye, aye, Actual,” Terri Sicoe replied in the affirmative. Quickly linking the frequency of the four lances to a single company command channel she said, “Alright! You heard the ‘Sensi’. Form on me in two by two formation and lets move out!”
"Roger that," Gunjin (Private 1st Class) Ise ‘Blaze’ Fuqua responded crisply, her Grasshopper from the Black Dragon Lance turning to face the specified sector. Her voice took on a slightly playful and energetic tone. "So, Nicolas... ready to dance?"
Nicolas smiled. "Lead the way, ‘Blaze’."
"You kids don't get cocky out there, you hear me?" Onishi half joked, but she was more than dead serious.
Terri’s Warhammer walked toward sector D 7 with utter military precision. Along with her marched Go-chu (Corporal) Jules ‘Spider’ Chattan's Caesar, equipped with primarily medium pulse and extended range medium lasers. Near Jules' ‘Mech walked Gunjin (Private 1st Class) Kim Carns' humanoid Wolverine, another ‘Mech designed for medium to short range combat with an array of ballistic and laser weaponry, which included pulse technology. Half of the assembled twelve ‘Mechs were all equipped with PPC and of those six, three of them had extended range PPCs and her Warhammer had two of them . The Caesar pilot, Jules, meanwhile, would make sure that her Gauss Rifle would soften up the enemy from a safe distance.
A new, accented voice entered the comm. " ‘Dragon Lady’, this is Chu-i (Lieutenant) Claude Burrows,” the husky voiced, black commander of Glaive Company’s spotter team said. “My men and artillery spotters are prepped and ready to go. Cover us."
"Understood," Terri told him. Up ahead were eight units; four vehicles, two VTOLs, and two ‘Mechs, all light and medium designs. The eight spotter units broke out into a brisk flank speed toward sector D 7, going slowly enough so that the Razan’s Ronins' heavier machines could keep pace. Nicolas kept his fingers tense on his joysticks' firing buttons, feeling nervous sweat bead on his chest and face.
After just under two minutes into their trek, a sudden blast rocked Nicolas' Guillotine, throwing the 70 tonner to the right. Nicolas wrenched his joysticks the opposite way, forcing his ‘Mech back into balance before it crashed into the sand below. The damage screen indicated that five LRM's had exploded against his left torso, chipping away a little armor. His heart suddenly hammering, Nicolas twisted his torso to the left and spotted a cluster of ULTRA ‘Mechs and vehicles moving to intercept the Ronin’s convoy, mainly medium ‘Mechs and various tanks. Several Bushwackers led the way, their LRM 5's and large lasers slashing apart the Razan’s Ronins' armor bit by bit. The Ronins' ‘Mechs turned to fire back, PPC's filling the air. Spotting the bright blue PPC beams from afar, the ULTRA ‘Mechs scattered and fell back, letting the beams pass harmlessly past.
Annoyed, Nicolas slipped his crosshairs onto one enemy Bushwacker and mashed his thumb on his firing stud. His ‘Mech jerked back from the recoil, but Nicolas grinned in satisfaction as his twin ER Large Lasers flashed through the air in a blur, and then the Bushwacker reeled back from the kinetic force due to the energies impact. Armor goblets melted off the Bushwacker's torso, splattering onto the battle churned dunes. Even better, a hideous burn hole on the Bushwacker's torso appeared, throwing the 55 tonner off balance. Jules aimed her Caesar’s right torso mounted port into position and her ‘Mech spat out the high velocity nickel ferrous Gauss Rifle slug. The first one shot through empty air while her second shot slammed into another Bushwacker, punching into the dent Chu-i (Lieutenant) Jung ‘China Doll’ Li had created with her LRM 15 rack from aboard her Shadow Hawk. This time, the Bushwacker lost its balance, its legs scuffing uselessly on the dunes. The ‘Mech flopped flat onto its back, and the fire of eight medium lasers from nearby Heishi (Private) Deborah ‘Sutra’ Depp’s Komodo destroyed the Bushwacker for good.
Terri's Warhammer moved to block a pair of ULTRA Centurions from attacking the spotter units, and her ‘Mech's left ERPPC tore into one Centurion, frying its center torso armor. Two seconds later, Terri's right ERPPC lit up, the sizzling blue lightning slashing even more armor from the Centurion. Acting fast, Terri triggered her twin extended range medium lasers, peppering the Centurion yet again, this time with 5cm coherent light beams. Puddles of melted armor ran down the injured Centurion's chest, exposing delicate inner machinery.
However, the ULTRA fighters were far from finished. The other Centurion slipped to the side, easily evading PPC fire from other Razan’s Ronins. Getting revenge for its lance mate, the Centurion hammered Terri's Warhammer with its ten rack LRM volley and 122mm Autocannon, blasting chunks of armor plating from the left torso. Terri's lumbering ‘Mech ambled to the side, but the large Battlemech was too slow: a large laser from an ULTRA Bushwacker sliced into Terri's Warhammer's right leg, melting layers of metal off the limb.
Then, a pair of large Free World tanks rolled onto the scene, their bulky, heavily armored hulls giving Nicolas the chills. He recognized them as Challenger tanks, each armed with a Gauss Rifle, 122m scatter shot Auto cannon, and a ten rack, long range missile launcher as their primary firepower along with other smaller weapons. The Challenger’s aimed their turrets and let loose, their Gauss slugs wreaking havoc. One slug smashed into Gunjin (Private 1st Class) Jac ‘Skully’ Aboss’ Puma, shearing off its left leg in one blow. The hapless light Spotter ‘Mech toppled to the ground like a drunkard, tumbling down a dune. Nicolas released a sigh of relief as he witnessed Jac’s rescue beacon illuminate on his console. Another Gauss slug pummeled the left torso of Kim’s Wolverine, shattering the armor like glass. The Wolverine regained its balance a few seconds later, however, its armor far from depleted.
"Get it together, Ronins! Don't let them destroy any more spotter units" Terri growled as her ERPPC beam narrowly missed a Marik Razorback. Meanwhile, Gunsho (Sergeant) Christy 'Teak' Brinks’ Griffin landed a solid blow with its own fifteen rack LRM launcher, pushing back an ULTRA Bushwacker in a burst of flames. Jules' Gauss Rifle slug smashed apart the frontal armor on the Challenger tanks, but the huge vehicles easily withstood the blows and rolled closer, returning fire with a vengeance.
One tank's scatter shot 122mm auto cannon burst, shredded the armor on Ise's Grasshopper's right arm, throwing the ‘Mech off balance and exposing the limb's inner systems. Aggravated by his company mate’s plight, Nicolas stomped into position with his Guillotine, dropping his reticule on the Challenger. Before he could fire, however, an enemy Trebuchet's LRMs exploded across Nicolas' ‘Mech, blinding him with fire and smoke. Nicolas strained against the controls again, his stomach lurching as his Guillotine rocked back on its feet, and he was painfully aware of how much armor he had just lost. ‘Damn it... can't afford to fall down! Stay with me, ‘Mech!’ he screamed inside his head.
"I've got you, ‘NicK’," Jules Chattan's reassuring voice said on the comm. Nicolas heard a ‘Mech stomp around close by, and then he saw half a dozen streams of energy beams being fired filling the air, ER medium and pulse lasers and a snubbed nosed PPC blast. Nicolas forced his ‘Mech back out into open air, watching Jules' energy light show streaking through the air. The SNPPC caught a nearby enemy Razorback center mass, throwing the ‘Mech onto its back and blasting away its torso armor in a surge of flames. The other Marik ‘Mechs backed off, and Nicolas shook his head to clear it, lining up his reticule once again. His ER Large Lasers lit off more coherent light; green energies, and Nicolas felt a thrill of elation when his twin beams tore into one Challenger, adding to the damage Chu-i (Lieutenant) Li’s Shadow Hawk had dealt earlier. An internal explosion rocked the heavy tank, blowing its LRM launcher out of commission. Smoke leaked from the gaps in the tank's hull, but the huge vehicle wasn't done yet. Its Gauss Rifle slug pounded into Jules's Caesar tearing away armor from the ‘Mech's left torso.
"Damn it," Jules muttered as she pulled back, unable to return fire from this range. Nicolas pushed up on his ‘Mech's throttle, trotting into a new position on the battlefield. As he went, another Razan’s Ronins spotter unit, a Crow Scout VTOL, vanished in a fireball of LRM's launched from the ULTRA defenders.
"Keep it together, folks!" Terri demanded as the ULTRA ‘Mechs wore down the Razan’s Ronins and spotter units with their relentless hit and run tactics, dealing heavy damage while taking little in return. At some point, Terri simply turned her guns away from the slippery enemy ‘Mechs, instead turning to face the twin Challenger tanks. One ERPPC beam from her ‘Mech slashed into the more heavily damaged Challenger, the energy bolt adding to the damage that Jules’ Gauss Rifle had dealt. The tank rolled back as fire and smoke leaked from its wound, its turret spinning like crazy. Terri's second ERPPC raked the Challenger, triggering even more internal explosions. The tank's armor plates fell off in flaming chunks, the tank's crewmen frantically scrambling out the hatch before the vehicle fell apart entirely.
"Enemy airstrike incoming!" Tai-sa (Colonel) Carrols's voice boomed on the 15th Dieron Regular and Ronins battle channel.
"We'll cover the north flank, Komandā (Commander)!" reported the Razan’s Ronins Steel Dragon assault adhoc ‘anti air’ unit commander Chu-sa (Lieutenant Colonel) Reece 'Budda’s Fist' Kimura. Onishi had anticipated this so she had all the tank units load out their LRM launchers with Anti Air missiles and their LBX auto cannons with all cluster rounds. So they could put up a veritable wall of flak and PPC and laser fire. Kimura immediately started issuing orders to his battalion of ‘anti air’ platforms.
"Negative! Change to the west flank!" Carrols snapped back. "We broke into ULTRA battle channels and they're changing their assault vectors, trying to catch us by surprise. I repeat, cover the west flank! Now!"
Nicolas' ER Large Laser sizzled into an enemy Razorback's thigh, throwing the 30 tonner off its feet and sending it tumbling down a dune. However, he still checked the west vector, hoping that the incoming enemy airstrike wouldn't hit the Razan’s Ronins. He could already hear the roar of the enemy Aerospace fighters as they arrived on the battlefield.
The ULTRA airstrike came from the north.
Nicolas winced as the battle channel was flooded with confused shouts and status updates. Six ULTRA Lucifer fighters roared across the fields, unloading their assault class long range missiles, twenty per salvo and large lasers all over the Ronins and 15th forces. Multiple friendly ‘Mechs and tanks toppled and burned apart from the barrage, and none of the invading forces were able to fire back. The Lucifers soared away before they could take return fire, and the nine lances of Razan’s Ronins ‘AA’ tanks sat dumbly in the western area, unsure what to do.
Unable to help herself, Onishi tapped into the comm. "Komandā (Commander), this is Onishi Razan of the Razan’s Ronins. I thought you said the airstrike was coming from the north?"
"Watch your tone, Razan’s Ronins Actual," the Tai-sa (Colonel) barked impatiently. "I am just as surprised as you are right now. The ULTRA comms were cleanly hacked into, and their officers clearly ordered an airstrike to the north!"
"May I hear it?"
"Fine, for all the good it will do you." A few seconds later, a recorded message played out on the Razan’s Ronins' comms. "This is General Dupont. Bomber team, you will redirect your airstrike to the west. The 15th Dieron Regular forces will never see that coming."
"Sounds legit to me," Sho-sa (Major) Karen Tsang, the Ronins Intel Officer, commented from back at the LZ aboard the Ronin’s Daimyo Mobile HQ. "How did the ULTRA bombers know to change direction? Or did they disobey orders?"
Onishi huffed. "It's not our problem. We just have to survive this weirdness. But the Free World forces' speed is still a problem." The words had barely left her mouth when the Marik forces came back in force, with multiple Razorbacks, Bushwackers, and Centurions raining fire on the Ronins. Nicolas and the others dodged as best they could, but the ULTRA ‘Mechs clearly gained the upper hand. Already, two Ronin Hatamoto’s and a Griffin went down, and the surviving ‘Mechs were all in bad shape. "We could really use a short range battle here!"
"I can help you with that, ‘Rough Ryder," came a breathless but cheerful voice.
Callaghan recognized that voice as belonging to Mizra Ludwig, the commander of the Summer's Storm mercenary Battalion. He watched as thirty six mercenary ‘Mechs came up from behind the enemy ‘Mechs, hammering them with fire. Caught off guard, the ULTRA ‘Mechs backed away from the Summer's Storm, but that moved them much closer to the Razan’s Ronins.
"All Commands. You are weapons free. I repeat, you are weapons free. Go Hot Now! Pulverize them!" Onishi boomed across the Ronins broadband frequency.
Terri’s ERPPCs and medium class lasers sliced into an enemy Bushwacker, shearing off its left arm. Kim’s Wolverine marched straight toward an enemy Razorback, raising all guns to fire. The twin deadly medium pulse lasers mounted in the ‘Mech's head and right torsos roared to life, their energy darts ripping into the Razorback's thin torso armor like a hungry shark. The Razorback stumbled and reeled from the sheer kinetic force, fighting to stay balanced. Showing no mercy, ‘Sutra’ raised her Komodo's left arm and her four arm mounted Hellion V medium lasers and over rode her heat automatic shutdown warning and showered the Razorback, obliterating its armor and inner machinery. The blazing ‘Mech slumped in a confused heap, its legs bending and twisting under the pressure as the ‘Mech collapsed.
Kim Carns’ SRMs pummeled an ULTRA Bushwacker, blasting off the ‘Mech's arm and destroying its shoulder mounted LRM launcher. Before the Bushwacker could react, Gun-sho (Sergeant) Viva Thuen’s Venon cut loose with a fierce, close range medium pulse laser barrage that sliced apart the injured Bushwacker. The 55 ton ULTRA ‘Mech fell to pieces, its pilot barely ejecting in time. A badly damaged enemy Centurion wandered close to Nicolas, and Nicolas took careful aim, finishing off the Centurion with his four ER medium lasers.
The remaining ULTRA vehicles and ‘Mechs in the area slipped away to regroup with the rest of the ULTRA army, leaving the Razan’s Ronins standing with the Summer’s Storm. "We owe you one," Onishi said on the comm. "Good work."
"It was nothing," Mizra said cheerily, waving her Grasshopper's arms. "You guys were fighting well, but too many ULTRA guys were surrounding you. We need those spotter units in position, so my men came to help." The various Warhammer, Grasshopper, and Catapult ‘Mechs of the Summer’s Storm marched over to the remaining spotter units, offering protection. Terri assumed the lead, and she led the entire convoy closer to sector D 7 for the artillery strike.
"Enemy bombardment incoming!" Chu-i (Lieutenant) Kyle Kennebrew noted from overhead in the Command Cobra VTOL, noticing the Lucifer fighters approaching from the east. This time, however, ten more Aerospace fighters roared onto the scene, riding on the tails of their after burners. Two Lucifer II fighters, two Suzaku fighters, two Aven fighters, two Koroshiya fighters, a Striga and a Transgressor all bearing the Razan’s Ronins logo intercepted the six enemy fighters.
“I heard you ‘Mech Jocks could use a little help,” it was the statically distorted voice of Tai-i (Captain) Torri ‘Nemsis’ Nashiro, the Ronin’s Ice Dragon Wing CO. “Sorry we’re late to the party ‘Rough Ryder’ but you know how ‘we’ like to make an entrance and like they always say . . . better late than never.” Then keying up the AeroSpace Fighter frequency she ordered, “Ice Dragon Actual to all Ice Dragon elements, you are weapons free! Engage targets of opportunity! I repeat, let’s take’em down flyboys and show our ground bound counter parts who the ‘real’ kings of the battlefield are! Tally Ho!”
Showering them with LRM, ERPPC, and large pulse laser fire, three Lucifer planes erupted in flames, spiraling down toward the dunes and crashing to the surface. Quick on the upkeep, the three remaining Lucifer returned fire, focusing it expertly. Two of the Ronins' Aven fighters, overwhelmed by LRM and large laser fire, blew apart in chunks and the pieces rained down on the battlefield. The enemy Lucifers roared past the surviving Ronins fighters, intending to turn around and make another pass.
Chu-sa (Lieutenant Colonel) Kimura came onto the comm. " ‘AA’ lances, take out those enemy fighters! Support our aerial assets!"
Nicolas watched in excitement as the Razan’s Ronin’s assault, ‘anti air’, tank battalion opened fire with their Anti-Air LRMs, and their 40mm and 90mm, double rate and scatter shot, Auto cannons, showering the Lucifers in their awesome firepower once the Lucifer planes made their return strike. Two more Lucifers succumbed to the combined fire of the ‘AA’ lances and the Razan’s Ronins aerospace fighters. Realizing that they couldn't escape, the last Lucifer fighter simply focused its fire again. Combined LRM's and lasers sliced apart one Razan’s Ronins Suzaku, shearing it in half. The Suzaku's two halves fell to the battlefield, smashing into the dunes. Then the last Lucifer went down, its armor torn apart by the combined fire of the ‘AA’ lances and Ronins aerospace fighters.
"We're here!" Mizra announced at last. Nicolas checked his radar and confirmed that this was sector D 7, and from here, the six surviving spotter unit had a clear view of the enemy flank, they were already scrambling in retreat.
"Thanks for the escort. We'll take it from here," Chu-i (Lieutenant) Claude Burrows, Commander of the spotter team, announced. The Artillery Support Lance, the Fury Command Tank and the Wolverine BattleMech moved into their positions, their TAG lasers painting key ULTRA ‘Mechs. The Razan’s Ronins Regiment and the Summer’s Storm’s Battalion all backed up, knowing what was coming. Twenty or so seconds later, nearly a dozen Long Tom artillery shells arced through the air, whistling like angry banshees. Then, the very earth erupted in a roiling pit of fire as the shells landed. Dozens of ULTRA ‘Mechs, vehicles, and infantry platoons vanished in the inferno, taking a lot of pressure off the tattered loyalists invaders. Before a second artillery strike could be called in, the surviving ULTRA forces turned tail and fled, their superior speed quickly putting them out of the range of the 15th Dieron Regular forces' guns. A ringing silence fell over the battlefield as both sides ceased fire from all ‘Mechs, vehicles, and artillery.
"That's it, men. They're in total retreat. Fall back and regroup at the fortifications," Tai-sa (Colonel) Carrols announced crisply. "We've done it. Triumph remains ours. Those ULTRA bastards got what they deserved."
"Do you need us to reinforce the city for now, Komandā (Commander)?" Onishi asked, referring to her Ronins.
"Negative. Razan’s Ronins your contract concludes today. I suspect you’ll want to be packing up. It’s been a pleasure fighting by your side. Summer’s Storm, requesting you to keep the city secure for a while. Further details pending," Carrols told them heavily. "Do you realize that we were nearly beaten by a force only half the size of ours? Pound for pound, the ULTRA army dealt 2.56 times as much damage as ours did. We don't yet have a good counter for their advanced tech, speed, and intelligence. But the ISF is working on it."
Nicolas felt his stomach knot. ’That was pretty tense’, he thought. How long and bitter is this war going to be from here on out? Us Ronins are good, but this was a real test of our mettle. A thought occurred to him and he grinned as he followed the rest of the Ronins back to their LZ to prepare for lift off. ‘Then again, the sharpest swords are forged in the hottest fire’.
Word Count 4278
Name: Onishi Razan
Callsign: ‘Rough Ryder'
Rank: Tai-sa, Commanding
Hardware: Naginata NG-RO1
Company: Ronin Legion
Lance: Fire Dragon
Assignment: MUCO
Unit: Razan's Ronins
HOUSE: DRACONIS COMBINE
Name: Kintaro Tanaka
Rank: Colonel
Callsign: 'Iceman'
MH: Steele Dagger Spec Ops BA
Role: DEST
Assignment: CO Battle Armor Regiment
Platoon: Black Ops
Company: SWAT
Battalion: HQ Battalion
Regiment: Smilodon
RESTLESS SOULS MERCENARY DIVISION
Rank: Colonel
Callsign: 'Iceman'
MH: Steele Dagger Spec Ops BA
Role: DEST
Assignment: CO Battle Armor Regiment
Platoon: Black Ops
Company: SWAT
Battalion: HQ Battalion
Regiment: Smilodon
RESTLESS SOULS MERCENARY DIVISION
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