Manticore Squadron II: Rise of the Phoenix

[SilverwindBlade]

[OOC, rules, background, etc. here]

It is the year 2322. Global corporations have come to dominate the world, rising to become the dominant force in the world, the real power in peoples' lives and the world over governments, who are their puppets and fronts in the wake of a large scale global war.
The UGC, a global governing body that rose out of the ashes, and is now the remaining government on Earth, hand picked a team of mecha pilots to strike back against the corporations, who were warring against each other, and the UGC in the year 2319
They failed.
Now, three years later, the survivors rally themselves, and have picked up the shattered ideals of the UGC and the Manticore Squadron, and are on the verge of launching a new campaign against the Corporate domination of Earth.
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[OOC: Soundtrack for this scene, as recommended by DMZ: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCk1sKIFoPs]

Kat stood against the deck rail of the Cayman Larr, the wind ruffling her shock of purple-tinged hair. The wind carried the smell of the sea, and blew away, at least for a while, the tangled knot of uncertainty and apprehension in her stomach.
She'd linked up with Taran - or, Forest, as his callsign was - months ago, along with a team of techs and other staff and personnel from the original squadron, and from her homeland and elsewhere, all with the same mindset - do something positive.
She leaned back from the rail, and let out a sigh. Reluctantly giving in to the fact that she couldn't put off the inevitable any longer - Forest wasn't here right now, leaving her to handle things in the meantime. Tapping commands into her personal communicator, she contacted the CIC.
"This is Lionness. Ensign Carlson, please page our new pilots to meet me in the War Room. It's time we all got acquainted, and got down to brass tacks on what we'll be doing here... and send a message to Forest too".
"What do you need me to say?"
"Tell him he's a bastard for leaving this to me... and to get his sorry arse back here ASAP!"
There was a pause, and then a reply.
"I'll... uh, make sure he gets the message, ma'am."
She signed off, and headed across the deck of the ship, passing clusters of busy people, working on the ship. A vessel of such magnitude always had mainy forms of maintenance going on. And if not, plenty of exercises, for all sorts of rediness and procedures.
Ducking into a hatch to the ships' interior, she ignored the constant stream of audio messages for people and events aboard, heading directly for an elevator to the war room, forcing the flutter in her stomach away, and set her face into a hard expression, ready to face whoever - and whatever - was coming.

[DMZ]

Mood music for the first part

A message bleeped on the screen in front of Taran. The man himself was stretched across the cabin in some inhuman way, feet supporting into the video camera screens. The front windows was covered in shrubbery through which a forested area could be seen. In one hand of the pilot was, as always, a cup of hot coffee that he made here, using the thermonuclear battery as a kettle. In the other hand he held a schematic of a ship called Cayman Lerr, reading it comfortably while sipping the coffee.

Class III Assault Carrier

Class III carriers count among the smaller sea-faring mech transports, being able to carry about 30 mechs with full equipment. They are usually supplied with enough weaponry and defenses to be able to withstand a light artillery attack and can often repair damaged compartments while on the water.


A run down Class III carrier from the Great War, the "Raven".

The Cayman Lerr is a modified version of the standard Class III, being able to carry only ten mechs at any given time. This decrease in carrying capacity is offset by other improvements. Most notably, the Lerr has much, much heavier armour than similar ships, being able to withstand a medium bombardment without significant damage. It also carries all of its cargo inside the ship at any given time, unlike some Class III's, who carry their load on deck. Finally, the dramatically decreased carrying capacity comes with some serious firepower, even though the ammunition for it is extremely expensive.

Specifications:

Hull

Full-body 300 mm plating, reinforced titanium

10 Full Size Mech Hangars with all necessary equipment.
6 Medium aircraft bays with full weaponry and partial repair equipment.
2 Ship Repair Bays with full equipment.
1 Mall.
560 2-person cabins for personnel.
Other standard Class III carrier equipment.
Hover Skirts

Power

2 Uranium Reactor Drives. Average time on sea: 20 years
4 G-44 Waterjets, capable of propelling the ship up to 50 km/h on calm water.

Weapons

12x 30mm "Phalanx" Anti-Air Systems, located all over the hull. Total munitions capacity: 996,000 rounds.

6x 320 mm "Goliath" Howitzers, located in pairs of three on the front and back deck of the ship. Total munitions capacity: 1200 rounds

4x "Garuda One" Missile Defense Systems, located in a single module on the top of the command tower. Total munitions capacity: 200 missiles.

The ship itself was docked a few miles from where Taran was. Nevertheless he turned on the comm and saw the face of a young Ensign.

"Carlton, was it?" asked the pilot with a raised eyebrow.
"Actually, Carlson, sir."

Even though the Ensign technically outranked Taran, he still called the man "sir". Out of respect or just for the show, I don't know. He chuckled at how that rhymed.

"What is it Ensign?" inquired Taran after he was done thinking. The young ensign looked around and spoke, visibly using force of will to keep his calm:
"Erm..Miss Morg....I mean, the Lionness has ordered me to send you a message..," the man shut down. A faint smirk appeared on Taran's face.
"Yes? What is the message?"
"Well, sir, she told me to tell you that you are a bas...tard for leaving her out here to handle things, and that you should, and I quote, "get your sorry arse here ASAP!".....sir." Taran was drinking when the Ensign quoted the Lionness.

The last remark made him spit back half the coffee as he nearly choked laughing. Wiping off some tears he replied, still chuckling:

"Tell Miss Morgan that I cannot currently return and that she should send the rookies here as soon as possible. Forest out." Taran shut down the comm link before the officer could respond. After all, his goal was to maintain radio silence until they reached the town. The pilot leaned back and thought back along his "career".

Mood music part II

He remembered the first real battle he had with the Manticores. The first time he stepped on the ground which turned out to be their doom. The massive and seemingly indestructible Scorpion that served as their homebase and backup. He recalled the bickering he and Sharon had over the targets. The gracious movements of the lighter airborne mechs and the fast running of the scouts in front. That was their first real battle. Who knew that it turned out to be their last?

The wreckage of their scouts, taken down by the advancing support. The Scorpion as it slowly burned, hit by the particle weapon firing seemingly from orbit. The resonance of his own head cannon as the Wolf took down approaching mechs. The Sylvan soaring above, taking down the airborne enemies and strafing the ground. The impacts on the body and legs of the Wolf, him being thrown around the cabin. The slow and painful retreat, leaving their wounded pilots, friends, at the scene. Taran remembered the last steps he took on board of the evacuation ship. There was still a single mech running towards the ship, firing back at the base defenders. It got hit once, twice...after the third shot the machine fell down, first on its knees and then on the ground, with a giant gaping hole in the middle...the silhouette of the once great team and the Scorpion, towering above the battlefield...that was the last thing Taran saw of his team...

Now he was back with Katrina, leading the namesake team whose name once meant something. Whose banner and pride was left on that field....but not their soul...their soul lived on.

[Muttonhawk]

"Pull!"
*crank*
*POW!*

"Pull!"
*crank*
*POW!*

"Pull!"
"-corporal Farrad!"
*splash*

Rick was interrupted from his next shot. By someone's errand boy no doubt. Rick let his antique of a rifle point downwards as he turned around on his heel on the metal deck of the carrier with a bit of disappointment to face the crewman hailing him. Judging by his posture, Rick assumed that this man's message would be important enough. With a quick return to the sailor's salute, Rick replied, "Can I help you, soldier?"
"Your presence is requested in the war room, sir" The postured messenger said.
A half-smile formed on the right side of Rick's face. Finally ready, eh? Rick thought. "Thank you, soldier. As you were." Rick's mood improved. He hadn't learned much about cabin fever on a boat but even shooting clay pigeons on the deck every afternoon starts to become a grind.

At least grandad's old rifle is getting some use. Rick thought.

Stopping by his cabin on the way to drop off his gun, an old but well maintained Austeyr, and its corresponding equipment, Rick made his way to the war room with a brisk pace. He hadn't actually interacted with the rest of the team as much as he thought he would have. He heard that a couple were real veterans, seen more than their fair share of sticky situations. At least Rick was reassured in the thought that this meant they were less likely to get killed.

Rick got to the war room and turned the handle. In front of Rick was a menacing woman with purple hair, the atmosphere she had around her seemed to be a big warning not to mess with her. This was no doubt their commanding officer; Katrina 'Lioness' Morgan. It appeared that Rick was the first recruit to arrive, or they wanted him alone to tell him that he was fired. Rick thought it was most likely the former. He stood up straight and saluted Katrina, "Corporal Farrad Reporting, ma'am".

Rick took a seat and waited patiently, taking off his hat and holding it in his lap to air out some of the sun's heat.

[Avenida]

(Page a message...)

"Do you think I should get that one?"
"Heck no, it'll look terrible."
"But it looks nice, it's got nice ties and perfect colour... It's remarkable for me!"
"I'll tell you now as a friend, it's terrible."
"You just said the same thing as before!"
"Fine if you don't trust me~"
"Now, now! Wait for me!"

*Beep beep beep*

"Hold on, my pager rang."
"Sure thing, Clara."

Clara proceeds to read the message sent to her pager. It seemed that the 'Boss' wants to meet up with the new recruits, one of them being Clara herself. "Sorry, honey. I think the big guns wants to meet up with me. I don't think I'll be back to catch up with you later on in the Cafe (at mall)."

"Ooohh~ Someone's getting a promotion." Clara's friend teased. But Clara only giggled and placed her pager away.

"No, I doubt it you knob!" Clara joked. "Anyway, good bye." Clara hurried away from her friend through running. She returned to her cabin to change her garments, from her casual outfit to her pilot suit, coloured white as the filling with black-trim. Advancing to the war room meant that she needed to go through several places, one being close to the sea-side; which Clara completely hate. Being close to the sea brings to her sea-sick, but somewhat not when she is in the inner parts of the carriage. She prayed for her health, of course. She left her cabin, advancing towards the War Room quickly. She brought with her a mask to avoid inhaling the sea-smell.

*Some time later after passing through all the trouble, finally in front of the War Room door*

Clara entered the War Room, standing over hard metal surface and cold temperature. She shivered softly before taking a gentle and soft-deep breath before moving towards the 'Boss'. Lionness they called her.

[Muttonhawk]

Rick heard the door open and turned his head to see who it was. It wasn't anyone he recognised, some black-haired woman who looked nearer to his age then he would expect the leader of the squadron to be. Rick smiled and blinked in greeting from his seat without making a sound, then returned to staring at the space in front of him.

Rick thought briefly about making a smart-arsed remark at the woman, insecurities in the face of beauty, boys will be boys, etc. but he quickly dismissed it. In one tour of duty, Rick had witnessed an overconfident mech pilot get what-for from a different woman pilot for making a stupid remark. First impressions were something Rick didn't want to muck up for what was probably one of his future squad mates.

The recollection of how hard everyone had laughed back then caused Rick to struggle to fight back a chuckle. A smile leaked onto his face anyway.

[Avenida]

Clara took a seat, dragging the chair towards the other pilot who seemed to have slipped a look towards her and sat behind him. Her chest was pushing against the back rest, with her hands wrapping around the surface of the back rest and her head leaning towards the man. She thought that he gave a smart smirk, but the expression dissolved nearly as soon as her eyes reached to look towards the man's mouth. "Were you looking at me just then?" She asked. "It's kinda creepy you know."

[Muttonhawk]

One brow squinted and the other raised as Rick turned to face the newcomer, with a frown.

Now she's being smart. Rick thought A bit late for impressions now, I suppose.

"Most folks generally start with a 'hello'," Rick said "All the same, sorry if curiosity got the better of me. The name's Rick," Rick extended his right hand over his shoulder "And you'll find that keeping an eye out is half of my job."

That could have been worse...

Rick internally sighed that not only did he not screw up his introduction, but his wit had come through as well. Even though he came across as confident, there was always an underlying anxiety he had when dealing with strangers, especially accusative ones.

[Avenida]

"Most folks generally start with a 'hello'," The man said. "All the same, sorry if curiosity got the better of me. The name's Rick," He extended his right hand over his shoulder towards her for a handshake.

"Rick? Rick Farrad? I've read about you before. You're references of course. Looks like we're going to be best friends." Clara placed a smile on her face.

"And you'll find that keeping an eye out is half of my job." Opening up her right palm and counted along her fingers twice, on the index and the middle.

"Sniper and Reconnaissance." She said as she counted with her fingers and finally taking his right hand for a handshake. "I apologise for my introduction as well. I may have been a little bit confrontative. But I like to do that, I'm sorry. Now, all bad feelings aside, I'm Clara Cell! Nice to meet you. We're going to be best friends because I'm First Reconnaissance, Scout and Guerrilla Warfare Specialist!" Her smile turned into a big grin, showing her clean white teeth with her eyes closed. "Hope that we won't be rivals." Is she making her first enemy? Or first friend? "So what'd you do before you came here? As in, before you were... 'Summoned' here, in this room?"

[Muttonhawk]

Rick had to admit he thought he was going to be slapped, luckily the ice was broken now, he didn't feel all that nervous anymore.

Another recon? Rick thought Well, two heads are better than one.

Rick shifted in his seat to better face Clara. "I should hope so too," Rick replied with a smile. Rick looked away for a moment, recalling this morning's routine, "Before I was called here? Well..." Rick raised his lip before turning back to Clara with a blank face "Shooting clay pigeons from the top deck, same as most days. With a conventional gun, not a mech."

Rick put his elbow over the back of his seat. "What about you? Have you been on the ship for long?" Rick asked.

[Avenida]

"I should hope so too," Rick replied. Ooh, he smiled too! Clara smiled back again towards Rick (No special affection...) only to realise that he stopped to ponder about the question she had previously asked. Clara was brought into a momentary silence with her eyes still stuck on Rick. "Well..." He sighed, turning his face again towards her with a rather emotionless look. "Shooting clay pigeons from the top deck, same as most days. With a conventional gun, not a mech." Clara started to giggle and slowly burst into laughter at his helpless and lack-of-emotion face. She tries terribly hard to come back to her senses and absorb what he just said so that she may respond back, however she went on to laugh for another full minute.

Gasping harshly in the War Room, she took a final deep breath to get herself focused and looked at Rick again in the eye, losing her urge and desire to laugh. Rick continued after waiting from Clara's petrifying voices being released into his ears. "What about you? Have you been on the ship for long?" Rick asked.

"I'm terribly-- sorry Rick. I couldn't-- help but-- laugh at your-- expressionless-- face, it was funny to me--!" She had a hard time in keeping her voice natural. It kept on cracking on every second word she spoke. "Anyway... Heheheh... What I did before I came here? Hmm." Clara said as she placed her index finger in front of her mouth and plunged her eyes upward towards the ceiling in an attempt to recall the moments only twenty minutes ago. "Shopping!" Clara said aloud after.