Unlike Tarak, Marit didn’t even bother stifling her laughter as she could practically see the steam shooting out of Ingrid’s ears. Despite her usual attitude, everyone had things that rubbed them the wrong way, and the Rasalhagenaar never kept her generally low opinions of nobility a secret. She would have even clapped following Ziska’s performance.

That said, she had seen enough barroom brawls before joining the Knights to see that Ingrid was about to blow a gasket for real. Swallowing a remark about Ingrid making mockery of herself and forcing on a neutral expression, she was about to try to douse the embers before something caught fire when the Colonel appeared like a specter and laid down the law. The man had ears everywhere. Marit would’ve suspected he had Huginn and Muninn on his payroll if it wasn’t verifiable that the Knights currently only had one Raven that saw everything in their ranks. All she could do was spare a look of pity for Ziska.

---

Some 250 km to target. The slowest vehicle they had was the Von Luckner at 50-odd km/h. In practice, it’d be less than that. It was looking like over five hours in the cockpit just to get there and another five plus to get back. Even more to get back if someone got their legs mangled in the fight or if the supply trucks had trouble with terrain. 15 minutes, give or take, according to the Colonel until problems started and who knew how long the fight would take when they did. The travel time meant waking up around midnight. At least the closest Crimson Fists Lance - she assumed - was just as far away according to the map. She found herself disagreeing with the senior MechWarrior though: Planning for success of this endeavor wasn’t foolish, it was the only thing they had left. In their situation, planning for failure might have as well included a shotgun with the trigger guard sawed off so you could pull the trigger with your toe. One of the tankers started talking shit. Morven, was it? ”Mate, WE are effectively guerilla layabouts. Or at least we will have to act the part if we want to live to see the end of the month.” Hiding between hit and run attacks was all they had left, their only hope being bringing down the opposition with bug bites.

”I wouldn’t be too worried about remaining loyal to house Liao. They probably have bigger fires to put out at the moment, otherwise they’d be here already. They’ll take Espia back eventually, but by then we’ll be gone, one way or another. Otherwise Mister Sameve makes a good point. And besides, who’s more likely to eventually help us storm a heavily guarded prison and then take over a spaceport: A loose alliance of guerilla groups or an organized force headed by actual leadership?” She opined.

”And speaking of ROE, what do we do if we can’t secure the supplies for ourselves? Deny them to the enemy?” She asked her own questions, still studying the map. According to the Colonel, the convoy would reach Yuzhny Portveyn in 24 hours. The shortest route that she could see was 12 hexes on the map. Roundabout 600 kilometers in 24 hours made for an average speed of 25 km/h, probably a bit faster in reality. Assuming a paved road, they could make 54 as a group. ”And if we’re delayed in arrival, do we pursue?”

"Good points, all of you," Colonel Wayne acknowledged, turning his attention first to his most senior Mechwarrior. "Family Man, you're correct in asserting that we're going to need outside assistance in order for this operation to be sustainable. After we get back on our feet and can effectively start shooting back, we'll need to start branching out to see if we can make contact with the forces opposing the NPDRE. Right now, we are technically still under orders from the Capellan Confederation to aid Governor Xiu's administration, so if the loyalists are still willing to honor our contract, they're our first option. If that falls through, or if Yuzhny Portveyn falls, then we'll start looking more closely at the FPA. In either case, however, that will be after we reestablish ourselves."

Turning to the tankers, the Colonel addressed their questions.

"The Free People's Army and the Heavenly Sword," he said, "Are destabilizing elements on-world, but as far as we have determined, neither force has significant anti-material firepower. Both appear to be equipped with the usual things you'll find among partisan forces: small arms, Molotov cocktails, IEDs, and the like. Nasty against personnel and uncovered vehicles, but effectively useless against heavy armor and Battlemechs. As long as you've got your hatches buttoned up, neither group is currently our problem. If they do make themselves our problem, however, then your instructions are to make them very rapidly not our problem again. There's a lot of propaganda being spread over the civilian channels about both groups being 'terrorists' at the moment, but as far as any reliable comms can determine, neither faction has actually violated the tenets of the Ares Conventions yet, so the standard rules of engagement apply. No firing unless fired upon, minimum necessary force when engaging in populated areas."

The Ares Conventions, a series of arms limitations and rules of engagement, had technically been suspended since the founding of the Star League. However, after the ravages of the Succession Wars, most major powers had come back around to at least offering lip-service to the Conventions as ways to rein in the ravages of unrestricted warfare. The rules, though, always grew murky when discussing asymmetrical fighting against partisan forces, especially those consisting of radicalized civilians. "One man's freedom fighter," the old saying went, "is another man's terrorist."

Given the level of scrutiny most mercenary commands found themselves under, since their reputation was tied so closely to the level of clients they could attract, often the safest bet was to simply play fair until the enemy gave you reason not to.

Finally, turning his attention to Mechwarrior Saarinen, he addressed her concerns.

"Back to the mission at hand," he said. "Giggles here brings up a salient point: what exactly is our plan B? If we are unable to commandeer the supply trucks, or if we have to intercept the convoy en route, then the mission will become a very literal smash-and-grab. Anyone whose 'Mechs are equipped with working hand actuators will grab what supplies we can off of the trucks, then we scuttle the rest to deny them to the enemy. Ammunition may be low, but in theory, we can rely on energy weapons to perform a second raid later, so long as we don't have to fight it out with the Crimson Fists. We cannot, however, survive without that water. Our reserves are already getting low, and as you already know, there is no freshwater on Espia. If we need to pick and choose what comes with us and what gets left behind, the water is the absolute first priority, followed by the ammo and armor."

Andrew Rivers

TWO DAYS AGO

His 'feeder' opened the door to his room again, then said, "We've decided to move you to Yuzhny Portveyn, Merc Kid; this city is not safe anymore for the likes of you." Then he mused wryly, "I trust you'll be good?" He then mused wryly, "You might even get what you want there, if your family does something to impress the higher-ups."

Hope shone in Andrew's eyes; was his patience going to be rewarded? Seeing this, however, the other teen gave a dry smile and said, "However, you'll be interrogated and debriefed first; maybe even roughed up if you mouth off. But if you're good and your family doesn't do anything bad like side with what remains of Governor Xiu's thugs, again, you might be able to get what you want."

The dry smile turned into a smirk as the other youth continued, "You know, you had a lot of balls to come here and ask for an alliance without telling your precious Colonel first. He might be offended enough to throw you into a brig for doing that and worrying your father."

Andrew snapped a little, saying, "I was hoping it'd be a done deal." Then he admitted that, "but now it won't be, especially as apparently, some of the Governor's people actually held out."

As the ramifications flooded through him, Andrew began hyperventilating, "I was assuming they'd fall and you'd be the only viable option for allies. I was hoping that there'd be no one else but you guys and that an alliance beetween our groups would be the only viable option and that I'd be honored for helping broker it. Instead I got myself locked up and in trouble and now unless the holdouts don't renew their contract with the Green Knights, I'll be in trouble with both you and them!"

His eyes widened in shock as he said, "You'll either shoot me at the back of the head or the Colonel will."

The boy then sighed and as something inside him broke, he muttered, "I'll never see Mom and Dad ever again... I'll never see Tarak, or Ziska, or Reya, or even Hilda. I've destroyed every bond I valued just for an uncertain gamble." Tears fell from his eyes again as he whispered to himself, "I've failed... I've failed..."

He was interrupted by his 'feeder' coughing, and saying, "That was hilarious, Merc Kid! Now, what are you going to do about it? After all, you're an idiot, but an idiot who knows what a plan is. Are you going to suggest sabotaging the negotiations somehow?"

Andrew's brow furrowed to show that he was giving it due consideration, then he smiled, before he made his response, "We'll be in even more trouble if caught. Take me to Yuzhny Portveyn first, but my rough idea is to somehow make us a more attractive partner to the Green Knights than the holdouts. You have the love of the common people and few people value that nowadays. If we can get arms, ammo, and most importantly, military skill to match that love, we'd prove ourselves a better partner than Governor Xiu or his remaining officials..."

His feeder scoffed at him and interrupted, "You go from 0 to 180 then 0 again in no time flat!" He then presented a blindfold and cuffs and said, "Enough blather; put these on and just thank us for not gagging you - We're going."

Every push-up requested had been delivered, without complaint. Not even so much as an acknowledgement of the punishment beyond a flat 'Yes, sir'. Really, the shame was enough of a punishment on its own. She could rationalize it as being in defense of her House's honor, but she was this close to striking a fellow Mechwarrior...over just a petty, schoolyard tease! Ingrid was nothing short of ashamed that she had let herself slip that much.

Of course, not all of it was directed at herself. Though she wouldn't dare look directly at Ziska for the rest of the day unless spoken to, she seemed to squint every time she came into her field of vision.

Which she was, unfortunately, at the time of the briefing. Directly across from her in the circle of equals.

Ingrid could only wonder why this happened in the first place...

Her arms were sore but she remained standing at attention as the Colonel spoke, not letting the fatigue show. Back when she was younger, the thought of committing what was effectively banditry written off as asset acquisition would've been unthinkable. Far below her status, or pretty much anyone's. Now she had grown a little more sensible, perhaps. Beyond wishing to be in better times, she would do nothing. This sort of thing is a fact of war.

"They're hardly a hospitable group," she said in agreement with the tankers - the mere tankers. "If they seek to cooperate with us, I've seen no such hail from them yet - and we've a web of diplomatic ties to navigate. However, we should not leave them in the cold--"

Ingrid shivered a little as she remembered how cold she is.

"--because they could have some sort of use down the line. Establishing a means of communication will be of use, but I don't see the trouble being worth the reward yet."

On the mission itself, and its current topic...she immediately showed some hesitation. "Sir, while I understand the outcome behind your suggested action," she said to the Colonel, looking him straight in the eyes after glancing away, "do you believe that firing on unarmed transports will end up being in our favor? The enemy certainly holds the public's attention at this time, and handing them a ready-made propaganda piece about firing on non-combatants - even if they are military personnel - would not be advantageous for receiving aid from anyone on this planet."

...She thought for a moment, and added something more.

"In the worst case scenario...future employers, as well."

"Smash and grab, now you're talking Colonel!" Ziska said, seeming to purr with satisfaction.

Catching herself, she smiled kindly, and then continued in a far more measured tone, "We should of course, most magnanimously, offer the transports the chance to surrender. However, if said transports fall into our hands and still elect to resist, well, we won't really have much choice. Violence is to be abhorred, naturally, but the survival of this fine company comes before concern for our enemies. These very same enemies will not offer us much generosity should we find ourselves out of supplies, ammunition, and most critically water. We are the villains now and a quick death is the only kindness that our new opposition will likely show us if we end up at their mercy instead."

Unmarred and seemingly unbothered by the discipline the Colonel had most cruelly leveled against her and Ingrid, Ziska seemed if anything to only be further energized by the growing tension. Her legendary conditioning had seen her through worse physicals trials and for all her many, many vices, MechWarrior Ziska took an almost masochistic pleasure in pushing her body to the very edges of physical failure. Even a pirate knew that if you wanted to fight, be it with fists, knives, or BattleMechs...you had to be fit enough to outlast your opponents. The blistering and utterly overwhelming warmth of a damaged BattleMech in combat leaking coolant by the second offered no respite for the weak or out of shape.

Basking in her newfound glory, Ziska made little effort to hide her obvious pleasure at how the day at developed. She'd almost gotten into a fight, despite having no intention to do so. It was a shame, Ingrid seemed far less amused about the matter than she was, but Ziska had begun to nourish a strange hope that she could somehow convince the Duchess to relax and abandon her hopeless chivalric notions. Even pirates followed codes of their own making, Ziska took no issue with such ideas. However, it was Ziska's firm conviction that a mercenary had to have a flexible code of honor, honor being a very loosely defined word when it came to professional sellswords piloting giant machines of war.

Equally intriguing and amusing was her new BattleMech. For it surely had not passed Ziska's notice that Reya had done something very sneaky and most wonderful to her RVN-3L. Ziska wasn't sure what exactly modifications the BattleMech engineer had completed to her BattleMech, but she knew enough about the recently popularized Guardian ECM to know that what the Colonel described was well above and beyond the abilities of the standard Guardian ECM stashed in a RVN-3L. She decided that she would interrogate the engineer at a later date. It was always poor form to remain ignorant regarding recent technological developments. Especially when said field modifications might require rapid repairs during battle given the uncertainties of combat.

"MechWarrior Daschke raises an excellent point however," Ziska continued, nodding towards Ingrid with not even a trace of annoyance or mischief, a rare sight indeed when it came to Ziska. "Isolated and under supplied as we are, we can't exactly discount any potential allies or at least less hostile parties that may aid us, even if only for a short time. We are the stunning debutante at the ball, we might as well size up our suitors before we accept any invitations to dance."

“ Lady, we’re trying to not try to win the hearts and minds of the locals here. We’re trying to get out of this shithole so that this planet can go unfuck itself.” Morven took out another cigar and took a puff of it, blowing out a ring of fumes at Ingrid. “ You’re not the ones driving the supply trucks. You’re just there to make our lives easier and - “

“ Morven, for fuck’s sake, put a sock in it.” Takka groaned, slapping his head.

Aroxy’s crew sometimes reminded him of a squabbling group of children. Aroxy made a loud cough to silence his three subordinates before nodding towards Ingrid apologetically with a sheepish look. He then regarded the Colonel.

“ Colonel, I will volunteer the Merry-Go-Round to be used as a temporary means of transport if the situation is FUBAR. I estimate that we can approximately carry 30 tonnes of material and have space for this given our perilously low ammunition supplies.” He then motioned his hand towards the woods south of the depot. “ As the last tank crew in this company, we have little to no tactical value in being used alongside our surviving mechs without a full column to support us. We have enough fuel to make it to the base and if the worst comes to worst, we’ll hide it out in the trees and scavenge off what’s left in the surrounding areas. I recommend positioning our tank at the back of the line, both for defense and to ensure that we do not become an obstacle in the event we are mission-killed. ”

“ Making my baby into a glorified hauler.” Helma quietly mumbled in horror before taking a swig of her cup of recaffe. “ We truly are fucked, aren’t we?”

“ I’ve got an idea, ólonel.” Takka raised his hand up. “ Fifteen minutes ain’t rubbin me right. Shouldn’t we try to create a false flag at the very least? Fool them into thinking we’re attacking some place else by sending out fake comm messages. Worked for us back during the Free World Civil - “

“ An interesting thought, Gunner Takka.” Aroxy interrupted, scratching his stubbled chin. “ Unfortunately, we are in an untenable position. Alerting the Crimson Fists or the Espian Guard to the likelihood of an attack would most likely prepare them and pose more difficulties to us than achieving a surprise attack. Additionally, we cannot waste valuable resources on maintaining information and communications security. We also do not have a guarantee that whatever techs that the Fists or Guard have in their detail would be able to source the location of our comms and track us back to this very base which could be of catastrophic consequences.”

“ Well, I was just making a suggestion.” Takka hunched up his shoulders whilst looking at the others for support.

Reya Wyatt

Reya stood for the briefing alongside Pops who held one hand over Sunny. She didn’t expect any kind of public recognition for tuning up Ziska’s Raven to produce a signal about ten times more powerful than it would normally. It wasn’t the Colonel’s style and it most definitely wasn’t his style towards anyone from Kurita space. She had long accepted this reality. Maybe that was part of why she chose the Green Knights. It wasn’t a challenge she could just beat with intellect alone. He was an old warrior and he had fought some of the Combine’s most heralded commanders. Gaining his approval in spite of his prejudices, even if it was just a gruff “good job” or “thanks”, filled her with purpose and strength. She knew he was a good man and not being able to pilot a mech was killing him, particularly in their current circumstance. The thoughts reminded her of how much she missed their dropship captain, Sally, who was always an encouragement to her and a buffer against the Colonel’s sometimes darker moods.

Pops gave her a pat on the back and she turned briefly to find an approving nod of the head as the Colonel continued on about the total comms blackout the small mech would now produce. She could see some murmurings. Any of the experienced techs would know the baseline ECM equipment on a single Raven couldn’t generate the cover that he was describing and she listened on as the questions came up, replaying the array of setup screens and bypasses in her head. The same replay she’d mentally jogged through several times even in the small passage of time since the changes were made. The mech would have to be reset again to factory standards or every wiring harness inside the machine would eventually melt from overload. At least the weather on Espia would most likely continue to be in their favor- Cold and damp. She had all of the Knights beam weaponry trimmed beyond standard wattage and still operating at peak efficiency which provided an extra punch as long as the weather stayed bad… or good in their case.

The weather. She remembered.

The Colonel kept taking questions and seeing his eyes pass over her and Pops as he addressed the concerns back to everyone she mouthed the words at him to silently remind him, standing up on her toes as she did. “The weather.” Poor conditions were going to make the Raven’s jamming a better sell against NPDRE observers. A morning thunderstorm or hard rain would help them blend in with regular sensor disruption and cover them from any air patrols that might get dispatched. If it was a broad, sparkling clear morning. Then they would likely only have the estimated fifteen minutes or less before someone noticed a blank spot on the map and got suspicious. The forecast for the mission operations area was going to be a major factor in how much time they would have and subsequently, how much loot they would be able to grab.

Another thing occurred to her as she glanced across the other pilots and saw Ziska eyeing her with some curiosity. The Green Knights had never done anything like this that she could remember. The Colonel had always watchfully guided operations and commanded the field whenever they were deployed, however as soon as Ziska activated the jamming sequence they would truly be on their own. He had made it clear that they were to comport themselves professionally and it wasn’t her place to question tactics, but she wondered, when the time came, if they ran into something unexpected, who was going to be in charge?

"The sad truth of the situation is that we're going to be painted as 'the villains' no matter what approach we take," the Colonel followed up on Ramrod's question and the comments that came with it. "The NPDRE has complete control over the local media outlets, so they can spin our actions whatever way they like. However, when it comes to keeping our name clean with any potential future employers and with the MRB, we do have one trick up our sleeve: our BattleROM recorders."

BattleROMs were the equivalent of a 'Mech's "Black Box," the stored raw data of all its internal and external sensors. Primarily used for verifying the accuracy of after-action reports, the video and audio footage, software data logs, and Neurohelmet feedback stored in a BattleROM could help commanders reconstruct the events of a chaotic battle, from determining an enemy 'Mech's weapons loadout down to a Mechwarrior's preferred control setup. MRB tribunals had used BattleROM footage on numerous occasions to convict or exonerate mercenaries accused of war crimes, and a commander's level of willingness to turn over said footage was often a clear indicator of their innocence or guilt.

"I want your gun-cameras rolling from the word go on this one," he insisted, "especially once the ECM bubble goes up and you're cut off from the Mobile HQ. That way, if the NPDRE accuses us of anything dirty, we can show potential allies the ground truth. And if you do decide to fight dirty yourselves, I'll be the first to know about it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw technician Wyatt mouthing something to get his attention, though he didn't quite make out what she was saying. For a moment, a spark of annoyance drew a sneer, and he thought to reprimand her for speaking out of turn.

Bloody know-it-all, he grumbled inwardly. Can't get in a word edgewise without this smartass kid interrupting...

That annoyance faded, though, as the gesture started to remind him of Captain Roth, how Sally would subtly nudge him one way or another during his briefings, to bring up something he had forgotten, without costing him face in front of the Knights. Inwardly, he remembered one of his many, many arguments with Sally, about Ms. Wyatt:

You're not on Mallory's World anymore, Captain Roth had scolded him, and she doesn't work for Yorinaga Kurita. She works for you. The Combine isn't your enemy anymore, so stop treating everyone from there like they're going to draw a sword the second your turn your back.

Gaius chided himself. Stupid old man, clinging to stupid old grudges. Right.

Straightening up, he changed the subject.

"The weather," he began, with a spark of inspiration he couldn't quite trace, "Is another factor that's going to be working in our favor. We'll have a decent amount of cloud cover, meaning any flying assets looking for us will have to fly low in order to see us...low enough to be in range for our weapons to be able to fire on them. Giggles, I want you make sure you keep your LRMs in reserve for just such an occasion."

He gestured to Lyons to turn the projector back on, and brought the red dot of his laser pointer over a row of hexes just to the west of the target area.

"On our way back, local weather forecasts are predicting a major thunderstorm coming in from the west," he elaborated. "Strong winds, heavy rain, nothing particularly dangerous for 'Mechs or tanks, but it will reduce visibility to near zero at times. If the situation gets too hairy, divert your course into the storm and try to lose the enemy in it. As long as the convoy drives carefully, it's possible for them to give the Espian Guards the slip even if they get separated from the Raven. A longshot, but possible."

"If there are no further questions," the Colonel concluded, "then that'll conclude our briefing. While we're under comms blackout from the Mobile HQ, Chain of Command is as follows: Mechwarrior Daschke operates as Lance Leader, Master Sergeant Dalton coordinates the on-foot assets, with a third team-lead elected by the volunteers. The volunteers answer to their team-lead, the team-lead answers to Dalton, Dalton answers to Daschke. While the ECM field is up, her orders are my orders. That said, trust your lancemates, and trust your training, and you'll pull off this op with no issues. I know I say this every mission, but believe me when I say that failure is not an option tomorrow. Now, get your rest and make whatever preparations you need; we move out before 0100 hours. Dismissed."

As the Green Knights began to disperse, Colonel Wayne spotted Chief Aadil milling about among the rank and file, no doubt letting everyone know the Scrap Yard was open for business tonight. He nodded; tensions among the camp were high enough, it would be good for the crew to let off some steam before the mission went live.

"All right, grunts, you heard the man!" Master Sergeant Dalton called to his infantry platoon. "I want your gear prepped and checked by the time I finish this got-damn sentence! Fire Teams Alpha and Bravo, you're with me in the first APC, Charlie and Delta are in the second!"

To the surprise of many, the usually lazy and lackadaisical infantrymen wasted no time in returning to their corner of the caverns for prep, Dalton barking his orders after them all the while. The Green Knights First Infantry Platoon-- referred to by the crew as 'the Buckshot Boys' for their preference of close-quarters weaponry-- had a bad reputation of being layabouts until Master Sergeant Dalton lit a fire under them. Many of the Buckshot Boys were infamous for finding ways to skip duty, discovering new and impossible-to-find locations to sneak off to for a nap, finding ways to avoid being told to do anything so they could get away with doing nothing all day. Still, when there was serious work to be done, they were quick, brutal, and efficient. While they often rubbed the rest of the crew the wrong way, Colonel Wayne knew he could trust the Buckshot Boys to do absolutely anything, as quickly and effectively as possible, so they could get right back to doing nothing.

Amidst the crowd, Gaius picked out Weapons Engineer Wyatt, who had subtly spoken up during the briefing.

"Wyatt," he called out before she could leave. "I'd like a word with you."

Reya Wyatt

The briefing began to disperse with a noticeable element of purpose in the steps of the remaining Green Knights. Malaise and uncertainty had ended. There was now a mission and an ambient chatter returned as the crews, techs, staff and infantry set about their preparations. Reya glanced down at Sunny. It had been a while since either one of them had anything to eat and she partly wanted to investigate the rumor that the tank crew had voluntarily disassembled the mobile mess while she scrounged up something for both of them. However, an increasingly odd feeling returned and not one she’d ever considered before they were forced from the capital: Being a female with a child under her care. Even in their current state, many of the men among the Knights, particularly the ones from the more chivalrous districts of the Great Houses, seemed to go out of their way to provide what they could, whether it was a helping hand, food, drink or in one case, a mix tape.. She knew Lena never entertained such patronage, but those were different times. Often the help wasn’t needed though turning them away would have been in poor taste.

She let out a small sigh and felt cold air touch her skin again. Glancing back towards the small table next to the Raven for her jacket, the Colonel caught her off guard and she involuntarily tensed a bit at the sound of her last name. He had a gruffness in his voice that seemed to be made to speak through the external speakers of a battlemech. She ignored a few quiet murmurs from the last of the assembly as she directed Sunny to catch up with Pops for a bit while she spoke with the Colonel. Turning to meet his gaze, she immediately felt very unkempt and not up to her usual high standards of presentation; being not much cleaner than an astech after crawling all over the Raven for the last few hours. She was not a military type, but always presented herself with a strict air of professionalism when dealing with the Colonel, particularly when talking about the fitness of the Knights’ battlemechs. He was hard to read, having the weathered appearance of an old statue come to life, making her unsure what might be on his mind. If it was about the Raven or any of the other equipment, she could answer with complete mastery. If it was about Lena or her overall mental state, she wasn’t sure what she’d say.

"Yes, Colonel?"

@AndyC

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Two things," he said in a businesslike manner. "First, reminding me about the additional cover the weather will provide us. That was a good call. Out of turn, perhaps, but a good call."

While the Colonel had chided himself for letting his prejudice against the Combine get the better of him before, he still found himself uncomfortable around Wyatt. He had the same difficulty around Doctor Nakajima, and Yuri had been with the Green Knights since the Restoration War. He treated both of them with professional courtesy and respect-- or at least, he tried to-- but could never quite bring himself to open up to anyone born under House Kurita as a friend or a confidant.

Still, while Gaius had always had issues warming up to Reya and Yuri, Captain Roth certainly hadn't. In fact, the way that Reya had subtly brought up his oversight, reminding him of critical information without causing him to lose face in front of the Knights, was just the sort of thing Sally would do during a briefing. Her influence must have rubbed off on Wyatt a bit.

He found himself thinking about Sally for a moment, wondering how she was holding up and praying to the gods of space that she was all right....then turned his attention back to business.

"Second," he said, "the mission could use an expert's judgment when securing the ammunition. We need to make sure the ammo is compatible with our weapon systems: Armstrong 80mm for the Shadow Hawk and 200mm for the Von Luckner, Doombud LRMs for the Archer. The Raven needs Harpoon SRMs and the Ostroc takes Totschlagens, but in a pinch it can fit Holly SRMs like the Shad--....but, then, you already know all that."

He didn't make eye contact with Wyatt, staring instead off to the motor pool, where Sol was directing the last bit of work on the APCs to get them ready for tomorrow morning's excursion.

"I will not ask you to put yourself into active combat," he said. "I will not think less of you if you do not go along with the volunteers. I will ask, though, at the very least, that you make sure the volunteers who are going know what to look for. If they come back with nothing but Imperator Smoothie rounds or Harvester 2s or some other ammo we can't use, then they'll have put themselves in danger for nothing. Make sure they get us what we need to do our job. I trust your judgment on that."

Before Reya could respond, Colonel Wayne turned and headed towards the Mobile HQ to make his own last preparations.

"As you were, Wyatt."

The crowd broke up and so did the crew of the Merry Go Round with them. An electric atmosphere had seemingly suffused the very air around them and Aroxy was no stranger to it. The beginning of every new campaign always had a sense of eerie anticipation to it all. Combined with the fact that the mercenary company had been cooped up in this mine for several days on end, Aroxy knew several men and women who were just itching for the chance to strike back at the Crimson Fists. Whether it was for revenge or honor, Aroxy didn’t care. Such feelings distracted from the task at hand and were more likely to get you and others killed on the field than contribute meaningfully in any way whatsoever.

“ Are we mission-ready, lieutenant?” Aroxy asked Takka. The tanker crew began to approach the unseemly bulk of the Von Luckner. He began clambering on top of it whilst Takka scratched his chin in concentration.

“ Well, sir, we were half-way done with the repairs. Less functional than we’d like but she’s good as long as we’re not doing any heavy engagement.”

Aroxy nodded once in satisfaction before turning his head towards Morven.

“ Alright, Morven. Give me a headcount of our supplies again.”

“ We got….” Morven swayed on his feet, teeth gritted in remembrance “ 3 rounds of HE, 2 rounds of phospho, 3 rounds of AP, more rounds of smoke than we know what to do with and 1 frag.”

“ I want the chamber pre-loaded with AP and smoke.” Aroxy then regarded Helma who was busy securing an MG-90 to the cupola of the turret. “ Helma, don’t fire your gun until I say so. We are not in an active combat situation and we need to make every bullet count.”

“ Aye, aye, major,” Helma replied sarcastically.

“ Alright, we’re heading out at about ten. We’re going to group up with Dalton and Dascheke. ” Aroxy silenced the amused looks of his subordinates with a snap of his fingers. “ I know we’re not used to being a carrier but with our ammunition supplies at the moment, we need to squeeze the most out of the Merry Go Round for the sake of our company. Any questions?”

Takka raised his hand abruptly which made Aroxy sign.

“ We’re not in basic, Takka. You speak when you want to speak.”

“ Sir -” Takka paused in hesitation. “ - Do you think we’ll make it out of this system alive?”

Aroxy paused, pursuing his lips a bit, before chuckling and patting the side of the Merry Go Round.

“ She’s made it this far with us at her side. A little planetside civil war isn’t going to stop her or us either.”

The crew around him visibly relaxed at Aroxy’s word.

“ Alright, enough of that. Gear up and let’s start getting this show on the road. Let’s see if we can get another tally on this hull, men.”

The Colonel didn't take her bait...or saw through it. Ingrid couldn't get a read on that man sometimes, and it worried her.

Their reputation was her concern, but so was her own personal interpretation of honor. To fire on unarmed people simply trying to run away was a shameful thought, and yet she couldn't get that across in a way that mattered to these people. It's true, yes, they were already being slandered. Did they need to fuel the fire even further?

Ingrid stepped away from the table with a composed look on her face. She was going to be leading them directly; didn't need to slander her own reputation any further - her reservations were kept to herself.

A short while later, she was standing below the green hull of the Ostroc, looking up at a man standing on a makeshift gantry - in the absence of real repair bays, the astechs had to find creative ways to get up to the Battlemechs' levels. "Sanders." She had taken the time to memorize the names of those on her machine's duty, though they often didn't care to remember hers. "Have you loaded this yet?"

"Not much to load, ma'am," he said, his gray beard hanging down as he looked over the edge of the gantry. "Just the SRMs, right? We'll get those done last."

"Tell the lead that I wish to have but one shot loaded. Distribute the remainder to the rest," she said, "I'll be fine without them."

He looked away from her at a printed sheet on a clipboard, flipping a couple of pages. "Ma'am, yer 'Roc's ain't even got a half-ton of ammunition for it anyway, without dipping into the Hawk's...does it make much difference? Don't think anybody else can even load these things with the long-ass name."

Her nose scrunched up. She tapped her foot, and put her hands on her hips. "Then so be it! If it's that much of a problem, I won't ask...and they are Totschlagens. TAWT-shla-gens. Not difficult."

"Ma'am, I'm from Bluford, Crucis area." He wiped sweat from his wrinkled head. Even with Ingrid's snappyness, he doesn't seem to have enough energy in him to get truly annoyed. "They don't teach German there; they barely teach English! I'm sorry, but I got to get to your hand actuators before the boss comes 'round. We can talk about pronunciation later, if you don't mind."

"...I'll leave you to it." She kept any further clarification to herself.

Raven Rivers

Raven focused on preparing himself and his mech for the coming battle; he could not mope around lest that loses him a chance to save Katrina and Andrew. But at the same time, he just didn't feel he can get along with anyone else right now; the Captain was burying his own feelings in his duties to the rest of them, while the rest were clearly opposed to treating this as a situation where they had to win hearts and minds. Well, all except the noblewoman, Dashcke, right? And she had a stick up her own ass.

Nevertheless, Raven went to see her as she maintained her mech, swallowing his revulsion at talking to anyone right now and trying to memorize his etiquette lessons, knowing full well he was likely to flub some stuff up and offend the noblewoman who thought that her presence was God's blessing on Earth.

Walking towards Lady Dashcke, Raven gave a deep bow of respect and said, "A moment of your time, Your Grace?" Was that even the right term? Or did I commit a faux pas? The Mechwarrior then followed up with, "I need to thank you for partly considering my side earlier in the meeting, about how this is a battle for hearts and minds, although I don't know if there is any other solution but to threaten unarmed truck drivers in order to get what we need for our continued survival."

He then sighed, "I also wish to talk about the blase attitude of my fellow team members to the people of this planet, just because they were throwing protests at our force, which in turn was because we were representatives of a power they hated and which we secretly hate as well, to the point where my esteemed teammates want to see said people back under the Capellan yoke. Will you be willing to oblige me, Your Grace?"

Raven was clearly outraged and disturbed by what he had seen earlier in the meeting, and hoped that the noblewoman would provide a sympathetic ear, a sympathetic ear which he needed right now, and if refused to him, he'd just seek elsewhere...

Location:
Abandoned Neodymium Mine
Eunsan Mountain Range
250 Kilometers Southwest of Balya Gora
Date/Time:
March 22nd, 3030/ 0800
Interactions:
Cheif Solomon Aadil (Quick)
Gear:
His clothing: Boots, long-sleeved shirt, pants, gloves, holstered handgun with 20 rounds

---

Once the Colonel made his presence known, he handed out punishments in short order, and Tarak made it out with only a blanket warning. As he quickly snuck away, he laughed for just a few moments longer before he was away from them and his face returned to normal within a moment. Almost as if he was never laughing, this was a skill that Tarak had fostered, more a quirk, as often his emotions disappear like a spark. As he made his way through the cave, he was going to do a bit more walking before the meeting.

Tarak listened to the plan that was being laid out, many had different opinions, and some to the idea of attacking a transport with some unarmed personnel seemed dishonorable. Others seemed more than ready to commit smash and grabs and other things. Tarak was ready to do the same, they lost people, and their people are starving here, captured in another place, and possibly dying because of poor treatment. So now, gloves are coming off, Tarak knew it was time to let the reigns loose a little, hitting a transport is something simple in the grand scheme, the enemy could paint it how they feel, yet it wasn't anything too bad.

Water, food, and ammo. The few things that would make or break a combat force, and they had none of that. Tarak is watching his people slowly wither away without food. Their voices became raspy without water. He watches them freeze in the cold climate. So now was the time to rectify that, and prepare to settle a few scores. Tarak had no questions during this briefing, he understood the mission, the plan, and the environment, so, now it was time to get ready to get the show on the road.

Once dismissed, Tarak began to leave, as he saw that Reya was called out and asked to stay behind to have a word with the Colonel. Tarak could only know what they are talking about, maybe it was some old grudge still showing through, or he could be asking her if she could go with them to make sure that they don't just grab random ammunition. Tarak took a moment but shook his head against sticking around to see what they are talking about, Tarak wouldn't want to get in trouble right before things get started. He needed to make sure his gear was ready, he didn't truly need to. He makes sure his gear was ready and usable every day, yet he needed to do something with his hands, he was getting fidgety in anticipation, he wanted to get going. Do something. He needed to get his mind off of this. Something. Anything. And it seemed it came to him.

Chief Aadil appeared at a perfect time, telling Tarak about a corner of the cavern becoming vacant for the night. He spoke of Tarak seeming to have some injuries on his knuckles that seem to need to be resolved. That was when he knew what the Deck Chief was speaking of, the Scrapyard was opening up again. Tarak just gave a small nod and said with a smirk, "Alright Chief, thanks for the check up. I'll take a walk over later to check it out". As Tarak left with a light wave to the man, Tarak knew tonight was going to be an interesting night.

Muttering a remark about keeping ‘all ten of her missiles’ in reserve for any aircraft, Marit waited for most of the people to clear out of the space where the briefing was held before she took her leave, heading straight back to the ‘Mech bays, now armed with a concrete idea of what they’d be doing. With four tons of ammo, an Archer-2R had enough missiles to make someone’s life miserable for two straight minutes. Not Archie. At some point in his no doubt storied life, one of his caretakers decided enough was enough and added three heat sinks. As a result of the weight saving measures necessary to do that, the salvo size shrunk from 40 to 35, meaning Archie could now make someone’s life a living hell for slightly longer.

At least that would’ve been the case if they weren’t shit broke. There was so much empty space in the ammo racks she could hide a small car in there. Climbing up the scaffolding that made up their ‘Mech bays, she joined a grumpy-looking technician enjoying a smoke break.
”Afternoon, Dave. So, half a ton of LRMs is 120 missiles, yes?” She asked, declining an offered cigarette with a shake of her head.
“Checks out.” He replied in a tired voice. Like all the men working on Archie, Lister had spent the previous days learning the ins and outs of the ‘Mech. Since Archie’s regular crew didn’t make it out of the city and were likely locked up at Tie Shan, the crew currently assigned to him was a Frankenstein’s monster made up of personnel from three different teams who managed to escape and who weren't more suited for a different active ‘Mech.
”And 120 divided by 15 comes out to… Eh…”
Lister let Marit struggle with the math for a second. “Eight.”
”Thank you. Eight volleys with the 15 launcher or 12 with one of the tens, so let’s put all the missiles into the left torso.“ She opted for more, smaller volleys and the option to switch to the second LRM-10 launcher if one became damaged, ”The Colonel wants them kept in reserve for anti-air, so it looks like lasers on this run anyway.”
“Well, Wyatt’s been through here a few hours ago, so if you can be sure of anything in the next twelve hours, it’s that the lasers are as good as they’re ever gonna get.”
Marit grunted in agreement, wrapping her jacket more closely around her as a draft picked up.
“Lovett said the Scrap Yard is opening tonight. You coming?”
”Normally I’d get a beer and watch, but tomorrow is an early riser and we have no beer.“ She half joked, ”If someone feels the need to prove their point to me with a fist tonight I’m game, but they’ll have to wake me up first. You?”
“Don’t talk about beer, that makes me miss it even more.” The tech grumbled, “Rimmer nearly took my eye out when he dropped a screwdriver from the scaffold, after I told him a hundred times to keep his smegging tools secured. Hope you bring back some porridge from the raid, he’ll be eating through a straw when I’m done with him.” He vented, pointing out a fresh scar on his head.

Whatever faux pas Raven might have committed was kept a secret from him. She turned, looked him up and down, regarded him coldly for a moment before simply speaking: "I am."

Ingrid figured that this was just some kind of brownnosing tactic thrown at her in a moment of weakness. It never took any kind of expertise to speak as a genteel man, at least influently, just the will to do so. She expected little out of this conversation.

She pulled a pair of gloves that she'd be riding into battle with out of her pocket, and said "But speak like you normally would. I won't tolerate you if you keep trying to sound like a simple chivalric stock character."

Raven Rivers

"You really want me to be blunt, do you?" Raven shifted tack, "Well, all right, let me make it brief - I don't like it when my fellow teammates act selfishly and ignore the common people of this planet when they, in some small way, were behind the common people's discontent by representing the Capellan Federation's power to them in the first place. We need to find some way of keeping the Capellans from getting their grubby little hands on Espia once more, and if it means finding some convoluted way to put it in the Magistracy of Canopus, Free Worlds League - Assuming this is not one of their convoluted plots to expand their dominions... Or even the Lyrian Commonwealth."

He then looked at her and said, "Now is this faux-chivalric?"

"...Thank you for being quick about it." She gave him one, brief, look of discontent. "Usually, people wait a very long time to be honest with me. In exchange, let me give you my own honest estimation."

"There is little to be gained from the acquisition of this world by any major power beyond the Canopians - beyond the badge on the chest of whatever general spearheads the conquering of it. It's a meagre world barely fit to be a salt farming outpost, filled with costly discontent, and it lies on a border that is barely worth considering in the grand scheme of things. In truth, perhaps having an independent world to act as a buffer from Periphery dogs would be its biggest benefit - they take the brunt of the piracy, and you do not have to work to protect it. It kicks the problem down the line a generation or two."

Such she spoke with a very firm confidence. After all, this field was the forte of her kind. Even if House Daschke wasn't even a speck in the eye of the galaxy's political movers and shakers, it was certain that they spent quite a lot of time theorycrafting about what could be done. Ingrid was ultimately a professional scholar in this field of realpolitik.

"The Canopians would like any world they can get their hands on, but even then, they are being saddled with a burden they aren't ready to deal with. House Steiner has no need for a world this many jumps out from their border - there's a very old saying that you might be familiar with, 'Selling a bridge'? Buying something that sounds useful but ultimately can't be handed to you. And while the Mariks," there was a certain venom when she spoke that word, "could conceive some use in drawing another minor polity into their number...I do not wish to aid the Free Worlds League. I have my reasons."

"Now," she put her hands on her hips and looked right at him, "do you figure that you're going to play empire builder, Mechwarrior Rivers?"

Raven Rivers

"Yes, I do," Raven said. "Apologies for overstepping my bounds, Miss Dashcke or Miss Ingrid or whatever. Probably an independent world that is a buffer against pirates would be the best option for this planet, then; sorry for overstepping my bounds again. It's just that as I said, the team does not care about winning the hearts and minds of the people they themselves pushed away. At least we admit that that's a petty, spiteful, and short-sighted course, right?"

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