AndyC

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

"Your concerns are valid, Daschke," Colonel Wayne said after Ingrid's protest. At the very least, he appreciated her taking this escalation in firepower seriously, compared to Ziska and Marit. "I've always run this command according to the MRB's regulations, the Ares Conventions, and the informal Honors of War, and I've got no intention of changing that. If we do deploy the Davy Crockett-- and that's a very big 'if'-- it'll be far away from any civilian population centers, critical points of civilian infrastructure, or places where it could do permanent ecological damage. Military targets only, and only with my explicit orders."

The Colonel scanned the looks of the people around him. Some were relieved, others disappointed.

"Make no mistake," he continued, "I plan on doing anything necessary to get our people back and get off this planet alive. But I also plan on making sure the Green Knights have a future after that. Getting branded by ComStar as war criminals is an easy way to make sure we never find work again, or worse, have bounties placed on us by the House Lords looking for more 'bad guys' to kill now that the bigger war's over. I don't want the Knights to have to fight through the Espian Guard and the Crimson Fists, only for the Mariks or Liaos to label us as a 'rogue outlaw unit' and have their regulars use us for target practice."

Despite the stereotype of mercenaries being rowdy gangs of callous killers with a devil-may-care attitude about the damage they do, mercenary commanders had to take their reputations very seriously. From a political standpoint, every one of the Great Houses wanted to project the image of themselves as the good and rightful inheritors of the Star League, regardless of the actual truth, so hiring a band of ruthless cut-throats was usually poor optics. From a tactical standpoint, escalation on that scale invited the enemy to respond in kind, and total unrestricted warfare wasn't something a small 'Mech outfit could sustain for very long.

And, of course, from an ethical standpoint, the decision to deploy a weapon of mass destruction-- even a small one against a purely hostile target-- wasn't something Gaius would put on anyone's conscience. If that decision had to be made, it would have to fall on him.

"We're keeping the Davy Crockett deactivated and disarmed," the Colonel stated. "Only myself, Sgt. Dalton, and two members of his platoon who shall remain anonymous know its location. It will remain off the table until I specifically say otherwise. That is final."

Putting that matter to rest, the Colonel then changed the subject of the conversation.

"As for recovering Wrathchild," he said, "I plan on having a team head back into South Nui Awa in 24 hours. Volunteers only, no more than four. Wyatt, I want you to relay what you know about Von Kemp's means of communication to the team so they know what to look for. Start with where you found her message, and work your way out from there."

As much as the Colonel wanted to get one of his Mechwarriors back, he also knew not to fill the team with false hope. He decided it would be best to manage expectations.

"South Nui Awa is a big city, so the chances of finding her on one expedition are slim. Portions of it are also held by the Espian Guard, meaning you'll likely be operating in enemy territory. Keep a low profile, don't draw attention to yourselves. If you don't make contact, leave messages in the same code Von Kemp uses so she'll know where to find us."

With that, Gaius turned back towards the Mobile HQ, which was now being surrounded with additional equipment and a small tent to become a more "proper" headquarters.

"I'm going to consult our maps, have the MHQ team scan the airwaves for enemy communications, and confer with our current employer, and from there I'll plan the Knights' next combat mission," he said. "Until then, enjoy the night off."

Rise of Rasalhague

On the far end of the Mess, Remy sat alone at a small table, digging his spoon into a bowl of questionable brown slop. He didn't look at the slop, the spoon, the bowl, or even the other Mechwarriors talking about whatever it was they'd gotten into last night. His eyes were fixed dead ahead, at the scowling fat woman serving breakfast to the Ankhanne's crew. The fat lady glared right back at him, as she had for the past ten minutes.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised the spoon with a heaping helping of mysterious brown slime, put it in his mouth, and slurped it down.

"Mmmm," he said, his voice a barely contained growl. "Good chili."

"Hey, you Overkill?"

Remy felt a thump on his shoulder. "Oi pal, you listenin'? I'm lookin' fer Overkill."

With no small degree of annoyance, Remy broke eye contact with the fat mess lady to see who had thumped him on the shoulder.

"Well, you found him," he said, before raising an eyebrow at the sight before him.

Standing with her left hand on her hip and a prosthetic right hand holding a technician's noteputer was a tattooed woman in black coveralls and a purple tank top that matched her spiked hair. She had a tattoo of a hand of poker cards on one side of her neck: Aces and Eights, the old "Dead Man's Hand." Her left arm was sleeved from shoulder to wrist in a mash of clashing patterns that looked like a graphic designer had stepped on a land mine, and the mechanical housing of her right arm had engravings to match. She had a half-dozen piercings on each ear, a ring on her lip, and if Remy were a betting man, a few more he'd be interested in seeing some other time.

"Steph Fitzpatrick, the 'Mech tech assigned to th' Foirestarter," she introduced herself, her voice carrying a thick St. Ives Irish lilt. "Elena th' Chief Tech had me an' the boys up 'alf the bloody noight troyin' ta fix leakages in th' coolin' system. The patch job oughta hold fer th' mission, so long as ya keep from rollin' yer face across't th' command console. I just need ye ta soign off on th' work order so's I can--....Christ, what are you eatin'?"

Remy turned his glare back at the fat lady at the counter. "Chili."

"Sure that's chili, fella?" Steph asked with a chuckle.

"That's what the lady says," he growled.

"Looks ta me loike someone poured some red pepper an' a can o' corn into a bucket o' congealed engine grease, an' saved it fer if one o'th' new Mechwarriors really pissed 'er off."

"It does look like that," Remy said, before taking another slow, deliberate slurp. "It's real tasty."

"So whaddidja do?" Steph asked with an impish grin.

"I said I'd like to have some sausage and eggs before I headed out for the mission," he answered, "and offered to give her some sausage when I got back."

Fitzpatrick burst out laughing. "Fuckin' hell!"

Remy kept his glare on the cafeteria lady. "She said she was fresh out of sausage, but that if I liked the chili, maybe we'd talk."

He slurped another spoonful, and thumped a fist against his chest to help force it down, never breaking eye contact the whole time.

"It's real. Good. Chili," he stated as his stomach audibly gurgled.

"Y'know that'll probably make ya shit yerself in th' cockpit, yeah?" Steph said.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Steph scoffed in disbelief. "What, wouldn't be th' first time ye shat yerself?"

"Ever gone up on the front lines against the Black Widow Company?" he asked.

"Can't say I 'ave, but what's that gotta do with--"

"Well there you go," Remy said with a flatness that implied that was the end of that particular line of conversation.

"Well," the Mech-tech cleared her throat, "If ye wouldn't moind soignin' off on this 'ere work order, we'll get the last bit o' prep done before drop. Anythin' you wanna request before then?"

"Nah," Remy waved her off. "Just gonna enjoy my breakfast, get the job done, then come back here and see what's on the menu."

"Suit yerself," the tech shrugged. "I'll make sure ta leave a fresh pair o' shorts in th' cockpit fer ye if ye need it."

As Fitzpatrick left the Mess, Remy took one last spoonful of slop, looked the cafeteria lady dead in the eye, and wolfed it down.

"Good fuckin' chili."

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

"Green Knights, listen up!" Colonel Wayne's voice cut over the hustle and bustle of the Knights, the infantry, and their crews all getting settled into the new digs. The sound of his voice didn't carry as far as it did inside the cave, but even so, the commotion quickly subsided. "Now that I've received reports from all three of our away teams, we'll begin with debrief."

The three concurrent missions the Green Knights had carried out had all been considerably high-risk, but done in the hopes of high rewards. Over the past few hours, each team made it back to the junkyard and reported in. Now it was time to go over the situation as a whole.

Gaius let his Mechwarriors, command staff, and crew leaders gather around before he began.

"First off," he began, "I'd like to commend you all for your work out there. Each one of these missions had the potential to go wrong, but all of you completed your objectives. That's three wins under our belt, three steps closer to getting our people back."

He knew how eager many of the crew were to making their move on Fort Tie Shan, himself very much included. Knowing that they were less than fifty kilometers away from their families, from their spouses and children, from Sal--...from Captain Roth, he bridled at the thought of having to bide his time. However, he knew that without a proper plan of attack, charging at the fort would only get them all killed.

Still, he had to keep that hope alive, to foster the belief that they were that much closer to getting their families back and being done with Espia. But he also had to make sure their thoughts were in the here and now, so he brought the conversation back to the completed missions.

"The defense of the Nui Awa Dam was an overwhelming success," he began, deliberately choosing to omit Saarinen's embarrassment in the river. "The First Infantry Platoon suffered moderate casualties-- Privates Duffey, Dautrieve, and Borden were KIA-- we'll have memorial services for them at sundown. Fortunately, their sacrifices helped save millions of lives; between the combined efforts of the 'Mech lance, the Von Luckner, and the Buckshot Boys, we stopped the Heavenly Sword dead in their tracks. While we don't know exactly how many soldiers or vehicles the faction has in reserve, it's likely we've dealt a severe blow to their ability to carry out large-scale attacks like this, if not crippled it completely.

"What's more, we were able to recover an ace in the hole: a Davy Crockett half-kiloton tactical nuclear warhead. It's not a full-blown city-buster, but put in the right place, it can vaporize a lance of 'Mechs, destroy enemy infrastructure...possibly crack open the reinforced walls to a prison fortress. However, the fallout--both the literal and political kinds-- will have to be taken into account before we decide what to do with our new prize. Until then, it's being safely stored far away from this location," he emphasized, partly to ease any fears from the locals who may be listening in, and partly to discourage over-eager scrap-hunters.

"Now for the bad news," he continued. "While inspecting and disarming the nuke for safe storage, our crew found the serial numbers of the warhead. Its registry number marks it as having last been shipped as part of a group of three. So while the Heavenly Sword may not have any more armored-up land trains, it's very likely they have two more nukes on the planet. It also means their story of being Espian radicals simply loyal to House Liao is just as bogus as the holovid characters the Crimson Fists are pretending to be. They're being funded by someone with deep pockets and no regard for the survival of this planet."

As murmurs carried throughout the group, the Colonel continued.

"Charlie Team also brought us some concerning news from the spaceport," he said. "Whoever is supplying the Espian Guard has significantly upped their air power. In addition to the wing of Meteor atmospheric fighters the Guard has on hand, they've now got their hands on two MechBusters, and a Shilone aerospace bomber. Each of those MechBusters has a nose-mounted cannon on par with the Von Luckner's; they can destroy Light 'Mechs outright and cripple most Mediums in a single volley. Fortunately, those cannons have a short range, so they'll need to be within range of our own weapons to hit. Still, trading fire with one is not advised; operating procedure is to get behind cover when it approaches, then return fire from the back or sides.

"The Shilone, on the other hand, is a whole other set of problems," the Colonel continued. "It can drop bombs from high altitude, well out of the effective range of our weapons, and can outgun most heavy 'Mechs even when strafing from low altitude. What's worse, because it's space-capable and fast as all hell, it can be on us in minutes when we emerge. The Archer's LRMs and the Shadow Hawk's autocannon can reach out and hit it if it comes in for a strafing run, but without a dedicated anti-air platform, the Shilone's going to make things considerably more difficult for us."

This news didn't go over well with most of the crew, nor was the Colonel particularly happy about it. What he wouldn't have given right now for a Partisan tank or a Rifleman in this situation.

"Charlie Team was able to perform some internal sabotage on the enemy aircraft before extracting," Gaius offered some good news. "While we don't know the extent to which they succeeded, hopefully their efforts will render the planes less effective when they come at us. Still, until those fighters are down, this does mean we'll need to maintain a doctrine of hit-and-fade. We'll use the tunnel network to move on our objectives without crossing open ground, hit our targets hard and fast, then bug out before the skies get crowded."

In truth, Gaius didn't like sending any of his 'Mechs out against superior air power, and the tunnel networks were only a stop-gap measure in the long run, but having even a stop-gap plan was always better than having none.

"And finally, Bravo Team successfully made contact with Stiletto, the information broker Ms. Jeong told us about," he said. This last mission was a bit more abstract in its rewards, but had the potential to pay off big. "She provided us with the name of a representative from the Free People's Army, insinuating they were interested in joining forces. While Stiletto didn't provide direct contact information, she did provide a set of numbers-- possibly coordinates-- to arrange a meeting. Once we confirm and verify this, a team will be selected to meet with the FPA and propose an alliance. If Stiletto can be trusted, this could give us substantial aid. And if she can't...well, I'm not sending in a team without adequate backup."

Gaius knew this meeting had the potential to be a trap, but it was risk the Knights had to take. Over time, they might be able to pick apart the Crimson Fists, but the Espian Guard were an entire army. If the Green Knights were to have any chance to do anything beyond raiding and running, they needed an army on their side as well.

"Lastly, one bit of bookkeeping to take care of," he announced. "Keeping track of the current Green Knights roster, we are removing Corporal Lena Von Kemp from the KIA column. While we had initially thought she was killed by the Crimson Fists during the coup, Bravo Team was able to uncover evidence that Wrathchild is, or at least was until very recently, still alive and operating in South Nui Awa. How she got there, we're not sure, but it's a story I hope to find out. I'll be accepting volunteers for a search-and-recovery mission once we've established our base of operations here."

The Colonel hoped this last bit of intel would end the debriefing on a high note. They were making good progress, even if the situation on Espia only seemed to get more complicated.

"If you've got questions, now's the time. Otherwise, dismissed."

Rise of Rasalhague

"Well, well," Remy said as he strolled down the gantry onto the floor of the 'Mech bay, eyeing the machinery up for grabs, "let's go for a walk, babe, and see what we can see."

Around his neck hung an unusual piece of 'jewelry,' a hand-sized piece of curved metal with few buttons and triggers along the top half. It was the weapons control stick for a Battlemech, specifically a Hunchback HBK-4G. Remy pulled off the necklace and held the joystick in his left hand, his arm stretched out in front of him like a divining rod.

Long ago, Remy had piloted a Hunchback, which he'd named 'Murder One.' It'd been shot out from under him, but he had pried the control stick out from the remains of the cockpit as a memento. Since then, he'd developed a bit of a superstition about it, having it installed in every 'Mech he'd piloted since then. He'd heard Comstar novices and some of the more superstitious 'Mech techs talk about 'machine spirits' and the almost supernatural bond between a Mechwarrior and his machine, and at some point, that talk had left a mark. As long as he kept that stick installed into whatever 'Mech he drove, 'Murder One' was still up and running.

The pickings on the Ankhanne weren't much to his liking. Apart from the commander's Centurion and the Drac chick's Dragon-- Remy never could understand why the Combine loved that 'Mech so damn much-- most of the 'Mechs on offer were lights. 'Murder One' rarely ever settled for anything less than 50 tons, having been a Thunderbolt, a Warhammer, and even a Stalker in previous lives. And despite their speed and agility, most light 'Mechs were too fragile; facing much faster Locusts suddenly sounded a bit more dangerous than he'd been expecting. A few well-placed laser hits would put most of these machines in jeopardy.

Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, and 'Murder One' understood that. As Remy held out the old control stick, his steps drifted this way and that between the 'Mechs.

"How's about we play with some of the Cappies' fancy new toys?" he said as he approached the Raven. While he'd never actually gone up against one in combat yet, he'd heard stories from the Fourth War about the Capellan Confederation's new light. The 'standard' Raven became instantly famous for its electronic warfare suite, but this was one of the FedCom's refits, sporting a Large Laser instead. For a mission like this, it'd be a perfect light 'Mech hunter.

He held Murder One's firing stick out, his finger on the trigger...but the trigger didn't pull.

"Yeah, you're right," he nodded. It was shiny and new, but a little too shiny and new. "Looks real nice, but she's got no experience. Gotta find one that's been around the block and knows what she's doin'."

Turning from the Raven, he passed the squat frame of an Urbanmech and chuckled. Maybe if they were in a defensive fight in a city where he could set up in an ambush position, sure. But for a running fight against some of the fastest 'Mechs in the Inner Sphere, he couldn't think of a worse pick.

"How's about we do some sniping?" he asked out loud as the walked toward the Panther. When he'd gone up against the DCMS as part of the Roughriders, he'd always been surprised at how much trouble Panthers could be. Anything sporting a Particle Projector Cannon had the potential to mangle limbs, gouge out armor, even pop heads, and while the Panther wasn't as nimble as the Jenners they were usually paired with, they could still jump around enough to be a pain in the ass.

Remy held out the firing stick again...and again, the trigger didn't pull.

"Yeah, never been too big on precision," he admitted. "Besides, we like that personal touch. Wanna get up nice and close."

He turned away from the Panther, and his eyebrow raised at the pair of Mongooses. They were good and fast, and packed a hell of a punch for something so light. On the other hand, they were basically an extinct 'Mech-- there weren't any factories left that made the Mongoose or even made parts for it. Which meant that whoever piloted one of those two would almost definitely be cannibalizing the other for repairs. And it looked like the Free Worlder with the beard had picked one. Remy wasn't about to let Murder One get picked apart for scrap.

"Oh, now there's a thought," he said as he saw the Javelin. "Fast enough to close distance, jump jets to go where she needs, and missiles that let her punch above her weight class. I think...yeah, I think we may..."

Remy held out Murder One's fire control stick...

"....have....."

He put his finger on the trigger....

"....a winner...."

....and he found himself turning away at the last second, the control stick now facing the Firestarter.

"Ohhh, oh my oh my..." Remy said as a devilish grin nearly split his face in two.

It was meant for anti-infantry work instead of hunting 'Mechs, but the Firestarter was for his money one of the best lights the Inner Sphere had to offer. Fast enough to keep up with most other Lights, jump jets to make it good and nimble, a pair of Medium Lasers to slag 'Mech armor and Machine Guns to wreak havoc on internal structure with a constant spray of lead. And most famous of all, those four Purity L-series Flamers, which could incinerate infantry and lightly armored vehicles, clear huge swaths of forest and jungle terrain, and play hell on a 'Mech's heat management.

It was 35 tons of pure mayhem.

And for Overkill, it was perfect.

"So whaddya say, babe?" Remy grinned as he held out the firing stick of Murder One. "This our new ride or what?"

One of the AsTechs approached him with a concerned look. "Hey, ah, just so you know? The cooling system on this 'Mech is still on the fritz. There's a good chance you might fry yourself if you--"

"Ah, hell, kid," he sneered. "It's like they say, some like it hot."

Remy aimed the firing stick at the Firestarter's cockpit....and pulled the trigger.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

"Uncle Mack's" Industrial Scrapyard
Property of Maxwell Metals Incorporated
A subsidiary of the Aqua Vitae Corporation
100 km south of Geom Haebyon
150 km northwest of Fort Tie
26 March, 3030

"Got dammit, Morozov," a high, reedy voice called out from behind a mountain of disused car parts, "Didjyew run off with the hydrogen cell pump for th' Rotunda?"

"Honest" Ollie Maxwell was a wiry old man, his mottled olive skin barely visible under layers of engine grease and grime. Shocks of white hair sprang from the sides of his head, the rest of his otherwise bald scalp covered by a faded green trucker hat.

"Ees no heff your name on eet, Maxvell," Yvgenie Morozov, an enormous barrel-chested man with eyes too far apart and a slightly gawking mouth, said with a shrug as he pulled a cart full of disused myomer fiber bundles out from under another heap. "Besyides, vas on my syide of property."

Ollie spat a wad of mashed quillar-- spiked with nicotine as a cheap substitute for tobacco--onto the ground, the dark brown lump of wet plant matter leaving a sour smell. "Like hell it was on yer side! If it was, 's only 'cuz wunna yer damn Loader Kings moved it there!"

"Sounds lyike problem for man viss no Loader Kings," Morozov chuckled, before turning away to haul the cart off to his side of the yard.

The Maxwell and Morozov families had lived together in a bizarre symbiosis for generations, inheriting the enormous industrial wasteland some time after the fall of the Star League. While technically the land itself belonged to the Maxwells, the Morozovs controlled the fleet of IndustrialMechs that allowed them to move around countless tons of disused metal.

For dozens of square kilometers, the yard was a labyrinth of metal mounds. Most of it was old mining equipment, rusted out hulks of vehicles, and leftovers from the Star League's Department of Mega-Engineering, but every once in a while they found something truly unique among the ocean of junk. Sometimes they found almost completely intact prefabricated hab-units from Espia's original colonization. Sometimes they found sheets of military armor, actuators, or myomers for old Battlemechs. There was even a mostly-complete chassis of a Capellan Charger that had been left here-- after it had been stripped of its weapons and controls, of course.

The Rotunda was a hobby project that Maxwell had been tinkering with for years, an SLDF scout car disguised as a civilian sedan. Powered by a fusion engine and packing an Amdecker 300 Large Laser, the Capellan military must have discarded it not knowing what it was after the League fell. It'd make a hell of a nasty surprise for anyone who came sneaking about the yard...if he could ever get the thing to work.

And if Morozov and his fourteen sons didn't stop running off with parts of it.

"Morozov! HEY!" Maxwell shouted futilely after him. "If you don't gitchyer ass back here an' gimme back my hydrogen cell pump, there's gonna be hell ta--"

Their bickering was interrupted by the growl of a powerful engine and the rumble of gravel being ground under wheels. Making its way up the winding dirt road to the main entrance of the scrapyard was an armored vehicle-- military, by the looks of it-- with a satellite dish and antennae sprouting out the top of it.

"Looks lyike our guests heff arrived," Morozov remarked.

Out from under what appeared to be unused vehicle husks, shipping containers, and storage tanks, dozens of people in mismatched rag-tag clothing emerged, sporting everything from improvised handguns to shoulder-mounted SRMs. Ranging from young children to wiry old men like Ollie, the Maxwell family was a clan of paranoid survivalists who had turned what was at first glance an oversized junk heap into a veritable fortress. The Morozovs, each one a meaty mountain of a human being, also rose from their hiding spots with an equally impressive collection of weaponry.

"Now now," Ollie called out to his kin, "Ain't no reason to git alarmed. Way Ol' Lady Jeong sez it, these folks is friendly. Jess play nice an' put the hardware away fer now....but don't get too far so's ye cain't git to it if we need it."

The Mobile Headquarters of Gawain's Green Knights slowly rolled into Uncle Mack's Scrapyard, coming to a halt in a large clearing. Flanking it were two APCs, out of which poured a dozen or so soldiers armed with rifles and shotguns. While they kept their weapons down, the Knights infantry made it clear that if a fight were to break out, they'd be more than game for it.

As soon as the infantrymen formed a perimeter, the doors to the Mobile HQ slid open, and out stepped a gray-haired man with one good arm.

"Oliver Maxwell?" the man called out.

Ollie eyed the newcomer and, eventually deciding to be on the level with him, nodded.

"That'd be me," he answered. "Reckon yer Colonel Wayne?"

"That's right," the Colonel responded. "I'd like to thank you for taking us in, given the circumstances."

"Hell, ain't nuthin' to it, err, Colonel sir," Maxwell said, not sure how to properly address the military man. "Lady who owns the place sez to do it, and I don't care much for that Premier Federov er any of his boys anyhow. Yer welcome here, long as you yer crew don't make a mess of the place."

The Colonel wasn't entirely certain if the man was joking, given that the surrounding area was literally several acres of garbage.

"Say, pardon if I'm speakin' outta turn," the junkyard dweller continued, "But ain't there s'posed to be more of ya? Morozov cleaned out the 'Mech bays fer ya an' everythin'."

"The rest of the Green Knights will be making their way here shortly," the Colonel answered. "Before they arrive, I'd like to find a place to set up a semi-permanent base of operations."

"Well, let's show ya around," Maxwell said with a wide smile. "There's a couple of old pre-fab colony buildings we done set up fer yer livin' space-- ain't much, but it's a roof an' some beds an' even runnin' water! An' Yvgenie and his boys can help patch up anythin' done to yer Mechs. An' my Darlene is cookin' up a couple drums a' beefalo stew that'll stick to yer ribs with just a bite!"

Colonel Wayne surveyed the surroundings as the oddball civilian led him around, and allowed himself to relax a bit. It was far from ideal, but it was already a step up from the mine. Plenty of exits if they needed to evac, several defensible positions both on-foot and in 'Mechs, and an open sky overhead.

Better yet, this place was within striking distance of Fort Tie Shan, when the time came. And thanks to the actions of the team at the dam, they now had a tactical warhead-- unarmed and kept several kilometers from the yard, of course-- that could be an outstanding force multiplier when the time came.

Things were finally moving in the right direction. And for the first time since the coup, the Colonel was starting to see not just a way to survive a few more days, but a way to actually win.

Rise of Rasalhague

Remy had spent most of the briefing keeping quiet-- thanks in no small part to the fact that his head was pounding from a hangover that could bowl over most Assault 'Mechs. It wasn't the booze, the pills, or anything else that usually ran its way through his system that was the cause of his woes, but the lack thereof. In order to get the gig, he had to show up to the interview and the briefing in a state that at least had a passing resemblance of sobriety, and it put him in a foul mood.

Every morning for the past few weeks, he'd rolled out of the rack in the tenement housing unit he'd been crashing at, slurped down a plate of jiggly yellow ooze that Nan had assured him was eggs, and stumbled around until he remembered how to walk straight, then made his way to the hiring hall to see if there were any bites.

Eventually his combat record got him the attention of the 'Commander' here, and he'd found his way on board this rusted old bucket. They were small-timers, and chasing down bandits on some backwater rock didn't exactly set his world on fire, especially compared to what he was used to. Still, a job was a job, and getting the chance to strap back into a Battlemech and pull the triggers was all the fix he really needed.

The other mercs were asking the right questions-- well, most of them anyway. When the subject of throwing back a few brews came up, Remy finally cleared his throat. Partly to draw attention to himself, but mostly to choke back the bile from being miserably sober for this long.

"Hell, I'll be more than happy to drink the whole lot of ya under the table," he sneered, "soon as we get the job done and get our pay. Assuming, of course, any of ya can keep up."

He got a few sour faces in response for his display of swaggering bravado, but if he was going to be running with this crew for anything longer than a cup of coffee, he wanted them to know what he was about from the word go.

"Speakin' of the job," he turned his attention to the Commander, "what kinda contingency do we have in mind if things start going tits-up? Locusts and Cicadas aren't worth a damn in a straight fight, but they can be a helluva pain if they're spotting for fire support. I don't wanna find myself swingin' in the breeze if it turns out those little bug 'Mechs are calling shots for a Long Tom or an LRM boat."

Rise of Rasalhague

Hit the Music

MechWarrior

Name: Remy Clarke

Nickname: Overkill

Appearance: Remy is a 6'2" middle-aged caucasian man with leathery tanned skin covered in lascivious tattoos. He's got a strong square jaw framed by a thick moustache, and long flowing brown hair that passably covers his bald spot most of the time. While he's developing a slight beer gut, underneath that is the hard musculature of a lifelong fighting man. When he talks, Remy's voice sounds like someone jammed a bottle brush down his throat and he decided to keep it there out of spite.

Age: 46

Origin: Originally from New Delos IV in the Free Worlds League, though he hasn't been to his home planet or considered himself a Marik in decades.

Personality: Remy acts like a man who's never heard of the concept of moderation. It's hard to name something that he hasn't drank, smoked, snorted, or tried to hump. He usually has a filthy joke for every occasion, and will be all too happy to share them with anyone in earshot--unless there's kids around. He's reckless, cocky, and quick to start a fight if he thinks one's coming, or sometimes if he's bored.

Despite this, he's also a capable Mechwarrior, and can be trusted to get the job done-- after all, the sooner the work is done, the sooner he can get back to sloughing off. He also has a strong paternal streak, and is occasionally prone to fits of melancholy when in one place for too long.

History: Remy Clarke will talk your ear off about his wild and lewd stories from his career as a mercenary, but doesn't like to talk about his life before that-- if asked, he'll more than likely brush the question off with a rude joke, and if asked again he'll reply with a headbutt to the nose. A former member of Hansen's Roughriders, Remy spent several years as a front-line fighter for one of the loudest and rowdiest mercenary commands in the Inner Sphere before seeking his own fortunes as a freelancer. His reasoning for leaving the Roughriders, much like his life before becoming a mercenary, is a subject best left dropped if one wants to keep all of their teeth.

The only bits of information one can get about Remy's early life are those which are matters of public record. The first official record of his existence isn't a birth certificate, but an arrest record on New Delos IV, where a 13-year-old Remy Clarke was charged with vandalism in 3002. Multiple following arrests suggest that Remy had been a juvenile delinquent in the industrial city of Campbell, involved with a rock-band-turned-street-gang known as the Sonic Assassins. At 17 he was conscripted into the local militia as an alternative to prison, and training records indicate surprisingly high test scores that put him in consideration for Battlemech training. By 3012, Sgt. Remy Clarke was transferred to the 3rd Marik Militia and assigned his first 'Mech, a 50-ton Hunchback.

During his time in the militia, several disciplinary reports suggest that Remy had gotten involved with political radicals, particularly those who supported Anton Marik's opposition of his brother the Captain-General. In 3014 Anton Marik declared an open revolt, and combat records show that Remy had fought on the front lines as part of the rebel forces. Within a year, however, the revolt had collapsed, in large part due to Anton betraying Wolf's Dragoons and forcing them to switch sides, and Remy's unit was one of many on New Delos IV that was utterly destroyed by the notorious Black Widow Company.

No records exist of Remy's whereabouts for the next five years, but he would resurface again in 3019, joining the famous and infamous Hansen's Roughriders. A command well-known for being loud, rowdy, and devastatingly effective, Remy was a perfect fit for the Roughriders, where he gained a reputation for simply holding down the triggers of his 'Mech's weapons until either the enemy exploded or his 'Mech shut down from overheating. He applied this same approach of excessive force to nearly everything else he did, from exercise to music to drinking and fighting, earning him the nickname "Overkill."

The next ten years with the Roughriders were a whirlwind of heavy firefights, bar room brawls, failed romances, and obnoxiously loud music. From New Olympia to Hesperus II, from Sevren to Shiloh, from Suk II to Satalice, Remy survived six major battles against elite enemy forces, four 'Mechs shot out from under him, five bullets, twelve stabbings, fifteen arrests, and three attempted bands.

Unsubstantiated rumors suggest that around the outbreak of the Fourth Succession War, Remy had begun fraternizing with his company commander, Captain Dinah "Midnight" McAuliffe. In May 3029, the Roughriders attacked the planet Satalice, and after heavy fighting against a Kurita 'Mech regiment, conquered the planet. Captain McAuliffe did not survive the battle, and shortly afterward, Remy Clarke was granted release from his contract with the Roughriders. Of note, an inventory of McAuliffe's belongings that were disposed of after her death included a diamond ring and an unassembled baby crib.

For the past five years, Remy has wandered from one hiring hall to another, piloting whatever 'Mech he can find, and working as hired muscle if there are no 'Mechs to be found. The rise of conflict in the Rasalhague region has attracted Overkill, hoping that being where the action is will lead to some steady work and a new DropShip to call home.

Skills:

• Gunery: 3
• Piloting: 3
• Guts: 5
• Tactics: 2

Abilities: TBD

Misc:

• Remy has an old electric bass guitar which he carries with him at all times, even cramming into his 'Mech cockpit if it will fit.
• Despite being lewd and off-color nearly all the time, Remy has a soft spot for kids and will do his best to be wholesome and polite when they're around.
• While he's the type who sneers at religious or spiritual matters, Remy's very superstitious when it comes to Battlemechs. His lucky charm is an old joystick pulled from the cockpit of his first 'Mech, "Murder One." According to him, as long as that joystick is installed in whatever 'Mech he's piloting, the "spirit" of his first 'Mech stays with him. Therefore, no matter what make or model he's piloting, he always refers to his ride as "Murder One."

Mech

Type: The type and variant of your mech.

Name: The affectionate name given to the machine by your pilot.

Mass/Class: The weight and class of your mech.

Armor: How many tons and what type of armor your mech has.

Top Speed: How far can your mech run/jump.

Armanents: The amount and type of weapons that your mech carries, as well as how many tons of ammo it has available.

Heat Sinks: The amount and type of Heatsinks your mech has.

Quirk: Any notable feature associate with the type, or the specific mech.

Rise of Rasalhague

Hit the Music

MechWarrior

Name: Remy Clarke

Nickname: Overkill

Appearance: Remy is a 6'2" middle-aged caucasian man with leathery tanned skin covered in lascivious tattoos. He's got a strong square jaw framed by a thick moustache, and long flowing brown hair that passably covers his bald spot most of the time. While he's developing a slight beer gut, underneath that is the hard musculature of a lifelong fighting man. When he talks, Remy's voice sounds like someone jammed a bottle brush down his throat and he decided to keep it there out of spite.

Age: 46

Origin: Originally from New Delos IV in the Free Worlds League, though he hasn't been to his home planet or considered himself a Marik in decades.

Personality: Remy acts like a man who's never heard of the concept of moderation. It's hard to name something that he hasn't drank, smoked, snorted, or tried to hump. He usually has a filthy joke for every occasion, and will be all too happy to share them with anyone in earshot--unless there's kids around. He's reckless, cocky, and quick to start a fight if he thinks one's coming, or sometimes if he's bored.

Despite this, he's also a capable Mechwarrior, and can be trusted to get the job done-- after all, the sooner the work is done, the sooner he can get back to sloughing off. He also has a strong paternal streak, and is occasionally prone to fits of melancholy when in one place for too long.

History: Remy Clarke will talk your ear off about his wild and lewd stories from his career as a mercenary, but doesn't like to talk about his life before that-- if asked, he'll more than likely brush the question off with a rude joke, and if asked again he'll reply with a headbutt to the nose. A former member of Hansen's Roughriders, Remy spent several years as a front-line fighter for one of the loudest and rowdiest mercenary commands in the Inner Sphere before seeking his own fortunes as a freelancer. His reasoning for leaving the Roughriders, much like his life before becoming a mercenary, is a subject best left dropped if one wants to keep all of their teeth.

The only bits of information one can get about Remy's early life are those which are matters of public record. The first official record of his existence isn't a birth certificate, but an arrest record on New Delos IV, where a 13-year-old Remy Clarke was charged with vandalism in 3002. Multiple following arrests suggest that Remy had been a juvenile delinquent in the industrial city of Campbell, involved with a rock-band-turned-street-gang known as the Sonic Assassins. At 17 he was conscripted into the local militia as an alternative to prison, and training records indicate surprisingly high test scores that put him in consideration for Battlemech training. By 3012, Sgt. Remy Clarke was transferred to the 3rd Marik Militia and assigned his first 'Mech, a 50-ton Hunchback.

During his time in the militia, several disciplinary reports suggest that Remy had gotten involved with political radicals, particularly those who supported Anton Marik's opposition of his brother the Captain-General. In 3014 Anton Marik declared an open revolt, and combat records show that Remy had fought on the front lines as part of the rebel forces. Within a year, however, the revolt had collapsed, in large part due to Anton betraying Wolf's Dragoons and forcing them to switch sides, and Remy's unit was one of many on New Delos IV that was utterly destroyed by the notorious Black Widow Company.

No records exist of Remy's whereabouts for the next five years, but he would resurface again in 3019, joining the famous and infamous Hansen's Roughriders. A command well-known for being loud, rowdy, and devastatingly effective, Remy was a perfect fit for the Roughriders, where he gained a reputation for simply holding down the triggers of his 'Mech's weapons until either the enemy exploded or his 'Mech shut down from overheating. He applied this same approach of excessive force to nearly everything else he did, from exercise to music to drinking and fighting, earning him the nickname "Overkill."

The next ten years with the Roughriders were a whirlwind of heavy firefights, bar room brawls, failed romances, and obnoxiously loud music. From New Olympia to Hesperus II, from Sevren to Shiloh, from Suk II to Satalice, Remy survived six major battles against elite enemy forces, four 'Mechs shot out from under him, five bullets, twelve stabbings, fifteen arrests, and three attempted bands.

Unsubstantiated rumors suggest that around the outbreak of the Fourth Succession War, Remy had begun fraternizing with his company commander, Captain Dinah "Midnight" McAuliffe. In May 3029, the Roughriders attacked the planet Satalice, and after heavy fighting against a Kurita 'Mech regiment, conquered the planet. Captain McAuliffe did not survive the battle, and shortly afterward, Remy Clarke was granted release from his contract with the Roughriders. Of note, an inventory of McAuliffe's belongings that were disposed of after her death included a diamond ring and an unassembled baby crib.

For the past five years, Remy has wandered from one hiring hall to another, piloting whatever 'Mech he can find, and working as hired muscle if there are no 'Mechs to be found. The rise of conflict in the Rasalhague region has attracted Overkill, hoping that being where the action is will lead to some steady work and a new DropShip to call home.

Skills:

• Gunery: 3
• Piloting: 3
• Guts: 5
• Tactics: 2

Abilities: TBD

Misc:

• Remy has an old electric bass guitar which he carries with him at all times, even cramming into his 'Mech cockpit if it will fit.
• Despite being lewd and off-color nearly all the time, Remy has a soft spot for kids and will do his best to be wholesome and polite when they're around.
• While he's the type who sneers at religious or spiritual matters, Remy's very superstitious when it comes to Battlemechs. His lucky charm is an old joystick pulled from the cockpit of his first 'Mech, "Murder One." According to him, as long as that joystick is installed in whatever 'Mech he's piloting, the "spirit" of his first 'Mech stays with him. Therefore, no matter what make or model he's piloting, he always refers to his ride as "Murder One."

Mech

Type: The type and variant of your mech.

Name: The affectionate name given to the machine by your pilot.

Mass/Class: The weight and class of your mech.

Armor: How many tons and what type of armor your mech has.

Top Speed: How far can your mech run/jump.

Armanents: The amount and type of weapons that your mech carries, as well as how many tons of ammo it has available.

Heat Sinks: The amount and type of Heatsinks your mech has.

Quirk: Any notable feature associate with the type, or the specific mech.

Rise of Rasalhague - A "mostly" canon BattleTech mercenary roleplay for mech enjoyers

So I've been fooling around with character concepts, trying to think of something that'll stick. I've got a couple thousand random character portraits to use for MegaMek, so I decided to roll one up and random and see if something speaks to me.

I ended up getting this absolute rock star.

Rise of Rasalhague - A "mostly" canon BattleTech mercenary roleplay for mech enjoyers

@AndyC

I could've sworn I checked to see if there was another Mechwarrior RP before posting this and didn't find anything. But there it is now, like a sneaky Raven with a Guardian ECM popping around the block to alpha strike your rear armor

I don't mind, of course. I see plenty of familiar faces in your gang, I see no reason people can't double-dip from the goodness that is Mechwarrior. If this RP gets off the ground and we get into a rhythm, I wouldn't mind some cool collab posting, or at the very least some fun cameos.

I might steal the idea of those cute bite-sized images from your OCC for mine once it gets up too, I like the way it looks haha. But I can definitely see that we went for very similar settings and mechanics. Honestly, if I didn't know that my dumbass brain probably scrolled over your RP a dozen times and said "nope, nothing here", I would think I'd have copied your homework :D

Though I suppose we do differ, I thought best to just entirely avoid the TTRPG rulebooks and go for a more open approach, with only Alpha Strike for reference when it comes to combat haha

Anyways, I could talk for hours about Battletech and nobody could stop me, but I'll keep this brief here. I expect we'll talk more in the future about all things mech related, given the overlap with our RPs and the limited pool of people who are probably interested ^^

@6slyboy6

No worries; our game activity kind of goes in fits and starts, so we might've been buried a few pages back when you looked for another game.

The TTRPG/tabletop stuff was an experiment that I probably won't re-use (or if I do, I'll move the game from Casual to Advanced). But yeah, I'm always happy to see a fellow Spheroid out and about.

Don't know if I can commit to multiple games, but consider me interested. At the very least, it oughta be fun to trade notes.