Pilatus

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

Jon considered the words as they were spoken, listening carefully. The majority of the Guard in the south, FPA divided, loyalists dissolved and most interestingly, the Fists split up into three lances. It wasn’t the objective, but the tactician within him couldn’t help but look at the mechs within the cave and the open country on the map and think about how they could win. The Colonel was right, they obviously couldn’t trade against attrition, but off-paper, on the field, he could see the dagger forming. He breathed in a bit deeply and crossed his arms and thought as the briefing continued. It was possible. There was a glimmer of it in the Colonel’s tone, but he understandably needed to keep his people focused. They could still lose easier than they could win.

The unassociated callsigns of the mechwarriors that would be within his taskforce didn’t mean a lot to Jon other than novelty. He wasn’t sure about the connections to the machines other than the Raven pilot, but he was reasonably certain two of them were standing right in front of him and that Steel Rain would be the Von Luckner. It just fit. The Green Knights seemed to have a more casual nicknaming culture than the TDF. More slides clicked and he found it amusing how quickly the whole presentation had been thrown together and how both the Colonel and Cassandra seemed to be in their element addressing everyone, both for different reasons. When his name was mentioned more than a few scrutinizing glances were directed his way: The private that had confiscated his rifle, a senior tech with two prosthetic limbs and a host of others gave the most critical glances. Being accompanied by the infantry force was a good thing, not just tactically, but he and Dalton had a common doctrine. Jon knew better than to think it made them friends, but on the field, they would be of a similar mind.

“Reasonably doable” was about the most command-centric phrase he had ever heard and produced the tiniest of smirks across his normally permanent poker face. That was a gem that deserved to be saved for later. People that were willing to blow themselves up for a cause weren’t usually keen on reason or being captured. Likely the best they could hope for was that if any of the fanatics survived the ambush, they’d be too maimed to resist or kill themselves before the infantry could move in. He wondered how many EOD grunts were in the company. Running a successful maneuver and then losing men after action would be shit. The thought put a tension in his chest and he exhaled while the briefing continued through the other ops that didn’t involve him. He knew the area around the dam well as it was within his AO under his contract with Cassandra. They would have surprise, but he doubted the Knights knew the country as well as him and crazy people with bombs strapped to their bodies, or whatever else, tended to be unpredictable.

Marit spoke up and posed a good question about the intel on the Fists and the Colonel was likewise quick to answer. Considering the Knights’ raid, an end-around the base of the mountains wouldn’t make a lot of sense from their intel perspective, but it wasn’t out of the question either. The dam was another story.

The Tie Shan River Dam was different from most inland hydro-electric structures, working almost like a lock system and a dam in one. When the tide receded, the water was released through the generators and likewise when it rose, the flow was restricted keeping the shoreline along the east side at roughly the same level all the time and making for some pretty good fishing. The work shifts mirrored this schedule by design. Jon reckoned if he was a crazy bastard, the best time to hit it would be at shift change in the morning, right after third was headed home and when first had just arrived. The generators would be getting their first big run of the day and most of the workers and security would only barely be awake a couple hours at most. There would be just enough light to be inconspicuous in a large truck and still be able to navigate the narrow highway near the dam. The energy that even a small explosion would multiply while the blades were turning at full rpm would rip apart the whole structure.

He only nodded at Raven’s suggestion and glanced briefly in Cassandra’s direction at the hint of a timetable. A motion he knew would not go unnoticed with her. They would be flying out soon and he could get himself in position before the others arrived. He knew of a good spot and the sight of his Marauder was not unknown to the dam crew. Whether or not to tell the employees to come to work would be up to Cassandra. The dam had to run, but any tip that AVC was wise to the Sword’s scheme would likely result in somebody else, somebody without the time to or capability to prepare, getting suicide bombed. Jon was glad he didn’t have to make that call. If they were there, he could at least prep them; more eyes open and alert would be to their advantage.

The only other thing was the biggest one: Who was going to be in charge of this little soiree? He knew who it wasn’t going to be.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

Jon shrugged at the first question. “You’d be surprised.” He said. His country accent was evident in the long vowel, i. “Most of them just want someone to take care of them.” He weighed saying more. What he was giving was the truth about many that worked for Cassandra within the walls of the Rose Hotel, but they were just the day to day, hour and salaried. Many could have cared less about whose flag was hanging outside of the administration building as long as they got a paycheck and could still go to a movie or a bar when they wanted. The real machinations occurred at the top of the ivory tower. The broken drama and backstabbing that had taken place within the AVC board of directors was for Cassandra to disclose as she so desired. He looked at Marit. She was smart and had a little attitude on her too, which he also liked. Cassandra’s timing in relation to her involvement with the Knights was something he was sure Marit could correctly discern without him spelling it out. He let her keep talking.

Yuzhny Portveyn was an absolute cluster and now included a large crater. He wouldn’t mention that he had been there and only missed that rendezvous by a few minutes, but he did see the, “People’s Hammer” miss a few licks because their barrels had run dry. There was a rumor the Crimson Fists’ Hunchback was to be on station fighting alongside the NPDRE for an easy photo-op where the medium mech’s AC20 would have run wild in the urban fighting, but the Knights’ raid had deprived it of promised ammunition and the Fists had elected to hold it back as a result. Jon glanced for a moment back over towards the Knights’ Von Luckner. He had thought on it a few times. How things could have gone a lot differently that day. The Hunchback would have been an easy kill in the open expanse near the stadium, but if he had put it down, there was a strong chance he and Cassandra wouldn’t be in present company. True or not, it was still out there and they were here. “Lotta' good people dying,” He said, answering her next question. The words were plain and included a sense of reverence for the dead. He didn’t look back at her when he said it as the scene of chaos around Yuzhny Portveyn reminded him of other places he’d been and seen the same thing or much worse. “Lotta’ bad ones too though.” He added, looking back at her and Raven.

He relaxed a bit and considered the rumor mill for what it was worth. Soldiers liked to talk and it was easy to get the scoop from both sides when you spoke the same language. He had an AVC workman’s jacket that let him blend right in as a neutral party to the warfighter on both sides. “Huffin’ and puffin’ and the usual big talk mostly.” Jon added in relation to the effectiveness of the Knights’ raid. “I think y’all hurt’em more than they’re lettin’ on.” He recalled another passing conversation as the words came out. “I know they're really pissed about having to dig up a buncha’ mines and airlift some containers.”

@Starlance

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

“That’s your move?” Reya said. She spoke as if she were regarding someone teetering on a balance beam. Someone who she was on the verge of kicking the legs out from under. She looked at her nails.

“Jesus, Samuel, you’re not gonna win, just stop.” Iris pleaded

“Statistically, at some point. She has to get bad cards.” Samuel replied defiantly. He was down to nothing but a sleeveless undershirt and his pants. He rubbed his arms against the coolness of the cave and stacked his socked feet together in attempt to stay warm. “And she’s not getting any better, beating me over and over, soon I’ll just be able to copy her. No one has made it this far before. Nobody.” His voice was determined, but his teeth chattered.

“Oh, so you think that’s how this works?” Reya said with some amusement. She rested her head against one hand, not even really looking at the cards arrayed neatly in their proper positions. There was a simple cloth over the empty ammo box, though not one of the much valued and oft searched for textiles. Behind her was a collection of tools, trinkets, parts and other random novelties that Samuel had brought to wager and subsequently lost possession. “After this, I’ll show you how to wire a switch correctly… assuming you don’t freeze to death.” No one had ever beaten Reya at Hanafuda and losing was about as certain as gravity. There was a rumor that Dr. Yuri once won a hand, but no one knew for sure. The obscure card game, mostly only existent within the Combine, was at least a nice departure from the standard poker deck. Beating Reya, who had taught everyone willing to play other than Yuri was a feat held in similar odds as reforming the Star League or building Hyper-Pulse Generator from scratch. She rolled up a wad of hair and sniffed it before shoving it in Tarak’s face. “Does my hair smell?"

The boombox rattled down Tarak’s mixtape next to them. Samuel stood up, looking at the deck, arms crossed in fierce contemplation.

“I like this song.”

He finally placed a card and extracted the matching suit. Everyone leaned in to watch the deck draw that would follow, but he knew as soon as he turned the card it was over. He sunk back down to his stool, an empty Fiesta Pail bucket, while Reya daintily distributed her hand for display. “Five Scrolls, Ino-Shika-Cho.” The She waved her hand over them like a Solaris dealer. The rest of Tarak’s crew groaned and rolled their eyes at another defeat. “And one shirt, please.” She added.

Samuel lowered his head.

“Will you just give up now?” Iris protested again. “Maybe she’ll at least let you keep your clothes.”

“He can have them back.” Reya said. “I’ll let him work off his debt, like the rest. Make me tea and coffee, maybe carry my tools.” She leaned back into Tarak and gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder. “What do you think?”

Samuel grit his teeth and started to defiantly pull his shirt away for another round, but the Colonel’s voice boomed aloud.

Being farther away from the entrance near Black Phoenix and the Von Luckner, Reya followed Tarak around the perimeter of the cave and because most people got out of Tarak’s way. She couldn’t really hear what was going on, but there were apparently more visitors which automatically put an uneasy knot in her stomach. As they got closer she stood behind him and peeped around at about the time the woman was talking about the dramatic conclusion of their former employer. Reya’s eyes narrowed, not because of what was being said, but because of Cassandra, the person. There was something familiar about her. Reya seldom forgot anything and her mind raced through a catalog of memories like a missile. It would bother her the rest of the day if she couldn’t recall it, days even. Her eyes wandered as she thought. Jeong… Jeong…. Slowly hey eyes rested on what was a familiar figure skulking amidst the movement around them: Ziska. Her bandaged head stood out almost comically, but puffing away alone seemed out of place for her. Never could she remember seeing Ziska smoke- not that it didn't fit her character. She pulled at Tarak’s jacket to get his attention, tilting her head quizzically. “Since when does she smoke?”

@Abstract Proxy
@Th3King0fChaos

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

Jon studied the strange woman from the corner of his eye. She didn’t seem to be a regular smoker. Her bandaged up head gave her away. Of the mechs in the Knights’ roster. The Raven was clearly the one still taking on the majority of repair work. He would have bet she was its pilot which would explain her injuries in comparison to most of the others that had started to gather. A mech like that didn’t come into the possession of just anyone and most assuredly not through anything close to honest business which only meant one other thing: pirate. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he was sure of it. They all had the same look. The same spiel. He knew it well. Like a song with one note. Drink, fight, fuck and steal, and act like fools inbetween. The little court jester facade was just the act that covered up the rot underneath. He’d seen them kill women and children out on the frontiers of Taurian space. Still crying as they’d gunned them down without a thought, taking pleasure in it even. Jon hated pirates and he’d killed them by bushel. Still, some part of him tried to remind himself that he could be wrong. He hoped he was and turned his glance back to the others while Cassandra and the Colonel spoke.

Again he looked over the tracks inside the cave. The placement of the mechs and the vehicles and how they had moved without being disturbed by rain. The stolen transports were awkwardly parked close together to save space and the cabover hood of one of them was tilted up on its shocks, probably for scavenging parts. He kept the same neutral expression as the others as Cassandra and Gaius departed to talk business. On the trek out, he and Cassandra had already worked out that she would do all the talking and that he was to divulge as little as possible, which was just fine by him. He regarded the first outstretched hand momentarily from the one calling himself Rivers before matching the grip and noting the wedding ring. The man was awkward and presumptuous. Jon was not “with them” and when Raven mentioned a “mess hall”, he couldn’t help but arch his brow strangely at the other man, being as they were in a cave… underground. He talked unusually as well, unlike anyone Jon had ever met, like some knight of old and Jon wondered if he might have a screw loose- there were plenty of those among mechwarriors.

What was a surprise was the one who approached next and offered her hand with a polite smile. Her eyes were still young and bright and at thirty-five, he felt old and worn in her presence, like she was a visitor in his reality of war and destruction. His hand was bigger, but her grip was surprisingly firm, which he liked. “Jon… and don’t worry about it.” He said and gave a small shrug. “Not the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me.” He looked over the other crews and staff, all a mass of commotion, but his eyes shifted back to Marit before Raven and before he spoke again, keeping the conversation mostly about the Green Knights: “Yea, we’ve heard a lot about the ‘month’ you’ve had for sure.”

@Starlance
@Letter Bee

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

When they were permitted to lower their hands, Jon tucked his back in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. The pack of cigarettes was still missing and he glanced around for the little bastard that had taken them while Cassandra talked. She was in her element: Center of attention and a completely captive audience. Looking at the conditions, they truly had no choice but to accept whatever she was going to offer and from what he had witnessed of her regular business dealings, she would be squeezing the turnip for every ounce of juice possible. It didn’t matter that there was a war on, business was business. Standing next to her he returned the steady look of the Colonel, watching the way he walked and particularly the stiff nature of his left arm. Beyond that, the cave was a fanfare of makeshift mechbays, scattered equipment and a cacophony of smells that pulled and drifted towards the numerous ventilation shafts once used for the heavy equipment of the mine. He thought about the offer from the Crimson Fists then the rumors of the raid that bled through the grapevine of fighting men to Nui Awa. A Phoenix and Shadow Hawk, an Ostroc- something he’d never seen before, an Archer and a Raven, just like he had heard. His eyes shifted further, catching a glimpse of the turret of a Von Luckner tank around a bend in the cave, confirming his suspicions on the trail. All faced the Fists’ Longbow, Wolfhound, Raven and Jenner while protecting a convoy of unarmored transports. On paper it was a fairly even match given the conditions of battle, but he’d heard how they’d managed to still rout the Fists and escape. For a brief moment, he played out how he would’ve done it and his eyes zeroed in where he would have placed precision salvos across joints, hardware and cockpits. Where he would have set the ambush to kill them in one pass.

A crowd was forming and he looked over the assembly in the same way as he’d looked over the equipment. Not many had the same look as the Colonel or Sergeant Dalton. Uncertainty dominated. Then there was ample amounts of fear and fatigue. With the portable reactor and the medical tent they liberated, there was at least some measure of creature comfort restored, however it was an operation on borrowed time. There were even children roaming about. He let out a small breath of unease at the sight of them. The Fists would eventually find this place. Even though the mines were a maze of tunnels and connections, the process of elimination would eventually tilt the math in favor of the hunters. He was glad he stayed with Cassandra. Marching women and children off to Fort Tie Shan was not something he could have kept on his conscience. That place had its own set of rumors. He thought about a clear shot at the cockpit of a Battlemaster or a Longbow, the glint of sunlight off the tinted canopy, the muzzle flash over his shoulder and the hot-white hatred that shrieked out of armored gauntlets.

A cigarette would be nice.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

Character Name: Jonathan McCord

Callsign: Hooker

Nicknames: Jon, Jonboy, Jay, J-Bone, Cord

Jon

Archetype: Grizzled Veteran

Guiding Motto: “Let God sort’em out”

Fatal Flaw: Problem with authority- Jonathan has an innate disdain for governmental structures and particularly the social protocols that follow. He finds most people/systems that believe they rule over him to be worthy of contempt and mockery.

Expertise:

Survival- Jon is able to be self sufficient in most climates and survive on his own for prolonged periods of time. He grew up being outdoors and is comfortable with even the most minimal arrangements.
Tactics- Small unit tactics and understanding the lay of the land come very natural. If he’s given an objective to take or defend, his methods may not be entirely by the book, but will usually be swiftly effective.
Rifles- Gunnery is one of Jon’s favorite hobbies in general. He can calculate shots based on MOA or MRAD measurements, understands compesating for windage, bullet drop and coriolis effect. He can quickly zero in a rifle or set the convergence on a mech for whatever the scenario may require.

Nationality/ Allegiance: Taurian Concordat

Background:

Hailing from New Vandenberg in the heart of the Concordat, the McCords are an old name on planet and trace roots to the uprising against the SLDF. Daily life and education were always accompanied by reminders of this lineage, but generally Jonathan and his younger brother grew up with a fairly common childhood. The family’s business was spread across the many interests of Jon’s father, Randolph, the most lucrative of which being a salvage operation, though also supported by a mass of farmland and a part-time hobby of running a mercenary/militia outfit that operated exclusively in Taurian space against pirates, mercenaries and the occasional probing forces of the neighboring great houses. McCord’s Legion were a popular force in defensive contracts and was far and away Randolph’s favorite business “hobby”. In Jonathan’s younger years, he idolized his father and the seemingly mystical nature of the Legion, known as much for their antics as their effectiveness.

Aside from the expected burdens of education, days were filled with being outdoors either on the farm driving agro-mechs, trucks, loaders- anything else he could get his hands on, going on long calls with his dad in one of their massive recovery vehicles or just hanging around the Legion. The violent history of New Vandenberg provided for plenty of work locally for excavated salvage, but offworld contracts were not out of the question. Being headquartered in one of the most hospitable climate zones on planet, not far from the protected avian preserve, meant the farm stayed busy and the workload was always backed up. Randolph was a profitable manager of his various operations, but not always the most effective one. His whims changed often and were mostly centered around the more entertaining work of the mech lance. Salvage and farming grew to lengths beyond his want or ability to manage while he was often too selfish to share the burden.

Graduating from regular schooling and during his late teenage years is when Jonathan began to glimpse the other side of the curtain in regards to the family businesses. The good and the bad. Randolph kept a lot of income moving, but also a lot of debt. There was a balance fueled by long days in the field, crafty negotiations and substantial amounts of alcohol. He was never violent or angry, just a man with a vice. Many remarked he was much more debonair with it than without and his lively company and expertise was often sought after. At the end of the day, the businesses did well. Even if they could do better, “good enough” was just perfect. The simple charisma of the man was something that Jon and his brother continually looked at with fascination as young adults and was ultimately a large part of the man he was shaped into as he headed away from home for the first time to complete his compulsory service for the Taurian Defense Force.

Even with his substantial experience with heavy equipment, like all McCords, Jonathan first volunteered for the infantry and did his first year with the TDF as a foot soldier. As with many of his peers who had grown up being outdoors around weapons and machines, military life came fairly easily and his gunnery skills more often than not put him at the top of his squad for marksmanship. After the first year his transfer to a mechanized formal training regiment was completed and he continued his service with the TDF for his required three additional years plus two more. It was during this time that he earned his callsign as he expertly retrieved another bogged down Rilfleman from his lance out of a swampy depression. It was not his favorite moniker at first, which made it stick all the more among his command and contemporaries, however over time he adopted a sort of comical ambivalence towards it, willing to simply accept it as "unique". After a career marked with battles and scraps large and small around Taurian space, Jonathan left the regular military to return home.

Growing older and having had a larger view of the space around him, Jon knew that permanent life as a mechwarrior was not for him and staying in it for very long could likely produce situations that drastically shortened his life. He struggled with it as he came to join the Legion as an “official member”. He liked to fight and he was good at it- like Randolph, it was his truest nature, but he had seen the long term effects on those that chose to stay in the cockpit. In his time away, many in the Legion had come and gone as more competition grew for contracts in response to the burgeoning Federated Commonwealth. The core regulars, the circle of pilots closest to his father, all were showing signs of their age: many with visible burns and injuries, others that had lost fingers or worse. None of them were forced to fight, it was a choice and often seemed to border on the nonsensical. It was easy to see that salvage and farming were the safe constants for the family, the steady and slow stream, but the rush of combat and quick paydays of mercenary work were hard to deny.

Jonathan knew he was going to have to make a decision and that it wouldn’t necessarily be a popular one. He wanted a life and family outside of fighting and it was within his grasp. However the decision was made for him when the Legion was ambushed in a trap on the border of Taurian/Davion space. Two members of the lance killed with mechs destroyed and Randolph’s Atlas nearly cored out leaving him paralyzed and barely alive. Jonathan scantly escaped in his Marauder covering their retreat, but the damage was done. McCord’s Legion was effectively finished in one battle. Rumors that their best days were behind them seemed to be confirmed and in the days and months following the defeat, the mystique surrounding one New Vandenberg’s oldest merc companies all but vanished. Jonathan along with his mother were left to sort out the tangled mess of Randolph’s business practices: a long line of handshake agreements, fast money and commitments that could no longer be satisfied. The thread that seemed to run common through all of it was debt and without the family patriarch at the reigns the whole balance would disintegrate.

There would barely be enough available capital to pay off the survivor debts from the Legion, ship fees and repair Jonathan’s Marauder. The complete refit and repair of Randolph’s Atlas was out of the question and would remain in its mangled state on the border of the family farm sitting alongside all the other salvage. The financial advisors made it clear: Selling assets would be the easiest way to settle up. Assets that would include the salvage company and the farm. Jonathan felt done with all of it, but he knew there was another way and if nothing else, he was going to keep the farm. The rest of it could be damned.

One man and one mech with little overhead made it easy to be the lowest bidder on a multitude of contracts, but the amount of work suited for such a combination were conversely, minute. For weeks Jonathan combed the listings for something until a niche contract popped on a small borderworld in the Andurien region of the Capellan Confederation: Protect a small number of key resources belonging to the Aqua Vitae Corporation. Travel expenses to be covered and a bonus to be paid in Neodymium upon successful completion of a set term. It seemed the locally wealthy needed some extra muscle protecting their property and thusly, Gulf Coast Recon was born and registered with the MRB to complete the task. The money from the contract would be enough to pay off his father’s debts, keep the farm and the bonus might even allow him to keep some of the more rare items from the scrapyard.

At present, Jon has been on Espia for around nine months operating in the south protecting AVC assets inland of Platform C around Yuzhny Portveyn and Nui Awa. What started as a relatively easy and mundane defense job rapidly became more complicated over the last few weeks and with his original contract period ending, Jon was ready to collect and get off system. Before the arrival of foreign mech forces and rapid dissolution of the Capellan puppet government, his AVC contact offered a payout on their original arrangement and a doubling of his existing rate in exchange for his continued service. His gut instinct warned him to take the money and leave, but he knew the extra cash could only help the family and the deluge of continued medical expenses for his father. Reluctantly he agreed to stay and less than a month later Balya Gora fell, effectively stranding him on the planet under contract.

Jon knows very little about the Green Knights other than what he has heard from the scattered remnants of the Capellan government in the south and the NPDRE propaganda machine. He has no opinion either way. AVC has been very good to him despite the volatile state of Espia, though he has his suspicions about the interworkings of their end of the planet’s political balance…

Battlemech

Marauder 3R - “Osceola”
A mostly standard 3R Marauder in appearance, the Seminole has some more inconspicuous field upfits to secure the traditional weak points around the torso and ensure the survivability of its most distinguishable feature in the autocannon. The AC5 has a slightly lengthened barrel for higher range and velocity to the deliver the round at a single point simultaneously when zeroed-in the with the PPCs. Most onlookers first notice it’s distinctive muzzle brake before noticing the barrel length.

There are few distinguishing markings on the mech, some more recognizable than others:

1. On the side of the AC5 mounting, in line with the barrel is a Kentucky Rifle with two feathers attached at the end. One white of the wild birds near Jon’s home on New Vandenberg and one in the rust red and brown colors of the Taurian Concordat.

2. On the opposite side of the torso, behind the cockpit is his quickly comissioned company logo for Gulf Coast Recon: A cartoon stylized river otter wearing a spec-ops helmet, night vision goggles and holding a short barrelled rifle. The motif below the image reads: “Eauxn the Night”.

3. On the left rear, in dull gray, less noticeable beneath one the mech’s large cooling pods is the McCord’s old salvage company logo: Periphery Salvage & Recovery, a tow hook in the shape of a crescent moon around three stars

Other notes:

Named for the ancient Terran warrior, Osceola of the Seminole tribe of southern North America. The naming harkens to a similar struggle against foreign invaders as the McCords of New Vandenberg. Often referred to as "Ossie'" for short by technicians, this 3R Marauder was a small side project for Randolph McCord in Jonathan’s youth, though not nearly flashy enough for him to pilot personally in battle. Jon has been around it and piloted it even before any weapons were installed. He adores it and wouldn’t drive anything else bigger or smaller.

With Jon’s neural input, many have remarked that the mech has an unusual swagger about its walk and movements, making it appear loose and flexible almost like a boxer. Jon likes the simple layout of the weaponry and the outward appearance is reflected in a rhythm he keeps over the controls and weapon groups, particularly in battle. While he normally stands off and fights to his strengths as a principle, he is known to use feints, twists, reversals and other movements to catch off-guard any unsuspected pilots that manage to get close to him.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

I N T E R L U D E

Western Mountains
Abandoned Neodymium Mines
March 31st, 3030

Jon set the helicopter down near an abandoned cabin in a small clearing. He hadn’t flown in a while, but the sense of balance across the cyclic, collective, pedals and the throttle was not a far cry from the requirements of a neural helmet. When they’d left Cassandra’s lake property, he’d taken it slow in order to stay safely under controlled airspace and thankfully the weather was agreeable enough that the visibility was acceptable for low level flight. By the time he sat the gear down on the soft grass, he was looking forward to flying it again. After a few minutes spent folding the rotors up, he staked down the machine and threw an olive drab cover over the slick AVC paint scheme. A few more equipment checks: rifle, sidearm, pack and belt before Cassandra handed him a map with the coordinates of several seismic sensors. She had brought along a pricey satellite GPS which was handy, but he still kept track of his compass bearing as they set off.

Wearing a hooded sweatshirt, loose fitting pants, gloves and hiking boots, Jon looked more like a woodsman than a mercenary. All of his equipment was well-worn from outdoor usage, from his clothing to his rifle. His hair curled out from beneath a very heavily weathered baseball cap that simply sported the GM logo and had molded itself to the shape of his skull through years of rain, sun, sweat and now Espian salt mist. Cassandra on the other hand looked like her entire ensemble had just come out of the box and consisted of expensive outdoor brands that made her look like she had just arrived from a catalog photoshoot. When they had first set out from the lake property, she’d examined his ensemble with her typical, critical air, but rather than being judgemental, she seemed at least minutely curious about selecting something that wouldn’t result in her freezing her ass off in the woods.

The terrain wasn’t overly treacherous for a cross-country ruck and the years of pine needles, foliage, moss and dirt gave way gently underfoot in many places after days of rain. There would be at least a few miles of steady walking to hit all the sensors efficiently and Jon was a little concerned at first about Cassandra keeping up, but she surprisingly moved along and complained little about the conditions. What she did talk about though, nearly non-stop, was a range of her favorite subjects: Fashion and gossip, her ex-husbands, AVC history, her two daughters, Capellan treachery, her Magazine, and finally Ben Kahale and the other turncoat board members, their drama, and how there would have been no need for any of this lunacy if they had all just listened to her. Jon walked along mostly just listening. Much of it he had heard before, several times. He’d been in her office and seen her chew out her subordinates. Being there had made him a bit of a curiosity, but the coffee was the best he had ever tasted and the food from the restaurant was phenomenal- He could have as much as he wanted of any of it. To top it off, the women that worked for Cassandra were some of the prettiest he had ever seen. It wasn’t all work on Espia he’d thought to himself occasionally. All he had to do was keep trespassers off of Cassandra’s zoned properties and in that work he was completely indiscriminate. FPA, NPDRE, CCAF, ABCD- whatever acronym they decided to ride under didn’t matter to his guns.

They walked on sometimes crossing over and sometimes staying on a few logging trails. Occasionally, Jon would motion for Cassandra to quiet down for a moment and listen like he had heard something out of place. She played along at first, seemingly wrapt in the intrigue, but after a while she began to realize sometimes her hired help was just messing with her. When she called him on it, he just snickered a little, shrugged and kept walking. What he did explain though, was that beyond the obvious story that the seismic readings told on paper: that the sensors were picking up an unusual amount of activity in the mountains, the real trail was in the the washed out tracks which would have been impossible to distinguish as the NPDRE and the Crimson Fists searched from the air and from the cockpit of a mech. The abandoned mines were a maze of possibilities, but he had a good hunch.

“How is your father doing?” Cassandra suddenly asked. The topic, for once not related to herself, immediately caught Jon’s attention.

“Still not good.” He replied. It wasn’t where his mind wanted to be, but he had made the decision to tell Cassandra about most of his reasoning for forming his “one-man” mercenary crew during their initial interview. Amazingly, she’d been surprisingly receptive in his desire to get away from fighting for a change.

It makes you genuine my dear, not just another hired savage I could have pulled from the MRB registry. I need real motivated people to work for me no matter what my business may be. Half of these little debutants in my office can hardly fold a sweater without a focus group. It’s exhausting. Was how she had explained it. Jonathan, I’m not a commander or a general, or anything like that, but I understand people and the use of force, whether it may come from the barrel of a weapon or from Hyperpulse message. The newcomers to this planet and the natives alike, underestimate me at their peril.

Once he had become a known commodity on Espia outside of the influence of the former Capellan government, their would-be replacements in the NPDRE and eventually Crimson Fists themselves. The offers began to come in for him to leave his contract with Cassandra and pick a side, but he’d ignored them all. He kept his commitments.

Another half mile to a bend in the logging trail that opened into a clearing bringing up flat grass and good shadows from the tree line. Jon stopped and looked around while Cassandra continued to talk. He exhaled a bit and without a word, slowly unslung his rifle and placed it on the ground before raising his hands.

“Jonathan, what are you doing?” Cassandra questioned sharply.

“Put your hands up.”

“Excuse me, what?”

There was movement from the tree line, two figures stepped out of the shadows weapons ready and moving quickly, a green patch visible on the sleeve. One held a shotgun. Cassandra immediately put her hands up. As they approached, she wiggled her nose to keep her sunglasses in position. There was never an excuse to not be fashionable.

“Smarter than you look, Jonathan.'' One of the soldiers said mockingly and picked up Jon’s rifle while the other kept his sights trained.

“I was waiting for y’all to come out.” The Green Knight began searching him as he spoke, immediately removing his sidearm and a large knife from his belt. “I got another one on my ankle” The soldier promptly rolled his pant leg up and tossed another handgun aside.

“Not wearing any colors, we coulda just put you down. There’s a war on ya know.” This time he removed a pack of cigarettes. Jon frowned.

“Not lookin’ for trouble.”

“Then what are you lookin’ for?” Another voice asked. A mountain of a man emerged from cover to their right, flanked by two more Knights with shotguns. His voice matched his presentation.

Jon watched them walk up from the corner of his eye. “I think I found it.”

Sergeant Dalton snorted amusement at the reply as one of the men handed him Jon’s rifle. Another attempted to very awkwardly search Cassandra. “Dear child, try not to over-indulge yourself.” She said in a tone that came away like a knife being pulled from a silk sheath.

Dalton looked over the rifle briefly. “Nice piece…” He said. “Where you from soldier?”

“New Vandenberg.” The reply came with an obvious air of pride and a smirk.

“Taurus.” Dalton patted his chest with the unofficial hand sign of the Taurian Defense Force.

“No shit?”

“Well, isn’t this lovely? I should have brought a picnic lunch for the happy reunion.” Cassandra piped in. “Now can we get down to business gentlemen?”

“Just out on a hike with granny?” Dalton said, ignoring her. Cassandra’s jaw nearly came unhinged.

“She’s not my granny, she’s my boss.”

“Oh, so it’s like that huh?”

The other Knights chuckled. Jon, still with his hands in the air, grimaced and shook his head.

“How did you find us?” Native camaraderie was set aside, Dalton wanted answers pronto.

“Followed the tracks.”

“Bullshit. Those tracks been washed out for days- How did you find us?”

A tension returned to the air at Dalton’s words. The Knights were well acquainted with the tone and a couple fingers moved over the trigger of their weapons.

“You got something heavy, I think a tank, with a damaged drive gear.” Jon replied, matching Dalton’s grim visage, soldier to soldier. “It cut an unusual track. You can see where the driver was fightin’ with it. Even after the rain, it’s there.”

Dalton seemed somewhat impressed. Some of the other Knights eyeballed the trail, studying the mud and shoulders for what Jon described. “Fair enough.” He said. “But how did you even know to come here?”

“I had an AVC map in my back pocket.” Jon nodded towards the infantryman holding it. “It’s layed out with the old mining complexes and a bunch of seismic sensors y’all have been runnin’ over.”

“And how’d you get a hold of that? Dalton arched an eyebrow.

“Because they belong to me.”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

I N T E R L U D E

Old Rose Hotel
Former Headquarters of Aqua Vitae Corporation
North Nui Awa
March 25th, 3030

There was never a time when the northern bank of the Tie Shan River was not picturesque. Stretching from the river itself out over hills to the mountains beyond, it was an explosion of painted eloquence all the way to the rocky horizon set in deep greens, tones of earth and on some occasions a whisping blanket of fog that moved so subtly, it looked as if it could be gathered in its excess to be given to some other world, perhaps where a creator had been less demure in their imagination. The view from North Nui Awa was particularly appealing, the city itself seemingly brushed into the landscape with centuries old architecture that was both tasteful, traditional- in the ancient Terran sense, and built to withstand generations of saltwater air. Within this enclave of spires, columns, archways and in many places, hand-placed stone cut by artisan engineers on the river bank centuries before, occupying a prominent bend in the river, was the “Old Tower” or the Rose Hotel, the original home of what had started as a meeting place for some of Espia’s most opulent families that eventually became the Aqua Vitae Corporation.

Over time as the business grew into an undeniable public utility, many in the company leadership moved to the modern construction of Balya Gora and a new tower near the spaceport that allowed for more direct oversight of the export of Neodymium from the mines- the true currency of Espia, and easier dealings with whatever of the Great Houses decided to plant their flag. However, a few remained behind and over the years, even fewer still as modernity encroached along with rest of the Inner Sphere, until only one remained; leaving the old boardroom, the penthouse executives’ level, the rich hardwood and the polished brass to the care and ownership of one Ms. Cassandra Jeong. Under her ownership part of the old hotel floors had been restored, reserved only for her personal guests, a posh restaurant and club occupied another floor while others hosted the local staff of AVC operations, rented spaces and a multitude of Cassandra’s other projects, most of which were overseen daily by people she had never met. When interviewed by the RIver Gazette, the local gossip column for both North and South Nui Awa, about her “waiting out” the other AVC board members to leave the Rose to herself she simply tipped her sunglasses and replied: “Patience pays, darling. Maybe you’d like to move in? If you can afford the rent. Maybe if you write for me, we could work something out?”

In that penthouse level, now Cassandra’s personal office suite, framed on two sides by the view of the Tie Shan River flowing into the distance, patience did pay, the same as it always had. However, the game was different now and different than the predecessors of her family had ever had to play. Of course the usuals, those lacking patience, or for that matter, fortitude had already opened their bed covers for the self-styled “NPDRE” and their lackeys the, “Crimson Fists”. Even a casual mention of the over-the-top mercenary company name caused a nearly involuntary eye-roll for Cassandra. Never could she allow herself to be aligned with such a revolting lack of style. As for her counterparts, if they had only listened to her and pooled their resources, the same as the AVC had done for generations, they could have presented a united front and an absolute bargaining position, but alas, knowledge wasn’t generational and intelligence didn’t pass down through the bloodstream. As her father often remarked: Wisdom doesn’t always come with age, sometimes dumb is forever.

An aide brought her coffee. Like everyone else in the office, the young woman was impeccably dressed. She presented the cup, prepared in the exact way it was required every day, at the exact temperature and placed on Cassandra’s desk at the exact moment it was expected. Seeing no reaction from Cassandra, other than continuing to look down through her glasses at a magazine article, the girl knew the delivery was satisfactory and backed away slowly. Another aide slipped through the doorway behind her and the two nearly collided, both quickled looked back at Cassandra, mortified at their clumsiness, but thankfully received no reaction other than a turn of the page. The newer aide quickly recomposed herself as the former hastily departed. She was unaccustomed to working directly for Cassandra and for a brief moment studied the various framed photographs behind her employer, the largest of which was magazine cover, simply titled SPHERE, featuring a dramatic wedding photo op of Melissa Steiner on her wedding day at Hilton Head Island.

“Do you have something to tell me, Angela?” Cassandra asked, not looking up. “Or did you just come to breath in front of me?”.

“I… ah, uh-um. I’m sorry Ms. Jeong,” The girl stammered, but quickly shook her head to regain her focus. “Mr. McCord reports that he’s in position.” Her tone clearly denoted that she had no idea as to the context of the message she was relaying, but seeing Cassandra look up somewhat piqued from her magazine seemed to indicate she was delivering good news.

“Ah, delightful.” She turned in her chair and waved a hand towards two large monitors. Of the numerous pieces of posh furniture and decorum, the two large screens were the only slightly modern looking set pieces. Taking the cue, the aide switched the displays on. One was a live news broadcast of the fighting in Yuzhny Portveyn while the other was a calm display that looked almost like a targeting screen with the word PASSIVE blinking in a lower corner. From different angles, both seemed to be focused on Putski Sports Complex. The frantic report of a newscaster came up immediately as the sound came on.

“Mute.” Cassandra said flatly.

The aid silenced the display with one quick motion. The report continued with images of burning buildings and towering smoke plumes as laser and ballistics were traded in rapid pockmarks of light and fire against the ruined cityscape. A ticker scrolled along the bottom of the screen.

“Darling, how far away are you now?” Cassandra asked aloud. She tilted her head slightly, gauging her own estimate on the scene.

There was a small delay as the message and the reply moved across several secure AVC owned networks. A man’s voice answered with some static in the line: “Two point three kilometers.”

Prompt, exact answers to her questions were so satisfying, Cassandra thought to herself. She leaned in a bit resting her chin inquisitively in one upturned palm, looking over the utter chaos continuing to develop on both screens as if she were sizing up a finely tailored dress. “Do you foresee any difficulty in retrieving our objective?”

“Negative.”

Cassandra began to speak, but the muted channel suddenly changed to a familiar visage, that of former Governor Xiu. His voiceless lips moved with the typical haughtiness for which he was well known. “One moment, dear” She said aloud towards the disembodied radio voice, watching the other display once more. On screen the Capellan governor prattled on, clearly in distress.

Volume…” Cassandra groaned with annoyance. The aide quickly obeyed.

...Malenkov has told you his thugs would march into Yuzhny Portveyn and crush us under their heel, but the rightful government of Espia remains resolute! As their discipline collapses, I stand strong, ready as ever to serve the people whom I dearly love.

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

The Espian Guard is falling back, half-starved and in disarray, thanks to the incompetence of their leaders, the corruption of their staff, and the cowardice of their soldiery. The only power they wield is intimidation, and when put to the test, they wither like dried leaves and scatter on the wind. Malenkov can bluster all he wants, but in the end, the true leaders of Espia will restore order, justice, and peace!

The screen shook as the former Governor dove away and Cassandra thought she caught a glimpse of the explosion that struck near the building on the other live feed. The newscast was delayed several seconds behind. However, the image of the man that passed over the camera right before the broadcast was cut caused Cassandra’s whole countenance to drop in unbelieving surprise. Her hand fell on the hardwood desktop and her ringed fingers wrapped a sharp thwack! against the lacquered grain dishevelling some of the files and papers in front of her. The aide visibly jumped as if it were a rifle shot. Cassandra rubbed her fingers over her forehead and sighed with annoyance. “Impossibly stupid man.” She shook her head examining the two screens again briefly. “Well, we must give Benjamin credit for loyalty…” She said, picking her phone up from the desk. Her fingers moved with exacting precision before putting the speaker to her ear, her face growing into a burgeoning scowl of annoyance around pursed lips. Her eyes cut over to the aide. “At least tell me that the helicopter is en route?”

The girl fumbled quickly for her datapad again. Cassandra began hearing the line ring on the other side. She sat back in her chair, preparing to give one of her infamous scoldings. The fact the call was into a warzone and to a fellow counterpart on the AVC board of directors was irrelevant.

“The helicopter is-” The aide began to report, but stopped suddenly as one of the displays suddenly flashed with a massive explosion that engulfed what looked like the entire Putski Sports Complex. A shockwave shook the camera feed as a towering plume of rolling dirty-gray smoke began to blossom up from the ground.

The call went to voicemail.

Both sets of eyes shifted to the news broadcast almost simultaneously, anticipating the delay. The angle was better, much closer. The explosion erupted once again, leveling the main complex in a flash of fire. The camera cut to static and then to a shocked news anchor back at the studio who seemed to mirror Cassandra and her aide’s expression through the screen.

“Mother of God…”

The smoke column continued to rise on the other screen and Cassandra realized her mouth was slightly agape. From the phone in her hand, Benjamin Kahale’s voice informed her, through a crisp professional tone, that he would respond to his voicemail at his earliest convenience. She continued to watch for a moment as the reporters on screen scrambled to continue the broadcast however another message message broke through hijacking the broadcast:

Declaration of the Heavenly Sword

PEOPLE OF ESPIA.

YOU HAVE SINNED AGAINST THE TRUE AND RIGHTFUL RULERS OF THIS WORLD.

YOU HAVE TURNED AWAY FROM THE WISDOM OF THE CELESTIAL THRONE.

FOR THAT…

…YOU ARE TO BE PUNISHED.

THIS IS WHAT REMAINS OF THE HEADQUARTERS OF GOVERNOR XIU.

OUR AGENTS HAVE STRUCK A RIGHTEOUS BLOW.

XIU WAS WEAK. HE WAS INCOMPETENT. HE BETRAYED THE CELESTIAL THRONE.

FOR THAT, GOVERNOR XIU IS DEAD.

BENJAMIN KAHALE WAS A BOARD MEMBER OF THE AQUA VITAE CORPORATION.

HE WAS A GREEDY, CORRUPT CAPITALIST WHO PROFITED FROM YOUR LABOR.

FOR THAT, BENJAMIN KAHALE IS DEAD.

CONSIDER THIS YOUR FIRST AND ONLY WARNING, PEOPLE OF ESPIA.

YOU MUST REPENT YOUR SINFUL WAYS.

THE NEW PEOPLE’S DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF ESPIA IS A SHAM.

THE CRIMSON FISTS ARE AGENTS OF A FALSE REGIME.

THE FREE PEOPLE’S ARMY IS A CONGREGATION OF HERETICS.

GAWAIN’S GREEN KNIGHTS ARE CAPITALIST SELL-SWORDS.

UNTIL YOU REJECT THESE FALSE POWERS,

AND RETURN TO THE LOVING EMBRACE OF THE CELESTIAL THRONE—

—THE ETERNAL WISDOM OF HOUSE LIAO—

NONE OF YOU ARE SAFE.

FROM THIS MOMENT ON,

THE HEAVENLY SWORD WILL CUT YOU ALL DOWN.

Cassandra looked over her desk slowly and took in a deep breath lacing her fingers together to gather her thoughts. Her eyes cut to a folder she had placed with a green tab among other fashion articles and gossip headlines from the Inner Sphere. She took another slow breath and let her shoulders relax, glancing over the office floor beyond her desk area. Her other staff continued on, undisturbed that there was a war on. Hands moved in conversations, phones rang, and the work continued. There wasn’t a single person on Espia that wouldn’t want to be in this building and in this room. For some reason the thought, a statement that she regularly told her new hires, crossed her mind.

“Call the helicopter back.” She said sternly. Her fingers wrapped another quick moment of contemplation on the desktop before she plucked the green-tabbed folder away from the others. She tucked it under one arm and began gathering her things together to leave the building. The aide seemed surprised and unsure what was happeneing Again, Cassandra looked back up at the one steady display. “Jonathan, I want you to meet me at the lake property tonight.”

The voice on the other side of the transmission seemed to ignore the breach in protocol. With chaos that had just unfolded, it was doubtful that anyone was listening. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya & Tarak

Tarak makes his way through the rabble-rousing that is happening throughout the cave. Their mission was a success, they gained supplies that would allow them all to survive longer. They acquired munitions that would allow them to start striking back. Even with those who had died, they gave the rest something they were unable to find, hope. Now many people here are able to live longer, they are able to fight longer, and they can finally think about something other than the cold and thirst. As Tarak moved through he chuckled and laughed with some as his eyes finally landed on Reya as he whistled and said, ”Heyo! Reya!” Tarak started waving to her to get her attention.

—

Having her name called was a pretty common occurrence since the raid. Can you take a look at this? What do you make of that? How does this work? Were the usual followups, or, her personal favorite: What is she drinking now? In relation to a certain mechwarrior. Reya turned from her work, inventorying some of the more valuable salvage brought back from the battle, at the sound of Tarak’s voice. She was fairly rested for once and Sunny was off playing with some of the other children. Other than being in a cave and having nearly been blown up several days ago, things were feeling a tiny bit normal. She arched an eyebrow in Tarak’s direction. “Yes?” It was easy work, but she feigned annoyance with him as he approached, chewing on the stylus to her datapad as if she were considering something more important.

—

Tarak saw Reya’s face and immediately realized that she seemed to have been doing something maybe important as her voice carried a similar weight. His face changed from that of happy to that that could be described as ‘yikes’ as if he might have screwed up, as Tarak made his way over he said, ”Ah, hey, Reya. It seems you were doing something important, sorry about that, but I do have something I think you’d be quite interested in”. As Tarak pulls the stereo out from behind his back with one hand while his other hand does a flared jazz hand. The Stereo look pretty good, it had a solid housing with an even magenta paint job as Tarak said, ”Tada!”

—

Seeing that he had taken her seriously was amusing. It didn’t take her long in her younger years to realize how easily she could manipulate people, particularly men. She eyed Tarak up and down briefly seeing that he appeared to be precariously off-balance from whatever he was trying to hide, so she stepped towards him to make his presentation even more awkward; like he had missed a step in a dance. Her head tilted a bit like she was examining a rookie astech and she leaned forward a bit. “Does it look important?” She could see the magenta edges of whatever it was which piqued her interest slightly. Giving him a modicum of an opportunity to improve his position, she stepped back slightly.

Well, someone’s been thinking about you, a lot. She thought to herself amidst a wave of his ridiculous “jazz-hand” reveal. The fact that he even included a tada! made it hard for her to even keep a straight face. “Don’t tell me you brought that back from the mission?" Then she instantly remembered the bizarre thumbs-up he’d given using Black Phoenix’s hand controls. “You did, didn’t you?" She couldn’t decide if she was impressed or flattered. If the Colonel knew a Mechwarrior had taken time to hunt for gifts in the middle of an operation, he would’ve had a heart attack. Still, she had to ask the next obvious question: “Does it work?”

—

Tarak saw Reya’s face change and thought he was in the clear as he loosened up. When asked, Tarak said, ”Yeah I got it on the mission. I pulled it from a vehicle and got some other parts and pieces for it while we were looking for supplies. Then when we got back I had Sammy go and rig it up with speakers, an internal power system so it can be charged, and then a housing with a new paint job so it doesn’t look trashy”. Tarak chuckled as he thought something similar to what Reya did, if the Colonel found out how much Tarak took for personal reasons, he’d probably die on the spot with the amount of brain hemorrhaging he’d have. As the final question came down as a smile came to his face as he said, ”I don’t know~, wanna find out?” As Tarak holds up the Stereo and then holds out a tape for her to put in, as the tape says, Classics.

—

“Uh-huh…" She regarded him as if she were listening to the tale of a child that had misbehaved on the playground. “...So you stole a stereo for me.” That was certainly a new approach. She gave him a look of some cautious amusement. At a closer glance, the “homemade” nature of the device was more apparent. The look of incredulity across her face was only half feigned and meant to make him even more embarrassed, but he persisted, which she liked. “You already know that it works,” She said. “You just want to be dramatic.” She plucked the tape from his hand, reading the label for a second before dropping it into the open deck. “This better be sappy love songs or I’m gonna be really disappointed, just sayin’” She said, mashing the play button.

—

And disappointed she was, it was not some sappy love songs, though it did cross his mind at some point for the hilarity. No, it was something much more on-brand, as when the tape was put in and the play button was hit the song began. Tarak began bobbing his head and getting into the music as he started lipsyncing with the music and playing an air guitar as he looked to Reya with a smile and tried to get her to start getting into the music the same way he did.

—

Technicians and staff of the Green Knights began to look as soon as the first riff hit out of the speakers, then others as the tempo picked up. It was louder than she expected. The regular sounds of tools and machinery had become so routine that the sound of music was foreign and drew instant attention. People were really starting to notice about the time Tarak broke into unashamed air-guitar and lip-syncing. Reya didn’t know the lyrics or the chords. She’d never heard anything like it, but her countenance was quickly burning flushed red as they had become the center of attention. “Oh my God! Okay-okay-okay!” She went to turn back what looked to be a volume control, but the switch was backwards causing the sound spike even louder before she frantically twisted it the other way. The other Knights were having a hearty laugh and shouts went up for Tarak to continue before Reya snagged him by the arm and led him away amidst even more whoops and hollers. “You are crazy!" She proclaimed, thoroughly embarrassed, but smiling broadly and trying not to laugh even more.

—

Tarak was getting into it as he saw more and more people show up, he was trying to seem as into as possible to get as many people into this/ As Reya seemed to get more and more flustered she tried to stop the music, yet it was too much and Tarak was left laughing as he was snagged and dragged away from the area by Reya. He saw the broad smile and proclamation of his craziness as he laughed out, ”Always have been”. As ocne they finally made it away from the source of the commotion Tarak was still laughing as he said, ”So, it seems like it works. Like it?”

—

“Yes,” Reya replied, shaking her head. and still laughing a bit. "You did surprise me.” She looked down at the rudimentary digital display, blinking slightly under Tarak’s grip before she realized she was still holding onto his arm and stepped away somewhat awkwardly. She made a small production of straightening up her jacket and crossed her arms like she was recomposing herself. “Well, it’s a good thing you pilot your mech better than you perform as a singer.”

—

Tarak chuckled slightly as he saw the little display of Reya trying to recompose herself before speaking once more. Tarak laughed as he said, ”Dang I thought that would have been my big ticket. Guess I’ll have to figure something else out”. Tarak shrugged after saying that as he then said, ”I am thankful that you do like it, I know things are hard. But it’s the little things, you know?” Once he said that Tarak tossed Reya a small smile.

—

Reya’s glance narrowed slightly at the sudden contrasts in Tarak. When it was just the two of them, he seemed hesitant and unassertive, but in front of others he was animated, unafraid of embarrassment. The court jester approach was cute and entertaining, however she had people competing for her attention all the time. Hopeless suitors, even in their current situation, tried their best to impress, seemingly unperturbed by the gravity of their struggle for survival. The gift was definitely useful and unique, but she liked the more debonair Tarak. The one that took her hand as she stepped from the bottom of a scaffold and could read when she’d been upset and lonely. The confident mechwarrior was what she wanted, not the stereo salesman.

She eyed him closely for a moment, knowing the right words would do the job and that no one else was listening. “I’m not worried about that stuff, Tarak.” She said, looking him in the eyes. Her glance was as piercing as a PPC bolt and her tone matched it. “What I want is for you to go out there and kill them.” She tilted her head only slightly after the words, watching his reaction. “Kill them that did this to us, all of them... With your mech, or with your gun…” She retrieved the stereo from his grasp like she was accepting something that had never belonged to anyone else, as if it were her rightful property. “...Or with your hands, whichever…”

—

Tarak had a smile on his face as he was there, yet he felt the atmosphere shift. Reya seemed to have wanted something, something from him, as her eyes told him what she thought, while her words told him what he needed to know. Tarak’s expression changed almost without thought his stance changed as his full height seemed to have been diminished before. His eye sharpened from the soft crescents they made from his smile to that of complete focus. Giving his eyes the look as if they pierce through what they landed upon.

Once Reya took hold of the stereo, it was hers’, so Tarak let go of it for her to take it as once she finished he responded, his smirk never wavering, ”Of course. It never crossed my mind to allow them to liv-e”. As Tarak reached over to Reya lightly as he brushed some of the hair that fell to her shoulder before saying, ”-You don’t have to worry about that”. As Tarak’s head tilted as he threw her one last smile as he began leaving and said with a wave, ”If you want to, you can come by anytime, I have plenty of tapes that would love another set of ears to listen to”. Now as Tarak waved and walked away without looking back, his face was cold, almost as if completely focused on something. He needed to blow off some steam as he could feel the tension building in his back. He felt his anger rising as he was just reminded of something from Reya, the Fire Witch got away.

@Th3King0fChaos

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya & Raven

Hidden within a small box of treasures that managed to escape with her in the Green Knights retreat from the capital and stored in a place she knew no one would ever find- because some would indeed be looking; bright white, rolled crisply and never folded, handmade with pure linen, was one of the Green Knights’ most unorthodox, but well-known accompaniments, the vaunted, Engineer Reya Wyatt tablecloth. Having just had another shower, her hands were clean as she unraveled it, but not before breathing in the still clean scent of the fabric and for a moment being a table to just taste a glimmer of home and civility. She looked at it, knowing it would soon lose its fragrance and cleanliness, but rather than letting it lose its luster slowly stored away, she decided it was time. The Knights’ spirits were still high from the success of the raid. There was plenty of food and water to go around and certainly no shortage of alcohol either. Work on the mechs had them nearly ready for another sortie. Over her one small table outside of the small area she and Sunny shared, Reya carefully let the fabric settle. The subtle, hand-stitched gray threads of a Kuritan Dragon curling through clouds fell nicely over the round surface. For a moment she allowed herself to just look at it and let her mind travel light years away to another place.

There were two places set. One for Sunny and one for herself. She had one extra chair that would likely belong to Pops if he decided to stop by. He liked to pretend that he was too rough and tumble for a proper sit down, but Reya could tell that some form of proper femininity took his heart back through memories long gone. For Sunny, it was at least a small sliver of what might have been considered “normalcy” and how families set themselves together for a meal. She thought about Lena and the missing chair.

Naturally the meal itself wasn’t quite the exposition as the cloth it sat over. Sergeant Dalton assured her, after his many years in the field, that the “Terra Prime Adventure Meals” MREs were shockingly tasty. Reya could see Sunny instantly turning her nose up and was thinking up various creative descriptions she could use to sell the meal to a ten year old. Admittedly however, she was having a hard time convincing herself to experience something called “biscuits and gravy” alongside “chicken fried rice”, beef stroganoff and assorted freeze-dried fruits and granola. One eyebrow arched as she looked at the package. On a positive note, thanks to the Espian Guards, there was evaporated milk for the tea though it was still served in barbaric tin cups. Still overall, it was forming into a surprisingly quaint scene and she couldn’t deny her love for some of the old ways. She looked at her watch as it would soon be time to put the call out for Sunny and set the meals to their quick cook time before she placed the last two items on the table: Diego’s Marauder action toy, which had simply become something of an unspoken set piece and finally, two volumes of Comstar Scholastic Press Primer - Grade 6. Lena had done her best to tutor her younger siblings and Reya often tried to help. Hilariously, and to no surprise, neither one of them proved to be the most effective instructor. In the time since the escape and the raid, Reya hadn’t been able to keep Sunny’s schooling up and with the work on the mechs being ahead of schedule, she felt like it was at least time to try.

Stealing a few brief moments to herself, Reya picked up one of Sunny’s issues of Never-Ending Hearts Revolution and started thumbing through the pages.

---

Reya could hear footsteps coming closer to her; booted feet from a younger man than Pops. It was Raven Rivers, his face still unsmiling and eyes still turned downwards, while his mouth opened and closed again, before he reached where Reya was and forced a smile for her sake, before asking, “Hey, do you have a spare seat? I know that one is for Pops…”

---

Seeing Raven was a surprise. Ever since the retreat from the capital and his family being captured, he was not himself, or at least not as she had known him in her time with the Green Knights. After the raid he effectively had made himself into a sort of pariah among the crews. She looked at him for a moment, sitting at her ornate table display and before anything else, could hear the words of her father instantly talking to her from her childhood: Never kick a man when he is down. Honor must dictate. It was the Dragon’s way. She couldn’t imagine what Raven had to be going through and the fact that he had found his way to her, meant that he wanted to talk to someone other than another mechwarrior or a soldier. Her hand motioned to the open seat. “It’s fine, I think he’s busy, sit down if you like. Tea?”

---

“Thank you,” Raven said as he casually sipped it, before saying, “You know, Andrew really liked you. He’s a fine kid; always wondering why the Colonel was always so ‘sharp’ with you. Then again, he was four when we left House Davion’s service…”

He chuckled and continued, “Katrina once scolded Andrew when he said he wanted to marry you, both because you were beautiful and because he wanted your noble title. Let’s just say I was glad not] to be at the end of that death glare.”

A half-sob escaped his lips as he said, “They’re going to be killed, I know it. Katrina, Andrew, I’ll never see them again, Reya. I’ll never see them again…”

---

Reya was happy to see him accept her offer for tea and very daintily filled his tin cup in the proper way while thinking in the back of her mind how Ziska would make fun of her absolute love affair for proper dining edicate. Having an unexpected guest as soon as she rolled out the fine linen seemed like a sign of good luck. She set Sunny’s book aside and just let him talk. It was clear he had a lot on his mind and with his family gone, essentially had no one left to confide in. She gave a small shrug when he mentioned nobility. Everyone assumed so much that she was some kind of royalty, but within the Combine, hers was just another wealthy family, not even part or related to the lineage of the Coordinator. It was easier to just let them believe it and a small part of her liked the idea of royal titles.

It was no surprise that he was about to break down and some part of her knew it was probably for the best for everyone in the squad for him to let it out. She thought of herself, having her own moment in Ziska’s Raven when no one was looking. At the time there was nothing anyone could have said to console her, it just had to pass. She considered her words to at least try and build him up: “I already lost my best friend and I’m still here…” She said softly. The words came out more tenderly than she expected, but her thoughts flashed with images of Lena. Again she looked at the empty chair for a moment. “I even went on the mission… We don’t know what will happen, but I know you’re tougher than me.”

---

Raven chuckled again, before saying, “Don’t sell yourself short. I may be a big tough guy on the outside, but to tell you the truth, I’ve been getting ‘sicker’ since our time on the fringes of the ‘Marian Hegemony’. Remember that time they almost got near our civilian contingent that one time? And that other time they managed to cut off a shipment of vital medicine and Andrew’s best friend during that time died?”

He then sighed and said, “I had nightmares about the Marians - Those Pseudo-romans - getting to the civilian contingent and enslaving everyone. Of Katrina being… used while Andrew grows up in bondage, his spirit crushed before it truly grew. Now those nightmares are gone but replaced with something new.”

Another sob wracked him, before he continued, “I’m not a bad father. But I am a bad person. I’ve blundered so badly that I might end up breaking from the strain. The enemy lacks mercy, kindness, compassion, and they still regard themselves as the ‘good guys’. And I let myself get egged on by their trash talk, and now they’re going to find some way of using that against me - If they find out who exactly my family are...”

Then Raven shifted subjects, “Andrew also wanted to marry Ingrid, but my behavior as a bad squadmate probably made that beyond impossible instead of ‘impossible’...”

---

Reya winced a bit at the thought of an arranged marriage of anyone to Ingrid. The subject of arranged marriage was something which she was certainly acquainted. “I suspect they’re more bitter now after losing one of their mechs to us,” She glanced over at Ziska’s Raven on the other side of the cave. “A pretty expensive one too…” There was some satisfaction in her voice, but it trailed off a bit as she again thought about the matching cannon on the Merry-Go-Round and the Crimson Fists’ Hunchback then the haphazard supply depot the Espian Guards had so easily folded on, now ruined. She could see their twisted forms after Sergeant Dalton’s men had erupted on them like a vengeful fire of buckshot and solid slugs. The images stayed with her, though she had quickly forced herself to look away. “I’m not sure everything going on here is what it seems to be.” She said, looking back at Raven. “Maybe I’m crazy, but just call it a woman's intuition.

---

Raven looked her in the eyes, nodded, and said, “I’m not completely blind; I know for sure that there are greater players out there manipulating the scenes. If Andrew were here, he’d confidently say that this coup was probably sponsored by a neighboring stellar power as a ploy to steal a planet from the Cappellans…”

---

Reya sipped at her tea cup, watching Raven’s reaction to what she’d said. It seemed like she’d managed to at least get him to start thinking like a leader again while some broken part of her was scoffing at the entire exchange. A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have been near as gentle with the man, but her whole world was turned upside down and there were pieces of her “old self” lying all over the place within her psyche. The part of her that was deftly accustomed to manipulation to get what she wanted was being eclipsed by another part that had shockingly realized what was actually important in life. Raven’s situation had become swifty relatable to the latter. She refilled his cup. “You know, you’re my first unexpected dinner guest.” She said, smoothing a slight wave in the linen cloth. “I think that’s a sign of good luck.”

---

The response was a smile and a quip, “I don’t think everyone else would regard me as lucky.”

---

Reya gave a small shrug and a smirk in return, tipping her cup back at Raven. “Then you’re welcome.”

---

Raven smiled wider and mimicked Reya’s gesture, tipping his cup back at her before saying, “Anyway, on the subject of whoever is backing the ‘Democratic People’s Republic of Espia’... What are the nearest powers to this planet again? I don’t think we’re so far away from the Marian Hegemony, sad to say…”

---

Reya shook her head as mentioned the “nearest powers”. It just sounded so pedestrian, like there was a nice picket fence between them. The expression was the difference between their cultures in a nutshell, she thought to herself. Raven came from the Federated Suns. In the Combine, the “nearest powers” were the enemy, period. She could think of better terminology for some of the other “Great” Houses, but for the moment she had at least succeeded in getting Raven to go from sobbing to smiling in fairly short order. So smart, Reya. You could have been a therapist too! A passing voice commented in the back of her mind.

“It’s not that simple, I’m sure we’re dealing with something, or maybe someone else, more subversive.” She said, leveling a bit of authority back into the conversation. When she got a twinge of intuition her mind moved like a guided missile. “The only thing valuable on Espia are the Neodymium mines… There’s nothing else here other than jump points and the HPG.” Her expression narrowed a bit. She had another thought go out on a tangent, but stowed it quickly. Some things she would have only confided in Lena or maybe Pops. “Everybody involved, at least so far, hates the Capellans, and us specifically by extension… but they won’t show who they really are…” She looked at him, dead in the eyes, her countenance uncharacteristically dark at the thoughts that came up behind her words: “These Espian Guards? They’re a joke. I saw what Sergeant Dalton’s men did to them in the raid. They barely put up a fight. Some of them even looked glad to surrender to us…They were terrified.” She leaned forward. “Did you know when the ‘Boys swept the admin office of that depot they found a Captain that had shot himself? A Captain. Right before we got there.” She tilted her head slightly to drive the question: “Does that make any sense to you? What was he so afraid of?”

---

Raven arrived at a conclusion instantly, but without jumping to it, if it made any sense, “The puppetmaster. The ones behind the Crimson Fists and the New Regime. Maybe the Crimson Fists are connected with the puppetmaster or potential mysterious benefactor who wants the Neodymium mines?”

---

Reya shrugged and relaxed some back into her chair. “I’m sure it’s a piece of the puzzle, maybe not even the main piece.” She took another small sip and replayed the thoughts in her head for a moment. Her memory was nearly perfectly photographic as she recalled the drone zipping up and down the lines of containers taking pictures and video at rapid speed. “When we were on the mission, I had my drone take a lot of pictures for the intel squad.” She sighed tiredly as she thought about it. “We’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to look at them myself, but I’m going to.”

---

Raven nodded and asked, “Want another pair of eyes to help analyze it? I want to do something more useful than whining and getting angry all the time… Which will happen again once the enemy finds out who exactly my family are and harms them because of my psychotic breakdown or finds some other way of making me look like a frothing berserker, which I was during that time.”

His next question was, “Also, we need to know the official propaganda line of the current regime as regards the attack on their supply lines, or do you guys already know that but I’m just left out of the loop?”

---

Reya recoiled a bit at Raven’s prognostications. His self-centeredness was revolting. “Raven, listen to yourself, you can’t be like that. This company, these people who are still alive here cannot afford it.” She wanted to drive the nail. There were plenty of others who didn’t have the title Mechwarrior in front of their names on the roster that had family killed or captured just the same, herself included, but she remembered her father’s words again and stayed the hammer. “And for God’s sakes, let the Colonel worry about propaganda lines and what not. There is nothing you can do to influence any of that.” She shook her head a bit, trying to remain thoughtful with him though her hands were becoming a little animated. “You are one of the most experienced people we have with one of our best mechs. Get your head in the cockpit and fight the enemy.” She said. “You have all the power and talent you need for that and I know you have more discipline than what these dregs have managed to bring out in you,” Some part of her became keenly aware that she was sounding a lot like the Colonel and wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that in the middle of a conversation. “So it’s time to be a leader again, yea?

---

A Leader. Raven had never thought of himself as one; had let his own skills in that direction atrophy during his time in the Green Knights, but at the same time… He knew Reya was right. He had a streak of self-centeredness which can screw over the Green Knights - who were friends and also family - in the future if it continued to rule him.

He smiled again and said, “A leader. Been a long time since anyone relied on me to do any of that.”

I could do it if I can get over myself. I can do it if I can get over my emotional myopia; the near-sightedness which makes me see only me, Katrina, and Andrew as the only ones important. So his next words were, “Everyone has flaws; you just called me out on mine. Very well, if you trust me that much… Time for me to prove you right.”

The egotism, perhaps even arrogance, was still there. But it was subliminated into a confidence in his skills, into a desire to prove that he was what Reya thought he was. He wasn’t blind to the mix of flattery and force the engineer had brought to bear, but he wasn’t overly cynical about it either - He knew she was sincere.

He got up and said, “Time for me to blow off some steam; the whiny angst I just showed won’t fully go away unless I’ve had a good spar or simulated battle. Want to help me find a sparring partner if, say, Tarak isn’t available?”