Pilatus

~ Welcome to Sanctuary ~

Pretty much down for anything. I'm going to be traveling tomorrow but will have my phone and laptop with me. If you are on the Guild discord, feel free to PM me there if you want a faster response.

~ Welcome to Sanctuary ~

Probably wouldn't hurt to start a discord to do some plotting, unless we just want to keep the thread bumped.

~ Welcome to Sanctuary ~

Did slice of life on this site exclusively for over 4 years straight. No need for aliens or murderers. The plots that form organically among the players are what makes it fun.

Small Town Slice of Life RP

Real tempted for this. You wrote with us back in the Sol City days.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

The autoloader dropped in another AC5 slug with the muffled, yet satisfying clang of the magazine pushing the next round into place right behind Jon’s shoulder. He shifted a little in the straps and the machine beneath him reacted with his neural input, shifting its armored shoulders and weapon-laden gauntlets slightly like a fighter staying loose in his stance. The difficult tracking shots on the technicals earlier had been a healthy warmup so much so that putting rounds into the suspension of the massive, slow moving, Gonggong was like shooting at a barn door. Shot after shot, steel and energized particles striking as one. He was feeling his oats and every trigger pull was hitting like a fastball hitting the catcher’s mitt tearing into the unarmored suspension and heavy gearing. The temperature in the cockpit built up heartily and outside the massive turbines on the back of the Marauder’s insectoid body whirred angrily, distorting the smoky air with dissipated heat. Having spent a vast swath of his life piloting Ossie, Jon knew where the gauge was without looking. The next volley put him right on the edge of shutdown and Bitchin’ Betty’s digitized voice calmly noted as much in his helmet, but he held his rhythm briefly watching Sergeant Dalton lead the APCs alongside the train.

There was an odd twist in the lead car and the whole train shifted trajectory as the Knight’s APCs went out of view behind it and the giant train veered off the road and started plowing angrily across the open landscape as if it were trying to steer clear of the mech lance and take the most direct route possible towards the dam regardless of terrain. Jon reckoned whoever was driving must’ve been bodied by Dalton’s troopers or had locked the controls on the new path or both. The colossal machine pressed forward doggedly dragging the mangled undercarriage and carving out waves of earth and stone beneath it. For the first time, Jon really thought it looked like something mythical and he could feel his adrenaline surge at the prospect of possible death. When the satchel charges erupted, he felt himself a little bit jealous of the Knight’s infantry, climbing on the side of what was probably the Inner Sphere’s biggest suicide bomb and throwing down with a bunch of fanatics at close quarters. He smirked a bit at their sheer refusal to lose and equally fanatical boarding action. When a turret popped up, aiming down the line at the third car to harass the ‘Boys, he zipped an AC5 slug right over the top of the train’s hull, decapitating the position like plinking a beer can off a tractor fender and he felt satisfied that he had made up for missing the dirt bike earlier.

“Copy that, Buckshot. Lead car is danger-close.”

Now that the location of the bomb had been determined, it was essentially open-season on the lead car and the bellow of the Von Luckner’s main gun signaled the end of the Knights’ patience with the Heavenly Sword. With its new heading, the land train had shown them a full broadside and the tank’s salvos smashed into it like mighty swings from a car-sized sledgehammer. Jon followed the tankers’ fire with his medium lasers, giving his heat sinks a chance to catch up and cutting into where the undercarriage had been opened up. His thumb dabbed at the AC5’s singular trigger, putting in another round every time the reloader cycled behind him. Being a precision shooter, he couldn’t come close to matching the broad swaths of damage dealt by the AC20. When the heat had fallen off enough, he looked quickly for something more exposed to make his next combined shot hit for more than the shredded linkage the Von Luckner was tearing off. Large chunks of hastily attached armor and debris were flung away as the machine’s sheer momentum began to destroy it as much as the combined fire of three mechs and a tank. Gonggong plowed hard into a small depression then nosed up sharply again on the subsequent rise as if breaking a wave, showing its dirt-caked and smashed underside for a moment. The frame twisted slightly with the impact and Jon flicked the reticle under the dark shadow of the suspension, unsure of what he might have been aiming at, if anything important at all, and loosed a salvo straight into the belly of the lead car.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya & Ingrid

The earlier disruption had thrown off Ingrid’s attempt at acting natural, as much as she tried to course correct. She would’ve been better off forgoing the previous casual air, trying to act like she was enjoying all of this, and instead just acted cool and collected. Instead, uncertain after her partner’s own unpleasant break, she was off in a way that didn’t take much of a trained eye to read through. Ingrid was now on edge.

It would’ve been much harder if their contact’s hair wasn’t lit up like a flare. Working her way past the drunks and the tired, she heard a call from one of the tables - a local lad making some comment about warming up next to her. She was still visibly suffering from the cold more than the locals were, yes, but she held her tongue and made no rebuke in return. She sat next to the woman with a smile.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

-----------------------

The shock of the roughly etched message that had been left behind was still pulsing through Reya’s mind as they entered the ’Diamond; however as the image displayed itself again and again in her consciousness, her initial apprehension had begun to fade rapidly. Her rational mind was taking over, pushing away the cloud of sorrow that had followed her ever since the Knights had fled from Balya Gora. All those nights working alone and unable to sleep, all the distractions she’d put in front of herself to try and move on, all the tears and grief she’d held back to look strong and the times she couldn’t- It was a chapter of her life that was over, DONE. Lena was alive. Sunny was right. With every step, she could feel a growing well of affirmation burning up from her heart. A small voice clamored that maybe it was some coincidence, or some sick scheme of their enemies in the Espian Guard. Maybe they had found the sign on some captured equipment and just splayed it everywhere because they thought it was cool, but that notion was quickly silenced. Her rational mind had evidence. With evidence she could build a conclusion. The chances of anyone else copying that coded language so perfectly were next to zero and the chances of them putting it somewhere with the intention of it being seen were even more remote. Lena was out there, not far from this place. Reya knew her friend could take care of herself. It was just a matter of time now. She could feel a welling smile growing and she had to fight to restrain it. They were still on the mission. She did her best to channel it as confidence and it wasn’t hard. The wave of positive energy made her feel strong and smart. She was ready.

On the other hand, incontrovertible proof that one of their fellow mechwarriors was still alive and trying to communicate didn’t seem to mean a lot to Ingrid any more than recovering a lost family pet. It was more like a mildly amusing inconvenience and she seemed more annoyed that the unexpected revelation had caused her strategy of forced composure to be derailed. Reya was unperturbed though and walked behind her through the bar with a gliding step among the professional drunks, ogling soldiers and wistful older men like she was nineteen again. The fact that the woman described in Lena’s message, that was correctly interpreted, was also right there in plain view, just put a button on Reya’s whole vibe. It was amusing watching Ingrid go straight after the prize without question, though subtlety wasn’t exactly her partner’s strong suit. Reya sat down quietly next to her and gave the barman the local sign for “two” using her index and little finger. The sharp but playful look in her eye meant “nothing cheap” without her having to speak. It was a glance she honed over time that seemed to involuntarily cause people, particularly men, to start doing what she wanted. A bottle of the more rare Timbiqui branded wine was produced in a tasteful ice bucket along with two glasses and placed before them.

-----------------------

“Ohmygod, it’s been for-ever!” Stiletto played along, letting the newcomers lead for now. She’d been overly eager last time, scaring off a potentially big catch, and been reprimanded for it. This time, she’d let them tell her what they wanted before playing her cards.

The first of her guests had established the premise that they were acquainted, and by phrasing it as a question, now put the onus on Stiletto to keep the ruse going. This put her on the back foot, giving the guest a slight edge. She had underestimated the two newcomers; despite the momentary break in her composure, the first had recovered without a hitch. If she hadn’t spent years training her perception to pick up on small details at a glance, she might not have ever noticed that the visitor was out of her element to begin with.

As the server placed drinks in front of the two guests, Stiletto raised her own in a toast. Rather than be sly and propose a toast loaded with connotations, she played it safe with a simple “Cheers,” and took a long sip from her powerfully sour cocktail. With the opening pleasantries out of the way, she began. ”I’d heard you were in town; how’s everyone been?”

It was an innocuous enough question, one that they could choose to read into or not. While Stiletto was reasonably sure she was correct that the newcomers weren’t alone, she had to confirm it.

This initial stage was always tricky, measuring up your mark. Figuring out how much they know without giving away too much yourself. Don’t give them enough, and they lose interest. Give away too much, and you lose leverage. Come on too strong, and you scare them off like she had done with the previous visitor. Stonewall them, and you never get anywhere. The girl who had come in the other night caught onto the fact that she was using Spacers’ Cant. Maybe one of these two could talk the talk as well.

”Didn’t know you’d gotten a taste for cold Timbiqui wine,” she remarked at the visitors’ drinks. ”I always thought you preferred something more fruity. Something like peach tea, right?”A couple of bits of ancient slang tied together, a few different dialects of the cant from various regions of the Periphery. All of which roughly translated to “you’re here looking for information, aren’t you?”

-----------------------

Ingrid’s eyes caught on the drink as it sailed towards them, and she just couldn’t seem to pull them away for a moment. Though nowhere near the shock to the system that Reya had just experienced, it was like she had seen her own apparition: Timbiqui…the instigator of many terrible things. If there was a reason for someone to get wasted in her presence, it was probably due to its insidious influence. Hell, that ‘businessman’ she mentioned earlier probably ended up in his position because of his love of the brewery! It was hard to find an upper end bar, or just about any place that served military folk, that didn’t carry a bottle or two hailing from that planet in Lyran space.

Stiletto was inadvertently right though. Ingrid preferred fruitier things. Her attention ripped back to the conversation at hand after that little drip down memory lane, and to get things out of the way she popped off the cork of the drink without much trouble and poured one out for herself and Reya. It was in a way that suggested a little less familiarity with the bottle and its nuances, with how she briefly struggled to place her fingers along the back edge to make the pour go smoothly, but whether this warranted attention wasn’t clear.

“Yeah, no, seriously,” she said at the tail-end of her pour, “things have been wild lately. We’ve had, what,” she looks at Reya briefly, “a lot more business than usual, I’d think? At least for this time of year. We’re barely able to keep up with demand, just us and a few dozen employees.” She pushed the bottle back into the ice. “Sooner than later, we’re going to need a leg-up if we’re gonna expand off Espia.”

She managed to sound natural enough, though she was basically reading from a script. Her eyes came into contact with Stiletto’s for a moment as she asked about the drink, and for a split second she really was prepared to answer with her real preference - she was from just far enough away from the Periphery border to miss the subtext, though she figured something was up still.

“There’s always a time for trying out new things,” she managed to get out, before looking to Reya for salvation.

-----------------------

Something about knowing that Lena was alive was rapidly uniting the two identities Reya had seen in the shop window only a few minutes before they had entered the ‘Diamond, however the product being reassembled in the back of her mind was going to be different than the parts that formed it. She could feel it in her gut. Lena’s message had indicated that the contact spoke in code, which Reya could accept given the circumstances and Ingrid had done a good job of getting the conversation started, but for some reason, once the careful exchange had begun, the entire nuance and overly-cutesy theater left her with a nagging feeling of revulsion. Irreverent was the first descriptor to come to mind and she hid it as naturally as she properly held the wine glass by the stem while Ingrid uneasily poured. Having grown up under the strict adherence to traditional customs associated with dining and libations, sitting properly for a faux, by-chance, “business” meeting while keeping a straight face was effortless.

“Our cost per hour has never been better, it is true.” She said, picking up Ingrid’s segway. It was easy to say because it was completely accurate. Employees working as a matter of survival were obviously more productive than those working by the clock. She had encountered enough of her father’s business associates to emulate how they spoke: The haughtiness of salesmen and the tedium of production engineers. She was naturally partial to the engineers and efficiency mechanics, but it all felt so inconsequential now. People were dying. The Knights were presently trudging through centuries old underground tunnels to stay ahead of a malicious enemy that was actively hunting them night and day while others were languishing in a fortified prison. Reya didn’t want subterfuge and fake pleasantries with a stranger, she wanted blood. The sentiment was burning behind her cool glance of semi-feigned professional acumen, but the line of thought had given her an idea to test the chops of their contact herself. “In the interim, we’ve had to temporarily expand into a larger facility,” She continued, a slight arch in an eyebrow forming towards Stiletto. “but it’s not easy when your competition doesn’t have to play by the rules.”

-----------------------

At the mention of expanding to larger facilities, Stiletto raised an eyebrow, a small but noticeable slip in her composure. Everything she had been reading indicated that the Green Knights were hanging on by a thread. Sure, they had raided an NPDRE supply depot, but out of desperation. If they had access to larger facilities, they may have gotten new backing. Still, if they were sending out operatives in the hope of a chance encounter, they were likely still in a tight spot. She still had leverage, and could use that to her advantage.

”Well, you know what they say,” Stiletto said, commiserating over the competition, ”if it weren’t for double standards, there’d be no standards at all. I’ve got some friends who’ve been doing some similar work down south, and they’d run into the same sort of snags.”

This was dangerously close to tipping her hand too much– anyone listening intently might hear about this ‘work down south’ and connect it with the fighting in Yuzhny Portveyn. A risk, but a necessary one, Stiletto believed, if she were to steer the conversation in the direction she’d hoped for. ”They’re in more or less the same business,” she continued, ”but a slightly different approach. They’re not so big on hardware, so they focus more instead on people-based solutions. Right now their competitors dominate the market, but they’ve got the numbers to make a difference. They just need that one big breakthrough product.”

A sly smile crept onto Stiletto’s face, as if a wild idea just crossed her mind. ”You should really meet my friend Mary K,” she said, her eyes and smile growing more enthusiastic with each word. ”You guys have so much in common– ohmygod, I can’t even imagine the kind of trouble you’d get into together.”

-----------------------

Though largely on the back foot, Ingrid did pick up on that bit of forwardness from Reya. It was welcome; she couldn’t imagine holding up much longer with this level of indirectness. Still, it passed by mostly well - these people had plenty of manpower, but not the materiel needed to make more decisive strikes. Just that alone made the possibility of partnership seem like a perfect match. However, she made a real stumble for once, though it wasn’t the end of the world - once the name came up, she briefly looked like a deer in the headlights as she tried to place the name Mary K to someone, like it was a name she was supposed to already know. She still smiled right after.

“Really? Well, shoot,” she said, her accent coming on a little stronger and rendering it more as ‘schüt’. “I’m not really the wildest girl, you know. We’re pretty serious about our hardware business; that kind of, what, ‘young gun’ attitude isn’t going to cut it. It’s a transitional period, we’re looking to expand, taking a risk on an unknown, you see…”

“...unless she happens to be really good at her job.”

-----------------------

”Her whole team’s capable,” Stiletto nodded, ”Just running into the same difficulties as your team. But they’ve got vision, and they’ve got big plans for renovation. And what they lack in hardware, they make up for in manpower and in logistical solutions, particularly when it comes to thriving in an asymmetrical market. You’d be pretty impressed at how much they can get done with their unconventional approach. And the best part is? They’re all locals, so they know the market, they know the neighborhoods, the proverbial lay of the land.”

Once again, she likened the conversation to fishing. It wasn’t enough to cast out the line and expect a big fish to throw itself on the hook. You had to make the bait look enticing, let the fish come and nibble at it for a moment, only pull on the line once you’ve gotten a bite. Of course, in such a competitive climate, they’re a little skeptical about doing any collaborations she added, ”I mean, who wouldn’t be? Still, I think Mary K might be down to chat if she thinks you’re on the same wavelength.”

-----------------------

Reya was unimpressed with the cliched remark about standards. Such a canned expression wasn’t the language of a high level player. This woman presented this character for money or protection or maybe both; It was a cover for others that could not operate in the open, plausible deniability. Whatever the case, she wasn’t mining Espia’s dive bars for free and whoever the benefactor was, was the person they really needed to be talking with. She kept dangling the identity of this “Mary K” figure who was undoubtedly a ranking FPA fighter and that lined up with what the Colonel had described about the nature of the contact, however Reya’s gut instinct kept telling her it was something else. It was a nagging feeling, just like she had about Cassandra. She recalled the image of Lena’s low sign message: “could be friend or enemy, be careful”.

In the Combine it was considered etiquette to begin any business conversation with small talk and less consequential topics. The first to press forward with more serious topics lost face. This was a similar game, but the business was hidden behind fluff and innuendo. Reya could tell Ingrid was already tiring from the dance. The indirect nature of the meeting was about as counter to her nature as Espia’s cold climates and Reya could sense the restraint in her partner like water being held back by a dam. She considered her next words more carefully, still sitting properly and holding her glass. Even though she felt much like Ingrid on the inside, she could sit there and hold her peace for hours, it was the Way and she had done it before. Reya looked at the other woman as she replied to Ingrid, finding her green hair more unpleasant the more she tried to sell them on the FPA. It was a natural turning point in the conversation. Both parties had something the other wanted. Now it was a matter of semantics without losing face.

“I think we can talk more about our current expansion and added revenue stream if Miss K was willing to discuss amicable terms.” Reya replied coolly. She had noticed the small arc of surprise in the other woman’s brow when she mentioned the Knights’ move before. Now she had added another sweetener to the deal. She didn’t trust Cassandra, but her backing was another card to place on the table and she knew the FPA wasn’t exactly loaded with C-Bills either. “Keep in mind, we do hear this pitch a lot. Our last associate made similar claims and we all know how that ended.” She continued as casually as if she were remarking on the weather, though it felt right to level the conversation with a reference to the ill-fated Governor Xiu and their other mutual enemy that the Knights’ were facing at the dam.

-----------------------

”Oh, don’t even get me started on that guy,” Stiletto said with a chuckle. ”He had all the organizational skills of a Vegan slug-rat. It’s a shame his business fell apart as spectacularly as it did, but it was bound to happen one day or another.”

Her employers had known full well that Governor Xiu’s grasp on Espia was tenuous at best, but even they had been surprised by the arrival of the Crimson Fists. Their plans had been to make the best use from a long, protracted civil war, not a coup that was all but wrapped up overnight. And given Federov’s desire for centralized control and Malenkov’s bombastic zeal, the new regime was unlikely to cooperate with her employers’ ideas. It was decided they needed to go. The FPA had the conviction, but lacked the firepower to deal with the Espian Guard and Crimson Fists. Conversely, the Green Knights had the hardware to get the job done, but their conviction was questionable. Getting the two to cooperate would be ideal, combining those who had motivation with those who had the means. And she was tantalizingly close to convincing these two.

Rather than risk pushing too far, Stiletto decided to put the ball in their court. Producing a small paper notepad, she scribbled something down. ”I’ll be honest, Mary K can give you a better idea of what they’ve got in mind than I can,” she said with a shrug. ”If you’re interested, just follow up on this number.”

She slid a note to them.

12-11-04-02-0330

Ostensibly, it was a comms number, but the digits were laid out all wrong for a landline, and only an idiot would attempt calling over an unsecured line, even if they were speaking in code. ”If you want to get serious, give her a call,” Stiletto said as she rose from the table. ”I’ve got to run, but it was great seeing you two; glad to know you’re still in business.”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Raven Rivers

Raven snorted in amusement. Suddenly the man who rarely spoke a word to acknowledge the existence of the Knights had something to say about everything. Part of it he could understand. The dam was AVC property and as the Colonel had described, its protection was Jon’s mission, but the way he just sashayed his way into “command” at the critical moment was more than a little uncouth. However, the real sting of it was how the others just went along with it, and further, given the conditions, how it was a pretty decent plan on the fly. Jon knew what he was doing and a part of Raven lamented that he hadn’t spent more time rebuilding lost faith in some of the others, but he stored that thought away quickly. He had to think maturely, as commander of the lance, not as a competitor for the best idea. Discretion was the better part of valor as the old cliche went. Maybe Jon was expecting a protest out of him, maybe not, but debate at this stage of the battle would be suicidal. He glanced at Marit, she was at least still able to fight and in a good position. After doing as much damage as they could, hopefully without blowing up what was left of the river valley, they could work on getting her unstuck as quickly as possible. Full day would break soon and he didn’t want the Knights out in the open for more scout helicopters to spot them like they had at the raid.

“Sounds like a plan.” Raven replied calmly, almost authoritative in his response like he was channeling the Colonel and as if it was his approval that made Jon’s plan actionable. His eyes shifted from Marit momentarily to his ammo count and then out ahead where the land train was approaching. He shook his head a little at the thick brush fires being whipped up by Steel Rain’s “smoke screen” and hoped that the homes they’d just helped defend didn’t get caught up in a wind shift that carried the flames away from the river. Before switching his sensors over to thermal, he trotted by Marit to make sure she wasn’t sinking any further as well as to get an idea how hard it would be to get her mech free. He opened a direct line to her: “Try to lean your balance forward, like you’re standing in the sand at the beach and the tide is pulling you out.” He said, seeing her somewhat awkward list and the high weight of her deadly missile racks making things even more precarious. They needed to make sure she could keep all her lasers on target. The arms would be fine, but her torso mounts would walk dangerously if she lost her footing in the persistent current. Thanks to Reya’s work on the beams, they’d get in a few more volleys than stock and hopefully give Sgt Dalton as much time as possible to get onboard. Every shot was truly about to count, just like the Colonel had said.

“Try to follow my shots,” Raven said. There was a firmness and confidence in his voice and he took up a position near her, crouching the Shadow Hawk in a classic shooting stance so they could fire together and he could help guide her aim. “Stay cool. We’re gonna get you out of there.” He said, switching his sensors over to thermal and watching the colors of the battlefield, quickly filling smoke, flash away into a piercing white and black contrast. He wasn’t equipped for sharpshooting like Jon. If anything, his AC5 had probably shifted some in its mount after all the jumping, but he had fired it enough times to know when it was true. He took a steadying breath and aimed down the side of the behemoth’s massive tracks, still glowing from where Jon’s shots had struck. There was no decision left to make but to shoot and hope for the best.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

The second wave was beginning to break up as it was evident the Knights were not going to give up their defensive positions like the Heavenly Sword had gambled. It was a hard call, but Jon knew it was the right move, though Raven’s erratic tracks across the field had caused him to miss once or twice when the Shadow Hawk careened in front of his sights attempting to draw his vigorous pursuers into the guns of the Von Luckner and Archer. An offroad bike swerved and jumped a ditch line where some Sgt Dalton’s troopers were operating a heavy machine gun. Jon was on the verge of a trigger pull, tracking the suicidal zealot, seeing the man cut the handlebars and work the throttle when the back of the Shadow Hawk suddenly filled the zoomed window in his visor, jump jets blazing. He flicked the column to keep from putting a round into the mech’s back and tried to reacquire a quick snapshot, but the AC5 slug zoomed over the bomber’s head, kicking up a mound of dirt before the biker roared through the front door of a farmhouse and detonated himself.

Jon grit his teeth and his lips twisted in disgust. Even though the zoom on his visor disappeared with a swift motion on the control stick, he still tilted his head as if peeking around a rifle scope. He shook the stick causing the mech’s torso to tilt and bob like he was shaking off the bad shot, found another target, this time an armored car, zoomed again and loosed a PPC bolt after it. Still off. The bolt clipped the back of the vehicle, sending it spinning like a toy. Jon took a breath as the heat fell away. Relax. He thought to himself. You’re rushing them… Concentrate… Smooth. Normally after taking a shot or two from position, he would move and fire again, using the terrain to break sensor locks and cover the bulk of his form from return fire. Having taken so many shots from the same place was a strange, creeping sensation, almost unnatural, like someone was constantly sneaking up behind him and he likewise kept an eye on his sensors. He shook the column again, more seriously and deliberate in the motion and the heavy mech seemed to react more positively, like a horse shaking off a bothersome insect.

He was lining up to fire again when the familiar voice of the Heavenly Sword operator came over the wide band, talking to the whole river valley. It sounded like the same guy from Yuzhny Portveyn. Jon listened, but the haughty words about ancient Terra, monsters and threats didn’t stir anything in him other than further contempt. His expression was flat and stoic and he was ready to shoot something else. However the staunch voice of the Knights’ Colonel on the line gave him some pause and he gave the com panel a scrutinizing glance at the words “active nuke” as it seemed, “reasonably doable” had become a lot less reasonable.

The inbound contact was so large that it registered an unknown blip on the perimeter of the sensor screen even though it was far outside of standard detection range. Jon relocked the arms for a focused shot though he wasn’t completely sure what was on the way or what they were going to do with it when they found it. His eyes did a quick scan of the morning, checking the windage in the wafting smoke pillars that creeped up toward a heavy blanket of glowing orange sunlight. In the distance he could see Marit in the river, not far from the L-shaped bend in the road where the highway followed the natural lay of the terrain towards the dam. Whatever was coming was going to have to take that route, same as all the rest had done and she and the others were already moving to position. Jon reached behind and grabbed the small radio again, as the Marauder rose, he worked the controls with his free hand, the machine bucking and pivoting beneath him, It actually felt good to move around in the straps. There had been too much sitting still. “AVC3, this is Mudcrutch, ya copy?”

“Yea, go ahead, Mudcrutch.” The nervousness in the voice was now unhidden. They had been waiting to hear from him.

“Got somethin’ inbound. I’m goin’ to check it out, y’all sit tight.”

“Uhh-hh, roger… I mean copy.” The person on the other end replied unsurely. They had apparently heard the threatening message.

There was a narrow access road that led up to his position, then diverged at the top of the hill where it picked up large, A-framed spires that carried power lines away from the dam. Jon started down the unpaved utility path and keyed the mic for the Knights’ frequency. “Movin’ up,” He said, not sure if any of them were paying attention to him at all, but if they were, they’d notice he was no longer at the hilltop and the heavy contact on their sensors was moving east. He throttled the machine up as he spoke, feeling the familiar motion of its steady trot beneath him and keeping an eye on the power lines within the narrow lane. The large unknown still loomed on the edge of his sensor screen, but he couldn’t get a visual beyond tall Espian pines on both sides. Occasionally, he could catch a glimpse of Marit through the tree line as the morning continued to glow brighter and more often, Raven bobbing over the top on his jump jets mopping up the stragglers. He was about to cut through someone’s backyard when he heard Marit calling out that she was stuck.

Ossie’ broke out of the tree line only a couple hundred meters from Marit and Raven’s forward position. Jon could see the Von Luckner moving up on the far side of the riverbank, across from where the Archer had lodged itself next to the sharp bend in the highway that led back to the dam. Right next to Marit, on the shore was a yellow caution sign with speed recommendation and a green mileage billboard that seemed to have comically survived the carnage completely untouched. Jon rotated his torso, eyeing the Knights’ mechs for a moment. It was the first time he’d seen them since the cave and in decent enough lighting to make out their markings and general condition. Marit’s camo pattern, the top half that he could see above the water line, still looked fairly new, while Raven’s Shadow Hawk carried a well-aged stock gray that had been scorched by rocket fire. The tank was too far to get a steady look at, but all three undoubtedly had the tired look of equipment that had been in the field for some time.

Jon again opened his magnified targeting reticle and for the first time got a look at their newest attacker, trundling towards them in the distance, climbing and descending over the terrain just like some giant snake. His expression twisted a bit in contemplation. He’d seen a land train before. Out on the frontier they were fairly popular with the wealthier terraformers and prospecting companies, especially the ones that included a crane arm, though from what he could tell, this particular one looked like it’d been stripped down for the sole purpose for which it was currently engaged. How they got it on planet and out in the open unnoticed was another question that begged for an answer, but that revelation would have to wait. Behind, he could hear some of the infantry platoon’s vehicles moving up and keyed the mic: “Buckshot, if you’re gonna jump on board, this is the place, they’ll have to come through here,” He said. Now it was time for the bad news. “Best we can do is slow’em down, every track is a drive axle. You’ll have about a mile to get in the cockpit.” He looked again at the lumbering machine. Thankfully it wasn’t fast, but it was going to be head-on shooting until it was almost right on top of them. They were going to have to be careful what they fired at which meant no missiles and no heavy cannon that might set off the warhead. He glanced over his shoulder at Marit, the Archer precariously angled n the river’s current, but still able to fire. Ironically, her being so low to the ground would probably help once she got in range- something else he’d noticed about all the Knights’ mechs. All their beams seemed to glow hotter and reach farther. The burn time might’ve even been shorter too, but he wasn’t sure. Whatever the case, he hoped they could shoot tight groups.

“Steel Rain, if you got smoke, let’s have a spread. They gotta be able to see to drive that thing.” He said. From what he’d observed thus far, the typical Heavenly Sworder wasn’t exactly carrying much in the way of personal tech and he seriously doubted anyone about to check out in a mushroom cloud would be wearing a lot of expensive kit. On the other hand, he’d noticed more than a few of the Knights’ commandos with helmet mounts when he and Cassandra tracked down the cave.

The Marauder stalked with its characteristic swagger from Jon’s neural input past Marit to get at the best angle he could without being in her firing lane. With one hand he adjusted the main weapons’ trim through several presets on the fire control. He couldn’t risk any drop or deviation from the autocannon. All three would have to strike together, every time then he would open up with his beams when they came in range. “We’re on thermal,” He said. “At least until they get close, try to keep your shots tight and don’t let your beams walk. It’s a left turn, concentrate on his right tracks.” Osceola seemed to shimmy a bit in its stance, like golfer about to make a long drive or a boxer getting ready to throw a heavy strike before all three main guns fired as one at the approaching Gonggong.

@Starlance
@Bork Lazer