Oblivious to what’s going on outside his Mech’s bay, Gunny spends the first night in drunken bliss. It isn't until the following day that he actually gets started working on the Griffin.
Burnt and melted metal plates come crashing down from the Griffins left leg, while Gunny observes the loud calamity from one of the bays scaffoldings. 'Wow, glad that didn't hit anyone." He admits out loud to himself. The day had been consumed with a focused effort to replace the Mech's armor before anything unexpected could happen. Piece by piece, his bay's lift carried over replacement parts while he manipulated its controls from a scaffolding walkway. The welding process was grueling, tedious, and redundant, but it's nothing the veteran hadn't dealt with in the past. He knew it would simply take time and patients.
|
Jack snorts. "Ha! You think you need to apologize to Lape! Ha! You can if'n you wanna, but I'm thinking that come morning she won't even remember any harm was done. I think tonight she'll get to do the one thing that makes everything oooooooo kaaaaaay."
He transfers his reassuring hand from shoulder to back of neck.
"It's bad luck to waste booze, you know."
The next day Jack asks Charly and Gunny for a hand as he sums up the whopping three medium lasers they managed to scavenge from yesterday's battle and see if they have any life left in them.
It ain't pretty but after a bit there are three functional lasers and three tech covered in grease.
*Crack*
Deigo's head slams back against the wall as his reactions are way too slow to fend off Lapeidra's furious punch. Shaking his head like some drunken bulldog, the bandit leader spits out the tooth that had already been loosen with an earlier punch from another female mechwarrior. The tooth rattles across the floor like some oddly shaped die of doom.
With blood dripping down his lip, the bandit chuckles. "Ha! Ahhahah." He breaks out laughing. "I knew you lot weren't any better then the rest of us." He spits a glob of blood onto the floor. "All that BS of making deals and givin' a second chance. Just s$%t blowin' on the wind."
"Fine then. We'll play it Hutton's way." He steps forward taking a blurry-eyed swing at Lapeidra. The blow to his head slowing his reflexes and the cramped quarters harder for his bigger frame to maneuver within.
"Already told ya what I know." He says ducking back to bump up against the single steel framed cot. "I wasn't on the inside like Dekker or that psycho goes by Shaman." A shudder runs through his body. "That one would give the devil himself the fright filled s*^ts. All's I know is us newbies get the patched up trash. We lose it, we end up PBI's or sold off to some slave trader on Alpheraz."
He snarls and takes a second swing after partially blocking a counter by Lapeidra. "But them's who're in good. They get their asses shot off and lo and behold a few weeks later in rolls some big ole bad boy looking almost fresh off the 'ssembly line."
"Don't ask me where or how. Cause I don't know." He stands there, an involuntary weave to his stance. "Like I said, he had us looking for something. But we never found squat, else I would've grabbed all I could and scrammed off this rock a lot sooner."
"Acknowledged Stormhammers." Replies Vikhaus when Markus relays the Stormhammers have successfully evacuated. Her voice comes across tired as she relays a set of coordinates. "We've set up a secure perimeter at these coordinates. Rendezvous with us here and you should be able to patch up some of your machines. Then we can talk next steps...if there are any."
Tsong plots a quick course to the landing sight much further south from your initial drop zone. Much further south.
When the airlock door opens, a wind cold, biting howls into the corridor eliciting instant chills and curses as to the sanity of those in command. Outside, the tarmac is covered in a dusting of snow while the sun barely pushes through thick gray and black clouds. Several single and two story buildings sit about hundred meters away. Tarps and other temporary patches cover the roof of the tallest that is flanked by a pair of Canopian mechs. A Crusader and another Blackjack. Two of Vikhaus' own lance.
Hurrying across the blasting winter wonderland of southern Stettin where all the planet's rain turns to snow, sleet, hail, and ice, Markus is quickly waved inside by the pair of burly Magistracy Marines.
The wall of heat inside is both welcome and just as harshly startling as the cold outside. Sweat instantly breaks out as Vikhaus waves you over toward what must be her temporary mobile command center. This wonder of command logistics consists of a radio, a map, and several flustered staffers pondering printouts, older maps, and in the single holovid player, the latest battle footage from the Janissaries recent fight with Hutton's bandits.
"There." Says a tall man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed dark beard. Dressed in the black and gold of the Janisarries he points at a large mech emerging from behind a half blasted building. It is a big machine. An 85 ton assault class Battlemaster. "Where the hell did they get one of those." The man says scowling.
"That is exactly what I want to know as well Commander." Vikhaus replies as she turns toward the approaching Stormhammers.
"Ah...glad you could join us. Commander Gerard, here are some of our Stormhammer allies."
Still about midway through the short flight, you do catch a glimpse of something odd tucked in a narrow valley about three hundred kilometers south of the third suggested landing sight. It isn't really much, but you catch a hit of clear, modern endosteel gleaming among the trees. A bit of ship? A mech? A structure? You can't be sure. But whatever it is, you do manage to focus the sensors in just long enough to register some kind of heat signature. Then the clouds close in again.
Charly looks into the booze and takes a cautious sip followed by a longer pull.
"Doesn't change that I'm an idiot," she says, then drains her glass and pours herself another. "Just a stupid girl that got spat out by a Capellan assembly line." Half the glass' contents disappear as she takes another long pull of the booze. Her cheeks turn pink as the alcohol starts to work through her system and cold, bitter hatred burns in her eyes.
You're right about one thing. The better ones are already gone," she replies with anger. "But there's a big difference between you and me. I don't kidnap children to force their parents to fight for me. You deserve death, but you still control your fate."
The bastard can fight. Good.
Lapeidra dodges a good punch from Deigo, then closes again and strikes with another jab.
"Try again. You can point to where Hutton's hideout is on a map, can't you? Your lance rolled out from somewhere."
Unmotivated to rub elbows with anything that sounds like brass, Gunny continues to work on his Mech. During the process, he does take a brake long enough to try and locate another box of cigars or a fresh bottle of whisky.
Lloyd gets up from the sensor station as soon as the ship lands and hurries out to the others, just in time to get a face full of icy wind. Spluttering and blinking, he makes sure to catch Markus before he goes to meet Vikhaus.
"I spotted something out-of-place on the way here. Didn't get a good look at it, but it had a significant heat signature and looked more recent than anything else we've seen here from the brief glimpse of it. I've got the coordinates if you want to pass them along to the Commander."
Lapeidra and Deigo trade a couple of weak blows that don't seem to phase either combatant. The tight quarters hamper Deigo's slight reach advantage, but the don't necessarily benefit the quicker Canopian mechwarrior. But Lapeidra does feel the welcome impact of her fist meeting solid flesh again as she knocks the bandit back against the wall. For several moments he shakes his head in stunned confusion.
"S-Sure...I know...where...Hutton's HQ was." He says puffing like some Solarian couch potato who hadn't broken a sweat for the last decade. "He's probably...*huff*...already moved it twice since...*puff*...I was last there." The man stumbles to his right. "He ain't survived and made a name for himself sittin' in one place for long stretched. And like I said, he doesn't really trust anyone."
Blood runs from numerous reopened cuts on the bandit's face and hands. But not planning to simply go quietly into the night, or in this case the airlock, Deigo rallies himself and snarls like the trapped savage that he is. The partially feigned weakness manages to catch Lapeidra a bit flat footed as he comes in to try and deliver a nose shattering round house punch.
Deigo: 0/3 Stress. Mild Consequence - Concussion
Deigo's strike is well-placed and slips past Lapeidra's defense, a solid blow to her left cheek that could have been worse if not for her opponent's unsteady footwork. She jabs again at him, more out of frustration for his lack of willingness to be helpful, especially given the circumstances.
"B!~+*#$!. He hasn't moved his base of operations twice in the six hours since we landed on this planet. You're literally making s+$* up so we won't immediately go find him and infiltrate. Why do you care?"
The dropship touched down on the frost covered tarmac earlier that day, but Gunny hadn’t had time to do much, outside of fortifying the Griffin. The Mech’s missile bays where all but depleted and its temporarily fixed PPC, was on the verge of failing. Its frame was heavily exposed, leaving its internal systems at risk and he knew it was only a matter of time before something else came up. Gunny simply didn’t have enough time to get comfortable. A single stogy and a half glass of whisky would have too due.
The day had been grueling, with nonstop welding in conjunction with constant use of the bay’s wench. The amount of grease that covered Gunny’s uniform was damn-near enough to fully lube a mid-sized leg actuator. Most the day had passed before the veteran decided to take a break and step out into the cold. With a couple bottles of Whisky in hand to trade, he began making his way through the other outfit's pilots to see if any of them had any cigars they would be willing to part with.
When I see something like this, I assume the NPC's are not under the same character creation limitations as PC's. I presumed that was because they didn't grow in levels and could be bumped up to create challenging encounters as we increase in level. Or say a single pilot fending off more than one of us, which would be reflected in something like a single bad-ass bad guy or boss. I presume Diego falls into mini-boss category, thus the better stats. At least that's my take on it.
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When I see something like this, I assume the NPC's are not under the same character creation limitations as PC's. I presumed that was because they didn't grow in levels and could be bumped up to create challenging encounters as we increase in level. Or say a single pilot fending off more than one of us, which would be reflected in something like a single bad-ass bad guy or boss. I presume Diego falls into mini-boss category, thus the better stats. At least that's my take on it.
That said, you whooping his-ass is likely the right way to gain his respect. I just wouldn't expect him to lay down or not be able to fight well. He is a boss after all, so a punch it out with him will likely be an epic fight that will test your resolve. Win or lose it should be worth the effort. Lose and he will likely reflect on the fact you speak his language. There aren't many, on this side of things, who would be willing to get down and dirty like that. A language he is likely comfortable with. Win, you become the Alpha, so to speak. [/ooc]
While trading blows with Deigo, Lapeidra finds herself wondering if there's anything more to him. So far she's seen nothing that would dispel her extremely negative view of pirates.
Lapeidra cries out in pain at the big hit from Deigo. It would be clear to anyone outside the room that this is not hard f#$#ing, and intervention is probably required.
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After a moment, Charly blinks and the hatred fades into a bleak sadness.
"I'm sorry," she says again before standing and making her way to the door. She pauses as it opens.
"Thank you for the drink," she says before walking out.
Charly is looking for Lapeidra when she hears the woman crying out in pain. Without thinking, she rushes to the compartment she heard the cry coming from, driven by instincts born from a lifetime from living on a space station.
"Lapeidra! Are you... oh... no."Charly's voice trails off as she sees Diego standing, bloodied but still very much a threat, and Lapeidra breathing hard and looking ragged herself.
Help! Go get help, her brain screams as she stands frozen and breathing more and more rapidly as fear paralyzes her.
MOVE!
Something snaps in the young woman and she turns to run, almost tripping over her feet. Her mouth opens wide to call out for help.
The f%&+ is going on here Markus asks "politely" as he opens the door to the Lapeidra vs Pirate death match, alarmed by charly.
Markus draws his sidearm.
Stand down
As Charly and Markus burst into the tiny space, Deigo throws his hands into the air and steps back from Lapeidra. The former bandit's face is bleeding from several cuts and his right eye is blossoming into a gruesome shade of black and purple. His unswollen eye is a bit wild as his chest heaves with several deep breaths. Belatedly noticing the gun pointing in his direction, he tries to stagger back further only to bump into the wall.
"Hey now." He says, his speech a bit slow and slurred. "Ain't no reason for that. She came at me first." He says jutting his chin toward the Canopian dabbing at a cut lip. "Thought you lot were supposed to be better than Hutton and bandits like me." He chuckles and shakes his head in self recrimination. "Guess I was wrong again."
Lapeidra sends another fist at Deigo. Just because he stopped fighting doesn't mean she does.
"You don't listen at all. Hutton steals children from their mothers. I fight against murdering dirtbag child abductors who are bigger than me. You're not right about a g~#*#~ned thing. Your life is forfeit."
She beats him until he's unconscious.
Charly looks on, horrified and stunned. She slides down the wall of the passage way opposite of the door and covers her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming.
His hands still in the air. Deigo's eyes flick from Markus' pistol to Lapedira as the Canopian charges forward fists flying. His hesitation lasts only a moment and then he ducks aside throwing up an arm to deflect the mechwarrior's fist aimed directly for his face.
"Hahaha! Of course Hutton's a bastard." The man laughs as his gaze dances back toward the gun still pointed in his direction. "And which mighty Successor House doesn't do the same thing?!" He growls back. "How are swept up by the Liao's to fight for the confederacy. How many has Thaddeu Marik drafted for his failed schemes? Doesn't matter if you're twelve or fifty, everyone is expected to fight and die for the high and mighty. Just ask the descendants of Kentares or Bolan or a hundred other systems...if you can find one. Either you wield the iron fist or get crushed by it."
He spits a tooth onto the floor and turns to Markus.
"You gonna shoot me? Or you gonna keep pretending you lot are something better?" He adds ducking away from another incoming fist.
Gunny slips inside one of the repurposed buildings making up the temporary Stettin HQ for Operation Flyswatter (Already being referred to as the the Flytrap). The smell of grease, burnt coffee, and soldered myomer leads him away from left hand halls where the brass is busy trying to figure out how to salvage what's left of the mission and to the right where those doing their best to clean up the mess Hutton mechs made of the Janissaire's. Turning down the hall corridor and through a thin door, the veteran finds himself among the familiar field gantries, parts, and clamor of a busy mechbay.
Assistant techs scurry about carrying parts, patching armor, and reloading those mechs that got out of the bandit's trap with missiles and autocannon shells. A thick-waisted man wearing sergeant's stripes is hunched over the twisted joint of a 65-tonCrusader. The remains of one of the the mech's big Magna Long Range Missile launchers hangs from a hoist where another pair of techs look skeptically at the ruptured housing and melted wiring of the blasted unit. Perhaps most intriguing to Gunny, is the smoldering stub of a cigar hanging from the Master Tech's mouth as he leans on thick crowbar trying to break a bent cover panel loose.
“Could you use a hand with that Sargent?” Gunny asks while setting down the two bottles of whisky he brought along for trade.
Either shooting you or taking a holovid out of it. You have a possible career as a wrestler in certain circuits, likely as a heel face revolving door. But lets double check your wressling skills
Markus sheathes his pistol and attempts an old Steiner Trademark.
"That's it Markus, hold him steady."
Lapeidra gives Charly a hand outside, then closes the door again and continues to rough up the now defenseless Deigo. She intends to beat him to death with her bare hands, but if that doesn't work she'll find something sturdier.
Deigo can't slip free from Markus' hold. His struggles within the tight confines of the room do manage to cause the Steiner noble's feet to slip just a Lapeidra lands another blow to the bandit's temple. Off balance, Markus can't quite hold Deigo in check as the force of his comrade's blow drives the bandit backward. The bloodied bandit slips on what is most likely some of his own blood and falls back directly against the steel frame of the cot. There's a loud *snap* as Deigo's head and neck hit. One is at an entirely unnatural angle to the other as a slow trickle of blood dribbles from the dead man's mouth to the floor.
Outside the room Charly's panicked breathing and muffled sobs fill the corridor.
"Eh? What's that?" The burly tech says turning to face Gunny. His eyes taking in the veteran's similarly grease stained coveralls and bottles hanging in one hand.
"Oh. You must be from that new outfit. What is it Stormriders?" He says waving a hand for Gunny to pull up an overturned crate as he wipes a grease covered hands onto a slightly less grease covered cloth. "If you're offering, I can use every able hand trying to get this lot back up and running."
The cigar flops back and forth like cat's tail as he surveys the battered Crusader along with a pair of equally damaged Jagermechs and an Orion missing the bulk of its left side. "Those bandit bastard's did a number on us. This is the best of what we've got left, outside of the commander's Warhammer and Fatima's Wolverine."
His gaze slides once again to the bottled firewater in Gunny's hand and a smile breaks out across his smudged face. "Course, I'm guessing with those beauties in hand, you might be here for a bit more than just helping solder a few armor plates."
"Now the job is done."
Lapeidra feels nothing as she extends a bloodied hand to help Markus to his feet. She slips on a pair of utility gloves from the closet in the room and rifles through Deigo's pockets for any cash or other valuables and for any correspondence or information about his recent past with Hutton. Then she takes a couple of large garbage bags and with a little effort and some duct tape she makes a body bag around Deigo's corpse. She drags the body to the trash bin and ejects him into the upper atmosphere with the rest of the garbage.
If anyone asks she'll tell the truth: He slipped and hit his head. She takes another half hour to cleanup the blood in the utility closet then disposes of the gloves in the same manner and washes her clothes and takes a long shower.
After that she fetches a cold beer from the ship's galley and joins the others just about to get into a briefing with Vikhaus and the Janissaries.
"Commander, what have you got for us?"
Gunny smile’s when the Sargent points out the obvious. “Yep, I originally came down here looking to see if anyone had some stogies for trade. I figured a little bartering might be a healthy brake from all the bay work. I know I’ve been wrenching on that Damn-Griffin since we got here. Seeing you in a similar situation, I thought I would offer a hand. It looked like you could use one. As for the bottles of whisky, well those are for trading. That’s assuming someone would be willing to part with a fair number of smokes.”
Gunny pulls over the crate, rolls up his sleeves, and begins helping where he can. His skill isn’t the best, but it isn’t the worst either. At the bare minimum, he figures an extra set of hands makes any job a little easier.
“Ya, we had a solid go around with them pirate-bastards as well. Fortunately, we got the smaller end of the stick. Even though we took a solid beating during the engagement, we managed to pull out a couple heaps of scrap. Currently the crew is trying to get two of the scrapped Mech’s up and running.”
Gunny continues to hold securely the Mech parts that the Sargent is works on. “Hell, we even managed to intimidate one of their low brow pilots into giving up his Griffin. Damn-thing needs a lot of work, but it’s an upgrade all the same. Anyway, I know our crew will be looking to trade a couple smaller working Mech’s if they can find suitable parts to swap for. If you happen to know anyone who might be interested in a couple smaller Mech’s, let me know.”
After witnessing the brutality of Diego and Lapeidra's fight, it wasn't hard for the older woman to convince her to go somewhere else. Shaken to her core, she heads to the one place she's always been able to find comfort, a machine shop.
Glancing again at the black and green labeling of twin bottles of Cromarty Black in Gunny's hand, the veteran nods and offers a wide smile. "I think I we might be able to work something out." He adds pulling a second thick cigar from a pocket tucked on the inside of his coveralls.
"Some of Yangtze's finest." He says offering Gunny the cigar. "Our last contract was in the Confederation and I manage to liberate several boxes from the wayward band of rebels we were helping the Eleventh Tikonov deal with. Got a box with your name on it if your looking to break up the twins there."
The tech continues to talk with Gunny as the two dive into the repair work. When Gunny mentions the Stormhammer's own run in with the bandit forces the sergeant's brow furrows and shakes his head.
"You know, this lot of bandits is packing quite a bit of firepower for being out here on the ass side of nowhere." He says. The a pause as he ponders something over in his mind. A few moments later he comes to some kind of internal decision and waves Gunny toward another small crate where a bunch of shrapnel and bits of what appear to be the remnants of an exploded missile.
"I've already shown this to my higher ups, and it could be nothing, but take a close look and tell me what you see?"
Looking at the fragments, Gunny at first wonders what the old tech could possibly gain from the junk other than the pilot should've ducked faster. But then he catches the partial logo on one of the bits of metal and what looks to be the remnant of a production lot number and date. Valiant Systems. And if that date is really correct, from a lot of missiles produced less than six months ago.
"Now you tell me how a batch of newly minted Fedrat LRM's made it all the way out here and into the hands of some bandit punks who're also piloting over five or six hundred tons of metal. At least, that's what I guess based on what my lot met up with along with your crew?" He picks up one of the fragments, scowls again and tosses it back on the crate with a frustrated snort. "I know the black markets thrive out here along the rim, but this is some top of the line ordnance. How'd this Hutton even set eyes on this?" He shakes his head skeptically.
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"Are you okay?" One of the rescued civilians approaches Charly as she sits there shuddering in the hallway. The muffled sounds of duct tape being unrolled and rustle plastic or tarps comes from behind the accordion door of the small supply closet. Partnered with muttered curses and a few grunts of exertion the man gives the door a quick glance, but Charly's obvious agitation captures most of his attention.
"You...you're one of the mech pilots aren't you?" He asks the curled up Capellan. At her nod he holds out his hand for her to take. "I just want to thank you for what you and your friends did for us. Why I thought we were all goners for sure. Either doomed to drown in that blasted mine or to a life of misery in the slave markets."
He's of average height and a bit on the thin side. What is does have is all muscle. A mop of dark hair, still damp from the rain, a shower, or possibly both. Green eyes peer at the upset mechwarrior with genuine concern as he helps her to her feet. He wearing one of the spare set of standard issue coveralls stored in the ships lockers. The Last of Nine patch standing out against the cobalt blue fabric.
"My names Ben. Ben Thompson." He says walking with Charly as she leads him away from whatever is happening beyond the thin door and back toward the main hanger. "I'd love to help out a bit where I can. I'm a pretty handy tech. Least wise I kept our crawlers and digging gear working despite not seeing a new part in over twenty years."
********
Meanwhile after Markus leaves Lapeidra to clean up and dispose of Deigo's remains, the Phoenix Hawk pilot bumps Lloyd. The sensor jockey hands Markus some coordinates marking some anomaly he'd sighted as the Last of Nine made the hop to join up with the rest of Operation Flyswatter.
With Jack and Charly working to repair their own mechs as well as judge the real damage done to the salvaged Thunderbolt and Blackjack and Gunny bartering for a few of life's essentials with the Janissarie techs, Markus, Lloyd and Lapeidra meet with Vikhaus and Commander Gerard.
"What have you got for us?"
The eyes of Vikhaus, Gerard and several aides swivel toward the newly arrived Stormhammers. Vikhaus runs a hand through her hair. The dark circles of lost sleep lurk beneath her eyes as the continues to study the choppy BattleROM video. Watches as Hutton's Battlemaster shreds a Janissare Jagermech with a barrage of missile and energy fire.
"Until I can find out more about what the hell is going on down on this mudball, I've got nothing for you." She says her fist tapping the top of the table. "League intel told us Hutton was just another bunch of bandit raiders growing a bit too big for their shorts. They did mention anything about assault mechs or a second full company." She sends a piercing gaze to one of the nearby techs who gives a slight shake of his head in return. "And given the blasted weather, we've got no stinking idea where he's gone to ground."
She turns and looks to Markus. "You said you have a prisoner and some civilians who were under Hutton's thumb for a while. Bring them over. I want to have my team can talk with them, see what we can find out."
"The prisoner is a dead end," Lapeidra says with a look of cold steel that conveys any loss of meaning. "He had nothing to offer about Hutton - made up some b*!@*$%# story about Hutton changing his base three times a day. My interrogation was... thorough."
She similarly waves off the idea of the prisoners. "They're unlikely to have anything more than the mid-level thug we captured. Maybe the Locust pilot can give you a bit on why they felt the need to kidnap her children and conscript her when they had multiple lances of medium and heavier mechs already on the roster.
"It makes no damn sense. None of it. But if you're looking for scouts they're standing right in front of you, if you've got more currency to spend on us. Otherwise the Stormhammers are back on the market. We didn't come here for the beaches."
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Gunny accepts the Sargent’s offer to inspect the quality of one of his cigars. After carefully smelling its tobacco leave wrapping, he pulls out a double-guillotine and quickly identifies its head. “Has a fresh smell to it. I think these will do just fine.” He comments while sheering off the cigar’s tip.
Gunny listens intently to the sergeant while swapping his Guillotine with a rustic looking zippo. The lighter was obviously old. Its stainless exterior had an older variant of House Stiner’s crest depicted on its face. The crest and the lighter were both coated lightly with a small amount of grime, which reflected the veteran’s willingness to get his hands dirty. After properly lighting the stogy, he took a couple deep puffs and then offered the zippo to the Sargent.
“We thought the same thing when our sensors picked up a BattleMaster making its way through the tree line. A bit over vested for a backwater planet like this. And definitely more firepower than a simple bandit outfit could afford. At least one would think.”
After perusing over the remnants in the crate he takes a solid drag on the fresh cigar. “Well it looks like they got their hands on some Valiant missiles. Did you come up against any Striker Tanks? I would expect a payload like this would likely come from one of those.” He says while scratching his head. “I know most of their products run through Wonderland Enterprise and eventually end up in the hands of the Federated Suns. That’s a fare step away from a ragtag group of bandits on some backwater planet like this.”
Enjoying the small brake, Gunny hands over one of the bottles of black to the Sargent and then opens the second. “Perhaps we should solidify our trade with a shot or two. What do you say? Do you happen to have a couple of cups laying around?” He asks in a respectful tone.
“Anyways, our first engagement was not too bad. A couple of scout Mechs, which we smashed up fairly quick. That said, the commando I brought along took a solid beating, but that is more or less expected from a light Mech designed to be up in your face. Hit fast and hit hard, I always say.”
“After mopping up the smaller Mech’s, we pressured their leader into surrendering his Mech. After questioning him, we found out that their crew was overseeing some sort of dig. He said they came up with nothing but mud and muck, but I have a bad feeling about this. That’s a lot of fire power to support some, on the fringe, dig that has found nothing.”
“I suspect they will be wanting us to head back out soon enough. Hopefully someone can use a couple scout Mechs and I can find the parts we need before that happens.”
After working the cigar down to its midsection, Gunny grabs another piece of armor plating and then sets it off to the side. “We should get back at it before we get the call.”
Prisoner attacked Ms. Apolonia, was killed in the process, need to install a brig I guess, kind of cramped on a Leopard.
Markus shrugs, his statement being technically true.
The civilians are ready for debriefing, mind if I join in? They are under my protection, but I could perhaps also spot incosistencies.
Lets get my karmic bankaccount back into positive, or start moving there.
"I did spot a possible camoflauged power source on the flight here," Lloyd adds. "We didn't stop to take a look, but I have the coordinates. If it's Hutton then maybe he won't realize we detected him since we didn't react."
"Are you okay?" One of the rescued civilians approaches Charly as she sits there shuddering in the hallway. The muffled sounds of duct tape being unrolled and rustle plastic or tarps comes from behind the accordion door of the small supply closet. Partnered with muttered curses and a few grunts of exertion the man gives the door a quick glance, but Charly's obvious agitation captures most of his attention.
Charly looks up as the man asks if she's okay. She nods, though it's not very convincing.
"You...you're one of the mech pilots aren't you?" He asks the curled up Capellan. At her nod he holds out his hand for her to take. "I just want to thank you for what you and your friends did for us. Why I thought we were all goners for sure. Either doomed to drown in that blasted mine or to a life of misery in the slave markets."
She takes the offered hand and stands up. She nods again and almost says that he should be thanking Lloyd since he was the one that did a lot of the work to actually get them out. Then she gets a good look at him.
He's of average height and a bit on the thin side. What is does have is all muscle. A mop of dark hair, still damp from the rain, a shower, or possibly both. Green eyes peer at the upset mechwarrior with genuine concern as he helps her to her feet. He wearing one of the spare set of standard issue coveralls stored in the ships lockers. The Last of Nine patch standing out against the cobalt blue fabric.
He looks like Dad did, she thinks, the memory bringing tears to her eyes, though she manages to keep her composure enough to not cry. She wipes her eyes and tries to say something, but embarrassment piled on top of everything else makes it impossible to get anything out. She nods again and turns to start for the bay where her mech is.
"My names Ben. Ben Thompson." He says walking with Charly as she leads him away from whatever is happening beyond the thin door and back toward the main hanger. "I'd love to help out a bit where I can. I'm a pretty handy tech. Least wise I kept our crawlers and digging gear working despite not seeing a new part in over twenty years."
"Ch-charly," she says quietly after a moment. She turns to Ben and blushes as she realizes how ridiculous she must sound. "Most everyone calls me Charly," she explains. "I managed to bust up an actuator during that whole kerfluffle, and well, We got hammered while dishing it out. If you want to help, Jack and I can use the extra hands."
She looks away, feeling very self conscious about this whole interaction, but still, it was nice to have something relatively normal happening.
"Anyway, It's nice meeting you Ben. And, thank you. For asking if I was okay."
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With everyone else off doing things not mech-related, Jack was finally left alone to get some work done.
Salvaging the few leftover weapons was easy. Well, easy for him. Mostly just re-aligning things that were knocked out of alignment from normal battle damage. And one laser had its housing completely cut in half and needed a new one, or it could be re-welded, which was no problem with The Tool.
With that done, that left the mechs. Jack frowned as he looked over the damage reports the techs had brought him. As things looked, it seemed like the Griffin and Panther caught his eye.
And where was Charly? He was counting on her help to get these mechs ready for battle. Oh, off talking to some boy. Psssh. Typical.
Well no use waiting.
He got to work.
Okay so repair is vs +2, each shift is -15 mins. +3 is 45, +4 30, +5 15 mins min.
Griffin is down 8 armor points. That's eight rolls yeah?
30 mins.
All are 15 mins except for #7. That's 2.15 hours.
With the first part of the morning gone Jack takes a soykaf break as he looks at the Griffin. Not bad, not bad.
"Name's Cogs by the way. Short for Cogburn." The chief tech says to Gunny and handing him a tin cup filled with the traded liquor. He nods along as the Stormhammer mechwarrior relays more about his own encounter with the bandits.
"I was thinking the same thing when I saw the first recon vids from our crew. They were definitely excavating in some of the ruins. That's not too surprising. It seems like every old timer and two-bit merchant out here is selling maps, stories, or rumors of another abandoned SLDF cache." Then a shake of his head. "But I'm not sure I buy it. This ordnance is certainly post Star League. More importantly, none of us have seen anything that looks even halfway like an old League military facility. At least nothing that would be storing a pack of heavy and assault mechs."
He offers a quick shrug of his shoulders and grabs the other end of the armor plate Gunny is positioning into place.
"Suppose it's above my pay grade to worry about." He adds with a chuckle. "I'm just here to patch things up so those like you can go out and break 'em again."
Slipping on his face shield Cogs deftly sparks a welder and begins securing the plate in place.
"If you're in need of patching up that Commando I might have a few bits of this or that if you find yourself short of parts." He says over the sizzle of the welder.
Vikhaus leans back in her chair, her brow furrowing further and further as she learns about what happened to Deigo. It's clear she isn't happy about not being able to question the man, but she doesn't seem to push the matter any further.
"Well he's been here quite a while and we know he's got at least one dropship." She pulls at her lower lip while staring at the map, now highlighting the coordinates tagged by Lloyd. "Easy enough to bounce around if you've the fuel and the desire. Thing is, we haven't been able to spot his ship because of the weather and terrain. You could hide a dozen Overlords down there without much trouble."
"He got the best of us, but we've also bloodied his nose. Now that we're here, he'll have to stick in place or risk getting spotted by our surveillance. If he thinks he's tucked in safe and hidden, this might be a chance to catch him off balance. But I can't risk our whole force until we confirm this is Hutton's ship."
She taps the table with her knuckle and looks to Markus.
"You've got the right mechs for the job. So I'm offering to amend your contract. C-Bills to cover your cost, plus you keep any salvage you manage to get."
"But I don't expect it to be much, this is a straight up recon job. Get eyes on what's there, hopefully without being detected at all, then get the hell out. Jobs yours if you want it."
"Oh...and I'll be wanting to see any prisoners if you manage to get any." She adds.
Ben gives Charly a smile as she accepts his offer of help, although concern for the troubled mechwarrior still lingers in his gaze.
"Like I said, you did plenty for us. More than happy to repay the favor. I've some tools I managed to bring with me. Belonged to my father and my grandfather, so there was no way I was leaving them behind." He adds with another grin. "Hoping to pass them along to my own daughter at some point. Thanks to you all, we're both still around to make that happen." He adds before turning and heading off to wherever he'd managed to stash his cache of tools.
Returning a short while later with a battered metal toolbox filled with an old, but well maintained and high quality set of standard mech-tech tools. Soon enough he's helping remove ruined armor plating and refitting new along with a half dozen other minor tasks needed to get the crew back on the field again.
Across the way Jack busily patches armor and supervises the reloading of any missile and ballistic systems. The effort is easy enough, just taking time more than anything else. It isn't until he turns his attention to the battered Thunderbolt, Gunny's pummeled Commando, or Lapeidra damaged Panther that the real work begins.
After the actuator is replaced and the missile racks reloaded on her Wasp, she starts helping Jack, following his orders on what to fix and prioritize first.
Lapeidra is confused why a powerful woman keeps ignoring her and instead talks to the man. Women can be our own worst enemies sometimes.
She clears her throat, loudly. "We'll need all the intel you have and your offer. Stormhammers make decisions about work as a team. That last job was supposed to be straightforward recon and it turned into a civvy rescue and engagement against three full lances. Some of that is on us, and we appreciate the strafing runs - that saved our asses. But to expect a simple recon with Hutton hiding God knows what kind of steel - a Battlemaster and a Marauder we know for sure but what else. We've got a good relationship started here. I'm sure we all want to see where the work leads, if the C-bills match the risk."
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After polishing off the drink, Gunny dives into the work. “Well hell, it’s good to officially meet you Cogburn. You can never have too many acquaintances when it comes to keeping these things up and running. I’m Deigon, by the way. Deigon Black, but my friends call me Gunny. I picked up the nickname while serving with Earth’s militia, more specifically 2nd Battalion 24th Marines, for two tours. Anyway, thanks for the offer. I might take you up on it down the road. If you ever need an extra set of hands, let me know.” He offers while helping to secure one last splice of armor.
“Well it looks a hell of a lot better than it did.” Gunny offers as a compliment on the sergeant’s work. “I need to be getting back to my bay so I can get to work on that commandeered Griffin. Damn-thing has the wonkiest PPC I have ever seen.”
After securing the trade, and helping the sergeant with his workload, Gunny heads back to Griffin.
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“Wow,” is all he could think of to say. Standing there in front of the Griffin, Gunny was in awe with the amount of work Jack was able to accomplish in his absence. “She sure looks a hell-of a lot better with all that armor pieced back together. Damn-Jack, how in the world did you get so much done that fast? You have to be one of the best damn techs I have ever seen.” He says while walking around the Mech. “Here.” He states while busting out the opened bottle of whisky. “Let’s toast a drink to some of the best high-quality work I have ever seen, and in record time, none the less.”
Lloyd sits back and lets Lapeidra do the talking. He's delivered the information, and is more than happy to let other people make the decisions based on it. And scouting isn't so bad. Usually. Except when it goes bad.
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Jack nods at Gunny's astute observations. "Well thank ye kindly, sir. I do appreciate a man with an eye for quality!"
Jack took a moment to weigh the value of good support services provided after the fight. A mech company with good repair people that can field mechs in good repair is certainly a leg up on mere pirates that need to put mechs in only half-cooked.
Jack accepts the offered slug and takes a wee sip, closing his eyes and savoring the deep, rich flavor. "Ooo, that's good. That's the good stuff." He tries to make it last, but after three such tastes the sweet, nourishing booze is gone and he needs to return the cup.
"Now that we observed good form, we must needs see to the tougher things.
I recommend we wait on the Thunderbolt and BlackJack. Let's give Lapeirda and Markus the chance to come back with the parts. I'd hate to glue new armor on the T-Bolt just to have to rip it off to do some jury-rigging.
Let's do up your Commando first, and then move on to the Panther.
Hopefully after them we'll know more about who is getting what for who."
Jack set to on the Commando's coolant leak first.
He lasers off the damaged sealant, melts down the destroyed part, and re-welds a new replacement. Not hard. For him.
"Charly, are you able to keep on the armor replacement? It seems if we're called out in a pinch that can be our biggest lack.
We'll work together when the parts start rolling in and we need to get serious."
flyswatter HQ
Full salvage is good, but if we perform as is ideal there wont be any. So we need to ask for more then just our costs, since we are still taking risks here.
Markus makes a counter offer.