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I had to read that just after Andrea handed me a Banana Smoothie.  Good story.

Dropship Zweihander
Low orbit, Fletcher
Chaos March
12 March, 3067


As the Zweihander burned towards Fletcher’s atmosphere, Danae patently sat in the cockpit of her Highlander, running through the systems checklist. While she had checked everything before, it paid to be careful; at this stage, there were still a lot of things that could go wrong. While the plan was to land the ship, there was every chance of opposition at the Landing Zone; she had to be ready to be out of the ship as soon as it was down, marching into enemy fire.

Of course, there was every possibility that things could go wrong before that could happen; if the ship was attacked or suffered a systems failure, she had to be ready to make an emergency combat drop; in such circumstances, the slightest fault with her mech or its systems could be fatal. As such, she had to be ready for anything – especially since a third of her force had been rendered unavailable, and would not be able to take part in the initial assault.

I will have to take this up with the crews of both the dropship and jumpship, she reminded herself. This level of failure is intolerable. She furrowed her brow in anger as she continued to check off her systems.

A beep from her communicator caught her attention. “This is Weiss. What is it?” She replied with a certain degree of annoyance. They were about to begin re-entry; she did not need distractions.

“This is the bridge. We have an urgent message for you from Captain Dyron.”

“Put it through now.” She stated. If Dyron is after me personally, then it must be important. Otherwise, she could have just relayed through the captain. What is going on?

There was a few seconds of silence, the lag from communicating over interplanetary distance, before Reven’s voice finally crackled over the speakers. “Hey Danae. I figure you’re about to begin the assault, so this is my last chance to speak to you. It also means that you can’t back out now, so it’s definitely the right time to tell you what our situation is.”

“So the thing about the blow-out on the docking collar? Well, we faked that. The ship was never disabled, and we could have detached at any time. We just needed time to recharge the jump drive before taking off.”

“Yeah, I wish I could see the look on your face right now. You must be livid!” Her tone had become distinctly mocking. “It’s a pity I can’t. Ah well.” There was a dismissive sigh. “So, anyway, have fun on Fletcher, Danae. It’s, like one big mortuary, so you and Malakai should fit in fine. We’ll be taking off to Outreach, probably clearing out the unit’s finances and then re-establishing ourselves under a new name.”

“I’d say it’s been nice knowing you but it’d be a lie. You’re a self-righteous boor with delusions of grandeur. Oh, and you look like a man. You know, I’ve waited years to say that. Toodles!” There was a hiss of static as Reven closed the link.

“You filthy whore!” Danae shouted as she slammed her fist into the console. “You treacherous worm! How dare you!”

“Major?” It was the bridge. “What-“

“Continue the attack.” She snarled back. “Nobody crosses me. Nobody.”

-----
 
“That was beautiful.” Reven congratulated herself as she closed the commlink, before looking around at the bridge of the soon to be ex-Shortsword, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Signal the Xim that we’re ready for jump. Our work here is done.”

-----

Blackguards Offices, Harlech
Outreach
Chaos March
21 March, 3067

While many mechwarriors had their own dreams of running their own, bad-arse, universe-changing, super-elite mercenary units, those dreams rarely survived contact with reality. One of the many truths that they rarely could deal with was the idea that they couldn’t run a unit on their own. A mercenary unit needed support; not just the technicians that repaired their mechs, but the administrators that helped manage the unit’s finances and personnel. A unit that tried to be run by warriors for warriors and forsake accountants was one that rarely lasted. (Though those run by Mechwarrior-Accountants were to be feared)

Like many units, the Blackguards maintained their own offices in Harlech. A shabby and somewhat run-down complex, it pretty much amounted to a collection of prefab buildings attached to a mech hanger. However, now only a third of those bays were filled by the various machines of Reven’s company, the rest of those missing in action.

The staff inside had been surprised by her sudden return. First because she was supposed to be with the rest of the unit engaged in an assault on Fletcher. Second, because she had arrived with only one company and nobody else.

“Officer’s Meeting” Reven called out to the assembled staff as she strode through the room. Behind her were three others; her Assault and Recon lance commanders, Rick Zaurus and Fletch Chase, as well as the enigmatic Z-One, “Everyone stay at your desks. Important announcement to follow.” She stormed into a meeting room with the three of them in tow. Following them was a fourth man; heavy and muscular, he had long brown hair in a ponytail, heavyset features, and more than a few scars. Several recognised him as Steve Fighter, Reven’s bodyguard.

“Read nothing into this at all.” Z-One added, before being dragged inside. There was a slam of a door, and the heads of the half-dozen members of the financial and human resources staff turning nervously to watch it, suddenly fearful for their jobs.

-----

“Right. This emergency meeting of the officers of the Blackguards is now in session.” Reven began as she seated herself at the head of the meeting table. Around the table, the others also sat, with Steve standing by the door.”

“Captain I must-“ Fletch began, but was cut off.

“As I was about to say.” Reven continued, glaring at Fletch. “Due to circumstances beyond our control, we have been forced to abandon Major Weiss and the rest of the unit. As they are not able to be present, as per the Blackguards’ charter, I am now the acting commanding officer of the Blackguards until such time as Major Weiss is able to return.”

“Captain-“

“As my first order of business as acting commander, I am instituting a reform of the unit’s structure. Owing to current losses, the Blackguards will be acting as a single Company, under my command. Lieutenant Zaraus will remain in command of my Assault Lance, while Z-One will remain in command of the Red Wings.”

“Then what about my recon lance?” Fletch spoke up, a suddenly urgent tone in his voice.

Reven sighed. “Fletch, it is my opinion that you are unfit to continue your duties as commander of the recon lance.”

“What?” He shouted, standing as he did.

“Your obvious physical issues make it clear that you are unfit to continue your current role.” Reven continued, not missing a beat.

“What... issues?”He narrowed his eyes, looking straight into hers.

“Incontinence.” She stated. “You spent several days in the toilet for hours at a time. Now I can’t have an officer who cannot control his bowels. You’re a liability on the battlefield, Fletch, and I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go.”

“You can’t do that!” He snapped.

“As acting commander, I can.” She stated. “It is the commander’s duty to replace or remove members of the unit who are unfit to perform their duties or are a hindrance to the unit. And, unfortunately Fletch, you are now such a hindrance. Myself and the other officers of the unit are in agreement on this.”

“We took a vote.” Z-One helpfully suggested.

“Why wasn’t I a part of this?” He angrily asked.

“You were indisposed.” He stated. “Which kinda underscored the point.”

“Anyway,” Reven spoke up again. “We thank you for your contributions, wish you all the best for the future, so on and so forth et cetera.” She waved her hands in the air. “Please vacate your quarters and have your mech removed from the hanger facilities or else they will be seized by the unit. Steve, show the nice man out.”

Steve clamped a hand on Fletch’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Come on.” He grunted. “Don’t make me hurt you.” His tone suggested that yes, he did want to hurt Fletch.

“Right.” Fletch snarled as he headed to the door. “Mark my words, Dyron, you will pay for this. I will make sure that your crimes here do not go unpunished. You will be held to account for your actions.”

“Sure, whatever. Just don’t let Steve hit you on the butt on the way out.”

As soon as the pair of them were out the door, Reven leaned back on her chair, a smug look on her face. “Well that’s the last we’ll ever see of him.” She stated. “Never did like the guy, actually. Even if he wasn’t a total arse-kisser, I still would have chucked him.”

“There is one issue, however.” Rick spoke up. “Without him, we do need a new commander for the recon lance.”

“Oh, definitely.” She stated. “But, for now, there’s something more important to deal with.”

“Which is?” Rick narrowed his eyes, trying to figure what she was up to.

“A name change.” She finished. “The Blackguards is so boring, so pedestrian and so full of Danae’s insufferable ego. We need a fresh start.”

-----

Five minutes later she emerged from the meeting room, a broad grin on her face. “You, Random accountant!” She called out, pointing at one of the nervous-looking admin staff.

“Yes?”

“As Major Weiss is no longer with us, a fresh start is in order. Pull up the paperwork to get this unit re-registered by the MRBC as ‘Reven’s Storm Riders.’” She gleefully hummed to herself, bobbing her head with self-satisfaction.

“Um, yes, ma’am. Right away.”

“Oh, and, uh, as a cost-cutting measure as a part of the unit’s restructure, three-quarters of you are fired. I’ll let you sort it out amongst yourselves.”

-----

Outskirts of Pyrewood, Hamilton
Fletcher
Chaos March
25 March, 3067

The Vedette tank sprayed fire from its Autocannon as it sprinted between buildings, the shells tearing a gash into the leg of Danae’s Highlander. A glance at the damage monitor told her that, while the shot hadn’t done much damage in and of itself, the damage her mech was taking was adding up. She swung the massive machine around, tracking the enemy tank’s last position and heading.

There. The Vedette burst from cover again, however, this time she was ready. The Highlander’s massive Gauss rifle spat a single shell, streaking towards the enemy vehicle faster then the eye could track. She slug hit home, slamming into the tanks’ side, sending it reeling as armour and machinery were pulverised by the impact. A pair of medium lasers sliced into the tank’s side, tearing through the gaps torn by the armour.

Skidding before crashing to a halt against the side of a house, a cloud of black smoke billowed from the rents torn in the tank’s side, indicating the vehicle was no longer a threat. However, before Danae could get a moment’s respite, a shrill alarm rang out through the cockpit, indicating a missile lock. The Highlander rocked under the impact of a barrage of missiles, shredding armour over its flank.

This was not supposed to happen, she snarled to herself as she bought the mech around to face its attacker. A spindly Whitworth stood there, defiant despite its massing less then half her mech. As she bought her weapons to bear, the mech ignited its jump jets, leaping out of her line of fire; instead, her Gauss Rifle shell slammed into the house it had been standing in front of, blowing it apart in a cloud of brick dust and splinters.

The enemy machine let off another pair of LRM volleys at hers as it leaped away; half of the missiles met their mark, grinding into her already depleted armour. With a snarl, she fired back, her Gauss round slamming into the smaller mech’s arm, blasting it apart. The Whitworth stumbled, but remained upright, leaping back again.

“Damn you!” She screamed. “Come back here and fight!” She dropped her sights onto the mech again, only to be greeted by a red warning light; her Gauss Rifle was empty, having fired its last shot. “No! You will not escape me!”

“Major, we have across the board weapons failures.” The voice of Malakai Deslowe cut in over the command channel. “Most units are reporting ammunition depletion. Our armour is low and we are running the risk of a combat loss grouping if we continue. We have to fall back.”

“We will not-“ she called out, only to be cut off as an impact rocked her mech, the massive machine staggering and tumbling backwards under the force of the blow. Fighting with the controls, she managed to keep the mech upright; a screech of twisting metal was her reward as the Highlander found its footing, crushing a streetlamp. Glancing around, she saw her attacker, a Cyclops, painted in a gaudy, turquoise and purple colour scheme.

“Worm!” She yelled, ignoring the warning beeps coming from her systems. “Get out of my way!” Again dropping her sights on the enemy machine, it was only then that she noticed her damage display; the enemy mech’s Gauss Rifle round had crushed the SRM launcher on her machine’s right arm, leaving her with only a pair of medium lasers.

“Fine. You win.” Her words were tinged with anger. Keying the command channel, she opened a broadcast to her force. “All units, fall back. Withdraw from the town to rally point Kilo.” She hated giving the order, but even worse, hated the circumstances that made it necessary.

She fired her Highlander’s jump jets, the massive mech leaping backwards out of the Cyclops’ line of fire, placing a school building between it and her. Mentally, she was seething, angered over the circumstances that had put her in this situation. What was supposed to have been an easy operation had tuned difficult. The enemy forces on planet had been stronger than expected, leaving her depleted forces massively outnumbered. Her core of heavy and assault machines were strong enough to hold off attacking forces, but the enemy’s numbers were such that they couldn’t break through.

The end result had been a bloody stalemate; her forces could not advance, but theirs could not crush hers. However, she could not retreat off-world; with no jumpship, they were stranded in-system. Fletcher’s defenders could continue to wear them down, depleting their supplies before forcing her to choose between surrender and utter destruction.

What made this even worse was what had put her in this situation; if she had landed with her full force, then none of this would have happened. She would have been able to take on the forces that were arrayed against her; not only due to the added numbers and firepower of that missing mech company, but also the significant force multiplier of their two aerospace fighters.

However, that was all taken away from her by the treachery of a single woman, one of her loyal officers; someone she had trusted implicitly. Reven Dyron had done all this; her actions were a deliberate and calculated betrayal aimed at destroying her unit. Reven had stranded her here, stabbing her in the back, then twisting the knife.

“I will survive this.” She swore to herself as her mech turned, leaving the town and its defenders behind her. “I will escape this wretched world. And I will make you suffer for this betrayal, Dyron.”

------

Storm Riders Offices, Harlech
Outreach
Chaos March
31 March, 3067

Like many mercenary units based on Outreach, the Storm Riders kept their mechs in a hanger facility attached to the offices. The reconstruction of Harlech had been based entirely around such concepts; reinforced, extra-wide streets that were built for mechs, walkways and overpasses that were large enough for even the tallest of mechs to easily pass under and so on. Much of the office space in the mercenary district was taken up with such hanger space; one thing that people looked for when renting real estate was how many mechs a facility could accommodate.

Right now, Reven was out the back, supervising the allocation of a bay space for of Lambchop’s Wraith and introducing the tech crews to the machine. And by supervising, she was actually really leaning on a railing watching people doing the hard work. She had to admit that the Wraith was a reasonably impressive machine; while not overly fast, it had a sleek, streamlined design that suggested speed and agility. Even from here, she could tell that Lambchop kept the mech in good shape; it showed no obvious signs of wear or lack of maintenance, and the tactical camouflage scheme it was wearing looked professionally applied, rather then simply slopped on.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Z-One asked as he strolled over to her. He was dressed in his usual flightsuit, complete with helmet and bandanna. He was also drinking a fruit smoothie; the straw was tucked under his bandanna, allowing him to drink while preserving his anonymity.

“I’m supervising.” She stated in a factual manner.

Z-One glanced over her, then down at the mechbay. “Well, yeah.” He nodded. “I can see that you’re really hard at work there. Oh yeah. The stress must be killing you.”

She let out a contented chortle. “I think I’m getting the hang of being a mercenary commander.” She looked over the bay. “It’s not that hard.”

“Given that you make random decisions and delegate all the hard work, sure.” He took a prolonged slurp from his drink. “So that’s the new guy’s mech?”

“Well, what do you think?” Reven asked as she looked over the mech.

“I dunno.” Z-One commented between slurps on his smoothie. “It looks a bit out of place.”

“Hmm.” She looked over the Wraith again, which was currently decorated in an eminently sensible forest camouflage scheme. Then, she looked over the mech bays; her Black Knight, with its silver and black colours immediately stood out. Almost as distinctive was Fish’s silver, blue and gold Awesome, and, next to it, Steve’s blue, bronze and black Axeman. However, possibly the most eye-catching (besides her own fantastic Mech, of course) was Ford’s coral-pink and bright yellow Venom.

“I see.” She finished. “You make a good point. I’ll ask him to re-paint it to something more appropriate.”

Z-One shook his head. “You get straight to the obvious point as always, boss.”

She glanced at her, narrowing her eyes. “Is there something on your mind? You usually only get overly mean-spirited like this when there’s something bothering you.”

He took another sip. “And you rarely, if ever listen to me, so does it matter?”

“Okay, you have my attention.” She grudgingly admitted. “So speak up rather then making faces at me behind your mask.”

“So,” Z-One began as he finished off the last few drops of his smoothie with a loud slurp. “You hired a guy who you know nothing about who doesn’t even have a proper name and is blatantly lying to your face.” He offered. “And you hired him because he looks good, probably so you could have a unit staffed entirely by good looking guys with nice hair.” He shrugged as he wiggled his straw around the base of the cup. “Just saying, that’s all”

She quirked a brow. “And he’s different from you how?”

“Wellll...” He seemed thoughtful for a moment. It was hard to tell under the mask. “I don’t have nice hair.”

“You know what I mean though.” She stated.

“I’m just saying that maybe you shouldn’t have hired him without knowing more.”

“I hired you, and I know even less about you.” She countered.

“aaaaand there were rather particular circumstances behind you hiring me.” He finished. ”Remember?”

Reven sighed., clearly defeated “No, I haven’t forgotten about Pogata.”

-----

Pogata
Planet Unknown
Former Outworlds Alliance
Date Unknown, 3059

“Reven! Damn it, that Bezz woman was right!” her commander called over the communicator. “Get out of here n-“ The message cut off in a sudden, sharp burst of static. However, Reven didn’t have to guess what had just happened. And, as near as she could tell, she was all alone.

Sweat poured off her; not just from the heat of her mech, with its cracked reactor shielding and damage heat sinks, but from her fear. The ruined city loomed around her, and in its shadows, the mysterious attackers that had come after her unit. There had been no warnings, no orders to leave, no efforts to communicate. They had simply attacked, clearly with the intent of wiping out any who had witnessed their presence.

I have to get out of here. She shook her head. Keep it together, Reven. You have to get out of here. Stay calm, remain focused. She opened up the throttle, the damaged Black Knight lumbering to speed. Fortunately, it hadn’t yet suffered any damage to its legs or gyro, and was still fully mobile. It was an advantage; the only one she had.

Her mech’s armour was shredded, and had been breached in several places. The engine shielding had been cracked, spiking its internal heat. Its left arm had been blasted off, with little more than a stump of twisted metal and crackling wires remaining. Her status boards showed that only a few good hits would be enough for the damage to become critical and finish her off.

I have to get away! The mech stormed through the streets of the ruined city, buildings that had been abandoned and crumbling for centuries surrounding it. Ordinarily, she would have been curious; what was this place, who lived here and why had it been abandoned so long ago. Now she simply cared about only one thing – herself. She had to leave this nightmarish place alive. Nothing else mattered.

Beeps from her sensors warned her that the enemy mechs were still on her tail. They were spread out, but seemed to be following her. The clutter and debris made it hard to tell, and her Black Knight’s Beagle Probe had been destroyed earlier. Were it still intact, it would have given her a much better idea of what was going on and allowed her to better plan her escape. As it was, it was a piece of useless junk that told her nothing.

Cement and asphalt cracked as she took a sharp turn, managing to keep the massive mech under control despite the broken pavement. Ahead, she could see her goal; the buildings thinning out, a road leading off into the barren countryside – and away from her attackers. Keep focused, stay calm, concentrate on staying alive, she told herself, knowing full well that she wasn’t fooling herself. Her heart was racing, pounding against her chest as fear flowed though her.

Don’t panic! Run! The Black Knight continued at top speed, doing its best to put the city and her attackers well behind her. She could see that she was nearly away; maybe two hundred meters to go. A part of her mind told her that she would be safe by simply escaping the city; after all, they’d only been attacked once they entered the city, the one that they’d been warned about. If she left it, they would leave her alone. She kept telling herself this as she pushed on.

And then everything changed. A pair of mechs stepped out in front of her, blocking her escape path; a sleek Vixen and a broad Lancelot. The disparity between the two would seem almost comedic in any other situation, but instead only served to make them even more sinister. Both of them sported the flat green colour scheme of the attackers, and the same ominous lack of markings.

I’m dead! She thought to herself, her body shuddering in fear. Her Mech outmassed either of them, but she was clearly outnumbered and outgunned here. Furthermore, both of them were fresh, while her machine was badly damaged. “I-“ She managed to gasp out. “Don’t-“ They raised their arms, ready to fire as Reven desperately looked around, frantically searching for an escape.

Abruptly, the Vixen’s flank erupted in a fireball as it was struck by a trio of beams, slicing through the small mech’s side. The mech reeled back, a gaping wound torn in its side, black smoke pouring out from its ruined systems. Regardless, the beams continued their destructive path, slicing into the Lancelot’s leg, neatly sawing it in half. The Mech simply collapsed forward, its awkward weapon arms providing no support as it crashed into the pavement.

“What-“ Reven gasped, frantically looking around. She could see her saviour rapidly pulling away into the sky; her sensors quickly tagged the machine as a Stingray aerospace fighter.

“Come with me if you want to live!” A voice crackled over the communicator. She had no idea who was speaking, and could only guess that it was the pilot of the Aerospace fighter. It was a risk, but she had no other option.

The Black Knight charged forwards, leaping over the two downed machines before either of them could respond. Whoever you are, she thought to herself. I owe you my life.

-----

Storm Riders Offices, Harlech
Outreach
Chaos March
31 March, 3067

“So what do you want?” Reven asked as she glanced at him. “You only mention Pogata when you want something.”

“Just for you to pay attention to Lambchop there.” Z-One finished. “Oh, and get me another smoothie.”

-----

Outskirts of Pyrewood, Hamilton
Fletcher
Chaos March
6 April, 3067

A pair of Cavalry attack VTOLs passed overhead, their bright colours stark against the dull, overcast skies. Their noses erupted into clouds of fire and smoke as they disgorged flights of SRMs at the militia units below; however, rather then exploding on contact with the enemy armour, the missiles burst open, spraying the tanks with a gelatinous goo.

Danae couldn’t help but grin as the vehicles burst into flames as the inferno rounds ignited. While dangerous to mechs, against vehicles, Inferno missiles could be lethal. One of the Vedette tanks that had been struck tore itself apart as its ammunition cooked off due to the heat, consuming itself in a massive fireball. A fitting death, for all that they have caused us. As cruel and inhumane as it was, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the actions of her newfound allies.

She had been initially somewhat struck by them; their mechs were painted in a rather distinctive bright yellowish-orange, with a red pattern that suggested nothing so much as blood veins. This scheme reflected their insignia; a yellow-orange eye on a seven-pointed black star; it was an insignia that she was not familiar with at all.

However, there was no questioning their effectiveness. They called themselves the Bloody Star; two companies of mechs, a company each of VTOLs and hovercraft, and supporting infantry. While they were mainly equipped with older technologies, they were brutal and unrelenting, showing no mercy to their enemies. Working alongside her Blackguards, the Bloody Star had managed to not only break the stalemate, but punch through the enemy lines.

She had no idea where they had come from; all she knew was that they had been hired by the Word of Blake to aid her unit. It was a part of the renegotiated terms that Ogel had presented to her; the Blackguards and Bloody Star would be working together in future operations; while they would not be merged, they would support each other. It was a future that she knew she would have to accept. Ogel had altered her unit’s command rights, effectively binding them to a long-term contract with the Word.

However, for all that the Word had promised them so much more; they would receive replacement mechs and personnel, salvage and upgrades. And, above all else, they would have a chance for the one thing Danae truly desired – revenge. And that was a part of their deal; Ogel had promised her that she would have her opportunity. All she had to do was serve the Word, and the opportunity would present itself. She would see her enemies destroyed, he had stated.

“Weiss, their frontline is falling back.” The voice of the Bloody Star’s commander crackled over her communicator. “The Devastators are moving in to support them.”

“Understood. My company will close in and destroy them. Support us, and keep up the pressure on the Militia.”

“Affirmative. They will know pain.” He finished as he closed the channel. Danae was not sure what to make of the man; identified only as “Stan”, his features suggested a mixed ancestry of no single identified background. He wore an intense glare, as if he was judging all those around him. And he was covered entirely in jagged black tattoos; while she had only seen his face, hands and feet, they all shared the same pattern, presuming to be interconnected. There was something decidedly odd about the man, almost supernatural.

She pushed her Highlander forward, surging towards the enemy’s position. Ahead of her, at the crest of the hill, the Devastators were doing the best to prop up their allies, holding the gaps in their line. “Attack!” She called over her command channel. “Show no mercy!”

Flights of missiles leaped from her mechs, accompanied by long-range laser and cannon shots that pummelled into the enemy lines. While several of the enemy machines staggered under their fire, the Devastators held their ground, responding with their own counter-assault. Missiles rocked Danae’s mech, chipping away at the armour. A quick glance over her status board told her that the damage was negligible. While her men were pushing uphill to theirs, they had the advantages of better equipment, superior numbers and pure ruthlessness – one that the Devastators could not hope to match.

Glancing over the enemy lines, she singled out a lone mech; a turquoise and purple Cyclops in the centre of the force. It was the same machine that had attacked her in Pyrewood two weeks ago. Intelligence told her something even more important, however; it was the mech of the Devastators’ commander.

Now to make an example of you. Dropping her sights on the Cyclops, she opened fire with the Gauss Rifle and LRMs. The rifle slammed into its leg, crushing the armour, while the missiles peppered across the torso. The Cyclops stumbled but held its ground, returning fire with its own weapons. The Gauss Rifle slammed into her mech’s left arm, crushing the armour bunt inflicting no serious damage, while the missiles went wide.

The Highlander charged forwards, closing the distance between the two machines; regaining its footing, the Cyclops did the same. Danae couldn’t help but smile to herself as she watched her opponent. The Cyclops was a command platform, not a true assault mech. Anyone who tried to use it as one was bound to get himself killed – which is what Kevin was apparently doing.

Her Highlander was slower then his mech, true. However it was far better armed, and carried the better part of twice as much armour, giving her all the advantages. She closed the ground between the two mechs, her two missile launchers and Gauss rifle spraying fire at the enemy Cyclops. The shots struck home, the missiles wreathing the Cyclops in fire before the Gauss Rifle struck home, slamming into its torso.

Keeping its footing, the Cyclops returned fire, chipping armour from the Highlander’s flanks without severely damaging it. Even though he still had the high ground, Danae was clearly winning this duel, at this rate, her mech would well outlast his. However, she was not aiming to make this last. She wanted it over, now.

As the Cyclops bought its weapons to bear, she opened up with the Highlander’s jump jets, the massive mech leaping away from the Cyclops on pillars of fusion-powered flames, the enemy fire tearing through the space where she had been. Vaulting uphill, she landed on the Cyclops’ flank, twisting her mech around to open fire as soon as she was down.

Missiles and lasers poured onto the mech, tearing apart its armour and eating into its structure. However, the Gauss Rifle did the most damage, pulverising the damaged leg, snapping the metallic bones and tearing the limb apart. The Cyclops crashed forward, slamming into the muddy ground.

Danae walked her mech over to her downed foe, glaring at the damaged machine as it struggled to rise. “Kevin Batterson.” She called out over her PA system. “It was not your forces that stymied me; it was the treason of one of my own.” A blast from her lasers tore into the Cyclops’ arm, tearing it apart and sending the mech crashing back into the mud.

“However, you too must pay for your role in this.” She stated. “The injustice your unit measured against mine will not go unpunished.”

Reven, this is your future. Her Highlander stopped next to his machine, then raised one of its massive, armoured legs. This is the price of treason. She bought the foot down, crushing the Cyclops’ head.

-----

Red’s Glare, Temptowns, Harlech
Outreach
Chaos March
7 April, 3067

For Fletch, the last few weeks had been rather unpleasant. After being kicked out of the Blackguards – he refused to acknowledge their name change, nor their alleged new commander – he’d been left with only his mech and the few meagre possessions that he carried with him. His entire life had amounted to a duffel bag and a bank account.

To his dismay, that account wasn’t lasting very long. Housing his mech did not come cheaply, which was rapidly eating into his finances. As a result, he’d taken up board in a flophouse in Temptowns until he could find a job.

That he was here in Temptowns was indicative of just how badly Reven had hurt him. This was not a place for a professional like him, one who had genuine skills and experience. No, Temptowns was a place for the no-hopers, the dead-enders, the has-beens and the never-would-bees. True, he could probably easily pick up work here, but he knew that it wouldn’t be pretty. However, it would be enough to tide him over so he could get out of here and get into a real unit.

He glanced down at his drink; the glass looked grimy and unwashed, just like the rest of the place. Everything in Red’s Glare spoke of being on its last legs. The furniture was bettered, the floor bare and uncovered, the lights dim simply due to the number of missing bulbs that had never been replaced.

The patronage spoke even more of the place then the building itself, however. Worn-looking men and women, clad in the tatters of what had once been uniforms. To a man, they were quiet, carefully watching for any opportunities that may present themselves, any sign of a potential employer. Not only would they want to put on their best show, but they also wanted to head off anyone else who might want to do the same.

In its own way, this was a desperate, cut-throat place. The people here had nothing to lose, and those who sought employees here knew that. They could dictate terms, and the people here would eat them up.

I don’t belong here. Fletch told himself. I had a unit, until she stole it from me. He desperately wanted to reclaim the Blackguards and drive Reven out, however, he had no idea how to do that. She had manipulated the remaining officers into unquestionably supporting her, leaving him without allies. Except for Ford, he thought. He knew that she was still loyal to him. After all, she hadn’t done anything to support Reven during her coup. However, she was one Mechwarrior against Reven’s army of thugs.

“Fletch Chase?”

He looked up from his drink to see a man standing over his table. No different from dozens of others, he clearly was a mercenary mechwarrior – or had been in past. His features were craggy and lined, his hair and moustache grey. And while he was dressed in a duster and cowboy hat, he could tell by the way the man carried himself that he was a trained soldier.

“I am.” He stated. “And you are?”

The man seated himself, putting his hat down on the table. “Name’s Rob Clydeburger. I’ve heard about cha, Mr Fletch.”

“What have you heard?” he asked, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

“That you’re one mighty fine mechwarrior and lieutenant that got himself hornswaggled by a low-down rattlesnake.” He offered. “She took yer unit and tossed yer out into the street like a pound of horse hockey.”

“You seem to have me, mister Clydeburger.” He stated, having gone from desperate to angry at hearing someone recount what had happened. Just hearing about it made his blood boil. “So what do you want?”

“My employer’s buildin’ up a force of his own, one made of men like yerself.” He explained. “Ones who have been hard done by and are itchin’ to even the score.”

And would do anything to get back at Reven. “I’m interested, Mister Clydeburger. Tell me more.”

The aged cowboy grinned. “Thought so, Mr Fletch. You look like a mighty fine mechwarrior in and of yourself, and one who I think would be proud to be a part of a unit with a long an’ storied history. And, and the same time, that unit would be proud to have a capable pilot like you”

He was fascinated. Gaining a place in a unit was his goal, but he hadn’t dreamed of getting into a unit with a name or reputation to trade off. And here was this man offering him all he wanted. “Tell me, then, what unit is this?”

Clydeburger’s grin broadened. “Son, welcome to the Waco Rangers.”

-----

Hiring Hall, Harlech
Outreach
Chaos March
8 April, 3067

After bringing the company up to full strength, it had taken another week of restructuring, re-filing of paper-work, re-registering and re-naming dropships to have the Storm Riders ready to hit the market. There had been surprisingly few questions about the fate of the units former commander (and most of its force) from the MRBC; it appeared that if something bad had happened to a commander who was willing to work for the Word of Blake, then Wolf’s Dragoons were happy with that. If it was blatantly obvious that they had been deposed in a coup by an officer who wasn’t interested in working for the Word, then it was even better.

“Okay everyone.” Reven began as she strode into the Hiring Hall, the other Storm Riders officers following in her footsteps. “We’re new on the scene. Let’s make a good impression.” Reven herself seemed to be dressed more for a night on the town then meeting potential employers; a designer shirt left unbuttoned to the navel, matching slacks and a jacket with a genuine fur collar topped off with designer sunglasses pushed up on her forehead that suggested that she had spent more on her clothes then the other representatives of the unit put together – including the one in the Mil-spec flightsuit.

This was where she had been at home for a long time. As a part of the Blackguards, she had happily helped bring attention to the unit by strutting around the Hiring Hall and standing out. It came naturally to her; she was, to her mind, just that dazzlingly attractive and seductive that people wanted to talk to her. Of course, by doing such, she’d helped to steer potential employers towards Major Weiss, who did all the actual hard work of setting up a contract.

While many potential employers offered contracts purely electronically; posted on bulletin boards and moderated by the MRBC, most still preferred to do the negotiation face to face. That was where she had shone; she’d helped to sway things to the Blackguards advantage in numerous cases through careful manipulation and persuasion. It was an art, one she excelled at.

Of course, after Danae had fallen in with the Word of Blake, all of Reven’s hard work became redundant. The Word dealt largely through intermediaries and were not impressed by Reven’s charm, wit and sophistication. Yet another black mark against her former commander.

“So spread out and get to work.” She finished, turning to face her men. “And make me proud.” She threw in a wink and a smile to boot. “Let me know the instant you find anything.”

And that was where the real legwork began; getting out there, seeing what was on offer and what they were capable of fulfilling. Her unit’s small size and relatively sophisticated equipment worked against them to a degree; they needed a contract for a small unit, yet one that would pay enough to cover their not inconsiderable expenses. Clearly a compromise had to be found between the two, which usually required a rather forgiving or generous employer.

Fortunately, Reven was sure that she could turn anyone to her advantage.

After a half hour of searches and several potential leads, she had her first bite. However, this was not what she had expected; rather then an electronic message in response to an offer, she was instead approached in person.

“Captain Reven Dyron?”

He was an average looking man of obvious Asian decent; dressed in a sharp business suit, he could have easily blended into a crowd. “Yes?” She asked, carefully eyeing him over.

“I am Taro Watanabe, representative of Metals of the Earth.” He replied with an ever so slight bow. “Do you know of my company?”

“Originally based on Nox.” Lambcop cut in, a bag of chips in his hand. “Starting as a pure mining firm, it expanded into mining equipment, chemicals, synthetics, myomers and eventually industrial mechs.” He paused to eat a chip. “MotE worked with the Crosby Myomer Research firm to help reverse-engineer the Triple Strength Myomer system for the DCMS.”

Taro nodded. “Your officer is very well-informed, Captain Dyorn”

“Domo Arigato, Watanabe-Sama” Lambchop replied with a bow.

Reven glared at him, clearly upstaged. “How may we aid your company, Mister Watanabe?” She asked, trying to regain the initiative.

“My company is working on several very important projects for the DCMS at present.” He began. “However, as military resources are regrettably stretched thin, we wish to hire extra security for our facilities, as well as professional soldiers to aid us in our work. My company would be most generous in compensation for that assistance, with an eye to future employment if all goes well.”

Reven gave a thoughtful nod. “Well, Mister Watanabe. Your offer is most intriguing, and I certainly would be interested in hearing more. Shall we adjourn to negotiate matters further?”

It went surprisingly well from there. For a Draconis businessman, Watanabe was surprisingly friendly and open to negotiations, acting more akin to a Lyran or FedSuns agent then the notoriously hard-arsed practices of his type. Instead, he was happy to work with them and discuss matters, and very flexible on his offer. The MRBC had reviewed every step of the process, ensuring that everything was legitimate and that one side wasn’t attempting to screw over the other.

And, in the end, the Storm Riders had their first contract.

After concluding business (and pleasantries) Reven strutted out of the room, her step a confident swagger. “Well boys.” She finished, tuning back to her collected officers with a broad grin on her face. “We’re in business.”

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