"Seems Familiar..."
Based on events around “Death From Above” Season 3, Episodes 6 - 10.
The snowstorm raged around the four BattleMechs moving through it. Ranging from ten meters tall to thirteen meters tall, they were spread out quite a bit. A humanoid build with a lanky appearance was springing along, turning to signal with an arm to a less humanoid pod with legs and weapons affixed to the side, the shortest thing on the field and sweeping quickly through the snowdrifts despite its weight. The Stinger and Locust continued on, active sensors sweeping over the area.
The right flank was held up by another humanoid BattleMech, its left arm ending in a cannon aperture. Not as fast as the left flank, it nevertheless was efficient in motion, and had more armor and firepower in case of an ambush. It also was closer in to defend the commander, should it come down to a fight. The Centurion CN9-A was a more recent design than the rest of this patrol but resilient and useful. The commander was in another venerable design, the Orion ON1-K, given a large amount of notoriety and history to remember it.
The communication systems crackled to life, a voice almost bored coming over the speakers. "Arete Lance, Shadowfox Command. What's the status of the patrol?"
The leader reached out, and despite being in a very warm cockpit the 'MechWarrior shivered at the vision of cold outside. "Command, we're almost done out here. Whomever said there was pirates was lying. Looks like there were some people here a while back but they burned out of here in a hurry."
"Okay, come on back. We had an odd signal coming from the planetary militia which said an unidentified force had dropped. No idea who they are, but . . . our contract has us here, so let's hope they decide to stick to the more populated areas."
"I could use the combat training." The 'MechWarrior of the Stinger grumbled.
Two clicks of keys to close the communications to just that person. "Schrade, knock it off." The Lance Commander said quietly. "This is too much deja vu for me, and it makes me uncomfortable."
"What does, Otto?"
"On planet as unknown forces drop in with 'Mechs and guns. Priam Company made its mark that time, sure-"
"Dad was there. I know about it. That's why we have the castle."
"Don't interrupt your superior officers, boy." Otto snorted, and rubbed a hand on his thigh as he remembered what happened there on White Reach. How crazy it had gotten that year, and how they barely made it through. Sure they were rewarded, but none of them ever felt right again after Damascus and Houndstooth. "If this is anything like that, I'm going to need you to be sharp. And since you're in your Stinger, be doubly sharp. Thing has tin for armor, I swear."
A pause. "Are you concerned about me or the 'Mech?"
"I don't want to have to hose out the cockpit again is all." Otto clicked back over. "Okay, done talking. Command, we are en route to Point Theta and then back home."
"Copy, Arete One. Beacon will be lit. And we'll have soup."
"Command, I'll hold you to that."
Two people sat in the tactical room, with the door locked and listening to the various recorded broadcasts which were being caught from militia units coming under fire. "This is not good." The commander of the mercenary unit sat back, fidgeting with the collar of his jacket and taking another long drink of warm coffee. "Otto, are you having flashbacks too?"
"Sir, I think we need to proceed with caution. Actually what I think we should do is remember we have a contract and not get involved unless they come to the polar circle looking to start a fight."
"Yeah." He took a drink again to fill the sudden silence. "If the HPG was still up, I'd send a message back to Twycross about this mess. Right now, it's just the difference of a few sentences which make me want to call ourselves in default and bug out. These pirates are too damn efficient, even compared to what we went up against on Phalan."
Otto felt his mouth quirk into a smile. "And we both know those weren't pirates?"
"And we both know those weren't pirates."
"Aubrey, Mikell is going to miss us. He'll come running, and possibly with the rest of the outfit."
The officer looked at the ceiling and let out a long slow breath. "No, Otto. He won't. He'll quietly recall everyone on Twycross and make for Phalan where our holdings are. Or he'll call everyone to Twycross and fortify there just in case something happens."
"Odds on this being part of the Houndstooth affair again?"
"No bets. This isn't feeling the same." Aubrey stood up, and sighed. "It feels a lot worse. I'd trade dealing with the 22nd Skye all over again, for this amount of unknown." He straightened his back as much as he could at his age. "Keep everyone on alert, and move personal belongings back to the ship. If these pirates make a move here, we dustoff if we have enough warning. If we don't, then we try to fight them off until the Shadowfox can leave and haul ourselves out of here so fast we'll leave scorch marks."
Based on events around “Death From Above” Season 3, Episodes 6 - 10.
- Date: November 23, 3049
- Planet: Anywhere, Polar Glaciers
- Location: Water Processing Center Beta, Dropship "Shadowfox"
The snowstorm raged around the four BattleMechs moving through it. Ranging from ten meters tall to thirteen meters tall, they were spread out quite a bit. A humanoid build with a lanky appearance was springing along, turning to signal with an arm to a less humanoid pod with legs and weapons affixed to the side, the shortest thing on the field and sweeping quickly through the snowdrifts despite its weight. The Stinger and Locust continued on, active sensors sweeping over the area.
The right flank was held up by another humanoid BattleMech, its left arm ending in a cannon aperture. Not as fast as the left flank, it nevertheless was efficient in motion, and had more armor and firepower in case of an ambush. It also was closer in to defend the commander, should it come down to a fight. The Centurion CN9-A was a more recent design than the rest of this patrol but resilient and useful. The commander was in another venerable design, the Orion ON1-K, given a large amount of notoriety and history to remember it.
The communication systems crackled to life, a voice almost bored coming over the speakers. "Arete Lance, Shadowfox Command. What's the status of the patrol?"
The leader reached out, and despite being in a very warm cockpit the 'MechWarrior shivered at the vision of cold outside. "Command, we're almost done out here. Whomever said there was pirates was lying. Looks like there were some people here a while back but they burned out of here in a hurry."
"Okay, come on back. We had an odd signal coming from the planetary militia which said an unidentified force had dropped. No idea who they are, but . . . our contract has us here, so let's hope they decide to stick to the more populated areas."
"I could use the combat training." The 'MechWarrior of the Stinger grumbled.
Two clicks of keys to close the communications to just that person. "Schrade, knock it off." The Lance Commander said quietly. "This is too much deja vu for me, and it makes me uncomfortable."
"What does, Otto?"
"On planet as unknown forces drop in with 'Mechs and guns. Priam Company made its mark that time, sure-"
"Dad was there. I know about it. That's why we have the castle."
"Don't interrupt your superior officers, boy." Otto snorted, and rubbed a hand on his thigh as he remembered what happened there on White Reach. How crazy it had gotten that year, and how they barely made it through. Sure they were rewarded, but none of them ever felt right again after Damascus and Houndstooth. "If this is anything like that, I'm going to need you to be sharp. And since you're in your Stinger, be doubly sharp. Thing has tin for armor, I swear."
A pause. "Are you concerned about me or the 'Mech?"
"I don't want to have to hose out the cockpit again is all." Otto clicked back over. "Okay, done talking. Command, we are en route to Point Theta and then back home."
"Copy, Arete One. Beacon will be lit. And we'll have soup."
"Command, I'll hold you to that."
- Date: November 24, 3049; 13:44 Local Time
- Location: Dropship "Shadowfox", Tactical Room
Two people sat in the tactical room, with the door locked and listening to the various recorded broadcasts which were being caught from militia units coming under fire. "This is not good." The commander of the mercenary unit sat back, fidgeting with the collar of his jacket and taking another long drink of warm coffee. "Otto, are you having flashbacks too?"
"Sir, I think we need to proceed with caution. Actually what I think we should do is remember we have a contract and not get involved unless they come to the polar circle looking to start a fight."
"Yeah." He took a drink again to fill the sudden silence. "If the HPG was still up, I'd send a message back to Twycross about this mess. Right now, it's just the difference of a few sentences which make me want to call ourselves in default and bug out. These pirates are too damn efficient, even compared to what we went up against on Phalan."
Otto felt his mouth quirk into a smile. "And we both know those weren't pirates?"
"And we both know those weren't pirates."
"Aubrey, Mikell is going to miss us. He'll come running, and possibly with the rest of the outfit."
The officer looked at the ceiling and let out a long slow breath. "No, Otto. He won't. He'll quietly recall everyone on Twycross and make for Phalan where our holdings are. Or he'll call everyone to Twycross and fortify there just in case something happens."
"Odds on this being part of the Houndstooth affair again?"
"No bets. This isn't feeling the same." Aubrey stood up, and sighed. "It feels a lot worse. I'd trade dealing with the 22nd Skye all over again, for this amount of unknown." He straightened his back as much as he could at his age. "Keep everyone on alert, and move personal belongings back to the ship. If these pirates make a move here, we dustoff if we have enough warning. If we don't, then we try to fight them off until the Shadowfox can leave and haul ourselves out of here so fast we'll leave scorch marks."