This thread is intended for community members to describe how they acquired the first Mech they will pilot in the game. It is supposed to be your story, so please use first person.
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What? You wanna know how I started my Merc company? What difference does it make now?
Well, you asked.
The Walkers started with just me and my cousin. I was always the big sky dreamer, and Ken, he was better with the details of getting things moving. Our grandpa had himself one old beat up mech, an old King Crab from that he picked up during the third war. Now, gramps he had one son and four daughters. But only my dad spent any time under arms. Now me and Ken both wanted to be Mechjocks, and obviously we couldn't both inherit the KC. So my aunt came up with a plan. We got in touch with this Merc unit, the White Witches or something, and made a trade. They got the King Crab, while we got a Marauder and a Crab. Pretty fair deal, all told. Them Witches didn't need no more pilots, though, so Me and Ken took a hitch with the 311 BMR out on Ceris. Six years later, Ken took his walking papers. Said he couldn't stand the way his company was running. Anyway, he left to take a crack at the Merc life. I stayed in for another eleven years. Even went up against Kens outfit once or twice while they were working for old Mad Max Liao. Heh, come to think of it, I may have even busted up the armor on his mech at one point.
I finally called it quits, and tried to get on with life. But driving a mech gets into your blood, ya know. Hard to give it up, and the local authorities look pretty dim on taking seventy-five Tons out for a stroll.
I'd been out for a year or so when I get a message from Ken. He's wanting to start his own unit, and would I like to come along for the ride?
I met up with him out in FWL territory. Turns out his last unit had gotten on Mad Max's bad side. Only a few managed to make it to the dropship when the Death Commandos came calling. The first three members of the unit were Ken, Ilia - that was Kens wife, and me. We had to sell some of the mechs that no longer had owners to get started, but ya know, life happens. Well, about that time, the civil war was heating up again, and we were able to pick up Jessie and Alex. The five of us made a name for ourselves raiding behind the lines. Yea, we were a sight to see. We'd come in line abreast with my Marauder center, Ken in his Crab and Alex's Catapult at my sides, and Ilia and Jessie's Locust out on the flanks. Move in, smash it up, and scoot before any one knows what's happened. Worked great.
Anyway that's how we started. As time went on, we were able to grow to company size. When I retired, we had six Locusts, a Raven, a Crab, two Catapults, my Marauder, and Gramps old King Crab. Apparently those Witches sold her when they needed some cash, and we picked it up in a raid as it was being shipped to the front. I couldn't believe it when we ran the serial number.
Well, the Chicken Walkers are gone now. No one wanted to take over when I retired. Ken had lost his leg by then and settled down with Ilia. As for the rest, we just went our separate ways. Now I'm raising my own kids, with Alex - or Alexia as her momma named her - and running this here fried chicken stand. So, did you get what you wanted, newsie? Can I get back to cooking now? Or are you gonna beg for more Merc stories?
Why all the chicken walkers? At first that's what we had on hand. Then it became a tradition. We always were looking for the best pilots we could hire or grow. And I'll swear till my dying day that driving a chicken makes the best pilots. You grow up walking like a human. It takes a lot more skill to run while bobbing on some moon and still smoke the targets.
Now piss off. I got a restaurant to run, and a ranch to manage.
Well, you asked.
The Walkers started with just me and my cousin. I was always the big sky dreamer, and Ken, he was better with the details of getting things moving. Our grandpa had himself one old beat up mech, an old King Crab from that he picked up during the third war. Now, gramps he had one son and four daughters. But only my dad spent any time under arms. Now me and Ken both wanted to be Mechjocks, and obviously we couldn't both inherit the KC. So my aunt came up with a plan. We got in touch with this Merc unit, the White Witches or something, and made a trade. They got the King Crab, while we got a Marauder and a Crab. Pretty fair deal, all told. Them Witches didn't need no more pilots, though, so Me and Ken took a hitch with the 311 BMR out on Ceris. Six years later, Ken took his walking papers. Said he couldn't stand the way his company was running. Anyway, he left to take a crack at the Merc life. I stayed in for another eleven years. Even went up against Kens outfit once or twice while they were working for old Mad Max Liao. Heh, come to think of it, I may have even busted up the armor on his mech at one point.
I finally called it quits, and tried to get on with life. But driving a mech gets into your blood, ya know. Hard to give it up, and the local authorities look pretty dim on taking seventy-five Tons out for a stroll.
I'd been out for a year or so when I get a message from Ken. He's wanting to start his own unit, and would I like to come along for the ride?
I met up with him out in FWL territory. Turns out his last unit had gotten on Mad Max's bad side. Only a few managed to make it to the dropship when the Death Commandos came calling. The first three members of the unit were Ken, Ilia - that was Kens wife, and me. We had to sell some of the mechs that no longer had owners to get started, but ya know, life happens. Well, about that time, the civil war was heating up again, and we were able to pick up Jessie and Alex. The five of us made a name for ourselves raiding behind the lines. Yea, we were a sight to see. We'd come in line abreast with my Marauder center, Ken in his Crab and Alex's Catapult at my sides, and Ilia and Jessie's Locust out on the flanks. Move in, smash it up, and scoot before any one knows what's happened. Worked great.
Anyway that's how we started. As time went on, we were able to grow to company size. When I retired, we had six Locusts, a Raven, a Crab, two Catapults, my Marauder, and Gramps old King Crab. Apparently those Witches sold her when they needed some cash, and we picked it up in a raid as it was being shipped to the front. I couldn't believe it when we ran the serial number.
Well, the Chicken Walkers are gone now. No one wanted to take over when I retired. Ken had lost his leg by then and settled down with Ilia. As for the rest, we just went our separate ways. Now I'm raising my own kids, with Alex - or Alexia as her momma named her - and running this here fried chicken stand. So, did you get what you wanted, newsie? Can I get back to cooking now? Or are you gonna beg for more Merc stories?
Why all the chicken walkers? At first that's what we had on hand. Then it became a tradition. We always were looking for the best pilots we could hire or grow. And I'll swear till my dying day that driving a chicken makes the best pilots. You grow up walking like a human. It takes a lot more skill to run while bobbing on some moon and still smoke the targets.
Now piss off. I got a restaurant to run, and a ranch to manage.
Another Chicken Walker short. Enjoy
You looking for more merc stories newsie?
You ever heard of the RoadRunner? Lance leader Michael "Mac" McKay. He was one of those guys who perpetuate both the "Lucky than Good" and "Fools rush in" stereotypes.
When he first signed on with the Walkers, he was riding an old Locust -1S. You know, the one with SRMs and its tissue paper armor now soaked in water.
First time he saw action with us, the RoadRunner takes off ninety degrees from the enemy. No warning, no comms, no nothing. Means the rest of the crew just figured he was yellow, and we'd cut him loose after we stomped that lance of urbies that was trying to charge us over an open slope. Stupid.
So after a few minutes of playing kick the can, here comes Mac back. Straight into the rear of the remaining urbies. He comes flying in and lets loose with all he's got at the rearmost urbie. I'm still not sure if he new or cared that urbies are basically walking turrets with full traverse.
Here comes Mac looking for some nice thin rear armor, then Bam! Now he's looking down the barrel of a nice big AC-10.
Fortunately that urbie driver wanted a clean lock before taking his shot. And Mac was bouncing like a rubber ball as he closed. He gets to about a hundred meters and lets loose. I'd call it a lucky shot, if I didn't see him pull the same trick dozens of times over the years. Everything hit, and all on that AC. Then Mac just keeps going, leaving that poor urbie driver with a pile of scrap for an arm and a ringing in his ears, ( one of the SRMs had hit the cockpit). At least until Alex made it rain on him.
I still can't believe how long RoadRunners luck lasted either. About fifteen fights in and we had never had to replace more than armor on his mech. And one SRM launcher, but that wasn't due to it being shot. We were on Arabia for a smash and grab. Mac is pulling his usual run and hit plan, until he finds out that the building he's trying to duck behind has a paved parking lot that has been covered with sand. His feet start sliding out from under him and he smacks the corner of the building. The launcher just tears off, and the reloader shorts out, dumping all his SRMs at the turn.
Heh... the comms lit up like banshee with all the blue words coming from that Locust. Funny thing was that the Commando that Mac was running from did the exact same thing. Slipped on the sand and fell. Right on Mac's SRMs. Kaboom!
We ended up giving Mac that kill. I mean, it was his SRMs that put the Commando down.
Eventually we took a Cicada more or less intact. And as Mac had the highest kill record of our light pilots, we let him drive it. He hated it. Not because it was heavy or slow, but because it didn't have any missiles. He did like those explosions. To keep him quiet, we eventually replaced the small laser with a flamer. He liked that.
As with every gambler, Mac's luck ran out. He and his lance (three Locusts, including his old one now piloted by his boyfriend) were supposed to shoot up a supply convoy taking coolant and Ammo to a forward repair and refit camp on the Davion world of Warcraft. There was a good six or eight kilometers of open farmland that the convoy would have to cross.
Mac planned to run up along the fields paralleling the road. What he didn't know was that the AFFC Sappers had been busy protecting that road with mines. One of the other mechs caught the whole thing on their battle ROM. RoadRunner hit the first mine at full speed. The blast took off his leg and the Cicada flipped rolled and bounced across the field. If you watch really carefully you can see the cockpit fill with fire when it hits a mine with the windscreen. Then the fusion engine let go and melted what was left to a glowing puddle.
So there you have it. The story of the RoadRunner.
Now scram. I see that the 13:11 airbus from the capitol is running on time for once. Time for a rush.
You looking for more merc stories newsie?
You ever heard of the RoadRunner? Lance leader Michael "Mac" McKay. He was one of those guys who perpetuate both the "Lucky than Good" and "Fools rush in" stereotypes.
When he first signed on with the Walkers, he was riding an old Locust -1S. You know, the one with SRMs and its tissue paper armor now soaked in water.
First time he saw action with us, the RoadRunner takes off ninety degrees from the enemy. No warning, no comms, no nothing. Means the rest of the crew just figured he was yellow, and we'd cut him loose after we stomped that lance of urbies that was trying to charge us over an open slope. Stupid.
So after a few minutes of playing kick the can, here comes Mac back. Straight into the rear of the remaining urbies. He comes flying in and lets loose with all he's got at the rearmost urbie. I'm still not sure if he new or cared that urbies are basically walking turrets with full traverse.
Here comes Mac looking for some nice thin rear armor, then Bam! Now he's looking down the barrel of a nice big AC-10.
Fortunately that urbie driver wanted a clean lock before taking his shot. And Mac was bouncing like a rubber ball as he closed. He gets to about a hundred meters and lets loose. I'd call it a lucky shot, if I didn't see him pull the same trick dozens of times over the years. Everything hit, and all on that AC. Then Mac just keeps going, leaving that poor urbie driver with a pile of scrap for an arm and a ringing in his ears, ( one of the SRMs had hit the cockpit). At least until Alex made it rain on him.
I still can't believe how long RoadRunners luck lasted either. About fifteen fights in and we had never had to replace more than armor on his mech. And one SRM launcher, but that wasn't due to it being shot. We were on Arabia for a smash and grab. Mac is pulling his usual run and hit plan, until he finds out that the building he's trying to duck behind has a paved parking lot that has been covered with sand. His feet start sliding out from under him and he smacks the corner of the building. The launcher just tears off, and the reloader shorts out, dumping all his SRMs at the turn.
Heh... the comms lit up like banshee with all the blue words coming from that Locust. Funny thing was that the Commando that Mac was running from did the exact same thing. Slipped on the sand and fell. Right on Mac's SRMs. Kaboom!
We ended up giving Mac that kill. I mean, it was his SRMs that put the Commando down.
Eventually we took a Cicada more or less intact. And as Mac had the highest kill record of our light pilots, we let him drive it. He hated it. Not because it was heavy or slow, but because it didn't have any missiles. He did like those explosions. To keep him quiet, we eventually replaced the small laser with a flamer. He liked that.
As with every gambler, Mac's luck ran out. He and his lance (three Locusts, including his old one now piloted by his boyfriend) were supposed to shoot up a supply convoy taking coolant and Ammo to a forward repair and refit camp on the Davion world of Warcraft. There was a good six or eight kilometers of open farmland that the convoy would have to cross.
Mac planned to run up along the fields paralleling the road. What he didn't know was that the AFFC Sappers had been busy protecting that road with mines. One of the other mechs caught the whole thing on their battle ROM. RoadRunner hit the first mine at full speed. The blast took off his leg and the Cicada flipped rolled and bounced across the field. If you watch really carefully you can see the cockpit fill with fire when it hits a mine with the windscreen. Then the fusion engine let go and melted what was left to a glowing puddle.
So there you have it. The story of the RoadRunner.
Now scram. I see that the 13:11 airbus from the capitol is running on time for once. Time for a rush.
Copying this from the old forum:
Mercenary Hiring Hall, Mechdur, Aurigan Coalition. March 3025.
Spartakus, Hauptmann of the Hanover Free Militia. What? No, of course that's not my real name, but it's what the troops call me, let's just keep it that way. And yes, that's a Steiner emblem on the uniform. A drink will buy you the story...
I've been in the Skye Rangers. Family had a good business on New Kyoto, enough influence to make me an officer in the local troops. Yes, I know. Full cliché social general career in front of me. But let me tell you, the FWL neighbours were kind enough to remind me, that you should know a few things about actual warfare when you're piloting a mech. And one day they struck us hard. We've been outgunned 4:1. No chance. Only a handful of us made it out alive, and if Snords Irregulars hadn't bailed us out, I'd not be sitting here today.
But either way, my unit ceased to exist. And Dad's factory ended up as collateral damage as well. So there I was, a young Leutnant, no ties to my own home, my batalion reduced to a lance of medium mechs, a few tanks and some infantry. So when our Comander told us he'd be starting his own merc unit we went for it.
Turned out most employers don't want to pay for mech repairs upfront. So with only a few machines, none of them in fighting condition, it seemed like our merc career would end right on Galatea. Now guess who was looking for experienced soldiers fluent in both german and japanese. Yes, the Dracs wanted us. 4 year contract for training the local Militia on Hanover. Deep in the Combine, colonized by german settlers back in the Star League ages. Boy, that was weird, I can tell you. All my career I was expecting to fight the Dragon one day, and now I was on the other side of Luthien, training their locals to fight against rebels and pirates.
But it's not the best time for small mercs in the Combine. One day DCMS officer explained very politely that our contract would not be prolonged, but we had the 'honor' to be allowed of offering our services to the Coordinator nontheless. So the day before our contract expired, we took everyone who wanted to stay with us, hijacked a Leopard and paid a free trader a small fortune for smuggling us back into Lyran space. Comander didn't make it, so it's my unit now.
How we ended up out here? Well, that'll cost you another drink...
Mercenary Hiring Hall, Mechdur, Aurigan Coalition. March 3025.
Spartakus, Hauptmann of the Hanover Free Militia. What? No, of course that's not my real name, but it's what the troops call me, let's just keep it that way. And yes, that's a Steiner emblem on the uniform. A drink will buy you the story...
I've been in the Skye Rangers. Family had a good business on New Kyoto, enough influence to make me an officer in the local troops. Yes, I know. Full cliché social general career in front of me. But let me tell you, the FWL neighbours were kind enough to remind me, that you should know a few things about actual warfare when you're piloting a mech. And one day they struck us hard. We've been outgunned 4:1. No chance. Only a handful of us made it out alive, and if Snords Irregulars hadn't bailed us out, I'd not be sitting here today.
But either way, my unit ceased to exist. And Dad's factory ended up as collateral damage as well. So there I was, a young Leutnant, no ties to my own home, my batalion reduced to a lance of medium mechs, a few tanks and some infantry. So when our Comander told us he'd be starting his own merc unit we went for it.
Turned out most employers don't want to pay for mech repairs upfront. So with only a few machines, none of them in fighting condition, it seemed like our merc career would end right on Galatea. Now guess who was looking for experienced soldiers fluent in both german and japanese. Yes, the Dracs wanted us. 4 year contract for training the local Militia on Hanover. Deep in the Combine, colonized by german settlers back in the Star League ages. Boy, that was weird, I can tell you. All my career I was expecting to fight the Dragon one day, and now I was on the other side of Luthien, training their locals to fight against rebels and pirates.
But it's not the best time for small mercs in the Combine. One day DCMS officer explained very politely that our contract would not be prolonged, but we had the 'honor' to be allowed of offering our services to the Coordinator nontheless. So the day before our contract expired, we took everyone who wanted to stay with us, hijacked a Leopard and paid a free trader a small fortune for smuggling us back into Lyran space. Comander didn't make it, so it's my unit now.
How we ended up out here? Well, that'll cost you another drink...
Copied over from the old forum:
After graduating from the Coventry Military Academy in 3015, I joined the 19th Arcturan Guards and was given a GRF-1S Griffin, that served me quite well until we raided Rochelle in the Free Worlds League in 3019. The bright side was that my lance captured a MAD-3D Marauder (where they got their hands on a Davion variant, I have no clue). Since I had quite a hand in capturing the Marauder and since I lost my Griffin in that fight, I was granted the right to it. Things seemed to go quite well (despite our leadership), until 3021, when we were ordered to raid New Wessex in support of Wolf´s Dragoons. I mean we all knew that our COs couldn´t fight their way out of a wet paper bag on their own (boy was there a lot of cussing about our "social officers") but here they totally botched it. What should have been a cakewalk turned into disaster real fast. After that mission, where my company was reduced to a battered lance, I left the Guards and turned mercenary.
P.s. The fact that I took "my" Marauder with me didn´t exactly endear me to the 19th´s leadership and I´d rather not be deployed in conjunction to them
After graduating from the Coventry Military Academy in 3015, I joined the 19th Arcturan Guards and was given a GRF-1S Griffin, that served me quite well until we raided Rochelle in the Free Worlds League in 3019. The bright side was that my lance captured a MAD-3D Marauder (where they got their hands on a Davion variant, I have no clue). Since I had quite a hand in capturing the Marauder and since I lost my Griffin in that fight, I was granted the right to it. Things seemed to go quite well (despite our leadership), until 3021, when we were ordered to raid New Wessex in support of Wolf´s Dragoons. I mean we all knew that our COs couldn´t fight their way out of a wet paper bag on their own (boy was there a lot of cussing about our "social officers") but here they totally botched it. What should have been a cakewalk turned into disaster real fast. After that mission, where my company was reduced to a battered lance, I left the Guards and turned mercenary.
P.s. The fact that I took "my" Marauder with me didn´t exactly endear me to the 19th´s leadership and I´d rather not be deployed in conjunction to them
February 27, 3025, Cate’s Hold
I was never supposed to take over the family business. That legacy and responsibility was supposed to go to Bart. Bart. He put up with the nickname from Parker and me, but could not stand anyone else to call him that. Bartholomew. That’s the name Mama gave him. Said it was from one of her holy books. I never took to her beliefs, any of them. Way I see it, if there’s something out there running everything, they’re doing a crappy job of it. Mama says she used to feel the same way. Says she was an atheist until she quick drinking. Now she believes in everything.
Pretty sure she cries every day still over Bart. I was worried at first that she might go back to drinking, but she still hasn’t touched the stuff as far as I have heard. Lighting candles for Bart seems to be her new drink now. Sure glad Analisa is there to look out for her during the long months I’m going to be gone. Never could have made this jump without her. Best wife a man could ask for, much less a mercenary commander.
I can’t believe I’m a mercenary commander. It just don’t seem right. I mean, it’s not like I don’t know mechs. I know them backwards and forwards. I’ve always had a knack for working on them, tinkering with them. I even expected I might end up working for Pops or Bart one day, but never running the show. I never wanted that. At least we kept Parker from having a say in it, not that he was that serious about taking over anyway.
Gramps is the one that came up with the name, Pops the catchphrase, “No questions asked, no answers given”. To be honest, I never was a fan of either, but Mama would have tanned my hide if I changed either. Gramps started it small, more of a local militia of light tanks and support vehicles. Made a decent living helping keep the Taurians from taking over Cate’s Hold. Got his first mech just a couple years before retiring and letting Pops take over.
Pops really got the ball rolling. He saw the value of going big and getting off planet. He knew that there were C-Bills to be made off world with the right equipment, particularly mechs. He made a quiet but decent living for twenty odd years as an “independent”. He never liked the term mercenary. And he never took a job he thought would hurt Cate’s Hold directly, he was loyal that way. Bart never got over Pops’ death on his last mission. He always blamed the Taurians, which is what caused all the problems in the first place.
Anyway, it’s my responsibility now. I’ve got a few mechs, a Leopard, a crew, and hopefully a contract helping out some miners. We’ll see where this takes us.
I was never supposed to take over the family business. That legacy and responsibility was supposed to go to Bart. Bart. He put up with the nickname from Parker and me, but could not stand anyone else to call him that. Bartholomew. That’s the name Mama gave him. Said it was from one of her holy books. I never took to her beliefs, any of them. Way I see it, if there’s something out there running everything, they’re doing a crappy job of it. Mama says she used to feel the same way. Says she was an atheist until she quick drinking. Now she believes in everything.
Pretty sure she cries every day still over Bart. I was worried at first that she might go back to drinking, but she still hasn’t touched the stuff as far as I have heard. Lighting candles for Bart seems to be her new drink now. Sure glad Analisa is there to look out for her during the long months I’m going to be gone. Never could have made this jump without her. Best wife a man could ask for, much less a mercenary commander.
I can’t believe I’m a mercenary commander. It just don’t seem right. I mean, it’s not like I don’t know mechs. I know them backwards and forwards. I’ve always had a knack for working on them, tinkering with them. I even expected I might end up working for Pops or Bart one day, but never running the show. I never wanted that. At least we kept Parker from having a say in it, not that he was that serious about taking over anyway.
Gramps is the one that came up with the name, Pops the catchphrase, “No questions asked, no answers given”. To be honest, I never was a fan of either, but Mama would have tanned my hide if I changed either. Gramps started it small, more of a local militia of light tanks and support vehicles. Made a decent living helping keep the Taurians from taking over Cate’s Hold. Got his first mech just a couple years before retiring and letting Pops take over.
Pops really got the ball rolling. He saw the value of going big and getting off planet. He knew that there were C-Bills to be made off world with the right equipment, particularly mechs. He made a quiet but decent living for twenty odd years as an “independent”. He never liked the term mercenary. And he never took a job he thought would hurt Cate’s Hold directly, he was loyal that way. Bart never got over Pops’ death on his last mission. He always blamed the Taurians, which is what caused all the problems in the first place.
Anyway, it’s my responsibility now. I’ve got a few mechs, a Leopard, a crew, and hopefully a contract helping out some miners. We’ll see where this takes us.
Now that's the sort of question that gets asked wherever you go.
So, my name is Edward Black and you really want to know what set me on the path to becoming a dog of war, eh?
Well, you know how it is when you grow up on the family's 2 million hectare estate, and reach the age when Dad ensures you get a place at the officer cadet school, before passing on the family 'mech.
What? You expected some sob story about scrounging to survive just because I grew up in the Periphery? Granted we don't have it as easy as you Spheroids sometimes, we have to import a lot at huge cost and I've seen things your media reports as "horrendous" or " atrocious" that we'd call Tuesday. But we aren't barbarians playing with stone tools.
So, yeah, my dear father made sure I got commissioned into the Taurian Defence Force and gave me the family Marauder, 'Taurian Pride'; he'd already done his duty, come back and settled into the family business of farming. Well owning farms, we never did the dirty work.
But you want to know about me, not him. I served my time, spent it skirmishing with bandits and pirates, some out on the rimward border and some on the FedSun border. The only difference is the latter lot were a lot better equipped and trained if you understand what I'm saying. Not that I'd ever accuse the Davions of underhanded tricks of course. Not publicly at least.
But all good things must come to an end they say, my tour was almost over and as tradition demanded I was to return home, take over the family business, have a son of my own and one day pass Taurian Pride on to him. Turns out Dad had been ill for a while though, kicked the bucket before my service ended. Don't get me wrong, I loved the old man to bits despite his unique views on the galaxy, but this did somewhat free me from tradition. You see, Mum couldn't give a toss what I did, as long as she was allowed to carry on in peace.
Whilst the TDF had been fun, there were more than a few times I wondered if the senior officers had a complete grasp on reality. One night, near the end of the tour, one of the Cornets, Philip King, mentioned the idea of going freelance one day. Poor bugger never got the chance, his T-bolt got hit bad a few days later, all those missiles in the chest didn't leave much behind when they went off.....
Sorry, I hadn't thought of Kingy in a long while. Where were we? End of service, right.
I couldn't leave Mum to handle the business, and I'm not stupid, always have a fall back. I got Percy, my cousin in, to look after things; he's much better at the numbers, wasn't standing to inherit much of his own, and he's actually a nice person. Don't look at me like that, hard as it may be to believe they actually exist. I knew I could trust him not to screw me over.
'Course, I was being a naive twat in another way, turns out it's a lot harder starting out as a mercenary than you'd think. A few of my old comrades had joined me, but without a reputation work is hard to find. The irony is our first contracts were with the Concordat. Those early days were crazy, learning the bits about mercenary life you'd never thought of, like bargaining for a contract. Or arranging the logistics, but I have people to do that for me now.
Made a few new friends back then too, and slowly expanded our numbers; a young Canopian Hunchback pilot by the name of Bella Di came on board and, and well that's another story. Also did something I never thought I'd do, but I hired a FedSun, Alvin, a devious little fellow with a Longbow; but he's more a threat at the negotiating table and makes sure we don't get shafted by our employers.
Not really much of a story there after all I'm afraid. Spoilt kid leaves army and becomes mercenary.
Of course the Fighting Fringers have grown immensely since those early days, got a repution for our support echelons too but those are different stories. Maybe I'll tell them one day. Hell ask nicely enough and I'll tell you about the Andurien fiasco.
So, my name is Edward Black and you really want to know what set me on the path to becoming a dog of war, eh?
Well, you know how it is when you grow up on the family's 2 million hectare estate, and reach the age when Dad ensures you get a place at the officer cadet school, before passing on the family 'mech.
What? You expected some sob story about scrounging to survive just because I grew up in the Periphery? Granted we don't have it as easy as you Spheroids sometimes, we have to import a lot at huge cost and I've seen things your media reports as "horrendous" or " atrocious" that we'd call Tuesday. But we aren't barbarians playing with stone tools.
So, yeah, my dear father made sure I got commissioned into the Taurian Defence Force and gave me the family Marauder, 'Taurian Pride'; he'd already done his duty, come back and settled into the family business of farming. Well owning farms, we never did the dirty work.
But you want to know about me, not him. I served my time, spent it skirmishing with bandits and pirates, some out on the rimward border and some on the FedSun border. The only difference is the latter lot were a lot better equipped and trained if you understand what I'm saying. Not that I'd ever accuse the Davions of underhanded tricks of course. Not publicly at least.
But all good things must come to an end they say, my tour was almost over and as tradition demanded I was to return home, take over the family business, have a son of my own and one day pass Taurian Pride on to him. Turns out Dad had been ill for a while though, kicked the bucket before my service ended. Don't get me wrong, I loved the old man to bits despite his unique views on the galaxy, but this did somewhat free me from tradition. You see, Mum couldn't give a toss what I did, as long as she was allowed to carry on in peace.
Whilst the TDF had been fun, there were more than a few times I wondered if the senior officers had a complete grasp on reality. One night, near the end of the tour, one of the Cornets, Philip King, mentioned the idea of going freelance one day. Poor bugger never got the chance, his T-bolt got hit bad a few days later, all those missiles in the chest didn't leave much behind when they went off.....
Sorry, I hadn't thought of Kingy in a long while. Where were we? End of service, right.
I couldn't leave Mum to handle the business, and I'm not stupid, always have a fall back. I got Percy, my cousin in, to look after things; he's much better at the numbers, wasn't standing to inherit much of his own, and he's actually a nice person. Don't look at me like that, hard as it may be to believe they actually exist. I knew I could trust him not to screw me over.
'Course, I was being a naive twat in another way, turns out it's a lot harder starting out as a mercenary than you'd think. A few of my old comrades had joined me, but without a reputation work is hard to find. The irony is our first contracts were with the Concordat. Those early days were crazy, learning the bits about mercenary life you'd never thought of, like bargaining for a contract. Or arranging the logistics, but I have people to do that for me now.
Made a few new friends back then too, and slowly expanded our numbers; a young Canopian Hunchback pilot by the name of Bella Di came on board and, and well that's another story. Also did something I never thought I'd do, but I hired a FedSun, Alvin, a devious little fellow with a Longbow; but he's more a threat at the negotiating table and makes sure we don't get shafted by our employers.
Not really much of a story there after all I'm afraid. Spoilt kid leaves army and becomes mercenary.
Of course the Fighting Fringers have grown immensely since those early days, got a repution for our support echelons too but those are different stories. Maybe I'll tell them one day. Hell ask nicely enough and I'll tell you about the Andurien fiasco.
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Hatchsune stares wide-eyed out the bridge view port of the SLDF Namida, the black void encroaching into the ship itself as the systems of the vessel begin to shut down; only the life support systems on the bridge remain.
As she floats in the zero gravity, she clutches a homemade doll of a pony, a childhood toy and her only physical companion over the last 3 years. She strokes the length of its body and kisses its head as her eyes dart over the ships systems, the Namida, like her is slowly dying.
The ships computer, Tinman with its emotionless tenor, reports, 'Carbon dioxide filters at 99 percent of maximum capacity, Lieutenant. There is an estimated hour of life support available.'
'Thanks, Timmy...' She coldly responds. She catches her reflection and sees what the last years of her life on this boat has done to her; left her a hollow shell, her body is nothing more than skin stretched over bone, her eyes are sunken and black and she no longer has the energy to even care about her impending death.
She holds Skully up to her face and starts to talk to him. 'Well, Skully? What do you want to do? We can either climb into our sleep chamber and go quietly or we blow everything up.' There is a pause as she 'listens' to Skully's response. Her eyes go wide and she grins and nods, 'YEAH! Lets make this tiny corner of the universe know who was here! THE MIGHTY HATCHY!'
There is a pause as she holds the doll tight to her chest and stares back out the window. She then whispers in a distant voice, 'If there is anybody listening, I promise I will heal and help. I promise I will fight for those with less than what I had. I promise I will make a difference.' Her voice goes even softer as a tear starts to roll down her cheek, '...I promise, promise...'
Hatchy grips Skully even tighter as she sighs and shakes her head. 'Well, lets get this over with...better to burn out than fade away. Timmy, prepare self destruct sequence.'
'Copy, Lieutenant.'
'Timmy, I keep telling you to stop with the 'Lieutenant'...its Hatchy. Hatchy, Hatchy, HATCHY!!!' She pauses, 'Or Captain!'
'Copy, Lieutenant.'
She shakes her head and grins, 'Well, gentlemen, its been a pleasure serving with you. I'll be sure to include the highest commendation for you both in my report. Timmy, prepare to launch record buoy, I need to upload my,' she takes a sharp breath, 'final report.'
'Copy, Captain.'
The tiny Captain blindly writes her final report, not consciously knowing what the words she enters into it are. She grabs Skully again and fights back the tears that are welling in her, 'OK Timmy...lets blow this popcicle stand.'
'Initiating sequence.'
Her heart sinks as she stares into space, '...I promise, promise...' and breaths in deeply to steady herself in order to face these last moments with dignity.
As Hatchy gazes into the cold void, a flash of light a few hundred meters off the starboard bow announces the sudden arrival of a starship.
As she floats in the zero gravity, she clutches a homemade doll of a pony, a childhood toy and her only physical companion over the last 3 years. She strokes the length of its body and kisses its head as her eyes dart over the ships systems, the Namida, like her is slowly dying.
The ships computer, Tinman with its emotionless tenor, reports, 'Carbon dioxide filters at 99 percent of maximum capacity, Lieutenant. There is an estimated hour of life support available.'
'Thanks, Timmy...' She coldly responds. She catches her reflection and sees what the last years of her life on this boat has done to her; left her a hollow shell, her body is nothing more than skin stretched over bone, her eyes are sunken and black and she no longer has the energy to even care about her impending death.
She holds Skully up to her face and starts to talk to him. 'Well, Skully? What do you want to do? We can either climb into our sleep chamber and go quietly or we blow everything up.' There is a pause as she 'listens' to Skully's response. Her eyes go wide and she grins and nods, 'YEAH! Lets make this tiny corner of the universe know who was here! THE MIGHTY HATCHY!'
There is a pause as she holds the doll tight to her chest and stares back out the window. She then whispers in a distant voice, 'If there is anybody listening, I promise I will heal and help. I promise I will fight for those with less than what I had. I promise I will make a difference.' Her voice goes even softer as a tear starts to roll down her cheek, '...I promise, promise...'
Hatchy grips Skully even tighter as she sighs and shakes her head. 'Well, lets get this over with...better to burn out than fade away. Timmy, prepare self destruct sequence.'
'Copy, Lieutenant.'
'Timmy, I keep telling you to stop with the 'Lieutenant'...its Hatchy. Hatchy, Hatchy, HATCHY!!!' She pauses, 'Or Captain!'
'Copy, Lieutenant.'
She shakes her head and grins, 'Well, gentlemen, its been a pleasure serving with you. I'll be sure to include the highest commendation for you both in my report. Timmy, prepare to launch record buoy, I need to upload my,' she takes a sharp breath, 'final report.'
'Copy, Captain.'
The tiny Captain blindly writes her final report, not consciously knowing what the words she enters into it are. She grabs Skully again and fights back the tears that are welling in her, 'OK Timmy...lets blow this popcicle stand.'
'Initiating sequence.'
Her heart sinks as she stares into space, '...I promise, promise...' and breaths in deeply to steady herself in order to face these last moments with dignity.
As Hatchy gazes into the cold void, a flash of light a few hundred meters off the starboard bow announces the sudden arrival of a starship.
Well, ya see, back in 3013 I was out huntin', with my pa's rifle o' course, I wasn't gonna get one o' my own till next year. Anyways, as I was sayin', I was out huntin' in the boonies, up above the ol' castle ruins from the bad ol' Star League days. Totally gutted, by the way, don't get yer hopes up. When we Outworlder's put folk down we do it right. So, I was stalkin' some big game when the hair's o' my neck started stickin' up. I look around, an sure enough there's a big ol mountain lion sizin' me up. Musta took umbrage with my huntin' in it's territory. So, didn't wanna start somethin', seeing as I was smaller back then an it were an ol' single shot, couldn't go back the way I came, on account of the cat in the way, so had to scramble round the hillside.
Anyways, I was young an once the cat left me to my own devices, I got to explorin' like I do. Nobodied really wandered them parts much afore. Least not as I'd known it.
Anyways, to speed this up a bit, ended up wanderin' inna the ventilation shaft of some Starleague cache an found a big ol' hunka mech, just waitin' there for me to find it. Now, I know what you're thinkin', who'da left a fine peice-a-Shadowhawk like that on it's lonesome.
Well lemme tell you, t'was even better'n that. Took me an pa weeks to figure it out, but with the old manuals and a bit o' pokin' round, we figured we'd hit on an ol' failure from back in the high tech days. Was suppose'ta be some fancy Land-Air-Mech prototype, but it didn't quite work right, ended up wastin' over five tonnes of worthless an overcomplicated machinery onna now under gunned battlemech. Anyways, we got to thinkin', I could learn mechin' and with my brother already accepted inta the aerospace defense corps, well then we just fix whatever problem was stump'n them Star League flukes, an we coulda made a great team.
Anyways, pa was reachin' out with the HPG station, tryin' to discretely get somethin' together to get the ol' thing up an runnin' when Comstar came a knockin'. Musta been my sis or somethin' blabbin'. But anyways, they made us an offer we couldn't refuse. Trainin', and a new mech in return for the old'un and sealed lips.
Gave Solaris a bit o' a try, an I did okay if I do say so myself. But the first time some damn fool named 'Gunmetal' Gray put a PPC capacitor through my mechs torso, I figured I'd take a job were I could get paid even if'n I lost. Not like I'm on Comstar's payroll. Not after what they pulled.
....
So here I am.
~Leone
Anyways, I was young an once the cat left me to my own devices, I got to explorin' like I do. Nobodied really wandered them parts much afore. Least not as I'd known it.
Anyways, to speed this up a bit, ended up wanderin' inna the ventilation shaft of some Starleague cache an found a big ol' hunka mech, just waitin' there for me to find it. Now, I know what you're thinkin', who'da left a fine peice-a-Shadowhawk like that on it's lonesome.
Well lemme tell you, t'was even better'n that. Took me an pa weeks to figure it out, but with the old manuals and a bit o' pokin' round, we figured we'd hit on an ol' failure from back in the high tech days. Was suppose'ta be some fancy Land-Air-Mech prototype, but it didn't quite work right, ended up wastin' over five tonnes of worthless an overcomplicated machinery onna now under gunned battlemech. Anyways, we got to thinkin', I could learn mechin' and with my brother already accepted inta the aerospace defense corps, well then we just fix whatever problem was stump'n them Star League flukes, an we coulda made a great team.
Anyways, pa was reachin' out with the HPG station, tryin' to discretely get somethin' together to get the ol' thing up an runnin' when Comstar came a knockin'. Musta been my sis or somethin' blabbin'. But anyways, they made us an offer we couldn't refuse. Trainin', and a new mech in return for the old'un and sealed lips.
Gave Solaris a bit o' a try, an I did okay if I do say so myself. But the first time some damn fool named 'Gunmetal' Gray put a PPC capacitor through my mechs torso, I figured I'd take a job were I could get paid even if'n I lost. Not like I'm on Comstar's payroll. Not after what they pulled.
....
So here I am.
~Leone
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Well, I was born on this little backwater planet named Thule. It's pretty much on the opposite end of space as this planet. You see, my parent owned an "ice" mine and I was driving the agromechs since I was young. It was pretty good, until some pissant warlord named Marcus forcibly took our assets and left us with nothing. See, the man was trying to secure all the resources of the region and stage a little take over, though nothing came of it.
Regardless, we found ourselves wandering on the neighboring planets and after a few years found ourselves sitting comfortably with some like minded friends and family on Trondheim. I got this plan in my head that if I joined the DCMS I could get a little payback for the things they'd done to me and my volk. With some forged ID's I found myself on Samarkand and 6 years later I had a role as a Chu-I with the 12th Sun Zhang. I figured it was the right time, so my cousins and I staged a "training" accident. We blew out the eastern wing of the academy and cooked off the ammo in the Panthers on duty with some IED's. I managed to make off with the Sho'sa's custom CPLT-K2 while my cousins grabbed the other light mech in storage.
I wish I could have kept that beauty, I had to trade it as payment with some Marik smuggler to get myself and the other mech as far from the DCMS as possible. Still, at least I got to keep one mech and had enough cash left over to register myself on Galatea as the Draugr Bjørn.
I keep hearing that there's work out here. I'll raise a glass to anyone willing to point me in the right direction. Maybe after a few years I'll have enough saved to go back home and send some Dracs to Helheim.
Rørik
Regardless, we found ourselves wandering on the neighboring planets and after a few years found ourselves sitting comfortably with some like minded friends and family on Trondheim. I got this plan in my head that if I joined the DCMS I could get a little payback for the things they'd done to me and my volk. With some forged ID's I found myself on Samarkand and 6 years later I had a role as a Chu-I with the 12th Sun Zhang. I figured it was the right time, so my cousins and I staged a "training" accident. We blew out the eastern wing of the academy and cooked off the ammo in the Panthers on duty with some IED's. I managed to make off with the Sho'sa's custom CPLT-K2 while my cousins grabbed the other light mech in storage.
I wish I could have kept that beauty, I had to trade it as payment with some Marik smuggler to get myself and the other mech as far from the DCMS as possible. Still, at least I got to keep one mech and had enough cash left over to register myself on Galatea as the Draugr Bjørn.
I keep hearing that there's work out here. I'll raise a glass to anyone willing to point me in the right direction. Maybe after a few years I'll have enough saved to go back home and send some Dracs to Helheim.
Rørik
This is my first draft and first ever attempt at BattleTech writing. Please let me know what I need to fix or change as I go. I think I got most of the lore right, but not 100%. Any feedback would be appreciated.
The Iron Devils
Captain Nikolaus “Devil” Peters
I am a thief. A scoundrel. A devil. One of those who does not subscribe to the gentlemanly arts of Mech-warfare, much to the chagrin to my former masters and now, my adversaries as well. That is how the universe has made me, and I will not apologize for being a twisted product of their environment. I am a decedent of cutthroats, raised up by those Cappie bastards with their ceaseless indoctrination on the prison planet of Bryant IV. I have no idea of my exact age, my family, or my lineage. I was just a just a number in the eyes of my jailers, and the happenstance of my birth was unworthy of a footnote in their records.
I was an experiment. A lab rat. The winner of the genetic lottery. Brought forth from the slums of my own personal hades to a place much much worse. Selected for my unique mixture of physiological and mental abilities that, in the end, set myself apart from my other potential “trainees”. Selection brought me a feeling of accomplishment I never knew. A feeling of belonging, a desire to be something more than just another outlaw. The hubris of youth.
I am driven. I excelled in the in the face of the greatest anguish and hopelessness imaginable. I conquered fear. I am a survivor. I can still hear their screams echoing into the blackness of the hold as those unsuitable for the Ministry’s purpose were culled from the ranks on that endless voyage in the darkness to Kazu. Even as child, some horrors never fade. Some things never leave the darkest recesses of your mind. Some things are with you always.
I am a solider. An assassin. A guerilla. Taught to be a thorn in the side of my enemies. To illicit the utmost pain from my adversaries. To isolate their weakness and cripple their operations. To feed upon the pain and misery of my enemies and to use that to drive fear in my opponents. From early in my youth, combat and death has been a way of daily life. Forsaken in a desolate system with no other civilization to monitor their undertakings, the Ministry did as they desired. Life and limb were of no consequence on Kazu I, just the ongoing preparation to become death to the enemies of House Liao. Guile, stealth, destruction, resolve. These were the tenants of our daily lives. Tasked by our betters for excellence in all forms of combat, I discovered brains and charisma I never knew I had.
I am a warrior. A leader. A rock. A skilled tactician and student of warfare that has seen action all across the Inner Sphere. I have fought on the ground as a scared PBI Corporal on an ill-fated “training exercise” on Conquista, filled with dread by the metal monstrosities that are as a part of me now as my own skin. As a pimple-faced new lieutenant, trying to hide my fear and excitement, navigating a turtle on Mendham. Feeling my first real surge of power when firing off twin LL in a Brutus coring an unsuspecting Spider SDR-5V. As a freshly minted MechWarrior cutting my teeth with an “Energy Locust” LCT-1E fighting the Hedons on Herotitus II and forever cementing my love for Laserboats. As leader of a lance in a Vindicator VND-1R fighting the House Calderon on Flaum, learning to mimic the tactics and techniques of the Taurian Defense Force.
I was an instrument of death. A tool. A weapon. I was meticulously crafted by House Liao to harass the FedRats along the border, and a counter to the continued provocation by the DMI. All of those years, all of the time and training, all of the hardship, all of the pain, culminating in a grand lie. I had my mission, and when it was done, I would never want for another from my House Liao masters again. My “short” company of two lances of light and medium mechs and two squads of guerilla troops with APC support, crammed into a Combined-Arms Union dropship were tasked to mimic the TDF in tactics and colors. To become a phantom Taurian aggression, with relentless raids up and down the common Federated Suns/Taurian Concordat border in attempts to draw out Wylie’s Coyotes from their garrison of the Bromhead system to allow for the eventual invasion of Bromhead VI by the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces. A singular motive, solely achievable through deception. Our true goal hidden through layers of subversion, with deceit cloaking all facets of the operation. No know faces. No identity, no explicit connection to House Liao. A faint within a faint within a faint.
I was a barbarian. A killer. A monster. I was driven by my unrelenting rage, an indoctrinated desire to serve my House, and insatiable appetite for destruction. I brought wrath and flame to the border systems in the name of House Calderon and the TDF. The deception was complete. No garrison or industrial target was free from my fury. Midale, Lindsay. Carmichael, Hyalite, Warren, Montour, Verdigis. The campaign was relentless. Destruction and death were my call signs and the devil rode with me. This unprecedented carnage along the border systems were placed squarely at the feet of Taurian Concordat. The enumerable salvage opportunities provided me with an Awesome AWS-8Q and a continued churn of mechs and material for my men, and the elated visage of my CCAF masters masked from me the knowledge of what a valuable political chip my force has become. Naivety was my downfall. Faith in House Liao, a master who only sheltered me through convenience and opportunity, was my true crime. The Capellan Confederation crafted me as a tool to meet their needs. Crafted from the refuse of a prison planet and then thrown away once my use was fulfilled.
I was a hunter. I was driven to catch my prey. I was a fool. Our ill-fated drop to Brockway IV to hit and destroy the fabled DMI MI3 listening post was the end of my service to House Liao and the destruction of my command. Rumored to be a listening post for a generation, intelligence acquired on a prior raid on chemical storage depot on the Hyalite moon, Hyatos, pinpointed a location deep in the jungle along the equator. We jumped into the Brockway system unnoticed and without incident and the drop was underway with no hint of the calamity waiting for us planetside. This was never the location for AFFS’ Department of Military Intelligence, just a lonely stretch of jungle ripe for an ambush.
I became the prey. A patsy. A sacrifice. The destruction of my company is a harsh teacher of an important lesson; allegiance is never absolute. The DZ was just north of the objective, allowing us the opportunity to march downstream along a tributary of the Zern river to hit the facility that was cut into the base of large rock outcropping due south of our position. Once we hit paydirt and progressed out from under the protective umbrella of the dropship armament, all hell broke loose. It was an ambush. We were betrayed. Multiple medium and heavy mechs closed in from our position from the north and east, positioning themselves to drive us away from the dropship and the cooling effects of the river. A Stalker STK-SF and Victor VTR-9B then closed from the east, laying down a wither barrage of missile, laser and AC-20 fire leaving a poor choice of losing the high ground to become boxed in against a cliff face to the south or a desperate charge uphill to reach the dropship.
I am sorrow. I am loss. I am defeat. A full company of mechs, comprised of an Assault lance and two Medium lances, well outclassed my own meager force. Only a heroic suicide rush from the guerilla PBI’s with a valiant holding action by my second in command in my former Vindicator VND-1R allowed the remaining two mechs, and myself to limp under the cover of the guns of the dropship and withdraw. Off to the depths of space to grieve my losses. The butcher bill was high, and something I will always carry with me. Five mechs destroyed. Five dear friends not coming back. 3 additional mechs heavily damaged and in dire need of repairs. All the specialized infantry captured, killed, or missing. All their equipment left behind or out of commission. My innocence lost. My hatred builds.
I am the last of my command. An apparition. A ghost. Life as a mercenary is the only choice I have left. It is all I know. Hit, run, repeat. Fade into the black. Bide my time to rebuild, to strike back at those who betrayed me. One thing never made sense to me. One thing has nagged me after the disaster on Brockway IV. One thing hounds me, as I lay awake at night recounting that day. Trying to silence the screams of the fallen that echos through my soul. There was no way for the FedRats to know we were coming. No way for them to know we had the location to a fictional facility, with information gathered from an impromptu raid. The ambush was too well coordinated to be happenstance. The timing only works if they knew when and where we were going. The only ones who knew the location were the ones who cracked the AFFS encryption on the Noteputer. The Capellan Confederation. The House Liao. The Ministry of the Military. Our objective and battle plans were sold to the enemy for political gain. We were deemed expendable. We were betrayed by our former masters. That is the real enemy. That is the new target. I will have my vengeance.
I am a Merc. A gun for hire. A soldier of fortune. A dog of war. That is my destiny. I sit strapped in my Awesome AWS-8Q, knowing full well what I must do. Outside of my AWS-8Q, I am down to a somewhat operational but jumpjet-light Black Jack BJ-1 and a functional Shadow Hawk SHD-2H. I need C-bills in a bad way and Mechs if I hope for this company to survive, and to get out of Pirate's Haven alive. With the price offered for my Awesome AWS-8Q, I can pick up a Commando COM-2D, an Urbanmech UM-R60, and a Panther PNT-9R and still have some C-bills left over. I might even have enough to get us to The Reach to find work with the Aurigan Coalition. Time for the adventure to begin. Welcome to The Iron Devils.
Captain Nikolaus “Devil” Peters
The Iron Devils
10 - 11 - 3024 UTC
The Iron Devils
Captain Nikolaus “Devil” Peters
I am a thief. A scoundrel. A devil. One of those who does not subscribe to the gentlemanly arts of Mech-warfare, much to the chagrin to my former masters and now, my adversaries as well. That is how the universe has made me, and I will not apologize for being a twisted product of their environment. I am a decedent of cutthroats, raised up by those Cappie bastards with their ceaseless indoctrination on the prison planet of Bryant IV. I have no idea of my exact age, my family, or my lineage. I was just a just a number in the eyes of my jailers, and the happenstance of my birth was unworthy of a footnote in their records.
I was an experiment. A lab rat. The winner of the genetic lottery. Brought forth from the slums of my own personal hades to a place much much worse. Selected for my unique mixture of physiological and mental abilities that, in the end, set myself apart from my other potential “trainees”. Selection brought me a feeling of accomplishment I never knew. A feeling of belonging, a desire to be something more than just another outlaw. The hubris of youth.
I am driven. I excelled in the in the face of the greatest anguish and hopelessness imaginable. I conquered fear. I am a survivor. I can still hear their screams echoing into the blackness of the hold as those unsuitable for the Ministry’s purpose were culled from the ranks on that endless voyage in the darkness to Kazu. Even as child, some horrors never fade. Some things never leave the darkest recesses of your mind. Some things are with you always.
I am a solider. An assassin. A guerilla. Taught to be a thorn in the side of my enemies. To illicit the utmost pain from my adversaries. To isolate their weakness and cripple their operations. To feed upon the pain and misery of my enemies and to use that to drive fear in my opponents. From early in my youth, combat and death has been a way of daily life. Forsaken in a desolate system with no other civilization to monitor their undertakings, the Ministry did as they desired. Life and limb were of no consequence on Kazu I, just the ongoing preparation to become death to the enemies of House Liao. Guile, stealth, destruction, resolve. These were the tenants of our daily lives. Tasked by our betters for excellence in all forms of combat, I discovered brains and charisma I never knew I had.
I am a warrior. A leader. A rock. A skilled tactician and student of warfare that has seen action all across the Inner Sphere. I have fought on the ground as a scared PBI Corporal on an ill-fated “training exercise” on Conquista, filled with dread by the metal monstrosities that are as a part of me now as my own skin. As a pimple-faced new lieutenant, trying to hide my fear and excitement, navigating a turtle on Mendham. Feeling my first real surge of power when firing off twin LL in a Brutus coring an unsuspecting Spider SDR-5V. As a freshly minted MechWarrior cutting my teeth with an “Energy Locust” LCT-1E fighting the Hedons on Herotitus II and forever cementing my love for Laserboats. As leader of a lance in a Vindicator VND-1R fighting the House Calderon on Flaum, learning to mimic the tactics and techniques of the Taurian Defense Force.
I was an instrument of death. A tool. A weapon. I was meticulously crafted by House Liao to harass the FedRats along the border, and a counter to the continued provocation by the DMI. All of those years, all of the time and training, all of the hardship, all of the pain, culminating in a grand lie. I had my mission, and when it was done, I would never want for another from my House Liao masters again. My “short” company of two lances of light and medium mechs and two squads of guerilla troops with APC support, crammed into a Combined-Arms Union dropship were tasked to mimic the TDF in tactics and colors. To become a phantom Taurian aggression, with relentless raids up and down the common Federated Suns/Taurian Concordat border in attempts to draw out Wylie’s Coyotes from their garrison of the Bromhead system to allow for the eventual invasion of Bromhead VI by the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces. A singular motive, solely achievable through deception. Our true goal hidden through layers of subversion, with deceit cloaking all facets of the operation. No know faces. No identity, no explicit connection to House Liao. A faint within a faint within a faint.
I was a barbarian. A killer. A monster. I was driven by my unrelenting rage, an indoctrinated desire to serve my House, and insatiable appetite for destruction. I brought wrath and flame to the border systems in the name of House Calderon and the TDF. The deception was complete. No garrison or industrial target was free from my fury. Midale, Lindsay. Carmichael, Hyalite, Warren, Montour, Verdigis. The campaign was relentless. Destruction and death were my call signs and the devil rode with me. This unprecedented carnage along the border systems were placed squarely at the feet of Taurian Concordat. The enumerable salvage opportunities provided me with an Awesome AWS-8Q and a continued churn of mechs and material for my men, and the elated visage of my CCAF masters masked from me the knowledge of what a valuable political chip my force has become. Naivety was my downfall. Faith in House Liao, a master who only sheltered me through convenience and opportunity, was my true crime. The Capellan Confederation crafted me as a tool to meet their needs. Crafted from the refuse of a prison planet and then thrown away once my use was fulfilled.
I was a hunter. I was driven to catch my prey. I was a fool. Our ill-fated drop to Brockway IV to hit and destroy the fabled DMI MI3 listening post was the end of my service to House Liao and the destruction of my command. Rumored to be a listening post for a generation, intelligence acquired on a prior raid on chemical storage depot on the Hyalite moon, Hyatos, pinpointed a location deep in the jungle along the equator. We jumped into the Brockway system unnoticed and without incident and the drop was underway with no hint of the calamity waiting for us planetside. This was never the location for AFFS’ Department of Military Intelligence, just a lonely stretch of jungle ripe for an ambush.
I became the prey. A patsy. A sacrifice. The destruction of my company is a harsh teacher of an important lesson; allegiance is never absolute. The DZ was just north of the objective, allowing us the opportunity to march downstream along a tributary of the Zern river to hit the facility that was cut into the base of large rock outcropping due south of our position. Once we hit paydirt and progressed out from under the protective umbrella of the dropship armament, all hell broke loose. It was an ambush. We were betrayed. Multiple medium and heavy mechs closed in from our position from the north and east, positioning themselves to drive us away from the dropship and the cooling effects of the river. A Stalker STK-SF and Victor VTR-9B then closed from the east, laying down a wither barrage of missile, laser and AC-20 fire leaving a poor choice of losing the high ground to become boxed in against a cliff face to the south or a desperate charge uphill to reach the dropship.
I am sorrow. I am loss. I am defeat. A full company of mechs, comprised of an Assault lance and two Medium lances, well outclassed my own meager force. Only a heroic suicide rush from the guerilla PBI’s with a valiant holding action by my second in command in my former Vindicator VND-1R allowed the remaining two mechs, and myself to limp under the cover of the guns of the dropship and withdraw. Off to the depths of space to grieve my losses. The butcher bill was high, and something I will always carry with me. Five mechs destroyed. Five dear friends not coming back. 3 additional mechs heavily damaged and in dire need of repairs. All the specialized infantry captured, killed, or missing. All their equipment left behind or out of commission. My innocence lost. My hatred builds.
I am the last of my command. An apparition. A ghost. Life as a mercenary is the only choice I have left. It is all I know. Hit, run, repeat. Fade into the black. Bide my time to rebuild, to strike back at those who betrayed me. One thing never made sense to me. One thing has nagged me after the disaster on Brockway IV. One thing hounds me, as I lay awake at night recounting that day. Trying to silence the screams of the fallen that echos through my soul. There was no way for the FedRats to know we were coming. No way for them to know we had the location to a fictional facility, with information gathered from an impromptu raid. The ambush was too well coordinated to be happenstance. The timing only works if they knew when and where we were going. The only ones who knew the location were the ones who cracked the AFFS encryption on the Noteputer. The Capellan Confederation. The House Liao. The Ministry of the Military. Our objective and battle plans were sold to the enemy for political gain. We were deemed expendable. We were betrayed by our former masters. That is the real enemy. That is the new target. I will have my vengeance.
I am a Merc. A gun for hire. A soldier of fortune. A dog of war. That is my destiny. I sit strapped in my Awesome AWS-8Q, knowing full well what I must do. Outside of my AWS-8Q, I am down to a somewhat operational but jumpjet-light Black Jack BJ-1 and a functional Shadow Hawk SHD-2H. I need C-bills in a bad way and Mechs if I hope for this company to survive, and to get out of Pirate's Haven alive. With the price offered for my Awesome AWS-8Q, I can pick up a Commando COM-2D, an Urbanmech UM-R60, and a Panther PNT-9R and still have some C-bills left over. I might even have enough to get us to The Reach to find work with the Aurigan Coalition. Time for the adventure to begin. Welcome to The Iron Devils.
Captain Nikolaus “Devil” Peters
The Iron Devils
10 - 11 - 3024 UTC
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ROM file #5649AB6CJ6531xxxx
Reports attached
To the Attention of: ROM µ/µ Bureau – Head of Rimward Frontier Dept.
From: Guldra HPG Station Operative no. xxxxxxxx
During our investigation on Aurigan citizen Alexander Madeira’s political movements following the upheaval in the Aurigan Reach and the activities of the so called Aurigan Restoration, the following transmission has been brought to my attention:
Incoming Transmission…
2.4.3023/10:11:33LTSN
Guldra Main HPG Station
To: Lady Arano
From: A. Madeira
Subject: Prospective employees; Volkonsky-Izura, Xavier
Dear Kamea, I have looked at some people who might be of use in our future endeavours and this man certainly fits the bill. He graduated from Oriente’s Princefield Military Academy in time to fight during Anton Marik’s rebellion with the Oriente Hussars so he has had a taste of things to come. The name will surely strike a chord with you anyway, and here it becomes really interesting; he is the son of Alexei, the third son of the late Prince Volkonskiy from Katinka. He styles himself Prince Volkonsky-Izura but the title carries neither fortune nor influence attached to it because he has been attainted and branded a traitor and disinherited from his valuable possessions in Katinka by no other than Gran Prince Sergei Romanovsky himself. Don’t be put off by this, there is much more than meets the eye and since Katinka’s ruler has shown no inclination to join our efforts, we could benefit not only from Prince Volkonsky-Izura’s talents but also from his claims in Katinka, should we need to put a check on Gran Prince Sergei.
Will elaborate on this once we meet next month.
Até breve!
Alex
End of Transmission…
I have taken the liberty to look into the archives and files on the aforementioned Xavier Volkonsky-Izura (full report attached); he is indeed the first and only son of Alexei A. Volkonsky, third son of the late Prince Volkonsky. Alexei died in the Magistracy of Canopus in suspicious circumstances, four months into his marriage to one Patricia Izura, a high level diplomat from Oriente to the Magistracy. The woman moved to Katinka for her son’s birth but she took the boy with her and returned to Oriente when he was four years old, because the power struggle in Katinka over the succession (Grand Prince Sergei Romanovsky was, and still remains, childless) was already in full swing and Prince Volkonsky and his two surviving sons were strong candidates to either the throne or the gallows.
Graduated with honours from PMA in 3014 and hastily commissioned into the 6th Oriente Hussars shortly before Calloway VI. He survived but did not receive another commission (6th O.H. was not reformed after Calloway) Instead he moved back to Katinka in 3016 to take his place as Prince Volkonskiy’s heir (his two other sons had died with no issue) and acting commander of the Romanovsky Cossack Guard (Mech company, full report #371-AR/Kati/637RCG)
Prince Volkonskiy died soon after (March 3016) and although Gran Prince Sergei did not bestow the Volkonskiy hereditary position of Prime Minister on Xavier, he nevertheless served loyally as Commander of the RCG for five years until the Argos Affair. In June 3021 he took his company and along with a mercenary company (Azure Templars, Mech company, full report #5471-DOA-FWL/Eleus/4AT) invaded the world Argos in support of an independence movement and against the Taurian forces in occupation.
It turned out to be a fiasco (most likely staged to drive a wedge between the Arano Aurigan Government and the Taurian Concordate, with the added bonus of getting rid of Prince Volkonsky-Izura; strong rumours suggest Grand Prince Sergei was behind the ill-advised adventure. A transmission from Katinka alerting the Taurian garrison was sent a week prior to the invasion, although no definite link could be traced to the Grand Prince (transmission recorded ROM file #1657AK689HJ111xxxx, for full report on Argos Affair see file #61AK346ASG/AA)
Xavier Volkonsky-Izura survived the Argos Affair (repatriated to Aurigan territory in January 3022 as part of the Argos Accord) He was attainted by Grand Prince Sergei as a traitor and dispossessed of all titles and assets. He currently lives in Artru and is trying to build a mercenary company out of the survivors of both the RCG and the Azure Templars.
End of report
Reports attached
To the Attention of: ROM µ/µ Bureau – Head of Rimward Frontier Dept.
From: Guldra HPG Station Operative no. xxxxxxxx
During our investigation on Aurigan citizen Alexander Madeira’s political movements following the upheaval in the Aurigan Reach and the activities of the so called Aurigan Restoration, the following transmission has been brought to my attention:
Incoming Transmission…
2.4.3023/10:11:33LTSN
Guldra Main HPG Station
To: Lady Arano
From: A. Madeira
Subject: Prospective employees; Volkonsky-Izura, Xavier
Dear Kamea, I have looked at some people who might be of use in our future endeavours and this man certainly fits the bill. He graduated from Oriente’s Princefield Military Academy in time to fight during Anton Marik’s rebellion with the Oriente Hussars so he has had a taste of things to come. The name will surely strike a chord with you anyway, and here it becomes really interesting; he is the son of Alexei, the third son of the late Prince Volkonskiy from Katinka. He styles himself Prince Volkonsky-Izura but the title carries neither fortune nor influence attached to it because he has been attainted and branded a traitor and disinherited from his valuable possessions in Katinka by no other than Gran Prince Sergei Romanovsky himself. Don’t be put off by this, there is much more than meets the eye and since Katinka’s ruler has shown no inclination to join our efforts, we could benefit not only from Prince Volkonsky-Izura’s talents but also from his claims in Katinka, should we need to put a check on Gran Prince Sergei.
Will elaborate on this once we meet next month.
Até breve!
Alex
End of Transmission…
I have taken the liberty to look into the archives and files on the aforementioned Xavier Volkonsky-Izura (full report attached); he is indeed the first and only son of Alexei A. Volkonsky, third son of the late Prince Volkonsky. Alexei died in the Magistracy of Canopus in suspicious circumstances, four months into his marriage to one Patricia Izura, a high level diplomat from Oriente to the Magistracy. The woman moved to Katinka for her son’s birth but she took the boy with her and returned to Oriente when he was four years old, because the power struggle in Katinka over the succession (Grand Prince Sergei Romanovsky was, and still remains, childless) was already in full swing and Prince Volkonsky and his two surviving sons were strong candidates to either the throne or the gallows.
Graduated with honours from PMA in 3014 and hastily commissioned into the 6th Oriente Hussars shortly before Calloway VI. He survived but did not receive another commission (6th O.H. was not reformed after Calloway) Instead he moved back to Katinka in 3016 to take his place as Prince Volkonskiy’s heir (his two other sons had died with no issue) and acting commander of the Romanovsky Cossack Guard (Mech company, full report #371-AR/Kati/637RCG)
Prince Volkonskiy died soon after (March 3016) and although Gran Prince Sergei did not bestow the Volkonskiy hereditary position of Prime Minister on Xavier, he nevertheless served loyally as Commander of the RCG for five years until the Argos Affair. In June 3021 he took his company and along with a mercenary company (Azure Templars, Mech company, full report #5471-DOA-FWL/Eleus/4AT) invaded the world Argos in support of an independence movement and against the Taurian forces in occupation.
It turned out to be a fiasco (most likely staged to drive a wedge between the Arano Aurigan Government and the Taurian Concordate, with the added bonus of getting rid of Prince Volkonsky-Izura; strong rumours suggest Grand Prince Sergei was behind the ill-advised adventure. A transmission from Katinka alerting the Taurian garrison was sent a week prior to the invasion, although no definite link could be traced to the Grand Prince (transmission recorded ROM file #1657AK689HJ111xxxx, for full report on Argos Affair see file #61AK346ASG/AA)
Xavier Volkonsky-Izura survived the Argos Affair (repatriated to Aurigan territory in January 3022 as part of the Argos Accord) He was attainted by Grand Prince Sergei as a traitor and dispossessed of all titles and assets. He currently lives in Artru and is trying to build a mercenary company out of the survivors of both the RCG and the Azure Templars.
End of report
You probably haven't heard of the O'Deas. But if you were from the Isle of Skye, you might have. And if you were from the planet Summer, you most likely would've. And if you lived on the continent of Wessler, you most likely had to work for us. God help you.
Now if you've never been to Summer, don't go. Don't let the name fool you, it's a dismal place. Dark and cold and what few things that grow there all seem to stink. But there's germanium in those hills, and so we lived in pretty grand style. We fancied ourselves real players in Aldo Lestrade's court. So of course the O'Deas have always fielded a few mechs in the glorious tradition of the Isle of Skye. A lance of mechs in the 17th Skye Rangers were drawn from the O'Deas and their dependent families. I've led them myself these past ten years. Saw a bit of action. Less than some, more than others, enough to keep me away from home.
My father Ristard was The O'Dea all that while. Not a particularly kind man, but not a wicked one either. He never said much, but by god he meant what he did say. And he didn't much care for the whole 'Free Skye' idea. He lost an arm fighting for House Steiner in his day, and he'd be damned if he'd stand for any secessionist talk. I guess that rubbed someone the wrong way.
Officially it was ruled a robbery. His car was ambushed and shot full of holes. Representations from- well, from certain prominent people- were made to me that my kin and property would be looked after, and I could come back and be The O'Dea, so long as I said the right things. Or nothing at all.
I made them a counter-offer. I sold off my holdings on that dismal, foul-smelling planet. Settled my mother and my sister comfortably enough on Tharkad. And I resigned my commission in the 17th Skye Rangers, "The Boys of Summer" as they're called. Proud to say most of my command did as well. Now here I am, Chieftan and commander of the Daybreakers.
You probably haven't heard of the Daybreakers. But give us a while, and you will.
-Conchubar O'Dea
Now if you've never been to Summer, don't go. Don't let the name fool you, it's a dismal place. Dark and cold and what few things that grow there all seem to stink. But there's germanium in those hills, and so we lived in pretty grand style. We fancied ourselves real players in Aldo Lestrade's court. So of course the O'Deas have always fielded a few mechs in the glorious tradition of the Isle of Skye. A lance of mechs in the 17th Skye Rangers were drawn from the O'Deas and their dependent families. I've led them myself these past ten years. Saw a bit of action. Less than some, more than others, enough to keep me away from home.
My father Ristard was The O'Dea all that while. Not a particularly kind man, but not a wicked one either. He never said much, but by god he meant what he did say. And he didn't much care for the whole 'Free Skye' idea. He lost an arm fighting for House Steiner in his day, and he'd be damned if he'd stand for any secessionist talk. I guess that rubbed someone the wrong way.
Officially it was ruled a robbery. His car was ambushed and shot full of holes. Representations from- well, from certain prominent people- were made to me that my kin and property would be looked after, and I could come back and be The O'Dea, so long as I said the right things. Or nothing at all.
I made them a counter-offer. I sold off my holdings on that dismal, foul-smelling planet. Settled my mother and my sister comfortably enough on Tharkad. And I resigned my commission in the 17th Skye Rangers, "The Boys of Summer" as they're called. Proud to say most of my command did as well. Now here I am, Chieftan and commander of the Daybreakers.
You probably haven't heard of the Daybreakers. But give us a while, and you will.
-Conchubar O'Dea
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(I'll try my hand at this; I'll just edit some of what I wrote for a regiment I made):
I am Captain Cadden Wakea, commander of the indepenent "Lost Boys" company within the 5th Solar Guards. I was piloting a Cyclops, but it's not functional right now...
My father is Leutnant-General Marcus Wakea, the second son of the Duke of Lamon. His elder brother now runs the family corporation as well as the Dukedom. My father Marcus is one of the infamous "Social Generals", having more interest and success in business and politics than military matters. However, he is smart enough to delegate such strategy and tactical concerns to subordinates. His charisma and ability to identify the talent in others has led him to be a successful leader. Quick to make friends, he has connections throughout all of the governments and companies in the Rahneshire, and some beyond. He has made friends with many other military leaders throughout his military career as well. Tired of the constraints of the LCAF, and possibly in cooperation with LIC, Marcus retired and founded a mercenary unit: 5th Solar Guards. My older brother Aden runs the mech battalion and I run the independent mech company. Colonel Aden Wakea is technically the XO, but is in full command in the field with my older sister Major Sofia Wakea acting as his XO. We've decided I'm not suited for command larger than a company, and don't do well under direct leadership. I'm a talented mechwarrior, and still a good leader, so having an indepenent company has worked out for the best.
That was until we got banged up good on the last contract. Aden is reforming his battalion while Sofia is forming her own battalion now. What's left of my Lost Boys will transfer to keep as many long-standing Solar Guards among their ranks as possible. We had two independent lances in our Recon Group as well, but will only have one now: Warden's "Seekers". We still have Caleb's armor battalion in our Support Group, Caliph's scout battalion in our Recon Group and Vanderburg's naval regiment, which includes over 7 squadrons of ASF. I headed down to the Taurian Concordat, where the Wakeas have always had allies, to see about reforming my company. I heard about the civil war going on with the Aurigans and have decided to check it out. It's not how Aden or my father intended I reform my Unit, but it's my Unit.
I am Captain Cadden Wakea, commander of the indepenent "Lost Boys" company within the 5th Solar Guards. I was piloting a Cyclops, but it's not functional right now...
My father is Leutnant-General Marcus Wakea, the second son of the Duke of Lamon. His elder brother now runs the family corporation as well as the Dukedom. My father Marcus is one of the infamous "Social Generals", having more interest and success in business and politics than military matters. However, he is smart enough to delegate such strategy and tactical concerns to subordinates. His charisma and ability to identify the talent in others has led him to be a successful leader. Quick to make friends, he has connections throughout all of the governments and companies in the Rahneshire, and some beyond. He has made friends with many other military leaders throughout his military career as well. Tired of the constraints of the LCAF, and possibly in cooperation with LIC, Marcus retired and founded a mercenary unit: 5th Solar Guards. My older brother Aden runs the mech battalion and I run the independent mech company. Colonel Aden Wakea is technically the XO, but is in full command in the field with my older sister Major Sofia Wakea acting as his XO. We've decided I'm not suited for command larger than a company, and don't do well under direct leadership. I'm a talented mechwarrior, and still a good leader, so having an indepenent company has worked out for the best.
That was until we got banged up good on the last contract. Aden is reforming his battalion while Sofia is forming her own battalion now. What's left of my Lost Boys will transfer to keep as many long-standing Solar Guards among their ranks as possible. We had two independent lances in our Recon Group as well, but will only have one now: Warden's "Seekers". We still have Caleb's armor battalion in our Support Group, Caliph's scout battalion in our Recon Group and Vanderburg's naval regiment, which includes over 7 squadrons of ASF. I headed down to the Taurian Concordat, where the Wakeas have always had allies, to see about reforming my company. I heard about the civil war going on with the Aurigans and have decided to check it out. It's not how Aden or my father intended I reform my Unit, but it's my Unit.
Colmar is a nice place to be, as is the Commonwealth per se. Some places are littered with small towns and one of them is Aarnau. That`s where the Koch family hails from. You probably never heard of it before, which is because it is just another family like billions others across known space. The Kochs were nice neighbors, law-abiding people, did not travel a lot and had kind of a family tradition to work for the local administration, although never in the upper ranks.
And so it was a pretty large surprise for my parents, when I (and with I, I mean me: Martin Koch) told them that I wanted to join the Lyran Armed Forces. Not as if they were against it, to the contrary, but it was obvious that I would have to leave the planet. The less said about the day I left home to travel to the drill camp, the better. Well, since I am just an ordinary citizen instead of part of a noble house, it was clear that I would join the Infantry.
And I liked it. Serving my country there was something I was proud of and gave my life meaning. Needless to say, that I saw quite a few battles during the war along the Combine border. But I survived and performed properly. I mean, not everyone will become Senior Corporal in his career with the prospect to be NCO in the not too distant future. But then things turned grim.
Not everyone was happy with the FedCom Accords. Even less so, when it became more or less obvious, that Commonwealth and Federated Suns would not only become Allies, but Family. The thought of then 14 year old Melissa being married to someone who could have been her father already was not really a nice one. Especially when thinking about, what would be the long term result of such a marriage. A Heir might rule both realms, with the Commonwealth being just a colony within the now larger Federation.
Of course there were a lot of debates, but the military leadership did not enjoy them. So someday all those not happy with the developments were asked to either embrace that Alliance and stay in the Infantry, keep their thoughts for themselves forever and stay in the Infantry, or leave the Infantry. That was, when my career (and that of some others) in the Armed Forces ended rather abruptly. We all got an honorable goodbye from our superiors and then were thrown out.
Many went back to a civilian life, but that was nothing for me. With some others I decided that, if we were not good enough for our units anymore, then we would create our own. I can tell you, that I had to crawl to a lot of people to get proper funding (which is too long a story to be told here), but here we are. To be frank I am not even sure where exactly in the south "here" is, but I guess we will find out soon.
And so it was a pretty large surprise for my parents, when I (and with I, I mean me: Martin Koch) told them that I wanted to join the Lyran Armed Forces. Not as if they were against it, to the contrary, but it was obvious that I would have to leave the planet. The less said about the day I left home to travel to the drill camp, the better. Well, since I am just an ordinary citizen instead of part of a noble house, it was clear that I would join the Infantry.
And I liked it. Serving my country there was something I was proud of and gave my life meaning. Needless to say, that I saw quite a few battles during the war along the Combine border. But I survived and performed properly. I mean, not everyone will become Senior Corporal in his career with the prospect to be NCO in the not too distant future. But then things turned grim.
Not everyone was happy with the FedCom Accords. Even less so, when it became more or less obvious, that Commonwealth and Federated Suns would not only become Allies, but Family. The thought of then 14 year old Melissa being married to someone who could have been her father already was not really a nice one. Especially when thinking about, what would be the long term result of such a marriage. A Heir might rule both realms, with the Commonwealth being just a colony within the now larger Federation.
Of course there were a lot of debates, but the military leadership did not enjoy them. So someday all those not happy with the developments were asked to either embrace that Alliance and stay in the Infantry, keep their thoughts for themselves forever and stay in the Infantry, or leave the Infantry. That was, when my career (and that of some others) in the Armed Forces ended rather abruptly. We all got an honorable goodbye from our superiors and then were thrown out.
Many went back to a civilian life, but that was nothing for me. With some others I decided that, if we were not good enough for our units anymore, then we would create our own. I can tell you, that I had to crawl to a lot of people to get proper funding (which is too long a story to be told here), but here we are. To be frank I am not even sure where exactly in the south "here" is, but I guess we will find out soon.
I’ve been noticing that as well. I guess the growing alliance between the Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth left a lot of the military feeling ostracized.
Anyway, I’m really enjoying all the excellent starts to Mercenary careers that have been posted here. I hope you all enjoy living out your start in the Game.
Another possible explanation is that the Lyrans have a lot of good mechs but memetically awful military leadership.
I know some people are squicked out by the age gap in the Steiner-Davion marriage, but no experienced CK2 player would bat an eye. Its a great stroke by the standards of medieval diplomacy.
Then I am simply worried about their offspring having unfortunate encounters with pillows or balconies. Or that Melissa`s carriage might have an "accident" on a bridge because of Hanse`s new bedbunny.
Then I am simply worried about their offspring having unfortunate encounters with pillows or balconies. Or that Melissa`s carriage might have an "accident" on a bridge because of Hanse`s new bedbunny.
My favorite is the exploding privvy one.
Honestly Hanse Davion is probably the BT character who would be the biggest nightmare to play CK2 against. Only possible rival would be Ulric Kerensky.