Outskirts of Gellen's Heights

[Captain Benjamin Maxwell]

Not all sections of Gellen's Heights glimmer with the tourist-trap grandeur that is Downtown. As you walk down a rainy, pothole-ridden city street known as 'Prosperity Avenue,' you figure that the name is someone's idea of a sick joke. The neighborhood is definitely approaching the term known as "slums."

Terrifying-looking bars, pawn shops, weapon stores, and darker, more sinister-looking unmarked buildings line the streets. A number of warehouses rise skyward several city blocks away, undoubtedly serving as home to scores of 'unregulated' arms merchants interested in offering BattleTech of questionable origins to parties with fat wallets and few questions.

This is the seedier end of town - where criminals maintain their underworld, arms dealers make a killing (both literally and figuratively), and people vanish with neither rhyme nor reason. It is where deals are made, uneasy alliances are formed, and where the darker side of life in the 31st century can be experienced firsthand.

If you've come here to conduct business, you will be accommodated. Just hold on to your wallet.

If you've come to disappear forever...that can be arranged as well.

[Captain Benjamin Maxwell]

I walked down the darkened street, as bolts of lightning arced across the stormy night sky, and torrents of rain billowed around me, soaking my civillian clothes completely through, and leaving a mop of wet hair dripping into my eyes. I was supposed to meet my contact here, an arms dealer known for procuring qaulity BattleTech, who had promised some hardware that would prove very beneficial in the near future.

The metallic click of a pistol's safety going off behind me indicated I wouldn't be waiting much longer.

"Turn around slowly - and put your hands where I can see 'em."

I did as the voice asked. With my hands raised level to my temples, I turned around to face a heavyset man, bedecked with tattoos and a full beard, wearing a sleeveless tank top and a tattered pair of jeans.

"You packin' heat?" he asked, gesturing at the holster which had become visible beneath my jacket when my arms raised.

"Of course I am."

The man laughed - a deep, gutteral roar that was powerful enough to wake the dead.

"Good. Because you're probably going to need it if I don't like your offer. Come on - let's go."

I truly hoped this Hellhound would be worth the trip.

[Commander Garrett Garland]

The rain poured down as if driven on by some diabolical force, the pellets bouncing off my waterproof hood. I blended into the brown and grey atmosphere quite nicely along with Tech Sergeant Forester, who I brought along for the ride. Our dark raincoats fit perfectly with the seedy atmosphere in the slums—they hid one’s face from anything but a low light camera. I carried my trusty laser pistol in a side holster along with a spring loaded knife up my right sleeve. Unfortunately, Forester was no marksman nor particularly adept at hand to hand combat, but he was the assistant to the chief tech, making him a professional battlemech evaluator. I was confident that I could choose an excellent ‘mech for I did most of my own repairs and maintenance during my academy days, but in truth I wasn’t a pro.

Forester was looking a little skittish, “Forester, you ok man?”

His nervousness failed to subside as he responded, “Lieutenant, are you sure that it’s such a good idea to be out here… I mean outside of an APC and all?”

“Sergeant, be cool. Everything is good as long as you follow my lead. And remember, you’ve got that pistol in case shit really hits the fan. Don’t forget, first three shots are non-lethal but after that you’re locked and loaded.”

I hoped that my cool demeanor would calm him down, but my words only seemed to encourage him to grip his pistol more tightly. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come down to violence but just as I thought that we were going to reach the warehouse without conflict a shady man began to approach us head-on.

“Be ready Forester, safety off.”

Forester’s eyes widened—he had obviously never faced combat before. Then again, I didn’t expect that he had, he was just a tech after all, a good one, but still just a tech. The man approached and continued to walk right at us as if we weren’t there. I had seen this one before; he would walk between us, kidney one of us and then spin around and slice the other’s throat. However, beneath our raincoats we wore light infantry armor which would likely block the kidney knife blow and remove any momentum which the assailant would be using to bring the knife up after withdrawing it from his respective victim’s side. The man began to pass between us, I tensed for I was on the left side, the most likely candidate for the first blow assuming the man was right handed. However, the man passed without incident. I turned my head to watch him pass and found that I was looking at a different face, a thug’s face. He must have recognized that we we’re not commoners despite our drab attire. I moved my head to the left, the thug’s Billy Club smashing down onto my right shoulder, most of the impact dampened by my jacket and armor. I flicked my right wrist back as far as I could, the sensor detecting this awkward hand movement and ejecting my concealed blade into my hand. The thug’s posture changed, he had obviously gotten into street-fights before. I could tell that he knew how to counter a blade with his club, so I began to considering withdrawing my pistol. However, Forester had finally managed to pull out his gun and deactivate the safety. His first shot was a complete miss—had he ever even fired a gun? The second was a little better, it caught the attacker in his right forearm, but it would take a chest shot in order to incapacitate him. The third shot was the result of recoil and sailed into his shoulder, finishing the paralysis of his arm, a muscle spasm causing him to drop his weapon. I could feel Forester’s fear—he wasn’t thinking. I smashed my hand down on Forester’s weapon, the fourth shot, a lethal shot, going into the pavement. Forester looked at me, realizing that he had almost killed someone. The thug began to run away, but could barely stand considering the double dose of electricity which he had just received. He stumbled into an alleyway; I doubted that I’d see him again. Secretly, I was disappointed with Forester’s lackluster combat performance, fighting without thinking was amateur. However, I needed him to get through the rest of the day, and so I thought a little encouragement would help ease his seemingly fried nerves.

“Nice job out there Forester, he sure won’t be back.” I replied with a slightly sincere grin.

“Thanks sir, that was the first time I’ve ever shot anyone before.”

“Well,” I replied, “Just don’t make a habit out of it. Let’s get a move on, I don’t want to spend anymore time here than we have to.”

*******

Interestingly enough, the seller had contacted me. I had been browsing Sheratan’s local net for ‘mech dealers when I received an anonymous message containing contact information for a ‘mech dealer. The dealer must have put tracker programs on the net, contacting those in genuine interest of acquiring high quality hardware. I was told to meet at warehouse A7-D, ironically a designation very similar to that of an old Atlas design. As we neared the warehouse I was expecting some kind of sign, something to indicate that we were at the right place, but none was given. The rain sounded like gunfire as it splattered on the warehouses’ metal rooftops. Surprisingly, the warehouse’s door lamp was still functioning albeit poorly. I turned the door handle, the door swung open effortlessly. Unlike the door lamp, the warehouse’s interior lights were either not functioning or off. Despite the darkness I could make out a large silhouette in the middle of the room, although perhaps not large enough to be a battlemech.

“Sir, this smells like a trap. Maybe we should go.”

I responded coldly, “I don’t smell anything.”

As I neared the silhouette, and as my eyes adjusted, its shape became clearer. It was a VTOL of some sort, perhaps a helicopter. As I neared, my suspicions were confirmed; the rotor’s tri blade configuration was apparent. Upon further inspection the silhouette seemed to belong to a Ferret Light Scout VTOL. I wondered what a helicopter was doing all by itself in a warehouse, in the dark, but that darkness disappeared quickly. The craft’s floodlights and rotor activated, blinding myself and Forester. Simultaneously the warehouse’s roof began to retract, converting an ailing warehouse into a heli-bay. A voice called out over the Ferret’s loudspeaker system.

“You want merchandise then get aboard.”

Forester and I obeyed, ducking as we passed beneath the now illuminated rotor blades. The cockpit door was open, I moved into the co-pilot seat while Forster sat behind me and the pilot; the stranger’s upper face masked by his helmet. His grey beard and obviously older body revealed his age, but only a person’s eyes could reveal their true intent. The windows were completely opacified; only the pilot could see what was happening outside through his helmet’s visor. The helicopter’s lights dimmed as we exited the warehouse in silence, the helicopter making its way to its destination, far out from the city and its journey, thanks to its ECM, untracked.

*******

The VTOL set down well away from the city. It seemed that we crossed over the first few peaks of the western mountain range and were now on a plateau on the far side of the mountains’ slope, the city lights blocked by the massive rock behemoths. The landing pad was a simple tarmac pad surrounded by massive redwoods. These truly were the largest trees I had ever seen; a battlemech was dwarfed by their size. We had managed to escape the dreary weather which seemed to plague the industrial sector of the city and were now under the shade of the trees. The pilot finally removed his helmet, giving me a look while he powered down the Ferretp. I inhaled, drinking in the smell of the forest. Although redwood was the dominant tree, there were cedar and pine trees scattered about, lending a most interesting and pleasant aroma to the area. The trees must have been first growth, untouched since the planet was colonized centuries ago. I undid my seatbelt and waited for the rotor to spin down before exiting the copter, Forester following behind me. He too was in awe of this place's beauty, but I was about to have my breath taken away by something unnatural.

This is a modified picture from TRO 3050, I just colored it and did the background, the Shadow Hawk's shape belongs to FASA.

Standing in front of one of the mighty trees was a SHD-5M Shadow Hawk, a sight of near equal beauty. The ‘mech’s timber camouflage was worn and perhaps a little rusted, but upon closer inspection most of the wear was superficial. Looking around I could see many camouflaged tarps under which undoubtedly lay tanks, APCs, VTOLs, and perhaps even aerospace and atmospheric fighters. Standing in a semi-circle around the tarmac stood many other battlemech’s, most worse off than the Shadow Hawk. Even a behemoth Atlas stood guard over the clearing, ivy entangling its feet.

I turned to the pilot, “Most impressive, are you the dealer?”

“Pilot, technician, arms dealer, mechwarrior,” He put special emphasis on the word with which he most associated himself, mechwarrior…“but right now I am your ‘mech vendor. Buy one get one free—just kidding.”

I started with the Atlas, the ‘mech dealer telling me its particulars while I had Forester confirm his claims while simultaneously making an estimate of his own. After hearing both of them, I would observe the ‘mech myself and take notes on its armaments, electronic packages, and relative condition. After recording the Atlas’s particulars on my noteputer we moved on to a Wasp, then a Stinger, and several other ‘mechs. We reached a GRF-3M Griffin which was very tempting—until Forester checked it out. He didn’t even say anything, he just looked at me and gave the slightest shake of his head—it had to be something bad. Probably a cracked reactor housing or some other near un-repairable malady. Lastly we reached the Shadow Hawk, it’s menacing form towering above us. Forester climbed up the ladder on the side going into the cockpit and then running a check-up with a portable diagnostic tool. While Forester began to open hatches and panels, looking at the inside of the ‘mech, I started to talk business with the dealer.

I casually asked, “So how much for this one?” Carefully hiding my peaked interest in this particular ‘mech.

“Well, before I give you a price I want to tell a little more about this ‘mech. Do you see the autocannon up there, on its left shoulder? Well, that’s no Imperator Ultra-5—it’s a hyper autocannon, the best around.”

That was strange… why would weapons of that caliber be on seemingly junkyard ‘mechs out in the middle of nowhere.

I let the dealer continue, “And do you see the laser on the right arm? That’s no Martell medium laser, its one of those new X-Pulse Lasers. Although classified as a medium laser, it has substantially increased energy out-put, rate of fire, and even has a little better range. As you probably know, the Shadow Hawk is usually equipped with an LRM-20 rack in the right torso, but let’s just say that his ‘mech has got a few surprises. Instead of a heavy LRM-20, this baby’s got a Clan LRM-20 and CASE for the ammo stored in the side torsos for the missile rack and the autocannon. Neat huh? It also has twin Streak SRM-2 pods on either side of the head as you can see. Now with the extra available weight due to using Clan technology the engine has been upgraded allowing the ‘mech to reach a blazing fast 97.2 KPH!”

The list just kept on going on and on… Chilton jumpjet this and Earthwerks endosteel that. But finally the dealer stopped, and we waited in silence as Forester came back with his report.

I stepped over to him—out of earshot of the dealer, “So how is it? Jack of all trades over there gave me his same overhyped overestimated speech as last time… is anything he said true?”

The glee was apparent on Forester’s face, “Oh yes sir. Indeed it is everything he said and more. Even the command couch is comfortable. Sure the ‘mech will need some tuning, but if you were attuned to its neural helmet then you’d have no trouble piloting that thing all the way back to the base. Something that he forgot to mention was the electronics package on this baby—it’s quite impressive. I didn’t even know they had a working guardian ECM suite for Shadow Hawk. It also seems to have a C3 computer and some truly impressive sensors. This must have been a command ‘mech awhile back… how it ended up here I have no idea. Judging by the paint decay, this thing must have only been here for a few months, a year tops.”

“Well great work Sergeant. I’m going to finish up business and then we can get out of here.”

I walked back to the dealer, “I think that I’d like to look at the Griffin again.”

The look on Forester’s face was laughable; he was completely dumbstruck. He hid his expression before the dealer noticed, but it still took him a few seconds to figure out what I was doing. I sent him to recheck the Griffin while I endured being “sold” by the dealer. Finally Forester returned and I spoke with him—just close enough so that the dealer would hear.

“So, how about this one?”

Forester had finally caught on,“Well sir, this one is ok, but not the greatest. It would take a lot of work to bring it back to fully functionality, and it’s not even in the desired weight class.”

“Most unfortunate,” I replied,“what are some other options?”

“Well sir, that Wasp which we checked out earlier looked promising although it is a bit too light for our purposes. The Atlas might be a good second choice candidate, and if you really have to, you could buy the Shadow Hawk, but let’s just say that you won’t be piloting it for a year a least.”

My respect for Forester shot out the roof; he had played his role perfectly. I turned back to the dealer, with a mask of dismay on my face.

“Do you have any other ‘mechs perhaps?”

The dealer shook his head, and himself looked dismayed—had he just lost a sale after all of this work? I looked around at all the ‘mechs and sighed.

“I guess we’ll have a look at the Shadow Hawk again.”

After a bit of bargaining and Forester’s constant drone on how we really shouldn’t be getting this one I managed to settle for a price: 6 million c-bills—I would have paid double. I could tell that I was pushing it when it came to the price, but the dealer gave and I was a proud owner of a SHD-5M (modified) Shadow Hawk. I radioed back to the Legionnaires that I’d need some serious transport, but all I received was static—he must be jamming the radios. I asked the dealer how he got the ‘mechs here in the first place, but all he did was smile. I intended to find out how he came by these ‘mechs and why there were hidden in a forest in the middle of nowhere, but that could wait. All I cared about was getting home.

At last, the dealer beckoned me to follow him over a small rise. Over the hill was another small clearing which contained a small airstrip and a massive atmospheric plane. By the look of it, the runway had a Planetlifter as a guest at the far west end. This was a truly impressive craft, capable of transporting a 70 ton ‘mech to anywhere on the planet. So this was how the old man got his equipment around…

*******

A little over six hours later my Shadow Hawk was nestled in the belly of the Planetlifter. It had taken such a long time because usually there would be an experienced crew operating the platform truck which carried the ‘mech to the transport and then another crew placing the ‘mech inside the Planetlifter. Once again Forester and I stepped up into another mysterious plane’s cockpit; this time it was not opacified. I wondered if the dealer trusted us enough to let us see the route home, but just as I began to think that he was finally letting go of some of his secrecy, the windows went black. Damn, he must have electrolyzed glass which changed its opacity depending on an electric current. No current meant opaque, current meant clear. So even if the plane somehow lost power for a few seconds I still wouldn’t see where I was going.

The plane’s engines came to life, and the trip was equally uneventful as the firsts, but this time the destination was not unknown. The trip took longer than I expected… a Planetlifter should fly much faster than a Ferret. After awhile, I had an idea as to why the trip was taking so long. In order to mask our incoming vector, the old man had skirted the plane around Gellen’s Heights spaceport’s sensors until we were coming at a significantly different angle than where his actual base was hidden. As we touched down, I gave Forester a reassuring pat on the back—he had done well and would one day make a fine chief tech, but that would be many years to come. I managed to get a hold of the Legionnaire’s communications officer and requested a ‘mech recovery vehicle—perfect for transporting non-operational ‘mechs. I didn’t want to start up the ‘mech’s fusion reactor until the techs had given it a full diagnostic. As Forester and I waited for the Legionnaires to arrive, we watched the old man’s plane depart the tarmac… probably on a completely different direction than the way we came in.

[Holms Net]

Not having been to a city for some time, it was good to see buildings around... even if they were all about ready to collapse if so much as a fly were to land on the roof. I navigated my way through the streets of the outskirts, trying to find anyone that could be of use. I was looking for some sort of arm dealers, I hadn't been up-to-date on equipment for the last few ops, and figured I could use some better weaponry.

After some time, I had finally found a decent looking place. I walked in to find a store full of weapons, armor suits, all sorts of things you could need in war. Even a lone battle armor stood at the end of the store, albeit in no condition to fight. It had a message encrypted on a plate underneath it. It was written in memory of a person, most likely the owner of the store at one time.

Ya' Needin' something?

I turned to see an older man, a veteran of war. Probably the storekeeper at the time.

"Kinda odd to have such a nice shop in this place. Must take a bit of money to run it."

Best store in this part of town, I get myself enough money. Now, you need something, or will I have to force you out?

"uhh.. I'm just looking for some weapons."

Ya' know what, you seem like a smart fellow. Why don't you follow me in back and I'll show you some of my better weapons.

He led me to a trapdoor behind a counter, going down into a cellar of sorts. It was damp and eerie, and the lights were dim, but you could make out entire racks, at least 10, of weapons and all sorts of other micsellanious items. He brought me over to the far wall of this cellar, where a suit of armor and weapons was stored.

"Hmm... those look really nice. Can I buy 'em?"

Not like it matters.

With that, some thugs hidden behind containers and racks plunged out to take me down. Before long, they had me tied to a chair connected to the ground. Old fashion thugs weren't gonna use money on equipment, they would just kill the people. Tie 'em up t a chair, take their stuff, than shoot 'em. They probably couldn't afford anything if they still used the old "tie-to-chair method".

Although they had confiscated most of what I had on me, I had kept the small Blakist I found during the Op hidden away in my shoe. Normally, it would of been on my belt, but when the old man decided to take me down to the "good weapons" I stuck it in my shoe in case something like this happened. After a little maneuvering, I had gotten the knife out of the shoe and on to the ground. I picked it up with my feet and brought it to my hands. However, the knife dropped to the ground, my shaking body losing hold of it. Fortunatly, the thugs were too stuck on their new heaps of cash to hear it hitting the floor.

I gave it another try, and made it all the way to my hands. I grabbed the knife and moved my hands around to loosen the ropes enough to stick the knife in. After about 3 or 4 minutes, I was loose, and the thugs hadn't even noticed. I carefully opened up the case where the suit of armor and weapons I had seen right before I was attacked was placed. It had a few grenades on it, as well as a few other items. I quickly maneuvered myself into the armor and put the weapons into their holsters.

I unhitched one flash grenade from the belt I was now in posession of, and tossed it to the feet of the group of thugs, who were still scrummaging through my stuff. It had landed right next to them, causing them to all look, only to be blinded by the light. I quickly took the oppurtunity to run up and grab my stuff, and quickly ran up the stairs which I had been brought down from. In the main shop, the lone man stood there, shocked to see me up. He quickly drew a light energy pistol and was able to shoot one blast, which missed and hit one of the racks on the wall, causing it to fall over. It had seemed they had been careless to turn the safeties of all the guns off, as a few shot off blasts of energy throughout the shop. I quickly jumped over the counter and ran out into the street. I sprinted for about 2 minutes, running as far and fast as I could away from the store.

I started to walk to catch my breath, eventually coming across an alleyway where I was able to lean against a wall and regain strength after sprinting. After I had done so, I started the walk back towards our new home here near Gellen's Heights.

[Captain Benjamin Maxwell]

The salvage rig bounced and jostled its way down the pothole-ridden street, sending jets of water arcing skyward as the truck's gargantuan tires displaced gallons of water collecting in the street's depressions. The driver, a burly 'for-hire' employed by the Hellhound's dealer, crouched over the steering wheel, squinting through the rain as the truck's worn wiper blades smeared the windshield.

The 'Mech had been in pristine condition - its pilot had been assassinated just prior to a scheduled match on Solaris IV - under suspicious circumstances - and as such, the 'Mech, which had been combat-ready, had been sold to the highest bidder.

I didn't want to know how it fell into my dealer's hands, but the bargain-basement price he offered to sell it for made it blatantly obvious that he wanted to get rid of it quickly. That was all the information I needed.

As we made our turn onto the main highway, I saw a soaking wet figure in civillian clothes slogging down the side of the highway. As we drew nearer, I realized it was Sergeant Holms Net.

"Stop the truck."

"Aw, Mister Maxwell...yew know I cain't do that...the 'ighway patrol'll 'ave my 'ead if they catch me 'oldin' up traffic, 'specially with YOUR cargo."

I reached for my sidearm, and clicked the safety off without removing the weapon from the holster. The driver looked at me with a mixture of fear and defiance in his eyes.

"Stop the truck."

He began to slow, but showed no signs of stopping.

"The funds haven't been transferred to your account yet."

Smoke rose from the rig's tires, and long strips of burnt rubber streaked down the highway as the salvage rig came to a jarring halt. I stepped out of the truck into the rain, casting a glance at the driver, as if to say 'don't try anything.' Shielding my eyes from the rain, I walked toward Holms Net.

"Fancy meeting you here, Sergeant. Need a lift?"

[Holms Net]

After such an exciting occurance at the shop, how could I turn down an offer to ride in an amazing salvage truck! None the less, it was a ride, and it wasn't like I was gonna get a ride from anyone else. Of course, if the Captain trusted this guy driving enough to drive... well... if he persuaded him enough, than I was sure to be safe.

"Sure, captain."

We climbed up into the truck and it began to accelerate back up to speed. A car behind us nearly slammed into us, but pulled out of the way in time, however causing a bit of a hold up. We quickly got going before any troubles arised.

"So, your day been going as good as man, Captain?"