Gellen's Heights' SpacePort

[Commander Garrett Garland]

Like all SpacePorts throughout the Inner Sphere, the one nestled on the Outskirts of Gellen’s Heights seems to have a perpetual air of industry. At all times dock workers can be seen busying themselves with DropShip component transfers and installations, fuel transfers, or merely luggage ferrying. Around the sides of each DropShip Pad stand mighty warehouses containing various goods ready to be shipped out from Sheratan or those which have recently been transferred off one of the many arriving DropShips. Slightly apart from the rest of the SpacePort stands the customs office.

The Customs and Excise office is a three story building built in the same industrial style of the rest of the SpacePort. Although they cannot be seen through the tinted windows, Customs Agents are busily running checks on incoming DropShips’ passenger lists. The office is nearly emptied after each DropShip arrival; Customs Agents scurry about newly landed ships checking passenger identities and cargo manifests.

[Karina Graff]

The burning star slowly descended on its thrust column, matching its angle perfectly with the DropPad. As the star continued to descend it split into four distinct burning objects. As each of the four thrusters’ thrust columns began to touch the DropPad, they were whisked away by high-powered fans, their polluting nature rendered harmless by the catalytic conversion processes deep beneath the DropPad. Although the Custom Office’s FerroGlass windows had almost completely opacified, Karina still covered her eyes with her forearm, blocking out the still blinding light. All around her Customs Agents were making last minute check-ups on designated passengers’ backgrounds while they waited for the DropPad to cool.

The tarmac was barely warm to the touch as the customs agents waited for the mighty DropShip’s hatch to open. Behind the now clear SpacePort windows various newsgroups could be seen, their cameras focused intently on the Mammoth Class DropShip’s hatch. If one looked carefully enough, the distinctive moustache of Chris Zondervan could be seen through the most prominent viewing gallery. Karina could still smell a slight tinge in the air from the DropShip’s thrusters, she was just glad that the SpacePort’s air scrubbers still functioned—few SpacePort’s had such technology in the wake of the succession wars. Sniffing the air once more, Karina thought of the dock workers; they said that for every year you spent working out here you cut two off your lifespan. Dismissing the thought, Karina looked up at the militia’s welcoming party, a lone WTC-4M Watchman. As a precaution against a surprise attack, the militia always greeted each arrival with some kind of force although today it really was just for show— the Kaiser’s Folly was a cargo carrier—it lacked ‘mech bays. Of course a truly determined enemy could have jury-rigged some kind of ‘mech storage system inside the mighty vessel, but due to the nature of the DropShip’s internal configuration the ‘mechs would be unable to exit the ship without the assistance of cargo loaders.

After waiting for a good five minutes the sound of clamps unlocking was music to Karina’s ears. As the DropShip’s main hatch opened, all hell broke lose…

[Chris Zondervan]

“This is Chris Zondervan reporting from Gellen’s Heights’ SpacePort.” I announced as expressively as possible. The public always liked a slight grin on a newscaster’s face; my signature grin had carried me far indeed. The HPG Station’s loss was especially troublesome for me in that no interstellar network scouts would be reviewing my broadcasts until it was back online—my talent was being hidden!

“The Kaiser’s Folly, a Mammoth Class DropShip, has just touched down.”

Hopefully the camera man would catch the ship’s outline slowly solidifying as the gasses were dispersed. I hated staying in these places any more than I had too—they were filthy especially with all of those gasses flying about.

“The Kaiser’s Folly, being of the largest atmospheric DropShip class ever devised, will soon be unloading its vast quantities of consumer goods. I’m sure everyone has been waiting for the latest and greatest straight from Tharkad.”

At this point the gasses had dispersed and the customs agents were moving across the tarmac to the ship. However, the cameraman was not focused on them but the BattleMech regally walking towards the DropShip. The viewers at this point should have been able to discern the immensity of the DropShip—the BattleMech looked to be a toy when compared to the Kaiser’s Folly. At last, the ship’s hatch began to open. The camera focused in as the hatch slowly unfolded itself outwards, also acting as a ramp, a particular design preventing the hot drop of BattleMechs.

“As you can see now the welcoming party is anxiously waiting for the…what the hell?!”

As the DropShip’s hatch unfurled a large liquid storage container broke free from its harness, foolishly secured to part of the hatches lowering mechanism. Crashing forwards the container split spilling out unknown liquids which seeped out the sides of the still opening hatch. Even without the magnified lens of the camera, customs agents could be seen shaking their heads—this had to be one of the worst DropShip cargo accidents they’d seen. Letting out a sigh I amended my script.

“It would seem that the Kaiser’s Folly has had a little folly of its own. Whether due to the improper storage of cargo or just bad luck, one of the large cargo containers has just fallen, splitting open on the DropShip’s floor. This will undoubtedly delay the unloading of the ship, but it seems that the crew and customs agents are getting things under control.”

Just as I finished my sentence the militia Watchman stepped forward. The MechWarrior inside, foreseeing another accident, had positioned himself right in front of the point where the loading ramp’s tip would rest against the tarmac. As the ramp’s angle changed the liquid cargo container—a long cylinder—began to roll down the ramp, its considerable mass a lethal threat to those below. Using his ‘mech’s hand actuators, the MechWarrior grabbed the rolling container, safely stopping it from crushing those below. This was actually turning out to be a good story. With the crisis resolved the camera crew slowly focused on the various happenings about the DropShip. Large cargo handling vehicles began to remove the gigantic cargo containers stored within the ship. Even larger than Battlemechs, the cargo containers were delicately carried to the nearby warehouses where they were being meticulously cataloged by the customs officials. With the action subsiding I wrapped up the story.

“This is Chris Zondervan, and remember Gellen’s Heights—keep it classy.”

[Captain Benjamin Maxwell]

As the ground crews swarmed over the Carpathia like so many ants devouring a discarded confection, I pulled my longcoat tighter around myself, and gave my gear bag another pull to ensure its secure placement over my shoulder. My breath gave off billows of steam in the frigid winter air as I waited for the boarding call that would herald the beginning of my journey back to Terra...the first time I had made the trip in nearly three years.

My mind wandered back to the Legionnaires. I had little doubt in my mind that I would never see them again in person...though I planned to keep track of them, through whatever means were available to me.

Angels and ministers of grace, defend them...

"All passengers - step lively!"

[MechWarrior Aisa Thastus]

The boarding call rang out across the spaceport, and I shivered in the cold, damp winter air, which bit at me like a timber wolf, tasting its prey before devouring it alive. Turning toward Maxwell, my eyes met his. His expression was one of deep sorrow and regret, a change from the stoic, detached demeanor that was so typical of his personality.

"Well, Star Colonel Thastus...this is goodbye."

I nodded. The...former...Captain still retained his annoying grasp of the obvious.

"Indeed."

Maxwell glanced away momentarily.

"I want to thank you for everything you've done for the Legionnaires. It must have been hard for you to make the decisions you did on Valasha."

I balked at Maxwell's remark. After all this time, he was still questioning my integrity.

"I beg to differ. The path of honor was my only choice."

The Captain nodded, and glanced at the Carpathia.

"And what of your future, Thastus? Do you plan to stay on with the Legionnaires? Or does your destiny take you elsewhere?"

I gave Maxwell a bewildered look. Clearly, he was toying with me.

"Captain. You know as well as I do that I am honor-bound to serve your unit. Until such time as I am released from my bond, I have no control of my future."

Maxwell allowed himself a small chuckle.

"Then, I release you. You are free to stay, to leave, to do as you see fit with your life. The possibilities are endless. Just remember that whatever you do...do it because it is in your heart to do so. Don't let anyone make your decisions for you."

A final boarding call rang out across the tarmac. Maxwell extended his hand. I took hold of it, and gave it a firm shake.

"May the peace of Blake be with you."

The Captain gave me a smile, and a final nod. Shrugging his duffel over his shoulder, he turned toward the DropShip, and trudged forward into the billowing show, his frock of red hair barely visible against the pure white of the maelstrom.

And may Turkina watch over your soul...

[Karina Graff]

Karina always had a certain reverence for the towering containers before her. Strange, she thought, that she’d find solemnity in a gigantic warehouse filled with cargo crates. The loaders had finished transferring all of the designated containers to warehouse A3, the third warehouse around Pad A, about a quarter of an hour earlier. Now came the long processes of checking each container to make sure it had its indicated contents. The process of checking each container would take several days; the customs agents had never dealt with this much cargo at once. In fact, the DropShip’s cargo had overflowed Pad A and B’s storage warehouses filling up one and a half of C’s. Karina couldn’t fathom how much this new merchandise would affect commerce on Sheratan. Checking to make sure all of her items were securely fastened to her belt, Karina approached the first leviathan container. The container’s entire end opened simply; it was just two doors firmly latched. For the customs process, the containers had been stood on their ends—this allowed the containers to be opened from the catwalk above without spilling their contents.

Karina meticulously climbed the metal ladder, her feet making small metal reverberations with each step. Finally, almost three stories up, Karina stepped onto the catwalk, lord of the containers. Fortunately most cargo containers adhered to a common design—the universal unlocker above should open any container in the room at the touch of a button.

Stepping to the control panel, Karina activated the standard analysis program. Suspended another level above the catwalk was a menacing looking contraption, the cargo unlocker. In actuality, the unlocker was much more versatile than merely being able to open containers; it housed a suite of chemical sensors which could detect various categories of item contents from contaminated foods to explosives. The gigantic claw descended on the first container, spinning the containers bolts and popping the latches. A small gust of stale air filled Karina’s nostrils as the container doors opened. The claw retracted above the container, dropping a small sensor pod into the container. Immediately Karina’s board lit up: EXPLOSIVE. As the sensor continued its scan it detected even more chemicals all falling into the harmful category. She’d need assistance on this one.

“This is Agent Graff, I’ve got a container registering explosive down here, can I get some assistance?”

Karina waited for twenty seconds before repeating her request—so far no one had answered. Finally, Karina contacted the custom’s office directly—this was important.


“This is Agent Graff, I’ve got an explosive container right now and it seems that all other agents are busy—could you please send assistance?”

“Graff, this is Captain Mendeleev, we’re having trouble reaching the agents in your sector, can you stand-by?”

“Very well Captain, but this is an explosive situation.”

“I’m aware of that Graff—I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

Once again time clicked away and the Captain’s response had still not yet come. Anxiously, Karina nearly activated her comm when she heard clanking on the ladder below—at last they sent assistance. Waiting patiently at her console, Karina waited for the newcomer. The first sign of trouble was that the man was helmeted; customs agents’ heads were unadorned. Second was the agility with which he exited the ladder. Thirdly was the submachine gun pointed right at her.

As Karina dropped to the deck, a burst of bullets flying above her, her hand brushed one of the control console’s buttons. As her assailant lowered his gun to fire on the scrambling form of Katrina he found himself facedown on the catwalk, his gun knocked from his hands. Rising to his knees he looked up to see a giant claw above him. Luckily for him, the claw was designed to open latches, not humans. Recovering himself the assailant stood, withdrawing his sidearm. Karina knew that if he managed to withdraw his second firearm it was all over for her. Rushing the attacker Karina smashed into his chest just as he was withdrawing his back-up weapon. The attacker managed to keep hold of the gun, smashing its butt on the side of her head, filling Karina’s eyes with stars. Grabbing Karina by the shoulders he poised her over the railing, dangling her as if she were a piece of meat before a pack of wolves below. Just before he released her he whispered, “In the name of Blake…”

The fall to the FerroCrete floor below was a long one—but not long enough to finish Karina. As she lay on the floor, her body smashed and her head turned to the side she saw the leviathan container looming above her. As her vision began to cloud she was visited by one final nightmare; as the containers sides fell away they revealed a most surprising and frightening sight, a Battlemech!

[Lance Commander William Rhodes]

William Rhodes was nervous. More nervous than he had been facing the hatchet-wielding Centurion on Ares. More nervous than when he was mired in the mud on the asteroid staring down the barrel of General Ren’s horrific power suit. More nervous than he was confronting the blood-soaked bounty hunter in the Cantina last night.

William Rhodes was on a date.

Sure, most people survived first dates just fine, but William’s last relationship hadn’t ended well. In fact, it had been an unmitigated disaster torn apart by the strained loyalties of civil war. William and his last girlfriend, a Lyran MechWarrior named Jennifer Himmel, had literally ended their relationship by shooting each other in the burning wreckage of the village of Hampton’s Creek on Kathil. He had walked away with a 9mm slug in his shoulder. She hadn’t walked away at all.

Now, almost four years and plenty of therapy sessions later, William was ready to move on with his love life, or at least give dating a try. He had met an attractive and intelligent woman at the base Cantina of all places. Her name was Emma Mirado, and she was a Leftenant in the local planetary militia, commanding a mechanized infantry platoon in the 1st Urban Warfare Battalion assigned to Gellen’s Heights. The 1st was a combined armor and infantry outfit espcially trained for city fights. Their nickname, which they were very proud of, was “the Sewar Rats”, and their patch depicted a cartoon rat wearing an army helmet, smoking a cigar, and wielding an ancient Tommy gun.

Asakuma was William’s favorite Japanese restaurant on Sheratan, located near the spaceport for Gellen’s Heights. The owner was an expatriate from the Draconis Combine and he had hired the finest sushi chefs in the Chaos March. Using his chopsticks, Rhodes maneuvered a piece of Maguro into his mouth, enjoying the taste of fish, rice, and wasabi.

Emma had fiery red hair, cut short for combat, and beautiful features that hinted at her Latin ancestry. She sipped her hot saki as they made small talk. Before returning to her birthplace on Sheratan to join the militia, she had been an NCO with the all infantry mercenary unit, Stalwart Support, seeing plenty of action on the volatile worlds of the Chaos March, where governments seemed to change overnight.

The ground suddenly shook with the force of a distant explosion, rattling the windows and startling the restaurant patrons. People glanced around in alarm, perhaps fearing an earthquake, though those were rare in Gellen’s Heights. William and Emma, both recognizing the sound of heavy artillery, vaulted out of their seats, heading for the windows. From over the spaceport, they could see plumes of black smoke spiraling up into the atmosphere.

“Dropship crash?” asked Emma, pulling a Python automatic pistol out of her purse. Her suggestion was immediately discounted by the tell-tale sound of heavy feet against pavement, the unmistakable tread of a BattleMech on city streets.

Dashing outside, the two took cover behind Emma’s sporty Avanti coupe (William had taken public transport). From down the street, in the direction of the spaceport, came the thud of stomping Mech feet. Suddenly, a massive humanoid warmachine turned the corner into view. The Mech was painted white and on one shoulder bore the insignia of a pyramid topped with an all-seeing eye, while on the other shoulder was the crest of a star and broadsword.

Bloody hell, it’s the friggin’ Word of Blake!

The Mech had no hands, instead replacing them with three ER small lasers on one arm and a pair of medium lasers on the other. On its shoulders were perched the launchers for long and short range missiles as well as the gatling cannon for the anti-missile system. William recognized the design as a 40-ton INI-02 Initiate, a model common with Blakist divisions.

The Blakist Mech raised its left arm and stabbed a delivery truck with a pair of emerald beams, evaporating the light vehicle instantly in a flash of light and smoke. A few seconds later, its foot crashed down on a small jewelry kiosk off the main drag, crushing it to splinters and shards of glass. As usual, the Blakist were going out of there way to inflict civillian casualties.

Emma used her remote key to pop the trunk on her car and removed an Imperator AX-22 assault rifle. Slamming home a magazine of 7.5mm anti-personnel, she chambered a round with a resounding click-clack of the bolt.

You keep an assault rifle in your trunk?

You never know when a girl is gonna need her toys. Now let’s move!

[MechWarrior Alex Thorn]

I had heard the report while working out in the weight room. I quickly gathered my things and headed for my new Fafnir. I quickly climbed the ladder and strapped in.

I pushed the 'Mech forward, but slowly. I wasnt quite used to the slowness of the Assault 'Mech. I saw Morgan also pulling out of the 'Mech Bay. I keyed the radio.

Morgan, this is Thorn. Im coming in behind you. Since we dont know what this threat is we better stick together.

I sat back and got into formation behind the man. My Fafnir seemed to dwarf the Zeus.

Alright. Lets see what is going on, I thought to myself.

[Lance Commander William Rhodes]

William and Emma ducked into a nearby alley to avoid the Initiate walking down the main street. Emma clutched her Imperator AX-22 assault rifle, while William was armed with her Python pistol. Neither weapon would scratch the paint of the 40 ton BattleMech.

We need to link up with my platoon. Their staging area is near here.

I've already tried my personal communicator. All military and civilian channels are jammed.

We'll have to make it on foot then.

Just then, the heavy foot of the Initiate came crashing down on Emma's Avanti sports coupe.

You bastard, I only had one more payment to go!

William and Emma began making their way through a city quickly dissolving into panic and chaos. The sounds of explosions and sirens came from the distance as they ran through crowds of civilians desperately seeking shelter. Finally, they reached a local armory of the 1st Urban Warfare Battalion. Parked out front was a massive Goblin Infantry Fighting Vehicle with the words "Big Bertha" painted on the sides. Several soldiers in fatigues were milling around the open boarding ramp, loading portable SRM tubes into the passenger bay.

Sergeant Walker, what's our status?

Leftenant, I'm glad to see you. We can't get through to battalion HQ but I've gathered three of our four squads here. Who's this guy?

William Rhodes, Legionnaires.

From the platoon sergeant's sour expression, William could tell what he thought about MechWarriors.

Alright, there's no time to waste. Everybody mount up in Bertha and remember your anti-Mech training. We got some Blakist tin cans to waste.

William soon found himself crammed into the crowded troop bay of the 45-ton Goblin, as its massive fusion reactor came online. Around him, twenty one militia troopers were checking weapons, strapping on ablative armor, and preparing satchels of explosives.

Rhodes manned a periscope as the Goblin approached the perimeter of the spaceport. Around the IFV were the ruins of a small commercial district, shrouded in smoke and flame. Up ahead appeared the looming silhouette of the Initiate BattleMech, intent on wrecking more havoc.

The rear ramp came down and Emma's platoon hit the concrete, fanning out to positions of cover. Emma looked a bit comical in her kevlar bodyarmor and helmet strapped over her posh evening wear.

Each squad had its own missile launcher, and the weapons were quickly and calmly set up on their tripods. Short range rockets streaked from their tubes on fiery contrails, slamming into the lightly armored back of the Initiate. It seemed the careless MechWarrior had forgotten to turn his McArthur AMS on. Added to this barrage was a volley of more SRMs from the Goblin's turret as well as ruby darts from its large pulse laser. Melting crystal-steel rained down on the pockmarked street.

The Initiate spun around, probing the ground with its small and medium laser as the overconfident pilot began striding toward the infantry platoon. A volley of six 60mm SRMs from the Initiate's right shoulder launcher, screamed towards the Goblin. The IFV's domed anti-missile system swatted three of the missiles from the sky before they impacted. The other three detonated against the Goblin's front hull, but Bertha's thick armor plate held. Despite this, William felt like he was a peanut being shaken inside of a soda can.

Returning his view to the periscope, the Legionnaire MechWarrior picked out a squad of troops led by Emma dashing through the rubble toward the lumbering BattleMech. The soldiers had attached magnetic clamps to their boots and gloves and quickly scrambled up onto the Initiate's lower legs. Explosive satchels were crammed into joints and then the infantry hit their releases and went diving for cover.

A moment later there was a bright flash of light and the lower legs of the Initiate seemed to disintegrate into a cloud of shredding armor and melting myomer, flinging the Mech flat on its face. The ground shook with the impact, and the Sewer Rats were soon swarming all over the Initiate's back. Emma planted a demo charge on the cockpit hatch. With a sharp crack, the hatch came sailing off and Emma fearlessly dived into the enemy cockpit. She emerged a moment later with a startled Blakist MechWarrior, still wearing his neurohelmet, as prisoner.

William shook his head in amazement. That was the last time he would underestimate infantry. The platoon quickly filed back into the IFV with their new POW.

Nice take-down, guys.

Emma, sweating from the exertion, put her arm around William and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Foolish to send Mechs into an urban area without infantry support. Now let's see if we can join up with your Legionnaire friends at Site 187. I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of these Wobbie pukes.

[Bounty Hunter Sam Grisham]

The thick, tinted glass of my small, one bedroom apartment shook violently with every explosion that erupted. I lived only a few blocks away Gellen’s Height’s Spaceport. At first, I thought there was some sort of accident, however I soon released it was far from that. I almost wished it was some sort of accident. Unfortunately, things just aren’t that simple. In the distance, I could see several battle mechs plodding through the streets of Gellen’s Height’s, tearing up anything in their way. And all in the name of Blake.

“Shit… if it isn’t Mercenaries that petrify me, it’s Blakies… and I HATE Blakies…” I muttered in frustration as I failed to strap an ammo belt across my chest. I opened my secure gun cabinet (the only thing that had any value in this shit hole apartment), and began to pull out some of my arsenal. I pulled out two of my trusty .44 revolvers and holstered them immediately. One in the left hip holster and one in the right. Reaching down into the heavy locker, I pulled out two .22 semi auto pistols for “just in” as I liked to say. I strapped both of those onto my shins, underneath my jeans, before cycling a round into the chamber. They were small pistols, but I sure as hell didn’t feel comfortable without them. Standing in the middle of the cabinet was my beloved, custom made hand cannon. “Crescent Moon” had it’s own holster and bullet belt, which fitted nicely around my waist. After strapping the belt around my waist and feeling the full weight of “Crescent Moon” tug on me I then began deciding on what rifle to take…

“You heavy bitch…” I muttered to the large revolver as I began to think hard. Although my microgauss rifle could penetrate the ferro glass of a mech cockpit, I sure as hell didn’t want to be dragging along that heavy beast. I wasn’t planning on tangling with huge robot beasts anyhow. In fact, the only fighting I was expecting would be from ground troops. I eventually decided to do with the only other rifle I had. I reached in and pulled out my old (but faithful) 7.62 mm target rifle. It was an old design from the 20th century. It still maintained it’s original bolt action - something that was barely seen in this day and age. Although I was often scolded by my mentors for choosing style over stopping power, I loved this rifle. I plunged 5 rounds into the small, built in magazine and pushed the bolt into firing position. With a round in the rifle, ready and waiting, I slung it over my shoulder and withdrew my two .44 revolvers. Pulling back the hammers, I knocked down my door and looked down the long, dark corridor. I couldn’t see anything, however that soon changed. A large explosion smashed open one of the apartments next to mine, creating an opening and allowing the outside light to shine through. Without a moment to spare, I ran down the newly created hole, hoping that the building wasn’t a target. Luckily, it was just a stray shot.

I emerged into the war torn streets of Gellen’s Height, utterly disgusted. The place was a mess. Building all around me were ablaze. Body’s littered the street like unwanted garbage. Women and children screamed sorrow as they saw friends and families die before them. I felt like vomiting. But there was no time for that. There was no time to mourn. I needed to get somewhere safe. Somewhere that had fantastic defences and mechs to protect me. And like a flash, it hit me.

“That merc’ house sounds like a good idea!” I said under my breath, scanning the streets for any enemies.

Something caught my eye. Something in the sky was floating down towards me. It’s parachute was deployed and it fluttered down as gently and as peacefully as the mech pilot had hoped. Landing on the ground, only several feet away from me, sat an exhausted pilot. But not just any mech pilot. This pilot wore all black and had a symbol on it that turned my stomach.

“You Blakist fuck!” I shouted, pointing my revolvers in his general direction and aiming squarely for his head. The WoB member just sat there, too tired and wounded to do anything about his predicament.

“You survived one near fatal death only to settle your fate at the end of me gun…” I said, stepping forward and placing my cold hand gun right against his left cheek.

“Do your worst!” he shouted.

“Oh, don’t you worry… I intend to.” I chuckled. “Undo your seat belt…”

“What in Blake’s name?!” he shouted back.

“Wrong answer…” I smirked, sending a round from my revolver into his knee cap. The Blakist screeched in pain as the slug exited through the back of his knee and into the seat, ricocheting a couple times before stopping itself dead.

“Undo the fucking belt!” I roared, pulling back the hammer and aiming at his groan. “… Or you lose these puppies, just like the cap!” I finished, giving him a little wink. Reluctantly, the Blakie boy undid his belt .

“Now I would tell you to stand, but it looks like your just gunna have to sit there…” I said, training one gun on him while I holstered the other.

“… so we’re gunna be dragging ya out of there…” I continued, allowing myself to grin. The man in black looked back at me with eyes of terror.

“Now… what was the price on members of the Word of Blake?” I finished, a wicked smile covering my face as i swung a pair of cuffs around my index finger.

Ten minutes later, my good friend of the Word was hand cuffed and locked in my closet. After this was all over, I was gunna be up to my neck in money…

Upon exiting what was left of my apartment, I spied a someone I had recently met. He was walking along side a group of the local militia, however his face stood out from the crowd… as well has his non-combatant style of clothing…

“Well well, if I had known you was coming, I would have gotten the money I owe ya for the repairs to your little bar…” I chuckled, watching the colour drain from his face.

“Sam Grisham…” replied William Rhodes, a person I needed to get to Site 187... The safest place in Gellen's Heights…

Story continues here...

[Private Luke Winston]

Despite being an Aerotech fighter pilot I was never very fond of Dropship rides. The large, bulky, and definately NON-agile machines were slow, cumbersome, and ackward and a complete disgrace to the Aerotech field were it not for their ability to escape a planet's gravity field with ease, in my opinion at least. I do have to commend the dropship crews though, the fact that they could fly these beasts, even through moderate weapons fire, for the most part, is just amazing. Personally I prefer a smaller more agile craft, a single or double seater fighter to be precise. The ability to turn on a dime, move in all 3 dimensions easily and simoutaneously, plus the capability to unleash weapons fire equivelant of most medium 'mechs makes a very appealing package, if you ask me.

I was jarred violently from my daydreaming as I nearly fell from my bunk when the Dropship shuddered and vibrated heavily beneath me. A raspy voice broke out across the small, small room blaring from a half detached loud speaker above the door. I could barely make out the words, and never managed to catch a whole message from the thing. This time I made out something about entering atmosphere, 20 minutes, and being a little rough. Yeah, thanks for the warning... I thought as I rolled from the cramped cubby hole that passed as the bed, into the equally small space between the be 'bed' and the 'closet'. The room was dimly lit, small, and had a slight musty smell of semi-stale air. Along the left side of the room when you come in the door is the small inset bed, measuring a mere 5' x 3' tops I could barely squeeze myself into it, thank god I wasn't any taller. Above the bed was a small storage cabinet while a larger one filled the opposite wall. I was able to fit my luggage into the larger one, but just barely. I couldn't complain too much though, you get what you pay for and I went dirt cheap. I could have gone first class if I had wanted to, my parents would have sprung for the C-bills, but I didnt like relying on them, of course I hadn't heard from them since the occupation of Terra by the Word of Blake so I didnt know how they were or anything. Not that I don't appreciate them trying to help me, its just that I like to try and make things on my own, its bad enough that they bought me a custom-made conventional fighter as a graduation gift, which is more like a VTOL than a fighter, not that I would ever give it up though. Being a Freelancer I was free to make my own choices with regards to the work I do, unfortunately ever since this so called 'Jihad' that has occured work has been very very slow. Hence my reason for taking such a crappy room in a civilian dropship. It took nearly every last c-bill just to get decent transportation for the fighter, what little was left bought me this room, and that was after a little negotiation even.

Opening the large wall closet I began gathering up my belongings, getting ready for what I assumed the loud speaker had said about landing in 20 minutes. Two large cases, stacked ackwardly on an angle just to fit, were pulled from the closet. The first containing personal belongings such as clothes and various memorbilia, while the second contained my flight suit, flak jacket, and combat gear, which included a 12-gauge, pump-action shotgun. What a hassle that had been, apparently they don't appreciate people bringing a securely locked case with combat equipment aboard. I was finally able to convince security that a 12-gauge, unloaded and securely locked away, was the least of their worries judging from the looks of the people entering the 'coach' section of the dropship. They only let me pass after adding their own lock to the case, an inexpensive and rather fragile 4-digit, digital combination lock, easy enough to break if the need were to arise. Thankfully the need never arose and now I would need to find a security guard to remove the lock before leaving the dropship. The loud speaker blared out again, 10 minutes was all I was able to catch, guess I had been taking my sweet time unpacking the closet and organizing my stuff. Reaching into the storage compartment above the bed I proceeded to wrench out a set of anti-grav clamps, used for transportation of 'light-weight' objects that you can't move by yourself, cursing at myself for ever jamming the damn things up there in the first place. Staking the 2 crates on top of each other I slapped the clamps on the lower crate and made my way into the hall with the crates.

30 minutes later ...

I finally made it through security again, a good 15 minutes longer than it should have taken. I guess I shouldn't complain too much since I've heard horror stories of security checks taking hours upon hours, I think the shere volume of security personnel present helped speed things along, after all I had more than double the regular number of guards performing my security check. Ever since that Word of Blake attack I guess things have been on high alert. Quickly I made my way to the other end of the Aerodyne Dropship where they were unloading cargo. Just as I arrived I saw a large crane carrying my fighter from the dropship, for some reason the crane lurched to the side causing the cabling to go slack and then snap tight again, a shower of light debris raining down from the fighter in the harness.

"Oh shit, the owner is gonna freaking flip," said a nearby technician with a clipboard in one hand and radio in the other, raising the radio he yelled into it, "Matthews watch what the hell your doing!"

Yeah, Yeah. It's this damn crane, I told them to get it fixed...

"Dammit, whoever owns this thing is gonna wring our necks..."

"I wouldn't count on it." I said as I came closer, a slightly amused smile on my face.

"Why do you say that? You own that fighter or something?"

"Sure do, here you go," I said handing him the papers stating what cargo was mine, "Don't worry bout the paint, I've done much worse to her in combat."

The technician looked at a lost for words, chuckling a little I changed the subject slightly asking about the rest of my cargo. I'm guessing the tech wasn't used to an easy going guy that owned an expensive piece of equipment, most of the pople that came here were probably high class, uptight, snobs, this being the Capital and all. Once the tech briefed me on the status of the rest of my cargo I went to retrieve my fighter and cargo before heading to my destination just outside the city.

1 hour later ...

Having double and triple checked nearly every aspect of my cargo and fighter, and having finally gotten the cargo set up to be transported, I jumped back into the fighter's cockpit and fired her up. Checking to make sure the throttle was at zero, I had once started a fighter up in my early days with the throttle at full ..., I've been very careful since then, I punched in the ignition sequence. A slight trembling grew into a steady and low rumble as the fusion reactor came online, various console components light up one or two at a time before the HUD flickered into existance last. Ammo levels flashed red, no ammunition had been allowed to be loaded during the dropship journey, and the lasers were currently locked out. Going through the rearming process was tedious but necessary as I hated flying without some combat capabilities, even in a now peaceful area. Having completed the necessary tasks to rearm the lasers, the ammunition would have to be loaded later, I grasped the flight control stick with my right hand while my left moved to rest on the throttle, pushing forward with my left hand the fighter lifted into the air.

Being a conventional fighter with VTOL jets, and being custom-built, the AV-64X Apache flies more like a VTOL than a jet, the twin engines on either side of the skinny fueselage face straight down and are tilted forward and backwards with the control stick. Elevation is controlled directly by the throttle, while turning left and right is handled by foot pedals. Moving the control stick left or right will cause the fighter to strafe in that direction. Just in front of the engines are two wings, one on either side, which house the majority of the armaments. Thunderbolt 10 missiles are mounted under each wing on pylons, 2 pylons per wing, 3 missiles per pylon, while a Clan Streak SRM-2 is mounted in the end of each wing. The SRMs are mounted perpendicular to the wing itself so there is one tube above and one tube below the wing. A single ton of ammo is shared between the two SRMs, giving 25 rounds to each launcher, while two tons of ammo make up the 12 Thunderbolt 10 missiles. Mounted in a dome on the very very tip of both wings is a single Clan Small Pulse Laser, providing a nearly 360 degree firing arc. 3 Inner Sphere Medium Lasers are mounted in the nose just below the cockpit, hard wired and bore sighted.

Pushing forward slightly on the throttle the Apache roared to life, bluish white energy bursting out from the engines as the fighter lifted into the sky, its 50 ton frame hovering elegantly in the air as the cables attached to it grew taught. Gliding the craft to the left a little I positioned the fighter above the large crate and harness which currently housed all my extra cargo, which simply consisted of fuel, armour, ammunition and some spare parts. Pushing the throttle forward again the Apache and attached cargo lifted higher into the air, clearing the spaceport and finally affording me my first real view of the city. As I began to head south I looked at the damage that had been done and the ongoing repairs being done to the still magnificient Gellen's Heights. Nearing the base a few clicks out from the city, and after having gotten the necessary clearance to land there, I wondered if the Legionnaires would accept me or not.

I wasn't particularly fond of joining an organized military unit, Mercenary or not. I had always been a Freelancer but the Word of Blake 'Jihad' had left me in dire straights, nobody wanted to hire a mercenary unit anymore, let alone a freelancer, as such I needed to join a group just to make a living. I didnt think I had much of a chance joining one of the larger mercenary groups, not that I doubted my skill, just their hiring practices were long and drawn out and I didnt have much of a name for myself aside from a few small circles here and there. The Legionnaires caught my eye because it seemed that their loyalty lie with good morales more than just with the largest sum of money. Also the fact that they had never backed out of an accepted contract, as far as my research showed, was quite impressive to me. One thing that confused me was when, during my research, I happened upon some information regarding the WoB previously attacking the Legionnaires' base on a different planet from Sheratan. Upon closer investigation though no records could be found, not even the original I had come across, it was as though the records never existed, or else someone wiped them out. I simply passed it off a glitch in the computer system I was using, but something didnt quite sit right. In the end I chose the Legionnaires from a group of about 5-8 other small mercenary units and now I get to find out if they'll accept me.