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Post by G.C.I. Charles E. Maxwell on Dec 2, 2005 17:22:36 GMT -5
I slowed the Condor to a crawl as we glided past the monolithic warehouse. Thunderous bursts of laser and ballistic fire erupted from within, illuminating the building's narrow windows with red, green, and yellowish-orange muzzle flash. I glanced at Captain Wolf, who cradled a largish assault rifle in his arms, eying the warehouse warily. His eyes met mine, acknowledging my glance with a silent nod.
Arming the tank's autocannon turret, I steered our craft around the end of the warehouse. It was deserted, save for four Gellen's Heights police cruisers, parked curbside, their roof lights abalze, bathing the snow-covered sidewalks in a deathly red. The warehouse's front door had been torn from its hinges, and multiple footprints led inside.
I eased the tank onto the opposite curb, and unbuckled my harness.
"Evidently, someone forgot to let the insurgents know that the festivities are over. Let's go crash this party, Captain."
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Post by Gen Miyamoto on Dec 4, 2005 14:50:11 GMT -5
As I advanced through the city in the direction of the water's source, I was absorbed in my radar. I had to find a friendly signature and dispite serious malfunctions I was sure something would come up around rook and knight lance. I glanced up just briefly to check my heading. Something seemed off about the picture. I looked again.
There was something moving, but I couldn't tell what it was. I slowed and looked low. To my astonishment I saw Mechwarrior Thorn waving his arms wildly. After quite nearly trampeling him with my mech, I got my mech to stop and crouch. It was no time before the hatch was opened and Thorn and I were shouting back and forth over the now howling winds of Sheraton.
"GEN, WHY THE RADIO SILENCE?"
"COMMS BUSTED! WHAT IS KNIGHT'S STATUS?"
"UNKNOWN, RECANOITER UNDERWAY. HEAD NORTH-EAST TO BASE CAMP. DROPSHIP!"
I could see, even at the dozens of meters of distance, that Thorn was shaking from the cold. He wore no coat and was soaking wet, probably from the torrent of water. He was probably freezing.
"YOU OKAY?"
"I'LL BE FINE. GOT A HOVER PICKING ME UP! JUST GOT TO GET YOU POINTED IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION!"
"AFFIRMATIVE, GOOD WORK. GET OUT OF HERE, THE CITY IS STILL DANGEROUS."
"AFF-IRMITIVE."
My thoughts turned to what consequences I faced for violating my MRBC suspension, the future of the Legionnaires, and most of all, when this bloody crusade would be over. I was about ready to exit the city when a curious sight caught my attention....
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Post by G.C.I. Charles E. Maxwell on Dec 4, 2005 23:52:12 GMT -5
Bursts of gunfire, intermingled with the frenzied shouts of the Gellen's Heights police officers, echoed through the cavernous corridors of the warehouse as Captain Wolf and I made our way into their shadowy depths. An occasional explosion shook the building as we drew nearer to the sounds of the conflict, causing me to instinctively grip my combat shotgun tighter.
"Sounds like the party's still in full swing." I muttered, clinging tightly to the corridor's inner wall as Captain Wolf and I drew nearer to the warehouse's main storeroom. The Captain nodded, brandishing his MAG-18 and disengaging the safety, peering through the massive doors leading into the embattled bay.
"Oh, this is bad. Looks like the metros have got their hands full with three Purifiers."
I made my way to crouch alongside Wolf. Though my view was partially obstructed by the massive shipping crates dominating the center of the room, there was no question as to the nature of the violence unfolding within. The four Gellen's Heights officers, whose cruisers sat curbside, were fortified behind a fallen air recirculator, a punishing barrage of weapons fire being lobbed in their direction by the Purifiers, who had fortified themselves against the opposite side of the bay. Two of the Battle Armors showed signs of extensive damage, their ferrosteel frames heavily ravaged in what had to have been a previous engagement.
"Two of those 'Armors look like death warmed over," I murmured.
Wolf nodded, sweeping the room with his advanced mapping gear. Pointing at a large, two-way mirror in the northwest corner of the bay, he leaned toward me.
"We might be able to use that to our advantage. See if you can make it to whatever's on the other side of that window. I'm going to try to get to the police officers."
"Roger that. Good luck."
Several more thunderous bursts of weapons fire rumbled through the facility as I barreled out of the bay, sprinting down the building's outer corridor, following it until it terminated at a heavy, wooden door, adorned with faux gold lettering reading 'Management.' I jiggled the handle, finding the door secured.
Time for some serious property damage…
Setting my combat shotgun's mode selector to 'burst,' I took several steps backward, and fired a volley of armor-piercing rounds into the door's locking mechanism. With a crack, the frame fractured, and a swift kick later, the door was open. As the unmistakable scream of a MAG-18 firing filled the air, I dove forward, throwing a rolling chair aside as I took cover behind a heavy oak desk. As I began to take in my surroundings, the large two-way mirror above the desk exploded inward, showering the office with dagger-shaped shards of broken glass. Several high-caliber rounds embedded themselves in the opposite wall, punching a hole through a poster promoting 'unity' in an ironic twist of fate.
"All right, Wolf. What's my next move?"
"The metroes and I are tangling with one of the intact Purifiers and his weaponless friend. See if you can't get the attention of the other one."
"That shouldn't be too hard." I muttered, popping up from behind the desk, simultaneously leveling my combat shotgun's sights on the rear of the closest Purifier's head and pulling the trigger. Three armor-piercing, twelve-gauge rounds exited the chamber, corkscrewing through the air and smashing through the Purifier's helmet. A wash of blood and gore sprayed from the armor's faceplate as the goliath warrior dropped like a sack of potatoes, tumbling off the stack of crates on which he previously stood, landing on the floor with a horrific crunch that almost certainly heralded the breaking of multiple bones. Astonished, I keyed my mic.
"That was easy."
The comm channel hissed as though a reply were imminent. Before my earpiece had time to transmit the response, the air was filled with a new sound - the unmistakable whoosh of a flight of LRMs deploying, followed by a thunderous explosion and the accompanying shriek of a ferrosteel wall collapsing. The two surviving Purifiers whirled toward the sound of the explosion, where, as the dust settled, the menacing visage of a Dragon could be seen, its weapon ports glowing. The Purifiers immediately opened fire on the Dragon, their weapon volleys barely scratching the comparatively massive BattleMech's frame. The Dragon paused for a moment, in what could almost have passed as an incredulous stance, before delivering two debilitating alpha strikes, incinerating both Purifiers in a massive combined-arms strike. Several crates were set ablaze as the smoke cleared, casting a eerie pall across the Dragon's steel visage. The 'Mech powered down as I cautiously climbed through the office's window, dropping down onto the warehouse floor, and striding toward the Dragon as its pilot clambered down the escape ladder.
"Thanks for the assist, MechWarrior."
"I would have thought a warmer welcome was in order - Max."
Gen!
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Post by Captain Adam "Gunman" Wolf on Dec 6, 2005 17:37:31 GMT -5
As Max headed along the outer edges of the warehouse, I crouched low and moved as quickly as I could, limited by my injuries, towards the group of 4 officers huddled behind a stack of crates. One of them spotted me and quickly raised his rifle, putting my hands up in a gesture of surrender he paused long enough for me to get within speaking distance.
"My name is Adam Wolf, I'm a Captain with the Legionnaires, I'm here to help."
"I'm Sargeant Thompson, we gladly will accept any assistance, but unless you've got an SRM tube or something with some power I dont know what good it'll do."
A slight grin spread across my face, although hidden from their view by my helmet, as I replied, "She's no SRM tube Sarge, but I bet she's got a little more kick than your rifles do." motioning towards the MAG-18 I had propped against my right shoulder.
The adrenaline flooding through my veins once again dulled out any pain I had been feeling in my side and I was able to move a little more freely, although still trying to be careful just cause I couldn't feel it didnt mean it wasn't going to hurt.
A series of staggered weapons fire proved to be extremely effective suppressive fire when utilized against the poor police officers and myself, the crates we hide behind held against the assault, but we couldn't get more than a single shot off between enemy volleys. Suddenly one of the few wooden crates near us was struck by a blast of enemy fire, the box exploded into deadly shrapnel and rained down across our cover, one of the officers caught a fragment in his arm near the shoulder and went down. The team medic quickly pulled him closer to the steel crates and began to tend his wound. That left the Sargeant and another officer plus myself to deal with the Purifiers.
Creeping along the low crates we moved a little farther to the right in an attempt to draw fire and possible collateral damage away from the wounded man. I leaned around the far right of a crate, while the two officers took up position looking over the tops. One of the Purifiers had ceased firing and was currently climbing a stack of crates, while the remaining two, one severely damaged from what had to have been a previous engagement, took turns firing at us. Using the cover to the best of our ability we opened fire into the enemy units. Firing in full auto mode the MAG-18 screamed out a high pitched sound similar to a micro pulse laser firing, coherent pulses of light energy raced through the air and struck the damaged Purifier several rounds missing due to the bad aim resulting from my wounded arm. The two officers fired in short controlled bursts, their high calibre assault rifles spewing hollow-tipped rounds across the expanse of the warehouse only to have them impact almost harmlessly against the armoured Blakists. Several rounds from the police struck the second Blakists Battle Armour across the face plate, a few cracks beginning to show from the stress. A second 20 round burst from my weapon spat across the room around hip level. The rounds, originally aimed for the chest and head, were way off and instead struck the Blakists right arm. The previously damaged armour peeled away as the high energy bolts of light cored into the myomer muscle that was now exposed. The weight of the ER Small Laser mounted within the end of the arm tore the rest of the structure apart as gravity took its toll.
With one of the Purifiers disarmed and another nowhere to be seen at the moment, that left us with one single Blakist to deal with, unfortunately this Battle Armour was in near pristene condition it seemed. Weapons fire burst out from both sides of the warehouse and then from a third angle as the other Purifier rejoined the fray. Several rounds struck the two-way mirror that the General had been heading for and sent a dangerous shower of shattered glass inwards into the room. Hoping that Max was alright I fired another salvo of energy pulses around the crates into the general vicinity of the Blakist.
All right, Wolf. What's my next move?
The communique from the General confirmed that he was alright, and now that we had another angle of attack, we could hopefully begin to be the suppressors rather than the suppressed.
The metroes and I are tangling with one of the intact Purifiers and his weaponless friend. See if you can't get the attention of the other one.
That shouldn't be too hard.
A moment later a loud concussion sound blasted out from across the warehouse, the Blakist who had been perched on top of several crates fell forward collapsing into a heap, the rear of the helmet blown wide open to reveal a rather gory site.
That was easy.
I began to speak in reply to Max's great work, but was cut short by the loud roar of the warehouse wall exploding, ducking back behind the stack of crates with the 4 officers chunks of burning debris and ferro-crete tumbled past. Even if I had continued talking it would have been impossible to hear over the roar of the explosion.
Personally I couldn't see through the dust and smoke to see what had made the whole, but the Blakists were pretty shaken up, the two remaining Purifiers had opened fire relentlessly into the smoke, the previously disarmed one having picked up an anti-personnel weapon from what looked like the remains of another police squad, suddenly a surge of massive weapons fire burst through the smoke and engulfed the poor Battle Armour units. The sheer mass of weaponry that had come through indicated it must be a BattleMech that had created the opening, both Purifiers were bathed in deadly fires before exploding and destroying everything around them, another wave of debris washed across the crates protecting us while a cloud of dust floated lazily through the air.
As the dust and debris finally began to settle enough to allow a clear view, I saw the outlined shaped of a rather damaged looking Dragon 'mech. The only Dragon I recalled being in the field was piloted by Gen Miyamoto, Knight-3. I could make out someone climbing down the escape ladder and heard voices but couldnt quite make anything out, then I saw Max heading towards the pilot, who must have been Miyamoto, and hoped that the General was aware he was friendly. Turning to Sargeant Thompson I explained that it was a member of the Legionnaires who had broke in on the party and that he should be able to get his men out safely now. Turning back towards the new doorway in the warehouse, I jogged quickly towards Max and Gen, who were now conversing somewhat excitedly, apparently the two already knew each other.
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Post by Commander Garrett Garland on Dec 8, 2005 17:48:14 GMT -5
I wasn’t sure what woke me, perhaps it was the VTOL powering down outside or the blurry figures moving about the room. As the light began to trickle into my barely open eyes, one of the blurry figures turned and moved towards me. As my eyes slowly slid up the figure sharpened into the form of Doctor Jessica Saturina.
“Listen… everything is going to be okay, we’ll talk about your injuries later, but right now I think you’re going to want to be wide awake for this…”
With the Doctor’s last comment I felt pressure in my right arm’s vein accompanied by a chilling sensation: it was as if ice water was coursing through my veins. At last the freezing liquid reached my heart and was then pumped throughout the rest of my body. A winced in pain as the liquid reached my brain, but only a moment later was met with an unequaled clarity. The room’s figures were no longer blurry masses; they were as sharp as I’d ever seen them. In fact, I’d never seen colors so vividly in my life—she must have given me some sort of stimulant to combat my wariness. Placing a reassuring hand on my chest, one of the few places not protruding with IV lines and stitches the Doctor gave me a weary smile and a slightly ominous comment.
“Good luck Commander…”
With that she stepped aside, keeping an eye on me from across the room. I felt another surge of cold, but this time it was external; the MASH’s door had opened. Stepping through the door was someone who I intended to speak with when I had recovered—how advantageous for her to come to me when I was in my most weakened state… she was a true politician.
Stepping through the doorway came Precentor-Epsilon Amanda Revere. Ironic that it was us who acted as her namesake, Paul Revere, to warn of the impending Blakist invasion. But unlike Paul, we had no pyre to light, only the burning of cities could call for reinforcements. But even after she stepped through the door it did not close; the frigid air continued to fill the room, causing my skin to sprout goosebumps. Looking back at the entrance, I saw a polished booted foot gain hold in the MASH’s doorway, an immaculately presented uniform following suit. With a slight gleam in her eyes, the Precentor introduced the newcomer.
“May I present to you Antony Kelter, Governor Antony Kelter.”
Perhaps the stimulant was already wearing off, she had to be kidding. But as the man approached I knew it could be non-other.
“Good evening Commander. It seems that we all have a bit to talk about don’t we?”
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Post by G.C.I. Charles E. Maxwell on Dec 8, 2005 20:29:30 GMT -5
One week later...
THE BUSINESS OF WAR By G.C.I. Charles E. Maxwell, Intelligence Division
With the Word of Blake's apparent Jihad against the Inner Sphere following immediately on the heels of the FedCom Civil War, one question persistantly haunts the offices of Crayven Securities, Incorporated:
Will we ever see peace?
Personal opinion influenced by investments in the business of war aside, I honestly believe that the answer to this deceptively simple question is - no.
War is inevitable. The ancient scholar Vegetius once wrote, "Igitur qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum." The literal translation of this - "if you want peace, prepare for war" - is perhaps one of the most profound statements of any era - and never has it been more applicable than in the tumultuous political climate of today's Inner Sphere, where the end of one war signals the beginning of another, and where the literal business of war has never been better.
Put simply, we cannot afford peace. Gone is the superpower ideological divide that once gave a strange sort of order to the galaxy's wars, and in its place are entrepreneurs, both independent and corporate, many like us, in the business of selling arms or military expertise and support. War has become a commodity - to be bought and sold - and it has surpassed ferrosteel as the number one most traded item on the Terran Commodities Exchange.
The largest, and most powerful corporations in today's market are no longer entities of peace (or at the very least, nonviolence). They are defense contractors, with BattleTech manufacturers leading the charge. The MRBC exists as one of the most powerful incorporated bodies on the Terran Commodities Exchange, second only to ComStar itself. Earthwerks, GM, and even Luxor have all become household names, and the massive earnings these companies bring in each quarter serve to support and even bolster our ravaged economy. In fact, it was war that allowed us to rebuild the Inner Sphere following Kerensky's Exodus, and emerge a stronger and more cohesive force than the Clans were expecting upon their return.
None of this would be possible in a state of peace. Our society craves strength and stability, and with peace, there is no such thing. Peace is the calm before the storm, fragile and vulnerable, succumbing to the first blow dealt its way, and always inconsistent.
Not so with war.
War never changes.
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