3039 Mission 8
Sent to identify raiders menacing the flank of the main thrust the Irregulars almost get in over their heads.
Universal XP Awards
Attendance XP: 1
Hetzer x 2
Motorized Platoon x 4
Foot Platoon x 2
6.17 kill credits each
“You realize that these depositions are under seal? That… the award nominations you’ve made will not be reviewed for fifty years.” The Kommondant had adopted his usual clinical attitude.
“Well, better late than never, I suppose. The regulations are clear, covert operations of this level are not acknowledged by the state. Service in covert operations is considered an honor in itself; selection reflecting a belief by command that a particular mechwarrior, by his or her nature elite, once selected has the effect of validation. However, even if specific acknowledgement of the deceased’s actions must be deferred, it is desirable to ultimately acknowledge those actions.” Corcoran had spent some time preparing this little speech. Looking over Lyran military regulations and codes, synthesizing committee notes that aided interpretation of the rule. Corcoran continued.
“Besides which, while I am ever confident of mission success, I cannot at this time allow myself to believe that I will survive the campaign and as such, need to put my words on the record.”
The Kommondant simply directed Corcoran after exhaling after a long pull on his cigarette. “Begin.”
Ersatz’s head was blown clean off. Well, at least that of his mech. Truth be told, Ersatz himself had been completely vaporized. Once again a member of the team had been laid low at the commencement of hostilities. At the time, Corcoran had his hands full with another problem. A marauder class mech had taken an unhealthy interest in him and in addition to the 4 PPCs being leveled at Corcoran the damn thing was messing with his Beagle Probe. And it hardly ever missed.
Shouting into his microphone, Corcoran’s voice was pure anger. “EVERYONE, needs to converge on that goddamn monstrosity. That means everyone…” It was the same old story, a certain individual was making up his own rules again. And another got himself lost in the woods. A transfer into the unit brought along another souped up Griffin. This guy was a close in specialist and by the wear pattern on his hatchet, had been pretty good at clobbering folks with it. Corcoran had watched tons of armor sloughing off his own machine and as he and the new guy closed in on the marauder, he could see the affects of the mad machine switching up to close combat specialist. Pools of molten metal and industrial plastic were everywhere. Some of it was from the enemy machine.
A gauss rifle shot had messed up one of the scary mech’s shoulders. Close-in within the PPCs minimum ranges, it was hard for the enemy pilot to adjust his targeting. He was still hitting, he just couldn’t hit with everything anymore. Finally, Corcoran had firing solution that solved almost everything. His lasers stabbed into the smoking enemy’s hide, severing the right torso from the rest of its body. The beast had been slain.
“Shit. His friend seems awfully pissed off about that…” Corcoran muffled this so his mic wouldn’t pick it up. A Shadowhawk had come to the party and normally, Red would have gladly accepted the invitation. Problem was, his instruments were showing more red then he had ever seen. Besides his head and his back, Corcoran had very little armor left. He sought refuge in the trees, the ‘hawk elected to pursue. After an exchange of laser fire that sent Red’s heat gauges way past orange, both mechs tried to kick each other. Corcoran landed his kick while his opponent missed so badly that he ended up falling, and destroying himself. Or maybe Corcoran had taken out the post leg which was why his opponent missed and fell… Yeah, that has a better ring to it.
Payne and Mannstein were the only other mechs active. The newcomer had been slagged. Payne had already swooped in to capture the elite enemy mechwarrior who had been piloting the marauder. Corcoran considered his readout. “Hey guys, I’ve gotta get this wreck back to base. Do you think you can handle the rest of these snakes?” A small chorus of ‘No Problem’ greeted his ears. It had been a close run affair, but technically and even with the large number of casualties, Red could report 100% mission success.
“You’re in for a treat now.” The Kommondant had an unusually cheeky grin.
“My transfer papers came through?” Red’s comment sparked a short, spastic bout of giggling from his commander.
“Nein, check out your hangar. The technicians worked round the clock to have it ready.”
When Red reached his hangar bay it was like Christmas Day, a birthday party and a bachelor’s party all rolled into one. The salvage group had recovered that advanced tech marauder and by virtue of having taken it down, it had been assigned to him. Corcoran vaguely wondered what lengths Kuritan forces would go to in order to get it back… or at least away from him.