Building the Jacks #2

As I mentioned in the previous installment, thoughts of DCMS units in the 4^th Succession War got me thinking about Takashi Kurita’s “Death to Mercenaries” edict.  So what happens to some poor schmuck of a unit that has been working back and forth across the FS/DC border for years?  Would their loyalty be called into question?  Would they be betrayed? Would they survive?

  

The Regulators

By Neil Ikerd

13 May, 3028

Waldheim

New Samarkand Military District

Draconis Combine

“The fuck?”  Colonel John Tunstall, commanding officer of The Regulators muttered as he read the message scrolling across the screen of his ancient Banshee.  “Mercenary commands, look to your families, Snakes in the grass.  Jaimie Wolf,” he read it again, questioning what he read.

“Sir, it came from our contact at the HPG station,” Corporal Witson replied through the static.  The communications gear on the company’s ancient Lion class drop ship wasn’t original, and it was held together with 100-kph tape and bailing wire, but it still worked and it was theirs; even if half of her weapons systems didn’t work.  The Union class would be theirs in another 3 or 4 years, but loan terms dictated that ship be kept in “secure, low combat-risk areas” whenever possible; so it was parked on the southern continent at the base of the DCMS planetary militia right now. 

“There was also a video file,” Witson continued.  There was a short pause.  “Holy Shit! Sorry, sir.”  Witson’s voice was shocked and disbelieving.  “You have to see this, sir.  Squirting the video to you now.”  It took about 30 seconds and then the video resolved to show unmarked Battlemechs attacking a base facility.  Two ‘Mechs, a Panther and a Jenner peeled off from the main assault and started firing into a building that was probably civilian housing and office space.  A closer look at the building showed the Wolf’s Dragoons flag flapping in the wind above the door.   People began evacuating the building, but within seconds, the building collapsed.  The ‘Mechs started randomly targeting other “soft” targets as well.

“Sir,” Witson called, “the tagging says this video was shot on Capra early last month.  The Dragoons have a short regiment based there.”

“Yeah, they,” John was interrupted by an alarm. 

“Colonel, enemy in sight.”  Captain Barnett, his intelligence officer, notified him in her usual even, almost monotonous voice.  “Rick’s scouts have made contact with the enemy scouts, reporting one lance and radar signatures on another, heavier lance farther north.”  They knew the Fox’s Teeth were out there.  They’d known for a couple of days they were coming in.  As he looked at his maps, he wondered what was going on.  It didn’t make sense to send 2 lances in that direction, the terrain was crappy and there were too many dead-end canyons that way.  It was exactly the reason he’d put his scouts down there, it was a great place to watch from, but a poor avenue of attack.  He watched with a satisfied smile as ARROW IV rockets shot into the sky off towards the north. 

“Colonel,” Rick Patterson’s signal was clear, but the voice wasn’t.  “The cammo patterns don’t match Fox’s Teeth, or even 7^th Crucis Lancers.  Mitchell says their badges look like The Bloody Suns logo.”

As he was considering what that meant, Captain Barnett notified him that Arty, their reinforced lance of indirect fire vehicles was under attack by a lance of heavy ‘Mechs.  “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, as he glanced at his tactical map.  Arty was to his southwest, there was no way that was the same units that the scouts were in contact with.  It was nearly three kilometers from his location to where Arty was, but the command lance was closer than anyone else, and 10 LRM and ARROW IV tanks didn’t have much a chance against 4 heavies.

“Barnett, you and Stinson head over and help out.  Cover them for a retreat if you have to.”

“Willco, sir.” Barnett’s reply was immediate and calm, like she’d already been expecting it.  The two Grasshoppers lifted skyward on their jump jets and were on their way.  He was trying to decide if he and Jackson should follow, but something told him that they should sit tight.  He didn’t like the way this felt.  Maybe it was just that message, but something felt wrong here.  His musings where interrupted when his comm screamed to life again.

“We’re blown!  Fuck! Fire team, target and fire and at will!  Arty, Arty, fire on out positions, drop it right on us. We’re fucked, we’re fucked, we’re fucked!”  The down side of an ambush was that if the ambushee knew about it, they could turn the tables very quickly.

Almost before he’d fully processed what was happening, his and Jackson’s ‘Mechs were moving up to the crest of the ridge that overlooked the ambush site where fire lance had laid the trap for the incoming force.  As he cleared the ridge, his worst nightmare was laid out in gory full color below him.  A full company of medium and heavy ‘Mechs was blowing through the ambush site and laying waste to his fire lance.  Even worse, the enemy wasn’t even in the basket where the mines were laid in.  According to DCMS intelligence, there was only supposed to be one company in-bound, but he could account for at least 2 within a 10 kilometer radius; and there was no reports coming in from the southern continent.

He fired his PPC and Imperator Autocannon at a green Enforcer that was jumping the very area where mines were exploding.  He didn’t even smile as its jump jets suddenly cut out and it fell out of the sky like a lead balloon. When it hit, there was a cacophonous explosion as it set off three of the mines.  It probably wouldn’t save fire lance, but it was something.

“Colonel Tunstall,” Witson’s voice was deadly calm.  “Sir, radar shows 2 lances of ‘Mechs approaching from the south.  IFF identifies them as Waldheim Regulars, 1^st and 2^nd lance.”

Suddenly it all made sense.  The bad intel, the units in perfect positions, DCMS militia approaching his base camp, and the message from the Dragoons.  They were well and truly fucked.  “Witson, get me Captain Tunstall.”  To his left, Jackson’s Jagermech was pouring fire into the back of the Davion mob, but it was like pissing on a forest fire.  His own cockpit was getting uncomfortably warm as another lance of cerulean lightning reached out and broke the arm of an enemy ‘Mech.

“John, this is Yokiko.  What’s going on?”

“Evacuate.  Get everyone on Wild Horses and get out of here.  Don’t worry about gear, equipment, nothing.  Get our people out.”  He heard the claxon over his communicator.  “If we need support after this cluster fuck is over with, I’ll let you know.  Take all the intel and communication feeds.  Everyone needs to know what they did to us.”

“Is it that bad?” his wife’s voice was concerned, but not scared.  John had always prided himself on the quality of his people.

“Worse; and whatever you do, don’t let John Jr. convince you to let him come rescue me.  I’ve seen the reports on those four scrap-heap ‘Mechs he’s working on, and they’re not combat ready.  If all else fails, he can avenge me.” 

“Evacuate the families, wait for your call.” She was a professional soldier before they married and she became his training and logistics officer.  He could almost see the rigid look on her face as she accepted her orders.

“Don’t wait too long.”

“John, I…”

“I know, sweetie.  Me, too.”  He stroked the trigger on his autocannon and then started running down the hill toward glory or death; maybe both.

***

I will admit, I love a good origin story.  Writing character backgrounds is one of my favorite things to do.  I figured this would give us everything we needed to get started as a small merc unit: an explanation to have a drop ship, 4 ‘Mechs to start the game with, a close-knit group of pilots and support staff, and a long term goal. 

In an email response to The Regulators, Bruce had asked about starting ‘Mechs based on what I thought we might have- the assumption being that many of them would be DCMS ‘Mechs that we had gotten while working for them, or maybe some salvage:

So Jonnie?  What are the four 'Mechs?

I have a nice painted Jenner and would love to see an "Ugly Duckling" in the mix.  A Panther is a bitch due to the heat curve, but can hit like a freight train.  I also have a brown painted Firestarter.  If we can use the optional rules for the Heat build-up it could be a nice 'Mech to work against 'Mech and it is killer against Infantry.  Although I think the Wolfhounds are a few years in the future.  Maybe a Valkyrie?  They were common in the FedSuns.

Steve later adopted 75% of this line up as our starting units.  Our starting units ended up looking like this:

WTH-1 Whitworth

JR7-D Jenner

FS9-H Firestarter

VLK-QA Valkyrie

Changing the ‘Mechs wasn’t the only thing Steve had in mind though, he had plans for something that would be easier to drop in anywhere without having to have quite as much background on BattleTech lore.

-----Original Message-----
From: STEVE
To: Bruce
Cc: Neil; JV; Brian;
Sent: Fri, May 25, 2018 11:30 am
Subject: Re: BattleTech Campaign?

You guys are way ahead of me on this.  

But given that I don't know the background, setting, rules, game, or time-of-day as well as you guys, I plan to start a totally independent campaign.  I'm zeroing in on the Fourth Succession War, after the "new" old tech has been discovered, but while it is still rare and mostly only being developed by the major houses.  If you last long enough, the Clans might show up. 

Not set in stone yet, but here is the idea I'm currently working on...  

At least one of you is a reasonably wealthy man.  Your parents died young, leaving you with plenty of money to live comfortably - even opulently - if you don't go overboard and do something crazy like try to form a mercenary mechwarrior outfit.  The only condition was that you serve a term in the military prior to receiving your inheritance.  You have done this and have spent the last few years living the high life.  However, one morning as you are gazing out the window and reflecting on the feeling that the high life isn't all it is cracked up to be and something needs to be done about the state of the galaxy, you get a phone call.  The call is from a lawyer representing your uncle's estate.  Uncle?  You have an uncle?  Well, had.  Hm...

The uncle was your father's much-older brother.  They did not agree on many things.  In fact, they hadn't spoken for many years.  You had never heard of him, much less met him.  But apparently he knew about you. 

You do a little research, and learn that in his youth, your uncle was an actual mechwarrior.  He recently died of ghonosyphilherpleaids - a common malady among aging mechwarriors - and has left everything to you (or to all of you if two or more of you choose to be related).  

The lawyer has you sign a bunch of papers, giving you control of the estate, and then takes you on a tour.  Nice house, a beach cottage, a nice chunk of change in the bank, and a well-diversified investment portfolio.  Last on the tour is an out-of-the way holding with a large, run-down, hangar building and an airstrip.  A wave of dust blows through the curtain of spider webs as you heave open the hangar door with a loud, rusty screech, and gaze into the long-abandoned hangar with wondering eyes...  

From behind you, you hear, "What a piece of junk!"  

***

For those that have read “Tales of the 1-I-Jacks” #3 and #4, you should recognize that line.  Bruce lifted it right out of the email, and so I lifted it right out of his story so I could show the overlap.  With having an explanation from Steve of exactly what he had in mind, we set to work.

I started thinking about character ideas since The Regulators weren’t going to work out.  A rich character, something of a playboy, just enough military background be dangerous, tired of the high-life and looking to do something different.  For some reason, the wrestler Ted “The Million Dollar Man” Dibiasi popped into my head.  Suddenly, I was off to the races.  I whipped up a background write-up for Frederick Theodore di Biasi and shot it off to the group.

I realized after I sent it off that someone else might be building a character to be the lead.  It turned out they weren’t, Bruce was toying with a disgraced young officer and JV just wasn’t saying much.  During this time I also contacted my friend Dave that I had joined us for a couple of BattleTech games previously.  He was interested, but Dave is a busy guy and doesn’t have much time to engage in the level of role-play and background some of us were devoting to it.  For a while, Dave’s pilot nick-name was “Not Here” because, well, if you don’t get the joke, go look up “Dave’s Not Here” by Cheech and Chong.

Before I knew it Fred had acquired the nickname “Playboy” and his ‘Mech, which we joked about making an UrbanMech, was being referred to as “Shotglass.”  Bruce’s character, Jonathon “Wolfman” Wilkerson, took on piloting the Jenner and Bruce drew up a background that included a Jenner as a family heirloom named “Goryo.”  A Goryo is a Japanese spirit of vengeance, in some cases quite powerful.  As a joke, I said that I was going to leave a piece of artwork in cockpit of his ‘Mech.

Bruce is also a bit of Magic player and said he loved it, so it stuck as his ‘Mech’s nickname.  A few days later, JV sent an email with a character background written as a letter of introduction, and included having experience in piloting a Firestarter.  Since Dave wasn’t that deeply involved in the conversation at that point, I decided I would pilot the Whitworth.  I happen to like missile boats, and I think the Whit is actually a pretty good design, albeit slow for a medium mech.  I also really don’t like Valkyries.

With the unit composition decided on, now we just needed to work on the important things: unit name, logo, and paint scheme.

Next Installment:  Working meeting.

Tales of the 1-I-Jacks #5

Tales of the 1-I-Jacks

Prologue Chapter 5

No Relation… Really

By JV and Neil Ikerd

Shipcom RDS Farsight

Syscom Andalusia

To: Captain Biasi, Fbcom@1IJacks.Andal.net

From: Henry John Kell, doc@fb.Bellatrix.net

28 July, 3039

Captain Biasi,

I'm pretty sure you don't remember me, but I definitely remember you. Let me take you back a couple of years.

You remember that comm station your unit took out on Frazer IV, back in '24? If you'll recall, there were a couple squads of Chimera apcs and a light lance of firestarters and fleas guarding the place. Let's be honest, it WAS an intelligence relay, and totally legit as a target, no matter what the civilian comms claimed afterwards. Anyway, you might remember that annoying firestarter that kept popping up just long enough to keep you running hot, then fading into the trees (and the ecm nets we had all through the woods)? You recall how you finally juked at just the right moment and fused that annoying little bastard's leg actuators? Well, I remember that moment really well, because instead of crisping me on the spot, you headed back to your dropship.

I never did know what inspired that moment of mercy, but I sure didn't forget it. When I heard through the grapevine that you were forming a unit, I said to myself, "Doc, that's the kind of guy you want to work for."

I know that before you trust a former enemy, you're going to need to know more about me. I've done my research, so I know you're a straight shooter I can trust. Let me give you a brief rundown of what brings me to your door, hat in hand, and maybe you'll agree to meet for dinner and see if we can work together.

I was born and raised on Milos, my parents were both pretty high in the local government. We had a good life going.  Parties every week, vacations, powerful friends... Until, as you may recall, the Fed Suns decided to try to "annex" us. Turns out, you ain't much after your home city is nuked, most of your family dead, and the local government frantically "restructuring" to support the rebuilding after an incident like that. I was away visiting my Uncle Hank. He had a fairly big chunk of land, with pretty good mineral resources on a planet I won't name just now, to avoid any, shall we say, recent legal indiscretions, coming back to haunt me.

Anyway, after my parents and sister died, Hank pushed me to join up. He said, "son, you'll make a fine pilot, make sure you get the testing in writing before you sign anything!" I spent a full tour in, though the last year was kind of a shit show. They tried to drum me out for cowardice under fire after our little encounter! Now you and I know that isn't true, I just didn't shoot you in the back after you didn't incinerate me in the face... I figured that was fair. :)

I spent a lot of time on desk duty the last year of my tour, but hey, turns out purchase officers learn some handy stuff, make some useful contacts. My uncle Hank died that year, a few months before I mustered out. Left me the whole place. I figured, hell, I can sell it and make some money to get me started.  Yeah. The minerals turned out to be "not economically viable for extraction." So the land was not worthless, but not a gold mine, as it were. I put it on the back burner. A month after I got out, which is a month I don't remember real well, but apparently I gamble well when I'm drunk, since I had a little more coming out than I did going into that particular casino planet bender!

But I got a letter from uncle Hank. Not a comm, an actual letter. It just said, "Son, don't sell the place, not until you've looked it over. It's a real beautiful location." Now I've been there, and it's a nice spread, but nothing that special, and WAY out of the way.  But, what the hell, I had some cash and nothing going on, so I went.

When I got there, the house was just like I remembered, nothing changed, and he'd been keeping it up. I found another letter in the entry. Did I mention my uncle was a little eccentric and loved to play games? This was starting to feel like one of his treasure hunt games. Even dead, he's still playing! This letter said he'd left me something in the fridge. Only thing in there was some condiments and a bottle of cheap bubbly. With a note on the bottom, which I only noticed as I was tossing it in the recycler.  Several notes later, I was in his workshop with a car remote in my hand, and a note saying,  "what would you do in an emergency?" So, I hit the alarm button and heard a click under his workbench. Pulled out the panel that had popped loose, and thought, "what the hell is my uncle doing with a Fed Comm ecm control panel? And why does it look like it's active?

My uncle was hiding a damn crashed Leopard with a medium lance on board! Now, it was shot to hell and came down real hard, so much of it was junk. But... I'd been pushing paper on this kind of stuff for months, and I had a pretty good idea what it was worth. Except it was illegal salvage. But I knew a guy. He took it all, probably resold it to my old unit, and only gave me a little over 3 million of the 10-plus he likely got for it.

I thought about setting myself up on some nice beach... But then I thought, why not get seriously rich first? I'd just heard about this little operation you've started here, and I thought maybe 3 mil would get me a stake. What do you say? I'm coming down tomorrow, can we meet for dinner?

Henry John Kell (no relation... Seriously)

****

“Gorilla,” Fred called out as he entered the bay where LilyRose stood in her gantry, her chest open and exposing her half-rebuilt LRM launchers for all the world to see.  Those parts were supposed to arrive in the next could of days.  “Is that box of battlevids still in the cockpit?”

Robert Monsoon looked up from the wiring harness he had torn apart in time to see one of his astechs fastening a replacement armor plate on the Whitworth’s leg.  “Remember, Bret, tighten on opposite corners when you torque that down, otherwise you may compromise the plate.”  The young man replied his confirmation and Robert watched him to make sure he did it before he replied to his boss.  

“No, boss, sorry, Captain.”  The unit may just be a couple of mercenaries looking for glory, but the arrival of Leftennant Wilkerson had started to inject something like military structure into the group.  He was a sergeant now, not just some mechanic working on agro-mechs.  “Am I supposed to salute you now?” he asked as his boss walked up.

“Not with your hands full of wiring and relay circuits, you’re not.”  The Captain looked around and nodded with approval.  “I need to see if I can find that battleROM footage.  Some guy thinks I’m my uncle, and wants to work for me.  Says I was honorable on the battlefield, the kind of warrior he can respect.  I thought I might see if I can find the footage for the battle he’s talking about.”

“I moved the crate of vid-sticks and battleROMs to the gear locker.”  Robert looked at his boss.  The guy just looked out of place in a ‘Mech bay.  Who the hell wears patent leather shoes, wool slacks, and a silk shirt into a bay where techs are working with arc-welders and grease guns?  As long as he continued to get paid though, he wasn’t going to say anything.  Working on Battlemechs was a hell of a lot more interesting than working on agro-mechs and construction-bots.  If he was honest with himself, Robert also missed certain aspects of military life.  Any story that starts, ‘We were hot dropping on this border world,’ is probably going to be a hell of a lot more interesting than ‘We were out clearing woods for a new field.’

****

Fred pulled out the vid-stick labeled 3024- Fraser IV and plugged it into the monitor.  There were about 60 files available, but only 7 labeled ‘Active Ops.’  He started pulling those up and quickly scanned through them at 10x speed.  On the third one he caught sight of the distinctively weird lines of a FS-9H Firestarter.  He slowed it down and watched it through three times before he made a decision.  “Mrs. Winters, can you locate Wilkerson and have him come in.  I’d like his opinion on something.  I think we may have found another pilot.”

He opened up his mini-comp and pulled up the email from one Henry John Kell.  A quick search of FSNex, a Federated Suns-centric database system that was used for back-ground checks by commercial employers revealed that indeed a Henry John Kell, born on Milos, had served with the CCAF, was not a wanted criminal, and was currently a civilian (employer not recorded).  The data was at least 6 months old, but it was as good as he was likely to get this far from the capital.  A couple of calls to some salvagers he knew turned up a line on a couple of light Mech’s, including a Firestarter that needed some work.

After viewing the video of the battle on Frazer IV and discussing it with Jonathan, Fred opened his mini-comp and replied to Mr. Kell. 

---------

Syscom Andalusia

Shipcom RDS Farsight

To: Henry John Kells, doc@fb.Bellatrix.net

From: Captain di Biasi, Fbcom@1IJacks.Andal.net

28 July, 3039

Mr. Kell,

Thank you for reaching out to me.  I will admit that I had to go back and look at the battlevids from Frazer to remember that event you were talking about.  That day was a little hectic, and as you well know, after a while one battlefield starts to look much like another.  In reviewing the full footage from that day, I was impressed by your tenacity and your command of the tactics used by such a specialized 'Mech.  I would be happy to meet with you once you make planetfall.  Please comm my Executive Assistant, Mrs. Winters, at +03-145225 x5, upon your arrival.

Sincerely,

Frederick di Biasi

Building the Jacks #1

Welcome to the first installment of building the campaign.  This series will be about how we structured the initial guidelines, discuss introduction of new rules, and how the nature of the campaign changed over time.  It will feature emails and rule references, though no printing of actual game rules.

It all started innocently enough.  Steve, who was already GMing a Rolemaster game I was playing in with Bruce once a month sent out this email.  He had no idea the can of worms he was opening.

From: Steve

Sent: Monday, May 21, 2018 12:13 PM

To: Bruce; Neil; JV; Brian

Subject: BattleTech Campaign?

  

Is there any interest in a BattleTech campaign?  I would like to start

hosting a game about once a month on Sundays. (With an option to play

twice a month if we are really into it.)

My thoughts are these:

The players would be members of a small mercenary unit.  One lance is

what I'm thinking, although you could certainly expand throughout the

game.  After all, playing more than one mech is pretty easy. Basically, 

I plan to start you off with one mech per player, probably all light 

mechs with maybe one medium mech for the Lance Commander.

You would keep track of pilots and your own unit's equipment.

As the GM, I will make "contracts" available, play the opposing forces,

adjudicate salvage and repair, determine what mechs are for sale, etc.

Much of this will be handled by e-mail between games.

Each game session would be the resolution of one "contract." 

Essentially one mission.  The battles may or may not be "balanced." 

You will have intel on each situation, but intelligence is sometimes 

inaccurate.  You will have to decide what to do when unexpected things 

happen.

The intent of this is to go light on the role-playing and heavy on the

blowing-stuff-up, but keep enough of the role-play that we have an

ongoing campaign for a mercenary unit: Consistent pilots, consistent

mechs that have to be repaired or replaced after each game, salvage,

maintenance, all that jazz.

I should mention that I am not an expert at all things Battletech.  I

just love the original game.  I'm searching through some of the later

publications now for consistent rules on costs, salvage, repair, etc.

If I can't find them, I'll probably end up making stuff up.  Who am I

kidding?  I'll probably end up making stuff up anyway... :-)

Any interest?

Any interest?  Of course I was interested.  I hadn’t played any serious BattleTech since 2012, with the exception of a couple of one-offs.  I was kind of getting itchy to play, particularly with the Harebrained Studios’ BattleTech computer game having just become available the month before.  I hadn’t had a chance to start playing yet because my computer wasn’t powerful enough to run it, but I had been spending way too much time on Twitch watching other people play it.  Those factors were making the desire to play even stronger.  It took me all of 15 minutes to reply, mostly because I was at lunch when Steve sent the original email.

On 5/21/2018 12:30 PM, Neil Ikerd wrote:

I've been looking for an excuse to buy Campaign Operations!  :-)

I would love to get in on a BT campaign, I have lots of books and maps, 

and several assorted mech, vehicle, and aerospace fighter figurines.

If you didn't want to write your own campaign, I have a couple of 

campaign books as well (Sword and Dragon, Operation: Klondike).  What 

era are you thinking?

I’m not the only one either.  Bruce has a complete copy of the Solaris VII box set, the last version of the box set that included 24 plastic minis, a few of the modern era rule books, several of the novels, and few figures of his own.  Steve’s reply gave us a loose framework of he wanted to do, and a bit of surprise that has proven to be very cool.

I have virtually nothing for the game, except it is one of those games 

I'm always willing to play.  My brother Brian has (I think) all of the 

Technical Readout books, and I have one of the compiled rule books, plus 

a few PDFs I've been downloading and daydreaming about playing...

Plus, JV has a 3d printer. :-)

I'm thinking of doing an early era - back to the days when, if you 

weren't rolling to avoid an ammo explosion, you weren't really in the 

game yet - but not so early that we couldn't reasonably start to 

introduce more advanced weapons and mechs as the campaign progresses.  

Certainly sometime before the Clans raised their ugly heads.  Maybe 

they'll show up once you get really established.

Campaign wise, I'm thinking of doing something along the lines of the 

old PC game Mechwarrior II.  You are a small mercenary unit with one 

mech per player.  Probably all light mechs or maybe one medium mech for 

the leader.  You'll be hired by whoever has the money (unless the 

players develop, you know, "standards" or something) to fight the "side 

battles" the major forces don't have time to fight.  (I'll make a list 

of contracts available on their equivalent of merc.net and you will 

choose which to take on.)  As you get more money, you can buy better 

mechs, upgrade the ones you have, etc...  As you get better mechs, you 

can take on more lucrative contracts.

But all that is in the very early stages right now.  I might take a look 

at some of the existing campaign books.  I know very, very little about 

the background and story that has developed around Battletech. When I 

played it, there was really no story. it was just "blow up the other guy."  

Which, I'll admit, is usually enough for me.  I'm a simple guy. :-)

Thanks for mentioning Campaign Operations.  I hadn't heard about that 

one.  Downloading the .pdf now...

This is where I start going down the rabbit hole.  I don’t have the encyclopedic knowledge that some players do, but I can do a pretty good impression of a Wikipedia entry on BattleTech.  With a better understanding of what Steve wants to do, I start throwing out ideas:

The only book you really need to play is Total Warfare- which has all the 

combat and terrain rules.  Bruce and I both have that.  Sounds like we're 

talking 2950-3045 era.  If we pushed into the later portions of that (3039-

3048), we could start bringing back some of the old Star League mechs and 

have access to some Inner-sphere LosTech (double heat sinks, ER Lasers, 

Gauss Rifles, Ferro-fibrous armor, etc).  If you want heat management to be 

a real issue/tactical decsion, along with ammo/logistics, probably more 3025-

3038 is what you're looking for.

I could go for some 4th succession war stuff.  If you wanted to stay out of 

the big campaign we could be working the border worlds to free up troops for 

the 4th succession war.  

On the Davion side there is the spinward border with the Outworlds Alliance, 

which is seriously suffering due to the overall decline in technology, the 

government is unpopular and the ruler is a plodder.  There is also the 

rimward border with the Taurian Concordant; whose leader hates the Davions 

and is worried that the creation of the FedCom super-state means that the 

FedRats will soon turn their attention rimward.  In response, he is building 

up his military and bringing in merc units to shore up defenses.

On the Steiner side there is the Circinus Federation, which was just a bandit 

kingdom pretending to be a real star-kingdom until a series of treaties finally 

legitimized the Federation in 3020.  

-----Original Message-----
From: Steve K
To: Neil Ikerd; Bruce; JV; Brian
Sent: Wed, May 23, 2018 10:21 pm
Subject: Re: BattleTech Campaign?

Holy crap, you guys know WAY more about this than me.  I may have some reading to do...

I like the idea of 4th Succession War era.  If I understand it, most mechs are still "old tech" but some are getting back in touch with the re-discovered Inner Sphere tech.  Lots of fights going on all over the place, so lots of contracts for a small Merc outfit.  I figure a small mercenary outfit like yours would be all old-tech mechs until you manage to salvage/buy newer stuff and start getting established.  As you get bigger and better, you would be hired for more important missions.  If you get a good enough reputation, you might be hired as extra muscle in major assaults when a House needs more troops in one place. 

You could conceivably find yourself fighting both sides of the war, at different times, without ever breaking a contract. 

I think I see a Jenner and a Phoenix Hawk in this picture.  The other two I don't know.  One mech appears to be screwed.  That's all I can tell, but it makes me want to blow something up. :-)

You guys can probably tell me what unit the mechs are from, what planet they are fighting on, what their orders are, and what they had for breakfast that morning.

 I can’t tell you what planet they’re on or what they had for breakfast, but I can tell you that the Wolverine is a DCMS 2^nd Sword of Light unit, so we can assume that the Locust and Phoenix Hawk are as well.  That’s an Enforcer getting its head opened up, so that means AFFS, probably Davion Heavy Guards or possibly Crucis Lancers in field camo That puts this somewhere along the FS/DC border, probably 4^th Succession War, but I digress…

The picture of the 2^nd SoL ‘Mech got me thinking about the DCMS in the 4^th SW era, and that led me to think about Wolves on the Border and Takashi Kurita’s “Death to Mercenaries” order.  By the next afternoon I had written up a shell background for a unit that would give us 4 starting Mech’s, a very few pilots, a dropship, a commander that wouldn’t have to be one of the pilots, and enough role-playing hooks to make any GM salivate. 

Next entry:  The Regulators

Tales of the 1-I-Jacks #4

Tales of the One-Eyed Jacks

Prologue Chapter 4

Pleased to Meet You

By Neil Ikerd

22 July, 3039

Andalusia

Crucis March

Federated Suns

The man didn’t even look away from his noteputer as he reached over to hit the button to take the call.  He missed his days in the 42^nd Avalon Hussars, when finding parts had just been a matter of requisition orders and maybe greasing a palm or two.  “Di Biasi,” he replied; the ability to appear to be interested in a call while reading something else was one he had perfected while working as a corporate lawyer for Precision Weaponry at the home office on Tancredi IV.

“Sir, I have just sent a young man from the house over to your office.  He said he was a ‘Mechwarrior and was told to look you up.”  Fred put down what he was looking at.  Mrs. Winters had come to him as part of the inheritance- she wasn’t an indentured servant or anything, but she had been house manager for his deceased uncle ever since he had bought this estate in the early 30’s.  She was a no-nonsense kind of woman, probably 5 or 6 years older than his own mother, but that was strictly a guess.  He was pretty sure Mrs. Winters was born with that perfectly coiffed white hair and stern expression.  “He was erect of carriage and stern of demeanor; seemed very professional.”

“You mean you liked him.”

“I didn’t say that, sir.”  Her voice sounded slightly shocked, like she was afraid she had overstepped her boundaries.

“You didn’t have to.  Do you like him?”

“I don’t think that matters, sir.  It’s not my place to say.”

“Lucille, can I call you Lucille?”

“No, sir.  My name is Mrs. Winters.  It makes sure that everyone understands the nature of the relationship, sir.”

“Very well, Mrs. Winters.  I think it should be your place to say.  This little endeavor needs someone capable behind the scenes.  I need someone that can handle book-keeping and payroll, can handle client reception, that can deal with minor issues, or can interface with vendors when I’m not available.  That person would also need to be able to take care of managing my schedule and occasionally run interference for me.  I need an executive assistant.”

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about BattleMech operations, sir.”

“Not asking you to.  I’m asking you to run the business side, so I can run the ‘blowing shit up and killing people’ side of the business.  Pay is 500 c-bills per month in addition to your pay for running the household, which will continue to come out of the estate trust that you so ably manage.”  There was a long moment of silence.

“I won’t take care of getting rid of your doxies when you’re done playing with them.”

“I know, Mrs. Winters, you made that very clear from day one.”

“Very well, sir.  Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome Mrs. Winters, and thank you.  Now, do you like him?”

“I think he’s exactly the kind of young officer you’re going to need if you’re going to make this into a proper mercenary company, and not a very expensive fraternity club.”  There was a brief pause, as though they were both waiting to see if thunder would follow lightning.  “He’s on his way to the hangar, sir.  You should probably meet him there.”

“Probably so, have a good afternoon, Mrs. Winters.”  She reminded him that a young officer would probably be more receptive to serious response than a friendly one, then wished him a good afternoon before he hung up.  Either he was a genius for hiring the old lady, or his life was about to become a living hell.  He stood and stretched, then checked his calendar.  Stephen was supposed to be over in a little bit as well, something about a pilot and crew.

Glancing at the wall display, he saw that it was a balmy 12 degrees outside.  The calendar might say it was the 22^nd of July, but that was Terran-standard dating.  The leaves hadn’t started coming out, and the snow hadn’t even started melting above 3000 meters yet.  Hopefully they could get their training done during the brief summer and be off this rock before winter rolled around again- maybe someplace tropical with girls in bikinis and umbrellas in the drinks.

***

Robert Monsoon was hard at work as usual.  He and his three techs were in dismantling the torso cavity so they could get to the cracked engine shielding.  Rather than repairing it, they were going to replace it completely.  “Gorilla,” Fred called across the echo-y hangar that was designed to hold four of the massive BattleMechs, not just one.

“Yeah, boss.”  The man looked up from where one of the younger assistants was securing the final straps of a lift harness so they could haul the engine out when the replacement arrived tomorrow. Except for the hair and the nose, his new boss looked nothing like his uncle.  That probably had to do more with life experience than genetics though.  Rob had always been a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy, and had openly mocked guys that dressed like his new boss; but Robert didn’t care how he dressed.  His money was yellow and spent just fine, and it meant getting back to repairing BattleMechs, not those glorified exoskeletons that people called “agro-mechs.”

“I know you don’t know much about avionics systems, but do you know enough to know a bull-shitter when you hear one?”

Robert considered for a long moment.  He knew tech-speak, and you could always pinpoint some that was bullshitting their way through tech-speak.  The real trick was not to get caught yourself when you were talking to a real expert.

“As a rule.”  Just like figuring out if someone was bullshitting their way through, most of the time it better to just shut up and let the other person talk.

“Good.  I’ve got a guy that wants to come by and give me a quote to get ‘The Crate’ running and supply a crew.  Since I know even less about dropship operations than I do about BattleMech operations, I need somebody there that knows their ass from a hole in the ground.”

While not the most inspiring speech ever given, at least his boss had the good sense to know that he didn’t know what he didn’t know.  That was really rare in a ‘Mech-jock.  It didn’t give him great hope for the longevity of the new startup merc company, but the money was the right color and there was enough of if it to make it worthwhile for now.

“When are they supposed to be here?”  His crew was at a good stopping point, but the ‘Mech was by no means ready to be viewed by anyone that wasn’t deeply involved with its restoration.  He wiped his large hands on the rag he kept in his pocket, then put it back. 

The boss glanced at his gold watch.  “Soon.  Are you guys at a point where you can take a break?”  He glanced at his watch again.  “Or maybe you could let them go home early today if you’re at a good stopping point.”

“Full pay?”  Robert liked this crew.  They were young, but they had good sense and listened well.

“Sure, it’s only 2 hours to quitting time, let them head out early if you think it’s alright.”

“Thank you, sir.  The men will appreciate it.”  Robert glanced down at his coveralls.  “I’ll need about 10 minutes to wrap up and change.”  With a nod, he headed back over to where the ancient Whitworth stood in her gantry and called up to the crew.  There was a fair amount of whooping and hollering when he told them to put away their tools and they could head home early.  He waited until they were putting on their coats to drop the other shoe on them. 

“Tomorrow’s going to be a bitch of a day.  There’s nothing worse than pulling an engine out of a cold ‘Mech.”  That wasn’t exactly true, but these greenies had no way of knowing that. “Any of you numb-nuts shows up crawling out of a bottle and I’ll hang you from the gantry myself.  Clear?”

“Crystal,” they all replied, if not enthusiastically.  He dismissed them with a grunt and went to change out of his coveralls.  He didn’t want to look like a tech if he was going to be grilling one.

***

Fred glanced up from his tablet at the click of the far door, but was careful to keep his head down.  Through the fringe of his bangs he watched the man walk across the hangar.  ‘Erect of carriage,’ as Mrs. Winters had said.  He walked like an academy graduate, standard 30” step, heel-toe, hands swinging 60/30, Fred wondered if he even realized he was doing it.  Fred’s ROTC instructors hadn’t been overly strict about marching, but he definitely remembered having done it.

Another door opened and a small group entered.  It took a couple of seconds for him to recognize Stephen, the consultant he’d hired to help him get legal as a mercenary and find pilots and crew.  He had his suspicions about who Stephen really worked for, but the background checks had all come up clean and Stephen hadn’t led him afoul of the law- yet.  He realized the people with him must be the restoration and repair crew from Kessel Interstellar.  The lights came on across the hangar as Gorilla exited the locker room and headed toward them.  The lights illuminated his inherited Whitworth in all its battered glory.  Fred thought all it really needed to complete the look was an old 4-wheeler up on blocks.

“What a hunk of junk!” Fred snapped around to see who had said it.  Sure it was ugly, but it was his ugly baby, and only he got to call it a hunk of junk.  He glared at the young man that had come in alone.  In turn, the young man turned to look at a guy in an old flight jacket with distinctive military lines. Fred didn’t recognize it, but the blue color looked pretty standard for Lyran Commonwealth uniforms.

“It’s not that bad, just needs some work.”  Fred looked back to the young man.  His bearing said louder than words that he was ready to throw down on the loud-mouth that had insulted the half dismantled ‘Mech in the gantry.  He seemed to take a deep breath and turned, “Leftennant Jonathon Wilkerson.  I am looking for a job.”

“Pleased to meet you Leftennant.” Fred extended his hand and shook firmly.  “Fred di Biasi, owner of… this little lash up.  We don’t have a name yet, because ‘Fred’s Furious Fighters’ sounds pretty stupid to me, despite what Stephen thinks.”  He extended his hand and indicated a slender man with a wary expression.  “Stephen is a consultant I hired to help me locate crew and other necessities.”  Stephen and Jonathon shook hands, and Fred was pretty sure Jonathon had suppressed a look of recognition, but Stephen had been cool as an Andalusian spring day.  He was starting to get a sense of collusion that he was going to have to look into.

Stephen indicated the group he was with. “This is Lewis Davis, Szymon Kukowski, Ramla Zein, and Bonnie Michel.  They’ll be the core of the crew handling your drop ship and getting her back online.  Jonathon shook each of their hands in turn. 

“Call me Solo,” Lewis said as they shook hands.  “I’m the captain, and leader of this merry band of rapscallions.  These are my pilot, lead gunner, and ship’s doctor, who also doubles as engineer.”  He indicated the same group Fred had just shaken hands with.  “I understand you have a Leopard we’ll be running for you.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”  Fred said with a smile.  He was going to cut the legs out from under this guy.  There was only room for one hot shot in this outfit, and since Fred was paying the bills, he got to be that hot shot.  “It’s over this way.”  He indicated a door in the far wall from where everyone had come in.  Gorilla fell in behind the group as they trudged across the hangar.  “Solo, your boss said he understood the ship needed a little repair, and that he’d send someone over who could get it up and running in no time flat.  I have high hopes for you.”

Fred smiled to himself as he hit the button to open the hangar door.  The lights came on and illuminated what was supposed to be a Leopard class dropship.  Repair panels were open or missing across most of the nose and visible port side.  The tail assembly had been removed and one of the left side thrusters was actually sitting on a small army of the cinder blocks.  With a flourish and grand announcement like he was the proudest father in the galaxy, he crowed, “I give to you Spare Parts.” 

Solo’s face collapsed.  Fred smiled to himself as he watched the young hot shot try to quickly pull himself together. 

The piece de resistance though was when Gorilla clapped the man on the back and said with as much excitement as he could muster, “Man, am I excited to have you around.  The avionics in this ain’t nuttin’ like the circuits in daddy’s old crop duster.  Imma tellin’ you, I couldn’t figger out where half that shit went when I was a done takin’ it out.  Pretty sure we still got all the parts though, they ‘round here somewhere or other.”

“So, Mr. Solo, your boss assured me you could have it back up and running by the end of the month.  You ready to jump in?”  Fred watched the man assemble a brave façade from obvious disappointment.

“We’ll take inventory and do diagnostics in the morning.  It’ll probably take a couple of days to get a handle on it, but we’ll… we’ll take care of it.”  That was what Fred had really been looking for.

“Good, because that’s not the ship you’ll be flying.  We call it Spare Parts for a reason.  Mr. Hutch told me it would probably cost ten to twenty million to get that thing back in the air.  The Crate doesn’t look like much, but I understand she’s got it where it counts.”  He led the small group over to another door and opened it to reveal an old, but serviceable Leopard sitting on the pad.  “I was leasing it to a local transport company for sub-orbital transport up until about a month ago, so we know it was air and space-worthy at least that recently.”

“Whew, that’s a relief,” Solo said as Fred closed the door.  “Hutch said you needed a pilot and crew, not a miracle worker.  Not that I couldn’t get it back up and running,” he hastily added.

“Good for all of us.  It’s going to cost me enough to get my ‘Mech online and find some more pilots without trying to resurrect that pile of parts.”  He led them back into the ‘Mech hangar and closed the bay doors behind them.  “It’s getting late, how does everyone feel about Chinese food for dinner?  There’s a good place about 20 minutes from here.”

“You buying?” Stephen asked with a smile.

“You’re the vendor, Stephen, aren’t you supposed to be buying?”

“Sure, I’ll just bill you for it.”

“Then in that case, I’ll buy and save myself 10%.”  Stephen protested his innocence, but given the volume and length of his defense, they were all pretty sure that was exactly what he would do.