Crusaders Temporary Barracks
Stricken Desert
Miranda
Labrea System
Third Quarter 3065
Alec woke with a startle, his alarm clock beeping its high-pitched tune out like some awful car
alarm security system. With a hearty slam of his fist, he silenced the annoying little machine in his
usual manner. Another day. It was time for more payback.
Though the nights seemed shorter and shorter - making him feel less rested, Alec was in the best
shape of his life. For years he'd heard rookies and know-it-alls blab on and on about the
strength of youth, a strength of which those past their mid 30s could never possess. Every single
time he heard such talk, he'd felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. Everyone bragging about the
strength of youth were youths themselves.
The years had been kind to Alec's physical health. He'd fully regained the use of both arms
within only months of his beating in Galatea eight years ago. His neck muscles were occasionally
stiff from some permanent tissue damage the thug's metal bar had done, but he'd regained most
of what his drunken attackers had taken away from him.
Despite his physical improvement, Alec had still not quite regained his sense of self-respect.
He'd foolishly endangered his own existence that night, and with his life the vengeance he owed
his family. Never again, he had vowed. And he had done it. Not a single time had he ever
moved again into such a dangerous situation without covering his back first. Satisfied at the
thought, he nodded and rose out of bed to bring his bare feet to rest on the cool tiled floor of his
temporary barracks.
Alec owed much of his recovery, much of his strength for that matter, to his close friends. Those
he now called his lancemates had stuck with him this far, and there was no doubt in his mind
about their devotion to his cause. Plainly put, he had the warriors and the resources required to
achieve his goals.
And unfortunately for his enemies, Sir Alec de Payens was also a man who learned much from
his mistakes. As a result, the Crusaders mercenary unit, as they had been christened, were not a
bunch to be taken lightly. They were armed with some of the best technology the Inner Sphere
had to offer and the technicians to support that technological might. Furthermore they were
strictly self-disciplined. They brought their considerable force to bear on any targets deemed
radically dangerous to the people of the Inner Sphere, a mission some had believed the original
Knights of the Inner Sphere could have done nearly a decade ago. So much for that dream.
Alec shook the thoughts from his head and got down to business. He switched on his pocket
transmitter. The small device was set with various auto-functions that allowed him to call for a
status update at the press of a button. Unlike the full blown emergency update system, this called
only for updates from his two lance leaders serving directly under him. As per the Crusaders
new contract, a third backup lance would also report in. That lance consisted of warriors 'on
loan' from the Strider's Strikers mercenary unit, the team with which the Crusaders were
currently under hire for.
Within seconds Alec received his first response.
"Scout lance is green light and go," It was Sir Rick Ridges. "You've got one recon group
simmering and ready, Sir de Payens." Rick always choose formal language during any and all
transmitter conversations.
"Well done, Rick." The crack of Alec's own raspy throat immediately reminded him to recheck
the room's humidifier unit. "You are clear to start the day, Sir Ridges." Alec smiled at his own
formalities. We've known each other for years and still the guy hasn't changed any. Rick
would be running the routine morning scouting of the foothills of the Gustus Mountain region
nearest the unit's makeshift base.
"Sir de Payens," This time it was Sir Frederick de Saint Aldemaar, leader of the assault lance.
"Marc is settling down and the rest of us are halfway through the first simulator battle of the
morning." Frederick's voice was raspy too, no doubt another casualty of the intense heat of the
Stricken Desert's early morning solar radiation. The man paused for a moment, then continued,
"With the Commander's approval, I humbly request to continue the scenario before my virtual
Cerberus takes any more hits due to lack of concentration."
Alec shook his head. "Don't wait for my approval, get back in there and do what you have to
do. As soon as we hear word from Rick and the others, then that sim is over, got it?"
Frederick wasted no time in his reply. "Your will be done, Commander." Aldemaar's usual
serious tone was instead light and sarcastic. It was a common side effect of virtual training for
the team's second in command. Something about simulator battles, even despite their lifelike
programming, just left the man in stitches. Alec had still never quite figured it out.
"I guess its my turn, Sir de Payens?" Holden Trumphay's voice came over the line like a dull
roar. Either the man's microphone input needed adjusting or he was trying to make his presence
completely known.
Alec paused, considered telling the man about the comm malfunction. A moment's thought and
he erased the concept from his mind. Politeness and equality would be the main thing to shoot
for in the short exchange with the leader of the Strider's Strikers 'Skeleton Crew' lance. The
lance of missile heavy Mechs were assigned to Alec and the Crusaders to round out their force
with some long range protection. Alec hated playing politician but he couldn't chance stepping
on anyone's toes this early in the two teams' partnership.
"Go ahead lance leader," Alec spoke. He waited a second before hearing the Striker
Mechwarrior continue.
"We are currently engaged with your folks on Assault...were hoping to give as good as we got
but those custom Mechs are a little tougher than the average 90-tonners." Holden joked.
Alec smiled, and couldn't help but let out a short laugh. He knew that Holden and the other
Strikers were seriously outclassed in the training simulator scenario, especially given the
respective tonnage comparison. Even though Alec himself had proposed a fairer scenario,
Holden and the others refused. They had claimed that riding different sim Mechs than their own
would do little to enhance the lance's fighting prowess. Take what you can get for real,
Holden had said.
"Well I imagine you are doing the best with what you have, Holden." Alec said. He knew the
lance leader was a highly respected member of the Strikers. It had been Holden who first
contacted Alec with an emergency broadcast crying for help. The Strikers base had been left
largely undefended and subsequently attacked by an overwhelming number of Blakist Mechs.
Only by deceit and a clever display of tactics had Holden held the Blakists off.
Stricken Desert
Miranda
Labrea System
Third Quarter 3065
Alec woke with a startle, his alarm clock beeping its high-pitched tune out like some awful car
alarm security system. With a hearty slam of his fist, he silenced the annoying little machine in his
usual manner. Another day. It was time for more payback.
Though the nights seemed shorter and shorter - making him feel less rested, Alec was in the best
shape of his life. For years he'd heard rookies and know-it-alls blab on and on about the
strength of youth, a strength of which those past their mid 30s could never possess. Every single
time he heard such talk, he'd felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. Everyone bragging about the
strength of youth were youths themselves.
The years had been kind to Alec's physical health. He'd fully regained the use of both arms
within only months of his beating in Galatea eight years ago. His neck muscles were occasionally
stiff from some permanent tissue damage the thug's metal bar had done, but he'd regained most
of what his drunken attackers had taken away from him.
Despite his physical improvement, Alec had still not quite regained his sense of self-respect.
He'd foolishly endangered his own existence that night, and with his life the vengeance he owed
his family. Never again, he had vowed. And he had done it. Not a single time had he ever
moved again into such a dangerous situation without covering his back first. Satisfied at the
thought, he nodded and rose out of bed to bring his bare feet to rest on the cool tiled floor of his
temporary barracks.
Alec owed much of his recovery, much of his strength for that matter, to his close friends. Those
he now called his lancemates had stuck with him this far, and there was no doubt in his mind
about their devotion to his cause. Plainly put, he had the warriors and the resources required to
achieve his goals.
And unfortunately for his enemies, Sir Alec de Payens was also a man who learned much from
his mistakes. As a result, the Crusaders mercenary unit, as they had been christened, were not a
bunch to be taken lightly. They were armed with some of the best technology the Inner Sphere
had to offer and the technicians to support that technological might. Furthermore they were
strictly self-disciplined. They brought their considerable force to bear on any targets deemed
radically dangerous to the people of the Inner Sphere, a mission some had believed the original
Knights of the Inner Sphere could have done nearly a decade ago. So much for that dream.
Alec shook the thoughts from his head and got down to business. He switched on his pocket
transmitter. The small device was set with various auto-functions that allowed him to call for a
status update at the press of a button. Unlike the full blown emergency update system, this called
only for updates from his two lance leaders serving directly under him. As per the Crusaders
new contract, a third backup lance would also report in. That lance consisted of warriors 'on
loan' from the Strider's Strikers mercenary unit, the team with which the Crusaders were
currently under hire for.
Within seconds Alec received his first response.
"Scout lance is green light and go," It was Sir Rick Ridges. "You've got one recon group
simmering and ready, Sir de Payens." Rick always choose formal language during any and all
transmitter conversations.
"Well done, Rick." The crack of Alec's own raspy throat immediately reminded him to recheck
the room's humidifier unit. "You are clear to start the day, Sir Ridges." Alec smiled at his own
formalities. We've known each other for years and still the guy hasn't changed any. Rick
would be running the routine morning scouting of the foothills of the Gustus Mountain region
nearest the unit's makeshift base.
"Sir de Payens," This time it was Sir Frederick de Saint Aldemaar, leader of the assault lance.
"Marc is settling down and the rest of us are halfway through the first simulator battle of the
morning." Frederick's voice was raspy too, no doubt another casualty of the intense heat of the
Stricken Desert's early morning solar radiation. The man paused for a moment, then continued,
"With the Commander's approval, I humbly request to continue the scenario before my virtual
Cerberus takes any more hits due to lack of concentration."
Alec shook his head. "Don't wait for my approval, get back in there and do what you have to
do. As soon as we hear word from Rick and the others, then that sim is over, got it?"
Frederick wasted no time in his reply. "Your will be done, Commander." Aldemaar's usual
serious tone was instead light and sarcastic. It was a common side effect of virtual training for
the team's second in command. Something about simulator battles, even despite their lifelike
programming, just left the man in stitches. Alec had still never quite figured it out.
"I guess its my turn, Sir de Payens?" Holden Trumphay's voice came over the line like a dull
roar. Either the man's microphone input needed adjusting or he was trying to make his presence
completely known.
Alec paused, considered telling the man about the comm malfunction. A moment's thought and
he erased the concept from his mind. Politeness and equality would be the main thing to shoot
for in the short exchange with the leader of the Strider's Strikers 'Skeleton Crew' lance. The
lance of missile heavy Mechs were assigned to Alec and the Crusaders to round out their force
with some long range protection. Alec hated playing politician but he couldn't chance stepping
on anyone's toes this early in the two teams' partnership.
"Go ahead lance leader," Alec spoke. He waited a second before hearing the Striker
Mechwarrior continue.
"We are currently engaged with your folks on Assault...were hoping to give as good as we got
but those custom Mechs are a little tougher than the average 90-tonners." Holden joked.
Alec smiled, and couldn't help but let out a short laugh. He knew that Holden and the other
Strikers were seriously outclassed in the training simulator scenario, especially given the
respective tonnage comparison. Even though Alec himself had proposed a fairer scenario,
Holden and the others refused. They had claimed that riding different sim Mechs than their own
would do little to enhance the lance's fighting prowess. Take what you can get for real,
Holden had said.
"Well I imagine you are doing the best with what you have, Holden." Alec said. He knew the
lance leader was a highly respected member of the Strikers. It had been Holden who first
contacted Alec with an emergency broadcast crying for help. The Strikers base had been left
largely undefended and subsequently attacked by an overwhelming number of Blakist Mechs.
Only by deceit and a clever display of tactics had Holden held the Blakists off.
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| Page 2 |
| An Eye for an Eye, Etc. (1)... |