Stricken Desert
Miranda
Labrea System
Third Quarter, 3065
Devon Carns opened his line of communication once again, hoping to receive some signal that his
enemy, the pilot of a Shootist Mech, had accepted his challenge. Looking across his scanners,
Devon guessed he would soon be the victim of a united attack. He was first and foremost
amongst his own Clansmen, leading the Clan half of the fight against the Word of Blake forces
that had threatened the Strider’s Strikers base for several months now. Given his current
location and knowing full well that his Direwolf assault Mech was the primary threat to the enemy
unit, Devon braced himself for the attack he sensed would come at any moment. His Direwolf,
also known by the name Daishi, was infamous in its role as one of the deadliest Clan assault
Mechs.
Suddenly warning lights flashed in the small confines of the 100-ton BattleMech. Multiple
weapons locks by seven of the Inner Sphere machines flashed to life along his viewscreen panel.
Freebirth scum. Those who fought without honor deserved nothing more than the death Devon’
s Mech would soon shell out.
New warning alarms blared to life, reporting that somewhere an Arrow IV artillery system had
released its missiles at Devon. A sudden pang against his Mech’s hip indicated he was being
attacked by several different autocannons. Without a weapons lock from his targeting computer,
Devon took aim on his strongest attacker, a 70-ton Shootist, and fired his set of primary
weapons. As the inside of the cockpit jumped several degrees, the Direwolf released a blistering
arrangement of Gauss rifle and ER PPC fire at his enemy. In a lucky hit, three of the weapons
converged on the enemy machine’s left arm, ripping a hole in its elbow and splintering off a
portion of its endoskeleton. The fourth, one of his Gauss rifles’ metal slugs, ricocheted off of the
machine’s chest. The slug cracked the ferro armor, knocking pieces to the ground in a shower
of blue and gray.
Glancing at his damage report, Devon waited for his weapons to cycle. It was obvious that he
would be plagued once again with his neverending handicap. The majority of his enemies’
weapons seemed to score hits on his legs, already battering the strong armor down to sixty-four
percent of its original integrity. Stravag! It was time to get a move on. Another hit like that and
his Mech would be in seriously bad shape.
Devon began to take the huge machine into a relaxed run. He concentrated primarily on aligning
a new target rather than watching where he was going. Blessed with a special finesse for piloting
the machines, Devon had always felt his shortcomings were in his aim. Though he ranked better
than average in his scores, he despised his current skill level and was always hoping to improve
his abilities. Thanks to his Clan targeting computer system, he was usually able to hit enemies
with most of his weapons.
The return fire by his fellow Clansmen quickly took its toll on the enemy Mechs. Shortly after
the Blakists had demonstrated their firepower on Devon’s Direwolf, his starmates had dealt their
fair share of destruction to the attacking Mechs. The enemy Shootist was now on the ground,
nursing what appeared to be two shattered hip joints. The giant Mech was practically
defenseless, scraping along the ground with hopes of catching a foothold that might help it return
to a standing position. The Mech’s deadly autocannon now faced into the ground. Devon
couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the pilot’s dilemma.
In addition to the Shootist’s damage, a Raijin and Shadowhawk were also among the wounded
Blakist machines. The Raijin, a relatively new design among Inner Sphere scout Mechs, had lost
a large portion of its left side. The Mech spilled bright energy from underneath its crushed
armor, a sign of a debilitating engine hit. Another shot there and the machine would probably go
critical into a fusion engine explosion. The Shadowhawk, on the otherhand, was in better
condition. Now missing its primary weapon, the Mech still sported most of its armor and other
weapons. Seeking to exact some kind of revenge on its attackers, it was now closing range to
attempt a deadly physical attack.
Deciding to aid one of his own men, Devon took aim and fired at the Shadowhawk. He hoped
to slow its momentum and give his own warriors a better chance to prevent the enemy’s physical
assault. Once again, all of Devon’s weapons hit his target. This time around his target took
massive damage to its chest. Each of his Gauss slugs bore holes into the Shadowhawk’s right
side while the particle cannon damage fried away the last of the 55-ton machine’s torso armor.
Black smoke began to pour from the wounds immediately, indicating some kind of gyro
damage. Before the Shadowhawk could move any closer, it lost its balance and toppled over as
if it had fallen unconscious. Devon winced as the huge machine smashed into the ground. The
impact was likely to have broken more than one of the pilot’s bones.
“Good shooting, Star Colonel Carns. You bring honor yet again to our temporarily assigned
star,” Mechwarrior Cecil spoke. The young man was Devon’s best pilot and rated as top
gunner in the Nova Cats’ division of the Strider’s Strikers unit. Cecil was also the only pilot
Devon feared losing to in battle. The ristar pilot seemed to be unbeatable.
“You honor me with your compliments, Cecil. Now let us get back to punishing these surats.”
Suddenly warning klaxons blared to life once more as Devon’s Direwolf tried to warn him of the
incoming artillery fire. Before he could determine the angle at which he was being attacked, the
massive Arrow IV missile impacted against his left leg. Disrupted by the explosion, his sensors
and damage displays jumped off the charts before settling into a more depressing status report.
His left leg now sported just over seven percent of its original armor. Luckily, none of the
machine’s internal structure had been damaged in the attack. Before giving it any more thought,
he decided to turn his attention back to the opponents he might next attack.
Devon looked to the rear-displaying portion of his viewscreen. It seemed that an enemy
Rifleman was plotting to sneak around Devon’s Direwolf for a shot at the larger Mech’s
backside. Moving the 100-ton Direwolf’s body as quickly and smoothly as he could, Devon
positioned his right arm into the enemy’s firing arc by twisting his machine at the torso.
Immediately the Rifleman’s pilot tried to take advantage of Devon’s disappearing weakness, its
guns belching forth heavy autocannon fire. While Devon could not wholly protect his back, he
gladly took most of the damage on his more heavily armored right arm.
Glancing down at his sensors, Devon was surprised at the amount of damage the smaller Mech
had dealt him. He must be using the larger of the new rotary autocannons. Devon opened
his commlink again.
