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Barflies, The
Pirates get to do someone elses dirty work
by Kid Chameleon |
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It was like I’d won the lottery - with the prize waiting on Star’s End. A great prize was ours, but we had to get by the enemy to collect it. A rather cruel fate for anyone to be given, a challenge that allowed for survival only through extreme skill, luck and guile. But I guess we deserved it.
I suppose the best place is to start on the day our lives took a dramatic turn, though we thought it was a nose-dive at the time. I was lying in bed after a very wild and exhausting night. I could remember part of it, but not all of it. That usually meant it was a real good night. We were holding the local HPG station for ransom on some planet in the Outworlds Alliance, and ComStar was the only one in the area with any money. Then April came in.
"Sir, ComStar just landed," she informed me, with a worried warble in her voice.
Full of myself and with my mind on other matters, I responded, "Have Don get the filters and let them know we’ll be out in a week, once we’re sure that we got what we asked for."
She shook her head and replied, "They brought ‘Mechs."
I jumped out of bed and started throwing on my shorts and coolant vest, ordering her to go get the ‘Mechs warmed up. I raced down the hall banging on the doors where my pirate gang, Morrison’s Barflies, was sleeping. I burst into Don’s room, where he had the poor fool who’d shot the arm off his Stinger tied to a chair. He was standing there holding a straight razor and swaying his hips to some odd music that was coming from the old 2-D viewer he had Some movie with a couple of guys in a warehouse. I really didn’t care what Don was up to, he had his own pleasures and I left it at that.
"Don, ComStar’s here, let’s go."
"Uh-huh," he replied. As I turned to leave, I saw him grabbing a bottle of solvent the kind we used to strip grease and grime off our ‘Mechs. I headed toward the hanger and made sure everyone got their machines running before the ‘Guards got there. Don, April and I each took our lances out in a a fan pattern, hoping that some of us could break through and get to our Union.
I’d like to say we put up a good fight. Hell, I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but we we’re damn good ‘Mech pilots. But we were pirates - and the ComGuards outnumbered us, and had far better ‘Mechs than we did. Most of us went down damn quick, but I gave ‘em on for the periphery scum.
A foolish Nexus came at me, thinking I was piloting a two-hundred year old ShadowHawk. Well, I was, but it was the Kurita version. His anti-missile system chewed up my LRM salvo, but as he neared to target me with his smaller lasers, I belted him with a PPC to his left leg. The particle beam melted the right thigh region of it’s leg, causing the ‘Mech to fall sharply to it’s left. A follow-up shot took it’s head off. Then an Excalibur caught me. He managed to dodge my fire, then hit me with a full salvo. The gauss slug took me in the center of my chest while missiles peppered my left extremities.
I keyed the Com to see how Don and April were doing. "Purple Hooter or Sex on the Beach, this is Screaming Nazi, anybody copy?"
April replied, "Screaming Nazi, Sex on the Beach is down, along with my three chasers. Purple Hooter is surrounded by two tea-tottlers and his chaser is down. Midori Sour is still up as well, but Mind Eraser is in flames."
"Thanks, Sex, good luck."
"You, too, Screamer." A half-smile crept onto my lips for a brief moment, then I turned my attention back to the enemy.
I caught him in the right arm with my PPC but his weapons missed me wide. Even as I mocked his accuracy, I realized it was over. He’d led me right at a Shootist. He got me with about every weapon he had. His big laser tore at my left leg, while his pulses ripped at my right arm and my center torso again. Then his cannon caught me there, too. A ShadowHawk is a pretty durable machine, but when it takes blows from the two most powerful weapons on the battlefield in close proximity, it doesn’t fare well. My ‘Mech seemed to disintegrate on me.
I think back now and I wonder if I should have ejected and run, but I guess I wouldn’t have gotten very far anyway. So I landed with a crash and laid there until some nice ComGuard infantry gently helped me out of my cockpit. We all got taken to the DropShip, locked in the brig and taken to some God-awful planet somewhere in this vast galaxy.
Now, we hadn’t been the nicest of people, but there "white knights" abandoned their humanity when there were imprisoning us. Beaten, kicked, stabbed, poked and had every body cavity searched, we went through it all. It was amazing, but I found out that 11 of us had survived the fight, only young Jimmy got burned alive in his cockpit.
***
Ah, prison life. At least we didn’t have to deal with many other prisoners. I don’t know how long we were there, we had no idea how long the days or years were for that system, but it was at least a few years. Then one day we were up and put in a big room together. Nine of my people and eleven others crowded together. I guess Jesse and Umbubwai didn’t make it. We looked like the worst drags of society, and that’s probably what we were.
A tall man walked in. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes. He started by calling out my name, "Rhett Morrison."
I wasn’t in the mood for another beating, so I replied, "Yeah."
He didn’t even look up at me, just kept calling out names. When he was done with that, he walked over to a podium. I studied the man some more. He was definitely in the military, he kept himself in good shape, but my money would have been on an intelligence division. A soldier would have given his name and rank.
"I’m giving you all a choice of death or a combat mission," he started out. He actually scared me, he didn’t call us scum or some such; he wasn’t the least bit concerned with us.
A bucktoothed, ugly scoundrel by the name of Joe Bob replied sarcastically, "Oh, I’ll take death." He laughed with a snort. A few nervous laughs faintly filled the air.
The "ROM Agent"’s expression didn’t change at all as he drew his pistol, slid the top of it to chamber a round and shot the poor sop in the head. He looked around the room and asked, Anyone else care for that option?" No one breathed. "Good," he continued, "you’ll be attacking an old Amaris Depot in the Chaos March in 90 days. The next 30 you’ll be given time to get into shape and get familiar with your ‘Mechs, strategy and unit cohesiveness can probably wait until we’re in transit, but everything you need is here." He pointed to a table with data disks and hard copies on it. "Most of the preparation will be up to you, but we will have people to aid you. This facility is yours for the next month, only up the stairs is off limits. Attempt to hurt any of the staff and you will be killed. Any questions?" No one budged.
Except me. I raised my hand and he nodded in my direction. "When we succeed, are we free to go or are you going to kill us?" I asked.
He smiled an evil smile, "Should you survive, you will get to keep your ‘Mechs and do as you please. If you fail, you will be dead. We have no use for you and the ‘Mechs would be more of a hindrance than an asset." With that, he turned and walked out the door. A couple of corpsmen came in and removed the body. Then we were alone.
A dirty, mean looking brigand, Jack Carson, stood up on the podium. "Listen up, I’ll run things here. Follow me, and we’ll beat these bastards with their own ‘Mechs!"
"Sit down and shut up," I replied.
He jumped down and sauntered up to me. Now I’m not a big man, just 5’9", but this guy makes Prince Victor look like Wilt Chamberlain. He was real stocky and wide. "What the hell you know, Morrison? You think you’re ‘Hopper’ Morrison or something?"
I shook my head and said, "No, his son." I took off my shirt and showed them my scars, courtesy of my dad’s neural whip. "Reality is harsher than fantasy, Jack. They aren’t going to let us walk away with their ‘Mechs with out putting some safeguards in place. And where would we go? Do you have a DropShip hidden in your cell? Did your mommy send you a JumpShip to pick you up?"
The truth cracked the pirate’s confidence, but he wasn’t going to back down so easy. He snapped his fingers and three of the other prisoners walked over to join him. "I got a lance Morrison, we’re a fighting force already."
I snickered at his double entendre, and nodded my head to him. "I guess you win, Jack-O, unless anyone wants to support me." He smiled, then frowned as the remnants of my unit formed up behind me, attracting a few of the other prisoners as well. I could see he knew he’d lost, and I responded, "Well, I think I might find a lance you can command."
We spent the next five days getting back in shape and getting to know each other. Incarceration wasn’t too good for physical fitness. Jack turned out to be a hard ass, out to prove he was better than everyone else, but I guess he helped push us harder. Our jailers provided us with a drill sergeant who helped us work out and we actually started getting decent meals. Then on day six, I asked to see our ‘Mechs.
I’d read that we’d be getting 18 ‘Mechs to run in three sets of six, just like ComStar. I guess our captors wanted us to look like ComGuards or Wobbies, there wasn’t any way for us to tell which. We got to a hanger where a lifelong ‘Mech Monkey sauntered over to us, grime covered and sweaty.
He chuckled a bit, "I guess one of ya won’t get a ride, heh heh heh." He gestured at each of the 18 ‘Mechs as he pointed them all out. They were all ComStar/Wobbie ‘Mechs except for perhaps the Venom. "Your ‘Mechs have two major modifications. The first is the newest version of the C3 targeting system, which you’ve probably never heard of before." I’d heard rumors of some Drac targeting system, but had no idea how it worked or was used. "The other," he continued, "is that we’ve replaced your ejection system with a remote detonated explosive device, so don’t go trying to do anything stupid."
So for the next 25 days, we got used to our ‘Mechs and got back into shape. I got an upgraded Black Knight. They’d swapped out the engine for a faster XL, pulled out three heat sinks, and switched the rest to freezers. They added the new "C3" system and upgraded the small laser to a pulse version. They also used extended range large lasers instead of the regular ones.
We grouped into three "pseudo-lances" of six ‘Mechs each. We had a battle lance, support lance and recon lance. I gave Don the support lance and offered Carson his choice of a Shootist or command of the recon lance. His real self showed when he selected the Shootist. I chuckled and let April lead recon. Then we boarded a pair of Unions and headed off into space.
During the two months of traveling, we practiced in simulators and planned our assault strategy. We had been informed that the Capellans had found a cache left behind by Amaris’ troops containing nerve gas. The planet it was located on was sparsely populated so it needed to be destroyed. The Ishara Grenadiers were guarding it, so we had to drop in and destroy it before they could react to us. Typical chain-gang action, but with better ‘Mechs. On the up side, Carson’s attitude improved remarkably once he discovered they’d be fighting the Caps.
The only problem was what to do with Danny "Blood" McGruder,the pilot who’d turned out to be no better than a kid out of the academy. He was the worst pilot and therefore didn’t get a ‘Mech. But it wasn’t going to do us any good to drop him on the planet or to ride with someone. Our "hosts" must have solved the problem, as he disappeared before we jumped into system.
The ride in was a rough one, a three day, 4-G burn from a pirate point. They landed 6 km from the target, dropped us off and left. That was that, we were on our own. No spare equipment, no food, nothing but our ‘Mechs. So I started the march to our destiny.
Doesn’t that sound noble?
We made it four clicks, then we ran into them. We had Philip Batiste out in front, driving his Mercury, which was modified to make it less dangerous than an Ostscout. Damn thing had a probe and the C3 system, no weapons, no MASC, nada. So when he found a pair of Urbies and a pair of Vindies, he came booking back to us. I sent the Nexuses and Venom in close while the Hussars of recon plinked from long range while we moved in. We lost a Nexus, but Recon managed to take them down. So I sent them off to lead the enemy on a wild goose chase, to make a run at by their base camp if it could be found.
As dusk came upon us, we made a run at the cache, but the some Grenadiers blocked our way - about half of them. Running away sounded like a real good idea, but it wasn’t really an option, so my lance took a stand while Don lead his group around their flank, to find the depot. We settled in to wait for the enemy. They didn’t disappoint us.
The light ‘Mechs came at first, popping in and out. But I had a Helios, two Thugs and a BattleMaster in addition to Carson and me. Over 450 tons of walking death wasn’t going to budge for a recon company, so they sent their big boys in. About 15 ‘Mechs surged at us, it seemed like a bunch of those damned Vindies backed up by some bigger machines, a few Warhammers, Catapharacts and even an Emperor. Rain poured down, as if the planet were crying for us.
I spread the lance out into a pentagon, with Carpenter’s Helios in the middle. They moved to surround us with the Vindicators and the exchanges started. I triggered my large lasers and PPC at the Emperor, scoring hits across his torso. He returned fire, connecting with his autocannons and a large laser of his own, sending shards of armor off my Knight. I saw a Vindy fall to the combined fire of the Helios and a Thug. The night flickered yellow and blue with lightening and PPC fire as both sides exchanged flurried shots.
The Emperor closed with me and I hit him with my medium lasers as well as a large and my PPC. Armor melted off his ‘Mech like sweat pouring down an athlete. My ‘Mech shuddered as his lasers evaporated armor and his autocannons pounded down. The BattleMaster fell, a victim of six ‘Mechs concentrated firepower. I saw a Vindicator jump to the top of a rocky hill, to fire down on us.
Then he exploded. Apparently, with two dozen PPCs firing in a small area, it can create build-ups of areas with many electrons and those with very few of them. That will attract lightening, and with the Vindy making himself the tallest metallic object, it went right for him. I took advantage of the momentary confusion and fired upon the Emperor, my PPC and two lasers turning his right arm autocannon to slag. He returned fire and my ‘Mech shook.
I moved closer to him and fired all my torso mounted lasers, further weakening his armor. He returned fire with zeal and I barely kept my ‘Mech upright. I swung my left arm and shattered the remains of his right arm. The sudden loss of weight made him lean to the left and slightly to the back, the correct place for his cockpit to intersect with my fist. Like some punch-drunk boxer, he fell onto his back. Unlike boxing, I didn’t give him a count. I fired all my weapons at his right leg, severing it. Heat washed over me like an oppressive wave and seemed to suck the breathe right out of me. My ‘Mech jerked as a blast hit me from the left, sending me down on one knee. A Warhammer walked toward me, ready to deal a deathblow. But he received it instead. SRMs peppered his ‘Mech as a Buccaneer appeared next to me, the rest of his support lance just over 200 meters away. However, thanks to this new C3 system, it was like they were all firing from where he was. I added my fire, turning the Warhammer into a piece of scrap.
I took the moment to glance at the display, and what I saw wasn’t good. We had only 10 ‘Mechs, all with armor wearing thin and the enemy still had over 20. The Buccaneer exploded from a laser cutting into his ammunition bin, as if to punctuate our situation. I called out in the com system for Don, but got a reply from Pittman, a Kanga pilot.
"Purple Hooter has gone to finish the mission, sir."
I blinked in confusion, just in time to miss a tremendous explosion in the distance. The Capellans pulled back momentarily, and I ordered a withdrawal. A new ‘Mech came running into the battle.
"Screaming Nazi, this is Purple Hooter, I love this Exterminator, can I keep it?" Don asked. I chuckled as we pulled back.
The Cappies weren’t through, though. They surged forward and brought down our poorly armored Excalibur. However, their momentum stopped as Carson moved forward to engage the main body of enemy troops. A Catapharact crumpled on the ground under the hammering of his Shootist’s laser and cutting laser. We swiftly ran off, letting Carson go down in a mob of Capellans.
He must have done some damage, though, as they were stalled for a few minutes, allowing us to escape. Recon radioed to us, telling me that they had found a secluded area to spend the night. Along the way, Don filled me in on how he’d ordered the support lance to continue circling the enemy while he slipped through enemy lines to the depot. He’d loosed his Narc missiles into the ammo stores that were in the cache and had them explode a few minutes later, while he was running back to us.
We reached a small rocky valley where the four survivors of the recon lance waited. They had raided the Cappie’s base camp for food and prisoners. They also reported on where they’d found a few of the Grenadier’s dropships. After a night’s rest, I went to interrogate the prisoners.
And that’s where I found you and your mother, my dear. Now, see that dropship through those trees? Your father commands that one. You’re going to talk him through this radio and convince him that taking us to one of those jumpships up there is in his family’s best interest. Maybe if we get to Outreach in one piece, you might live to tell how Morrison’s Barflies gave you the wildest ride of your life. |
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