CLASSIC BATTLETECH CATALYST game labs

It's always administered in conjunction with caffeine, that's what I was trying to say. Sorry for the bad choice of words.

(Note to self: Do not post when intoxicated)

Yes, it was Boris.

And I feel sorry for what is about to happen to the Firestarter and Shadowhawk.

Chapter 6: More Boring Characterization

Largely in the ether between Fort Lisa and the Royal Palace
Macintosh

"He's not doing too bad," Captain Savoy commented as he watched the lone Warhammer on the screen in front of him. "At the very least, he's pretty good in the cockpit, though this doesn't tell us shit about his ability to work in a team."

He was watching the progress of Palmer's final exam from the comfort of his office. On the screen, the Warhammer's two opponents were closing in again, this time determined not to get caught seperately. The Warhammer swung around to concentrate on Zhadanov's firestarter. A rookie would have probably concentrated on the shadow hawk.

Two hundred kilometers away, Count Degrassy was also watching the simulated fight unfold, communicating with his mech company commander over a speaker phone. "He was a commissioned officer and instructor in the TDF," he pointed out.

The Shadowhawk had finally slipped behind Palmer's Warhammer, and Astares was doing his best to capitalize on that. Palmer in the meanwhile savaged Zhadanov's mech, easily weathering the lighter machine's return fire.

"A commissioned officer and instructor for a periphery state," Savoy returned. "If Ironbox is any indication, having another Taurian on the team is a bad idea. Besides which, they fired him."

The Firestarter came to a stop. Its training program had declared it dead. The Warhammer began to sluggishly turn as its pilot placed his full attention on the shadow hawk. "I mean, look at that, he's being reckless, pushing his machine that hard."

Count Degrassy felt a degree of mirth at that statement. "So far, he's downed three of your warriors," he said. "Including the cadet you were ready to accept over him. You aren't doing well arguing your case."

The two mechs were circling each other now. The Shadowhawk was hammering away at the larger mech as quickly as its guns could recycle. The Warhammer was playing it cautious, relying heavily on its secondary weapons while its heat debt slowly came down.

"Like I said, I'm not doubting his skills as a pilot," Captain Savoy said. "But you aren't giving me enough time to break him in. "

"We only have a narrow window, Captain," Count Degrassy insisted. "The Taurians already know what's on Serenity. We have to act before they can."

"Yeah, and that's another thing, how are the new guy and Ironbox going to respond if this comes to blows? I need the training lance with me. Without them, I could find myself in a crapton of trouble if two of my people decide they don't want to fight, or worse yet, turn on us."

One of the Warhammer's gun arms dropped into an at rest position as Palmer brought the other back into play. The Shadowhawk began to hobble. Both combatants were being worn down, and yet they continued to pound on each other. It was just a matter of time now.

"Absolutely not," Count Degrassy declared. He felt a tremor in his living hand and reached for a bottle on the corner of his desk. Three white pills from the bottle went into his mouth. "If you're right, then you'll place the cadets at risk. If you're wrong..."

"If I'm wrong, then they get some low risk field time. If I'm right, they might be what we'll need to get us out of trouble. I know you're more logical than this, my lord. She's as ready as she'll ever be."

"No," Degrassy felt the calming affects of the drugs begin to sweep over him, but it still wasn't enough. "You can take Cadet Astares..."

"If I have to leave one behind it would be Dickey," Count Degrassy seemed scared to death of placing his wife at risk. Savoy couldn't say he understood. It was well known that she wasn't much of a wife, but the whys and hows didn't matter. He had more than just her to worry about. "He's a half trained child, Amy at least has academy training. This is how it's gotta be, My lord. Otherwise, you're going to have to find yourself another company commander. Hell, maybe this Palmer character can lead the unit for you. If Amy puts out for him, I bet you can convince him to leave her behind."

Simulated damage caused the Shadowhawk to drop to one knee. It was clearly beaten, but Palmer continued to hammer away at it, making sure. Count Degrassy felt his blood run cold watching it.

"You're crossing more than one line, Captain," he warned, trying to keep down his feelings of panic.

"My lord read my service file," Savoy replied. As with a lot of the warriors under his command, he wasn't with i Company entirely by choice. "Like you said, we're on a time limit. How bad do you want this thing on Serenity?"

The Shadowhawk finally slumped to the ground.

"Very well," the count heard himself say. His hand was trembling as he openned another desk drawer and took out a framed picture. "If you can't bring her back unharmed, don't bother returning."

-----

Less ethereally located

There was a field camp just past the next rise. A Thunderbolt stood by, ominously overlooking the camp. At first, Sam was expecting another fight... he'd already pushed his luck enough, he probably couldn't handle another machine already scrapping on his level... fortunately (mostly for his pride) the mech was not active.

"Pull in, pick a parking spot, and power your mech down," Grannysmith Lead instructed him. "We'll have coffee and stimulating conversation wating for you."

"Just like home, Granny lead," Sam acknowledged as he brought his Warhammer to a halt in what seemed a pretty ideal spot next to the Thunderbolt. Shutdown proceedure seemed to take longer than usual, but no matter how much he wanted the coffee, Sam didn't rush it. "You did me proud, old girl," he said as he disconnected his neurohelmet.

The goosebumps started as soon as he cracked the hatch open and the cool outside air invaded the cockpit. Even without the rigors of real combat, the internal temperature of cockpit had climbed quickly. "Millions of c-bills of military hardware, you'd think someone could work on adding some extra insulation."

He was halfway down his rope ladder when his former opponents cleared the hill looking for their own parking spaces. By the time he made it the rest of the way down, he found a strangely dapper officer waiting for him.

"An impressive performance," the officer said in Grannysmith Lead's voice. "Four opponents downed with only moderate damage sustained yourself. I'm Leutnant Sean O'Connor, and I'll be your lance commander."

Standard mechwarrior's kit of a vest and shorts, plus shaved temples, a Lyran spin on his rank, and a swagger stick. The swagger stick was what kinda threw Sam. "Sam Palmer," he said, accepting the offered handshake. "I fought 'em piecemeal. If they'd properly ganged up on me things would have been different."

Leutnant (leftenant?) O'Connor had a firm handshake. "Perhaps, but the intention was to test you, not defeat you. Otherwise I would have taken my own machine out to greet you."

"The Thunderbolt's yours I assume," Sam said. "That would have about done it."

O'Connor nodded his agreement. "I believe I promised you coffee. Walk with me, let us discuss your fellow warriors before they have a chance to catch up."

Sam followed on the promise of coffee. He noticed the camp around them looked pretty empty... way empty, just short of being packed up. "You have nubes critique your employees often?"

"Unless you're lying about your resume, you would have the proper experience. Please, your thoughts."

Sam considered his response for a bit. "The firestarter pilot looked damn good shooting, running, doing all that, but he could use a little less caution. He was about the only one of us treating it like it was the real thing, and it made him nervous."

"Mechwarrior Zhadanov," O'Connor said. "Our lance fourth. He's used to watching his back, the whole lone Capellan in a company full of Davions. He hasn't assimilated well. It's the primary reason he's with us, our lance is composed entirely of foreign born mechwarriors, now that you're here. Hopefully he should learn to get along with us better than the Davion led lances."

"Who else is with us?" Sam asked.

"Ross Astares, late of the Magistracy of Canopus." Sam wondered if there was a reason that O'Connor omitted any mention of rank or title. "He piloted the second Shadow Hawk you faced."

"Which makes Zhadanov our lance scout," Sam concluded. "I suppose keeping himself alive works for that, but a scout's gotta be willing to take risks. This Astares kid looks pretty solid, but I'm guessing not much field time."

"What makes you say that?" O'Connor didn't sound surprised so much as facinated.

"He flinched. Out there when I played chicken with him, he flinched and jumped out. In half a moment he suddenly wondered if shit was getting real and ran before I could hit him. An experienced guy would have called the bluff."

"And what if you hadn't been bluffing?"

Sam shrugged. "A Shadow Hawk can't fence with a Warhammer. He can barely hit harder than the Firestarter that was supposed to be backing him up. In close, at least he can kick, and my mech's got about as much armor as he does. It won't give him an edge, but it will make him somewhat less outclassed, maybe let him hurt me enough to give his friend a fighting chance. If he'd stood his ground, I would have had to back off and they would have been tag teaming me a lot quicker."

"Sound advice," O'Connor concluded. "And what did you think of the other two?"

"The stinger driver should be on KP for a month," Sam said. "RAM net don't work if you look like a mech with a leafy tarp over it. The first Shadow Hawk knew he was outmatched, and pushed as hard as he could anyway. If that's because he accepted it was a sim and knew he had nothing to lose, then I wouldn't mind him as a wingman. If it was because he's just that crazy, he's gonna get himself killed."

"Perhaps a little bit of both," O'Connor said. "She was your rival for the posting, and about the only way she could hope to get in is if she could beat you."

"She..." It didn't take Sam long to make the connection."You're not his fragile little trophy wife." Bloody hell. "That was the countess?"

"Pulled out of Albion a year before she could graduate as an officer," O'Connor explained. "Now she's a cadet in the training lance, such as it is, until the baron decides she's fit for a combat position. I'm guessing that time will come when she loses her youthful features."

Sam was glad he wasn't the only one who saw it. "It's a waste of talent."

They arrived at a table towards the center of the camp with a coffeepot and a set of plastic disposable cups set out on it (there was food as well, but Sam barely noticed it). Sam wasted no time in filling a cup. It was exactly what he expected, strong, foul, the kind of coffee that didn't so much wake you up as punish you for even considering being tired. Good working coffee.

"Cadet Kendall-Degrassy is nobility, Mr. Palmer." O'Connor stated matter of factly. "Her bloodline carries with it considerable responsibility along with the perks. A noble heritage is not something that can be ignored lightly."

To Sam's ears that sounded like his new CO was speaking from personal experience. A Lyran officer on the other side of known space leading a lance of misfits in a company of probably more misfits, and not even a merc company. I wonder what brought you here. "I can't speak to that, Leutnant," he said. "All I know is I know talent when I see it."

O'Connor nodded his approval. "As do I," A messenger shuffled over from a tent with an antenna sticking out of it. O'Connor accepted the message without a word being exchanged. "How do you feel about being Lance Second?"

It was an interesting question, really. One Sam didn't have much of an answer for. Nobody had given him much of a chance to figure out how he'd feel about anything. "I think there are a couple of guys ahead of me in seniority."

"Neither with command experience," O'Connor said. "Astares is too inexperienced, and Zhadanov has trouble grasping that he's part of the lance. You have command experience, and your analysis of your lancemates is flawless. You are the logical choice."

Sam hated to admit it, but O'Connor was probably right. "Okay, I'm your man. What time to we leave, boss?"

O'Connor raised an eyebrow. "The message or the mostly deserted camp?"

"A little of both," Sam said. He finally noticed the sandwiches on the table and picked one up. "Plus the other mechwarriors haven't caught up yet, so either they walk really slow to where the food and coffee is, or you've got them sitting in their mechs waiting to head back as soon as we're done here."

O'Connor nodded. "We leave planet at first light," he said.

"Where are we off to?"

"When I know myself..."

-----

TCS Francis Marion
Still outbound from Taurus

This time it was the command lance's turn in the simulator, with all three of the company's Subalterns watching the exercise. There's always the desire for revenge when Kevin's got his own unit on the line, at least at first. As much as the command staff of Echo respected each other, Kevin pushed them hard, and it was natural to want to push back.

The desire inevitably faded once they noticed how hard Kevin tended to push his unit all on his own.

"Long, don't wander too far out. Head west, around the diner."

"The diner is lousy cover, sir!" Long was getting more argumentative by the moment. "The bank's a better... SHIT! VICTOR, EIGHTY METERS PAST THE BANK!"

Sig and Lyanna were trying desperately not to crack up as they watched Cornet Long's Shadowhawk try to get away before an assault mech tore his machine to pieces. The scenario was called THK-7. It was intended as a team building exercise, hunting multiple contacts in an urban environment, each one too large for an individual mechwarrior to engage sucessfully alone. The point was to make sure the entire lance knew to stick together, work together to take down their prey. If a warrior wandered too far away from his group, he had a good chance of running into one of the other targets solo, just like Long had just done.

"Thank you for that, Senior Cornet!" One of the few times that Kevin made use of Long's full rank, and it wasn't the least bit complementary. "You know, I was just thinking this Zeus here wasn't enough of a challenge. Thank you for complicating the lives of your lancemates by being such a complete tool." None of the targets became "live" until they were encountered, when lance member passed within a certain distance of them. Once that happened, they'd imediately work to close ranks and work together with any other live units. Wandering outside of your current target's sector was a good way to wake up other targets and find yourself fighting a lot more than you could handle. "Command two and three, keep the Zeus busy if you can, Command one is going to save the nublet. Command four, DELAY HIM!"

Long did not acknowledge the order, but Sharon saw his mech come around to face the assault mech chasing him, just in time to nearly have an arm torn off by the Victor's autocannon. It was just enough to make Sharon want to act. She hit a button on the Console. "Command four, suggest you..." before she could say anything else, the comlink filled with static.

"No comments from the peanut gallery," Kevin said over the group comm.

Sig laughed. "Did you really think he'd let you give the kid advice?"

Sharon shook her head. "If he pushes Long much harder, he's going to break."

"He'd say better here than where it really counts," Lyanna pointed out. On the screen, Long's Shadowhawk was valiantly trying to go toe to toe with the assault mech in front of him. It wasn't going well. "First thing he'll tell him after the run is over is that he's not a hero."

"Which is a sucky thing to hear," Sig said, "since it seems like every mechwarrior wishes they were, but it's what he needs to hear."

They were probably right, though it wasn't easy to watch the Victor mercillessly tear into Long's Shadowhawk, shrugging off his own feeble response.

"Well, he is delaying the Victor," Lyanna pointed out. "Here comes Kevin."

Kevin's mech was shooting down a side road at an unsettling pace, something his machine was perfectly suited for. "Ten Bulls says he can't take the corner." Sig said.

"He'll take it," Sharon said. "He won't plow into a building where the Cadets can see him."

Kevin's mech reached the corner at nearly a hundred and fifty KPH. Rather than stop, rather than crash into a building or execute an impossible turn, the mech shot straight up, slowly spinning in the air to bring its guns inline with the Victor (now below him).

"Cheating," Sig declared. "He would have never tried that in real life, a direction change like that would have kicked his intestines out his nose."

"I accept small bills," Sharon said with a smile.

"He didn't make the corner. Going straight up is not making the corner."

On the screen, the Phoenix Hawk LAM's lasers slashed into the Victor's upper body. It was enough to get the simplistic computer brain's attention. The Victor swung away from Long, raising its main gun up and letting go a long burst from the autocannon. The sky around Kevin's LAM exploded.

"Flak!" Kevin shouted over the group comm. "Dick move!"

Lyanna busted out laughing as the Phoenix Hawk fell straight down and slammed headlong into the Victor.

"I think he got him." Sig said. "Which one of you gave the Victor flak shells?"

"I did," Sharon said. "Third ammo bay. The Atlas and Orion have some too, but I don't think they're going to get that far."

Elsewhere on the field, the Zeus exploded as its reactor suddenly lost containment. "Zeus is down... Crap!" McDaniels didn't sound pleased. "Command two went with him!" Reynolds and his Commando had probably delivered the killing blow on the Zeus, a flight of short range missiles into the back of the machine, but he'd been too close when the mech had gone up. "One, what's the plan?"

"This is Four, I think One's down... wait one..."

The cloud of debris cleared to show Kevin's Phoenix Hawk and the Victor in a tangled mess on the street, each still moving, each desperately beating the crap out of the other with their bare hands (or gun barrels) and...

"Holy crap, that's Kevin's own leg!" Lyanna exclaimed.

The Phoenix Hawk was down to using its own severed leg as a club against the pinned Victor.

"Why won't you just die!" Kevin shouted at his enemy as he hammered away at it. The Victor struggled to rise, trying to throw off Kevin's mech, either throw it off or beat it to scrap.

Eventually, it managed the first one. Kevin's mech slipped off the Victor and crashed to the ground. The Victor slowly rose, just in time to have autocannon shells and missles rip into its back. As it turned to face Long's Shadowhawk, Kevin propped his mech up on one arm and lanced into the enemy with a heavy laser. Finally, the Victor fell.

"That's why we don't go wandering off alone," Kevin declared. "Command Lance, status check."

"This is Three, I've seen better days, but I've got some fight left in me."

"This is Four, I've..." Long hesitated. "I'm still combat capable."

"Command Four, Buuuull-shit!" Kevin wasn't the least bit sympathetic. "I can see you from here, you're one leg shy of being as bad off as me. Command One is a wreck. Down to one gun, can't convert, and... oh yeah, I left my leg stuck in a Victor. Command Three, take the fresh meat with you and continue the sweep. Four, you aren't a hero. Stay behind Three, do what he says, and try very hard not to be noticed."

"Command One," Every now and then Long seemed to develop a spine. "Suggest we call it a loss."

"Negative Long," Kevin said. "If we were being graded on common sense, your little Stall the Victor with your Face stunt would have already flunked us. Selective common sense earns no points here.  Continue as ordered."

"They might have a chance against the next guy if it's the Orion," Lyanna said. "The Atlas will eat them."

"You know," Sig said, "I'm beginning to wonder if the Training Command ever intends to give us winnable scenarios."

"Kevin and Sharon have both beaten this one," Lyanna pointed out.

"And some day someone will beat La Mancha," Sig said. "Doesn't mean it's meant to be beaten."

Sharon felt a degree of pride for having beaten THK-7, but she knew her victory had been as much luck as anything else. "It's realistic," she said. "We've all seen Fed troop estimates. These are the scenarios the Protector wants, just in case someday he's right."

"Heh," Sig laughed. "It's a bad sign when you're hoping your Cinc is crazy."

Enjoyable read

They got...rickrolled? Ugh!

Talk about adding insult to injury.

Funny enough, when I've gotten headaches that could be treated with pain-killers (and the pain-killers will work-which in my case is RARE-I can't take Ibuprophen, it lights me kidneys on fire and makes me bleed in places I'm not supposed to bleed in)  I've found that the old, staid formula with Excedrin (Caffeine and Aspirin) works pretty good-better than straight aspirin and often better than Tylenol.  (I'm still scared to use the shit though- IIRC, aspirin and Ibuprophen basically work on the same mechanism.  I havent had ill effects from aspirin...yet.)

Caffeine and Tylenol is about the only thing I can take that will even partially suppress the headaches I've been having. Of course the Caffeine then triggers another, somewhat different, slightly more manageable headache...

Anyway, this story is on hold... kinda... probably. I plan on doing scenario writeups for the Battle of Port Dompair and Echo Company's last training run (yes, you too will have a chance to take on THK-7!). But I've actually figured out how I want the ending to look in Strangers in a Strange Land, and I've got another story that I haven't gotten past the prologue yet, so...

It is kinda fitting since the King was suffering from Excedrin Headache number .357...