Slackers of the Inner Sphere
Chapter 2: Mad Coyotes and Davion's
Mercenary sector
Harlech, Outreach
Chaos March
1st July, 3064
"Hey, Major." Captain James 'Biggles' Taplin ran after Swindelli, the brightness of his Hawaiian shirt hurting the other mans bloodshot eyes, "You said I could select my own people. I already have three pilots from my old unit lined up to fill out my Lance."
"And I told you that Kobayashi had final say in the matter." Swindelli paused as the base of the ladder, "You think you can talk him round, be my guest, but you have to catch him before he disappears…"
Taplin was already running for the distant door and the receding dot that was Ethan Kobayashi.
"Let us see here." Baker looked over the top of the file at the young woman sitting in the chair opposite him, "Lin-Fu Shen, born on St Ives April 20th, 3044. Both parents' were members of the Free Capella Movement. Learnt to pilot a BattleMech at a young age, scoring higher in gunnery than anyone else in your unit, but still an under-average pilot. One of the few survivors of the 'Black May' attack's and the subsequent invasion of the Compact by the Capellan Confederation, you ended up on Solaris VII."
"How do you know so much about me?" Shen asked.
"I'm not finished yet." Baker looked surprisingly calm, "Entered the lower arenas piloting a battle-damaged Men Shen OmniMech. You did very well but found it difficult to adapt to the politics of the compaction and finally quit, trading in your Mech for a new PH-6D Phoenix Hawk and passage here. Every unit you have applied to join has rejected you; many of them telling the Mercenary Review & Bonding Commission that you have a major attitude problem."
"I don't have an attitude problem: they had a problem with my attitude."
"Indeed. If you were to be offered a place in the Slackers, would you accept it?"
"Yes."
"Good. Grab your kit and find a bunk; you're hired."
"O'Hara." A rather sleepy female voice answered the phone.
"Charlie, it's me, Biggles." Taplin stood leaning against the outside wall, rubbing his eyes, "You're in. Get the others together and get other here ASAP."
"How'd you pull that off?"
"I told the guy who really calls the shots here that if he trusted me, he had to trust you guys, and that if you didn't get the slots, I'd walk."
"You took one hell of a risk, sir: he cold have told you to pack your bags and get lost."
"They need experienced officers; the last guy they recruited is some collage boy from the Davion Outback who thinks he can pilot a Mech. I'm sure the Major's planning to con the guy out of his Mech first chance he gets."
"What's he riding?"
"A goddamn Templar! He's only get equipment for the primary configuration, but that's not any problem. I tell you, there's something funny about this unit, something, off."
"Sounds risky. You sure you want us to be a part of this?"
"What choice do we have? No one else will take us, and we don't have any more money. It's the Slackers, or we have to sell one of the Mech's just to cover rent."
"I here you boss. Ok, I'll get the guys up and we'll be over soon as."
Marcus Steele looked at the three MechWarriors standing in front of him. Two of them had formal training: one had been injured in combat and invalided out, while the other was still technically AWOL from the LAAF.
Steele couldn't help but grin when he remembered that he was still wanted for Grand Theft BattleMech in that very same realm.
Of the files Kobayashi had given him, these three were the only ones who'd been interested enough in the job to return his calls. This limited his options to almost zero. Short of looking at the pilots the other Lance Leaders rejected, he could do nothing.
"Ok, you have the placements." He eyed them coolly, "And before any of you feel the need to ask, Aff, I was once a Star Captain of Clan Coyote. While I will not hold you to those same high standards, I will under no circumstances allow you give anything less than your best. For you, this is the preverbal Last Chance Salon: if you wish to remain MechWarriors, I will help you. If you wish to be forgot by the universe, I will not stop you. Any questions?"
"Yeah, I got one." Randall Harley was the third member of the group, a former pirate who'd served with the Northwind Highlanders for two years after going strait, "Do we get hazardous duty pay for serving alongside some of the clowns in this circus?"
"Oh, I think I like you already." Steele smiled.
"Thaddeus Hardcastle, although it says here you prefer to be called Tad." Baker looked at the man sitting rather uncomfortably in the chair opposite him: he was easily 7-foot tall, and must have weighed 250-lb, and every time he loved, it was obviously all mussels, no fat.
"Yeah, Thaddeus makes me sound like a stuck-up officer." Hardcastle smiled, displaying a set of immaculate ivory teeth.
"Indeed." Baker nodded, "Born on Nox in the Free Rashague Republic, your family moved to Tukayyid to escape the Clan invasion. You joined the KungsArme the day after your 18th birthday and started MechWarrior training. You chose to concentrate on scout Mech's, but you are rated on several heavy and assault designs."
"Light Mech's are harder to hit."
"True, but I'm not giving up my Templar any time soon. Three years ago you were transferred to the ComsGuard's as part of an officer exchange program. It was then that you acquired your BattleMech, a BEO-12 Beowulf. You served with them for a little over two years, until your unit was caught up in fighting between units loyal to Victor and those loyal to Katharine. Your company was ordered to separate the two forces, only to be shot at by both sides. You were one of only three MechWarriors to escape the firefight with your machines intact, and two member of your Lance died, including your lieutenant."
"Don't feel sorry for him: he was an asshole, always trying to get us killed."
"I'll keep that in mind. Your unit was disbanded, and you used most of your savings to buy your Mech surplus. The rest of your money you spent on passage here. you've tried out for several units, but have been turned down, forcing you to take lodgings at the YMCA. Your Mech is currently being held by the authorises for unpaid port duty."
"Yeah, that's kind of embarrassing…"
"It says here in your file that you were given the call sign 'Sleepy' after you fell asleep in your Mech during a training exercise."
"There's a funny story behind that…"
"I bet there is, but it an wait for another time: you need to go and see the Major about having your Mech released from the impound yard."
"I've got the job?
"You have class and style, not just ability. I need someone who can think on his feet in battle, and you fit the bill perfectly. The job is yours, if you want it."
"Sir, yes sir!"
"Don't sir me: I work for a living."
"How did my life end up like this?" Swindelli asked as he collapsed onto the sofa in his office, "What did I do in a past life to warrant this damnation?"
"I would guess that you were Stefan Amaris." Dimitri Kerensky laughed, grabbing a couple of sodas from the fridge, "Cheer up: things could be worse."
"How?" Swindelli took one of the cold drinks and pressed the can against his throbbing head, "No disrespect, but my command is made up of people that no other unit would touch with a cattle prod. I've got that asshole Kobayashi looking over my shoulder all the time, while my officers are recruiting people at random. That is, those of them that have started recruiting…"
"I'm busy trying to fix that bad hip on my Zeus. You hire some techs and I will have time to recruit MechWarriors."
"We don't have time to recruit any tech's for that sort of work. You heard Kobayashi: our first mission is in five days. We'll be lucky if we have enough time to get our Mech's battle ready, you can forget about anything fancy. There are times I feel that our sponsors want us to fail…"
"Or succeed."
"How so?"
"Think of the glory and honour we will gain if we succeed with so little."
"I'm more worried about being outnumbered ten-to-one."
"What you call being outnumbered, I call a target-rich environment."
"I'll drink to that!"
TBC…