As a scientist, I never put much stock in the Nova Cats' mystical belief that they could somehow catch glimpses of the future in their visions.
It was only quite a bit later that I started to believe. More than that, I think they've done the impossible: the selection and propagation of genetic traits for predicting the future.
-Our Secret War, Frank Meronac
Irece
Irece Prefecture, Draconis Combine
6th November 3068
The assault mech seemed like an unstoppable force of nature as it rampaged across the training field.
"Target at three o'clock!" Descartin tapped in the relevant information on his console, which would then show up as a priority task on Secorra's secondary HUD.
"Aff!" The solahma replied, and the Herald, fresh off the production lines, easily swung the torso around to face off against an approaching Executioner.
Descartin's hands twitched, and he admitted he would have preferred to be at the controls himself, but as it was, Secorra had already done him a great favour by allowing him to ride along in the new Herald for this training run.
He never knew being dispossessed was so depressing. Even jockeying the Kuritan Akuma would have been a lot better than sitting in the backseat of any mech. Hell, he should have asked Hohiro Kurita for at least a lousy Tengu!
Meanwhile, Secorra blazed away happily with the Herald's long range arsenal, a staggering mix of gauss rifle, large pulse lasers, and LRM racks, along with a targeting computer for enhanced accuracy. What made it even more deadly was that it barely built up any excess heat from firing off that prodigious amount of weaponry.
Descartin observed with interest the results of that barrage as the Executioner lost almost two tons of armour, albeit simulated loss, and collapsed onto the ground. The long range firepower of the Herald was indeed almost unprecedented.
Secorra kept the Herald at a safe distance, switching over to his lasers only, and sending a storm of energy darts spraying over the prone form of the Executioner. He might be solahma, but he was not dumb. A prone target was slightly more difficult to hit, and Descartin knew Secorra did not want to waste ammunition on iffy shots under such conditions.
The Executioner climbed back to its feet as the pulse lasers recharged, shrugging off the damage that it had suffered, and came on charging again. Descartin said, "It carries a ultra-heavy autocannon. Best not to get too close."
A grunt from Secorra was his only reply.
The Executioner was within medium combat range now, and the Herald's accuracy climbed up another notch. Descartin took a closer look at the oncoming assault mech, and shouted, "Left torso is hanging open. Zero in on it."
"Aff." The large pulse lasers, with an assist from the targeting computer, could pick off clay targets the size of pigeons at five hundred meters. The rather large area of the Executioner's left torso was by comparison easier to hit, even if the target was moving.
"I will not be going down so easily!" Star Commander Omar shouted over the comms. True to their natures, clan warriors did not like to lose, even in training. Especially to solahma.
"Actions, not words, cub." Secorra said dismissively as he blasted his way through the Executioner, dropping the assault mech with the loss of an entire limb and torso. Due to the benefits of clan extra-light engine technology, the Executioner was still capable of fighting, but everybody knew the outcome already.
As Omar struggled to get his mech upright again, Secorra simply walked over and pointed his guns at Omar's cockpit. "Yield."
"Aff, I yield." Omar said reluctantly.
All of a sudden, the damage on the Executioner, simulated computer generated images that mimicked actual combat damage on the mechs, disappeared from their screens. Advanced CGI technology for training had not been part of the clan training regime in the past, with all sessions being live-fire with actual material damage, but recent events and lack of manufacturing facilities for the clan had forced them to use such training technology to conserve their supplies.
Truthfully speaking, Descartin thought it was a great idea. Such technology allowed them to keep at working their warrior skills over prolonged periods, instead of the one-off sessions with live ammunition and actual battle damage, plus the occasional casualty. It was also far less wasteful, even if there was not the same sense of danger and caution that live combat required.
After ten minutes, the two mechs marched into a hangar in the training base, bustling with technicians and warriors. Secorra powered down his mech, and Descartin clambered down to greet the ranking officer.
"Well, how was it?" Star Colonel Kalvin Rosse asked.
"A most impressive fighting design. The long range damage capacity and accuracy is incredible." Descartin glanced up at the Herald. "I wish we had such machines back in the invasion."
"So do I," Rosse agreed. "But it is all water under the bridge now. The Herald will be our standard garrison assault mech, phasing out the old Star League vintage designs and the Mad Cat Mk IIs we had been using to plug holes in our ranks." The tone of Rose indicated that he had no great love for the Diamond Shark produced Mad Cat Mk II. "Along with the Supernova and the Highlander IIC, our second line units should be able to stand up to any Inner Sphere or even clan front line opposition."
Descartin nodded. The ease with which the Herald had taken down the Executioner showed that it was capable of holding off any enemy mech in a slugging match. The cheap cost of the design and its endurance would be a potent combination. Simulations matching the Herald against the Mad Cat Mk II showed that the new design only suffered in offensive manoeuvres where speed was important. Otherwise, for garrison duties, the Herald was very much superior.
Winters bowed slightly to Rosse, "Thank you for this eye opening trip, Star Colonel."
"No problem. Besides, it was Star Commander Secorra who wanted this." Kalvin flicked his eyes at the approaching solahma warrior.
"And it was my way of thanking you, Descartin." Secorra smiled as he held out a hand, "It was a pleasure fighting by your side."
Descartin shook his hand solemnly, "Likewise. I never thought I would be saying this, Secorra, but thank you for my life."
"We are warriors. No matter what our differences in the past, in the midst of battle, we are comrades."
Descartin smiled, "Aff. We are not so different after all."
"Indeed, we are not, no matter our clan, the military we belong to." Kalvin added. "More than ten years ago, Winters, we were trying to kill Kuritans as quickly as we could see their mechs. Now, they fight by our side. And throughout it all, we are still the same, fighting for honour, for our loyalties. The fates laugh at us."
"It was an honour, Star Colonel." Descartin offered his hand to Kalvin, who shook it warmly. "And speaking of the fates, I have my own destiny to seek." He turned to Secorra. "Perhaps one day, we shall fight again side by side."
Secorra grinned, "Go, my friend. And I shall await the day when we might again fight together in a glorious cause."
Descartin stepped out of the hovercar, chauffeured by Workul. Workul and Tina followed him out, and Descartin was struck by the sight, as though he was retracing his past.
"Go back to the base," he ordered them. "I will call for you when I need to get back to New Barcella."
The exercise field in front of him, the hard-packed soil trampled by countless boots, wetted with rain and then baked by the unforgiving sun into something that could withstand even pounding mech feet. Several slightly decrepit buildings with the insignia of the Nova Cats painted on their sides stood to one side of the field.
The rows of cadets marching across the field made Descartin smile in melancholic memory. Was it not so long ago, that I was one of them?
Irece was a different planet from Barcella, and even the colour of the sky was a slightly different shade of blue, but it was all too familiar. Descartin stumbled slightly, his eyes seeing other scenes from his past. Faces of his sibkin flitted past his mind, and he found he could still attach names to the faces.
Those days in the sibko were some of the best in his life. Nothing except pushing oneself to the limits. No need to wonder if they were fighting for the right things, doing things that ate away at their souls at night. Just point where they were told to, pull the trigger, and shoot at lifeless targets until all they saw in their first Trial of Position were just huge metal targets instead of machines piloted by living, breathing human beings. Life was so much simpler. To become a warrior, that was all they had to do.
"Stay here." He told Workul and Tina. "If it is too hot, you can get back into the hovercar." Both of them did so with visible relief. Descartin shook his head, then started walking to the nearest building.
He was almost to the entrance when a female instructor walked out. She halted at the sight of him, and Descartin recognized Jazelyn with a tinge of surprise.
"Instructor Jazelyn!" He called out. He noted the grey and white hairs on her head, as well as the wrinkled lines of her face. She is old. And Varro Drummond would be even older. Is this what Biccon Winters wanted me to see? My own future? Or something else?
"Descartin. It has been a long time." She did not seem too surprised at his presence. "Biccon Winters told us of your arrival." She smiled slightly. "Come."
She led him into the building. They walked past the faded and sparse walls of the barracks, lined by training rooms and classrooms. Some of them were even occupied. They walked past a room full of teenage cadets listening to a scientist on mech construction.
Some of the cadets were sleeping on their desks, oblivious to the world. Descartin grinned, remembering occasions where he sneaked in a nap or two himself. The more attentive ones looked up when they saw him walk past, curiosity writ large on their faces.
Jazelyn stayed quiet throughout their short trip, but that was fine by him.
They entered the Training Commander's office, and he was not surprised to see the grizzled form of Varro Drummond sitting behind a desk. Old reflexes came to the fore, and Descartin stood to stiff attention.
Varro smiled wryly, "You are not a cadet anymore, Star Captain."
Descartin shifted his feet to the at-ease position, "I respect my elders." And Varro looked old indeed. He had lost a great deal of hair, and what remained was totally white. However, Varro seemed more at ease. Looking back, Descartin realised that the officer had been discontent with his position in the clan. Obviously, he had gotten over it.
The older man nodded, "You have gone a long way since I sent you off after your Trial of Position, so many years ago. How many clans, and how many battles have you been through?"
Descartin scoffed, "More than I want to remember."
"And have you ever wondered why?"
"Why what?"
Varro leaned back, and spoke somewhat indulgently, "Why your path was so different. And just how you had managed to bounce from clan to clan, learning their ways, their customs. Was it fate, destiny? And why? What would it lead to?"
Descartin waved the questions away, "Questions I have no answers, and even less use for."
Varro sighed, "That is what most of us have been taught to think. We were told from the moment we are decanted not to look beyond our hands, our weapons. The way of the clans is a harsh path, and few of us would ever have the chance to grasp the greater realities outside of that path. Like you have."
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. "I did not know you were keeping track of my movements." It was not difficult to feel paranoid. How long had Varro been observing him? And more importantly, why?
"It was easy enough when you were with the clans, though you did disappear for the past few months. It was only when Jaime Wolf contacted us that I found out you were on Outreach." Varro paused, then asked, "What happened in the Periphery?"
Descartin stiffened. The memories were still too fresh, too raw. The smell of burnt combat circuits, his own fear, the stench of his own blood and sweat, the heat washing from his weapons fire, the sight of the black mechs, the incandescent light from above, the screams from the mercs, Deserk's last roar…
"The Periphery?" Varro prompted again.
"Nothing there except Death." Descartin said simply. "I lost something of myself there. I do not know what." He was getting a bit ticked off. What was Varro after? He had came here to get answers, not more questions he had no answers to.
"Lost, or gained? Or could a loss be a gain as well?"
"Stop speaking in riddles," said Descartin softly.
"Very well." Varro replied, nonplussed. "Since your first vision years ago, it was clear you were meant for greatness. More importantly, the same scenes you saw, others saw as well. Taken together, they were potent omens of the future, of humanity's future."
"I was the cub, I knew that already. The animals were the various clans I have been through."
"And after that?"
Descartin blinked in surprise. "I have no idea. I did not see anything else."
"But we did, Jazelyn and I. We saw the future, your future, perhaps our future too."
His eyebrows twitched slightly. "What did you see?"
Jazelyn replied this time, "There are two paths. One leads to destruction. The other to unity, or at the very least, the status quo. The outcome may well rest on your choices."
Descartin paused, chewing over her words, before he spoke again. "Describe what you saw."
"It started like the vision you had when you were young. A lone cub, growing as it walked and learnt from the other totem beasts of the clans. Then it encountered an eagle, not of the clans."
Varro picked up where she left off, "After that, Jazelyn and me had different visions. In mine, the cub followed the eagle. A broadsword appeared, keen and deadly, the edge slick with blood. It swung towards the Inner Sphere, and the eagle and the cub managed to slow it by pulling on it. There appeared several other things, like a raging bull, two more swords, a dragon. They all pulled on the broadsword, and it eventually broke. There was a flash of light, and we saw a Cameron star appear."
Jazelyn then spoke, "But mine seemed to herald doom. The cub walked away from the eagle, and the broadsword sliced into the Inner Sphere. The stars themselves grew dark, as though all of humanity fell into everlasting night."
Descartin shivered. He was quite sure he was the cub, but the other elements were still a mystery.
Varro said, "We have told you what we know. We do not quite understand the rest of the vision, but with time comes understanding. The truth shall be revealed."
Winters nodded. It was not as if he could do anything else.
Varro straightened up from his chair suddenly, and smiled. "Enough of this dreary rigmarole of visions and prophecies of doom! Come, I would like to show you around our facilities and what our cadets now go through."
They left the office, and came to a small gym where 11 year old cadets were being drilled with bokken. An old and wizened Kuritan man barked out instructions to the cadets as they went through the movements.
Varro explained, "Since our alliance with the Draconis Combine, I have tried to recruit some of their older samurai as 'guest' instructors for our cadets, teaching them techniques in meditation, self control, and the sword. Not only will they learn more than we ever did, the experience will also enable them to appreciate the Inner Sphere better."
"Old Sasaki teaches them kendo, and there has been a noted improvement in their reaction times since the lessons have started." The training commander noted proudly.
As Varro talked, the old man ordered the cadets to pair off and start sparring. Descartin saw a black haired boy, tall for his age, easily disarm his partner. That boy seemed disappointed at the ease of his victory, and looked bored.
Descartin grinned, and walked forward, picking up a spare bokken from a rack. It was hacked off at one end, but that was fine by him.
Varro looked at him, "What are you doing?"
Descartin grinned back at the man who had trained him as a cadet, "I am going to do to somebody what you did to me on my first day in a training centre."
Varro looked at the cadet, and Descartin noted that both his and Jazelyn's faces were suddenly full of concern. The Kuritan instructor watched Descartin carefully for a few moments, before nodding to himself and turning his attention back to the other cadets, as though giving him permission to intrude.
The cadet boy was still standing, obviously bored before Descartin placed himself in front of him. The boy blinked several times, more than a bit surprised.
"Who are you?" The boy asked.
"Just somebody who wants to spar." Descartin smiled again as he took up a ready stance.
The confused boy looked to Sasaki, who simply waved a hand in his direction. He turned back to Descartin, full of confidence in himself and his abilities. Descartin knew why; he was not wearing his own tabs which indicated his Star Captaincy. No doubt the boy thought he was facing a run-of-the-mill warrior. Never mind that his opponent carried a set of daisho.
Barely 5 seconds later, it was over. The boy found himself gasping for his breath after Descartin had slammed his short bokken across his stomach. If it had been a real blade, the boy would have been eviscerated.
As Descartin looked up at Varro and Jazelyn, he noticed their hands were clasped together, and Varro's mouth was shaped in a thin line.
He leaned down towards the gasping boy, "What is your name, cadet?"
The boy managed to squeak out, "Glaincer."
"Very well, Glaincer. Mark my name, for I am Descartin Winters. You have potential, make sure you fulfil it." He walked away, taking the time to bow respectfully to Sasaki, who bowed back.
"What was that for?" Varro asked as Descartin made his way back to them to continue their tour of the facilities.
"He had potential, that cadet. I only wish to give him something to aim for." Descartin smiled tightly.
"Such as yourself?" Jazelyn replied. "I do not know whether to feel grateful or angry."
"Believe it or not, Varro was my target when I was training. I told myself, that is who I want to be when I am a warrior. It took me years to realise that." Descartin paused, then added, "What is cadet Glaincer to the two of you?"
Varro did not reply immediately, as though thinking over his words. Then he exchanged a meaningful look with Jazelyn, and said, "He is our son."
"I did not realise mixed sibkos were now common." Descartin remarked as he followed them out of the training centre after the tour was finished, and Varro having just given his account of the past fifteen years. "Furthermore, I never expected a trueborn warrior to have given birth in the old way. Jazelyn, why?"
She smiled at Varro as she replied, "Because I wanted so much to pass on my genetic legacy. And since I could not get my bloodname…" she shrugged, "This was my solution."
A spark of realisation occurred to Descartin. "You had a chance at a bloodname, quiaff?" He did not wait for a reply, "And you had to throw it away because of your vision."
"Aff. You are perceptive," Varro remarked. "You could not imagine how angry I was when she told me she was pregnant because she had stopped taking contraceptives. It took me a while to accept that, but now I find myself as proud of the boy as any trueborn spawned from my legacy."
Another question came to Descartin, "He does not know, quineg?"
Jazelyn said, "Neg, he does not know who his parents are. We placed him into a mixed sibko since he was born. He knows he is a freeborn, but it has not deterred him any." She smiled proudly. "His scores threaten to exceed yours."
Descartin shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, that is progress for you."
Varro led him out of the building to a small hovercar. "Come, there is somebody I would like you to meet. I think you would appreciate it."
"You should be dead." Descartin Winters whispered in disbelief at the grotesque face of the man sitting before him. He sat on a chair around the dining table in the kitchen of a picturesque small house, complete with a nice lawn, a field of growing grain, and some livestock.
That was not surprising in itself. It was the identity of the man who ran the place that surprised him.
Trent, formerly of the Smoke Jaguars, nodded his head solemnly, "I have heard of you, Star Captain Winters. It is an honour."
Descartin shook his head to focus himself. "Aff, it is for me as well. I also know of any number of clansmen who would dearly wish to claim your life."
Trent smiled. "We might have fought on opposite sides of the Great Refusal, but underneath it all, outside our loyalties, we are not so different."
"Perhaps." Descartin allowed.
"Dinner is ready!" Trent's wife, Judith Faber, emerged from the kitchen with several steaming pots of food on a tray. Jazelyn and Varro followed with more utensils and food, Varro somewhat grumpily since he had felt it beneath his position. Two young boys, about seven years old with strong chins that were the hallmarks of the Howell bloodline, obviously twins, stared up at Descartin's daisho on a clothes rack with undisguised awe. One of them would occasionally reach up, as though to take the swords, but one glare from their father stopped them.
It looked like any normal home throughout the Inner Sphere from what Descartin had seen on late night holovids in his time in the Inner Sphere, but what made it seem so absurd to him were the people themselves. 4 clan warriors, a former Comstar spy, playing at family. It was a surreal experience, to say the least.
Or maybe, he thought, this is the true reality, and I am the one living in illusion all my life. "I heard from my contacts of the battle between the Ice Hellions and the Cats. Your Timber Wolf was said to have been charged off a cliff, and no body was found."
"Simple." Trent explained. "During the battle, my ejection mechanism was damaged, and when my mech fell over the cliff, I managed to pop my cockpit hatch. Nobody saw me climb out of my mech as it was falling, and I was lucky enough to remain conscious. I jumped out and dug in with my dagger into the hard ice on the side of the cliff. When the battle was over, I managed to climb up the cliff and make my way to the command post."
Varro cut in, "Star Captain Shen Drummond was the ranking officer then, and he made the decision to keep it a secret. Imagine if the Crusaders had known about Trent's survival. They would have stopped at nothing to wipe out our people back in the homeworlds."
Descartin nodded. He had not taken part in the bloody conflict sparked by the departure of the Ghost Bears and Nova Cats, but he had heard plenty of stories as well. Of mindless slaughter and the venting of Crusader frustration on the civilians of the Nova Cats.
"I travelled in secret with members of the clan here, and Khan Santin West arranged to have Judith transported here." Despite Trent's ruined face, he smiled gently at Judith, who smiled back.
She said, "I had to give up my position with Comstar. But when I heard Trent was still alive after I had been told that he was dead, nothing could have stopped me from going to his side."
Trent continued, "We got married almost immediately, and Commander Drummond here was kind enough to allow us to stay near the training facility and keep our skills sharp."
"But you have given up the life of a warrior." Descartin said, "Is such a loss worth it?"
"Neg. I have gained something much greater. Contentment, and peace." Trent smiled widely, and then gestured, "Enough talk for now. Come, let us eat!"
Dinner was simple yet fulfilling. Descartin found himself recalling the meals he would had back on Luthien. He wondered how the Tanakas were doing. Had they managed to survive the battle? Not for the first time, he felt as though he had left a task undone. The Black Dragons were engaged with Hohiro Kurita in a massive conflict, yet he was an outsider, not supposed to be involved. It did not make him feel any better.
After dinner and the cleaning up, he went outside the house to the lawn, and stared up at the night sky. He slowly sipped from a can of local beer, savouring the cool liquid over his tongue.
He heard footsteps, and turned to see Trent. "Yes?"
"I wish to talk to you some more. Varro thinks it is good for you."
Descartin laughed, "Varro always thought he knew what was best for me, even now that I am past thirty-five and belong to another clan." He fixed his gaze on Trent. "I see you and Judith, and then I see Varro and Jazelyn, and I wonder what is to become of the clans. When did we come to this?" He cocked his head in the direction of the house, an the sound of laughter booming out. It seemed that one of the boys had said something silly.
"We learned to be people," Trent said seriously. "We learned there was more to life than battle after battle without resolution." He waved his arms over the farm. "Look at this! When I first arrived, the fields were barren. Nothing grew well here. This place created nothing. I created nothing, not once in all my life as a Smoke Jaguar."
"I had to work hard to learn the skills for farming. To swallow my pride and hire a labourer to guide me. It took time and a lot of effort, but look at me today. People are fed by what I produce here. I have two strong boys, and a loving wife. A family to be proud of. I am finally a creator, Star Captain, not a destroyer. I am giving something back to the universe."
"But never to be a warrior again? It is the dream of every true clansman."
Trent pursed his lips. "I do not deny I miss the thrill of battle. The power that comes from commanding mechs and men in combat. But it is another life, when I was a Smoke Jaguar warrior, and I could not see what else I could be."
The man regarded as a traitor by the clans continued, "Nobody said our roles in life had to be so strictly defined. I am still a warrior, as is Judith. But we are also parents, lovers, and farmers now. When the time comes, I may be a warrior again. I take up each role as the situation demands."
Descartin waited before replying, enjoying the cool breeze on his hair. "You have great wisdom, Trent of the Howell bloodname."
Trent laughed softly. "There will be no more Howells, unless the clan somehow gets resurrected by some miracle. I am content to be just Trent, without a bloodname."
"What about your two boys? What names will they take?"
"It does not matter. They can be whatever they wish to be." Trent grinned slightly. "They are trying to pester Varro into allowing them into the mechwarrior training program."
Descartin raised an eyebrow. "And you will allow that?"
"Aff, next year." Trent nodded. "Despite what I have said about being a warrior, there are still some things that comes from being a warrior that I will never regret. It shall teach them the values of strength, courage, and honour."
"Aff." Descartin agreed. He stayed with Trent for a little while longer on the lawn, talking about their experiences and their future plans. After finishing their beers, they went back into the house, just in time for a impromptu mech combat competition on the holovid system with the boys.
Descartin spent the night in the guest room while Varro and Jazelyn stumbled back to the training facility. The next morning, he would call for Workul to bring him to the spaceport and offworld. He had seen enough. He would find Morgan Kell on Arc Royal and seek the answers he needed from the legendary mechwarrior, a solution to the cursed gift that they seemed to share.
And just maybe, what he was supposed to do with his life.
Yayyyy!!! This chapter is finally up! I had been ridiculously busy recently, but I'm not down and out yet! Between organizing missions for the mercs in my 3035 CBT campaign, to graduation, to dealing with the post graduate studies, life has been one long slugfest. I'm beginning to regret taking up a major in the English Language. Sheesh, the amount of work at the teaching institute…
Neuromancer: I didn't flunk college(got honours in Chemistry and a double major, actually), but I might still be an author! Now, just waiting for the word from BattleCorps.
Affi: Got the hint. Some like it, some don't. In this case, I apologise beforehand for the style. Maybe I'll try something else next time.
Tangmeister: The characters in my fics go through shit no other author would ever dream of putting them through! Really serves to humanise them, instead of the uber-godkings we get in CBT. Okay, it's not as if I don't have munchkins in my fics, but at least not all the main characters are munchkins!
Roastpuff: You're more than welcome to use my fics as a background for your ideas. In fact, I'm flattered. Good luck!
Marwynn: Too busy gaming to write more, eh? And I really enjoy the debates on !
Eddys: My motive for being a teacher is rather mundane. It pays well. :P Oh, and the Uziel is produced by the Lyran Commonwealth on Furillo, Defiance Industries.
Duo: To tell the truth, I'm tired of reading main characters in super duper mechs. When was the last time a main character in CBT got in a lousy 20 tonner? IIRC, Grayson Death Carlyle in a Locust way back in 3025. That's it.
Sphinx: Frank will drive more reasonable mechs, but only after his migraine gets 'cured'. There's a long story there too…
Blackemerald: Real clanners in comp games should be played by maniacs who do nothing but hone their skills in the console. But then, it wouldn't be fun if the average gamer gets beaten to a molten pulp in just 1 minute of action!
Gunderk: Victor treats Frank like a pawn. Totally expendable. As for a Mackie, well, Frank might well get to jockey one of the new Mackies coming out for the Word of Blake. See below.
Werner: Thanks for the encouragement!
UnarmedBystander: Life intervened. Sorry for the delay, but I'm back up now, and gunning!
Now for the Mackie!!!
Type/Model: Mackie MSK-8C
Tech: Inner Sphere / 3070
Config: Biped BattleMech
Rules: Level 2, Standard design
Mass: 100 tons
Chassis: Ford Super H QWA3X Endo Steel
Power Plant: 300 Hermes Fusion
Walking Speed: 32.4 km/h
Maximum Speed: 54.0 km/h
Jump Jets: None
Jump Capacity: 0 meters
Armor Type: StarGuard Excel Standard
Armament:
1 M-7 Gauss Rifle
2 Kinslaughter PPCs
7 Blankenburg Technologies Medium Lasers
1 Improved C³ CPU
Manufacturer: Skobel MechWorks
Location: Terra
Communications System: Superscape Proto with C3i
Targeting & Tracking System: Lightning Zone with Targeting Computer
==Overview:==
"A box with legs" is how one military commander described the Mackie the first
time he saw it. Others saw the Mackie as the future of warfare, and time has
vindicated their judgment. Though the Mackie was first developed in 2439 by
the Terran Hegemony, its existence and that of the Hegemony's entire
BattleMech program was kept secret until 2443, when a lance of Mackies from
the 801st Heavy Armored Regiment destroyed a company of Kurita tanks on the
planet Styx.
The Mackie was the first BattleMech to be mass-produced on Terra, in no less
than six factories. It remained the Hegemony's ultimate weapon until 2455,
when a commando unit from the Lyran Commonwealth stole the plans for
BattleMech construction. The Mackie was produced until the start of the Amaris
Civil War on Terra, and it is believed that General Kerensky took more than
one hundred Mackies with him on his Exodus from the Inner Sphere. Three of
Skobel's Mackie factories on Terra were destroyed in later years.
The other three factories were just recovered by the Word of Blake in Central
Asia on Terra in 3065. The Word of Blake immediately set about upgrading the
lines to produce new Mackies, along with the latest combat technology.
==Capabilities:==
The Word of Blake replaced the old Mackie's inefficient systems with modern
top line systems that were leaps and bounds beyond what it originally had.
New technology has changed the Mackie from an antiquated museum piece to a
staggering juggernaut capable of destroying almost any opposition, even clan
assault mechs.
Armed with a gauss rifle, 2 PPCs, all tied into a C3i network and enhanced by
a targeting computer, the new Mackie can shell out devastating firepower at
long range. A laser battery provides firepower up close.
Deadly at any range, the Mackie is a highly sought after post for Word of
Blake militia pilots.
==Deployment==
Throughout the Jihad, Mackies were often in the forefront of battles,
supplying their deadly and accurate blasts from the rear into the thick of the
action.
Many an unwary mechwarrior had been taken in by the obsolete look of the first
battlemech, only to realize too late that under the old looking armor was a
deadly new design just waiting to pounce.
Type/Model: Mackie MSK-8C
Mass: 100 tons
Equipment: Crits Mass
Int. Struct.: 152 pts Endo Steel 14 5.00
(Endo Steel Loc: 1 HD, 3 LA, 1 LT, 5 RT, 2 LL, 2 RL)
Engine: 300 Fusion 6 19.00
Walking MP: 3
Running MP: 5
Jumping MP: 0
Heat Sinks: 11 Double [22] 0 1.00
Gyro: 4 3.00
Cockpit, Life Supt.: 5 3.00
Actuators: L: ShUALA R: ShUALA 14 .00
Armor Factor: 296 pts Standard 0 18.50
Internal Armor
Structure Value
Head: 3 9
Center Torso: 31 44
Center Torso (Rear): 15
L/R Side Torso: 21 32/32
L/R Side Torso (Rear): 10/10
L/R Arm: 17 32/32
L/R Leg: 21 40/40
Weapons and Equipment Loc Heat Ammo Crits Mass
1 Gauss Rifle RA 1 24 10 18.00
(Ammo Locations: 2 RA, 1 RT)
2 PPCs LA 20 6 14.00
3 Medium Lasers RT 9 3 3.00
2 Medium Lasers LT 6 2 2.00
2 Medium Lasers CT 6 2 2.00
1 Improved C³ CPU RT 0 2 2.50
1 Targeting Computer LT 9 9.00
TOTALS: 42 77 100.00
Crits & Tons Left: 1 .00
Calculated Factors:
Total Cost: 11,882,000 C-Bills
Battle Value: 1,927 (418 for C³)
Cost per BV: 6,166.06
Weapon Value: 2,980 / 2,980 (Ratio = 1.55 / 1.55)
Damage Factors: SRDmg = 33; MRDmg = 28; LRDmg = 16
BattleForce2: MP: 3, Armor/Structure: 7/8
Damage PB/M/L: 5/4/2, Overheat: 4
Class: MA; Point Value: 19
Specials: c3i
Next up is Calderon, as he deals with the Smoke Jaguars. Hmmm… what would Trent think if he knew?