Chapter 2: Recruiting

Mercenary Sector

Old Connaught, Arc-Royal

The Lyran Alliance

1st August, 3079

"Hey, Major!" Captain James 'Pounder' O'Connor ran after Steven as he headed for his office, the bright colors of the man's Hawaiian shirt almost paining his superior's bloodshot eyes. "You said I could select my own people. I already got three pilots from my old unit lined up to fill out my lance."

"And I already told you that despite what I'd prefer, Kobayashi has final say in the matter." Steven paused at the base of the ladder. "You think you can talk him round, be my guest. Just make sure you do it before he disappears again…"

Steven smiled, as O'Connor was already running for the distant door and the receding dot that was Daniel Kobayashi.

Okay, let's see here." Rhodes looked over the top of the file at the young woman now sitting opposite him. "Chao-Fu Shen, born on St. Ives April 21st, 3054. Learned to pilot a BattleMech at a young age, scoring higher in gunnery than any of your fellow unit members but still ranking as a below-average pilot. Eventually ended up on Solaris VII."

"How do you know so much about me?"

"I'm not finished yet." Rhodes looked surprisingly calm. "You entered the lower arenas in a damaged Men Shen OmniMech, but finally quit due to the politics, trading your mech in for a new PXH-3D Phoenix Hawk and passage here. Apparently every unit you previously applied to has rejected you, some even going so far as to report you to the MRBC with a major attitude problem."

"I do not have an attitude problem. They just didn't like my attitude."

"Is that so? Well, if you were offered a place in the Sturmoviks, would you take it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Grab your kit and find a bunk; you're hired."

"O'Hara." A rather sleepy female voice answered the phone on the fourth ring.

"Charlie, it's me, Pounder." O'Connor stood leaning against the outside wall, rubbing his eyes. "You're in. Get the others together and get over here ASAP."

"How'd you pull that one off?"

"I told the guy who really calls the shots that if you didn't get the slots, I'd walk."

"You took one hell of a risk, sir. He could've just told you to pack it in."

"Well, they need experienced officers here. The last guy they pulled in was some college kid from the Davion outback who thinks he can drive a mech. Honestly, I'm pretty damn sure the Major's going to con him out of his mech first chance he gets."

"What's he ride?"

"A frickin' Templar! He's only got the equipment for the prime configuration, but that's not the point. Just get everybody over here."

"I hear you boss. Okay, I'll round the guys up and we'll be over there soon."

Captain Marcus Steele looked over the three MechWarriors that stood in front of him. Two of them had formal military training – one had been injured and been released for medical reasons, and the other one was still technically AWOL from the Federated Suns military. He couldn't help but let a smile cross his face when he recalled that he was still wanted for grand theft BattleMech in that region of space.

Of the files Kobayashi had given him, these three were the only ones interested enough to return his calls, and that pretty much limited his options to nada. Short of looking at the recruits turned down by the other lance leaders, he couldn't do anything about it.

"Very well, you have the placements." He eyed them coolly. "And before you have the need to ask, aff, I was once a Star Captain with Clan Coyote. While I will not hold you to those same high standards, I will nevertheless expect nothing less than your absolute best. For you three, this is the proverbial Last Chance Saloon; if you wish to remain MechWarriors, I will help you. If you wish to be forgotten by the universe, be my guest. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one." Lewin 'Bandit' Morris was the third member of the group, a former pirate who'd served with the Northwind Highlanders for two years after going straight. "Do we get hazardous duty pay for serving with the rest of the clowns in this gig?"

"Hm, I think I like you already." Steele smiled.

Thaddeus Hatch, though it says here you like to be called Tad." Rhodes eyed the man standing nervously across from him. He was easily seven-feet tall, and his body was obviously all muscle and no fat, judging by the way it rippled when he moved.

"Yeah – Thaddeus makes me sound too much like a stuck up officer…"

"Perhaps." Rhodes nodded. "Born on Tukayyid in the former Free Rasalhague Republic, you joined the ComGuards on your 18th birthday. Focused mostly on scout mechs, but you are rated on several heavy and assault designs."

"Light mechs are harder to hit."

"That may be true, but I'm not going to be giving up my Templar any time soon. Anyhow, three years ago you were caught up in a surprise assault by the Blakists on Terra, and you were one of only three people to survive the fight with your machines intact. Two of your lance mates died, including your lieutenant."

"Don't worry 'bout him. He was an A-grade asshole. Always trying to get us killed."

"I'll keep that in mind. After that, you're unit was disbanded, and you used your savings to purchase your BEO-12 Beowulf as surplus and passage here. You've been turned down by the several units you've applied to, forcing you to lodge at the YMCA. Your mech is currently impounded by the authorities due to unpaid port fees."

"Yeah, that's kinda 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 actually a funny story behind that…"

"I'll bet there is, but it right now it can wait: you need to go and see the Major about having your Mech released from the impound yard."

"I've got the job?"

"You have a certain 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 you sir me; I work for a living."

Good lord above, how did my life wind up like this?" Steven asked as he collapsed onto the sofa in his office. "Just what did I do in a past life to deserve this kind of damnation?"

"I would guess you were Stefan Amaris." Dmitri Kerensky laughed, grabbing a couple of sodas from the fridge. "Cheer up already. Things could be worse."

"How?" Steven 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 around would touch with a cattle prod. Then I've got that jackass Kobayashi looking over my shoulder all the time, and my officers are just recruiting people at random. At least, those of them that have started recruiting…"

"I am busy trying to fix that bad hip on my Zeus. You hire some techs and I will have time to recruit MechWarriors."

"You know we don't have the time to recruit any techs for that sort of work. I mean, we all heard Kobayashi; our first mission is in five days. We'll be lucky if we have enough time to just get our mechs up and running, and you can forget about anything fancy. There are some times when I almost feel as if our sponsors want us to fail…"

"Or succeed."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, just think of the glory and honor 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 one!"