Operation MAGPIE

UNSC Spirit of Fire, Forward Lounge

February 25, 2772 Hegemony Standard Calendar/2531 UNSC Military Calendar

1830 shipboard time

The four Mechwarriors of Knight Lance sat around a table in the corner of the forward lounge, noteputers in hand. Jason turned to Meredith. "Alright, Mere," he said to her, "you got hit by that mortar bomb?"

"Not quite," she shook her head in the negative. "Near miss, landed by my right foot. It did, however, cook two of my heatsinks, so I was running a bit short on cooling after that hit. It also ratcheted up the heat in my mech to near shutdown levels, so I had to cycle coolant immediately. Not pleasant."

Jason grimaced. Overheating was not a fun experience in a mech. He'd have to remember to add in overheating exposure to all new trainees, since there was definitely going to be a new school for Mechwarriors in the near future.

"Right, so dodge any of those plasma mortars you see," Riley commented. "Direct hits will probably smite anything less than a heavy, and definitely overheat most mechs on a hit. Any other comments for the first engagement we had?"

"Yes, actually," Jason frowned for a moment as he checked his noteputer. "The Infantry shot at me with some kind of explosive projectile weapon, took off about ten percent of my leg armor when it impacted. Green projectile. If you see them, those should be treated like SRM launchers, and should be targets for any anti-infantry weapons that are available with the encountering group. Or squish 'em. They seem to be treated as a support weapon here, so you won't run into massed units like you would with SRMs in the Sphere."

"Gotcha. Anyone else?" Riley asked. There was a brief pause as the four looked at one another. "No? Alright. I'll start on the encounter with the little alien quad-mechs. UNSC reporting name 'Locust'."

"Honestly, I wasn't impressed by their mechs, boss," Megan commented. "Aside from their single beam weapon, they aren't all that impressive. They had to come to a stop to shoot at us, and their defenses are practically non-existent aside from that energy shield."

"I wouldn't mind getting a working example of that shield," Riley said with a side-eye towards Megan for the interruption, "but otherwise, their beam hits like a large laser. Took off most of my armor on my leg. It's a threat, but if you can catch them unaware, they're not going to last even as long as those 'Wraith' tanks in a fight."

"They're not particularly fast either," Jason said. "They move around 32 kph, based on the readings we've got on our BattleROMs."

"Ugh, alien Urbanmechs," Megan groaned theatrically.

"Just with less armor, Megs," Meredith reminded the Catapult pilot. The lance dissolved into giggles at Megan's perplexed expression as her brain caught back up with the joke.

"I think that's everything from our little excursion?" Jason said, trying his best not to dissolve into another bout of giggles.

"Yeah, that's it," Megan grumped. "I'm going to grab a drink, anyone else want something?"

"Cola, if they have any," Jason declared immediately. He would have told her to grab him a Li Lung, but he doubted the UNSC ship would be carrying anything comparable to the Combine's finest beer.

Megan collected the requests from Riley and Meredith, and wandered over to the auto-bar to grab their drinks. Upon her return, Jason noticed Lt. Colonel Kinsano and a fresh-faced Lieutenant drifting their way. Jason acknowledged them with a raised glass, and Kinsano picked up her pace towards them, the Lt following close on her heels.

"Lt. Colonel Kinsano, Lieutenant, pull up a chair for yourselves," Jason said warmly. Kinsano grabbed a seat from the nearest table and sat down backwards on it, her left arm draped across the back of the chair. The Lieutenant, whose name plate read 'Read', grabbed a stool from against the nearby railing along the balcony ledge and sat across from Kinsano.

"Please, no need to stand on rank in the lounge," Kinsano said with a smile, stretching the tattoos on her face. "Call me Morgan." She held out her hand to Jason, who shook it. Morgan Kinsano was a dark-skinned woman with short black dreadlocks. "This is Lieutenant Billie Read from Flight Ops," she introduced the fresh faced Lieutenant, who seemed to jump at his name.

"It's Aviation Handling Officer, Ma'am," he said politely, his tone one of frequent corrections and long-suffering of mislabeling. "Flight Ops handles them when they're in the air, and they're mine when they're on deck," he clarified to the amused mechwarriors.

"Eh, semantics," Morgan grinned without remorse. "Anyone who deals with the birds is Flight Ops to me." She turned to Jason next. "So I had some more questions regarding your 'drone ships'. What are they exactly? You've called them both drones and AI, so which is it?"

Jason covered his pause to consider what exactly to tell her by taking a drink of his cola. "The Caspars are Independent AI, though they're specialized in Warfare and Warship Operations. They can adapt to changing situations, but they aren't theater command rated. They have drone control systems of their own onboard, so they can issue orders to each other and their own drone fighters, but they rely on humans at control stations for command-level strategic decisions. They're also capable of increasing their collective abilities significantly by networking together." He downed another mouthful of cola. "They've also been known to display emotional responses, possibly simulated emotion, during their rec cycles. If you want more detail, you're gonna have to talk to the eggheads."

"So," he turned the question the other way around, "I've heard you and your people mention 'dumb' and 'smart' AI. Mind explaining the difference?"

"Where to start on that," Kinsano mused, before Read spoke up.

"If I may? I work more closely with AIs than you do, Ma'am." At her nod, Read continued. "The UNSC and UEG use two types of AI, 'smart' and 'dumb', though dumb is a bit of a misnomer. A 'dumb' AI is kind of like an advanced computer program. They're capable of tasks that they are programmed for, and are used in a wide range of fields from acting as secretaries to remote monitoring or automated systems management. They're experts in their fields, and can have equivalent IQ levels to a savant within their specializations, but they can't learn new things outside their programmed field, or feel emotions." He paused and took a sip of his drink, before continuing.

"A 'smart' AI is on a completely different level than a 'dumb' AI. They can learn new things, have emotions, and are extremely intelligent. 'Smart' AI's are created from scanning a human brain, which destroys the brain in question. The ones that are used are normally from a healthy donor after they pass away. The biggest downside is that they only live for 7 years before they think themselves to death."

"As an example, our ship's AI, Serena, is a 'smart' AI, and I work with her every day as part of my job. She's meant for logistical support, but she also plays a mean game of chess, and she keeps the entire ship running like a fine tuned machine. She's been curious about chocolate lately," he chuckled, before pausing for another sip. "I, personally, love having her around because it's a lot easier to manage the birds on the deck and in the hangar when she's helping, even if she might have a bit of a snark at times when she is working with us. She's got a great sense of humor too."

"Well that answers that question," Jason said with a grin. "I'd say the Caspars are probably somewhere in between your two types. 307's never been good at chess, but she's decent at checkers, and can play a solid game of shogi. 157 likes to play RTS games, and is one of the better 'Sphere at War' players in the fleet. 158 prefers to play 'Star Empires XIV', but is also good at quite a few puzzle games. The Caspars in general also tend to like kids."

"So what's their service life?" Read asked, curiosity piqued.

"As far as we know, it'll be the life of the ship. The oldest Caspars were brought online in early 2710, so, as of now, 62 years old and counting. Those were the A models, which were definitely not as bright as the newer F models we have here, but they were still effective."

"That's nuts," Read exhaled in amazement.

The two UNSC officers and the four mechwarriors spent the next hour trading stories in the lounge, occasionally getting up to get new drinks, before they went their separate ways.

SLS Huntress, Mechbay

2023 Shipboard time

Jason stood on the remote platform holding him aloft beside his mech's left leg, laser torch in hand. He was helping the techs cut away the damaged plate, so that a new one could be welded on to replace it.

"Colonel," one of the techs called up to him. When he looked down, the tech was waving a noteputer at him. "Message for you, from Lady Cameron."

"I'll take it as soon as we finish cutting this plate," he called back down over the noise of the bay. He bent back to the plate and within the next five minutes had finished the cut. Another two minutes, and the plate had been safely hoisted to the ground and was in the care of the bay's astechs(1).

Turning to the comms tech, Jason accepted the noteputer and pressed his thumb to the verification pad on the device. After the second it took for the device to confirm his identity against the message's security program, it chimed happily and unlocked the message itself.

From: Lady Elise Cameron, Lady Regent to the Lady Amanda Cameron

To: Colonel Jason Watkin of the Royal Black Watch Regiment

It is our determination, based on the intelligence recovered by yourself and your regiment, that this world holds significant opportunities. We have ordered the orbital sterilization of the area around the entrance you used to access the interior of the planet, as this parasite you encountered is an unacceptable threat. We request that you organize retrieval parties for as much in the way of materials and assets as is possible in the time which you remain within, as we shall likely not organize a return to this world. We fear the ship that left the world has gone in search of additional reinforcements, and strongly recommend that the fleet have departed this world before such an arrival happens. Time is of the essence, and you are not someone we can afford to lose.

Go with safety, Colonel.

Jason frowned internally as he reread the message. With the casualties to the 2nd platoon Jump Infantry from the battle on the Apex Site platform, he wouldn't be able to use them reliably for another mission alone. He'd have to ask Captain Cutter for assistance with material recovery, and use the remaining squad of jump troops as a reaction force if anything got too hairy for the UNSC forces. Their weapons offered too great an advantage to leave them out of the ground battles entirely, but they didn't have enough to offer to equip some of the units in the UNSC for the groundside operation either.

Thanking the technician who'd brought him the message, he went to his cabin aboard the Leopard-class vessel to compose a message of his own to Captain Cutter and Professor Anders.

UNSC Spirit of Fire, Observation Deck (Anders' Lab)

2203 Shipboard Time

"So you're telling me that all these things the Covenant thinks they know about their own gods is a lie?" Ellen Anders stared incredulously at the little robot situated across the desk from her.

"As best I have been able to determine, based on overheard conversations with their apparent religious leadership in the presence of my few remaining audio receivers within this facility, yes," Harken Watch answered her. "You are also fortunate that the vast majority of the fleet that they had stationed within this facility was redeployed, likely because of your existing war against them, and the relative proximity of this world to your space."

"What happens, then, when we have to leave here?" Anders asked the alien AI. "We don't have the supplies to make a sustained operation here feasible, the men are already tired from the last campaign they were on, and we're starting to run low on fuel and lubricants. We also lost half of our heavy lift capacity when Spirit collided with the Covenant Destroyer." She leaned against the table, hands bracing her as she bent towards the little robot. "Even worse, if more Covenant ships return, we can't fight them. This is a troopship, not a frontline warship. We're not meant to operate alone in enemy space."

"This is indeed a conundrum. Might I recommend raiding the remaining caches for supplies? There must be something you could use within them." The little AI honestly seemed to be doing its best to be helpful. "Even if none of the supplies are immediately compatible, the Huragok should at least be able to assist you in repairing your vessel."

"What's a Huragok?" Anders asked, confused.

The monitor's eye lit up as it projected an image of a floating creature that resembled a series of gas bags with a mouthless serpentine head that had six eyes, and several tendrils protruding from underneath its body. "The Huragok are an artificial species created by my makers to maintain their technology. There are two variants, the common variant used by the Builders, and the less common variant, used by the Lifeworkers. The Lifeworker variant specializes in the maintenance and repair of biological life, while the Builder variant handles all technological maintenance and repair."

"And they'll just help us?" she asked, incredulous.

"Indeed. The Huragok have no real interest in whatever sides may exist in a conflict, and merely seek to fill their role for maintenance and repair. They possess no real concept of friend or foe, save for the limited cases where they develop an emotional attachment to a specific individual."

"Emotional- They're sentient?" Anders exclaimed. "Your creators simply fabricated a sentient species to maintain their technology?"

"The creation of the Huragok was not a simple fabrication, but on the scale of the development of a species, I will concede that it was quite rapid."

"How- I don't even- Nevermind." Anders decided that getting some of these Huragok creatures aboard the Spirit was definitely going to be something that she would suggest as a priority to the Captain. "We'll probably go and make that supply run, but we still can't stay. There's too large a Covenant presence on the ground, and with these Flood parasites, we don't have the manpower to hold any of this facility effectively."

"If you must leave, please take me with you," the monitor's voice became extremely dejected, and almost sounded pathetic.

"What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly concerned. There was a tingling feeling at the back of her mind warning her about AI rampancy.

"I cannot bear to be abandoned again. I fear that I may break," the Monitor pleaded. "Long term isolation is not something monitors such as myself were designed for. Continuous focus on specific tasking can alleviate the issue, but not forever."

"If we take you with us, can we deny the facility to the covenant? Or at least the warships?"

"If the facility was not under threat by the Flood on the interior surface, it would be a simple matter to deny the docked warships to your enemies, with your clearance rights as a Reclaimer," Harken Watch stated confidently. "Unfortunately, the Flood poses a much more significant threat than you likely realize. They gain the knowledge of those they infest, and could potentially use this knowledge to acquire a transport and spread beyond this world. That cannot be allowed. If you can bring additional forces to bear in this battle, there is the possibility that the interior of the world could be cleared of the flood, at least enough that the remaining defenses could finish the cleansing."

"I'll have to run that one by the Captain," Anders told the AI. "This is something that he needs to be told about immediately."

Inner Surface of Etran Harborage

February 26, 2772 Hegemony Standard Calendar/2531 UNSC Military Calendar

0525 Shipboard time

Hindrik Asplund, Raider Lead, hid his Crab CRB-27sl behind a tree line as his mech's Dalban Series K communications system and 650 RND target tracking system worked to give him the locations of the Covenant armor on the other side of the valley. A series of UNSC Warthogs were gathered around his lance, waiting to carry the Marine raiding party across the valley to gain entrance to the largest storage depot that the facility's custodial AI had given them the location of. A hardwired infantry phone had been attached to his mech to give the two groups the ability to talk without their radios giving away their locations to the Covenant before they began the raid.

The rest of Raider Lance were also grouped around the legs of his mech, listening in over the infantry phone while examining a scan of the local terrain. "We've got a series of Covenant fast attack bikes patrolling the ridgeline," Asplund told them. "Looks like there's only a few of those Wraith tanks, and none of the quad-mechs, but there's a heavy infantry presence. That's going to be on you, Marines. We're not carrying an anti-infantry loadout today." There was a series of groans over the phone line that caused him to grin. "I'm also seeing what could be stationary turrets, so watch out for those."

"Any sign of fliers?" someone asked over the phone line.

"Not that I can see within the valley, but I'm catching whiffs of something a few valleys to the north. No clear readings though." There was a frustrated grumble from the Marine Sergeant accompanying them on the mission, before he overheard someone telling the marines that they were gonna have to be quick. Something in the back of his mind was tingling, and he didn't like that mystery contact one bit.

"Alright, mount up everyone," the Marine Sergeant barked, and the phone line was hung up back in the small box attached to his mech's foot. A minute passed, before three blinks from a handheld lightstick signaled the beginning of the raid.

The four mechs of Raider Lance, two Crabs and two Shadow Hawks, activated their jump jets and soared over the tree line, firing their long range weapons at the covenant positions as they descended on pillars of fusion exhaust. Pulse lasers carved scorch lines across the ground and through several infantry barricades, while the Shadow Hawks' autocannons spat their anti-armor cluster shells at the enemy tanks.

The first attack was mostly ineffective at eliminating the Covenant, though it served its real purpose of creating a distraction for the Marines in their Warthogs, allowing them to cross the gap mostly unmolested by enemy heavy weapons. Once the two groups had closed in earnest with the covenant did the fight truly begin.

The mechs of Raider Lance jumped in again, this time focusing their fire upon the wraith tanks. One tank went up in blue flames as an LB 10-X Autocannon shell landed a lucky hit against its firing mechanism, while another tank was left with a score of craters in its armor as the other Shadow Hawk SHD-2Hb's LB-X autocannon slammed a cluster shell into the front faceplate of the tank. That same tank also received a stitched line of burn marks as Asplund hit it with one of his large pulse lasers. He thought he saw something inside the tank flash, but he didn't get a second look before he had to avoid a plasma mortar targeted at him.

"Son-of-a- That hurt you bastards!" Raider Four, one of the Shadow Hawk pilots, called out as he turned to face the onrushing Covenant hoverbikes, firing his Streak SRMs at them. Two of the bikes exploded as the missiles slammed home, sending one careening into the right leg of that same Shadow Hawk. "Craaaaaaaaap!" The Shadow Hawk lost its balance and fell, causing the ground to shake as the 55 ton mech slammed into the dirt.

"Three, can you cover Four while he gets back on his feet?" Asplund asked the other Shadow Hawk pilot, who gave a quick affirmative call before reducing another Wraith to scrap with her massive autocannon by way of detonating the tank's cannon.

Asplund turned back to the pack of hoverbikes circling the battle, and started picking off targets with his pulse lasers. The little things were damned hard to hit, with their size and speed meaning that he missed more than half of his shots. Then again, he told himself, it only takes one hit to turn the little bikes into scrap. He flinched reflexively as his mech was spattered by return fire from the bikes, their plasma cannons causing his mech to rapidly gain heat.

Raider Two came to his rescue, smashing three of the bikes shooting at him with a single volley from her lasers. "Get off, little bastards!" she called after them as they broke and fled for the valley entrance. "Armor's cleared out, boss," she told him in a deceptively cheery voice.

"Right. Marines, Raider Lance is switching to perimeter guard. Get to that cache and start grabbing stuff as soon as it's safe to call in the pickup birds."

After about five minutes, the first of the Pelicans descended into the clearing, along with a warning that whatever it was to the north had started moving their way. Another three Pelicans had been loaded up with supplies and sent back to Spirit of Fire before the largest mech Hindrik had ever seen crested the ridge. His Crab's warbook identified the contact as a 'Scarab', a 170 ton Superheavy Mech.

"Enemy Superheavy!" Raider Four called out as the Scarab opened fire on an incoming Pelican. The UNSC dropship fell apart as the scarab's beam weapon ate through the center structure.

"Damn," Hindrik spat in frustration. "Raider Lance, split and attack!" The four mechs began to run to place the Scarab into a pincer, and hopefully find its weaker armor sections. "Big Cat, do we have any air support?"

"Air assets are launching now from Spirit, estimated time to arrival is five minutes," the controller on SLS Big Cat replied to Hindrik's query. "ASF's are off station, and will be unable to assist sooner than 10 minutes, do you want ASF support?"

"I'll take whatever I can get," Lieutenant Asplund griped as he ran his Crab behind the superheavy's leg to get away from the mech's flashlight face. He fired all his lasers into the narrow ankle joint on the superheavy, attempting to disable the leg joint.

Raider Four activated his jump jets to try and jump over the scarab's front, only for the large turret atop the mech to open fire into his mech from point blank range. The plasma blasts took his mech in the left torso, blowing through the armor and slagging the jump jet on the left side. The unbalanced thrust sent Four's Shadow Hawk spinning to the ground, falling flat on its back as Raider Four valiantly fought to keep his balance. The Scarab turned to face the downed Shadow Hawk, its head opening as the beam weapon charged.

"Aden, eject!" Raider Three called in desperation, firing everything she had at the Scarab in an attempt to distract it from her downed teammate. "EJECT!"

The ejection rockets flared moments before the scarab's beam slagged Four's Shadow Hawk, sending the mechwarrior rocketing along the ground barely safe from the energy weapon's fury. Hindrik quickly tagged it with a beacon on his mech's battle computer for recovery, before turning back to the Covenant Superheavy.

"Two, focus fire on the turret. Slag it down so we can jump around this thing," Hindrik ordered, opening fire with his own large pulse lasers against the scarab's turret. "That only opened fire when Four jumped, so it must be anti-air only. Three, see if you can't break that leg to slow it down. Four got out before the beam, we'll pick him up once we kill this damn thing."

"We'll grab your downed pilot, you take out that Scarab." The UNSC Marine Sergeant called over the radio.

Hindrik didn't respond, instead staying focused on the battle in front of him. The three mechwarriors began a series of slow circling maneuvers, keeping themselves out of the front arc of the scarab as it turned, trying to get one or another of the mechs in front of its main gun. The remaining Shadow Hawk focused its fire on the leg armor, to little effect unfortunately, as the leg's armor was far stronger than they realized. It took the combined fire of the two Crabs almost a full minute to disable the scarab's Turret weapon, which went up in a violet ball of plasma. The shockwave from the destruction of the turret caused the Scarab to stagger and fall to its belly.

"Now! Hit it in the rear armor," Hindrik called, jumping his mech around the Scarab's leg to the rear of the Superheavy. The combined fire from the three remaining mechs of Raider Lance broke off the rear plate faster than they had expected, and exposed a shield over the Scarab's reactor. "There! Kill it!"

A single blast from the LB 10-X Autocannon of Raider Three's Shadow Hawk shattered the shield, and her Streak SRM system planted a pair of missiles into the reactor's internal workings, touching off a massive explosion that sent pieces of the scarab flying across the valley. There was a moment of silence as the mechwarriors digested their accomplishment.

Their reverie was broken by a transmission on the air support band. "Looks like we missed the fun," one of the approaching pilots remarked. "You lot look like you could use a pickup. Your last pilot got out alive, Marines say they've got him on a stretcher waiting for a bird to come get him."

"What's his condition?" Hindrick asked, worried for his lancemate. He'd not known Raider Four well, given that the lance had been put together as a scratch formation a few days before the misjump. "That was a pretty bad ejection."

"Reports sounded bad," the pilot declared, voice somber. "We'll need to get him up to the Spirit in a hurry. Corpsman wants him in surgery ASAP."

"How much can your Pelicans lift?" Three asked the allied pilots after a pause.

"About 70 tons, give or take. Why d'you wanna know?"

"That downed machine used to weigh in at 55 tons. Could we get one to carry it out of here? It'll be a bit hard to drag it back aboard our Leopard here on the hill."

"We'll ask 'em to give it a shot," the pilot responded.

UNSC Spirit of Fire, Pelican Hangar 5, Observation blister

0630 Shipboard time

Professor Anders stood alone in the observation blister overlooking one of the Spirit of Fire's Pelican Hangars. She watched quietly as the first of the final wave of Pelicans slid into the hangar, carrying the remains of one of the SLDF's medium-weight battlemechs where it would normally be carrying a tank or warthog. She nursed her caff gingerly, trying to avoid a caffeine high as she had watched the procession of Pelicans bring aboard cargo bays worth of Forerunner material and tools scavenged from the storage depot that the combined ground force had raided. There was already a large stack of crates accumulated in one corner of the hangar bay as the incoming material had outstripped the crew's ability to move the cargo into the appropriate storage areas.

Then there were the floating Huragok, who had been ushered by the bay's marshallers into a cordoned off section of the bay, where the mechanics and security personnel could conduct whatever checks they wanted to before sending them to whatever departments the Captain had decided upon.

A commotion around the Pelican's troop bay drew her attention, and she grimaced as she watched a man in one of the SLDF's armored pilot suits get carried off the pelican strapped onto a stretcher. A Corpsman ran alongside the pilot, holding IV bags above the man, who was splinted fully on both legs, as well as in a lower spinal brace. One of the Spirit's ubiquitous cargo transport carts drove up to the group to accept the injured man and the accompanying medics, before zipping off again.

Looking at the wreck of the machine from their new allies, Anders realized that there was no hope of being able to take and hold this planet against the covenant's sizable ground presence. If they left this world intact, there would be no way for the UNSC to deny its prizes to the Covenant. The only option left would be to destroy the planet, and hope there was another like it inside Human space.

She withdrew her datapad and started working on ideas of how to solve her latest problem.

Author's Notes:

So Raider Four succeeded his Piloting roll to eject manually by a single point. He was ONE point on his dice roll from getting toasted by that Scarab's beam cannon as his ejection seat rocketed him away. That was the closest the dice have come so far to killing a mechwarrior yet in this story. He failed the ejection skill roll for landing, however, and ended his participation in the battle at 4 wounds of 6, conscious, with injury to his lower back and legs. Unfortunately, this means that he will never be able to operate a mech again, due to neurological damage.

Based on the size of the Covenant force present within the shield world of Trove/Etran Harborage, there is no chance of the UNSC or SLDF forces present being able to hold the world. Especially with the added complication of the Flood. Therefore, we won't be staying here much longer.

So how do you, the readers, think they'll deny the resources of this planet to the covenant? I'm looking forward to seeing what you all come up with, and if it's something interesting/novel enough, you might get a shoutout or even an Apocrypha written with that method if it inspires me enough.

This chapter was not beta'd, just a post-writing pass by my co-writer and I, and as I've not heard back from Follower38 on if they're still interested, I'm opening up the opportunity for a new beta.

Co-writer's notes:

Classic example in this chapter of a real life issue known as 'Communications Lag' in the military. The mechs on the ground weren't aware of the full capabilities of a Scarab, and they suffered for it. The integrated AA turret on its rear was a nasty surprise to Raider Lance. And speaking of…

Raider Four either has the best luck, or the worst luck. When we rolled for that battle, we legitimately expected him to die when he failed his second piloting check. He SOMEHOW stayed conscious through the crash and rolled a save of ONE point more than he needed to escape the Scarab's attack on a reaction. Ejecting from a prone mech makes the landing that much more complicated.

And finally, since I know Someone will bring it up: Tonnage…

For the purposes of this story, the UNSC measures weight in Short tons (Also known as US tons). My reasoning for this is from the cutscene in Halo 2 Legendary intro to the 'New Mombasa' level, when Sgt Johnson refers to the Scorpion as "66 tons of HE spewing Divine Intervention!". And I just love the way he said it in that cutscene. The remaster in MCC made a badass scene even better.

Meanwhile in Battletech, the tonnage is officially based off of the metric ton in the lore.

This can cause some headaches when doing weight conversions for math, but Nightwing somehow managed to NAIL IT the first time when he guessed how much a pelican can lift. Guess what the lore for a fully armed Pelican's max carry weight is? Yup, 70 tons. I'm still convinced that he was practicing some form of witchcraft when he pulled that off…

Glossary of Terms:

(1) Astech: Assistant Technician

What it says on the tin.