As dawn painted the horizon, Ida and Waylon trailed behind Balthasar who had already begun barking orders, gearing up for a siege to uncover the mysterious "Relic" causing chaos. Recent attacks had ceased, suggesting banditos were closing in on the elusive target, yet its nature remained unknown. Balthasar led Waylon up to the briefing room, men and women in jumpsuits waited for them. Balthasar flicked his wrist, and a flickering holo-layout of the facility filled the center of the room. Waylon couldn't help but smile.
"Neat."
Balthasar pointed to the render of the supply yard. "So heres the plan!" He used a wooden pole to point at a particular set or half circles on the wall.
"The base is fortified with large point defenses, predictably they are primitive with their armoring but chock full of large arrays of weaponry. Analysis from the Perennial made out what appears to be large lasers, AC/2's in large quantity and one LRM 10 turret. The turrets are supported by a vast array of ground vehicles. Nothing special I assure you all just the usual garbage the militias in the west have." He smirked, feeling Waylon glare at him.
"So heres the plan we got so far..."
Waylon's fingers wrapped firmly around the controls of the perennial; the attack team was 5 mechs strong. He was confident this was a guaranteed success, especially since there were no enemy mechs. The rangers had sent him in with 3 mediums: a Centurion, Blackjack, and a Cicada with a commando filling the light role alongside Waylon. As the mechs rangers which awaited them readied their triggers. The dunes hid smoke canister launchers, they waited for the mechs to ascend the slope.
The Smoke canisters shot into the air with a pressurized pop and obscured the approach. The mediums were otherwise sitting ducks to the heavy defense cannons which had now spotted their approach. Heavy lasers scorched the air searching the smoke cloud for the encroaching assault, The plan worked its charm as the Mechs popped out the far end mostly unharmed, "our turn!"
The Centurion raised its AC/10, a thunderous crack sent the bulky shell flying straight at the first turret, a satisfying explosion ripped the emplacement from its foundation, crumpling to a heap in the dessert soil. The centurion raised its shield arm as the main gun loaded, the incoming Heavy lasers carving deep burnt valley along the solid slab of armor. "That thing Chewing me up! I got three seconds till load. Pincer maneuver Rangers!"
The Cicada and commando split up, with Waylon following in the Commandos path as they sought to outmaneuver the point defenses, the rotation mechanism being far too slow to catch the lighter mechs. The commando sped like a blur and hugged the outer walls of the facility, small lasers whining as they made short work of the first technical that had charged out the front gate. Waylon spun up his heavy machine guns and marked up the dessert floor. The heavy drone was accompanied by harrowing screams as the torrent kicked up clouds of sand and red mist.
The Blackjack stood atop the sand dune, marking targets as it used its snub-nosed Gauss rifle to pick off the large laser turret, the heavy round piercing through the steel shell and out the back: knocking out a warehouse. The Blackjacks secondary medium lasers fended off against the hovercraft that swarmed peskily around the battlefield.
The Autocannon of the Centurion reloaded with a heavy *clunk*, and it raised its arm to fire when the console gave a sharp note.
{Incoming missiles}
The Centurion moved to intercept with his shield, not equipped with a proper AMS he prayed to his gods as the barrage fell upon him. The ear shattering booms of the impact melded with the wail of onboard sirens, but the acceptable armor endured the attack. Attempting to return fire, the pilot noted, the Gun arms actuator had been hit, arm now swaying with every heavy step. "Come on old girl." The pilot squinted as he lined up the shot, held his breath and fired. The shell glanced off the armor and bore into the facility wall. "SHIT!"
The Cicada attempted to intervene then, its four medium lasers humming to life. The green glow built to a nova and the four lasers dug into the hull of the LRM/10 and detonated the ammo supply. The violent explosion sent metal shrapnel in all directions, even the Cicada. "That was dangerous! Got me a souvenir wedged in the glass, that's going on me shelf!" The distracted pilot didn't make notice of the tank and rocket crew as he rounded the corner. A swarm of haphazardly loaded rocketeers unleashed upon the Cicada. The ambush worked as the armor ripped apart like paper, revealing the rust marked structure beneath. The mech strained to limp away as its legs suffered a nasty hit around the knee joint.
As Waylon made the pass around with the Commando, still hitting near top speeds he sighted a few shots down range to help out the cicada as it turned to meet its assailants, Blackjack punching through the last turret. With the major threats eliminated the Commando and Waylon enacted phase two: Jump jetting into the base and locating the asset. The perennials Jump jets whooshed to life and black clouds enveloped the ground beneath as the mech began to soar.
The Commando was first to ascend the wall, radioing Waylon as they made their arc. "When we land, I'll go left and you right, the facility is big, and we don't know wh-"
The man was cutoff as the head and majority of the mechs upper torso ripped apart, sound of screeching steel and radio static heralding the presence of something worse than tanks and turrets. The small mech went limp as it began an abrupt descent, smoke and flames lashing out from the newly formed crater before crashing into the dirt. The debris rained on Waylon and his mechas he struggled to keep his descent steady. "Rangers! Weve go a big one somewhere! Tore him apart like some prairie animal!" He exclaimed as he darted the Perennial behind an HPG dish.
The others warily stormed into the fortress scanning the environment. Why was it so quiet? Waylon's probe couldn't even pick up a signal, where was this bastard? The massive war machines ducked behind buildings and waited. "What do we do?" The Cicadas pilot nervously asked, terror apparent in their voice. The team was waiting for something, a signal or a bullet trail to follow, something to show them what was attacking them. It was like trying to hunt a ghost, it could see them, but they were oblivious to its location.
"I - I can't do this! "
The nervous pilot tried to run but the centurion blocked him. "WAIT!" The raging fires produced thick veils of black smoke. "Y-You can't stop me! I'm getting out of here while we can!" The mech swerved past the bulky centurion and darted through the gate. The Cicada was fast, even with its heavily damaged leg. It kicked thick clouds of dust as it sped to the hill they approached from.
Then Waylon saw the red dot flicker onto his probe reader for but a second.
He saw it happen before he even heard it: The shell separated the Cicadas top and bottom half into separate units. The pilots panicked cries faded to static as the line went dead. The Cicada's core flared up, going critical causing a blinding bright blue glow precursor to the large earthshaking blast.
The cockpit was silent, Waylon listened nervously to the heavy breathing of his lance mates as he rubbed his hands together trying to think. "It came from the rockface, whoever it is they're using sophisticated camouflage technology and-" He was cut off by the sudden yells of his lance mates as they began to move.
"YOU BASTARD! Ill bury you in that metal coffin!"
The Centurion led the charge with Blackjack using him as a shield. Waylon looked on in disbelief and took a deep breath, these fools!
The charge almost seemed a good idea, Waylon split off and pinpointed the general area the shell came from. He sped off praying his speed would be enough to throw off the phantom sniper, hopes answered very soon as a massive round ripped into the dirt in front of Waylon. The fountain of dust that shot up blinded the poor sheriff, the cockpit now obstructed with a thick coat of grime. He jolted the nimble mech to the side into a thicket of dried out trees. The other two continued their advance and a shell rung out again and impacted the Centurions shield leaving a deep crater but not penetrating the slab.
"THERE!"
The Centurion stopped and brought all its arms down upon the rocky outcrop where the attack originated from, the Blackjack followed suit its entire array of lasers saturating the area. They kept firing until they were sure. The Blackjack pushed itself over the redline, Rookie mistake.
{Very Clever} An unfamiliar voice taunted before a shot incapacitated the Centurion. Stripping the arm clean off and setting the ammo bin ablaze, the entire side of the mech ruptured: Flames belching from the now immolated husk as it fell backwards clipping the side of the Blackjack for a domino effect. When the dust settled, both mechs lay prone on the dessert floor.
Waylon Barely held it together, controlling his breathing as he serpentined through the trees and closed distance with the sporadic flickering red dot on his Display. He was close, just behind that rocky outcrop! Waylon thought when he looked don in disbelief. The Rocky outcrop rose to a height of 14 meters tall, as the disguise faded Waylon noted the model of mech slowly approaching. "What kind of Vindicator is that?!" The normal PPC arm had a really long lance shaped component that looked far too unstable to use on the go. He surmised this must be the lethal weapon that tore them apart so easily. A demanding voice growled at him over his communications.
{Sheriff Waylon Lacey. Your reputation proceeds you, Power down your mech and get out. Leave behind your service weapon, we have much to discuss. Know that I only offer you this courtesy because i believe you to be a reasonable man. Do not make me regret this decision.}
Waylon watched for a moment before replying, the mysterious pilot seemed to know who he was. He cautiously lifted his handset from the receiver "Reading you, coming out. You best respect your own terms if you don't want me to wring your neck." wrenched loose the release on his cockpit as it rose up. The hydraulic hissed and Waylon reached for the rungs of his ladder, descending to the windswept ground. The scent of thick smoke and acris metallic steel hung in the air.
Waylon's brown leather jacket flapped in the wind highlighting his empty holster. Coming down to it he was a man of his word, something Ida assured him would one day get him killed. He tilted his head, peeking overtop his aviators at the silhouette of a man approaching him in the sand and smoke. Waylon noted the formal jumpsuit, Grey with orange accents along the shoulders and legs, hoses came from the back and connected to a helmet which likely carried a HUD and targeting uplink hence why the man was such a deadly shot. Waylon waited with Bated breath as the unknown figure stood before him, reaching slowly for his helmet so as to show no ill intent.
To Waylon's Suprise the man looked young and thin, holding out a hand the sheriff noted eyes of a calculated war veteran this young man was assessing Waylon as a potential threat. This was not some bloodthirsty bandit; this was a Mercenary from the off world. Waylon imagined that if he wasn't choking on smoke the man would probably smell of soaps and proper hygiene. He tried to let out a proper hello but began coughing and hacking as the smoke filled his lungs. "Christ! Talk later, let's get you out of this damn smog" The stranger slung the sheriff around his shoulder. "I apologize, i assumed you would have an air filtration unit in your pilot jumpsuit. Surely you don't ride around in biker leathers and aviators all day, right? . . . Right?" Waylon shot him a sheepish look; this was not the interaction he thought he'd be having with someone who only minutes ago ended the lives of his fellow law enforcers.
The two sheltered in one of the remaining warehouses, their mechs stationed outside. The stranger shook Waylon's hand then.
"Glad to see the praise people sing about you reflects your sense of honor. Despite what you may think of me it is truly an honor to meet you, Sheriff Lacey."
Waylon smirked "Praises won't erase what you've done. You're no bandit leader, you're definitely no caravan or Desolara agent. So, what are you and why are you here?
The man led Waylon to a secure door in the corner of the building and quickly dialed in a code. The door slid open with a click and revealed a small secure vault, a single heavy silver briefcase sat atop a table. The man grabbed it and turned to the Sheriff.
"As I said. We have a lot to discuss."