Part 576: Demon Hawks Campaign Vote 2

Post-Mission Fallout

Catherine Humphreys Memorial Staging Area
Andurien V, Andurien
T - 00:27:40

“Gentlemen, welcome. It would seem you are constitutionally incapable of failing to impress me.” Amaris clapped his hands together once, before running one through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Thank you for joining me on such short notice—I know you have debriefings to get to, but I’d like you to see what you’ve accomplished. Please,” the brown-skinned man smiled, “join me for an early lunch. You must be famished.”

Duncan spared Jason a sideways glance, just long enough to meet his partner’s gaze and share a nod. They each pulled out one of the two vacant chairs positioned along one edge of a rectangular table. The spread was reasonable, sandwiches of a number of varieties from loose-meat to vegetarian to what looked like Quillar and some sort of fruit jelly. A glass of champagne bubbled at each setting, but there were also bottles of the electrolyte-infused sports drinks favored by Mechwarriors returning from the field. Duncan picked a sandwich largely at random, took a bite and set it on his plate. A large holotank sat behind the table, stretching from floor to ceiling. A ship seemed to drift lazily in the holotank’s confines, but the star field shifted only slightly as the view crossed the vessel’s bow. The ship wasn’t moving, so the observer must have been. A colossal black bird was painted on the vessel’s prow, and the rest of it was done up in the white feather pattern the Snow Ravens seemed to favor, but if the ship had any other identifying markings Duncan couldn’t make them out.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Amaris crooned. “You may not be familiar with its lines, but that’s the McKenna-class battleship James McKenna. That’s a live feed, not counting the three second transmission delay. The Clans have proven remarkably lackadaisical about destroying our spy satellites.”

“Can you blame them?” Duncan shook his head. “Riding around in that behemoth, they must feel practically invincible. They probably want you to see them, to remind you they’re waiting to bomb the planet to ashes the moment they get bored of their little ground war.”

“You are most certainly correct,” Amaris smiled knowingly, interleaving his fingers and leaning back in his chair. “They’ve come to show off to one another and play at war, and I intend to give them a spectacle the likes of which they’ve never seen: to let them have their fill of honor and glory—and then keep stuffing them with it until they choke.”

Amaris smiled. “You’ve done well in that regard, far better than we ever expected when we hired you. The Clans are howling for your blood, we’ve received no less than thirteen demands from Clan units of all sizes and types officially requesting the honor of a one-on-one engagement with the Demon Hawks so they can destroy you. It’s quite an honor, and from what I’m told of Clan culture if you were to indulge them you could ask nearly anything and the Clans would be honor-bound to fulfill your request if you won. Central has been wanting to decline them outright, but seeing as you’re a largely independent command I told Central Command to leave the final decision to you. Assuming the offers are still open a half-hour from now.”

“That’s something you could use, isn’t it?” Jason took a sip from a bottle of purple-flavored sports drink. He set the bottle back on the table, and Duncan leaned back in his chair to let Jason have a better view of their host. “We could ask for anything? We could tell the Clans to give up and go home?”

“We don’t want them to give up and go home,” was Amaris’s placid reply, “so there would be objections to such a request.” He smiled, and continued. “The Minnesotans also tell me it’s a matter of scale. If you chose to engage a low-level Clan unit—one of their fifteen `Mech company analogs—the request would have to be something that unit could fulfill like fifteen pristine Clan `Mechs, their entire technical support crew, the return of any captives that unit has taken—which isn’t a concern for you, you haven’t lost anyone—or even possession of their ‘genetic legacy’ which is something that would undoubtedly offend them greatly.”

Amaris pressed on without missing a breath, “Likewise, if you chose to accept the challenge from one of their regiments, you could demand that regiment stay out of future battles on Andurien or even surrender themselves to you en masse, but in return they wouldn’t necessarily be beholden to engage you with only fifteen `Mechs. My sources say their interested regimental units would then be forced bid against one another for the right to engage you, and that during the battle they would be permitted, during the battle, to bring in additional `Mechs equivalent to their last opponent’s final bid.”

“You could also engage one of the Clans as a whole, the Snow Ravens or the Sea Foxes, in which case the entire Clan would bid against itself to earn the right to destroy you. But they would be permitted to use any asset to do so,” Amaris stretched his right arm, his finger pointing at the McKenna in an accusatory fashion. “Up to and including that. So while you could force one of the Clans to concede based on the results of a single small-scale battle, I doubt you’d find the risk worthwhile. All told it’s very fascinating stuff. Utterly alien and completely insane, but fascinating.

“And also likely to be a moot point in,” Amaris checked his watch. “Twenty three minutes, give or take.”

“And why is that, exactly?” Duncan pressed. It may have been unwise, but he suspected Amaris wanted someone to ask.

“Because in twenty-three minutes we’re destroying the CSR James Mckenna,” Amaris replied matter-of-factly. The corners of his mouth curled into a faint but growing smile. “I know you have debriefings, but they can wait. Please remain with me, enjoy the food and the show.”

“Why do I feel,” Jason asked sardonically, “like you’ve just invited us to share sandwiches while we watch the end of the world?”

“Not the end of the world,” Amaris corrected with a laugh. “Just the end of a world-view. We’re going to peel away everything that shapes how the Clans view the world one layer at a time—starting with their belief that they are untouchable in space and working our way down.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you—or your son—want us here,” Jason prodded. Duncan blinked as a proverbial gear caught, and he slapped himself in the face. Most of the Republic troops he’d spoken with had described President Stefan Amaris VII as a brilliant but inexperienced man—a clear description of someone young—but the Amaris they’d met was in his late forties at least.

Jason had puzzled it out first. The Demon Hawks had met a Stefan Amaris, not President Stefan Amaris. Stefan Amaris VI clapped as his amused belly laugh sent little tremulous vibrations through the hardwood table. “Good. Very astute,” his eyes, so brown they almost looked black, shone with reflected light. “Allow me to reintroduce myself: I am Stefan Amaris VI and, to answer your question no I am not, nor have I ever been, President of the Republic. That title passed from my father directly to my son, which suits me fine.”

He leaned in a bit closer, and stage-whispered conspiratorially. “I’m something of a hedonistic wastrel, you see. Which suits me fine—I’m the spare, still young enough to have another son in the unlikely event that something unfortunate were to befall my son. My son’s eventual son will be a spare like me, and if all goes well the Presidency will pass directly from the Seventh to the Ninth. An elegant system you undoubtedly care little about.”

“Undoubtedly,” Jason agreed, then pressed again. “I’m more interested in finding out why we’re here.”

“You’re here to witness the culmination of a year of hard work and planning. The Republic has moved heaven and earth to destroy that ship up there.” Duncan swallowed involuntarily as, without moving a muscle, Amaris’s formerly friendly smile suddenly seemed sinister and cruel. “My son is the analytical one, he wouldn’t care if you witnessed or understood today’s events, but I consider myself something of an artist. I like to know my art is appreciated—which is why you’re here. As witnesses to the most fantastic piece of performance art the Inner Sphere will ever see.”



CSR White Cloud
Sovetskii Soyuz-Class heavy cruiser
Zenith Jump Point, 3.8 Light Hours from Andurien V
T - 00:18:06

Star Commodore Ercwlff Lankenau turned in his chair, studying the data presented by the monolithic holotank that surrounded his command station. The display was the sole reason a single officer could command a WarShip the size and complexity of the White Cloud, and without a single will directing its two-hundred man crew, the heavy cruiser would’ve been reduced to disorganized chaos. Sophisticated computers tracked his motions, superimposing ship names and classes over distant specs of light and presenting him with colored lines depicting present course, projected course at full speed, and a few targeting solutions for more common evasive maneuvers.

Right now, most of those analytical computers were silent. The veritable swarm of lesser JumpShips that made up the bulk of the Snow Raven and Sea Fox fleets were stationary, but even if they’d been maneuvering their massive station keeping thrusters were hardly meant for combat maneuvers. The entire swarm would’ve been easy prey for the White Cloud. As if to display the differences in their capabilities, the Sovetskii Soyuz-class rumbled as its engines slowed it to a relative halt.

Nearly four light hours from Andurien V, any transmission short of a warship’s HPG would take nearly a day to reach the besieged world. Even so, the Star Commodore made a point to move his vessel every three hours to keep the Rim Worlders guessing where his vessel truly was, although he had to admit to himself it was simply busywork to keep the crew occupied. The Snow Ravens were the only Clan with dedicated Naval Commander bloodlines, bred for patience and analytical ability rather than physical combat acumen. It hardly mattered, the Free Worlders had confirmed that none of the successor states had a navy to speak of. The “New” Rim World Republic had no vessels capable of threatening a dedicated WarShip.

It was disappointing in a way, Ercwlff Lankenau had a reputation for boldness and longed to throw his vessel into the action. He envied Khan Michael McKenna, who had finally reported that he was bringing the James McKenna into Andurien V’s orbit so its massive batteries of Naval PPCs could be brought to bear against unsuspecting ground targets once the storms sweeping through the battlezone ended. It was an action the Star Commodore would have liked to participate in—or at least to witness firsthand. He was unlikely to see any real action defending the jump point, but standard Clan doctrine had placed both his vessel and the Aegis-class CSF Bloodlust at the Zenith point to defend the bulk of the fleet. Two other vessels, the Potemkin-class CSR Snowflake and CSF Titanic had been deemed sufficient protection for the smaller flotilla at the Nadir point.

To say that the Star Commodore was bored would have been a gross exaggeration worthy of a Trial of Grievance. There was enough to do even on basic maneuvers that boredom was never an issue. For any true member of the Lankenau bloodline, tracking the movements of a dozen ships could done mentally even without the aid of a holotank, and while the Lankenau line wasn’t known for the ability to instinctively predict an enemy’s most likely evasive maneuvers the way the Sukhanovs were, Ercwlff’s spatial awareness meant he was almost never caught by surprise.

It was no surprise to him when his starboard sensor officer reported simply, “Neutrino spike.” He’d already noted the new point in the holotank, and the flood of data beneath. It wouldn’t be the first time the Rim Worlders had sent a transport JumpShip into the system. The first had been caught and destroyed, the second had jumped out almost instantaneously, and only one more of the three that had followed had been caught and killed before it could escape. Ercwlff did a quick mental calculation and the small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Most of the Rim World transports had appeared near the edges of the Clan formation, well within standard deviation for a system’s Zenith jump point. This new vessel would be emerging almost precisely at the mathematical center of the flotilla. If it was a coincidence, than Ercwlff was a surat. It was precisely where he would have put the White Cloud if he wanted to take a fleet of JumpShips by surprise.

“Cancel deceleration, all ahead two thirds,” his voice was calm, dispassionate. His large dark pupils widened further at the prospect of an actual fight, as though letting in additional light could somehow allow him to take in more of the holotank's detail. “Sound general quarters.”

“Cancelling deceleration,” his helmsman reported. “All ahead two-thirds.”

“Sounding general quarters,” his tactical officer echoed.

They were a good crew, Ercwlff reflected momentarily. They were well-trained, and responsive enough that he was able to view them as simple deck fixtures rather than individual human beings. The White Cloud was a well-oiled machine with a single purpose: to wage war. Even so, Ercwlff didn’t have the privilege of engaging in battle entirely as he saw fit.

“Send to Bloodlust: suspect new emergence is not a transport, stand by to engage. Send to James McKenna: unknown vessel or vessels emerging from hyperspace. We are moving to engage,” he paused, then added completely unnecessarily, “Range to target?”

“Target will be in firing range in three minutes fourteen seconds,” his tactical officer reported. Ercwlff knew that already, but he wanted his officers plotting firing solutions. Unless the enemy commander was insane the target ship would be emerging from hyperspace with almost no relative inertia. It would be easy pickings for the minute it took to bring itself up to maneuvering speed, but even so the White Cloud likely wouldn’t close the gap in time.

As if to confirm his fears the neutrino spike burst as a jump drive peeled apart the fabric of space and time like the layers of an onion. For a fractions of an instant so small even the computers couldn’t register them, the light from foreign stars would have superimposed themselves over those visible from the White Cloud as the newcomer’s jump drive pulled the Andurien system into a local space up to thirty lightyears away. The ship—ships, Ercwlff realized almost immediately—simply appeared as if from nowhere as they relinquishing their tenuous grasp on the primary star of whatever distant system they had come from.



RWN Stefan Amaris III
Stefan Amaris-Class Battleship
Zenith Jump Point, 3.8 Light Hours from Andurien V
T - 00:15:33

Admiral Evridiki Centrella stood at-ease, her hands pressed against the small of her back. She hadn’t strapped in for the jump to hyperspace—she hated the feeling of physical confinement during the eternal fraction of a second when her mind expanded to envelop the whole of creation. Traveling through hyperspace was something akin to a religious experience for many but it was also extremely disorienting for long moments after. Nausea and vomiting were common, and even though her crew never commented on it Evridika’s decision not to strap herself into her captain’s chair would have raised eyebrows back at high command. There was a deep seated fear based on a model created by some mathematician Evridika couldn’t have named that suggested taking even a single step forward during hyperspace would see that person emerge somewhere else, if they even emerged at all.

Of course such concerns were ludicrous. The duration of a jump was measured in increments so small even most computers couldn’t register them, and while the Republic had long-running programs conducting experiments on (and occasionally in) hyperspace, in the centuries since the Kearny-Fuchida drive had been invented no ship had ever lost a crewman during a jump. Which didn’t mean interstellar travel was safe, a distressingly large number of JumpShips had vanished outright, although fortunately such incidents were so rare Evridika would be hard pressed to name a Republic vessel that had vanished at any point in the past century.

Her well-drilled bridge crew recovered in a fraction of the time a muck-stomping Mechwarrior might have. Although Stefan Amaris VII considered the Rim World Navy something of a wasteful money-sink, he still provided the vessel commissioned by (and subsequently named after) his great great grandfather enough of a budget to perform regular combat exercises. Just in case. Stefan Amaris III—often called simply “Third” by her crew—and her sister ship Stefan Amaris IV were the only dedicated battleships in the entire RWN, but they served a useful purpose nonetheless, forming the primary escort and ‘flagship’ for the Republic’s small fleet of dedicated carriers.

Roughly half the size of the SLDF’s McKenna battleship, the Stefan Amaris-class was too lightly armed to engage a McKenna directly. With only a slightly heavier armament than most battlecruisers, the Third might have found a Sovetskii Soyuz a challenge were it not for her impressive armor. Boasting more armor than a McKenna, the class had been designed for battlefield longevity and could absorb hits no cruiser could manage. A true visionary, Stefan Amaris I had ensured that the ship design that bore his namesake boasted more point defense than entire SLDF flotillas. What he’d created was perhaps the Inner Sphere’s first safe WarShip, one that had little to fear from missile barrages and enemy fighters, and the Third’s compliment of thirty-six aerospace fighters was more than enough to overwhelm any single SLDF cruiser.

The original Stefan Amaris-class had saved weight and space wherever possible, but the original design had never skimped on anything that boosted combat functionality. The Third didn’t have a holotank on the bridge—the Third’s bridge was a holotank on a scale that would’ve made an SLDF captain of centuries past green with envy, and the advanced computers backing it were able to track thousands of simultaneous targets—a function Evridika hoped she wouldn’t have to put to the test. Over the past year the New Rim World Republic had pushed the design even further. The Third and Forth had both just finished an eight-month refit which had seen the removal of all but one of the design’s four original docking collars in order to trim enough weight to upgrade the vessel’s already impressive armor to the Republic’s cutting edge Lamellor Ferro-Carbide.

“Six JumpShips on sensors. Tower of Babel has emerged from hyperspace,” her aft sensor officer’s voice was filled with barely-contained excitement. The Tower of Babel was a Republic refit of the SLDF’s defunct Enterprise-class, every single ship of the class had been named after a travesty of architecture or engineering. Pared down to the original design specs and clocking in at a precise one-million tons, the Enterprise II was 600,000 tongs lighter than the original failed prototype—and unlike the original it could actually maneuver under its own power. Albeit slowly.

The officer spoke again, “Tower of Siloam has emerged from Hyperspace.”

Even with fifteen launch doors it would take each of the Towers forty-five minutes to launch its entire compliment of 675 Aerospace fighters, but the lines of data that streaked away from the Third’s bow told her she’d have her combat air patrol up in time to intercept anything the Clans might try to launch to intercept in the meantime. With the soon-to-be rapidly growing cloud of angry gnats that formed the real power of the Tower Squadron, it was the Third’s job to buy enough time for the carriers-based fighters—both manned and their drone wingmates—to overwhelm and destroy any enemy vessel present.

“Seven JumpShips, various classes,” one of her port-side sensor officers reported. “One Sovetskii Soyuz on an intercept course. IFF identifies as White Cloud—wonder if that’s the same one the SLDF had at Terra? Profile is completely different, computers are now updating specs. Estimated time to firing range one minute fifteen seconds.”

“Six JumpShips, various classes. One Aegis class cruiser,” her bow officer reported. “IFF says it’s the Bloodlust, now that’s cheerful. Ten—no, it’s pointed the wrong way and still decelerating. Fifteen plus minutes out.”

“Eight JumpShips, various classes,” her starboard officer reported finally. “No direct threats on sensors.”

Evridika snorted, her lip curling in contempt. To her eyes, the Clans had left their transports nearly undefended. Only a few DropShips remained to escort the Sovetskii Soyuz and its distant companion, and while the heavy cruiser was considered quite nimble, the Third was as fast at a proverbial walk as the venerable Heavy Cruiser was sprinting full-tilt.

“Let’s see if we can surprise them. Hard to port, ahead two-thirds.” Evridika ordered, settling into her captain’s chair just as the building roar of the battleship’s engines would have pressed her into it. The Third could accelerate up to two-and-a-half Gs, making it a full G faster than either of the enemy cruisers present. Even under a casual two-thirds acceleration she could practically run rings around the nearer Clan WarShip. “Prepare firing solutions for the White Cloud and fire Killer Whale tubes one through eight the moment we’re in range. And just in case they grow a little common sense and try to back off—aft batteries, engage targets of opportunity at will. It doesn’t matter how many WarShips they’ve got: if we take out all the transport JumpShips the Clan ground forces will be stuck here indefinitely.”



CSR James McKenna
McKenna-class Battleship
Geostationary Orbit, Andurien V
T - 00:01:00

A chime from his bedstand brought Star Admiral Piotr Sukhanov to full wakefulness. He stared bleary-eyed at the digital clock set into the steel table and stifled a curse—he’d been asleep for barely an hour-and-a-half and now, presumably, another new crisis had arisen. At thirty-seven he was getting on in years for a Clanner, but the Star Admiral had a little more leeway than a lesser officer. Assuming he wasn’t ousted, he’d serve another ten years at least and he was already practically guaranteed a place in the Sukhanov breeding program. He held still for a moment, shutting his eyes just to get an instinctual feel for his ship. The engines were running at the same timbre they always did, and he didn’t feel the faint shudders that might be weapon impacts from fighter attacks launched against the outer hull.

With a stifled yawn he depressed the transmit button on his intercom with his thumb. “Sukhanov.”

“Forgive me for waking you, Star Admiral. We have received an HPG transmission from the White Cloud. The report is as follows: Unknown vessel or vessels emerging from hyperspace. We are moving to engage,” The bridge officer whose name Piotr couldn’t be bothered to try to remember paused just long enough to make it clear that he’d delivered the entire message. “That is all they are reporting. Khan McKenna wants your analysis of the ‘unknown ships.’”

“Ercwlff Lankenau would have sent a transmission the moment a neutrino spike was detected,” Sukhanov sneered. “The ships are only unknown because he has not seen them yet—we can expect another transmission in a minute or so. The Star Commodore knows his business and the White Cloud is swift enough to evade whatever garbage the Republic has managed to throw together. If Ercwlff Lankenau feels he needs assistance he will ask for it in his next transmission. Until then, there is no sense dishonoring him by assuming him incapable of engaging what is almost certainly just another enemy transport JumpShip.”

“Your word to Kerensky’s ears, Star Admiral,” the officer replied a bit flippantly. Ercwlff made a mental note to put her on report if he was still feeling grumpy when he rose in six hours. “While we are bothering you: engineering reports an unusual neutrino spike from our jump drive. It is already fading but they have dispatched a work crew to investigate. They believe it is simply a minor helium leak.”

Sukhanov nodded. That sounded right. “Thank you, deck officer. If they request any further instructions, please inform them they have my permission to thoroughly scan the seals and replace any showing more than moderate wear.”

“Aye, Star Admiral.” There was a momentary pause as someone in the background said something Sukhanov couldn’t make out. “Ah, apologies again Star Admiral. We are receiving another transmission from—”



Catherine Humphreys Memorial Staging Area
Andurien V, Andurien
T - 00:0:30

“How much do you know about pirate jump points?”

“Pirate points can appear anywhere a system’s gravity is weak enough,” Jason shrugged. “It’s was common knowledge: pirate points are most common along the edges of a planetary system, but the most useful ones are nearer to a world’s orbital path and can shave days off a trip in-system. They also rarely appear inside the primary’s gravity well itself, usually in the lee of gas giants with strong gravitational pulls of their own. Some can be mapped, most don’t exist long enough to matter. Why?”

“A solid but basic answer,” Amaris tipped his head. “There’re a few nuances that have been lost since the fall of the Star League, but you have the gist of it.”

“So, I gather you’ve mapped the system’s pirate points, then?” Duncan queried. “Will you be jumping in a fleet near enough to Andurien to attack the James McKenna while it’s—stuck in Andurien’s gravity well and, er, unable to effectively maneuver?”

“A good guess, but not quite.” Amaris seemed amused by his little game: making Jason and Duncan guess how he was going to destroy the James McKenna. The ship still floated in the holotank, the satellite having crossed its bow completely to give them an excellent view of the ship’s port beam. The McKenna had grown noticeably smaller over the past few minutes, and the view suddenly flickered and shifted to a different, closer satellite approaching the vessel from above.

“This deep in a planetary system the gravity is too strong to allow a vessel to emerge from hyperspace unscathed. But that, of course, is the real trick.” Amaris steepled his fingers, leaning over the end of the table and taking another surreptitious glance at his watch. “Many of the common knowledge ‘rules’ of hyperspace travel are actually artificial limitations imposed by rigorous mathematical exercises and rigorous tests. For example: a JumpShip isn’t truly limited to a thirty light-year sphere, that’s a limitation to avoid damaging the drive core. You could, in theory, use a JumpShip to travel to any point in the known universe provided you weren’t concerned about getting back again.”

“This isn’t even purely theoretical knowledge, several worlds now in Republic space were originally colonized by fringe elements or religious who took a JumpShip and made a single melodramatic ‘leap of faith.’ Their ships were completely burned out, but the lucky ones found worlds so far beyond the Star League’s reach they may as well have discovered the Garden of Eden,” Amaris chuckled, then raised his hand to draw their attention back to the McKenna. Jason turned, watching the ship as the seconds ticked away and Amaris continued to speak.

“We jump to points at the tops and bottoms of a star system for the same reason, the stresses involved with jumping deep into a gravity well are enough to damage or outright destroy a drive core after even a single jump. But if you’re not concerned with your Kearny-Fuchida drive surviving the trip, you can arrive anywhere you choose. There is also,” Amaris’s voice dipped lower, softer, forcing Jason to strain to pay attention, “a truism that says: any sufficiently powerful engine is also an equally powerful weapon. And there is no engine in the known universe more powerful than the Kearny-Fuchida Jump Drive.”

As he trailed off, a light enveloped the McKenna. At first it was only a dim corona outlining the ship, subtle enough that Jason mistook it for a reflection from the system’s primary at first. But the radiance grew rapidly in the blink of an eye, whiting out the holotank and making Jason squint away from the brightness. The glow faded in an instant, and at first Jason thought there had been some mistake, that some nameless technician was sending the wrong satellite feed—that he was seeing only a blank and empty star field.

“My god,” Duncan breathed, pointing towards the lower corner of the screen. Jason fixed his gaze there and understood his partner’s sentiment. A tumbling mass, only barely recognizable as the James McKenna’s prow hurtled rapidly out of view. It was so small, as though more than four fifths of the ship had simply ceased to exist. The star field blurred as the satellites cameras twisted to follow its progress as traces of orange friction heat limned the tumbling wreckage.

“You’ve just born witness to the worst JumpShip accident in human history,” Amaris murmured, his voice so low he may have well been speaking to himself. When he continued he was a bit louder, sounding like nothing more than a magician explaining his tricks to a protégée, “Do you want to know the hardest part? It was getting the James McKenna moving in a way that was predictable enough to intercept—if we’d missed the ‘jig’ would have been up. Now the Clans will have to abandon Andurien V’s orbit, because they have no idea what just happened or whether or not we can do it again. And we can. All day, if need be.”

He clapped his hands precisely twice. “Well, now that the show’s over gentlemen—are you interested in seeing if the Clanners still want to file directly into your gunsights?”



Vote:

1) Accept the Clan challenge for an honor duel?
1A) Yes
1B) No

2) If yes, what size force will the Demon Hawks agree to engage?
2A) A trinary, no more
2B) A cluster, BattleMech forces only
2C) A cluster, all forces permitted
2D) A galaxy, BattleMech forces only
2E) A galaxy, all forces permitted
2F) An entire Clan

3) What should the Demon Hawks ask for if they win?
(write in)