Part 595: Political Vote 19 Results and Combat Theater Vote 17

Combat Theater Vote

“You want a chance to prove yourself?” Duncan’s hands didn’t move from his pockets. He seemed to regard Azer with a wariness the large man found commendable. The outline of the pistol in Duncan’s pocket was clear, and the calm focus of the man’s eyes told him he’d be shot dead before he took two steps if he made a move on the leader of the Demon Hawks or Stefan Amaris.

Azer would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to do just that, the leader of the Rim World Republic was right here, within striking distance. He’d go down in history as the man who killed the last Amaris, even if he died in the attempt. It was almost—almost—worth the risk, except his Clan would’ve never believed it. The Trueborns in charge would’ve taken any report of Amaris’s death as a deception and continued their attack—and the merchant caste whispered that even Amaris’s death wouldn’t be enough to turn the tide of the battle back to Clan Sea Fox’s favor. Tempted as he may have been, he kept his cool, trusting the warriors at his back to do the same.

Duncan nodded perceptibly, as if sensing Azer’s resolve. “Very well. You will be allowed to join the Demon Hawks,” he began, pausing for a single dramatic heartbeat before continuing, “but only after our battle on Andurien is over. Until that time, you—and any future Clan defectors—will form the core of our second company: Demon Hawks, Company “D.” You’ll fight with our logo and in our name, but we have no time to attempt to integrate you into our command structure. Instead, you’ll be under the direct command of one of the Republic’s liaison officers. I can’t risk you ruining one of our battle plans if you’re unwilling to follow orders you may not like. Understood and accepted?”

Azer considered, and asked, “We will be given an opportunity to actually fight?”

Amaris interjected, “Oh, absolutely. It will probably be limited engagements at first—hunting enemy scouts or raiders—but once Duncan is convinced you’re trustworthy I’ll be more than happy to put you right where you belong: on the front lines.”

Azer shut his eyes for a moment, considering the words of the spawn of the Great Deceiver. Neither promised the world—but both had shown respect in their own way. He nodded, “I find those terms acceptable. Bargained well and done, “Demon” Kalma. We will form this ‘Company D’ as you desire.”



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Krel Ershmin coughed, and spat a glob of dusty phlegm to the sand. He lay in the shade beneath his DH-404 Desert Hawg, waiting out the noontime heat. The wind barely stirred, but a few grains of sand tumbled down the nearest dunes anyway. Enkra wasn’t the hottest planet in the Inner Sphere, nor was it the least hospitable, but the equatorial deserts were vast and expansive. Fortunately, the planet’s vast aquifers were near enough to the surface to allow the former-Taurian settlers to live in relative comfort.

At least, it would have if Enkra had had the necessary minerals for drills. The Enkra system was so depleted of natural resources and, especially, metals that nearly everything the locals made was out of fired ceramic or glass. Even then, the sand was low in silica, so finding reliable deposits of construction materials was a full-time job in and of itself. It was honest, hard work—precisely the kind of job Krel had come to Enkra to avoid.

He yawned, scratched his wiry stubble, and chewed on a local root that had been “creatively” named Starvation Root. In the years after the Taurian Concordat had left Enkra, the local colonists had fallen into fits of barbarism and desperation, fleeing the equatorial deserts for cooler, somewhat wetter climates to the north. Starvation Root was one of the few plants that grew in the desert, the long taproots stretched down hundreds of meters to the aquifer below, wicking water upwards which they then oozed out onto the surface to attract their pollinators. A one-foot chunk of Starvation Root held enough food and nutrients to keep a man going for a day at least, but the effort it took to extract them was exhausting. The thick, woody material had to be chewed for hours until it turned gummy and soft enough to relinquish its moisture. The northern- and southerners maintained that you could always identify a man or woman hailing from the central deserts because they always had necks thicker than their heads.

Krel didn’t mind the thickneck appellation, even if it was untrue. If people wanted to think him a fool for scouring the deserts for wrecks and usable metals, so be it—he’d be laughing all the way to one of Enkra’s metal-starved banks any time he stumbled over a wreck.

“Oy, bus.” The sand crunched as Riber Michls crouched beside the Desert Hawg. Her long legs were lean and spare, and her gaunt, close-set eyes were lined in shade. “Bus,” she pressed again. “Gut a radio from Ol’ Mackie, up in Derk’s foothills. Says he’s found somethin’ big, bus. An actual BattleMech, prime for the salvagin’.”

“Fuck me,” Krel sat up, not even noticing when his skull bounced off the Desert Hawg’s oversized muffler. He crawled out from under the massive salvage vehicle and popped his back. As he emerged from the vehicle’s shade he practically withered in the noontime sun—damn, but it was hot. “He found a BattleMech and we’re the first salvagers he’s called?”

“Neh, bus,” Riber drawled. “General broadcast. Says he’ll give 60% to the first salvage crew what makes it on site.”

Krel squeezed his eyes closed, doing a little mental arithmetic. “Fuck me,” he exclaimed again. “Call up Ekran, Vohrs, Salis, and—” he stopped to think, then chose a forth, “Mehrens. Offer them five percent each if they’ll escort us and we beat the Devil’s Due and the rest to the site.” Krel and Riber shared a sly smile. His gunner was no fool—and while they were giving up twenty percent, she knew he was only offering twenty percent of his sixty percent—which meant the crews he asked for would only be making three percent of the gross each. Perfectly respectable for escort work.

Riber laughed, and Krel grinned as she kissed him on the cheek.

“Can do, bus. Meet at Arthel’s Oasis?”

“Hell yeah,” Krel agreed. “I ain’t makin’ the drive to the fucking Derks sober!”



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12th Amaris Legionnaires
The battle for Andurien rages on. Incensed by their losses, the Clans have launched a series of methodical strikes against the Republic’s premier front-line regiments. The Amaris Legionnaires are bearing the brunt of these Clan assaults. The 12th Legion has just been rotated to the front to cover the retreat of the 7th and give the Clans a fresh stone to grind themselves against.

Clan Sea Fox, 21st Assault Cluster, “Nagasawa's Foxes”
The 21st Assault Cluster has identified a weak point in the New Rim World Republic’s lines. Through careful observation, they’ve noted that gaps in the Republic’s defenses tend to form as one regiment is rotated out and another brought in to replace it. With the battered 7th Legionnaires being withdrawn to repair and rearm, the 21st Assault Cluster has made a daring advance in an attempt to slip through the Republic’s lines and flank the besieged 323rd Amaris Dragoons.

Demon Hawks, Company D
Company D, the new Demon Hawks subsidiary company made up of ex-Clan defectors, is eager to prove themselves worthy of the name—and take revenge on their previous masters for years of ill-use. They’ve been placed under direct Republic command to test their willingness to follow orders they may not like, but have nonetheless been placed near the front lines to seek the battle they seem to crave.

Clan Goliath Scorpion, 35th Scorpion Cuirassiers, “Scorpions of the Veil”
The cold war between the Goliath Scorpions and the Widowmakers is heating up. The Widowmakers have raided a Scorpion world for ammunition and supplies, and the ilKhan has ignored the Scorpions’ formal complaint. The 35th elite, fanatical Scorpion Cuirassiers have been tasked with a single duty: to punish and humiliate the offending Clan Widowmaker unit so thoroughly that the Widowmakers will be forced to disband it.

??????
Goons seem to love mystery options. This is one of those.

Dunerunners Salvage Crew
A prospector on the Periphery world of Enkra has struck it rich! A genuine BattleMech was found on his land. Lacking the equipment or the technical acumen to recover it, he’s put out a call to all the prospector crews of the Zegara desert: the first crew to make it on site gets a 60% cut of the profit from the BattleMech’s sale. The Dunewalkers are more than up to the challenge, but will they make it to the prospector’s mountain in time?





Combat Theater Vote:
A) 12th Amaris Legionnaires
B) 21st Assault Cluster
C) Demon Hawks, Company D
D) 35th Scorpion Cuirassiers
E) ??????
F) Dunerunners Salvage Crew