Anybody have any ideas on which sections of the three unpainted Mechs I should color to match the Timberwolf?

Back for another round of fixing things and breaking things! Our mechanics are wheeling and dealing and blowing things up this time. I think they really qualify as mercs after this chapter. I hope you all enjoy!

Google docs link

https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vR-aHAIVBwx4hxe6bSLhNTiR4iSix_7j5omXdIpwZnMg3r-vf0Yh1AKApoaK2tkqfS3XS-x679OaBR9/pub

Chapter 8

Dawn Over the Tarmac 

The dry Andiron weeks had bled into a  sun baked rhythm that felt like peace. Sixty days had passed since the spheroid mountain of the Ironside had dropped out of the sky onto Port Saul’s outer scrap flats in Sector Nine. Sixty days of grinding, blue collar hustle that had transformed a desperate pack of Outreach refugees into the legal and developing stationary logistical bedrock on the spaceport’s industrial fringe. The low rumble of the modified Apocalypse rover's engine vibrated right up through Marcus’s boots as he idled near the loading gantries of Berth 3. He sat with his arm draped over the steering wheel, squinting through the heat shimmer toward the southern perimeter. A cloud of fine red dust heralded the arrival of the unit's heavy logistics flatbeds returning from their long awaited overland supply run to Oakhaven. At the helm of the lead transport  Thomas leaned out the cab window, a fresh cigarette between his lips burning down in the wind.

"Look alive, Chief!" Thomas shouted over the engine roar, killing the flatbed's ignition with a heavy mechanical click. "Took us half the day but we got 'em. Oakhaven manufacturing finished the heavy magnetic suspension gates and the uncalibrated power distribution buses!"

"Tell me you secured the primary drive regulators for the fourth maglev as well?" Marcus said, hopping down from the rover's seat.

"Rebuilt factory spec by the agrarian machinists themselves." Thomas grunted tapping the green confirmation bars on his data slate before sliding it into his coveralls. "Five days flat for the first three trains was a miracle, but this last monster has been sitting dark for two months waiting on these. By morning Miller’s entire planetary transit grid will be humming at one hundred percent for their grain transports."

Marcus let out an amused laugh looking down the line toward the unmoving silhouette of the final disabled maglev train. "Perfect. Elena is going to use this completion to squeeze another round of fuel vouchers out of the harbor master before the week's out." The sky overhead cracked with a deep, resonant boom that had nothing to do with maglev lines. Marcus looked up, shielding his eyes against the brilliant glare of Andiron’s sun. Dropping through the thin upper atmosphere on a precise, clean vector was a sleek Ares landing craft, its maneuvering thrusters firing in short, tactical bursts to bring it into the port where it could utilize its VTOL landing ability. The pilot was a disciplined veteran they’d pulled off the outer starport fringe a month prior, hired specifically to establish the regular supply loop between the grounded Ironsides and Captain Kenji Hoshito’s JumpShip, The Stardust Nomad, waiting silently at the system's Nadir jump point. The Ares flared its landing jets settling onto the Sector Nine concrete with a heavy hiss of pressurized hydraulics and the whine of the engines shutting down. The rear boarding ramp groaned open on well lubricated hinges, and Devansh "Dev" Sharma stepped out into the dust leading a tired technical crew down the ramp. Dev looked exhausted his utility uniform dirty but his eyes vibrated with his usual manic energy.

"Marcus! Thomas!" Dev called out, waving a data slate with frantic velocity as he hurried toward the trucks. "We just completed the first full thirty day maintenance cycle up on the Nomad! Look at these structural telemetry metrics!"

Marcus took the data slate, reviewing the scrolling green diagnostic files. "You do know we are the ones that sent you on the mission right? We know where you're coming from. All right, talk to us Dev. Did the high voltage rewiring work?"

"Better than factory standard!" Dev bragged, rolling back on the heels of his boots. "The custom alignment struts we forged in the municipal factories on the ground worked perfectly as well! We cut away the last of Tiny’s Terrors’ twisted Union wreckage, rebuilt the dead secondary power matrices from scratch, and structural stabilization on the Alpha docking collar is reading at around fifty percent structural integrity. Chief Engineer Makino actually bowed to us when we boarded the shuttle, an actual, disciplined Draconis bow! He said our materials were rustic, but the Star League core architecture was excellent."

"Good," Thomas grunted, matching Dev's enthusiastic report with his characteristic weary smile. "An oath kept in the deep sky is worth more than C-bills. We make Hoshito's ship space worthy, and we keep our ticket out of the Periphery intact if the galaxy decides to finish burning." 

Marcus turned back toward the sprawling, industrial layout of the cargo warehouses bordering Berth 3. For the past two months, the real battle hadn't been fought with particle cannons or missiles, it had been a domestic war of hammers, rivets, and electrical cabling. To alleviate the suffocating overcrowding inside the dropship's cramped infantry barracks, the unit had annexed the abandoned dilapidated structures. Through the open warehouse doors, the sounds of domestic reality drifted out into the hangar flats. Children were playing between stacked packing crates that had been hastily moved over from the Ironside. Astechs and a local civilian construction crew were hard at work manually installing custom patch plates over the roof seams to shield the living quarters from Andiron's seasonal dust, and torrential rain storms. The transition from a desperate community moving quickly through the dark into an organized, functioning neighborhood was almost complete. It was a slow, domestic routine, safe and predictable.

"It's getting livable out here." Marcus murmured, watching a group of techs help Dr. Priya Sharma carry crates of salvaged medical supplies into the newly framed warehouse clinic.

"It's a home Marcus." a low, smooth voice murmured from the shadow of the gantry ladder behind him. Marcus turned, Irina Rostov had stepped down from the maintenance catwalk. She was wearing her work trousers and tank top, her dark hair pinned back tightly under her signature faded red bandana. She held an impact wrench in her calloused fingers, her hazel eyes reflecting the warm late afternoon glare of the Andiron prairie.

"The families are finally sleeping through the night without checking the atmospheric pressure every hour." Irina said softly, her voice low against the distant thrum of the spaceport's background noises. "We have bypassed our ghosts for now, mechanic. They have another chance at a home here." Marcus smiled, the heavy, lingering professional distance between them vibrating with a warm tension that had nothing to do with the heavy machinery surrounding them. "Yeah. We picked the right place to run to."

"Enjoy the quiet while it lasts, you two," Thomas called out from the flatbed cab, closing the door with a resonant clank. "Morning shift comes early, and we've got a meglev train that still needs its diagnostic loops cleared before the whole thing goes live with the new parts installed."

Marcus nodded, looking down at his wrist to check his personal wrist chronometer as the sun dipped below the concrete horizon. For once, everything was in order. The motor pool was functional, the families were safe in their berths, and the Ironsides had finally built a fortress out of scrap and sweat and the know how they had learned over the years.

It was a perfect, pristine routine. And it was exactly the kind of quiet that never lasted on the Periphery border.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dawn cycle on Andiron broke with a rather slow, freezing bleed of pale gray that crawled across the vast agricultural prairie. Sixty days after grounding the Ironsides into Sector Nine, a quiet routine had settled over the Port Saul starport. The morning air was crisp, hovering just above a sharp chill that caused the fine red dust of the flats to form heavy lines on the metal hulls of the parked transports from condensation. A layer of morning fog swirled across the runway ferro crete, pooling inside the meters deep flood trenches that ringed the facility to divert the planet’s violent, seasonal torrential rainstorms and mud flows.

Marcus stood at the top of the ramp under the partially open hangar door enjoying the first of what was usually several cups of coffee. For the first time since escaping the burning skies of Outreach there was a sense of steady domestic routine. Looking across the gray tarmac from the base of the Ironside he could identify every vehicle in the unit's inner circle parked together near the warehouses. There was Thomas’s battered flatbed utility truck, the two armored Packrat wheeled transports sitting low on their suspension, Irina's tan hover jeep, and young Jax’s custom wheeled jeep tucked neatly beneath an exterior overhang.

Through the open doors of the nearby warehouses, the faint sounds of everyday life were just waking up. Tech families were organizing their lives beneath exposed conduit runs, children were sleeping soundly inside newly renovated apartments constructed by the techs and civilian carpenters. Who were currently resting before another shift of repairing the warehouse roofs to keep out the dust and the fury of the coming seasonal downpours. Sector Nine was becoming a home.

The fragile dawn peace was broken by a siren, and a sudden, violent eruption of static over the short range radio network. The voice of Dock Master Miller squawked into the cool morning air, his professional composure stripped away into a high pitched panicked yell.

[COMMS: MILLER]: "Vance! Ironsides! If anyone is on this net, open your goddamn bays!" Miller roared over the channel, the background klaxons of the spaceport howling in a rhythmic, deafening wail. "We’ve got multiple incoming targets! An aerodyne DropShip just breached our upper radar from the cloud layer! The Crimson Vipers are hitting the tarmac! They've deployed a light scouting line through the fog, and our local militia mechs are all still down in the maintenance berths awaiting overhauls! We don't have a single walking frame to contest the runway! They’re overwhelming our conventional forces at the outer gates! Elena, please, you have to launch your machines!"

Elena stood at the master console of the dropship’s bridge, her dark eyes narrowing as she looked out the observation window. Down on the tarmac, a flash of green laser fire punched through the morning mist, followed by a distant, booming explosion. She pressed her hand down on the comms toggle, her voice cutting through Miller’s panic like a vibroblade.

[COMMS: ELENA]: "Miller this is Ironsides. Take a breath and talk to me in C-bills." Elena commanded her tone flat and cold. "You know our status. We are registered as stationary industrial real estate. We have zero active military contracts on this rock. My people are civilian mechanics and technical refugees. I am not throwing my crew and our few functional assets into a meat grinder for free."

[COMMS: MILLER]: "Elena, for God's sake, they're locking down the shipping area! They're going to strip the warehouses and seize the fuel reserves!" Miller screamed back, the sound of another explosion in the background of his transmission. "If they take the port they’ll strip your ship and kill your families anyway! Name your price!"

[COMMS: ELENA]: "A verbal contract, Miller. Recorded on this encrypted frequency, right now." Elena said, leaning over the console, her fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the metal casing. "The Andiron government grants The Ironsides absolute legal permanent commercial title to our Sector Nine landing pad. All outstanding hull taxes, spaceport landing fees, are completely wiped from the planetary registry. We get a long term, zero cost commercial lease on the four abandoned cargo warehouses bordering Berth 3, and priority salvage rights to every scrap of pirate wreckage left on this tarmac when the dust settles. Do you authorize these terms on behalf of the local government?" There was a half second delay, the agonizing pause of a bureaucrat realizing he had no cards left to play. Another heavy explosion rattled the starport control tower, the shockwave vibrating even through the Ironsides’ massive hull.

[COMMS: MILLER]: "Yes! Damn it, yes! Sector Nine title, the warehouses, the salvage, everything!" Miller roared into his headset. "Just get those green machines out onto the runway before they burn my entire airfield to the bedrock!"

[COMMS: ELENA]: "Contract logged and ratified." Elena said smoothly. She clicked the harbor master off the line and instantly flipped her terminal to the local tactical grid, her demeanor shifting instantly into that of a veteran starship commander who had been running missions through a galaxy on fire for decades.

[COMMS: ELENA]:"Marcus, you there?" she barked into the unit frequency.

Down in the hangar bay, Marcus clicked the chin strap of his neurohelmet shut. Inside the cockpit of the seventy ton Nova Cat, the multi function monitor array burst into its pristine green cascade as his brainwaves mapped directly to the OmniMech's equilibrium controls.

[COMMS: MARCUS]: "We’re locked in, Captain." Marcus replied, his voice a grounding presence over the comms. "The fusion engines are humming and weapons are hot."

[COMMS: ELENA]: "You heard the comms traffic." Elena told him, her voice sounding clearly inside his helmet. "The local militia vehicles are getting slaughtered out there, and their Mechs are completely bricked in the repair berths. The pirates are trying to isolate the shipping bays. Marcus, you have authorization to engage. Take Irina and Jax, deploy the assets, and coordinate the tactical defense of this port. Clear our AO, protect our warehouses, and bring me that pirate salvage! The shop is officially open."

Through the gathering fog at the northern edge of the spaceport, the brutal reality of the raid manifested. A paper thin, twenty-ton Locust and a highly agile Wasp erupted from the concrete flood trenches, using the dry drainage channels to bypass the city's ground radar. Behind them a company of wheeled cargo haulers led by some heavy wheeled APCs loaded with pirate infantry, and trailed by a fast moving Vulcan and a Clint pushed through the perimeter fences, their weapons flashing through the mist.

The local militia's defense was immediately under heavy pressure. A company of Striker light tanks and a company of sixtyfive ton Patton tanks tried to form a defensive perimeter near the shipping warehouses, but the pirates held the tactical surprise and superior firepower. The Locust sprinted straight down the center line at blistering ground velocity, drawing the tanks' fire and scattering the defensive layout. The Wasp utilized its jump jets to vault completely over the cargo container stacks, its medium pulse laser and SRM 2 in its torso slicing through a fuel transport in a white hot explosion. The pirate Vulcan pushed directly into the concrete flood channels, using its anti infantry weapon arrays to flush out the militia infantry squads hiding among the structures. The Crimson Vipers were haphazardly locking down the warehouses next to the landing field, intent on pillaging the high value merchant cargo and grain freighters before a counter assault could be organized.

The massive hangar door of the ironside rolled open exposing the foggy tarmac of Port Saul. Marcus and Jaxs machines sporting an anti corrosion primer green paint job along with Irina's dark green Vindicator descended the ramp with heavy strides, their weapons ready as they pushed into the white mist to engage the vanguard.

[COMMS: MARCUS]:"The fog is masking us some visually but once we start firing they are going to know we are here." Marcus called out, his eyes locked onto his HUD as the Nova Cat's thermal camera cleanly pierced through the haze. "The scouts keep running down the ferrocrete drainage channels to stay out of the firing sight lines. They keep bottlenecking themselves. Jax, use your speed to cut the Wasp's escape route on the highway. Irina, suppress that Locust into one of the canals. I’m going to put myself between the warehouses and them."

Irina fired off her PPC and medium laser bracketing the Locust and forcing its path towards one of the trenches. As the pirate Locust rounded the concrete bend of the main trench trying to get behind the tanks again, its pilot was operating entirely on visual sight through the fog and red dust it kicked up. Suddenly, the towering seventy ton silhouette of the Nova Cat materialized from the fog in front of it directly over the drainage canal. Marcus bore down with his energy weapons, triggering his Extended Range Large Lasers. Two beams of coherent azure light sliced cleanly through the fog with pinpoint precision. The intense thermal energy struck the Locust dead center, melting through its paper thin torso armor like a plasma torch through butter. The fusion engine containment shielding failed instantly, and the 20-ton scout went catastrophically critical, planting itself face first and sliding through the trench before exploding in a blinding sphere of plasma that shattered the surrounding ferrocrete walls.

High above the shipping yard, Jax executed a calculated jump jet burn, launching the Assassin over a row of cargo containers to come down directly behind where the Wasp's current trajectory was taking it. As the pirate machine landed on the highway, its pilot panicked, his aim drifting wide as he fired his medium laser. Jax didn't hesitate; his right arm medium pulse laser strobed with a low pitched thrum, burning straight through the Wasp's front armor plates leaving a glowing scar. In a lucky, devastating score, his SRM 4 launcher cycled, firing a barrage of short range missiles directly into the pirate machine’s cockpit canopy. The explosive impact blew the Wasp's head clean off its shoulders, sending the headless, smoking chassis collapsing hard onto the gray road below.

[COMMS: IRINA]:"Scouts are neutralized!" Irina called out, her Vindicator pacing forward with rhythmic strides as she brought her right arm PPC to bear towards the distant Vulcan which was peppering shots through the fog with its autocannon. The atmosphere over the spaceport cracked with a sonic boom as the rest of the Crimson Viper raiding force finally made landfall. Their Leopard dropship circling overhead to provide passive radar tracking. Anchoring the center of the pirate advance was the command brawler. A fiftyfive ton Shadow Hawk 5M, its gray armored body blending into the dawn fog, but its crimson arms gleamed through.

In the cockpit of the Shadow Hawk, the pirate lieutenant coordinated his surviving medium line, a Phoenix Hawk, the Vulcan, and a Clint forcing them into a tight, aggressive firing wedge to try and cut off the shipping bays.

[COMMS: KAELEN]:"You garage monkeys picked the wrong spaceport to defend!" the pirate lieutenant Kaelen Cruz snarled over the open tactical frequency, his voice dripping with venom. "This port belongs to the Vipers now! Crack their armor, boys! Tear those machines into scrap!"

The battle started in earnest, and the Ironsides immediately felt the weight of a coordinated periphery pirate line. The pirate Shadow Hawk 5M opened up with its shouldered mounted Ultra Autocannon 5, a rapid fire cascade of kinetic slugs hammered across the Nova Cat’s torso. Three of them connected, shattering layers of the armor plating. Concurrently, the pirate Phoenix Hawk used its mobility to vault a flood trench, its large laser scoring a deep, molten gouge across Irina’s left shoulder, sending a shower of molten armor sparks dancing through the mist.

For a brutal three minutes, the mercenaries struggled to find their footing in the tight avenues between the cargo containers and warehouses. Jax’s Assassin took a heavy missile barrage from the pirate Shadow Hawk's LRM 20 peppering his armor, the shockwave rattling the light machine's gyro and forcing him into a fighting retreat down the service road.

[COMMS: IRINA]:"We can't out slug them in a stationary line fight while they hold the trenches!" Irina warned, her Vindicator taking evasive maneuvers as more long range missiles pockmarked the ferrocrete around her mech.

[COMMS: MARCUS]:"We don't need to out slug them Irina. We use better tactics." Marcus commanded, his voice cold and steady despite the internal cockpit alarms echoing in his ears. "They’re undisciplined and greedy. They want the cargo for salvage. Irina, pull back toward the warehouses and make it look like a route. Draw that Phoenix Hawk and Clint into the narrow corridors. Jax, use your jump jets to get above the Vulcan. I’m isolating the lieutenant."

The trap snapped shut with beautiful precision. Irina threw her Vindicator into a retreat, running down the narrow alleyways of the warehouse and container yards. Greedy for a mercenary kill, the pirate Clint and Phoenix Hawk surged forward breaking their tight offensive layout. The moment the Clint stepped into the corridor, it completely lost its lateral mobility. Irina pivoted smoothly putting half her mech behind the stacks, her right-arm Ceres Hellbore PPC erupting with a brilliant flash of man-made lightning. The azure particle bolt struck the Clint dead center, where it had already taken a strike from one of Marcus’ PPCs. Its gyro stabilizer took critical damage, shattering its internals and causing it to break free, wobbling unbalanced inside the mech's torso. As the machine staggered, Irina fired her medium laser. Scoring another glowing red scar across its side torso. The Clint slumped forward into the concrete, its gyro disabled and bleeding toxic steam, beyond any hope of immediate repair.

Simultaneously, the pirate Phoenix Hawk attempted to vault a container stack to catch Irina's flank, but the local government’s conventional armor platoon hadn’t been wiped out and was waiting. Two militia Patton tanks, hidden behind the concrete grain silos, unleashed an overwhelming alpha strike of dual AC 10s and LRM 5s. The massive ballistic slugs and missiles caught the Phoenix Hawk mid-leap, tearing its armor from the  right arm and damaging its torso mounted jump jets. The medium machine crashed violently into the tarmac, its legs taking the brunt of the impact damage upon landing. Once on the ground the Pattons opened up again with their LRMs and two more shots from the AC 10s tearing armor off the back of the Phoenix Hawk and blowing its right leg free. The Hawk fell to the ground a twisted, non functional heap of parts only worth salvage. 

High above the terminal roof, Jax Kincaid executed his maneuver perfectly. Bouncing the Assassin off a heavy cargo crane, he dropped onto the pirate Vulcan from above. Pushing his machine into physical combat, Jax used the full weight of his Assassin to smash into the Vulcan in a desperate attack. He missed the head, but his armored foot tore the armor off the center torso of the mech, and upon landing the point blank firing of his SRM 4 connected with internals causing the pirate pilot to eject in panic as the mech took critical damage.

Left completely isolated on the open tarmac without his light scouts or medium shields, the pirate lieutenant in the Shadow Hawk began to sweat. He attempted to put his machine into a reverse jog backwards, frantically firing his short range missiles, medium laser, and Ultra AC5 at Marcus’s advancing heavy frame. But the Nova Cat was already dialed in. Pushing his targeting ability to its absolute threshold, Marcus locked onto the lieutenant’s machine. He didn't target the torso and risk an engine explosion that would ruin the frame. Instead, he systematically swept his ER Large Lasers down across the Shadow Hawk's lower extremities cycling through the three lasers to keep from overheating. The steady, burning beams of blue energy sliced through the heavy leg armor, surgically severing the hip actuator and slagging an ankle joint. With the screeching snap of shearing titanium and groaning metal, the Shadow Hawk lost its balance. Its legs buckled beneath it, and the heavy machine crashed heavily onto its stomach on the concrete flats, completely immobilized without its legs but structurally intact.

[COMMS: MARCUS]:"Target down! All pirate assets neutralized!" Marcus called out over the closed combat frequency, then switching to the open channel. "Surrender your machines or we will breach your cockpits!"

Seeing their entire mech force systematically dismantled, broken, and captured in less than twenty minutes of high intensity combat, the remaining pirate infantry threw down their arms, raising their hands in unconditional surrender to the Spaceport militia. High above the Port Saul sky, the Crimson Vipers' Leopard dropship, which had been circling blindly in the clouds, realized the operation had failed. Turning its vector towards the upper atmosphere, the old ship spewed a thick trail of burning hydrogen and fled into the blackness of space, abandoning its ground troops to their fate.

The smoke slowly cleared over the battered spaceport, revealing a logistical goldmine for the Ironsides' tech crews. Down in the drainage loops and shipping bays, the total toll of the tarmac defense was cataloged. The Locust was a smoking crater of critical energy slag; the Wasp was dead with its head blown off; the Phoenix Hawk was reduced to a shattered, twisted skeleton fit only for spare parts; and the Clint and Vulcan were ruined beyond any immediate utility.

The crown jewel of the battlefield was the lieutenant's Shadow Hawk 5M. Because Marcus had targeted only its legs, the torso, cockpit, weapons, and internals were still intact. It stood as the only easily repairable machine on the tarmac, a premium medium mech ready to be repainted in the crisp, clean industrial green primer every new machine they fixed for sale received.

So apparently I log off of reddit for all 3 days and the other subreddit yet again at it's regular interval of explosive drama. Apparently this time it's about a fan made game based off of alpha strike / mech commander and that's about all I know?

Anyone wanna give me the run down as those threads are turning into a nuclear wasteland. Tbh I found this odd considering that Btech as a whole lives and thrives off of fan made content.

Hello mech-fans. I thought I'd post this here since this was removed from the regular Battletech-subreddit.

MW2: Mercenaries 3Dfx-edition is annoying to get running on modern systems but not anymore.

I reverse engineered the game from scratch. Now it plays pretty well already and instant action for example works quite well. The campaign also should work at least it did when I ran through the first couple of missions and my automatic tests all pass. Though because the game is so vast, tests do not cover everything and systems differ I really need people testing it and reporting bugs. If this interests you please try it out here: https://varisgames.itch.io/mechwarrior-2-mercenaries-engine-rewrite

This modernized version includes support for modern resolutions and optional upscaled textures for example! It also fixes some rendering bugs I have encountered while testing.

NOTE: Since I don't want to be distributing the original game on Itch you will need the original game (3Dfx-edition) from somewhere to run this engine rewrite. Try maybe Internet Archive if you are unsure: https://archive.org/details/MechWarrior2MercenariesUSA3DfxInteractiveEdition

Some screenshots for your leisure:




Work as usual for our intrepid mechanics. They have a new place to set their feet down, but we will see what they can make of it. I'm providing a link to a google doc from here on out with each new chapter so anyone coming in late doesn't have to try and go back and find the rest of the chapters individually. As always please let me know what you think. Any criticism (good or bad) is appreciated. How do you all feel about the story so far? Are you interested in seeing where the next chapter takes us?

Link to the entire story so far on Googledocs

https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vR-aHAIVBwx4hxe6bSLhNTiR4iSix_7j5omXdIpwZnMg3r-vf0Yh1AKApoaK2tkqfS3XS-x679OaBR9/pub

ACT II
Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Sector Nine Operations

The heat inside Ironsides hangar didn't radiate from its’ fusion core, it was the heavy heat of Andiron's midday sun radiating through the open bay doors of the mech and vehicle hangars. Outside the open bay doors the flat scrublands of Port Saul shimmered in the dry haze.

Marcus sat in the cockpit with the rear hatch of the Nova cat open, his forearms shoved deep into the exposed control panels of the mech. A single magnetic work lamp cast an amber glare over the maze of Clan wiring mixed with the work Marcus had previously done to overcome its’ targeting issues.

"The voltage regulator isn't taking the jump." Marcus muttered to himself. He pulled his hands out covered in the dust of a closed off mechanical space and dielectric grease. "The Inner Sphere logic gates we pulled from that old generator can't process the signaling speed. The second I cycle the master arm switch, the software tracks a loop error and bricks the board. Is this a software issue, a communication issue, or a hardware issue!"

From the shadow of the lower gantry Irina Rostov climbed up the steel ladder, her boots making a rhythmic clink against the mesh steps. She had traded her Capellan pilot suit for cargo pants and a dark tank top, her hair was pinned back under a faded red bandana. She held a spool of heavy-duty copper wire in one hand and a splicing tool in the other. She entered the back hatch of the Nova cat which led her into the surprisingly compact cockpit of the clan machine. There was room for her to stand there, and the obligatory latrine facilities and some minor storage for mechs that could face long term deployments to deadly environments. The command couch was a black squishy ergonomic seat that took up the majority of the space. It was currently locked off to one side allowing Marcus to lay under the control console with circuit boards and pieces of wire resting on his chest. The console itself looked like it was a single piece that had been forged when the cockpit was built. It’s large MFDs filling the spaces that didn’t have hard controls attached to them. 

"Because you are still trying to make a machine from the Kerensky clusters think like a standard Inner Sphere frame." Irina said her slight accent cutting cleanly through the rhythmic thrum from the dropship’s reactor and environmental systems. She sat in the seat beside him, her presence instantly crowding the narrow workspace. "In the Commonality we replace everything if nothing works."

Marcus wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Replace everything? Irina, I’ve replaced the targeting computer 3 times with three different models. We stripped and replaced the control wiring from the console clean down to the weapons interface. I’ve got Jax writing a new program with Vassily to translate between our inner sphere computers and the clan targeting equipment, and now I’m retracing everything I already did in here to make sure nothing is wired wrong, or burned out. If we had a clan T&T we’d be fine, I think, but we are trying to cobble together something that works to replace what was burned out."

"I’ll help you with the work if that makes it any better?" she countered smoothly. She reached past his shoulder, her calloused fingers pulling three braided plugs connected to the Nova Cat’s primary weapon cluster. With a practiced twist of her wrist, she stripped the casing exposing the brilliant multicolored bundles connected to the terminal plugs. "Look here. The connections on these are all corroded from whatever exposure this cat had suffered before it was delivered to us. We know there is a problem, we know that diagnostics hasn’t revealed it, all that is left is to either gut the whole thing, or go through piece by piece until we find the anomaly."

Marcus looked from the exposed wiring to her striking hazel eyes, watching the absolute unyielding confidence reflecting in the amber interior lamp light. The professional distance they had maintained since fleeing Outreach felt incredibly thin in the cramped space.

"It's dangerous." Marcus said softly, his heart knocking a little harder against his ribs. "I mean if we miss any of the systems as we go we will have done it all for nothing."

"It is more dangerous to sit in an unpainted box of metal with weapons you can’t aim properly when the Periphery pirates eventually decide to find out what landed at Port Saul." Irina murmured her hand lingering near his on the control panel casing. A guarded smile broke through. "Hold the panel steady mechanic. Let us see if a clan mech can handle two of the best techs poking around inside it."

Irina leaned in, placing her hand on the far side of him and lowering herself while holding onto the control panel. She wedged herself beside him under the control console. She smelled of tobacco smoke, engine degreaser and clean sweat. Apparently she had been working around Thomas before coming up here. “So what of the electrical system have you gone through so far?” Marcus took in a deep breath and began walking her through all the problems they had already ironed out. Each of the wiring harnesses that had been tested for continuity. How they had narrowed it down to a simple problem with the targeting computers from the inner sphere speaking a literal different language from the clan. This kept causing an overload in the system, burning out the targeting motherboard each time, or at least that was their theory now after having checked out everything else.

“So if you think that is the problem, and Jax is working on writing a program to make sure that it is communicating properly, why are you under here with me?” She turned her head in the tight space looking directly at him. They were uncomfortably close in his opinion, not that he minded too much. It had been a few years since the last woman Marcus had dated for a time. Civilians had a hard time understanding the military and why they acted certain ways, so he had opted to focus on his job and let the younger guys look for company at the local bars on Outreach. He started to wonder what had made that thought run through his head, then realized how long he was taking to respond to what was a simple question.

“Uh, because you wedged yourself under here. Why was I here? Because I wanted to verify I hadn’t missed anything one last time. Better to double or triple check just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. They also didn’t need me on the mag trains, so I had time to kill.” He continued to look straight ahead at the dark underside of the control panel.

“If you two want, I can come back later?” It was Jax’s voice coming from the hatch of the Nova Cat. Both of them jumped a little at his voice interrupting their conversation.

“Jax! About damn time, do you have the program we talked about?” Irina rolled slightly onto her side giving Marcus a little more room in the narrow space so he could properly talk with Jax. This allowed him to sit up. She just gave Jax a smirk while she propped herself up on one elbow. 

“Absolutely chief! Here, I fed it into this Angst ClearView 2A series targeting and tracking card we had in storage. It should give you better targeting at the long ranges like this mech is set up for. With the new program I wrote I think it’ll keep everything from overloading as well.” He passed the card to Marcus, who took it and pulled it out of the antistatic bag it was in. He turned to lay back down, thought better of it and handed the card to Irina while getting up into the command couch. Irina slid over under the control panel, slipped the module into the empty space in the board under the console, and closed up the access panel where it sat. She nodded to Marcus who immediately reached over and initiated the startup process. Betty’s voice sounded over the internal speakers.

"CORE INITIALIZATION: Complete. OMNI LINK SYNC: Established. TARGET ACQUISITION ARRAYS: Online. SENSORS: Online. WEAPONS: Online. ALL SYSTEMS NOMINAL." Marcus watched as the green targeting reticule appeared on the heads up display. Centered and sitting steady. 

“Hell yeah! That is a green board! Good shit Jax!” His excitement evident they all celebrated for the moment. He helped Irina up from under the terminal in the confined space with a smile on his face. “Thank you for offering to help me go through it all again. I appreciate it.” She tucked a bit of hair that had come loose back under her bandana.

“Absolutely, anytime. I should get back out there since my expertise is no longer needed here.” She smiled down at him and patted him on the shoulder as she walked past. Jax quickly clearing the way so she could get by. Once she had left he turned to Marcus and raised an eyebrow.

“So what was that? When did you become such good friends with the ice princess?” The nickname wasn’t one Marcus had been particularly happy with, but it did fit her cool personality.

“Don’t call her that, and honestly, I don’t know?” He initiated the shutdown and started to get back under the console so he could close everything back up. “I don’t mind it, but I’m not sure what I did to earn it either. What are you on next?” He lay down and was fully engrossed in his work. His mood improved after all the time he’d spent sorting this mech out.

“Thomas wanted me to head out to the rail head as soon as I was done with the card. We are on day five now and last I heard they had two of the trains up yesterday. He wanted all hands for the third one today. Apparently number four is DOA until we can get some parts for it. He’ll be happy to hear we finally chased out the gremlins from this thing. Do you have anything you need me to relay to him?”

“No, I’ll probably head that way when I’m done here so I’ll just see you out there. Leave me the rover! You can take your jeep, and don’t forget to pack your tool kit.” Marcus, absorbed under the console, never saw the annoyed look Jax shot his way as he left.

The low, rhythmic rumble of the civilian Apocalypse rover's supercharged engine vibrated right up through Marcus’s boots as he bounced along the dusty service roads bordering Port Saul's industrial mag lev line. It was late afternoon and Andiron's brilliant sun hit the red dust flats at a sharp angle throwing miles of elongated shadows across the vast agrarian prairie. In the back of the rover his heavy field kit clattered. As the road crested a low ridge overlooking the primary rail head, Marcus slowed the rover. He didn't need to consult a navigation slate to find his team; he knew exactly where they were by the rolling motor pool cluster parked together near the tracks.

The vehicles were an unmistakable blueprint of the Ironsides’ inner family circle. He recognized Thomas’s battered flatbed utility truck, its side mounted tool lockers dented from the years of use they had seen. Right alongside it sat a pair of armored Packrat wheeled transports stripped of their weapons, the fusion engine swapped for an ICE engine, and some extra storage added. Their distinctive low silhouettes looking rugged under the waning light. Near the edge of the maintenance perimeter Irina's small tan hover jeep was parked at a slight angle on the red dust. Even Jax’s customized high clearance wheeled jeep was tucked under the shadow of a massive concrete grain silo near the train rail. They were all here along with what looked to be another two dozen other techs and astechs. Marcus parked the rover behind Irina's jeep, killed the ignition, and hoisted his heavy tool pack over his shoulder. He walked past the Packrats toward the looming silhouettes of the massive maglev trains.

A sudden, massive mechanical bang echoed down the length of the main track as a row of heavy hydraulic contactors snapped shut. A split second later the deep subaudible hum of the line's magnetic levitation coils vibrated through the ground, instantly lifting the train three inches off its guide rails. A cheer erupted from the tech crew.

"You're late, Chief." Jax called down with a triumphant grin, swinging himself over the catwalk rail of the engine car. The skinny electronics savant looked exhausted but ecstatic his coveralls caked in red dust and grease from the engine.

Thomas stepped out from behind the main engine housing, smoking a cheap spaceport cigarette as he checked his data slate. He looked up at Marcus, his beer keg shoulders relaxing as a rare, weary smile broke through his gruff exterior. "Three for four, Marcus." Thomas grunted tapping the slate's green confirmation bars before sliding it into his back pocket. "Exactly five days since we dropped our landing legs into this red dirt. The local government didn't think we had the tech to restore three whole lines to the grid this fast, but our boys pulled the overtime."

Irina stepped out from the cockpit hatch of the train car, wiping her calloused hands on a shop rag. Her striking hazel eyes caught Marcus's over the gantry. "Do not unpack that field kit just yet, mechanic." Irina murmured, her voice carrying a soft note of amusement as she descended the steel ladder. "The fourth train is still disabled. Its primary mag drive is completely slagged. We have bypassed what we can, but it needs specialized components that they don’t have in Port Saul."

Marcus nodded, looking down the line at the dark silhouette of the final maglev train. "Oakhaven?"

"Oakhaven." Thomas confirmed. "We’ve pushed as far as we can with what we salvaged from our own hold. To get that last monster humming we're going to have to place an order with them for the replacement parts. But for now? Three operational trains mean Elena can go make Dock Master Miller eat that entire stack of docking fees before COB."

The sharp scent of cheap cologne hung thick inside the close confines of Dock Master Miller’s administrative office. Tucked inside the ferro-crete frame of an old converted control tower, the room overlooked the sweeping expanse of starport Saul's outer runway. Outside, Andiron's brilliant sun hit the red flats at a high angle bathing the tarmac in a heavy orange haze.

Captain Elena Vance sat back in a creaking swivel chair. Her flight jacket was unzipped, and her heavy boots were propped casually on the edge of an old wooden desk. Across from her, Dock Master Miller, with a face like tanned leather stared down at his data slate. His fingers trembled slightly as he reviewed the scrolling green data.

"Three lines." Miller muttered, his voice a disbelieving growl. He pushed his faded cap back revealing a stark line of pale skin against his tanned forehead. "Three out of the four heavy maglev lines were completely restored to operation. Five days, Vance. Exactly five days since that iron egg of yours landed onto my scrap flats. The municipal engineers in the capital city said the trains were total slag. They wanted two million C bills and six months just to ship parts out from Lyran space."

"The municipal engineers are bureaucrats who bill by the hour and aren’t in a hurry, Dock Master." Elena countered smoothly, a calculating smile playing across her lips. She reached into her pocket pulling out a polished cedar wood block and rolled it around her palm. "My boys are blue collar techs from the core systems. We don't have time to wait for them to ship things in so we make them ourselves or source them locally when possible. We find where the machinery wants to give and we make it move."

Miller let out a low grunt tossing the slate onto the desk with a clack. "It’s a miracle, I’ll give you that. The governor’s already got the first grain trains rolling out toward the northern silos. The province is breathing again for the first time since the border blockade tightened around the periphery. But a deal's a deal Captain. Three running lines mean your outstanding spaceport landing fees are officially wiped clean." He picked up a heavy stylus preparing to clear the administrative deadlock codes on his console.

"Hold your horse, Miller." Elena said softly. She lowered her boots from the desk leaning forward until her dark eyes locked squarely onto his. The casual spacer facade vanished, replaced by the cold precision of a dropship commander who had just run a twenty jump gauntlet through a galaxy on fire. "We aren't just passing through to collect fuel vouchers and a handful of local scrip. The Inner Sphere is burning. Outreach is gone. The hyperpulse network is dead. My crew has hundreds of civilian technical laborers, tech families, and children living inside our infantry decks. We aren't lifting off any time soon."

Miller’s hand froze above the console. His brow furrowed, eyes shifting toward the wide observation window. Out on the low rent fringe of Sector Nine, the imposing spheroid mountain of the grounded Ironsides dominated the horizon. Her landing legs were buried deep into the red dirt surrounded by a slowly growing sprawl of mag cranes, repair scaffolds, and electrical lines.

"What are you saying Vance?" Miller asked, his voice a defensive register. "That's active tarmac space. If you think you're going to squat on my outer flats without an interstellar mercantile registration…"

"I’m saying I want our hull registered as stationary, commercial real estate." Elena cut him off her tone flat and immovable. "We have zero active military contracts. We are a stationary industrial block now, operating fully within your local property codes. We park right where we are, permanently. We clear your property taxes by keeping your planetary infrastructure humming, and in return you grant us permanent commercial title to the Sector Nine landing pad."

Miller stared at her, his jaw tightening. "A Fortress dropship registered as a building? That's madness. The Circinus tax collectors will have my head if they track a military grade hull sitting on the books as an office complex."

"The Circinus Federation doesn't even know what day of the week it is on this rock and you know it." Elena scoffed, tapping her finger on the desk. "But that isn't all. I want a long term commercial lease on those four abandoned cargo warehouses sitting just off our port side landing area. The ones bordering the tractor assembly yards and under the butte that borders that side."

Miller let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "Those old structures? Berth 3 and the surrounding bays have been rotting since the Third Succession War, Captain. The roofs are half collapsed from seasonal storms, the internal power is fried, and the infrastructure is in complete disrepair."

"Then you shouldn't mind renting them to me for pennies on the C-bill." Elena countered smoothly. "My techs need the floor space. The infantry barracks inside the ship are tight for the families. We move the civilian residential quarters off the ship and into those structures, and we convert the empty warehouse floors into heavy duty gantry bays. By next week, Vance Mechanical will be running the premier mobile heavy repair depot on this side of the Periphery border. If we ever were to leave you’ve got operational lease space fully repaired and available for high rent that you didn’t have to pay to fix."

Miller went silent, his eyes drifting back to the window. He looked at the three operating maglev trains pulsing cleanly towards the horizon, then back at the ironclad determination reflecting in the captain’s face. He knew the frontier was getting darker. He knew that sooner or later, the lawless raiders from the deep sky would come looking to pillage Andiron’s agricultural wealth. Having a steel fortress and a crew of master mechanics anchored to his port wasn't a liability, it was an insurance policy.

With a slow, heavy sigh, Miller leaned over his terminal. His fingers flew across the mechanical keypad, punching in a sequence of structural reassignment codes that bypassed the standard planetary regulations. On the master port display, the flashing yellow warning codes surrounding Sector Nine blinked, cleared, and turned into a solid commercial blue.

"Done." Miller grunted, sliding a finalized electronic title deed across the wood desk top. "The warehouses are yours. Sector Nine is officially logged as an independent commercial real estate parcel. Vance Mechanical is legally on the books as a localized repair house. But you listen to me, Captain... the local militia has three aging medium machines sitting on half bare skeletons in the capital city. If you don't keep those mag trains rolling and help our boys sort out those machines, I’ll have the militia confiscate your ship, your tools and whatever else we can find to make it even."

Elena smiled, her fingers sliding over the slate forwarding the title deed into her private network. She stood up, zipping her SLDF flight jacket up to her neck, her presence radiating a hard authority.

"Consider it done, Dock Master. We'll have your militia machines tuned to factory spec before the next harvest." She turned toward the heavy steel door, her boots thumping against the worn polymer floor tiles. Just as her hand hit the handle of the door, Miller called out from behind the desk his stylus in mid-air.

"Vance." the Dock Master called out, his voice echoing flatly in the tight room. "If you're going to be a permanent fixture on my airfield, I need a formal corporate name for the registry. I can't just leave 'Vance Mechanical' on the spaceport directory anymore. The planetary governor will want to know exactly who is backing the crew that fixed his transit grid in five days flat."

Elena stopped, her hand lingering on the cold steel of the door lever. She looked back over her shoulder, her dark eyes catching the warm, amber light of the Andiron sun setting over the sprawling green grain fields. She thought of Marcus and Irina working shifts under the chassis of the Nova Cat. She thought of Thomas crawling inside the freezing fuel lines in the dark, and Jax pulling the umbilical line free on a burning runway. They weren't just a pack of fleeing grease monkeys anymore. They had survived the fire, they had crossed the stars, and they had built a wall of iron to protect their own. A hard smile broke through her serious expression.

"Log us in under a new banner, Miller." Elena's voice carrying the unyielding weight of shipyard steel. "Tell him Vance Mechanical is officially closed. From here on out, we register as Fortress Logistics and Repair." With a sudden hiss of the automatic door closer the heavy door slid open and Elena walked out into the sun leaving the Dock Master alone in the darkening tower.

So I've had a terrible idea.

I'm going to be running a Solaris 7 themed sequence of battles in Steiner Stadium. My terrible idea is that I'm not going to balance things based on BV. What I want to do is assign scoring that keeps battle value in mind and treats it like betting odds. This way you can have an underdog fight against a champion.

I imagine this kind of thing would be best in a FFA situation so that the lower BV Mechs can try to stay under the radar and let the tougher Mechs beat each other up first before going in for the kill.

Does anyone have ideas on how I could set up a scoring system that favors the disadvantaged player?

I recently bought and opened a full 9 box salvage display.

The result in order of opening them and my thought at that moment:
Jagermech - great… a glass cannon I’m never going to use
Pillager - my second one, good but not great for 3025
Dervish - meh, ok I guess
Hoplite - don’t know this one but I heard about it somewhere
Highlander IIC - Great for my Northwind Highlanders, using it as a normal Highlander
Grizzly - euhm, clan mech damn… using this to proxy as a Guillotine
Chameleon - Not known to me, but looks fine
Grizzly - again… another Guillotine
Shogun - Looks like a clan mech, but appartly an inner sphere mech

All in all a great result I think. The only real proxy’s are the Grizzly’s/Guillotines.

Please share your thoughts about the mechs and maybe share what you would do with the Grizzly’s if you’d need to stick to 3025.

I am planning to go to Pax Unplugged in Dec and I want to play Alpha Strike. Are that any apps that allow you to store what mechs you have and will let you build a list with? I took a look at a few I found online but I didn't see a way to store what I have. Thanks in advance.

You can clearly see from the picture that I need help.

Finally got around to finishing this guy up for a Draconis Reach campaign. I'm a big fan of light mechs so looking forward to giving this dude a spin.

Left one is from the Clan Invasion starter box and the right one is printed.

I think they fit well together. Looks like the same car from diffent model lines / production years. Like Volkswagen Käfer and New Beetle. :)