#Operation TOUCHDOWN

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

I have the combined intelligence apparatus of nearly half a dozen Clans, plus the remnants of the Republic of the Sphere Intelligence Service and Ghost Knights (and thus what was left of ROM), all at my fingertips and directed by a pair of extremely skilled spymasters.

Need I say more?

my tumblr ads are alternating between reminding me i’m a dyke and telling me to fear the space scorpion

[msn-04iinightingale]

Refusal

Kinship FOB Helios

"I'm just...concerned, sir." Colonel Bell said to her superior, Commander Owen McEvedy as the two walk down the hallway in the Kinship FOB medical wing.

"About what, Colonel?" He asks. He's in a good mood, all things considered. Not only has the Commanding General had delivered not only one of his people hge thought dead, but also, a great deal of good and...interesting news.

"...about Elenor, sir." she says, the taller raptor woman stopping infront of a closed door.

"Doc's say she'll recover fully. And Melissa mentioned that the SLDF has resources to help with the other scars." he says, stopping by her. "You worry too much." He says with a smile.

Bell blushes slightly.

"Eh, really should get a move on with that..." he thinks, remembering his conversation with Melissa earlier.

"Be that as it may, sir...I have concerns about what will occur should any of the clan based systems pick up on her...or indeed, any of our genetics." She look pointedly at Owen when she says this.

"Ah, that..." He says. She has a point. While Melissa at least...and others...are supportive, others might not be. Still, having a Commanding General in your corner counted for a great deal.

"...I don't know...maybe the word "Wolverine" won't be a dirty word someday."

Bell cocks her head slightly, confused. "Again, be that as it may...I am still concerned about what will happen if some of the more...zealous groups find out."

"I'll handle it, if it comes to that..." He says, reassuringly. "Besides, who's gonna know?"

"...I suppose you are correct, sir."

He smiles, and reaches out and pats her arm. "Like I said, you worry too much." he says, more softly. "Now come on, got some things I need to talk to you about."

The two begin to walk away.

@the-clawtake

[ace-disgrace-on-the-case]

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

So I made a thing:

An official-style pilot card for Melissa!

Quite proud of this one!

[house-steiner-stays-winning]

The halls of The Court of the Star League were a strange place, Dieter reflected.

They were, on the one hand, much like the halls of an austere courthouse, off-white marble and soaring ceilings, vast windows placed high on the walls to flood the space with natural light and dramatic shadows.

On the other hand, however, were the details that made it feel more personal, warm and welcoming. The wood panels, all harvested from the local area. The warm, plush seats lining the hallway. The paintings on the walls, which were rumored to have been chosen by the First Lord personally.

As his boots click against the mosaic floor depicting scenes from the SLDF Exodus, he pats the sword at his belt, grateful for its presence. After all, he'd need it's reassurance for the meeting to come.

If he'd thought getting into the outer wings of the Court was a laborious process, he'd been wrong. To merely *enter* into the same wing of the building as the IlKhan, he'd had to undergo three security checkpoints, an interview, two X-ray scans, and a careful examination of all his credentials. All in all, it had taken more than an hour, but in due time, he was ushered back into the private wing of the First Lord, and told that Alaric Ward was expecting him.

In time, he came before the door to the sitting room he was told that Ward would meet him in, an elegant thing of dark wood, so dark as to almost black, engraved with patterns and carvings so fine as to be almost invisible against the dark finish.

For a moment, Dieter paused, his hand inches away from knocking on the door. For precious seconds he hesitated there, the churn of apprehension in his gut like a physical sickness in its intensity.

What would he say? What could he say? Face-to-face with his Father's murderer, with the man he now served, with the man who was perhaps the Inner Sphere's best hope for peace and prosperity-

Before he could let himself go into the maddening spiral that was sure to follow, he let his hand fall against the door, with the crisp report of knuckles on hard wood.

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

[harwood-pmc-official]

"Robert?" Corax asked, poking his white-feathered head into their shared tent, at roughly 0600 Taurian Standard.

Robert is snoring, asleep on the bed where Corax had left him - awakened in the early morning by a Naval attache, come to give Corax the good news. Corax chuckled to himself.

An hour past his normal time? He's slipping.

"Rooooobert~, I have something to show you~~..." Corax whispered, melodious and sing-song into his lover's ear.

Robert jerked awake, grabbing at the bedside for a pistol that wasn't there, until reality asserted itself, and he groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he flopped back onto the pillow.

"Birdie, if the enemy isn't actively overrunning our position, couldn't it have waited till 0500?"

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

[neon-knights-mercenary-company]

In the isolated corner of the Mechlab, where Rowan de la Rosa was working on her cobbled together Marauder, it was fairly quiet. Even the loud whirring and buzzing of the fabricator was lessened.

So it was easy to hear the familiar clicking sound - of the specialty footwear of an SLDF prototype advanced cooling suit.

The chuckle, warm and happy, she hadn't heard in... Well, over a century for him. Less time for her.

Remus. Remus Kerensky.

"So," he says, raising his voice only a little to carry up to her, where she sat adjusting the Marauder's main gun. "You have had quite the experience, I heard, quiaff?"

Quiaff. That word, that Clanner word. He and the others of the Sixteen, they'd used it, well before the Clans came knocking. Hearing it from the invaders had been a shock. Much like seeing the enemy piloting echs much like those she'd fought alongside during the Restoration - those impossibly advanced machines they'd said, they lied, were Star League prototypes.

Rowan remembered the last time she'd heard it. Half dead on Satalice, what... 101 years ago now, but also just a few weeks ago.

He'd said "I will keep you safe, quiaff?" Hadn't he?

( @is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not )

“Remus?”

Rowan’s voice was barely a whisper, devoid of the fire and thunder she usually projected. To anyone else, it would have drowned in the wash of noise from the bustling ‘mech bay, but when Rowan glanced down, she caught the twitch of his ear.

“Remus, you old dog! Yeah- an Experience! Let me tell you, misjumping a century isn’t fun, I was mixing up my left and downs and greens all day after,” she said, trying to project some of that bluster that she typically wore like an old mask, but to her, it seemed to ring hollow. “Let me get down there so I can greet ya proper.”

Rowan stowed her tools and shimmied across the chassis, stepping gingerly over the cockpit to make her way to the gantry. Lowering the lift, she took a good look at Remus for the first time in far too long.

Striking red fur- still the same bloody shade as the day she met him- covered the man from head to paw. He stood, fuckoff tall in his SLDF cooling suit, seemly cool as a cucumber unless you knew the signs.

Like the fluffy, luxurious tail wagging a mile a minute behind him.

A grin crossed her face at that- genuine and bright, driving away some of the lingering doubt on her face. The lift hit the ground, and she stepped towards her old friend, opening her arms as for an embrace, before the doubt could take hold.

“God damn but it is good to see you again.”

[the-clawtake]

As Jehan lay in his hospital, in the mid-morning of D-Day +3, he thought about what had transpired.

He'd been recommended for a commendation - one he was not inclined to accept. But it had been Astrid who had recommended it. That had made writing his formal dispute to General Hazen all the more difficult. She, at least, understood his position - partially anyways - and had come up with an elegant solution. One that still saw Jehan honored, even if he felt he had done no more than his duty. But it was a solution that also made him the equal of Eirik, the other Clawtake member so honored for service in Coen City.

But it had been Astrid, Star Captain Astrid Tseng, Astrid Tseng the celebrity, the actress, the Totem Warrior of Ghost Bear - the paragon of the values of his Clan. She had been the one to make the award recommendation. And now that award was lesser. She would have been told. He was expecting her to visit soon - which might go very poorly.

Some time later, Jehan heard two voices outside his room - speaking with the orderly, Charlie. Was he an orderly? Ah, no matter. The door opened, and in walked - Isidora? That was unexpected. But if Isidora was here then Astrid - and there she was, stooping low to make her way through the door. She seemed to fill the room, with both her physical and mental presence. She looked... disappointed. He expected that, but it still stung - her opinion of him was valuable. She was one of the few he considered a peer.

Then she spoke.

"Are you feeling well, Jehan? A strenuous day of combat and injury, followed by another, and then another. And now - a Trial? Against a Khan? When you should be in bed, resting? What are you thinking?"

There was anger in her words, but it was the anger of a concerned freeborn parent. There was concern and fear too. She cared. That was almost worse.

"I was thinking." Jehan dragged himself up into a sitting postion. "That you do not tell a Khan 'can we do this later. I do not feel like it.' unless you are missing limbs or willing to fight them over it, or both. And given I still have all my limbs, and they were wanting to fight anyway..." He let out a pained hiss as the motion pinched his bruised ribs.

"But I am not significantly worse for wear. What about yourselves? You came through unscathed, I hope?" He asked hopefully.

@khanhannahlewis

[khanhannahlewis]

Command staff of Operation Touchdown.

Left to right:

- Em Blackwell

- Kimberly Ash

- Khan Owen McEvedy

- Robert Harwood

- WO Karrie Delacey

- Major Theodora Marten-Steiner

- Commanding General Melissa Hazen

- Savannah Cameron

- Spirit

- Khan Hannah Kewis

- saKhan Amber Ryder

- Star Colonel Jehan MacKenzie

- Star Colonel Katrina Moon

Thanks for all the lovely memories, and to many more!

[sls-manchester-official]

Precentor Devlin Jacobs stood in zero G on the bridge of the Erinyes, his magboots locking him to the deck. Outside the bridge viewports, he could see the latticework structures of the drydock, cradling the massive vessel that he was temporarily calling home.

Each vessel in the Helios Mothball Fleet had a rotating skeleton crew, the minimum number necessary to maintain vital ship systems while they were shut down. Rumor had it that when their ancestors had arrived, they had set up a fully operational SDS system centered on Helios, but everyone said that was all coordinated via the AI research base on Helios' moon, and in any case no one had seen an SDS vessel in decades - if there were crews going out to perform maintenance on those ships, they weren't telling anyone about it.

Only a handful of small corvettes and frigates remained active and operational, alongside a swarm of DropShips that handled most intrasystem transit and transport. It was ironic, thought Devlin, that getting posted to one of those vessels was regarded as a fate to be avoided among those of the Heliosan navy - sure, you were on active duty, but conditions were cramped, the ships were old and cranky, and most of the command officers aboard were hard drivers, almost as fanatic as the ROM weirdos on Helios itself.

No, it was far better to be on one of the skeleton crews. Sleeping ships couldn't be cranky, the quarters on these larger vessels were much better, and while there wasn't a lot to do, it at least left a lot of time for relaxation. Each of the systems two mothball facilities - one each at the L4 and L5 Lagrange points - had their own space station, each of which served as a home away from home for those crews assigned to care for the mothballed vessels. Each station was a stack of five grav decks, each 2 kilometers in radius, arrayed around a central core.

Considered "wonders the system" by Heliosan tourists, a portion of the traffic to and from the stations was indeed civilian - they were dual-use structures, leftovers from the early days of the Diaspora before Helios had been fully settled again, with little permanent population other than their own crews. The station crews had been originally drawn from the Belter populations of the Sol system, and were generally as oddball as many of the stories told about their ancestors.

But, as much as the civilian amenities and personable crews made living on the stations comfortable, it was when he was aboard the Erinyes that Devlin felt truly at home. He knew what she had been built to do, of course, and that purpose had terrified him. But Erinyes, like a great dragon, slept. Had slept for years and years. She was his to care for, and he knew that to wake her meant something was going horribly wrong. Out of the viewports, past the drydock in which Erinyes slept, Devlin could see dozens of other vessels - a score of Diaspora class JumpShips, a pair of cruisers, a battleship, and support vessels.

And then, suddenly, with the lensing bubbles and bright flashes of successful Kearny-Fuchida jumps, three more vessels were among the mothball fleet. Devlin stared at them, at the symbol on their sides he could easily see through the massive bridge viewports. Devlin's stunned brain supplied only two thoughts.

The Star League? What the hell is going on?

( @is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not )

Commodore Mikolaj looked out at the dozens of Heliosan ships scattered across the starfield before them, floating in the void near a considerably-sized space station which, if the HUD painting the bridge windows in blue light was correct, sat exactly at the Lagrange point of the system.

"Status report." She ordered, glancing across the array of officers at terminals all around her as they gave their reports in clipped tones, all systems operational and ready, with boarding parties ready to go, just as she'd ordered.

"Excellent work, ladies and gentlemen," she said. "Now get me a reading on those ships. Intel says it's a mothball fleet, but I'll confirm that for myself."

After a few tense moments, one of the officers spoke up. "No signatures that would indicate an enemy combat-ready ship in the local voidspace, Ma'am." Collen nodded, thanking the man with a nod as she turned to her comms officer.

"Wilson, what's the chatter like? Any orders for battle stations?" The balding man turned slightly, though his eyes stayed locked on the rapidly-scrolling wall of text before him.

"Mostly confusion, Ma'am. It seems they had no clue the invasion was even happening. As far as they're concerned, we've undergone temporal displacement from Amaris' War."

"Very good," she said, reviewing the sensor readouts that were just now beginning to fill her command console, indicating that the entire fleet was on external power from the station, with not a single weapon powered up. "Prepare to broadcast on all frequencies, let's serve up our demands."

Colleen leaned forward, ensuring the microphone in her console would pick up her voice loud and clear, and when Wilson gave her the nod, she began.

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

[the-emmapult]

The light of Helios' distant star filters weakly through to the command center as two figures approach amidst a mid-afternoon flurry. One leads, clad in a weathered greatcoat the color of slate and bundled up beneath a dark green scarf. The other figure wears a strange contraption, almost similar to a military hardsuit apart from the wheezing noises emitting from vents in its neck. The first figure holds open the door for the second, ushering them into the bustling headquarters building. The pair makes their way to the large holotank in the center of the building, which serves as a table for briefings.

"Kim Ash and Em Blackwell reporting, General Hazen."

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not @starcolonelkatrinamoon

[totemwarriorsealth]

Fresh Orders, Round Table

The weather, it seemed, was turning towards rain. At least for the moment. For why, there were a dozen reasons. Localized weather instability. Atmospheric adjustment through aggressive particulate dispersal in the form of weapons fire and detonating mechs, and burning cities. Blakist mad science, once more bending what they should NEVER be touching to their whims...and inevitably failing, as they always did. Or it might just be the planets weather. Terra was not so different, he had heard. Even Unity City itself occasionally had short bouts of rain in the midst of their summers, showers that lasted a few hours or a day before weeks of bright sun would return. Sealth prefered the rain; being in dry air for too long made his skin irritated, and if bad enough, start to crack. It was painful, annoying, and had a frustrating tendency to get infected. He would prefer humidity and damp to direct sun, if he had choice... With luck, the new orders for the next operation wouldn't take him too far from the weather. The Totem Warrior strode through the SLDFs encampment, avoiding clumps of techs and soldiers of all stripes ensuring that everything was as it should be. No slacking here. Not under the Commander's watch, that was for sure. As it should be. He hadn't come alone; in addition to the small camera hung on his cooling vest to allow Tolki to listen in without having to leave his tank inside their Mech, he was followed by Sergeant Theodore "Tedd" Clarke, a hardened, sun-kissed man in a more rugged, almost cobbled together cooling vest, older but no less functional. The large wide-brimmed hat he wore at a casual angle would hint heavily where he had come from originally. Despite its technically lack of existence at this point, the Sergeant still bore the flag of the Calderon Protectorate, under the flag of the SLDF. He was part of Task Force Hawk, part of the infantry unit assigned, here to listen in for the ground troops that would be backing the Blackwatch for the strike. Sealth found the Commander's tent, and ducked in, glancing around inside before letting the other two in behind him. "We may be a little early." @is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

[msn-04iinightingale]

/ADDENDUM TO REPORT [KINSHIP-4]

/EXTRACT FROM TRANSCRIPT OF COMMUNIQUE BETWEEN SLDF CIVILIAN LIAISON LIEUTENANT CARMEN AVELINE AND DOCTOR ELISE MORROW

/BEGIN TRANSCRIPT

Dr. Elise Morrow:  ..and just like I told the other four people before someone finally routed me to you, I have one of your pilots here, who someone needs to come pick up because like hell am I going through an active combat zone with a civilian ambulance with a patient onboard.

SLDF Liaison Lt. Carmen Aveline: And I understand that, miss-

Dr. EM: Doctor. It’s Doctor Morrow.

Lt. CA: …Doctor Morrow, but there is currently an active combat engagement going on and-

Dr. EM: Really, I hadn’t noticed what with the explosions and battlemechs and all. Look, just get someone down here to come pick her up and take her to a proper medical suite. The sooner the better.

Lt. CA: I…I’ll see what I can do m-...Doctor Morrow.

Dr. EM: Thank you.

/END TRANSCRIPT

/FORWARD TO SLDF COMMANDING GENERAL MELISSA HAZEN? [[Y]] [N]

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

[clarissaexplainsbatchall]

Water cascaded over the pool of sharks, making them appear to lash and writhe in a frenzy across Clarissa's skin. The tattoo of the school of ancient predators stalking through a shimmering lagoon covered her entire back, an ever moving, living piece of art on a pale canvas of flesh.

Clarissa stood basking in the steam, running her hands through her white-blonde hair, her eyes closed. The shower soothed aching muscles and washed away the remnants of the sweaty battle only a few hours before. If she could stay here forever she would.

The sound of a door opening made her turn, and several pairs of bare feet slapped against the floor. "Hello?" she asked.

"Commander," said one of the twins, and Clarissa relaxed. One doesn't tend to grow up shy in Clan culture, but Clarissa was a Freebirth and had never experienced the close mixed gender dynamics of a sibko. Showering with unexpected men wasn't something she was ever likely to get used to.

"Is that both of you?" she asked, and the twins voiced their ascent as two more showers started up.

"Commander, we brought your uniform in from your 'Mech. We thought that you might want it." Which one was talking? The pair were tall, well muscled, statuesque women with flaming red hair and a rich tan skin, identical in every way except the way they carried themselves. Julie always stood a bit looser than her sister Nina, who was never less than as straight backed as an arrow.

"What did we get?"

"Archangel was taken in mostly intact. We got about half of the Bellerophon. The Barghest is scrap; Roderick hit ammunition." Julie, or possibly Nina, mocked the sound of an explosion. "No survivors except your captured MechWarrior."

"Better than expected. Good job. The star has been invited to dine with the general this evening. Dress well. And Nina, wear only a left earring. Julie, a right one. We are trying to be polite, after all."

"Yes, Commander," they drawled in unison.

Clarissa turned off the water, then reached around for a towel. Upon finding it she rubbed her hair, wrapped it around herself, then went to the locker room to retreive her prosthetics and clothes. A few minutes later she was back outside in the snow in her pressed Sea Fox uniform, glasses on, and hair thankfully dry so she didn't have to worry about it freezing.

Time for food.

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

Star Colonel Jehan MacKenzie, reporting for duty, Commanding General. I understand we are still tasked with taking the dropport, in concert with Star Captain Tseng and her bondsmen? Also, I do not suppose I could sit? It has been a long run from Kinship, and my ribs are complaining vociferously.

Certainly, Jehan, please, come in.

[house-steiner-stays-winning]

Ranna Kell breathed in once, twice, three times.

Before her was a door, one that carried the name of a woman who no doubt thought Ranna was dead.

NOVCAP T. Marten-Steiner, SLDF

CO, Royal Black Watch Regiment

It had been many, many years. Hopefully she recognizes me... But Melissa had said that Theodora would respond best to simply... what had she called it? Some Spheroid term?

"Ripping off the band-aid." That was it.

Act casual Ranna. Everything will be fine, and if nothing else, you are a Galaxy Commander, and she a Major. Hopefully that won't come into play...

She knocked, twice. She heard Theodora's muffled German reply of, "Eintreten!"

She opened the door, and stepped inside, stopping after closing the door, to look at Theodora, who was staring wordlessly. Ranna adopted a casual tone.

"So, Theodora... is Dieter here?"

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not

Theodora stares, slack-jawed, as a dead woman stands in her door.

After all, the last time she'd seen Ranna Kell, it had been in her last waking moments after her father's shuttle had gone down, striding out to protect the Marten-Steiners in her 'mech.

In truth, Theodora didn't remember much of anything from those days, only awaking months later in a secretive research hospital in the Belt, courtesy of the family fortune and Dieter's quick action.

When Theodora had finally read the A.A.R., after her return to the Inner Sphere at large, Ranna Kell had been listed as MIA, and given the mass death that day, She'd thought it safe to assume Ranna's death.

However, as the woman herself stood before her, Theodora found herself dumbstruck, unable to reconcile the absurdity of the woman she'd considered a friend, whom she'd mourned and grieved, standing before her and asking after her brother as though they'd seen each other last week.

After a long, heart-stopping moment, Theodora finally spoke.

"You can't be here. You're dead."

@is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not