Mercenary Command
Contract 5 - Ambush - Printable Version

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Contract 5 - Ambush - Six - 04-09-2018 12:07 AM

Northwest of Ezekiel Estates, Cambridge, Amity
Rahneshire Province, Lyran Commonwealth
0514 AST, January 5, 3016

In spite of the cool air outside, the cockpit was uncomfortably warm. Corporal Flavia Tomba, callsign Ronin allowed his Mongoose to come to a slow stop, and wiped a few droplets of sweat from his brow. He glanced at the digital clock displayed on his ‘mech’s dashboard.
0500. Great. Nearly another hour left on the patrol.

The corporal let out a sigh, and reached down to the bottom of his command couch to pull up one of the canteens strapped there, taking a long pull of the tepid water. Just as he slid it back to its pouch, his ‘mech rocked backwards, a series of explosions popping along its arm and torso.

Kuso! Flip, Charger we have hostile contact!” He was throwing his ‘mech in gear as he spoke, the Mongoose flying backwards at nearly ninety kilometers per hour, his sensors coming alive with six angry red blips, four in the west and two in the east. Where the western ones that had struck Ronin were equipped with SRM tubes, the longer, narrower tubes on the eastern pair were likely rated for LRMs. He worked his jaw muscles, shifting his frequency.
“Command, this is Ronin, we have hostile contacts! Six trucks equipped with missiles, requesting support!”

His heart raced in his chest as he assessed the damage. Somehow, one of the lasers stored in the Mongoose’s right-arm vambrace had failed, even though the armor was still sound.
“This is Command. Help is on the way. Wolfpack is less than a minute out and some Militia tanks are even closer and will be there in half that time or better. Good luck Ronin."
“Striker, bank hard to avoid being hit. These trucks don’t have turrets and if you can get to their sides, you’ll be safe.” As he spoke he was whipping around into a full run. The cameras on the outside of his cockpit filtered the early morning light, so the shapes of the trees and hills around the narrow valley where they ran their patrol stuck out as clear black-and-white shapes. Another volley of missiles passed by the Mongoose as he pulled around a thick knot of forest nearly half a kilometer long. Glancing at his radar, Ronin could see the Pegasus racing up the western flank, missiles already streaming from its turret just as the J. Edgar linked up with him.
“That hill.” He quipped, pointing at it with the articulated hand of the Mongoose. His comrade, understanding his meaning, raced the hovertank along the hill, and the two rapidly closed with two trucks on the eastern flank. Barely sixty meters away, targeting them with LRMs would be nearly impossible. Though Charger’s missiles and laser went wide, the remaining lasers on the Mongoose struck home, incinerating the truck.

Carefully plotting his course, Ronin planted one foot just as he came abreast of the second truck, and lashed out with the right foot of his ‘mech. A direct hit! Almost too easily, his foot crashed through the side of the truck, killing those inside and leaving the vehicle a smoking ruin just as the promised militia reinforcements came rolling over a hill to the north.
“Ronin, those aren’t militia colors!” Sergeant Addae had called out his warning just before autocannon fire landed around the feet of the Mongoose, kicking up dirt as they went.
“Dammit, take cover and keep moving!” Another glance to his radar. Addae had already taken two of the other trucks, and had quickly whipped his Pegasus about-face, racing along a narrow brook. Stone and tree gainsafed his path as missile and autocannon fire tore through the woods, sending trees crashing to the ground.
“Militia tanks, you are firing on the wrong targets, repeat, hold your fire!” Addae called, desperately working his tank side to side. With no response, Ronin continued to lead the hovertanks southward, dodging between copses of trees.
“Keep heading south, we’ll bait them in close and flank them!”