The Styx Strikers

by Thor Zollinger

  “Good luck with that, hotshot, that girl’s spooky. She disappears and you don’t find her until a paintball hits you in the head. You’d think all that blonde hair’d be easy to spot.”

  Jake slunk off towards the east side of the spire, “Maybe that’s where she went. Nobody’s looked over there yet.” Jake flitted from tree to tree, keeping his eyes moving to try and catch a glimpse of the elusive blonde in blue. “Blue should stand out in all this green, but it doesn’t.”

  Jake had just moved past the south side of the spire when he heard a high pitched whistle… “Ah crap!” He knew what that meant, Ariel whistled right before she fired sometimes to get her target to raise his head just a bit more, to get him to freeze and look around. “I’m not falling for that.” he muttered, and broke into a dead run. She hit him in the center of the back just as he started to run.

  Jake ran pell mell down the hill towards a clump of bushes, dodging red paintballs as he dove into the shrubbery. Panting wildly, he rolled over and got up on his hands and knees and peeked up out around the bush. Blam! Ariel hit him right in the forehead! “Man, that girl is a good shot.” Jake muttered under his breath. “She nailed me again and I can’t even see where she’s hiding.” Jake had been nailed twice, one more hit and he was out of this round.

  Ariel was in her favorite sniper nest, at the top of the spire. She had to rock climb to get up to it, but once she was in position on top of the rocks she was almost invincible. Jake was below her, directly in her line of sight. He didn’t know it yet, but he didn’t have a chance. She could see right down into his hiding spot behind the bushes through the scope. She grinned, and waited for him to stick his head up again. She didn’t want to give her position away just yet. The other guys knew all about that spot, they stayed away from that side of the spire when she was up there, but Jake didn’t.

  Picture Pack: Ariel on the Spire

  Jake crawled around the base of the bushes towards his right and laid in the grass for a few minutes. After resting for a bit, he stuck his head up again. Blam! Nailed again, right in the shoulder. Ariel burst out laughing and stood up. “Oh, there you are!” Jake exclaimed in surprise. “I knew you were around here somewhere, I just didn’t think to look UP THERE.”

  “It only works once.” Ariel called back down. “Once you know where it is, you’re more careful next time. I just couldn’t resist.” she said with a big grin, starting her climb back down off the rocks. Just then, the other paintball players came walking around the spire in a group. Red had handily finished that round and everyone was tired and hungry.

  “Where’s the grub?” Dan asked as he came sauntering into the clearing with Zane and Bjorn. Finding a bag of chips out, he unzipped the bag and grabbed a handful. Bjorn went after a bottle of juice, which he found in the shade over by the paintball gear bag.

  Zane was a little more practical, he wanted some real food. He doffed his paintball gear first and bent over to see if he could get a fire going in the fire pit. “Blimey, there’s a dead bird in here.” he stated flatly, throwing the carcass out of the way. “We need more firewood. Dan, get the axe, I’ve got the saw.” The two had dragged a dead tree over near the camping spot last time, which came in handy. They went to work on the branches, hacking and cutting with way too much gusto as usual.

  Tarra walked over by Ariel and the two girls dug into the main gear bag to find the food. Tarra had brought the most since her mom always over prepared just to make sure no one ever went hungry. Tarra’s cooler was in there, along with a canvas bag with bread, cookies, sandwich spreads, condiments and the utensils. Opening the cooler, “Here’s the meat guys. We’ve got some roast beast, some of Sven’s ham, and some hot dogs. Grab a sharp stick and you can heat it up over the fire in a minute.”

  Ariel whispered in Tarra’s ear, “So how’s it going with Jake? It looks like he’s warming up to you quite nicely.”

  Tarra grinned and wiggled her shoulders, “Yah, I think he’ll do just fine. He’s smart enough and he seems pretty nice so far.”

  Jake noticed the two girls glancing in his direction and smiled to himself. Moving to Wayfarer is looking pretty good right about now, he mused. Just then, Hai and Sven walked back into the clearing, they had finished scouting the tunnels with the helicopter drone. “Hey guys, what did you find in the southern tunnel?” Jake asked.

  “We found a waterfall!” Hai exclaimed…”and a whole lot more pools, and then we flew past this huge room full of bats….”

  It was a good day.

  Chapter 8 “Trouble Brewing” –––––––––––––––––––

  A few days later back at the Langer’s, Uncle Helmut sat down in the great room in the center of the house to watch the news on the big monitor. The room had large two story windows facing west on either side of the large stone fireplace, with a wide monitor mounted on the mantle above the large fire grate. The room was filled with large comfortable leather chairs and couches surrounding a large low table covered in magazines and books. In the center of the table sat a wooden vase as a centerpiece filled with long bird feathers and dried flowers in a meter-tall arrangement. There were also a couple of end tables to put a drink on if needed, and Aunt Glory had a cabinet off to one side filled with delicate ceramic figurines. Christina especially like the hula dancer with the lei’s around her neck. She always whispered “She doesn’t even have a top on…” to whoever she was showing it to.

  Uncle Helmut selected the system wide news feed and began to watch the financial news. He was always interested in interplanetary commerce and what the government was up to. The three boys wandered in and flopped down on the sofas to see what was up.

  “Hey dad, any news about the pirates?” Sven always asked just in case.

  “No, nothing yet. I have to switch over to the local news feed to get that. Let’s see what they have to say.” he said, changing the channel. “Hmmm, looks like mostly weather right now. Here, let me restart the broadcast at the beginning.” After a few seconds of lead-in the local announcer in Port Canaveral came on, trading banter with his attractive co-host. After a few minutes of talking about the local businesses opening up in a new shopping plaza in Castle Garden south of Port Canaveral, the announcer turned to the camera. “We just received some new information from our ace field reporter Lynn Jefferds, who has been tracking the locations hit by the Wayfarer Mech Pirates over the last year. Lynn,”

  “Well, it’s pretty bad Jerry. The Guard Commander informs me the Mech Pirates are back. They attacked the Midnight Ranch where they process large volumes of casaba and other tropical fruits east of the Port with a lance of four mechs, including a Loki medium sized mech. Quoting from a technical overview, … the Loki is one of the Clans' most easily recognized designs. Named the Loki by an obscure minor officer in the Federated Commmonwealth Armed Forces, the 'Mech lives up to the officer's description of its ‘utterly mad configuration,’ not only in the version he saw, but in all the others as well. Though the combination of weapons may appear to be utterly mad, not a single Inner Sphere 'Mech could stand up to the Loki when it appeared with the Clans.”

  “The ‘Mech tore into the main facility with it’s Streak Missiles and dropped the defending industrial mechs with it’s autocannons. The other three pirate ‘Mechs followed up by guarding the entrances to the facility while the pirate trucks entered the facility. There wasn’t a very coordinated defense at the facility, no anti-missile systems were present, nor were there any defensive batteries to protect the buildings. The local Guard were nowhere near the facility… again. We think this may have been the reason why the pirates chose this facility to attack. The pirates ripped out the generators, ransacked the process control computers, and lined up and shot most of the workers. They raided the storehouses at the facility and hauled off all of the facility’s supplies, enough food and items to keep their band supplied for at least another three or four months. That seems to be the timing we are seeing between
raids. The pirates have a small dropship they use to move their forces around. The Guard attempted to track the dropship, but the pirates are deploying military jammers to mask their flight path and communications. None of the survivors have gotten a clear view the dropship yet, it must be landing farther away from the target.”

  Picture Pack: Pirate Dropship

  “Lynn, do you think the military on Lahti will be called in to help track down these marauders? We need some serious help if we’re going to shut down these thugs.”

  “Well Jerry, from talking with the local Guard Commander the Lahti military doesn’t think this is their problem, they see this as a local issue. The Guard have repositioned some of their military ‘Mechs in response, but with the unpredictable nature of the raids they have no idea where exactly to put them. They don’t have enough fire power to cover every facility in the area. What we really need is some air support.”

  “Doesn’t the Guard have any aircraft they can use to shoot these pirates down? I thought they had a few VTOL aircraft stationed in the Port Areoport.”

  “They do Jerry, but their aircraft are protecting the Areoport, not the outlying ranches and business concerns. Our commercial aircraft are far more valuable to the community as a whole. If we lost our heavy lifting platforms, none of the products we import or export would be able to get in or out. What we need is the Governor to step in and request some serious fire power from Lahti.”

  “That isn’t likely to happen Lynn, the Governor hasn’t made any progress in talking with the government on Lahti over all of last year. Why do you think he would be able to now?”

  “One can always hope, Jerry. Something has to change. Here is some video of the destruction at the facility.”

  Uncle Helmut grunted and shifted position in the chair uneasily. “What we need is someone with some guts to set up a satellite signal scanner that locks onto the jamming signal and shoves a few missiles down their throat.”

  “You tell ’um, dad!” Sven was all for action. “I’d shoot the bastards myself, if I could get close enough. I can pick a fly off the butt of a Bant at four hundred meters.”

  “Fighting mechs is a bit different from Bant hunting, Sven. Bants don’t shoot back.”

  “Well, I’ve piloted a mech plenty of times. And I can whip Bjorn on the battle simulator… sometimes.”

  Bjorn laughed and patted Sven on the back. “Sure thing little brother.”

  “One thing is for sure” Uncle Helmut added. “We’re going to have to step up security around here. The attacks are moving closer and we don’t want to get caught unprepared as the next target. Turning and leaning towards Jake, “How are you coming with the weapons mounts? The guns I ordered should be arriving in a couple of weeks and I want those guns mounted and ready as soon as possible.”

  “I’ve got them drawn up, I just need Jackson to check them over, make sure everything is right. Then we can fabricate ‘em. We’ll be ready!”

  “What kind of guns did you get, dad?” Sven was all ears when he heard the ‘guns’ were arriving soon.

  “I ordered some propellant based autocannons. Simple for us since we already have liquid fuel delivered for the vehicles to use as propellant, and we can make slug rounds using the fabricators and the lathes to smooth the outer surface of the rounds.”

  “We could make molds and cast the rounds…” Bjorn said thoughtfully, “That way we wouldn’t even have to turn them on lathe to smooth the surfaces. I’ve been casting bullets for the smaller guns forever. We just need a bigger crucible for the molten steel and a huge induction heater.”

  “I don’t think we have enough electrical power to run that large of an induction heater, Bjorn.”

  “Sure we do, It’ll just take a lot longer to heat up the metal is all.”

  Uncle Helmut grinned. “Well Bjorn, I’ll leave that to you. You guys have learned a lot in the last few years. Coordinate it with Jackson, he has to make the molds for you.”

  This is so rad! Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he was going to get a shot at piloting a real ‘Mech, one with some real autocannons! Holy Crap!

  Over six hundred kilometers away de-mobilization was taking place. The pirates had taken over an old abandoned logging concern, purchased outright a few years ago and added on to it. The airstrip on the outskirts of the property had a large hanger, perfect for hiding a small dropship like the Bono Salvatore. Trucks were busy ferrying freight from the hanger down the kilometer long road to the main buildings, arranged in a line along one side of a wide paved work area similar to an airport runway. In the past, stacks of logs and cut wood in all shapes and sizes were arranged on the far side of the work pad. Remnants of the uncut wood piles still stood in some places on the pad, but most of the cut lumber was gone. The trucks were stopping in marked locations on the pad, to be attacked by groups of workers with forklifts, sorting and distributing the contents into categories which would be moved into the buildings for storage.

  Back in the main hanger the mechs were finally being moved out of the dropship inside the main hanger to a smaller mech hanger for re-arming.

  “Hey Griffin, get your fat #$% out of the way, I ain’t got all day! I want to be drinkin something nasty in ten minutes and your #$% #$%^ #$%^& mech is slow’n me down!”

  “Chill out, Red Legs. I gotta wait until Black Sam gets his Raven’s right gun pod outta my face. We’re packed in here like sardines again, you know that. If you wanted out first you shoulda waited and loaded last, #$%^#$.”

  “I’m movin, I’m movin. Sneak is outta the way. I don’t know how he can stand that micro sized piece of #$%$ Commando anyway. Here we go…”

  Sneak smirked as he walked the mech down the loading ramp, but kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to react to the other’s comments, they were just trying to divert attention away from themselves and point the finger at him so he’d get clobbered by Red Legs later instead of themselves. The Commando mech trotted off across the gap between the two hangers and the Raven sidled out from behind the door pillar and stepped out into the dim sunlight.

  “Getta move on!” Red Legs bellowed into the comm link in the Loki.

  Griffin could now get the Vulture moving and made his way out of the cargo doors of the dropship, but bumped the Loki as he turned towards the doorway. “Sorry about that.”

  “You clumsy @#$%^ #$%^& bitch! Scratch my paint again and I’ll kill you where you stand!” His targeting system locked onto the Vulture, setting off the cockpit alarm in Vulture.

  Griffin clenched his teeth at the screeching alarm, but he knew the @#$%^ wouldn’t fire. It aggravated him just the same. Griffin trotted across the tarmac and headed inside towards the rearming station for his Vulture.

  Red Legs finally got his Loki out the door after ducking under the doorframe of the small dropship. The Bono Salvatore was really, really small for a dropship. “Finally…” he sighed as he stepped out into the sunlight. He was a bit claustrophobic, but he’d never admit it to the other pilots. After stretching the arms of the mech and flexing at the waist back and forth a few times as he moved in the cockpit, he shook his head and headed in to park his mech.

  Picture Pack: Red Leg’s – Loki, Griffin’s – Vulture,

  Black Sam’s – Raven, Sneak’s – Commando

  Sneak was out of his mech first, and heading down towards the wardroom in the hanger to get something to drink from the bar. Dirk Chivers was his name, but no one used it. He was a small man, always seemed to have a couple of days growth of beard on his face, and never smelled very good. If anything, he smelled of hard liquor, grease and body odor. He was the oldest of the lance and didn’t like confrontations, which was why he was assigned the scout mech. He preferred sneaking around and shooting a man in the back.

  Black Sam, an alias for Samuel Bellamy, followed Sneak down the hallway to the wardroom. His nickname came from an ancient pirate from old earth, the one he was named after. Sam was short
and stocky, tanned from too much sun, a bit overweight, but no slouch in a boxing ring. He had the crooked nose to prove it too. It had been broken so many times the doctors gave up on ever trying to straighten it. Dermal regeneration only worked so many times before scar tissue became the dominant factor. Sam and Sneak were never very far apart, they had watched each other’s backs in fights for so long they never really found a way to trust anyone else.

  Griffin, Christoph Myngs, headed for the restroom to freshen up. Christoph was the handsome one of the bunch, he had a thing for the ladies and always tried to look his best out of the cockpit. His Asian ancestry could be seen in the shape of his eyes. Unlike the other mech pilots, he always wore a pressed military flight suit with his old insignia on it. He had been court marshaled out of the military for stealing seven cases of rare scotch whiskey from an admiral, along with a few memento’s that were hanging in his office. The officer’s sword was the item that really ticked off the admiral, beside’s the whiskey. Christoph had also added a few of the admiral’s medals to his collection too to impress the ladies, which he wore on the chest of his pressed flight suit. “The admiral shouldn’t have left trinkets like that just lying around.” Christoph commented with a grin as he admired his stolen medals in the mirror over the sink. He washed up quickly and slicked back his jet black hair before wandering down to the wardroom.

  Red Legs Greaves met Griffin in the hallway on the way to wardroom. He was a bull of a man, tall, heavy set, steroid pumped, and ugly. Nobody knew what his first name was. They called him Red Legs because, well, that’s what everybody called him. It might have been because of the nasty burn scars on his legs, it might have been because he liked crab legs with his beer, it might have been because his legs were usually sunburned most of the time as a kid, it was hard to tell. Nobody really cared anyway, they were too busy trying to avoid his fists most of the time. The two mech pilots exchanged a couple of good natured punches as they headed into the wardroom.