Soldiers of Steel

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Wilson just beamed at the thought of a briefing, ready to check and see if CentCom tried to implant any spyware in his mech, and the thought of working with people. He was a real person when he was fighting; he was inhumanly free when he wasn't, like now.

But he had something to do. One had caught his eye; the shocked one, the real person in this group.
So he slipped over and asked her, "So whaddaya think of Mr. Lars?" before she could slip off to the bathroom.
 
Jodie was about to head out of the room, increasing with multiple soldiers. When one came towards her for conversation. It wasn't exactly her area, meaning small talk. But decided to give it a go. Someone has to be level headed in this group and the obvious sore thumb wasn't doing a very good job.
"Oh? My thoughts On Lars? ... " She contemplated for a couple moments, it was hard to put in such short words her thoughts on such a devious man. He had murdered many without second glance and all the while enjoyed it. What could be said that everyone already didn't know? That he was a monster who didn't even deserve the bliss of death? Or maybe of how smart and reliable he really could be out on field. Her opinions over the years have changed for sure, so the answer to the man's question wasn't going to be easily answered. In the end she shrugged, looking over at the tall male. "Does it really matter my opinion. We all know who and what he is and no words are going to change that. My thoughts? We just deal with it, complete the task on hand and move on. I doubt we'll be seeing anymore of him after this mission, at least that's what I count on." With that she nodded respectfully at the male and turned to the door outside the bunks room. In search for the facilities. It not like she actually had to go, she just wanted some time to clear her thoughts on how she was going to maintain her own sanity working with so many overly trained psychopaths.
 
Preston looked around at the group, turning to the two new arrivals he saluted. "good to see you made it." Addressing the entire group Preston cleared his throat. "everyone should get some rest, your mechs will be here in the morning. The briefing will be at 1200 hours, this should give you all plenty of time to eat and check your mechs." looking pointedly at Irish Preston answered Erric's question. "I honestly am surprised Lars didnt snap your neck. He must be in a good mood. You have to realize that Lars was telling the truth. This is not your regular army outfit. The rules dont apply here, the higher ups brought him back from the dead. He is the perfect weapon, total deniabilty. You dont know what he did to the last group, I talked to the crew...when the last group called Lar's bluff he locked them all inside this very hanger with him. The crew said that the screaming was the worst. And when it was all over Lars walked out covered in blood and smiling like it was christmas. They spent days getting the stains out." Preston ran his hand through his hair and shakily exhaled. "if you want to get out of here alive..do not see how far you can push Lars." Preston looks around at the group and notices Yong on the floor. "somebody go check and see if he is breathing. I have enough paperwork as it is."
 
The Irish smirks, well aware that he was pushing Lars, but also well aware of his own abilities. Unless Lars was a cybernetically-augmented supersoldier, hyped up on superdrugs and the like, he doubted he'd go down without getting him a bit first. He did, actually, have something of an augmentation, so he can link with his mech's communications network. When you're in a fight, you don't have time to check the map for enemies when you've got missiles incoming. You've just got to know, and Wilson knows.
 
"Well, then no offense sir, but your last team must have been a group of bumbling unprepared pussies not fit for combat. I assure you, especially on the field, Lars will not be a problem for me." That was all Wolf needed to say right now. He had gotten his point across. He head off to the living quarters, looking for a place to get some rest. He made his way into the living quarters and was both happy and surprised to see private rooms. He found his easily. A small sign next to the door made it obvious. Pleased with that, he turned back around and returned to the group. "Those are some really nice rooms, for a military operation." He laughed lightly. "Who is pitching in the private funding?" He paced around, putting the question to the group more than the CO. "Reanimated madman, nice rooms. Secrecy beyond that of many of the missions I have been on, and those, well", he chuckled, "I hope I am not being listened to, because I was told I would be shot even if I mentioned them." He looked over the group, not only interested in their responses, but wieghing them. Asking himself how difficult it would to take each of them on in a fight. Silently judging and evaluating them behind the veneer of a relaxed and generally happy man.
 
His head was dizzy. Now he felt bad. And now, he made a new mental note, Headbutting also
an option. Groggily, he picked himself up off the floor, addressing the CO, "I should be fine, sir.
Only forgot how to count to ten." Checking his Sight, he found that the red glass had somehow
managed to stay intact. A good thing, too, if it had cracked Yong would have to spend A LOT of
time fixing it. Gingerly, he reached his hand up to his forehead, only to draw back wincing. Even
though it felt like he got pounded by a jackhammer, he knew Lars probably held back. He didn't
really count on anyone helping him, though. He grew used to this sort of thing, and was trained
by it to not develop bonds with his teammates, as all of them could die.


No matter how invulnerable someone felt, whether in their house, looking down upon the world, or in their mech, with godly authority, they were still men. Men and women who could die by gun, cannon, flame, or rifle. Pulling up a small Datapad, he accessed the GG's mech database. While he wouldn't know the rest of his allies mechs except for Lars, (and even that was a guess), he still needed to study up on mechs that they used in the rebelling worlds. Hopefully, they wouldn't bring any of their heavy hitters. However, being involved in shadow wars meant that the GG wasn't going to send them any more aid. To his family, he was dead the second he refused to join the military.


He DID get his answer, though. Lars tended to prioritize, putting bigger annoyances over smaller ones, dealing with "Irish" first before flooring him. Looking carefully, he realized that two more had joined the group. Of course, though, Yong knew that deep inside, under all of their relaxed expressions, they were all ready to kill, eager to kill, or very analytical.


Mindlessly, he flipped his P226 in his hand. Honestly it was an old model, conceived back on Old Earth. However, his father was really into history, and had given him the pistol as a gift. One of the new guys seemed like the obedient type, as he had probably been the most formal out of everyone. The second seemed a bit cocky, calling a former "11" squad wimps. Of course, he didn't really know any of them well. Even Lars, for all he knew, could just be bipolar, switching between moods at a rapid rate. Of course, something about the second guy felt off to him. Of course, he really couldn't think straight at the moment, his ears were still ringing from the headbutt. Honestly? That was probably how Lars greeted people. Though, of course, he couldn't keep on blaming everything on the madman. As a sociopath, he was no more than a more intelligent beast, willing to kill, and die killing.


Everyone else on the squad most likely had their own plethora of problems and skills in order to be on "11". Yong was lucky, he heard that they were going to let his mentor do it, however, his mentor had died two weeks prior to the sendoff. After that, they had to choose the next best person.... who STILL wasn't Yong. The next best person, and the person after that, were all commanders, and had their own duties to take care of. That left Yong. Of course, there was probably more reason for them picking him. He was the youngest, making it so that he could learn much more quickly on the spot, and be more impressionable.


Of course, he was loyal to the GG, after all, it was they who secured peace, if only the rebel worlds haven't interfered. However, he knew someone on the ship most likely more dangerous than Lars, not on strength, but in results. The Irish seemed to be the more "malicious" of the group. He had willingly partaken in a beating from Lars, had smiled, even. It was fortunate his mask covered his eyes. His "sleep" was just him pretending to snore. Of course, he wasn't fast enough to stop Lars from flattening him. But the Irish was a bigger threat. Everyone was focused on Lars, and he proved to be a scapegoat for most of the group's anger. However, the Irish was not, at the moment. Of course, he knew that the others could present their own threats. The guy who stormed out wasn't much of a threat, considering how prone he was to anger.


The sniper, probably not, due to being loyal. The Irish and Lars were on top priority. And behind them was Newcomer Two and the girl. Number Two seemed to be ambitious and cocky enough to present a threat, yet, being new, he didn't know much of him at all. For all he knew, he was evaluating Yong for his clumsiness, having been duped by Lars. Then, of course, the girl was a huge threat. Being the only female on the team, she would be able to sway some of the other squad members to her side. He made a mental note to avoid contact with her for those very reasons. Not only that, but, considering how the Irish had spoken to her first, (discounting Lars), it was most likely she seemed to be the most normal of the group. In that capacity, she would make a good balance point for the rest of the group. Some would be inspired, others, spiteful.


He took out a different coin, this time, with two different sides. It was a game he used to play with his old squad, Trust or Don't Trust. It was silly, but it still helped occupy his mind. He started walking to his room. He noted that it was only one bed, most likely since the CO already knew Yong's reputation as a nuisance. He evaluated each teammate. Lars. Trust. Of course, he wasn't really going to trust Lars, but, to be honest, HE was honest, and most likely would be the one with the most combat experience. Being trained and emotionless, he would be good at killing people, especially defectors or former allies. Of course, he didn't want Lars to recreate the Zenith Massacre. He would have to keep an eye on him. The girl, flipped a No Trust. Obvious and good enough for him. The Scout flipped a no trust. This surprised him a bit, after all, the guy had seemed extremely predictable. However, he supposed he didn't see anyone in their mechs yet. He shook his head, it was quite ridiculous to form a basis of trust for everyone, but it DID seem to make him consider new arguments in his mind. The Irish flipped a No Trust, which was good enough for him. The Sapper flipped a No Trust. Of course, he didn't know much about him, and he didn't talk much. He really couldn't discount ANYONE as a threat yet. Sniper flipped a Trust. Hopefully, he wouldn't get to see if he could snipe Yong, considering he defects at any point. Number Two flipped a No Trust, which seemed logical enough. After all, he hadn't reacted to seeing him beat up on the floor. To be honest, though, no one really reacted, the colonel included. This was probably because Lars did this a lot. He reached his bed. Crawled into it, and promptly fell asleep for the second time this day(Voluntary, though).
 
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Jodie found the restrooms but soon turned back knowing that she had spent more time looking for the damn thing that actually having to go. She soon found herself back in the main quarters where some new people have arrived. She nodded at them in recognition but headed towards her bed were she was to rest until morning. Sitting down she slowly untied her combat boots and set them aside, slipping off her socks as well. Luckily her feet were prone to stinking, she didn't know why. Maybe because of the hefty amounts of baby powder she puts in them. Jodie smiled at the thought and started loosing her pant buckle, letting her once tucked in shirt flail out. She usually slept in her night wear which consisted of loose gym pants and a t-shirt. But since she had just met these ment she though she might weird them out if she just started changing out of nowhere. When Jodie was little her mother use to strip her of her clothing in front of her 6 brothers, so as she became older she wouldn't have the need to become embarrassed. And she slowly wasn't anymore, this continued until she was 13. When her father convinced mother to stop.
Jodie lied down, exhausted of the days events, though not sure if she could actually sleep. She hadn't really done an evaluation of all the people surrounding her but she new they could be trusted enough to let a fellow mate sleep. So turning on her side, Joe curled up into a ball, bringing a rough textured blanket over her semi small frame. Slowly drifting off to sleep.
 
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Lars watched from his cell as Jodie and Yong went to sleep. Turning to the wall beside him Lars examined the various profiles tacked up on the wall. Command always gave him the complete profile of every new applicant. Examining the row of pictures he stopped at Preston's. "poor little colonol...if only you knew how absolutely fucked you are..." Returning to his cell door Lars opened the food slat. "sweet dreams everyone..i cant wait to see you all in the morning!" Laughing fiendishly Lars walked over to his bed and promptly fell asleep.
 
Wilson gleefully stalked over to the door of his room, pulling out little wires from his pocket and pushing them to the steel doorframe, the steel-colored wire blending in flawlessly with the steel doorframe, and he attached tiny little narrow nodes on to the wires, again, blending in with the doorframe. After a while of fiddling, all the way around the doorframe with his wires and nodes, he took a step back and looked at it proudly. Well, he looked at nothing, really, because it was like they weren't even there.
 
Seeing that his words had maybe given some of the other pilots something to think about as they slept. This would be a very dangerous job, with a lot of complexities and resource restrictions. No doubt enough ammo and arms to get the job done, but he doubted the availability of man power. He made his way to his bed and kicked off his boots and took off his jacket and laid out on top of his blankets, ands behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. He fell asleep like that, boots next to his bed in case he needed them in the middle of the night.
 
Erric slipped away from the rest of the main group, content that he had seen enough. He found that he talked less than he usually did, especially in the deployment of such a large squad; he wasn't used to this dynamic, but he would have to adapt, and fast, otherwise he would be going home to his family in an urn. He entered into the barracks, where the bunks and breakroom were highly minimalist, but surprisingly nice. A holoscreen was tastefully set upon the wall opposite of his bed in his small dorm, meaning that he could access it from his datapad. He probably wouldn't be able to find anything confidential or snoop around, since he lacked clearance and the extremely complex software to pull it off. He set down his duffle, opting to keep his belongings in the bag and sleep in his fatigues, rather than unpack straight away. A habit of his from having to be ready and awake at a moment's notice, as well as from living a highly mobile life, so to speak. He pulled off his boots, set down his helmet, and laid flat on his back, falling into a tenuous sleep.
 
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As the group separates, Death went to the hangar to see his beloved mech. "Ha! He's not here? Oh, the colonel said that it will arrive this morning, so okay, I'll just wait." He told himself.
After looking and checking the hangar, Death went to his quarters, "Oh, I like the view in here. Nice scenery." He removed his mask and place it on the table, now his looking at his own reflection on the mirror, "This the face, the face who will change the war." He changed his clothes into a more pleasant one. Then, he checked his sniper rifle and his own personal pistol. "I expect that this war will be more exciting." So, he lay on his bed and fall asleep.
 
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"Uh, you're the new scout? Right?"

James looked up from the table to see a man standing in the doorway, obviously a desk worker or something. "What?" he sighed at the man.

"Colonel ordered lights out. Mechs will get here in the morning."
"Thank you."
James stood as the worker walked away, following after a moment. He traced his steps, leading him eventually to the bunks. Walking inside, he saw a few of the others had already gone to their rooms. Rooms? Yep, private rooms. He popped into the one that his luggage had been set inside.
Hoping onto his bunk, he soon fell asleep, leaving the others to be worried about the next day. He could socialize when he had his mech back.
 
The next morning Preston's voice echoed through the hallway, "all pilots, this is your wake up call. Your mechs are waiting for you in the hangar. Conduct your inspections then prepare for mission briefing."
 
He really hated dreams. Sometimes they were ok, you wouldn't remember them and you wou

ld be on your way through the day. Others disturb you, as if an omen to come.

Three IM2 units were on his right. Nasty things. Rebels commonly use them to rally troops or inspire fear. An IM2 stands for Incendiary Mech Two. The second model was actually derived from the rebels. Incendiary Mechs were banned from the GG, due to their inhumane nature. One would think that flamethrowers would be ineffective. Yet, the gas tank is protected by the mech's heavy plates of steel armor, and the range is an absurd 500 meters. Gas was NOT a rarity on this planet, making it so IM2's were the cheapest and easiest mech for rebels to manufacture.

In the dream, he grimaced, and leaned forward, yelling into the comm, "Unit three, pull back and engage suppressing fire! Unit Two and One, engage in hammer and anvil, switch off semi fire and change rounds to armor piercing. Unit Four, aim a bit to the left, my mech is picking up wind resistance for your rifles." He stretched back and wiped his brow. It was hard to be one of the only mechs in a battalion of infantry. Fortunately, they were all experienced, and they all knew Yong's tactical superiority in this situation. Something was nagging at him. The GG didn't fight the rebels like this, right? How come he was fighting with rebels as part of an infantry batallion? And on one of their bases? He shook his head, still oblivious that he was in a dream. Unit Four had taken strategic shots in order to penetrate the IM2 mechs and reveal their gas tanks through strategic shots through their back frame. IM2 mechs use a volatile gas, which, unlike gas on Old Earth, actually explodes. While this made their flamethrowers deadly, it also made them extremely vulnerable whenever a shot could get it. It was too bad, that, being banned, IM2's weren't fully covered in his Tactical Sight Index. If they were, he would have been more cautious. Instead of exploding like they should have, the mechs sped up, turned around, and completely incinerated Unit One.

He could hear their screams, and he could hear their pleas as they burnt to death. All of these men and women had families, homes, children, and loved ones. Their lives ended in two seconds.

Focusing his mech's HSR on the mechs, he fired a shell that was able to shoot down the three at once, igniting with the volatile gas. Just like on Old Earth, flamethrowers didn't explode. They merely let out the gas/substance. It was too bad Yong didn't realize that, instead thinking about efficiency. That cost him a unit.

Sighing, he leaned back into his seat, and turned off the comm to Units Two through Five. He didn't need to hear them yelling at him. Not today, not now. He would catch hell for it later, but at the moment he didn't need to. He closed his eyes, and wiped the sweat from his brow after lifting his mask. After putting his mask back on, he opened his eyes. Hell greeted him.

IM2 mechs are cheap, and easy to produce. Yong didn't realize that they would send fifty. Forcing himself to calm down, he concentrated on his Si-

The roar of a Firefly caught his attention. He looked up, to the sky, to his savior. A roaring machine of death that chewed up the foes of the pilot. It was too bad that the pilot of said Firefly wasn't here to back up Yong, but to join the rebellion, and give them access to Firefly schematics and engineering parts. His shoulders dropped now. It was over. He uploaded a link to a prominent IM2 decorated with a star, "Hey! Stop, that's enough. We've taken enough casualties already. We surrender. We'll drop our arms, and I'll get out of my mech." The line was silent. He banged on the link, "I SAID I SURRENDERED!" Still, dead silence met his ear. Behind him, a voice sounded. "You little !@#$%"

He swiveled around, to meet a man he feels like he should know, but doesn't, and innately fears.

The man picked him up, and started crushing his throat. Yong started struggling as the arm crushed through his neck armor. "Think I'm just gonna let you surrender? Look at this! Look at how much fun they're having!" Yong was able to turn his head slightly. Units Two through Five, obliterated and burning, because he failed to keep an eye on them. A tactical error that was unforgivable. The man shaked him again, "C'mon! Your such a !@#$%, I swear your going to start barking!" He flung him to the ground, "YOU GONNA BARK, HUH!?"

The man had crushed his throat, yet he felt no pain, but he couldn't speak. The man picked him up by his neck, "WAKE UP BUTTERCUP!"

"GAH!" Yong barely muffled his shout in time. Luckily, his mask allowed him to suppress his own voice. Sitting up, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He just had a dream about failing, and Lars killing him.

The latter was probably going to happen soon if he didn't get up, however.

He realized that he didn't exit his suit. That was fine with him. He had already taken leave of the lavatory yesterday, and he really didn't need a shower. On the outside, his suit was as pristine as always. Except for the bump where Lars bashed his head in. Shaking his head, he walked over to the hangar to inspect his mech.
 
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James awoke as soon as the intercom announced the arrival of their mechs. Like a child on Christmas morning, he leaped from his bunk, exited his room, grabbing his tomahawk has he left. He practically sprinted into the hanger. Almost immediately he found the mech that was his own, the little-known but well-feared Hellsing XVII Personal Combat Hovermech.

"Oh, my dark angel, you've come back to me." He embraced the mechanized armor suit as one would an old friend, and quickly began inspecting for any damage that may have occurred during transport. He was irritated that there was a light scratch on the left shoulder, but that was ok. It had seen more than a ding in it's time.

James had a lot of history with that particular Hellsing XVII mech. Countless training routines, several daunting missions, and endless berating from superiors. Four long years he and this mech had been together. It had been there for him when all of his few friends had either abandoned him or been transferred, and he had been there for it when it had sustained heavy damage in a mission. It was his, and his alone.

He considered putting it on and taking it for a run, but decided it would probably be best to wait for the Colonel to give him permission. In his experience, there were some superiors you had to get permission from to take a piss.
 
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The sound of a blaring loudspeaker rocked Erric out of his less-than-restful sleep, slight crows feet underneath his eyes an indication. He stepped into his boots and climbed off of the bed, walking briskly into the bathroom, splashing his face with water to wake himself up, then swishing out with some baking soda. Content with his appearance, he gathered up his TacHelm, personal carry, and the rest of his kit, then made his way to the hangar, anxious to once again climb into the Cabochon. He saw how some of the other pilots, namely the scout, as well as 'Oculus,' the strategic support whom he'd read of in the dossier, had already started to make their own mechs ready for the field. He walked to his own exosuit, appraising it.

Everything seemed to be in place. Sure, a few scratches upon the dull blue paint, but otherwise all was well. Erric accessed his datapad, uplinking with the CPU of his exosuit. Identified: Cadet Tenenbaum. Access Granted.

The reactor core hummed to life as the imposing-looking exosuit switched to 'Idle' mode, powered but not under any autonomy, standing at the ready of the input of the pilot. The Sapper noted how everything seemed to be nominal; weaponry was fully operational, jumpjet propulsion was fully powered, utilizing 20% of the fusion reactor's potential energy. He put on his TacHelm, a basic HUD popping into his field of view, and issued one verbal command to the war machine. "Newton."

The exosuit lowered one of it's bristling arms towards the Cadet, who used it as a springboard to climb on top of the exosuit's chassis, now situated upon the suit's shoulder. It was there he sat, fiddling around with calibration upon his datapad, awaiting orders.
 
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Wolf woke at the sound of the loud speakers. He sat up on his bed and rubbed the sand from his eyes. With a wide yawn he stood up, put on his boots and his cap and walked out to the bay that the mechs were being stored. He walked through the doors of the hanger to see a few of his fellow pilots already taking stock of their mechs. He laughed as he saw his little girl towering over many of the other mechs. She wasn't the biggest girl around, but the other ladies in the room were very much small vehicles.

He walked over to his mech, and ran his hand lovingly over the leg. It was his baby alright. He pushed a control on his wrist mounted computer and the front folded out to him. A ladder built into the lower plate of the front hull that had unfolded helped him make his ascension into the vehicle. At the top of the ladder he ran his hand over the carefully stenciled "Serendipity" that lay on one of the cheeks of the pike nose of the machine. It was his girl.

He plopped down into the seat of his little lady and flicked a switch on the massive control panel. The mech folded him into its loving embrace and the armored glass slid into place to cover the open spots in the front of the mech, allowing him direct view of what was in front of him. He valued this as a massive advantage over the various camera systems used on other mechs. He ran a full system diagnostic, and everything seemed nominal. With a grin he rotated the torso of the machine to Tenenbaum, who sat on the shoulder of his mech. The cannons strapped to either side of the mech began to spin up, and in a moment of milliseconds were to full speed, letting out a eery sound of electric motors and spinning metal fill the air in the hanger.
 
The Irish, as he was now come to be thought of, was already awake, more or less. He wasn't awake because he was an early-riser; he was awake because every time he fell asleep, nightmares that once were waiting would pounce, and drown him. So he didn't sleep very much, which may of been one of the more major contributions to his... disorderly partial insanity.

So he rose before the speaker ever sounded, and was already ready to go, still lying in his bed, when the speakers clicked on, and the audio came through. He waited probably around 10 minutes, before finally swinging his legs off the 'bed,' and going to the hangar.


Inside the hangar, he threw a tantrum. He climbed up his Combat Controller walker, from top to bottom, checking every single thing, and pulled out a couple bugs in the communications array, which means someone wants to keep track of what he's saying. When he finished his exterior inspection, he climbed to the back, and entered through the relatively small, thick hatch. Inside, he found himself in his very small emergency room, with a tiny shelf near the floor, with a slightly wider shelf above it for an injured person. Everything looked good; everything was strapped down, the locker that consisted of his 'armory' was still locked, and when opening it, he found everything exactly the way he left it, his small traps still untouched. He closed the door, and locked it again. Then he moved through a slightly bigger hatch, and into the cockpit. A single chair with just enough space to move around it, with various buttons and levers and lights, all powered down. Upon powering up his CC walker, he immediately slipped a UFD [Universal Flash Drive] into one of the custom sockets, and moments later, he was running a check through all systems.

When he found that there were well over a hundred different bugs, viruses, spyware, and other types of software that would probably be reporting straight back to CentCom, he activated all the cameras in the cockpit, and flipped it off. He spent the next ten minutes screaming obscenities and curses at CentCom and where they can shove their sneaky little manipulation and spy tricks, whenever his personality switched, like it does every other day, and then he's calm and collected and not at all the half-crazy possibly-insane Irish. He's more normal, now. Ish.

So he went through, deleted all unwanted software, ran a systems check again, started up the engines, shut down the engines, and then exited his walker.
 
Lars lumbered out of his cell and made his way to the hangar, idly scratching at the collar around his neck. Upon entering the hangar he chuckled and walked over to his mech. While very similar to his previous model, this current mech was painted an oily black, and had extra armor plating along with a few extra weapons. Walking around his mech Lars went about his usual routine.
 
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