The mercenary commander shook his head. "If you want the finest pilots that the independent sector can provide then you will pay the better price. If you want half-skilled cannon fodder that you can sell for scrap once your clan has lost then you feel free to look elsewhere". The sponsor steepled his fingers and looked at the information lying in front of him. He had to admit that the documents, as well as the mercenary's reputation, held well for victory. He slapped a hand on the table top. "Done", he said. The mercenary nodded, spat on his palm, and shook the sponsor's hand. "I shall see you in the morning at our compound then", he said.
From that point it would all be about preparation. The mercenary's troops were always ready and tuned well in advance of a clan war. They would arrive, set up, prepare and test. They never failed to find an employer in such events. When you had a profile record with as many trophies adorning it as the merc then the sponsors would snap them up. Yes, they would offer token resistance over the costs and fees, but very few argued the toss for too long. They knew they were buying a certain second place, and often as not, a gold win. It would improve their standing and please the sponsoring companies. It also improved the mercenaries status.
The last round had been... amusing. They had faced a clan that, to be honest, should not have taken to the field. Standard mech lines spotted with the occasional niode special had marched forth. It was spit balls against the hell-fires. Freons and Oresters accompanied by the occasional Cindron or Sever. The volley of fire from weapons that were clearly there as fillers, principally crystal bought technologies with the odd low grade niode gun some two divisions below in terms of effectiveness, would splutter their swan song at the mercenary giants. The efforts seldom made a mark, failing to penetrate shielding, and serving little purpose. Less gifted pilots and commanders had failed to observe the fact that niode mechs in ones and twos bolstering in vain their standard cousins would not withstand a well equipped and deeply invested force of the best technology the mercenaries could field.
The mercenaries always used the best they could get. It was their livelihood and stock and trade. The resulting exchanges were as rats to a dog fight. It had been carnage. Namtars and Ogguns had been torn appart. Rended and twisted before they could even get a lock on with their cheaply purchased targeting systems. The single Smilodon centered in the rank had weathered some of the mercenary fire power, but not for long. As the two Namtars and single supporting Oggun fell, the mercs focused their fire on the Niode unit. Projectile fire slammed into it's marginally better hide, showing evidence of poorly equipped crystal tech shielding. The commander thought at the time, 'Why buy a decent mech and fail to give it your best gear'?
It happened so often in these events. Pilots died because of such stupidity. The following lines in this round went a similar way. Diablis nozzles flared. Ursa strikes screamed their dirge. Row after row of Luisons and Ogguns burst into white hot molten fountains. In the very rear rank a lone Gigus put up a noble stand, even crippling the mobility systems of one of the merc force's Inferno's, but a tantrum of light from a rage pulsar scored a crushing blow on the fiery monster's head section, cooking the pilot in his seat almost instantly..CRIT KILL! A precision invention that proved it's worth in niodium every time.
The mercenary commander rose from his seat having downed his brew. Tomorrow would be another day of conflict. He had his deal. His men would be pleased. Now they must prepare.
Submitted by Steve Ross#162076