InaG Chpt 1

==It's not a Gundam - Chapter 1 -==
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===Big, Green, and Mean===
Marian Landing Zone
Junker, Periphery (Rimward, Anti-Spinward)
January, 3025
It wasn't a Locust Factory. Hell. It wasn't even a factory. It was a workshop for cobbling together whatever tech and that included Light Mechs (of which many WERE Bug Mechs) from off-world junk and whatever the locals could machine by hand.
 
But even in the Periphery, something like this was a prime target. And their Maniple was set to take the world in the name of the Hegemony.
 
It wasn't going so well.
 
The aptly named people of Junker built themselves a Naval Laser, or at least something close to it. It was just ONE laser. But it stood wedged between the Junker's primary settlement and their workshop. The first Dropship burned on reentry and Principe William's ASF support dissolved before they could react.
 
His Dropship made an ungraceful landing far enough to not be instantly slagged by the improvised anti-orbit gun. Far enough that the Junker militia had the chance to respond.
Half-complete Locusts and Stingers pelted the landing zone with potshots. Had they been better armed the Marians would all be dead now. With the boom of his Hunchback's AC/20 he took the legs off one such Locust. In all practicality overkill. To his frustration, the pilot scrambled out of the downed mech no worse for wear. The cockpits that the Junkers made were reinforced at the cost of the protection of the rest of the machine.
 
The rest of the battlefield was a chaotic mess. The Light Century, the Marian's version of a scout unit, was missing. Likely dead or captured. William knew why. His glare swept across a landing zone encircled by glorified militiamechs. And there were many. Supported by man more militia taking potshots with rockets and mortars.
 
Instinctively he swerved away from the clattering bark of an array of four machine guns. Far too many holes were concerningly close to his seat; and concerningly deep as well. His AC/20 fired again. Shattering the offending arm of the Spider but clicked empty when the Marian tried for a finishing shout.
 
With a growl he let the near-bare skeleton of a Spider flee. How the FUCK did they get a Spider in the first place!?
In the corner of his eye he finally saw the Light Century, or what was left of it. A battered Jenner stumbled through a gap in the frontlines and confirmed the Principe's suspicions.
 
"Centurion Barkley!" he shouted, "Where are my scouts!?"
 
"Gone, Principes!" the Jenner shouted as it ran back, "They have a Super Heavy Mech!"
 
William's blood chilled, "They what!? You can't be serious!"
 
There was no way they could have a Superheavy. Not even an Assault Mech. One was impossible, the other was rare in the Periphery. The merchants they had 'convinced' never said they had a battlemech of anything above a Medium was under reconstruction. Then again they never mentioned the improvised Naval Laser. But the radar and radiological signature should have said something. Anything. Something wasn't right.
 
"It's true, Will! My computer said so! 18 Meters! 120 Tons! It even has a jump-"
 
Barkley never finished his line.
A pillar of fire and dust was kicked up high into the air, accompanied by a merciless and cruel metal crunch.
 
...Barkley was correct.
 
Subconsciously the Marian commander stepped back as a lone eye turned to stare at him. IT was large, it was bulky, just staring at it and the dozens of battle scars covering the weathered thick armor plating Williams knew this was the monster who had slaughtered one of his lances.
 
The winged, battlemech-sized jump pack (what else could it be?) fell off the Superheavy's back. The green humanoid brute stepped down from the crushed Jenner at its feet. Its eye swept left and right before it raised it's arms. The autocannons on each arm fired with a loud clack like a typewriter from hell. His Hunchback said the unknown Superheavy was firing AC/5 shells. The explosions now rattling the remains of his Maniple said otherwise. Whatever design it was it cycled through different ammunition as fast as it could fire. AP rounds, Incendiary rounds, high-explosive rounds ripped through already worn down Marian battlemechs.
Junker Militia pressed the advantage. The hasty defense the Principe had set up was already collapsing ... and a sickly green behemoth was leading the charge.
 
Williams found himself pulling back as his medium lasers did nothing more than draw black lines upon the tones of solid metal rushing toward him. His Hunchback lashed out with a clumsy haymaker and was met by the Junker Mechwarrior. He lost. The entire mass of a superheavy pushed on delicate joints and the right arm snapped at a sickly limp angle.
Suddenly the Principes saw the Superheavy pull its other arm back, in its hand a bladed brass knuckle.
He closed his eyes as he felt the pain of a dozen tons of sharpened steel slam into his body ... then darkness.
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We didn't lose anyone. Fortunately. Plenty of wounded though. They took my suggestions to heart reinforcing the cockpits to take hits. A stiff breeze could have ruined plenty of Frankenmechs that they had rushed into the fight.
 
Now the Junkers had more proper material to work on. Salvage was the lifeblood of many during the 3rd Succession War, for the Junkers it was their way of life. While half the entire population was picking the wrecks clean and hauling away whatever was functional. The militia had dirty business to do.
 
I didn't watch and I wasn't going to say anything either. I wasn't going to stick my neck out for a twisted rendition of the Roman Empire only slightly less bad as Caeser's Legion. The awe and reverence the Junkers had of me or not.
 
They stood a good distance from me as I serviced the Tieren. It was technically a Superheavy out of sheer weight. It's weaponry meanwhile was anemic. What anime would call a standard mecha rifle was an AC/2 or AC/5 in BT terms. I made do with kitbashing. The powers-that-be limited my access to what I could fit it with. Much of it's weight came from it's armor and the hydraulics needed to move it. It worked because it 'pushed' while myomers 'pulled'. A BT mechtech and a Gundam MS mechanic would scratch their heads with what I did to make it all work underneath.
 
"Exarch."
 
I adjusted my helmet and looked at the leader of Junker.
 
"Mr. Mayor, Do you need anything?"
 
"You've done more than enough." he admitted, "You can call me, Cid. Everyone does. Though I would ask why you wear that mask."
 
"It's pretty obvious why," I answered.
 
The face wasn't mine. But it was the face that would likely make half the Inner Sphere want me dead, or just want me. I didn't want to think what the greater Periphery or hell, the Clans would say.
 
"Even so, Exarch. Do you have to go?"
 
"Can and will." I answer, "The Marians will be back. And I'm going to make sure they don't."
 
"Why?" he asked, "The Militia is with you. And so many others could join you also. The Star League could return if you-"
 
"Not yet," I answered, "And not how it should be. It needs to be better."
 
Cid and I locked eyes. Eventually, he sighed and acquiesced, "Understood, Exarch. But remember that you will always be welcome on Junker."
 
He held his hand out and I took it. I lived with them long enough for them to realize when I needed my space.
 
"So..."
 
"Yes?"
 
"Can you at least tell me what kind of Fusion Engine and Cooling you are using? I've never seen a machine move with so little heat or noise."
 
"That's because it runs on battery."
 
"...what."
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*; Note from the Author: Plot Bunny. Grunt (Non-Elite) Mobile Suits Only.
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Chapter 1