ANME-9

=Chapter 9 Ancient Memories=
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==Pickles==
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===Act 1===
Somewhere near the Lothian LeaguePeriphery2937
"This guy's ****** up," Steph said dully as Theresa and Mike laid out the man they pulled from a ruined industrialmech. 
"Grab the medkit and shut up," Mike told her. "This guy was coming to get the bastards we were hired to take out, and he was doing it all by himself."
Steph grabbed the medikit and brought it over, as Theresa set to work stabilizing the farmer. "So… another client?"
"Another client, another recruit? Something. I had a feeling, so we're going with it," Mike told her. "Theresa agrees."
"Right then. I've got to get back to the 'mech bay and finish fixing Nixon's ride. Those guys actually knew how to shoot." Steph left the leaders to save-or fail to save-the damaged man on the mess table.
Down in the mechbay: "It's still going to be a few hours before the locals get here," Eckhardt observed. "By then we'll be fit?"
"Don't worry. We'll be done by then," Styles assured her. "We've decapitated the headquarters element-such as it is-of these so-called 'mercs', and once Nixon and Jerry finish running down their runners we'll be on our way. Any thoughts on what your next project is?"
"I'm thinking a Catapult. We've found a couple that weren't completely dead among the mercs, and we can use an extra LRM boat to supplement Lara," Steph grinned. "You see the guy they pulled out of that IH Kultivator?"
"Yeah. I got a feeling too," Eckhardt said. "Didn't you? Seeing him taking that thing with Rifles and straight balls?"
"Yeah… I guess I did. Will he fit in though?"
"You do."
"Thanks, bitch."
Eckhardt laughed. "There's something… you get the feeling after a while, Stephie. If you spent more time in the field you'd feel it too. When we were on the Taurian front, doing the peacekeeping, guys who had nothing left but anger would show up, like the guy with the bosses. And those guys were a thousand times harder to take down than the semi-pros in proper 'mechs, because they just didn't give up."
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===Act 2===
They were clearing orbitals before the Lothian League's defense militia were in sight of the last scene.
"Whoa, I'm not the new guy anymore?" Jerry asked, as a new presence entered the company mess.
"Not hardly," Styles said.
The newest guy's head was…deformed. "What's your name new guy?"
"b-Bob." 
"Don't tease the new guy, Jerry. He was in that Agromech with the recoilless rifles and the kludged rockets," Nixon said. "Ballsy and angry."
Bob grunted and sat down in an empty seat.
Sheri herself came in through the connecting airlock, bringing a covered tray, and brought it into the company mess.
"This is for Robert," she deflected Styles with a stare.
"Robert?"
"Yes." Sheri placed the magnetized platter down without disrupting it, and opened the cover.
"Mmmm…" the man whose whole vocabulary seemed to be one word, dug into the kibble like a starving hound.
"Why does he get-?"
"Because I like him better than I like you, Jerry," Sheri stated. "Everyone else's meals are in the hot-boxes, but Robert doesn't have one yet."
"Yet?" Lara asked.
"Robert is staying," the spacer said. "Mike said so."
Bob looked up at her. "Thanks." And then dug back into his meal.
"What's our next target?" Eckhardt asked when Mike joined them.
"Well, we have another location," Mike said. "The data stacks in that headquarters Orion indicated a former SLDF firebase. It's probably their 'headquarters'."
"Firebase, sounds like we're going to be all hands on deck," Eckhardt noted.
"Job's not done, these guys butchered their previous clients and ran, survivors hired us, some of them are still alive."
"Not just them," Bob muttered.
"Oh, yeah, and Bob here. They burned his town out and killed… everybody," Mike filled in. "So he's a client and joining up."
"Not in that agromech-"
"No. Steph?"
"I'll have that Catapult you salvaged ready in two weeks, unless you want me to give 'specials'."
"No time for specials this trip, but after this job," Mike judged.
"Right. Lara, hook up yours and the Catapult for a field simulator setup, you're going to be drilling Bob in our methods," Mike ordered.
"Alright Boss. Cadre like we did with the one-seven-one?"
"Well, hopefully with better results. He's at least knowledgeable enough to run a 'mech at all, unlike Colonel Ngo's people, who weren't."
"Right…so we'll go over the full class while we're on the way."
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===Act 3===
‘Lord’ Uther Colsek was enjoying one of his latest prizes. The raids had been quite successful as of late and had netted him a bottle of fine wine and the woman serving it to him.
She was still being trained but he felt no fear.
“Don’t worry my dear. I like to look, as you can see I collect beautiful things. They don’t stay beautiful if I mistreat them too poorly. Especially early on,” he said with ice.
She meekly bowed as she poured him another glass of wine.
The comm panel next to him chirped.
“Lord Colsek, I apologize for the inter-” the meek voice of a clearly younger man came over the comm panel.
“It better well be serious,” he growled.
“We’re under attack. Unknown enemy. Most likely mercenaries sent on a pirate hunting mission.”
“How many?”
“Eight enemy contacts. Estimate they’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“All right. I’m heading down to the command center. Get the lads to their mechs, we’ll show them we’re not to be messed with.”
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===Act 4===
Like any good firebase there was no good way to approach it without being seen from well away.
That was fine with the Murderhobos.
“Defense towers?” Mike asked.
“Only the two on the north wall are actually functional, but not for much longer,” Lara answered.
“Two Stingers, pair of Wasps, Centurion, Wolverine, Shadow Hawk, Quickdraw, Thunderbolt, Enforcer, Warhammer, and a Zeus.” Nixon counted off the pirate mech company marching out to meet them.
Lara and Bob loosed their LRMs against the two defense turrets leaving them in ruins.
Eckhardt and Cham put their PPCs into the leading Stinger which fell to the ground.
Johnny put his PPC into the face of the Wasp that was trying to close in.
Styles let her Autocannon roar against the last Stinger still standing.
Mike focused his PPCs into the Warhammer.
Steph and Jerry chipped away at the Thunderbolt.
The LRMs from the Zeus and Thunderbolt scattered around the feet of Steph’s Thunderbolt.
PPC fire from the Warhammer was one hit against Mike’s Thug.
Mike grunted as he pulled his PPC triggers again into the Warhammer again, the right leg collapsing at the knee.
The Wasp was trying to close in under the covering fire of the Zeus and Wolverine.
Styles snapped her Autocannon up in an almost illustration of SLDF Gunnery, and ripped a row of craters into the Wolverine's upper torso.
Eckhardt, Cham, and Johnny put their PPCs into the Zeus, the torso erupting in an ammunition explosion as the mech ripped itself apart.
The moment of hilarity, however, was when Jerry dropped out of a jump, grabbed the Wasp by the cockpit assembly, and blew through its torso with his large laser. Fusion plasma vented and cooled in a shower of vital components.
The Quickdraw tried to jump behind Lara but she was able to shuffle her mech and clapped her mech’s fists right where the cockpit met the torso, cleanly severing it from the rest of the mech.
Long range missiles fell on the wounded Warhammer in steady volley, as Bob, the new guy, walked almost carelessly forward, laying down the steady firehose of small missiles, firecracker detonations covering the maimed heavy 'mech.
The Centurion and Enforcer seemed to look at each other before running.
Which added a moment of further hilarity-as Steph stepped out of the shadow of the building they were running past with an arm extended at head-height, a thirty meter tall bully clotheslining the equally massive Enforcer at head level.
PPCs from Mike’s Thug tore into the back of the Centurion causing it to topple as the gyro exploded and melted down the back of the mech.
Bob plodded forward and medium lasers flickered into the disturbed dusty ground, fleeing men incinerated mid-step.
<<“I surrender!”>> The transmission came from the Shadow Hawk.
Steph shook the wreckage of the Enforcer's cockpit off her arm, and centered a large weapon at optimal range on the SHD.
“No quarter for bandits.” Johnny, Steph, and Mike practically delivered the shot in synchronicity, removing the durable upper torso of the Shad in a volley of heavy weapons fire. 
Bob's LRM salvo just… hammered the confetti.
The few infantry left were trying to run back into their fortified buildings.
<<“We’ve got hostages. If you care about them we’ll talk terms.”>>
"Have you heard the term 'dead heroes', bandit?" Steph drawled on the PA. "TO be kind we'll give you three minutes forty seconds to release your hostages, then they become dead heroes. Three minutes thirty seven, thirty six…"
At one minute, thirty seconds, civilians came stumbling out of the bunker, fleeing their captors.
Steph kept counting down, while the frightened hostages fled between the feet of the Murderhobos.
<<"Terms!!">>
She kept counting.
A few men with uniforms and small arms came out, hands in the air.
She kept counting.
"They haven't figured it out yet?" Mike asked over the unit's channel.
"Obviously not," Styles answered.
Steph's count reached zero. The charges went off, the building collapsed inward in an implosion that also collapsed the bunker below.
If anyone survived, they were now in for an ugly, long, slow death.
"You know those weren't SLDF trained. They'd have known to disarm the scuttle charges," Nixon observed.
“Training standards really are lax. But they’re bandits, not professionals,” Lara added.
"True that." Styles began picking off the surrendering infantrymen, some tried to run, others to beg.
"Like popcorn." Bob said TWO whole words!
“What should we do with the civilian survivors?”
"Lothian forces should be getting here later today or maybe tomorrow, we'll leave rations and supplies for the civilians and let them deal with it," Mike decided. "If you're done playing whack-a-mole Styles, we need to get going."
“Yeah. We got ‘em all.” Even though Styles said it they all could sense it.
Their job here was done.
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===Act 5===
Huntington, Free Worlds Leaguetwo months later…
Governor Shasta Ibn Fauzel had been dreaming about her parents when the cold hand clamped her awake.
"Hi," the shadow said. Then the other hands clamped her arms, and she shouted for her guards.
Who did not make an appearance, but the lights did come on in her bedroom.
"Kinmon's Kolumn is no longer in existence. Your initiative has been noticed." The man speaking looked like an accountant, his comrades like a motley crew of mercenaries. "You sent them. Officially they’re renegades fleeing as deserters, but you sent them."
"What are you going to do to me?"
He looked at a man with a deformed head. "Bob?"
"Pickles," the deformed man slurred, holding up a jar, he took a dark green oblong shape from it, took a bite, chewed, swallowed. Closed the jar. "They make good pickles here." 
'Bob' stepped around the end of the bed, to level with the Governor's pillow. He raised the jar, and brought it down.
Over and over and over again. The governor struggled and screamed and burbled as the man smashed her face with a jar of pickles, until the glass broke.
"Sharing is caring." He used the broken glass to cut her throat before she could suffocate from having her face caved in.
"Now, we're done," Mike said. "Let's go before the guards wake up."
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