BattleTech: Chaos Formed (Chaos Irregulars, Book 2)

By Kevin Killiany

MASTERS OF WAR…

The battlefields of the 31st century are commanded by the BattleMech, twenty-meter-tall, 100-ton bipedal engines of destruction. Piloted by MechWarriors, commanded by neo-feudal officers, owned by national governments and bands of mercenaries, loyal to one of the interstellar Successor States or the martial Clans, these 'Mechs make every other ground combat vehicle obsolete.

This is the warfare of fusion-powered giants.

This is BattleTech.

The Chaos Irregulars are mercenaries, born on the battlefields of the planet Acamar at the dawn of the Word of Blake's horrific Jihad. Orphans of shattered mercenary battalions, they were forged in the crucible of combat into one of the most reliable mercenary battalions in the Inner Sphere.

Chaos Formed: Book Two of the Chaos Irregulars chronicles the battalion's formation and first few contracts, battling intrigue, betrayal and other mercenaries. First published on the BattleCorps fiction site, these stories comprise the first half of a duology that began in Chaos Born: Book Two of the Chaos Irregulars.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
• Release date: Dec 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393186441

Book preview

EDITOR’S NOTE

If you haven’t purchased this e-book after having already finished reading Chaos Born: Book One of the Chaos Irregulars, you can find it now at your favorite online retailers.

FOREWORD

As much as I’d come to enjoy writing the Chaos Irregulars, I repeatedly made clear to Dave Stansel, Herb Beas, Randall Bills and anyone who would listen that I really didn’t think the choose the adventure project would catch on. I figured that was a safe bet. No one on BattleCorps had expressed any enthusiasm for the idea when it had been announced and I was an unknown in the BattleTech universe; no one had heard of me before my first sale only five months before. (One critiquer of that first story had asked if BattleCorps was going to publish any real writers or just hacks like Killiany—that hack Killiany became one of my more popular call signs among BattleCorps members.) Knowing going in that there would be at most six stories to the series (if that) I’d decided in advance the first story would be Decision at Acamar as an homage to William Keith’s Decision at Thunder Rift, the first BattleTech novel, and last would be something including Endgame as a tribute to the last BattleTech novel: Loren Coleman’s Endgame. I decided to use the ____ at ____ title format throughout to help unify the series. 

When Decision at Acamar was released in early 2005 it generated only moderate interest in the BattleCorps forums—beyond the fact no one liked the name Chaos Irregulars the general consensus seemed to be that the story didn’t suck too badly. David assured me far more people were downloading the story than were talking about it and predicted that once the community saw the second story and the possible missions we’d worked out things would be fine. I had my doubts.

Two weeks later Crossroads at Outreach was released and the BattleCorps forum lit up with complaints. Seemed the vote feature did not work. The BC crew scrambled to fix the bug and by the end of the week the votes cast were almost double what Peter, Paul, and Mary had predicted. The degree to which the BattleCorps members made the Chaos Irregulars their own was surprising, gratifying, and humbling. 

More disconcerting was the attention to detail readers demonstrated and the conviction they brought to their arguments for and against each mission option. I’d written for Star Trek and I thought I knew how intense fans could be; what I had not realized before was the degree to which Trekkie zeal pales in comparison to gamer devotion. To stay ahead of this crowd I needed to step my game way up. In addition to creating worlds they could use for their own scenarios and developing three-dimensional characters—two things I strive to do anyway—I had to get all of my game-universe facts exactly right.

Before Total Warfare and the other core rulebooks codified the BattleTech universe and the technical readouts, field manuals, and house handbooks all updated and reconciled, research required combing FanPro’s Mater BattleTech Rules and the myriad editions of field manuals and technical readouts, weighing degrees of canonicity trying to nail everything down. I made mistakes. I got BattleMech weapons loadouts wrong, misidentified a Davion duke—every story had at least one howler that slipped past the fact checkers and the editors. The readers called me out on every one of my blunders. Or, more accurately, they pointed out things I’d gotten wrong and suggested corrections. If I cited the chapter and verse from the rules or field manual to support my choices, I’d get either a okay, hadn’t thought of it that way or a I see why you got that, but here’s what it really means. I paid attention to all the feedback.

In writing the people who made up the Irregulars I tried to go against expectations, to avoid the expected story arcs. I sidelined Reema, blew Jake’s BattleMech out from under him, gave highly disciplined Ariel get silly under stress, and tried to make every member of the unit distinctive. As a cobbled-together command rebuilding from ruin, I figured things like the interpersonal politics of adjustment and budget issues that made painting ’Mechs or purchasing up-to-date databases difficult, decisions would be a big part of the Irregulars’ reality, so I worked to make the day-to-day operations of a third-rate mercenary command both believable and interesting.

The members of BattleCorps were with me every step of the way. So much so, in fact, I knew I couldn’t tell the kinds of stories their support deserved and stick to the production plan of 10,000 to 12,000 words a month that addressed only the mission that had received the most votes. Without consulting the creative team I sacrificed the plan to the needs of the stories. Determination at Wallis, came in at 16,000 words and two weeks late. Researching regional politics and Capellan Warrior House protocols—two things I knew nothing about—and making why those things mattered matter caused Encounter at El Giza to be equally long and a month late. But it was Gambit at Noisiel that made Loren Coleman, the power-that-be at BattleCorps, put his foot down. Even after I’d trimmed what I felt I could from the original version, it came it at 25,000 words, completely blowing the site’s fiction budget (A problem he solved by splitting the story and spreading the expense over two months). 

Shortly after Gambit was released I was given the opportunity to write my first novel when Sharon Mulvihill of WizKids asked me to write my MechWarrior Dark Age novel—my first novel ever—Wolf Hunters. Unfortunately, the novel was on a tight deadline; I’d have to give up everything else to take the job. A writer can’t turn down breaks like that, but I didn’t want to put the folks at BattleCorps on hold. I reached out to a short list of writers I thought could do it right, offering my notes, insights, and the use of my support team if they’d take on the last story in the cycle. Every single one of them told me under no circumstances would they step into those particular crosshairs; I was on my own. Anticipating much wailing and gnashing of teeth (did I mention how intense gamers are?) I told the forums what was up. And was promptly schooled on the caliber of people I was dealing with by a wave of congratulations and assurances they’d wait—eagerly, not patiently—for me to get to the final installment when I could.

During my hiatus the forums debated what new ’Mech Jake should get, speculated on a few of the loose ends and hints I’d scattered through the stories, found a few more errors I’d made, and generally kept the embers of the Irregulars alive. I did take a quick break from Wolf Hunters to write the Chaos Irregulars’ unit entry for the Mercenaries Supplemental Update sourcebook—a snapshot of mercenary commands in 3073, six years after the stories in the choose the adventure arc. Taking my cue from the interest in the forums, I pulled out all the stops: married Ariel to a Simson, gave Jake a new ’Mech (not, unfortunately, the one the forums decided he should have), alluded to operations with and against major military commands, and generally left as many ideas, unanswered questions, and open doors as I could for BattleTech players to build on in creating their own scenarios.

Leading in to the final story Loren went out of his way to explain the economics of web-based fiction to me and asked me if I really thought I could bring the sixth and last story in at the agreed upon 12,000 words. I told him there was no way to give the series anything like a satisfying ending in anything shorter than Gambit at Noisiel. Loren explained the economics of running a fiction website, and said that if he had to he’d split the final story as he had Gambit, but it would really help keep BattleCorps solvent if I did my best with the fewest words possible. I promised I would try, and I did. But Endgame at Engadine came in at 33,400 words. 

Loren, to his credit, did not kill me. Nor, after reading the story, did he ask for an abridged rewrite. More importantly, the readers of BattleCorps approved. All of us on the creative team—fact checkers and researchers Peter and Paul; indefatigable trivia source Herb; Randall, patient judge of canonicity; David, editor, strawboss and cheerleader; and me, chief typist—congratulated each other on a job well done. In a final flurry of emails and IMs we gratefully put the Chaos Irregulars to bed and moved on to other things.

GAMBIT AT NOISIEL

Part Two

Visiting Mercenary District, Noisiel Games Village

Teppokhan, Noisiel

Noisiel, Alarion Province, Lyran Alliance

30 July 3067

The Chaos Irregulars chess team was not going to be in the Noisiel Games. 

Jake had realized that twenty seconds in to the morning meeting. 

His investment in the future of the Chaos Irregulars looked like it was beginning to pay off. They’d received a couple of strong indications of interest that sounded promising in the last few days, including a query about their pricing structure last night. Noteputer in one hand and coffee mug in the other, he’d elbowed open the door of their ad hoc office expecting a one-on-one review tactics for the job hunt with Ariel. 

What he hadn’t expected was Giovanni Simson looking sleek in his ersatz LAAF uniform, complete with Coventry rag and hauptmann’s tabs at the collar.  

Jake was reasonably sure Ariel hadn’t intended an ambush; that wasn’t her style. She was just eager and had forgotten some of the finer points of joint command in her excitement.

Simson had come out of the closet about forming a mercenary command shortly after the Gamesmen’s Ball. Jake didn’t mind that; Lord knew there was plenty of work for mercs out there. With regional militias depleted by the Civil War, life had never been sweeter for pirates hunting easy prey. 

What did irk Jake was the uniform—a more silver blue and more scarlet red than regulation LAAF—and Simson assuming the rank of Hauptmann. True, that would have been his rank if he’d served, given his high graduation placement and his skills with a BattleMech—Jake had checked both—but all evidence indicated the man had never been in combat.

That was why the veterans—the ones with serious ability—who went to Solaris VII usually dominated the field. Unlike game-only jockeys, they’d gone up against death and seen it through. No playing the point spread, no bailing when the fight went the other guy’s way. That gave them a backbone the game boys didn’t have.

And Giovanni Simson, for all his training at Coventry and his BattleMech skills in the arena, was a game boy. Until he’d bloodied himself in a real fight, his LAAF knock-off and his officer tabs were going to set Jake’s teeth on edge.

He couldn’t understand why Ariel abided it. Why she abided Simson was no mystery—his co-commander lost ten years in his company. But she was all about honor and tradition and Jake expected the posing to infuriate her. Instead, when he was in uniform—and they were in public—she addressed him as Hauptmann and expected everyone else to do the same.

Now the character actor was seated at the round table the steering committee used, looking like he belonged there. And he wasn’t seated across from Ariel, or next to her, but about a hundred and twenty degrees to her left. If Jake took the logical seat, just inside the door, they’d be spaced evenly around the circle. 

Like equals.

Shutting the door gently with his noteputer hand, Jake smiled and nodded to Simson as he moved to Ariel’s right elbow—opposite their guest. He set the noteputer and coffee mug on the table before pulling out the chair and settling in.

Okay, he said, addressing Ariel, What have we got?

A job, Ariel said, then a half heartbeat later Offer. Hauptmann Simson has a recovery mission requiring an augmented company. The pay is exce—within the parameters we set. However, it requires an immediate departure.

Jake took the noteputer she offered and reviewed the numbers. They were good. Better than good. In and out of a metal refinery on Saravan, a world he knew nothing about, to retrieve a computer core and various sundry items. He opened his mouth, then shut it again as he noticed the name of the refinery’s owners. 

Simson, no p. 

Frowning, he reread the mission parameters. No change. Simson’s job offer was for a raid against his own family’s holdings. Or perhaps former holdings. There’d been indications in his research that the Simson empire had recently suffered a setback.

Nodding, aware of Simson regarding him from across the table, he handed the noteputer back to Ariel.

An attractive one-shot offer, he said, offering her his own noteputer. "But we’ve already got two long-term offers on the table. Steady employ, low risk and benefits. After our performance in the games we’ll have a half dozen more offers, and can expect raises on these.

Factor in our prize money, and the initial bump isn’t that significant. 

That’s a first mission, Simson said before Ariel could answer. If we work well together, there will be other, equally profitable ventures.

Jake gave Simson a brief with you in a minute smile and refocused his attention on Ariel’s profile as she read through the files he had brought. He realized she was wearing make up. Not much, eye liner and a bit of color to her cheeks, but with the longer hair it gave her an unaccustomed femininity.

I realize the entry fees for the games and other ... expenses ... represent a serious outlay of your resources, Simson went on as though he’d mistaken Jake’s smile for an invitation to continue. "A rider for a full reimbursement of these expenditures is a reasonable codicil.

Though your investment has already borne fruit, there was a squeak of leather as Simson adjusted his position. Relaxing, Jake thought without looking. Your intent in entering the Games was to showcase the abilities of the Chaos Irregulars, after all. I can assure you the deciding factor in making this offer was witnessing your commander’s performance—

"I am not, Ariel said before Jake was certain he’d heard correctly. Her level gaze speared over the top of the noteputer. Captain Jacoam’s commander. This is a shared command."

Simson had the grace to appear abashed. He spread his hands, bowing toward Jake.

My apologies, Captain, he said, sounding as though he meant it. "I misunderstood your organization.

What I meant was: This offer is not made lightly, nor is it based on ... personal considerations, he looked from one to the other. And given your skills, the loss of prize money is a valid point. I believe we can arrive at a mutually agreeable restitution.

Jake opened his hand, palm up, inviting the man to continue

I’ve checked. Your record is brief and a bit vague, Simson said. However, sources on Wallis and Outreach give you top marks. Here on Noisiel my investigators have found your personnel above reproach and your dealings with others honest.

Ariel shifted slightly. Jake found it comforting the one thing Simson said that struck him as professional—that he’d been covertly checking them out before broaching the deal—was the thing that annoyed her. That was familiar footing, something that was in short supply at the moment.

The deciding factor, though, was your Irregulars’ performance in the qualification match, said Simson, wrapping up his argument. The king and queen of the scarlet team were members of my personal lance. The rest were MechWarriors, solo mercenaries, who were applying for positions in the command I’m forming.

If you’re proposing some sort of merger—

Not at all, Simson forestalled Jake with a placating hand. But seeing how they fared against your command convinced me that I would never put together a force of the type I needed—with the professionalism I needed—in the time I have available.

He waited, obviously expecting a question or comment. 

You mentioned the potential for other ventures, Ariel said. If you’re forming your own mercenary command, what sort of long term relationship did you have in mind?

Jake resisted the urge to smile. From almost trying to sell him in the first minutes she had gotten her business head on and was asking the right questions. 

Then again, that might not have been about business.

Cadre. Training my people, Simson answered promptly. Plus, I have other short-term objectives, equally vital, which may not wait until I have my own means of attaining them.

More raids on your own family? Jake wondered, but said: I have a few questions.

Of course.

What resources do you have and are you expecting us to work in concert?

"My Hauptmann, the Lynx and Cestus your team defeated in the chess match, and a Tarantula, Simson said. I also have two DropShips—one my own and one belonging to my family’s corporation. 

And yes, I would like my lance to work closely with the Chaos Irregulars.

Why?

First, and most importantly, Simson leaned forward as he made his point, my intimate knowledge of the target area and the materiel to be recovered will be invaluable to the success of the mission.

Which begs a whole new set of questions, Jake forestalled whatever other points Simson had been about to muster. Your job offer states what you wish to recover, but not why. Normally that wouldn’t be our concern, but a raid against what appears to be your own facility...

 Of course. 

Simson paused for a long minute as though marshaling his thoughts.

Simson Metalwerks was taken over by a hostile force about two years ago, he said at last. The takeover was covert. Everything seems normal from the outside—even from the inside for ninety percent of the workforce. However, for the last twenty-four months one hundred percent of its output is being shipped to a single customer. A customer who does not pay, and whom I do not know. Operating costs are being covered by my family’s reserves.

Why?

The memory core I hope to recover, Simson said. Is the primary core of the Simson family network, not just Simson Interplanetary’s companies. It contains detailed information on our families, including the location of all dependents and whatever security assets we have in place. As long as they have it our families are vulnerable.

Jake almost asked why such a complete central would be kept in such an out of the way place. Then he saw the security reasoning behind it. This was probably not the primary core, but a copy—a backup.

So they know all about you? he asked.

Perhaps, if they’d look. Which isn’t likely. Simson shrugged. I was chosen to organize this raid because I have never had any involvement with this aspect of the Simson holdings.

Jake wondered what that said about whatever this Simson did do in the Simson corporation. If it raised any flags with Ariel, however, she gave no sign.

That’s an argument for including you, Jake said. But why your lance?

They offer significant firepower and versatility, Simson pointed out. As you see in the report we know only that something between two lances and a company of ‘Mechs are in place. Also, I would like my people to have the experience of working with a well integrated team.

Your people are inexperienced? Ariel asked. 

Only as a team, Simson qualified, You’ve seen two in action. The third is a talented pilot, but young and unbloodied.

As are you, Jake pointed out.

Hardly young anymore, Simson said with a deprecating smile, playing to Ariel. And not everything I’ve done is a matter of public record.

Jake didn’t press. He doubted he’d get a straight answer.

Thank you, Mr. Simson, he said instead. We’ll be in touch.

It is vital this be resolved quickly, Simson said, making no move to rise. Before the Opening Gala, if possible.

Don’t want this over your head while waltzing with our Ariel? Jake almost smiled. It might complicate pillow—small—talk.

Why? he asked aloud.

The lives of Simson employees—people who are my family’s responsibility, Simson answered. "For eight days, during Saravan’s annual Landfall celebration, everything shuts down. Which means no Simson employees will be in the refinery complex. Factoring in travel time, if we do not lift off by the sixth, we will have to wait another year.

Of far less importance is business prudence, he added. Withdrawing from the Alextep’s Games after the competitors are announced would upset and inconvenience a very powerful family with a long memory.

Jake glanced to Ariel and was gratified to see the glint of Peregrine Junior beneath the makeup.

Thank you, Hauptmann Simson, she said. We’ll contact you as soon as we have reached a decision.

At last accepting that he had been dismissed, Simson rose to his feet. Inclining his head again—Jake figured it was his all-purpose gracious gesture—he let himself out of the makeshift office.

Jake leaned slightly away from Ariel/Peregrine Junior, the better to face her. She mirrored his shift, turning her chair slightly his way.

Suddenly Jake laughed.

What? Ariel asked, by her expression halfway between a puzzled frown and sharing his laugh.

How many weeks ago was it I wanted nothing to do with these Games? Jake asked. I called them idiocy, a waste of a good MechWarrior’s time and talent, right?

Right, Ariel agreed, drawing the word out.

"Now I’m sitting here marshaling arguments for