Operation Pacifica: Points of Departure
by Admiral J-Rock (jjr5020@vms2.tamu.edu), TRES Corps




"If you never rode west of the Arizona border You can turn the other
  way, boy But you never get far, you'll be livin' a lie If you wanna see the
  wonders of the age You must follow the evening star" -- Kenny Rogers,
  "Evening Star"



MOTOR POOL/MECHA BAYS
THE PRESIDIO (DOBERMAN EMPIRE ANNEX), 0900 PDT
DAY ONE OF OPERATION PACIFICA




 "Please tell me this isn't everything you have in the way of
  'Mechs," J-Rock asked Cochraine as he looked over the small assortment of
  BattleMechs at his disposal. There really wasn't much to be found in the way
  of medium Mechs, heavies and assaults were nonexistent, and the lights that
  could be found were all for the daring (or suicidal).


 "I'm afraid that's all there is," Cochraine replied. "The Lizards
  did quite a job of cleaning out our front-line machines."


 "I knew that," J-R responded, pausing at a Locust to take a closer
  look. Who do they expect me to be? he thought. Andy freakin' Redburn? [1] He
  eyed the other Mechs in the bay with the attention to detail of an expert.
  He passed up a 3050-spec Firestarter and a Valkyrie before pausing again,
  this time at a Fireball and a Battle Hawk. "No," he said flatly. "If I get
  into one of those, Tim'll never let me live it down."


 "Who's Tim?" Cochraine asked.


 "Never mind," J-R answered. "You wouldn't know him." Just then, a
  loudspeaker sprang into life: "Warrior Cochraine, pick up line two, please.
  Warrior Cochraine, line two." Cochraine left as J-R continued to look over
  the Mechs, including a Strider OmniMech.


 When he got back, his expression was less than cheery. "That was
  your Grand Admiral," he said. "He says there's no room in the transports for
  any full-blown BattleMech. If you want a robot, you'll have to take a
  Roadstriker along." [2]


 Sh*t, J-R thought. Grind a brilliant idea into the dirt, CP. Well,
  at least it wouldn't be a total loss. "Lead on, then."


 Cochraine led him over toward the Roadstrikers, stopping at a six-
  wheeled Hummer-wannabee. "This one's popular with some of our TARAV
  drivers," he said. "It's called the Badlander. It comes with two two-shot
  PIST missile launchers -- similar to your Garland -- and a rapid-fire plasma
  cannon in the head. You also have a mace at your disposal."


 "I'll take it," J-Rock said, impressed at how well Cochraine had
  done his homework regarding his taste in Roadstrikers. "How soon can you get
  it loaded?"


 "Within the hour."


 "Great. Thanks for everything, Cochraine." And with that, J-Rock
  left the Mecha Bay, his "kitting out" completed. Now, it was time to mark
  time.


...



OFFICER'S CLUB, SAME FORT (SAME ANNEX), 1100 PDT



# The Eagles "One Of These Nights"




 Marking time was really no big deal, especially if one was/is a
  senior Jihaddi with a memory full of old war stories and a bar full of half-
  sober sailors who wanted to listen to them. J-Rock's experience in the
  Presidio Dobe Annex's OC was no exception. After five minutes of such
  adulation, J-R had unfastened the top half of his soft-suit and rolled it up
  around his waist, preferring to wallow in welcome anonymity. The only reason
  that the barkeep hadn't kicked him out yet was because he was wearing a
  black Backlash shirt underneath said soft-suit.


 "...So then I finish cramming some raw liver down Hooter's throat,"
  J-Rock said, already well into his account of the Hunt for Chris Hooter.
  "And then we get the girls to kiss him."


 "Uh, sir," one of the sailors asked, "I thought you were punishing
  him, not rewarding him."


 "Son," J-Rock drawled, "at Hooter's mental age, the fairer sex is
  still The Enemy. And he was fussing and spitting after Maeve laid one on his
  cheek, of all places." Nods of comprehension rippled through the gallery as
  J-R told of even more humiliating punishments the hunters had put Hooter
  through. He was almost to the part where Solar Warrior was about to turn him
  into a giant chicken when some officers who had entered a minute ago called
  out from their table in the corner. "Anyone want to play?" the Asian officer
  at the table shouted, holding a deck of cards. "We're one short."


 "No way, Mitaka, you've got Corey with you!" replied one sailor.


 "I want to keep my rent money, thank you very much," said another.


 "I'll play," J-Rock said, rising from his bar stool. The other
  officers divided up the chips as J-R walked over and put his money in the
  chip kitty.  The other officer at the table introduced himself as Lt. Keane,
  and pointed out that Lt. Corey was the local card shark on base. We'll see
  about that, J-Rock thought as he threw in his first ante of the morning.



# AC/DC "The Jack" _If You Want Blood_




 Half an hour later, J-R was starting to amass a small pile of
  chips, but it was nothing to be proud of just yet. Lieutenant Corey still
  was the money leader, not to mention the dealer. "Five card draw,
  gentlemen," he said as he began to deal and everybody began to ante up. When
  the last card was dealt out, J-Rock picked up his cards and tried not to
  gawk at the pair of aces he saw there. The time came to draw cards, and
  Corey surprised everybody by only taking two cards. Everyone else had taken
  three. J-Rock took one look at the new arrivals and suddenly needed
  everything he had ever learned about tells from playing with Bob Carr in
  order to not grin like an idiot.


 "Your bet, Liam," Corey said with a nod of his head.


 "I'm in for ten," Keane said, tossing a blue chip into the pot.


 "I'll see that," intoned J-Rock as he tossed his chips in, "and
  raise you five."


 Lieutenant Mitaka laid his cards face down, saying "Too rich for my
  blood." Corey simply tossed two blue chips into the pot. "Five more to you,
  Liam," he said.


 The raising continued like this for the better part of two minutes.
  During this time, a man in black walked in, barely recognized by those in
  the bar. Those that noticed him only nodded in acknowledgement, and it was
  all that was needed as he joined the crowd of onlookers. Finally, Corey had
  had enough of the call-raise dueling. He tossed enough chips to cover the
  last raise, saying "I call."


 J-Rock leaned back in his chair, saying, "Oh, you do, do ya?  And I
  thought I could relieve you of even more Mickey-D's rations." He
  straightened up as he continued, "Well, let's see 'em. Caller drops his
  pants first."


 Corey smiled as he laid down his cards. "Three fours." Keane threw
  his hand down in utter disgust.


 J-Rock raised his eyebrows. "Hrm. Pretty good, but I'm not sure
  that it can top this." And with that, he showed the ace of clubs and an
  eight, slowly pushing the other cards into view one at a time. First the ace
  of diamonds, then the ace of hearts, and finally the ace of spades. "Now,"
  he said. "Isn't that a daisy?"


 Corey's expression changed from sh*t-eating grin to someone going
  through Day 12 of a two-week-long artillery barrage in the space of a
  second.  The onlookers simply ooh'd and ahh'd as J-Rock closed his arms
  around the fhuge pile of chips. All the onlookers, that is, except the man
  in black (and I'm not talking about Johnny Cash -- J-R). He said by way of
  greeting, "Admiral J-Rock, ya old dog! Shame on you, taking advantage of my
  men like that!"


 Now I remember where I saw this guy last, thought J-Rock as Corey
  did a double-take. "J-Rock?!?!?" he asked, incredulous as everybody else in
  the bar cracked up laughing. "I've been playing poker with J-Rock?!?!"


 J-R looked at Samhain as if to say, "You didn't have to let him off
  the hook this early." Turning his attention back to Corey, he smiled broadly
  and said, "The same. Now, Sam, what can I possibly do for you?"


 "Thought you'd never ask," Samhain said, returning the grin. "I
  need you to gather up some people from the mission group for a flight
  squadron onboard the _Freedom._ Think you can manage that?"


 "Oh, I think I can manage that," J-R said as he got up and unrolled
  the top half of his soft-suit. Pulling it up over his shoulders, he looked
  back towards the table and said, "Deal me out, gentlemen. I have some work
  to take care of."



...



DOBERMAN AIRCRAFT CARRIER _DTT FREEDOM_
IN PORT AT THE PRESIDIO (DOBERMAN EMPIRE ANNEX), 1330 PDT




 The piercing, high-pitched tune of a bosun's whistle announced J-
  Rock's coming aboard. He stood at the top of the boarding ladder, saluting
  the Jihad flag while the other officers on the ladder followed suit. The
  instant the whistling stopped, he lowered his arm before turning 90 degrees
  to his left and saluting again, this time to the Officer of the Deck.
  "Admiral J-Rock and officers, requesting permission to come aboard," he
  said.


 "Permission granted, sir," the OOD replied, returning the salute.
  "The Captain will want to see you at your earliest convenience."


 "Very well," J-R said. "I can see them now in the wardroom, if they
  wish." He was most certainly not one to stand on ceremony if it could be
  helped. Leaving Rear Admiral Yearnshaw and Captain Felton to the Troopers
  might seem snooty, but ship captains usually send for the highest ranking
  officer in a group. Besides, as J-R learned at Samhain's lunch meeting, they
  weren't actually assuming command of the vessels. Truth be told, the
  visitors were little more than VIP passengers.


 Meanwhile, Trooper Charcharadon ran breathlessly to the bottom of
  the ladder, earning himself reproachful stares from both the OOD and Warrior
  Aphrodite Persephone. Samhain had made it the first order of business at the
  lunch meeting to promote her. "Sorry I'm late," Charchardon said as he fell
  in behind Persephone. "I had to fix my mecha, and--"


 "It's all right," she replied. "You're forgiven.. this time."


 While this was going on, J-Rock turned to regard the officer sent
  to take him to the wardroom. He started a bit as he recognized him.
  "Cochraine!" J-Rock loudly declared. "Whose ass did you kiss to get on board
  this tub?"


 "The list is long and distinguished," he replied.


 "Yeah, and so's my... you know," J-R responded, smiling.
  Persephone and Charcharadon were already saluting the Doberman flag by the
  time he and Cochraine disappeared below the flight deck.



...



INTERCESSION   [The video clip for this one is simply the Doberman fleet pulling
 out of port and sailing into the open sea. -- J-R ]

I heard the men saying something The captains tell they pay you well And they say 
they need sailing men to Show the way and leave today Was it you that said, "How 
long?... How long?"

They say the sea turns so dark that You know it's time you see the sign They say 
the point demons guard is An ocean grave for all the brave Was it you that said, 
"How long?... how long?...How long to the point of know return?"

Your father, he said he needs you Your mother, she said she loves you Your brothers, 
they echo the words "How far... to the point of know return... To the point of know 
return... Well, how long?"

Today I found a message floating In the sea from you to me You wrote that when you 
could see it You cried with fear, the point was near Was it you that said, "How 
long?... how long?... How long to the point of know return?"

  -- Kansas "Point Of Know Return" _Point Of Know Return_



...



THE OBSCURE (or, Wot Do All Those Bracketed Numbers Mean?)

[1] Andrew Redburn is a character from Michael Stackpole's Warrior Trilogy, set 
during the Fourth Succession War. His unenviable task was commanding a training 
battalion consisting of nothing but light Mechs. The first time this battalion 
saw action, they succeeded beyond all expectations, singlehandedly wiping out a 
unit composed exclusively of assault Mechs.

[2] Roadstriker is a term for that grey area between Battlearmor and BattleMech 
occupied by such mecha as the Cyclone battlebikes (and their WEDJEE and Blood 
Jihad equivalents) and the Garland battlemover. They are so named because they 
usually transform into wheeled vehicles.



To be continued in "Red Skies at Morning"...