Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon

Chapter 3: Field Trip

"Long time no see, Walter." said a female voice, "Looking good for a change. I see you got a new augmented human. What happened to 617 and the rest?"

"Their jobs." Walter replied.

He still couldn't help but remember how he'd said the same thing to the doctor, as though that explained what he'd done. Maybe, in a way, it explained it better than anything else could.

"They did what it took to get us here."

"... Huh. So how's the newcomer doing?" asked the voice again, "And to what do I owe the pleasure of a call after so long?"

Carla never did like to beat around the bush. She knew what had happened, there was no need for either of them to say it.

"Adequately. Only had one big job so far, other stuff has been to get its name out there." Walter had finally answered, "Gen 4 augmentation can be unstable. We need to choose our battles."

Walter took a moment to consider what he was asking:

"I need a favor. The license we acquired was from an AC using RaD scout parts, 2000 series. With a different head module, one I don't think I've ever seen available for purchase. The hound wants me to get a hold of it."

He could hear when Carla sucked in a breath at that. "You found this license on an AC with the SHADE EYE?  You do realize that design was contracted by mercenaries I don't even know the name of, right."

"Look, if you can't get me one, just say so Carla." said Walter bluntly.

The line went silent. "Eh, why the hell not. After all, your hound is an independent mercenary too.  Sending you the coordinates, I'll have a container with it on the loading dock."

...

The idea of sitting in an outpost far from the latest conflict, looking over reports and sending orders still didn't sit right with Flatwell.

He knew his knowledge and experience were better put to use helping direct the ragtag forces the RLF could muster in their war against the invading corporations and the PCA, but it didn't always feel that way. He wanted to be back in TSUBASA, to feel the rush of adrenaline, not order others to fight and die in his place.

He grimaced at the report that had just been brought to him. With the mounting pressure from Arquebus and Balam, they'd directed the STRIDER to the open terrain of the Bona Dea Dunes, where it should have been safe. A lack of concealing terrain and poor weather conditions for AC operation meant it should have easily been able to dispatch any enemy forces that approached, and it had been.

For months, the Eye had been evaporating the MT squads, helicopter units, and unmanned drones the corps had been sending after it, along with a few corporate and independent ACs, until one day it didn't.

And then this damn report ended up on his desk, an account from the supply choppers that had managed to escape about how a lone independent mercenary, callsign "Raven," had single-handedly crippled and then destroyed the STRIDER.

It was good that it was an independent mercenary though. They usually had no loyalty beyond who could fill their pockets, so he could work with that.

All he had to do was make sure the officers of important installations knew to contact him if they spotted the merc, and to be quick with a suitable counteroffer. With a little luck, he could prevent this new development from becoming another awful thorn in the side of the Liberation Front.