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In October 3067, a war began that unleashed horrors upon the Great
Houses, atrocities thought abandoned with the First Succession War. And
for the mercenaries of the Inner Sphere, this war has far-reaching
consequences. With the heart and soul of the mercenary trade annihilated on
Outreach, the reliability of every mercenary command is called into question.
Some Houses now consider their most stalwart work-for-hire commands as
enemies, and mercenaries, from the elite to the dregs, are fighting for their lives …
and more importantly, their reputations.
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Classic BattleTech Mercenaries Supplemental Update™
details the fallout of the opening years of the Jihad and
its impact on mercenaries. This product updates all
major mercenary commands currently
embroiled in the Jihad, covers the various
Hiring Halls, and provides details on brandnew mercenary commands springing up
from the remains of commands
shattered in the opening years of the
Jihad. Mercenaries Supplemental
includes rules for running
mercenary commands
during this era and a
section describing
newly premiered
battlefield units.
©2006 WizKids, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Mercenaries Supplemental Update, Classic BattleTech, BattleTech, Classic
BattleTech RPG, BattleMech, ’Mech, MechWarrior, and WK Games are registered trademarks and/or trademarks of
WizKids, Inc. in the United States and/or other countries.
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MERCENARIES SUPPLEMENTAL UPDATE
PAYING DUES
INTRODUCTION
MERCENARIES OF THE JIHAD
The Word’s Shell Game
Chaos Unleashed
Mercs Under Fire
Crisis of Faith
Age of Uncertainty
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The 48th
The Arcadians
Avanti’s Angels
Bad Dream
Bannockburn’s Bandits
Barrett’s Fusiliers
The Battle Corps
Black Angus Boys
Black Cats
Black Heart Roses
Blackhearts
Blackstone Highlanders
Blanc’s Coyotes
Brion’s Legion
Burr’s Black Cobras
Camacho’s Caballeros
Canned Heat
21st Centauri Lancers
Chaos Irregulars
Clean Kill
Clifton’s Rangers
Crater Cobras
Crimson Crusaders
Cuningham’s Commandos
Dante’s Detectives
Devil’s Brigade
Dioscuri
Dragonslayers
Federated Freemen
Fighting Intellectuals
The Furies
Golden Boys
Gordon’s Armored Cavalry
Grave Walkers
Green Machine
Green Mountain Boys
Greenburg’s Godzillas
Gregg’s Long Striders
Griffin’s Pride
Group W
Hampton’s Hessens
Hansen’s Roughriders
Harcourt’s Destructors
Harlock’s warriors
Head Hunters
Heart of Blake
HeavyHell Raisers
Hell’s Black Aces
Hsien Hotheads
Illician Lancers
Jacob’s Juggernauts
Kell Hounds
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FORCE BRIEFS UPDATES
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Khasparov’s Knights
Killer Bees
Kirkpatrick’s invaders
Knights of St. Cameron
Kraken Unleashed
The Krushers
Langendorf Lancers
Langford Wraiths
Legion of the Rising Sun
Lethal Injection
Lexington Combat Group
Lone Star Regiment
Lone Wolves
Longwood’s Bluecoats
Medusans
Narhal’s Raiders
O’Gordon’s Rifles
One-Eyed Jacks
Pandora’s Box
Periphery Star Guard
Prey’s Divisionals
Raging Horde
Raymond’s Redcoats
Redfield’s Renegades
Reed’s Brew
Romanov’s Crusaders
Rubinsky’s Light horse
Rubinsky’s Renegades
Sathen’s Snipers
Screaming Eagles
Simonson’s Cutthroats
Skibinski’s Salvage
Snord’s Irregulars
Star Seeds
Summer’s Storm
Thor’s Hammers
The Thumpers
Tooth of Ymir
Vandelay’s Valkyries
Vanguard Legion
12th Vegan Rangers
Wannamaker’s Widowmakers
Wilson’s Hussars
Winfield’s Regiment
Wolf’s Dragoons
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
MERCENARY COMMANDS
MERCENARY RULES ANNEX
New Creation/Operations Era: Jihad
Employers in the Jihad
New Employers
New Mission Type: Bounty Hunting
Dependents
Housing and Base-Building
Replacement Equipment Expansions
Selling Out
Miscellaneous Personnel Rules
NEW UNITS
Crow scout VTOL
Saxon APC
O-66 “Oppie” Hazmat Recovery Vehicle
V4-lNT-K7 Valiant
HYN-4A Hyena SalvageMech
Aurora-class DropShip
RECORD SHEETS
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CREDITS
Special Thanks
To the writers, playtesters, fact-checkers, and fans—as always.
To Randall Bills for letting me have just one more Mercs book. I
would also like to thank the following on-line personalities who
answered the call for rules expansion ideas: “97jedi”, “Adept
Dave Baughman”, “Aezar”, “Alain Dumont”, “aser”, “Boilerman”,
“Boxcars”, “Brainburner”, “Cypher226”, “drae”, “Goose”, “GRUD”,
“Hoover28”, “HunterADA”, “Impaler”, “Jal Phoenix”, “jeyar”, “Khan
Mallan”, “klingon”, “Kojak”, “munniec”, “PurpleDragon”,
“Sellsword”,
“shipmonkey”,
“sitTinG
dUck”,
“Takiro”,
“TeamNutmeg”, “Wendelboe”, and “Werewolf”. Even if the ideas
weren’t used, thanks to you guys for providing the input when
asked—especially those of you who actually made it one of the
only post or two you ever did…
As always, a huge thanks to the “home support” team: the
ever-distracting Rebecca “Beckie” Beas, and the Herblet Four
(Annie, Oscar, Merlin, and Meggie)
Finally to the proof checkers: Rich Cencarik, Jeff Morgan,
Patrick Wynne
Writing
Herbert A. Beas II
Paying Dues
Nick “Gunslinger” Marsala
Product Editing
Jason Hardy
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Product Development
Herbert A. Beas II
Playtesters and Fact-Checkers
Brian Alter, Raymond Arrastia, Daniel M. Ball, Ron “Steel
Hawke” Barter, Dave Baughman, Paul “Blackhorse” Bowman,
Rich Cencarik, Brent Dill, Bruce Ford, Aaron Gregory, John
“Worktroll” Haward, John “Bluesman” Hudson, Peter La Casse,
Rodney Klatt, Edward “TenakaFurey” Lafferty, Edward Lott, Mike
Miller, Darrell “Flailing Death” Myers, Louis “Nukeloader” Myers,
Nathaniel Olsen, Aaron Pollyea, “Medron Pryde”, Rick Raisley, K.
Searls, Joel Steverson, Rob Strathmann, Geoff Swift, Bruce “Tel
Hazen” Terren, Roland “Ruger” Thigpen, Chris “Chinless”
Wheeler, Charles “IronSphinx” Wilson
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Additional Writing: Mercenary Force Briefs
Randall N. Bills
Loren L. Coleman
Warner Doles
Chris Hartford
Ken’ Horner
Kevin Killiany
Camille Klein
Nick “Gunslinger” Marsala
David L. McCulloch
Ben Rome
Paul Sjardijn
David Stansel-Garner
Christoffer “Bones” Trossen
Øystein Tvedten
Phaedra Weldon
Andreas Zuber
Rules Annex
Herbert A. Beas II
Ken’ Horner
David L. McCulloch
Ben Rome
©2006 WizKids Inc. All Rights Reserved. Mercenaries
Supplemental Update, Classic BattleTech, BattleTech, ’Mech,
BattleMech, Classic BattleTech RPG, AeroTech 2, BattleForce 2
and WK Games are registered trademarks and/or trademarks of
WizKids, Inc. in the United States and/or other countries. No part
of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the Copyright Owner, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.
Version 1.0 (June 2006).
BattleTech Line Developer
Randall N. Bills
Production Staff
Art Direction
Randall N. Bills
Cover Art
Michael Komarck
Cover Design
Michaela Eaves
Layout
Michaela Eaves
Illustrations
Robert Atkinson
Brent Dill
Chris Lewis
Published by FanPro LLC • 1608 N. Milwaukee • Suite 1005 •
Chicago, IL 60647
Find us online:
[email protected] (e-mail address for
any Classic BattleTech questions)
http://www.classicbattletech.com (official Classic BattleTech
web pages)
http://www.fanpro.com (FanPro web pages)
http://www.wizkidsgames.com/mechwarrior/ (official
MechWarrior web pages)
http://www.wizkidsgames.com (WizKids web pages)
http://www.studio2publishing.com (online ordering, sales and
distribution)
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MERCENARIES SUPPLEMENTAL UPDATE
PAYING DUES
Over Franco City
Liao, Capellan Confederation
2 November 3069
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Perspiration seeped into one of his eyes, stinging it shut
while his bones and muscles cramped up from the punishment
of so many high-gee maneuvers over the last five hours. His
mouth was dry and tasted of bile, but Colonel Hohiru Tanaga
pushed on. This was the apocalypse so far as he was concerned,
but as he squeezed his trigger—sending a dozen missiles
screaming into a bone-white Zero with a magnificent explosion—
he realized that he’d stopped caring a long time ago.
Thank the heavens for Streaks, he thought, or I’d be running
on pulses by now. It was his third launch into the same battle
today. In the last reload cycle, he had passed on ammunition for
an extra ton of fuel. Given a missile system designed for ammo
conservation, he was thankful for his choice.
Despite three sorties, the Blakist fleet had managed to form
an orbital perimeter around the remaining troop transports and
began to hot-drop their BattleMechs into the spaceport, aiming
at a beachhead. Their initial thrust against the perimeter had
been handily repulsed by Tanaga’s Black Aces, leaving only the
falling ’Mechs for his pilots to concentrate on. The adjustment
worked too well; soon Blakist interceptors were swarming his
fighters as they made their attack runs.
Desperate to keep the pressure up since the ships first
appeared on airspace radar, Hohiru started rotating his wings.
Two would engage in space—and, later, in the air—while the third
would return for a fast refuel and reload. But now, so close above
the city, the massive air battle crisscrossed the skies with an
intense pattern of laser bolts, tracers, and missile streaks—so
close, so bloody, that soon his fighters were launching with less
than their full loads. All just to keep the tide from turning. The last
line of defense.
Yet despite the weariness, despite the heat, despite the pain
and the stress, Hohiru was home. Inside his sweat-soaked flight
suit, encased in a venerable Slayer, he felt more at ease than he
ever could on the ground. To him, “Ronin” was sanctuary, the only
one he ever knew. Ronin had been his father’s fighter; and before
that, his grandfather’s. Passing down BattleMechs and aerospace
fighters was a dying tradition nowadays; the last twenty years of
advanced production and new and improved designs made sure
of that. But Hohiru could not bear to part with Ronin; an upgrade
with captured Clan technology was one thing—but accepting one
of their captured OmniFighters was treason to his heritage.
With a happy bleep, Hohiru’s targeting console picked up a
new target, a blinking red dot at twelve o’clock, and he allowed
We got cocky. All of us did.
And this was our judgment for it. Our dues, payable upon receipt, payable in blood. No exceptions. Sure, we always talk about
having paid our dues to get where we are, but nobody ever realizes that we only count from where we started, that we never
count all we’d done after we got here. None of us have, not even the best of us. How could we?
At a certain point, perhaps after the Fourth War, it became fashionable to be a mercenary. It became cool. Everyone and
their mother started up an outfit. CEOs, nobles, movie stars—they all thought it was a shortcut to having it all. Hell, I heard even
some of those Clanner toads, the “trueborn” two-point-five-meter-tall mountains of flesh, started up a unit. Imagine that—those
who used to call us scum of the universe, lower than the dog shit on the bottom of their boots. Those who used to brag about
their genetic heritage, their rituals, their caste system, all so much better than anything we could ever aspire to. Even they wanted in on the merc action.
And in all of the glory and the merc-bunnies, the Inner Sphere just kind of forgot what most of us really are: hired guns who
care more about themselves than some abstract principle. How easy it was for us to ignore when we got free dinners at the prominent restaurants. Doesn’t matter if the merc’s an A-rated regiment, or if they’re a level-D company of ex-cons on the lam from
another House—if the unit name or patch gets known, the guns go to the head of the line.
It finally took those damn Blakists to show everyone what we really are at our core. They threw some money around, and
look at how many units jumped on their bandwagon. Where the hell are those high-and-mighty Northwind Highlanders now?
Yeah, they may claim blockade, but did they call us or the Medusans to come help break it so they can get into the fight? Oh, no!
They sit there in the comfort of their homeworld, probably counting the interest they earned from some Blakey’s hush funds while
Outreach burned. Hell, and Outreach! I lost count how many of those supposed “Allied” Merc Command units and wannabes
switched sides once the shooting started in Harlech.
Nobody should have been surprised. Wave a few bills in front of us, and we’ll all dance the puppet dance we rehearse so
well for you, mouth your arguments, pretend we care about your little crusade. All just to get our grubby hands on a sweaty wad
of cash. Even those who aren’t working for the Blakists are showing just how dirty they can be by jumping borders, switching
sides; I even heard some guys even started throwing nukes back at some Periphery guerrillas.
Yes, it was a matter of time before our illusion of nobility was shattered.
Only a matter of time before we all had to pay up.
—From the personal journal of Colonel Hohiru “Great Wyrm” Tanaga, 18 August 3069
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PAYING DUES
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boisterous chatter from earlier worn away by four hours of constant fighting. Over the din, the cautionary buzz of his low-fuel
warning was harder to ignore. Hohiru frowned.
Need to land soon, but not without relief.
“Dark Wing,” he barked, willing his voice not to crack, “report!
We need you up
here!”
Hohiru
silently
prayed
for
a
response, even if it
was bad news. At
least then he’d know
someone was still
around.
“Sorry, Ace Actual,”
Major
Windgate’s
voice finally crackled
back. “A white whale
dropped a load on us
and wrecked the
take-offs.
We’re
diverting to another
strip, but it’s adding
time. ETA five minutes.”
Five minutes and
I’ll be a glider, Hohiru
thought.
“Hell, Dodge is
way too hot. We can’t
keep this up forever
Ace Actual.” Captain
Bai called out, as if
reading his mind.
One of the older
members, Bai was
part of the small
group who resisted
the call to return to
the CCAF. “We need
to pull out; every section of armor on my bird is stripped and I’m leaking fuel like a
sieve. Requesting order for Clause Black.” Silence suddenly fell
heavy all around like a dead weight, eerie in its own way. Save
for a few emergency calls, the entire channel had become quiet,
awaiting Hohiru’s response.
Clause Black. The emergency clause in all their contracts
where the Hell’s Black Aces could decide to retreat not only from
the skirmish, but from the system as a whole. And all responsibility. All Aces knew about Black. If broadcast now, their war
would be done; they would grab all they could, bug out to the
transports, immediately abandon Liao and live to fight another
day. Clause Black was the ultimate admission that they were
beaten.
How easy it would be to leave now, Hohiru thought to himself. No one could blame us, or even stop us. The birds in the air
should have enough fuel to cover the airstrip while the Droppers
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himself a predatory grin. Another Blakie ’Mech cocoon streaking
into the atmosphere. Even with Blakist fighters sweeping that
particular swath of sky, the temptation was too great to pass up.
Hohiru climbed upward and opened up his throttle to close faster.
The cocoon fragmented before he could get within range, flakes
of
glowing
ceramic peeling
away, trying to
confuse him, and
revealing
the
h u m a n o i d
Wyvern within.
Bent over as it
descended, its
upper
torso
weight balanced
out the jump jets’
tendency to flip
the machine onto
its back. But
unfortunately for
the MechWarrior
within, the profile
made him easy
prey for Hohiru’s
Slayer. Thumbing
the triggers, he
sliced easily into
the ’Mech’s torso
with the energy
darts of his pulse
lasers.
The
B l a k i s t
MechWarr ior
struggled to keep
his
bulky
machine
balanced, demonstrating his skill
simply by maintaining control.
But when Hohiru added in a volley of Clan medium lasers and
missiles, the Wyvern finally toppled in mid-air, flipping end over
end as it plummeted, flailing, to the ground.
An angry alarm wailed at Hohiru as he short past the
Wyvern’s trail of smoke, warning of multiple target locks. On the
display, he caught the motion on his six; two Blakie fighters,
eager to avenge the fallen groundpounder. Hohiru grunted; a
lucky shot had taken out his wingman during a strafing run over
an hour ago. There was no one to cover him now.
Hohiru slammed his throttle all the way, pouring on the
speed to get some distance as hostile tracers and the pulse of
laser bolts flew past his canopy. Fearing a trap, the Blakists gave
up the chase as he tore away from the drop zone. Hohiru
released a sigh of relief, then mulled his options.
Turning Ronin around, Hohiru swung back toward the battle.
The radio chatter was a low drone now of clipped commands, the
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