<strong>Alroy Fletcher<br/>Redoubt, Harlich Spaceport</strong><br/><br/>Unlike the others, Alroy had chosen to stay 'home' while the other officers went out carousing to welcome in the new meat. He and alcohol didn't get along very well anymore after he had finally kicked his unpleasant little drug habit, being just one of a wide assortment of brain-altering substances he no longer trusted to be in close contact with his body. Instead, he'd spent the night poring over the personnel files for the handful of recruits they were bringing on board, getting a feel for how they'd handle based on three and a half decades of combat experience.<br/><br/>Brooklyn, callsign 'Payday' - appropriately named. Raw, stomped on by noble privilege, determined to make it on his own without dependence on anyone else. Too smart to actually let his teammates down in the lurch, but not the sort to be sticking his neck out for them either, or to leave his back for another warrior to cover. He'd belong in one of the forward flank anchors - good firing arc for the Gauss rifle, a specific area of responsibility to cover, and leaving someone to watch his six whether he liked it or not.<br/><br/>Cassopeia, callsign 'Copperhead' - bit of a hothead (in color and temperament), with an ability to follow orders born from long practice, not natural inclination. The weapons mix of a Dragonfire fit what he saw, someone eager to get down in the mud while still being able to spar at range. A good choice for one of the rear flank spots, constant visual reminder not to go barreling ahead into the enemy's teeth and able to reposition and reinforce any side of the formation for as long as it lasted.<br/><br/>Ivan, no callsign - born and creche-bred Clan Wolf warrior, whose insistence on gluing to the rules of society he knew rather than learning the ones of the society he'd been marooned in got him first into the clutches of the law, then into the clutches of the Bones. Clanners were oddball folks to begin with, even if Wolves were one of the 'nicer' (and smarter) clans in question, and one whose training had been interrupted partway through by the Truce and evacuation from Clan space wasn't going to be any less oddball. Wolves favored long-range fights over close-up brawls, and the 'borrowed' virtual Orion he would be driving was fair-to-decent at any range bracket. Almost certainly sporting the standard-issue touchy and unpredictable Clan honor, putting him in the other rear flank would fuel enough resentment to distract him from watching his assigned arc, so he'd go in the other forward flank.<br/><br/><br/><strong><br/>Artos Simulations<br/>0600<br/></strong><br/><br/>Knowing the training plans the company had written up beforehand, Alroy had made sure to get a comfortable night's sleep and risen up bright and early - early enough, in fact, to arrive at Artos before the main gaggle of trainees and their shepherds and pick out a simulation pod for himself. He'd miss the comfortable, well-worn cockpit of his own King Crab, but the very familiarity of having owned the same 'Mech for twenty-five years put him at his worst driving an otherwise identical model in a simulator; no sim pod, no matter how realistic, could replicate every little idiosyncratic twitch and hiccup in the ancient 'Mech, the tiny flaws he relied on to make the 100-ton fighting machine fit him like a silk glove. His chosen substitute would do suitably, though.<br/><br/><em> "Lance Commanders, take your units out when you're ready, we'll keep you informed of changes to the intel and ground situation as we see them.  Good Luck"</em><br/><br/>"Roger that, Captain. Heavy lance forming up to move." He cleared his throat, switching to the lance-wide channel. "Good morning - how does it feel to be strapped into a walking nuke-reactor at six AM?" A pause, and he cackled out a burst of laughter. "Damn, but I've always wanted a legitimate excuse to use that line, ever since my own first sim adventure. I'm Lieutenant Fletcher, boys and girls, and I'll be your tour guide on this fine little excursion this morning." His fingers tapped out a quick square-shaped formation on his HUD, replicating itself across the HUD screens of the other four Mechwarriors. "Payday, take right, eyes open and Gauss loaded for anyone trying to flank us on your side. Ivan Wolf, hold left, same idea. Copperhead, you're in rear center, be ready to move and back up anyone who needs it, and drop us in an ECM shield if I call for it."<br/><br/>The grin on his face matched the rictus skull-smile of his 'Mech as he steered the AS7-K Atlas up the deployment ramp and out into the swirling snow, letting the other four fan out into their assigned positions beside and behind him before setting off towards the projected location of the vehicle column.