Erich looked at the Shadow Hawk as Miyoko climbed up the machine's leg, the small Kuritan heading for the slagged heat sink mounted just around mid-thigh on the war machine. "Hang on, kiddo. First off; we need the lifting hoist if you want to replace that thing. It does weigh a ton, after all. Secondly, what did the battle computer say in regards to how many 'sinks were cooked? If it's the one in the right arm, and the one in the head, we can yank them out of their mounting points, and, over a few days, install some close-in-firepower in case something gets the drop on you."<br/><br/>He scratched his chin, frowning at the stubble he felt, then shrugged. "Might be easier to junk the slagged 'sinks, and transfer the one mounted in the arm, the head, and the centre torso anyhow; reinstall the medium laser and SRM rack as a just-in-case measure. You'll run hot if you alpha-strike, but you'll be putting out nearly half again as much damage within 300 metres. Your thoughts?"<br/><br/>A few moments later, Walter appeared at the massive 'warrior's side, talking quietly. Pitching his voice low so anyone else couldn't hear the pair, Erich responded after a moment. "Perkins is a jackass, and we both know it; If you had sat down and talked with me first, I wouldn't have considered it borderline mutiny to just be talking about that crap. And we both know you're unfit for a desk job; you hate paperwork, and you would loathe being unable to do your part, even if you can't hop into a 'mech for the time being."<br/><br/>He paused, pulling a cigar from a pocket. "Fucking hell, you made me start smoking again; hate this bloody habit, but, well. The more things change, right?" Lighting the cigar, he took a deep, slow puff, blowing a smoke ring towards his own Assault 'mech, which had several of the dropship's techs examining the missile craters spread across the Awesome's broad chest; the repair job in the 80-ton machine nearly complete less than six hours since it started. "If you're putting me in command of the ground forces, I'm going to have to shake things up. And that includes stuffing you into a Packrat or a Savannah Master so you can at least act as vehicular recon and harassment, so you don't go utterly insane behind a cheap desk."<br/><br/>Looking at the younger man, Erich took another drag of the cigar, his perpetual scowl turning into a full-on glower. "Walt, we've been through this shit together for nearly six years. You know full well that I disagreed with Bones more often than not, but I did my shit, and we had a few knock-down drag-out fistfights when we needed to work things out without it bleeding through on the field. Now, I'm planning on having a big, jolly 'sit down and shut up' session with the new kids at the evening mess; they get to offer opinions, complaints, and all that crap to me, and I get to point out what has merit, what doesn't, and if they have a problem with someone else, to sit down and resolve it in whatever way they see fit, so long as it doesn't affect their performance on the field."<br/><br/>Sighing slightly, he leaned against a crate of LRM ammunition; conveniently, the salvage crew had placed it between the Shadow Hawk and the Axman, both of which were the heavy LRM-users of the company. "As for being chummy? you know I don't do that shit. I'll call someone out when they fuck up, and, if they live, I explain why they fucked up, and how to avoid it in the future." Gesturing at the Eleven 'mechs racked in their transportation and repair cradles, the Veteran looked at Walt. "In regards to the company, we have the numbers for two and a half lances, but not the ability to work together. So, if you're sticking me with this mess, here's what I plan to do..." Chuckling quietly, he leaned close, discussing his plan with Walt, a deep, predatory grin slowly spreading across his face as he knew some members of the company would crap themselves in the new positions they would find themselves in.