The Modern Dispatch 048 - The Mad Dogs, Podreczniki RPG, The Modern Dispatch
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The
Modern
Dispatch
The Mad Dogs
by Michael Tresca
NOTE:
This article, while usable on its own, is best
used with Ronin Arts’
Modern: Mercenary Manual,
also by Michael Tresca.
halo of blood around Jack’s hollowed skull. He
still had a hint of a grin on his face. It was the same
sheepish grin he wore when, innocently, he stepped
forward and admitted he was the mercenary who fired
a rocket launcher at the jeep.
It was an accident of course. What more could the
Captain expect? All fourteen of them had signed up
to make some easy money, possibly doing training,
maybe digging ditches or something. Not one of
them had combat experience.
Give a man a rocket launcher, sit him in the jungle
#48
The shot was still echoing in their ears when
somebody started weeping uncontrollably.
Tom swallowed hard. He tried not to move. He
certainly didn’t cry like that other idiot. He had never
been more certain in his life that to draw attention to
himself right now would be utterly fatal.
And yet, he could not look away at the spreading
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in the dark of night, and tell him the enemy’s coming
and of course something went wrong. Jack saw a
jeep and he fired at it. Tom was more amazed that he
hit it.
When they realized their mistake, they fled. But
there was no escaping Captain Imover.
The remaining men who were still alive were
standing in a square. The cold sweat that had come
over Tom was making his back slick. He thought
briefly, insanely, of escape.
Impossible. The rest of the mercenary company,
seventy men strong, was facing them with
submachine guns and heavy machineguns on jeeps
at the ready. There was nowhere to go. And despite
the size of their weapons, of more immediate concern
was Imover’s pistol, still slightly raised after firing
three bullets into Jack’s face.
One of the guys threw up.
“You stupid bastards,” Imover hissed in his clipped
accent. “You fired on us and then you tried to leave
us here. If you had kept your noses clean I would
have let you go, with pay even.”
He pistol-whipped the vomiting man, a slightly
portly fellow named Bob. Bob fell to the ground,
moaning.
“Get him up,” he snapped at one of the trusted
mercenaries. Then he turned back to the rest of them.
“Strip.”
A new wave of sweat soaked every cell of Tom’s
being. Stripping only meant one thing.
Jesus, thought Tom, he’s going to execute the lot
of us.
Tom stood there, his pants around his ankles. If he
was going to say something, he knew he had to say it
before they took him somewhere.
“Sir,” he said, shouting in military fashion. “Please
give me another chance, sir! I believe I am of value,
sir!”
Imover was in front of him, staring up at him. He
was a short little maggot, thought Tom.
Imover pressed the barrel of the pistol squarely
between Tom’s eyes. He could still feel its warmth
from when it had executed Jack.
“Why?” was all Imover asked.
“Because,” Tom said, his voice cracking. He
swallowed again and shouted, “because I’m a
mechanic sir!”
The Sergeant Major stepped forward, Billy. “It’s
true,” he said to Imover. “He’s the only thing keeping
most of the rovers moving at this point.”
The next few seconds were an eternity. Tom dared
not look Imover in the eye. He was trying to pretend
he was military. He looked straight ahead.
The pressure of the gun barrel left his forehead.
“Pull your pants up, recruit. You look ridiculous.”
He laughed. In the middle of an execution, the man
laughed at his own jokes.
Tom almost lost control of his bowels as he
struggled to puts his clothes back on – then he
thought better of it and walked out of the square to be
on the other side of the machineguns.
He had just put his clothes back on when Billy
came back over to him.
“You owe me your life,” Billy said. Tom didn’t like
the glint in his eyes. “So now you’re going to start
paying back. You’re coming with me.”
Tom’s fists clenched. Oh hell, what exactly did the
man want from him?
Like cattle, the men were piled into the back of
one of the troop carriers. Tom and Billy got into the
front. Tom found himself in the driver’s seat. Imover
sat in the middle.
A jeep pulled up ahead of them and behind them.
“Drive,” was all Billy said, his hand resting on his
weapon.
He drove. They were three miles outside of town
when Billy told him to stop. It was a gently sloping
grass valley.
Imover bounded out of the truck. He ordered the
half-naked men out.
Jesus, thought Tom, he’s enjoying it.
Tom only barely registered that a submachine gun
was thrust into his hands.
“Face the valley,” Imover snarled at them.
More of the mercenaries in the jeeps lined up to
Tom’s left and right. The man on Tom’s left looked
disgusted, his lips pulled back in a sneer. Tom wasn’t
sure if he was disgusted by the deserter’s actions or
by the horrible task he was about to perform.
Tom looked down at the gun in his hand. Oh my
God, he thought, they’re going to make me do this.
Imover hopped onto the back of one of the jeeps
and swung the heavy machinegun around to point
at their backs. He swung it slightly over at his own
mercenaries. “When I give you boys the signal, you
do it.”
He flicked off the two safeties on the gun, grinning.
“Run, traitors!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
There was a moment of shocked silence. What
were they supposed to do? They were so terrified of
moving up to that point that they didn’t react at first.
But then one did, and then they all did.
Joe just started walking. He didn’t run. Tom wasn’t
sure if it was an act of defiance, a man in shock, or
just that he thought that Imover was bluffing. Tom
knew that Imover never bluffed.
Rob, slight and unassuming, took three steps,
turned, and folded his arms with his chin set.
Phil didn’t run. He stood right near Tom.
The heavy machinegun roared to life, spewing
a steady stream of fire across the field. Some men
were trying to zigzag, others were ducking, others
covered their head and screamed. They all danced
and twitched as the bullets shredded them like paper
dolls.
“Fire!” ordered Imover. And Tom knew that if he
didn’t do it, he was next.
So he did. He wasn’t aiming at them. He didn’t
have to. It was an automatic weapon, he just
squeezed the trigger and it chattered to angry life.
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Bases of Operation
The Mad Dogs do not have a single base of
operations. They recruit primarily out of Britain and
France, but there really isn’t a single place they call
home, and for good reason: the law actively hunts
many of the Mad Dog mercenaries. Imover makes a
point of keeping on the move and staying only briefly
in the more civilized countries.
Tom blamed anything that happened on the gun.
There were all down, dead and dying. The ones
who walked, the ones who ran, even Rob who was
ready for it – all down.
Tom was numb. He was only dimly aware of Phil
next to him, the one who didn’t run. He was the only
one left.
“For God’s sake!” Phil fell to his knees, clutching
at Tom’s leg. “I have a family! Please don’t kill
me!”
Imover walked over to them both. He kicked Phil
in the ribs.
“Pathetic,” he hissed. Then he fired a shot into
Phil’s stomach.
Phil screeched an inhuman wail of agony. His pleas
had turned into hoarse wailing.
Imover rolled his eyes. He glared at Tom.
“Shut him up.”
Tom didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even blink. He
pointed at Phil and pulled the trigger. The gun
shivered. Phil twitched. The screaming stopped.
Billy put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. It was only
then that Tom realized he had stood back, behind
them, and didn’t fire a single shot.
“Now we’re even,” he said.
Symbol:
Frothing dog head.
Most Common Allegiance(s):
Mad Dogs.
Requisition Limit:
(35) military.
Overview
For those who have worked with Imover, they
provide shaken testimony that he is indeed crazy.
Imover enjoys screaming and shouting in combat,
mowing down his foes with automatic weaponry, be
it a submachine gun or a heavy machinegun. He has
taken on tanks…and won.
Imover expects nothing less than fanatical devotion
from his men. He enjoys ruling through fear,
although he isn’t averse to rewarding his followers
with a higher cut. Few dare cross him. Those who
do are often hunted down and murdered in horrible
ways.
But Imover’s rants are brief. His bouts of
homicidal rage disappear quickly, usually after he
has killed someone. Some have likened him to a
dangerous, angry baby with heavy artillery.
So why work for a man who seems nearly suicidal
in his tactics? Because he attracts desperate, rich
employers. Imover is no fool, but he commands a
high price precisely because of his complete lack of
ethics and utter fearlessness.
The Mad Dogs are not particularly well liked or
respect. Imover’s reputation has assured that. But it
is precisely because of their low prestige that some
employers come to them. They have nothing to lose,
everything to gain.
Resources
Imover values mobility over raw firepower. The Mad
Dogs relies on weapons with flash and firepower that
require less aiming and more noise. Imover has a
near rabid hatred of armored vehicles, presumably
because he commonly faces such inimitable foes.
The Mad Dogs has a huge budget. Imover may be
crazy, but he’s also a savvy negotiator. Although the
Mad Dogs have a less-than-stellar reputation, their
willingness to take on the most dangerous missions
makes them a highly paid company. Contractually,
the Mad Dogs expect just about everything to be paid
for and they usually get it.
Involving the Heroes
PCs who are in Imover’s company are bound to
encounter trouble. They could sign up for more than
they bargained for and have to deal with the crazy
captain. Alternately, they may end up competing
against the Wild Dogs for a contracted goal. And
Imover plays for keeps.
Like the Wild Hawks, the Mad Dogs made their
reputation in South American conflicts. Unlike the
Wild Hawks, the Mad Dogs take on duties most self-
respecting mercenary companies pass by.
The Mad Dogs don’t turn down a contract. At
least, that’s what they brag. Mad Dog mercenaries
are fond of stating that they take the contracts
nobody else is willing to take. Depending on one’s
perspective, this can be due to the fact that the Mad
Dogs seem to be perpetually broke, or because the
Mad Dogs really are mad.
Agenda:
A mercenary organization that specializes
in conflicts in South America.
Structure:
Small mobile military group.
Using the Mad Dogs
The Mad Dogs recruit just about anybody who will
join. Imover makes up for the inevitable rate of high
desertions by executing anyone who defects. This
keeps the mercenary company lean and very mean.
Structure
The Mad Dogs organize into “Killer Teams” – a
rocket launcher wielding merc whose sole job is to
eliminate tanks and other heavily armored targets
always accompanies each group.
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Research
Research checks represent a hero’s ability to collect
data about an organization through fact-finding
efforts like trips to the library and browsing the
Internet.
DC 1:
The Mad Dogs are a mercenary organization
active in South America.
DC 5:
The Mad Dogs consists of primarily Latin
American members.
DC 10:
The Mad Dogs have only been active in the
past few decades.
DC 15:
The Mad Dogs are wanted on multiple
counts of murder.
DC 20:
The Mad Dogs are considered a terrorist
group by several South American nations.
DC 25:
The Mad Dogs have acted as bodyguards
for several dictators.
DC 30:
The Mad Dogs have partial ownership in
several diamond mines, which keeps the company
infused with cash between missions.
The Mad Dogs operate in South America but
are willing to go just about anywhere for the right
price. Their ranks consist primarily of ex-convicts,
psychopaths, and desperate men trying to forget
their pasts. The Mad Dogs are utterly immoral and
construct their contracts to give them free license to
rape and pillage.
The Mad Dogs do not take kindly to rivals and
will attack any group they perceive as competitors.
Imover isn’t stupid, however; the Mad Dogs will only
expend enough energy to drive off the competition
and take their booty.
Imover (Fast Hero 6/Soldier 6):
CR 12; Medium-
size human; HD 6d8+12 plus 6d10+12; HP 84;
Mas 14; Init +7; Spd 30 ft; Defense 22, touch 22,
flatfooted 19 (+0 size, +3 Dex, +9 class); BAB +8;
Grap +11; Atk +11 melee or +11 ranged; FS 5 ft by 5
ft; Reach 5 ft; AL none; SV Fort +7, Ref +9, Will +7;
AP 6; Rep +6; Str 16, Dex 17, Con 14, Int 10, Wis
13, Cha 7.
Occupation:
Military (bonus class skills:
Demolitions, Hide).
Skills:
Balance +7, Bluff +0, Climb +5,
Concentration +4, Craft (mechanical) +1,
Demolitions +1, Diplomacy -1, Disable Device +1,
Drive +4, Escape Artist +4, Forgery +2, Gamble +3,
Gather Information +0, Hide +6, Intimidate +4, Jump
+5, Knowledge (Current Events) +1, Knowledge
(History) +1, Knowledge (Popular Culture) +1,
Knowledge (Tactics) +3, Listen +3, Move Silently
+6, Navigate +2, Pilot +4, Profession +2, Repair
+1, Search +1, Sense Motive +2, Sleight of Hand
+5, Spot +2, Survival +2, Swim +4, Treat Injury +2,
Tumble +4.
Feats:
Advanced Firearms Proficiency, Dodge,
Exotic Firearms Proficiency (cannons), Focused,
Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Leadership, Mobility,
Personal Firearms Proficiency, Quick Draw, Renown,
Stealthy.
Talents (Fast Hero):
Evasion, Opportunist,
Uncanny Dodge.
Talents (Soldier):
Weapon Focus, Weapon
Specialization, Tactical Aid, Improved Critical.
Learning About the Mad Dogs
The heroes can gather information about the Mad
Dogs through the use of the Knowledge (current
events) or Research skills. The charts below
represent the amount of detail a hero can collect by
using each skill.
Knowledge (Current Events)
The Mad Dogs make no secret of their activities and
enjoy their infamy. The popular press points to them
as the worst kind of mercenaries, literally “Dogs of
War.”
DC 1:
Imover leads the Mad Dogs.
DC 5:
The Mad Dogs is a mercenary organization
that specializes in South American conflicts.
DC 10:
The Mad Dogs are infamous for their
“Killer Squads,” groups of men armed with rocket
launchers.
DC 15:
The Mad Dogs have taken out entire
columns of tanks with just rocket launchers.
DC 20:
Imover is famous for executing deserters.
DC 25:
Imover is said to have escaped from an
asylum for violent psychopaths.
DC 30:
Imover is believed to be the son of a
wealthy dictator who funds and protects him.
Members
The Mad Dogs officers consist of one lieutenant
(strong hero 3/fast hero 2), two sergeants (strong
hero 2/fast hero 1), and four corporals (strong hero
2). The Mad Dogs has the following individuals in
its roster: 1 Cook (tough ordinary), 7 Heavy Gunners
(strong hero/tough hero), 1 Mechanic (smart hero), 1
Physician (smart hero), 20 Infantrymen (tough hero)
and 10 Tankbusters (tough hero/fast hero/soldier).
Imover is a dark-skinned, brooding type with wild
eyes and a nervous demeanor. He is prone to fits of
rage and bouts of violence. Indeed, Imover wouldn’t
even be employed if it weren’t for the fact that he’s
crazy enough to try any tactic.
Imover’s insanity was tolerated because he was crazy
enough to take on tanks. He created what he liked to
call “Killer Squads.” He would load men up in jeeps,
and then in an almost suicidal attack, drive full speed
into camp, firing rocket launchers and machineguns.
It worked. They had destroyed four tanks so far.
The fact that several of the company had died in the
process was irrelevant.
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Imover only got bolder with each attack. He had
fourteen men with him on foot, seven on a side. They
were all armed with rocket launchers, hunkered down
behind a low rise before a common trail.
They were stalking an armored column. Two jeeps
led the way, followed by several truckloads of troops.
Behind them was a cluster of tanks, trucks, and jeeps
led by an armored bulldozer. The entire line trailed a
mile-long column of over a thousand troops.
The odds were a million to one. The fourteen men
with Imover were the most aggressive, most capable,
and the most trusted. They had to be. They were all
Imover had left.
Two enemy jeeps went by. Imover waited.
Several truckloads of troops went by. Imover
waited.
Finally, the armored bulldozer ground to a stop.
The column was resting.
Imover’s squad raised, fired, and scattered with
deadly efficiency. Soldiers ran screaming as the
rockets spiraled through the air. One troop transport
exploded, spewing bodies hither and yon.
The troops started running, utterly disorganized.
The tanks made them feel invincible. Imover’s men
knew better.
Billy’s men, on the other side of the trail rose up,
fired, and scattered. A tank exploded into flames.
Imover was chortling, spewing death. He was
actually laughing. The troops were horrified. Billy
wasn’t. He had witnessed the ugly scene a hundred
times before.
They rose up and fired again. A rocket impacted
against the front of the bulldozer and exploded with
little effect.
Imover ducked back down in the brush. He gave a
hand signal to Billy from across the trail and pointed.
He wanted the armored bulldozer taken out. No
one later was able to say why. Maybe it was because
the troops were cowering behind it. Maybe it was
because the bulldozer represented the most fearsome
resistance of the enemy.
Maybe it was because Imover was just plain mean.
They crept forward to where the bulldozer was in
the line. Imover gave the signal and they unleashed
everything they had on it. Ricochets punctured
dozens of men as they fired on it. Another rocket
exploded on its side, rocked it, but failed to penetrate.
Imover decided it was time to use a different tactic.
He screamed at the top of his lungs, submachine gun
in hand, and began to slowly make his way towards
the bulldozer. He was determined to tear the driver’s
throat out if need be.
Finally, one of the bullets hit something; the wrong
thing. There was a high-pitched squeal as a stray
bullet ignited a spark. Imover watched as the spark
pirouetted in the air and landed behind the bulldozer.
Onto an ammunition truck.
He turned to run. The explosion waved through the
air, exploding rockets and bullets. Body parts and
foliage blew past him. For a second, Imover thought
he had once again emerged from a suicidal fray
unscathed.
Then he realized he couldn’t feel his leg. He
collapsed into the muck.
Imover looked down. Shrapnel had sliced his calf.
“Help me God damn it!” he shouted to an
approaching figure.
When the enemy troops finally found Imover’s
body it was face up, eyes wide open in surprise. A
bullet hole between Imover’s eyes stood as mute
testimony to what had transpired.
The soldier spat on the corpse.
“Mercenaries,” he muttered.
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