Author Topic: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story  (Read 3945 times)

Daemion

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One of the things I always wanted to explore was why we don't see much more in the way of world wars on any given planet. Throw in an outside agitator and someone willing to put resources into a large force, and I could see one taking off. We saw how quantity did generally prevail over quality in World War II. Could that possibly happen again out on one of the small islands among the stars?

With this, I could set up a potentially perpetual war on just a single world that could maybe span years. My friends and I could pit large forces against one another and have shifting lines, thus making minor or major impacts on the state of the war.

Secondly, I wanted to play around with an older rule-set to redefine the tech capacity of the setting. The rules by which I played out the various scenarios from which I derive the combat scenes in this story are from the BattleTech Manual (the first compilation of BT 2nd ed, AeroTech, and CityTech). For the lowertech units, I've gone two different routes, borrowing from the primitive BattleMech construction rules for stuff paying the weight price for quality, and then going to different game sources for ideas on how to hamstring the stuff that doesn't pay the weight price, but is still cheep and sub-par. I'll detail all major equipment tweaks and any minor caveats in a dedicated thread.

Thirdly, I wanted to explore an idea. One I won't go into detail here, since I plan on revealing it through a story. With all the above, usually there comes a story, one I feel is worth sharing. I will tell it here.

So, hopefully, enjoy.
It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

I helped make a game! ^_^  - Forge Of War: Tactics

Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: Prologue
« Reply #1 on: 17 August 2016, 13:06:50 »
Loyal Son of Earth
A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy Story




Prologue


BattleROM Footage
Centurion CN9-A registry CERII2833Q4B023
Squire Elizabeth Dellibert, New Earth Royal Guard
New Massachusetts Region
Patrol Time 00:03:57:38


   The New Earth countryside was nice and green with spring. Rolling hills slid past the rectangular viewport of the Centurion BattleMech in uneven spurts while it ran. Copses of trees lined sides of hills indicating water drainages and small streams. Not far ahead wound a tiny river, or a large creek. With the sun high overhead and cotton clouds dotting the sky, it looked to be a beautiful day. But the way Squire Elizabeth Dellibert talked with her comrade, she was hardly in a position to appreciate it.

   “Henry!” She addressed the pilot of the Crusader trotting along behind her machine. “You were with Kenny when she died. What did you see?”
   
   “Kendra?” a husky male voice replied. His voice had a hint of panic. “A Warhammer. Who shot down Neil?”

   “Also a Warhammer-” she started to reply but, Henry interrupted.

   “Wait! No way! That’s him! That’s the bastard that killed Kenny.”

   In the distance, a Warhammer BattleMech topped the lower central ravine in a two-headed hill about a half a kilometer away. The HUD pegged it as a 6K variant, but flagged some discrepancies in projected armor thickness along the legs and heat dissipation rate compared to standard 6K's. This was probably a custom job.

   “Are you sure?” Beth asked.

   “Same markings. Same signature.”

   “That’s the same bastard that took out Neil, too. No mistake.”

   “But, that can’t be!” Henry said, sounding equally confused while strongly denying her statement with unquestionable certainty. “I know Kenny got some hits on him. This guy’s untouched. Who are these guys?”

   “Or, who is this guy?” She paused. The trees and the river were getting taller in front of her Centurion. The Warhammer had come to a stop and she could see its guns training in on her ’Mech. As it started to disappear behind the spring foliage, the HUD painted its outline in a clearly unfriendly red. That’s when she got a lock warning.

   “Think we can take him?” Henry asked, managing to sound confident.

   “No. Either he’s one guy who took out two of our lance, or he’s one of many, which means he’s not alone. We’ve just been attacked without any warning or stated cause. Someone has to get this back to command. Use the river and woods to screen-”
   
   Her Mech jinked in response to the enemy’s particle beams. The first one burned harmlessly across her Centurion’s left torso.
It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

I helped make a game! ^_^  - Forge Of War: Tactics

Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #2 on: 17 August 2016, 13:43:27 »
BattleROM Footage
Crusader CRD-3R registry SLKIA26774310039
Warrior Henry Markus, New Earth Royal Guard
Patrol Time 00:03:58:05


   Henry watched a blue beam slam into the square head of Beth’s Centurion. His HUD went through a quick series of color changes. A red overlay highlighting the forest cammo it sported under normal lighting quickly went black. At the same time, from his angle just off to her right and slightly behind, he witnessed the explosive blast that shattered the armored transparency and the thick black smoke that he knew meant the cockpit was hit. Minutes before, the same thing happened when Kendra’s Longbow had its head punctured by a particle beam nearly the same way. The HUD simply reinforced his conclusion.

   Elizabeth Dellibert was dead.

   Henry screamed. It lasted for seconds. While the Centurion simply slowed to a halt with no more control center to guide it, he screamed. He still screamed while the ’Mech powered down, dead on its feet. Finally nearly out of breath, Henry finished the word he had started; a long protracted ‘no’. He had screamed his denial at the loss of his friend. Now, short of breath and quickly recovering, he turned his attention to the architect of his friend’s murder.

   “You’ll pay for this, you bastard,” he practically spat under his breath. “Full stock of missiles. Fresh armor. You may be untouched, but I am too. Let’s see who wins this range game!”

   Not following Beth’s advice, Henry instead led his Crusader up a hill overlooking the small river in front of him.  He waded deftly through the trees, only a few branches cracking against the 65 ton giant’s unyielding metal composite hide. He brought his ‘Mech to a halt, just shy of the leaves where he could step out when his Long Range Missiles were armed and ready to fire. He quickly toggled a couple firing solutions on the distant Warhammer, just inside the ECM envelope where the missiles actually stood a chance of hitting the enemy.

   The Warhammer held its ground, training its large cannons on him. The enemy was willing to play this duel. The PPCs fired just before his missiles. Blue beams sliced through the air, impacting with his Crusader at the speed of light. His machine tried to dodge. Though the beams still connected with, Henry's armor display showed no change. However, during the couple second discharge, they caught some of the leaves and branches, superheating them into dry tinder and catching them on fire.
   
   Then, his missiles indicated they were ready, and Henry stepped to the edge of the woods to retaliate. Twenty missile tubes, ten in each shoulder, peaked from hiding under their huge protective armored doors and spat smoke. Almost instantly, the missiles streaked the third of a kilometer separating the two ’Mechs. The enemy performed the same kind of dance that Henry’s Crusader jigged while hosed with two particle beams. All of the missiles exploded close to the Warhammer, blackening spots all over its exterior, but none of them hit well enough to register damage on Henry's HUD.

   He was not deterred. While all the damage could be superficial now, it could play to devastation later. His immediate concern was the sudden conflagration growing around his Crusader. Inside its head, almost ten meters above the ground, he was physically right inside the flames. He almost thought he could feel the heat starting to spill into his machine. Henry knew better, the cool touch of the coolant vest and neurohelmet against his chest and head were proof to the contrary. But, it would still have a detrimental effect on his ’Mech’s cooling systems, affecting its performance in the long run. His CRD-3K was well sinked, but a large firestorm could still cause problems.

   Upping his throttle, Henry steered his ’Mech to the left, walking it gingerly, weaving past burning trees into untouched green leaves. When he put about thirty meters between him and the conflagration, he throttled back and took up a defensive stance on the edge of the hill. Bringing his reticule over his enemy, who still hadn’t left his place at the top of the hill, he triggered another volley. As he came to a halt, the smoke from the distant fire followed him and drifted down over the river, filling the spaces between him and the trees.

   Henry smiled. The heat from the laden air played with his thermographics. It would certainly do the same with his opponent’s sensors. He had an advantage and he might just be able to take this guy down. A quick glance at his long range radar showed no signs of anyone else. Could his opponent have acted alone?

   “Same markings. But, you’re untouched. I know you took hits from Kendra. You can’t be the same guy.”

   His missiles launched. Again, they had no effect on the dancing form of the enemy Warhammer. The next volley also failed to do more than blacken it’s already burned hide. But, his enemy fared little better.

   In fact, while taking time to recover from the intensive heat the heavy energy cannons created inside the enemy’s seventy-ton frame, the Warhammer fired on the burning woods. Then he included both cannons in the next barrage of particle fire. The Warhammer split the beams, one at Henry, the other at the burning trees. The one that struck Henry’s Crusader was easily turned superficial.

   “What are you trying to do?”   

   Henry glanced at the woods in confusion. One beam blasted through a bunch of trunks, flash vaporizing them, turning them into bombs that scattered splinters everywhere. The second one didn’t quite catch enough. And as a third one finally knocked down the last of the giant behemoths, Henry wondered if the enemy’s plan to snuff out the fire might actually work. However, there was too much fuel, and plenty of air to feed the monstrous flames. The last burning tree went down and the flames still danced, the smoke still pouring into the sky.

   And, Henry’s next round of missiles, his fourth volley thus far, finally landed home, changing the enemy’s armor across the legs from fresh red to slightly damaged orange. He frowned in disappointment. The damage was too light for a standard WHM-6K. He finally guessed at the modifications made to this custom machine. It had thicker leg armor instead of the extra heat sinks the 6K was known for.

   This might go longer than he expected. Already, he had expended eighty of the high-explosive micro-rockets. Under full load, he had enough for twelve volleys from each launcher, roughly enough for a full minute of sustained fire. He was a third of the way through, and this was the result so far.
   
   His opponent gave up on the fire, and concentrated on him. Over the next couple of exchanges, the two duelists held their ground, dancing against eachother's fire. Of the two volleys, Henry scored only a little more light damage, this time across the upper body and arm of his opponent. Whereas, the Warhammer managed to peg him each time with a telling hit from one of its two beams, twice. The second one was devastating.

   Alarms sounded and the soft feminine voice of the computer audibly told him what Henry saw painted on his HUD right in front of his nose, and felt from the reaction from the machine around him.

   “Warning! Engine shielding damaged. Warning! Gyro-stabilizer damaged.

   The temperature in his cockpit went up a noticeable degree or two. Then his Crusader suddenly started to drift to the right, the damage to the gyro sending the machine along the path of least resistance. It was all Henry could do to focus on how he wanted to keep the ’Mech upright and work the controls so that it kept its feet between center of mass and ground. He managed it long enough for the damage control system to kick in and fix the problem, but it was obvious that his ’Mech would have stabilization issues along one or more axis. He’d have to be careful.

   “Shit! Maybe he is that good,” Henry muttered.

   The strike in question was a marvel. It had found a weak point in the armor and wreaked havoc with the more delicate systems in his ’Mech’s gut.

   He took a breath. His rage-high was wearing off. Finally, the advice of his fallen lance mate and friend came back to him.

   “Someone has to get back to base,” he echoed. He throttled his Crusader into a walk, turning to follow the stream, keeping it between him and his opponent. “Someone needs to know about this.” He eyeballed his ammo. “I can’t keep up the ranged duel,” he admitted. “But, I can at least try to hurt you and keep you off my back.”

   With that, he turned his ’Mech’s upper body to bring the missiles to bear and triggered another full volley. Even with the damaged engine pumping out extra heat into his ’Mech’s innards, the heat sink system was able to handle it and the mild output of his long range launchers. But, he was already half-way through his ammo. After that, all that remained would be the close range stuff, and his opponent could keep his distance. Especially since Henry wasn’t trying to get in close.

   The hills along the river nearby were tall and well covered with trees. If he could keep them between him and the monster on the other side, he had a fair chance of getting away. But, his enemy saw what he was doing, and stepped up onto one of the bald hilltops next to the ravine it occupied. With the extra height, Henry had a ways to go before he would be out of sight.

   They exchanged more fire, the Warhammer throwing a single ineffective beam at Henry while it cooled from high internal heat buildup. Henry scored a little more damage, but nothing to really shake up his enemy. Three more exchanges between them while Henry cautiously strolled his Crusader along the bank of the river. The hits from his enemy were far more telling than the hits Henry gave in exchange. Firing both cannons each time, it hit with better than fifty percent accuracy while not leaving its hill. The beams that didn’t do superficial burns blasted large portions of the armor, weakening it far more quickly than Henry's missiles did in return.

   Finally, Henry saw his chance. He was close enough he could risk a run and make it to a blind spot, putting some real distance between him and the Warhammer. But, as he kicked it into a run, he could feel the gyro not balancing right. It started to drag his ’Mech to the right. He tried to compensate, but he only managed over a hundred meters before the Crusader lost its footing and he went down hard. He braced with its left arm, but from the damage it had taken during some of the fire exchanges earlier, it crumbled under the impact, giving out and landing on the shoulder, crushing the launch tubes underneath.

   The safety harness held Henry tight, and he managed to brace himself before impact. But, his ’Mech was flat on its belly out in the open. He tried to stand. Once. Twice. Three times. Each time, the Gyro refused to cooperate, sending his machine back to the ground. Each fall did more damage to the structures supporting the composite armor than the intermittent PPC barrage from his opponent.

   The third time, in his impatience, the Crusader’s head hit the ground. The impact rang through the cockpit like a bell. Consoles flared and malfunctioned momentarily. Sparks blasted against his bare arms and legs with searing heat, and it took a strong force of will for Henry to do more than scream at the pain. He ignored the urge to rub at the burns, kept his hands and feet on the controls and pedals, and went back to standing his stubborn ’Mech up one more time, and yet one more time.

   Finally, he managed to get up. Henry marched his Crusader along the river a little longer, firing another volley of missiles from the remaining launcher up at his dastardly enemy. It was the last shot it would get, and it was only lightly effective. The armor damage on the Warhammer was starting to tell, but it was nowhere near ready for a breach.

   While Henry had been focusing on standing his machine to simply get away, the enemy had scored multiple hits all over the Crusader. This time, the enemy pegged him with both shots, in spite of being warm from sustained PPC barrages. Both beams nailed is right side, one biting into his leg, the other punching into the Crusader’s battered right arm. Electrical discharges from the charged particles overwhelmed the sealing on the last LRM launcher, frying its circuitry. On Henry’s HUD, the weapon went dark, no longer an option.

   But, that was the least of his worries. The shock from the impacts and after effects rocked the Crusader. With the gyro uncooperative, it toppled back to the ground. The impact crushed the mangled left torso even further, rupturing a couple heat sink lines.

   With as much damage as his machine had sustained, Henry expected the enemy to try to finish him off with a parting shot. When it didn’t come, he looked at the enemy on the far edge of his compressed panoramic monitor. The HUD showed the enemy’s thermal signature was high, but falling. The Warhammer was taking a cooling break.

   This was Henry’s last chance. Cover was very close. He had to get his ‘Mech back up. This time, he succeeded. He marched it steadily forward. The enemy was first obscured by trees, and then by hills. All the way home, Henry kept an eye out for pursuit. As undamaged as it was, the Warhammer was quite capable of overtaking him.

   But, it never came.

   “Who was that guy,” he muttered one last time.
It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

I helped make a game! ^_^  - Forge Of War: Tactics

Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: Chapter 1
« Reply #3 on: 17 August 2016, 15:57:03 »
Chapter 1

Excerpt from Debrief
Subject: Alius Cad’ver, Lieutenant, TMSF


The Camera comes to life on a young man, roughly mid- to late-twenties, seated in a metal chair behind an unadorned steel table.  He is leaning back, his elbows resting comfortably on the chair rests. His sleeves are unevenly rolled up, revealing unevenly tanned fore arms and hands, fingers laced, lying against his sternum.  His khaki uniform shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a white tee underneath.

His gray eyes stare, disinterested at the camera, but show hints of blue when they shift toward something moving out of view. The young man suddenly becomes attentive. Unclasping his hands, he pushes himself more upright before clasping them again and resting them on the edge of the table.

“Settled in for a long interview?” a disembodied male tenor asks, sounding amused.

The young man smirks good-naturedly, his tan cheeks reddening.  The smile disappears slowly, lingering for only a few seconds.

“All right Lieutenant,” the disembodied voice says. “You may begin when ready.”

He blinks a few times, his eyes focusing on his interviewer a few seconds before drifting to a point off camera. He idly runs a hand through his sandy-brown hair. Its military cut is short enough to reveal a slight widow’s peak on his brow, but long enough to have a slight cowlick sweeping his hair to the right from years of parting on the left. As the hair shifts back into place, it reflects a dull golden sheen from long exposure to sunlight.

He inhales deeply through his nose, then begins.

“As you may know, I’m a plains-walker.  I travel from universe to universe. How I travel, as far as I know, is unique. It’s not like those cheesy sci-fi shows where some scientist comes up with a ship or devices that opens a portal. My gift is literally an act of God. Or, at least, my God

“Practically everywhere I go, I’m deposited at some key moment which really defines the world, and in such a way that I get to participate in those events… until I reach my exit, and I move on.

“I’ve seen some spectacular stuff. Some epic stuff.”

He pauses a moment, rubbing his square, shaven jaw.  Shrugging his broad shoulders, he leans forward to prop his elbows on the table. His short, thick neck seems to disappear as he hunches.

“But, in all of that, I never imagined that I would be the one to actually start a war.”




Comstar HPG Compound
Outskirts of Foundation Point
New Earth
12 July 3040


   The speaker addressing the audience was an elderly man with wavy dark, silvering hair. His skin was still firm in most places on his tapered, bony features. His dark eyes seemed to seek out specific people in the audience with hard looks while he spoke. Behind him, dressed in smart military dress of the new Federated CommonWealth was a tall man of fit cut and stiff stature. Behind them hung an array of National, Planetary, Regional and Corporate flags.

   “We now have an idea of who is responsible for this outrage against me and against the Commonwealth,” he said sternly. “Rest assured that we will bring this individual to justice!”

   The image paused. The dark room lit slowly. The holo-projector winked off.  Alius Cad’ver turned his attention to the rest of the people assembled in at the conference table.  To his left were his other three lance members, among which sat the leader of the Slammer’s Hammers mercenary command. They were all Warhammer pilots, which Al believed to be the reason behind their summoning to this little confab. To his right sat the Precentor and Demi-Precentor in charge of the New Earth HPG station to which Slammer’s Hammers were deployed. Next to them, practically opposite Al, sat two gentlemen. 

   One was dressed in a business suit, with the tie-less neck that was the latest fad on ‘Tau Ceti IV’.  In spite of a healthy diet, he still had a bit of a second chin on an otherwise sharp featured face with a long straight nose. His dark wavy hair was pulling back from his high forehead. He had been introduced by Precentor Ryuji as Lord Samuel Adams.

   His partner, Sir Benjamin Arnold, wore a simple gray jumpsuit, with a nametag and discreet rank insignia. Like the slammers, his brown hair was cut in a short military style. His temples were shaved bare, a sign he was one of the more superstitious MechWarriors.

   “That was Governor Jarod Newcombe,” Sir Arnold said. “Behind him was the Commonwealth Liaison, William Steiner-Land. They have publicly blamed me for the attack on the New Earth Royal Guard patrol, simply by the fact that I’m the only one on planet who is known to own and pilot a Warhammer.”

   “And, by association, they’ve implicated your liege,” Cyprus ‘Kip’ Jones said, his deep voice still managing to fill the room though his reply was soft-spoken.

   “Correct. Having done a thorough investigation of our own to clear my and Adam’s name, we discovered that you also field a full company of Warhammer BattleMechs.”

   “Why are you here?” Lilly Grove said. A dark lady, she was Kip’s second in command, and in charge of the command lance when Kip was busy coordinating the whole company. “Haven’t you taken your findings to the Governor, already?”

   “We did,” Sir Arnold replied. He deflated his rigid stature for a moment. “They didn’t seem to care. We were hoping that if you would come forward-.”

   “Newcombe’s had it in for me for years,” Adams finally said. “This should not be a surprise, Benjy.

   Al quietly harrumphed his amusement at the nickname.

   “But, we didn’t do it,” Sir Benjy Arnold protested.

   “Even if these people really did stage the attack, you don’t expect them to come out now, since they haven’t already. Do you?”

   “You never know if you don’t ask,” Sir Arnold said.

   “You know as well as I do that Newcombe and Steiner have been looking for any excuse to discredit me and anyone associated with me.” He turned to the mercenaries. “My family still has strong memories of the prosperity the world had under the Star League. I’ve made it no secret that I blame the Steiner dictatorship for the stagnation since the damage of the Star League Civil War and the subsequent wars of succession.

   “Even if you do come forward, they’ll find a way to turn it back on me. You’re mercenaries. I could probably have bought your testimony. Whether that’s true or not is immaterial. The opportunity is here, and they’re not going to pass it up.

   “And, that’s why we’re really here,” Adams said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. “. I want to hire you. I intend to fight Newcombe on this.  My personal guard will not be enough to deter the combined might of the NERG and NEMC. However, not any mercenary command will do.

   “Most of the mercenary commands on New Earth are local or outsiders from inside the FedCom borders.  They generally want little trouble. You’re different. You’re all from Earth.”

   Al perked up at the odd use of Terra’s older name. It was the name he was used to when referring to the cradle of humanity. But, he grew up with it. To hear a foreigner use it was different.

   “You also remember the glory of the League, don’t you,” Adams commented. “Your ideals are what I’m looking for. I warn you that I will take this as far as I have to. So, the contract may be extensive. What say you?”

   Kip looked at Precentor Ryuji. The aged Asian man held his arms crossed under the superficial ceremonial robes the order wore in public. “It will take time to bring in replacements. If you leave a lance here until we do, we should be fine. I don’t expect either side will turn our compound into a battlefield.”

   “The Air Lance, then.” Kip looked to Adams and Arnold. He fidgeted with the gear earing on his left lobe. His green eyes flickered in the light as they darted back and forth between the two. “We accept.”

   A beeping noise came from deep in Demi-Precentor Crystal Collins’s robes. She pulled out a small device, looked at it, then moved a strand of blonde hair away from her ear, touching a nearly hidden earpiece. “What is it?”

   She listened for a minute while everyone else stared at her in rapt attention. “We’ll be there shortly,” she replied. Turning to Ryuji, she said, “A Royal Guards convoy has arrived at our gate. They are requesting entrance.” To Kip, she said, “Your standing guard has already been alerted.”

   “Let me guess,” Adams said. “How did they know I’d be here?”

   “That’s my fault,” Arnold said. “I had mentioned investigating the mercs further to the Governor if he wasn’t going to do anything about it.”

   Adams flashed his brows with a look of irony.

   

   The Royal Guards were let into the compound, and into the conference room. There were only four, three troopers led by a woman with lots of decorations. Al recognized the woman right away.

   Jennifer Rainier was much younger than he remembered. Sandy brown hair, green eyes, curvy but slender frame, and a face that was almost elfin.  His heart leapt at seeing her. Then logic and reason reigned in his emotions. This was not the woman he remembered.

   Still, he paid close attention. The one he knew had a storied career before ending up stranded on Astrokaszy. While he expected things would be different, he would watch events closely, to see if anything he heard from the other version would come to pass here and now.

   She paid no attention to Al, giving him a cursory once over, like she did everyone else in the room, sizing up any potential trouble.

   “Samuel J Adams, Baron of New Bronx, Corporate Head of Adams Metals? You are under arrest for conspiracy to harm NERG personnel and thus weaken the Governorship of New Earth, and the Federated Commonweatlh. Your personal guard, Sir Benjamin Arnold, Knight of the land, is under arrest for perpetrating the deed. Please, come with us.”

   “I refuse,” Adams said.

   “Cuff him,” Rainier said.
   
   “I think not,” Precentor Ryuji said proclaimed. “You have no jurisdiction on Comstar territory. While he is here, Adams is under our protection. He has asked us for amnesty, and we will grant it for the duration of his stay.”

   Rainier glared at Ryuji, then at Adams. Her jaw worked in a way Al had never seen before. “You can’t remain here forever,” she finally growled. “When you come out, we’ll be waiting.”

   She turned and stormed out. Her three escorts followed along without word.

   Adams looked at Kip. “She’s right. I can’t stay here forever. Looks like you have your first mission, commander.”


It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

I helped make a game! ^_^  - Forge Of War: Tactics

DOC_Agren

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #4 on: 18 August 2016, 19:35:38 »
Love me some ghost Warhammers
"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!"

Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #5 on: 16 March 2017, 17:15:16 »
Loyal Son of Earth – Chapter 2

Excerpt from Debrief
Subject: Alius Cad’ver, Lieutenant, TMSF

He flicks a quick half-shrug and quirks a brow momentarily.

“Of course, I suppose it was bound to happen, whether it was me or someone else. Adams seemed to already have a support mechanism in place to raise a large army really fast.

“I’ve seen a lot of BattleTech universes,” He starts to say, reflecting, but pauses.  His attention goes off-screen, eyebrows raised. “Oh. BattleTech? It’s a game I grew up with when I was a kid.  It was about giant robots, piloted by humans, as the ultimate weapons in the 31st century.  The bots in the game, as well as the major powers at war match this universe.  And others.  You have to wonder if some of what we think as creativity isn’t actually a glimpse into other realities.”

“Anyway, there are multiple variations.  Some minor.  Some major.  All have something in common.  First is the King of the Battlefield: the BattleMech.  Second:  No matter if it’s a star lord or a mere knight, someone always has something to prove and wanting to pick a fight.”






Comstar HPG Compound
Outskirts of Foundation Point
New Earth
12 July 3040


   True to her word, Sir Jenn had returned.  She and three other Knights, mounted up in BattleMechs, overlooked the Comstar Compound from the ridge which hid the rest of the capital from view.  In his own Warhammer’s cockpit, Al spotted each of the four ’Mechs easily through the wall and trees.  The HUD had them painted before his eyes on his Neurohelmet visor in a neutral green.  They also had one other little feature.  Each one had a unique, brightly emblazoned crest hovering over each cartoon image.

   Bill ‘Axe’ Bennet, the fourth member of the command lance, was listing off the names of each Knight.  “Ranier, Land, Beufort and Hart.  A full lance from the Royal Guard.”  His scratchy tenor sounded jovial.

   Kip’s bodiless voice was calm.  “Think the command lance can take them?”

   “It’s a medium strike lance in a heavily obstructed terrain.  We have the weight advantage,” Grove replied.

   “Good.  Chase them from the premises,” Kip ordered.  “I need to organize the facility’s defense with the rest of the company.  I’ll join you shortly.”

   “Understood,” Grove answered with sudden enthusiasm.  “Rookie.  Axe.  Let’s move out.  I’ll take up a covering position.  You two advance steadily and engage at will.”

   Al echoed Axe’s affirmative.  “Axe,” he added.  “Which one’s Rainier?”

   “Why?  Think she’s pretty?”  Grove sounded amused.

   “No,” Al explained calmly.  “I’m just curious how he knows who they are.”

   “The crests,” Axe said.  “Royalty 101, Rookie.  The Royal Guard are nobility, so everyone should know who they are.  Rainier’s in the Phoenix Hawk 1D.  Remember the crest.  Lord Bufort is in the Phoenix Hawk 1K.  Lord Hart rides the Shadow Hawk.  And Lord Land rides the pride of the Commando.”

   “The pride of the Commonwealth,” Grove replied, sounding smug.

   Al listened to Axe’s explanation while deftly working the throttle and pedals to follow his two lance mates through the front gate.  As Axe brought up each name, Al zoomed in on each crest.  Jenn’s was a shield with a green triangle surrounded by three colors; red and blue on either side and a bright yellow underneath.  The yellow also edged the outside of the shield.

   Once past the gate, he could see them clearly through the trees.  The cartoon coloration of the HUD lessened, allowing him to see the camouflage pattern on each BattleMech.  Al smirked at the odd notion.  They wanted people to recognize who they were, and yet they painted their machines in Forest camo.  The crest that hovered above each Knight’s ’Mech he easily spotted painted on the right shoulder, with the New Earth Royal Guard emblem equally prominent on the left shoulder.

   “All right,” Grove said.  “Enough chatter.  It’s time to let them know our intentions.”

   On Al’s compressed 360 display, Grove was already moving to his left, her Warhammer taking position in the copse of decorative trees just beside the front gate.  All the while, she kept talking.

   “Members of the New Earth Royal Guard,” she said, not using the more derogative ‘Nerg’ that usually got tossed around.  “Withdraw or we will force you to leave.”

   “If that’s all you got, this is going to be easy,” Jenn answered.  “This is your last chance, Merc.”

   Axe also steered his Warhammer to the left, leaving Al to steer right, throttling to a stop just outside of the gate.  He could practically hear the sneer as Jenn delivered her reply.  If he could shake his head, he would have.  The constriction of the neurohelmet would not, keeping head and shoulders locked in a near fixed position for pilot safety.  He slumped his shoulders, muttering to himself while she talked on.  “This is certainly not one of your finer moments.”

   Over Al’s quiet accusation, Jenn continued with mock diplomacy.  “Withdraw into the compound.  Send out Adams and his Knight.  We’ll leave you in peace.”
   
   Grove responded with a quick burst from both her light autocannons. The shots forced Jenn’s Phoenix Hawk into defensive action. It looked like the ’Mech tried to dodge the shots, rolling its right shoulder and twisting to the right. The twin streams of shells painted on Al’s HUD would have scored solid hits, but instead ricocheted harmlessly off a now-angled surface. This cut short any further speech on Jenn’s part.

   The humanoid Phoenix Hawk recovered from the action deliberately.  It looked like a person who had just taken a punch across the jaw.  The machine’s tuning to the pilot was remarkable, the way he felt it take up a hard stare at the three Mercs lined up before it at the bottom of the hill.

   The sneer was gone from Jenn’s voice, replaced with disgust. “Fine! You were warned.”

   Finally, the fight Al knew was inevitable was underway.  The vain formalities and posturing were over.  Up on the ridge, the holographic heralds winked out and the enemy turned a distinct red on his HUD.  It wasn’t a solid shade. No details were lost in the transition, in spite of the ECM activity on both sides.  Lighting and line breaks were still very well defined in a better rendition than some of the really old, really bad cartoons he had seen.  He could still identify each mech in full detail, but in a red tone. 

   The NERG fanned out to Al’s right, coming down the hill, wading through the light forest that followed the slope in uneven lines.  At the bottom of the hill, a parking lot spread out before him.  Two little bar gates led to roads. One was off to his right, following the perimeter of the wall before shooting straight east. The other was slightly to his left, following a small stream up the ridge, winding to follow the drainage. In spite of the armor protection on his heavy, seventy metric-ton machine, experience suggested that Al needed to find some cover while allowing him to target the enemy at range.

   “Let’s leapfrog this, Rookie,” Axe said.

   And, then there were his orders. Steady advance.
   
   “Gotcha,” Al answered.

   Axe’s Warhammer raced across the parking lot.

   Al noted the thick woods next to Grove.  While he waited for Axe to get into place, he throttled his own Warhammer into a quick march, aiming for just in front of the trees to Grove’s left.  While his machine covered the distance, Al glanced at his reticles, passing them over each Knight to confirm what he already knew.  In spite of their advance, none of the NERG would be in effective firing range for his particle cannons for nearly twenty seconds.

   Once in position, he turned away from the woods and toward the Knights, then hit full reverse.  His Warhammer didn’t need his hand to guide it to avoid collisions.  All he needed to do was point it in the right direction.  The maneuvering program deftly avoided giant tree trunks, smashing only a few branches while picking its way deeper into the foliage until he throttled a stop.  He listened to the swish and scrape of undamaged limbs in passage and while they resumed their normal positions afterward.  Some whipped out in front of his cockpit’s narrow, visor-like armored window, obstructing any natural view.  The HUD naturally compensated with a series of colored overlays showing the lay of the land, the position of trees, cars, and all potential combatants.

   While Al was busy getting into place, Axe and Grove exchanged shots with Hart’s Shadow Hawk.  He turned his eyes to the scene just in time to watch the Shad roll with the punches.  Light autocannons and Particle Projector Cannons drifted harmlessly across actively moving surfaces.  Axe’s Warhammer easily shrugged off Hart’s AC and Long Range Missile counter fire.

   Then, Axe’s Warhammer lifted into the air on a cloud of steam.  The HUD projected Axe’s course to a copse of trees just beyond the rightward bend of the northbound road.  Comms came to life with encrypted radio chatter.  It was one thing when either the Shad or Jenn’s Pixie lifted into the air. They were designs known for jump capability, and even had outward cues of that capacity in the form of rockets on the Phoenix Hawk’s back or a giant backpack on the Shadow Hawk.  The stock Warhammer design wasn’t so outfitted. It had to sacrifice either armor protection, weaponry, or stamina in the form of cooling capacity. Axe’s Warhammer had the outward appearance of a stock WHM-6R, and it fired PPCs with some regularity. This time, each cannon that comprised a lower arm on Axe’s ’Mech turned their azure beams on Bufort’s PHX-1K, joining the twin stream of shells from Grove’s own arm cannons.  Bufort also danced the damage off.

   Hart’s AC managed to ride into the explosions from the LRMs on Axe’s right shoulder, in spite of some fancy aerial spurts in the Warhammer’s downward arc.  The friendly blue of his colleague’s holographic form changed hue on the arm.  ‘First blood’ went to the NERG.

   “I’m almost in position,” Axe said, no sign of the rigors of the last couple exchanges in his voice. “Your turn, Rookie.”

    Al had just throttled to a stop.

   “Acknowledged,” he said.

   As Axe disappeared into the thick set of trees, Al throttled forward.  His Warhammer waded out of the trees and marched rapidly across the parking lot.  Just as metal feet hit pavement, Al surveyed his targets, using the reticles to see what the combat computers suggested.  He had to readjust a couple times while his ’Mech hopped over or stepped around the few parked cars in his way.

   The NERG were making steady progress downhill, having to slow while wading through trees at times.  His HUD painted likely paths of travel, very similar to how the different weather broadcasts projected hurricane trajectories.  The Commando would be the best, closest target once Al reached the northward road.  Waiting the half second for his ’Mech to level from another hopped car, he toggled firing solutions for the PPCs and waited for the signal of a good lock.

   “Gah,” Grove said. “I don’t have a clear shot.”

   “I’m going commando,” Al said, smirking invisibly at his pun.

   “Good idea. I’ll join you,” Axe said.

   Al was just at the bar gate when a clearing opened between him and the rapidly advancing Commando.  His HUD reticles flashed gold.  Reflexively, Al triggered his PPCs in a one-two combination.  First the right beam lanced out, then the second.  The Commando ducked right, putting some branches between it and Al.  Between having to burn through foliage and the target’s quick shifting dance, it was enough to only heat the armor for the few necessary seconds.  The light ’Mech looked like its name suggested, very human with a helmeted looking head and masked face.  Only the choppy dance movement and the almost superhuman speed at which it pumped its boxy arms and legs were any clue it was very much machine.

   The dodge also threw off Axe’s lone beam. 

   Axe Growled. “You ruined my shot, Rookie!”

   Al didn’t say anything.  Having worked with the seasoned pilot for a while now, he knew that was how Axe was.  Instead, he focused on making himself a difficult target.  He skidded his Warhammer to a halt just shy of the arm gate, pulling the throttle into reverse for a couple seconds.  Then, he went to marching speed again, letting his machine hop the gate.

   The Knights all seemed to home in on Axe, all paths diverging in his direction.  Even Land’s Commando ran over, hopping the road and stream to sidle into the trees.  It was Al’s best target, so he quickly toggled firing solutions for his PPCs while they recharged. 

   “Axe! What are you doing,” Grove snapped. “You’re not the brawler, Al is!”

   Axe was already airborne.  In a nice fake-out mid-air, he caught Land by surprise.  In the last few seconds of thrust, he angled down to ground behind the Commando.  Land recognized he didn’t have time to turn on Axe before the Warhammer opened up on him.  Al watched the Commando whip its arms down straight in his direction. Missiles burst from its chest and out of the pod on the right wrist.  It only took a split second for the missiles to streak toward Al. They still fell behind the laser beam from the Commando’s left wrist.

   Al’s machine jinked left then dodged right and shrugged down, still marching along.  The laser tracked but the armor diagram didn’t change color.  Ten missiles exploded all around the Warhammer, but looked too far away, front and behind, on the monitor.  In a couple cases where they were close enough, the Warhammer twitched the shoulders left and right.

   Uphill, the Commando was already dancing to the tune of the six missiles launched from the pod over Axe’s right shoulder.  Al’s reticles flashed gold, and he one-two tapped the triggers for his PPCs.  Both tracked true.  The first blackened the whole armored shell up and down the right arm before ripping a giant gash the entire length of the limb.  Plastic muscles burned and evaporated.  The metallic bone melted and warped.  Electric discharges from the ionized air danced up and down the limb, knocking out any sensitive electronics.  Safeties kicked in, and the mangled limb went limp. The final result looked like it had been left to overcook in a fire, with only half its visible mass left.

   The damage from the PPC blast rocked the Commando.  Then the second one hit the right leg. The armor absorbed as much of the energy as it could, before the beam started to rip a tear along the thigh. The damage wasn’t near as extensive as to the arm.  For a moment, the leg didn’t respond while the Commando toppled, but then it whipped out to correct Land’s staggering motion.

   That motion was well timed for Sir Land.  Axe had hopped a couple steps forward and swung in with a kick.  The Commando’s leg intercepted Axe’s kicking leg early, and tripped the heavy machine.  It tried to correct, staggering away to its right, but it had to avoid tripping on a tree.  It was too much, and Warhammer hit the ground, landing hard on its right shoulder and not so lightly on its right hip.

    “Are you all right?” Grove asked.

   “I’m okay.  My ’Mech’s a little beat up, but I’m good.

   “Get out of there,” she said, sounding concerned.

   “I’ll try. Running a little hot.”

   Al recalled Axe’s two failed PPC shots on Jenn’s Phoenix Hawk, in addition to the SRM volley on Land’s Commando.  Between those weapons and the hot jets, Axe’s Warhammer would be running a little slow from heat stress on the electronics.

   “I’ll try to make myself an easier target,” Al said, “maybe try drawing them off you.”

   Still out on the road, just shy of the bend, he hit the throttle to neutral, and his Warhammer came to a stop.  He envisioned a combat stance. Reading the impulses through the neurohelmet, the ’Mech mimicked his desired movements.

   Axe tried as hard as his machine would allow.  Propping itself on a tree, it stood and waded into the deeper thicket.  The sight was painful to watch.  The Warhammer looked all too human, like it was in pain or fatigued as it labored to move. 

   The Knights didn’t fall for Al’s bait.  They had figured out the BattleAxe variant of Axe’s Warhammer.  It had very little close-up punch.  Land wheeled his Commando around, chasing and outpacing Axe into the woods.  Jenn’s Pixie soared over the road, chasing Axe into the woods on a cloud of steam.  The Shadow Hawk similarly trailed along behind.  The odd one out was the Pixie 1K, which didn’t have the rockets on its back. It raced along a clearing in the tree line.

   Jenn was going to be landing directly behind Axe, firing onto the weaker rear armor.  Al quickly toggled solutions on her Pixie.  Fire discipline overroad his strong desire to help out a friend.  He didn’t want to be facing complications from heat build-up with the enemy only a couple hundred meters away.  He triggered only one PPC, but threw in the SRM launchers.  They were in effective range, though the projected hit percentages were not that great.

   His PPC was not fully recharged until Jenn landed.  Foliage and some defensive contortions were enough that his azure beam and six missiles did no real damage to her armor.  Her nice paintjob was ruined that much further, but that was it.

   The damage on Axe’s ’Mech was already light, with only his right leg and front right torso box discolored on the HUD from the Large Laser hits directed at him by both Phoenix Hawks, earlier.  The concentrated fire from the NERG was also light, now.  Their constant movement, the woods and range meant their fire discipline was coming into play, as well.  Axe should have been in good shape, but while he focused his missile pod on the Commando again, Jenn caught his machine square in the back.

   The shot from the rifle-like Large Laser in the Pixie’s right hand scored low, overwhelming a fair amount of the armor on Axe’s left leg.  But, the real killer was the unlucky follow-up shot from the wrist-mounted Medium Laser on the same hand which twitched up to land a breach shot straight between Axe’s shoulders.  On Al’s HUD, his colleague’s blue cartoon character received an icon over its head.  Gyro Damage. 

   The concentrated fire from the NERG was enough to stagger Axe in his defensive maneuvers, but the giant gyroscopic stabilizer was now out of balance.  The Axe-hammer tried to compensate for the sudden extra forward momentum.  Axe, however, was never the best pilot when it came to adverse situations.  Al knew this from countless simulations with the team.  Axe tried too hard to command the machine.  Going with his instructions, it toppled forward when trying to avoid another tree trunk.  It knelt hard, crunching armor on the shin and knee of the right leg, then punched the ground with the opposite cannon to stabilize itself.

   The NERG were not above kicking a Merc while he was down.  The Commando stepped forward and whipped a leg out to connect with the supporting arm, changing its blue hue closer to yellow.  Jenn continued the trot from her landing, coming close to whip a kick that crushed the armor of Axe’s left shin from behind.  Al’s HUD painted Axe’s cartoon leg red.  It wasn’t sophisticated enough to portray the actual damage sustained in the cartoon’s form.  Instead, an ‘Actuator Damage’ icon popped into existence next to the ‘Gyro Damage’. 

   For the briefest moment, he missed some of his older rides, which were good enough to predict and paint the actual damage on the HUD.  Though lots of practice had him used to the icons, he still found them kind of goofy.

   Al gave up on his stance, and throttled his Warhammer into a brisk march, angling to follow the bend in the road.

   “Just stay down,” Grove ordered.

   “They’re going to beat me to pieces,” Axe complained.

   “They’re not taking my bait, either,” Al said. “I’m on my way.”

   The Knights were unconcerned about making themselves difficult targets.  Instead, Jenn and Land settled themselves a safe but short distance away from Axe, waiting for weapons to recycle before pouring into him again and hopping forward to plant more kicks on his downed machine.

    Jenn got toggled for both of Al’s PPCs.

   Then he heard beeping.  Someone was tracking him.  He noticed the Shadow Hawk riding a column of steam in his direction, and was projected to land in the woods only ninetyish meters from where Al was headed.  His machine was already starting to weave side to side trying to spoof the enemy’s combat computers.  It was time to bring out the Warhammer’s full broadside.  Al worked his way through the remaining triggers, activating solutions for the remaining weapons and putting fire control of the cannons to the discretion of the combat computer.  When he was close enough, he spun his ’Mech to the left to face the Shadow Hawk full-on, and line up to back into the woods behind him. 
   
   Just as he started to turn, his PPCs tracked onto Jenn and fired simultaneously. Both beams found their way through the trees to land on her ’Mech.  One was neutralized by a well-timed duck and weave, but the other tracked home, and her red cartoon turned a bright yellow on its trapezoidal right torso. 

   Then Al concentrated on the Shad.  He and Hart seemed to time their shots almost simultaneously, both waiting for that range at which all their weapons saw a sudden change to easy hits.  Hart got there first.  Al finished clamping down on his triggers when he had to stiffen and ride out defensive motions from his giant ride. 

   The entire exchange took all of a couple seconds.

   First, the Warhammer dodged right to diffuse the crimson beam projecting from the Shad’s bulky wrist-mounted laser.  The armor display showed solid contact with the left leg.

   The Quartet of ruby beams from the Warhammer’s lower chest played harmlessly over the enemy.  The Shad twisted a beam off a leg and hip while bringing up its left arm to intercept a couple beams halfway through burning its central and right upper body.

   Then the Warhammer took a step back to present glancing faces to the stream of slugs traced from the giant cannon over the Shad’s left shoulder.  The motion was too slow, and the armor diagram on the left leg glowed a brighter yellow.

   Finally, it ducked back as two missiles from the giant canister over the Shad’s left shoulder exploded in front of Al’s machine, down and slightly to the left.  Faint coloration decorated the center torso and left arm.

   The other five missiles from the canister didn’t track onto him.  Instead, they veered overhead and slightly to Al’s left.  Out of the corner of Al’s eye, on the compressed panoramic monitor, they exploded around Grove’s machine.  For all the branches and leaves that were destroyed in the blasts, Grove’s Warhammer was unchanged.

     Al caught the flashes from Grove’s light autocannons, and watched the Shadow Hawk finish its defensive dance with a couple quick steps back.  The first stream managed light discoloration on the enemy’s left leg, but the other burst followed on as the limb moved, impact sparks spreading out ineffectually.

    The ‘heat wash’ that was popularized in shows and books wasn’t anything like what Al felt while he put the throttle into reverse.  There was a slight increase in temperature, and he could hear liquid moving and fans whirring to protect the electronics and the pilot in the cockpit.  But it wasn’t as uncomfortable as the story folk would have him believe.  It wasn’t enough to make him break out in sweat, nothing more than he already did in unmentionable places while in an enclosed room. 

   But, the thermal tracker for his machine’s internal heat was rising swiftly, like the temp gauge in a car after the radiator has blown or otherwise lost pressure.  In this case, though, the radiator fans kicked in automatically and coolant pumps whirred to life.  The gauge quickly halted its upward progress.  In his soundproofed cockpit, Al couldn’t really hear the activity.  He only knew what it sounded like when present to see the techs test the equipment.

   Still, it wasn’t moving back down yet, either.  That would take a few seconds longer. 

   His Warhammer labored to back through the woods just as painfully as Axe’s had only a few seconds before.  In front of him, Hart didn’t pursue.  Sparing a glance uphill to the woods, Axe was doing an interesting study in a partial stand to twist his ’Mech around before kneeling back down.  Al blew out a disgusted sigh through his nose.  Axe’s armor was turning deeper orange and red in places, and he had one more new damage icon hovering over his machine.  It was more actuator damage on the mangled left leg.

   His ’Mech beeped in his ear again, drawing his attention forward.  Bufort’s Phoenix Hawk 1K was charging over the hill, and would be closer to him than Hart’s Shadow Hawk in the few seconds of recharge time.  Al decided to trigger his short range launchers on the fresh target.  As warm as his ’Mech was, the chances of success weren’t great, but with three independent trackers tied to three pairs of short range missiles, one of them was likely to get a missile through.

   To Al’s surprise, the NERG took a turn of bad luck.  As Bufort’s Pixie hit the road to run over toward Al, something he or his machine did caused the road to buckle.  Coordination between Knight and ride faltered when it tripped and stumbled.  The Pixie’s arms went wild and when it tried to catch itself, its foot slid out from under it on the normally unyielding pavement.  Chest and leg armor deformed where it impacted the road, and sparks flew as its momentum carried it into the woods at the end of the bend.  It slid to a halt to Al’s right.

   With Bufort as his designated target, the Warhammer automatically twisted its upper body to track. Al tried to help a bit by turning to follow while continuing the backward movement.  There was a brief instant of gold flashing from the reticle and Al took it.  The missiles flew out and forward, corkscrewing around, but ECM, brush and foliage, and the unpredictably sudden stop of Bufort’s skid by a tree made all missiles explode too early or late for any effect.

   Al had to stiffen again when his ’Mech suddenly sidestepped left.  Explosions flashed on his HUD around his machine, the blasts from missiles audible in his cockpit as muted thuds or felt as minor vibrations.  Leaves disappeared from view on the other side of the glass, and on the monitor his view of Hart’s Shad cleared up when a ruby beam cleared away even more.  The shuddering impacts from Hart’s autocannon were nearly simultaneous with the flashes, catching the Warhammer’s other leg at the end of its drastic move.   

   The radiators and coolant pumps surged again, and Al felt his Warhammer’s motion become smoother, stronger.  Watching Bufort struggle to stand, Al kept his throttle in reverse, wading into the dense woods to set himself up for a better shot.  He toggled only the body armament at the rising Pixie, leaving the fire control to his ’Mech’s discretion. The cannons he kept free for some close-up clubbing.  Bufort seemed all too willing for some fisticuffs, turning his ’Mech to face Al when it was on its feet.

   Uphill, motion caught Al’s attention. Jenn abandoned the beating on Axe, jetting over the trees to land in the woods overlooking the bend where Bufort fell.  Only Land’s Commando remained to keep Axe occupied.  The encrypted exchange on the radio confirmed what Al suspected.  They were rushing to help a downed friend.

   “Holy crap, Rookie,” Grove said a little belatedly. “They’re all gunning for you now.”

   “I see it,” Al replied calmly.

   “It’s not much, but I’ll help you,” Axe added.

   The following chaos was hard for Al to follow. Lots of shots were sent at him from many directions, and his ’Mech’s defensive maneuvers, combined with lots of leaves and branches, kept most of the shots from connecting.  Though he did see the armor diagram change colors, he was focused enough on Bufort that he ignored the information.

   Through his focus, he watched Bufort’s right arm beams, wrist and pistol, burn into his ’Mech before a small laser from the Warhammer’s waste tagged it while the other three lasers played harmlessly elsewhere.  The Pixie’s upper body was enveloped by a huge cloud of six missile explosions.  Then, a Blue beam from uphill intersected the ruby beam from the Phoenix Hawk’s chest, and slammed into the left arm, redirecting that wrist laser.

   The Pixie twisted to the side, head tilted like it had been socked with a right hook and lightly discolored from damage.  It stumbled back a bit, hit a tree, and fell to the ground.  It landed on its right side, then continued to roll onto its chest.  Bufort was still recovering from the ordeal, his ’Mech moving like a man just woken from a nap. 

   Al saw his opportunity and pounced.  Ignoring the sudden call of pain from Axe, he throttled forward.  His Warhammer arrested its backward motion easily and marched forward a couple steps, pushing past a couple thin trees.  Just when it was about to walk over Bufort’s machine, Al triggered a kick.

   The Enemy machine tried to push itself aside in time, rolling onto its left.  But, the Warhammer’s wide foot caught the Pixie on the back, just inside the shoulder, and brought its weight down, crushing the back armor and mangling the supports underneath.  There was still just enough there to keep the arm attached, but the internal damage was enough that it did something to Bufort’s engine.  His cartoon overlay got a red icon indicating ‘Engine Damage’.

   The HUD put up a friendly notifier that Bufort’s cooling capacity had stalled. He wouldn’t be cooling off unless he shut his machine down.  In spite of this, Bufort was still struggling to stand.  Al backed away, triggered his torso weapons for another firing solution.  When he had a second, he took a quick glance at Axe.

   The Axe-hammer was no longer kneeling.  The left leg was a mangled mess, registering black on Axe’s cartoon, with no power to it.  It also had light damage coloration to the visored cockpit.  Along with the ‘Leg Destroyed’ and ‘Gyro Damage’ icons, there was a new ‘Engine Damage’ icon.

   Al became aware of the trailing end of the conversation between Grove and Axe. 

   “-You all right?” Grove asked, sounding concerned.

   “Yeah.  Just a little bruised from the rocking,” Axe answered.  “Don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

   “Hang in there. I’m on my way.” Kip Jones said. 

   It had been only a minute and a half of combat, and finally the last of the Command Lance was on his way out.  His appearance sparked a new wave of coded chatter.  None of the NERG seemed willing to stick around with yet another seventy-ton Warhammer marching out of the gate. 

   “You have won this day, mercenaries,” Jenn said for everyone to hear.  “Let us withdraw and we’ll leave in peace.”

   “Accepted,” Kip replied.  “Take your people and leave.”

   Al quickly canceled the fire order on his weapons, and watched Bufort’s Phoenix Hawk trudge out onto the road and up the hill.

« Last Edit: 18 March 2017, 12:21:57 by Daemion »
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Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

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Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #6 on: 16 March 2017, 17:17:50 »
Sorry for the delay. Most of you know how life likes to get in the way. I plan on working on this a little more diligently, now.

Enjoy.

If you have comments or complaints, please PM me. Always open for feedback.
It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

I helped make a game! ^_^  - Forge Of War: Tactics

snakespinner

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #7 on: 18 March 2017, 01:13:37 »
It would sound better if the guards were the New Earth Royal Dragoons instead. ::)
Nice update. O0
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
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Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

Easy

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #8 on: 18 March 2017, 10:04:51 »
cleanup
« Last Edit: 29 May 2019, 13:09:19 by Easy »

Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #9 on: 18 March 2017, 12:23:49 »
Well, I had to fix the dates between the two chapters. I had originally intended for this to be in 3040, but when I got back to it, I was thinking it'd be nicer to be closer to the Clan Invasion of 3049.

I'm going with my initial idea. For those who've downloaded the files, I've updated the attachment to Chapter 2 with the changes.
It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

I helped make a game! ^_^  - Forge Of War: Tactics

Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #10 on: 18 March 2017, 14:15:09 »
Excerpts from
Terran Meritocracy Field Manual
Commonly Fielded BattleMechs

In the early days of the Meritocracy, it was deemed necessary that any forces on rotation as mercenary guards for Comstar's HPG stations needed to field technology common to the elite of the house militaries so as not to rouse suspicion of their origin. The stockpiles on Terra after the Amaris Crisis left a wide array of machines for Earth forces to field. However, wanting to streamline a majority of logistics issues, they went with a slim number of chassis. For the large portion of their heavy forces, they went with the Longbow, Rifleman, and Warhammer frames, largely due to the similarity in leg design.
...

Warhammer
The Warhammer was chosen to be the trooper Mech in common use.
...

Because of the wide range of test variant ideas, Earth engineers quickly came up with a bunch of standard armor configurations, as well as standardized mounting points on the Warhammer frame. This allows any WHM variant to quickly be modified in a hangar to a different configuration. Once this was perfected on the 'trooper mech', it was quickly applied to the other line chassis.
...

Variants
The most common variant of the Warhammer used is a version of the 6K variant. Dropping the Machine Guns freed up a lot of space for a wide variety of options. While the stock K went for extra cooling capacity, it didn't have to be that way. Earth technicians and engineers played around with the design, looking to old ideas for potential modifications. They came up with a trio of different varieties.

- WHM-6Ka -
The most common modification of the 6K chassis was to simply up the armor. Taking cues from both the 6D variant and the Longbow LBB-0W, they found ways to properly increase the thickness of the front side torso boxes as well as key sections of the legs, making them resistant to breach from an anti-Mech autocannon (class AC/20). There are minor variations of armament in this class.

The WHM-6Kah drops the small lasers for an extra heat sink. It's not a popular modification, but can be found throughout the errant Earth forces. This variant is derisively known as the HammerHands variant because of the rough similarity to the Davion design based off the Warhammer and BattleAxe.

The WHM-6Kam is one of the most common variants. To combat the ambient ECM, the single SRM 6-Pack pod is modified to accommodate three 2-Pack launchers. There is a mild increase in heat output, but it has a higher rate of success on a rate-of-fire basis. It also has versatility when incorporating incendiary munitions, able to pick out up to three different targets at once.

The WHM-6Kalm is a variant that comes in second to the 'am', swapping the SRM for a Long Range Missile 5-Pack. All kinds of minor modifications from the extra ton of weight can be found, based on pilot taste. Some simply go for extra heat dissipation (WHM-6Kalm2). A great deal use the 6R chassis for the minor modifications. Most pilots like to upgrade the small lasers to medium class, making for a solid inside punch to accommodate the minimum range of it's long range firepower (WHM-6Ralm3). Some use the 6R ports to add another pair of small lasers (WHM-6Ralm2).  Some go so far as to retain the 6R machine guns and ammo in place of the small lasers (WHM-6Ralm).   


- WHM-6Kx -
Nicknamed the BattleAxe or Axe-hammer variant, Earth designers looked at the BattleAxe chassis to find ways to increase mobility on their Warhammer Chassis. Most significantly, the capacity to jump. Usually assigned to companies expecting to face harsh terrain with sharp elevation changes and obstacles, some can still be found in 'fair terrain' formations as specialist units.

The stock variant drops the torso guns, leaving the SRM-6 as the only close-in punch, while allowing the 6Kx to jump in the same way as a Shadow Hawk -2H.

A more radical variant drops a heat sink to get the chassis full jump capacity (WHM-6Kxx).

An alternate variant really focuses on making the Axe-hammer a true fire support machine, putting an LRM-5 in place of the SRM-6, and retaining the full 6K heatsink capacity (WHM-6Kxl). Like the Balpeen-hammer, this one is strictly a team player, relying on a bodyguard for the close-up encounters.

Other variants are turned into mobile brawlers, looking a lot like a WHM-6D without the SRM-6, but without the full armor protection (WHM-6KDx). There is a mobile, anti-infantry brawler variant which drops a heatsink and the small lasers for the twin machine guns and ton of ammunition (WHM-6KRx). 


- WHM-6RDb -
Lovingly nicknamed - or derisively, depending on who you ask - the Ballpeen-hammer is a radical shift in performance. Outwardly, it looks no different than a standard WHM-6R. But, the particle cannons that give a Warhammer its punch, what it's most famed for, are dropped for a pair of Class-2 long range autocannons each with an independent bin of ammo in the corresponding arm. A significant drop in heat capacity leaves lots of room to keep the short range firepower and add the Battle-Axe's jump capacity, as well as modified armor configuration of the 6D. Earth engineers noticed that there was deminishing returns on a full 14 tons of armor, and found a way to squeeze out a half ton. This combined with only a half-bin of machine gun ammo left room for an even eleventh heatsink instead of the initially planned base-10.

The long reach of the cannons, combined with the jump capacity makes the Ballpeen-hammer a mobile support unit. It's been justified that the cannons make great anti-vehicle weapons, turning a tank formation into nothing more than pill boxes before they can get close enough to deliver hurt to the forces the Ballpeen is supporting. The broadside capacity of the 6R is still devestating when enemies reach close range, and the jump capacity allows the Ballpeen to take full advantage of it.

Most commentators will point out that what the Ballpeen-hammer does can be readily performed by any of the Rifleman variants in Earth employ. The Ballpeen-hammer is depolyed in small numbers, and is usually used as a body-guard unit for Rifleman and Longbow formations, using it's long range firepower to supplement the support formations and then its broadside weaponry to keep people off of the specialized units.

It is also retained in most errant commands as a template should logistics fail for the more commonly employed PPCs. Autocannons are easy to manufacture on most worlds and keep supplied. In a pinch, a Warhammer can put on a Ballpeen arm. The same is true in reverse, however the 'Mech loses stamina when having to deal with heat.

The most common variant of the Ballpeen is based on the fact that the WHM-6Ka and 6Kam are the stock Earth Warhammer. It keeps 6Ka armor profile and has better heat capacity (WHM-6KRb). A simple swap of the legs can remove the jump capacity, adding the weight capacity required for the extra heatsinks necessary for the PPCs.

The next most common variant can be quickly converted into a WHM-6Kxx with the removal of the chest guns and swapping the cannon arms (WHM-6Kbx). The fact that it's not supposed to see close-up combat justifies the 6K's weak armor profile on this Ballpeen variant. Most WHM-6Kx and 6Kxx keep the armored gun housings on the torso in place strictly because of this potential conversion. It also helps surprise enemies expecting a stock WHM-6R.

A true long range support variant puts an LRM-5 in place of the SRM-6 (WHM-6RDbl). This variant is usually paired with a stock Ballpeen as part of bodyguard units.

...

Persons of Interest
- Slammer's Hammers -


During the New Earth Civil War of 3040, Slammer's Hammers was a TMSF errant force deployed to the Comstar HPG station under the guise of mercenaries. The command lance of the company was typical of most company command formations, having a variety of variants working in tandem to supplement the main force as needed.

Major Cyprus "Kip" Cameron-Jones - WHM-6Ka Warhammer
Captain Lilly "2nd" Grove - WHM-6KRb 'Ballpeen'-hammer
Warrior William "Axe" Bennet - WHM-6Kxx 'Axe'-hammer
Warrior Alius "Rookie" Cad'ver - WHM-6Kam Warhammer



 
« Last Edit: 20 March 2017, 12:12:22 by Daemion »
It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

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Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #11 on: 18 March 2017, 14:16:10 »
Just tell me there is a TDR-5SS on this rock, and you have a reader for life.

I think I can accommodate you, but it might be part of the loyalists.
It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

I helped make a game! ^_^  - Forge Of War: Tactics

DOC_Agren

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #12 on: 18 March 2017, 18:41:18 »
 [cheers]More Warhammer goodness [cheers] [applause] [rockon] [watch]
"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!"

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #13 on: 03 April 2017, 17:23:51 »
Loyal Son of Earth – Chapter 3

Excerpt from Debrief
Subject: Alius Cad’ver, Lieutenant, TMSF

“Adams told me that the biggest reason the interstellar governments don’t go dredging for a wider talent pool in the serf and bourgeois classes is simply to keep the high-tech goodies in the hands of the elite.  That’s how it’s been explained to me on a number of occasions.  Adams happened to bring it up when discussing why he wanted to go the way he did when outfitting his army.  According to him and others, people are indoctrinate by the elite into thinking that only certain lineages make good pilots.  I’ve found this indoctrination in a lot of BattleTech universes.  And, I think it applies to this one, too.

“It’s interesting, learning the effect a class-based system has on the conduct of warfare, especially one where paranoia in the ruling classes subverts any nationalism or patriotism that can galvanize the lower classes.”





Comstar HPG Compound
Outskirts of Foundation Point
New Earth
12 July 3040

   Al watched Jenn and the Knights retreat.  Once they were over the hill, he started his ‘Mech toward the road at a very casual stroll.  All the while, he kept an eye on the ridge top, with minor visual sweeps of the horizon to either side of the compound wall.

   “Something’s not right about this,” he said, voicing a minor feeling at the back of his mind.

   “What do you mean?” Grove asked.

   “I’ve never known Jenn to be this incompetent.  They have to know how many ’Mechs we field and what they are. Why did she only show up with a lance?”

   “Oh,” Grove drawled in sudden epiphany. “So, you know Knight Rainier?”

   “Well, different versions of her.  The Jenns I’ve encountered were usually competent commanders and decent pilots or soldiers.  This doesn’t fit her.”

   “It’s easily possible that the Guard and militia were not ready to deploy in numbers for something as simple as an arrest,” Grove answered.

   “He’s right, Second,” Kip said.  “This is Foundation Point, capital of Tau Ceti IV.  They have more than enough guys on standby, they could have overwhelmed us with N-E-M,” he spoke each letter separately.  “Something’s up.  They could be rallying for an attack.  Axe, I hate to rush a sensitive operation, but you might want to move a little faster.”

   Al was in the parking lot, moving toward the gate.  On his compressed panoramic monitor, he only had to look slightly to his right to see the friendly cartoon of Axe’s Warhammer finally on its good foot.  Painstakingly, it was hopping along, bowling over trees since it couldn’t dance around them with finesse. Thankfully, there were some rather large ‘dear trails’ for him to follow.

   Then, as if sensing Al’s thoughts, something was highlighted and he focused his attention on what his machine had found.  It was a helicopter sporting the ever popular Channel 1 News logo and colors.  High up, it was far enough away to not be perceived as a threat.  It also wasn’t armed.  But, local news made for semi-effective spies.

   “Awe, crap,” he stated. Then, he transferred the data to Kip, who also cursed.

   “Well folks,” Kip announced, “we’re committed, now.  The local news will be showing off our prowess to the locals.  Judging from how they seem to have acted before, it’s a good bet the ‘good governor’ will be spinning it as us practically declaring war on the New Earth Government.

   “Someone get Adams on the line,” Kip finished.

   “Hold position at the gate-house, Rookie,” Grove said to Al.  “Cover Axe until he gets inside the wall.”

   “Understood,” Al replied.

   “Once inside, get the Techs on your machine, too,” Kipp said.  “You’ll be left with Gonzalez’s team.  Once you’re fixed up, you’ll rendezvous with us at Adam’s estate.  Gonzalez will have the coordinates.”

   “Aren’t you going to stick around and have us move in force?” Axe asked.

   “We simply don’t have the time,” Grove said.  “This fight wasn’t just a PR stunt.  It’s possible they are mustering the rest of Foundation Point’s Militia as we speak to pen us in while you two make repairs.  We have to leave now before they can do that.  We’ll be splitting up the Battalion for show, but we should have enough to stop any forces they might use to chase us.”

   “Adams is on board,” Kip announced.  “He says his personal guard will meet us at the provincial border.  See you soon, Axe, Rookie.”

   Axe and Al replied in kind, and watched Grove form up with Kip and a demi-company of Warhammers.  They started marching to the east as soon as a red sedan waving a small red, white and blue pendant came out of the gate.  They were followed by a demi-company of Riflemen, and another demi-company of Longbows.
   



13 July 3040
   
   The ’Mech bay in the Comstar Compound was well constructed, with tall, six-story walls made of something resembling concrete.  A lattice of alloy steel I-beams and catwalks ran all up and down the longer walls and along the ceiling.  Doors at either end split open for machines of almost any size to pass. 

   Al’s Warhammer stood like a statue in Bay Four with a fresh coat of paint.  Preformed armor plates were already on hand when it came in, and it was a matter of swapping out the damaged plate and applying paint.  It was done by the end of the day.

   In Bay Three, Axes’s machine hung by one of the many pulley and crane systems suspended from the ceiling track array by heavy metal cables.  It stood on the naked right leg, but the other leg lay on the ground covering the giant ‘3’ painted on the concrete floor in front of the cubicle. 

   The detached limb was in a state of disassembly.  The blackened scarred plate assembly for the upper leg lay to either side while the shin and foot still their ragged armored shells. It was a complete contrast to the very clean, brand new twin lying on a heavy wheeled trailer only a meter away, ready to be installed.

   Al paused in his work on removing the wrecked plate from the shin.  It was hard to place the damage from the attacks when looking at the exposed upper leg. The internal main support was bent from the kicking, and the many bundles of myomer, looking very much like muscle cords were cut and burned in a lot of places. 

   The damage was really telling on the armored shell in front of him.  It was practically black, with very little of the tan paint used by the Hammers left showing.  Instead, laser burns took up most of the back and outside, extending out to almost the edge of each face from the rent.  Some black missile blast marks cratered the front, the black soot from the explosives painting the surface many centimeters beyond the craters.  Then there were the large dents from the kicks, where soot and paint alike had been scratched away.

   No dents from machine guns or autocannons.

   Al found the seam he was looking for and raised the saw.  One thing about the Hammers, they wanted everyone to pitch in.  Not only was it efficiency in man-power, but they wanted every member to be somewhat competent in a lot of things.  Sure, if there were one or more things you were good at, you did them.  But, when you weren’t and you were on duty, you got to effectively go to school and then apply your new knowledge. 

   With a history of experience in other matching universes, Al was decent at repair and maintenance work.  His unique physical make-up meant he was handy for heavy lifting, and didn’t tire as easily as most other folk. Right now, they didn’t trust him with the finer repairs, but someone had to tear down the damaged stuff so that plates and bone and myomer could be recycled for future use.

   Before he hit the trigger, a string of curses echoed through the cavernous bay, originating from the platform in front of the Warhammer’s open chest. 

   “That’s it,” Tech Master Perry Gray shouted in anger. “I’ve had enough!”  The soft clank of a heavy tool being set down was just loud enough to reach Al’s ears, much like Perry’s weary comments.  “I need a break.”

   Someone mumbled something.

   “Naw,” Gray said. “This is going to take longer than we thought.  Let’s take a break.”

   Hearing all he cared to, Al thumbed the trigger.  The saw whirred loudly to life.  When he started cutting at the plate, the grinding noise overpowered any other noise in the bay.  He set to work guiding the blade down the seam on the shin’s outside.  Normally it would be vertical, but was horizontal with the leg’s prone position. 

   He was almost done when he saw a shadow out of the corner of his left eye.  His fine neck hairs felt the air disturb with the approach of an object.  Al forced himself not to react, before someone tapped him on the shoulder.  Thumbing the trigger while he extricated the saw, Al held it gingerly and turned to see who wanted his attention.

   “We’re taking a break,” Gonzalez said, his strong baritone carrying in the open space.

   Al glanced around the bay and saw the tech staff heading toward the break room.  Bill ‘Axe’ Bennet nodded at Al while passing nearby. 

   Both he and Hugo Gonzalez were almost twin poster children Mediterranean.  Both had the well-built college-wrestler body, not too lanky, but not too thick.  Their only real contrast, other than voices, was in the hair.  Axe had a full head of dark hair, piercing dark eyes under a just heavy enough brow, and a chiseled, square jaw.  Gonzalez had a higher hairline on a flatter, broader forehead which was commonly wrinkled with amusement.  Axe’s voice was raspy, counter to his looks.  Gonzalez’s voice was rich, almost like listening to a radio talk-show host.

   “Okay,” Al anwered, and turned to continue his work. 

   “Al!” Gonzalez barked.

   Al refrained from hitting the saw trigger an looked on the lance commander again.

   “Take a break,” Gonzalez said.

   “Okay,” Al said with a nod.

   He set the heavy saw down and followed everyone else through the door in the southern wall, which happened to be the long wall opposite bay three and four.  It opened into an enclosed walkway that led to the office and personnel building offset to the southeast.  The rec room was near the heart of the building, on the first floor.

   It was a large lunchroom, though not very tall, at about three meters – ten feet – high. A short wall off to Al’s right had a window which opened into the kitchen.  It was well after lunch, but there was still a cook at work and someone manning the check-out station.  The door Al entered was one of three exits, the twin right across from him and one opposite the kitchen window.  The whole place was filled with round steel alloy tables and chairs.  A few Comstar personnel populated the room when the techs came strolling in. 

   Though he wasn’t ready for a snack, Al did get one of the local flavored, colored waters.  Cool-Aid in all but name, the brand was just as local as the flavor.  He hadn’t been on New Earth long enough to know what a puckermelon was, but he liked the Juice Quencher flavor.  It reminded him a lot of pineapple, but with a bit of lemony zing.

   Currency transferred and drink in hand, Al took a seat at an empty table next to the one occupied by the guys in charge.  His eyes sought out one of the overhead tri-vid screens hanging from ceiling along the walls.  His attention, however, was on the conversation between Gray, Gonzalez and Axe.  They were already discussing the state of repairs. 

   Al spared a quick glance at Gray.  The middle-aged Master Technician was just starting to show signs of old age on his eyes and forehead.  The wrinkles exacerbated with the frustration written plainly on his face.  Gray’s patchy, platinum blonde beard he rubbed infrequently had a few white hairs that stood out.

   “The laser that breached your ’Mech fused a lot the fastening bolts on the gyro housing,” Gray said.  “It’s one thing to have to cut through a bolt and re-drill the mounting hole in the support housing.  But, it’s going to have to be done with over a dozen.  This could take another day.  And, I don’t know what we’ll be able to do with the old gyro.  Sure, it still works, but those mounting bolts are part of the casing.” 

   “Look, look,” Axe said excitedly.

   Al was already looking at a vid-screen, and his attention focused on it when a news brief came on from a commercial break.  The young woman anchor’s head and shoulders quickly disappeared to a scene showing the errant members of Slammer’s Hammers.  The twin columns of ’Mechs were trotting along steadily, while a pair of Rifleman bracketed either side, radar aerials twirling and guns pointed menacingly at the camera.

   “Must be footage from a Militia jet,” Gonzalez muttered.  “No civilian craft would be crazy enough to get that close to a hostile force.”

   The footage circled the formation, the Rifleman taking up the rear while another pair stepped out of the column to take up firing stances.  After about a minute of this, the camera veered, the jet peeling away.

   Axe shushed the lance commander.
   
   Newcombe appeared sitting in a studio across from another, male, news commentator.  “Rest assured we’re keeping an eye on these rebel criminals.  We have forces in place should they start rampaging across the countryside, but we’re still marshaling our forces for a definitive strike.”   

   “Wait,” Axe said. “They haven’t attacked, yet?”

   “They’re giving nobles in the region the honor of making that attack,” said a nasal voice.

   All heads turned to look at the young, male Acolyte sitting with his feet up at a table very close to Al’s and Axe’s.  He was wearing the standard Comstar duty coveralls, and not the more formal white duster they called ‘robes’.  His green eyes pulled away from the tri-vid to look at Axe.

   Axe shook his head.  “So, you’re telling me that the NEM and NERG,” he pronounced them as words, nem and nerg, “haven’t raced in to decapitate this obvious rebellion because he’s farming out the task to a loyalist?”

   “It’s probably more than that,” Al said.  “It’s probably also a feeler for just who might stand to support Adams.”

   “Right,” Gonzalez drawled. “Anyone who answers the call is loyal.  Anyone who abstains might be someone who might be friendly to Adams.”

   “Adams is a household name,” the Acolyte said.  “He has friends who won’t be taken in by this sham.  Whatever Governor Newcombe has planned, this conflict is going to grow.”
 
   “Who are, you, son?” Gray asked.  “How do you suppose this?”

   “My name’s Villem Depply.  And, I don’t suppose this, I know this.  I used to be from a noble family here on New Earth,” Depply said, “and one of the things we had the privilege of doing was undertaking the defense of our holdings.  Sure, we were able to spend the wealth gleaned from our property as we saw fit. As long as the governor got his cut, he didn’t care.  We had a good town with a decent mining facility.  We spent a great deal of our money on making sure the people were happy.  Growing up, I got to play with the children of the town almost as if they were my cousins.  We were all like family. 

   “Well, one day, our estates were targeted for a raid.  Dad had, at the time, been given an opportunity to move up in circles. He was enrolled in a MechWarrior academy under the pretense of joining the Eighth Lyran Guards. 

   “Mom got the notice and was given the privilege of marshaling our forces.  With dad away, our personal guard was simply not up to the task.  Our company of old tanks would have been slaughtered by a full BattleMech Company.  So, when we got the notice, mom deferred to upstairs.  She declined the privilege and asked for support by the Militia. The Knights of New Earth answered the call and earned the honor from repelling the invaders.  Was quite the show.  I have the documentary on file of the incident.

   “But, by doing so, our family got a mark of dishonor.  What appeared to be a mere privilege on paper was actually a social requirement in practice.
   
   “It was no secret that many from the Land lineage who visited Depply didn’t like the friendly nature of the townsfolk.  They complained that the lack of formality was disrespectful, and they attributed it to my family’s lax rule.  My parents always shrugged it off. 

   “Turns out, many of the Lands had enough pull that they used this one slip to oust our family.  We lost our title and holdings, and it was given over to someone else.  Dad lost his sponsorship in the academy.  With nowhere to go or anyone willing to take us in, I was sent to Terra,” He paused, glancing around the group.  “Excuse me, I mean Earth.  And, I became the loveable Comstar Acolyte you see now.”  He smiled at his own joke.

   “Anyway, right now, I bet the Governor’s putting out the call to anyone near Adams and his estate and letting them handle it.  If some nobles do decide to form a coalition force, it’ll take a day or two to work out who’s in charge and work out battle plans.  Then, they would have to muster their forces.  The kink in this process is that many nobles in Americana Province are close friends with Adams.  His is one of the founding families from before the Star League.  There’s more loyalty in that group than to their liege lords on distant Tharkad or New Avalon.  And, some people look at our noble emperors as late-coming thieves.”
It's your world. You can do anything you want in it. - Bob Ross

Every thought and device conceived by Satan and man must be explored and found wanting. - Donald Grey Barnhouse on the purpose of history and time.

I helped make a game! ^_^  - Forge Of War: Tactics

Daemion

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Re: Loyal Son of Earth: A Rise of the Terran Meritocracy story
« Reply #14 on: 03 April 2017, 17:28:02 »
Loyal Son of Earth – Chapter 4

Excerpt from Debrief
Subject: Alius Cad’ver, Lieutenant, TMSF


“Why is that important?  Well, it has a lot to do with the BattleMech.  It is the ultimate land warfare machine.  You would think that they would be made in numbers that surpass anything like conventional vehicles.  Heck, you even have Land/Air ’Mechs which can turn into an Aerospace Fighter, opening up space combat to BattleMechs.

“But, in these class societies, the BattleMech has been turned into a status symbol.  Instead of innovating, trying to improve their version faster than anyone else, and proliferating the ultimate war machine, the elites have instead kept the numbers small, and worked the system so that only people they think are worthy can acquire one.  Everyone else is forced to work with something not as good.

“Adams isn’t the only one to believe this, and he certainly has me convinced it’s true.

 “While it may not be the case in all BattleTech universes, it seems to be a common theme that ’Mechs are never fielded in large numbers.  More often than not, it’s not for lack of machines, or people with aptitude. Though, that’s been true in some cases.  In this universe, ’Mechs are everywhere.  There are a lot of private concerns on New Earth with their own private guards or hired mercenaries alone.  And, New Earth is one of almost two thousand populated worlds within a thousand light years of good old planet Earth.

“Adams managed to acquire a few ’Mech forces above and beyond our unit, but we would end up having to fight a lot more who answered the call to the defense of the realm.  Throw in the tanks of many personal retinues and those of the planetary militia, and even the hordes of infantry, and it easily looked like we might be outnumbered.

“But, Adams had an ace up his sleeve.”





Provincial Border
Americana Province
Silver County
New Earth
17 July 3040


   As soon as the Techs gave Axe’s ’Mech the green light, eight Warhammers, six Riflemen, and six Longbows started a cross country trek to Adam’s estate in Silver County, Americana Province.  It was surprisingly close to the capital, only a couple days march at a steady forty kilometers per hour.  During that time, there was no sign of pursuit.  However, Al’s HUD pinged some heavy DropShip traffic high overhead.  He couldn’t help wonder if trouble wouldn’t be waiting for them upon arrival.

   The enhanced company arrived at the border the morning of the Seventeenth.  The sun was well on its way skyward when Al saw a large line of BattleMechs arrayed along the horizon. They all matched, but his Warbook could not identify them.

   “What the heck are those?” Axe idly asked.

   Before anyone could answer, Al’s HUD painted them all in a friendly blue. Then he noticed Hammers ’Mechs interspersed among the strange army.

   “Whoever they are,” Gonzalez said, “they’re friendly.”

   As if on cue, Kip’s voice started to broadcast to Al and the other new arrivals. “We don’t have a lot of time.  The Governor has declared military action. A company of Knights led by Paladin Marshall are inbound supplemented by a battalion of militia. It looks like mostly Vedettes.  I’m giving you all your assignments right now.  Each of the Warhammers will lead a lance of Adam’s secret weapon, here.  You’ll only have a few minutes to get used to your charges.  The fire support companies will fill in as I direct.  Get to it.”

   “Roger,” Al said, echoing the voices of Axe, Gonzalez and the others.

   A NAV beacon lit up on Al’s HUD.  He steered his Warhammer in that direction and kicked into a full run.  After a couple minutes, passing by strange ’Mechs and a friendly Warhammer like highway mile markers, he spotted his ‘exit’.  Four of the strange machines were highlighted with color icons close to his NAV point.  They were down between two swells in what looked like an open grassy field with only a couple small forests.

   Each of the ’Mechs looked like an empty box had been attached to a square hip section with a pair of equally boxy legs and flat, platform feet.  The open portion of the box was covered with tinted window glass with some small camera lenses poking out near the middle, and bracketed with a quartet of missile tubes.  The arms were reminiscent of his Warhammer’s, each shoulder attached to an upper arm support that braced a huge cannon.  The cannon tubes were actually large cylindrical housings with the actual nozzle poking out of the center on the firing end.  Much bigger than the cannons on his Warhammer’s arms.

   Al’s charges each had a unique color icon hovering over their heads.  A quick glance ahead showed no more friendly icons.  This was the end of the line.  He ran up to his NAV point and brought his ’Mech to a halt.

   He highlighted each of his four charges with his reticle and opened a localized channel.  “Greetings.  It looks like I’ll be the guy in charge of this group for a little while.  My name is Alius Cad’ver.”  His name sounded more like Elias, and Al was glad they couldn’t read the spelling right now.  Seeing his name in print often brought up questions.  “Right now, my codename is ‘Rookie’.” 

   This prompted some chuckles.  Al noted a mix of men and women in the response.  He was about to ask for names, but Kip interrupted.

   “Militia inbound.  Make your introductions short.  We have some fighting to do.”

   “Okay,” Al said, addressing his lance. “I was going to ask for names, but that’ll have to come later.  I see you’ve been assigned color designations.  That’s how I’ll refer to you for now.  We can become better acquainted when the fighting’s over.”

   He got four different affirmatives.

   Throttling up slowly, Al centered his Warahmmer in the middle of the group, turning it toward the bulk of the Militia formation.  Again he halted and waited.  On his HUD, the red highlighted Militia Vedettes spread out only so much before coming to a halt.  They were all well out of sight, the closest only half a kilometer away.  The twelve Knights took up positions at the head of each formation.

   Al listened to a cacophony of coded chatter as the NERG and NEM got a look at the enemy for the first time.  Al suspected that what he was teamed up with was merely gun-enhanced IndustrialMechs of a local manufacture.  He’d seen them before on his tour of the Capital at work in factory areas or at the drop port.

   Then a voice came over a general frequency that reminded Al of old TV shows and movies he’d seen in another life.  He had no doubt that the raspy deep voice was just one of those similarities to the actor in Question.  But, the name brought the actor’s face unbidden to his mind, and he couldn’t help bark a short laugh.

   “This is Paladin Chuck Marshall to the forces arrayed before me.  Please, tell me you’re not serious.  Do you think a bunch of IndustrialMechs with guns are going to stand a chance against trained Militia with top-of-the-line equipment, let alone the elite members of the Royal Guard?  Stand down.  Let us through so we can take Adams and his traitor supporters and accessories into custody.  The rest of you will be free to go back to your lives.  You have two minutes to comply.”

   He made it sound so reasonable.  It didn’t help that Al and the Hammers were some of the accessories Paladin Marshall was talking about.  He would have to fight, at the very least.

   Kip answered.  “I’m sorry, Paladin.  Everyone you see here has pledged their support to Adams and the ideals of freedom.  We will not back down.”

   “Very well.  You started this fight.  We’ll be the ones to finish it.”

   While the Paladin issued his reply, Grove was already on the line to Al.  “Hold the end, Al.  Don’t let anyone slip around the northern flank.”

   “Got it,” he said, then switched to his lance frequency.  “Brown, Black, Blue and Green.  We hold the line here.”

   “Brown here,” a sultry woman’s voice answered.  “Acknowledged.”

   “Black acknowledged,” a bass of a man’s voice answered.
   
   “Blue acknowledged,” a woman with a nasal alto replied.

   “Green, confirmed,” a decidedly deep African male said.

   They sat tight, watching the friendly blues mix it up with the unfriendly reds a kilometer to the south, to Al’s left.  A minute passed, during which a handful of reds winked out intermittently.  One or two blues went with them.

   “To any crippled Militia tanks,” Kip broadcast, “We will treat you honorably, according to the Ares Conventions as long as you power down.”

   A couple more red icons went green.

   “Hey, Rookie,” Green said.  “Looks like we have inbound.”

   A small group of red icons were making their way north, following a dried out stream bed for cover.  The HUD indicated four Vedettes plus one of the NERG, a Marauder.

   “Think they’re trying to slip passed the main line?” Brown asked.

   “Probably,” Al said. “Let’s intercept them.  Black and Brown, on my right.  Blue and Green, on my left.”

   All four affirmed.  When Al throttled his ’Mech into a run he looked to either end of the compressed view monitor.  They had practically been in position when he split them up, but it was good to see their ’Mechs kicking into a run not far behind his.  They kept pace.

   Far out at the edge of the open grassy plain, the Militia flankers were behind a tall, gradual hill when they deigned to turn and engage the five ’Mechs barreling down on them.  The tanks kept heading north to clear the hill along its base while the Marauder started to climb upslope.

   “All right,” Al said. “Let’s swat the flies when they come out.”

   “If you don’t mind, Rookie, one of us should keep that Marauder busy,” Blue said.

   Blue was on the far southern end, closest enough to the enemy Knight. 

   “Go for it, Blue,” Al said.

   “You got it,” she replied with a little too much enthusiasm.

   “I’m playing the range game,” Al said. 
   
   He triggered a solution with both PPCs on the first tank that would eventually roll into view.  He was just about in optimum range, and throttled back to a fast march.

   “It’s best that the rest of us get close,” Brown said.

   “Sounds like you guys’ve worked together, before.  I’ll defer to your judgement,” Al said.

   “Thank you,” she said.

   Leaving the targeting to his combat computers, Al timed their fire in his typical one-two style.  The first beam caught the forward right plate just above the track while the other one landed home just above the driver’s viewport.  The entire front plate blackened, cracked and deformed under both assaults.  To Al’s surprise, the track snapped, rolling off onto the ground behind the tank.  The Vedette started to twist in place on the ground before the driver cut throttle. 

   The tank was stuck.  On Al’s HUD, the front plate was practically useless.  Kip’s call to stand down was still good, and Al would honor it.  Regardless, the autocannon still tracked, bursting fire on Brown as she raced forward with the others.  The following three tanks also grouped up fire on her, their shots coming intermittently while they rolled around their stuck companion.

   Brown’s twin cannons blazed along with Black’s and Blue’s against the second tank in the formation.  Their streams flew across the field, traced by the HUD like lights on a randomly timed screensaver.  The damage was telling, but they didn’t have quite the same luck Al did.

   The four ’Mechs continued to race forward, but Al saw that he was in good range, and throttled his Warhammer to a stop.  Taking up a stance, he spared a glance uphill just as the Marauder glided into view.  It waded into some woods just beyond the top of the hill, coming to a stop as well.

   Al did a double-take.  This wasn’t a configuration he was used to.  Instead of a cannon extending out over the stooped form of its upper body, he saw a missile tube reminiscent of one found on a vintage Griffin or Shadow Hawk.  The tube tracked onto the closest of Al’s team and fired two penta-clusters of missiles at Green in quick succession.  Very much like a Griffin. 

   “Oh, no,” Al muttered. “You’re not going to get away with that.”

   With a mental note of his heat level, Al wasn’t ready to commit to excessive build-up, just yet. He saw the cover game the Marauder was playing and wasn’t going to let that last.  Taking a moment to highlight the trees around the Marauder, he triggered his left PPC, since it was closest to the woods. 

   Once recharged, the azure beam swept across the grove like a saw.  Most of the smaller trees succumbed.  Some of the larger ones didn’t.  The Marauder danced off the portion of the beam that whipped across its waist and upper arms.  Leaves that didn’t fall with the trees flash-fired and vaporized with the static discharges from the ionized air. 

   The copse around the Marauder hadn’t completely fallen down, but there was much less cover.

   “There, Blue.  He’s all yours,” Al said.

   “Got one!” Brown cheered.

   Eyes back on the tanks, Al saw the crippled tank still active, firing away at Black this time.  It was the second tank in line that had smoke pouring out of a hole in the high forward sloped nose typifying the Vedette tank.  The paint had been sandblasted all around, the rest of the tank looking like it had weathered a hailstorm.

   The other tanks had spread out by now, continuing forward out of the creek and onto the flat grassland. 

   Al triggered his PPCs on the closest.

   Before recharge, he watched as all three remaining Vedette cannon barrels swung to track Green.  The HUD painted tracking markers from all three tanks and the Marauder on the hill.  Aside from Blue, who was still racing toward the hill, Al’s other three team members had slowed down to a brisk march.

   “Oh, shit! They’re all tracking me,” Green said.

   “I still don’t have a good shot on that Marauder,” Blue said, sounding worried.

   “You’ll be fine,” Brown said.  “We got you covered.”

   “Continue taking out tanks,” Black said.  “We’ll get the Marauder once we’re done!” 

   “Group your shots, guys,” Al said.  “I’ve got shots on the closest one on the left.  What about the rest of you?”

   “Splitting up, fire,” Brown said.  “We’re close enough for our SRMs.  Let’s use them.”

   “Good plan,” Black said.

   During the quick back-and-forth, the two remaining Vedettes put on a burst of speed to close the distance once they were free of the brush-laden creek bed.  In an interesting facsimile of Green’s defensive moves, the two tanks twitched and weaved as best they could.  One of Al’s particle beams burned harmlessly between nose and turret, though the second one changed the highlight color on the turret.  Likewise, autocannon streams from a few of Al’s team bounced harmlessly wide just as much as managing to land home.  Missiles likewise exploded too early or too late with equal frequency as those that hit home.  The track came off of the right-hand tank, and it skidded to a halt once the powerless support wheels started furrowing a giant rut in the ground.

   Two ruby beams shot from the Marauder onto Green, confirming the Warbook’s guess at an M model.  Those followed on with ten missiles from its overhead tube.  One hit Green straight on, right where the open portion of the box had clear glass. As Green’s ’Mech recoiled from that hit and a blast of autocannon fire, the other large laser beam nailed the arm.  The missiles peppered his ’Mech even more while one more burst of autocannon fire hit the body.  The third stream of shells traced across Green’s right arm and part of the boxy body, adding nothing more than dents to either location.

   Green cried out in pain and shock.  The ’Mech stumbled and went slack for a moment, toppling to the ground.  Next to Green’s color identification dot, two icons appeared.  ‘Sensors’ and ‘Life Support’.  Green’s ’Mech seemed to come awake once it hit the ground.

   Al’s eyes narrowed at what he saw.  The Armor on Green’s ‘head’ still had some function left, although not much.  He suspected he had just witnessed one of the flaws in the IndustrialMech design. 

   “Green, are you all right?”  Al asked.

   “I’m awake!  Just a little burned,” Green replied, sounding weak.

   To show he was still active, Green stood his ’Mech up with ease and started to backpedal toward Al. 

   “No, no!” Brown said. “The turret’s jammed on the second cripple, get to his sides. 

   All but Blue, who was way off to the south, moved to flank the crippled Vedette.  Even Green changed directions with his backpedaling, coming very close to the back of the tank.

    The last mobile Vedette turned and high-tailed it back to the creek. 

    “This is your last chance,” Brown snarled over an open channel.  “Stand down!”

   She had her guns trained on the first crippled tank.  It showed its defiance by tracking her ’Mech with its cannon.  The other crippled tank turned its gun at Al.  He had remained planted where he was, seeing no need to change position.  He was its only target.  He quickly canceled the PPC shots on the fleeing tank and changed onto the cripple.  He aimed for the undamaged side facing him, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to kill the vehicle, but hoped it would scare the crew into submission.

   Al’s Warhammer started to bob back and forth, bumping to an erratic beat.  The AC from the Vedette unloaded first.  Al’s Warhammer shrugged to the left, bringing up the right arm to absorb the shells.  The armor on his diagram changed from blue to light green.  Then, the Warhammer dropped the arm to aim both cannons at the Vedette.  Both beams burned the armor on the side, blackening and cracking it.  The Vedette’s armor icon darkened to near imperceptibility.

   Its IFF color changed from Red to Green as the tank powered down.

   “Smart,” Al said softly.

   Its twin didn’t fare so well.  Autocannon rounds blasted holes into and through the structure from many different directions along its front.  The tank’s colored icon disappeared from Al’s HUD.  Al clenched his jaw in the grim realization that no normal person could have survived the wrecking the interior received.

   The last Vedette was high-tailing it to the creek bed, and would be out of sight in seconds.  Green turned to follow. 

   “Let it go,” Al said.  “It’s running away. Let’s focus on that Knight.”

   Heat wasn’t having noticeable impact on the Warhammer’s performance.  Turning his attention to the Marauder, he shoved the throttle forward, and his ’Mech kicked into a rapid run.  He wasn’t in optimal range but by the time his PPCs recharged, he would be. 

   The enemy seemed unperturbed.  Either he –Al assumed it was a he - still felt strongly about the quality of his opponents, or he was providing cover fire and a distraction for the last Vedette to get away. 

    This would make his job easier.  Quickly triggering both PPCs, he keyed the timing to the combat computers.  Then it was a few seconds of running, during which he watched his team realign on the Marauder and the hill it stood on. 

   Streams of autocannon shells flew uphill intermittently, only visible due to the HUD tracing lines.

   Somewhere in between shots from Brown and Black, the Marauder launched its missiles at Brown.
   
   Al’s PPCs fired, first right, then left.  The enemy ’Mech was in the midst of jinking side-to-side to spread out the autocannon attacks when they hit.  In the middle of firing its own left arm large laser at Brown, the first PPC caught the Marauder on the left arm.  The impact threw the shot harmlessly over Brown’s ’Mech.  Thrown to the left, the other PPC tracked onto the left side when the Marauder quickly twisted back to correct the momentum and keep on its feet. 

   A couple more cannon bursts from the remaining team complicated the issue.  Except for where the PPCs connected, the Marauder’s armor damage was light, about half the autocannon attacks landing effectively.

   “Oh, YEAH!” Blue crowed.  “That’s how it’s done.”

   Al’s momentary confusion by Blue’s enthusiasm quickly disappeared when he saw the ‘Engine Damage’ icon appear just before the Marauder toppled backward.  Though it dropped from sight, the HUD’s cartoon overlay kept active, showing the enemy twisting to the right, to land on its side, sliding a meter or two down slope. 

   The Warhammer started to react to the PPC fire and running.  The rapid run started to slow to something more human.  Probability projections started to skip whole numbers.   Al brought the throttle back, and his ’Mech came to a halt.  Guessing that his opponent wouldn’t be going far, he triggered one PPC on the Marauder, letting himself cool.

   While the last Vedette circled the base of the hill, heading back south, the Marauder worked to its feet, fleeing south as fast as it could.  A spindly, bird-legged job, it was leggy, and didn’t have to rely on the rapid motion of the shorter legged Warhammer, Rifleman, or Longbow to match speed.  So, when it suffered from overheating, it looked more painful in its execution.  The steps it took once it stood were plodding.  But, as the heat sink arrays kicked in a second time, it started to move faster and more fluidly.

     As it ran, it cranked the damaged left arm back, tracking on the closest target.  Blue’s ’Mech may not have been a true BattleMech, but it still executed defensive maneuvers like one.  The large laser beam failed to hurt Blue’s machine.  Between avoiding autocannon damage and Blue’s own dance, it played harmlessly across the front. 

   Al’s lone beam lanced out when the Marauder jinked from one more burst of shells.  The beam burned into the left side again, the plate glowing for a moment before it started to unseem.  Ion discharges played over the surface, but other than ‘bone’ damage, no item was knocked out.  The glowing plate quickly darkened to normal, with only the exposed edges still fiery hot.

   This time, on the run, the Marauder kept its footing, weathering the last shots.  It quickly turned down hill, dropping from sight. 

   “Hold up, hold up!” Al called when he saw his team starting to give chase.  “We’re the flank.  We need to hold our ground, Rainbow Brigade.”

   He got a chorus of yesses, some of which were suppressing chuckles.

   “Green, how are you holding up?” Al asked.

   “My burns are more of a dull ache.  It only smarts when I move certain ways.  I don’t need immediate medical attention.”

   “Okay.  Let’s form up, take this hill and wait to see if they need us.”

   A quick glance at the rest of the battlefield showed a lot of Knights and not very many Vedettes in a disorderly retreat.  The Rainbow Brigade probably wouldn’t be needed, but he still marched his Warhammer up the hill for the better view.  From there, he got a good look south and saw way too many smoke columns matching those pouring from the two Vedette hulks behind him.  There looked to be just about as many neutral green tanks, too.

   “The Red Coats have come and were quickly slaughtered by the minutemen,” Al commented.

   “What’s that?” Brown asked.

   “Oh, just noting a loose parallel between something out of history,” Al said.




« Last Edit: 03 April 2017, 18:01:46 by Daemion »
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