Author Topic: Paul  (Read 14321 times)

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #30 on: 12 March 2017, 08:29:32 »
I'm going to push the free-spirited libertarian aspect pretty hard, along with a sense that this is a school for practical people who want to make money and survive their battlefield career.

snakespinner

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Re: Paul
« Reply #31 on: 12 March 2017, 18:27:07 »
Exactly how I thought Blackjack would be.
Great to see you continuing the story. O0
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
Growing old is inevitable,
Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #32 on: 13 March 2017, 21:35:06 »
Thanks, man. I should have some more material up soon. I really don't expect the next segment of my story to take six months...

DOC_Agren

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Re: Paul
« Reply #33 on: 15 March 2017, 09:18:43 »
nice and like others I like your take on Blackjack
"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!"

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #34 on: 16 March 2017, 08:24:39 »
Thanks Doc

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #35 on: 17 February 2018, 13:03:13 »
Okay, I know it's been a long time again, but I have like ten thousand words worth of new content for this story and it's about time I posted some of it.

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #36 on: 17 February 2018, 13:07:14 »
The world outside was a blistering ocean of sand, with a laser beam sun that somehow found a way to blind him regardless of his heading or position. His cockpit was so hot Paul thought he might be able to cook an egg on the dash. He just wasn't used to this.

He'd never really know what it was like to feel too hot. Summer in Denver just meant, being able to go outside the arcology without a survival suit. Most of his life had been spent hiding from the cold, but here he was, strapped into the cockpit of a WLF-1B Wolfhound, drenched in sweat, and wondering what would happen if he started using his weapons.

The WLF-1B was a simple machine with a simple weapons load. His primary ranged weapon system was a large laser with good damage potential out to around half a click. On the defensive side, he also had four medium class lasers. Individually they weren't much to write home about, but together they did considerable damage. The real advantage of the B model was that all four of the mech's medium lasers were mounted facing front, while the more conventional WLF-1 model had one laser positioned to the rear for back up defense. That might be an advantage in urban warfare, but Paul didn't intend to let anyone get behind him out here in the desert, he knew he'd be able to see most targets well before they came into range.

Paul's objectives were as simple as his battlemech. He was on picket duty, so all he had to do was wait out here in the sun. If some kind of enemy showed up, all he had to do was stay alive long enough to let everyone else know that the shit was hitting the fan. A secondary objective was to disengage and regroup with the quick reaction force, but he knew that part was a lot easier said than done. Contact with any kind of enemy force meant being engaged by at least four enemy mechs, and very potentially, scout mechs too fast to outrun. He didn't think he'd have to wait long, then he hoped he wouldn't have to wait long, then he realized he'd been waiting for a long time.

He tried to pass the time by making a game of checking and rechecking his sensors. When the timer on his wrist went off he forced himself to drink from the bite-valve draped over his shoulder. The water was cool and refreshing, kept cold in an insulated reservoir somewhere deep inside the thirty-five-ton war machine. When he got hungry he ate a small energy bar from the rations pouch attached to the side of his command couch. He checked his sensors again, and again. He took the small machine two steps back, then two steps forward to where he'd been before.

War was boring. At least that was the lesson they seemed to want him to learn out here. Paul had heard it said, that war was months of indomitable boredom, interspersed with instantaneous moments of sheer unparalleled terror. Well, he hadn't known that terror yet, but he was getting to know the boredom pretty damn well. He switched over to thermals and scanned the horizon for the twenty millionth time. He thumbed a control switch to increase the magnification and watched for even the smallest heat signature, or sign of movement. Nothing. He saw absolutely nothing.

An eternity later the radio crackled to life.

“This is Blue Lead. All units report in.”

One by one the other members of the training cadre reported in from their posts.

“This is Blue Two, grid position eighty-eight, twenty-two is clear. No sign of hostiles.”

“This is Blue Three, grid position eighty-eight, seventy-three. Area clear, no hostiles.”

There was a long pause, then the voice of Blue Lead came over the radio again.

“Blue four, report in.”

There was only silence as Blue Lead repeated herself over and over again.

“Blue Four, report in... Blue Four? Mira, do you copy?”

Eventually, she gave up.

“All units, we've lost Blue Four. Blue Five do you copy?”

It was Paul's turn.

“Blue Five here, all clear, no sign of hostiles.”

“Blue Five, I want to you leave your position and make your way towards grid location twenty-three, seventy-three. Blues Two and Three fall back to nav point beta. Red Lance, I want you to make your best speed to nav point beta as well.”

One by one they all called in responses to their new orders and began moving out.

Suddenly Paul had a job to do. He punched in the new navigational data and headed for Blue Four's last known position. The Wolfhound trundled up to its maximum speed of ninety-seven kilometers an hour, and Paul ran through his targeting and tracking checks before engaging his weapon systems with the master arm switch.

The Wolfhound wasn't a hard mech to pilot, but it was a pain to control the small machines heat curve and Paul was running headlong into a fight. He'd been warned to keep his distance, relying on the heavy laser alone would help him avoid counter fire and give him a head start in a retreat.

Paul checked his sensors again. He was still a long way out. He kept up the pace. It was about a minute later when saw the barrage of missiles streaking up above the horizon, a cloudy ark of cool white contrails. They weren't meant for him, but Paul could tell the real fight had already started.

There was a fury of radio chatter, and the general picture of what was happening started coming into focus. Paul and the rest of his unit were equipped with a mix of light, and medium mechs spread out over a very large area. The enemy force was a concentrated mass of heavy and even assault class machines. They'd smashed through the picket line by downing Mira in Blue Four faster than she'd been able to call for help. Now they were rapidly closing in on the small desert outpost that Paul and the rest of his people were supposed to be defending and things looked pretty bad.

Paul rolled into his new navigational point to find the smoking ruin of Mira's wolfhound, only it wasn't really recognizable as a wolfhound anymore. The head was gone, blown free from the shoulders by an automatic safety mechanism designed to save the lives of rookie mech jocks. The rest was a charred mass of perforated steel, and myomer bundles spread out over a thirty-meter radius. Paul checked his sensors as he scanned the horizon for visual contacts. A few hundred meters away he spotted the wolfhound's head half buried in sand, a massive red and white parachute waving above it in the desert wind. Continuing his turn he spotted something. A tiny black spec on the horizon. Bright white contrails rising high above it. An enemy fire support mech. He radioed in his position and the observation receiving nothing in response but static. They were being jammed. Paul was on his own. He quickly checked the briefing notes scribbled across a notepad on his knee. In the event of hostile action without access to communications, Paul was to consider himself weapons free. There was nowhere to retreat to so he'd have to fight it out on this own.

He thumbed through his long-range sensors, but the distant target was out of range. He flipped on this magnetic anomaly detector and scanned the horizon. Feedback from the direction of his new target was heavy. There were a lot of fusion engines over there. Paul punched in the new nav-data, and slowly started in on the distant target while doing his best to keep his eyes peeled for additional threats.

He closed the distance quickly and the silhouette of an ARC-2R Archer began to form where before there had been only a small black spec. His sensors caught it and the small machines battlefield intelligence computer properly identified it using internal image recognition algorithms. Continuing his advance Paul noticed that the Archer was flanked by two companions. His targeting system pulled them up as an AWS-8R Awesome, and a CPLT-A1 Catapult. They were all looking the wrong way, but Paul knew that as soon as he used his weapons there'd be nothing between him and the three much larger machines.

He thumbed through controls, deactivating all of the sensor systems that might give away his position. One of the most important things Paul had learned while attending the Black Jack school was that sensors worked both ways, and electronic warfare was a subject that every mechwarrior needed to be well versed in. His radar, lidar, and fusion reactor were all easy to detect, and in a medium to close range fight he wouldn't need radar or lidar anyway. He left his radar warning receiver, and magnetic anomaly detector on for now. Finally, he disengaged his communications system. As he continued to close on the enemy mechs, he slowly decreased speed to reduce his auditory signature as well. The targets continued to grow in front of him.
 
Without lidar, he wasn't one-hundred percent sure of their range, but his hud had a built-in ranging reticule that put them at about four hundred meters. The distance didn't seem to matter. They were still distracted, and missiles continued to jump from their shoulder and arm mounted launchers. He was getting really close now. At approximately two hundred fifty meters he flipped a toggle switch to activate his broad spectrum radio frequency jammer. The jammer filled channel after channel with interference, blocking communications, and some targeting systems. They'd have trouble talking to each other without switching to external mics, and speakers, but they'd also know something was up, and if they were smart they'd check rear-view cameras right away.

Paul didn't have time to delay, he aimed carefully and fired a full salvo of weapons directly into the back of the ARC-2R Archer. The temperature in his cockpit exploded as beams of light burst from his machine and filled the short space between him and his target. The light converted into kilojoules of heat energy as his weapons connected with the thin armor covering the support mech's ammunition bins. Armor melted and flowed from the impact area, as a secondary explosion ripped the machine apart from the inside out. The Archer was violently vivisected as it's left side torso split from the center all the way down to the pelvic support that held the legs. The machine toppled over in two different directions.

It was a small victory, but Paul had a lot of work to do very quickly. Checking left then right he saw the Archer's lance mates turning in reaction to his intrusion. The Catapult had wheeled around to face him but was back peddling away to clear the minimum arming distance on long-range missiles. The Cat didn't have any backup weapons so it was helpless inside of missile arming range. On his opposite side the much larger Awesome had also turned to face him, but instead of backing off, the larger machine was taking aim with its large class laser. The beam lite the sky between them, blinding Paul as it seared away armor on his mech's chest and left shoulder. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He needed to start moving right away.

Paul jammed the throttle to its stop and the small machine took a long stride forward. He turned towards the Cat, lashing out with two of his medium lasers and charging directly into the threat as the Awesome, now behind him, fired its small backup laser into his exposed rear. Paul fired again, the paired medium lasers shed armor around the helpless mech's cockpit but didn't penetrate, at the last possible moment he jerked the control stick hard to the right, then back to the left, bringing himself around and behind the Cat.

Now he had a shield. The Cat was turning, trying to expose Paul to his friend in the Awesome, but Paul matched his movement, keeping the slower moving missile boat between him and the iron giant a few hundred meters away. He took the opportunity to fire a salvo of medium lasers into the frustrated Cat's weak rear armor, before stepping out from behind it just enough to fire his large laser at the enemy Awesome, who'd now turned to come at him on his left flank. With both enemy mechs trying to shake him Paul wasn't sure how long he could keep this up. The cockpit was a searing inferno already when he fired another carefully aimed laser burst into the Cat's now damaged rear. Armor melted away, and Paul could see through to internal structures. He took a quick pull from his hydration tube. One more shot and the Cat would drop, but when it did he'd be without a shield and the Awesome had back peddled just far enough to use its missiles. Paul maneuvered out from behind the Cat yet again, this time firing his large laser at the other machines arm mounted laser. If he could keep this up maybe he could knock out the Awesome's main close range weapon, then close in for the kill. The shot made its mark, but it wasn't enough, and this time the Awesome returned fire before Paul could get himself back behind the Cat. The laser etched a deep furrow across his mech's chest and his diagnostic computer told him that he'd lost a good amount of armor. He quickly maneuvered back behind the Cat as a full volley of missiles exploded from the Awesome's chest, bright while contrails streaking out to meet him. Ducking behind the Cat, Paul was spared the onslaught, and in an interesting twist, a small number of missiles actually impacted the Cat's right side.

Frustrated the Catapult took off in a straight shot to clear the distance between him, and his lace mate. This was it, Paul wasn't going to be able to keep hiding behind him. As the Cat moved away, he carefully lined up his shot and fired all of his weapons into the Cat's damaged, and exposed rear. The enemy machine took another step and dropped to the desert sand. Heat spiked and alarms blared both because his mech was about to shut down and because the Awesome had locked him up for another volley of steel rain.

Paul jammed down on the emergency override control, while simultaneously engaging the throttle to its hard stop. The small machine sprang forward charging directly into the jaws of his foe. Time slowed, as his machine took one long stride after another. He saw the burst of contrails from the Awesome's torso mounted launchers, the thirty individual missiles freed from their launch tubes to rain destruction upon him. He saw the flash as the Awesome fired both of his lasers. More alarms blared, the Wolfhound took one more stride and there was a cacophony of loud metallic bangs as all thirty missiles found a place to impact his machine. Paul watched as one collided with his cockpit glass crumpling into a tangled, flaming mess as it bounced off harmlessly. He'd done it, he'd cleared the gap.

The Awesome's missiles hadn't had time to arm themselves. His mech registered damage from the laser strike, but the missile salvo hadn't really done anything at all. He jerked the control stick hard to the left and passed just meters from the huge machine which took a slow deliberate swing at him with its left arm mounted battle fist. Luckily it didn't connect. Paul was behind him now, and turning to get a shot, but the Awesome pilot wasn't stupid, he immediately put on speed and went into a turn. Paul was going to have to keep moving to get a good shot. 

As they circled it became clear that Paul wasn't going to get the shot he wanted. Instead, he began firing his weapons individually at the larger machine's legs. He started with his large laser, and followed with his mediums, one at a time, trying to keep them aimed at the same spot each time. The Awesome was an assault class battlemech with lots of armor to protect itself during slow lumbering pushes into enemy-held territory. Paul knew this was going to take some time, and he wasn't sure how much he had.

He was able to outmaneuver his opponent but it was only a matter of time before some of his friends realized they weren't receiving fire support. When they did, they'd pull back to see what had happened, and at that point, Paul's luck would almost certainly run out.

He kept up his attack bleeding armor from the Awesome's legs as he danced his smaller machine around just out of arms reach. After what seemed like an eternity the enemy mech's left leg buckled and it started to fall. Reaching out with its left arm the machine managed to catch itself and pivot in such a way that it was left in a sitting position. As Paul came around yet again, he found himself inside the striking arc of the Awesome's laser weapons.

He's already taken a lot of damage and this time as the larger mech fired, he watched all of the remaining armor on his torso bleed off as alarms sounded in the cockpit. Again his heat spiked, but this time it wouldn't go back down, a display showed that he'd lost a number of internal heatsinks around the reactor, and Bitching Betty was now politely informing him that he'd receiver critical damage.

The next blinding flash took him by surprise, more because he was now behind the sitting awesome than anything else. His displays had distracted him, and he'd lost his situational awareness long enough for someone to catch him off guard. Paul jammed forward on the throttle, and got his head back in the game, he quickly flipped his sensors back on and turned to face his new threat.

As he turned, he was confronted with a column of black smoke from the Archer he'd killed, and beyond that not one but seven enemy battlemechs in various states of disrepair. The closest, a Warhammer, its damaged left arm hanging at its side fired another particle cannon just as he noticed it. The impact threw Paul into his harness, and his battle damage indicator told him he'd lost his left arm. Paul returned fire with his large laser as his already blistering cockpit went up a few more degrees.

Paul couldn't take much more of this. He turned towards his new target as white contrails jumped from enemy mechs in the distance. He was already at a full run. He knew he didn't have much time, but the Warhammer wasn't very far away either. The little Wolfhound took one long step after another and the gap closed. Paul checked his heat levels. He had to time this one just right. The missiles above him filled the sky like a swarm of angry hornets. The space between him and the Warhammer narrowed. He fired everything he had just milliseconds before the impact. His smaller machine didn't have the weight, but at ninety-seven kph it had some good momentum. He smashed into the larger machine as the missiles fell on them both.

The world was gone, replaced with a silent darkness. Then the hatch cracked open and cool fresh air rushed in to meet him. Paul was drenched in sweat. He took a long pull from his hydration system and started to unbuckle his harness. Someone outside pulled his hatch all the way open. It was Dave.

"Dude, that was ****** insane!" he said as soon as Paul made eye contact.

"Thanks, man, but we all still bought it," Paul said as he pulled himself up out of the simulation pod.

"Yeah, but you killed like three of them and disabled another. No one else even came close, most of us never even got a shot off."

"I got lucky is all, I was ordered to investigate Mira's post, so when everything went down I was out behind them, if I'd been anywhere else I would have gotten crushed along with everyone else."

"Lucky or not, that run put you way up the ladder in terms of overall kill death, and total kill count."

The recruits of the Black Jack School kept a competitive training record which ranked them against their peers. Paul was above average for his level of training but he wasn't exactly at the top of the charts either.

"I'm not looking to win any awards, I just want to show that I'm worth putting in a real battlemech." As he said it a number of other recruits had wandered up to surround him. He noticed the other members of his training cadres, as well as the sim pit instructor Captain Merkel. As Merkel approached the chatter dyed and everyone snapped to attention, including Paul.

"Recruit Anderson, that was a good performance, but I can't abide this lazy show of post-mission etiquette. Recruits, hit the showers, then report to the debriefing room immediately!" she shouted, and the rest of the gathered recruits quickly moved towards to the locker rooms on the other side of the simulation lab.

After a quick shower to clean the sweat off, Paul found a seat in the briefing room. He watched as Merkel activated a large wall-mounted video screen, which began to display footage from the cadet's gun cameras as well as feeds from several overhead drone positions. It cycled through to the HUD of a Wolfhound marked Blue Four in the upper right hand corner.

“We're going to start with Cadet Yee. Mira, do you have anything to add before we start?”

Mira rose from her seat “no ma'am” she said.

“All right then”. As she spoke she initiated playback. “This recording isn't very long. As you can see, Cadet Yee arrived at her designated navigational point at mission time plus fifteen minutes just like the rest of you. She began to meticulously scan the area as you had all been instructed to do “ Merkel fast forwarded through the part where we waited in the desert for over an hour “At mission time plus one hour, twenty minutes she was cycling through her sensors when she received a contact” Yee's HUD flashed a red indicator on the right side, and as she turned to face it, the threat indicator exploded from one contact into three, then eight, and finally twelve. “Here we see Yee coming into contact with a heavy company of unidentified battlemechs.” The HUD displayed a mass of small red triangles each one containing a tiny but rapidly growing spec. Contrails began to rise into the air above them, as Merkel paused the footage. “This is where Cadet Yee made her first and last mistake during this mission. While she may have had just enough time to radio in an alert, she instead tried to take evasive action before engaging the enemy force.” Merkel restarted the video, and they watched as Yee tried and failed to evade the incoming missiles. The first wave all but destroyed her tiny machine, leaving it a crippled mess of shattered armor and torn myomer fibers. A fraction of a second later a barrage of particle cannon fire cut the feed. “That's how quickly you will die if you try playing shoot em up cowgirl in the real world,” Merkel said “Yee had a choice. She could have followed orders, retreated to form up with the rest of her unit and fight it out that way, or she could take off on a suicidal assault right into the snapping jaws of her enemies. She made the wrong choice, she's lucky this was only a simulation. It is unlikely that she would have survived this engagement in the real world.” Merkel keyed something in her palm and the perspective on the screen changed. It now showed overhead drone footage of the opposition forces moving past Yee's position in the picket line, towards the small outpost at nav point beta. Then the audio playback of their radio check-in began to play, and Merkel changed perspectives again to show several cockpit views at once as the members of blue lance began to move out. Paul could see his own cockpit footage on the far right. Just as he'd arrived at Yee's position Merkel paused the playback again. “This is the point where the majority of the forces involved made contact. The opposing force out massed yours by several hundred tons. For this defense to be successful all members of your unit needed to combine your fire to quickly defeat the larger enemy battlemechs, but you found yourself unable to do so as enemy jamming made communication difficult” She paused to let them watch the firefight. Paul was still out in the desert by himself, but everyone else was engaged. Merkel changed the view again so that all surviving members of the company were displayed around the border of the screen with a top-down drone view in the middle. One by one the cockpit views began to go black as the cadets started dropping like flies, and then there was Paul. They were gone, every one of them, and Paul was still on his feet. The view changed again, now it showed the cockpit view of his wolfhound and nothing else. He was charging the Archer about to fire when Merkel paused playback again. “Cadet Anderson, do you have anything to say about your actions today?”

“Not really ma'am, I guess I'm sorry that I couldn't get to the fight sooner”

She smiled just a little “Cadet Anderson, what is the first lesson of the Black Jack school?”

“Live to get paid, ma'am”

“Very good, so why didn't you attempt to leave the battlefield when you lost communications with your unit”

“Ma'am, I want to live to get paid as much as the next guy, and had I known that everyone was already toasted I might have called it a day, but without coms I had no way of knowing if we were all dead, or if we were winning, I don't think I'd be much use as a mechwarrior if I ran from every fight I thought I  might lose.”

Paul heard a mix of murmurs, and Dave reached over to offer him a fist bump. Paul took it.

“A good enough answer Cadet, and how might I ask were you able to sneak up on this fire support unit undetected,” she gesturing to the doomed Archer on screen.

“I turned off everything I didn't need ma'am, I knew that my active sensor systems might give away my position. I mean there's that, and luck I guess.”

“Explain your luck to me”

“Well I had no way of knowing this at the time but I arrived just as Blue lead was falling. These guys were distracted by the targets in front of them. If I'd gotten there just a few seconds later they might have been paying more attention to their surroundings.”

“Very good Cadet Anderson” she resumed the footage as a series of bright laser flashes cut the Archer apart.

The fight replayed and Paul noticed so many things he would never have noticed during the fight. By the end of it, he wasn't sure what had been skill and what had been blind luck.

“Cadet Anderson's gun cam footage shows us that with quick thinking and solid tactics a smaller machine like the wolfhound can take down larger opponents, but in the end without supporting elements or a path to retreat, his machine was also destroyed. When you arrive here on Monday I want fifteen hundred words from each of you on strategies for defeating a superior force, with emphasis on the use of electronic warfare tools, and stealth”. Some low grumbling filled the room, and Paul couldn't help but feel responsible.

As he made his way out of the simulation building and onto the parade grounds Dave caught up to him.           
       
“Hey dude, are you coming with us to the club tonight?” he asked.

“I don't know man, I've got a ten-hour shift at the spaceport tomorrow morning, and I have to be there at  sunrise”

“Dude, don't be a tool. We've got almost every cadet in our class meeting up at the Beach Club tonight. It's going to be a total rager! Also, when was the last time you got laid, bro? For real, you need to be there, I heard that tall blond star-fighter chick you like is going to be there. You wouldn't want to miss out on your chance to get some time in that hot seat would you?” 

“Well,” Paul ran through all of the responsibilities living inside his head. The three papers that needed to be written before returning to class on Monday. The uniforms that needed to be washed. The boots that needed to be shinned, and polished. The part-time job that he needed to be alert and not hungover for. Then he pushed all of it to the very back of his brain and said “Yeah, I guess I can go”

“Great, we're all meeting up at the gate around nine.”

“Sounds good man, I'll see you there.”

Sir Chaos

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Re: Paul
« Reply #37 on: 18 February 2018, 06:01:43 »
Nice.

This will be a tough act for Paul to follow, though.
"Artillery adds dignity to what would otherwise be a vulgar brawl."
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"Ultima Ratio Regis" ("The Last Resort of the King")
- Inscription on cannon barrel, 18th century

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #38 on: 18 February 2018, 07:14:32 »
Thanks, he's still got a long way to go. The pause in my posting came when I got stuck on his education and decided fast forward to his initiation to war in 3039. I've got a lot of great material for that part of the story and I'm working hard on filling the gap. I also have an actual outline now that covers the rest of the story which should help me write more quickly and post more often.

mikecj

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Re: Paul
« Reply #39 on: 18 February 2018, 13:35:56 »
Nice simulation
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

Sir Chaos

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Re: Paul
« Reply #40 on: 18 February 2018, 14:12:37 »
Thanks, he's still got a long way to go. The pause in my posting came when I got stuck on his education and decided fast forward to his initiation to war in 3039. I've got a lot of great material for that part of the story and I'm working hard on filling the gap. I also have an actual outline now that covers the rest of the story which should help me write more quickly and post more often.

I´m looking forward to that.

I´m just a bit worried about him now, as with that kind of performance, everything he does in future simulations will be measured against this one.

Also, his fellow cadets will perhaps feel the pressure to do as well as he did, and be tempted to pull crazy stunts in future simulations that would get them killed on a real battlefield.
"Artillery adds dignity to what would otherwise be a vulgar brawl."
-Frederick the Great

"Ultima Ratio Regis" ("The Last Resort of the King")
- Inscription on cannon barrel, 18th century

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #41 on: 18 February 2018, 14:47:29 »
@MikeCJ Thanks, man, I know it's a total fake out trope in Battletech, but I really wanted to pull the whole "he died, but it was just a simulation" thing. This part of the story was really begging for some combat, I want Paul to come of age in this story and that takes a lot of life experience and learning, but this is a Battletech story so I also really want to keep interspersing action to move the story forward and keep peoples attention.

@SirChaos I'm glad you're concerned about Paul, I think that means I'm doing my job. There is a lot more in store for him as he continues his training and things can get a lot more dangerous, especially when the cadets get into the cockpits of real Battlemechs with live weapon systems. But he's going to get a little reprieve from the dangers of the world in the next segment. Instead, he's going to party like it's 2999

Also, I don't know who added this or when but I'm eternally grateful.  [drool] MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MECHA ROBOTZ!!!!!!!
     

snakespinner

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Re: Paul
« Reply #42 on: 19 February 2018, 00:31:49 »
Paul had a lot of luck there which was great to see.
Now let's see how that party goes. }:) [drool] ;)
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
Growing old is inevitable,
Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #43 on: 14 August 2018, 10:03:20 »
Hey all, I know I disappear for long periods of time, but I haven't stopped working on this story and on that note I have a question for the group. I've done a ton of editing and rewriting on the material that's already been posted here. I've also come up with a working title for this story and I'd like to make a new post to replace this one. Is that something that people do here, or is it repetitive and a waste of electrons?

Daryk

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Re: Paul
« Reply #44 on: 14 August 2018, 18:27:28 »
I don't think the mods would object...

snakespinner

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Re: Paul
« Reply #45 on: 15 August 2018, 00:38:59 »
It all depends on the author.
Some are really into the story and tend to edit and rework until they are satisfied.
For others it is just a story and they move on to other things.
Do what you feel suits you, the story is an interesting one so I would not mind. :thumbsup:
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
Growing old is inevitable,
Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #46 on: 17 August 2018, 09:23:41 »
Cool, the next time I post, it will probably be a new thread with the entire story up until this point reposted by chapters.

ThePW

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Re: Paul
« Reply #47 on: 17 August 2018, 10:44:38 »
Hold Position, Here.
Even my Page posting rate is better than my KPD rate IG...

2Feb2023: The day my main toon on DDO/Cannith, an Artificer typically in the back, TANKED in a LH VoD.

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #48 on: 18 August 2018, 13:10:58 »

The Beach Club
Lott's Revenge
Blackjack
Federated Commonwealth
July 3037

The base dropped, and Paul thought the floor might fall out from under him. The world was a confusing blur of intense noise, flashing lights, and writhing bodies; all of it obscured by an alcohol-induced haze. He was back at the bar to order another drink when he bumped into Dave. 

"Hey man, aren't you glad you didn't stay home to study tonight?" He asked. Almost yelling to be heard over the pulsing bass.
 
"Yeah, this is great" Paul yelled back."

"Good, I'm glad you're having a good time. Have you had a chance to talk to that pretty blond starfighter pilot?"

"No, not yet."

Dave turned towards him swinging two shot glasses from the bar as he did so.

"Well then take these. A little liquid courage never hurt anybody."

Paul looked down at the two small glasses as he reached out to take them from his friend. One was glowing neon green, the other an intensely bright blue.

"What's in these?" he asked.

"The green one's called A Coolant Flush, the blue one's a Particle Shot. I don't really know what's in them, but there'll be plenty of time to worry about that in the morning."

"Well, you only live once, and probably not for a very long time," Paul said as he quickly shot back the two drinks. 

Dave reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit buddy, now go out and get the girl."

 Paul wandered across the dance floor to a corner where a tall blond haired girl maybe a year or two older than him stood staring back at him. He didn't really know anything about her. She'd checked for his name on a list when he first arrived and told him his barracks assignment. He didn't even know her name. He'd only seen her in common areas around campus, and never in any of the Battlemech specific classes or buildings, so he'd just assumed she was a pilot.

Her hands were outstretched behind her, palms resting on the face of a massive speaker that filled the world with driving bass, as it lifted her hair into a glowing halo around her face. She smiled from a thousand miles away, lost at sea in a world of sound.

“I'm” She cut him off with a finger over his lips, her smile had an inviting warmth, and her pupils were so dilated, Paul thought he might be able to see her soul. She raised her other hand to his mouth and placed a small pill between his lips, he swallowed it without thinking about the consequences.

She leaned forward to kiss him, pulling herself into him, and gently rotating his body until he was the one in front of the speaker. Then she pushed him back so that he could feel the pulsing rhythm coursing through his body, the bass replaced the beating of his heart, and the club felt like a kind of church. Temple to a religion Paul'd never heard of before.

He stayed there like that for a long time. Reality began to fade, and he realized that he felt better than he had in a very long time. He opened his eyes to look at her. She was still smiling at him, and he realized that he was doing the same. “Thank you,” he said, but she just kept smiling at him. She never said a word. The world around him continued to fade, his senses replaced by a chemically induced euphoria.
 
When morning came, the sun crept into the barracks the way it always did. Slowly illuminating the opaque film that covered a small window on the far wall.

Paul slowly opened his eyes stretching as he did so. Everything hurt, and he couldn't remember where he'd been or what he'd been doing when noticed her next to him. Stretched out between him and the wall was the lithe figure of a young blond woman. “Well that's interesting,” Paul thought as he grew more accustomed to his surroundings.

Something was off, the room felt strange. The window was on the wrong side... That's when he realized that he wasn't in his bunk at all. A millisecond later he realized that the sun was up, and he wasn't at work. There was no time to enjoy his little predicament. He had to go.

Paul gently pulled himself away from her and started looking for his clothes. He was pulling on his pants when he noticed her staring at him. As he put an arm through the sleeve of yesterday's wrinkled shirt, she said,

“I was hoping you'd stay for breakfast.”

“I'd really like to but I'm late for work, and I need to get over to the spaceport faster than I can run.”

She smiled at him, and suddenly he remembered everything. Well, almost everything. Then she sat up in bed, the sheets falling away from her body as she arched her back, bringing her arms together above her head in a long slow stretch.

“I'll take you,” she said through a yawn.

“Thanks but I know how to get there.”

She smiled again.

“This is the pilots Barracks. We have a bunch of choppers on the pad outside. It'll take a minute to warm up, but I can get you across town a hell of a lot faster than you can run.”

Paul didn't know what to say. Mostly he just wanted to stand there staring at her all day, but he knew he had to get to work.

“That would be great, thanks.”

She stood up and walked over to him. She stared into his eyes for a moment, then she leaned in and kissed him again. He wanted to stay there like that more than anything in the world. He reached out and pulled her into him. Everything was right with the world for a second, then she pulled away.

“Okay, let a girl grab a cup of coffee before she flies and we'll be there in a few minutes.” She walked to the far side of the room and began pulling clothes from a wardrobe. He watched her dress in an olive green flight suit.  A name tape over her breast read 'Kilburn.' When she was finished, she walked to a small refrigerator and removed a can of pre-made espresso. Then she dawned a pair of aviator sunglasses and gestured for him to follow her as she walked through the door.

Paul followed as Kilburn walked out of the room and through a hall that looked identical to the one in his Barracks. They made their way down the stairs and out into the already bright dawn light. She led him a short distance to a series of aircraft shelters before stopping to turn around.

“Okay so here's the deal, we actually do most of our flight operations over at the local spaceport anyway. We only keep VTOLs here, and we ferry them back to the spaceport for maintenance, so I'm going to volunteer for an early morning ferry flight and then we're going to sneak you on board. Sound good?

“Yeah, that sounds great, but I'm out of uniform, how are you going to get me onto the flight line?”

She paused for a moment. Then she took off her sunglasses and put them on him.

“Just act cool, I'm sure it'll be fine.”

And just like that she had turned and walked into one of the hangers. A few minutes later she came back and grabbed him.

“Okay we're good to go, just follow me and act natural.”

Paul wasn't sure what acting natural meant, and the more he thought about it, the more unnatural he felt, but he followed her along the side of the hanger and onto the flight line where some kind of attack helicopter was waiting for them. When they got to the front, she deftly flipped several body panels outward to form what looked like an entry ladder. Then she turned back to him.

“Step, step, step,” she said as she pointed to the small white protrusions. Then she put her hand up onto the point where the cockpit would close and seal, and said “no step!”
 
Paul followed her instructions, and quickly found himself sitting in the front seat of an attack helicopter complete with a myriad of strange and confusing displays, buttons, switches, and control sticks. He knew his way around a battlemech cockpit, but this was somehow entirely different, and as if she could read his mind Kilburn leaned in form somewhere behind him. She gently kissed his cheek before whispering “Now I know how you mech jocks are but don't go flipping any switches or turning any dials. You're sitting in the gunner's seat, and this bird still has training loads from last weeks war games loaded” into his ear.

She plugged a long coiled cord into a socket on his right side and flipped three switches. One of the MFDs came on and displayed coms info. A second later she dropped a bulky pilots helmet over his head and closed the cockpit. When the engines came online, Paul felt it more than he heard it. A dull vibration that ran through the entire aircraft. It reminded him of the speakers at the Beach Club. Above him, counter-rotating blades started to turn. Slowly at first, then faster and faster until he couldn't see them anymore. He heard Kilburn's voice in his head, as she tested the coms.

“Hey there tin-man, can you hear me all right?” she said

“I can, but what kind of name is Tin-man?”

“That's what we call mech jocks, on this side of the academy.”

“We call you propeller-heads.”

“You call all pilots that?”

“No, just the helicopter pilots, the rest we just call flyboys.”

“You know the majority of us aren't boys right?”

“I didn't, but I'm starting to figure it out.”

She laughed, and as she did so, the ground fell away. The chopper rose high above the tarmac then banked hard to the right before tipping forward and picking up speed. In the distance, Paul could see the descending drop plum of the mornings first landing.

So what kind of helicopter is this? He asked

“This is a Lockheed CBM, H-7 Warrior,” she said

“It's fast.”

“Well it's dirt slow compared to my Saber, but yeah it's pretty fast for a chopper. This is what we call a compound helicopter. The counter-rotating blades up top mean you don't need a tail rotor, so they put a pusher prop back there for extra speed.”

“What kind of weapons does it carry?”

“There's a class two auto-cannon in the chin turret and short-range missiles on the wings. But the Warriors are generally used more for scouting than fighting.”

“Does it have any armor?”

“Some, but not a lot, that's why they're normally used for scouting, and harassing. We ran a big wargaming event last month where we used harassing tactics to pick off a bunch of tanks and even two battlemechs, but where they're really enjoyable is in an 'air to air' fight. A helicopter dogfight is something extraordinary. It's very intimate. Everything happens very close because you're maneuvering way tighter than you'd ever be able to in a conventional fighter, plus the gun is moving independently of the aircraft, so that adds another dimension to things.”

“What happens if you run into each other?”

“Everybody dies.”

“Does that happen often?”

“I guess it's a lot more common during combat operations. We have pre-flight briefings and safety rules about how close we can come to other aircraft, but that doesn't always work out. We had an accident here two years ago where two Sabers ran into each other in orbit. I was just starting my flight training at the time, but it was a big deal for the graduating class that year.”

Paul was suddenly reminded that he lived in a world where his actions might not only kill him but someone else as well, maybe even a close friend of his...

“So how long have you been at the school?”

“I'm in the middle of my fourth year.”

“So you'll be graduating soon?”

"I'm in the full-length officer's training program, so I still have a couple of years left. I don't know how it works on your side of the academy, but we can do four years for a basic combat flight certificate, or six years for complete officer's training."

"It's the same for us. I'd like to get that officer's, but I don't think I can afford to stay here that long, so I was was going to get my Battlemech operations certification and start applying for jobs next year."

"Well that's too bad, it only took you two years to man up and approach me, now you're telling me you'll be leaving after such a short time."

Paul didn't know what to say.

"You knew I wanted to talk to you that whole time?"

"Guy's your age think we can't tell when you're interested in us, but it's always so obvious. You could have tried talking to me a dozen times over the last six months alone, but you never did."

Paul felt himself blush under the heavy composite helmet, and he was glad that she couldn't see his impressment.

"I guess I was just scared that you weren't interested in me."

"Well that's understandable, everyone's afraid of rejection, but you really shouldn't hold back, people like us don't get to live very long. Our lives are too short for what ifs and maybes."

Pau spent a minute thinking about what she'd said. He knew the life he wanted was a dangerous one, but somehow he'd been able to avoid thinking about the ways that might affect him, or the people he cared about.

"I guess you're right, I guess I hadn't really thought about it like that."

"It's okay, most first and second years really haven't gotten to that realization yet. I don't mean to sound like some grizzled veteran, but the instructors start spending more and more time making sure you know what's waiting for you out there in your third and fourth years."

"I'm supposed to go for my first live walk this coming week."

"Yeah? Well, then you're about to start getting that kind of talk from your instructors. You can't really die in a sim-pit, but once you get out there with the real thing, people start getting hurt. I still remember the briefing before they let us touch the controls of a real aircraft."

The chopper banked slightly, and Paul realized they were coming into land.

"You really didn't have to do all this for me, you know," Paul said.

"Yeah, but I love to fly first thing in the morning after a night a hard-partying," she said.

"I had a lot of fun last night, but I really can't afford to lose my job, so I feel like I owe you one. Is there anything I can do for you?"

She laughed.

"If you really feel obligated you can always buy a girl dinner sometime." as she said it the chopper shuttered as its landing gear impacted the tarmac.

"Then it's a deal," He said. As he did so, the cockpit began to open, and Paul was confronted with the smirking face of an Asian woman in a green flight suit. Before he could say anything she'd turned away to yell

"Hey Max, Piper's got herself a passenger on the old stride of pride flight!"

A short distance away Paul heard a man clapping. Then Kilburn reached out to pluck the helmet off his head. As she did so, she leaned forward and kissed his ear.

"Don't mind them, just a little 'flyboy' humor."

"I don't mind it, we have our own traditions when someone doesn't come home for the night."

"I bet you do."

They exchanged information, Paul kissed her one more time, and he took off running towards the loader mech gantries. He could already see the giant machines marching out towards the grounded dropship.

When he arrived at the hanger, he found Ted waiting for him at the base of his loader.

"Too much fun last night?" he asked.

"Something like that, yeah," Paul said.

"I was just about to run up the latter and take over for you on this shift," he said.

"I'm sorry I'm late sir, it won't happen again."

"Bull shit, it won't happen again. You're what, like nineteen years old?" Ted asked.

"Yes, sir."

"You get laid last night?"

"Well actually, yeah I did."

"Kid you've been for a while, and you know all of the official rules for working the docks, but you don't know the unofficial rules yet. So let me help you out. Unofficial rule number one is, 'it's always okay to be a bit little late if you got laid the night before. Now get up that latter and start that baby up, I'm glad you're here, I'd rather be in the office drinking coffee, than up in that som-bitch unloading containers."
   
"Yes sir" Paul snapped, then turned and ran up the latter as quickly as he was able.

The cockpit was hot, and the day was long, but in his mind, all Paul could hear was a pulsating rhythm, all he could feel was a driving bass, and all he could see was Piper Kilburn lying next to him in bed, the gentle light of morning illuminating her hair.

snakespinner

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Re: Paul
« Reply #49 on: 18 August 2018, 19:50:36 »
It's always good to see a story restarting with the main character getting laid. :D :thumbsup:
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
Growing old is inevitable,
Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #50 on: 18 August 2018, 20:21:15 »
Yeah, it was about time the kid got laid. I've had that chapter half written for like six months and I really wanted to get it wrapped up so I could move one. Up next, 'actually piloting a battlemech for the first time!' followed by 'learning the practical skills needed to be a true Mechwarrior', followed by a ton of other stuff so I can wrap up this whole school thing and move on to life as a mercenary warrior headed off to war, and the actual war part, which I've already written like 10k words of and really want to share with you guys.

Esskatze

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Re: Paul
« Reply #51 on: 19 August 2018, 16:44:34 »
Thank you for this story, The Smith. I really really like it, and I'd like to hear more about Paul. Happy to see you getting in the mood of publishing more chapters. Please keep it up!

DOC_Agren

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Re: Paul
« Reply #52 on: 19 August 2018, 17:06:43 »
Glad to see this back
"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!"

The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #53 on: 19 August 2018, 18:57:19 »
@Esskatze, and DOC_Agren

Thanks a lot, guys, I really appreciate the encouragement that I get from this community, and that's really helping me move forward with this story. I might have mentioned this in another thread but as a child, I really struggled with reading and writing. I never thought I'd be someone who could put words to paper at all and when I finally started doing so I was so nervous about putting myself out there that I didn't show any of my writing to anyone for a really long time. The fact that people are actually reading this story and enjoying makes me very happy and a lot more confident in my abilities as a writer. Thank you!

I wrote almost 800 words for the next chapter this evening, and it's really interesting to me to be writing this section because there's a speech by one of the instructors in it, that was actually one of the first key points or ideas of this story to pop into my head. I think it was actually like five years ago now, but I was thinking of an origin story for this Character I'd already written some stuff about (an out of work mercenary in 3048) and I was thinking about what the training academies must be like for mercs as opposed to regular army personnel. In school, people make friends for life, and I'm sure that people who get to know each other at let's say the Nagelring might be close friends for the rest of their careers. But the mercenary life is different. Mercenary companies are small and everybody needs to eat. Chances are that your best friend from school won't get a job with the same people you do. One day, you might find your self, staring down the barrel of your former best friends gun. When you're in school to be a merc everyone else around you might try to kill you one day. That's going to be a lot for a nineteen-year-old kid to take in. Especially one who's already made some close friends.   

mikecj

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Re: Paul
« Reply #54 on: 20 August 2018, 06:50:35 »
 stride of pride flight   ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D

Thanks!
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
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The Smith

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Re: Paul
« Reply #55 on: 20 August 2018, 15:39:31 »
@mikecj, I can't take credit for that one, but I wanted a sex-positive euphemism for "walk of shame" and I found "Stride of pride" too good to leave out.

Dave Talley

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Re: Paul
« Reply #56 on: 20 August 2018, 23:23:00 »
"yes sir I got laid, no sir I dont remember anything"
Resident Smartass since 1998
“Toe jam in training”

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JA Baker

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Re: Paul
« Reply #57 on: 24 August 2018, 23:23:26 »
Briefing Room Charlie
Blackjack School of Combat
Blackjack
Federated Commonwealth
July 3037


The briefing room was a theater for the awkward little noises that you only ever heard when there should have been silence.  The creaking of old leather chairs as keyed up cadets fidgeted anxiously in anticipation of the day's events. The tapping of pens and pencils against desktops, and notebooks. The faint jingle of someone's keys. The impromptu symphony building to a crescendo under the clicking heels of Hauptman Bekker's mirror black boots.

Paul's attention was a targeting laser. This felt like the most important day of his life up until now. Today he'd be piloting a real battlemech for the first time. His palms were sweating on the armrests of the briefing room chair, while he shivered in the intense air conditioning and lightweight garb of a mechwarrior.

All of the cadets waiting to go out today were dressed in the traditional cargo shorts and lightweight combat shirts of their chosen profession. Both were designed to wick heat and moisture away from the body while working in the hot-box confines of a battlemech cockpit, but waiting in the briefing room was like weathering a blizzard.

Bekker approached the small podium and began to address the class.

"Good morning cadets. There's an overused expression you may have heard; 'today is the first day of the rest of your life,' well in many ways I think this applies here today."

"All of you have sacrificed something to be here today. Many of you bet your entire future on the opportunity to be here. Most of you traveled great distances to study at this school, and I know for a fact, that each and every one of you has worked very hard as a student of The Blackjack School over the last year and a half."

"That hard work placed you in this room. We don't have enough staff, or battlemechs to take every cadet in a cadre out on the same day. Today you'll be the first because those of you sitting here represent the top twenty-five percent of students in your training cadre."

"This is a cumulative score that includes your academic performance, your general level of physical fitness, and your performance scores from time spent in the simulators. As students, every one of you should be proud to of your accomplishments up to this point. From here on your training becomes something much more tangible. From this day forward we're not just talking about theory. From this day forward there're no middle grades. The world we're training you for is a simple pass, fail existence. If you always pass you get to keep living. If you ever fail, you (or people you care about) will die. From this day forward we're not teaching you as students, we're training you as killers."

He took a long pause, looked down at the podium and then back up at the group. He sighed slightly then said.

"There's one other thing that all of you need to know about the lives you've chosen for yourselves.  I want you to take a second to look around this room. I want you to look at the other people around you."

Bekker paused to give everyone a chance to awkwardly glance at each other.

"Before you leave this school, every single one of you is going to become something dangerous.  We're going to make you into a weapon, and you're going to go out into the Inner Sphere, and you're going to sell yourselves as weapons to anyone who can pay."

"While you're here, we encourage you to build relationships. We put you in a position where you're likely to make friends, and that's great, but once you leave this place every other mercenary mechwarrior in the Inner Sphere is a threat. While you're looking around at the other people in this room, you should know that any one of them might kill you someday."
 
He paused again. This time he looked down at the ground and sighed deeply, before looking back up at the cadets.

"Once upon a time, on a shitty little moon at the ass end of the galaxy, I killed my best friend. He was my bunkmate here for four years. I didn't want to kill him. Hell, I didn't even want to fight him, but I did. I fought him. I killed him. It was my job; the contract demanded it. It's what was required of me, and I met that requirement."

 "We encourage a certain amount of friendly competition here. Being the highest scoring pilot in the simulator might get your name on a wall somewhere, but there're no high scores in the real world. In the real world, being the best just means making it back to base alive that day."

The room was genuinely silent this time. Paul couldn't hear a sound. He'd never had to think about what would happen if one of his friends was sitting in the cockpit of a mech on the other side of things. Could he even do that? Was there any amount of money that he'd take to kill his best friend? The life of a mercenary was supposed to be a life of unbound freedom, but beneath the romanticized facade, there was always going to be a master, and the contract was a wipe.

Someone in the distance coughed as Bekker drew a large helmet, and vest from behind the podium. 

"By now you've all had sim-pit training, so you're all familiar with both of these to some extent. In my right hand is a standard issue cooling vest, these are the same ones you've been using in the simulation pods, so I shouldn't have to explain anything to you, just make sure to plug the damn thing in before you start rolling. I don't want to have to I.V. bag any of you for dehydration."

He paused as he lifted the large helmet in his left hand above his head slightly.

"This, on the other hand, is a standard issue nuerohelmet. While we have had you using an effective facsimile; the simulators don't require an actual nuerohelmet to operate, and we don't entrust our cadets with working models until they begin real-world pilot training. Each neurohelmet must be specifically calibrated to the individual who'll be using it. So before we head into the barn, you'll each be issued one for the remainder of your training."

"As you already know the neurohelmet is a complicated piece of electronic equipment that acts as an interface between the battlemechs you'll be piloting, and your cerebellum. This device isn't magic. It doesn't read your mind or make you 'one' with the machine, all it does is modulate your sense of equilibrium into a series of signals that the battlemech's diagnostic interpretation computer can understand..."

He paused for what seemed like a long time.

"I just wanted to give you all a second to let that sink in before I repeat myself, THE NEUROHEMLET IS NOT MAGIC!'

He yelled near the top of his range.

"Over the last hundred years or so a lot of people have descended into babbling techno-worship, not understanding how something works don't give an object supernatural power. These helmets are made in a factory by regular people, they aren't forged by dwarves in Svartálfar."

"Finally to conclude this short lecture, your neurohelmet is a valuable piece of mission specific equipment. It is a helmet that you wear on your head. It is not a punch bowl! It is not a cooking pot! It is not a chalice of achievement! Every year I have at least one cadet who finds an interesting way to damage or destroy a neurohelmet, don't be that cadet!"

"Now, that we're covered the fun stuff, it's time for your first pre-mission briefing, this one will be rather simple because we won't be using any weapons, or trying to accomplish anything very complicated."

A sizeable wall-mounted screen came to life behind him, and Bekker gestured towards it. The screen displayed a large map of the Blackjack School, the adjacent city of Lott's Revenge, and the large open training areas to the south and east. Bekker continued his speech, and as he did so, a series of waypoints began to appear on the screen.

"Your mission this morning is a simple one. The twelve of you will be suited up with cooling vests, and calibrated neurohelmets. Each of you will be paired off with an instructor pilot, and the two of you will report together to your assigned CHM-3 Chameleon where you will wait for further instruction. To make things easier, all twelve of our tandem seat Chameleons are currently located in Barn-One so we won't have to work in three hangers at the same time."

"Once ordered to do so you will make your way into the cockpit assisted by technical personnel. I don't want to see anyone fall to their deaths today so we'll be using a scissor lift for ingress to the cockpit. Once in the cockpit, you will obey any and all commands by your accompanying instructor, as you cold-start the fusion reactor and 'when ordered to do so' pilot the mech out of the barn and onto the tarmac outside. Once outside you'll be following the waypoints listed on the wall behind me."

"This is a simple walk people, you've all got hundreds of hours in the pods, so this should be a straightforward job. If your instructor thinks you're struggling, they will cut your controls and take over immediately, so there's little chance of falling or crashing into anything. Okay, that's it. Please line up in alphabetical order at the front of the room so we can start getting your helmets assigned and calibrated."

Paul always won or lost on the whole alphabetical order thing, but in this case, it felt like a win. He was first in line for this mission, and before he knew what was happening a tech was dropping a nuerohelmet onto his head and plugging him into some kind of data pad.

Paul had used a simplified neurohelmet while working the docks at the local spaceport, but this was something entirely different. All around his head Paul left a faint buzzing sensation, like a mild electric shock. The strange feeling seemed to migrate around his head as if looking for the right place to electrocute him. Paul felt a bit light headed and staggered slightly. As he did so the strange electrical sensation amplified by what seemed like a hundred times, and all of it instantly zeroed in on the base of his skull just above his neck.

Just when he'd started to think something might be wrong, the technician unplugged his neurohelmet cord from the data-pad and the feeling was gone. Without saying a word the tech handed him the cable and gestured to the door. Paul took a step, expecting some kind of trouble with his balance, but as he did so, he felt totally normal.

Outside of the briefing room, Paul found a collection of instructors. Some he knew from his time in the simulation pods, others were new to him. Before he could open his mouth, Bekker approached him. Paul snapped his heels and raised his hand to his brow in a near perfect salute.

"Sir, Cadet Anderson reporting for assignment, sir!" He said without thought or hesitation.

Bekker returned his salute.

"At ease Cadet Anderson," Bekker said, "We've got unit one, one, follow me, and we'll get over to the lift."

Paul relaxed slightly.

"Yes, sir."

They made their way out of the briefing room, and down a long underground tunnel that led to the mech barns. When they arrived at Barn One, they found twelve CHM-3 Chameleon Battlemechs waiting for them. Paul made his way over to the mech-bay labeled one-one and stood staring up at the massive fifty-ton war machine. Somewhere behind him, Bekker began to speak.

"You know, no matter how long you do this, that sense of awe that you're feeling right now, that part never goes away. It gets in your blood, and it never lets go."

"I think it's already in my blood, sir" Paul responded.

Bekker laughed

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't be here otherwise, well let's get started then. What's our first step when preparing to depart on a mission in a Battlemech?'

"Sir, the first procedure would be a full visual inspection of the Battlemech in question, followed by a consultation with the crew chief in charge of maintenance for said Battlemech,  sir."

"Good, I don't see chief Mendez around right now, but why don't you take a look around, while I go grab him."

"Sir, yes sir!"

Paul's excitement wasn't really containable at this point. He'd worked on and in Battlemechs before, but this was the first time he'd been asked to perform a full pre-walk inspection. He slowly made his way up to the right foot, for closer inspection, as he approached he reached into the large hip pocket of his cargo shorts for his data-pad and brought up his pre-walk inspection checklist. There were thirty-two criteria separated into three sections. Section one covered exterior inspection, and Paul carefully went about making the necessary checks as he inspected what seemed like every inch of the giant machine's exterior.

When he'd finished checking for armor panel damage, he began opening the access doors over critical servo control points. When he'd finished with the servos, he started a slow, meticulous free climb about halfway up the Chameleon's back to make sure that the reactor's armor bulkhead was secured correctly. When he found it to be appropriately bolted in place, he made his way back down to where Hauptmann Bekker and Chief Mendez were waiting for him.

"Find anything out of the ordinary?" Bekker asked.

"Sir, no, sir" Paul responded.

"Good," Cheif Mendez said, "If you had I'd feel pretty foolish right now."

Paul took a few minutes to consult with Chief Mendez, first concerning the inspection items he'd already noted, and second to check off the next ten inspection criteria from the second section of his checklist. It didn't take long, most of the second section was meant for combat operations, and referenced ammunition storage bins, and integrated weapon safety pin removals. When they finished the consultation, Hauptmann Bekker spoke up to ask Paul another question.

"Good inspection cadet, what's next?"

"Sir, the next procedure is to make ingress to the cockpit via best method, sir."

"What is our best method for ingress today cadet?"

"Sir, that would be the scissor lift, sir."

"Good, now let's get going," Bekker said.

Paul and Bekker stood clear while Chief Mendez retrieved the scissor lift from the other side of the hanger. Once he'd correctly positioned it next to the Chameleon, Paul, and Hauptmann Bekker boarded, and all three of them rode the lift up to the Chameleon's large glass canopy. When they arrived some seven meters above the ferrocrete pad of the barn below, Cheif Mendez leaned over and uncovered a small control panel concealed by a heavy metal plate. It looked like a simple numerical keypad, but Paul couldn't see how the buttons were labeled. After punching in some kind of code, the canopy popped slightly and slowly swung open to reveal the tandem seats of the trainer cockpit.

 "Alright cadet, what's next?" Bekker said

"Sir, at this point the pilot would enter the cockpit and begin the final section of the pre-walk checklist, sir."

"Good, now go ahead and get in there. You're in the front seat. Oh, and try not to fall to your death."

Paul made his way to the edge of the scissor lift and looked over into the open cockpit of the waiting Chameleon. The awkward angle at which the canopy opened in relation to the scissor lift made boarding somewhat tricky, but with a careful step, and a little bit of finagling Paul managed to get himself seated in the command couch.

Outside, Bekker casually stepped off the lift and into the cockpit with a practiced ease that left Paul just a little embarrassed at his awkward entrance.

"All right Cadet, we've made ingress into the cockpit. What's next?"

"Sir, the next step would be the completion of the remaining section on the pre-walk checklist, sir," Paul said.

"All right, what's the first thing on that checklist of yours?"

"Sir, that would be to 'ensure that the coolant line from my cooling-vest has been appropriately connected to the mount on the right side of my command couch, sir."

"Good, have you done that yet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay cool what's next?"

"Sir, that would be to connect the data line for my neurohelmet to the port in my command couch, sir."

"Good, have you done that?"

"I have."

"Okay, what's next."

"Sir, that would be a coms check, sir."

"Very good, let's make it happen."

Paul took a long look at the command console in front of him before reaching out and flipping over a toggle for auxiliary power.  As he did so, the cockpit sprang to life with brightly lite displays and vibrant indicators. Again Paul surveyed the console as he reached out and activated the Chameleon's radio. He double checked the frequencies, before keying open the mic in his neurohelmet.

"This is Chameleon One-one to Tac-Ops, requesting radio check," he said.

His response came from what sounded like another cadet. The noticeably higher pitch of a young woman.

"This is Tac-Ops, we've got you five by five, do you copy?"

"I've got you loud and clear Tac-Ops, thanks."

"No problem Chameleon One-one."

Next, Paul keyed over to an intercom system and addressed Hauptmann Bekker.

"Sir, do you copy, sir?" He asked.

With Bekker seated not even a meter away, he heard the response both inside, and outside his helmet at the same time.

"I've got you, cadet. You're doing great. What's next?"

"Sir, the last points on the checklist concern the cold start of the fusion reactor, sir."

"Very good Cadet, when you're ready, go ahead and fire her up."

Paul was really excited now. This was it. He was actually about to fire up the fusion reactor on a battlemech. He doublechecked his startup procedure before quickly double checking the physical controls one more time. Paul had been able to sit in the cockpit on the Chameleon a few times before, and he'd run an identical, or nearly identical sim-pod many times, but this was different, this was for real.

Watching holo-vids as a child, Paul had always had the impression that starting up a battlemech was more or less a pretty easy thing to do. But like most childhood ideals this was a task much more comfortable to observe than to perform.

Cold starting a military grade fusion reactor was anything but easy. While integrated computers and sophisticated algorithms made it possible for a single operator to manage what was essentially a municipal power plant. The well known Vlar, 300 series reactor in this Chameleon required four perfectly timed actions to be performed before it would begin to generate the megawatts of energy needed to fuel the battlemech's myomer muscles, and direct energy weapons. Luckily there were a couple of integrated systems to help him get the timing right.

Paul reached for the series of large toggle switches that controlled reactor startup and thumbed the first from it's lower 'off' position to it's upper 'on' position. As he did so, somewhere deep inside the Chameleon, a large capacity internal battery began to dump stored energy into a series of capacitors.

From Paul's perspective, three small green LEDs lite up above the next toggle switch on his board, as they blinked out Paul was given an auditory cue in his helmet. Beep, Beep, on the third slightly longer BEEEEP, Paul threw the second toggle from 'off' to 'on.'

Inside, a small cloud of the hydrogen isotope Protium was injected into a donut-shaped vacuum chamber at the reactor's core. Milliseconds later the stored energy in the capacitors was dumped into the 'Ion Cyclotron' a series of powerful lasers that began to rapidly heat the Protium cloud.

Paul watched as more LEDs lit above the next toggle switch. Again he carefully timed his actions to coincide with the visual and audible cues. The countdown was longer this time. As the final longer tone filled his ears, he threw the next toggle, and inside a series of magnetic coils sprang to life applying extreme pressure on the rapidly heating cloud of gas.

The system repeated, but the timing on the last toggle switch was much shorter. As the tone sounded in his ears, Paul threw the remaining toggle. Inside the reactor a series of pipes began moving water through the system, picking up heat from the donut-shaped core and transporting it to a series of heat exchangers.

What was once a cloud of Protium gas, is now a fully ionized plasma, its heat, and pressure continuing to rise until (at nearly one-hundred-million degrees Kelvin) individual Protium atoms began to fuzed together, each pair throwing off a massive amount of energy and a shiny new Deuterium atom as a result. This continued with more and more Protium fuzing to form Deuterium. The Deuterium fuzing with Protium to form Tritium, and the Tritium, and Deuterium fuzing to form Helium.

The churning plasma's magnetic field began feeding the reactor's built-in magnetohydrodynamic generator, and the self-sustaining chain reaction was now generating more power than the system required to remain operational.

Additional power was automatically routed to batteries, weapon system capacitors, and the large banks of electroactive polymers known as myomer bundles. Paul couldn't see any of this happen. Paul only heard the pleasant robotic voice of Bitching Betty.

"Reactor online, sensors online, weapons online, all systems nominal."
       
 

 



mikecj

  • Major
  • *
  • Posts: 3254
  • Veteran of Galahad 3028
Re: Paul
« Reply #58 on: 25 August 2018, 02:47:41 »
mega thrusters are go
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

Daryk

  • Lieutenant General
  • *
  • Posts: 37046
  • The Double Deuce II/II-σ
Re: Paul
« Reply #59 on: 25 August 2018, 06:19:37 »
I'm liking Bekker.  Can't wait for the next update!  :thumbsup:

 

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