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Author Topic: A story I'm working on...  (Read 536 times)


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A story I'm working on...
« on: 17 April 2019, 13:51:33 »
I've been working on a little story of mine, on a Pirate in the periphery. Here it is so far! Tell me what you think, and if I should change anything. Enjoy!

The ‘Mech shuddered from the impacts, a great volley of long-range missiles pounding across the armor. But it did not fall.
Grigori Gut-Rippa, Pirate Lord of the Periphery, kept the great machine upright, a custom-built ninety-tonner dubbed Roosevelt. No barrage was gonna topple him.
He had just walked with this magnificent war machine outside of the Union Class DropShip Big Kahuna when Lenli-I’s planetary defence forces got in gear. They had made a risky landing, right outside Virtol City, but they landed in complete surprise. When they had landed, the other DropShips were alongside them, and Grigori’s lance was preparing to move forward.
“Sir!” A female voice came from his helmet. “This is Slash, and we’ve detected four Long-range missile carriers, half a click away. Are you alright in there?”
“I’m shaken, but not stirred, Slash.” Slash, or rather, Isha Ulienes, was one of the four members of Grigori’s command lance. She came from the fighting pits in Solaris VII, and decided to tag along while she was visiting the Jolly Dodger ‘Mech Stables.
“Permission to engage, sir?” Grigori always liked her for her willing to get things done.
“Permission granted, Slash. Show em’ how we roll.”
Slash’s ‘Mech, a seventy-five ton Marauder, got to work. Moving at a brisk sixty-four kilometers per hour, the heavy ‘Mech would normally fall back a ways behind the missile carriers, unless they decided to stay put.
   Beside his ‘Mech, were two other Warriors. Jeffrey Gromins, in his seventy-ton Warhammer, and “Ivan”, in his own oddball ‘Mech, a hundred-tonner.
   Jeffrey Gromis went by the nickname “Smoked”, and came from the FedCom armed forces. He’d served with ‘Mechs all his time there, but was left behind lines when the clanners invaded. He had to lay low, and hide his ‘Mech in a warehouse hidden away in a forest.
   Then Grigori came, booted them off, and took their ‘Mechs. Jeffrey popped up, and now he was one of his honor guard.
   “Ivan”, the local mystery, was the only one Grigori had a hard time understanding.
             He had no last name that anyone knew, and piloted a ‘Mech he called Citadel, a huge machine made out of the bits and bobs of IndustrialMechs he’d found across the planet’s junkyards.
He had fought against, well, everyone on his home planet, somewhere called “Granby”. His was in the clan-controlled sectors, the planet being on the border between that and the Periphery.
   The madman had made this giant machine, by himself, and slaughtered the clan garrison on the planet. He dueled with two Clan ‘Mechs, a Mad Cat and a Manowar, and turned them both into scrap metal.
   The Citadel itself didn’t even have a gun or laser to boast; only two giant power fists, and around thirty tons of armor.
Grigori decided to invite Ivan along, and let the FedCom buggers come take the planet back.
   With these three ‘Mech jockeys at his command, not much stood in his way, and a backwater planet militia and it’s little long-range missile carriers was no exception.
   The sound of a PPC shook the comms unit, and a distant explosion sounded after.
“That’s one, sir!” Replied Slash. “Three remaining, and they look to be turning about. Shall I follow them, sir?”
   “Affirmative, Slash, but wait for the rest of us. I want to make sure these militia men know that we mean business.”
   The Roosevelt began to pick up speed. Lumbering to and fro across the open ground, it was a hideous machine by all means. It used the head of a Highlander, but everything else was, by all means, custom.
   The chest was armed with two medium range missile racks, while the left arm had a combination of medium lasers and a claw. In the right arm, two LB-5 X ACs sat ready to launch heavy shells into the face of whatever Grigori didn’t like.
   He pointed the cannon towards a distant missile carrier, only half a kilometer away now, and pulled the trigger.
   The guns bellowed, and the shell flew towards home, and hit only inches below the carrier. That seemed to do it, however, and the machine flipped over from the explosion, with a large hole in its belly.
   “That’s two, fellas. The militia’s got two missile carriers left, and a few ol’ ‘Mechs.”
   His lance moved out. Coming across the wreckage of one missile carrier, Grigori phoned home.
   “See if you can’t salvage this missile carrier I gutted, Big Kahuna. It’s got a big hole in it, but the rockets look alright.”
   “Will do, captain. Will do. Those ‘old mechs’ you were talking about are closing in on you, due north.”
   “What manner, Big Kahuna?”
   The commander of the DropShip took a while to reply. “It seems to be a medium and a heavy. Not sure which types, but it sure looks to me like a Centurion and a Rifleman. Good pickings, these ones.”
   “Alrighty, Big Kahuna. Get your salvage teams ready, I want ‘em.”
   The two ‘Mechs must have reached pretty close by then, since a single PPC shot ended the talk. Gromis’ Warhammer had turned about to Grigori’s left, and begun to unleash it’s weapons on the ‘Mechs.
   “Smoked! Be careful, I want the ‘Mechs. Autocannons aren’t exactly cheap, man.”
   Grigori turned his ‘Mech about, along with Ivan and his Citadel. Big Kahuna was spot on in it’s guessing, as usual. A Centurion and Rifleman, each one venerable ‘Mechs, were firing at their position.
   They didn’t stand a chance.
   Grigori and Ivan were closing fast. Their goal was to tear out the cockpits or something, which would allow for the militia’s ‘Mechs to be salvaged relatively intact. While those two were gettin’ gutted, Isha and Jeffrey would turn those two missile carriers into slag.
   The Centurion was lining up with Ivan’s Citadel, a suicidal decision, IndustrialMech or not. The smaller machine had it’s shield up, getting ready to halt to inevitable blow from it’s rockets.
   Instead, Ivan just used the Pile Driver.
   The giant industrial tool, usually reserved for hammering in things to the ground, was swung about right onto the head of the Centurion. The Pile Driver crushed it’s cockpit into the torso, and sent it down to the ground, like a fighter delivering the final blow.
   That left the Rifleman, which Grigori had come in close enough to throw stones at during this. His own ‘Mech had taken repeated shots from it’s dual autocannons and lasers, but he’d only taken pot shots at it’s cockpit with his lasers.
   Now, however, was his turn. Grigori maneuvered his ‘Mechs hand to grab the Rifleman’s left gun barrels, and pulled it close. Moving the right arm simultaneously, he brought his cannons right up to the cockpit.
   “Alright, I’m gonna give you ten for y’ to give up, runt!” He bellowed through his ‘Mechs external speakers. The Rifleman could escape his grip easily, but then the cockpit would become a gaping black hole of charred metal and viscera.
   A few moments passed, and Grigori finally decided it wasn’t worth the wait.
   The Roosevelt crushed the ‘Mechs barrel arms, and yanked the entire assembly off. With a few tons of weight suddenly disappearing, the machine’s gyroscope couldn’t handle the shift in balance, and begun to fall backwards.
   Following this, Grigori thumbed the trigger.
   The shells ripped into the cockpit, and the ‘Mech fell on it’s backside, as if it had just had another ‘Mech thrown at it. The feed for the neurohelmet made the machine shudder and twitch for a moment, but the movements subsided a few seconds later.
   In the distance, Slash and Smoked had finished off the remaining Missile Carriers; one had been split in two, and the other was a crater on the ground.
   “The Militia’s got nothin’, sir.”
   “Good job, fellas. Get me the planetary governor, and tell him to get to the Big Kahuna. I’m tired of these petty fights, I want to finish things off on this filthy planet.”

The short, plump little man who controlled Lenli-I was being guarded by a Warhammer ‘Mech towards the DropShip Big Kahuna. The Davion official, arrogant and spoiled, was having his hover car plow onwards towards the DropShip by the city.
He could not count on his policemen, the militia, or anybody else, besides on the great ‘Mech behind him to blow him to bits if he tried anything stupid.
The hover car had reached the DropShip when Roland Moors finally started fearing for his life. He’d recognized the sigils upon the side of the vessel from Holovids, and realized this vessel did not belong to just any pirate.
It belonged to Grigori Gut-Rippa, who not only was feared because of his brutality and cunning, but also had a camera crew with him from the Free Worlds League, to show off his prowess and to undermine the moral of the opposing factions.
There even were episodes of him fighting the Clanners, duking with them in one-on-one melee combat.
Grigori himself, Moors saw, was on the ramp of the vessel, with two ‘Mechs behind him. Roland was no ‘Mech jock, but he was certain one of them was an IndustrialMech, while the other looked like it was one of the assault ones.
Two men approached the hover car, and hauled him out, heading towards Grigori. They threw him down below him with a thump, the pudgy man falling over easily.
“So, I presume you know who I am, right?”
Roland looked up at him, the man being the very definition of a Pirate Lord. A tattered ‘Mechwarrior shirt was covered with an old leather jacket, and a terran sabre hung from his side. His shorts were similarly ragged, with the classic leather belt over it. The only ornate things were a necklace with bullets on it, and the skulls of two men hanging from his belt.
“Y-yes, I know who you are, Gut-Rippa.”
“Good. Then let’s just cut away from the pleasantries.”
“I have word that some guys were talkin’ smack, and you in particular.”
   “I’m a generous king, so I might let you live. That’ll cost you, though.


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Re: A story I'm working on...
« Reply #1 on: 24 April 2019, 13:27:20 »
interesting..  kinda interest in the 100ton Melee mech
"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!"