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[Patrio Sioux Daltum]

OOC: This is the story of a battle armor infantryman in Victor's side of the FedCom Civil War. Some things I'm going to be pulling out of my ***, and some not, but excuse me if I get canon facts wrong. I'm using Sarna.net entirely for this. No, this is not an RP, but feel free to comment and offer advice.

Leftenant Jude Talos of the 32nd Regiment, the Welsh Fusiliers, dove to the dirt in the trenches of Kathil in his Cavilier battle armor. The shot had come from a Lyran Lineholder. In his slight battle armor, he did feel very vulnerable, even from the LRM-5.

Their regimental band had struck up a tune - More than crazy in a war zone, especially with mechs shooting at you, but it put fire in his heart. They were playing Blue Bonnets - A Scottish tune, but he didn't care. "Stand by the colours, lads!" Talos lifted the Cavalier's machine gun, a 4-barreled 12.7mm Gatling-style rotary. While it was most useful against infantry and lighter battle armor, the large round had limited anti-material capabilities. He fired a burst across the field, but that was just to relieve stress. He wasn't planning on bringing down any mechs with a fifty-cal.

The field in question was the remnants of some city park. This city had been a real meat grinder - There wasn't a building unscathed, and the ones closer to the lines now were just collapsing skeletons.

The ground shook a little - The Lineholder was starting to charge! Jude had gone to the Northwind Military Academy before the war started and knew his history - Trench warfare had all been abandoned this time a millennium ago, only about two decades late; the advent of tanks had made them irrelevant. With mechs like the incoming Lineholder, capable of traveling upwards of 85 kph, trenches seemed all but stupid to anybody with half a brain.

Ironically, the tanks stopped it cold.

It was a Merkava IX, a version of some ancient main battle tank. The gauss rifle in its turret sounded with something starting with the sound of a bowling ball being dropped - Only a lot louder. The nickel-iron slug smacked into the Lineholder's left shoulder, exploding the LRM rack. The mech had been sprinting at close to top speed; Going like that, the gauss rifle hadn't so much sledgehammered it as it did clotheslined it with a cannonball. The mech hit the deck hard, but the pain didn't stop there. It had launched an LRM-15 that now descended upon the grounded mech. The HE warheads cut into the mech all too well, for it didn't rise at all.

Another OOC: It's too damn late. I'll do more in the morrow.

Edited by Patrio Sioux Daltum, 23 April 2012 - 03:22 PM.

[Patrio Sioux Daltum]

Leftenant Talos was back in the safer part of the war-torn city. Right now, he had the flamer on the AP mount, though it was safed and cool. He was going to meet with the rest of the higher-ups for a plan of action. Talos presented papers to a guard who had a Grenadier standing right behind his and walked in.
"We have no alternative, we must enact a retreat." That was Captain Larssen speaking; he'd been shelled hard the past few weeks, but ironically he had the lowest casualty rate. The highest officer here was Major General Ruther of the Order of Davion. Talos drew oddly few stares, being in his scratched and dented armor - They'd probably all seen stuff like him over the past few weeks. Talos took off his helmet.
"There will be no retreating, Captain, and you will hold your sector. We're all dying out there." Ruther needed Captain Larssen's company to hold the north end of the park.
"Alright, officers, code word for this operation is Pax. When I say 'Pax' three times over the command net, things will start to happen. First, we have more artillery coming in. I've got a lance of Catapults plus a single Longbow on ready call. The first thing they will do is all launch as many missiles as possible in the shortest amount of time - They will be scattering their flights across the east end of the park. The only other mechs I have are a pair of Warhammers on ready call if things should turn sour anywhere.
Once the missile rounds are complete, all units will advance. I have a company of Glory FSVs and Challengers that will go north around the park, and we have Warriors flying close-air support. Leftenant Talos, your men will lead the charge across the park. When you hear 'Zulu, Zulu, Zulu', then an air strike by three Sullas and a single Hurricane is five minutes out. For God's sake, take out any Triple-A you see, because that's the last of our fighters. But until the airstrike, you're gonna be pretty alone out there. Expect high casualties."
He went on, discussing how the battle should play out. Jude Talos knew that in the time before the airstrike, his forces would suffer very badly - It would be a killing field. There wasn't very much cover out there at all and the Lyrans were dug in as well as he was.
Heck, it would be like World War One.

[Patrio Sioux Daltum]

"Pax, pax, pax."
With the three words, it started. Talos tried to get as low as he could in the lobster-red painted Cavalier armor. Just as he'd gotten back, an accident loading a tank had exploded a single shell - Amazingly, nobody was killed and the only damage was light, but his flamer had been shot away. The engineers had jury-rigged a Magshot onto the modular mount: The Magshot was a fine weapon, though he personally would have taken a King David.

Talos put one hand on the trench wall, ready to boost himself up. "Alright lads! In a minute, you will be fighting a battle unlike any that has been seen for nearly a millennium! These trenches are your home! And across that field, you will find nothing but pain!
Let 'em have it, and Gwell angau na Chywilydd!"

The band started playing The Minstrel Boy. Talos jumped over the trench and, as the missiles started to fall, ran forward.

He thanked God for the missiles - They had a little respite from their direct fire. But deeper in the Lyran-held parts, there were no less than three Mobile Long Toms around, and they weren't suppressed. Though the shots were hitting farther back, not leading the infantry units, the huge Long Tom guns shook the ground as good as any Atlas. He ran faster.

It was a scene very much from Hell; bullets hit the ground, sending up clumps up dirt, and lasers crackled through the humid air, lit by smoke and dust. A gauss shot from a Merkava IX flew over his head and disappeared in the dust that was staying low. Men were charging around him, shooting, and dying: A soldier in front of him was nearly chopped up by bullets; another, fell from shrapnel.

The scene of death was horrifying. A Salamander battle armor crumpled to the ground, missing most of the chest. An SRM from some unseen tank ripped away and detonated on an advancing tank, enshrouding in it fire. Three soldiers were fumbling, trying to set up a recoilless rifle tripod in a crater, were killed one after the other by small lasers. One man picked up an arm he was missing and stumbled onward.

But despite the terrible losses, they pushed on. It seemed like a few seconds later - Or an hour, Talos couldn't tell - That he saw a Lyran bunker, hiding a mounted Support Laser. Talos readied his SRM-1 on the Cavalier's shoulder and fires one missile. It exited the tube with a thump and flew perfectly, hitting the pillbox's slit. Though little of an explosion was visible, the back of the pillbox flew out, trailed by grey smoke of pulverized concrete. One soldier stumbled out, half-slumping. Talos shot him.

"Zulu, zulu, zulu!"

Suddenly, he wondered why the Warrior VTOLs weren't anywhere - And, as if he spoke of the Devil, there was a Rifleman, coming right out from behind a building. "All units, that Rifleman is priority target one! Hit it if you can!" Talos started sprinting towards it; he had to get in range for his SRMs. Despite being fifty meters out of range, he shot anyway. The SRM flew finely, and then fuel ran out. It started to drop. The missile hit the Rifleman's leg.

The company of Merkavas, twelve tanks, turned their fire on the anti-air mech. They all had good firepower, but twelve gauss rifles and LRM-15s were a match for any assault mech. A few shots misses, but there were also hits, and before long the mech was missing one of its arms and the radome.

And then it returned fire. An autocannon slammed into one tank, shearing off the track. A large laser exploded the missile rack in another, sending a column of fire sky-high. But the mech succumbed to a barrage of LRMs from a Catapult.

The infantry advanced. Talos jumped into a trench. There was an Inner Sphere Standard battle armor in front of him, Lyran. He immediately extended his arm and shot at point-blank into its chest. The Standard's armor could withstand a large pulse laser; even at point-blank range the Magshot might not penetrate. But it did act as a HESH shot; the armor dented, and inside pieces flew off and cut the guy inside to pieces. The armor collapsed.

Then, "Hit the deck!"

Talos did so. He heard the sounds of his CAS, a sound far better than even a hot, steaming shower. Three Sullas and a Hurricane carried great firepower. The Sullas targeted pillboxes and tanks, while the Hurricane strafed and dropped its rockets and bombs.

The day was one. At what cost?

[Patrio Sioux Daltum]

Half-an-hour after the battle had ended, Talos received a message from back behind their lines. "Leftenant Talos, this is Alfred Marwick, drum major of your marching band."
Talos hadn't expected to hear from a drum major just after such a battle. "We're still counting our dead, drum major. What do you need?"
"We, uh, the band wished to come up to the main force, sir."
Talos wasn't sure if a drum major should call a leftenant a sir - It was drum major, after all - But the band was also technically paramilitary, and he remembered drum majors held the rank of sergeant. Whatever. It was a pipe band, not a general.
"Yes? Go on."
"We wish to know if it is the best idea to do so, sir."
Talos grunted. "A warzone isn't safe, drum major. However, we've taken this park as best we ever will and the armor is routing most of the Lyrans through the city. At least one of their artillery pieces is down. I'd say it's safe enough for your mates."
"Thank you, sir."
Leftenant Talos turned his attention to his XO, Sergeant Major Jack Padrick. "Sir," he said. "I count ten casualties; eight deaths."
He swallowed. The unit had been more than decimated. "Alright, Jack. We knew we'd take bad casualties." A third of his men dead; there would be a lot of replacements.
Both of them walked in silence. He got to the temporary command post, a Mobile HQ. He'd taken off the helmet and weapons, there was plenty of firepower here anyway. He entered, leaving his XO outside. In there was Leftenant Colonel Morgan. "Leftenant. Good to see you made it. I would have regretted to lose one of my few dependable leftenants. Casualties?"
"Eight dead, two wounded."
"Regrettable, for a unit your size. How are your men? I may need you sooner rather than later."
Talos knew he was brushing it off, but he had more in command than thirty men. "Sir, we are, at this point, combat-ineffective. We are at thirty percent casualties." What made that even worse was that the term decimation was meant that a military unit had lost one in ten soldiers and was combat ineffective. Three in ten was terrible.
"Alright. There's a new batch of recruits coming in next week. They're not veterans, be warned. Just out of training."
"Yes sir."