2
The current constraints are the following: the story starts in 3035, at a battle school on a border planet somewhere in the Inner Sphere. Our hero is a cadet MechWarrior in the final weeks of his academic career.
This first segment is based off a scenario I dreamed up as the potential first mission of a new MechWarrior game.
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A Battle School on a Border Planet
3035
Two weeks, four days, eleven hours until graduation.
Today you chose the Centurion. Like all the other ‘Mechs, it was resplendent with the academy’s colors at the start of the semester but is now pocked with dummy round dents and burned paint from de-powered lasers. The exercise is a simple run-and-gun target practice in preparation for final exams. All the fields were booked today except for this one holographic range. It’s the farthest point from the middle of campus and it’s really a freshman’s playground, but it’s all that was available today. All the rich kids got to use the physical practice targets. To make up for the utter boredom of shooting through holograms, your training sergeant has let you run a few practice duels against her Academy-issue Flashman.
Alarms are screaming at you as he lands yet another laser barrage, and you are knocked back into your command couch as the gyro kicks the ‘Mech backwards. Your left leg has been dragging for the last minute, you’ve run out of dummy LRMs, and the latest damage report shows that your medium lasers are now toast. A glance at your target information window shows that they weren’t lost in vain, however; the Flashman’s massive head and torso (if they are even considered separate components) are blinking red, and one arm is missing from the wireframe display. Two rounds left in the autocannon: got to make them count.
“Medium laser destroyed. Medium laser destroyed. Warning: damage critical. Heat sink offline…”
Leaning forward in the command couch forces the gyro to arrest the Centurion’s stumble, then pitch forward as the disabled left knee actuator provides no reliable pivot. Crosshair drops over the top edge of the Flashman, flashes gold…hit the primary TIC…
Missed by a hair. One more chance. Sarge triggers her flamer, not to toast you but to throw up a wall of flame to cover her movement. Watch. Think. Anticipate. You’re moving left. Sarge is going move right. Lasers pound away at your right arm…no way she should have the angle…
You aim left of the flame wall and squeeze the TIC. The head of sarge’s wireframe goes black.
She transmits, “End exercise! Endex endex endex! Good shooting, kid.”
You blow out a breath and suck in hot air to replace it. You key your com. “Thank you, sarge.”
“Looks like you’re out of ammo, kid. I think it’s time to reel it in for the day. Transmitting damage release codes. Marking Nav ‘HOME.’ Proceed to ‘Mech bay, hit the showers and we’ll debrief in twenty. Set coms back to general frequency.”
“Yes sergeant.”
A moment passes, and all the alarms turn off and the Centurion’s wireframe returns to green. The air is still hot but that will pass in a few minutes. You spin the ‘Mech smartly on its heel and throttle up to a good clip, but not a run. Twenty seconds pass, and suddenly your radar pings a new enemy target at the farthest edge of its range. Then two more. Then five. Got to be some kind of test!
Your ‘Mech spins around again and brings its arms up. Obligingly, you switch your com channel back to the training frequency and call out the targets: “Cadet One-Three to Tower, mark five, repeat five hostile signatures, two kilometers due east of holo-ground Delta Six. Request permission to-”
The comms officer in the “Tower” cuts you off. “Rookie One, input override Tango! One! One! Niner! Alpha! This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill! Hostile BattleMechs have breached the perimeter, prepare to engage. Follow your sergeant's lead, son, we’ll have reinforcements before you can blink. Weapons free, use lasers only. Tower out.”
Sarge comes on next, speaking rapidly and sounding out of breath. “You heard Tower. Override is going to power your lasers to full. Stay on my six, follow tight. If it gets too hot I want you to turn and run. You damn well better be ready for this.”
You turn your Centurion around and trot up behind the Flashman. A target bracket is painted on your HUD and you instinctively select it. A little Alpha character pops up next to the target bracket. “Mark Thug Alpha. Throttle up to half, I’m on the lead. Fire at will.”
“Copy.”
The sarge’s ‘Mech goes wide left and splashes the enemy Thug’s torso with large lasers. Twisting your torso right, your Centurion’s legs follow her path as you fire your own lasers, melting armor across the assault ‘Mech’s thigh. It fires back at the both of you; a real live PPC slashes your left arm for real, and plows full on into the Flashman’s barrel chest.
“He’s got SRMs, don’t get too close.“ As Sarge advises, the Thug lets loose with both six-packs, peppering her ‘Mech with explosions. The Flashman stumbles and nearly takes a fall. “Sack of crap! Throttle full, marking nav-” the HUD emits a blip “-Delta. Commence fire support.”
You continue onward as Sarge switches direction, drawing off both PPCs which take the left arm off her ‘Mech at the elbow. You try for a headshot with your lasers; one misses wide and the other traces a glowing line over the Thug’s shoulder.
Then a new target bracket appears, and Sarge’s Flashman is enveloped in a much larger pocket of explosions. Silhouette recognition cards flip through your mind. Longbow! Now missing the other arm, Sarge backpedals, using her remaining weapons to make the Thug just a bit uglier.
“Cadet, fall back! Nav home, draw them through the live-fire range. I’ll cover your retreat.”
“Yes sarge!”
Heart pounding and sweat dripping, you keep cycling your lasers on the Thug; meanwhile a Stalker and another humanoid ‘Mech, might be a Banshee or even a Clint, just too far away to tell…meanwhile, Sarge is on the general frequency. “…under heavy fire, assault company inbound, westbound in sector Delta-Six-Bravo, falling back. Need assist immediately, over.” The heat alarm blares, and you release one of the laser interlock circuits. You watch in horror as Sarge’s ‘Mech falls flat on its back, right leg falling in a different direction; its front face is blackened and riddled with holes.
“Cadet, go, go, GO! Run, kid!”
Without a second thought, you turn around and stab your legs into the pedals as deep as you can, bringing the Centurion up to full throttle. PPCs and lasers flash over and around your head. Something connects with the left shoulder, pitching the ‘Mech forward; you recover, only for the entire world to shake and rattle as the Longbow peppers you with missiles. Every indicator is flashing red, and no training code is going to get rid of any of it. You turn a corner and the racket stops.
The longest minute you’ve ever lived passes, and suddenly friendly ‘Mechs are in view. Everyone is firing lasers past you; it doesn’t seem like anyone has loaded real ammo despite the fact that you’re now crossing into the live-fire range. Half a kilometer to ‘Mech bay, but this is no time to power down for the night! You let off the throttle and begin to turn the Centurion. The turn is going a little faster than you thought it would. And why is the horizon tilting?
Then it hits you. Or rather, you hit the ground. Stars flash across your vision and you’re pretty sure you’ve gone deaf, until you hear the keening of the damage readout and the ‘Mech calmly intoning, “Left leg destroyed. Heat sink destroyed. Warning: damage critical. Warning: incoming-“
The world shakes again as a score of missiles come down right on top of your crippled ‘Mech. Moments pass; your eyes are squeezed shut and you’ve lost count of how many gods you prayed to. There’s a new hammering on the cockpit now, but not the concussive blow of a missile strike…almost like fists pounding. You shake your head and feel a wave of nausea pass as you reorient yourself. You’re on your side, and someone is yelling at you through the cockpit hatch. As the hatch opens, every single part of your body, including parts you didn’t think existed, start to ache, and somebody drags you into the cool air outside and presses something into your chest, wrestling off the cooling vest and neurohelmet connections. You take it and hold it up: a laser pistol. Your eyes flick up to see a training sergeant yelling something; you can’t quite hear what he’s saying over all the weapons fire and the ringing in your ears, but it’s something about getting to the ‘Mechs. He grabs your arm and pulls, and together you stumble towards the ‘Mech bays.
About halfway there you regain full control of your body and senses and start running, pulling your arm away from the sergeant; he actually struggles to keep up. You noticed that a number of other dismounted cadets are running with you.As you arrive, you see techs scrambling to load live ammo into the four ‘Mechs in that bay; it doesn’t look like enough to go around. There’s a commotion behind you, followed by the chatter of weapons. Small arms. A glance over your shoulder shows a maniple of infantry firing off rounds around the corner of another ‘Mech bay across the grounds, at least one of them might have a Zeus anti-‘Mech rifle. Another trainee behind you catches a bullet and spins; you run harder. Feet pound tarmac, and suddenly you’re in. Some of the cadets turn and start firing sidearms and sub-machine guns out the hangar door.
The sergeant who dragged you out of the Centurion’s wreck begins shouting orders. “Techs! Finish loading what you got and clear out! MOVE! Evac to the nearest landing pad, go! Cadets, pick one and saddle up! Override Tango-One-One-Niner-Alpha! Move now!”
There are six ‘Mechs here, and you recognize this bay as the one you took your Centurion out of; its slip is empty as well as the one next to it. You look up and around and recognize the choices available to you. Assassin. Clint. Crab. Sentinel. Dervish. Firestarter. Some missing armor plates. Some with ammo bays wide open, waiting for a payload that has no time to be shoved in. None of them ready to fight.
Somebody shouts by the hangar door; then an explosion. You duck your head under your arm. The shouting and gunfire increase; pick one, NOW!
To be continued…BY YOU!
Edited by ValdnadHartagga, 27 March 2013 - 02:54 PM.
