24 replies to this topic

[Trondheim Live Daily Report]

To whomever it may concern:

From the nearby trees I watched, from my concealed position under the brush; witness along with the rest of my scout patrol to the last great stand of the Skjaldborg mercenary presence here on Trondheim. Our people may have an inherent dislike for mercenaries in the Free Rasalhague Republic, but I cannot help but feel both a great deal of respect and gratitude for this mercenary unit, their actions speak for them.

Valiantly, they marched toward the line of enemy ‘Mechs, perhaps 50 in all, waiting for them at the edge of the field. The Skjaldborg, from what I could see had merely 13 ‘Mechs, were hopelessly outgunned. Yet on they marched, not even slowing down, not wavering in their suicidal resolve. I imagined these warriors drinking in Valhalla tonight with their brothers, and their ancestors, and I wondered whether these mercenaries imagined the same fate.

They stopped about 250 meters from the Clan line, there was a pause during which I assumed they had issued a challenge to the Clan ‘Mechs that stood there, ominously. Though knowing these mercenaries it was probably thickly veined with insult and humour.

Suddenly one ‘Mech from the Skjaldborg line advanced, a Hunchback, and the Clans answered the challenge with a 'Ferris'. The battle was fierce, but over quickly - with a slightly damaged Hunchback surviving the encounter - as the entire Skjaldborg line had unloaded upon the unsuspecting 'Ferris'. The Clanners hesitated, seemingly taken aback by this action - but in all honesty, after all this time could they really expect no less? Were they expecting them to duel? I could not help but smile. In that short hesitation the Skjaldborg poured on the firepower and three more clanner ‘Mechs fell to concentrated fire; a 'Koshi', a 'Kodiak', and a 'Thor'. Though the Skjadborg seemed to unleash a rain of fire from a force ten times its size, the Bear's quickly regained their bearings and opened fire in unison on the ‘Borg ‘Mech’s. The 'Borg continued to pour on the fire, but hardly a few minutes passed before the last 'Borg Mech was left a smoking husk. To add insult to injury, the Bears reduced each Mech to nothing more then a pile of slag, entombing the soldiers who had given away their lives - perhaps vainly - for their home planet. Grim grave markers for an even grimmer event. I took solace in the fact that several of the Clan ‘Mechs looked severely damaged.

The Bears soon continued their hunt, our Militia the next targets of their brutality. This time they did not hesitate, killing every signal patrol and unit to the man. When the main force finally caught up to us, the battle was swift. Though we had numbers we were caught flat-footed, their main force hitting our rear while their lights - who killed our flank-scouts and took up firing positions on a low ridge - divided our attention, sealing our fate. My patrol was a part of the advanced scouting party, and before we could return to assist it was already all over.

Even now, we are hunted; the Ghost Bears relentless in their pursuit of every last militia unit. We managed to skirt back to Misby Flats, where we can hide - at least for a while - in the vast hidden underground networks in the city. I hope.

It is my wish that the report of the actions of these valiant warriors be transmitted to the rest of their mercenary company, and that these men be recognized as heroes by the Free Rasalhague Republic. And also, don't forget the militia; they fought just as hard, just as valiantly, though they knew they couldn't hope to survive in the end. They are truly an inspiration to us all.

Menig Finn Einarson

Edited by Trondheim Live Daily Report, 28 May 2013 - 07:56 PM.

[Vulkan]

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated!

[Trondheim Live Daily Report]

A Unremarkable Bar on the outskirts of Misby Flats
June 5th, 3050
20:32:43

The hall was dark.

Well, even in ‘broad daylight’ Trondheim itself was considered dark compared to other planets, thanks to those volcanic eruptions just over a decade ago, but the point remained. Only a few dim lights lit the dark room, barely enough for one to avoid the scattered empty tables and chairs that made up the small establishment. Had this been a month or two ago, the place would have been roaring at this hour; filled with MechWarrior’s, militia and rowdy locals eager to sit with the heroes of their planet.

Now, a quiet few locals nursed their drinks in the darkest corners, wondering how it all could have changed so fast.

The barman was an old fellow. A permanent hunch agitated his once impressive stature; nevertheless, when it came down to it he could still throw out a patron or two with his own hands. Everyone respected the man. Even in his ripe age, he had fought in the Ronin Wars – the wars that helped establish the new, the dying, Free Rasalhague Republic – alongside some of the greatest warriors of their time. He had met the famous “Dihm” Magnusson, and occasionally could be seen sharing a drink with him in a corner of the bar. And he was one of the first establishments to welcome the debilitated Mercs when they arrived on-planet to set up headquarters outside of Misby. He watched as their ranks slowly grew, their welcoming presence warmed up the hateful population, and almost overnight became a sensation on Trondheim; local celebrities who went on grand adventures against their former masters, always returning with illustrious stories of pillage and conquest.

Sighing, the barman took up another clean mug and began to clean it some more. That all started to change two months ago. The Skjaldborg, under orders from Rasalhague, withdrew most of their forces from the planet and leaving behind a token force of vets and greens. With the rumors around the periphery, this seemed almost stupid; the periphery was in their backyard, why pull their defenses now?
But Rasalhague was not to be denied, and the Skjaldborg willingly left behind their HQ, their home. Truth be told, they were ordered to bring everything they had – the fact they left a force at all showed their dedication to the planet.

And at first, nothing changed. Life went on, the bars were a little emptier but no less rowdy, and it was business as usual. Then the rumors got closer. Blackouts. Pinnacle. Disrupted shipments of regular supplies and alcohol. All were troubling on their own, but together they were alarming.

Then they came. Blusterous, fierce, and unrelenting the foreign “Clan Ghost Bear” appeared in the Trondheim System. They took the JumpPoint, announced their intentions, and followed through. The ‘Borg and militia kept up a brave face, even when unexpected reinforcements arrived, but the truth was they all knew –WE all knew – that there was not much hope. Though we didn’t know it then, this wasn’t just some pirate group; they weren’t just raiding. These were conquerors, foreign and brutal, and they would not be denied their conquest. Though they fought hard and bravely, taking many with them, the defenders eventually fell, killed to the last man. Some escaped the battle – fled, more-like – but even they were being hunted down. There was no hope of resistance for them; there was only the slim hope of survival.

The door burst open, flooding the city lights into the hall. The few patrons in the hall jumped up and fled out a backdoor, but Ghost Bear Infantrymen were in hot pursuit. The barman didn’t have a chance to flee, nor would he bother. This was his home, his business, and he would go out no other way.

“What’ll you have?”

The large yet stunning woman before him cringed at the contraction, but pushed onward up to the bar, piercing eyes never letting off her prey.

“Your business is closed,” She stated with finality.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to speak up. It used to be so noisy in here, so I’m afraid I’ve lost my hearing. Then these upstarts strode in and killed or scared off all my customers. So I’m sorry.”

The woman bared her teeth, but bit back an attack. Hitting such a man may feel rewarding, but would hardly be honorable, despite his slander.

“I am shutting down your bar,” She repeated much more loudly, as a guard dragged an unconscious patron past her into the street.

The barman looked up at her now, matching her gaze, her fierceness, if only for a second.

“This bar is my way of life. You may close my shop, but you’ll never close my bar.”

The woman gritted her teeth. “Your defenders brought this upon you with their dishonorable combat. They used your drinks to kill our warriors. That is why we are banning them, and ridding this world of those drinks.”

“You may be our new overlords, but you’ll never occupy this planet with that kind of attitude. You will find that you have to kill every man, woman and child in this and every other city until none remain but yourselves.

“Let me tell you a story. A story about a people beaten down, oppressed, and ruled with an iron fist for hundreds of years. A story about people trying and failing again and again to gain a country of their own, a homeland, one they had not obtained since the planets were first colonized. A story about triumph through blood, of sons avenging the murder of fathers, of men and women of all walks of life rising up as one to once and for all take the nation that was always there’s, and defend it against those who would put their ‘uprising’ down. A story about an unlikely group of mercenaries, who through unorthodox, deceptive and near suicidal tactics won the support and love of those they fought and died to defend. Who continued to defend, even when the odds were against them; when all others would flee to live, while they stood strong in the face of certain death to give those runners a chance at life.

“Let me tell you a story about the Free Rasalhague Republic. About honor, courage, and bravery. About mercenaries, who fought for more than just a paycheck but for their home. A home that would not acknowledge them for years due to their mercenary status. Let me tell you about the Skjaldborg. And perhaps then, you’ll understand how your little put-downs against bars and alcohol and the like will only serve to hasten your destruction. At least then, perhaps, you won’t say ‘We did not see this coming.’”

The woman broke the stare for a second; the words moved her so. With a nod of her head, the guards on either side of her turned and left, leaving just her and the barman in the room.

When the door finally closed, all that could be heard was two slow breaths and the squeak of cloth on pewter.

A stool was dragged out, and she set herself on it, eyes set once again on this barman who had gained her respect and interest with his speech. Reaching out, she took the mug from his hand and set it in front of herself.

“Tell me your story.”

The barman smiled, and reached under the table. When he came back, he held an amber, unopened glass bottle in his hand. Pulling off the top, he filled her mug with the drink and one for himself.

Spoiler

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

[Trevnor]

*Slow clap*

It's been a ride gents.

[DragonsFire24SS]

I will miss the stories and laughs my brothers and sister shared in the mead halls. Myself and the 2-2-1 will fight on in remembrance of Silo #3.

This battle reminds me of a letter I once read from ancestors many centuries ago.