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[plodder]

Feb 16, 3024

Every pore and portion of Jake was drenched. The frigid air blew rain into his physically exhausted frame as though he were wearing nothing in a snow blizzard. Though wearing sturdy trousers, a light jacket and good boots the cold penetrated deeply.
His uncle called him Thunder Foot because of the habit Jake had of clomping through the house like a great Clydesdale horse, pounding the surface as if punishing it for being there. Despite this cold but enter deep into him he hit the ground beneath him with fervor, covering the distance with his heavy punishing running. Not yet man grown, his sinewy lanky form promised to soon be replaced with powerful brawny proportions, though no suspicion or insinuation of becoming a giant. His journey began in the river many kilometers away.
A journey of redemption driven by the fasid infection bought into Jake's world affecting all those important him by the left hand of corporate corruption. Soon enough his body would be as warm as the hot emotions held down deep within, stuffed in a box being held forcibly by frozen chains both twisted and tightly encircling the box holding this cauldron of raw rage. His cold power energized by a determined mind. Not that he cared about being warm again. Cold/wet, warm/dry, nothing mattered any more, almost nothing anyway. Survive, take back what you can, live to take more, then possibly another day.

Vengeance is alive, burning it's vitriol in the compartmentalized cauldron in the chained wrapped box deep within, there, but separate. The vitriol froze in the blood to the bones passing amidst the soul to find the containment in the box where it ignited with explosive righteous flowering as a wrathful molten quasar, yet silent and absolutely cold as space dust in the Abyss. This cold seeped into him deeper than any rain, any cold. His need drove him, compelled his body to lock step his heart into a predictable cadence, to hold together that little left of his tattered soul. The steps hid sturdy boots tread were difficult. many stronger experienced men could have failed getting where Jake was now.

Vengeance has a purpose, a power, it holds a darkened hope. The shadow of the loved ones taken, the reflection of hopes soiled by the evil of apathy and greed of others. Dark hopes from and for one that has been a light in his world. A dark day, a dark season born from love and desperation.

It cannot be done, he is just a boy of a man, but this must be done. Without despair, yet without believed hope, the rain pummeled Jake as fiercely as his doubts did. Within 80 meters stood hope, it stood in darkness both cold and almost alone. The Ostscout OTT-7K was still where it was left. A silent sentinel not forlorn or forgotten.

To start up the mech would bring no retaliation for at least 30 minutes, if anyone could know. If there was any dropship support available for the enemies' retaliation after that 30 minutes, could they catch him? It was very unlikely. There was only one guard in this barren wasteland of rain moss and canyons. This place like most of Jake's home region is riddled with such winding hidden locations, a real challenge for the uninitiated. 30 minutes may as well be 15 hours, if successful, no one could catch him. The Ostscout is the superior scout mech, very fast, nimble in air as on the ground. It has an electronics package that will allow it to detect any mech, while not allowing it to be detected likewise in any conditions let alone in this nightmare storm.

This waste was his home, his land of green beauty. The guard was powerfully built, not a mechwarrior, but a soldier of fortune, a mercenary ground pounder. The guard stood under the delicate magnificent scout Mech. the gaurd had his rifle strap over his shoulder with the gun barrel pointing down. The guard's hands in his jacket, keeping his hands almost warm, keeping the guarantee that his life will be short. Jake was not yet to his full growth of manhood. To best the soldier would be beyond Jake's ability in any other place, or in any other time, but not this day or this time.

The rain deluge sheeted down, crashing the earth with incessant striking. Coiling his body, thinking through his actions before hand, all the hatred and fear tapped down, was also emboldened by cold resolution. Jake went powerfully forward, knowing he would not be seen, heard, or sensed.
Putting away hope of victory, for it, like other emotions, conflicted desires with decisions. His emotions had already cost him his mother and older brother, he could not let it cost one thing more, least of all his chance at retribution. Some of his family presently still lived near at hand, the land was still his while he had a breath. Coming from Highlander blood, land was held as dear as all else, but that of kin.

The blood of kin to be paid back in rivers. Without a flinch of apprehension, the guard fell with Jake's blow of body, and weapon's clean and swift entry into the man's neck. Losing his grip when his body collided with the ground pounder, the makeshift blade fell to the gravel amid the rainfall and wind. The struck soldier did not die as he was supposed to in quick succession after the fatal strike. He did not die instantly as a fish clubbed properly. He did not rise though. Bleeding from the deep wound the sheep sheers had caused, the man quietly screamed in pain and fear of death, a breathy cry of a throat no longer functional. Jake looked down, knowing what to feel at the death of a man while not feeling it. Holding down the thoughts trying to surface as a behemoth fish erupting into the air in a placid pond, guaranteed to shatter the stillness, his stillness, he acted as he was taught by father, brother, and uncles many, stepped up, then into the family Ostscout OTT-7K, cold starting the mech with it's procedures and protocols...............

His first step into his new life was toward the river's canyon, and onto the dying guard, finishing his life, and finalizing Jakes determination for vengeance!

TBC

Edited by plodder, 05 April 2024 - 05:25 AM.

[plodder]

Only those that have limited knowledge of this land could hope to hold this land with limited troops and mechs. A world formed of volcanic overflow, an obsidian sheet covering the globe. Hard brittle rock, forming rolling hills full of cracks, canyons, and every type of depression or cave. Green of all color and hue in the moss fields, moss tree forest would hide Jake's mech from any visual if he was at a standstill. The Ostscout OTT-7K not going to help Jake against the invading mercenary's mech unit, except to escape. First Rule:fight the fight you have to,flight the fight you have to.Planning for the last 8 hours since his escape, Jake acted in reaction to those plans. No need to be concerned with stealth or avoiding the enemy. The storm's vengeance ran in tune with his mind, the mech in tune with his body, the tempest's timing seemed ordained for his success. Getting to half speed quickly, Jake engaged Sct-A Standard Jump Jets propelling the 35 ton machine up and through the air with an ease and grace which alway exhilarated, if not amazed. A prototype that had been in development upgrade for decades found it's home here years before the first Ostscout OTT-7K production model left it's factory. Landing on the run over the large river, passing the canyon as if it were a kid jumping a small ditch at full run. Jake landed legs churning, accelerating to the Ostcouts full speed in moments. The road he traveled was used to transport commodities from city to village, from homestead to hovel, it was neither straight or level, but had no potholes.There would be no traffic because of the weather. Later he would slow, later he could think, now was time for action, the race of time to escape detection, the downpour should erase signs of his passing. Soon Jake will be with friends and kin,then they will plan. Foes sleep well with confidence, while friends plan these enemies' destruction. In the cave Uamh-Binn, the "cave of melody," the songs of war will be remembered and the Great Highland Bagpipe shall sing..

Edited by plodder, 15 January 2012 - 10:04 AM.

[Trogusaur]

Dude. That is deep.

[plodder]

The deep was held back by the tormented pilots, left without stockpiles of ammo, techs, or even food. Restlessly waiting for the next wave of attackers, each pilot made his peace in his or her own way, the tides of the enemy could be seen rolling in over the ever green, moss sodden hills, towards the mountainous regions the defenders held. The nightmare continues, the pilot does not wake to end them. Enemy mech detected, enemy mech detected, enemy mech detected, enemy mech detected, enemy mech detected.............

Edited by plodder, 27 May 2012 - 09:55 AM.

[plodder]

"This pith ant world is hardly worth the dung the homesteaders here use for their gardens. I cannot believe we are to be garrisoned here," Said the (un-named)LTJG mechwarrior. And for what? Moss & sheep? Captain (so and so), coming into the dropship hanger replied,"shut you mouth, you dumb son of a goat herder! That is what your family raises on that moon you called home? Too much like home for you here? I can get you off this "pith ant" world on the next transport, if that's what you want son. Is that what you want (un-named)? Tell me, and it's done. "Sir, I just hate these back world backwards Ag worlds. I left home to get away from this excremental way of life. Yes sir, I would love to get transferred somewhere else sir." Now (un-named) stood at attention, locked and cocked, as tight a military figure one could hope for. Young and strong, and stupid as all frack. "Transfer? I didn't say anything about a transfer son," say's the captain," smirking, eyes glinting mirth and knowledge, as he peers over his mug of steaming coffee. You know I need the mech you use, and the reconnaissance abilities it has, so, you may leave,but it stays.You will go back to the home barracks back on(un-named world)..........(un-named) LTJG, looking shocked and deflated, rolls his shoulders down, looks at the floor before him,grunts as if stuck a blow in the chest, then says,"I know the Jenner is on loan, but I have been doin re-con training with her, and I think of her as mine sir." Looking the (un-named) in the eyes, brows furrowed, head slightly shaking back and forth, "You know LT, I had thought of her as yours too, but that all changed the moment you gave way to a disgruntled unsatisfied attitude. If it weren't for all the c-bills dumped into your training, we wouldn't even be taking now. I am disappointed in you. As a matter of fact, THE Jenner's paperwork is on my desk, I had just signed her permanent status as your mech. So I will give you one opportunity to allow you to stay on this pith ant planet. Convince me why you should be here."Shaken, the Lt. replies, "I am sorry sir, you are right sir. Please accept my apology, it will not happen again sir."With a pause the Capt. shoots, "Not good enough (un-named).Low and quite, the Capt. coldly whispers, "I know how you feel, nothing can change that. What I need from you is, why should I keep you here!" Going white faced, the Lt. finally realizes the depth of his stupidity. Stuttering, but he drives the words out,"I am the best at what I do sir! What I lack in experience, is made up for by my ability sir! My feelings are not important sir, I promise I will excel at whatever task you ask me to perform. You will never hear a negative or grumbling word out of me again sir, by my mother's grave sir!" Hmm Cpt. says, then, I have read your files, you show promise, I think you are wrong about your feelings though, they do matter. My uncle told me,"you talk what you believe." To me that means your heart is not in it, and that given a choice, as i gave you, you would turn your back on this unit, and not look back. I'll give you your 2nd chance, because you might be as good as you say, but I want you think about what I've said, then act upon it Lt.. Coming again to military grade attention, Lt. (un-named) lightly shouts, "YES SIR, I WILL NOT DISAPPOINT YOU SIR!!!" In an almost fatherly tone the Cpt. replies,"Better not son, and, I'll send in the Jenner paperwork through, she's yours. I wouldn't want that hanging over your head clouding your loyalties." Finishing off his coffee, The Cpt. turns and walks out of the hanger towards his office.

Edited by plodder, 15 January 2012 - 05:08 PM.

[plodder]

Jake's head hurt like running thunder. The previous night had ended only a few hours ago, but time enough for sleep when you're dead. The leaders had been planning and arguing all night, Jake's input was sought to who these invaders were, and what the goals the enemy hoped to attain was equally unknown by Jake or anyone else that had contact thus far. Jake's headache was not from liquor, but from his sister's anger. When she understood that his mother and brother died because of his smart mouth and violent reactions, she had clouted him with a wrench she had in her hand. She hadn't meant to kill him, yet almost did. Had he not been quick, avoiding some the blow, things could have been very different. He was glad for her reaction. It was good to have a physical blow instead of the constant beatings he warred with inside himself. He deserved it.
Last night it had been decided that he and a small group of the lighter faster mechs would recon the enemy dropship placements, and troop movements. Getting out of his bunk, he walked to the ledge to look at the "Cave of Melodies." Oh it was beautiful, with the crystal pillars, the vast and open area, filled with light and shadows. Rows of mechs of many different designs, some of lostech, many not. Most of which had been found in an abandoned secret Comstar facility. Many tales have been told of secreted stashes of mechs and ammo, very rare for anything to be found. It does help if long ago, a distant trusted family member was given to overlook the sight, ensuring it would not fall into the wrong hands. Sworn to loyalty by life’s blood and family honor, only the trusted ever knew of this place, and what it contained. That was one of the arguments that raged last night, that, perhaps, this is what the raiders were here for, if indeed they were raiders. The mechs and ammo were in good hands, Only at great need, had any of the supplies here been commuted to battles elsewere, and only for defense of what would be in the interests of the greater good, in the ongoing struggles against greed and corruption.

Edited by plodder, 15 January 2012 - 06:20 PM.

[plodder]

With green color scheme to match this environments landscape, the Ostscout was a master of the hidden warfare. Many would scoff at the nimbleness, the delicate dance needed to survive combat situations in such a mech. Yet, there are others that seek out such a challenge. Those that relish hiding and probing the enemy's vulnerabilities, being the eyes of the good guys, his side, the right side.

Edited by plodder, 10 January 2013 - 11:31 PM.

[plodder]

Jake's sister was furious at him! After striking him last night, she had left the caverns, to seek solace, and to let her fury diminish. Cooling some, but ready to re-ignite as she re-thought the stupidity her brother had perpetrated. Having been captured with their older brother and mother, he had lost his temper with the ground pounder unit leader. The unit had struck in broad daylight, coming out of the river, without vehicles, without the telltales advanced surveillance equipment. At the homestead, the family defenses used passive systems that would trigger a warning, but the enemy had been too clever. Mother had been injured while being captured, Jake had said it was a broken or sprained ankle. The unit leader had told mother, "You *****, you get over there" pointing to the the rest of us. When she moved slowly, because of the injury, he cuffed her, sending her sprawling. Jake reacted by grabbing his guard, trying to secure a weapon to shoot the man that treated his mother so! The unit leader swung towards Jake with his auto pistol in hand, a big and formidable weapon.Mother seeing the danger jumped on the man with speed and agility, pained ankle ignored, his shot killing her before they hit the ground. Some shouting with a war cry, everyone attacked, laborers and family together. While all the guards defended themselves, her elder brother joined mama in death. She blamed her brother, but could she say she would not have done the same?

Edited by plodder, 05 March 2012 - 10:51 AM.

[plodder]

You killed Campbell's sister and favorite nephew! Then let the younger son escape with the Ostscout!? Not only are you incompetent, you are uncommonly unlucky. That Ostscout was not a production model OTT-7K, but an experimental unit prototype. It was the design they rejected because of the costs in production would increase the cost by 40% per mech, not because of any flaws! It was a one of a kind you fool,! One guard? You left one guard to protect 4,000,000 c-bills? That was stupid incompetence like I have never experienced in all my years. You claim here that there is no proof that the prisoner that escaped was the one to kill your guard then steal the Ostscout, but I say it is obvious! You are discharged, hell, you are under arrest, I'll discharge you later you slack jawed reject. How you ever received a position of leadership is beyond me.

Edited by plodder, 25 January 2012 - 06:04 PM.

[plodder]

They have put our man in the brig sir, but we did not gain possession of the Ostscout sir. Apparently a captive excaped from our man's grip, and sir, our man is responsible for the deaths of a Northwind Highlander's woman and elder son sir. No sir, it is claimed he did it in self defense sir. Yes sir, I will make sure there are no loose ends sir. Transmission ended.

Edited by plodder, 03 February 2013 - 11:10 PM.

[plodder]

In the brig... What did I expect? First, i agree to do this job, then I screw it up. I am lucky I'm not dead. That Captain is the least of my problems, but how to get out of here and off this excuse of a planet? If I am sent off-world and sentenced for dereliction of duty, my "other" employers will be waiting for me when I get out of prison. Somebody here might get suspicious and collar me for my botched job. I have been naive, thinking I was special, slick, why am always picking losers for allies? Treason to my employers here is punishable by death. The Ostscout is a prize to be sure, and the plan would have been successful, huh, just like every failed plan; "Woulda worked if only....." Crud, I feel bad about the kid's mother, and his brother too. Should have never happened, had I not gotten drunk on my victory, what am I going to do? "Hey prisoner," the guard says from down the hallway, "you have a visitor to see you. The Captain says it is ok if you see him, it is some kind of lawyer, says you might need him." Lawyer? They are gonna send me to the brig permanently, and this is my pencil headed loser that will give the "show" of a fair shake before they send me away for good. And why the heck is a law shark on this mission?

Edited by plodder, 02 February 2012 - 08:29 PM.

[plodder]

Lieutenant? What is your answer? The lieutenant reluctantly turns his confused look to the warrant officer's questioning gaze. "What Clancy? I was, ah, distracted. What did you need?" Warrant Officer Clancy looked keenly at the Lt. then down at the paper in his hand, then asked again."Lt., we need to know if you wanted to continue with the refig. of the Catapult. Some of the components are not available until our next shipment, and now that the action of the unknown merc unit, we don't know if we will get resupplied, sir." With a sweeping motion of his hands, his eyes flashing, head cokked birdlike, with a sardonic smile to match. "You Clancy, are worth every c-bill we pay you! Please let the Chief know that we cannot not allow him the privilege of doing "his" pet project on the Catapult. Also make sure he knows that I believe he had some great ideas. I was truly interested to see how his config. would have performed, and that if it hadn't been for Warrant Officer Clancy..., we would have mistakenly started the project." Starting to pale at what the ramifications could be for ticking off the Chief, Clancy started to splutter," Sir, you cannot be serious sir!? I just got off his crap list recently." Looking down to the powerfully built yet smallish man, the Lt. looked quizzically, as if at a loss, placing his fingers on his chin, looking theatrically contemplative," Now why would that be Clancy? It wouldn't by chance be the paperwork that was never filed for his Scotch cases to be transferred last year was it? Weren't those cases supposed to be for his 50th birthday party? How long did he plan for that?" Looking down at his feet, Clancy looked like a ten year old boy being scolded after farting in church. "Yes Lt., the party was planned for a year, and he has made my life hell until recently. Do I really have to let him know that I am the reason for his project to be on hold, sir?" The plaintive look of wrongly kicked cur, so exspressive on the man's face, was more than the Lt. could bare with a straight face. With lips slightly grinning, "OK, Clancy, tell him I was looking at our situation, and regret to have to stop the Catapult's refig." With a wink and a shrug adds," But you owe me one Warrant Officer." Hopeful at the words, Clancy brightens up noticeably, puts his hand out to the Lt. for a handshake and replies,"Yes sir, you ask it and consider it done sir!" Looking back to his previous distraction, the Lt. peers back into the mech bay, where the extremely attractive woman he noticed before, was now working on an actuator in a panel of a mech, showing that the jumpsuit could not diminish her figure in the least. She was faced away, her head and arms hidden, crouched, with the cloth pleasingly taught over her lovely backside."As interest payment on your debt to me for my kindness to you, tell me who that woman is, and why I have never laid eyes upon her before." Looking worried again, Clancy looks towards the lovely sight, sighs, shakes his head in the negative, looks into the eyes of the Lt.gestures his palms up. What am I supposed to do sir? Sure I can give you her name, then tell you why she is here, but you need to step away sir, she is not, not available sir." After telling the the Lt. the name of the girl, and her reasons for being here, he watched the Lt. turn to watch her again. She then turned from the panel to grab a wrench and wipe her tiny porcelain like hands of some kind of lubricant. Her luscious honey colored flowing hair had worked it's way mostly free of whatever bound it, and it fell over her shoulders, and below her waspish waist. I also concealed half of a radiantly beautiful face that you would usually find in a fashion vid, and not in a mechanic's bay. She must have sensed their looks upon her, for she looked up furtively, then, as though they were friends that she knew, waved, unexpectedly, she lit up the men's world with a smile of camaraderie. Waving back wonderingly, with wan smiles, the boys watched her get back to her work. After enjoying a few seconds of that, Clancy turned to the Lt., "Sir I know what your thinking, and I think you're making a mistake if you pursue her. Honestly sir, beyond that, it cannot be done, sir." Without consternation or puzzlement, but no less determination the Lt. looks down at Clancy, gently smiles, as to a younger brother. "Clancy, you may be right,no, you are right I'm sure, but I can't help but think...." The Lt. breaks eye contact, turns again to the lovely distraction, inadvertently dismissing Clancy by the distraction. Felling embarrassed, not wanting to further intrude on the Lt.'s musings, Clancy excused himself. "Yes sir, I need to go to the Chief's office and break the news to him."

Edited by plodder, 05 March 2012 - 10:27 AM.

[plodder]

There is no communications from the dropship, we are on our own Hammer! Jamming!!! We have lost com-link from Green Company, it seems only line of sight communications are working. A blinding light, then a concussive wave comes from the south, rocking Hammer's and Griffin's mechs. It came from down in the valley below them. Going to the canyon edge, Hammer looks at the destruction below, " Damn!" The once verdant moss forest has a massive black hole burnt black in it's middle, the edges raging in flame, smoke beginning to cover the blown area. To the east of of the scene a series of trails are being plowed, explosions can be seen converging on one of the trails. Who is hunting who? Is Green Squad the hunter, or the hunted? Green Company's base was being pummeled from above.

Interrupting his thoughts, Hammer's mech is dealt a punishing blow! The armor off his left shoulder shattering, his mech stumbling forward toward the canyon's edge! "Hammer! to your left!" How had the mech snuck up on them?Griffin moving away from his position, autocannon on point, fires true, attacking hunchback's torso, spinning the hunchy's torso up and away. The Hunchback's salvo of missiles knocked off course from Hammer's unstable position on the canyon's edge,giving Hammer a reprieve while the Huncback's gauss rifle recharges. Hammer gains control from falling over the canyon, then, confidently steps over the canyon's edge, circling down then around to flank his attacker. The two hunchbacks have the field.Griffin's incredulity at his opponent's firepower.

A Hunchback with a Gauss? "Where would you lighten it? The back armor? fusion engine? Griffin, firing both medium lasers from his hunchy, scores well, as the rivulets of armor splash and run from the now exposed lower torso. Coldly Griffin whispers over and over, "come on baby, come on." The gauss rifle is almost in line to fire on him, there has been enough time to cycle, "come on, ... YES!!" Griffin fires his ac 20 perfectly, sending his rounds into the gauss rifle's arm and shoulder supporting it, as the gauss was being fired. "Drakes mother!!" shouts Griffin, as the gauss round grazes his right arm's elbow, shattering it, shearing it, left dangling by some myomer fibers.

The attacker recoups, accelerates to full speed towards Griffin's moving hunchback. At full speed it fires another missile salvo, this time hitting Griff's left side, from leg to head, as the moving mechs' space quickly diminish between them. Shaking badly from the the missiles' smashing concussions, each delivering an explosion from the projectiles on contact, cause Griff's laser's to miss horribly, next to stumble on a loose outcropping of obsidian fragments.

Hammer tops the the canyon ridge, just below the area the enemy hunchback vacated. " Double damn!! I had his arse!!" Hammer sees the last of his foe going around the corner of the hillside, towards the enemy's distant entrenched defenses, and down into the opposite canyon. "Damn, Damn, Damn! Pausing to collect himself, he looks at his sensors, overlooking Griffin's Mech."You ok Griff?" "Yes, Hammer, I am fine.

Good thing you scared him off." Getting hot again Hammer tries to control his voice,"Good? What about letting that guy free is good?" Having almost fallen, now recovered, Griff's mech was now at a standstill, he tried to point with with bad mech arm towards the canyon, down torwards where the fusion engine and mech had exploded. "We have at least one of our friends down there, trying to survive who knows how many enemies. This was a set ambush, we were not supposed to be here. If the Colonel had not called us back to support Green Company, while they finished setting up their defenses, we would back at our dropship having a cold beer, watching a recorded Solaris battle instead of being in battle. Let's get down there while we can still be of some help. If we had continued battling that hunchy, it would have been to late. Let's go!"

Edited by plodder, 18 March 2012 - 02:15 PM.

[plodder]

"What do you mean by, there was an "unknown" Northwind Highlander unit operating in-system?" Tossing his cigar into the ashtray, looking down at his meticulously kept desk. Ashtray to the left, 6" from the lamp, 6" from the edge, his son's picture On the right, the exact opposite of the ashtray, picture in a polished brass frame. His Son cutting an image of hopeful youth twined with experienced care, a handsome strong man that would make any father proud, and even "his" father proud. Collecting himself by his uniformed sensibility, looks to his senior officer expectantly, penetratingly, conveying both disgust and acceptance.

[plodder]

Does nobody like this? has my verbosity been in vain? Ok, even I know it is vain, never mind.LOL

Edited by plodder, 03 March 2012 - 07:35 PM.

[plodder]

Recklessness was in his nature. From the time he left his mother's side, the desire to explore the unseen, to do the undone was nothing but air to breath. This was not a drive of compulsion, but more that of necessity. To deny the natural act of accomplishing a thought, a reasoned, therefore reasonable thought, went by logic's dictum's, to go against the reasonable. To others more steeped in classic safety protocols, his reasonableness was classified as recklessness.

His hiding place was simple, the best ones always are simple. That is why they are very difficult to find. His small mech fit into the water well perfectly. The composition of the volcanic rock surrounding the Ostscout, inhibited beagle and other sensors. It helped also that he was totally submerged in water, and that the water was covered in a thick blanket of water moss made him invisible to even a trained eye. When the planet was cooling, how many years, who could say? The magma which flowed over the land had super heated bubbles that cooled as they neared the surface. This created many spheres of voids deep and shallow in the planetoids surface. Some were as large as small cities, others were small.

Jake's hidden Ostscout was in a smallish water filled pocket. Dangerous as these pockets are to maneuvering a battle mech in the field, they can also be helpful for strategy and ambush. If a mech went over a hardened magma bubble, the weight of the mech could bust through surface, dropping the pilot unexpectedly, from 2- 1200 meters of water, possibly air. Water filled bubbles usually ended in death to a hapless pilot, a slow death. A medium to deep popped bubble, no jump jet could help extricate from one of these, even the small bubbles were difficult to extricate a mech from. Hope then holds where hope often does, in the hands of our friends, or our masters.

Each magma bubble sphere throughout the landscape around the planet had signal emitters to warn of their locations and dangers. Right now the emitters were all turned off. The invaders would eventually find them and turn them on, and they would work, until we chose otherwise. What the invaders will not discover in these emitters is the “friend or foe” sub-routine hidden in the power packs backup system. The sub-routine allows the friends (us), to see all of the bubble spheres, while we program the invaders to see only the ones we choose, or to go through randomized “show then hide” scenario that would confuse anyone.

Anticipation hung on his mind, excitement coursed in his blood. Desire for some kind of retribution to these unwelcome destroyers of family, his family. The plan was as simple as his hiding place. Hidden for the last 12 hours, several interesting developments had occurred. As predicted, the enemy had laid its camp in this valley, placing the ammo and equipment less then 800 meters from his bubble sphere. They had thought it safe. It was safe from a mech assault. Behind the equipment and ammo dump was a large formidable cliff, in front, several lances of Mechs. Most of the mechs were shut down, only one lance of mixed weight mechs were on stand by, purring softly. Beyond that, another light lance patrolled and probed our defenses, our positions.

Jake heard a tapping signal on the hull of the Ostscout, Tap-tap- ta-tap tap---- tap-tap! The external wire feed passed data into his idling mech, his contacts had done their job. He now had all locations of the enemy assets and targets to be destroyed. The information also told him his contacts had successfully infiltrated the enemy base camp, sabotaging all but one the mechs on standby. Hidden in the moss forest was another friendly lance, all shut down, all in bubbles of their own, some wet bubbles like his, others dry, covered with moss blooms. Their job was to mop up, and capture. Tap Tap Tap. One minute for the contact saboteurs to escape carnage, counting down 60 seconds, Jake fired up his T.A.G. System, preparing to do his duty. Three, two, one, straightening the legs of his mech from the crouching position he'd been hiding in, Jake's upper torso slowly raised from the watery tomb. Water moss continued to camouflage very effectively, nobody noticed the movement or his signature, all according to plan. Aiming at the command module, which held the Logistics Communications Center for the invaders on this part of the continent, Jake had acquisition, lock in 4,3,2, 1, LOCK! The sky began to rain ordinance! The command module and communication center disappeared in massive concussions of light and fire. Jump jets firing, the Ostscout cleared the bubble sphere, easily raising to a ledge 130 meters up the cliff. Looking down at the destruction, troops running to equipment, or to cover, it soon wouldn't matter. Young as Jake was in years, the cold fury in him threatened to ignite to a flaming rage at the sight of his enemies panic, but he held, the ice vitriol held sway over the blood lusst threatening him.

Aiming the T.A.G system down below him, locked on some laser turrets clustered placed to concentrate fire, Jake watched as they too disappeared from the ordinance from above. Stick in hand, mech in soul, the youngster pilot jump jetted to the next self another 90 meters above, stepping into a cave hidden from below, by the ledge. As he entered, his sensors told him that the one stand by mech was maneuvering away from the destroyed base, and the concussion and blinding light explained that his sabotaging buddies had somehow rigged one of the mechs to meltdown, perhaps after it had fired its first volley at the lance of mechs, now following the lone enemy mech through the moss forest. Turning to look out through the cave opening, the Osterout showed him not one mech, but three on the opposing ridge, one friendly Hunchback, as planned, but it was engaging two mechs on the canyons rim. One of the enemy was another Hunchback, the other was a??? After exchanging a few blows, the friendly escapes toward safe lines, while the enemy mechs collect themselves, then head down to the canyon to aid their stinking enemy comrade.

Passing the data onto command, Jake passively waited as the small battle unfurled, curious at his calmness, and his desire for a good meal.

Edited by plodder, 03 February 2013 - 11:27 PM.

[plodder]

Maisie stood there, looked into the panel, back straight, head to the side, delicate dirty hands below her slim waist, resting confidently on her lovely womanly hips. Simplicity has always been her first choice, when opportunity and appropriateness would allow. The servo actuator was not failing consistently. After removing the servo, it had tested out 100% over 20 bench tests. Removing the actuator was a job she did not want to do if she didn't need to. The job itself was easy enough, but the after calibration to the neural net was time consuming and tricky if you wanted it to be done right.

Some half baked mechanics did not complete all of the link's by amp and ohm of the linear resistors. Sure everything works, and tests out fine within tolerances, but the improper resistance causes a minuscule buzzing, or barley apparent disconnect in the pilot's feed through the connection of neural helmet and mech. For an hour or four a pilot may not even notice, but eventually the background mind clutter wears. The pilot may need to concentrate harder, to actually think about his actions instead of just doing it, and that can be fatal in battle. No, she would do the actuator right if it needed to be done, but then her day would be shot.

Bending down into the back of the access panel, she regretted being in such a hurry earlier. After her short shower, she had accidentally grabbed a pair of coveralls she hadn't worn for the last ten months. Not noticing any snugness at first, because she had only filled out a little, a bit more curve aunt Jenny would say. Maisie has always tried to be careful about form fitting clothing, preferring to wear loose, though not baggy clothing while at work. Baggy was bad, it caught on things, and was always in the way. Finding that medium ground was not as easy as one would think. At the age of thirteen she had first noticed the affect her favorite play trousers had on the homestead boys. Silly things boys are, at a little hint of what a girl or woman may be then... the brain leaves them.

“Well, I am not going back to my quarters to change.” She had said to herself, after a few looks at the chow line, “I just don't have time, and besides, I could go for a good fight!” Thinking of her recent losses had really stirred up a whole mech bay full of helpless and angry feelings. Just wait for some stupid man to make the mistake to touch her, or speak rudely, “I will feed him his lunch through the wrong end.” Smiling at the thought, hoping for the opportunity, she finished her food, worked on the servo actuator until now.

Bending over with her tester in hand, Maisie tested each connection, being very careful. There was full power in all the connections, it was the only way to test it appropriately, throughly. Elbows into the panel, leaning well and over to reach where she needed to test, Sweet little Maisie got that feeling. Women know it well, also hunted game know the feeling, of course the best mech pilots survive by it, but as a woman this particular feeling had no threat of death in it. Shrugging it off as the hazards of duty, she used her Dukes tester to gauge the power ground link to the servo. It had power! The ground was creating a heat/short. Now is the power coming from the actuator to the servo, or from another source?

Stepping out from the panel flipping the power off with a remote, she grabbed a rag to wipe off the grease, grabbed the wrench to disconnect the power feeds to the actuator and servo, with the excitement of belief that she knew what the problem was, and that it was not the actuator, and having forgotten the womanly “feeling,” She looked up to see a very handsome man looking at her. Shyly, slightly embarrassed at her disheveled appearance, yet filled with her excitement of her minor mechanical victory, Maisie grins at the handsome fellow and his friend, waves to them as pals, then with an unintentioned grace, proceeds to work on the mech. Maisie ponders, "Who is that officer? Shaking her head in disgust reproach and a little guilt.What am I thinking? My homeworld is being invaded, my mother and brother just died, Jake is on some hazard mission, and I am thinking about a man's amazing grin, and his damned blue eyes! I have more important things to do. Keep my composure, oh no! I can keep my composure, sure, but he is surely looking at my posture! Now who here is loosing their brain? Nothing to do but grin and bear it I suppose. With these tight coveralls, bear it I shall, crud!"

Edited by plodder, 07 March 2012 - 08:43 PM.

[plodder]

May 17, 2724

The ancient one, crouched at his terminal, cold coffee at his side, tobacco pipe dead, hanging from his clenched jaw, his fingers dancing a rythmatic cacophony of clicks and pats. The sound similar to a rain forests deluging music in the rainy season. Barely audible, consistent as the sounds his keypads sang, words passed the lips, passing the pipe with a hissing vulgarity, meaningless to any but him. The others left him alone, only those that truly knew him feared him, everybody else in the facility ignored or humoured the old codger. As one of the richest men in his time, it would be pressing hard to find anyone that actually knew of his wealth and power. He wore his wealth only when it was time to get something done. Josef-Ganz came from a very long family of engineers. Throughout the centuries the Ganz families have created and horded wealth, grudgingly showed its power, rarely displayed the financial prowess. Josef was more of a recluse than the usual Ganz leaders, but this made him more effective.
Knowing his life was close to ending, for the last five years he has been living his “engineering dreams.” Engineers by nature and common sense, build into their work, extra limit capabilities, extra strengths, exceeding the stated factory or manufacturing maximum capabilities. A common goal is 3% overbuild, to allow for exceptional circumstances. Some tollerances have less extra % of extra capabilities due to the massive size of the project, others more, due to the lesser size. This covers most all of the warranty issues, as well as stupid operators. Mr. Ganz's goal is the engineer's daydream come to life. He was designing and implementing the designs of his favourite mech designs throughout the Star League. Secreted plans were modified, secret facilities built his projects from scratch. His modifications in every detail of the mech started with every aspect without concern for the financial cost. Myomer fiber designs at 100 times the cost, tempered layered endo steel with ferro fiberous technology at a cost not to be reported, he just didn't want to know. His goal was at minimum 15% increase in every capability. The hope was up to 35% in strength, while having 160% heat efficiency, some projects worked out, others had not. The Union dropship had been a great success. It could lift 20% more that its original plans, while weighing 6% less.
Working now on the Ostscout, the energy in his mind powered his old and weak frame to enter and change data at a dizzying speed and rapidity.


http://www.sarna.net/wiki/Ostscout

Edited by plodder, 17 March 2012 - 04:07 PM.

[plodder]

3026 may 12 11:00 am outer Periphery ??


Grave in demeanor, sober in tone, though the eyes seemed to hint at a twinkle of mischief. Hints but not conveys interest, for the Major was not given to mirth of any kind. Pointing out the areas where the invaders have been shoring up defenses and temporary base camps, encompassing all the surrounding grazing lands, canyons and moss forests. Looking down on the smallish man with a grudging respect, a respect of learned acceptance, knowing this man was in a place of power among his folk and kin, and that no other could accomplish the task this Shepard could. Taking his unlit cigar from the corner of his puggish mouth, said what needed saying.
“Send out the sheep dogs. We do not need all of the sheep to disappear, just enough to make sure they are hungry. Aye aye sir, da wee shep whill be safe'n comfy soon sir. Thank you Master Shepard Troke, and one more thing; could you and a few of your brothers, also, procure, some of the ammo and gear our visitors have so carelessly left lying around? Aye sir, that' be sumthin ta doo sir. Wit out our'd shep sir, me boys been ta bit testy, an bein spoilt for'n good fight do ya ken? Once wee's put dem shep in the caves, all da miss's be take'n care'd o the shep anyhows.Very good then Troke. Master Sargent Glasshope, See that two cases of our private whiskey stock is provided to our master herdsman here, I believe “procuring” is a very thirsty business Master Sargent. Give them a case of “our” porcelain mugs too, I think it is important. Yes Major, it will done as you say.

His best whiskey, our Highlander mercenary mugs, why is he doing this? I know his family has major title of land on this weird little planet, but why coddle sheep herders, why would the shepherds want mercenary mugs? I am stuck here with this smelly man, talking nice, as I walk him to the units storage unit. The Master Sargent said, “be polite trainee, I'll hear no bad thing spoken from you or anyone about our friends, you make sure nothing occurs to cause a problem, we need these people.” Friends? Need? What the heck over? “This way Master Troke. Will you need a cart to carry this stuff, or are going to want someone to pick up later what you can't carry now?” With a gimlet eye'd glare, the shepard spins to look trainee Hanson face to face and toe to toe, looking up, chin jutted out says in a horse powerful whisper,” does ya want me to skelp yoan ya's bastirt nose ,you's jessy coddle bonnie? If'n i's want be takin insults from the likes of you'n, I'd piff'd in ya soup, ya ken?” Flabbergasted, Trainee Hanson steps back, looking down on the little man uneasily, wonders what he has done, and how to make amends. With the soft calming voice Hanson used on his beloved horse, if made skittish by an unexpected noise, or sent of a desert lion, he said,”I am sorry Master Troke, I do not know what I have done, I meant no insult, sir.” Troke's face and neck turning as red as Clancy the chief mechanic's nose, looking to burst at any moment, shouted to break glass,”You treat me as an old woman! to NEED help! to NEED a cart! to NEED another to come and carry a wee bit of whiskey and a few pretty cups! I should beat you till ya mudder would weep to see ya, you's lilly white wet soap!!!” No sir Master Troke Sir! I was just trying to be helpful sir. Getting redder, now starting to explode, sweat starting to bead on the forehead, smittle flecking out as he screams as loud as any military training Sargent,”You ?!ARE TRYING TO HELP ME!? DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED HELP TO YOU!?!” Troke reaches out with a speed Hanson cannot believe, grabs the trainee at belt and blouse collar, yanks him up and around over his head, horsely whispers,” *amurNay auld granmaw, dried in da paps, dobber boy, ya ken? En how's mak'n mends ya glaekit?” Trembling in rage and embarrassment, to be caught so easily by a dung burning sheep herder. Hanson himself horsely whispers,”I was wrong Mr. Troke, I see my failure sir. Where I come from, people of power, like yourself, choose to have others do fetching, like having a child bring a cup of water, sir, and I myself would have used a cart Mr. Troke, it is obvious that you could choose to carry twice what you are being given, if that is what you, chose. “ With less anger, but still intense, Troke whispers, well said boy, now how'n you makin amends, before I's put ya down? Amends sir? I don't know sir, what would you think would be appropriate?” Anxiously , with brows furrowed, yet pleading in confused helplessness, Hanson cranes his head to look his tormentor in the eye. Peering back in the eye of the long legged, wet behind the ears, brawny Lt. Trainee draped over his tawny shoulders, in a break back hold, Troke softens with his deepest and softest Scottish brogue, grins and winks, “You seem to be a goot hearted bairn, how bouts I carry twice the amount I was given, as you suggested?”

3024 may 12, 1:23 pm
“Trainee Hanson reporting as ordered sir, Master Sargent Glasshope, SIR!!!”Hanson,so nervous he saluted the non-com after saying this, was also ramrod straight, obviously stressed with fear emanating in his body language, and more from every sweaty pore. Eyebrow raised, an almost smile forming on the Master Sargent's face, speaks in a confident fatherly tone “So how much did he get trainee? How much of our whiskey did you give to the blackart, out of the kindness of your heart, of course? Shocked and at a loss, the Trainee Slowly drops his crisp salute, transforming it to a limp wristed wave as it drops to his side. How did the Master Sargent know? It had just happened. Hanson was told to report to The M. Sargent when he completed the task with Mr. Troke, so, how did he know? Hanson's brow furrowed in puzzled consternation even wonderment,”Sir?” From the M.Sargent's formidable desk, M. Sargent leans forward menacingly,”I think my question was quite explicit trainee Hanson. You were sent on a fools errand trainee, that is what trainees are good for, you understand?” Looking back at the M. Sargent, dawning light appearing.“Yes sir, I think I do sir.” More patiently, M. Sargent repeats,”how much did you give him?”Looking at the floor, appearing as guilty as a good old dog next to a puddle made in the house, Hanson says, “I gave him five cases sir, sorry sir, take it out of my pay sir!” Leaning back in his chair , looking to the ceiling.”No need for that trainee, the M. Sargent says,” with an infectious grin, “It was a fools errand after all, you filled your duty well. Smiling beneficently, waving Hanson to the chair next to his desk. We knew Troke would get a bit more to wet his and his brothers' whistles. The only question was, how much,” he said while uncharacteristically chuckling.

“I wagered it would be double then alloted...You just made me 200 c-bills, at the cost of the Major's wallet. M Sargent slaps his thigh laughing. “Tell me Hanson, since you do not seem to have any bruises, and are not walking with a limp, How did our friend “convince” you to give him a wee bit more whiskey?” Halfway through the periphery cigar the M. Sargent had given him, the tale was over, the embarrassment lingered stingingly, lessened by the cigar, and the mug of some liquor concoction the Sargent called Gin and Tonic, but there it stung never the less.

“Tell me son, two things strike incongruent to me, not quite in line with your story. You seem to have given up on your orders a bit to quick, offering more of our unit's resources than you had license to give, and the math I learned says twice the amount given would be four cases of whiskey, and not five.” Gathering himself for the rebuke to come.”Sir, you told me to make sure no problems occur sir. There was about to be a definite problem if I kicked our friends keester to the latrine and back for causing me bodily harm sir. Turning red from a suppressed emotion, held in by common sense and training, the Trainee Continues, No mistake sir, that he would have put the hurt on me, and by all I believe, regardless of rank or position held or hoped for, his *** would be mine, SIR! So I thought it would be better to give what he wanted, and to let him know I meant no insult, as I naturally didn't,sir.” A little stunned by this confession, but too much of an old hand to show it, with his best honed stone face.” Alright Hanson, you put your cards on the table nicely, and I won't fault you for that.”

To himself the Sarge pondered,”This kids got some onions, or is as dumb as a lamb, our shepherd would have chewed him up like ac 20's on infantry, then left the the bones for the buzzards, maybe both?” Flicking his own cigar ashes in the tray, casually asks,“The second point?. The math.

How come five cases instead of four?” Trainee Hanson, putting down the cigar ashes into the marvelous seashell ashtray on the desk, displays his hand to count off on is fingers, first displaying two for the whiskey promised.” Well sir, we had the two cases of whiskey, then we had the case of our mugs, that makes three cases, right?” Curious, the Sarge places his index finger in the air and circles it in a, come on get moving gesture. “Yes go ahead, that much I know trainee.” Putting up a total of six digits thereby doubling the count with a flourish the Gin and Tonic could explain. “Twice the three makes six cases obviously. So that blaggard Troke tells me as sweetly as words could be said by a villain and rapscallion.” What'm I to do with two case of those pretty mugs, I only need six of those mugs anyway. Put down both cases of mugs, and give me those two cases there instead, and I'll put those few mugs in my pocket sack.” Sargent Glasshope, seeing red, thinks “this trainee has lied to him,” barely controlled, voice neither raised or trembling, asks,”I thought you said you gave him five cases of whiskey, and am I to believe you lied to me, and instead you gave him six?” Turning pale, almost dropping his drink, he comes as close to attention as you can with a Gin and Tonic in your left hand, and half smoked cigar in the right, looking away as he quotes Trokes words to Master Sargent Glasshope.”I am not a drunkard boy, what would I do with that much drink for me an my boys, and you all need to have a sip or two to get you through our cold wet nights here ya ken? This case of cigars will do sweetly to make up the difference, though they are a bit lighter, but I won't begrudge you for shorting me a wee bit. Now grab me that cart ye were go-in on and on bout, load this up and take it to my pull truck, there sonny, and we'll be just fine.”

Looking back to M. Sargent grizzled face, Hanson with a sure regret, confesses,” I almost told him I thought he was going to carry the cases to prove he was not old or feeble, and what kind of man was he anyway? Fortunately I stopped myself as the crafty old codger slowly, almost begging me to say it,turns his skull like grin at me, slapping a cigar into is maw, popping the bottle top, and pouring himself a barrage of whiskey into is newly acquired Highlander mug! Sir, I thought it better to let him have his, um, fun sir, even if it was at my expense.” Twenty seconds elapse without movement or sign, time drifting, seemingly abandoned.”Trainee Hanson, If that ain't the damnedest thing I have heard in an age son! You just wait here, I am getting the Major, he is going to bust a gut when you repeat this to him, and after that, you can report to the barracks, I am promoting you from trainee to the regulars. You've tested out well on the scout mechs. We could use a fast thinker with a fair amount confidence, and the ability to keep a cool head.” Leaving the room laughing, slapping his thigh again, the M.Sargent moves towards the Major's office, turning once to see the befuddled joy forming on Regular Hanson's ugly Highlander Mercenary's mug.

Edited by plodder, 18 March 2012 - 03:25 PM.

[plodder]

December 12 3023

“I am a *******, and come from a long line of ********. Not that my father was not a part of my life nor the lives of my patriarchies as far back as Digiam Mckensi. Never have any of us had a lack of fatherly devotion, or love for that matter. The ability to have a woman tied to the hip throughout life, and to stay with her for always, was not within my kinship's efforts to try. So you my son must understand that I do not hold my name from you out of malice or disinterest, but only of the common understanding of what I have been taught, as I am now teaching you. If you desire my name as I desired my father's name, then take it! None shall stand in your way. DO you think yourself worthy? Shall you join your fortunes to mine? It is not a thing done on whim or fancy, but a commitment that shall not be undone, unless you be a double minded man, and man you are, I have no doubt of that, even though your years not be many, or your experience over much. What do you say to these things?”

Peering down into his empty coffee mug disappointingly, the young *******,son of the old *******, pauses resignedly before he speaks. “Father, you speak to me as a child, as if I cared for names more than the man you are father, or if a name will change the man I mean to be. Do my mother's apron still held me, as though I still milked at her teats. You know I desire your name as a man, and as a warrior, yet I desire your favor more, what is a name compared with that? Was it the name you sought when you followed grand da? Or really, was it his camaraderie you craved? Besides the helmet full of warm thoughts, what warrior would not desire the name Mckensi to be their own? Unless of course he be some Kurita snake or, Rasalhague blow-hard.” The young man shifts toward the the barrel behind him, taking his mug of ale, then,after topping it off, fills a spare mug, and as he hands the spare mug frothing over with delicious brew to his father, grins broadly while looking deadly serious, “Since I am neither Kurtian, nor Rasalhague, and am as willing a warrior as ever was born, your name I shall have, and would beat down the man that says I am not worthy, or that it is not a name to be desired!”

With as stunned look as ever he had , feeling as though he had by chance and hope decimated an enemies mech of all its armor with a first volley of missiles and lbx 10 he commonly used in his Summoner, knowing that his Lrg. Lasers were going to score victory.”Reaching over awkwardly, the big man half hugged, half tackled his boy, as they shared a hard manly, bone breaking squeeze to the other. Embarrassed by such intimate contact, quickly they pushed away to a more comfortable arms reach distance. Son, You are an old man's dream come true. I think I am about to wake from a dream. No, I think this is real, cause no dream ever had ale that tasted so good, or refreshing! Thank you my son, you make me proud. Son, will you do the paperwork this cycle? I will pay the Comstar fees for their submission to outreach.” Looking both pleased and surprised, the young man claimed,”Yes indeed,this is a good brew! Little brother Jake seems to have a better hand at it than I, and he doesn't even care for the stuff.” He winks at avoiding acknowledgement of the embrace, the complement, and his old man's revelation of pride.”Yes sir, I think this cycle will do nicely, since I am going to join the unit to eliminate some raiders. I have not been informed where we are going, but I would feel better known as a Mckensi, and not a Smith, bless mother's heart, I mean her no ill. Going to the ale, the older Mckensi fills his mug at the tap, then pours while his son places his tankard thirstily beneath the tap. ”

Let us make a toast!.”This is my toast to you son!May the battle's end always in life, and victory! That the reasons for the battle be both profitable, and right. That those you love be safe, and lastly, that you treat “your” Ostscout well!!!” Starting to drink his fill in agreement and joy, as does his father, his understand catches up with the With the words said, a hitch in the younger man's face puckers in confused, but dawning comprehension. “What!!” ,he tries to say as he spews out the beer and the words together. Failing the effort, the young man chokes and coughs, doubling over. With a knowing grin, a grin near the point of ripping his face in two, Mechwarrior Mkensi says nothing, but patiently waits for his son to gain his composure.

Edited by plodder, 19 March 2012 - 04:09 PM.