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Post by Kochevnik Pryde on Oct 21, 2016 2:04:12 GMT -8
//This is not Battletech lore. If you read it as such, you will be disappointed; I can not go toe-to-toe with all the authors you've read, and I certainly can't claim absolute knowledge of the Battletech universe. This is 'fanfiction', if you will, and is meant for nothing more than to add to the game and get a bit of story behind each of us, and the unit, if people start participating or adding in their 'two cents'. This is based off of the universe which PGI has allowed to occur, i.e., Clan Jade Falcon pushing all the way past Terra, unable to invade due to ComStar and their infamous P.A.D. (Plot Armor Device), and is currently invading House Marik without running into the logistics issues that would naturally cripple such an invasion thanks to their capture of several key factories that were in the Lyran Commonwealth. Yadda, yadda, yadda, it makes sense, I'll expound on it more, and remember: This is NOT Battletech lore. Many character who never had a bloodname, will have a bloodname. Flame wisely and responsibly, please.\\ //For many of these stories, I will be drawing characters from other pilots with whom I've run in the past. I may also draw from R79T members, if I get ya'll's permission/go-ahead. If you don't like how I portray your character, let me know and I will amend it or replace the character with someone else entirely. Thank you for your patience.\\ //This section will be largely based on lore of the unit... Using a sub-plot as a narrative device to tell stories about conquests, battles, and defeats the R79T deems 'memorable.' What you are about to read is a teaser, a 'pilot episode', if you will. This scene is abbreviated, intentionally cryptic, and in medias res. But things get fun fast. Read on, and subscribe!\\ //The story so far...// Attachments:R79T Lore So far.docx (24.92 KB)
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Post by Kochevnik Pryde on Oct 21, 2016 18:07:31 GMT -8
Withdrawing File From Archives...
Stand by...
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Subject: R79T Engagement Assessment Category: Unit Reassignment Restricted: No (Released recently 'edited')
Filename: Crouching Wolf Date: <date(s) withheld>
::: File Accessed :::
--- "Sirs; with all due respect. I warned you this would happen. The morale of the R79T -- or, 'The Mongrel Cluster' as some have begun calling it -- can simply not continue. Ever since their first engagement with Wolf as the victims of the treacherous sneak-attack three months previous, they have yet to have a decisive victory against so much as a rag-tag band of laborers. Defeat after defeat has driven their Battlemechs, warriors, and leadership into a battered state, and even now, they are clinging to our quickly vanishing ground on <REDACTED>. They need to be extracted, and re-deployed as a second line unit immediately -- At the least! Perhaps, if <REDACTED> deems it wise, the unit may required absorption in to another cluster. These... Frankly, mongrels can not be permitted to shame our Clan on the field so greatly. The time for action is -now-, <REDACTED>!" --- -An excerpt from <name(s) removed> in conversation with <name(s) removed>.
//Sidenote: After due examination of the mental toll on the unit itself, most soldiers suffered the greatest shock -- the inability to maintain control over the situation was only balanced by the superb leadership of the individual warriors who demonstrated courage in the face of overwhelming fire. After five months and three weeks on an (effectively) enemy-held world with no supply, no relief, and no garrison of reinforcements, most units would break down in even the finest front-line units. I humbly submit, therefore, that the leadership of <REDACTED> managed this great feat due to some form of misguided ideology sadly - shamefully - drawn from the Inner Sphere, which had this singular quirk of mental resistance. The tune, Mar<FRAGMENTATION>th seems to inspire a sense of blood lust in these warriors which was not notable before the siege of <REDACTED>.\\
The storm was both in heaven, and on earth. Farthly was just a lowly grunt in the workings of things, but right now, that didn't matter much -- he shared a foxhole with none other than Star Colonel Amani himself. Even in the flashing light of PPC and lightning, the Colonel seemed constant. He exuded confidence, and his sharp, yet resigned glare told Farthly there would be exactly no time for comfort or games. This was day 157 of the 'siege', and things were not getting better. It was hardly a siege anymore, regardless -- they had lost their fortifications and base on the first night.
Ever since the sneak attack by night so long ago had taken the R79T's base of operations, they hadn't had a moment's rest; Clan Wolf had been relentless in their assault, seemingly determined to wipe the Falcons from the entire attack corridor the Falcon Touman had established. Retreat, dig in, retreat, dig in, retreat, dig in, it never stopped. Every fourth day, Farthly had saddled up on a heavy B1 and tried to pry his cramped fingers off his portable Inferno launcher -- his actual weapon had been lost even before R79T had set up shop here, and he had been settling for Sphere 'Tech ever since -- then the young soldier would lay back as best he could and try not to age another ten years. Twelve hours later, he'd be digging new foxholes for day, which they'd be abandoning two days later, just as soon as Clan Wolf could get those god-damned Direwolves into a final firing position, and all of his unit's 'Mechs had to retreat.
Now was day two and a half of the cycle, and Clan Wolf had been faster this time, furthermore, they had brought in far more air support than was typical. It definitely appeared that he'd be withdrawing much, much sooner than anticipated. His heart pounded in his chest with the speed of a hummingbird when those familiar booms of thunder-footsteps sounded inside his very skull, and he looked up to see an Ebon Jaguar perched just over his foxhole -- the sleek nose peered through the thick, hazy smoke, stark white, gold, and dark green cast upon a black-grey background as the heavens framed the gigantic machine with its ominous approval.
Twin streaks of lightning emerged from the 'Mechs left torso, and the 65 tonner shook subtly with the shot, then padded backwards a step, the knee actuators straining aloud as the machine vaguely crouched to a more proper firing position. Braced thus, the scorched paint, riddled armor sheets, and battered, mangled, twisted metal was far more clearly visible while the whole 'Mech shuddered with the discharge of its gauss, a single package of nickel-iron flinging itself into the wind-whipped darkness. The skull and blade was half-blackened by the torturous wear, but on the under belly of the Jaguar was the skull and blade denoting it one of Cutlass Star's, the specialized mid-range snipers of the R79T.
A moment passed and the Ebon Jaguar - the name 'Bronco II' stylized alongside the skull and cutlass - stood to its full height again, and a Hellbringer came looming from the dark curtains of rain, camouflage the same, and spit forth another molten-orange slug. Farthly watched in amazement at the sight, both the Bronco II and Inimitable towering high above while they kept nighttime vigil, watching things Farthly could only gaze at. The use of those Gauss rifles disturbed Farthly greatly: the entire Cluster was running short on munitions, and only certain shots were to be made if it meant a round of ammunition was to be expended.
A sudden shift in the rocks beside him alerted Farthly to the Colonel standing beside him, straightening himself out briefly, then shouting into the commlink hidden by the sleeve of his combat uniform. Farthly blinked in surprise at the sudden lack of a downpour over his eyes - he had grown so accustomed to it, and the sound of rainfall still roared in his ears - then he realized the nose of the Ebon Jaguar had extended over the foxhole, shielding it from the torrent. Still, the young soldier's boots were in standing water, and the sides of the once neat, pristine foxhole were giving in to the flood of diverted water the Bronco II had caused. Things could not be worse; enemy at the doorstep, a ripe stench from not having a proper shower in ages, the bad smell compounded by the miserable rain, a bitterly strong gale which gusted forth and back across the foxholes, and sheer, mind-numbing exhaustion from the meager shreds of 'sleep' he had. And fuck, it was getting cold, too.
Straining to hear over the crack of thunder and omnipresent hum of twin fusion reactors not meters away, Farthly overheard parts of the heated conversation being held between the Star Colonel, and the voice on the other end of the commlink. It sounded as though Amani was trying very, very hard to encourage someone else not to lose their patience. Suddenly, he stopped talking mid-sentence and blinked, looked down and tapped the commlink several times, then growled and slowly lowered his arm to his side and picked up a Zeus Heavy Rifle, chambering a round. "Come on, soldier, we've got to move!" The man shouted over the sound of aerospace fighters flying overhead. Immediately falling into line, Farthly scrambled out of the foxhole behind Amani and the two dead-sprinted to a waiting transport, clambering into the open rear doors. Farthly watched through the armored window as the two heavy battlemechs fired a series of energy beams and PPCs into the vast darkness beyond, then the EBJ turned on its right heel and began lumbering forward, the HBR's silhouette starting to fade while the armored transport lurched forward through the muddy field. Transfixed, Farthly watched as the Hellbringer rocked and explosions wrapped around it, the massive steps backwards quick and decisive while the pilot struggled to bring their guns into line with the storm. Meanwhile, the EBJ itself stopped and turned about, settling into a familiar firing position as another, ear-splitting 'crack' sounded -- then the B1 armored transport's wheels really caught traction, and the two battlemechs were left far behind in the tempest.
That was when the moaning filled Farthly's mind -- a dull, hollow sound, emanating from any one of a dozen wounded soldiers on the transport with him. It sounded as though all urgency had left the voice of those constant, pained cries. They now were just a plead for this to be over with. The colonel swept over the men with his eyes, then turned around and locked the rear doors shut, slamming the interior metal sheet of armor down with a loud 'CLANG'.
***
It was like trying to see through pea soup. Of course, it didn't help that thermal had been on the fritz ever since that one lucky shot from a Uac round had detonated near to exposed targeting computer. At least the sun was starting to rise and sycthe through the clouds into the valley below. Jadis Sustan simply sighed and took a long sip of lukewarm coffee from her mug, then clasped the lid back on its top and shifted her Night Gyr a step back, the broad, open, expansive field so typical of this planet making her feel more than a little exposed, despite the suffocating nearness of the storm raging about her glowing chassis. The Star Captain had been leading Morning Star and Phoenix Star to the rendezvous point, while the Star Colonel himself led the rearguard along with Star Captain Michael and various elements of the swifter Cutlass Star.
This left her with mixed feelings, as it meant cold coffee, and a cold battlemech for the war-weary Star Captain. But at least here, they had their backs to a mountain range, and the distinctive crevices and crystal formations nearby would mean perfect cover to dig in with. A vast cavern had also been found, large enough to house a mobile field base.
For the first time in months, Jadis felt like things had finally started looking up. Maybe the unit could finally get its balance back...
But before she would allow herself to think further on this, the more immediate task called for her attention: to dig in and prepare an unassailable force to cover the rearguard with. Most of the PBI (Poor Bloody Infantry) had already started digging three lines of trenches, and honey-combed the ground with foxholes, but the half dozen Alacorn MK VI's left in operation were going to be a complicated matter to get into any realistic fortifications. With three gauss rifles mounted on each 95 ton tank, every single one was an asset that needed utilized.
Jadis rubbed her forehead and reached for pen and paper inside her cockpit, sketching out the defensive line she had available. She began by reverse-engineering the position, trying to think of how best to attack her unit once it was dug in, then built defenses from there. Fairly soon, the complicated haze of woven, tangled webs which clouded her thought had resolved themselves into a clearly defined diagram with six firing positions highlighted and marked on her battlegrid. Feeling content with her accomplishment, the Star Captain leaned back and smiled to herself, subduing the grin by taking another sip of coffee while gazing over the battlegrid and imagining the destruction unleashed on any foe who tried a frontal assault. That was when her computer chimed in, "New target, acquired."
Instantly replacing the lid on her mug, and moving with shaking hands and foul language to her controls, she leaned forward and glanced over the glitching, static-ridden signal her computer was attempting to sort out. In short order, the grainy image resolved itself into a Summoner, a friendly IFF ping marking it as none other than the Colonel's own 'Mech -- the rearguard had arrived much sooner than anticipated.
With a deep sigh of relaxation, she allowed a sheepish smile to cross her lips, silently thankful no one could see her relief. Maybe now, she thought to herself, we can finally stop running. "Maybe now," she whispered, "the sun will rise."
***
Two contacts, eight hundred meters. This was it! Five months of accursed tracking, restless pursuit, a -constant- drain on his resources, and now he had them! They would maintain that lax pace and routine he had forced them into, his quarry using this time to rest, and this is when he was to strike.
Star Captain Gorden Rex's bumbling mishandle of the infiltration and elimination of the R79T's warriors at night had been shameful, reckless, incompetent, idiotic even, and these Falcons had proven a constant thorn in the side ever since. But now... Now that thorn was to be plucked and squeezed to death at last!
Smiling with the lust of the hunt, Star Colonel Albert Torc quietly announced over comms, "warriors, prepare yourselves for battle. Our foe will find their graves in this field." With that, the pilot stopped transmitting and waited to hear the affirmatives of his fast-moving Star of elitist pilots who had volunteered to accompany him in this reckless maneuver. He would led the warriors in with his own Summoner, and while his Star was lightly armed and armored, they would surely be more than a match for three stars of filthy Falcons who were worn beyond reason, caught in a temporary lull they are so used to after having set their defenses.
The glory would be his, and his alone.
"Forward, my wolf-pack! Rend the Falcon's wings!" One of the other pilots called out, "Aff, Sylvan. Cry havoc, and let slip." The smug, reassured voice of one of the light pilots was uniquely arrogant and confident compared to any other pilot of any other chassis Albert had ever known; it seemed there were either cocky light pilots, or dead light pilots. Either way, 'Meatgrinder' was quite the light pilot, and his ACH was painted in blood-red, while the impressive score card of 'Mech-to-'Mech kills on the side of his chassis were painted in a bright, metallic, sky-blue which shone in view as the machine of war sprinted past Albert's own 'Mech.
Suddenly, twin arcs of lightning played along Albert's Summoner, sending him reeling. A solid gauss rifle shattered into the leg of a nearby KFX, missing all but a mountain of armor which crumpled like paper underneath the kinetic force. Eyes wide at the accuracy of these marksman to shoot with instruments alone, Albert waited no longer than it took for the beeping tone to turn steady before letting loose with a barrage of ten missiles, charging forward with his 'Mech even as another gauss round impacted into the soil nearby. A steady stream of gold-green burned across his 'Mechs armored chest, causing rivulets of molten metal to run free, evaporating and leaving a bead of slag underneath the sweltering wound. In reply, his HUD lit up a positive hit indicator as the missiles connected with their target, the range-finder on the explosion indicating 600 more meters of open ground to cover.
Two Stormcrows passed on either side, while a Shadow Cat slunk coyly from side to side, weaving nimbly between the heavier chassis to fire a gauss rifle with deadly precision into the darkness, between them all, the ACH bounced -- seemingly unwilling to sit still, or run in a straight line for more than an instant.
The Star Colonel's momentary fear was alleviated in a moment, and he reminded himself that these fools were deprived of sleep and had been on the run for months. This battle was over before it began. Then they were on the two heavies - one HBR and one EBJ, both painted in gold, green, and black - and the brawl ensued, the Star Colonel's lust for battle fanned only further as his LBX-10 and UAC/5 began hammering gouges and pits into the HBR's side torso, watching in unquestionable pleasure as the fray was joined by more enemies to crush beneath his boot...
~To be Cont.
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