IPB

Welcome Guest ( Log In | Register )

> The Universe, 3028
Jackson McKenna
post Jun 15 2019, 09:42 PM
Post #1



Member
Rank: Not Applicable



*

Group: Members
Posts: 20
Joined: 15-June 19
Member No.: 312





Gellen's Heights, Sheratan
Capellan Confederation
46.5 light-years from Terra
October 11, 3028

___________________________

A streak of cerulean blue sliced across the canopy of my CPLT-1 Catapult, leaving scorched, black tendrils seared into its ferroglass as an aggressor CLNT-2-3U Clint BattleMech rose into view. I breathed a relieved sigh - not at the sight of the Clint, mind you - that was a bad thing - but rather, at the notion that my protective shell had held. I'd much prefer to spend a bit of time buffing out surface wounds than be turned into a human plasma globe, doing an electric boogie on the battlefield while my opponent laughed at my expense.

I shoved the Catapult's throttle to full and twisted its torso hard into a flanking maneuver. The Clint was far faster and more agile than I was, but my Catapult had, in addition to a significant weight and armor advantage, the distinct benefit of two Holly LRM-15 launchers, which could fire and forget a total compliment of thirty self-guided miniature rockets at any target...as long as their handler could get a target lock first. That's where I came in.

"Come on, stop squirming!" I yelled at the Clint, chasing its nimble form with my targeting reticle as the small 'Mech bobbed and weaved, lobbing emerald-green laser pot shots at my Catapult, most of which flew wide, though a scant few found their mark, slowly eroding away armor where they landed. I squeezed off several concentrated blasts from my medium laser suite, entangling the Clint's legs in the process, causing it to stumble and pivot wildly as its pilot fought to maintain stability. This momentary loss of control provided the window of opportunity I needed; the Clint's trajectory evened out enough that the LRM targeting system was able to acquire a positive lock. Without hesitation, I mashed the master fire control button for the ballistics tubes, and felt the Catapult give a subtle lurch as nearly three dozen projectiles exited their launchers simultaneously and corkscrewed toward the Clint. Its hapless pilot swerved wildly from left to right in a desperate attempt to break the missiles' locks, but fortune was not on his side. The rockets found their mark, overwhelming the Clint like a swarm of angry bees and pounding it relentlessly. As dumb luck would have it, the majority of the missiles struck the Clint's especially-vulnerable rear panel, shearing away the protective armor which stood between the outside world and the BattleMech's reactor core. Without a moment's hesitation, I took full advantage of the situation and delivered a crippling blast of laser fire directly into the breach, tearing through the reactor casing. A thunderous rumble, accompanied by the sound of ferrosteel being wrought apart, heralded the demise of the Clint as it was engulfed in a blinding white light and consumed by an uncontrolled fusion explosion.

"Don't you get tired of losing, Hastings?" I taunted, keying open a channel to the enemy commander and chuckling as I watched the Clint continue to detonate, setting several nearby structures alight as its flaming components rained down from the sky. In a comical turn of events, one particularly large piece of wreckage landed on a nearby chemical tank, inciting it to immediately explode, the resulting shockwave sending what was left of the Clint tumbling into the air, causing it to rag-doll wildly as it descended back down to the ground.

"I suppose you simply have an excellent degree of talent," came the reply. "I don't normally fare this badly."

"I have my moments," I responded back, exhaling on my fingernails and then rubbing them on my jacket.

"I just bet you do." A hint of exasperation clouded Hastings' voice. "Care to up the ante?"

I muted my microphone and then laughed incredulously. Hastings apparently had more money than sense. The lance he'd chosen to field had been one of the most ineptly-built things that I'd ever seen; in short order, he'd thrown at me, and promptly lost, a Condor tank, three VTOLs, and the aforementioned Clint. I had no idea why the guy was spending his tonnage this way, but I wasn't about to burst his bubble by cluing him in to just how badly he was being beaten.

"I mean, if you really don't need the money," I chuckled, "I'll be happy to re-home it for you. What'd you have in mind?"

"Five hundred thousand," Hastings shot back. "Winner take all."

The words hung in the air, punctuated by the hiss of the open communications channel.

"You're joking," I finally responded. "You do know that there's no way you're leaving with a payout, right?"

"I like spending money," Hastings replied. "aside from which, you clearly have no chance of losing, do you?"

It was apparent that this man was mentally ill. But I didn't want to hurt his feelings by telling him so.

"Let's dance," I hissed, and drove my Catapult up over the nearby berm that separated his drop zone from mine.

As I came down the ridge, silence reigned supreme. Then, a blip appeared on my radar, a scant 3 kilometers out, slowly closing on my position. It was accompanied by no other signatures.

"Hastings," I quipped, "I think we've established that solo combat is really not your strong area."

There came no reply. I felt bad for my taunt. He had been taking a beating, and he was probably just humiliated at this point.

As I drew nearer to his radar signature, I slowed my Catapult to a steady lope, and amplified the external view it projected in my neurohelmet to focus on the distant treeline from which Hastings would soon emerge.

At first, I saw nothing.

But then, I saw the trees falling. One by one they toppled, sending flocks of birds and clouds of debris skyward as something huge pushed them over like twigs. A cold sweat began to form on my brow, and I white-knuckled the pilot's controls of my Catapult as its targeting computer blared a threat analysis at me.

95 T ASSAULT

"Oh, shit," I blurted, slamming the Catapult's throttle into a hard run at the exact moment that a Nightstar Prime exploded out of the forest, charging toward me at an impressive 54 KPH. The ferrosteel of my Catapult screamed in protest and the 'Mech itself was nearly smashed to the ground as dual gauss rounds found their marks on its left flank. I was in trouble.

"Okay, Hastings, I admit I hadn't counted on this," I called out, twisting my war machine's torso as far to the left as it could turn. "And I really hate to scratch that beautiful paint job," I continued, unleashing a blistering volley of concentrated laser fire and missiles in the Nightstar's direction, "but I need the money."

"Then come and take it from me!" Hastings retorted. I noted with grim resignation that this was going to be a difficult fight. The Nightstar had taken the pounding I'd delivered to it like a pro; only a negligible amount of its armor had burned away when the alpha strike I'd delivered landed true. My only hope was to get into his rear arc and stay there.

I pushed the Catapult as hard as I could, attempting to run a wide circle around the Nightstar. But Hastings' aim was deadly. Round after round of PPC, gauss, and laser fire smashed into my beleaguered BattleMech, and in short order, the majority of my combat systems were on the verge of collapse. Though I managed to land a few respectable blows on the Nightstar, I was significantly outclassed, and Hastings seemed to know it.

"Do you like the taste of your own boot, son?" my opponent taunted, "because you certainly put it deep into that mouth of yours!"

"I don't back down from a fight, Hastings!" I shot back.

"And that, my friend, will be your undoing," Hastings growled, sending chills down my spine. Before I had the chance to respond, a tremendous impact threw my Catapult off-balance, sending sixty-five tons of man and machine crashing to the ground.

Hastings had rammed me.

"You fight dirty."

"I know," the voice on the radio crackled. Then, I heard the discharge of a gauss rifle, and my cockpit was set ablaze as the Catapult's missile racks detonated...

___________________________

With a jingle, the door to the Boring Pig swung open, and a trio of yardsmen stepped through, brushing the rain off of their jackets and ambling past my table to join a knot of off-duty police officers at the bar. I could hear Jimmy, the bartender, shooting the breeze with them and refilling their drinks as I removed my virtual reality helmet.

Slowly, my eyes readjusted to the lower ambient light. A thin fog of cigarette smoke blanketed the ceiling of the dimly-lit pub, and the crack of billiards, along with the murmur of patrons, filled the air. The walls of the tavern, plastered with various photographs, trophies, and want-ads, and bedecked with holoscreens blaring various forms of programming, came into focus.

A number of burly-looking shipyard workers leaned on a jukebox, sipping the local brew and laughing raucously at the antics of one of their colleagues. And across from me sat Hastings, smirking broadly.

"Better luck next time. I take cash or credit. Which form of payment do you prefer?"
User is offlineProfile CardPM
Go to the top of the page
+Quote Post

Posts in this topic


Closed TopicStart new topic
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

 



Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 28th March 2024 - 04:36 AM


subBlack shadows and light edition © 2005 - DreamCaster
Original subBlack phpbb2 style by spectre