Bud Watson was CO of the Junkyard Dogs, heavy metal specialists for hire. Bud had come up as an independent, but learned to take advantage of the weaker Clans when Clan War came, selling the services of his group of heavies for enough to make them even more powerful than they looked.
The Junkyard Dogs ran to Krampus, but the Bud's own Big Dog (Antithesis) and his XO Shayla's "Crazy Legs" (Megazome). They ran heavy gear, and ran over their enemies with a heavy hand. The Clan boys and girls got proddy all the time, running on someone else's rep, but you come up against the Junkyard Dogs, you better be able to lift your leg with the big dogs, or they'd rip it right off. In quiet times, no one thought much about the Junkyard Dogs, but when war whispered, the Clans came calling, willing to pay for the fur and fangs of the Junkyard Dogs for when their pampered poodles weren't enough.
Right now it was King of the Mountain. This was an open event, time for the Junkyard to bag some more silver. Day 4, time to swing in and take the prize. Let the chumps waste their time fighting a hundred times, it only mattered once, and that time would belong to the 'Dogs. On the way, it was good to pick up some walking around money, to work out the kinks, and get a little of the aggression flowing by dropping by and wiping out some of the up and commers. It was a public service; letting the puppies know it was OK to play in the playground, but they can stay off his mountain, or pay the price.
The unit against him looked game. Two lines of Holmes backed a line of Nifthels. The IFF showed them as the Hellhounds. Pampered poodles every one. He had them outnumbered 3:2, but honestly it was at least 2:1 by tons. This was a warm up, this was "swirly for the new kid, and welcome to the playground". Bud's radio flicked on channel 17; the challenge hail.
“This land is defended by the Hellhounds. Withdraw in peace, or prepare to be fired on”
You have got to be kidding me. What were they teaching kids these days? You don’t stand in the way of something like the Junkyard Dogs unless you had big steel behind you, or a set of niode powered balls you need an extra cockpit slot just to have room to store.
“You may be King of this little playground, little Hell-poodle, but you are looking at Kings of the Mountain. Now be a good boy, and surrender, or we won’t just beat you up, we’ll take your lunch money!” Bud laughed at the school yard humor, because the 98# weaklings stacked against him just opened the ball with a wave of missile fire that might just have scratched his paint, if he had bothered touching it up after the last fight. This wouldn’t take long.
The Tesla Missiles that hammered his Antithesis were enough to rock Bud, but not enough to throw off his aim. His Big Bertha cored the big Nifthel in the middle, but a check of his monitors showed that one of his prize Krampus was burning, having caught a Galaxy Eye in one of the cannon power couplers and blown the entire system.
“You stupid son of a Forerunner. You cost me a mech. When I am done on the mountain little poodle, I am going to come back to your playground, and stomp you flat all over again!”
There was a wave of swearing that answered him back, but Bud tuned it out. He muttered to himself loud enough to activate his VOX and broadcast to his lance.
“Stupid little puppies copping an attitude. Who do they think they are?” His XO’s sweet alto surprised him by answering, “They think their tough SOBs who don’t take crap from anyone. They think that anybody who steps into their yard had best be able to lift their leg with the big dogs, or get it chewed right off. They may be lightweights, but those little buggers remind me of us, back when we were slugging it out with those damned Clan stables, and getting crapped on by all the big boys.”
Bud thought about that for a second. How would he have reacted to heavyweights coming in and challenging them on their own turf? Bud laughed. If the little Hell-Poodle was really like him, he would have found an equalizer. Instead, he was going to get pounded twice as hard on the way back, and this time he would take the kids lunch money, just to teach him not to mess with the Junkyard Dogs.
+++Two weeks later+++
It had been another easy top 10 in KOTM. They didn’t try to win, as they didn’t want to advance, and find themselves the new kids, and soft targets on the block. The Junk-Yard Dogs were happy camping where they were between wars, and preying on the foolish.
This KOTM was Chickens of Doom. Most idiots would be running around in Anzu or Red Ants, but his boys and girls were running pure WarHorse; the toughest kit in the under twenty ton range, and fully tricked out.
Coming out the Honshu gate, headed down the Sun-Yat-Sen valley towards the gate to Milos VII, and the tournament, Bud was surprised to hear a challenge on channel 17.
“Junk Yard Dogs; you may be Kings on the Mountain, but you are under dressed for the playground. If you surrender now, we will spare you an ass kicking. We catch you on our playground again, we won’t just take your lunch money, we will take your damned lunch too!”
Shayla came on their private frequency, trying to head off Bud’s mouth and temper, “Boss, check your monitor, the Hellhounds have a Fides on point now, and a Dread behind. They have been upgrading their kit since last we fought and we are way under tonnage to pick a fight!”
It was too late of course, it had been a long time since anyone took a tone like that with Bud, or treated the Junkyard Dogs with the same contempt they showed their victims. Bud forgot what their strengths were at that point, and wrote a check with his ego.
“You aint dog enough, punk. We could take your little poodles with Red Ants!” Bud fired his Duboce laser at the scuttling Fides, only to see it shrug off the assault and blow the arm off his Warhorse with an answering Rail Cannon. Well, damn.
The battle was brutal, the weapons on the Warhorses were vastly more powerful, and the Junkyard Dogs had the numbers. They did not have the weight of metal, as their foes actually boasted more weapons and armour, both laying down heavier fire, and outlasting the lighter mecha when the shots began scoring. After a few minutes, Bud looked up from his cockpit, to see a Fides looming over his legless, armless mecha. It was the punk from the Hellhounds.
"Good luck on your mountain, but you are just not tough enough to play in my playground” Bud started laughing. He was going to pound the little fellow flat every day for the next year, just to get even, but the kid won this one cold. He really did have niode powered balls that needed a cockpit slot of their own just to store. The little bastard reminded Bud of himself, back when he was young and hungry.
After the Hellhounds stalked off the field, Bud climed out and addressed his troops. He was mad now. “Alright you mangy dogs, we just got our asses handed to us. We do NOT let that stand. We got complacent, we got comfortable, we got as weak as those pampered Clan yokels who have to hire us just to stay alive in their precious wars. This was a wakeup call, ARE YOU FRACKING AWAKE NOW!”
“Get your mecha back together, get your head back in the game, and we are going to the mountain, AND WE ARE TAKING IT!. Do you hear me Dogs? We are taking that goddamned mountain, because we are the best, and no little poodle is going to take that away from us!”
+++72hrs later+++
“Damned but I forgot how good it felt to win one of those things. I think its about time we moved up in divisions anyway. We were getting all kinds of fat and lazy where we were”
Shayla laughed as she fingered her gold medal, and looked at the piles of fresh pizza being loaded into their Warhorses.
“Hey boss, if you are so worried about us getting fat and lazy, why are you bringing twice as much pizza as we can eat?”, Bud chuckled and looked embarrassed. “Shayla, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think in order to get home, we are going to have to take our Warhorses back across somebody’s playground….”
Shayla’s eyes widened “You don’t think……”
Bud laughed. “ I guess I shouldn’t have taken his lunch money. I tell you one thing though, that little SOB ambushes us on the way back, I’m going to offer him a slot. You know, a few more pups like him, and we have us a Clan” The King of the Mountain, and King of the Playground. It was a start.
Submitted by John T Mainer 28840.