by Jonathan Hollis, War Correspondent
Article from the New Terran Life Magazine
Earth, Pan Galactic AP
"Behold, amongst the garbage high,
Along the paths of shattered stone and rebar wire,
A stirring came amongst the refuse piles,
home of maggot, land of fly.
Raising his head to scent the air,
His searching ears and piercing eyes,
Sought out his quarry for the hunt,
Now is born the vermin, for tonight he doth arise.",
Col. William "South Paw" Howell
Surveying the ruins of Paris
First Terran Global Techno War
4 May, 3299
"How do I feel about combat? You know what a rat is? A rat is the most survivingst damn thing you ever saw. Well, after my first kill I looked deep into myself and realized just who the hell I am in the process. I am a rat in an asphalt jungle, filled with concrete forests and rebar underbrush. I am a base creature that lives a simple hand to mouth life, but............I defend my home with my life, with no thought of anything save death or complete victory."
Tech. Sgt. Sean Collin McFae
AKA The Rat
Mecha Pilot, Brotherhood, Merc. Reg.
Rosie's Bar and Grill, Andromeda Station
Andromeda System, Milky Way
July 30, 3300
Two wars, two million light years, two view points, one message; war is hell. A message as old as time itself, to use an overly quoted comparison; however, one lesson is learned by examining these two passages. War does not just produce death and destruction. It also gives birth to another commodity. Broken men, with no other skill except the propagation of the very thing they hate the most.....more war.
I could sit here and weave a tale of valor and heroic exploits traversing planets, systems, galaxies, even universes. I could also sit here and spout bullshit until your ears are fertile enough to plant a crop of snow peas, but I'm not going to do that either. I am going to tell you about soldiers. The war, the location of said war, and the time frame involved are all irrelevant. the names and places change, but never the soldiers involved. They are always the same.
You could take a roman soldier fighting with the legions against the Gauls, and a 20th century infantry grunt. If you interviewed them both, they would say the same things about war, "Food sucks, lots of mud, not enough boots, miss home, and my best friend is dead." If I am wrong you can stuff me in a box and mail me
to the moons of Pluto.
Having spent the past six months traveling with a mercenary regiment called "The Brotherhood", these are the lessons I learned. I gained enough material to spew a thousand articles, but print space is limited, so I am going to keep it as short as possible, and that is still a daunting challenge. Odds are that I will be begging my editor for the space to make this a syndicated weekly column, but thats based on interest....so if you like this idea, make sure to send in those fan letters {a little mild chuckling to myself there}. As I say, I want to keep this short, so for this article at least, I just wanted to give you a taste of what the life of a mecha pilot is like. These modern day gladiators, heroes of the battlefield, and the keepers of peace through the administration of selective annihilation.
My first night with the Mecha Pilots of The Brotherhood, I found myself in a shabby, randomly furnished warehouse, that had been transformed into a common gathering area for the off duty soldiers. It was cluttered, dirty, cramped and looked completely disreputable. In other words, it felt like home for a mecha pilot. As I sat there and listened, the various members of the Brotherhood regaled me with stories of their exploits. Half of what they said were tall tales the likes of which the author of Paul Bunyan would have found to be outlandish; however, the other half simultaneously raised the hair on the back of my neck and made me want to cry and buy these warriors a drink.
Despite the horrors and pain they had endured they remained here, and the reason became apparent almost immediately. They stayed for one simple reason. They loved each other. They loved each other in a way that only a combat veteran could understand. To leave this group any other way than on a cooling slab, would be to abandon their brothers and sisters to the horrors of war without their support, and that would be a violation of honor that would be personally unforgivable to them. As the night progressed I began to think that I could never understand these people and that I had better just give this project up, when suddenly the right light over the Mecha Bay doors came on and a siren pierced the air. The pilots leap up and rushed for the bay, with me in tow. This was it. The shit had just hit the fan.
(To be continued)
Submitted by Sgt Ron Frye player ID # 879655