History Equipment Review – By John Ringo #899287

David McCallum burst through John Ringo’s office door and started walking in circles while waving his arms around like a flightless bird who truly believes in his heart he can fly if he only flaps fast and hard enough. He stopped in front of the bookcase and starts frantically pulling books off shelves and looking inside them for the ones that have hollow insides where you can stash a bottle of booze. As the pile of empty books started to grow into a small mountain he started to mumble a few words over and over again. “It is history…. It is history…. It is history!!!!!! Why is the Rum gone…. Why is the Rum always gone?!!!” With that he collapsed on the floor into a sitting position and hugging his knees to his chest started rocking slightly back and forth in a soothing motion.

John having been in this business long enough now to recognize the sure signs of writers block from working too hard opened his lower desk drawer and removed a bottle of “Medicine”. This 108 Proof bottle of Rum should put him back to rights. John walked over to David and forced his hands open and thrust the bottle into them. With a cry of joy David took to the bottle like a baby to his mothers breast for the milk of life its self. After 1/3 of the bottle was gone the sounds he was making started to sound more like words. When ½ of the bottle was empty his eyes found John’s and he spoke. “Thanks Mate. After being away so long I should have paced myself better and not rushed the work as fast as I have been. I had just sat down to write up a review on the 105T Chassis equipment called “History” and I just snapped. Next thing I know here we are. Well I think I need to take a break for a while.” David passes out on the floor with a smile on his face.

John walked back to his desk and hits the button to start recording:

Well it looks like my guest writer David McCallum needs to take a break so I will pick up where he left off and talk to you today about one of the Chassis options for your new Guardian that was named “History”.

The store listed this as costing 2200 Ferrite, 1000 Crystal and 50 Niodes. What the hell? Crystal and Niodes for the same piece of gear??

So here are the good points. You get a 10% boost to your Fork chance. You get 5% to your 2X and 10% to your 3X damage chances…. I personally love Fork on my mechs and I will never turn down a boost to my damage multipliers but as good as this piece starts we get to the bad points…

This equipment has a -2 speed vulnerability…. Like your BFM Guardian needs to be any slower. Even worse than just slowing your mech down this equipment is missing something even more important… there is nothing that boosts your Dodge chances.

Let’s hope that as your faster foe closes in on you on the battlefield your Vorpal Sword comes up quickly in your gun rotation so you can 100% crit him before he pounds your slow not dodging butt into the ground.

Well that is all I have for you today. Be sure to tune in next time when David has another snappy review for your consideration. *Grin*

What's In A Name? - By John Ringo #899287

The CO walked through the door and the pilots got to their feet and came to attention. “At ease” He said with a wave of his hand when he reached the podium. The room settled back into their chairs and gave him their full attention. Mechinator looked around the room and briefly locked eyes with every pilot here. Just long enough that you felt welcome and a part of the team. This was one of the many skills that made this pilot a solid leader. He picked up the control wand and brought the holo tank to life and started his briefing.

“I know there has been a lot of scuttle butt going around about what kind of war we are going to have this year. Let me put you out of your misery, it is going to be a squad war this time. I know some of you like this format and there are those of you who hate it.” He paused and gave a short chuckle and then continued. “I do know that regardless of your personal feelings you will give this your best and fight together like the crazy animals you all are.” The room filled with hearty laughter and more than a few feral grins.

A grimace quickly flashed across his face before he spoke again. “Now we get to the part everyone ‘Loves’ best about a Squad War. We must split our pilots up into a few new units and come up with a name. General Abbott hates issuing names and as usual left it up to us to put one down on the paper work so we can get in.” He pushed a button on the control wand and the entrance form showed up in the holo tank. At the top of the form is the field for the name of your team and the next one below it was the field for your unit motto. Both fields still had the default text showing. “Insert_Name_Here” and “Loading…” as the form will not let go any farther until you filled those two fields in. He looked back up at the pilots and said. “So, which one of you Monkeys are going to pick the winning name this time?”

The room burst into a symphony of noise as names were shouted back to him. Some were rude, some were silly but he did not hear anything that was very inspiring. From the very back of the room a voice pierced the noise and demanded silence. Everyone turned around and looked at Joshua Bourne who had an impish grin on his face. The CO made a gesture for him to continue.

“Why don’t you just leave the default text in there boss and send it in to the Craftsman just the way it is” He laughed. “We all hate thinking up these names so why bother. Send it in that way and let’s move on to the important task of getting ready for combat.”

Mechinator laughed so hard the buttons on his uniform were straining and close to popping off. “I love it! I am sure the General will get a laugh out of this as well. Dissmissed!”

Intelligence Unit Equipment Review - By David McCallum #701548

I'm absolutely flabbergasted.

Never in all my life, and I can say this without a word of doubt, has my flabber been so gasted.

I'm scanning through the offerings in 105 ton range equipment, and I can't believe the absolute dross that the manufacturers are trying to palm us off with.

I've seen better stuff encrusted under John Ringo's desk (that chap has some unsavory habits, but that's just between the two of us, alright?)

Look at this... I mean seriously...

The Intelligence Unit.

This is a shear exercise in reverse psychology if ever I have seen it, and I've seen some things let me tell you. Including the underside of John's desk, and neither of these things are pretty.

It's like people who get toothache, then have to use their tongue to probe said tooth just to double check...

Or drinking a can of Irn Bru... it's just so vile, that you can't believe it possibly could have been that bad, so around a year later, you have to buy another can just to double check how awful it was the first time.

And you keeping doing that every year!!!

Like the aforementioned people, this unit is not intelligent!

Lest see what they are flogging it for (and I use the term because it's interchangeable with the suffix 'a dead horse'!)

85 Crystal, 2263 Ferrite and 1876 Bioptics; admittedly at this kind of level it is small change. But when you look at what you are getting, they may as well charge you a good hundy for a glass of water; a thou just to use the public restroom.

So, what do you get?

A Slow effect of 5, 4% rolling fire (or trample as you plebeians call it) cutting into the opposition second rank, a whopping 2% (yes, I have my facetious voice on..) chance of a double overcharge shot, and of course a 2% vulnerability to solid shot.

A VULNERABILITY!!!

How many times have we pilots said to suppliers not to give us kit that gives us a bigger chance of getting shot!?!?

Oh, here you are Mr Pilot, this is the best thing since sliced bread, it will let you win every fight, but, erm, just so you know, there's a teeny possibility it could get you killed. One in Fifty-ish. A statistical improbability. Don't let it worry you.

I would sigh heavily, but it doesn't come across very well in print. OK, just imagine that I did a really big sigh. See, your imagination shows you have more intelligence than this module.

I can only spell this out once more before I feel the need to nail my forehead to the desk.

Listen closely all ye manufacturers of low grade and useless equipment.

We Pilot Big Mechs.

We Want To Shoot Things.

Cockpit Equipment supposed to help us Shoot Things.

When I can borrow the wife's lipstick and draw a big cross on my windscreen with it and get more precise shots with that than your equipment, then You Are Doing It Wrong!!!!

Oh lord I need a drink now.

Patrick must have left a stash somewhere around here that hasn't been raided yet...

A New Old Threat - By David McCallum #701548

Sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes. Somebody who has taken a step back and can see the bigger picture.

While you have all been busy dealing with alternate universes and whoever this Ambrose fellow is, I have been subject to a low level insidious assault of my own.

I refer to the XOX virus.

I shall explain this to you.

It first came to my attention when I was attempting to have a conversation with Junior Pilot. I use the word attempt, because anyone who has any interaction with teens knows that conversation is a forlorn hope that dies when they are still in their single digit years and they can go on endlessly about what they have done at school or the plotline of the latest rave tri-D cartoon.

Probably this includes rectangular trousers in some way, don't ask me why.

Nowadays a conversation either consists of one side using monosyllabic grunts or as is more usual, an outthrust palm while they keep their nose buried in a data slate. At some stage, you may receive an electronic communique from them.

The problem is it appears to be in some form of battle can’t that I'm not familiar with, preceded by a 'noughts and crosses' board.

A simple request to tidy ones dorm area results in a coded message of #OMG #FML; a reminder that they are on kitchen duty and the dishes are stacking up means my message system flags #WHATEVS for my immediate attention.

All while junior pilot's head remains engrossed in that small screen.

These are the first signs of being infected by the XOX virus.

I have carried out studies on this phenomenon and some pilots are less susceptible than others.

Old hands like my own CO General Fuller, who cut his teeth piloting mechs before we knew how to mount additional gear on them are all but immune. Those who drove by the seat of their pants and laid in their shots by dead eye reckoning.

All of us have piloted Anzus and Red Ants in our time, but shortly thereafter we graduated to networked computer systems and AIs to aid us in battle. This is the point that we became susceptible to the XOX virus.

A lot of us have built up a resistance. We field specialists and can drop to to 10 ton maximum squadrons. We can cause more damage with a coffee cup holder than John Fuller can when he has been slipped decaf. I’ve seen the results of both; cup holders should never be inserted into folk in that manner.

Suffice to say we are not totally reliant on electronics for our survival. We can leave it as needed and rely on our own wit and wiles to survive.

But there are those who can’t.

There are those like Junior Pilot who advanced quickly and once exposed to electronics have become hooked and know no other way. Such are the follies of youth.

But you also have those who make an outlay on the best equipment that is on the market and refuse to use anything other than the biggest and best equipment. Some of the most elite pilots with the best financial backing, permanently hooked into the network using the fastest processors and most powerful hardware.

Our bankrolled elite, our untouchables, immersed in the hashtag domain.

The lair of our most insidious foe, the intelligence that is AM.

Oh, we may think that he/she/it has been contained. Mark my words, we are wrong. The sings are there.

Hashtags. Lines and gaps, ones and zeroes. The binary code is right there in front of us.

And now, the best of us who managed to breach the walls of reality and came back with the largest mechs we have seen, the Guardians are scrambling to try and get equipment for them.

And to show you just how devious AM is, the carrier for the XOX virus isn't even a cockpit module.

Go look at the History chassis gear. Check it out now and tell me what you see.

Lines and gaps.

Don't say I didn't warn you...

Oh, and maybe take the data slate away from those junior pilots once in a while and make them talk to you, eh?

ODM Module Equipment Review - By David McCallum #701548

Maybe it's my age and the old eyesight is going.

Or maybe I just have a healthy imagination (or an unhealthy predilection with some decidedly dodgy practices as the wife would put it...)

I'm flicking though the trade catalogues, trying to catch up with the latest offerings on the market when my eyes are drawn to the Dom Module...

Sorry, what was that?!?!

I mean, I know the Bunnies brought us some decent engines in the Orcus Wheel and the Anzu Run... heck, that one can even scale up to the new 105 tonners, but a module that relies on whips, chains and a 'safe word' to slow down???

Thankfully I was mistaken (or at least my eyes were) and I had misread the name of the ODM Module. And no, it isn't a Bunny invention.

So, let’s see what this thing can do.

According to the spec sheet, for 2001 Ferrite, 1821 Bioptics and 55 Crystal you get an engine module fit for 100 and 105 ton mechs that has a Speed rating of 3, a 2% chance of double damage shot and a vulnerability to projectile shots of 2%.

Gah, when will the manufacturers learn not to release kit that has a built-in vulnerability?

I certainly won't be fitting any on my 100 ton mechs at any stage. The double damage shot isn't worth it, and both Kinetic Converters and Power Nodes have no down side to them. Plus, they have better torque of the starting blocks!

I seriously get the feeling that simply because they can fit into a 105 Guardian chassis, somebody is trying to make a quick buck before the more discerning manufacturers catch on and start producing a decent engine block.

Because if you are looking for an engine for your ill-gotten gains, you can either use the aforementioned Bunny made Anzu Run and have it blow up in your face, or you can shell out some serious Niodage for a Nebula Drive and still put up with rubbish speed and an even bigger vulnerability to hard shot.

Seriously.

I think I've been gone too long and you folk have been putting up with some serious substandard offerings that other publications have failed to review in a proper manner...

Fear not, your mouthpiece is back and we shall crusade for decent gear once more!

Zeta Grade Shield Review - By David McCallum #701548

Ok, I'll count down for you, you know the way this goes... altogether now...

Five

Four

Three

Two

One...

LOVE A SHIELD!!!

And even better, even without these newfangled 105 tn mechs, I can use them!

Let’s dive straight in and look at the book value (hah, as if I'm going to buy straight off the shelf.... I know, I'll stop chortling shortly...).

950 Ferrite, 780 Bioiptis and 55 Niodes gets you a flat shield strength of 46 on both types available, a 21% Laser and 9% Fire mitigation on the Lumen with corresponding numbers for Fire and Missile on the Flamma, while the Lumen gets a 7% Missile Vulnerability and the Flamma gets similar against Projectile rounds.

3 extra Niodes for a 17% flat shield increase over an Epsilon class shield.

Also for that your vulnerability goes down by 12.5% (or a good old eigth as we say in old money...) but do watch out, because the mitigation percentages are lower on the Zetas as well... 8% loss on its primary shield type and a hefty 18% on the secondary.

Admittedly at the moment these are only the pair of them on the market and they are going to be a must if anyone is fielding the really big jobs, but for the rest of us mere mortals, the news is good.

On a 100 ton mech the cost is almost identical and each is fully interchangeable with its counterpart, Epsilon for Zeta and vice versa.

All you need to do is guess which is going to be more important, straight shields for all around coverage or the mitigation to try to blunt some of those X6 and X9 staked shots that the 100 ton hulks throw about for fun.

Make your choice wisely....

Back In The Saddle - By David McCallum #701548

Yes, I know.

I'm supposed to be on a sabbatical, sorting new barracks for the clan.

Everything packed and into temporary storage, locations being scouted, plans being drawn up and signed off, security protocols updated (why on Earth the code phrase for "potential trouble" became "But I wanted an orange bedroom" I haven't a clue) and of course large amounts of wrangling with the boss over project finances.

I'm sure if I'd left it to the higher echelons, our new barracks would be a family sized cereal box...

And to make matters worse, the location most suitable for a defensible position needs to take advantage of natural conditions, including terrain and in this case weather. This of course means cold, snow, even storms are all an asset in order to deter potential unwanted visitors.

So, I'm soaking wet and freezing my nethers off when the call comes in... situation changed, reactivate as priority... oh, and take command of a squad, there's a good chap.

Will catch up when you report for duty, incommunicado pro tem, gone fishing...

GRRRRR!!!!!

So back to main base and catch up with what's been occurring. Quite a bit it seems.

I'm pretty sure I told you that those Chroniode kit pieces were bad news. Now we have even more alternate Universes. Remind me to collect on that bet I made with Patrick.

Of course, the down side with being on extended covert ops at the Dark, Damp Buttock Cleft of the Galaxy is that it takes a while to get back in the groove.

Even the daily chores that I have spent so many years doing by rote...

Upgrade kit, check.

erm.. oh yes, resource exchange, check.

Hang on, don't remind me... um, Crystal Harvest run, check.

What’s next... Lottery! Rats, forgot to do that this morning, but checked off now.

It'll come to me, I know it... it's.... it's... Circuit Fights! Check for new Circuit Fights!

It is just so strange getting back into the swing of things, carrying out all of the menial day to day tasks that we have all taken for granted for so long.

And then of course there is the unpacking of crated mechs and getting them battle ready again. Greasing for storage is all very well in terms of preventing corrosion, but by the time it has sat there for over a year and been subjected to the damp of the climates I was sent to (water/oil/grease mix is just yummy at the best of times) and add that to the accumulated dust and detritus of time and you have to get at the bloody joints with a trowel to shift the stuff.

"Well what about water blasting it off?" I hear you ask. The next person that suggests that method is going to get their nuts tightened with a very large monkey wrench, let me tell you!

That would be brilliant if it hadn't been for the fact that while I was knocking icicles of my... nose, the rest of the clan are sunning it up in what is best described as sub-Saharan climes and as such all water is restricted for "personnel hydration" only, in other words getting my clan mates over their morning hangovers.

Bunch of drunken sots that they are...

And yes, before you open your trap, I tried sandblasting. Suffice to say I'm not planning on shelling out for a paint respray on over 300 mechs, not to mention the fact that picking grit out of the crevices with a pair of tweezers is never an idea of fun.

So, back to the trowel and wire brush it is. The high point of which is that Junior Pilot is pulling penal duty again (please note I didn't say 'as usual') for gross insubordination and being a general smart-ass pain in the posterior.

And since Junior Pilot isn't on active duty, they have plenty of time to get most of my formations cleaned up and battle ready.

And it looks most likely that I'm going to need them to be anywhere near effective this time around, what with large amounts of new equipment on the market (never fear, I shall be delving into reviewing that particular crop in my own way as time permits) and these newfangled 105 ton monstrosities that will no doubt be wandering around in the near future.

Ho hum, no rest for the wicked, as they say. Not that I'm wicked... just misunderstood, especially when it comes to inventories and expense accounts, but we don't talk about that in polite company.

Oh, hang on, its you lot....

Anyway, at least somethings don't change, especially my ability to ramble on. I'll be back with more soon, because quite frankly...

...admit it, you've missed me.

Toodles.

Jungle Jam - By John Ringo #899287

The jungle was so thick it’s canopy cut off almost all the sunlight even though it was high noon on this god forsaken planet. I struggled to keep my dry, salt crusted eyes open to pick my way carefully through the less dense areas of vegetation with my battered mech. I have been awake now for 52 hours and my fatigue fogged brain was not responding much to stims any more. For the thousandth time, I wiped my view screen with my soaked sleeve in the vain effort to better see what was in front of me. The humidity on this rock was oppressive and my air con had packed it in 7 hours ago making the air in my cockpit so thick with water vapor you could just about swim in it.

This was supposed to be a fast bounty collection on a pirate band that has been raiding some crystal farms for the last few weeks. The farmers pooled the cash they had left and posted a bounty on the pirates in the hopes someone would help deal with the scum. The pirates were only supposed to be using medium tonnage mechs. A few Oggs and Holms only. I was given the mission because I am good at thinking on my feet and used to running solo operations so the rest of the clan could take on a larger mission. You always count on the fact that your intel is never as good as you would like but this time things hit a new low. The farmers fudged the information on what mechs the pirates were using. I guess they figured if they told the truth no one would show up to help them with what they could afford to pay. When I first made contact with the enemy and learned the truth I was so glad I had selected my trusty Dilo “Ace in the Hole” for this mission. I was up against 3 Infernos and a Fext!

The pirates tried to use their flame weapons to box me in so the slow Fext could have an easy time hitting me with its massive laser weapons. My Dilo was kitted out special servos to greatly increase my agility and response time. This will help keep me alive while I wait for my upgraded targeting scanners to find the weaker spots on the pirates so I could land the crit hits I would need to survive this encounter. I fired my Galaxy Eye lasers as fast as they would cycle on the Infernos disrupting their efforts to pin me down. Dodging the laser fire from the Fext my targeting scanners picked the Infernos off one at a time until it was just me and the monster left. My Dilo had suffered damage from too many close calls dodging the massive laser fire from the Fext. My com unit, tactical map display and air con were out of operation. I turned and faced the Fext and charged towards it trying to quickly close the distance between us while running what I hoped was random enough zig-zag evasive pattern. I held my fire to keep the guns fully charged and cool while the targeting scanners did their job. Running under the Fexts legs while avoiding getting stepped on I finally heard that joyful buzzing tone that meant I had a solid lock on a vulnerable area. My scanners had found an exposed fuel line on the back-left shoulder area and I mashed my trigger and fired everything I had. The Fext’s chest erupted with tongues of flame as the fuel cells burned killing the pirate who piloted it. It shuddered as it came to a halt but it did not fall over. I figured I would leave it standing there as a warning to any other pirates who might think about hurting these crystal farms in the future.

Now I just had to stay awake long enough to triangulate the radio signal on the landing beacon so I could find the landing zone so I could get out of here. Finally, after 56 hours on this hell hole of a planet I burst into the clearing with the landing beacon. It did not take me long to climb down from my mech and change the signal on the beacon to let the drop ship know I was here. Time for some well earned rest.

Requiem Of A Dream - By Fred Diamond #679603

The morning light slipped over the horizon, like an assassin sliding his stiletto between ribs. Bright violent light flowed over the landscape of the pirate moon. The pilot of the Dread war machine wondered just how this was possible.... across the valley the mechs of the mercenary clan the Bad Company were assembling, a clan which years ago, he belonged to. Definitely not a good clan, murderers, brigand and outlaws, and that was the best of them. It shouldn’t have been possible, considering that back in the main universe these guys were all dead. Here in the metaverse though, they lived, as did many other dead pilots, there is something just wrong about this place.

"Ready to die traitor" the voice of the company commander, Jubal Laredo, came through the headset.

"Well Jubal, I was there when you and these pigs died the first time. Bring it on" the pilot known as Forge responded. No trace of emotion in his voice. "You are on your own this time old buddy, no cursed ranger this time". Jubal laughed in that barking dog voice of his. Crazier than old mad mulligan, Jubal prided himself on his company of cut throats. A dozen of his best pit fighters backing him up, and their secondary mecha on the ridgeline surrounding the valley.

"Well old son" Forge whispered to himself "This is certainly a sierra foxtrot." Each of Jubals men had brought their cut throats with them. A gross of mecha arrayed against him, and they were certainly a gross bunch of pilots. Johnny "Feather" McCord and his partner Elton Presley, the first two men he had faced down, and killed on the other side......but that’s jumping ahead of this backwards thing. I wonder if Bella Tin Gray is even in this metaverse, sighing, Forge readied his loadout.... eight black rain missile launchers and a pair of deaths heads. With the increase in the "fork" odds, he might be able to disable four enemy mechs, that would only leave 9 to face, plus the onlookers surrounding the ridge. Got to make sure I kill Jubal myself this time, several old school traps waited for the Bad Company, it would have to be enough. This may be my last stand, but I won’t go to my death alone......

In the main universe, less than a week ago, our doomed friend sits in an open cafe meeting with his clan leader Jim Faust. "Damn, you want to repeat that Forge? the carrier wave lost some of the boys. “Taking a deep breath, I set into the tale, yet again. "Sure Jim, over in the metaverse there are pilots, cloned pilots, that are dead here. The best part being they know how they died, where they died and who killed them" "You have proof of this of course" Jim responded. "Yes Clan Leader I do" I tuned my carrier wave into my Captains frequency to boost the signal and keep the others in the conversation. The other members of Slaughterhouse 5 still on assignment out near Vupa 6.

"Jim, back when I first arrived here I signed up with a fairly disreputable clan....Jubal Laredos Black Company" "You rode with the bad company? never pictured you for an outlaw. “Gazing down at my minicomputer, I thought the same thing the others were. Taking a long pull off of the mead in my stein, I looked through the holocam and began my history......

I had been on the pirate moon about a week, stashing my seemingly broken mech in the mountains, interviewing with General Nova and picking up a tiny red ant mecha. This is a damn weird universe that’s for sure. I had competed in a few pit fights but had encountered zero pilots while on patrol. I had enough money to keep my red ant running and eat twice a day, so things were good. On my tenth day however, things changed. I was in the clanless mess tent, eating a plate of tasteless green slush, when a pair of obvious bullies entered the tent. Remembering the first rule, never make eye contact, I went back to eating the slop on my plate. "Ooof gark, mon dak woe slith darg" some guttural voice groaned as I was pushed forward. "He doesnt like you" the uglier of the two responded. I took a quick look around the room, muttering to myself. Bald bully asked "Looking for someone to save you trash boy?" "No" I responded "I was looking for George Lucas, seems I am in a Star Wars segment" "dont mess with us boy, WE ARE DEATH MERCHANTS" Sighing softly, I stood up, smiled at bald boy and green teeth, drew my slug thrower and shot them both in the chest twice, then once in the head. "No, you are dead merchants." I sat back down to finish my slop when I noticed shadows closing in all around me. looking up I saw a dozen of the filthiest, smelliest, shaggiest pilots in the history of life. These guys looked like the extras from a Peter Fonda movie. "Evening boys can I help you?" I leaned back in my chair, allowing my custom-made dragon scale vest to slip open, revealing a matched pair of coonan arms slug throwers hanging under my arms.... along with a trio of fragmentation grenades on my belt. Their leader’s eyes widened a bit, but he motioned his men back. He Stepped forward and began his sales pitch. "You seem pretty well armed for a solo pilot" my response was "The grenades are there for special purposes, like giving a roach motel an emergency enema" "Well boy, my name is Jubal Laredo, top pilot of the Bad Company. You just killed two of my prospects, you can either take their place, or take a beating" "Best offer I have had all week", and that was how I became a member of Bad Company....I had been with them about a month, we had a few successful raids against pirates. I picked up an Anzu and a Warhorse, sold the anzu though, made me nauseous anytime I piloted it. The Warhorse was nice, had a good load out.

"Boy" my smelly leader called out "We just got a sweet contract, everyone is to fall out in combat dress, meet in the lounge in twenty minutes." All of us? that’s twenty-five scoundrels, fully armed? that will alert the Rangers for sure. Shrugging I loaded my slug throwers, buckled them on. dropped by short swords into their boot scabbards. hooked a trio of fire fragmentation grenades on my belt, picked up my short-barreled auto shotgun, Ares-10 with a 35 round mag... when you need to butcher everything, accept no substitutes. I buckled on my dragon scale vest and went to the lounge.

"Welcome to the room sluggard" Jubal said, a cheer going up from the patched brothers. "Boys, we got the ultimate bounty tonight, 100,000 niodes to eliminate Bella Tin gray!!!" another ragged cheer from these psychopaths. A ranger, and not just any ranger, one of the top three, and we were going to attack her with just 25 men? these guys have flipped out for sure. "Sluggard, you bring up the rear, make sure we don’t get ambushed." I nodded to my moronic leader and we set out of the ambush site. it will actually take me longer to type up the details than it took to happen. Jubal and company approached the ranger, called out their challenge and in the blink of an eye Jubal and the first eleven were on the ground bleeding and dying. One of the clowns near me pulled an implode grenade off his belt, as he reached for the pin I said, "The odds are fine just the way they are" levelling my shotgun at him, he got my point. However, one of the others didn’t. "he’s only one guy, there’s seven of us, rush him" they did, they died. a 10-gauge autoloader firing flechette and HE rounds makes a mess of the human body. Glancing back the other direction, I noticed that Ranger Gray had put the other 6 down and was looking intently at me. "Ranger" I nodded towards her "My father always told me to respect your order, I always have. I got no quarrel with you." "Pilot, good to hear. I was almost out of ammo." nodding to Jubal and a few others she said, "if they get attention soon they might make it." I walked over to the four, and shot them all in the head. Nodded to the Ranger and calmly said. "They didn’t make it", she tossed me a small emblem, smiled and walked away. I went back to the company garage and over the next several weeks sold all their junk, fought a few more pirates. I was scouted out by one of the larger factions.

"And that brothers is where I met Jim, after the second clan war where we were placed in motley units piecemeal. Jim and a few others of us left and went independent. The rest of the story is in our logs. “Jim looked me up and down, finally he said, "You went against Bella Tin Gray and lived, and got a medal from her no less?" laughing he settled back in his chair, took a quaff of mead and said, "You really should have been a storyteller my friend." Leaning back in my chair, I reached into my vest pocket and produced the badge I had been given all those years ago. I flipped it over to Jim, remembering my expression the first time I read it, seeing the same expression now on my captains face. "Holy mother of god, this is a journeyman’s badge....it has B-b-b-b-b-b-bella tin grays personal com number on it." "I carry it with me always, I never forgot, I will never forget, and that my brother brings me to the problem at hand." taking a deep breath I continued "Jim, jubal and his lot are alive in the metaverse. Not just that but they found me and they know what happened to them. I need you to contact the Rangers and see if they have a faction over there. In the meantime, I'm leaving our clan. This is my last run, I've cut loose the men in my battalion here and my company there. Jubal and company are 150 strong, I won’t get anyone else killed." Standing I took his hand in mine, and then hugged him. I turned and walked away from the cafe, going off to my mecha bay to prepare for my last run.

to be continued?

The Great Fiasco Of The 105T Equipment By German Jaramillo #685605

After the appearance of the Guardian super class mech, which exceeded the 100 tons that seemed to be the ceiling of the highest technology, we suffered an obvious shortage of equipment.

Some manufacturers were able to adapt some large pieces to be used in the Guardian, but because they were pieces of great rarity, only available in the Mystery Vortex, for the majority of pilots did not offer a reasonable opportunity to equip the newly acquired guardians.

THE JOKE

Finally, the first pieces of equipment are seeing the light, but to the great surprise of this pilot who writes these lines, they are not only a disappointment, but a real fiasco or a bad joke.

Let's see:

CYCLOTRON CONTROLS

To be a cockpit module based on niode technology, it is by far the worst in its class among which we could acquire for any mech above 80 tons.

PROS:

+ Decent increase in projectile damage by 4%

+ Good increase to ability to double damage 2x Damage 6%

And here are the advantages, now the drawbacks:

CONS:

- Very LOW precision, considering that it is an elite cockpit. Only 4 prec is almost a joke that discourages the acquisition of this module.

- Vulnerability to laser 3%. This vulnerability to one of the most common weapons, and particularly lethal if equipped when fighting against a Fext, is a really annoying tare, we repeat, when it is a piece of niodes.

CONCLUSION:

Although the increase to damage is decent, the flaws are sufficiently negative to be of no interest to acquire this piece, which also has a very high price in niodes, considering what it provides.

INCREMENTAL PANEL

Well, the same ridiculous precision for this crystal cockpit module. Again, we face a piece of low quality, even if it is possible to equip it in a guardian's body.

PROS:

+ Reasonable increase to damage (2x Damage 4%)

+ Something of freeze, which never goes wrong (3%)

CONS:

- Low precision (4)

- Laser vulnerability 3% as with its counterpart of Niobium, this is crap.

- Ice vulnerability 5%. If the laser vulnerability already advised against this piece, the vulnerability to cold so brutal make it easy prey of any Boreas.

OOM MODULE

Another "pearl" of some lazy engineer or caused by a so early half developed research.

The lower speed seen in a propulsion module, a small boost and vulnerability, make this piece somewhat suitable for junkyard.

PROS: ... Any?

CONS:

- Low speed (only +3)

- Low ballistic improvement (a little 2% of double damage that does not justify the acquisition)

- Vulnerability to projectiles ... No thanks.

ANZU RUN

Enter the world of 105 tons a funny classic of pieces that I would never equip.

In the first year of academy for mech pilots, you realize that equipping Kickback is an idea only suited for madmen who are self-mutilating or aiming for suicide.

Normally, the kickback flaw, comes from a power imbalance in the pieces offering a high power, but this is not the case.

PROS:

+ With +8 speed, we get a speed slightly higher than normal in a piece of glass technology

+ Decent increase in laser weapon damage (+ 5%)

CONS:

- That increase of laser is not very effective, because the natural build of a Guardian does not contemplate them, reason why it loses synergy.

- Kickback 20% self-inflicted 20% of damage done. A price too high to get that speed that is far from extraordinary, unless you were aiming to help your opponent to defeat yourself.

Yes, decent speed and interesting boost to laser, but at a so high cost.

LAST CONCLUSIONS:

Given the many expectations and hopes placed on the Mechs engineers, and in view of the results obtained, I believe that I will continue to wait for decent quality equipment to appear before investing resources in pieces that instead of improving the Guardian seem designed to sabotage it.

If it is not possible to acquire decent equipment more than Mystery Vortex, then I will wait patiently for the day to come when I can complete the equipment needed for my Guardians, who aside my Excalibur, the first of the four Guardians I received and that is fully upgraded, are also in a long process of upgrading.

In the while time, I will continue to use the traditional BFM Of 100 tons, that have enough equipment to make them faithful companions of battle.

The Good, The Bad And Charity? By John Ringo #899287

The Metaverse is dead and everyone who was waiting with baited breath has received their loot. Except for the souls too small in level to receive the Guardian mech and must wait until they level enough.

I have been dealing with health struggles for the last 3-4 months that has made it very difficult to do much but try to keep food on the table for my family and stay on the right side of the ground. It was hard enough to just play in the last few Clan Wars so I was not able to take part in the Metaverse and missed out on a chance for one of those sweet 105T foe crushing monsters to my sadness.

Like just about everything MG this event was no stranger to joy, sadness, anger, frustration or controversies. For every pilot who loved it you could find one who had issues with it for some reason. The Player’s Page on Facebook goes through cycles of quiet and then intense 100+ replies to a post that causes a lot of us to quickly pick a side and go on the attack. On one topic, a pilot might be a calm voice of reason and on another quickly get so involved with defending a point of view that both sides stop listening and things can get ugly. We are all human and at times struggle to stay on the high road while we are talking with others on something we are passionate about and they have a divergent view point. MG is not alone in this. We have all encountered issues playing other games that fast evolves into a public flame war.

Thinking about my own health challenges this last week I remembered one topic on the Player’s Page that has always brought out the best in every member over the years. When there is large need that is brought forth to the community like precious little Hattie and her family we all put aside our differences and rally around those in need. This is the only game community I have ever been a part of that does something like this. Where we as players join forces with and Nick and his team and set aside our differences and show one of the best traits of humanity. The act of care and concern for others and the gift of charity. So, the next time you find yourself locked in mortal combat with someone on the Player’s Page and are tempted to write them off, remember this is just a game and in real life where it counts we are all on the same team and do some wonderful things together.

~John Ringo

Aeon Clan Logo By German Jaramillo #685605

"A sudden rain of fire covered the starry night like a curtain that announced the beginning of the end. It was not a colony drop. It was... Something new and terrible. The fear was reflected in the faces of those who witnessed this herald of destruction and renewal. A new aeon was beginning."

The Book of Mechanized Prophecies - Last Chapter.

(Aeon Logo and text, by GJ 685605)

A Brothers Gift By Fred Diamond #679603

My dream always begins the same. I am standing before a portal, gazing into the abyss, its depths clouding my soul. The sound of the ravening horde approaches, except this time I am gazing out of the portal from the Abyss!!

Looking upon a land strange yet eerily familiar, I feel the portal tugging me through, yet also leaving me behind. My "old" self turning in a bit of a fog and going back to its mecha and duties. Meanwhile my younger body, my disease free body moves towards the hangar, slips into the cockpit of my mecha.....and the slaughter ensues, as I fall upon friend and foe. An Exhilarating feels comes over me as I crush foe after foe, destroying any that are along my path.

After the first day, my mecha is drenched in the blood, the gore, the ichor of these mammoth machines, and I revel in it. A few days here in this savage world I receive a message in my mechas inbox, an invite, from a new clan, The Blazing Aces. I accept the offer and quickly paint their symbol, my symbol now, upon the left breast of my mecha. With my new brothers, in this new world, we cleave a savage path through former friends and foes alike. We barely sleep whilst in this realm, for we know our lives will be short. It is the same feeling I had when I was diseased, in the "home" realm. Day after bloody day I fight, to improve my skills, to grow ever more powerful, to slake my bloodthirst, the unquenchable thirst that consumes my soul here. I cheer at the chaos and destruction, gathering more and more mecha, niodes, crsytal loot of all sorts. Crushing my enemies, ravaging their women, burning their homes.

Alas, my old self keeps reigning me in, yes it says crush your enemies, but never become that which ravages the world and the people therein, and so, I begin to ease back, no longer seeking to be the Chaos, The Evil that comes from the Abyss. I strive to be a Warlord, so with that in mind, I emblazon my mechs with the symbol of my other clan upon the right leg. I want those vanquished to know who is destroying them. Seek me here or there, one at a time or all at once, I will not backdown from the battle.

Scars heal, Glory fades with time. As I am here in the world I shall revel in the use of this cloned form, cloned before the kidney failure, before the loss of an eye. In the clan war we fought, a wonderful battle, my brothers beside me, testing or mettle against others, that in the other world, were our brothers.

Piloting a Dread now, discovering that it works best in the second line, it is fine. The roar of the missiles thrills me, a silver in the clan wars, that brings us an Onyx mecha each. Wonderful, beautiful mecha, neither of which my old self has. Ever onward I strike, attacking as often as possible. The Gods of war decree that the top 150 pilots will receive the new mecha, a Guardian, an enigmatic wonder, little known about it. Slowly, ever so slowly I claw my way into the group of elite warriors, and though my skills grow quickly, others grow with a rapidity that rivals that of the old gods. Mars, Odin, Ares, Heracles, Arion, Soloman, Gilgamesh, Paladine, all pale in comparison to Shapiro may his name ring through Valhalla!!!

As the time approaches to leave. I find I am not ready. There is something nagging upon me, something I must do, something I was doing unconsciously. I find one of the finer smiths in this new land, travelling on a journey that will prevent me from combatting. Heaving a sigh, I set out, to the lost planet of Vupa, seeking the master of his craft, I explain what I want, and the purpose behind it. The old mans eyes twinkle just a bit. A gift in the old ways eh, well lad I can do that for you.

I had claimed ferrite from each downed enemy. With these bits of armor and innards I would have crafted a stein of remembrance. The steins would go to my old brothers, with scenes of my new brothers battling upon each stein. a mere niode for each stein to produce the images from their battle roms, in holographic form upon each stein. Another niode upon the lid, so that the wonder of technology would reproduce the finest mead to fill our steins. 20 niodes, a small price to pay to honor my brothers, and to memorialize the new brothers.

Upon the last day, I slip the steins into the cockpit of my point mech. I mount up and go in search of my brothers, but the portal had already beckoned them home. Sighing I turn and fall upon a few more foes, always striving to earn the favor of the war god Shapiro and one of the coveted Guardian mechas. I sense a presence behind me, long before than hand touches my shoulder. You appear lost in thought brother Forge, Jim asks. The Jarl of my clan, Slaughterhouse 5. Just remembering things on the other side. He laughs, he always has a laugh and an easy smile. Brother, you should have been a Skald, the story you told of your adventure sent the others out to their mechas in search of glory. Aye brother, the glory was good, time well spent. I enjoyed the young body, and the young bodies of the ladies there. There is something yet unspoken Brother Jim, and I await its arrival through the portal. Ah, you wait to see if you will get a Guardian, is that it? No, while it would do my soul wonders to receive such a gift from the gods of war, I went to that realm thinking I wouldn’t claim one. No brother, this is more important. All will be well in two days time, my point mech shall arrive, and we shall celebrate in the Hall. The Meadhall? Brother Forge, it only opens upon a special circumstance!! Trust me Jim, this is one. A onetime event perhaps, but it is needed. And so it was the Dread mecha arrived, as did my gift, nestled securely in the cockpit. We arrived at the meadhall at 2100 hours. The Ladies within dressed, as always, like the Valkyries of old. I slowly entered, bent my head to the altars to the war gods, smiling at the newest one to Shapiro. Carrying my burden to our table. Settled in the middle of the room, many of our allies were there, the bunnies, the highlanders...many factions we had served with.

As the mead wench strolled by, I motioned for food, but no spirits, not this night by gods, no watered-down swill for my brothers. "Brothers, I have returned victoriously!!!" Pounding their mailed fists upon the table, they welcomed me home. Several of the warriors from other tables watching our commotion. "Brothers, although time and disease ravage my body, and often I miss fighting beside you. This night I present you with a gift" I open the chest and present each of them with their Stein, emblazoned with our crest on the lid, their name on the handle, visions from the other side dancing along the body of the stein. I explained the function of the Stein, the images upon it, the technology which allowed the stein to instantly fill with the finest mead, how each stein was keyed to their gene sequence. The roars of approval echoed throughout the hall, a few others nearby looked on with admiration and long thoughts. Then, my Brother Jim turned his stein over, to read the inscription on the bottom, as he rad a tear touched his eye, it quickly vanished when another brother doused him with mead "My brothers, easily do I call you thus, for you have all earned my respect, my admiration, my love. I know not when my time will fade, but until that day, I shall stand shoulder to shoulder with thee, against any foe, even the avenging hordes of Hell"

Brother Jim approached me quietly through the throng of the hall. "As I said before brother, you should have been a Skald" I nodded towards my brother, then quaffed my mead down in a single swallow. Tomorrow is never guaranteed, but always approach it with a code, and never violate your code.

playlist (got this idea from a favorite author

lurking around here somewhere)

Led Zepplin - the battle of evermore

Iron Maiden - prowler

Kris Kristofferson - me and bobby mcgee

John Williamson - and the band played waltzing matilda

Rita Wilson - faithless love

Z Z Top - stages

Blackmores night - greensleeves

Foreigner - tooth and nail

Nightwish - 10th man down

Nightwish - endless forms most beautiful

Nightwish - last ride of the day

Nightwish - escapist

Hawkwind - damnation alley

The Wulf By Bryan Beasley #922352

Pvt Bryan "The Wulf" Beasley of the 144th Caissan Light Cavalry [RND]

War is a funny thing. I am the 13th clone of the old wulf. My 12 predecessors loved to fight as lone wolves against the tide of enemies and each one fell before the tide. I on the other hand I found that to win a war you must find allies that share the view as you. A group of like-minded people will get you further in a war than fighting by yourself and in my search for allies, I have found that plus more when I joined the 144th Caissan Light Cavalry [RND].

As part of the 144th I am the rookie with much to learn and much to give. To prove that the 144th is one of the best and to rebuild the [RND], to restore [RND] to its formal glory. And so, my journey begins.

To the glory of the 144th Caissan Light Cavalry [RND] and long live [RND]

Bryan Beasley #922352