On A Cold November Night By Kenneth Hicks ID #846092

Lance Corporal Johnny Mathis was huddled up in the frozen footprint of one of the 90 ton death machines that wreak hell on his planet on a regular basis.

Cupping his cigarette to hide the glow, he remembered his dad telling him the story of the Cogwerk Industries, and how they used to actually care what happened around here.

Down by Beggar’s Bay, they had a flight station set up big enough to handle multiple drop ships. Several of the colorful Clan Banners would wave over multitudes of troops who had trained to keep the peace.

That was then and this is now. Now the Clans seemed to be all wrapped up in portals, looking into something called a Meta something or other. In their absence, Pirates, smugglers, and low life’s had moved in. Gang wars rage back and forth with no control. The Military Police iMech’s all lay in salvaged over ruins. The only ones left, are those who only want their damn planet back.

Resistance fighters, usually not very coordinated, certainly not well armed, try and take on the Pirate Gangs, trying to make the planet too expensive to care about. It’s hard though. And ordinary folks with hunting rifles and farm supplies get used up quick when fighting the gigantic Mechas that roam the countryside.

Down the hill, Johnny heard or rather felt the leg hydraulics of an Eighty Tonner known as a Ballista that he’d scouted previously as it ransacked barns and outbuildings, looking for scrap.

Johnny put out the smoke and breathed in his hands for a brief respite from numbness, gathered his gear and ran at a crouch parallel to the machine, just over the rise so that there wouldn’t be any site confirmations.

The Ballista had seen better days. Skull and crossbones painted with white wash across the front of it, rusted holes where bullets had entered at some point in its existence. On its left armature was the faded insignia of the old Overlord Clan, now but a distant memory.

Still, even in its state of disrepair, the pilot inside caught movement on his sensors. 50 meters off his 3 to 2.5. Looking at the size and speed, it could be a deer, or just a big dog. He should check it out anyways as he might get a meal out of it, if it is a deer, or even better, get to shoot one of the frakkin farmers that have been sabotaging their equipment as of late.

The Ballista topped the hill and stood still, waiting for his foe to make a move.

Johnny was crouched down in another muddy foot print. He’d taken a couple of knee length socks out of his pack, along with gunpowder, fertilizer, and some fermented orange squeezins in a mason jar that he’d packed carefully.

Into the sock, he poured equal parts of gunpowder and fertilizer, then using the fermented oranges to bind it all together. For a makeshift ignitor he reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out a thin flask full of magnesium shavings. Very carefully, he squeezed the socks between his numb fingers mixing up the odd mixture. Once this was done, he tied the socks off, then thickly coated them in axel grease. Once done, he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small, silver dog whistle. Putting it to his lips, he blew in the direction away from the mech.

In the Ballista, the Pilot saw his audio signals peak on the high end, somewhere near the tree line. He then caught movement scuttling around.

“There we go, there’s those lousy milk saps. Time to cook some farm hands.”

<thump> <thump>

Wha? What was that? The pilot shown a spot light around his mech. Seeing the frozen prints, he reasoned that his hydraulics made a funky adjustment on the frozen mud. Time to go light up the tree line.

Johnny was sweating bullets. This was not good as the sweat trickles turned to ice in the most inconvenient places. He had thrown his “sticky bombs” right into the leg gears that were right beneath the ammo cannisters for the Ballista. Now hopefully, that mech makes it far enough away before the grinding of said gears sparks the magnesi FOOM, KERWHUUUM!!!

Blackness. Cold. Ringing. The sense that a giant had just punched him right in his babymakers with its giant fist. Johnny cracked his right eye open. Pain. Blindness. Then faint light. Luckily it was moonlight or Johnny wouldn’t see a thing.

About fifty feet down the hill the Ballista lied in ruins. Johnny thought hard now, because he was pretty sure he only heard one soul-sucking explosion. Folks don’t realize that it’s not the explosion that hurts, it’s the shockwave caused by all the air leaving the vicinity at once. To emphasize the point, Johnny could see a piece of his leg about ten meters away. He looked at it with clinical curiosity. Watching as it spasmed, but just a little.

Wait, oh yeah, was there only one explosion? Johnny looked over towards the Ballista with his only working eye. Sure enough, most of the mech was splintered and in pieces, but the left leg and fuselage was still intact. And on fire. Well now, at least he’s taking one of the monster mechas with him.

On this cold November night, a second eruption of flames and carnage erupts, disturbing the countryside. Then all was silent again. And so it goes.

The Piker and the Chicken Dancer by Kenneth Hicks; #846092

“Nothing like having down time, pfft.” I was in a ripe mood today. A number of Clans had been ordered from the last excursion to beat feet over to Vupa 6 in case of another Gateway anomaly. This was not taken well by the men as it cancelled R&R, made them put in extra hours readying things from the last battles, load onto and off of the drop ships, and now 84 hours later, sit in cold mud waiting for something to happen.

Colonel Ken Hicks was sitting on the foot of his Pike, trying to keep his feet dry. While he wasn’t in the mud itself, the mist was so heavy that everything was still a bit soaked through.

“Ay there, Cochese! You look so down, I’ve seen the arse end of a Dingo look prettier than you!”

Ken looked to his right and saw the slanted smile of Joel Parras walking his way. The crazy Aussie was always good for a laugh, but a devil in the field, always boasting some great kills for the Northwind Dragons.

“If I’m the arse end, you must be what I sicced up last night you belligerent Dundee.”

“Aw, don’t be that way big fella, I brought ye somthin’ nice!”

In Joel’s left hand, an amber bottle appeared that had a green wax seal and a set of fangs on the label. In his right, a white bottle, red wax, and a Gargoyle on the front.

“Snarvum Venom and some Olde Stoney. You are a sick man sir. Get over here and I’ll start the tunes.”

After about three hours of drinking, both bottles were gone and both pilots were feeling a bit sassy.

“Hey Hicksey, we need to do something to break up this monotony. Got any ideas?”

“How about a friendly Point mech challenge?” Ken said with a sidelong glance.

“That’d be fun, but the ground crew’d have my guts for garters if I get any damage to her.”

“Who said anything about damage? We have a set of that Mecha M.I.L.E.S. gear for training shave-heads. We could whip that up in a jiffy. It’d be fun!”

Now to the layman, M.I.L.E.S. stand for multiple integrated laser engagement system. Where this becomes interesting is it’s a giant harness that fits your mech with sensors, and has low output lasers that shoot in the place of your armament.

So both pilots go and abscond with a mule (transport platform), sign out two sets of gear, then head back to their Point Mechs to get them harnessed up.

Needless to say, when you have an outpost of bored pilots, grunts, and techs, tongues start to wag. Pretty soon, there was a 10 square click grid sectioned off with seating and bets being placed. Both the Brotherhood and the Dragons were present, whooping it up, eating BBQ, and generally making a party out of it.

While Ken was Piloting his massive Pike, decked out with shiny niodes, Joel was suiting up in his old reliable Dreadnought, the Chicken Dancer.

Bets had the Pike at 3-1, but Ken knew better. Joel was a frakkin’ demon when it came to Chicken Dancer, putting through paces that normally an 85 ton machine has any right to be performing. This’ll be tough.

Both pilot’s went to their respective ends of the grid and came out when the Beacon sent a ping. Ken looked for a nice piece of outcropping to put his back to. That way he could keep Joel in his front 180, cutting down on where it could run.

As if on cue, Chicken Dancer came sprinting out from his left, racing headlong down the ridge line, turning at the waist to try and get some shots off with his massive Chronysis Rails.

Expecting this ploy, Ken let loose with a volley of ten Omen Barrels in a back to front sweep pattern. This drove the Chicken down the hill even faster so as to outrun the barrage.

“Ah you sneaky bastard, you set that up, dintcha!” Ken heard over his com.

“Aw c’mon Parras, you know I’ve been hit in the head too many times to use strategy!”

At this point, the Pike’s gears finally kicked in and he was able to dodge out of his nest. And not a moment too soon as pings started going off in his sensors from multiple hits being sprayed with Joel’s Arbitrator shots.

Four Meson Drives started to whine as The Piker ran out of the line of fire much faster than what Joel was expecting.

“Shooo! Lookit you! You spent some credits after the last war!”

Right then, Joel’s sensors started sending off massive pings as three Blue Dragons went straight across his hull.

The crowd was screaming as the two mighty mechs squared off. Several times, you’d think that Chicken Dancer was pinned down, only to leap to safety and cut up the Piker’s hull.

“I’ve gotta do something different or he’s going to continue to pick me apart” Ken thought.

Running straight at Chicken Dancer, Ken shot volley after volley at the legs of Joel’s mech driving him to the South East corner.

“He’s gonna run him right out of the zone!” many cried. Members of the Brotherhood shouted warnings as Dragon’s whooped with glee.

Ken stopped running forward just in time to avoid a particularly marshy field, then set loose with every missile to the rear of the Chicken Dancer.

“Now, dammit!” thought Ken. And just as expected, at the last possible moment, you saw the Dreadnaught come to a halt, leg hydraulics popping with the strain as the mecha transferred the energy of it’s run into a crouch, then leaping backwards through the air.

Everyone gasped as 85 tons of mecha flew (not unlike an ungainly chicken), it’s arch clearing 25 feet.

Ken backed up and ran to the right, keeping his Ieye on the Dreadnaught as it flew backwards, came down, and landed in the marshy field that he’d avoided earlier.

THRUMSHLORPTCH!!!!!!

All the way up to the cockpit.

“Nooooo!!!” everyone heard over the com as Joel screamed in dismay.

Kem walked his Pike up gingerly behind the Dreadnaught, took his mecha’s cannons on his left arm, held them up to the cockpit, and opened up his external speakers.”

“Boop.”

They crowd fell about themselves laughing as hard as they could. Gales of laughter flooding the field.

“Ha, ha, ha Mr. Smart Guy. Now help me outta here.”

“what, and get my mech stuck? Sorry man, my groundcrew would have my…”
“I know, I know!!! Just help me out of the cockpit, I’ve gotta go explain this!”

After it was all said and done, everyone had fun, no one got hurt, and we remain ready for when the enemy does show their faces. And maybe just a little fresher than before.

Ashes And Crystal Dust - Part 1 - By John Ringo #899287

Numbers do not lie and these jumped off the pad and cut me like a knife through the heart. My family’s crystal farm was in danger of not surviving out the year if things carried on as they were. The last pirate raid caused enough damage that it would take most of our next harvest to pay back the loans we would need to take out to replace the damaged equipment and buildings. If the pirates came back and made off with that harvest we would be finished and would starve.

I looked up from the pad and at my father sitting on the other side of the table. He was backlit from kitchen window. Smoke was still rising off the blasted service drones and smoldering outbuildings. This was coloring the sunlight and changing the warm colors in the room to a garish scene of horror and dread. His face had a few more lines in it from worry and his skin had a pale cast suggesting his heart was bothering him again. He looked so much older than his actual years. If our fortunes did not change soon I feared he would find an early grave. Taking a deep breath to clear my head and steel my nerves, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tattered flyer I had pulled off a bulletin board from our town’s only pub. The paper rasped as I pushed it forward across the table towards my father. The noise attracted his attention and his eyes focused on the logo at the top of the page and filled with a wild mix of anger and despair. My eyes met his and I braced for getting hit with both barrels as his lips parted with a ragged breath.

“Ron, you know we can’t pay the required fee for those Mercenaries to protect our farm from pirates” He raged. “If we did that would kill the farm as sure as the next pirate raid. Besides ‘Jan’s Ragers’ are little better then pirates themselves” He growled.

This was an old argument and I knew where it would end. It was time to change the script. “Dad we can afford it if I enlist with them. They would protect us for free while I am in training.”

“NO!” He howled. “We have lost so much already I can’t lose you too!”

“You would not lose me or the farm that way and all it would cost us is my time” I firmly replied.

He grumbled. “They will not pay you anything during training or your first year of service. You will be little more than a slave.”

“They will pay for my food, gear and a roof over my head so it will cost you less to run the farm so there will be more profit for the family. Besides, if I do well in a battle I will get a share in the salvage” I retorted.

“You could be killed! He sobbed.

Now we are getting at his root fear. “I could be killed in the next raid like David was last year.” I sadly stated. My older brother David had been killed protecting one of my younger brothers and my mother never recovered from the shock. She left us all and went to one of the core worlds in the hopes of never seeing another pirate again for as long as she lived.

“I know” He hoarsely whispered. “I am going to bed.” He got up from the table and zombie walked down the hall to his room. Know all I have to do is survive the wait until tomorrow and see if I had won the war.

So Green It Hurts - By John Ringo #899287

Sometimes life just gives you a poo pie and it hits the fan.

I was sitting in my favorite Dilo “Ace In The Hole” all kitted up for combat waiting for the drop door to open and release my mech into the cold embrace of space. The status light on the countdown status display changed from red to green as the number hit 0. All around me doors quickly cycled open and compressed air pushed out my teammates mechs out of our ship. They fired their attitude control thrusters and aligned themselves for a hot combat drop onto the planetoid below and get the drop on the enemy we were tasked to fight for this round of the war. Everything was looking good on my screens. Their spacing was just right and they wasted no time in firing the main thrusters and start their screaming descent towards the ground below. The only thing that was wrong at this point was the simple fact my drop door was still closed and my computer was giving a general fault code on my mechs status readout. Grinding my teeth together in frustration all I could do is wait for the techs to reach me and pull my mech back into the service bay to find and repair the damage.

My frustration was not helped by the fact that I was assigned a group of techs so new and shiny it hurt to look at them with your eyes. You could see that they meant well and were eager to get started so I disembarked from my mech and let them get to work. They attacked my mech with the fervor of young men with something to prove. Diagnostic equipment was plugged into any free diagnostic port they could find. Access panels were pulled open all over my mech. Much time went by and more tools were brought into the fray. Sweat was beading up on their foreheads in frustration and concentration while they hunted this elusive “General Fault”.

Radio calls for help started to pour in on the loud speakers in the service bay. My team was finding out we had some bad intel and instead of getting the drop on our enemies they had been waiting in ambush for us. Chaos was breaking loose down there and I was sorely needed to join in the fight if we were going to have a chance to turn things around and save the mission. The techs started to get panicked looks on their faces as they tried to tune out those cries for help and focus on their jobs. This is hardest thing for a green recruit to do. Try and focus on the job and tune out the cries of the dead and dying. Soon the radio traffic stopped and all that was left was random bursts of static from the dead and dying mechs down below. The techs started to stop and go into shock from the knowledge they failed and others have died as a result.

“COMPUTER. END SIMULATION!”

I have had enough. “Gentlemen, you have let me down. You have let the squad down. If this had been real we would all soon be dead or on the run. Hit the showers and grab a hot meal. I expect you all to review this simulation tonight and tomorrow when we do this again I expect a better result. DISSMISSED!”

They shuffled out of the training room looking a little less shiny and a little more worn. Tomorrow will be a better day.

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!”

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?

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?

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

A Ballad Of Fire And Ice By German Jaramillo #685605

A song of fire and ice, you must believe it

Was sung by a bard who witnessed it

Twenty-seven seasons more had the bunny boss

who with disdain the dragon of the north wind looked

Does that nosy man try to dethrone King Bunny?

We are glorious, we are proud, we are bunnies!

You, dragon, back your flight to the lower regions!

But the young dragon was not intimidated by Mr. Bunny

And struck in the midst of the storm of fire and ice

What is this dish you want to eat?

Arrogant dragon, I kick you right away!

With a kick, the rabbit knocks down the dragon

But the dragon flies, and rising, showed the teeth

Look I'm hungry, proud rabbit, be ware

I've heard your stories of glory and tinsel

And I'm willing to stick you with my teeth

You seem to have a white skin like snow

And underneath I guess a pink and juicy meat

I'll try to see if your mech bleeds if I hurt him.

Do not you dare, back, back off! away the carrots!

He said with horror and disgust the rabbit

How dare an inferior being touch my real hide?

And in the middle of the storm they began a quarrel

See that you are not worthy of my glorious stories!

Said the bunny: only Juggernaut, Leviathan or Zeon!

The dragon did not stop stalking the rabbit

And jingling, the rabbit was most enraged.

A fight broke out, teeth and fangs, fire and ice

Ten times ten tossed each other into the void

But in the end the dragon was laughing wildly

Do not you see that these are my elements?

On the ice were my scales forged in Caissa

Through the fire, I received in Dragons my baptism

And so, today is the time for another author

The one who writes about stories of glory

And the dragon rose, leaving the rabbit thoughtful

And somewhat chilled and roasted, almost to dish

So, take, take the gold, greedy dragon!

That I will see from down here as you star

When you get to the first division of a stroke

That I here will laugh, licking my wounds

That other stories open to tell, that have no end

That I know, the dragon said from above

But in the meantime, I will discover the secret

How to taunt a bunny with a joking tale

Don't dare take it so serious, as this is a game

But today, the skald shall sing a different tale.

The {AFF} Is Back! By Robert C. Goetz #175626 And JohnD #922528

Clan war 3322

Today was like any other day training and making adjustments to clans when an incoming transmission came in. It was XEON wanting to have a peace meeting. We agreed to meet with them, they said they have been monitoring things in our dimension and wanted to help us rid the galaxy of the Unification Forces.

As we’re leery of anyone outside our dimension we meet them with caution and a plan. They were in need of a safe entry place into our dimension and security force, they offered some nice tech unseen in our dimension for our assistance and asked if we could change our name to XEON as well. We told them we needed a few days to think it over and would get back to them.

We made our decision and made plans and contacted them. We agreed to help them as the Unification Force has been a serious thorn in the side of the galaxy. During this meeting plans were hashed out on a location for them to set up a small force with access to needed equipment and weapons factories. Also at this meeting we had a couple scouts tag several of their leaders mechs with tracking devices.

Clan wars was approaching fast and we changed our name and started our preparations for upcoming war. A message came in from XEON stating we needed to change the name on all clans, we had one clan go rogue and didn’t change their name and no comm from them. XEON said to let them go as they were not need to fulfil their mission.

By the end of the third battle our scouts were reporting back that the numbers of XEON forces were way larger then plans and that had spread across the galaxy in strategic places. The race was now on to regroup our forces and strike a counter attack against them…..THE TIME IS NOW…...CLAN WARS 3323……...The {AFF} IS BACK Time to get back to protect our MG universe!

Story line by Robert C Goetz Sr. ID# 175626 and JohnD ID# 922528

Requiem Of Division 6 By Daniel Chung #323564

Scott Abbott: Prepare for war

Three words. Three simple words but with unimaginable impact. Long had those three words been last uttered in the comms channel. It was going to be a brutal fight to the bitter end. Or so intelligence had reported.

Clan Phoenix. The one clan that could slay the Dragons.

Two magnificent creatures, one of myth, the other of legend. This will be the fight that shatters the skies of heaven and drown the earth in seas of fire. At last a worthy opponent, a foe deserving to unleash the utmost vile brutality of Clan Tiamat Dragons.

All through the clan, preparations were underway. Mechs were prepped, weapons loaded, checked and reconfigured. Equipment’s were tested and unloaded and retested again to find even a minute extra increase in efficiency.

But yet, in the midst of all the testing and preparation, an undercurrent of tension ran through the clan. Something that has not been felt for a long time. Did Clan Tiamat bit off more than they could chew? We were staring at a very likely prospect of defeat.

Comms channel was a hive of activity:

George Warren: If anyone is up for it can you test my lineup? I made some changes and I'd like to see how it works out against quality competition.

Scott Abbott: Phoenix will beat Tiamat, unless we play that fight smart

Michael Telladira: Agreed Scott

Terry Harper: xxxx is very strong, he has beaten me 5 times.

Scott Abbott: Once specs are known we need to make a ladder of available points

Michael Telladira: Kk. We should all save dodge bonus for Phoenix

Scott Abbott: Yes

Daniel Chung: damn... i so hope to get the 2nd ever boreas :’(

Kenneth Hicks: this is going to be a crushing 😃 xxxx has a decent 20t, we went 2-1.

Michael Telladira: How strong is Michael Coldwell can he make a clean run on Phoenix? If so we have a fighting chance. This fight with Phoenix we will need all dodge bonuses and superb smart plays if we want to win. Imo their weakest is xxxx

We were preparing for Phoenix all through First and Second rounds. Some of us held our fire across both rounds to equip the extra dodge at Phoenix.

Terry Harper: I can’t save my dodge bonus i am 50 xp from leveling right now.

Scott Abbott: Don't attack till that round

Tactics and strategies were discussed and discarded and agreed to be amended only to be changed again. But at the back of it all, the alien, never before felt feeling that we might actually face the unthinkable - defeat.

George Warren: We did the same thing in 1KH, sit back and watch at the beginning of a war, see what transpires, see if our perceptions of our victims were correct and make whatever adjustments may be needed.

Scott Abbott: I have a feeling BHG will do the same

George Warren: could be a low scoring fight

Jonathan Schattke: I think there are a few I know I can beat

Scott Abbott: I think the amount of money they have spent recently will overwhelm us

Daniel Chung: aghhh... can't help it if that’s the case. We keep our losses to the minimum then

Jonathan Schattke: xxxx is tough.. took me to my back row just to crack his frontline

So be it then. We fight, and fight to the bitter end! Let it be known far and wide, what price one pays to wrest the Gold from the clutches of the Dragons!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

0000 HOURS

His Anti lay in ruins. It’s remaining functioning arm barely able to move. The rest of his company lay dead and burning. Mechs from elite Phoenix companies marched onwards, guns firing mercilessly.

He can’t eject, for his body was trapped in the wrecked cockpit. He won’t eject even if he can. Better to die insignificantly than run shamelessly. The cockpit deformation had pushed the HUD console into his chest. He can’t feel his lower body anymore. Blood gushed forth his lips in crimson rivulets. He had only moments left to live. A palm sized crack was his only available view outside.

Enemy mechs marched past his position left and right, ignoring the ruined Anti on its back. An enemy mech came into view and lumbered onwards, to step on the Anti like so much trash.

He managed to raise the Anti’s arm just enough to point its weapon at the enemy as his view was obliterated by the descending foot. He pressed the trigger and shouted defiantly:

“LONG LIVE THE DRAGONS!!!”

The Phoenix lashed at the Dragon. First blood had been drawn. And the heavens wept in tears of fire as Dragon and Phoenix fought for supremacy.

But then we saw it. Was it a mistake? Or were they so confident of their might that they’d leave one company open to mock us contemptuously? Whatever it may be, they shall rue! They shall weep! They shall PAY for their arrogance!

Terry Harper: XXXX IS OUT OF FORMATION

Daniel Chung: HE'S STILL OUT. HIT HIM HIT HIM NOWWW LOL shit man, we can easily nail 26 points here!

And onwards we fought, Tiamat companies the banners of Terry Harper , George Warren, Tom J Fong Jr.,Michael Coldwell and Jonathan Schattke heralded our offensive and hurled themselves at Phoenix companies. Shot up mechs return from the front only for the pilot to jump into a fresh unit and rushed to the front again.

Orders were savage. Forward! Keep moving! Keep on the pressure! Keep firing, keep firing dammit!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

0530 HOURS

Amidst the carnage came the price, a price we could ill afford to pay at this stage. We were gaining the upper hand, but we knew it was brittle and Phoenix could easily erase that when they launch their offensive. And we were losing far too many fights.

Daniel Chung: ye gods! guys, can I suggest we hold our attacks? we are leading 41-8. let them come and fight us to gain back the points. we are hitting blindly and giving unnecessary ol here

Michael Telladira: Damn xxxx beat Michael? Yea he dropped a ton of money

Scott Abbott: Yep

Michael Telladira: That's scary for us. That means xxxx can nearly clean sweep us probably. Michael you have any points left?

Michael Telladira: Also what about you terry? I think I can take xxxx. The rest are iffy. I count 48 easy points for them. Sit, Alex, myself, tom, hicks, Jon. They have 4 hitters.

Daniel Chung: defensive wins 7-2 in phoenix's favor. lets hope the 7 points does not come back to haunt us. xxxx is still out of formation. xxxx is jinxed. first fight kenneth hit and killed him with 2nd row. second fight kenneth lost. advisable not to touch him for now.

Scott Abbott: He has a volatile build based on crits I think.

Daniel Chung: possible. kenneth's 2nd fight had 8 of his main mechs critkilled. that crippled his lines.

Things were so bad at the front we lost track of the score nor who was in the fray, for it was all a mess of fire, of death, of victorious cries and agonizing screams of death.

Michael Telladira: Who has been hitting for us, hicks? I noticed we went from 51 to 59. Also another 2 points for Phoenix?

Scott Abbott: If Kenneth got us 8 points that is huge.

Michael Telladira: I'm guessing xxxx and the 20s not sure. Not gonna lie I hope we win but I'm happy it's not gonna be easy

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1100 HOURS

Score was 61-13 in Dragon’s favor. Long was the night, but the coming day is longer still. We had breached their lines and dealt untold destruction to their companies, but they held on stubbornly. We can’t afford more pyrrhic victories, for the Phoenix companies had yet to make their move.

Scott Abbott: Hang fire for now. xxxx is probably 3rd strongest and xxxx is strong too. xxxx and xxxx are weaker but not sure how they match up with you

Jonathan Schattke: we're ahead, no need to give them ideas on who can hit me. yeah, I see hicks went 1 and 1 with xxxx. I think xxxx being out of spec is going to cost them the battle.

Daniel Chung: We're giving back a lot to them. Def wins 2-9 in favor of phoenix

Michael Telladira: 48 point lead at half time I'll take. Win or lose we will make a good showing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1300 HOURS

Tiamat’s offensive had stalled by now. Our reserves were mostly depleted and were only able to launch sporadic attacks. Tensions were unmistakably high for we were waiting for Phoenix’s counteroffensive.

Michael Telladira: Chung! Who got 14th? They have 14 points now.

Daniel Chung: george warren lost to xxxx.

Michael Telladira: George! Whyyyyyy Possum buddy! Also xxxx is their 3rd strongest

Daniel Chung: defensive wins 2-10 in favor of phoenix

Michael Telladira: I got 2 I feel confident with left in tank. The rest are very very iffy

Daniel Chung: i'm confident enough to say none of them are iffy for me. i can't hit at all lmao

Lame attempt at humor. Nobody laughed in the comms channel.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1530 HOURS

Score was 68-19

Tiamat’s offensive had virtually stopped by now. By now Phoenix had launched probing attacks and gained a few more points. We were waiting for the coming storm. Cold calculating eyes were watching the info channels for every single movement.

Scott Abbott: Back to 50 point advantage

Michael Telladira: 49 now

Scott Abbott: Will you be up at midnight?

Michael Telladira: Oh yea. A fight like this, I wouldn't miss it

68-20

69 d win?

But then we noticed Phoenix companies were starting to make unnecessary mistakes. Was it a feint?

Daniel Chung: Def wins 10-6 now.

Michael Telladira: 70-24 d win probably yes! 10-7 :)

Scott Abbott: xxxx lost to sityou

Michael Telladira: Ok I think I can take him then. I'll wait on it obviously. For more intel

Daniel Chung: damn... xxxx went past my line like it was nothing. i feel so crushed :’(

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1800 HOURS

Sporadic attacks from Phoenix companies. Most of them breached our lines but the main offensive had yet to start. Would they ever start? The question began to form in our heads.

Daniel Chung: 6 hours left to end round. either they're really disciplined guys waiting to strike, or they just gave up

Scott Abbott: xxxx is attacking 950s

Michael Telladira: Holy fuck xxxx’s 950 beat my whole line up -__- sorry guys

Scott Abbott: Lmao

Michael Telladira: That's my bad, I thought my whole line up could take his 950. Sorry. A little disheartening to be honest lol

George Warren: it was a reasonable assumption on your part.

Daniel Chung: first time i see a sniping hit backfired 😃 the battle algorithm is seriously out of whack. in xxxx’s first win on me, he was firing almost nonstop, with very little return fire from me but in the second fight, it was like the other way round

Scott Abbott: Hit xxxx again

Bob Ostby: and i lost. how did i win 12 hours ago and lose now.

Such was how fickle minded RNG toyed with Tiamat Dragons, a win now, only to take it back with the next attack. The battle reports were seriously messed up.

Daniel Chung: rng is on meth this round. i see xxxx beat kenneth, then kenneth beat xxxx 99.999% of the time, if an opponent can beat you 2x that means you're weaker than him

Terry Harper: Yep 3 row swings in a couple of cases. Michael v xxxx, George v xxxx losses each way. xxxx just lost to Teaxe,he has given us 5 def wins now.

Daniel Chung: and he crushed teaxe earlier. rng is seriously fucked up this round

All through the day and into the evening, Tiamat Dragon companies were on the defensive, while Phoenix launched their assaults by 2 or 3 companies. Many a times Dragon lines were breached, but it was bloody and savage. By then defensive wins were 11-10 in favor of Dragons

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2300 HOURS

We were leading by 34 points. This was the crucial moment. Tiamat Dragons were on full alert. But most of us could only hold, for we had little to no reserves left.

Daniel Chung: score is 83-49 now with 1 hour left. if they're going to make a move, they must make it now

Jonathan Schattke: Looks like we're going to win this handily... xxxx is still showing 2200 tons... did everyone hit him twice?

Yes we did, or at least close to everyone did. But even for a dropped formation it fought stubbornly, gaining 2 defensive wins for Phoenix.

And at the end Tiamat lines held and never got broken. The high ground was held and never lost.

And thus, at the 2400 hour mark:

SCORE 87 – 54

Kenneth: gratz boys!!

Terry Harper: Thanks everyone, good outcome.

George Warren: very well done everybody!

It was unbelievable. Many of us just couldn’t believe it.

Joshua Bourne: Was a close fight. Holy shit, do my eyes deceive me? Did Tiamat REALLY Win D6??

But we did indeed. Both deserved to soar the skies proudly and majestically but only one was allowed. And thus, after a long and ruinous battle, the Phoenix was slain and the Dragon flew victorious. But it was a victory won with blood. The losses we took were more than 3 times round 1 and 2 COMBINED.

YET CLAN TIAMAT DRAGONS HELD THE GOLD IN ITS GRASP. WILL THERE BE ANY OPPOSITION TO CHALLENGE ITS MIGHT? WE SHALL SEE NEXT WAR. COME... WE SHALL WAIT FOR YOU.