Time:1655
The rest of the cadets were finishing their runs of the obstacle course as the first three were resting by the benches. Cadet Brixton, Cadet Warren and Cadet Gutierrez were all sitting drinking water and getting checked by medical teams. Tony hated the medical staff, not because of their positions in the federations armed forces, he just disliked doctors. They made him feel very uncomfortable with their poking and prodding, however the corpsman treating his sprained ankle was surprisingly gentle. She was a very good looking woman; her skin was vibrant, her hair reminded him of the trees during autumn at his fathers estate, her eyes like the pond he and his mother go fishing at…
His thoughts were cut short by laughter coming from one of his fellow cadets. Looking over to the location where the laughter came from. Warren was laughing in his general direction. "Something funny cadet?" Tony asked her.
"I don't think I've ever seen you smile, Tony you are always so serious." Warren smiled at him warmly. She wore an expression tony couldn't place but he knew that wasn't the look of admiration.
"A smile is impressive to you is it?" Tony scoffed at the woman. "I am curious, Warren, what else is impressive to you?" wincing from the pain of the bandage tightening.
"A smile is impressive because it seems you have a soft spot for women. As for what else impresses me…" Warren grinned at the doctor who was tending to her dislocated shoulder. "The pain threshold of the body." The loud pop of her shoulder being set back into its socket echoed across the bench area. Tony was baffled that the only reaction Warren gave was a mild grimace.
"How long was your shoulder dislocated?" Tony asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
"Not long, it got pulled out of the socket after I slipped on the traverse wall,I had to keep going after that one-armed." Warren breathed a sigh of relief as she rolled her shoulder. "What about that ankle, is it going to be okay?" Tony again couldn't read her expression; he's seen it only once from his mother. He thought it was a look of genuine concern.
Looking at the corpsman, she looked back up at him and gave him a nod. "My ankle will be fine, I took a turn too sharp and ended up rolling it" Tony finished off the canteen of water he had and nodded towards the medic. She stood up and walked away, yet Tony could not pry his eyes off the medic.
"That is a weakness you know" Warren said to Tony loud enough to catch even brixtons ear.
weakness is corn pones and my moms meatloaf, hey cadet caramel you want some when we get some downtime?" Cadet Brixton called over to Tony, lavishing in his success today.
Finally tearing his eyes off the medics swaying hind quarters. He replied to Cadet Brixtons call "meatloaf ? my chefs ribeye steaks are to kill for why would I stoop low enough to eat a loaf of ground meat?" Tony's mouth was sour from the thought of eating such an abomination.
"Well pardon me fancy pants, maybe you should come down from yer castle every now and again, join us in the real world." cadet brixton finished off the sentence by spitting out a wad of bloodied flem.
Cadet Brixton went back to chatting up the medic who was tending to his broken rib. The device he was being treated with what seemed like a soft silky bandage. Tony had read about it before; it's a device that injects a mix of calcium and bioorganic adhesive meant to mend bone injuries. It also contained a dose of painkillers. After the relief began to take root, Cadet Brixton leaned back "thank you darlin' I greatly appreciate your help." he told the medic, she caressed his cheek and walked away.
Tony checked his watch after the final cadet reached the finish line. Seventeen hundred hours, the last cadet took longer than three minutes. Only two cadets failed the obstacle course. One of them failed due to a catastrophic injury and the other failed because he was simply too slow. Tony stood up from his bench and began walking towards the group of cadets. By his count there were only eight of them left. Tony concluded that these were the ones who would graduate from the program.
"Alright listen up apes, those of you who are left should be proud of yourselves!" Sergeant Major DeClan announced to them , he sucked in another breath and continued. "Time to pick up your sacks, drop them off at the locker rooms and board the transport waiting outside. They will take you to the transport shuttles where you will be taken to the final testing ground. It has been a pleasure" finished Sergeant Major DeClan.
The remainder of the cadets and Tony each went to their respective rucksacks. Gathering his own Tony felt something off. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the sergeant major was staring daggers at him, once it was noticed Sergeant Major DeClan went about his business. "Finally I won't be called 'Cadet Caramel' anymore…" Tony's thoughts began to wander as he noticed the pistol holster that was with the rest of his gear was tampered with. Examining the holster he remembered he left it unfastened in case he needed to draw it quickly during targeting exercises. Looking at it now however it was fastened, drawing the pistol out of its holster he quickly noticed the safety was engaged and the breach was cleared.
Returning the pistol he thought no more of it. Gathering up the rest of his gear he made his way to the locker rooms of this facility. Glancing over to the left he made one last look at the obstacle course. "Why did so many other cadets have so much trouble with the course…it was simply about pacing and trust in your own instincts." Tony began to think but quickly came to his own conclusion "they simply didn't trust in their own abilities."
The door to the locker rooms slid open as he approached. The facility's silence was replaced by the sound of celebration , showers, and conversation. Pushing past the commotion he found the locker that corresponded with his rucksack. Each rucksack had a number that belonged to the locker where the gear was stored. Opening the locker revealed that the locker seemed empty to tony. Inside the locker however was a fresh uniform. House davions mechwarrior cadet uniforms were black with red accents on the sides. Not realizing that there were uniforms in the locker, Tony began stowing the equipment.
Closing the locker, he vaguely realized someone was speaking to him. "Hey Tony, come on man I know you hear me talking to you." Tony turned around to see there was a young man no older than him , slightly taller with more muscle mass on him, the man had dirty blond hair , a full beard that was a mixture of shaggy yet tame. Tony recognized him as the sixth cadet to finish the course "barely worth my time." Tony thought to himself with his patience coming to an end.
"How can I help you cadet-" Tony's response was cut short by the cadets eagerness.
"Cadet Killiane Miler , sir, I just wanted to say man , you are amazing how were you able to keep going even after you rolled that ankle of yours" Killiane's tone was incredibly eager, his accent reminded Tony of one of his academy mates who grew up in the cities.
"I don't need you reminding me how impressive I am Cadet, save your praise for someone who wants it" Tony was about to push past Miler when he kept speaking to him.
"Sir , you didn't answer my question, sir" Killiane spoke up to Tony, his energy replaced by genuine curiosity.
"You asked a question? I didn't realize you could ask me questions." Tony felt proud that he was being recognized as superior to this cadet but after seeing the cadets defeated demeanor he sighed.
"I didn't stop because my instincts told me not to, cadet. word of advice" Tony finally answered the cadet's question. Scolding himself for even answering such stupid question Tony continued "Listen to your body. It has thresholds that not even the toughest of grunts can ignore." He pushed past Miler finally.
"Good luck out there on the final testing ground, I hope we meet again sir!" Killiane replied to Tony after releasing the breath he had been holding.
Tony roamed around the locker room for a moment looking for the private showers. The locker room wasn't that impressive; it resembles most of the usual locker rooms , four rows of locker , with the restrooms and showers being located on one end of the room. Finding the locker rooms showers he found that there were no private showers here. There were four cadets showering. Cadet Warren , two cadets he didn't care too much to remember and cadet Brixton who was finishing up.
"You gonna shower bro" Cadet Brixton approached Tony with a towel around his waist and a towel resting on his head.
"That was the general idea cadet, I have a question?" Tony replied to cadet Brixton after noticing Brixtons body wasn't perfect, quite the opposite. His abdomen wasn't flat , nor did he have the matching set of muscle structure. His abdomen actually had a layer of fat that was being held up tightly by a mass of muscle deep underneath. His chest was in the same situation.
"Shoot" answered cadet brixton after drying off his hair fully.
"Did you bring spare clothes or did you find something that I did not because I did not see a butler?" Tony finally tore his eyes off Cadet Brixtons alluring yet impractical physique.
"Butler ?Tony we ain't gonna have no butlers here bro, there is some extra clothes in the rucksacks" Brixton building up to a chuckle. "I'm surprised ya missed it tony" brixton finished after regaining his composure.
"I only missed it because I was being accosted by a cadet… thank you, cadet, for informing me that I have to go back there and possibly continue being accosted," Tony replied to Brixton with a sense of dread filling his throat. He was going to have to interact with that nuisance again. What was his name , miler?
"Hey Tony before you go, you can stop with the whole 'cadet' thing we're gonna be on the same team from here on out" Brixton exhaled finally relieved to learn that this person can make mistakes.
"I will consider it, but know this Brixton the only reason I will do that is because you and Warren have been able to keep up with me." exhaling tony explained concisely.
Turning on his heel, Tony walked to his locker. Partway there he noticed that there was no one in front or even around the locker. "Good, then I will be undisturbed," Tony thought , smelling himself he reeked of salt, some rancid body odor and another unidentifiable smell. "Must be the mud or sand that's clung to my clothes this whole way." Tony concluded. However that was not the case as he removed the spare clothes from the locker and began walking away he was stopped by another cadet.
"Oi caramel!" Tony heard from behind him. Abruptly stopping, Tony spun on his heel to see one of the cadets. The female cadet was the one that came in fifth place on the obstacle course. Tony recognized the cadet- her performance was less than outstanding. Cadet Fern Irvraine was a redheaded, pale young woman, she was average height, but had an impressive amount of muscle mass for a woman of her height and weight.
"Can I help you Cadet ?" Tony exhaled, his patience was running thin because of these cadets constantly bothering him.
Her Scottish accent was thick , she tried to make it subtle but not subtle enough to go unnoticed. "Yea , no I am actually trying to help ya, you've got something on ya back there." she replied to Tony ribbing him. She took the rag off her hip and held it out to him.
"It looks like it maybe boak, but it's nea like you can boak on ye back." she continued while tony grabbed the rag from her hand.
"That explains the awful smell, it must have been the dropout who was having a heatstroke earlier" Tony took the rag from her and began wiping the bile off of his back. "It's good to know that scent was not from me, I would've been sorely disappointed if I allowed myself to smell so bad of my own volition." Tony began to turn away when she continued to speak to him.
"I saw that earlier, it was impressive how fast ye were to react to her in trouble." She complimented Tony on his reaction speed to escort the dropout to the medical team.
He stood there for a moment reflecting on her words. He knew he had thought of drawing his sidearm on the dropout, he was ready to execute her. He still would have if the sergeant were not watching over them. It was a waste of resources to care for someone who is not able to contribute to the team- their weakness could cause his doom.
"If it were any other situation I wouldn't have helped, but there was a medical team nearby on standby , it would have been foolish to just leave the dropout lying there." Tony lied, Tony truly didn't care about the dropout. She could have laid there and died for all he cared but, there was a medical team six meters away. His final score would have been decreased if he had just left her there. This is the thanks he gets for his efforts: Puke on his back, his uniform ruined. This uniform will have to be disposed of now…
Following the train of thought, Tony unzipped the top of his uniform. Stripping it from his skin, he held it in one hand while holding the fresh uniform in the other hand. Looking at his own body he grimaced in disgust-the dirt, grime, and sweat that filled in the crevices of his body made him feel stained. "I definitely need a shower, this grime just won't do." Tony thought to himself, completely ignoring the fact that there was another cadet in front of him.
"Do ye need a wee bit o' privacy, then?" Ferne asked with a sly grin, her eyes dancing over the grime on his skin. She leaned in slightly, clearly amused by the situation.
"No, we're all adults here, you should have the decency to keep your eyes and thoughts to yourself." Tony's patience had finally reached its end, and he was tired of having to entertain this young woman's questions.
Turning on his heel he walked away from her. He could feel her staring at him glancing over his shoulder. He was correct in his assumption however , she did not have a look of admiration he expected. Quite the opposite, she wore an inquisitive expression. It gave him pause, "what is it that she wanted from him?" Disregarding the question he continued his trek to the showers.
Tony waited although he did not have to wait long. Tony was disappointed that there were only public showers here in the locker rooms. He entertained the idea of breaking into the upper levels of the facility; surely they had private showers. But he discarded the idea after concluding he will be kicked out of the program possibly indefinitely. He could not allow that to happen. "There will be time for private showers later." he concluded as he approached a mirror.
There was chatter in the showers as he waited. From the sound of it, there were two women in the showers. They discussed the march. Suddenly, as Tony listened, the stalls to his left exploded with the noise of flatulence and the release of excrement. Chuckling to himself Tony knew that pain all too well; he himself fell for the trap that was set by the trainers. "I hope you learned your lesson, of course, only those like you could learn the hard way." Tony thought as he looked at himself in the mirror.
Tony was not an impressive young man. His jet-black hair reminded him of a rooster whose hackle of feathers were furled and ready to fight. His face was muddled with grime and sweat. He had an average-sized nose , medium-sized cheek bones, and his jaw shaped similar to that of an oval. His dark brown eyes were fierce with determination , they bore an undertone of condescension even towards himself. Tonys body was what was to be expected from someone who had done two rounds of basic training, each a period of thirteen weeks of vigorous and relentless training. He had been broken by the program once. He would not allow himself to fail again.
Finally the two women left the showers, he saw them in the mirror as they walked away. Both of them used towels to cover themselves.He couldn't help but admire their figures swaying away underneath the towels, but as soon as he realized what he was doing he scorned himself. "Get a grip Tony, you're supposed to focus on exams, not fawning over girls" Tony thought. He turned his attention back to the showers with a mixture of guilt and irritation welling within him. "Finally" thought tony "now I can wash off this grime and rejuvenate" tony finished his thought as he approached the showers.
............................
Time:1710
The ground vehicle was a larger vehicle with a boxed bed, capable of transporting up to twenty-one fully armored and armed infantry. However this temperature controlled, troop transport was only transporting eight cadets. Tony was sitting closest to the cab, the boxed bed was full of noise. Not from the noise of the transport moving, but from the cadets talking amongst themselves. Conversations of celebration, making of plans for after the final exam, talks of background where they hail from, where they reside, where they plan on going. Tony did not participate in the conversation, instead he stared out of the window opposite him.
It had been minutes since they had been moving. He watched as the military base was passed by the transport; warehouses, training facilities, academies, barracks, hangar bays, engineering bays. The clouds overhead were finally rolling in. "took it long enough, we could have used the shade during the march." Tony said to himself. The weather here on New Avalon is predictable, however sometimes that can be a problem because its inhabitants become complacent with its patterns and sometimes just like now it can change radically.
"It Looks like there's a sump on the horizon" said Cadet Ferne to no one in particular she was sitting on one leg looking out of the windows towards the trees just outside of the academy's walls. Fernes ginger hair was catching the remaining sunlight just right, it made her hair look like a gentle fire resting upon her head. She continued looking out towards the direction of the incoming storm and smiled.
The response she got from most of the passengers were groans and curses. Naturally the reaction was warranted, during the last step of the exam they would be in BattleArmors. In most cases heavy rains , blizzards and other naturally occurring weather patterns would mess with the long range sensors of the BattleArmors. Though most BattleArmors had various types of vision modes; Night vision, Infrared, 3x , 6x, 8x magnification scopes, and some even have radar tracking.
Getting up from his seat he looked into the cabin to see what the drivers were seeing. "Drivers how much longer till the dropship?" asked Tony while holding onto the top of the transport.
"Not long, we're heading out of the academy's walls, that is where the transports are warming." the driver replied. The cabin was louder than the bed of the transport.
"So how long will it be private?" Tony was not looking to hear about the troubles undertaken to arrive where they are needed. He just wanted to know how long it was going to take. Tony couldn't stand the idea of sitting here with these cadets any longer, their relentless banter was annoying. They spoke but nothing of importance was ever really discussed.
"ETA is seven minutes sir." finally answered the driver. Focusing on the road ahead and taking the leftmost road towards the forward gate.
"Thank you private" Tony scoffed as he turned around to sit back down in his seat in the bed of the truck.
"Seven minutes." thought tony "seven minutes is all I need to catch some well deserved shut-eye" tony finished his thought. slowly closed his eyes. Tony Drifted in and out of the darkness as a memory of his old home, an old cottage in the taurian concordat.. He remembered slums he used to visit- part of him missed those slums, there he was a king. Not like a king, no, he WAS the king. He used to enjoy watching the poor grovel and beg for some free credits. He used to tease them. Inevitably he ended up just passing them up.
"Hey Cadet Caramel!, how much longer did the driver say we got?" asked Cadet Brixton shouted in Tony's direction , drawing Tony from his slumber. It was annoying and startling.
"Six minutes and closing Brixton. Now shut up and get some shut eye while you can" tony replied sourly.
"Aye , man what's with attitude? I am just curious how long it's gonna take us." Brixton continued talking to Tony as if he had not been told to shut up a second ago. "I gotta a question for, you man, where'd you grow up? You clearly didn't grow up on no agri world." Brixton finished his line of questioning wearing a look of genuine curiosity.
"Where I grew up is of no concern to you Brixton, as to why I have an attitude, it's because I'm trying to rest and you wont allow me to do so. But I will give you this brixton, you do deserve a gold star for figuring out I didn't grow up on an agri world." Tony replied to Cadet Brixton there was no sense of aggression in his patronizing tone. It was a genuine answer to Cadet Brixtons question as Brixton had earned Tony's respect.
Leaning his head back he closed his eyes and waited for them to arrive at their destination. The other seven cadets continued to converse with one another. Tony began to zone them out successfully, he began to anticipate the battle coming. He began to become excited, this is the final stretch of their exam. Tony's about to test his cadets mettle, he begins to wonder which one of them will break first.
Drifting away into the void he remembers fighting with his older brothers. His brothers were all older than tony. They never liked him, as a matter of fact quite the opposite actually they despised him. He was fathers favorite; father provided him with everything he wanted or needed. His brothers were always entitled bastards.
Time: 1729
Being jolted awake from his thoughts. Tony looked around the cab of the vehicle. The cadets were disembarking the transport. "Thank you father for giving me your strength" Thought Tony. Tony stood from his seat and followed the group out of the transport. Ahead of them perhaps five hundred paces were the dropships that would be transporting them to the test site. BattleArmor battlefield test site Beta Alpha six: New Hebrides. The dropships were leopard class dropship aerodyne in design meant for in atmosphere traversal and deep space voyages. They each housed four mechs and two aerospace fighters. Tony had only read about them and seen them in magazines. To see one let alone board one was something Tony had only ever experienced twice in his life. Father would always indulge his interests.
Boarding the ship was less eventful than Tony had hoped. Tony expected to be greeted by the ship's staff and crew. However the ship's crew and staff were "busy" tending to their duties. "Ridiculous, they could not make time for even a small welcoming party" Tony admonished the crew of this ship privately. Walking past most of the crew and looking around the interior of the ship was fairly bland. It was a standard pattern of ship. Above head the ceiling was from thirty-six to fifty-five meters in height. Connecting wall to wall was a catwalk that went from the command deck and barracks at the front to the cargo bays and reactors in the rear of the drop ship.
The ground level of the main hangar bay was roughly two miles long from command center at the front to the bulkhead separating bay one which housed; BattleArmors, ground vehicles, and infantry equipment cages. Bay two housed all the cargo necessary for whatever assignment it was given at the time, today bay two which was a one mile long housed BattleArmor munitions, spare parts, and spare fuel and supplies. Bay three and the final bay, less than half a mile long, housed the reactors and computer systems that allowed the ship to run at maximum efficiency.
Tony looked around and finally allowed a smile to crease across his lips as he saw the Battle armor he'd hoped to pilot today. The GLD-4R "Gladiator". He stopped to admire it once he got close to it on the catwalk, the cadets and himself had been making their way up the stairs to the command center and barracks before Tony had veered off on his own to admire the BattleArmor. There were three other mechs in bays one, three and four but those he cared little for. His eyes were set on the front line brawler in front of him. The gladiator was equipped with one particle projection cannon located on the left arm, shoulder mounted short range missile launcher, two medium lasers on the right arm, five jump jets with one located on each shoulder, legs and one on the back of the battlearmor.
The thought of going into battle with the gladiator made Tony thrilled. He could not wait to speed to the front line with that armor that could travel upwards of eighty kilometers per hour. He knew he would have to be very careful though, for all its glory the gladiator only had thirteen heatsinks. That was an issue as it made it prone to overheating very quickly.
Turning away from it as he had lingered for far too long he walked to the front of the ship. Walking across the catwalk he took in his surroundings, Mechbay one housed a COM-2D 'commando' light BattleArmor. Below him at the foot of the armor there was a man at a terminal controlling arms mounted on both sides of the mech, all the arms were hard at work installing armor paneling and equipping for the coming battle.
Mechbay three housed RFL-1N 'Rifleman' the BattleArmor was unimpressive to Tony. it looked like an ugly mish mash of armor plating and guns bolted onto areas where shoulder actuators should have been. There was a woman exiting from its cockpit with a datapad and other diagnostics tools. Tony expected the cadet who piloted that one to join him in the fray as was the rifleman's purpose. To press the opposition with light but steady damage. "More like being a distraction till the opposition is dealt with." Tony told himself.
Arriving finally at the command center he entered to see the cadets standing around a holographic table that displayed New Hebrides. Opposite Tony stood the senior pilot who would be leading this team. A bald man with a thick beard watched him enter the room. "So glad you could join us cadet, do you want to explain to me why you were late here when you've been early everywhere else?" said the bald man.
"Sir yes sir I'd be more than happy to explain myself sir" Tony retorted , the word 'sir' to anyone who wasn't father left a sour taste in Tony's mouth.
"Well any day now cadet." stated the bald man flatly. His face had twisted into an expression of disapproval, he'd hung his hands from his collar as he awaited Tony's explanations. That's when Tony noticed the bald man's name and rank. A. Ward , second lieutenant.
"Sir, the C and D class contracts are still running maintenance and diagnostics on the BattleArmors, and judging by the fact that the hangar bay doors are open right now, i judged that the reactors to the leopard are still warming to full charge: after piecing all of that together I estimated I had another five minutes of downtime sir" tony answered the bald mans provocation with fact.
"Well I'll be damned, you thought just because you had time, you could just fuck off to neverland huh?" said Ward tersely to Tony "if you're not here early cadet then you're late, I don't tolerate negligence of punctuality now get on your face and give me fifty you waste of flesh!" shouted Ward, his face had gone fully red with the veins popping out of his neck.
"Sir , yessir" replied Tony with a very serious tone. After all this was the same man who showed no hesitation when it came to physical violence. He looked forward to seeing how the rest of this training will go. Getting down on his hands he began to pump up and down one…two… three…four…
Second lieutenant Ward began to brief the cadets after calming himself down. Ward watched as Cadet Guiterezz did his push ups keeping a mental tally in his head to keep track of the young man's honesty. Ten…eleven…twelve…looking at the other cadets he was surprised this many had made it this far. When he was in this stage of final exams only four cadets out of a class of one hundred had made it.
"Ladies and gentleman congratulations on making it here today, you few should be proud of yourselves" he said with a very faint smile creasing his face before forcing away the smile into a scowl. "I don't personally give a flying fuck about your arrival here today but I'm getting paid to certify you as mechwarriors today so don't fuck up, dont break any of the shiny toys just out of that door." Ward continued nodding towards the door in front of him and behind the cadets. Eighteen…nineteen…twenty….
"Cadets Warren, Miler, O'Mallie, and Irvraine… you will be team two, please exit the dropship and proceed to the other dropship next to this one. There you will be briefed by my colleague and teammate second lieutenant L. Reuben. Good luck to you and may the better pilots pass." Ward watched the cadets intently until they had all departed. Twenty-six…twenty-seven…twenty-eight… "As forF the rest of you Cadets Brixton, Guiterrez, Rollins, and Mulbons… you will be team one. I will be giving the top two cadets their pick of BattleArmors they will pilot." Ward looked down at his datapad and filtered the eight names by test scores and best times. Ward was taken aback when the name of the cadet who was currently doing pushups on the floor was the first name to appear on the roster.
"There is no way that shithead is top of his class." Ward thought as he watched the young man. Thirty-two…thirty-three…thirty-four…
"Cadet Guiterrez, can you hear me down there maggot?!" shouted ward at the young man.
"Sir, I can hear you just fine sir" Tony replied each word coming after a sharp inhale on his way up to from the previous push up. His chest and arms were burning as his muscles tensed with every push up. Thirty-five… thirty-six…thirty-seven.
"Fan-fuckin'-tastic, you get your pick of the litter Guiterrez do you have a BattleArmor in mind you would like to steal from your fellow cadets?!" Ward shouted even louder at the young man. Ward's anger and frustration was not aimed at the cadet himself, but his defiance. The young man just refused to give up. Forty…forty-one…forty-two…
"Sir , The GLD-4R, sir!" Tony replied after every sharp intake of breath he could get. By this point Tony's lower chest and abdomen were beginning to cramp, his arms had begun to burn so violently he could no longer acknowledge the pain without risking failure. Forty-four…forty-five…forty-six…
"Good choice Guiterrez, the PPC will be replaced with a large laser for the reason of training." warned Ward as Tony finished his fifty push ups. Ward watched Tony stand up and fix his uniform, the young man was sweating from his forehead. Not enough to drench his uniform but enough precipitation could be seen on his forehead and neck.
The news of the main armament being replaced with a weapon that is significantly less powerful than the PPC was a shock to Tony. Tony was looking forward to using man made lightning against the opposition. Tony's shock was quickly replaced with calculations.
"The particle projection cannon's heat output is extremely high, which means I would have to make every shot count I'll be fighting beside a commando and a rifleman, there was no time to see what the third BattleArmor was, I won't have time to let the heat sinks vent enough heat to fire at the opposition with a steady stream of suppressive fire." Tony considered all of this carefully in his mind while the other cadets were being given their assigned BattleArmors. He took all these calculations into consideration before judging Ward too harshly on his ability to select proper loadouts. "A large laser's heat output was vastly lower than that of a PPC, in conclusion: I will be more effective with a large laser, especially with the gladiators speed and jets" finally tony concluded, noticing that he was having to manually unclench his hands as they were balled up tightly into fists. He harnessed that anger, knowing that he can direct it to the other cadets during battle.
"CADET GUITERREZ!" Ward shouted loudly at Tony. Ward's bothersome shouting pulled Tony from his calculations.
"Sir ?" replied Tony, agitated that this impatient pilot could not address Tony more properly.
"I addressed you directly Cadet Guiterrez!" shouted Ward again. His voice was beginning to strain, the young man's defiant eyes pissed him off.
"Sir, the cadet was lost in thought and did not hear what you said. May you please repeat the statement, sir?!" Tony shouted back reprimanding himself for being caught lost in thought. He was becoming annoyed with the lieutenants' constant prodding. It felt as if the man was singling him out Tony could surmise why he was being singled out by the lieutenant. It didn't matter to Tony he was not going to show that he could be demoralized by simple shouting. His father could do much worse.
"Cadet Guiterrez you pathetic fucking worm, how dare you get lost in my fucking mission briefing! Do you have any clue how important mission briefings are?" Ward continued his bothersome shouting at Tony.
"Sir, I was thinking about the effectiveness of a large laser on a gladiator therefore my battle efficiency will be that much greater if I can manage to balance the jump packs, speed and heat output based on the heatsinks , sir." Tony responded curtly with no hint of patience left in his voice.
"Sir, I ask again can you repeat your previous statement, sir." Tony posed the question less as a request and more as an order.
"Since when do you have the authority to give me orders cadet" Ward was genuinely taken aback by the young mans' tenacity to assume he has the authority to give him orders. "I will not be taking orders from such a witless worm. You will stand there and listen to my briefing cadet. Shut the fuck up and pay attention." stated ward flatly.
Snapping to attention tony let his own personal anger build into his stomach, he would reserve that anger for the battlefield.
The briefing was not too long after the exchange between Tony and ward. Tony could catch glimpses of his fellow teammates looking in his direction. "What the fuck are you looking at it, you may be afraid of this man who is simply being paid to show no compassion. I will not lose my pride in his goading." thought tony. He hated when they looked over in his direction they had no right to be looking at him, especially not in a way that indicated they were superior to him. " They are not." thought Tony as the briefing came to an end.
Ward finished the briefing and noticed that Guiterrez was attracting attention from the other cadets. They all seemed to be distracted, with the lead cadets' manner. Looking in the young man's eyes he saw a look that mirrored Ward's own defiance when he's in the midst of battle. But there was something deeper in those eyes… Malice.
"Cadet Guiterrez, did you get all of that cadet?" Ward directed the question to Guiterrez. It was framed less as a question and more as an interrogation. Ward had noticed the young man never once shifted his posture, he snapped to attention and focused solely on Ward. During the briefing Ward knew that the cadet had to have noticed his teammates glancing in his direction. Ward himself would've said something about it if he were in the young man's shoes.
"Sir, yes I did sir." Guiterrez replied to the probing question, his tone was flat. Tony felt his own anger melting away as he recalled the briefing in an instant. His posture was in no need of correction, as he forced himself to be at full attention. The anger was replaced by a sense of superiority.
"Sir, Brixton will be in charge of the missile boat in the rear line providing overwatch and tactical feedback on the growing battle, Cadet Rollins will take the role of skirmisher in the rifleman exchanging blow for blow with the opposition, Cadet Mulbons will act as scout relaying sitreps back and forth to the lance in his Commando, I will be taking the role of Brawler beside the rifleman exploiting the breaks in the enemies armor that Cadet Rollins will be opening up… Sir." Tony repeated Ward's briefing back to him almost verbatim.
"Very good Guiterrez, so it turns out that you can listen well, you are all dismissed, get as much rest as you can during the journey to New Hebrides." Ward finished the briefing by cleaning up the maps, notes and armor specifications. He looked up to see that all of the cadets , save for Tony, had all left. He had stood there watching Ward. Tony stood there and with a nod he walked away finally, the young man's defiant demeanor took him by surprise. No young man should carry so much malice within him-such intensity was uncommon for boys his age.
.............................
Tony found a bunk in the barracks room, the barracks had enough room in the dropship to house twenty personnel of different professions. He found himself taking a bunk in the middle of the barracks room. The bed was firm, uncomfortable yet suitable. "My bed is vastly more comfortable than this." Tony thought as he settled into the hard bed. Above his head was a stain of unknown origin, disgusted tony got out of the bunk and went to go look for more suitable quarters. After five minutes of searching the room for a bunk that was both more comfortable and more roomy. He was content to find that the one he'd chosen was the most suitable. So settling for antiseptic spray and alcohol wipes, he started working on the dubious stain and the funky smell of the bunk.
Scrubbing and scraping Tony cursed the inhabitants of this ship. This is peasant work, work he should not be doing in the first place. Do these men and women not know the meaning of cleanliness? Regardless, even Tony knew these dropships had enough janitors, maids, and servants to completely clean these messes. If this were his ship he would admonish them all for this negligence.
Finally the smell was gone, the stain was no longer assaulting his vision, began to hoist himself up into the bunk. The one he had chosen was the third bunk from the floor; the wall accompanied four bunks, each bunk seven feet long and four feet wide. Just enough space for a person to comfortably lay on, each bunk had an indentation in the wall to store their own personal objects that could fit in the indentation. Before he could get his head beyond the threshold he was stopped by Brixton.
"Hey man, you alright? The other cadets and I are concerned that maybe you're not fit for combat, just cause you know everything that happened back there" Brixton asked the question warily. He did not fear Guiterrez, but he had noticed that the man was having trouble controlling his attitude. As much as the man tried to mask it. William had lived the same way for so long.
Glancing at Brixton and dismissing him just as quickly he continues into the clean bunk. He stares at the ceiling for a moment in hopes his teammate will leave him be. When the young man stands there silently awaiting an answer Tony finally turns his head towards him.
"Your concern is ill-placed brixton, I am fine. However, those who say I am not combat worthy must not be at full capacity themselves. Why not save your pity for them?" Tony stated his words were dripping with disdain. Tony had nothing against Brixton and his concerns; however the other cadets should know better then to assume
"There's no need to be an asshole man, you could just say that you're fine." Brixton retorted hastily .he could not understand why compassion didn't seem to be in this man's vocabulary. Every single person he met had a sense of compassion. But he grew up on an agri-world. Brixton's suspicions were confirmed, Tony did not grow up on an agricultural-world.
"I. Am. Fine" Tony finally said to Brixton. "Now leave me to my rest." Tony turned over and closed his eyes.
........................…..
Time:1845
Tony stood on the ground floor as the shuttle completed its landing sequence. looking up in awe at the gladiator. "Todays the day I prove that I have what it takes to be a mechwarrior and no one, not a soul will get in my way today" thought Tony as he adored the BattleArmor through narrowed eyes.
After boarding his battlemech he sat in his seat and glanced at his surroundings. The cockpit was a small space, enough space for roughly two people to fit but only one to comfortably fit. The front of his view was through a window that overlooked his surroundings. From here he could see the other BattleArmors , the deck 30 meters below him and second lieutenant Ward directly in front of him on the catwalk.
Looking at his surroundings in the cockpit, the dashboard took up the majority of the cockpit. The dashboard contained all the instruments he needed to run the battlearmor manually. Throttle: good , joystick: good, sensor array: good. All of the pre-power checks taken care of, he looked at his helmet, finally a beautiful red and steel colored helm with a large visor consuming most of the top half and a rebreather taking up the rest of the bottom half.
Flicking several switches turns on the heads up display on the cockpit's exterior window and several more switches power up the engines that control the muscles engines, moving around the joystick calibrated weapons and putting on the helmet finally and flicking several switches above his head initialize the neural link. The neural link , the feeling of it was routine like stepping into a body much larger than his own, feeling his own balance shift, Tony's muscles tensed to a degree which did not feel like his own. The power of the neural link, Helping you to feel and maintain balance that was its purpose.
Tony could feel the power of the fusion core as a burning sensation in his chest as the armors core powered on. His vision began to fracture. The fracturing only lasted seconds as his neurons calibrated with the BattleArmors cameras. All of the cameras were all calibrated into one cohesive picture. Like looking through a fresh pair of eyes. When Tony opened his eyes he was seeing double. Tony looked down to see himself in the seat of the cockpit but further out as if looking through glass he could see the floor of the dropship.
Finally calibrated the battlemechs vision transferred to HUD on the helmet and returned Tony's vision to him. Sliding the visor up he was no longer seeing double. All weapons were primed, engines were warm, life support was online , cooling vest was active, gyros , stabilizers , actuators and jump jets were green across the dash. Gladiator and Tony were ready to fight.
The battle unfolded in a chaotic blur, ending almost as quickly as it began. The deployment itself had been simple enough: the mechs loaded into the drop ship, powered down, and waited. While in transit, the mechwarriors gathered to review their strategy. Tony's team, Blue team, had been divided into pairs.
Tony's Gladiator and the Rifleman would take point, charging straight into the fray. But Tony had a more calculated role—he'd stay just behind the Rifleman, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Once close enough, he planned to fire up his jump jets, vaulting behind the enemy lines, slipping into their blind spots, out of their firing arcs. Their teammates, an Archer and a Commando, had their own jobs. The Archer, heavy with missiles, would hang back, acting as a long-range missile boat, providing overwatch for the assault. Meanwhile, the Commando stayed closer, its role to defend the Archer's vulnerable rear and flanks, keeping it safe from ambushes. That was their battle plan—simple, direct. But plans rarely survive contact with the enemy.
Tony and Rollin pushed forward through the relentless monsoon, the battlefield of New Hebrides sprawling out before them, a hundred miles from the nearest city. Their mission was clear: defeat the opposing team. The terrain was a mix of undulating hills and dense trees—thankfully devoid of ponds or lakes, which could have complicated matters. But the storm roared around them, rain pelting against their armor and reducing visibility to a mere three hundred meters.
Tony cruised at a steady pace of forty-eight kilometers per hour, his focus locked on the terrain ahead. Beside him, Rollin moved slightly faster, cutting through the downpour with determination. The howling wind and pounding rain formed a chaotic backdrop, but their resolve to overcome the enemy remained unyielding.
"I can't see a damn thing through this rain! What should we do? There's no way they can see us, right?" Rollin's voice crackled over the radio as he scanned the area, his armor rotating in a 75-degree arc. Before them lay a heavily forested expanse, dotted with hills that obscured their view of the battlefield.
Tony considered the question. The combined heat output of their BattleArmors would turn them into beacons on infrared. They would most definitely show up on thermal scans. An idea struck him. He flipped a couple of switches on the console and raised his visor.
"Rollin, close your heat vents, switch to thermals, and drop your speed to twenty-four kilometers per hour," Tony instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate.
"What? We need to cover ground! We can't do that at walking speed! And won't closing the vents make us produce more heat? If we overheat, we'll be exposed out here." Rollin's voice was laced with concern, but Tony dismissed it.
"Just do it," he snapped, focusing on the task at hand. They didn't have time for confusion.
"Rollin, listen to me very carefully," Tony snapped, frustration boiling over. "If we vent heat out here, we'll be glowing beacons on thermals. Close your vents—no heat gets out. Slow your speed, and your BattleArmor won't overheat as quickly; the rain is cooling down the engines. Switching to thermals will let us see the enemy. Now, Rollin, do as I say." Tony seethed, annoyed that he even had to explain this to a cadet who should have learned it back in the academy.
There was a long pause before Rollin's BattleArmor slowed down. "Alright, vents closed, speed reduced, thermals active. What now?" Rollin's question caught Tony off guard. He was in the lead now—good. Considering Rollin's loadout, it would be beneficial to have him continue patrolling the area. With a little luck, the opposition wouldn't realize they needed to close their vents or activate their thermals.
"Rollin, continue your patrols. Spread out and keep some distance between us. If you see any white spots on your thermals, confirm it's not me or our teammates first. Once you've verified our positions, open fire." Tony adjusted his joystick, mirroring the same 75-degree arc left to right.
Meanwhile, Jill Warren was piloting a Thunderbolt, struggling with the massive machine. She wasn't used to handling such a hulking BattleArmor; her training had focused on medium to light units. The Thunderbolt felt heavy, clunky, and slow, producing far too much heat for its lack of speed. She couldn't see a damn thing through the monsoon; even magnifying the scope did little to help, blurring her vision into a distorted haze. As the rain lashed against her armor, she concentrated on navigating the terrain, determined to find her footing in the chaos.
Beside her, O'Mallie piloted his Shadow Hawk, speeding ahead in the downpour. Their orders were clear: the Thunderbolt and ShadowHawk were to spearhead through the opposition, while the Firestarter flanked and provided target coordinates for missile barrages. Miler in the Hunchback would cover them with his AC/20. Jill felt uneasy; it was too quiet, and the monsoon made it hard to hear anything through the external speakers. O'Mallie's rapid pace set her on edge—he was venting too much heat—Before she could finish her thought, two large lasers ripped through the murk, striking O'Mallie's mech. Blinding light erupted as the blue beams seared into his center and right torso, melting the armor away. It all happened so fast she didn't see where the shots came from.
"O'Mallie! Status report—are you okay? Did you see where the shots came from?" Jill's voice crackled with concern. Losing her skirmisher early in the engagement was not an option.
"I'm fine. No holes in me, structural integrity is green, but two heat sinks are down. My center armor can't take another hit like that—they've got to be close." O'mallie voice sounded calm, but she caught the tremor—he was scared. Jill scanned the area, frustration mounting as she still couldn't see anything through the relentless rain.
"Switch to thermals; let's see if we can spot them by their heat output. If they're close, they'll be glowing beacons," Jill barked, her heart racing. She eye-clicked through the vision modes, landing on thermals, and instantly, two faint dots materialized in the distance. "There! Two bogeys at three o'clock!" she shouted to O'mallie.
Tony narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the battlefield. Rollin had slowed down, keeping a cautious pace, but Tony felt the tension mounting. The searing heat signature of O'Mallie Shadow Hawk flared like a neon target against the relentless rain. A giant BattleArmor loomed nearby, bracing for a fight, while another, larger one stood ominously on a hill, casting a long shadow over the chaos below.
"Rollin, cool your guns and find some cover. There's a grove of trees at your eight o'clock!" Tony commanded, his voice calm yet authoritative. It was a desperate tactic to buy time; Rollin would need to be a distraction while Tony formulated a plan. Switching to a private channel, he focused sharply. "Tony to Brixton, how copy?"
"I read you loud and clear; send your traffic," Brixton's voice crackled with static, urgency clear. Just then, a crack of lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the battlefield. Tony's heart raced as he caught a glimpse of metallic forms glinting on the hill—the larger BattleArmor—while the two in front of him shifted, their weapons trained on Rollin's Riflemansas he lumbered toward the grove.
"Sending coordinates for two bogeys within missile range. One's a Shadow Hawk; the other is a larger BattleArmor I can't identify!" His voice surged with adrenaline. Brixton's response was swift and brutal.
With no time for words, Brixton unleashed hell. Forty heat signatures ignited on Tony's cameras as the Archer fired both long-range missile batteries. The missiles shot into the storm, piercing the rain with a vengeance before their rocket motors fell silent. In the blink of an eye, they descended toward the coordinates, engines igniting again as they locked onto their targets.
The missiles screamed through the air, a cacophony of chaos, diving straight for the Shadow Hawk and Thunderbolt. Explosions erupted in violent bursts of fire and shrapnel, shaking the ground beneath them as the battlefield erupted into a frenzy of destruction.
Jill was so focused on the missing Rifleman that she failed to notice the storm of 40 missiles bearing down on her and O'mallie. The first wave hit her Thunderbolt with a violent jolt, rattling the cockpit and disorienting her. Eighteen missiles hammered her mech, shaking her to her core. O'mallie fared worse; his hull screamed as missiles battered it, and panic surged within him as his cockpit armor flashed critical. Sixteen missiles struck his center torso and cockpit.
"Warren, I'm becoming a liability! My armor's critical on two fronts. I can't take another hit like that!" o'mallies voice trembled, the weight of fear and failure cracking his resolve. He retaliated, firing his lasers and AC/5 wildly at the retreating Rifleman vanishing into the woods.
"O'mallie , break away and retreat! We're sitting ducks out here!" Jill yelled into her comms, glancing at her HUD. O'Mallie name blazed bright orange, a stark warning. Three red diamonds blinked ominously on her compass. "Thank you, Ferne." One enemy was less than two kilometers away—the Rifleman. The other two were over sixteen kilometers out, likely their missile boat and flanker.
She unleashed a barrage into the murk toward the Rifleman, feeling a surge of relief when her lasers connected. The blasts punched through the trees, shredding the Rifleman's left shoulder and exposing critical internals. The mech staggered, armor plating buckling under her onslaught. Visibility was limited, forcing her to rely on her compass and Ferne's data.
Meanwhile, Rollin's Rifleman was taking a pounding from laser fire and AutoCannon shells. A near-miss AutoCannon shell whistled by him, another one screaming past his cockpit. "C'mon, focus on me!" he thought, adrenaline spiking as he sounded the horn, desperate for attention. He opened his vents, pouring fire into Jill's Thunderbolt, convinced that her heavy BattleArmor posed the biggest threat.
His visor blinked with damage reports: left and right arm armor shredded, torso armor nearly gone, and his leg armor teetering on critical. Then, fifteen missiles slammed into him from the Thunderbolt ahead. Through the chaos of explosions, he caught a glimpse of Tony's Gladiator—a hulking behemoth of war, all stab lights blazing ominously. It was a relentless predator, one large laser carving through the rain-soaked air, while two medium lasers sliced viciously across Jill's Thunderbolt with devastating precision. The Gladiator's intimidating presence radiated a menacing aura, a clear harbinger of doom as it prepared to unleash hell.
Tony hadn't fully grasped the depths of his fury until it was too late. As his rage surged, the Gladiator's horns erupted into a terrifying blare, a chilling sound that reverberated through the chaos—an embodiment of his wrath transferred through the neurolink. With thermals shut off and vents wide open, he charged forward at full speed, weapons unleashed in a relentless barrage at Jill's Thunderbolt. The darkness lit up with a predatory glow, as if the Gladiator itself reveled in the hunt.
The hulking frame collided with Jill's mech, violently rocking Tony in his cockpit. He brushed aside the impact, using the moment of disorientation to designate SRM targets with a quick eyeclick on his HUD. With a savage grin, he pressed the trigger, unleashing a deadly volley of six missiles that erupted from their pods, streaking toward Jill's center torso like angry serpents seeking their prey.
Inside the Thunderbolt, Jill fought through the painful whiplash that jarred her body. Gritting her teeth, she scanned her HUD—her right arm was crippled, her left leg armor compromised, but she refused to yield. The night exploded with blinding fire as six missiles shot forth from the Gladiator, each a harbinger of doom. They struck her center torso with catastrophic force, rattling her cockpit and sending alarms blaring. The status screen flashed ominously—her center torso armor was critical. She could feel the pressure mounting, but surrender was not in her vocabulary.
With fierce determination, she pivoted toward Tony, refusing to let fear take hold. Channeling every ounce of her strength into a desperate left-arm hook, she aimed to strike back. The blow connected hard, echoing through the chaos of the battlefield, but as she fought to regain control, the oppressive weight of the Gladiator's fury loomed over her—a dark shadow against the stormy backdrop of violence.
The impact rattled Tony in his seat, the shockwave vibrating through his armor. His heart pounded as his eyes darted to his weapons panel—still charging. Two seconds. Too long. Frustration flared. He'd burned through his arsenal too recklessly. "Fine. I'll do it myself," he growled through clenched teeth. His gladiator responded instantly, a deafening horn blast reverberating through his helmet. With a mere thought, Tony commanded the giant machine into action.
The gladiator's left arm shot forward, descending in a savage hammering strike. Metal crunched and screamed as the blow connected, tearing the crippled arm from the enemy BattleArmor in a shower of sparks. Tony didn't wait for the aftermath—one second left. He slammed the throttle back, igniting his jets. The machine surged backward, engines roaring as he propelled himself out of the kill zone.
Outmatched in firepower. Outweighed in tonnage. But he was faster. And right now, that was all that mattered.
Jill watched in horror as Tony's gladiator ripped her large laser clean off, tearing her BattleArmor's arm away with a brutal strike. Her HUD flickered—bottom left: right arm, gone; left arm, critical; center torso, critical; legs, damaged but still operational. She gritted her teeth, focusing through the chaos. "I still have some fight left" Jill hissed through clenched teeth.
She locked onto Tony's retreating gladiator, selected her LRMs, and targeted him with her remaining medium lasers. Fifteen rockets roared out of their pods. Thirteen struck home—ten impacting his torso, three slamming into his left arm. But it wasn't enough. His gladiator's lasers retaliated with pinpoint precision, carving into her torso. Her screens flickered, then went black as her BattleArmor lost power.
The HUD in her helmet blinked out, and the world spiraled into chaos. Weightless in her seat, the Thunderbolt flipped backward, and she braced for the impact, muscles coiled tight. The ground rushed up, slamming into her with bone-crushing force, yanking her back against the seat. Darkness surged in, black spots clouding her vision as she struggled to focus through the windshield. Just before everything faded, a jagged flash of lightning illuminated the Gladiator towering above, a fierce silhouette against the storm.
Brixton crouched on the ridge, watching his LRMs reload. He needed three more seconds—time he didn't have. "I'm exposed," he thought, pushing the throttle forward. Just as he began to move, lightning illuminated a metallic silhouette far off, followed by a deafening crack as a projectile tore through the rain, slamming into his left arm. His HUD flashed red as the armor buckled.
Meanwhile, Miler was ecstatic about his shot from that distance. "Ferne, how's it going over there? I can't see anything. O'Mallie, should I come closer?"
"You should be firing at anything that moves, dammit!" O'Mallie's strained voice broke through the chaos.
"What's happening down there? I can't see!" Panic seeped into Miler's tone as he cycled through magnifications, desperation clawing at him. "Screw orders," he thought, opening the throttle and starting his descent down the hill, determined to help whether they wanted it or not.
"O'Mallie, we're taking fire from everywhere! I think Warren's offline, and it's just me down here now!" O'Mallie's frantic words crackled through Miler's radio, panic overtaking him. He should've been with them, not stuck on that hill.
Ferne soared through the backline, maxing out her speed and dodging trees. She zeroed in on the archer as it was preparing to fire another volley. If she could draw its fire, she could help her teammates. She closed in, unleashing a hail of machine-gun fire at the commando, knowing it wouldn't do much but create a distraction.
"Come on, focus on me!" she thought, deftly maneuvering to get behind the commando, ready to unleash her lasers when the moment was right
"Where the hell did you come from?" Molboun yelled as a storm of small arms fire raked across his Commando's chest. The impact jolted his cockpit, pinpointing the Firestarter's position. "Brixton, we've got a damn nuisance on our hands!"
"Copy that," Brixton grunted, barely focused as he scrambled to lock onto Tony's coordinates, perilously close to Rollin's beacon. He had to hit the target without friendly fire. "Deal with the parasite, Melboune. Buy me some time!"
"Wilco! Pursuing target!" Molboun slammed down the throttle, the Commando lunging forward at its maximum speed of ninety-seven kilometers per hour. The agile Firestarter flickered onto his HUD, momentarily blocked by warnings about his armor integrity.
"There you are, son of a—" He swung around and fired his two SRMs, ten rockets roaring into the murky chaos. Explosions erupted in the distance, but he wouldn't know if he hit anything until the smoke cleared.
Out of the gloom, Ferne appeared, flames streaming from her flamethrowers, turning the rain into steam. Molboun felt the heat wash over his armor, the intensity pressing against him like a physical force. She was relentless, and his rockets had barely made an impact.
His Commando began to stutter, controls lagging as panic surged. "No, not now!" He realized he was overheating. Three… The Firestarter's flames surged higher, engulfing him in blistering heat. Two… Her lasers tore into his left torso, sending alarms blaring through his cockpit. One…
His rockets were still reloading, but the countdown felt like a death sentence. [EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN] The lights on Molboun's visor dimmed to blackness, and the Commando fell silent. The chaos of battle swirled around him, drowning out the world as Ferne in the Firestarter closed in for the kill, his rear armor shaking violently under her assault.
"Come on, come on, come on! You piece of shit!" Molboun shouted at his dashboard, desperately trying to reboot the engines. Too late.
Ferne seized the moment, her Firestarter gliding in on his rear armor, unleashing a relentless barrage of laser fire. Twelve seconds of focused assault chewed through his back, crippling the fusion engines of his Commando. Molboun was stuck.
"Time to take care of that Archer," she thought, spotting Brixton's Archer as it illuminated the gloom.
In the cockpit, Brixton had locked onto a massive heat signature descending the ridge. He couldn't see through the torrential rain, but the thermal readout was promising. If he could see it, so could his missiles. With a roar, forty rockets tore from their tubes, screaming into the storm.
Meanwhile, Rollin's Rifleman was locked in a fierce duel with O'Mallie's Shadowhawk, exchanging searing lasers that cut down trees and AutoCannon shells that howled through the air. Rollin's armor was battered but holding—O'Mallie's, however, was crumbling under the relentless fire.
O'Mallie's HUD blared warnings as his Shadowhawk staggered under the onslaught. His only option was retreat. Activating his jump jets, he shot backward, escaping Rollin's clutches but trading one evil for another.
Tony's Gladiator loomed like a harbinger of violence. Six short-range missiles slammed into O'Mallie's right shoulder, followed by a piercing laser that carved through his hull. The HUD lit up with catastrophic damage reports: critical fusion engines, armor stripped away, a crippled left leg. With AC/5 ammo exhausted and jump jet fuel depleted, O'Mallie realized he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn't escape.
He pulled the lever above his head labeled 'surrender'. Yanking the lever towards him caused a massive flare to shoot out from the cockpit and lit up the sky above. A strobing white flare was the sign of surrender For him.
Tony's gladiator screamed to a halt as he powered down his weapons. Rules of engagement stated that once someone ejected or sent up a surrender flare they are to be left alone, regardless of their allegiance. "How disappointing" the thought crossed Tony's mind as he began to shift his weight to move away. That's when he noticed them. Forty missiles screaming fast onto their positions. Tony hesitated, the aspiring pilot was clearly going to fail. Why should tony help him, besides it's not like those missiles will damage enough to cause fatal damage. Tony's gladiator kept walking but the missiles screamed past them both and slammed into Miler's hunchback.
Then the muzzle flash of a shoulder mounted AC/20. The world lit up around Tony's cockpit when he saw the projectile flying past his mech.
Tony's gladiator. (red team) Molboune's commando(red team) ferne's Firestarter (blue team)
Rollin's riflemen. (read team) O'Mallies shadowhawk(blue team) Milers Hunchback.(blue team)
Brixton's Archer. (red team) Jill's thunderbolt.(blue team)