"Prosk, 1.E5 New Millenium Year. There are no more elements, and there is no more government. Just the war. Ponies and Gryphons alike have packed up everything, literally, and set out for a new world away from the once-thriving Earth. Plus side: The trip was only 72 years. Down side: A war started within 72 days of landing. And has been raging for the last 15. Ponies at war with the Gryphons again, you say? Not exactly. War over power? Nay. Control over the planet? There we go! Yes, it seems that even with a fresh start, war is bound to spark up. But no more hoof-to-hoof brawls. Swords are useless. Guns? Sure, we use those. On our mechs. Huge machines of war that we climb into, and seal ourselves in, and march out to fight. Some say it's an extention of your body. I say it's just a coffin. And on top of that, we- Oh, save and exit entry!"
Thunderdust shut the monitor on his electronic journal, stuffed it under his pillow, and pulled the covers back over him, feigning sleep. He heard the hoovesteps in the passage, and was hoping he wasn't getting bearings deducted for being up after lights-out. Again.
"Thunderdust! If that's you up again, i'll have you scrubbing the mud out of the leg sheilds of Rocketeers without a brush, are we understood?" A booming voice called out, echoing through the hallway and into his head, imprinting itself everywhere in his mind. Now, any normal cadet would yell out 'YES, SIR', and be caught because he was obviously awake, or awake enough to respond. 'Play dead' Thunderdust's mind thought, as he waited for his commander to walk back to his quarters...
The early-morning siren came on with force, as usual, throwing the lives of all pilots into chaos for the first half-hour of their day. Bodies scrambled to get dressed, ger brushed, get showered (not in that order) and eat. After that, they all had to line up by their mechs. Mechs were arranged in rows of five, called squads. Every five rows was a platoon. every five platoons was a batallion. every five batallions was a company. And each squad had to go through and make sure every pilot was accounted for. Another half-hour of standing by your towering war machine. Thunderdust stood by his CR-T medium all-purpose mech patiently. He looked up and to the right, at the long barrel of the assault rifle he had for his primary weapon. Names of freinds and family were carved into it, and it reminded him of home, no matter where he was.
The midmorning sun should have cast Celestia's shining rays across the city, illuminating the life that was held within it. But with a heavily polluted world, clouds always covered the sky, and life was rather sparse. Cities lay abandoned, and it seemed anyone left on Illad was fighting one another. But that didn't change Thunderdust's disposition to making his rounds in the city, keeping everything in check. The base encompassed most of the ciy, so there was security and maintnence to be kept up with. He climbed through the hatch on top of his CR-T, and locked himself in. He knew it was for saftey, but that was something that always took his nerves for a spin. He settled himself in the chair, getting in just the right spot, and pressed his hoof on a small toutch-sensitive screen.
/c launching holographic visor.
Kernelsys: OK
weaponsys1: OK
weaponsys2: OK
strut arms: IN_PLACE
sheild: ACTIVATING....
OK
Control of this mech binds you immediatly to any damage, injury, or destruction/damage of/to mech, to property, or living entities. -ENFORCED UPON EXIT-
/hoofscan_launch.exe
launching... Welcom back, Thunderdust. Systems check out: Green.
Thunderdust released his hoof, and brought the controls within reach, and strapped himself in. The mech made grinding, squealing noises as the legs pushed off for the first time in a day. The cold wasn't good for these beasts, but the base was lacking (of all things) hangars. Even Uptown, which was moderatly hotter then Prosk, the Mechs still took a while to get running to combat standards. Thunderland navigated through rusty shacks and stores, past generators with now-corroded wires exposed, and down narrow streets. "How do the pilots in fatties get through here and not hit buildings?" He asked to himself. Static crackled, and a vioce came on his communications link. "We use the wider roads, thats how. And since when did you call them 'fatties'?" The voice barked at him, drawing his attention. He activated his push-to-talk. "Well, good morning to you, too. And i say that because they are damn huge. All that armor makes them look fat. Besides, theree arent that many wide roads here, are there?" Thunder asked. More static. The voice came in and out, but it was getting scrambled. "Reset your frequency, you're making my ears hurt." Thunderdust complained, wincing at the loud shhhhh of the static. Light mech pilots called it 'Sonic Death', because if you can't communicate, you don't know what you're walking into. But it wasn't dagerous for just light mechs: Thunderlane knew that if he was being scrambled, something was out there. And chances were, it wasn't freindly. He slid his mech down a back alley, and waited to hear any sounds to confirm his suspicions: Thrusters or the booms of mechsteps.
/approx. 15 minutes later\
Thunderdusts's ears twitched as the sounds of volna-class thrusters was picked up by his audio receptors on his mech. But the only real way to i.d a mech class was loudness and speed of the steps. Any mech can have those thrusters, but only a heavy mech would have loud and slow steps. He tuned his radio out, to keep the static out of the cockpit. Every once in a while he'd flip it back, just to check if comm's were back. Still static as of 2 minutes ago. But the thrusters were drawing nearer, and his heart began to beat faster and harder. Then the first steps were heard. Too slow to be a light, but faster then a heavy. 'That means that it's a medium, and even match. Unless, of course-' he stopped after movement on his radar came up. The red dot was making it's way to him, which meant a Scout had likley dropped a scanner nearby as well. Feeling lucky, he got his mech running up again, and slid out into the street again.
Face-to-face with an assault mech.
Now, a one on one duel wasn't as easy as a full-scale battle. You didn't blast away at first sight. You almost had to size each other up, and then you both were fair game for each other. He could tell the mech was a level four or so, and the pilot inside was a light-gray coated unicorn, with a (rather beattuful, if tarnished) turquoise mane, pressed tight by the pilot's helmet. A female pilot, too. Uncommon, but not unheard of. What seemed like hours went by, and the world went into slow motion.
The Assault mech's submachine cannon ripped open, shredding a good bit of Thunderdust's mech away, and sending some shrapnel and sparks into the cockpit. He felt the pain as they scraped his body, but couldn't tell if he was bleeding. He dodged the TOW rocket, which he could feel detonate a ways behind him, and returned the favor. He fired his assault rifle and tow simultaneously, and the combo of steady bullets and the warhead ate through the armor of the mech, sending it flying into the building behind it. Rubble fell, and dust covered the area. Thunderdust slid behind another building and sent his repair drone up to lick his wounds. But he knew that the Assault mech could take more than that. He could hear steps being taken again, and mobilized himself back into the dust cloud. He could make out the road, and followed it, but then the assault pilot made a fatal mistake: activating her floodlamps. The Assault mech was originally a mining mech, and there were a few times when the lamps came in handy in a battle. Not here, though, as it gave Thunderdust a perfect target. He jetted up on his thrusters, directly overhead of the mech, and lit her up with the assault rifle one last time. The pinking and ponging of bullets ricocheting off armor was deafening, and when she turned around, glass flew everywhere while the floodlems were shattered in the barrage. Thunder's weapons were overheating, but he still had the endgame up his sleeve. He activated his weapon coolants, which was just enough to fire his TOW rocket. Upon direct impact, parts of the mech went flying, cracking his cockpit glass and bouncing off his mech.
The Assault mech lay in a smoldering wreck, and embers rained from the sky. Thunderdust looked upon it for any movement, weary for any other surprises. He raised his assault rifle, and fired into the wreckage, just to be safe. Turning around, he was hit with the though that this was probably the first kill this month. "You in one peice?" the voice called out again, once he was unscrambled. "Yeah, Spitfire, i'm good." he replied, and entered the base's sheilds once more. "Still gonna fight another day." he finished. Spitfire chuckled. "Well, i've been watching your Mech's camera, and saw the fight. Nice job out there, most Assault mechs would tear up the CR-T. But you handled it very well. I just want to tell you you did a fine job out there." Spitfire said, in a calmer voice than usual (her usual voice is normaly barking orders, which isn't too pleasant). "Thanks, Commander. I'll be back in a jif." Thunderdust said, smirking at his work back there. He caught himself, though, and realized that he was smiling at his act of taking somepony's life, the snuffing of one's soul. He enjoyed it. The slap of fear followed by a shot of adrenaline gave him a sense of freedom - of all things.
--Later that day, mess hall--
Thunderdust ate what the cafetria workers tried to pass on as food, but it was really just tasteless, grey much. He wondered if there were even any nutrients in it, but he was still alive, so it wasn't killing him. He was alone at his table, but not alone in the chow hall. He hung his head low, with a look on his face like somepony died. He spooned his mush around, not feeling very hungry for some reason. *cla-clank He was startled by a tray being dropped on the table, and looked up to Fleetfoot taking a seat across from him. "You don't look too good. Something you ate?" She asked, lowering her head to make eye contact. "More like what I HAVEN'T eaten... this stuff has to be saftey violation." Thunder complained, looking up at his partner. "Safer then making rounds on the outskirts of the city?" She asked, knowingly. The outskirts were notorious for claiming mechs -- and anypony in them. "I'd take that over whatever... this is." He said, poking at the paste, which seemed to vibrate in response. "Now you're being stupid. Eating almost anything is better than the 'Skirts. We both know that." She said, getting a spoonful of the gray stuff. She tried to keep a straight face as she pushed it down (much to her stomach's dismay). "Yeah, you look like you're enjoying it. But don;t let me stop you, take another bite." Thunderdust toyed with her. Fleetfoot slowly got another, smaller spoon, but dropped the spoon and shot up to her hooves. "Buck that stuff. You better hope i don't see you on patrol, or you'll get it." She said, letting off some fake anger. Thunder smiled and stood up as well, gave her a wink and headed to put both their trays up. Thats when he heard his name called on the intercom. And from across the entire hall, Thunderdust and Fleetfoot exchanged a confused look.
Thunderdust hesitated knocking on Spitfire's door. Nopony is called to the office for a good reason, and he was already feeling sick from 'lunch'. The window was treated to give anypony veiwing it from either side a very blurry interpertation of the other side, but he knew Spitfire could see him, or at least a body, standing outside her door. He wondered how long it would be until the door swung open, and Spitfire did exactly what her name would imply, and gave him another verbal beating. He raised his hoof cautiously, as if he was waiting for the door to bite it, and gave a tap at the door. "Knock like you got a spine, Thunderdust!" She yelped almost immediatly after he knocked. 'Damnit, this is gonna eb worse than I thought...' he thought to himself, keeping any negative words from Spitfire's ears. He knoecked harder this time, the door rattling in response. "Better. Enter, cadet." She said in a dulled down tone. He Entered her office, pushing the door closed behind him, and popping up to attention. "At ease. I just wanted to give you a couple of choices that you might benefit from. Here's all you need to know: We need to supply a new outpost in the Kloth region with willing and able mech pilots. Before we continute, I KNOW you're able, but are you willing?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. Thunder thought for a moment, contemplating the ups and downs of the offer. "Affirmative. Will I be able to choose someone in my squad to tag with?" He asked hopefully. Spitfire chuckled, moving a stack of papers to the side of her desk. "How did I know this was coming? Well, it is usually frowned upon wo 'buddy system' onrelocations, but as this is a base in dire need of pilots, I don't see any reason why it would be denied. So, let me guess... Fleetfoot?" She asked knowingly. Thunder nodded happily, even more willing to go with his partner. "Well, when will we be leaving?" Thunder asked, streching a kink in his left rear leg out. "Depends. Heavy mechs depart first, Mediums next, then the Lights. I am giving you permission for you and your partner," She looked to her assistant and nodded, who then left. "the opportunity to change your mechs. Fleetfoot will be here shortly." Thunderdust's mind went to the Scout, first of all. 'Quick, with a nice close-range punch. Then again, so is the Berserker... Maybe I should get the-' his train of thought was lost with the door opening behind him, and Fleetfoot walking in. "Is she up to speed?" Thunder asked Spitfire's assistant, a sea-foam coated unicorn with a mane with two lighter shades of her coat. She only nodded in response. Thunder have an appreciative sigh, and looked at Fleetfoot. "Well, what do you think?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow. "Personally, I think the Reaper may be a good mech to have handy." As thunder was about to speak, Spitfire had to cut in. "Well, the good news is im giving you two until 1500 tomorrow to decide. Off with you now, I have more papers to sign..." She said, looking with disgust to the stack of papers she pushed aside. Thunder and Fleetfoot walked out, and talked about the options throughout the day.
"Wolf Platoon leader, you have three bogies converging on your position. How copy?"
"Affirmative, whats the ETA on some backup for us? We're running low on munitions and mechs here."
"Uhhh.... At least 2 mikes. We'd be drawing from another platoon across the fray."
"Roger that, we'll try and--"
"Contact, contact! Brace for hellfires!"
*explosions, Wolf platoon returns fire*
"Spikestrip, get us that damn backup over here!"
"Berzerk, flanking on the left!"
*Point-D Vulcan spinning up, firing*
"Yeah, he's Kilo-Alpha."
"Wolf Leader.....kup from Heathen Plato.....as come unde.....dvise you to pu...."
"Spikestrip, we're losing you. Scramblers?"
*static*
(*TRANSMISSION ENDED: CONNECTION INTERFERENCE*)
"Damnit. Spitfire, Wolf Platoon is under heavy fire, and their backup from Heathen has been ambushed. If we don't send some of the base's reserve's, we'll lost the entire platoon. Scramblers have been placed and we can't contact them anymore." A unicorn with a dark, matte grey coat and mane said, turning around in his chair. Spitfire remained motionless, thought running through her head faster than a boosting Scout.
"Send Razor squad. And a technician, if they haven't been assigned one yet." She said, reading the transmissions typed script over and over again. "Bastards won't take that sector from us..." She muttered under her breath.
"Dunlop, dude, that'll never work!" Flurry said, laughing. He lay on his bunk bed, reading some comics and chatting with the other members of his squad.
"Sure it will! Replace the tow warhead with a detonator warhead, and, boom! It's like a.... Super-TOW!" He said, making an explosion with his hooves. Then, the PA system crackled to life in their bunkroom.
"Razor squad, you are to get to your mechs and mobilize to section 8 of the Bazzar. Repeat, Section 8 of the Bazzar. Wolf platoon has come under heavy fire and needs assistance." it called out, and died back.
"You hear it! Saddle up, Boys!" Commander said. They ran through the hallways, and got into their mechs. Flurry check the external systems on his Bruiser, which he lovingly referred to as 'Harlem', and was the first out. Flurry Mobilized his Scout, and the rest of Razor squad followed.
*W.I.P* Section 8
It was worse than the reports had told them. And what they were expecting was already pretty bad. Mechs were strewn about across the sector, just huge, mechanical, burnt out coffins for soldiers who didn't know what they were even fighting for. Just like Razor Squad.
"Keep your head on a swivel, boys. We don;t want to end up like the poor sons-of-bitches in Dyno squad." LCPL Fortain's voice crackled over the squad's headset. Everyone called him Fort. Razor Squad was comprised of:
Fort, captain, Rocketeer
Dunlop, weapons specialist, Brawler
Flurry, mechanic and mech upgrader, Assault Mk. 2
Roth, marksman, Sharpshooter
Timo, technician
And, yours truly.... Thunderdust, Scout.
Razor was known as one of the superior combat squads, and by far the most effective in battle. No other squad from the Prosk Corp stood a chance against them. But, it wasn't Prosk soldiers they were fighting...
"Uhh, guys. I'm picking up signals on the scanner." Roth said. "Seven o'clock from our position." All mechs turned towards the signals, guns at the ready.
"How many blips you reading right now, Roth?"
"Three, and its growing by every cycle it completes."
"Squad, arm all systems and take cover positions. Make sure you get the first shot in." Fort ordered. In one time-perfected synchronized move, the squad made dives and rolls behind the nearest cover, and had weapons trained in the direction of the blips. The ground rumbled with the crushing steps of a fleet of mechs, at least the size of Razor squad.
"I have visual contact on a grenadier, estimating he is point 4 mikes out." Flurry said, spinning up both his Vulcan chain guns.
"Firing is open. Give 'em hell, boys!" Fort said, locking and firing a volley of missiles. The rest of the squad followed orders, and a hail of bullets and missiles were fired into the group of incoming mechs. The grenadier was destroyed instantly, just obliterated into nothingness by a blast of fire and shrapnel. But almost instantly, another mech took its place. The battle for Section 8 had begun.
