#this is based on that xmas card that jim did ;) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mechagalaxy · 5 years

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John T Mainer 28840: Happy Faction War to all, lets have a good fight.

I climbed the last of the steps to my Redeemer using the hand holds on the chest vents. Its a bitch coming down because the Redeemer is a steam powered machine for its internal suspension, so you can get burned bad if you forget to armour up before dismounts after a rough battle, but the Redeemer isn't from around here. It is a Metaverse machine, from the alternate dimension those lunatics from Xeon and Unification tore open when they decided their civil war couldn't die with their worlds. The poor innocents in the Metaverse didn't know a lot that we do now, we had to teach them about the Clans, and the way free warriors could stand together against the nations, and keep war from spilling into the cities and turning them into abattoirs filled with civilian dead who had neither stake nor vote in their fate, and had no reason to die for it. In return, the silly bastards taught us it was possible to build bigger than 100 tons, my Redeemer stands a proud 105, and Ramba Ral's Penner stands a brooding 110. Time marches on, progress they tell me, but the old ways are still best for some things.

"Berserker Actual this is Slaughter 6, Contact" Jim Faust was calling on the Berserkers strategic channel, we were not grouped in our clans, or he would be standing with his Slaugherhouse 5 against what came, and be ground to pieces. He would be running his local tactical net for the scouts he was running for the Berserkers, and I had Darren, Christine, Rob, and others already coming on line as they heard the Contact call. Each of them commanded a battle group in the Berserkers, each of them a skilled and proven Clan leader in their own right. I had a dozen officers on line right now that could take command and run the battle that would develop like seasoned professionals; that was the strength of a Faction, the depth of talent not just in fighters, but in command. I was going to use it.

"Slaughter 6, break it down, what are we facing?" I had the tac feed from his machine, that told me what he was facing directly. He had a dozen Reindeer, some of those crazy orange abortions and blue Vupa Walkers that no sane manufacturer knew how to make on his screen trying to punch through his scouts. They were screening something, and sensors couldn't tell you what, just a tonnage range from seismic sensors and a rough energy signature that told you not a lot, save that it was making the warbook go schizophrenic as it changed like the best EW known to man, or insane AI in the case of I AM on Vupa 6, could do. Jim was a pro, he had seen it all, a true leader makes the tough call based on instincts won by surviving based on trusting instincts and committing before your computers had enough to react on. Faction War gave me enough leaders I could let the man on the scene make the call because he could see enough to guess, and the rest of us could trust it enough to commit like it was our own guess.

"I read it as Elves boss, call it a minimum Legion strength"

Well bite my Yule Log, it was true. Santa Clause was coming to town.

Orders snapped out almost without thinking.

"Don, Mariea, Holy Damn, Werewolf on me. Move to the gap at Epsilon 89, echelon right, refuse flank, pivot on me. We are NOT going to stop them, we are going to turn them, let them push us against the Lesser Ural Mountains. We make them take the long way to the gate. Rob, Sten, Caitlyn, get in your Novums and Axebots and get into those hills, I don't want Santa getting any scouts up there to let him know we don't have the Faction behind us, or he will pin and slaughter us, not punch through and break for the gate. Christine, set up a secondary blocking position at Delta 5, not too strong, let him punch through your center, just harass and slow."

A legion of Elves, 1200 plus of Santa's little helpers, each one cranking top rated cannons, forests of Xmas trees haunting the flanks with Tandem Bomb wide forking missiles to sweep both scouts and mines from their path, and those damned Reindeer scouts with their crazy antler EW suites that jammed higher communication once they closed. Let them get in close and higher level command became impossible. In a normal fight, that meant disaster, as troops couldn't respond to changes without orders. In a good Faction, you had clan level commanders scattered with their command teams throughout the formation, and local command devolved onto someone who was not only up to the job, but used to it. We couldn't stop them force on force, but we could stop their mission. It was not about machines in the end, not about niodes or glory, it was about trusting people, and getting the most out of them.

"Berserker Actual to Banzai 6, join me on discrete" I was calling Darren Jackson from Myth and Legends Team Banzai to play our trump card and shut down Santa for the moment.

"Go for Banzai 6," Darren's voice was tired and half awake, and the panting in the background told me he was racing to his machine as we spoke. Even right from the rack, true professionals were ready for combat.

"Banzai 6, has the Good Doctor worked his usual magic, he thought he might be able to reconstruct that signal that Artemis Molly scrubbed from her Vizi when she got jumped on that courier run for the Craftsmen by the Kanabo Crushers" Doctor Banzai thought he knew what it was. He understood gate codes better than Drocha did, and was less likely to destroy the universe with it by playing around, and he thought he saw a Crafstman override in that code. If he got it, we might be able to stop Santa from breaking through.

"Berserker Actual, Doctor Banzai says it will work, Perfect Tommy says it will just blow up, but New Jersey says the math looks solid, and it will hold for at least a week, two at the outside" That was Team Banzai for you, mad bad and dangerous to bystanders, but I was a Bunny myself and not over prone to fear or good sense.

"Banzai 6, screen the gate until Doctor B says he's uploaded the code, then let yourself get pushed off it. Just try to get a trailer on them when they pull back, we need to find out where Santa is staging out of, we need to get the Factions together to stamp him out, or its going to be a White Christmas when his mecha stomp our burned out ashes into the snow. Get me his vector, and maybe this was worth it" Dying to buy time is a soldiers job too often, living to buy information is a professionals job. We were about to see if we were good enough to do it.

The reactors in my Redeemer were shunting power to my amplifiers, my cannons would be running about 130% at base, with about a one in two chance of both x2 and x3 amplification, an outside shot at more, I was more happy with the one in three chance of an outright critical kill, as if the fat man was there himself, nothing less than a critical kill would take him down. I have seen him take a 12000 point shot to the beard and cut the firing mecha in half with enough left over to shut down both his wingmen and blast the mecha behind right off its legs. Against him, you were better off praying for lucky than good, he was just too much, well everything.

Paladin was the name of my Redeemer, a tarnished knight with bunny ears was the logo. That was me, not the strongest by far, there were whole clans of 400 level niode monsters who could brush me aside, there were even people at lower level who had so much power in their lineup that they could stand off my best attacks, match my top lines mecha for mecha, then cut through the back half of my machines like tissue paper because they were top line machines, weapons and gear front to back, and I was, well, not. Paladin's didn't fight the safe fights, didn't ask for a chance at victory, they raised their banners to defend the weak and damned be any that stood against them (also most who followed them, but hey if you wanted safe, become an accountant, not a mecha jock).

Werewolf howled, and Holy Damn screamed curses of binaric machine cant. Not what you would call rational, but at least as good of a contact report as I needed. I translated for those who hadn't twigged in already.

"Shields on full, weapons hot, here they come!" I screamed as I put my massive ceramite shield in front of me. Sandwiched layers of Ferro/crystaline armour powered by a shield net that disrupted energy weapons and scrambled incoming missile active targeting systems, it wasn't just a big block of armour to hide behind and shoot, but it was also a big block of armour to hide behind and shoot, because Paladin had over twice the precision of his dodge, because he was here to kill not to survive. Survival was secondary to mission, so if I wanted to get out of this alive, I had best get tot he shooting.

A howling mob of missiles arched in before the mecha crested the saddle pass, but my shield caused them to thunder in well short or howl past harmlessly. I read the seismic sensors and plotted the vector of the incoming and fired my Juggernaut as the first signal should reach the crest. I watched as it caught one of the Elves right at the pointy cap line and slammed the tall machine to the ground as its cockpit soared overhead to land in the rank behind, crashing into another machine at the left shoulder joint, I let my burst wander over the same machine with the last few of that casset before it spat from my gun. The second line wasn't so perfect anymore.

Seig Zeon my Penner fired next, his cannons were deadlier than mine, and his Elf split in half, showering its neighbors with bits of dead elf. They got their own back though as a spider like leg soaring overhead indicated the loss of signal from Ugly MOFO wasn't jamming, someone had turned the spider like fire-support mecha into a nice holiday fire, along with the Predator drones I was counting on getting some kills with. That seemed to fire up Rover, my big golden kitty, as the 110 ton brute let fly his rage from his Okha flamers bathed the whole hillside in wide forking hellfire.

It didn't stop them. I felt the hit on my shield as an Elf physically rammed me. I set my heel and pushed back, then rammed my gun against his pointy head and Decimated his brainpan with some depleted uranium through the cranium.

There was a shattering explosion and the turret from Rover, my wing Cyberdon knocked my cannon arm out of line. His killer stepped close.

“He was dressed all in flames, from his head to his foot,

And his armour was all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of guns he had flung on his back,

And he looked like an army with a city to sack.

His shields -- how they twinkled! his gunsights how merry!

His capacitors were like roses, his lasing crystals like a cherry!

His EW emitters were all powered with a glow,

And my displays all dissolved in meaningless snow;

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I was pretty much dead;”

The Tinsel EMP shorted my control systems through my implant, but the tinsel bridged the breakers and wouldn’t let the surge suppressors and emergency cut outs break the link, so I fell screaming with Paladin, the AI and I joined as the mecha spasmed apart, its electrical and powers systems shorting through the hull, the steam of its suspension systems blasted through the cockpit and unconsciousness kept me from the rest of the experience.

When I came to, the icons on my rebooting display told it all. My command was crushed, Santa and the horde were pressing Christine in the final blocking position. She was singing.

“Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree

Eating all the gum drops he can see

Stop, Kookaburra! Stop, Kookaburra!

Leave some there for me”

That is a bad sign, she only sings the Kookaburra song when she gets a chance to stick somebody with her Vorpal Sword. She was supposed to let them push her forces out of the way, not let it turn into a slugging match we couldn’t win. I opened her display to see her Guardian (Mama Bunny) kick an Elf off her Vorpal sword, and bring her shield in line against Santa himself. It didn’t help. He frosted her from head to foot with a Proton Blade, the ice shattering the superconductive coils in her weapons, the magnetic repulsion powering her joints, and sending microfactures through her engine amplifier shield emitters. Emergency shunts screamed as they ejected her fusion core out the back blast plates as her machine gutted itself to prevent pilot and AI death.

I saw Darren withdrawing Team Banzai from the gate and punched through direct.

“Did we do it?”

Dr Banzai himself replied. “Berserker Actual, the code recovered from Artemis Molly is holding, the gates in this sector have been reprogramed to Single Rainbow lock. No one is getting mecha out of here more than a handful at a time. Evil Santa won’t be going anywhere for between one to two weeks.”

Evil Santa’s reaction was Claus for alarm:

“He continued to slay, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he strode from the fight,

BACK AT CHRISTMAS FOR YOU ALL , AND WE’LL FINISH THIS FIGHT!”

John T Mainer 28840

Happy Faction War to all, lets have a good fight.

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