DISPOSABLE HERO ONESHOT: DAVID VERSUS GOLIATH PT 1

Year 3014, Loric

On the plains of Loric, blue grass and dirt were reduced into featureless mulch by tonnes of ferro-fibrous and plasteel as the column moved through the battlefield. Aroxy opened up the porthole and looked out from the turret at the devastation around him. It was an abattoir of rust. The Von Luckner rolled past the remnants of a Locust cockpit, stripped off its gangly legs and buried in the earth. Beyond that, he could still see smoldering steel wrecks, embers flickering His mouth was in a grim frown as he heard the sound of scavenger birds cawing in the distance. He sniffed the air and cringed. It was still thick with the smog of slaughter and he could still taste the iron tang of blood and cordite. Artillery and missiles had pummeled the hills into a flat expanse and there were only droplets of green in the mountains of grey and red.

All of this because some brotherly spat.

Aroxy took out his canister of Brace and inhaled it deep, letting the vapor wash away his stress. It was relatively silent. They were to meet with Kappa-5 at the LZ and launch an attack on a requisition outpost that the rebellion was using to stage its attack on Loric. They were there to sweep up whatever stragglers the Mechwarriors left behind. It wasn’t the most glamorous job but the men were glad to be alive and silence was preferable to the sound of SRMs whistling over his head and barking out commands every second.

Then, the lead tank in the column evaporated in a ball of molten steel and fire, causing the entire line to come to a halt.

“ Disperse! Disperse!,” Aroxy’s mind was laser-focused now as he barked out into the platoon comm. The column fractured, the tanks scattering like ants. Several more bright flashes erupted, black dots skittering across Aroxy’s vision even through his protective polarised goggles. It took several moments for him to determine the direction of fire. He turned his head to the foggy horizon and his breakfast nearly vacated out of his guts at the sight of the 25 foot tall metal behemoth that he saw.

“ It’s a Warhammer. I repeat, it’s a goddamn Warhammer!”

The comm chatter went silent for one second. Aroxy could almost hear the audible grinding of gears in the minds of the men around them. They were expecting a light class, maybe, a medium at most. Facing a Heavy-Class in a tank. Before Aroxy could continue, the radio chatter began to fill with panic and pure terror.

“ Oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck”

“ Well, it’s been nice knowing you, gentlemen.”

“ Screw this. Marik doesn’t pay me enough C-Bills for this crap!”

Aroxy watched in dismal horror as the Scorpion to his left stalled and the crew began pouring out of its portholes like rats fleeing from a sinking ship.

They were so fucked.

All aboard the Oneshot train! Great idea @Bork Lazer.

I'm sorry, I write too much.

ATTENTION, MECHWARRIORS, I-C IS LIVE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL, REPEAT, I-C IS LIVE!

Also, Desperado is APPROVED

Mission briefing is up, y'all. If you want to participate in this outing, make sure to sound off or you'll get left behind.

BRIGADOR - ONE SHOT - PT 2
Aroxy gritted his teeth, eyes peeking out of the portcullis, as beams of ionized plasma flashed over his head. The Goliath’s reactor was audible at its distance as he heard its footsteps boom over in the distance. A searchlight scythed over their line hungrily, illuminating their figures for the mech to target and destroy. Once that was over, Aroxty swore as he heard what sounded like the cracks of lightning on his distance as a spray of lasers came from the Warhammer’s left torso. It was nothing a Von Luckner couldn’t stomach but the insides of the tank turned from sweltering to boiling at all the excess energy being poured into the interior.

The volley stopped and Aroxy watched cautiously as the Warhammer began to walk towards the right, towards where the remains of the paved roads were. Von Luckners were faster than most heavy mechs if they were on good tank country. Unfortunately, the artillery attacks from both the loyalists and rebels had reduced hard-packed soil into loose mulch that clogged up their treads. The difference between their speed was so miniscule that the Warhammer could outspeed them if the pilot bothered to break their reactors.

So, there were only two choices now.

Go down fighting or run away retreating.

The latter was unthinkable for his crew.

So, fighting it was.

“ Takka!” He barked into his crew’s comm channel. “ Fire an AP at its searchlight. If it’s running half-blind, at least, that’s better than nothing at all!”

He heard a momentary grunt of confirmation and the reracking of shells into the turret’s chamber. The turret jolted and Aroxy could see the cannon tilting upwards, accounting for the range. If there was one advantage of fighting a heavy mech, it was that they didn’t move much. Light mechs made ballistics calculations hard because they moved around like a chicken on meth. Heavy mechs like the Warhammer were sitting ducks. However, Aroxy questioned whether even Takka, who could hit a fly at 900 yards while drunk, could hit the mech’s searchlight at this range.

“ Up!,” Morven, the loader, shouted.

“ Fire!,” Aroxy commanded.

“ On the way!,” Takka screamed.

The cannon erupted and the enormous frame of the Warhammer tilted back, rocked by the power of the 125mm bore round. The searchlight flickered chaotically before turning dark one last time. The feeling of victory was short-lived as the Warhammer’s PPE let loose another beam, turning night into day. Aroxy’s heart stopped as he saw that the beam was coming towards them. Merry-Go-Round rocked back on her hull from the blasts, throwing Aroxy off his footing. Warning klaxons that he only heard during his training were blaring as the crew inside was shouting and swearing, fumbling around for tools like frenzied mice.

“ Shit. How bad is it?”

Takka pulled off his helmet and whatever he was looking at made his mouth open and close several times. He sputtered as if searching for the right words before replying in a haunted voice.

“ Our engine’s fucked. We’re moving slower than a turtle at this point, Aroxy.”

“ Dammit!” Aroxy slammed his fist on the inside of the Merry-Go-Round’s hull. He then looked up and saw the Warhammer walking towards their position in an uncoordinated manner. They were walking half-blind. It would be about 20 seconds before they would get pinged on its radar. “ Dammit. Alright. Aim for its left leg joint. We have to get that PPE off our tail.”

Aroxy heard the familiar sound of re-racking as the Merry-Go-Round prepared itself to fire another round.

“ Up!”

“ Fire!”

“ On the way!”

The Merry-Go-Round shuddered from the recoil. Through his telescope, Aroxy saw the round collide cleanly with the Warhammer’s leg. The mech paused, its movements now visibly slowed as it’s left arm-turret sank down, the ruined joint unable to compensate for its weight. Unfortunately, their fire gave off their position as the Warhammer readjusted its PPE and fired towards them.

Aroxy swore, ducked into the crew interior and heard the sound of metal shrieking from above.

“ Goddammit, our SRMs are hit. We only got our main turret left, chief.”

Aroxy was still seeing stars by the time he managed to get onto his two feet. He breathed out, ignoring the taste of blood in his cheek, and looked at Takka who had sweat pouring down his tense face.

“ Alright, aim below at the cockpit and fire an AP round. It won’t do diddly but we have to get that plating off.” Aroxy scrambled up onto the portcullis and waited for the cannon to finish readjust. “ On my command.”

“ Up!”

“ Fire!”

“ On the way!”

Another flash of fire, this time at the center of the Warhammer. The great war engine shuddered as its legs stalled for a moment. The end of its PPE began to glow an eerie blue, ready to send them all into oblivion.

“ Again!” Aroxy screamed, throat hoarse. “ HE this time!”

“ Up!”

“ Fire”

“ On the way!”

The third shell struck true and the Warhammer froze still. The smoke cleared and Aroxy peeked out through his telescope, switching to night vision. There was a rent hole, sputtering with oil, through the lower cockpit of the Warhammer. The great mech swayed on its hydraulic footing, slowly losing power throughout its subsystems from critical damage, before crashing down on the earth with such force that it raised a visible dust cloud in the dusky night.

THe tank crew paused for a moment, frangled nerves and shock outweighing any sense of achievement. Aroxy took the deepest breath he ever had before speaking into his radio.

“ Mech destroyed.”

The OOC section has been updated to include a blurb about the dice mechanics. TL;DR, we're using dice, but don't freak out, it's chill. The GMs are doing all of the rolling and math stuff under the hood; the players themselves can continue to play as normal.

@AndyC

This still open?

@AndyC

This still open?

Yup!

@AndyC

Since it looks like you're in between missions, I'm thinking of playing an IndustrialMech pilot who defects to the mercs from the FPA because his cell leader rubbed him the wrong way. What do you think?

@AndyC

Since it looks like you're in between missions, I'm thinking of playing an IndustrialMech pilot who defects to the mercs from the FPA because his cell leader rubbed him the wrong way. What do you think?

Well, we might be forming an alliance with the FPA soon, or at least, my characters are angling for one...

@Letter Bee

Yup, I'm aware of that. Might make things a little more interesting, don't you think? And the cell Andrew's in might not necessarily be in lockstep or even in constant communication with the cell I'm thinking of having my character leave, because this RP's lore describes the FPA as a "hodgepodge of cells"... Not to mention that so far it looks like the people running the rebellion are a bunch of jerks themselves anyway 😁

I think the concept works. There's going to be a few "interlude" posts in between missions to introduce some of the outside factions and what they're up to, so that would be a good time to introduce new characters. We'll have to see the final CS before giving the go-ahead, of course.

@Letter Bee

Yup, I'm aware of that. Might make things a little more interesting, don't you think? And the cell Andrew's in might not necessarily be in lockstep or even in constant communication with the cell I'm thinking of having my character leave, because this RP's lore describes the FPA as a "hodgepodge of cells"... Not to mention that so far it looks like the people running the rebellion are a bunch of jerks themselves anyway 😁

Pfft, true.

@Letter Bee

Not to worry, I'm currently writing this subfaction of the rebels my character's from to possibly be at loggerheads with Andrew's in significant ways.

@Letter Bee

Not to worry, I'm currently writing this subfaction of the rebels my character's from to possibly be at loggerheads with Andrew's in significant ways.

Nice! Wanna join the Discord Server, btw? I think there's a link to one in the OOC OP.

Character Name:
Beauregard McKeough

Callsign:
Hugh (“You know what? Just call me by that handle anytime, I don't mind. Really sad that nobody calls me Beau anymore these days.”)

Character Archetype:
Good Old Boy

Character’s Guiding Motto:
“It's five o'clock somewhere – 'cept when it's raidin' time!”

Character’s Fatal Flaw:
Heavy drinker (“I'm responsible though... I swear!”)

Character’s Expertise:
Reconnaissance, Stealth, Survival

Nationality/Allegiance:
Capellan Confederation Supporter caste, loyalist (“I ain't a diehard patriot though, more like better the devil you know”)

Background:
When twelve-year-old Beau McKeough learned that he would be learning to pilot a 'Mech, he leapt in excitement right then and there, as rambunctious young boys are wont to do.

As soon as his father and older siblings told him what for exactly, however, that excitement quickly died down.

The reason he was to pilot a 'Mech, they told him, was twofold: for him to learn the family trade (for the McKeoughs owned and ran no less than the biggest timber company on Espia) as well as to render, in the words of the Ministry of Social Education, “some kind of volunteer work that can be interpreted as having made some contribution to the state,” which in the case of young Beau was to clear out swamps and forests using a Lumberjack gifted to him from the McKeoughs's fleet of IndustrialMechs.

Despite the dream having been turned into a chore, Beau nevertheless performed quite well at land clearing, even picking up a good deal of land surveying and speculating from the senior members of the government crew to which he was assigned. Upon turning 15, Beau passed his citizenship evaluation with flying colors and joined the older members of his family as a bona fide member of the Capellan Supporter caste, which counted among its number captains of industry and trade in addition to educators, economists, and members of the judiciary.

Such was Beau's performance in service of Espia that he was offered a spot at the Capella War College – which he promptly declined, stating that he knew that the chances of ever going home to one's home planet are slim to none should one become an officer, and that spending most of his boyhood day in and day out in the dank cockpit of his Lumberjack had left him burned-out and jaded as far as piloting was concerned. Desperate for a change of scenery, Beau matriculated at the University of Balya Gora (UBG), purportedly to major in civil engineering but actually to party like an animal and enjoy himself like he never did before. For not only was the “Bee Gee” Espia's number one institute for higher education, it was also the place where the best and the brightest from all over the planet got together to get drunk, get laid, and pursue a different kind of “higher learning” altogether. Nevertheless, in between the partying and the studying and the having to assist his siblings at the McKeough Timber Co. headquarters, Beau managed to graduate with honors and was given a sinecure by his father.

Beau had just completed his first year of graduate studies in geological engineering via distance learning with Sian University when news of the Capellan withdrawal broke out. Upon hearing this, Beau immediately rushed to the McKeough headquarters, where he found his parents, his siblings, their extended family, and their most trusted retainers and employees all gathered in the boardroom.

Steeling himself against the tears, Beau's father announced to all present that already he could sense where the wind was blowing, that he could feel it in his blood, for even on long-ago Terra the McKeoughs of ancient Ireland were no strangers to the never-ending cycles of calamity and upheaval. It was for this reason that the elder McKeough, in agreement with senior members of the family as well as members of the board, management, and the employees' union as well, decided to sell the company before the inevitable backlash from the increasingly-restive Servitor underclass would reduce everything they worked for into piles of worthless ash.

Before dismissing everyone for the final time, the patriarch added that while he would like nothing more during this difficult time than for his family and closest friends to accompany him to the Espian outback to lay low, perhaps it would be just as good for them, if they so wished, to go their separate ways and survive independently of one another to the best of their ability, for that was how the McKeoughs survived wars, famines, and genocides throughout the millennia; so long as a mere handful or even just one of them remained standing at the end of it all, the family could always begin anew.

With that final family reunion having adjourned as quickly as it had begun, Beau went over to his parents and informed them of his decision to find a way to stay and fight for his home, if not for the Confederation at large – but not the conspicuously unwieldly and corrupt planetary government, which as a university student he had grown to hate. After getting their blessing, Beau drove to the McKeough hangars out in the boondocks to retrieve his Lumberjack and got in touch with some politically-active loyalists he knew from university, who then put him in touch with a cell of the Capellan Citizens' Combine which during this time had not yet been subsumed into the Espian Free People's Movement.

To his horror, Beau found out that the leader running his cell was none other than Margaret Bo, an erstwhile UBG student council president. Hailing from the Directorship caste ("more like the Dictatorship caste, haha") and notorious for being a veritable Machiavellian queen bee even during their Bee Gee days, Bo didn't pass up the chance to poach him for her own cell, for he was the closest thing to a seasoned 'Mech pilot she could get from a pool of mostly civvies. Furthermore, she demanded that while serving under her, Beau should relinquish all claims to his first name, for there could only be one Bo/Beau in her cell – namely, herself.

With his first name taken from him and finding it irritating for others to either mispronounce his surname or lazily call him some variant of “Mac,” “Mackie,” or the slur-sounding “Mick,” the pilot eventually settled on just being called “you” by the others, which in time became “Hugh”: his callsign as well as the name he went by from that moment on.

Despite their working relationship having gotten off to a rocky start, the cell leader reluctantly agreed that in exchange for his unquestioning service to her excellency and as a hazard pay of sorts, as the cell's only pilot he was to be allowed to keep a moonshine still in his trailer as well as some grain and all the liquor looted from their raids in lieu of pay. After all, he reasoned, his job during raids and ambushes was to draw to himself as much enemy gunfire as he could take if they weren't close enough for him to hit with his chainsaw. “Booze helps to calm my nerves when we're not raiding, besides I'm literally a dead man walking now ain't I?” was his excuse to her. "I believe I'm entitled to that at the very least."

Margaret Bo was more of a bureaucrat than a field commander, but Hugh didn't mind her hogging all the credit each time they scored a win against the regime they both hated, so long as he got his agreed-upon share of the spoils and was permitted to drink to his heart's content in private. Bo, being uncompromisingly domineering and a teetotaler to boot, continued to secretly resent him for this; at the same time, the Capellan Citizens' Combine and the Espian Free People's Movement began to closely associate with one another.

Unfortunately for Hugh, Bo was also ambitious – so much so that after being told that she was considered for a higher position in the Free People's Army, she thought it would be a good idea to seal the deal by seizing the pilot's stash of alcohol to give to the FPA honchos as a gift, and as a grandiose show of authority, to subject him, her top (and only) pilot, to "long-overdue disciplinary action" – all the better to remind all concerned of the pecking order.

Hugh found out about this and reckoned that it was high time to get out of dodge. Later that night, he loaded into his cargo bay all the worldly possessions he still had with him, including his still, his stash of alcohol, and just to spite Margaret, an old jukebox from the cell's mess hall that he figured was a Bo family heirloom.

After convincing the guards that he was on a solo covert mission to take the stuff in his hold to some potential allies (which was still technically true, he told himself), Hugh hopped into the cockpit, powered up his Lumberjack, and strode off in search of the source of that exotic moonshine he got from the black market whose label was stamped with nothing but a green knight's helmet. That fine hooch had been on his mind ever since his first sip.

“Pretty sure it's those mercs from offworld who made that good shit,” Hugh thought to himself as an ancient Terran song* started to play on his stereo. “Gotta be.”

Battlemech:



Hugh pilots a dull-gray Lumberjack, originally an LM1/A, which with the grudging approval of Margaret Bo he paid the technologically-inclined members of their cell a significant amount of liquor to upgrade with looted weapons. The souped-up ForestryMech now sports an LRM-10 in place of one of the dumpers, additional armor, and machine guns instead of its signature lift hoist. Painted on the 'Mech's left chest plate is the iconic green Capellan Confederation emblem, now weathered. And in case anyone's wondering, it still rocks its chainsaw.

<Snipped quote by Waylon>

Nice! Wanna join the Discord Server, btw? I think there's a link to one in the OOC OP.

Tried the link but it doesn't seem to work for me. Even got the Discord app for this, and I'm more of a Telegram guy lol.

<Snipped quote by Letter Bee>

Tried the link but it doesn't seem to work for me. Even got the Discord app for this, and I'm more of a Telegram guy lol.

I'll PM you the invite, then.