Ares
24.01.2006, 01:26
Where to begin?
Well, at the beginning would be best, quiaff?
I was born 3040 here on Huntress. Yes, born. I am a freebirth. My father was a washed out warrior, sorted into the scientist caste, my mother a bondswoman.
I grew up like every other little clan child within a daycarecenter, located near my parents workplace, a green-genetics project complex. Or you could also say: Farm.
I was told, that I was a lovable child. Docile and clean.
Aff, Aff, Aff, that was then, can I get on with it, quiaff?
As I said, I was just an ordinary child. I loved the Kerenskys-Vision-Cartoons and my air rifle.
Well, aff, maybe I was a bit on the young side there, but this was Huntress. Lots of dangerous animals in the jungles, but none so fierce as the Smoke Jaguar. But that was all right. For that we had warriors to protect us, mostly Solahma of course. A few of them would sometimes go into the jungle, armed only with a knife and a determined grin, to slay some beasts and then die in the most honourable way left to them.
Aff, I know what everyone thinks: The Smoke Jaguar warriors were bullying bastards, slaying a civilian on the spot for looking at them in a funny way. But everyone in my clan thought that the IS consisted of plundering barbarian hordes, stealing, raping and defecating everywhere they go.
You see, no society would be possibly build only on this kind of stereotypes. I knew many decent ones. Drake Corbett for example. But I am rushing to far.
When Operation Revival hit, we at the home worlds were at least as determined as the warriors at the front. Merchants brought goods from the IS we only ever heard about. For example vanilla as the main ingredient in vanilla ice-cream. Oh sure, there are few things you can’t do with artificial flavours. But for some unknown reason, the great Kerensky never thought about taking vanilla seeds with the exodus. And what you not know, you can not crave. I will never forget my first vanilla-banana split.
But I am going astray:
I was made an apprentice in genetics in 3049. In 3051 I was chosen to go to the occupation zone as part of a developing project. As you might be able to imagine, I was exhilarated. The lost Garden Eden, Xanadu, Paradise. At least it was shown like that in the comics I read as a kid. Reality, as so often, was quite different. The first day we arrived, a bomb made of artificial fertiliser and Diesel fuel exploded under one of our convoy cars. Seven of my fellow co-apprentices were killed. It was a real shock. We never had experienced anything like that. Sure, at home there was the dark caste, but these merely stole things or tried to hide from warriors chasing them. Terrorism was something totally unknown and it frightened us all.
Aff, even our fiercest warriors could be seen with a haunted look in their eyes, looking over their shoulder wherever they went. And they dealt with it in the only way they knew: Violence. De-escalation never was part of any clan doctrine, so they waged war even after the enemy was gone and only civilians were left to take the blows. Unsurprisingly we never ran out of rebels and freedom fighters.
What? Oh, yes, pardon. I was stationed on Garstedt, near the Ghostbear OZ.
The planets population consisted in large parts of Ex-Draconian citizens but also some of Rasalhaguen origin. I liked going to there restaurants.
Well at least until they tried to poison our group.
It all seemed a good idea then. We all had not left the compound for more than six weeks. We that were Arthur, Estana, Korm an me, Jack. I was 13 or 14 at the time and already I knew that genetics were not necessarily my most favourite subject. Arthur on the other side was a genius where computer systems were concerned. He had acquired the pass code for a maintenance tunnel, which got us out of the complex and into the city. It would be easy, it would be fun, nobody would notice, we thought.
We avoided the patrols, knowing their patrolling scheme and went to that restaurant: Midgard Dragon
The people there kept using C-Bills and all the other IS currencies, but of course the merchant-caste had have installed the Workforce-Currency system some time ago.
At our previous visits to the city all the people we met were friendly and obliging. It never occurred to us that this might be merely caused by those three accompanying Elemental warriors. At first we were greeted as usually and in absence of any guards they got quite curious and talkative until they could be sure that we really were just a bunch of teenagers out of bounds.
Really nasty it did not get until the dessert. This waitress, Lin, gave me a sweet smile and our group a bowl of custard with a special ingredient: Antifreeze.
The dose was high enough to knock Arthur into a coma right away. He never woke up again.
As soon as the landlord had learned of us being unprotected, he had called unto some people of the local Yakuza syndicate.
I came around, only to find myself tied unto a chair, Korm and Estana beside me.
Then they started to “ask” us questions. As soon as they learned that we did not know in fact anything worthwhile about military operations or pass codes to weapon caches, they got really impolite. A fat guy, tattooed all over, started to slice up Korms skin with a razorblade. When Korm would not stop to scream, he took hold of his tongue with some pincers and cut it off. After that he started to remove his eyelids. I still awake sometimes covered in cold sweat remembering that sight when the blade sliced over his eyeballs…
Two of the others started to have , as they called it, a little “fun” with Estana, forcing her down on the floor. Repeatedly they bashed her head onto the cold stone ground, for she kept on struggling, resisting those bastards. I do not know how long it took until she stopped moving forever.
I must have screamed like mad, because I remember that my throat was sore like fire. In comparison I had luck. The guy attending to me just wanted to punch me into next week. But not before he had forced me to watch my mates mutilation and rape.
After two or three blows, bare knuckle fighting seemed to upset him and he fell back to use a tyre iron.
The fact that I am still here to tell this tale is contributed mainly to two facts:
First: Those Yakuzas were amateurs, more youngsters then anything else. They had tied me to a wooden chair not secured to the ground. They had intoxicated themselves almost as much as us and they had not thought about locking the door.
Second: The first blow of the tyre iron did not stricke my skull, but instead smashed the back of the chair as I dived forward. My kneecaps made quite unpleasant contact to the floor and just a moment after, my chin followed their example. I still had my hands tied behind my back, but at least I could avoid the next hit by rolling on my back. Just as he sought to swing it again, I brought up my foot with force to his shin, making him topple down beside me. By now the other thugs had noticed what happened in our corner. But instead of seizing me, they started to laugh at their fallen comrade.
That is where it all becomes a bit blurry. I remember throwing myself against the bamboo door and staggering up a narrow flight of stairs beside a warehouse at the docks.
Then I ran. I stumbled and fell quite a lot but I made it to a patrolling group of Elementals.
Needless to say, they were not inclined to be very friendly. But I was in a state beyond such measly things as incarceration or public flogging and most important: They listened to me. Oh yes, they stopped to scream at me and instead started to ask calm questions. They removed my shackles and told me to show them the place.
I was shivering like mad on the verge of a nervous breakdown. One of the warriors, her name was Nawana, noticed it. She bowed down to look at me face to face till she had my attention. Then she told me those words that would define my life and safe me of this sea of despair and fear, I was about to drown in:
“What you saw was evil and corruption. Do not be afraid. We will find them and let them pay. Do not fear. Do not get frightened, get angry. Do you feel this hot burning pain in your head? Good. Let it consume you. Those are your memories, you cannot flee from them, but you can use them. Do not run from them, but revenge your friends. Turn that hate in you into a weapon. Get angry! Become vengeance!”
She pulled out a submachine gun, an old slug thrower model, cocked it an gave it to me.
“You will not be alone, we follow you. If you see them give us a sign.”
I kept hearing her words bouncing inside my head. And it worked. I felt the horror transforming in one long scream of hatred. I started to run again, but this time back towards the warehouse.
They had been smart enough to leave after they had lost my trail, but they were foolish enough to leave the bodies behind. I did not go in, but I heard the warriors scream of rage up to the street. They called for transportation and only after five minutes or so, a transport helicopter picked us up. One of the warriors urged point commander Nawana to bring the “nether cast boy” back to the compound, but she would have none of this: “He will recognize the offenders and then,” at this she looked at me “we will teach them never again to lay a hand onto the servants of the Smoke Jaguar.”
She directed the pilot to land one block before the ‘Midgard Dragon’ and told one of her Warriors to guard the backdoor. She did not close her Visor as she entered the inn. I followed her, my left eye was so swollen that I could not open it any more. Dried blood formed a crust down the side of my face and my clothing was torn. And still the words were ringing in my ears, still the loaded gun was in my hand. But Nawana had no chance to speak up. The landlord saw her, saw me and rose a needler from under the counter.
That was when I gave them the sign: I hauled up the gun and pulled the trigger. The old weapon was heavy and barley had any recoil. The shots pounded in my eardrums as they hit the man square on the chest. The landlord was thrown of balance and a cloud of plastic needles went harmless into the ceiling above Nawana. Her response consisted of pushing me to the ground and to open fire with her machinegun. She swerved and cut all and everybody down regardless to age or gender.
As I stood up and wiggled one finger in my ear, I asked her only one word: Why?
She gave me a sad look and said: “There are only to types of people: Warriors and Non-Warriors. Warriors carry and use weapons, Non-Warriors do not. Warriors die through weapons in battle. They fight with honour and skill. Anyone who draws a weapon is considered a warrior and will be attacked as such. If he decides to hide behind civilians and innocents, its his choice of terrain and consequently his responsibility if they get hurt. For us there is no such thing as a human shield. They do not stop bullets and they sure as hell will not stop us. We will not risk an ambush when this man has shown us that warrior are disguised here as civilians. And most important: We do not negotiate with terrorists.
This action here is this mans fault alone. And now we will call an ambulance to sort them out.”
I was somewhat stunned by this and looked down to the weapon I was still holding.
This time she smiled: “Do not worry, sometimes there have to be exceptions to the rules. Consider yourself as a warrior for this one evening. You did well by the way.”
The ambulance arrived and the warriors started to question the surviving staff of the inn. They swore to be innocent and that they were forced from the Yakuza to do what they did. She executed them than and there, right at the spot.
It is not widely known, but these were the beginnings of the Garstedt riots. To me it was the opportunity of my life. I faced a two month period of unpaid hard labour for illegal leaving of the compound.
But this was not to bad, because Nawana kept visiting me and told me how the search for the Yakuza thugs was going on.
One evening she asked me if I would like to become a warrior.
I was totally perplexed, for I knew that the Smoke Jaguars did never allow freeborns to ascent to the warriors cast. But she told me that the military police badly needed support and that the high command hat given the order “…to allow also non smoke jaguar trueborns to begin anew in trials to support the peacekeeping forces.”
True, what they had meant, was that bondsmen from other clans and washed out warriors from the lower casts could regain their status. But she was willing to defend my proposition in front of the commission, also she promised me, she would train me personally.
And so she did. Oh there was a great deal of trouble, do not be mistaken, but she kept her word and defeated five men in single combat in a trial of grievance.
And so my training began. I spent the mornings on running exercises and Tea Kwon Do training, the day at the office of the inquisitors or the streets and the evenings in mechtraining simulators, for I was not build to wear a power armour.
I learned policing on the streets and surviving from Nawana. She was about 35 and considered a solahma. But, stravag, I never have seen again a warrior so tough and strong like her. I believe she found in me the son she never had, or rather the legacy she would never be allowed to contribute to the genetic depository. Oh how she made me curse. She sent me into hell and out again. But I did not give in, since every time I was at the brink of breaking, I remembered the scenes in the cellar and turned those endless supplies of terror into rage to dreg me onwards.
The work for the inquisitors was a trial in itself: Shabby equipment, low support from the command and constant harassment from other warriors as also perpetual sabotage and murder attempts from the population.
Twice I had surgery to remove grenade splinters from my body. How many bullets were fired upon me I can not say.
One of my many duties was for example to supervise the cooking from local chefs when they had to serve warriors. At other times I was honoured to transport Nawanas point on an armoured vehicle through the city.
Whenever we encountered Yakuzas we showed no mercy and killed them to the last man, but I never found than the men responsible for the kidnapping.
Finally in 3057 I had my trial of position. Nawana was a good teacher, but she could not tell me much on the means of battlemech warfare. So I went out this day in a heavily modified Isorla Jenner to face my first opponent. They had chosen a Locust IIC. I used the jumpjets there to my advantage and was able to severe his right leg before he was able to do me much damage. So I was a made a warrior.
My second foe rode an Adder in the prime configuration. I expect this one was meant to be a fail safe to prevent me of any further success. But I had luck. I came within range without being hit by his PPCs. My first laser stroke his cockpit, causing it to polarise completely. Blinded for a few seconds he moved a wrong step and lost his balance on a heap of rubble. I did not waste time and aimed for his vulnerable back while he tried to get up again. His XL engine lost his shielding until he came back to his feet. I could see his heat rising to dangerous levels, but instead of escaping, he fired both his barrels. One hit me in the leg and stripped it of all its armour, the other scourged my left side and severed my mechs arm.
This was to much for the Adder: The computer shut it down and would not restart again. So I was made a starcommander.
As I turned to face my final adversary, I looked at a Shadow Cat. The next thing I saw was the scenery speeding away from under me as the ejection seat fired me out of my, from one gauss slug destroyed Mech. It had breached my front armour and the reactor in one single go.
This exceptional shooting was the work of one particular star captain. His name was Drake Corbett.
Well, at the beginning would be best, quiaff?
I was born 3040 here on Huntress. Yes, born. I am a freebirth. My father was a washed out warrior, sorted into the scientist caste, my mother a bondswoman.
I grew up like every other little clan child within a daycarecenter, located near my parents workplace, a green-genetics project complex. Or you could also say: Farm.
I was told, that I was a lovable child. Docile and clean.
Aff, Aff, Aff, that was then, can I get on with it, quiaff?
As I said, I was just an ordinary child. I loved the Kerenskys-Vision-Cartoons and my air rifle.
Well, aff, maybe I was a bit on the young side there, but this was Huntress. Lots of dangerous animals in the jungles, but none so fierce as the Smoke Jaguar. But that was all right. For that we had warriors to protect us, mostly Solahma of course. A few of them would sometimes go into the jungle, armed only with a knife and a determined grin, to slay some beasts and then die in the most honourable way left to them.
Aff, I know what everyone thinks: The Smoke Jaguar warriors were bullying bastards, slaying a civilian on the spot for looking at them in a funny way. But everyone in my clan thought that the IS consisted of plundering barbarian hordes, stealing, raping and defecating everywhere they go.
You see, no society would be possibly build only on this kind of stereotypes. I knew many decent ones. Drake Corbett for example. But I am rushing to far.
When Operation Revival hit, we at the home worlds were at least as determined as the warriors at the front. Merchants brought goods from the IS we only ever heard about. For example vanilla as the main ingredient in vanilla ice-cream. Oh sure, there are few things you can’t do with artificial flavours. But for some unknown reason, the great Kerensky never thought about taking vanilla seeds with the exodus. And what you not know, you can not crave. I will never forget my first vanilla-banana split.
But I am going astray:
I was made an apprentice in genetics in 3049. In 3051 I was chosen to go to the occupation zone as part of a developing project. As you might be able to imagine, I was exhilarated. The lost Garden Eden, Xanadu, Paradise. At least it was shown like that in the comics I read as a kid. Reality, as so often, was quite different. The first day we arrived, a bomb made of artificial fertiliser and Diesel fuel exploded under one of our convoy cars. Seven of my fellow co-apprentices were killed. It was a real shock. We never had experienced anything like that. Sure, at home there was the dark caste, but these merely stole things or tried to hide from warriors chasing them. Terrorism was something totally unknown and it frightened us all.
Aff, even our fiercest warriors could be seen with a haunted look in their eyes, looking over their shoulder wherever they went. And they dealt with it in the only way they knew: Violence. De-escalation never was part of any clan doctrine, so they waged war even after the enemy was gone and only civilians were left to take the blows. Unsurprisingly we never ran out of rebels and freedom fighters.
What? Oh, yes, pardon. I was stationed on Garstedt, near the Ghostbear OZ.
The planets population consisted in large parts of Ex-Draconian citizens but also some of Rasalhaguen origin. I liked going to there restaurants.
Well at least until they tried to poison our group.
It all seemed a good idea then. We all had not left the compound for more than six weeks. We that were Arthur, Estana, Korm an me, Jack. I was 13 or 14 at the time and already I knew that genetics were not necessarily my most favourite subject. Arthur on the other side was a genius where computer systems were concerned. He had acquired the pass code for a maintenance tunnel, which got us out of the complex and into the city. It would be easy, it would be fun, nobody would notice, we thought.
We avoided the patrols, knowing their patrolling scheme and went to that restaurant: Midgard Dragon
The people there kept using C-Bills and all the other IS currencies, but of course the merchant-caste had have installed the Workforce-Currency system some time ago.
At our previous visits to the city all the people we met were friendly and obliging. It never occurred to us that this might be merely caused by those three accompanying Elemental warriors. At first we were greeted as usually and in absence of any guards they got quite curious and talkative until they could be sure that we really were just a bunch of teenagers out of bounds.
Really nasty it did not get until the dessert. This waitress, Lin, gave me a sweet smile and our group a bowl of custard with a special ingredient: Antifreeze.
The dose was high enough to knock Arthur into a coma right away. He never woke up again.
As soon as the landlord had learned of us being unprotected, he had called unto some people of the local Yakuza syndicate.
I came around, only to find myself tied unto a chair, Korm and Estana beside me.
Then they started to “ask” us questions. As soon as they learned that we did not know in fact anything worthwhile about military operations or pass codes to weapon caches, they got really impolite. A fat guy, tattooed all over, started to slice up Korms skin with a razorblade. When Korm would not stop to scream, he took hold of his tongue with some pincers and cut it off. After that he started to remove his eyelids. I still awake sometimes covered in cold sweat remembering that sight when the blade sliced over his eyeballs…
Two of the others started to have , as they called it, a little “fun” with Estana, forcing her down on the floor. Repeatedly they bashed her head onto the cold stone ground, for she kept on struggling, resisting those bastards. I do not know how long it took until she stopped moving forever.
I must have screamed like mad, because I remember that my throat was sore like fire. In comparison I had luck. The guy attending to me just wanted to punch me into next week. But not before he had forced me to watch my mates mutilation and rape.
After two or three blows, bare knuckle fighting seemed to upset him and he fell back to use a tyre iron.
The fact that I am still here to tell this tale is contributed mainly to two facts:
First: Those Yakuzas were amateurs, more youngsters then anything else. They had tied me to a wooden chair not secured to the ground. They had intoxicated themselves almost as much as us and they had not thought about locking the door.
Second: The first blow of the tyre iron did not stricke my skull, but instead smashed the back of the chair as I dived forward. My kneecaps made quite unpleasant contact to the floor and just a moment after, my chin followed their example. I still had my hands tied behind my back, but at least I could avoid the next hit by rolling on my back. Just as he sought to swing it again, I brought up my foot with force to his shin, making him topple down beside me. By now the other thugs had noticed what happened in our corner. But instead of seizing me, they started to laugh at their fallen comrade.
That is where it all becomes a bit blurry. I remember throwing myself against the bamboo door and staggering up a narrow flight of stairs beside a warehouse at the docks.
Then I ran. I stumbled and fell quite a lot but I made it to a patrolling group of Elementals.
Needless to say, they were not inclined to be very friendly. But I was in a state beyond such measly things as incarceration or public flogging and most important: They listened to me. Oh yes, they stopped to scream at me and instead started to ask calm questions. They removed my shackles and told me to show them the place.
I was shivering like mad on the verge of a nervous breakdown. One of the warriors, her name was Nawana, noticed it. She bowed down to look at me face to face till she had my attention. Then she told me those words that would define my life and safe me of this sea of despair and fear, I was about to drown in:
“What you saw was evil and corruption. Do not be afraid. We will find them and let them pay. Do not fear. Do not get frightened, get angry. Do you feel this hot burning pain in your head? Good. Let it consume you. Those are your memories, you cannot flee from them, but you can use them. Do not run from them, but revenge your friends. Turn that hate in you into a weapon. Get angry! Become vengeance!”
She pulled out a submachine gun, an old slug thrower model, cocked it an gave it to me.
“You will not be alone, we follow you. If you see them give us a sign.”
I kept hearing her words bouncing inside my head. And it worked. I felt the horror transforming in one long scream of hatred. I started to run again, but this time back towards the warehouse.
They had been smart enough to leave after they had lost my trail, but they were foolish enough to leave the bodies behind. I did not go in, but I heard the warriors scream of rage up to the street. They called for transportation and only after five minutes or so, a transport helicopter picked us up. One of the warriors urged point commander Nawana to bring the “nether cast boy” back to the compound, but she would have none of this: “He will recognize the offenders and then,” at this she looked at me “we will teach them never again to lay a hand onto the servants of the Smoke Jaguar.”
She directed the pilot to land one block before the ‘Midgard Dragon’ and told one of her Warriors to guard the backdoor. She did not close her Visor as she entered the inn. I followed her, my left eye was so swollen that I could not open it any more. Dried blood formed a crust down the side of my face and my clothing was torn. And still the words were ringing in my ears, still the loaded gun was in my hand. But Nawana had no chance to speak up. The landlord saw her, saw me and rose a needler from under the counter.
That was when I gave them the sign: I hauled up the gun and pulled the trigger. The old weapon was heavy and barley had any recoil. The shots pounded in my eardrums as they hit the man square on the chest. The landlord was thrown of balance and a cloud of plastic needles went harmless into the ceiling above Nawana. Her response consisted of pushing me to the ground and to open fire with her machinegun. She swerved and cut all and everybody down regardless to age or gender.
As I stood up and wiggled one finger in my ear, I asked her only one word: Why?
She gave me a sad look and said: “There are only to types of people: Warriors and Non-Warriors. Warriors carry and use weapons, Non-Warriors do not. Warriors die through weapons in battle. They fight with honour and skill. Anyone who draws a weapon is considered a warrior and will be attacked as such. If he decides to hide behind civilians and innocents, its his choice of terrain and consequently his responsibility if they get hurt. For us there is no such thing as a human shield. They do not stop bullets and they sure as hell will not stop us. We will not risk an ambush when this man has shown us that warrior are disguised here as civilians. And most important: We do not negotiate with terrorists.
This action here is this mans fault alone. And now we will call an ambulance to sort them out.”
I was somewhat stunned by this and looked down to the weapon I was still holding.
This time she smiled: “Do not worry, sometimes there have to be exceptions to the rules. Consider yourself as a warrior for this one evening. You did well by the way.”
The ambulance arrived and the warriors started to question the surviving staff of the inn. They swore to be innocent and that they were forced from the Yakuza to do what they did. She executed them than and there, right at the spot.
It is not widely known, but these were the beginnings of the Garstedt riots. To me it was the opportunity of my life. I faced a two month period of unpaid hard labour for illegal leaving of the compound.
But this was not to bad, because Nawana kept visiting me and told me how the search for the Yakuza thugs was going on.
One evening she asked me if I would like to become a warrior.
I was totally perplexed, for I knew that the Smoke Jaguars did never allow freeborns to ascent to the warriors cast. But she told me that the military police badly needed support and that the high command hat given the order “…to allow also non smoke jaguar trueborns to begin anew in trials to support the peacekeeping forces.”
True, what they had meant, was that bondsmen from other clans and washed out warriors from the lower casts could regain their status. But she was willing to defend my proposition in front of the commission, also she promised me, she would train me personally.
And so she did. Oh there was a great deal of trouble, do not be mistaken, but she kept her word and defeated five men in single combat in a trial of grievance.
And so my training began. I spent the mornings on running exercises and Tea Kwon Do training, the day at the office of the inquisitors or the streets and the evenings in mechtraining simulators, for I was not build to wear a power armour.
I learned policing on the streets and surviving from Nawana. She was about 35 and considered a solahma. But, stravag, I never have seen again a warrior so tough and strong like her. I believe she found in me the son she never had, or rather the legacy she would never be allowed to contribute to the genetic depository. Oh how she made me curse. She sent me into hell and out again. But I did not give in, since every time I was at the brink of breaking, I remembered the scenes in the cellar and turned those endless supplies of terror into rage to dreg me onwards.
The work for the inquisitors was a trial in itself: Shabby equipment, low support from the command and constant harassment from other warriors as also perpetual sabotage and murder attempts from the population.
Twice I had surgery to remove grenade splinters from my body. How many bullets were fired upon me I can not say.
One of my many duties was for example to supervise the cooking from local chefs when they had to serve warriors. At other times I was honoured to transport Nawanas point on an armoured vehicle through the city.
Whenever we encountered Yakuzas we showed no mercy and killed them to the last man, but I never found than the men responsible for the kidnapping.
Finally in 3057 I had my trial of position. Nawana was a good teacher, but she could not tell me much on the means of battlemech warfare. So I went out this day in a heavily modified Isorla Jenner to face my first opponent. They had chosen a Locust IIC. I used the jumpjets there to my advantage and was able to severe his right leg before he was able to do me much damage. So I was a made a warrior.
My second foe rode an Adder in the prime configuration. I expect this one was meant to be a fail safe to prevent me of any further success. But I had luck. I came within range without being hit by his PPCs. My first laser stroke his cockpit, causing it to polarise completely. Blinded for a few seconds he moved a wrong step and lost his balance on a heap of rubble. I did not waste time and aimed for his vulnerable back while he tried to get up again. His XL engine lost his shielding until he came back to his feet. I could see his heat rising to dangerous levels, but instead of escaping, he fired both his barrels. One hit me in the leg and stripped it of all its armour, the other scourged my left side and severed my mechs arm.
This was to much for the Adder: The computer shut it down and would not restart again. So I was made a starcommander.
As I turned to face my final adversary, I looked at a Shadow Cat. The next thing I saw was the scenery speeding away from under me as the ejection seat fired me out of my, from one gauss slug destroyed Mech. It had breached my front armour and the reactor in one single go.
This exceptional shooting was the work of one particular star captain. His name was Drake Corbett.