RP Resolute Dawn


Battleship Wolfram
0830 Hours System-Side Time

Hardly two hours ago you were awoken from cryosleep by a cocktail of stimulants and a flash thaw. “Two weeks, three days, nine hours,” the technician tells you and every other merc in your row of pods as you rise. You’re a mercenary. You signed a contract with the Terran Empire for three months of service fighting whoever the hell they needed fought. Today, you’re on Volund.

You’re given just enough time to dress yourself before you’re taken through processing. One brief and invasive medical exam later and you’re given a Chatter, a wrist computer containing your unit number and - hey, breakfast! A Food Corp self-cooking meal, the side of the bag says scrambled eggs. Lucky break for you, you’ve heard the oatmeal has the consistency of wet cardboard.

You walk and eat and scroll through the info on your Chatter for orders, passing long sub-clauses on your contract until finally you find your designation - Squad Rho-7. It’s a short walk to the hangar bay, and then to your dropship. Your equipment lays ready for you, as well as your squad leader.

Once you’re settled into your mech, the doors to the drop ship close and a stiff man begins to speak from within his fighting machine. “Good morning gentleman, my name is Lieutenant Cosko. You’ve all been given the immense honor of aiding the Terran Empire in claiming the world of Volund. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of visiting this sunny corner of Terran space, I’ll give you the highlight tour.” He pressed a key on his bracer and from the optical receptor of his mech a holographic display of the planet and surrounding satellites appeared.

“Volund has served the Empire for generations as a key military production world. However, two weeks ago a civil uprising managed to take control of the planet’s defense mainframe and long range communications array - allowing like-minded secessionists from the United Federation to establish a naval blockade around the planet. Today, our job is to break through this blockade and bring Volund back into Imperial hands.”

“Please introduce yourself and give us your callsign and expertise, as well as any questions you may have - we’ll be approaching the killzone soon, there’ll be little time to talk then.”
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Alex spat the last of his absolutely dogshit breakfast out onto the ship floor, and climbed up into his suit's cockpit. Thankfully, the ship's technicians were at least marginally more skilled than whichever stunted idiot had concocted those "eggs", and his control panel had been polished like he'd asked, with no scratches or dents visible. There was a grease smudge on one of his displays though, so he'd have to have words with the maintenance chief, or whoever it was who told these grease monkeys what to do.

Some jumped-up grunt was making a speech or something, and broadcasting a hologram from his own mech across the ship. Alex nodded and pretended to listen, while working on more important things. Engine feeds were green, and running at optimal temperatures. The dull hum of the mech's fusion engine became a teeth-chattering growl as he pushed the throttle upwards.

That's a good boy Alex thought.

A row of lights blinked at him from the console, washing his face in a pale green. He flicked a switch to test the ammo belt, and felt Seneschal give a satisfying whirr, eagerly feeding rounds into its main gun. Alex heard the grenade launcher drum spin into place with a tell-tale click, and heard the smoke launcher lids flip open and then closed. A display just above his viewport showed six boxes filled with six rectangular missiles, each blinking a beautiful green.


The grunt had evidently said all he had to say, so Alex leaned out of his cockpit, grinning.

"Alex Du Varn. It's good to meet you, but even better to meet me."

He reached out and slapped one glove against the side of Seneschal's hull, where tally markings proudly showed a plethora of past opponents. "This here is Seneschal. Him and I can fuck up anyone who's got the shit luck of getting out of bed this morning to go against us. As I understand it, our job here, is, uh, blockade breaking or something. I'm good for my part of this, and I just hope you are as well."

He slipped back into his seat, and lowered his helmet. A dozen lenses dotted its grey surface like a spider's eyes, staring out the ship full of collected mercenaries, ne'er do-wells, and undesirables.

"Also, if you get hit bad and start spewing some shit about your wife and kids or something, I'm muting you. I don't want to hear it."
Cassius never really got used to those weird cocktails rich folk used to keep themselves alive during cryosleep, it always messed him up and this time was no exception. Instead of a hearthy breakfast, however, him and his fellow soldiers of fortune would have to make do with military-grade rations. Typical Terran bureaucracy bullshit, general sitting his ass on the backline would get all the succulent beef and the ones dying got whatever paste Food Corp could scrape together. "Shit, man, you'd think moving up in life meant you end up eating better than the usual slop." Nimmen mumbled, still slightly indisposed.

No time to gather himself, though, had to gulp the tasteless blend and just march his way onto the hangar. It was a really desperate maneuver by the Feddies if they were so keen to use freelance work. but Cassius was never one to say no to opportunity. Having the Terran government in his contact list? That's an easy path to the big leagues, and all it would take was mowing down some rebels that most likely had never seen combat in the first place.

The Junkyard Dog climbed onto the cockpit of his prized mech, whoever took care of the polishing job did a fantastic job, and it was a good thing his machine had been so modified as to not make sense to anyone but himself by now, meant they followed every single instruction he detailed beforehand, no secondary opinion about some "improvement" from professionals used to standardized gear. It was fine-tuned to Nimmen and only Nimmen, that's how it always worked and you shouldn't change a winning formula.

"Name's Cassius. Cassius Nimmen. You wanted the best, lieutenant, you got the best." Dog boisterously boasted from his seat. "Callsign's Junkyard Dog. And this here mean meat-mowing machine is Scrapheap. 's what folk used to call us back in Aurora V, guess it stuck." He shrugged. "You need someone or something trampled, crushed, cracked, blown to more bits than your superiors care to count? You call us. We'll be the wrecking ball leading the charge, and today's no different."
Adonis ate his eggs hungrily, they weren't good, but anything was good after cryosleep. He popped a few joints and jogged up the steps of the platform where his suit was, "I got it from here," he told the technicians. He typed on one of the consoles next to his suit and walked to back of his suit. He removed a necklace that held a USB like drive and plugged it into the back of his helmet. Adonis then climbed into the back of the suit, and once he was in, the suit closed around him.

"Good morning, Adonis." A familiar, caring, happy voice said through Adonis' comm. The AI, named Athena, had been through thick and thin with Adonis. She was with Adonis from his first time piloting to the Terran invasion of his homeworld to now.

"Good morning, Athena." He smiled at the AI's greeting. "Would you run a full systems check? I want to make sure our Terran friend didn't do anything." Being forced to fight on behalf of the Empire under threat of the remainder of his home planet being glassed was not an ideal situation and he didn't trust any Imperials.

"All systems green, no foreign entities detected." Athena responded.

Where all the other suits roared to life, Adonis' was much quieter. The only indications that it was on and occupied were any movements made by the pilot within. Adonis switched to his team comm channel so the other pilots could hear him. Athena could speak on this channel too, but she knew when to speak and when not.

"Callsign is Ares. I specialize in Anti-Armor Warfare, but Infantry and Naval ships are no issues either. Try to keep up." Adonis turned his mic off and walked over to his weapons rack. The near human sized suit moved with metallic footfalls walked across the platform. Adonis put his Xiphos in the sheathed on his back, racked a round into his pistol then holsters it in his thigh height holster. Finally, his armor piercing rifle, Adonis put a round in the chamber and connected the weapon to the magnetic holder on his back. He stepped back to the center of his platform and prepared for drop.
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Cosko clicked his tongue. "Quaint, thank you all for your... enthusiasm." The front hatch on the officer's mech closed and locked with a hydraulic hiss. Three braggarts, more than confident in their own abilities and certain that they'd singlehandedly break this blockade. Perhaps they would. Combat would be the true crucible that would prove whether these men held the mettle they claimed to. By the end of this day, they could all be heroes.

Or they'd all probably be dead.

"It's weapons free once you're out of the drop bay - the enemy won't wait for us to shoot first so you'll have to duck, dodge, and return fire as quickly as possible. Once the cannon fodd- I mean, phalanx formation provide adequate cover, Wolfram and her frigates will try and blanket the destroyers."

"Your job is to get punch through to the defense ring and disable their orbital guns, if you make it that far. I will remain in contact with direct orders as they become pertinent. You are required to follow these orders, it is in your contract."

The hangar bay was cleared of all personnel with klaxons, then the bay doors opened beneath the dropships - a madrigal of sublight engines firing filled the space. "Brace for drop," Cosko mumbled onto the channel before the dropship shuddered and broke free from Wolfram's hangar and gravitation field.

A very hard burn towards the enemy followed, shaking their teeth and squishing their guts. The muffled sound of flak cannon fire and reactive shielding came through the hull as Cosko's voice came the communicator strained, "Doors open in 3... 2... 1!"

The bay doors open, laying out a carpet of flash frozen moisture vapor in your path towards the chaos of battle. Hundreds of mechs and fighters from flank you, but even your vast numbers do little to draw the onslaught of fire flying towards you. Dodge or die, this is the way of the starpilot. The defense ring lies 100 kilometers away, speed and ferocity will take you there.

A wave of UniFed mecha advance from the left, while a fighter squadron deployed from a carrier looming on the right fire lasers your way. What do you do?

\\OOC: Sorry for the delay. I'd like to start this battle off with a bit of open combat as you fight to the blockade. I will introduce additional challenges and objectives as the battle progresses. Any questions can be dropped in Discord. Do what comes naturally, showcase how badass you are. You can blast through nameless infantry and chaff as easily as you see fit - but it isn't just grunts and snub fighters defending the blockade.
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Andras ignited his suits thrusters. The jets started a warm glow of red, then as they warmed, changed to blue and his suit took off like a missile out of the hanger bay leaving the other mechs in the metaphorical dust. "All callsigns, im intercepting fighters and heading for the carrier super structure. Check your fire."

Ares flew toward the group of fighters leaving the carrier. Ares drew his xiphos and his armor piercing rifle. The xiphos ignited, burning the same blue flame as his thrusters. "Athena, plot an intercept course through the fighters to the carrier." With that, a course was plotted on his HUD. Ares intercepted the first fighter with a burning cut from the xiphos as they passed. This cut severed parts from the ship and disabled an engine causing it to drift. Ares slammed into the second fighter sending a couple of shots through the cockpit glass into the pilot before once again blasting off and attacking the next fighter. Ares had destroyed or disabled a majority of the first wave of fighter before he started to recieve flak from a cruiser that was escorting the carrier. The gunners on the cruiser were, but not that good.

The speed of Ares allowed him to avoid all fire coming from the cruiser as he launched himself to the bridge of the cruiser. Ares crashed through the glass with extreme force before the whole was sealed by blast doors. Ares blasted his way through the bridge security team and cut his way through the bridge crew. Their cries and weapons could not save them. The bridge controls were destroyed in the firefight. Once the bridge was covered in body parts and corpses, Ares left the way he came in, through a glass viewport on the bridge. Ares launched himself back toward his allies to provide them with support. The cruiser just appeared to float and drift with its momentum toward the carrier.
A hundred tons of layered ferrous steel flew soundlessly through the void. Inside the cockpit, the lone pilot strained against the myriad of physical forces trying to assert themselves on his fragile body, as he rotated and jolted the mech in a coordinated defensive pattern. The protective helmet he sported barely muffled the sounds of shallow, ragged breaths as his lungs were compressed by rapid and unpredictable acceleration. It stung, in a way, to know that he was the weakest system inside this avatar of war. The reinforced chassis and triple-redundant electronics would give out long after his bones had been turned into pulp by the staggering G force.

Seneschal was many things, but fast wasn't one of them, and it sure as hell wasn't designed for this kind of spaceborne dogfighting. Alex scanned the area in his path, searching for anyone unlucky enough to be in between him and the orbital ring. Thankfully, Ares seemed to have attracted a lot of attention with his attack on the cruiser, which now lay drifting towards the larger carrier.

A glittering beam of laser energy swept past, missing by inches. Alex was already rotating around, sending power to the main gun. A red dot appeared over his vision, marking a single UniFed mech that had taken notice of his attempted breakthrough towards the ring.

Alex grinned. Dumbass.

was many things, and a fire platform was number one on that list. In an open-air punchout like this, there was only one outcome. Swinging the cannon to bear, a green reticle appeared, Seneschal's targeting system guiding his hand. Alex gave the trigger a light squeeze, and felt the mech rock backwards as maneuvering thrusters sprang into life to compensate for the vicious recoil. The onboard weapon systems could have told him how many rounds were expended in that short time, but Alex didn't care about that half so much as the beautiful silver stream that seemed to reach out like a delicate finger to catch his target. The UniFed mech simply came apart, crumbling like a stale pastry as it was shredded by a burst of 102mm.

Fucking amateur. Should have called for backup instead of going toe to toe.

As if on cue, warning lights flared to life in the cockpit. Alex spun and rolled, desperately trying to break missile lock.

Fuck, he did!

While distracted, he'd been lined up by another UniFed mech. A small, lithe one with mounted missile racks. An armor hunter.

Who's the dumbass now? Alex thought bitterly, watching a plume of smoke snake away from the mech and jet towards him. He hadn't wanted to dip into his countermeasures this early, but fuck it. He slammed a switch forwards, and felt a hatch spring open. The metal canister tumbled, weightless, for the briefest of moments, before exploding into grey smoke.

The warning icon disappeared.

A moment later, the missile rocketed past, cutting through the smoke where Seneschal had been just a second ago. The UniFed mech, seeing his target disappear from sensors and realizing their sudden disadvantage, didn't bother trying to line up another shot. He wheeled around and made a desperate break for the orbital ring, gunning his thrusters as hard as they would go.

Alex flew forth from the smoke, spewing steel-jacketed death from his mech's main gun. The UniFed pilot never had a chance.