SillyGoy Member
Goius Sillius
STATUS: Really busy right now. Will probably not be able to post till next week. 9 yrs ago
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Really busy right now. Will probably not be able to post till next week.
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Yeah, we should continue as best as we can.
The main reason for why the Rostosov was marching to Zone G was because Harold wanted to be nowhere near the next salvo of that god-damned artillery when it came. He'd been shelled before - granted, it was only Cruxi light mortars - and the Marines dashed and wove their way across the flat expanses of metal that were Bastion Alexandria's hangars and the debris that offered variable cover strewn around them. The lesson was clear - if you were being shelled, get the hell away.
The difference here, was that he was on foot then, and now he was piloting a Framewerk. He panicked - he thought himself vulnerable, instead of being covered in layer after layer of armored plating. God. His synch rate had dropped to its lowest point of 32%, but as he regained his composure, it was rising back to its normal levels.
He also realized then, however, that he was headed in the wrong direction. Zone G, with the massive obelisk, offered no advantage to his heavy mech. Sigma had also transmitted via private channel that she was not going to be engaging the artillery platform with her sniper rifle. "Copy," he had said, in a disappointed reply.
Zone C. He stopped, turned, and began to head in its direction, navigating his way upon the border between the Forest of Pillars and the Tower of Power.
Battle chatter had apparently devolved into terse language between long bouts of silence. Zim had even suggested that they all fall back to Zone A. Harold himself could not simply say "I have escaped the barrage. Requesting for new orders," because there was no command structure. Similarly, he also could not give commands on his own. Everyone was doing his or her own thing - chaos. It frustrated him to no end. Communications were also incredibly irregular - Ariin had never acknowledged his suggestion that he counter-battery the enemy's artillery. Since the shelling, he had not received a single transmission from the Paladin, and did not know about the state of that mech. And yet his dot still showed intermittently on his map.
Harold was thinking that maybe he was starting to dislike Cadet Sorius.
Lora had reminded him, quite pointedly, that the command channel had been breached. So he transmitted in private to Ariin, Katya, and Lora, the three people who were the nearest to him at the moment of the shelling:
"Rostosov here, am heading to Zone C and intend to engage the enemy there. What are you guys doing?"
He did not have to wait for a reply as when he rounded a still standing pillar of stone, there they were: a challenging Paladin, and two unfamiliar frames, one white which held pistols, and a black one that sported a sword.
His reply was immediate.
"Ariin!" he called out, still on the private comms. "I'm to your right! Providing fire!"
A crosshair came into existence as his view zoomed into his target: the sword-wielding bastard. The massive gatling guns that passed for the Rostosov's arms were brought to bear.
TYPE 2500 MODEL 3 41CM GATLING - SPINNING
"EAT THIS!"
TYPE 2500 MODEL 3 41CM GATLING - FIRING
Each discharge of the guns was like the roar of thunder - and they each fired at a rate of a thousand and a half rounds a minute. Their might shook even the great bulk of the Rostosov, and Harold could feel the vibrations carrying into his seat. His hands squeezed at the yokes. There was never a quite a feeling as unleashing the wrath of super-heavy weaponry. His eyes eagerly followed the first tracer as it left the barrel and sped its way towards his target about eight kilometers away, according to his rangefinder.
The difference here, was that he was on foot then, and now he was piloting a Framewerk. He panicked - he thought himself vulnerable, instead of being covered in layer after layer of armored plating. God. His synch rate had dropped to its lowest point of 32%, but as he regained his composure, it was rising back to its normal levels.
He also realized then, however, that he was headed in the wrong direction. Zone G, with the massive obelisk, offered no advantage to his heavy mech. Sigma had also transmitted via private channel that she was not going to be engaging the artillery platform with her sniper rifle. "Copy," he had said, in a disappointed reply.
Zone C. He stopped, turned, and began to head in its direction, navigating his way upon the border between the Forest of Pillars and the Tower of Power.
Battle chatter had apparently devolved into terse language between long bouts of silence. Zim had even suggested that they all fall back to Zone A. Harold himself could not simply say "I have escaped the barrage. Requesting for new orders," because there was no command structure. Similarly, he also could not give commands on his own. Everyone was doing his or her own thing - chaos. It frustrated him to no end. Communications were also incredibly irregular - Ariin had never acknowledged his suggestion that he counter-battery the enemy's artillery. Since the shelling, he had not received a single transmission from the Paladin, and did not know about the state of that mech. And yet his dot still showed intermittently on his map.
Harold was thinking that maybe he was starting to dislike Cadet Sorius.
Lora had reminded him, quite pointedly, that the command channel had been breached. So he transmitted in private to Ariin, Katya, and Lora, the three people who were the nearest to him at the moment of the shelling:
"Rostosov here, am heading to Zone C and intend to engage the enemy there. What are you guys doing?"
He did not have to wait for a reply as when he rounded a still standing pillar of stone, there they were: a challenging Paladin, and two unfamiliar frames, one white which held pistols, and a black one that sported a sword.
His reply was immediate.
"Ariin!" he called out, still on the private comms. "I'm to your right! Providing fire!"
A crosshair came into existence as his view zoomed into his target: the sword-wielding bastard. The massive gatling guns that passed for the Rostosov's arms were brought to bear.
TYPE 2500 MODEL 3 41CM GATLING - SPINNING
"EAT THIS!"
TYPE 2500 MODEL 3 41CM GATLING - FIRING
Each discharge of the guns was like the roar of thunder - and they each fired at a rate of a thousand and a half rounds a minute. Their might shook even the great bulk of the Rostosov, and Harold could feel the vibrations carrying into his seat. His hands squeezed at the yokes. There was never a quite a feeling as unleashing the wrath of super-heavy weaponry. His eyes eagerly followed the first tracer as it left the barrel and sped its way towards his target about eight kilometers away, according to his rangefinder.
In every post, Sigma manages to be cuter.
Posted! Oh man, things are heating up now.
"Command channel was compromised! It's a trap! GET OUT OF THERE!"
"What?" was the only word Harold had managed to spout before everything around him gorged itself upwards in thick clouds of dust and dirt, accompanied by the sounds of the most terrible thunder. His visual display shook as Rostosov itself, even with its titanic bulk, was rocked around. Suddenly, the haptic controls weren't responding, and he was being pulled into and pushed away from his seat. The great pillars of stone were being rent apart with the force of a god. Flashes of red and white and orange overpowered the light of the sun.
Yet with the furious events going on, Harold's thoughts found a place for philosophy. The quote was old, so ancient, and yet still so painfully applicable: Know your enemy, and know yourself, and victory will follow.
As Team Sigma was just a half-working pile of several people with radically different personalities who just met recently, they did not know themselves. And as far as Harold knew, no-one had ever actually seen the enemy they were fighting right now, except for Sigma. So they also did not know the enemy.
Their folly was overconfidence. And Harold felt guilty in that he proposed this ridiculous plan that would only have worked under the most perfect conditions - that the enemy would make a clean, frontal assault that would be easily pushed back. His hands clenched hard against the yokes and sweat began to drip from his forehead. Hell, why did he even suggest it? He graduated as a Starfighter pilot, not a Marine.
"Harold," he muttered to himself, "you son of a bitch. You did it again. You got people ki-"
BAM! A shell landed almost directly in front of the Rostosov, stressing its metal frame to the point where it groaned terribly. Only a goddamned rock had saved him from the worst of it. This roused him from his line of thoughts, and was enough for him to return his focus on what was at hand. He turned awkwardly to the right, and there, even amid the chaos of the world, he could see it - the silver armor of the Paladin, and the sunlight gleaming off of Pompey.
"ELORA!" he yelled. "GIVE ARIIN THE EXACT COORDINATES FOR THEIR ARTILLERY IMMEDIATELY! ARIIN, PREPARE TO COUNTER-BATTERY RIGHT NOW AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD FIRE AT FUCKING WILL!"
It looked like artillery. It should be artillery. The Paladin should be able to fire back, right? Pompey could perform indirect fire - right?
And hell, did Elora even actually see their artillery? All he had were vague dots on his map, and her unclear report.
They really did not know themselves. Harold, at that point, began to laugh, as he began to run towards Zone G.
"You sons of bitches," he muttered. "I fought the Aliens! I survived! You think you're fucking tough, huh?! Just wait till I get to you - I'll tear you the fuck apart!"
"Sigma," he yelled again, "you're on that big obelisk, right? If you can see the bastard shelling us, GIVE HIM ONE IN THE EYE!"
"What?" was the only word Harold had managed to spout before everything around him gorged itself upwards in thick clouds of dust and dirt, accompanied by the sounds of the most terrible thunder. His visual display shook as Rostosov itself, even with its titanic bulk, was rocked around. Suddenly, the haptic controls weren't responding, and he was being pulled into and pushed away from his seat. The great pillars of stone were being rent apart with the force of a god. Flashes of red and white and orange overpowered the light of the sun.
Yet with the furious events going on, Harold's thoughts found a place for philosophy. The quote was old, so ancient, and yet still so painfully applicable: Know your enemy, and know yourself, and victory will follow.
As Team Sigma was just a half-working pile of several people with radically different personalities who just met recently, they did not know themselves. And as far as Harold knew, no-one had ever actually seen the enemy they were fighting right now, except for Sigma. So they also did not know the enemy.
Their folly was overconfidence. And Harold felt guilty in that he proposed this ridiculous plan that would only have worked under the most perfect conditions - that the enemy would make a clean, frontal assault that would be easily pushed back. His hands clenched hard against the yokes and sweat began to drip from his forehead. Hell, why did he even suggest it? He graduated as a Starfighter pilot, not a Marine.
"Harold," he muttered to himself, "you son of a bitch. You did it again. You got people ki-"
BAM! A shell landed almost directly in front of the Rostosov, stressing its metal frame to the point where it groaned terribly. Only a goddamned rock had saved him from the worst of it. This roused him from his line of thoughts, and was enough for him to return his focus on what was at hand. He turned awkwardly to the right, and there, even amid the chaos of the world, he could see it - the silver armor of the Paladin, and the sunlight gleaming off of Pompey.
"ELORA!" he yelled. "GIVE ARIIN THE EXACT COORDINATES FOR THEIR ARTILLERY IMMEDIATELY! ARIIN, PREPARE TO COUNTER-BATTERY RIGHT NOW AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD FIRE AT FUCKING WILL!"
It looked like artillery. It should be artillery. The Paladin should be able to fire back, right? Pompey could perform indirect fire - right?
And hell, did Elora even actually see their artillery? All he had were vague dots on his map, and her unclear report.
They really did not know themselves. Harold, at that point, began to laugh, as he began to run towards Zone G.
"You sons of bitches," he muttered. "I fought the Aliens! I survived! You think you're fucking tough, huh?! Just wait till I get to you - I'll tear you the fuck apart!"
"Sigma," he yelled again, "you're on that big obelisk, right? If you can see the bastard shelling us, GIVE HIM ONE IN THE EYE!"
Is anybody posting soon? Until Alltia glomps Elina or some such, I don't think I'll be writing anything up.
"Of course," said Ariin, his voice slightly crackling over the radio, "I'm not saying it's the best plan but a battle line is probably a good idea. Since we don't know our enemy we just need to nail down a position and let them come to us."
Harold groaned. There was literally no command structure at all. Everyone - including him, he had to admit - seemed as if they thought they knew how to fight the battle the best, and issued half-orders or stern requests. He did not say anything about this, though, and the trek to the Forest of Pillars was soon completed. Weaving through the gaps between the massive stones as awkwardly as only a heavier mech could manage, especially with his middling synchronization ratio, he eventually found himself a nice spot that more or less provided a clear field of view towards several avenues of approach, particularly Zone G. Ariin's massive Paladin, bringing its heavy weaponry to bear, was about a kilometer and half towards his right.
Of course, if the enemy came from a different direction, he would have to relocate. But he wouldn't need to at the last moment if he had good intelligence.
He shook his head. This was one hell of a wargame.
He transmitted, "I'm sure you guys already know that knowing is half the battle. Eiswolf, Logic Gate - if you see something solid about the enemy please tell us immediately and ping the map too while you're at it. We have to figure out their exact avenue of approach if this plan is going to work."
God damn it. This was extremely frustrating. It'd been too long since he heard the satisfying reply of sir, yes sir!
Harold groaned. There was literally no command structure at all. Everyone - including him, he had to admit - seemed as if they thought they knew how to fight the battle the best, and issued half-orders or stern requests. He did not say anything about this, though, and the trek to the Forest of Pillars was soon completed. Weaving through the gaps between the massive stones as awkwardly as only a heavier mech could manage, especially with his middling synchronization ratio, he eventually found himself a nice spot that more or less provided a clear field of view towards several avenues of approach, particularly Zone G. Ariin's massive Paladin, bringing its heavy weaponry to bear, was about a kilometer and half towards his right.
Of course, if the enemy came from a different direction, he would have to relocate. But he wouldn't need to at the last moment if he had good intelligence.
He shook his head. This was one hell of a wargame.
He transmitted, "I'm sure you guys already know that knowing is half the battle. Eiswolf, Logic Gate - if you see something solid about the enemy please tell us immediately and ping the map too while you're at it. We have to figure out their exact avenue of approach if this plan is going to work."
God damn it. This was extremely frustrating. It'd been too long since he heard the satisfying reply of sir, yes sir!
@AtomicNut
Well, Harold doesn't yet understand the exact gravitas of a high synch rate and he's mostly paraphrasing what the Marines were yelling at his fresh, starfighter pilot face for most of the Battle of Alexandria till he got blown up.
Also, strawberry cake.
Well, Harold doesn't yet understand the exact gravitas of a high synch rate and he's mostly paraphrasing what the Marines were yelling at his fresh, starfighter pilot face for most of the Battle of Alexandria till he got blown up.
Also, strawberry cake.
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