Afterglow Century

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Drake
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Writer of bad posts

Posts: 148

Afterglow Century Dec 4, 2021 17:04:11 GMT Ghostly and paperwork like this

Post by Drake on Dec 4, 2021 17:04:11 GMT

It was one huge achievement. The metal scraps from a backwater colony like Mars, purely created to explore natural resources rather than refine them, and yet here they stood, shaped into the very definition of cutting-edge technology. Jupiter may have had the money, the Earth sphere may have had the numbers and the most solidified front - with their history of tradition leading humanity and all - but the conquest of innovation and perseverance belonged to the sledgehammers and torches of Mars, their sweat, their blood, their tears, all united in forging the one-of-a-kind Jager spaceship, disguised as some random scavenger looter, it followed not the angular shapes of the usual Martian vessel, adopting a more rugged and rounded exterior, it's smudged and rudimentary exterior hiding tweaked hyperdrives and novel ultra-reactive slug cannons capable of piercing the mightiest foe on close-ranged combat, while the support beam cannons provided good coverage by shredding unsuspecting victims from ranges previously unbeknownst to Afterglow's battlefields.

A ship, however, is only as good as it's crew. It was a risky mission, after all, the already rather split Martian leadership had mixed feelings about the entire operation, some sent their best underlings, others stuffed the colorful crew with green rookies straight out of training camp, to many this could be a very first experience of what lead and heat actually tasted, to others this could be a mere escapade of past defeats, yet to all it would be baptism by blood. The quickly assembled crew partied and drank the entire night, the well-lit hallways reverberating the songs of the age, the veterans played cards on tables filled with their gains, the young replaced the alcohol inside bottles with their worries, some told war stories to the newer generation, some made new friends, these last few weeks stationed had been bliss, after all, but war is not about the bliss.

Had it ever been?

Thomas "Ashen Wolf" Wehrmer didn't think so. It pained him to see these men and women with smiles on their faces, only to have their tears float through space-time for an eternity later. Their lives were in his hands, when all the chips came down, and although once repeated most things get stale, losing those under his command never truly sit well within his heart. That grizzly beard had been sprayed more red than one could think, his title as the leading commander of a few minor fleets which pulled major victories from the very fangs of defeat was meaningless. It didn't matter how much he yearned for those brothers who hammered away on mechanical factories for years to ultimately know freedom, for they were now free of their fleshy prisons, haunting him still. Now a newer generation would, perhaps, follow suit. How cruel a mistress fate is. How bloody a joke freedom is.

He stood now, at the very center of the ship's bridge, the monitors across the ship focusing on his very face, solemn and aging. He wore his captain garb for what would be the last time in months, military uniforms were absolutely banned from this endeavor, but they demonstrated his resolve, not only for the cause, but moreso for those around him. "Brothers, sisters, today we take an important step towards our long-deserved freedom." He lied, folding his arms, this war was but a minor droplet on an ocean of sorrow survivors would have to traverse. "All of you have been chosen to represent this glorious nation, you stand here not as mere soldiers, but as the will of our fathers and mothers, our brothers and sisters, our lovers and friends, all of those whom we have left behind to fight for their better tomorrow. Be proud, sons of Mars, and bear that pride in both life and death, as I do for being your Captain. Glory to our people! Glory to our Motherland! And, above all else, glory to our fallen brethren who have brought us this far!" Thomas yelled vehemently, saluting his troops, an action immediately followed by most - if not all - crew members. The vessel was set to depart in about half an hour, the mechanics hoisted multiple mobile suits on the hangar, their diverse colors and models sparking some life on those previously empty hangars, the space station's crew filled the deposits with supplies, the bridge crew went over commands time and time again, pilots set their belongings on their shared rooms, the Jager was as lively as it had been in the previous night, but that sentiment of joy was long gone, anxiety taking it's place when duty called. They would be all alone after this, a lonesome vessel in a starry void.

As soon as the transmission cut, Captain Wehrmer let out a heartfelt sigh. His trembling left hand gradually ceasing it's unruly behavior, his heartbeat adjusting once more. "Does it ever get easier, sir?" His vice-captain asked, adjusting his glasses. They had been together for the last few battles, and now once more their expertise was needed on another daring front. Thomas attempted to smile, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. "Never. Let us instead hope we don't have to ask that question ever again, my friend!"

illirica
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Posts: 1,388

Afterglow Century Dec 6, 2021 18:31:06 GMT

Post by illirica on Dec 6, 2021 18:31:06 GMT

"Wow. I wonder who the sorry bastards are who had to dig out the latrine big enough to hold all that bullshit."

This was not the sort of thing that Private Beth Pern should have said aloud, a fact that she was perfectly well aware of about three seconds after having said it. She did have at least some instinctive sense of self-preservation, which was why she hadn't exactly said it too loudly. That wasn't going to stop anyone nearby from hearing, of course, but at least it ought to protect her from being immediately targeted for Voluntary Patriotic Activities by the senior staff.

Technically, at this moment in time, Beth was supposed to be stowing her gear in her room, but everything was moving too quickly and her leg was pissing her off again, and since everything that she had fit in a duffel bag that, like everything in it, was the property of the military and merely assigned to her use, she wasn't in any particular rush to set things up. Some people had trinkets, but Beth figured those would just be more work for people to figure out how to dispose of when she inevitably ended up dying out in the field.

Hence, she'd co-opted a seat in one of the lounges, tossed the bag on the floor and used it to prop her leg up, and asked for a drink. Apparently they weren't serving them right now, or at least weren't serving them to Beth, so she was sitting there doing fuck-all and being bored enough to watch Captain Warner... Warmer... whatever the hell his name was, his speech. It was just one more little part of her soon-to-be-abruptly-truncated life that she was never going to get back.

Yay.

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Deus Mortis
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Afterglow Century Jan 13, 2022 15:17:42 GMT

Post by Deus Mortis on Jan 13, 2022 15:17:42 GMT

Ahmed sat alone in one of the few cafeterias aboard the vessel. Soldiers and crew personnel sat around him with a two table buffer in between them and himself, such a sight neither unfamiliar nor unexpected after his few weeks on board.

His status as a pirate spread quickly among the lower enlisted. While he was not the first criminal to be conscripted into the military, he imagined there were not many, if any that were placed into a mobile suit unit. To some, it was supposed to be a privilege afforded to only the best their planet had to offer, and here among them now was a man who’s taken the lives of the people they were sworn to protect.

As he poked some of the grey mush resting on his plate, he caught a group of enlisted staring at him. They were younger than him, some by more than a decade, and yet they each bore a rank higher than his own. It was a fact of life that annoyed him, as many things here did. As the monitors in the cafeteria flickered with life, he would soon find something else to add to his list.

"...Glory to our people! Glory to our Motherland! And, above all else, glory to our fallen brethren who have brought us this far!"

He scoffed at the words and ate a small mouthful of his “food”. The entire speech reminded him of the ones his crew used to make fun of. Back then, the speeches were about an undeniable and inevitable peace with Earth. Now, the words were of war, triumph, and the fallen.

Ibzan
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Afterglow Century Jan 13, 2022 17:25:57 GMT

Post by Ibzan on Jan 13, 2022 17:25:57 GMT

CPT ENS Halvor Selvik

YMF-108 Proto GINN

The hangar of the Jaeger was abuzz with a quiet commotion. Teams of engineers and technicians, having loaded up the Mobile Suits onto the ship, were carrying out last-minute adjustments and maintenance that they couldn't bother to trust their machines with in an effort to keep things 110% battle ready. Though the possibility of combat was still somewhat far away, the monotony of the work got their minds off of worrying about what the future had in store for them. The presence of the Mobile Suits and their respective maintenance crews out in force didn't make conditions of the already cramped hangar any more comfortable for Halvor and his own crew, but they had managed to eke themselves a little circle to the side of the hangar. Sectioned off with a small collection of spare crates, Halvor and several other crewmembers were idling away their last few moments before the ship’s departure.

Gathered around a crate, they sat in contemplative silence as they each pondered over the cards splayed out on the crate before them and in their own respective decks. Off-duty and without much of anything else to do, they were playing head to head tonk - a rather dull time-killer of a game, if one didn’t raise the stakes by betting. Which they did.

Benton, a mechanic and military veteran of nearly a decade, flipped a card into the discard pile. He muttered, “Somebody’s sandbagging.”

Ylva, another mechanic, snapped the card up, spread four jacks and discarded a queen. Halvor knew she’d be going down next time, holding nothing heavier than a two. Benton smacked the top of the crate - which now served an impromptu tabletop for their game of cards - and hissed. He hadn’t won a hand since sitting down.

“Go low, guys,” said Viktor, a pilot and fellow veteran as well - he hadn’t been part of Halvor’s old squadron, but he counted the man as a friend, having interacted with one another over the years that they’ve served the MFF. Ignoring Ylva’s discard, Viktor drew, scrunching his cards around just inches from his face before he spread three fours and discarded a two. He tapped his remaining pair, grinned at Ylva, said, “That better be an ace, grease monkey.”

Caul, an engineer, snagged Viktor’s two, spread four of a kind and discarded a three. He plied Ylva with an owl-like stare that dared her to go down. It said an ace would not keep him from getting burned.

“Looks like everybody was sandbagging,” Halvor remarked as he glared at his hopeless hand. Pair of sevens, pair of eights, and a nine to go with one of the eights, but no run. Almost everything he could use was in the discard pile. He drew. Sonovabitch. Another nine, and it gave him a run. He spread it, dumped the off seven, and prayed. Prayer was all that could help at that point.

Benton ignored his seven. He drew. “Damn!” He dumped a six on the bottom of Halvor’s straight and discarded a six. “The moment of truth, gal,” he told Ylva. “You going to try, Caul?” And, “Think all the rumors about them Newtypes are true? Never heard anything like it before.”

“Who knows?” Halvor replied. “Guess we’re supposed to find out soon, aren’t we?” He continued, “Shit or get off the pot, Ylva. You know you got me and Viktor licked.”

Caul ticked the corner of his card with his thumbnail and stared at Ylva. He said, “I heard it’s true for sure. Ya’ hear about that Squadron that got wiped out two weeks ago? I heard they went against a Newtype. Fucker was faster than greased lightning apparently - took em out before they got a chance to hail their ship.”

“Bullshit. If they’re real, how come the Coalition’s not pounding on us already?” Viktor asked.

“Prolly not a whole lot of 'em out there yet. That or they’re probably all fucked up in the head and shit. Being prototypes and all. But who knows?”

Ylva clicked her tongue. She drew, raised an eyebrow, and discarded a king. Viktor drew and discarded another king. Caul looked at Ylva. He smiled a small smile, took a card, did not bother looking at it. He tossed a five onto the six that Benton had dumped on Halvor’s run and flipped his draw into the discard pile.

“A five?” Ylva asked, incredulous. “You were holding a five? I don’t believe it. He had a five.” She slapped her ace onto the tabletop. “He had a damned five.”

“Temper, temper,” Viktor teased. “You’re the one always telling Benton to simmer down, remember?”

“He bluffed me with a damned five?”

Caul continued to wear his little smile as he stacked his winnings - spare rations, trinkets, favors, and whatever else the five of them felt had some sort of tangible value. He was pleased with himself. He had pulled a good bluff. Halvor too had figured, incorrectly, that he was holding an ace.

Benton shoved the cards to Ylva. “Deal.”

“Oh, come on. He was holding a five, and I got to deal too?”

“It’s your turn. Shut up and shuffle.”

Halvor turned to ask Caul, “Where’d you hear about all that Newtype stuff?”

“Tobs.” Tobs was the quartermaster back at their old post, a senior NCO who looked like he was as old as the Freedom Front itself. It didn’t surprise Halvor to know that that was where Caul got it from.

Ylva dealt. Halvor checked his cards and suppressed the urge to groan. The proverbial hand that he held was so bad it might as well have been called a foot. Quietly, to himself, he wondered if he’d always been this damned unlucky.

Ylva looked her own cards over. Her eyes got big again and a grin spread across her face. She slapped her cards down, face upwards. “Tonk! Goddamned tonk! Fifty!” She had somehow dealt herself five royal cards - an automatic win demanding a double payoff.

“The only way she can win is to deal them to herself,” Benton grumbled.

Ylva giggled, “You ain’t winning even when you deal 'em yourself.”

Viktor started shuffling when the ship’s PA came to life. Everyone’s eyes and ears fell briefly on the few PA monitors that dotted the hangar - the majority of the other monitors were used for maintenance and repair usage - and just as quickly left them when they realized it was just the Captain giving a customary sendoff speech before the Jaeger got to moving.

Few returned the patriotic hurrahs and salutes, with many simply going about with their business once more. Halvor and the four others near him counted themselves amongst the latter.

The next hand went the distance for Halvor. Caul fed the Halvor and the group snippets of other assorted rumors and news of the war between plays. Minutes would pass and Halvor flipped an eight into another of the countless discard piles which have become the milemarks of his life. “This is getting old,” he remarked. He was restless. He felt an undirected urge to be doing something. Anything.

Viktor shrugged. “Playing passes the time.”

“This is the life, all right.” Ylva said, without much enthusiasm. “Sit around and wait. How much of that have we all done over the years?”

“I haven’t kept track,” Halvor grumbled. “More of that than anything else, I feel.”

“Too fucking much, I say.” Benton spoke out, discarding a six onto the pile. He had been on a one in a row winning streak before this play, but evidently he was back to losing once again.

At his remark, the others nodded their heads in quiet agreement. Halvor sighed and drew a card, discarding a two into the pile.

“Hear, hear.”

♔- Aequat omnes cinis -♔

Annasiel
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Finally Free

Posts: 863

Afterglow Century Jan 13, 2022 18:26:37 GMT

Post by Annasiel on Jan 13, 2022 18:26:37 GMT

By God and country, she wished she could give a speech like that.

Andria stood towards the back of the bridge, head held high and face expressionless as the captain spoke his words. It wasn't the words themselves - it was the passion behind them. She could tell he meant every word, and the soldiers on the bridge could too, returning his salute with patriotic fervor as he reached the end of his address. Andria joined in, hand brushing the brim of her hat, joining in the chorus of "yes, sir"s that echoed around the bridge. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and the beginnings of an anxious smile crept onto her face. This was it, wasn't it? They were going to go to war. For the glory of Mars - and for justice for those who died in defense of the Motherland.

As the buzz of the intercom cut off, the junior lieutenant hesitated, then approached where the captain and vice-captain stood. She gave them both another clean salute, then cleared her throat.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Andria Gardner, sir. This is - my first time in active duty, and I'm honored to serve under you." She paused. Was that an awkward thing to say? She certainly hoped not. It was an honor to serve, after all, not just meaningless bootlicking. Momentum slightly lost, she cleared her throat again, hands falling to her sides in clenched fists. "I - er. Is there anything you'd have me do, to address or prepare the flight crew? I've been working on introducing myself to them - personally - but if there's anything else I can take care of to make things go smoother, sir -"

Ah. Best to leave it at that, and see what he says, before you make even more a fool of yourself.

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there!
He wasn't there again today,
Oh how I wish he'd go away!

Ghostly
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The Last Pale Light in the West

Posts: 258

Afterglow Century Jan 18, 2022 9:06:17 GMT

Post by Ghostly on Jan 18, 2022 9:06:17 GMT

Glory...

Tomas stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest on the bridge, saluting as their captain concluded his fervent address. As most did, he saluted his captain sharply, but felt hesitant to roar with the same passion that his crewmates did.

The captain spoke of glory to their people, to the fallen and to Mars, the Motherland. Tomas had a difficult time considering himself Martian. He'd never seen Mars until he was shipped out for basic training, and had only ever visited as a soldier, never a citizen returning home. His homeworld, the ever-turning station of Tigris was loyal to Mars, and so when soldiers came promising glory and freedom and safety to its struggling people, Tomas was one of many youth to enlist with their families in mind.

At first, Tomas told himself it was all for the paycheck. Every skirmish, every brush with death was just a means to feed his family. No glory, just necessity and duty. But there was something in the words of men like Captain Werhmer that made Tomas want to be something more. It was that yearning that told him to volunteer for flight school, and that same yearning told him to say yes when his division commander came to his company looking for the best and bravest.

Well, and the promotion and commendation he could smell as soon as the colonel mentioned a special mission. Their justification for the weeks of infiltration and deep-cover training he was put through leading up to this operation.

Newly christened Corporal Shepard stood proudly at attention, his newly sewn chevrons proudly displayed on the upper bicep of his uniform. He'd worn it the night before as he celebrated alongside his teammates, looking to get some familiarity with them before the operation. He knew firsthand the advantage that familiarity and trust gave you when your lives were on the line.

Just as things began to settle and the bridge staff went back to preparing, Tom noticed the young lieutenant step approach the captain. He wondering if this would be his CO, he'd heard there was a lieutenant working directly with him, a far cry from the buck privates in the crew, conscripts and greenhorns. As she passed him he gave a brief but courteous salute, and listened as she spoke.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Andria Gardner, sir. This is - my first time in active duty, and I'm honored to serve under you."

Well, that explains the hat.

Sending a commissioned officer just starting her career on a secret infiltration mission? The operation kept getting better, even their CO was a newbie. He wondered just how much experience the others had, and realized he'd have to ask. She had to be someone's niece or something, right? Otherwise why would someone so fresh be here? Hell, why were they all so green? Aside from the obvious members of their team, the notable members of the crew were fairly young, or at least fresh into the life. Even Tom himself wasn't too far along, barely a Corporal with a few skirmishes under his belt when this chance arose for him to prove himself.

Last minute pick, or part of a bigger game?

Only time would tell. As Andria began trailing off and stopped talking all together, Tomas stepped forward and saluted the trio before speaking. "Pleasure to meet you Captain Wehrmer, Lieutenant Gardner," he said warmly, trying his best not to intrude. "Corporal Tomas Shepard, reporting in. I'm looking forward to working with you, lieutenant."

Last Edit: Feb 22, 2022 19:34:26 GMT by Ghostly

. . . I could never hold enough of you in my hands . . .

orange
Junior Member

Posts: 73

Afterglow Century Jan 23, 2022 11:02:08 GMT

Post by orange on Jan 23, 2022 11:02:08 GMT

Ensign Jean Mangal 

Age: 19

Rx-77 Guncannon

"Glory to Mars!!!! Glory to the Fallen!!!!" I returned the salute as quickly as possible tonight wasn't about the emptiness I felt inside. It was about showing I was a loyal soldier that fought for the nation and nothing else. In one voice well almost showing our collective resolve to fight. That I was naive about the war and that I show no regret for what happens next. I only had revenge to fight for. Not for those around me who apparently believed those words. I had nothing left on Mars except memories.

There was one person nearby who I could see didn't immediately repeat those "sacred" words for Mars and our dead "brethren" I recognized her as someone I would be fighting aside for what I assumed would be a small amount of time. The Zudah pilot... A pilot with an obvious death wish already hoping for a drink. Of course, I wanted one as well so I would beat the line and wait for the alcohol to start pouring as long as I repeated sacred words when the time came I would be fine... I think.

"You know some might question your patriotism like this. Barely paying attention to our Captain Wehrmer's speech, not standing at attention or just saying the words a little bit too late." I smirked, "good thing I know you're just crazy."

Drake
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Writer of bad posts

Posts: 148

Afterglow Century Feb 7, 2022 23:31:02 GMT

Post by Drake on Feb 7, 2022 23:31:02 GMT

Thus the days passed, the usual routine of the ship unchanged, from pilots leaving on occasional live training sessions to practice with actual zero gravity, the seldom seen scouting missions for no reason other than keeping things somewhat orderly, life on the ship seemed quite ordinary. The newbies kept their high spirits, somewhat less tightened around the neck by legislation and proper militaristic conduct since this was, after all, a "scavenger" ship. One ensign or another getting closer to the members, usually closer than what you'd expect from a serious Martian vessel, but all within the plan's parameters of creating a way less strict atmosphere, have these rookies fit more into the role bestowed upon them. Captain Wehrner knew that much, thus he gave his subordinates quite quick and impersonal answers, at least maintaining some sort of chain of command for those on the bridge and those directly related to the infiltration mission. One Andria Gardner, one Tomas Shepard, and two more colleagues, greenhorns through and through, still with sparks on their eyes - sparks he had hoped he wouldn't entirely vanquish under his command. Why so young? Well, these so-called Newtypes happened to be an alleged generational shift, being properly researched and raised into quite powerful weapons within Earth's landmass. Their goal was purely taking them there under the guise of a scavenging crew with scraps to sell around the region. Officially, their data was entirely expunged from the crew's logs, which meant if their demise was to be met within the wall of the research facility, nothing would link them back to Wehren's vessel.

How many more ghosts in the battlefield would he create in his lifetime?

Their instructions were simple, take piloting sessions with the ship's more experienced pilots because their lives would depend on it, learn the ins-and-outs of Martian codes for relaying messages, and visiting the ship's very own resident ghost for their tutoring on Earth culture and mannerisms. Indeed, this endless bloodshed didn't have sacrificial pawns on only one side, a child about their age - one of the youngest sons of Xpanse - had fallen into Martian hands, despite being well-nigh useless when probed for militaristic information, his "cooperation" meant they could pinpoint exactly the very important locale of Humanity Advancement Center, kickstarting this entire operation. Publically dead, the boy was kept under surveillance full-time, locked inside his quarters, teaching their young ghosts how to properly pass as earthlings.

The more experienced skirmishers from the ship, however, had this tied knot on their gut, this unsettling sensation of everything being too uneventful, and watching these jovial members simply ignore how this was evidently still a war effort contributed nothing to the fact. See, anyone that had done their rounds around the scavenging routes - be it chasing pirate crews or political fugitives - knew precisely why the bridge seemed so overtasked in recent days. The outer routes meant less policing, which meant they were prime targets to the many cutthroat groups out in the wide vastness of space, and without Martian support, a simple two ship crew could blast them all into space regardless of superior mobile suits or not.

Restlessness grew among the veterans, many taking more time on the hangar, walking around in their pilot suits rather than normal attire. They had dipped their toes in this sea before, leaving behind a trail of blood. They were sharks themselves and, as such, they could almost sense others of their species.

Which was why it didn't come as a surprise for Halvor when the alert alarms blasted well into what would have been 0400 in the morning. The loud ringing reverberating through empty hallways and removing poorly dressed, snoozy men from their quarters. Olivier Solano's rispid voice rumbled amidst the sirens. "This is XO Olivier Solano. Pilots and mechanics, proceed to the hangar. Cannoneers, proceed to your specified positions. Further orders will be relayed in a moment." Wehrner was well awake, he knew this first test would come sooner than later, the baptism through fire for these pups, it was his duty as the Ashen Wolf to lead them to victory, no matter the price.

The two vessels off in the distance had been tailing them for a while now, but the sudden acceleration towards their Jager certainly spelled trouble. Communication attempts did not go through, but no warning shots were fired. They couldn't afford to start a fight themselves, their mission was too precious in itself, but the rapidly approaching ships meant delaying this order was a more serious choice every passing second.

Thomas ran his hand through his beard, his bloodshot eyes pondering through the infinity within his mind. Wolves are territorial creatures themselves, and he would never get to where he sat by waiting others to take the choice for himself. Gripping tightly to the captain chair's armrests, he rose energetically, his usually collected voice turning boisterous. "Automatic cannons, open fire! Cannoneers, prioritize covering fire for our Mobile Suits! Pilots, launch!" Olivier nodded with a grin. "Understood!" He responded, moving once more towards the microphone. "Cannoneers, prioritize covering fire for our Mobile Suits! Pilots, launch! Safety is off, lads, make it count!"

illirica
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Posts: 1,388

Afterglow Century Feb 9, 2022 14:44:52 GMT

Post by illirica on Feb 9, 2022 14:44:52 GMT

"Today's the day, huh?"

The last few days had been boring, in that tedious and soul-sucking way that always came with sitting around on a ship waiting for someone to tell you it was time to die. If anything had happened during them, it had happened to people more important - or at least higher ranked - than PFC Beth Pern. The giant ship trundled its way through space, providing dubious safety and even more dubious quality of living to those who were stuck on it.

Beth had been debating a choice of meal when the alert came - today's offerings evidently being "brown" or "gray." Fortunately, the alarm sounded pilots to quarters, saving her from untimely horrors for at least a little while longer. She certainly knew better than to try to eat before flying, after all.

She'd made it down to the hangar mostly on adrenaline, fully aware that when it wore off, her leg was going to be killing her - at least, if nothing else did first. It was bothering her already as she climbed up into the cockpit, her hand seeking out a little compartment and twisting open a bottle of pain pills, swallowing two dry and strapping herself in.

Fine. Things were fine. The mech wasn't responding to her initial inquiry, but that usually didn't happen unless she was up around 10-12 on the pain pills. Preflight checks were mostly yellow, with an actual green bar on hydraulics today. Nothing in the red yet, and that was as good as it got. Core temp spiked to 80% on initialization, then calmed down to a solid 67%. Beth was fine with that, the numbers were all lies anyway. She'd taken it up to 130 on a regular basis, and things didn't really start to explode until...

147.

Yeah. Yeah. That. Breathe. The craft sealed itself around her, shutting out the rest of the bustle of the ship.

"Easy does it. Don't worry. We're in this together."

The launch timer ticked down to zero, and the ship's massive launch systems hurled her craft out of the ship without any preamble. Beth kicked her Zudah's thrusters into action. 87% on core, barely even in the red zone. She gave the craft an appreciative grin that no one was going to see, and with a dizzying moment of speed, the emptiness of space opened up around her.

Mission data was filling in to her computer systems. There'd been no briefing this time, which meant the situation was guaranteed to be fucked up, but at least it would be fucked up by someone who was trying to kill them this time instead of by their own officers' incompetence. Two ships, no hostile mechs yet, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be or that there wasn't any danger. Those ships would have firepower too. Beth set her targeting systems to start scanning for weapons ports, deftly firing right-side thrusting to twist her craft out of the launch line and make room for other craft.

Most people would have righted their craft with left thrusters, but Beth just let hers spin. It made her a little bit more difficult of a target to hit when those other ships inevitably started firing, and she'd learned it didn't actually matter all that much as long as she could keep herself processing the information. With no actual opposition from the sides yet, the only direction that mattered was forward or backward, so spin along the other axis was completely irrelevant. She was pretty sure some of those smart science types had put a lot of numbers on it and ascribed the whole concept to some old dead guy who'd never piloted a mech in his life. Newton, maybe. He was always getting credit for things other people did.

Her systems returned potential targets along the incoming ships, and Beth picked a set along the right underside of the nearer vessel, firing off rear thrusters in a sudden sustained burst that sent her craft into a drill spiral and pushed the core all the way up to 93% before she eased off and let momentum do the rest, diverting power to weapons systems and opening fire as soon as she got into range - a quick strafe, then a lateral thruster fire to turn her spin into a dive, spiraling down below the opposing craft, a pinprick in its massive shadow. Presumably her data was being sent back to the main ship and the rest of the group, so that the officers could make plans and start telling what to do and get them all killed.

"Fuck 'em anyway, right? I can do that on my own."

Last Edit: Feb 9, 2022 14:45:05 GMT by illirica

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orange
Junior Member

Posts: 73

Afterglow Century Feb 15, 2022 20:21:04 GMT

Post by orange on Feb 15, 2022 20:21:04 GMT

Ensign Jean Mangal 

Age: 19

Rx-77 Guncannon

I was sitting at the edge of my bed when the alarm went off. Some creeping awareness had woken me from my dream and now I was awake as I hurried into my pilot suit. This would be my first battle and probably would be for many on this ship as everyone rushed through the hallway to their assigned battle stations or mobile suits. I pushed through the crowds of people all the way to the hanger pushing more than a few out of my way and into walls or others until I finally reached the hanger.

I grabbed my helmet as I rushed towards the mobile suit quickly putting it over my head and sealing it. Next, I hopped into my mobile suit, the Guncannon, while a faster suit probably would have been better I had chosen this one for its destructive capability. If used correctly it would probably wipe out these ships quickly. As I started up my suit I informed the bridge, "Mangal preparing to launch." It only took a moment for the engine to get going as I closed the cockpit at the same time. As I started to move the Guncannon I grabbed a beam weapon from the wall and approached the catapult system, "launching." As I was catapulted out into the great void.

I quickly readjusted the cannons to be aiming at the bridge of the closest enemy ship and when I was in range it would be destroyed!

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Deus Mortis
New Member

Posts: 16

Afterglow Century Feb 20, 2022 3:08:47 GMT

Post by Deus Mortis on Feb 20, 2022 3:08:47 GMT

Ahmed’s eyes shot open at the sounds of alarms blaring through the ship’s halls. The rims of his eyes were tinted red, his veins enlarged from exhaustion unsated by the three hours of rest he awakened from.

There was a moment of clarity in that single second after awakening, where the sound of the alarm faded into nothingness and the very space around him was paid with as little mind as the act of breathing. Fledgling consciousness blunted every possible feeling in his body as the memories of existence flooded back into his head, and soon following that, anger.

The last thirty six hours revolved between scrubbing toilets, mopping floors, and wiping down windows. Thirty six hours of mind-numbing, exhaustive work that he had barely any rest to show for it. The blood in his veins began to boil as the world slowly resumed its normal pace and the alarms continued to blare, nearly deafening him as the sound bounced around the confines of his room.

Ahmed rose from his bed, leaving behind a human shaped imprint on his blanket. If there was one silver lining to how exhausted he was left by the end of his shift, it was that he didn’t bother changing out of his flight suit before falling unconscious. By the time his feet hit the ground, he was already rushing out of the room and down to the hanger in the appropriate uniform, no doubt giving the illusion that he was already geared to go.

Soon, he was surrounded by sharks: pilots whose adrenaline was already starting to hit its upper limit and push their anxiety and anticipation to the extreme. Ahmed’s expression betrayed neither emotion, it being difficult to see much of anything past the veneer of annoyance etched clearly on his face. He pushed past a couple of newer pilots blocking the way into his suit before finally climbing in.

Finally.

Adrenaline steadily pooled into his blood. The vice-like grip of exhaustion began to fade, loosening the grasp it had on his attention to detail and reaction speed. The first message he saw after his suit powered on was an automatic systems check that read as follows:

ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL.

In other words…

"Bashir, launching."

Among the many mechs rocketing off into the cold expanse of space, a dark green Zaku would soon join them. White cloud trails followed him during lift off and cut off the moment he was beyond the safety of the hanger’s walls. As friendly forces flew in to intercept the enemy, Ahmed positioned himself away from the main group. He flew around the front of the leftmost ship to get an angle on its thrusters. On the chance that the swarm of pilots didn’t immediately destroy the ship, he didn’t want them to be able to turn tail and run.

He raised his sniper rifle, fully functional gyroscopic stabilizers eliminating any possible sway his scope may have had. An angle on the thrusters, or what he believed to be a good angle, came into view and a round fired off from his rifle. He racked the bolt back, steam jettisoning out from the cooling vents on the rifle as a bullet casing came flying out. Ahmed refocused his aim on the enemy’s thrusters and fired another round.

Last Edit: Feb 20, 2022 3:09:59 GMT by Deus Mortis