Untitled
Chapter 38

Mother Confessor:

Sitting on the firm bunk reading through my issued training manual, I find most of it rather insulting to my intelligence. Seems that common sense should be more prevalent instead of holding my hand like a child. Running my hand over my bare head, confounded by the way they seem to think some of this stuff is difficult to comprehend. Honestly why label the direction with which you wish to place a mine towards an enemy target. Were they thinking that they would be fighting a bunch of illiterate ignoramuses?

The technical side of it is quite interesting though. Even the basic material on how to clean a rifle, and sharpen a blade. The survival section was one with which I tried to retain, though one does not run much risk of such a problem on a spaceship or on an uninhabitable body. One simply comes down to turning the vessel inside out to find what they need. The other basically means you are screwed, unless you happen to have packed rations. After addressing the issue of finding food and water, it turns to some basic forms of protection should the need arise. Setting up traps utilizing the natural resources about the environment. So many uses for bootlaces alone, if stuck in such a position.

The last few chapters were not much more than a crash course on different vehicles and heavy weaponry. I should like to utilize the former, and simply maintain the latter for just in case I find myself in a situation that calls for it. It is most interesting to read through the controls on several types of armor. Even an anecdotal bit on construction rated machinery of similar design. Starting with the basics on the cockpit of the lighter war frames, it blankets the first three sizes of the war machines. Classed as light, medium, and heavy respectively. Gazing at the intricate diagram of all the features put into just controlling the unit. Reading all the labeled levers, pedals, and buttons. Glancing occasionally at the opposite page at the rough diagram of the HUD and linking the indicated apparatus with the corresponding readout on the display. It will take a while before getting it right in an exercise, as there is a lot to remember, I think I could handle one if given a little time practicing in one. Turning the page to another diagram, it notes this is a basic example of what the fire controls will be configured, and will vary depending on model of armor being piloted.

Letting my imagination stray off a bit. Seeing myself seated in the false sense of security behind the controls of one of the many lumbering heavy armor plated machines. Imagining my hand on the throttle, listening to the engine hum louder as I open it up. Feeling the ground quake beneath the massive metal feet, maneuvering the leviathan across all types of terrain. Even acting like a wrecking ball, moving the hulking frame on a full throttle collision course with buildings. That would be more fun than if it were in a tank. Laughing at the daydream of me handling the T-bar on a tank. I would look ridiculous in a heavy treaded vehicle like that. As fun as it would be to turn many enemies into sprocket grease, I just cannot see myself doing it. The vision just seemed far too comical to me. I am sure I will get my shot behind a T-bar, but only for the experience. I would much rather learn the various types of armor further, as they seem more practical. I strikes me as odd that tanks are even used anymore after developing the more sophisticated means of mobile heavy armor. Besides, a tank cannot climb a vertical wall, or make use of tools besides being able to act as a bridge if equipped for it. Still imposing as they are, they seem a bit dated.

Slipping back into the manual, I continue to the assault class armor. They are the largest of the four classes of machines. Standing at a towering ten point six seven meters tall, truly a force to be reckoned with. Lacking the manipulate able arms, it makes up for it in weight and a massive payload. Weighing in at roughly one hundred and thirty metric tons of sheer destructiveness. I try wrapping my mind around piloting a one hundred and thirty thousand kilogram metal beast. A side note from the previous owner wrote called the monstrous class of machines ‘bug crushers’. An amusing nickname for the heavy-footed bipedal frame. Easily one and a half times the width of a heavy class, and slower despite having a longer stride. Another difference in the heaviest class of war-frame is the cockpit. A two-man crew operates it. The pilot in the rear, and the gunner slightly lower and in front. I take this into account as what it has in firepower, it lacks in maneuverability do to the fact it is little more than a body on legs. An odd feature that it does share with the smaller classes is that it can jump. That would be highly amusing to see a vehicle the size of a building, leap into the air like a massive flightless bird. I still find it just as impressive as the smaller classes, despite the obvious flaws in the design.

Taking mental notes on the diverse aspects and functionality of the heavy machines, I delve further into the manual. It seems to catalogue the various vehicles in an odd order, as the next section is on tanks and APCs. I scan through them, less interested in the tracked crawlers. Another side note catches my eye, as I skim over the mobile artillery. The author on the notation clearly has a negative view of the less versatile machinery, as they call the lot ‘screaming metal deathtraps’. I suppose that would be the case in an APC, or one of the larger models of tanks. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Moving on to aerial defense, this I find to be a short installment. It outlines that the majority are small autonomous drones. Though there is a war bird that is effectively portrayed as support in heavy field combat as needed to turn the odds. It continues on that they are seldom used due to the nature of being shot down. Sounds like a horrible way to go in my opinion.

I gloss over the last section, as it merely addresses the base land vehicles. Jeeps and trucks lightly armored and traverse the terrain on four to six wheels. Falling a notch below in my mind, behind the tracked vehicles.

Coming to the final section containing the heavy weaponry, I was taken aback by my assumption of not finding the information pertinent beyond the last ditch situation. It covered a vast array, from shoulder mounted missile and rocket launchers, all the way to the many large weapons one used with the armor. Everything from light auto cannons, to high caliber rifles and grenade launchers. They seem similar in design to the ones used by infantry, just on a much larger scale. Even towards the end, I find out that even a massive shovel could be used as a melee weapon when piloting armor. However, there is a vast array of close quarters implements. Such as large knives, swords, and axes.

Feeling exhausted from my previous workout and the late hour, I replace the abused manual back into my footlocker. Stretching my slender frame on the uncomfortable dense pad, I let myself fall prey to the exhaustion. Wondering what tomorrow will be like, as I drift off on the firm bunk.

Marckus:

Having finished the labors of writing the report, and scanning over the statements with much disgust at such pain filled words. It would seem that the Confederation is really going full ahead, and negating the fact that all sentient beings are to be free from the Chairmen and their selfishness in the outer rim. The words written cut into me, reminding me of the past, and of my disobedience on similar orders or of worse. The vision still burned in my mind when we found those poor souls back on Pluto. That look of despair, and pleading for help in those large green eyes filled with rust tears. The grip of me somehow still in that tormented beings grasp.

Feeling the weight on my shoulders, sitting in the silence at the desk. The recent events still fresh in my mind, I as much in bondage as those refugees had been. Knowing that they are safe behind the thick skin of this battleship, gives me hope that I might have a chance to achieve my goals. I will take the unfavorable odds against me, and the mixed words of those that have passed on like any other challenge.

Now standing, my frame leaning on my torn up hands firmly planted on the desktop. Testing the weight that I have shouldered, and it is heavy, but manageable. If I were lesser a man, it would have crushed me. Becoming a Titan, in the face of the Tyrants.

Graxis:

Returning exhausted to my quarters after spending the night through to the wee hours of the morning. I did not make it much further from the door threshold to the bunk, when I collapsed on the mattress. The blackness consumed me in warm and welcome arms.

Though they did not stay warm, as I was haunted by terrifying visions in my subconscious. Watching as others are shackled and force to work on some super structure. As they are forced to work, they are lashed with flexible rods of some sort. Each strike cutting a thin line in the flesh of the workers. I roared in anger, and despite how close I felt to the one dolling out the lashing, I could not reach him. I wanted to take the rod from him, and show him how it felt to be lashed. Though as hard as I try to get nearer him, he always remains equal length from me. If only I could cross the meter dividing us, but somehow I am unable. This must be some sort of view into hell, being helpless despite trying to help. Growling through gritted teeth, I search for something that I may throw. There was none to be found.

Finally, I yelled at the chain gang, “Stop working! Get behind me, and I will protect you from the lashing!”

However, my cry for them to stop and allow me to help falls on deaf ears. Turning away, I chant in my head that this is not real. It makes no sense, so therefore not real. The scene fades back into blackness.

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