Monkeybutt's Trial of Position
Gather around, my web denziens, as I spin a tale of
future war and heroism. Some may scoff at what I say, many will say it is absurd. Yet, I
must warn thee, all I say is true--as it was duly simulated according to preset rules and
conditions in the hardware store of Frederica, Delaware. I have heard that it has hence
shut down, and that is a grievance to my heart. Stay your tears, for there is a spiel of
gallantry I must impart to you.
It was a cool afternoon. The sun was hidden behind misty
cloud as I started up my sixty-ton war machine (OK, yes, all I did was heat up my dice.
Use your imagination!) and gazed upon the field of battle. Is was lightly wooded and had
somewhat hilly terrain. All the more cover for me, I thought. As the verbal order to
commence the Trial buzzed in my helmet-comm, I sent my modified Black Hawk into a trot.
The Bloodname, and the prestige surrounding it, would be mine.
All
of a sudden, my machine rocked as a powerful bolt of refined light seared through my
center torso armor and grazed my fusion engine. I swore as I saw damage indicators light
up on the panel in front of me. Now I was running hot as both my 'Mech's engine lost
efficiency and I was fuming in anger. The pilot of the one hundred-ton Daishi who grazed
me actually apologized. "Have to take what you can get," he said. As if someone
clunking around in that much heavy metal had anything to worry about.
A
kindred soul in a thirty-ton Uller asked for a peace agreement--he doesn't shoot me if I
don't shoot him. I accepted as I lined my reticle on his receeding 'Mech. One pull of the
trigger later and a electromagnetically propelled nickel slug slammed into the back of his
cockpit, causing the entire head assembly to blow apart in ionized flame. The Uller
tripped over itself and crumpled into a heap of scrap metal. "Have to take what you
can get," I said for solace. 
I veered right,
desperate to get a hill between myself and the hundred-ton titan. As I took a curve for
cover, I saw a seventy-five ton Mad Cat trading fire with a sixty-ton Thor. Noticing me,
but still feeling that I was a minimal threat, he twisted his machine's torso so he could
pop off the armaments in his left arm at me. As he did this, I poured all the firepower I
had into his backside. Gauss rifle slugs, missiles, and beams of photonic death streamed
from my 'Mech as he blew off my 'Mech's left arm and with it my most powerful weapon.
However,
the crippling blow to me was avenged. The deadly salvo I unleashed tore away his rear
armor plating, exposing the gyros and engine that kept his 'Mech running. My lasers
damaged his gyro and he wobbled, and the Gauss rifle slug that smacked him was too much
for his 'Mech to bear. It waddled forward, trying to maintain balance, and then fell
backwards. The mass of his 'Mech crushed his own fusion engine, causing his 'Mech to
explode in a thermonuclear fireball as an ominous mushroom cloud rose gently into the air.
The Daishi engaged the Thor and so I was left
alone for a few precious seconds. After looking despondantly at the amputated arm of my
Black Hawk on the grass for a moment, I ran my machine up to a rather steep hill and
crouched behind it for cover. From this spot I sniped at the Daishi as it relentlessly
pummeled the Thor. The Thor lost one arm, then another, and then was knocked off its feet.
The Daishi put it out of its misery before it could get back up.
The jig
was up: it was a well-pummeled sixty-ton me versus a slightly scratched one-hundred ton
him. I wouldn't retreat and sully my honor. If I was to go down today, I'd make sure that
punk would pay dearly for it. I had one advantage over him: range. He was overloaded with
powerful medium-ranged pulse lasers while I had long-ranged missiles and lasers. As he
waddled in, I continuously poured carnage upon him, shaving off armor as he pressed
onward. I could hardly miss such a big target, but he had trouble hitting me even as he
closed within 60 meters. My Black Hawk was eleven meters tall and hiding behind a
six-meter hill, firing over the top of it. It was a game of chicken--how long could I hold
position in front of a charging Daishi going 54 kph?
Oddly
enough, he was the one who chickened. As I continued firing full salvos, he stopped and
then retreated! I continued my onslaught and began to expose some internal mechanisms as
he ran out of armor. He couldn't make up his mind, really--running away he couldn't
inflict more damage, but charging forward he was getting his shiny new 'Mech dirty. As for
me, aiming was the last thing on my mind. I was pummelling his arms, legs, torso, even the
cockpit on occasion, and yet he was so heavily armored that there was no stopping him.
This continued for two minutes. He'd waver between charging
and retreating while I stayed put behind my natural cover and kept blasting away. His
'Mech was in sorry shape. It was limping, the arms were being held on by ammo belts, the
front armor of his cockpit was shorn away and the fusion engine and gyros inside his torso
were clearly visible. My sensor display notified me that a single hit to his head or
center torso would finally ice the titan. In the last volley, I hit both.
The Trial was over, only one remained
standing. Steam smoked from the overworked laser barrels and the sulfurous smell of
gunpowder dissipated from the missile tubes. I was victorious.
This game was played in a little over two hours on the
gaming table of Frederica Hardware. I, a middle-schooler from the seventh grade, had
defeated two college kids, an Air Force airman as well as my dad, Air Force sergeant and
master of all wargames. Through skill, treachery, and luck I had come through. Man, it was
a rush. Everyone there had decided to let the little kid play thanks to my dad's
insistance, and they gained a new respect for the little kid when he wasted them all with
a medium-sized unit. Yes, it was hyped up, and yes, it was my own design, but it was
within the rules and kosher.
Yes, Virginia, I had won a Bloodname. However, what was
that Bloodname to be? The guys thought about it and then the guy with the Thor thought one
up. Is was quickly and unanimously ratified and I was officially christened: Monkeybutt.
I wear it with pride even today.
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