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Genre: Science Fiction
About MaxtacLocation: Sydney Australia Home Region: Age:40 Favorite novels: Southern Vampire Mysteries, LotR, Atlantis Found, Hitchhikers Guide, Honor Harrinton (all of them!), Path of the Fury... so many more! Favorite writers: Charlaine Harris, David Weber, Douglas Adams, Steven King, Tolken, Ann Rice, Clive Cussler... Favorite music: Movie Soundtracks Non-noveling interests: Roleplaying, PC Games, Mixed Martial Arts, Cricket, tennis, movies. |
Joined: October 14, 2004 This Year: Municipal Liaison NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 24 NaNoWriMo buddies: 13
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Brief Author Bio: After being persecuted during my teenage years for an inability to speel, I gave up writing seriously for quite a few years. As my 30's hit, I rediscovered my love of both telling stories, language and it's shaping, and spell checkers! :) For the past 10 years I've been writing bigger and bigger works, and even finishing some of them too (like last years Nanonovel, the story actually done at 72K words). Sluggish editing of that one aside, I look forward to Nano each year, and invariably get excited about writing all over again as November draws close. I've been ML or co-ML for my region, Sydney Australia, for the past 3 years, and again this year once Lindsey catches up on the updates! Looking forward to it all. Bring on NOVEMBER!!! |
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Synopsis: Netbattletech Hardcore - Pseudonym for Armageddon Book 2 - Ground War
In the tumultuous future of 3070, humankind has spread out across hundreds of light-years, colonising literally thousands of worlds. At one time, the known galaxy was ruled over by a benevolent regime – The Star League - based on Terra – old Earth – but no more. The human sphere fragmented, resulting in literally hundreds of large and small factions’ battling over the planets of an area of space called the Inner Sphere. Into this ever changing warzone came the Clans, genetically engineered warriors from far off toward the galactic north, the remains of the Star League Defence Force that left the IS when it all went to hell. Bread for war and with far superior technology, they fought their way into the IS, claiming that Terra was their birthright, and they would not stop until it was reclaimed.
The centuries preceding 3070 saw great leaps forward in the arts of war. The pinnacle of this refinement became the Mechwarrior, trained in the piloting of devastating weapon systems called Battlemechs; stories-high humanoid combat machines with the destructive output of a battalion of regular tanks. A few short decades before, a lance of four ‘mechs could take over an entire planet, however with great improvements in manufacturing after a ‘dark age’ of technology in the IS, hundreds of these awe inspiring combat machines could clash on any of hundreds of worlds, laying waste to each other, and often to the planets themselves.
One such world was The Stepps, a near barren, desert planet, once in the possession of The Minnesota Tribe – a relatively small government in the grand scheme of things – but recently conquered by the Outworlds Alliance; and the Tribe wanted it back! However MT were stuck on the Northern Nadir jump point, unable to breach the naval defence cordon OA had set up around The Stepps and begin a surface campaign, until the unexpected arrival of a derelict ship gave them the leverage they needed to proceed.
The ship belonged to an old ally, House Jurai – the governing body of the Tortuga Dominions - another relatively small government, in a rather large galaxy. Jurai - until recently also at odds with MT – found itself stripped of a large portion of its Mechwarriors after a natural disaster at a far off Nadir point. Thrown headlong into the battle between OA and MT, the surviving Juraians decided to assist the Tribe with advanced naval technology and their few remaining pilots, in return for continued assistance with defence of their own realm.
Now the leaders of MT have the daunting task of assaulting a planet well defended and provisioned while they were delayed in landing, and the HJ leader in-system, Tokomi Arizona, wonders what is so all-fire important to MT that they’d throw so many men and machines at a planet that seems like so much dust and sand. And then there is Arizona’s family problems; a pregnant daughter, with a temper to match her father’s, racing off across the galaxy in pursuit of her wayward husband, who just happens to be one of the MT pilots dropping to contest the planet below, although Arizona has yet to discover his identity. But that would only be a matter of time... and then...
It would all end up as one hell of a furball, or Ari didn’t know his F.U.B.A.R.’s!
Excerpt: Netbattletech Hardcore - Pseudonym for Armageddon Book 2 - Ground War
[i]“…Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it…”
[b] "The tale of the Monkey's Paw" by W.W. Jacobs. [/b][/i]
[b]Jergenson Ranch, Southern Valgardis, Planet [i]The Stepps[/i].
14th February 3070[/b]
Kurt Jergenson paused in his hay-forking from the back of his father's old flatbed truck into the hay loft of their barn in the farmyard, and wiped his brow with top of his grubby arm. The sun beat down mercilessly even at this early hour of the morning, and Kurt still had several other chores to do before it go to hot to be doing anything outside the air conditioned central hab-core. But that was their lot on this mangy holding, on the edge of the Shanras desert, in the northern part of the habitable zone of Valgardis. The land sucked, the local town of Foulbard sucked, and the occupying Outworlds Alliance Military definitely sucked!
[i]'It just isn't fair,'[/i] Kurt thought as he adjusted his goggles and got back to work. [i]'We had it good under Minnesota Tribe rule; local representation, elected seats on the continental council, a say in how the planet was run, and a share in any c-bills generated by the system itself. It didn't make the land better, but you just felt it was all worthwhile. But not now.'[/i] Kurt sighed.
OA had held the planet for two long years now. They'd promised a program of civic reconstruction after the invasion was completed, but it was soon evident that it wasn't going to happen. Kurt couldn't tell if it was a lack of funds, or that their new governors just didn't care. Hell they could be on the take for all Kurt new. No free press anymore, so who's to complain.
More than likely the local Alliance council spent the money supporting and housing the huge numbers of mechs they had stationed on the planet. It was just crazy! All this war, and for what. So you could say you had more planets than the next government down the galactic block? Who really gave a frack? The everyday man just wanted to live, get by, and maybe one day improve his life a bit. That all one could really hope for on this near desolate rock. Hell the hay Kurt was bailing came from far to the south, so they could keep their pair of diary animals alive through the hellacious summer months. The family were just barely scraping by, and with Kurt being drafted into the OA military just after his fast-approaching eighteenth birthday...
Kurt's face darkened. [i]'If only the Minnesota Tribe returned to take the planet back!'[/i] he thought to himself, for even uttering such a hope was treason in the current political environment. He'd heard some 'lose talk' in around the bar in town suggesting that a MT strike force had been located at the system's northern Nadir for several weeks now. [i]'If they were in-system, why weren't they getting down here and getting the job done?'[i] Kurt wondered. [i]'If they did liberate [/i]The Stepps[i] from OA's control I could stay on the farm. We might even have enough tax relief to improve the land, grow better crops, get better livestock... [/i]
The farm boy's musings were cut short when he noted a number of far-off 'crump' noises echoing through the hot morning air. He looked up, shielding his already-goggled eyes from the harsh sunlight, and picked out some dozen or more dark shapes falling though the atmosphere overhead. Kurt watched, dumbfounded, as the dark shapes coalesced into the forms of heavy and super-heavy dropships, their undersides still glowing red hot, and then the deafening roar of their retro-thrusters kicking in as the made to decelerate before they were smashed into the careless embrace of the planet's surface.
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