Yesterday, Dec. 26th, 2013, marked a very sad day here at the Skye residence. My wife's father, 57 years young, left the world of the living. Seven years he's fought on with us against a cadre of doctors saying the entire time that he'd be lucky to survive another few months. The man was a heavy smoker, and worked at a cemetery that often had less than adequate respiratory gear. The two factors compounded destroyed his lungs for the most part. Enough so that lung specialists and surgeons both said that he would likely not survive even one bout with pneumonia, let alone any surgeries. Lo and beholden to his character, the man fought through three bouts with pneumonia, and a surgery to correct three collapsed discs in his neck that threatened to cripple him for the remainder of his time with us. But sadly, a body constantly fighting like that eventually gives out. Sometime early in the morning yesterday, his finally did. My Mother-in-law woke and found him still and cold, thankfully in the same position that he'd fallen asleep in. So, for however long it takes to help her through her grief, I might be a bit absent from activities, and any prayers or kind words or always welcome.
That blows. The holidays are hard on the sick. My grandfather tried to punch his ticket last xmas with 15 heart attacks. Do what you gotta do.
So sorry to hear about your loss. Take your time and know that we're here when you need a distraction. Thank you for sharing this with all of us.
What these guys said, real sorry to hear that. At least he made it through one last Christmas with the family, I'm sure that knowledge does little to help but I hope it does. Anyways, RL family first mate; your gaming family understands.
The alert klaxons rang loudly in the cockpit, but he simply ignored them. LRMs had been coming in all day long, another volley was nothing to him. Powering the Dragon into a sprint, he maneuvered behind a small hill just as the missiles impacted around him, several managing to pocket his already battered right torso. His left arm was more stump than claw and lasers, and the energy weapons had ceased functioning long ago. Likewise his right arm was not much better, though the 2 Ac5's strapped to it were functioning, he only had a few rounds left for each before that too ran dry. All he had left was his CT SRMs, which miraculously had not been used the entire fight. Dodging, weaving and taking pot-shots at the distant enemy had been his dance all day, and though it had saved his skin more than once his mech was still torn to pieces, with little armor left anywhere on the mech. The scorching sun didn't do much good either, keeping his mech and cockpit in a constant state of insufferable heat. But he was an old dog, a veteran Sergeant of the Company, a man who had gone to hell and come back with souvenirs and a few scrotums to boot. He knew the dance, he knew the game. But today was a different day. All around him his comrades fell, one by one to the simply overwhelming firepower. They were outnumbered at least 3 to 1, and though their experience held the line for a time, they were quickly crumbling. "Sky-2, this is Command. Fall back, we're pulling out." So, the call finally came. "Say again Command, that didn't come through clear." "Bullshit, you know what I said." "Then you know why I can't comply." "We need more warriors like you Merc." "No you don't. I'm just an old dog looking to dig his grave his way. You've got young guys here, good guys. Pull them out, get them repaired, teach them how to fight and live another day. As for me, I'll hold the line one last time." "...Good Hunting, Sky-2." He keyed off the radio, he didn't need it anymore. He waited for the latest volley to pass. He watched as his line started breaking off around him. He saw the red blips on his radar advance. He stepped around the corner of the hill and fired. The charging Hunchback was hit hard in its bulbous hunch with the Ac5 rounds, while the SRMs cratered across his torso. Before the pilot could adjust, Sky-2 hot-loaded the SRMs and fired again, adding to the misery. Through the smoke the Dragon charged, firing again and again. The Hunchback recovered, firing its trademark Ac20 and grazing the left shoulder of the Dragon, jerking it backwards. Which winded it up for the sucker-punch to the torso from the heavier mechs' left arm. The CT of the Hunchback caved in slightly, and the mech stumbled back, its momentum crushed with the devastating punch. The mech recovered and turned just in time to see the 2 barrels of the Ac5's less than 10m from its cockpit. The Hunch fell a second later. A moment of calm filled the battlefield, as all seemed to turn and watch the devastation dished out before them. Almost immediately, more klaxons sounded. Again he ignored them. He knew the endgame, he knew final move. It was just a matter of how many he'd take with him. Keying up the external speakers, he shouted from the top of his lungs, "Alright you bastards, COME GET SOME!!!" And more than one mech turned running.
Really sorry to hear of your loss, be with your family. Your wife needs you, we will be here when you return.
I'm sorry to hear of your loss, Mercer. My grandfather passed away earlier this month and I completely understand. Take the time you need for you and your wife.
