the shape of things to come

13 August 3068
This is my diary.
I record whatever I like, whenever I like, HOW I LIKE.
I’m here because I have to be.
I want to study literature. Or be an author.
And this just sounded like a cliché start.
3 October 3068
Oh man, I thought I’d have more time!
20 October 3068
Hey! We got off early today! And I found this thingie here
again. Great!
We had two equipment checks today. One to start the
morning, one to top off the evening. If I’ve learned something
in these last six weeks, it’s this: There are times when you better
shut up and do what you’re told. It might hurt your pride
and go against whatever personal code you live by, but it
makes life plenty easier. Lieutenant Jordi, the wet-eared platoon
leader who’s graciously allowed to do the more tedious
parts of our formation, called the shots. Piece after piece, we
dug all our gear out of our backpacks, pockets and pouches,
and placed it on our canvases spread out before us:
Helmet; Filter mask; Gloves; Goggles; Tent-poles/pegs;
Spade; Cleaning utensils; Tags; Emergency rations; Raincoat
(with hood); Spare clothes (in airtight bag); Rifl e; Spare magazines
(2); Datapad with regulations (per Order of the Day)…
Impressive, how long a list that is. Even in the fi eld, with
most of my equipment back in barracks. It practically guarantees
that somebody forgot something, provoking the usual
reprimands and “consequences”—today being no exception.
Only after Tom got back from his fi fth lap around the wooden
shelter, with Drik and Nat pumping their last twenty and
Lieutenant Jordi calming down, did the platoon get around
to some serious chow time.
You always hear people complaining about rations in
holovids or when returning from their ToD’s with the FWL, but
I couldn’t agree less. Food in the militia is always freshly prepared,
warm and diverse enough. Chefs even thought about
the poor guy with the gluten allergy. But even if not, usually I
feel hungry enough to mow down about everything anybody
shovels into my foldable plate.
15 November 3068
These are the stories of the mighty militia warrior Stefan
Palmer (1.72m, 81kg, 186Pts., fi t for service) nearing the end of
his basic training, as recorded on the ancient scrolls of Acubania.
Cower, infi dels, and listen!
“Nestled in a shallow ravine, surrounded by beautiful fl ora
in the fi rst stages of bloom and just a stone’s throw away
from a small lake, the Teggiwald lies roughly fi ve kilometers
outside the city. Soft paths suitable for runners crisscross the
underbrush, tiny huts off er protection from the occasional
shower, while open spaces invite a picnic in the sun. All in all,
the perfect spot to enjoy life.
Or not.
The youngsters moving through the underbrush at an accelerated
pace certainly didn’t agree. Heavy boots soaked through
and covered in mud up to the calves from the soft ground,
combat fatigues clinging to the skin from sweat and damp air
certainly didn’t make lugging around a ten-kilogram backpack
terribly recreational. Adding to the fun, each of them carried a
meter-long, six-kilogram rifl e, which tended to get caught in
vines and branches if attention slipped for a split second. Not
that avoiding them was easy when one felt like a stuff ed turtle
on two legs. A stuff ed turtle with a cooking-pot on its head—
“Cover!”
Sighing silently, Stefan Palmer let himself drop fl at behind
the nearest tree stump at his group leader’s hushed call.
Glancing toward the front of the line, he saw the corporal
waving his hands frantically. Obviously trying to signal the
squad something, in that combat talk they’d been shown
yesterday. Too bad neither Palmer nor the corporal had paid
much attention, leaving Stefan utterly clueless as to what
had prompted the halt. Probably a deer. Or they had taken a
wrong turn, and now the corp was trying to cover it up with
a little show…again.
Palmer gave up on wiping clear his accursed combat goggles,
letting them dangle around his chin, and reached for
the canteen at his side. After a minute or so of fumbling
around, he gave that up, too. Whoever had designed their
harness sure had gotten the easy-access part right – tested
on an anatomically perfect tailor’s bust by a person other
than the wearer!
“Clear, let’s move.”
Out of the corners of his eyes, Stefan saw the corporal
stuff compass and map back into his leg pockets, pick up his
weapon, make the safety control by the book and rise.
BANG!
BEEEEEEEEEP
Surprise in his eyes, the corporal fell backwards, clutching
at a little black box on his chest. Great. Just what they
needed. It really had been an ambush this time. Rolling his
eyes, Stefan snapped off a few dud shots into the woods at
an “enemy” he couldn’t see anyway, waiting for his own simulation
gear to announce him hit. Unfortunately, the instructor
called off the exercise before that happened, declaring
several of the squad as wounded and therefore in need of
transport for the remainder of the distance.
And thus ends the fi rst episode of this mighty epic.
27 November 3068
Part 2, where the hero deals with extreme hardship and does
not encounter a damsel in distress:
They were in the middle of redistributing equipment
when someone sounded the chemicals alert.
Five seconds for the mask, ten for the gloves, then sealing
neck and ankles. Next: spreading the alarm, helping others.
For once a drill Palmer could rattle through with no problems.
A mere month ago, he would have objected to that
part of the training as well. Citing passages from the outmoded
Ares Conventions about chemical weapons being
outlawed and all that.
That was before the instructor had shown them the
holovids from Atreus.
It wasn’t long before the recruits were sweating in their
sealed garments like Taurian oxen under a Federated Sun. The
INTRODUCTION
CONSTRUCTION
BASICS
BATTLEMECH
CONSTRUCTION
INDUSTRIALMECH
CONSTRUCTION
PROTOMECH
CONSTRUCTION
COMBAT VEHICLE
CONSTRUCTION
SUPPORT VEHICLE
CONSTRUCTION
CONV. INFANTRY
CONSTRUCTION
BATTLE ARMOR
CONSTRUCTION
AEROSPACE UNIT
CONSTRUCTION
WEAPONS AND
HEAVY EQUIPMENT
INFANTRY WEAPONS
AND EQUIPMENT
COSTS AND
AVAILABILITY
BATTLE VALUE
INDEX
RECORD SHEETS
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