Tigers

From OPU Wiki

Properties

• Common Metals Cost: High
• Rare Metals Cost: Low
• Build Time: Very Long
• Hit Points: Very High
• Armor: Heavy
• Track Type: Tracked
• Speed: Slow

Commands (not always available): Move, Stop, Patrol, Attack, Guard, Stand Ground, Transfer, Self-Destruct.

Description

Given the limited resources available for vehicle design and repair and the sudden need for combat units, a modular approach has been taken to tank design, using utilitarian chassis designs to which a variety of weapon turrets can be mounted. The heaviest combat chassis, the Tiger is heavily armored and carries not one but two weapons turrets. The Tiger chassis is based on a design in the encrypted weapons files brought from Earth. It is the only combat chassis designed from the ground up as a weapons platform. The Tiger chassis is mounted on tracks rather than wheels, and is somewhat slower than wheeled combat units.

Despite an enhanced power system built around an R-3000 cool-fusion reactor and quad-banked volt-sinks, the Tiger must fire its turrets alternately to allow for a stepped recharge. This still doubles the effective fire and reload rates for a given weapon. Operational Notes: The Tiger can be equipped with specially-constructed dual turrets using any available weapon system. Costs listed are those of the Combat Chassis only; those of the weapon turret should be added.

Tales from New Terra

The fighting was close now. Up in the structures, Mort Paris couldn't hear the tanks in New Terra's thin atmosphere, but down here in the tunnels, it was different. The walls echoed with the sound of their treads, and the explosions made the ground ring like a bell. Accumulated dust rained down from the conduits that snaked along the roof of the tunnel. He wished he'd been able to take a scooter, but he'd never gotten the hang of operating one while wearing a pressure suit.

Inside that suit he was drenched with sweat, and his breath came in gasps. He wasn't a hero, he was an administrator. It was just that, when he'd heard there were still kids in the Nursery, there hadn't been any other candidates. Right then, he'd have given anything to turn back, to forget that overheard comment, but his feet kept moving him into danger. He trotted up the ramp into the Nursery. The place was a blasted chaos, a gaping hole ripped in the hull just inside the safety airlock. As he passed the hole, he stopped and leaned out. The fighting wasn't close, it was here. A phalanx of friendly armored units rolled past, a pair each of Lynx and Panthers, their big tires kicking up rooster-tails of dust, and right behind them, a lumbering Tiger, its hull and turrets blackened from multiple hits, but still fighting. An enemy Lynx raced from behind the University and paused for a moment before being blasted into ruin by fire from the assembled friendlies. Then the building shook from a series of explosions, suggesting that more enemies were near.

Just beyond the bulkhead, he knew, was the locker room, where the emergency gear was stored, and where the kids would be, if they were still alive. He had to pry the door open with a piece of metal salvaged from the wreckage. Inside, a chunk of the roof had collapsed, lockers stood open, disaster gear thrown about. Then something in the corner moved. He found two boys who looked to be three or four years old, huddled in their transparent rescue balls. The colony couldn't afford to keep spacesuits in all the sizes needed by growing children, so the rescue balls were provided as a substitute. They were pressurized to keep the kids alive, but they severely limited mobility. In theory, an adult would always be around to carry the children to safety. In theory. He looked down at their tear-streaked faces and cursed shortcuts, the very shortcuts his department had approved a few years earlier.

He grabbed a carry-strap in each hand and half-carried, half-dragged the two boys through the lock. Another explosion rocked the building, and the floor tilted suddenly, as though one of the foundation pylons had collapsed. With no time to waste, he let the boys roll down the ramp into the tunnel. Not the best ride, but it was quick, and bruises would heal. The alternative was much more permanent. His heart sank as he thought of the long tunnels back to the Command Center. The Evac Transports wouldn't wait forever, but there was no choice. He put his head down, grabbed the straps on the rescue balls, and slid them along the slick floor as quickly as he could.

With his eyes on his own feet, and not enough air to carry the sound, he didn't hear the service cart until it was right in front of him. A woman he didn't immediately recognize sat in the driver's seat. It didn't matter. She was an angel as far as he was concerned. Without a word, she helped him load the kids into the rear cargo bin. She climbed back into her seat, and he was about to join her, when the tunnel roof behind him collapsed. He was pelted with rock and thrown against the far wall. He looked up, and the service cart appeared to be okay. Then he looked back to see what had happened.

A good 50 meters of tunnel had caved in, forming a ramp of debris from the surface down to the tunnel floor, a ramp that was occupied by a fast-moving enemy Tiger. Mort looked back at the woman and waved her on. There was no way she could outrun it, and the straight tunnel would put her in gun range for at least another half kilometer. The Tiger was on the tunnel floor now, and moving his way, more cautiously now. The big turrets were turning toward them, the ugly muzzles of the weapons swinging into view.

Mort didn't know what to do. He was unarmed, helpless against the big vehicle. So he did the only thing he could. He stood in the middle of the tunnel and held out his hands: "Stop!" To his surprise, it did stop, long enough for the muzzles of the weapons to train directly on him. So close was he to the monster's treads that the two weapons had him in a deadly cross-fire. He looked back. The cart was stuck in loose debris, its wheels spinning. He could see the two boys in their rescue balls, eyes wide looking at the Tiger.

In the Tiger, electronic eyes must have been looking back, and through them, a human operator, for no computer would have done what came next. The Tiger, which could have crushed Mort Paris flat, blown him to plasma, killed him any of a hundred ways, began to back away. The treads churned as it turned and began to climb back out of the tunnel.