[ WP ] Make me terrified of an inanimate object

May 6th, 3146. 
 
 Kamenz, Lyran Commonwealth, Inner Sphere. 
 
 Lofton's Lancers Training Depot. ( Temporary ) 
 
 -- 
 
 The hanger had seen better days, the corrugated iron roof rusting and pitted as were the walls. But it was dry, as was unfortunately most things on this god forsaken planet. The entire world was an alkaline desert it seemed, a great expanse of hard soil and stale water. Staff Sergeant Sergei Petrenko's uniform was caked in dust as he entered the darkened building, his eyes adjusting to the shadows of the large space. Inside was a collection of tables and chart boards, rows and rows of equipment spread out on the cool concrete. Waiting were a score of men and women talking amongst themselves, most of them young. They had the eager look of those who had yet to see combat, as green as sheep shit. 
 
 `` Atten-*shun*!'' Petrenko shouted. 
 
 The twenty recruits snapped to attention, either trained previously in one of the Great Houses militaries or else taught in the basic training the Lancers had for true greenhorns. Graduates of the latter were rare; few civilians had the urge to just join up with mercenary company on a whim. It saw far more use training the children and siblings of current Lancers to join their parents and brothers and sisters. 
 
 `` My name is Staff Sergeant Sergei Petrenko.'' The NCO said as he paced through the cluster of men and women. `` And you are here to slay giants! David and Goliath, Jack the Giant Killer, Peter and the Wolf. Fables, fairy tales yes, but an echo of truth rings through them.'' 
 
 The training sergeant walked over to a table, picking up a wooden club about five feet long and tipped by a lethal looking spike. He brandished it for his audience to see, 
 
 `` This, is a Goedendag. The Flemish used it during Terra's Middle Ages against the French knights. It was the first time in human history that the infantryman soundly defeated his mounted foe. At the Battle of the Golden Spurs, the Flemish foot soldiers defeated so many knights, that they took the spurs of the feet of the dead Frenchmen and hung them for all to see.'' 
 
 Sergeant Petrenko set the spiked club down on its table, picking up an ancient muzzle loading gun with fixed bayonet. 
 
 `` This, is the Pattern 1853 Enfield. A reproduction sadly, and not even the correct weapon for the time. On the 25th of October, 1854 British Highlanders formed a two man deep line against charging Russian cavalry. Then current doctrine ordered a square formation against horsemen but the Highlander's commander ignored this. His faith in the skill of his men was absolute. Most soldiers would have ran, most would have let the fear of the thundering hooves and flashing sabers get the better of them but they did n't. They fire once, twice, three times they did. Icy was their blood. Not one Russian rider made it to the Thin Red Line.'' 
 
 `` During the Pacific War, the Imperial Japanese troops suffered greatly from a lack of material and equipment. Their tanks were lacking compared to the then United States' forces, their anti-tank guns barely adequate. But they had a belief that spirit would triumph over any numbers or technological advantage. They considered it a success to destroy an American tank while losing a handful of men. Five men for a tank was a motto. It was a bloody affair, but it was effective.'' 
 
 `` Those examples are all from Terra's pre-spaceflight era, before the rise of the greatest machine ever to grace mankind's battlefields. *'A Mech as powerful as possible, as impenetrable as possible, and as ugly and foreboding as conceivable, so that fear itself will be our ally.'* That was what Alexander Kerensky demanded when he ordered production the first Atlas and by God did they deliver.'' 
 
 The sergeant pointed at the ancient *RZK-10S Razorback* behind the trainees. The two and a half story tall `` light'' mech possessed reverse-jointed legs, aka chicken legs. The Snub-Nosed PPC was battered and inoperable, the MML-5 little better. At least the ER Small Lasers worked. 
 
 `` In an Atlas, such a machine is hardly scary. But to us, the poor bloody infantry, it is a fearful machine, the *9S* model even more. It can move faster than you ever could, possesses more firepower than an entire platoon and has more armor than you could dream of. To hear it approach, all 30 tons of it advancing steadily, it pales the heart. To feel the earthquakes with each step and not shrink in your duty, it makes you feel even smaller than you are. When this creature, or any of its monstrous cousins come hunting for you, it is then that you will know true fear.'' 
 
 `` Now you, boys and girls, are to be Anti-Mech Jump Infantry. The best of the best, the slayers of beasts. But even the best are n't always good enough. Statiscally, 25 percent will die on their first mech attack. Whether shot trying to get close enough, shaken off like a rag doll or else scrapped against trees and buildings like a bug many of you will die. My job is to make sure you take a few mech jockeys before that happens. But this I promise you: the mechwarrior likes to think himself immortal safe behind all those tons of armor and weapons, but to see their face as you plant that satchel charge on their cockpit window or else burn through their entrance hatch is worth every loss and sacrifice. If only to let those overpaid bastards know what true terror is. Terror is the wolves clawing at the cabin door, the sharks encircling the sinking life raft or the soldier with his knife at a mechwarrior's throat. So tell me, what is our motto?'' 
 
 `` Death or Glory!'' Shouted the twenty foot soldiers. 
 
 `` Death or Glory. This I can promise, that you'll see plenty of both'' Said Staff Sergeant Petrenko.
