Report: Stonewood, L The airspace above Moscow. Russia. A radioactive "exclusion zone". Neutral territory, until now. I sat in the pilot's seat of Dropship 13, head bobbing, as the sweet melody of Elton John was hammered out over the speaker system. It was intended to be a shipwide system for announcing things to the mech pilots onboard, but it had seen more use as a stereo system. The song's beat was mangled by static and age but the melody rang loud and clear. Loud was what counted. Loud meant that I couldn't hear the battle going on below. I couldn't hear the pilots I'd transported to their deaths. Elton John's snappy melody spoke to me. After all, we'd been through the alliance was still standing, but I certainly wasn't feeling like a survivor. I'd never fought in a battle. I just maintained the mechs, flew the dropship, and did patchwork to both mechs and pilots. Fix them up and ship them back out. The cycle was endless. I sent pilots out until they either came back victo
Report: Park The irradiated remains of Moscow. Russia. A radioactive "exclusion zone". Neutral territory, until now. I swivelled the body of my Predator impatiently. Jackson was still nowhere to be seen and Martin had fallen oddly silent. Instead, I marched dutifully behind the jerk in a silver mech. Who painted a mech silver anyway? What kind of advantage did that get you? Certainly not camouflage. "The highest concentration of enemies remaining in the city will be in this direction," I stated, more to continue to sound in charge than to be helpful. "They'll have Legions with close-combat weapons guarding the long-range mechs. I believe there are still Russian forces scattered around as well, so be ready for anything." The Xiezhi's body swivelled toward me again. I could sense the pilot inside was growing impatient. "You assume I haven't fought in a battle before?" the pilot responded, voice crackling over the comm channel. "Am I the only one wondering what the heck is happen
Report: Quinn The irradiated remains of Moscow. Russia. A radioactive "exclusion zone". Neutral territory, until now. God, did my hands ever hurt. The duct tape pulled at the burns on my palms as I swerved like a madman to avoid enemy fire. I closed the distance fast, long-range missiles pockmarking the ground behind me. If the pilots of the artillery mechs had been truly good at their jobs they would've led their shots, but the violent beginnings of the Iron War had chewed up most of the veterans. Now it was inexperienced pilots like us left to end it. The long-range missiles kept missing and I kept swerving, closing the distance until I blew past Taewi Park's Predator and-was that a Xiezhi? "Hey, Taewi!" I called. "How goes the battle?" "That's as good a distraction as any!" Martin shouted. "Push now!" I continued forward, my one remaining plasma launcher and brand new railgun firing continuously. I heard a loud hum above my head. I snuck a glance upward as I ran and the s
Report: Fisk The Nevada Desert. Arizona. Axion manufacturing base. Designation: "The Forge" The door to my office slid open with a quiet hiss, flooding the room with dim light from the hallway outside. The shadow made a perfect rectangular shape on my floor. This pleased me. The interruption did not. "Director Fisk, sir?" I sat up, taking my eyes off the console I had been watching. I cleared my throat. "Yes, soldier?" A young man stood before me, tan military uniform infuriatingly dishevelled. He was clearly one of the newer folks here in Nevada, shipped in only a month before. The man's brown military crew-cut was slowly growing back, neglected due to stress, and a five' o'clock shadow darkened his tanned skin. His green eyes darted around the room in a nervous motion, scanning for my reaction. Even his stubble was lopsided. I tried to push the annoyance from my mind. The soldier seemed nervous. Scared, even. A pity, considering the man had nothing to fear. He was worth
Report: Quinn Just off the coast of Nova Scotia. Canada. Alliance home base. Designation: "The Firmament" The sounds of laughter filled the Firmament's hollow interior, bouncing through the metal tube from its shining top to its watery base. Most of the Firmament's crew was packed onto the mezzanine level-a mezzanine only in name, being located on one of the highest levels of the tower. The mezz was where stories were shared, friends were made and, most importantly, meals were eaten. While most platforms occupied about half of the total circumference of the Firmament's massive interior, the mezz filled the entire space, spanning from end to end, save for a large hole in the middle. This donut-shaped design was quite intentional-it allowed light from the domed ceiling to reach the rest of the Firmament evenly, and could provide a narrow escape route for dropships in case of emergencies. Compared to the stark metal design of many of the lower floors, this platform was downright h
The alarm began twenty minutes after our toast, ringing out through the Firmament's cavernous interior. The alarm was met without panic, but with a great deal of annoyance-it was no emergency, merely a call to a mandatory meeting for all pilots. It was high time for a debrief, I supposed. Twenty-five minutes after our toast was when the real panic started. "Attention all citizens," the announcement began. "My name is Director Draco Fisk, and this is a public broadcast from Axion Industries with the approval of the United States Government." A projector had been set up in the main hangar level, casting a screen onto the smooth surface of a nearby wall. We were all seated in the briefing area in a nervous manner, chattering amongst ourselves. The room quieted as the video continued. The man before us on screen was clean-shaven and grim, his black and white suit a stark contrast against the grey backdrop of an office. Blue eyes, blond hair with only a wisp of grey. He looked like a s
Lucas raised a finger. "How, exactly, did he figure that out?" "I was stupid," Dan grimaced. "I put too much of my old Axion designs into the Prowler. Draco knows my style better than anyone, and in my arrogance, I made a mech that resembled an old Axion design I never got around to building." "So, what now?" The voice belonged to Commander Telbus. He stood with Dan near the front of the room, next to Mallet and a few other commanders. Mallet gave Martin a curt nod. "For now, we resume operations as usual." Mallet's gaze shifted around the room once more. "We're going to make a supply run next," she announced. "Government finance is tight and we desperately need new IRON chips. Black market dealers are willing to sell us shipments, but the prices are getting higher as Axion cracks down on knockoff chip-makers." Another murmur swept the room. It was true, then, that we were low on IRON chips. That meant that it likely wasn't just my supply that had been half-empty. "There is a
"You've got to be kidding me." I stared up in horror at the mech before me. Daylight shone through the glass dome high above, tinted grey by the cloudy Atlantic weather. In the trench far below, the choppy, gunmetal grey sea mirrored the colourless sky. Light bounced off the mech that hung before me, the replacement for my Prowler. A Crusader. I threw up my hands in disbelief. The mech was the smallest of the two British models. Like the Crusader used by Martin, the mech's frame resembled the armour of a knight, titanium plating spreading upward into a squat cockpit and broad, sloping shoulders. The entire mech seemed hunched forward and unbalanced, protected only by the thick lead shield it held in front of it. Upon closer inspection, the shield hung on a track attached to the mech's right shoulder and could slide in and out of position at will to allow for mobility and adaptability. My concern was that this shield was the mech's only defence mechanism. Without its shield, the C