P19 faced invasion for the second time.
DropShips tore into the atmosphere in waves, their hulls painted in clashing colors and crude heraldry—skulls, flames, broken House symbols, personal sigils. Pirate bands. Dozens of them. Separate groups, working together under a loose and temporary coalition.
The planet was not ready.
The militant certainly wasn't.
Before the pirates could even finish their landings, the two remaining governors made the only choice they had left. They turned to the one force on P19 that had already proven capable of stopping an invasion.
The mercenary.
Silas.
There was no time for negotiation. No time to haggle over C-Bills or salvage rights. The planet was poor, and everyone involved knew it. Payment would be settled later—if there was a "later" at all.
What P19 did have were functioning radar installations.
DropShip trajectories were tracked. Landing zones predicted. Coordinates were fed directly to Silas's command console—the closest pirate landing sites highlighted in red.
That was enough.
Gaia's reactor spun up, the deep hum reverberating through the reinforced facility. Systems came online one by one, Phase Shift Armor flooding the frame with a faint sapphire glow.
Beside him, another reactor answered.
The Zaku Warrior powered up.
Vanessa climbed into her machine without hesitation. This would be her first real combat deployment—not a simulation, not a patrol. Real enemies. Real fire.
They departed the facility together, but for very different reasons.
Silas fought because it was right—and because it was his job.
Vanessa fought for vengeance.
They split en route, targeting the nearest confirmed landing site.
When they arrived, the Union-class DropShip was already descending, its engines scorching the ground beneath it. Even before it fully touched down, its defensive turrets began cycling up, and the cargo ramps started to open.
Mechs. Vehicles. Infantry.
They never got the chance to organize.
Silas raised Gaia's beam rifle and fired.
The coherent energy lance tore through the Union's point-defense emplacements with surgical precision. Turrets vanished in blinding flashes, armor slagged, internal systems collapsing in cascading failures.
The DropShip was effectively blind and toothless before its cargo even cleared the ramps.
Vanessa didn't wait for orders.
Her assault beam rifle roared to life, rapid-fire pulses lancing into the unloading formation. Light 'Mechs detonated as their cockpits were pierced. Vehicles vanished in fire and molten wreckage. Pirates scattered, formations collapsing instantly under the shock of the attack.
This wasn't a battle.
It was an execution.
And it was only the beginning.
—///—-
Theodore — Orion Cockpit POV
I squeeze the trigger again.
The Orion's autocannon roars, recoil shuddering through the cockpit as the shell slams home. The pirate Mech's cockpit vanishes in a bloom of fire and twisted armor.
Five.
That makes five kills.
It should feel like something.
It doesn't.
By every report scrolling across my tactical display, there are at least five pirate lances pressing our position. Light Mechs mostly. Fast. Reckless. Individually weak.
Together, they are crushing us.
We are being pushed back.
< MISSILE LOCK DETECTED >
< INCOMING >
I haul the Orion behind the shattered remains of a ferrocrete hab-block as LRMs rain down, explosions hammering the ground around us. The impacts shake the cockpit hard enough to rattle my teeth.
Armor integrity holds. For now.
And then there are the civilians.
Too many of them.
Men and women with barely any training, armed with rifles, jury-rigged launchers, anything they could grab. This is the truth of worlds like ours. When help does not come, people fight anyway. Not because they think they will win.
Because their families are behind them.
My thoughts flicker to my daughter.
She is somewhere out there on this battlefield, in her own machine, under Silas's command.
I shove the thought down.
I cannot afford it.
The Militant needs me focused.
Despite everything, despite how green we are, my people are fighting like devils. Kill markers blink across my HUD as pirate Mechs fall, smoking wrecks littering the field. If nothing else, it is clear their pilots are just as inexperienced as ours.
Some of what I am seeing is insane.
A squad of infantry breaks cover and rushes a damaged pirate Mech. One of them climbs onto the machine itself, clinging to scorched armor while another fires a short-range missile launcher point blank into its torso.
The explosion tears the pirate Mech apart.
The men do not survive.
< ENEMY UNIT DESTROYED >
BOOM.
Another pirate machine collapses in flames.
Then the price.
< COMMANDO DOWN >
< PILOT ALIVE >
I glance left. The Militant Commando lies crumpled in the dirt, one leg twisted at an impossible angle. Reactor readings remain stable.
< RECOVERY TEAM HAS THE PILOT >
< MOVING HIM OUT >
I let out a breath I did not realize I was holding.
Turning back to the battlefield, I force myself to reassess. The tactical display is a mess. Contacts everywhere. Overlapping threat zones. Friendly icons blinking out one by one.
We are bleeding.
Slowly losing ground.
Trading machines we cannot afford to lose.
I make the call anyway.
Theodore: All units, push forward. Do not let them regroup. Hit them hard.
It goes against every instinct I have. But we do not win by sitting still.
We are outnumbered.
Outgunned.
But we have bloodied them.
If we can break their momentum, break their morale, maybe they scatter. Maybe they are alone out here, just another pirate coalition that bit off more than it could chew.
And if fortune favors us,
we might just survive this.
—///—-
Vanessa — Zaku Warrior Cockpit POV
Splitting off from the commander after neutralizing our third Union is slow, grinding work.
Each landing zone takes time—methodical destruction of pirate heavy elements, one by one. Once the third Union goes down, we change tactics. Instead of hunting Dropships, we separate to engage individual enemy lances. Ammo and E-packs aren't infinite, and this battle is far from over.
My primary ranged weapon runs dry.
I don't hesitate.
Heat axes deploy.
I spot an enemy lance ahead and push in immediately, closing the distance for close-quarters combat. This is where I'm strongest.
Thrusters flare as I drive the Zaku forward hard, compressing the gap fast. My handheld weapons aren't beam systems like the commander's beam saber, but they don't need to be. The heat axes hum as they reach full output.
I tear into the first machine.
The axes cut deep into pirate armor—too deep. Their plating peels back far easier than it should. From what I can tell, these pirates barely maintain their machines. Internal structure shows through scorched armor with every strike.
Ballistic fire slams into my armor in response.
It does nothing.
Autocannon rounds spark and shatter, bouncing off harmlessly. Lasers fare little better—surface scorching, shallow burns—but I'm careful not to let them maintain sustained fire.
That's the danger.
The commander's armor—our Phase Shift system—is incredible at stopping damage, but it traps heat. When lasers or PPCs hit us, the energy doesn't just vanish. It bleeds into the frame, raising internal temperatures fast.
If heat climbs too high, the suit reacts on its own.
Automatic venting.
And when venting starts, Phase Shift shuts down.
Our machines have powerful coolant systems, but if Phase Shift traps too much energy, the system forces itself offline to prevent a shutdown—or worse.
That moment is vulnerability.
Limits.
Even with machines like ours, limits still exist.
Still—my Zaku Warrior is a beast.
I've already wiped out multiple enemy lances on my own.
<> Beep <>
A sharp warning tone cuts through my cockpit.
I shift my Zaku sideways, eyes snapping to the radar.
Heavy contact.
A Dragon.
I grin.
"All right," I mutter. "That's more like it."
I give the machine a running start, thrusters burning hot as I charge straight at it, both axes raised high.
Call it reckless.
My heat is climbing—but I don't slow down.
The Dragon doesn't hesitate. It unleashes an alpha strike, lasers and autocannon fire hammering into me as I close the distance. Impacts rattle my frame, heat warnings flaring across my displays.
Too late for it.
I break through the firestorm and bring both axes down in a single, brutal swing.
The cockpit caves in.
The Dragon drops instantly, dead before it hits the ground.
<> Warning — Phase Shift Disengaging <>
Multiple alerts scream at once.
Too much heat.
Too many laser impacts.
Phase Shift shuts down automatically, coolant vents opening as my armor system cuts out.
For a moment, I'm exposed.
Vulnerable.
I exhale slowly and roll my shoulders inside the harness.
"That's fine," I say.
"It just means I dodge more."
I bring the Zaku back up to speed, eyes scanning for the next target.
And I'm still hungry for pirate blood.
END