Iron Empire

Fifty-Three: Hornet's Nest

The hangar was in chaos. Pilots and technicians alike rushed from platform to platform, completing final preparations for the coming conflict.

I stood on one of the Firmament's highest platforms, at the base of my Spartan. Just above me, Dropship 13 sat on its landing pedestal, its hangar doors wide open.

It occurred to me I was looking up at my father's legacy, staring at the mysterious mech that it seemed he had created.

With any luck, today was the day I would accomplish the goal he had died attempting.

Ending the Iron War, once and for all.

I'd informed Mallet of Laura's departure early this morning, as well as most of what Laura had said. I had glossed over Laura's negative opinions toward Mallet's command, figuring it was a discussion the two could have when the war was through.

Mallet had been crushed, though she tried not to show it, upon discovering that her ex's dropship had indeed departed the Firmament late last night. Mallet had returned to her office to strategize, telling me to begin addressing my squad without her and that she'd be along shortly after.

I had a squad. It was official.

I was now Commander Jackson Quinn.

So there I stood, at the base of a mech I'd only just begun to understand, attempting to fill a role I hoped I was worthy of. It helped that both Martin and Sojwa stood next to me, ready to interject should I need aid. I had led small squads before on infiltration missions, but this was no mere infiltration.

I was leading over eighty people into battle, many of which would not return. Everyone was counting on myself, Martin and Sojwa to lead us to victory.

Canadian and Korean pilots alike were gathered together in front of me, milling around the hangar. Sojwa's squadron was getting along famously with the pilots of the Firmament—the amicable chatter was almost deafening.

Martin nodded in my direction. It was time.

"Pilots!" he called.

A few heads closest to us turned.

"Pilots!" Martin shouted again.

More people looked, but some still talked, unaware.

Sojwa frowned, bent down and grabbed a discarded wrench from the hangar floor. With a childlike grin she whipped her arm around and smashed the wrench against my Spartan's new armour plating.

The impact was thunderous, the hollow armour catching and carrying the sound through the whole tower. The talking stopped.

I grinned. Not a scratch. The Spartan was unscathed.

"Pilots!" Martin called. "If we may have your attention, please!"

He nodded at me.

"Good morning everyone!" I called. "I hope that you all got the rest you needed, because that chance is gone now."

A few chuckles. At least they were listening.

"Many of you will notice that your usual mechs have been modified, your weapons have been changed, or that you have a new mech entirely," I continued. "Because of the siege on Yamantau we are low on Predators and are not expecting a new shipment from our Chinese allies until next month."

All eyes were on me, now. I felt no small pressure to make sure everyone was ready.

I raised a finger.

"However, some of you have another choice. We had to get creative when equipping your mechs and it means some pilots will be employing some interesting strategies." I grinned. "Take, for example, a little something we like to call the Wedge."