Terran Commonwealth, Epsilon Prime, Garipan, Northwest Military Airfield

  Time: Late November, 2510

  The Thor mech was hauled to the military airfield northwest of Garipan. When Jack arrived with the transport, a task force under Orion Fleet command had already assembled in the shadows—its carriers looming like steel leviathans, flanked by Paladin-SF mechs in dark green urban camo.

  Spotting Jack, a lieutenant colonel strode forward, extending a hand. “Lieutenant Jack, I presume? I’m Lt. Col. Nash, Commonwealth Military Intelligence.”

  Jack glanced around. “Major Nya not here?”

  Nash smirked, used to men smitten by Nya’s charm. “She’s got other priorities. This op’s on me.”

  Jack let out a disappointed grunt and listened as Nash laid out the mission.

  “You know the target,” Nash said, his words clipped and rapid, tinged with a thick Hades Rim drawl. “We need to extract him before the Tartarus Legion does. If that’s not possible, the bottom line is to take him out on the spot. Under no circumstances can the Draconian Imperium get him alive.”

  Jack nodded. “And the unit we’re rolling with?”

  Nash handed him a map and jerked his chin toward the Orion Fleet detachment. “See those? A full battalion of Warhounds Special Forces, straight from the capital. Finest spec ops in the Commonwealth.”

  The Warhounds… Jack’s mind flashed to their legend—one of the Commonwealth’s top-tier special forces. He hadn’t expected them for this.

  He eyed the soldiers boarding, their movements sharp with elite precision, and muttered, “No one else?”

  “If you make it here,” Nash tapped an evac point on the map, “a recon regiment from the 16th Air-Land Division will link up with you.”

  Jack blinked. “The 16th? I thought they were on the front lines. Heard their recon got pulled in too.”

  “Pulled back already,” Nash said with a grin. “Once Garrow Hill’s offensive cooled, Command yanked your old unit off the line. They’re already pushing forward along the Third Highway defense.”

  Jack cursed under his breath. Those old bastards. They planned this all along, dragging my old unit into it and tossing me this job like it’s a favor.

  After confirming coordinates, drop routes, and comms frequencies with Nash, Jack finally piloted his beat-up Thor mech into the rear bay of one of Orion Fleet’s transport carriers. [SFX: anti-grav_whine // ramp_hiss_close] .

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  A faint hiss of pressure release sounded as the hatch sealed. The anti-gravity propulsion roared to life, the vessel rising like an iron beast ready to leap.Inside the bay, a squad of Warhounds in spec ops gear turned as one to size up Jack and his mech. Their stares carried naked curiosity, disdain, and scrutiny.

  Leading them was Lt. Col. Slade, a towering slab of a man, shoulders broad as armor plating, voice booming like a shipwide broadcast. He sauntered over, flashing an exaggerated grin, and clapped Jack’s shoulder pauldron hard.

  “Lieutenant, relax! With the Warhounds here, nothing’s going wrong!” Slade’s enthusiasm was aggressive, his eyes pinning Jack. “Look at you—desk jockey or cockpit hog, no in-between. Bet you wouldn’t last three days in our training camp before they carried you out.”

  The blow nearly staggered Jack. Laughter erupted from the nearby Warhounds, their mockery unfiltered. “What, some general’s pet project?”

  Jack grimaced but kept his mouth shut. Silence, he knew, would dull their taunts faster than a comeback.

  Laugh it up, you greenhorns who haven’t even tasted real blood. Try rolling in the mud for a night, then talk elite.

  Slade wasn’t done. He grinned wider, switching topics. “O’Neil, what’s your rank in Crucible: Infinite War?”

  O’Neil scowled. “Fifteen thousand something. Stuck.”

  “Better than you!” Slade puffed his chest. “Just cracked twelve thousand!” He slapped O’Neil’s helmet, swaggering. “Billions of players worldwide, and we’re up there. Shows the Warhounds dominate real and virtual battlefields!”

  “Bullshit,” O’Neil muttered. “The real pros haven’t even logged on. Shame Loki only showed once and vanished. He’d crack the top thousand easy.”

  Jack’s nerves twitched.

  They’re talking about me? Have we… crossed paths?

  The bay buzzed as the Warhounds swapped Loki stories.

  “That guy’s not human!” Slade’s tone turned icy. “In a net sim, I was leading a push. He set a trap as a damn engineer, collapsed a whole mountain, and buried my entire company!”

  “He’s swiped at least twenty parts from me in the global server!” O’Neil growled.

  Slade’s fist clenched, a cold smirk curling his lips. “If I catch that bastard in real life… heh.”

  Jack stood in the corner, his face twitching faintly.

  He didn’t laugh.

  This wasn’t a joke.

  He knew every word was accurate.

  Talk about bad luck.

  After twelve days of travel, the Orion Fleet finally arrived in orbit near the Imperial homeworld.

  Following a three-hour flight, the shuttle captain’s voice came through the comms: twenty minutes to the target airspace.

  The bay’s chatter died. The Warhounds cycled through bathroom breaks, gear checks, and hushed silence, the air filled only with the scrape of gloves on metal and the sound of shallow breaths.

  Jack smirked coldly.

  Thought your nerves were titanium and your bladders plasma-sealed? Guess fear of death doesn’t care who you are.

  Ten minutes later, the green drop signal flared, and a piercing depressurization alarm screamed through the bay.

  [SFX: cabin_depressurize_alarm // launch_bay_door_open]

  The shuttle’s belly hatch yawned open.

  Hundreds of Paladin-SF mechs erupted from the sky like rain, electromagnetic catapults hurling them into the night, trailing streaks of glowing exhaust like meteors crashing into the battlefield.

  [HUD: ALTITUDE 10,000m... 5,000m... // DROP SEQUENCE INITIATED]

  [HUD: IFF_TAGS: SCATTER_PATTERN_GAMMA // 387 Paladin-SF Variants]

  Jack was the last through the hatch.

  The g-force slammed him back as he closed his eyes, wind howling like blades in his ears. The HUD flickered with altitude and speed, rain streaking across the cockpit canopy, each drop pounding like a war drum.

  The rain’s here. The hunt’s on. Time for the coward to take the stage.