"ASRU-4, you are cleared for drop in thirty seconds…"
Jethro Tenser sat uneasily in the cockpit seat of his M9, shifting uncomfortably under the restraints of the clamps that had locked over his torso. He never had felt very comfortable in any AS cockpit before… it had just been one of those things that he could never get used to.
The young man looked into his cockpit's main optics-monitor, watching the sprawling cityscape below. He wasn't new to the sight of downtown Los Angeles several hundred feet below him; in fact, he had seen it on many occasions. The city had just become so intricate and networked that it would take ages to try and reach a destination on the ground. It was much more efficient to fly AS's to the problem and drop them directly.
The police, after all, had to be as quick as they could in emergencies.
"Hey," A new frequency opened up from the M9 parallel to Jethro's, also being ferried to the drop-point by a carrier jet. Its arms were sticking out to the sides as a result of the clamps on its shoulders. "You ready for our first assignment in these new toys?"
Jethro brushed a few stray strands of his fire-red hair from his eyes, adjusting the pilot's helmet on his head. "Hardly… these things still have the standard operating systems coded in on them. They'll handle nothing like our standard LAPD M6's."
Some silence on the frequency. Then the other pilot, "Ah, so what? I bet they still handle the same… basically, at least."
"You'd better hope so, Andy," Jethro said with a grin. He could already see the target AS's down below. RK-92 Savages, by the looks of it… and painted with wildly flamboyant custom colours. He counted four of them, brandishing assault rifles and standing guard around a three-storey building. "It looks like a bunch of punks trying to hold one of the embassies hostage. Which embassy was it again?"
"ASRU-4, you are cleared for drop in ten seconds…"
"Uh, Greek, I think…" Andy Packard replied, his police-blue M9 readying itself in the clamps. Jethro began to do the same with his M9, drawing its legs up and steadying himself against the seat for the sensation of falling…
"ASRU-4, releasing your clamps."
"Roger," Jethro managed before the metal pincers of the carrier jet let loose and sent his Arm Slave plummeting towards the highway. He could already see the small, ant-sized figures of policemen who had formed roadblocks so the M9's could land safely on the street. "Andy, how're you doing?"
"Falling faster than you," Andy said shakily, obviously feeling the retribution of gravity. "Probably has somethin' to do with this heavy shot-rifle they equipped my M9 with."
"Maybe," Jethro nodded, his legs and arms pressing tightly against the control-locks they'd been placed in. He was only about fifty feet from the ground by now. "A.I! Respond!"
Yes? The mechanical voice of the M9's A.I obliged, waiting for its pilot's command.
"Find altitude and activate Impact Pack at twenty-five feet!"
Affirmative
Jethro braced for impact, pressing himself back into his seat. He unfurled the legs of his blue M9, readying them to take the shock of landing. The two large, cylindrical tanks mounted on the calves of the metal giant would hopefully turn aside most of the force.
Activating Impact Pack The A.I confirmed, and the M9's legs became enveloped in a streaming white aura. There was a fantastic crashing sound as the AS hit the ground, folding into a kneel to ablate as much impact damage as it could. Jethro's entire world rattled like mad for a moment before the violent motion calmed and he was left to regain his senses while the Impact packs fell from his M9's calves. When he groggily checked the structural screen, he found no damage had been dealt to his mecha.
"That's a relief…" Jethro stood his M9 up and looked down at the four brightly-coloured Savages; they were all reloading. Obviously, they'd been firing at him and Andy as they'd dropped. He called his partner by his codename. "ASRU-5? Come in, ASRU-5."
"Right here," A massive metal hand was placed on the angular shoulder of Jethro's M9. The redhead turned his AS's head to stare straight into an identical visor-piece. At least Andy had also made it down without a hitch.
"Good stuff… let's get this done with," Jethro flipped down the eyepiece of his pilot's helmet before drawing his M9's auto-shotgun. He activated the external microphone on his AS.
"RK-92 pilots! We'll only say this once: climb out of your AS's and come out with your hands up!"
"It looks like LAPD ain't interested in our terms…" One of the Savage pilots responded, also on its external microphone. Jethro wasn't sure which one had spoken, as they had all left their posts on the sides of the building to face the two police AS's. He guessed it was the one painted in red-and-black. "We'll blow the embassy sky-high once we're done with these morons. Get 'em!"
"They always have to make a Butch Cassidy scene out of this, don't they?" Andy sighed, before drawing his M9's shot-rifle up to target the nearest Savage, a blue-and-orange one. "A'right, you've had your chances! Now we settle this Old-west style!"
Jethro put a leg forward, sending his M9 into a sprint. Its blue-tinted hands worked with the shotgun, loading oversized buckshot slugs into it as it ran before leaping off the highway and landing ten feet below in the Greek Embassy parking lot. He stood no more than five meters from a black-and-white Savage, pointing its Russian-styled assault rifle directly at Jethro.
The shotgun went off as the young pilot pulled the joystick trigger, spraying high-velocity buckshot into the anarchist AS. Most of the shots had penetrated the shell-like machine's stomach and waist, and its legs gave out under it in a torrent of black smoke. Having seen it had fallen on its shredded stomach, Jethro stepped his M9 forward through the smoke and gave a heavy kick to its right hand, knocking the assault rifle from its hand. Just to be sure it wouldn't be able to do anything more he stepped back again and kicked again, aiming for its head. The dish-shaped servo caved in under the powerful blow, rendering the pilot inside without a means of seeing.
"I'll give you one more chance," Jethro's voice boomed through the M9's external microphone. "Exit your AS and come out with your-"
Warning: Approaching Heat Source at Seven-o'-Clock The A.I droned suddenly, giving Jethro enough forewarning to dodge the burst of gunfire that came his way. Whirling his M9 out of the black smoke, he raised his auto-shotgun to bear at the red-and-black Savage he'd taken notice of earlier. But with a shower of sparks and a rattle of gunfire, the strangely-coloured RK-92 deftly shot the firearm from the hands of Jethro's AS.
"You thought you were good enough to just waltz in here and take us all out?" The pilot laughed scornfully and clicked back the catch on its rifle. "Imagine the looks on your superiors' faces when they realize that one of their Arm Slave Response Units were taken out so easily."
"Think again!" Jethro spat, pushing his M9 into a pouncing run, drawing its one arm behind its waist. With a glint of glass and steel the sleek Arm Slave had pulled its Monomolecular knife from its sheath, its other arm in front of its chest to shield the cockpit. The black-and-red Savage opened fire as its pilot screamed in surprised fury, the bullets slamming into the M9 and cracking its armor plating.
Zschk!
The knife plunged into the Savage's carapace, sinking into upper torso. Jethro heard the enemy AS's gun abruptly stop firing; either it had run out of shots or the pilot had been killed. The latter was confirmed when Jethro pulled the knife out and thick, red blood ran down its edge. "Damn it. That wasn't supposed to happen…"
He shoved the broken form of the leader Savage over, and looked over to his right. Andy's M9 was striking a dramatic pose over the smoking hulks of the remaining two Savages while keeping a wary eye on the surrendering pilots. Jethro absently kicked the black-and-white Savage, and its pilot slowly came out… by the looks of it he couldn't have been more than eighteen years-old.
"Good boy," Jethro muttered, sheathing his M9's MM knife and fiddling around with the frequency adjustor on his comm. unit.
"ASRU Command? This is ASRU-4. Threat neutralized. Three hostiles arrested, one hostile eliminated. Minimal damage taken. Requesting cleanup crew ASAP."
"Roger, ASRU-4. Arm Slave Response Unit Command, over and out."
The nineteen year-old policeman pulled off his helmet and opened his M9's hatch. He climbed onto the machine's head and sat there as he watched the policemen-on-standby handcuff the surviving Savage pilot he'd dealt with. "Hasn't been such a great day for you, has it?"