A/N: I'm having to take some liberties with the piloting system of both the MTs and Normals. I'd have liked it to be simple and just use the AMS, but unfortunately the whole 'psychic visual targeting thing' is not included in the MT package, and probably isn't entirely there for Normals (since Killdozer had so much trouble adapting, but was still able to). Also, all of the mentioned models of vehicles are from the games. I don't own them or pretty much anything else.
The MT's joints groaned ominously as it rose from its seated position, the legs unfolding to raise the cockpit high above the ground. Inside, Taro fought to keep his lunch down as the entire machine seemed to sway under him. After a moment, the computers in front of him beeped- It had stabilized.
Taro had gone to his room and fallen asleep almost immediately, still jetlagged from the trip- Going from the airconditioned cold of Cradle Zero Four to the glass-melting heat of the Australian Wasteland had sucked the energy straight out of the boy, and he had awoken to the sound of heavy machinery and a beeping console he hadn't noticed when he'd entered. It informed him that he would be immediately heading for piloting training, with only a brief time to grab some breakfast. Taro had eaten the rest of his food he'd brought with him before the time came.
The actual pilot's room inside the MT's 'head' was small. To the front and sides were screens displaying the view ahead of his MT, tinted in a headache-inducing green. There were less buttons than he'd expected; Instead, old and cracked touchscreens displayed simple options and readouts, most of which seemed to be green and presumably OK. One screen by his left arm displayed a diagram of the MT, with several areas redded out- A damage detector noting the missing armor plates, Taro guessed. He sat in a metal seat, his hands clutching two control sticks and his feet just able to reach what appeared to be pedals.
The identity and function of most of the things he saw eluded the boy, though. Fortunately, he wasn't alone in this.
"Alright, kid," Jackson said, his voice issuing from the headrest behind Taro. "There's a lot of stuff in a Tee, but it's made to be simple. A week's training should be enough to get you working it like a pro. Now, you see the screen directly ahead- Wait, what kinda Tee you operating?" There was a brief pause and a sound like paper rustling. "Oh, right. Same as ours, a... An MT63-MK Mamluk."
"What does that mean?" Taro asked, intrigued. He hesitantly turned the lefthand stick inward, and a targeting reticule suddenly appeared on the screen. It was a little off the center, towards the inside. At the same time, a creak echoed from Taro's lower left. Suprised, he moved it again; the reticule moved and the wall creaked.
"Hey, be careful with that. You're turning the left gun, and if you keep pushing it inwards it'll snap off. No sensors for that sorta thing, cheaper this way." Taro's hands flew off the sticks like they were burning. "Alright, then, uhh... There should be a screen in front of you, and it should display a bunch of different columns, with numbers and letters. Is there?"
Taro nodded. There were five columns, in fact, with the numbers and such in squares- The first displaying the numbers 1-5 while the second and third displayed just 1 and 2. The fourth had the letters 'F R P S', and the fifth had 'S G K H L'. A few squares were highlighted.
"Is there?"
Taro looked confused, until he realized that Jackson wasn't actually inside the MT with him, and thus couldn't see his nod. The boy turned beet red. "Yes, there is!" Look on the bright side, they wouldn't see that.
"Alright, good." The older pilot seemed to be holding back a laugh. "First column's for your speed, second and third are for ammo types- Don't worry about those just yet. Fourth is pretty obvious- Forward, Reverse, Park or Sit. Last one's for cockpit conditioning."
Taro couldn't help but grin at that. "Like a car?" It seemed amusing to think that a machine of war would have something so mundane as air conditioning. It certainly didn't feel like it did, though.
"Nothing like a car. Those five buttons are for hazards. S- Smoke, if you're fighting in an environment where there are fires burning. It turns up the air filtration. G locks up the air entirely, so you only have a half-hour or so on canned oxygen. The K means Kojima- Locks down the entire cockpit and hopefully keeps you from frying. Last two are heat-" He stopped, then said, ruefully, "which really is air conditioning, and finally Lockdown. That's for if you're captured by the enemy and need to keep 'em out, or if they're trying to cut their way inside with blowtorchs or something like that. Locks up the armor, legs, whole thing, and puts it into a seated position automatically. There's no way in unless you phyiscally tear the armor apart. Unfortunately, that also utterly ruins the MT except for use as spare parts. No way to unlock it. So don't use it unless you're really sure."
Taro blinked as once again information was dumped on him in a flood. "Um... I don't..."
"Don't worry, there's not gonna be a test. And you ain't likely to need to use those- We MTs usually don't take part in those kinds of fights. Now, there are pedals under your feet- You push the right one to turn right, and the left one to turn left. Pretty simple. Push both in to go forward- You can't turn and move at the same time, so be careful about that. Turn the MT to face me."
Taro pushed in the right pedal cautiously, and shut his eyes tight as the cockpit lurched again. After a moment, though, it settled down to something oddly more manageable, and Taro opened them.
The MT was still turning, but the cockpit had stopped shaking. Some kind of compensator, or something of the sort, had taken hold, and now Taro only felt a comparatively gentle rocking at the machine turned. He watched as the hangers of Langes turned beneath him until he faced the one where Jackson stood in front of.
"Alright... Good! Stop right there." Taro couldn't actually see the man- He was below the camera's view. "Move the joysticks down. The cameras'll follow."
Taro did so. The cameras swung, and so did the cockpit- Taro felt himself slide forward a little before the belt across his waist caught him, painfully. Below- Or was it ahead? Taro wasn't sure, but below Jackson could be seen, tiny and featureless in the cameras' grainy greenish sight. He had one hand near his face and the other clutching some papers.
"Good, good. Now, we're going to start working on moving the machine..."
The training continued into the day, until the alarm bells rang.
At the outskirts of the city called Metro, the towering figures of a Normal squadron watched over the crumbling, ancient highway that the city barely kept clear. Compared to the slim, obviously vehicular MTs, the Normals were bulky and almost comically oversized, even though both were roughly the same height. They were humanoid, with thick, square arms and legs, although their heads was small and covered in cameras and sensors. All were recognizable as GA03-Solarwinds.
Seated on the chest of the mech was a uniformed man with a buzzcut and plenty of scars on his face and arms. He looked like a marine, sitting straight like he expected to march out of his seat at any moment. A few other pilots sat nearby, using an inactive cooling vent as a card table- Two women and two men, one for each of the other Solarwinds nearby. Technically they should have been patrolling the edge of the city, but heat and boredom had taken their toll. Now they were just wasting time until their patrol was over.
At least this time, Alex Tarant thought, they hadn't gone off to a bar somewhere.
"I raise," said a pilot, a man with a beard larger than his head and an accent thicker than gravy. "Ye got th' guts ta deal wi' that?"
One of the women, her hair cut short like the rest, narrowed her eyes. "You're fulla shit, Barlow. Don't tell me you're looking to push your luck."
"Hey, he wants to lose all his money, that's fine by me. Don't try to help him, Celina. I'll take that bet and raise it twice as much." The speaker, a black man with glasses and an old paintbrush tucked into his jacket, reached out and dropped a handful more coins into the pot. "Can you match it?"
Celina Pope shook her head hopelessly. "Got no more money. I fold."
"Aye, run, lassie! Don't suffer the humiliation o' losin' ta me!" The bearded man slapped his hands together after he placed his match into the pot. "Hurry up, Mia, we 'aven't got all day!"
The second woman, younger and obviously feeling intimidated by the older pilot, glanced down at her hand and bit her lip. "Um... I... match?" She dropped a few more coins into the pot, uncertainly.
"Alright, show your hands, boys and girl."
After a moment of silence, Mia's voice asked, hesitantly, "Does that mean I won?" The makeshift card table erupted into shocked shouts and incoherant explitives, while Pope laughed herself senseless nearby.
Tarant rolled his eyes. "Hey," he began, before something caught his attention. The radio at his belt was buzzing and crackling. At the sound, the whole squad fell silent. Tarant lifted it up, noting that the signal was coming from one of the civilian watch stations.
"Unknown targets sighted... Heading down Griffith's Road, towards Metro... Past Metro, they're not turning off. Possible destination is the Hewa Kojima Plant. There are... Six armored vehicles, three large trucks- JAMALs, I think- carrying, uh, I think they're MTs. No Normals or higher, fortunately. Calling any available Arteria forces, they'll take out our power if they're not stopped!"
Tarant and his fellow pilots stared at it in silence. Barlow broke it, hesitantly. "Er... Lad, does that mean us?"
"Yes, it does. Get your Normals going, we're heading for Hewa immediately." The card players hurriedly grabbed up the deck before moving en masse towards the single ladder that had been dropped from the back of the Normal. "Pope, call up command and tell them what's going on, have them get the NASR squadron up in the air if they can, provide us some air cover and slow them down. You, Russo and Speider will provide cover. Barlow, you and I take point."
After a few frantic moments of climbing, the other pilots had settled into their Normals. Tarant's was already up and running, its powerful generator humming happily.
The cockpit of a Normal was much different than an MT's. For one thing, it wasn't nearly as user friendly- A Normal was expected to perform combat maneuvers that an infantryman could, at the very least. This meant that a simple lever and pedal system would never be sufficient.
Tarant had heard of what they used in NEXTs to control their incredible speed and precision- Simple human brainpower, amplified a thousandfold by computers and all sorts of technology they only hinted at. Normals, while prime recruiting fodder for Lynx, did not operate at quite that level, but their technology was still leaps and bounds beyond that of an MT or armored vehicle. They utilized AI and sensors to use their pilot's brain to determine what exactly needed to be done. It wasn't psychic or even that precise- It was more similar to an artificial limb's sensors than anything like a NEXT's control. Which made sense, all things considered.
Tarant pulled the helmet down over his face, shut his eyes tight as it pressurized around him. A small needle pricked the back of his skull and a few computer chimes helpfully informed him that he was not, in fact, dead and that his brain was working properly.
"Yes, very helpful, now get me moving," he growled, before hitting the booster sequence. The sound of jets echoed in his ears as the dozen plus engines located all along the mech activated, lifting it off the ground. Now it would glide over the dunes. Tarant flicked the comms open. "Everybody up?" A chorus of affirmatives answered him, with Russo sounding vaguely panicked as always. Prime Lynx right there, he thought, already halfway around the bend. "Alright, in formation. Let's get there before the air support gets 'em!"
He tilted the mech forward and it went, gliding across the sand in a way that belied its size and weight. The squadron spread out, taking positions hundreds of meters seperate from each other in a wing-like formation. He and Barlow were up front, ready to take the brunt of any enemy fire, while Pope took center. Speider and Russo were a bit farther back, as rookies- Some officers might have put them up front, to get experience, but Alexander Tarant wasn't that kind of officer.
They circled around the edge of Metro, and Tarant noticed sirens going off and civilians running for cover on the streets. Pope had gotten the word out, at least. And he could just barely make out the battle shapes of the NASR gyros lifting off from Langes. The small fighters wouldn't be much use damagewise, but they'd force the enemy to stand and fight.
In the distance, Tarant spotted several clouds of dust, and promptly had his suspicions confirmed as the NASRs opened fire with a round of small missiles.
"Alright, we're approaching the enemy. Air force already has them engaged. Russo, Barlow, split off and hit them from the side. Let's make this an easy win."
"Yes, cap'n!" The bearded pilot's Normal leaned sideways and quickly vanished among the dunes, with Russo's right behind. Now there was the occasional line of tracer rounds from automatic weapons firing up at the NASR squadron. They wouldn't stick around long, not if they were being shot at- Too expensive to lose.
Tarant's computer beeped a warning, and he barely turned the Normal aside in time- A missile stuck his right should, cracking the armor but fortunately not damaging the arm. A small tank with a truly rediculous number of rockets strapped on was firing at him from the next dune, kicking up gouts of sand and shrapnel where it hit. He slowed his Normal to a speed where he could aim, and ignored his computer as another missile struck him in the torso. His mech's right arm came up, the slug launcher in it locking on to the tank. He fired once and it shattered, blasted apart by the size of his mech's bazooka.
Pope opened fire from her position at the rear, but Tarant didn't see what her target was. He had reached the top of the dune, and barely had enough time to realize what he was seeing before his Normal was hit by three different machine guns. The three MTs were not the familiar, quad-rifled Mamlukes that Langes had so many of. Instead, they were archaic GARQ8s, the grandpappy of most MTs. While lacking the firepower of their later models, the Gars did have one thing going for them; their only weapon, a heavy machine gun, could easily stop even a Normal with its rate of fire.
"Shit, they've got me locked down," he said. "Speider, get 'em off me!"
"Right on it, chief." The man's Normal came in from the side, firing its shoulder mounted rockets. One of the MTs toppled, its cockpit torn apart, and the remaining two paused in their fire, trying to choose between Tarant and the newcomer.
Pope didn't give them a chance, her machine gun stitching a pattern down the cockpit of the leftmost Gar. It turned, trying to track her, when it stopped, seemingly unable to follow her movement any further. It was then that Tarant realized that the mechs hadn't even stepped off their transports- or even stood up. They'd been placed so as to fire on the enemy pursuing them. If it hadn't been for the NASRs, his squadron would have run right into that. He's have to buy their flight leader a drink.
At the moment, though, he was more concerned with the fact that the remaining armor vehicles hadn't stopped. Fortunately, he needn't have worried- the faint flash of weapons fire told him that Russo and Barlow had noticed the flight.
He nudged the Normal forward, raising his bazooka at the undamaged MT. Speider beat him to it, the other Normal's shot taking out the Jamal it sat on and tearing it apart with collateral. Pope got the last with a rocket. "Target downed," she said. "What about the ones that ran?"
"We got tha bastards. I took some bad hits, though. Dyson's gonna rip me a new 'un," Barlow said, unhappily. "Russo got bangered up pretty good as well. Well armed for a bunch o' angry anti-leagues."
"We don't know if that's who they were," Speider said. "They could have been some GA guys trying to take out the Algebra generators there."
"Nah, there's a Interior Union lot there." Barlow sounded dismissive. "They wouldn't risk a fight with them, not over this."
"Huh? Really? Well, maybe it was a thirsty Free City trying to raid some Kojima."
"Hey!"
"Whoops, sorry, Pope. Forgot where you come from."
"They didn't have any storage containers," Russo added. "T-they couldn't have taken any if they wanted to."
"Cut the chatter, squad. Let's pretend we finished our patrol and head back to base, how's that sound?"
Taro stood on the wall, looking down over the small balcony at the site of what had recently been a battlefield.
The whole thing had seemed unreal, from the towering heights of Langes' walls and the distance at which it had happened. All he could have seen from the walltop was the faint blue light of the Normals' engines as they engaged the enemies, and the bright flashes of explosions and tracers. It looked like it had been a short fight.
Overhead, the oddly shaped helicopter/jets moved in for a landing, settling down in the field they'd taken off from. Those he had seen very well, firing burst rounds and missiles into the enemy to try and scatter them and stop them. It made sense for them to be helicopters, he supposed- There wasn't much in the way of runways around here.
"So... That's what it really looks like," he said, more to himself than to anyone listening. It's not beautiful or horrible. It's just there.
Of course, he hadn't been in the middle of it. That would change soon, probably.
As Taro was leaving the walltops, he found himself face to face with Walker, who'd been coming up the stairs. He almost ran into her, in fact, so distracted by the sights he'd seen. He jumped back, stammering out an apology while she watched with an eyebrow raised. "What are you doing?" she asked, the constantly present cigarette moving to her hand for the moment. "Come on, it's almost noon. You're eating with your quad this time. And no," she said, cutting off his half-hearted protest, "you don't get a choice about it."
She turned to go, and Taro followed. "Okay, just... Why?" Taro asked, embarassed.
"Why what? Why do we want to talk with the new kid?" she said, amused. "Do you not want to eat or something?"
"Ah, no, not that, I just-!" Taro scrambled over his words, well aware that he was being fooled with and turning red from it.
To his surprise, Walker began to laugh, almost doubling over. When she recovered, she turned to face the boy who'd fallen from the Cradle and said, "Fine, if you really need a reason... How can we trust our backs to someone we've never met?"
At that moment, though, Taro realized something. "Wait, you said... 'Our' quad?"
Walker simply replaced her cigarette and continued down the stairs, while Taro continued to follow. He thought he would have been happy with the fact that he was fortunate enough to be in the same group as the two people he'd met his first day, and he was.
But he couldn't forget the ruined MT that they'd been bringing in to the hanger for repairs.
What did that mean? Dyson had told him that he was the first person to pilot 29D- But did that mean the mech itself, or the position? Had whoever's MT had been fried by a NEXT been the old 29D? It was a question that frightened Taro, and so he did not ask it.
As always, feedback and such is appreciated- Read and review!
