Winter Soldier Sequel: Deus Ex Machina

by Bobby Redshirt

Kax Autto of the former IMC has enlisted with the Militia beside his once thought to be dead girlfriend, Alice Reins. Together, they join the desperate fight of humanity against the rise of Spyglasses machines. Now more than ever, humanity needs Titan pilots of grit, determination, brilliance, and the dream of peace on the frontier.

3. Chapter 3

Deus Ex Machina Chapter 3

Fighter jets flew overhead. Their screams shattered the clear, blue sky. Someone may have called this place paradise at one point. The jets gone, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of a tree that looked like the most distant cousin of a palm tree. The only downside to such a cuddly tree was the poisonous spines infested with poisonous insects. Already two grunts were in critical condition for attempting to harvest the plump fruits at the top. Since those palm tree cousins resided closer to the velvet colored beach, a couple of pilots could be farther inland and admire their beauty.

"You know, this may have not been a bad place to settle down Alice if the new war hadn't started."

I took another swig of water from my canteen as I sat on the table that Alice was using to piece back together a Mag Launcher. She had a conspicuous dark cowl of sweat on her green tank top. She licked her thumb and rubbed a spot on one of the magazine barrels.

"Kax, this is no place to raise a family. This jungle is stalked by all the animals God made too vicious for earth. Besides, it's hardly good for crops either."

"Crops? Since when were you into crops?"

"Since I liked eating. Didn't I tell you that I grew up on a ranch in North America?"

I shook my head. She smiled at me bashfully and blew a blonde strand of hair from her face. We could have continued the conversation but the humidity was so heavy that tongues had to perform an Olympic press of effort to waggle enough for words.

The firebase commanded view of the coastline and the valley that languished below a smoking volcano. The dominant volcano often belched brimstone and curling black smoke. The planet Sanjo Avon was much more unstable than Earth was, even in the resource depraved state home was in. A bitter seed sewn into my stomach injected acid with that thought. What was the state of Earth? Marcus Graves had said that reinforcements may not be coming from the home world of humans. Decades of time existed between Earth and a few years on the Frontier, even with the revolutionary jump drives. I knew that when I enlisted to the IMC as a young man that I would never see Deutschland again. At the time, I wasn't sorry to leave. Jobs were as scarce as bread and men were as mean as the ravaged landscape. I don't remember much more, but I remember fallow fields that were constantly ablaze for some reason. I also don't remember seeing a single building that didn't have bullet holes or scrapes from shrapnel. Even churches were not spared.

Yet some empty feeling broke the surface of the water when I thought about home. It sucked every thought down like a black hole when I imagined that Earth may be no more. I would never leave the Frontier, but something ate the core of a man when home died in a silent audio transmission.

An Atlas and Ogre titan stomped around the perimeter of the firebase. They sank their knees and wrapped their robotic hands around giant trees and pulled them up like radishes. The pilots then guided the titans to drop the trees on a long sled. Hitched to the sled like draft horses were two more Ogres. They lugged their burden down to the cutting yard. The perimeter of the firebase needed to be expanded since our arrival. This had been a backwater Militia stronghold for so long that when we arrived the commander sported a long beard and flip-flops. Code crackers had picked up a message that Spyglass's destructive eye had fell upon Sanjo Avon. Graves then gave the order to mobilize the fleet and fortify the defenses. This was the same planet as the Export town we lost a few weeks ago but we were now at the equator. Unlike the ideal conditions of Export town, frequent tectonic plate movements made volcanoes unhappy and common. Seismographs were constantly on the alert for tsunamis and tidal waves. So it was no surprise that the reason the island we were on was vastly populated by birds. Calling them birds would be too gracious. The nasty beasts just happened to know how to fly.

Wildlife disruptors like those at Airbase Sierra were on every hour of the day to keep the flyers at bay. The Militia was using technology they had stolen from the IMC. I was unfortunate enough to be present at the downfall of Airbase Sierra where the Militia used an "icepick" to shut down the IMC repulsor technology. I will never forget the terror of when those shields went down. The creatures set upon us like starved wolves. Any of us were very lucky if we survived.

These memories were not lonely. A crowd of them took residence between my ears. Voices of the past did not have trouble gaining passage upon the same starships I travelled. Their whispers endured throughout the frontier. They were friends that I lost, people I had killed. On good days, their words were indecipherable, a benign hum. Their breaths blew cold across my skin even in as the equatorial sun roosted at its apex. Their winter words of mud, blood, and steel. On bad days, a bottle of hard alcohol seemed to be my only solace. I crawled to the bottom of the bottle and curled into the fetal position as the ghosts berated my ears and eyes. It was a siege of moans, accusations, and pleas for help. They were my former comrades of the ill-fated 40th IMC Pilot Squadron. Our motto: "We are the Flood". Even in the afterlife amongst the stars of the cosmos, they did flood all around me. Jimbo's blown out eye socket became mine until the blood spilled down into my tongue next to the whiskey. I would put the glass down on the bar only to have it land on the top half of Harris, legs obliterated by a 40mm cannon. He would smile and wink at me and call to me, Sweetie, what's got you down? Being dead?

That wasn't the worst. I avoided the bathroom like the plague. That's where she was. Half a gallon of hard liquor in my system ready to burst out of my bladder but I still attempted to stem the tide. Finally, I would stumble into the men's room. I usually didn't even make it to my zipper. Smoke that I knew didn't exist would flare into my nostrils. My heart rate jumping at the smell of scorched flesh— human flesh. As the vodka sweats break from my brow, her scalded hands caress the bottom of my collar. She calls like a lover, moans like the wind, and whispers like a corpse. My eyes drop into the bathroom. Through the tile, through space, through hell, and I am back to the singed concrete of Angel City. A burned Atlas titan all around me but I am back in that moment just as I really was. My silver IMC jacket has burns on the sleeves from when I tried to pull her out. Her, Gracie. She screamed as I pulled her from a cockpit as hot as a furnace. The skin from her face fell from the bone like a tender steak loin. The blood had boiled in her veins and she was conscious through that whole ordeal until she died in my arms. But how I knew I was actually piss drunk in a bathroom was when Gracie would lift her head and speak despite her tongue being soldered to her teeth. Her voice never coming from her split lips but echoing a million times in my head.

Why didn't you save me Kax?

I tried. I couldn't get there in time. I have to go, the dropship is leaving.

You were not there for me. I was there for you.

I know, I am so sorry.

Sorry!? I am a crisp chicken now. Ugly and dead as hell.

Es tut mir leid . . . (I am sorry)

Gracie's hand would shoot to my throat or grab my chin and pull me down close into the sick, burnt smell of her hair. Her eyes pop in the heat, focus on me and she screams from the blackness, "YOU LET ME DIE!"

The vomit would come then. Into the urinal or right before it. Gracie and the voices suddenly gone. Embarrassed to be next to an old soldier with puke on his boots and a wet stain on his trousers.

However, since being back with Alice, the voices subsided, but only a little. The fury and fever at myself still clung to the inside of my teeth every day, but Alice could muffle some of their accusations. It was mostly with her concern about my drinking. She pushed me away from the hard stuff and did not back down when I would almost turn violent. Screaming at her like a child's tantrum and staring at the bottle across the room. Alice stood her ground and flexed her strong muscles to be ready for anything I did. I never raised my hand though and would storm out in a tempest of rage and gratitude.

However, this sunny day on Sanjo Avon, I had given Alice the slip and had landed my butt on a barstool. Militia regulation on pilots' drinking was less stringent than on the IMC carriers, but as I looked around the hot squalor, I did not have many in company. A lean-to had been constructed over the bartender's head and that was some of the only shade around the firebase. As much as the shade didn't help with the humidity up in the seventy percent range. As I glanced around, I couldn't believe that more people weren't here to cool their throats. I just wanted the smell of burnt flesh out of my nostrils. A young woman smiled meekly, it was too hot to raise her lips up higher. "What can I get you, sugar?"

"The darkest beer you have."

"Okay, sit tight."

I looked over my shoulder once again. Where in the world was everyone? The only patrons were a few Militia grunts played cards on a makeshift table. They wore just their undershirts and uniform pants. Sweat stains made necklaces beneath their joviality. In this outdoor bar, the rumble of titans destroying nature seemed to faze no one. The bartender slid my beer over on a paper towel that had been used for the previous patron. I lifted up the tin cup and looked to see what other gunk might be on my drink.

Savages, I thought, no wonder I had such a pleasure in wiping out these Militia rebels. Their ideas of fairness can't even get a man a good, solid drink.

"Another pilot here? I can't believe my eyes."

I looked sidelong at a man who had taken a seat next to me. I was in the middle of letting half the beer cascade down my throat. It would no doubt be the first of many this fine afternoon. If you want to drink all day . . .

My face pinched at the bitterness of the skunk piss that had just enflamed my nostrils. I finally gulped the concoction down and said, "excuse me?"

He was a Militia man. I knew him from nowhere else. He looked like he was on the verge of fifty but he gave me a toothy grin like a twenty-year old behind a hot rod. I remarked a couple of scars above his right eye and the stubble about his chin.

"You are a pilot, correct?" He asked once more.

"How would you know that I am a pilot?" I sneered. I wanted him to go away. I wanted to drink alone, in peace. But I didn't hear anymore voices in my head.

"A pilot walks a certain way, completely sure of himself. A pilot also drinks in an abandoned way, since they are trying to drown out all of the terrible things they have seen." His eyes widened with the last part, tremendous blue eyes enveloping me.

The man offered his hand, "name's Ray Bratton. I'm a captain around here but I think they just gave me the two bars because I lived. Militia isn't really an army to give ranks anyways."

"Give ranks? Are you from the IMC?"

"Oh heavens no! I've been fighting with the Militia since day one. Of course, the IMC were not even an army either. They were a corporation that hired mercenaries and made sure every soldier was mailed a paycheck."

I finished my beer with a long throwback and then looked at him. The rotten beer in my belly suddenly made me combative. "Oh yeah? Well I was damn proud of my paycheck." I hoped he could see the brutal glee I got from killing his friends. We stared at each other for what seemed a long moment. A smile suddenly broke from his withered face.

"I always loved you IMC pilots! 'Best of the best', 'fear of the frontier'. With this new war, whatever the historians decide to name it, I am sure glad that you all came over."

I couldn't exactly tell if this man was trying to patronize me or his relief was genuine. Bratton's eyes drifted away as he said somberly, "of course, if there are any historians to write about us."

I slapped the wood made from the palm tree cousins on the velvet colored beach. "Then that's just it. We can call this the historian's war since that is who we are actually fighting for."

We both grinned at each other.

"So what happens to be your name, pilot?" Bratton asked.

"Kax Autto. I used to be a first lieutenant of the Fortieth IMC Squadron. Then I was with Blisk's Crows for a stint before everything went to the Spectres."

Bratton nodded sagely and stroked the greying stubble along his chin. "I deployed against the Fortieth I think just once. It was at Angel City. Good God that was an absolute bloodbath."

"Yes it was." I shut my eyes hard. That is where Harris and Gracie left the frontier in fire and blood. Their voice flared a single terrible second but instead of driving me toward another drink, the pilot named Ray Bratton continued to talk and the horrible demons quieted again.

Ray had changed the subject. He spoke of places that he had travelled with the Militia. Places he tried to homestead before the IMC claimed they owned everything. Ray didn't linger on the bitterness towards the IMC taking his home and the small business of atmospheric mining he owned. He joked about some of the infamous criminals he fought beside and their terrible natures. I did not say much as I was apt to doing, but it felt good to speak to a man.

An alert sounded on my pager and I checked my wrist map. "Sorry to cut this short, Ray. But I received an alert. They're mobilizing the pilots."

He raised his glass. "I'll catch up with you, Kax."

I paid the bartender and hustled across the yard. The titans outside the perimeter continued their labor of felling the forest. One Atlas had a terrible looking beast with wings on its back. The partner Ogre came by and pinched the beast like a tick. The thing bled all over the place and I could almost swear I saw the giant robots chuckling.

We all met in a hastily constructed lean-to that had green camouflage netting and leaves. The grunts were in the larger lectern, a white building with air-conditioning. Us pilots had the hot breeze on our skin and the smell of fresh sweat. We encircled a mobile hologram unit. It was not sunk into the gravel so the projected surface of Avon Sanjo was just under our chins. That didn't impress me though; what got my admiration was the sheer number of pilots in this tent. All shapes and sizes dabbed their skin with sweaty towels and talked with their friends. The Militia must take any grunt that was brave enough to strap into a jumpkit. I didn't look to find Alice Reins. I needed to sober and get the smell of alcohol to abandon my breath.

Bish and Sarah would be briefing us that afternoon. Bish was the Militia's ultimate tech-junkie. He kept his meager, black goatee meticulously trimmed to the nearest millimeter. A gut sagged just over his belt buckle. Bish never seemed he could sit still for a minute. His ear needed to be plugged into a Bluetooth with classic rock and his fingers needed to be dancing upon a computer pad surface. When he did finally look up to tell us about our upcoming mission, he gave us all a toothy grin and a jolly greeting.

"Pilots, excellent, prompt arrival! As you know, we have been prepping for the arrival of Spyglass's forces here on the equator. We learned our lesson from our loss at Export. We cannot underestimate Spyglass's cunning and the numbers he can rapidly produce. Its fleet is heading this way as we speak. The angle of the fleet predicts that Spyglass is once again aiming for the civilian settlement just west of us here," he pressed on his computer pad and one of the islands lit up on the hologram. It was shaped like an apple with a crowd of worms. "This is Nuwaki island. A minor Hammond robotics factory is staged here and where a large portion of this sea's food comes from. If Spyglass cannot accomplish burning out the human race, his next best ticket is to starve us out."

Bish smiled at this like a cheery little Christmas ornament. Not like he couldn't use a little starvation himself. Many of the pilots really admired and enjoyed working under Bish. Even some of the survivors of the fall of the IMC quickly grew to respect his technological prowess. I held my grudge though. Bish's "Ice Pick" brought down the three towers at Airbase Sierra and set innumerable beasts upon us.

But Sarah stalked. Her steps moved with the sinewy silence that attributed most female pilots. Yet the definition of Sarah's muscles could even make my Alice back down. Her workout regimen was legendary amongst pilots and every inch of her body was kept in peak condition. She was capable of complete stillness, you could forget she was standing in the room. And when she moved, if Bish was the bumbling Nick Bottom of A Midsummer Night's Dream, Sarah moved like a panther on the jungle floor, the sunlight and shadows caressing her predator gaze.

She stepped to the middle of the briefing wearing unkempt, tousled black hair with the signature red bandana. "We know that Spyglass intends to come here. We will be ready for it. However, our scans picked up something very odd as its fleet moved over the top of the atmosphere. A single ship broke formation and then crashed onto one of the nearby islands. It released a distress beacon but that was it. We will be sending a ship to see if Spyglass does actually have complete control over the leftover IMC forces. I will be leading this investigation with the 8th and Charlie pilot squads."

A heavy sigh came from my slumped shoulders. Last I checked, I was a part of the 8th pilot squad. That affiliation could prove useful though. Better to be away than sitting and waiting for a merciless, main attack from Spyglass. On the other hand, it could be incredibly bad if Spyglass turns even a quarter of his fleet to meet us there at the crash site. Either way I didn't like it. Sarah was a member of the infamous M-COR special forces wing of the Militia. They were just the most exemplified and vicious of the pirates, criminals, and degenerates that made up the Militia. If I disliked Bish for creating the "ice pick", I loathed Sarah. Bish made the weapon but she wielded it with a bloody smile on her lips.

"Pilots!" a voice from the mobile hologram boomed into the tent. The three-dimensional image of Marcus Graves then stood amongst the islands like a Collossus that bestrode the world. "I am sorry I could not attend this briefing but I am currently in orbit to watch our enemy's movements. As Sarah as told you, she will lead a team to see what that one ship went down while Bish will be finishing the fortifications on Sanjo Avon. We don't have much time before the projected time of Spyglass's arrival. Now get to it pilots, and be ready kick some ass." Graves finished in his strong, British accent awss.

The light cruiser, the Spartan Spear, lifted off of Sanjo Avon and hundreds of the flying beasts took off from the top of the hull, their nests crumbling in the vibration of the engines. She wasn't a tremendous battle wagon, only able to store seven titans and produce two at a time. But she was the main ride for the M-COR Special Forces. Sarah silently watched all of the pilots board her ship and then she gave the twirling of her arm up in the air to signal the pilot to get the cruiser moving. She wore a battle-scarred jacket that had a woman on the back with red hair that said REDEYE under it. But that was the last I saw as she went to front to cockpit and left us to settle in on our own.

I preferred to stand with my G2A4 slung over my shoulder. Alice sat next to me, flexing her glove. I was lucky enough to get my helmet on before I saw Alice after the briefing. The booze was gone from my stomach but I still didn't take a chance of her finding out.

I counted the men and women in the ship with me. Two squads consisted of sixteen pilots. Plus one to include Sarah if she wasn't too much of a pansy to get her pants dirty.

But I had to remember the first time I had actually met Sarah. It was when her fist crashed into the face of my friend, Travis "Maverick" Mercury. We had been captured during our sabotage of an oil refinery back on Axon II. Back a hundred years ago when there was an IMC. Sarah had taken an immense amount of pleasure from beating the snot out of us. Perhaps that was the reason she didn't like any of the personnel on this trip. The 8th Squad really was a majority of leftover IMC pilots either ones that defected during the second titan war or when the IMC imploded with Spyglass's betrayal. To make matters worse for Sarah, Charlie Squad was fresh out of pilot school. Heck, I even noticed one of the pilots still had his Charge Rifle on training mode as we stocked our weapons. That got a good chuckle out my squadmates from the 8th. But I tried to not bash the Charlie squad leader too hard. Poor kid didn't have a choice to join the IMC because it wasn't around anymore.

Perhaps that was Grave's intention. People talked about how Sarah was pretty good under pressure but working solely with M-COR specialists made her kind of one-faceted. So here we were for her to command. One squad of salty, hard-fisted IMC pilots, and another squad of slick from the womb Militia recruits. Sarah would definitely need to balance the extremes of these two squads working together on a common mission. Charlie squad needed the experience and the 8th was the insurance plan in case things got hairy.

But who knew? We might just find a big pile of burning rubble, God willing.

A light appeared on my HUD—a private request from 8th squad leader Ira Jagjit. I moved through the cabin. Charlie squad looked about ready to jump out of the ship without a parachute or jumpkit, anything to get this over with. They either talked nervously or stared up at the ceiling. 8th squad reminded me of innumerable IMC sorties I had the pleasure of partaking. A mixture of laser beam focus and cock-sure talk. Two pilots, Veen and Christopherson were even playing an endless rock-paper-scissors game. I knew them to even be attempting that game during the initial jump from the dropship.

Ira Jagjit was looking over the map of Nuwaki island once more on his wrist map. Jagjit seemed to be a good commander. I had not been under fire with him yet but his frankness in issuing commands defied his small, brown frame. He had pulled up my record and immediately put me as second in command. Was that a good or bad move for the 8th Squad? I wasn't entirely sure yet. I sat down next to him. "What do you need, sir?" I asked.

He ran a quick hand through his black hair. His helmet was down by his feet. "Autto, Abrahams and Pollard are both sick with runs. I checked on them before the launch and sure enough they were as pale as ghosts and on neighboring crappers. I tried to scramble some volunteers to fill the empty slots but I only got an ambitious grunt with a new jumpkit named Kelly Shy and scout sniper from Mike squad. Bad thing is, neither of them were real "volunteers" I should say. Sarah basically just shouted out a demand and it was made."

"She does seem a little on edge. What's the sniper's name?"

"Julia Dorne. I want your girlfriend Alice to keep her in hip pocket."

"And the new grunt?"

"You are going to be monitoring Kelly Shy."

"Yes, sir." I hoped I didn't sound as bummed out as I felt.

"This is a baby-sitter run. Don't feel bad because you don't having to be watching the backside of Charlie Squad like I do. More than likely, Sarah is going to charge in and have 8th squad worry about flanks and positioning and all that tactical nonsense."

"Perhaps we will only find a big pile of wrecked junk?" I asked, wishing to have some vindication on my earlier hope.

A smirk landed on Jagjit's face, "please Autto, you are renowned for your optimism, but I don't think a light cruiser like the Spartan Spear is going on a recovery mission."

"I'd no idea I was an optimist."

"You are not, I was being sarcastic, Autto."

"Right, of course, sir. Well, what titans are on board the ship?"

"Your titan is the first in production cue. 8th squad has three on deck and so does Charlie. Sarah's personal titan is the seventh. Squad leaders were told that we are not to call down a titan unless absolutely necessary. Too many resources to come pick the thing up will be all, Autto."

I got up and began to walk back to Alice to inform her of her new baby-sitter job and mine as well. The jump timer indicated about ten minutes before the doors opened to the tropical sky.

Four of the toughest looking men bustled through the hull right towards me. They wore black pilot uniforms and bore the Militia skull and M-COR on their shoulders. I tried to step aside but one of them deliberately checked me into the lap of a Charlie squad member. The four brutes glanced over their shoulders and chuckled as they went towards the cockpit. Rage boiled behind my eyes as those ape shouldered men passed from the hall. Yet I knew not to say anything. They were Sarah's personal guard.

Alice had donned her curious eyes while I was away. I told her of her new charge, the scout sniper named Julia Dorne.

"Sniper, hmm? Must be such an exhilarating life of crawling into a hole in a building and waiting for someone to run by," Alice smiled coyly. "And something looks to be dragging you down, dear."

"I also must baby-sit. She's someone who was a grunt a few days ago. A Kelly Shy."

Alice clapped her combat gloves together. "You mean to tell me that we finally get a double date? My goodness this is going to be so much fun!"

I scratched my chin, "oh yeah, fun date games like Yahtzee and darts."

"Kax, dearest, cheer up a bit and let's go talk to the 'baby-sats'. I am sure they are nervous and need to be elevated to their duty with stalwart leadership by example."

I looked at her like she had danced off the far end finger of a Stryder titan. "If I am the 'leadership stalwart example' as you say, frau, then the robots have already won."

Alice gave me a comical frown. "Now that's not the attitude of a Frontier hero. Now, go talk to Kelly Shy. Get her ready for her first real jump. And if I find out you laid a finger on her you can bet you won't have fingers after today." She smiled with love, "okay?"

I lifted my helmet so she could see me roll my eyes and kiss her soft lips. I didn't care who Kelly Shy was, even if she was drop-dead gorgeous and lethal to boot. I had my Alice and my heart would never abate. It was comforting to know deep down that Alice knew that of me.

Five minutes until jump and I take a knee in front of Kelly Shy. She is a young woman with freckles all over and her curly strawberry blonde hair tied back. I don't even have to say a word to her yet and I can already tell she is about to soil the new pilot pants the Militia issued her. A sudden thought struck me. When I fought for the IMC we stood against waves of inexperienced pilots. We, the silver-skinned cougars had hunted the droves of almost defenseless deer. How many young pilots like Kelly Shy here had the Militia sent to the slaughter at the hands of men and women like Alice and me?

I took off my glove and offered it to her. "Hallo, I am 1st Lieutenant Kax Autto. You are Private Kelly Shy, yes?"

Shy nodded. She didn't take her glove off to shake my hand but I could almost feel the sweat beneath the fabric. Her lips retreated in at the sound of my rank and accent. She was a Militia soldier; they were not trusting of foreigners from the core systems. I cleared my throat and tried to sound like basic, Frontier English (American accent). "Are you nervous at all?"

Shy's green eyes nearly burst into tears. But she sucked them back and nodded, hoping that no one saw her emotions. I clasped my hands and smiled at her.

"Being a pilot is very interesting! This will be like nothing you have ever done before, but I will need you to stay right next to me at all times. Is that clear?" I thought I was going to gag on the optimistic fur ball lodged in my throat but it seemed to be cheering up the young Shy.

"Do you have your weapon ready? Have you synced your HUD with your Titan OS?"

She showed me her brand new R-101C Assault Rifle and gave me the affirmative that her equipment was synced with the ship. She would be one of the last pilots to call down a titan unless she racked up consecutive kills to surpass the non-coms and commissioned officers. Shy lived true to her name, not saying much and avoiding eye contact for the most part.

"Okay then, how many high altitude jumps have you done in training?" I asked.

Her lips retreated back in again. Her head bowed a little. I stooped to look up into those weepy, green eyes. "Well?"

She muttered a deaf phrase and her dogmatic eyes fixed on the rifle across her lap.

"What?" I had to have heard her incorrectly.

"None, sir."

"Run hard for the ramp. There is going to be pressure leaving the cabin so let it take you the last couple of steps. You don't even have to jump, just leave the ship and tuck your legs. Your boots will take care of the impact."

I wish I could have told Kelly Shy this. Instead I was yelling into the side of her helmet as the air evacuated from the cabin, "RUN AND THEN TUCK YOUR LEGS! GO!"

I followed the young, former grunt as we charged towards the door. I had my hand on her backpack to simultaneously reassure and push the woman. Then Kelly Shy did what I hoped wouldn't happen. She tripped at the edge and tumbled headfirst into the skies of paradise.

Going into a tumble like that is tricky for veteran pilots, let alone a screaming woman with a jumpkit for the first time. The only thing going for Shy and her chances of surviving were that we were not leaving a dropship but a light cruiser so we were higher up and that I was not going to be embarrassed by having my charge killed in the first ten seconds of the mission.

I tucked my knees and rolled my head towards the ground. Once I saw Shy tumbling, I straightened like an arrow. I prayed that she wouldn't fire her jumpkit. A single blast would send her either into the ground like an artillery shell, up into my face to break my neck, or to the side and maybe into the ocean. However, despite the spinning world that Shy inhabited, she managed to tuck her knees up into her chest and assumed the fetal position.

Nuwaki island was coming fast and I still had not reached her. I tried to push myself even straighter to cut through the air. Private Shy and I were javelins heading for the planet while other pilots were descending at a normal pace curled into balls. Alice and the other pilots were flexed tight to keep their feet beneath them so their special pilot boots could take the fall. If any part of the pilot's body impacted the ground before the boots, the bones were usually turned to mush or the person was killed outright with severe hemorrhages to vital organs.

The altimeter on my HUD was running a marathon to zero as I reached out and grabbed Shy's waist. She was looking at me and she may have been screaming my name but I could not hear her through the roaring wind. I tried to tell her to not use her jumpkit as I was turning her feet to the ground. Unfortunately, she must have only heard the last word I shouted and my heart froze when I saw the lights of the jumpkit glow orange. I gripped into her uniform as hard as I could and then the jumpkit fired.

I don't know why I didn't let go. The terror of the predicament I was now in surged through my brain like a dramatic rush of drugs. We were flying off course at nearly a hundred miles an hour and into the smoke of the burning ship we were sent to investigate. Shy and I might collide together into an otherwise intimate embrace for the fraction of a millisecond before our bodies broke and we were nothing but a mixed splatter of human blood marks on the side of the ship. Private Shy's jumpkit was extinguished until her next landing. If she would still be alive to use it again was the real concern. The smoke obscured all my vision and I only knew that I was holding the pilot that may get me killed. Figures that in the end it would be a Militia pilot to execute my demise. I just didn't think it would be this artless.

I flexed my core to bring my knees up to Shy's back and fired my stealthkit. We launched up and she slid in my grip up to her chest. The smoke cleared and we had just missed one of the ship's rudders. We were still going way too fast right towards the next vertical rudder. Shy remained tucked into a ball and that was good. I put my legs out underneath her, as if she were curled onto my lap. My boots slammed into the rudder but I hardly felt the impact. Kelly knew to have her boots hit first too but she did not think she needed to wall run to stay on the vertical rudder. She burst out of the ball and with her arms flailing she fell down. I disengaged from the wall run and once again freefall through space to catch the girl. The Militia was going to need to pay me a HELLUVA lot for this mess.

I never did catch her. She landed on top of the ship and I landed next to her. Air tried to get into my evacuated lungs but my chest seemed closed for a time. I tried to get to my knees to see if my breath would come back. It did not help that smoke was everywhere but my helmet was filtering that out. I glanced over to Kelly who lay on her side, clutching her head. I crawled over to her.

"Private Shy, are you okay?"

"Oh my God, my head—I am so sorry, Lieutenant."

"Never mind that," I wheezed, my breath was coming back slowly. I glanced around; luckily we were where enemies shouldn't be. I looked back at the private on her side. I held up my hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four?" She did not sound too convinced that she was correct.

"That's right!" I said and I put down my three fingers, she was close enough. "Come on, we need to get out of here and regroup."

We staggered to our wobbly knees. The ship rumbled a bit as we made our way to the edge. This would almost be like another high altitude jump since we were nearly thirty stories up in the air still.

I glanced over at my charge. "Are you ready for another big jump? Hey, where is your rifle?"

"God, I don't know, I think I dropped it somewhere."

I looked behind us and the assault rifle dangerously near a vent. I ran and picked it up to return it to her. "You need to hold onto this," I told her. "Get ready, we have to get down there."

Private Kelly Shy took a step back. I grabbed her shoulder and about had enough. "Look, this is reality. Pull it together right now or I am leaving you here."

She gripped her rifle once more. It seemed a long time and then she took a deep breath and nodded her head. "Alright," I said and got ready to make the jump, "and this time, mind the gap."

We jumped off the roof of the wrecked ship and it was much less uneventful than the last fall. Which I will take every day of the week, thank you very much. We both landed on the sand and ran for cover. We had our weapons up when the call came in from the squad leader of the 8th, Ira Jagjit.

"Autto, come in. We are picking up your signature on the other side of the ship."

"Yes sir, Private Shy and I are fine and going to make our way to you."

"Roger that. Take it slow. We haven't picked up any readings from the ship ye—"

A cold voice cut in, "Lieutenant Autto, tell me what the hell happened!" I automatically felt my teeth clench at the sound of Sarah's voice.

"A couple of jumpkit issues, sir." I said. Kelly Shy stole a look at me but I could see she was relieved.

"Get your act together, soldier." Sarah hissed, "stay put, we will make our way to you. Sarah out."

I put my hand down from the ear piece on my helmet. Shy looked like she wanted to say thank you but I am glad she didn't. I walked out from cover and into the sand. "Come on, let's go."

"But Sarah said we needed to stay here, sir." Private Shy remained behind cover with her rifle ready.

"Private, rule number three of being a pilot is to never stay still."

"I don't really remember that in the Certification Manual."

"Because that is not in the manual. Now let's get a move on Private Shy."

She finally came out of cover and we began to move around the wreckage of the ship. Fire was prevalent; it licked the hull of the ship and some of the article of cargo that had spilled out from the walls. Nearby trees were either sliced to the stump or ablaze. The same kind the titans were uprooting from around Firebase Sanjo Avon.

We maintained our fields of fire to cover the most area. I ducked behind a box while Shy continued to scan for enemy forces. The compass on my wristmap assured that I was still heading East and that 8th and Charlie Squads were moving towards our direction.

"Lieutenant Autto, sir. What are the other rules of being a pilot?" Private Shy asked.

"You mean the ones not in the manual?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, rule number one is mind the gap." A sly smile broke on my face but Shy did not see it behind my helmet. "Rule number two is don't run in front of a titan. Rule number three you know. Rule number four is rodeo the titan furthest back, and rule number five is different depending on what you are wearing."

"Wearing, sir?"

"Ja. If you are wearing IMC silver, rule number five is to stay calm. If you are wearing Militia green, the rule is to run from pilots and titans in silver and white."

A confused look took Shy but she stopped short, "But we're all wearing . . . oh."

"I have a bloody past Private. I was paid good money to do what I did. I met many pilots just like you Kelly Shy. But I did not know them for very long. Yet, we are on the same side now. Do exactly as I say and when I say it, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," she said it quickly with a minor tremble in her voice. I switched on the Active Radar Pulse and then told Shy to get down. A patrol of Spectres exited the ship in front of us. They were armed to the metallic teeth. Six Spectres were escorting a repair droid that floated above them. It must be surveying the damage to the ship. Machines had such odd, quirky movements. Despite being our creations, we could never manufacture the way we walked or operated with complete accuracy.

Luck was with us this time. Shy and I were behind cover and on high sand. I was digging for my satchel charge when Shy got my attention, I glanced through the cover and another form was dropping onto the flashing orange figures that marked the enemy Spectres. I shifted up to see with my eyes and my jaw dropped down.

A man in silver, IMC fatigues dropped from the overhang of the ship and jammed a dataknife into one of the Spectres. The man was dirty and unkempt with a dark beard around his chin. The Spectre with the dataknife stood frozen while the man ran over and twisted the head around on the next Spectre. He held it up in front of him as the other Spectres raised their guns. He took the C.A.R submachine gun from the limp hands of his victim and fired a spray of death. Two Spectres collapsed while the other fired upon him. The bullets bounced off the Spectre in his arms but he would only have cover for so long before . . .

A burst of fire rang beside me. Private Shy had stood up and was firing her assault rifle down onto the Spectres. She dropped one and then I got my G2A4 ready but held my fire. Only Spectre remained standing, and that was the one with the dataknife in the back of its robotic skull. It twitched and made loud beeping noises. I was curious to see what would happen since the Militia techs had said it was nigh on impossible now to hack Spyglass's Spectre units.

The Spectre lifted its head, then fitted the rifle under its chin and fired.

I broke from my observation and pulled Shy down behind cover just before a hail of C.A.R. rounds came screaming in.

"What the heck! We just saved that dude!" Shy screamed at me.

"He doesn't know who we are. He won't take chances."

I left my rifle on my lap and raised my hands up above the boxes to show we meant no harm.

"IMC soldier! State your rank and outfit, sir!" I shouted.

A long silence procured around us. I looked over at Shy. She suddenly seemed very calm despite shooting and getting shot at.

"You have much more composure than when we jumped Shy." I said with my hands still up in the air but every vital part of me behind cover.

"Jumping out of high altitude without a rope is new to me Lieutenant, sir. But getting shot at and being at the bottom of the food chain as a grunt is nothing new."

I nodded my head at her brilliant point.

"Hey Militia jerks—!" the call finally came from the man who had deftly eliminated a whole patrol of Spectres. But something sounded very familiar about his voice . . .

"You talk like corporate does. Come on out and tell me who you are."

I stood up and he was much closer now on the hill of sand and realized I had already said this only a few hours ago when I sat at a bar with old Militia warrior named Ray Bratton, "I am 1st Lieutenant Kax Autto of the former IMC and the former 40th Pilot Squadron."

The man tilted his head behind the sights of his C.A.R. and a big grin grew on his scarred, dirty face.

"Krout? That can't be you! At least I figured you would remember your old, Crow buddy Maverick."

He lowered his weapon and sure enough, against all odds stood my friend, Travis Mercury.