Iron Angels: Before the Storm (Ep5)
Twenty meters out, the hearty smell of sustenance quickened my step, but when I threw back the curtain and stepped into the mess, my heart broke at the sight of the line running half the length of the tent. The cooks were working at a frenetic pace, ladle-dropping serving after serving of whatever high-calorie, nutrient-dense protein they’d stirred up that day, fuel for battle. It is what it is, I thought, taking a place at the rear of the line. Hoped it was worth the wait.
Despite the circumstances, the tables brimmed with camaraderie, soldiers joking and telling stories to lighten the mood. Must have been the motivational posters—hung around the tent walls. Some were humorous, others poignant, all were probably some admin’s idea to boost morale.
My stomach growled, and the thought of pulling rank was beginning to win the battle in my mind, when I heard Camden’s voice jump over the din of the crowd. “Hey, Boss!” he yelled, raising a tray loaded with goodness. I shot him a thumbs up and made a beeline for the table.
Topper smiled as I approached and scooted around the table for a better view. “So what’s the deal, Boss?”
“Same as always,” I said with a huff.
“Let me guess,” said Camden, pushing the extra tray across the table. “Little good, ‘lil bad…whole lot of ugly?”
I laughed. “‘Bout sums it,” I said, swinging a leg over an empty chair to take a seat. “Whadda y’all want first?”
“Ugly!” they all shouted in unison.
I laughed. “You’re all frickin’ ugly,” I freed my utensils from the napkin wrap and dug in, groaning at the first bite. “Damn motley-looking crew,” I said through a mouthful of chicken and rice.
“Wild Side!” roared Topper. She had a hand horn raised above the table, so I assumed it was a music reference. Some band or song the rest of the world had already forgotten—classic rock was her passion.
“Good lord,” said Camden. His laughter was contagious, spreading around the table until even Mu’s shoulders began to quake, shattering his usual stoic demeanor.
I shook my head and shoveled another spoonful into my mouth, still chuckling. Definitely worth the wait.
I ran ‘em through the situation. Didn’t take long—wasn’t much they hadn’t already heard. Brows peeked around the table when I mentioned the Titans Harris had on reserve.
“Now, that’s more like it,” said Topper. “Definitely coulda bagged two in one of those.”
“Mmmm…maybe,” I said, with my mouth full. “But don’t try that shit again, hear me?”
“Oh, come on… Me in a Titan? They wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Well, call me old-fashioned then, ‘cause we ain’t making a habit of going toe-to-toe with Reapers. You got that, Top?”
“Yeah. I hear ya.” A frown formed on her face. “But fashion seems a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” She chuckled. “You got that old part down, though.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I said, smiling behind the napkin I was running across my mouth. I pushed the empty tray forward. “Man, that hit the spot.”
Mu nodded, as if he agreed. “So, what is next?”
I peered over Cam’s shoulder, caught a glimpse outside. The sun was setting, fading rays of ruddy light streaming over the horizon. “We got some time,” I said, checking my watch. “Y’all get some rest. Once it starts, who knows how long we’ll be in it.”
Camden was frowning before I’d even finished. “What about you?”
“I’ll be there. Gonna check on Murph then swing by the pool—make sure Jathe’s got our names on those Tites.”
“You should not take long,” said Mu.
“I know. I won’t” I smacked the table with both hands, ticked my head toward the door. “Let’s get outta here.”
When I said I wanted to check on Murphy, I was being kind. Sean “Murphy” Johnson was by far the best damn Gunny I’d ever seen. And I knew the man well enough to know he was already plotting to get back in the seat. As much as I needed him on the field, the cockpit was no place for a head trauma. Chassis armor might be thick enough to buy you a second chance, but inertia’s a bitch. Get rocked hard enough, you’ll be seeing stars even without a concussion. Echo needed him one-hundred, or not at all—no in between. It was a hard pill to swallow, but he knew better than to put the squad at risk. He just needed to hear it. He took it well.
Doc was keeping Murphy overnight, so I left him in the infirmary. Seemed neither of us wanted to risk a jinx and say “good” anything, so we just shook hands and left it at that.
As I neared the part of the zone that was barely passing for a motor pool, I heard the faint slow-stepping thump of a Jack lumbering around the corner. One of Jathe’s boys was test-walking a Titan. It towered above the last row of maintenance tents. Each step it took made the ground quiver, as if its immense weight and power wasn’t already clear. An imposing piece of engineering and military prowess, its titanium-graphene alloy gleaming in the pool’s spot lamps. Hydraulics hissed with each swing of its thick trunk-like legs. The modular weapon bays at the end of its articulated arms were empty, soon to be loaded with high-tech artillery, from railguns to plasma cannons, ready to unleash hell at a moment’s notice.
Jathe was standing on the other side of the hard-packed dirt that posed as a runway with a tablet in hand, monitoring telemetry from the Jack, no doubt.
“Is that for me?” I yelled across the way.
“Hugo!” he called back, catching sight of me. Seemed he was taking a cue from Harris with the articulation. He passed the tablet to a nearby tech and scurried across the Titan’s path to meet me. “Not this piece of shit,” he said, hand outstretched in greeting. “Things barely walking. We finished Echo’s units earlier this afternoon. Come on.” He patted me on the back, guiding me in a different direction. “They’re over in south field.”
I left the pool, then took a stroll around the zone, before heading back to the barracks, bumped into Harris as he was leaving the TOC and got a bit of mixed news. The enemy had halted their advance, staging up about one-hundred and twenty clicks north of our position. They either didn’t know we had reinforcements en route, or were waiting on their own. Either way, fate had given us the night, so I headed off to update the squad.
The barracks seemed like a different world altogether, a stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere in the mess tent. As I stepped through the door, the weight of uncertainty was thick in the air, palpable. Soldiers were scattered around the room, absorbed in their own pre-battle rituals.
Some were sprawled on their bunks, eyes closed but far from sleep, faces a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. Others were hunched over their weapons, meticulously cleaning. The rhythm of brushes scrubbing against rifle barrels made for a strange sort of background music, punctuated by the occasional clank of metal or the scratchy rip of Velcro as armor was adjusted.
Camden was engrossed in a letter, the paper kind—rare these days. His eyes flowed over the handwritten lines. I couldn’t help wondering who it was from.
Mu was in a corner, his eyes closed in what looked like meditation. His face was calm, but the slight furrow in his brow suggested his mind was anything but still.
Topper was in her bunk, laid back, headphones in, hands laced behind her head, staring at the ceiling. I slowed my pace, taking it all in—the calm before the storm, that brief moment of stillness before the chaos of battle.
As I looked around at the faces of my squad, I couldn’t help feeling proud. We were as ready as we’d ever be. Now all that was left was to wait. The universe had gifted us the night, but come morning, Titans would stand-to. And the Angels would never quit.
