Andre Davis Sci-Fi

Never Quit (Ep7)

Each Mantis negotiated the broken terrain with unsettling ease, their spindly legs stepping in and out of craters and over debris with inhumanly fluid precision. The rising sun, still low on the horizon, cast elongated shadows that stretched across the barren battlefield, giving the illusion that even more of the mechanical marauders were joining the fight. 

Echo was down to just Topper, Mu, and me, struggling to hold as the swarm tore through our once formidable Division line. The rhythmic whir of servos was a constant undertone in the swarm of light and death surrounding me. My hands gripped the controls, each trigger pull a shout of defiance. 

The horizon erupted with flashes from enemy cannons, and a wave of fire rained down like dragon’s breath, far too real and way too close. Up ahead, an Ajax unit, its armor ablaze, staggered before succumbing to the inferno within. The image of Cam’s mech bursting apart flashed in my mind. “Echo, sound off; Gimme your status!” 

“Minor damage, but green,” replied Mu. His Titan towered like a stoic sentinel of armor and power, a bulwark against the onslaught. He targeted and dispatched Mantis after Mantis with unwavering focus, his railgun tearing through units with a deep-throated roar. 

Topper’s voice crackled through. “Holding!” Her Titan weaved between broken chassis and smoldering metal as she unleashed a barrage of cannon fire at an advancing Mantis. The unit retaliated with a volley of its own, but a swift maneuver kept her just out of harm’s way. “But it’s getting tight out here, Boss.”

“Stick together,” I commanded, piloting my mech to cover them both. I’d taken damage—right leg, rear hip—and was still adjusting to my Titan’s recalibrated gait. But my mind was a razor’s edge, thoughts whittled down to the simplest terms. Fight and survive.

A panorama of destruction stretched out before us, explosions flashing near and far. The acrid scent of burning metal and electronics was thick in the air, mixed with the pungent tang of propellant from rockets and missiles. The odor wafted in through my intakes as I tromped across artillery craters, past the smoking remnants of fallen mechs and shattered Mantises. 

“Steady,” I murmured to myself, laying down suppressive fire from my new position. The word had become my mantra in the thick. 

Dytech was relentless, adapting to our tactics with chilling precision. A group of Mantises executed a coordinated attack, converging on Mu from multiple angles. The heels of his mech plowed the dirt as he pivoted, engaging each threat with calculated fury. And yet, the enemy swarm remained unabated, their numbers and agility pushing the limits of his defenses.

A pack of Mantises crested a mound, scanning for targets. Their central sensor arrays glowed with a cold, calculating light. The barrels of their cannons tracked smoothly as they swept the battlefield with predatory focus, ready to unleash volleys of precise deadly fire. In a fluid motion, the pack leader pivoted, aligning its cannons on Mu.

Topper recognized the danger. Her cannons blazed as she took down one Mantis after another. “Covering you, Mu!” Her Titan’s armor was streaked with the black soot of battle, like a canvas upon which this morning’s story had been etched. 

Time seemed to slow as an RPG streaked across the field, its trajectory locked on Mu. Before any of us could react, the rocket slammed into his Titan with devastating force, devouring the cockpit in a fiery explosion.

“Mu!” Topper’s cry echoed in my skull as the smoke cleared, revealing the harrowing sight of a hulled, smoldering cockpit. 

Grief quickly surrendered to the clatter of Mantis machine guns and crunch of metal as friendly units were breached and destroyed. It was a sobering melody. We were in a desperate dance for survival and needed to adapt fast. But the tide had already turned. There was only one call I could live with. 

“Topper, fall back to Four. I’ll cover.” There was no way in hell I was losing them all.

“What? Hell no!” she said, falling in next to me. She enabled her cockpit cam and sprang to life on one of my forward panels. “You can’t make me quit.” The stubbornness in her eyes dared me to try.

A strange mix of anger and relief flowed through me as the truth set in. She wasn’t a rook anymore.  

I gave her a few nods of recognition. “Come on, then,” I said trudging back towards the fray. “Keep it tight. Don’t let ‘em between us.”

“Copy, Boss.” 

Fueled by the burning rage of fallen mates and pure middle-finger energy, we pressed on. I channeled my fury into each shot, every ounce of my being focused on the fight. My battered behemoth groaned and creaked with every move, struggling to keep pace. We fought like demons, but for every Mantis we took down more surged forward, spitting death with every turn.

To my left, a squad of Wardens aligned in an offensive formation. Their thick rugged frames, built for punishment and power, created a formidable line, casting long shadows on the cracked earth. Their heavy steps sent tremors through the ground as they lumbered forward, cannons roaring. Their synchronized volleys created a deadly barrier, repelling the advancing horde while a nearby formation of Ajax units attempted to flank the enemy. 

The two squads began a dance of precision and destruction as they engaged the swarm, tightening their noose, until a barrage of rockets rained down from a Dytech super-heavy. The salvo engulfed the Warden wall in an explosive storm that reduced two of the units to burning husks, and shattered the arm of another. 

The world slowed, and the next few moments felt like an eternity as Dytech closed in. My vision tunneled, focus narrowing to the reticle in my HUD and the enemy beyond. “Not yet,” I gritted out, squeezing the trigger, defying the inevitable. My cockpit’s warnings suddenly blared, as if signaling the end. Instinctively, I strafed left—opposite the red hue flashing in my HUD—but damage had taken its toll. I was too slow. 

Like fists of iron, a barrage of heavy fire slammed into my Titan. The rounds pounded my armor, tearing through the left servos at the hip and shredding critical systems. Sparks flew and circuits shorted. A deafening cacophony of alarms filled the cockpit, and my unit toppled into the dirt with a ground-shaking thud.  

“Boss!”

The sharp jolt, coupled with the sudden cessation of movement, knocked me into a surreal feeling of being both present and removed. The vibration from nearby explosions shuddered through my crippled frame, reminding me of my helpless vulnerability.  

“Come on, Boss. Sound off!”

“Don’t worry about me, Topper. Get out of here!” I was a magnet for death. “Fall back to Four, now. That’s an order, you hear me!”

The muffled stomp of her heavy footfalls was the only reply, as she maneuvered her Titan in close to shield mine. 

“Oh, now you’re just being stupid,” I said. 

“Then you’re a shit teacher.” Topper’s cannons blazed a deadly trail as she fired downrange like a force of nature.

From my crippled vantage, I watched her mech become a bastion of defiance. Her barrels burned hot as she weaved and fired at the encroaching horde. My right-arm cannon was still operational. I did what I could, blasting anything that got too close, trying to create a buffer for her to maneuver. It was a valiant effort, though the outcome was clear. 

A rocket finally found its mark, shattering the lower left leg of Topper’s Titan. Her mech teetered, as its stability systems tried to keep it upright. She knew better. She released the right knee, and let the chassis drop, as a second rocket burned overhead, missing her cockpit by a hair’s breadth. Her mech crashed to the ground a few meters from my own and settled into the dirt with a dying metal groan.  

“Shit!” yelled Topper, over the comm. She was down but not defeated, her cannon aiming downrange in a final act of defiance. “Here they come!”  

I raised my Titan’s arm alongside hers. “Make ‘em pay for it,” I said, oddly aware it’d be my last command.   

The sky erupted with a deafening roar before either of us could pull the trigger, and a downpour of destruction engulfed the encroaching Mantis horde. Topper and I watched in disbelief as explosions blossomed across no man’s land, and a squadron of A-7 Thunderhawks swooped over the battlefield, streaking the gray and red sky with contrails of Allied might.   

The gunships tore across the peninsula with predatory grace, their engines screaming a high-octane requiem as they unleashed a torrent of firepower with mechanical precision. Missiles raced through the air, trailing plumes of smoke. The smart munitions found their marks with deadly accuracy, erupting on impact, shaking the earth and spewing fireballs skyward.  

The smell of scorched earth rose to mingle with the stench of smoldering metal, as Dytech’s forces fragmented under the Allies’ relentless assault, their coordinated movements quickly dissolving into chaos.  

In the midst of the beautiful mayhem unfolding before us, our comms crackled to life. “Titan Echo; LZ-4 Recov. Inbound for extraction. Stand-by to pop those lids.” 

The promise of survival was a welcome sound.

Within minutes, the silhouettes of a dozen recovery vehicles emerged through the haze of smoke and settling dust. The immediate area became a clamor of activity, the sounds of battle replaced by the clear, authoritative commands of recovery team leaders, and the whir of hydraulic jaws prying open the twisted carcasses of fallen giants. Medical personnel, clad in vibrant protective gear, moved swiftly among the wreckage. The trove of red uniforms was a solemn reminder of the day’s cost. 

“Clear!” called a voice from a distance. 

My Titan’s hatch bolts blew, and the lid dropped, smacking the ground like a forty-pound pancake. The pervasive smell of charred metal and spent ammunition spilled into the cockpit as I was being extracted. The gentle touch of the medics, as they placed me on a stretcher, was a stark contrast to the violence from which I’d emerged. The morning air cooled my face as they hurried me toward waiting vehicles, maneuvering through the debris with care. 

The sounds of war faded as the medics loaded Topper and I into a truck and closed the doors behind us. The transition was profound, from chaos to calm, as if we’d gone through a portal, shedding one reality for another. Inside, the clinical aroma of antiseptic and medical supplies brought some sense of relief, but the muffled thunder of allied gunships criss-crossing overhead was a persistent reminder of our narrow escape.

I caught a glimpse of Topper, staring at the ceiling above her cot, as the medics checked us over, tending to scrapes and bruises. It wasn’t hard to guess what she was thinking. We’d held the line. And paid a heavy price. Guilt was often the tax on survival. 

“Wouldn’t make a difference,” I told her. “Could’ve been either one of us. And if it had, they’d just be in here wondering the same.” 

Topper turned, looking across the gap. A bruise ran down her jaw, into her chin, and her pony-tail was failing. But despite the fatigue etched on her face, there was an unbroken spirit behind her eyes. In the silence between us, a wave of emotions washed over me—the adrenaline, the exhaustion of loss, relief and pride, and an undying gratitude for a debt I’d never be able to repay. Fate had just forged an unbreakable bond between us, and I felt it all in that moment. I wished the words for things like that had been part of my skillset, but that was never me. Instead, I said, “Listen…

I know it’s hard, but you’re one damn good pilot, Topper.” She was easily among the top five I’d ever seen. “I hate to say it, but… Surviving is something you might have to get used to.”

Her brow ticked up, as if calling a bluff. “Why, did you?”

I was a terrible liar, and she wasn’t stupid. I had to shake my head.   

Topper turned back to the roof with a hard sigh. “You’re a shit teacher, Hugo.”

It was too soon for either of us to laugh, but the snark tugged at the corners of both our mouths. 

As our Recov rumbled back to LZ-4, I looked out at the ravaged terrain. The war was far from over, but a decisive victory had been won. With a foothold in Japan, the Allies could finally give Dytech a real multi-front fight. It looked like I was wrong about Command, after all. They knew exactly what they were doing. They’d sent 2nd Division ahead for one reason, and one reason only. Angels never quit.

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