The hover vehicle banked hard, throwing Emily against her restraints. Through the viewport, the staging ground sprawled below: thousands of troops in formation, artillery batteries firing ranging shots, transport craft descending and launching in constant rotation.

Somewhere down there, Luca was meeting his reconnaissance company. Danny and Joey were gearing up with heavy assault forces. Ryan was probably drowning in demolition equipment.

And she was alone.

"Air Assault Company 68-Phi staging area ahead," her attaché said from the pilot's seat. The Varnathi officer's fur was a deep russet, her armor scarred from campaigns Emily couldn't imagine. She'd introduced herself as Vel'Shara, second-in-command of the company Emily was about to lead.

Lead. I'm about to lead soldiers into combat. That was Luca's job, or Ryan's. Not hers. Her job was to support Luca as his XO, not... take command.

The vehicle descended toward an open field already churned to mud by heavy traffic. Troops, equipment, and what looked like massive pyramidal objects scattered across the staging area.

Emily climbed out, her boots hitting mud that splashed up to her ankles. The air was thick with engine wash and the acrid smell of spent plasma charges. Troops moved everywhere, checking gear, running diagnostics, loading ammunition.

"Orbital cache drops," Vel'Shara said, gesturing at the pyramidal objects. "Supplies injected through orbit when the fleet established air superiority. Faster than waiting for surface transport."

Emily stared at the nearest cache. Roughly twelve feet high and six feet across, its surface scorched black from atmospheric entry. The sides had been blown open, revealing racks of equipment inside. Troops clustered around it, grabbing weapons and ammunition.

"This way, Commander," Vel'Shara said, leading her toward one of the caches. "Standard loadout for jump infantry, plus command modifications."

Emily followed, her tactical display already flooding with data. Troop positions, weapon inventories, mission parameters. Information came faster than she could process, organized by her interface into manageable chunks.

The cache's interior was illuminated by emergency lighting, casting harsh shadows across racks of equipment. Everything was standard TL9 technology, but varieties Emily hadn't seen before. Plasma weapons with different barrel configurations. Armor mods with unfamiliar designations. All using the same power cells and attachment systems, just in bulk quantities meant for rapid deployment.

"Jetpack first," Vel'Shara said, pulling a compact unit from its rack. "Vanguard model. Designed for aerial insertion and rapid repositioning."

She attached it to the hardpoints on Emily's Centauri Guardian Mk-64 medium armor. The weight of the jetpack clicked into place, its systems integrating with Emily's suit immediately. Fuel capacity appeared on her HUD: eight minutes continuous burn, or twenty-two short bursts for combat maneuvering.

"Nano-Fiber Grapple Launcher," Vel'Shara continued, attaching a module to Emily's left forearm. "For building traversal and emergency extraction. Range of one hundred meters."

The device was smaller than Emily expected, barely larger than her forearm bracer. An indicator light pulsed green as it synced with her armor's targeting system.

"Pulse Scanner Overlay," Vel'Shara said, installing a module behind Emily's right shoulder. "Enhanced tactical awareness. Marks hostiles through light cover and identifies weak points in fortifications."

More equipment followed rapidly. [Micro-Mist Cooling System] for heat management during sustained fire. [Combat Stim Auto-Injector] linked to her armor's medical sensors. [Shield Capacitor Upgrade] to absorb concentrated fire. Each modification clicked into place, expanding Emily's capabilities beyond anything she'd ever had.

"Weapons," Vel'Shara said, moving to a different rack.

She pulled out two plasma repeaters, each one compact and drum-fed. They looked vicious, all angular surfaces and exposed cooling vents. The plasma chambers glowed faintly blue.

"Full automatic. Two hundred round capacity. Nine hundred rounds per minute." Vel'Shara handed them over without ceremony. "Effective range two hundred meters."

Emily took the weapons, feeling their weight. Heavier than her standard blasters, but the balance was perfect. Magnetic holsters on her thighs accepted them automatically, locking them in place with a soft click.

Sci-fi Uzis. I'm holding actual sci-fi Uzis.

The thought came unbidden, a brief flicker of the girl who'd devoured sci-fi novels and action movies back on Earth.

"Additional ammunition, grenades, beacon," Vel'Shara said, loading equipment into Emily's utility pouches. "Command package includes tactical override for squad-level coordination."

Her comm crackled. "—pha Company reporting ready. Bravo Company is—kshhhh—minutes out."

More channels opened as her interface expanded. Squad leaders checking in. Pilots reporting dropship status. Artillery coordinators requesting fire mission priorities. The information flow was overwhelming.

Emily exhaled as she triggered [Battle Sync], her least-used Operations Executive ability. Channels grouped by priority. Fireteams nested under squads. Air corridors highlighted.

Emily took a breath, letting her tactical display reorganize. Non-essential channels muted automatically. Priority communications highlighted in red. Squad status indicators arranged by readiness level.

It was still too much, but it was manageable.

"Stand by for tactical briefing," Vel'Shara said, pulling up a holographic display between them.

The fortress materialized in miniature, its walls and defenses rendered in sharp detail. Red zones marked heavy weapon emplacements. Blue indicators showed the planned breach points where Heavy Assault would hit. A full tactical briefing started as Emily listened raptly.

Her interface recorded everything, filing mission parameters and tactical data into organized folders she could review later. Approach vectors. Target priorities. Casualty estimates that made her stomach clench. Enemy capabilities. Fallback positions. Coordination protocols with ground forces and air support.

When it finished, Emily's tactical display had been updated with everything she needed to know. Or at least, everything Command thought she needed to know.

"Sixty minutes until departure," Vel'Shara said. "Meet your troops."

They walked through the staging area, mud sucking at Emily's boots with each step. Air Assault Company 68-Phi was scattered across the field in squad clusters, each one checking equipment and running final diagnostics.

Vel'Shara didn't announce Emily's arrival. Didn't call the troops to attention. Just walked her through the staging area while soldiers noticed and formed up naturally.

Within two minutes, roughly one hundred and twenty Varnathi stood in loose formation, weapons lowered but ready. Jump infantry. Vanguard troops who'd done this before, who'd survived assaults Emily couldn't imagine.

Emily's comm crackled again. "—econ elements are in position. Heavy Assault is—kshhhh—thirty minutes—"

"Air Assault Company 68-Phi," Emily said, her voice carrying across the field. "I'm your commander for this operation."

"We hit the fortress walls from above while Heavy Assault breaches from below," she continued. "Our objective is to secure the upper fortifications and prevent reinforcements from reaching the breach point. We will suppress enemy positions, eliminate anti-air capabilities, and maintain air superiority over the assault corridor."

She pulled up tactical displays, transmitting them to every soldier's interface. Approach vectors. Target priorities. Fallback positions if things went sideways.

"Squad leaders, confirm approach vectors," Emily said.

Six voices responded immediately, each one acknowledging their assignments without hesitation. The efficiency was terrifying. These soldiers had done aerial assaults so many times it was routine.

"—kshhhh—Command to all assault elements. Countdown is—kshhhh—forty-five minutes."

Emily's private channel activated. Luca's voice, distant through the interference. "Em? You there?"

Relief flooded through her. "I'm here."

"You good?"

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Wearing a Jetpack and plasma repeaters." She paused. "You?"

"Drowning in recon briefings. Got eighty-three soldiers looking at me like I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

A long pause. "Not even a little bit."

Despite everything, Emily smiled. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

"Stay safe up there, Em."

"You too."

"Ten minutes," someone said over the command channel.

Emily's heart hammered against her ribs. This was real. In ten minutes, she'd be in a dropship heading toward a fortress under active bombardment.

The team channel crackled. Luca's voice, tight and strained. "Everyone... be smart out there."

"Try not to crash, Em," Ryan added.

"Try not to blow yourself up, Ryan."

Chris's voice, deeper and steadier. "Got your back, Danny. Joey. Both of you."

"We know," Danny said simply.

Zoe's channel activated. "Squadron 5-Delta is wheels up in five. See you in the sky, Em."

"See you up there."

Three dropships descended from the toxic sky, their engines screaming as they settled onto the staging ground. Larger than anything Emily had flown, armored, bristling with weapon pods and shield generators.

Air Assault Company 68-Phi filed toward the ships. Emily followed, trying to match their pace. She climbed the ramp into the lead dropship, taking her position near the front.

The interior was bare metal and had harness points. No seats, just soldiers standing in rows, secured by restraints that deployed from the ceiling. Forty troops per ship, packed tight for rapid deployment.

The ramp closed with a hiss. Engines spooled up, vibrating through the deck. Harnesses clicked into place automatically.

"All companies report ready," a voice said over the command channel. "Assault force is launching."

Through the viewport, Emily could see other dropships lifting off. Dozens of them, hundreds, all heading toward the same objective. The sky filled with assault craft, weapons fire, and the distant flashes of the space battle raging above.

She could see it now. The fortress, its shields flickering. Chemical clouds rolling across the battlefield. Energy weapons lighting up the toxic sky like lightning.

The hangar bay of the carrier ship was bigger than anything Chris had ever seen.

The Triumph of Darron could fit inside with room to spare. Maybe even two of them, if you packed them tight. The ceiling stretched high overhead, supported by massive structural beams. And every available space was filled with mechs.

Rows upon rows of them, each one ten meters of refined killing machine. Some were being serviced by ground crews, others stood in ready positions, their pilots probably already on approach. The scale was incomprehensible.

This is what real military power looks like.

"Mechanized Infantry Platoon 19-Epsilon, Third Army," his attaché said, walking beside him with easy confidence. The Varnathi had introduced himself as Kor'Venn, and everything about him screamed veteran mech commander. Dented armor, casual authority, and an artificial eye that gleamed with targeting data Chris could only guess at. "Eighteen units, including yours. We provide fire support and breakthrough capability for Heavy Assault operations."

Heavy Assault. Danny and Joey.

The lift had taken them up through the ship's decks, a short ride that ended too quickly. Chris had caught glimpses through the lift's viewports. Engineering sections. Crew quarters. Weapon batteries. There was nothing he wouldn't give to explore this ship properly, to see how the Varnathi built their vessels, to understand the systems that kept something this size operational.

But people were counting on him. Danny and Joey were counting on him.

The exploration would have to wait.

Kor'Venn led him through the hangar, past techs working on weapon systems and shield generators. They barely glanced at the new commander, too focused on their tasks. Preparation for battle trumped curiosity.

"Supply room first," Kor'Venn said, gesturing toward a door marked with Varnathi script that Chris's translator rendered as "Armament."

The room beyond was an engineer's dream.

Walls lined with modifications, each one precisely maintained and cataloged. Shield upgrades. Armor enhancements. Servo boosters. Power system modifications. Everything organized by function and compatibility.

Chris stood in the doorway, his brain trying to process everything at once.

"Your mech comes pre-configured," Kor'Venn said, moving to stand beside him. "Standard Mechanized Infantry loadout: dual plasma cannons, rotating chaingun, limited-use jump mechanism. Twenty meter vertical displacement, three uses before requiring reload cycle."

Jump jets. The mech has jump jets.

Chris felt a grin spreading across his face.

"But every commander modifies for their operational style," Kor'Venn continued. "You support Heavy Assault Company 112-Sigma. You keep the breach alive. Choose your enhancements accordingly."

Chris forced himself to focus, his engineering mind engaging. He moved through the racks systematically, studying specifications.

[Reactive Gel Layer] caught his attention first. Ablative protection that hardened on impact, distributing kinetic energy across the armor surface. Perfect for absorbing concentrated fire while holding position over the breach.

"This one," he said.

Kor'Venn nodded. "Good choice. Frontal protection?"

"Full torso coverage. They'll be shooting up at me from defensive positions."

They loaded it onto a hover cart. Chris moved to the next section, his eyes scanning options.

[Integrated TacHUD] - enhanced targeting overlay with friendly-fire prevention algorithms. Critical for close support where infantry would be mixed with hostiles at point-blank range.

"And this."

[EMP Shielding Module] - protection against electromagnetic pulse weapons that could disable the mech's systems. Chris had seen what an EMP could do to powered armor. He wasn't taking chances with a ten-meter war machine.

"Definitely this."

Finally, [Exo-Servo Booster] - enhanced limb actuator response for faster combat reactions. The description mentioned improved manipulation speed and load capacity.

"This too."

They guided the hover cart toward the mech bays, each addition making Chris feel more confident. This wasn't theory anymore. This was real equipment he'd be using in real combat.

Danny and Joey are counting on me. I'm not letting them down.

"Bay Seven," Kor'Venn said.

The mech stood waiting in ready position. Chris stopped, just staring.

It was beautiful.

In the way a perfectly engineered machine was beautiful. Form following function, every line and surface designed for maximum combat effectiveness.

Ten meters tall, bipedal, with a gyro-stabilized frame that promised incredible balance even under heavy fire. The fusion core glowed faintly through ventilation slits along the torso. Dual plasma cannons mounted on the shoulders. The rotating chaingun integrated into the right arm. Armor plating thick enough to stop anything short of anti-armor weapons.

And the jump jets. He could see them now, exhaust ports along the legs and back, capable of launching all ten meters and several tons of mech twenty meters straight up.

I am definitely figuring out how to take this home.

The thought was absurd, impossible, but Chris couldn't help grinning at it anyway. This was the kind of technology humanity wouldn't develop for decades. Maybe longer. And he was about to pilot it into combat.

"First time?" Kor'Venn asked.

"Yeah."

"Trust the neural interface. Don't fight the connection." He activated the loading systems, installing Chris's chosen modifications. Each module clicked into place, integrating seamlessly with the mech's existing systems.

Chris climbed the access ladder, anticipation building with each rung. The cockpit was compact but functional, every surface covered with controls and displays. The neural interface helmet hung from its mounting bracket, waiting.

He settled into the pilot seat. Systems came alive around him.

Displays flickered on, showing diagnostics and status readouts. Tactical overlays mapped the hangar, identifying friendly units and tracking command frequencies. Weapon systems ran self-checks, each one reporting green status.

Chris reached for the neural interface helmet and pulled it on without hesitation.

The connection hit like lightning.

Suddenly, he could feel the mech. Weight distribution, power flow, structural integrity. The machine's systems weren't separate anymore. They were part of him. Extensions of his body rendered in metal and plasma.

He flexed his hand. The mech's right manipulator flexed in response, smooth and natural.

Holy shit.

Chris stood. The mech rose with him, ten meters of war machine moving in synchronization. He took a step. The ground shook beneath the mech's weight. Another step. Another. The movement felt instinctive, like he'd been doing this for years.

The System was helping, feeding him knowledge and muscle memory that shouldn't exist. And Chris didn't care. He was piloting a mech, and it was glorious.

This. This I can do.

"Status check, Commander," Kor'Venn's voice came through the comm. "How's the interface?"

"Perfect," Chris said, unable to keep the grin out of his voice. "It's fucking perfect."

He ran through movement tests. Rotation, lateral shifts, balance compensation. The machine responded instantly to every thought. He raised the plasma cannons, tracking across the hangar. Spun up the chaingun, watching the barrels rotate as they whinned.

Chris's tactical display updated. Seventeen other mechs, all marked green, all positioned near the launch bay. His pilots. His platoon.

"All units report ready," Kor'Venn said. "Heavy Assault is loading now. We deploy in twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes. Time to meet the team.

"Platoon 19-Epsilon, this is your commander," Chris said, his voice carrying across the command channel. "Form up on me."

The seventeen mechs moved as one, taking formation positions around Chris's mech.

Chris cracked his knuckles inside the interface gloves, feeling the mech's manipulators flex in response. Old habit. Preparation ritual before any complex work.

And this was the most complex work he'd ever done.

"Platoon 19-Epsilon, follow me," he said.

They moved toward the ramp, eighteen mechs in formation. Each step sent vibrations through the deck, the combined weight shaking the massive carrier. Chris led from the front, his mech's systems humming with ready power.

The bay doors were already open, revealing the staging ground below. Ground forces assembling. Artillery moving into position. Dropships launching toward the fortress.

The assault was building.

His comm crackled with the team channel. Luca's voice, tight and strained. "Everyone... be smart out there."

"Try not to crash, Em," Ryan added.

"Try not to blow yourself up, Ryan," Emily shot back.

Chris found himself grinning despite the situation. "Got your back, Danny. Joey. Both of you."

"We know," Danny said simply.

The comm went quiet. But knowing his friends were out there, all heading toward the same objective, made the fear manageable.

We've survived worse. We'll survive this.

"All forces, this is Third Army Command," a voice announced across the command channel. "Assault begins in fifteen minutes. Ground forces advance on my mark."

Chris looked through the mech's viewports toward the fortress in the distance. Chemical clouds rolled across the battlefield. Thousands of troops moving into position.

"Platoon 19-Epsilon," Chris said, his voice steady. "We've got one job: keep Heavy Assault alive. Nothing gets through to our infantry. Nothing. Understood?"

Eighteen voices responded in unison. "Understood, Commander."

"Deploy in five," Kor'Venn said quietly on their private channel. "Ready?"

The rear ramp descended, a massive platform extending to ground level. Launch rails hummed with power, ready to deploy mechs at combat speed.

"Mechanized Infantry Platoon 19-Epsilon," Chris said, feeling the mech's systems surge to full power. "Move out."

He walked down the ramp, and the ground shook beneath his mech's weight. Seventeen more mechs followed, forming up in combat formation as they stepped off onto the staging ground.

The ramp retracted behind them, the massive warship holding position to continue deploying other units. All around them, the staging ground teemed with activity. Heavy Assault companies forming up. Artillery batteries rolling toward firing positions. Dropships launching in waves toward the fortress.

Through the viewport, Chris could see the fortress shields flickering. See the chemical clouds rolling across the battlefield. See thousands of troops moving into assault formation.

"Platoon, advance to assembly point Gamma," Chris ordered, his tactical display highlighting their destination. "Stay in formation. We link up with Heavy Assault on my mark."

The assault was beginning.

And Chris was piloting a ten-meter war machine with jump jets.

Best. Portal. Ever.

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