), so if anything strikes you as simply wrong, please let me know. Other than that, I hope you enjoy it and I look forward to hearing what you think. 
(By the way, title suggestions are welcome.)
Chapter 1
“Valkryie One, this is Black Lion, report, over.” Renard’s voice came in loud and clear over the new intercom.
“Black Lion, this is Valkryie One, scanners and visuals are negative, over.” Sharon always found such patrols dull, but did them without complaint. She knew it was important, and if anything happened, she wanted to be there when it happed. Jumping into combat from a drop ship in the 60 tons of metal that was her mech was just fine, but it didn’t beat the feel of being there when the fight started.
She changed her frequency to get in touch with one of her closest comrades, Alex. “Raptor Four, this is Valkryie One, anything on visual or scope? Over.” Alex always preferred aerial reconnaissance, for numerous reasons. He was the only member of their unit younger than her.
“This is Raptor Four, everything’s clear up here” he yelled over the roar of his thrusters. It didn’t take great hearing to tell that he was overusing them.
“Raptor Four, when we’re on duty, at least try to sound professional. And cool off on the engines. I doubt you’ve even paid off your debt from your last repair job.”
“Aw, come on, this a patrol. Lighten up. If anything happens you know what I’ll do.”
“Raptor Four, this is Black Lion,” Renard called over open comm. “Lay off the throttle or you’re wings are clipped. That’s an order. Do I make myself clear? Over.”
“Loud and clear Black Lion.” Sharon could hear the engines die down over the comm. She shook her head. Alex was certainly a hot head, but he knew just how far he could take it. “Horizon’s clear and so is my scope. I’ll head west into the sun, and then hook around back to Point Omega. Over and out.”
Sharon looked out the glass of the cockpit to examine the landscape. The view was rather unremarkable. All she could see was rolling plains of grass, stretching endlessly across the land. It was all so harmless, but it was of vital strategic importance. The plains were the only route on which an army large enough to take the city could enter with speed. The city was too well defended to take by air, and the river and mountains surrounding its other three sides would make progress slow and easily detected. So, any fight would take place here. The plains could easily become a battle ground.
“All right team, this is Black Lion” came Renard’s voice once again. “We’ll make one final loop back to Point Omega. Let’s bring them home. Over and out.” Another day, another patrol.
Back at base, Sharon parked her mech in her hanger. The engines died down to silence as the cockpit opened much like the old fighters people used to fly. The difference was that she made her way onto a walkway that had extended to meet her instead of climbing down a short ladder. As her boots clicked along the metal walkway, she took out the clips used to keep the hair out of her eyes, letting it fall to her shoulders and putting the clips into a pocket of her suit.
“Sharon!” one of the mechanics called from the ground floor. “The usual maintenance I presume?”
“Yeah,” she called back down, “just the standard check up Jack.” As she reached the end of the walk, she turned around to examine her machine. It was moderately designed like a human, with two arms, two legs, and a torso. It didn’t really have a head, per say, but a cockpit set into the torso, more or less between the shoulders. On the mech’s right arm, out of sight behind the arm itself, was housed her energy sword. She considered it the greatest military invention behind only the radar. The unit itself was only the size of the mech’s forearm, but produced a blade thirty feet long and almost six feet wide. How, she had no idea. Science was never her strong subject. The energy glowed a deep yet bright blue that would likely blind her if her cockpit weren’t shielded.
Closer to her and far more visible was her Zarnith Mark-III S-480 Machine Gun. She had actually looked at the latest model, the Mark-V X-90, but she still preferred her now outdated weapon. It used solid rounds, as opposed to the more commonly used energy rounds. It was long barreled, drum fed, and not as sleek as the more recent models for any type of weapon. But, it had sentimental value, if nothing else. It had saved her life on more than one occasion, and though it was outdated, it was still did a hell of a job at putting holes in things.
There was both an elevator and a ladder to get down from the platform, but she never used the elevator. Grabbing the sides of the ladder and ignoring the rungs, she slid down the ninety feet to the ground. She slowed her decent at the end so as not to kill her legs, silently approving the feel of her new gloves.
“Didn’t see anything huh?” asked Jack. He was in his mid forties, well older than her, with a crew cut and grease covered overalls. Mechanic seemed to be written all over him, from his clothes to the numerous tools attached to them.
“Why do you say that?” she asked. “I just got back.”
“Because,” he nodded his head towards her mech, “there’s no damage. If you’d seen action, I’d have had a lot of work ahead of me.”
Sharon smiled at the jest. It was a long running joke between the two of them. She was always on the frontline and would inevitably get banged up. But he never complained, and she appreciated his work. Her mech would always be as good as new when he was done with it, and he was the only reason her gun still worked. “True enough. Looks like you and your crew will have an easy time of it.”
“As usual. By the way, are you ever going to get new parts, other than that sword? I’m good, but I’m not sure just how long I can keep her running.”
“Eventually” she replied simply. He wasn’t the first to ask that question, in one way or another.
“Well, it’s not like you can’t find something you like. Between all the new manufacturers out there, your pay and your military allowance, you could get a completely new mech that you find perfect with money to spare.” The manufacturing of mech parts was a newer business, and a booming one. Ever since mechs all but replaced infantry, mechs became highly individualized. The military had tried to regulate uniformity, but had just as quickly dropped the policy when they realized that it was impractical to implement for multiple reasons, both tactical and sociological.
Sharon had to admit that what he said was true, but she wasn’t willing to admit that. Alex was almost always buying the newest parts, at least the ones that complimented his flying style; which was partly why he always had a hard time staying in the black. How he did manage, Sharon never could figure out.
Her older parts hadn’t hurt her so far, so she had little inclination for new ones. “Maybe another time Jack.” Then at his somewhat disappointed look she asked, “You just want to get your hands on some new parts, don’t you?”
He gave her his classic innocent smile. “Guilty as charged. But it ain’t the only reason. She’s just gonna wear down eventually.”
She gave him an encouraging smile. “I’ll look into it soon then. I’ll see you later.”
“As always” he replied, then began calling out the usual orders to his crew for maintenance work as she walked out of the hanger.
It was the middle of summer, and it was on clear days like this that she hated her uniform, which doubled as her pilot suit. It was dark green and not breathable in the least, making what should be a pleasant day quite irritating. This is probably at least half the reason I keep in shape, I sweat off all the non essentials, she thought. The dry grass all but crunched under the weight of her boots as she made her way across the field.
Point Omega was the name given to their temporary base, a few miles outside the city. Hangers were neatly arrayed about the base, each cluster set up for different groups. Off to her right on the fringe of the base was the mobile assault strike team, the aerial unit. Alex was parked in one of those hangers, but knowing him, he was likely already at the command center. His mechanics were forever fixing the parts he pushed beyond their limits.
Closest to the command center were the hangers reserved for ranking officers, all two of them. That was where Renard parked, being the man in charge of this unit. He had been in a position of authority, of various ranks, for several years and was the veteran of numerous battles. Everyone respected him, or soon learned to. There was likely not a better pilot of mechs in the army. Not even Alex dared to make that boast, and he was the most hot-headed and brash pilot around, and a skilled one at that.
She, on the other hand, was infantry. Her duties were on the ground, often spearheading assaults into the enemy line. Nothing too fancy, catch them off guard and defeat them before they realize they’re fighting. An old strategy, but it still worked quite effectively. Sometimes a sledgehammer is all you need to get the job done. Subtlety had little place in her way of fighting.
“Sharon!” she heard Alex call out. “What took you so long?”
She didn’t even bother to answer. It seemed Alex was only serious during combat, and even that had been brought into question. Some had even suggested that he be mentally examined after some of his riskier actions, thinking him not completely mentally stable. His superiors were reluctant however, following the philosophy of “It gets the job done.” And he always did; one way or another.
Alex was about a year or so younger than she was, noticeably younger than many of the men on base. He still seemed to have the youthful innocence of a teenager, and still did have the attitude. His hair was almost as long as hers, not quite reaching his shoulders, with a bit of wave or curl keeping it from falling straight, having almost the same color of the dry dead grass. He was lanky yet fit with a constant smile on his face.
“Come on, Renard’s got some news for us.” He ducked back into the Center. That got her interest, and she quickened her pace. News was scarce out on the base, at least news of any interest. If Alex was seemed interested, it was certainly worth hearing. She entered the Center, followed by her fellow pilots. The Center was the quick construction building that was standard field set up. There were only the necessities: communications relays, radar readouts, and the standard command computers.
Renard stood at the far end in front of the assembled members of their unit, which numbered thirty five in all. He was solidly built with dark brown skin and buzzed head. If their suits had been brown instead of green, it would have been hard to tell where suit ended and skin began. Everything about him looked square and he had a solid build. When he stood erect, he looked as though nothing could bring him down.
Sharon settled towards the back of the crowd, knowing it would be pointless to push her way towards the front. It was only a few minutes before the stragglers arrived and Renard could announce the news. “All right everyone, listen up” his voice carried across the room. He never had to yell, his strong voice simply carried clearly. “There will be a new pilot arriving here in a week.”
That started a low murmuring among even among these well disciplined soldiers. New arrivals were uncommon, and this unit was almost considered an elite. Normally, anyone transferring would have been revealed by gossip long ago.
“Quiet” was all Renard had to say to bring complete silence. “I am informing you so you know what to do. He is, you could say, an interesting new member. He was found in the city of Geldern, thought to be terminally ill, and brought to a hospital. When he managed to recover, it was found he had amnesia, and one of the few things he could remember was his name.” Sharon could see the confused expressions on the faces of many of those assembled. She herself was intrigued by this interesting story. If he knew so little, how did he end up assigned here?
“During tests designed to bring forth memories and see what he knew, it was found that he was very knowledgeable of military matters, including weapons, close quarters combat, and piloting. The hospital then tried to confirm with Headquarters before transferring. However, he had no file on record. After undergoing the standard military testing procedures, he was assigned here. That is all you need to know.” With that, Renard turned around and made his way to the communication relays. Taking the cue, the pilots got up to leave, questions flying.
Predictably, Alex found his way over to her. “So, what do you think this means?” he asked.
“First,” she replied, “he’s a good pilot, to be assigned to our unit. Second, I’d guess he’s a foreign fighter, or a mercenary, the latter being more likely. Lastly, that we’re supposed to keep an eye on him. Those with amnesia can turn out to be very dangerous people.”
“Why do ya say that?” he asked, obviously knowing the answer, but wanting her to say it.
“Because, who knows who they were? Or how they’ll respond when they find out? If something goes wrong with him, we can handle it.”
“How do you manage to sound like such a pessimist? Well, I’m going into town tonight, wanna join me?”
“I’ll pass” she replied. Sharon had a fair idea as to what he called fun, and wanted no part of it. She already had her own plans.
“Your loss. See ya tomorrow.” He waved and took off towards his hanger, which doubled as quarters for many of the pilots, herself included. She didn’t bother calling to his back, so she made her way towards her own hanger. If she had her way, it was going to be a long night.
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