The initial propulsion from the boosters had been proven fatal to those within a city block. After the first accident during a skirmish in an insignificant town somewhere in North America, it became common practice to install twenty-five-meter blast shields to make roofless hangers. These would be scattered around densely populated areas, greatly decreasing these types of fatalities. This was just one of the many accommodations that had to be made for the full utilization of the Mechanized Anti Catastrophe systems, or MACs as they’re usually referred to. Of course, many organizations would implement MACs with little regard to such scruples. Collateral damage for most organizations, rather than causing political issues, would merely end up as financial offsets taken into consideration by the strictest accountants.
Throughout history, the single most important aspect to any war was cost efficiency. The cost of killing and the cost of being killed dictated how leaders would wage their wars. The popularization of drone warfare is the most recent example. A well-designed drone equipped with hypersonic technology and laden with explosives could turn the most expensive aircraft carrier into a smoking, metallic hole in the middle of the ocean. They were the cheaper alternative in nearly every situation. A fleet of such drones is cheaper than a properly trained and equipped conventional battalion, but the drone’s killing potential is far higher. The adoption of drones as mainstays of any military became common sense.
But the supremacy of drones and hypersonic missiles had recently been called into question.
An unnamed and unknown organization planted their flag at a European nuclear energy facility. A force of a few hundred was equipped with everything ranging from armored vehicles to anti-air weaponry. They were very well outfitted by any military’s standard. The stars of their fighting force, however, were three MACs: the first of their kind. These three MACs were the vanguard of their defense. Losses were quick to mount as the European country threw conventional arms at the facility hoping to regain it and pacify this unknown enemy.
A statue stands at the facility, a facility that was completely unharmed and is still fully operational, yet the statue’s plaque tells the story of one thousand three hundred and five of that country’s young men and women who were wiped from the planet. ‘Wiped’ being used quite literally as the corpses were unrecoverable. MACs, giant metal golems of war, used weapons you would expect on warships. These types of munitions used against flesh and blood resulted in a surprising lack of both when the smoke cleared.
Once the threat was fully realized, thanks to these senseless deaths, it was decided to use hypersonic drone swarms to attack the unknown organization. The mistake of underestimating what they thought was merely a rag tag group of protestors had already cost them too high a price. Literally. The statue may bear the names of the fallen, but the government was more concerned with the books that tally up the assets lost.
Once the swarm was launched, the world watched. Some in horror and some in hope as the MACs used their mobility, short and extreme boosts, heavy weapons capability, and piloting skills to make short work of what was, at the time, considered the gold standard for effective warfare. It was only later that the world would learn the price for such an incredible military asset. You can increase a machine’s capabilities, but at some point the human inside will limit it. So, the human’s capabilities were to be increased as well.
It was said that those MACs seemingly danced through the barrage and with every dodge would somehow manage to land a counterattack before the drone passed them by. It was noted that the drones seemingly slowed down, or maybe dumbed down, as they neared these MACs. This was due to a side effect of the power system producing a field that scrambled electronics.
After the attack, the organization retreated entirely intact. Although bounties remain and manhunts persist across the globe, there are some conspiracy theorists that suggest the near-immediate introduction of MACs into the world at large is more than enough evidence to realize the whole situation was nothing more than a marketing ploy.
If so, it was quite the effective one.
Now is a time when the history of yesterday is unimportant. With each new morning another page or chapter is added. With each passing moment, people continue to watch with that same horror or hope; when will the world change again?
Now, to the city of Atlantis in the country of Atlantea. A country nestled in the southeast corner of North America. A country of moderate size and power slowly being cannibalized by its neighbors through backroom deals as often as through destructive warfare. A country where new chapters are sure to be written.
A major player is Jace: the pilot of the MAC that is currently standing within that twenty-five-meter blast shield box. His MAC, one of two in the city of millions, is a rarer type. It’s a home-grown model that was developed strictly by and for Atlantea. The MAC models produced and piloted by countries themselves are far less impressive than what you can hire from MAC specific organizations, chiefly because of the more dangerous augmentations done on these organizations’ pilots. The countries of today are still unable to get away with such political scandals like warping and twisting young minds to their advantage at the cost of their lifespan.
Jace had a few cerebral modifications and split fingers, doubling his digits to twenty, but nothing too invasive. The mental strain of his MAC model meant he would live until forty with no issues. Of course, depending on the pilot’s abilities, this number will vary wildly. The mental fortitude required to pilot a MAC is difficult to measure, no matter how many bodies have been produced and examined after brain-death.
Jace’s MAC was designed for defensive purposes. A host of anti-missile weaponry was bolted and welded onto the twenty-meter behemoth. The main launcher mounted on its shoulder, when stowed in the upright position, added an extra ten meters to the total height. It made for a good place to hang flags and banners so the city could personify their metal-golem deities and protectors a bit better. Although the missiles were totally erratic at close range due to the generator’s interference, once they exited that field they would act normally again. Jace had never had to fight another MAC before, but in countries where those fights are common, he’d heard of missile salvos being used as very expensive shotgun-type weapons at close range. The effectiveness of such a maneuver was still debated.
Jace saw a caution marker flash on one of the cockpit’s screens. A few seconds of vigorous button pressing and switch flipping seemed to bring him to his conclusion: there is work to be done here in Atlantis.
Jace began requesting permission to disengage safeties on his machine. No government MAC would be operated without express permission of the politicians that would have to ready excuses for the collateral damage costs. While the bureaucrats bickered over the cost efficiency, Jace ran checks on his MAC’s thrusters. The legs, arm, shield arm, and body of the massive metal man were liberally coated in thrusters. A massive propellant tank hanging off the back of the unit helped to improve the initial speed of a boost, but the reactor housed in the core, behind the pilot seat in his model, was the real workhorse of the machine. With it operating, the machine could run for hours non-stop, and even then, it only took a few days of passive regeneration for the metal monster to be up and running again. Capable of everything from short and violent bursts to prolonged aerial capabilities.
Truly, this leap in energy production has changed the world. From household needs to efficient genocide, this new power source has truly… truly changed the world.
Jace saw a green check mark appear on one of the screens, signifying that the upper brass had given the OK for MAC use. His job would be quite a bit more difficult now that so many minutes had passed, but Jace was a half-decent pilot. The defense coordinator for the city, Guinevere, was also half-decent at her job.
With these two combined, many things were impossible, but defending the city was usually within their power.
“Jace, we’ve got the green light. Hope you’ve already prepped; we’re running out of time here.”
“You do know that those messages get shot out to me as well, right? I’ve got a bright green checkmark here Guinevere, I can’t miss that.”
“Oh? I just generally assume your brain is too fried to understand… well, anything really.”
Jace continued flipping switches, though now with a bit of a strained look on his face, “Should I even bother asking why you assume I’m that stupid?”
“No.”
Jace sighed, though he was actually quite happy for the distraction. He hadn’t been in very many battles up to this point. Still green, as some would call him. He was halfway certain Guinevere was just trying to calm his nerves.
The other half of him was pretty sure she was just trying to get under his skin.
“Looks like we’ve got ninety seconds until contact Jace, go ahead and get airborne. Happy hunting.” Her voice came across as quite jovial given the circumstances.
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For an operator that actually lives in the city she presides over, she’s unusually calm about impending doom, Jace realized. But nothing helps the hunt like a bit of luck. He was grateful. He grabbed the main control sticks and took a few breaths.
One
Two
The g-force of the immediate thrust would’ve been uncomfortable if not for the specialized cockpit.
The initial thrust lifted the MAC out of its cage, filling the box with smoke, ash, and flame as Jace continued to the sky. Once airborne, the main generator did its work and raised the machine to the city skyline and Jace managed to set it down on one of the nearby defense platforms.
Jace brought the main battery of missiles to bear, the ones that were housed in the makeshift flagpole. The rectangular box was levered onto the machine’s shoulder, locking in place with a loud metallic snap followed by a series of ratcheting gears. Jace was able to keep the MAC fairly stable throughout this process, which was the main reason he was considered a half-decent pilot.
The city’s other MAC, piloted by a woman named Callista who had painted it in woodland camouflage in her downtime (not very effective for the role of a city-based defense unit, but she liked the military feel of it), pulled ahead of Jace and moved to the city’s outskirts. The woodland camouflage was especially useless considering the red stripes she painted on as well. She didn’t say a word to Jace, but this was anything but odd. She told Jace, after an extraordinary amount of alcohol, that she listens to certain audio clips on repeat when she goes out on a mission. She didn’t go into too much detail, partly because it seemed very personal and partly due to her passing out moments later, but Jace had a decent idea of the situation.
Callista was a veteran in some mechanized infantry battalion quite some time ago. A gunner in an IFV or something similar. She was involved in some high casualty encounters.
Jace imagined unloading a half dozen comrades you were just bullshitting with only to see them evaporated as they move into position could do a lot to a person’s psyche.
Four plumes of smoke rose up from Callista’s machine as she launched a full salvo from her main battery. Jace double checked his armament and waited for Callista to make a sign on whether she neutralized the threat or not. As far as Jace could tell, the incoming projectiles were few and the blast radius of the MAC’s big missiles should be more than enough to clean them all up.
If anything, she might get a talking to for wasting resources after firing all four.
“Jace,” Guinevere’s voice reverberated in the claustrophobic cockpit, “the watch tower is reporting multiple explosions. They’re saying they look like solid hits. What’s Callista doing?”
“Direct hits huh… well, Callista hasn’t moved.” Jace relaxed his grip on the controls a bit, “But she hasn’t readied any more of her arsenal.”
“Still… something’s off. She practically has a sixth sense about these things. Be careful.” Guinevere still sounded fairly upbeat, but part of Jace thought she might have been forcing it.
As much as Jace didn’t want to admit it, it was odd that Callista hadn’t given an all-clear yet. She always did.
Jace was sweating more than usual now.
The MACs themselves were humanoid metal golems that stood about four stories tall. These city defense models had the main missile battery on one shoulder, a CIWS on the other, a large tower shield that was hinged onto the left side in place of an arm, and a small shotgun (though it fired a spread of 90mm rounds, so not too small) in the normal right arm. Besides this, a host of rocket and missile batteries were bolted onto the rest of the frame, from legs to the top of the head. Overall, these variants were essentially massive powder boxes with a single means of defense and a focus on taking down enemy missiles and fast flyers at a distance.
With this in mind, Jace realized things were going quite wrong when Callista’s shield, in all its woodland camo glory, swung around to the front of her MAC and she used a quick series of thrusts to lift up into the air and angle herself to the incoming blow.
The round that was probably enough to blast straight through her shield instead gouged a deep scar as it glanced off the now-angled surface, causing a large explosion in a nearby thirty-five story company housing complex.
Callista was quick to eject her main missile battery, which was now just an empty steel weight throwing off her balance. Jace boosted up and launched all four heat-seeking missiles simultaneously in the direction Callista was facing, knowing full well they would do nothing. The full salvo threw his machine entirely off balance, nearly putting it through a nearby power station. He regained control at the last minute and tried to eject his own now-empty missile battery as quickly as possible.
Jace’s sweat was coating the controls, his breathing had become sporadic and labored, his heart beat so loudly that he could no longer hear Guinevere on the comms. He didn’t need to hear her. He knew what was happening.
As the seconds counted down and an unexpected battle approached, Jace was keenly aware he would be facing his first enemy MAC. If the projectile that hit Callista’s shield had been a missile or something similar, she wouldn’t have had to block. She would’ve used the advantages of the MAC to destroy the projectile, or at least dodge it before contact. What hit her shield was most certainly a large caliber gun attached to a MAC.
Jace just managed to swing his shield in front of himself and bring up his shotgun as a burning light burst through the smoke trail left by the missiles.
It went straight for Callista. It had a small automatic weapon in one hand and a lance in the other. The large cannon stowed on the back was the likely culprit for what nearly punched through Callista’s shield.
The initial barrage of gun fire was easily soaked up by Callista’s battered shield. Her shotgun flashed once, twice, then three times before the two metal beasts collided over the city, sending sparks and armor chunks soaring down in a beautiful and deadly shower for those below.
Callista’s shotgun blew off some metal on one of the legs, but nothing more. The enemy’s lance, however, was beginning to glow and sink through Callista’s now-pinned shield as the two MACs held each other in a violent embrace.
Sirens in the city below blared and bellowed. Long winded warnings tried to guide the citizens to the nearest shelters, but for many it was already too late. The battle in the sky was already underway.
Jace’s camera easily displayed the now reddened city streets. His vision was starting to go black at the corners. He felt sick.
How, how could anyone fight through all of this?
“Jace! Jace respond! God dammit Jace, if you don’t do something-”
Guinevere’s voice was cut off and followed by harsh static.
Jace lowered his head into his hands and drooled slightly as he waited for the vomit to come.
The city’s garrison force was throwing everything they could at the enemy, but the big guns weren’t in position and the smaller arms barely even scratched the paint.
“Jace…” Callista’s voice sounded as if her words were being dragged out by force, “run.”
Callista’s voice… during an operation. The fact it’s never happened before was enough to bring at least a few pieces of Jace’s mind back from the brink of ‘first-real-battle’ horror.
He started screaming, spit now flying at the screens of the cockpit as opposed to pooling up on the metal flooring. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but he pushed on the control sticks.
The enemy MAC’s torso swiveled and lowered its big gun directly at Jace while not letting up on its attempt to skewer Callista.
A flash of light nearly blinded him and the percussive blast echoed deafeningly in the cockpit, seemingly staying long after the shot was fired, much like a stain. The jolt Jace felt was, he was sure, the last thing he would feel as his MAC turned into a small supernova that would char the surrounding cityscape.
But after two beats of his heart, Jace was still alive. The status screen showed a hole on the shield, but the round was knocked off course while burrowing its way through, ending up shooting out straight between Jace’s legs.
After two more heart beats, he collided with the enemy in mid-air, boosting him further up into the sky and away from Callista.
Jace’s plan at this point was essentially non-existent. The enemy dropped the lance when they collided, but Jace managed to lose his own shotgun in the collision as well. His remaining batteries of rockets and missiles were either blocked from firing by his shield, or not in line with the enemy MAC.
Jace could only think up one idea in such a short amount of time and with so few calm thoughts remaining.
He detached his shield and used what little propellant he had to thrust his MAC backwards at a nearly life-threatening speed, almost breaking his own neck in the process. As the shield started to fall, Jace unleashed his entire payload of projectiles. At this close range, even the scrambling effects of a MAC wouldn’t be able to save the enemy pilot.
About half hit his own shield due to Jace firing too early, but the other half struck true, cratering the frontal armor of the machine and blasting off both arms.
But somehow it was still able to move. The main cannon leveled itself at the now propellant-less and slowly descending Jace.
But before a flash of light blinded Jace again, surely signaling his death, Callista surged up from below and caught the enemy’s leg. Then, with some piloting skills Jace was certain he’d never see again, she spun the enemy MAC in a quick circle, looking a bit like a cartwheel, and released it on a sure-fire collision course with the ground.
The MAC landed in a fairly empty portion of the city. A park-turned waste dump surrounded by department stores. There was a cloud of dust that covered the scene upon initial impact. Then, moments later, a massive explosion leveled most of the surrounding area. The dump-now-turned crater was a smoking mess with molten metal, a mixture of the city’s underground pipes and the machine itself, glowing like fresh gore through the dust cloud.
“Jace,” Callista’s still rough and broken voice broke Jace out of his hypnotic trance, “thanks.”
Now out of his trance, Jace began to fully grasp what he was just a part of.
He slowly categorized his emotions and wasn’t sure what to make of them.
He also was able to think about what this sort of attack meant for the city.
And, most importantly, he was able to realize he’d pissed himself.