Jackie’s eyes locked onto the downed enemy mech, smoke billowing from the wreckage. The charge had blown into its head, but the massive frame remained intact—a rare opportunity. The urgency of the moment overrode any sense of caution. She unbuckled and leaped the fifteen feet from The Peregrine’s loading bay, landing hard in a crouch.

“That’s my ride!” she yelled back to the crew, already sprinting toward the fallen mech. “Cover me! I’m taking it!”

Anders, still firing from cover, shouted after her. “Are you crazy? It’s trashed!”

But Jackie didn’t stop. She knew the risks, but she also knew that no enemy mechs had been captured intact—ever. Every attempt had failed due to their self-destruct mechanisms or heavy combat damage. If she could get inside this one, even in its damaged state, they might recover critical intel.

***

Kovacs sprinted toward the extraction zone, the noise of gunfire and explosions echoing around him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hip protesting with every step, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. The evacuation was underway, and he had to make it to the transport before it took off.

As he approached the clearing, he caught sight of *The Peregrine*, its engines roaring as it hovered just above the ground. The ramp was still down, waiting for the evac team to board. Kovacs pushed himself harder, closing the distance.

Then he saw something unexpected. A figure leapt from the open bay of *The Peregrine* and hit the ground with a roll, coming up fast. It was a woman in combat gear—her short-cropped hair and sharp movements marking her as a pilot. Without missing a beat, she sprinted toward the recently downed enemy mech, the one still smoking from the shaped charge that had blown apart part of its head.

“What the hell?” Kovacs muttered under his breath, watching her move with purpose through the chaos.

As she reached the mech, he heard her shout over the noise, her voice filled with urgency. “Cover me! I want to capture it!”

Kovacs' eyes widened. Was she serious? The mech was still mostly intact, but it was a mess of sparking wires and half-mangled armor. He knew from experience that trying to get inside an enemy machine—especially one that had just been blown apart—was a gamble at best. But he also knew that no one had ever managed to capture one of these mechs intact.

His instinct was to keep running toward the evac zone, to secure his own escape. But something inside him shifted. This was an opportunity, one that could provide critical intel for their side. He couldn't let it pass.

“Damn it,” he muttered again, veering off course and heading toward the fallen mech.

The pilot had already reached the base of the head and was prying at the damaged hatch with a crowbar. Kovacs picked up his pace, adrenaline surging. “Hey!” he shouted as he got closer. “You really think you can get that thing moving?”

She turned to him briefly, surprise flickering in her eyes. “You got a better idea? This is our shot—no one’s ever captured one of these intact!”

Kovacs reached her side, glancing at the twisted metal and sparking wires. “Fine, but you’re going to need help. That blast probably fried half the systems.”

“Then get inside and see what you can do!” she shot back, her tone urgent but not unkind.

Kovacs hesitated for only a second before climbing up next to her. The hatch was partially open, just wide enough to squeeze through. He wedged himself inside, the smell of burnt circuitry hitting him like a wall. The cockpit was cramped and dark, with the body of the dead enemy pilot slumped in the seat, helmet shattered.

“Jesus,” Kovacs muttered, trying not to focus on the grim sight. He quickly cleared the space, making room for the woman behind him to slide into the pilot’s seat.

“I’m Jackie,” she said, introducing herself as she strapped in, her hands already moving over the ruined controls.

“Kovacs,” he replied, connecting a diagnostic tool from his pack to the main console. “And this is insane, you know that, right?”

Jackie grinned, her eyes focused but determined. “That’s what makes it worth it. Can you bring the core systems online?”

Kovacs checked the status of his device. “It’s not good. The core’s barely responsive, and the interface is a mess. But I can try to reroute power to the manual controls.”

“Do it,” she urged. “We don’t have time.”

With shaking hands, Kovacs began patching wires and bypassing the shattered circuits. Sparks flew, and warning alarms blared, but the mech shuddered to life. The lower HUD screens flickered, showing incomplete data streams. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“It’s moving!” Jackie shouted, excitement in her voice. She gripped the controls, coaxing the massive machine to its feet. It staggered, its servos groaning, but it managed to stand.

From behind, Anders’ voice came through the comms, urgent and strained. “What the hell are you two doing? We’re getting hammered here!”

“Bringing you a souvenir!” Jackie replied, her tone triumphant. “We’re moving to the LZ—cover us!”

The sight of the enemy mech rising to its feet seemed to shock the advancing forces. For a moment, they hesitated, unsure whether to attack or retreat.

Kovacs climbed back out of the cockpit, jumping to the ground as the mech lurched forward under Jackie’s control. He ran alongside it, heading toward the extraction point.

“Nice work, Kovacs!” Jackie shouted from inside the mech, her voice crackling over the comms.

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He managed a grin, adrenaline surging. “You’re not out of this yet! Let’s move before they get their act together!”

Together, they pressed toward the extraction point, the captured mech limping forward amidst a hail of gunfire. It was risky, dangerous, and more than a little reckless.

But it was the kind of win they desperately needed.

***

The militia unit had waited in tense silence, half the men on the verge of running and the other half steeling themselves to fight. The air was thick with a mixture of fear and anticipation as they crouched behind what little cover they had. For what felt like hours, they had been pinned down, desperate for any sign of hope.

Then came the signal. The pilots rushed to their mechs, scrambling into cockpits that were a mix of rust, patched plating, and hastily repaired systems. The mechs groaned and sputtered to life, a rough symphony of grinding gears and creaking servos.

Those that Kovacs had worked on were noticeably different. The pilots exchanged surprised looks as systems flickered on, screens that had been blank for months now showing diagnostic data. The targeting systems, which had always been a lost cause, were suddenly functional, albeit with some quirks. Cooling systems ran smoother, hydraulic joints responded faster, and even the armor integrity indicators flashed green for the first time in ages.

“Damn,” one of the pilots muttered as he fired up the systems. “Didn’t think this old rig had it in her.”

“He’s good, I’ll give him that,” another pilot replied, running a quick test of his weapons. The autocannon spun up smoothly, and the missile system, long considered useless, locked onto targets with surprising efficiency. “Looks like we’ve got a fighting chance.”

Five of the six mechs roared to life, the sixth sputtering and stalling despite all efforts to revive it. The five that remained functional stomped forward, weapons primed. The militia pilots, hearts pounding with renewed courage, maneuvered into formation.

“Alright, boys,” the unit leader called over the comms, his voice rough but full of fire. “We’ve waited long enough. Hit their flank, and hit it hard! Kovacs got us this far—let’s make it count!”

With a surge of energy, the militia mechs broke from cover and charged toward the enemy formation’s exposed side. The terrain was rough, littered with debris and craters, but the mechs pushed through with determination.

The enemy, focused on the main front, was caught off-guard by the sudden assault from the flank. The militia mechs opened fire, autocannons roaring and missile racks unleashing volleys of firepower.

The lead enemy mech, a bulky brawler model, reeled under the impact, its armor denting and cracking as the militia fire tore into its side. Another enemy mech tried to pivot, bringing its weapons to bear, but a volley of rockets from one of the militia machines struck it square in the torso, causing it to stagger back.

“Keep pushing!” the militia commander shouted, adrenaline surging through his veins. “They’re breaking formation!”

The pilots pressed harder, their mechs moving with a speed and responsiveness that felt almost foreign to them. It was clear that Kovacs’ touch had made a difference—engines ran hotter but didn’t overheat, targeting was sharper, and movement was more fluid.

One militia mech, a battered *Musketeer* model, slammed into an enemy scout mech with its shoulder, sending the lighter machine crashing. Its pilot quickly followed up, launching a point-blank barrage that tore through the enemy’s midsection.

The enemy forces, suddenly disoriented, scrambled to counter the unexpected assault. The militia pilots, sensing the momentum shift, fought with desperation and newfound confidence. This was their chance, perhaps their only one, and they knew it.

The militia mechs kept up the assault, driving into the heart of the enemy formation with everything they had. For the first time, it wasn’t just about surviving—it was about turning the tide.

The militia mechs tore into the enemy flank, guns blazing and missiles streaking across the battlefield. It was a desperate gamble, but the surprise and ferocity of the assault threw the enemy into chaos. The ragtag group, with mechs barely held together by Kovacs’ last-minute repairs, pushed forward like men possessed.

Autocannon rounds pounded the lead enemy mech, a heavy brawler model that staggered under the barrage. It tried to bring its weapons to bear, but a barrage of rockets from one of the militia *Roundheads* hit it square in the side, crumpling armor and sending sparks flying.

“Keep up the pressure!” the militia commander barked over the comms, his voice crackling with static. “Don’t let them regroup!”

The militia pilots, fighting with a mix of fear and adrenaline, followed the order, their mechs pressing harder. The enemy forces were still reeling, and three of their mechs were now showing heavy damage indicators on the militia HUDs.

"One down!" a militia pilot shouted, triumph evident in his voice as an enemy mech collapsed, its systems sparking and failing. The downed machine slumped forward, its cockpit aflame.

“Two more are in critical,” another pilot called out. “They’re pulling back!”

As the militia mechs advanced, the pilots scanned their screens for targets. But amidst the chaos, something strange flashed across their HUDs. A fourth enemy mech, previously engaged in the thick of combat, suddenly shifted from red to green on the Friend or Foe (FOF) indicator.

“What the hell?” one of the militia pilots muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s not right.”

“Check your sensors,” another pilot yelled. “FOF’s showing it as friendly!”

Confused but wary, the militia commander’s voice cut through the comm chatter. “That’s impossible. I had it confirmed—one of theirs, reported as KIA. How the hell is it showing as friendly now?”

The mech in question, a medium-weight scout unit with a partially blown-off shoulder, stopped firing and pivoted, its stance suddenly non-threatening. It raised an arm, not in attack, but in what appeared to be an attempt to communicate.

“Could be a trick,” one of the militia pilots warned, his finger hovering over the trigger.

“Hold fire!” the commander ordered, his instincts torn between caution and curiosity. “Let’s see what it’s doing.”

The unexpected shift in allegiance was bizarre and unprecedented. The militia pilots, already on edge, kept their weapons trained on the mech but refrained from shooting.

“It’s broadcasting a signal,” one of the tech specialists in the group said, quickly analyzing the feed. “Encrypted, but it’s a friendly handshake protocol.”

“Who the hell would switch sides in the middle of a fight?” the commander asked, his eyes narrowing at the mech.

A hesitant but familiar voice came over the comms, breaking the tension. “It’s Stewart,” the voice said, a mix of urgency and relief. “Don’t shoot! I’ve got control of this mech!”

There was a stunned silence before the commander spoke again. “Stewart? You captured it?”

“Yeah,” she replied breathlessly. “It’s barely holding together, but I’ve got it moving. Took over the comm systems too, but I need cover—this thing won’t last long if I take another hit.”

The commander’s expression shifted from confusion to determination. “All units, shift focus! We’ve got one of our own in that machine. Give her cover fire and keep pushing forward!”

The militia mechs adjusted their formations, some breaking off to protect the newly friendly mech while others pressed the attack on the remaining enemy units. The once-rogue mech, now piloted by Jackie Stewart, moved awkwardly but steadily, joining the formation.

“I can’t believe you did it,” one of the militia pilots said over the comms, a mix of admiration and disbelief.

“Believe it,” Stewart replied, trying to maintain control as the damaged machine stumbled forward. “But let’s make sure it wasn’t for nothing.”

The battle shifted in favor of the militia. Stewart’s captured mech unexpectedly boosted their ranks, and the enemy’s flank collapsed further, disoriented by the sudden betrayal.

"Push them back! Don’t let them regroup!" the commander ordered, his voice filled with newfound hope.

The militia mechs surged ahead, the captured enemy mech now fighting alongside them, its weapon systems firing in unison with the others. Already battered and confused, the enemy forces finally fell under a barrage of laser fire.