Kovacs leaned over the schematics, rubber duck in hand, fine-tuning his plan for each mech class. He knew he’d have to get the engine assignments exactly right if these machines were going to perform as intended. He talked his thoughts aloud to the duck and focused on each mech, weighing speed, power, and purpose.
“All right, Duck,” he muttered, looking at the Lee’s design. “The Lee’s our lightest mech, only 30 tons, and it’s all about speed. We don’t need to overdo the power here—let’s go with the Wasp, the 180 kW engine. Light and efficient. It’ll keep the Lee fast, perfect for reconnaissance and light skirmishing without burning through resources. This thing should be able to move like it’s on rails.”
He nodded, pleased with his choice. The Wasp would give the Lee just enough power without compromising its agility or light frame.
Next, he turned his attention to the Grant, the 40-ton mech. “For the Grant, we need a little more punch,” he said, tapping on the schematic. “I’ll give it the Falcon, the 200 kW engine. This one will be a skirmisher meant for frontline engagement, so it needs the power to carry a bit more armor and heavier weaponry. The Falcon engine will balance speed and durability, letting the Grant hold its own while moving quickly.”
Satisfied, he pulled up the Sherman’s 50-ton versatile support mech design. “Now, the Sherman,” he murmured, glancing down at the duck. “We’ll go with the Dragonfly, the 250 kW engine. This mech must be adaptable, so it’ll handle short- and long-range engagements. The Dragonfly will give it the power to manage a balanced loadout—enough armor to stay in the fight, enough flexibility to support the Lee and Grant.”
The final mech on his list was the Pershing, a heavy 60-ton assault unit. Kovacs studied its frame for a moment before speaking, “And last but not least, we’ve got the Pershing. This one’s built to take hits and dish out serious damage, so we’re going with the Phoenix, the 300 kW engine. It’ll be slower than the others, but it’ll have the power to carry maximum armor and heavy weaponry. This beast will be our anchor, holding the line and taking the brunt of enemy fire.”
Just as he finished, Mark entered, again catching Kovacs mid-conversation with his rubber duck.
“Kovacs,” Mark said, his tone half-amused, half-curious, “still hashing things out with the Duck, I see?”
Kovacs glanced up, unfazed. “Yeah. The Duck helps me make sure everything’s clear. If it doesn’t make sense when I say it aloud, then it probably won’t work in practice.”
Mark chuckled, crossing his arms. “Well, if the Duck’s helping you get results, I’m all for it. So, where are we with the engine assignments?”
Kovacs brought up the schematic display, pointing out each mech in turn. “The Lee’s getting the Wasp, the 180 kW. It’ll keep it light and fast. The Grant will use the Falcon at 200 kW, balancing power and armor for skirmishing. The Sherman, at 50 tons, is getting the Dragonfly, the 250 kW—perfect for its support role. And the Pershing, the heavy hitter, will get the Phoenix, the 300 kW. It’s built to hold the line.”
Mark nodded, taking it all in. “Solid plan. Each engine fits the role, and we’re not wasting rare materials. I’ll get the team started on preparing the frames and resources for each.”
Kovacs grinned, holding up the rubber duck in a small salute. “You heard him, Duck. Time to make it happen.”
Kovacs knew they were on the right track with the engines chosen and the framework set. They weren’t just building mechs—they were crafting a team that would be sharp, strategic, and ready for anything.
Kovacs nods. I have some preliminary designs done, he says, gesturing over to a side table. I'd like you to refine them a little bit. I've put in the designs for the joints I think will work the best.”
Mark raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued as he followed Kovacs’s gesture to the side table, where a set of preliminary schematics were spread out. He picked up one of the blueprints, eyes scanning the detailed work Kovacs had laid out for the mech joints.
“These look solid,” Mark said, tracing a finger over the joint configurations. “You’re using a triple-layered composite structure here—strong but flexible enough to handle rapid movement. Smart move, especially for the Lee and Grant. But I can see a few areas we could reinforce for added durability.”
Kovacs nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. I want those joints to stay flexible without compromising their integrity under strain. If we can refine these designs and maybe shave off a few extra pounds, we’ll keep the lighter models agile but resilient. I considered adding an extra buffer in the knee joints to handle the torsion from quick pivots.”
Mark examined the knee joint schematic, nodding slowly. “That would help stabilize them in tighter maneuvers, especially for the Grant. But if we’re worried about weight, we could try a more compact buffer with a high-tensile polymer layer instead of straight-up plating. Might save you a bit on weight without compromising strength.”
Kovacs tilted his head, considering it. “Good idea. I’ll mock up a prototype and see if it fits within the weight constraints.” He gestured to the two heavier models' elbow and shoulder joints for the Sherman and Pershing. “For these, I used a reinforced rotational axis with shock dampeners. We’ll need those joints to handle heavy weapon recoil without shifting off-balance. But it’s a balancing act; too much reinforcement, and we’ll slow them down.”
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Mark studied the design, his face earnest. “With the Pershing, you can get away with it. That thing’s built to tank, not dodge, so a little extra weight on the joints for stability shouldn’t be an issue. The Sherman, though…yeah, we’ll need to watch it. I’ll play around with the specs and see if we can adjust the tension points to keep it from slowing down.”
Kovacs’s eyes brightened, feeling the pieces coming together. “Perfect. And once we finalize the joints, we can simulate stress tests and check for weak points.”
Mark looked up, meeting his gaze with a glint of determination. “You know, Kovacs, you’ve thought this through. These mechs are shaping up to be something impressive. I know the team was skeptical, but with these designs, they’re starting to see your vision.”
Kovacs shrugged, his expression modest. “Just trying to cover all the angles. I want these mechs to be reliable for the pilots. They’ll be taking the hits and putting everything on the line. The least I can do is ensure the design won’t disappoint them.”
Mark grinned, giving Kovacs an approving clap on the shoulder. “Keep talking to that Duck, then. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. I’ll refine the joints and update you once the adjustments are done. We’ll get these mechs ready for the field, and they’ll be a force to reckon with.”
As Mark turned to head back to his station, Kovacs felt a swell of confidence. They were building something more than just machines—they were constructing lifelines for the pilots who would depend on them, and every detail mattered.
Kovacs watched Mark walk off, feeling a strange mixture of relief and anxiety settle over him. The plans were coming together, and his team seemed to be coming around, but he knew the most challenging part was yet to come. The engineers had started to respect him, yet skepticism lingered in their eyes. For many of them, Kovacs was still just a kid—a promising one, maybe, but inexperienced and unproven.
He shifted his weight, feeling the familiar, searing pain in his hip flare up. It had been a long day, and standing on his feet for hours had worsened the old injury. He leaned against the workbench, trying to hide his discomfort, but every throb reminded him of how much he was pushing himself. Kovacs reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against nothing, and for a moment, he felt a pang of desperation. His body was aching, his hip throbbing like fire with every step he took. Instinctively, he’d reached for the painkillers, a small comfort he kept for days like these. But then he remembered: he’d handed them over to a nurse, hoping they’d do some good for the injured children she was tending to.
Some of him regretted it, his body screaming for relief, but he knew he’d made the right choice. Those kids needed it more than he did. With a quiet, steadying breath, he dropped his hand back to his side and leaned against the table, letting the sharp pain ground him. It was just one more reminder of his weight—not just the burden of leadership but the constant, nagging ache that seemed to ask, Are you strong enough for this?
The pain was nothing compared to the pressure he felt weighing on him. Here he was, thrust into a lead role, expected to produce miracles with limited resources, a skeptical team, and looming deadlines. The engineers’ eyes lingered whenever he gave instructions, as though they were waiting for him to stumble, waiting for the “prodigy” to make a mistake. Even with Jackie’s support and the general’s endorsement, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was constantly on the edge of failure.
He swallowed, glancing down at the blueprints. Every line, every measurement, every specification felt heavy, like an impossible puzzle he was expected to solve alone. He pressed his hand against the table, steadying himself, his fingers digging into the edge as he forced himself to focus. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios: the joints failing under stress, the engines not holding up, the mechs crumpling under enemy fire. Images of pilots scrambling, trapped inside malfunctioning machines, haunted him.
Taking a shaky breath, he looked at the rubber duck sitting on his workbench. It seemed almost absurd to think this little piece of plastic could help him, but it was the one constant in his chaotic world of calculations and projections. Kovacs reached over and picked it up, gripping it tightly as if drawing strength from the simple, steady presence.
“All right, Duck,” he whispered, his voice low, almost desperate. “Let’s go over it again, just to be sure.” He could feel the eyes of a few nearby engineers on him, but he didn’t care. Talking through the designs with the duck helped clear his mind, allowing him to externalize the chaos.
He went through each design, whispering aloud as he reviewed every component and subsystem, analyzing the weakest points and trying to anticipate potential failures. His fingers traced the lines on the blueprint as he spoke, imagining how each piece would hold up under the strain of battle, how every joint would react, how every engine would hum or strain.
“Kovacs?” The voice startled him, pulling him out of his trance. He looked up to see Mark standing a few steps away, watching him with a concerned expression.
“You okay, kid?” Mark’s gaze flicked down to Kovacs’s hand, still clutching the duck like a lifeline, and then back up to his face.
Kovacs hesitated, the weight of his doubts almost overwhelming him. For a moment, he wanted to tell Mark everything—the pain in his hip, the fear of failing, and the sense he was in over his head. But he forced himself to nod, giving a half-hearted smile.
“Yeah… just making sure everything’s solid,” he replied, trying to sound confident. “These designs, they’ve got to hold up. Can’t risk anything going wrong out there.”
Mark’s gaze softened as if he could sense the storm beneath Kovacs’s steady façade. He nodded slowly. “We depend on you, Kovacs, but you don’t have to carry it all alone. You’ve got a team here. Let us help you shoulder some of this.”
Kovacs managed a grateful smile, the tension easing just a bit. He realized he didn’t have to be perfect, didn’t have to be a miracle worker. He just needed to keep going, one step at a time, trusting that the people around him were there to catch him if he faltered.
“Thanks, Mark,” he said quietly, clutching the duck a little less tightly. “I appreciate it. Really.”
With a nod, Mark clapped him on the shoulder. “Now get some rest if you can, and maybe let the Duck take a break, too. You’re doing fine, Kovacs. Better than fine.”
As Mark walked away, Kovacs allowed himself to breathe, feeling a tiny spark of hope despite the pain in his hip and the doubts gnawing at him. The pressure was still there, and the fear hadn’t gone away, but he felt a little less alone in the fight.