Kovacs leaned against the edge of the console, his fingers brushing the edge of the glowing design board as he watched the engineers. Their doubt still lingered in the air, a tension he could almost feel, but he wasn’t going to let this design get buried under their reservations.

“Lander,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “what happens if the Grant gets pinned down in a direct engagement?”

Lander frowned, as if trying to frame his answer carefully. “It wouldn’t last long. That lighter frame wouldn’t take much punishment, and its modular weapons wouldn’t be optimal for a sustained fight.”

“Exactly,” Kovacs replied, his tone sharpening. “But that’s not its job. You’re all thinking about it like it’s another frontline unit like it’s supposed to hold its ground and trade fire. It’s not. The Grant’s purpose is to hit hard, hit fast, and reposition before the enemy can lock on. It’s a support unit with teeth, not a brawler.”

Nari tilted her head, considering his words. “But even with speed and range, it’ll still need to face threats. How do we ensure it can maneuver reliably under fire? Those thrusters will be under constant stress.”

Kovacs nodded, stepping forward to highlight key parts of the schematic. “That’s why I’ve integrated redundancies into the thruster systems. Dual core stabilization and independent fuel lines mean it can lose partial functionality and maintain maneuverability. It’s also why the design sacrifices heavy armor. Every kilogram saved is a kilogram that goes toward speed and efficiency. The Grant doesn’t need to survive a slugfest—it must avoid one.”

One of the younger engineers, Hana, chimed in hesitantly. “But what about weapons loadout? If it’s modular, it could lose effectiveness if the wrong loadout is equipped for a specific engagement. How do we handle that risk?”

Kovacs turned to her, glad for the thoughtful question. “Flexibility is the key. The Grant isn’t meant to operate in isolation. It’s part of a larger strategy. It works with units like the Lee, which can scout and harass, feeding real-time data to the Grant. That data lets us configure its loadout based on battlefield conditions. Whether it’s railguns for precision or micro-missiles for suppression, the Grant adapts.”

Lander scratched his head, skepticism giving way to cautious understanding. “So it’s not just a standalone unit. You’re designing it as part of a larger system, a coordinated effort.”

“Exactly,” Kovacs said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The Lee is our eyes and our distraction—a recon harasser. The Grant is our scalpel, our reach. Together, they’re the foundation of a new strategy. We’re not just building mechs; we’re building a doctrine.”

The room fell silent as the engineers processed his words. He could see the wheels turning in their minds, the faint flickers of realization as they started to see the bigger picture.

Nari finally broke the silence, her voice steady. “You’re asking us to think differently. Stop relying on the old ideas of what a mech should be.”

“Yes,” Kovacs replied. “Because if we don’t, we’ll be building tools for yesterday’s battles. The Grant is a risk, but it’s the risk we need to take.”

Lander sighed, running a hand through his hair. “All right. Let’s get to work on those thruster reinforcements and power optimization. If this thing will be as fast and responsive as you say, we’ll need to push the limits on efficiency.”

Hana glanced at him, a small smile forming. “And I’ll start on the modular weapon interfaces. If we’re going for adaptability, we need a fast and foolproof system.”

Nari crossed her arms, her expression softening. “You’ve got our attention, Kovacs. Now let’s see if we can make the Grant live up to your vision.”

Kovacs allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. “Good. Let’s get to work.” He turned back to the design board, his earlier fatigue fading as the team finally rallied behind the Grant. There was still much to do, but for the first time in days, he felt that progress was within reach.

Kovacs leaned against the console as the engineers focused on their tasks. He caught Lander sneaking a glance at him, his expression shifting from concentration to mild concern. Nari noticed, too, raising an eyebrow at Lander.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Go on,” she muttered. “Say it. You’re staring like he’s about to collapse.”

Lander sighed, crossing his arms. “Kovacs, you’ve been looking... thinner. And I don’t mean you had any to spare in the first place.”

Kovacs straightened, his tone dry. “Is this about the Grant, or are we branching into unsolicited health advice now?”

Nari smirked, but there was an edge of seriousness in her voice. “You’re running yourself ragged, and we can all see it. When was the last time you ate something? I don’t mean coffee and whatever crumbs you left on your desk three days ago.”

Kovacs rolled his eyes. “I’ll eat when the Grant is finalized. Priorities.”

“Yeah, great plan,” Hana piped up from across the room, not looking up from her station. “Because starving is going to help your design genius.”

Lander chimed in, his smirk softening. “Look, boss, we’re all committed to this, but you’re the brains behind the operation. If you keel over, the Grant doesn’t happen. That’s a problem for all of us.”

Nari nodded. “There’s no vending machine, no cafeteria, no shortcuts here. Raid the supply room or, I don’t know, dig up one of those ration packs you keep in your office for ‘emergencies.’ You know, like this.”

Kovacs waved them off with a grumble, limping toward the door. “Fine. But if you touch the thruster calibrations while I’m gone, we’re going back to square one.”

“Deal,” Lander said, a teasing edge to his voice. “Just come back with something that qualifies as food.”

As Kovacs left the room, their voices carried behind him.

“Think he’ll actually eat something real?” Nari asked.

Lander snorted. “Probably not. But at least we’ll guilt him into trying.”

Kovacs shook his head as he shuffled down the hall toward the supply room. Even as they criticized, teased, and pushed, they were his team—and in their way, they cared. That thought made the dull ache in his legs and the weight in his chest feel just a little lighter.

***

Jackie leaned back against the cold steel wall of the mess hall, her ration bar halfway finished and entirely tasteless. Around her, the rest of the squad sprawled in various states of exhaustion, their chatter filling the space with idle speculation. The latest directive from command had everyone on edge, though no one was willing to admit it outright.

“You ever notice how they don’t explain anything?” muttered Dren, sitting cross-legged on the floor as he picked at his ration. “Just ‘Find the former Iron Wind players.’ No, why, no, what for. Like we’re supposed to be psychic.”

“I think they like keeping us in the dark,” said Miko, chewing loudly on his bar. “Adds to the mystique, you know? Keeps us guessing.”

Jackie shook her head, smirking despite herself. “Mystique, my ass. They don’t tell us because they think we don’t need to know. We’re just the boots on the ground, right?”

Miko grinned, gesturing dramatically with his half-eaten bar. “Boots on the ground! Pawns in their great, mysterious game of chess! Jackie, our fearless squad leader, do you think we’ll ever learn what the hell they’re planning?”

“Doubt it,” she said, but her voice carried a weight that silenced the laughter. She looked down at her ration bar, her fingers idly crumbling the edge. “But it’s not like the Iron Wind’s just a random name they pulled out of a hat. They were a big deal back in the day. If the command’s looking for them now, they’ve got a reason.”

“Well, yeah,” Dren said, leaning forward. “But what’s the play? Are we talking about recruitment? Intel? Or… something darker?”

The table fell quiet at his words. Everyone knew the real Iron Wind’s reputation—ruthless, cunning, a group of pilots who had once dominated the battlefield with terrifying precision. They weren’t just soldiers; they were legends and myths brought to life. But that was years ago before they had disappeared into obscurity. Why the command wanted them now, no one could say.

Miko broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. “Maybe they think the Iron Wind can turn the tide. With all the skirmishes heating up, maybe command’s looking for an edge.”

Jackie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Or maybe they’re just scared. The kind of fear that makes you dig up old weapons and pray they still work.”

Dren frowned. “You think the Iron Wind’s still got it in them? Half those pilots must be old enough to retire.”

“Doesn’t mean they’ve lost their edge,” Jackie said. “And if command’s banking on them, they’re desperate. The Lee’s good and I’ve heard whispers about a new mech in the works, but they’re not enough. Not alone.”

The squad exchanged uneasy glances. Jackie saw it in their eyes—the same thought circling in her mind. If command was this desperate, how bad was the situation?

“Guess it’s not our job to ask,” Dren finally said, trying to lighten the mood. “Just find them, tag them, and let the higher-ups figure out what to do with them.”

Jackie nodded, though the uncertainty still gnawed at her. “Yeah. But keep your eyes open. This directive? It’s not just about finding relics of the past. It’s about whatever comes next.”

As the squad returned to their meals, Jackie stared at her ration bar, her appetite fading. Whatever command had planned, she had a feeling it was bigger than any of them realized.