General Patton stood before the holographic display, his eyes fixed on the detailed schematics of the Grant. The 250 KW generator stood out in the design, a core component that gave the mech power and versatility. It was a bold choice, ensuring the Grant could handle its modular weapon systems and advanced thrusters without sacrificing performance. Patton nodded, his expression approving as he studied the balance of speed, firepower, and adaptability Kovacs had engineered.

“Kovacs knows what he’s doing,” Patton murmured, his tone showing respect. The Grant wasn’t just a machine—it was a philosophy that pushed the boundaries of how mechs could fight.

Satisfied, he swiped a hand across the display, pulling up a different schematic. The image of an older engine, the Rawlins 70 KW, appeared. Patton’s expression shifted, the gears in his mind turning. The Rawlins wasn’t built for the Grant. No, this lightweight, highly efficient engine had a different purpose—a role he’d been considering for some time.

He pressed a button on his desk, summoning his aide. Moments later, the door hissed open, and the young officer stepped in, snapping to attention.

“You called, sir?”

Patton gestured toward the projection. “Send for Kovacs. I have an idea.”

The aide’s gaze flicked to the display, noticing the transition from the Grant to the Rawlins 70 KW engine. “Sir, isn’t that engine… dated? It hasn’t been used in decades.”

Patton smirked, his eyes narrowing as he leaned against the desk. “Outdated doesn’t mean irrelevant. That engine isn’t for the Grant—it’s for something else. Something smaller. An ultra-light mech. A machine that moves like infantry but hits harder, faster, and more precisely than anything they’ll see coming.”

The aide hesitated for a moment before nodding. “An enhanced infantry platform, sir?”

“Exactly,” Patton said, his voice brimming with conviction. “The Grant will dominate mid- to long-range engagements. But we need something that can operate in tight quarters, move through urban environments, and fight like a soldier with the durability of a mech. The Rawlins 70 KW is perfect for that.”

“I’ll have Kovacs here within the hour,” the aide said, straightening his posture.

“Good.” Patton turned back to the hologram as the aide exited. His fingers traced the lines of the old engine, the faint smile returning to his face. Kovacs had already proven he could think beyond the conventional. Now Patton wanted to see how far he could take this next idea.

“Let’s see if you can make this work, Kovacs,” Patton muttered. “Because if you can, this might just change everything.”

***

Kovacs leaned against the edge of his workbench, staring at the Grant’s schematic projected before him. He tore off another chunk of the dry, tasteless ration bar in his hand, chewing mechanically. His focus was razor-sharp, every adjustment and calculation swimming in his mind as he tried to squeeze out the final touches for the engineers to review. The thought of their inevitable critiques made him sigh heavily.

A sharp knock on the doorframe pulled him out of his thoughts. He glanced up to see the general’s aide standing stiffly in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a no-nonsense expression on his face.

“Kovacs,” the aide said, his tone clipped. “General Patton wants to see you. Now.”

Kovacs frowned, stuffing the last ration bar into his mouth and swallowing hard. “What’s this about?” he asked, his voice rough from hours of silence.

The aide didn’t flinch. “He didn’t say. Just that it’s urgent.”

Kovacs sighed again, brushing crumbs from his hands as he pushed himself away from the workbench. He grabbed his jacket, draping it over one shoulder. “Fine. Lead the way,” he said, his tone sharp with fatigue. He glanced at the Grant’s glowing schematic before turning to follow the aide.

The corridor felt longer than usual, every step sending a dull ache through Kovacs’ bad leg. He hissed quietly, trying to mask the pain, but the limp was unmistakable. The aide slowed his pace slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Kovacs replied curtly, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him. “Just lead the way.”

The aide said nothing, but Kovacs could feel the unspoken question lingering. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain with every step. Whatever General Patton wanted, it had to be necessary, and Kovacs didn’t have time to indulge his body’s protests.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

As they neared Patton’s office, Kovacs wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. The aide opened the door, gesturing for him to enter. “He’s waiting for you inside,” he said, stepping aside.

Kovacs nodded, straightening as much as his leg would allow. With a deep breath, he stepped into the room, ready to find out what had pulled him away from his work.

***

Kovacs stepped into General Patton’s office, the heavy door sliding shut behind him with a hiss. The room was spartan, the walls lined with maps and technical readouts that spoke to the General’s tactical mind. At the center of it all, Patton stood tall, his hands resting on the edge of a metal desk cluttered with physical schematics and glowing data projections.

“Kovacs,” Patton greeted, his gravelly voice carrying an edge of warmth. “Come in. Sit down.”

Kovacs limped toward the chair opposite the desk, lowering himself into it with a suppressed hiss as his lousy leg protested. He caught Patton’s sharp gaze flicking toward his discomfort but said nothing, his focus instead shifting to the documents scattered across the desk.

“I’ve been reviewing your work,” Patton began, tapping a finger on a holographic projection of the Grant. “Both the Lee and the Grant. I’ve seen the schematics, the simulations, the field tests. When you pitched the Lee, I thought you were reaching too far. Too experimental. But you proved me wrong.”

Kovacs straightened slightly despite the dull throb in his side. Patton’s praise was rare, and Kovacs wasn’t about to miss a word.

“The Lee has already shown its worth,” Patton continued. “Recon, harassment, rapid response—it’s a game-changer in the field. And now, this…” He gestured to the Grant, spinning the hologram to highlight its modular design. “A 40-ton skirmisher with mid- to long-range capabilities and enough speed to outmaneuver heavier mechs. You’re not just designing machines, Kovacs. You’re redefining how we fight.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kovacs said, his voice steady despite exhaustion. “I just hope the Grant performs as well in the field as it does on paper.”

“It will,” Patton said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Because you’ve thought it through. You’ve built something with a clear purpose. That’s why I called you here.”

Patton swiped a hand over the desk’s surface, the holographic projection of the Grant dissolving and replaced by a new design. Kovacs leaned forward, squinting slightly as the schematic came into focus—a compact, almost skeletal engine design.

“This,” Patton said, pointing to the glowing image, “is the Rawlins 70 KW engine. It's an older model, but efficient as hell. We used it back in the day for prototype scout units. It’s lightweight, durable, and versatile. And it got me thinking.”

Kovacs tilted his head, studying the schematic. The Rawlins wasn’t anything he’d worked with before, but its potential was immediately apparent. “A lightweight engine like this… it’s not for the Grant. You’re thinking smaller.”

“Exactly,” Patton said, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Smaller, faster, more maneuverable. I’m talking about an ultra-light unit. Ten tons, max. Something that operates almost like enhanced infantry. Agile enough to slip through tight spaces, hit hard, and disappear before the enemy knows what hit them.”

Kovacs rubbed his chin, his mind already racing. “That kind of weight class would mean sacrificing heavy weapons and armor. It would need a design philosophy similar to the Grant—modular, adaptable. A scalpel, not a hammer.”

Patton nodded. “And you’re the man to design it. I’ve been calling it a Goblin unit. Small, scrappy, and damn hard to pin down. It won’t replace the Lee or the Grant, but it’ll fill a niche we don’t have covered. Urban warfare, infiltration, hit-and-run tactics. With the right modular weapon systems, a squad of Goblins could punch way above their weight.”

Kovacs leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly as his bad leg stretched out. His mind was already assembling the framework for the Goblin, pulling from elements of the Lee and the Grant while stripping the design down to its essentials.

“It’s a challenge,” Kovacs said, his tone thoughtful. “A 10-ton unit means tighter constraints. I’ll have to be ruthless about what stays and what goes.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought you couldn’t handle it,” Patton replied, his tone firm. “We’re not looking for perfection on the first pass. Just get me a prototype. Something we can refine.”

Kovacs nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

Patton studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re sitting uncomfortably.”

“It’s nothing,” Kovacs said quickly, waving a hand. “Just a long night at the design board.”

“Longer than it should’ve been, by the look of you,” Patton said, his tone softening slightly. “You’re sweating, and I can see the pain in your face. When was the last time you let a medic check you out?”

Kovacs shrugged, avoiding the general’s gaze. “I’m fine. Just a bad leg. It doesn’t interfere with my work.”

Patton leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. “Your work is too damn important for you to run yourself into the ground. I’ve seen men like you before, Kovacs—brilliant, driven, and too stubborn for their good. Don’t be one of them.”

Kovacs shifted in his chair, his jaw tightening. “With respect, sir, I know my limits.”

Patton’s expression hardened, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Then act like it. Do you think I want to find a replacement for you because you worked yourself into a grave? Get yourself looked at, Kovacs. That’s an order.”

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of Patton’s words settling over them. Finally, Kovacs nodded, though his pride still bristled. “Understood, sir.”

“Good,” Patton said, his tone softening again. He tapped the projection of the Rawlins engine, bringing it back into focus. “Now, get to work on the Goblin. I’ll expect initial schematics in a week.”

Kovacs stood, wincing as his leg protested the movement. “You’ll have them sooner, sir.”

As he turned to leave, Patton called after him. “And Kovacs? Get some damn rest. The Goblin will wait, but your health won’t.”

Kovacs gave a curt nod, his limp more pronounced as he left the office. His mind was already churning with ideas for the Goblin, but Patton’s words about his health lingered. He wasn’t ready to admit it, but the general had a point. If he wanted to see his designs come to life, he couldn’t afford to burn out before the finish line.