Kovacs stood stiffly before General Patton’s desk, the Sherman’s design displayed as a three-dimensional hologram between them. The massive 50-ton mech loomed in miniature, its angular frame and weapon ports rotating slowly under the projector’s glow. Patton’s piercing gaze flicked from the schematic to Kovacs, his expression hard to read.

“It’s good, Kovacs,” Patton said, his voice low and deliberate. “Solid design. Strong weapons, decent mobility, and the right level of versatility for most engagements.”

Kovacs felt a momentary relief, but it was short-lived as Patton leaned forward, his finger tracing the Sherman’s holographic outline.

“But it’s not enough.”

Kovacs blinked, his brow furrowing. “Not enough, sir? The Sherman is designed to anchor the offensive. It’s got enough firepower to punch through entrenched positions and the armor to withstand sustained enemy fire.”

Patton waved a hand dismissively. “In theory, yes. But I’ve seen how the enemy is adapting. Their lines are thicker than we anticipated, and their heavy units pack more firepower. It'll struggle if the Sherman meets resistance from a mech equivalent or a fortified battalion. We need more than a frontline brawler. We need a battering ram.”

Kovacs clenched his jaw. He’d poured weeks into the Sherman’s design, balancing firepower, armor, and speed. The idea of scrapping parts of it felt like a gut punch. “What exactly are you asking for, sir?”

Patton’s eyes narrowed. “I’m asking for a heavy assault mech that can shrug off anything the enemy throws at it and still deliver overwhelming firepower. More armor. More weapons. Something that can stand toe-to-toe with the heaviest opposition and walk away intact.”

“That kind of design means sacrificing maneuverability,” Kovacs said, his voice measured. “And it will require a larger reactor—something in the 300 KW range at least.”

“Then find a reactor,” Patton snapped. “This isn’t about compromises, Kovacs. This is about winning. I don’t care if it takes every resource we have. I want the new design on my desk in three days. Understood?”

Kovacs nodded slowly, his mind already racing. “Understood, sir.”

Patton leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly. “I know it’s a tall order, but you’ve done it before. Give me a machine that breaks their backs, Kovacs. Dismissed.”

***

Kovacs sat alone in his workshop, the faint hum of the design board the only sound in the room. The conversation with General Patton lingered in his mind like an echo, the general demanded a heavier, more powerful mech weighing on him as heavily as the 75-ton Pershing would weigh on its reinforced legs.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The Sherman was solid, the Goblin was in production, and the Lee was already proving itself on the battlefield. Yet, Patton’s relentless push for “more” had forced Kovacs to confront the limitations of his work.

Pulling up his account on the design network, he stared at the number in the corner of the screen: **3250 points.** The reward system was straightforward—points earned from successful designs and implementations could be reinvested into new schematics, advanced materials, and optimization tools. He’d been hoarding these points for weeks, waiting for the right moment to spend them.

That moment, it seemed, had arrived.

Kovacs scrolled through the available options, filtering by “reactors.” The Sherman had pushed the limits of the 250 KW generator, and the Pershing would demand far more power. A better reactor wasn’t just a luxury—it was a necessity.

The schematic for the Mercedes 300 KW reactor caught his eye. It was an engineering marvel, compact for its output and renowned for its reliability. The price tag was steep—1750 points—but Kovacs knew it was worth everyone.

He tapped the schematic, confirming the purchase. The screen flashed a brief notification:

Purchase successful. Mercedes 300 KW reactor schematic unlocked. Points remaining: 1500.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. With the reactor secured, he turned his attention to other potential upgrades. The optimization paths offered tools to fine-tune his designs, unlocking efficiencies that could mean the difference between a good mech and a great one.

His eyes lingered on the Structural Reinforcement Package—an upgrade that would allow him to balance weight and durability more effectively. It wasn’t cheap, costing another 800 points, but it would address some of the stability issues he’d been grappling with on the heavier models.

Another tap, another confirmation.

Purchase successful. Structural Reinforcement Package unlocked. Points remaining: 700.

Kovacs leaned back, exhaling slowly. The remaining points would have to wait; he first needed to see how these new tools impacted his designs. Already, his mind was racing with possibilities and new knowledge as it downloaded into his brain—how to integrate the Mercedes reactor into the Pershing and utilize the reinforcement package to mitigate its weight challenges.

He pulled up the Pershing’s preliminary schematic, his stylus hovering over the blank screen. With the new reactor and reinforcement tools, he had a chance to push the limits of what a heavy assault mech could be. Patton wanted a battering ram. Kovacs would give him one—but it wouldn’t just be powerful. It would be smart, efficient, and adaptable.

As he began sketching the Pershing’s frame, a flicker of excitement cut through his fatigue. This wasn’t just about meeting Patton’s demands. It was about proving—to himself, to the engineers, and to the battlefield—that his designs weren’t just machines. They were the future.

***

Back in his workshop, Kovacs stood before the Sherman’s schematic, the familiar outline a ghost of what had to come next. He exhaled deeply and dragged the design into a secondary window. A new schematic filled the screen, its blankness as daunting as the task ahead. If the Sherman was the backbone of their strategy, the Pershing needed to be the fist.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He began with the armor. The Sherman’s plating was sufficient for moderate engagements, but the Pershing would need to take a beating from the heaviest weapons the enemy could throw at it. He layered the design with advanced composite armor, including ablative panels to reduce the impact of energy weapons. The increased thickness around the cockpit and reactor core made it nearly impervious to direct hits. Each new addition, however, added weight—more than he’d anticipated. He adjusted the frame to compensate, expanding the structure to support the additional mass.

Next came the weapon systems. Patton had made it clear that firepower couldn’t be an afterthought. Kovacs sketched a layout with a large-bore Gauss cannon mounted in the torso. Its sheer destructive potential made it a game-changer, capable of tearing through fortifications and mech armor.

He added heavy plasma cannons to the shoulders—versatile weapons that could deliver sustained damage and area suppression. He incorporated a missile pod system mounted on the back to cover long-range engagements, angled for optimal firing arcs. The pod could carry guided and unguided munitions, giving the Pershing flexibility in combat.

Finally, Kovacs considered the secondary armaments. The arms were fitted with autocannons and integrated melee enhancements—reinforced knuckles capable of delivering crushing blows in close quarters. Spikes and bracing plates made the mech’s arms as much a weapon as its cannons.

When the draft was complete, Kovacs stepped back, taking in the towering figure. The Pershing was a brute—a 75-ton colossus armed to the teeth. It was terrifying, even as a schematic. Yet, despite its strengths, it felt… unwieldy.

He tapped his comm link. “Nari, get down here. We need to talk about stability.”

Minutes later, Nari strode in, tablet in hand. She stopped short when she saw the design, her eyebrows shooting up. “That’s the Pershing?”

Kovacs nodded grimly. “Patton wants a battering ram. This is it.”

Nari circled the display, her critical eye-catching every detail. “It’s got the firepower, no question. But with this weight? It’s going to handle like a nightmare.”

“I know,” Kovacs said, frustration creeping into his tone. “That’s what I need help with.”

Nari pulled up the Pershing’s weight distribution model, her fingers dancing across her tablet. “Seventy-five tons, centered mostly around the torso. Your reactor—what are you using?”

“The Mercedes 300 KW,” Kovacs replied. “It’s the only reactor capable of powering this thing.”

“Good choice,” Nari said, nodding. “But even with that, your mobility calculations are… optimistic. Look here.” She pointed to the holographic projection, zooming in on the leg actuators. “Your stress load is way over the threshold for these joints. You’ll blow out the servos in the first engagement if you don’t reinforce them.”

Kovacs frowned, adjusting the specifications. “What if we double the torque output? It’ll slow the top speed but stabilize the frame during heavy movements.”

“That gets you to, what, 25 miles per hour?” Nari said, doing the mental math. “It’s fine for straight-line movement, but you’ll need upgraded gyros for turning. A mech this heavy can’t pivot on standard systems.”

Kovacs sighed, leaning on the console. “I’ve already stretched the budget on materials. We'll need to find weight savings elsewhere if I reinforce the legs and upgrade the gyros.”

Nari crossed her arms, thinking. “Lose the modular missile racks. Make them fixed. It’s less flexible but’ll save you a few tons.”

Reluctantly, Kovacs adjusted the missile systems. “Fine. But that still doesn’t solve the recoil issue with the Gauss cannon.”

Nari pulled up the weapon specs. “Add recoil dampeners to the mount. It’ll push the cannon further from the torso, but the extra stability will keep the mech from toppling.”

Kovacs nodded, adding the modifications. The changes made the pershing more stable but still heavier. He felt the strain of each decision, knowing every added feature was another burden for the mech’s maneuverability.

“We’re hitting the upper limit of what the Mercedes reactor can handle,” Nari said, frowning. “If you add anything else, you must reconfigure the power distribution.”

“Then we’re done,” Kovacs said, stepping back. He studied the final design, his exhaustion palpable. The Pershing was no longer just a mech but a monument to Patton’s demands. It bristled with weapons, its armor layered like a fortress, its legs reinforced to bear the incredible weight.

“It’s a monster,” Nari said, her tone a mix of awe and apprehension. “If this thing goes down, it’s not because of poor design. It’s because the battlefield wasn’t ready for it.”

Kovacs chuckled darkly. “Let’s hope the battlefield doesn’t collapse under it first.”

He saved the final design and sent it to the production team. As the hologram faded, he couldn’t help but feel both pride and unease. The Pershing was powerful, but it was also a gamble—a lumbering titan built to crush the enemy underfoot.

“All right,” Kovacs said, exhaling. “Let’s see if Patton’s satisfied with his battering ram.”

***

The barracks were alive with chatter. Soldiers clustered around tables, their trays of rehydrated rations forgotten, as conversations shifted to the new mechs rolling off the production lines. The mood was a mix of excitement, curiosity, and skepticism.

“I’m telling you,” Private Ortiz said, leaning forward with a grin, “the Goblins might look scrappy, but they’re ours. The first mechs were built here on Prescott. That’s history in the making.”

“History or not,” Corporal Vickers replied, arms crossed over her chest, “those cockpits are tighter than my grandma’s pantry. I squeezed into one during training, and I swear my knees still haven’t forgiven me.”

A ripple of laughter went through the group, but Sergeant Callahan, seated at the end of the table, raised a hand. “Cramped or not, they’re better than nothing. You’d rather still be riding in those rust buckets we were getting from off-world? Half of them came missing parts or didn’t even power up.”

“True,” Vickers admitted, “but at least those rust buckets had room to breathe.”

“Room for rats, you mean,” Ortiz shot back, earning another round of chuckles.

From the next table over, a lanky tech named Simmons chimed in, his sleeves rolled up to reveal grease-stained forearms. “You infantry always complain about the cockpits, but you don’t hear us techs whining about the maintenance, do you?”

“That’s because you don’t have to sit in them for hours,” Vickers quipped. “Try piloting one through a combat drill and tell me you don’t feel like a sardine.”

Simmons shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe so, but from a maintenance perspective, these Goblins are a dream. Everything’s modular. Do you want to swap a medium laser for a small one and a heat sink? It takes half the time it would on the old rigs. And the new armor plating? It’s lighter and easier to patch up.”

Ortiz perked up. “So, they’re good for something, then?”

“They’re good for many things,” Simmons said, pointing his fork at the soldier. “And once we get the Grants rolling out in numbers, you’ll see what homegrown engineering can do. Those things have range, speed, and enough modularity to keep even me busy.”

Callahan grunted. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Right now, all I know is we’ve got a handful of Goblins, and command keeps talking up the Grants like they will save the war.”

“They might,” Ortiz said, his tone more serious now. “At least they’re made here by people who know the terrain and what we’re up against. That’s gotta count for something.”

“It does,” Simmons agreed. “The designers—what’s his name, Kovacs?—he’s been working nonstop. Rumor has it he even argued with the engineers to get these things right.”

Callahan raised an eyebrow. “Argued?”

“Yeah,” Simmons said. “They didn’t trust his designs at first. Said some of the concepts were too advanced or didn’t make sense. But he stood his ground. Ended up teaching them a thing or two, from what I hear.”

Vickers snorted. “Great, so our lives are in the hands of some hotshot designer who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.”

“Maybe he is,” Ortiz said. “If these mechs hold up in the field, that’s all that matters.”

“I still say they’re too cramped,” Vickers muttered, but there was less venom in her voice now.

Simmons leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Cramped or not, at least you can trust them to work. And when they do break down, you’ll be glad they’re easy to fix. You know what a pain it was keeping those old rigs running.”

Callahan nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a point. At least these are ours. Feels different, fighting with something made by Prescott's hands.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Ortiz said, raising his cup. “To the Goblins and the Grants. They might be rough around the edges, but they’re ours.”

The group raised their cups in a quiet toast, the mood in the barracks lighter now. The soldiers might not have been completely sold on the new mechs yet, but a sense of pride was growing among them—a belief that these machines, however flawed, were a step toward something better.