The battlefield was a war-torn industrial zone, the skeletons of factories and warehouses casting long shadows in the fading light. Jackie’s squad was pinned down behind the rusted remains of a cargo hauler, their comms buzzing with urgent chatter. Smoke rose from several downed Goblins, their sleek frames crumpled and smoking, while the enemy’s new mechs loomed in the distance.
“Sergeant Stewart, we’ve got a problem,” Nira shouted over the comms, her Goblin darting to cover as plasma fire streaked past her. “These aren’t the same clunkers we’ve been fighting!”
Jackie gritted her teeth, her HUD lighting up with telemetry from the enemy mechs. They were sleeker than before, with angular designs that reflected a stark shift in engineering philosophy. Their movements were fluid, almost predatory, and their weapons hit harder and faster than expected.
“Stay calm and regroup,” Jackie ordered, scanning the battlefield. “We need to focus fire. Find a weakness.”
The enemy mechs advanced precisely, their compressed armor gleaming under the dim light. Jackie fired her Lee’s laser cannons at one of the units, the beams slicing through the air with pinpoint accuracy. The enemy mech staggered but quickly recovered, the laser barely scorching its outer plating.
“They’re tanking our hits!” Dren shouted, his voice tinged with panic. “What is that armor?”
“Switch to concentrated fire!” Jackie commanded. “Take them one at a time!”
The squad rallied, their Goblins darting in and out of cover and firing in synchronized bursts. Finally, one of the enemy mechs faltered under the onslaught, its legs buckling, before it collapsed in a heap of sparks and smoke.
“Got one!” Harland yelled triumphantly.
But there was no time to celebrate. The remaining enemy units pressed forward, forcing Jackie’s team to retreat. They managed to recover the downed enemy mech with a tow line before falling back to a secure position. The battle had cost them dearly, but the chance to analyze their opponent’s new tech was worth the risk.
***
Kovacs stood at the edge of the engineering bay, arms crossed, as the remains of the captured enemy mech were hoisted onto a platform. The mech’s armor shimmered faintly under the lights, its angular plates radiating an almost organic complexity. Around him, his team buzzed with activity—engineers cataloging every detail, cutting tools whining as they stripped away the exterior.
“Get me samples from every major section,” Kovacs ordered, his tone clipped. “I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Pitt was already ahead of him, using a plasma cutter to carve a palm-sized piece of the armor from the torso plating. She held it up, squinting at the intricate layering before tossing it onto a nearby workbench. “This stuff’s weird,” she said, turning to Kovacs. “It’s like nothing we’ve handled before. Strong, lightweight, and... it feels engineered, almost like a hybrid material.”
Nari approached with her tablet, and the spectrometer was already analyzing the initial samples. “It’s compressed armor, no question,” she said. “But the composition’s unique. They’ve combined an alloy with a synthetic polymer. The alloy provides strength, and the polymer absorbs kinetic energy. It’s incredibly efficient.”
Kovacs frowned, stepping closer to examine the spectrometer readout. “The concept is familiar,” he muttered. “Too familiar. This is based on the compression methods I designed.”
“But not the materials,” Nari added. “They’ve taken your process and applied their own resources. Their alloy’s denser, but they’ve offset the weight by using thinner layers.”
Pitt leaned on the workbench, smirking. “Looks like someone’s been studying your homework, boss.”
Kovacs ignored her jab, his mind already racing. “What about weaknesses?” he asked. “The Goblins barely scratched this stuff in the field.”
Nari tapped the screen, zooming in on the molecular structure. “The compression matrix relies on precise bonding. It’s resistant to heat and energy, but kinetic impacts seem to disrupt it. When we hit it with the slug test, the matrix fractured along the bonding seams.”
“Meaning they’re trading flexibility for strength,” Kovacs concluded. “It can take glancing blows and energy fire, but direct impacts overwhelm the structure.”
Pitt grabbed a chunk of the damaged armor, turning it over in her hands. “So, we hit them harder. Bigger rounds, higher velocity. Anything to punch through their shiny new toy.”
“Not just harder,” Kovacs said, his tone thoughtful. “Smarter. If they’ve tailored their armor to resist standard weapons, we need to think outside the box.”
He pulled up a schematic on his workstation, overlaying the enemy armor’s profile with his existing designs. “If we can replicate their compression process with our materials, we might be able to create something that outperforms it.”
“You’re talking about reverse-engineering their tech?” Nari asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Exactly,” Kovacs said. “We analyze the weaknesses and build a countermeasure. But we also learn from their strengths. We don’t just adapt—we evolve.”
***
Over the next few hours, the engineering bay became a flurry of activity. Pitt and Nari worked on isolating samples of the enemy armor, subjecting it to a battery of tests. Lasers, plasma, and kinetic impacts—all calibrated to pinpoint vulnerabilities. Meanwhile, Kovacs pored over the data, mapping every crack and fracture to understand how the material responded to stress.
“Let’s try the Fokker medium laser again,” Kovacs said, gesturing to a test range where a slab of the armor had been mounted.
The laser fired, a searing beam of energy slicing into the plating. The armor glowed faintly but held firm, the surface only slightly scorched.
“It’s laughing at us,” Pitt muttered. “That polymer’s absorbing most of the heat.”
“Switch to kinetic,” Kovacs said, his voice steady.
A high-velocity slug slammed into the target, shattering part of the armor with a loud crack. The room fell silent as Pitt pried off the broken section, revealing the fragmented layers beneath.
“There it is,” Nari said, pointing to the damage. “The compression matrix failed. The binding agent couldn’t handle the direct force.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“That’s our in,” Kovacs said. “Kinetic penetrators. If we design specialized rounds that exploit these weaknesses, we can neutralize their advantage.”
Kovacs moved to his workstation, his mind buzzing with possibilities. Pulling up his Goblin and Grant designs, he began sketching potential upgrades. The Goblins were fast and modular, perfect for delivering high-velocity attacks. With their heavier armaments, the Grants could provide the firepower needed to punch through the enemy’s armor.
“Here’s the plan,” Kovacs said, his voice cutting through the noise. “We’re going to design a new kinetic weapon—a railgun-style cannon capable of delivering precision impacts at high velocity. Small enough for the Goblins to carry but powerful enough to compromise their armor.”
Pitt whistled. “Ambitious. You sure the Goblins can handle the recoil?”
“They’ll need gyro stabilizers and reinforced mounting points,” Kovacs admitted. “But it’s doable.”
Nari chimed in, her tone cautious. “And for the Grants?”
Kovacs opened the Grant’s schematic, adding a modular attachment point for a larger-caliber weapon. “We’ll retrofit them with heavy autocannons firing tungsten-core rounds. The idea is to overload the armor’s matrix with sustained impact.”
“And the Lee?” Nari asked. “It’s not built for direct engagement, but its sensors could be invaluable.”
Kovacs nodded. “The Lee becomes the spotter. Its advanced sensors will identify weak points in the enemy mechs’ armor and relay targeting data to the Goblins and Grants.”
He turned back to the workstation, his stylus moving rapidly across the screen. “But that’s just the first step. We’re also going to refine our armor designs. If they can compress alloys, so can we. We’ll start by integrating titanium alloys with our existing composites, then experiment with layering techniques to reduce weight while maintaining strength.”
Pitt grinned. “Turning their tricks against them. I like it.”
***
By the night's end, the team had laid the groundwork for a comprehensive counterstrategy. Kovacs had sketched out the railgun and autocannon designs, while Pitt and Nari had started refining the materials for their next generation of armor.
“Command’s going to want results fast,” Nari said, stretching her arms as she glanced at the clock. “Do you think we can pull this off?”
“We don’t have a choice,” Kovacs said, his voice steady. “The enemy’s evolving, and we need to stay ahead. If we let them dictate the battlefield, we lose. But if we adapt faster, we win.”
Pitt clapped him on the back. “No pressure, boss.”
Kovacs allowed himself a faint smile. “None at all.”
As the engineering bay settled into a quieter rhythm, Kovacs leaned back in his chair, staring at the schematics. The enemy’s armor had been a wake-up call, but it was also an opportunity. He knew they could turn the tide with the right tools and mindset.
This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about innovation, adaptation, and proving that no matter how strong the enemy seemed, humanity could always outthink them.
***
The sterile light of the debriefing room flickered overhead as Bertram adjusted his lab coat, the fabric still smelling faintly of disinfectant. Across the table, Earnys sat stiffly, his glasses catching the harsh light as he stared at the screen displaying the captured bioderm. Neither man spoke momentarily, their silence filled with the muffled hum of machinery outside the observation room.
On the monitor, the bioderm—the enemy pilot—was strapped to a gurney, its restraints overkill for the withered creature struggling weakly against them. It was humanoid, but only barely, with a gaunt, hairless body covered in sallow, mottled skin patches. Its limbs were unnaturally elongated, and its chest heaved with uneven, shallow breaths. Tubes snaked out from its body, connecting it to a life-support system that beeped steadily.
“What are we even looking at?” Earnys finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with a mix of fascination and unease.
Bertram sighed, folding his arms as he leaned closer to the screen. "A bioderm. Genetically engineered, likely vat-grown. But… this is worse than I imagined."
Earnys nodded grimly. “It’s pitiable. Look at it—malnourished, barely able to maintain consciousness. They’re supposed to be elite pilots, aren’t they? How could something like this even function in combat?”
“Function is all it’s designed for,” Bertram replied, his voice edged with clinical detachment. “No thought for longevity or quality of life. It’s a tool, nothing more.”
The bioderm’s head twitched slightly, its cloudy, sunken eyes flicking toward the camera. Its lips moved, but no sound escaped, only a faint, wheezing rasp. A translator on the monitor attempted to interpret the garbled noises, but all it managed to display was: "Command… failure… pain… please…"
Earnys shuddered, adjusting his glasses as if to clear the image from his sight. "It’s… aware?"
"Partially," Bertram said, straightening. "They have to be, at least enough to interface with the neural controls of their mecha. But beyond that? They’re disposable assets. Cannon fodder. The enemy doesn’t care about their survival."
He tapped a button, and the view switched to a detailed scan of the bioderm’s physiology. Red markers indicated internal injuries: microfractures along its bones, inflamed neural pathways, and failing organs. "Look at this. It’s barely holding together. Prolonged exposure to G-forces, malnutrition, and repeated neural uplinks have worn its body down to the edge of collapse. This one was piloting that medium-class mecha we took down, right?"
Earnys nodded. "Yes. The soldiers found it pinned under the wreckage. It tried to eject, but… well, you saw what was left of the cockpit."
“And yet, it survived.” Bertram shook his head. “I doubt it’s because of any safeguards. More likely sheer accident. Their design philosophy doesn’t leave room for that kind of mercy.”
On the screen, the bioderm coughed violently, its body jerking against the restraints. A nurse moved into the frame, administering a sedative. For a moment, its movements stilled, but its face twisted in what could only be described as anguish. Its lips moved again, and the translator displayed a single word: "Why?"
Earnys swallowed hard, glancing away. "Do you think it understands what’s happening? What it’s been made into?"
"Maybe on some primal level," Bertram replied softly. "But understanding doesn’t matter to them—or their creators. It’s all about efficiency. They’ve engineered these things to pilot mecha with no regard for their mental or physical well-being. Strip away everything but the barest essentials for survival and combat effectiveness."
He leaned forward, his voice growing harsher. "Look at the cranial implants. Neural interfaces enhance reaction time but at the cost of constant feedback pain. Those metal bands along its forearms and spine? Reinforcement to withstand the strain of direct control systems. It’s not piloting the mecha—it is the mecha, connected on a level we can’t imagine."
Earnys was silent momentarily, staring at the bioderm’s skeletal frame. “It’s monstrous,” he said finally. “Not just what they’ve done to it, but… how normal this must be for them. How many more of these things are out there, being ground into dust for their war effort?”
Bertram didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tapped another button, and the screen switched to a series of photographs from the wreckage. Images of the bioderm’s cockpit filled the display, revealing a tight, claustrophobic chamber lined with cables and fluid reservoirs. A nutrient feed dangled limply from the ceiling, connected to a shattered mask. Blood and viscera painted the walls, and the remains of the control harness jutted from the seat like broken ribs.
"That cockpit was its life," Bertram said quietly. "Fed, hydrated, and kept alive just enough to fight. And when it couldn’t anymore? They would’ve discarded it and grown another."
Earnys exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It’s a wonder it didn’t just let itself die in there."
"It can’t," Bertram said. "Not when every nerve in its body screams at it to keep going. Not when it’s been conditioned, probably since it was… what? Days old? Months? It doesn’t know how to stop."
The monitor flickered back to the bioderm, now lying eerily still under the sedative’s effects. Its eyes remained open, unfocused, as the nurse adjusted its restraints and checked its vitals.
Earnys rubbed his temples. “And this is what we’re fighting against? A military so cold, so calculating, that they’ve turned their pilots into—into this?”
“Yes,” Bertram said, his voice hard. “And don’t forget that. Whatever else we might question about this war, remember what we just saw. They don’t value life. Not their own soldiers, and certainly not ours.”
He glanced back at the screen one last time, his jaw tightening. “We’re not just fighting mecha, Earny. We’re fighting the people who build them—and the machines they’ve turned their soldiers into.”
The door behind them opened, and a uniformed officer stepped inside. “The General wants your report,” she said curtly.
Bertram straightened, his expression unreadable as he turned toward the door. "Tell him we’ve confirmed what we feared. The bioderms aren’t soldiers—they’re tools. And like any tool, they can be broken."
Earny lingered for a moment, watching the screen as the nurse adjusted the bioderm’s IV drip. Its lips moved faintly again, mouthing something the translator didn’t catch. Then, with a heavy sigh, he followed Bertram out into the cold light of the corridor.