The dropship Duct Tape settled heavily onto the landing pad, its massive bulk casting deep shadows across the hangar. The ramp lowered with a deep rumble, allowing the mechs to disembark. One by one, the towering machines descended from the dropship, their footfalls reverberating through the cavernous space.
Marcus Black’s Wolverine was the first to emerge, its armor scarred from the recent battle. The mech loomed over the hangar floor, and as it powered down, Marcus made his way to the cockpit. He descended the rope ladder quickly, landing with a heavy thud. His helmet hit the ground a moment later, tossed aside with force.
“This was a damn disaster,” Marcus spat, his voice cutting through the low hum of the cooling mechs. “We had no business being out there. We weren’t ready, and everyone knew it.”
Troy Hayes climbed down from his Thunderbolt, the massive machine’s shadow merging with the others. He landed beside Marcus, his frustration evident but tempered. “You’re not the only one who saw it coming, Marcus. We got blindsided. But shouting about it now won’t change a thing.”
The words did little to calm Marcus. “Blindsided? We walked in there like amateurs. We’re supposed to be better than this!”
The hangar was filling with other MechWarriors and techs, the tension growing thicker. Voices rose, tempers flared, and soon the hangar was a cacophony of angry arguments. A tech, barely keeping it together, shouted, “We could’ve lost everything out there! Who’s making these calls?”
The situation escalated as Marcus stepped toward Troy, fists clenched. “Maybe if we had someone who could actually lead, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Troy’s posture tensed, and he took a step forward. “Watch it, Marcus.”
Before the confrontation could spiral out of control, Sarah Greene’s voice cut through the noise. She moved swiftly, placing herself between the two men, pressing a firm hand against Marcus’s chest. “Enough.”
The hangar fell into a tense silence. Sarah looked around, her eyes sharp. “This isn’t how we fix anything. We’re all angry, and we should be. But fighting each other won’t change what happened.”
She turned to address the gathered crew. “Graham knows what went wrong. But he needs time to figure out our next step. So, cool down. We’ll have a meeting soon, and we’ll sort this out together.”
Her words began to have an effect as the crew slowly started to back down. But Marcus, still seething, wasn’t ready to let it go. He took a step back, but not before throwing a final, biting comment over his shoulder. “I don't want to hear it. The old man has lost his touch. Maybe it's time someone *else* lead."
The sting in his words hung in the air as Marcus turned and stormed out of the hangar. Ignoring the concerned looks from his crewmates, he headed straight for the exit, pushing his way outside into the open air. The night was cool, the stars barely visible through the thick clouds. Without a second glance, Marcus marched toward the hills surrounding the base, his anger driving him forward.
As he climbed higher, the base lights dimming behind him, Marcus’s thoughts churned. He knew he’d crossed a line, that his words were driven by frustration more than reason. But the failure gnawed at him, the weight of it pressing down with every step.
Finally, he reached a small clearing, the wind tugging at his jacket. He stopped, breathing heavily, and looked out over the valley below. The silence of the hills offered no answers, only space to cool off and reflect.
He sat down on a rock, running a hand through his hair. He knew he’d have to face the crew again, and Sarah’s intervention had saved him from doing something he’d really regret. But for now, he needed to be alone, to let the anger drain away with the night.
--
The quarters of Commander Graham O'Connor were a blend of practicality and personal history. A small desk sat against one wall, cluttered with datapads and mission reports, while the shelves and walls were adorned with a few carefully chosen keepsakes—reminders of a life spent on the battlefield. Among them was a Lyran Commonwealth officer’s cap, slightly worn but well cared for, a memento from his time serving as a mercenary soldier. Nearby, a small, intricately carved model of his Orion, a token of the crew’s respect, sat on his desk, its presence a constant reminder of the path they had taken together.
But tonight, those keepsakes seemed to carry a different weight, a reminder of the burden of command.
The base was quiet, most of the crew having long since turned in for the night. Graham sat at his desk, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a small lamp. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he let out a deep sigh. The mission had not gone as planned—what was supposed to be a straightforward reconnaissance operation with Allen McGee's Andurien Avengers had turned into a near-disaster.
They had stumbled into a much larger enemy force than anticipated, and Graham had been forced to make the call to retreat. It wasn’t an easy decision; the MHSC prided themselves on their capability, on getting the job done no matter the odds. But this time, the odds had been stacked too high, and he knew that pushing forward would have led to unnecessary losses.
He picked up one of the datapads, scrolling through the latest reports on repairs, damage assessments, and the status of the crew. Several mechs had taken significant hits, and while the casualties had been minimal, the retreat had left a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth. They had come so far, but now they were facing the harsh reality that with greater success came greater risks.
His gaze drifted to the model of his Orion. The mech had become a symbol of their transformation from a salvage operation into a fighting force. It was a reminder of their journey, but tonight it also represented the increasing dangers they faced as they took on larger, more dangerous jobs. The retreat was a stark reminder that even with all their skill and firepower, they were not invincible.
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Graham set the datapad aside and reached for the Lyran military insignia he had kept since his early days as a mercenary. The weight of the metal in his hand brought back memories of battles fought and alliances forged in the distant past. It was a reminder of where he had come from, of the choices that had led him here. But those battles had been different—smaller, more contained. The stakes were higher now, and the consequences of failure far more severe.
He returned the insignia to its place and turned his attention back to the datapads. The success of the unit rested on his shoulders, and the decisions he made in the coming days would determine whether they continued to thrive or began to falter.
Graham knew that the crew was relying on him to lead them through this difficult time, to find a way to turn this setback into a learning experience and keep them moving forward. They needed a break, a chance to regroup and recover, but he also knew that the challenges ahead would only grow more intense. The retreat had been a necessary reminder that they were now playing in a bigger arena, with higher stakes and more dangerous opponents.
In the stillness of the night, Graham O'Connor made a silent promise to his crew. He would lead them through whatever lay ahead, just as he always had. But he would also find a way to keep them together, to protect the bonds that made them more than just a mercenary company. They were a family, and he wouldn’t let them break.
Turning back to his desk, Graham picked up a datapad and began thinking through what he'd say to the crew.
--
The mess hall was quiet, the usual warmth drained from the room. The crew of the MechHarvest Salvage Corps gathered slowly, some with weary steps, others with lingering frustration etched on their faces. The earlier confrontation in the hangar still hung heavy in the air, and the night’s events had left everyone on edge.
Graham O’Connor stood at the front, his expression grim. He looked at the faces of his crew, people he’d fought alongside, people who trusted him like family. But tonight, he knew that trust was strained.
“Let’s get this out in the open,” Graham began, his voice steady but carrying the weight of the day. “We went into that mission unprepared. We thought we could handle it, and we couldn’t. We had to pull out, and we barely made it back.”
The crew listened in silence, but it wasn’t the respectful silence of agreement. It was the silence of exhaustion, of anger that had been pushed down but not forgotten.
Marcus stood at the back, arms crossed, his earlier words still echoing in his mind. He wasn’t ready to let Graham off the hook, not after what they’d just gone through.
Graham continued, “I’ve made mistakes, and today was one of them. I pushed us too hard, took on too much. We’ve been riding high on our successes, but today we were reminded that we’re not invincible.”
A few murmurs rippled through the crew, some nodding in agreement, others just staring down at their boots.
“But,” Graham added, his voice firming up, “I’m not here to give you excuses. We’ve got to learn from this, adapt, and move forward. We’re going to scale back, take on jobs that fit where we are right now—not where we want to be.”
The room was still tense, the energy subdued. The crew wasn’t looking for platitudes; they wanted solutions, and some weren’t convinced yet that scaling back would be enough.
Sarah Greene, standing beside Graham, saw the doubt in their eyes. She stepped forward, addressing the crew directly. “We trust Graham, and we’ve followed him this far because he’s gotten us through worse. But he’s right—we’re not invincible, and today proved that. We’ve got to stick together, but we also need to be smart about how we move forward.”
Troy, sitting with his arms folded, finally spoke up. “We can stick together all we want, but that doesn’t change the fact that we almost didn’t make it back. What’s going to be different next time, Graham?”
Graham met Troy’s gaze, not flinching from the challenge. “Next time, we’re going to know what we’re walking into. We’re not rushing in without solid intel. No more taking jobs that push us beyond our limits. We’re going to rebuild, reassess, and make sure we’re ready before we step foot on another battlefield.”
There was a pause as the crew took in his words. Some nodded, others remained skeptical. The trust they had in Graham was still there, but it was clear that trust alone wasn’t enough to wipe away the frustration and fear from their recent near-disaster.
Marcus, his earlier anger cooled but not forgotten, finally spoke. “I’ll follow you, Graham. We all will. But we need more than promises. We need to see that things are going to change, for real. Otherwise, we’re just waiting for the next disaster.”
Graham nodded, acknowledging the truth in Marcus’s words. “You’re right. We’ll make those changes, and you’ll see them. But it’s going to take all of us to turn this around.”
The room remained quiet, the tension not fully dispelled. The crew wasn’t ready to forgive and forget—not yet. But the seeds of a plan were there, and Graham knew that with time, they could rebuild the trust that had been shaken.
“Get some rest,” Graham finally said, his voice softer now. “We’ll start fresh in the morning.”
The crew began to disperse, the energy in the room still heavy with the weight of the day. They trusted Graham, but tonight, that trust was being tested like never before.
As the mess hall emptied, Sarah turned to Graham. “They’ll come around. It’s just going to take time.”
Graham sighed, the exhaustion settling deep into his bones. “I know. I just hope we’ve got enough time to make it right.”