‘Welcome, iCaptain Devon,’ a script NCO snapped up a smart salute.

‘Where am I?’ She always found she was hazy after losing a life. Every respawn was utterly exhausting, and it took a good five minutes for her brain to catch up.

‘Ah, you’re in the training depot of the 1st 49ers,’ the script said, as if that made sense.

‘What’s the 49ers?’ she asked, resisting the urge to shout. Shouting never worked with NPCs, they always stayed calm and refused to be cowed.

‘You’re new regiment. ECAF has taken a unilateral decision to end the Century, as well as to place all soldiers with only one life remaining into a new regiment. The 49ers.’

‘But I’d just put in for a transfer to mecha before Dunkirk,’ she protested, looking down at the new unit patch on her uniform. ‘What are the 49ers?’

‘They’re a special unit. One might call them commandos. They are, for the most part, infantry, but will be qualifying in airborne operations, seaborne landings, and any other role ECAF deems suitable. They are also combined operations. Your request stands.’

Sagging in relief, Devon wiped her forehead with a shaky hand. She couldn’t have faced going back to being a grunt. Just the thought made her want to vomit.

‘Here’s your training schedule, and your first task is to go and introduce yourself to iMajor Greyman, he’s in charge of the mecha training.’

As he spoke the schedule popped up onto her HUD and a way marker appeared showing her where she needed to go.

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it iCaptain,’ the NPC snapped up a salute, eyes looking towards the door of the small office.

She took the hint.

*

‘iCaptain Devon reporting as ordered to iMajor Grayman,’ Devon said as the NCO aide sat outside Grayman’s office looked up. They were human.

‘Wait one, please,’ touching a finger to their ear they subvocalised. Paused. Nodded. ‘Certainly sir. I’ll send her in.’

They looked towards the office door.

What the fuck is it with people using their eyes to tell me where to go?

She took her frustration out on her uniform, tugging it down, smoothing out any non-existent creases there might have been. Pushing down on her anger, it never did any good to piss off an aide, she strode to the door. Knocked. Waited for the “come”. Then entered.

iMajor Grayman surprised her. He was stunningly good looking, and his uniform was so finely starched it could cut. He looked like an actor from the early 21st Century who had a name like Ryan Duck, or Chicken. Something like that. Still, he’d churned out some amazingly good films. She just wasn’t good at remembering actor’s names.

He cocked an eyebrow, whilst also managing to smirk. ‘iCaptain?’

She realised with a flush that she’d been staring.

‘Reporting as ordered, sir.’

‘Impressive jacket,’ Grayman waved a hand, closing whatever window he’d been looking at. ‘Your actions in Dunkirk earned you the Infantry Cross, with bar. And enough DP to be promoted to iMajor.’

Devon didn’t say anything. He hadn’t asked a question, so she didn’t need to speak.

‘You’re going to be worked hard. Due to your rank you’ll be a company commander by the end of your training.’

‘Company commander?’ she gasped.

‘Don’t think you’re up to it?’

‘No sir! I mean, no, I don’t think that. Just surprised. I thought I would have been given a platoon.’

‘Like I said, your jacket is impressive. You’ve led a company of infantry in what has been the greatest retreat in history. And earned medals doing so. I have every confidence you’ll do well in training. You’ve got three weeks. It would normally take three months, but you’ve probably heard we’re have our arses kicked.’

‘I’ll do my best sir, what happens if I fail?’

‘You’ll be back as a ground-pounder.’

‘Then I’ll do my best not to fail.’

*

‘Welcome iCaptain Devon, are you ready?

Devon swallowed hard, giving a jerky nod to the surgeon who shook her hand.

‘Now, I’m sure you’re read the brochure, and thought that it was all a load of propaganda bollocks,’ he smiled. ‘However, the operation is one that we have literally done a million times. After a day, you won’t even know the jacks are there. And the nausea you feel when jacking in will also fade.’

‘And what about side effects?’

‘Despite rumours to the contrary, there are none. And if you return to real life, you’ll able to use them to control construction mecha.’

She reached out and picked up the legal waiver form, ‘Well, if I get to work in construction, I’m all for it.’

He took the back the form, then led her through to the operating theatre.

*

‘Mecha, are not tanks. So all you tankies, give you heads a wobble,’ said the instructor before them. ‘Nor are they infantry. You’re going to have to relearn all of the basic tactics you were taught, and adapt to a new way of fighting.’

Devon made notes as the instructor detailed how a 3-mecha platoon operated. Not only did the tactics involved change with the types of mecha being used, but they also had to be adapted for the terrain. As with tanks, mecha were more vulnerable in urban operations. Infantry, otherwise known as squishies, could get much closer, use the ruined buildings to attack from above, below, whatever they needed to do.

‘Sir?’ a young woman put her hand up.

‘Yes, 1st iLieutenant, Rake?’ Devon liked mecha school. In Basic, and then Infantry School, questions and interruptions were rarely tolerated, the instructors wanting to push the recruits through as quickly as possible. But in Mecha School, questions were encouraged.

‘If infantry are such a threat, how do mecha survive?’

‘That’s a good question. Through close work with our own squishies. The tactics I’ve gone through thus far have dealt with mecha-versus-mecha and mecha-versus-armour. But mecha should never be deployed on their own. Which is what mechanised infantry are for.’

*

‘Ooof,’ gasped Devon as her jacks activated. She wasn’t in a mecha, but had been put into a simulation, which she thought was taking meta a bit too far. She was now in a simulation tank, whilst in a simulation tank. Devon belched, bile rising into her mouth.

‘Vitals are good, don’t worry about the nausea, it’ll pass,’ said the technician supervising her interface session. He was irritatingly calm.

‘You ever done this, Specialist Craven?’

‘No ma’am, but it does,’ he replied, just calmly.

Fucking arsehole, it’s like midwives who’ve never had children telling their mothers giving birth it’s not that bad, she thought. She hadn’t had a good experience with her first child.

But then, as her retinal implants were flooded with information, the sickness did pass.

‘Oh, fuck me,’ she gasped as she became aware of the simulated mecha. It was as if she had two bodies, one of which felt incredibly powerful.

‘Interface complete. Now, raise your left arm.’

She raised her left arm, and a second later, the mecha’s arm also rose.

‘Is the delay normal?’

‘Perfectly, as your body adapts it’ll become much smoother. You won’t notice any lag at all after a few practices. Raise your right arm, then left leg, and then right leg.’

She did as she was told, marvelling at how good it felt to be encased in the body of a walking tank.

NEW SKILL – MECHA PILOT

+100 DP

‘Good. Now,’ he paused for a second, ‘you should see some way markers. Walk to the first one.’

Devon took a step, planting it like a toddler walking for the first time.

‘Don’t worry about falling over, the mecha has gyroscopes which will compensate. That doesn’t mean you can’t fall over, but it does mean that you won’t fall because you lost your balance.’

She kept walking, gradually getting faster, more confident.

I feel like a giant, she thought as each stride of the mecha covered metres at a time. Reaching the first waypoint, she brough the mecha to a halt.

ONE STEP AT A TIME

+100DP

+5SP – MECHA

‘Run to the next marker please, any obstacles you reach, jump.’

Turning the mecha to face the second marker she started walking before breaking into a clumsy run. As with the walking, the more steps she took the better she got at telling the mecha what she needed it to do.

‘Take it to 60KPH,’ ordered the technician. Devon gasped, not realising that she was already doing over 40KPH. Grinning, she moved her legs faster and the mecha sped up until the HUD displayed 60KPH. ‘Hurdles are coming. Please jump them. Don’t worry if you get it wrong, you’ll just crash through.’

No way I’m going to fuck this up, she thought as she reached the first hurdle. Took a stuttering jump, and ploughed straight through.

‘Fuck!’ she snarled.

‘Not one person in the academy has ever managed to jump the first hurdle ma’am. Stay focussed.’

Reaching the next hurdle she jumped. And the mecha jumped with her. It was as graceful as a hippo with leg weights, but she cleared the hurdle and thundered towards the next. As before, with each step and jump, controlling the mecha became easier.

It’s a shame these cost so much in command points. But then the thought of whole armies consisting solely of mecha sprung to mind and she realised that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

GETTING OVER THE HURDLES

+300DP

+15SP – MECHA

‘Excellent progress, iCaptain. I’ve added a new waypoint. Please make your way there. As you do, you will see mecha targets. Fire each of your weapons at them.’

A new way point appeared.

TRI-LASER GATLING ARMED

RAILGUN ARMED

ANTI-MECH MISSILES ARMED

She kept the mecha moving. A target appeared from around a building which hadn’t been there a second before. Raising her left arm she pointed the gatling at it. Pulling her index finger, she unleashed a stream of lasers at the target, her HUD flashing with each hit. A thought locked the reticle for the missile. As soon as she had a solid tone, she fired. Even as the missile was racing towards the mecha she fired the railgun.

Devon wasn’t certain what hit first, but it didn’t matter. The result was the same, her target exploding with such force that only a pair of smoking boots. Remained.

MECHA KILL!

+200DP

+10SP – MECHA

‘Solid kill, you have two more targets left.’

Grinning like the cat that had the cream, Devon kicked her mecha into top speed.

Let the hunt begin.

*

‘Mecha pilots,’ iMajor Greyhawk said as he stood before the arrayed ranks of mecha pilot class 49-01, ‘I am honoured to welcome you to the ranks of the 1st 49ers. You are joining them at a time of crisis for ECAF. You will be in the thickest fighting known since The Last Gasp. You are modern-day knights, and I salute you. Bar’s open until 6am tomorrow morning, drinks are free. Dismissed.’

And like that, Devon was a mecha pilot, and a company commander. A waypoint appeared on her HUD, showing the quickest route to the bar. Taking a moment to digest what she faced, she pushed down the surge of adrenaline – or was it fear? – turned in the direction of the bar, and headed out to get, using the vernacular, utterly shit faced.