Chapter 1: The First Shot

  26th September, 2050. Hamburg, Mobile Armour Officer Academy.

  It was around lunchtime or so when Florian von Graffenberg, a renowned cadet in the academy, was sitting with his friends, all of whom were under him in the Morgenbrecher squadron in the mess hall after the long studying sessions in the morning. He absentmindedly picked at his lunch- mashed potato and gravy with asparagus while the others were talking.

  - Speaking of which, I heard we’re having new international cadets again. -Said Adelbert, who was eating his stew.

  - Again? What is this, a CEDA youth programme? Who’s next, Nordics? Benelux? -Florian asked, his eyes away from the potato and gravy.

  - The Far Eastern Republic. Y’know, the one with Gladius? New players, apparently, have only been in the game since ‘48, and now they’re here. -Adelbert continued, looking towards the window. From afar, he noticed perhaps six large military transport aircraft touching down at the airstrip to the west. The unmistakable four-pointed star on the canopy gave him the signal that it was them.

  - Speak of the devil. -Joseph spoke, looking up from his fish sandwich. -Listen, Flo, but I don’t think we should underestimate them. 2 years and they’ve already established a small fleet with their original machine, and now sending their pilots to train on our grounds, that says a lot.

  Otto set his fork down and fixated his eyes at the planes touching down. He could see briefly the MACA-40 Gladius machines being unloaded and lifted into hangars, but he decided that lunch was more important.

  - I think this year they’ve just launched three new variants at the same time, B, C and D variants. B, or ‘Buster’, was mainly used to destroy terrain and fortification. C- ‘Combat’,the new standard for the old A-variant, whereas D-’Deterrent’- area denial, anti-tank and anti-armour alike.

  - Sure, whatever, sounds cool and all, but we have the headstart. -Florian shrugged Joseph’s statement off, speaking with an ever calm tone while cutting up the asparagus, as if the FER was none of his concern and he could still eat in absolute tranquility.

  - Hmm. Let’s just say, I wouldn’t dare to imagine that we, the first nation to even start fielding these, would lose to a bunch of upstarts from Asia who probably bought them off black market. -and proceeded to stab at his asparagus with a fork and put them in his mouth.

  - Although, I might pay them a visit. When in Rome, do as Romans do, if you catch my drift- He continued, with a grin that said a lot about what he was about to do- asserting his dominance.

  Meanwhile, at the airstrip.

  The FER cadets were navigating with local German staff on getting the machine into the hangars. One of them was Tr?n Ph??ng Qu?nh (Anglicised: Tran Phuong Quynh), talking in English with the logistical staffs and instructors.

  Ms. Tran, your machine and the others have been placed in their designated spot in the hangar, we’ll leave everything else to you for now. -One of the instructors- Mr. Miller said, then he left with the staff after Quynh gave them a curt nod.

  She looked at her Gladius, the machine stood at 10 metres tall, painted in the dark green camouflage pattern of the Republic for its Mobile Armour. What stood out the most however, were two things- The left pauldron, painted a bright red with stencilled white letters- MACA-40EX.

  This wasn’t the usual variant, it’s a new one, with the prospect of being stronger, faster, more adaptable to environments.

  At the same time, she noticed one of her squadmates- Huy, bickering with a person who looked like a German cadet. She made her way to the scene, and pushed the two apart. Standing at 1.65m tall, she wedged between the two, looking small but also full of strength.

  - Quynh. We were just chilling when this guy came and just flaunted bull crap about culture, prestige or some other German jargon that only he and his friends understood, and some more nonsense about how we should pack our bags and go back to our country.

  - Look, big guy, we don’t have time for this alright. First it’s jet lag, now it’s dickheads like you - He turned to Florian for a final remark before turning his boots and leaving.

  Quynh breathed through her nose, then turned to the German student, gave him a mock salute. Barely minutes after landing and she now has to deal with an overconfident German cadet, great.

  - Cadet Tran Phuong Quynh, FERMAC (Far Eastern Mechanised Armour Corps), what’s the problem?

  The German cadet, or rather, Florian returned the mock salute and said:

  - Problem? Ah, yes, this facility has its prestige, fraulein, we can’t just let some backwater hulk of steel training here, yes?

  - You might think that waltzing in with some new toys will make you our friends. No, it just makes you an outcast who tries to fit in while not understanding the gist.

  - I despise people like you lot, thinking you can walk in and do whatever you want, so let me tell you this, there’s etiquette to manning an MA- His voice lowered as he finally looked into Quynh’s eyes, with an intensity that even she had to feel uneasy of, though not displayed on her face.

  - So, here I am, doing you a favour. Tomorrow, at 14:00, six of your best against six of mine. If you win, I will stop pestering. Trust me, fraulein, my guy had given very good beatings for cadets across Europe before.

  Quynh was befuddled by his provocation. To her, Florian was just a pompous cadet who barely knew what he was yammering about. Culture? Etiquette? Typical nobility, that was what she thought, expected from the Germanic Union- innovative, yet conservative at the same time.

  She winced briefly at his implication, didn’t flinch, but nonetheless triggered her. Hazings, outsting, constant jabs, jeers and humiliation. Or worse, for her and the ladies that she called ‘comrades’. And to think that they might face it, all across the remaining three years before their graduation, it made her sick.

  And she does not want any of that, as any sane person would.

  After seconds of deliberation, she continued, looking up at Florian with a brief glance before cracking the joints of her neck.

  - Let’s see if you Krauts can handle us, better prepare to have a match that ends in 10 minutes.

  Even Florian was surprised. But what amazed him more was her squadmates’ reaction. All grins, as if they knew something that he didn’t. He kept telling himself that there were just amateurs, people hastily trained to man an MA, rookies essentially, and that they were just putting on a bravado.

  But even he was not so sure.

  - He really has no idea, does he? - One of the FER cadets said to another, popping a can of beer open.

  - Yup, just the same attitude as the Japs. All barks, just some teeny tiny substance. Who knew they’d lean into the stereotypes and deploy an MA with a laser katana in the mix to fight us.- Huy said, reaching his hand out for the beer of the previous cadet, mentioning a ‘friendly’ fight between them and the Empire of Japan.

  Nonetheless, he has delivered a challenge, they have accepted it, and now he has to roll along. He was Florian von Graffenberg, one of the best third-year pilots of his year, son to Gustav von Graffenberg- owner of ARKS, Union’s largest weapon supplier, and odds-on favourite candidate to be the Student Council President, and he wouldn’t back down on something that he inflicted upon himself, not today, not ever.

  Later that afternoon, he gathered the members of his squadron into the common lounge of their hangar, their machines with the sleek design and pixelated dark grey and green camouflage pattern gleaming in the background.

  - Time to roll out, boys. -Said Florian, with a toothy grin.

  27th September, Hamburg Officer Mobile Armour Academy.

  Quynh hopped into her MACA-40EX Gladius, activating training mode- The agreement during matches to run simulations that would calculate the damages that can get them disqualified. Then she turned off all the limiters, everything, and went full manual mode. She has always done this, mainly to push it to the absolute limit and unleash its full potential. Sure, Fire Control Systems would be dormant, she’d have to do rawdog calculations and do ballistics by herself, non-analog safety measures would be deactivated. But at least, she’d be able to use this machine at its peak specifications.

  "All set?" She turned on the Comms, at the same time when her machine was deployed on the catapult, ready to be launched into the fighting ground.

  “Alpha Team, stand-by.” - A member of ‘Alpha Team’- essentially the fire crew-level unit of the squadron spoke up. The two C-variant Gladius were booted up, the green panel covering the camera system on the head glowing, their 45mm autocannon locked and loaded.

  “Beta, online.” - A Beta Team pilot said, his voice crackled into the comms. This team had a B and a D-variant. The logistical staffs coordinated with one another loading the heavy 200mm heavy howitzer onto the B-variant Gladius’ back alongside the ammunition and the D-variant fitted with its typical ATGMs and SAM, its rotary 30mm autocannon swirling- dry fire, just a standard procedure to see whether it was functioning.

  “Delta, ready for combat.”- A lone machine of her team, a retrofitted C-variant which can haul additional ammunition and support weapons, including fibre optic-run drones. Essentially the ammo bearer for the whole squadron.

  Surrounding the 1.44 km2 arena, students and officers alike sit as if it was a stadium, eager to see the match unfold. Germans and internationals alike, gathering at the seats, sharing snacks and making bets on who’d win.

  - There’s no way Florian could lose, his guy decimated the French squadron before they could even approach.

  - Nah, it says a lot when it’s been only two years and the FER had a fucking fleet of MA, just saying.

  - I’m just here for the fight. -Another said.

  Quynh heard the commotions outside, but couldn't care less. The moment her Gladius responded to her full manual mode, turning every system except the essentials off, she plastered on a manic grin and gripped the joystick tighter. Florian von Graffenberg wanted to mess with her and her squadron, just because they’re newcomers? Fine. She’ll show him what the consequences are.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  On the other side of the fighting ground, Florian was giving his final pep talk and rewind of his battle plan- They would charge in, using their heavy armour and firepower to outplay the Gladii, divide them by creating kill zones, pick them one-by-one, and claim their victory.

  - Alright, everyone, remember the drill, and. -Florian said in his ARKS-4084 Wotan- The Union’s state-of-the-art Mobile Armour.

  Fitted with next-generation composite armour, armed with a heavy 75mm autocannon paired with two ATGMs, combined with an advanced Artificial Intelligence system that supports pilots during combat operations, and a powerful yet incredibly efficient thruster system across its frame. Combine all of said attributes with a sleek design and before you would be the testament of German engineering.

  "3."

  "2."

  "1."

  The machines of both sides were launched into the battleground using magnetic rail catapults, sending them into the air at a speed of Mach 0.3- a simulated woodland terrain with some mountains in the background.

  "Time to show the tourists how it’s done." One of Florian's squadron mates remarked as they formed a formation around him, creating a reverse wedge as they landed into a flatland.

  However.

  Florian’s eyes widened as he saw his radar beeping angrily, a lone Gladius charging at them with a speed of Mach 0.8, closing the distance from 2500m to just 20 within just under 20 seconds, counting from when the time ticked.

  He saw it, a Gladius with the red pauldron.

  - Wha-!

  Florian's eyes flashed with a mix of surprise and exhilaration as he witnessed the machine’s daring manoeuvres, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. The shockwave that was caused by the sheer speed momentarily knocked his Wotan, another and a ARKS-88 L?we- The Union’s heavyweight MA class, off-balance, staggering backwards.

  What he witnessed next Gladius activated the thrusters unit located at the forefront while reducing the output of the set behind, almost like activating a brake system that slows the machine down gradually, leaving room for alternative movements. Before he knew it, his HUD flashed red, for one out of his five subordinate pilots had been disqualified.

  The Gladius stepped on the brake, taking out a Wotan by ramming its pile bunker- a move that he was sure only existed because of the nature of his match, slammed the spike in the gap between the armour of the torso unit to the waist unit. The hydraulic device was slammed against the platings, sending a simulated depleted uranium spike the diameter suiting a 150mm howitzer into the vulnerable area point blank. It happened all so sudden, like a knight on his steed in a jousting match. One moment, they could see the afterimage of the Gladius, the next moment they heard the sounds of explosive bolts, and there was only a downed ARKS-4084 with a DU spike lying nearby.

  << Archduke- Germanic Union, disqualified, pilot knockout (deficient uranium pile bunker), 0-1. >>

  The L?we that it took out didn’t fare any better. When they were still disoriented by the initial shock, the red pauldron struck again. It made a wide arc to manoeuvre while accelerating to only Mach 0.1, targeting a L?we at the flank of the now dissolved formation, using the previous momentums and thrusters to steer the machine. Its rear thrusters had already overheated and were glowing a bright orange, but she couldn't care less, they could tank it.

  It slammed against the L?we, pile bunker against the. It used the gun that was laying dormant on its right hand and began to unload the magazine- 180mm smoothbore cannon and the 40mm autocannon, the rockets on the shoulder weren’t left alone either. From what Florian could hear, it sounded heavy, yet looked much lighter than any of the armaments that he’ve ever seen.

  << Griffin- Germanic Union, disqualified, cockpit cookout (150mm incendiary shotgun shell) 0-2. >>

  The red-pauldron Gladius that took out two of the German’s MA, during the very first minute no less, was bringing a full CQB roster. Not only did it bring a bastardised APFSDS sabot, but it brought a semi-automatic shotgun that could make main battle tanks blush.

  - Fucking hell….- Florian muttered while trying to get his FCS to lock on this daredevil with a red shoulder.

  This was not the disorganised, amateurish onslaught he had been expecting from the newcomers, especially one that had only developed their MA corps from scratch. No, this was a well-orchestrated, precision strike led by a commander who knew exactly what they were doing.

  - Didn't expect that, huh? -The unmistakable voice of Quynh rang out on the open channel as the red pauldron Gladius disappeared from the scene. Of course, he should've anticipated it to be her, the gal seemed to have something up her sleeve that commanded respect from her fellow squadmates. He should've expected her to be the Ace.

  Quickly regaining his composure, Florian barked orders into his comms:

  - All units, break formation! Aim at the red-pauldron machine!

  The remaining members of his squadron scrambled to react, their machines lurching and pivoting in a desperate bid to evade the assault from the Far Eastern forces. The once-pristine arena was now a chaos of swirling smoke, flashing warning lights, and the screeching metal-on-metal cacophony of simulated impacts. Rockets, cannon shells flew in the air as they tore through trees and rock, but not the target that they were trying to disable. She had already fled, throwing smoke screens to cover her direction.

  Florian himself fought to regain control of the situation, his arms straining against the ARKS-4084's controls as he struggled to keep his target locked onto the elusive Gladius with the red pauldron.

  Despite what he was facing, Florian's heart raced with the thrill of it all, a fierce grin spreading across his sweat-slicked face. This was the battle he had longed for, the competition he craved. And now, as the smoke cleared and the carnage of their simulated duel came into view, he knew one thing for certain - he wanted more.

  - Retreat to grid 6:7! I repeat, retreat to grid 6:7! -Florian ordered the remaining MAs on his side to conduct a staggered retreat. Grid 6:7 was the largest flatland available on the map. With it, the remnants of the German squadron could use their advantage in firepower to deny the FER the precious space they needed in order to close in.

  The order was relayed, and the remnants began to retreat, they drifted on the ground with their thrusters at subsonic speed, each machine covering a direction, even the sky to avoid a surprise attack from above. They could’ve taken a more methodical approach, scattering out then regrouping, but they had no other choice, their power is in volume and number, not asymmetrical warfare.

  For now, they can retreat in safety of the firepower that they could inflict if Mai decided to attack them now, especially when they have begun to have some sense of familiarity to what the opponent was capable of. The Germanic Union squadron began to retreat to the location. And so the remaining four machines got into an almost fortified position, their weapons trained in all directions in which their guns could target.

  The objective was to use their superior armaments, long-range ballistics, advanced FCS to deny the FER a chance of being able to close in on them as well as deter any potential aerial MA, which would be met with an interlocked network of leads and missiles. It was for the most part effective, Quynh ordered her mates to back down and use indirect fire countermeasures.

  But he had made another mistake. He had once again underestimated Mai despite already knowing just how dangerous she was.

  The ground shook beneath him. And when he looked up, dozens of mortar shells, at least 200mm or more were raining down on them. They left countless craters around the squadron, many of which had made their way and hit the target. A Wotan was struck square on the core and the simulation disqualified the pilot inside, he was quickly bailed out of the cockpit and picked up using a helicopter.

  << Duck- Germanic Union, disqualified, critical cockpit damage. 0-3. >>

  - Schei?e!

  Florian yelled, his hands moving in a blur as he wrenched his YF-4084 into a desperate evasive manoeuvre. The mighty machine shuddered and groaned beneath him, the screech of shredded metal filling the air as Otto, his third-in-command narrowly avoided being torn to shreds by the relentless barrage.

  - Florence, they have drones, 2 o’clock! - A member of the remaining, Klaus- Wotan pilot shouted as he saw a flying object and tore it into shreds with his main gun.

  - Those bastards used that to spot us, didn't they? - Florian scowled, yanking his head towards the minimap right next to the members list.

  Panting harshly into his helmet, Florian barked orders to his team.

  - All units, counterbattery rockets at your 2 o’clock!- Acknowledged by an array of ‘Copy that’.

  His heart pounded in his ears as he fought to keep his mind calm and composed amidst the swirling chaos of battle. He had never been so pushed to the brink before, never felt so desperately outmatched. But he was not ready to go down without a fight. He was built to last, forged in the fires of battle and tempered by the unbreakable steel of his legacy. And he would not let a newcomer like Quynh best him, not now, not ever.

  Hell let loose on the German side, they began to open fire in the general direction pointed out. This time, it was even worse than the attack that the Far Eastern Republic team unleashed, trees were burned, dirts thrown into the air, rocks exploded and sent shrapnels towards any direction possible. But no real damage, no Gladius was taken out in that desperate bid.

  - Alpha, block their path. Beta, locate their leader and suppress firepower. Delta, stand back, mortar ammo is depleted.

  Quynh said into her Comms system to her squadron before controlling her Gladius to grab some ammunition for the 150mm shotgun from the support machines, loading the final round into the breach of the B-variant’s howitzer deftly as calculations ran. Then, she threw some flares to divert a guided missile away from her, continuously throwing smokes to conceal her movements and dashed around in the air, waiting for the right moment to strike.

  However, she was spotted, and quickly got chased down by air-burst munitions and guided missiles, which she had to throw chaffs to evade from. Prolonged high-speed manoeuvres heated her thrusters up so much that they were also disabled, the system forced speed limit, even full manual mode couldn’t switch it off, hence she landed and regrouped.

  Two Gladius of the Alpha team began to intercept Otto's formation from the south side while the Mai and the Beta team went for a surgical attack. Their objective here was to disrupt the German defence while giving back information on location, coordinates for further calculation in future shots.

  - Florence, they're coming! -His third-in-command Jonathan, manning a Wotan said as a C-variant Gladius intercepted him and opened fire with an array of 45mm autocannon. Then his HUD went briefly red before shutting down by itself. He had been hit by an anti-tank missile.

  << OMAD- Germanic Union, disqualified, ATGM. 0-4. >>

  His head snapped around as the warning cry crackled over his comms, his eyes widening as the two Gladius interceptors exploded into view, autocannons already spewing a hail of simulated shells towards his battered squadron.

  However, there was still a ‘Lion’ in the den, and the two ‘Swords’ paid their price. The L?we shot its 180mm cannon at one of the Gladius, it hit right in the torso unit where the cockpit was located. As expected, the first Gladius was disqualified in the match. The second one quickly reacted, aiming at the L?we’s cameras on its head, but was struck down by an ATGM from Florian’s Wotan- a split-second calculation made by the AI, which briefly took control of the MA.

  << Musketeer- Far Eastern Republic, disqualified, 200mm HEAT. 1-4. >>

  << Brick- Far Eastern Republic, disqualified, ATGM. 2-4. >>

  - Shit. All units stand back. I repeat, stand back, we’re bogged down.- Quynh’s voice crackled in the FER’s comms system. Alpha Team was wiped out, now it’s only Beta and Delta. Right there and then, they were now being targeted at and having to make their escape towards the alpine terrain. The support Gladius almost got taken out by a Wotan ATGM if it wasn’t for the woodland environment that created obstacles and made it detonate before being able to make damage to the machine.

  - Beta-2, report ammo situation. -Quynh commanded, using her shotgun as an improvised short-ranged handcannon to make damages on the limb units of opponent machines.

  - Beta-2 reporting, SAM dropped, ATGM none, 400 30mm rounds remaining. - The pilot, callsign ‘Fish’ relayed over the comms, which was responded with a curt nod from her, but also a click in her tongue when she realised just how low on ammunition they were. Her daredevil manoeuvres can’t be done, her pile bunker was dropped mid-way and now they were on the brink of using melee against autocannons.

  - Beta-1, depress the howitzer. Delta, load the gun. Aim at the MA with thick armour and a big gun. -Quynh turned on her comms and connected with the two machines.

  - Copy that, Goblin.- Beta-1, callsign ‘Dutchman’ said as he rolled the howitzer down to a near-perfect parallel level to the ground, the support machine loaded an HE round in before sending the simulated shell flying at the final L?we. The shell hit the L?we in the superstructure at the waist and lower torso unit, the simulation deeming the damage enough to tore it in half, thus disqualifying the MA and its pilot.

  << Raccoon- Germanic Union, disqualified, critical cockpit damage. 2-5. >>

  - Beta, Delta, switch target, Wotan at 3 o’clock. -Quynh motioned the articulated hand of her Gladius towards the only OPFOR MA left- Florian’s.

  Then she charged in herself at Mach 0.4 She rammed him and began to unload her shotgun onto his torso unit- The same trick she did when getting her first ‘kill’ in the match.

  Florian grunted in frustration as Quynh's plastic slug shells slammed into his YF-4084, the kinetic rocking the sturdy machine to its core. Warning alarms blared in the cockpit, the acrid scent of electronics filling his nostrils as he fought to keep control of his battered mobile armour. But Quynh was relentless, pressing her advantage with a vengeance that took his breath away. He barely had time to register the whistling scream of her shotgun shells before they tore through the air, slamming into his armaments and leaving dents in their wake.

  Florian's hands moved in a desperate attempt to evade, to counter, to do anything to break Quynh's assault. But she was too quick, too skilled, too determined to be denied victory. Then, the Gladius slammed into his YF-4084 with the force of a runaway train.

  BANG.

  BANG.

  BANG.

  As the HUD shutdown and displayed 'DISQUALIFIED' simultaneously with the alarm siren, Otto heard the final, fatal words from the referee's booth.

  << Florence- Germanic Union, disqualified, critical cockpit damage. FER wins, 0-6. >>

  The arena erupted in a cacophony of cheers and jeers, but Florian barely heard them over the ringing in his ears and the bitter taste of defeat that filled his mouth. He slumped back in his seat, his chest heaving with ragged breaths as the realization of his loss sank in.

  Quynh had done it. The unthinkable, the impossible. She had not only held her own against him but had emerged triumphant, leaving him battered, broken, and burning with a newfound desire for her unshakable skill and tenacity, a desire to flip the situation in reverse. He punched the HUD screen in front of him, which flashed a short while before continuing to flash the glaringly annoying ‘DISQUALIFIED’ in white on red background.

  Florian threw his helmet aside and opened the hatch of his cockpit, waiting to be bailed by a helicopter back to the dormitory. He’d need to take a shower, a hearty dinner and some rest. His father would LOVE to hear just how the fareasterners wrecked two of his cream of the crop models, and he’d have to sit through his yammering, because the next day was a Saturday.