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  “I missed—And the Izo never miss. …I guess I’m not like Him after all, and there’s no redeeming that—not for me, and certainly not for her. I missed.”

  The air raid klaxons wailed out with loud warping bellows, as Zaruam (Zar-rum) sprinted across the tarmac’s mangled asphalt. His maglock boots slammed against the ground, leaving the mech hangar far behind.

  “Slay only who you must, save all you can. Slay only who you must, save all you can.” His father’s words fumbled off his heaving breath.

  It happened in a near instant. Their remote island training ground, tucked far beyond the reaches of KTR Mach four satellites and other prying eyes, was turned into a battleground.

  Stinging sweat poured over his sable skin, his seething brown eyes and staunch features hidden under layers of soot and blood, his heart was pounding like a twin torqued crush-hammer. Where his brothers were, he didn’t know.

  A few minutes ago he had thought the whole thing another one of father’s elaborate training exercises, another way to test his and his brothers' quick reaction times. A smug grin was clamped across his face, right up until the moment four thousand pounds of the raider’s high energy kinetic ordnance blistered across the runway.

  He tapped his earpiece. “Sec-9, sec-9 this is Oz. The Hangar is clear, I’m headed for the training howler, to hold the hillside trail.”

  “Roger that, your father’s got the flotilla’s main force tangled up.” Dr. Yago’s voice stitched through the static.

  To the south, over the ocean, Zaruam could see the clacking pops of flak rounds searing the air. Red-orange explosions flashed above the clear waters in the distance. His father’s mech was already giving the raiders a run for their money.

  Hu-rada. He nodded as he wove through the steaming fresh impact craters.

  Dr. Yago’s voice kicked in again. “Me and the kid will be up the trail and into the northern crags in five tics. We’ll be at the rendezvous boats in ten.”

  Zaruam smiled, a flutter of relief washing over him. “You’ve got her, you’ve got I’vala?”

  “I’ve got her. She’s fine. We’re almost there.”

  From the boats, it was a short trip to the next island over. Once there, it was a three-day journey through endless wilderness, then back to the main island. Zaruam never understood why his father never allowed him and his siblings to train combat howlers on the main island, until today.

  Zaruam turned to the north, opposite of the ocean. Two small dots worked their way up the grassy hillside, weaving between the large rock formations that jutted out the ground like stoney spires. The whole island was only a few miles wide, a beautiful mix of broken crags and rolling hills dotted with trees. He’d never imagined seeing plumes of smoke and fire swallowing its beauty. The sight twisted at his gut.

  “I’m scared Zubi!” He heard her tiny voice call through the coms.

  “We’ll get you back home e’mpa, I promise!”

  It was Dr.Yago’s niece's first time to the training island. She ‘had to’, she ‘just had to’ see Zaruam’s first low-flight exercise. A rare concession, that almost no one was afforded. But you just had to ask, didn’t you Zaruam.

  Yago’s voice suddenly cut the coms frantic. “I’ve got fresh ordnance incoming-”

  An explosion burst forth in the distance behind him. The sheer force bulged the ground, buckling the pavement against his feet. He tumbled forward, head over heel, before springing back upright. He glanced over his shoulder. The raiders had just hit the hangar.

  His eyes flitted in every direction trying desperately to get a hold of the situation, The assault force always follows artillery. His MG0-40 squeezed tightly in his grip. The hefty cold release, belt-fed machine gun was his only source of comfort in the moment. Still, he felt calm, just as his father had said he would.

  All at once, supersonic snaps broke past his ears, as heavy bullets cleaved the air inches from his skull. He whipped around, dropping to one knee, as he pulled his MG0-40 to his shoulder. The scope's triangular reticle snapped into view, zooming in on six raiders that pressed down the tarmac. The familiar press of the safety slipped off. It was a strange feeling seeing live targets sitting in his crosshairs. Not targets Zaruam, lives.

  Through the steaming mist, one of the raiders behind him, hand raised to throw a pulse grenade, was a moment too late.

  Zaruam grimaced. “Aluhiem, protect them”. He pinned the trigger back, firing out a glowing red tracer. The round slapped the grenade with a high-pitched ping punching it from the man’s grip. A maneuver he and his siblings practiced more times than he cared to count, in these very fields. He could see the raiders’ expressions twist to confused horror as the grenade floated just inches above them. Aluhiem save them- The device exploded wide, like an overripe narak fruit off the big island. Shrapnel and red mist spurted into the air in a congested cloud. A marred cry rang out. It was just the way he had trained.

  Seizing the moment, Zaruam stood up to flee, it was only a few more meters to his howler. ‘Slay only who you must, save all you can.’ His father’s words pressed into his mind. Even them? No – surely not them…right? He could practically see his father’s eye on him, waiting to see the man he would choose to be. Mind split, Zaruam froze in the steaming pit for a millisecond…even them. He growled in frustration as he twisted back away from the howler and rushed toward the downed raiders. He could practically feel his father’s smile over him.

  Weapon raised to high ready, Zaruam’s finger pressed the slack from the trigger. A wounded lion can still kill. He swung wide around the mangled group keeping them in enfilade as he closed in. If a single one of them tried to play the hero, then they would die that way. “Would make my life a lot easier, though.” He whispered to himself.

  Zaruam held just outside of the raider’s peripherals, forehand tapping the ammo belt without breaking his gaze from the targets. Lives. Based on the weighted slink of chain-link rounds swaying from the chamber he had at least another hundred and seventy-five rounds, give or take a couple. Though he knew, if came to it, he’d only need six. He squeezed the grip tight, commanding one last breath before pushing over into the raider’s position.

  The six men lay strewn about the crater. Four of the raiders were completely incapacitated. The other two of the men writhed for their weapons as Zaruam swept down over them.

  “Ah-ah” Zaruam snapped, slamming his boot over one’s wrist as he leveled the barrel at the other's temple. Their bloodied faces turned to his quivering in pain. It’s a miracle they even have faces left at all. Praise Aluhiem, I guess. Their piecemeal armor and clothes were peppered with seething shrapnel but held up uncharacteristically well to the blast. He could still see the anger burning behind their eyes. “Sit still if you want to live.” He barked. “You make one move, and I’ll cook a M.O.P. grenade (multi-ordnance-penetrator) in your lap and walk.” Zaruam always thought it a suitable name for what he saw to do to melons on the main island. Though, he wasn’t sure he actually had to stomach to follow through on live targets. People Zaruam, people.

  The seething tension in one of the raider’s eyes eased, probably from realizing he was in no condition to negotiate. Either way, the cue prompted Zaruam to work. He rifled through his drop leg bag and took out a handful of self-sinching tourniquets. After binding the men, he slipped them over their limbs, starting with the worst injuries. The raiders’ faces turned to exasperation as he tended to their wounds.

  “We’ll- we’ll still have to kill you when we get free from here.” A raider winced, as Zaruam set the bandage.

  It’d be simpler If I just a put hole in his head. Zaruam’s eyes flicked up at them as they stared on. “Everyone needs a shot at redemption, right?” he said with a forced smile. “Besides, we’ll have questions for you when you wake up.”

  “What?” The man mumbled.

  In one swoop, Zaruam cocked his fist back and struck the men square across their chins. The rattling punch knocked them out cold. Swiping the blood off his hands he stood to his feet. Save all you can.

  Yago’s voice abruptly cut through the com line. “OZ! OZ! This Sec-9, the fire has rolled over the hills! Our trail is cut off, and I’ve got two airborne howlers pressing our location!”

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  Zaruam’s heart sunk into his gut, tightening like a knotted ball. They should’ve been on their way back to the main island by now. “Gazca!” he shouted, breaking back for his mech. Rushing blindly, Zaruam tore through plumes of billowing smoke that rose from the earth. His lungs shuddered and wheezed, the taste of copper at the back of his throat, as he galloped into a mad dash.

  A few hundred meters across the landing strip sat his training howler—a compact, semi-humanoid combat unit. The hulking bipedal machine held just in front of the fence line, nearly three heights of a man. Its rigid body and blocky dual-tensile ceramic armor towered unphased and undaunted by swirling chaos, the final bastion of all he was meant to be. The angular pod-like cockpit sat open, already prepped for a training exercise that morning, one that had never come.

  Flinging himself up the ladder Zaruam hoisted himself inside the cramped space, his blood slicked boot nearly slipping as he lurched into the seat. The alloy canopy closed over him, cinching tight like a mechanical maw as it sealed shut. An array of lights promptly pulsed and flickered along the retrofitted cabin, like the dancing lights of the island's summer festivals.

  Zaruam snapped the headset snug over his ears, yanking the microphone to his lips. His hands shot out in a well-rehearsed dance, clacking through a bevy of buttons as his feet tapped the dual pedals. The engine sputtered to a grumbling half-life, spitting blue sparks into his cockpit. “Set the choke Zaruam, you always forget to set the volt choke.” He muttered to himself, as he flipped a switch. Suddenly the DTL-4 chain guns, on either of the rigid L framed arms, spun violently into gear. The rapid locking of the open bolt cannons jostled the rusted dampeners, rocking Zaruam in his chair. “This is Oz, I’m scorpion-1, I repeat scorpion-1, I’m online-”

  A faint, but distinct, sound began to build over the sea behind him. It was the last sound he wanted to hear: a deep whirring growl, spinning up into a mechanical scream, like a guttural banshee swooping at his flank. Howlers, G-type 30s by the sound of their engines. They were sparrow class chassis, jet hybrids. They were nimble, but their missile pods were more than lethal enough to make up for what they lacked in armor. Their pointed wings and oversized rear thrusters earning them the name “devil-bats”, a raider's premier choice.

  Fear seeped into Zaruam’s legs, pooling at the base of his toes like a vase. He’d never learned to fly, not yet. If he spooled his engines now and gunked this up, he’d be dead in minutes.

  Zaruam’s windshield HUD flickered a faint blue green as the targeting overlay sprawled along the glass. His howler bucked to life in a rhythmic clank, as the sequencer hydraulics tilted up the torso. His mech’s targeting reticles switched red as they clamped onto the screaming mechs overhead as if to taunt him.

  Six years of M.G.C.T (mechanized ground combat training), and still - still he felt useless.. Without at least low flight capabilities, he may as well be a sitting gamblersnap turtle. He could almost see it; his lifeless body strewn about the cockpit, perforated with bullets, after the failed intercept, the training island engulfed in flames, his brothers, his father, Yago and Ivala laid across the burning fields. And if they could find the training island, maybe…maybe they could find The Island – home.

  Zaruam gave a short scoff. “Yeah…skud that.” He couldn’t fly, but he could ground skate his howler with the best of them. He pressed hard on the throttles, the blocky quad turbos on the howler's back burning to life. The mech surged forward, its feet skidding over the pavement. The mech’s bulky hydraulic knee joints flexed hard absorbing the violent bouncing. The thrusters weren’t yet tuned to get airborne, but they could push the metal beast at least one hundred and fifty kmr along the earth, and at sixteen tons even sixteen tons even a training howler was formidable.

  He tilted his howler’s torso high, switching off his auto targeting as he blasted off the tarmac and into the open fields. The targeting reticles fluttered off, revealing ballistic reticles and crosshairs hand etched into the glass. ‘If you can’t shoot blind you can’t shoot at all.’ He mimicked his father’s words. Zaruam cracked and devilish grin and squeezed the triggers. Aluhiem make me fast.

  “Scorpion-1 engaging!”

  Zaruam’s howler’s rotary guns burst to a vibrant cherry red on both arms. The spinning barrels spewed crimson streams of glowing shells, spattering the sky with radiant lead. Concussions rattled his cockpit, with mind-stuttering vibrations.,

  The line of shells punched through the thin armor of the devil bat leading the wedge formation like molten arrows. The unsuspecting howler erupted into flames along the skyline, a spout of fire spitting high. Engine strike. A puff of thick black smoke lulled high in the air as fireballs of warped metal plummeted to the plains.

  “Hu-rada!” Zaruam bellowed as he twisted to the next target. He’d always wondered what it would feel like to down an enemy, a real enemy. To his surprise, there wasn’t time to feel anything.

  The remaining raiders immediately broke formation curling in a low arch, opposite of each other as they doubled back toward him. It was a pro move, almost too coordinated for run of the mill raiders.

  Zaruam’s eyes flashed between two low flying mechs careening toward him, he could only choose one, and he was sure they knew it too. He cranked the throttles right strafing toward the shore and away from Yago and I’vala. He could still see them at dots in the distance navigating the burning hillside.

  Left or right Zaruam, left or right! A pattern of popping white smoke fired from the howler on his right flank sending his missile alarms into a frenzy. He whipped right. Lining up his reticle, he clenched his teeth switching his cannon to open array, and fired. The wide spray of bullets scattered like dust intercepting the missile barrage with ease. Several of Zaruam’s rounds burst through the cloud of missiles, peppering the mech behind. Another blast of fire filled the air. That’s two!-

  Zaruam’s heart leaped in a somber joy as the second mech spiraled to the earth in a long crater before detonating in the field. Aluhiem have mercy. A pained sadness nudged at his heart, as he was sure he saw the pilot’s lifeless body fling from the cockpit. That was someone’s father, the uninvited thought sprang in, even if it was his enemy. Though his sadness was short lived. The moment he pulled the trigger against the missiles on the right flank, the howler along his left flank did the same.

  Zaruam spun back to the left just in time to see a volley of streaking yellow tracer rounds tearing toward his mech. A panicked breath kicked from his chest, training howlers were meant to deal out punishment, not take it. The wave of rounds streaked like a sea of comets flying at lightspeed as they rammed into him. Sparks and shrapnel perforated his cockpit, showering his body with hot metal. Alarms blared as his vision was smothered in sparks.

  The feeling of tiny, jagged shrapnel slipping beneath his muscles and tissue blinded his mind with white hot pain. Zaruam shouted the force of the impact pressing him against his chair. Still, he set his aim high and pinned back the triggers. He couldn’t afford to lose. Not here.

  Shouting at the top of his lungs Zaruam exchanged fire with the incoming mech, as his body was blistered with loose bolts and searing metal. A sudden pop of dense gray smoke expelled from the side of the enemy howler, the thin mech beginning its wild spiraling descent. The jet-hybrid crashed and barreled into a long skid just a few hundred meters ahead of him. The fiery crash echoed out across the plains, the screaming engine calls slowly replaced by the soft roar of the wildfires, and popping gunfire in the distance.

  “Scorpion-1, scorpion-1 I’m hit…” Zaruam's voice quivered. His arms slipped off the controls as he slumped back in the cockpit. He didn’t dare look down, half expecting to see a bevy of holes along his torso. There was already enough blood smattered around to worry him. He could feel his consciousness slipping. “C’mon keep going Zaruam.” He tried to force his limbs to move, his weakening muscles refusing to contract, his heavy eyelids fighting his waking will.

  “Where are you e’mpa?” Dr. Flynn’s voice broke out, “I’ll get to you, I’m coming!”

  “No, no, take the kid and go!” Zaruam coughed. “I’ll be right behind you…just got the wind knocked out of me.”

  He could hear Dr. Flynn’s incredulous scoff. “Northern trail is blown, moving to evac two, we’ll be heading toward you anyway-” Dr. Flynn’s voice caught into a gasp. “Incoming!”

  All at once off Zaruam’s right shoulder, from the far end of the shoreline, the billowing smoke of the wildfire split like a veil. A single howler bat burst through. It arched toward Zaruam’s smoking mech for a moment, then to Zaruam’s terror, it twitched back toward the hillside. Back toward Dr. Flynn, back toward I’vala.

  Zaruam’s eyes snapped wide as he flung his tired arms over the joysticks. He pulled his aim, leading the shot. Click. Nothing. He squeezed the trigger again. Click. The trigger line must’ve been severed. The devil bat careened in the distance, its flak gun lowering from his main cabin as it prepped to fire.

  “Devil bat, pull off, we are civilians, I repeat we are civilians!” Dr. Flynn’s voice broke over the open channel. No response.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no!” Zaruam muttered popping his canopy. The devil bat was too far out of range without a stable shooting platform. Snatching up his MG0-40, he climbed from the cockpit sprawling himself across the hot arm of the howler. A fresh dump of adrenaline pumped through his veins, as he dropped his head behind the scope. Suddenly, a sensation like hot a punch slammed into his left shoulder. The force of the bullet blasted his grip from the gun. A dull grunt fired from his lips. The raiders from the tarmac, one of them managed to get free. Zaruam slapped his hand back onto his MG0-40 and rolled to his side firing wildly on the man. I should’ve killed them; I should’ve killed them all! The raider stumbled back, falling back into the steaming crater.

  “Zaruam take the shot!” Dr. Flynn yelled out.

  Zaruam flipped back to prone, his left arm now hanging limp over the side of the mech as blood trickled down. He switched grips to his off hand. More bullets abruptly tapped along his howler, he pressed the threat from his mind, he had to. Pushing out his breath, he tracked the mechanical silhouette against the reddening sky. He couldn’t miss. The Izo never missed.

  Zaruam felt another hot round punched into his side. He whimpered in agony, still holding his sight alignment. His heart pounded, a mixture of blood and sweat pooled around his eyes as his consciousness wavered. Then, in one last muster of strength, he pulled the trigger. A string of scattered glowing red shots arced out of the barrel until the ammo belt clanked empty. The shells crashed into the bat’s windshield, spitting sparks, half deflecting into the sky. Still, something popped along its chassis, the light armored mech jostling in the air. He’d hit, but it wasn’t enough.

  Zaruam gasped in terror, hot tears building behind his eyes. Everything seemed to slow. The enemy howler hurled earthward; its flak cannon fired wide in a merciless assault. Streaking bullets pounded into the hillside around the figures he knew to be Ivala and Dr. Flynn. He could see the chunks of earth rip up in the distance around them when the figure of Ivala’s jolted hard, her minuscule whimper breaking across the com line. The devil bat crashed high into hillside the blast smothering over them.

  Zaruam’s spastic shallow breaths stuttered to low wail as the leaking blood forced his consciousness to the encroaching and bitter darkness. I have to kill them – I’ have to kill them all.