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Hellhounds

Written By: Spudz

Space travel was, by its very nature, a risky undertaking fraught with unseen dangers. How could such a venture be safe, when you were encased within a hollow metal tube, hurdling through the cosmos at faster than light speed? Sure, starships were built sturdier than ever nowadays with many safety features designed to protect passengers and crew. But that still did little to put the mind at ease.

It had been Dirk Kaufmann's first real trip out into the reaches of deep space, and hopefully his last. The voyage, by and large, had been nerve-wracking... and things had only gotten worse on the descent down into the atmosphere once the ship had arrived at its destination. Quite frankly, the final part of the voyage had been one of the most hellish experiences of his life, and something he never wanted to go through again.

Now, with two boots firmly planted on solid ground, the wolf couldn't help but utter a sigh of pure unadulterated relief. Let the spacers fly their damnable ships wherever they pleased. He preferred the feel of solid earth beneath his paws.

Standing just at the end of the shuttle's loading ramp, Dirk paused a moment to take in his surroundings, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The sign before him simply read in bold lettering: Welcome to Planet Treja, Southern Forward Operations Base, 2nd Armored Division. Underneath, roughly carved words were etched into the wood: The fuck we doin here?

Encouraging words for someone fresh off a transport...

So this was it. After all the rigorous training, endless simulations, practicing day in and day out; the time had come for Dirk to assume his role out on the front lines of war. At twenty six years of age, he did not belong to the group of young, fresh infantry soldiers right out of boot camp, who were ready to heft a rifle into the trenches when they couldn't even drink legally yet. Nor, was he part of the vast ranks of mechanized soldiers who made up the bulk of the 2nd Armored Division. No, his duty was far more secretive, and... far more crucial to the war effort as a whole. Many eyes would be watching his every move in the days and weeks to come.

The stifling heat of the surrounding tropical jungle was almost unbearable as Dirk stood there next to the shuttle. The humidity clung to him ruthlessly, seemingly weighing the wolf down. His thick black fur was certainly ill suited to such a hot environment. Just the thought of the climate controlled atmosphere aboard the starship was enough for him to consider returning to the transport... but only for a moment.

Dirk merely had to glance up toward the massive hovering bulk of the ungainly cargo vessel that he had arrived on to remind himself that space travel was not for him. The starship's armor plating was marred in several places by ominous scorch marks, where the composite titanium alloy metal had been melted away by the impact of a kinetic strike weapon. He could only grimace as he thought back to the experience of descending into the planet's atmosphere through a hail of enemy fire, a helpless passenger along for the ride.

Cargo vessels were not designed for speed or maneuverability, and they definitely were not designed for combat. With a bulky compartmentalized construction, the only goal was to cram as much cargo as possible into the relatively thin hull. Hell, the damned thing wasn't even armed. Had it not been for the hasty last minute installation of the armor plating, which had been crudely welded to the hull in some places, the ship would never have made it.

"Not much of a spacer are ya?"

Dirk turned to find another soldier had joined him at the end of the shuttle ramp. The wolf that regarded him with a cheeky smile was of middling years, sporting a distinct swath of gray across his muzzle, which contrasted with his otherwise dusky brown fur. What took Dirk by surprise though, was the canine's striking muscular build, which strained against his military uniform. For a guy that was probably just over forty, or very nearly so, he looked like one who could still hold his own against the best of the young recruits.

"You just had that look about ya," the wolf continued, still giving Dirk a mirthful smile. "I've seen it many a time before." He extended out a hand. "Name's Chuck. But everyone calls me Goose."

Dirk managed to recover his composure and took the offered hand, doing his best not to cringe at the iron grip. "Dirk... and you're right. That ride down was not pleasant."

His reply provoked a hearty chuckle from the other soldier. "Probably was one of my more harrowing trips, but nothin' I've never been through before." Goose motioned with a jerk of his muzzle up toward the hovering starship. "The spacers know what they're doin'. They'd never fly into a situation that'd risk ship and crew."

Dirk stole another look toward the vessel. By now, several maintenance platforms were already hovering around the hull, busy removing the damaged armor plating so new partitions could be welded on for the return trip. "I hope you're right," he replied, almost in a whisper.

The undertone in his words was not lost on Goose. The older wolf sighed heavily. "The enemy does seem to be gettin' the upper hand on our supply lines lately." He turned to Dirk, the humor all but gone in his expression. "We're losin' this war slowly mate. It won't be long before the enemy fleet has our supply route completely cut off in orbit."

This was news to Dirk. "I didn't realize it was that bad?"

"Oh yeah, they're slowly pushin' us off this planet. It won't be long before this base is the last toe hold we have on this world." Goose's gaze took on a quizzical look. "Didn't they tell ya this before ya shipped out here?"

Dirk shook his head in reply.

"Ah... well, probably for the best. How else would they get eager young soldiers out to this miserable planet, eh?" If Goose was looking for him to reply, he didn't say so when Dirk remained quiet, allowing the thought to linger between them. Instead, after a moment's pause he changed the subject. "So, what'cha signed up for?"

Dirk's pointy ears twitched at the query. For a moment he actually had forgotten why he was here on this alien world. "Um... I'm a mech pilot."

Goose recoiled back in surprise. "A mech driver? God, I never would've figured ya for one." At Dirk's bewildered look, he hastily backpedaled. "Ah... not that... well..."

"It's ok," Dirk spoke hastily with a raised hand to forestall the coming apology. "I know I don't look anything of the sort."

The elder wolf's observation was not a surprise to him. At just under one hundred eighty centimeters with a slender build, he wasn't an imposing individual to the casual glance. Aside from his striking jet black fur, there was nothing really remarkable about him.

"Ah... I'm sorry, I just figured ya for an engineer or technical advisor." Goose rubbed the back of his head subconsciously. "I'm used to meetin' pilots who are... well, for lack of a better term, self-righteous assholes."

Dirk grinned warily. "I had heard such things during training. As it turns out, I did happen to be an engineer before enlisting into pilot school."

"Oh? How did you get into the mech program?"

The question gave Dirk pause as he pursed his lips. "That... is a long story," he finally managed.

"Well, ya must've done somethin' to impress someone. Not many are lucky enough to get into the academy."

Dirk shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I happened to be in the right place at the right time I guess."

Just then, movement out of the corner of his eye caught the pilot's attention, drawing his gaze over toward the nearby base entrance.

As he watched, a platoon of mechs emerged out of the surrounding tree line. Standing at eighteen meters tall, each unit towered above the landscape while they made their way down the narrow dirt road toward the base entrance. They were an impressive sight to behold, the pinnacle of modern military engineering.

The Mark II Mobile Armor was a wholly new form of mechanized weaponry from previous concepts, utilizing bipedal locomotion for mobility as opposed to tracked or wheel based propulsion. With construction designed to mimic that of an infantryman, the mobile armor, commonly referred to as a mech, took on the appearance of a massive armored canine soldier, able to field a variety of projectile, explosive, or even laser based weapons.

Dirk was intimately familiar with the Mark II mech, having trained with the system extensively during his academy days over the past year. Even so, seeing a squad of the formidable weapons emerge from the tree line bathed in jungle camouflage patterns was enough to make his fur bristle.

Goose uttered an appreciative whistle from alongside the black wolf. "Man if them mechs aren't one of the most intimidatin' things ya ever saw."

Dirk could only nod his head in agreement. The ground beneath his boots shook slightly with each step the approaching units took. It was awe inspiring, just knowing what power these machines were capable of wielding. But, as the wolf got a better look, it became clear that even these formidable weapons were not immune to enemy fire.

As the squad of four mechs drew closer, Dirk could see telltale scars of battle damage all across the armor of each unit. The leading mech, carrying a belt fed assault type rifle in one hand and a small armored shield in the other, had taken bullet damage to almost all forward facing armor partitions. The shield itself had seen the most action, as the platoon insignia was almost unrecognizable across the front with all the dents and ablations marring the surface.

Following in the wake of the first, the second mech wasn't much better off. Instead of the smaller rifle setup, this unit held a huge cannon apparatus over a shoulder, which Dirk recognized as a kinetic sabot weapon designed with the sole intent to take out a mech in one shot. It was unfortunate that the enemy also possessed the same ability to field mobile armor. Obviously this squad had seen quite a bit of action, most likely against such mechs, judging by the massive hole punched into the abdomen armor of the second Mark II, exposing the critical hydraulic and mechanical systems underneath the protective surface. It was a wonder the armor could still move in such bad shape.

The third mech was missing an arm entirely, weapon and all, while the fourth bringing up the rear was minus a head, depriving its pilot line of sight. Instead of relying on backup visual systems, he had instead elected to keep the cockpit hatch open within the chest cavity, allowing him to pilot his armor using his own eyes.

"Christ, they took one hellofa beat'n," Goose breathed quietly.

Both soldiers watched as the squad passed them by, no doubt on its way to a maintenance hangar for much needed repairs. When the last unit disappeared behind a large building, Dirk shook his head ruefully. It seemed that the situation was no better down here on the ground than it was up in space. They really were losing this war...

Goose seemed to share his thoughts. "What a shitty situation to get dropped into. It looks like we're gonna get the hell beat outa us." The older wolf turned to catch Dirk's eye. "Hopefully the supplies that arrived with us will help."

His words elicited a nod from Dirk. "Well, I brought my mech with me, for one."

"Oh? So what unit ya attached to?"

Dirk had to think for a moment what had been written on the order sheet that was now stored safely in his duffle bag. "Uh... First Battalion, Able First Platoon is what my assignment said."

Goose's ears perked up. "Really? I'll be damned! Looks like I'm gonna be your mechanic mate."

"You're a mechanic?" The amazement in Dirk's question was enough to make his counterpart chuckle.

"One of the best around," Goose stated proudly, folding his arms across the chest. "And don't let anyone tell ya otherwise."

"Then I'm in good hands." The frankness of Dirk's reply made his counterpart blink. After a slight pause, the younger wolf smiled modestly. "I'm not the best judge of character, but I can tell when a guy means what he says. I'll be happy to have you backing me up in the field."

Goose seemed at a loss for words. Finally though, he managed to return Dirk's smile. "Thanks mate. It's nice to know I have a friend in the platoon." He brought a hand up and slapped Dirk on the shoulder, nearly knocking the smaller wolf off balance. "Now how bout we go find our new colleagues, eh?"

"Sounds good to me."

The base, as it turned out, was far larger than Dirk had initially thought. With the airfield, maintenance hangars, crew quarters, defensive systems, storage holds, training grounds, and standard personnel facilities, you could walk seemingly for miles. Resting squarely in the nook of a large valley, the military installation was naturally protected by large sloping mountains to the north and south, providing a key defensive perimeter. As he walked, it wasn't hard for the wolf to spot the orbital rail guns positioned all along the peaks of both ridge lines. The kinetic weapon platforms were there to prevent the enemy fleet from bombarding the base from orbit. Else the war would've been over long before he had gotten here.

With the oppressive heat and humidity constantly wearing on Dirk, it was hard for him to resist the urge to pant as he followed Goose along the dirt path, duffle bag still slung over his shoulder. Even as the adjoining mountains formed long shadows across the valley in the waning light, it was still unbearably hot. God, was it going to be hard trying to get used to this miserable weather. Looking around, he saw that the soldiers and personnel around him were not bothered by it. Most had removed their shirts to allow their fur to stand out in the heavy air. Maybe he could get used to it after all... given enough time.

Suddenly, Goose came to a stop in front of Dirk. Just ahead of the mechanic, a fence loomed large, cutting off a section of the base from the rest of the facility. Along the dirt road they were on, a guard post stood staffed by two armed military police, hindering access into the restricted area. It seemed their unit was housed on the other side.

One of the guards stepped forward, pistol conspicuously holstered at his side. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

Without pause, Goose reached into the breast pocket of his military uniform. "Sergeant Chuck Donovan reporting as ordered for Able Company, First Platoon."

The guard took the slip of paper that the mechanic produced and reached over to extract a small handheld computer from a clip on his waist. As Goose waited patiently, the bar code on the paper was scanned and read by the device, which quickly displayed a matching set of orders for verification.

After making sure everything checked out, the guard nodded his head. "Very well, you can proceed."

Dirk had already taken the initiative of setting his bag down to remove his own set of orders by the time the guard turned his attention to him. After rummaging about within a pocket for a second, he felt the paper slip into his grasp.

Orders in hand, the black wolf quickly brought himself to attention. "Second Lieutenant Dirk Kaufmann reporting, Able First Platoon."

Once more, the guard took possession of the paper slip to run the information through the handheld computer. After a few seconds of scanning the display, he gave the wolf permission to pass through the checkpoint with a slight nod of the head. The whole process had taken just over a minute.

"Why the added layer of security?" Dirk asked his counterpart moments later, after they had continued on down the dirt path.

For a second Goose remained quiet, his ears splaying back slightly. "Honestly, I dunno mate. We're part of an experimental company... I s'pose the higher ups want everythin' hush hush."

Dirk had to agree with the mechanic's observation. The success or failure of their unit would have far reaching repercussions for the entire war. It only made sense that the brass wanted to keep the entire operation under wraps, even from other companies in the battalion. Information warfare was a military's greatest weakness or strength, given the circumstances.

It wasn't long before Goose reached a solitary hangar, which was situated far away from any other structure. Along the forward wall, the lettering Able 1st Platoon was painted across the huge forward doors, which were just large enough for a mech to walk through. Unlike the rest of the base, there was hardly any activity to be seen.

"Looks like nobody's home," Goose observed as he swept his eyes across the immediate area.

There really was nobody around for Dirk to see. It was strange, considering the armed guards back at the checkpoint. "Maybe we're in the wrong place?"

As if summoned by the pilot's question, a small side door on the hangar abruptly swung open. The first thing to appear was that of an airborne wrench, which sailed out of the building to bounce off the ground with surprising force. Following in the hapless tool's wake was a rather pissed off dingo, whose arms flailed about as she shouted profanity toward where the wrench had come to rest in the dirt.

Dirk felt himself take a step back away from the irate canine. Her anger was plain to see, hackles raised, teeth bared in a snarl, hands balled into tight fists. She was older than him, probably in her early thirties. He was surprised how much of the dingo's amber fur was matted and covered in grease stains, along with her tattered uniform. Obviously she was a mechanic, or something of the sort at least.

For a few seconds, a standoff ensued with the dingo staring down her wrench, almost like she was inviting the object to challenge her wrath. However, when the tool continued to simply lie there in the dirt unmoving, her anger finally dissipated in the form of an exasperated sigh. Only then, did she take notice of the two nearby soldiers.

The shock on her expression was quickly replaced with embarrassment as her tail went limp. "Sorry bout that. I'm... not having a good day."

Dirk exchanged a look with Goose; the elder wolf was quicker on the draw.

"It's s'ok," the mechanic replied, setting his duffle bag to the ground. As Dirk watched, he moved over toward the wrench and gingerly reached down to pick it up. "I've seen that frustration before. Leme guess, you've been workin' all day try'n to fix a problem, only to have it keep nippin' ya in the ass?"

The dingo recoiled back as if she'd been slapped. "Yes... how'd you know that?"

The wrench twirled about in Goose's grasp expertly. "Cause, every mechanic has that one job that just twists your tail into a knot. There's been many a time where I've lost my cool."

"Tell me about it. I take it you're the replacements I've been told were coming on the transport?"

As she spoke, Goose walked over to hand the wrench back to its proper owner. "Far as I know."

His reply was met with another sigh, this time in relief. "God, if only you knew how happy I am to have you here." The wrench, which was now back in her hands, was pointed back toward the massive hangar doors. "I've been trying to maintain three mechs by myself for nearly two weeks now. I don't know how I kept em running this long."

Goose frowned. "I can see why you're so strung out. That is no easy task for a lone mechanic to do."

The dingo seemed to find his candor humorous, evidenced by her amused chuckle. "You're tell'n me." She reached a hand out toward the wolf. "Name's Lynne. Glad to have you in the platoon."

Goose took her offered hand with surprising grace. "Chuck... but like I said to Dirk there behind me, can call me Goose."

Dirk watched their handshake with interest, noting how both canines shared the same cheeky smile. The humble gesture was the start of a close camaraderie between two professional soldiers who shared the same passion for their job. Without a doubt, both knew their way around a wrench, and were more than capable of carrying out their supporting role in the unit. The thought was reassuring to the pilot, knowing that he would have such skilled colleagues looking after his mech.

The handshake ended with Lynne turning her attention to Dirk. The pilot suddenly remembered with a start that he hadn't introduced himself yet. "Ah... sorry, name's Dirk. I'll be piloting the fourth mech in the squad."

The dingo sized him up shrewdly, before nodding her head. "Welcome to the platoon. It'll be nice having a fourth unit in the squad again. The other pilots have been griping about the lack of support for weeks now."

The mechanic's words, Dirk realized, were not as genuine as they had been with Goose. It seemed Lynne wasn't ready to accept him as part of the platoon just yet, and that was ok. Relationships between pilots and maintenance personnel were not always on the best of terms. Pilots did, after all, have a reputation for haughtiness, and it was the wolf's understanding this typically rubbed mechanics the wrong way. Hopefully she'd warm up to him more as he became part of the unit.

With the formal greetings taken care of, Goose took up the conversation thread. "So, what's this problem that has you so vexed?"

Lynne's features brightened up noticeably. "Ah... it's with one of the mech carbines. I can't get the ammo belt to feed properly."

"Mind if I have a look? Maybe a fresh set of eyes can help."

"Sure! Please... I'm about to take a sledge hammer and start going to town on this damnable thing."

With that, the two canines moved off toward the door leading into the hangar. Dirk had to smile to himself, seeing that Goose had completely forgotten about his duffle bag. The pilot quickly made his way over to procure the forlorn item, adding it to the shoulder opposite his own bag, and followed the two through the entrance.

There was no denying the overwhelming relief Dirk felt as he passed into the massive building, feeling a wave of cool refreshing air wash over him. Never before had he held such an appreciation for air conditioning. Sure, his clothing had cooling microfibers woven into the fabric, but that only did so much. Just to be out of that suffocating heat, it was enough to breathe new life into the wolf.

The interior space of the hangar was absolutely massive to the first look. Along either wall, a series of docking bays were positioned facing one another. It was here that mechs underwent maintenance and servicing between patrols. A mechanic could do anything from flushing a hydraulic system, to far more extensive repair work such as fully replacing a leg assembly. At the moment though, all four bays were empty, leaving Dirk to wonder where the platoon currently was. The only piece of hardware in view was that of the MCR4 carbine rifle assembly Lynne had mentioned earlier. The massive gun was installed on a mount right out in the middle of the open hangar space, allowing for easy access.

The MCR4 was a weapon Dirk was intimately familiar with. Designed for close quarters fighting, the carbine had a formidable rate of fire for a weapon of its size, and could riddle an enemy mech full of holes in a matter of seconds. Both mechanics were already pouring over the carbine, paying particular attention to the bulky belt feeding system, which supplied the gun with a steady supply of 120 millimeter armor piercing bullets. To Dirk's amusement, Goose's wolfish tail was the only part of his body visible, as he had already crawled his way into the tight confines of the weapon's inner workings. Lynne, for her part, was relaying information to him while she stood alongside the breach.

"...if you look at the ejection port, the spent ammo casings are being properly expelled by the hydraulic bolt. But after four or five bullets cycle, the feed system seizes up. I've replaced the hydraulics, the ejection bolt... shit, I've cycled through three whole sets of gun parts to no avail..."

Dirk listened in rapt silence while the two canines went about their troubleshooting. Coming from an engineering background himself, it wasn't hard for him to keep up with what they were doing. The principles for projectile based weapons had not changed much over the past few decades, or centuries even. The only real difference was a matter of scale, firepower, and caliber.

After nearly twenty minutes of messing about, Goose had zeroed in on the fire control software of the weapon. With the mechanic busy plodding away on a handheld computer, Dirk decided to ask Lynne the one question that had been nagging him since their arrival.

"Is the platoon out on patrol?"

Lynne's ears twitched at his query. When she looked over toward the pilot, it was clear to him that she had forgotten he was even there. "The platoon? Oh, they won't be back until nightfall." She waved her hand dismissively. "The squad only does ops at night."

"Why is that?"

His question provoked a raised eyebrow from the dingo. "Didn't they brief ya on security?" At his shake of the head, she muttered a curse under her breath. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Brass never sees fit to tell anyone anything nowadays." Lynne folded her arms across the chest and leaned against the side of the massive gun chassis, apparently trying to think of a good place to start. "Don't know anything, huh?

"I was involved with the Mark IV development program," Dirk offered.

That perked the dingo's interest. "Ah! Well that makes things easier. You know full well how critical this test squad is to the war effort. The higher ups want to keep our operations as secret as possible."

"Even from our own forces?"

Lynne nodded her head grimly. "Yes. The less exposure we have, the better chance of success out in the field... or, at least that is what the brass thinks."

A realization suddenly dawned on Dirk at her words. Keeping the platoon segregated from the main body of the battalion would undoubtedly hinder their ability to effectively fight alongside other squads. Not to mention the fact that there was probably a deep rift between his squad and the pilots of other mech platoons. This news did not bode well.

Lynne shared his opinion on the matter. "Yeah, I don't understand the reasoning behind it myself. It's only making things more difficult for us and the rest of the battalion. In any case, where is your mech? I assume it arrived with you on the transport?"

Dirk turned back in the direction of the base airfield. "They were just offloading it when I stepped off the shuttle. If it's not already on the way here, it should be soon."

"Good, cause we don't have any spare units just sittin' around collecting dust." She glanced back toward one of the empty docking bays. "What is your loadout specialty? Figure I should begin getting supplies together."

"Uh... I guess I'll be filling the close range support role of the squad."

"Ok, and what gun type do you prefer?"

At her question, Dirk allowed himself a crooked smile. "Actually, I don't use a gun."

There must have been a good three second pause before Lynne managed to overcome her bewilderment. "You don't use a gun? You're kiddin' me right?"

Dirk simply shook his head in reply.

The incredulity was plain in the dingo's voice. "How in the hell do you fight without a weapon?"

By now, Goose had set his computer aside and was staring at Dirk with the same skeptical look as his counterpart. "I'll admit, I find that hard to believe, mate."

The black wolf grinned mischievously at the two dumbfounded mechanics. "When my mech gets here, I'll show you."

***************

Almost an hour later, a rather large wheeled container was slowly being towed into the empty hangar through the large open doors, allowing a blanket of suffocating humidity to inundate the building interior. Dirk had already forgotten how oppressive the heat outside was. Not two minutes after the doors had been rolled open, he was panting with annoyance. It was probably going to be a while before he was able to cope with this terrible weather...

Both Lynne and Goose supervised the moving process, making sure that the package and contents within weren't mishandled or damaged in any way. After a tense few minutes of shouted orders to the tractor driver, the container was safely parked in front of a docking station. From there, the real work began, starting with opening the transport canister.

"It's just like unwrap'n a gift at Christmas," Goose proclaimed with mild amusement. The wolf kicked the side of the smooth metal container with a boot. "Care to open it?"

Lynne was already one step ahead of him. "Let's start by getting her upright." She motioned to a nearby set of controls with a jerk of the muzzle. "Take control of the gantry crane. I'll go find some hoists."

And so Dirk found himself watching from the sidelines as the two mechanics set about tending to his mobile armor. It wasn't long before the container was carefully raised off the flatbed trailer that had been used to haul it across the base. From there, a few precise moves by the gantry crane were all that was needed to properly position the bulky case.

"Now then, let's have a look at our newest toy," Lynne concluded, once the moving operation was complete. The dingo turned to Dirk, inviting him to perform the final step of the procedure.

With a slight nod, the pilot moved over to the side of the container where a small keypad was located. Only a handful of individuals knew the code to unlock the container; Dirk happened to be the only one within ten light years. The code itself was twenty five digits long, and he had made sure to commit it all to memory. You couldn't be too careful.

Once the wolf had entered the proper sequence, an audible hiss of pressurized air emanated from the seal of the case. Stepping back, he watched as the lid of the container parted from the base and fell forward to slam onto the hangar floor with a loud thwack. And there it was... Dirk's personal mobile armor in all its terrifying glory.

The Mark IV, like its predecessor models, stood at a respectable eighteen meters tall, but that was where the similarities ended. Clad in jet black armor, the mech possessed an eerie semblance to that of a demonic wolf. The armor's sinister appearance was, for all intents and purposes, solely to instill fear in the enemy. Dirk always found the vicious red eyes disconcerting above all else, even now after having trained with the armor for months on end. There was a good reason why test pilots had nicknamed it the Hellhound.

Beyond anything else, Dirk had come to respect the Mark IV for its unparalleled agility. The armor was designed to mimic any form of bipedal motion that a pilot could possibly command, giving the mech a crucial edge in the heat of a firefight. Hell, the damned thing even had a fully articulated canine tail to help with balance while maneuvering.

"Ain't she a beaut," Goose marveled, taking in the sight of the pilot's Hellhound. "I've never seen one in person before. She looks meaner than all hell."

Lynne uttered an amused laugh at her counterpart's awestruck gaze. "I've seen that look before. You so want to take it apart don't you?"

Goose's expression became embarrassed. "Ya got me. I'd love to get in there and see what makes that beauty tick."

"You should see them in action. I had no idea how agile these mechs can be until I watched a pilot put one through its paces."

Goose looked over to Dirk. "These things can move," the pilot agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "It'll make the Mark II look like a toy."

The mechanic whistled appreciatively. "So, this is what the research guys have been workin' on, huh?"

"Among other things, yes," Dirk replied. "We've been developing hardware and software upgrades to the existing Mark IV system. We'll be trying these new components out on my mech. If all goes well, we will install upgrade parts and software on the existing units that are already out in the field."

Both mechanics exchanged looks. "I was never told this," Lynne finally stated, rubbing her muzzle thoughtfully.

"It... was a last minute change," the pilot added hesitantly. "It's partly why I'm here now."

This time it was Goose who spoke. "You said you were an engineer earlier. Did you work on the Hellhound design?"

Dirk looked between the two canines as he tried to find words. "Ah... yes. It's mainly how I ended up piloting this mech... it's a long story though."

He could see the questions forming in their expressions. Obviously, they knew that he was not just another pilot arriving fresh off a transport from Earth. However, neither mechanic decided to press the issue further.

"Alright then Mr. Engineer, so how do you plan to fight without a gun?" Lynne asked instead, motioning with an outstretched hand toward Dirk's mech. "She's a formidable machine, yes... but there's only so much you can do without firepower."

Dirk was thankful for the change in subject. "Actually, it's probably easier if I show you."

As the two mechanics looked on curiously, he moved back to the keypad on the side of the transport container and entered a quick series of commands. Along either side of the case interior, two arms slowly pivoted out into the hangar space, presenting the tools that Dirk's mech would be using on the battlefield.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" Lynne exclaimed, rubbing her head in confusion. "That can't be what I think it is."

"It is," Dirk confirmed. He vaulted himself up into the opened container and moved to place a hand against the smooth black metal of the first device. "This is the Aegis Tactical Shield. My suit employs this on the left arm as a defensive and offensive armament."

The shield was, by and large, massive even when compared against the size of a mech. Standing at twelve meters tall, the protective armor was designed after a Roman Scutum, with a rectangular, semi-cylindrical body. Meant to provide full body protection against projectile fire and standoff melee attacks, the shield had worked well against a wide range of weapons during the Roman era. Now though, the design was being called back into the line of fire on a wholly different battlefield.

"How is this shield better than the ones we already use?" Lynne questioned. "I know they work great for protecting against enemy fire, but the damned things hardly last longer than one engagement before they get shot all to hell."

Dirk had been waiting for that particular question; he held up a finger to emphasize his point. "That is where this new design comes into its own. The physical shield itself actually doesn't provide the primary protection for the mech."

Lynne blinked deliberately. "The hell? You're not making any sense."

"There's this new technology the space arm is testing for use on the fleet's starships. The intent is to augment existing armor plating with this new system, which projects a field of dense energy particles across a given surface. In the case of starship hulls, this will protect against kinetic, explosive, and energy based weapons."

"You're shittin' me!" Goose exclaimed in disbelief.

Dirk had to suppress a smile at the sight of both mechanics. It looked like their muzzles were going to drop onto the hangar floor. "Nope. When I left the research facility back on Earth, they were already installing the system onto a cruiser for testing."

"Sonofabitch," Lynne breathed. "They always talk about energy based shields in science fiction, but to actually have the technology exist now." She shook her head. "It blows my mind."

Dirk nodded his head in agreement. "No kidding... I just hope they get the system to the front lines before we lose this war." He turned back to the mech shield alongside him. "Anyway, this sucker here uses the same concept in a way." The pilot patted the metal surface. "This entire shield is a massive field emitter. Incoming fire is actually absorbed or deflected by the particle field projected in front of the emitter, as opposed to the physical armor itself."

Dirk paused to allow for a reply. Yet, both mechanics seemed at a loss for words. Grinning to himself, the wolf decided to move on to the other half of his mech's loadout. He was rather enjoying this.

"This beam sword employs the same technology as the shield," he continued, while motioning to the massive object in question. "The weapon though, takes the concept to a whole new level."

The sword was no less impressive a sight than its shield counterpart. Fashioned after a medieval broadsword, the ebony black blade stood at just over ten meters long with a double edged cutting surface. However, there was more to its construction than met the eye.

Confusion muddled Goose's expression as he regarded Dirk. "Beam Sword? Why ya call it that? It looks like any regular melee weapon to me."

"The blade itself is also an emitter," the pilot replied candidly. "However, in this case, multiple particle fields are projected across the top and bottom surfaces of the sword, which meet along the cutting edges on a finite plane. This, in turn, creates an extremely sharp cutting edge that can slice through even the thickest armor with relative ease."

Goose studied the weapon carefully, scratching his head all the while. "Ya sure do know a lot bout these nasty things."

Lynne, for her part, was still skeptical about the weapon's capabilities. "So, you're basically bringing a knife to a gunfight?"

A pause took hold and stretched between the three canines for a few seconds as Dirk tried to think of something to say. In a simplistic sense, that was exactly what he was going to do. His mech didn't possess any hardpoints to support external weapons or ammo storage in an effort to save weight. The mobile armor didn't even have targeting software or a pilot's gun sight in the cockpit for that matter.

The black wolf shrugged his shoulders helplessly with a sheepish smile. "I suppose that's the gist of it."

Lynne opened her muzzle to reply, yet was stopped short by the sound of a handheld communication device vibrating on her hip. With a curious regard she looked down to study it.

"Huh... I wasn't expecting the captain for another six hours at the least," the dingo muttered as she removed the small computer from its holster. Activating the link, she had to wait a moment while the encryption protocols synched up and shook hands, before speaking into the receiver. "Lynne here."

"Corporal, we're on our way back to base," a grainy feminine voice responded crisply. "We have new orders for an extended patrol tonight."

The surprise was quite clear on the dingo's face. "What happened to perimeter duty?"

"Our relief came sooner than we were told. We'll need a resupply. Expect us back in less than two hours."

"Understood." Lynne replaced the comm device back into its holder on her hip, uttering a pained sigh as she did so. "Christ, two back to back missions... the lines must be stretched thin." She turned to Dirk with a weary look. "Seems you'll get to meet your platoon in a few."

It was only then that the pilot realized just how exhausted Lynne really was. The dingo put up a strong front, but her fatigue still managed to show through. There was only so much a person could take before the constant strain of a job began to break them down. It seemed that Goose and Dirk hadn't arrived soon enough.

"Well then, there's no time to lose," Dirk spoke earnestly, making the dingo start. "Let Goose and me get my mech squared away, and then we'll help you with those supplies." He turned to the other mechanic in question, who nodded his head in silent agreement. He too, had taken note of her weary state.

Lynne's expression melted into relief. "Oh, that would help me out so much. God, I've missed having extra hands about to help." Her smile was only fleeting, before she hastily moved off toward the nearby weapons locker, leaving the two remaining canines to their own task.

Dirk wasted no time vaulting himself up a series of ladder rungs along the inside of the transport container, intent on removing a grouping of clamps that was holding the mobile armor securely in place. Meanwhile, Goose moved to do the same for similar restraints along the bottom portion of the mech.

As he worked, Dirk's thoughts dwelled on what was to come. He had only been planetside for just over an hour, and already he was being thrown squarely into the thick of things. He was curious, perhaps even excited, to test out the capabilities of his mech's upgrades and weapons; and it seemed that the war was happy to oblige in that regard. There was, after all, no better place to test an unproven idea than out on the front lines...

The work soon became a blur of activity to the pilot. Before he knew it, two hours had already elapsed.

Still working to ready his mech, Dirk's ears twitched keenly at the distinct sound of the massive hangar doors slowly grinding open. Again, the comforting cool air of the building interior was overwhelmed by a rush of sticky humidity, making the wolf scowl as he looked out into the night. Even with darkness now settling across the landscape, the stubborn heat persisted. How in the hell could anyone bear such a horrid climate?

The thought was quickly forgotten though as Dirk caught movement in the darkness. As if materializing out of the evening air, three huge shadowy figures soon phased into existence. He felt a chill run down his spine at the sight; the eyes... they took on a much more frightening look when the armor was concealed in darkness, glowing a sinister red against the surrounding shadows. Night really was the Hellhound's most potent weapon.

One by one, the three units of Dirk's squad filed through the hangar doors, allowing the interior light to peel back the shroud of darkness and fully illuminate each mech. The wolf always had to marvel at just how fluid the armor's motion was, how each step taken was carried out with smooth natural movement. Unlike the more cumbersome Mark II, the Hellhounds hardly radiated any mechanical noise as they walked. There was only the distinct thump of each armored paw contacting the concrete floor of the hangar in a rhythmic manner, which shook the ground slightly beneath the pilot while he looked on in admiration.

The leading mech in the formation carried a 120 millimeter MAR8 belt fed assault rifle, a multipurpose weapon that packed quite a punch with a multitude of uses. Unlike the earlier Mark IIs, there was no sign of battle damage to the accompanying shield, or the mobile armor itself. To Dirk's satisfaction, there was actually hardly a scratch to be seen at all, indicating just how formidable the Hellhound was on the front lines. In fact, the only discernible blemish on the black paint was a scythe portrayed in crimson red across the upper arm plating, no doubt a feature symbolic to that of the pilot in some way.

Following in the wake of the first unit, the second Hellhound was no less an impressive sight. Instead of employing the more conventional MAR8, the mech carried a massive six barrel Gatling gun, which was mounted directly to the forearm of the mobile armor. While Dirk himself had never utilized this remarkable weapon system before, he was fully aware of its capabilities. The idea was simple; sacrifice some stopping power with a smaller caliber projectile, in exchange for a much higher rate of fire. In the hands of a competent pilot, such a potent armament could inflict immense damage.

Bringing up the formation rear was the third and final mech, the squad's heavy hitter. Unlike the other weapon systems, the Anti-Armor Magnetic Rail Gun -- the same weapon platform Dirk had seen on the Mark II earlier -- was a hefty armament solely intended for use against enemy mobile armor. The shoulder mounted cannon fired a fin stabilized sabot round, which could punch through even the thickest armor with ease. It took a special type of pilot to use such a bulky weapon, since a mech's mobility was severely hampered by its weight. More often than not, the anti-armor role in a squad had to rely heavily on the other units for close range protection; and that was where Dirk's support came into play.

Distract, defend, destroy...

The meaning behind the phrase was simple enough. With only short range weapons, Dirk would stay close to the formation, most likely out in front to protect the others. His primary goal was to merely draw enemy fire away from the other assets of the platoon. If this objective became unattainable, then the pilot's secondary goal was to assume a defensive position, literally putting himself between the enemy and his squad. With durability being his strong point, the wolf's mech was capable of absorbing far more punishment than the others.

Finally, if for whatever reason neither aim was feasible, then his last remaining choice was to engage the enemy directly, but only as a last resort. Hopefully though, such drastic actions would not be necessary out on the front lines.

As Dirk looked on from alongside his own unit, the lead mech came to a stop right in the middle of the hangar's open floor space. Almost at once, the joints and limbs became rigid, locking the mobile armor into a motionless upright state while the pilot powered down all key systems. When the Hellhound was fully secured, the cockpit hatch swiveled open to form a platform just before the interior compartment.

Dirk found himself wondering who was inside. Mech drivers were a special breed, individuals who required unparalleled skill and dexterity just to be considered for the piloting program. Few actually managed to make it through the rigorous training hurdles to become part of the mobile armor ranks. And even fewer counted themselves lucky enough to command a Hellhound. All told, there were twelve Mark IVs in operation all across the planet Treja, and his squad made up four of those units.

Every Hellhound pilot was unique in their own right, specializing in a form of mech combat that made them stand out from the rank and file as the cream of the crop. They had to be, in order to be considered for such a prominent position. There was no doubt in Dirk's mind that whoever emerged from that cockpit had earned their place piloting such a technologically advanced war machine. Nevertheless, he had no idea just how much of a surprise he was in for.

After a few moments of curious anticipation, the mech's pilot finally crawled out of the cockpit to stand on the opened hatch. Dirk had to stifle a gasp; the jackal that stood proudly atop the mobile armor was every bit the canine he had come to expect. But, what he had not expected was her conspicuous feminine physique, which was easily distinguishable from his vantage point on the ground.

Of course... the voice on the comm frequency! How he had not made that obvious connection was a mystery to Dirk. But wait... if this pilot was the one who had called in earlier, then that meant...

"Ho there, captain!" Lynne suddenly hollered out, jarring Dirk out of his thoughts rudely as she came to stand next to the pilot. "Didn't expect ya back so soon."

The jackal turned her gaze down toward the source of the shout and waved a hand. "Sorry about that," she yelled back. "You know how the brass loves to jerk us around by the tail." With those words, she reached over to toggle a switch, which caused a small hoist arm system to swing out just above the cockpit.

Entering and exiting the cockpit of a mech was no easy feat. Being so far off the ground, there was no way a pilot could safely jump down without severely injuring themself. As a result, mechanical assistance was required for this particular undertaking. The device itself was humble in design, consisting of merely a long cable with a loop attached at the end for someone to place their paws in. In addition to a handhold, a carabineer was also woven into the cable for a safety line to be attached around the waist. But no pilot ever used that pointless feature, not even Dirk. If you had to strap yourself in just to reach your cockpit, then you had no business piloting a mobile armor, plain and simple.

The jackal quickly jumped over onto the hoist with a particular grace only an experienced pilot could demonstrate, and toggled a switch to lower herself down. Dirk waited patiently the fifteen or so seconds it took for her to reach the ground. However, before he could move forward to introduce himself, Lynne cut him off.

"What's the situation of the squad?" the dingo inquired hastily, coming to attention before the female pilot. She had a datapad out and at the ready, intent on typing out notes.

The jackal pursed her lips thoughtfully a moment. "Well, we're good on ammo. Didn't fire a shot on this last op. I figure, just a quick fuel replenish and perishable restock will do."

"Understood."

Lynne wasted no time moving off once more, hurriedly typing away on her datapad all the while. Suddenly, Dirk was alone with the jackal, who was now studying him with an interested look. In that instant, he found himself inexplicably at a loss for words.

Her fur was quite unique, with a light milky brown hue across her pointy ears, head, and facial features, which flowed down to disappear beneath the simple T-shirt she wore. The color became a much deeper grey tinge as the fur continued out across her exposed arms and tail.

With a bulky pair of camouflage cargo pants complementing said shirt, her attire was anything but that of a professional soldier. But then again, Dirk had quickly come to realize that not one person he had seen on base wore the traditional army uniform. Out here, it appeared comfort won out against the need to look crisp and professional... and he had no qualms about that.

The jackal placed a hand on her hip. "Well I can't say we've met before." She turned her gaze up over Dirk's shoulder, toward where his mech still stood within its travel container. "If I was to hazard a guess, I'd say you're the fourth pilot I've been told was coming in on the latest transport."

Dirks eyes briefly flickered to the insignia that was laced into the fabric of her white T-shirt, showcasing her rank in the form of two parallel silver bars. "Second Lieutenant Dirk Kaufmann reporting for duty, ma'am," the wolf spoke up crisply, coming to attention before his superior.

The captain winced sharply at his words. "Please... just Jamie. I hate it when people use that word. It makes me feel old."

Dirk blinked in confusion. The informality of her reply had taken him by surprise.

"You can call me Captain Reilly out in public," she went on, eyeing him critically to forestall his reply. "But when I'm with my team, I prefer just Jamie."

Her candor was not what he had expected from his squad leader. The women he had met during his training in the academy had been hardened, uptight individuals, who shared in the same macho attitudes as their male counterparts, especially if they held a high ranking position. However, the jackal that faced him was nothing of the sort.

Jamie suddenly smiled. "If you leave that muzzle hanging open any wider, someone's liable to trip over it."

With a start, Dirk realized he had been simply staring with his mouth agape, unsure what to say. Feeling his ears pin back, he mentally reproached himself. "Ah... well... uhh, sorry about that."

"No worries." The captain's smile never faltered as she reached a hand out. "Glad to have you with us. As you're probably beginning to realize, things aren't very formal out here."

Dirk took the offered hand tentatively, making sure to keep his grip light. Her grasp wasn't powerful, but not overly soft either. "You're tell'n me. This is quite different from the academy."

"Those pukes always try to make you the perfect little soldier. Unfortunately for them, the climate out here in this hell hole tends to push procedure and decorum to the wayside." Ending the handshake, Jamie turned her gaze back to Dirk's mech. "Lucky for us we get to fight in relative comfort... I don't think I'd ever manage as an infantryman out here."

Dirk winced. In addition to the mobile armor and mechanized tanks of the Second Armored, there were several companies of infantry assigned to the division, fighting on paw as close in support. They were the true heroes of the battalion as far as he was concerned, helping to safeguard mechanized units against infantry based threats, with only a layer of personal body armor protecting from enemy fire... and no comfy climate controlled cockpit to shelter from the cruel heat and humidity. The thought alone made him shudder.

"Yeah, those poor souls go through hell just to protect our high and mighty asses," Dirk agreed, shaking his head. "They say we're the true powerhouses of the warfront, but all it takes is one lowly soldier with a lucky RPG shot to bring one of us down."

Jamie's features suddenly darkened. "You don't know the half of it." She looked back toward her own mech with a far off gaze, as if recounting a not so pleasant memory. "The enemy is getting very good at taking out our mechanized units. The supporting infantry are more vital to us than ever these days."

"Maybe I can do something to change that."

The captain's ears perked up fully as she turned back to him. "Really? How?"

Dirk motioned over his shoulder with a jerk of his thumb. "I'll be testing out several new systems on my mech, which are fresh from the R and D guys back on Earth. One of those systems is a multifunction sensor grid designed specifically for detecting enemy infantry at close range."

"Doesn't the existing primary sensor array already take care of that role?"

"Yes, but there is a limitation to that functionality. By adding a second array, we were able to fine tune the primary grid for long range detection, pushing its effective radius out quite significantly."

Dirk couldn't help but notice the curiosity wash across the jackal's expression at his mention of the word "we." He had to stop including himself when talking about the research and development of the Hellhound. It was true he was here on this isolated planet as both a test pilot and engineer. Yet, that didn't mean he had to go around blabbing that information to anyone within earshot. Sometimes the wolf just couldn't keep his big mouth shut.

His body language must have given Dirk's thoughts away, since Jamie didn't jump on the opening he had inadvertently left. "Well, normally I would sit down with a new member of my squad and get the low down on their fighting style, and what have you. However, we don't have much time before we deploy again." The jackal stole an anxious glance at her wrist watch. "We're supposed to be moving for the front lines in ten minutes... never mind the fact we just got back from our last detail."

"Don't let me hold you up," Dirk hastily spoke.

For a moment, she seemed to waver on the point of taking up his offered exit. "I should learn something about how you fight at the very least before we waltz into combat together," she finally reasoned after a short pause, speaking to herself more than anything.

"It's hard to explain my fighting style to be honest."

The captain's brow furrowed. "Oh? Well then, what role do you fit into at least?"

"Close combat support," Dirk replied promptly.

"Weapon of choice?"

The wolf hesitated. "Uh... sword and shield."

Dirk had to suppress a grimace at the jackal's surprised look. Of course she, like the mechanics earlier, didn't believe that such an odd configuration would work. Perhaps he, himself, wasn't quite sold on the idea either. But it was still worth a shot, especially given how much time and effort had been expended just to get the system out here on the front lines. At least the captain made an effort to hide her incredulity, although it was still easy to see.

Dirk held up a hand. "I know it sounds crazy, but it will work. You'll have to trust me on this one for now... I guess."

His superior stood there in silence for a pregnant pause, chewing on her lip thoughtfully as she considered him with a quizzical regard. Obviously she wasn't sold on the idea any more than Lynne had been, but it had been best to bring the subject up now as opposed to later. If worst came to worst, Dirk could still employ a gun system on his mech, although several modifications would have to be made in order to accommodate the appropriate hardware. With the squad under pressure to redeploy, there simply was not time for such extensive work to be carried out. It was either sword and shield, or nothing at all.

After what felt like an eternity to the wolf, Jamie nodded her head. "A Hellhound pilot doesn't get to where he is with luck and stupidity. If you're confident in your ability to wield such weapons, then I have faith you'll manage."

Dirk tried and failed to stifle the smile he felt well up at her words. "Thanks, ma'am." Her look suddenly went sour, making the wolf cringe. "Ah... I mean Jamie... err." He suddenly found himself at a loss for words again. Finally, he just threw his hands up in defeat. "Sorry, it might take me some time to get used to things out here."

"No worries. We'll beat that professionalism outa you in a hurry." The jackal' gaze wandered over toward the far corner of the hangar, where the squad barracks were housed. "I hate to cut things short, but we only have a few minutes to get back out there, and I'm not going to miss my chance to enjoy indoor plumbing while I can." She gave Dirk a playful wink and took her leave.

Dirk was left standing there speechless. Damn the captain really could be frank when she wanted to be. Still, he found himself liking her. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders... an easygoing person who was still a professional leader when the situation warranted it. The fact that her Hellhound platoon was pretty much untouched by enemy fire was testament to that. A mech was only as good as its pilot, and a platoon was only as good as the captain who commanded it.

"I see our new replacement has arrived finally."

The sudden voice from behind him nearly made Dirk jump out of his boots. Spinning about, he came to find an arctic fox standing nearby, arms crossed with a mischievous grin painted across his muzzle. Like the captain, he too wore the same casual dress, with a nondescript T shirt that nearly matched his ghost white fur, and a complementing pair of camouflage pants. The emblem etched into his sleeve identified the vulpine as a Second Lieutenant, meaning only one thing.

Dirk gave the fox, who was probably about his age, a welcoming smile. "You must be my squad mate."

"That you are correct," the pilot replied, looking Dirk over with a quick sweep of his eyes. "Been wonder'n when they'd send us a new linebacker for the platoon."

The wolf canted his head slightly in puzzlement. "Linebacker?"

"Yeah, you know... linebacker? Football?"

Dirk shook his head in confusion, not sure what his counterpart was getting at.

At his look of bewilderment, the fox brought a hand up to cover his face in dismay. "Damn, you must be fresh out of the academy. Figures they'd send us a noobie with no field experience."

"Well, yes... I just arrived from Earth," Dirk replied carefully. "Wait, why are you talking about football?"

"Don'tcha get it?" The fox leveled a finger at him. "You're the platoon's close range support. It's your job to protect the rest of the squad from the enemy, right?"

"Right..."

"That makes you the linebacker, the player who defends his quarterback from the opponent's offense."

Dirk mulled over the fox's words. It made sense, in a basic fashion, when you looked at the overall formation of a mech platoon. However, there was far more to his role than simply throwing his weight in front of a rushing opponent to block their advance. In this deadly game, the offense had weapons, and some nasty ones at that.

"I'm your quarterback," the fox went on, taking advantage of Dirk's contemplative silence. "Eamon McCarthy's the name, and anti-armor is my game." He pantomimed holding a heavy shoulder fired weapon. "I'm a mech's worst nightmare."

"Ah, I guess I see what you mean," Dirk finally replied. It was interesting to him how this fox, who wasn't very muscular or tall, was the one carrying the big guns. "I'm Dirk, and Eamon McCarthy, was it?

The wolf's vulpine counterpart rolled his eyes. "No I'm not Irish, as much as my name implies."

"Oh, that wasn't what I was going to ask."

"You would've sooner or later. Everybody does." Eamon raised his hand in the form of a shaka sign. "I actually hail from Hawaii of all places, believe it or not. Best surfing on Earth."

"I never would've guessed that."

The fox nodded his head. "Nobody does. Anyway, just call me Coots."

"Coots? How did you get a name like that?"

It wasn't Eamon who answered Dirk's question, but rather another canine who suddenly came up to join the two. "It stands for Constantly Over-emphasizes Own Tactical Significance." The fox's ears wilted while the newcomer came to stand alongside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, my friend here doesn't know when to shut up at times."

The second pilot, which Dirk assumed was the newcomer's role in the platoon, was a coyote, probably in his mid-thirties. His choice of attire was a pair of field army camouflage fatigues; a compromise of formality between Dirk's own dress and Eamon's. Of interest, was how he carried himself with a much softer countenance compared to the fox, almost stoic to a degree.

"Coots does enough talking for the entire platoon," the coyote continued, patting his colleague on the shoulder. "If his muzzle was a weapon, we would've already won the war."

Dirk was alarmed by how he spoke so deadpan without the smallest trace of mirth. He didn't know what to do. Was there some sort of tension between these pilots that he had suddenly found himself caught in the middle of? Nothing was worse than having a squad that didn't see eye to eye.

However, much to Dirk's relief, Eamon, or rather Coots, cracked a smirk at his counterpart's blunt remark. "Ever the wise ass, as always."

Just the thinnest smirk graced the muzzle of the coyote, showing that he was, in fact, just joking around. It was obvious now that this was a running jest between the two pilots.

Still clasping Coots on the shoulder, the coyote turned his attention back to Dirk with a cordial smile. "I am Sahir. It's a pleasure to have you in the platoon."

The wolf extended his arm out and shook hands with his newly introduced colleague. "Same... name's Dirk."

"So you're Coots's new personal body guard huh?"

"I'm afraid so." Dirk was only now beginning to pick up on the coyote's subtle Middle Eastern accent, which was barely discernible in his voice.

Sahir uttered a mirthless chuckle. "Good, now I don't have to protect his sorry tail."

"Hey, my tail is very important," Coots chimed in with feigned indignation. "Without me, you all would be toast out there."

"My friend, you are indeed valuable to the squad. However, I believe Reaper trumps your worthiness tenfold."

The fox was about to make a comeback, when abruptly he changed his mind. "Ok, you got me on that one."

"Who's Reaper?" Dirk asked, his curiosity suddenly peaked.

Both pilots exchanged a look, before Coots turned to the wolf with a mischievous grin. "Heh, she never likes to use that name."

"She?" With a gasp, Dirk recoiled back as if he had been struck. "You don't mean..." He turned toward the barrack doorway where the captain had disappeared.

"She has more confirmed mech kills than both of us combined," Sahir spoke with admiration. "I've never seen a more skilled pilot than her."

"Once the platoon was formed, it didn't take long before the captain was known as Reaper," Coots added, shrugging his shoulders. "No one knows how the name came about, or how that scythe on her Hellhound mysteriously appeared several weeks ago. Even she doesn't know... or least claims not to."

Dirk rubbed his muzzle thoughtfully, still looking back over his shoulder. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised."

"And that's how she likes to roll," the fox concluded. "She can really work you over with her feminine charm one minute, and then rip your guts out the next."

Dirk's ears flattened as Coots punctuated his statement with a finger slicing across his neck. "I'll have to keep that in mind," the wolf replied weakly.

"Ah, don't let it bother you, my friend," Sahir added with a smile. "The captain reserves her ire for the enemy... and those unfortunate enough to hit on her."

"Now that, I will definitely keep in mind."

All things told, Jamie was definitely easy on the eyes. She was, after all, not much older than Dirk. Yes, she was his superior, and yes such a relationship was taboo. But, that had not stopped his mind from straying since they had met.

However, hearing the coyote's warning, cleverly veiled in his jesting, was enough to smother any ambitions Dirk might have had. While not exactly obvious, it was still apparent to the wolf that his counterpart had seen many a soldier fall victim to the captain's wrath. Never mind the fact that Dirk, himself, wasn't exactly the smoothest customer when it came to the opposite sex to begin with.

"Hey, stop standing around and get your tails in gear!" Lynne suddenly called out, drawing the gaze of all three pilots over toward where she stood with a loaded hover dolly in tow.

"You got only minutes before you're back out there," the mechanic continued, crossing her arms contemptuously. "Better hurry and take care of business before it's too late."

At first, Dirk wasn't sure what Lynne was getting at. However, Sahir was quick to fill him in.

"That means take advantage of the barrack's wash facilities while you can, my friend. There are no such comforts out on the front lines. It could be days, even weeks, until we can enjoy such indulgences again."

The wolf cringed at his colleague's words. Jamie had hinted at that dismal fact earlier as well. "Yes, that definitely sounds like a good idea."

With a grim nod, Sahir turned toward the barracks as Coots moved to follow in his wake. Not wasting any time, Dirk fell instep behind the two canines, an anxious look gracing his muzzle.

This was definitely an interesting group of colleagues he had found himself mixed up with. The academy had definitely not prepared him for this.

The wolf shook his head with a smirk; what the hell had he gotten himself into?

***************

Roughly fifteen minutes and one bathroom break later, Dirk found himself standing at the base of his mech, ready to bring his Hellhound to life.

In spite of everything the wolf had gone through over the past year with his mobile armor training, there was just no shrugging off the awe-inspiring feel of simply standing in the shadow of the Hellhound's intimidating presence, measuring his worth against the mech's raw power. It always gave the armor's size a whole new depth when it towered over him.

Steeling himself, he moved over toward one of the Hellhound's paws, and reached up to flip open a small hatch to reveal a keypad within. The other pilots of the squad were already back inside their cockpits, prompting a new sense of urgency in Dirk as he hurriedly entered his passcode.

Above him, the cockpit hatch of the mech swung open with an audible hiss of venting atmosphere. While he looked on in silence, the pilot hoist quickly lowered down to the hangar ground, soon coming to a stop right next to the waiting canine.

Placing both paws into the bottom cable rung, Dirk wasted no time toggling the switch to raise himself up.

So, this was it; he had hoisted himself up on this very lift countless times in training. But this... this was the real thing. When he entered that cockpit above, it wasn't to carry out another simulation, or another field trial. Out beyond that hangar door and the base perimeter beyond was an enemy that wanted to kill him. They would have no remorse, no hesitation in striking him down. The thought was sobering to say the least.

The ride up to the mech's cockpit only took a few moments. When the hoist came to a stop, Dirk expertly stepped onto the opened hatch that protruded out from the chest cavity. It was a long ways down if he lost his balance now...

Shrugging off the thought, he turned toward the opened cockpit before him. The compartment itself wasn't exactly spacious, with a single seat situated squarely in the center of numerous computer banks, wire bundles, and fuse panels. Conspicuously absent was any form of joystick or pedal used to control the mech's movement. In fact, at first glance, there was no obvious means of controlling the mobile armor at all. This was one fundamental reason why the Hellhound was far superior to the Mark II.

Dirk uttered a relieved sigh as he maneuvered himself in to take possession of the cockpit seat, making sure to thread his bushy tail through the hole in the backrest. The plastic material of the cushions yielded nicely to his form, causing the wolf to sag a little. The fit was quite snug; it had to be, in order for the piloting interface to function properly.

None of the cockpit systems were online at the moment. There was only a single flashing yellow icon in the shape of a key, which was positioned up on the side bulkhead almost out of the wolf's reach.

The pilot smiled to himself. "Such a technological marvel of engineering art... and you needed a key to start it."

Dirk quickly fished the key in question out from underneath his T shirt on a necklace -- he had decided to do away with the formal uniform during his brief visit to the barracks -- and promptly inserted it into the proper position. From there it was only a matter of turning the ignition to activate the Hellhound's complex systems.

Immediately, the cockpit ambient lights kicked on, illuminating the wolf as he sat back in his seat patiently. All around him, computer banks and readout displays booted up, bringing about the soft hum of electronic noise that quickly faded into the background.

After waiting a few moments for everything to warm up, Dirk closed the cockpit hatch with the flick of a switch. As a result, an array of forward facing screens quickly replaced his view, which displayed a simple message: Enter Pilot Voice Authentication ID.

There were two verbal codes that Dirk had memorized, which served two completely different purposes. One verified his identity to the onboard computer system during startup, while the other triggered a series of explosive charges designed to completely destroy the mech in an instant. In this war, sophisticated technology such as his Hellhound could not fall into enemy hands no matter the circumstances. If that meant the sacrifice of a pilot, then it was their duty to see things through to the bitter end.

Dirk hoped the day would never come where he would be forced to use such a desperate act. But, in his mind he knew that if the situation became dire, he would not hesitate to take his own life to deny the enemy the tactical advantage of capturing his mech. The wolf knew how much work had gone into the Hellhound's development, and equally appreciated just how devastating it would be to the war effort if the enemy managed to duplicate its prowess. In light of that, his life was insignificant.

For now though, the termination sequence would remain safely tucked away in Dirk's head. Instead he cleared his throat, and recited the start-up authentication code with a clear and articulate voice. "Voice Ident; Second Lieutenant Dirk Kaufmann; Designate, Charlie, Victor, Hector, Zulu, Alpha, Tango, Gulf... Verify."

The code sequence appeared across the forward display screen as Dirk spoke each variable, until the entire series flashed in acknowledgment of his identity. With that security barrier cleared, the array of screens before him lit up fully with information, presenting a detailed schematic of every essential system and sub system aboard the mech. The graphics and diagrams sprawled before the pilot in a smooth 180 degree cylindrical plane, an overwhelming assortment of data to the untrained eye, yet easily discernible to the wolf after months of training.

Dirk took a moment to crack his knuckles, before continuing the start-up sequence. "Command; run pre-start checklist."

The onboard computer silently complied, washing away the detailed schematic before him with a new series of itemized checklists. As he watched idly with mild interest, the computer ran down each item listed on the screen, marking each one complete once the component or system in question was analyzed and deemed ready. The whole process was decidedly uneventful.

When the diagnostic was complete, the screen displayed a series of status updates, giving Dirk the green light to proceed on to the next step. It was time to start her up...

"Command; engage fuel cell."

For a moment only silence greeted Dirk's keen ears beyond the cockpit white noise. However, the wolf soon identified the barely perceptual drone of the power plant's feed pumps switching on beneath him, which coincided with the complementing status icon flashing across his displays. There was no satisfying rumble of a combustion engine firing, or even the distinctive whine of a spooling turbine.

The mech's fuel cell was a technological marvel that the wolf had come to admire, both for the core's surprising simplicity, as well as its unparalleled efficiency. Such a power plant had the capability to drive a mech for several days straight without the need to refuel, while also being far safer than more volatile power concepts.

Dirk had nothing but respect for the many pilots that had come before him. Fuel cell technology had only advanced enough in recent years to be useful in the field, replacing nuclear reactors as the main power source for mobile armor. While fission power was quite effective, it came with serious safety concerns. He couldn't bear to think what it must have been like riding off into battle with a nuke strapped between your legs. To say that his predecessors were brave individuals was a gross understatement of the grandest proportions.

With the fuel cell now running at idle power, Dirk moved on to the final step of the startup sequence; and did he ever hate this part...

Before he could do anything else, the wolf had to get naked. It was an odd thing to do within the sophisticated cockpit of a mech, but you couldn't pilot it any other way.

Resigning himself to the task at hand, Dirk quickly set about removing his clothing, and carefully draped each article over a computer bank at his side. In case he had to make a hasty exit, the wolf damned sure wanted his clothing to be readily available. Nothing would've been worse to him than to emerge out into a warzone wearing nothing but his fur.

After a few moments of shuffling about the cramped cockpit awkwardly, Dirk's jet black fur was fully bare. The troublesome task now complete, he then carefully wedged himself back into his seat.

"Command... engage pilot interface."

As the wolf steeled himself, things began to happen in the cockpit.

Dirk's seat suddenly reclined back almost completely horizontal, shifting his view up toward the bulkhead above. Reaching up, he grabbed hold of a harness, which was attached to the roof of the compartment via a series of power cables, and pulled the entire apparatus down onto his body.

The harness itself was not the object of interest, but rather the black fabric that was attached to it. The material was shaped in the form of Dirk's body, almost like a perfect blanket meant to cover him completely. Now, with the cloth pressed up against his form, all he could do was wait for the interface to take over...

It started as nothing more than a slight ticklish sensation right above the navel. The feeling grew stronger in only a matter of moments, spreading out across the wolf's stomach in every direction. The fabric was shifting, contracting and expanding all across his body, slowly conforming itself to his form as if it had come to life.

Dirk strained to keep himself motionless. It felt like tiny worms were crawling through his fur, slowly inching their way out from his abdomen toward his lower extremities and chest. Oh, he hated that feeling! But it got worse...

Suddenly, the seat beneath the wolf began to shift as well. Probing fingers raced up and down his spine, as the same nanofiber material as the fabric above peeled itself off the cushions to conform to his body's shape. The two pieces of membrane soon covered him completely, coming together on his flanks to meld into one seamless weave. Only the wolf's head and tail remained exposed.

When an instructor had tried to explain how the system worked back at the academy, he had likened it to putting on a full body jump suit, although you first cut the clothing in half and then sewed it back together again on your body. Dirk had found the explanation funny back then. But lo and behold, the instructor had been absolutely spot on.

This was the key to the Hellhound's unparalleled dexterity. A pilot did not simply command his mech through joystick and pedal inputs. Rather, they became the Hellhound itself.

Essentially, any movement performed by Dirk was recorded by the full body interface, allowing the mech itself to perfectly duplicate his motion. The concept was unlike anything that had ever been employed in warfare before, and had already proven its potency on the front lines with the first batch of Hellhounds to take up the fight. Dirk, for his part, planned to push the technology to its limits.

Once the membrane was melded to his body, it was hardly noticeable to the pilot, almost becoming a second skin. It was just the sensation of having the fabric literally devour him up that unnerved Dirk. The electrified nanofibers and microprocessors that comprised the material were easily capable of crushing him if enough power was applied. There were fail-safes to prevent such a thing, but that did little to put the wolf's mind at ease.

Now with the interface suit -- what pilots had come to call the system -- fully encompassing Dirk's body, the nanofibers of the membrane became rigid, taking on his full weight. Simultaneously, the cockpit seat retracted away from the immobilized pilot, leaving him floating there fully suspended by the suit. In that moment of helplessness, only one thought dominated his mind... God, was he happy the suit's designers had retained the presence of mind to leave a little breathing room in the groin area. Things would have gotten mighty uncomfortable otherwise.

Dirk's view shifted again, as he felt himself rotated back upright. The interface suit was now only connected to the cockpit via a complex series of joints on each of his paws, which were designed to allow for full bipedal motion with almost no resistance to the pilot. The mechanics of it all were quite intriguing. He could actually break into a full on sprint right there in the cockpit if he wanted to, without actually going anywhere.

Once more, the array of forward displays came into view before Dirk, presenting the hangar bay interior. Already, the other three Hellhounds of his platoon were moving. He had to hurry this up.

The suit's nanofibers suddenly went slack, allowing him to move his limbs. His paws were still floating a few centimeters off the deck of the cockpit, yet to the wolf, it felt like he was standing on solid ground. Such was the marvel of the smart membrane fabric, which could harden itself to simulate a solid surface.

Not wasting any time, Dirk reached over to procure a halo device, which was hanging from a nearby holder. Instead of having the suit cover his entire body -- which would have made breathing a tad difficult -- the headpiece took care of the pilot's field of vision, while also slaving the movement of the Hellhound's head to his own motion. All Dirk had to do was merely fasten the lightweight mechanism around his forehead, making sure to place the curved sides in the right spot so that his pointy ears didn't accidentally knock it loose.

When the halo was properly secured, he flipped down the forward visor over his eyes. Immediately, the pilot's view changed dramatically. He was no longer standing within the cockpit of the mech, but rather was peering out into the hangar space through the viewpoint of the Hellhound itself.

The direct visual link always brought on a brief wave of nausea for Dirk, making his head spin. But, by now he had managed to acclimate to the disorientating change well enough that he didn't lose his lunch, which had been the unfortunate outcome of his first ever training session in his Hellhound. Cleaning the barf off the forward displays and surrounding databanks had not been a pleasant experience. At least that had only happened once, which was better than most Hellhound pilots could claim.

Dirk took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Command; engage mobility link, standard operation code alpha."

The interface suit activated once more; on a near microscopic level, electronic signals were sent out to every strand of the membrane, causing nanofibers to contract or expand. As a result, Dirk's arms and legs were slowly forced into motion like a puppet on a string. He didn't fight it, instead allowing the mech's mobility software to maneuver him into the correct position.

After a few seconds, the wolf's body came to a stop in a stilted upright position, the very same position that his Hellhound was currently in. At that very instant, a heads up display appeared in his vision, overlaying itself with the view through the mech's eyes. A single message then flashed across his field of view: Pilot Sync Complete.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dirk brought an arm up to study his hand. However, all he saw was that of an unfamiliar armor-clad appendage ... the arm of the Hellhound. The wolf chuckled to himself within the cockpit. It always took a moment for his mind to reset and process the sudden drastic change in perspective.

Refocusing his attention, he brought both his arms up, and was satisfied to see the Hellhound respond in kind. There was no delay in the mech's movements, which gave the impression to Dirk's mind that the massive arms were in fact his own. He was no longer a pilot; he was the Hellhound. The feeling was simply surreal.

"Here goes nothing," Dirk breathed, steadying himself.

He slowly lifted up a paw and took a step forward, faintly sensing the mech move with him in the same fashion. A dampening field of artificial gravity now existed around the Hellhound's cockpit, serving to reduce the inertial forces that he experienced as the mobile armor moved. Else, the wolf would have bounced around the compartment like a pinball when things got dicey, and that was not good with the pilot interface reading his every move.

When the Hellhound's own armor-clad paw contacted the hangar floor, the interface suit stopped Dirk's motion, giving the sensation that he had taken a step forward when he was, in fact, still suspended in midair within the cockpit.

"Finally up and running, I see," a voice spoke over the mech's comm channel, catching Dirk by surprise. It took him a moment to realize it was Jamie speaking. "When you're ready, we'll move out."

Dirk turned his gaze toward the captain's mech, which was looking back at him with its demonic red eyes. "Understood," he replied over the open comm channel. "Give me a moment to get my weapons."

"Alright, carry on... end link."

With the comm channel terminated, Dirk turned his attention to his weapons. The Hellhound responded readily to his commands as he moved out into the open hangar space, where a weapon rack was positioned nearby. Neatly arranged on the holder were two Aegis shields and four beam swords for the pilot to pick from. It had been deemed wise to bring several spares with him on the trip over.

Dirk quickly reached out to procure one of the sizeable broadswords. When the mech's hand closed around the weapon's hilt, his glove duplicated the feel by simulating the object in his grasp.

The hefty sword came off the rack with ease as Dirk gave it a few practice swings, weaving several cuts through the air before him. There was hardly any weight to the blade, which was a testament to how powerful the Hellhound's hydraulic systems were.

After he was satisfied that everything was ship shape, Dirk placed the weapon carefully over his shoulder, where a magnetic sleeve took hold and secured the blade to the back of the Hellhound. Out in the field, it was best to have a backup sword, just in case. If, for whatever reason, he lost his weapon in the midst of a fight, it was comforting to know that all he had to do was reach over his shoulder to grab the hilt of his backup.

Dirk hastily acquired a second beam sword from the rack, although this one he kept in the mech's grasp. A shield soon followed suit, ending up in the other hand.

And just like that, he was ready for war.

"Command; comm channel, platoon frequency." At the wolf's instruction, the computer established a link between all four mechs in the squad, allowing Dirk to speak to his colleagues. He waited a moment until the icon on his HUD showed a secure link. "I'm good to go here. What formation will we run?"

There was a moment's pause, before Jamie replied. "Let's head out. Run single column through the base, then Standard Tactical Bravo outside perimeter. Dirk, I want you at the center of the formation for now, until I get a better feel for your role."

"Understood." Dirk frowned to himself at the disappointing order. He was supposed to be out front protecting the others from harm. But, the captain's reasoning was sound in this case, and he found himself agreeing with her decision after turning it over in his head. She was playing things safe. He couldn't fault her for that.

The first unit of the platoon to depart the hangar was the support truck, which was driven by Lynne with Goose along for the ride. Carrying the platoon's spare ammo, as well as replacement parts and crew supplies, the vehicle was essential for long term deployments.

Adding on a surveillance package of passive and active sensor grids doubled the truck's usefulness as a listening post for tracking enemy movement and positions. In this secondary role, Goose would be the eyes and ears of the platoon, making him an integral part of their attack strategy. Dirk knew full well how important the mechanic's task was. In many cases, he would be relying solely on Goose's callouts for all the moves he made during combat.

Dirk watched pensively as the support truck drifted out on its magnetic cushion into the darkness outside the hangar. As was standard procedure in a warzone, the base was completely blacked out. It was an outdated precaution, what with all the modern technology dominating the battlefield and all. Still though, it provided a sense of comfort for the personnel that resided here, however illusionary it was.

The other mechs of his platoon followed the support truck out into the darkness, each carrying their respective weapons. As the Hellhounds passed through the open hangar doors, the night enveloped their daunting profiles in a black shroud, causing the platoon to seemingly evaporate into nothingness. Just seeing such an awe-inspiring sight was enough to send a chill down Dirk's spine.

There would be no more waiting, no more preparation... it was time to prove his worth as a soldier.

Out beyond those massive hangar doors Dirk's enemy waited. His future was all but uncertain, but that mattered naught to him. For now, he would follow his comrades into combat, ready to take up the fight against a ruthless alien aggressor.

The wolf moved toward the opened hangar door without hesitation, his determination resolute.

God help anyone who got in his way...