BFSW-002 Stinger's Story

PROLOGUE: HAVEN

Year xx57, Aftermath Era.

The sun shined high above the vast, nigh endless stretch of the Gobi desert. The millennia-old, deep tan sand seemed fluid and soft, like an unmoving, all-encompassing ocean. Scraps of metal littered the dune surfaces, some small as a babe, others large as a battleship. But all were wrinkled, grey, and rusted.

Hundreds of baby blue tents stood in the middle of the desert, a temporary settlement, housing those who had come long and far to find a semblance of hope in a hopeless world. Men, women, and child alike waited anxiously under the scorching heat. Thousands formed lines, queuing in front of a red tent, where the Black Fang organization promised to provide food and supplies.

After hours of shuffling and feeling every corner of his body nearly combusting, a tall youth in a featureless black shirt and dusty tan pants stepped forward, his weary black eyes glancing to the large woman in front of him, clad in a pink apron and face mask and standing besides a large iron tin filled with gallons of pale yellow soup. To a normal man, the sight and scent would be nothing special. To the starving refugees, it was like a blessing from God.

The youth held up a small white bowl, which the woman quickly filled. He grimaced at the contents of the bowl for a few seconds. After so many dull hours, the soup felt like a pittance. Still, the young man nodded his thanks, then turned to leave.

"Nice hairdo," the woman remarked in a deadpan tone.

"Thanks," the youth replied just as flatly. He wondered if she was sincere. Probably not. The colossal mass of steel-grey spikes he called his hair could hardly be called 'fashionable'. But he liked it that way.

Out of the red tent, and back into the desert. The young man slowly looked up and squinted.

Before him, stood a gigantic landship. A mobile fortress of iron and steel, ten times the size of the temporary settlement, its rust red body shielding everyone from much of the unforgiving sun. Massive treads supported the vehicle, its rubbers new and almost free of dust and sand. Fifty cannons, each the size of five adult men, were mounted on both port and starboard sides of the mobile fortress.

Even after a week since he first arrived at this settlement, the spiky-haired youth could not stop marveling at the fortress.

An awe inspiring beacon of hope.

A refuge for the survivors of the unrelenting MASS onslaught.

"Haven".
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Hissing steam.

Rhythmic beating of metal.

All too familiar to those who took part in the construction of Mobile Fortress Haven. Nearly a year had passed since Black Fang's Arch Commander sent out his order. The workers, clad in their dirty blue overalls and oversized yellow helmets tolled through day and night to make sure the Mobile Fortress would be a stalwart place of refuge for the surviving humans of Eurasia.

"I need an english key, quick!"

"You got it!"

Orders shouted, tools exchanged. The workers moved swiftly as they delivered the finishing touches, sprinting upside down across the ceiling through magnetic boots, rolling through the interior with the aid of wheeled ladders...

Surveying the construction were two figures in Black Fang uniforms. The first, a tall, dark haired middle aged man with a gold-trimmed olive coat hanging loosely from his shoulder like a cloak. The second, a shorter young woman with bright orange hair and glassy green eyes, a neat and proper vermilion uniform on her person.

The two walked side by side, with the man, with one hand in his pocket, and another carrying a stainless steel flask, a casual smile gracing his face. The woman, in contrast, held a clipboard and pen in each hand, using the latter to tick away at several checkboxes.

"Commander Neuf, Section A and B are complete. The rooftops at Section C still need reinforcing, but it should be done by tonight," the young woman reported, maintaining a clear and formal tone.

The man, Base Commander Dix Neuf, gave a lax smile in response. "Good job, Tsubaki, send an alert to the Black Fang pilots. I want them to meet up with me at my office-"

"-Already done, sir," the young woman, Operator Tsubaki Horizon, quickly replied, the edge of her lips curving slightly into a proud smile.

Dix Neuf raised one brow in surprise, then smirked. "Working hard as always, eh, Tsubaki?"

Tsubaki raised a fist to her chin, and chuckled slightly. "Someone has to, Commander."

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Haven's hangar. A gunmetal grey chamber, accented by yellow lights to break up the monotony. The whirring and clicking of machinery echoed throughout this interior, located upon Haven's bow. The hangar was the third largest chamber in the mobile fortress, and the first to be completed.

Seven intricate catapult mechanisms were built on the hangar's ground, each connected to six giant clamps carved on the walls. Upon several of the clamps, surrounded by dozens of vertical, diagonal, and horizontal ladders alike, were five of Haven's Silhouettes. Or rather, four silhouettes, one hover tank, and one mundane fighter jet, the latter two of which were secured on the catapult deck itself, and not the clamp.

Haven's mechanics stood on the many ladders surrounding the Silhouettes, performing regular maintenances and check ups.

One of said mechanics was a short and petite girl, with large brown eyes and pink hair fashioned into two giant drill-like ringlets. The girl pouted, with furrowed brows, as she inspected each Silhouette one by one. Two humanoids, two walkers. She looked between the machines and a clipboard in her hand, matching each one with their model numbers.

"Huuuuuuuuu...," the girl's eyes narrowed as she whined to herself.

"Most of these models are downright ancient!," she mumbled, eyeing the fighter jet 'Corvidae', and the hover tank 'DK-13' in particular. "Are we a Silhouette defense force, or a walking war museum?"

Even their newest model, the absolutely gigantic 'Paladin', seemed rather simple and primitive. Though she had to admit, whoever had the bright idea to include a chainsaw sword among its armaments was an absolute genius.

"These babies better have top tier pilots," she thought aloud and nodded.

"Attention to all Haven personnel! We have received word of heavy winds from the north. Mechanics and auxiliaries, please retreat behind the fortress' walls! Combatants, put on your pilot suits and prepare to sortie!"

Uh oh. Avery fumbled with the slippery faucet, managing to shut it off with a few messy attempts. Well, uh, I guess I didn't need to take a full shower anyway, she thought, a tad sour that she wasn't able to soak for a little longer. She hastily dried herself and tossed her clothes on, throwing a passing wave to the other three huddled in the bathroom. "I'll see ya guys on the field!"

-

Throwing open the latch with less trouble than she had with the shower faucet, the amateur pilot climbed carefully into the cockpit and shut the heavy lid over her head with both hands. The thing was really heavy so she had to heave a lot of weight into it, but at least the handle grip was pretty tight and comfortable to use. Even for a walker, the control layout and display panels were all rather simplistic - it wasn't very difficult to operate mobile artillery compared to something like a humanoid or variable mech. That wasn't to say that it didn't require skill to pilot, however.


Once the engine came to life, she took a moment for the systems to boot up before guiding the Stinger outside of the hangar and into the open, unforgiving desert. She checked the display window, finding that there were practically no winds to speak of at the moment. Hm, I'm not picking up anything right now. But if it's true, I sure hope it doesn't turn into a sandstorm. . .

Avery deployed one of the Scanner drones, laying off the steering handle and grabbing the remote controller. In working condition, thankfully. For now, she let it idle, suspended in the air - against heavy winds, she was likely going to have a hard time flying it around. It was pretty tough, but didn't have a lot of mass so it was likely going to be thrown around quite a bit - she may have to rely on communication with the other pilots to make accurate shots.

Being a newer recruit, she was still nervous, even moreso with the forecasted weather conditions. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and steeled herself for the coming encounter. Alright. . . let's make this work!

The Gobi Desert. 1400 hours. Haven's defense force mobilized around the massive mobile fortress. The Diesever, the Sarissa, the DK-13, and four tanks watched over the starboard entry, while the Paladin, the Stinger, and five tanks stayed vigil by the port side, both entryways pivotal for the masses of refugees which came. The nine tanks which accompanied the five silhouettes were considerably more primitive compared to the DK-13, built for suppressing and defensive fire instead of direct MASS combat.

"Heyyyy, Babe... hic... sweet... tanks ya got there....," a drunken tank driver called out to Anna, his slurry voice providing static through the intercomm.

"Marcus?! Have you been drinking AGAIN?" another tank driver reprimanded him.

From his cockpit, Renzam watched as thousands marched upon the ramp. Fathers. Mothers. Children. Merchants. Tradesmen. People of various shapes, sizes, color, and origin, yet of one destination. The Diesever's iron fingers wrapped around its bazooka's handle as the massive weapon rested on its shoulder. "This will take a while...," the spiky haired pilot thought aloud, transmitting his voice through the intercom. "Thank heavens this monkey suit has built-in air conditioning...."

Black Fang ground troops stood in front of the Silhouettes and the tanks, deployed to maintain peace and order, and, like the tanks, not to fight the MASS. One of the younger troopers looked up, gazing at the Stinger and the Paladin's huge and mighty forms, and whined, "Why can't I get one of those?", prompting an older trooper to bark at him, "Hey! Kid! Focus!"

"Scorpion has deployed the Stinger's scanner drones. Analyzing data...," Tsubaki's voice reported across each of the defense force's cockpit communicators. The operator's eyes and fingers moved about rapidly in the navigation tower as she shared a live feed from the drones' perspective. A steady, rhythmic beat. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"This is Black Fang's outrider force, we'll scout from ground level," a hoarse voice remarked. Heavy engines roared across the dune sea as Black Fang soldiers rode atop rusted, yet agile jeeps. What the Stinger's scanner drones couldn't pick up from a certain distance, the outrider force would catch with their eyes. Until the sandstorm comes, that is.

While Scorpion's drones and the Outriders kept an eye on the ground, the Polaris and the Corvidae took to the skies, soaring across the blue expanse and followed by five less advanced, non-Silhouette worthy fighter jets, each bearing the Black Fang sigil upon their left wing, each following the lead of the two Silhouette pilots.

"Let's do our best, Madams!" one of the fighter pilots encouraged them.

Far ahead, across the ocean of sand, the fighter squad could see it. Colorless, formless distortions in the air, creating ripples the size of olden skyscrapers. A low, droning noise emitted from within, as the indescribable distortions swelled and contracted...

"I-is that it? Freaky..." one of the fighter pilots stammered.

Rhys looked across the desert, or more accurately stared at the massive sand wall mere inches in front of his viewport. So much sand, if some crazy person could gather it all they could make a massive city made out of sand. A reassuring thought which kept the buzzing nervousness in the back of his head. Sure, they were in danger of getting killed by some alien which would unnerve most people. But the last thing to do was show any of that, or even hear yourself with panic in your voice. Keeping a brave face would be pretty good for moral. "Alright everyone! Let's do some hard work out here. Let's go kick some mechanical ass and get back home in time for lunch. So, anyone know who our fireteam leader is? It would be a good idea to establish a squad leader to maintain order. You know, one person to give the orders instead of a mosh pit of ideas when things go to hell. Last thing we need are mix-ups." Rhys asked.

Sure, Rhys was no tactical genius or even a soldier. However one thing everyone could agree on was a head figure to keep them organised and running together as one. "Oh, and when we do get back I got cinnamon rolls for all of us. So let's work up an appetite!" Rhys added with confidence. A big grin plastered on his face which no one would see. One thing he learned, if one person is confident then others will be less tense. If he could show everyone that if they work their hardest they can win any battle, and with the weight of the civilians his determination could only grow at this point. "Time to see the enemies hand..." he muttered to himself.

Just pretend like you've been doing this all your life.

Avery leaned over in her seat and toggled the system's open communication channel, just in time to overhear what sounded like the first MASS distortion sighting from one of the scouting pilots. She turned on her own mic and sent a quick message back: "Scorpion here, do we have a confirmed visual on the rift? Send in coordinates when ready."

As she concluded the request, Rhys's voice crackled in through her speaker.

"Well, obviously I nominate myself," Avery half-joked in response. "And. . .did you say cinnamon buns? Man, forget about working up an appetite, I'm hungry right now!" She could feel herself salivating a little at the thought of it - she'd skipped out on her first meal of the day, or rather it had skipped out on her. "I can't wait to blast these things so I can get back and actually eat something today." Her stomach growled audibly for emphasis.

Really can't wait. Seriously starving over here. . .

Flying through the sky once more, it reminded Raiza of the older times she had, when everything was peaceful, where she could fly where she wished, how she wished, and had not worried about a MASS of flailing tentacles trying to kill her. With the sun gleaming in through the canopy once more, Raiza took a light breath, reminiscing in the days she so longingly missed. While there was a squad of five fighters, along with Polaris and Corvidae, it was notable that the pilot had not moved like her usual antics, more so flying straight, letting the jet itself fly, while keeping it level. It'd look bad should Raiza, someone whom credits herself with no crashes in any manner, just suddenly plummeted into the sand. Meanwhile, her mind drifted to her life before the MASS, wondering if the little plane she had been working on was still in working shape. Raiza was no engineer when it came to the more up-to-date jets and Silhouettes, but older planes she had some knowledge on, and could do minor repairs, it felt much easier to repair an actual engine, rather than.... Whatever powered the jet, it was lost to the woman as to what it was that caused the jet to fly.

Though said daydream was cut off by the chatter over the radio, mainly a few tank drivers bickering, since one was already drunk, at a mere two in the afternoon, well, it's five'o'clock somewhere.... A light laugh came from Rai, as she listened to the two argue a degree before the Outrider Force chimed in, giving a notice that they were scouting the ground, Raiza opened her radio to them, "You all be careful now." her words sounded that like a mother's, she didn't wish to see anyone else die, having dealt with the MASS for a while, she has seen various members of the Black Fang fall in combat, though several pilots chattered to Camille and herself, as they flew, she made a promise to every one of them, including Camille, and the Silhouette pilots on the ground,

"So you all know, I will do my best to make sure you six get home. Even if it means I push death to reach you, if you're in danger, and need help, I'll be right there. Let this be a promise to all of you." Her words were serious, Raiza wished to remain with the same squadron for as long as she could. Though one of the younger pilots pointed something out, that caught Raiza's attention, distortions, at the distance they were at, the distortions were faint, colorless and nearly invisible, rising as high as what Raiza had remembered were the massive skyscrapers she saw as a child. An instinct kicked in, as her Radio soon was alive once more, as Raiza's throttle increased ever so slightly, as Polaris entered combat speed,

"Distortions detected. Eighteen degrees Northeast, distance Five-hundred (NM). Closing in to engage. Adjusting course by fifteen degrees."

With Polaris speeding forward, Raiza prepares for the fight to ensue.