Chapter Sixteen—Mech Ninja

The ground to air ordnance commander bent over the radar.

“Is this the only one?”

“Yes sir!”

“Is it one of ours?”

“The transponder matched a mech that was reported lost not hours ago.”

“Then it’s an enemy combatant! Shoot him down.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Another operations center controller said, “We have a lock.”

“Fire.”

There was a pause, then the radar revealed a ground to air launch with a projected trajectory and an ETA to strike.

The commander smiled.

Flying through the clouds at full speed, Ichiro glanced at his radar when the ordinance warning sounded.

It was a ground to air missile locked onto his beacon.

As expected, he thought.

The missile would contact his mech in under one minute. Glancing at his radars, he double checked everything so no mistakes were made.

It not only took a practiced hand to dodge a missile, but it also took a lot of guts. With the whole world to lose, one had to be able to play fast and loose in order to not overthink the timing.

Ichiro had no such hindrance that would stop him from making the correct decisions. He was no born and bred mech fighter, he had experience using them, and he was a high class Imperial Assassin of the Samurai class.

I am a ninja.

The GAO Commander watched the radar.

“Fifteen seconds to impact, sir.”

Ichiro held his breath, watching the radar and the meters—in red—count down as the impact warning sounded shrilly in his blue-lit cockpit.

Twenty-three hundred meters.

Eighteen hundred meters.

Twelve-hundred.

Six-hundred.

The alarm shrieked and Ichiro slammed his sticks to the left.

The missile moved past him so fast, he hardly heard anything as his mech swerved out of the way at the last second.

“What?!” The GOA Commander barked.

“It missed, sir.”

“I can tell it fucking missed, Lieutenantfireanother!”

The ordnance radar detected three more missiles, each launched within the same timeframe with very little space in between.

They were going to attempt to prevent Ichiro from outmaneuvering them again.

The commander sneered. “Let’s watch him dodge this.”

“Commander?”

“What is it?”

Inside the control room the controllers worked at their stations, their coms units beeping and whirring.

“The mech seems to be heading toward Governor Madison’s palace.”

“What?”

“The trajectory.”

“I can see it,” he snarled.

“Should we not contact Shinju Palace?”

He looked at the radar. If he contacted the palace and the threat turned out to be nothing, he might be reprimanded—seen as overly jumpy concerning that rabble of resistance spread throughout the country.

“Commander?”

“There is no reason to contact the palace,” he said. “This mech is going down in the next sixty seconds.”

“Should we not at least scramble some of our own mechs, Sir?”

That’s not a bad idea, but who does this low-ranking little shit think he is, telling me what needs to be done?

“Shut up, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Commander!”