“He’s dead. For real this time.” Rolf’s hands were shaking. He flexed them inside the control gloves. “I’m Winchester. Zero rounds. Legs are yellow. Request immediate extract.”
Rolf swore under his breath. Forty minutes. His GM’s fuel gauge read 14%. Leg actuators were squealing in the recorded playback—that telltale grind of sand in the knee joints. And the 100mm machine gun? Twenty-three rounds left. One burst. Maybe two. Mobile Suit Gundam- MS Sensen 0079 -Normal Down...
The Zaku lay crumpled against a collapsed highway overpass, its heat axe still clutched in its right manipulator. Zeon ground crew had painted teeth on its shoulder shield. Cute. Now its pilot was either dead or leaking into the cockpit, and Rolf was supposed to sit here like a parked tank. “He’s dead
Don’t move. Please don’t move.
“Roger, Thunder Lead. Holding.”
Silence.
The Zaku’s mono-eye died first.