Page 17 of Callsign: Talon (Fueled By Fury #1)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I get up, say goodbye to Patch, who pats my shoulder, and make it to the meet-up with forty-five minutes to spare. I didn’t want to be late, and I do want time to look around.

I jump on the caravan for a while as we go through the areas considered safe. Then, we hit the locations with the canyons, and I jump off to start half-running, half-thrusting to move up the ridge. Raven One is small, not lightweight.

Well, it’s lightweight compared to larger mechs. I guess what I’m trying to say is thrusters help keep you from getting sand-bogged.

I peer through Raven One’s tinted visor at the rocky sprawl of Razorback Pass, my chest tight with simmering wariness. For a so-called “routine escort,” this job has trouble written all over it.

Directly below, Silas Durand’s armored caravan rumbles forward in a tight wedge formation, five heavily armored transports that belch sandy exhaust. My sensors register their thick plating, custom-fitted with enough reinforcement to stave off mid-level artillery. Or so they claim. Meanwhile, the ridgeline overhead looms like jagged teeth in a predator’s jaw, perfect vantage points for ambush.

I scowl as I lean forward, letting Raven One’s sensor suite sweep the pass. Though Durand agreed to an abundant paycheck, he gave us laughably slim intel. “Weak details, big money. Typical,” I mutter.

“Sure you’re not complaining about easy cash, soldier boy?” Tabitha purrs into my helmet. “Though I doubt the word ‘easy’ applies here.”

I snort. “Nothing’s ever easy, Tabi. You should know that.” My head swivels to my camera and sensor readouts while the neuro-interlink streams data into my brain. Some, my on-board AI handles. Others simply feed into me for my subconscious to work on.

Tabitha’s hum resonates in my ear. “I’ll chalk ‘easy’ up to your never-ending optimism,” she quips, then grows serious. “I’m picking up faint signs of movement on the southern ridge, Talon. Could be the wind. Or some idiots with rocket launchers.”

“Understood.” My pulse kicks. “We’re definitely not alone.”

I realize she’s addressed me by my callsign. Not sure of the meaning there, but I let it go.

Below, Durand’s men form a ring around the cargo trucks, checking angles with their turret-mounted rifles. I patch my voice through the shared channel and keep it clipped. “Heads on a swivel, folks. The sides of this pass are too quiet. I want constant scanning for movement at high angles. Copy?”

“Copy that,” a gruff voice returns, presumably one of Durand’s guards. There’s a rustle of static, then, “You see anything, call it.”

I draw a steadying breath. We’re babysitting Durand’s precious goods through a territory infamous for cutthroats. Razorback Pass earned its name from the jagged rock formations that slice through the canyon, with shards of stone that can rip a mech’s plating if you round a corner too tight.

“We’re basically walking into a shooting gallery,” Tabitha remarks. “You ready to make them regret trying us?”

I grin, tension threading excitement into my veins. “Hell, yes. I’m ready if you are.”

“Oh, I’m so ready,” she replies. “Just don’t give me a heart attack by doing something heroic and stupid.”

I ease Raven One into a bounding run, thrusters kicking off loose gravel. “Heroic, sure. Stupid, never.” It’s a comfortable lie. My track record might disagree, but Tabitha knows me well enough to joke in the middle of mortal danger.

Up ahead, the path curves left, pressing the caravan between two steep ridges. The perfect choke point for an ambush. “Tabitha, amplify heat-signature sweeps on that ridge,” I instruct. “We can’t rely on eyes alone.”

She pings me a handful of possibilities, faint echoes of heat that flicker, then vanish. Could be wind gusts or equipment powering on. I clench my jaw. Something’s definitely watching us.

Durand’s convoy crawls forward with stifling slowness, clearly reluctant to push full throttle. Not that I blame them. The route is pitted with old bomb craters from who-knows-how-many skirmishes. “No fresh sensor pings,” Tabitha eventually reports, but her tone isn’t confident. “Let’s not assume that means we’re in the clear.”

I press Raven One’s controls, letting the mech climb the side of a rock face. Even with thrusters, the ledge is precarious. My knees tense as Raven One’s feet grip the worn stone. I pick my way upward, hyper-aware that any slip might send us crashing onto the path below. A fall would be humiliating…or lethal. Neither is what I want to accomplish.

Below, Durand’s men keep scanning, muzzle flashes from occasional test shots flickering into the dust. I share my updated vantage data with them via a direct link. “Team Durand, I’ve got a partial overhead angle on the next stretch. If they hit us, they’ll hit soon.”

Another voice crackles over the comm, more official. Durand himself? “We’re grateful for the heads-up, Talon.” After a slight hesitation, he adds, “Keep me posted if you see anything unusual. And watch those ridges.”

“Right,” I mutter. On my HUD, Tabitha flickers with a sly grin I can practically imagine, even if she doesn’t physically exist.

She giggles. “He’s so trusting. Bet he’s regretting any doubt he had about you, huh?”

I chuckle but keep my tone measured. “He can regret it later. For now, we focus on keeping him alive.”

Another hundred meters and the caravan’s shape shrinks behind swirling dust. My vantage on these ridges is both an asset and a liability. If a hidden sniper or rocket nest is up here, we’re front and center. The pass narrows, and the stone walls feel like they’re pressing in.

“You owe me a victory dance if this goes right, soldier,” Tabitha comments.

I snort. “Define victory dance.”

She releases a melodramatic sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a front-row seat to you flailing around the cockpit? I’ll record it. Blackmail material for later.”

“I see how it is,” I tease. “Remind me not to trust you with anything embarrassing.”

“A little too late for that,” she purrs. “Now, watch your left flank. I’m picking up a cluster of metallic objects near the boulders.”

Instantly, my grin vanishes. My HUD flares with a set of red outlines half-buried in the ridge. The sensor readouts sputter from interference. “Incoming mechs?” I ask. “They’re not broadcasting IDs.”

“It’s them or something worse,” Tabitha confirms. “Talk them down or blow them up?”

“Let’s see if they shoot first,” I reply.

The universe decides for me. As I brush the controls, a streak of bright orange rails across the canyon and slams into a rock outcropping within spitting distance. The rumble briefly deafens me, flinging grit and stone into the air. A ballistic slug, no question. “Tabitha?—”

“On it,” she snaps, and lines of data race across my visor. “That shot came from the southwestern slope.”

I grit my teeth. “Here we go.”

Below me, Durand’s convoy takes defensive formation. The bodyguards scramble, barking orders. Then, the pass explodes with chaos. Muzzle flashes, echoing booms, and the screech of lifter thrusters from tattered mechs emerging from hidden alcoves in the canyon walls.

“Multiple vectors,” Tabitha rattles. “I see—damn, they’re swarming from those collapsed scaffolds to our right. Four, maybe five mechs.”

I shift my stance, bracing Raven One’s limbs for a fight. “Time to earn that big, fat, juicy paycheck.” I flip the switch for the railgun’s charging sequence. Sparks’ last-minute tune-up should let me fire short bursts without frying the barrel. Should , I think grimly.

As if reading my mind, Tabitha insists, “It’ll hold. Watch the recoil, and what about big, fat, and juicy?”

The first enemy mech lunges from behind a jagged boulder. It’s a crude build, rusted plating and a half-slagged helmet. The pilot inside is likely banking on intimidation, or he’s high as a kite.

My Vanguard AI tags it with a bright red bracket on my HUD, highlighting weak points. I shift weight to Raven One’s left foot, lining up the railgun. A swirl of dust blasts my visor, but I peer through it, letting Vanguard correct my aim.

“Fire,” Tabitha instructs calmly.

I squeeze the trigger. The railgun kicks, hurling a tungsten slug that tears a molten line across the enemy mech’s chest. The impact triggers a shower of sparks. The pilot tries to steady themselves, but a second shot from me hits the servo near its left shoulder, severing the arm. Sparks fly as the limb clatters to the ground.

“Stay down, asshole,” I whisper. I’d rather not shoot to kill. Dead men don’t tell wonderful stories about me kicking their asses.

“I love it,” Tabitha cackles. “One down.”

Before I can reply, ballistic rounds pepper the ridge beside me, but I was already moving. Chunks of stone spray upward. My gaze flicks to the second mech cresting a slope, bigger and older but with a functioning cannon. I jerk Raven One aside, letting the projectile whip past. The echo of metal scraping rock sets my teeth on edge.

“David, we can’t move up here forever. The pass is crawling with guys on foot,” Tabitha warns. “We have to push them back if we want the caravan to get through.”

Another railgun shot tears overhead from behind me. That’s not mine. I jolt sideways, scanning for the culprit. A third mech, less battered but quicker, with some jury-rigged thruster system, steps onto a precarious ledge, muzzle angled down at Durand’s transport.

“Not happening,” I hiss.

I leap Raven One forward, bridging the gap with a short thruster burst. My stomach lurches from the sudden drop, but the mech lands sure-footed, knees absorbing the shock. Without hesitation, I bring the pulse cannon online, letting Vanguard align the shot. A tight burst of bright blue energy slams into the hostile mech’s side, making it stagger.

“C’mon, c’mon,” I mutter, charging the pulse again. The second shot hits its cockpit plating. The mech stumbles, crashing on its back with a thunderous crunch . He won’t be alive in that carnage.

From the corner of my HUD, Durand barks, “We’re taking heavy fire down here. Where?—”

I patch back. “We’re disabling them now. Stand by!” My words are clipped, adrenaline fueling me. Another line of bullets rips across the pass, swirling dust in frantic eddies. One of Durand’s trucks swerves, half the tires stuck in a crater.

Tabitha is lightning-quick to highlight more hostiles. “We’ve got three more signatures moving close, near the left ridge. Possibly reinforcements. They’re trying to encircle the convoy.”

I glance at the readout. “Time for the EM coil?”

She warns me again. “Be mindful of the range. Too broad a pulse, and we might scramble Durand’s trucks, too.”

Sparks’ modifications on the coil are intended to focus the electromagnetic blast into a narrower cone, but it’s still risky. I grit my teeth. If we do nothing, these pirates could swarm from all sides, and I’m not letting them have a turkey shoot with Durand’s men.

“We’ll do it carefully,” I decide.

A fraying mech scurries from behind an alcove, launching a volley of poorly aimed slugs that ping off the canyon wall. The shots’ echoes rattle my eardrums. Tabitha pings me with a countdown. “They’re gathering for a push. I see at least two mechs, plus foot soldiers with rocket-propelled grenades.”

“Got it.” I toggle the EM coil to standby, feeling a tingle of raw power in the controls. “Guide me in.”

My thrusters whine as I maneuver Raven One along a crumbling ledge. A hail of gunfire whizzes close enough that I flinch. The whirr-chunk of bullets biting stone raises goose bumps on the back of my neck. Stay calm, I tell myself, pressing forward.

Then, I see them. Two mechs side by side, bristling with scavenged plating. They crouch on a rocky outcrop, their vantage perfect for raining hell on the convoy below. Their pilots open fire the instant they see me, streaks of tracer rounds skimming the air. I lunge behind a tall boulder, my arms pinned close to shield Raven One’s cockpit.

“Whenever you’re ready, soldier boy,” Tabitha urges. My sensor readout shows the coil at eighty percent charge. Carefully, I pivot from behind the boulder, letting them unleash more shells. Their aim falls short, scrapes the ridge, but it’s enough to make my armor tremble.

We’re close. If I can get within range, I can pulse the coil to short-circuit them before they figure out what I’m doing. “Tabitha, distract them. If you can break their targeting for two seconds, I can close the gap.”

Her laugh crackles. “You’re lucky I enjoy this.” She goes silent, presumably launching a directed scramble at their mechs’ targeting sensors. One abruptly stops firing, stumbling sideways as if its pilot is struggling with an unresponsive system.

Now . I hit the thrusters, bounding forward in three leaps. The second mech tries to turn, but my railgun roars, scoring a direct hit on its shoulder plating. Sparks fly as orange holes pepper the steel. They try to respond, but their servo twitches uselessly. I can almost sense the pilot’s panic.

Good.

Activating the coil is a matter of pressing three toggles on my HUD. The moment I do, a hum resonates deep in Raven One’s core. It feels like static electricity coursing through my chest. I angle my mech’s right arm so the emitter faces them. There’s a sense of building charge. Like pulling back a slingshot and hoping you don’t snap the rubber. My gut clenches. One miscalculation and I could short Raven One.

“Steady,” Tabitha coaxes.

I squeeze the trigger. The EM coil discharges in a shimmer of bluish sparks, arcing out over the distance. It’s mesmerizing…and terrifying. Electricity crackles through the air, dancing along the stone. Both enemy mechs seize in place, their thrusters sputtering out. A cascade of metal shrieks as sparks erupt from their joints. Then, they topple, powerless.

Hopefully, the pilots are okay. If not, I didn’t choose their profession for them. If I don’t want to burn out with guilt, I need to remember this isn’t a game out here.

An instant hush follows. Then, an explosion of cheers from Durand’s ground squad echoes in the canyon. They apparently watched the entire display because the open channel buzzes with triumphant hollering. “Holy crap, did you see that?” someone exclaims. “They dropped like flies.”

Tabitha’s throaty laugh filters into my helmet. “We made a bunch of scumbags look like amateurs. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

A grin tugs at my lips. “Yeah,” I admit. My pulse thrums, the excitement electric. A swirl of dust billows across the canyon, and I look down to see the remaining ground troops fleeing or lying low. A handful are probably wounded or pinned. None look eager to fight.

I pivot, scanning the pass. “Durand, you still with us?”

He responds quickly, his voice tight with relief. “Nice work, Talon. My men are clearing the debris. We’ll keep moving soon if you can ensure no more hostiles lurk along that ridge.”

“Tabitha, give me a final sweep,” I direct.

“On it.” She compiles sensor data. “No fresh signatures, though we’ve got residual heat from those wrecks. Looks like we took out the core group.”

I exhale, releasing tension from my shoulders. The adrenaline high pulses through me, but exhaustion tugs at my mind. We’re still standing. The entire caravan remains intact. Scorched, maybe dinged, but intact. The job’s not over, but the main threat seems defused.

I pilot Raven One closer to the mechs we disabled. They’re a sorry sight. Rust, mismatched plating, hodgepodge weapon mounts. Through the swirling dust, I glimpse insignias faintly scratched onto one mech’s torso, something reminiscent of a serpent or a pair of crossed picks.

Whatever artist scratched those designs was horrible or drunk.

Tabitha cross-references it with a database. “That’s an old corporate war symbol, some splinter group from a long-dead mining conglomerate. I’m pulling references from outdated logs.”

“So, these guys might be more than random bandits,” I note.

“Probably. If they’re clinging to corporate grudges, they could be stocked with black-market hardware.” Her voice darkens. “We might be looking at something bigger than petty raiders. The pass used to be crawling with merc factions, but apparently, some splinter groups never left.”

I key the comm to Durand’s frequency. “We see insignias on these mechs that suggest a corporate war splinter cell. Not random pirates. You sure your cargo’s not stepping on old toes?”

Durand replies with a grunt. “Cargo’s mostly legitimate, but you never know who might want a cut. I’d bet they’re scrounging anything that travels this route.”

I nod as another wave of dust strikes Raven One’s plating. The swirling grit annoys my sensors. “Either way, we’ve cleared your path for now. I’ll rally at the base of the ridge in two minutes to track any stragglers.”

“Understood.” Durand sounds grateful. “Carry on.”

After we kill the line, Tabitha sighs in my ear. “You think he’s learned to appreciate your smaller frame?”

I laugh, pressing Raven One’s foot onto stable rock so I can catch my breath. “From the look he gave me in that side mirror, I’d say so.”

“Guess a scrawny pilot can do big things.” Her tone is teasing and affectionate at once.

I follow the path downward. “Sure can,” I reply. The hum of the mech’s servo motors feels like a heartbeat around me. The thirst for a real rest tussles with my excitement. “Remind me to fix that recoil on the railgun when we get back. Took more out of me than I expected.”

Tabitha’s tone is almost giddy. “Oh, I have a list. But first, that victory dance you owe me.”

I roll my eyes at the empty air, though a grin breaks through. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

“Oh, soldier boy, I never let go of blackmail potential.”

I release a short, breathy laugh. “Fine. I promise you a celebratory jig when we’re back at the hangar.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Durand’s men wave up at me, some pointing to the scattered wreckage of the pirates. A few small fires still sputter from their mechs’ splintered frames. At least one pilot is trying—and failing—to extricate themselves from a collapsed cockpit. Durand’s ground troops approach carefully, weapons leveled, ensuring no nasty surprises.

I step Raven One into a lower portion of the pass, scanning for any signs of reinforcements. Nothing but the ugly natural slopes of Razorback’s rock walls, plus occasional fidgeting from Durand’s guards. My HUD remains free of active threats. For the first time in the last twenty minutes, my ass unclenches.

Tabitha speaks in a calmer tone. “This pass used to be a battleground, huh? Perfect place for cutthroats to nest. I guess the rumors were spot-on.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “They turned the old facilities into hideouts. Minimally patrolled, I bet. Corporate wars left behind more than enough salvage for them to equip themselves.”

She sighs. “And we’re the ones stuck with the cleanup. But hey, if Durand’s paying, I won’t complain.”

I can’t argue with that. The tension in my neck eases as I guide Raven One to the front transport. Through the reinforced glass, I see Durand’s silhouette, phone in hand, likely relaying good news to whoever else is supporting this caravan. Our gazes lock for a second, and we exchange a nod. He’s still riding that post-battle adrenaline, the same as me.

The open comm crackles. “Nice job, Talon,” Durand offers in a measured, businesslike tone, though I catch a tinge of respect. “We’ll push forward. Keep an eye on the ridges until we’re out of this pass.”

“Copy,” I reply. “Let’s roll.” Another pass. Another set of threats neutralized. Just another day in the life , a wry voice echoes in my mind. My own, for once, not Tabitha’s.

As the caravan lurches onward, I glance at the wrecked mechs baking under the desert sun. The insignia scrawled across their plating, those old corporate war symbols, leaves a buzzing question at the back of my skull. If they’re more organized than pirates, will we run into their friends somewhere else?

Tabitha reads my vitals. “You’re worried.”

I pause. “I’m relieved we got out of that unscathed but anxious about how long this route stays safe for Durand or us. Or for anyone, really.”

She hums. “One problem at a time. We survived. Now, we convey the caravan to safety. Then we get paid, fix your bruised railgun shoulder, and maybe share a celebratory drink.”

The caravan rumbles deeper into the dusk-choked canyon, engines grunting. I turn Raven One to follow. “One problem at a time,” I echo. My heart’s still pumping from the rush of combat, but a sense of satisfaction settles in my chest. We did our job. Handily, I might add. We kept Durand’s route open. We proved yet again that we can handle bigger mechs and layered ambushes. Tabitha’s not wrong. It does feel good.

The steep cliffs arch overhead, the sun beating down. Heat waves shimmer across the convoy’s dented plating. My sensors flicker with the leftover haze, but no new hostiles appear. For the moment, we own these canyons. A trickle of pride warms me. Durand might be an imperious man, but right now, he’s deferring to me, the so-called “scrawny pilot” who crippled a squad of pirates in minutes.

Kicking ass comes with respect in this world.

Tabitha picks up the caravan’s chatter as Durand’s men celebrate. She spares me commentary, letting me focus on guiding Raven One through the rubble-littered pass. We still have miles to go, but the worst of the ambush is behind us.

My hands tighten on the mech’s controls, and I allow myself a small, satisfied grin.