I’ll be the Red Ranger
Chapter 131 – Deploy the Mechas

- Alan -

Alan had barely been at the base for four weeks. Situated on the dark side of the Moon, Hephaestus provided the perfect hideaway for sprawling industries dedicated to Mecha production. Initially, these gargantuan machines drew power from Helium-3, but they rapidly shifted to a wide range of Z-Crystals as engineers pushed the boundaries of technology.

Alan never saw himself as just another Mecha engineer; his desire was to pilot one of the giants. His mechanical legs might have made it almost impossible for him to be accepted as a Ranger, but piloting offered a chance—maybe even his only one—to return to the war, even if he had to risk his life doing it. Being a Mecha pilot was arguably one of the most dangerous positions, second only to a low-ranking infantry soldier.

Despite the risk, he discovered he had a knack for tinkering with Mechas and piloting them. Maybe it was the passion that had burned in him since childhood, or perhaps the dream of controlling a colossal war machine. Whatever the reason, piloting a Mecha stirred something deep within him.

However, during his first two weeks on the base, Alan’s days were consumed by an intensive Mecha maintenance and engineering course. Only in his third week did his training as a co-pilot begin in earnest. And that, as it turned out, was precisely what sparked the heated argument unfolding at that very moment.

“You’re out of your mind! They’ve only had two weeks of training. There’s no way we can send them out.” The pilot and training officer was practically shouting.

Hank had been Alan’s instructor these past weeks. He knew every new recruit who came through the doors, and he was widely respected for his experience, both as a teacher and a test pilot. The pilot’s jacket he wore, tattered and streaked with the colors of dust and metal, bore the weight of many honors. Even from a distance, one could see the rows of medals testament to the countless missions he had survived.

“No, Hank, you’re the one not seeing the bigger picture,” the commanding officer chimed in. “How many Mechas do we need to take down a single Titan?”

“On a good day?” Hank let out a slow breath. “Ten Mechas.”

“Exactly,” the official replied. “We’ve just received intel of an attack involving more than fifty Titans.”

“That’s impossible,” Hank hissed, disbelief etched in every line of his face. “Are you certain the intel’s correct?”

"No doubt about it. The intel has been verified—it's no wonder the base is in an uproar. Everyone, without exception, must deploy immediately," the officer stated firmly. He turned to Hank, his gaze piercing. "Will he hinder the mission?"

"As a co-pilot... no," Hank replied, though a hint of reluctance edged his voice.

"Then bring him along. We're going to need each and every pilot," the officer concluded before turning sharply and striding away to oversee other preparations.

Alan had been watching the entire exchange from the sidelines. His hand trembled slightly, a cocktail of fear and anticipation surging through his veins at the thought of heading to the front lines.

‘I've barely had time to train; it's not just my life on the line here,’ Alan thought anxiously. The idea of endangering the pilot he'd be paired with weighed heavily on him.

Only after the officers had parted did Alan fully register the chaos enveloping the base. Alarms blared at maximum volume, casting a red glow that bathed the corridors in urgency. No officer stood idle; even the engineers were scrambling frantically, running diagnostic checks on Mechas before launching.

Hank approached Alan, who still seemed dazed by the rapidly unfolding situation. "You're coming with me," Hank said decisively. "There's no way I can assign you as someone else's co-pilot."

"A-are you sure?" Alan stammered, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

"Yes," Hank affirmed. "Besides, I'll need your Energy control. We won't be piloting an ordinary one."

They began to sprint through the labyrinthine hangar of Hephaestus Station, weaving between rushing personnel and moving equipment.

"According to our orders, we need to prepare for a mass teleportation of the entire fleet," Hank explained over his shoulder. "A hundred Mechas will deploy from this base alone, and God knows how many more from the other stations."

"What are our chances?" Alan asked directly, struggling to keep up with Hank's swift strides.

Hank was silent for a heartbeat before answering. "Not good," he admitted grimly. "Ten Mechas can handle a Titan under normal circumstances. But if this is a mass attack, there'll be other war machines waiting for us. We'll need at least a thousand Mechas to stand a chance."

He glanced sidelong at Alan. "The odds are slim that every base, regardless of their House allegiance, will send all their troops."

Alan swallowed hard, nodding. The magnitude of the situation was sinking in.

"Not to mention," Hank continued, "many of these machines might not be well-maintained. They're expensive equipment, and except for the Great Houses, most can't afford the upkeep required to keep them at peak performance.”

They arrived at one of the few hangar sections that required a passcode and facial recognition. As Hank approached the security panel, a laser scanned his eyes, and the heavy doors slid open with a hiss of compressed air. Under the harsh glow of overhead lights, a solitary Mecha towered above like a sentinel.

"That's why we can't just take any Mecha into battle," Hank said, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "We're going to have to take a gamble."

Alan's breath caught in his throat. Before him stood a machine unlike any he'd ever seen—a prototype, still in testing, but utterly unique. The designation on its shoulder read XG-Ω, but among the pilots, it was known as Graviton Prime. It was the first fourth-generation Mecha—a pinnacle of Mecha engineering and a milestone in technological advancement. Crafted from cutting-edge materials, its sleek, futuristic design gleamed with a radiant white finish accented by vibrant reds and oranges, as if its very form was ablaze with raw energy.

From inception to completion, Graviton Prime had been engineered with a singular purpose: to dominate the battlefield.

"This... this is awesome," Alan whispered.

Hank nodded solemnly. "It's a game-changer. But untested in real combat."

They ascended one of the metal staircases leading up to the Mecha's cockpit. At the rear of the massive machine, Hank inserted a key into a hidden panel and turned it. With a pressurized hiss, the cockpit door began to lift, revealing a two-seat configuration inside—the upper seat for the pilot and the lower for the co-pilot.

As they prepared to enter, an engineer approached, wiping his grease-stained hands on his overalls. "Hank, are you really taking her out?" he asked, his voice hinting at concern.

"Yes," Hank replied without hesitation. "What's the status of her Crystal?"

"It's a Unique," the engineer said, glancing at a datapad. "But it's pretty worn. Not sure how much juice it'll give you."

"Better than a Common Crystal," Hank remarked. "It'll have to do."

Alan began descending the ladder into the co-pilot's seat. Settling in, he surveyed the control panel before him. Aside from the large central screen—which was currently dark—there were dozens of buttons, levers, and auxiliary displays. It was both daunting and exhilarating.

He picked up the helmet resting by his mechanical feet and slipped it on. Instantly, his visor lit up, displaying feeds from the Mecha's lateral and rear cameras. Data scrolled across his vision as the systems booted up.

"Initiating secondary fuel intake!" the engineer shouted up to them.

Alan felt the subtle vibrations as the Graviton Prime's systems came to life. Above him, Hank settled into the pilot's seat, beginning his own pre-flight checks.

"Activating Auxiliary Power Unit," Alan announced over the intercom linking their helmets.

"Roger that," Hank confirmed. There was a brief pause. "This time, take the meds. You're going to need them."

"Copy," Alan replied.

He reached up to a small compartment above him, retrieving two small capsules. They were refilled each time they returned to base—stimulants, potent blends of amphetamines designed to sharpen focus and enhance reflexes. The side effects were less than pleasant, but they'd learned to manage them with a careful cocktail of other drugs. In the heat of battle, such measures were necessary to push human performance beyond natural limits.

Alan swallowed the pills dry, feeling the bitter taste linger momentarily on his tongue. A heightened sense of clarity instantly began to settle over his mind.

"Primary cannons and secondary weapons ammunition ready!" the engineer called out.

Alan gripped the twin control sticks at his sides, moving them to test the auxiliary weapons. "Auxiliary weapons functional. Radars operational. Mapping systems online."

"Good," Hank responded. "Main engines are powering up."

"Primary weapon charged. Fueling complete!" the engineer announced.

"Awaiting launch clearance," Hank said, his tone steady.

Alan's mechanical foot tapped nervously against the metal floor of the co-pilot's cockpit. His mechanical legs emitted a soft whirr with each movement. Glancing at one of the side monitors, he caught a glimpse of Hank in the pilot's seat above. Hank appeared tense, but Alan knew the seasoned pilot well enough to recognize the glint in his eyes—a mixture of nerves and exhilaration that surfaced before every launch.

He'd seen Hank do this before. Clutched in his hands were a pair of worn drum sticks, tapping out an uneven beat on his thigh as they awaited final clearance. It was a ritual of sorts, a way for Hank to channel his focus. Alan found it oddly comforting; if a veteran like Hank still got butterflies, maybe his own anxiety wasn't such a bad sign.

A burst of static crackled over the comms before the launch controller's voice came through loud and clear. "Launch approved."

Alan's heart skipped a beat. "Here we go," he whispered to himself.

The Graviton Prime lurched forward, the magnetic clamps releasing them from the docking station. Alan felt the subtle surge of acceleration as the Mecha slid along the rail system within the hangar, gathering speed as they approached the launch bay.

"Gravity generators offline," the launch controller announced.

Instantly, the artificial weight lifted. Alan's stomach did a familiar flip as zero gravity took hold. The sensation was fleeting. With a deafening roar, the Mecha's rear thrusters ignited, flames propelling them down the launch tube. The G-forces pressed him back into his seat as they shot out into the star-studded void—the non-existent atmosphere of Luna offering no resistance.

The stark surface of the moon rapidly receded beneath them, a desolate landscape pockmarked with craters.

An awe-inspiring sight greeted them as they broke free from Luna's orbit. Suspended against the backdrop of space was the massive orbital station—Cyclops Gate. Hundreds of Mechas were aligned along its circumference, each anchored to the colossal ring that comprised the station's primary structure. Here, they would initiate the mass teleportation.

The controller's voice resonated through the cockpit. "Teleportation will start in thirty seconds. Begin acceleration."

"Time to join the party," Hank said, his voice crackling over the internal comms. The drumsticks had vanished, his hands now dancing over the control panels with practiced ease.

"Engaging thrusters," Alan replied. He adjusted the power distribution, channeling energy to the primary engines. The Graviton Prime responded instantly, surging forward to take its place among the other Mechas converging on the ring.

Alan's displays lit up with a flurry of data—velocity vectors, proximity alerts, synchronization signals. He focused on aligning their trajectory with the teleportation coordinates, fine-tuning their approach.

"All systems nominal," he reported.

"Stay sharp," Hank cautioned. "Teleportation can be a bit... disorienting."

"I remember," Alan assured him.

"Ten seconds to teleportation," the controller counted down.

Alan took a deep breath, steadying himself. His grip on the control sticks tightened.

"Five... four... three... two... one... Teleportation initiated."

A blinding white light enveloped them. For a fleeting moment, reality seemed to blur—the boundaries of the cockpit dissolving as they were propelled through the fabric of space-time. Alan's senses reeled; there was no up or down, just an overwhelming sensation of movement without motion.

Then, as quickly as it began, the light faded. The instruments recalibrated, and stability returned. Alan blinked, his vision clearing to reveal a new vista before them.

Olympus—the contested planet. Its swirling blue and green surface loomed large below.

"All units, begin evasive maneuvers!" The urgent command blared over the open channel, snapping Alan's attention back to the present.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.