I’ll be the Red Ranger
Chapter 132 – Dark Star

- Alan -

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

Instinct took over. Alan's fingers flew across the controls as he engaged the lateral thrusters, yanking the Graviton Prime into a sharp roll just as a group of missiles passed them. The proximity alarm screamed, but they'd narrowly avoided destruction by mere meters. His heart pounded in his chest.

Not everyone was as fortunate.

A blinding explosion erupted behind them. Alan caught a glimpse on the rear monitor—a fellow Mecha consumed in a fireball, torn apart into a thousand pieces. A haunting, guttural scream echoed through the comms, cut brutally short. The line went silent. Alan's stomach lurched, but there was no time to process the loss.

They had arrived at Olympus, their intended destination, but any hope of a straightforward landing evaporated. The Orks had anticipated their arrival, laying a deadly ambush. An armada of hundreds of Ork warships awaited them in orbit around the planet, bristling with weapons and ready to unleash havoc.

"Alert. This is Graviton Prime," Hank broadcasted over the chaotic frequencies. "We have completed teleportation but are met with an Ork armada. Be advised, they are initiating an orbital assault."

He repeated the message, ensuring both the incoming Mechas and Command were aware of the dire situation.

"Alan," Hank's voice came through with steady urgency. "I'm taking over navigation. Keep an eye on our energy levels and manage the secondary weapons."

"Understood," Alan replied, his voice tight but controlled.

He shifted his focus, flipping a series of switches that rerouted his control inputs. The display panels before him reconfigured, highlighting reactor output, weapon status, and targeting systems. His primary responsibility was now the twin cannons mounted on Graviton Prime's shoulders and maintaining the readiness of the primary weapon.

Hank's piloting was nothing short of masterful. While Alan was competent, Hank moved the Graviton Prime with an almost uncanny fluidity. To him, the Mecha wasn't just a machine—it was an extension of his body. Each thrust of the jets, every precise maneuver, seemed effortless. The Graviton Prime danced through the void, its movements so erratic and swift that the targeting systems of the Ork ships struggled to keep a lock.

Alan found himself gripping the armrests as Hank executed complex maneuvers—sharp accelerations, sudden decelerations, corkscrew rolls. The G-forces strained against Alan's body, even through the dampeners. It was disorienting, but it also made them a nearly impossible target.

Ork fighter ships swarmed around them like a plague of metallic locusts. Their guttural alien chatter overlapped on the unsecured channels, a cacophony of chaos. They fired relentlessly, crimson bolts of energy streaking across the darkness.

"Stay focused, everyone. These are just the attack ships—cruisers are still ahead. Keep an eye on their fire!" Hank's voice crackled over the comms, steady but urgent, as the chaotic ballet of battle unfolded around them.

For Alan, the work remained as intense as ever, though his role was slightly less complex than Hank's. His fingers danced over the controls, targeting and firing the shoulder-mounted cannons. Each pull of the trigger sent a hail of plasma searing through the space, aiming to reduce the swarming Ork fighters to dust.

"What's our status on energy and ammunition?" Hank inquired, his eyes never leaving the swarm of enemy ships swirling on the holographic display.

"Energy at 90%. We're still in good shape," Alan replied, glancing at the fluctuating power levels on his console.

"Good, but we need to conserve it for the Titans—not waste it on these small fries," Hank reminded, a hint of caution in his tone.

"Just a bit longer. Once we break through the cruiser line, we'll have a straight shot to Olympus," another pilot's strained but determined voice cut in over the comms.

"Crush the Ork scum!" someone else shouted, the ferocity in their voice echoing the collective sentiment.

But amidst the din of battle, a new concern arose.

"Something's not right. Look at the energy readings coming from the far side of the fleet," a pilot warned.

Alan's brow furrowed. He swiftly adjusted his scanner settings, redirecting the sensors to analyze the specified quadrant. The data streamed in—unusual energy signatures flared on the display. It wasn't Ork technology. These were human machines, powered by Z Crystals, just like their own Mechas.

"Do we have allies flanking them?" Alan wondered aloud, opening the comm channel. "Command, are there friendly units behind the Ork fleet?"

No immediate response came, but the answer soon presented itself. Emerging from the shadow of the Ork armada, a formation of Mechas advanced swiftly, cutting through the blackness of space like silent predators. Leading them was a Mecha unlike any other—a sleek, obsidian frame that seemed to absorb the surrounding light, save for a single emblem emblazoned on its arm: a crimson star.

"What the—? Is that the Dark Star?" a pilot gasped over the comms. "Did House Lot send their top Mecha to support us?"

"How did they get behind the Orks?" another voice questioned, disbelief mingling with awe.

Speculation buzzed across the channels, but there was little time to ponder. The pilots were still neck-deep in battle, each second demanding their full attention as they faced down waves of enemy fighters.

"Eyes on your targets!" Hank barked, bringing the focus back. "The cavalry's arrival doesn't change our mission. We still have hundreds of ships to deal with."

"Something's not right. The Dark Star isn't engaging," Alan remarked to Hank, breaking the tense silence that had settled between them.

Hank, focused intently on navigating the Graviton Prime through the chaotic battlefield, spared a quick glance at the monitor. "What do you mean?" he asked, concern edging into his voice.

"Look at the telemetry," Alan continued. "I'm watching it on the external cameras. The Dark Star isn't fighting the Orks. It's just moving—directly toward us."

Hank frowned, tapping a few controls to bring up the feed. "That's odd. Why would House Lot's flagship Mecha hold back now?"

Alan zoomed in on the enigmatic Mecha. The Dark Star's sleek, obsidian frame cut through the star-strewn darkness, its only marking a crimson star emblazoned on one arm. As he watched, a tiny spark ignited at the center of its chest, growing brighter by the second.

"Wait, something's happening," Alan said, his eyes widening.

The spark blossomed into a brilliant flare before abruptly collapsing into an abyss of shadow. Darkness spilled out from the Dark Star, an inky void that seemed to swallow the very light of space. It expanded rapidly, an all-consuming shroud engulfing nearby Mechas—ally and enemy alike.

"By the stars..." Hank whispered.

Explosions erupted as the shadow consumed dozens of Mechas, flares of fire snuffed out moments later by the encroaching darkness. Pilots' screams echoed over the comms, cut short with chilling finality. Panic rippled through the fleet.

"Hank! The Dark Star is attacking our Mechas!" Alan shouted, his voice sharp with urgency. He flipped a switch, broadcasting over the open channel. "All units, this is Graviton Prime! The Dark Star is hostile—repeat, hostile! They're attacking our forces!"

Desperate voices flooded the comms:

"Mayday! We're under attack!"

"What's going on?"

"Get out of there!"

Amidst the chaos, a stern announcement cut through, authoritative and clear. "This is Central Command. All pilots, be advised: By decree of the Emperor, Great House Lot is hereby declared traitors to humanity. They are to be considered enemy combatants. Urgent message—confirm receipt."

"Copy that," came the shaken acknowledgments from scattered pilots, disbelief evident in their tones.

"All Mechas, disengage and distance yourselves from the Dark Star. The Emperor is deploying the Imperial Guard," Central Command continued.

"The Imperial Guard?" Alan echoed, swallowing hard.

Hank's expression hardened, his eyes never leaving the displays. "Kid, keep your eyes on the visuals. If the Imperial Guard is stepping in, we're about to witness something that will go down in history."

As soon as Hank finished speaking, Alan watched as the teleportation platform activated once again.

As per Central Command's orders, the Mechas began to fly away from the Dark Star. Meanwhile, three mechas descended from the teleportation platform. At first glance, they didn’t seem much different from the others, except their mechas radiated a deep purple glow.

“Holy fuck. They sent the Dogs of War.” Alan heard another pilot swear.