Black Iron's First Battle

As soon as Han Zheng's voice fell, the six red points on the tactical display changed course simultaneously.

They were no longer conducting back-and-forth searches.

The six Dagger MS units tightened their formation and lunged toward Black Iron's landing coordinates at Mach 1.3.

In the underground command room beneath the East Asian capital, Lin Yuan stood before the screen, his fingers resting on the armrest.

"The sensors intercepted ground shockwaves," Sheng Lan read from the live data. "The Dagger squad judged it to be a heavy object landing and is approaching to confirm."

"Do they have communications on their frequency?"

"Yes. Unencrypted, in English. The lead unit reported the landing coordinates to the Drake-class Frigate, describing it as an unknown heavy device falling from the sky, suspected to be an industrial accident."

"They thought a satellite had fallen," He Changying's voice came over the Space Force channel, carrying a rough trace of laughter.

Lin Yuan did not laugh.

"Han Zheng, six Daggers are approaching your position. They will enter visual range in three minutes. How is your right arm joint?"

The sound of Han Zheng moving the machine's arm hydraulics came from the cockpit.

"Normal range of motion. There's slight sticking in the section that hasn't been fully broken in, but it won't affect weapon handling."

"Ammo feed?"

"The feed valve has been preheated. Green indicator."

"Listen carefully." Lin Yuan's voice leveled out, every word spaced at even intervals. "They have six units. You have only thirty-six rounds. Don't waste them. Wait until they are within eight hundred meters before opening fire."

"Eight hundred?" There was a trace of confusion in Han Zheng's voice. "Director, the Bombard Gun's effective range—"

"I know its effective range. Eight hundred meters is so they can clearly see what you look like."

The comm channel fell silent for two seconds.

Han Zheng nudged the control stick upright, and the cockpit's panoramic display tore through the last veil of smoke.

Six gray-blue points appeared on the distant horizon, closing in in a fan-shaped formation.

Dagger MS.

The United Army's most common mass-production model, carrying a seventy-six-millimeter autocannon under one arm, with two bulging ammo drums mounted on the backpack rack. The head sensor arrays glowed with cold white identification lights.

The lead unit's external comm channel suddenly switched to an East Asian civilian frequency, and an accented English voice burst out.

"Unidentified ground unit, you are within the Atlantic Federation's anti-piracy patrol zone. State your affiliation and model."

Han Zheng glanced at the formation deployment on the panoramic display. The six Daggers had already split into two three-unit groups, one pinning him from the front while the other moved around the flank.

A standard encirclement and suppression formation.

"Director, they're hailing me. Should I respond?"

"No."

The lead unit's transmission sounded again.

"Ground unit, final warning. You are locked on. State your model, or you will be treated as a hostile target."

One thousand four hundred meters.

The Dagger formation began descending, their engine plumes drawing six white streaks across the pre-dawn sky.

One thousand two hundred meters.

The three-unit flank group completed its half-arc encirclement, seventy-six-millimeter autocannon barrels trained on Black Iron.

One thousand meters.

The lead pilot gave a cold laugh over the comms.

"What is this, East Asia's new toy? That size... welded armor, right? Looks like it can barely walk."

A wingman behind him added another line.

"Looks like a mining-site porter. Hey, are you sure that thing can move?"

Eight hundred and fifty meters.

Eight hundred meters.

Han Zheng tightened his grip on the control stick, his index finger settling against the trigger guard.

"Now."

He pulled the trigger.

The Bombard Gun's first roar tore apart the last silence before dawn.

The instant the round left the barrel, its rocket booster ignited eighteen meters away. An orange-red plume dragged a brief, blazing trail as it slammed toward the lead Dagger.

The Dagger pilot's response was not slow.

He completed a lateral dodge within the projectile's 0.6 seconds of flight.

But the Bombard round did not travel in a straight line.

Its rocket booster made a final attitude adjustment over the last hundred meters and struck the edge of the Dagger's left chest armor.

The penetrator punched nineteen millimeters into the armor. The delayed fuse ran out, and the internal blast chamber detonated.

The Dagger's chest armor was not penetrated.

But the inner wall around the cockpit instantly ruptured under the transmitted shockwave. The instrument panel exploded into fragments, and the control system disconnected. Like a kite with its string cut, the lead unit rolled over sideways. Its engine blasted out of control for three seconds before it crashed at the end of the runway, throwing up a black fireball.

Less than two seconds had passed from the opening shot to the kill.

The joking voices of the Dagger formation vanished from the comm channel.

In their place came the squad leader's frantic roar.

"Aiven has been shot down! Scatter! Open the distance! What kind of weapon was that?"

The five Daggers climbed sharply, trying to pull back to a safe distance. Two wingmen turned during their ascent, their seventy-six-millimeter autocannons beginning to pour fire onto Black Iron.

The rain of shells struck the Ceramic Steel armor, scattering sheets of dazzling sparks.

Dense impacts rang through Han Zheng's cockpit. The control stick shook without pause, and smoke from the shell strikes obscured nearly half the panoramic display.

But the data on the stress-monitoring screen was absurdly steady.

The external Ceramic Steel plates were completely intact.

Standard armor-piercing rounds from a seventy-six-millimeter autocannon could not even leave a surface scratch on sixty millimeters of Ceramic Steel.

One Dagger on the flank switched weapons. Blue-white beams from its light beam rifle swept in from four hundred meters away, striking Black Iron's right shoulder armor plate.

A shallow melted pit appeared on the Ceramic Steel's surface, less than three centimeters across and two millimeters deep.

Han Zheng heard a faint sizzle in the cockpit, like red-hot iron plunged into cold water.

"Damage to the right shoulder armor?" Sheng Lan's voice cut into the channel.

"I'm fine." Han Zheng rotated the machine's torso, the Bombard Gun rising with it and aiming at the Dagger still firing follow-up shots.

Second round.

The projectile tore across four hundred meters. The Dagger pilot performed an emergency side roll to evade, and the Bombard round grazed the unit's right arm before airbursting a hundred meters behind it. The shockwave knocked the Dagger off balance, triggering alarms in its attitude-control system.

The third round left the barrel immediately after.

Ammo feed interval, normal.

The projectile struck the base of the Dagger's backpack thruster.

Internal detonation.

The entire thruster module blew off. The Dagger lost power and fell toward the sea trailing black smoke.

Within thirty seconds, two Daggers had been disabled.

The remaining four completely abandoned their probing. The formation spread beyond fifteen hundred meters and began circling at high speed.

They no longer dared approach within eight hundred meters.

Han Zheng adjusted his breathing in the cockpit, sweat running down his helmet lining and into his collar.

"Director, the remaining four are circling outside. They can't get in, but they haven't left either."

Lin Yuan's voice came from the underground command room thousands of kilometers away, flat and without warmth.

"Don't pursue them. Let them circle."

"Director?"

"Their mothership is outside the boundary line, and its recording equipment has been running the whole time. The longer they circle, the clearer the footage will be."

Han Zheng froze for a beat, then raised the Bombard Gun toward the sky and locked his posture.

Black Iron stood upon the abandoned runway, dotted with shell marks and melted pits. Its dark gray Ceramic Steel armor reflected the first ray of dawn on the horizon.

Six minutes later, the four Daggers turned around and retreated at full speed.

After the Drake-class Frigate recovered its MS units, the detachment turned northwest and left East Asian waters at maximum speed.

The comm channel remained quiet for a long time.

"Han Zheng."

"Here."

"Did the ammo-feed delay appear in actual combat?"

Han Zheng recalled the feel of the three shots.

"The first to second shot was normal. From the second to the third, the barrel vibration rhythm changed. It was probably less than a second slower. The new valve is better than the old one, but it hasn't fully solved the issue."

"How much?"

"By feel, around 0.3 to 0.4 seconds."

"Write it down." Lin Yuan's voice remained steady as ever. "When you return, have Xu Yanqiu conduct a cross-sectional analysis of the right shoulder beam-melt pit's depth. Move the heat-dissipation coating up the priority list. I want a plan within a week."

Han Zheng watched the four Daggers vanish beyond the horizon on the panoramic display. The ammunition counter showed thirty-three rounds remaining.

"Director, they ran after three shots. Should we submit a follow-up report?"

"No."

Han Zheng loosened his hand from the control stick. The sweat inside his gloves cooled.

"Director, how many will they send next time?"

"Next time, they won't send only Daggers."

Lin Yuan shut off the comms and turned toward the exit.

Sheng Lan followed behind him, her memo already filled with more than half a page.

"Director, when do we release the combat footage?"

"We don't."

Sheng Lan slowed by half a beat.

"Have He Changying send the raw footage into the military leadership's internal briefing system. No public release, no publicity. Only those who need to see it will see it."

"Director, does that include Ma Chongshan?"

"Put him first."

Two days later.

The conference terminal at the 811 Institute received a brief notice from the Marine Corps General Staff.

Ma Chongshan was copied on it.

The body contained only one sentence.

An internal Marine Corps meeting regarding the technical route assessment of the Black Iron Prototype has been scheduled for next Wednesday.

Sheng Lan handed the notice to Lin Yuan.

After reading it, Lin Yuan set it down and opened the heat-dissipation coating optimization proposal on the desk.

"Director, what is Ma Chongshan's attitude?"

"Don't you think the notice itself is his attitude?"

"He opposed the independent MS development route before."

"Yes." Lin Yuan circled something on the coating proposal, then looked up at Sheng Lan. "When an old man who has fought wars for thirty years takes the initiative to ask you to a meeting, it means he no longer needs convincing. He only needs to confirm one thing."

"What?"

"How many of these things can actually be built?"