Han Zheng's voice had barely faded when the six red dots on the tactical display changed course at the same time.
They stopped sweeping back and forth.
The six Dagger MS units tightened their formation and dove straight toward Black Iron's landing coordinates at Mach 1.3.
In the underground command center 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 has determined that a heavy object landed and is approaching to confirm."
"Are they communicating on an open frequency?"
"Yes. Unencrypted, in English. The lead unit reported the landing coordinates to the Drake-class Frigate, describing it as an unidentified heavy device falling from the sky, possibly an industrial accident."
"Thought a satellite had fallen," He Changying's voice came through the Space Force channel, carrying a rough laugh.
Lin Yuan did not laugh.
"Han Zheng, six Daggers are approaching your position. They are expected to enter visual range in three minutes. Status of your right arm joint?"
The sound of Han Zheng moving the unit's arm hydraulics came from the cockpit.
"Normal range of motion. There is slight sticking in the section that hasn't 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 flattened, with equal pauses between every word. "They have six units. You have only thirty-six rounds. Do not 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 tone. "Director, the effective range of the Bombard Gun—"
"I know its effective range. Eight hundred meters is so they can get a good look at what you are."
The channel fell silent for two seconds.
Han Zheng nudged the controls straight, and the cockpit's panoramic display tore through the last layer of smoke.
Six gray-blue points appeared along the distant horizon, closing in in a fan-shaped formation.
Dagger MS.
The United Army's most common mass-production unit. A seventy-six-millimeter autocannon hung from one arm, while two bulging ammunition drums sat on the backpack racks. The head sensor arrays glowed with cold white identification lights.
The lead unit's external communications suddenly switched to an East Asian civilian band, and an accented English voice burst through.
"Unidentified ground unit, you are within the Atlantic Federation's anti-piracy patrol zone. Report your affiliation and model."
Han Zheng glanced at the formation unfolding across the panoramic display. The six Daggers had already split into two groups of three, one pinning him from the front while the other swung around the flank.
A standard encirclement and pressure formation.
"Director, they're hailing me. Should I answer?"
"No."
The lead unit's communication came again.
"Ground unit, final warning. You are locked on. Report your model, or you will be treated as a hostile target."
Fourteen hundred meters.
The Dagger formation began descending, their engine exhausts drawing six white streaks across the Sky Curtain before dawn.
Twelve hundred meters.
The three-unit flank group completed its half-arc encirclement, and the muzzles of their seventy-six-millimeter autocannons aimed at Black Iron.
One thousand meters.
The lead pilot gave a cold laugh over the comms.
"What the hell is that, East Asia's new toy? That size... welded armor, right? Looks like it can barely walk."
A wingman behind him added, "Looks like a loader from a mine. 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 flame trailed a brief, blazing streak as it smashed toward the lead unit ahead.
The Dagger pilot's reaction was not slow.
He completed a lateral dodge within the round's 0.6 seconds of flight.
But a Bombard Round did not fly in a straight line.
The rocket booster made a final adjustment in the last hundred meters and struck the edge of the Dagger's left chest armor.
The penetrator bored nineteen millimeters into the armor. The delayed fuse finished counting down, and the internal blast chamber detonated.
The Dagger's chest armor was not penetrated.
But the inner wall around the cockpit shattered instantly as the shockwave traveled through it. The instrument panel exploded into fragments, and the control system went dead. Like a kite with its string cut, the lead unit rolled onto its side. Its engines blasted uncontrollably for three seconds before it plunged to the ground, smashing into a black fireball at the end of the runway.
Less than two seconds passed from the shot to the kill.
The laughter and joking in the Dagger formation's comm channel vanished.
In its place came the leader's frantic scream.
"Aiven has been shot down! Spread out! Pull back! What kind of weapon is that?"
The five remaining Daggers climbed sharply, trying to pull out to a safe distance. Two wingmen turned during their ascent, and their seventy-six-millimeter autocannons began pouring fire onto Black Iron.
The barrage struck the Ceramic Steel armor, spraying sheets of dazzling sparks.
A dense chorus of impacts rang through Han Zheng's cockpit. The control stick shook without stopping, and smoke from the bullet strikes obscured nearly half the panoramic display.
Yet the readings on the stress monitor were impossibly stable.
The Ceramic Steel external plates were completely intact.
The standard armor-piercing rounds of 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. A blue-white beam from its Light Beam Rifle swept in from four hundred meters away and struck Black Iron's right shoulder armor plate.
A shallow melt pit appeared on the Ceramic Steel surface, less than three centimeters across and two millimeters deep.
Han Zheng heard a faint hiss inside 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 unit's torso, raising the Bombard Gun's muzzle with it and aiming at the Dagger still firing follow-up shots.
The 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 threw the Dagger off balance, setting off warnings from its attitude-control system.
The third round left the barrel immediately after.
Feed interval: normal.
The projectile struck the base of the Dagger's backpack thrusters.
Internal blast.
The entire thruster module blew away. 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. Their formation spread beyond fifteen hundred meters, and they began making high-speed circling passes.
They no longer dared approach within eight hundred meters.
Han Zheng adjusted his breathing in the cockpit, sweat sliding along 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 center thousands of kilometers away, level 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 stance.
Black Iron stood on the abandoned runway, dotted with impact marks and melt pits. Its dark-gray Ceramic Steel armor reflected the first ray of dawn along the horizon.
Six minutes later, the four Daggers turned around and withdrew at full speed.
After the Drake-class Frigate recovered its Mobile Suits, the detachment turned northwest and departed East Asian waters at maximum speed.
The communications channel remained quiet for a long time.
"Han Zheng."
"Here."
"Did the ammo-feed delay occur 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 completely solved the problem."
"How much?"
"By feel, around 0.3 to 0.4 seconds."
"Write it down." Lin Yuan's voice remained as steady as ever. "When you return, have Xu Yanqiu perform a cross-sectional analysis on the depth of the beam melt pit in the right shoulder. Move up the priority of the heat-dissipation coating. I want a proposal 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 only three shots. Do we need to file an additional report?"
"No."
Han Zheng released the control stick, and the sweat in his gloves began to cool.
"Director, how many units will they send next time?"
"Next time, they won't send only Daggers."
Lin Yuan shut off the communication 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's steps slowed for half a beat.
"Have He Changying send the raw footage into the military high command's internal briefing system. Do not release it publicly. Do not promote it. Only let the people who need to see it see it."
"Director, does that include Ma Chongshan?"
"Put him first."
Two days later.
The 811 Institute's conference terminal 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 evaluation of the Black Iron Prototype's technical development path is scheduled for next Wednesday.
Sheng Lan handed the notice to Lin Yuan.
After reading it, Lin Yuan set it down and opened the optimization plan for the heat-dissipation coating on his desk.
"Director, what is Ma Chongshan's attitude?"
"Don't you think the notice itself is his attitude?"
"He opposed the independent Mobile Suit development path before."
"Yes." Lin Yuan circled a section of the coating proposal, then looked up at Sheng Lan. "When an old man who has fought wars for thirty years takes the initiative to invite you to a meeting, it means he no longer needs convincing. He only needs to confirm one thing."
"What?"
"Exactly how many of these things can be built."
Before you continue