Tiger and Iron

As the Desert Tiger's custom machine crested the dune, Han Zheng's Jiachen had already read its speed.

One hundred ninety-two kilometers per hour. Thirteen percent faster than a standard Baku.

"Deputy Sheng, it isn't a standard Baku. Its thrust output and joint response are both significantly higher."

Sheng Lan watched Jiachen's real-time analysis on the terminal in the communications vehicle. Her lips did not move, but the pen in her hand drew a streak of ink across the corner of her memo pad.

"Director, Waltfeld's custom machine outperforms a standard Baku. Can Han Zheng handle it?"

Lin Yuan's voice came through the channel, his pace exactly the same as when discussing ammunition feed valve delays.

"Tell him to use tactics, not instinct."

The dark red-striped custom machine did not take the narrow pass. At a distance of one thousand meters, it suddenly changed direction, cutting from the front of the Black Iron position toward the right flank. The rhythm of its four legs hitting the ground changed three times, each burst of speed precisely evading Jiachen's predicted firing lines.

Han Zheng's muzzle followed for two beats, but he did not pull the trigger.

"It's testing me."

Tian Mu's voice tightened over Unit Two's channel.

"Brother Han, it's gone around. It's circling in from the right flank. Should I turn my gun?"

"Don't. Hold your narrow pass. That Baku that retreated is still there."

After completing half an arc, the custom machine cut in from the right, closing to six hundred meters. Its Beam Rifle snapped from the back mount into firing position, releasing three consecutive blue-white beams at Black Iron Unit One's waist joints.

The first shot grazed the right edge of the ceramic steel chest armor, burning a white scorch mark into the surface without penetrating.

The second struck the external plate on the left arm. The beam shifted away in less than 0.3 seconds, leaving shallow cracks across the armor.

The third hit the auxiliary heat dissipation position at the right knee joint. That secondary plate had been removed three days earlier, leaving the exposed joint housing to take the beam directly.

Two warning lights came on in Han Zheng's cockpit.

The right knee joint's temperature jumped from seventy degrees to one hundred ten in half a second.

"Han Zheng, the right knee has been hit by a beam. Joint temperature exceeds the limit." Sheng Lan's report arrived almost simultaneously with the warning lights.

Han Zheng did not step back, but his right leg had begun to creak under metallic stress. Black Iron's center of gravity swayed slightly over the sand.

After firing from six hundred meters away, the custom machine did not linger. Its four legs kicked off the sand, pushing its speed beyond two hundred kilometers per hour. It swept behind the Black Iron position from the right flank, then cut into an arc toward the left.

The entire process took less than four seconds.

Han Zheng's muzzle tracked its retreating trail for one and a half seconds, but could not keep up.

"It's cutting into my blind spots." Han Zheng's breathing grew heavier. "It disengages after every attack, using its four-legged maneuverability to circle around to the side where I turn the slowest. It knows Black Iron turns slowly."

Lin Yuan's voice came through the channel.

"Did you chase it?"

"For one second."

"Don't chase it. That's what it wants. Every step you chase, your position shifts one step. After two steps, your firing arc won't cover the valley entrance anymore. Then the Baku at the narrow pass will charge in again."

Han Zheng brought the muzzle back to the front. The creaking in his right leg still had not stopped.

The custom machine circled back from the left flank to the front, lowering itself into the depression behind the dune. Only its sensor head showed above the dune ridge, its optical lens fixed motionlessly on Black Iron.

It was watching.

Han Zheng knew what it was watching for.

"Director, it's looking for my weakness."

"It has already found it. Your right knee has no secondary plate protection, and your turning speed cannot keep up with four-legged directional changes. Next time, it will cut in from the right and hit the same spot."

Tian Mu could not hold back inside Unit Two.

"Brother Han, let me turn around and help you shoot it."

"No. If you turn around, the narrow pass will be open."

"Then what do we do? Just take the hits?"

Han Zheng did not answer Tian Mu. He watched the custom machine's heat signature on Jiachen's tactical display. The dark red point of light was moving slowly behind the dune, shifting from the front toward the right.

"Director."

"Speak."

"Can I stop blocking it and let it come in?"

The channel fell silent for three seconds.

"Han Zheng, what are you planning?"

"It wants to cut in from the right and hit my knee joint. If I deliberately leave the right side open, it'll accelerate and rush in. Once it comes in, it'll be inside the valley entrance. Inside the valley entrance is the overlapping firing zone of Tian Mu, Liu An, and me."

Han Zheng's fingers did not tighten around the controls, but his voice sank low.

"I'll use my right knee as bait. When it takes the hook, three Bombard Guns will block its retreat."

In the communications vehicle, Sheng Lan snapped the tip of her pen against the memo pad when she heard that.

"Director, Han Zheng's right knee joint is already damaged. If it takes another beam hit, the joint could fail outright."

"How many seconds can he hold?"

Sheng Lan brought up Jiachen's returned structural analysis and swiped her fingers twice across the data.

"The right knee joint housing has already suffered 0.7 millimeters of thermal deformation. Based on the beam power of Waltfeld's custom machine, another 0.3-second exposure will push the gear meshing clearance past the safety threshold. The pilot can still operate it, but the response delay will increase to over 0.5 seconds."

"Han Zheng, you heard that."

"I heard."

"Are you sure?"

"Director, if it doesn't take the bait, I'll just keep getting hit. Between taking three hits and taking one hit to gamble, I choose the latter."

Lin Yuan's answer arrived after the communication delay, its tone two degrees colder than the desert night wind.

"Tian Mu, Liu An, aim at the inside of the valley entrance. When Han Zheng gives way, the custom machine will cut in from the right. Once it enters the valley entrance, it must slow down. Its braking distance with four legs gripping the ground is at least thirty meters. Those thirty meters are your window."

"Received." There was no humor left in Tian Mu's voice.

"Received." Liu An's reply was even shorter than Tian Mu's.

Han Zheng drew a deep breath, then narrowed Unit One's right-side firing arc by twenty degrees. The Bombard Gun shifted toward the left front, leaving an obvious gap on the right knee side that would be impossible to miss from outside.

On Jiachen's tactical display, the dark red point was accelerating.

Waltfeld saw the opening.

"Deputy Sheng." Han Zheng's voice came through clenched teeth.

"Speak."

"Can the thirty-millimeter fire-control system on the supply truck still be used?"

Sheng Lan was already running toward the truck.

"It can."

"If it turns to run after charging in, hit the thrusters on its back with the thirty-millimeter. No need to penetrate the armor. Just disrupt its acceleration rhythm. One second is enough."

As Sheng Lan climbed onto the side panel of the truck, a layer of skin scraped from her palm. She gripped the fire-control handle, her thumb resting on the firing button.

On the infrared display, the dark red-striped custom machine launched from behind the dune. The rhythm of its four legs striking the ground rose to a pace she had never seen before.

One hundred ninety-five kilometers. Two hundred. Two hundred ten.

It lunged straight for the gap on Han Zheng's right side.

The Beam Rifle fired at four hundred meters, the blue-white beam striking Black Iron Unit One's right knee joint housing with precision.

Han Zheng clenched his teeth.

The warning lights jumped from yellow to red. Right knee joint temperature: one hundred forty degrees. Abnormal gear meshing noise.

Unit One's right leg gave way by half a notch, and its body tilted five degrees to the right.

But Han Zheng's muzzle did not follow it.

The muzzle still faced forward.

The custom machine rushed through the gap on the right. Its four-legged trajectory carried it sliding into the fan-shaped area inside the valley entrance. Its speed began to bleed off against the sand, dropping from two hundred ten to one hundred eighty, its front claws digging in as it prepared to turn and break away.

Three lines lit up simultaneously on Jiachen's tactical display.

Tian Mu's Bombard Gun fired from the left narrow pass, its round flying toward a predicted point thirty meters ahead of the custom machine's left front.

Liu An's Bombard Gun fired from the right, its trajectory pinning down the custom machine's rightward escape arc.

Sheng Lan's thirty-millimeter fire-control system roared six times from the truck, every tracer streaking toward the custom machine's rear thruster nozzles.

The overlapping zone of those three trajectories landed exactly on the thirty meters where Waltfeld was braking and turning.