“Hey, new guy! Wake up!”

Gloved hands knocked the back of Eli's helmet, startling him out of his thoughts.

The pilot known as Mathias Paris was seated beside Eli in the dropship, and was easily a few meters taller than he was.

“Load up, gentlemen,” someone shouted, “I want everyone in their robots and ready to drop in five minutes!”

That was Commander Bright of his self-named Bright Squadron.

The six of them, plus a dropship pilot Eli didn't know the name of were on a scouting mission to Springfield, a Russian mining facility that happened to be of territorial importance to the American war effort.

Mathias stood, unbuckling the straps that secured him to his seat on the dropship, and pulled a helmet over his shock of blond hair. Eli did the same, tightening the strap on his chin. This was going to be a difficult attack. There was no element of surprise, and no margin of error. Success meant complete control of the facility and it's resources and a vital foothold into Russian territory. Failure was the death of every member of Bright Squadron.

Around Eli were the other pilots he hadn't gotten to know yet. Their squad of six was only a few weeks old, the best and the brightest set to lead the charge into Russian occupied territory. However, with such a select group of pilots, socialization wasn't a priority. In fact, Mathias was arguably the friendliest of the group.

Eli didn't know much about Commander Bright, only that he was well respected among the American war effort. Rumor has it he'd been there the day the President was assassinated- the day the first War Robot had appeared. Eli wasn't sure who had sent it, but American intelligence blamed the Russians.

He wasn't being paid to question who he was attacking. He was paid to fight. But still, he wondered nonetheless.

The other three pilots hadn't spoken a word to him since he'd arrived. Two of them seemed to know each other and Mathias well, but sat silently across from him. One man, one woman. Both looked nearly identical. Twins? A coincidence? Eli wasn't sure. The third hadn't said a word, hadn't taken off his helmet, hadn't even stayed in the cockpit. In fact, Eli was pretty sure the man was already in his robot, waiting.

“I don't like it,” Mathias was saying. Eli hadn't even realized the man was talking.

“These TMC folks just step in, give us new robots and offer us money to do their dirty work.”

Paris frowned.
“I don't like the US military being bought out. Making us hired guns.”

One of the two twins looked up from his helmet, green eyes staring first at Eli, then Mathias.

“They didn't buy us out, they offered us assistance,” he responded, voice lightly accented in a manner Eli couldn't place.

“The Transatlantic Military Corporation only wants to help, and I say we accept their new robots. I hear the Griffin was highly rated in testing.”

Eli had heard the same. This business conglomerate known as the TMC had stepped in a few months ago, buying large swaths of government War Robot factories using an incalculable fortune. The old American War Robots were quickly being replaced by newer, TMC-made ones. Destrier, Patton, Griffin, Fury. All powerful assets to the war, but at what cost? Sixty percent of all American soldiers were using War Robots owned by the corporation and not their own military. Who had the power here? Those who made the guns or those who used them?

The brown-haired woman, the second of the twins, turned to her counterpart.

“You don't get to pilot a Griffin, Adam,” she said. Her eyes turned to Eli and Mathias.

“They do.”

The man, Adam, looked back down at his helmet again, saying nothing.

Mathias sighed.

“Don't be like that, Eve,” he said.
“Just be glad you're not in a Destrier. I heard they've ready nicknamed it 'rustbucket’.”

Eve smiled.
“True,” she said, “but-”

“Cut the chatter and gear up, people!”
Bright barked, fastening his helmet. The dark-skinned man was unusually tense. Eli had only known Bright for two weeks, but knew him enough to see that his commander was rattled.

“Comms check,” Bright said.

“I'm set,” Eli said, hearing his voice echo back in his ears a split second later.

Communication headsets, or comms, were necessary in battle. Organization was key. However, the comms didn't always work, which made them a liability. You never knew what would happen if you couldn't warn your squadmates.

“Sounding off,” Mathias responded.

“All good,” Adam said.

“Good here, too,” Eve finished.

“Load up,” Bright said. He flashed a gesture to the pilot of the dropship, and Eli felt their movement slow. It was time.

They marched out of the cockpit and through an adjoining hallway. Past it was the hangar, large enough to hold six robots. One for each pilot.

There was talk back home in America that some TMC scientists had engineered an ejection system for the robots, meaning someday a critical failure in combat wouldn't be fatal. But that was only a prototype, something for the future. This was now.

If anyone's War Robot got too damaged, they would die. No second chances, no new robots to drop. Eli couldn't wait for the day he'd be able to use a new robot, not have to worry about falling in combat. Perhaps, after this battle, he'd request to be a test pilot for one of the newer robots. That was, if he survived today.

There it was, hanging above the ground, suspended on mechanical arms built into the dropship's frame.

The Griffin, one of the TMC's first contributions to what people were calling “The Great Iron War”.

A small ladder extended from the top of its head, a way for Eli to enter the belly of the nuclear-powered beast. He'd trained in a Griffin back home in the Grand Canyon facility, but this was his first live combat in one.

He missed his Jesse, the nimble American robot he'd had before.

The dropship tossed Eli around, rattling his bones in time with the hum of it's engines. He almost tumbled off the ladder once, eliciting a laugh from Mathias, who was halfway into a Griffin of his own.

“Brace yourselves!” Bright called, his voice crackling over the comms.

“We drop in thirty seconds!”

Eli hauled open the hatch on the Griffin's top, sliding down into the dark cockpit. He hit the seat and stumbled, finding his footing. His movements felt natural, honed by hours of training. The push of a button, flick of a switch, and the Griffin hummed to life, nuclear reactor within growling loudly as the cockpit was filled with light.

“All robots ready?” Bright asked.

The Griffin rattled on it's frame as the dropship's bay doors opened. Six thousand feet below, Springfield waited, hexagonal fields of green and a stark mining district split in two by a raging river.

“We're ready!” Mathias said.
“Let's go win us a war!”

Eli felt the same enthusiasm as Paris, though much less vocally. It surged through him, powered him like the burning nuclear heart of his Griffin. He felt strong, like he could take on an army.

Little did he know, soon he would be.

With an electronic buzz, the mechanical arms holding the Griffin aloft disconnected. Eli's stomach rose as he fell towards Springfield, encased in one of the most powerful robots the world had ever seen.

But something more powerful waited below.