“Normal down, Ensign,” the tech said, not looking up from the GM’s shredded knee. “You walk or you get carried. That’s the rule.”
Silence.
Don’t move. Please don’t move.
“Copy. Pull back to Nav Point 7. Don’t engage anything.” Mobile Suit Gundam- MS Sensen 0079 -Normal Down...
At Nav Point 7, the resupply team was already setting up the portable catapult. A young tech with grease on his face waved him into the repair cradle.
“Yeah,” Rolf said, lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers. “Normal down.”
Rolf killed the engine. The cockpit opened with a hiss of stale air. He climbed down the emergency ladder—no time for the lift—and his boots hit the mud. “Normal down, Ensign,” the tech said, not looking
“He’s dead. For real this time.” Rolf’s hands were shaking. He flexed them inside the control gloves. “I’m Winchester. Zero rounds. Legs are yellow. Request immediate extract.”
The Zaku lay crumpled against a collapsed highway overpass, its heat axe still clutched in its right manipulator. Zeon ground crew had painted teeth on its shoulder shield. Cute. Now its pilot was either dead or leaking into the cockpit, and Rolf was supposed to sit here like a parked tank.
“Yeah. No kidding.”
Rolf saw it through his GM’s primary camera—a flicker, then a dead glass orb. He didn’t cheer. He’d learned not to. A disabled Zaku wasn’t dead. It was a trap.
Rolf didn’t think. He squeezed the trigger.