Callsign: Talon (Fueled By Fury #1)

Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A roar tears through the desert basin, and my console lights up with a barrage of warnings before I can react. One second, I’m leaning forward in Raven One’s cockpit, skimming the last data image of the hidden outpost. The next, I’m practically deafened by the shriek of a sandstorm ripping across the dunes as I’m running to a point on my HUD’s map.

Wind-driven grit slams into my mech’s plating, and the world outside becomes a swirling chaos of amber-brown.

I suck in a shaky breath and curse under it.

“Trying to get my pilot killed? Hang tight!” Tabitha shouts in my earpiece. Her voice is scratchy with static. “I clock these winds at about ninety-five miles per hour in near-constant gusts and occasionally higher. Or, you know, enough to tip you over if we sneeze. Good times.”

I grab the control sticks, fighting the violent shudder rolling through Raven One. Each gust hammers the mech sideways, threatening to throw us onto our back. My heart is a drumbeat of panic at the base of my skull. “Easier said than done, Tab!”

Through the shredded swirl of sand, I spot the squat rock formation where the X is.

A possible refuge if I can get there before the storm intensifies. I coax the thrusters to half-power, but the wind seizes each little burst, making the mech stagger like a drunk. Raven One’s shell moans in protest, knee joints squealing as friction scours the armor. We lurch two steps forward before nearly being sideswiped by a fresh gust. I gasp as the left foot skids a meter across the sand.

“ Gosh damn it! ” I yell, trying to deal with the sudden shifts in the wind and the fact that my body feels like a rag doll thrown about by a pissed three-year-old.

Perhaps the Army has a point about being physically fit. I’m not ever going to admit that fear out loud, though. And if I die, they won’t know I might have accidentally thought it.

Tabitha’s voice fires in my ear. “At this rate, we’ll be doing a full gymnastics routine. Maybe charge admission for the local drones.” A flicker of forced humor peppers her words. I know she’s worried about me.

I sputter a laugh, trying to keep my breath steady. The spot marked with X is no longer visible. “I’d prefer not to see Raven One cartwheeling into a boulder. Find me some cover, Tabi. Quickly.” With every second, sand accumulates in the intake vents. My visor is already blinking with partial warnings. SAND-LOCK LEVELS: 22%… 23%…

“Hold on,” Tabitha states. “There’s a stony protrusion about forty meters ahead and slightly right. Sorry, the scanners are hazy as hell, but that rock might block some of this wind if the storm doesn’t shift.”

We try to push forward, but the desert is in a frenzy. Grit blasts across the mech’s canopy, turning the outside darkness into a vicious swirl. The black stealth plating I spent hours applying is probably turning into sandpaper strips.

Tabitha hisses. “Ugh, my precious anti-radar coating is getting absolutely pitted. You realize the hours we put into that fancy stealth finish, right?”

“I didn’t plan the freak storm!” My knuckles ache from gripping the sticks so hard. Another gust rattles Raven One like we’re a twig. “Make yourself useful and recalculate the wind approach. If I can angle the thrusters low?—”

“On it,” she interjects, seamlessly controlling the mech’s servo distribution. “We have to keep enough throttle to stay upright, but not so much that we blow our thermal signature through the roof. I don’t think they could spot us in this storm, but the risk is high that we become missile fodder if they do confirm us.”

I grit my teeth, remembering how I’d nearly roasted half a system back at the hangar once. Overloaded thrusters, meltdown fiasco, the works. That memory prickles at my nerves. I flick a glance at the coolant lines. They’re stable, but I can’t let them overheat or freeze in this sand-laden gale. The last thing I need is another meltdown.

“Tabi, activate the emergency cooling override in case we spike.” My voice trembles, and I clench my jaw to steady it.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Already on it. You’re not cooking on my watch, Talon.” Dryness creeps into her tone, along with something protective that soothes me despite the circumstances. “If it gets worse, we’ll kill non-essential systems and freeze the mech to a near-halt.”

I manage to pivot Raven One sideways and stumble forward. Wind blasts the flank, flaying grit across the cockpit’s external sensors. I can already see how compromised they are. Camera feeds flutter in static-laced black. The entire readout flickers, and for a sick moment, I worry we might lose the HUD. A chill glides up my spine that has nothing to do with the frigid coolant lines.

Tabitha goes for a snort of amusement. “Fine. You handle up, I’ll handle down. Hurry.”

At last, the rock formation is within a few strides. With the thrusters angled, I lurch Raven One behind it, where the wind’s fury lessens by maybe thirty percent. I can’t see much, but the basalt outcropping provides enough windbreak to hold position without toppling.

The mech’s servos creak as I force it to kneel. Winds crash overhead, rattling the stone. Even here, it’s brutal. If we fully power down, we risk the mech getting half-buried in sand. If we keep thrusters hot, we risk meltdown. Perfect.

“We’re in deep shit if we don’t find better cover,” Tabitha mutters. “This little nook is something, but it might not hold if the storm intensifies. I’d rather not have a boulder avalanche flatten us.”

Her anxiety bleeds into me. My lungs feel locked. I thumb the comm to internal only. “I know. Hang with me.” My visor pings. SAND-LOCK LEVELS: 29%… 30%… “We have to mitigate how much dust is jamming the vents. If they clog, we’re done for. We’ll be a statue out here, easy prey for any drone or patrol that wanders by.”

Tabitha’s voice edges up. “We need to cut all extraneous systems. The stealth array, the hotter sensors, shut them down. We can’t hold them in this wind anyway. You good with partial blackout?”

A heavy swallow lodges in my throat. “Do it, Tabi.”

Darkness claims half the cockpit as the secondary displays die. The main HUD dims to a faint glow, and the mech’s posture stiffens, locked into place by minimal servo power. My pulse thunders. “All right, we’re a big hunk of metal hugging a rock. Pray no one decides to scan us.”

The wind screams overhead, peppering everything in sand. Beneath the shrieking storm, Tabitha attempts calm. “I’ll keep micro-bursts on the thrusters so we don’t fall flat on our face. Enough to keep the center of gravity anchored.” Then, she adds, “I’m sorry about the sand chewing up your plating. I know you put love into that stealth coat.”

I joke, though my voice shakes. “Better to lose paint than get flattened. Or be discovered flailing around like a baby at the beach, right?”

“Now, that’d be some humiliating footage. ‘Mystery Mech Found Rolling in Sand, Operator Possibly a Dumbass.’”

My chest tightens. “Thanks, but don’t broadcast it yourself. I hear you getting mischief in your voice sometimes.”

Wind buffets us, rattling the mech’s joints so loud it feels like we’re in a thundercloud. Tabitha shifts to a serious note. “David, your oxygen levels are stable, but your stress is spiking. Inhale, exhale. You are fine. I’m here.”

Her reassurance tugs at my anxiety, easing it slightly. “You sure you can’t hack the desert and command it to back off?” I ask.

She fakes supreme confidence. “Maybe next time, I’ll bribe a weather satellite to keep storms away from you. This one’s more old-fashioned raw nature, though. Buckle in, buddy.”

As if responding to her defiance, a particularly vicious gust roars around the rock. Raven One shudders. My harness digs into my shoulders, and I press both feet on the pedals to keep them from jostling. Outside, the shriek intensifies to a near-howl that pierces all attempts at composure.

Time warps as we remain pinned, half-blind, the wind unrelenting. Suicidal attempts to move might blow us out into open dunes, so we wait. We cling. Sand-laden blasts slam every few seconds like hammer blows, and at one point, the entire rock outcropping vibrates. I can’t tell if it’s shifting or merely the storm’s fury.

Tabitha’s voice cuts through the din. “We should talk about something to keep your mind from going kaboom. Let’s see. Oh, hey, I got a brief feed once about the free-gravity football league. Team Blender Shanks or something?”

An incredulous laugh escapes me. “Blender Shanks. That name. I never followed them. Wait, they combine zero-G stunts with actual scrimmage?”

Tabitha’s chuckle is brittle with tension. “From what I gleaned, they practice in some spin station, so it’s partial gravity. They rocket around in special harnesses, throwing the ball with thruster assist. Ridiculous. Also, you know, they’re near the bottom of the league. Might as well be named after a prison gang or, I don’t know, a weird food club.”

I snicker. “They do sound like either a cafeteria horror or a band of ex-cons.” The laughter is short-lived, but it helps quell my nerves. Another gale thrashes the mech, and I clamp down on the thruster pedal, feeding enough power to keep it upright.

“Focus on me,” Tabitha insists. “No panic. I’ve got all subroutines keeping us balanced. Keep your breathing steady. Let your gut unwind a fraction.”

She’s right. I close my eyes, inhaling slowly. “I’m so tired of near-death experiences, Tabitha.” The desert is merciless. My mouth is bone dry, and sweat keeps trickling down my brow. “When this is over, I swear I’m never underestimating a planet’s weather again.”

Tabitha’s tone softens. “Deal. Next time, we read the meteorological reports thoroughly. Maybe pack an actual storm shield for Raven One. Or an umbrella.”

“Right.” My lips twitch in faint amusement. “Bet we’d look real tough with a giant polka-dot umbrella strapped on top.”

Her short laugh is genuine. The wind howls anew, and I clench. The cross-wind stings the plating. SAND-LOCK LEVELS: 33%… 34%… The readout keeps flickering higher. We can’t last forever like this. If it climbs too much, the vent intakes will jam, and we’ll freeze up. But walking out in this maelstrom? Probably suicidal.

My mind tumbles with half-formed ideas. Seconds stretch into minutes. The rumble of desert fury turns weirdly hypnotic. My body tenses at every shift of the mech. Tabitha mumbles calculations about the storm’s likely duration, but it keeps going, howling in cycles. My cockpit dims further as swirling dust blocks what little sunlight remains. The temperature drops. I shiver under my flight suit.

Eventually, the hours blur, a punishing marathon of strain. In the half-light gloom, I catch myself drifting in and out of anxious daydreams. Part of me wants to yank open the hatch and breathe outside air, except that’d fill the cockpit with slicing sand. Another wave of wind claws at us, and the rock overhead crackles with grit as if about to crack.

“Damn it,” I mutter, arms aching. “I can’t believe we’re pinned like this. At least we got all the images we needed.”

“We did,” Tabitha agrees. “You risked your hide enough. We can’t let a storm kill you now. That would be embarrassingly anticlimactic.”

“No video-drama series about the great merc Talon if I die. Wouldn’t that make a lovely headline? ‘Young pilot, possibly insane, buried in sand while collecting data.’ Such a hero.”

She attempts a supportive hush. “Hey. Enough gloom. We’re getting out of here. Keep your eyes on the immediate. Breath in, breathe out.”

I’m really tired of her telling me to breathe. But it helps.

We keep our systems minimal, balancing the thruster micro-bursts. Occasionally, I spot the sand-lock readout inch higher. Thirty-nine percent and climbing. Time crawls. My sense of day or night evaporates in the swirling grit. The temperature in the cockpit hovers on the edge of uncomfortably cold. The coolant is ironically doing its job even better in this climate, but I can’t let it shut down entirely. No meltdown from heat, at least.

A grim silver lining.

“I should have foreseen this,” I whisper bitterly. “We had data on shifting dunes and typical desert storms. We missed this freak wave.”

Tabitha’s reply is quiet. “You’re not psychic, David. Scraping info from that outpost was risky enough. Could have faced an entire squad of enemy mechs. A storm is the lesser evil. Not fun, but lesser.”

I rub perspiration from my brow using the rag I affixed to the inside of the helmet. “Can you expand the outer sensor for drone detection?”

Her tone dims. “I can try, but the grit blinds everything. Sorry. We’re effectively in a sensory blackout. If an intruder is within a few hundred meters, we might pick them up, but it’s dicey. They probably can’t see us unless we do something stupid, though. Like give them digital signals when they aren’t expecting any.”

I can feel her frustration. “Understood.”

The hours drag without mercy. My back aches from the harness. The howling storm surges in jostling crescendos. Rumbles of thunder-sounding wind, like gargantuan beasts prowling overhead. Each avalanche of sand that blasts the rock formation makes me flinch. This is a new breed of hell. Pinned and powerless, half the systems offline, wondering if a scout patrol will stumble onto us.

At some point during the third wave, Tabitha’s voice returns, laced with a forced bright note. “So, about those Blender Shanks. I found an old snippet in my local memory. They apparently had a losing streak for eight seasons, but the fans love them for comedic relief or something like that. They call them ‘Undertaker’s Punching Bag.’ Seems harsh.”

I laugh. “That’s savage. Probably better marketing if they renamed themselves the Dune Flailers or something.”

She chuckles softly. “Could be worse. They might be the ‘Baby at the Beach’ team, rolling around in the sand. We’d be their mascots right now.”

“Right,” I reply with a twisted smile. “Sign me up for that endorsement.”

Her next breath sounds careful. “We should keep talking. The storm’s not letting up. Your pulse is high.”

I grunt, adjusting my harness. “On that note, any interesting meltdown-laden fiascos you’d like to dredge up from the memory banks?”

Tabitha feigns insult. “Oh, you mean the time you dabbled in rewriting thruster code at two in the morning, nearly turning the hangar into a fireworks show?” She’s obviously referencing the incident from my past but spares me the full details I’m sure she could deliver. “We survived that, so maybe we can survive a bit of desert breeze.”

“Right. It’s only a breeze that can level a small building.”

“At least the storm’s freaking out enough to cover our tracks from any watchers. So that’s a plus. This might be nature’s camouflage operation.”

Sand scrapes across the mech’s shell in relentless waves, making me want to scream merely to feel something else. I can’t stand this for much longer. My eyes flutter with exhaustion, but I fight to keep alert. The ominous swirl beyond the cockpit is unchanging, no sign of dawn or dusk. “How long do these storms usually last?”

Tabitha’s quiet. “We’re well past three hours since it kicked into full gear. Desert storms can rage for up to half a day, maybe more. It depends. Some blow over quickly, others linger.”

“What’s our battery status?”

“Not ideal.” She pauses. “We have plenty if we keep thrusters at micro-level, but we can’t power anything big if we need to fight.”

My gut twists. If a patrol finds us, can we even defend ourselves?

Tabitha reads my mind. “If an intruder shows up, I’ll do minimal jamming. We can scurry if we must. It might expose us, but otherwise, we’re stuck. Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

I can do nothing but breathe. Another disorienting chunk of time passes. My eyes feel gritty. I occasionally rotate the external cameras, but they’re nearly worthless, swamped by sand. The cockpit is a tomb of tension. My sweaty flight suit clings to me. My mouth craves water.

“Stay awake, David,” Tabitha urges. “Don’t drift off. Hypothermia or dehydration could creep in.”

I blink hard and swallow. “I’m okay.” But I’m not. My muscles tremble with adrenaline and fatigue. “Keep me company, Tabi.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then, she assures me, “I’m right here with you. I swear, I’m not letting you go. Even if you conk out, I’ll keep you stable until the storm breaks. If I had a body, I’d wrap you in a full embrace, protecting you with my own body heat.”

The words sink into my frayed nerves. I trust her more than I trust myself right now. Under normal circumstances, I might respond with a joking retort, but all I can manage is a slight nod that only the mech’s internal cameras pick up. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

We keep sitting in the maddening swirl of grit and roaring wind. The mech occasionally rocks, but Tabitha’s subroutines keep the thrusters balanced. My stress ebbs and flows in waves. Every new gust spawns another spike of fear.

At some uncertain point, I glance at the time readout on my HUD. Four hours. Four excruciating hours in near-complete darkness, pinned to a rock, praying the desert doesn’t bury us alive.

My voice cracks. “I guess we set a record for the worst stakeout. This was supposed to be a simple recon.”

Tabitha tries for playful dryness. “I blame your scheduling. Maybe next time, pick a storm-free day. Or we charge double in hazard pay.”

I grunt, too drained to laugh. Another flurry of grit rattles the mech. Fresh sand scours the plating with a hiss so violent it almost drowns Tabitha’s next words.

“Focus, David,” she whispers. “I’ve got you.”

“Not going anywhere without you.” The words slip from my mouth. It’s not a grand speech, but it’s the truth. My lips feel numb as I stare into the gloom. Even the rock’s partial shield can’t block every wave. Outside the cockpit, grit slides and accumulates. The sensors flicker. The temperature gauge hovers on the chilly side.

We stay that way for what feels like an eternity, two presences in a machine half-buried behind stone, fighting nature’s wrath. My eyes occasionally drift shut, and I jerk them open again to find Tabitha humming, reciting some mocking story about that zero-g football league, or recounting a random code snippet we worked on together back in high school. Anything to keep me grounded.

Minute by minute, or perhaps eon by eon, we hold.

Eventually, there’s a shift in the swirling torrent outside. The roar is still ferocious, but maybe—and I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating—slightly less. My battered sensors pick up a marginal drop in wind speed, though the swirling dust outside the ridge remains thick.

“Tabi,” I croak. “Are you reading any atmospheric shift?”

She’s scanning. Her voice flickers with subdued hope. “A mild drop in peak gust velocity, down from ninety or so to maybe seventy. We’re not free yet, but that’s a possible sign the storm’s cresting or shifting direction.”

Relief and frustration entwine inside me. We’re not safe, but maybe we’re over the worst. “We can hold a bit longer, right?”

“Yes, we’re okay. The battery’s still good. The thrusters are still stable. We can ride it out a while, try to slip away after it fully dies down.”

My gaze drifts across the barely lit console. Sand-lock warnings still blink. The staccato hiss of abrasive wind continues pounding the rock above, but my lungs feel marginally freer with the good news. “We’ll make it through,” I remark aloud, almost a vow to myself.

Tabitha’s voice warms. “Damn right we will. Then, when we’re safe, you can fix my pitted plating.”

A spark of optimism flares between us. The storm may last a while longer, but it can’t rage forever. We’re beaten but unbroken. Still huddled under partial cover, still alive, still ourselves. My harness is sweaty, my limbs are numb, and we might stay pinned for another few hours, but we’re not done.

“Thank you, Tabi,” I whisper. “For talking me through it. For all of it.”

She’s silent, maybe touched. Then, she replies, “Thank me when we get out of here. I’ll collect my thanks in the form of fresh stealth coating or something else fancy.”

A wry smile cracks my lips, and I close my eyes for a heartbeat, letting the subtle rumble of the wind fill my senses. Whatever comes next, we face it together.

For now, we wait. And we endure.

“David,” Tabitha interjects.