Most people hated patrol duty but Lance didn’t. Even after five years, he still enjoyed the gentle bobbing motion of the giant machine around him. He always felt so powerful. It was easy to do when encased in seventy-five tons of machine guns, flame throwers, Variable-Ranged missiles, and magnetic high velocity slug throwers. Honestly, he probably would have done volunteered for duty if it meant piloting the Lumberjack, he affectionally called Paul.

Lance smiled ruefully. Donna would kill him if he ever tried turning down the credits. She wasn’t an elitist exactly but she did like nicer things than he did.

Through the clear glass of the cockpit above him, Lance watched a bright light streak across the sky.

Frowning, he radioed in. “HQ, come in. Are we expecting any company?”

A burst of static was the only reply.

Something was wrong, he could feel it.

“HQ, come in!” he repeated. He shifted gears into the terrain devouring nine- three times the speed he had been going, and rushed back toward the base.