Hangar Queens: A Modern Military Mecha Satire

It's still April Fools somewhere, so here, have a real update!

I'm totally not making this deadline, am I.


"– launch an immediate punitive strike on the Syrian Army forces west of Deir ez-Zor."

"Wait, what?" There's a logic to this you can appreciate, but you feel like this is a really bad idea for some reason.

"Alright!" Hansen whoops. "Finally, something tougher than technicals to kill!"

"Hey, so, nothing against a bit of proxy warfare or anything," Buck says, "but isn't this basically helping ISIS? Like, if we shoot up all the Syrian troops, aren't we kinda doing their job for them?"

"The scope of this strike will be strictly tailored to prevent IS from gaining any tactical advantage," Taylor replies smoothly. "We will resume our attack against IS after we've responded appropriately to the Russian provocation."

"Oh, great. Hear that, White Knight? Don't kill too many tanks out there!"

"Yeah, well, Buster and Drop Mom better not fucking hog them all again. Barely got to kill any last time…"

"Enough chatter, pilots," Tanner clamps down. "All Queens, proceed to the attack point at the following coordinates –"

The ten kilometre flight over the Euphrates passes in the blink of an eye, and you touch down upon a dilapidated road outside the city. From here, you have a commanding view over the territory that's remained under SAA control throughout years of ISIS siege. On your left and right are fenced-off complexes that your map labels the Mahash oil fields. Once a significant source of revenue for the regime, the distinctive hammerheads of oil pumps now stand forlornly at attention, waiting for the day that they'll return to service extracting yet more fossil fuels to contribute to climate change.

Although, seeing as the Syrian Arab Republic just decided to sign the Paris Agreement, maybe that won't end up happening after all.

Ahead of you is another, larger fenced-off complex, this one bustling with activity. It's the 137th Brigade Army Base, which aside from Deir ez-Zor Airport is the other notable SAA bastion in this area. Your radar picks up the signatures of several brigades' worth of trucks moving in and around the base, with the occasional BMP or BTR sprinkled in.

"Well, this is fucking gay," Hansen complains as your data is shared amongst everyone. "Couldn't the hajis at least scrounge up a few tanks for us to kill?"

"Don't act so disappointed, White Knight," Tanner chides. "Taking out their logistics vehicles will hurt them much more than blowing up a few tanks. All Queens, open fire."

"Roger!"

The exchange of fire that follows can barely be described as a battle. Even firing from a kilometre away, your assault rifles' 30mm HEAT rounds are more than sufficient to tear apart soft-skinned trucks and softer-skinned personnel. A few BMPs sporadically return fire with their 73mm guns before they too are destroyed by you and Taylor.

"You know, this has got to be the lamest turkey shoot ever in Air Force history," Buck comments.

"You can say that again," Hansen agrees. "Where'd those sneaky Russkie fucks run off to anyway?"

As if on cue, your radar and RWR both choose this moment to demand your attention. "Queen Two, this is Queen Six; I have two mechas incoming at ten o'clock, over," you report dutifully.

"Queen Two, roger. Maintain observation and do not engage unless fired upon, over."

"Roger."

The two RGF mechas crest the horizon an instant later, riding jets of fire to land right in the middle of the 137th Brigade Army Base and the innumerable burnt-out wrecks which now litter it.

"All Queens, cease fire," Tanner snaps hastily. You wonder if it's a bad sign that you're relieved everyone complied.

"Wow, now that's a fucking pussy move if I've ever seen one," Hansen growls, before switching on his loudspeaker. "Hey, faggots! Come out and fight like real pilots! Or did your balls freeze off in the gulag?"

The Russian pilots don't rise to the provocation. Standing still like this, you can zoom in and study the equipment they're carrying at your leisure: a sharpshooter and a pointman variant, by the looks of it. Hardly an unusual pair-up by USAF standards, but it's still somewhat interesting that the RGF chose to send these two to intercept you.

Then you notice something else in your zoomed vision. "Queen One, I see enemy anti-tank missiles deploying. At least three of them."

"That's our cue to leave, boys and girls," Tanner responds. "All Queens, disengage and return to al-Sukhnah for resupply."

"What?" Hansen demands. "We're just gonna let them get away with all this bullshit?"

"We've already achieved what we set out to do. There's no reason for us to stick around any longer. Now disengage and return to base, White Knight. That's an order."

"…Understood."


The remainder of the battle takes the better part of a week, and many return trips back and forth from al-Sukhnah to refuel and rearm, before your commanders declare an end to mecha operations in Deir ez-Zor.

With your help, the Syrian Democratic Forces are able to cross the Euphrates and begin the hard and bloody work of clearing ISIS block-by-block from the city proper. Many of those blocks end up levelled at the hands of your mechas' hand weapons in the process, and it's sometimes difficult to tell just how many of the bodies that end up buried under the rubble belong to your stated enemy. Nonetheless, you progress.

Ostensibly deterred by your squadron's display of resolve, the Russian Ground Forces don't make any further attempts to accidentally strafe the SDF's lines. Their contacts flicker intermittently on your radar, and every so often you catch sight of a Cy-57 boost-jumping across the horizon, as they instead focus their attention on breaking the siege of Deir ez-Zor Airport. From the constant echoes of gunfire and explosions, they seem to be expending just as much ammunition as you are.

Sometimes, during the quiet moments between carrying out attack runs and fire support missions, you glimpse that sharpshooter-variant mecha off in the distance, watching you with ruby optics glittering within its silhouette.

By the time your squadron leaves the battlefield, the SDF has cleared and liberated the river banks, compressing the surviving ISIS fighters into a pocket comprising a few city blocks. Sadly, they're prevented from making much more progress by the SAA, which continues to stubbornly cling to its own collection of city blocks, despite the horrendous losses it sustains during its attempt to break out of the airport. Since the Russian mechas appear to be behaving themselves, Lt Col Marquez refuses to authorize another intervention, and so the two proxy forces mostly just glare and take a few potshots at each other.

Technically, this is a victory. The objective of this mission was to contain and neutralize the threat posed by Islamic State, and having them bottled up in the city and sandwiched between two mutually hostile forces achieves just that. There's very little chance they'll be able to break out anytime soon; so, in effect, you've won.

It's just not the grand liberation of the Syrian people you were hoping for.


The restraining clamps have barely locked down on 1st Lt Taylor's Q-35A before she climbs out and stalks down the catwalk toward 2nd Lt Clarke's assigned bay, still clad in her pilot suit.

You're supposed to be running through your own mecha's shutdown procedures, but the allure of drama is too tempting to resist, and so you use your mecha's audio receptors to listen in on the encounter. All in the interests of ensuring squadron cohesion, of course.

Clarke herself is waiting outside her machine, leaning back on its titanium alloy surface with her eyes closed. You very much doubt she's actually asleep, given how much noise everyone's mechas made returning to their eternal slumber once more… but if anybody can sleep through that, it's probably her.

"Lieutenant Clarke," Taylor opens calmly, standing before her.

"Mm," Clarke acknowledges.

"You have, of course, done as I instructed."

"Mm-hmm."

"You'll excuse me if I don't take your word for it, Clarke," Taylor states, and without further preamble, clambers through the main access hatch into her machine.

"Hmmm." Remaining outside, Clarke opens her eyes and yawns, raising a hand to cover her mouth. It's a surprisingly cute sound that's completely at odds with what you know of her personality.

It's a while before Taylor emerges again, during which you manage to get through the whole shutdown checklist without too much more trouble than usual. When she finally does, her expression is clearly conflicted, as if she can't decide whether to be pleased, disappointed, or utterly baffled.

"It seems that I've underestimated you, Clarke," she says, retaining her composure in spite of what she's seen. "I'm glad to see you taking your duties as a pilot seriously, for once. I hope this is the beginning of a long and positive trend, both professionally and personally."

"Me too," Clarke replies in that strange lilt of hers, the ghost of a smile flitting across her face.

Taylor stares at her a few seconds more, evidently trying to read any sign of insincerity, and then marches back to her Q-35A to perform her own shutdown procedures.

As soon as she's gone past, you exit your machine and walk over to where Clarke's still resting, unable to suppress your curiosity. Her gaze immediately locks onto you as you approach, but she doesn't say anything.

There's something about the machine Clarke's leaning up against that piques your inner engineer's intuition; something that doesn't seem quite right about it, under its polished and camouflage-painted frame. It's almost as if –

"This isn't even your mecha, is it," you blurt out in a sudden moment of realization.

Clarke raises an eyebrow, which you interpret as an affirmative sign. Then she abruptly closes the distance and grabs you by the collar.

"Hey, what are you–"

"Hold still," she orders, and you comply, largely out of fear of what might follow if you don't. Her face is too close to yours, and there's an intense gleam in her eyes that causes your breath to catch and a chill to run down your spinal cord.

Then she jams one of her fingers into your nose.

You choke with surprise as your nasal cavity is penetrated, and try to pull away; but her grip on you is firm, forcing you to endure the sensation of violation as she twists around inside your nostril and scrapes the dried mucus from its walls.

Extracting her finger with her prize, she promptly she lets you go, and you stumble back away from her.

"W-what was that for?!" you demand hotly, angry and embarrassed. And confused. So very confused.

Antonia just gives you a satisfied smirk, and walks away, maintaining eye contact until she leaves your sight.


As a consequence of the USAF's collective -1 Combat and -1 Leadership, your squadron proceeded to launch an utterly weaksauce retaliatory attack against the SAA. It still succeeded at preventing any further "accidental" attacks by the RGF, but only because they were too busy laughing their asses off to do anything else.

Select two outcomes which do occur.

[] The US forces were exceedingly unlucky during their retaliatory attack.

[] Substantial ISIS forces escaped to fight another day.

[] Your SDF allies suffered outsized casualties from the battle.

[] The Russian forces got something they wanted anyway.


The punitive attack was originally planned to involve Hansen going totally off the leash, but the animation studio ran out of budget for this episode, so we got this instead.

Maybe next time...