Mech Pilot who has to tell the new pilot that they can't salvage and refit enemy weapons to their own mech.
Sharpe held the weapon in one of his oversized carbon-steel hands. It was an imposing-looking piece, with three barrels arranged in a triad, their bore size significantly larger than the ones he'd seen before. But it felt strangely light, for as much as he could feel any weight right now. He elected to give it a test fire, figuring at best it was out of ammo and he'd just get to spin the barrel assembly.
Nothing. Not even a click.
"Bravo Two, quit lagging behind and get over here," Sharpe heard over the radio.
"Hold that thought, Bravo Lead," he replied without thinking. "Have you seen any ammo canisters for 30 millimeter Avenger?"
"I know what you're thinking, and it won't work." Bravo Lead - Major Timothy Braga - had that defeated, almost wistful sound to his voice. "Guessing you just tried to fire one of their rotary guns."
"Yes sir, but I think it's out of ammo."
"It's not. They keep the ammo inside their arms. The reason yours isn't working is you're not passing their call-home checks."
"Call-home? Major, do you mean... digital restriction management?"
"Exactly, Bravo Two. Hell, that's the whole reason this war started."
Sharpe dropped the cannon like a snail-covered log and set course towards his CO, who was now several hundred meters away. The DRM War, the old archives had called it in jest. It should have been nothing more than customers boycotting companies. He couldn't figure out how it came to armed conflict, or why said conflict was still going so many years later. Maybe this would be the mission that clinched it, though. The enemy base was just a few klicks over the horizon - Installation Adobe Charlie Charlie.
