Falling Stars

by Rokas

Chapter 19 - River Showdown

Author's Note:

As usual, a series of links to a BattleTech wiki (and one to Wikipedia itself) are embedded within. They should be entirely optional for readers to peruse at their leisure, and I have worked to put more description into the story of the various machines to make this so.

Patrol 624

61km East of Canterlot

September 27th AD 3070/1023RC

Two days, Palmetto thought, as she stared out from her hiding spot and down into the clearing only a hundred meters distant. Two days we've been following this lot just to see why the ponies and their alien allies have an entirely separate group from their main army. And all we do is watch them set up a bunch of boxes in the middle of a forest; this is what the best tracking squad in the hive cluster is reduced to?

She shook her head, as the thought of one of the elite—in her opinion—units of the changeling army sent to watch a bunch of campers made her head hurt. Still, orders are orders, she mused, and then resumed her observations. Such a simple camp they've set up; only a few rows of supplies in crates, some sort of gantry being erected, and not much else, not even tents. What the shell are they thinking?

The sound of something moving quickly through the brush hit her ears just then, and Palmetto felt her wings rise in an automatic threat response at the noise. She tore her gaze from the camp and looked down the tree she had perched in, and then into the forest behind her. Movement matching the noise caught her eye immediately, and she almost face-hoofed when she saw one of the newer members of the unit smashing his way through the undergrowth. Idiotic royal caste moron, she thought, even as she used a changeling's unusually strong magic grip to cling to and slink down the tree's trunk. Once on the ground, she dashed forward almost silently and intercepted the other changeling coming towards her and tackled him to the ground. “Are you trying to get us caught?” Palmetto hissed, straight into his face.

The being that looked back at her was not like most changelings; whereas Palmetto was a fairly standard example of the worker caste—nearly indistinguishable from one another to outsiders—the larger male she kept pinned to the ground with her forelegs had a defined pupil and iris, green and catlike. He was also larger, and wore a chagrined expression. “Sorry, subcommander,” he said, his voice having a different level of sibilance to it. “But we just received orders from a runner!”

“Keep your voice down,” Palmetto ordered, though she also stepped back and allowed the male to regain his footing. Idiot though he is, these must be good orders if he's excited, she thought, as she waited for the royal to stand. “Well?” she demanded, once he was erect.

The male came to attention, and then spoke: “Her Highness Queen Chrysalis has ordered us to attack the pony forces in order to destabilize their fight against the alien invaders,” he said, clear and with precise enunciation. “To that end we are to engage at your discretion, subcommander.”

Palmetto blinked at that, stunned by the decision. Then her shock turned to anticipation, and a smirk crossed her muzzle. Ooh, these are good orders. “Good to hear. Go back and rally the rest of the unit and bring them here; we'll charge the soft-shelled meatsacks with shock tactics.”

The other changeling saluted at that; a gesture identical to that used by the Ponies' Royal Guard. “Yes, subcommander,” he replied, and then turned and promptly ran back towards the unit's bivouac.

At least he takes orders well, Palmetto mused, as she turned and walked back to the tree she had been using as a perch. Surprising, given who his mother is. She then turned her head to look out over the nearby encampment and smiled. Time to avenge our loss and make the weak ponies and their alien allies learn to fear us.

* * * *

Allied Forward Base, Whitetail Woods

Applejack sighed with relief as she felt the load lifted from her back. “Whew, that stuff is purty darn heavy,” she commented, with a glance to the two humans who'd taken the hefty crate off of her. “What's in that thing, anyway?”

The two astechs grunted as they lowered the box to the ground, and then stood erect again. “Actuator parts,” one answered, as he pressed his hands against his back. “In case we gotta rebuild or refit one real quick.”

The mare raised an eyebrow. “Ah got no idea what the hay that means,” she replied. “But Ah'll take yer word for it.”

The two men shared a chuckle. “Fair enough,” the second one said. “Anyway, we got this, so you might wanna see what ol' Steeljaw might want your help on next.”

Applejack nodded. “Well that sounds good. Be seeing y'all,” she said, and then turned and trotted off towards where the cantankerous master tech was overseeing the setup of a gantry of some sort. She took a look around the clearing as she walked, and noted with pride that all of the equipment the humans had wanted hauled and been delivered and set up with a speed that only earth ponies could manage. It's nice to be the ones surprising them for a change, she thought, a she recalled the amazement that the human support crew had expressed upon seeing the sheer industry of the earth pony guards and volunteers as they moved the material for the temporary camp. It's nice to be appreciated, that's for sure, Applejack mused, though she forced her mind to focus on the task at hoof as she approached her destination.

McCoy was standing next to one of his assistants, and the two were staring up at the portable gantry even as a combination crew of humans and ponies worked to assemble the structure. They would look at the noteputers in their hands while they watched, and then occasionally shout orders to some of the crew. It was right after one of these bellowed commands that Applejack approached, and McCoy took notice of and turned towards her. “Done already?” he asked, gruffly, although Applejack was starting to understand the elder human a bit more, and thought she detected a tone of admiration in his voice.

“Yup, got everythin' arranged like ya wanted,” the mare replied. “Dunno why you're bein' so particular 'bout it.”

“It'll be easier to grab things this way,” the assistant—Gerald something, Applejack recalled—explained. “The layout is according to likely need and difficulty of movement so that hopefully we'll maintain a nice, fast turnaround time without causing any backups in the logistical chain.”

Applejack tilted her head and gave the human a look. “So, you're sayin' that it's all laid out so that y'all can grab th' stuff that y'all need according ta how fast and often you're gonna go through it all so y'all ain't trippin' over each other, eh?” she asked.

Gerald blinked hard at that, and McCoy chortled. “Don't git that look, lad,” the latter said, as he turned back to the gantry work. “Just because she's a farmer doesn't mean she's an idiot.”

“Er, right,” Gerald said, as he blushed. “Yes, miss Applejack, that's pretty much it.”

“Well, good ta know all that work ain't goin' ta waste,” Applejack observed. A slight grin graced her muzzle at having caught the astech out, as well. Her grin faded, though, as both men before her seemed to freeze and brought their hands up to the ear pieces they wore. “Uh, somethin' th' matter, boys?” she asked, as her stomach started to twist in worry.

Sadly, her suspicion of trouble proved accurate as McCoy belted out a curse. “Damnation and Hellfire,” he said, and then looked over to the orange mare. “Lass, what th' Hell are changelings?”

“Changelings?” Applejack echoed, as her voice cracked in a rare display of surprise.

“Changelings!” another voice shouted, from off in the distance. Applejack, McCoy, and Gerald all spun around towards the shout in time to see a wave of black, vaguely pony-shaped figures rushing out from the treeline to the north, flying in on insectoid wings. The farm mare's eyes widened at the sight, but it was all she had time to do before the lightning-fast attackers were already falling upon the encampment. The first ponies and humans fell in seconds as changelings hacked at them with axes or pierced them with spears, but the attackers did not stop to finish the job as they raced forward, intent on engaging new targets.

Applejack found herself one such target, as one of the changelings spied her and immediately turned to race for her, its axe held high in its hooves. Fortunately for the farmer she broke out of her shock, and then quickly dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, barely avoiding the axe head as it embedded in the ground.

The changeling hissed in anger and frustration at that and quickly yanked the weapon free while it hovered in the air, and then turned to face her. Barely had it did, though, when a report sounded and its chest exploded outward in a shower of black and green-tinted material. The now lifeless body fell to the ground, revealing McCoy standing behind it with his pistol drawn. “Come an' get it ye bastards!” he shouted, even as he took aim at another charging changeling and squeezed off a shot. That assailant, too, fell, but was followed by three more, one of whom managed to get close enough to jam his spear tip into the old man's side. McCoy yelled in pain as he staggered back and off of the medieval weapon, while behind him Gerald managed to get off a shot of his own before he was cut down by the other two changelings, although one of his attackers was left with a bleeding hole in its shoulder.

Such terrible carnage in so swift a time flummoxed Applejack for a moment as her mind struggled to put together, but the pained shouts from the nearby humans quickly broke her out of her funk. It also spurred her mind and body into action, and she raced off towards the changeling who had stabbed McCoy as it was rearing up to plunge its spear into the human's chest to finish him off. No, she thought, as the sudden, instinctual understanding of life and death filled her mind. She didn't think, but knew that she was the only hope for McCoy to live. Thus as she reached the changeling that was her target, she stopped, spun in place on her front hooves, and then coiled her back legs up. She hung there for the briefest of moments as all the unconscious and conscious restrictions she put upon her strength evaporated, and she willed every ounce of physical and magical energy she had into her rear legs as they kicked out faster than the eye could see. A scream of pain and the sound of chitin shattering followed an instant later, and matched up with the sensation of impact ringing in her rear hooves.

Even as this happened, McCoy's pistol spoke twice more, and the noise broke the odd sort of trance that had come over Applejack. She turned back around to see that he hadn't aimed for the changeling she had assaulted, though, as that being was lying on the ground, its front half writhing in pain while its bottom remained limp below the dual craters on its shelled back, both of which were leaking neon green fluid. Instead the tech had aimed for and dispatched the two changelings who had taken Gerald down, and now themselves lied on the ground with gaping chest wounds.

Applejack blanched at the sight of both her and McCoy's handiwork, but she didn't have time to think about it before something rammed her in the side and sent her tumbling along the ground. Her trip was cut short when she slammed into a supply crate, though, and the mare collapsed to the ground as the impact knocked the wind out of her. The sound of buzzing wings filled the air around her as Applejack lied gasping for breath, adding to the cacophony of battle. Gotta get up, gotta move, she told herself, even as she struggled to gather her legs beneath her.

Her thoughts and struggles were interrupted, though, as a hard hoof clutched around her right shoulder, and then wrenched the mare onto her back. Still in shock, Applejack was hapless as she looked up into the smug, grinning face of a changeling. “Well well well, seems I'll get to have revenge for our humiliation in Canterlot today,” it said, sounding distinctly feminine.

A scowl laid over Applejack's face at that, and she managed to find her voice. “Go t' Tartarus,” she retorted, and then butted her head into the changeling's. The resounding smack echoed around them, and the impact stunned both combatants, though Applejack was prepared for the pain, and she managed to clamber back up on her hooves before the female changeling.

Even as she stood up, though, the mare saw that even more of the chitin-covered foes had gathered around her and her assailant. Spears and axes were hefted in the Apple's direction and caused her to freeze long enough for the changeling she had headbutted to stand up. “You're going to pay for that,” she hissed, as she used her sickly green magic to draw a sword out from a scabbard on a belt she wore around her waist, and then lifted it up to prepare for a chopping motion.

She never got to use her weapon, though, as three things happened very, very quickly. First, a sound like a cross between thunder and the planet splitting in two filled the air, and not even a millisecond later a burning fireball blasted through the sword-wielding changeling and three of her cohorts that happened to be along the same angle of attack. And another millisecond after that their bodies exploded into clouds of superheated steam and innards, while a physical shockwave from the fireball's passing knocked down changeling and pony alike.

Applejack's ears ached and rang from the noise of the odd projectile as she lied on the ground once again, and she found she couldn't focus through the haze that had fallen over her mind. All she could do was look up as a humanoid shape landed nearby on jets of silver flame, and then fired its blocky weapon. The same thunderclap and horrendous fireball from a moment ago filled the air, though all Applejack heard was a dull thud through the pain in her ears. She did flinch, though, as the light of the gauss rifle's shot made a nearly physical assault on her retinas, and when she opened her eyes again she saw the armor-clad figure standing over her. The rounded helmet moved a bit, and Applejack figured she was talking, but the farm mare couldn't hear anything other than a few random, low noises and blood pounding through her veins.

I think that's April, the farmer mused, as she watched the figure turn away from her and then rush off. Some of her wits began to return, enough to remind her that she should take a look around her. Thus she worked a foreleg under her torso and then used the leverage to prop her head up and take a long look over the camp.

The carnage of the changeling attack was more than apparent, as pony and human bodies lay on the ground at several points, with pools of red spreading out from gaping melee wounds. But still more changeling bodies littered the ground, some killed by the camp denizens defending themselves, and a large number fallen, and still falling, to the six large figures of the Dark Horse's armored infantry unit, the Blackfoot. April in her rounded, almost plain-looking suit of Gray Death Scout armor was hopping around the battlefield on fiery jump jets, firing her Thunderstroke gauss rifle into clusters of changelings wherever they tried to rally. Another, larger, ground-bound version of that rounded armor was stalking forward, its Bearhunter autocannon spitting out death as its wearer moved at an almost casual pace, seemingly no more concerned than a farmer reaping wheat. Two other figures in the boxy, relatively plain armor design known simply as “Inner Sphere Standard” flanked the brutal behemoth, firing their support-grade lasers into any changeling who tried to throw up a defensive magic shield. The coherent light contained far more energy than a typical individual could deflect, and these foolish attackers were vaporized or exploded as the coruscating beams lanced through their defenses.

Finally the two Kage troopers, clad in their medieval Japan-themed winged armor, had just returned from the front line. Though they still only had TAG sets in place of their suits' normal weapons, even their light armor was more than enough to stand up to primitive melee weapons, while the myomer muscles that powered their suits made their metal-clad fists into deadly, skull-crushing weapons. These attributes they used brutal effect, jumping across the field just long and high enough for the partial wings on their armors' backs to deploy and further enhance their menacing visage as predatory beings before they landed to smash a shapeshifter's brains in.

Applejack watched this play out with a growing sense of discomfort, and she tore her eyes away from the scene of the battle to look over at McCoy. The elder human had survived, apparently ignored by the changelings after his pistol had jammed and Applejack had provided more significant resistance. Now, though, she saw him crawl over to Gerald's body and check it for vitals. The old man deflated a bit upon seeing the lifeless state of his assistant, but only a second later seemed to draw from an inner well of strength and straightened up a bit, or as much as he could while still crawling. He then shuffled his body around and started to make his way over to Applejack, who watched with a dreamy detachment.

I do feel a mite tired, the apple farmer mused, and then shifted her body to lie down on the grass again. Maybe I can take a few winks—

A slap across her muzzle startled Applejack out of her descent into unconsciousness, and she looked up to see McCoy staring down at her with a hard look. “Don't ye go tae sleep on me now, lass!” he yelled, or seemed to, as the world was still muffled and dense. Applejack slowly blinked at him, but the urgency in his words kept her hanging onto wakefulness. I guess I can't rest yet, she idly mused.

* * * *

Over the battlefield

“Shit on a sandwich!” said “Eddie” Rodriguez, as he threw his Stuka into a hard left before he dropped into dive. The maneuvers threw off the F-700 Riever on his tail a bit, but the faster, more maneuverable flying wing design was already working to slip back on his tail. “A little help here would be nice, Hothead!” he added, trusting the microphone in his helmet to pick up and transmit the sentence to his wingmate.

“Get in line,” Melissa McKenna retorted, even as she pushed her own dagger-like heavy fighter through a twisting, turning climb. Behind her was the other Riever, which kept pace with her turns effectively, but its pilot seemed to be a poor shot as his attacks were few and tended to miss. Praise God for small miracles, she briefly mused, before she abruptly reversed her turn and cut her engine. The 100-tonne Stuka was more aerodynamic than the proverbial brick, but not by much, and so the sudden lack of thrust caused it to drop belly first a few dozen meters before Melissa pushed the throttle open again. The result of this stomach-wrenching maneuver was that the Dark Horse fighter had fallen below and behind the enemy Riever, making the hunted the hunter.

Or so it would be, if the two Desperado Lucifers didn't take that moment to lay into Melissa's craft with their Long-Range Missiles. The two medium fighters had backed off with the arrival of their allies, and were now playing standoff support by launching attacks at the Dark Horse fighters whenever they had a clear shot. Such an opportunity now presented itself as Melissa slotted in behind her foe, and two clouds of missiles slammed into her fighter's aft and wing armor, blasting more of the dwindling protection away. “Goddammit!”

“I don't know what that means, but it doesn't sound good!” came the voice of her passenger, the pegasus Trade Wind.

Melissa didn't reply, as she was far too engrossed in wrenching the Stuka to the right to get out of the enemy's target lock, and then promptly shoved it into a diving reverse turn. How about you fuckers get a taste of your own medicine? she mused, as she brought the nose around to face the two Lucifers in the distance and then fired her fighter's extended-range large lasers. The hurried nature of the shot showed in that only one laser hit the well-armored nose of one of the medium-weight fighters, but it was enough to startle the two pilots, who threw their ships into a series of evasive maneuvers.

“Hothead!” sounded Rodriguez's voice, and Melissa immediately hammered her throttle wide open for a moment in a near-instinctual reaction to the one-word warning. As a result the Riever she'd been dogfighting missed with its massive autocannon, though a few of the two-dozen short-ranged missiles managed to pepper her fighter's hull.

We can't keep doing this, Melissa realized, even as she hammered her controls back and forth to send the Stuka slewing all over the sky. They outnumber us and outflank us so that we have to constantly maneuver to avoid fire, and you can only fly like that for so long before you make a mistake. However strong her pride was, Melissa was well aware of her own humanity. Thus she triggered her radio after putting her fighter through a loop. “Eddie, we need a way out of this chicken shit outfit,” she called to her wingmate.

Rodriguez recognized the joke, and more importantly the meaning behind it. “You're your father's daughter,” he sardonically replied, even as Melissa saw him throw his fighter in a hard turn to avoid enemy fire. “We charge 'em?” he asked. “Or try a canyon run?”

“I was thinking a run for the Kármán Line,” Melissa answered, and then pressed the Stuka's nose down into a dive. She then immediately flipped into a positive-G turn to the right and avoided laser fire from one of the enemy Lucifers. All through this period of several seconds, her wingmate had remained silent, and a wave of fear washed over her heart. “Eddie?” she asked.

“In a Stuka? Are you fucking insane!” Rodriguez finally shouted back, while he pulled an Immelmann. “We'd be sitting ducks!”

“We're almost that anyway!” Melissa countered, while she pushed her craft around to follow Rodriguez. The move scared off the Riever on his tail, but it opened her up to incoming missile fire from the two Lucifers once again, and more missiles peppered her starboard wing. “We're getting nickel and dimed to death and you know it. At least let's try to get a better position on them!”

“...Fuck me,” Rodriguez replied, and then sighed. “Alright, you call it.”

“Excuse me,” Trade Wind spoke up from the back, and into the common channel. “But what the hay are you two talking about?”

Melissa grunted as she forced her Stuka to tilt as if she was going to turn left, and then abruptly rolled and pulled right, just in time to avoid another wave of SRM fire. “Let's just say, TW, that you and Downburst are about to go where no pony has gone before,” she replied, and then flicked a few controls on her fighter's main console. “Now, Eddie!”

“Wait, what's going—” Trade Wind began, but was cut off as the Stuka pitched back abruptly and started to accelerate.

* * * *

“Sunovabitch!” sounded the frustrated voice of Carver's wingmate. “How the Hell can they move a Stuka like that?”

“Because they're not trying to shoot back much,” Carver calmly replied, even as he fired a half-locked SRM barrage at his target. Most missed, good, he mused, even as he silently reflected on the irony while he threw his Riever into a hard left turn in order to come around at the Dark Horse fighters again. “Don't worry, we'll either get them or drive them off soon; no one can keep doing maneuvers like that forever.” Sadly. Hopefully they'll run before then.

His silent prayer was answered far more quickly than he anticipated, as suddenly both of the Stukas pitched their noses up and then abruptly accelerated. Carver instinctively pulled his fighter's own nose up and to the left as he moved to anticipate whichever maneuver the enemy pilots might use, and his wingmate quickly copied it as he pulled in close to keep his flight leader covered. He watched his HUD warily as he guided the Riever around in a loose circle and waited to see what his opponents would pull, but to his surprise Carver could only see the two fighters accelerating straight up, their silvery fusion exhaust lengthening dramatically as the pilots shoved their throttles wide open. Are they... They can't be running for the Kármán Line, can they? he asked himself. That's a light-fighter tactic, and even then it's supposed to only be used in high atmo!

Didn't expect that, though, now did you? a voice murmured inside his head, and for a moment Zachary had to smile. I really hope you survive this fight, whoever you are, because it takes balls to pull something like that. “Looks like they're running for the K-line, Jurgen,” he spoke, his radio triggered to send voice to his wingmate. “We've got better engines, so let's curve around and—”

“Hah!” came a new voice, which Carver recognized as belonging to Samantha Leblanc. “Finally got them to run! After them!” Even as she said this, Zachary saw the classic tube-and-wings body of her Lucifer fighter suddenly leap forward from the holding pattern she had been in. Her wingmate followed only a moment later and soon both were pushing their engines to match that of the Stukas as the Desperado fighters raced after their quarry. “We'll teach 'em a lesson!”

“Dammit, Leblanc!” Carver shouted. “You can't outpace a Stuka,” he added, while he turned his Riever around to follow after the lighter fightercraft. Even as he spoke, however, the two Lucifers were already pitching back to go vertical and chase after their quarry. “Turn back and support the ground troops.”

“No way,” Leblanc countered. “These bastards have been a thorn in our side for too long, and I'm going to get my pound of flesh for them killing Remus!”

Carver frowned at the image of Leblanc's fighter in his HUD. “Don't be an idiot, Leblanc,” he replied. “We need to fight as a unit.”

“Up yours, backwater,” Leblanc retorted. She used a common insult for Periphery natives, and so Carver could only lean back in his seat in astonishment as she continued. “You might think you're all high-and-mighty with the heavier warbird, but I'm getting a kill today, and you can sit back and watch or help out!”

Carver heard a click as Leblanc cut her participation in the common channel, and then a second one as his wingmate chimed in. “Are you going to let her get away with that?” he asked, curiously.

A thought ran through Carver's head just then, and he could only smirk very slightly. “Ever hear the phrase 'let them have enough rope to hang themselves'?” he asked back. “She wants to chase that badly, then she can do the heavy lifting. We'll let them distract the Stukas and then clean up while they're busy nailing our friends in the mediums.”

A dark chuckle met his words, and Carver felt a slight sense of revulsion. Willing to let their allies step in it just out of spite, he thought, even as he pulled his fighter's nose up. I suppose that's a bit hypocritical coming from me, but turnabout is fair play, after all. He suppressed a sigh at that. I should have never signed up with this chicken shit outfit; I just hope I can live long enough to fix that mistake.

* * * *

“Aaaaaauuuuuuuugggghhhh!” Trade Wind screamed, as he felt his body pressed down and into his seat at over four gravities. Although some might consider it rude, he felt the volume was necessary to make his displeasure heard over the shaking, rumbling roar of a fusion rocket at full power.

“Yeee-haaww!” Melissa shouted back, not even bothering with the radio and/or intercom. “There's nothing like the old ways, are there TW?” she asked, even as she eyed the altimeter readout on her HUD. Only forty-five klicks? Damn, got a bit to go. “Really makes you appreciate what the first pioneers had to go through when they strapped themselves into those primitive chemical rockets.”

“I don't care!” Trade Wind shouted back. “What the hay is going on?”

“Take a look out the canopy and find out,” Melissa simply replied, and then returned her attention to the holographic HUD. As in a BattleMech, a full 360-degree view was compressed into a 120-degree arc in front of her. But where a BattleMech only did this for only two dimensions, a fighter pilot needed to deal with three, and so instead of the band MechWarriors enjoyed, Melissa had to scan a bowl of compressed visual data; a technique that took time, even with her extensive academy training. Even so, she spared a moment to smile as she heard Trade Wind gasp. “Enjoying the view?” she asked, without bothering to look out at it herself. Seen it before, she mused.

“It's... beautiful,” Trade Wind said, barely loud enough to be heard above the constant roar of the engine. Outside he saw a view that even pegasi never got to experience as he watched the world below retreat away from him, the geographical features becoming smaller even as the horizon in the distance began to curve downwards ever so slightly. The world really is round, he mused, briefly, too flabbergasted by the view to care about the acceleration that still made it feel as if two earth pony guards in full armor kit were sitting on him. My teachers always said it was round, but actually seeing it... He would have shaken his head at that, but he was far too fascinated by the view above as the sky slowly darkened. It appeared as if the sun was setting, but he knew the sun was still there, though, as he had to avoid looking at it lest it blind him. Trade barely comprehended it and could only watch in awe as the stars began to appear at midday.

Sadly, his observations were interrupted by the wailing of an alarm. “What is that?” he asked, even as he strained to turn his head around so he could face forward again.

“A couple of our friends were stupid enough to take the bait,” Melissa replied, with a note of surprise in her voice. “Mother of Pi, I was just hoping for us to break contact and get some distance, not actually get the idjits to follow us!”

Trade Wind could only blink at that. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” he responded.

“You will,” Melissa promised, and then trigger the fighter's radio. “You see what I see, Eddie?”

“If you mean the two turkeys waiting to be stuffed, then yes,” her wingmate replied. “How the Hell did those two get certified for a fighter?”

“Probably the FedCom Civil War,” Melissa offered, offhandedly. Her tone remained calm and dismissive, even as the warning tone came again and this time it was followed by the Stuka shaking as a cluster of LRMs impacted its hull. “You know how both sides were throwing anyone they could find into the fight, no matter how half-assed their training was.”

“How can you two be so calm?” Downburst's voice asked, and Trade Wind found himself silently echoing the question. “You have us flying straight up and I can barely breathe and now you say two of them are still chasing us and I'm pretty sure one of them shot us so why are you so calm?”

A chuckle was Melissa's initial reply. “Oh you'll see in a moment, my little pony,” she added, in a cheeky tone.

Trade Wind frowned at that, and he let his displeasure enter his tone; or rather, as much as he could while being pressed back. “Only the princesses get to say that phrase to us,” he responded.

“Well,” Melissa began. “Considering I'm the pilot of this crate you're riding in, that makes me your own personal goddess so long as we're flying,” she explained, arrogantly. “So I outrank your princesses and that means I get to use that phrase.”

“You're daft,” Trade Wind retorted, half in defiance, half in growing unease. Dear Heavens, she really is daft, isn't she?

His silent question went temporarily answered as Melissa spoke up again, triggering the radio as she did. “Alright, Eddie, we're almost there,” she began. “Cut thrust and one-eighty on my mark.”

“You sure?” Rodriguez asked back. “We're only coming up on twenty klicks to the K-line.”

“The air's thin enough, and we don't want our tails to get too many shots at our backsides,” Melissa replied. Her words were emphasized as another wave of long-range missiles ripped into the Stuka's wing's armor. Can't take too much more of this, she thought, the worried tone of her internal monologue a contrast to her affected nonchalance. Thus impelled, she quickly reached towards her main command console and set her fighter's control mechanisms from atmosphere to space. Yes, computer, I know that we still have some air around us, she mentally griped at the system. Finally, she took a glance outside her cockpit to look around. Melissa spied the two glowing plasma tails of the chasing Lucifers not far behind her, and some distance after them were the two Rievers making a more indirect and cautious ascent. They're the ones who should be pursuing us with their better engines, she thought, but then pushed all musings out of her mind as she saw the altimeter reach ninety-five kilometers. “Now, Eddie!” she shouted, even as she cut her engines and then yanked hard on her controls.

Her Stuka acted instantly, as the thrusters in her fighter's nose and tail responded to the stick and rudder controls in a carefully pre-programmed manner designed to make the result of specific control movements the same in space as they worked in atmosphere. Thus Melissa didn't even have to think about thrust vectors but instead could concentrate on her HUD as the world spun around her back-flipping fighter. The thin air attempted to restrain the heavy fighter, but only succeeded in shaking the craft a bit as Melissa brought her targeting reticle over the nose of the leading Lucifer. “Surprise, motherfucker,” she muttered, as she pulled her triggers.

The LRM rack was the first to fire, and it sent a score of missiles from its mounted position on the back and middle of the upper hull to soar right over the cockpit of the Stuka before the Artemis-guided munitions homed in on their target to bathe the entire front of the Lucifer in blossoms of fire. The extended-range large lasers fired next, and sadly two missed to send their energy to auger into some unlucky patch of ground many kilometers below. The other two that hit, however, slagged armor right on the medium fighter's nose and hull, denuding even more protection from the craft. Finally, in the time it had taken to cut engines and spin the enemy Lucifers had closed the range, and so now Melissa could add in her medium-grade pule lasers, both of which slagged a good amount of armor from the Lucifer's nose.

The enemy wasn't put down, though, and thus fired back. The Lucifer's own 20-tube missile rack spat out a cloud of destructive projectiles, though without the Artemis IV fire-control system of the Dark Horse craft a majority of them lost lock thanks to the Stuka's native electronic warfare systems. A good amount still hit, though, but only impacted on the Stuka's well-armored front, barely blasting any armor off at all. The twined large lasers in the enemy's nose fired next, and a pair of coruscating energy streams reached out to tear at the pits made by the LRMs, but again did little but slag armor. Finally the range was close enough that the small lasers in the Lucifer's wings flashed their beams, though only one of them actually hit to little effect, slagging armor on the Stuka's starboard wing.

Melissa took note and could only smirk. This thing was made to attack WarShips head-on, your weapons won't do much, she silently taunted the enemy, even as she fought the buffeting of the high-altitude winds with her stick, and the nauseating feeling of sudden microgravity in her stomach. Fortunately the momentum from the hard burn was still carrying her fighter upwards, and so she kept the nose pointed towards her foe. A part of Melissa's mind noted the exchange of weapons fire between her wingmate and the other Lucifer, though, and then further noted when both of the enemy craft suddenly peeled away, their pilots' confidence presumably shaken. So much so that they're still not using exo controls, she noted. Melissa made a new decision at that moment, and then triggered her radio. “Eddie, keep coasting and concentrate on your target,” she ordered, even as she adjusted her fighter's attitude in order to point her weapons at her new quarry.

“Copy, engaging!” Rodriguez replied, and then fired. Melissa did likewise and her missiles and large lasers joined in with her wingmate's to lash at the retreating Lucifer's underbelly, which remained exposed as the ineffective atmosphere controls barely managed to turn the craft in the thin air. Armor peeled off in great sheets and torrents of slag before one of the large lasers in the volley blasted past the protection and dug deep into the supporting structure to find the fighter's missile bin. The resulting ammunition explosion ripped the Lucifer apart in a fraction of a second, and the blastwave battered all three of the surviving fighters in the area.

Finally nailed one, Melissa briefly thought, as she worked to regain control of her fighter. A quick glance to the HUD showed that Rodriguez was doing the same alongside her, while the remaining Lucifer pilot was cleverly using the sudden instability to sling the fighter's nose around faster than normal. Then the engines flared and began to drive the medium craft away at an escape vector. Lost all your appetite, eh? “Wanna chase the turkey, Eddie?” Melissa asked, as she turned her Stuka around to aim for the fleeing fighter.

“How about we worry about those Rievers coming up to meet us?” Rodriguez countered.

A glance to the side of the HUD showed Melissa exactly what he meant, and she grimaced. They're getting close; I almost made the same damn mistake as those Lucifer pilots, she chastised herself. They warned us at the academy about getting the blood up. “Copy that, Eddie. Let's play chicken and blast through their formation,” she ordered, even as the idea rolled through her mind. “We'll try to lure them away from the fight and then break contact since we're getting close to bingo fuel.”

“Copy, wilco,” Rodriguez replied, even as both he and Melissa fired up their engines again, this time to make another rapid descent.

“What the hay does 'play chicken' mean?” Trade Wind asked, from where he was still reeling from the strange, backward-flying, upwards-moving fight he had just witnessed. And we're still going backwards straight up! But why do I feel like we're falling?

“You fly towards each other head-on,” Melissa replied, even as she pushed her throttle forward. The Stuka responded instantly and Trade Wind felt the acceleration return, even as a great wash of silvery light filled the cockpit now that there was little air-refracted sunlight to compete with the fusion exhaust. “And the first one who turns away loses.”

Trade blinked, and he took a moment to think while the fighter he rode in arrested its momentum, and then began to fly back towards the ground below. “That has to be one of the stupidest things I've ever heard,” he stated.

“Hehe, yeah,” Melissa simply agreed. “Try not to scream again, it's distracting,” she added, and then returned her concentration to flying.

* * * *

“Where the Hell were you!” Leblanc shouted over the radio, and straight into Carver's ear.

“Flying like I actually went through academy training, you stupid cunt,” Carver heatedly retorted. “Now pull together whatever professionalism you have left and tell me your status!”

To her limited credit, Leblanc spoke up after only a moment’s hesitation. “Armor’s denuded fifty to seventy percent across all major arcs, ammo’s down by a third, and I’ve got two pissed-off Stukas on my tail!”

“Not for long,” Carver replied, as he angled his Riever towards the descending heavy fighters. “Head back and give support to the ground-pounders; we’ll handle the Stukas.”

Leblanc muttered some kind of acknowledgment, but Carver had already mentally tuned her out. Instead he concentrated on the approaching Dark Horse craft and turned his radio to the channel he shared with his wingmate. “We make one head-on pass, Jurgen, and then we pull around and tail them,” he ordered.

“Yes sir,” his wingmate replied. “Full alpha-strike?”

“Yes,” Carver answered, even though he felt a twinge of guilt at it. I can't help it, I have to at least fake it, he thought. “Now tuck in; here they come,” he added, as he saw the icons grow on the HUD. Both of the Dark Horse fighters were screaming in on a head-on course straight for the Rievers. Smart move, Zachary thought, even as he pushed his throttle forward to meet the implied challenge from his opponents. They can't beat us in a turning fight so they're going for the boom-and-zoom.

All conscious thoughts in Carver's mind then ceased as the distance rapidly closed. Threat warnings both visual and auditory erupted into life as the incoming Stukas locked on with their weapons. Carver reciprocated immediately, and then held his breath as the two groups of heavy fighters raced for each other at trans-sonic speeds.

Then the targeting pip on the HUD flashed, and Carver's trained reactions took over. He squeezed the triggers on his weapons and let loose a full barrage at the lead Stuka, starting with the massive class-20 autocannon mounted directly under his cockpit. His fighter shook violently as hundreds of kilograms of autocannon shells raced outwards and, to his relief, missed the Dark Horse fighter. Next were his missiles, both long- and short-range, and fully half of these also missed their targets, and what did hit scattered their explosive payloads across the front of the targeted fightercraft; only armor sheared off in their wake.

The return fire from the Stuka, though, was punishing. LRMs blotted out his vision briefly as they erupted all across the nose and wings of Carver’s Riever, and the lasers mounted on the assault craft burned off nearly two tonnes of protection along the leading edge of the flying wing. Zachary had to fight his stick to keep the inherently unstable craft from pitching out of control, and during that time the two groups of fighters had passed each other.

“Yeah!” Carver heard his wingmate yell over the channel they shared. A glance to HUD and its compressed image quickly showed Carver the reason why: the Stuka Poole had faced off was heading almost straight down, its cockpit a glaring, burning hole. “Nailed that fucker with the BFG!”

So that’s what happened, Carver realized, and then suppressed a sigh. Ferroglass is resilient, but it won’t stand up to a lucky shot from a cannon that can rip smaller fighters in half. “Good work, Jurgen,” he forced himself to say, despite the regret that filled his soul. “Form up on me and we’ll try and chase the other one down.” And I hope that surviving pilot knows what he’s doing.

* * * *

“Downburst!” Trade Wind shouted, as he watched the dead fighter drop out of the sky.

“Eddie,” Melissa whispered, and then shook her head briefly. “Goddammit!” she shouted, and then pushed the nose of her fighter down.

The sudden shift in pitch brought Trade Wind out of his shock, and he turned to look at the back of Melissa’s neurohelmet. “What are you doing?” he asked, still half in a daze.

“Trying to lose them in the ground clutter,” Melissa replied, and Trade Wind felt a shiver run down his spine as he noted the complete lack of emotion in her voice. “They’ll be coming after us now, and two versus one is bad enough but they can also outmaneuver and out-speed us.”

The shiver along his spine shifted and became a cold, sudden chill in the pit of Trade’s stomach. “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Melissa replied. “But if they do I’ll make damn sure they work for it first.”

Trade Wind had no reply for that. Instead he simply turned his head to look out of the back of the cockpit to see the two Rievers in the distance as they turned to pursue, and then looked forward again to see the ground still a very, very long way away. “Shit,” he said, softly.

* * * *

Whitetail Woods

“Shit!” Dorian Carmine yelled, as his 100-tonne Atlas was rocked by the combined laser fire from two surviving Phoenix Hawks. The humanoid 'Mechs looked for all the world like over-sized men in power armor, save for their ten-meter height, and the fact that the armored vambraces on their forearms contained multiple lasers and machine guns. Most of these weapons spat out their deadly energy and payload straight at the Dark Horse assault 'Mech and despite the shield projected by Carmine's passenger, much of the firepower got through to wither armor away on the 'Mech's chest and arms. “I don’t suppose you could turn up the juice a bit, Lyra?” Dorian heatedly asked of his passenger, though he never took his eyes off the HUD.

“I’m already stretching my mana reserves to the max with what you got now,” the mint-colored mare replied, from her position in the passenger seat to the left and behind the main combat couch. She then winced as another barrage of laser fire passed through her shield spell, which then sucked even more energy from her reserve and made her horn ache. “How about you try not getting shot?”

“Working on it, string-butt,” Carmine retorted, and used the nickname he had coined for the mare after meeting her for the first time. He then jerked the controls and slewed the broad-shouldered ‘Mech’s torso around to take a snap-shot at one of the Phoenix Hawks with his medium lasers, but only one hit and barely slagged some armor off of the foe’s left arm. Both of the enemy war machines then took their leave and retreated back through the trees to avoid any other return fire.

Isn’t this what we were supposed to be doing to them? Dorian asked himself, as he pulled back on the throttle to move his Atlas backwards, towards the retreating infantry column he was helping to protect. Weren’t we the ones supposed to do the hit-and run attacks to wear them down as they marched? Gotta hand it to the Desperadoes, they’ve certainly adapted. Though it’d be hard not to after the drubbing we gave them from the ridge.

A grumble came from his passenger, presumably due to the joke nickname. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Lyra fired back at him, and though neither could look into each other’s faces at the moment, they knew they shared a brief smirk. “How much longer do we have to be this ‘ablative point-man’ thing you were talking about?”

“As long as we can, darling,” Carmine answered. He then fell silent as the Atlas’ computers painted another target, this one a Centurion, on the HUD. The warning was timely, as the 50-tonne humanoid ‘Mech dashed out from cover a second later and opened fire with the autocannon that made up its entire right forearm. The shells seemed to burst open as they approached the Atlas and their component parts slammed into the armor across the entire, broad front of the skull-headed assault ‘Mech, though Lyra’s shield managed to deflect half of the pellet spread.

LBX autocannon, Carmine automatically noted, even as he returned fire with his medium lasers and SRM rack. Neither medium laser managed to hit, but three of the six short-range missiles slammed into the side and arm of the enemy ‘Mech before id continued its run and disappeared back in the foliage. “Damn, didn’t think they’d have any upgrades,” Dorian muttered.

“What do you mean?” Lyra asked, even as the ‘Mech began to walk backwards again.

Dorian checked his HUD before he replied, and once he saw that it was clear he decided to indulge in the unicorn’s curiosity. “Most of the Desperadoes are using the older, more reliable, but less capable technology,” he explained, even as he checked a secondary MFD to check the map showing the position of various friendly units. “That ‘Mech that just nailed us, though, was an upgraded model using a cluster-munition autocannon. I’m just surprised they had one,” Dorian explained.

“Ah,” Lyra replied. The pair then fell quiet for a few moments, and only the rumble of the fusion engine and the reverberating footfalls of the assault ‘Mech were heard. “Is it me, or did it get quiet?” she asked, suddenly.

“It’s not you,” Dorian replied, and then checked his HUD again. I don’t like this, he thought, as his instincts started to scream at him. Dorian then reached out and flicked a control on his console to turn his radio back to voice-triggered. “Dark Horse Four calling Dark Horse Two, how’s the evac going?”

“Oh just peachy keen, Four,” Rebecca McKenna replied back, though the sardonic tone gave lie to the literal meaning of her words. “Why are you asking?”

“Because it just got quiet up here,” Dorian answered. “And I’ve been ambushed enough times to know when excrement is about to hit the rotational air distribution device.”

“Copy, Four. Give me a minute to talk to a few of the others,” Rebecca replied, and then fell silent as she switched channels.

Dorian glanced to his map readout again, and he gave it a longer look than before. The Dark Horse were spread out in a rough V-shape to protect the retreating column of Equestrian infantry, with the 100-tonne Atlas as the point aimed straight at the oncoming enemy forces. Not that I mind rear guard duty, but I’d prefer to be in something fast, Carmine thought. I guess the armor and weapons have really come in handy so far, but being in this position means I’m kind of far from help.

It was then that Rebecca’s voice sounded on the channel again. “Two calling Four, I spoke with Stonewall and he’s getting his boys to double-time it. You can go ahead and pull back at a full run; I’ll move forward and meet you on the way just in case.”

“Copy that, Two,” Dorian replied, with some relief in his tone. “On my way,” he added, and then reached over to flick the radio back to ‘trigger’ mode.

“I’m guessing that’s good news?” Lyra asked, while Dorian slowed the Atlas to a stop and then started it turning.

He did have a moment to spare a glance at a mirror he had affixed to a bare structural support, though, through which he could make eye contact with his passenger. He fought hard to suppress a grin at the adorable image of the unicorn in the oversized—for ponies—cooling vest she wore. “It is,” Dorian replied, and then turned his attention back to his controls so he could concentrate on piloting again. “It means we won’t be stuck out like a nail waiting to get hammered in anymore.”

It was then, of course, that excrement hit the rotational air distribution device. Alarms blared as six new contacts appeared on the HUD, and Carmine felt a ball of ice materialize in his stomach. “Oh shit,” he said, and then whipped the Atlas back around. Once reoriented, he looked out and through the canopy as four ‘mechs stepped out from behind copses of trees, and two soared in on jump jets.

In front of him were two of the contacts: the upgraded Centurion and a Wolfhound. For the briefest of moments Carmine was struck by the oddity of the two humanoid ‘Mechs, as without scale they almost seemed like men in costumes, or perhaps powered armor. The former with its distinctive head crest and visor-like canopy, and the latter with its pointed head and triangular sensor arrays particularly put Dorian in the mind of Halloween. The momentary illusion was broken, though, as both of the enemy machines raised their right arms, which for either design ended not with a hand but with a ‘Mech-grade heavy weapon.

Off to the left of Dorian’s Atlas, meanwhile, was a pair of Commandos, which like the one in the Dark Horse resembled foot troopers in standard armor, save for their immense size when compared to an actual human. Individually an Atlas could pound each of them into scrap, but combined into the trap that had sprung and outside of his main firing arcs meant that they were a real threat to Carmine, indeed.

Finally, the two surviving Phoenix Hawks had returned off to Dorian’s right and rear, landing on jets of ion flame as they used their superior mobility to finish the encirclement. The Dark Horse MechWarrior barely had a half second to let all of this information run through his mind before he acted. “Shield!” he yelled, and hoped Lyra would respond quickly enough, even as he settled his targeting crosshairs on the Centurion’s broad chest.

What happened next would be a blur to those involved, and only the review of BattleROMs after the fact would tell the truth, as every ‘Mech fired at almost the same moment. Dorian acted only slightly faster than the others, as he pulled the triggers on every weapon he had save the LRM rack. The gauss rifle in the Atlas’ torso hurtled its deadly payload forth at hypersonic speeds to slam into the armor directly over the enemy ‘Mech’s heart, smashing the last of the armor there into plasma and dust. The medium lasers mounted in the arms and head fired next as the computers cycled energy from the fusion reactor from one system to the other, and two missed to turn a pair of trees in the background into expanding clouds of water vapor and burning fiber. The third, though, managed to slag armor on the Centurion’s right torso and mangled the protective doors over its LRM launcher, but otherwise only worked to mar the formerly pristine surface. Then the six tubes of short-range missiles filled with fire as the homing weapons soared forth, and all but one managed to maintain a lock through the cloud of dueling electronic warfare systems to slam into the medium ‘Mech’s arms and torso armor. Finally, Dorian fired the Atlas’ sole rear-firing medium laser at one of the Phoenix Hawks using the compressed HUD in a desperate bid to hurt or distract them, but the hastily-aimed and half-attentive shot went wide.

The return fire was coming in even as the Dark Horse ‘Mech vented its fury, and Lyra only barely managed to ratchet up the shield’s power before the fusillade landed. The Centurion threw everything he had at the Atlas, including his LRMs. The close range, though, meant that the long-range weapons had little time to arm, and so they impotently splattered on Lyra’s shield and the Atlas’ armor, spreading miniature fireballs as their ammo and fuel loads went off not in a controlled manner that would penetrate any protection, but wildly and without focus. The autocannon, and medium laser, though, performed admirably, and the cluster munitions of the LBX that got through sanded armor off of the entire front of the Atlas, while the attenuated beam of the laser scored a deeper wound on an already damaged patch of armor on the Dark horse ‘Mech’s right arm.

The Wolfhound fired next, and its array of lasers filled the air with beam trails as they reached out to cut even more protection off of the assault ‘Mech’s legs and torso, and these were soon joined by the similar array of weapons mounted on the Phoenix Hawks which, due to their angle, managed to concentrate their destructive power on the right side of Dorian’s ‘Mech, and the weakened armor on the arm finally gave out just in time for some of the coherent light to tear apart the medium laser mounted in that arm.

The strain of so many impacts after all the stress of holding the shield up for so long finally got to Lyra then, and she yelped in pain as the spell finally overloaded her reserves, and only the fortuitous cut-out engineered into the spell’s logic kept the feedback from permanently injuring her. Sadly, though, this mean that the two Commandos had a free shot at the Dark Horse giant, and they sent their lasers and clouds of SRMs to savage the already blasted torso armor. The lasers gouged the armor deeply, and a score of the homing missiles slammed across the left arm and torso, blasting more protection away.

Unfortunately for Dorian, his luck had just run out; one SRM struck into one of the many laser-carved grooves in the Atlas’ armor, and its shaped-charge warhead spat a jet of plasmatic copper into and through the weakened protection. This act of random chance happened to occur right over the storage bins for the assault ‘Mech’s Long-Range Missiles, and the influx of heat and pressure was more than enough to set off the weapons’ warheads and propellant. Hell was unleashed within the Atlas’ left side and the explosions consumed and wrecked internal structure and mechanisms alike and set off the SRM ammo as well to add to the conflagration. Likely this would have continued on to ravage the rest of the ‘Mech, but James McKenna cared about the lives of his employees and had the Atlas retrofitted with Cellular Ammunition Storage Equipment; baffles and channels redirected the majority of the damage through blow-out panels in the back and saved the ‘Mech’s core from being annihilated by its own ammunition.

Not that Dorian really had time to consider this as the left torso disintegrated in a fragment-filled fireball and the Atlas’ left arm, bereft of support, dropped to the ground. The intense release of energy within the ‘Mech sent a massive, paralyzing wave of neuro-kinetic feedback through the ‘Mech’s internal systems and thence into Dorian’s neurohelmet. A scream ripped out of the human’s throat as his existence became nothing but pain for several long, agonizing seconds, and his vision darkened as his brain tried to shut down to avoid the pain. No… dammit… not… now! he managed to scream at himself over the pain, and through sheer force of will managed to stay awake. “Oh, fuck, my head,” he mumbled, even as he struggled to regain his wits.

“Dorian? Are you okay?” Lyra asked, and her voice helped the MechWarrior bring himself around. He blinked his eyes back into focus as he looked to see the wincing, frightened visage of the mint unicorn in the mirror. “What happened?”

Dorian glanced at the readouts in the cockpit, and then winced deeper than the one he had been wearing. “Ammo explosion,” he replied, and then pulled back on the throttle. The Atlas, though heavily damaged, responded perfectly as the infrastructure of the BattleMech allowed its many systems to immediately adapt and remain functional despite massive internal damage, and the war machine began to move backwards as fast as it could go in reverse. “Need shields, Lyra,” Dorian ground out, even as he shifted his gaze to the worsening situation on his HUD. Shit, it looks like more are coming and I haven’t even taken any of these bastards.

“I don’t know if I can,” Lyra responded morosely. “That last attack took a lot out of me.”

“Then just put it over the left side, at least,” Dorian suggested, as he saw the foes jockeying for another salvo. Both Commandos were running to circle around his back even as Phoenix Hawks kept pace with him and were slowly aiming their weapons for maximum accuracy. In front the Centurion and Wolfhound had spread out a bit to lessen the chance of Dorian splitting his fire to maybe take out both, and like the Phoenix Hawks they were concentrating more on aiming than movement. And, somewhere just beyond visual sight but easily discernible to his sensors, a lance of Griffin support ‘Mechs were assembling. No doubt they’re getting ready to rain LRMs on us, Carmine mused. “Now!” he shouted, as lock-on warnings warbled in the cockpit.

Lyra grimaced at the shout and warning tones. We must be in deep in it, she thought, and then frowned as she put all of her concentration back into her magic. Her horn and head ached with overuse, and the energy she normally commanded seemed weak and anemic, but after a moment the unicorn managed to pull up another shield that covered the gaping hole where the Atlas’ left torso used to be and covered the ‘Mech’s core from direct damage.

It came up just in time, as the Centurion opened up the next round of salvos with a barrage of cluster autocannon rounds and a medium laser. The former hit, though most of the projectiles were deflected by Lyra’s shield and the few that did impact the Atlas merely gouged its central torso armor slightly, and luck had a bit of relief for the ‘Mech as the laser missed outright.

The Wolfhound attacked next, followed by the two Phoenix Hawks, and their combined arrays of large and medium lasers reached out to savage the right arm and right and central torso of Dorian's 'Mech. Armor melted in rivulets and spalled off in clouds of vapor and chips, but the protection held and kept the interior from being destroyed.

Dorian counterattacked the next instant, and the gauss rifle spoke again. The air shattered as the fire-wreathed ferrous slug blasted into the as-yet pristine Wolfhound and crushed all of the protection on the light 'Mech's left torso and wrecked some of the supporting structure beneath. The medium lasers mounted in the head and right arm reached out next, and they slagged armor over the central and right torso of the canid-like machine, neatly stripping away nearly half of the enemy's protection.

While this exchange finished, Dorian triggered his radio. “Four calling Two, I'm in up to my waist and the tide's rising!” he exclaimed, even while he started to spin his ‘Mech around to try and avoid the incoming LRMs that his HUD highlighted. The arching waves of guided semi-ballistic missiles came down in sheets to blast yet more protection off of the Atlas, and Dorian began to feel a very real sense of fear. Assault ‘Mech or not, magic or not, nothing can be hammered like this forever and live!

“Two here, I copy you Four, moving up to assist,” Rebecca McKenna’s voice sounded, even through the ringing booms of multiple warhead detonations. “Sitrep,” she added, making the word a simple but firm order.

“Ten ‘Mechs in contact, six mediums, four lights,” Dorian reported, even as he fired his gauss rifle again and sent on of his few remaining shots for that weapon into the Centurion’s left leg, and then followed it up with laser fire that sent the medium-class machine toppling to the ground. Not out, just down for the moment, the MechWarrior’s mind noted automatically, even while the other Desperado ‘Mechs in direct contact rained laser fire on his battered machine. “A shot got through my armor and ammo-racked my missiles. A third of my ride is completely gone and the armor on the rest is melting away like snowballs in Hell.”

“Two copies. I’m coming up with pegasus support,” McKenna replied, her voice somewhat broken up by the jarring motions of her ‘Mech running at full speed. “ETA is ninety seconds.”

“I don’t think we have that long!” Carmine rebutted, even as he laid a gauss slug and lasers into the Wolfhound again. The light ‘Mech took it on the figurative chin, as its chest armor was ripped apart by the savage energies and large chunks of its internal structure were ripped asunder. At least one of its chest-mounted medium lasers bit the dust as it exploded in a ball of shrapnel and the ‘Mech staggered, and then collapsed from the sheer shock of losing so much armor at once.

The return fire from the surrounding 'Mechs was murderous, as laser after laser ripped into and through Lyra's denuded shielding, causing the unicorn to cry again in pain as her magic was finally and fully depleted. Worse yet, the many weapon hits slagged tonnes of armor off of the Atlas' legs, remaining arm, and torso to expose the inner workings of the right side of the 'Mech's broad chest. Finally, missiles from the Commandos followed up their lasers and augured into several exposed portions of the assault 'Mech's internals. Shaped charges ripped into and through structural supports, control systems, and critically, the massive Poland Main Model A Gauss Rifle. The burning hellfire of molten copper and explosive shockwaves blasted several of the storage capacitors for the weapon right after they had finished drawing power from the 'Mech's fusion reactor, and the resulting release of electromagnetic energy amplified the disastrous internal damage, causing almost the entire right side of the Atlas to disintegrate in a manner similar to an ammunition explosion.

To add to Carmine's woes, the detonating gauss rifle sent an amount of feedback through the neurokinesthetic controls that was almost identical to that produced by a detonating ammo rack. For the second time that day his world became pain, and another, tortured scream ripped its way out of his throat and rent it raw. This only lasted a moment, though, before the pain overwhelmed his senses and drove the man into unconsciousness.

* * * *

Lyra had her eyes shut tight as she violently shook her head to try and clear it of the pain from having her shields knocked down again, as well as the torturous cacophony of two very loud explosions that shook the war machine she rode in and the pained screams of Carmine. Such thoughts wafted through her head as she worked to get her mind straightened out, and the unicorn wrenched her eyes open to take in the scene before her. Unfortunately her position did not let her see much of the BattleMech's controls so she couldn't get much information from them—not that I'd know how to read half of them, anyway, she briefly mused—but the mirror on the forward canopy support let her see that Carmine was slumped down in his chair, his arms and body limp and held up only by his restraining harness. His head was also held up by the immense, shoulder-riding bulk of his neurohelmet, and through its faceplate Lyra could see the expression of pain that he wore even while unconscious. What did those explosions do to him? she wondered, even as she cleared her worn throat. “Dorian!” she called out, roughly, as her own yells of pain had worn on her vocal cords.

No answer was forthcoming, as the human remained out of the world. Oh no oh no, Lyra thought, nearly in a panic. My mana’s almost gone, but… She took in a deep breath, and then dredged up the last, tiny scraps of magic power available to her. Pain from over-use made her entire head ache as if placed in a vice, but Lyra remained focused as she used a bit of her telekinesis to remotely grab Carmine’s shoulders, and then used that grip to shake him lightly. “Dorian, wake up!”

Her efforts were rewarded with a groan that emanated from the human, and after a moment more he stirred. “Oh dear God in Heaven and all the devils in Hell, what the fuck hit me?” he asked, in a half-mutter.

“I’m not sure,” Lyra said, with a raised voice so she could be heard. “But I—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence as the battered ‘Mech shook from more weapons impacts, and an alarm sounded. “Caution, reactor shielding damage: CPS 28% above nominal.”

“Oh fuck me with a sword,” Dorian groaned out. The monumental pain in his mind made it nearly impossible to focus, but the radiation warning was enough to pierce through the haze. A glance at the control console readouts and the HUD showed a most disheartening scene: half of his Atlas was gone. An ammo explosion and a gauss rifle rupture, he realized. If it weren’t for CASE we’d be dead. Shit, we might still be, Carmine mentally added, as he saw the various Desperado ‘Mechs closing in for the kill. Only one thing to do… “Lyra,” he said, slowly and clearly. “Get out of your seat and sit on my lap.”

A moment of silence met this, broken only by warning alarms of weapon lock-ons. Then Lyra spoke up “Dorian,” she began, exasperated. “Now’s not the time to be hitting on me!”

“Lyra,” Dorian ground out, his voice heavy with pain and determination. “This machine is about to go down hard. My seat can eject, yours can’t.”

Another moment of silence, then the sound of buckles and rustling fabric was heard. A glance to the mirror showed that Lyra had gotten the idea, and soon enough she was free of her restrains and was climbing into Carmine’s lap. “I guess we’re going a bit fast, aren’t we?” she teased, as she set her rump down on the bare skin of Dorian’s thighs.

“Yeah, seems like I’ll have to meet your parents next,” Carmine quipped, even as he wrapped his left arm around the unicorn’s back—a bit of a trial with the bulky cooling vests they both still wore—and his right reached down to a large, yellow and black striped bar switch located between his calves. When Dorian spoke next his voice was devoid of mirth. “Wrap your arms around me and hold on as tight as you can; the seat wasn’t made for two and you might go flying off otherwise.”

“Is this a good idea, then?” Lyra asked, even as the crippled Atlas shook with more weapon impacts. The motions sent a rush of fear up her spine, and she reached out to clutch her forelegs around Dorian’s neck partly in response, and partly due to his instruction.

“Probably not, but it’s this or I leave you here to die,” Carmine replied. “Now hold on and try not to vomit,” he said, and then pulled up on the eject lever.

Several things happened in very quick order at this point. Firstly explosive bolts mounted in the cockpit roof detonated, filling the compartment with a deafening cacophony and blasting a portion of the armored shell directly above the command couch sailing away. Blue sky could be seen though the new opening, but neither occupant had a chance to reflect on it before more bolts blasted apart the connections between Dorian's seat and the cockpit framework and a thunderous roar filled his and Lyra's world with noise and light as the escape rocket mounted in the bottom of the command couch lit up. Abrupt and intense G-forces slammed into the pair as the command couch was propelled up through the hole in the roof and beyond.

Lyra could only cling desperately to Dorian's neck as she watched the world fell away from them at a prodigious rate. Below she could see the battered, smoking Atlas take another wave of laser beams from Desperado ‘Mechs that hadn’t noticed that the machine was now inert. One of them apparently hit something rather vital, as the abandoned assault ‘Mech suddenly exploded in a brilliantly white fireball. That could have been us, Lyra chillingly thought, while she blinked her eyes clear from the after image of the reactor “explosion”.

A sudden shift hit her then, and Lyra redoubled her deathgrip on Dorian’s neck as the seat tilted back. A glance to the human’s face showed that he was concentrating on something, and Lyra let her eyes shift down a bit to see that his free hand was busy, working the control stick built into the arm of the command couch. I thought that controlled weapons? she briefly mused, in that moment of incredulous shock that follows a dramatic event. I guess it does more than one thing. I wonder why he’s tilting us?

A moment of observation revealed to the unicorn the reason for Carmine’s angling; the rocket motor on the couch was still firing, and the MechWarrior was using it to try and head in the direction of friendly help. Just as she realized this, though, Lyra felt the rocket cut out and the sensation of freefall descend upon her. This only lasted a few more moments before a loud bang was heard and something flew up from the back of the couch. Then the air filled the cloth and the parachute snapped open to abruptly arrest the descent of man and pony. The sudden jerk that this caused nearly made Lyra lose her grip, but fortunately Dorian’s arm tightened around her back and kept her secure. “Hold on, now,” he said, with a faint smirk on his face. “The date’s not over yet ‘til we’ve had a smooch.”

Despite the situation, Lyra laughed. “You’re a jerk, Dorian,” she said, in jest, even as the seat swung a bit in the crosswind.

“Tut tut, Lyra,” Carmine replied. “If you’re going to insult me, be a human about it and use a word with bite.”

“Up yours, monkey-boy,” the unicorn retorted.

“I guess that’s close enough for now,” Dorian observed, with a more pronounced smirk.

Any further banter was stopped cold, though, by a distant shriek. Both unicorn and human turned their heads to look out towards the east, and Lyra could feel her heart sink as she saw a cloud of griffons closing in on them. “Oh no,” she uttered.

“It ain’t over yet, pony girl,” Carmine said, and then shifted his free hand towards a pouch on his cooling vest. “Don’t worry, though, ‘cuz these griffons are about to learn two simple facts about me,” he added, as he undid a button and then pulled out a large, menacing looking revolver that had glowing spots on it.

“What’s that?” Heartstrings asked. Whether she referred to the pistol or Carmine’s words, even she didn’t know, as her brain was filling with primal fear as the aerial predators closed in enough for her to see the patches of dried blood on their armor.

“From Sera,” Carmine replied, as he aimed the pistol and then used his thumb to pull the hammer back. “With Boltok.” And with that he fired, and the bulky weapon roared as it bucked in his hand.

The effects were immediate, as a very powerful round reached out and touched an approaching griffon with lethal precision. A millisecond later said griffon’s head exploded, and even as his body dropped from the sky another one took the second round from Carmine’s sidearm. Four more times he fired, and when he was done a good chunk had been taken out of the enemy formation. This gave the griffons enough of a scare that the rest of them pulled back a bit to assess their target.

Dorian, meanwhile, had set the now-spent gun into the crevice between the couch’s bottom cushion and the arm. “Right, now that we’ve got a moment,” he muttered, and then looked down. “Be a dear, Lyra, and help me look for a clearing to set this thing down in?”

Lyra blinked at the sudden change of demeanor, but she shoved her confusion to the side as she angled her head to look around. After a moment, she spotted a bare patch of earth, and then shifted one of her forelegs from Carmine’s neck to point to it. “Over there!”

“Alright, I see it,” Dorian replied, and he shifted his free hand again to the joystick on his seat’s arm. Deft movements of the stick sent input to the small computer built into the couch itself, and from the device went electric signals up the small wires built into the parachute lines to tiny strands of myomer embedded in the canopy itself. These tensed and released according to the signals to open and close flaps, and thus directed airflow so that Carmine could accurately steer the descending couch towards the spotted clearing.

Another griffon war call hit their ears then, and both human and pony looked up to see the enemy had regained their nerve and were now coming at them again. “Must land faster,” Lyra earnestly observed.

“Working on it,” Carmine replied, as he returned his attention to guiding their escape vehicle. “Hold on, Lyra, this is going to be an unpleasant thump.”

Lyra could only nod and then resume her deathgrip on Carmine's neck. Dorian grunted at that, but as his neurohelmet shielded him the most he felt was a bit of mild pressure. Focus, he told himself, and then did so as he watched the ground come up to meet him.

The impact was indeed rough, and the chair even bounced once before it toppled over to the left side on the uneven ground. Both passengers yelped in surprise at that, but good fortune saw that neither of them suffered injury. Carmine realized this immediately, and he released Lyra to let her settle on the ground before he started to use both hands to undo his restraints.

Lyra grasped the situation quickly, though, and then quickly stood up and took a few steps away from the chair and the parachute that was starting to drape itself over the area. The unicorn pony saw this and then called up her denuded magic, and grimaced as she used her trickle of remaining power to shift the cloth canopy to the side so as to not let Dorian become entangled.

“Thanks,” the human said, as he easily noted the unique color of Lyra's magic even while he got to his feet. “I always have problems with that,” he added, as he reached up to unclasp his neurohelmet, which he then tossed onto the seat he had so recently left.

“No problem,” Lyra replied. She then looked up to the sky to catch a look at the enemies she knew to be approaching in the air, but the tall trees of the old forest blocked most of the sky. Nevertheless she could tell they were close by the growing sound of wingbeats, and her ears canted forward to catch more of the ominous sound. “I hope you have more shots for that gun of yours,” she muttered to Dorian.

“Not much more,” Carmine replied, even as he retrieved his gun and then reached into a pocket on his cooling vest. Several large rounds were in his hand as he pulled it back out and then went about reloading his revolver. “But Rebecca said she was coming with support; we have to hold here for a moment since she'll be homing in on the rescue beacon in the chair.”

Lyra's eyes widened at that, but she had no chance to respond before the first wave of griffons appeared over the tops of the trees and then dived on them. “Dorian!” She shouted in alarm.

The MechWarrior responded instantly, and he spun around and aimed his gun high as the first griffon dove at him. The Boltok in his hand roared and blasted the charging warrior's chest wide open, but more were coming and Carmine had to dodge to the side to avoid a swooping dive from another griffon with a sword.

Two more targeted Lyra, and the pony had to dive to the ground to avoid their blades. A third saw this and then landed on the ground in front of her, and Lyra could only stare up in defeated shock as she watched him sneer and draw back his mace for a killing blow.

Then his head disappeared in a cloud of red and pink as a burst of nine millimeter slugs ripped it apart. Lyra gasped as the griffon's headless body collapsed to the ground, both from the suddenness and from seeing death first hand, but before she could think on it another burst of gunfire ripped into an airborne griffon and slayed him, as well. Then a blue blur flew over her head and cut a chaotic path through the griffon warriors and drew their attention away from the unicorn on the ground, followed by several more less speedy figured who made quick, slashing strikes with swords that further injured, slayed ,and discombobulated the griffons.

Lyra blinked at this, and then felt a sense of relief as she recognized the Wonderbolts in their distinctive uniforms, as well as the prismatic flash of Ponyville’s most famous pegasus. Relief turned into fear again, though; as she saw more griffons appear over the treetops and dive down on the outnumbered pegasi, who were even now engaging in brutal close quarters fighting. Save Rainbow Dash, who darted through the area to take shots with her SMG.

It was into this chaos that Carmine fired several shots, even as he ran over to where Lyra remained on the ground. “Come on, pony girl,” he said, as he reached down with his free hand and grabbed Lyra's foreleg near where it met her body. He then lifted the unicorn onto her hooves before he released her. “We need to get out of here.”

Still shocked and fearful, Lyra could only nod up at the human before she turned to follow him towards the edge of the clearing. The two had barely reached the treeline when a thumping sound previously in the background suddenly became prominent, and a familiar, husky voice shouted behind them. “Wonderbolts hit the dirt!”

Both Lyra and Carmine spun around at that, and they beheld the Wonderbolts diving to the ground as the griffons paused, and then sneered down at what seemed to be easy targets. Their sneers did not last long, however, as the thumping became louder and was joined by the rustling and snapping of breaking trees.

A moment later, Rebecca McKenna arrived. Her broad-chested Warhammer broke through a bough of trees off to Lyra's right, and scarcely had the blocky machine appeared before a whining was heard and two minigun barrels mounted on the chest began to spin up. After a half second these guns and the medium pulse lasers mounted in its chest began to fire into the griffon force. Lances of laser trails and a constant stream of tracers lit the area in an appropriately Hellish light as the rapid-firing weapons filled the air with death and carnage. Lyra found herself staring at the Warhammer with wide eyes as she watched streams of brass bullet casings pour from ejection slots just below the multi-barreled machine guns, and the air rippled around the pulse laser mountings as the BattleMech's cooling systems worked to dump waste heat into the environment.

Then as abruptly as it started, the firing ended. An eerie silence fell over the clearing, and Lyra tentatively turned her head towards where the griffons had been. She trembled to see that the air had been thoroughly cleared out by the impressive display of 'Mech firepower, leaving only broken, burnt, and bloody bodies on the forest floor.

“Dorian!” a voice shouted, and the unicorn turned her head again to see Rainbow Dash flying over towards where she and Carmine stood. “Are you two okay?” the pegasus asked as she hovered before them.

“We're in one piece, thanks,” Dorian replied, even as he took out another handful of rounds and reloaded his pistol. “And thanks to you, too, Rebecca!” he added, in a shout directed towards the angular head of the Warhammer.

“You won't be thanking me when Jim gets back,” Rebecca McKenna replied, via her 'Mech's external speakers. “You lost his Atlas and he's gonna be pissed.

“But that can wait,” she added, as her tone grew serious again. “Captain Spitfire, are your troops fresh enough to carry our rescuees back to the main column?”

“Definitely,” replied the fiery-maned pony standing in the midst of the clearing carnage.

“Good, get at it while I cover your retreat.”

* * * *

Rebecca McKenna waited for Spitfire's acknowledgment before she turned off her external speakers, and then sighed. “At least we got to them before the enemy did,” she observed.

“I’m glad to hear it,” her passenger chimed in. As with Carmine, Rebecca had affixed a temporary mirror on a cockpit support strut so she could cast a look back at her unicorn rider. A quick glance at said mirror revealed the green eyes of the piebald, chocolate-maned pony looking back at her. “But aren’t the enemy forces close?” he asked.

“Yes and no,” Rebecca replied, and then focused back to her HUD and then started to turn her Warhammer around. She made sure that the broad feet of the 70-tonne war machine would trod carefully on the uneven ground of the forest floor before she glanced to her holographic display to check on the others in the clearing. Both Lyra and Dorian were already being picked up, literally in the human’s case: two ponies had reached under an arm each and were bodily hauling him away, while Lyra had hopped onto a stallion’s back before being spirited into the sky.

Her rider seemed to understand the demanding nature of the moment, and so waited until Rebecca had finished the evolution before he spoke again. “So are we going to be shot in the back, or not?” the unicorn, Rocky Road, asked.

“Dorian steered his seat clear of them a bit, so we’ve got some breathing space so long as we get going,” Rebecca answered, as she pushed her ‘Mech’s throttle to the max setting. The Warhammer responded almost instantly and quickly reached a loping pace that had its gun-barrel arms swinging back and forth in mimicry of human locomotion. And battering aside random trees, the woman noted, as a moderately young tree was smashed into kindling when the heavy ‘Mech ran right through it. “Also we have the advantage of knowing where our friends and enemies are at. The Desperadoes will have to feel their way forward now that they’re not in contact with us, so that should also buy us some time to get back to the main column.”

“Yeah, but they caught up to us once already,” Rocky Road observed.

“Well, that’s why we’re heading for the river,” Rebecca explained. “Once we get everyone across we can set up a defensive line and hit the Desperadoes again and halt their advance. And maybe this time we won’t get any of those damn changelings screwing things up.”

The unicorn winced. “Be careful saying stuff like that,” he said, cautiously. “It usually comes to bite ponies in the flank when they say things of that nature.”

Rebecca shot him an irritated look. “You’re starting to sound like my husband,” she wryly observed. “He's paranoid about things like that, too.”

“Well, in Equestria words tend to have weight at times,” Rocky added. “Magic and all that.”

“From what I've seen what you call magic is just another energy manipulation system,” Rebecca returned. “I don't see how it would care about what words are actually spoken.”

Just then the radio came alive, and voices sounded from the cockpit speakers rather than the earphones built into McKenna's helmet; a courtesy to her rider. “Blackfoot One to Dark Horse Two, there is emergency situation at the re-arming point.”

Rebecca blinked, and then frowned heavily as she double-checked an MFD on her console that displayed the local area map. Then she hit a switch to activate her microphone. “Speak to me, Ivan,” she responded.

“Blackfoot head back with Kage troopers to regroup and rearm,” the armored infantryman reported. “Found camp attacked by bug-pony things, think they are changelings, da?”

“Attacked?” Rebecca repeated. Rocky Road looked into the mirror and saw her eyes widen a bit. “How bad?”

“Severe loss of life to support staff, both human and pony,” Ivan explained, his tone dispassionate and even. “Many casualties besides. Ponies healing their own thanks to magic, but it does not appear that we will be able to rearm 'mechs.”

“Damn!” Rebecca shouted, even as she slammed a fist on one of the armrests of her command couch. She took a moment to gather herself, and then spoke again in a more professional tone. “What's the current situation with the changelings, Blackfoot?”

“Main force killed or driven off, some prisoners taken,” Ivan responded. “Area is currently secure. Changelings using medieval weapons, no offensive magic. Blackfoot can hold against battalion-sized force without help, but only until ammo runs out.”

“Two copies. We'll be there soon enough, Ivan, just keep things stable until Jim or I get on the scene.”

“Understood,” Ivan replied. “Going back to Blackfoot channel.”

“Copy,” Rebecca said, and then flipped a switch on her console to stop transmitting. She then let loose a string of profanity that would rival most sailors, and then sighed. After this her eyes flicked up to the mirror and stared a hole into Rocky Road's soul. “Not one word,” she said, coldly.

Rocky Road wisely mimed zipping his lips shut and kept his peace.

* * * *

Applejack winced as a potion filled her body with a brief round of energy that set her healing into overdrive. Suddenly her head cleared and her hearing returned to normal in a rush that made the earth pony dizzy for a moment. A voice then spoke to her: “Are you alright, lady Applejack?”

The orange Apple looked up and then blinked as she recognized the uniform of a field medic on the stallion who had spoken to her. “Yeah,” she said, a bit hesitantly. Then she shook her head and nodded before she spoke again. “Yeah, Ah am. Thank you, corporal.”

“Good,” the gray earth pony said, and then turned to lift the potion bottle with his hoof and place it back in the white saddlebags he wore. “I didn't want to use more than I needed to; we're going to need all of it,” he added, and then glanced around.

Applejack mirrored him in growing dread, as she sought to confirm what she had observed while concussed. Sweet Maker an' all the stars in the sky, she thought, as she saw the lines of bodies that had been hastily collected from where they'd fallen. Human and pony alike lied in repose side-by-side, with only the changeling dead separated from the rest, as they were set out in a line of their own near the edge of the clearing. At least, the ones still in a big enough piece ta count as a body, Applejack realized, with a shudder. No wonder Dash was acting all weird before; this is terrible.

The stallion who'd spoken to her simply gave her a knowing nod, and then turned to head off to the next pony in the triage line that Applejack had been led to by a cajoling McCoy. Said human was himself being tended to by a pink unicorn mare with similar set of white medic bags over her back, and the gruff old man was talking into his headset even as he was treated. “I donna care if ye got a load lifter or not, ye better get that damned gantry tore down an ready for hauling or you're gonna find me foot up your ass!”

“Sir,” the medic attending him said, as she used her magic to try and tighten up the bandages that covered his wound. “You've taken a nasty hit, I think you should try to calm—”

“Ye finish that sentence, lass, and we'll see how far a unicorn can fly with a boot-assisted takeoff,” McCoy snapped at her, with an angry expression on his face. “I got too many a things tae do tae sit back an' let some candy-colored pony tell me t' relax!”

The mare winced at that, but she stood firm as she finished working on the human. “I won’t pretend I can order you,” she said, calmly. “But you should take this injury seriously.”

“I'll do that when ye start treatin' me seriously, instead of one tenth me age,” McCoy fired back, and this time the mare did shirk back. “Now git tae treatin' them who got it worse than me,” he added, and then stood and started to walk off and back towards the now disrupted supply camp.

Applejack frowned, and then stood up and trotted off to catch up with the elderly man. “Ya don't got ta be so harsh on the girl,” she admonished McCoy after she slowed to match his pace. “She's only lookin' out for ya.”

“An' she can do that without baby talkin' me,” McCoy countered, without even looking down at the earth pony as they walked down an aisle between parts and ammo containers. “I appreciate that she cares, but I've had worse and I donna care for any coddlin' she feels like giving.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Ya had worse than a spear in yer side?” she asked, skeptically.

McCoy snorted. “They don't call me 'Steeljaw' just because I'm an arsehole,” he replied, and then tapped his bearded chin with a finger. “Had th' old one shattered by a bullet back in th' Fourth War,” he explained. “The docs replaced it with a metal one. Took me six months tae learn how tae talk again. Half the reason I grew a beard was tae hide th' scars.”

The farmer could only wince at the explanation. “Ah'm sorry ta hear that,” she said, with sympathy.

Once again, the human snorted. “It was fifty years ago, lass, ye ain't got tae say anything 'bout it,” he responded, and then shook his head as the two reached the end of the aisle and paused to look out over the center of the camp. Here was where they had both been hurt, and here were the still recent marks of blood and viscera that made even the jaded mercenary pause.

Applejack, meanwhile, had to clench her jaws as bile rose in her throat. What the hay did Alice use, anyway? she wondered. Dang thing just... blew 'em apart. How did that happen? How could anypony do that to another?

Sort of how them changelings killed some guards in the Canterlot invasion, and a whole lot of ponies and humans just now, a voice whispered in the back of Applejack's head, and she had to shake it to clear her thoughts a bit. All this killing, it just ain't right.

“Anyway,” McCoy interrupted her thoughts, and Applejack turned her head up to see the man giving her a surprisingly sympathetic look. “We ain't got th' time tae be talkin' 'bout old war stories. We lost too many people tae make a proper rearming station, an' from what I heard on the radio the boys up at the front got a drubbin' thanks tae our wee bug problem,” he said, and then sighed as he looked over the camp, which was now in disarray. Applejack followed his lead and took in the scene of various workers, both human and pony, struggling to accomplish several smaller tasks, but all seemed to be without much guidance. “We're no longer an asset, lass,” McCoy added.

“So what does that mean?” Applejack asked, with genuine curiosity and concern peeking through her melancholy.

“It means we need tae get out buts in gear an' get out o' here,” McCoy answered, and then swept an arm over the camp. He then winced and bent over slightly to apply a hand to his bandaged wound. “Ach, damned cut. Anyway, lass, from what I've been hearing them boggart changelings royally screwed our plan up. We're supposed tae have time and manpower tae fix everyone up, but we lost too many an' the Desperadoes are hot on our boys' heels instead o' bein' discombobulated like we'd hoped. This all needs tae be packed up or we're gonna have tae burn it, and I'd rather have something tae arm our forces when we get back tae Canterlot.”

“We're gonna hafta go all the way back?” Applejack asked, as she looked up at the old man in mild shock.

McCoy nodded. “Aye. There ain't much between your capitol an' Manehattan that can make a good defensive position, and we're at the second one,” he explained, and then paused as he walked over to a nearby, low-slung crate, and then sat down on it with a groan. “This plan always had a narrow margin o' victory, and thanks to th' changelings that margin's damn near gone. So we gotta do what we can tae try an' recover,” he explained, and then spitted Applejack with a hard look. “Which brings me tae you.”

“Me?” Applejack asked, in surprise.

“Aye, you,” McCoy replied, with a nod. “Th' pony in charge o' the army detachment got 'imself killed, an' with this wound an' me age it's gonna take all me attention tae just get my own people up an' running,” he said, evenly. “I need you tae take charge, lass, an' light a fire under your people's backsides so we can get th' Hell outta Dodge.”

Applejack blinked at that, as her memory tweaked at the human idiom. Nevertheless she recovered quickly and then shook her head. “Ah ain't no kind of leader, McCoy,” she said, slowly. “Ah wouldn't even know where to begin.”

“Bullshit,” McCoy replied, harshly, and then pointed a finger at the orange-colored mare. “You're a farmer, an' I seen ye do some good things on th' way here. If ye ain't capable o' organizing than ye wouldn't have a business no more, an' I spoke with Rainbow Dash enough tae hear how ye've kept your family's farm runnin' and even grown it a bit,” he observed, and then paused for breath while Applejack blushed and then pulled down on her hat a bit to hide her eyes. “Ye seem tae be capable enough tae me, lass.”

“Even so,” Applejack began, as she looked back up at the human. “Ah ain't no military pony. Them boys ain't gonna listen to me.”

“'Cept they will,” McCoy rejoined, and then smirked. “I checked 'fore we left Canterlot, lass; you're a knight o' the realm, from what I hear.”

Another blush washed over Applejack's features at that. “That's jus' honorary,” she protested, as she glanced down.

The sound of a heavy sigh broke into Applejack's thoughts, and she looked back up at McCoy. “I ain't got time for modesty or self-doubt, lass,” he said, slowly. “We've got a ridiculously short amount o' time tae get everything going if we're even gonna save th' people here, let alone the material. From what I've been told ye're th' mare for the job. The question is, are ye gonna step up an' take a swing, or are ye gonna sit back and hide like a wee little girl?”

The fur on Applejack's hackles rose a bit at the harsh question, but she hesitated to give an answer. Can I really do this? she asked herself, as she scrunched her mouth up in thought. This ain't no farm we're dealing with, this here's lives. She opened her mouth and was about to refuse, but then noticed McCoy looking out and over the area. Concerned, Applejack looked as well, but then relaxed slightly when she saw no new catastrophe unfolding. What she did notice, though, was the exact same view as before, but now with McCoy's words running through her head she saw it with different eyes. There's no organization, no leadership for the folks around here. Hay, for all I know they could be working against each other, and they wouldn't know it. Her eyes then traced down to the bodies in the distance, and sadness washed over her. All them killed, and more could die if we don't get out of here quick enough.

Something familiar filled her soul then, and Applejack felt her jaw set in determination. Not while I can do something, she thought. If McIntosh and I can keep the farm running, I can certainly do this. A faint smirk briefly flashed over her muzzle at the thought. Heh, Mac always did let me organize things. Guess me an' Twilight got something else in common aside from big, goofy older brothers. With that, she turned her head back to McCoy, who was looking at the mare. “Alright, let's git 'r done.”

McCoy managed a rare smile. “Glad tae hear it, lass,” he said, and then became serious. “'Cus we got no time to lose. Now, here's what I need...”

* * * *

“You cheating son of a whore!” Melissa McKenna cursed as she wrenched her Stuka hard to the left to avoid incoming cannon fire. “There is no way in Hell you have more ammunition for that penis gun!”

Trade Wind desperately used what gripping magic he had in his hooves to try and keep from being thrown around in his seat. The restraints are good, but they leave the limbs to flop about if you're not careful, he incredulously mused, in a brief moment of distraction. Then Melissa made the heavy fighter suddenly reverse its turn, and the crippled pegasus was tossed against the other side of his seat, held in place only by his harness. Right, I should probably pay attention to this fight I'm in but can't help out at all and OH FUCK I'M GOING TO DIE.

This last thought came at a particularly appropriate time as the Stuka, flying just above the treetops, looked set to run into the side of a very large hill that was halfway to being a mountain. Of course, whether the pile of earth and rock deserved that title was immaterial as either way it would be quite unhealthy to run into it. Fortunately, though, Melissa had anticipated the obstruction and pulled another hard right to avoid a collision, as well as a wash of missile fire from the two Reivers following behind and above them. Trade Wind had the bare impression of fire blossoming on the hill before the feature whipped past at an insane speed.

Scarcely had this occurred when another large hill loomed in the front, and then abruptly shifted as Melissa pulled another, hard right turn and then immediately followed it with a one hundred eighty degree roll to port and then a hard left turn; a fortuitous move that threw off the aim of the fighters behind her once again. “C'mon, run out of ammo already!” the human grunted, more to herself as she had seemingly forgotten about her passenger.

“Is that really the best chance we have?” Trade Wind asked, half in fear. “Wait for them to shoot us so they'll stop shooting us?”

“You have a better idea I'd love to hear it!” Melissa shot back, even as she pitched the Stuka up and over a small copse of trees that happened to be just a bit taller than the rest. She then quickly pushed the nose back down and then slung her fighter to a wide left turn as a swarm of missiles nearly hit. Then a second swam came in and blasted more armor off of the stern. The fighter shook and a warning started to warble in the cockpit. “Damn!” the pilot cursed, after she took a look at an indicator in her HUD.

“What is it now?” Trade asked, concerned.

“Armor's almost gone,” Melissa replied, with a fatalistic tone. “Maybe if those Lucifers hadn't been pelting us earlier I could've held out, but...”

“There's gotta be something we can do,” Trade Wind offered, and then winced when Melissa threw her fighter into another hard turn around a mountain. Although he hadn't been trained in how to fly a fightercraft, Trade had picked up a bit on how to read the HUD he could see over Melissa's shoulders, and thus could see that her maneuver had gained them time as the turn had put their pursuers on the other side.

“I'm doing the best I can, but they're faster and more maneuverable than we are,” Melissa explained. Her tone was strained as she continued to pay most of her attention to piloting, given that the aerospace craft was still hurtling along at treetop level. She even paused briefly as she noted a slight dip in the terrain and took advantage of it to push her craft just a little bit lower, and thus gave the Rievers now on her port quarter less of a profile to target. “Our only advantage is we have energy weapons and they don’t, but that won’t matter if they get another solid hit in!”

Trade Wind could only stare in mute silence as his mind processed the pilot’s words. Is this really it? he asked himself, as the Stuka was thrown into another rough turn. Everything in my life, everything I’ve been through, all the fighting and struggle and stress, and I’m about to be killed because of stupid random chance?

Despair started to fill his soul at that, but his ruminations were cut off as Melissa spoke again: “shit,” she uttered.

“What now?” Trade asked, morosely.

“They split up,” the human pilot responded, and then sighed. “They’re using their better speed and maneuverability to come at us from two angles. I don’t think I can’t dodge the crossfire.”

“There’s gotta be something for you to do!” Trade Wind protested.

“I don’t know if there is,” Melissa replied, a mix of steel and sadness in her voice. “I’ll try, Windy, but if you got any prayers you want to make, better do it now, ‘cuz here they come.”

Her last words were punctuated by the screaming alarms of targeting systems locking onto the Stuka, and Trade Wind felt his pulse race even faster than before as the fear of imminent death caused his body to dump its entire adrenalin reserves into his blood. No! NO! This is not how it ends! he mentally screamed, and then suddenly reached with his forelegs and slammed his hooves into the sides of the cockpit. He had no conscious idea of what he was doing, and in fact he had no subconscious idea, either. Trade Wind simply lashed out in the way that only primal survival instincts could muster and reacted with the only strength he could use in the situation: pegasus magic, which flowed through and out from him and into the airframe of the Stuka.

Whether by fate, fortune, or happenstance, it was precisely the right thing to do. Even as the magic took hold Melissa was desperately pulling back on her controls to bring the fighter out of their enemies’ targeting envelopes. It’s not enough, she thought, as despair filled her. I’m sorry, mom, dad, I waaaat the FUCK?! This last bit came just as her fightercraft, beyond all expectations, pulled up faster and abruptly accelerated as if it were a light craft one third its size and mass. Melissa’s maneuver suddenly became over-exaggerated to the point where the fighter she flew wrenched itself completely out from the two Rievers’ sights just before two converging clouds of missiles would have finished off the wounded Stuka. Instead the various SRMs and LRMs simply crisscrossed the suddenly empty space, with a few colliding and detonating each other.

“What the fuck was that!” Melissa shouted, even as she desperately wrenched her controls a few times as the fighter over-responded to her commands. Soon enough, however, she got a feel for the new conditions, and then took a moment to check her HUD. Both of the Desperado Rievers were suddenly farther behind and below her, and the latter condition made the human blink hard before she checked her altimeter. “We gained eight hundred meters?! Windy,” she said, as a part of her mind started to make connections. “Did you do something?”

“I think?” Trade Wind replied. His breathing was still heavy from the adrenalin surge, but his conscious thought processes were starting to reassert themselves. “I… I just panicked and threw all of my magic into the fighter,” he said, after he took a moment to think.

“I thought that just let you stand on clouds and shit?” Melissa asked, and then tested the controls with caution. “How are you making this thing move like a light fighter?”

Trade Wind had to shake his head at that, both to help clear it, and also at how the human had ignored or forgotten some of the explanation of pegasus magic she and the other humans had been given when the plan was laid out by her father. “It also makes us able to fly, even though our wings and muscle strength wouldn’t be enough on their own to let us do so. It makes us lighter, increases airflow over our wings, and reduces air resistance, and we can channel that into objects so we can tow carts and chariots.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Melissa asked, and then took a moment to physically twist around in her seat to look back at Trade Wind with wide eyes. “How come you haven’t been doing that this entire fight, then?”

Trade Wind helplessly shrugged at her. “You never asked, and I didn’t think your machine could make use of my limited magic,” he said, tiredly. “It took a team of thirty pegasi to push this thing into position after your cranes put it on the cloud, after all.”

“Yes, but we weren’t on our own power then!” Melissa retorted. An alarm sounded from her console then, and she turned back around in her seat to check the HUD. “We’ll talk about this later, TW. Right now, how long can you keep this up?”

“I don’t know,” he said, with some strain. “I’m running on adrenalin, and that increases our magic output like it does with muscles. But it won’t last forever and I’ll be drained, especially with how large and heavy this thing is. Maybe a few minutes, more if I reduce the effect, but if I do I’m not sure if it’ll be enough to help any.”

“Anything is better than nothing!” Melissa replied, and then pulled on her controls. The now-nimble fightercraft rolled to the left and then spun on its horizontal axis to pull up and out of the line of an LRM cloud with ease. “If we live through this, I’m going to kill you for not telling me about your magic. After that I might just marry you if you can bring this kind of performance to the table.”

Trade Wind blinked, even as the fighter went through an Immelmann turn. Then he said the first thing that went through his head: “Your species is weird.”

“Pot calling kettle: you’re black,” Melissa retorted.

“Duly noted.”

* * * *

“I don’t know who’s in that thing, but he’s got some balls,” Jurgen Poole observed, with a rare note of respect in his voice while the Stuka below hurtled along at treetop level between mountains.

“Agreed,” Carver added, even as he and his wingmate pulled their Rievers up in a three-dimensional arc, rising in height as well as banking out to the side to get a better position on the fleeing Stuka. “He might just live, too, if we don’t get him with our next few rounds.”

A grumble met that observation, but no verbal reply or disagreement came back over the radio. Jurgen’s not an idiot, Carver noted. Which makes it sad that he’s also a bit of a selfish prick, too, like most in the Desperadoes. He shook his head at that, and then checked the HUD. “Alright, we’ve only got a few more rounds in us, so let’s make them count,” he announced, even as a part of him wanted to rebel. If the Dark Horse can’t win, then making myself useful to O’Connell is the only way to stay alive long enough to work against him, he grimly remembered the cold political calculus he and Seabreeze had gone over. And I won’t be useful if I let someone get away without making an effort of some kind, at least.

With that, he pulled up on his stick to gain some altitude, and Poole followed suit. “Okay, Jurgen, we’ll split up. You’ll approach from the right and I’ll come from the left to pincer this guy in our fire. It ought to be enough to finish the poor bastard off.”

“Copy that, boss. Sounds like a good idea,” Poole agreed.

“Right,” Carver said, and then took a deep breath. “Execute.”

At that word both he and Poole pulled on their controls, and their flying wings split off from one another to spread out before they turned inward and down, towards the Dark Horse fighter only ninety meters below. Looks like we have you now, he darkly mused, while his targeting system solidified its lock and then chirped at him. “Now, Jurgen!” he called, and then pulled the trigger on his missiles. Nearly two score of SRMs and LRMs blasted free from their launchers to corkscrew in and towards the hapless Stuka, and Carver felt a note of sympathy as he saw the pilot desperately trying to overcome his craft’s relative lack of maneuverability and twist out of the way. Too little, too late, he observed.

It was thus an immense surprise when the 100-tonne Stuka pitched up and accelerated faster than a heavy fighter had any right to. Zachary could only stare in shock as the Dark Horse craft broke out of the engagement envelope and dodged every single missile fired at it by shooting up and higher than even his own fighter in a mere second. “What the fuck?” he asked, even as the Stuka soared up and above both his and Poole’s fighters and raced ahead of them.

“Odin’s beard!” the other Desperado pilot yelped into his radio. “Did you see that?”

“I saw it, but I hardly believe it,” Carver replied, even as he felt an odd mixture of relief and frustration. Even when I know better, it’s hard to not want the kill, he mused. Then he shook his head a bit. “Some more magic, I guess. Come on, let’s get after ‘im,” he ordered, and then pushed his throttle forward and pulled his stick back.

“I copy that,” Poole confirmed, and then followed suit. He also nudged his fighter into formation with Carver without being told, and the two Rievers soon were behind the Dark Horse Stuka and closing in on the battered fighter.

They had an LRM lock within seconds, and Carver could only do what he’d been trained to do. “Fire!” he ordered, and then sent ten missiles downrange, followed quickly by Poole’s own barrage. Both streams of missiles soared in far faster than any fighter could move, yet the Stuka almost seemed disdainful of the attack as it pitched back and swung out of the line of fire like a ballet dancer swinging around his partner.

“Dammit!” Poole yelled over the channel, and a glance to his HUD showed Carver the reason why. “I'm bingo LRMs and I've got only two rounds of SRMs and three cannon volleys left.”

“Same here,” Carver replied, and then sighed as he watched the Dark Horse fighter corkscrew through the air to avoid being locked-on again. “We're never gonna catch him at this rate, Jurgen; let's pull back and go re-arm.”

“Are you sure, boss?” Poole asked. “The Major won't like us letting one get away.”

“Considering we've stripped his armor and killed his wingmate, I'd call it a victory,” Carver replied, and then pulled back on his stick. The Riever ably responded, and soon he and Poole were on an easterly course back to their makeshift airfield. “Besides,” he added, as he checked one of his MFDs. “If the ground plot is any indication, we've got 'em on the run.”

* * * *

Heat filled the cockpit of Johannes Schneider’s Firestarter OmniMech as he fired both of his machine’s large lasers. The arm-mounted heavy weapons made a distinctive, loud trilling noise as their capacitors discharged and blazing red beam-trails cast a hellish light back into the cockpit itself. Schneider wasn’t even aware of these sensations, though, as he concentrated entirely on his piloting and targeting, and in the latter case he watched as his efforts were rewarded and one of his weapons scoured the last armor over a Wolverine’s left arm and ate some of the structure underneath.

The Desperado MechWarrior, however, responded quickly and decisively as he fired an alpha strike back at the lighter ‘Mech. The autocannon stitched a line of shattered armor plates up the Firestarter’s left leg, and the medium laser slashed even more protection off of the right arm. Fortunately for Schneider, though, the SRMs lost their lock in the cloud of dueling ECM and ECCM systems and all six of the missiles soared off to detonate amongst the trees.

And if we hadn’t come out to meet this wave then those might’ve killed some of the natives, Schneider reminded himself, even as he winced at how naked his ‘Mech was becoming. They’re crossing the river now, but until they’re done we’ve got to keep the Desperadoes busy.

Schneider pulled back on his throttle even as he mulled over the tactical situation, and within moments his Firestarter was backing off in an attempt to put more concealment between him and the three enemy ‘Mechs that had appeared in his sector. “Could use a shield when you’re ready, Fire,” he said to his passenger.

“I’m trying,” the blue-coated unicorn replied, as she frowned and concentrated. An orange glow appeared around her horn for a moment, but soon dissipated, and she sighed. “I’m still kind of worn out from that last hit,” she explained.

“Yes, those LRMs are getting rather annoying,” “Hermes” agreed, dryly. “Fortunately, we have our own support,” he added, as he watched ID tags on his HUD denoting friendly LRM clouds reaching out to smash into an enemy machine. The HUD also revealed that the enemy had pulled back a bit to reorganize, and Schneider took a moment to check the tactical display on one of his MFDs again.

The remaining Dark Horse ‘Mechs had formed a simple battle line, with Rebecca McKenna’s Warhammer in the center, with Silva’s Centurion and Mendoza’s Commando on either wing. The two exceptions were Delacroix’s Catapult, which was slightly behind the Dark Horse line to better allow Earl the chance to provide fire support on any threatened ally, and of course James McKenna’s Highlander, which was now on the tactical display but still two and a half kilometers distant. And he’s got heavy woods to maneuver through, as well, Johannes noted.

He also took note of the enemy positions that were known, and the situation was not entirely favorable. The Desperadoes had recovered from the ambush and now their dander was up; they pressed in hard whenever they could find a Dark Horse ‘mech, and the latter were fast running out of fallback room as they seemingly inched closer and closer to the river ford that the Equestrian army was using to pull its troops to relative safety.

“Relative” being the operative word here, Schneider wryly noted. We still have no idea if we got rid of all those damn changeling infiltrators, and the griffons keep pressing in on the ponies from the north; only their airborne troops are keeping the ground-pounders from being reamed. He looked up and consulted his HUD for a moment, and then stopped his ‘Mech’s retreat before he turned it to the right and moved off to be somewhere other than where the enemy expected him to be. The only good news is that neither side has aerospace fighters strafing us, so at least we don’t have to worry about that.

Even as he thought that, Schneider saw a new icon pop up on his HUD, and the battle computer quickly revealed the airborne icon as a Lucifer. Well, I spoke too soon, Hermes thought, as he noted that the medium-class fighter was alone. What happened to our birds?

He decided to push such thoughts from his mind as he saw the enemy fighter angling for a strafing run. “Now would be a good time to get us shielded, Firecracker,” Schneider observed to his passenger.

“I’m working on it!” the mare replied, and then screwed her eyes shut as her horn lit up again. This time the glow remained in place, and soon a shield formed around the Firestarter. “There,” Firecracker Burst replied, as she opened her eyes to give the MechWarrior a pained look. “I don’t know how long I can hold it, but it should blunt at least one attack.”

“Anything is better than nothing, love,” Schneider replied, as he slipped a bit deeper into his New Avalon accent; something he usually did when stressed. “Now hold on, this isn’t going to be pleasant.”

The lone Lucifer streaked in even as he said this, and within a fraction of a second its lasers flashed as the 65-tonne aerospace craft flew overhead. Six lasers, two large and six small, gouged lines of burning foliage, glassed soil, and ruined armor along a one hundred fifty meter-long line, although Firecracker’s last-second shield managed to wean off most of the energy before it hit the Firestarter. What energy did get through, though, slagged some of the last armor over the medium ‘mech’s left arm, and one particularly random bolt slammed into the head, and the reaction of armor spalling off of the outside of the structure was enough to heavily shake the cockpit and its two occupants.

“Damn!” Schneider shouted as the ‘Mech settled. He shook his head to clear it, and then checked the HTAL armor display on his right-hand MFD. That took more than I wanted to lose, he darkly mused, and then glanced over to Firecracker. “You okay there, Fire?”

“Mostly,” the unicorn replied, as she reached up to rub her unlit horn with a hoof. “I really don’t know if I can bring up another shield today,” she morosely added, and then sighed. “I’ve never felt so spent be—”

Her words were cut off as a warning sounded in the cockpit, and the Firestarter shook as more LRM fire found its way in to rip off armor from the torso, and several missiles slammed into the unprotected left arm. Schneider’s eyes snapped back to his HUD and winced as he saw one of the lines of text that represented various weapons’ status was grayed out. “Shit, lost the weapon in that arm,” he muttered, and then pulled his throttle back as enemy ‘Mech icons reappeared to his front. “Three calling Two,” he said into his radio, once he flipped a thumb control to activate it. “I’m down one large laser and I’ve got a Wolverine and Griffin gunning for me; I could use some help, here.”

“You and everyone else,” Rebecca replied, her voice harried and overlaid by the sound of particle cannons firing. “Alright, let’s fall back to the river; Stonewall ought to be done by now, and we need to trade space for time.” She paused, and then when she spoke again the volume of her voice had lowered slightly, indicating a broad angle transmission. “Dark Horse Two here, all units fall back to the river. Repeat, fall back to the river,” Rebecca ordered.

A chorus of copies came in, and Schneider was one of them. It was all he had time for, though, as the Wolverine closed in again through the thick woods to open up his line of sight, and the Desperado ‘Mech quickly brought up its autocannon-bearing right arm and aimed it directly for the Firestarter, while lock-on alarms sounded in the Dark Horse ‘Mech’s cockpit.

“Oh fuck this,” Schneider said, and then slammed down on a set of pedals outside of the ones he used for steering. A tremendous roar filled the air as the Firestarter’s jump jets blasted out superheated air and sent the 45-tonne ‘Mech flying. This occurred with fortuitous timing as the enemy Wolverine fired its weapons in the space where Schneider’s ‘Mech had been, and thus the three weapons systems missed and instead blasted trees and dirt into a very fine mist.

Not that Schneider had time to muse on it, as he used the jet pedals to steer his ‘Mech through the air via sheer vectored force. A glance outside the cockpit revealed the surrealistic scene of a small river valley, idyllic in appearance save for the various patches of burning forest and trails of smoke and weapons fire lacing the area. Johannes put such observations to the side, though, as he rotated the Firestarter even as it flew so he could face towards the river, and thus was able to come to a landing just inside the treeline on the east bank.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to something like this flying,” Firecracker Burst wryly noted.

“Better than pigs, at least,” Schneider quipped, while he pressed the throttle forward to send his ‘Mech loping forward and into the open air.

“What?” Burst asked, confused.

“Nothing, old saying,” Schneider said, dismissively. “Hang on, we’re going for another spin,” he added, and then triggered his jump jets again, and again the ‘Mech soared through the air, this time across the river and near the treeline on the west bank. Once on the ground Johannes again pushed his throttled forward, and soon enough had the Firestarter amongst the trees, whereupon he spun it around.

“What’re we doing?” Burst asked, curious.

“Overwatch,” Schneider explained, and then paused as both he and his passenger watched in differing states of fascination as the hunched, birdlike form of the Dark Horse’s Catapult burst through the trees on the east side of the river, and then fired its jump jets. Silvery ion flame burst from the rear of the forward-jutting cylindrical torso of the 65-tonne support ‘Mech and sent the massive machine flying over the river, much as Schneider had done. The distance it travelled was much shorter, though, and Delacroix’s ‘Mech landed in the mud of the riverbank. Slightly unbalanced by the soft ground, Earl had to wave his machine’s stubby, missile-box arms for a moment before he could steady it, and then sent it running into the canopy a distance to the right of the Firestarter.

“Not all of our ‘Mechs have jets,” Schneider continued, once the spectacle was over with. “And some of the ones who do don’t have as much range since they’re also much heavier, so we need to cover the ones who aren’t as mobile while they cross the river, just in case.”

“I see,” Firecracker noted, and then fell silent as she watched more BattleMechs tromp out from the trees, one after another. First came Griffin’s Assassin, which ran out from cover only a few dozen meters before the MechWarrior within triggered the jump jets. The fast medium design looked especially unnerving as it flew, given that the hunched down head and surprisingly stocky body looked even more alien to pony eyes than other humanlike designs. Yet the way it moves is surprisingly elegant, Burst admitted to herself, while she watched the ‘Mech alight on the west riverbank and then spin to run off towards the south, further downriver before it disappeared into the woods.

David Silva and his Centurion appeared after that and the heavily-retrofitted design sprung into the air on its own jets and landed off to the north, before it too turned to find a position. After this both Mendoza’s Commando and Shepard’s Grand Dragon breached the far side’s canopy and then plunged into the river, as neither had jump jets. Because of this they stayed in view much longer and didn’t move quite as fast, which let Firecracker Burst take a good, long look at the battle damage they had accrued. Huge gouges, holes, and lines of melted metal all over them, the unicorn noted with a grimace. If a beast had that kind of appearance you’d feel sorry for it. The very thought of such powerful machines rendered so heavily damaged drove home the immensity of power that human weapons had available, and Burst felt a bit proud that her shields had lasted as much as they did. But I can’t help but feel a bit humble as well, she noted, as both the Commando and Grand Dragon finished their fording and broke off to take up positions. My shield lasted, but in the end I can’t do it for very long. These things can take the same pounding and yet still stay working. It’s amazing what these aliens can do without a lick of magic, let alone what we can do together.

Firecracker was broken out of her reverie by the appearance of Rebecca McKenna’s Warhammer, and though the broad-chested design had seen better days, its armor looked better off than most of the other ‘mechs that had passed by. Though it still looks like it took a trip through Tartarus, Burst morosely noted.

Burst saw why a moment later, as a wave of laser and particle cannon fire ripped through the foliage and slammed into the 70-tonne ‘Mech, only for most of it to be bent aside or denuded by a shield that popped into life at the last second. What damage was incurred hit mainly along the legs, and though the ‘Mech staggered, Rebecca’s piloting managed to keep it upright and moving forward, even as she swung the hips out and used the shift in mass to help spin the Warhammer around and halt with its back to the river. Now with its weapons and armor facing towards the threat, the machine began to back up, even as the pilot fired both particle cannons back into the woods.

* * * *

“Enemy Detected.”

“No shit,” Rebecca McKenna grumbled back to her computer, even as she jostled her targeting reticles over the projected outline of an Enforcer that her ‘mech’s sensors painted on her HUD. Her aim was hurried, however, as she was distracted with the maneuvering of her ‘Mech, and thus she missed with both of her particle cannons. Heat flooded the cockpit as the cooling systems were briefly overwhelmed. Rebecca felt sweat start to swell from the pores on her skin only for the small droplets to evaporate in the sweltering compartment, though the sensation was brief as the Warhammer’s double-strength heat sinks kicked in and soon dumped most of the waste heat outside of the ‘mech. So efficient were they that the instant the Warhammer’s feet touched the mud of the riverbank steam rose from its prints and the machine left behind dried dirt in its tracks.

Not that the matron McKenna noted this, as she was too busy cursing the fact that her shots had missed. Still, at least it spooked him, she thought, as she watched the Enforcer’s outline fade as its pilot backed up to break solid contact. Before she could even consider her next move, though, Rebecca heard the all too familiar warning tone of missile lock-on, and a glance to her HUD showed several trails of LRMs arcing down at her. “Incoming!” she shouted for the benefit of her passenger.

Rocky Road didn’t verbally reply, but nevertheless did respond as he cast his shield once again. The next few seconds were a sea of pain as he struggled to maintain the shielding spell against the clusters of high-explosive warheads. Sadly his concentration was not enough to perfectly maintain the link between his magic reserves and the spell matrix, and so several missiles passed through the shield as it phased in and out of existence to blast armor off of the Warhammer’s chest. A moment later the barrage ended, and Rocky Road opened his eyes to glance at the cockpit mirror. “Sorry,” he muttered, sadly.

“You did good Rocky,” Rebecca replied, while she continued to guide her ‘mech to walk backwards into the river. “This thing’s armored for a reason, after all.”

“Yeah,” Road agreed, and then shook his head. “But magic regenerates, the armor doesn’t.”

Rebecca didn’t have anything to say to that, so she kept silent and instead focused on keeping her ‘Mech moving without falling over in the surprisingly deep and fast-flowing river, while still moving backwards and scanning her HUD and sensor readouts all at the same time. And the mudfoot thinks we have it easy, she wryly mused.

Thankfully the rest of the crossing was uncontested, and soon enough Rebecca had her Warhammer in a position to watch the ford from inside the cover of the western forest canopy. “Alright everyone, sound off,” she called over the radio, on the company-wide channel.

“Three here, still blasted halfway to Hell and my passenger is too spent to throw up another shield,” Schneider responded first.

“Five here,” Earl Delacroix chimed in. “I’m down to one-third ammo on my missiles, but my armor hasn’t taken much of a beating, and my rider’s good to go.”

“Six calling,” David Silva spoke next. “I’m down to half load on my ammo and I’ve lost about twenty percent armor across the board. My rider’s getting tired but she says she can keep going for a little more.”

“Seven here,” Tania Griffin replied. “I’ve managed to avoid most damage and I’ve still got sixty percent ammo,” she reported. Unlike most of the other Dark Horse ‘Mechs, her Assassin couldn’t carry a passenger, and so she had no pony to report on.

“Eight responding,” Alexis Shepard spoke. “I’ve lost about thirty-five percent armor, down to half ammo on my LRMs. Wash says he’s good for a few rounds more, but not much beyond that.”

“Nine here,” came the voice of Franz Mendoza. “I’ve gotten one Hell of a beating, almost no protection left, and I’m down to two salvoes of SRMs,” he reported. Like Griffin, his ‘Mech couldn’t carry a passenger and so his response ended there.

“Blackfoot reporting,” Ivan chimed in. “Rear position still secure, no threats apparent.”

“Actual here,” came the voice of James McKenna, and Rebecca startled as she had forgotten he was closing in. “We’re one klick out and closing, but don’t wait on us; initiate Case Zulu.”

Rebecca frowned as she heard that, and then triggered her radio. “Are you sure, Jim? You might not have enough of a jump distance to get across the river, I’m not leaving you behind,” she stated, firmly.

“You won’t,” the male McKenna replied. “Even if my jets can’t get us across, my passenger says she can probably replicate her fancy trick that got us out here in the first place if she needs to, so we’ve got our ticket one way or the other. Besides, Starbuck did say it’ll take them a bit of time to get Zulu running.”

A moment of relative silence passed as Rebecca bit her lip in contemplation. Finally, though, she sighed. “Alright, but you had better make it through, Jim, because otherwise I’ll drag you back from Hell and stick your corpse in a cockpit.”

James’ laugh was a pleasant diversion for the second it lasted. “Yes, dear,” he replied, in a somewhat facetious tone of voice. His next words, however, were spoken with clear, commanding clarity. “Hold the river until Zulu gets going. After that fade back to the rearm point and see if McCoy can’t work miracles.”

“About that,” Rebecca said, with a grimace on her face that managed to be reflected in her tone. “Those damn changelings attacked the rearm point. McCoy’s going to need all the time he’s got just to pack up stuff and get the survivors heading back to Canterlot.”

A long period of silence met that, and was broken by James’ next word: “Fuck,” he muttered, and then sighed. “Alright, get on the horn with Stonewall and Starbuck and have them fall back to the capitol. If we can’t regroup in the field we’ll all meet there.”

“Understood, Actual,” Rebecca replied. “You should probably get off the channel now before O’Connell huff-duffs you before you can make it across.”

“That’s the plan,” James replied. “Take care, Rebecca.”

“You too, Jim,” she replied, and then took a moment to collect her thoughts. When she spoke again over the company channel, her tone was authoritative once more. “Alright boys and girls, you heard the boss. Keep overwatch on the river until Zulu is activated, then fall back. If you get lost, rendezvous at Canterlot. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” sounded a chorus.

* * * *

“It’s gotten a bit quiet, don’t you think?”

The mare who was asked this groaned and rolled her eyes, and then turned around to face the stallion who’d spoken. “Are you seriously going to ask that?” she countered. “Are you trying to invoke casual irony?”

The flat gray stallion gave her a deadpan stare. “I’m pretty sure we’re in a bit too deep for any irony to be casual at this point, Hellcat,” he replied.

“Oh c’mon, D,” a second mare, smaller than the others, said from where she stood next to the stallion, and then nudged him in the side with an elbow. “Relax already, ‘Cat’s got all this planned. Don’t ya, ‘Cat?” she asked, as she turned her eyes to the dark blue pony in front of her.

A snort was the immediate answer. “My plan? You think I’d come up with something this insane?” Hellcat retorted, and then shook her head, causing the blood red braid of her mane to bounce back and forth. “This is aaaaalll from Canterlot, Val, and everything that implies.”

Val frowned, and then stuck her tongue out in disgust; an easily notable gesture, as the abrupt change from a white coat to a black muzzle tended to draw eyes to the area. “Ugh. Remind me to bug my cousin about letting Canterlot dictate our operations.”

“I hate to play devil’s advocate, especially for bureaucratic numbskulls,” the stallion interrupted, and then paused as both mares turned their attentions to him. “But we are kind of in a war situation, after all. Somepony’s gotta organize things amongst all the service branches.”

“Bah,” Hellcat said, and then turned to look over the area they were in. Several large banks of heavily-laden stormclouds filled the nearby sky, and the trio was on top of the southernmost, facing south towards the battlefield where Equestria and her allies had engaged the invaders. Not that we can see much from way out here, the mare thought, as she squinted and looked off into the distance. I can make out some smoke clouds, but aside from that the only thing we could see were those flying machines nailing the crap out of each other, at least before they flew straight up and kind of disappeared. Sure did make some bright lights, though.

Speaking of bright lights, she noted, as a multi-colored blur raced to the north from the direction of the battle. The various ponies waiting on the cloud tensed up as it approached, but soon relaxed when they saw the distinctive rainbow coloration of the approaching pegasus. Hardly a pony in the Corps doesn’t know who Rainbow Dash is, Hellcat mused.

The aforementioned pegasus rapidly slowed to a halt, and then looked out at the ponies she had only heard about, but never met until then. “So, you guys are the Weather Corps, huh?” she asked, as she hovered and looked over not only the three ponies up front, but the large groups of other pegasi standing by on the other clouds in the massive cluster that had been set up.

“Well, we’re sure as shit not griffins,” Hellcat gruffly observed.

Rainbow Dash grunted at that, and then nodded. “Yeah yeah. Anyway, commander McKenna says it’s time for that Zulu thing, so you guys know what to do, right?”

“Pretty sure,” Hellcat replied, evenly. “We make it rain on the Hose creek tributary to the Glitterfalls river and get a flash flood going; easy work for us.”

“Good,” Dash said, with a nod. She then looked around again, this time to take in the area around the cloud banks. “You guys haven’t had any griffin problems, right? You’re pretty far from the fight out here, but everypony’s concerned for you.”

Hellcat huffed. “We’re not pansies who need our hooves held,” she answered. “We can handle whatever comes our way.”

Rainbow frowned, but before she could say anything a patch of cloud behind Hellcat, near where Val stood, ruffled, then bulged, and then finally burst open as an eagle-like head popped up. Dash recognized it as a griffin immediately and her eyes widened, yet before she could shift her body to point her SMG mount at it, the tom looked at her with a panicked expression and spoke: “Help me,” he begged.

Dash could only hover in surprise and confusion as she processed the scene. Barely had she done so when Val brought up a white hoof, placed it on the griffin’s head, and then shoved him back down into the cloud and out of sight. The white, black-muzzled mare then simply looked at Rainbow Dash with a friendly, yet disturbing smile that was rendered all the more creepy by the way the bright red bangs of her mane framed her face.

Silence fell over the group for a moment, but soon enough Rainbow Dash recovered and pointed a foreleg to where Val kept a hoof on the twitching cloud. “What the Hell was that?” she asked, so astounded that she used a human swear word.

“What was what?” Val innocently asked back, still with her unnerving smile.

Another moment of silence fell over them as Dash looked at the three ponies closest to her. Hellcat looked back with a neutral expression, Val remained eerily cheerful despite the slowing struggles of the cloud underneath her, and the stallion simply looked up at her with a dopey grin on his face. “Yeeeahhh,” Rainbow said, slowly, and then shifted her flapping so she could gradually float backwards and away from the other pegasi. “I’ll just let you guys get working on that Zulu thing while I go back to the battle,” she said.

“Sounds good to me,” Hellcat replied, evenly. “Take care, dame Rainbow,” she added, with a foreleg salute.

“Er, thanks,” Dash replied, with a bit of a blush on her face. She then returned the salute. “You too,” she said, and then promptly spun around and then idiomatically darted away.

Hellcat watched her zoom off into the distance, and then turned around and glared at the other ponies on the cloud. “Could you two possibly be more embarrassing?” she sarcastically growled.

“What?” the stallion asked, as he blinked his gaze clear. “What did I do?”

“You stared at Rainbow Dash like a deluded fanboy,” Hellcat replied, flatly.

“You weren’t even looking at me!” the male retorted.

“She didn’t need to, Dauntless,” Val replied, and then stretched out a wing to poke the stallion in the side with a primary. “We all know you have a crush on Rainbow Dash a mile wide.”

Dauntless blushed, and then huffed. “At least I’m not domming a luckless griffin scout out where everypony can see,” he shot back.

“Enough!” Hellcat ordered, and then placed her fetlock over the bridge of her muzzle and sighed. “Just spread out and tell everypony to get to work. We’ve got a job to do and it’s critically important that we do it with all due speed and precision,” she ordered, as she brought her hoof back down.

Both of the addressed ponies shifted into serious expressions at that, and then saluted. “Yes ma’am!” they said, and then took off and split up to deliver the news to the other waiting groups of pegasi.

A moment after they left, the griffin pushed his head up and out of the cloud again, and then took in deep breaths before he turned to look at the remaining pony. “Can I go now?” he asked, pleadingly.

Hellcat shook her head. “Sorry, tommy, but we can’t let you get loose to tell your friends what’s going on,” she said, and then walked up and pressed a hoof on top of the griffin’s head. “But look on the bright side: there are worse fates than Val’s libido. Not many, I’ll grant you, but they’re there,” she said, and then slowly started to shove his head back under the cloud. “And now be a good boy and go back in your hole; I’ve work to do.”

* * * *

“Heads up,” a voice spoke into David Silva’s ear, and the young MechWarrior glanced up from an MFD he had been studying to his HUD. “Looks like they’ve gathered for a push,” the voice of Johannes Schneider added, even as icons began to pop up on the Centurion’s sensors.

“Well, this going to suck,” Silva noted, as he briefly took his hands from his controls so he could move his arms up and out so he could stretch the sore muscles and shake the limbs to get blood flowing again.

“Hasn’t it been sucking for a while now?” the voice of his unicorn passenger asked.

David stifled a rueful chuckle at that, as though he lacked a mirror to cast his gaze at the pony in the jump seat behind him, he could easily visualize his companion’s sour expression. “Yes it has,” he agreed, and then sighed. “But it’s going to get worse, now that they’re going to come at us with everything they’ve got.”

A snort sounded from behind him. “As if they haven’t been doing that already,” the mare behind him spoke, morosely. “At this rate of magic depletion I’ll be unable to muster a shield up after approximately four point seven barrages.”

“So you told me earlier, Moondancer,” Silva evenly noted, despite the unicorn’s sullen tone. She seems like a nice enough person, just a bit autistic, he mused. “Just do your best and I’ll do mine, and we’ll see what happens.”

A grunt was the only answer he received. Silva put it out of his mind, though, as the first lights on his command console’s EW panel lit up to indicate enemy sensor locks. Not targeting locks yet, but they know where I am, the MechWarrior thought, as he studied the opposition across the river. Through his cockpit’s ferroglass canopy and HUD he managed to make out the shapes of three medium-class ‘Mechs emerging from the forest and into the open flats of the riverbank: Looks like we’ve got a Trebuchet, Blackjack, and a Whitworth, he noted. Individually I could take ‘em on, but massed like this is going to be a problem.

It was at that moment that the enemy forces locked on, and Silva grimaced as he saw scores of missiles flying towards his battle-worn ‘mech. Even as he did, though, Moondancer reacted to the warning tones from the battle computer and quickly set her shield up around the Centurion. The missiles hit scarcely a millisecond later, and most of them blatted against the magic defense, with only a few slipping through the desynch phase to blast chunks of armor off of the 50-tonne ‘Mech’s chest and legs.

Next came the Blackjack’s autocannons, and though they were lightweight in the damage department they still managed to punch a few shells through to chew up some protection on Silva’s ‘Mech’s right arm. Finally, the wave of medium lasers reached out, though here some luck came David’s way as at this range fully half the weapons missed outright. Five managed to hit, though, and managed to push enough energy through the Equestrian shield to slag the last of the protection off of the Centurion’s left torso before one errant beam managed to reach in and destroy the LRM rack located there after working over some of the support struts.

Fortunately the weapon system had already emptied as Silva’s counterattack had been launched. His LRMs had already soared out to batter the Trebuchet, while his PPC and medium laser had the unfortunate timing to miss, mainly due to the shuddering of the Centurion as it was battered. Heat flooded the cockpit as the fusion reactor spiked to provide power to the energy weapons and the weapons themselves released amazing amounts of waste heat into the ‘Mech’s internal structure. Thank God for cooling vests, Silva mused, as he felt the crawling sensation of fluid rushing through the vest, since only the thinnest of material separated his skin from the fluid in order to allow the device to efficiently siphon thermal energy from his body. Thanks to this he and his passenger would not have to suffer heat stroke before the Centurion’s heat sinks could dissipate most of the heat into the environment.

David Silva, though, thought little about this as he cursed at the loss of one of his more powerful weapon systems. “Damn!” he growled, and then checked the three-hundred sixty degree holographic projection his HUD provided to check the area. What he saw was disheartening, as in that exchange the Dark Horse had suffered significant damage, or so he could make out as he had set his battle computer to display an approximate status of his allies and enemies with a roughly-calculated percentage tagged to each ‘Mech that showed its level of damage, or rather the lack thereof. Shit, everyone’s at seventy or below, and Franz… oh Hell, he didn’t...?

* * * *

Franz Mendoza was not a happy man as he stared at the forces arrayed against him and his cohort. What do they call it when you take out a third of the enemy but he still outnumbers you two to one? he darkly mused. Oh, right, ‘you’re fucked’.

His pessimism was not unfounded: as the pilot of a light ‘Mech he had little ‘tactical reserve’, as one of his instructors once put it. I.e. you can’t take much punishment and you can’t dish it out and so you don’t have much to do other than scout and harry, Mendoza mused. Which means this stand and hold crap might be the end of me.

A glance over his HUD and the tactical display on an MFD showed Mendoza a clear picture of the tactical situation. And it ain’t pretty, he thought. His Commando had been the flank guard for the Dark Horse and Equestrian army, given the fact that it was fast and carried an appreciable amount of firepower with its custom loadout of lasers and SRMs. Several surviving Desperado light ‘Mechs had learned how potent this mix had been when they got too close and received a thorough drubbing for it when they tried to circle around behind the DHB’s line. None of them got downed, though, Mendoza remembered, with a frown. And they gave as good as they got, he added, as he glanced to his armor status readout. A sneeze could take me out right about now, and we’ve still got to hold the river for a few more minutes; not the best situation to be in.

At least Rebecca is smart enough to know that, though, Mendoza further mused, as he looked over his tactical map again. I’m back behind the line with Earl to keep him safe and watch the others’ backs, which is just about all I’m good for at the moment. Damn those changelings and their raid, re-armoring and arming would be a Godsend to me about now.

His musings were cut short as warning tones sounded in his ears, and Mendoza looked up to see the icons of enemy ‘Mechs moving on his HUD. Well, here comes the push, he thought, as he saw the two heaviest ‘Mechs the enemy had at the center of the line, just across the river. A Battlemaster and a Marauder, not good; either one of them out-mass Rebecca’s Warhammer alone, and combined they’ll be damn hard to beat. Even as he noted this, the MechWarrior pushed his throttle forward and started to advance to back up the company’s second in command. She goes down and we all go down. Conversely, take out O’Connell and his Battlemaster and we might have a win after all.

Delacroix seemed to think so as well, as his Catapult swung its torso around and then launched a barrage of long-range missiles over the head of Mendoza’s 25-tonner to reach out and blast armor off of the Battlemaster. The broad-chested humanoid ‘Mech recoiled a bit, but soon shook it off as O’Connell brought his guns to bear on Rebecca McKenna’s Warhammer. The enemy’s PPC fired first, followed by the array of medium lasers and the SRM rack, and all but one of the weapons hit, the sole miscreant one of the four lasers. A shield popped up around the heavy ‘mech just before the Desperado leader fired, and as such the fusillade lost much of its punch, but what did get through managed to slag sheets of armor from the Warhammer’s barrel arms and flat chest.

Then the Marauder fired, and both of its PPCs lashed out, followed quickly by its medium lasers and autocannon. One PPC missed, but the other weapons smashed into the fading vestiges of the pony-generated shield and blasted right through to rip off chunks of armor from the legs, arms, and torso.

Rebecca, though, had been fighting back even as her ‘Mech was savaged, and both of her Clan-tech ER PPCs ripped into the Battlemaster’s chest with raw, unmitigated fury, slagging huge chunks of protection from the assault ‘Mech’s right arm and center torso. The pulse lasers spoke next, and every single one of them peppered the front of O’Connell’s ‘mech with pockmarks of armor melted and holed with the deadly precision of focused light, while their beam trails flashed into and out of existence so fast that some pilots described the effect as “the Devil’s Strobelight”.

Mendoza was confused for a moment that Rebecca didn’t add in her SRMs or machine guns, but then he came to a realization: She’s got a Streak system, it won’t fire without a solid lock, he remembered. And the distance is too great for machine gun rounds to have enough velocity to actually damage ‘mech armor. He pushed such thoughts from his mind, though, as his Commando’s loping strides brought him within weapons range. Franz briefly slowed so that he could bring up the arms and the lasers contained within before he fired, though his aim was a bit off from the sudden rush. Only one of the three medium-class lasers managed to hit the Battlemaster, scoring armor off of the right leg. His SRM rack likewise only managed to land three of the six missiles in its salvo on target, though they added to the impressive damage on the enemy’s chest.

Franz’s actions didn’t come without a cost, however, as his light ‘Mech’s cooling system was unable to keep up with the massive buildup of heat from his weapons and reactor, and the climate in his cockpit went from room temperature to sauna in seconds. It cost them as well, he noted, as he saw the air ripple around the three ‘mechs he was focused on. Everyone went alpha-strike to try and finish each other off, and now we’re all overheating. But our ‘Mechs are upgraded and can take it better than they can, at least for now.

His musings were interrupted, though, as his battle computer sounded an alarm, and his HUD displayed the incoming traces of LRM fire. O’Connell certainly loves his fire support, Mendoza noted, even as he braced for impact. Then the LRMs hit and the Commando shook like a leaf in a hurricane as waves of high explosives battered and bashed in whatever armor was left on the ‘Mech, and then began to work at the internal structure. More alarms blared as components were destroyed in the ruinous rain of death, and the noise of tortured metal managed to rise above the cacophony of detonating warheads.

Then as suddenly as it began, the fire stopped, and Mendoza had a moment of silence before he felt his stomach try to escape via his mouth, which only ended when the Commando finished its fall to the ground with an abrupt impact that rang bells in Franz’s ears. He blinked a few times to clear his mind, and then checked his HUD, only to see it gone and the view outside the canopy filled with nothing but dirt and mud. Okay, this thing’s face-down; that would explain why the straps are digging into my chest, Mendoza noted. A glance to his command console revealed no light or life from his machine at all, save for one MFD which displayed the caption: Reactor Damage Critical: SCRAM Engaged.

Well, that explains why I’ve got nothing but backup power, Mendoza thought, and then suddenly froze as he remembered where he was and what he had been doing. “Shit,” he said, and then began to rapidly work at detaching his cooling vest and med sensors from the command console, even as the sounds of battle and marching BattleMechs filtered in through the cockpit. He then unlatched the straps holding his neurohelmet on and let the device fall down to land on the canopy ferroglass, and only after that did he start to carefully work on unstrapping himself from his seat so as to not join his helmet in embracing gravity so eagerly. Once free he rotated in his seat and let his legs land on the command console, and then went about the time-consuming but necessary task of climbing up and over the side of his command couch so he could make it to his emergency survival kit, and thence the main entrance/egress hatch built into the back of the Commando’s head.

He opened the hatch and shoved his kit out and over the edge, whereupon Franz heard it drop to the ground. He then climbed up and over the edge and paused to take in the scene around him. The situation did not look good to him, as he watched another exchange of fire between O’Connell’s Battlemaster and Rebecca’s Warhammer. Both MechWarriors were conserving some of their firepower this time out of deference to their heat levels, but what fury was unleashed across the Glitterfalls river ravaged armor on both sides. The enemy Marauder, though, had its attention distracted as Earl Delacroix had rushed forward as well and was even now engaging it with point-blank LRM barrages and laser fire from the upgraded ER Medium Lasers mounted in the Catapult’s torso. The enemy fired back with only its lasers and autocannon, but even then Mendoza could see parts of the machine glowing red as its heat sinks struggled with the thermal buildup, and the relatively low-power weapons were easily turned aside by Earl’s unicorn passenger’s shield.

Franz looked up and down the river at that point, and then grimaced as he saw similar scenes playing out up and down the bend in the river. For every Dark Horse ‘Mech that fired, two or three Desperadoes fired back, and despite the advantage in technology the enemy's numbers were starting to overwhelm the ponies’ shields and human armor. The Desperadoes seemed to recognize this, and were even now pushing forward slowly, advancing into the river and using the cooling effect of the water to keep their ‘Mechs from overheating as they pressed the Dark Horse.

At that point a stray missile landed nearby and blasted a crater in the ground a few meters from the downed Commando. Okay enough watching time to go, Mendoza told himself, as he promptly pulled himself out of the cockpit hatch and then hung from the edge by his hands before he let go and dropped the last bit of distance to the ground. His plasteel boots slammed into the dirt a second later, and a second after that Franz had grabbed his survival kit and ran towards the rear. Not going to distract anyone with a pickup call right now, he thought, as ran for the cover of the woods. Hope someone’s going to be left to make the call to, though.

* * * *

Twilight Sparkle held her eyes closed in an attempt to fight off nausea as James McKenna’s Highlander ran at full speed through the forest. This thing was almost soothing to ride in on the march out here, she wryly mused. But at full speed I feel like I’m in a can of paint being shaken up.

“Last ridge, Twilight,” the voice of the human pilot said to her, and the unicorn opened her eyes to look out through the ferroglass canopy as trees seemed to fly by on either side, seemingly dodged with little effort from McKenna’s deft hand. A few smaller ones were smashed aside or trampled underfoot by the massive assault ‘Mech, though, and again Twilight was struck by the odd dichotomy that humans seemed to possess: elegance and brute force, sophistication and savagery, all in one.

Her thoughts halted then, as the 90-tonne ‘Mech crested a smaller ridgeline, and then paused at the top. The reason for this became apparent to the pony as she had a clear view of McKenna’s HUD, and thus could see, as he did, the various icons and status indicators as they were painted in mid-air holograms by the battle computer. “Sweet heavens,” she muttered, as she noted the Dark Horse’s numbers had declined and the ones who were left were showed to have had their protection ravaged by enemy action. Even at the five hundred meter distance that separated the Highlander from the fight could not hide the large rents in the armor from Twilight’s gaze.

Then as quickly as they had stopped, James sent the ‘Mech barreling forward again, down the small ridge and then into the woods that lay between it and the Glitterfalls river. “Are you ready to do that trick you mentioned?” the human asked. His attention was still very much focused on his piloting, yet still managed to spare a glance over to his passenger.

Twilight swallowed before she spoke. “I believe I can,” she said, unsure. “I mean, I’m not sure how I got so much range, but I’m pretty sure that was a regular teleport, just with so much more mass I’m honestly sur—”

“Twilight,” James interrupted, with a faint growl. “I’ll listen to the lecture later, just simple answers in combat, please.”

Chagrined, the unicorn took in a breath before she answered: “Mostly sure, but I’d appreciate it if we not have to test it out with our lives depending on it,” Twilight said, surprisingly even. I guess I’m getting used to this, sadly.

“Duly noted,” James McKenna replied, and then narrowed his eyes as warning icons began to pop up on his HUD. “Pity we won’t have that shield of yours while you’re ready to do that,” he added, as he referred to the prohibition Twilight and he had spoken about on their way back to the fight.

“Unfortunately,” Sparkle agreed. She opened her mouth to say more, but was interrupted again as warning tones sounded in the cockpit. “I guess they know we’re here, then?” she asked.

“Unfortunately,” James echoed. “Hold onto your tail, Sparky.”

* * * *

“Bogey behind us!” a voice sounded in Gregory Kilroy’s ear, and the MechWarrior flinched as he tore his eyes off of the Catapult he’d been dueling with to look at the portion of the HUD that showed the rear facing of his ‘mech.

“How the Hell did he get there?” Kilroy muttered briefly, but then snapped back to the present as another pounding of medium laser fire slagged armor plating off of his Marauder’s legs and torso. Furious, he lashed back with one of his PPCs, his autocannon, and both medium lasers. The torso-mounted class-five cannon missed and sent its rounds blasting into the distance, but the arm-mounted PPC and medium lasers were able to use the greater degree of flexibility of their mounts to track the Catapult better. Still, their fury was abated somewhat as the shield around the Dark Horse ‘Mech absorbed half of the energy going through it and so what could have been great troughs in the heavy ‘Mech’s protection turned into moderate wounds, instead.

“Grant, turn your lance around and engage that Highlander,” Kilroy ordered, his voice a bit strained as the heat levels remained high in his cockpit. I ought to correct that, he mused, and then pushed his throttle forward a bit to march out into the river the two sides had been treating as no-man’s-land. The temperatures dropped almost as soon as the legs plunged into the water, as the thick, flowing liquid easily absorbed more heat from the cooling system than air by itself could, and small clouds of steam rose up from where the ‘Mech met river.

“Are you kidding?” the man he had addressed returned. “My boys and I are still trying to pin down that Assassin, and besides that we’re only a pursuit lance, not a battle lance!”

“Someone needs to keep McKenna from shooting up our backsides!” Kilroy returned, even as he alighted his ‘mech’s odd-looking arms—“boxes at the end of spaghetti” an observer once noted—with the Catapult and fired again. Both PPCs reached out to slam their beams into the forward-jutting cylindrical torso, and though denuded by the shield, still managed to rip apart armor on the ‘mech’s left side and wear it down to paper-thinness. “And you’re the only ones I can spare for now! Besides, you did well enough against that Atlas.”

“Fuck,” Grant said, and then sighed. “Copy, moving to engage,” he added, and then dropped off the channel to relay the orders to his lance. Gregory watched the results play out on the HUD moments later, as the Desperadoes’ advanced-tech Centurion, Wolfhound, and two Commandos turned around and disengaged from the cat-and-mouse sniping game they had been playing with the Dark Horse Assassin and its ECM.

Kilroy had his attention redirected back forward as O’Connell traded another round of shots with the Dark Horse’s Warhammer, and the spectacle of two heavyweights pounding the living daylights out of each other was enough to give him pause. Particle streams, laser beam-trails, and machine gun tracers criss-crossed the air between the two ‘Mechs, and armor was blasted, melted, or shattered under the fury. A Warhammer isn’t as armored as a Battlemaster, though, Kilroy noted, even as he switched his focus back to the Catapult, which had started to back away. Soon enough we’ll wear them all down and then nothing will stand in our way. And with that, he fired his particle cannons again. Only one of the shots landed on the Catapult, and its effect was minimal as the weapon hit low against a leg, and was denuded by the magic shield anyway. But it still was better than the fire that came back, as the Dark Horse MechWarrior seemed more intent in backing away than aiming, and only one laser hit to cut a trough through the Marauder’s central torso armor.

Huh, didn’t heat up as much this time, Gregory mused, even as he pushed his throttle forward to keep pressure on his foe. He found out the reason an instant later when his ‘mech responded sluggishly, and he snapped out of his tunnel vision to look down and realize that the river had deepened considerably. Odd, wasn’t it just up to my ‘Mech’s lower actuators before? Now it’s up to the hips. Confused, he took a moment to scan around, and to his surprise he saw that the river’s flow and level and both increased considerably.

“What the Hell?” he asked, confused. Then his eyes widened as he looked upstream and saw a wall of water approaching.

* * * *

“Are you sure we needed to pulse the rainfall like that?” Dauntless asked, as he stood on top of the last thunderhead, sweating and panting a bit at the last rush of work.

“Probably not,” Hellcat replied, a bit out of breath herself. “But they did say they wanted it to flood fast and damn the ecology, so we might as well dump it all now so we can go home sooner.”

“Heh, typical government worker,” Dauntless teased, with a smirk.

“Takes one to know one,” Hellcat merrily shot back, with a grin on her muzzle. “Now c’mon, let’s go find Val and her boytoy and get the crew back to Cloudsdale.”

* * * *

“Out of the river!” Kilroy called over the common radio channel, even as he pulled back on his throttle so hard he thought it might snap off in his hand. “Everyone get out of the river, now!”

The warning came too late for a few of the Desperadoes, and several ‘mechs were swamped and knocked over by the rushing water. The flow did not abate, and even seemed to increase a bit and so the ‘Mechs caught in the river’s grasp were soon being dragged downstream. Kilroy himself barely managed to pull his Marauder back far enough to avoid the worst of it, but he still had to fight a constant battle to keep the flash flood from knocking the 75-tonner over.

“What the Hell is going on?” Garth O’Connell demanded, his voice an overpowering bellow over the common frequency.

“Maybe they blew up a dam upriver,” Kilroy suggested, even as he kept backing up the now inundated banks of the river. The water was still rising, filling the small valley the river had carved for itself. And it’s making a wide, fast-flowing barrier between us and the main body of the enemy, Kilroy noted.

But not everyone, Kilroy remembered, and then checked his HUD. “Well, we’ll still get McKenna, boss,” he added.

O’Connell’s initial answer was a feral growl. “Looks like he mistimed his approach,” the Desperadoes’ commander said, by way of agreement. “Everyone who isn’t pulling themselves from the river, get that Highlander!”

* * * *

“Ow,” James muttered, as a wave of cluster autocannon rounds and LRMs sanded armor from the torso and arms of his ‘mech.

“I thought you didn’t have tactile feedback?” Twilight asked. Despite the situation, or perhaps because of it, the two kept conversing even as the human MechWarrior kept his 90-tonne war machine rampaging forward.

“I don’t,” McKenna replied, even as he fired a half-aimed gauss rifle round back at the Centurion that had fired at him. The shot missed and blasted a crater into the ground next to the medium ‘Mech. It did seem to rattle the enemy pilot some, though, as his next round of shots missed wide. “But it’s a bad habit I’ve gotten into, sympathizing with my ride, so I say ‘ow’ when it gets hit at times.”

Twilight didn’t have a reply to that, and so fell silent as she watched the situation she was in play out. And I have precious little I can do about it at the moment, she wryly noted, as she kept her gaze focused on the HUD. Although she had not undergone training, the day of combat and another of travel in the Highlander had given the studious pony time to learn how to read the compressed data almost as clearly as a MechWarrior could, and the situation she saw was grim. Four fast ‘Mechs intercepted us and are keeping pace, even as we trade shots in some kind of weird running battle through the middle of the forest, Twilight noted. And it looks like the others are turning around to shoot at us now that the river ahead is flooding.

A part of her had cheered as the wall of water rushed through, followed by a dramatic increase in the flow and level of the Glitterfalls river. At the same time, though, she felt fear as now the survival of the two beings inside the Highlander rested on her withers. I hope I’m not biting off more than I can chew with this, Twilight worried, while the ‘Mech shook with the furious thuds of its footfalls and the blistering attacks of the enemies dogging their steps. Even worse was the fact that several missile streams and laser trails came burning in from the enemies now deprived of their original targets and aching for some kind of revenge. Fortunately the distance, the woods, and the speed that the various ‘mechs were travelling at all made their shots highly inaccurate, but a few landed and continued to peck away at the thinning armor protection.

McKenna, for his part, was doing all he could to keep the Highlander upright and moving forward at speed. Any time a tree would loom in their path, or the attacks of the enemy started to thicken, James would twist in his seat to feed information to the machine’s motive systems. As a result the assault ‘Mech moved with a fluid agility that belied its mass and inorganic construction, and Twilight Sparkle once again found herself in awe at the spectacle.

“You ready, Twilight?” James McKenna’s voice sounded just then. Twilight shook her head a bit and broke out of her brief reverie to look out through the canopy and saw that they were almost at the edge of the swollen river, which had risen up into the woods.

“I’ll need a moment to concentrate,” Twilight said, as McKenna slowed the machine down, and then turned it around to face the heavier, frontal armor towards their foes.

“Take your time,” James replied, with a bit of sarcasm.

Twilight understood the pressure that gave the human’s voice an edge, and so ignored it. Instead she shut her eyes and did her best to tune out the wails of target lock-on warnings, the impact of weapons, and the varying heat levels in the cockpit as James returned fire. The last time I did this I had to do it with Celestia’s tutelage in a calm garden, but times are what they are, Twilight thought, as she delved deep into herself and sought her connection to the Binding. I know that I don’t have the sort of magical power in me to move something so big so far, not normally. It had to come from elsewhere.

Despite the situation, Twilight found it remarkably easy to home in on the thread that connected her to her magic. Or so she thought, as a moment later she gasped aloud and nearly lost her concentration. What, what is this? The Binding… it’s… different. It’s not a lattice of lines, but a plain? Plane? Which spelling sh—

“Any time now, Sparky!” James McKenna fairly shouted, and for a moment Twilight lost her concentration as the combination of his voice and the impact of a heavy weapon disturbed her.

“Working on it!” she replied, and then screwed her eyes shut again. Whatever has happened I can look at it later, right now I need power! With that, she forced her mind to retrace her steps, and soon enough had the view again. No lines, so how do I draw? You know what, screw it! I’m about to die anyway so here goes nothing! And with that she forced her will to plunge into the roiling mass of energy.

* * * *

“Finally going to end you,” Garth O’Connell growled out, even as he jostled the targeting reticules of his weapons over the head of the surprisingly still Highlander. As he did, though, a brilliant white light seemed to fill the enemy’s cockpit and streamed outward so brilliantly that O’Connell had to flinch his eyes away in pain.

“Caution, EMP Detected,” his ‘mech’s battle computer announced. O’Connell blinked his eyes and then looked forward.

“No,” he muttered, as he saw that his archenemy had once again escaped. “Damn you to Hell, James McKenna, and all the stupid horses helping you!”

Comments

[stapart]

Wow, it still going.

[BoltAshera]

This is still going? Sweet! Its been 1 year 9 months though, so now i'v gotta re-read the rest of the fic to refresh my memory on whats happened XD ah well, best get reading!

[HorseWordFan]

And what better way to celebrate a new chapter than with an appearance in the feature box?

This calls for a party !

[Ryouga1100]

7062206 I know what you mean. I have to do the same thing, but its totally worth it!

[Xaldon Ajide]

I honestly hope the Changelings and Griffons Learn that their new allies are going to stab them in the back sooner or later and they either drop their support or actually switch sides and assist equestria, because the losses on their sides are becoming rediculus to the point that their people would most likely go into revolt against them from the senseless slaughter.

[shira]

Unf! YES! Rokas you glorious bastard you! Filling my addiction just when I think of cracking out the old battle board and miniatures. Always brings back good times, even if gaming has moved on, there'll always be a special place in my heart for battletech. And now ponies as well.

[KMCA]

You know, I was just complaining to myself last night that this doesn't update often enough.

It's certainly a reversal in battle from the last chapter. I spy a Twilicorn ascension in the not so distant future... I'm still wondering what's on that other dropship and when that shoe will drop. I forget why but I keep thinking that it's carrying battlemech prototypes for testing or something similar.

[Rokas]

7062950
Shhh

[Rokas]

7062572
Ahh, miniatures. Never got to make many myself, couldn't justify the time when I have no one to play with. Still managed to paint up a Centurion and an Atlas for the heck of it.

[TheAuthor]

I for one am so glad to see you come back and give us another amazing chapter Rokas.
Your story got me back into the Battle tech scene and continues to entertain. Keep it up! ^^

[Emperor of Jurai]

Now this is a nice little gift to find out of no where, I had missed reading this story. Good chapter, a good example of 'heroes plan goes pear shape' well done.

Now if only someone could oh...I dunno...Kindly put that stupid Changeling Queen's head on a fucking pike already.

But yeah ponies need to stop with the non-lethal punishments of their foes that have done crimes that are normally punishable by death. Always lets the baddies come back to bite them in the ass again.

[Varinki]

It lives! Now time to refresh my memory by re-reading the whole thing.

[More Dakka]

So much for whatever I was reading before this updated.

[gamer4COD]

This story is back? Today is a good day.

[DesertRose]

...
I cant remember a damn thing about this story lol

[jmlop0]

7062966
7063025
Didn't expect to see a Mech that TOTALLY isn't a Robotech Fighter....

[Still Waters]

I saw the update and totally squee'd. My friend was looking at me funny >.>;

[Terrace]

So, Twilight just teleported James' Highlander away, right as O'Connell was about fire off an aimed shot at the cockpit. No wonder O'Connell's mad. I'd be furious too, if I spent all that time lining up the perfect headshot, only to have the shot spoiled just as I was about to pull the trigger.

Oh, and the Changeling Queen needs to get her ass kicked in.

[Xerxes]

Wow, they really took a kicking here, even with the nifty shield bubbles. Hopefully that other ship that got set up like a million years ago shows up soon. Shows up and turns out to be carrying a dozen Annihilators or Daishi or something.

[Shoggoth]

YOU LIVE! IT LIVES!

[KTOdius]

*Applause a plenty* another well written chapter and welcome back. Loved the reply Lyra gave to the pilot she assisted.

[Rokas]

7091338 In the tabletop games aerospace fighters have the same weight range as 'Mechs, i.e. 20-100 tonnes. So a Stuka is at the top end of the mass scale; any heavier and they have to be classified as "small craft" (100-200 tonnes) and need different construction rules.

And LAMs were an Inner Sphere thing and a throwback to the anime/manga inspiration for BattleTech. I rather wish that Catalyst Games had never resurrected the damn things. I don't like 'em and they make even the silly idea of giant robots fighting each other look realistic in comparison.

[Dire Wolf]

HOLY JESUS! HOLY JESUS! AN UPDATE!
It's been so long I had to spend most of the past week rereading the story to get back up to speed. Over the course of that I noticed a trend in which almost all(I lost count of the exact number)of the medium and heavy mechs were destroyed by an engine overload, granted a 10 plus meters tall robot exploding in a spectacular fireball makes for good reading but a BattleMech's onboard computer is just as likely to send the engine into emergency shutdown when it takes critical damage as it is to explode. Correct me if I'm wrong but none of the Desperadoes were effectively "killed" by a gyro hit, gyro hits are also just as likely as engine hits and when 3 tons of rapidly spinning gyroscope with all delicate calibration and precision engineering of a Swiss watch takes weapons fire thus tearing itself into delicate scrap metal a BattleMech isn't going very far, presuming it's not face down in the dirt or flat on it's back. I'm kinda surprised when that T-bolt( I'm presuming it's a 5S model )took the bomb hit to the left torso setting off it's SRM ammo that there wasn't a chain reaction explosion of the 2 tons of LRM ammo in the center torso, now THAT would've been a fireball!
Nice touch working Moondancer and Lyra Heartstrings in as shield generators, Dorian and Lyra seem made for each other!, and while I'll neither advocate for nor discourage a human/ pony clop scene a little innuendo and a third party/pony discoveryof an awkward/intimate momentmay prove to be......entertaining. I think a little back story as to how they managed to tear Moondancer away from her studies and convinced/bribed/begged/threatened her into volunteering to be a living battery would prove to be interesting, though I'm confused as to how David(you) comes to the conclusion that she's autistic even if only slightly so. Maybe I missed something from that particular episode.
I agree with KMCA, I see some Alicorn shenanigans in the works, I had forgotten about that Mule, maybe it's carrying one of THESE!!!s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/mul-images/BattleMechs/Atlas%20II.jpg

Where does it say Defiance Industries gets exclusive rights to a mech they never actually designed in the first place? And to give it a little Davion flavor and a 31st century upgrade, replace the LB10-X AC with a Rotary AC-5 using the 1 ton difference for a third ton of AC ammo, replace the SRM6 with a SSRM4, swap the 2 ERLL for a new Heavy PPC, and remove one DHS to add Artemis IV FCS to the LRM-20.
Anyway, another great chapter I just really hope we don't have to wait so long for the next one. It's starting to feel like were reaching the climax of the story! I'm really looking forward to Luna's reaction to the Changelings sneak attack, I can see her going all Jinjiro Kuritaon their asses! What are you planning you glorious bastard?, leaving us on such a cliffhanger!
By the way, could we get a casualty list and a TO&E for the Desperadoes? I'm probably wrong but it seems like they got more than the 36 mechs of a standard battalion.

[Rokas]

7100114
More 'Mech explosions than gyro hits due to author's preference: In my head a fusion engine is going to be a bigger object than stabilizing gryos. Though thanks for the reminder; I ought to work more gyro takedowns in.

As for the Desperadoes there will be a TO&E of various forces at the end. While I've deliberately not tried to enumerate every single 'Mech that appears "on screen" I am going by the TO&E I generated using the rules in the updated Field Manual: Mercenaries sourcebook (and then arranged into lances and companies), and I am marking them whenever they get taken out. If it seems like they have more than 36 'Mechs, well, that's because they have 36 'mechs and the good guys only have 9. Had. Massive number disparity there that makes it seem more than it is.

[Dire Wolf]

7100445
Glad I could help, just keep in mind if you weren't already aware that large mass does not necessarily equal large volume. Presuming you're rolling on the C-F columns of the R.M.A.T. of Field Manual:Mercenaries which predominantly consists of "The Unseen" mechs of TRO:3025 utilising standard fusion engines contained entirely in the center torso section regardless of mass such as the old CGR-1A1 Charger whose LTV 400 weighs 52.5 tons, that's almost 75% of it's total weight yet fits snugly inside the center torso! Whereas mechs with XL and Light engines spread the increased volume out the to the adjacent left and right torso sections thus increasing vulnerability to engine damage once the armor has been penetrated.
I forgot to mention, that was a bold move sending that medium/light lance up against Dorian's Atlas. Even with superior numbers that's an opponent most MechWarriors prefer to avoid rather than lock horns with, even if it's the old D model. Too bad none of the Mane 6 asked about it specifically, I wonder how they would've responded to Kerensky's infamous line for it's intended purpose?

[RapTions]

Been three years since I last read this.now that I found the time and cases I didn't care to listen to I have reread the whole story and want more plz

[Rokas]

7167328 Heh.

[xoid]

7062349
They changelings are a third, unaffiliated faction. They have no intention of helping either side, just hindering whoever is on top at the moment.

On a barely related note, I believe Chrysalis misjudged the situation; the Desparados were only susceptible to being fed into a meat grinder so long as the Dark Horse had the initiative — and the numbers — to pull off the whole defeat in detail schtick. She needed both sides to lose combatants in such a fashion that it would be practically impossible for multiple ’mechs to get taken out in quick succession. Her misjudgement resulted in her screwing up by intervening too early; the Dark Horse may still be in a position where they can win but they’re certainly no longer in one where they can lose like she needs them to.

[SomeRandomMinion]

So...Is Palmetto among the dead Changelings?

[Rokas]

7298942 She was the one about to behead AJ before a gauss slug ripped her into itty bitty pieces.

[SomeRandomMinion]

7299997 Ouch. So much for seeing her post-battle "What the shell were those crazy human weapons" freakout after escaping/getting captured, I guess.

[Rokas]

8898869
Actually, yes, I'm certainly feeling motivated about it. Mostly. When I'm not dealing with depression and crippling self-hatred. But I've been pecking at it, and I just posted a journal entry to this story that actually linked that very same excellent cinematic.

Plus there's some story plot points I really want you guys to enjoy. I just need to stop getting distracted with Battletech, World of Warcraft, World of Warships, Minecraft, Fractured Space, and Cities: Skylines, first.