The gun run wasn't perfect but it was better than what Kensington had predicted as the hell from their missiles did the job with two critical hits under their name. "Fantastic fantastic!" The senior airman cheered, but that high spirit was lived short, the warning blares and beeps sounding the cockpit to signal danger and death coming their way. Fortunately, Ken's training kicked in, turning him into the pilot the LDF designed him to be as he responded with unleashing a flurry of flares and chaffs that lit up the already bright sky in order to disorient the missiles closing in on them while he gave a rough push forward on the joystick and forced the helicopter to drop from the sky, the altitude meter descending rapidly until they were weaving through the tallest buildings in order to stay concealed.

"Y-you got it sir?" Dane inquired in a stammering voice, obviously shaken from their near death experience, but the warning sounds have stopped and the helicopter was now building up significant distance between them and the hostile GEAR.

"Yeah." Was all the wolf could add and soon their began climbing back up into the sky, reaching the 400 meter mark on the altitude meter right as Silver's orders came in. Once the communication was open for him to speak he held his microphone with a little pinch and gave his transmission. "Skyhawk to Silver, sir we can engage and stall that unidentified air if you want us to. Uhm I got a couple reserve missiles and all rockets accounted for that can do the job. IF not we'll hang back where we are now then quickly move forward for the killshots when you guys hold you your end of the plan."

<Aidan's down, building's on his GEAR!>

those simple words flashed mike back to their prior engagement. the battlefield faded to the mine, his teammates under fire, injured and dead.

"not again." mike whispered as Blade began issuing orders, he heard his name, and "suppressing fire." but mike was focused on Stumpy's arm protruding from the rubble, still gripping the lamppost that had been so oddly effective.

"NEVER AGAIN!" he yelled to himself as the incoming rounds stopped. Prowler turned the corner, and fired into the smoke, the suits sensors highlighting the most likely targeting solution. Sprinting toward the countermeasures, prowler's rifle ran dry, the action clacking empty. Grunting, mike swapped mags, and slung the gun onto prowler's back. the empty magazine rattling on the street as he traded for Prowlers sword.

"Lets see just how advanced you are!" Mike yelled as he flared jets, leaping over the return fire of the gears and into the obscuring smoke and chaff, adding more of his own to make things worse, even his scanners replacing hard locks with questionable ghosts.

"you got rocked by a lamppost!" he continued in his defiance while he swung the chain blade, the internal motor spinning the chain up to speed. "Lets see how you fair against a real melee weapon!" he roared as edge connected with a clang, as the teeth bit, screeching maddeningly as it sheered through metal and polymer.

"TAG you bastard!" he yelled though external speakers before jumping again, drawing his sword back. listening as rounds began to impact towards his wounded prey. He landed not far away, staying in the obscuring agents, utilizing Prowlers speed in the chaos to his advantage.

"I believe I have their attention!" he yelled, voice tinged with malice as he wove through the smoke, swinging at ghosts within his reach. As he dove towards the edge of the ring, he saw the insect like silhouette of an imperial gear trying to break free of the obscuring smoke.

"GET BACK HERE!" he yelled at the suit, firing his shoulder guns at it, the 7.62 rounds sparking on the plate armors surface as he charged at the suit. He grinned as the gear turned towards him, one arm bleeding fluids from a mangled rent in its elbow joint, the other raising an auto cannon at Prowler.

"TO CLOSE FOR THAT!" mike yelled as he angled the verners up, and pulsed the jets, speeding prowler into the target, angled point leveled at the imperials chest.

The imperials shot went wide, but Prowlers sword connected, and several speeding tons of metal drove it deep, teeth digging it deeper as the motor whined beneath the shrieking metal.
The Gears hit the ground, prowler riding atop the skewered gear as the slid together several meters before an impact threw prowler forward and off the motionless suit.

<Shit!, I'm hit!> mike yelped as he urged Prowler to scrabble awkwardly around a corner for cover. briefly looking over the report, it looked like his back armor absorbed most of the damage, prowlers "spine" taking the rest. overall his back armor stood at 50% and structural integrity at 80%

<I'm Good, another imperial down, just need to fall back and get a better attack angle!> he said as he swapped his sword for his rifle again, ducking back a few streets.

There was no way out, no door to be opened to exit the prison his own mind trapped itself in. All that he could do was to attempt to open the morgue drawers and seek a way out; his efforts were in vain, as it seemed that no matter how hard he pulled or gripped the handles, his body refused to respond to his will. Nothing seemed to work: pulling the handle up, down, right, left, outwards only seemed to seal the doors tighter, frustration and panic taking over his senses; he occasionally checked the time on his watch, which seemed to switch between 31:32 and BB:2a, but his mind accepted the display malfunction as a correct time, driving his mind to believe that he was about to run late for the briefing. Seeing that his efforts were futile, he gave up on trying to search for a way out and instead decided to wait for something to happen, anything that would change his surroundings and allow him to escape. Looking around him, he confirmed to himself that there were still only morgue drawers occupying all four walls enclosing his presence in a small area; above the neon light was obviously turned off, yet, it emanated light, alight so unnatural that Aidan felt that the more he stared at it, the darker the room would become. The knowledge of the strange property of that light planted the seed of fear, which quickly amplified as he realized that a door had creaked open right behind him with a rusty, painful screech, the cold metal tray pushing against his back only managed to paralyze the canine with fear.

He knew there was no other way out, so after an eternity of hesitation and attempts at trying to win confidence, he turned mostly against his will and dropped his eyes right over the tray, but the sight didn't terrify him more: there was, indeed, a body bag neatly fitted on the tray, but he couldn't help but notice that water seemed to drip from the otherwise impermeable material the bag was made out of. Touching the water, he felt no temperature change, no wetness, no sensation at all, but his body still registered him touching something with the tips of his fingers. Determined to confront the horror inside the bag, Aidan pulled the zipper with confidence, yet, the bag did not open; it only opened when he felt that it wanted to reveal its contents. Gazing upon the desiccated piece of leather and bone, he still recognized the facial expression of the body, its features unaffected by rot and time.

"Robert John McNail. Drowned."

The next tray opened and a dirty, silvery goop ran out between his fingers.

"Andrew Pepper. Workplace accident involving molten lead."

He was pretty sure that their faces were accurate, exactly the way he remembered them when they flat-lined. Another opened and, instead of a metal creak, there was sobbing and gurgling.

"Nadina Coman. Suicide attempt, overdose."

The dripping metal and water started to rise, even though he was wearing a pair of boots, he could still feel the cold touch of the combined liquids soaking his fur. Another door opened, brown flakes and chunks spilled out from the body bag, the man inside had black spots all over his fur, along with brown, sticky patches of dried out blood and flesh.

"Arcade Ruthless. Thrombotic storm."

He whimpered and whined when he heard another door open and this time, he was too afraid to look at it. The tray rolled out with a rattly, raspy rubber groan, the sound itself pulled most of the air Aidan had in his lungs as he attempted to burn his fear with a scream. He realized with terror that he couldn't scream and, instead, he could hear himself exhaling a long whine. Curiosity got the better of him, so he threw a fleeting glance over his shoulder, only to see a cat with hollowed out eyes, nose and mouth, its thorax bloated and rotting ribs poking and punching through the flesh.

"Esailia Sprinsteam. No-"

He turned his head away, knowing that there was nothing else that he could do about her. Guilt and shame were his companions now. They were soon replaced by shock and pain when he threw another glance as an attempt to bring closure for his failure, but this time, it wasn't her anymore.

"Aidan Sykes. Bled out."

"Good call, doc. Too bad it's too late." The desiccated body replied, its mouth remaining still and black, empty eyes affixed to the canine. "I believe that if you'd think faster -actually, think at all- you would've had only half as many dead under your name."

"Shut up."

"You can't shut your own mouth by giving it a verbal order, doc. See? I told you, if you'd think, life would be so much prettier."

"What do you want from me? You've been plaguing me for over a month." Aidan finally found the power in his guts to turn around and face the thing, which, looked more like his own mother.

"I've been 'plaguing' you ever since you've developed your first conscious thoughts, dummy. It's not healthy to dislike your own thought patterns, you know, it could lead to psychosis, some would argue you could end up with schizophrenia. I am content with your presence, mind you; it amuses me to see you fail and get so worked up on it, blaming everything on yourself, then, trying to work out that you're actually not to blame. Sure, it is pathetic if someone would look at you from the outside, but what do they know, right? All they see is this one man who they can trust their lives with, a safety net, the guardian angel that keeps them safe in their sleep. You love your title, don't you doctor?"

"Quit it and get to the point." His voice trembled.

"That's what makes you so special, the only thing that makes you 'better' than most: your title. Beyond that, you're kind of average, don't you think? I mean, it's obvious why they signed you up for the special GEAR training and become the armored corpsman you are now; you were the average one in the company, that one guy people avoid when they have health issues. They had to get rid of you somehow, so they made this program as an excuse; I can't believe you were blind enough not to see their intentions, bud. You were the first candidate so that they would draft you first, it wasn't because you were the most capable of the bunch; what, you really think the rest of the guys actually got any GEAR training? Have you ever considered the logistics of training a battalion of field medics and give them expensive war machines, which they have to leave behind anyway when an emergency needs their attention? Why do you think they gave you this piece of junk to pilot around? It was most likely destined to be used for extra parts and what ever, but instead, gave it to you so you could properly ruin the rubbish GEAR and turn it into scrap metal, so they wouldn't have to tear it down piece by piece. Save some money after they gave you the DATMK."

"Why I'm here, you ask? You daft mutt, I'm here to wake you up. You've ran away from me, from reason, from reality for too long. I had to insist long and hard to break you down and make you listen to me, so, listen already. You hold responsibility for no one, no one's your child. You try so hard to prove yourself you're such a good man, but you know you're a man incapable of doing his job; then, you feel all disappointed about yourself because you had big expectations from yourself. Wind the fuck down before it's too late and accept it. Accept that you're nothing. Nothing but a tool in greater hands, a courier, a meat shield. That's why you're in khakis instead of an expensive suit. A somewhat useful dork, if you will. You're not so important."

"I am not so important." Aidan uttered through the link, the only thing still functioning. "You people go wreck the imperials, I can tend to myself. I would say it's an order if I were higher in rank. I mean it. Please."

Aidan was curled up in the wrecked cockpit, holding the surviving half of his helmet that contained the microphone. A minute ago, he woke up gasping for air, confused by the pitch black darkness that surrounded him; he felt something sting his forehead and when he felt for the object, he realized that whatever that thing was, it managed to punch through the GEAR's front hull, through the electronics, through the screen and crack the helmet in half, stopping three millimeters into the skin of his forehead. Nothing worked since there was no power, most probably due to the hard crashing into the street, which might have screwed the power cells, thought the pilot. He carefully undid the straps that held him to the seat and extricated himself with some difficulty, his right leg nearly being trapped under the pedal. The only source of light was his PADD, which he checked for any sort of damage. The PDW was still intact, but, the large medkit was properly ruined. When the light of the device touched the cockpit, he realized with stupor how bad was the damage the vehicle had suffered, bending the hull inwards almost to the point of resembling a spacious coffin. Once he freed himself from the seat, a mild headache and a slight dizziness got to him, but they passed away quite quickly. To somehow fit inside the destroyed vehicle, Aidan curled to the side and laid the weapon next to him and the PADD over it, illuminating the left side of the cockpit, where the arm of the GEAR would be. With whatever was left of the emergency tool belt, he tried his best to open up the escape hatch, which he hoped that wasn't sealed off either by the rubble, or the compression of bent metal. Bolt with bolt, he unscrewed and unlatched and decouple away, concentrated on his escape more than on anything. He didn't know what was driving him to try and escape the confinement of the wreck, but he didn't care anymore either. He wanted out, pronto. He heard some rumbling from outside, steel clangs, shots being fired, but nothing stopped his efforts. Once he was sure that the arm was loose and the only force left that kept it in place was mere friction, he turned his body so that his feet were aimed towards the left side panel; he started to mule kick the panel, outputting any force left in him, grunting with every kick.

*THUD* *THUD* *THUD*

It seemed to him that the arm did not mobilize at all, yet, he did not give up.

*THUD* *THUD* *THUD*

Nothing. He grabbed hold of something solid and pushed himself away and against the panel, groaning loudly as he felt something move under his heels. Once his muscles started to ache, he turned around again to check if he managed to do anything and, to his satisfaction, he panel did seem to move only so slightly outwards. He then pushed harder, kicked harder until his bones and skull hurt from the shock, but in the end, he managed to steer way the arm enough to squeeze his body through and try to swim through the cloud of debris, bricks, wood splinters, home appliances. By the time he cleared away, he found himself on his belly in the alleyway he aimed to retreat into when his GEAR was still on its legs. He crawled a little more until he found a door he could open, hiding inside. He took the PDW and PADD with him and the only auto-shot of morphine that survived the crash, the rest of the equipment was virtually ruined.

"I'm out and I'm on my feet. I'm fine." He uttered again, taking a quick look around the room he was in. "The GEAR's dead, don't bother with it. I'll try to find my way to the warehouse."

With that, he took a look at his PADD and tried to determine his rough position on the map; he peeked outside, trying to determine how to get where he needed, but seeing the arm of his GEAR sticking out from the mount of debris made him sigh, he even felt a knot tying up in his throat.

"You had a good run, Stumpy. 'Bout time you get wrecked; I honestly don't know how you managed through everything I put your stinking, rusted ass. See you on the other side, brother."

He wiped some blood from his forehead, switched the safety off no his firearm and off he went in the open world.

Aihara dashed forward, heading straight for the GEAR that Adrian had injured, putting a couple more rounds into it before getting in range to finish it with a blast from his under-barrel shotgun, but he missed. He fucking missed at point blank range because the Imp noticed him at the last second and dashed aside, drawing a blade for close combat. Aihara laughed, dropping his rifle as the twin blades hidden in his GEAR's wrists slid free and he dashed forward, one hand going for a quick jab through the torso, and the other moving to block the overhead swing the enemy had taken already. The two GEARs had begun battling up close and personal, though Aihara was clearly faster. Blitzkrieg was build for this type of combat and it was showing, the GEAR moved quick, eluding the slower yet heavier swings of the Imperial GEAR. As time went on, and by time, moments have passed, Aihara finally was whittling down the armor on the GEAR, he sliced through the torso after evading one more strike, and watched as the GEAR fell to the ground. Afterward he grabbed his rifle and moved in between buildings to take cover. He called Blade up on comms, "Blade..did any of these GEARs have command mods? I mean yours had to be adapted..so shouldn't a command variant of any GEAr be at least somewhat identifiable?" Aihara hadn't seen one since the start, and it made him extremely uncomfortable with the current situation they were dealing with at the moment.

The GEAR engaged by Adrian was the same one that had jump-jetted over the rooftops to land in the street adjacent to its' fellows. The hares' flanking manoeuver had been well-time, and the collision jarred the unwary pilot and his machine. As he turned to try and face the sleek form of Keel's machine, the rounds fired impacted and the Imperial GEAR jerked backward, convulsing with the shots and firing off a wild burst from its' own short carbine in reply, before it toppled backward, faltering and barely mobile. Aihara's charge as he emerged onto the scene finished off the stricken machine, even as it made an attempt to half-heartedly fight back. Sparks and lubricant erupted from the holes in the hostile machines frame as it collapsed against the front of a building, running lights dying out with a sudden snap, and its' form going limp.

The one-armed GEAR that the IFV had hit was doing a good job of holding its' own while the still intact one backed it up. As soon as the smoke had cleared from the hits, it retaliated by blasting the wheeled vehicle apart with a barrage of unguided rockets. A sweep of minigun fire from its' head-mounts cleared the rooftop of the infantry as well. Before it could do much else, Mike took care of the GEAR providing it with cover fire in a brutally efficient display of hand-to-hand GEAR combat. The last Imperial GEAR in their section of street was fenced in; Mike, Silver and Adrian surrounded it on three sides, with more friendly troops closing in, and Ken and Dane overhead. And the only other remaining friendly was engaged in combat with Aihara. Their plan had failed, spectacularly, despite the damage inflicted on the local forces, and on the Roughriders; though they had come through relatively unscathed.
The Imperial machine popped its' own smoke and decoys, skidding back along a side-street and loosing off cover fire as it attempted to break contact, seeing discretion as the better part of valour.

Blade continued to dig at the rubble, only to stop as he uncovered the medical GEARs' hatch, seeing it pop outward, and Aidan following, his message reaching a few moments later.

"I'm out and I'm on my feet. I'm fine." He uttered again, taking a quick look around the room he was in. "The GEAR's dead, don't bother with it. I'll try to find my way to the warehouse."

"Roger. Good you're on your feet," he replied. "Warehouse is that way," he pointed with the GEARs hand, "Two streets over. Kellia should be waitin' fire team is en route. We'll be relocatin' ta give ya cover as soon as we pin down that last Imp".

<I'm Good, another imperial down, just need to fall back and get a better attack angle!>

"Roger, form up on me, Nawlin. Let's go huntin'. Aihara, that GEAR that just zipped outta here was the commander; good thought on the antennae an' gear. You an' Keel stick together and sweep round. We'll try an' outflank 'im. Irry, drive down the same alley he took an' keep the jammin' up".

"Skyhawk to Silver, sir we can engage and stall that unidentified air if you want us to. Uhm I got a couple reserve missiles and all rockets accounted for that can do the job. IF not we'll hang back where we are now then quickly move forward for the killshots when you guys hold you your end of the plan."

Blade hesitated at the message; Ken was the most capable asset they had to fend off any aerial attack, even if it was something in the order of a fighter or bomber, he stood more chance than the GEARs as they were currently equipped (even with anti-air armaments, an enemy aircraft could hit them from miles away). But his overwatch and ability to strike with near-impunity was valuable to the operation. Redirecting him might make them vulnerable when whatever was hiding in the warehouse made its' appearance. But if it was their support that was coming, or an exfil, hitting it now could make all the difference.
"Check out that air target," he said at length, making up his mind. "Yer the best thing we got ta take care of it right now. But watch yerself - we got no idea what we're up against yet!"
That said, he wheeled the Harlock to Mike's side, and scooted around the end street of the block, intending to cut off the fleeing Imperial GEARs' escape.

Meanwhile, the ATV skidded through the streets recently vacated by the fighting, the smell of smoke heavy in the air. Ed slalomed the light vehicle around potholes and craters, it leaning heavily on its' bouncy suspension with each slew of the wheel. He virtually drifted the machine around the corner, keeping the speed up as he moved. They flashed past the shapes of the teams' GEARs, Silverwinds' machine giving them a V-sign as they passed, and Ed honking the horn in reply, before he weaved through an alley, passing Aidan in the process and slowing down, before he skidded to a stop at Kellias' position.
The young mink gave a start as the vehicle and its' heavily armed and armoured passengers came to a stop alongside her. She looked alarmed, before seeing the LDF insignia on the side of the vehicle, along with the Roughriders own unit patch on their shoulders. "Over here," she called as she stood up from behind the car Silverwind had appropriated earlier. "I'm Kellia, the fox with one eye, he said you'd be coming." She pointed to the warehouse. "I've found several entrances; but the best way to approach might be through the sewer. The sensor net down there is disabled, and it leads into a basement, according to the plans. Might be where they're keeping the princess!"

***

"The Imperial GEAR unit has been wiped out, or rendered ineffective. Local forces will undoubtedly be turning on us next. Orders?"
The white tiger kept his expression neutral as the darkness of his cockpit surrounded him. He closed his eyes, and there was a brief moment of discomfort and disorientation before his senses expanded into the enhanced reality of his GEAR coming online.
"Impressive," he remarked simply. "Almost a shame that they'll have to be destroyed if they get in our way. Move out, head to the edge of the settlement and rendezvous with the Quetzl. We have what we need for now."
The other GEARs of the Cell moved out, much more fluid and smooth than the almost clunky and toy-like machines of the LDF and especially the Imperials. He felt the feedback as he clenched the GEARs left fist, and smoothly set into motion, jogging across the floor and breaking through the wall of the warehouse with barely a hesitation to his movement.
The remainder of their unit would stay behind; their personal armour and weapons on foot would be more than enough to counter any troops the enemy sent in. Not to mention, there was still data here that was valuable they needed to dispose of. After that, they could exfiltrate easily, seeping away into the Badlands.
His unit of six GEARs had the info that was essential - and as soon as he was in range of the Quetzl - moments, at least - it would be send back to the Core with ease. Their sleek, graceful shapes moved out of the warehouse and into the dwindling light of the evening. They looked alien among the architecture of the Landren town; he was much more used to seeing their graceful, long-limbed and angular shapes among the aesthetically similar surroundings of the cities of the South.
"Spread out," he ordered through the commnet link, his commands send in the flash of an instant, the jamming provided by the LDF GEAR barely of consequence to their systems. "Be wary of the LDF force; they may be more primitive, and our machines superior, but we are not invicible. Deal with them only if necessary".
A chorus of affirmatives came back as the sextet spread out, foot thrusters sending them skating over the terrain as they headed away from the combat zone. A vehicle of some kind took a shot at him; he speared it with a dismissive beam from his left arms' laser, shearing the turret off as he moved through the buildings. This was going to be easy.

***

Back at the street, Silverwind slammed the Harlock into a skidding, weaving turn around the last corner, covering Mike as he moved. The vulpine growled as he found his sights on the enemy GEAR... and thumped the side of the cockpit with one fist as he noted the command GEAR was in a kneeling, 'disembark' posture. The hatch was open, and smoke curling from the insides showed that the canny Imperial commander had torched his own machine with Thermite charges and elected to escape on foot.
He was about to comment when the radio blurted into life.
"-ostile GEARs, not like any we've seen. They're fast, and their armour is-shit!" the radio cut off with a squeal, and the rumble of an explosion reached their ears a moment later. Whoever had been hiding in the warehouse, they were making their move.

As mike fell back a few streets to catch his breath, his headset buzzed in with Aiden's Voice. <I'm out and I'm on my feet. I'm fine.>

<Glad to here it buddy, now get the hell out of here, it's bad enough fighting gears without worrying about accidently stomping on a friendly, I'd never forgive myself!> mike said, thankful he was alive. taking a brief moment, he looked over the full report, before diving into makeshift repair mode. using the touch screen he went over the damaged systems and began forming bypasses, sectioning off beyond repair systems, and bolstering those that were invaluable. overall, despite the armor damage, the only real hit was to the optical camouflage, and a leak in the main coolant tank. routing as much coolant to the reserve as he could, he returned his attention to the battle.

<Roger, form up on me, Nawlin. Let's go huntin'> Mike sighed, before building up to his usual self.

<Aye sir, I was starting to worry we might be done!> the bravado tinting his voice again. <On my way to your position> he said checked the rifle before making his way back to blade, who met him partway. The two of them moved up the street, Prowler jogging as Harlock skated alongside. mike covered his side, switching to blades as they crossed a intersection.
Finally, they found the target. the Imperial Gear had been firebombed. Mike could understand the reasoning, no data to mine, no info except that somehow, the imperials were connected, if only by manufacture. However, the thought of burning Prowler, the machine he worked so hard for, and had taken such a unorthodox deployment for, seemed insane. Prowler was like a first car, you remember it, keep it till it finally dies, and then keep the master key as a keepsake. in either case, the trail was cold.

<-ostile GEARs, not like any we've seen. They're fast, and their armor is-shit!> mike grew suddenly cold at the new transmission. Turning to cover their six.

<so....I suppose it would be too much to hope that these were the amazing future tech gears we were talking about?> he asked grimly as he peered though the rifles sight down the street for any movement.

"Copy, two streets over." Aidan replied monotonously as he followed the hand of his superior's GEAR to catch the general position of the warehouse.

His first impulse was to outright walk out and march there and ignore everything around him as if there was no real combat taking place on the streets of Martenstown. He sighed and crouched, resting on his right knee as he waited for the coast to be cleared by his colleagues; he did not realize how time flowed past him while he patiently waited for the situation outside to change, but neither did he care to know anymore. Everything was past him: his GEAR's destruction, the constant worry of being at peril while out of his GEAR, the health condition of the 101st, Esailia's disease and the secrecy revolving around it. A promise was a promise, though, he wouldn't dare to not provide the woman with the needed drugs, lest he would be less than nothing and being nothing is a low place to be already. Once he was given the green light, Aidan stepped out and crossed the street in a hurry, running at a comfortable pace; he only looked left and right before and after he cleared the distance, pointing his small caliber PDW up and down the street. He didn't know for what he did that, since he was pretty sure there were no enemies on foot and it wouldn't take much thinking power to realize that 5.7mm ammo could not dream to put anything beyond a small dent in a GEAR's hull. With a guttural grunt of frustration, he picked himself up and continued his trek towards the warehouse, checking his corners out of habit. There was nothing going on anymore, the wind would lift and fly plastic bags like kites along the roads now populated with abandoned cars. Save for the ominous, distant rumbling of vehicles he could not recognize and a car alarm blaring somewhere to his right, silence took over the city.

Advancing towards the warehouse, his attention was caught by green, flashing cross across the street that was affixed to a white building. The canine instantly changed his direction and headed straight at it, his jog turning into a dash; he didn't care if there were cameras filming him stealing prescription-only drugs, he had an errand to tend to. He stepped inside and the moment he noticed the ceiling surveillance camera, he quickly aimed at it and squeezed the trigger once with the intermediary phalanx of his index finger, the holographic target reticle centered on the body of the camera. He placed the weapon on the counter of the drugstore and vaulted over it so he could slam his body into a door to open it and try to find a list, a manifesto that would tell him where he could find what he needed. He rummaged through the abandoned agendas, dossiers, folders and PADDs until he found what he needed; he took the list with him and ravaged the drawers and compartments until he had a number of pill boxes lined up on the counter: Rituxan, cortisone, Imuzan, Trimethox. Once he was finished hoarding the stuff he needed, he stuffed them in the pockets his jeans and shirt provided and headed out through the backdoor.

"Alright." He told himself. "Maybe I didn't have to send that cryp-" he only managed to mutter so much before he felt his whole world crash violently, his eyes unable to follow the sudden motion of the world falling in front of him.

He realized he had been knocked down a second after he found himself on the ground, his PDW nowhere to be seen and a warm feeling emanating from his right temple. He didn't lose any precious fraction of a second as he rolled away and pushed himself back up, adopting a fighting stance; at first he did not realize what he was confronting, but to him it did not matter, he had an errand to carry out. He knew he had his knife stowed in the concealed pistol holster, but Aidan decided against going for it jut yet. As soon as he realized his attacker was a high-ranking officer, he regretted not drawing his knife earlier.

The scar-faced and burly Lynx had managed to exit his GEAR rapidly after evading the Roughriders - not that he knew their names or designation. He'd dumped an emergency upload of his machines core into the nearest Imperial datanode on a secure frequency, and then triggered the 'suicide' protocol for the machine, stopping any of its' information from falling into enemy hands, as well as destroying almost any forensic evidence that could be recovered too.
He'd rapidly evaded and escaped on foot following that, moving through the conveniently abandoned buildings and narrow sidestreets toward the warehouse. He might still be able to infiltrate on foot and at least verify the princess' location, if not recover her personally.

He'd moved through the streets, cutting through rear alleys and service roads to swiftly avoid the local militia and the ever-moving LDF unit. An explosion and weapons-fire from the near-distance told him that the real enemy had made their move, and the fighting had restarted after its' brief pause.
His momentary lack of attention was almost his undoing as a canine emerged from a door opening onto the service street. With a growl he quickly and smoothly ensnared him in a CQC hold, slamming him to the ground and smashing him in the temple with the butt of his pistol in the same instant. He stamped on the canines' hand and the fingers around the butt of a PDW, before kicking the weapon out of reach with a clatter across the rough asphalt and cement of the alley. Impressed as the man; a GEAR pilot by his garb and build, much like himself, rolled to his feet and quickly adopting a fighting stance. He did the same, and began to circle, his handgun held ready, and his other hand open as he waited for the canines' next move.

Aidan's heart sunk once he realized that the thing that connected to his temple and made it bleed was the pistol the lynx was holding in his hand; he gulped, but he kept his eye contact to the enemy. He could feel his knees begging to jerk and tremble, fearing that his life could end in any second now. There was no way for him to walk away from this situation and that inability woke Aidan properly from the lethargy that took over him. He circled in opposite direction from the lynx, keeping himself at a stable distance from the threat; he slowly raised his arms and opened his palms, showing them to the commander that they were empty. He blinked nervously and licked his lower lip, trying to think of a way to get himself out of the tight situation without ending in a body bag.

"Okay, champ, you got me." He started talking, unsure whether the lynx understood or not. He ignored any other sign of aggression from the feline pilot as he tried to somehow placate.

"Look, my GEAR got fucked up, you took away my weapon, that's it, you won. I'll just bugger off and return to my mom's womb, you can go and brag that you fucked a dog or something like that." He continued, his eyes affixed to the lynx's. Aidan's concentration was at a maximum, trying to follow the movement of the arm holding the handgun with the help of his peripherical vision; he tried to determine whether it was lowered or not, so he kept circling around, trying not to trip over the debris as his vision was locked forwards. He progressively bent his knees, preparing his leg muscles for whatever came next.

"Uh, don't get the wrong idea, it's not that I like it up the ass or anything, but I don't know how you guys refer to fucking someone up, as in, properly screw them over. Uh- as in, destroy, obliterate-" there was a flinch, it was the signal he needed.

He flinched his own right hand, hoping that the lynx would be distracted by it. But he didn't wait to see any reaction, instead, his leaped from his place, bull rushing the lynx, his vision clouded by blurry motion and dark edges; he only felt the impact of hitting the ground and maybe a gunshot, he wasn't sure about that one though. He felt cold, warm, angry and scared at the same time, he could hear himself hyperventilate and his own heart screaming and running in fear as it tried to escape his thorax. He threw his left and right fist where he could, he didn't feel much happening to him, no could he realize whether he was socked in the face with something or not; all that he knew was that he managed to gain control over the armed hand and pin it down, but at the same time, he knew he was struggling for dominance. He tried to reach for his knife, but he fumbled a lot as he tried to pull the shirt up and grab the thing by the handle; he lost his balance at some point and grunted hard as he crashed on his side, but at least he managed to get a tight icepick grip on the black bladed knife. He suddenly went deaf, so this time, he was sure there was gunfire right in his ears, but again, he felt nothing but fear and rage. With an explosive set of motions, pushed, pulled his knife, trying to cut lacerations into his foe. He didn't know how effective that was, but he knew he managed to stab him in the right arm, burying in the whole thing; just as he was about to pull the blade and attempt to finish off, his world got rocked again and this time, he was flat on his back, trying to determine which side was up and which one was down. He couldn't tell if he was able to stand up and walk away, but if this was his final moment, at least he knew he wasn't tied to a cozy chair behind a thick layer of metal and instead, he was covered in the blood of his enemy and fought to the last breath. Valiant or not, he did his job as best as he could, his lack of skills rendered his fit body useless.

I am not so important.

The lynx frowned as he followed the canines' rapid conversation. He quickly grew irritated with his waffling, and his insults. All of this was delaying him from moving onward. Getting bored quickly, he readied himself to make a move - before the opposing GEAR pilot moved first. The lynx counter-moved pouncing forward himself, but slipping on the ground as he sprang forward. The collision with the smaller, but still fit and sturdy, man was hard and jarred him enough to lose his breath and fumble the handgun. A gunshot blasted out, well wide of the target but the concussive sound loud enough to jar his senses. The LDF pilot skidded to the ground, still wheeling his arms and swinging blind; a hit caught the Northener on the upper thigh, hitting a pressure point and another whammed into his stomach, doubling him over enough and stunning him well enough for the canine to make a grab for the handgun. He struggled to free himself, clashing with the other pilot and shoving him away long enough to pull the trigger and send another concussive wave of sound over them both, although his foe caught the worst of it.

Seeing him reel back, the lynx pulled his aching hand back up and was caught unawares as he was assaulted by a flurry of knife strikes. The jabs and slashes were imperfect, but fast and in earnest. One trimmed a whisker from his muzzle and another bit into his side, only enough to break the skin. As he clumsily turned away, the canine got home a resounding blow that sank the black-bladed tactical knife up to the crossguard in his bicep. Staggering with the explosive pain of the wound, the Lynxes' arm went slack, the pistol clattering from his hand and onto the paving of the street. Bent nearly double, he yowled in pain as the sensation blasted up his arm and into his brain. The enemy GEAR pilot reached for the blade, and he snarled angrily in response, lashing out with a powerful kick to the canines' mid-section that sent him flying and crumpled to the ground. The lynx hissed and staggered as he felt blood pump out of his arm and his side, spots dancing before his eyes. Slumping half-standing to the wall, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the blade. Pulling it out would make it worse. With a guttural snarl he spat at the prostrate GEAR pilot, and looked to the roof of the warehouse rising above the nearby buildings.

He couldn't make it there now. Not like this and with the militia and LDF looking for him. His only chance was to escape and evade... if he made it. But he could track and trace the princess, and this unit of GEARs. They would lead him right to her. And then he'd have another chance.
He looked down at the blood-soaked canine one last time, before he shoved himself away from the wall and staggered onward, dragging one foot after the other as he headed for the outskirts of the town.

Waiting proved to solve nothing, so the only thing left for Aidan to do was to check himself. Raising his head to try to look down at himself was enough to make him sick, the world seemed to lag behind compared to his head motion; he nearly lost the power in his arms when he saw himself all bloody and torn. With the sickness came an even more sickening, deaf pain radiating through his abdomen followed by a sharp, burning sensation. He tried to sit up, but he fell on his side and with the whole racket, he started to feel pain in his left bicep too, where the old gunshot wound was. He had to put a lot of effort to pull himself on to his feet, using whatever he could grab to make himself stand up; the world spun and shook, black spots and stars filled his vision as he steadied his knees to support his own weight, his stomach turned and squeezed. To top it all off, he identified a bullet hole on his shirt.

I'm hit was all that he wanted to say through the comms and wait for someone to pick him up, but he knew that the town was too hot for exfil just yet and Ken was busy with strafing. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to pull through and just keep going, but the more he tried the more stiff his body became, he also became more and more aware of the pain growing in intensity. I'm not walking away from this one he thought grimly. I need help his brain insisted, but another part of him outright refused.

I am not so important.

I'm bleeding out. I can't feel my legs-

I am not so important.

I want to go home-

I am not so important

Mama

Along with the image of his own mother looking up to him before his departure five months ago, he saw the black feline's ears and black hair as she embraced him; both of them always made sure to smell nice, no matter what the occasion. Both of their individual scents filled his nostrils, which was enough fuel to make Aidan stagger forwards, leaving a long blood stain along the wall he used to keep balance. He could feel hot goop pour between the fingers of his other hand holding the wound and it seemed that with every other clumsy step, more would come out. When there was no more wall to help him keep his balance, he had to slow down his pace so he wouldn't fall flat on his face, fearing that it would be his last fall. He glanced over the PDW and against any logical thought process, he picked it up and continued to stagger on, counting on its weight to balance his movement as he advanced towards the warehouse. Once there, he wasn't sure what he wished to accomplish, but nonetheless, he was determined to get there in a timely fashion. His vision was mostly locked to the ground, but he managed to avoid bumping straight against the ATV parked near the warehouse. He recognized the vehicle, judging that it was the fireteam lead by Esailia.

Es. Her meds. I need help.

I am not so important.

Instead of walking out to make contact, he leaned against the wall there and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, putting a lot of effort in controlling his desperate need for air and the nearly overwhelming urge to groan and grunt with every fiery pulsation radiating through his abdomen and left arm; his skull, spine, humerus and inferior ribs vibrated with every pulse and amplified the pain, keeping the canine as sober as possible. He had that one morphine shot he managed to save, but he knew that it would make him sleepier and becoming too cozy in his current state would be fatal.

I am not so important.

Aihara was baffled at what he heard on the comm-link, how quick that fight ended, with how slender and...well...Odd the GEAR's look he couldn't fathom how to combat them, so he did the best thing one could do in the situation; take cover, and fire concentrated bursts at random intervals while moving as fast as he could. These GEAR's gave off a nasty vibe to him, even so he kept an eye on how they moved, usually pilot's GEAR's mimic the pilot's posture, stride, and other features after awhile. So maybe he could gauge how long they've had the GEAR's, and plan accordingly based upon the information gathered there, then he called Blade on comm-link. "Blade, any idea on what the Hell these guys are loaded up with?" He was wary of anything these guys had, they looked completely different from any GEAR he had seen, and it made him very nervous, though if he ever spoke or moved, he did his best to hide it. While the comm-link was down he swore to himself and cursed every single foe here, they were ruining the lives of everyone here, and he couldn't do shit to stop it other than destroy them. "Why can't they just LEAVE US THE FUCK ALONE?!" . Blitz shared his rage, his indignation to the fact that the North and South just had no care towards what independent nation they fucked over with their petty bullshit, it was shaking as his own body was; both were infuriated, though inside tears were running down his face and any speech was slightly choked; but even then he stayed focused, not letting. He took a second behind cover to shake his head of the tears and rage, then got back to the fight.

He had to stay focused, stay determined to protect everyone here and he would NOT let them ruin this town while could still fire his weapon. His father would do the same thing if he was still here, and his father was the man he had to live up to be. So bring it on...He was ready for whatever these assholes would throw at him! One more time he popped on the comm-link to say something to everyone: They may have some fancy fucking GEAR's, but the GEAR is what makes one better, it's the pilot guiding it. So lets show them whose better!" He yelled out, not in rage, but in determination. Fuck fancy GEAR's, Blitz was one of the best out there in his opinion, and he didn't give a fuck what they shot at him. He would win, no matter what it took.

Hearing that the last Imperial GEAR was down gave Adrian a moment. Just enough to reflect on the dents he’d put in his own armor when he bounced off of a hostile and realize just how embarrassing a moment it was. All his experience and he could still make such a basic error. Why hadn’t he checked the corner? Because reasons. He sighed.

Then the coms flared to life and it was time to get back in the saddle.

The fight wasn’t over—it was never so simple in the Roughriders. He took a hand off the controls for a moment, to worm it underneath the visor of his helmet and rub the bridge of his muzzle. We’re pushing our luck as is. I’ve got half a mind to just let them go, but orders are orders. Besides, what would it look like if we didn’t at least put in a token effort?
“Calm down, Aihara,” Adrian grumbled off coms as he returned to attention, before speaking up. “Guess that means there’s one elite squad from a global superpower left. What about it, Cap? Buddy system? If so, I call the kid.” He turned toward Aihara. “I want to keep him out of trouble.” And I oughta take a little care myself.

so....I suppose it would be too much to hope that these were the amazing future tech gears we were talking about?

Silverwind looked grimly at the smouldering hulk of the Imperial GEAR, and felt an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. The squad of Imp Special Forces hadn't been a complete pushover; they'd moved with due care and caution, and even with the surprise of the Roughriders deploying, had put up a good fight before being shattered. Had they been ready and prepared for the team, Silverwind doubted that the LDF GEAR unit would've come through as relatively unscathed as they did; losing one GEAR was a small price. Especially as the Roughriders were so understrength compared to their initial numbers.
But whatever the newcomers were, the garbled and panicky reports coming back now hinted at something much more powerful and deadly than the Imperials.

Aihara's outburst shook him from his reverie and contemplation, before Adrian's voice spoke over the network next. Drawing his wits back together, he spoke up once more in reply to his team.
"I ain't got a clue what they're armed with, Aihara," he replied to the younger pilots' comment. "But whatever it is, it ain't gonna be anythin' good. If they're from the South, then expect anythin'; and a lot more advanced than the Imps were packin', an' us too. Keel's right: Buddy up as much as we can. There's three of 'em and five of us. Stumpy is down, so we ain't even numbers - but got friendlies in the area an' the tangoes are already headed outta the town. Keep 'em movin, strike and fade away, an' use yer skills and weapons to the fullest ya can."
He swivelled the GEAR on the spot, turning to face the direction of the nearby combat, the GEAR's head tracking the explosions and the GEARs as they were visible between obstacles, or as they leapt into the skies on jumpjets, far more manoeuvrable than anything he'd seen before.
"Keel, you and Aihara team up an' hit one of 'em. Nawlin, Jacquo, you two are wi' me. The third one, we leave to the locals to harass, an' then tag-team 'im. Only way we can do this. Move out, let's show these Southern fuckers how Landren rolls".

The team needed confidence in their leader right now, and to see him not hesitating, to see him leading firmly and with a strong, confident hand. As such, he leant the Harlock forward, slaloming with ease around wreckage and debris in the street, and spinning with flair and cocky ease around a street corner, before cutting through an alley into the next street over, and out into a four-lane avenue. Wheeled armour, utility vehicles and infantry were putting up a valiant effort, as the enemy GEAR virtually danced through their ranks. Silverwinds' eye widened in alarm as he saw some kind of blue, lightning-like beam from its' left palm turn one of the ATV's into a ball of flame. It danced aside from a blast from one of the vehicles' cannons, and followed up with a volley of RPG-sized, arrowhead-shaped missiles that turned the vehicle into a ball of flaming scrap. A squad of infantry were turned to bloody rags as a volely of flechettes jetted out from the machines knuckles, before it glided back on the foot-and-calf mounted thrusters, like a skater over ice.
Blade had seen enough, and barked out orders to Irry and Mike. "We got some room, spread out and flank 'im. I'll drive up the middle and pin him with the mortar an' missiles!"
He gamely blanketed the area around the hostile with hi-ex and AP rounds from the shoulder mounted morter, the rounds erupted in explosive clouds down the length of the street, even as he sprinted and skidded along the boulevard, crushing a park bench in his run. The tone for a lock-on sounded, and he blitzed the machine with a follow-up pair of anti-armour missiles as he spied Irry moving to his right, hugging the faces of the buildings and covering the advance with a barrage of grenades from the auto-launcher on her machines' shoulder.

* * *

The second of the three GEARs had taken a parallel course, moving down the other wide throughfare of the town, heading for the outskirts. Parked and abandoned traffic littered the byway, causing obstructions to the locals' attempts to fight back against the Southern GEAR as it caused havoc throughout the town. Their vehicles were forced to manoeuver awkwardly around the parked or abandoned machines, leading to more of them being torn to pieces by the enemies' horrendously accurate and powerful weapons.
All the same, the enemy were not omnipotent, nor invincible; as the Roughriders arrived on the scene, the enemy GEAR stumbled as it moved around a pair of tractor-trailer trucks, the load of sewer pipes on one having broke their restraints and littered the pavement. The momentary distraction was enough for one of the mobile guns to wheel into place and pull off a snap-shot against the machine, its' 90mm cannon scoring a definitive hit on the rear wedge-like apparatus on its' back. The machine toppled forward onto its' knees; but was not yet out for the count. It pressed one hand against the asphalt, and began to rise again, the back armour smouldering, breached, but not destroyed. Eyes glowing, the machine targeted the armoured vehicle, which was already reversing back into the alley, slicing through its' forward hull with a high-intensity laser, before its' head swivelled to regard the new arrivals.

Aihara swore silently as he simply kept himself back, the hybrid sight on his rifle granting the zoom necessary to provide proper accuracy at the distance he was at. Each squeeze of the trigger was another three-round burst aimed toward an exposed joint of the enemy GEAR's, he didn't want these guys dead, only pacified. Maybe they had some intel the LDF could use. They weren't here for the tourist sites, so then they had a purpose, now the next question is what is the purpose they have. He called Blade on comm-link as he wondered over this. "Blade, what could the South want with the Northern Princess? They don't seem the type to draw attention to themselves with a hostage." They were isolationists after all, so why would they start such an incident over anyone person? It didn't seem right in his mind, not at all. So he kept his distance, fired concentrated bursts of fire to keep them away from him and hopefully take them down without too much collateral. He would get torn up at close range with their weaponry, considering anything that got near them went kaboom in seconds. So he decided he would stay farther back hoping it would be the safer tactic. He really had no idea how to handle this incident, so he hung back and kept assessing the three GEAR's, hoping to spot a weakness on the GEAR, or in their formation he could exploit.

A missile-team on a rooftop joined in with the bombardment of the GEAR Silver's team had been targeting. The same instant the mortar rounds hit it, their anti-tank missiles pummelled it from the other side, blasting one arm away above the elbow. The mortar rounds slammed the hi-tech, highly armoured machine in all directions, before the missiles fired by the one-eyed fox blasted aside the apparatus secured to its' back, and sent it collapsing to the ground. As Blade moved to close in, the enemy machine darted forward, ankle thrusters flaring. It dodged aside, and instead headed for Irry, who opened fire with her assault rifle/autocannon as it closed in. More chunks of armour blasted and flew away as it closed in. Blade made to move after her, but the third of the trio made that time to show himself, dropping from the sky on back-mounted thrusters. Blade swiftly moved aside, dodging the fly-kick and burst of laser fire, but not far enough to avoid taking a beam down the right side of his machine. Status reports blinked to red, and the arm became jerky and unresponsive as he tried to bring himself to bear. Irry was similarly engaged in close up and personal combat with the other machine.
"Shit," he growled. "Nawlin, help Jacquo! I've got this bastard!"
He ducked as the enemy machine raised its' arm to fire, and instead charged forward, ramming the machine with a grinding of metal and composite, and shoving it off-balance. Left hand and arm still functional, he drew the Harlocks' combat blade and flipped it into a reversed stabbing-grip, jamming the blade toward the hostile machine. Armour screeched in protest, but the blade found a purchase, digging through. He followed up with a close range barrage of fire from the head-mounted machine guns. The rounds did nothing more than aggrevate the enemy machine, but it was further distraction as he wedged the blade upward, leaving scoring, scarring marks across the enemy machines' armour.
He yelled blindly; but it was in vain. The hostile machine smashed his GEAR aside almost as an afterthought, before slamming one foot down onto its' already damaged left arm. A pulse of the forearm-mounted lasers sheared through the Harlocks' right arm, and it reared back, smashing it's armoured feet down onto the grey-cammo GEARs thighs, further crippling the machine. Blade grimaced and snarled inside the cockpit; his machine was functionally immobilized, near destroyed - and if the enemy had their way, it would be. Find something, anything, he frantically thought to himself, looking around the cockpit with his single eye wide, and his heart hammering. Memories of burning cockpits, of bright, sense-hammering explosions and searing pain clawed their way from the depths, and he looked. His eye fell on the mortar and missile controls, still green and active. With a gurgling howl of defiance, he trained both crosshairs pointblank on the enemy and hammered the fire controls.

***

At the other location, the remaining enemy machine, heavily damaged and smoking, valiantly continued to fight. As Aihara targeted it, it tried to leap, the jets on its' back and legs flaring. It took more altitude than any jump-equipped GEAR would normally, and with far more agility and grace than most, but it was too heavily damaged to sustain it. Under fire from the precise, aimed shots of Kuraiko, it wobbled and dropped, crashing half into a storefront and entangling itself in the street furniture outside and parked vehicles. A heavy weapons infantry team opened up on it at the same instant, further peppering it with fire and leaving smoking holes in its' exposed flank from their anti-armour rockets and anti-materiel rifles, before it sprayed them with flechettes, leaving them as ragged, bloody shapes on the asphalt. As Kuraiko's gunfire picked further at its' joints, it was like a slow, painful death; the death of a thousand cuts. Armour flaked and flayed away as the machine swayed and staggered closer. Smoke and sparks issued from joints, and wiring unfurled. It got closer, close enough to fire a withering particle cannon burst that lashed out wide, missing Kuraiko's GEAR and instead slicing a path through the hull of Adrian's evading GEAR, which skidded sideways into an abandoned bus. Within inches of the Blitzkrieg, it staggered, reaching out with one smoking hand, the fingertips scratching down the GEARs' chest armour with a screech before it collapsed, smoking, to the ground.

***

The enemy GEAR was engulfed in a sheet of smoke and fire on Silverwinds' sensors. The feedback at such close range muddled all of his information, and he felt his heart hammer against his ribs, his stomach churning in fear and doubt. Every inch of his fur was pricked and his nerves felt raw.
No, he thought in disbelief.
The enemy GEAR, blackened, near burning, and with half of its' armour and limbs virtually missing, dragged itself limply into the sky, trailing cabling and thick, oily smoke. Back-mounted engines gave it lift, and he watch, jaw dropped, as it flew away, angling for the hovering transport craft in the near distance, duelling with the Skyhawk.
Dimly, he became aware that Aihara had asked him something, but his ears were ringing, and the GEARs' comms were full of hissing, popping static and intermittent cutouts. Sparks showered the cockpit, and the smell of acrid smoke was coming from somewhere. Reluctantly, he reached for the emergency hatch release. His GEAR was done.

Down the street, Irry was in her own struggle. The last remaining Southern GEAR had smashed her back into a wall, pinning her in a narrow alley. Her Harlock-EW wasn't made for close-up combat; it was an ECM/EW machine. Nonetheless, it was armed, and she was a GEAR pilot. So, she threw herself into the battle. A growl, and she bared her teeth, pumping 40mm hi-ex grenades as the enemy closed in, explosions blanketing and bracketing its' imposing form. Shrapnel and concussions scored its' frame, and creased divots into the armour, before she opened up with the underbarrel shotgun on her GEARs' rifle. It replied with blasts of laser fire, slicing one arm clean off of the Harlock. Irry skidded her machine back on its' foot wheels, blasting chaff and flares into the enemies' face, and drawing her hatchet as it closed in, the pair busting through a fence and onto a quartet of basketball courts between apartment buildings.
"Nawlin- Mike!" She yelled into her helmets' mic. "I need some help over here, this guy is planning on cutting me up bit by bit!"
Another laser blast sliced through her GEARs' head, cutting off her visual, and she yelped in fear, smashing emergency release toggles. The top half of her hatch blew away, and the light of early evening flooded in, and she winced. As her eyes refocused, she felt a spear of dread stab into her. The enemy machine was right there, it's head swivelling with a slight whine as it focused on her, and raised one fist. She remembered the sight of the friendly soldiers turned into chunks of gore, and shielded the open cockpit with the remaining stump of her machines' left arm while leaning into a crouch.
"Mike," she panted into the radio. "I'm going to rush him, grapple him in tight and get him with the axe. Once he's immobilized, hammer him with everything you've got!"
Slamming the throttle and sticks forward, the red panda gave a valkyrie yell as the Harlocks feet pounded across the surface of the courts. She swung the axe with all the mechanical might her machine could muster and it sung through the air with a howl of air, smashing deep into the 'ribs' of the hostile machine. She charged with the momentum, shoulders crashing into its' chest and feet screeching across the asphalt as they got purchase, shoving the enemy through the posts and wire of the hoops and fences and slamming it against the wall of one of the buildings, brick and debris raining down. Her GEAR collapsed to its' knees as the enemy hammered at its' back and shoulders with its' fists, before she reoriented. Red warning lights were flashing across the cockpit; more so as a searing lance of blue energy flashed from somewhere over her head, close enough for her to feel the heat. The entire panel lit up with 'CAUTION: UHD DAMAGE, POWER CRITICAL'. Enough remained to lock the machines' arm in place around the enemies' waist and orient the torso of her machine vertical. Reluctantly, she flipped a finger at the white-painted and battered enemy, before pulling her ejection handles.
The enemy thrashed, immobilized as she shot skyward on a pillar of flame. Lasers began to cut through the arm holding the machine in place as it struggled to break free.

Mike swept the corners with his rifle, as Prowler and Harlock moved towards the commotion, catching brief glimpses of the enemy amidst the buildings, he grew less and less optimistic. Judging by the amount and timing of the explosions, this wouldn't end well. they were fast, and judging by the amount of burned out APCs, not lightweights.

<They're fast...and I see more than one burned out Armor out there> he muttered to blade as they advanced. Prowler reaching down to take out one of its trench knives, before returning to the fore grip of its rifle, gripping both. <gonna be quite the challenge Sir> he said gruffly.

"Nawlin, Jacquo, you two are wi' me." Blade said over his headset. "Move out, let's show these Southern fuckers how Landren rolls".

<So badass with a dash of underhanded fighting?> mike quipped. <yeah, we got that in spades> he smirked as Harlock sped forward into the fray. mike dropped back a street and flanked left, putting a fair amount of distance between them before cutting forward towards the explosions, rifle and knife ready. Mentally he kept going over what could go wrong, he always did, but it would all go bank during the fight. he peaked around the corner just in time to see a group of local soldiers get turned into mist.

"shit..." he muttered to himself, gripping the controls tighter he gathered himself, and turned the corner.

"We got some room, spread out and flank 'im. I'll drive up the middle and pin him with the mortar an' missiles!"

<Rules on quarter?> mike growled as he sighted on the hostile mech, the carbine belching in two round bursts. For once everything lined up right, Not only did the teams munitions impact the target, but bonuses from the local military turned the mech into a cloud of cordite and pure damage. On paper, mike would have written off the mech as done, but this wasn't an exercise. keeping an eye on his sensors, he advanced on the target, ready to blast the thing back to hell.

Blade advanced to check on the target, and mike made sure that his angle wouldn't impact his teammates, moving to the right as he went. his paranoia paid off as the mangled gear burst to life, launching itself at Irry. firing a flurry of bursts at the machine, he flared Prowlers jets, closing the distance between him and the hostile from a few hundred or so meters, to a hundred. hitting dirt, mike shifted his gaze to Harlock, as a new tango engaged blade. swinging the rifle mike continued forward. looking for a shot.

"Nawlin, help Jacquo! I've got this bastard!"

Mike growled, and continued on his path, passing Blade and continuing onto Irry position, trusting blade to make it out. The following explosion surprised him, but Irry wasn't fairing well. Racing towards the two fighting mechs, Prowler gripped its weapons harder.
"Nawlin- Mike!" She yelled into her helmets' mic. "I need some help over here, this guy is planning on cutting me up bit by bit!"

<IM ON MY WAY!> mike yelled < You need to disengage!, you can't win that fight!> No way her support gear could match that gear...he didn't think anyone's could. Mike flared Prowlers thrusters again, darting forward as mike watched the enemy gear slice into Irry's harlock's face.

That's it... mike thought, These aren't soldiers, these are monsters! Surpassing anger, and diving straight into fury, mike sped towards the two

"Mike," she panted into the radio. "I'm going to rush him, grapple him in tight and get him with the axe. Once he's immobilized, hammer him with everything you've got!"

Close, mike watched as Irry, Braver then he would have been in her situation, kept her head, and squared off against the mech, driving it forward with monumental axe strike and body tackle. Both gears tumbling into the side of a building before Irry Ejected, Leaving her Gear in a deadlock with the enemy. Prowler dropped to a skid as a bolt of energy sliced towards him, Digging a scar in its face, burning a main camera and slicing off a sensor antenna. Recovering into a sprint, Prowlers remaining eye glared at his target as it vainly tried to get another attack angle on him.

<DIE!> mike yelled through the external speakers as he took Prowler's momentum and forged it into a vicious kick. All the weight and speed driving into the side of the enemy gears head, Crushing the armor, and destroying vulnerable equipment inside.
<AND STAY DEAD!> he roared as he jammed the barrel against the enemy gears chest, and emptied the magazine. AP rounds tearing chunks from the armor, and burying themselves in the ground below until the action locked open.
Mike, breathing hard, reloaded the rifle, and for good measure, stomped through the weakened chest of the gear. coming back to his senses, he turned back to where he last saw Blades Harlock.

"Tango down, Sit Rep, Blade, Irry, talk to me!" Prowler snapped the rifle up, as it jogged over to blades wreckage, the scar on prowlers face fading to a dull red.

Aihara watched as the Southern GEAR crawled to its death at his feet. His hatred for both of the larger nations apparent as he planted a foot on the torso of the GEAR, and crushed it, killing any inside. "Blood for blood you sick fucks. Noone spills innocent blood and lives to tell the fucking tale." Though he should have spared him, he wasn't entirely thinking at the moment. Then he saw the one sight he thought he'd never see, Blade's GEAR down, the hostile he engaged somehow..flew out of the area and fled the fight. "Cowardly basta-" then he heard, and saw Irry go down, her GEAR ruined as well. "Holy fuck Irry! Irry talk to me!" He sprinted over as Mike tore the poor bastard who hurt her a new one. Then hearing Mike's call for a sit-rep he spoke calmly into comms: "Mike I'm clear, seems like most of the threat is dead or fleeing, we should set up overwatch points and roll in some armor. We need to breach that warehouse." He jogged to the side of Prowler and sighed, his rifle still at the ready, but he was still worn. "Mike, how do you wanna do this? You me and Adrian are damn near all that's left in our GEARS." he saw the duel in the skies, but sighed again. He had no way of taking the transport out, but he knew what could. "Blade, think the Claw has any air support to spare for us?" He rolled the battle worn shoulders of Blitzkrieg as he scanned the city and then he saw it.

He saw Adrian's wreckage and just stood there...Not him too... he thought as he ran over shouting over comm-link. Hoping to get an answer. "Adrian! Hey answer me! C'mon man talk to me!" He sprinted over and knelt near him, setting his rifle aside as he checked the damage. "Holy fucking shit...Goddammit..." He didn't know if he was alive, but he made a call to the Claw anyway. "Claw this is Aihara! We need a medevac! Adrians down! Adrian c'mon buddy this ain't time for a nap get up!" He was almost certain the guy was dead, but like fuck if he was gonna take that lying down. He quickly slid Blitz into a dismount stance and exited the GEAR, sprinting to the wreckage to try and pull Adrian out of what was left. "Sonuva bitch where is the emergency latch...?!" He wasn't good with this type of thing, "FUCK!" He shouted, scrounging for something to pry the hatch open with. When he did find a piece of debris he could use, he crammed it in the narrow opening lining the hatch and tried with all his might to force it open. He had to get the guy out...He HAD to. There was no two-ways about it!

[Posting for Esailia, as she's disappeared for the meantime]

Es and the Fireteam moved through the sewer at a rapid pace. The main tunnel was big enough that they had to move only stoop-shouldered, rather than bent double. Kellia bought up the rear, calling out directions in a wavering tone as they turned left and right. Finally, the circular tunnels opened out into a rectangular space with a metal-hoop ladder up one wall to a brick platform. Esailia, looking somewhat out of place compared to the others with her plate-carrier over the top of civilian clothes, mounted the steps, her breath a rasp as she reached the top, and coughing into one glove a few times, leaning on the railing. Nathaniel and Naida exchanged a glance, and Kellia caught it, the mink about to ask a question before Ed spoke up. "The door," he said, gesturing to a steel door against one wall. "Flank it, and stand by".
The fireteam took positions, with Kellia uncertainly taking a position to the rear, gripping Mike's PDW in both paws and hunkering down. Edward reached out and gingerly tried the handle; to no-ones' surprise, it was locked. He grumbled briefly, before pulled a breaching charge off of the back of his vest and securing it to the door. The team exchanged nods, turning their faces away, as he pulled the cord to set off the fuse. It burned quickly, and with a hollow, echoing boom the thick door blew inwards, clattering to the floor. As soon as the sound had cleared, within moments, the team darted around the door frame and into the room, weapons raised.
Almost immediately, a Southern soldier, bought by the noise, caught sight of them. Clad in their equivalent to the teams' battle armour, he looked like some kind of futuristic robot; though he still carried pouches of gear and ammo at least. He raised his rifle, which was all it took for Naida and Nathaniel to open up on him with bursts of fire from their weapons. Amazingly, the rounds staggered him back and he stayed on his feet for longer than any of them would have. Nonetheless, the converging fire sent him crashing into the wall, and had punched through lighter areas at his joints, neck and limbs, leaving him flopping and gurgling as he bled out and went into a full-body crash from the high-velocity impacts.

The team spread out quickly, moving along the corridor in a column. No other forces challenged them, though Ed defused a number of improvised traps at various points.
At the rear of the column, Kellia's 'friend' spoke to her in halting words through an earpiece. "The coverage... is bad in here... I can't get a good connection... locking me out and jamming me... somehow they isolated... systems from... trying to get around... -ckouts, but taking a lot of... runtime to process..." the voice trailed off and she hissed a curse to herself, gripping the PDW tighter.
The team found they had cleared the floor, with no sign of the princess as yet, and only one dead southerner to their credit.
"Up the stairs," rasped Esailia. "They must be up there. Keep moving."
They rallied and approached the staircase, with Edward taking the lead. They moved swiftly up to the first landing with no interference, covering one anothers' angles. The movement was tense. No-one spoke and all eyes were peeled sharp. The distant sounds of the outside drifted, muted, into the building and were joined only by the minute scuffs of their feet on the cement floor, or of their gear against the wall. Though the sounds were quiet enough to be nothing, they sounded amplified in the stillness, like each and any one would give them away to everyone listening in a mile radius.
With nerves peeled raw, the team made it to the top of the staircase. Edward reached for the door, but the moment his fingertips touched the handle, the door slammed open and one of the southern soldiers opened fire into the stairwell, hammering the space with a long burst from a light support weapon. The concussion from the weapon firing was defeaning in the space, along with the bright muzzle flashes and the flying chips of cement as he sprayed the stairwell. Naida yelled in pain and alarm as rounds hammered into her vest and she half-toppled back. Nathaniel juggled between firing one-handed and catching her from falling as Esailia fired back, dropping to one knee. Kellia yelled in fear and anger, firing her borrowed PDW blindly in the southerners direction. Edward staggered back from the door, the first burst of rounds having caught him high on the vest and over his shoulder.
The Southern soldier staggered back under the impacts, his aim going high and wide under the combined firepower. As he staggered back, Nathaniel joined in, firing his underbarrel launcher through the doorway and into the Southerners face, the hi-ex grenade turning him into a mushed mess as it detonated with thunderous BOOM.
Regaining their senses, the team examined their injuries. Naida was croaking and gasping for breath. Her vest had saved her, along with the gear stowed on it, but her ribs were likely bruised, if not cracked. But with dogged insistence, she slowly slid back to her feet, using the wall as leverage as she centered herself, Kellia standing close by to help. Edward had taken it worse; his vest had protected him well enough, but the last shot had hit high on his shoulder, avoiding the bone or anything too vital, but gouging a meaty chunk out of his flesh and fur. It was bleeding vigourously, and the pain had him reeling. Quickly, Nathaniel tore open a field dressing and applied a spray-on disinfectant and local painkiller, stuffed the wound with biofoam, and then slapped on an adhesive bandage, the green gel-like sheet molding itself to his shoulder and forming a microbial seal. Groggy and with a pained expression on his face, Edward used the wall to climb back to his feet as the others moved out into the corridor. Through an opposite window, the inside of the warehouse was visible. Steps stretched up to an overhead catwalk, and more offices, though barely a few.
"There's nowhere else she can be," murmured Esailia as she took point. "She has to be up there."
"Not going to be easy," Kellia piped up quietly, pointing out the window and up to the catwalk. Four more soldiers patrolled at the edges. "Looks like they're expecting us now."

The sweet relief shooting through his body from the morphine injection was much needed, but as expected, he felt his knees grow weaker, his senses dampening and his mind clouded by sleepiness; he made a few steps forward, but stumbled on his own feet and nearly planted his face against the vehicle in front of him, but he managed to break his fall. With the impact, he felt a strong jolt of pain rattling his bones and skull, forcing him to grunt and groan as he pulled himself back to his own feet. In the exact spot where he landed, there was a couple of small blood spatters left by his wounds, telling him that he really needed to dress the wounds with something; he did consider to just enter the vehicle and borrow some of its medical gear, but he felt there was no time for that. He had to make himself useful for the last few moments of full consciousness, before he'd succumb to his wounds, so there was no doubt in his mind that he had to get into the warehouse and help with the extraction op. Groggy and weak on his feet, Aidan found strength to stagger forwards and clutch his own PDW and switch on the holographic sight, which was broken to his dismay. Slightly annoyed by the inconvenience, he slammed the back of his fist against the sight to knock it off of the top rail so he could flip up the rifle iron sights. He managed to completely ignore the sewer lid and the hole leading towards the sewers as he marched forward, being more concerned about cold beads of sweat rolling down his forehead rather than his own safety or concentrating on his lackluster situational awareness. Finally gaining some sense, he thought about a "decent" plan to scout his surroundings, by climbing to the top of a building, from where he could determine his position in relation to the warehouse and the fire team led by captain Sprinsteam; he clambered up a fire escape until he made it to the top of a small residential building, creeping towards the opposite edge of the roof while crouching and sticking his back against the low rooftop wall. He gingerly peeked over the lip of the wall, spotting the warehouse only a couple of rooftops away from him, but he knew that at least one or two buildings adjacent to the warehouse would be filled with hostiles, so he knew he had to exercise caution.

He had the intention, sure, but his moves weren't quite precise; he did feel that he was getting his grip back on to reality with all of the effort that brought some blood to his brain and muscles, feeling more and more in control of the situation. He wasn't at his peak, obviously, but he started to think his body overreacted to the ordeal. He wasn't feeling fresh and dandy, but he felt well enough to pull through. He vaulted over the wall and landed on a lower roof of a building connecting with the one he climbed and rolled on his back to avoid an embarrassing sprain in the ankle. From this building, the warehouse seemed to be dangerously close, close enough that he could peek through its large windows; he couldn't just stand there and stare at the thing, he saw four individuals guarding the building, but his most immediate concern was a voice challenging him to come out and and show himself. Aidan didn't feel panic anymore, since he felt that the worst has already happened to him, so instead he became worried that the man would give away his position and compromise his attempt at a stealthy intervention; instead, it seemed that the high-tech soldier was rather sure that he just yelled at thin air, since he couldn't spot the origin of the weird thud noise he thought he heard. Still, he wanted to be cautious about the whole thing, so he raised his left hand to touch the push-to-talk button on the integrated headset, but his vision turned black and colored sparks as he felt his head jerk forwards and found himself flat on the ground, his rifle clattering against the ground in front of him. He couldn't complain or utter any noise, as a second, more powerful bash sent him into a dark limbo where he felt as he was floating, completely oblivious of the last few seconds before the lights switched out.

Aidan's face expressed awe as he examined the armored foe, amazed by the complexity of the suit, its hardness and flexibility. He felt inclined to try it on, but judging by the size of the Southerner, the armor would be a tad large for him, not to mention that the helmet was made to fit a feline snout. Instead, Aidan cautiously borrowed the rifle dropped one meter forwards and gave it a few taps, pulls, pushes and slaps to guesstimate how the weapon functions. He checked the integrity of his PDW's buttstock after it met the helmet of the Southerner twice, but it didn't seem to suffer any sort of damage. He decided to also borrow the tactical harness carrying ammo pouches and grenades, along with a sidearm he knew how to handle and a modern-looking bayonet. Armed and equipped, Aidan approached the warehouse's roof, completely oblivious of the fire team's presence not too far from his position; from up there, he had a clean shot on all four men patrolling the catwalk, large windows offering a somewhat decent view inside. He decided that he couldn't possibly eliminate all four of them with precise shots, he wasn't that much of a good shot with a firearm in his own hands, but he did have a couple of devious high-explosive fragmentation grenades which he could use. So, he made a "logical" conclusion that he will throw the grenade down, hoping to break the window and detonate the four SOBs. All was well until the dog climbed on the rooftop wall which collapsed under his weight from the erosion and poor craftsmanship, sending him falling down to the warehouse with a live grenade in his hand. Aidan didn't have the time to fully realize what was happening, he only managed to yelp as he saw the warehouse closing in alarmingly to his face; he braced for impact, feeling his shoulder smashing the glass, but his left side ribs were met with the edge of the window, keeping him from falling inside the building. He immediately rolled away from the window and grabbed at his torso, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes shut tight, not knowing what would come next. He realized he lost the grenade somewhere in the whole process, but that turned out in his favor, as he heard a loud explosion coming from inside the building. He scurried to his feet and grabbed the PDW, which seemed to also have miraculously survived the fall and dashed to the nearest cover, not knowing what he had to expect on the top of the warehouse.

Hearing gunshots, groans and yells, Aidan darted away from the cover of the A/C unit and approached a different window, thinking that he could create chaos within the warehouse, which could help him to somehow extract the princess from the building; he could barely believe what was happening to him in that moment, his mind was filled with curses and fear rather than a rational voice to tell him that he was insane. Instead, he smashed another window with the butt of his weapon, creating a large enough gap to chuck in the other grenade; he rolled away on his belly and covered his head, the blast sending shards of glass up in the air. Once the debris stopped falling from the sky, Aidan scrabbled up on his feet and, with no real thought in his head, dropped down, landing on a platform of sorts; there, he found another advanced soldier shell shocked from the grenade blast. There were a few moments of silence, Aidan gawped at the android-like humanoid resting against the wall that looked back at him and after a while, it clumsily pulled out a sidearm; then, Aidan found himself squeezing the trigger of the PDW, feeling the recoil of the weapon vibrating violently against his shoulder and chest, forgetting much of the training and conscious reflexes he taught himself, allowing to spray an odd of 22 rounds in the enemy. He immediately took off in a dash, hearing his own footsteps thumping and sending echoes through the pneumatic cavities of his skull; he ignored his peripheral view as he aimed to dash across the platform and launch himself on a dark corner of the warehouse and, without much effort, he vaulted over the railing and prepared to land in the corner and hide behind the massive pipe should someone run up there and investigate the commotion. But, he felt the ground collapse at his heels as the fake ceiling gave under him, he woke up moments later sitting on a pile of debris and what was very likely a person knocked out cold. He grabbed his PDW and aimed it at the black thing that moved at the corner of his eye, which seemed to be thoroughly startled black-furred vulpine.

"P-Princess? Princess Velostroya? By the stars-" he blinked a few times, unbelieving that this streak of good luck was happening to him. "Lieutenant Sykes, LDF, I'm here to get you out of here! Are you hurt, do you need me to look at something?" He said as he pushed himself on his feet, feeling his back and side sore, the gunshot wound started to burn again.

As he cleared his vision of black spots, he became more and more sure that the woman in front of him was the same vixen Silver showed the team during briefing. Black fur, green eyes and quite a good-looking youngling, but maybe, a tad too young for him. He released the woman of the handcuffs that kept her tied to a pipe, retrieving the keys from the person lying under the heap of ceiling tiles.

"Don't mind my unorthodox methods, uh, the actual rescue OP is muuuch more organized than it looks. I know, I don't look much like LDF, but I'm definitely not on that guy's side" He pointed at the unconscious one on the floor. "We'll meet up with the team and get you out, alright? We've got a landcruiser waiting for you a few klicks away from Martenstown; sure, it isn't fit for noble blood, but I'm sure you'll be tr-" but a jolt of pain slashing from his back and down to his side pulled out every liter of air from his lungs, collapsing on one knee after a failed attempt at a backstretch.

"I'm fine, don't worry about me. O-okay, let's look for a way out- I mean, follow me, I know the way out"

Gee, way to look professional there, Doc.

He did keep his mouth shut as they exited the room and walked down the corridor leading towards a door with a small window. He peeked through it for a brief few seconds before telling the woman:

"The coast looks cl-"

As he opened the door, though, he met face to face with Nathaniel. For some reason, he wasn't startled by finding him creeping around the corner, ready to place breaching charges around the frame of the door.

"-clear. Nothing to worry about, they're friendlies. Uh." He looked at the bunch, quickly identifying the whole fire team, along with the mink he met with earlier.

"Captain, fire team, Kiel- uh, Kella? Ke-Keyla? Meet Princess Velostroya." Aidan seemed sort of proud of his handiwork, but at the same time, thoroughly beaten, scratched and stained with blood all over his jeans, shirt and face, fresh trickles of blood slithering down his clothes from wounds in his abdomen, arms and face.

Have I made myself important?

Princess Angaria Velostroya of the Destined Northern Empire had not been idle during her captivity. Never particularly a wallflower of a so-called 'noble' or 'Royal', she had always been active, involved, and eager to learn a wide array of martial skills and useful traits, despite her father, and her fathers' staff, insisting instead that she should stay safely in the palace.
Of course, the fact that her father was dangerously paranoid, and that her fathers' staff all wanted to keep her under control to shape their own careers and plans probably didn't help. And as she'd grown older, forming her own ideas and plans had been key to her, and learning all of these skills using her influence as a member of the royal family was a stepping stone.

So, even after being captured unexpectedly during a raid on her low-profile journey into Landren, she had been plotting to escape. Being interrogated had been a hindrance; she had held out as best she could, giving only the tiniest bits of information and making it seem like each was a huge revelation. And, she had to admit to herself, she had come close to breaking each time. Whatever hardships she'd gone through were nothing compared to the actual experience of being interrogated by the humiliating and horrifying hi-tech procedures of the South.
She'd been engulfed in a haze of desperate sleep, gathering her strength and wits for a few hours after her last 'session' with the Southern commander. She'd been left in the mostly darkened room, handcuffed to a pipe this time. That itself had given her some satisfaction; she'd lost her cool during the last 'session', and lashed out at the Southern commander, leaving him with a raggedly cut face from the shard of pottery she'd managed to palm from a shattered coffee mug.
By her own mental count and the slivers of light from under the door, she'd worked out it had been a few hours. A short while ago she'd heard GEARs in action and moving out, and then the distant sounds of combat. Men and women outside had been active, and no-one had checked on her, or fed her for a while.

Not long after that, there had been explosions nearby, gunfire and more shouts and running feet. Rousing herself, she had found herself
There was a rumble and a creak from above, preceded by nearby gunfire. She saw the ceiling bulge, and her red-tinged eyes widened as she hugged herself tight to the wall.
All of sudden the world was lighter, and she squinted in the haze, feeling slightly dumbfounded as a blood-stained mess of a canine, now covered in dust and debris freed her, and declared himself to be part of the LDF - my luck is in, she thought to herself, standing on shaky legs and shaking her head as she rubbed her wrists.
"I am fine, thank you Lieutenant" she answered in a musically accented, rich, cool voice, her red-tinted eyes gleaming in the light and standing out against the jet-black and ash-grey of her fur. Like many Northeners, and especially the vulpines of her people, she had small ears and a shorter muzzle than, say, Blade, and was more compact and solid, but far from unattractive by any estimate.
She tilted her head and listened as the Lieutenant stammered out a rapid-fire explanation, her muzzle quirking into the first smile in days at his mention of 'noble blood' and the Landcruiser.
"I'm not a crystal vase, Lieutenant Sykes" she said gently. "I believe I can survive being put on a Landcruiser for some time. And it certainly sounds better than the current accomodation," she added. "And besides; I would very much like to speak to the LDF and your superiors. In fact, it was my intention in coming to Landren in the first pla-"
He collapsed and she moved forward to assist him, but halted as he reassured her he was fine. She didn't buy it for a moment, but allowed him to lead on, keeping behind him as he moved forward, the snub-nosed PDW he had leading their way.

***

Nathaniel and co heard the explosions and the gunfire and double-timed it up the staircase, their view through the interior window giving them a good perspective on the reaction by the Southerners as they moved to try and contain whoever was disrupting their operation. They breezed through the rest of the structure as they headed up the stairs, dispatching two more Southerners in their robot-like armour with some difficulty; they were burning through ammo far, far too quickly.
Finding themselves flanking a door, they made ready to breach once more, Nathaniel taking the lead. As he was about to open the door, it opened from the opposite side. Everyone raised their weapons in alarm; only to pause - thankfully - as it turned out to be none other than Aidan, and with the Princess in tow.

"Captain, fire team, Kiel- uh, Kella? Ke-Keyla? Meet Princess Velostroya."

"You?!" Said Kellia in surprise, and then gave a worried look over the medic, who was covered in cuts, scrapes, bruises and a worrying amount of blood, dust and dirt. "...You don't look so good," she answered after a moment. Her eyes drifted to the Princess, who gave a hesitant, cool nod, which the ferret returned, wide-eyed.
"Sykes," said Esailia after a moment, overcoming the sudden surprise return of the GEAR-piloting medic, and his single-handed recovery of the Imperial Princess. "If you're okay to walk, then let's move. Keep the Princess in the middle, and let's double-time back to the ATV!"
Without waiting for any further comment, she lead the way as they headed back down the stairs at a trot.

***

Meanwhile, Blade hustled his own way down the street, heading for the last known location he had for the rest of his unit; primarily Mike and Kuraiko. His helmet radio still worked, and fed him the comm-circuit from the GEARs as he hoofed it down the street, the SMG he'd picked up earlier in his hands as he jogged.
The wail of emergency vehicle sirens sounded around him, dust and ashes swirled through the air and the smell of burning buildings; the mingling of charred plastic, wood, flesh and materials, tickled his sensitive nose.
All this from three Southern GEARs, he thought miserably.
Even the Imperials had shown more restraint about damaging Martenstown itself. The Southern forces had shown no such restraint, plowing through buildings, vehicles and property with abandon, and not caring about collateral damage. It raised a knot of anger in his stomach, and the hackles on his neck.

"Tango down, Sit Rep, Blade, Irry, talk to me!"

"Nawlin, Blade here. I'm okay, nothing wounded except my pride. My Harlock is a write-off, but it kept me safe. I'm moving to your position now, over".
He rounded a corner and then immediately put his hands up, eye wide, as he came face to face with an infantry squad. The click and clatter of weapons and gear as the soldiers trained their guns on him was heart-stopping, before there was an exhale of breath and the horse nearest him waved them all down. "It's okay, he's LDF, one of ours." They passed the word along and moved past him, the horse eyeing him over, before offering him a cigarette grudgingly. The fox accepted and returned the wary eye with a nod.
"You're one of the ones who stopped 'em then?" the equine asked, and Blade nodded silently. "Sorry we didn't do it sooner" he offered, at which the horse snorted and shook his head.
"Didn't look like you coulda," he replied with disgust. "They damn near tore through us, and you, like we were cheap toys." He jerked a hoofed thumb toward the direction Blade was headed in. "Two more of yours bought it that way. Saw one of 'em eject... not the other. Hope they're okay."
Shit, thought Blade, a stab of fear digging into his heart. Someone else is down?
Swallowing the moment of panic, he glanced in the direction before taking a long pull from the cigarette, welcoming its' calming effect before he spoke again. "I don't know what your mission is currently, soldier," he replied, "but there's a warehouse where those assholes came from. Might be something worth checking out, and takin' care of".
The horse eyed him, and raised his PADD, displaying a map of the area. Blade highlighted the appropriate block, and the soldier nodded in thanks calling it in. Within a couple of moments, a wheeled APC and a pair of fighting vehicles growled past along the street, followed by ATV's and more soldiers.
"The GEAR is that way," the horse added as he began to head that way. "I saw one of your guys dismount and take a look into it... I'll call a medevac that way too. Thanks for the help, sir"
Blade nodded and waved him off, as he carried on his jog in the direction of the GEARs.

Irry had blacked out from the ejection; this was nothing unusual. The shock of going from sitting upright in her seat to being accelerated to over 8g of force in a few seconds was enough to make even the most hardy of people more than a little woozy. She came to drifting in the air, Martenstown laid out beneath her and growing rapidly bigger as she dropped lower quickly.

"Holy fuck Irry! Irry talk to me!"

Aihara, she noted blearily, before quickly shaking her head and taking hold of her parachute risers, steering herself in the direction of a patch of green.
"I'm here," she replied into the boom mike on her helmet. "I'm fine; just a little shocked and stunned. I'm sure I've got some aches, bruises, and maybe even a few cracked bits and pieces, but I'm alive. I'm heading for a field of some kind; looks like a sports ground or a garden, over".
"Roger that," Blade replied on the circuit. "Good to hear you're okay. Make your way back to us, if you're able, otherwise stay put and we'll get someone out to you, or make contact with the local militia or emergency services".
"Roger," she replied, "Out".
The red panda pulled on her risers again, this time steering herself in carefully, and braking the 'chute as much as possible as she readied herself to hit the ground. She folded herself into a half-remembered parachute landing, jarring herself a little, but otherwise coming down uneventfully and laying on the ground a moment to catch her breath, before the wind tugged at the canopy of brightly coloured synthetic fibers behind her. Groaning, she dragged herself to her feet, and set about the task of bundling up the chute.
She didn't have to wait long for the friendlies to find her. A voice called out in challenge as she finished bundling the chute, and she raised her hands to the questioning soldier; a female porcupine and her squad. As soon as they saw her patches and uniform, they lowered their rifles, and took her back to their vehicle.

Blade rounded a last corner, coming into the street where Kuraiko and Mike had headed to the site of Adrian's downed GEAR. Seeing the sleek shape of the sniper-spec machine sprawled in the rubble, he slung his weapon with a hiss of anger and dismay, pressing one hand to the side of his helmet as he heard Kuraiko on the radio again, calling the Claw as he scrambled up the side of the hare's GEAR, searching for the emergency hatch release.
"Belay that, Claw, we have local medical assistance inbound. Focus the SAR bird on helping the locals with emergency casualties. I'm at the scene of Keel's GEAR now. Stand by".
He scrambled up beside Kuraiko, clapping the younger man on the shoulder as he tried to pry the hatch open.
"It's okay," he said firmly. "We can do it. Take a step back for a second," he coached the other canine, before kneeling on the GEARs' battle-scarred hull. The fingers of his mechanical left hand moved across the surface of the hull, before tapping on a small square with a recessed top lip. He drew his utility knife, wedged the tip of the blade into the gap and heaved. It sprang open, revealing a latch. He hooked out the handle and pulled hard after moving aside. Explosive bolts fired, and the hatch flew away, clattering to the street.

The emergency services arrived moments later, an ambulance squealing to a halt close by, a rescue vehicle close by. Blade leaned into the cockpit, and grimaced. The machines' cockpit had taken a near-miss. The alloy and ceramic composites were shattred and bent out of shape, pinning the hare in place. Consoles and displays had fractured, or come loose from their mountings and crashed around the small space.
Adrian was in one piece, and after he took a pulse, the fox was relieved to find his pulse strong, but a little erratic. His breathing was also weak and labored and there was a serious-looking gash across one side of the lapines' skull.
"I don't wanna move him," he said to Kuraiko as he clambered back out. "I don't know enough medicine to know what's wrong with 'im. His pulse is strong, an' he's still breathing, but he ain't conscious and he's got a head wound. I'll leave it in the hand of th' professionals," he said, moving aside as the medical and rescue service personnel climbed up and began their work. Reluctantly, the fox climbed down the side of the GEAR and dropped to the ground. He waved up at Mike's GEAR as he tilted his helmet up and scratched as his scalp, before dropping back into place, and stowing the SMG onto the back of his GEAR harness.
"Nawlin! Gimme a lift. We oughta head over t' the warehouse and see what the situation is."
As he waited for the GEAR to pick him up, he toggled the channel to the Claw. "Homeplate, this is Rider One Actual. Looks like it's all over out here aside from the shouting. Anything on your end, over?"
There was a pause, before Captain Garrett herself replied. "Rider One Actual, good to hear from you. I heard about Lieutenant Keel. He'll be moved to the local hospital shortly. Our tilt-rotor is up and acting as medevac for local services, and we've deployed security troops and anyone else we can spare to assist with the rescue. Our medical staff are also assisting with triage. On the hostiles front, that aircraft has disappeared off the scopes, and there's no further sign of hostiles in the area, over".
"Roger," replied Blade with a sigh. "We're moving to the warehouse to confirm the situation there. Have Maxwell meet us there and we'll RTB after the situation is in hand. Rider one, Out".

Kuraiko's heart eased up a bit as he heard Irry pop up on comm-link. Some words of reassurance that she was well was enough to tide him over for now. "Irry...Just do me a favor, never give ANY of us a heart attack like that again okay? I'd prefer to go into my later years with good heart health and such." he spoke calmly into his mic as Blade strode up to assist him with the hatch, after removing the debris he was using he stepped aside and watched Blade find the hatch rather easily. Of course I'm too blind to notice that... he thought, chiding himself for being to hasty in the situation. As always he had to have done something wrong, it was almost becoming a bad habit of his act before thought mentality. Though as he saw Adrian was alright and alive, he was definitely a lot less stressed with everything looking up a tiny bit higher now.

After Blade called for Mike to give him a lift, Aihara hopped back into his GEAR, booted it up, and stood ready to follow Mike and provide cover if necessary. "I'm ready, where do you need me?" he stood ready, a stalwart soldier, finally ready to earn his salt among the more veteran squadmates he has been assigned to. They were some of the best the LDF has, in his eyes, and he needed to measure up to the standard and prove his worth to all of them. They were great people, he really was glad to be fighting with them, he wouldn't have it any other way. Especially now, with what they've gone through as a team. They were a bunch of misfits, that was for sure.

But damn the Roughriders are one good fucking band of merry misfits, and he loved everyone of'em, even the ones they've lost along the way.

There was a couple seconds of silence on the cockpit before Kensington's CO came in with orders for him to follow, a smirk forming as he gave a "Yes sir will do." then turned to look over his shoulder at his co-pilot. "You got anything?"

"Unknown contact according to radio chatter is bearing... 230 uhh fast mover." Dane replied, his finger pressing against the wind shield as he pointed out the cockpit towards where the reported air contact was detected. Right then the senior airman rotated the helicopter until it was pointed that direction, the pilots exchanging glanced before Kensington changed to the open frequencies and inhaled before speaking.

"This is senior airman Kensington of the Landren Defense Force hailing the unidentified aircraft approaching area of operation. You are in an active combat zone. Identify yourself immediately, or be subject to defense action."

The unknown radar contact - still somewhat intermittent as it was - had dropped altitude, and was now under 1000ft above the ground and dropping further as it slowed, almost directly on course for the newly revealed combatants as they headed for the outskirts of the city.
The large aerial craft was visible now, and was clearly not of Landren, or any other identifiable independent state origin. It's sleek, hi-tech lines also pointed firmly away from the aesthetics and design philosophies of the North. Clearly, it had something in common with the GEARs now moving swiftly through the settlement.

The crew of the vehicle gave no answer to Ken's calls, and kept their machine well clear of the helicopter, neither heading to intercept it, nor locking it up with radar or any other targeting or tracking systems as they proceeded on course, shifting heading and course slightly to make for the open area of a playing field at the edge of the town.

The wolf waited for that response, the uneasy silence creating a tense environment in the cockpit. When Kensington had enough of waiting he spoke into his microphone once more."I say again, you are in an active combat zone. Identify yourselves immediately!" This moment the pilot lined the front of the helicopter with the aircraft, keeping it in sight while he contemplated whether making an engagement call or not. "Send one missile to intercept their course of movement."

"One away." Dane replied, the monitor before him showing an image of the distant aircraft with a square painted around the vehicle giving the sign he had a legitimate lock on. He paused, then pressed down on the small red button on his joystick, sending the missile after the target.

The inbound aircraft again made no move to respond to the hails, though didn't drop altitude any lower than the few hundred feet it was above ground, still heading for the cleared area at the edge of town at low speed; while jet propelled, it evidently had some kind of ducted thrust system enabling it to hover quite readily and manoeuver not unlike Ken's helicopter.
However, as soon as the missile was away, the craft span with surprising agility for its' large size and ejected a spread of countermeasures. Jamming flooded the radar, as the craft regained some speed and mobility, its' own radar and other sensors stabbing out for a lock-on on the gunship helicopter as it manoeuvered through the skies. Weapons pods unfolded from concealed positions on the sides of the machine, bristing with dart-like missiles and rocket pods.

Kensington watched the trail of the missiles as it flew through the sky towards it's target, waiting for the impact before the aircraft's countermeasures kicked in. When the aircraft changed course the senior airman muttered a curse under his breath and continued to raise the helicopter's altitude, pitching it forward to initiate some form of movement. "Get another one out there. Quick!"

"Can't! Countermeasures are still kicking in we gotta close in five hundred for an accurate shot!"

"What?! Alright adjust eight hundred meters on the cannon and engage we gotta throw something before it can retaliate."

"Roger uhh you see anything out there? Radar's fuckin' up that thing's jamming us!" While Dane asked about additional information the younger pilot was busy trying to keep up with the fast mover, waiting for it to get close enough to use the cannon that was adjusted for an effective range of 800 meters. With elevation on their side he was confident the demand to climb altitude would atleast slow the jet down if not stall it. Then again the skills of this aircraft pilot was unknown.

The hostile aircraft reacted as Ken and Dane moved in, while also adhering to its' mission, the towns' outskirts now below both aircraft, and the battle between the GEARs now clearly visible below and a short distance away. Diverter panels opened up on the aircrafts' body, and engine nozzles swivelled as the large combat transport swivelled virtually on the spot, with a kind of ponderous agility as it hovered over the field below, holding position and altitude. A barbette turret unfolded from below the aircrafts' chin, the multi-barrelled gun swivelling as it sought out the helicopter pressing the attack. A ramp unfolded from the rear section as it hovered like a sleek, angular bird of prey.

The attack helicopter pressed on despite the opposing aircraft's preparation for the attack run, both of the pilots coordinating with one another as one relayed information and the other maneuvered the vehicle. With each second passing the numbers on the range finder slowly decreased, inching closer to the effective range for the cannon. That was until Dane spotted the swiveling gun and called it out. "Sir it turret on the front! Can't tell caliber but that thing is not good for our health." Right when Kensington heard the term 'turret' he slowed down his speed and took a look into the live feed. With the target's somewhat stationary position the wolf was quick to jump the gun, taking the predicted opportunity as soon as he realized he had one.

"Engage, engage, engage!" Was all the senior airman said, and like an instant reflex the younger pilot reacted. Despite it not being in 100% accuracy range Dane compensated by raising the cross hairs of the camera above the intended target. If he were to miss he'd adjust accordingly, knowing very well that they are as vulnerable as the aircraft.

The aerial gunfight was an awkward affair; unlike the high-speed encounters of Jet aircraft, or the oversized infantry battles of GEARs, the battle between the two VTOL aircraft was an affair of near-passes and juggling for angles and deflections. As the Skyhawk let rip with a burst from its' cannon, the VTOL from the South angled sharply aside, the rounds stitching a line of damage and shredded composites across the upper surface of the hull, chunks of the shredded ceramic-polymer material dancing away in the airstream, along with a thin stream of reddish vapour. The aircraft dipped and wobbled, dropping altitude several feet before it recovered. Losing its' angle to fire back, the VTOL's burst went wide, the tracers zipping well-wide of the attack helo.
A proximity alarm and a warbling lock-on warning sounded in the helo as a pair of missiles; much smaller than conventional air-to-air missiles and arrowhead-shaped, angled in toward the helicopter. Moments later, the angular shape of one of the Southern GEARs jetted past. Damaged and missing an arm, and with sections of its' torso armour torn asunder, it somehow held together long enough, propelled by flaring blue engines in the backpack-like attachments to its' body, to land awkwardly on the ramp of the VTOL's hold, and slide inside. As soon as it had done so, the craft lit its' afterburners, climbing on roaring pillars of exhaust. The engines quickly swivelled as it gained altitude and speed, acclerating quickly past the supersonic and climbing thousands of feet high.

"Sir target is mobile again!" Dane cried out as he stopped firing and shifted his attention to the radar. By that time the target was moving at a rather quick speed, and all he could see was the aircraft flying out of range. Just like that the hostile was gone with whoever it picked up, causing the two to glance at eachother before Kensington muttered a curse under his breath and spoke into his microphone.

"Sir we've lost contact with the aircraft its way too fast for a helicopter to pursuit. Standing by for orders." He said with a tone of disappointment and defeat dominating his voice. What would the commanding officer think? Did he do good enough as a pilot?

"Mike I'm clear, seems like most of the threat is dead or fleeing, we should set up over watch points and roll in some armor. We need to breach that warehouse."

Prowler looked over, having turn its whole head to get the good camera into view. "glad to hear you and Blitzkrieg are up, but I don't think we, nor martens town have the troops and equipment to stop a runny nose right now."

"Mike, how do you wanna do this? You me and Adrian are damn near all that's left in our GEARS." Sahara said over the comes as blade cut in.

"Nawlin, Blade here. I'm okay, nothing wounded except my pride. My Harlock is a write-off, but it kept me safe. I'm moving to your position now, over".

<Aye sir, were on route to the warehouse, see you soon>mike said, resting the rifle skyward on his shoulder, safely pointed away from the recovering friendly forces, waving every so often to them with his free hand. "Poor bastards, braver then me without this suit, get paid less too" he muttered to himself, more than once he stopped prowler and blitzkrieg as a stretcher wove its way around the debris.

"We follow the C.O. and then we improvise." mike said as turned a corner. "keep moving, and destroy anything that dares to take us on" he said cocking prowlers head. "Do that, and we just might make it home."

Prowler shrugged. "now If you mean a battle plan, in this situation, since sniping and sabotauge is out of the question, my standby is getting in close, and beating the ever living crap out of them... I think that might be why I'm not in charge..."

"I'm fine; just a little shocked and stunned." Irry's slightly disjointed voice floated over COMs.

"don't scare me like that mam." Nawlin replied relieved. "see you when you come back down"

"Adrian! Hey answer me! C'mon man talk to me!" Aihara yelled as blitzkrieg took off into a loping run, mike dropping prowlers rifle as he followed suit, providing cover for the two.

<confirmed, Adrian's gear is down, no response!> mike called as he scanned around them, turning a quarter turn every few moments.
Mike winced inwardly for the COM staff listening on the line, no doubt they were crawling the walls on the Claw, The CO, his assistant and the team medic were all scrapped and dismounted, one member unconscious, and the two remaining gears were lucky to be mobile, let alone battle ready. mike battled inwardly on whether to ditch the over watch, and help Aihara or not, but luckily blade showed up and took over.

"It's okay,". "We can do it. Take a step back for a second," a few moments later Mike heard the hatch blow, whipping prowler around towards the explosion, but keeping the rifle high as a medical convoy came rolling up. Blade waved at mike as the medics began climbing up the wrecked gear.

Nawlin! Gimme a lift. We oughta head over t' the warehouse and see what the situation is.""Aye Sir, LDF taxi service, all aboard!" mike replied as he knelt down, slinging prowler's rifle and extending an arm. "personnel seating is located on the left and right shoulders, to the inside of the guns." as the two climbed into position, prowler stood slowly, and started towards the warehouse.

"those in the left side of the GEAR are requested to monitor their side, as the pilots left camera is not functioning at this time. please remain seated until the GEAR has come to a complete stop and thank you for traveling LDF Taxi, where we walk, for you!"