The team managed to get a head start while Aidan was still struggling to keep his balance and even if he tried to lean against the wall next to him. The jolt that struck him through his torso nearly crippled him, a set of sharp and burning pains echoed through him and rattled his ribs and spine. He could feel his knees give in to his own weight, his innards turning inside out and his lungs becoming more and more tired with every sigh and gasp; he could barely muster strength to lift his leg and force a step forwards and keep his balance on it, then the next step came with an even greater effort. A few more steps forwards, he noticed that he got used to the pace and that he was making a bit of progress. He felt some relief seeing that there were no other enemy contacts inside the building and if there were any, the team most likely took care of them before he could reach up.

I have to get out and in a bed now. No call for help, they've got more important stuff on their hands

He didn't feel insulted or ignored, since he was used to this treatment from the very beginning. He had always been a tool, a thing to use and exploit; it all would be sugarcoated by his father, telling him that he is a hero of the nation, a true canine, a real man and not a coward using cover and weapons to make his way in life. Guilt struck him hard when, during school, he couldn't pull himself together and learn anything, since he did not know how to do something for his own sake, rather than doing someone else a favor; he didn't see the point in learning anything, since it would only benefit him, but his attitude changed when his parents told him that some day, he will save more lives with the skills learnt during school and, maybe, college.

It culminated when he decided to be part of the LDF, both his parents were mighty disappointed in his decision, believing that Aidan still refused to learn and just wanted to cop out of life by doing a brute job. He felt as though he finally took control of his life when he signed his name on the application form, he felt that he will once more find his long lost purpose by helping and defending others with his life; conflict awakened him from the dormant state he'd been since he was five years old, feeling right at home when bullets zipped past his head, thundering roars from explosions hurting his ears and sounds of people dying around him. It troubled him that chaos was the only place he could feel at peace, often times wandering what would he do when he will return home to a life of slowly growing mushrooms between his toes while watching television. Seeing that there were no other people like him around, he isolated himself and kept his mind busy with everything he could find, learning more and more about GEAR models so he would extricate just about anyone stuck in a damaged vehicle, while burning pages after pages from thick tomes of traumatology medicine.

When he finally found someone that could understand his plight, albeit her not experiencing the same turmoil as him, his mind could not fathom just how anyone could put up with him, with the real him; it was easy to smile, to pretend that he was a cordial kind of man, a good friend, but he felt that he couldn't lie to her with this sort of attitude, so instead, he let out all of his pain. He didn't hurt, abuse or taunt her, but there were nights after nights of rambling, screaming and sobbing over his own importance and no matter what she would say to him, he would stubbornly remain with the thought that he wasn't worth the clothes he was wearing if he didn't put his life on the line to earn any form of respect. Being separation took a huge toll on Aidan, since he felt that there was another thing that was out of his control; he knew somewhere in him that she could be trusted, but experience and most of his rationality tortured him into believing that she was unfaithful, as so many other people around him are. Unfaithful to their lovers, their superiors, to their country, all while he was the only one that had dedicated his life to help others survive and live peacefully at home, have a family dinner and laugh at trivialities. It was so unfair.

Again, he felt that sort of unfairness, witnessing the team taking the important lady out in a top-security kind of maneuver, while he was left behind to lag, stutter and limp his way back to the cruiser; she was very important, yes, but he had single-handedly extracted the princess from her cell, no one batted an eyelid. Kellia expressed her concern, but so would anyone who could see his physical state; the three soldiers following Es didn't bother helping him to his feet and at least offer some fulcrum so he could walk. If she said that Aidan's fine so long he can walk, they couldn't bother actually walking up to him and offer help anyway. If only they knew the sacrifices he had made to make sure Es would get her treatment done, with or without his presence. By the time he reached the exit of the warehouse, he collapsed against the wall, slipping over a wet spot; he bumped his head and shook his mind, crushed his shoulder and felt his ankle hurt too now. Looking back at the pool he slipped over, he could see small drips of blood trailing the path he followed to reach the exit. Looking down, he saw a brown shirt instead of a blue one, fresh blood streak wetting the fabric with every pulse.

Is this how they all feel when they look down and see blood? Every one of them? It's like, I know there's no escape, but I also know that I can make it if I pull hard enough. I'll do it. I'll show them my worth.

He then went deaf. Seconds turned into minutes as he raised his gaze back up, seeing Ed turning his head around to lock his eyes with Aidan's. He slowly started to shout something, but the canine paid no more mind to him, as a shadow at the corner of his left eye attracted his attention. Down the alley, he could see a small thing crouched over something, which then spoke.

"I'll prove it. I'll do it. I'll show them I am worthy." It stood up on its little feet, a small brownish tail erupting from a pair of red shorts, wagging happily.

"I'll lie, I'll step over tails, I'll kill, but I will be worthy." One of its ears flinched as it wrinkled its snout to sniff water running down its nose.

When Aidan tried to whisper something to it, the child turned around and looked up, concerned over something. He had a large, bloody bandage strapped to his bare tummy, but the adult canine was shocked to see how similar the child looked, compared to himself when he was much younger.

"I am important."

Looking up, he could hear a thundering crackle, loads of dust and debris irritating his eyes as they fell. He dropped his gaze back down to Ed, which seemed to have moved about an inch closer to him. The canine shook his head and closed his eyes, before there was once more nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to feel or taste. Nothing to live for, for there was nothing left.

"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!"

Blade gave a dry laugh over the comm as he clambered up the GEARs' extended limb, and strapped himself into place on the emergency seating. In truth, it was more a series of tie-downs and hand-holds designated as the estimated safest place for desperate combat evacs, or situations like the current one, for short-distance travel. Pilots carried a length of webbing strap with clips and loops to secure themselves to the eyelets on the machines' frame, stopping them - in theory, anyway - from falling to their death, or at least serious injury.
The plastic buckles secured with a click, and the fox held onto the surrounding surfaces of the GEAR as it moved off, the loping motion a little unsettling from the outside.

As they moved, he caught Ken's message over his helmets' radio, still tied into the tactical net.

"Sir we've lost contact with the aircraft its way too fast for a helicopter to pursuit. Standing by for orders."

"Roger that, Maxwell. You did all you could; tie into the overall LDF commnet for the area. There's gonna be a lot of medevac requests comin' through and we oughta offer all we can. Me an' the rest of the squad are convergin' on the warehouse area now. I'll keep you informed, over".

In the warehouse, the team moved smoothly; Aidan's medical state had been noted, the team had called for medical assistance to be waiting, and had been informed that it would be so. His mental state, however, went unnoticed and unchecked - they were soldiers and professionals, and they had a job to do. Escorting the VIP out of the building was the priority and the mission. Acknowledgement of anything could wait until things were secure. Personal feelings and anything associated with them were locked in a box until the danger was over. That was how they'd been trained and that's how it was.
A rectangle of dimming evening sunlight marked the exit out into the streets, and Es moved ahead to check the surroundings, the team spreading out. Ed covered their rear, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the limping, heavily wounded GEAR pilot and Kellia hesitantly trying to help him along with encouraging words and the occasional hands-on assist. The sound of vehicles outside was also accompanied by the sound of sporadic gunfire as the few holdout forces left behind by the Southerners engaged in pitched-battles with the local militia. Hammering autocannon fire sounded as ATV's and IFV's joined in, suppressing the strongest positions. Shouts from ahead sounded, and the team were quickly moved out with their VIP, Es guiding them back to the ATV, while Ed moved up to the door, turning back to the check on Aidan.

At the same moment, a switch clicked over, deep in internal workings of the Southerners frighteningly more advanced version of the Battlenet. Proprietary and highly secure, it worked on its' own principles and designs. Certain criteria had been met; tallies and checks filled and variables weighed. The objective of the operation was complete, and the remaining forces had no hope of winning. Thus, they were expendable, and the South's secrets, the technologies and concepts important to its' isolation and long-term goals; had to be maintained.
Where they stood, or where they lay injured or dead, the Southern troops underwent a flashingly-brief and abrupt chemical change. Implants that were intrinsically part of their bodies were triggered and activated. Rapid-action binary chemicals mixed, blending with surrounding tissues as they liquified and broke them down into component compounds, before detonating into a ferocious firestorm.
The forces that had been fighting in the streets outside were notably not as devastating. Not confined in internal spaces for the most part, and with more of them alive and spread out, the individual detonations were approximately as bad as a single RPG round. Enough to cause fires and collateral damage, but not to bring a building toppling down.
In the warehouse, however, the concentration of dead, dying, or unconscious personnel, combined with the remaining southern tech which also self-detonated, resulted in a monumental firestorm, which was amplified by the enclosing space. Channelled and funnelled by the interior load-bearing walls, the conflagration blasted apart light walls, flinging debris at deadly velocities and weakening the structure.
The whole process took fractions of a second, and the concussive blast wave was heralded by a roaring crash of collapsing woodwork, metal and masonry, and an eye-searing brightness.

Ed tried to run to Aidan, seeing the canine seemingly focused on something, a curious expression his face. But the blast flicked him away like a dismissive giants' hand, tossing him bodily from the warehouse to crumple on the floor. Kellia was knocked flat, and the ATV itself skidded sideways, swinging 90-degrees as the concussive wave blasted outward, shattering windows in the surrounding buildings and near-deafening anyone with uncovered ears and snatching breath from the air for a moment.
The pyroclastic dust cloud rolled outward, settling on everything with a layer of grey film, as it settled, and leaving a rising plume of thick, greasy smoke curling from the skeletal shell of the warehouse, some of the structural members and other half-formed parts remaining standing over a skirt of rubble and debris.

As the GEARs arrived on the scene, Silverwinds' single eye widened at the scale of the chaos and destruction. He searched the scene for his people, and saw the fireteam, Kellia, and a black-furred vulpine - whom, he realized with a start, was the Imperial princess - trying to shift chunks of rubble, yelling to one another and pulling bits of the building away. Talking to Mike in rapid words, he scrambled down and dashed over, coughing and choking on the dust as he called out to them in a rasp.
"What happened? Who's..." he trailed off as he realized; Aidan was not there. He looked at the ruins and debris, stepping closer, the desire to dig and find him rising in him and he pulled a few large chunks of debris aside. Beneath one he found a combat helmet. It had been crushed and half-melted to the point where it was almost completely flat.
He tottered a step back and fell to his knees, holding the helmet in both hands. If that had happened to something made of the alloys and ceramics used to construct armour, then any Arvaran in there...
He looked up to the others, and one by one they saw the object in his hands, saw his posture and slowly, reluctantly, stopped digging.

***

Several hours later, the Roughriders had been called back to the Claw. The situation in the town was under control to the point where the militia and the local emergency services could take over, and fatigue was beginning to win against anything else. Blade had taken them all off of the duty roster, and ordered everyone back to the ship. Princess Velostroya was secured on the ship. Not in the brig, but under guard in a cabin nonetheless.
Now, with thoughts chasing each other around his head, and a kind of overwhelming numbness descending on him he recognized as the comedown shock from the last few hours, he began to confront the realities of the mission. Two more of their number were lost - one dead, one rendered unable to perform their duties, long-term. They were down to two GEARs from their starting number, and only four pilots. Most of the fireteam were wounded. They'd achieved the objective, but the town was a wreck. The only ones who'd come off anything approaching well were Ken, Dane and the Skyhawk, and even then, they'd faced an opponent who'd outclassed them.
The 101st were circling the drain.

Exhausted, emotionally and physically, the fox pressed his artificial hand to his face, running it down his fur and rubbing gently. He could feel the dust, grime and dirt running through his fur and ground into his bioplastic left hands' fingertips and palm. He hadn't even had time to take a shower, let alone change out of the now ragged civilian clothes he still wore.
What would he tell them this time? What would command say? What would the princess say when she was debriefed. And what about the mysterious Kellia and her benefactor, who were also on the ship and under a moderate guard. There were so many questions, and right now he had no answers.
He leant back in the chair in his private office, door closed this time.
Just outside it was the common area off of the Roughriders' individual bunk-rooms. Half of him wanted to go out there, to say something to them. But the rest of him was terrified of the idea.
What could he say? He lead them into battle twice. And both times, they'd lost people. The first time had been bad enough, and had hit their confidence. He'd only barely managed to harness their anger and frustration and turn it into motivation. This time, he wouldn't blame them - he'd let them down.
Swinging back in the chair, he stared at the overhead, eye not really looking at the maze of wiring and piping that formed the ceiling. His mind, numbed and burned-out as it was, wandered in dark places until the warbling tone of the in-ship communications sounded.
"Paging Colonel Blade," the neutral voice of the 'net sounded, as a holographic panel shimmered to life on the table-top. "Colonel Blade, message from Captain Garrett".
Groaning, he leant back forward and blinked away as much of the fatigue as he could, before swiping the holographic screen in mid-air in front of him. The image shifted to the Captains' face. Her sharp eyes - also weary - looked him over before she spoke in a quiet, concerned tone.
"Silverwind, I'm sorry about your people," she began quietly. "If there's anything we could have done-"
"You would have done it," he replied quietly. "You know that and I know, Diane. I don't know what I'm going to say to the rest of them yet though," he added with a slight crack of his voice. "Two ops, and two more casualties. I feel like we're cursed. And like everything I was worried about, going back into combat again, and taking on a leading role; it's all come true. I can't lead them again. Every time I have so far, all I've done is get people killed. I wouldn't blame any of them if they didn't want to follow me on the next mission."
The deers' face faltered and she searched for words, looking into the screen from the surroundings of her own private cabin, decks above.
"I don't know, Silver. It wasn't your fault; we had no idea what the Southerners would be like. And we've had no support since the beginning. You know that High Command doesn't like this operation. But what we've stumbled onto - they have to listen now. Once we've debriefed the Princess, and that Kellia woman-"
"I'm not saying what we're doing isn't important. I'm saying maybe it's time someone else was in charge of it," he said flatly. "I'm a burned out wreck, and I don't want any more of them-" he nodded toward the door, "to die because of me."
"There's not anyone else," she answered quietly. "Not right now, and not for the near future".
Before he could reply, she continued changing topic, and he listened, his feelings still churning as she spoke.
"We've got orders. Somehow, through all of this mess, we still got orders. We're going to be re-deploying. Not sure what the end result of it is, or why, but we're heading for Antaria Flats. We're to debrief the princess and Ms. Kellia on the way, and then turn them over to LDF Intelligence once we reach the base, and then 'await further orders', which sounds ominous. I guess our future is being decided," she said with disgust, shaking her head and her ears flicking.
"Anyway, we've been directed to move out at first light. I've put the crew on full rest until 05:00 hours, and we'll set sail at 06:00... get some rest," she said in a softer voice. "And come and see me once we set sail".
The channel snapped closed, and Blade leaned back, before climbing slowly to his feet and heading out into the main area of the barracks, the common space used for recreation, and for briefings and other group activities. He had news to pass on, and felt the need to say something. He walked quietly to the center of the room, waiting in front of the wall screen until the squads' members noticed him before he spoke.

Kensington and Dane listened to their orders carefully, a shuddering sigh escaping the senior airman as he adjusted his microphone and gave a response. "Understood, would be easier if we had the doctor on board so one of us doesn't have to worry about keeping the patient stable. We don't have a crew like most helicopters fit for evac, after all." He reported before they went straight to work. IT wasn't long though before an explosion disrupted the flow of motion and caught the two's attention. Where it originated from peaked Ken's concerns and he was close to breaking away from his current task to get a closer look at what had occurred, but in the end his faith in the others took over and he simply went back to being apart of the life saving system that followed after the fight.

From patient to patient the airmen were at work. Despite the fact they were in the sky most of the time, they got their share of gruesome images and blood stained uniforms from the med evacs that were requested over the comms. It was a tiring job both physically and emotionally, but with Dane at his side the burden was less significant for they took turns with who was flying and who was keeping the patient stable. Occasionally, there was a medic on board, but that was only temporary. Eventually though their mission came to an end, and with Silver's orders they returned home, their uniforms and fur stained with crimson red until they were able to change out and wash up.

***

Time slowly went by, yet time wasn't something Kensington took note of while Dane was out sleeping in his new quarters. The senior airman, alone with the unopened six pack that was gifted to him once again was rather quiet, his shoulders slumped and his half closed eyes, plagued with drowsiness and the demand to sleep. The lack of numbers was putting up a heavy toll on him, and the mere fact he didn't see the doctor made him assume the worst. Was he right? He didn't want to know, but when the fox entered the main area, he knew that the answers were about to surface. The wolf didn't want to be the first one, but regardless of what he wanted he took the initiative to be one of the first to break the mood in the room and give his commanding officer the attention that was expected of him by setting the package of alcohol aside and standing up to face him. Is someone else going to announce the Colonel's presence?

Mike supposed the dry laugh was deserved as blade moved onto Prowlers shoulders, just outside the heads swivel area. Connecting belts and buckles to prowlers frame, and cocooning himself in quick release webbing, Nawlin double checked his systems while Blade finished up. In all honesty, Prowler wasn't doing too hot. Laser damage had taken out a literal half of his cameras and sensors, Coolant was still leaking at 43%, and every move of its "Spine" was damaging muscle fibers.

That being said, Prowler was one of two friendly GEARs operating on the battlefield, so mike would run it into the damned dirt if he had to. A quick acknowledgement from blade that he was ready, and mike set off on a steady walk, head down to watch out for foot traffic.
Nearing the warehouse, an explosion gave mike a start, moving to block blade, before frowning, and adding a little speed to prowlers march. a tortuous minute later, and mike was dumfounded. Automatically kneeling for blade to disembark, The C.O. floundering for answers while mike Defaulted to Basic Training.

<This is Nawlin, Report Status and Rally on Prowler if Able!> mike ordered through the his headset as he began to shift through the rubble. As the reports came in, mike felt relieved until there was silence.

Aiden? why isn't he....? Com must be damaged, probably stumbling in the dust somewhere...
<Aiden, report in>mike called as he shifted a scorched cement chunk.

silence

<Anyone have eyes on the medic?> mike said worriedly.

it was then he saw Blade stop and fall back, holding a lump of composite, slowly mike began to understand the material, shape, and what it once was. mikes stomach fell. the force and heat needed to crush and laminate a combat helmet.....

<Disregard last transmission.....> mike said with careful control of his voice, as Prowler stood, mike dropped the visor down over his face, thankful that no one could see his face.

The next few hours, mike worked tirelessly in prowler wherever salvage and rescue was required, he said little, and stopped only when he was ordered. hours passed as he endlessly played over the last few minutes of the mission.

3 GEARs.....Aidens gone....Adrians in the I.C.U. he'll never be back.

This thought continued after returning to base. Attaching Prowler into the bay, mike disconnected the helmet and kept it on as he disembarked. Trudging silently mike handed over all of his weapons to the armory for safe keeping, and then continued to the bar, paying for a 6-pack of the beer Aiden had ordered earlier that day, before planting himself in a Recroom chair, and cracking one open. What could be seen of his face impassive, if one dismissed the streaks leading down his face,

he was midway through his second beer before Blade strode in. Mike placed the can on the floor and hauled himself to his feet, denying the fog of grief the satisfaction of his surrender, and giving Blade the respect due, though his stance unsure. By the look of it, blade didn't look very sure of himself either.

"Sir" he said in a horse, but steady voice.

Aihara sighed as the fight died down, when the ship fled, and Kensington came back. They were recalled to the Claw not too long after, and it was a good thing too, Blitz was worn. Then he heard the explosion, and hightailed it over to the warehouse, rifle ready. His heart dropping to his stomach when he saw the combat helmet from within his GEAR. "No...Aiden...." He spoke quietly. In a hushed whisper as he contained the surge of various emotions, on the way back to the claw in silence. He docked the GEAR and dismounted, his arsenal being left at the armory as he sat in the rec-room, he really had nothing to say, other than when Blade arrived. He stood up, hands clasped behind his back at attention. Speaking calm and curt as he looked ashamed, as if he failed. "Sir...I take responsibility for Aiden's injury...I should've been faster on the trigger. I could have stopped it all..." he sighed and stayed standing, ready to get his ass chewed out for speaking out of turn, and for fucking up so horrendously as a soldier. He had to own up to it however, and accept he fucked up. He was determined however, to fix his mistakes. This was the first step in that direction, or so he hoped..

Irry looked over to Silver as the others spoke up, and the fireteam also turned from whatever they were doing once the questions and comments started coming. The one-eyed vulpine looked over the group and tried to read their reactions. Mostly, their faces showed what he expected: sadness, fatigue both physical and emotional from the gruelling battle and the loss of more of their numbers and from the damage to the settlement itself, no doubt.
Aihara came to attention and offered himself up as the cause of Aidan's death, and the fox was taken aback for a moment. How could Kuraiko have been responsible? But he thought he understood: he felt some kind of connection to the event, felt some need to think that their friend would be there had things gone a different way.
Slowly shaking his head, the fox waved the black-furred GEAR pilot back to his seat.
"Stand down, Aihara," he said quietly, but firmly. "It wasn't your fault, or any of your fault. Aidan did what he felt he had to, and what he could. Just like he did on our other operations together, both in exercises and in the field." Slowly, he unfroze and moved over to a nearby chair, bidding the others to sit down as well, before he spoke up, words coming slowly; awkwardly, as he found them and his emotions began to untangle themselves.
"I've been crossing the wires in my head thinkin' about how I coulda done things different on the last op, or on this one, to change it so no-one got hurt, or so we didn't have to sit here again and try an' find out what went wrong, or what any of us coulda done different. And I don't know myself. Right now, I feel like y'all have the right to walk outta that door and make a formal note of no faith in me; two missions into our career, and we've got three KIA's and one WIA to our name, along with a whole mess of people reassigned from our startin' lineup. And that's not countin' the damage to our equipment."
He matched eyes with everyone in the room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, more conversational and confessional than confrontational or formal. Somehow, it fit the moment, and what he was trying to say, trying to feel.
"Aidan was a good man. I liked him, a lot. Losing him feels like a stab in the gut, or like somethin's been cut outta me. We've only been a unit for a few weeks; maybe a month. And we've had so many come an' go in that time, that it's been hard fer us to form any bonds or find out how we gel together as a group. But he did what he had to, put himself out there as a medic an' as a damn fine soldier. I feel like I betrayed that by not havin' his ass in the fight-" he nodded to Kuraiko "-same as you, I bet, or any of us do. Hell, I can only imagine the hell y'all are feelin' right now," he added with a softer tone, nodding toward the fireteam. They'd been with him right at the end, in the same corridor.
"But the long an' short of it is," he continued, his tone firming slightly, and his eye falling to his own hands, stretching them both out before him, one black-and-white and artificial, the other black-furred and original. "We do a dangerous job. We put ourselves out there, in harms way where the bombs, bullets and whatever else are flyin', all aimin' ta kill us, or th' other guy. An' it seems right now, our little unit is right on the edge of somethin' messy, big, an' dangerous. An' that means folks are lookin' to throw their weight around, and we're gonna be havin' to push back. We got caught out twice; once by the Imps and it cost us two of our own that time. And this time the Southerners decided t' break their silence with violence, death an' destruction, and caught us out because of it.
"I won't blame any of y'all if you wanna be reassigned. I'll sign off on it, and I'll hand you a glowin' recommendation. You all deserve it for sure, after all we've been through. But me... I got doubts, an' plenty of 'em after what we've seen, an' what I went through before all of this too. Gotta say, feels like some of its' repeatin' on me. But, I can swear to you all, I don't wanna see any more of you laid out without throwin' myself right inta harms way with every furry fiber of my old ass to ensure that if death comes lookin' fer you, it's gonna have to fight through me first. And on top of that? I wanna find out what is so dear; what is so critical an' important to these two giant factions, that it was worth killin' our guys for, and layin' waste t' half of Martenstown".
He stood up again, pacing around the other a little as he spoke, more fire coming into his words.
"We been knocked down; hurt and left weakened by our losses. Especially losin' our people an' gettin' hurt. But we got somethin' back, we have intel from the Princess herself, an' whatever it is Kellia is onto as well. An' we have new orders too: We're headin' out first light to Antaria Flats. An' y'all know what's there; the hottest gear in the LDF and lots of it, an' all of the LDF's Special Operations units. Doesn't take me too much to draw some conclusions there. I reckon we're about to get pretty reinforced. We'll be there in a day an' a half. Time enough fer us to lick our wounds, search our souls, and firm ourselves up... or to make any other decisions y'all wanna make".
He gestured toward his open office door in the corner of the common area the individual bunk rooms all lead onto. "I'll be in there if y'all wanna speak to me about anythin'. As you were," he commented with a nod, and turned slowly on his heel, moving back into his room.

"Sir...I take responsibility for Aiden's injury...I should've been faster on the trigger. I could have stopped it all..."

"wha-?" mike started before blade dismissed Aihara's admission.

How could we have done anything more than we had, the GEAR bay full of wrecks, 2 pilots dead one out of commission. the roughriders were a skeleton crew since their first deployment. If anything mike felt responsible, If he had helped Aidan instead of bickered, they might have gotten the jump on the southern assholes. If he had been faster, he might have saved Irry's Harlock, or maybe saved Adrian from an unwanted life of pain....IF he lived.

"I feel like y'all have the right to walk outta that door and make a formal note of no faith in me"

"Fuck that" Mike growled, nearly insulted at the very idea.

"-I can only imagine the hell y'all are feelin' right now," blade continued as he nodded to the fireteam.

Shit.... I never even considered the fire team? he thought, looking at the worn out ground team. he nodded solemnly to the ground team, letting blade finish before he broke off to talk them, as well as Irry and Blade.

"-But, I can swear to you all, I don't wanna see any more of you laid out without throwin' myself right inta harms way with every furry fiber of my old ass to ensure that if death comes lookin' fer you, it's gonna have to fight through me first."

And there's why I'm not leaving. mike thought to himself

"I'll be in there if y'all wanna speak to me about anythin'. As you were," he commented with a nod, and turned slowly on his heel, moving back into his room.

"Colonel Blade Sir." mike said as Blade turned. "Any officer that says they place their subordinates safety above their own, and then proves it, is an officer worth following." mike ditched the helmet, and stood a little straighter. "The south needs a good ass kicking, I'd like to volunteer my boot, and I wouldn't follow anyone else to do it" he said folding his arms.

Kensington followed Mike with his eyes as the man stood up and announced that he should take the blame. It was something Kensington couldn't agree with, and he wanted to voice out his objection, but then again he almost did the same thing last time when he opened up to Aiden. Blade didn't accept it though, and the pilot had to agree with his CO's judgement, but it still wasn't a consolation for the people they lost.

Perhaps that wound will never heal. The senior airman thought, his gaze falling to the ground while he listened to every word the colonel had to say. Something about what he said made his stubbornness kick in though, the same kind of stubbornness that brought him to where he was today. Nobody was about to give up their position here, this squad was something that came once in a life time regardless of whether Silver would agree or not. Kensington was no exception, and he stuck to his decision even after everything that was said.

With the closing remarks the wolf stood up and looked around the room to observe the other's reactions. Immediately he could see one of his teammates already following the fox out, and he couldn't help but follow the two to Silver's office, stopping in the doorway and standing in silence with his hands in the pockets of his BDU pants. Whatever he needed to say could wait, let everyone else have their words.

"Colonel Blade Sir." mike said as Blade turned. "Any officer that says they place their subordinates safety above their own, and then proves it, is an officer worth following." mike ditched the helmet, and stood a little straighter. "The south needs a good ass kicking, I'd like to volunteer my boot, and I wouldn't follow anyone else to do it" he said folding his arms.

The fox's muzzle lifted into a slight smirk at the ferocity and sincerity in Mikes' words. He gave a respectful nod to the tiger as he replied. "Looks like we both agree on that, an' that means I picked well gettin' y'all in the unit. As you were, Nawlin. We'll catch up later."
He looked to Ken as he followed the fox, bidding him to enter the office and say whatever was quite obviously on his mind, as he sat behind the desk.

****

The following morning, the landcruiser was well underway. Martenstown had slipped out of sight during the night and the land-ship was surrounded by the near-featureless terrain of the Badlands on all sides. The rolling expanse of dusty ground was broken only by occasional outcrops of rock, wandering dry river and streambeds and patches of scrubby, hardy vegetation. A distant range of mountains rose to the far west, and at their heart, the tallest peak was capped by smoky blackness and a red, volcanic glow, marking the beginnings of the tectonically active and brokenly treacherous 'heart' of the true badlands.
Aboard the ship, the night had passed in a almost conspiratorially quiet manner. Duty watches had gone on quietly, and the ships' normal activities had been somewhat muted. The losses of personnel and equipment had cast a sullen air among the crew complement. And the rumours and scuttlebutt had already began to circulate about the open-secret of their carrying the Imperial Princess, and the mysterious civilian picked up in Martenstown. Combined with the open knowledge of their destination, speculation was already growing and the tall-tales reaching ever-more ludicrous proportions.

None of this was of particular importance to Silverwind and Captain Garrett as they entered the room that had been assigned to the Princess. Both held their own PADDS and kept their expression neutral as they entered the room. The black-furred vulpine was delicately finishing off a breakfast provided from the mess, and stood up as they both stepped into the room.
"Captain, Colonel," she greeted them in her exotically accented tone. "Good morning. Thank you for treating me so well. Although, I must confess, I am getting somewhat tired of looking at these walls. I do understand your need for security, of course."
"I'm pleased the accomodation is to your liking, Princess," the captain replied, taking a seat at the small, functional table, as Silverwind did the same. The princess returned to her seat as well, recognizing that they'd come to ask her questions as she knitted her fingers together in front of her on the tabletop.
"If you know why we had to keep you secure, then you know why we're here this morning," Blade continued, his eye searching her face and finding only quiet intelligence and the expect mix of enforced calm and concern. "I think it's time we had a talk about what you're doing in Landren".
She hesitated for a moment, before nodding. "Quite right," she said slowly. "And I believe you are the people to tell. Your... unconventional unit, and this landcruiser, seem something of an anomaly. An experiment of some kind, I'm guessing? And you don't appear to be operating with a normal land-fleet group or detachment; you must have a lot of operational authority and independence. I think this information will be best handed to you, so you can do with it as you must. And besides; I'm in no position to choose who I pass it to. And with the South at large, it's vital it gets passed on as quickly as possible".
Blade and the captain exchange glances, before making notes on their PADDs and looking back. Captain Garrett bid her to continue, and for the princess took a breath, meeting their eyes before she continued.
"What I'm going to tell you will seem unbelievable. Crazy, even... but there is proof, and you've seen a lot of it. And I know where there's more. But please, allow me to explain, and then I'll answer your questions..."

Several hours later, the pair stood in Captain Garrett's ready room and reviewed what they'd learned. Both of their heads were spinning, minds reeling and still trying to justify what the Princess had told them. However, it fit with the actions of the South so far, and a few checks with other sources had fit neatly with what she had told them.
All of which made it absolutely mind-bending.
"Well?" asked Silverwind after a moment, sipping a mug of green tea. "What now?"
"We... well, we follow our orders. We pass the information up the chain to command, and see what they do next. If anything, that ought to help with verifying what she's said is, well. Real. And if it isn't, then we still have the issue that there are Northern military units in our territory. And that there's a factional split in the Empire" The deer groaned and pressed her fingers to her face, rubbing her eyes gently. "And we still have to interview the civilian too..."

***

Kellia had been secured in quarters a short distance removed from the Princess. As she had helped in the operation, she had been allowed more freedom to wander the ship, albeit with an escort. However, her PADD had been removed for safe-keeping for the meantime. She had been allowed limited access to the ships 'net interface however, to keep herself entertained. As the pair entered the room she'd been staying in, she shut down the interface built into the tables' top and looked up. She recognized them both, having met the captain after coming aboard, and gave a nervous smile.
"It's okay," Silverwind said with a smile. "You're not really in trouble, we just want to ask you some questions about how you knew so much about what was happening, and your motivations behind everything that happened".
"All right," the mink replied hesitantly. "But, I think I might not be able to answer all of them. You might need to talk to my friend..."
"Which friend is this?" The captain asked, taking a seat alongside Silverwind. "The one who'd been guiding you through your PADD during the operation?"
Before Kellia could say anything else, the table-top display lit up, and a neutral-sounding, almost genderless voice answered from the built-in speakers around the room.
"Captain Garrett, that would be me. I believe it's time I shared my existence and nature with you properly".
Things continued to get complicated and strange from there.

***

Over the next few days, the pair were released more openly onto the ship. The princess was allowed more free reign, though under the escort of a guard at all times, and likewise with Kellia. The pair were sworn not to reveal their information just yet; a formal debriefing of the Roughriders would occur when they reached their destination, and had the full extent of their new orders revealed. Not to mention, there was the business of Aidan's funeral to attend to.

The ceremony was again held in the hangar bay. The GEARs had Landren flags and standards draped over them once more, and a simple dark-wood casket with a flag laid atop it was the centre of the affair, a smiling, handsome picture of the medic on an easel alongside it, surrounded by flowers.
Blade and the captain read and spoke words of rememberance and encouragement, and spoke fondly of their departed comrade. Esailia contributed too, and their departed friend and comrade-in-arms was honoured to the highest, before his casket was loaded aboard a tilt-rotor to the accompaniement of music, held aloft by his squadmates and Blade leading a salute as the aircraft was elevated to the flight deck, the mortal remains of their brother-in-arms spirited back to his family for their proper internment.

Following that, their arrival at the base was only hours away, after the Claw made a course-correction to the South, turning back towards the more firmly-held areas of Landren territory, and away from the Badlands. Greenery made sporadic appearances as they grew closer, and the silver shimmer of a distant lake could be seen as the Landcruiser began to weave a path down wide downs toward a spread-out dry lakebed. On one edge of the hardpan, a large base complex squatted, with a settlement abutting it; their destination. The LDF's primary research and development center, and also the home of it's Special Forces detachments.

***

Silverwind returned to the Roughriders' barracks, after having been up on the bridge at the Captains' invitation. More information had been received from command, and from the base, and he'd been included in the messages. Wanting to pass the information on before their imminent arrival and docking at the base, and to make his people ready to offload, he'd headed directly to their quarters, sending a message on for them to expect him and be waiting.
As he stepped into the room, he called out.
"Front and center, people! I've got news to tell, and not much time to shout it."
He waited for them all to assemble, before he spoke up.
"All right, here's what's goin' down. I know y'all have been waitin', and there's a lot you wanna know about. I can't tell all of it now, but I can tell you this: You'll get the whole deal soon, once it's all been worked out an' processed. But in the meantime, here's what's happenin' to us." He paused, weighing up his words before continuing.
"Good news first: We aren't being disbanded. In light of th' info from Kellia an' Princess Velostroya, we have a lot more work ahead of us, an' we're gonna be busy. That's why we're also gettin' six new squad members, all of 'em are GEAR pilots too. That oughta bring our firepower back up to regular levels. Irry an' I will also be gettin' brand new GEARs, an' everyone elses' will be getting overhauled while we're there too; full-level maintenance, which means replacin' all the worn-out or field-expedient repairs.
"There's more an' all - the Claw is gettin' the same treatment, which means we're gonna be shippin' out aboard a new 'cruiser after our maint is done. We got six days of trainin' an' familiarisation with th' new troops an' GEARs an' then we're shippin' out to the Southern Border... can't tell y'all more'n that so far. In the meantime: Get yerselves' ready to disembark, and look forward to havin' more space fer a while, and not bein' onboard a ship! Stand to ready to pilot yer GEARs off the ship, an assist with unloadin' the landcruiser. Y'all got ten minutes!"
He dismissed the group and headed into his own room, preparing to pick up his bags. Like the others, he'd been warned to vacate all personal items from his room in the light of the ships imminent refit and overhaul, as there was no telling how deep the work may be. As such, he had more than he'd normally be carrying with him to shift - and no GEAR to stow it in this time, he thought with a twinge of sadness.
Sadness that was only multiplied when he saw Aidan's bag by the door.
Hefting it onto one shoulder alongside his own, he met with Irry as she stepped out of her room, and headed for the GEAR bay as the ships' sirens sounded over the intercom - they were about to dock at the landcruisers' quay in the base.
Blade and Irry stepped into the hangar just as the Captains' voice announced over the intercom that the Parvan's Claw was secure in its' anchorage, and that the external hatches were opening now. Flashing lights came to life in the hangar bay, as the main ramp began to cycle down. Simultaneously, side hatches opened with a hiss, extending their own gangplanks and rampways to the cement quayside and letting the bright natural light of afternoon flood the interior space, playing across the machinery of the landcruisers interior.
Blade felt his fur ruffled by the breeze blowing off of the lakebed, and headed for the ramp, lowering the bags to the ground at the head of the ramp, and looking out expectantly, searching for the new members of his squad, and whatever else the base held for the Roughriders.

As Dominic Stood leaning against a near by wall waiting for the Landcrawler to begin unloading the 101st, Dressed in the standard issue fatigues he eagerly awaited his new unit. As the Ship's hatches and ramps popped open he stood up straight and began jogging over to the ramp and with the first look of his new CO as he began to walk down the ramp Dominic could barely contain his excitement. When he had first been told the news by his father that he had been put up for a position with the 101st, his jaw nearly hit the floor. Not only was he being given bigger paycheck, but he was being given an special operations position. He would train with some of the best his country had to offer, and he could be like his father, and have a chance to be a hero.

"Dominic I have never been so proud of you as I am now" His father had said when he handed him the assignment papers only a few days before. Dominic could still remember the smile and hug his father gave him after he presented him the news. Due to the nature of his reassignment he was unable to tell his mother, or his wife where he was being transferred to. he could only say that he was to replace losses with an active duty unit. Losses, the word sent a chill down his spine as he thought about it. He had seen combat, and he knew people died, it was just he had never been a replacement before. The fact he and the others had a spot meant that some one didn't make it back. Perhaps a few spots are because they had the budget to add more members, but in actuality he knew at least a few of them were replacements In an attempt to rid himself of these thoughts he quickly shook his head

As His CO looked around Dominic quickly jogged up to him "Trainee Dominic Vega Reporting for duty" he said as he gave him a sharp salute
The words Trainee slightly bothered him. The last time he was a trainee was when he was getting his GEAR certification. But sadly he didn't know what else to call himself, by all means he was a trainee. He had been reassigned from the 10th and was to begin receiving Special operations training, so by definition he was a trainee
"It is an honor to have the opportunity to serve with the 101st." he said with pride.

Hongli narrowed his eyes as dust kicked up by the Landcrawler's operations fluttered through the air. As the hatches opened and he got a glimpse of the interior, his understanding of what an unorthodox unit the 101st truly was was reinforced. Hongli's previous assignment to the LDF was less than glamorous; border duty, mostly. It was a far-cry from his experience with the Xiguang Principality Royal Guard. Back in the Principality, Hongli was a pilot of the esteemed 3rd Royal Guards, nicknamed the "Black Lancers." It was a prestigious position, and there was certainly evidence he had the privilege of becoming a member due to circumstance of his birth. After fleeing the North, joining the LDF was like starting all over again, without those benefits. The 101st, however, seemed to be a little closer to home than his former, regular LDF unit.
The ramp of the Landcrawler fell open, and Hongli recognized the figure of Colonel Blade, complete with prosthetic arm. He liked the way the Colonel carried himself from he reports - firm and undoubtedly in control, but hardly uptight or by-the-book. Results were what mattered, and ends justified means, regardless whether they were thought up in a military academy textbook or on a paper napkin on the field.
As a fellow trainee to his left approached the Colonel, Hongli followed and saluted in kind.
"Trainee Hongli Lang, reporting, Sir." Putting his given name before his family name still felt strange to him, and his accent was still moderate.
As he saluted, the wolf's eye caught a glace of Landren's flag on his arm, and for a moment he remembered when his uniform used to bear the Xiguang Principality patch instead. He supposed those days would be long gone, but inside, he ached to pilot for his country again - only for the country it used to be, rather than that it had become.

Claudia looked up from her PADD with a start as the Landcrawler landed heavily in the anchorage. Quickly stowing the device in her knapsack as the hatches opened and the gangplanks extended to the quayside, she felt like she was fifteen again, adorned in her slightly oversized dress uniform for the first time, waiting for the Hauptmann to appear so she could report for duty. She couldn't remember the Hauptmann's name, only that he was a rather nasty looking badger who screamed at her for five minutes because she bent her elbow at the wrong angle when saluting. Looking down at her own standard issue fatigues, now lightly coated with dust from the landing of the Landcrawler, she wondered if that old grouch would have had a conniption at the sight of her standing here, horrifically out of uniform, yet waiting to reinforce one of the best units in the entire LDF. Smiling slightly, she kept a lid on her pride as she scanned the disembarking crew for the Colonel.

She didn't look for long, quickly spotting the eyepatch and the prosthetic arm from a distance. A far cry from the crotchety old Hauptmann, the Colonel had the unmistakable look of a true leader, a man who spearheaded the charge rather then barked orders from the rear. It was men like him that reminded her of why she decided to fight for Landren in the first place. Wulfram demanded that you fight and die for the glory of Wulfram. Landren asked you to fight for something much greater then that. Respect welled up inside of her as she approached the Colonel, and she snapped to attention and saluted along with her fellow trainees.

"Trainee Claudia Hildebrand, reporting for duty Herr Ober-....Sir!" she announced, mentally kicking herself for slipping back into her native tongue. Still a rookie, Claudia, still a rookie.

The Landcruiser emerged on the horizon like a hulking and unwieldy steel whale, hovering gracefully across the badlands as it made its final approach to the Antaria Flats military base. The six new transfers stood in a loose gaggle rather than a formation and waited for their new assignment to quite literally come to them. Each soldier was an elite GEAR pilot, handpicked from one unit or another, and while each of them couldn’t be more different from the next, the past few weeks had all but ironed out operational wrinkles. Even if there were personal differences from one person to the next, they were professionals, through and through, and they shared an ironclad bond; all had survived and graduated from special operations training school.

Despite the brutal difficulty and participating in exercises and training that went beyond anything Corporal Ross Nordegg thought he or his equipment was capable of, pushing man and machine past their limits and somehow thriving. Once the badger had acclimatized to the brutal training regimen, he equated it to more or less the same shit he’d been doing before, just far more sophisticated and it played to his individualism. Unlike other units, being spec ops gave one a certain amount of autonomy, where each soldier was to be self-sufficient and a leader in their own right, not just a member of the rank and file. It went beyond just following orders; the spec ops troops needed to be able to do things on their own under their own initiative.

It was daunting, but also liberating. Ross decided he liked amounting to more than being another number in the rank and file. He had something to prove, and he could do it under his own merits, not following orders to such tedious meticulousness that it became stifling. He had no problem following orders, and he certainly didn’t consider himself insubordinate, but there were times where the official orders were ill-advised or ineffective and he simply completed the objective in a more efficient manner. Unfortunately, the brass didn’t see eye to eye with him whenever he deviated from the usual protocol and it ultimately kept the prospect of promotion off of his radar, which ironically would have meant him calling the shots and getting away with his more… creative solutions.

He watched the Landcruiser come into port, towering over the platform and Ross couldn’t help but admire the size and complexity of the machine; hell, the power and propulsion systems that provided the beast with lift must have been immense and complicated, possibly involving something like quantum mechanics. And so, he watched as the moorings came down and Parvan’s Claw opened up, giving the new transfers a glimpse at their new crew.

It gave Ross a reason to think about what he must have looked like. Combat vest over a tunic with the arms cut off, brown cowboy hat over a bandana, neck-length ponytail and a machine gun over his right shoulder while pouches containing ammunition drums and a spare barrel hung off of his rucksack. The the CO, one Colonel Blade, would be given his first impression soon enough. Either it was going to be a productive relationship, or more of the same as the last CO he had who was all too eager to see Ross out of his regiment. The badger considered that he spent somewhere in the neighbourhood of 500 credits on replacement tunics and the fact a lot of his physical fitness was maintained by discovery of his abuse of the “if it fits under your head dress, you can keep it” policy in regards to hair. Skirting policy and stubbornness aside, Ross decided for this first meeting, he’d show the Colonel point blank exactly what he was all about. No sense in keeping surprises hiding under a pretense of suspense and an elaborate game of pushing buttons.

As the man of the hour descended to the replacements and greet him, a man with no small amount of scarring and cybernetic enhancements, Ross stood anchored in place, waiting for the dust to clear before he introduced himself. The man looked tired, that was for damn sure.

The Flats were rather quiet that morning, a sort of silence that would send creepy crawlies up one's fur should they stare too long at the glistening horizon until the complete absence of background noise would drive them insane. Patricia couldn't explain to herself why there seemed to be very little activity, save for the usual vehicles rolling around the base, blocks of trainees jogging their hearts out and a patrol strolling around with enough enthusiasm to yawn and fall asleep while walking. Although she had been busy with personally babysitting a bunch of pilots just enough to distract her from boredom, she couldn't help but notice weird feelings creeping her out from the moment she woke up that morning. She allowed extra long breaks that day so that she could regain her wits after loosing her patience quicker than ever, but the main reason for her patience burning up so quick was different; so different that she couldn't put her finger on it. It couldn't be that she was going more and more eager for the Parvan's Claw to make its approach for the base, there was still roughly a week left before they would pack their stuff and head towards the Antaria Flats. She and her superior, colonel Harper, were some of the few people who knew of the landcruiser's trajectory and somewhat secret reinforcements supply; it seemed that the 101^st had lost quite a number of GEAR pilots during a skirmish and needed some better troops to replace the lost ones.

The thoughts of seeing him warmed her and gave her some more strength to pull through the day, chalking off the number of days left until the rendezvous with the cruiser in her head. Seeing a personal message in her inbox made her smirk as her slim finger tapped the touchscreen of the PADD, but that smirk quickly faded as she examined the eerie content of the message.

1993142 00010 131 00 142 00 551 00 155 00 144 00 412 00 555 00 108 00 178

She couldn't find any logical pattern within the message in her initial attempts, suspecting that he had encrypted the message somehow using some sort of algorithm unbeknownst to her; but since he did send that message in the first place, she realised that he would expect her to crack it before his arrival. As soon as she placed the PADD beside her so she could stand up and stretch, she fell on the floor in the very next instance, waking up to a burning sensation on the right side of her face and a sharp pain cutting her right leg in the thigh; she groaned as she tried to recover from the fall and as soon as she tried to put some weight on her hurting leg, she realised that it went completely numb: she couldn't feel her own weight, she couldn't feel the pants, the floor beneath, warmth, it almost felt as though the leg wasn't there. Lucky her, there was no one around to see her stumble and fall, then clumsily pull herself back up on her seat, waiting for a while to recover. The weird sensation that followed her through that day had been replaced with emptiness, which was slowly replaced with dread. It all came to her without really knowing why, which worried her deeply.



Her eyes were closely following the landcruiser's treads as it made its approach to dock at the base, having a rather good view over the approaching vessel from her own separate bunk. The gargantuan piece of machinery looked as tired and rusty as her whole musculature after so many days of training the recruits, every fibre in her body tense and giving off that satisfying ache of a good workout. Maybe back in the days, that thing had some decency in its design and integrity, but it looked like an old fart of an ugly car to her right now. She did not want to start worrying about the whole technological incompatibilities between the newer GEAR models and the docks inside that wheeled hangar, but she could imagine the kind of mess the poor technicians had to clean up and sort out. The cruiser inched closer and closer, to the point she could already see the nuts and bolts holding the hull together and once the main hangar door seemed to crack open, Patricia woke up from her semi-dormant state and stood up from her desk, rearranging the fur on her face where she had rested her head against her fist. She did not want to see the inside of the machine, but there was no choice.

She sighed deeply, then, proceeded to tie her long, flowing onyx hair into a stylish, but military acceptable bun she hid under a carefully placed officer's navy beret with a distinctive spade-shaped patch depicting a dagger punching through a skull crossed by two lightning flashes. She grabbed her thick PADD and a magnetic pen before she stormed down flights after flights of stairs until she reached the ground floor, then she rushed over to the ramp heading out to make contact with the Claw with long strides. As she approached, she spotted a few of the recruits she supervised for that last week eager to to occupy their own spots on the ride to hell; Patricia blew an ear-piercing whistle with the help of her thumb and index fingers.

"Ten-HUT! Ya'll better make a good impression in front of colonel Blade or I'll send your sorry arses back to The Grinder and have ya'll become fucken chefs. Col. Blade's one of us, so you'd better stop looking like miserable mongrels and show him a new generation of Spec Op agents looks like. A'ight, game face on, kids, let's move!" Her voice betrayed her young age, but her tone was still serious enough not to make her look like an overgrown child; she knew she didn't look quite the part, but she preferred to let her actions and reputation speak about her instead of looks alone.

Her head shot back towards the bay, dread gnawed again at her throat as she could already see the inside walls of the old hunk of metal, thinking that he must have walked along those walls and up those catwalks. She swallowed down a painful knot as she could finally see the bay wide open, GEAR docks mostly empty and only a handful of crewmen running around; up front stood the colonel himself, an aged, sly fox that had experience etched all over his face, accompanied by a younger red panda officer that still looked as stunning as the last time Patricia saw her. The feline looked to her right, then to her left, before she finally walked over the connecting ramps to salute the colonel and his assistant, making sure to look as sharp and confident in her moves as ever. She had to rehearse her introduction a few times in her mind, but she felt that she wouldn't stumble on her words yet.

"Colonel Blade. XO Jacquo. It is good to see you both arrive safely, considering what you have been through. Our facility's prepared to give your tin box a makeover and add no less than six new pilots, including me, to replace the lost ones." She said, nodding her head only slightly. Her eyes kept darting left and right, waiting for something to happen, waiting for a miracle.

"They've made it through The Grinder pretty well and I personally vouch for their talent and capabilities; sure, they're a handful of misfits: the youngest is 22 years old, Vega's his name. Comes from a military family, so he can't be half-bad. We've got a pilot from the Xiguang Principality... Hongli Lang; different culture, aye, but they speak GEAR language pretty well. We've got another born in old Wulfram before the collapse, Claudia Hildebrand. A charming lady. I'm pretty sure one of the pilots is also connected to a PMC, namely Zodiac Arms, but as far as I can tell she's no trouble to us; yes, Sergios' her name. Lastly, we've a cowboy, Nordegg, but he's behaving. For now." She put the PADD away at her back and lifted her gaze at the fox, her expression finally visible.

"And I presume that I may skip the courtesies, colonel. I haven't changed my name, nor do I plan to soon."

Not anymore.

Kensington was quiet while the two spoke, keeping to himself so he didn't do much of any intentional eavesdropping on his fellow man. It made him zone out a bit, or perhaps recent events was the prime suspect for that. The voice of the colonel snapped him back into attention though, and upon being invited in the wolf stepped forward, clearing his throat before speaking. "Sir, you know nobody's going to leave. After all we've all made an oath before enlistment, and this case is no exception." He said, pausing for a minute before letting out a shuddered sigh. "In all honesty though, I'm gonna miss 'em. Especially the doctor." With that the senior airman turned away and started out the door, but not before glancing over at the fox one more time and saying. "Sir, with all you've said doesn't give you the right to try some hero work, by the way. Remember there's only one you."

---

The days following were rather quiet for Kensington aside from a couple moments with Dane. The co pilot was almost a perfect fit to fill the hole that had been in the senior airman for the past few days, and soon he was able to function better than before; fresh and ready for anything. That day came when the two received their briefing, and once they were dismissed the two went straight to packing up.

Upon entering his room Kensington was greeted with the six pack he had left on the table, still unopened and still full of memories. His eyes locked on it for a minute before the case became the first thing he packed away, his smile fading as he continued packing everything up into his duffle bag. The stash and his clothes were packed up quickly, and his arm went through the collar and out the left shoulder of his vest so to hang it on his shoulder, his rifle dangling on it's carribeaner connected to the vest after he picked his things up and walked out the door. He was first greeted by the younger pilot, and the two exchanged nods and proper addressing before they started down the hall at a slow pace.

"Ya know sir.." Dane started, his eyes ahead while he adjusted his cap. "I dunno if you read my file, but the brass left some stuff in there that probably would get me kicked out now that this group has a lot more value to it..." There was a trail off, but before the airman could continue the higher ranked wolf cut him off.

"None of that, airman. You're as fit for the job as anyone else, and I am confident I don't need to read paper work to tell me what an airman can do." The senior airman said, stopping with a confident smile as he gave the fox a hearty pat on the left arm. "Don't let me regret saying that, this is your chance to prove whoever you wanna prove wrong. So, you ready for the move? The helicopter should be transported over by the service crews." There was silence, and when Dane replied with a nod Kensington gave a nod back, "C'mon, lets not leave the colonel alone." Those were the final words before the captain's voice entered the halls and the two shifted to double time to meet up with their commanding officer.

"Looks like we both agree on that, an' that means I picked well gettin' y'all in the unit. As you were, Nawlin. We'll catch up later."
"Aye sir" nawlin eplied, snapping a salute, before bending to pick up his beers, turning to the ground team.
"Hows everyone holding up?" he asked, holding up the remainder of beers to the team for those that wanted one.

the following morning, after a far too short night, nawlin got up and pulled on a black T-shirt and a pair of fatigue pants, before padding to the gym. Determined not to be a lazy gear pilot, and ashamed of his lack luster ground performance on the last mission, he set out on a jog on an empty tradmill. Earbuds playing, he worked out a good warm up, starting ith a deceptivly slow recon shuffle untill the song shifted to a more intense one. rolling from the energy saving jog to a longer lopeing stride mike sweat on the machine. 15 minuets and a mile and a half later, mike ramped it up into a pounding run, determined to add another two miles before he reversed the trend for a cool down. After a short sparring session with waited equipment, mike headed for the showers, and then wondered about the Claw. this pretty much made up the next few days.

Arrival Day:
Blade explained the situation and thankfully, the group woud stay active, getting much needed reinforcment.
"-Stand to ready to pilot yer GEARs off the ship, an assist with unloadin' the landcruiser. Y'all got ten minutes!"
"Aye sir" mike hollored amoung the brief cacophany of responces before jogging into his room to pick up his rucksack and duffle, before double timeing to the GEAR bay. slowing to stop infront of the head tech, mike apologized for not acknowloging them last time. after a brief talk, mike looked up to see another tech chipping at the left camera.
"damed thing is fused to the armor, hope they got some heavier tools out there" the tech muttered as he scrolled through the needed repairs.
with not much else to do, he dumped his gear out of the way and sat on the duffel.

Casper could taste dust in her mouth and click her piercing against her teeth as she tried to spit it out, not enjoying the sun beating down on her because of her black fur as she waited as one of the six new GEAR pilots that would be joining the ranks of the 101st. All of them has spent that last couple of days finishing up their special forces training, each getting to know each other and become a actual unit before they got deployed into the real thing. Not that the vixen was entirely comfortable with this. She got selected because she was the best but since day one Casper had missed her old squad, she was slow to warm to new people despite the smile she put on when talking to her new squad. It had even gotten to the point of her wanting to resign and transfer back but she stuck with it, hoping that the feeling in her gut would go away in time.
Someone pointed out the large cruiser as it made it's way towards the docking area, everyone turning to watch it's approach. It would not be the actual ship they would be boarding since it was going to be dry docked and repaired, everyone was just waiting to greet their new commander before helping with the unloading.
Casper herself got pushed to the back of the group, all of them not really standing in a formation left the fox at a disadvantage because of her small size, though she did get the chance to hide behind Ross and use the big badger as cover from the wind, keeping more dust from getting in her face at least as she peeked past everyone and watched the cruiser drive up. She stepped back for a second and pulled off her beret, taking a hair band out of her pocket and pulling her long black hair back into a ponytail, it was the only way to keep her bangs from covering her eye and she wanted to look more professional as the ramp dropped down and she adjusted her beret back atop her head.

Silverwind looked over as the new arrivals presented themselves, all of them looked a mix of eager, and uncertain. He could understand that; being uprooted from ones' squad to be bought here and put through a hard training regime to join a unit you'd never heard of was enough to rustle anyone's jimmies. And especially when the landcruiser that turned up was the LDF's 'black sheep'; the Claw being infamous for being one-of-a-kind, and somewhat unwanted by everyone. Nonetheless, as his eye fell upon Patricia at the front of the assembly, a flicker of a smile ghosted across his pointed muzzle in recognition. He knew that while she'd have put them through the proverbial wringer, she'd have also made sure they had a good vibe about why they were doing it.
He gave a brief nod to her, before returning the deluge of salutes he received with a smart one of his own.
"At ease, people," he said with a slight smile and a nod, before turning his attention to Patricia's report and listening intently. Her look didn't escape his notice, and he quietly filed away the firm idea to have a personal catch-up with the feline within the next 24 hours. As she finished her run-down of the group, he nodded in satisfaction.
"Thank you, Onyx," he said, recalling her handle from their earlier encounters. "I've got no doubt you've bought everyone up to speed. And I'm glad you'll be joining us too". Turning his attention to the group as a whole, he raised his voice a little to carry over the sound of the work of unloading the landcruiser beginning behind them.
"Welcome to the Roughriders," he said loudly, and with a confident, firm tone. "We're not what you'd call a conventional unit by any stretch of the imagination. Our role is pretty broad; one mission could have us operatin' well within Landrens' borders. The next could be skirting the border, or out in the reaches of the badlands, huntin' down bandits. Right now, we're starting to find ourselves wrapped up in somethin' so big, that, well. A whole lotta everythin' could be at stake. Needless to say though, y'all wouldn't be here if I, and the brass above me, didn't think you couldn't hack it, or that yer skills and records didn't show you weren't suited fer the job." He paced a few steps back and forth in front of them, single eye roving over their faces and postures as he spoke, directing the conversation at each and all of them to keep them involved and attentive.
"I know y'all have been put through th' wringer by Major Archer here, and you came out on top of that. I'm sure the last thing y'all wanna hear is more training, but it's only so as y'all get used to workin' with the rest of this bunch of mine, and we can give you a taster of how the Roughriders run things. I can promise you though: in a few days time, we're gonna be receivin' a full briefin' that'll blow yer mind. Even I don't have the full details, but there's sure as hell big things afoot. In the meantime, we gotta landcruiser to unload!".
Blade set to giving them all tasks to help with unloading of the Parvan's Claw, detailing them to assist with the un-shipping of whatever equipment, supplies and other items were aboard the pocket-battleship, throwing himself into the job along with them.

***

Aboard the bridge of the ship, captain Garrett leaned on the helm station on the land-vessels' bridge. The crew had mostly been assigned to other positions, now that the ship was in dock. Her major role would be liason and communication at this point, as her ship was no longer out in the field. Given the sheer scale of unloading taking place, she was baffled by how in-depth the refit was due to be. More so, as she'd been directed that, upon unloading of the GEARs, aircraft, and all of the ships' other stores and supplies, it was to proceed further into the base, into the full maintenance area, which meant a large-scale refit was due. She hadn't even seen the plans yet - whatever it was though, it would be something quite drastic and striking. That was interesting to her, very much so, as the Claw had always been an oddity among the Landren land-ship fleet. A one-of-a-kind vessel, the first and only of her class; her sister ships cancelled before their hulls were laid down, and hers only completed because it was too expensive to scrap. Now, the 'odd ship' of the LDF was having enough money and materiel spent on it to do something to improve its' abilities and capabilities? There must be something in mind. Something in the intel they'd passed on had - understandably - shook something loose up the chain of command, and the Roughriders and the Claw had been chosen to head up the response.
Well, that suited her just fine. They had some payback to dish out, and if they were going to do it in person, then so much the better.
Her heart sank a little, however, as she watched cranes and trucks move in to remove the GEARs and aircraft complement from the ship; the Claw and herself would't be with them for the first stages. Shored up in a maintenance facility and under rebuilding, they'd have to live the strike back vicariously through messages from Blade and the rest until the refit was done.
Turning her attention back to the net terminal on the bridge, she began to review the endless administration work that went with a return to the docks.

***

Blade assembled the squad at the foot of the Claw's ramp and issued them tasks. Seeing how they handled a situation like this would be good; it'd show him how well everyone could work together and adapt to new tasks.
"All right folks, here's what we've got in store. Nawlin, Vega, Lang and Sergios. Mount up in your GEARs, you'll be assisting the weapons and ord teams with down-loading the Claws' VLS munitions and the ammo for her main batteries. A delicate touch will be required at all times, of course, an' I'm sure yer capable fer the task.
"Hildebrand, Nordegg an' Aihara. Y'all are assitin' with regular logistics, movin' the heavy equipment and cargo into or outta the Claw as required. Report ta Major Brownden, an' he'll direct the three of ya to where yer GEARs are needed.
"Maxwell, Jacquo an' Abraeven - you three take care of makin' sure our personal gear is squared away inta the barracks correctly, an' that we're all set up with the right facilities. We're goin' ashore fer a spell, an' I don't want us to be havin' to scrabble around findin' out where everythin' is, or makin' sure our unit ain't on the right records. Also, while yer at it, make sure our personal firearms are all checked in properly offa the ships' armoury and inta the bases' one." He nodded at the three of them, and then turned to Archer. "Archer, y'all are wi' me. You've been here longer, so y'all can direct me to the ops building, so we can report in with the base CO and get an idea on what's goin' down." He gestured to them all to disperse. "Off ya go then, kids. Have fun..."

He watched them disperse, and then looked to the black feline for a lead, nodding to her. "Well, lead the way..."

It certainly wasn’t the kind of opening pitch Ross expected from a commanding officer, the Colonel was a hell of an informal man with an easy-going disposition who, if Ross didn’t know any better, was thrust up the chain of command somewhat against his will. He’d seen officers in the past where they never quite let go of their NCO days where they served and fought alongside their troopers, and the higher up the chain of command you went, the further away from your troopers you became. Some people coped by becoming super hardasses, to make themselves as cold and professional as possible to prevent more personal attachments, others became despondent and prone to nostalgia and melancholy without being effective leaders, and others were like Colonel Silverwind Blade, who seemed to be the military equivalent of the older kid who didn’t want to accept the fact he was approaching an age where playing with kids and toys was unacceptable and put off the inevitable. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure this is the kind of guy who only gives a crap about ranks when someone else with bars on their shoulders is looking. Ross thought, adjusting the gun strapped over his shoulder.

The sales pitch was pretty spot on for Ross’ interest, as it turned out. Unconventional team that doesn’t play by the rulebook and gets thrown into the shit with some fancy equipment away from the rank and file doing some straight-up commando shit that could tip the balance of the war. From what Ross gathered of his fellow SpecOps trainees was that they were an island of unwanted toys, something about each of them was so individualistic and out of what is considered a model soldier that they just didn’t fit in. Some of them were foreigners with different cultural values and expectations, others were individualistic to a fault and had to make things their own way, some were just too damn clever to be cannon fodder. Whatever the case may be, the Roughriders had a reputation for going into the heaviest fights against all odds and coming out on top, and largely thanks to individual GEAR pilots who didn’t need a babysitter. It was starting to sound like it might be a good place to call home, and Ross erred on the side of cautious optimism. Blade didn’t seem to be all that bad; after all, he didn’t immediately give him shit about the hat.

As the assignments were issued, Ross called out to his two assigned partners. “A’right uberfrauline, Aihara, you heard the colonel. Let’s go show the munitions grubs what fun they’ll be missing, showing off our big muscles and how fire and control exercises can be used to master the art of shuffling around cans of tuna.” He shouted, his deep, smooth voice teasing the other members of the trainee squad, as well as the veteran Roughriders, including Aihara, whom was assigned to their detail. He offered the arctic wolf a nod as they met up, and he offered a hand for shaking. "Good to meet you. I'm looking forward to seeing what the Roughriders are all about. You been here since the start?" he asked.

Soon, the trio headed over to where Maxwell, Jacquo, and Abraeven were beginning to stage to square the squad away into their quarters. Ross removed his rucksack and machinegun, setting it down in the pile that was already somewhat started. “Hey, fellas, if you can do me one solid, when you go for the duffles and other personal shit, treat my guitar like it’s a fine lady, because she’s worth about a week of my wages.” He said, sincerely pleading with the trio to look after the instrument instead of tossing it around, despite its relative protection in the case. “I mean, you guys know me well enough now that I treat most things like a beat-up truck, but this is the one exception to the rule. Drinks on me later, a’right?” he said, slapping Jacquo on the shoulder before stepping back so Hildebrand and Aihara could drop their own things off and make any personal requests.

The trio headed towards where Major Brownden was currently directing supply flow into and out of the Landcruiser, and Ross was captivated by the giant vehicle they were about to call home. This was the first time he'd ever actually seen one of the behemoths up close. They were common enough in the LDF, especially for propaganda purposes, but it was kind of like how seeing a picture of a mountain didn't properly give you a sense of scale until you witness them in person. “Fuck, I never believed something this cartoonishly huge actually existed, you don't appreciate it until you're actually inside one.” He said with an appreciative whistle. “I feel like a toy in a stupidly expensive playset kids beg for to bankrupt mum and dad. Hey, uberfrauline did
Wulram ever build anything like this, or at least as irresponsibly large and expensive? This can's just begging to be kicked by an airstrike or arty barrage." he asked Claudia, grinning at his companions as they closed the distance with their contact.

As the Claw slowed to a stop mike stood and piled his gear onto one of the flatbeds marked for personal gear before joining the others. It seemed odd that his entire life resided inside of two bags, and he forced that out of his mind. Landen was in the middle of a shit storm and some how it was up to the Roughriders to dive in and do the lions share of the work.

who is sam hell thinks im capable of this? mike asked himself as he looked at the passing land slow to a crawl, and then the dust catch up before billowing past them. Several people hailed them they approached and entered the claw, one claiming herself to be their trainer, but neglecting to exchange her name. Though she tried to act relaxed and seem to match blades lack of ceremony, something seemed off. Much like when he met Kellia, mike felt his nape ruffle.

balanced stance, deliberate movements, the restless eyes. mike didn't know exactly, but if he had to guess, she was near the nameless tiers of operatives. Note to self, DO NOT piss off the cat! mike thought to himself as he listened to the conversation

Dominic seemed unsure, but determined, mike couldn't hold anything against him. Sure, he would have preferred some older experienced pilots, but mike wasn't very old or experienced himself.

Hongli Lang, mike wasn't sure about the wolf, but he supposed he would find out tis next week or so.

Claudia gave mike the same type of vibe as the nameless cat, thankfully both were on the same side as he was. there were enough cyber ninja bastards after the roughriders as is.

Mike eyed the badger, normally they ran the gambit between vicious bastards, and moderately irate individuals, but what species didn't? this would be an interesting team for sure though.

A small fox near the back didn't escape mikes notice either, the small canid following behind the badger as if he was an icebreaker.

Truth be told, they all seemed off, and because of that, mike liked them. In his life he found two things to hold true, Misfits are good people, and they are bound to surprise you.

"Nawlin, Vega, Lang and Sergios. Mount up in your GEARs, you'll be assisting the weapons and ord teams with down-loading the Claws' VLS munitions and the ammo for her main batteries. A delicate touch will be required at all times, of course, an' I'm sure yer capable fer the task." Blade said.

"Yes Sir." mike said waiting for blade to finish before looking for his crewmates. when a gruff voice cut through the bay

"Let’s go show the munitions grubs what fun they’ll be missing, showing off our big muscles and how fire and control exercises can be used to master the art of shuffling around cans of tuna.” the badger hollered.

"Ammo group, lets mount up and start moving bullets, And remember. If the tuna team gets to uppity, just start juggling the mortar crates!" mike called before turning to jog to his GEAR. stopping to face the team, he briefly held his palms up.
"DO NOT ACTUALLY JUGGLE THE AMMO!" he yelled before climbing aboard his gear and booting up the systems.

<anyway, the names mike to you new arrivals, sorry for the lack of a formal greeting, but we got to clean out the ship. glad to have you on the team and I look forward to meeting up with you all later.> mike said as Prowler finally came to life. the claxon for his bay sounded and the GEAR walked carefully into the main floor.

<prowler to magazine crew, ready to transport munitions, what goes first?>