The missile that Alice fired was old, probably older than the gunship she was firing it at, and its age was painfully clear. Lock-on systems slowly calculated the distance to the target and the particular design element to track, waiting for the all-clear sign of a pixelated missile to manifest before it would automatically deactivate the safety mechanism. It might have been considered a godsend for infantry in its heyday but even before the floundering gunship, its clunkiness in both physical design and targeting was far from ideal. The payload however was promising, smoke trailing behind a pointed missile designed to pierce and obliterate a variety of targets airborne and ground-based. The chin-mounted chaingun swivelled with a pause in firing as it began to spray wildly towards the direction of the missile. With on-board systems handling targeting the struggling pilot was able to notice the missile while battling the jerking, damaged aircraft. The hefty vessel jerked rightwards, staggering drunkenly as the curve the missile's trajectory sliced over the same side its still burning missile pods had been. Residual shielding flared a light rose-red, solidfying patterns of condensed energy almost threatening to shatter like glass from the mere pass of the projectile, signifying thier severely degraded state. With the Envenomed focused on an airborne threat however, the remaining survivors of the League-run firebase made their move. Their infantry had been depleted - maybe just 11 left but they had one key advantage still. Four key advantages on closer inspection [center][hider=Walker Gun Platform] [img]https://i.ibb.co/k08pqJg/Quadripedal-or-four-legged-drone-or-robot-or-small-mech-with-top-mounted-gun-quad-mech-quick-sketch.jpg[/img] [/hider][/center] Shuddering from behind the smoke kicked up by the conflict, the units previously disabled by the armored trooper's cranial explosion shuddered back to life with flickers of blue LED's and the slow rising of power signature readings. They were vrexul in origin; their arachnoid appearance hinted that much, but they had been simplified from their original designs. Bioplating was externally absent, shielded in composite flexi-metals that stretched and bent to the shape of the reinforced organosynthetic mass beneath. It had only four legs rather than the six to ten often fielded by this platform, possibly combined into the meaty limbs dragging them into a steady march. A chin-mounted tri-barrel gatling swivelled left and right as if providing additional sight for the frontal eyes, armor tapering off towards their split vertical arrangement. The main point of focus was the laser turret sitting tyrannically upon them, a cruel and pointed despot watching from a subtle camera between its dark bulk and the denser shoulders connecting to its frontal limbs. It was a darker shade than the faded grey-blue stripe pattern of the rest of the machine; it seemed they were recent arrivals to this world and were finally about to be used. They advanced in a reverse circular formation - the two furthest arms were the furthest up, the two in the middle deliberately lagging behind them, providing cover for the space of toppled trees and hole/corpse-ridden no-man's land between both opposing forces. One of the remaining ZRF troopers spun out of cover, three bursts slamming not into metal but a field of spherical, rippling energy flaring a resolute blue. He spun back behind the bisected shipping crate Alice was running to but not fast enough. His rifle flew out of his hands as bolts of bright purple punched clean through the armour, splattering his arm into bone fragments and synthetic material. His chest and its armour erupted outwards next, silencing any cries as he fell face first to the ground. The sound of the automata's accusatory shimmer-crackle report echoed amidst the gunfire. It had come from the right arm of the advance, the ape-spider-platform having gained a partial flanking shot on the guerilla before its chin-mounted weapon whirred and began spitting energy-shrouded bolts, tearing through a partially collapsed tree. Bark split as a stream of rifle-grade rounds flew right at the voidhanger. Even through the carnage she would be able to catch a glance of three infantry advancing behind it, aiming to close in and try to force back the ruthless onslaught to protect their only real chance of survival burning in the sky. Desperately they fired a spray of bullets her way, shredding the bits of fallen tree that remained obscuring their sight. The bisected shoulder immediately tossed itself into cover next to Savlator and pulled a grenade from part of its armor-vest, smeared with its own fluids and primed it. It landed near the leftmost arm of the gun-platform backed advance and blew apart in a storm of needles, a small blizzard that caused the shielding of the gun-platform to flare an angry pinkish-blue. A few of the soldiers fell back, shrapnel biting through armor and into flesh. One slumped back only for their neck to disconnect and send the head rolling into blast-crater; he had been the closest to the storm of needles, unwillingly having shielded the remaining two, trading shots with the half-soldier. The gun-platform did not fire upon Salvator yet; it appeared its shielding was interfering with its targeting with all the interference just yet, even if it had a fairly clear shot from between a few partially defoliated trees at the voidhanger. They had not arrived fast enough however to stop his appropriated rail-cannon from preparing to fire. The angular blade-characters of gealtirocht language manfiested on Salvator's screen as targeting reticles and data-feeds blurred into static before roughly solidifying and stabilizing. Multiple lines overlaid on his visual feed indicated the very straightforward travel path from projectile to target as the rising numbers hit 100%. The weapon rocked, not quite a kick as much as a shove, as a flash of white-pink spiked out of its mouth. The gunship's chin flared white as sparks and flames erupted outwards; the mounted weapon vanished as did a concerning portion of its lower body, turned into a gutted, warped trench. The machine wobbled precariously as its stream of gunfire abruptly came to an end, the space around it distorting from the effect of the energized hyper-accelerated round turning its lower shielding array into a distorted blur of fragmented, rapidly dissolving mist around itself. Only pod-mounted autocannons remained, firing a wild if inaccurate salvo towards Salvator and his half-trooper ally, themselves hastily shoving in a new mag as he pointed furiously at the CivSec troopers and their gun-platform almost blasted by the AP/HE rounds slamming on their location. A digital notification popped up on Echo's gestalt consciousness-computer-network. Target lock x2, missile launch, anti tank - two streaks swirling as they descended, attempting to slam into the endoform. A smaller target than they were typically used for; the missiles were wobbling somewhat as they adjusted their flight path but no less concerning. Another lock - x3. A trio that this time flew in more deliberate arching patterns, locked onto the power spike detected from the warform charging its mighty cannon. The trails of smoke rapidly dissolving yet leading back to the smoking, sparking airborne wreck orbiting towards the direction of the now silent artillery cannon as it attempted to gain some distance. It was still closer to the ground than it was when they initially engaged it and given how one of its engines was sparking, it was likely having trouble maintaining consistent altitude. Its aggressive dodging manoevres were taxing it dearly. A poor move. Perhaps it was hoping the interference from the battle would interfere with Echo's sighting, or that its missile would be able to knock the cannon off course - it did not see which ones connected, likely at least two, but energy beams flew faster than even cutting edge homing missiles. A lance of light malevolent and judgemental cut across the length of the battlefield, through smoke and spiking readings on all HUD's and biointerface systems, through the belly of the aircraft, its tail-wings and as quickly as it had manifested, it vanished. A gutted, flaming wreck began to descend, missiles and shell munitions either having detonated or been erased from being as it slammed through a now splintered tree, into the middle of the no-man's land, the force of its final flight dragging it across the ground and towards the staggered Kleo. Corpses were crushed or tossed aside, craters torn up, and for a few moments all infantry and even gun-platforms hunkered down as its sparking body spat fragmentation and sparks all across the battlefield. Kleo had likely heard it, maybe seen the streaking partially disembowelled burning meteor as it slid her way with enough force to knock over a tank, digging a massive trench across the middle of the battlefield as it went. Such carnage did not distract the gun-automata in the least as it stomped forth and in the confines of the tent, blunt metal meeting back as crates, furniture, spare supplies, and all matter of debris scattered or broke under its relentless attack. There was neither vigour nor hatred in the strike; cold calculation of attack vectors and force of swing were all that mattered. Its camera eyes locked onto Ilshar's momtions as it strode forth, shooting out a hand to grasp his elbow to try and stop his swing. Its other hand released its grip on its own light machine gun, letting it clatter to the ground, connected to it still via its ammo belt leading into its back. It immediately swung its now free hand horizontally in a nasty chop aimed at Ilshar's neck, one that could easily break an unaugmented human one at the least. Ilshar's fist intercepted its face, causing the head to swivel rightwards and its own fist to swing wildly; maintaining trajectory yet minus any course correction or additional accuracy. It was stunned for a moment but only a momnet. Gears complained as it shead moved back into position, its hand still gripping Ilshar's elbow as it raised that same free hand again aiming to bring it down like a hammer onto the tarrhaidim's skull! Fingers clenched, arm rigid, light machine gun swaying against the ground and bumping against crates and empty magazines - it almost seemed hateful.