---

"Solid copy Vulture, breaking off to engage priority target."

Johann throttled the thrusters to max, the one useful thing about space being able to get even a brick like the Secutor up and moving at high speed, and maintaining it, was far easier than in a gravity well. The situation was turning quite decisively in their favor overall, even with the Fafnir unit still highly operational and dangerous. Moving at maximum thrust, he was already calculating what his plan would be when comms lit up once again, Hex confirming that she was going on overwatch for him as he created the most overt signature out of the entire team, throttling the reactor to full power in the process to gain just that little extra bit of energy as he continued fine tuning power distribution. He had a plan building in mind, and that meant getting close enough to Fafnir to make a play, and fortunately he had some overwatch to help make that happen.

"Solid copy Hex, take your time. Secutor can take anything Fafnir thinks it can throw my way."

Throttle fully open, Johann continued burning towards the Fafnir, not even slowing down to attempt to line up a shot with his MAC-011, even as it pinged that loading sequence for HESH was completed and awaiting targeting sequence, which he toggled to manual as he continued burning headlong towards Fafnir. Alarms blared as the energy signature built, but Rhino put full faith in his fellow pilot to prevent the shot from going off, and when Hex sounded off, he felt an almost feral grin flash across his face, locking into a dueling mindset as he continued his approach. Undeterred by the energy signature, his faith was rewarded by the solid impact from Hex's Blackout, 90mm round tearing clean through the ESR Beam Cannon and disabling the building flare on view, and silencing at least a few of the alarms. Rhino kept pushing, alerts notifying of the drone deployments, though none of them pivoted to engage him fortunately. Unfortunately that meant the two pilots he was moving to support were the targets instead.

"WARNING: Entering minimum safe distance for MAC-011 operations, recommend securing weapon platform."

"Good guns Hex, I'm on him. Rook, Commie, watch those drones."

Rhino ignored the minimum range safety on the MAC-011, turning to take the brunt of the incoming plasma enhanced 35mm on non vital parts of his frame, armor registering damage and several non vital systems flashing alarms on his HUD. Nothing worth writing home about, he treated most of his non vitals as fodder for wasting enemy ammunition and baiting them into less advantageous positions anyways. Sure enough Fafnir was closing in, plasma talons flaring to life as the Secutor's own Plasma Gauntlet lit up, glowing as it spooled up, and to all onlookers it looked like the Secutor would be too slow to catch the incoming blender of talons, but at the last possible moment the Class 3 shield flared to life, deflecting the incoming dive and Johann fired his maneuvering thrusters, putting the entire momentum of his Mech into a deceptively fast backhanded hammer blow aimed directly for the core of the Fafnir. A blow like that would be highly damaging even to a Heavy, and Rhino was gambling on the Fafnir taking the bait and using its own Class 3 to blunt the blow, though the impact would still create a narrow opening between the two of them.

"WARNING: Within minimum safe distance for MAC-011 operations..."

"MAC-011 safeties overridden, HESH on deck, standby."

Rhino kept the momentum of his backhanded swing going, cutting off the automated warning with an override, taking advantage of the momentum carrying him past the Fafnir and using the maneuvering thrusters to control his spin, positioning himself naturally to point blank the Fafnir with the MAC-011 as he snapped into a firing stance, hurtling backwards but still far too close for comfort for any official doctrinal use of his superheavy weapon. The moment the targeting reticule swung onto Fafnir the entire frame shuddered as the HESH shell launched, both energy signatures on sensors and visuals of the magnetic accelerators crackling to life as they caught the conventionally launched shell, sending the HESH shell straight for the core of the Fafnir. At this range he wouldn't waste time recharging another shot in the MAC-011, instead shunting all power from its charging systems to refreshing the Class 3 Shield as fast as he could, MAC-011 swinging back into its mounting on his back as the Rotary Autocannon deployed from his right hand instead, watching power steadily build on the Plasma Gauntlet as well.

"HESH away, standby for effect on target."

---

Within the suddenly-lonely space high above the destroyer, LTJG was very well aware of the fact that there was only one blue team unit up top when there were supposed to be two. The rushing blood had to have gone to Braide's head— no amount of sim hours truly prepared rookies like him for the roar of live combat, where the hammering heart told you every play was made for keeps. Cutting a sharp angle downward, he radioed in for the pair of Sentries below. <<Slender, Denim. Confirm splash one apiece. You guys get out of here, we'll clean things up.>>

His thrusters burned as he readied his autocannon. There had been one Fenrir that had escaped the pincer, albeit with heavy damage— and a quick look at his sensor arrays told him it was just about on a crash course to where Braide had ended up. He pushed hard on the throttle.

Time slowed, as he cleared the bottom lip of the destroyer's hull. The Venator was there, Rook's query in his ears after the kid had more or less pulled himself out of the storm. There was the Fenrir, down an arm and a leg, control surfaces all askew. There were the twin white-flag and SOS Pings, hitting his IFF—

And there was the combat knife, barely even an inch out of its magnetic lock.

Kilmer made his decision, and an icy voice filled the radio.

<<Break left, Elliot.>>

The Shrike's autocannon rose and loosed a single round. At this distance, you almost needed to try and miss. There was a moment where the bleeding-edge prototype seemed to impassively loom, its black paint bathed in the orange of the blooming fireball between them, the brassy visor seeming to drink the flame and burn as it regarded the Venator.

Within the spindly interceptor, Roy took a deep breath, letting the procession of comms roll through as he eyed the radar picture once more.

Then,

<<The plan's been updated, Rook. Rhino is engaging the enemy Fafnir in close— you and I will play fire support. Cover him, follow his lead. I'll handle the drones.>>

Retros fired, and Commie drifted away, turning as he prepared to rejoin the fight. Past the precipice of the hulk, he paused for a moment as he painted targets. The drones were small, nimble, erratic in the way only pure fly-by-wire could manage or handle. Paramount twice over that he handled this. In one sense, this would be a good stress test of the limits of this spaceframe's maneuverability when faced with top-of the line opposition—

Two funnels burned in to meet them ahead of time, sent by the Fafnir to keep the pair of them off its tail. The onboard autocannons loosed, hunting the juiciest signature they could find. Kilmer broke off, his afterburners flaring, and returned fire even as he peeled them away. In his wake, a parting word of advice.

<<Just focus on where you are, and what you need to do. That's what gets us all home.>>

— and in the very real concerns of the other, he was the one responsible for Rook's safety. Funnel drones were a rough puzzle on their worst day, and with the greenhorn only just having come out of the hole of reckoning with his always-immediate risk of mortality on the field, Roy didn't want any of that possible hesitancy to pay the Coalition dividends.

Maybe he would have been wrong.

Maybe Braide was as back in the saddle as he'd said.

Even so.

<<Commie, defending!>>

A hard bank right saw him dump a bouquet of flares in his wake, puzzling the targeting systems of the funnels for a moment as dozens of signatures painted themselves upon the infrared spectrum— granting Kilmer the split second he needed to bring his ionized blade to bear, and punch forward hard enough that the back of his helmet slammed into the seat.

Just as with the retreating Fenrir, he would afford the universe no chances.

His blade struck, burning through.

<<Splash two funnels.>>

<< God damn it, Rabbit! >> Sagan snarled as the Sparrowhawk nearly entered his field of fire, quickly yanking back on the right stick to have the Watchdog yank its HPK up. << If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: check your firing lines! I don't need your daddy on my ass because you walked into my bullets! >> He sighed, exhaling slowly as he sighted the retreating Fenrirs and the Roanoke's captain came through on the horn.

<< Sarret. Vulture. Good copy, moving to mop up. >> A brief glance down to the corner of his cockpit's HUD. Most of them were fine, except...oof. << Minimal damage across most of the squad so far, don't anticipate much more than reloads needed for anyone but Hex. Forwarding the readout, get the techs to get the repairs ready. We'll wrap up here before anyone on the bridge can get back from a piss break, over. >>

With that said, Sagan sent a green acknowledgement light to Sabine's question, boosting the Watchdog forward to join her as he queued up squad comms.

<< 7th, finish up here and RTB when you can get a break from the engagement, we're moving to Phase 2 soon. Now don't get cocky. Get stupid trying to pad your kill score, and you're repainting any scratches yourself, y'all hear? >>

With that said, he sighted up the Coalition ships still in firing range, getting tone before opening up with his entire battery of Espada missiles remaining. He'd been saving most of them for juicy targets like these, they were headed straight back to resupply anyway. Might as well make good use of all those taxpayer dollars, right?

---

---

Elliot was awestruck, quite frankly. The battle felt like it was already over when it also felt like it had just begun. They’d tried to impart pacing and realistic expectations at the academy but nothing really scratched the surface of how fast the real deal was. It felt like mere moments prior Elliot had been on a hard burn out of the Roanoke and now they were on mop up and RTB orders. Perhaps that was more to do with the effectiveness of the 7th than it did with the realities of battle, perhaps it was both.

Elliot was awestruck because his squadmates had systematically decimated the opposing forces as if going for a Sunday walk. Sabbine and Kodos had both been exemplary examples of precision, tactics, and everything that Elliot had ever looked up to in a pilot. That of course had tracked with what he’d heard in academy, the exploits of the pilots of the 7th hadn’t been unnoticed by aspiring MAS pilots. Each of his squadmates had padded their killcounts with more than a couple kills each and made it look effortless in the process. Hex had not only neutered the Fafnir’s deadliest weapon but had numerous kills confirmed KIAs to herself alone. And then there was Von Brandt and Kilmer. Rhino, who was likely piloting the scariest thing on the battlefield showed no hesitation in soaking up the Fafnir’s attention to keep it away from his other squadmates; and Kilmer, who’s high octane movements had reduced the remaining Fenrirs assailing the two of them to slag and ensured the funnel drones from the Fafnir wouldn’t have any chance of harrying the two of them.

Elliot was awestruck, and completely out of his depth. Any icy feeling had settled onto the back of his neck, a chill running down his spine. Elliot rushed to suppress the thoughts, clearly he was outpaced by his squad, for a multitude of reasons that were out of his control. Regardless he couldn’t help but feel a growing depth to the divide that ran between himself and those who he was supposed to support. If he was going to stand with his squad things would have to change rapidly, this much was becoming clear to Elliot. A divide stood between him and them but he refused to believe it was insurmountable, he would drive himself to the very end before giving into the sense of doubt that had threatened to creep in. Thoughts of shame whispered in the back of his mind but Elliot refused to give them credence.

"Rook moving to support, thanks for the cover, Commie. Let's help mop up the big guy and RTB, I owe you a drink."

With a sense of surety in his actions Elliot pivoted his MAS and burned towards Rhino as he moved into a more suitable position to provide firing support the moment a chance presented itself. The Venerator stowed its Maul as it approached, opting for the DEW-11 while the Jackknife MMS moved into a standby position and began marking the Fafnir’s softest points. Elliot wasn’t sure of his combat effectiveness against a beast like that but knowing Rhino’s own beast was present meant that he’d at the very least pose as a nuisance if necessary to enable Rhino’s follow up, if needed.

The Fafnir was obviously not expecting a heavy MAS such as the Secutor to be able to react as fast as it did- ironic as the Fafnir itself was a fast reacting heavy unit, perhaps it should have expected the retaliation. The Secutor's Class 3 shield took the brunt of the Fafnir's dive, shattering underneath the weight of the plasma talons, but only registering minor damage to the shoulder armor. The backfist in response sent the Fafnir reeling, the machine half tumbling as its shields cracked underneath the heat and pressure of the strike. A lesser pilot may not have been able to notice and react to the heavy cannon coming into play, but for all his hubris, the pilot of the Fafnir was at least fast on his feet. Thrusters flared as bright as the sun as the heavy Coalition suit dove to get out of the way, the shell destroying its shield and ripping off one of the mech's arms.

Sparks leaked from open machinery and atmosphere vented out of an opened corner of the cockpit, one of its rear thrusters flaring irregularly as it tried to correct its course, flying in a wide arc as it sought to gain distance from the Secutor. One could almost sense the pilot's frustration as it attempted to recall its drones- only to watch as they were cut down by a UEE ace. Seeing the writing on the wall, the Fafnir seemed to give up its attack on the UEE Carrier, but was seemingly ready to take at least one of these pain-in-the-ass machines with him. Another burst of HKP rounds splashed against the Secutor's armor in attempt to keep the heavier machine at bay as the Fafnir reactivated its plasma talons- though the talons on the left foot seemed to not be receiving power correctly.

Another sudden boost took the Fafnir careening towards the Rook in his Venator- the shiny display piece seemingly a suitably expensive target to take down in his fatalistic dive.

---

<<Hey Boss, I think Hex is being stupid and trying to pad her kill score>> The younger pilot tattled, her voice a lilted snicker as they watched the Blackout rocket out of the debris field, the Vulture and Sparrowhawk screeching past as they made a beeline to the Coalition ships. Her statement was punctuated by another proximity warning as another pair of plasma beams cut through the big empty, the Roanoke scoring another hit on one of the Coalition frigates. Secondary explosions began to rip the frigate apart from the inside as the beams struck something critical, leaving just one frigate and the Coalition cruiser left for the two MAS.

Sabine whooped and hollered over the comms as she took her Sparrowhawk into a dive, the Sparrowhawk's ailerons leaving trails of ice and dust as she cut through the gap between the ships- their point defense systems now having to limit and control their fire more precisely to avoid friendly fire. Mashing a control stud, the Sparrowhawk shifted back to its humanoid form as Sabine pulled the trigger on her plasma rifle as quickly as she could, the weapon's barrel glowing cherry red as she targeted the point defense systems. To add insult to injury, her own racks of claymores emptied as well, Kodos' missile barrage striking shortly afterwards, the warheads streaking towards the two remaining ships like a swarm of angry bees.

Over two dozen flaming flowers bloomed and died against the hulls of the Coalition cruiser and frigate, debris and atmosphere flying outward as the explosions rocked both hulls. Smoke belched from open wounds, and the frigate began to dip as it lost control of its azimuth thrusters. The ship rocked as Sabine landed the Sparrowhawk on top of it, weakened hull plating crunching beneath the impact as she more or less looked directly at the Frigate's bridge. The bright pink Sparrowhawk flashed the occupants of the bridge a peace sign in one hand, as the other lifted the rifle and placed a shot directly through the observation window.

<<I think that's it for the frigate, just one big lug left to deal with.>> Sabine cackled as she pointed up at the remaining cruiser, glancing around her as escape pods began to spring from the frigate she stood on. Sparks flew from overtaxed thrusters as the cruiser attempted to make a sharp turn to begin fleeing, its remaining point defense cannons offering only a pittance of resistance as it fired at the Vulture.

<<I'm out of ordnance- ready to RTB.>> Sabine called out over the comms as she glanced over at Vulture. <<You got the last one, boss?>>

---

"WARNING: Armor Integrity dropping, estimated effectiveness at..."

Johann silenced the alarm as he pushed the thrusters to near their redline limits, though he was not attempting to directly pursue the Fafnir. In close he could keep up, but chasing it would be futile, so he didn't plan to, rather he was playing to the strengths of the current forces in play. Rook was moving fast towards him, Commie having eliminated the two funnels and made sure they couldn't bracket in Rook or try to bracket him in either. which left him open to make for Rook at all available speed. He shifted the position of the Secutor as the incoming fire tried to drive him out of position, taking the brunt of the next burst of HKP shells on the right half of his frame. Most of the impacts so far had been center and left, and one of the earliest lessons he learned piloting something as large a target as Secutor was, quite simply, distributing incoming fire as best he could. Enough focused fire could bore through armor, but spreading it out gave him staying power that most frames could only dream of. Moving to rendezvous with the incoming Rook proved to be wise, given the sudden decision towards blaze of glory by the Fafnir.

"Rook, Rhino: Steady on current course, I have the priority target."

Rhino was all calm confidence as he opened up with his own 30mm Rotary Autocannon, barrels spinning up into a veritable wall of armor piercing incendiary, walking the fire onto the encroaching Fafnir, deliberately focusing on the remaining thrusters to slow it down, however slightly. Putting himself on an intercept course, he retracted the M81 RAC as he pushed towards melee range again, braving the Plasma Talons once more, but this time he took advantage of the mounting combat damage. Reaching past the talons not receiving proper power, he gripped down with enough force to completely sever power to the left talon, firing every thruster he had opposite of the momentum of the Fafnir, wrenching it back and away from Rook by the leg, fortunately not simply ripping the leg clean off. Fortunate for Rhino, not so much for the Fafnir as at that moment...

"PG-01 at 100% Charge."

Wasting no time, Rhino activated the Plasma Gauntlet and unleashed a left hook, slamming the plasma clad gauntlet straight into the opening that had been venting atmosphere, and coincidentally advertising the exact spot where the Fafnir's cockpit was on top of an already weakened spot from the 170mm HESH impact. The Fafnir pilot, fast as they were, likely would not have time to perceive the Gauntlet turning cockpit, pilot, and internals into little more than scrap as the blow bisected the already heavily damaged hostile Heavy. A follow up backwards elbow strike sending the remains of the upper half hurtling away, throwing away the lower half that he had retained a grip on right up until the impact, and Rhino finally exhaled, a held breath that he had not noticed started the moment he told Rook to keep steady on. Another day, another rude surprise sorted out, and he reported the KIA priority target as he arrested his momentum and normalized power distribution across the Secutor.

"7th, Rhino: Priority Target KIA, assuming screening duties as we RTB."

True to his word, Rhino positioned himself in a screening position for the two lighter frames he had moved to support when the Fafnir made itself known. Any visual sweeps of the Secutor would find it difficult to miss the number of impact marks, odd hole in the additional armor, and shallow talon marks along the left shoulder from where the Fafnir had gotten through the Class 3. Rhino considered having those painted back on once the damage was patched, the plasma talons were a nasty trick that could have done a lot more damage if he hadn't held his Class 3 in reserve for as long as he had. He multitasked while screening the return to the Roanoke, finally going through and acknowledging the alerts and warnings that had built up over the course of the engagement, while making a log of the damage from most to least severe before forwarding the information to the team responsible for helping refit and rearm the Secutor. It would give them some extra time to get replacement plating and munitions loaded, and he made a note to prepare several Canister shells to make it significantly harder to evade shots from the 170mm.

---

By the time he had gotten there, even at what he called a "spirited burn" and what Boeing called "beyond recommended thrust, what's your goddamn problem", the radar picture had cleaned up save for a few shavings off of the Secutor and the wreck of his erstwhile Big Game— ceded to Rhino by little more than necessity. It stung the Minnesotan a little, sure, but sometimes things didn't shake out perfectly. He was the first to admit that, because if he had his way, all he'd ever be doing was going after the Coalition's newest high-spec toys. It'd certainly prove the superiority of UEE Piloting... and probably be a wasted effort, long-term. Wars were won in the bigger picture in the real world.

Really, it was a win enough that everyone from the 7th was coming home from Phase 1, more or less unscathed atop that— save maybe Hex, but she was the sniper here. Vision from one end of the board to the other was her thing. He'd have to find out once they were all back on the Roanoke.<<Rhino, Commie: Copy kill on Priority Target. We'll form an element and handle escort. Maintaining corner speed.>>

As the heat of combat left his blood, the inversely clinical tone of his calls began to fade with it, replaced by something a touch more languid— but only just. He wouldn't slip all the way back into the upper midwestern until he was out of the coffin, even if he'd tried. As the three mechs changed bearing, the lightest of them glanced back at the Venator.

<<I hear the sentiment, Rookie, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass.>>

After that, it was largely back to whatever necessary chatter the ride back demanded from him, be it verifying contacts or working with Rhino to gut intercept attempts before they could start. In any event, their course wouldn't stray, no matter how much even Commie loved getting into close-in brawls. His beam saber had been a real workhorse already, anyway.

<< We run on prison rules, Rabbit. No one likes a snitch. Drop and gimme thirty when you pull into the hangar. >> Sagan bantered back over comms as he sent the Watchdog hurtling forward towards the last, limping cruiser.

<< Roger, engaging. >> He wove through what remained of the point-defense like it was barely there, his MAS's flight boosters giving enough thrust to easily outfox the low-caliber autocannons. << Little bit of career advice, never become flight lead if you don't like cleaning up other people's messes. Pay grade ain't worth the headache. >>

The Watchdog raised its HPK, sighting up the engines. One burst, two, three. The thrusters went alight with flame before stalling out entirely, the cruiser dead in vacuum.

<< Sarret, Vulture. >> Sagan commed in towards the Roanoke again. << Reporting engine kill, designated cruiser's ripe for boarding whenever the jarheads're ready. >> With that done, he whirled his suit in an about face, hurtling through space until he caught up with the the Sparrowhawk.

<< This is Vulture, prepping to RTB. 7th, how're we looking? >>

---

---

And just like that, it was over. One moment the Fafnir had been bearing down on Elliot, its intent quite clear. For all it was worth Elliot stayed his course, intending to meet the Fafnir and engage before it could try and take him out.

There, of course, would be no need for that. Rhino bore down upon the Fafnir like a demon from hell whose claws demanded its payment. The Fafnir in its damaged state could do nothing against the awesome might that overtook it before it ever attained a viable threat range for the Venerator. Elliot could only look on in awe as Rhino pulverised the MAS and reduced it to a number of pieces with a few quickly executed moves.

A chill went down Elliots spine, fear and excitement all bundled together. This was what he desired, this awesome might was what he wanted. Destruction at the tip of his fingers for any who would dare stand between his goals and those of his superiors. Elliot’s face contorted in a devious grin as he reimagined Rhino taking down the Fafnir once more.

<<I hear the sentiment, Rookie, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass.>>

Elliot was taken aback at the response and thus quickly moved on from his moment of desire, although the request hadn’t been necessarily one hundred percent serious Elliot had certainly not expected a direct rejection to the offer. Could he have let down his squadmate in the battle? Did Commie not want to share a drink with him because he’d failed to pull his weight? Anxiety slowly crept in, finding a spot to nestle in the deeper recess of Elliots thoughts as he worried about his performance.

”No worries bud, some other time.” he said in an attempt to save face in the situation. ”Rook ready to RTB, taking up the rear.” Elliot wasted no more time on idle thoughts as he prepared to head for the Roanoke.

<<Good Copy, Vulture. No time for boarding, clear the firing path.>> Sagan's comms crackled, as a pair of firing lines appeared across his HUD. As soon as the Sparrowhawk and Watchdog were clear, the lines were filled with plasma as a pair of beams streaked across space and towards the motionless target. The beams scored direct hits against the ship's bridge, decapitating the ship. The remnants could be picked across by salvage and secure teams later, but the Roanoke itself didn't have the marine complement needed to raid an entire cruiser.

<<Ooh, sage advice from the old man!>> Sabine cackled over their comms, <<Don't you worry boss, I like the rank and file, I'll be sure to leave you plenty of work in the future- would hate to see you idle~>>

The trip back to the Roanoke was clear enough- as clear as a battlespace could get. There was still sporadic fighting, and areas further down the line still seemed to be in the thick of conflict, but the local space where the Roanoke was seemed to have found a lull. Enough so that Sabine could do lazy spins and spirals through space without getting her ass shot off. The Watchdog and Sparrowhawk caught up with the rest of the unit, falling in line as they were slowly welcomed back to the Roanoke. The landing process was a bit slower than usual, especially with the Blackout making a rather rough landing ahead of them, but the group more or less landed in reverse order of launch. The hangar itself was once again a hive of activity as the MAS landed, crews scrambling to rearm and patch up any damaged armor before. The sounds of welding and sparks could be heard across the hangar as the crews made rapid repairs to the Blackout in particular, techs called out and materials were rushed over as necessary. The Roanoke's shuttle bays were currently occupied as well, as a small train of personnel were loading materials and munitions onto a pair of bulk transports.

Surprisingly, it appeared that Captain Sarret herself had arrived in the hangar to personally welcome the 7th back. Despite her smaller physical stature, the woman seemed to stand tall amongst the mass of moving people, the ceramic and silver of extensive prosthetics and cybernetics on her face contrasting against the flat colors of her normal suit.

"Commander." The Captain called as the 7th disembarked from their machines. "The 5th Fleet is adjusting their timeline in response to stiffer resistance across the line. We expect to deploy in 3 hours instead of 1. Perhaps that works to our favor given the some of the damage we've sustained. Sarret frowned, glancing over at the Blackout, a crew already beginning to carve out some of the more damaged portions of the cockpit, a new section being brought over via crane. "We won't have the facilities to make such extensive repairs again, at least not on short notice- so keep that in mind. I'll make sure the rest of the crew is briefed, I'll leave the 7th to you."

"I'll go make sure Hex is still alive and drag her ass to the briefing." Sabine chimed in, conveniently skipping her last 3 pushups as she popped back to her feet and began to quickly make her way towards medical. "Good kill Rook, first one?" Sabine chirped as she pat Elliot's shoulder. "That's a case of beer for the squad. Oh, first sortie too right? That's another case. Make sure you pack a few in your cockpit before we leave." She added with a wink before disappearing down the corridor.

The Captain sighed as she watched Sabine spring away, before turning towards the rest of the squadron. "Anyway. Excellent work as always, 7th. If your all have any specific requests or needs outside of the mission, be sure to get your requisition orders in now. Otherwise, I'll leave you all to it.

---

"Heads up ground crew, sending the initial diagnostics your way, good chunk of the additional armor needs replaced."

Johann was already in contact with the ground crew who helped repair and maintain the Secutor, moving to dock with the Roanoke in the reverse pattern to their launch routine, the mauled state of the Blackout a somber reminder that all the skill, armor, and equipment in the universe didn't mean a damn thing if you caught incoming fire the wrong way. Hex had been hauled off to medical, probably pushed herself just as hard as her frame, and he made a mental note to buy her a drink for the cover. Feeling the Secutor lock in place, a scissor lift met him as he opened the hatch, entire head assembly lifting into a 'buttoned up' position that allowed him to embark and disembark easier. That, and when not in hard vacuum it was another layer of visuals that didn't rely on sensors or systems. The technician operating the lift gave him a hand from the cockpit to the lift with a jab at the heavy damage his layers of armor had taken.

"Keep it up like that sir, and we'll be able to build another Secutor from all the parts we've had to strip to replace and repair."

"Good thing I can't be cloned like that as well, we'd overwhelm armor production if we had to uparmor multiple Secutors. How's she look?"

"Shot to hell sir, mostly armor, some nonvital systems got fried as well. Turns out plasma talons aren't exactly healthy to take on frontally. You really should let the computer handle power control, this isn't the test range anymore."

"Not enough pay in the galaxy to get me to stop doing that, computer'll get it wrong, do what you do best and first round's on me."

With the lift reaching the ground level, Johann dropped himself down to the deckplate, deftly moving out of the way as the service and repair crew got underway proper, being handed a requisition form to begin tailoring the Secutor for the next sortie. First things first was tailoring the 170mm shell load for the next mission. He chose several proximity fuse shells, he could afford to bring a few less APFSDS shells for a bit more flexibility, though more than half was still just that type so he could engage most targets effectively. HESH and Proxy Fuse were more niche, but given the nasty little surprise that had tried to interfere with the space operations having something that didn't need a square on hit would work nicely. Moving to meet the rest of the 7th, he was just in time to see Sabine take off, skimping on her pushups but he didn't have the heart to call her out on it, as well as the Roanoke's own Captain coming down to meet them herself. A rare surprise to be sure, but from the sounds of things it was as much a direct debrief as it was anything else. He glanced at Rook, who had been told to pack several cases of beer, and shrugged.

"Up to you if you want to humor her or not kid. You'll never hear the end of it from her either way you go though."

The Captain's response to Sabine and her antics was understandable, as far as Johann was concerned, though he didn't exactly comment any further on her behavior. She was off chasing Hex now anyways, and he was content to conserve his energy for the next leg of the operation. Three hours instead of one, gave them time to get everyone squared away and functional again, especially since some of the frames needed a lot more repair than others. First diagnostics on Secutor were promising, he'd have been ready in the original one hour time table but having three would let the team not work themselves to an extreme and make sure everything was done officially correct instead of combat correct.

"Just doing what we do best out here, ma'am. I'll see if I can't keep my requests within the reasonable realm of possibility."

Johann turned to the Commander, continuing to fill out the paperwork he had been handed after disembarking, having reset to his usual off duty demeanor. Well, more his off combat demeanor but it was not much different from beyond there. Vulture had the command of this little band of pilots of all skills and frames, so he got the lion's share of Johann's focus.

"So, got anything for us boss?"

The captain wasn't wrong. In their current situation, three hours worked better than one. All the more time to get Hex and the Blackout back in fighting shape. Still, at least they all made it out of that one alive and relatively unharmed. One banged-up soldier was better than six. At least it left enough time to get some food down his pie hole and maybe some shuteye, if he was lucky.

"Right, dismissed." Sagan grunted, folding his arms. "Reconvene here in three hours, and I'll give you your briefing. Oh, and Rook? He fixed his eyes on the new meat. "I ain't gonna stop you from drinking. Could probably use it, after that first fight of yours. But go overboard, and I'll make damn sure you throw it all back up. Am I understood? Since there ain't no chaplain on board, come to me if you got any internal problems of that sort that need sorting out. Anyways, all of you, go catch some rack time."

__

Three hours later, Sagan convened the 7th in the hangar once more, a projection glaring off the wall behind him as he clapsed his hands behind his back, pacing as he gave the briefing.

"Right, 7th. Here's our mission: we're participating in the mass drop and planetfall, if only to maintain cover for our actual assignment. We're to break off from the main force and rendevous with our supply convoy before we set up a FOB for our own secret squirrel shit."

A wave of Sagan's hand moved the presentation along, little dots representing the 7th moving forward.

"We'll be deploying near landing point Delta. Rocky craglands and forests near the equator, so crank up the AC. Our landing site'll be outside the city of Gelcastre: heavily defended, and intel suggests the nanoforge we're after is inside. Help the 5th in taking the city as best you can, but securing the nanoforge takes priority over any allied unit, this one's straight from the top brass. Questions at this time?"

---

Panting as he ripped his flight helmet free upon the Shrike's return, Kilmer took a moment to wick away the sweat that had built up near his brows before slicking back his straight blonde hair, letting the recycled air refresh and fill the cabin, then his lungs. He sat there for a moment, letting the various aches and pains of high-g aftermath settle in across his frame— luckily, a quick patdown told him that he'd not pushed himself super hard. Some sorties, he came back spewing up a little more crimson than Vulture ever appreciated.

Given this was a multi-phase assault, good thing he'd avoided that old bit, this time. Satisfied, he clambered out of the cockpit in short order, standing at attention as the Captain and Commander both gave their quick debriefs. He declined to comment on Sab's pushups— she was here long enough to know that Vulture never let you get away with 27 or 28 forever when he'd demanded 30. On his end, instead, he just folded his arms.

"Three hours." he chuffed with a shrug. "Just enough time to grab a Barq's and sit through my earful from the Boeing rep. I'll be helping the ground teams fine tune some stuff down here if I'm needed."

Offering the others a nod, he ambled away, intent on finding just where the hell they'd stashed his jacket.

---

A hand rose.

"What air cover are we expecting to run into for the descent? Standard fare?"

Kilmer was hardly worried about the typical flak nets, SAMs, and so forth. The book had been written on them before manned spaceflight, but there was no way the mass drop wouldn't muster heavy orbital opposition. If they were peeling away, he had an inkling that he might get his pound of flesh after all, after having missed out on the Fafnir earlier.

---

---

Elliot disembarked from his MAS quietly, letting the techs take over with their checks and their routines. Usually he’d have a few scathing words about minding his equipment or being careful around his ‘baby’, but this time Elliot’s mind was still out there, still replaying the events that had just transpired. In a sense he’d been humbled, but that wasn’t how you’d catch him describing the situation. Regardless he stood overlooking the bay as the rest of the squad funneled in behind him to their respective berths to undergo their own round of repairs or refits. It wasn’t hard to surmise that he wasn’t doing enough, in fact looking at the state of the Blackout and its pilot Hex helped solidify that. Did picking up his slack hurt the squad more than his presence aided them? It had felt like Commie had basically had to babysit him and of course there was no denying that he’d lost his cool out there.

It was a wonder he was alive, typically panicking was punished by death in an occupation such as theirs.

Nevertheless Elliot had to put his foot forward in both a metaphorical sense and a physical sense. Metaphorically there was no ground to be gained by dwelling upon his mistakes, his failures would have to be turned into lessons that would have to be turned into doctrines. Elliot had to bring more to the table, if not for himself then for the squad he was supposed to support. And of course physically matters were much simpler as the squad mustered across the way in the presence of Captain Sarret herself. Elliot rushed towards the rest of them, trying his best not to be the last one to arrive. Regardless the squad was practically splitting up by the time he reached them and the captain was finishing her debrief.

"Good kill Rook, first one?" Sabine’s voice suddenly cut through the inner monologue and yanked Elliot back to reality as her hand suddenly grasped his shoulder.
"That's a case of beer for the squad. Oh, first sortie too right? That's another case. Make sure you pack a few in your cockpit before we leave."

Sabine winked at Elliot before rushing off towards medical and Elliot had to do his best to suppress a scowl at her blasé attitude towards his achievements. Elliot hadn’t had much time to really get to know his squad yet but already Sabine’s attitude was something that rubbed Elliot against the grain. Regardless of that though she was a pilot and deserving of his respect, however he didn’t have to agree with the way she conducted herself. It was a complicated situation as it challenged the preconceived ideas he’d held about what MAS pilots were. So did the rest of the squad for that matter, but Elliot had to remember that this wasn’t your run of the mill squad either.

"Up to you if you want to humor her or not kid. You'll never hear the end of it from her either way you go though." Von Brandt’s response broke the awkward tension Elliot was struggling to make sense of as well as giving him an out.

”I don’t really know if I’m in the mood for humor to be honest. Great job out there by the way, I know you don’t need to hear it from me but still.” Elliot responded as admiration quickly steamed forward to take the place of his earlier feelings. Elliot knew very little of Von Brandt outside of his MAS, he’d not had the time to learn and the man himself wasn’t what he’d call an open book. But the way he flew and the way he carried his MAS into battle was very inline with what Elliot believed MAS pilots to be and as thus it didn’t take long for him to fall into a slight state of idol worship.

Before Elliot could rush into the stream of questions that had begun to form in his head he was interrupted as Sagann addressed the squad. "Right, dismissed."
"Reconvene here in three hours, and I'll give you your briefing. Oh, and Rook?” Elliot was caught a bit unprepared when the commander addressed him but paid attention as Sagann seemed to pierce him with a steely gaze.
"I ain't gonna stop you from drinking. Could probably use it, after that first fight of yours. But go overboard, and I'll make damn sure you throw it all back up. Am I understood?”
Elliot’s eyebrows rose at the implied threat but he nodded his head in agreement nonetheless. He didn’t have any plans to drink anyways so it wasn’t something he was all too worried about.
”Since there ain't no chaplain on board, come to me if you got any internal problems of that sort that need sorting out. Anyways, all of you, go catch some rack time."
’Sir.” he confirmed, nodding his understanding with a singular curt tilt of his head.

As Sagann departed Elliot turned back to Von Brandt and, just as quickly as he’d straightened up, he relaxed once more as a stream of questions regarding his MAS and other technical specs began forming. “So…Von Brandt, do you mind if I tag along? I have a few questions if you don’t mind…” Elliot began, regardless of his response Elliot would likely tag along anyways unless Von Brandt ordered him away or some other more interesting thing took his attention; Elliot was persistent like that.

---

Sagann had told them three hours but Elliot could only distract himself for so long before he found himself idly in the hanger well before the briefing. Elliot always had been the type to prefer solitude over the company of others, his mind just preferred having the time to ruminate and sort itself out and too much time spent around people gave him a headache more fierce than a drill instructor. Here it was no different and so Elliot decided to find a place out of the way where he could watch the crews work as they rushed to finish prepping the MAS for the next mission.

Elliot was silent and drew no attention when Sagann arrived before the others, there was no way of telling if he’d noticed Elliot’s presence and he’d not planned on asking. He waited until at least a couple other squadmates showed before flowing into the group himself. Before long everyone was gathered and Sagann began his briefing.

"Right, 7th. Here's our mission: we're participating in the mass drop and planetfall, if only to maintain cover for our actual assignment. We're to break off from the main force and rendevous with our supply convoy before we set up a FOB for our own secret squirrel shit."

He gestured to a projection that he was using to illustrate their plans and Elliot followed along with every detail, doing his best to analyze the visuals and keep up with the commanders words at the same time.

"We'll be deploying near landing point Delta. Rocky craglands and forests near the equator, so crank up the AC. Our landing site'll be outside the city of Gelcastre: heavily defended, and intel suggests the nanoforge we're after is inside. Help the 5th in taking the city as best you can, but securing the nanoforge takes priority over any allied unit, this one's straight from the top brass. Questions at this time?"

Elliot’s hand raised almost instinctively before his better judgment had the sense to stop himself. With a sudden look of embarrassment he dropped his arm and coughed into his fist before military discipline slid into place once more, ”Sir. Just to confirm, you’re ordering us to ignore friendlies if need be to secure our own objectives?” He asked in order to clarify. As the words left his mouth he couldn’t help but feel like it was a silly question, but Elliot was still fresh and the 7th was his first and only squad so far. Standard by the books tactics were what he was familiar with, obviously the 7th played by a different book.

Regardless of silly questions Elliot had a good handle on the objectives laid out before them and was ready to get this next op underway with a renewed sense of determination.

---

"Bad news, Brandt." Sabine whined as she skipped into the briefing room- less room, and more an empty space in the hangar. The smaller pilot was seemingly content to use the relatively larger man as a shield to keep between her and Hex. "Looks like Hex's gonna make it, so I couldn't grab you her stuff- so no cigars." Her eyes found Elliot's, though quickly dropped to the sides of his seat- zero cases of beer in sight garnered him a disapproving frown, though Kodos beginning his briefing seemed to silence any reprimands from her for the moment.

Despite still being the busiest section of the ship, at the moment it was surprisingly clean and empty- relatively speaking anyway. Gone were the brigade of engineers and techs, only a skeleton crew left in place. Ammo and gear stocks had been practically cleaned out of the hangar, leaving the open space considerably larger than what the pilots were used to. The only things still in place were their mechs, patched up and reloaded as best they could be, what remained of the crew currently applying heat-treated gel coatings for the burn in. A vast amount of the materials- and crew- the 7th would need to perform their duties were currently already stowed on the Roanoke's transport shuttles: A pair of heavily armored TS-220s. Relatively nimble for their size, but generally ungainly at the best of times, and heavily laden with the addition of the Roanoke's marine platoon and a dozen ultra-light infantry support and loader MAS, the shuttles could take a fair amount of flak, even a SAM or two- but were practically sitting ducks should it get down to a dogfight. Luckily for all of them, the shuttles weren't making the same drop as the 7th, instead they'd be dropping much further out of the area of operations, before converting into a vehicle convoy and hoofing it to the rendezvous.

The briefing went as expected, the 7th of course weren't here to do grunt stuff- even if that's basically what their first sortie had been about, though defense of their carrier was generally considered every pilot's task. Unfortunately, special unit tasking often meant making unsavory choices- or decisions that might go against what they grew up learning. Sabine frowned a bit as Braide spoke up, it was understandable if he felt uncomfortable about it, especially since he was new to the special units, but unfortunately it was just how things panned out. Brass at the top ultimately deemed the nanoforge as more important than any individual life or unit.

"If it makes you feel any better you don't have to like it- you just have to do it." Sabine chimed in, though her voice, while still light lacked its usual mocking or sarcastic quality, "Boss is ordering it because the brass is ordering it. We're all just one big cost-benefit analysis on a spreadsheet as far as they're concerned."

"I won't stop you from playing hero though," Sabine winked at him, her voice hushed to vaguely- if likely unsuccessfully avoid Sagan's ears. The 7th, or at least individuals within the 7th, were never particularly well known for their strict adherence to orders. As long as they got the job done, anyway. "Just don't include it in your after-action report."

As Kilmer chimed in with his own questions, the briefing projection switched over to a tactical battlemap for them to view. The city of Gelcastre was as heavily defended as the briefing suggested, satellite images updating in realtime showing the city as a hub of activity, though the heavy smoke from previously attacked sites didn't give them the clearest picture in some areas. Tanks and vehicles could be seen rolling through the streets and towards defensive points. Flak batteries and SAM sites were nestling themselves throughout the city. The fleet would be able to blast some of the sites from orbit, but the desire to keep the city as intact as possible meant that they wouldn't be dropping any space grade ordinance on the city centers, where a decent amount of the defenses were concentrated.

As far as aerial threats went, the landing forces would be up against a bevy of Fenrir IIs primarily, with a decent number of Sköllrs in the mix. Most were currently on the ground, and Fenrirs were nowhere near as capable as any of their units in an air battle, but a few squadrons of Garmr were making regular patrols across the sky along with what appeared to be a few squadrons of commandeered Naginata aerospace fighters. None of their scans had spotted anything similar to the Fafnir that had jumped them earlier- but of course, that didn't mean the Coalies didn't have another wundersuit hidden somewhere amongst the mess.

As the briefing wrapped to a close, the launch alarm went off, the two shuttles taking off before the squadron did to begin their long voyage. Moments later the pilots were in their suits and preparing to launch.

---

Their launch this time would be far less hectic than their previous sortie. The space above and around them was clear- and while there were still pockets of Coalition forces in orbit, battles taking place on the far ends of the line, space was relatively clear enough for them to launch without trouble. Their visual sensors would be greeted with a field of twinkling blue lights, thrusters from some untold number of MAS, and aerospace craft prepping their assault on the planet of Skogsrå itself.

Low enough that the black of space had just begun to pick up a tinge of color from the planet itself, the 7th would find their blast shields waiting for them. Round, almost conical plates of alloy for MAS to mount their feet on. It would aid in atmospheric entry before being shed as the MAS entered the combat area- it could presumably soak a few hits from weapons fire in a pinch, but were generally not meant to be a ballistic shield. The first wave was already beginning their descent, flares of red and orange tails already visible on their monitors as mechs streaked through the atmosphere and towards the cloud layer.

"I've never liked these things." Sabine groaned as she set down on hers, her mech's feet maglocking to the drop plate's foot pads. Clamps lifted to wrap around the suit's feet and lock them in place, faint lights on the inside of the plate lighting up to denote the left and right in green and red, along with a set of bisecting lights to denote the plate's split points. "Rabbit, set." The added weight made maneuvering thrusters considerably less effective, and until it was shed, the suit was an easy target- but it beat trying to make planetfall alone.

"Hey Rhino, remember Targovo? Vulture made us drop planetside without plates to go swoop up some VIP. That was fun." The pink haired pilot's lilted voice dripping with sarcasm. "Think Skogsrå's got giant lizards too?"