---

<<Commie, set.>>

The smooth hiss and chunk of the clamps locking his ride to the plate were, by contrast, a welcome bit of haptic feedback for the lax, loose American— confirmation that Boeing's new toy would survive reentry with all of its operational capacity intact, as opposed to Roy Kilmer's idea of "enough operational capacity for me to make it work". Bad news about their production models had earned intrepid folks shallow graves over the centuries, for Christ's sake. Commie was a daredevil behind the controls, a label he was always too honest to really downplay or shy away from, but he too had his limits.

They tended to start popping up once you hit "two bullets to the back of the head and dumped in an unmarked grave on Ganymede" territory. With ample time to kill on the order of two minutes, he rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and clicked himself into the idle chatter that was special operations comm lines before things really got hot.

<<I'd be all for another Targovo. We were back by lunch and the chassis was still warm enough to heat up the MRE on. Best beef and bell peppers a stick jockey's ever had.>> he quipped, the Shrike offering a a shrug of its MAS scale shoulders as though it were just the man in a suit. <<I'd have to bust out the Sparrow for it, though. No chance they let me drop hot in this thing.>>

He fell silent, letting the rest of the team imagine the wry leer on his face while Vulture carted out his old pre-drop standbys. The man with the horn was the boss, of course, but even he had nerves when the operation reached scales like this— it was the little traditions that kept you anchored. The senior members of the unit all knew that well enough— and had their own ways of joining in.

Roy was hardly any different. The familiar pattern of preflight checks danced out from his fingers and onto the controls, running through ailerons, verniers, retros, sensor suites, while he rejoined the fray as a liquid mercury echo to Sagan's bellowing tones.

<<Time to dive into the fireworks! Rookie, this is your first drop with us, isn't it— house rules are simple: If you get shot down, crash where we can't see!>>

It was easy to sympathize with the kid's concerns from before, especially having also watched poor Sorrels get toasted right in front of the both of them. If he overextended again... well, Roy'd proven he could reel him in before he croaked once this offensive already. Best to not push the luck.

Especially if he'd taken Sab's words to heart (classic blunder) and actually snuck a case into his cockpit with intent to partake mid-descent (classicer blunderer) after all.

Never underestimate how dumb a new kid could get. He'd learned that one on both ends of it.

---

---

For the most part Elliot had been quiet after the briefing. Part of it was nerves, yeah definitely nerves. First planetfall drop, and on top of that this was technically a spec ops style operation in a sense and therefore carried an entirely different ruleset than what Elliot had anticipated. For starters he’d been a bit taken aback when ordered to ignore friendlies over their primary objective. Elliot of course wouldn’t argue or question his commands but it did register in his brain as unusual. Then again when given the opportunity to join a standard squad he’d opted to find himself in something a little more prestigious and thus different rules came with the territory. It likely would just take some time for Elliot to find his groove as far as this kind of stuff was concerned.

For now he remained quiet as he listened to the rest of the squad banter of their shared mission history. To be honest Elliot couldn’t help but feel a little outside the group, but that likely was just the way things were in this line of work. Elliot was in the big leagues and that came with its own set of rules, something he’d have to get accustomed to.

The Venator was the last MAS to approach and secure itself to the drop plate like the rest of the squad. As he went through the pre-flight checks the rest of the squad shared a few tidbits about an operation on Targovo, a MAS drop with no drop plates with what sounded like an objective to secure a VIP. Talk about intense, hopefully Elliot wouldn’t have to do something that crazy any time soon.

“Rook ready.” He stated simply as his pre-flight checks all came back green.

---

"I love a good fireworks show," Sabine drawled over the squadnet. "I even brought some party favors! Me~" Sabine was cackling over the comms as the last of their squadron set onto their drop plates. All around them, some hundreds of twinkling thrusters indicated that they were not alone in the skies. A line of UEE warships floated in place above them, their massive bulks shrouding some of the light around them, the barrels of cannons pointed at the planet beneath them. In the distance a trio of flares exploded. Green, green, green.

<<Orders from central command:>> Eva's voice called out to the squad. <<Second wave is to commence drop.>>

In unison, the thrusters mounted to their drop plates flared to life, propelling the 7th the last short distance out of zero G and into the atmosphere. The thrusters quickly burned out as gravity began to take control of their descent, drop plates and MAS alike shuddering as tons of heavy metal began to force its way through the upper layers of the planet's atmosphere. The drop plates slowly began to turn red as their absorbed most of the friction, though the residual heat was enough to turn the interior of most MAS into a veritable sauna. 'Hot Dropping' pilots liked to call it- instead of the comparatively more cushy experience of riding a ship into the atmosphere. Sweat beaded inside of helmets- sealed and unable to be wiped off, and even the typically chatty Sabine was relegated to controlled breathing instead of mouthing off like she usually did.

Eventually temperatures would regulate as they dropped into the planet proper, the red flares surrounding the drop plates giving way to the clear blue of the planet's stratosphere. Below them was the spotty cloud cover and the ground far in the distance below. They were still out of range of most of the planet's MAS defenders. But Skogsrå was far from helpless. At this distance, the flashes of light weren't visible to the naked eye, but they didn't need to see barrel flashes to know they were being shot at. The air exploded around them as rocket propelled munitions streaked up to meat them, exploding in large clouds of flak. Sabine winced as she heard the sounds of pinging against her drop plate, luckily far enough away that it wouldn't tear the thing apart.

<<Oh fuck!>> A panicked voice cut in through the local tacnet, from one of the squads directly next to them. Sabine's eyes opened as she glanced at the comms. A rookie from the 223rd, one of the reg' units, must've accidentally hit the wrong broadcast channel in her panic. <<I'm hit! Shit! Shit! Drop plate's breaking up- the seam!>>

<<Disengage!>> Another strained voice called out in reply, <<Ditch the plate!>>

<<Which one do I?- Its not respond- Fuck!>> One of Sabine's proximity warnings flared as a Sentry beneath her began to spin and spiral wildly, half a drop plate flying past her as the other remained struck to the MAS' foot, sending it into a violent spin. <<Somebody help me! AAAAAAAHHHH->> Sabine grimaced as someone muted the rookie, silencing her bloodcurdling scream as her MAS quietly spun out in the sky, MAS rifle, spare magazines and bits of armor flying off like confetti. Unlucky shot, lack of training, freak accident, or some combination of the three. On the bright side, the force of the spin would knock her out long before she blew up or crashed.

<<Check drop plate integrity.>> Sabine called out to the squad, <<Coalies are rolling out the welcome mat!>>

The MAS felt like it was picking up speed as the dropped through the cloud cover, though it was more likely because of all the rattling. As they cleared the clouds, they could see the city of Gelcastre beneath them. The battle for the city was already underway. Explosions and tracers flew across the ground, up into the sky and beyond. The fleet's first wave had already made landfall and were engaging the defenders, as the Coalies shot at them and the second wave as they careened through the sky. From their vantage point in the sky, the 7th could already see localized firefights breaking out between small units of UEE MAS and Coalition forces. The city itself might as well have been a massive gun emplacement with the amount of flak fire they saw coming towards them. Already, UEE forces in the air were taking hits, some few unlucky SOBs exploding before they could even release from their drop plates.

<<Rabbit, disengaging plate.>> Sabine called out as her machine kicked off the drop plate, quickly folding into flight mode as she burst away. She wasn't planning on sticking onto those target skeets for any longer than she had to in an environment like this. Already a squadron of Garmr and Naginata fighters were breaking away towards them, though it wouldn't be hard to find all manner of Fenrir or Garmr no matter which direction you faced. Even miles away from the city- the area around Landing point Delta seemed to be engaged in a pitched fight. A unit of hunkered down Fenrirs engaging a squad of UEE Sentries, holding them away from a anti-air installation. <<Heads up, LZ looks just as hot as the rest of the city- call it a target rich environment.>>

A rapidly flaring warning yanked Sabine's eyes away from the LZ, throwing her mech into a wild spiral as a pair of heavy lasers blasted through where she just was, settling instead for coring a trio of unlucky Sparrows through their drop plates above her. It appeared the Anti-air installation had some serious teeth on it, which meant that once again, the 7th was in for a big fight.

---

Von Brandt had nothing else to add in over the comms as the rest of the pilots locked into the plates, instead taking the time to take slow, deep breaths to center himself before the drop. Even with plates, orbital drops in Secutor were always hard landings even under ideal circumstances, and given how well fortified the planet was, this was not ideal circumstances. As they prepared to launch, Rhino exhaled and finished sealing his suit for orbital entry. Command came over the comms, announcing the approval for the second wave to deploy, and Rhino focused as each member of the squad was sent hurtling out the short distance of zero g before the planet's gravity took over, and he began immediately fine tuning power distribution and his precise position as best he could as they began to descend. He could always gauge how taxing on the pilots a maneuver was by how much Rabbit was running her mouth, and the relative radio silence spoke volume than she usually did.

With the temperature settling, came the inevitable anti-air and interceptor runs on the second wave of descending MAS units, the sound of flak and other incoming munitions rattling against both plate and frame a reminder they were dropping feet first into another hell. Suited him just fine, he thrived in the thick of it, though he didn't have much say in the situation as they dove steadily downwards, comms chatter was getting increasingly busy and one in particular ended up interrupting his train of thought. Some poor rookie got clipped and panicked, losing control and spiraling out of of formation, shedding weapons, armor, gear before someone on her squad cut her comms. Before he could catch himself, he found himself muttering over the squad comm as they continued to descend into fire and conflict.

<<See you on the other side kid, rest well.>>

Rhino focused on the latter half of the descent, Rabbit jettisoning her drop plates and engaging flight form, heading off to intercept and treat the Garmr and Naginatas to their own personal hell of a MAS that could double as air superiority fighter. It reminded him that there was a lot of fancy tech in the team, though there was plenty of time for a wandering mind after the LZ was secured. Spotting the Sentries struggling to get to an AA installation, Rhino began adjusting his trajectory, narrowly avoiding a burst of heavy lasers that clipped the plates, damage mounting as he descended far faster than was safe for most MAS units to even consider. He also was not jettisoning the plates, the mounting damage visible from the cockpit as warning alarms on their condition began growing in number and volume. The shots aimed at Rabbit would buy him enough time to enact his plan, stating as much over comms.

<<Targovo's actually giving me an idea, I'll bail those Sentries out and help clear up some of this AA. Rhino, going in hard.>>

Engaging the thrusters just enough to allow the Secutor to withstand the impact, he only disengaged the plates at the last possible second as he braced himself in the cockpit. Rhino came down directly on top of the anti air installation itself, crushing the weapon platform under every last ton of his Heavy MAS and what little the ruined plates added to that, sending up a massive plume of malfunctioning wiring, smoke, dust and the generator components for the heavy lasers going up from the impact as well, providing Rhino a temporary visual screen. He opened local UEE comms, pinpointing the Sentries pinned down by the Fenrir units that were now, at this moment, between a metaphorical rock, and a quite literal hard place, a confident smile on his face as the system reports showed nothing that couldn't be patched later. The servos were not too happy with the impact but hell, when were they ever?

<<This is Rhino, 7th MAS Squadron. Going to throw some Proxy into the Fenrir ranks and pincer them from behind. Then how's about we rally and go start busting up some more AA?>>

All the while, Rhino had swung up the Secutor's 170mm MAC-011, selecting one of the proximity fused HE shells he had loaded before they dropped. He was going to use them for anti air purposes, but he could spare one to make the Fenrir's lives a living hell for however long they were about to last. Temporarily shunting power from non essential motor functions, he finished the charge sequence and just as the dust was clearing, and one of the Fenrir units was turning to see what the hell just happened to the anti air they were supposed to be guarding, the computer reported full charge and targeting for the proximity fuse. With a squeeze, the MAC-011 shuddered, sending the 170mm shell hurtling straight into the ranks of the Fenrir's hardened position. It was well fortified against attack, but not from behind, and the massive explosion engulfed several of the hostile MAS units as Rhino slung the superheavy weapon, Vanguard 20mm lifting from its shoulder housing and immediately opening up on any hostile air targets that got too close to the Secutor, acting as an impromptu anti air weapon while the hum of the rotary autocannon spooling up was music to Rhino's ears.

One Fenrir was reduced to scrap, the combination of explosion and pressure wave had not only damaged the unit beyond combat effectiveness but likely knocked out, or pulped, the pilot. The other two caught in the explosion itself were dazed and damaged, but had gotten their Shoulder shields in the way just in time. Suited him fine, as he leveled his 30mm and began walking fire across the Fenrir's as he advanced, chewing through damaged armor as he advanced slowly and implacably towards their position. The one Fenrir tried to get a Sledgehammer missile off, and caught the brunt of Rhino's opening 30mm barrage for his trouble. The other, several damaged weapon systems forcing his hand, sent him charging to try and gut the Secutor and its pilot with its Broadsword. A low sweep of 30mm took its legs out and sent it crashing down in front of Rhino, who raised his PG-01 plasma gauntlet that flared to life right before slamming down, coring the unlucky Coalition MAS in one solid blow. Keying to Squad comms, Rhino was pleasant in tone as he assessed damage down to the Sentries, already making ready to head for the next Anti-Air position to start cutting down on casualties before even touching down.

<<7th, Rhino, first anti-air position down. Moving with allied elements to continue disabling anti-air capabilities for the LZ. Damage from landing negligeable.>>

The drop started, and the horses were off. Sagan shifted his control mode to one-hand with the stick, using his other to start tapping away on an AR interface with his haptic gloves. With this many targets coming in, he'd have to refine and limit the targeting AI's intake so that he, and the rest of the squad by proxy, wasn't bombarded with a massive flow of data. Despite the MAS cooling system's best efforts, sweat came fast when it did start, dripping down his neck and forehead in beads.

This wasn't his first rodeo, of course. But hot dropping was never something one got used to. This far up, death was something far past your control, with only the lucky few having any opportunity to avert burning up in atmo the moment something went wrong.

Unfortunately for that poor fucking rookie over the tacnet, it seemed something did go catastrophically wrong for her. Plate locked on one foot. Damn. Sagan did his best to divert his attention back towards the oncoming battle as someone thankfully muted the rookie's death spiral. Hopefully the one on his team wouldn't go that way.

In contrast, once they made it to atmo, the real fight started. Gelcastre started becoming more than a twinkle in the distance below, and Sagan quickly switched back to dual-lever controls, preparing to disengage his plate.

<< Vulture, dropping plate. Commie, Rabbit's got the right idea. Cover our ground-pounders and deal with the flyboys coming in, I'll run overwatch. >> He disengaged early, the Watchdog's flight boosters kicking into full burn as it tore through the sky, coming down after the Secutor and Blackout started decimating ground-bound AA.

<< Rhino, Hex, acknowledged. Good work, stack up and start moving to make a push, I've got your backs. Rook, still alive back there? Keep up and don't play hero. You pull that shit you did in space, you're gonna die. >>

The Watchdog reached close enough to the ground that firing on landbound targets was viable, and Sagan quickly opened up with the HPK, sighting up an incoming mixed squadron of fast response vehicles escorted by a few Fenrirs and pulling the trigger.

<< Fuck, enemy fast mover engaging us! They got Zhang! >>
<< I can't get tone, bad angle, bad angle! >>
<< Missile in the air, missile in the air! Defending- ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ >>
<< Shit, shit, shit, our escorts are down! He's closing in! >>