[center][h3]CMDR SAGAN "VULTURE" KODOS[/h3][/center]

The good news was that they had backup. The Helldogs weren't special ops, but they were as damn good as one could get for an ordinary unit of soldiers. Even better, they were familiar with how the 7th operated. Wouldn't need as [i]much[/i] babysitting as most regular units, although it'd be an idiotic idea to just leave them to their own devices. 

Sagan touched the Watchdog down on a nearby building, crouching the MAS down into a sniper position as he provided overwatch for the disembarking marines and Sentries, taking potshots at anything stupid enough to approach. 

[b]<< Helldogs, Vulture. Got your back! Soon as you're ready, let's form ranks and- >>[/b] 

Annnnd there was the kicker. Sagan cut comms, cursing sulfurously under his breath as he watched the Sparrowhawk down, its systems temporarily fried by ECM. Even worse was that radar was showing four Fenrirs and half a dozen IFVs closing in on his location, on top of the full battlegroup advancing towards their main line. Artillery and snipers in the back, and one of the 7th's best methods of dealing with them neutralized for the time being by whatever supermech the Coalies had cooked up, fucking [i]somewhere[/i] in the field. 

At least Sabine was alive, and if the readout was any indication, the Sparrowhawk was rebooting. 

[b]<< 7th, Vulture. New marching orders, coming through: Hex, Rhino, Rook, hold the line, I'm rerouting the Helldogs to assist. Y'all play nice with them kids, y'hear? Rabbit, holler slightly less if you're combat-capable. Yell louder if ya need someone to evac your sorry ass off the field. Commie, we need that artillery and sniper team in the Coalie rear guard deader than that Boeing stooge's soul. Full burn, do what you have to without killing yourself. Get your asses moving, we don't got all day! >>[/b] He swapped channels, returning to general Imperial comms next. 

[b]<< Helldogs, Vulture. Sending tac data, requesting reinforcements up front. I'll let you have this one as bailing us out, so enjoy it while it lasts. >>[/b]

Orders given, Sagan shot the Watchdog's afterburners to maximum and sprinted it straight off the roof, taking off from a jump in a very Commie-esque move. Suicidal hotshot was rubbing off on him. The Watchdog boosted full speed towards the interceptors trying to flank the 7th, already locking on to the quartet of Fenrirs playing escort. It'd knock out a full quarter of his special munitions, but there wasn't time to save ammo right now. Every second he was tied up here was one not spent backing up the others. 

[b]<< Got tone, Fox 3, Fox 3! >>[/b] The SPAMRAAMs took flight, crashing into the medium MAS squad and coreing them near instantly, their countermeasures and evasive manuvers defeated by the missiles' vertical flight path. With that done, Sagan swapped the Watchdog's HPK out for the beam saber and landed straight into the pack of IFVs, crushing one beneath his mech's feet as he proceeded to rip through them at melee range. Without an escort, disrupting their formation and making sure they couldn't break into evasive manuevers versus gunfire would be far faster, to say nothing of ensuring he was well through minimum arming range of any heavy weapons they were packing.