{"sf1_id":1362081,"sf2_id":"GnDaX6x1","title":"Nights of Firefall: Chapter 5","author":"Coughing Fit","words":47884,"posted_at":"2018-08-23T01:52:15.000Z","tags":["Action","Adventure","Diesel Punk","F/M","Female","Greentext","Human","Jackal","Male","Military","Mystery","Novel","Romance","Sci-Fi","Science Fiction","Size Difference","Straight","War","mech","mecha","tomboy"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1362081-nights-of-firefall-chapter-5","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/GnDaX6x1","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/b2/88/b2886063-dc62-459d-9205-6dc659df5e41","description":"Greentext Prose hybrid  \nSecond Person  \nPerspective switching  \nBy chapter  \nWIP  \n  \nIn this chapter: Tom readies for battle as Teth'ra meets her new squad and gains some new equipment. Teth'ra faces her fear and proves her strength while stumbling upon a case of intrigue, and Tom makes his rage known in a cataclysmic faceoff with his mortal enemies.  \n  \nnotes: BEEEEG hot damn, this chapter is by far the largest I've written, I'll try not to write chapters at this length again without breaking them into parts. I learned a lot of lessons with this big 'ol battle chapter, and should have a way of trimming some of the unnecessary fluff for future battles to go faster.  \n  \nthe full story is available here in pastebin: [https://pastebin.com/TauTPsKD](https://pastebin.com/TauTPsKD)  \n  \nthe cover image poster is done by the wonderful Akella, you can find him here: [https://akella33.tumblr.com](https://akella33.tumblr.com)","content":"'Forewarned, forearmed; to be prepared is half the victory.'\n\n  \n\n-Miguel de Cervantes\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe creation of the full body kinesis feedback armature device (named shorthand as 'Auger') represents a valuable insight into the nature of anthropomorphism and attachment that an individual will display towards a valued machine or vehicle. It is already considered perfectly healthy in many circles for a functioning adult to view a personal vehicle with an inordinate amount of attachment and humanizing aspects imprinted onto the object. The 'Auger' system seems to take this phenomenon to a new height. The 'Auger' represents a far more tangible connection between man and machine than any previous method of operation. The subject inputs control with the movement of their own body, and the machine mimics the input near perfectly barring technical limitations or damage. Because of this the imprinted \"connection\" the operator believes they have with the machine is magnified greatly.\n\n\\\u003eIt is the professional assertion of this paper, and it's author, that such strong dissociative behavior will only do harm. Many pilots I have interviewed hold that the machine feels like a 'second skin'. This is extremely problematic. I have observed in times of duress pilots react with misplaced anger and even very real symptoms of shock even after a stress event should their machine suffer extreme \"injury\" such as loss of limb. This is all despite the pilots coming out entirely free of bodily injury.\n\n\\\u003eThis journeys naturally into dissociative episodes and rather disturbing degrees of anthropomorphism imprinted onto the machine. Multiple times the subjects refer to the machine as 'she' in loving fashion. There are consistent mentions of 'becoming one' a natural intensifying of the aforementioned 'second skin' statements. This problem only intensifies with the introduction of 'sensory goggles'.\n\n\\\u003eThese items of eyewear use a sophisticated series of hololensed screens and ingrained optics to give the wearer such benefits as a heads up display, status reports, and 'battlenet' connections while operating the 'Auger'. Most importantly, they link in to the machine's own systems through a data port that then displays visual feeds from the external cameras of the machines over the pilot's vision. This very easily allows the subject to fool themselves into believing the machine is their own body.\n\n\\\u003eThis leads further into a whole host of problems including, but not limited too: sociopathic behavior, episodes of extreme violence, dissociative delusions, schizophrenia, and sadism. I will cover these issues with perfect accuracy within this documentation.\n\n\\\u003eYet before we began, I must pose a question to the Terran Republic military arm, the reader, and by extension our entire race.\n\n\\\u003eEven with the threat of extinction should defeat occur: Is it really worth throwing away our humanity for so shallow an attempt to grasp at victory in this war? By discarding the very things that make us human, we are no better than the marauders.\n\n  \n\n-excerpt from the preface of 'The Kinesis Problem: A Study On the Damaging Psychology of the Auger System', published by Doctor Alexander Koroi, Ph.d, 1986.\n\n-This paper was reviewed in full and declared unfactual and inflammatory by the Republic scientific council. Most copies were destroyed.\n\n  \n\n  \n\n  \n\nChapter 5: Mask Machine\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eSlowly, ever slowly, you came about to the land of the living. Your senses slowly returned to you one by one.\n\n\\\u003eYou were somewhere tight, and warm. It smelled strangely pleasant. And the securing warmth enrapturing you was... breathing?\n\n\\\u003ePushing out gently you found yourself restrained on pretty much all sides, and that warmth was becoming a heat that actually may be a bit excessive. As toasty as you were you needed to go, for... some reason.\n\n\\\u003eYour bleary eyes were no help, opening them all you got was some grey haze.\n\n\\\u003eYou feel along whatever is locking your chest in place. burly, silky, soft.\n\n\\\u003eRight... Teth'ra.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eIt's not like you can shake her grip anyway, and you wouldn't want to rouse her this early. You both need your rest.\n\n\\\u003eJust five more mi-\n\n-today is the day we die-\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eJust gotta ruin everything, don't we brain?\n\n-...-\n\n\\\u003eThe cold shock of reality leaping into your warm mental insulation is enough to push you into a more operational state of mind.\n\n\\\u003eGuess those five more minutes are up.\n\n\\\u003eRight on cue the gentle giant begins stirring. A slight tensing of her legs brings you further out of the morning daze as fur brushes against skin.\n\n\\\u003eThe haze over your eyes even lifts away. You realize that you had been staring at the underside of her muzzle as she had done her model best to envelop you.\n\n\\\u003eWell good morning there beastie, good morning yourself, and good morning rocketmah- woah! wait. shit.\n\n\\\u003eEither by virtue of your dreams being too pleasant, the inordinate amount of close contact, or the fact you just realized her chest is pressed very firmly against your back; is about to make things awkward.\n\n\\\u003eYou can't break away. You can't get your dog back down in time. And to top it off you have no clue how she will react.\n\n\\\u003eTake in a great breath of air, go rigid, if she gets mad and slips the hold just book it.\n\n\\\u003eShe yawns greatly and murmurs dreamily. The feeling of her throat humming against your head coupled with her breath pressing her breasts against your back is not doing you any favors.\n\n\\\u003e\"Mornin'\" She idly slides one of her arms off you and moves it south.\n\n\\\u003eYou can only lock eyes at the wall in growing horror as she moves to scratch something of hers out of routine. Her furry palm like some foreshadowed meteor of imminent doom as it falls squarely on your dawning forest.\n\n\\\u003eYou choke a whimper in your lungs. It's like if the Tunguska impact actually did more than burn down some trees.\n\n\\\u003eHer paw cups over your rouge saluter, the warm pressure starting on it making you tense your whole body like a spring.\n\n\\\u003eShe freezes too... makes a few pointed sniffs... and seems to stare straight ahead.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eYou have no clue what to do at this point... Come on brain, give us something... anything?\n\n-...-\n\n\\\u003eThat's it, you're dead. You are dead now.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003e\"... uuuhhhhhhh\"\n\n\\\u003e... fuck it, you have to try something to worm your way out.\n\n\"Yeeeeeaaahhh.. I should go...\"\n\n\\\u003e\"mhm\"\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\"Teth'ra your not letting go.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"mhm\"\n\n\\\u003eIt was about now your brain decided to finally kick into gear by internalizing a bellicose clashing of confused screaming and random noise like the parkisons' orchestra and the local tourretes shelter had collided in a band march.\n\n\\\u003eYou sucked in air again and started getting ready to scream yourself. You had no real gaging for how she was reacting and the lack of movement on her part was growing increasingly disconcerting.\n\n\\\u003eBut finally the cup over your folded pride was relieved, and you exhaled as you waited for the awkward pause to stretch into oblivion.\n\n\\\u003e\"Sorry...\" Your tension recedes a bit.\n\n\\\u003eWow. No biting, scratching, or tearing of your pants... Maybe you had panicked a bit, but who wouldn't with knives that close to the family jewels.\n\n\\\u003eStill wanted out though.\n\n\"If you wouldn't mind.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"I. uh\"\n\n\"Teth'ra!\"\n\n\\\u003eFinally the other arm unclasps from across your chest and you immediately haul yourself upright onto the floor. It all feels like record time as you shuffle on your full gear, lace your boots, almost vomit swallowing the bad coffee and then bolt out the door. Taking care to stop in the Isolated hallway and get your boy flattened out before anyone else noticed.\n\n\\\u003eYou then remembered you would need your gun today as you were actually venturing into the wild again. So you whirled around, stamped back in and almost had a heart attack when you saw her in the middle of unbuckling her bra.\n\n\\\u003eThinking quickly you pull an arm to shield your eyes as if protecting from the heat flash of a thermonuclear blast. You fumbled around in the footlocker, found your gun and ammo pouch, and then bolted back out.\n\n\\\u003eAfter the mild panic from waking up to your friend awkwardly cupping your junk subsided, a different kind of panic took over.\n\n\\\u003eYou have to move out today, you have not had time to test your rumbler, and the pre-mission checklist for a fresh load can be hundreds of items long. shit!\n\n\\\u003eBoots thumping hard on the scuffed hardwood floors you ran full pelt up the hall, slammed open the exterior doors, almost bowled over some random private, and sprinted off to the hanger to get yourself ready.\n\n\\\u003eThough you had to admit on the run there your excitement was starting to take hold again.\n\n\\\u003eNew mech, new day. And all the bugs you can stomp.\n\n\\\u003ePlus... maybe... a second shot at a certain bastard.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003cTeth'ra\\\u003e\n\n\\\u003eYou've certainly had more stressful mornings... but this?...\n\n\\\u003eThe shame licking at your ears with its heated tongue. That subtle twitch of desire downstairs. Your own uncertainty over how to even handle this.\n\n\\\u003eThe worst part is you had locked up completely... just sat there stone still with a hand over him. Like you were hypnotized.\n\n\\\u003eAll that passing conversation you tuned in on came flooding back. Those skinners and their lust mad ramblings over smoothskin when they thought nobody could hear them working themselves into an early heat.\n\n\\\u003eYou remember something in you jostled in your chest, making you stop and listen to the circling of privates as they poured in watered down liquor rations and giggled amongst themselves.\n\n\\\u003e'No barbs!', mewled a lynx. You pained for the cats, those things never did sound pleasant.\n\n\\\u003e'such stamina, I heard with the right.. care. they can go for hours!' chided a mare. Probably frustrated with how many stallions were two pump chumps over-relying on their stigma. You scoffed to yourself remembering what few horses approached you, and were quickly scared off by a flash of your teeth.\n\n\\\u003e'they are so caring in the afterglow too, I heard they absolutely adore the feeling of fur against their bald little pelts.' confided a doe.\n\n\\\u003eThen a grey wolf chuckled deeply. 'No knot either, when your done.. you can hold them this way and that. And they're fine with it. The affection they can give even while tired out. pinching, scratching, ear rubbing. mrrrr~'\n\n\\\u003eYou had to admit that got you thinking more than the others.\n\n\\\u003eRecalling your mind back to the present, you tried to bat down the embers of desire before they fanned into flames.\n\n\\\u003eYou couldn't go thinking of Tom like that... or could you?\n\n\\\u003eHe was just so soft, and small. But he was also tenacious judging by what you heard of how he dealt with Vilka.\n\n\\\u003eBut you had never seen him get angry like that, not outside of that argument in the office, just scared and tired... and sad.\n\n\\\u003eSeeing him up there on that stage, bearing his heart to the world, shivering as he realized how alone he was.\n\n\\\u003eYou saw flashes of your little brother all over again, and you had to hide away in the back of the crowd as you cried for him.\n\n\\\u003eMaybe it was the fact that display had you ripping your own heart out that made you hold him so close last night.\n\n\\\u003eWhich, judging by how he was scrambling to get his kit on and leave, may have been the wrong idea.\n\n\\\u003eDespite tasting the air with your nose the signals are too confused to pick out what exactly is driving him to go.\n\n\\\u003eIs he trying to hide his own shame from you? Or have you roused some sort of fear in him?\n\n\\\u003eOr maybe your over aggressive attempts to help are just shocking him back into that 'me or them' mindset.\n\n\\\u003eThe uncertainty pulls your ears low as you watch him dash out.\n\n\\\u003eYou can't deny when you two first met you had fantasies. And when your errant hand brushed his equally rebellious manhood, you had to fight off some part of you that wanted to jump on him. He probably felt violated.\n\n\\\u003eAnd you just froze, making it worse.\n\n\\\u003eYou would allow him some space and hopefully both of you can sort yourselves out, assuming you even survive today.\n\n-you're more likely to die than he is, this may be your only chance-\n\n\\\u003eHe trusts you, but definitely not that far. It's been more subtle recently, the way he twitches at the near pass of claws, how he hides his neck, the silent retreat he slowly pulls if your mouth is too close for comfort. He probably doesn't even notice it himself.\n\n\\\u003eYour fairly sure he would never even think of someone outside his own species like that anyway, doubly so being human.\n\n-His subconscious still reacted-\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou shake it off, no need to rattle your focus before you need it. Your a soldier, not a drama queen.\n\n\\\u003eYou rubbed at a sore spot on your chest, while pressing his back against you for so long wasn't... exactly the most comfortable. Cupping his head between your girls wouldn't be wise, even if it was far easier on them.\n\n\\\u003eThose carapace vests sure did a damn fine job of making them sore anyhow, it would be worse when you got saddled with the heavy variant, since you were now a squad leader, and an assault squad at that.\n\n\\\u003eYou decided to at least let them hang free while you rode through the morning routine. And allowed yourself to find some excitement, what would your new squad be like? just how much would they be outsiders like you?\n\n\\\u003eIt was a bit of a stretch finding the little plastic clasp but off it came and-\n\n\\\u003eYou bolted arms over your chest to keep the bra from falling away as Tom came racing back in.\n\n\\\u003eHe almost immediately threw a forearm over his eyes as if gazing at the sun. Furiously muttering some bizarre mash-up between apologies and some sort of rambling technical checklist as he retrieved his gun and ammo bag. Blushing a rose red the whole while.\n\n\\\u003eThen he bolted back out just as fast and you heard the stomp of boots running out of the building.\n\n\\\u003eBreathing a sigh of relief, you let your shoulders slump back down. Just to be safe you took a good sniff, his scent still hung around but there was no fresh scent wafting back in. you let the bra clatter to the floor.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eWell, he isn't coming back anytime soon, and better now then never to sate that itch before it drives you up a wall.\n\n\\\u003eYou took a nice deep breath, keeping an ear out in case anyone decided to interrupt you.\n\n\\\u003eAnd you took your mammaries in your paws and started your massage, easing the soreness as they filled and flowed out of your hands.\n\n\\\u003eYou worked in with the flats of your claws, kneading in to sooth your bruised flesh, your short hair flushing and ruffling as you worked.\n\n\\\u003eA pert nub flicked through your fingers, you took a small breath with vigor, a momentary spark of pleasure flicked out from the sensitive teat.\n\n\\\u003eYour thoughts flared with the electric sensation and wandered. How good it would feel for a second pair of hands to help you.\n\n\\\u003eTo sooth over your bumps and gentle hurts, a kneading, soft touch to heal the ails that came with your size.\n\n\\\u003eHands without claws, that could work as vigorously as they needed without the threat of pulling your fur or grazing your skin.\n\n\\\u003eYour own paws wandered forward, squeezing as flesh gorged out between your digits, you rolled your sensitive points delicately between your thumb and index. More feathering shocks of passion rolled through you.\n\n\\\u003eYour leg twitches as you feel your downstairs start to warm. You breath gently, impassioned.\n\n\\\u003ePerhaps if you could show him, if he came back, he wouldn't be so scared of you. That trust could go far enough and...\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003ewait.. what the hell are you doing?\n\n-it's love~-\n\n\\\u003eNo it's not... not when he doesn't even show any signs of genuine attraction.\n\n\\\u003eSo why were you rubbing yourself up over the thought of... Of him walking in on you?!\n\n-you want this, take it-\n\n\\\u003eNo, you had shown just how restrained you could be, and you wouldn't betray his trust like that.\n\n\\\u003eYour aches were taken care of anyway, you just got over excited in the moment.\n\n-The skinners have a point-\n\n\\\u003eAbsolutely not!\n\n\\\u003eYou were a godsdamned ROYAL JACKAL! THE VERY PICTURE OF RESTRAINT, GRACE, AND POWER!\n\n\\\u003eThe spitting image of the ancient god of death themself!\n\n\\\u003eYou were a noble creature! You didn't rub yourself off playing with your tits over some broken little human!\n\n\\\u003e... even if he was kind of cute.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou finally managed to calm your little surge in hormones, it was just a natural response to your awkward situation. You smelled arousal in the air, your body responded since spring is the natural breeding season. Nothing. More.\n\n\\\u003eJust a typical case of spring fever playing with your base desires, daring you to act on them when you really shouldn't.\n\n\\\u003eAt least you weren't in heat. You suppressed a shudder. Your seasonal spells could get really bad. Besides you weren't due for that for another couple months.\n\n\\\u003eLyudmilla had always coyly offered that she 'knew some certain places' that could alleviate such a burning instinct.\n\n\\\u003eYou had no idea why your spells got so intense, but you point blank refused to let that nympho bitch act like she could just hand you off like so many high-class tablescraps.\n\n\\\u003eShe offered that she knew more 'personal' methods of relief, if you shared, if you pleaded.\n\n\\\u003eYou will never be brought down to begging like some common house pet, you are better than that.\n\n\\\u003eYou beat away the heat in your ears and straightened yourself out. Your a squad leader now, and today is your first action in that role.\n\n\\\u003eYou have to be on top of your game...\n\n\\\u003eOkay maybe one peep of excitement won't hurt anyone.\n\n\\\u003eA few tail wags too, and a smile.\n\n\\\u003eOh you can't keep lying to yourself! Your excited as all hell for this!\n\n\\\u003eFinally! A chance at command. The chance you were waiting for.\n\n\\\u003eAll because of him.\n\n-you know yo-\n\n\\\u003eNo. You're in control of yourself, and today is a day where you need to focus. A single moment of lapsed concentration out there can do more than land you in spiking sexual tensions with your partner.\n\n\\\u003eWait. Partner! No! he's... your uhhh.\n\n-future fuckbuddy-\n\n\\\u003eFUCKSAKE NO!... he's a trusted comrade and personal friend, yeah.\n\n\\\u003eYou can't have your loins tied in a bow when you meet your new charges. You take the opportunity of the morning ritual to steady yourself.\n\n\\\u003eYou're a soldier, a sergeant, and the meanest bitch this side of the atlantic, you don't fawn over boys.\n\n\\\u003eYou don't fantasize about jumping bones on your small human friend.\n\n\\\u003eAnd you don't let your tail whip around in excitement.\n\n\\\u003eThis damn heavy vest is even worse than the normal one, at least it doesn't constrict around the other parts of you it shields aside from your bust.\n\n\\\u003eThe crisp morning air greets your nostrils with a flourish, you swear you can smell the over-potent scent of a lilac bush somewhere.\n\n\\\u003eReminds you of home.\n\n\\\u003eYou'll have to check in on your folks sometime. Just to let them know you're alive.\n\n\\\u003eYou glance down at the notice slip again, your supposed to meet up before you embark, doesn't say where.\n\n\\\u003eGuess they'll find you. That's their first test, being able to find their superior in the shuffle on base.\n\n\\\u003eLord knows there were more than enough times you had to track down Vilka when even she herself didn't know where she was.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou posted up at the apc your squad was assigned to ride as you waited.\n\n\\\u003eBaring the new chevrons on your shoulders with pride, you pretended not to notice the charged glares from the rest of the platoon.\n\n\\\u003eLet them talk and chide when your back is turned, it just means they're too scared to say it to your face. Scared of you, of your stature, of your skill, of your bearing, and of your resemblance to that old mythos. As they should be.\n\n\\\u003eThe other troopers came and went in the shuffle of bodies. Riflemen of all shapes and sizes squeezing themselves into an armored box that would then tear off down the road. Most of them were human, typical fair.\n\n\\\u003eYou still watched, trying to eye which clustering of figures is your squad. Regrettably you weren't told much about them, just that they were battle-hardened assault specialists that had survived their old unit being cut to ribbons by a combination of bugs and administrative fuckups.\n\n\\\u003eThis meant they were either driven into being emotionally compromised wrecks by survivor's guilt like Tom. Or they thought they could take on the world by their lonesome because they got lucky a few times.\n\n\\\u003eAs much as it would be a pain to keep them in line you hoped they were the latter. Looking after 7 shades of crying mess would be a chore.\n\n\\\u003eGuilt nipped at you. Looking after Tom wasn't a chore... was it? Then worry bit into you. How is he going to handle being redeployed? especially with the heart tearing yesterday.\n\n\\\u003eWhy did he have to remind you so damn much of Dera'ket? Granted he seemed far more up to task and willing to converse when he was stable. But the pitiful way he would just shut down when his emotions overcame him...\n\n\\\u003eFuck, you were becoming like your mother.\n\n\\\u003eNo time to sit around and muse, as a clustering of bodies broke from the embarking crowds and made towards you.\n\n\\\u003eTheir equipment harnesses were loaded for absolute bear, the sort of loadout that speaks volumes about previous mission experience, supply problems, and a healthy dosage of pure paranoia.\n\n\\\u003eIf they were ready for a week long siege without resupply, maybe they wouldn't be as much of a burden as you thought they were.\n\n\\\u003eOne of the corporals, some tawny lioness kitted out with a lmg and a grenade launcher slung over her shoulders and enough grenades to make most squad grenadiers blush, marched up to you with gusto and attempted to stare you down.\n\n\\\u003eIt would have been a site to see if she wasn't comfortably within the realm of a full head shorter than you.\n\n\\\u003eYou rocked forward onto your boots from your standing recline against the hull of the tin box and stared right back down at her. The faintest shine of amusement in your grin as you quirked a brow as if to ask her 'how did you think this was going to go'.\n\n\\\u003eShe had gotten too close for anyone's comfort but your own as you peered straight down the barrel of your muzzle into her eyes, the color of golden wheat in the honeyed radiance of the morning hours. She would be a pretty thing, if she didn't insist on holding her face in a snarl in a quickly failing attempt to intimidate you.\n\n\\\u003eHer face twitched and softened with uncertainty, you held fast to your bemused smirk. If she were a canid, or really any species with a longer muzzle, you would be touching noses right now.\n\n\\\u003eThe massive swell of your chest, obvious even under the compressing strain of your vest, hung dangerously close near her neck.\n\n\\\u003eYou could just let yourself fall forward and smother the upstart feline. Something she seemed to pick up on as she slowly started to shrink away.\n\n\\\u003eSome days you loathed your genes, but today you were elated that your size had allowed such a casual upper hand.\n\n\\\u003eYou kept your eyes locked, the classic way for dogs like you to show dominance, if she thought she could walk right over you, she was wrong.\n\n\\\u003eNo growling, snapping, or bristling. Your cold composure and amused temperament more than enough to convey that you thought so little of her would be threat, it was basically nothing. A stellar first impression for a sergeant if ever there was one.\n\n\\\u003eThe lioness stepped back and broke from your gaze, shoulders shrinking a little as she scratched at her forearm with agitation.\n\n\\\u003eYou allowed a slight \"humph\" to bounce in your throat as she conveyed her nonverbal surrender. Only now did you open your mouth.\n\n\"So. This walking armory must be my new E-squad. Correct?\"\n\n\\\u003e\"yes ma'm\" sighed the lioness. Obviously she was rethinking her stance on you after you had shown to be anything BUT a pushover.\n\n\"Sergeant Magual.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou extended a paw towards the big cat. You were mean, but fair. Hell, she even called you ma'm\n\n\\\u003eShe raised her head, and seemed bewildered that you weren't punishing her for something. She then timidly took your paw into her own.\n\n\\\u003e\"Corporal Feldspar\" She wasn't trying to crush your hand in some petty attempt to regain the ground she lost, you extended the same courtesy.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou allowed a slight smile to wink across your muzzle, pleased that she had fallen into line seeing that you and her may be cut from the same cloth. Internally you were practically giddy, but you had to maintain that bearing of the unmoving royal jackal, at least for now.\n\n\\\u003eThe rest of the squad seemed a little bit easier to work with now that you had disarmed their ringleader's attempt at sedition.\n\n\\\u003eThe other corporal didn't really come forward, she crossed her arms and stood at the back, the Lioness informed you the doberman's name was Duran.\n\n\\\u003eShe was a flamethrower specialist, and according to the lioness, gave everyone the cold shoulder.\n\n\\\u003eThat certainly explained it, what flame troopers you had met tended to be... damaged. You hoped that you would be able to keep any of her more glaring issues that arose in check.\n\n\\\u003eA grenadier stepped forward, private Matthews, some kind of monitor lizard, bundled up in enough cold weather gear to tarp an MRAP. Not that you could blame the cold-blood, as long as she could still handle her gear through her wool gloves.\n\n\\\u003eThe other of the three grenadiers counting Matthews and Feldspar stepped forward. Private Pliskin, an Ocelot.\n\n\\\u003eThen the two remaining privates stepped forward in tandem, lugging a giant of a gun between them with the assistance of some sort of sled. Cheerily introducing themselves as privates Mocha and Minna Jorgenson. Sisters, and the gunners that handled the squad's fire support, a 40mm Bofors autocannon.\n\n\\\u003eThe two of them looked to be house cats, the fluffy white fur and the dark points around their faces and extremities made you guess at their breed as Himalayan. If it weren't for the former sister's eyes being a misty blue to the latter sister's shamrock green you honestly wouldn't be able to tell them apart.\n\n\\\u003eSame mannerisms, same tone of voice, same body language, even the same scent. Twins in more than just appearance.\n\n\\\u003eYou would have liked to take the time for more formal introductions but such things would have to wait, assuming all of you got through today alive. The Lieutenant had called over the radio that the troop was departing within minutes.\n\n\\\u003eYou stopped with an ear quirked to the east as you heard a deep barking clatter. With a few barely audible pops and a grunting whine, it soon became a mechanized howl. Bellowing out of the open maw of a hanger east of you, as if some metallic hellbeast had been woken from a deep slumber to its tail being pulled.\n\n\\\u003eTom and his Rumbler. The howl died down as the engines settled into a calmer rate after letting the world hear their guttural voice.\n\n\\\u003eYou couldn't help but watch the hanger as the squad hauled their overabundance of gear into the apc behind you.\n\n\\\u003eMaybe something about the way his machine moved would tip you off to how he was fairing. That's what you told yourself at least.\n\n\\\u003eYou kept your attention clued in as the deliberately slow steps boomed out of the hanger.\n\n\\\u003ethump.2.3.4.thump.2.3.4.thump\n\n\\\u003eYou could maybe understand the slow shuffling steps were so the machine's weight wouldn't do any damage to the base's road surfaces or hanger floor, but the anticipation was nipping at your heels.\n\n\\\u003eBut slowly it showed itself, the massive bulk of its body and its two lugging weapon arms peeking around the hanger door. Colored in a fresh coat of drab green, somehow it seemed to be missing something without the faded whites of rock dust clinging to it.\n\n\\\u003eAnd there was the unit markings clear as day on the shoulder, well, there were actually 2?\n\n\\\u003eThe more prominent was 606 in the center of the plate, with an... added touch. An anthro version of the battalion mascot, a hellhound, seemed to be sitting provocatively in the zero. The toned orange and chocolate of her legs dangling off like it was a tire swing.\n\n\\\u003eA simple white toga preserved her modesty, meaning it lay in a heap across her lap. Comically overblown tits hung out as she seemed to howl upwards, framing her muzzle and the small priffing flame that danced on her lips in the center of the zero as the rest of her body lay draped along the inner curve of the digit.\n\n\\\u003eYou weren't sure if it was artsy or tasteless, maybe a mix of both. Then you frowned as you mentally compared breast sizes and found the pinup's bust was actually closer to yours than you'd like, framing that earlier thought about them being overblown viciously.\n\n\\\u003eYou scowled as an annoyed grunt leaked out of your lips, he better not have painted that.\n\n\\\u003eYou flat ignored the clamor of voices, boots, and engines as you called up Tom's frequency. Even as the sisters made a racket dragging the autocannon into the troop compartment you ignored it.\n\n\\\u003eWhy did he flee from you when THAT was on his machine? Was something wrong with you? You can't have been too big for him, not with the knockers on that piece of work!\n\n\\\u003eIt was probably the size of the rest of you at work again, every damn time you thought you had someone, either as a close friend or something more, they would suddenly get all antsy because you could bench press them. Every time some dumbass would waltz up and expect to tame the beast but would quickly wilt and pussy out when you got excited and keyed them in to just how strong you were.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eFinally the static hiss and pop gave way to a clearer channel. You tried to hide the annoyance edging into your voice with sarcasm.\n\n\"Tom, your unit marker is a little... exposed.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"uuuuuuggh... Blame Vegalta! That's what I get for telling that horned-out dumbass not to paint my nose art!\" His annoyance was genuine, and you started to feel a bit guilty as you realized you were about ready to go off on him over some tasteless smut that wasn't even done by his own hand.\n\n\\\u003eThat guilt then gave way to confusion as you thought over what he said.\n\n\"Wait... You guys do nose art? Isn't that an airforce thing?\"\n\n\\\u003eYour ears tuned and you glanced sideways as Feldspar waved you over to embark. You kept your ear piece on and listened as you stepped over the awkward shape of the autocannon taking up the space in between the short rows of canvas seats. He continued with a heavy sigh.\n\n\\\u003e\"ACES do nose art... us regular schmucks don't. Being, a survivor doesn't change any of that...\"\n\n\\\u003eYou held your response until you weren't so close to prying ears, ducking through the troop compartment up towards the hatch well at the front of the vehicle.\n\n\\\u003eManaging to squeeze your shoulders and your chest through the hatch wasn't easy given the extra bulk from your equipment, but soon you were stood up out of the hatch behind the driver's compartment. No company except for the open air and a .50 cal on the pintle mount.\n\n\\\u003eThe 8 wheeler's engine gave a hearty groan as your knotting of vehicles slid into motion. A convoy of personnel carriers following the thin spires of the radio aerials from a trio of command pattern IFVs. You watched the rumbler step out forcefully onto the sodden earth outside the base, finally putting its foot down and digging its claws into the dirt.\n\n\\\u003eThe machines stride was immediately longer and heavier as it started its march alongside the road, clawed heels kicking up dirt as it stomped forward. You continued your conversation as you watched it, watched him, confident your squad wouldn't be able to eavesdrop with your head out in the air.\n\n\"But with how many bugs you must have killed.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"If you're talking about the small fry they don't fucking matter. The swarming bugs of all spices, the scarabs, the stags, they don't fucking matter, any dumbass with an auger frame can take those by the boatload.\"\n\n\\\u003eSomething in his voice belied anger, the way the machine moved seemed to reinforce that. You listened, as that's all you can really do.\n\n\\\u003e\"The difference between an ace and an amateur come out in the wash when you face the bigger targets. The more monstrous varieties of bug, and marauder battleframes, the more dangerous threats. You need at least five victories against targets of those varieties to be considered an ace... I only have one, and even then it's because I got lucky...\"\n\n\\\u003eThe tinge of doubt in his voice pursed your frown a bit, how could you be mad over something so petty when he was practically alone with a roiling sea of doubts and second guessing.\n\n\\\u003eLooking towards the rumbler's nose, you saw a single chalk white marker painted onto the chin of the rumbler's axe-headed bow plate. A stylized skull with razor like teeth missing its lower jaw, 3 hollow eyes, one nested above the other two, glared from it's center. A kill marker for an enemy battleframe.\n\n\\\u003eYour gaze flicked back to the shoulder, the smaller unit marker made you tinge with worry.\n\n\\\u003eNested into the upper corner of the plate was a smaller trio of digits, 512, a small simple cross marker hung off the top corner of the 2. Then there was another skull, hanging above the zero of 606.\n\n\\\u003eIt was far larger than its cousin on the nose, and it was an outline of the skull rather than a complete marker, a bright red sash of scarlet cut across its eyes along a north-west to south-east bearing.\n\n\"What's with the marker on your shoulder then?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou had a feeling you wouldn't like the answer.\n\n\\\u003e\"That's not a marker, it isn't filled in yet...\" He gave a shuddering inhale as if some shot of emotion had just run through his spine.\n\n\\\u003e\"It's a promise. I'm gonna kill that bastard. Or die trying.\"\n\n\\\u003eThe resolve gripping his voice in tandem with unfiltered anger pushed on your back as you felt yourself tense.\n\n\\\u003eYou sighed as your ears dropped... had he really gone and just accepted his death like that? You tried to swallow the creeping dread crawling up your throat.\n\n\"Good luck out there.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"... Yeah\"\n\n\\\u003eTom didn't look so small now.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe few hours of relative peace you had during the ride still had a faint tension hung over them. You spent them in silent worry and contemplation.\n\n\\\u003eYou alternated between watching the rumbler jogging alongside the road and watching the sky as you picked out wisping contrails and the glimmer of silver wings between the shuffling clouds.\n\n\\\u003eThe air force had cleared the local sky of threats from above, and now wing after wing of bombers and other ground pounders soared far above your head to drop death on high onto the hoard. You could only imagine that miles to the west, the navy was rolling a non-stop bombardment up the coast line.\n\n\\\u003eYet even these silent reassurances of allied power did little to remove that minute knot of tension clinging between your shoulders.\n\n\\\u003eIf Tom got carried away, he would let his buried rage drive. His untamed need for vengeance demanded it. And there was nothing you could do to sooth it, not with how far you were from eachother, in both senses of the phrase.\n\n\\\u003eYou had so clearly broken in your prematurely awakened maternal instincts again, working diligently to smooth over his hang ups, coaxing him away from his fears, keeping him from wandering into his doubts when he was unoccupied, and being the rock for him to shelter under when the tears came.\n\n\\\u003eBut that flooding torrent never came, the closest you got was that heart breaking moment of gravecall, and you couldn't be there for him. Instead you were the one that broke first, spilling over how alone you felt, because those wild eyes he made at you when that idiot Darla set him off made you feel like he saw you as nothing but another threat to his life.\n\n\\\u003eThe way he seemed so morose over what he unintentionally did to you... He was battling himself to see you as a person, rather than some monster that walked off the side of a cartouche. You worried over what sorrows of his own he held behind him.\n\n\\\u003eHow would they eat at him, shake his resolve, and make him doubt if he didn't share them. You wanted to press into him, make him confess what acidic memory was coiled around his heart so you could rip it away from him and crush it. But his fear kept you on a gentler approach no matter how much you ached to bury to the heart of this matter.\n\n\\\u003eYou wanted to ask point blank 'why are you so scared of anthros, scared of me?' But some crippling doubt over what you might uncover or stir within him chained those words back into your gullet.\n\n\\\u003eWhatever it was, it festered to become a far more ingrained response and instinct than a simple qualm over teeth and claws. It was an outright phobia.\n\n\\\u003eYou had no idea how to approach that.\n\n\\\u003eBut you had no idea how to approach that first night either.\n\n\\\u003eImprov only gets you so far, and that in particular was a delicate issue.\n\n\\\u003eThe chatter among your squad died off about an hour into the ride, as if the excited deliberations over their change in status dropped dead when that wind of decay whispered in everyone's ears. 'you might all die today' it rasped.\n\n\\\u003eEventually you picked out the distant echoes of cannons, and just like that all the preparation came back to you as the flow of vehicles towards the front snaked onwards.\n\n\\\u003ebig gun: check\u0026nbsp; belts: check\u0026nbsp; backup belts: check\u0026nbsp; sidearm: check\u0026nbsp; spare sidearm mags: check\u0026nbsp; grenades: check\u0026nbsp; radio: check\u0026nbsp; earpieces: check\u0026nbsp; heavy carapace vest currently mashing down your proud bust like so much water-weight: double check\n\n\\\u003eCrippling worry about the definite possibility of death hanging over your every action:\n\n\\\u003e... check\n\n\\\u003eYou breathed in and shooed away the fear, you had been through quite a lot and still managed to worm your way out of any deadly predicaments. And Tom... well, he may be tougher than he looks, he also has hundreds of tons of armor and an arsenal to shame an entire rifle battalion on his side.\n\n\\\u003eYou couldn't help but worry over him, you really were becoming like your mother.\n\n\\\u003eOh wait... your fucking squad, should probably bring up that little item on the list.\n\n\\\u003eYou had spent far too long as a corporal.\n\n\\\u003eYou squeezed your torso back down the hatch, to awkwardly bend over and take a hard look back them while your feet remained planted on the platform for using that pintle mounted .50\n\n\"Report ready status.\"\n\n\\\u003eNo flair or getting personal, not yet. You would prove yourself before you let the mantle of the no-nonsense gal slip.\n\n\\\u003e\"Ready ma'm\" Feldspar nodded, she was turning out to be rather stalwart, and you guess that she may have snapped into this loyalty towards you due to maybe seeing some sort of kindred spirit behind your eyes.\n\n\\\u003eDuran merely nodded slightly, the sisters gave almost perfectly synced thumbs up, Matthews and Pliskin shared a reaffirming look to quench their worry, and gave shaky nods.\n\n\\\u003eGood enough for you, you gave a curt nod of your own and returned to staring out at the scenery.\n\n\\\u003eMountains had risen up on both sides as the road followed the lazy path carved by a humble river as it wound through the narrow valley.\n\n\\\u003eThe old highway kept shooting north as best it could, snaking along the terrain and hugging the mountains after crossing the river at a small village.\n\n\\\u003eThe rumbler was obviously too heavy for the bridge to really hold together between it and the constant traffic, Vilka rather cheekily offered to call an airlift. What slight smile was there faded again when the machine just forded through the river like it almost wasn't even there.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe valley pass snaked north again and the road followed, Within a few miles the pass leveled out into a genuine valley as that distant echo became far more clear thuds and booms of cannons.\n\n\\\u003eThe valley held the shape of a triangle tapered to the south, a fat hill rose in its core, and you saw the feint outline of a small town squatting by the winding river near the eastern edge of the valley. The quaint small town of Ashcroft.\n\n\\\u003eAt least it would be quaint if it wasn't an abandoned ruin that was left inside the Alaskan cordon with the bugs for two years.\n\n\\\u003eThe town had recently been cleared and now the front had moved up to take the crossroads at Cache Creek, the struck town's northern neighbor that guarded the northern mouth of the valley under the watchful gaze of that fat hill. That was all you were told.\n\n\\\u003eThe lack of information didn't sit well with you, and you looked for any opportunity to get a more in depth explanation of the local front.\n\n\\\u003eThe rolling thunder of cannons grew louder and louder, a din of small arms chatter and the tapping of autocannons joining into that cacophony of full scale battle. soon enough your section of the convoy pulled off the road and came to a halt in the dried ghost of what was once an arable field.\n\n\\\u003eYou hauled yourself out of the hatch, having to shimmy as your hips caught on a latch, and dropped with a crunch onto a bed of pale yellow cereal grasses. Long since dead with no farmers to tend to the fields.\n\n\\\u003eAhead of you a clustering of walkers sat on the tawny loam of a baldspot in the land. Fat chrome barrels raised skyward as they punted high gauge cannon shells into the distance. It was the very thing that every infantryman takes as a good omen for the impending fight, an artillery park.\n\n\\\u003eYour squad shuffled out of the back doors, the sisters hauling out the bofors on its odd collapsible sled. Your best guess was it was some sort of rigging that helped them move and set up the man sized gun so they could actually use it.\n\n\\\u003eThe dead grains crunched and folded under boots, you waved Feldspar over to explain to her that you were going to go have a chat with the local artillerymen to get a better read on the battle at large since they were the ones that spent all day staring at maps.\n\n\\\u003eShe seemed rather puzzled, citing that the pre-mission briefing should have covered everything. That poor, clueless soul.\n\n\\\u003eThe noise hid your disappointment in her well, and you explained the reality of the situation to the lion.\n\n\\\u003eThe brief never covers anything beyond 'go here and take objectives A-Z, we won't tell you why or how. Here's some vague positional data and a snippet from another units report that all is well and bug presence is perfectly manageable. Said unit last went through the area at the start of the war, and all recent intel reports are classified. Good luck, don't die.'\n\n\\\u003eYou also explained that your dear Lieutenant was too fresh and trusting of the system to smuggle in a briefing that wasn't shit. This meant you had to do everything on your own.\n\n\\\u003eIncluding gathering enough intel to asses the local tactical situation in order to lessen the chances of all your asses being killed.\n\n\\\u003eLuckily artillerymen were the rifles' best friend. They killed most everything before you had to go in and deal with it up close, they were always a friendly sort, and very trusting since all of them were half deaf.\n\n\\\u003eIt's only natural you stop by, say hello, and ask to take a look at their very detailed grid maps. And maybe get some pointers as to what enemy positional markers demand a convenient misinterpretation of your orders so you can avoid them.\n\n\\\u003eFeldspar got the gist that what you were doing was for everyone's survival, so she thankfully stowed her objections and casually helped you defy the chain of command.\n\n\\\u003eThey grow up so fast.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eWhile your squad marched off to distract everyone with how blatantly new and competent they were compared to the rest of the platoon; you spied the closest artillery officer in his natural habitat, hunched over a map.\n\n\\\u003eThe officer hadn't keyed in to your approach, in between permanent hearing damage and his own efforts to coordinate fire missions over a headset radio, It's rather hard for a poor artilleryman to key in on much at all once the guns get firing.\n\n\\\u003eYou thanked whatever technical genius was responsible for producing the automatic noise dampening for your ear pieces, someone with as sensitive ears as yours couldn't go without it.\n\n\\\u003eYou gave him a short tap on the shoulder with the flats of your claws and motioned to your neck with your other hand as he turned. The signal that you wanted to talk over radio to actually get a word in over the roar of guns.\n\n\\\u003eHe nodded curtly, and held aloft a single gloved hand with a raised index, 'just a minute' he mouthed. He could have been shouting it in actuality, but over the bass strumming pound of the guns you would have never heard a sound from him.\n\n\\\u003eYou took the wait to look around. Tom's Rumbler stood a good 200 feet or so ahead of the rest of the platoon, seeming to stand mid-stride. The weapon arms thrusted forward briefly in agitation. It was uncanny how well the small movements like that conveyed natural body language, but the controls were made to follow the pilot's movements almost exactly.\n\n\\\u003eBy your best guess he had been ordered to halt while the rest of the troop sorted themselves, and wasn't happy about it.\n\n\\\u003eYour ever-present worry circled around your head again, he's far too eager to draw blood.\n\n\\\u003eYou distracted yourself by peeling your eyes towards the squat, bulky artillery walkers posted around the patch of dirt.\n\n\\\u003eA chrome barrel raised skyward, A great plume of fire and smoke followed, even through the noise dampening you heard a dull resounding thump that hit your chest as the gun rocked backwards in its hydraulic cradle. The breach split open, pouring smoke, and spat a smoking casing.\n\n\\\u003eThe legs of the machine were rooted into the earth and compressed with a hissing of steam to counter the recoil as the gun reset into firing position.\n\n\\\u003eAlready, three men shunted another shell into the breach. And with the pull of a lever it clamped shut. Five seconds passed, and another shell flew.\n\n\\\u003eYou watched the artillerymen at work for a few minutes, drinking in the way they hoisted and rolled. Discarded casings piled high in brass mounds.\n\n\\\u003eYou turned back to the officer to find him turning to you, your sense of timing is something else. The two of you thumb the microphone tabs pressed against your necks, you honestly have little clue how they manage to pick up your voice so clearly despite the deafening noise.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe conversation over the map managed to give you a very good idea of what was going on. The advance was coming in from the south and east as two seperate offensive wings closed in towards Cache Creek, using a clustering of fire support elements sat high on the ridgeline of the hill dominating the north of the valley, to cover both wings as they closed in.\n\n\\\u003eThe bugs seemed to have congregated in these mountains however, and astounding numbers of the monstrosities swarmed to meet the advance head on. Taking this valley had proven to be the first real roadblock on this league of the offensive.\n\n\\\u003eAdvancing north from Ashcroft along the main highway was a collection of armored elements with light infantry support. The tankers had been shunting fire at their front cordon for hours and still the swarm piled in, held back by constant artillery barrage, air support, and the definite range advantage the tanks' various long barreled cannons gave them.\n\n\\\u003eBut the armor officers were getting impatient and demanding that the town and it's crossroads be taken by nightfall with an armored blitz up the highway. Reinforcements were certainly arriving fast enough to facilitate a push, and the infantry officers were trying to calm the armor corp into a more reasonable rolling fire advance at a walking pace.\n\n\\\u003eWhile the more common armored units with their groupings of light and medium tanks were content to sit still and slug it out, the agitators were the so called 'landship men'. Heavy tank commanders too trusting of the invincibility their larger hulls assume, wanting to just wade in to the bugs and start grinding them under tread.\n\n\\\u003eThe worst agitator was a unit of three Goliath superheavies sitting at the front of the line. Getting rather tempered when mechs started moving in to the area to 'steal all the glory again'. The fact that one of the incoming pilots was a rather well known ace wasn't helping matters.\n\n\\\u003eThe infantry officers had correctly told the tread heads they were full of shit, and that advancing too far forward would just have them getting acid spitters on their flanks.\n\n\\\u003eAccording to every good rifleman the correct response is to sit tight and just have the airforce level the town before moving in to coupe de gras any surviving bugs. The issue being that command wanted the town and its crossroad highways roughly intact to ease further advance into the Alaskan exclusion zone.\n\n\\\u003eRegardless of the concoction of battle-stress and inter-branch animosity clinging to the air, a plan had been formed. It wasn't a work of tactical genius or even the best plan that could have been executed on notice, but it was a plan.\n\n\\\u003eThe eastern wing of the offensive, which largely consisted of infantry elements backed by some vertical tanks and light armor such as IFVs would dig in and draw the bugs to them using seismic hammers to agitate the swarm into shifting its focus off the tanks.\n\n\\\u003eThe bugs would have to funnel out of the chokepoint between the hill and the northern border of the valley that made the eastern exit out of town. Once out in more open terrain of the few fields hugging the narrow end of the hill off the highway, the artillery and airforce could comfortably pound the hell out of them. Without the worry of collateral.\n\n\\\u003eThis would allow the armor enough breathing room to kick in the advance they had been clamoring for, so they could roll through town and secure the northern mouth of the valley.\n\n\\\u003eUp on the hill itself, the mixing of snipers, gunnery and mortar teams, at-guns, and mechs would creep forward, providing fire support as necessary to either side.\n\n\\\u003eThe mechs would be split between the hill and more direct support of the armor until they got to town, at which point the mechs would break off and swing around to pincer the bugs between themselves and the infantry. Allowing the infantry to sweep in and clear the town of any stragglers.\n\n\\\u003eThe plan was solid, and it's not like you could think of anything better on the spot. That's why you had never been shuttled off to some ritzy officer's school to be talked at and play grab ass. One thing seemed to stick out plainly to you though.\n\n\\\u003eBefore the prattling of the officer rattled on further, you leveled a claw over the marker for a bunker complex sat squarely at the northern head of the ridge.\n\n\\\u003eLabeled as 'Complex H37', The commanding view this place held over the crossroads and the surrounding town was no accident, and depending on how deep into the ridge it was buried, it could be an active nest. Compromising the flanks of both wings as they moved forward.\n\n\\\u003eYou caught the slight malting of surprise and satisfaction on the artillery officers voice, It was a little patronizing for him to be impressed with you pointing out this obvious strategic point as the problem it is.\n\n\\\u003eThe bunker was too deep in to split open with anything short of a dedicated bunker buster, something the air force didn't use much of anymore, usually preferring napalm and old fashioned high explosives to specialty munitions outside of those crazy tunneling bombs they use to collapse nest tunnels.\n\n\\\u003eWith so many abandoned machine gun nests and AT posts dug into the northern corner of the ridge, bug acid spitters could have any number of naturally fortified positions to attack the armor from. Not to mention the other swarmers pouring out of the deeper reaches.\n\n\\\u003eThe officer confirmed your fears as he explained H37 was built 13 years before firefall, and part of it's construction included an extensive barracks and command post buried into the hill, but the bunker also held something important.\n\n\\\u003erecessed into a crater of concrete on top of the ridge was a hellfire battery, a battery that still had ammo.\n\n\\\u003eIt was obvious H37 was a lynch-pin objective for securing the valley, it would deny the acid spitters concealed firing positions, clean out a minor nest, and that hellfire battery could devastate the advance of any further swarms moving towards the area.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eIt was at this point you had a dreadful premonition, H37 isn't just THE objective in the area, it's YOUR objective.\n\n\\\u003eYou would be in the center of the battle, underground, with the bugs, in the DARK.\n\n-told you we would die today-\n\n\\\u003eYou try to shake away the fogging miasma of doubt, the officer not noticing your momentary shiver and the loss of your front of the unflappable royal jackal.\n\n\\\u003eThe dread started its creep back up as he explained there were really only two viable entrances to the complex, first was a motorpool on the north face of the ridge, connected to the eastern highway by an access road, the other was an airlock on the south face of the ridge, only accessible by a narrow path that clung to the south of the hill's more severe slopes.\n\n\\\u003eThe infantry would be sent out along that path to make a run at clearing the bunker while the swarm outside was distracted. They would be making the push without any direct fire support. They would be hidden from the support elements on the hill, and artillery couldn't assist for fear of destabilizing the ridge face and cutting the access points down to one.\n\n\\\u003eClose air support wasn't in the books either, due to the terrain and the mess of bugs. Fighters couldn't get low enough for strafing runs and gunships wouldn't hold up well to the amount of ranged bugs mixed into the swarms.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThis sounded more and more like certain death by the second. You tried to restrain the wilt of your ears and the shaking starting on your breath.\n\n\\\u003eNot everything is against you, just because this sounds like the most dangerous assignment a rifle can be flung into doesn't mean it's your assignment.\n\n\\\u003eYou're better than this! you don't quake and cower just because a tight spot may come along.\n\n\\\u003eYou're a royal jackal, the very image of dignity and strength in both senses of the word.\n\n\\\u003eYou don't run, you square your shoulders and stand high.\n\n\\\u003eYou don't flinch, you bear your teeth and stand your ground.\n\n\\\u003eYou don't hesitate, you lunge and strike down your opponent before they can mount a resistance.\n\n\\\u003eYour larger, faster, and stronger, you resemble the old ideal of death personified, and this is no coincidence.\n\n\\\u003eAll that's missing is a ceremonial lance and the eye of Ra painted over your own. But your new weapon is more than enough.\n\n\\\u003eThe promotion up to sergeant had granted you the capacity to get your claws on something that was typically reserved away from grunts.\n\n\\\u003eAn M2 Browning, modified in a.. semi-official capacity to function as a 'rifle' for troopers of inordinate size, like you.\n\n\\\u003eNow it wasn't a full scale M2HB, even you may have some trouble handling that in reasonable fashion, despite being able to lift all 83 pounds.\n\n\\\u003eThe barrel was shortened for maneuvering the gun, many of the parts had been lightened or re-forged using lighter metals than the standard issue, and an over sized rifle stock and trigger were fitted to the rear with some internal adjustments so you actually had something comfortable to hug under your arm or press to your shoulder.\n\n\\\u003eThe chop job had shed 35 pounds off of the big mother, still leaving a more than healthy 48 pounds for you to heft around, something lesser women would fold like paper under.\n\n\\\u003eOn the front was the handle of a rubber chainsaw style grip fitted ahead of the feed port to ease handling the weapon as the wide square of the machine gun's body wouldn't work well to keep it steady, and only a complete idiot would think grabbing hold of the barrel with a damp rag would possibly work.\n\n\\\u003eYou guess being so big has its advantages. The 'rifle chop M2' as it was semi-officially cataloged was even originally put together\u0026nbsp; when a Caucasian Shepard gunner with a surprising amount of gunsmith education had just decided to take her Ma Deuce off it's tripod and use it as a rifle.\n\n\\\u003eHer little story even got on national tv around a year before firefall. As the reporters interviewed her, she cheerily shared that 'Soldier of Fortune' magazine had inspired her to do it, while flashing a big K with her fingers. It was a salute for some fan club of gunsmiths and hobbyist shooters that were avid readers of that old magazine series.\n\n\\\u003eSeeing such a large anthro up on screen with pride in her eyes over her story made you feel more secure back then.\n\n\\\u003eThere was one more personal touch you had snuck in with your feminine wiles, damn it felt good to think you actually charmed someone like that.\n\n\\\u003eThe quartermaster on duty at the time you got the gun with your fresh promotion was apparently rather flustered with the sight of you.\n\n\\\u003eshameless thespian you are, you laid it on thick and pretended not to be sent reeling by the sight of his neckbeard and fatbody cheeks. At least he washed unlike that little prick Tom had to deal with.\n\n\\\u003eA little hip sashaying here, a stretch there, playing up what you remembered of your parents' accents, and making a show of 'accidentally' busting open your jacket zipper left the idiot a mess of bright red putty to squeeze through your paws.\n\n\\\u003eIt felt downright evil, and shamefully good, to have that rare chance to work some magic. Guess it was elements of that mischievous trickster stereotype loaded onto 'lesser' canids like you, and species like dholes and especially coyotes.\n\n\\\u003eBut the more tangible reward was worth it, all ten of the hundred round belts you were issued carried an extra kick, explosives.\n\n\\\u003eStill only .50 cal, but the extra kick could make a mess out of a bug's soft tissues and fracture their natural armor.\n\n\\\u003eThe weapon is there, anchored to you. It is a wordless promise of strength, you'll make it out alive.\n\n\\\u003eYou are a genuine article Nubian, you aren't scared.\n\n\\\u003eTime to rock.\n\n\\\u003eBefore you could leave the artillery officer clarified that the job of taking H37 was going to a fresh infantry unit that had just arrived to the front.\n\n\\\u003eThey were the 606 Hellhound rifles, they even had a mech attached to one of their platoons, not that such a thing mattered with the bunker, poor bastards.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eOh god\n\n\\\u003eThat killed the mood\n\n\\\u003eYou took a shaky breath as the officer finished deliberating over his map.\n\n\\\u003eYou thanked him for the briefing on the local tactical situation and walked away before he could catch the way your tail curled or the way you attempted in vain to swallow the growing lump in your throat.\n\n\\\u003eRunning a hand along the barrel of your bulky gun, you tried to ground yourself before anyone caught sight of you fighting the instinct to hug your tail and whimper like a pup.\n\n\\\u003eNO!\n\n\\\u003eyou aren't some stupid kid anymore, you wouldn't honestly consider running from your duty, you don't jump at an oversized tick in a broom closet, you shoot it in the face.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eYou shunt in a deep breath, remembering that trick your DI taught you in basic.\n\n\\\u003einhale, count to four, exhale\n\n\\\u003eCan't remember where he said he learned it from, best you got was mentions of some stormtrooper built like a fridge in Norway.\n\n\\\u003eYou Gave the barrel shroud an affectionate pat, time to go to war.\n\n\\\u003eStill it reeled in the back of your head, and you were more worried about your own survival than Tom's. At least he had the Rumbler.\n\n\\\u003eYou swallowed the lump again, managed to regain your stone mask, and met up with your squad. Nobody else had noticed your little intel gathering session.\n\n\\\u003eSure enough, your platoon was selected to follow the captain himself up the ridge path.\n\n\\\u003eVilka had agreed whole heartedly to this glorious suicide mission.\n\n\\\u003eThis is it.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003cTom\\\u003e\n\n\\\u003eYou hadn't even killed anything yet and your dander was already up.\n\n\\\u003eFirst of all, while you had initially been relieved that you were even assigned a sub-gunner, he was some fuckwit slacker from a thumper unit where the lazy shits came in pairs and barely had to do their jobs because thumpers barely move.\n\n\\\u003eYou had to snap at him multiple times to watch his damn screens, and you were fairly sure the motherfucker was a stoner on top of that.\n\n\\\u003eIf he dared to try and defile your machine with a puffing of mary jane, you're pretty sure at this point you would just fucking strangle him.\n\n\\\u003eThe second mark was Vilka being a precocious little bitch again, acting like something that's leagues taller than a house can't ford some shitty little stream.\n\n\\\u003eThe next was you being ordered to do naught but sit on your hands for what felt like half an hour straight while the bugs were just up the road, waiting for a good stomping.\n\n\\\u003eTest after test rose against your patience today, it was approaching its limit. Migrant swarms of the enemy were right there, just out of reach, taunting you. Why don't they let you kill them?\n\n\\\u003e\"So the hero of the 606 shows himself. What great and terrible secrets does the lone survivor hide?\"\n\n\\\u003eTHEN THERE'S THIS ASSHOLE!\n\n\\\u003eOf all the fucking people to butt in and test your newfound reputation it has to be him.\n\n\\\u003eOrville Redenbacher, the crowing loon of a dancer ace that lifted the title of The Red Baron off of Manfred von Richthofen's bloated corpse.\n\n\\\u003eIt didn't fucking matter he had twenty five confirmed kill markers. Far as you were concerned, he was just another annoyance goading your blood into a boil. The clincher was that ludicrous accent he wore like so much cheap makeup.\n\n\\\u003eYou choked in the growl building in your throat. Maybe you had been hanging around anthros too long, you caught yourself growling more than usual.\n\n\\\u003eThe naturally low cadence of your voice seemed to just fit with ease into such an animalistic expression.\n\n\\\u003eRegardless it's best to at least humor the idiot with a response.\n\n\\\u003eBreath, there's no need to force an incident despite your fuming state of mind. Redenbacher is just living up to his assigned stereotype of the rambunctious officer, you still despise anyone trying to pry in to your assumed mental hangups however.\n\n\\\u003e\"Hey man.. is that The Red Baron? Love that dude, he's a great personality.\"\n\n\\\u003eThis would be easier if your sub-gunner knew when to shut the hell up.\n\n\"Well if it isn't Monty Python and the crawling circus. What can I do ya for Manfred?.. oh wait, your \\*cough\\* British.\"\n\n\\\u003eAll the things you thought you might do today, and sarcastically talking shit to a well recognized ace was not an item on the list.\n\n\\\u003eLife finds a way.\n\n\\\u003eThe pause before his response is lengthier than expected, either he's taking your insult in good spirits, or your venom is more potent than ever.\n\n\\\u003e\"I do see they haven't lowered your spirits any.\" That angry thing buried in you warmed, as if in agreement.\n\n\\\u003eBurning, shaking, thrashing needs are what boils in you, a want for blood.\n\n\\\u003eYou ignored the chipper ace, pulling up the local battlenet while you sat still.\n\n\\\u003eJust behind you was the unit marker for that artillery troop, happily responding to fire missions pinged onto the map by unit commanders from both sides of the advance. Armor was driving north along the highway while infantry cut around the north of the hill by the highway that led off into the east.\n\n\\\u003eA simple pincer maneuver to crush the bugs between two fronts. At least on the grand scale.\n\n\\\u003eWith armor concentrated towards one front and infantry on the other the two sides were far from equal.\n\n\\\u003eBest guess on your end was the armor would advance first while the infantry dug in, than cut the swarm in two and crush the half not pushed out of the valley by the armor against the infantry. But the plan hardly matters since it's bound to go wrong.\n\n\\\u003eYou noted other mech unit markers in the area, Redenbacher and his 3 ace wingmen moved along the west side of the highway, likely using the slope of the mountain to advance hard north and get good flanking shots on larger targets in the swarm.\n\n\\\u003eA thumper unit sat on top of the hill, ready to turn their guns to assist either side of the attack. Although it didn't say specifically, your suspicions pointed towards that unit being Vegalta's.\n\n\\\u003eThen there was a half strength unit of Rumblers on the east highway, only two machines, nothing about their unit name or number rang any bells with you.\n\n\\\u003eAnd finally you. Labeled rather flatly as 606-B2R, the only machine on their lonesome.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou spied two main problems on the map, first was that clustering of markers labeled as some abandoned bunker, which would be a pain in the ass once you got far enough ahead.\n\n\\\u003eThen there was a unit of three Goliaths parked up at the head of the front.\n\n\\\u003eGoliath commanders were never cooperative in your experience, just because the dense fuckers had similar tonnage to a mech didn't mean they got to act like one.\n\n\\\u003eMaybe, just maybe, they wouldn't get ahead of themselves and pull something stupid because they get too damn competitive with the mechs for their own good.\n\n\\\u003e\"Say old bean, how about some friendly competition?\"\n\n\\\u003eThe internal whiplash from being snapped out of your grim deliberations on what would go wrong by the chipper offering of the ace caused you to blank for a moment.\n\n\\\u003e\"Let's see just how much your willing to give ol' jerry a wallop! See who between us can take down the most marks today. Spirit of vengeance and what not!\"\n\n\\\u003eThis walking caricature can't be fucking serious. A proven ace thinking that a one-mark nobody will even have a chance?\n\n\\\u003eBut something inside you pulses your blood with heat, and a snarl decorates your countenance. It's that same feeling from when you stumbled out of the landslide, bloodlust. You readied to indulge it.\n\n\\\u003eIf this was the spirit of vengeance, it edged you on with anger to forget about your weak-willed worries and doubtings. And to show this prancing gadabout priss what vengeance fucking looks like.\n\n\"Your on motherfucker!\"\n\n\\\u003eYour subgunner let out a prolonged sigh to say something. \"Ya know ma-\"\n\n\"Screens!\"\n\n\\\u003eYou snapped at him while thumbing the transmitter off, then back on again as Redenbacher spoke with a chuckle.\n\n\\\u003e\"Spirits are definitely high there chap. But surely you know that this dance will be mi-\"\n\n\"Keep prancing sir Robin. I will mash enough of these goddamned bugs to fill the fucking canyon!\"\n\n\\\u003eWith that you cut the com. Your teeth slowly ground as your breath came heavy from pursed lips. Waiting, just waiting for the chance to cut loose.\n\n\\\u003eYou decided to reign in the heated edge of your hatred until you needed it up the road. And you started running down the mental pre-battle checklist to keep your immediate focus off of visions of ultra-violence. Soon, soon enough you could indulge that madcap instinct to destroy.\n\n\\\u003eMunitions are topped off, fluid levels look good, power is flowing normally, engine temperature is stable, and your fuel reserves are still high. The long trek north barely dipped into your reserves as you were mostly coasting along on minimal power.\n\n\\\u003eYou only really started burning through your reserves once combat began, where you needed to squeeze out every ounce of power the engines could give.\n\n\\\u003eYou check over every weapon system for a second time. Still the heat nips at the back of your skull.\n\n\\\u003eSome ancient mantra winds upwards from the deeper pits of your psyche. You think on something else to ignore the words, not yet, vengeance will come. It's just up the road.\n\n\\\u003eAnd so your mind wanders to the first subject of engagement it can pull up: Teth'ra.\n\n\\\u003eYou realized with a slight flick of embarrassment you had been thinking of her a lot recently, but could it really be helped?\n\n\\\u003eShe was the only solid friend you had out here, and the way she acted was vexing to the lurch and roll of your tumultuous emotions.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThere was something else there between the two of you, you can't keep ignoring it. The question was what?\n\n\\\u003eShe approached you aggressively and seemed to disregard your personal hangups about space, but at the same time she seemed to give you distance whenever you showed your discomfort.\n\n\\\u003eIf she wanted you in... THAT measure, surely she would keep pressing in the offensive rather than backing off.\n\n\\\u003eAt the same time she teased and smiled, but after you had shown your fear she was so damn careful, while still keeping close by.\n\n\\\u003eIf it were anyone else you would assume they were just fucking with you.\n\n\\\u003eTeth'ra was far from a normal woman though, even barring the species which just confused you further.\n\n\\\u003eJust walking around, some of the old flings you had in highschool probably would have accused her of being a dyke just from appearance. That girl was massive and the fact anthros can only really grow out their head fur to simulate hair, provided they have the inclination and genetics to do so, didn't help her boyish appearance.\n\n\\\u003eShe also acted so different to most of the romantic interests you fruitlessly chased after in your youth. She fit the niche of that ever-absent tomboy you fantasized about after graduation, when your love life just crashed and burned.\n\n\\\u003eShe came to you, she knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was to get close to you. But the sticking point was still: why?\n\n\\\u003eIf she was a more socially graceful creature your inclination would tilt towards her wanting your kibble and bits, but she wasn't.\n\n\\\u003eThere was no mindgames, no schemes, no double-think or purposeful double entendre. Just her over-aggressive approach and her blunt charm along with an earnest friendship.\n\n\\\u003eReally it was damn lucky circumstance and the hypnotic color of her eyes left you so receptive that you didn't immediately panic at the thought of that giant jackal dragging you out on a little excursion that by all accounts should have raised the alarms in your head that she wanted you inside her and wouldn't take no for an answer.\n\n\\\u003eThe very things she spilled in front of you when the damn burst concerning her past made those assumptions fold in on themselves.\n\n\\\u003eThe isolation, the sadness, the blatant inexperience with matters of love; Maybe she just had no real idea how to correctly approach someone and just struck lucky with you.\n\n\\\u003eBut still, why?\n\n\\\u003eDid your heroic stunt set her loins ablaze or did your sorry state just remind her so much of her brother that it overwhelmed her better judgment?\n\n\\\u003eLikely the answer was somewhere in between, then a third musing occurred to you. To anthros, humans are exotic, and taboo. Interspecies relationships triply so, and that was another factor drawing her towards you.\n\n\\\u003eStill, she obviously wanted companionship out of you, and she got it. You were out here ready to trust your lives to eachother, and the two of you had developed a solid rapport.\n\n\\\u003eBut what flavor was she after? romantic? platonic? commitment? some selection of two or all three with a dash of happiness?\n\n\\\u003eThen there was her species, anthros went into regular seasonal heats and you had heard somewhere they got more frisky in the spring. It's spring, and that just added a layer of complexity onto the query.\n\n\\\u003eTopping it all off was how she didn't seem to make a big deal out of close contact through genuine ignorance of the effect it had on you, or some instincts telling her to bury you in her fur, or yet another option: she knew perfectly and was teasing again.\n\n\\\u003eTapdancing Christ this was confusing.\n\n\\\u003eYou were an engineer, you solved practical problems.\n\n\\\u003eWomen were not practical problems.\n\n\\\u003ePerhaps this is why you didn't enjoy any real success back home.\n\n\\\u003eEven if you did have more experience, Teth'ra was so different, so unique, that you still had little idea what it was burgeoning between you two.\n\n\\\u003eYou would ask her, that was it.\n\n\\\u003eShe was blunt, you would be blunt too. Assuming the two of you survive the upcoming storm, you can sit down and have a real talk about what it is that's going on between you as something about her behavior led you to believe she was confused about it too.\n\n\\\u003eShe wasn't petty, and wouldn't abandon you just for sweeping aside the fog and mystery and asking point blank if she genuinely wanted more than friendship, unlike that cunt Jessica.\n\n\\\u003eAs for your end, you weren't far enough along the path yet for it to hurt just to be around her if she said no.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThat train of thought had run its course, and now you stood twiddling your thumbs waiting for the halt order to be lifted so you can move up towards the front and watch bugs explode.\n\n\\\u003eYou thought about the possibility of marking Teth'ra's location on your map in order to keep an eye on her, but no specific marker for her squad was available, just the marker for her platoon as a whole, and theres no telling how a platoon's squads can split and spread out.\n\n\\\u003eNo go on that front, best just do your job. If the fucking captain would let you!\n\n\\\u003eYou groan and flit your fingers along the trigger bars nestled below your palms in agitation, the cadence of a chant tries to sneak in your mental back door. But you try to keep yourself occupied to bottle the rage up until you can use it to incinerate the bugs with the fire smelting in you.\n\n\\\u003eAll of those little hand triggers are there as you feel the aluminum caps through your gloves and...\n\n\\\u003eThere's one extra?\n\n\\\u003eIt's something to do, and your curiosity seizes on the anomaly that was there under your fingers the whole time without you even having noticed.\n\n\\\u003eWonderment settling onto your mind in the place of the earlier confusion and the building fury before that; you Tapped at the side of the new trigger cap to bring up its assigned weapon on your screens.\n\n\\\u003eA stat panel flicked into the left side of your vision... Fang missiles?\n\n\\\u003eWhen the hell did you get these?\n\n\\\u003eWhy didn't Vegalta, or anyone else, tell you of this new weapon?\n\n\\\u003eWhy didn't you even notice you had a new system?\n\n\\\u003eAnd what makes these missiles so special compared to the regular HEAT warheads you racked in the forward launchers by the hundred?\n\n\\\u003eThey were larger bore, came from 4 tubes nestled next to the nose plate, 2 to each side, and they came loaded in quad-packs. 16 shots.\n\n\\\u003eHigh velocity, minimal guidance, a hell of a lot of space dedicated to the warhead.\n\n\\\u003eAnd something about the warhead itself seemed a bit-\n\n\\\u003e\"Master Sergeant McWhicky, you are to take the rumbler and move forward to assist the armor corp with their breakthrough which is starting in about ten minutes, any further orders from there are to help the striders drive the bugs towards the infantry once breakthrough is achieved and the northern mouth of the valley is secured. Do you copy?\"\n\n\\\u003eThe deep tenor of captain Lyon's voice cuts in on your musing over these strange new missiles that just appeared from nowhere.\n\n\\\u003eYou blinked hard three times, the sensory goggles registering the ocular command and dispersing the info panel and expanded battle net map from your view. Leaving you with the crisp image of the cluttering of treads milling about to either side of the highway ahead. The mountains rising high on your left, and the forward ridge of the hill on your right.\n\n\"Copy, anything else?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou regretted the question as it escaped your lips on reflex. Captain Willard always had a plan, and you had grown a habit to key in and ask for details since they were usually rather good.\n\n\\\u003e\"Negative. That is all.\"\n\n\"Roger.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou breathed a sigh of relief, the infantry officer hadn't taken your unintended invitation to tell you exactly how to do your job today.\n\n\\\u003eThe mystery munitions could wait, it was time to go to war.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eWalking with this new gearbox was equal parts incredible and disconcerting.\n\n\\\u003eFull-motion wasn't just some cheap label tacked on for a 5% increase in response time, the difference was night and day.\n\n\\\u003eThe first step almost had you keeling over as the machine's leg suddenly moved way too far, too quickly.\n\n\\\u003eDespite this the near perfect ratio of synchronization between your legs and the rumbler's made it easy to regain your balance despite the flailing protest of your new subgunner.\n\n\\\u003eAfter that you made sure to be careful with how you moved. You had to fight all of your old training that taught you to exaggerate your movements to get more motion out of the gearing on the legs.\n\n\\\u003eAccounting for input delay and compensating for differing ratios was out of the window.\n\n\\\u003eYou relearned those slow, tepid steps to edge your way off the tarmac.\n\n\\\u003eWalking came next as you felt more secure with the machine's clawed feet burying into the dirt.\n\n\\\u003eThen marching as you started getting the hang of this bizarrely natural feeling of control over the machine.\n\n\\\u003eWith the new gearbox, the melding between pilot and machine was that much closer. You could operate the machine without having to really think too much on how you moved rather than where you moved.\n\n\\\u003eBut how much of your old skills in the original rumbler would be without use now? How many of those little tricks to smooth over the bumps in the auger system were useless now that so many of those bumps had been flattened?\n\n\\\u003eHow much would old guard pilots like you have to relearn from scratch?\n\n\\\u003eOld Guard...\n\n\\\u003eAlready thinking like that, and with only a single kill mark. A sign you were growing bitter in their absence?\n\n\\\u003eYou sure snapped at Redenbacher and your subgunner like a bitter old veteran. And you were only twenty five.\n\n\\\u003eGuess the war makes sure you grow up fast.\n\n\\\u003eToday you relearned how to crawl, how to walk, and how to march, soon, you would start running.\n\n\\\u003eThe forward cameras broke over the top of the incline that obscured your view of the battle, your objective, some hodunk little place called Cache Creek, stood on the crossroads.\n\n\\\u003eJust looking at the black, smoldered branches of the town's broken lines confirmed your running confirmation of what happened to settlements left behind in bug territory. It was utterly thrashed.\n\n\\\u003eOnly a few buildings were in enough of a shape to remain standing, some warehouses, a few compact apartment blocks, no higher than 8 stories. A house or two.\n\n\\\u003eThe rest was the twisting black and grey of ruin, mounds of concrete rubble and wilted steel beams choked the narrow streets off of the 2 highways coming together in a T-junction at the base of the ridge.\n\n\\\u003eIt wasn't leveled completely, there was enough infrastructure still standing that there was a remote possibility of it being used as a major supply depot. Guess that's why your briefing folder included standing orders to keep as much of the place intact as you could.\n\n\\\u003eIf it came down to a choice between your life and some ratty, shell cratered apartment blocks, that choice had already made itself.\n\n\\\u003eStill you doubted if this battle would test you far enough to disregard your orders in the endeavor of self preservation.\n\n\\\u003eThe dulled report of cannons bounced into the hull from every direction around you. The tanks were on all sides of you, mostly sheltering under what sparse cover they can find off the road.\n\n\\\u003eA Correlian MBT hid its hull in an irrigation ditch, its smoothbore 140mm cannon launching a shell towards the shifting mass of targets skittering everywhere through the town and along the open ground.\n\n\\\u003eThe mainline tank's remote gunnery station buzzed a clustering of bug warriors with a humming stream of .30 caliber rounds.\n\n\\\u003eThe shifting mass of bugs seemed to end at round about 400 meters in front of the armored wall, and tanks of all shapes and sizes punched shells and bullets into the tide to keep it locked back.\n\n\\\u003eEven now a few heavy tanks crawled forward towards firing positions alongside the forward-most elements, that trio of Goliath superheavies that sat lackadaisically on the breadth of the highway. You check the unit marker for the trio again, you've never heard of them.\n\n\\\u003eIt has to be a fresh unit, the same for half of the heavies, the idiots wouldn't sit out in the open thinking their invincible if they had seen what out there can pose a threat, even to a Goliath.\n\n\\\u003eGreenhorn tankers aside, your at too much of a range to really cut loose, you'll let the tank corp keep slugging until the charge comes. Best to conserve your ammo for the important part.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eJust this little bit longer of waiting for the charge to sound, at least being able to see the enemy is helping you to reign it in.\n\n\\\u003eThe engines thrum and tick, cannon report beats from every angle, your own steps are a powerful war drum as you creep slowly towards the edge of the formation.\n\n\\\u003eYou can tell that around you the shots are becoming less frequent, the tankers coordinating to give the bugs less reason to view this wing of the advance as a threat.\n\n\\\u003eThe air is pregnant with the smells of heat, oil, cordite, and smoke. The smell of battle, it calls you.\n\n\\\u003eThis is where you should be.\n\n\\\u003eYou feel it rattling up through the legs, a deep pulsing in the land itself, the bugs take notice too.\n\n\\\u003eThe swarm's movements shift direction like water, as a great rumbling starts distantly on the other side of the hill.\n\n\\\u003eThe east wing must be using seismic hammers to draw in the bugs, opening their throats to the readied fangs of the north wing.\n\n\\\u003eAnd the dumb animals are falling for it perfectly. It's hard to keep your feet from drifting forward, from just lunging at this sign of weakness.\n\n\\\u003eJust a few more minutes, you flex your hands over the trigger bars. just. a little. longer.\n\n\\\u003eYou turn your head, the view from the external cameras shifting in perfect sync to gaze off of your left side.\n\n\\\u003eFar over the tops of the Goliaths, almost posing on the slope of the mountain are the four striders of Redenbacher and his little circus troop.\n\n\\\u003eThey seem determined to keep up the shtick of roleplaying as the flying aces of the first world war.\n\n\\\u003eRedenbacher's machine is painted the exact shade of signal red as that ancient fokker tri-plane, rounded white highlights frame black silhouettes of defunct national symbols. A few house animate tracings of machines in motion, or the female form striking a pose.\n\n\\\u003eNot as trashy as Vegalta's handywork, the poses are surprisingly tame and theres no detail beyond the flat black.\n\n\\\u003eThe hawkish nose of the machine is bordered off in stark white as you recognize the barrels of a 20mm rotary cannon peeking out from the nose plating. And the torso missile block is capped in white as it hangs off the right side of the main body.\n\n\\\u003eOf course the strider's main feature is always on proud display. A dorsal mounted 80mm railcannon, this weapon uses a sleeve of electro-magnets to propel a ferro-magnetic slug at ludicrous velocities. It's said to be one of the few weapons that can readily destroy a battleframe if aimed right.\n\n\\\u003eBecause of this striders always skirt around the fringes of a battle picking off targets as they please.\n\n\\\u003eThe right weapon arm of Redenbacher's machine differed from the standard pattern, it carried a single frag cannon and... some sort of sword?\n\n\\\u003eThat was just downright insulting, it's not like the ponce would ever use that for more than decoration, or making a show of an enemy that was already dead.\n\n\\\u003eFucking propagandists. You turned your attention to the 3 other striders, one was dressed like a Sopwith Camel, RAF roundels and all.\n\n\\\u003eAnother was painted black with tan flecks seemingly scattered on at random and wore kaiser-era german crosses. The third machine wore the same crosses and was painted a vomit-inducing shade of mustard yellow.\n\n\\\u003eVegalta may paint borderline porn on machines, but at least he knows how to pick colors that aren't an absolute eyesore.\n\n\\\u003eYou turned your attention back to the thinning flow of bugs turning east, the mission clock in the corner of your vision ticked down the 2 minutes remaining until the assault got underway.\n\n\\\u003eAgitation, that's what smothered every thought in your mind like the clinging blankets of an oil spill. Tapping your toes inside your boots you watched the seconds tick by, you could swear they were going slower just to taunt you further.\n\n\"Just a little longer.\"\n\n\\\u003eIt repeats again and again, Rolling in your head to keep your composure until the leash is slipped, a mantra with no tempo.\n\n\\\u003eYou will win this battle, even if you have to smash down what little remains of Cache Creek and choke the valley entrance with bodies.\n\n\\\u003eYou have to win, for your own sanity. Anything but victory and you may feel the spirits of the damned staring daggers into your back.\n\n\\\u003eIt was their departure that stirred this primal heat in your core, you had to make the most of it to honor them, and to protect what you have now.\n\n\\\u003eThe one person you have now, she's too close for either of you to willfully abandon eachother, and you would protect her as needed.\n\n\\\u003eYou were the one that had that strength now.\n\n\\\u003eIt didn't matter if some armored bug showed itself on the road ahead, you would tear open its plating and maim its innards.\n\n\\\u003eThere was no concern if a super swarm broke over the hill like an ocean of darkness and hunger, you would burn them to cinders.\n\n\\\u003eEven if Redenbacher himself fell to some glint of silver held aloft by wisping ethereal string, you would kill every marauder machine you could lay your fire on.\n\n\\\u003eTen seconds left. nine. eight. seven. six.\n\n\\\u003e\"Ready!\" Barked an order over the general channel.\n\n\\\u003eFive. four. three. two.\n\n\\\u003e\"All units, commence firing!\"\n\n\\\u003eOne.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eSound and fury, The world itself seems to cough a great rumbling of smoke as every cannon fires at once. The horde is smashed.\n\n\\\u003eEngines flare their growling song to the chorus of industry, every shot a beat on the drum, every splattering death ahead of you a note in the chaotic symphony.\n\n\\\u003eThe music of battle, it propels you forward as you start in with long strides. The shuddering steps providing your own tempo to the dance of death.\n\n\\\u003eYou're still not sure if you can fully cut in, but as you step over a light tank, your finally closing in enough to start.\n\n\\\u003eBeyond a massive sprawling of twitching limbs and bleeding, mangled corpses caught by the initial frenzy of cannon fire, The swarm shifts to attempt to cover against the renewed threats driving headlong into their exposed flanks.\n\n\\\u003eThe Goliaths move to your left, rumbling down the road like mountains set into motion, exhaust pipes disgorging great trails of dark smoke, Their great many weapons batteries disgorging just as thick a volume of shell and shot.\n\n\\\u003eHeavies and mediums surge forward alongside the road, the heavies streaking onward boldly as the mediums dash serpentine into the fields and sparse trees.\n\n\\\u003eThe lights race along the flanks going from cover to cover, their diminutive hulls allowing them to shelter behind fallen redwoods or boulders.\n\n\\\u003eA bash-beetle springs from it's place of hiding in front of a Correlion, the smoky grey titan responds with the main cannon, blowing a hole through the armored beetle's head, with a lurch it settles, blood leaking from it's chitinous plates as the medium tank rolls over its body.\n\n\\\u003eNow it's your turn. You zoom in on the hoard ahead, largely warriors scrabbling towards you. Compensate for travel time and fire.\n\n\\\u003eSix reports echo from above as the shoulder cannons add their bite to the orchestra. The shells find their mark within the clustering of warriors. How many bodies are sent skyward? 7,18,20? The count doesn't matter too much.\n\n\\\u003eYou see one warrior stricken down by the shrapnel, one of it's proud spearing claws sheared away at the shoulder as its remaining five limbs scrabble in blind panic.\n\n\\\u003eA monster bred for death, mewling and screaming like some pathetic cur as its life blood leaks from it. Let THEM suffer. Let THEM die in agony! It's the only just course of retribution for every life they snuffed!\n\n\\\u003eA manic grin finds its way onto you, fire runs through your veins, you exhale vapor and venom, the smoke of fury burns behind your eyes, your legs will thrust you across mountains to smite the devils and choke every ounce of baleful light from what hollow, inhuman things pass for their eyes.\n\n\\\u003eEven as you keep pace with the rumbling of the tanks it isn't fast enough. You need to get close, to take satisfaction is seeing what tiny shrivel of intelligence these inhuman husks may hold leech out of them as they die.\n\n\\\u003eYour hatred burns for it. Something sadistic twists for it. Vengeance demands it.\n\n\\\u003eTime to run.\n\n\\\u003eEngines howl, strength coils, your voice raises. With a lunging step forward your pace more than doubles, you will be the vanguard for the wave of iron and fury to crash into them.\n\n\\\u003eThe feeling of man and machine intertwined is electrifying. The diesels roar with fury matching your own as every one of your steps slam into the dirt, pushing you hard at speed neither you or the machine have been graced with on the field before.\n\n\\\u003eNow your close enough. Green pips appear above active targets as you trace your eyes over them, narrowing into red diamonds as the radar achieves lock on. Once all the pips have flowered into diamonds you depress the triggers for the forward racks.\n\n\\\u003eMissiles fly on fiery wings and smoking tails. Arcing into the sky as they shriek outwards and then flit downwards just as a falcon would dive onto its quarry.\n\n\\\u003eYou witness another warrior burst into viscera as the warhead strikes into its chest from above. A quartet of its fellows are caught by shrapnel and frenzied tongues of fire.\n\n\\\u003eChattering lines of tracers zip into stragglers and outliers as your remote weapon stations open up with their small caliber snare.\n\n\\\u003eYou see about 3 cut down in the span of 8 seconds, your old subgunner was way faster. This is unacceptable.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou're close enough now, and you raise the weapon arms as you warm the barrels of the twin rotary cannons.\n\n\\\u003eThey growl and roar. Two metal lions issuing their challenge.\n\n\\\u003eYou sweep upwards, scything a road ahead of you, and then sweep to either side with abandon, no friendlies are anywhere near your line of fire.\n\n\\\u003eThe way the warriors burst and crumple in on themselves as they're struck by the enormous energy of the tandem GAU-8s brings a malting of satisfaction to you.\n\n\\\u003eNow they actually scatter like ripples as you close further and further towards the charred refuse of the dead town.\n\n\\\u003eThen a counter to the roar of your rotaries rises from the north behind the pitted face of a scorched apartment block.\n\n\\\u003eThree challengers step over their smaller cousins in the scattering hoard, stags.\n\n\\\u003eSlavering bipedal monstrosities about four stories high. A quartet of squat limbs supported an equal number of curving blades shaped from excessively hardened chitin. And a six eyed head curved upwards in a large branching horn.\n\n\\\u003eThese things served as some sort of small scale swarm leader, and the bug's own pathetic biology attempting to match the strength of human industry.\n\n\\\u003eStags regularly clashed with mechs, but given a rumbler was already larger and likely eight to ten times their mass, they were always at a severe disadvantage.\n\n\\\u003eThe plus sized arthopods were a menace to infantry and lighter vehicles, but with pilots like you around they fell to be such a non-issue that the mech corp stopped counting them as kill marker material a few months into the war.\n\n\\\u003eA shame since they were still a problem if they attacked in number, and the trio of them issued a counter charge.\n\n\\\u003eRighteous fury flared, even if you were caught ahead of the armor, you would not show weakness.\n\n\\\u003eYou issued your own challenge against the disgusting trollops, striking the weapon arms against eachother thrice-fold with a loud clanging. As if some ancient god struck hot iron onto an unmoving anvil.\n\n\\\u003eThey roared in response and closed in as you continued your own charge forward. You would best them head on, holding the advantage in mass and firepower, you could not lose.\n\n\\\u003eYour subgunner said something, the words don't reach you but the tone does. His strength falters as he shouts out his fear.\n\n\\\u003eHe doesn't matter, not here, against opposition that won't fold under his wilting effort.\n\n\\\u003eYou lead in with the monster on your left, panning the rumbler's torso to orient your big guns as your opponent charges.\n\n\\\u003eThe stag is incoming with a low head, attempting to use its horn. You answer with the right side frag cannons, the spread blows apart the insect's head with a spraying of gore and fluids as it falls forward mid stride.\n\n\\\u003eSweeping right as the remaining two get even closer, you clamp the trigger for the left side frag cannons at the center stag and keep the momentum of your rotation going.\n\n\\\u003eThe center stag kilters to the side as it catches the bulk of the spread to the chest. The remaining threat opens all four arms to attempt in attack as it closes in to melee range, but you've already accounted for this.\n\n\\\u003eThe auger tenses and hugs into your body as you push against it. The engines howl with fury as you use the momentum of your torso sweep and step in with your left, keeping the left weapon arm deflected outwards at about stomach height.\n\n\\\u003eThe left hook sweeps past the stag's wide open guard and crashes into the side of its head.\n\n\\\u003eWailing in pain, its head is cracked and leaking dark ichor as shreds of soft connecting tissue dangle like frayed wired from shattered chitin plates. The momentum of its charge carries it forward and it falls, skidding along the pavement and coming to a halt under you.\n\n\\\u003eAlready it still attempts to stand back up, such tenacity is a human virtue, and your blood curls to see this horrid cur trying to usurp your rightful place.\n\n\\\u003eYou bring the clawed foot over its head as it shakes and pushes, and you slam it down.\n\n\\\u003eOnce for a warmup, twice for good measure, thrice to make certain.\n\n\\\u003eYou rake the clawed heel backwards, shredding and crushing whatever is left of that thing's head as you rake dark streaks and shreds of viscera along the broken asphalt.\n\n\\\u003ePanning your optics back towards the fallen form of the beast that took center stage, you see it has managed to pick itself up and lurches towards you unevenly.\u0026nbsp;\n\n\\\u003eProbably thinking in whatever slurry passes for a synaptic organ that it can catch you offguard while your front is panned away from it. But you are the beast of a hundred eyes, nothing escapes you.\n\n\\\u003eIts fractured chest leaks blood and shreds of soft tissues, utterly ravaged by the frag cannons' explosive shot. Still it meekly calls a lowing howl as it steps in towards you.\n\n\\\u003eYou bring the left weapon arm forward with an underhanded swing that catches it in the chest. The monster stumbles backwards, its reactions and strength already dulled by its injury.\n\n\\\u003ePathetic alien, it cannot fight on through thick and thin the way you can, the way humanity has always done.\n\n\\\u003eIt gives a mournful scream as its upper right arm breaks away from it, the tendons snapping as it sloughs off, dragging a tail of gore with it.\n\n\\\u003eStill it advances, accepting of its death even as its strength fails. Good, it knows its place, but you are not merciful, not with the fire of ages screaming under your breast for more. More blood, more death, let them know fear. Let them know they made a mistake attacking the rightful owners of that black sky.\n\n\\\u003eEven as its limbs falter it still attacks, trying to lunge forward with a bite from its bizarre four part jaws.\n\n\\\u003eYou counter with a forward thrust from both weapon arms, jamming both into the beast's mouth as it weakly attempts to do anything more than scratch paint.\n\n\\\u003eIt pauses and emits some sort of lowing sound as its strength continues to bleed from it. Your core rumbles to make it suffer.\n\n\\\u003eWith a growl you depress the triggers for the flamers, and napalm streams into the inhuman monstrosity's innards.\n\n\\\u003eYou shove it away and it wavers backwards, screeching as its limbs attempt to bat down flames it cannot reach.\n\n\\\u003eSmoke billows from the creatures openings as it sways and staggers drunkenly. You cross the right weapon arm over its chest and heave its burning body to the right, lifting the creature off of its feet.\n\n\\\u003eIt careens into the ruins of a house and lays there squirming, too weak to do anything but suffer. Pathetic.\n\n\\\u003eIf the bugs do operate as a hive mind as many say they do, some grim part of yourself hopes the creatures can feel eachother's pain as the stag cooks from the inside out.\n\n\\\u003eYou continue your press forward as the armor catches up, you have work to do.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003cTeth'ra\\\u003e\n\n\\\u003eCordite and smoke clung over any scent in the air like film, the chatter and thundering of guns in all directions drowns out the slighter sounds your ears may pick up as they swivel to and fro.\n\n\\\u003eOnce again, you don't have the option of falling back on your other senses beyond sight, and once again you pang with sympathy over what humans must have to live with.\n\n\\\u003eAt least once you were actually in the bunker maybe the outside confusion would be muffled enough to bring your other fundamentals back in line.\n\n\\\u003eBut you aren't sure which option is worse right now. Out in the chaos of a larger battlefield you have the distance and time to engage, but so many things outside of your control can go wrong and bring about your end through no fault of your own.\n\n\\\u003eInside, you may have your senses about you again, but in those claustrophobic corridors and dark chambers you wouldn't see the enemy until they were already too close. Plus there may be hundreds of them hiding within that death trap.\n\n\\\u003eYou can only hope your superiors allow you the time to be methodical and exceedingly careful about this, or at least put your squad in the back so you are the first out when the retreat is called.\n\n\\\u003eSuspicions whisper that it won't be that way.\n\n\\\u003eYour neck bristles, and you try to flatten down the ruff of your neck before anyone notices your nerves surfacing again as you continue marching.\n\n\\\u003eThe air is cold and fouled by the battle as you step in behind the shallow tread marks of the IFV ahead of you.\n\n\\\u003eYou would follow behind the three light vehicles on your way up to the bunker, hopefully without the bugs taking notice of you. As being out in the open with only a trio of autocannon tugs that ditched the TOW launchers for better radios keeps your fur on end.\n\n\\\u003eYour squad keeps step in front of you, so they can't see your weakness peeking out of your back, but you can see theirs.\n\n\\\u003eDuran strides at the head, her pace is measured and habitual.\u0026nbsp;\n\n\\\u003eHer shoulders seem to fade but the way her ears sag suggests some brand of tired acceptance. As if the comparatively stunted trooper simply doesn't care if her death comes instead of being fearful in its anticipation.\n\n\\\u003eThe flamer's armored fuel tanks cling onto her back as the wand is stowed loosely on its hook at the pack's right side. She carries an smg tucked in front of her rather than the napalm caster.\n\n\\\u003eYou wonder if she's anticipating an attack outside of the thrower's effective range or maybe she isn't an unapologetic pyromaniac the way other flamer specialists are, but you can't be certain that she doesn't at least have a streak of that temperament.\n\n\\\u003eThe doberman's stub of a tail gives you nothing so you turn your attention to see how the others are faring.\n\n\\\u003eThe twins keep in stride as they drag along the bofors, easier going over the smooth grass of the strip of green dipping down to the side of the road.\n\n\\\u003eWhile to a casual glance they would seem at peace, the ways their ears swivel and the inferring flicks of their tails at any unusual noises that edge over the distant battle clamor betrays how jumpy they are.\n\n\\\u003eAt least they're keeping the outward mask of composure. You're not the only one feeling the tension in the air.\n\n\\\u003eMatthews and Pliskin have to be the newbloods in your outfit, they seem to visibly jump at just about everything.\n\n\\\u003eThe lizard constantly tastes the air in some effort to smell the bugs over the overpowering scents of gunpowder and fire. And the ocelot scans the nearby trees with eyes and ears and sometimes turns to face towards a particularly close booming of a nearby tank gun.\n\n\\\u003eLikely the poor girls are thinking any allied shots nearby must mean the bugs are right on top of them. With that much it's obvious how new they are to this sort of situation.\n\n\\\u003eFeldspar walks at your side and you consider turning your head to evaluate her, but she must have had the same thought concerning you.\n\n\\\u003e\"Scared, aren't ya sarge?\"\n\n\\\u003eFor all of your practiced composure, the fur on your neck and tail refused to flatten out, and she saw right through you.\n\n\"That obvious is it?\"\n\n\\\u003eThe creepings of doubt itched under your ears, already you failed to present the beacon of strength your men were supposed to rally under.\n\n\\\u003eSoon you would be labeled as a failure in command. You only had six to look after, and circumstance was shaping to destroy them.\n\n\\\u003eYou were too scared to think of a way to ensure that didn't happen.\n\n\\\u003e\"I'm scared too ma'm, it's alright if you're a bit antsy.\" Looking over you could tell she wasn't lying. The minute twitches of her tail and her own fur standing at attention along her spine gave it away.\n\n\\\u003e\"Some days I can't get over the pre-action jitters either. You hide the ears and tail well, but the fur is kinda obvious with it being that short and all.\"\n\n\\\u003eIt wasn't the typical pre-battle nerves pitching you closer towards panic, it was the dread of being thrown at a near-impossible objective.\n\n\\\u003eThe inference that you were so inexperienced as to be wilting to a simple case of nerves was insulting considering how the lioness challenged you earlier.\n\n\"I could say the same about you corporal. Besides.. I'm more worried over the objective than the battle.\"\n\n\\\u003eThat seemed to get her attention. Feldspar's ears flick and momentary worry dresses her eyes. If the big bad queen bitch that is her sergeant is worried over something, it must be terrifying.\n\n\\\u003eSuch a little reassurance that the lioness is feeling more of that terror than you helps to re-secure your confidence in your own authority.\n\n\\\u003e\"What would that be ma'm?\" You can pick out the worry floating on her voice, another reassurance she thinks more of you than as just some uptight NCO.\n\n\"This path we're following? It leads up into a bunker complex at the head of the ridge...\"\n\n\\\u003e\"So that's where we're going...\"\n\n\\\u003eHer silence conveys more than words ever could.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe IFVs ahead of your troop narrow into single file from their three abreast formation before. The path up to the bunker is too narrow for the vehicles to pass one another.\n\n\\\u003eBut that means if your forward IFV takes a hit, your armor support is completely stalled for the rest of your advance to the insertion point.\n\n\\\u003eYet more possibilities outside of your control to worry over.\n\n\\\u003eLooking around you count the rest of second platoon as well as Alpha company's first platoon.\n\n\\\u003eMore bodies between the bugs and you, all in all a little over a hundred being sent in this side of the bunker.\n\n\\\u003eThe steady thumping of the armor corps bombardment slowly winds down, and you feel a different kind of thumping through your boots.\n\n\\\u003eSeismic hammers are pounding away at the east wing of the advance, drawing the bugs away for the armor to ready a charge.\n\n\\\u003eThe clowns commanding the Goliaths gun their engines as they sit in place, waiting. Looking over to your left, you see Tom's Rumbler has posted up at the leading edge of the formation, and seems to entirely ignore the tankers' boasting.\n\n\\\u003eOn the other side of the hill, that low chattering of machine gun and autocannon picks up as the jokers over there throw just about everything they have at the agitated bugs.\n\n\\\u003eStuck in the middle, is you.\n\n\\\u003eAs your advance crawls forward along the narrow path it's bizarrely quiet. Without the rolling fire of all those big guns you can hear the wind shift and whistle as it rustles through the tawny grass.\n\n\\\u003eYou make the most of this and direct your ears forward, trying to clue in on anything approaching over the low hum of the IFVs' engines as they crawl ahead.\n\n\\\u003eNothing about the noise ahead of you seems out of place. The anticipation of some sort of attack while your out in the open like this is maddening, especially as nothing comes up as a sort of forewarning.\n\n\\\u003eBy your mental pacing, the troop is about halfway towards the bunker, and still your anxiety climbs, squeezing your heart and raising needles out of your skin.\n\n\\\u003eYou're not sure which is worse at this point: the heart straining tension from expecting an attack at any second or actually being under fire.\n\n\\\u003eStill nothing.\n\n\\\u003eAnd then everything.\n\n\\\u003eFive minutes on the dot after the seismic hammers started, a cataclysmic explosion of noise from the left pins your ears down and sends you diving against the ground on instinct. Half the troop joins you.\n\n\\\u003eChecking over yourself, nothing seems amiss. You ignore the dull throbs from your chest pressing into the earth and that sore spot from your chin scraping across the dust.\n\n\\\u003eYou aren't bleeding, nothing is jutting out of you, and nothing feels like it's broken. That or you haven't noticed anything like that.\n\n\\\u003eA quick headcount turns up your squad. Feldspar is almost on top of you, the Jorgenson sisters are hunkered behind the bulk of their cannon, Matthews and Pliskin have practically fallen over themselves, and finally Duran squats low, seeming to trust that her relative proximity to the vehicles will shelter her.\n\n\\\u003eLooking around everyone seems to be in possession of all their limbs, your focus cuts back to Duran.\n\n\\\u003eHauling that fuel tank really filled out her legs, and she about looks fit to burst out of her very worn and threadbare pants, that's a uniform violation waiting to happen.\n\n\\\u003eWait...\n\n\\\u003eWere you really snapping into the NCO role so casually?\n\n\\\u003eThe adrenaline shot must be forcing you into the rut of routine and drill since you can't confirm any immediate danger.\n\n\\\u003eThe cacophony earlier was just the armor opening up with every gun they have at the same time. Without saying anything first.\n\n\\\u003eassholes\n\n\\\u003eYou're unsettled, but alert. The initial panic has flown away and carried the anxiety with it, now that something actually did set you off.\n\n\\\u003eThe march picks up again as everyone dusts themselves off.\n\n\\\u003eAs of now you are combat ready, your fears have been shunted out of you, and your body is more than ready to either attack or retreat.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eCaptain Lyons pokes his head back out of the hatch he dove in, the prideful creature apparently can't be bothered with walking when theres a perfectly good IFV to stuff his mane into.\n\n\\\u003eAnd to hide in when the shooting starts and there's no point in keeping at that game officers play where they pretend to lead from the front.\n\n\\\u003eThe day an officer actually uses a rifle for more than decorum is the day you have officially died and been sent to hell to be tormented for all eternity by visions of things that are blatantly impossible.\n\n\\\u003eImpossibilities like Tom thinking of you as anything more than the strange, headstrong, maladjusted woman that crashed into his life, and alternated between fixing his ills and setting him on edge all over again, as well as depressing him with your own issues.\n\n\\\u003eWith no present threat, your adrenaline addled brain starts running down any solid chain of consciousness it can muster.\n\n\\\u003eNamely how you're already sinking and muddling your relation with Tom.\n\n\\\u003eYou never learn, and here you are doing it again, going in too strong and too fast.\n\n\\\u003eYour increasingly lonely heart decided to latch onto the first hint of genuine companionship it could get its focus on, and it drove you to override your better judgment.\n\n\\\u003eLooking back, you can't even explain your rationale behind that first night. In that jittering afterglow of combat, slowly climbing down from the restless impulse of adrenaline, some passion stirred violently towards your savior.\n\n\\\u003eYou restrained yourself throughout the day, through the debriefs and check ins on those that had been wounded.\n\n\\\u003eAnd you learned more about him as you eavesdropped on that conversation between the Lieutenant and that trio from central.\n\n\\\u003ePerhaps it was there that your instincts had identified him as a risk for self-harm, and your memories of your brother drove you to act fast before it was too late.\n\n\\\u003eThen there was the way he appeared from nowhere and saved the lot of you, striking some chord within yourself that resonated on a fanciful note.\n\n\\\u003eIf this was a storybook tale, the wounded hero had to get his... reward~ from the princess right?\n\n\\\u003eYou had managed to talk yourself down from that ludicrous fantasy and settle for just trying your model best to help him using whatever came to mind.\n\n\\\u003eEven then you couldn't think on why your aggressive approach actually worked, or why you thought it was the correct idea other than it 'feeling right'.\n\n\\\u003eOnce your excitement had petered out and that lust subsided, you were left with that nagging question.\n\n\\\u003eWhat even DO you want from this?\n\n\\\u003eThe confusion of the situation and your own anxiety over your mistakes mask the answer from you.\n\n\\\u003eYou're dead certain you at least want to maintain a friendship and camaraderie, But you feel as if something is pulling you in towards him.\n\n\\\u003eIt's not some base lust, even as your instincts ride high due to spring fever.\n\n\\\u003eYour 'jackal only' gold standard left you a long time ago, and as an outcast you always had an easier time of accepting more taboo things like that particular idea.\n\n\\\u003eSo you hadn't tied yourself up lying to yourself over being attracted to him or not.\n\n\\\u003eYou're fairly sure humans have maintained much more solid species boundaries than your own kind anyhow.\n\n\\\u003eThere was also his phobia to consider, it was lessened around you, a sign of your success in forging a genuine connection. But it was still there, lurking, and keeping you from getting too close.\n\n\\\u003eYou want to help him understand, to try and ease down his fears so something like that incident in the rain doesn't happen again.\n\n\\\u003eIf he would stop distancing himself from you, and if you could practice some restraint as to not harbor a repeat of this morning, you could draw him close to you and give him some true peace.\n\n\\\u003eBut did you want him that close so you can finally have a friend of comparable fortitude to shelter under, or because you want more?\n\n\\\u003eAlready he bore some of your secrets, and he didn't run off on you considering how pathetic you must have looked.\n\n\\\u003eHow pathetic you are, scrambling for attention and care despite your pride. But is it wrong to clamor for someone that would understand you? That can finally look past what you are and instead into who you are.\n\n\\\u003eSomeone who would agree with who you are.\n\n\\\u003eWhether as a friend or that distant hope of something more. Maybe once you had given him time and space to think, and you had reigned yourself in, you could talk over this and figure yourselves out.\n\n\\\u003eOnce you get out of this alive.\n\n-if-\n\n\\\u003eIt doesn't matter how small that chance of survival is, you'll force it to be higher until you don't have to distract yourself with worry.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eBy now your column is far forward of the advancing armor. The captain makes the obvious clear in that the objective is to silence any acid spitters hiding in those gunports before they can get a shot on the armor corp's flank.\n\n\\\u003eJudging by the murmuring under the hum of the vehicles, not many were happy that they were being sent in to clear out a bunker nest in the center of the field.\n\n\\\u003eYou weren't happy either, but your squad was at least prepared for an eventuality like this.\n\n\\\u003eBetween all seven of you, you had more than enough explosives and automatic firepower to hold your ground even in the short narrows of the bunker's tunnels.\n\n\\\u003eThere was also Duran's flamethrower, which would be more than capable in the choking confines of the complex.\n\n\\\u003eFor now you kept your eyes peeled down towards the town. The steep sides of the hill were hopefully enough to keep the bugs off your flank as you crept out along the path.\n\n\\\u003eThat distant roaring of engines, punctuated by the intermittent drumbeats of big guns, swallows any noise over your shoulder.\n\n\\\u003eYou wonder if they would even hear or see any of the signs of your own struggle within that concrete tomb.\n\n\\\u003eFor all the world cares you may as well just vanish once you step inside.\n\n\\\u003eYou continue stalking forward, keeping your stride short and balanced as you cradle the weight of your big gun.\n\n\\\u003eYou scan every patch of grass and every tree above you on the slope, expecting for a bug to be in any one of them.\n\n\\\u003eThe captain calls a halt, the entry point is within site, but there's bugs.\n\n\\\u003eA hundred-fifty meters ahead, they seem to scrabble and mill about a dull concrete archway. You count around fifty from this range.\n\n\\\u003eYou wish you had binoculars or some sort of scope to see them more clearly. What shapes do border themselves against their fellows suggests warriors.\n\n\\\u003eThe most common of the swarming bugs, some five hundred pound, hell-spawned crossbreed between a cockroach and a mantis shrimp.\n\n\\\u003eAwful dumb but they would keep charging unless you tore them into pieces, and those spearing claws were nothing to scoff at if they got close enough.\n\n\\\u003eOne of the first things every grunt learns in basic is to never let them get close.\n\n\\\u003eEveryone creeps forward to form some manor of disciplined fire ranks before the shots start flying. The sisters get a choice pick, settling their Bofors just to the left of the lead IFV.\n\n\\\u003eThe front runners of the sled rig are folded outwards and the twins break open latches to let the skids hang forward as stabilizing legs. The cats use their boots to softly drive short pins into the dirt.\n\n\\\u003eThe rear of the rig folds into raking claws meant to dig into the earth at the gun's back to counteract the recoil. All in all, it takes them around 15 seconds to set up.\n\n\\\u003eObviously they've had a lot of practice at it, and it must take another 3-5 seconds for them to line up the gun with the targets.\n\n\\\u003eYou kneel over a bump in the road and shoulder the mass of your gun, and the training comes back to you.\n\n\\\u003eShoulder the weapon, steady your breathing, align the sight picture, choose your target, move the sight picture over the target, and focus.\n\n\\\u003eYou level the sights onto your chosen shape within the mass and press the stock against your shoulder. The forward grip makes it awkward to hold up at a high angle like this, but your kneeling stance helps.\n\n\\\u003eYou keep your breathing measured and mechanical and focus on your target, just waiting for the order.\n\n\\\u003eThe M2 can reach out and touch someone at almost two klicks away, provided you aim right.\n\n\\\u003eYou fold your ears down, so as not to damage one of your sharpest senses with the imminent firefight.\n\n\\\u003eCaptain Lyons walks tentatively along the right side of the road, holding a closed fist upward in the signal to hold fire.\n\n\\\u003eHe's playing that game again. The hill's curvature hides him and the right edge of the path from the bugs as once again he pretends to lead the charge.\n\n\\\u003eThe anticipation from hovering your index over the trigger is driving you up the damn wall.\n\n\\\u003eCome on idiot, we don't have all day!\n\n\\\u003eThese damn bugs aren't going to stop you now that your rolling closer towards something to live for, the sooner they're gone the better.\n\n\\\u003eHe moves his hand forward in a chopping motion, and before he can even finish the motion you act.\n\n\\\u003eIt's perfect muscle memory at this point, inhale, squeeze, and exhale.\n\n\\\u003eYour M2 is the first to bark as you watch the bright streak fly, connecting the mg's muzzle to the center mass of a warrior, with a wet burst of gore it screams and retreats behind its broodmates. Your 3 consecutive shots scatter into others within the clumping of targets.\n\n\\\u003eThe rest of the troop cracks off, rifle fire enfilading into the enemy as the Bofors suddenly comes to life to your right.\n\n\\\u003eThe cracking THOOM of the autocannon sounds four times, striking down an equal number of warriors in violent squalls of viscera.\n\n\\\u003eThe violet of their sanguine fluids almost seems to sparkle as high flying droplets are caught in the sun's light.\n\n\\\u003eMaybe there is still some beauty to be found in these war-torn wastes once the bugs are cut down.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou breath in again and concentrate on controlling the buck and kick of the .50 cal more as you squeeze into another burst.\n\n\\\u003eFive rounds this time, three hit their mark in a warrior's center mass, and it crumples. One hits another warrior, and the last round dives into the dirt.\n\n\\\u003eThe AC on the IFV joins in now, the 25mm bushmaster rattles off 8 shots, killing 5.\n\n\\\u003eMore warriors fall to concentrated bursts of rifle and smg fire, a pack this small can't hope to close in on your line without being shredded.\n\n\\\u003eThe Bofors bellows again, eviscerating three and missing a fourth shot. That damn autocannon is making you look bad.\n\n\\\u003eYou didn't get these HEIAP rounds for show, and you focus in on landing a burst into a warrior's core.\n\n\\\u003eThe first shot flies wide, the second hits a warrior square between the eye stalks as it instantly falls dead.\n\n\\\u003eActing more on an idea of how to handle such a large weapon, you keep the trigger down and use the kick of the recoil to walk your fire onto a second target.\n\n\\\u003ethe third round flies into the shifting hoard as they try to cover the gaps, the following three strike into the upper body of that same warrior you hit once with an earlier burst, killing it.\n\n\\\u003eYou keep the chain going and walk onto a third, then a fourth, and a fifth. Stopping as you lose count of how many more shots you fired, and because your hair is on end.\n\n\\\u003eThe feeling of this much power in your hands is exhilarating! Maybe this is a taste of what being a pilot is like.\n\n\\\u003eThe AC's bang on again and the bugs turn about and start making back towards the bunker, thinned to about a dozen or so at this point.\n\n\\\u003eBut you aren't going to let them get away that easily, and you aim again on the one that looks the most wounded.\n\n\\\u003eNoticing the rising wisps of steam snaking off of the barrel, you think to restrain yourself to a short burst.\n\n\\\u003eYou can't afford to over stress the barrel when you are only carrying a single spare.\n\n\\\u003eThree rounds, three hits, and the retreating warrior falls. Ya still got it. The rest fold in short order to allied fire.\n\n\\\u003eThe discordant orchestrations of automatic fire cease, leaving echoes and local dead air. It would be dead air if it weren't for the dying hisses of a few bugs, but they quickly fade away.\n\n\\\u003eYou keep your aim trained on the dark portal of that scarred concrete entranceway for a short while longer.\n\n\\\u003eNothing pokes its head out to get blasted. Either the monsters are getting clever and hiding in there where they have the advantage, or perhaps the dim animals are rightfully terrified of the biting sting of powder and led.\n\n\\\u003eRegardless, the initial excitement seems to be over.\n\n\\\u003eYou had bagged seven, and at the cost of what you estimated to be around a third of your current belt. If you had stuck with the old carbine, swapping mags would have been a necessity halfway in to the fight.\n\n\\\u003eIt was a quick and dirty engagement, with every advantage handed towards you.\n\n\\\u003eThe range that any EDF rifleman preferred and trained to work with, your overwhelming wall of fire, the enemy only being able to threaten you from a single direction, and all that time you were gifted to get into position.\n\n\\\u003eOf course, the rest of today can't possibly go that well.\n\n\\\u003eYou raise your ears slowly, nothing ahead seems to be screaming or moving.\n\n\\\u003eThere isn't any obvious sign of how many could be hiding within that concrete maze, and every corner could hold new, life ending surprises.\n\n\\\u003eYou pang for however gets the unenviable position of pointman.\n\n\\\u003eFeldspar strolls up to your side with a low whistle, well, the best wheezing of air a cat can excuse as a whistle with those lips.\n\n\\\u003e\"Hell sarge, bit of a crack shot aren't chya?\" You note the slight drawl that slips in towards the end, but for now you reflect on how right she is.\n\n\"It's not like I'm out of practice.\"\n\n\\\u003eThat much was true. Looking over, the lioness seemed skeptical, she must be testing you. Trying to see how full of yourself you are when riding high on victory.\n\n\\\u003e\"Really now?\" she said, arching a brow.\n\n\\\u003eShe definitely thinks your stroking your own ego at this point. So you deflect the credit towards the weapon rather than the talents of its operator.\n\n\"With the weight this girl has it's easy to control the kick. From there it's just point and shoot.\"\n\n\\\u003eThat sounded a bit more high and mighty than you would like, so you pat the lump of metal behind the feed port to append your point.\n\n\"She's a good gun.\"\n\n\\\u003eSomehow it felt right calling the block of iron a she.\n\n\\\u003e\"She? Are you gonna name it now?\"\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eThat actually sounded like a good idea to you, but what the hell could you even come up with?\n\n\\\u003eIt wasn't important right now anyways, and you could christen your bfg with some clawmarks once your mission was over and you could collapse into the nearest bed.\n\n\\\u003eYou huffed and grinned, deflecting her playful jab.\n\n\"Well corporal, can't you appreciate your own weapon?\"\n\n\\\u003eShe looks down thoughtfully and seems to agree.\n\n\\\u003eThe armor starts trundling forward again, and the two platoons move up ahead to try and flush out anything that hasn't come out for a fight yet.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe entry into the bunker was quiet, you don't like quiet. Quiet means they're plotting something.\n\n\\\u003eYou don't care if the riflemen's primer told you bugs don't have the mental capacity to plot. You just know they fucking do.\n\n\\\u003eThe troopers ahead of you check along every possible corner of the antechamber, and still there's nothing.\n\n\\\u003eThen they start filing through a stark white blast door, looking to be about a foot thick and probably weighing tons.\n\n\\\u003eNumerous claw marks furrow into the steel around the edges and locking mechanisms. The bugs had peeled it open.\n\n\\\u003eThe bastards are in here, the increasingly disconcerting question being: where?\n\n\\\u003eFlashlights dance along the stark grey of the eerily silent corridors as squads file in ahead of yours. No chatter of gunfire or screams of bugs come out as men rush through the ajar blast door.\n\n\\\u003eSomething is wrong here, you can almost feel some charge in the dusty air.\n\n\\\u003eThe atmosphere is chilled and dry within, as it is outside, but somehow it feels more... artificial.\n\n\\\u003eCould just be the bunker's defunct air recyclers making the air stale, but that slight bitter tinge on the tip of your tongue agitates you.\n\n\\\u003eThe other trooper's lights provide more than enough illumination for now, and you try to spot any halls or convenient grates that haven't been checked yet.\n\n\\\u003eTroopers sound off clear reports from the other side of the hall you move down. The cramped security desks and locker rooms probably wouldn't shelter a pack of warriors well regardless.\n\n\\\u003eBoth platoons creep forward, sweeping lights and gun barrels along every opening, but still as you advance in nothing jumps out at you.\n\n\\\u003eIf this place is an active nest, you should be getting swarmed with how deep in you're getting. A fact that continues to push at that ever-present fear of the unknown.\n\n\\\u003eSomething is wrong, you don't know what, and that fact is driving you to consider volunteering to secure the entrance where you have an easy way out.\n\n\\\u003eThe mass of troopers around you presses you further, helped by that doubt that doing such a thing would make you appear to be an even bigger coward than Lyons.\n\n\\\u003eWisping dust is kicked off the floor by passing boots, dancing in the beams of flashlights like minute moths around a lantern.\n\n\\\u003eThe halls look like they haven't been disturbed since the bunker was sealed, but you know the bugs are here, the door is open, and they had a pack outside.\n\n\\\u003eWhat is going on?\n\n\\\u003eA momentary thought occurs to you: what if you had perished without even noticing and this impossible bunker is your purgatory?\n\n\\\u003eCold nips harshly at your back and you shut your eyes, shaking away the momentary spike in fear.\n\n\\\u003eThings are just... strange. Not impossible.\n\n\\\u003eIt wasn't unheard of for the bugs to move through some place and not really disturb much. The animals didn't have the inhibition to loot and occupy, just kill and make a nest out of the biggest hole in the ground they can find.\n\n\\\u003eEven if the bugs rarely leave bodies, even they can't go about without disturbing the dust and decay of a facility this old.\n\n\\\u003eSomething is.. different. about this place, and your not keen on finding out what.\n\n\\\u003eEventually you file into a far larger chamber, the round sort of cupola splitting off to about 4 different wide hallways, including the one you just emerged from.\n\n\\\u003eMaking your judgments by the half empty stacks of crates and some sort of.. oxygen tanks? this place is some sort of central supply hub.\n\n\\\u003eFrom here both platoons seem uncertain of which direction to go, the wing of the bunker you just came in from held nothing.\n\n\\\u003eThe hall to the left must branch off into the gunports and pillboxes dug into the north face of the ridge. This seems like the more obvious way to go judging by the stated objective: clearing acid spitters from their potential hiding spots.\n\n\\\u003eThe corridor opposite must lead in towards the motorpool and the east side SAM sites, but the objective there was more about securing the second entrance for the eastern wing of the advance. And seeing how empty this place seemed, would be an easy solve.\n\n\\\u003eThen there was a particularly ill lit hall leading off to the right. That one went deeper inside the hill, little doubt held on your thoughts that the command post, barracks facilities, and the potential nest lie that way.\n\n\\\u003eDon't wanna go that way.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eStudying the circular chamber, you note what looks like tracks embedded into the floor.\n\n\\\u003eThe peculiarity makes little sense to you until you remember what the artillery officer said.\n\n\\\u003eHellfire battery\n\n\\\u003eThis place must have an internal rail system to ship ammo to that marvel of overkill from some sort of munitions bunker.\n\n\\\u003eOne you might be standing on.\n\n\\\u003eYou note what frighteningly looks like a shell elevator nestled into the right corner of the hub, and your hair raises on end again.\n\n\\\u003eYour paranoia starts getting the better of you, and you do NOT want to be standing on top of a live ammo dump when things look increasingly like a trap.\n\n\\\u003eThe mess of other troopers don't seem to recognize the potential danger, and seem to be happy milling about doing nothing of actual substance while everything is nice and quiet.\n\n\\\u003eYou, on the other hand, want to move, and fast, before some marauder planted bomb on the munitions below turns all of you into paste.\n\n\\\u003eLyons strides in attempting to look collected and elegant like some old time aristocratic fop.\n\n\\\u003eYou don't have time for this shit.\n\n\"Shouldn't we be moving sir? The armor isn't going to wait on us.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"erm.. uh, quite right sergeant. Bravo!\" he blusters. You seemed to have catapulted him off kilter for whatever grandiose bullshitting of pomp and circumstance he was preparing to rally the troops with.\n\n\\\u003eThe tanks WON'T wait on this place to be handled before blundering forward, and Tom is with them, so your reasoning for hurry isn't completely selfish.\n\n\\\u003eFrom across the room, you catch Vilka staring at you like you've just sprouted an extra head. And then robbed her of her favorite chew toy.\n\n\\\u003eIt's likely the stress slipping off your restraint but what comes next just feels right.\n\n\\\u003eYou crack off a rather sly grin, and stare dead at her with your head cocked at an angle, ears held low.\n\n\\\u003eIt was quite possibly the smuggest look you could imagine, and you saw wolves do it to eachother all the time.\n\n\\\u003eYou can only imagine the sharper profile of your muzzle enhances the image.\n\n\\\u003eThe way her jaw goes slack is priceless.\n\n\\\u003eYou move to hide your bulk behind other troopers (not easy when you stand head and shoulders over most) and let off a quiet snicker under your breath.\n\n\\\u003eThat small release abates the fear, slightly. It was cathartic to finally be able to torment the wolf a little for all that she put you through.\n\n\\\u003eWhile Lyons seems to deliberate over the next course of action, you close your eyes and try to pick out anything that may clue you in towards imminent danger.\n\n\\\u003eSome bitterant in the air curbs your sense of smell, stinging at the inside of your nose and throwing away any aroma that may be drifting in the stillness. You have to resist that urge to sneeze.\n\n\\\u003eYou concentrate on listening as you breath through your mouth to lessen that sting within your nostrils.\n\n\\\u003eTuning your ears away from the murmur of the others, you start to pick out a few things.\n\n\\\u003eThat slight sort of distant heaving of the battle outside as shells shake the ground. The hollow pop of empty pipes settling in their brackets. The faintest hum and tick of ventilators, someone left the environmental systems on. But why?\n\n\\\u003eNot picking up any sign of the enemy is driving you mad with paranoia. So you measure your breathing and forget the others are even there, concentrating entirely on filtering through what auditory cues your tall ears can pluck from the air.\n\n\\\u003eYou finally get something, some nigh-imperceivable scraping of something gliding on concrete.\n\n\\\u003eIt's extremely distant, and you can barely register it, but it's there, something else is alive deep in the complex.\n\n\\\u003eKnowing where they are lets you prepare, and reaffirms your decision to avoid the deeper complex like the plague.\n\n\\\u003eGoing forward or to the left would be fine, spitters were easy as long as you caught them out alone, and the path to the motorpool wouldn't take you in towards where the core nest undoubtedly was.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou breath a short sigh of relief. The odds are two to one in your favor, and Lyons' roleplaying as an old country gentleman tilts the odds further.\n\n\\\u003eAs big as you are, and despite your aversion to being waited on with hand and foot, you are still a woman. And the captain's self-assigned character can't let a woman go in with the dangerous work down below.\n\n\\\u003eHe claps his hands to grab everyone's attention, well almost everyone aside from the grunts assigned to cover the entrances.\n\n\\\u003e\"Right everyone, from here on in we split up to take the objectives. No time to waste with the tanks rolling forward!\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Second platoon! you fine ladies will take two squads north to root out those spitters, should be a fine endeavor. And you will send the rest to go and open up the motorpool for our boys advancing from the east.\"\n\n\\\u003eA weight slides off your shoulders, thank fuck that the cowardly lion is too much of a back-bent traditionalist to send you into the teeth of the enemy.\n\n\\\u003e\"Miss Vilka, I trust a specimen such as yourself can handle things in my absence.\"\n\n\\\u003eThe flattery towards a 'specimen' that blatantly doesn't deserve it makes a snicker jump around in your mouth again before you swallow it down.\n\n\\\u003eAs much as you can blame on nerves you don't want to overplay it, and you spend a fair amount of your current time musing over your grenade count.\n\n\\\u003e\"Alpha one, I haven't worked with your group before but you're the best this battalion has to offer. So take the lead on the charge inward!\"\n\n\\\u003eThe other platoon with you is from A company, the primarily human slice of the 606. Being Alpha's first platoon, their the hardest worked, and the most deeply scarred. Theirs' is a distinct mixing of grizzled survivors and fresh faces among the predominantly male section.\n\n\\\u003eBut before everyone starts moving a gravelly, barking sort of voice hoarse with age and exertion sounds from within the bulk of first platoon.\n\n\\\u003e\"Sir, shouldn't we be taking the assault squad in with us? Ours is out of action for the next week.\"\n\n\\\u003eYour eyes creep wide with worry, they're talking about you!\n\n\\\u003e\"Poor bastards.\" adds a tenorous english drawl. For all you care he could be talking about both their decimated assault squad, and sympathizing with your own.\n\n\\\u003eLyon's seems conflicted as he scans you over. You hope dearly that your physique doesn't betray you in his eyes. As strong as you are, you still flare with the shape of a woman, something a puppet of dead chivalry like the captain swears to protect.\n\n\\\u003eYour own internal conflict jostles for competition with his dilemma over sending the fairer sex to draw blood, You don't want to be dragged in to the harrowing press deeper into this creeping hovel in the ground. Yet your sense of duty nags sharply at you, were you really so willing to abandon your comrades, how well could they fair without an assault squad?\n\n\\\u003eWere you really such a coward if you hadn't thrown away your will to live like some tin marionette?\n\n\\\u003eNow more than ever you want to live, something stirring in you gives you a reason. Him.\n\n\\\u003eHe's kind and willing to understand you, you need to see this through, you can't let yourself die and leave him on his own.\n\n\\\u003eHe needs you.\n\n-you love him-\n\n\\\u003eit... It's still far too early to say.\n\n\\\u003eMaybe you really are just a coward.\n\n\\\u003eA desperate, lonely, coward.\n\n\\\u003eThe captain continues to scan over you, some comparison turning in his head between your feminine side, which he holds to protect, and your strength, which he was trained to utilize.\n\n\\\u003eThankfully he can't seem to reach some sort of conclusion.\n\n\\\u003e\"hmmm, well miss Magual you are quite.. capable.\"\n\n\\\u003eHe seems to be in that crucial moment at making his decision, you want to open with some sort of objection to keep you with your platoon.\n\n\\\u003eBut Vilka speaks first.\n\n\\\u003e\"Captain Lyons sir, second platoon is more than capable without sergeant Magual, first platoon needs all the support they can get.\"\n\n\\\u003eBitch!\n\n\\\u003eLyons seems to snap to a conclusion, and you brace yourself.\n\n\\\u003e\"hmmmm, yes. quite. Sergeant! You and I will go into the breach with first platoon. Spirit of endeavor and so forth!\"\n\n\\\u003eYour ears sink and your tail curls. You swallow a pitiful whine that nearly escapes your lips.\n\n\\\u003eIf you were alone you would probably be hugging your tail at this point. Instinct screams that this is the wrong move, you hate the idea of going into a fight headlong, you like to plan and prepare, to turn every advantage you have on the enemy to ensure your own safety.\n\n\\\u003eNow that layer of security has been ripped away, and you clamor to have that blanket returned to you.\n\n\\\u003eBut the troopers start filing towards their assigned objectives, half of your platoon peels to the left, the other half, and Vilka, goes forward to what is by far the easiest objective.\n\n\\\u003eYou grind your teeth. fluffy coward howler!\n\n\\\u003eAnd now you have to march to your death with the other coward in command right behind you. You prepare to lighten your heart.\n\n\\\u003eFor when you have to face the scales.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eFacing the possibility of death is never easy, and you were never one to face such combative problems directly. Not without tipping the circumstances in your favor first, and even then you preferred to attack such problems by surprise.\n\n\\\u003eYou can't surprise a bug in their own nest, and the urgency of the captain's advancing orders refuses to give you the time you need to take to do this the way it needs to be done. Slowly and methodically.\n\n\\\u003eYour instincts still attempt to shake down what remains of your resolve.\n\n\\\u003eYou're willfully descending into the lair of a larger animal and challenging it inside it's own home, this is wrong.\n\n\\\u003eThe primal urges want you to lure the beast outside and go for the neck while it's unaware.\n\n\\\u003eBut that's not an option.\n\n\\\u003eYou wonder how the hell they do it?\n\n\\\u003eHow do humans fight their instincts in such a tense situation as this?\n\n\\\u003eMaybe they don't have too, maybe the hairless apes have no instincts.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eNo. You don't have to run.\n\n\\\u003eYou aren't helpless in a direct fight.\n\n\\\u003eYou're still a royal jackal, larger and stronger than your smaller cousins.\n\n\\\u003eYou can afford to stand your ground.\n\n\\\u003eThere's also your weapon, which outclasses your old one by magnitudes.\n\n\\\u003eYour squad is there too, you can bare your teeth with that sort of support at your back.\n\n\\\u003eYou can square your shoulders, don't let them see your doubts. And then you lunge, cutting down anything that challenges you with the securing power of your weapon.\n\n\\\u003eThe 6 squads creep forward in the darkness of the complex, the wide hall moving deeper into the hill is the largest by far.\n\n\\\u003eYou follow the tracks in the center of the hall, behind the bulk of first platoon in order to keep yourself at equal distance from any possible threats.\n\n\\\u003eMore chambers branching off, more nothing.\n\n\\\u003eEventually a pair of blast doors come up in a slight bend in the corridor.\n\n\\\u003eThe massive things were left open, seems like no one really bothered sealing any internal doors that didn't directly lead further into the complex.\n\n\\\u003ePeeking through over the heads of the squad filing through to clear it, you see arrays of computers and devices stacked against the walls. A large map table dominates to lowered center of the room.\n\n\\\u003eYou've reached the command post. Those dim red lights don't bode well.\n\n\\\u003eYou keep yourself to the refuge of the hallway, where you at least have a fair bit of distance in two directions to work with.\n\n\\\u003eThe squads sent in call clear. That call is starting to prompt twitches and spasms to crawl from your back.\n\n\\\u003eThe enemy is in here, but pressing in only not to find them gives the increasing sense that something is wrong.\n\n\\\u003eAt least your far enough away from the munitions bunker at this point to settle that paranoia.\n\n\\\u003eThe platoon continues onward, your squad and first platoon's command squad filed in behind the four rifle squads at the lead.\n\n\\\u003eDorms and various quarters line up on both sides of the hall, you were expecting the enemy, they would have nested here.\n\n\\\u003eMore clearing, and still no sign of anyone having been here before you.\n\n\\\u003eThat thought still sends icy needles into your back.\n\n\\\u003eSomething is wrong.\n\n\\\u003eYou keep pressing forward, flashlights scanning every possible entrance or concealment. Something is wrong.\n\n\\\u003eThe brigade halts, there's some murmuring in the front ranks.\n\n\\\u003eWhat have they seen, what did they hear?\n\n\\\u003eYou don't know, they're too far ahead.\n\n-something is wrong-\n\n\\\u003eYou stop and kneel, and give the hand signal for your squad to ready for attack. The sisters get to work setting up the Bofors.\n\n\\\u003eLine up the sight picture, choose a target, focus. The old mantra from basic chatters cyclically in your head.\n\n\\\u003eYou steady your breathing and stare into the darkness from behind the mg's comfortingly large body.\n\n\\\u003eChoke your breath, concentrate, ignore the frantic beating in your ears.\n\n\\\u003eListen.\n\n\\\u003eSomething is there.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eA screeching bounces around the confined acoustics of the bunker hall, everyone readies, scanning for where it's coming from.\n\n\\\u003eYou're already ahead of them on that front, and some beam from a light catches a glimmer off of some dark shine ahead of you in the corridor before it sweeps along, forgetting that it was even there.\n\n\\\u003eYou snap to the spot you last saw it and open fire. The tracers catch something center mass. Keeping the trigger down and concentrating on clamping down hard on the kick of each shot, you continue firing into the darkness ahead which at this point is moving.\n\n\\\u003eSome bright flood of light dazzles you for a moment, before your pupils shrink back down. The Jorgensons have turned on some sort of floodlight mounted to their stabilizer rig.\n\n\\\u003eBugs, lots of them. and they're close.\n\n\\\u003eToo damn close!\n\n\\\u003eCurse this fucking bitterant hanging around the air! You should have smelled them before they got this close!\n\n\\\u003eYou have no time to really think of things, they'll be on you in seconds so you keep the trigger down as the Bofors opens up, its thudding report pounding in the confines of the tunnels.\n\n\\\u003eEvery crack and report is magnified as the forward ranks rapidly reorient and open fire on the advancing packs.\n\n\\\u003eDancing flashlights and the strobing flash from muzzle fire creates a dazzling chaos of lights from every direction.\n\n\\\u003eThe echoing thrum of every shot fired makes it near-impossible to pick out exactly where the fire is originating from, if only you could smell anything to try and orient yourself on more recent observations.\n\n\\\u003eNo wonder tunnel rats hate their job.\n\n\\\u003eSomething is burning at this point.\n\n\\\u003eYour shots are starting to stray off target at this point despite your best effort and you lay off the trigger to try and reorient the gun\n\n\\\u003eYou notice as you pull away from the sights that the barrel is glowing, the feint red pools of heat radiating from the muzzle pull you back to your senses.\n\n\\\u003eSHIT! You had laid on the trigger for too long in your panic and had gone and overheated the barrel.\n\n\\\u003eYou don't even have a solid idea of how much of the belt you used up. Stupid! STUPID!\n\n\\\u003eThe bugs crash forward towards the line, the troopers at the head fire wildly as the ranks behind them take more practiced shots when they can in the confusion. The monsters are getting too close!\n\n\\\u003eeasy girl, easy. Just let the barrel cool off, keep your composure.\n\n\\\u003eBut you can't just stand by and do nothing to help.\n\n\\\u003eYou reach for your hip and take out your sidearm, another one of the hundreds of slide operated 9mm jobs you never learned to distinguish from the rest.\n\n\\\u003eHonestly speaking the thing is rather small in your hand, which might be why you barely ever used it.\n\n\\\u003eYou let the M2 rest on its stock, using your free hand on the forward grip to keep it off the ground, from there you try to pick out any stand out targets in the swarm.\n\n\\\u003eThe shapes of warriors are overwhelming but something seems off about the way they're moving now that you stop and look.\n\n\\\u003eSomehow they seem... erratic, directionless.\n\n\\\u003eUsually they moved with some vague sense of order, like pack hunters, but here they seemed to scramble into eachother like they're just as confused by the chaos as your own side. You had never seen anything like this before.\n\n\\\u003eSomething else seemed to catch your eye in the darkness beyond the lights. Something large.\n\n\\\u003eThe shape evolved as it rumbled forwards, pushing the mass of warriors out of the way.\n\n\\\u003eNo. not here in the tunnels.\n\n\\\u003eYour dread grew as the light caught on stone-like grey chiten plates bordered by some diseased yellow. Flatheads!\n\n\\\u003eRifle shots bounce harmlessly off of the monster's lowered headplate, and already it's too close for comfort as the bulk of warriors prevented it from being sighted earlier.\n\n\\\u003eFlatheads are some sort of supersized trilobyte beetle, their tops are covered in thick natural armor that they used to advance forward with impunity.\n\n\\\u003eAnd now you were in the worst place to face one of them, in the narrow confines of a tunnel, where you can't flank them. Unless.\n\n\"Mocha! Minna! Base of fire on that goddamn flathead NOW!\"\n\n\\\u003eYour not sure if your order was heard and you can't make out a reply, but you notice the muzzle of the Bofors swing around.\n\n\\\u003eThe first shell careens into the edge of the bug's headplate, breaking off a sizable chunk of the broad arrowhead but doing no real damage to the soft body below.\n\n\\\u003eThe second and third hit more towards the center mass. The flathead's plates can only do so much against high caliber firepower like that. The beast howls and pauses in its charge forwards as the two grisly wounds on its back sting and burn into it.\n\n\\\u003eThe fourth shot takes the head off in a bursting of dark viscera as the round explodes inside of the beetle's flesh.\n\n\\\u003eThen the Bofors produces a sort of hollow clang.\n\n\\\u003e\"Out of ammo!\" yowls one of the cats. \"We need to reload!\" adds the other.\n\n\\\u003eAnother large shape charges forward from up the corridor. another flathead.\n\n\\\u003eSHIT!\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eAlready the appearance of the first one has forced you to give ground. The forward ranks have pressed back into their fellows to keep out of range of the warriors.\n\n\\\u003eIt's all going wrong!\n\n\\\u003eLooking over towards the captain, you can almost taste the fear he's radiating. You anticipate the retreat order.\n\n\\\u003eNot a bad idea considering how close the bugs are pressing in. You need distance, and time for the twins to reload.\n\n\"Girls! pack up! we need distance!\"\n\n\\\u003eThey seem to pause as they raise the small crescent mag out of the top of the gun, then the captain bellows a retreat order, and they get to work collapsing the gun stand to move it.\n\n\\\u003eIt's rather quick and they start dragging the gun back, you order the grenadiers forward to ready for a bit of a bombardment once the rifles pull away.\n\n\\\u003eBut you realize with growing horror that they aren't fast enough, the warriors are gaining too much ground with the flathead there to soak fire and provide cover.\n\n\\\u003eThe barrel of your weapon has cooled off, the time is now.\n\n\\\u003eyou hike the stock up to your shoulder and stand tall, your height allowing you a clear line of fire over the scramble of retreating troopers.\n\n\\\u003epicture, target, focus, fire.\n\n\\\u003eYou lay in with concentrated bursts, 3 rounds to kill a warrior, 4 to strike down another.\n\n\\\u003eA young private trips over himself and spirals onto his back.\n\n\\\u003eTwo warriors scuttle towards him, screeching their terrible song. Raking claws raise, ready to strike.\n\n\\\u003eIn a panic, he pours what remains of his magazine into one, managing to kill it. He screams in terror, the rifle clicks empty as he tries to save himself against the second.\n\n\\\u003eThe claw is coming down, you have to be fast.\n\n\\\u003eYou crack off two rounds, one managing to strike the warrior in its vital point, and it collapses to the side.\n\n\\\u003eKeep laying fire into whatever warriors rush ahead of the pack, you can still save him.\n\n\\\u003eThe private managed to scramble to his feet, fumbling with his mag as he tries to reload while backing away.\n\n\\\u003eYou loose a growl and cut in towards another warrior with a five round burst.\n\n\\\u003eRun idiot! just turn and run!\n\n\\\u003eYour breath quickens, does he not remember the training? Range is the greatest strength you have! why doesn't he open the distance?!\n\n\\\u003eThe urge rises to scream at the rookie, but he can't hear you over the scramble and retreating fire.\n\n\\\u003eMore warriors charge in, you have to try!\n\n\\\u003eYou lay in with more fire, trying to keep the warriors at bay more than kill them, to give the rookie the opening he needs to run.\n\n\\\u003eHe snaps in a new mag, and finally he seems to understand what you've been mentally willing at him the whole time.\n\n\\\u003eAs the flathead charges forward, he runs.\n\n\\\u003eThe flathead misses him completely, careening into the wall, warriors take up the pursuit as the massive bug attempts to reorient itself.\n\n\\\u003eJust a little longer and he's in the clear.\n\n\\\u003eYou get a good luck at him while he's caught in the glow from all the flashlights.\n\n\\\u003eA rounded boyish face with a frock of dark hair and bright eyes, turned gaunt and bloodshot by tears and panic. His face sheens slick with tears. He's young, can't really be more than a kid.\n\n\\\u003eHow old is he even? 19? 18?\n\n\\\u003eMore warriors charge out, damn things are fast, two more rounds takes down another with a shot to the nerve cluster.\n\n\\\u003eYou ready to aim on another, your heart is beating furiously. Your composure is slipping and you're letting more of the animal take over.\n\n\\\u003eInstincts tell you to run but you have to at least hold out to give that kid a chance.\n\n\\\u003eNow you have the perfect focus on a warrior, aiming straight for the inhuman monster's core as its teeth gnash in anticipation of drawing blood.\n\n\\\u003eYou squeeze the trigger.\n\n\\*clack\\*\n\n\\\u003eNo! you're out!\n\n\\\u003eYou weren't paying attention to how many rounds you used!\n\n\\\u003eYou can't find any more reason to fight your instincts, so you start backing away while opening the feed cover to slot in a new belt.\n\n\\\u003eAll you can do now is hope.\n\n\\\u003eYour hands refuse to stop shaking, were your nerves really this bad without the security of a loaded gun?\n\n\\\u003eAs you try to steady yourself enough to load in a fresh belt from the ones hanging on your shoulders, you look with desperation towards the private.\n\n\\\u003eHe's not running fast enough.\n\n\\\u003eFeldspar and the two other grenadiers have been lobbing explosives into the approaching hoard, mostly concentrated on taking out the flathead before it can do any real damage, but you aren't paying attention.\n\n\\\u003eThe plight of this kid private, this boy, enraptures your attention. As to why you can't really think on, maternal instincts, reminders of your brother, those embers of your decency and kindness flaring in the hope that he lives.\n\n\\\u003eYou look down and finally manage to slot in your fresh belt, you need more practice at this.\n\n\\\u003eThe feed cover snaps closed and you pin the stock under your arm as you rack the action back.\n\n\\\u003eYou look up just in time to take in his eyes, as he looses a strangled cry, And stumbles.\n\n\\\u003eYour heart drops, a warrior had gotten too close.\n\n\\\u003eThe monstrosity's spearing claw had raked into the boy's back, crippling his ability to flee.\n\n\\\u003eAnother claw slams down into his shoulder, a bright splash of red explodes into the air. Spattering the floor and black chitin of his killers.\n\n\\\u003eThe boy chokes out a breathless scream. His eyes fade of their vigor as they roll back.\n\n\\\u003eYou can't bear to watch anymore, and you run.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe retreat back towards the hub is chaotic and unorganized.\n\n\\\u003eTestament to this is the occasional cries of more troopers caught in the back by charging warriors that weren't cut down before they get too close.\n\n\\\u003eTrying to pick out how many may have fallen is difficult as more noise arises from those that are panicking.\n\n\\\u003eYou can barely edge out the voice in your head screaming to keep running either.\n\n\\\u003eYour legs burn but the fear shoves you on every time you falter.\n\n\\\u003eThe thought keeps cycling in your head over and over.\n\n-coward-\n\n\\\u003eCould you really be blamed for it? Tunnel fighting was antithesis to the way you wanted to enact your duty.\n\n\\\u003eThe animal within you was not some apex predator that snarled at what it doesn't understand. it was an opportunist, a creature of decision that acted when the odds were in it's favor, and fled when they weren't.\n\n\\\u003eBecause of this your instincts had been warning you of this possibility the whole time.\n\n\\\u003eDon't go in there, we will die.\n\n\\\u003eWe don't have the range required to excel, we won't have enough time.\n\n\\\u003eYour instincts were right, maybe you were nothing but an animal. Your intellect too, backed up those points with conclusions that you realized, that trying to root out the bugs in their own domain was suicidal.\n\n\\\u003eBut you ignored it, because of your pride, because of your arrogance pushing you to prove something.\n\n\\\u003eAnd now you ran. Defeated, humiliated, trying to keep from crying and whimpering as the specter of death and its icy visage bore into your back.\n\n\\\u003eYou didn't even claim victory here as some proof that your pride wasn't in vain.\n\n\\\u003eSpitting image of Anubis indeed.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eAhead of you was the collared muzzle of the Bofors, the twins had relocated far back to have enough time to set up a new firing position and reload.\n\n\\\u003eThe command squad and Lyons had posted alongside the AC. Where they had erected crude barriers from crates, spare sandbags, and defunct computer banks pulled from the command post.\n\n\\\u003eThis is where you make your stand. Live or die.\n\n\\\u003eThe captain had just ran as soon as the order was called. And something tugged at you, whispering that he was the real coward here.\n\n\\\u003eYou may have ran, but a hero is brave five minutes longer. You had faced your fear, and despite your wilting resolve you fought, and you tried. Even if you couldn't save anyone.\n\n\\\u003eA grim resolve filled you as you closed towards the hastily assembled ramparts, you were infuriated with these officers.\n\n\\\u003eGilded cowards that demanded everything of you, even your lives! and gave nothing in return!\n\n\\\u003eIf the captain broke to run again, you would shoot him in the back. Desertion in the face of the enemy is a crime worthy of capital punishment after all.\n\n\\\u003eIf you were going to die here, he would at least have the decency to die with you. Whether it was forced on him or not didn't matter.\n\n\\\u003eYou vaulted over the barrier and pressed your back into the upended computer bank.\n\n\\\u003eYour breath heaved, your ears sagged low, and your tail curled on itself.\n\n\\\u003eAt least try to be collected before the end.\n\n\\\u003eInhale, count to four, exhale.\n\n\\\u003eRoyal jackal... you may be scared, but you refuse to die a coward.\n\n\\\u003eYou train your sights forward, resting the weight of the machine gun on your cover.\n\n\\\u003eThere's more trust in the stability of a hastily constructed rampart right now then there is in your own, quivering hands.\n\n\\\u003eTunnel fighting definitely isn't for you.\n\n\\\u003eThe other squads rushed in to stack up into this last ditch defensive effort.\n\n\\\u003eOnce they are all filled in, the bugs come, screeching in blind, animalistic fury.\n\n\\\u003eIt's time.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou tried to recall the same trick you pulled outside the bunker, open on one, walk fire onto the others.\n\n\\\u003eYour first burst was off target, your nerves are getting to you.\n\n\\\u003einhale, count to four, exhale\n\n\\\u003eSecond time is the charm it seems, the first shots strike in, cracking open the chest of a warrior, from there you walk onto other warriors in the crowd. They're too close for you to bother with focusing on curbing the recoil.\n\n\\\u003eShot-count doesn't matter, not now.\n\n\\\u003eYou've lost count of how many you've ended too, not that such feats will matter since nobody will remember them.\n\n\\\u003eGrenades explode, rifles bark, the autocannon drums out for war.\n\n\\\u003eThe flathead from before is struck down by the cannon, grenades and frantic fire keep cutting down warriors by the dozen but they just keep coming.\n\n\\\u003eTwo more flatheads emerge, and you can't see an end to the warriors yet... So is this how it ends?\n\n\\\u003eYou hear boots behind you turn heel with a scrape. The captain is getting ready to run.\n\n\\\u003eAnger flairs in you again, and you ready to fulfill your grim promise. But then something grabs your attention.\n\n\\\u003eThe bugs are... stopping?\n\n\\\u003eA warrior charges forward, and then seems to scream. It bellows some profane cry as it shudders and spasms, and then retreats.\n\n\\\u003eAgain and again, some invisible line seems to be forcing them back. what the hell?\n\n\"They're.. stopping? They're fucking stopping!\"\n\n\\\u003eIt's odd as hell but you don't care for the reasoning at the moment, even the captain stops and seems to ponder.\n\n\\\u003eThis strange second chance may not last forever, you order your squad to throw everything they have at them while the bugs seem unwilling to come closer.\n\n\\\u003eYou even cut Duran's leash and badgered her to use the flamethrower.\n\n\\\u003eThe incendiary weapon didn't seem like the prudent choice before, so as to not cause any problems for the advance, but now all bets are off.\n\n\\\u003eSpirits seem to rise again as what remains of first platoon rallies into this standing counterattack.\n\n\\\u003eWithout a way, or the will, to close the distance the bugs are slaughtered. There is almost some sort of conflict registered on their minute psyches between the drive to attack, and whatever seems to be forcing them away from the core of the complex.\n\n\\\u003eEveryone fires with the sort of aggressive disregard for resupply stirred on by intense fear or hatred.\n\n\\\u003eThe bass bark of your .50 joins them. You are determined to live this through.\n\n\\\u003eEven the flatheads can't approach, readying a charge only to stop on their starting strides and back away screeching.\n\n\\\u003eWarriors are cut down, the flatheads are crippled and killed by grenades, 40mm shells, and fire.\n\n\\\u003eDuran does her best to make the invisible line holding the bugs back a very real one, manifested with the searing dance of napalm.\n\n\\\u003eThe flames light the corridor in a vigorous autumn glow, the bugs emotionless eyes gleam as they catch the fire's after image.\n\n\\\u003eYou vow to make the bearers of those beady black orbs as dead as their emotionless ocular organs.\n\n\\\u003eThe fire keeps burning, you all keep shooting, it almost feels like hours have passed.\n\n\\\u003eBy the time the flames start dying down and the bullets have stopped flying you've gone through more than half of your new belt.\n\n\\\u003eThe barrel of your weapon, your big girl, glows warmly as white smoke hisses off of the tip.\n\n\\\u003eA dying warrior mewls weakly as the platoon lieutenant presses a revolver between its eyes and ends it.\n\n\\\u003eNothing else moves. Flashlights pan across the hostile gulf of darkness in front of your line and find nothing.\n\n\\\u003eYou... you had actually made it!\n\n\\\u003eYou had actually survived the hell of tunnel fighting.\n\n\\\u003eGranted you still never wanted to do anything like this again, but you had managed to squeeze out a victory.\n\n\\\u003eThe shaking steadies and you sit yourself down before your legs fall out from under you.\n\n\\\u003eThose minutes felt like hours, but your self-hype wasn't all bullshit.\n\n\\\u003eFor once you actually feel like you can breath easy today, and you let your proud, tall ears raise to their full height again. A sort of natural signal flag that you were still here.\n\n\\\u003eTroopers around you seem to alternate between joking celebration and exclamations of victory dragged out with vigor by a collective second wind.\n\n\\\u003eYou pay them no attention right now, a triumphant warmth radiates over you. It heats your core and puts a smile over you.\n\n\\\u003eWarm elation comes in great waves, dragging out your stress with the tide.\n\n\\\u003eYou can't help it, a happy snicker washes out from you, which swells into a throaty chuckle as your grin grows wider.\n\n\\\u003eThat smile doesn't leave you, even as you feel the captain staring in bewilderment at you, an oddity that flies in the face of his outdated notions. Let him stare!\n\n\\\u003eBreathing a healthy sigh of relief, the waves continue to pull your tension away as you relax against your cover.\n\n\\\u003eYour tail wags lazily and you even catch yourself breathing in a way that could be misconstrued as panting.\n\n\\\u003eThis is it, the feeling of victory, it makes you want to keep moving, to do things.\n\n-to find a nice mate and rut him into the floor-\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eIt's just that old fever talking, don't pay attention.\n\n\\\u003eAll things considered, it might be something more, some longing for more, but you can't really think on it when that itch keeps getting in the way.\n\n\\\u003eYou catch yourself before you slip too far into that bliss, but you refuse to let a little hiccup from your hormones ruin this happy feeling.\n\n\\\u003eBut for now you feel like you could just drop into a heavenly rest, despite the uncaring, featureless cold of your surroundings.\n\n\\\u003ePresently, you let yourself coast down that river of elation to get just a little closer to that ideal of home, and to reflect in its mirror-like waters.\n\n\\\u003eThat previous jump in desire seemed to jog your memory, and your reasoning for approaching that damaged, angry man you called friend seemed a little clearer now.\n\n\\\u003eIt was another one of those momentary surges after the fight was done, when your wandering state of mind reminded you of your mortality and clamored for you to solve your problems of loneliness before it was too late.\n\n\\\u003eYou were at least thankful you knew enough self-restraint to let something fruitful blossom from that impulse. Rather than just entertaining base urges.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eCan't deny there was that temptation, but it's not like you were unfamiliar with it. You knew how to control it... most of the time.\n\n\\\u003eFor now you were content to stop thinking on that confusing mess that was your potential love life and just catch your breath while you're allowed the time.\n\n\\\u003eThe officers raise no complaint about these minutes of respite, even someone held to such backwards and pedantic ideals of what an officer is, like the captain, can recognize a trooper that isn't given a breather can quickly turn seditious.\n\n\\\u003eYour breath comes easier, your muscles don't burn with exertion, you guess now it's about time to go back in. But you don't want to press on only to meet a second wave of bugs\n\n\\\u003eJust five more minutes.\n\n\\\u003e\"Shouldn't we get moving sir?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou gave a short grunt of disapproval, expecting to find Feldspar playing up the good soldier shtick, instead you meet the tired eyes of Duran.\n\n\\\u003eThose hazel orbs seen worn down and desaturated, like the sunfaded paint on an old beater, but you swear you see some ember right in their middles.\n\n\\\u003eYou have to wonder if people see the same looking into yours, or if their so dazzled by that vibrant sapphire they're distracted from looking for it, if it's even there.\n\n\\\u003eThat light that says you still have a reason to go on.\n\n\\\u003eYou also realize it's the first time you've even heard her speak. You had been expecting some ragged harpy's call like she smoked a pack a day. Instead her voice was womanly and melodic, if soft and weary.\n\n\\\u003eThen there was the way she seemed to just stare straight into you. Plus her ears always seemed to faintly splay as her nose twitched, like she somehow knew.\n\n\\\u003eKnew just how tired you really are. And that she understood because she's feeling the same thing.\n\n\\\u003eHow much of herself does she see in you? Was that what had earned her respect in you?\n\n\\\u003e\"Well sarge? You said it yourself. We don't have all day.\" She offered the ghost of a smile and a paw, as well as a faint glow of understanding behind her eyes.\n\n\\\u003eYou huffed through your nose. If someone who wore their worn out mental state on their sleeve could keep on, then why can't you?\n\n\"Yeah. I guess so.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou take her paw and let her help you up. Which doesn't seem to be that much of a help physically, you're heavier and taller, but you guess in this case it's the thought that counts.\n\n\\\u003eYou give her an appreciative grin and the dog returns to her duty. There may be some hope for her yet, hope for you.\n\n\\\u003eLooking over at Feldspar, the lioness seemed floored. Although her jaw didn't hang open she seemed stunned, and that made you think.\n\n\\\u003eWas Duran really that bad, that such a small show of understanding was some kind of breakthrough?\n\n\\\u003eYour mind wandered towards other quandaries, namely what the fuck saved you?\n\n\\\u003eThe way the bugs seemed to spasm in pain as they attempted to cross that nonexistent line was bizarre.\n\n\\\u003eThere was a great many things about the bugs you still don't know or understand, and you doubt many others aside from the brightest minds left on the planet could provide insight into that.\n\n\\\u003eReasons as to what exactly was happening there still occurred to you.\n\n\\\u003ePerhaps some buried psychological trigger had kept the bugs from advancing too far out of some primal fear response, but that relied far too much on convenience.\n\n\\\u003eThe way the bugs reacted almost seemed like they were being electrocuted, but you would have seen obvious signs of that occurring beyond their jolting movements.\n\n\\\u003eNothing in the walls themselves suggested some sort of hyper-sonic device or what not to cripple the bugs with incapacitating noise only they can register.\n\n\\\u003eThere could be something more to the munitions bunker under that supply hub.\n\n\\\u003ePerhaps it didn't just hold hellfire rockets and shells, but there was something more to this place hidden there, the real reason for the complex's recapture.\n\n\\\u003eIt was possible they could have been manufacturing some sort of chemical spoof of the bugs' hivemind control pheromones and the clash of overriding signals forced the bugs back when they pressed you close towards the hub. This could also explain why the pack outside hadn't entered.\n\n\\\u003eThat was how hive insects worked, communicated, and gave orders if you were remembering your biology lessons correctly, chemical signals.\n\n\\\u003eWith the right mix and dosages, chemical reagents could be used to send the bugs into chaos like earlier.\n\n\\\u003eAny other explanation was either insane or impossible, And you weren't one of those nuts that thought they stored evidence of 'inter-dimensional incursions' or what not in that air-strip at groom lake.\n\n\\\u003eObviously anyone that even thought such things were plausible never payed attention to basic physics.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYour musings over the strange things that could be housed within this bunker holds away anymore stress for the time being as everyone starts advancing back along the ground they previously covered.\n\n\\\u003eStepping over the charred and battered pile of bugs offends your nose and sense of blissful ignorance but not much else.\n\n\\\u003eYou were never one to pay much attention to the bugs once they stopped moving, they were usually pretty quick to let you know if they weren't dead.\n\n\\\u003eThe troop shuffled by the command post again, nobody was in much of a hurry to get into a second life or death engagement, and that eerie sense of emptiness settled over the scene like an old blanket left out in the cold.\n\n\\\u003ePerforated bug corpses helped to make things a bit less... creepy. Reminders that the wave of death you just faced down wasn't a collective hallucination from the start.\n\n\\\u003eYour own rationalizations of what happened made perfect sense but there was still some discordant air about this place that just refused to sit right with you.\n\n\\\u003eIt only got worse the more the silence dragged on, and you catch yourself wishing for Tom's company. Somehow it's just so easy to strike up conversation with him.\n\n\\\u003eThere's nobody else willing or able to occupy your attention now.\n\n\\\u003eThe troop wiles on and eventually slows.\n\n\\\u003eThe darkened slurry of shredded tissue, chipped chitin, and crawling ichor has given way to darkening reds, pooling around limp forms.\n\n\\\u003eMutterings of prayers and wishes for the departed, as squad leaders shakily collect tags.\n\n\\\u003eA few rookies wrestle with the impulse to vomit, some more seasoned types shed a few tears, grizzled vets just shake their heads and try to hide the way their lip quivers when they find someone they know.\n\n\\\u003eYou just look at it all with a quiet apathy, none of yours are on the floor here.\n\n\\\u003eMostly because Lyons kept your squad at the rear. You can sense the quiet blame from that, accusing stares towards both the officer and you for refusing to throw yourself at the bugs like some sacrificial lamb.\n\n\\\u003eYou could understand why they were angry, but it was unfair to expect you to go leaping into battle like some rabid leopard.\n\n\\\u003eStill, it was accepted legend among humans that the good doctor bred your kind for war.\n\n\\\u003eThe man himself wasn't exactly around to refute that, and he didn't leave a real statement of intent behind to state otherwise.\n\n\\\u003eThey were wondering why the giant jackal woman hadn't leaped in and tore a bug in half with her claws, or swallowed one whole, or whatever ludicrous thing they expected you to do this week.\n\n\\\u003eTheir mental complaints feeding into their delusion that you're supposed to die for them\n\n\\\u003eAnd soon those complaints were made verbal.\n\n\\\u003eThey came in hushed whispers between scowling troopers refusing to acknowledge the carnage around them so they can more easily blame their losses on you.\n\n\\\u003e\"giant bitch\", \"notch-ear\", \"damn snout\", \"proud whore\". You gave an obvious flick of an ear, a warning that you could hear them.\n\n\\\u003eThe muttering died down, but a few continued their pathetic accusations.\n\n\\\u003eFor all you care they could swallow a bullet, it's not like you didn't try.\n\n\\\u003eEven if the fruits of your labor amounted to nothing, you stood back at the same place where it had started, the corridor was as dark as ever but nothing moved.\n\n\\\u003eLying there at your feet was that kid soldier you had tried to save, the one that bought the farm because you had lost your composure.\n\n\\\u003eNo, you can't take all the blame yourself like that, it's what they would want you to think. The kid was young and panicky, he just didn't know when to cut his losses and run.\n\n-At least it wasn't you-\n\n\\\u003eEvery time you had that thought, when someone else took a fall that could have been meant for you. You had convinced yourself that it wasn't as selfish a conclusion as it seemed. It was just a quiet thanks for your luck and survival.\n\n\\\u003eHe was split open, a deep furrow had smashed into the small of his back, severing both of the stained white plugs you could see, the halves of his spine.\n\n\\\u003eBlood and fluid had poured out along that canyon cut into him like rivers, pooling to both sides of the body.\n\n\\\u003eAnother deep cut had shattered his shoulder as splinters of bone jutted as rocky hazards inside the red mass of torn muscle and leaking arteries, it must have cut down six inches, another gash of vital life cut out of him by the hand of an alien butcher.\n\n\\\u003eThe claws of a warrior were powerful things, made for smashing and tearing, as evidenced by this. The broken body of a boy that should have just stayed home.\n\n\\\u003eYou suppose remembering him would make you cry out at the thought of a life so young being cut short, but you lost count of how many times you had seen something like this happen. And you couldn't find the energy to care.\n\n\\\u003eMaybe they were right about 'beasts' like you, you had gotten so used to this idea of death, so worn out that you couldn't make the tears flow. You weren't human.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eYou crouch down, reaching around the neck and popping the kid's tags.\n\n\\\u003e'French, Elliot R.'\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe mental gunshot that sounded after you read off the name shocked you with an electric pulse that raced up your back.\n\n\\\u003eYou whispered out a shuddering breath as you felt your eyes moisten.\n\n\\\u003eNot sure whether to feel sad over the loss of such a young soul, or thankful that memory had jolted your emotions back into play.\n\n\\\u003eShaking yourself out of it, you handed the tags over to the sergeant that had just walked up to your side. And tried to blink away the water before any tears formed.\n\n\\\u003eYou would still hold yourself together, but fuck those racist shitheads! You weren't some emotionless killing machine.\n\n\\\u003eAn anger quietly stirred in you, and you held it down for the bugs, if there are any.\n\n\\\u003eEverything seemed quiet enough but that was the way it seemed last time, you hoped that pack of warriors and flatheads was the last of them.\n\n\\\u003eLosing 18 and having a further 5 wounded was more than enough blood from your end, even if you held that some lives may be worth more than others judging by the continued whispered chatter behind your back.\n\n\\\u003eLooking up you saw Duran holding a slight smile across her muzzle, sated with your display of humanity.\n\n\\\u003eThe troop continued cautiously, even as the enemy refused to make another appearance.\n\n\\\u003eStill can't smell anything, it's dark, and you can only hear the air moving through the open tunnels, as if this place is softly breathing.\n\n\\\u003eMuch of first platoon is behind you now, matching your tepid pace and not allowing you to fall in among them. You hope dearly that the bugs really are gone\n\n\\\u003eEventually you start hearing the chattering of the battle outside again, and there's even the volume of natural light leaking in somewhere ahead.\n\n\\\u003eComing closer, the tunnels actually peel away into an open air sort of crater housing the hellfire battery the artillery officer mentioned.\n\n\\\u003eYou guess this is how those bugs got in without going through the supply hub.\n\n\\\u003eHere, captain Lyons split the platoon in half, the more battered survivors would remain at the battery and see about getting it prepped for firing.\n\n\\\u003eYour troop was to accompany the idiot further into the hill to check on the rest of the complex.\n\n\\\u003eFucking wonderful\n\n\\\u003eAnd so you marched back out into the oppressive darkness and continued onward, and then down.\n\n\\\u003eThe hellfire battery and the neighboring chambers were apparently the end of this level of the complex. which then descended down into the earth to loop under itself.\n\n\\\u003eYou expected more bugs, rather actively sweeping the muzzle of your M2 across every opening in the walls, just daring some chittering malcontent to leap out at you.\n\n\\\u003eStill there was absolutely nothing, and as you stepped in a thin blanket of clinging dust the thought raised up again.\n\n-something is wrong-\n\n\\\u003eThe air seemed even colder down here, the darkness more oppressive as less and less of the light from above could leak in.\n\n\\\u003eIt was all so eerily empty, nothing had been down here. You opened every one of the blast doors expecting something in the shadows to move, some skittering your ears could register, still nothing.\n\n\\\u003eWhich is worse: facing death directly, or expecting an enemy that may never appear, despite the growing sense that something has to be there?\n\n\\\u003eA question you aren't sure how to answer.\n\n\\\u003eThe air grew colder, and colder still as you pressed forward. Cold and nothingness, as if this bunker was the classical ideal of death.\n\n\\\u003eWandering endlessly through dark tunnels only by your own light, shivering against the cold expecting an enemy that is not there.\n\n\\\u003eIf this is what hell feels like, maybe you should be more religious.\n\n\\\u003eThe only thing keeping your rising nerves in check are those constant reminders of the others with you, the scuff of boots, the sounds of breathing and quiet chatter, the other flashlights.\n\n\\\u003eIf you had the sense you were alone in this place you would just turn tail and flee as fast as you were able, because of that maddening sense something is here coupled with the mantra repeating autonomously in your skull.\n\n-something is wrong-\n\n\\\u003eBut ahead you swear you see something, an icy bluish white glowing in the distance, like a portal into the winter taiga.\n\n\\\u003eA lamp.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou blink hard but you aren't seeing things. It's a light, the only one still on down here.\n\n\\\u003eIt buzzes softly, occasionally a dim flicker dulls the icy pool of light. Projected around the foot of what has to be the thickest blast door in the facility.\n\n\\\u003eIt's noticeably colder the closer you get towards it, this must be where they store that chemical agent the bugs were confused by.\n\n\\\u003eWhich must mean you are underneath the supply hub.\n\n\\\u003eThe door is sealed tight by numerous hydraulic locks and bars, there's no guessing how thick it is, but the temperatures on the other side must be below freezing judging by the traces of ice clinging around certain spots on the door's mechanical face.\n\n\\\u003eSome sense of curiosity draws you closer, now that you know there is an end to this maze something yearns to see what it was protecting.\n\n\\\u003eThe cold seems to snake in through the gaps between your clothing and your fur, you shiver slightly.\n\n\\\u003eSome other part of your mind seems to assess to situation and thinks better of approaching, trying to nudge you back in the other direction.\n\n\\\u003eBut what the hell was it that saved your life down here? You can't know for certain until you lay eyes on whatever laboratory they have behind this door.\n\n\\\u003eSomeone says something but you press on just a little closer, reaching out maybe to find some sort of release on the uneven surface.\n\n\\\u003eYou reach in with an open hand, something is behind this door, you want to know what.\n\n\\\u003eYou lay your hand down.\n\n\\\u003eCOLD!\n\n\\\u003eAn intense cold surges up your fingertips, crawling over your arm as shivering pinpricks dance across your back, you quickly withdraw your hand as the frigid vines even seem to snake into your head.\n\n\\\u003eThe icy gale brings some stabbing pressure on your temples as you grimace and pull away.\n\n\\\u003eDamn this stings! You want to clutch at your head but you stop yourself as you deliberate and that familiar tune screams into your headspace again.\n\n-something is wrong!-\n\n\\\u003eWhat if the captain knows what's down here? Why else would such a coward come this far?\n\n\\\u003eIt could be a secret to kill for! You must not let them know your suspicions!\n\n\\\u003e\"Sergeant Magual?\" Lyons is asking for you in a rather authoritative tone, and that seals it.\n\n\\\u003eYou have to come up with some excuse as to your desire for entry...\n\n\\\u003eCome on think, think!\n\n\\\u003eThe battery! You remember hellfire launchers are notorious for overheating and coolant is often kept on site to avoid permanent damage.\n\n\\\u003eSpice it with a bit of the good soldier act and you're in the clear.\n\n\"Shouldn't we check the coolant storage for bugs sir?\"\n\n\\\u003e\"There's nothing in there sergeant, leave it be.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou avoid showing your disbelief, he knows. He definitely knows what's behind that door, and you aren't going to give him an excuse to suspect you.\n\n\"Ya sure sir? I don't think the bugs would mind the cold.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"It's more than cold enough that they wouldn't survive in there!\" he snaps. \"Now leave. it. alone.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou advance back up the hall towards the others, taking one last look at the door in wonderment.\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou add flatly.\n\n\\\u003eThe murmur among the other troopers ebbs out, you've definitely undermined the captain's credibility in front of them, and likely they're curious about what's down here too.\n\n\\\u003eBut no one is dumb enough to voice that curiosity around the officers. One of the first lessons a grunt will learn after basic is to never trust anyone above the rank of sergeant.\n\n\\\u003eStill it echoes around in the back of your head, that icy whisper.\n\n-something is wrong-\n\n\\\u003eAnd all signs point to whatever they're hiding behind that door, something that may be gone within hours of this bunker's recapture.\n\n\\\u003eCentral has to keep their little secrets.\n\n\\\u003eYou still keep looking back, the air is cold but you almost feel as if some icy tendrils keep grasping at your back as you leave.\n\n\\\u003eIt's just some artifact from the cold shock from touching the door, it should go away once you've warmed up again.\n\n\\\u003eYou huddle in close with your corporals as you make the ascent back up and share a mutual nod of understanding.\n\n\\\u003eYou're thankful the both of them are sharp enough to realize what's really going on here.\n\n\\\u003eBack up near the hellfire battery you find a nice crate and sit yourself down, rather lovingly propping your big fuckin' gun against the wall next to your seat.\n\n\\\u003eYou recline against the unfeeling concrete and start the process of winding yourself down. You are DONE with fighting today.\n\n\\\u003eAnd if you ever have to do tunnel fighting again, mercy on the stupid bastard that thinks he can send you back into another one of these hellish holes in the ground.\n\n\\\u003eAs you're trying to settle yourself in and get comfortable, one of the first platoon grunts stalks up to you, looking rather pissy.\n\n\\\u003e\"Hey beast! You mind getting off your ass and helping with the-\"\n\n\\\u003eYou are not in the mood for this snippy little prick thinking he can order you around. You don't even bother with words, interrupting him with a low warning growl.\n\n\\\u003eHe seems to get the message 'fuck off or get bit'. And you try to settle yourself down to at least let some of the stress float away on a daydream as you close your eyes.\n\n\\\u003eYou must get a good five minutes before the fates see fit to pull your string.\n\n\\\u003eThe ice returns to your spine as a screaming howl peals across the distant air, let inside through the open ceiling of the battery pit.\n\n\\\u003eEverything tenses as you make ready to run, only to realize you're likely far safer where you already are, but still you lurch sickeningly with worry.\n\n\\\u003eYou know what that sound means.\n\n\\\u003eBattleframes\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003cTom\\\u003e\n\n\\\u003eBug presence in the town was denser than expected but that didn't matter, not to you, the majority of these small fry can't fucking touch you now.\n\n\\\u003eBetween your sub-gunner and the new gear-box, that habit warriors grew of dog piling on a mech's legs until they could slow the machine down enough to sneak between gaps in the armor plates and get at the internals was rendered moot.\n\n\\\u003eGranted your sub-gunner was still slower than any of the guys from the rumbler unit and refused to stop screaming when you kicked into gear and really stretched your legs.\n\n\\\u003eYou had found every excuse you could think of to test out your newfound mobility, being able to move so freely in the auger was a feeling without compare.\n\n\\\u003eLike you had been trying to run a marathon in quicksand only to suddenly touch pavement.\n\n\\\u003eThe armor had spread out, clearing out major pockets of resistance as they cropped up, the infantry would sweep away the scraps.\n\n\\\u003eCurrently you were chasing a pack of warriors through the compartmentalized maze of a small suburb.\n\n\\\u003eThe way they skittered away from the crushing footfalls of you and your machine was intoxicating.\n\n\\\u003eThe pack scrambled through the skeleton of a two-story house, chittering and screeching in what you could only imagine as fear. The sub guns picked off stragglers, nipping at their heels.\n\n\\\u003eThat's right, run ya little bastards. Run!\n\n\\\u003eYou followed them and they led you directly towards what you had been looking for, a pocket of spitters nested within an old shell crater.\n\n\\\u003eThe bloated alien ticks took notice of your approach and spat a volley of their caustic bile, which you handily sidestepped thanks to the new gearbox.\n\n\\\u003eYou then deflected the weapon arm outwards and fired up the rotary. With that foghorn roar, the spitters burst like overstuffed pastries.\n\n\\\u003eThe crater smoked with the disgorged mix of acid and blood eating into the rock, but that was another problem taken care of.\n\n\\\u003eYou shot another burst of 30mm shells at the retreating warriors, mulching plenty of the core group before they scattered into hiding in every which direction.\n\n\\\u003eYou had more important things to do than root out a dozen odd bugs hiding in these cramped old houses, the infantry the were now coming in from the east could handle it.\n\n\\\u003ePulling up the battlenet map again, you looked around for any obvious troublespots that needed a good stomping.\n\n\\\u003eYou've pretty much been free to act as you see fit ever since the captain disappeared into the bunkers, the markers for A company's first platoon, and Teth'ra's own outfit following him in.\n\n\\\u003eThey had been in there a while, you hope your favorite jackal is okay. You had plenty to talk about with her after all.\n\n\\\u003eRight now nothing seemed to crop up that the tanks weren't already handling, so you decided to move north and help the main push towards the mouth of the valley.\n\n\\\u003eAs you stomped forward you worried slightly over how your friendly egyptian monster was fairing.\n\n\\\u003eYou were fairly certain she would be okay, she seemed to carry herself with a certain solidarity after her promotion, and when you eyed her through the sensory goggles as you were leaving the base, you noted she had procured what looked like an M2 modified into a rifle.\n\n\\\u003eTunnel rats suffered some of the highest casualty rates in the EDF, but despite the superficial resemblance there was a lot less real estate in a bunker for bugs to nest than the winding nightmare that was a proper nest. She would be fine.\n\n\\\u003eAt least in there she was out of the way of the battle at large.\n\n\\\u003eThings were somewhat calm in your immediate area, and so you tried to listen through the headset.\n\n\\\u003eThe external microphones were picking up... something strange.\n\n\\\u003eYou could barely pick it out over the racket of the armor scrambling around town. A short, pealing sort of buzz, followed by a couple wind like percussions.\n\n\\\u003eIt might just be the acoustics of the area playing tricks on your ears. You bet if you had Teth'ra's ears you would be able to pick up exactly where it was coming from and where it was, and determine if it was just a trick of the valley like you hoped, lucky girl.\n\n\\\u003eBut then a bellowing thrum rolled around the valley, that was definitely something big cooking off, maybe one of the heavies had caught a spitter volley in the flank.\n\n\\\u003eThen it happened, a screaming howl registered through your headset and ice took over your veins.\n\n\\\u003eAn all-call on the priority channel followed soon after. It was Redenbacher, and he didn't sound so sure of himself this time.\n\n\\\u003e\"This is FC-01. We have silversign! FC-04 is down! I repeat: FC-01, we have silversign! North of the valley closing south, eight units confirmed presently!\"\n\n\\\u003eSilversign, the marauders had shown up with their battle machines. Peacing together what noise you heard and the information from the ace's report, they had deployed fast and already destroyed one of the striders.\n\n\\\u003eOnly one Marauder machine type jumped out at you that could kill that fast, and that blood curdling howl confirmed it.\n\n\\\u003eBattleframes, eight of them that were soon to enter the valley from the north, and they had already killed one of Redenbacher's squadron, all of the red baron's wingmen were aces.\n\n-what hope do you have?-\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou slowed to a standstill, and listened for further reports and calls, paying close attention to the battlemap to see exactly where they would appear.\n\n-so you know the best way to run-\n\n\\\u003eYour breath was uneven, and your mental tempo collapsed, memories tugged at you, toying with you.\n\n\\\u003eThat first frame, you had encountered it while it was alone, it was a fluke victory. You barely even remembered the details through the panic.\n\n\\\u003e\"This is FC-01 again. Can we try to split them up?\" That sounded like a good plan, counting all the machines around and discounting the downed strider, that left you with ten machines to the marauder's eight.\n\n\\\u003ePlus the tanks, one of the commanders chimed in now. \"Not to worry there mechy, we'll split them right down the middle with all guns blazing\"\n\n\\\u003eThe Goliath commander was at least willing to be stupid enough to take on the whole battleframe complement on his own, fucking treadies.\n\n\\\u003e\"This is SC-01 and -02, we will assist where needed.\" The two Rumblers from the east were moving in.\n\n\\\u003eThen Vegalta's ever charming voice sang over the line. \"DP-01 here, and I can say -02 through -04 are willing to smash whatever we need to.\"\n\n\\\u003eThat confirmed your hunch over who the thumper unit on the hill was. Hearing how everyone else rallied forward eased your qualms slightly.\n\n\\\u003eWere you really ready to go head to head against battleframes? The first one was a fluke, you had little experience fighting them otherwise and your still technically on your first sortie with the new machine.\n\n\\\u003eThen some heated memory shook you. The silence in the absence of your squadron, your friends, your brothers, prompted an enraged thrashing of some deeper vestige.\n\n\\\u003eYou promised, you had made a vow! How were you supposed to uphold that when you acted like such a cowering weakling!\n\n\\\u003eHow were you supposed to fulfill the screaming fire within you that demanded vengeance against that monster when you can't even bring yourself to fight against some common battleframes?\n\n\\\u003eYou would rip the weakness away, it has no place on this path. You have to kill him afterall, the one that took them from you, the one that left you wounded and low, the one that failed to destroy you when he had the chance.\n\n\\\u003eHe won't falter if you can't best some gleaming silver toothpicks. You thought back on those specters of the wind, they were defiant even in the end, that same sense of iron overcame you again.\n\n\\\u003eYou wouldn't let these alien scum win! You have a new machine, new tricks, new lessons learned, and they are nothing but paper tigers.\n\n\\\u003eYou took up the march north again, stomping across the broken sidestreets.\n\n\"606-B2R, tell me where I need to go.\"\n\n\\\u003eThe markers for the battleframes appeared now, just like Redenbacher said they were north of the valley entrance and closing in fast, bug presence was starting to hit a minimum and the creatures seemed more interested in hiding than assisting their masters.\n\n\\\u003eYou had ten machines and an excess of armored backup on your side. But if you played your hand wrong those frames could tear apart the advance here, at one of it's most critical stages.\n\n\\\u003eWithout the crossroads here to shuttle supplies north, you wouldn't be getting very far through the open expanses of the Canadian tundra.\n\n\\\u003eVarious commanders proposed plans and counter plans on how to handle the incoming machines, but something occurred to you.\n\n\\\u003eBattleframes were proponents of psychological warfare, they relied on fear and reputation to set their opponents off balance. Why else would they give away their position and presence with that howling?\n\n\\\u003eThey expected you to be weak, to be afraid. While you were panicking and dodging feints, they would have the time and space to reel up a knockout blow.\n\n\\\u003eThe answer was simple: if the opponent believes they're psyching you out, they wont expect you to come in low with a shot to the kidney while they're open.\n\n\\\u003eOr from all directions at once.\n\n\\\u003eThe battleframes were advancing in a tight formation, to give the illusion of unified strength despite how easy a target they would make. A feint of your own against such an overconfident opponent was the perfect answer.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eAs various officers deliberated and berated eachother for every hair-brained scheme they came up with, you cut in over the noise.\n\n\"This is B2R, The enemy formation is very tight, we can catch them in a crossfire from all sides if we lure them in.\"\n\n\\\u003eAnother voice took up the dead air left in your wake. \"Who the hell do you think you are with this-\"\n\n\\\u003eYou did not have the patience to be lectured by someone who's likely never even seen a battleframe before, so you interrupted, as politely as you could manage.\n\n\"Look. The enemy believes we're scared, if we act the opposite and press in on them from every direction, we can force them to scatter.\"\n\n\\\u003eOnce they did scatter, the frames wouldn't be able to support eachother. They were still dangerous but minimizing the enemy's ability to cooperate was the best option.\n\n\\\u003eRedenbacher cut in. \"I agree with this plan of action, divide and conquer should give us more than a chance.\"\n\n\\\u003eThe negative chatter died down some, if the ace agreed with the plan, it had to be good. You were thankful that the baron wasn't as dense as you first made him out to be.\n\n\\\u003eThere wasn't much time, but a plan was agreed on, they were going with your idea.\n\n\\\u003eArmor units would reverse and conceal themselves, producing an artificial bubble within your lines that the battleframes would fall into as the path of least resistance. Once they were in, fire would open up from all sides, if they didn't want to get massacred they would have to move through convenient escape routes leading further into town, formed in the cordon that would snap shut behind any loner or pair of frames that moved into those traps.\n\n\\\u003eOnce they scattered, it was divide and conquer as the ace said.\n\n\\\u003eThe gap was opened, and you moved fast towards the east end of the bubble, you would join up with the two Rumblers and then charge in when the shooting started. Most of your weapons were short range anyways.\n\n\\\u003eRedenbacher and his two remaining wingmen posted at the opposite side, their railguns allowing them to press from a distance.\n\n\\\u003eVegalta's troop was too slow to get there in time, but would try their best to level the big guns the Thumpers carried on the target.\n\n\\\u003eYou hid the bulk of your machine behind the remnants of an apartment block, using a few external cameras to maintain a clear sight of the incoming machines.\n\n\\\u003eThe bait was set and now you played the waiting game again. Reigning in that burning core until the right moment.\n\n\\\u003eLooking around bore a mix of sights. Tanks of all shapes and sizes hid around corners and under barely standing roofs. The two other Rumblers idled quietly behind the ruins of a mall. A few vertical tanks even hunkered down on the ruins of burnt out houses.\n\n\\\u003eThe eastern Rumblers were an oddity. Practically all black paint work with rather fresh unit markings.\n\n\\\u003eFour digits stood in the clash of white on black '8492'. It has to be a brand new unit, only two machines and a quad digit battalion number.\n\n\\\u003eYou had never heard of the 8492 before today. But you couldn't really think on why these rookies shouldn't be here, you needed every gun on hand to take out these frames.\n\n\\\u003eAt least you wouldn't have to wait terribly long, they would be cresting the valley mouth any second now.\n\n\\\u003eGlimmering silver strode over the hill, and you locked eyes on your prey.\n\n\\\u003eSeven of the vaguely humanoid battleframes strode in a tight circle around an eighth machine, the leader by your guess.\n\n\\\u003eSome people called battleframes elegant, to you they were absolutely hideous.\n\n\\\u003eUgly, spindly things that walked on double knee joints using thin, elongated forms with narrow footing.\n\n\\\u003eThey moved in some smooth, disjointed parable of the human form, and it enraged you.\n\n\\\u003eNarrow, sliding hip joints bolted on to some gaunt impression of a torso, narrow all the way through, but distinctly rail like at its middle.\n\n\\\u003eThe down pointed triangle stretched into overly high shoulder sockets, with no head. The core of the torso was dominated by the machine's optics: three glowing red circle arranged in a triangle, two sat lower than the other that stood out starkly from the mirror-like chrome of the rest of the body.\n\n\\\u003eBetween the machines blade like shoulders sat a rectangular sort of vent offset to a single side, you remembered that as the barrel of the machine's plasma cannon.\n\n\\\u003eA quartet of skeletal arms sprouted from the high shoulder sockets and from two points at the machines eye level. Distinctly alien, and disgusting.\n\n\\\u003eThese fucking bone arms weren't even efficient in their design, each one could be used to support a weapon of their own but no. The fucking alien idiots give them hands, and no in-built weapons. The fact the machines are still such a threat even as they waste precious materials for their revolting asthetic brings a burning fury to your hands.\n\n\\\u003eYou want to break it, rip those silvery fucking wastes out of their sockets and shatter them, or use them to beat what they were attached to into a fractured silver mess. And then burn it. And then sodomize whatever squirming grub pilots the damn thing with the business end of your GAU-8.\n\n\\\u003eThe arms support a long, needle-like rifle with both of the lower arms and the top right arm. The giant rifle is some sort of laser weapon, shooting thin, lancing beams that melt into armor and cripple critical components. Of course their are countermeasures to disperse the heat from such a weapon, most machines come standard with heat ablative compounds in their plating to help minimize damage.\n\n\\\u003eIn the spare arm, most battleframes carry a shardgun, some anti-infantry weapon shaped like an oversized pistol, or very rarely a melee weapon.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe machines continue to stalk forward, their chief method of defense: their shield screens, flickering a transparent blue bubble over the frame against incoming cannon rounds.\n\n\\\u003eYou know those screens are not invincible, level enough heavy firepower at them and they will become overwhelmed.\n\n\\\u003eAt that point, when the machine is cooling off the shield generators and recharging, that's the time to kill it. A good shot through the spire-esque exhaust stacks on the frame's back will damage its reactor, causing a meltdown and destroying it.\n\n\\\u003eYou tense and tap your toes, really the only thing you can do without climbing out of the armature and pacing around. The enemy is right there and now you've practically worked yourself into foaming at the mouth to get at them.\n\n\\\u003eBut the rational pieces of your mind keep your feet rooted, the wait won't be long, they need to get into the right spot, THEN you can cut loose.\n\n\\\u003eYou growl softly, letting off some of the mental pressure and biding your time.\n\n\\\u003eThe subgunner shifts nervously at his station, you don't care that he even exists right now, he's useless in a fight like this.\n\n\\\u003eThat circular formation continues closing in to town along the highway, ignorant at their lack of cover.\n\n\\\u003eA troop of Correlions steadily reverses, firing shots at extreme distance towards the enemy squadron to help lure them in with the idea that their presence alone is forcing a retreat.\n\n\\\u003eThe aliens couldn't be more wrong.\n\n\\\u003eJust. about. there.\n\n\\\u003eA little further.\n\n\\\u003eWait for the order.\n\n\\\u003eSlow, easy targets, right about now.\n\n\\\u003eThe flashing streak of a shell flying at impossible speed erupts from the wooded mountainside overlooking the town towards the east.\n\n\\\u003eIt smashes into one of the Battleframe's sheildscreens, prompting a bright cerulean flair. A second round follows, and the translucent blanket flickers, and fails.\n\n\\\u003eThe frame's exhaust stacks breath fire, trying to expel the excess heat worn on the components from the shield failure.\n\n\\\u003eThe machine pauses, seemingly stunned or panicking, and that is its end. A third railgun slug breaks straight into its chest, spraying silver fragments from the entry point and almost immediately the machine explodes. A new-england accented tenor peals off the radio.\n\n\\\u003e\"That's for Langley ya bastard!\"\n\n\\\u003ethe commander's voice shoots out now. \"All units, open fire!\"\n\n\\\u003eHe doesn't need to tell you twice.\n\n\\\u003eEven as the flaming husk of the destroyed frame crumples towards the ground you are already in motion.\n\n\\\u003eFinally that vengeful fury can be unshackled, you step out onto the street from behind the ruined apartments and train your guns forward.\n\n\\\u003eAccuracy isn't key, not yet, you need to pressure them into splitting up so volume of fire is needed.\n\n\\\u003eTo that end you open with shoulder cannons, following with a wide spread of missiles and long bursts from the GAUs.\n\n\\\u003eThe barrage spreads over multiple targets, shields flicker and glow as they absorb the fire.\n\n\\\u003eSoon other barrages open from practically every direction as the frames scan with their rifles, trying to pick out an exact attacker, and failing.\n\n\\\u003eNeedle thin beams of red pulse out from the rifles as the frames start loosening their formation, realizing that huddling so close together only presents a single, large target.\n\n\\\u003eSoon you hear the thump of artillery in the distance, every asset on the field must be focusing towards this single point.\n\n\\\u003eShells howl in from overhead, the detonations rocking down shattered houses and cratering the road. The frames shields flicker weakly, approaching the verge of failure under the concentrated siege.\n\n\\\u003eEven as the main artillery unit reloads, more guns fire in the distance, Vegalta's Thumpers providing indirect fire support.\n\n\\\u003eFinally realizing their mistake the enemy scatters outward, The electric blue glare of their thrusters fire briefly as they dash in every direction before the shells hit.\n\n\\\u003eFire pursues them as they duck and weave, many shots missing now as the bombardment narrows onto the spreading targets, Vegtalta's volley misses entirely.\n\n\\\u003eStill they're refusing to stray too far apart but they're approaching breaking point, the fury of the guns driving them towards flight.\n\n\\\u003eJust push a little harder and they'll scatter.\n\n\\\u003e\"Rumblers, Goliaths, Heavies, charge, the rest will cover!\"\n\n\\\u003eExactly what you were thinking.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou accelerate forward, the engines growl and roar as your pace surges faster. The frames are a good 400 meters ahead, confused and disorganized.\n\n\\\u003eMore plumes of dark smoke denote tanks and mechs throttling forward, you doubt they could take off as quickly as you did.\n\n\\\u003eYou pass one of the black Rumblers shambling through the wreckage of a warehouse as you break into a sprint along the open path of the street.\n\n\\\u003eYou aim again towards two frames sticking close to eachother, the firing computers doing their best to compensate for the motion.\n\n\\\u003eMore shells, more missiles. Most don't hit as the enemy dashes to both sides but the frames seem confused about which way to face.\n\n\\\u003eOne of them makes up its mind and levels it's rifle towards you as it runs to the right.\n\n\\\u003eYou see the black barrel filled with a verdant red light.\n\n-leap now!-\n\n\\\u003eThe sense of free movement urges you to follow. You plant your right foot at an angle as you bring it down and continue your stride.\n\n\\\u003eBut just as the time seems right, and your weight is focused on the right leg, you push out with it violently. The engines give a jittering howl with the sudden increase in power demand.\n\n\\\u003eThe beam finds naught but air, the enemy having adjusted their aim too late.\n\n\\\u003eYour machine has flown to the left. Your feet actually left the ground completely, and you move to bring your left leg out to steady the landing.\n\n\\\u003eWith a jolting impact you make contact with with ground again, the feet briefly slide, tearing into the land but you arrest your momentum to the side by shunting it forward again, resuming your forward sprint.\n\n\\\u003eThe machine followed all of your movements perfectly, you no longer have to fight against it when you want to move, it's a part of you now.\n\n\\\u003eYou can beat them now, you're fast enough. Just like your coach told you: when the other guy has bigger fists, duck and weave.\n\n\\\u003eFiring another volley, you catch a machine just after it thrusted, those things must have some sort of cooldown period. To your frustration the shield screen absorbs your fire handily.\n\n\\\u003eThey've had time to recuperate now that they're moving fast enough to evade some of the fire.\n\n\\\u003eBut they've had enough, and now seek to abandon their positions. The plan is working.\n\n\\\u003eTwo machines turn towards you and ready their weapons, As angry as you are they're still too far for you to really bring your full firepower to bear.\n\n\\\u003eYou decide against exposing yourself, the T-junction ahead has good cover, a mostly intact apartment block. You gotta run for it.\n\n\\\u003eOne machine bears it's rifle, the other bears the rifle and warms it's plasma gun.\n\n\\\u003eThe plasma moves slower but is far deadlier than the laser, you would have to dodge that, but at that moment you may be left open for a follow-through with the lasers. And without specialized countermeasures a lucky direct hit in the wrong place can still ignite your fuel, or detonate your ammo stores.\n\n\\\u003eAn intense glow fills the vent, and with a hearty WHUMP, a bright white balls of fibrous plasma shrieks through the air towards you.\n\n\\\u003eLuck is on your side as that machine seems to have misjudged your speed, the shot is going high.\n\n\\\u003eDucking low, it sails over the Rumbler's back, but now you have the rifles to react to, already they're about to fire.\n\n\\\u003eUsing your hunched stride, you push hard against the ground with your right again, launching yourself high to the left.\n\n\\\u003eThe first shot is too low, the second lance strikes your upper arm on the right. You hear the angry humming shriek of melting metal and escaping vapor.\n\n\\\u003eYou're still at a disadvantage so far out.\n\n\\\u003eAnother angry shudder as you land hard in the ruins of a house off the street, crushing whatever is left of it.\n\n\\\u003eYou slide forward to the left, it's difficult to fight inertia with a machine weighing around 500 tons, but you manage to redirect your momentum forward with more footwork.\n\n\\\u003eCan't stay out in the open so you continue onwards, crashing through the ruins of houses to close to your goal, the refuge of cover provided by the apartment block. You hope the damage to your right arm isn't too severe, automatic damage control systems have already gone off to keep the problem under control.\n\n\\\u003eThe speed allowed by your free sprint enables you to close the distance before the battleframes can fire again.\n\n\\\u003eBut now you need to play the delicate game of slowing down and arresting your momentum without crashing THROUGH your cover, and keeping fast enough to evade the incoming fire.\n\n\\\u003eThose stageshow faggots that balance plates on sticks don't have shit on this balancing act.\n\n\\\u003eYou think you've struck a good balance, and you stop your pace dead, pushing the clawed feet out to act as brakes.\n\n\\\u003eIt's tricky keeping upright but this isn't the first time you've done something like this.\n\n\\\u003eThe difference here is that the soccer cleats are larger than cars and weaponized, and your probably skating forward at highway speeds.\n\n\\\u003ePlus you're trying to halt 500 tons of industrial grade death moving at said speeds.\n\n\\\u003eThe apartment building is coming towards you faster than you thought and you dig in with the claws, shuffling your feet forward slightly to try and generate some countering thrust.\n\n\\\u003eIt's getting pretty damn close know, you're slowing down but it may not be fast enough.\n\n\"shit shit shit shitshitshitshi-\"\n\n\\\u003eActing more on instinct you pan the torso sideways and bring your right leg under you, leaning your weight on it to try and give more traction.\n\n\\\u003eYou grind to a halt as the machine 'softly' crashes into the apartments.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eWell you didn't go flying straight through but you took a pretty fair chunk out of the wall, rock dust and rubble bounces off of your top.\n\n\\\u003eYou take a knee. That was a rush!\n\n\\\u003eAnd know you need a hot second to catch your breath, and probably let the engines cool off some judging by how high the temp gauge climbed.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou couldn't help but laugh some in a rush of endorphins overtaking you. You had just survived a madcap charge that would have seen lesser pilots smeared across the ground.\n\n\\\u003eAll because your simian instincts told you to jump. And that fucking marvel of a gearbox allowed to jump so good you flew.\n\n\\\u003eYou continued laughing like a maniac. Yeah, you had snapped. Your ever present vengeance wish had driven you straight off the edge, cackling like a madman.\n\n\\\u003eWhy else would you think charging seven battleframes was a good idea?\n\n-fucking maniac-\n\n\\\u003eAnd you threw away your fear in favor of that rage over the loss of what you had out here.\n\n\\\u003eYou calmed your laughter to sit quietly as a toothy grin. Catching your breath was a simple matter of sitting still and exerting your lungs, the compartment wasn't filling with smoke this time.\n\n\\\u003eThat reminded you to check on your arm... The machine's arm.\n\n\\\u003eWith how closely your actions mesh sometimes it gets a little hard to tell the two apart during a continuing adrenaline high.\n\n\\\u003eFiling through the external cameras got a good view of the damage. You were lucky, the beam had largely only hit the outer edge of the plate protecting the upper arm. It left a nasty streak of molten metal that still smoked and glowed.\n\n\\\u003eHydraulic pressure hadn't dropped, none of the power couplings were fried, the mech equivalent of a flesh wound.\n\n\\\u003eShould you go out for another go? It doesn't exactly sound like a terrible idea... If you can close the distance.\n\n\\\u003e\"Holy shit dude!\" Oh... right, your subgunner.\n\n\\\u003e\"What the hell was that?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou don't need him panicking because truthfully you're balancing on a dangerous mix of educated guess and intuition.\n\n\"Skill, motherfucker!\"\n\n\\\u003eHe doesn't raise anymore complaint, and you aren't about to unhook yourself to turn around and have a conversation with the idiot who's probably realizing he isn't cut out for this sort of work.\n\n\\\u003eCan't help but wonder over how you would be faring if Teth'ra was there instead of him.\n\n\\\u003eProbably distracted from that slight doubt in your head\n\n-you're gonna die if you pull that again-\n\n\\\u003eYou'll die anyway if you don't move that fast, but going in blind isn't a good idea so you decide to see what your opponents are up too.\n\n\\\u003eYou lean forward just a touch to bring some of the external cameras around the edge of the building your using for cover. The rubble and dust should mask the outline of the Rumbler's nose.\n\n\\\u003eThe battleframes had scattered at this point, either more time passed than you realized or the enemy is even faster than you remember.\n\n\\\u003eAnd one is headed almost straight towards you.\n\n\\\u003eshit\n\n\\\u003eYou don't have many options and the machine is sprinting your way pretty fast, they may still realize that you're here.\n\n\\\u003eThink quickly, your best option is some sort of ambush but how?\n\n\\\u003eYou don't have much concealment aside from your current cover, and coming out from either direction would just get you hit before you can crack those shields.\n\n\\\u003eYou need some way to sweep in behind the frame, putting you on more even footing.\n\n\\\u003eThink fast it's almost on top of you!\n\n\\\u003eThe enemy is sweeping in dangerously close, it definitely knows your still here. You have to move now!\n\n\\\u003eThe frame is making ready to pass on the right, the direction the torso is already facing.\n\n\\\u003eAn urge points you in an unexpected direction and you act.\n\n\\\u003eYou heave, launching forward, into the apartment block.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eSo there you are, in the middle of a flying leap through an apartment block with a five hundred ton walking battleship. Haloed by an exploding corona of concrete dust, rubble, and miscellaneous pieces of furniture. About to fire all of your highly explosive munitions into the face of a very confused looking marauder Battleframe. You don't know how it looks confused, must be some trick of the light, but that enemy pilot must be wondering how insane the natives are.\n\n\\\u003eThe answer is very. Because you dropped your sense of self-preservation in a ditch somewhere when you vowed to brutalize the frame that stole your sanctity of mind.\n\n\\\u003eEvery trigger clicks down under your hands and everything at your disposal pours into the shield bubble before you land.\n\n\\\u003e200mm shoulder cannons, the forward missile batteries, the GAUs, the frag cannons, even the flamethrowers.\n\n\\\u003eYour so damn close your aim doesn't even matter at this point, everything lands on target. And with a bright flickering the shield screen fails as you land.\n\n\\\u003eYou twist to face yourself at the enemy as you slide backwards, you try to fight it but you can't arrest your surge in momentum quickly enough.\n\n\\\u003eThe battleframe's stacks flair, venting fire and trying to cool. You can't close in fast enough for melee, and you just used all of your heavy hitters.\n\n-you made a mistake-\n\n\\\u003eIt turns to face you, stacks still flaring, the rotaries won't be able to chew through the armor quick enough to kill it before it gets a shot on you, the plasma cannon is already warming.\n\n\\\u003eSomething clicks\n\n\\\u003eThe fangs! You hadn't even used those new missiles.\n\n\\\u003eYou remember they have minimal guidance so as your slide backwards starts coming to a stop you pan the torso directly at the enemy to ensure a straight shot.\n\n\\\u003eClicking on the trigger, a single fat rocket races out of the tube with a bright flair and thick trail of exhaust smoke.\n\n\\\u003eWait just one tube? this is no time to be fucking around you need all four.\n\n\\\u003eThe other three fly, streaking forward at breakneck pace, the enemy has no time to dodge.\n\n\\\u003eThe first rocket impacts into the upper right torso, The machine almost seems to shatter.\n\n\\\u003eBefore the battleframe can even respond or recover to massive chunk of its torso that just exploded into whirling silver fragments and fire, taking one of the arms with it, the other three fang missiles crash into it.\n\n\\\u003eThe frame is absolutely obliterated, each missile carving out a massive chunk of it's body in powerful eruptions of pressure and fire.\n\n\\\u003eYour slide comes to a halt, and you forget to move for a bit.\n\n\\\u003eAre you hallucinating? or did you effectively pop that battleframe like a silver balloon?\n\n\\\u003eClosing your eyes and trying to blink away the delusion doesn't work, the smoking fragments are still there.\n\n\\\u003eHoly shit!\n\n\\\u003eYou... you fucking did it!\n\n\\\u003eYou killed a battleframe, and not on a fluke this time!\n\n\\\u003eA second mark for your machine, one you could be proud of. You had earned this with your ingenious tactical thinking.\n\n\\\u003eNamely just doing whatever crazy shit came to mind on an impulse. The enemy can't know what you're doing if even you don't know what you're doing.\n\n\\\u003eThe new missiles were absolutely brutal, custom designed to frag marauder machines once the shields were down.\n\n\\\u003eYOU COULD WIN!\n\n\"Hell fuckin YEEEAH!\"\n\n\"Eat it, you spindly marionette!\"\n\n\\\u003eA predatory grin came to you, you want more. hungering for it. You need it.\n\n\\\u003eYou pulled up the battlemap, looking for where the other battleframes had run off too.\n\n\\\u003eYou'd hunt them down and make them scream before blowing them away, those new missiles were the key.\n\n\\\u003eAn isolated frame was cornered by a cordon of heavies and one of the Goliaths towards the south of town, it was by far the most isolated, having wandered very far from it's compatriots.\n\n\\\u003eEasy prey, and you had the speed to get down there in short order.\n\n\\\u003eOne of the black Rumblers was steadily making way down there while the other 8492 machine moved to assist Vegalta's troop in rooting out a pair of frames that had moved east.\n\n\\\u003eYou didn't mind the backup but that mark was still yours. Vengeance demands it.\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYour overland speed at this point must have doubled from what you could get out of the machine previously.\n\n\\\u003eThis proves a great help in closing south towards that lone frame.\n\n\\\u003ePoor little alien all on its lonesome, you will be the last thing it sees.\n\n\\\u003eThe routine was going to be fairly simple now, pop the shields, then use the fangs.\n\n\\\u003eOf course you still have to be careful, a return hit in the wrong place could still take you down.\n\n\\\u003eWhich is why you have to move as fast as you are damn well able too.\n\n\\\u003eHatred pushed you on as you ran scenarios in your head of how to approach this and close the distance once you got there.\n\n\\\u003eThe south of town was less developed, which meant less cover beyond the hill itself, you would have to employ some fancy maneuvering.\n\n\\\u003eBattleframes didn't behave like amateur pilots and the one there would likely keep on the backfoot away from your advance, if you got close the advantage became yours.\n\n\\\u003eBecause of the hilariously stupid idea the aliens had where their machine's primary armament wasn't even permanently attached, you could easily disarm the frame of its main weapon once you got in close.\n\n\\\u003eThe problem was going to be getting there in the first place.\n\n\\\u003eYou approached the cordon, the echoing slams of your footfalls more than enough warning for the tankers to move out of your way.\n\n\\\u003eSomewhere around the ballpark of 500 meters ahead was your target, Maneuvering back and forth dodging tank fire as its shields flickered.\n\n\\\u003eEvidently the armor was shunting enough shells at the bastard to keep them from getting a good shot. You didn't see any smoking wrecks from burned out heavies.\n\n\\\u003eBut they were sitting at a distance taking potshots, which meant you had to go in and deal with the motherfucker yourself.\n\n\\\u003eWhy is everything always your job?\n\n-because we're awesome at it?-\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eYou guess so. You made a battleframe disappear into smoke and grey confetti after all.\n\n\\\u003eNow to pull the same hat trick a second time. Redenbacher's little gamble echoed in your head.\n\n\\\u003e'See who between us can take down the most marks today.'\n\n\\\u003eYou already took down one, and you growled, remembering that one frame that got hit with the railguns.\n\n\\\u003eWas the killing shot from Redenbacher? or one of his wingmen?\n\n\\\u003eAssuming it was him that meant you were one for one.\n\n-he thinks we're weak-\n\n\\\u003eYou'll show him wrong! This damnable world and these despicable, worming monsters have not broken you, and they never will.\n\n\\\u003eClose in, break the shield, and kill.\n\n\\\u003eThis is your prerogative, you'll take home two marks today for sure. You will reach for three. And you will grab a fourth if given the opportunity.\n\n\\\u003eGoing from a one-mark to an ace inside of one engagement, that's what you're made of.\n\n\\\u003eYou've rumbled over the threshold now, and the frame takes notice of you. An acknowledgement of its opponent.\n\n\\\u003eA wicked grin came to you as your fury burned to take it down to hell where it belongs.\n\n\\\u003eIf it was expecting honor or fairplay in this duel, you would destroy it for such a foolish assumption.\n\n\\\u003eCHARGE!\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe enemy raised their rifle, preparing to finally stand still and take aim.\n\n\\\u003eYou threw a volley into their face, the shoulder cannons boomed, the missiles whistled, and the rotaries groaned.\n\n\\\u003eIt saw that you weren't going to play nice, so it started moving as well, Boosting away from you as it's bizarre legs started peddling backwards.\n\n\\\u003eSo it's a chase then. You would have to be smart about this, forcing it into a corner or against an allied force.\n\n\\\u003eYou changed direction and started running to the right, keeping the torso panned on your target. You would turn it around and force the frame towards the Goliath, once the shields had broken it was yours.\n\n\\\u003eAggression is key here so you constantly shorten the angle between you and the target, only to jolt back another direction.\n\n\\\u003eWith your movement more confusing and aggressive you could increase that factor of intimidation.\n\n\\\u003eThe frame steadied it's aim and its rifle glowed, you were ready.\n\n\\\u003eThe lancing beam fired and you leapt forward, not expecting the burst of speed, the frame missed completely.\n\n\\\u003eNow you shifted direction to close straight towards it and fired the shoulder cannons again. Four out of six hit, but the shields refused to fade.\n\n\\\u003eThe distance is starting to shrink, you can move faster forward than it can backward. It bursts with the thrusters again, lurching towards the side as the plasma cannon glowed.\n\n\\\u003eIt fired, a well aimed shot leading you. So you dug in you heels and slowed down. A groan emitted from you as the auger pressured your chest, all this sudden change in momentum was starting to wear on you.\n\n\\\u003eBut the shot screamed across your front harmlessly, and you responded with your missiles now that those thrusters had to cool off.\n\n\\\u003eThe missiles screamed into the shields, and they flickered. Now is your chance.\n\n\\\u003eYou tap the fangs, sending a volley directly towards the bastard, you got the monster dead to rights now.\n\n\\\u003eThe frame raised its rifle, and the lance cut down one of the missiles. There were still three to kill it.\n\n\\\u003eBut then it lunged forwards at an angle, Managing to pull a sort of long jump inside of the missile's tracking curve. And the fangs streaked off into the dirt.\n\n\\\u003eYou snarled, that's your trick!\n\n\\\u003eThis shit sucking worm thinks it can steal your new shtick?! It won't live long enough to regret that!\n\n\\\u003eThe fangs seem to have a phenomenally short reload time, so you jam on the trigger again while it's standing still.\n\n\\\u003eYou spread to salvo slightly towards the direction you think the frame is likely to try and evade, to catch it while it's still venting.\n\n\\\u003eYou slide your legs around to close towards whichever direction it goes. If it dodges left, it catches the missiles. If it dodges right, it gets within range of your frag cannons.\n\n\\\u003eIt leans right and you lurch your momentum that way, fighting the inertia with the traction claws.\n\n\\\u003eBut then it thrusts left, the fangs turn to track but are too slow.\n\n\\\u003eDAMMIT!\n\n\\\u003eThe shoulder cannons are reloaded, you'll catch him that way.\n\n\\\u003eBut as the report echoes around your hull and the shells fly, the shield screen comes back up, and the volley is stopped short.\n\n\\\u003eYou still aren't close enough to the tanks for them to do anything but give loose suppressing fire. You have to close in, and either chase the bastard into a dead end or get in close enough for CQC.\n\n\\\u003eYour rage surges onwards, and you give a roar as you lunge forward. You're gonna brutalize this prick!\n\n\\\u003eThrash it into the ground, burn the body, and kill the other frames too! No cheap tricks are going to stop you.\n\n\\\u003eIt runs from you, and you see another machine ahead: the black Rumbler.\n\n\\\u003eWith you chasing the frame towards him, he should be able to down its shields for you, then you can pour everything you have into that enemy machine.\n\n\\\u003eThe black machine is not nearly as fast as yours, it must be an older model.\n\n\\\u003eThe frame turns its back to you, trying to sprint forward to open up the gap. The black Rumbler opens with shoulder cannons and missiles as you chase the battleframe with the GAUs, giving it more incentive to flee into your trap.\n\n\\\u003eIt's shields are approaching the failure point again, another good salvo should break them.\n\n\\\u003eYour forward batteries are still reloading, and the shoulder cannons have to cool. Just a little bit longer.\n\n\\\u003eBut then the frame raises its rifle and you realize with a knotting in your chest. The old Rumblers can't move like yours does, the black machine is in the open, and far too close!\n\n\\\u003eThe plasma cannon gives it's distinctive WHUMP, and the shot shrieks outward, the black machine catches it on the nose, fire bellows from the forward batteries as missiles cook off in their tubes from the heat.\n\n\\\u003eA follow up laser short lances through the machines side, and hits one of the ammo racks. A thundering explosion sounds as the ammo detonates, throwing twisting shards of the right side back plate into the air and blowing the right arm out of its socket.\n\n\\\u003eThe black machine falls to the side, engulfed in fire, its crew gone.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe choler of your rage rises fully, this bastard must DIE.\n\n-end it-\n\n\\\u003eThe frag cannons bark as you fire all of them into the back The shield flares, tanking the blast.\n\n\\\u003eYou need more.\n\n\\\u003eYour hopes are answered as Two fat shells scream in from the side, impacting the shield in bright plumes of fire and smoke, that must be the Goliath.\n\n\\\u003eThe exhaust stacks flare as the machine turns to face you. It never gets the chance to fire on you as four fang missiles tear it into pieces.\n\n\\\u003eStomping through the cloud of debris, you try to slow your pace without the clawed braking you had been using before.\n\n\\\u003eThe lurching changes in direction are starting to let their strain be known on your body.\n\n\\\u003eSore spots, aches, and bruises adorn those bands of flesh where the auger dug in to you as you fought against the massive inertia of your machine.\n\n\\\u003eYour heart aches and twists, for multiple reasons, and your breath comes in short heaves.\n\n\\\u003eYou manage to bring yourself to a stop, groaning as the armature presses against your chest again. You were pushing too hard, and your body was yelling at you to stop before you broke something.\n\n\\\u003eFury and vengeance took the other side of the debate, clamoring to draw more blood, you had killed two. Why stop there?\n\n\\\u003eLooking at the gauges you had been hard on the machine too. Your engine temperature was getting near critical. You have to rest, for at least a few minutes to cool your jets.\n\n\\\u003eYou didn't even know who the hell the black Rumblers were, but seeing another machine cut down in front of you enraged your thrashing heart further.\n\n\\\u003eWhy did the frame go for them, and not you? You were the more prominent threat, and you were hot in the enemy's heels. Why didn't it turn to aim for you?\n\n\\\u003eMaybe this was your fault, maybe you had pushed too hard against the enemy and made them panic, and in their fear they lashed out at the weaker target.\n\n\\\u003eThe answer isn't clear, maybe the son of a bitch just fired at them because they were the more convenient target, you can't know.\n\n\\\u003eYou try to steady your breath, and ignore the growing ache in your temples. Just rest a little bit, you can continue on when you're ready.\n\n\\\u003eTwo battleframes had fallen by your hand today, that's nothing to sniff at, and it put you in the lead of your little bet with the red baron, if such a thing even mattered anymore.\n\n\\\u003eThe loss of that black rumbler tugged at something in you, but it isn't weakness, you refuse to call it that.\n\n\\\u003eIt's your humanity, and you'll never let it go, no matter how much it may hurt and ache, it's what separates you from them.\n\n\\\u003eAlways a reminder, that no matter how far gone you may think you are, you're still human, and that's what matters.\n\n\\\u003eYou're human, and you'll best whatever the enemy can throw at you as a mere human. A man and his machine against the stars.\n\n\\\u003eA man wanting for a place to belong, and someone to care for him.\n\n\\\u003eYou panged, your heart rattling. Sure she was a beast, but what if Teth'ra thought of you that way?\n\n\\\u003eTo think she's pretty much the only option around you can currently see yourself taking, despite how strange she is.\n\n\\\u003eYou aren't sure if you're just lonely... or if every other choice is just that terrible. She's still a good friend, and a good person despite the snout.\n\n\\\u003eYou can still talk with her after this is over and maybe you've caught some sleep.\n\n\\\u003eShe still does care for you, if not in the way the heart reaches for. How she acted with you was more than enough proof.\n\n\\\u003eOnce that twitch of exertion stops crawling around your torso you can head out and find a third target.\n\n\\\u003eJust a quick five minutes an-\n\n\\\u003e\"Yo Tom! Battleframe headed your way!\"\u0026nbsp;\n\n\\\u003eYou jolted back upright, Vegalta's voice pulling you up from your battle-exhausted trance.\n\n\"Where? Where damnit where?!\"\n\n\\\u003e\"He's coming down from the north my way! I couldn't keep up and he slashed my third! Kick his ass for me!\"\n\n\\\u003eOr that third target can come to you. Yet more death while you weren't there to guard against it, one of the Thumpers had been downed.\n\n\\\u003eYou hoped that at least one of the crew managed to get out.\n\n\"Don't need to tell me twice!\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Good luck brother! I gotta stay up here and deal with the two frames staring at me right now!\"\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eScanning towards the north you saw it, a battleframe that had broken away from the eastern side of town and swept south.\n\n\\\u003eBut this one was different, Yellow triangles bordered its trifecta of eyes and the spindly arms seemed to be fused in pairs.\n\n\\\u003eEach pair supported some yawning metallic sort of rack that seemed to hold lengths of glowing wire in tension.\n\n\\\u003eYou had never heard of something like this before, a Battleframe specialized in melee combat. You still saw that tell tale vent of the plasma cannon so you guess the usual dynamic hasn't been completely flipped on its head.\n\n\\\u003eThe frame seems to be some brand of suicidal as it charges directly for you.\n\n\\\u003eThat glowing cheesewire must be dangerous. You would have to be careful.\n\n\\\u003eThe Goliath fired its twin main guns and the yellow marked frame's shields flickered off... You guess fate could just hand you an easy kill.\n\n\\\u003eFang missiles would take care of this joker, and you tapped the trigger with a tired satisfaction that you had secured a third mark, a unique one too.\n\n\\*click\\*\n\n\"SHIT!\"\n\n\"WHO'S JOB WAS IT TO RELOAD?! THEY'RE FIRED!!\"\n\n\\\u003eYou double tapped the trigger to get a status report, the buzz that sounded in your ear made your heart drop as your adrenaline spiked.\n\n\"WHAT DO YOU MEAN OUT OF AMMO?! YOU'RE FIRED TOO!!\"\n\n\\\u003eThen something slapped you across the face, the trigger fires one tube at a time. A single missile is likely more than enough to kill a frame, and here you were popping them off in fours.\n\n\\\u003eYouuu fuckin idiot!\n\n-we have a problem with excessive force don't we?-\n\n\\\u003eYeah no shit!\n\n\\\u003eTime to go back to basics.\n\n\\\u003eMissiles first, the volley streaks out as yellow closes, he lunges to the left and the volley can't make a tight enough turn to follow.\n\n\\\u003eShoulder cannons next, he thrust right just after you fire, another smart bastard using your own maneuvering tricks against you.\n\n\\\u003eOr maybe you had just stepped into their wheelhouse judging by how that last frame moved.\n\n\\\u003eHe's close! Too fucking close! Frag cannons! Can't dodge these when you're so close ya bastard!\n\n\\\u003eThe cannons roar and the volley catches, and the shield screen flicks up moments before impact.\n\n\"Fuck!\"\n\n\\\u003eHe's about to strike, you gotta react as now you're playing the game on his terms.\n\n\\\u003eYellow lunges forward with an underhand left, reaching up to try and catch your machine under the nose.\n\n\\\u003eYou see it coming and lean hard right to duck aside, a sickening shriek scrapes your ears as the wirefist damages your left weapon arm.\n\n\\\u003eCan't block, moving to block will just get you fragged, instincts bad.\n\n\\\u003eYour opponent put too much effort into that swing, likely not expecting you to be able to dodge, and seems to have overstepped.\n\n\\\u003eWheeling around, you notice a gout of orange flame hissing out of the tank strapped into the corner of your weapon arm.\n\n\\\u003eHe hit your flamer's fuel tank! It's about to blow, gotta get rid of it.\n\n\\\u003eYellow has turned to face you, already attempting to arrest his momentum and charge on you.\n\n\"Think fast!\"\n\n\\\u003eYou wrench the left arm upwards, thrusting the elbow as you hit the emergency release for the left arm fuel tank.\n\n\\\u003eIt sails outward and explodes in the yellow frame's face, bypassing the shield screen. You doubted that did much damage but you had created a smokescreen, instincts good.\n\n\\\u003eTime to open the distance and get some breathing room.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou lunge backwards with a kick, you aren't used to running backwards but now it's a hell of a lot easier than the lurching retreat you made a while ago.\n\n\\\u003eYellow comes flying out of the cloud of oily smoke left behind by your impromptu smoke grenade, thrusting forwards, he isn't going to let you get far.\n\n\\\u003eoh shit.\n\n\\\u003eYou abandon all pretense of attempting to control yourself and just start outright sprinting backwards, hoping you don't smash into something important.\n\n\\\u003eEverything is reloaded, a good volley should pop the fucker's shields and leave him open to destroying his optics with the rotaries or something else clever.\n\n\\\u003eThen the fucking Goliath shows up, charging in from the right all guns blazing.\n\n\\\u003eThese fucking idiots seriously think a tank stands a chance in close combat against THAT?!\n\n\\\u003e\"Don't worry mechy, we'll handle this pu-\"\n\n\"GET BACK YOU IDIOTS!\"\n\n\\\u003eIt's already too late, you loose a volley with everything to pop the shield screen and try to give the suicidal tankers a chance.\n\n\\\u003eThe Goliath fires into the screen before your volley arrives, Yellow punches his razorfists right into the Goliath's side, ammo explodes and fuel burns, they're gone.\n\n\\\u003eThe shield screen flickers and breaks as Yellow uses his forward momentum and anchors the fists in the burning Goliath, lifting himself off his feet and twisting out of the way of the rest of the volley.\n\n\\\u003eThe razorfists unhook and the ace? frame kicks the thrusters in short bursts to carry through a front flip and land on its feet.\n\n\\\u003edamn he's good!\n\n\\\u003eYou can't face this guy up close on their own terms, you have to throw them off balance first.\n\n\\\u003eKeep running.\n\n\\\u003eYou quickly check the rear cameras to try and get some sort of idea.\n\n\\\u003eCurrently you seem to be careening straight towards a bunch of warehouses that look high enough to just barely squeeze in your machine.\n\n\\\u003eOf course those corrugated walls aren't going to do shit to stop your opponent but it is concealment.\n\n\\\u003eA loose plan starts coming to mind but you swap back to the front cameras to watch your doom approaching, he's closing fast, you can't outrun this bastard.\n\n\\\u003eGotta flip the tables.\n\n\\\u003eYou open up with the shoulder cannons again and fan a spray of missiles forward to keep him off you, you gotta get to that fucking warehouse.\n\n\\\u003eHe thrusts forward and you buzz him with the GAUs and blast with the frag cannons, His shield flickers and he lessens his pace.\n\n\\\u003eBut he's still keeping the pressure on, you just need a fucking moment to breath!\n\n\\\u003eThe warehouses are coming up fast if you're gonna make this work you need him to open the distance just a touch.\n\n\\\u003eCreative thinking dammit! Creative thinking!\n\n\\\u003eYou step over something in the road. FUCK IT! It'll do!\n\n\\\u003eYou push your right leg out violently, hooking the object under the Rumbler's clawed foot and flinging it forward as you come down hard on your left and try not to lose your balance.\n\n\\\u003eThe yellow ace battleframe catches an abandoned bus to the face, you swear you actually see the optic lenses cracking.\n\n\\\u003eYellow stumbles a bit with the impact, giving you the distance you need.\n\n\\\u003eYou race past a warped crane and dig your heels into the concrete, groaning as the auger seems to crush points on your back.\n\n\\\u003eGonna need a chiropractor after this shit.\n\n\\\u003eWith your backwards hurtle slowed enough you scramble into the nearest warehouse, hunching under the ceiling as you prepare for the next phase of your on-the-fly plan.\n\n\\\u003eYellow has regained his composure and is closing fast towards the warehouse you've sheltered in. Exactly what you were hoping for.\n\n\\\u003eYou watch him through the roof windows using the cameras, gaging his speed and trying to figure out your timing.\n\n\\\u003eOnly one chance at this... get it right.\n\n\\\u003eYellow comes closer and closer, reeling for a right hook. He probably thinks you don't see him and your earlier musings flash back to you.\n\n\\\u003eThey expect you to be scared, act the opposite and you'll take them off guard, this hard charging frame was tantamount to that.\n\n\\\u003eYou squat down, tensing your legs like springs and readying for the right moment.\n\n\\\u003eThe temperature gauge is climbing towards the red, you hope your engines can hold out a little longer without exploding.\n\n\\\u003eJust gotta wait for the right moment.\n\n\\\u003eJust about.\n\n\\\u003eNOW!\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou heave upwards and jump like you've never jumped before, your legs burn, shoulda played more basketball.\n\n\\\u003eYellow comes crashing through the wall as you come crashing out of the ceiling, hell you actually gained some height.\n\n\\\u003eHe already swung, but must be confused to find nothing there. You fucking did it you genius!\n\n\\\u003eYou plant your clawed feet into the enemy machine's shoulders crumpling them under your weight and damaging the upper arms.\n\n\\\u003eYou push off, launching Yellow behind you as you land outside the hole in the warehouse wall.\n\n\\\u003eYou turn to face your enemy, you put more force into that kick off than expected as Yellow seems to have stumbled forward.\n\n\\\u003eHe lost his balance and careened through the other wall of the warehouse, falling forward and tumbling into a heap as he scrambled to pick himself back up.\n\n\\\u003eNow is your chance!\n\n\\\u003eThe engines scream as you sprint towards your quarry, now the fight is on your terms.\n\n\\\u003eHe stands and backs away trying to get ready to intercept your charge.\n\n\\\u003eYou hit the emergency release on the right hand flamer's fuel tank, sending it hurtling towards the enemy ace.\n\n\\\u003eHe has to either blow it up in front of his face or have it blow up directly on him, and he won't recuperate in time to stop you.\n\n\\\u003eThe ace takes the swing and the fuel tanks ruptures, producing a voluminous cloud of fire that fades into an inky black smoke as napalm splashes on the local area.\n\n\\\u003eWrong. move. buddy.\n\n\\\u003eYou careen through the inky black smoke to find the yellow frame with a wide open guard, and you strike in hard, aiming low with a right hook.\n\n\\\u003eThe weapon arm crashes into where yellow would have his kidneys if you were in a bar brawl with some faggot named Seamus, But it doesn't seem to matter that your opponent is an alien mech instead of some seedy cigarette salesman that had too much Guinness.\n\n\\\u003eThe frame lurches forward as that silver metal buckles under the impact, you seem to have rattled the pilot.\n\n-finish it now!-\n\n-don't give it a chance!-\n\n\\\u003eYou jam the trigger for the right hand rotary down, and then slip it to the side, engaging what many pilots affectionately call 'ripper mode'\n\n\\\u003eThis adjusts the variable fire parameters on the GAU-8 avenger to 250% of the normal fire rate set for Rumblers.\n\n\\\u003eIt overheats quickly, eats a lot of ammo, but it seems to be the right call at the moment.\n\n\\\u003eThat foghorn groan becomes more of a roaring buzz as tracers start ripping out of the yellow frame's back.\n\n\\\u003eYou drag your fist towards the left, damaging the metal as you go and firing hundreds upon hundreds of 30mm rounds point blank into the enemy's midriff as they rip out the other side.\n\n\\\u003eFinishing your ballistic chainsawing, you hit the dazed fuckwit point blank in the chest with all six double barreled frag cannons.\n\n\\\u003eThe front of the machine shatters and sparks as numerous systems are outright destroyed, and with a screeching of metal the machine falls into two pieces.\n\n\\\u003eYou had bisected the bastard and now the torso lay splayed in the ground, you raised your foot over the sparking wreck and slammed it down.\n\n\\\u003eYou back away remembering that such a hit must have breached the reactor.\n\n\\\u003eAfter taking a few steps back, the machine explodes.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eYou did it again.\n\n\\\u003eNot only had you killed a third battleframe, you had bested what had to be an enemy ace.\n\n\\\u003eStill one mark short of ace material, but fuck that!\n\n\\\u003eYou want to go home and pass out, everything is aching, or burning, or doesn't want to move now.\n\n\\\u003eChecking the engine temperature gauge again, you had pushed it into the red and likely did some damage, but you were alive.\n\n\\\u003eYou stand rather blearily, watching the fire from the destroyed machine as it dances and flicks.\n\n\\\u003eSomething about it in entrancing and you're content to just watch for a little while.\n\n\\\u003eThe battle has died away, your guys probably won. You're too tired to really care about that right now, you aren't in danger anymore.\n\n\\\u003eYou could just sit still and watch the flames for a little while. They call to you, reminding you of those chilly nights back home where you had sat around the firepit grilling bratwurst.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou pang for home again.\n\n\\\u003eIt's been a long time.\n\n\\\u003eMaybe a month or two longer... depending on how this advance goes.\n\n\\\u003eWould they even let you leave? if only for a while?\n\n\\\u003eThe licking hearth glows an entrancing orange, you can smell that tangy smoke of brats on the fire.\n\n\\\u003eYou were losing it for sure now, so tired you were developing synesthesia. Or at least just vividly recalling scents based purely on memory.\n\n\\\u003eChecking the battlemap, all seemed clear, no real enemy presence. There are still a few bugs, your common sense told you, but the infantry could root them out from their hiding spots, and you would be fine as long as you stayed inside your machine.\n\n\\\u003eYour position is pretty isolated, you're pretty damn far away from anyone else.\n\n-you're on your own-\n\n-in the open-\n\n\\\u003eYour heart starts spasming, and you look around, every far off tree line, all the little nooks and outcroppings up on the mountains. Looking for any glimmer, any sign or glow.\n\n\\\u003eNo calm down! he isn't here, you would have noticed. Instead the yellow one came here instead, and you're looking at exactly how that went.\n\n\\\u003eYou just need to get out of the auger and lie down a little. Just a few minutes.\n\n\\\u003eA little rest is what you need right now, to get your strength back and reorient yourself.\n\n\\\u003eYou find the release tabs with your thumbs and with a \\*cer-clack\\* the struts and pins encircling your arms hinge open.\n\n\\\u003eMoving your arms out towards your back met you with a stinging of needles between your shoulder blades.\n\n\\\u003eSucking in air you tried your model best to tough through at as you tugged at the torso release tab below your collar.\n\n\\\u003eThe rear of the main armature folded open, and you tried to ignore that pinching at the small of your back as you took up the exertion of supporting yourself.\n\n\\\u003eYou unplugged your goggles from the sensory jack, and reeled back in the connector between the goggles and your headset.\n\n\\\u003eReaching up and taking the warm muffs off your ears, you notices just how hot and slick your skin was, your hair wet with heat and sweat. You nested the headset around your neck.\n\n\\\u003eYou slid the goggles off your eyes, however dim and cramped the compartment was, it was still your machine as you scanned it over.\n\n\\\u003eComputer terminals in front of you hummed with a stark bluish glow, meant for diagnostics and certain other actions interfacing with the machine's systems.\n\n\\\u003eThe unpainted slab that was the front wall, lit dimly from behind by the amber of the two internal lights.\n\n\\\u003eAll of the manual switches and gauges lining the side walls, the engine controls and compartment access at the rear.\n\n\\\u003eAnd the subgunner's station directly behind you, you twisted your torso around with a grunt.\n\n\\\u003eHe isn't moving... You watch him closely as you heart tightens, and a rotting smell starts stinging your nostrils. Is he...\n\n\\\u003eBony fingers of panic start scrabbling in the back of your head, but you see his back slowly rising and falling and the creeping vines halt their progress.\n\n\\\u003eHe's just passed out, either from the stress of maneuvering, or the fear.\n\n\\\u003eThat smell isn't leaving you, the stench of death, that creeping feeling accompanies you as you wrench at the release tabs near your hips and climb out of the armature.\n\n\\\u003eYou're shaking, and you feel weak, you need to calm down.\n\n\\\u003eSlow, tepid steps over to the corner, where you slide down the wall and huddle your knees close to you.\n\n\\\u003eCalm down, just calm down. But you can feel the eyes, watching, judging... hating. Peering from those little flecks of darkness scattered all around you.\n\n\\\u003eYou think of something, anything else.\n\n\\\u003ea fresh aroma wafts in from your memory, it's calming.\n\n\\\u003eA scent of spices, peppered with lilac and honeysuckle, it chases away your nightmares, your breath deepens, the heart stills.\n\n\\\u003eYou're thinking of her.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eSuddenly the worry surges all at once, but it drives you to do something. The agony clutches at you.\n\n\\\u003eIs she okay? Did she make it out? Her platoon marker hadn't moved out of the bunker.\n\n\\\u003eYou pulled one of the terminals, facing the interface out towards you.\n\n\\\u003ePulling up the battlenet on the terminal, you checked in on Teth'ra's squad specifically.\n\n\\\u003e606 Hellhound Rifles: B Company: Second Platoon: E Squad: No casualties.\n\n\\\u003eYou slump to the floor again, all your energy leaking out as you toss your head back and chuckle.\n\n\\\u003eShe's okay.\n\n\\\u003eA warmth overtakes you as you lay yourself down. she's okay.\n\n\\\u003eYour chest feels so much lighter now. You can rest.\n\n\\\u003eEven if only for five minutes, on what's still technically an active battlefield... Fuck it.\n\n\\\u003eYou're behind hundreds of tons of composite armor, you can afford to stare at the ceiling a little while and collect yourself enough to actually walk home.\n\n\\\u003eThe headset starts murmuring something into your neck, you sigh, can't avoid people forever in your walking box it seems.\n\n\\\u003eMuch as you would prefer it that way, with one exception towards a certain jackal.\n\n\\\u003eYou slipped on the headset. \"-e you there Tom?... Tom, answer me!\"\n\n\\\u003eIt isn't her calling, and you find yourself disappointed. Guess you can at least acknowledge Vegalta.\n\n\"You forgot your callsign chief.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"I'm calling on your channel smartass! Are ya alright? Ya sound out of it.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"What about that frame that came down there? I don't see his marker anymore. What happened?!\"\n\n\"I fuhckin' got him.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"... I guess you did.\"\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\"I'm gonna go now.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Tom wait!\"\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003e\"Look pal... I'm gonna be honest... I'm worried about ya.\"\n\n\\\u003eWhy should he be worried? The two of you were never very close, and the both of you disagreed on a lot. Piloting fundamentally different machines tends to bring out those differences in people.\n\n\\\u003eJust shoving him away wouldn't help matters, but you didn't want to bother him with your problems. Those were yours and yours alone.\n\n\"I'm fine chief, just catching my breath.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"I'm jus' concerned is all, I know you've never got along well with anthros and now that you're attached to one of their units.\"\n\n\"It's not that bad, you're worrying over nothing\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Really? That one time that Jaguar with the cut lip got near you, you just about went feral yourself.\" His chiding tone strikes a nerve, and like a well tuned piano, a hammer drops with a roaring response.\n\n\"Fuck off!\"\n\n\\\u003eYou try to blow off the sudden surge with shuddering breaths whispering through your nose. He's playing a dangerous game questioning the why.\n\n\\\u003e\"Look Tom, I need to know you aren't gonna get yourself court-martialed.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"You haven't even really gotten settled in with anyone over there. Hell! How I hear it you almost bit your LT's goddamn head off!\"\n\n\\\u003eThe boomer captain's accusatory tone had that fire in the pit of your torso breathing again. He makes it sound like you're the villain. And that anger in your core surges outward, life returning to you as you pick yourself off the floor with a growl.\n\n\"That air-headed canine whore tried to puppet me into being a fucking sex object! I DON'T CARE WHAT THE FUCK YOU HAVE TO SAY TO THAT!\"\n\n\"AND AS FOR SETTLING IN WITH ANYBODY, FUCK YOU! I have more than enough on my plate juggling maintenance without a fucking support crew, this clueless blazing faggot that calls himself my subgunner, WHO FUCKING PASSED OUT BY THE WAY! Plus I already do have a friend there, certainly cares about my boundaries more than you fucking do!\"\n\n\\\u003eYou pace around the cabin angrily, maybe you had gone too far, but the idiot pressed a button of yours he fucking shouldn't have.\n\n\\\u003eWith nothing to really attack or focus on the rage starts smoldering, and you wait for Vegalta's response, you wouldn't apologize for his mistake, It would make you look like even more of a wreck than you are.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003e\"... A.. a-uh A friend?.. You made friends with an anthro?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou grunted in response. Was it really that hard to believe? Vegalta's white knighting for every woman of every species could drive you up the goddamn wall. He's likely thinking about what sort of bullying and brash tactics you used to force some rabbit or other timid creature under your wing.\n\n\\\u003eBecause you've always been the one with anger problems. The brash new kid with the mouth of a sailor that Willard bought in without asking anybody first.\n\n\\\u003eVegalta sighs heavily. \"I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds here Tomcat.\"\n\n\"Stop with the nicknames.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"...But look Tom, We're still 512, we gotta look out for eachother. And Willard ain't there for ya anymore so I just want to know you're not gonna have a psychotic break or nothin'.\"\n\n\\\u003eWater had doused your fire somewhat. You suppose he is still trying to look out for you, even if he's doing it wrong.\n\n\\\u003eYou sit yourself against the front wall to the side of the hatch ladder, watching your subgunner who was amazingly still comatose despite all the yelling.\n\n\\\u003e\"So who is she?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou forget your anger, remembering your confusion over exploring the real answer to that question. And you felt a tug of sadness remembering how you stumbled into that answer.\n\n\"Teth'ra\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Wait.. Magual? Teth'ra Magual!? The one that just got promoted?\"\n\n\"Yup\"\n\n\\\u003eHe sounded baffled, like he couldn't figure out how you could possibly befriend such a mountain of a woman. He's ignorant of the soft, warm creature under that rocky shell.\n\n\\\u003e\"You, and one of the most trouble bound troopers I've ever seen?\"\n\n\"That's not entirely her fault.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou felt compelled to defend her.\n\n\\\u003e\"That is not a woman you should be hanging around with Tom, she's trouble.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Cold too, I could barely get a word in with her round about two months ago\"\n\n-because she wouldn't associate with a womanizing creep like you-\n\n\\\u003eBut rather than call out the boomer on his white knighting voyeurism, you focused on defending your companion.\n\n\"If she's so uncaring she wouldn't have helped me out when I was considering blowing my own goddamn brains out.\"\n\n\\\u003eThat should drop a ton of bricks on whatever response he had cooked up.\n\n\\\u003e\"She.. she really did that?\"\n\n\"You're wrong about her Vegalta. You and everyone else.. She's kind, and caring, she just never gets a chance to show it.\"\n\n\"She helped me. I was on the edge and she pulled me back. I don't think I could even go on if she hadn't been there.\"\n\n\"She's a wonderful woman, and I won't stand by and have ignorant idiots like you talk shit just because she's reserved.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou finished your small tangent with a huff, you had really unloaded, but she was the only real anchor to sanity you have out here, you can't abide her reputation being even further sullied by circumstance.\n\n\\\u003eAnd she deserved your loyalty.\n\n\\\u003e\"Shit Tom... you talk like your in love.\"\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eIf you were being honest with yourself.. Maybe you were, just a little. You could never bring yourself to stay mad when you were thinking of her.\n\n\\\u003eBut the last thing you needed was for the same man that painted softcore porn on your shoulder plate to be giving you romantic advice.\n\n\\\u003eThat would crash and burn faster than the fucking Hindenburg and a zippo lighter. Why the fuck did they fill that thing with hydrogen anyways?\n\n\\\u003eForget the history, you have to scare Vegalta away from ruining your relationship.\n\n\"I'm not sure what the hell you would know about that, but she's the best friend I could have right now.\"\n\n\"And I'm not about to let anything step on that, least of all the shitshow that is your 'romantic' experience.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou stood yourself up, your energy having rebounded during your heated conversation. You looked at the open auger, it was time to go back to base.\n\n\\\u003eYou clamped yourself back in to the armature's legs, the rest of the kit was unnecessary for a slow walk to camp.\n\n\\\u003eYou didn't want to strap on the rest of the struts anyway, everything was sore and doing so would only agitate the heaving aches that criss crossed over your skin where the struts and straps had been pressed into your flesh by the g-forces of maneuvering like a coked up maniac.\n\n\\\u003eAll the jumping and leaping was a damn good trick for evading frames, but it played hell with you and the landing was very unpleasant.\n\n\\\u003eYou were so slick with sweat you were practically dripping too.\n\n\\\u003eYou found where your camp was after plugging the sensory goggles back in, apparently it was nestled between the highway and the ruins of some hodunk shithole called Ashcroft.\n\n\\\u003eYou wished you could be camped by the river, seeing the waterfront, however small, reminds you of home.\n\n\\\u003eThen Vegalta saw fit to chime in again, you just wish he would fuck off and let you get your rest.\n\n\\\u003e\"Tom...\"\n\n\\\u003e\"If she is like you say she is.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Take good care of her.\"\n\n  \n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe words have been echoing in the back of your head during the slow walk to camp. 'Take good care of her.' Had you not been doing that already?\n\n\\\u003eHis insinuation was that you were somehow not accepting of her, despite how hard you had been fighting yourself to see her in a better light.\n\n\\\u003eThe captain went silent after that, and you didn't really have the vigor or inclination to badger him on just how wrong he was about the both of you.\n\n\\\u003eYou were angry for good reason, and you had been there for her when she was at her lowest.\n\n\\\u003eNow you worried over how the fight may have affected her, would she need you again, in the same way you needed her?\n\n\\\u003eExhaustion weighed on you, your momentum had been pulled away as your anger receded. You just want to collapse into her arms and let her carry you to sleep.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eShit, you really did sound in love, But you think you had already moved past that point of being just friends, you were close now.\n\n\\\u003eThat sense that the next day could be your last made things like that mature faster.\n\n\\\u003eYou would have to at least shower first before you got yourself tied in a bow wondering over how the stress would make her approach you.\n\n\\\u003eAs you continued trundling forward, you imagined she would either be withdrawn or affectionate, there almost seems to be no real middle ground when she's feeling stressed.\n\n\\\u003eThe mech park comes up into view and your scaffold is open. You note the other machines here, A battered thumper dangling in its scaffold from various chains, most of its right leg is missing and the body is covered in half melted slash marks.\n\n\\\u003eGuess you know what happened to Vegalta's unit when he mentioned that yellow frame 'got' one of his own.\n\n\\\u003eThree garishly colored striders lined up in their scaffolds, Redenbacher's unit, minus the strider with the black and brown paint.\n\n\\\u003eYou didn't notice the black Rumbler anywhere. You wonder where they could have gone too, if he had stuck around, you could have let that other pilot know that his lancemates hadn't perished in vain.\n\n\\\u003eThe subgunner still hadn't woken up by the time you had climbed out of the auger for good and shut off the engines, in fact he was quietly snoring.\n\n\\\u003eYou would just leave the hatch open for the idiot when he eventually wakes up, you couldn't care less about playing nice.\n\n\\\u003eHe wasn't much of a help anyway.\n\n\\\u003eClimbing out of the hatch graced your increasingly worn nerves with two offenses, first was the bite of the chilling evening air on your damp skin, and the second was Redenbacher attempting to prattle at you from across the way.\n\n\\\u003eYou merely raised your hand high and extended three fingers to signify that by your count you had won your bet, and then promptly ignored everything else as you shuffled down the scaffold and attempted to find where the hell they had the shower stalls. Or failing that, the nearest point to go jump in the river.\n\n\\\u003eShuffling past some supply dump like a corpse on strings, you almost failed to notice the tenor of a familiar voice pealing behind you. Raising your head as a small sort of second wind blew across your thoughts.\n\n\\\u003e\"Tom!\"\n\n\\\u003eTwo burly arms layered in a curtain of silky grey wrapped around your middle and hoisted you firmly but gently off your feet into a familiar embrace as a rich, happy laughter breathed from the smiling muzzle just above your head.\n\n\\\u003eEvidently she feels affectionate today.\n\n\\\u003e\"You're okay!\"\n\n\"Hey Teth'ra.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou squeak out the words. It's not that you don't appreciate the sentiment, you don't even really mind all the hugging anymore and she's keenly aware of her own strength, but the stress of the day's events on your body make the embrace less than comfortable.\n\n\\\u003eYou at least try to hide the pained way you're breathing, she's already worried about you more than enough it seems.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eBut a flair from one of your ribs twists you into vocalizing your discomfort, you hold your mouth closed but almost immediately she takes notice.\n\n\\\u003eCan't hide anything from her, it seems.\n\n\\\u003e\"Shit, are you okay? Did I..?\" Poor girl must think she's too strong for her own good.\n\n\"No. No, You're okay. I've just.. gotten a bit roughed around the edges out there.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe sets you back onto your feet but keep her arms crossed down over your chest to keep you near her.\n\n\\\u003e\"I asked if YOU were okay.\"\n\n\\\u003eThere's that warmth again, she's so damn caring, and you wouldn't have it any other way.\n\n\"I'm fine Teth. Honestly I was more worried about you.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe gives a light scoff and another one of those happy whines you're acquainted with. Then she almost lovingly nuzzles the back of your neck.\n\n\\\u003eThe feeling of The soft plush silk of her fur gliding and pushing against you is ticklish, and you find a smile cracking out of you.\n\n\\\u003eAs much as the attention melts away your worries, you'd rather she hold herself back for a time when you're less filthy and you don't risk being caught.\n\n\"Teth'ra!\"\n\n\\\u003eShe backs off with the nuzzling and even releases you from her loose embrace before the fluttering in your diaphragm can evolve into laughter.\n\n\\\u003e\"I'm just glad you're okay... Here! We can talk in here.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe leads you over into the supply dump for some seclusion from the rest of the base. Looking around, nobody seems to take explicit notice of you as you disappear into the assortment of containers and crates.\n\n\\\u003eEither Teth'ra's size does a good job of concealing you from view when the two of you are so close to eachother, or everyone is just ignoring the jackal that could probably snap their spine with her knee.\n\n\\\u003eIt occurs to you that a reason why no one seems to question what she's doing with you, and the reason she's so alone, is because of that intimidation that comes with her size and strength.\n\n\\\u003eShe's hardly an apex predator, but her mass more than makes up for that, and she carries herself with a quiet, assertive pride that speaks volumes. None of them know her gentler side, how controlled she is... How much love she never had the chance to give.\n\n\\\u003eBut you know, and it puts you at ease, knowing she wouldn't use that strength against you.\n\n\\\u003eThe two of you recline on a pair of small crates left in the 'corridor' formed by two shipping containers.\n\n\\\u003e\"Sooo. How many d'ya get?\" Her gorgeous blues hold an expectant gaze.\n\n\"I got three marks.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Ha! I knew you could do it. That's great!\" She's practically lighting up, wearing a grin that on anyone else you'd call doofy, on her it's just infectious.\n\n\\\u003eYou realize she's more happy that you've recovered enough to have the bravery to face combat than about how many kills you've gotten.\n\n\\\u003eBut there's still a hinting of pride that you're holding up so well.\n\n\\\u003eYou crack that smile again.\n\n\"So how are you holding up?\"\n\n\\\u003eHer ears tilt quizzically and her beaming grin seems to fade.\n\n\\\u003e\"I. uh..\"\n\n\"Alright what's wrong\"\n\n\\\u003eYou did not have the patience to sit around and watch her get wrapped up in herself.\n\n\\\u003e\"Well. I got along fine with my squad, I think they're opening up to me real nice but...\"\n\n\\\u003e\"There was... something down there.. In the bunkers.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Something weird, that central wants to keep secret... I'm not sure if I may have gotten too close.\"\n\n\\\u003eA look of deep worry crosses her, she's unsure if she'll be punished for stumbling too close to another one of central's pet projects.\n\n\\\u003eYou had been there before, with the rest of your squadron on 'special assignments' protecting a truck hauling mystery cargo, or guarding a technician and his team extracting data from some facility specializing in God knows what that you aren't supposed to talk about.\n\n\\\u003eAnd they made it very clear that anyone of you that actually laid eyes on that cargo or data, would be executed for treason.\n\n\\\u003eIt made no sense to you why they were keeping secrets, the entire world has been under a single flag for over 20 years, there's no one to keep secrets from.\n\n\\\u003eAs long as she didn't actually lay eyes on anything or go spouting off guesses and suspicions in public she should be fine, but still her ears fold low and she looks timid.\n\n\\\u003eA short whine leaks from her lips as she looks up towards you, pleading.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou give an exaggerated sigh and open up your arms.\n\n\"c'mere.\"\n\n\\\u003eshe huffs happily, tail wagging tepidly as you pull her down into a gentle hug, she's sure to be gentler with you because of your sore.. everything.\n\n\"Look, long as you didn't actually see anything conclusive or start rifling off guesses in front of anyone there isn't anything to worry about.\"\n\n\"They can't shoot ya for being curious, so just forget about it alright?\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Are ya sure.. I'm not sure if I-\"\n\n\\\u003eYou interrupted her by kneading a hand between her shoulders, massaging the taut muscle beneath her silky coat of trim fur.\n\n\\\u003eShe tenses at first but seems to push into the touch, sighing contentedly.\n\n\"Teth.\"\n\n\"I've been in that song and dance before, you're fine.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"I still have to wonder...\"\n\n\"We all do, just don't go talking about it where there might be ears in the walls.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou rub her back for a little while, her breathing grows calmer and deeper, she nuzzles gently at your chin before twisting away and sitting at your side.\n\n\\\u003eYou stare down at your legs, trying to think up something to change the mood to be less... dire.\n\n\\\u003eYour attention is drawn by Teth'ra sniffing the air above you.\n\n\"Yeah I know, I reek right now.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Yeah, you uhhh.. Ya kinda do.\"\n\n\"I was gonna go hit the showers until you ambushed me.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Is that an invitation?\"\u0026nbsp;\n\n\\\u003eThere's that teasing again, you're thankful the mood shifted up so easily.\n\n\\\u003eYou aren't one to be outdone by that toothy smirk though, and you decided to test the water a little.\n\n\"And what if I said yes?\"\n\n\\\u003eShe flicks through a range of emotions for about five seconds, before settling on something when she realizes your exaggerated quirk of the brow and the way your own smirk draws back the corners of your mouth means you're pulling her leg... mostly.\n\n\\\u003eShe scoffs lightly and bumps the back of her hand against your shoulder, grinning with glee.\n\n\\\u003e\"Please little man, I think I'd break you.\" She didn't go for the 'don't drop the soap' angle, classy.\n\n\\\u003eYou like classy, and that easy reception to your own counter teasing tells you she isn't scared of intimacy.\n\n\\\u003eIf you are indeed testing the waters, the temperature is to your taste. You're playing a dangerous game, but something about the risk is enticing, and she's enjoying it. You both need a little release.\n\n\"If I can handle 500 tons of angry Rumbler, I can handle you.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou say it staring straight into her eyes with a smirk.\n\n\\\u003eAlmost immediately, your mind flashes over scenarios and images of the two of you enjoying yourselves in the shower. You trying to keep her quiet and hiding her bulk behind those thin canvas privacy screens in those cramped stalls, so close to being discovered but isolated in your own little box too.\n\n\\\u003eLathering her up, exploring all the hills and furrows of her carved back, working your way lower and lower to help her get those hard to reach spots.\n\n\\\u003eThe way the water must cascade over her mythical physique as she pulls you close.\n\n\\\u003eThe way she'd whisper into your ear all the terrible things she would do to you as she guides your hands to that perfect spot as you stare into eachother.\n\n\\\u003e...\n\n\\\u003eDown boy! Down.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eShe doesn't seem to notice the heated way you sucked in air for a bit as you thought out that little flash of eroticism, thankfully.\n\n\\\u003eInstead she snickers, and it keeps going as her grin goes a mile wide, and it evolves into a hearty laugh.\n\n\\\u003eShe wants to laugh with you, and you're all too happy to oblige. Her rich laughter prompts your own, the two of you must sound like hyenas, but you don't care.\n\n\\\u003eThe way she seems to loosen up around you, that happy spotlight smile, all of the genuine concern and care of a rich friendship that you had been missing.\n\n\\\u003eYou want more of this, with her.\n\n\\\u003eYou probably laugh a lot more than either of you should, but it seems to carry away all of the tension of the day. Forgetting about all those dark things, at least for a while.\n\n\\\u003eThe laughter eventually peters out and the two of are left grinning at eachother like idiots. A gust manages to angle itself through the containers and push the damp weight of your soaked undershirt into you with a chill.\n\n\\\u003eRight, you were going to clean yourself up.\n\n\\\u003e\"I should probably let you go wash up shouldn't I?\"\n\n\"... yeah, I reek like a trashfire in a junkyard right now.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"\\*snrk\\* that you do. Hey, uh. You know where we're camped right?\"\n\n\"Yeah, southeast of the main camp.. by the river right?\"\n\n\\\u003e\"No I mean... Where OUR tent is...\"\n\n\"ohhh...\"\n\n\\\u003eYou feel that confused swell under your chest again, she makes it sound like the two of you have made a home together rather than just the convenient sleeping arrangements of the platoon outcasts.\n\n\\\u003eIn a way you have, you certainly feel more at home alone with her than you would with anyone else.\n\n\\\u003e\"Ya know what just... hold on a minute.\" She fishes around in her pockets and pouches, looking for something. Eventually she finds it.\n\n\\\u003eA surprisingly well kept notepad and a small ball point pen. She leans forward against one of the containers and holds the cap of the pen gently with her teeth.\n\n\\\u003eYou try not to stare at the way her hips roll as she efficiently scribbles down something.\n\n\\\u003eShe tears away the sheet she was drawing on and hands it to you as she caps the pen and stows everything back in her pockets.\n\n\\\u003eIt's a very simplistic, if well made map pointing towards a tent isolated from a clustering of its fellows. It sits a little north and closer to the river, nestled in a loose clearing of trees.\n\n\\\u003e\"The logistics guys don't exactly question certain arrangements if they get a signature from a scatter brained LT we both know.\"\n\n\\\u003eSo forgery is included on her ever growing list of talents? As long as she continues using it for a good cause it's fine. Right?\n\n\\\u003eAll in all, it's understandable for something scribbled down inside of 15 seconds, but you still need to wash so you start to move away.\n\n\\\u003e\"Wait!.. uh... before you go.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou turn back around to find her trying to mouth something but finding herself unsure over her mental drafting of what she's trying to say.\n\n\\\u003eShe timidly taps her claws together as her shoulders have sunk. She swallows and manages to find her voice.\n\n\\\u003e\"Would you uhhh.. would you. like to sleep with me?\"\n\n-[program:brain has encountered a problem and must shutdown]-\n\n-...-\n\n-[rebooting]-\n\n\"uhhhhhhhhhh\"\n\n\\\u003eAlmost immediately her ears flatten and she makes a very pitiable whine as she buries her face into her hands, trying to hide.\n\n\\\u003e\"NEAR ME, NEAR ME!\"\n\n\\\u003e\"FUCK! I AM SO SORRY.\"\n\n\\\u003e\"I-It's just spring is mating season and sometimes I get carried away and say things I don't mean to and I am so sorry!\"\n\n\\\u003eThe way she stammers and whines tugs at your heart but also brings a warmth towards your face, manifesting in a genuine smile.\n\n\\\u003eShe is adorable.\n\n\\\u003e\"andit'sjustwithallthesehormonesfloatingaroundandeverythingsometimesIdon'tknowifIcantrustmyselfandIlikeyou Imeannotlikelikenecessarilybutasagoodfriendan-\"\n\n\"Teth'ra!\"\n\n\\\u003eShe stops, and her vivid lakes of blue eye you with a rather genuine internal panic.\n\n\"Breath.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe takes your advice and starts sucking in great lung fulls of air. Her jaw quivers and her eyes are moist, she's on the verge of crying because of a simple mistake of words. She must really think that much of you.\n\n\"It's okay you fuzzy idiot.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe seems to take solace from your warm smile. Although initially you would have questioned and probably freaked out yourself with how forward she was being, the way she seemed to realize what she almost said bought such a bubbling happiness out of you, and you can't pin down exactly why.\n\n\\\u003e\"I just... I sleep better if someone is close to me, I know it must sound stupid but-\"\n\n\"Teth. You're fine.\"\n\n\\\u003eHer eyes shine at you with an appreciative light as relief washes out of her with a huff.\n\n\\\u003e\"I'm not even asking to um. Sleep in the same bed or anything. It's just with our cots pulled closer together...\"\n\n\"It's alright Teth'ra.\"\n\n\"If that's what you need for a good nights' rest.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe smiled slightly \"Thank you\".\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eOf course you knew that sleeping habits were only an excuse really.\n\n\\\u003eYou weren't stupid, she was interested in more, and you pondered over this as you washed up.\n\n\\\u003eShe wanted to get closer to you in some measure, but she wasn't sure how.\n\n\\\u003eShe wasn't scared of intimacy, but she seemed to whip herself into a frenzy worrying over everything else. The way she reacted to that freudian slip proved it.\n\n-she must really like you to get that flustered-\n\n-if we can just get her a little closer and-\n\n\\\u003eDown boy.\n\n\\\u003eShe may not even be looking for that sort of thing in you, you can't be sure.\n\n\\\u003eShe was bizarrely timid in that moment, scared senseless that she would scare you off.\n\n\\\u003eAdmittedly you had no idea how anthros selected their mates, it was all too foreign to you.\n\n\\\u003eWhat was clear was that she's intimidated by more of the subtleties surrounding genuine affection, and must worry that she's pressing too hard, among other things.\n\n\\\u003eAnd now your previous idea of just asking her what she wanted from you may not be the best call.\n\n\\\u003eYou would have to be patient, and let her come forward on her own terms. All you have to do is keep yourself receptive as she manages to talk enough courage into herself.\n\n\\\u003eYou finish up with scrubbing the grime out of your hair and skin, and manage to make your way out towards your accommodations for tonight.\n\n\\\u003eThe wind blows in, making you shiver as its icy feathers glide briefly over your drying skin. It carries distant sounds of battle with it.\n\n\\\u003eThe offensive is a rolling advance, while your units rest and recuperate, others take up the night fighting, pressing ever onward, a non-stop advance.\n\n\\\u003eThen it's right back to your rotation when they inevitably hit a roadblock outside of the valley.\n\n\\\u003eDoesn't matter, you can take on whatever the hell they throw at you.\n\n\\\u003eEven if you're dog tired and just want to pass out.\n\n\\\u003eThe tent was exactly where Teth'ra's little hand drawn map said it would be, separate from everyone else by a curtaining of trees.\n\n\\\u003eStepping in, nobody was around, and exhaustion screamed at you to just curl up and die for the night.\n\n\\\u003eThe place was reorganized from the way the two of you had it before. When she said she wanted to move your cots closer, she really did mean closer, the two of them were paired off with barely a hand-width between them.\n\n\\\u003eGuess that was a good sign, she didn't psych herself out and start withdrawing. The last thing she needed was to keep holding things in.\n\n\\\u003eBut if you're gonna be of any help to her in figuring herself out, you need your rest.\n\n\\\u003eYou changed into a fresh under uniform rather hurridly, lurched into your cot, pulled up the covers, and fell asleep almost immediately.\n\n  \n\n\\\u003cTeth'ra\\\u003e\n\n\\\u003eYou came back from your little scouting of the river to find Tom fast asleep. Like. really asleep.\n\n\\\u003eHe barely even managed to fit his sleepwear on, he must have been so tired.\n\n\\\u003eYou guess he absolutely has to be judging by the way some of the tankers at base were chattering excitedly about a Rumbler that had been jumping around knocking off battleframes left and right, like some supersized, omnicidal relative of The Rocketeer.\n\n\\\u003eFirst it was blitzing down a suburban throughway weaving through a hail of plasma fire, then it was jumping through an apartment building and disintegrating a frame wholesale.\n\n\\\u003eThen it was closing in and brutalizing a frame in the open, and finally pulling a fast one on an enemy ace. Which they psyched the event up as the enemy shattering in two with a single punch.\n\n\\\u003eAt that point you ditched your squad to go find their bunks while you rushed to go find him, because the mounting worry over him you had been cycling in your head was becoming unbearable.\n\n\\\u003eHe was entirely free of major injury, thank god, but still he was sensitive to the pressure of your embrace, and you had to ease off on that.\n\n\\\u003eIf you had the option you would hug the little smart-assed spitfire as tight as you could without breaking him, just to give him a very solid reminder he has someone to stay alive for now. And you do too.\n\n\\\u003eThe best part was he was actually opening up to you! All of those doubts you had about your awkward morning vanished as soon as he started teasing you about your own little nudges at him.\n\n\\\u003eAnd.. shit, you can't believe you actually got away with it.\n\n\\\u003eYou scent marked him, you absolute degenerate.\n\n\\\u003eOf course it wasn't anything obvious, and most of it probably came out when he washed, but you still did it.\n\n\\\u003eIt didn't scream 'this man is the sole property of Teth'ra Magual and she loves him very much, violators will be eviscerated' but it was a subtle hint to anyone that got close that another dog already had her eyes on him and they should keep a distance.\n\n\\\u003eYou wanted to do more, your heart clamored for more, but you had never really gotten this far with someone that was this accepting of your behaviors.\n\n\\\u003eYou needed to be careful, to restrain yourself, and build his trust in you.\n\n\\\u003eHe still did it, he twitched when you touched his shoulder, and he shrank in on himself when you moved to mark him. He's still scared.\n\n\\\u003eIn the back of his head, those minute but ever present fears still told him you were dangerous.\n\n\\\u003eThat needed to be out of the way, and you were getting better ideas of how to eliminate that bump in the road, then you could show him.\n\n\\\u003eJust how much his understanding meant to you, how genuinely loved you felt being around him. How much his stalwart friendship, his loyalty to defend you, his willingness to help heal what's broken in you, just made you want to tear his clothes off and go in with the sort of wild frenzy you could have when no one was listening.\n\n\\\u003eEasy girl... easy. He's not there yet, but at least he's showing feint signs of interest in you.\n\n\\\u003eHe's starting to see you as a woman, and you need to take it slow and let him adjust, to how exotic you must be to him.\n\n\\\u003eYou already get along like best friends, the two of your personalities mesh so well.\n\n\\\u003eAnd then there was the way you almost fucked everything up by slipping your composure at the exact wrong syllable.\n\n\\\u003ePersonally, you blame the sweat, you were practically drunk on his scent and it was hard to try and shoo it away from wearing down your self control.\n\n\\\u003eBut he laughed it off, and got you to calm down with that charming smile.\n\n\\\u003eurrrgh, that just made you want to jump on him again.\n\n\\\u003eBut despite your failing self control, you managed to stammer out what you had intended to say in the first place. And once he was out of sight you immediately went to the river to dip your head in the water and clear your thoughts.\n\n\\\u003eAnd now here he was, sleeping sound, so close to you.\n\n\\\u003eYou want to just slide the two cots together and shuffle over, hold him close again.\n\n\\\u003eEasy girl, take it slow, figure things out. Make sure that this will work before you pounce.\n\n\\\u003eIt's just like hunting, make sure your in a position that can even make the kill, clear a path around obstacles, hold back until the right time, and above all: before your time, take. it. slow.\n\n\\\u003eYou had to answer a lot of those critical questions first, evaluate him as a potential mate, make sure that he will be the one you can be truly happy with.\n\n\\\u003eYou can't fuck up that process, this was the rest of your life you were talking about. You can't rush it, not like you did the approach.\n\n\\\u003eThankfully, he seemed to be keeping reserved, and letting you lead. You needed that control, and it was already a point in his favor.\n\n-you can stop staring at him now, you creep-\n\n\\\u003eRight, only a complete psychopath watches people while they sleep.\n\n\\\u003eYou try to ignore the light feeling in your chest as you settle yourself in for the night.\n\n\\\u003eThese damn cots still make you feel like you're about to fall through them when you put your weight on the noisy things, but somehow they still manage to hold you up.\n\n\\\u003eYou didn't wake him, and you shift yourself towards your side to face him. Having a familiar scent and presence so close DOES help you sleep sounder, but you'd be lying if being able to get him to be okay with sleeping so close together didn't make your heart flutter.\n\n\\\u003eYou want to reach out and just feel the way his hair smooths down towards his skin, but you decide better of it.\n\n\\\u003eJust take it easy girl.\n\n\\\u003eTomorrow should be less of a panic attack waiting to happen, you're starting to move towards more open terrain, where you'll have every advantage in a fight you need.\n\n\\\u003eAnd he can watch over you more effectively too, his machine is anchored to your unit after all.\n\n\\\u003eBut above all: no more tunnel fighting.\n\n\\\u003eIf they tried to throw you into another hole in the ground, you were liable to commit treason.\n\n\\\u003eBut for now, you need your rest, you've been tired too.\n\n\\\u003eThe chirp of crickets and the distant burbling of that winding river provide a natural lullaby to carry away your more active thoughts.\n\n\\\u003eHis scent, and the knowledge of his proximity makes sleep slide over just a little easier.\n\n-you love him don't you?-\n\n\\\u003e... Maybe, you have to find that answer yourself.\n\n\\\u003ejust... take it. slow.\n\n  \n\n[-------------------------------------------------------------Chapter End-------------------------------------------------------------]","series":{"name":"Nights of Firefall","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1362076-nights-of-firefall-chapter-4.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1362084-nights-of-firefall-chapter-6.json"}}