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Sorry for the formatting. I must have fucked up typing this up. As always.

What is our current AP total?

>>3998787
And OF COURSE, I fucked THIS up as well.

FOE 04: LONGHORN
-Status: Operational (4 AP)
-Single Fire, Long Range, Kinetic Weaponry, Projectiles Only

That should be FIVE AP. 5 AP.

>>3998789
You turtled for one turn, so:

1 AP to start with. Plus 1 AP to add by turtling. Plus 1 AP from your Vanguard bonus. So 3 AP. But you have 3 identified Mechs and 1 unknown, so any movement is going to leave you open.

>>3998786
>>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence
tank out 1 more round and see if the last guy decides to make a move
and we'll have plenty of AP to shred someone as well

>>3998786
>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

You folks, as always, have another 7 minutes.

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You have to draw the last pilot one out.

The sensors are still scrambled. The identification matrix dips in and out of recognition, but it’s not hard to commit the configurations and models to memory. There are only four, after all. Even the most effective masking software couldn’t stop the eye-test. The caution from the computer alerts you of your current status as a hunted fox. Allowing the VI to take over the nav, you scour the battlefield and pepper odd spots with shots, hoping to flush out—

MISSILE ALERT! MISSILE ALERT!

There’s no time to avoid the barrage.

The shield … doesn’t hold up.

The Hellion groans as you try to rotate the Mech to protect its vitals. Visual and audible static invades your senses, the sirens warning you of armor breaches. You bring up an auxiliary monitor, checking the systems for fire warnings or excessive leakage. You’re not even sure if your body knows you’re falling at an angle. You’re moving so fast that seconds seem to expand into hours, but you’re able to regain your balance by the time your ass is pressed up against the tertiary console, hitting the jets and moving into a full, evasive counter. The hydraulics hold up, as do the gyros. The most damage was to the back of the right shoulder, but that was a given, as you’d just angled it to protect the circuits and connector joints. Your weapons hot and your axe activated, you find yourself in a more favorable offensive, albeit more worse for wear than you wanted to be at all.

Four to one, however, were still horrible odds.

But at least you know what they’re made of now.

FOE 01: STARFOX
-Status: Normal (6 AP)
-Mid Range, Melee, Skirmish, Energy Weaponry, Projectiles, Rapid Fire

And that had to be the Squadron Commander.

Mustering an offense would be hard, but the lack of precision weaponry on three of the four mech configurations made any tactical nuance less painful than it could have been. A sniper pair would have decimated you on site if they’d played you a lure, but you’d fallen into that trap too often to make the mistake again. Never again.

It doesn’t make it any easier, waving through plasma fire and trying to find a shooting solution.

The Kakashis are fast; faster than you. The torso rotation allows them more room for error on passes, barely nicking you as you try get a clear shot for yourself. Getting into melee range for a clean hit wasn’t an option with the Starfox. That configuration offered enough resilience to keep any assault take enough time for the rest to turn you into ribbons … and that sniper—

The comm turns red. Someone was trying to contact you.

The frequency is on a private channel. It registers as hostile.

Was it the Commander?

>Answer It
>Ignore It

>>3998834
>Answer It

>>3998834
>>Answer It

>>3998834
>>Answer It

>>3998834
>>Answer It

>>3998834
>>Answer It

Have we lewd any of our waifus?

>>3998834
>Answer It

I'll be running later. About ... 3, 4 hours-ish, God-willing. Had to sort out my travel plans over the weekend.

>>4004939
cool

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You open the comm.

The audio crackles to life.

‘Get down.’

>Write-In

>>4005919
>Get you Hellion prone.

>>4005919
>hit the deck

>>4005919
>Go prone

You switch the gyro-assistance VI to manual and release the console. The Hellion drops, as if tripping over a raised bit of pavement, landing forward from the momentum. It’s a silly move to make: wide open plains and being corralled into a kill-box by more experienced pilots, you’d pretty much made yourself a dead man with the flick of a switch. That is … until you see a high velocity AP shell rip through one of the Kakashis on your flank. Its missile rack—and the whole right side of its torso—splits open from the shot … and the pilot isn’t given a chance to recover as three successive shells turn the disoriented Mech from a salvageable engineering screw-up into a fireball. The other Kakashi moves past your Hellion, the RADAR display showing two of the remaining three Mechs moving from their attempt to corral you into a defensive counter, your battered Hellion a seemingly distant memory.

‘Their support’s on the move; engage. I’ll cover you.’

He’d done more than that.

>Engage the Starfox
>Engage the Kakashi
>Attempt to Engage the Longhorn

>>4005962
>Engage the Starfox

>>4005962
>>Engage the Starfox
eliminate the head

>>4005962
>>Engage the Kakashi

Reactivating the VI takes eons longer than you would have preferred, but you’re back in the fray with your weapons hot and your next target in sight. The Starfox, the more maneuverable of the two within direct engagement range, breaks off from the remaining Kakashi, likely unwilling to be caught in a cluster for an easy line-up for your savior. Four against one had turned into three against two, and in the three seconds since you’d restarted the pressure compensation, you find yourself in an ideal spot against the Starfox. You break right into their shaky formation, swiping—and missing—at your first attempt. Your shield is practically a shredded metal panel at this point, but it does enough to absorb the counter-attack. The Starfox is faster than you are, more maneuverable, but is unable to make full use of its advantages at such close quarters. Beam after beam fires at you, but at the current rate of fire, the lasers do less damage than a quick swing would have. This is, by every intent and purpose, what the Starfox is built for. It is the ultimate in Mech balance configurations for its weight class … but in a slugfest against the Hellion, it was just a matter of who breached the command pod first. The axis of your opponent rotates as they unleash another barrage upon you, thankfully peeling armor more than it damaged the hydraulics, gyros or joints. The Hellion is a clumsy beast, but only a fool would doubt the very reason it took eight decades for a conglomerate of worlds to agree upon a passable replacement.

Metallic fist meats steel plate as your Mech is rocked by the same impact you’d delivered, the both of you maneuvering in an awkward dance for dominance. The command pod shakes as you try to keep your Mech close, unwilling to allow the Starfox to break apart and unleash its fury from a more advantageous position. By all rights, it would have been the ideal option for the both of you to break apart from a spectator’s perspective … but you also knew that you’d be dead before you even drew the machine rifle for a return. You aren’t fast enough or agile enough to compensate the disadvantage … but you are able to grind it out with the best of them as you plug away for a gap to exploit. You don’t doubt that your opponent is trying to do the same.

Despite your bravado, you harbor no illusions that you are the inferior pilot.

At the same time … you refuse to believe that life and death were defined by merit alone.

You hope Wray keeps the other two long enough for you to at least keep the odds … manageable.

As Ryosuke always said ...

'Bring it.'

>[Engage in Melee]
>[Break-away for Mid-Range]
>[Break-away for Long-Range]
>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

>>4006007
>[Engage in Melee]

This is a new battle, by the way. If it wasn't clear. The last sequence was disrupted, so you're starting at, essentially, nil-nil.

>>4006007
>>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence
turtle for a turn and then hit him hard

>>4006007
>>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

>>4006007
>>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

Making do with a shield that had been peppered enough to resemble a misused cutting board is hard enough … but make do you do. You maneuver the Hellion’s arm left, parrying an incoming blow. You curse as you hit the throttle from a backpedal, finding that the Starfox’s pilot had changed tactics, instead feeling more comfortable engaging you at close quarters and burning through the Hellion’s armor one turn, one layer, at a time. For a military culture that had the mentality of ranged combat and formation superiority in mind, you had to admit that the Starfox had all but dismissed the perception of Alliance Military pilots lacking in the ways of direct combat maneuvering. Maybe it was the fact that they were in a more maneuverable Mech; maybe it was that the Hellion had gone through too much over its life to climb this last hill … but that didn’t discount that you were being pushed to your utter limits trying to bait the pilot into giving you that one strike.

A strike that, by the looks of things, that they weren’t intending on giving you at all.

The gyros and hydraulics scream as you juke the Hellion into a defensive counter, barely keeping your knee joints from getting ripped off by a—

‘Guh!’

You cry out as the feint does it job … and you’re immediately knocked for what you’re worth by a barrage of short-range missiles. The armor holds, but only just. If you’d gone on the offensive at the start, you would have only left yourself more open than you’d been before. Lucky. That is the word: you are lucky.

But by luck or not … you are still breathing, still fighting.

The fire safety systems are fully activated, greeting your nose with a sharp scent that almost makes you want to hack your organs out onto the floor. You switch on the filtration and auxiliary oxygen cycle, raising your axe to swipe the Starfox, who parries but retreats slightly for what you think—

‘By the Emperor’s left testicle!’

It’s a clumsy counter-move and an unconventional use of jump-jets … but you manage to throw yourself from another barrage of SRMs. The system reports the fruits of your attempt; that the upper leg structure is being closed to compromised by action.

Still, you are alive.

The sensors indicate more exchanges not two-hundred yards away; one bead dies in a mess of static, somewhere. The range data tells you it can’t be anyone but the Longhorn. Trust Wray to take less than five minutes to notch another kill.

All you now …

COMBAT DATA:
ALLY 01 [HELLION]
[VANGUARD] + 1 ACTION
[ENDURED ATTACK + 1 ACTION
[(END OF TURN) TOTAL ACTION: 3]

>Melee-Counter
>Engage in Mid-Range
>Engage in Long-Range
>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence
>Try to Disengage [2 AP]

>>4006107
>>Melee-Counter

>>4006107

>Melee-Counter

>>4006107
>Wait/Defer Combat Sequence

>>4006107
>>Melee-Counter

>>4006107
>>>Melee-Counter

>>4006107
>>Melee-Counter
give em a love tap

Just got back. Sorting out some kinks IRL.

You know the drill. Running in approximately 30-60 minutes.

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You elect to move on the offensive.

!!HOLD UP!!

I see that you’ve made it this far. Congratulations for enduring one of the most taxing tutorial lengths in the history of /qst/. Now that you’re on the attack, though, there’s one thing that I have to inform you: you’re not fighting alone. The current battlefield isn’t one on two; it’s two on two. Wray is an all-round fighter and willing to play your Lance.

ALLY 02: WHITESTORM (Darton Wray)
>SKILLS
-CLASS (PRIMARY): GUNNER 13
-CLASS (SECONDARY): SNIPER 7
-CLASS (TERTIARY): FIGHTER 5

Your Lance, as you do, starts with the same number of AP at the start. Whatever actions you take after may spend AP or even gain AP. Different types of actions, dependent on the result, may even allow your ally to move on the same turn and, with careful timing, could even be enough to utterly decimate your enemy. As before, classes come with drawbacks. You can choose Class Tendencies prior to combat initiation at no cost and may switch to others at the end of the unit’s at the cost of 1 AP. The exception to this rule is the SCOUT class. Any pilot in possession of the Scout class may switch at no cost, but switching ends their turn automatically.

LET’S GIVE THIS A GO!

>Choose sequence of action*

*Example:
1. Choose Ally Classes for Combat Sequence (Normally decided before entering battle)
2. Choose actions for each (Engage, Disengage, etc)
3. Initiate Combat
4. Resolve Combat
4a. Switch if you wish
5. Next Turn
6. Repeat from 2.

>>4007334
>Set Wray to Gunner
>have him finish off the Kakashi

>>4007334
Classes
>Set Wray to Gunner
>MC currently set to Vanguard

Actions:
>Wray:Engage Mid-range target Kakashi
>MC:Melee Counter/Melee Counter/Defer target Stardock

I think I've written this out correctly.

>>4007363
much better then mine

>>4007363
supporting this

>>4007363
Thank you for making my life easier. I can just play out the whole sequence.

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‘Your flank’s open; running interference.’

Wray engages the Kakashi, unleashing suppressive volleys with his rifle. His opponent returns it in kind, rotating its torso and turning itself sideways in a rudimentary run and gun maneuver. Hands on the throttle, you put your full attention on the Starfox, swinging and chipping away at your opponent in slow, calculated swings. Alliance Military Mechs were mostly vulnerable at this distance … but the pilot, whoever it was, was showing the mettle and skill of someone who was used to plugging up the defensive hole through sheer ability.

The Heat Axe rips at the chassis frame, sending bits and pieces of metal flying. The Starfox’s beams find their mark, but at points where your Hellion’s armor is still thick enough to shrug it off and for the dispersion field to take the rest. The heel of the blade hits the shoulder as the Mech blasts at you with enough abandon to plug away at the damned beast. The Starfox leaves itself open on a turn, giving you a clean swipe at its back. It doesn’t quite carve a slice … but you’re sure you hit a gear or a fuel system with that swing. The Starfox pilot elects to counter with an SRM volley, but it misses you by a wide, wide, mark … but by some damned stroke of luck, it gives you enough pause for the Starfox to throttle halfway into its ideal range … and poises itself for a follow up.

You fall back into a defensive stance, thrusters at the ready.

A blip disappears. Another kill for Wray … as expected.

>[INPUT ACTION]

>>4007408
>Keep close, don't let the Starfox get to it's preferred range and watch for an opening to carve it up.

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Someone wanted me to give the AP count with every "sequence over", so here it is:

>ALLY 01 (YOU):
(Vanguard) Start of Sequence (3 AP)
(Vanguard) Melee Attack [No Change In Distance] - 1 AP (2 AP)
(Vanguard) Melee Attack [No Change in Distance] - 1 AP (1 AP)
(Vanguard) Wait/Defer + 1 AP (2 AP)
(Vanguard) BONUS +1 AP (3 AP)
Note: [Next Turn: Wait/Defer (SKIP)]

>ALLY 02 (DARTON WRAY):
(GUNNER) Start of Sequence (6 AP)
(GUNNER) Mid-Range Engagement [Change of Distance] - 2 AP (4 AP)
(GUNNER) Beam Rifle - 2 AP (2 AP)
(GUNNER) KILL (Ranged Weapon) + 3 AP (5 AP)
Note: Action not decided yet

>[INPUT ACTION]

>>4007408
>Classes
>keep both the same
>Actions:
>>Wray:Engage Mid-range target Starfox
>>MC:defer/melee-counter

>>4007438
Supporting this

>>4007438
support

You only take the blows as you have to. Some scratched paint there, a peeled bit of metal there … the Hellion could live with it, and thus, so could you. You do your best to keep your opponent’s focused fixed on you, however. Or rather … to bait them into preemptive cut-offs to further persuade them into an offensive focus. Your shots aren’t accurate, and neither are your swings … but they’re enough for the pilot to keep a bead on you … and for your Instructor find his sweet spot.

‘Time.’

Wray’s onslaught melts the arm right off the Starfox. It wouldn’t have been able to, otherwise, but being double-teamed left a lot of openings for the Whitestorm to exploit. Wray’s aim is practically textbook; flawless. Right elbow joint; lower right torso; back of the right leg; back … each beam hits these spots twice, holes turning into escape points for desperate flames. The Starfox’s practically rips itself up at the lower right side, hanging onto the neck joint by the chassis’s melting remains. The pilot doesn’t eject from the Mech’s carcass. Judging by the wide, burning hole in the torso, you adjudge that he’d perished by the seventh shot … perhaps even before. The Starfox’s power plant ruptures by the time its knees hit the floor, the Mech toppling front-first and joining its fallen brethren; a silent, burning grave, unceremonious and still.

You’d survived.

Wray’s primary cannon is practically red with heat as his Whitestorm approaches your Hellion.

‘Engaging an enemy Squadron without a Lance of your own or auxiliary support. And you wonder why I didn’t recommend you for an assignment.’

You sigh, wondering if you could flip a switch and turn the channel right—

‘Sometimes I wonder if I should bother preparing my introductory classes at all. Seeing as you cadets forget my lecture the moment you get your hands on a throttle.’

You can’t help but …

Groan?

Laugh?

Sigh?

>Write-In

>>4010602
>Sigh. Comms were fucked, I had no way of getting you or anyone else. I was hoping the ruckus I was raising would bring help, which it did. I wasn't going to let those guys start shooting up more people if I could help it. But thank for pulling me out of the fire Commander Wray.

>>4010602
>>4010607
Supproting this.

>>4010602
Will support >>4010607

>>4010602
>"I could've taken em."

Session in approximately 45 minutes. Just got back from Singapore proper yesterday morning.

‘There was no way of calling for backup, sir. I had no choice but to engage—’

‘—or disengage,’ Wray cuts in, bringing his Mech the Hellion’s arm length away. ‘A combat situation at a significant numerical disadvantage is not to be undertaken without due cause; especially when retreat is an option. You could have been killed—’

‘—an acceptable action and loss, considering the alternative,’ you shoot right back, despite yourself. ‘If those Mechs had been allowed to proceed on their vector, Rhysode Alpha would have been—’

‘That does not discount the recklessness of your choice of action, Specialist.’

You bite back another retort, grumbling as you re-align the systems and put the hydraulics to work. The Hellion was battered, but—true to its eighty years of service—still had more than enough to trudge on to the next battlefield … and between another lecture from Darton Wray and an AP shell hitting your Mech’s groin, you’d rather take two of the latter than be talked down to after surviving two skirmishes in the span of an hour. You weren’t even out of your formals or ticked your first official assignment and here you were; being treated like a … a neophyte.

‘How’s the fighting going, sir?’

There’s a grunt on the other end of the comm.

‘Rhysode’s holding, but we’re ill-prepared to counter a drop of this magnitude. The Alliance Military’s jamming signals coming in and going out, so until the ODF is able to isolate the why, we’re going to have to make do. From what I heard, the skies are a war-zone, but the ODF’s been able to funnel their Mech drops, somewhat. It’s a mess, but the ODF’s somehow been able to cut it down to a slightly more manageable size by keeping the bigger drops from entering atmosphere. We still have quite a few that managed to break through the screen … but with the array and Kerensky up, we should be able to at least intercept the rest.’

‘The rest?’

‘We have six confirmed drops within the direct contact encounter zone of Rhysode Alpha. If we’re going to account for the unit at the array, the one that the both of us just blitzed and the one that this Whitestorm belonged—’

You feel like you’d never have a chance to ask again.

‘How did you … manage to get into that Whitestorm, sir?

‘With a knife,’ he rumbles, almost lazily, ‘and maybe thirty feet of c-grade cabling and a spork, if you want to get into specifics.’

‘I … I see.’

You raise your Hellion to full height.

‘On that, I sincerely hope that you’ve remembered to lock the external release on your command pod, Ensign.’

‘O-Of course, sir.’

You silently reach over to a small handle to the bottom right of your cockpit … and give it a gentle tug and turn.

‘Safety first.’

>Write-In

>>4023594
Where to now, Sir?

>>4023594
>>4023596
this is fine

>>4023594
>>4023596
supporting.

TESTING

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‘What’s our next move, then?’ you question further, raising your Mech to full height and giving the systems another quick once-over. ‘If there are three more Squadrons that made the drop, then we’d be—’

‘Right now, we’re going to sit back until the Watch Commander and the Governor’s able to get the local comm channels up and running,’ Wray declares, an authoritative quality laced around his irritated, reluctant tone; you could tell that he didn’t like the idea of standing around doing nothing anymore than you did. ‘As things stand, the ODF has been able to at least erect their defense against the invading forces. From the looks of things there’s only one Alliance Military Battlegroup that we’ll have to deal with … and no sense trudging around wasting power and fuel looking for a fight. Information is ammunition, and I’d rather have my satchel of bullets over feeling my way around with my palms, if that’s all the same to you.’

You can’t help but snort.

‘I think you’d manage just fine, sir … if you don’t mind me saying,’ you jest, turning your HUD to observe the Whitestorm’s battered, if still functioning form. You make out a few burn marks over the shoulder and a panel of metal pride off the top of the diaphragm, but otherwise, there isn’t much evidence of the Mech’s involvement in any firefight prior. Compare and contrast the Hellion, which was practically singed and peppered by all sorts of projectiles.

If there was any indicator of the gulf in piloting skill and experience between the both of you, one only needed to count the pockmarks on the paint job.

The Whitestorm turns its head towards your Mech, almost inquisitive in its motions.

‘Anything on your scopes?’

You glance at your monitor. The most you could see was—

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘I’ve been trying to cut into their frequency since I jacked this damned thing … but it looks like anything outside of an active connection to a dedicated tunnel net’s been knocked off its available comm options. Don’t know what kind of blackout op that they’re running, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The only reason that I’ve been able to lock on a comm with you is because the software at least allows me to host a channel without interference on a direct frequency. Doesn’t seem like the jam actively looks to cut its own, at least.

You nod. ‘I suppose that it’s an … unintended convenience that we can be thankful for.’

Another grunt. It really wasn’t.

You lean back, taking the first—

‘I have a read. Incoming, thirteen miles, east-south-east,’ Wray declares.

You’re already shifting the gears of the Hellion, ready for another skirmish. With the RADAR gone, you’re reduced to a more archaic method of identification: squinting very hard at your HUD.

A minute passes. No registration appears on your scopes.

You take a knee, loading the machine rifle’s first round of the fight.

Thirty more seconds. No word from Wray. The Whitestorm hadn’t even raised its—

‘Stand down, pilot,’ Wray commands. You do so, albeit in confusion. ‘We have friendlies in the area.’

A boom rumbles as an aerodyne escort craft breaks the clouds, accompanied by its wingman … and a convoy of tanks and transports comes fully into view. Your sensors are dancing an awkward pattern of recognition, but you’re able to make out half a dozen of them emerging from the dark edge of the horizon. You let out a sigh of relief, getting the Hellion back on its two feet.

‘Ensign?

‘Yes, sir?’

‘I believe this one’s looking for you.’

‘Huh?’

‘YOU IDIOT!’

Despite the gravity of the situation, you really can’t help but groan at the familiar sound of Miss Wilmots cursing of your noble name … through a patched connection, no less.

You stare at the wreckage of the downed Mechs. Maybe they’ll spring back to life and do you the mercy of not having to explain yourself.

>Write-In

>>4028154
>It wasn't my fault that an Alliance Battle Group decided to jam planet wide communications on graduation day.

>>4028154
>>4028180
this is fine

>>4028154
What did I do?

>>4028154
>>4028180
This

Typing up. Running a session in t-minus 40 minutes.

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It was amazing how they were able to set a command center up in the span of less than five minutes. An impromptu one lacking in many basic facilities, but it had enough functionality for you to give it a passing grade. At the very least, it had enough mechanics and engineers to give your Mech a—

‘By the Emperor, what is holding this thing together?’ one man quips; you can just envision the shock and revulsion in his voice as he undresses a panel on the Mech.

‘Imperial engineering and practicality, my boy,’ a senior engineer speaks up, his drone hauling a plethora of tools threatening to spill from their cases. ‘The Hellion’s been in service for eighty years for a reason. She can take more than what those damned fools can dish out.’

‘We’re on a schedule, crew, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get these locks fixed before any of the enemy spotters get a read on the overheat. Simkins; Willard; reactor check!’

You run a hand through your hair as your feet kiss the grass, looking around for—

Ah. There she was.

Sansa Wilmots, clad in ruined formals underneath an over-sized ODF staff jacket, marches right up to you, the cloak of the thirty-hour cycle doing nothing to mask the clear fury her eyes. You raise your hands defensively, palms forward, silently praying that the bulk of her grievances regarding your conduct had been released in the—

‘You bloody idiot,’ Sansa cries out, practically repeating herself as you familiarize yourself with the feeling of her fists bouncing off your chest. ‘Just what were you thinking?’

‘Nothing beyond the scope of what was necessary,’ you reply, cynical and calm. ‘You’re saying that as if there was a choice in the matter.’

‘I thought you were dead,’ she yells, briefly catching the attention of the scurrying ODF and auxiliary support staff, punching you in the gut and … proceeding to find that it was bereft of her usual energy. ‘There were reports of drops all over the primary continent and they said that you and Fisher were at the … at the …’

She breaks down … briefly. The spotlights shine her maroon, tear-streaked face for a three-second interval that knocks on eternity, before she hisses and looks away, wiping whatever evidence of it with one swift motion. Sansa glares right at you, daring you to respond anymore than you already had … to which you, now a man of a higher standing than you had been several hours prior, do not. Women were strange creatures, but sometimes one had to lose a battle to—

Her arms coil around you like snakes, her balled fists knocking your spine like aggressive hammers.

‘You … jerk.’

—to win a war.

‘Ah … um …’

>‘How’s everyone else? Ryosuke? Lucion?’
>‘Why’d you come out here? You know it isn’t safe.’
>‘I … I’m sorry for making you worry.’ (Empathic)
>‘Sansa, this is unnecessary.’ (Detached)
>Write-In

>>4028662
>>‘I … I’m sorry for making you worry.’ (Empathic

>>4028662
>>‘I … I’m sorry for making you worry.’ (Empathic)

>>4028662
>>‘I … I’m sorry for making you worry.’ (Empathic)

>>4028662
>Considering that we had a Stealth Bartholomew dropped on our head, Morrigan and I are very lucky to be alive. I am glad to be alive to see you.

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‘I’m … sorry for causing you to worry so,’ you let out, awkwardly. Sansa relinquishes her hold on you as a result of your vocalized understanding, wiping the remnants of her worry from her cheeks before stepping away, her rapid intakes of breath audible—

She was cold.

‘You’re cold,’ you point out, brilliantly putting your observations into the most obvious statement imaginable. ‘Should I—’

‘I’m fine,’ she lets out, more gruffly than a young woman should ever manage to sound … before turning her head upwards to the cloud-filled sky. ‘I’m more worried about what’s about to …’

She trails off, looking away. For a while, there’s only the sound of shuffling boots trampling on the ground and the clatter of tools and parts to go with the humming of assisting drones. You take the chance to observe her disheveled manner of dress. Her hair had been undone from its usual ponytail for the most part and her dress had noticeably frays and tears along the hem and waist. It’s nothing, of course … nothing like what you and Fisher (and Rosaria and Memphis) had gone through in the last few hours, but you feel as though you should …

Well, that you should notice something.

‘Your dress,’ you point out, your voice more mechanical than you intended to communicate. ‘It’s ruined.’

You close your eyes as you give yourself a mental slap. Was there no wonder that women weren’t all that attracted to you in your tenure as a cadet … despite your prestigious upbringing? You can only imagine the mantras girls recited to themselves putting up with your lack of … elegance. You were arrogant and prideful on your worse days and awkward and irritable on your best. It’s a wonder that you had acquaintances of Sansa’s quality tolerating you at all.

Sansa, to her credit, doesn’t immediately wilt at your—and you have no other word for it—accusation.

‘Oh,’ she starts, tucking her loose strands of hand behind her hair. ‘I … I’m sorry, I was just in a rush and—’

You frown as you notice something off, grabbing her wrist and pulling her elbow up, revealing a deep, dark mark on her—

‘You’re hurt?’ you rumble dangerously, observing the stain; it couldn’t have—

‘It’s just activated coolant,’ she replies neutrally, pulling her hand away.

‘Oh,’ you let out, feeling embarrassed. You sniff the air, smelling a slightly sterile odor from the woman next to you. ‘You rode with the engineers, did you?’

Sansa nods, rubbing her elbow.

‘The convoy was short a medic,’ she explains neutrally. ‘I volunteered.’

‘Ah … right, yes. Obviously.’

‘Hm,’ she hums, rubbing the back of her neck.

‘The city; is it …’

‘As well as you … expect it to be on such short notice,’ Sansa reveals. ‘What’s … going on? Why are they attacking?’

>>4028770
>'Because they're two-faced scum. You don't really need to venture further than that.' (Enraged)
>'First strike, establish a forward operations ... first step to a grand execution of a grand war.' (Textbook)
>'Tactically, it doesn't make sense. Rhysode has no strategic value. At best it's a secondary base for an AEGIS operation under emergencies.' (KNOWLEDGE [Observation])
>'What I'm more confused at is that why there's only one Battlegroup up there. If this is an op, then the scale's too big for a surgical strike. Half a dozen drop-ships and a black-out ...' (KNOWLEDGE [Observation])
>'Their motive isn't of our concern. The only thing that matters now is that we push back.' (Direct)
>'I don't know.'
>Write-In

>>4028776
>'What I'm more confused at is that why there's only one Battlegroup up there. If this is an op, then the scale's too big for a surgical strike. Half a dozen drop-ships and a black-out ...' (KNOWLEDGE [Observation])

>>4028776
>>'What I'm more confused at is that why there's only one Battlegroup up there. If this is an op, then the scale's too big for a surgical strike. Half a dozen drop-ships and a black-out ...' (KNOWLEDGE [Observation])

>>4028776
>>'What I'm more confused at is that why there's only one Battlegroup up there. If this is an op, then the scale's too big for a surgical strike. Half a dozen drop-ships and a black-out ...' (KNOWLEDGE [Observation])

>>4028776
>'Tactically, it doesn't make sense. Rhysode has no strategic value. At best it's a secondary base for an AEGIS operation under emergencies.' (KNOWLEDGE [Observation])

>>4028776
>>'Tactically, it doesn't make sense. Rhysode has no strategic value. At best it's a secondary base for an AEGIS operation under emergencies.' (KNOWLEDGE [Observation])

>>4028776
>>'What I'm more confused at is that why there's only one Battlegroup up there. If this is an op, then the scale's too big for a surgical strike. Half a dozen drop-ships and a black-out ...' (KNOWLEDGE [Observation])

Running in a bit.

File: Distressed Mistress.jpg (499 KB, 1722x2435)

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‘What should be more on everyone’s minds is why there’s only one Battlegroup up there.’

Sansa creases her brows, the movement practically invisible from the darkness.

‘That’s … odd?’

You nod, looking around before crossing your arms. It’d been a while since you brushed up on your history of the Alliance Military and AEGIS operations, but even as a mere enthusiast, it was easy to see the inconsistencies in the invasion’s scale and alleged objectives. Isolating a world’s communications capabilities was nothing new (Even if the technology certainly was), but …

‘It feels too … middle-of-the-road to be … I don’t know how to explain it any better, but it doesn’t feel right at all. The scale’s too wide to be a surgical strike on an objective, and taking a planet that’s this deep within the Imperium’s borders is a big ask without an established forward base within the periphery from a logistics perspective … but it’s too small to qualify as your typical invading force. There’s something—’

‘Specialist,’ you hear, in that familiar gruff, monotone grumble. Darton Wray stands next to two fully-equipped auxiliary officers, some eight feet away from you. He communicates a small gesture with his chin, jabbing the blunt tip towards a newly-erected tent by one of the transports.

>‘Just a minute, sir.’ (Stay with Sansa)
>‘Sansa, I …’ (Go to Wray)
>Write-In

>>4029597
>>‘Sansa, I …’ (Go to Wray)
>Kiss her before you go do your duty

>>4029602
Supporting.

>>4029597
>>4029602
this.

"Stay safe."

>>4029602
sounds good to me

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‘Sansa, I have to—’

‘I know,’ she says, wearing a wry smile as she looks down.

You open your mouth, already forming the words of apology for your younger mistress … only to relent at the last moment. She’d probably heard enough excuses out of you coming from that cockpit exchange than she cared for the rest of her voluntary tenure as your lover. You let out a sigh, giving Wray a nod of affirmation, understanding that any need that he had of you had no attribute of delay for your comforts. You were in the thick of it now … and even for Sansa, you would not be allowed to wait.

You wrap her in as warm an embrace you can muster, planting a gentle kiss against the side of her head, before relinquishing your hold on the medic-in-training and striding towards your Commanding Officer … who wears a curious gaze, spying over your shoulder with a slight frown before eyeing you with an even odder look: one laced with confusion.

‘Sir,’ you start, throwing up a salute.

‘I thought you and Instructor Fisher were together?’

You practically swallow your nose at his words.

‘S-Sir?’

How did he—

‘Never mind,’ Wray backtracks, much to your relief; the last thing you wanted was a lecture by your former Instructor in regards to your wandering of the wilderness of lust and romance. He follows up with a gesture for you to follow, to which the two accompanying officers spread out to accommodate your addition to the formation.

You arrive at the table not a few seconds later … where a very beleaguered young man, lacking the possession of even half a decade’s head-start, tries to organize the engineers and mechanics into a proper platform of performance. He was an auxiliary ODF officer, by the looks of things … one in possession of an emergency standard in the event of crises. You hadn’t particularly memorized the details of the ODF’s structure (formal or informal), but considering the credentials he wore on his literal collar, you decide not to make a cutting remark regarding the defense against the siege. The Watch Commander had let them slip right under his nose; how could you blame a ground-bound officer of lacking?

‘Muller,’ Wray starts, leaning over the table. ‘Anything else since?’

The young man—and he is the first one in existence to have likely done so—shakes a fist in the direction of your superior, bringing it down upon the deactivated flat display.

‘Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds ago I gave you an answer,’ he shrills, voice more akin to an irritated neighbor than a man in charged of a whole unit. ‘Is there some blockage in your higher function that you’d think I’d have a different one four minutes and twenty-eight seconds after I gave you an answer?!’

‘Anything else?’ Wray repeats.

The man’s features practically erupt at Wray’s words.

>>4029757
>'Excuse me, sir, I'm not quite up-to-date. Commander Wray is just asking on my behalf.' [Diplomatic]
>'Thank you for patching my Mech up.' [Run Interference]
>'You're speaking to a legend. I'd prefer if you'd address him with at least a modicum of respect.' [Annoyed]
>'Sir.' [Announce your presence, play at formalities, be professional]
>Keep your silence. They seem familiar enough with one-another
>Write-In

>>4029763
>>'Sir.' [Announce your presence, play at formalities, be professional]

>>4029763
>'Sir.' [Announce your presence, play at formalities, be professional]

>>4029763
>>'Sir.' [Announce your presence, play at formalities, be professional]

>>4029763
>'Sir.' [Announce your presence, play at formalities, be professional]

File: A BASE FOR ANTS.jpg (27 KB, 250x246)

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‘Sir,’ you declare, standing at attention and throwing up a salute. The man—Muller—pushes his weight off the display, turning his pale features and shock of orange hair to face you, still looking very exasperated. You’re not quite sure if you’d made the right decision, stepping between two people in the middle of an argument (especially with the both of them in possession of an official standing beyond your mere title of Specialist-slash-Ensign) … but you had more pressing concerns to attend to over that of the nature of your interjection. ‘Reporting for duty.’

He scrutinizes you for a brief moment … before giving a nod of acknowledgment.

‘You’re the pilot that defended the array, aren’t you?’

Your shoulders involuntarily stiffen as you broaden your chest, heels clicking as you turn your gaze upward.

‘I … I was present at the array’s defense, yes,’ you answer, feeling your throat itch.

‘Good job on that,’ he commends, the words of praise sounding almost strange after five years of ear-cleaning. ‘I wouldn’t have known what to do if you weren’t able to repel that attack. Couldn’t have been an easy sell by what the Watch Commander told me.’

‘The Watch Commander … communications are up?’

‘I wish,’ he growls irritably, running a hand through his orange strands. ‘Whatever they’ve been doing to jam our comms, it’s been enough to catch anything incoming, outgoing and within. Never seen anything like it. Jamming a region’s communication, but the wide net they’ve thrown on us is practically unheard of unless it’s a blanket hack, but from what I’ve been told, they’ve been able to patch through to each other just fine. Most we’ve been able to get out is the odd distress signal or brief comm exchange, but those get cut out as soon as I so much as sneeze a sentence. Don’t even get me started on the RADAR. It’s been Hell trying to organize a defense … and I don’t even want to think about what the other cities are going through.’

‘Nothing’s changed, then,’ Wray observes, grimly. ‘Only tunnels possible are through active hosting and direct channels; limited range.’

The man, Muller, throws up his hands, hissing.

‘Yes,’ he practically spits out. ‘Just like I told you five minutes ago.’

‘Continuous battle updates are standard procedure.’

‘Ya bald—’

‘Sir,’ you start again, catching his attention before he could conjure up another curse-word. ‘How were you able to communicate with the Watch Commander if there wasn’t any—’

‘Met him on the way out,’ he reveals. ‘Rhysode Alpha’s under total lockdown and the AEGIS Academy isn’t any better off. I could see the fires from the exit point.’

‘The Academy—’

‘Not so hot outside of those metal coffins, are you?’ he snorts.

Your teeth creaks as your hands ball into fists.

>[Punch him]
>[Stay Calm]
>Write-In

>>4029880
>Sir if you are trying to pick a fight, I'd be more than happy to beat the crap out of you AFTER this is over. Now what's the plan to end this attack before more of the city and academy becomes casualty statistics?

>>4029880
>[Stay Calm]

He's trying to get a rise out of us.

>>4029880
>>4029886
Oh this is nice

>>4029880
>>[Stay Calm]

>>4029880
>[Stay Calm]

>>4029880
>Punch him

Talk shit get hit

Typing up now. Running proper in approximately 15-30 minutes. Sorry, was going to do it just now but I sort of forgot to pick up my kitten's new meal formula.

You let out a sigh, staying your hand. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t justify the action to yourself, but … you’d be an idiot to deliberately sow discord where chaos had reaped its first harvest. You grip the edge of the display, keeping your silence and glancing towards the stoic features of your commanding officer before slumping your shoulders, eager to get the briefing—if this could even be called as much—over and done with. There was no telling just how long this lull would last … but the corpses in orbit that had made it possible in the first place would probably be less appreciative if you wasted it getting into a heated argument when you should be working towards the common objective of the planet’s defense.

‘Muller.’

‘Right, right,’ the man huffs, pressing some keys on the panel and prompting a holographic display of a sphere to pop up, red, blinking beads indicating … no, you recognize this. It was a display of Rhysode and those red beads were population centers: Alpha, Beta … even Jetdom’s hometown. ‘That’s as much as we’re able to get.’

Wray crosses his arms over his chest, furrowing his brows before tilting his head towards Muller, who merely offers a tight nod in response.

‘So, it’s as you said … nothing.’

Muller hums, scratching his chin.

‘No reports from the ODF either, right?’

‘Complete blackout, sir,’ one of the officers, a man in a helmet and face-mask standing next to Muller in an auxiliary uniform, pipes up. ‘Nothing outside of the odd comm that gets—’

‘—that gets through. That’s some powerful tech that they’ve been able to get. Are public channels still hooked?’

‘Nothing that goes up or needs an interstellar boost out of the solar system with the tachyon gates’ll go, but in general, the public lines are … well, they’re as safe as you’d expect them to be,’ Muller chimes, crossing his arms. ‘If we get a signal out, it’ll only be a matter of minutes until we’re traced. The only channels that work are short-range band connections, but unless we’re looking to return to smoke signals by the end of the week Empire-wide, I suggest that we try to find something that works.’

‘So everything’s on the fritz except the corporate lines … which bounce off anyway and …’

‘Yeah, nothing doing any other way. The jamming appears to follow some kind of recognition algorithm to shut down specific types of communications within its net. Unfortunately, with Rhysode’s population centers being so spread out’—he indicates a few of the red blips—‘we can’t even run under their detection by shadowing the public lines. They’d find us in a second.’

‘We have three surviving Alliance Military Squadrons that have achieved touchdown,’ Wray announces. ‘We can’t mount a proper defense unless we’re able to …’

File: Ashes of Rhysode Front.jpg (99 KB, 960x800)

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‘Not really easy to solve a problem you can’t just tear apart behind a console in a command pod, huh?’

Wray gives Muller a withering glare, prompting him to click his tongue and look away. You can’t help but silently thank Wray for finally putting his foot down. Muller follows his action

‘In order, our priorities are the reestablishment of communication on the world-wide communications net, the rallying of a defensive force to repel the invaders and to keep our op under the proverbial scope so the remaining Alliance Military Mech Squadrons don’t snipe us before we achieve the first two. I say that the last one’s a good kick-off point, so let’s focus on that.’

Wray nods, unfolding his arms and allowing them to drop to the side before pressing them on his hips, giving the display a solemn—

‘What do you think, Ensign?’

>‘I think that the best thing to do is hunt the Squadrons down. We’re sitting ducks here. Seek and destroy.’
>‘We need to try and get comms up first. There’s no way that we can fight in this state, even if we do knock the Squadrons down.’
>‘I … don’t know, sir.’
>‘What do they want from Rhysode?’
>Write-In

>>4031910
>>‘We need to try and get comms up first. There’s no way that we can fight in this state, even if we do knock the Squadrons down.’

>>4031910
>‘What do they want from Rhysode?’
>Things are very weird. A Battle Group is both oversized and undersized for standard objectives. Trying to reestablish comms and hunting down the Squadrons might be both playing into whatever they have currently planned.

>>4031910
>>‘We need to try and get comms up first. There’s no way that we can fight in this state, even if we do knock the Squadrons down.’
>>Write-In
Rosaria was able to find a way to break that initial jamming. Perhaps she can come up with a way to spoof the comms blackout?