The Pack

Moebius. Go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.

We all know this setup, right? The super-futuristic virtual reality MMO slash theme park, the kind Ernest Cline wrote about and then Spielberg made into that godawful movie. Well, guess what? When you get the brightest and best minds from Blizzard, Sony and Nintendo in a room, that shit's inevitable. And it happens fast, lemme tell you that. The first build for Moebius only rolled out five years ago, and it's only gotten bigger since.

My name? Look that up yourself. My Creds are right there. That's 'credentials', by the way - name, age, gender, world location. Guess the way to solve online identity shit was to throw up your hands and go 'fuck it'. But it's easer to go by my handle - Wolf. Trust me, that'll make sense later.

I started like anyone else did - a casual. Got the start-up kit as a Christmas present. Nothing fancy - tactile feedback gloves, standard visor, motion tracking pad. And for a while? That was enough. The novelty of instantly going into fantasy land made up for all the shortcomings. Okay, so I was really in the basement fumbling around with subpar equipment. But at the push of a button, I could go from flying in outer space to fighting pirates on the high sea. It was amazing.

When I began, I did what I imagine tourists do in a new country. I wandered around, got mixed up in shit, took part in things I barely comprehended. I went on a few raids, got some kills, made some bucks. Died a lot, too. I was pretty pathetic at first, with no idea about stats or weapon specialisation, so anyone could wipe the floor with me. I only got traction when I dug my heels in and got decent at duel handguns, but I still hadn't a dime's worth of a clue.

Then I met Asuka.

God, I know that sounds so fucking cliché. Innocent flower meets snarky vet, romance sparks. But sit your ass back down, because that happened.

We met on the Killing Fields. That's the big PVP server, but unofficially we call it the Meat Grinder. It's where you go to rack up kills and hoover up Moebits - the game's currency. It got the name because you throw yourself in over and over, adding to the pile of virtual corpses until you get a lucky streak. And then you log out with your hard-earned cash before you get shanked by some smart-ass griefer or a pro who's been playing since open beta. It's mad, it's wild, and it's a lot more fun than Vegas.

So there I was, about to get my ass handed to me by a thirty-five year old man from Kentucky. And then this blur of white and red flashes past, and the brick shithouse he's picked for an avatar is lying at my feet. I must have stood there for like five seconds, looking like the stupidest motherfucker in the room. A miracle nobody saw me and ganked me. Then I turn around and see this thing that looks like it walked out of a bad anime. Skinny, short black hair, fox mask, massive fuckoff katana that would break a real person's wrist.

We stare at each other for ten seconds.

Then she speaks, and she spoke English so well it was hard to tell she was Japanese.

"Need some help?"

The best response I could manage was "Er, sure."

"Great! I'm Asuka, by the way!"

And then she taught me how to pop a guy in the head from ten yards off. It was magic.

Survival

"The Fog sets in..."

Valeria Irida Lombardi didn't move from her position at the window. But at the sound of the horn and the booming voice, she stole a glance at her wrist display. Thirty contestants left. And she'd only eliminated one so far. This was a poor showing by her standards - she'd did far better on her good days. Four or five at the most. The payout would be below average.

Forehead furrowed, the blonde woman looked over her shoulder at the glowing Forge. The announcement meant little on the face of it. She'd travelled far enough into the centre from the edges of the Fog - she didn't have to move yet. But she knew others would be mounting up, looking to get out of its range as the circle drew tighter. Some of them would see the smoke rising from her location, and hear the clank of the magically-animated hammer. She might as well have painted a giant bullseye on her rear, for all the attention she would attract.

Fourty more seconds. Too long. If somebody came here, then all of the shards she'd spent would be wasted. And she was out of armour potions, though her chestplate still bore a few dents. She needed to hang on until-

She glanced back as she heard the sound of hooves.

A Warrior. Valeria didn't know his name - not that it mattered. He was part of one of those three or four-person groups, the ones who popped in, had their fun and popped right out again. Probably a new guy getting shown the ropes by his friends. But he'd seen the smoke, and was making a direct beeline for it, down the cobbled path. Out in the open, weapon holstered and making no effort to stay inconspicuous.

Rookie mistake.

She fired before he'd even reached the level of the adjacent trees. The bullet's impact knocked him right off his horse - the animal, a mere magical contstruct, fell apart in a blaze of dust and light. He hit the ground roughly, one hand reaching for the revolver on his hip. Obviously high-level - he'd eliminated somebody for it. But he was panicking, head darting, trying to tell which direction the shot had come from.

Valeria didn't give him the chance. She lifted her free arm, and the magic sizzled in her hand before rushing out towards him in a fireball. That, he saw coming - and he saw her, too, on the upper window. He crouched for the briefest moment, then sprang into the air with rocket force, sailing over the explosive burst of the projectile hitting the earth. His weapon was aimed in her direction - he was hoping to fire on her as soon as he reached the peak of his jump.

She fired first.

The shot struck him square in the head. His body exploded in the same puff of shimmering dust his horse had, and when it disappated a blue-feathered chicken dropped out of the air instead. The bird hit the ground with a squawk, flailed in the dust for a moment, then picked itself up and began flapping the other way, looking to escape. Valeria traced its intended route easily, and it only took another shot to put the thing out of its misery.

Two eliminations. A little better, but not by much.

Reloading, Valeria took note of the items her victim had been carrying. Not bad. The boots and chestplate left a lot to be desired, but his weapons were pretty good. The revolver, again, had come from a more experienced player, but his blunderbuss had been forged to a nice standard. A pity, really - shotguns were never her style. The rest, she'd have to disenchant. Perhaps there was enough to make some more armour potions-

Her ears caught the creak of wood under weight. Despite herself, panic flared through her.

Someone was coming.

She turned and ran for the stairs-

THUNK.

-only to give a yell as the crossbow bolt struck her straight in the upper arm. Her rifle dropped from her hands, clattering to the floor, and she grasped the projectile in reflex. Through the agonized haze in her vision, she saw the brunette hair of a Hunter, and heard the click of her reloading the weapon she was carrying. But the blonde didn't give her the chance to fire again - she raised an arm, and a wall of rock sprung up between her and her attacker, which she quickly ducked down behind.

Despite the pain, Valeria's mind was racing. Her new friend must have been with the Warrior. The poor bastard had been a distraction - she must have taken the chance to sneak into the house through another way. Assuming they were in team, that meant the others - two more, most likely - weren't far behind. She'd have to take this one out quickly, or else she'd be caught in a three-vs-one situation at the very worst.

A smirk crossed her face at the thought. She'd been waiting for a challenge.

The Mage hunted down further, every muscle tensed. The footsteps of the other woman coming up the stairs were like gunshots in the back of her mind. The glancing blow from the crossbow had been bad enough - a direct hit would put her out of the running for good. And in the confines of the house, long-ranged weapons were out of the question. She'd need to disarm her attacker quickly, and then finish her off before she could attract the attention of others.

Close combat, then. Okay. First order of business - get her away from the Forge.

And the best way to do that...

Valeria waited until she heard the Hunter near the top of the stairs, then moved. The rock wall crumbled - dismissed by its caster - as the blonde threw herself over it like a panther leaping for a gazelle. The brunette was tackled off balance with an "OOF!" before she could react, and the crossbow flew through the air, knocked from its owner's grasp. Both women went down together, tangled up in each other, cries of pain following the tumbling ball's journey to the ground floor as they bumped and bounced down the wooden stairs.

Even as the world somersaulted crazily around her, Valeria drew her knees up to her chest and braced herself. She felt her back slam into the floor, the impact and the other woman's weight on her driving the wind from her lungs and folding her in half. But this was the position she'd wanted. With a grunt of effort she pushed her feet hard into the Hunter's stomach, straighting her legs out and throwing her off. She was sitting up before the brunette had hit the floor, pistol in hand, firing off purple bolts in her enemy's direction.

But the interloper had been thinking on her feet, too. Whilst some of the bolts stuck into her, she'd started rolling to one side the moment she heard the weapon firing, and most of them missed. She was on her feet in an instant, face contorted with pain and anger.

"You bitch!" she shrieked, and drew a sword. It was large, a little too large, and she visibly hunched as she took it in both hands and charged.

Good. Valeria was starting to think this was going to be difficult. The Hunter, she thought, should have tried to retrieve her weapon, which had just crashed down at the foot of the stairs. But she was angry, blindingly so. And the Mage could tell when somebody, too used to fighting at range, didn't know how to use a sword. 

She ducked under the first swing and fired some more bolts into the brunette's midsection, causing her to stagger. The second swing was even more sloppy as the poison took effect, and Valeria caught it with one arm and kicked the blade free from the hands that grasped it. She lifted her own weapon, but the Hunter suddenly ducked, and the Mage was promptly tackled around the midsection, dropping the pistol as she hit the floor. She'd underestimated her foe's tenacity, and the other woman now straddling her stomach clearly wanted to spite her for the earlier tumbling. 

But, slowed by poison, she only got off two good punches before the blonde grabbed her shoulders and rolled the both of them across the floor. In the confusion that followed, the two women somehow rose back to their feet, grappling hard before pushing apart. Daggers were drawn, and steel clashed furiously against steel. This was not how either of them wanted this to go, but in the confines of the house their usual tactics were out of the question. And it was only a matter of time before somebody else came along or the Fog rolled in again. There was too much to lose for them to worry about finesse.

Things seemed to turn when the Hunter kicked Valerie down, sending her sprawling across the floor towards the stairs. With a cry of triumph, she brandished her dagger and dashed towards where her opponent lay prone.

And found her own crossbow pointed at her face.

BANG, BANG.

Blue feathers covered the floor where the Hunter had stood. Valeria let out the breath she'd been holding, then rose into a sitting position and nursed her bruised midsection. The crossbow bolt in her arm had fallen out at some point, and a trickle of blood flowed from the wound. Damn. If it hadn't been for that, she would have gotten this done quicker. And then there was the whole 'tumble-down-the-stairs' thing, which various parts of her body were screaming at her for. Oh, well, work with what you have.

The Hunter's equipment lay in front of her. None of it was really worth replacing her standard gear for. But the Shards from it, combined with that of the fallen Warrior, would probably be enough for a better set of armour. Picking herself up, the blonde Mage reached over and touched each piece in turn, the objects dissolving into golden crystals with a chink noise that rang in the silent house.

...the silent house?

Valeria paused, and listened. And, in hearing the song of unsuspecting birds and the rustle of the wind, she missed the clang of iron on iron.

The Forge had stopped.

Abandoning her quest, Valeria turned and ran back up the stairs. Her knees protested at the action, still annoyed at having to briefly bear another person's weight. But she pushed herself, knowing that it would be worth it when she got there. She'd had the thing set to craft a new weapon, one that she knew would give her an edge. And as she mounted the top step, her heart sang as she imagined how much easier this would be, how many more eliminations she would-

She skidded to a stop.

The anvil was bare. Nothing on it.

Cold horror set in as, realizing what it meant, she turned.

"Hello, love," purred the Assassin, and opened fire.

-------

Valeria jolted awake.

Her first instinct was to claw for her weapon, but there was nothing there. Then, her mouth feeling dry and tickly, she spat, and stared as blue feathers felt into her lap. The feel of a duck down mattress beneath her told her everything she needed to know, as did the sudden lack of pain in her body.

She was back on the island. Eliminated.

She didn't even stop to make remarks to the others who had been laid up. She simply jumped off the bed and stalked out of the door. A young Warrior flinched as she passed, but she paid no attention.

The controller, a diminuitive and elderly goblin, was waiting for her when she left. He was sitting behind a podium too many sizes to large for him, which made him look as ridiculous as it was possible to look. A pair of goggles sat on his forehead, just above his bushy, snowy-white eyebrows. Most of his face was hidden behind a beard, which was probably a good thing. Because Valeria might have taken his sympathetic smile to be a patronizing one and punched him.

"Twenty-seventh, Valeria," he remarked as she approached. "Don't worry, we've all had our bad days. But you had a good showing, and-"

He was interrupted when a bag of gold coins was thrown onto his desk. He looked up, and saw the fire burning in the woman's eyes.

"Again," she demanded, her voice a low tiger's growl.

The controller frowned. "Miss Lombardi, you've been competing for five hours straight. You need to-"

"Again."

There was a long pause akin to the one before a thunderbolt strikes.

Then the goblin sighed and reached for a microphone under his desk. It was something he'd done many times before.

"Control to Flight 83, requesting a reserve seat for Valeria Lombardi..."

Danger Zone Part 2

"Hey."

No. Shut up. Just go away.

"Hey, kid."

Go away. It's nice here. All dark and warm. I don't wanna-

"Kid, don't make me try to perform CPR."

Something was lightly slapping Ryuga's face. When his eyes finally cracked open, his vision was white and hazy. Then, as he blinked, the fog cleared and the world came back into focus. He was still in the cockpit of the Crystal Heart, but now vaguely aware that he wasn't the right way up, somehow. But the majority of his vision was taken up by Laura's face - which was a little too close for his liking.

She a relieved sigh as she saw his eyes fix on her. "Thank gods, I thought I'd lost you. You alright?"

Ryuga blinked again. Then he groaned as pain flared in the front of his skull, and he raised his hand to his forehead.

"My head hurts," he complained.

"Easy, champ," the AI soothed. "You had your bell rung pretty bad. Concussion, I should think. There's no blood or anything, but you're gonna have a major headache for a bit."

Ryuga tried to collect his thoughts, which were swimming like a distressed frog in porridge. Memories were clouded together, and it was hard to pin any one of them down.

"What... what happened?" he stammered out.

"Magnesium charges. Bastard Benthians detonated one of their carriers. We got caught in the shockwave, but I managed to steady us. Be glad I didn't actually try CPR," Laura added, with a smirk. "Holograms don't breathe, so it wouldn't have worked. Less 'life saving technique', more 'aggressive makeout session'."

Ryuga went red, and was about to reply when the noise of approaching engines reached him. Looking up, he saw the shapes of four other Wyverns skimming rapidly in his direction - upside down. Groggily, he tilted his sticks and kept his eyes shut until he was sure he was the right way up. He could tell at once, from the wobbly way his craft righted, that something was wrong.

The comms opened, the screen fizzing like bad TV static before coming to life. And it was Piper, distress on her face, who spoke first.

"RYUGA!" she howled. "Are you okay?! Are you hurt?!"

"That was a nasty tumble, Rook," came Clint's low drawl next. "You look mighty beat up, if I may say so."

"What about me?!" Deimos looked offended. "I'm fairly certain my heart stopped beating for all of three seconds, and I've suffered abrasions from being thrown about, and-"

"Shut it, burger breath."

Magnus hovered close to Ryuga, jets humming quietly. From his cockpit, Ryuga could see the face of the unnoficial leader of the Wyverns peering out from beyond his own canopy up top.

"You okay, Ryuga?" His voice was quiet. "Status report."

Ryuga turned to look at his readouts. Even before he focused, he could see something was wrong. Sections of his ship, all down the right side, were illuminated in yellow to mark damage, and the right wing was red and flashing. He squinted to try and read the labels that blared out at him.

"Shields are down to 75%," he tried. "Quite a lot of shrapnel down my right flank. And my right stabilizer's... gone? Broken loose, I think. I'll be wobbly, at the very least."

Deimos let out a snort. "Join the club. We have nachos, don't double-dip."

"Doesn't look too bad." Piper had pulled into a hover to inspect the damaged wing. "I think it can be fixed. But it'd take time, and yours isn't a standard model. Heck, I dunno who even manufactures parts like these..."

"Any injuries?" Magnus pressed.

"Bumped my head," was the reply. "So I'm feeling a bit faint. But I'm still good to fly."

"Congrats." That was Clint, punctuating it with a bitter chuckle. "First injury on the job. Wear it with pride, kid."

There as a long silence as the Wyverns digested their situation. There was an air of despondency, a grey cloud hanging over everything despite their survival. Nobody seemed to want to look each other in the eye.

The silence was broken by Magnus.

"This is how it is, team," he explained. "We've lost the Monroe, unfortunately. The remaining CS's are pulling away from the fleet to safely engage the other freighters. Nothing we can do to help - our lasers can't dent those hulls. I'm trying to get through to McCreery, but-"

"Um, guys?"

Ryuga had seen a warning light flash on his radar. He looked down, and saw something marked out on the map - a red enemy signature, coming quickly from the south-west. It was large, larger than the frigates had been. And it was coming at considerable speed.

"I got something on my radar," he explained to the row of confused faces. "It's coming this way."

"You sure?" asked Clint. "I got nothin' on mine."

"Positive. It's coming and it's..."

A huge, metallic fin emerged from the water.

"...big."

By the time they'd turned to follow it, it had already reached the battlefield. The other ships never saw it coming. It slowed for the briefest of instants, then surged up into the air. Sunlight glinted off the silver-blue sides, metallic teeth gnashed in the artificial jaw. Ports split open in the hide of the thing, the cannons emerging like snakes rearing out of their burrows to strike.

And then the sword-like prow of the dreadnought, a goblin shark on the hunt, swung to point at the FS Triumphant.

The Wyverns watched with mouths agape.

"That," Laura surmised, "is a problem."

-------

"Oh, I'm sorry! Didn't you land-dwellers like our present?"

General McCreery was seething. The enemy ship had come so fast under the water, the operators hadn't detected it. And now every person in the fleet was panicking at the sight of it. Commanders were shouting down the lines at operators, who were shouting back at Hornet captains, who were shouting at everyone else. Not even his trained military ears could block out that amount of shouting.

The worst part was the hissing, sneering voice on the other end. There wasn't a face on the screen, but McCreery wished there was. He could have imagined himself punching it for having the gall to taunt him over the open channel.

"No matter," cackled the speaker. "We've got a much better one for you, right here! Deep Mother be praised! Long live the Emperor!" And with a decisive beep, the line went dead.

"Arrogant sod," McCreery muttered.

But his mind was already working. The capital ships were too far out, which left only the Wyverns and the corvettes. He knew at once that the corvettes would have no luck - they would most likely be shredded before they even got close. And he had no idea what had happened to the Wyverns. They'd gone off the radar the moment the first freighter had detonated.

But there was the one thing he could try.

"Sir!" came the shout of one operator. "What are your orders?"

Just what he wanted to hear.

"Prepare to fire the main cannon!" he barked. "Tell all units to get clear! And somebody patch me through to the Wyverns!"

"Roger!" The operator turned and passed the info on to the man next to him, who passed it on to someone else... Damn silly carry-on. Why they couldn't just tell the cannon crews to prepare the cannon first, instead of passing it on down five different people at first? Commanding anything these days was like pulling teeth.

But if it was a fight those Benthians wanted, well... He was gonna give them one.

"Sir, we have a signal! It's them!"

-------

"Wyvern Squad, can you hear me? This is General McCreery speaking!"

The Wyverns were rocketing back towards the battle when they heard the General's voice crackling in over the comms. Taken by surprise, nobody responded for a full three seconds. Then Ryuga reached over and tapped a key, bringing McCreery's face into view.

"Wing Five reporting, sir," he replied. "And, um, everyone else, too."

"Thank goodness, you're alright!" cried the General. "What's your situation?"

"Wing Five's taken damage," Magnus reported. "And I think he's had a concussion. But he says he's still good to fly, so we're letting him. We're en route to rendevous - what are your orders, General?"

"Keep your distance! We're readying our main cannon, so we'll need you out of the line of fire! Assist the other ships any way you can, but stand by for further orders! McCreery out!" The General quickly vanished from the comms before anyone could reply.

They soon caught up with the rest of the fleet. It had split into two groups, right down the middle, with the capital ships only just now turning to fire on the persistent freighters. The Hornets had followed, doing their best to keep the Benthian fighters away from the larger ships. That left only the Triumphant, pointed like a defiant arrow at the dreadnought, silent and grinning in mockery.

As the Wyverns watched, they saw a golden glow coming from the tip of the Triumphant.

"Think that's enough?" asked Deimos, worry creeping back into his voice.

"Gotta be," drawled Clint. "That's the same gun what brought down the Mad Titan of Ostaria. Nuthin' could stand up to that, right?"

Their thoughts were briefly interrupted by a loud thoom. Looking across, they saw one of the capital ships - the Celeste - had shot down one of the frigates, a beam punching a neat hole through the power core. Unable to discharge its payload, the manatee-like bulk sank downwards, trailing flames as it went.

"That's for the Monroe," Ryuga heard himself say. It surprised even himself.

"Well put, Rook," said Magnus.

They barely even heard Piper muttering under her breath.

"Three... two... one."

The Triumphant, wings spread to anchor itself, fired. The gigantic beam lanced down the middle of the parted fleet like the questing tongue of an angry dragon. The Wyvern pilots had to squint at the light it threw out, black angled shadows casting off of every surface. The piercing, whining roar of its passing filled the air. Beneath it, the seas boiled and hissed

It reached the Benthian ship...

...and struck thin air.

"WHAT?!"

 

"HOLY SHIT!

 

"NOT GOOD!"

The beam fractured just in front of the dreadnought, tongues of light  radiating from the impact point. Steam rose into the air. The ship's hide glimmered as though a spotlight had been thrown onto it. But it remained obstinately standing, the jaws parted as if laughing.

The beam died down.

Ryuga's vision, having already taken a beating once, was slow to clear. But when it did, he saw that the air around the dreadnought's front was shimmering a greenish haze, as if he were viewing it through swamp fog. As he watched, it spread backwards, enveloping the length of the ship in a loose oval like a shimmering emerald stone.

"That's some shield!" he heard Piper gasp. And he had to agree.

"So much for your Mad Titan," Deimos muttered.

Clint didn't reply to that barb. Nor did he get the chance, as a hissing voice suddenly came over the open channel, cutting him off. Ryuga tried to picture what it belonged to, and came up with something that crawled out of a nightmare on spindly legs.

"Is that the best you land-dwellers have?" the voice sneered. "Allow us to show you how it's done!"

The dreadnought had been immobile until now, sitting quietly behind the shield. But now the engines roared to life, pushing it forwards. The guns on its body swivelled to face the ARM ships as it cruised closer. The jaws parted, and a cloud of fighters and bombers spewed forth from between the iron teeth.

But it was when the prow split into two halves, electrical tendrils crackling between, that Ryuga realized what was going to happen.

"Guys," he began, "that's-"

The rail gun, for want of a more dramatic word, fired.

-------

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

Had the shot been dead on, those might have been McCreery's last words. Even so, the force with which it punctured their right flank forced the Triumphant backwards, throwing the prow upwards and to the left. Almost everyone was flung off their feet, tumbling backwards across the deck. The crashing, tearing BOOM filled the air and deadened all sound.

McCreery thought he'd gone deaf. He couldn't hear a thing. All he knew was that he was hanging onto the railings of his platform and his arms were beginning to ache. Then, by degrees, he heard voices, which slowly began to become more focused and distinct. The ringing stopped, and he began to discern different things, like the blaring of alarms and the whine of an Arc Engine under stress

His hat had gone missing. Damnation. It had been a good hat, too.

With a grunt of effort, the General pulled himself as upright as he could manage.

"Status report," he gasped out.

"Shields are compromised," came a voice from somewhere. "All starboard guns are offline and almost all the decks have been breached. No survivors. We're sealing off the damaged sections, but we're getting power fluctuations, so almost everything isn't responding."

The General groaned. Things had rapidly gone to Styx, and no mistake. No broadside guns, no shields and a Thaumic rail gun to contend with. A rail gun wielded by a dreadnought that, on the next shot, didn't intend to miss. The bomber assault on the command tower, back at Capital City, seemed like a pleasant stroll in the park right now.

"Evasive manoeuvres, at once," he demanded. And then, whilst that happened, he turned and slammed the communications button like a lifeline. The faces of the Flying Aces appeared in front of him, all in various states of emotional turmoil. Except for Piper, who looked like she'd walked in on her favourite boy band during rehearsals.

"Wyvern Squadron, do you hear me?" he croaked.

"Loud and clear, sir," Magnus replied. But before McCreery could focus on him properly, the Lumian's voice cut in and added even more confusion to the already hectic situation

"Did you see that?!" she practically squealed. "How many kilothaums was that?! I'd love to find out how they generate that much power!"

"Tell that to our repair crews, Piper!" The General did his best to avoid sounding frantic. "We're taking evasive manouveres, but I don't know how much time we have before that cannon fires again! If we take another hit like that, we'll be done for!"

"What should we do, General?" That was Ryuga, his face showing his usual expression of constant concern. It was still strange to the older man to see his face in there, primarily because it did not look like it belonged there. But he'd placed it there, against his own better judgement, and now he had to deal with the fact he was directly giving orders to this... well, boy.

McCreery tried to compose himself above the shouting and alarms.

"There must be," he said, slowly, "a power source for that shield. An external one, judging by the shape of it. If you can find a way past, you'll have to take it down so we can fire another shot."

"Us?!" wailed Deimos. "Why is it always us?!"

"Because you're the best hope we have, Deimos!" snapped McCreery. "It's the only way we can take that ship down before it scuppers us!"

"Say no more, General," drawled Clint in his usual easy manner. "We got this. Wyverns out."

The comms went dead. General McCreery stared at the empty space, then passed his hand over his eyes. This was it, then. Two things were going to happen. Either the Wyverns made their usual legendary feat of derring-do, or he died in a fireball. One of those seemed the more likely outcome, and he dearly wished it wasn't.

Then he straightened up and adjusted his epaulettes. If he was going to die, then damn it, he was going to give those saltwater freaks a hard time killing him. As he heard his operators resume their seats, he spoke, determination turning his voice to grit.

"All Hornets, engage the fighters and bombers! Corvettes and capital ships, find a way past that shield! Prepare the main cannon for another shot on my signal! And will someone find my damn hat?!"

-------

"So," said Clint. "Anyone got a plan?"

"Not me," said Magnus. "Piper?"

"Not a thing," replied Piper. "You got any ideas, Deimos?"

"Hey, don't look at me! That shield just blocked a giant laser! I haven't any-"

But Ryuga wasn't listening. Laura had materialized and was pointing at the radar, where the dreadnought was outlined as a sleek red blob.

"You see that, champ?"

Ryuga looked. One of the ship's turrets had turned to fire upon a nearby corvette, the searing green bolt punching a neat hole through its hull. But even as his heart leaped in agony of the loss, the former mechanic's eyes noted an oddity. A gap in the green haze that formed the shield, big enough to accomodate the passage of the laser. And as the beam died away, task completed, the gap closed up once again.

His mind, flickering for a reference point, grasped onto a memory.

"Just like the attack carrier," he gasped.

"Hmm? You say something, Rook?"

Ryuga blinked, and was back in the real world. The other Wyverns were looking at him, confused, awaiting a response. And suddenly, he knew exactly what he had to do and what he needed to do to make it happen. The only stumbling block was convincing the others. And he didn't have much time to do it.

His grip on his sticks tightened.

"I have a plan," he said. "But it's risky. Follow me."

With no further word, he turned his craft and accelerated, heading straight for the dreadnought. Immediately, he noted the wonky way he was flying - the Crystal Heart was listing to one side on its axis, and that turn had been too sharp. But he kept going, ignorant of the fresh waves of Benthian fighters and bombers buzzing through the air.

In short order, he heard the hum of their engines as the others caught up to him. Silence lingered for a time as they followed, keeping pace and following his straight course towards the enemy. In the distance, he saw the last bomb-rigged freighter go down in a puncture-filled wreck - the remaining capital ship was joining the fray.

"Do you actually have a plan, Rook?" asked Magnus, suddenly.

"Remember the attack carrier?" asked Ryuga, even as the dreadnought loomed closer. "That thing had a shield, too. Not as advanced as this one, but my point still stands. When the fighters launched, it had to drop the shield to let them out without frying them. It was how I managed to destroy it from the inside out. With me so far?"

"Affirmative."

"Now, it seems to me," he went on, "that this shield is based on the same principle. If it could block a shot from the Triumphant's cannon, then how did the rail gun not rebound on itself? In order to fire on anything, they'd need to collapse part of their shield, wouldn't they? So what can we do in the brief time they do that?

He waited a while for the penny to drop. It took a while.

"...I knew it," groaned Deimos, dropping his snout into his palms. "He's cracked. That bang on the head turned him loco."

"No, he's right!" cried Piper, beaming with excitement "That's genius! We get one of their turrets to aim at us, wait for the shield to drop..."

"And then we slip past," Magnus finished, nodding. "Good thinking, Ryuga."

"No kiddin'?" Clint laughed. "That kid just spoke my language! I'm on board with this!"

Ryuga couldn't help but grin at that one. Knowing that he'd secured the trust of the others made things easier, and the enthusiastic approval by the more seasoned pilots was the cherry on top. He glanced at his comms screen and saw all their faces, in various states of smiling, grinning or almost vibrating out of their seats. Laura, in front of him, threw him a thumbs up.

"I still think he's crazy," muttered Deimos. But nobody paid attention

They were approaching the shield now. The surface of it was slightly shiny, like old glass, yet it quivered like water. Just beyond it, everything was hazy and blurred, with distance hard to judge. Hornets swarmed futiley around it, mixed up with the Benthian fighters in a chaotic dogfight.

The turret that had taken the corvette down had noticed the approaching craft. The barrel of it looked like a railway tunnel as it turned to face them.

"Ah," cackled the voice from earlier. "Somebody wants to play, eh?"

The interior of the barrel began to glow.

"You sure about this, Rook?" Magnus asked.

"It's our best shot," Ryuga countered. "If we don't do it now, we'll never get another one." He saw Laura appear to his right and mouth the words five seconds, pointing at the gun.

The other man shrugged. "Your choice, kid."

The gun was rapidly growing brighter. A hissing sound filled the air.

"My choice..."

He blinked, and almost missed the hole open up in the green haze. It was wider than the gun's circumference - it needed to be to accomodate the laser. And, if one aimed just right, just about enough for a ship to-

"NOW!"

Engines roared. Light flashed.

-------

McCreery saw the turret fire. But with the ship beyond the radius of Triumphant's radar, he wasn't quite sure what had happened. He had only the vague idea that the Wyverns had flown off towards it, with Ryuga in the lead. And then the thing had fired, and then...

The entire bridge had gone silent, also unsure of what had happened.

Then a voice broke in on the comms. Crackly and muffled, but distinctly a voice.

"This is Wing Five! We're through the enemy shield!"

The command bridge went wild.

-------

"What?! How did they get in?! Shoot them down, you idiots!"

Ryuga's senses were assaulted on all sides. His ears were filled with the enemy commander's indignant screaming, and his eyes wilted beneath the glaring light of the laser. Squinting past the blinding cacophony, he banked the Crystal Heart until it skimmed over the side of the dreadnought, the silver-blue metal hissing underneath him. Thaumic bolts lashed out at him too late to hit, whistling by the hull of his own craft.

"Everybody make it?" That was Magnus over the comms, finally shutting out the hissing voice on the open channel.

"Barely scratched, my man," drawled Clint, easily. On his radar, Ryuga saw the others falling in behind his own ship, forming the characteristic Flying Ace arrowhead. Deimos' craft was still wobbly, but it looked almost normal compared to how crooked the Crystal Heart felt to pilot.

They soared down the length of the destroyer towards the rear, where the tail of the shark ended and the engines flared out. Banks of smaller guns swivelled around to meet them as they approached.

"I've done the analysis!" Piper chipped in. "Shield generator's on the back, just behind the command bridge!"

Laura pouted, annoyed at having her thunder stolen. Ryuga didn't notice.

"Where all those guns are?!" Deimos voice was coming as an almost perpetual, high-pitched scream. Funny, I thought that would be me by now.

"Seems to me," put in Magnus, "that Ryuga's got the best shot."

Piper's eyes went wide. "With a damaged wing, Magnus?!"

"He's got this far with it. And his ship has the stronger weapons. Think you can pull it off, Rook?"

Ryuga immediately realized what was happening. This was Magnus testing him. He'd let him take the initiative so far, and now he wanted to see tif he had the guts to carry it through, despite his damage. And if he couldn't, then as far as that man cared, putting him in that cockpit was a mistake. Nervousness crept in like a prowling spider.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Laura mouth something.

You got this, champ.

"I think I can," he replied. "But I'll need a clear run. Can you-?"

"Say no more," replied Magnus. "All Wings, form up and follow my lead. I got us a flight plan."

The other Wyverns rushed ahead of Ryuga, keeping the V-shape as tight as possible. Then, just short of the tail's end, they swung around to point themselves down the length of the ship towards the prow. The turrets were turning again, trying to keep the approaching targets in sight. Following a short distance behind, Ryuga could see their double barrels lighting up as they prepared to take their first shots.

And, beyond them, a black, cylindrical shape squatting behind the dorsal fin, speckled with green nodes that pulsed gently.

The shield generator.

"Attack Run Delta!" he heard Magnus yell. And the XK-05's swooped down, keeping low, all of their guns blazing at once. The foremost turrets went up in flames, torn apart by the barrage. But the remaining guns responded with equal fury, scarlet bolts filling the air. The attacking ships wobbled, the slipstream of the thaumic lasers buffeting them about.

Then a stray bolt struck Clint's Wyvern.

Ryuga gave a cry as he saw the sparks washing over the craft. He heard a yell of "Damn it!" over the comms as Clint banked and accelerated away from the guns, trailing smoke. The others peeled off too, splitting up in different directions, pursued by the onslaught of laser fire.

"I'm hit!" Clint shouted. "My targeting's gone like a light!"

"It's no good, Rook! We can't withstand that much firepower!" Magnus sounded frantic. "You're gonna have to make that shot without us!"

At any other time, Ryuga would have wanted to scream. Four trained super-pilots couldn't breach a bank of guns, so what hope did he have? But this was a different Ryuga, and he could see the gap that they'd opened. A clear line right down the middle, the front of the generator exposed. The turrets had given up and were turning to meet him, looking to repeat their earlier success.
 

Not this time.

 

"It's okay," he said as he swooped down. "I got this."

 

Magnus' face was blank. "What do you-?"

 

He kicked a pedal.

 

With a furious roar, the Crystal Heart turned a somersault. The wings snapped closed, the jets unfurled, a jarring CLANG rent the air. The next moment, Ryuga's ship had sprouted legs and was sprinting across the dreadnought's hull, straight towards the guns and the generator. He thought he heard Piper squeal something, but that didn't matter - his focus utterly was on the target.

The ship raced under the barrels of the guns, too fast and too low to hit. But they tried anyway, and Ryuga saw them detonate like fireworks around him from the corner of his eyes. His shots struck one node, then another and another, ripping a hole in the side of the generator, followed by a Plasma Bomb that turned the whole thing into twisted scrap.

 

"Shield's down!" Laura hollered. "Book it!"

 

Kicking the pedal again, Ryuga felt the legs fold back up and the jets roar into life. He accelerated, only vaguely aware that the glassy green haze was gone from his vision. The other Wyverns formed up around him, matching his speed as they raced away from the wreckage they'd left behind.

In the distance, the Triumphant had righted itself. The dreadnought was turning to face it, but it was too late.

The prow was glowing.

-------

"Sir, the shield's down! Main cannon is ready to fire! Should we-"

"To Styx with the countdown, let them have it!"

-------

This time, the beam wasn't stopped. It punched through the dreadnought and out the other side, the impact throwing it backwards through the air. Fire and burnt metal flew everywere as explosions ran down the hull like bursting boils. The jaw, twisted and blackened, came loose and fell away. A scream of fury and despair rent the open channel.

Then it exploded. Light and sound filled every space. The air shook.

And then... silence.

The cloud of orange flame and black smoke billowed into the sky. The Benthian fighters, seeing the destruction, gathering in a body and fled, diving for the ocean. Hornets pursued them for a short distance before giving up, turning back to the fleet. The larger ships were beginning to converge.

Inside the Wyverns, you couldn't have heard a pin drop.

"-fuckin' shit, Rook, that made the Hyperion Run look like two lost steers-"

"-bipedal walking mode, why didn't you tell me, that's amazing, I wanna-"

"-thought I was seeing things, how did you even do that, I couldn't have even-"

Magnus was silent. But Ryuga didn't need to hear his voice or see his face to know it was a stamp of approval. Nor did he need to see Laura's expression when her voice cut in over the rabble, practically a purr of admiration.

"Great work, Champ. That was all you."

He felt a huge grin creep onto his face, and waited until the shouting died down.

"Thanks, everyone," he whispered. He didn't have any other words. What else could he say that would have done the monent justice?

General McCreery promptly interrupted things by appearing on the screen. His eyes had a wild look about them, as though he'd been watching a winning football game. His moustache was on end and his hat was slightly askew. He looked as though he wanted to start a war dance right where he stood.

"Great work, Wyvern Squadron!" he cried. "You've given those Benthians something to worry about! And with luck, they won't go anywhere near Todenwald's shores for a long while! Was it Ryuga who made that shot?"

"Yeah, that was him," laughed Clint. "Shoulda seen the little bastard go!"

Ryuga felt himself going red.

"Outstanding work!" The General gave a hearty laugh. "You've done enough now, troops! Get yourself back to the Triumphant double-time so we can take care of repairs and medical! And perhaps congratulations and a generous reward are in order! McCreery over and out!"

His vanishing was the cue for cheering and whooping. It was as if a storm had passed, and they were the lucky survivors throwing middle fingers at fate. And amonsgt them, despite himself, Ryuga cheered loudest of all. Not just for himself, but for his allies, comrades in arms and... well, to be honest, friends.

This was a moment he wouldn't forget in a hurry.

"Well," said Magnus, at last, "back to the ship. Don't want to keep the general waiting, right?"

"Of course not!" mooed Deimos, a broad grin on his muzzle. "The sooner we get fixed up and our bruises mended, the better!"

"I reckon," added Clint with a smirk, "that this deserves a celebration. Don't you?"

Piper laughed. "Last one home pays for drinks!"

Raucous shouting followed as the Wyverns took off at top speed.

~THE END~

"And you're positive about this?"

"Absolutely. No mistakes this time."

"Very well. Carry on."

The private line went dead with a click. McCreery leaned back in his seat and raised a hand to his temple.

"Of course it would have been Earth..."

RYUGA KANZUKI AND LAURA

will return in 2019

Danger Zone Part 1

The Crystal Heart looked rather odd, Ryuga noted, sitting between the other Wyverns in the hangar. The XK-05's, or Fafnirs as they were informally known, were all angles and edges, as if hammered from steel cubes. And save for the odd splash of hazard yellow, they were a uniform grey colour. But his own ship, smooth and silvery-white, stuck out amongst them like a sheep trying to make itself inconspicuous in a pigsty. It was a weird contrast.

But he couldn't dwell on it long.

He heard Piper whistle approvingly as he caught up with the rest of the Flying Aces. Even as they ran, the Lumian was staring at his ship with a grin that was almost predatory.

"Damn!" she hollered above the blaring takeoff alarms. "That's what they call a prototype?! I'd love to poke around in that!"

"Save it for after the mission, Piper!" Magnus called back.

By now, each of the pilots were peeling off and heading down the gantries that ran parallel to their ships. Ryuga waited until he recognized his own platform - #3 - and then turned left as sharply as he could manage. His boots clanked on the metal beneath as he ran, remembering in the back of his mind the advice the Air Marshall had given. Breathe easily, don't force it, keep the energy bunched up for when it was needed.

Laura was already active and waiting when he arrived. A smirk crossed her face as she watched the brown-haired boy vault over the lip of the cockpit into his seat in a single, smooth motion. That was something he hadn't been able to do before, when his training had first begun. There was none of the old Junior Mechanic chubbiness about him anymore. He looked lean, racy and hard-muscled, as though he would break out into a sprint at any moment despite sitting down.

'Improved' was only one word she'd used to describe him now. The rest weren't family friendly.

"Look at you," she said, approvingly. "Five seconds off your previous time."

Ryuga nodded, smiling back. "Thanks. You ready?"

"Since five minutes ago. You got this, champ." The hologram vanished, and as the boy settled down the control harness swung down over his body. It locked into place with a hydraulic clunk, fixing him into his seat, and quick adjustements to the straps ensured it wasn't too tight. Then, as he felt his cockpit swing down through the body of his craft, he typed a quick sequence into the keypad and saw the familiar displays bloom into life in front of him.

All was ready.

The faces of the over four Wyverns appeared on the comms screen.

"Communication lines on," he heard Magnus say. His screen was at the top right of the layout, just where Ryuga could see if he turned his head a little. "All Wings, gimme a status check. You start us off, Rook." Responding to the new nickname, Ryuga glanced at his technical readouts, and saw everything was in perfect working order.

"Ryuga here," he said, nodding. "All systems okay."

"This is Piper! Everything's green!" The Lumian girl was beaning on her screen.

"Clint speakin', all's fine here." Clint still had his duster hat on, for some reason.

"Deimos here." The Minosian's brow was furrowed as he fiddled with something out of vision. "I think my stabilizers aren't calibrated properly. I'll need a moment to-"

"No time for that," Magnus cut in. "We got ships to support. You'll just have to tough it out." Ryuga heard a snort of consternation over the comms in response.

The hangar doors hissed and clunked, and then craked open with a heavy grinding noise. The brown-haired pilot squinted at the harsh sunlight streaking in, and then saw, as his eyes adjusted, the faint shapes of large capital ships in the distance, lined up in formation. Just ahead of them were forms he didn't recognize - the enemy ships, bunched closer together. And, in the very far distance, the hint of a coastline. Todenwald's shores were closer than he'd expected.

"Launching in five, team. Brace."

Ryuga clutched his sticks, every muscle tense and ready. He heard the wings of each Wyvern ratchet open, the jets slowly warming up. He heard a low growl from somewhere deep within the Crystal Heart, and didn't question it any longer. If this machine wanted to pretend that it was alive, that was fine by him.

This was it.

The restraining clamps opened with a metallic snap.

"LAUNCH!"

And one by one, the Wyvern Flying Aces shot out of the hanger and into the air.

Self Improvement

"Hey, kid."

"Hmm?" Ryuga had his head under the console of the Crystal Heart, fiddlingwith something. He didn't look up or pause, absorbed as he was in his work. But he was aware of Laura hovering over him, looking him up and down like a cat might examine a strange new object.

Up until this point, it had never really bothered the AI what her new pilot looked like, or how well he did by himself. The fact that Ryuga had performed as well as he did during the attack on Capital City meant that she didn't really care. He was a good kid, open-minded and willing to listen despite having the constitution of a nervous mouse. And there was a streak of bravery about him that she admired a lot, coming from someone who'd literally dropped in on her. So his physical appearance hadn't mattered so much to her.

Now, outside of the heat of battle, she could look at him properly. And she could see that whilst his frame was certainly thin, he himself wasn't all that. Lying on his back revealed the beginnings of a belly formed through fatty food and energy drinks - the fare of a Junior Mechanic who pulled regular all-nighters. It wasn't flattered by the form-fitting pilot's bodysuit he worse, against which his tummy pushed up like a small hill. And his limbs, whilst wiry, had a faint pudginess that was noticable on a closer look.

Especially on his thighs, Laura thought, smirking. But she kept it to herself.

"You... enjoy being a Wyvern Pilot, right?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," replied Ryuga, earnestly. "It's better than being up to my arms in cable and pipes."

Laura waited until he'd tugged something into place, and then dropped her next question like an apple on an unsuspecting head.

"Would you," she asked, "like to be the best at it?"

Ryuga paused. Then he drew his head out from under the console and looked up at her with wide eyes. Laura couldn't help but notice how his stomach creased as he sat up, nor the doughy softness to his face. At the time, she considered it gave him an adorable quality, like a teddy bear that had too much stuffing put in. But now, she wondered...

"You mean it?" she heard him ask.

"Sure, why not?" Laura smiled as she lowered herself down to his level. "It's an achievement you could tick off the bucket list. Ryuga Kanzuki, Best Pilot in the Realms. Imagine that stamped on your ID Card."

Ryuga considered this, his head on one side.

"Well," he said at last, "that'd be nice. But I don't really think that's possible."

"Why not? You did well out there when we first met."

"Yes, but that was mostly because you did most of the work," Ryuga insisted. "You see, I only practiced flying on the old Hornets, not on a Wyvern. And I hadn't flown for at least two years since. I'm nothing like as good as those flying aces and I never could be."

Laura shrugged. "Point taken. But you could be a damn sight better than you are now."

"How?" asked the boy.

"Well, there's two things you'd have to do." The AI put her hands on her hips in an authoritive manner. "First, you'd have to go into proper training. Catch-up lessons are all well and good, but you're not in a Hornet anymore. You'd have to do some real practice - live-fire courses, bombing runs, dogfights. I'd help, of course, but the point's to wean you off me doing all the work. And some ground work, too, with rifles - just in case."

Ryuga nodded eagerly, taking it all in like a sponge. Then he hesitated.

"But... You said there were two things," he murmured. "What's the second?"

For answer, Laura leaned over and gave his tummy a slap. The embarrassed yelp he gave put a grin on her face.

"Change your diet," she laughed. "The way you're going, that suit's gonna make you look preggers! No more energy drinks for you, champ - way too sugary, never mind the wreck they've made of your sleep schedule. And no more late-night pizza bagel binges."

Ryuga's expression was like a puppy sitting next to a damp spot on the carpet.

"Not even one?" he whined.

Laura's grin didn't change.

"We'll see."

Crystal Heart

General Thomas McCreery had a problem. And the problem was that he was about to talk to a giant mechanical dragon.

It was the same one that had flown out of the hangar a week ago, when the Benthians had attacked. The one that had run rings around their fighters, rallied the straggling air force and then taken down an attack carrier without breaking a sweat. At the time, McCreery had been screaming at his operators to try and figure out how it had been launched. And the amount of blanks he'd drawn had made him even more furious. He was more than prepared to have the daredevil jock responsible thrown into jail for his brazen insubordination.

The frazzled, brown-haired boy that had clambered out, shaking all over, had made him reconsider much of what he knew about life.

Since then, Capital City had been recovering. ARM had provided reinforcements, and reconstruction and rehousing efforts were under way. But High Command had been pushing McCreery for answers - answers that he didn't have. All he could tell them was that the prototype had gotten out and that it had made short work of the Benthians. That wasn't good enough - they wanted footage, documents, proof. And that was something McCreery, who hated paperwork in the same way one hates ants in the kitchen, left to other people.

It had been some days since that fraught meeting. And now, here he was.

The Wyvern stood silent and still, held in place by the restraining clamps. The head was titled down at an angle, the jaws slightly parted. Nobody else had gone near it, afraid of what it might do after seeing what it could do, so it had gathered dust and damp. Yet it still looked a thing of beauty, all smooth black synthmuscle and silvery armour plating. Look at it too long and you might fancy it was breathing gently, or that it could lift a foot and scratch itself.

Even so, it was just a machine. Any mechanic could tell you that. Just an elaborate network of connected ArcStone powering a mechanical shell. There was nothing special about it.

McCreery knew better.

He stood for a while, looking the thing up and down. A wistful look seemed to come into his eye, hampered only by his stern, unmoving expression.

"I remember when they were working on you," he said, at last.

The Wyvern did not offer to reply.

"We were trying," McCreery continued, "to implement something new. Something radical. I don't quite understand the specifics - never did with this ArcTech stuff. But in summary, it was like a living intelligence inside an ArcWave system. It could record performance, display information, adjust internal systems... like having a navigator right in the cockpit. ArcWave Intelligence, the eggheads called it."

He paced one way, then the other, hand on his chin. His footsteps were like muffled gunshots in the cavernous hangar.

"And for a while, we just couldn't crack it. We simply couldn't replicate the way a human thinks via BCL - too complicated. There was... one thing we tried, though. And I admit, the ethics weren't entirely sound. But it was our best shot at getting it right the first time. Copying human brain patterns onto an ArcStone core. If we can store information on those things, we can store a man's intelligence on one, right? And then..."

He paused. He passed a hand over his eyes, as if tired, and blew through his moustache.

"I thought it had failed. We all did. Until our test pilots started flying it, and got all kinds of errors. Course correcting, flashing new flight paths, stalling... At the time, we put it down to how complex we'd tried to make it. Too many conflicting commands. And we couldn't risk letting a glitchy piece of hardware loaded with dangerous weaponry out onto the field. So we had it grounded and dumbed the tech down for the market release. Hence the XK-05's."

He looked back up. The eyes seemed focused on him, staring intently. But he couldn't be sure...

"I don't know if you're listening in there. It's hard to tell when all I can see is a big lump of metal. But I saw the way you flew out there last week, and I suspect the techies don't want to let on any more than they want to. And I'm running out of lies to feed High Command about what's been going on. So if you are listening somewhere in there..."

He took a deep breath, and steadied himself...

"Why him, Laura?"

Iron Wings

"Wing Five is down! Repeat: Wing Five is down and non-responsive!"

The words hit the ears of General Thomas McCreery, but they didn't register at first. Then he recounted the number of Wyverns in the sky, and noticed one was missing. He hadn't misheard, he just hadn't wanted to hear it.

General McCreery was the sort of man that came to mind when the word "military" was mentioned. Six foot tall, dressed in red with the peaked cap and epaulettes, and a bushy walrus moustache that made him look sterner than he really was. The sort of man who walked with a proper stride, always kept a pocket pistol handy and used such terms as 'carry on' or 'pack it in'. If he was a cartoon character, he'd be voiced by somebody doing a terrible impression of their grandfather.

But right now, he was trying his best to marshall his thoughts and come up with a plan. Not a plan of victory - as far as he could see, they were long past that point. A plan to stall the invaders until assistance arrived from outside the city. But it was hard to do that when the aformentioned city seemed to be mostly on fire, and all the operators at their desks were shouting conflicting orders in your ears. Of course, he wouldn't be a General of ARM if he couldn't shut out most of that white noise, but...

A Benthian fighter swooped too close for comfort.

Wing Five was down. The invincible aces were no longer invincible. Wherever the pilot was alive or not, McCreery didn't care to speculate - it was a blow to the morale as it was one to their chances. The Wyverns had been the best, the go-to problems solvers for years despite their cavalier attidue. There hadn't been an enemy they couldn't take on, no conflict they couldn't walk away from unscathed.

Until today.

The General shoved those thoughts aside and turned to the nearest of the control bridge's operators. That man, middle-aged and with a crew cut of unidentifiable shade, was barking something into his headset as he stared at his control globe. Whatever it was he was actually doing was beyond McCreery's comprehension - he never took the time to understand this newfangled ArcTech nonsense. But this was the modern day, and that meant he needed to hear what people like him said. Now, what was his name, again...?

"Operator Rogers!" he barked as he approached. "Any word from outside?"

"None whatsoever!" was Rogers' reply. "I've tried to raise HQ, but I can't get any kind of a signal - not even so much as a squeak! That carrier's jamming our long-range communications somehow!"

McCreery blew through his moustache - partly annoyance, partly nervous tension. Damn. These Benthians were on the ball. Trying to shut out assistance from outside the city...

"Do we still have short-wave?"

Rogers paused. "Well, yes sir, but I don't see how-"

"Keep those lines open!" the General snapped. "Get everyone down there to pass the word on! Sooner or later, by Gods, something's got to reach HQ! If we can just hold out-"

An explosion rocked the tower. The lights and monitors flickered, and dust trickled down from the ceiling. Some people fell out of their chairs with cries of shock, and McCreery struggled to maintain his footing. His stiff upper lip refused to let him turn into a heap on the floor - it would be beneath his dignity to do so.

"We've been hit!" cried somebody else. "They just turned the bombers towards the tower, sir!"

McCreery felt the colour drain from his face as he realized what that meant. He never expected that he'd go out like this, trapped in several thousand tonnes of glass, ceramic and steel whilst enemy bombers pounded at the foundations. He'd imagined that he'd slip away peacefully at his country home, surrounded by his wife and younger sister and all their children. True, it would involve less posthumous medals and parades, but it wouldn't be so... undignified. Or painful.

His mind scrabbled for the one thread of logic that made sense. The effort was puncutaed by another explosion as the second wave of bombers struck true. They had ten minutes, at the most, he reckoned. Just enough time...

"Order an immediate evac," he gasped, at last. "All non-essential personnel are to leave the building at once. Get as many as possible out of the city, and get the Wyverns to cover the transports. The rest of us, stay behind and support our boys. And if anyone one of you has a gun, be damn sure it's loaded, because we're not going to go down without-

"Sir?"

If there was anything General McCreery did not like very much, it was being interrupted. Especially not in the middle of a rousing speech. Those were the most inappropriate times. He whipped round at the speaker, and then realized he didn't know the name of the young, blonde woman who'd spoken. And he couldn't reprimand them if he didn't know them. Oh, damn, the inconvenience and forgetfullness of age.

"You have something to say, miss?" he asked, voice losing most of it's commander's edge.

The woman nodded. "Operator Dallas, sir. An unidentified craft just launched from Bay Hangar Five. ETA at approx forty seconds-"

"Unidentified?" This was something the general did not need to hear. They were about to die, and this woman was going hysterical seeing things on her glowy screen! "How can it be unidentified, Operator?! If it launched from the hangar, it's one of ours!" At least the reinforcement would provide a small delay, he groused to himself.

"Sir," countered Dallas, "it doesn't register as any callsign on record and it's not responding to any of our hailing calls. Whatever this is, it can't be one of ours - all of our wings launched five minutes ago."

"What the devil are you-?!"

The General hesitated. An insidious thought had crept into his mind, one that he didn't want to entertain.

"...can you get a visual?" he asked.

The operator nodded. "I'm bringing it up on the main screen now." She typed something on her keypad, and the General turned as the central display console lit up with a picture. With a network of Scrying Posts around the bay area, each with a considerable range, it was easy enough to get a fix on the strange craft as it zoomed across the water. How the Benthians hadn't seen it was beyond anyone to guess.

It took a moment for the General to recognize what he was looking at.

It was a Wyvern. But not any Wyvern - not the XK-05's that were the favoured amongst the Wyvern Squadron. They were gunmetal grey, angled things, designed by a corporation for function. This looked sleek, organic and alive, and the metallic plating that coated the black synthmuscle was silvery to the point of almost being white. The cockpit was on the underside, around the chest, and the exhaust billowed a brilliant violet colour instead of the usual green. And the eyes...

"Sir?" Roberts had looked up, eyes full of concern and confusion. "What is that, sir?"

General Thomas McCreery turned to his operators. They stared back as, with a great effort against the mixed fear, confusion and rage, he drew in breath.

It wasn't enough.

"What Styx-blackened idiot," he demanded, "let the prototype out?!"