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Begin the Fight

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They sent forth men to battle,
But no such men return;
And home, to claim their welcome,
Come ashes in an urn.


"Men, this is it. The big one. Where we finally strike against the enemy and on their own ground."

General Pepper stood before a contingent of Cornerian Defense Force soldiers—his hologram before thousands others like it—aboard the CDFS Queen of Lylat within their circular mess hall, the tables retracted into compact units in the floor. His face was grim, as it had been for the past half year. Those he addressed felt the same way. For months they had fought against Collective, defending every square centimeter of their homeworlds from the aliens, giving ground only through blood, sweat, and tears. Each had lost someone in this war, some all they had ever known, and all were ready to avenge them.

For this time, they were striking the brain of the Collective. Hard.

"This may be the last time I'll be speaking with some of you among us. So listen well," he went on, "because for every action we take in this operation, in this final battle to end the war, we are either one step closer to victory or defeat. Understood?"

"Aye!" came the chorus. It reverberated throughout the cavernous room, from the walls and the ceiling where hundreds more men and women stood at attention, looking toward their commander.

"The Collective has laid waste to our homes and our families, scoured our planets, and nearly murdered our star," he continued, starting to pace in order to reach everybody. "This time will be different. We shall be the ones attacking them—" (There came another shout of "Ayes" at this; he let them express themselves before continuing) "—But they are not like us. They have no one to be afraid for, nothing to lose except their lives—and we all know how they value the life of an individual," he added blandly. "But while we've been more or less successful against the outermost of the Collective's worlds, this time they will be relentless, even more so than they have been. We are attacking their Queen, in their innermost systems. So we hope. Only time will tell in the coming hours.

"So therefore I ask each and every one of you to be relentless as they are," he said, looking at one contingent as he passed. "Be as unmerciful as they are; spare nothing. Should one of you fall prey to their assimilation tactics, I want you to die, honorably. Should you find a comrade already infected, do not hesitate. If you do not, the enemy will have gained another soldier, perhaps one of you standing before me here, and they shall use you against your soldiers-in-arms. I assure you, our allies shall be doing the same."

Pepper paused for a moment, thinking. The gathered anthropoi shifted uneasily. This was a suicide operation; they all knew it. Their very orders were completely against the code of brotherhood; whispers went out among them, greenies anxious for what lay ahead, veterans reassuring them—and the other way 'round, young 'uns cheerfully boosting veterans' failing confidence.

Their commanding officer's eyes watched them shift, murmuring, from behind his implacable mask, betraying nothing; but he was afraid for them. Most would not be coming home, if at all. No bodies would be recovered, or even I.D. tags. Space was a harsh mistress.

Spatial combat was a brutal master.

"Star Fox, as you all know, shall be leading our side of the operation," Pepper went on slowly, starting to move again. Eyes and ears suddenly reverted forward at the name "Star Fox", and morale lifted noticeably. General Pepper noted that, and knew that what came next would not sit well with them. Within a few months that name had become famous through the Lylat and allied systems. Once a high-profile mercenary team it was now a crack-ops outfit. Many of the veterans standing here had fought underneath the leadership of Lieutenant McCloud, and were alive because of him. They all knew that name: would die for that name, even.

It was a shame he had to say this.

"They shall be leading the foremost of the van, just behind the strike squadrons. They will be the ones who'll penetrate into the enemy territory. But I want you all to know," and here his voice grew stern, yet wavered also. "I want you all to know that… no matter their reputation as skilled fighters, or soldiers famous for breaking the sieges of Sauria, Fichina, Katina and the rest, should they fall…" He trailed off. The soldiers, veteran and greenie alike, knew exactly what he meant.

"Good luck, men," he said instead, watching the huge electronic clock upon the wall behind them, "and may the Father protect you. Dismissed."

They saluted in unison, and dispersed almost immediately afterward. Nervous conservation sprang up.

Pepper watched them go before he was paged.

"Sir," the voice in his ear said. "You're needed at the CIC."

"I'll be there," he answered. Clicking off, he turned and went in the footsteps of his men. Within half an hour they would be reentering realspace and all hands were needed upon deck. Best if they got the drop on the Aparoids first if everyone was prepared.

Stepping outside the mess hall Pepper was greeted with the sight of the last people he wanted to see at such a critical moment.

"High Priestess," he said formally, beginning to move past them. "I'm afraid I can't chat right no—"

"An admirable speech, General," High Priestess Hoshiko replied, ignoring his attempts to brush her off. "You are an inspiration to your men." Her two SharpClaw guards, hulking in their jumpsuits, made it difficult for anybody to pass them in the corridor, and Pepper knew he couldn't get by them on his own without causing a fuss; he resigned himself talking.

"What do you want, Hoshiko? Surely it is not to congratulate my oratory skills?"

The petite SharpClaw woman smiled—a pretty and yet incongruous picture upon her reptilian features, considering she had not a hint of mammalian DNA in her. "Yes and no. I am being sincere in my compliments. You have shown yourself worthy of being a leader they will follow to the death. We may all meet our deaths here in this terribly important battle either way."

"Cut to the chase." He was getting impatient.

"Since you ask so nicely." Still holding her smile, Hoshiko took the General's arm, and gently led him down the corridor with her, guards bringing up the rear. "Do you remember why Sauria joined your Alliance?" she murmured, almost too quiet to hear over the ambient noise. "Why we pledged the remainder of our fleet to yours?"

"Do you need to bring that up?"

"What are you afraid of, General?"

"Wha—What? are you dense?" he asked, flustered.

"I said, why are you afraid? This is your ship, we are alone here, and surely we can talk about this."

"Not on the eve of battle."

High Priestess Hoshiko halted, forcing him to stop lest Pepper accidentally drag her along. Her face lost its benign smile; it looked predatory. "Multiple times throughout this journey—four days—have I attempted to seek you out for a little conversation. Would I rather have stayed aboard my own ships, or back home, instead? This is no trivial matter, General. Why are you avoiding me?"

Pepper took a chance and looked both ways down the corridors—difficult to do since one way was filled by SharpClaw muscle and meat—before leaning into her. Despite the violation of personal space and physical dominance by the General, she stood her ground.

"The Foundation is dead," he hissed. "We are not using this operation to bring that name to life, do you understand me?"

"Traitors are still living," she answered calmly. "You will help me regardless or not of your desire. The Foundation has slumbered long enough. We will rise again."

"That is all we have to talk about," Pepper hissed.

Straightening up, he turned and forced his way through the guards. They growled and made to close ranks, but a chirrup by Hoshiko made them relent. Pepper did not acknowledge her. Instead he disappeared down the corridor and to the CIC. The High Priestess beckoned and her guards followed her in the opposite direction. They had work to do.

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"So, Fox, what's the scoop? Anything new?"

Falco Lombardi leaned languidly against the holographic-display-counter (HDC) in the center of the Great Fox's control room, seemingly bored as he watched Fox horizontally pace away since the final Warp initializing nearly a day ago. Beside him was Katt Monroe, who took no notice of him as she poked through some holos on the display. She was checking, re-checking, and re-re-checking the schematics of the mothership's new systems out of a fit of nerves, and nothing seemed to satisfy her.

"I don't know, Falco, I just don't," came Fox's irritated response. "I've gotten nothing from Pepper since zero-three-hundred. No new changes in the plans have come. Not even the Ardan generals have contacted me with info."

"Like that'll ever happen," pipped in Slippy's voice from the too-tiny kitchenette next to Fox's left. "And only when Corneria's moons align together in a blackout, and y'all know how rare that is."

"I hear you, Slip," Fox agreed, nodding distractedly as he finally decided walking did nothing to relieve his tension, and sat down instead. "Getting one of them to talk is like asking a rock to sing. If they'll even talk to mercenaries."

"Slip, we ain't near Corneria—hell, how many lightyears away are we, Katt?"

"Four hundred, and fast approaching the Homeworld; and stop interrupting me. I'm trying to re-calibrate the aft generators."

"Ag—?"

"Leave her alone, Falco," Fox said tiredly. "Let her be. Go play a game, or something. We'll be in battle soon. Let off that steam elsewhere." He put his head into his hands, wishing for the thousandth time—or was it the millionth?—that he was anywhere but on the verge of an interplanetary battle. This was his first outside of the system.

"The sooner the bett—stop it Fay!" came Miyu's screech, followed by a slap.

Opposite—actually above them, and upside-down)—and not too far away from the trio sat Miyu "Lynx" Wakahisa and Fay "Spaniel" Yukimura, both whiling away the time by, apparently, playing upon their 'pads or—as in the case of Fay—tickling her combat partner because she was bored. Their tiny couch, the only one left in the room after its transformation, made such things unavoidable; and Fay had been doing this steadily since they left Lylat, to Miyu's increasing annoyance she had just gave vent to. Now the angry lynx floated some feet off the floor with her fist raised while a giggling Fay pretended to cower.

"Don't push it," growled Miyu, "or I will." Fay merely laughed in her face, tears starting to stream from her eyes—droplets that were quickly reclaimed before they could damage sensitive electronics. "Girls, girls, please calm down," Falco said, leaving the HDC and deactivated his magnetic greaves to float over. "We don't need you to fight one another, not when the Aparoids are waitin—"

With a snarl Miyu suddenly whipped around and punched Falco squarely in the lower mandible as he neared her, sending the avian flying backwards. As he tried to reorient himself the lynx pushed off and caught him firmly by the scruff of his feathered neck. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down, you insolent bird," she hissed. "Or I'll make you stand down."

"Okay, okay, I hear ya," he grumbled, pushing her off him. "Don't need to hit me, ya know," he added. Getting no answer he floated from the grandly named "Communications-and-Ops Center", and went to his quarters. With a hiss Miyu also turned and left the room in a huff, undoubtedly going to heckle the unfortunate marines stationed aboard. Even their commander feared the lynx when she was in a mood. Undoubtedly they'd be floating into the room trying to escape shortly.

Katt merely sniffed in disgust as they vanished and carried on tinkering with the holos, grumbling something about "polarizing the neurotransmitters", or whatever that meant. Fox couldn't care what it was about; he too many things on his mind to care. If only there was something to take away the sensation of waiting then he would feel fine. Sadly, this was not the case.

The Communications-and-Ops Center had formerly been the crew's lounge, full of all sorts of distractions and entertainment that could have relieved the stress. But it was the only place big enough for the necessary operations—apart from the central hanger now holding some fifty specially-made Arwing, Mark VIII-class fighters for the coming fight—that were to take place. It was also in the center of the ship moreover, safe from missiles, phaser-strikes, kinetic-weaponry or whatever else the Collective threw at them: so everything had been stripped down and decentralized, with multiple redundant systems everywhere until there was hardly room to breathe, let alone move or relax.

Should Star Fox manage to survive the coming battle, and end the war completely—hoping that the bioelectronic-virial program Beltino Toad had made would destroy the menace permanently—they'd get a new ship complete with larger rooms and many like them, complete with centrifuges so they wouldn't have to constantly use these blasted magnetic greaves. Or enough room so that should another emergency arise the lounge would be spared and three others would be used for Command instead. Oh the joys of a proper command ship.

As Miyu and Falco departed it hardly made an impression on Fox, who knew stress had that effect of them. He was dealing with it on a near-constant basis now, constantly trying to rein in his temper, for being the commander of his own platoon had no perks aside from more responsibility, completely unacceptable for one who, months ago, had been a simple paramilitary leader. Not even the upgrades to the Great Fox, while excellent enough in their own right, were perks enough. It only meant more firepower, more shielding, and more armor—all of it redundant and needing more men than he could possibly command. He hated being in charge of anything important, of anything that had numerous redundancies; this was exactly the reason why he rejected a position within the Cornerian military.

But, then again, it may be that very redundancy would save their skins many times over in this battle. It had to. The Great Fox may not be a battleship or a destroyer, but it could hold its own against a few of the Collective's warships, as demonstrated in the preliminary campaigns leading to this one. Oh for the days when everything was merely simpler—

"Lieutenant McCloud," chimed in R.O.B.-64's metallic voice, "Aparoid system within seven light minutes."

So it was now time. Too soon. Not even the four day voyage through hyperspace had elevated the tension; it had only increased it.

He lifted his wrist-communicator to his mouth and said, "R.O.B., when is the estimated time of arrival?" He noticed Katt's ears perk up.

"Three light minutes."

"Thank you, R.O.B.," he replied, then shut it off. Fox stood and turned to where his team lay sprawled out all over the former lounge. Slippy was in the kitchenette behind and to his left; Miyu and Falco in their respective rooms, blowing off steam; Fay walking around on her hands, delighted at all the tricks she could do in zero-g; Katt doing her own thing, perhaps preparing for what would come; Krystal somewhere in the tiny library behind Fay's couch where it curved along with the wall, engrossed in a book; and Peppy was with R.O.B..

The marines were waiting in their own room, along with the pilots, and the rest of the crew were elsewhere making sure things were prepped and readied. No doubt their commanders were waiting for the same signal he just received—'twas his duty to inform them. He sighed. All of them unaware that the time was now. Well, maybe except for Katt. She was always on top of things like this.

Fox lifted his communicator and opened a channel to the commanders and said: "Team, it is time."

Immediately Star Fox sprang into action, and the room transformed into a hive. Fay righted herself and flew off to get the members-in-absentee while Slippy "swam" over to Katt as she began calling up multiple screens and more holos of the ship. Krystal tumbled out of the library, blaster holstered and the staff used on Sauria wrapped around her back, heading for the Arwings. Fox noted her armed readiness as she disappeared with approval before he turned for the bridge.

A short while later—in reality, a simple flight through the corridor and two blast-doors—he entered the bridge (or Combat Information Center, a.k.a. CIC) at the front of the ship. Unlike the newer ships, Star Fox was stuck with having the bridge still prominently featured on the bow, bespeaking it as an older model. The reason why was simple: it cost too much time—and, bizarrely, money—to reroute all the systems if they moved the CIC elsewhere. The viewscreens were costly, and limited; the new touchscreen modules incompatible with the ship computer; the various matrixes for redundant AI backups so advanced it was like they were alien tech—and everything else too plain crazy to even contemplate for his stressed out brain.

Newer ship after the war most definitely, he concluded. The best they could do was outfit the entire front of the Great Fox with extremely durable adamantium plating lent to them by the Ardans; it was so strong that a comet couldn't punch a hole through when they were in hyperspace unshielded. That protection would do them good in battle anyway.

Entering, Fox looked around, hoping they got his message. Off to starboard Fara Phoenix was responding to messages as fast as they appeared, typing away furiously as if her life depended upon it. To port Peppy was engaging the defensive systems to activate as soon as they came out of hyperspace, while R.O.B.-64 calmly navigated the ship as he always did with compliance and serenity.

The great windows showed nothing outside except a haze of black, the result of traveling so fast that not even light could slow down enough to see it—but Fox knew that they were flanked by two massive Ardan battlecruisers, dwarfing the tiny Dreadnought-class battleship as a pair of hatzegopteryx dinos would a little bird, ready to be the first out of the battlefield. When battle came those same windows would be closed and stay that way until hostilities had ceased.

"Peppy, the crews have been informed and will launch as soon as we arrive," he reported. "Anything show up on the scanners?"

"Nothing," came the hare's terse reply. "Everything's silent."

"Anything from the Ardans?"

"Negative, just a flurry of communications," pipped Fara, head still hunched over her screen. "They're going ballistic. I envy those blokes stuck with talking to the Klingon and Romulans. At least they speak a language we know."

Fox nodded. "Roger that." He didn't envy her job. He never quite managed to get the hang of diplomacy.

"All hands, prepare to disengage," came Katt's voice over the intercom. "Prepare for inertia-shock."

Inertia-shock was what a starship underwent when appearing back into realspace, the illusion of movement from the moment of their Warp-jumping to reappearance. Fox strapped himself in, preparing to be thrown forward as if he were rocketing backwards in an atmosphere. Peppy and Fara did the same too; R.O.B. merely locked his legs into place and continued on as before, becoming a part of the ship's structure. The extra armor and shielding would be more than enough to stabilize the reaction, and prevent the ship from flying apart. Never before in its long history had the Great Fox been in hyperspace this long, and neither was it built that way. But the technicians had made sure everything was fit for interstellar flight.

And battle.

"3…" came the countdown, "2… 1… disengage!"

Fox suddenly felt his chest constrict as the ship began to "decelerate"—then shot forward and was abruptly halted by his straps as the "reality" of realspace slammed into him. The stars' luminosity flared back into existence, only to be shut out moments later as the massive hulks of the Ardan ships appeared on either side of the windows.

"The fleet has arrived."

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A/N: The story title comes from the Star Wars: The Clone Wars episode (Season 1, if you're interested) of the same name. This is set near the end of Star Fox Assault, right where they're attack the Aparoid Homeworld, only with a major twist to it. Don't be afraid to give critiques like you do.

Fire away!