-1-

SHIT. Not good. NOT GOOD.

Claxons and alarms slammed through his eardrums and echoed round the cockpit in an ever increasing crescendo.

NAVIGATION SYSTEMS DOWN.

MAIN DRIVE DOWN.

REACTOR FUNCTIONING AT 30% AND DECREASING.

Shit.

MISSLE LOCK, 14,000 YARDS AND CLOSING

TEN-THOUSAND YARDS…

SIX-THOUSAND YARDS…

Frantic entering of commands on the flickering console in front of him. Blood trickled down his chin from where he bit his lip.

Automatic command sequence malfunctioning. Switching to manual override.

Release countermeasures dammit.

FOUR-THOUSAND YARDS…

The small explosions and the resulting shockwaves informed him that the countermeasures had catastrophically failed to initiate, and had probably left a solid ten-foot hole in the back of him.

This really can't get any worse.

It did.

His iTunes froze.

"OH COME ON!" he yelled, smashing his fist into the console.

Now his hand hurt to boot.

Damn I'm going to need one hell of a vacation to get over this…

Then he saw it.

An opportunity.

Oh God I love you.

More adrenaline-soaked manipulating of the controls brought his mech's O.B. function online.

Bout time I got to see a birthday wish come true…

5 SECONDS TO IMPACT…

Rerouting power from offline weapon systems to drive.

4 SECONDS…

Rerouting power from shields to drive.

3...

Power collectors at 70%.

2...

Can't wait any longer. He smashed the initiation key. A desperate, half-forgotten prayer escaped his lips.

1...

Nothing happened.

FRACK. OVERRIDE AND REPEAT.

0...

He felt the first impacts of the 20 or so missiles begin to spell his death in fiery blossoms.

Then O.B. kicked in.

Upwards of 6 G's Compressed him into his seat as his mech barreled forward at mach 6 towards an enemy mech 200 or so miles in front of him.

The missiles didn't care. They kept following him.

500 YARDS…

The breath he had been holding up to then escaped in a huge sigh of relief. He cracked a smile.

Haha, now were getting somewhere.

The enemy mech saw him coming.

Crap.

He brought his mech's forearms up to absorb some of the incoming fire.

1000 YARDS…

I'll be surprised if the tard even hits me once. It's targeting systems can't match the rate I'm traveling at. The

enemy mech opened fire with everything it had, desperate to stop the crippled juggernaut screaming towards it.

Volkswagen sized bullets started ripping bus sized chunks out of the arms and core. Dammit I forgot I'm not working at 100 percent.

100 miles to the enemy mech.

He gritted his teeth and busied himself with completing his death-defying maneuver as his arms were turned into Swiss cheese by the collective fire form the multiple machine and Gatling guns that made up the enemy's arsenal. Not much of a loss, the weapons on the arms were destroyed 5 minutes ago. The enemy realized that it wasn't going to stop him and attempted to dodge the train wreck of twisted metal and fuel.

20 miles…

Too little too late, he thought triumphantly as he pressed the initiation key for the set of maneuvers he'd just planned.

What was left of his mech flipped over and dove under the surprised enemy, exited O.B. and went into full reverse, arching upwards as it did so. The missiles following him didn't have time to go around the enemy mech, so they chose the least difficult option: to go through it. Rippling concussions flashed outwards as the 600 foot high, twelve-hundred ton enemy mech was turned into a Holocaust of sheared metal and fire.

Bloody hell. The solution of one problem creates another. The story of my life really. Grumbling he tapped the cooling gauge that was now into deep red. The radiator hadn't kept up with the heat generated by his mad charge, and now his mech was dangerously close to meltdown.

His immediate area being clear of enemy threats, he ran a quick system check to see if his mech really WAS fried.

No surprise to anyone.

It was.

All but one weapon system offline, left arm completely sheared off by machine gun fire, the right arm dangling uselessly in the wind, legs were at minimal functionality at best, reactor now at 10%, main drive gone, secondary drives almost completely shot, impending radiator failure and subsequent meltdown, massive structural damage, and overall command apparatus malfunctioning.

He was fucked and he knew it.

Time to bug out.

"General Leider this is Kazu of Cadre 3 informing you of my withdrawal from the battle zone, and my return to the fleet."

"Affirmative. Form up with Serena, she's returning as well"

A predatory smile at the thought. I wonder how messed up her mech is…

"Understood."

"WHAT!" Kazu exclaimed on the way back to their carrier in high orbit. Disbelief coupled with mild hysteria giving an unhealthy edge to his voice "You're bugging out because of THAT? Unbelievable."

"Piss off" Serena snapped, "Not all of us are on a suicide mission here. Most of us want to give the mechanics something to repair after a battle, not just toss in the scrap heap. Plus my instruments tell me I'm twenty minutes away from meltdown."

"What are you talking about?" Your mech is fine! I just ran a scan on it and everything vital is performing within tolerable limits, including the radiator!" All you have is a paralyzed right side, half your weapons down and superficial damage. You can still fight in that condition!"

"You think like that because you act like a drug addict when it comes to battle. The thrill of living on the edge of kill or be killed is such a high to you that you willingly commit yourself to fighting in situations where it would be more prudent or wise to withdraw. You're just not rational when it comes to making tactical decisions, like when to stop…oh…and by the way…"

She softened her tone.

"Thanks for saving my ass again out there. I'm no good at fighting much more than two of them at a time, and you always seem to be there when I need someone to take some of the heat off me."

"That's my goal in life." Kazu replied cheerfully, "To make those sons of bitches die for their cause so we can all keep killing for ours."

"How selfless of you!" Serena exclaimed, "Risking your life everyday just to save ours."

Actually I couldn't give a shit about the others, but better that you don't find that out just yet.

He detected veiled sarcasm in her words, but rather than play coy with her, he chose honesty. "If risking my life to end my enemy's accomplishes both my goals at once, I can't complain."

By that time they had reached their carrier and were making their landing inside one of the forward maintenance bays. Collapsing would be a better term. Kazu thought, a wry grin etched onto his lips. If there weren't clamps holding us in place, I'm pretty sure we would implode. And wouldn't that be nice for the mechanics if I died? They'd never have to fix us up anymore. "Sorry guys," he said softly to himself, "but me and old Dervish here aren't planning on dying anytime soon."

And now for the tricky bit. He thought. Getting out..

Always the worst part of every battle was getting out. Usually due to the fact that the Dervish was so badly damaged that the normal method of getting out was completely destroyed or incapacitated.

This was the case now.

Swearing under his breath he climbed up one of the maintenance ladders some 80 feet to a hatch. He considered himself lucky, because usually most of the ladders are blocked by wreckage or short-circuiting electronics, and he would have to try several different ones before he found one unblocked. Today he found one on the second try. Clambering out, he found himself perched on the Dervish's shoulder. 540 feet above the deck. In a crater deeper than he was tall and 30 feet in diameter

No shock to him though.

He'd seen worse.