Disclaimer

Macross is owned by or licensed to lots of people - Tatsunoko Studios, Harmony Gold, Studio Nue, Streamline Video...note that none of them are me.

The same can be said of Ranma 1/2 - Rumiko Takahashi, Kitty, Shonen Sunday Comics, Viz Video. Not me.

I didn't create any of them, and I certainly do not own them. Any use of them in this story is meant as nothing more than tribute. Please don't sue me.

Wednesday's Child

Thirty-Five: Scars

May 30th, 2012

The defending forces were badly outnumbered.

A battalion of Zentraedi combat robots was six hundred Regult combat pods, twenty-five Regult artillery pods—twenty light, five heavy—six Regult reconnaissance pods, one hundred Nousjadeul-Ger powered armour troopers, and three Glaug officer's battle pods. While all of these robots were very flimsy, the defenders had eighteen Valkyries and nineteen Destroids of various sorts to fight them off.

"Target, Regult, two o'clock." Ranma stomped the right pedal, and the Tomahawk turned towards the Zentraedi robot. He pulled the right-hand stick back, and the Tomahawk pivoted at the hip joint, bringing it face-on to the Regult.

"Range two hundred ten." Milia selected her particle cannons and pulled the trigger. The beam from the right arm smashed through the pod, killing it and its pilot.

"Kill." Ranma stomped the left pedal, putting the Tomahawk back on its original course. "Twenty two hundred meters to station. ETA five minutes thirty."

"Five hundred mil," said Milia.

"I can't do the conversion in my head," groused Ranma. "Target, Regult. Twelve o'clock."

"Range fifty-five." She scowled. "Particle cannons are refusing to fire."

"You're too close," said Ranma.

Milia spun the weapon select dial, and pulled the triggers. The two 25mm cannons roared, peppering the Regult with high-explosive incendiary shells. The Regult ducked back under cover, and Ranma pushed the Tomahawk after it.

Rather surprising that we're working so well together, he mused. Like we'd been fighting as a team for more than a year, not simply sparring in the dojo.

He rounded the corner...and learned that the Regult had led them into a trap. Six more Regults, one of them a light artillery model, were waiting for them.

Milia wasted no time. She activated the homing missiles, painted two targets—both of them standard Regult units—and fired off two Coral Snake missiles. The Tomahawk's leg packs were loaded with Stilettos; she fired off four, not bothering to aim them. And she trained both particle cannons on the Artillery Pod.

The Zentraedi were not waiting to be destroyed, however. The six Regult pods—including the damaged one that they had chased in here—opened fire with their particle beam cannons. Ranma stomped the left paddle, and the Tomahawk dodged to the left, its torso rotating to keep the weapons systems pointed towards the Zentraedi robots. Two beams still struck the Tomahawk, one in the chest and one in the right arm.

He glanced down at the damage report, cursing the fact that he did not have a third person aboard—there was room for such, and the third seat was dedicated to engineering and damage control. The hit to the arm had not penetrated the armour, but the shot to the torso had struck the right gun bay. Of the weapons in that bay, only the laser was showing as active.

Milia's missiles struck, destroying three Pods, and her particle cannons smashed into the Artillery Pod. It had already launched four missiles at them, but she engaged them with her gun clusters, shooting them down one by one. The last was exploded almost within attack range, and it splashed the Destroid with fragments—none of them large enough to penetrate the armour.

The three remaining Regults ducked back under cover, two going to the left, one to the right.

"Are these buildings inhabited?"

"No," he replied. "The city was evacuated, but—"

She pulled at the control sticks, angling the arms left and right, and pulled the trigger. The particle cannons fired through the office buildings, retaining enough energy to cripple one Pod on each side. Ranma cursed, but didn't hesitate; he threw the Destroid into a run, pulling it around the left-side building. Milia engaged the autocannons again, and hammered the remaining Pod into junk.

"Problem, Commander?"

"Yes, there's a problem, Milia!" He tried to keep himself calm. "The evacuation order was given, but if there were any stragglers in those buildings, they could have been killed! Not to mention that now we have to repair those buildings!"

"Humans excel at rebuilding," she said.

"Well, I'm gonna make sure you're on that repair crew," he said. "Plus, particle feedback may have damaged the particle cannons."

"I have all green lights on that weapon system."

"So do I," he admitted. "But keep it in mind next time, okay? Try not to wreck the city."

"I shall remember."

And the good news was, she would. He glanced back at his nav system. "The line of battle has passed our position. We can hit 'em from the rear." He snorted. "For all the good it'll do with only one Destroid."

"Charlie Flight has been completely destroyed." Claudia was looking rather worried. "The Skull is out of missiles and gun ammo, and Commander Ichigyo requests he be allowed to return and rearm."

"Alpha Flight may rearm," said Misa. "Bravo Flight will remain on the front lines until Alpha returns."

"Fourth Cav has had its Alpha Platoon wiped out," continued Claudia. "Bravo Platoon is holding their sector, in addition to its own. Charlie Platoon, and Commander Saotome, are nearly at the front line, but they've been dealing with a Zentraedi breakthrough."

"Status of Charlie Platoon?"

"Two Spartans damaged, one Tomahawk damaged. However, all three units are still combat capable."

"And Commander Saotome?"

"He's lost his starboard gun bay, but other than that, in good form."

Misa bit her lip. "There's still over six hundred out there, and we've lost twelve units. We can't keep up that rate of attrition."

"We haven't got any more units to field."

"Status of the Black Aces?"

"They're just clearing the ground," said Shammy. "ETA is forty minutes."

"This will be over long before they get here," said Vanessa.

"What about conventional forces?"

Claudia shook her head. "Sorry, Misa, but all we have is infantry. That would be like sending lambs to the slaughter."

"Outfit them with LAWs, then deploy them at the recloning chamber, and outside this building," said Misa. "They are not to engage unless the Zentraedi attempt to steal the recloning system, or attack this building."

"Commander!" Kim's voice was shrill. "I've got six more incoming variable fighters, but no IFF readout on them. Their transponders are down, as well."

"How do you know they're variable fighters, then?"

"I have visual, Ma'am." She put it up on the main screen, and Misa gasped.

Five of them were obviously Valkyries, but they had no unit designation, not even U. N. Spacy markings. Instead, they were painted in a jungle camouflage that had never appeared on a Valkyrie. However, the sixth did a fine job of identifying their affiliation.

It was an Icarus.

"It's the Vigilantes."

"Okay, boys, just like we rehearsed."

The six variable fighters tipped nose down, and began dropping bombs. Without access to the latest in Spacy missiles, the Vigilantes had been forced to improvise. Luckily, the Valkyrie had been designed before the latest crop of missiles had come out, and still had the software required for older weapons. Such as the cluster bomb units they now deployed.

The Zentraedi line of battle was still mostly outside the city. Two platoons of Destroids were holding them back, as well as a flight of Valkyries. Max had felt a ping of regret, seeing the skull and crossbones on their tailplanes. The up-shot of this, however, was that the Zentraedi were in a reasonably tight grouping.

The Rockeye cluster bombs were fused to burst two hundred meters off the ground. Two of the Vigilantes were off altitude when they deployed, however, and the pattern was uneven. But they were graphically effective none the less. Each submunition was ten kilograms of high explosive, with a fragmenting jacket wrapped around it. One was not enough to kill a Battle Pod, but three or four bursting nearby would wreck their legs—the weakest part of the Pod—and each Rockeye carried thirty-two submunitions.

And each Valkyrie carried six Rockeyes. His own Icarus carried only four, but that still totalled over a thousand submunitions.

In total, almost two hundred Zentraedi Battle Pods went down, their combat capability reduced practically to zero.

The Vigilantes broke off from their attack run, scrabbling hard to get out of the area before return fire arrived. They didn't quite make it; Five was struck by particle cannon fire, his ship coming apart, though Kerr managed to eject. The Vigilantes turned back towards the fight, lighting up their radars, and Max brought his AMRAAM missiles online.

He painted a Glaug and fired off a missile. The AMRAAM was fire-and-forget, so he immediately started tracking another—a suit of powered armour—and fired a second. Both missiles hit; the powered armour was torn in half, killing its operator, but the Officer's Pod remained combat-capable, and returned fire with its top-mounted particle cannon.

Max slewed the fighter, dodging the fire, and selected his wing-mounted gun pods. The M61 20mm cannons hammered at the target, but didn't have the penetration to kill the machine. He flipped the weapon selector to his high-powered LASER cannon, and fired. One beam ripped the left arm off the pod; the second smashed in the nose sensor.

The Glaug was effectively out of the fight; without the nose sensor, it was unable to target. Max turned his attention to the large number of Battle Pods, and selected the 20mm cannons again. He laid down a strafing column, tearing into it with cannon fire, and watched with satisfaction as seven Battle Pods exploded.

At least these little popguns can kill the Battle Pods.

"The Vigilantes have managed to wipe out thirty-two percent of the attacking force," reported Vanessa. "They've lost one Valkyrie. Skull Alpha reports on the ground and getting refitted; they'll be back on the lines in two minutes."

"What are they reloading with?"

"Jackhammer Charlies."

Misa nodded. "Good." She turned to Claudia. "Contact Commander Saotome, then patch him through to me."

"Commander Saotome, Gunsight One."

"Go ahead, Gunsight One."

"I'm certain you've noticed our uninvited guests."

Ranma grinned tightly. "At least they're on our side."

"Skull Alpha will be en route to your position in one minute. They will be deploying Jackhammer Charlies. If the Vigilantes show any sign—any at all—of engaging them, you are to shoot them down."

"Understood."

"And Ranma...if we can track them back to their home base, I will be sending you after them."

"The Renegade front line appears to be advancing towards us," said Milia. She twisted the Tomahawk's turret, bringing her particle cannons to bear, and quickly dispatched two Battle Pods.

"Fourth Cav, Gunsight One. The Zentraedi have taken the recloning chamber and are falling back. Recapture the chamber if you can, or destroy it."

"Crap," snarled Ranma. "They can out-run us no problem."

"We can stop them," said Milia calmly.

"No, we can't," said Ranma. "We don't have the mobility to keep up with them." A Battle Pod leapt clear over their Tomahawk, and Milia swung the machine around, firing a Taipan SAM at it. But ten more jumped past their position, not even bothering to engage them, and ran down the street.

Ranma's earbug crackled to life. "Fourth Cav, pursue at full speed." It was the voice of Lieutenant Macklin, CO of the Fourth.

"Skull Alpha is in hot with Jackhammers."

"Valkyries can keep up with them," said Ranma. "But all we can do is try to catch them on the way back out."

Milia was lighting up Pod after Pod with the beam-riding RADAR systems, and firing Coral Snakes and Stilettos after them. "I am nearly out of missiles."

"Commander Saotome, Gunsight One. Proceed to grid reference fifty-four by forty and make pickup on Valkyrie pilot."

"Well, that we can do, at least." He pointed the Tomahawk towards the indicated grid reference, and advanced the throttles.

It took them two minutes to reach the downed pilot. However, as they came into view, the pilot started crawling away from his chute—he had apparently broken his leg at some point. Ranma frowned.

"Why is this joker tryin' ta run away?"

Milia was fiddling with her controls. "Where is the—oh, here it is." She zoomed in on the pilot. "That does not appear to be a United Nations uniform."

"Which means he's probably a Vigilante." Ranma grinned, and popped his hatch. "Let me just go down there and restrain him."

Ranma dropped the struggling Vigilante at the MP's feet. "Here ya go. I imagine Colonel Tendo will want to talk to him."

"Thank you, Sir." The MP saluted him, then grabbed the pilot and none too gently escorted him from the docking bay.

Ranma turned as Milia reached the bottom of the ladder. "Well, Guns, I'd say that we did quite well today." He grinned. "Not bad, considerin' you've never used one of these before."

"Indeed," said Milia. Then smiled. "Perhaps a celebratory drink is in order. We can hit Ilya's, or maybe Ben's Pub, then go find out what this city has for night life."

"What—wait." Ranma raised his hand. "Look, Milia, I know we've gone out to the movies twice, but—"

Milia raised a finger and grinned impishly. "Don't worry, I'll pay."

Ranma sighed. "Milia. Look, I like ya. I really do. You're a nice girl. But you ain't dated anyone else since—well, since ever. Shouldn't you...I dunno...explore the field? There might be someone out there you like better."

She frowned slightly. "But it is you that I want. You defeated me."

"I thought we were past that crap!" He threw his hands in the air. "I don't own you! You're free to make your own choices."

"And I have chosen you," she said. Her expression was stern, now. "I cannot force you to choose me—in fact, I cannot force you to do anything; you have proven that. My life is my own, as you have told me. But if I wish to spend it with you, can you deny me that wish?"

"Well, I—" He was suddenly at a loss for words.

"I have watched the women in your life," she continued. "Misa has given up on you, which I feel is foolish of her, but I would not think of trying to change her choice. Minmay flirts with you, but you are not for her. Nabiki—"

"Nabiki?"

"—loves you deeply, but the scars in your past—and her own—has caused her to push you away." She smirked. "Even Claudia cares for you. Though she feels no romantic attachment to you."

"What do you know about romance?" he snapped. "You came out of a friggin' test tube."

He wished he could bite back the words the moment that he said them.

"Is that truly what bothers you?" She didn't look offended. "That I am an artificial person?"

"No." He sighed. "Hell, most of the time, it never even occurs to me. But Milia, until you started livin' aboard Macross, you didn't know squat about our customs or culture. An' since I met you, you've been tryin' ta ape our ways—"

"At first, yes," she said. "Now, I understand them. And I know why Humans pair-bond as they do. To find their complement."

Ranma paused. "You know, this is more like the Milia I know. That crap you were doin' a minute ago, actin' all girly...wasn't really you."

She grimaced. "I saw it on a television program, and thought the approach would please you. It was very...Human."

"I ain't interested in a fake Human," he said.

"Then I shall try a more Zentraedi approach," she said. "We are going to Ilya's." Her tone brooked no refusal.

Ranma shrugged. "Suits. But I'm buyin'."

An unfortunate accident involving a glass of alcohol—she wasn't sure what kind, but it was mixed with orange juice—had rendered her female about halfway through their 'celebration'. Milia hadn't even blinked. In fact, Ranma had the feeling that she might not even have noticed.

She was staggering slightly, with Ranma's arm around her to keep her mostly upright. Ranma's help was questionable, as the un-metabolized booze in her system had gone straight to her head upon changing form. Losing fifteen kilograms was murder on her alcohol tolerance.

"Just wanna go to bed," slurred Milia.

"Almost there," said Ranma. "Your quarters are just down this street. One more block."

"You said that two blocks ago."

"No, I didn't," said Ranma.

"Ethanol is a poison," said Milia. "Why do Humans enjoy this feeling?"

"You mean you're not enjoyin' it?"

"I am," she admitted. "But I couldn't possibly fight like this."

"Well, don't enjoy it too much," said Ranma. "You didn't even have that much—just three drinks."

"I didn't like the beer," she said. "But the—what was it called?"

"Rye and Coke."

"Yes. It was very poisonous."

Ranma chuckled. "Okay, here's your door. You got your key card?"

"Right here." She pulled it out of a pocket, and ran it through the sensor. The door beeped cheerfully at her, and slid open. "Come on in."

"Ah...I think I'd best not." Granted, she wasn't much more than buzzed, but—

"Don't worry, Ranma." Milia grinned. "You can trust me."

"Just the same."

"Wait." Milia sat down on the step. Ranma sighed, and sat down across from her, cross-legged on the pavement.

"I don't think you know what I mean," said Milia. "In the Zentraedi culture—what passes for culture, that is—you can't trust anyone. That's why we dress the way we do." She indicated her high-collared shirt. "You let a person see too much of your body, they can spot your weaknesses.

"We live in fear of weakness. We fear our superiors. We hate the enemy, hate losing, fear losing...You see?" She shrugged. "The only emotions we're encouraged to have is hatred and fear. Because it makes us better warriors."

"I know," said Ranma. "I remember the first time you wore that sundress—"

"I was terrified," chuckled Milia. "But it wasn't just to make us better warriors. It was to keep us from forming any attash—attachments." She enunciated the last word slowly. "If we're afraid of each other, we can't trust each other."

Ranma nodded. "But you're learning to trust now, right?"

"I've learned to trust you," said Milia. Her fingers were playing with the button at her throat. "Because I put my life in your hands, and you did not end it. Instead, you tried to teach me to be better." She undid the button, then stared down at her hand.

"This is why I've always told you, my life is yours. Because I trusted you with it, and you did not abuse that trust. How can I not trust you now?

"And more than that," she continued. "You have trusted me, when I have given you ample reason not to trust me. You knew I wanted to kill you, and still you agreed to help me."

"I was blackmailed," she said quickly.

Milia undid the second button of her shirt. "If I may quote, 'I've already forgiven her. I just don't see why I should care what she does next.'" She looked up again, and smiled. "But regardless, you chose to help me, of your own free will."

Ranma shrugged. "I got a soft spot."

She undid the third button, and Ranma suddenly realized what she was doing. A look of panic spread across the smaller woman's face, and Milia giggled. It was a surprising sound from her; she'd never heard her laugh in genuine amusement before.

"Calm down. I'm wearing an undershirt." She undid the last two buttons, then hesitated. "It's hard to do this, but I want you to see..." She removed the heavy blouse. Her undershirt was fine sink, and clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination, but it was at least opaque.

Milia rubbed at a scar on her right arm, just below the elbow. "You see here? When you ripped the arm off my powered armour, the mechanical damage caused trauma to the arm.

"And here." She touched a discoloured patch of skin, the size of a dime, just above her collarbone. "Where your energy projection melted the metal snap on my collar. To this day, I cannot look at these scars without feeling the shame of defeat." She looked up at Ranma. "When you trust me enough, will you show me your scars?"

She swallowed. "I—I'd like to tell you about Akane."

"These steps are cold and hard," said Milia. "Please. Come in. I'll try to make us some tea."

June 6th, 2012

"The prisoner's name is Christopher Wagner," said Nabiki. "He was an American fighter pilot, United States Navy, prior to the start of the Space War. Invalidated out due to damage to his sight."

"Max can't afford to be choosy," observed Ranma.

"Essentially correct," said Misa. "Plus, he is in no position to criticize a person's lack of visual acuity. Wagner's sight is still above minimums required to operate a Valkyrie, but the United States Navy could be much more selective."

"So where are they?"

Misa grinned at Ranma's impatience. "Remarkably close," she said. "Six hundred kilometers from this base, in northern British Columbia. We've already contacted Prime Minister Facciol with our information, and he's cleared us to conduct a strike against the base."

Ranma nodded. "You've got exact co-ordinates, of course?"

"Of course," said Nabiki. "Mr. Wagner was unwilling to divulge this information, but I applied...pressure."

Ranma abruptly felt the deepest sympathy for Wagner. "So when do we deploy?"

"Eleven hundred hours," said Misa. "However, you still don't have an assigned aircraft." She picked up a folder from her desk—a rather thick folder—and handed it to him. "Now you do. This aircraft isn't the newest in our inventory, but it is a Jaybird. No down gripes at the moment, and the up gripes aren't going to slow you down too much on this mission."

Ranma took the folder, and started flipping through it. "Radar's lost six cells—that ain't so bad. Number five pump understrength—it'll take me two extra seconds to shift to GERWALK. That ain't so good. Gun pod software crashed, can't use the gun in fighter mode. I'll cope."

"It doesn't have a plane captain," said Misa. "It's been a bit of a hangar queen. Get the file to Chief Bell, so she can learn your new airplane."

"It'll be her airplane," said Ranma. "An' if I'm a good boy, and eat all my vegetables, she'll let me play with it once and a while."

Misa turned and indicated the board behind him. "Due to losses on the flight line, Skull Squadron needs a new flight leader for Bravo. I realize that your rank makes you a bit senior for the position."

He shrugged. "I'll cope."

"According to Wagner, the Vigilantes had six functioning Valkyries, plus the Icarus," said Nabiki. "However, they didn't have enough pilots for all seven airplanes. With Wagner in custody, they're down to five active units. Plus, they don't have access to the same weapons as us. Alpha will hold high position over the area, and Bravo will go in on foot. If you can avoid their radar, you should be able to take them by surprise."

Ranma hesitated. "And then?"

"Use your discretion," said Misa. "We don't want a bloodbath. If you can destroy the variable fighters on the ground, we'll consider that a success."

"Good," said Ranma.

"Bravo Lead, Skull Lead. Enemy radar is approaching detection strength. I don't think we can get any closer."

"Roger that, Skull Lead. Bravo flight, reconfigure to Soldier. We'll finish the approach on foot."

"We ain't so stealthy as you, Lead."

"Just do your best," said Ranma. "We're only ten klicks away. Even if they pick us up right now, there's no way they can launch birds before we close."

"Bravo Lead, Alpha Three." Alpha Three was a G-type Valkyrie, equipped for the electronic warfare role. "I just got pinged hard, well above detection levels. Lambda-type radar set."

"That's gotta be the Icarus," said Ranma. "Unless they got a Tico-class cruiser sittin' here in the middle of the forest. Bravo, full run. Alpha, can you provide air support?"

"Spotted all four Valkyries on the tarmac, Bravo. We're in hot with Jackhammers."

Ranma nodded, foolish though it was—Ichigyo couldn't see him—and pushed the Valkyrie into a run. The machine was capable of running at fifty kilometers per hour, but the dense forest made it impossible to run in a straight line. He kept one eye on his computer, and realized it was going to take them twenty minutes to reach the base.

He heard a string of pops, like firecrackers. The Jackhammers were Bravo types, disgorging dozens of explosive submunitions—the best choice for attacking grounded airplanes.

"Two destroyed. The other two are taking off—here comes a third, they musta gotten a driver for it—"

"Incoming missiles. I'm punching chaff—"

"Five is down. Negative chute."

"Jesus, that thing is—"

"Bravo Lead, Skull Lead. We are taking fire from the Vigilantes, and they are not, repeat not using obsolete weapons. That Icarus is owning us. Buster!"

"Bravo Flight, reconfigure to GERWALK and gate. Alpha's in trouble."

He pulled the reconfiguration lever, and the robot shifted around him, into the raptor-like GERWALK configuration. He firewalled the throttle, pushing the airplane up through the canopy—Bell's gonna have my ass for this one—and pointed his nose towards the firefight.

"Tallyho! Furball at one o'clock."

"They're all mixed up in there; we can't use our missiles." Ranma scowled. "Reconfigure to fighter mode, and engage with guns. Eyeball your damn targets before pulling the trigger!"

He didn't reconfigure his own machine; in fighter mode, he couldn't use the gun. But the other five jets in his flight shifted, and poured on the speed.

Even from—he checked his computer—five kilometers away, it was easy to spot Max. He was dancing between the Valkyries, dual gun pods blazing, taking out one opponent after another with precision fire.

And Skull after Skull fell under his guns.

This can't be happenin', he thought furiously. We got them outnumbered an' outclassed. How can they be winnin'? How can he be winnin'?

And before he could reach the Vigilante base, the air was clear of Valkyries, both enemy and friendly.

Only Max remained.

Ranma shifted back to Soldier mode, the plasma exhaust from the robot's legs holding it airborne above the canopy. Half a kilometer away, Max did the same.

His center MFD scrambled, and Max's face appeared.

"I didn't want this, Saotome."

"I told you, Max, that we'd have to stop you."

"What does it take to open your eyes?" Max's eyes narrowed. "How many innocents have to die? You can be police, or you can be military, but you can't be both."

"I can't be a cop," said Ranma. "So I'm a soldier. You made the same choice."

"The U. N. wants us to act like police," said Max. "Police react; the military acts."

"The military acts when directed," countered Ranma. "What you and your band was doin' was wrong."

"Like you've never done the same," sneered Max. "Who directed you to rescue Tendo? Who directed you to beat up Ling, or Milia? Who directed you to take that prototype out on a mission?"

Ranma nodded slowly. "Yeah, I've done the same. An' I regret it." He glanced down at his weapons board. "Last chance."

Max raised his right-side cannon and snapped off a burst. Ranma stomped left rudder, reconfiguring to GERWALK as he slid his Valkyrie out of the path of the tracers. He flipped his master arm ring, and squeezed the weapon release button.

Six GA-23 "Diamondback" missiles dropped from his wings, and howled towards the Icarus. Max casually shot them down, one after another, and fired off two missiles of his own. Ranma toggled his jammers, pumped chaff, then flares. The two missiles shot below and behind him, chasing the flares. He glanced down, and realized where the Vigilantes had gotten their advanced weaponry.

Standard Zentraedi Type Two missiles.

He cursed, pulling the Valkyrie through a loop, as Max punished him for his inattention. High-explosive incendiary shells punched through the Valkyrie's thin skin, but his damage readouts indicated nothing but the penetrations.

He spared a glance at his battle computer, and cursed as he realized that he was far too close for missiles. He punched the jettison button, cleaning up the airplane, and dove towards Max, gun pod spitting 55mm shells.

But the Icarus had thrusters that were slavishly copied from the single Queaddlun-Rau that Ranma had disabled before the Space War. It could twist and turn with ghastly ease, even in Soldier Mode.

If only they hadn't cancelled THUNDERBIRD! If I knew that airplane, I could—

But he knew one much like it, he realized. The Lightning was essentially a larger, more modern version of the Icarus.

An' that means it has difficulty with negative-alpha maneuvers.

He reconfigured again to Soldier, his Valkyrie dropping like a stone, then back to GERWALK, sliding underneath the Icarus. Then spun on the spot, popping up behind him—

Cannon shells hammered the top of his Valkyrie. His left wing came apart at the wing-root, his right powerplant caught fire. He cursed, and tried to recover the airplane, but it was no use. He reached for the ejection handles, but the jet plowed into the ground before his hands made it.

He shook his head, surprised that he was still alive.

Smaller airplane, different flow mechanics. Guess he could handle the negative alpha.

Max dropped down in front of him, one gun pod trained on his cockpit. His voice boomed out over the loudspeakers.

"Game's over, Saotome."

"I can't do that, Max." He shook his head, then glanced down at the battle computer. The gun pod was still showing ready. If he could get a shot into the cockpit—

He grabbed the stick and pulled. The Valkyrie's arm came up...and was shattered by a hail of cannon fire.

"Sorry, Saotome. It ends here."

Max raised the cannon, sighting down the barrel at his cockpit.

Something was rumbling.

Ya think of the oddest damn things when you're about to die.

But it apparently had Max's attention as well. The Icarus paused, and took a step back.

A Zentraedi warship, Queadol-Magdomilla class, was passing overhead and to the west.

Ranma flipped on his wrist com. "Yo, Max."

"I hear you, Saotome."

"Can we set aside this little feud for now? I think we got bigger problems."