The grizzlies punched along the side of the Vik'Atrilik, leaving explosions like stepping stones as Angel, Malibu, Torch, and Brink sailed by. While the order was for free fire, each was very carefully hitting a specific deck or section of the great dreadnaught. Zuhn and his shadow team would be following a prepared route to both Sela and Surc, with three or four alternate routes plotted out to fall back to in case some obstacle (such as a hull breech) compromised their path.

Most of these routes were as far from the hull as could be managed, but there was always a risk.

As they slid past the aft of the ship, the four SFT fighters spread out and separated. Torch and Brink turned along the aft to the portside, letting some cursory small arms fire off at the engines as they ducked around to hit the flank. Malibu and Angel made a much tighter turn, heading back toward the bow and ducking under the belly of the beast.

{Target on scope, lock. We have four bandits coming in at 177,} Malibu said. Angel checked her scope and nodded.

{Confirm, my target is on scope and lock. Should I break lock and engage bandits?}

{Negative, keep on target lock and dodgeball.}

{Malibu, Angel; Vapor. Opie and I have your six. Leave these bastards to us.}

{Much appreciated, Vapor. We're on our hot run.}

Angel and Malibu, well under the dreadnaught at this point, broke apart slightly toward their respective targets as Vapor and Opie blasted past them and lit up the IBs. The dreadnaught's two main guns were thundering away toward any fighter that crossed its scope, almost in disregard to whether those it was firing on were human or its own Kilrathi.

The Vik'Atrilik was also moving now, heading away from Ragnarök and toward Earth, with one of the two heavies flanking. They had to defang the beast before it could get those guns in range of their own heavies.

Angel was trying not to think on the flagship's sudden motion, praying it was merely Surc or Sela getting overeager. Their intelligence had said that the flagship would not start to move in until Cat boots were nearly on Earth. If that intelligence held true, that meant that the Front at Neptune had been broken.

No word from Houston. No word from Seattle. No word from Earth. No word is good word. It has to be.

The base of the starboard forward gun, the one in Angel's sites, was twice as big as her tourney. Letting out a long, slow breath as she watched the range on her HUD, her finger poised above the trigger of her missiles, Angel was counting down heartbeats.

Just as she got within range and sent off her missiles, something screamed past just at her nose, shedding metal and spitting flame. She gasped a curse and wrenched her stick to avoid a collision, and her tourney swung upward and slammed into the bottom of the dreadnaught with enough force to snap her teeth together on her tongue and send a bolt of pain through her neck.

One of the two missiles she fired sailed into the targeted gun and gouged a hole out of its side, half knocking the entire firing assembly out of its seat in the hull. The second, distracted by the fighter that had cut across her bow, chased after the wounded plane. Dazed and in pain, Angel compensated downward, but her tourney was listing and fighting the stick. The distracted missile hit the wounded fighter and it erupted. A huge portion of the fuselage hit her fighter under the wing and the list turned into a washtub spin and a blast of alarm lights over her HUD.

{Shit! Shit!} she heard herself say, but it was lost in the sudden shout of voices over her headset.

{Angel's hit! Angel's hit, she's in a tumble!} Vapor.

{Jesus fuck what was that fucker thinking?} Opie. {Oh, Jesus! Malibu, Torch is down. I repeat, Torch is down. He cut in and nearly wiped Angel, snagged a grizzly!}

{Angel, report! I'm coming back to your blind side!} Malibu. {Vapor, take Angel's target!}

{On it!}

"Malibu; Angel," she panted. Her ears were ringing madly, her head and neck ached, and blood was dribbling down her chin. She'd managed to get the bird out of a full tumble but she was in a constant slow roll. "Port side thrusters are unresponsive; I can't right her. I have damage to my small arms port side, plates on topside, external coolant leak- I'm trying to clamp down now."

As she spoke her fingers were flying, trying to shut the failsafe that would prevent more coolant leaking out into space. If she lost all her coolant she'd lose all her guns, not just the port side small arms. The thrusters worried her the most- without her port side thrusters, she couldn't level the fighter, couldn't maneuver beyond swinging the main engine thrust. That would be enough to limp her home on a drunken straight line, perhaps, but if a johnny came at her she was done.

Succeeding in clamping off the coolant leak she turned her attention to the flashing thruster damage display, her fingers flying.

{I've got you, Angel,} Malibu said, and Angel could see her slide in nearby to keep her covered. A moment later, she was out of sight again as Parry's tourney kept slowly spinning. {Are you hurt?}

{Negative,} Angel lied. Her tongue hurt a bitch but she wasn't concerned with that. Her neck and head hurt badly and that was concerning her. While her restraints had kept her helmet from hitting the top of her canopy, she'd been jolted hard enough she thought at best she had a nasty case of whiplash. At worst, she'd fractured something. Either way, it didn't matter now. All the Cesars were two hours away at the Neptune Front. No jump was going to be forthcoming to get them out away from Ragnarök, or send a Cesar in after them; the Nephilim could only do so much before they were entirely spent, and they had all known going in that there would be no real chance of rescue here if something went wrong.

All of that was weighing on her, but what kept echoing in her mind was Torch. Because of her, one of her Wing mates was dead.

{Your wing is torn, your three and four thrusters are gone but your one and two look intact,} Malibu said.

{Confirmed. I'm rerouting and doing a hard reboot of the thruster system.} She grit her teeth, trying to see around her throbbing headache as she fumbled for the power transfer switch. Shifting the load from the now extinct three and four thrusters, she rebooted the system and eyed her HUD.

Her one and two thrusters, flashing red, slowly switched to amber and then finally into green. She grabbed the stick and righted the bird from its roll. "Yes! Malibu, I have control."

{Copy that,} Malibu sounded relieved. {We-}

She broke off as another voice came over their comms, the priority channel automatically switching off private chatter.

{All Wings; Houston! All Wings; Houston! Fall back to emergency station Omega! Repeat, all Wings, fall back to emergency station Omega! We are at Condition Nine! All Wings, fall back to emergency station Omega! All Wing Commanders, follow Condition Nine protocol!}

Angel felt her stomach tighten as every inch of her seemed to go cold. Even the pain in her head and her neck seemed to vanish into a numb horror.

Condition Nine meant that the Neptune Front had broken. The Cats had torn through their defenses and were closing in on Earth. Emergency station Omega was the moon, where they would attempt to form up another Front with what they had left. Combat and strategy would be relegated to the Seattle and actual Earth HQ directly. Houston, the only full launch and supply platform left, was much too big to get any nearer Earth than it was now, and far too slow moving to attempt to do so even if it had been possible. It would be abandoned. They'd evacuate as many people as they could before the Cats could either destroy or occupy it.

Under Condition Nine, the WCs of each Wing had a standing set of orders particular to that Wing. For some, it meant retreat back to the moon and help establish a Front there. For others, it meant fall all the way back to Earth orbit and try and hold the Cats off of the planet completely with the help of any civilian vessel that had armament.

For them, the three SFT Wings at Ragnarök, it meant to do everything possible to scuttle the jump gate. If Malibu received a Code Black from Earth or the Seattle- and there were any of them left alive to follow the order- that would mean that Zuhn and his team had failed, and they were to then try and take down the dreadnaught by any means at their disposal.

Whether or not they received an official Code Black from any authority, if the dreadnaught made it as far as Neptune it would be a Code Black by default. Under no circumstances were they to allow Surc or his ship to get any closer to Earth than that.

{Vapor, report!} Malibu asked as soon as the announcement had concluded.

{Confirm target down,} she replied. The dreadnaught's two main guns were gone.

Her teeth may be blunted but she still has claws, Angel thought numbly, and closed her eyes for a moment.

Could this really be it? Could this really be how the human race met its end?

Ray, I don't know if you can hear me, if you're watching but…

She didn't even know the end of that sentence. But…I love you? Ray knew that. But…be safe? That wasn't possible.

But…save us?

That was even more impossible a thing to hope for. As Malibu spoke again, Angel opened her eyes and took hold of herself. If nothing else, she was a fighter pilot, and she had sworn she would fight and die for the Confed.

With everything that had happened in the last year, that- at least- had never changed.

{Alpha Wing, on me. Eta and Iota, report?}

{Alpha, Iota. Forming up.}

{Alpha, Eta. Forming up.}

{Confirmed, Iota and Eta. All Wings - Condition Nine, we're making the run to the jump gate. Angel, can you run?}

"Ten-Four. I'm with you," Angel said as the few SFT tourneys that were left started toward the jump gate, a wall of Kilrathi fighters waiting for them like razors in the dark.

I'm with you till the end.


President Ndiaye and most of her cabinet and staff had been moved to the most secure base the Confed had to offer, underneath the northern ridge of Dent Blanche in the Pennine Alps. Ray and the Nephilim had also gone there, sealed under more than a mile of rock and thick steel.

There were three other Nephilim besides her and Eve: Jeno, Aulani, and Camus. Only one of them had been used as a Confed spy for decades with mixed results. Camus was the oldest, at nearly sixty. The other two, Jeno and Aulani, had been 'returned' as Ray had from vanishing during a jump. They had been very young, and had been adopted out, much as Ray had been. Unlike Ray, they hadn't adjusted quite as well to life as a human. Jeno had been nonverbal, and Aulani had been enrolled in a special school as her adopted parents believed her 'quirkiness' was the result of some sort of developmental delay.

Much as Eve, only a few moments in Ray's company and both were intelligent, communicative, and eager to help.

Camus had been a bit harder to convince, even once Ray had shown him 'home' as it were. He wasn't snagged on the fact that he was Nephilim instead of human, but as soon as he understood what he was and remembered where his home was, he wanted nothing more than to go back there. It had taken Ray far longer to talk him into staying at least until the war was decided than to convince him he wasn't human.

Eve had been in the worst shape of the lot of them. Already weak and sickly from her years of catatonia, helping to open the jumps to get the human prisoners out of the Cat camps had all but done her in. She was resting and recuperating, but it would be some time before she'd be able to open even a small jump without fainting, and so her help was off the board for the rest of what they needed to do.

It had been Jeno who had gone to the front on the CSAR vessels, to open the jump for the SFT Wings, and it had been Camus who had taken the far greater risk. He was the one who had jumped aboard Zuhn's ship, and then opened the way for the Prince and Shadow and their team to infiltrate the Vik'Atrilik.

Now both Camus and Jeno were back down in the bunker, drinking apple juice and trying to rest in case they were needed again. They'd handled the jumps well, neither collapsing, but it had worn on them. Aulani was on standby in case she was needed to open a jump in their stead.

Ray was down in the bunker with them, in the section that had been assigned to the Nephilim- only she wasn't. She hadn't opened any of the jumps, but she had been just as busy. To the outside observer, she was laying in one of the smaller beds, seemingly asleep. A small radio lay at hand, as if she had dozed in the middle of a conversation. Beside the bed, a jug of apple juice and a cup lay waiting.

Her true self, however, was out among the stars.

As tempting as it was to stay with Parry these last three days, she could not do so. Being out of her body like this, actively spying, was far less physically taxing than it was to open a jump. In fact, on many levels it was quite restful.

As her Nephilim self, she darted from Front to fighters, from heavy cruisers to Cat ships, from the TCP Houston to the TCP Seattle. Officially she was doing some recognizance for the Confed but truth be told, right now there was little she could tell them they didn't already know. More, it was for her own purposes that she was out and about; she could not physically be there fighting with them, but she'd be damned if she wouldn't be out there in whatever capacity, giving whatever help she was able.

It wasn't much, and she certainly couldn't be everywhere, but she had to believe the tiny things she did manage to do would make a difference.

She nudged an over-exhausted pilot's stick slightly, and he narrowly missed being struck by a missile that would have killed him.

She tickled a comm officer's ear and as he went to scratch it, he noticed the red light flashing on his board that allowed him to report when a small squad of johnnies had slipped past the outer network defense, on its way to try and take out a communications relay.

She pinched off an engineer's femoral artery that had been sliced in an explosion on board one of their heavies, keeping the man from bleeding out in the few minutes it took the rescue team to reach him and stop the bleeding.

Tiny things, infinitesimal drops in the bucket, but it was what she could do. It was all she could do.

She did check in on Rho Wing, and on Angel and Alpha Wing now and again. Rho got more frequent visits, because it tore her heart out every time she checked in on Parry. Seeing her alive and uninjured was a relief but it seemed to only strengthen the fear rising in Ray's heart- that this was going to be the end. That nothing they did was going to stop this tidal wave from crashing its destruction on Earth.

She had already decided that if the Cats did land, if the bunker was breached, she was going to go to Parry (if she was still alive) and just stay with her as long as she was able to before the Cats found her unconscious body and killed her.

She was there when the SFT Wings first jumped to Ragnarök, watching the battle for a short time before her helplessness tore at her. They were there for the duration. Even if they had to run for their lives, Ray could not open a jump to get their ships back to safe space; she could only open the jump to where she was, and being in a small room in an underground bunker would be disastrous if a bunch of tourneys suddenly sailed into it at top speed through a wormhole.

Leaving Angel and the others as they made their run toward the dreadnaught, Ray instead went back to Houston, and that was where she was- a silent observer as the Cats finally broke through the Neptune Front and began to close in on the platform.

When General Bastille called for Condition Nine and ordered the evacuation of the Houston, Ray's heart had fallen into horror. She ran with Bastille through the corridors and halls of the platform, barking orders, directing people to their evacuation points. The General passed up her own escape vessel, instead running down to the infirmary to help the medics there load the injured aboard medevac transports. Ray was with them when the first of the Cat heavies began to bombard the station, before almost fleeing from Bastille and the Houston to the Vik'Atrilik. Zuhn and Shadow had to be close to finishing their mission!

She was there only a moment. Only long enough to see two figures covered in blood, tearing at each other with primal fury. One was the Princess Sela, eyes wide and flaming with hatred and fury, fur gouged and stiff with gore.

The other was Shadow, a long dagger in hand and staggering as she tackled Sela, slashing the blade deep into her side even as the Cat lunged her fangs toward Diane's throat and the pair collapsed to the ground.

Ray darted, and was then with two huge male Kilrathi, locked in battle as if they truly were jungle beasts, foam and blood flying around the room. Zuhn gave a huge roar as he tried to force his brother back, and he was fighting-…oh God they were both fighting for their lives, but Surc could win. Surc could win and even if he lost…

Not in time. There is no more time!

Feeling as if she'd become terror embodied, Ray escaped from the Vik'Atrilik and almost before thought, found herself floating just outside of Parry's pit, staring in at her. Behind her helmet faceplate, Ray could see the blood spilling from Angel's mouth, could see the pain in her eyes. Her bird was wounded, and the flagship was moving, and now the call was filling her ears, filling her pit.

{All Wings; Houston! All Wings; Houston! Fall back to emergency station Omega! Repeat, all Wings, fall back to emergency station Omega! We are at Condition Nine! All Wings, fall back to emergency station Omega! All Wing Commanders, follow Condition Nine protocol!}

Ray saw the look come over Parry's face. A look of confused disbelief, slowly shifting into fear.

And then her jaw tightened, and her eyes seemed to focus past the pain she was feeling, and Ray knew. Ray knew that look. Parry's eyes slowly closed and Ray leaned in. She leaned in through the pit and through the pilot, and she heard-

Ray, I don't know if you can hear me, if you're watching but…

But…I love you?

Ray knew that.

But…be safe?

…save us?

Then Parry's eyes were open, and she was turning her tourney away from Ray, still hovering bodiless in the ether. Just before the connection was broken Ray heard it.

I'm with you till the end.

Alone now, disembodied, Ray watched as Parry's damaged tourney limped into formation with the others, ready to make their run on the jump gate.

Zuhn was not going to make it in time.

The SFT Wings were not going to survive this.

Rho Wing, Houston, Earth…

Parry is not going to survive this.

None of them were.

…save us?

On the little cot in that deep bunker room, Ray opened her eyes. She sat up, got to her feet, and grabbed the pitcher of apple juice.

Just that morning, she had insisted that arms be provided for the Nephilim who were going out to the front to open the jumps. Pistols and holsters had been given to Jeno and Camus, and they had worn them only for the duration of their task. Both gun belts, pistols included, had been set down on the table in the Nephilim's common area and Ray headed for them now. Taking them up, she buckled both of the belts to her waist, checked the weapons with quick snaps of her hand, and then holstered them.

Taking the pitcher of apple juice again, ignoring it when some sloshed over the side, she lifted it to her mouth and took several long gulps. After the first two, her stomach knotted a little and begged her to slow down, but she did not stop until fully half the pitcher was gone.

She set the pitcher carelessly back on the table, and as she turned and strode toward the middle of the room, it tipped and hit the ground with a booming shatter. She wiped a forearm over her wet lips.

…save us?

Ray's left hand flickered upward for a moment but her stride never ceased. "I'm with you till the end," she said to everyone, and to no one.

A heartbeat later, she was gone.


Dodgeball: rather than engage an enemy fighter with ordinance, duck and weave to avoid what's thrown at you instead while making your way to a locked target.

Hot run: a committed run to a target where a fighter is vulnerable to outside attack.