Falkland had but a few moments to rapidly analyse their predicament. Quickly, he flicked through screens and began marking targets and marking the combat zone. He did this nearly subconsciously, leaving the rest of his mind focused on the how. They had five fighters left, against two unknown enemy squadrons of four each. His altimeter confirmed that they were at a height of six thousand metres above surface, and fifty clicks away from New Hope. His radar was swarming with unknown signatures now, all splitting from a main focus of some kind.

That'll be their command vessel. Probably a Cruiser...

Pishon AFB had thirty F-61s ready to go in a worst case scenario. If they could deploy all of those successfully, they'd be able to maintain air dominance. The Cruiser would have to be subdued, they didn't have the firepower to take one of those out. As he saw it, their only option was to hope that Alliance reinforcements came on time. And that the few ships available on Eden Prime would have to buy as much time as possible if they had any chance. It would have to do, Falkland realised.

"Sabre, marking hostile wings Pisces, Capricorn and Aquarius. Your HUD is going to light up like a damn christmas tree...stay evasive. Focus down a target if it offers itself, but do not let them swarm you. Back each other up... I want everyone alive and kicking, is that undestood?" Falkland said sharply. Variations of 'affirmative' and 'copy that' answered him. Satisfied, Falkland put his ship into a sharp roll, descending to meet their enemies in combat range. Marking his closest target, he let the Aim assist take over. The speed at which current generation Fighters operated made it near impossible to eyeball targets. With considerable VI assistance, pilots could make an attempt at it. Additional data flooded into Falkland's HUD, an approximation of the target's integrity and mobility and it's distance. Aim assist manifested itself as a marker in front of the ship.

Let's see what you got, Bug.

Falkland let the two main cannons on his F-61 bark, spitting high energy rounds in the direction of the target. His target reacted almost immediately, changing course and increasing speed, and most of his shots missed. Cursing, he pushed the throttle and started closing distance when he heard the dreaded alarm.

Missiles incoming.

The emotionless tone of the VI did not convey the true nature of that threat. Missiles could be a one hit death sentence for any fighter pilot, their only drawback being the limited numbers each ship could carry.

"Motherfuckers-" Falkland yelled, throwing his ship into a crazy downward spiral, He could feel the hull vibrate with tension as G-forces intensified, but the ship held together. Falkland waited for the alarm to shut down before reversing course and running after his target.

"You alright?" Lambert said, sounding strained.

"These wankshafts are turning this into Missiletown, Two. They can't keep this up," Falkland replied, having managed to get behind his target of choice. He hit the throttle until he was nearly on top of it, and opened fire. At this range, there was no chance of dodging, and his shots hit true. It's kinetic barriers flared and died and another barrage melted through it's engines, sending it into a fatal downward spiral.

"Pisces three is down. Score one for lead," Falkland said.

"Kill confirmed, Lead. Five and I are their targets of choice, could use some suppression," Nicole said.

Falkland consulted his HUD. Mackenzie's shields were low, but holding. It was five who was in major trouble. His barriers were down, and he had lost a wing, trailing fire as three enemy fighters trailed him, firing wildly.

"What the fuck did I tell you five!? Yell if you were being focused down!" Falkland roared. There was no response apart from bursts of static.

Great, his radio's gone down...

"Focus them down, stat! Five needs to be bailed out..." Falkland said, tearing into the fray as his wingmen followed. As he closed distance, he saw a missile fly past him and impact one of the enemy, reducing it to an explosion of sharpnel.

"Aquarius Four is down. Score one for Two," Lambert chimed in.

"Kill confirmed, Tw-god damn it they are firing missiles again," Falkland said, noting new missile signatures aimed at Sabre Five. Things slowed down, became more perceptible. Falkland could do nothing but watch as two missiles homed in on their crippled wingman, scoring hits and eviscerating the F-61 in an explosion of fire.

"God...damn it!"

The rational part of his mind told him that this was to be expected, that he couldn't take an inexperienced wing against a surprise invasion and get them all out of there alive. Anger threatened to block out reason, to engulf him and direct him in an ultimately futile charge against the enemy.

"Keep it together, Alex! We're not done yet!" Lambert said. As always, he had sensed Falkland's agitation and moved in to defuse it. And it worked, as Falkland could slowly feel his anger recede, and his ability to think returning.

"Pishon AFB, This is Sabre One. We're getting overwhelmed up here, send in some damn reinforcements," Falkland grated out. Long moments passed without a response.

"-Bre One, Enemy units have the AFB corralled in, we can't launch. Repeat, we can't launch," Zulu finally replied.

Falkland could say nothing to that. They had been caught with their pants down, and the enemy was making a merry time of it. Their options had narrowed down to two decisions. Fight or flight. Neither had any guarantee of success, both were almost certain to end in them being hunted down and killed.

Fucktards won't get the pleasure of seeing me on the run.

"Sabre wing, assault. We'll focus down targets. Pisces Two is target, engage at will," Falkland said.

"Now that's what I'm talking about, sir!" Nicole chimed in, showing unusual vehemence for her usually quiet nature. Lambert and Sinha on Sabre-Six had just responded with a grim and determined answer in the affirmative

Let her rip...

Falkland sped up his ship, attempting to get behind their target. The enemy fighter was nimble, but not quick enough. Falkland got up to it and killed his engines, drifting almost besides their target. He could see his target turn and start firing at him, and his kinetic barriers flaring, losing power.

"Sabre One, Fox Two."

The target was ripped in half by the missile, an explosion marking it's demise.

"Pisces Two is down. Scratch two for lead."

To his right, another fighter exploded.

"Pisces four is down. Pisces wing has been eliminated. Scratch one for Sabre Three," Nicole said, sounding grimly satisfied.

Falkland consulted his HUD to mark further targets and was surprised. The remaining members of the enemy squadron were retreating.

"Uh...the large guy is speeding up and moving fast. Looks like the invaders are running off...but it's coming right at us," Lambert said.

There was little time to get out of the way. The Alliance squadron could merely watch as the giant ship quickly entered visual range, accelerating at a speed that could not be matched.

"Fuck me..." Falkland said, awed by what he was seeing.

The ship was immense, easily past two kilometres in length. It's design features were nothing that Falkland had ever seen before, and did not resemble even the fighter craft they were fighting. The closest resemblance he could find would be to a cuttlefish, with large mechanical arms attached to the exterior and currently retracted.

"That's a fucking Dreadnought...how?" Nicole said.

It was bearing down right at them.

"Get out of the way, now!" Falkland roared, putting his engines and thrusters into overdrive. They barely got out of the beast's path, and it paid them no mind, speeding at an incredible speed towards the stars.

"What the hell is going on, Alex?" Lambert said, sounding shaken.

For his part, Falkland could only grasp his head in his hands. Nothing this day had made any sense, and he was just about done with this. He'd resented being posted to an idyllic backwater world, and now he'd seen this world burning down around him and the largest ship he had ever laid eyes on fly past.

"All Alliance Units, come in."

Falkland raised his head wearily. It was a vaguely familiar voice. A voice he'd heard before...on a broadcast or in a speech.

"This is Captain Anderson, SSV Normandy. All units that are still operational, respond."

Captain David Anderson...god damn, you're too late buddy.

"Flight Lieutenant Alexander Falkland of 29th Recon. We've taken some losses but are still in the air," Falkland said.

"Good to hear, Falkland. Any other wings still operational?"

"Negative, sir. We were the only one deployed and the only one that was in combat."

There was a short pause. "Meet with me on the Normandy , Lieutenant. We need to figure out what's going on and what you have seen will be important. "

No fucking joke.

"Affirmative, Captain. We'll be there ASAP."

Falkland could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. After the events of today, it just seemed like the icing to a terrible cake.

"Alright, boys and girls. Captain David Anderson wants to speak to us. Keep your fangirl screams bottled up, we're in some serious shit here...this might be the beginning of a new war."

Nobody had anything to say to that.

A/N: And we continue. Time to get Falkland and co. linked up with the main cast, as well as stop with the nonstop action and actually slow down for some character exposition. Leave a review if you liked reading it, it helps a lot.