Aphelion was much more than a mere starship. She had been for the longest time, before his meeting with Alister, Ratchet's only -if faint- true connection with the rest of Lombax-kind. Sadly, she couldn't quite remember much from those days; the damage suffered to her databanks during the battle over Fastoon had proven nearly impossible to reverse.

For his part, Ratchet might not have fully understood how Lombax technology worked -quite ironic in hindsight- but he'd made sure to take good care of Aphelion at the best of his capabilities. Thankfully, being a species of renowned engineers meant that Lombaxes were clearly obsessed with modularity in any of their creations. Therefore, most of Aphelion's parts could be easily replaced and improved upon, and over the years Ratchet had done just that, with some restrain though. He didn't want to be too invasive, after all.

In the end, it was precisely that what saved his and Clank's life.

Ratchet barely had the time to read the 'Incoming Missile Alert' on the command screen. There was a boom, then a flash, and Aphelion jerked violently forward. Energy shields flared to life and enveloped the ship, absorbing the incoming blast. Still, the shockwave nearly threw him out of his seat, his head smacking loudly against the side of the cockpit. He held by sheer luck to the controllers.

"Aphelion, give me a damage report," Ratchet groaned as he reached up with a hand to massage the new bump. He did not waste any time in asking what had happened; that was not the first time he had been shot at.

"Shields are down to ninety percent power. No substantial damage to the hull." A pause. "Five aero-space vehicles have been detected, and they're quickly approaching our position."

"Can you identify them?" Clank asked. The small bot seemed to be still shaken, clinging tightly to the seatbelt across his metallic chest.

"Initial readings on their power signatures identify them as Vulture Starfighters, a Blarg Multi-Purpose, void and air-capable fighter of new generation."

Ratchet's face set in a fierce scowl. There were a few speckles of blood on his glove as it came back down, even though his suit had already started pumping nanites in his bloodstream, quickly stitching the cut close. He shot a glance to his side. "Well pal, seems like you were right."

Clank shook his head. "That is something I would have happily done without for once. Ah well, I guess it can't be helped now, can it?" He sighed. "Aphelion? The tail-turret, if you don't mind." From the main panel, a monitor emerged near the passenger's seat, coupled with a joystick to remote-control the weapon. A loading bar quickly filled up on the screen, replaced then by a crosshair.

One of the most recent upgrades, Ratchet had redirected the commands of blaster turret on Aphelion's tail to a more practical console in the passenger seat. Simply put, Clank no longer had to worry about sticking out as an evident-looking target in the back.

Ratchet pushed a couple of buttons and flicked down a few switches, diverting power towards the weapon systems and shields. "Just like old times. Ready to kick some Blarg ass once again, Clank?"

"All systems are operational," Clank reported as his metallic fingers tightened on the turret control. His eye-sensors went slant in a worried, yet determined, frown. "If we continue on our current course, we should reach Tillos's outskirts within a reasonable timeframe. I'm sure we will find help from the local authorities there. We just need to keep them at bay until-"

Clank wouldn't get a chance to finish though, as Ratchet pulled hard at the controls. Aphelion swung around in a U-turn, then accelerated to attack speed, engines flashing behind.

"Ratchet? What are you doing?"

"Dealing with the problem at hand, obviously," he answered.

"There are five of them. We are clearly outnumbered at the moment," Clank pointed out, to which Ratchet simply shrugged.

"Relax, Clank. They're Blargs. We've dealt with them before. Besides, I don't think this is a coincidence. They knew we were coming. They must have something to do with that message." His hands tightened on the controllers, eyes narrowing to slits. "Which means they have something to do with what happened to Grim," he hissed.

Clank shoot a worried glance toward his friend. He wanted to say something, but he stopped, hesitating. In the end, he wouldn't get another chance; their aggressors came finally into view.

Bursting out through a cloud mass in the distance, their engines leaving faint white trails of ionized air behind, the Vultures soared towards them in a tight wedge-shaped formation. Ratchet remembered well the Blargs mini-fighters and saucers he and Clank had to battle during their first adventure together. Those 'Vultures' looked nothing like them.

They were compact, with an angular-looking cockpit and slanted wings extending from the fighter's fuselage. More worrying however was the extensive collection of weaponry each sported attached to its body or beneath the wings, a combination of conventional, quick-firing chain-guns and powerful energy lances.

Ratchet glanced at a nearby monitor; all Aphelion's weapons system were fully charged up and ready to battle. A grin made his appearance on his lips, and he diverted additional power to the bow shield. Aphelion's shields were particularly sturdy and, if those Blarg pilots wanted a head-on confrontation, Ratchet was more than happy to oblige them.

Their first strike had caught him by surprise, but now he was ready. On the screen, Aphelion locked on targets and highlighted them, already working out firing solutions for each. Ratchet's finger hovered on the trigger as the distance reduced even further; the Blargs would be within weapon's range any moment now.

"Ratchet?"

"Not now, pal," he grumbled, eyes trained firmly ahead to the approaching threat.

"Ratchet, there are only four of them."

"Yeah, so wha-" Ratchet froze, an ominous chill running down his spine. His eyes darted to the data-screen, then back at looking out of the windshield. There were indeed only four signatures on Aphelion's radar, and he could see only four of them right now; they were once mere dots in the distance, but they'd grown larger now, sunlight reflecting against their glinting hull.

Where in hell was the fifth one though?

He barely had the time to formulate the question. He caught a sudden metallic glint with his eye's corner. Fast as a burning comet, the last Vulture emerged from another cloud mass on Aphelion's port, energy lances beneath his wings glowing hot.

Ratchet had a sudden moment of clarity, as he realized that he had just strengthened the bow section of Aphelion's shields at the expense of the others, and that the Blargs had been counting precisely on that.

Smart. Very smart. A part of him was even impressed they had done it.

That was immediately quashed by the following wave of panic as he pulled at Apherion's controls, desperately trying to turn his starfighter around. By then, however, it was already too late.

The Vulture's energy weapons opened up and everything was engulfed by a blinding flash.

Colonel Dessabre smacked the buzzing flies away from the steaming mug waiting for him on the coffee table. They were unfortunately stubborn little creatures; they would disperse with each swipe from his newspaper only to return immediately afterward. Dessabre would have admired their persistence, had he not absolutely loathed them.

He frowned. Now that he thought about it, there were many things Dessabre despised about Tillos. Summers were damp, the winters always freezing cold; the inhabitants and colonists living there -one hundred and fifty thousand souls in total- were rude and generally unpleasant. And, of course, there were those blasted flies, buzzing about and crawling everywhere.

That was a short summary. Had Dessabre cared enough or mustered enough will, he could have written down a long list of all the things he hated of the far-away colony he was currently in. As he didn't, he chose instead to lean back in his reclinable chair and enjoy the view out of his balcony. It wasn't much, but Tillos's local park was one of the few things he actually appreciated. Sort of.

Dessabre took a sip out of his mug, savouring the warm coffee rushing down his throat. That was the good stuff, not the cheap replacement that both the colonists and the PDF military personnel was forced to make do with. He reminded himself to thank again Sergeant Borghyus for introducing him to the flourishing black market around the spaceport. As the Commanding Officer of the entire Polaris Defence Force's garrison on Tillos, he had access to considerable funds, and those few luxuries he could afford made his stay on Basilisk III slightly more bearable.

He sat the mug down with a newly-found frown. Truth was, Colonel Dessabre was immensely bored. Had it not been for Captain-General Apogee, he would have probably been on Igliak right now, enjoying the kind of upper class living that befitted someone of his rank, with a comfortable career waiting for him. Unfortunately, the Markazian woman was tough as nail, annoyingly so, and knew how to hold a grudge.

An irritating beeping erupted from his personal data-tablet nearby, the screen flashing red. Dessabre merely raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the day would not be as boring as he had initially thought?

He quickly tapped the screen. "Agatha, please give me a sit rep."

"Good morning, colonel," came the polite reply from his personal AI. "It appears that a Code Yellow has been declared for the entire garrison by Mayor Pelesky. There is an ongoing situation in Sector Delta."

Both of Dessabre's eyebrows furrowed in interest as he picked up the info-tablet and began consulting the incoming wave of data. "Elaborate."

"Our scanners have picked up an ongoing aerial battle above Sector Delta, between a Blarg Vulture squadron and an unidentified starfighter. So far, no PDF units seems to be involved in the fight. Major Pelesky has however ordered at least one squadron of PDF interceptors in the air. No further instruction has been issued."

Now, that was something intriguing.

"I see. Agatha, would you mind try and get a reading on our mysterious spacecraft?"

There was a pause as the AI elaborated the available data. "Power signatures do not match any aero-space vehicle currently supplied to the PDF, nor to planetary militias. I did however find one match through a deeper look into my databanks. Uploading results now."

Dessabre glanced at the info-tablet, and then blinked in surprise at the result. A Lombax Angel Fighter? But the only still functioning one within Polaris belonged to …

Dessabre's eyebrows shot up in sudden interest, just as his mouth twisted into a hungry smile. He licked his lips with a long, bifurcated tongue. If there was something he excelled at, was without a doubt smelling a golden opportunity. And this one looked like the chance he had been waiting for years; to win some glory for himself and finally leave that rock on the edge of civilization, Captain Apogee be damned.

As much as he wanted to delve into those thoughts however, Dessabre knew he had to act quickly right now. There was simply no time to lose.

"Agatha, inform Major Pelesky that he's to mobilize the garrison's aerial assets and direct them to Sector Delta for immediate engagement. Their orders are to neutralize all Blarg forces in the area and safely escort the Lombax spacecraft back to Tillos." He frowned for a moment. "Oh, and please, inform him that we're now in Code Orange. I want all PDF ground forces mustered as well."

"Of course, sir. The message is being sent as we speak," Agatha replied.

Dessabre nodded in satisfaction and quickly got up from his seat. He shot a glance at the mug still waiting for him on the coffee table, and he had half a mind to finish it, before shaking that silly thought off his mind. He had domestics for that very reason, after all.

He hurried to his official car, and but a minute later Colonel Dessabre could be seen speeding through the bustling city streets with little regards for road signs or red lights, heading towards the PDF barracks' complex.

As he drove on, he pressed on his earpiece. "Agatha? Get me the mayor on the line, now. It's time for that little swine to get up from his comfy chair and do something useful for once."

And if all went well, Dessabre reasoned, that was going to be the last time he would need the help of that spineless sell-out.

The shields flashed into solid existence once again as a pair of Vultures made another pass above them. Their chainguns clattered, pelting Aphelion from bow to stern with armour-piercing ammunition. Ratchet grunted, then pulled the controller hard, causing the spacecraft to bank leftward in a tight turn, avoiding the worst of the barrage.

"Shields down to seventy percent power," Aphelion reported.

"Yeah, I felt that," Ratchet noted.

"Incoming fighter from stern, ten degrees port," Clank added, his metallic hands already working on the remote controls before him. A moment later, the tail-turret barked to life with a stream of energy fire. It failed to penetrate the Vulture shields but was intense enough to force the Blarg pilot to break off the attack.

"Nice shooting, pal."

"Ahead!" Clank suddenly cried out.

Ratched had already noticed a new 'Incoming Missile Alert' flashing on his screen. However, this time he was ready, and sent Aphelion in a sideway roll to avoid the incoming missiles barrage.

"Seeker missiles? Oh no, not this time you don't!" Aphelion's electronic countermeasures went into full action, hitting the missiles' tracking system with a near-constant stream of interference.

For a moment, it looked as if it had worked. The trio of missiles faltered in their course, jerking wildly as they tried and failed to keep track of Aphelion, propellers spluttering behind. Two collided mid-air, setting off a mighty detonation.

The last one soared right past the starfighter, leaving a trail of white smoke behind. Then it exploded.

Aphelion shook again as the shockwave slammed into her port, together with shrapnel, the tiny fragments punching right past the shield and showering the armoured hull. Only through sheer determination Ratchet managed to keep her course stable. He could almost feel the sweat in his gloves.

"What the hell was that?"

"Proximity fuzes," Aphelion replied with a clear note of irritation. "These Blargs really don't like to play fair, do they?"

"Good thing we don't either," Ratchet said. "Status?"

"Shields down to fifty percent power. Structural damage has been detected on the hull, as well as numerous failings in the cooling system. Additional power will have to be diverted."

"You want me to pull power away from the shields? As in, the only thing keeping us alive right now?" Ratchet hissed, just as he pulled his starfighter around in order to avoid another attack.

"Either that or we won't have functioning armaments much longer," Aphelion noted.

It took Ratchet all his self-control to not spat a curse right there. To say things were not going well would have been a severe understatement. Rather than an actual fight, the last few minutes had been a constant twisting and weaving in the sky to avoid incoming and simultaneous fire from multiple directions.

The Lombax frowned. Either he was getting slow after all these years spent in retirement, or the Blargs had started training actual pilots since the last time he had met them. Whatever was the case, he had to admit it; those guys were good.

They fought smartly, striking and maintaining constant pressure on him. Their coordination was frighteningly effective as well. Each time Ratchet thought he had an opening and moved to strike back at one of them with Aphelion's energy cannons, the rest of the Vultures would immediately jump on him from an unexpected direction, forcing Rachet to split his attention between multiple targets at once.

Aphelion banked hard starboard to avoid another pass, and a pair of energy bolts soared past like flaming spears. The manoeuvre brought her however in the path of another waiting Vulture, and the Blarg interceptor opened up with its chainguns.

Ratchet sent Aphelion winding and weaving amidst the barrage, heavy calibre rounds skimming on and smashing against the shields, before finally bringing Aphelion around. He squeezed the controls' trigger and unleashed his retaliation. A stream of blaster fire erupted from the wing-mounted cannons, slamming into the Vulture and overwhelming its shields with a burning flash.

Before he had the time to finish it for good however, the radar blinked, warning him of another interceptor swooping in from behind. Ratchet was forced to once again break off from the attack. It was only Clank's remote-controlled tail turret and its furious fire that deterred the Blarg interceptor from pursuing.

"Warning! Shields' power level are below fifty percent! Immediate evasive actions are recommended." Aphelion warned him.

"Working on it!" Ratchet announced as he dodged an incoming plasma bolt. He glanced to the side, past the windshield. They'd flown past the ocean some time ago, the rolling deep blue being replaced by green as vast woodland areas stretched out before them, the mass of trees interrupted occasionally by a barely visible trail and a few roads, as they snaked their way amongst forested hills.

Looking up and ahead, Ratchet's eyes fell on the thick cloud formations drifting lazily in their general direction. The beginning of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Clank? I have an idea."

"Oh dear. Should I be worried?" the bot replied. He tapped again on the commands before him, and scared another incoming Vulture away with blaster fire from the tail turret.

"Maybe," Ratchet admitted. "But we can remain there and let them atomize us, or we can try and turn the tables."

Clank said nothing for a moment, then his sensor-lens narrowed in the determination. He nodded. "Very well. What is the plan?"

"Aphelion? Pass all command function to the passenger seat."

"Wait, what?"

"Copy that. Redirecting command functions right now."

A small compartment opened up with a soft whir, and a new set of controllers came forth. For his part, and despite his initial hesitations, Clank wasted no time taking control of Aphelion.

"See that cloud mass in the distance, pal?" Ratchet said, pointing at it. "Head that way. We're going to pull the same thing we did at Planet Ukara."

Clank shot him an unconvinced glare. "First of all, in that case we were facing a single ship piloted by bandits, not expert pilots. Second of all, the very fact that manoeuvre even succeeded was despite every single data pointing to the exact oppos-"

"Clank!"

"Very well then," Clank said. "Aphelion, divert all power to the engines and the bow shields. We won't need weapons for now."

Aphelion carried out the command and, with a super-heated flash from the engines, the Lombax startfighter soared ahead, the sudden burst of speed nearly pinning Ratchet to his seat. The white clouds surrounding him turned into blurs, quickly racing past. He risked another glance behind.

After a momentary shock, the Vultures had formed up again, and were now moving on them in a wide attack formation. Still, even with all power diverted to the engines, the Blarg pilots were clearly having a hard time trying to keep up with Aphelion. Yet they went on, pushing their own vehicles to the limit, if their flaring engines were any indication.

Ratchet smirked in satisfaction, for two main reasons. First of all, despite the last few minutes, Aphelion was still the superior starfighter, especially in terms of raw engine power; and secondly, they had taken the bait like a Drophyd shoal.

Ratchet run a series of quick checks on his equipment, adjusting a more solid helmet in place of his iconic leather cap, and going through his Tele-equipper so to make sure it worked properly. It was, and Ratchet's mouth morphed into an impish-looking grin as he found exactly the piece of equipment he was looking for.

"We are almost there," Clank announced, and Ratchet nodded. The dense cloud mass loomed before them, and Aphelion plunged right into it at full speed. Visibility dropped immediately to but a few meters at most, though that was nothing Aphelion's sensors couldn't compensate.

"Aphelion, ready to activate the pilot's expulsion seat. On my mark," Ratchet instructed, his eyes never leaving the radar and the five red icon following from behind. He waited up until he was confident enough the Vultures had entered inside the cloud as well.

"Now!"

It all happened in an instant. The section of the canopy above him popped open with a hiss of pressurized air. Pneumatic launchers inside the cockpit went immediately into action, and Rachet was propelled up and outside.

Cold, fierce air whipped against Ratchet's face and fur as he somersaulted. His hover-boots flared to life, granting him a few more precious moments in mid-air. A large shadow passed below, barely visible through the grey cloud beneath. Without a moment of hesitation, Ratchet twisted his body around, activated the Swingshot in his Omniglove, and fired it. The grapple's head soared through the air, small and powerful magnets allowing to anchor itself firmly on the Vulture's right wing as it passed below in pursuit of Aphelion.

The next moment, the laser-wire connecting the head with the rest of the glove blinked into existence and went taunt. Though well-versed in its use, Ratchet couldn't prevent himself from yelping in surprise as he was yanked away by the sudden pull and sent flying behind the Blarg interceptor.

Ratchet grinned, although for just a moment. He silently thanked the Zonis that the device itself had absorbed the acceleration. Otherwise, he would have needed to ask Rivet if she had a spare mechanical arm somewhere in her hideout.

'Nice joke. If the Blargs don't kill you right now, she will for sure.'

From an outsider's view, the scenes might have looked somewhat amusing. And even though he was effectively flying through the air with only a laser-wire keeping him from a long drop below, Ratchet couldn't keep himself from hollering in excitement.

All things considered, it wasn't all that different from the wake-surf back on Pokitaru. Aside from the fact that in place of a boat, he was now connected to a flying death-machine.

Still, he had a job to do. Ratchet pressed the recall-button on his gauntlet, and the laser-wire swiftly retracted, propelling him forward. He touched on the starfighter's metal wing a moment later, his Magneboots immediately going into action and anchoring him firmly on the armour plates. After checking that the Swingshot had fully retracted back into his Omniglove, Ratchet began making his way up the wing and towards the cockpit.

He tried maintaining his whole body as low as possible as he advanced, both to keep his approach hidden to the pilot inside and due to the constant, ferocious wind slapping against him. In the end, that proved to be unnecessary.

Due to low visibility within the cloud mass, the Blarg pilot had his full attention fixated on his tracking sensors and Aphelion's signature. He simply did not expect someone to be crazy enough to jump on his fighter in the middle of a dogfight.

He didn't realize something was wrong up until Ratchet tapped gently on the glass panes with his Omniwrench, finally catching his attention.

Ratchet gave him an amicable wave from outside. "Hey buddy. How's it going? Quite the view from up here, uh?" He grinned.

The Blarg couldn't hear anything of what he was saying through the glass. Still, even though his googles and oxygen mask hid much of his face, Ratchet guessed that the pilot was questioning either his eyesight or current mental state, perhaps both. He decided to take advantage of that moment of confusion and signal Clank through his earpiece to bring Aphelion back around.

"You know, I'll give you guys this much. You're pretty good pilots," Ratchet went ahead casually, just as he activated his Tele-equipper. "Unfortunately for you though, you shoot Aphelion. And I really don't like that."

The Blarg pilot still had no idea what he was saying. The message became suddenly clear however when he noticed the Shatterbomb making its appearance in Ratchet's Omniglove.

"Send my regards to Drek."

Ratchet primed the bomb with a five-second delay before slapping it on the Vulture's fuselage, just below the cockpit. The hours spent tinkering with GrummelNet's own Constructo Bomb finally paid off; the explosive device bonded almost immediately with the metal.

He gave the horrified pilot one last wink before deactivating his Magneboots and leaping off the starfighter's wing and into the air. The crumpling detonation followed a few moments later and, as he glanced around in the middle of his free-fall, Ratchet was greeted by the sight of a Vulture Starfighter in a full plunge. The machine cartwheeled through the air, leaving a thick trail of smoke behind as searing flames enveloped the cockpit, its drop followed by burning debris.

There was the loud whining of engines coming from beneath him, though it was a familiar one. Putting the Swingshot again to good use, Ratchet launched it at a passing Aphelion. Barely five seconds later he was climbing back through the same porthole he had used to leave, settling himself back into his seat.

"Aphelion, switch back all functions to the main control panel." Ratchet flashed a toothy grin to his best friend. "Nice flying, pal."

"Thank you. I am glad all the practise has not worn off during all this time of inactivity." His eye-lenses went slant for a brief moment. "Although I would prefer to receive a warning next time."

Ratchet chuckled. "I know, sorry. But it worked though, didn't it?"

"Indeed."

"And I seem to recall someone doubting me but a few minutes ago."

Clank sighed. "Yes, yes. No need to brag about it, Ratchet." The bot shook his head. "Hopefully this will give us some rest and convince the Blargs to maintain their distance, for the time being at least."

The Lombax chuckled as his hands worked on the control panel near his seat. "I guess that's fair. Now, let's push all power to the engines and let's get out of here. How far is that colony you were talking abo-"

There was a flash and, the next moment, the air exploded.

"Positive hit! I repeat, positive hit!"

Flight Leader Tucker couldn't keep himself, and snarled in triumph. The sentiment was quickly shared amongst the members of his own squadron, if current radio traffic was any indication.

The Blarg's eyes filled with glee as they traced the trajectory of the Lombax Starfighter, smoke trailing behind as it plummeted toward the ground in an inelegant nosedive. The dying, tortured screams of Skull Three as his Vulture burned around him were still fresh in his mind, but at least now Tucker had reasons to grin widely. Especially as they now really knew who they were dealing with.

Flight Leader Tucker keyed his comms. "Skull Actual to Epsilon Command. Come in Epsilon. The enemy starfighter has been downed, I repeat, the Lombax is down. Scratch one Angel."

The comm croaked in his ear. "Copy that, Skull Actual. We'll add it to the scoreboard back at base. What's your status, over?"

Glancing out of the cockpit and toward each wing in turn, Tucker's grin turned into a frown, especially once he noticed the flashing warnings on his monitor.

"Hull is in good condition, but I'm running low on ammo. I'm seeing steam coming off from my plasma lances, and fuel is low too." He paused. "Skull Three is down," he finally added. "No grav-chute. I need to bring the rest of my squadron back at base for immediate refuel and rearm. Over."

"Copy that, Skull Actual. I've got another transmission incoming, so stand by."

Tucker nodded. He swung his Vulture around, signalling to the rest of his wingmen to fall back into formation behind. The Blarg looked once again out of the cockpit and down, back to where the enemy starfighter had fallen. There had been no further detonation on impact, but there was a still visible trail of smoke leading toward the crash site, though the thick vegetation prevented him from having a visual confirmation.

He tapped on his comms. "Hey, Gregor! You still have a couple more missiles with you?"

"Negative, sir. Launchers are dry right now," came the immediate reply from Skull Two. "Thinking about making another pass?"

"Don't see why we shouldn't. I'd rather make sure he's dead."

"Sounds good to me. By the way, one hell of a shot that was, sir. Even I didn't see you coming."

Tucker's chuckling came muffled through his oxygen mask. Once back on the ground he was going to buy a drink to whoever had installed that stealth field-thing into his Vulture. Thanks to that tiny add-on, he had managed to sneak up on the Lombax and unload both plasma lances at what was basically point-blank range. The Blarg only wished he could have seen his face.

"The chairman better give all of us a medal after this," Tucker joked as he cut down power to the engines at cruising speed.

"Just one? I think we may as well all retire after this one," Skull Four added. "I mean, that was the Lombax right? The one that killed Drek."

"The one and only." Tucker grinned beneath his mask. "Good job, Skull Squadron. I'm damn proud of you. Drinks are on me tonight."

"Damn shame for Three, though," Skull Two grumbled.

"Epsilon Command to Skull Actual," Tucker heard the voice through his earpiece, "we have confirmation on multiple PDF aero-space assets converging on your position, at least four wings. Break off immediately and return to base."

"Copy that, Epsilon. We're pulling back. Skull Actual, out."

Tucker pulled at the controllers, sending the Vulture banking port-side and away from the crash site. He switched to his squadron's main channel.

"Just got word from Epsilon. Seems like we just kicked the hornet nest. Does anyone have contacts on the radar?"

"Confirmed," Skull Two said after a few moments of silence. "I've got contacts moving on us from further inland. Approaching vector is South-West. There's lots of them. Sending it to you now."

The information flashed a moment later on Tucker's holo-screen. The Blarg's eyebrows knitted together he absorbed the incoming data.

"I've got contacts as well," Skull Four reported. "Jeez, that has to be three wings. Probably more."

"Then this is where we make our exit," Tucker said. "Skull Squadron, form up on me. We'll let the ground pounders take it on from here. Time to start pushing those engines of yours."

"What about the Lombax, sir?" Skull Two asked. Tucker simply shook his head, before reminding himself he couldn't see him.

"Either he died on the crash or will be soon. As I said, we'll let the guys on the ground sort that mess out." There were acknowledgements across the channel. Even though PDF pilots were pretty average, none of them had any intention of facing three-to-one odds if they could be avoided.

Four Vultures Starfighter flared their engines at the same time and soared away northward, toward their hidden refuge. As he looked back and towards the tree mass quickly receding beneath them, Flight Leader Tucker allowed himself a satisfied smirk.

Black smoke still lingered where the Angel Starfighter had fallen.

'Serves you right, you bastard,' Tucker thought. 'That one's for Orxon.'

Author's Note: Here's something very funny. This was my third attempt at writing this chapter. Why? Many reasons actually, but the most important is, it was boring. I had originally planned on having the dynamic duo just blast apart all opposition and reaching their destination, before stopping and realizing that I didn't like the scene one bit. So I changed it slightly, as you can see. That way, I can give some secondary characters a few moments to shine, now and later on.

On a more serious note, my approach on this story will probably be different from the one in the main game series. Even if in-game Ratchet and Clank can carve their way through hordes of enemies without breaking a sweat, that doesn't make for a good read. After all, you can crush robots and henchmen only so many times before it gets uninteresting. So, I will therefore try and reach a balance from now on. Each hero is a fiersome fighter in his/her own right, and their enemies know that, so they won't be taking any chances. They'll throw everything they have at them without hesitation; victory will have to be earned.

Until next time...