A thunderclap slapped against the windows and Sahna flinched away ever so slightly. The shuttle whose launch they had been observing streaked into the sky, its thrusters a tail of fire as it rapidly disappeared. It was her first time seeing a mass driver launch in person.

Mass drivers were massive constructs: a large magnetic rail system that launched objects into space by accelerating them over several kilometres of horizontal track before launching off the ramp at the end. The shuttle would leave its carrying trolley as the ramp at the end bent back forward, at which time its thrusters would ignite and carry the shuttle the rest of the way to space. It was one of the more exhilarating ways to travel, and Sahna was about to experience it first hand.

"First time?"

Sahna glanced at Hypori standing next to her. "Yeah. Always wanted to go on the mass driver though. It's a little more exciting than the other ways, I guess."

Hypori flicked the bulbs at the end of her short, sunny-yellow tentacles, her matching eyes looking back up at the shuttle, nothing more than a bright dot in the early morning twilight. "First time for me too. Happy to be goin' back to space though."

Sahna smirked. "Sick of real gravity?"

"No, sick of Terrans. Way too many of 'em down here."

"Only non-Terran on team." Dirk pointed out from Sahna's other side.

Dirk stood with them facing the window, his eyes were pointed towards the view outside but they didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular.

Hypori covered her embarrassment at this revelation with a flash of grey from her mantle. "I'll turn you guys into regular spacers in no time. Just follow my lead and I'll get ya' through it. It's easier than getting used to things like gravity and weather. Not much mud in space either, and no clouds of mosquitoes!"

Sahna could get behind that. Their last combat assignment had been unpleasant for even the Terran-born members of their unit. Hypori had been the only member new to Terra. Now, they were going to space and Sahna found herself in Hypori's former position as the only one who had never been free of Terra's gravity.

"Alright kids, that's enough staring. It's time to go."

The three of them turned at Callie's call. Their team's second-in-command stood a short distance away, amidst a dispersing gaggle of civilians who were leaving with fresh autographs. Her mantle displayed patterns beckoning them the way an impatient mother might her children. Her impish smile made it obvious she was doing that on purpose and wasn't about to apologize for doing it in public.

Sahna did her best to not look irritated – it would only encourage her, and picked her duffle bag up from the floor as they made their way over. Hypori just giggled, while Dirk didn't react at all.

"Everyone have everything?" Callie asked. "Anyone need to go to the bathroom before we go? You won't have a chance once we're on the shuttle."

"Ooh, can we get ice cream?" Hypori asked with exaggerated child-like enthusiasm. She loved playing along with Callie's games.

Callie adopted an expression of faux sternness. "No. If I give you kids any sugar you'll be bouncing off the walls and fidgeting in your seats, and then you'll get a stern talking to from Daddy and I know you don't want that." Callie looked around. "Speaking of which, Daddy's probably waiting for us, so let's get going."

Sahna sighed inwardly, doing her best to keep her mantle neutral and placid while thinking nobody would have imagined, listening to them just now, that they were part of an elite military unit. They looked more like a pop star's entourage.

Callie lead them to the boarding platform. A shuttle was being loaded onto the mass driver's launch trolley. The rest of Beta Squadron was already waiting there, including their team leader.

"What kept you?" Marie demanded as they got close.

Callie's black mantle flashed a casual grey. "None of them have ever seen a mass-driver launch in person before. I didn't think there was any harm in giving them a view."

Marie's silvery tentacles changed to an authoritative tyrian colour. "You were supposed to be taking them shopping for supplies."

Because things in zero gravity didn't work the same way things did in Terra's gravity, toiletries and self-care products had to be more carefully considered. One of the things Hypori and Callie insisted Sahna get was the best tasting beak paste she could. They hadn't explained why but Sahna wasn't about to disregard the advice of experienced spacers. She got the flavour she was most accustomed to.

"I did and we're done," Callie insisted.

Marie looked at the Sahna, Dirk, and Hypori. "You all feel prepared"

"Yes, Ma'am," Sahna replied crisply. She glanced at Hypori, who bit firmly on her bottom lip and flashed green. Dirk also simply flashed green.

Marie's gaze lingered on Hypori for just a second. "Fine, I'll let the captain know we're all here so she doesn't have to worry."

Marie pivoted on her heel and walked towards Captain Rancher. As leader of the only other team in the squadron, Marie had become Squadron Executive Officer by default and she was taking the role seriously.

When she was gone, Callie let out a small huff and muttered, "she's the only one who was worrying."

Sahna looked at Hypori who let out a heavy breath. "You managed to hold it in."

Hypori wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. "Yeah, somehow I don't think she'd appreciate being called, 'daddy'."

Callie grinned broadly, no doubt playing that very scenario through her mind.

Sahna looked around at the other people preparing to board the shuttle. Some of them were existing service members, standing around and idly chatting with their fellows as they waited to board the shuttle, nearly all of them were CSF. The majority of them, however, were CSF cadets, probably recent graduates from one of the Terran-based academies and travelling to space to complete their training there. Most of them looked nervous, some of them star struck at seeing Callie and Marie, world-famous pop stars, in their midst. Sahna could relate to that.

New and old though regarded their group with confusion. Although nobody in the 13th wore a unit patch and they were from different branches of the military, it was obvious to most that they were somehow together. But in a place like the a spaceport, Dirk and Second-Lieutenant Kelper's green Army uniforms stood out, even though they bore the white circle patch of the Lunar Army Corps.

Marie returned to them just as the shuttle was reversed into the boarding dock and the doors to the platform were closed off. A boarding agent opened the doors of the dock once the shuttle was in place then urged everyone aboard.

The seating in the shuttle was tight and not at all luxurious. There were three rows of seats on each side of a narrow aisle. Those most senior got to board first, taking the seats furthest forward. Dirk got a window seat, Hypori took the middle and Sahna sat next to the aisle. Callie and Marie sat across from them. Nobody took the extra seat in their row.

Once everyone had boarded, a pair of stern-looking CSF NCO's boarded and shut the door, sealing everyone inside. The first one, a tall, broad-shouldered inkyar who was clearly an old regular, began walking up the aisle.

"Alright, listen up!" He bellowed. "I'm Chief Petty Officer Alvar, and I'm going to explain to you a few rules before we take our little ride."

He stopped moving up the aisle when he got to the imaginary dividing line between the CSF recruits and the rest of the passengers, then turned to face the increasingly ash-faced trainees.

"When we take off and get into space, some of you are going to feel sick. Placed in the back of the seat in front of you is a sick bag. YOU WILL USE IT! Because if any of you cherries spew puke on my shuttle, you will all be sucking it up through straws until this shuttle is so clean you could eat off of it, am I clear?"

"Yes, Chief!"

Sahna couldn't help but smile nostalgically. It was just like when she'd been a raw recruit, only the instructor's she'd had would have made them lick the outside of the shuttle clean on top of that.

"Make sure they eat the straws afterwards too, Chief," Captain Rancher said in a voice that was all too stern for the big smile splitting her face. "We don't want to be polluting the beautiful ecology of space, after all."

"Yes, Ma'am. You hear that cadets?"

"Yes, Chief!"

"If you feel sick but not bad enough to barf, just stare at the front of the cabin, it'll help."

Chief Alvar then turned and made his way forward, followed shortly by the other NCO – a Petty Officer Second Class, who began checking everyone's restraints. Alvar took one last look at the compartment then passed through the hatchway to the flight deck.

As the obedient silence vanished along with Chief Alvar and people began to murmur, Sahna settled into her seat and wondered how long she would have to wait until they took off. The anticipation was agonizing. Meanwhile, Callie, Marie, and the other half of their squadron seemed perfectly calm, Captain Rancher even looked jovial.

Despite having been a part of the 13th since it's creation, the unit had only been together for three months, and they'd been kept so busy during that time that Sahna didn't know her comrades outside of Team 05 very well. Something she did know was that most of them had participated in the testing of the early mobile suit prototypes and all of them were pre-war regulars who had been to space, and she was a wartime recruit who hadn't. She was the squadron's weak link going into their new assignment and everyone knew it.

A ringing began to sound from hidden speakers and Sahna tensed with anticipation. The shuttle began to move.

At first, it was slow, the trolley moving out of the boarding dock no faster than a typical train leaving a station. This was the part they hadn't been able to see watching from the window.

Sahna gripped the arms of her seat then felt herself getting gradually pressed deeper into the backrest as they accelerated rapidly. A glance out the window showed the terrain streaking past them and then the sounds changed as they went supersonic.

She and others grunted as they experienced nearly 4gs of gravity forcing them downwards as the shuttle went up the ramp, then the shuttle rumbled as its engines ignited, followed by a slight wobble as the shuttle left the trolley and accelerated up towards space.

Sahna wasn't sure how long the actual flight to space took, but with the shuttle going almost vertical, it couldn't have been more than a matter of minutes. She knew when they had transitioned above Terra's gravitic threshold when the engines were reduced to cruising speed and her insides started rise and shift on their own and she felt an odd swelling sensation in her face. These made her feel a little queasy. Not daring to look out the window lest it push her over the edge, Sahna looked around the cabin instead.

As if mocking her predicament and those of many of the cherries behind them also experiencing zero gravity for the first time, Chief Alvar and the Petty Officer were at the front of the cabin breaking out MRE packages.

Hypori touched her arm. "Hey, are you okay? Your face is the same green as your tentacles."

She was not okay. Sahna stared at the barf bag in the seat in front of her, seriously contemplated grabbing it just in case but was afraid the act might actually cause her to lose her resistance.

"It's just… feeling all my insides going around like this… feeling that is what's making me queasy, it's not my stomach or anything."

"Normal," Dirk said. "You'll get used to it."

Sahna tried to distract herself by looking somewhere other than the barf bag or window and noticed Chief Alvar abruptly get out of his seat and return to the flight deck. He left his unfinished MRE pack and long plastic spoon floating above the seat, halfway to the ceiling, something Sahna consciously knew was perfectly normal for a zero gravity environment but still shook her hold on reality. It almost felt like a dream.

Her eyes fell to the Petty Officer still in her seat. She shifted awkwardly for a moment then made a strange sound. Her tentacle suddenly snatched up and grasped the Chief's MRE with its sucker and brought it to her. Sahna couldn't see what she did from her angle, but she could hear.

The sound of the PO being noisily sick echoed throughout the compartment and abruptly ended any conversation. Sahna cringed, did she not have a barf bag? Given the rapid turnaround of the shuttles it was far from impossible that someone had neglected to replace them all. Not good.

A moment later, the gasping PO let her tentacle out again and left the packet floating in about the same position it had been before, bulging slightly with its increased contents. It was fortunate that space MREs were resealable, but that might also mean…

Chief Alvar returned and the compartment suddenly went deadly quiet. Everyone watched as he grasped his MRE and hooked his toes on his seat to arrest his momentum. Everyone winced as he opened the package and grabbed his spoon. He dipped his spoon into the package without really looking and pulled it out to reveal a rancid-looking green mush. Sahna and Hypori watched, horrified as he put the spoonful into his mouth then turned and drifted back down into his seat.

Sahna's stomach started to rebel. Hypori jerked and covered her mouth with her hands. The sounds of barf bags rustling further aft in the compartment broke the silence, and the sounds of other people being sick echoed forward.

"Remember what the Chief said," Captain Rancher snapped at them. "I'm sure he'll be doing an inspection before any of you are allowed off." Despite her harsh tone, she had a huge smile on her face once she was done speaking. Actually, Sahna noticed that an awful lot of people in their section of the compartment were grinning, including Dirk, Callie, and Marie.

"What's going on?" She demanded.

Callie giggled and brought a finger up to her lips, then whispered, "it's avocado."

Sahna blinked. "Huh?"

"It's avocado ice cream that's been melted. She just squeezed it into the Chief's package when her head was turned. Obviously, he was in on it."

Sahna felt her queasiness fade, replaced with embarrassment. "A practical joke?"

"One of the oldest there is," Marie added, cracking a smile of her own. "They did it to us, to my mother, to our grandfather, and even before that. Even in war, some traditions simply aren't done away with."

Sahna crossed her arms. "Then how come Mama never told me about it?"

Callie giggled again. "And spoil the surprise? No self-respecting soldier would do such a thing."

Sahna looked the other way, past a sick-looking Hypori and over at Dirk, who still appeared unaffected. "They did it to you too?"

Dirk looked her in the eye then pulsed grey. "Never fell for it."

Sahna's mantle turned a sour green then crossed her arms and glared at the back of the seat in front of her. A few minutes later she realized she didn't feel sick from the lack of gravity anymore.

Guardian Station was so named because it sat in geosynchronous orbit directly above Inkopolis, the Federation capital, and protected it from space-borne incursions, though it's purpose was as civilian as it was military.

Smaller than the average modern space colony, it was built using a series of wheel-like rotating sections rather than the large rotating cylinders modern space colonies were. Between those rotating sections, spindly arms connected to orbital warehouses, fuel storage depots, and ancillary docking stations where large ships docked.

As the shuttle drew close, Sahna could see the outlines of large Columbus-class freighters and Salamis-class cruisers. Such a mighty-looking force, and this was only a small fraction of the CSF. And yet, they were losing the war, which only made things scarier, and their job more important.

The shuttle passed through a docking port of the outermost wheel, smaller than the others but rotating more slowly. Sahna could barely see through the window as the station's interior moved beneath them while the shuttle slowly descended. Then it started to slow – no, it wasn't slowing, the shuttle was moving to match its speed as it got closer.

The shuttle landed with just a slight judder and Sahna's insides settled with the familiar sensation of gravity once again.

The seatbelt indicator light turned green and Sahna followed the cue of the veterans, undoing her harness, but resisting the urge to stretch her limbs in the shuttle's tight quarters.

Chief Alvar and the PO floated aft, past her. "Cadets, you stay in your seats," he barked. "It's officers off first and I need to make an inspection. Don't think you can run away on me that easily."

Sahna allowed herself a small smile and waited as the rows in front of her were vacated as everyone moved aft towards the cabin exit. A jetway was already sealing itself against the hull. By the time the officer's reached the end of the compartment, the airlock was opening.

Sahna stood and nearly launched herself to the ceiling. Her feet did come down on their own, showing there was a form of simulated gravity, but obviously not to the same level as Terra.

"It's always lighter gravity in the docks on these stations," Hypori explained. "Makes it easier for people who've never been in zero to move around and, in some ways, makes it easier to service the shuttles."

"The barf would end up on the floor," Sahna realized out loud, and Hypori smirked.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Sahna took one awkward step into the aisle and felt like she was in a rapidly falling elevator, but not falling quite fast enough to overcome the acceleration of normal gravity.

She kept silent as she followed Callie and Marie aft, trying to look dignified in front of all the cadets, even though she saw many older than her. But she was an officer and none of them were, at least not yet.

Once they were in the jetway, she asked Dirk, "Is this what being on Scylla feels like?"

He replied, "Scylla is lighter. Heard Charybdis heavier than this."

After retrieving their duffle bags, they caught up to the others assembling near the large personnel elevators that travelled up the wheel's large spokes to the hub. Being inside the elevator as it rose gave Sahna a feeling much closer to that of normal gravity.

After reaching the hub, they waited as Captain Rancher went to one of the military check-in desks to find out where their ship was docked. From there, they transitioned to a tram that rode the station's spine through to the other wheel sections. There was no sensation of gravity in the tram either so everyone had to hold onto the handles as it moved to keep from being thrown from one end of the capsule to the other as it stopped at stations along the way.

Eventually, they reached their stop and they disembarked. Sahna waited for the marked lines to show when the transition to another gravity section would begin only to find none, and there were considerably fewer handholds than there had been in the tram. This didn't seem to impede her comrades who confidently floated on ahead from handhold to handhold.

Callie noticed her hesitating and smiled sympathetically. "Hippy, help Scar out, will you?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Hypori grasped Sahna's arm and pulled her gently. Sahna released her iron grip on the handle she'd anchored herself to and let her teammate gently guide her along the way.

Sahna couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly Hypori kept not only herself properly oriented but both of them, moving from handhold to handhold, without Sahna having to do much but follow her lead. She was even able to compensate for any of Sahna's inadvertent spins in mid-air.

They reached the main docking area where things were considerably busier, but at least there were more handholds, and even some motorized grips that travelled along tracks built into the walls.

They reached another check-in desk, though it was more of a shelf, connected to the wall by a single pipe. The lieutenant behind the desk looked up from his computer as Captain Rancher approached.

"Captain Rancher, Thirteenth Autonomous Corps."

The lieutenant checked his computer screen with the dull eyes of someone stuck in endless routine. He told all of them to get into the locker and jerked his thumb towards the hatchway next to him. "In there. The PO will help you get suited up."

Sahna frowned. "Suited up?"

Rancher ordered them all inside the locker, which turned out to be a large room stuffed full of bulky vac suits.

"That's the policy on this route," Marie explained to her as they got fitted into their suits. "The Collective likes to bloody their green troops by raiding convoys between Guardian Station and Fort Gibraltar. Making passengers wear the vac suits reduces casualties and means we can be put into airless sections so we're less likely to get sucked out into space."

The suits were bulky and semi-rigid, unlike the more compact pilot suits or even the underwater suits Sahna had worn in basic training, but at least that helped make them more resistant to damage, something Sahna dearly hoped wasn't about to be tested.

Rauld nearly jumped out of his skin when the alarm went off and the ship went from Condition Amber to Condition Red. He was already dressed in his pilot suit, despite how uncomfortable it was to spend hours stewing in it, but at least it was better than the semi-rigid vac suits the ship's crew had to wear.

He hurriedly put on his gloves then dashed from the pilot's ready room to the airlock antechamber, helmet tucked under his arm. The airlock was in the middle of cycling out when he got there but he put his helmet on anyway.

As he went through his personal checks, he saw two of his pilots, Biter and Tank, enter the antechamber after him.

"Where's Mouse and Sunni?" He demanded.

Tank floated in front of him at eye level, though he was further off the floor. She was of giant squid heritage and that made her much larger than he was, not ideal for the cramped spaces people in the CSF had to deal with day to day.

"Mouse is getting Sunni into her flight suit," Tank replied in a matter-of-fact tone, though her eyes betrayed her frustration.

Rauld grit his beak. He should have known Sunni would have slacked off. The girl had all the motivation of a dead slug, making it utterly baffling how she could have become a pilot like the rest of them. Then again, considering how Ball squadrons were treated as cannon fodder to protect warships, maybe it wasn't all that surprising.

He glanced at the airlock. It had just finished cycling out and would start cycling back in at any moment. Hopefully, all of them would be ready in time. Biter was already hovering next to the door, tense and wound up like a spring. Whatever his other flaws, he was at least eager to do the job.

The door to the antechamber hissed open and Petty Officer First-Class Thembi Barrio, call sign: Mouse; floated into the chamber, holding Sunni's hand.

The two couldn't have been more different. Mouse had bright-yellow eyes and a matching mantle. She'd cut it short recently to make it easier to put on her helmet, and the bulbs had yet to grow back. She had a comely face and a friendly, girl-next-door disposition. While she didn't have the stiff back an NCO of her rank probably ought to have, she was reliable.

By contrast, Sunni's skin tone was more grey than anyone would consider healthy, she kept her dark-violet tentacles long, and she had the countenance of someone facing capital punishment, always looking depressed and unmotivated to do anything. Out of his entire flight, she was the biggest pain in his funnel.

"About time," he snapped. "Sunni, we were supposed to stay dressed in our flight suits so we could respond instantly."

His words were barely out of his mouth before the airlock opened and Biter hurried inside. Biting back further admonition of his subordinate for the moment, he quickly pulled himself inside the airlock as well, with the others close behind him, though Mouse still had to hold Sunni's hand.

Rauld pointed to Mouse's neck where a small, blue stone floated, tried around her neck by thin chain, reminding her that she wasn't supposed to wear jewelry when wearing a pilot suit. Mouse flushed and quickly stuffed the stone down into the suit anyway before she finished securing her helmet. It was too late to leave it.

"Check comms," Rauld said, settling into routine. After their checks were done and the airlock was cycled, they made their way into the hangar bay.

The Salamis-class had not originally been designed with a bespoke hangar in mind, but time and experience prompted the CSF to add a small bay in the forward part of the ship to accommodate maintenance pods or small cutters. A quick wartime modification removed the forward missile tubes to expand the hangar further, allowing just enough space to accommodate Rauld's flight of five RB-79 Ball combat pods.

The Ball was just like the utility and maintenance pods used by the CSF and civilian sector, only even more spherical thanks to the added armour and a single, small, hemispherical view port in the forward portion, providing limited visibility and forcing the pilots to rely more on the sensors to navigate and find targets. In addition, the Ball was slow with low endurance at combat speeds because of its limited propellant. It was a weapon of desperation and nobody knew that better than its pilots.

About the only thing the Ball had going for it was its armament. Although somewhat clunky, most balls were armed with a 180mm low-recoil cannon which, while they had only seven shots, was at least capable of destroying a mobile suit, unlike the small machine guns on the standard fighter craft. Other Balls, like Sunni's, were armed with twin gimbaled 50mm autocannons. While not as powerful as the rifle and possessing only a few seconds worth of ammunition, could at least hurt the enemy and keep mobile suits at bay.

Rauld paused by the hatch at the front of his Ball and watched the rest of his flight board their own. Tank had to shimmy to squeeze into her Ball and Rauld didn't want to think about how cramped she had to be in the cockpit. He made sure Sunni actually got into her own machine before he boarded himself.

One good thing about the Ball was that it wasn't a complicated machine: a few screens, switches, and dials. It could be started up in less than a minute and its weapon system, while rudimentary, was at least simple.

Rauld watched as the technicians quickly evacuated the hangar, piling into the airlock. Once they were inside, crimson battle lanterns lit inside the empty hangar space and the door in the "floor" of the chamber yawned open.

Rauld's helmet speakers crackled. "Dogger Flight, Admonition Control, you are cleared to launch."

"Copy that, Control. Dogger Flight, launch by numbers."

He'd barely begun speaking when Biter rushed out of the hangar, nearly banging his gun on the edge of the hangar door.

Rauld bared his beak, frustrated once again by Biter's total disregard for procedure, authority, or safety. He'd deal with that later. At least the others waited their turn, letting him launch before following. Even Sunni didn't dally too long, but she didn't look hurried either.

As they set up around their ship, the Admonition, he switched to his squadron's comms. "Dogger Flight on station."

There was a second's pause before he received a response. "Last one again, Dogger Flight," Lieutenant Sealer's voice growled. "Maybe you were hoping the enemy would wait for us all to be ready before they attacked?"

Rauld wanted to retort saying that the days of the enemy sneaking up on them with barely a minute's warning were long past but he knew better than to talk back to his squadron commander. His flight's consistently poor performance during training and the fact Sealer seemed to have a personal dislike of him hadn't endeared him to the rest of the squadron either.

He wanted to offer his reasons, namely being Sunni or the fact they just had rotten timing with the airlock, but that would sound like he was making excuses and he had learned already that commanders didn't like hearing excuses. Instead, he merely replied, "we're setting up around Admonition. We're ready, Sir."

"Acknowledged," Sealer replied curtly. "Try not to shoot each other. That goes for everyone. I don't want any friendly fire incidents just because it's your first real fight. Get with it."

Rauld swallowed. He'd been so hurried to try and get his flight out and ready he hadn't had time to be scared. Now he felt the jitters and the cold, damp fear as he was forced to confront his mortality.

Checking his sensors he couldn't see anything definite just yet, just a series of distant blobs indicating approximate areas the enemy were, with the furthest blob probably the mother ships of the mobile suits coming at them.

The convoy was using Public-class shuttles as sensor pickets, giving them much more warning than they would have had otherwise, or the enemy mobile suits would have already been upon them. They would be soon enough anyways.

Rauld grit his beak and forced himself to try and relax. He was Rauld Millihelm, son of the great Raggi Millihelm, both of them members of the esteemed Millihelm family line. He couldn't bring shame to either. He would do his job and he would do it well.

He started feeling relaxed again, then his comm crackled once more.

"Admonition Control for Dogger Flight."

"Go ahead, Admonition Control."

"Dogger Flight, you're being reassigned."

Rauld frowned. His flight's appointed task was to defend their designated warship while they defended the freighters. The Balls were too slow to be flying around trying to put themselves between the mobile suits and the other ships of the convoy. Only the long reach of the warships could manage anything like that.

"You're to proceed rearward and defend the Farwalker."

Rauld checked the Identify Friend/Foe tags in the convoy and found Farwalker nestled roughly in the middle, with the convoy's command ship, Billhook, keeping station directly ahead of it.

"Understood, Admonition Control." He said slowly. A little odd that they had contacted him instead of going through his squadron commander, but orders were orders.

He switched to his flight comm. "Dogger Flight, we've been given a new job. We're to babysit one of the freighters instead. Follow me to Farwalker. Well take the same positions around it."

"Why are we babysitting the damn freighters," Biter snarled. "They can't fight. They're worthless."

"Because they're what the enemy are really after," Rauld snapped. "And we have our orders. I suggest you follow them." He half expected a snide retort but received none. They had to move quickly though, the enemy was almost upon them.

As they changed position, he changed back to squadron comms. "Dogger Lead to Alpha Actual, Admonition Control has given us a reassignment. We're to defend the freighter, Farwalker."

Sealer took a moment to respond. "What for? Those aren't in our orders."

"I don't know, Sir. I'm just following the orders I was given."

"Watch it, Millihelm," Sealer said darkly. "Daddy's a long way off."

Rauld grit his beak, forcing himself to remain calm. "That isn't what I meant, Sir."

"I know what you meant. Just hurry up and get there. They enemy's practically on top of us!"

Rauld switched back to flight comms and sighed. Nobody ever saw "Rauld" when they looked at his name, they only saw the "Millihelm" attached to it, just another spoiled rich kid who thought they could buy their way through life. They didn't see all the blood, ink, and toil his grandfather, father, and older brother put in. Well, he was going to show them that being rich didn't mean he didn't know how to get his hands dirty or afraid to do his part in the war. Assuming his CO would let him.

They set themselves up around Farwalker just as the picket shuttles returned, with the enemy mobile suits right behind them.

Varmos stared out the port-side view port on Farwalker's bridge. He could see the enemy mobile suits now, as could the gunners on the cruisers and they opened fire.

Bright, pink lances streaked through the black, reaching out towards the distant lights that were the rapidly approaching mobile suits, and missing them completely, not that anybody expected them to hit anything at that range, but there was no harm in trying.

"Our protection is here, Sir." Stoker said from the chair next to his. He gestured forward where the he could see the flight of Balls that had been assigned to them begin to spread out as they passed the view port, one remaining in front and above them.

Varmos grunted. He'd argued against the convoy commander's insistence that they receive direct protection. All it would do was highlight them to the enemy as something valuable to be taken out, especially since they were in the middle of the convoy with the command ship directly ahead of them.

"You'll forgive me," he said. "I don't think a handful of gun toting testies are going to do much to discourage a flight of mobile suits."

Stoker grunted in agreement. He felt the same way about their additional "protection" but orders were orders and the convoy commander was probably being pressured to do everything in his power to ensure this classified cargo made it to Fort Gibraltar.

Maybe it really isn't just booze after all.

The darkness lit up again as tracers from the point defences on the outermost ships opened fire and Varmos gripped his arm rests tightly as the real fight began.

Rauld winced as one of the freighters on the convoy's perimeter took a direct hit from one of the Zaku's bazookas. Secondary explosions within the cargo bay blew open several new holes before lack of fuel starved the fires out. The cruiser Adamant, damaged a Zaku that got too close but took a hit directly below the main bridge in recompense. Rauld didn't hold much hope for the bridge crew still being alive after that.

"What are we doing just sitting here?" Biter demanded. "Everyone else is out there getting shots while we're just watching! I thought we joined up to fight the enemy."

"I already explained our orders," Rauld replied sternly. "Besides, I'm sure we'll get our turn soon enough. They have to know that's the command ship just ahead of us, so they're bound to come our way. We have to be here when they do."

For once, Biter seemed placated but Rauld wasn't holding out hope that he would stay that way. Biter was hot blooded and had a personal hatred of the enemy. He didn't know why but he didn't really care. Why did someone need a reason to hate the enemy?

Another freighter closer to the rear of the convoy suddenly blew apart as its reactor detonated in a bright flash. The cruiser at the head of the convoy suffered several hits of its own and began streaming atmosphere from multiple hull breaches.

Finally, the Octarians stopped picking at the edges of the convoy and began pushing deeper, drawing close enough that some of the Balls could fight back.

The 52nd wasn't the only ball squadron there, there was also the 14th. One of their flights managed to engage a squad of mobile suits. One of the 'suits hastily fired its bazooka at them and missed, but its companions switched to machine guns and began firing at them. The Balls returned fire but missed every shot. After the first exchange, the Octarians drew first blood again, taking out two of the Balls with well placed shots from their machine guns before fire from some of the warships broke the engagement and the Balls retreated.

"Below!"

The voice was from Ensign Hardli, call sign: "Grinner", broadcasting over squadron comms.

Rauld reoriented his Ball and stared in the relative "down" direction from the convoy's orientation. A group of six mobile suits charged in from below, blasting three freighters and hitting the command ship with a long range bazooka shot, crippling one of its main engines. They split up, with one group heading further back and the other moved towards the command ship directly.

Rauld's heart cycles sped up. The enemy was coming in their direction, though not precisely for their charge, it would only be a matter of time.

"Come on; let's get 'em!" Biter insisted.

Rauld thought quickly. If the command ship went down, and that was entirely possible with that many mobile suits, then their direct charge would be more vulnerable. On top of that, Sealer would probably chew him out if he just stayed where he was and let the command ship get knocked out, despite his orders.

"Sunni, you stay here. Everyone else, let's move together. Tank and Biter, defend the dorsal side; Mouse, you and me on the ventral side." The side closest to the enemy. He couldn't let anyone call him a coward.

They reached their new positions just as the mobile suits began to attack.

Rauld inhaled sharply as a bazooka shell streaked right past him and slammed into the underside of the command ship's engineering section, blowing a large hole in the hull. He fired back, his Ball bucking with the shot despite the low-recoil nature of his weapon, but his shot went far wide.

Mouse fired too but her shot didn't seem to even be aimed in the right direction. One of the Zakus fired its machine gun at her but she managed to slide just out of the way. Rauld tried to fire another shot as they streaked passed but had to hold lest he accidentally fire on one of their own ships.

Which is exactly why they forced their way inside the convoy.

"Biter, Tank, they're coming your way!"

The command ship suffered more hits as the mobile suits travelled upwards, and one slowed, pointing its bazooka towards the main bridge, but it never got the shot off; instead, its torso disintegrated as Biter and Tank both landed direct hits. Rauld couldn't see where they'd fired from but they had to have taken position close to the hull and even the bridge itself.

The other two Zakus, surprised, backed away, and one of them was caught in the leg by Billhook's gunners, and the two mobile suits retreated.

Rauld sighed in relief. Convoy engagements were usually brief affairs, so he doubted they would try again before they reached Gibraltar. Maybe he'd survived another day. Mouse's sudden, high-pitched squeal shattered that sense of relief.

"Sir, the Farwalker!"

Rauld spun around and saw the other three mobile suits that had broken off earlier returning, this time from above.

Squit, squit, squit!

"Back to the Farwalker", he told his flight. But he knew it was already too late.

Sahna clutched the cargo netting tightly. The airless compartment was dark, save for the crimson emergency lamps. Despite the lack of sound, every sudden shift of the room around them and the cargo netting, told them when the ship was hit, and several new bulges in the nearby bulkhead indicated that one of those hits had been close.

She hated this, feeling helpless, unable to do anything to affect her fate. She and the others members of the 13th, despite all their training and experience, could do little more than sit in the darkness and pray they all got through safely. She and Hypori had their arms locked together, providing a modicum of comfort, but she felt the same way.

The trainees they'd been travelling with, however, weren't handling the situation quite as well. Many of them clung together in tight knots, crying, mumbling to themselves, or curled into protective balls, terrified that they might die before ever getting a chance to fight.

Sahna wondered if she would have acted the same way had she not had the benefit of her experiences. The others in the 13th, all with more combat experience than her and Hypori, seemed to be handling it all with the grim acceptance of veterans, even Dirk. It reminded Sahna that she was still, very much, a rookie.

The speakers in her helmet suddenly came alive with a voice so beautiful it seemed defiled by the electronic device's attempts to mimic it. It took her a second to realize it was Callie's voice, singing a beautiful, soothing melody. A few seconds later, Marie joined in, harmonizing with her cousin and producing a sound so captivating, it seemed to wash away Sahna's anxiety like an outgoing tide, even as the room shifted again and some of them were lightly banged into the wall.

The weeping, the mumbling, it began to subside, as everyone looked and stared at the two as they sang.

Regulations and common sense prohibited things like idle chatter on comms in emergency situations, but Sahna couldn't bring herself to even think of mentioning that at the moment, and Captain Rancher didn't utter a single word either.

"They're coming from above!"

His XO's urgent call pulled Varmos from watching what was happening to the Billhook and back to his primary concern: his own ship.

The mobile suits weren't upon them yet, they were taking a long sweeping route to keep their final target a mystery to their attackers, but it was clear from the main sensor display that the Farwalker was the pivot of their arc. Stoker's tactical officer training was paying off here. He had some time to do something, but what?

Varmos' priorities were the safety of his crew, his ship, and his cargo, in that order. There was no way he could save all three, nor could he do anything to keep them from getting hit. But that didn't mean he couldn't do something about where they hit.

"Helm, roll starboard ninety!"

CPO Daxter, the helmsman, jerked then began manipulating the controls. "Aye, Sir, rolling starboard ninety."

Farwalker began to roll right, slowly, too slowly. Of course, she wasn't a warship, she was a fat, heavily-laden freighter.

"Manoeuvring thrusters to emergency power!"

"Aye, Sir!" Lieutenant Hurler, the navigator, hit the controls on Daxter's behalf as he fought to roll the ship while keeping them in formation. Their roll rate began to increase. It might be just enough.

"Helm, don't worry about settling, keep the thrusters going the whole way." They couldn't spare the time to stop their roll right at ninety degrees, they had to keep going. They might just be in time.

The mobile suits fell down on them like angry falcons, bypassing the pitiful defensive fire from the other ships or halfhearted shots from the other Balls that were never going to hit, and fired down on his ship.

Farwalker shuddered under the impact of no less than five bazooka hits, but the roll had done the job. By rolling to point his port side towards the enemy, they'd fired into the cavernous, port-side cargo hold, preventing any hits affecting the main hull of his ship, for the moment at least.

The mobile suits slowed, risking the greater chance of getting hit to ensure they got effective shots. Varmos had been right, they had been highlighted as an important target.

The ship shuddered as rounds from their machine guns tore open the back of his ship, exploding gas and fluid storage containers like blisters. One of them still had its bazooka, and trained it on the bridge.

Hurler threw her hands up in front of her face as the bazooka fired. Then there was an explosion, followed by a shudder in the deck, but the explosion had been outside the ship.

Varmos stared out through the newly starred view ports of his bridge and saw one of the Balls sitting in front of the bridge. The mobile suit was gone.

He glanced at the sensor display and saw that it hadn't been destroyed but been forced away along with its fellows as his escorting Balls returned. He hadn't realized they'd left one behind. With all the M-particle interference the sensors must not have picked them up, wherever they'd been.

"They intercepted the bazooka shells," Stoker murmured, just barely loud enough for his suit's mic to pick up his voice.

Varmos exhaled deeply, his body shuddering from the sudden excess of adrenaline. "Maybe those Balls are good for something after all," he said. "Get me a sitrep."

As Varmos waited for his crew to check and report the condition of his ship, he examined the sensor display again. The enemy warships were closer to the convoy now, and a glance through the damaged viewport showed the bright emerald beams of their cannons trying to pick at the edges of their formation. Disturbingly few pink beams answered them.

Sighing, he tore his gaze away and turned his attention to Stoker as he gave him the situation report he'd asked for.

Captain Orest Ponoda watched with grim satisfaction as the cruiser division's guns found a target, breaking one of the convoy's freighters in half. The enemy's cruisers, most of them damaged, were only able to commit a small fraction of their firepower to respond, the rest occupied with trying to keep their mobile suits at bay as they tore up their precious convoy and popped their armed space pods like grapes.

Next to him, Shipmaster Starwatcher sat anxiously in her command chair, not so much because of the combat as his own presence.

There remained a large segment of the Octarian population that thought male octolings should not be allowed to serve in the military in any kind of combat capacity. That sentiment extended to deliberately putting them in a position of danger. It had taken a lot of convincing to get his superiors to authorize this little field trip of his, but he had argued it was necessary for the project and Starwatcher begrudgingly accepted his logic. Even if she didn't know the full nature of what he was doing, no front-line soldier would turn down a chance to make their opinions known to those designing new tools to make their jobs easier. That still didn't remove the anxiety she was obviously feeling from having a male under her charge in a combat situation. If anything happened to him, it could sink her career.

The communications officer spoke up. "Shipmaster, the mobile suits are returning. Looks like we lost one."

"Understood. Maintain our fire and position until they're near their defensive positions. Order the division to switch focus to the enemy warships. Let's keep their heads down while we disengage." That last sentence was for his benefit. Despite being of equal rank to her, males were always treated like neophytes by the rest.

It was always assumed he and the few other males in the military spent all their time behind desks or with their kaaslan. His own two, Chastity and Faith, were hovering near the bridge door, submachine guns crossed over their chests. They weren't much happier with him being there than Starwatcher was.

Soon, the mobile suits had returned and the cruisers were pulling back. Other than the loss of one mobile suit, it had been a bloodless victory.

"Sensors," Starwatcher called. "Give me a quick estimate. What's our count for today."

The sensor officer, who had probably been keeping count the whole engagement, replied swiftly.

"Four freighters sunk, one warship heavily damaged, at least five other freighters heavily damaged, and I'm pretty sure all their warships are hurt one way or the other. The convoy as a whole is slowing down too."

"Picking up survivors?" Orest asked.

Starwatcher made a small gesture with her hand. "Probably once we've broken contact."

"And how does today score against your average, Shipmaster?"

"Depends on the sort of pilots we get on the mobile suits. Most of them tend to go after the warships first and end up running out of ammunition for their bazookas before they can hit the freighters. Of course, things have changed a little bit since the Federation introduced those armed space pods."

"I see. What's your opinion on them?"

Starwatcher's tentacles curled inside her helmet, derision written all over her face. "They're an act of desperation, clearly. Space pods are too slow to intercept the mobile suits and too poorly armed to affect an engagement. At most, they're a nuisance, but you'd probably have to ask the mobile suit pilots to get a better idea about them."

Orest nodded. "Thank you, Shipmaster, I think I will do just that. If you'll excuse me."

He gave a little bow and floated towards the hatch. His kaaslan were relieved to see him coming. Nobody else could probably tell, but he'd been with these two girls since childhood, they'd been his bodyguards for years already, and they were a part of his family. He could already tell what they were thinking.

"I just want to interview the pilots before we get ready to leave," he told them as they floated down the vertical shaft from the bridge. "I'm interested to hear their perspective."

"But they're green," Chastity argued. "What could they say that the veterans you've already spoken to couldn't tell you?"

Orest grinned at her. "I don't know, but I intend to find out. We're already here, we have time, and what we're doing is trying to make the job of hitting convoys easier and more effective, which means saving Octarian lives. Even rookies deserve to share their opinions. After all, some of them, in the future, might end up flying our new weapons."

Author's Notes:

This was a busy chapter and a long one but it was fun to write. The joke with the MREs and the vomit, Sahna trying to adapt to experiencing 0g for the first time, our first instance of combat in this particular story, and more characters introduced. First time introducing the RB-79 Ball properly, though it was mentioned in Blood & Scars as the vehicle Hypori was originally trailed to fly.

I had to rewrite this chapter several times to get the right feel for the action without things being too dour or confusing.

What do you think of Rauld and Dogger Flight? How well do you think Sahna will adapt to this new environment? Do you think Varmos was right to save the classified cargo by sacrificing the rest? Let me know your thoughts.

As a side note, I'll probably be updating this story on Tuesdays as Mondays seem to be a more awkward time for people.