Relevant Notes Will Be At The End Of The Chapter

-000-

Mobile Suit/Mass Effect

Episode 10

Stars Falling in Space - Part 1

-000-

Rapid and repeating muzzle flashes, the loud thundering of short controlled bursts, followed quickly by bullets flying downrange and hitting a metal target. A few more bursts followed, before it was replaced by the clicking of a firearm dry firing.

I looked over at the target. Most of the rounds fired had landed around the B zone, while a handful managed to strike the A zone in the middle. As impressive as it was, a noticeable amount of rounds still landed on the C zone at the outer sections of the paper target... well, more rounds than a professional like me would find comfortable, at least. For someone like Rosen, who had only started her rifle qualifications a few months ago and could only practice in her spare time? This was excellent progress.

"Your grouping is getting better." I complimented the young pilot, giving praise where it was due. "But you're still not handling the recoil properly. You have to fight the muzzle rise more. Your bursts are drifting up and to the right, you have to fight it."

The young pilot groaned.

"Come on, it's good enough!" She complained as she put the weapon on safe and placed the short barreled rifle down on the shooter's table.

It was the M-66A3 Beowulf, the standard service carbine of the Congressional Space Force. It was small and light, firing the intermediate 5.8mm Caseless Round. The compact and lightweight caseless cartridges made it ideal to be issued to both the pilots and marines of the Congressional Space Force, who could carry plenty of ammo without feeling overburdened. The carbine I was training Rosen with was currently barebones. No laser or light attachments, no optics, slings, or foregrips. This wasn't how pilots and marines would usually run their weapons in an actual deployment, but I still felt it was necessary for her to get familiar with the Beowulf before letting her customize it.

"Besides, I'm a pilot!" Rosen continued. "Most of my fighting's going to be from inside a mobile suit! If it ever gets to a point that I have to fight with a gun, then something's already gone terribly wrong."

Before I could say anything, Verns, who had so far been sitting quietly on Rosen's other side, suddenly spoke up.

"That may be so, but in the battlefield, there will always be a situation where knowing how to properly use a gun will save your life." My friend interjected. "You'll never know when that would happen. It's like how the saying goes: better to have an umbrella and not need it..."

"...than to need one and not have it, yeah, yeah." She finished the sentence, sighing.

"Hey, don't worry about it too much." I said, trying to reassure her. "It's like you said, right? The chances you'll need this is slim bu-"

As I was trying to finish my sentence, red alert lights started flashing, followed quickly by the blaring of emergency klaxons.

The wind was knocked out of my lungs as a massive pit formed in my gut.

"All hands, now hear this!" Warrant Officer Kessler's voice boomed over the Risima's PA system. "Mass Relay activity detected! Risima is now on Readiness Condition 2! All hands to battle stations! I repeat, all hands to battle stations!"

My blood ran cold. We all knew something was coming soon. There had been a steady build up of comm echoes from the relay for the past few months. The echoes increased in frequency over time, before finally reaching its peak a few days ago. Fleet Intelligence had already figured that this corresponds with force buildup on the other side... it was just a matter of when all that built up force would be let loose.

The three of us scrambled out of the shooting range, with Rosen only narrowly remembering to return her gun to its locker. In the ship's long hallways, the situation could only be described as 'organized chaos'. Crew and officers alike rushed to their posts. Damage Control personnel rushed to their designated stations as they put on their firefighting normal suits. Gun crews queued to enter the CIC and Weapons Control Center, while backup crews stood close to the backup controls and repair stations for their respective weapons.

The three of us burst into the pilot's prep room. The other pilots in Risima's roster were in various states of undress, each rushing to put on their normal suits before heading towards the hangar. I floated to my own locker, where I put on my Space Force issue normal suit. To the side, Verns too was quickly putting on his suit, leaving before he even zipped it all the way to the neck. Rosen, of course, stuck to her black and red Golden Beacon suit. She took her time, making sure everything was put on right. At the end, I was the last pilot to leave the prep room.

In the MS hangar was in just as much a state of controlled chaos as the rest of the Risima. The technicians were in the process of spooling up the Gunstrikes' reactors, while Rosen's Hroeger had to be jumpstarted with a power line from the ship. Coming from the ship's magazine, MS equipment of all types -be it beam rifles, beam sabers, bazookas, grenades, or the beam shields we got from Atlas Point- were rolled out in mobile weapon racks.

I checked on my Gunstrike's systems. Green across the board, as expected. Derrick and his crew of technicians had yet to fail the Risima, which was great... we didn't need any malfunctioning systems, especially not with the kind of threat we were facing soon.

I picked my usual equipment loadout, though this time I picked out a beam shield instead of the usual physical shield. The benefits of a state of emergency meant we had access to top of the line equipment that we otherwise wouldn't.

Now, we were as ready as we could be.

I felt the Risima shift as it took position in the battle line, at the head of Squadron 13. My helmet's HUD showed the Monty and Gleiswick take their usual positions to the Risima's rear, while Darrian went above the formation and Loanie below. None of the MS teams have launched yet, as per a directive from Central Congress. There were many who held out hope for the possibility that the situation could be resolved peacefully, that the aliens would send a diplomatic delegation to try and steer both sides away from war... it was a slim chance, but they had to take the opportunity to deescalate if it presented itself.

That was why we were in Readiness Condition 2. We were all was on our stations, locked and loaded, ready to fight, but all our weapons were set to SAFE.

And so I waited, Gunstrike on standby on the catapult. Waited as seconds turned into minutes... and kept waiting, even as WO Kessler announced the arrival of contacts in the battle network.

-000-

Bullow waited anxiously on her command seat, cold sweat forming on her forehead, knuckles turning white with how hard she was gripping the arm rests.

WO Kessler relayed the reports coming from Bullhead 4's long range sensors to the central holographic projector in the ship's CIC. Blip after blip kept appearing by the Mass Relay leading to the Fumitan System. The Acting Captain started to pale when the rate of arriving ships only increased in frequency, eyes wide in growing horror. It took a few minutes, but finally the arrivals slowed to a trickle. When the last contact entered formation with the rest of its allies, they outnumbered the Congressional forces in a ratio of over two-to-one. Lines upon lines of cruisers and battleships formed, holding position and keeping their front facing directly towards the line of Bullhead stations.

"Holy sh..." Bullow quietly slipped, before catching herself and clamping her mouth shut. She shook her head and recomposed herself, before reiterating the squadron's orders. "Maintain the battle line! Hold course, then bring us about at 2000 clicks!"

"Aye, ma'am!" The helmsman responded.

Squadron 13's battle line proceeded onwards, driving on a course almost parallel to the enemy's own rows of warships. Far to the left flank, Squadron 86 flew in the opposite direction, also at a direction which put it parallel to the enemy's line of guns. Congressional forces presented the aliens their broadsides, which allowed them to bring the maximum amount of firepower to bear.

Far off in the distance, disconnected from the central formation, Squadron 108's force of six Curran Class Destroyers silently sailed in an irregular zig zag pattern. If it came to blows, 108 was going to hit the enemy on their side -an area where Fleet Intelligence's analysis says the alien ships should be vulnerable- and launch a full spread of torpedoes. Once launched, they're ordered to bug out in full burn, before attempting another torpedo run once another opportunity presents itself.

As time crawled onward, so did the the atmosphere grow ever more tense. Bullow found her breath getting heavier as she stared down the holographic blips that represented the alien ships. It was just standing there. Waiting. Watching her watch them back. It was beyond nerve wracking. The acting captain almost wished the aliens would attack already, if only so that they wouldn't be held up in suspense for much longer!

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, something in the formation changed. Long ranged sensors picked up an increase in thermal readings. The first line of alien ships began separating from the rest of their fleet, moving forward slowly at first, then accelerating, then the advancing line shifted its formation. The ships on the center moved ahead of the flanks, while their allies on the edge of the line slowly came closed the gap forming in the middle. In a swift, smooth, and no doubt highly practiced move, the first line of ships had formed themselves into a sort of diamond formation. Bullow remembered this formation. It was just like what the aliens used during first contact, after Lieutenant Kreusgluck's MS team crippled their first cruiser.

Were the aliens moving in to attack? Bullow wanted to say no. Desperately wanted to say no. At least then she wouldn't have to lead thousands of men into battle, where their lives hang in the balance, where her orders mean the difference between coming home waving their flags, or wrapped in them.

"Ma'am, Captain Ashenbark and Hora are asking for permission to launch their Mobile Suits!" Warrant Officer Kessler relayed, pulling Bullow out of her thoughts.

"Tell them to hold!" She barked in return, almost too quickly for her liking. "We have to follow the Congressional Directive. We will not be the ones to escalate!"

That was a front, of course. An easy excuse for her, to delay having to come to a decision. Bullow knew that. Her instinct as a commanding officer was to make the first strike, to seize the initiative... but could she really trust her own instincts? She did that when she was in charge of Operation Magic Spear. She arrogantly went with her gut instead of double and triple checking the intel she had. So many lives lost because of her mistake. She couldn't let that happen again. She wouldn't let that happen again.

Squadron 13 held their course, even as the alien ships approached. Closer and closer they came, slowly closing the gap into firing range of each other's main batteries.

Bullow didn't want to escalate, she really didn't, but her mind and her instincts were at odds. She should be ordering for a salvo of Minovsky Emitter Missiles be launched right now. Minovsky Particle jamming was the Space Force's trump card, and the later they used it, the less effective it would be... but launching a salvo of missiles would mean escalation.

So Bullow held herself. Squadron 13 waited. Waited for several torturous minutes, until finally, the aliens made their move.

"Ma'am, long range sensors are picking up swarms of high-temp objects coming out of the enemy battleships and carriers! High-temp objects are rapidly closing!" A sensor officer reported. "They're... my God, they're fast! "

Finally letting go of the breath she was holding, Bullow felt the tension leave her body.

"Then they've made the first move!" The acting captain declared. Partially to convince herself that she wasn't responsible for the upcoming conflict, but mostly so that the crew understood the gravitas of the situation.

"Scramble all mobile suit teams!" She continued. "Target the enemy formation and launch Emitter Missiles from tubes 8 through 14. Afterwards, scatter Minovsky Particles at full combat density!"

-000-

The crushing G-forces of catapult assisted launch quickly faded once my Gunstrike took off. I flew a holding pattern around the Risima while I waited for the rest of Blue team to launch. It didn't take long, so soon enough we were flying headlong into the enemy's projected flight path. As the gap between our formation closed, the optics if my mobile suits finally identified the high-temp objects detected on sensors.

They roughly humanoid in shape, with arms, legs and a head. However, the proportions were all off, and its external appearance seemed crude. It was like a twisted reflection of a modern mobile suit... and it was fighting on the enemy's side.

That wasn't where our problems ended, however. Flanking the alien mobile suits were long, claw shaped starfighters. These appeared sleek and advanced, the complete opposite of the humanoid mobile weapons it was supporting. What this told me is that the alien mobile suits were new compared to the fighters... perhaps only made very recently as a means to counter our own mobile suits.

"The enemy has mobile suits of their own!" I yelled into the battle network. "Brace for close quarters fighting!"

As I said that, the enemy MS -which outnumbered us by a considerable margin- attacked and even fired the first shots in the engagement. They fired kinetic projectiles at us, which while no doubt powerful, still proved insufficient to get through our beam shields. The advancing enemy suits slowed their advance after their attack failed to do any damage, before scattering. I thought that the aliens probably weren't expecting us to have beam shields, that we'd still be using the same kinds of shields as during first contact. It was tempting to think that they were panicking as they realized their weapons weren't going to work against us.

Of course, that was simply wishful thinking.

Instead of panicking and flailing about, the enemy changed their attack pattern. They tried to have one of their own suits pin down or bait one of our own, while others attempted to get around our defenses and attack. On paper, it was as good a plan as any. They'd even managed to break our formations apart, separating the allied MS teams from each other, then each unit from their own team mates. A classic divide and conquer tactic. Simple, sweet, but also very reliable.

One of the alien's lanky MS fired repeated shots at me from his rifle. He got up close and personal to my Gunstrike, doing what it can to hog up all my attention. It was a daring move, one that I found myself admiring. If this was how he wanted to fight, then it's only fair for me to engage in my own daring. My retaliation began, first by firing the head mounted beam vulcans of my MS. In response, the enemy raised his own shield, hiding his machine behind it. I had half expected the beam vulcans to shred through the slab of armor, but whatever anti-beam barrier the aliens had on their ships apparently could be scaled down to fit a Mobile Suit sized shield. The relatively weak beam shots I fired simply shattered upon meeting the invisible force covering the alien's shield. As I was preoccupied fighting the alien directly ahead of me, two attempted to get to hit me from the sides.

I wasn't about to let that happen!

The alien's lack of experience in mobile suit combat was their biggest weakness, and I fully intend to exploit it. With my beam vulcans still firing, I charged headlong towards the MS with the shield. It was still cowering behind its defenses, which meant it couldn't counter attack easily. I took the opening presented to me, violently kicking the shield and pushing the MS holding it into a spin. Simultaneous to my melee attack, I twisted the Gunstrike around, activated my beam shield to cover my left side, then raised my beam rifle to fire to my right. As if on queue, a fusillade of shots were fired at me. Most missed, either because I was able to dodge them, or because the shots went wide. A couple landed hits on my beam shield, but that was quickly neutralized. Now it was my turn to attack.

Target locked, barrel lined up and compensated for lead. It was now or never, so I pulled the trigger.

A flash of pink light leapt from the end of my beam rifle towards the alien MS on my right. He saw it coming and tried to raise his own shield to protect himself. Unfortunately for him -though fortunately for me- the barrier and shield combo proved insufficient to block a direct strike from a full powered rifle. The bolt of energy penetrated the defensive apparatus, then ran through the lanky looking machine down the middle. The damaged MS went limp and sparked violently, but before it could explode, I saw the machine's backpack suddenly eject backwards... taking with it what appeared to be a cockpit unit. The ejecting section only barely cleared the damaged mobile suit before it exploded.

So the alien mobile suits had an ejection feature or even a core fighter... That'll be something I have to pay attention to.

By this time, the alien MS I sent spinning with a kick had recovered and attempted to counter attack. The pilot had guts if he was still trying to keep me pinned. I had to give him that.

As I turned my rifle with the intention of firing on the attacking machine, I was surprised to see the alien ditch his rifle and pull out what appeared to be a one handed axe from a hardpoint on his shield. It appeared to be an all metal device, though the wires and piping suggested that it could be powered somehow. I made the assumption that it was some kind of heat-weapon, like the heat-hawks of the One Year War... and as it turns out I wasn't too far off.

According to what the Gunstrike's sensors were able to read, some kind of device -most likely Mass Effect based- was embedded at the center of the axe-head. The device vibrated the axe-head at an absurdly high frequency, increasing its damage potential.

The alien swung his vibro-axe down viciously and it was only thanks to my beam shield that I survived the attack. Energy arced from the contact point as the I-field holding my beam shield in shape clashed with the volatile energy generated by the vibro-axe. The attack was stopped, giving me the opportunity to strike back with point blank shots from my rifle.

One, two, three shots were loosed, each hitting the alien machine somewhere important. The first struck it on its waist, severing the mobile suit in half. The second blasted the alien looking head clean off, while the third landed square in the chest. No way the pilot could eject in time.

Two down, one more to go.

The last attacker seemed to be the smartest of the three, because his next move was to go on a fighting retreat. He boosted backwards, firing round after round towards me as it did. That bastard was a damned good shot, considering the pressure he must be feeling right now. The alien managed to nail my Gunstrike with three shots out of eight, two of which landed squarely on my unit's chest. Fortunately, the shots didn't penetrate. The powerful Gundarium Sigma armor plating managed to absorb the worst of the hit, while dispersing or deflecting the rest.

Still, it must've left quite the mark. It certainly felt like it did.

While I recovered from the hit, the enemy turned his back to me and flew away at full speed. It wouldn't be too difficult to chase him down... but I hesitated to do it.

The battlefield was in chaos and I had been separated from my team. If I chased him down and secured the kill, there was a huge chance the alien would be leading me towards his own team... or God forbid his own fleet. I was confident in my skills, but even I knew I couldn't take on an entire armada on my own.

So I made my decision to turn the opposite way, towards Risima and Squadron 13.

-000-

"Intensify portside barrage, now!" Bullow ordered. "Keep the enemy away from the squadron!"

Beam flak and vulcan fire increased in volume as the Risima and its four Curran class escorts fought off yet another wave of attacks. Both the alien's mobile suits, as well as their fast attack fighters have been harassing them since the engagement began. The enemy were wisely avoiding a gunbattle between ships, knowing that a good salvo from the Curran's smaller hyperbeam cannons could easily cripple their cruisers.

That was why Squadron 13 -and all the other warship squadrons, for that matter- were on course to try and close the distance. Mobile suit grade weapons couldn't reliably deal the damage necessary to the alien ships, so it falls to the classic broadside barrage to get the job done.

"Ma'am, enemy formation have altered course!"

"Match them!" Bullow ordered.

"Aye Ma'am!"

The Risima turned hard to the left and her escorts followed closely behind. They advanced on an irregular zig zag pattern, emulating Squadron 108's own evasive maneuvers. They were so close... well, close by the standards of a space battle. A few hundred more clicks, and the enemy's first attack wave will be within Squadron 13's effective firing range.

A few more minutes passed. Bullow listened in on the battle network... and she wasn't too happy about what she's hearing. With the ever increasing Minovsky interference -much denser than was standard for an engagement of this scale- even the Space Force's robust battle network was beginning to fray. They've lost contact with Lieutenant Kreusgluck's Blue Team after the enemy managed to separate them from the rest of the formation. Lieutenant Hedder's Red Team have also dropped out of scope, having returned earlier to rearm before heading back out to find Blue Team. The other MS teams from the Currans have faired better, with most still being in contact.

A tight knot started forming in Bullow's gut. Irena and Verns were good, but they weren't good enough to take on an entire enemy fleet on their own. The acting captain wasn't exactly the religious type, but she sent out a silent prayer to those two and their teams, before refocusing on her own role.

"How long until enemy is within effective firing range?" Bullow asked.

"At current rate, ten more minutes, ma'am!"

"Get us a firing solution, ASAP! I want to be firing at the enemy the moment they're in weapons range!"

-000-

"Shit... shit, shit..." I cursed to myself as I dodged a hail of enemy fire. High velocity explosive shells nearly clipped me as a salvo of them flew through where my machine was a mere few seconds ago.

By some miracle, I managed to find the rest of Blue Team in the midst of all this chaos. Problem was, Blue 2 was badly damaged. He took several nasty hits to his machine's chest, and I spotted a nasty looking hole which appeared to have penetrated into his cockpit. Given than his machine was limp, and that we weren't getting any responses from him, Blue 3 and I feared the worst. Speaking of which, the third member of my team had somehow managed to survive in better condition. He had several shot marks on him, as well as a gouge on his left shoulder and right thigh armor... but otherwise, he was in fine condition.

Blue 3 and I were trying to get our wounded teammate back to the Risima, but the aliens weren't making it easy. Like sharks that smelled blood, enemy mobile suits and attack fighters hounded us constantly. We had to pass Blue 2 back and forth, swapping roles as we either dragged the limp machine to the squadron's general direction or turned and fought off the enemy. It was a slow, arduous process, with the enemy MS occasionally being able to grab hold of our comrade's machine in an attempt to capture it.

There were so many of them, it was overwhelming! It was terrifying to think that these aliens had somehow managed to not only design these mobile suits, but also mass produce them to the point they could outnumber us. A part of me held out hope that these machines were all the MS they had. It was a slim chance that it was, but it was the only way to cope about it without falling into despair.

Blades clashed together as the beam saber I held on my machine's left hand blocked a strike from an enemy vibro-axe. With a trick that I've practiced dozens of times, I pulled back my machine then poised it as if I was going to make an inward slash. When the enemy responded by defending his right, I quickly mixed up my moves, going into a stabbing attack instead. The alien bastard didn't see it coming, and before he knew it my beam blade went straight through his cockpit.

"Shit! Lieutenant! They've got Lyle!" Blue 3 suddenly yelled out.

True to my subordinate's words, two of the aliens managed to grab Blue 2 while we were both preoccupied with our own fights. I was about to rush in and save him, but two of the alien machines stood in my way.

"Damn you bastards!" I hissed. "Get out of my way!"

Unfortunately, the enemy ignored my protests. What's worse is that these two seemed to be cut from a different cloth from most of the others so far. I should've known, considering they had some customized paint job for their machines - one with green smears like camouflage, the other with yellow stripes. They fought in unison, almost in perfect sync, much more skilled than the rest of their brethren. Whenever one's defenses faltered, the other went on the defensive. Our fight became something of an intense, tightly tuned dance - an unceasing flurry of blades clashing, weapons fire, and last second evasions.

This was already a problem, but it was getting worse. Every second I spent fighting these twin bastards, the further the other aliens could take Blue 2. If I can't finish this fight soon, my teammate would be beyond saving!

With a strained war cry, I made a reckless move. I charged headlong into the first of the twins, the one with yellow stripes on it. Just as I expected, Yellow Stripe dashed backwards to maintain his distance from me. I continued my charge, even increasing my Gunstrike's speed and pushing its thrusters into the red. This wasn't going to last very long - gunning the thrusters into the red for so long would inevitably ruin it, but that didn't matter right now. Any concern I had about adding unnecessary workload for Derrick and the flight technicians went out the window entirely, even as alarms and the onboard computer warned me that I was overheating the thruster systems. It was do or die, and I sure as hell wasn't about to let myself or Blue 2 die to these alien bastards!

This was when I pulled a fast one on them.

Instead of attacking the striped enemy, I spun my unit and shot at the smeared one instead. This caught him off guard, but he was able to dodge a critical blow. Instead, the beam bolt singed his unit's right side, even warping some parts of the shoulder armor with how close the shot passed.

I rode the momentum of the spin all the way back to facing the yellow striped machine. In that short moment where I had my back to him he tried to make an attack, but I anticipated something like this.

A wall of pink light burst out of my beam shield emitters, defending me from the yellow machine's shots. The enemy foolishly slowed himself down to take that shot, probably needing to steady his aim.

It was an opportunity I was only too willing to exploit.

"That's your last mistake!" I yelled out, pushing the Gunstrike's thrusters beyond the redline.

I rammed right into the bastard, like an out of control freight train crashing into the track stopper. It was a wild move, the kind that I found myself doing more and more often as of late.

To his credit, my enemy did try to counter my attack... he didn't do it very effectively, but he did try.

The alien reflexively moved his shield to cover himself from my ramming maneuver, then blasted his thrusters forward to counter my momentum. For a while, it actually worked. The invisible barrier on his shield crashed with the wild energies of my beam shield. We pushed against each other, neither of us willing to back down from the other. Energy crackled and arced from where our shields clashed, bright flashes of light nearly blinding me even as my cockpit's monitor automatically dimmed in adjustment to the intense brightness. Even if his skill and spirit was able to overcome me, his machine was not. The thrusters on the alien mobile suit started to sputter, as did his energy barrier. Slowly, his physical shield started to melt under the unceasing energy barrage coming from my machine. It came slowly at first, buckling and warping under pressure, before the energy barrier it emitted cut out completely, causing me to quite literally burn through his machine.

My beam shield cut through the alien machine's physical shield, then through its left arm, then its shoulder armor. The enemy could only narrowly evade with his life, jinking hard to the right and letting me through. With his machine severely damaged, the pilot of the green smeared mobile suit tried to eject his cockpit module, but I was prepared for this. Just as the cockpit shot backwards and away from the crippled body, I fired my beam vulcans. My aim was true and shredded the cockpit just as it cleared the machine.

The pilot never stood a chance of escaping.

I would've celebrated, very nearly celebrated. Beating such a slippery enemy like this was always satisfying.

Problem was, I've still got one more bastard to deal with.

While I was distracted, the yellow striped mobile suit rushed in to attack me from behind. I only realized after I was jostled around in my cockpit. I looked to my left, where the shock was most intense, and saw through the panoramic cockpit a vibro-axe cutting into my Gunstrike's left shoulder armor, even digging into even the shoulder servos. Immediately, I lost responsiveness on the left arm. Safety systems kicked in as well, cutting off the flow of power to the beam shield and beam saber.

I responded with a swift backwards kick, dislodging the enemy from my machine and forcing him to let go of the vibro-axe still lodged on my unit's shoulder. The next move was to turn around and fire at him, but the bastard had anticipated this and was already running evasive maneuvers. Regardless, I fired my beam rifle at him. One, two, three shots, all of them missed. Then came the bastard's accurate and vicious counterattacks. After every few dodges of his, he'd respond with a couple shots from his weapon. A lot of them I could evade, but those that I couldn't hit me hard, and the damage to the armor plating was starting to add up. It wouldn't be long until a lucky shot managed to punch through a weakened point in the plating... at which point I'll be in serious trouble.

As our fight continued, each subsequent shot I fired got closer and closer to the alien machine. I was starting to memorize how he flew, how he evaded, how he fought. The next shout would hit... it had to hit.

Sure enough, the next shot did strike the enemy... should've hit... but he raised his shield and angled it in such a way that the beam shot was deflected away.

"Oh you sonuvabitch!" I snarled out.

I've just about had it with this alien asshole! I was running on pure instinct now, tactical thinking reduced to how I could not only destroy this bastard's mobile suit, but also made sure he didn't survive either. This enemy was too dangerous a pilot to be left alive. If he could pass on his skills, teach his kin how to be as good as he was... well, that was just one more reason to get rid of him before he could.

With what I've learned of the alien pilot, I calculated which direction he'd dodge my shot next. Execution of the plan proved successful, as the enemy dodged exactly where I wanted him to go. This time, I dashed right into him, used my Gunstrike's weakened left arm to try and pull his shield out of the way.

It was a struggle. My mobile suit's left arm should've been enough to wrench away the shield and open up the enemy to attack... but the damaged shoulder meant I couldn't channel enough power to the servos to do it. It didn't take long -though it sure a hell felt like it took forever- but I finally was able to get enough leverage to break his defense. In response, the alien mobile suit opened up flaps on its faceplate revealing multiple gun barrels pointed right at me. He peppered my Gunstrike with machinegun fire... and while it wasn't firing rounds powerful enough to even scratch the armor, it proved potent enough to damage the main camera unit hiding behind the head unit's visor.

The panoramic screen on my cockpit flickered off for a split second before swapping to the secondary camera feed, but this opening wasn't enough for the enemy to save himself. At this range, I didn't even need to look to hit him. All it took was to bring my beam rifle to bear, then to rapidly mash the trigger, letting off shot after shot at the enemy. By the time my Gunstrike regained full vision, all that was left of the enemy was a burning wreck. I wasn't sure if I had gotten the pilot before he ejected, but considering everything above his machine's waist was a burning wreck... well, even if I couldn't confirm it, I'll have to consider that a kill.

But I couldn't wind down now. No, in fact it was quite the opposite. My mind raced once more, remembering that Blue 2 was still being carted off by the enemy to God knows where. Even with my Gunstrike's damaged state, I couldn't let the aliens take him. I had to go after him.

So I boosted off into the distance, chasing down the light green IFF marker which directed me to my teammate's position. He was so far away. Almost out of reach... but I couldn't let that stop me!

I pushed my machine beyond its limits, beyond the furthest I've pushed it before. Machines were replaceable. Pilots weren't. Even with my thruster units burning white hot, I couldn't stop. My teammate needed me.

They were close now, I can barely see them on the screen. Two alien mobile suits, one running escort while the other hauled Blue 3's damaged Gunstrike. Their red blips appeared on my screen, signaling to me that my targeting systems had them locked. Rifle readied, I took aim at the escorting alien. If he knew I was aiming at him, he didn't react. Him and his buddy just kept up their flight path, without even bothering with evasive maneuvers. If they wanted to make themselves an easy target, that was fine by me! All I had to do now was pull the tri-

Suddenly my machine shook violently. My aim was thrown off and the enemy found themselves a dramatic speed boost... no, it wasn't the enemy that was speeding up... I was slowing down!

I had been ignoring all the warnings that the onboard computer was blaring out for minutes without end... that I was pushing the Gunstrike too far beyond its stated limits. Having ran my thrusters over the redline for so long, they finally failed on me in spectacular fashion, exploding and crippling my mobility in the worst moment possible.

"No, no... nonono... wait, no, not like this!" Was all I could stammer out, fury and panic overtaking me.

Enraged, I fired my beam rifle blindly at the two alien bastards' general direction. Target lock was already lost at this point and it was damn near impossible for me to hit it at this rate... but I didn't care. I had to try! I had to do something!

So I fired... and fired... and fired... and fired... and then one of them exploded.

A beam shot flew off into the distance, striking the escorting alien mobile suit straight through its back. It exploded in a brilliant display, leaving nothing but a wreck as the fire subsided.

Huh?! How did that happen?

I held my fire, incredulous at myself, thinking I had scored a hit... but then another beam shot came from behind me and struck the enemy that was hauling Blue 3. The shot landed on its left leg, sending it spiraling out of control... and more importantly caused it to let go of my teammate. Another shot was fired, this time landing square on the enemy's chest causing it to explode violently like its partner.

A wave of relief crashed onto me like never before. I sank into my seat, panting hard, face still red from all that anger from before. Tears even threatened to break free after all of that tension finally let up.

"Lieutenant Kreusgluck!" A familiar, youthful voice called out to me on the battle network. Not long after, I felt something grab on to my Gunstrike's right shoulder. It was a red and black Hroeger, a sight that normally would've terrified me to no end. A video feed of Rosen wearing her black and red Golden Beacon normal suit showed up on my panoramic cockpit's digital display shortly.

I never thought I'd ever feel so safe and relieved at the sight of a Hroeger.

"Lieutenant, are you alright?" Rosen asked me, genuine concern in her voice. God bless her soul. "Your machine's pretty banged up. Can you still fly?"

"I-I'm fine..." I answered, voice still a little shaky. "A-and no, my thrusters are busted. I'm going to need help getting back to the Risima."

The rest of Red Team as well as Blue 3 arrived shortly. While Blue 3 went to secure our downed teammate, Verns came in to check on me.

"Irena, you okay?" His voice showing a hint of concern under that aura of professionalism he always had during sorties.

I sighed out and let a smile form on my face.

"I am now, Verns."

-000-

A/N: So, as the episode title suggest, I actually wanted to do more in this episode. A hell of a lot more. But I was already closing on 7k words and if I tried to cram in everything in a single update I'd be done by Christmas Eve or something, if not later. The thought of breaking my previous record and publishing a chapter that's close to 10k words is tempting, but I'd rather have this out sooner than not at all. Next episode will -obviously- be Part 2 of the initial space battle and continue almost exactly where we left off here. There's going to be a bigger emphasis on the ship-on-ship combat on part 2, with a heavy focus on Bullow. Hopefully y'all like that too since I'm actually looking forward to writing the ship engagements.

On a related note, I'm once again extending the expected length of the story, potentially up to 30 chapters depending on how it goes. I'm finding I can't fit as much stuff into a single chapter in as timely a manner as I'd want so that means either cutting a lot of stuff or adding more chapters to the plans. The next chapter was supposed to cap off the current arc but if I did that I'd have to cut a lot of neat stuff from the story. As such I'm adding 2 or 3 more chapters to the space battle arc.

-000-

THIS WORK IS CROSSPOSTED IN FFNET AND AO3