The Reign of the Daisy Cutters

[Red Thunder]

Despite the command of at ease, Whiskey had no intention of doing so. Instead she blinked, gave the captain a crisp salute, a sharp Yes Ma'am!, turned on her heel, and strode out of her office, giving Anira not so much as a glance. She had nothing to say to their supervisor, though it irritated her that she hadn't heard anything about the slur Androlov had thrown her way: the Clone was expecting an ass-chewing and accepted the consequences. But that her partner got pulled into it, too...

Once she'd turned the corner from the captain's office, Whiskey dropped the professional bearing and punched the wall with a grunt. There was a reason she'd told Litimco to leave her to her own business! Anira had potential; she'd fuming go places. Be a captain or a major or something. That wasn't the only reason Whiskey got angry with Anira, but the Clone didn't want to even think about that. As she stalked toward her bunk, she happened to pass by the hallway where their fight had taken place. Medics had already cleared out the injured parties, probably hurrying them to medical. A dark spot on the floor where Klein had fallen drew her eye; she'd not heard his head impact the floor, but apparently it'd done so enough to draw at least some blood. Nose wrinkling in vague concern for the guy, Whiskey shoved her hands into her pockets. He'd have been a good fight, too.

Dammit, Litimco.

Close by, a pair of privates were whispering conspiratorially and gesturing at her. She thought about telling them off, and as strongly as her newly discovered name-calling skill could muster, but had no desire for further ass-chewing. Not if she couldn't get her fists involved first. So she stomped off and covered the rest of the distance to the bunk. At the door, a random look down the hall revealed her partner coming her way. Clicking her tongue, Whiskey shoved inside. Casting her jacket onto her head, she heard the door hiss open again. She turned to look: Anira. Not waiting for her to speak, the Clone lit into her, gesturing vehemently.

"The hell were you doing!? Didn't I say I had personal business? The hell's the matter with you, that you'd just fuming follow someone like that!?" Absentmindedly, Whiskey ran her fingers through her blue locks before throwing them into the air. "Fumes, Litimco, you took on L'Kundi and Klein!? You're damn lucky you're not in that medical center with them!"

Her brow was furrowed and her body tense in anger, but in the corner of her right eye was a tear.

 

[JustAFed]

Without a second thought, Whiskey was gone from the room and Anira was still in her mind about the coming mission. She had less than twentyfour hours before her first combat mission, and she'd just gotten here. She'd need to send a message back home, something to keep her family up to date. Maybe formulate an impromptu will of sorts. She should probably go do that, but first... "Do you have any questions, Private?" Waltz's tone was expectant, annoyed and tired all in one terrifying bundle. Anire simply shook her head. "Then leave my office. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

With a nod and an apology, Anira turned and ducked out of the room. Her return to her room was hardly graceful. On the outside she looked downtrodden, the way one would expect after getting chewed out by their commander. Whispers were already running rampant before at each corner and intersection in Ceres' halls. She blocked it all out, trying to formulate a message to her family. It wasn't often that they replied to her when she was still at the academy, but maybe the actual prospect of death would change their minds. By the time she reached the dorm she was nearly back to normal. Her mind, for the moment, was on Whiskey. She seemed angrier when she left, and she hoped that none of it would be turned on her.

"The hell were you doing!? Didn't I say I had personal business?"

Great.

Anira stood in stunned silence as the door slid shut behind her. If she hadn't been so worked up over the insults, the fight, the chewing out and learning that she just might die the next morning, she'd have backed down. But every word that was spewed from the clone's mouth only served to stoke her on further and further. By the time Whiskey had finished, Anira was livid again. "Really? I cannot believe it. If it wasn't for me, you would be the one in the medical center. Klein was going to knock you clean out while you were too busy beating up on the one defenseless person in their group. You rushed in and didn't think!" Anira progressed into the room and threw her uniform jacket onto the kitchenette counter. Now she was only a few, dangerous, feet from Whiskey. "I knew you wouldn't be able to see more than five feet past the front of your nose so I came to have your back! Because that's what partners do! We. Could. Die. Tomorrow."

Anira could feel her anger turning to fear and water was trying to eek its way to the corners of her eyes. "And the last thing I need is for you to go out and get yourself hurt or worse because lets face it we ain't shit without each other! You've seen in it our files, our strengths and weaknesses balance each other out. Your pride or insecurities be damned I'm going to have my partner's back if that means living another day in this screwed up war!" Anira was now red in the face and was so hot that she could barely fear the small stream of tears falling down her face. Suddenly the pain in her ribs came back and she was out of energy and simply collapsed into a sitting position by the counter, head in her hands and trying to bite and wipe back tears. Now wasn't the time for crying.

 

[Red Thunder]

Great.

Whiskey put her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes. How could Anira not see? This was abut more than- Fumes. She'd probably have done the same thing in her partner's position, to be honest; yeah, watching each other's back was certainly important, and they did fit as a team. But...

"And you know how much longer you'd have lived had you stayed the hell away? I knew what I was getting myself into." Whiskey's voice had dropped in tone, and while still stern, it was no longer angry. "Anira, I knew damn well that I'd either end up in Medical or on the front lines for teaching that Suit a lesson. But you know who wouldn't have been there with me? You."

She held her distraught partner in her gaze a moment more before slowly easing toward her. The Clone had wanted Anira to fight back against her, not just- dammit. This was not how this was supposed to go. With a grunt, Whiskey sat down next to the young woman and looked blankly at the far wall opposite her.

"You're my best friend, Anira, because you're my only friend. Okay, so we've known each other for, what, three hours, maybe?" Her mouth pulled into a grimace as her mind skipped back to life on Venus. "It's hard enough for Clones to get to know people. Most Bios think we're subhuman or something, and other Clones are either traded around like so many cattle for various jobs or die performing them. Especially as a Runner. The Venusian environment is dangerous enough, but some of the people I've had to Run messages to... I was lucky to have gotten out alive."

She fell silent again, thinking about everything. About what their (likely very short) future held. A visit on an enemy outpost. A small assault, if she's understood Waltz right. It seemed a largely impossible task. But it could wait. Whiskey turned her head, smiling gently at her friend and nudging her softly with her elbow.

"I do appreciate you sticking your nose where it didn't belong. It was fuming stupid, but thanks for doing it anyway."

 

[JustAFed]

Anira had all but blocked out the first bit of Whiskey's reply. She was too busy burying her head in her hands and fighting through the pain in her ribs. She should have stopped by medical anyway for pain meds, but she was sure to get some before her mission tomorrow. Like it would matter. She was rethinking sending that message out to her family now. She'd be liable to be a crying, sobbing mess of a woman in front of them. It would be so unlike her and the last thing she wanted her family to see was the stoic Anira Litimco in such a disturbed state. Didn't make for a good 'last memory' of her. When she did finally start listening, it was because Whiskey had decided to sit right next to her.

If she wasn't already exhausted, Anira likely would have teared up again at hearing Whiskey say she was her best and only friend. The best Anira could do was listen and breath, the latter being harder considering the pain she was in. Thankfully it was beginning to subside and soon she could focus on more than one thing again. If anything, it did always pay to not interrupt someone when they spoke and so she waited through Whiskey's brief silence trying to formulate some kind of response. But finally, she did get her thank you. It was enough to warrant a short attempt at a response.

"You're...welcome." She said, tried to shift her position in the middle of talking. She was more slouching than sitting against the counter now, but it made breathing and talking easier at the least. "It's not as stupid as going into a fight one against three. If you want to make it up, you can fetch me painkillers from wherever the hell we have a first aid kit. Then you can help me onto the couch. No way in hell I'm getting up that ladder tonight."

She managed a chuckle and sucked in some air. "I think you're okay. I've met clones with better manners than most kids groomed to take over interstellar trade companies. And you're my partner and new friend so, I've got to watch your back whether you like it or not." Anira sucked in a breath and tried to will herself back up but failed miserably, slumping back down onto her butt. "Okay really....I need some help getting up."

 

[Red Thunder]

There was that bit of spirit back. Good; Whiskey thought she might have scared it out of the woman. But spirit or no, the poor thing needed medical attention pronto. And a few aspirin and a sleep on the couch wasn't going to cut it.

"I'll say you need help. Hell, you probably have a broken rib or two, and you're not gonna sleep that off." Moving up from sitting to crouch beside her, Whiskey put Anira's arm around her neck and her own arm around the other's waist. "C'mon, together now. And...up!"

Keeping Anira's borrowed hand clutched securely in her own free hand, Whiskey stood up, doing her best to bear most of the other's weight with her arms. Gingerly she stepped forward, careful to not exacerbate Anira's injury.

"Let's see what the medic can do with you."

 

[JustAFed]

Anira tried to deny that she needed help. The last thing she wanted was a trip to the doctor's. She was sure she could just sleep it off with some painkillers. She tried to voice her protest but had her breath stolen from her the moment Whiskey hoisted her up from the floor. Her rib cage erupted with pain once more and all she could do now was reluctantly comply with wherever she was being taken.

Unfortunately they lived far from the nearest medical station and by the time they arrived Anira was nearly wiped out from exhaustion and leaning heavily against her partner. The medics quickly took the young woman from Whiskey's arms and had her on a cot in no time. A once-over by the cot's scanner indicated that she suffered two broken ribs and would have to spend the night having them repaired by medical nanites. The procedure would take up most of the night, and could be done while Anira was put under. She'd have no real say in the matter, everyone in medical gowns had rank on her and so she'd be forced to in bed alone until it was time to fly out in the morning. And all she wanted was to spend it with her new friend.

------- 0700, Ceres Station Hangars -------

Anira had an empty sleep. No dreams and thankfully no nightmares, but coming out from a medically induced sleep was always disturbing to her. It never felt real to her, and the fact that she had no time to stop by her room before being sent off to the hangar meant she still wasn't able to thank Whiskey for acting against Anira's will. The Cutters often launched out on catapults and it would put stress on a pilot that could knock them out if they weren't prepared. It would go without saying that if she'd done it on broken ribs, she'd have possibly died.

But for now she was back to full health, physically at least. Mentally she was still preparing herself in the locker room as she suited up. She never did like the flightsuits that much. Too formfitting for her tastes, and the armor had too many edges to seem practical, but it was supposed to save your life from shrapnel that might pierce the cockpit. But often, it was never shrapnel that got that far in the first place. She sat down on the bench between the two walls of lockers and looked into the reflective glass of her helmet's visor. They'd have to head out soon, and Whiskey hadn't shown up yet. She couldn't possibly have thought about quitting right? She was probably just late.

"Hurry up you dolt..." She whispered, looking back into her own wearied eyes.

 

[Red Thunder]

0700 turned to 0715, and in time 0730 rolled by. Deck hands bustled about, prepping the two Cutters that were set to leave the asteroid in less than two hours. Each machine was locked onto its catepult, which itself was in a kind of tube. The pilots would be lowered into their respective mechs from above, and both the mech and the catepult tube would be sealed against the vacuum of space. From there...

The deck sergeant stopped as he paced about, some few yards from Anira, and threw a look her direction as if to further compound her anxiety. Seeing just the one pilot, the sergeant shook his head and turned. Wherever Whiskey was, her tardiness was causing frustration to more than just her partner. A deckhand, a smallish woman in her mid twenties, approached Anira, checking her flight armor to ensure its tightness and integrity. It wouldn't do if the mech lost cabin pressure and the pilot got sucked out of her suit.

It was about the time the hand finished her check that Whiskey ran up, gasping for breath. Her hair was frizzy in places, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she smelled of black coffee. She was, fortunately, already in her flight armor. The deckhand gave her a chiding look and turned to inspect the Clone's suit. Whiskey glanced about, eyes growing wide as they resting on the Cutters currently being loaded and prepped.

"Wow," she muttered in awe. "The Academy sims didn't do them justice."

Behind them, on the digital display over the main door, 0759 turned to 0800. Departure was in an hour.

 

[JustAFed]

As if the mountain pressure of Whiskey not showing up was stress enough, the fact that the deck officer seemed to be pinning it on her as all the more worse. All she wanted to do at this point was shrink back into her suit and wait for the whole situation to all blow over. Maybe she'd taken a blow to the head in the hallway fight and was dreaming all of this. If she was, now would be a great time for her to wake up. But as a younger member of the deck crew came by to check her suit, the sudden fear of having to go out alone filled her mind. At that point was her mission nothing less than a death sentence? Wasn't it even Whiskey already did show up?

But, speak of the devil...Whiskey showed and someone caused a feeling of relief to wash over Anira. At least one thing had gone right after all. While the deckhand checked her wingman's suit, Anira stood and took in the sights of their cutters from the window in the locker room. "They're always bigger in person." She murmured in response. So this was it, huh? She turned back to look at Whiskey and watchd the clock behind her turn the hour.

"Alright grasshoppers let's get you mounted. Playtime's over."

Like a rock thrown into a stream, the deck officer's voice broke their little moment as the door beside the window of the locker room opened to reveal the little lift that Anira had seen hundred of times in her flight sims at the academy. 'The elevator to hell' was what the dinky little thing was nicknamed. Once both pilots, the deck sergeant and deckhand were on the lift, all four would be lifted to the series of catwalks that hung right at head level for the Cutters. It was dead slow, and gave the young woman too much time to think about the bad decisions she must have made to end up in this situation.

Once Anira made her first steps onto the metal plating, she could tell that this was for real. With a deep breath she took her helmet in both hands and gave a look to the tube around them and then back to Whiskey. "We get back, drinks are on you." She stated before putting on her helmet. With a little twist to the left a soft pop and a green indicator off to her right informed her that she was now fully airtight. All that was left was for the deckhand and deck officer to check them before they could officially begin boarding for their first real foray into a war that was almost as old as they were. And as both members of the deck crew gave her the thumbs up, one thought came into her mind.

She never did get to say goodbye to her family.

 

[Red Thunder]

Her own helmet twisted on with a similar pop. Whiskey eyed her partner with a sidelong glance at her statement.

"Hell," the Clone muttered, "I'll buy the whole damn platoon drinks if we get back in one piece."

The microphones crackled to life, and a voice spoke in their ears. As it conveyed instructions, the deckhand and sergeant continued prepping them, eventually guiding them into their stations in the cabins of their mechs. It was something of a tight fit: the instrumentation necessary to control such an advanced piece of wartime technology was mindboggling, never mind the actual mechanics of doing so, and every inch of cabin space that could feasibly be used for controls or displays, was. As they settled into their seats and strapped themselves in, their mech doors were closed and sealed, and then the catapult tubes were given the same treatment. Start up was automated, but Whiskey scanned the controls all the same. Gently, carefully, he hands grasped the right and left hemisphere controls. It was a bit surreal, but extremely exciting, to actually be sitting in the cockpit of her own Daisy Cutter. Even if it was a stock machine. She looked to her left, trying to find a glimpse of her partner.

"Hey, Anira; how do you read me? Can you fuming believe it? Out here at last!" The Clone's voice buzzed with the background static of the radio, but it conveyed her excitement readily. A deep breath filled her lungs, and she savored it as she slowly released it. "Time to kick some ass, eh, Litimco?"

 

[JustAFed]

The finality of the mission didn't sink in until the sound of the cockpit's hatch met her ears through her helmet's speakers. Idle technical chatter was running through the launch sequence for the catapult while her Cutter's systems were being automatically brought online. Anira checked each instrument and monitor closely as they came to life around her. To most it was be a confusing mess of lights and button panels but to her it was like reading a little book. Finally her helmet's HUD came to life, fully linked with the Cutter's system to offer a more simplified version of what she was seeing on her panels. Everything on the Cutter was stock, including pilot-tuned adjustments. The fact caused Anira to frown and as soon as she could, she set her adjustments to be closer to what she was comfortable with back in the Sim rooms.

Finally, it seemed that Whiskey had had her fun at the controls and remembered to talk to her. She couldn't help but chuckle as she chinned the mic to respond. "Yeah well, let's get out of the tube first.." And as she spoke, the ends of the launch tubes opened up to show the inky darkness that awaited them. The speakers came to life again with a calm male voice counting down from five. Anira hunkered into her seat and was ready at the controls, on 'launch' she was pressed into her seat as the Cutter shot forward and into the space outside of Ceres. As she did, her HUD came alive with markers and IFF signals in every which way. With a grunt she seized the controls and turned on her thrusters to continue the forward momentum. Almost immediately she was hit with a proximity warning and had to pull hard to her left to not smash into a floating rock.

Once she was a clear distance from Ceres, Anira slowed her speed and turned her Cutter to get a visual on her wingman.

"Whiskey. You had time to catch up on the briefing right? Once we get to a certain distance, we'll have to be radio silent with Ceres to maintain the element of surprise, considering it's a listening post we're attacking. Aside from our rifles and missiles, we're going to pick up a pair of station-busting torpedoes that were shout out to what we should see as our first waypoint." She stopped for a moment and started back on their course. It was hard to hold in her excitement to finally be able to fly in a Cutter, and yet she was equally terrified of running into an ambush. The best she could do was remain professional, she knew the higher ups would be watching. "Once we pick them up, we'll have to eliminate any threats around the station that could down the torpedoes before they can hit the target. Intel is low, so we'd do best to go on low burn once we hit the point of no return."

She paused for a moment to let the details of the mission sink in. It really felt like a suicide run, but she felt no mounting dread. "We'll be badasses if we come back alive."

 

[Red Thunder]

"Pff. Hey, it's no biggie, right?"

Whiskey's heart had dropped when Anira mentioned the briefing. The notification signal was probably still blinking on the screen of her personal computer back in the barracks, waiting for the Clone to activate it and get a run down of the mission details. The fact of the matter was, she'd spent that precious time doing something else, something she'd considered more important, given the circumstances. It'd been the first thing she did that morning, and it had almost made her late for to the staging deck.

Smiling to herself, Whiskey brought the Cutter's arms up in a defensive posture and threw a few punches. It certainly wasn't quality machine work, these stock Cutters, but they'd stand up to a few hits. She made a few minor adjustments to the controls, then turned to glance Anira's way.

"So, what: we grab the torpedos at the rendezvous point, set them up with a delayed start, and pound the hell out of the post's defenses to ensure they don't destroy the torpedos before the hit, right? Sounds easy enough." Spotting a nearby microasteroid, Whiskey smashed it with a solid hammer fist. Bits of rock and dust went everywhere, some small amount tinkling against her mech, and she could have sworn she heard a bit of chastising chatter in her ear from Ceres. Shrugging, she examined the Cutter's hand closely. Apart from some scratching and some very minor abrasions, it looked to have held up well. Smiling gleefully, the Clone flexed the machine's hand before throwing one fist into the other hand's open palm.

"You just tell me who to fuming demolish. Lead the way, Annie; I'm right behind ya."

 

[JustAFed]

Anira listened in on Whiskey's reply and her own little take on how to take down the station. It wasn't a bad idea, although it was relatively straightforward in its mechanics. The idea of not having to manually fire the torpedoes hadn't crossed her mind in the short amount of time that she had to prepare some kind of plan. As she coursed through the asteroid field, she couldn't but feel a little betrayed by the lack of a formal plan of attack on the listening post. Off to her right, she spied Whiskey's Cutter busting through a microasteroid and leaving a trail of dust in her wake. It seemed that their handlers weren't appreciating her testing of the machine, but it was good to know that it could at least take a few hits.

"We've still got some time before we hit the checkpoint for the torpedoes, at least an hour. Should give me enough time to think of something. Though the idea of automating the launch of the torpedoes is a good idea.... Our chances of survival are higher than when we left. Just don't bring those fists to a gun fight." Her eyes shot to the area just ahead and above her on the view screen as two large asteroids collided and sent bits and pieces of it flying everywhere. It was intriguing, the asteroids seemed to lumber along, and yet were travelling at such dangerous speeds sometimes.

----- An hour and a half later ------

Anira's hands glided over both hemispheres of her console, busying herself with information on the torpedoes and how they could utilize their automation features. Half an hour ago they'd picked up the devices, they were strange things. Shaped more like an oval than anything, they were each at least twice as long as their Cutters were tall. They were usually meant for busting capital ships back in the early days of the war, but now they'd been re-purposed to take on more hardy targets such as the one they were hunting.

And now they'd crossed into the dark zone, with the only communications left being between her and Whiskey. She's been quiet for the majority of the trip, busy planning and planning and planning, but finally something that could stick came to mind. "Hey, Whiskey?" She whispered into her helmet's microphone, as if that would really help them hide better. "I think I've got an idea. Let's say the average Cutter Squad for the Outies is set at six. And say that this listening post is outfitted with at least two dozen automated point-defense weapons for full coverage from attack. That means we're heavily outgunned and outnumbered. But what we have is the element of surprise."

Anira leaned back in her seat and let the Cutter cruise before continuing.

"If the defending squad is ordered to keep proximity to the base, a quick strike with torpedoes could take out at least half of them given the large blast radius on these things. From there, cleanup is just a matter of our skill against that of the enemy pilots. But, if they're meant to patrol, we can likely pick off a part of the squad, which would make assaulting the station easier what with their weakened numbers. But aside from that is the real kicker." With a smirk she leaned forward in her seat and looked out into the darkness ahead. "We hide the torps in microasteroids, and set them on a near-collision course with the station. Once they're within effective distance we can detonate and clean up from there."

She blinked as her viewscreen blinked a new red indicator ahead of her with a distance reader right below it. It would have to have been their target. "Looks like we'll have to choose soon. If you have any suggestions or questions, now is the time to let them be known."

 

[Red Thunder]

"Hell, I don't have a damn clue. You're the brains of this outfit, Annie." Whiskey glanced down through her HUD to the holographic 3D proximity display on the console before her. The enemy outpost was getting closer, now about 200 kilometers out. At the speeds needed to navigate outer space, they'd approach too quickly if they weren't careful. They were helped of course that the asteroid field here was reasonably dense, with larger rocks floating about to obscure line of sight. Though brought to mind a concern itself: if the two Daisy Cutters were picking up the post's location, was the post picking up theirs? They'd just have to hope they were small enough to blend into the background.

That wouldn't stop patrols from observing them, however, and that was soon going to be an issue. The Clone glanced below her; the proximity display hadn't picked them up, but sure enough there was a small group of enemy Cutters, slowly cruising about in lazy patrol. Anira's estimation had been reasonably close; there were five, traveling in a loose V formation, and seemingly without a care in the world. Hissing a curse between her teeth, Whiskey gestured frantically to her companion in danger's direction before pulling her torpedo behind a nearby asteroid.

Fumes.

She mentally assessed their immediate options. Outright conflict was always an option, though it was certainly not one they'd want to pursue from the get go. Better to whittle the competition down a bit first. The rifle attached to her Cutter's back (she'd never really grasped why the designers hadnt simply integrated the weaponry into the body of the mech itself) would be too bright, but to use the titanium knife blade would mean getting far too close first, and as sure as Whiskey was of herself, even she knew that the two of them were far too inexperienced in Cutter combat to win decisively against those odds.

The very idea of simply not engaging them at all, but rather simply letting them pass by unopposed, never entered Whiskey's brain in the faintest degree.

Suddenly she had an idea. Finding two nice, Cutter fist-sized asteroids, she released her hold on the torpedo and flew to where she could see their enemies. She'd been watching them for some twenty seconds now, and they'd never changed their course. Perfect. She entered in their predicted trajectory, as well as calling up an old algorithm from when she'd hacked the sim to have a Cutter baseball game in space, and entered the data into the computer. Two throws, with just enough spin...

With a confident, almost manic grin at her partner, Whiskey hurled first one and then the other asteroid before ducking back behind cover. They left her hand easily, speeding on their way toward their respective targets: the heads of two different Cutters.

 

[JustAFed]

Anira had spotted the patrol just as soon as Whiskey had. Her little radar beeped and sure enough five contacts popped up at range. Quickly, she pulled her Cutter into a stop behind a large asteroid adjacent to where Whiskey was. She detached her torpedo and placed it snugly against the large chunk of mineral in front of her. Once she was sure it was secure, Anira took out her rifle from her back and had it at the ready. All the while her partner was up to something crazy. She would not say anything, but through their video feed to each other she could see her deviant side coming out to play. What did she have in mind?

But then two chunks of rock were hurled at the enemy Cutters. And they sailed straight and true into the cockpits of the enemy. Bursting clean through the hunks of metal and leaving a tattered mess of debris in its wake. From Anira's vantage it appeared that Whiskey had nailed the lead and the last Cutter on the left of the V. Just as soon as it had happened, the Cutters dispersed into a disorderly formation and she could only imagine that their comms were a mess.

"Whiskey, your rifle!" She yelled as she started querying the Cutter's computer for firing solutions on the scattered formation. "Shoot n' scoot till they retreat! Try not to follow them back recklessly or they'll lead us right into the station's line of fire!"

Her face was set into determination as the aiming reticles on her HUD blinked green, confirming a solution. Without a thought about her securing her first kill, she pulled the trigger. Lines of bright orange streaked out into the pitch black and connected perfectly with the fleeing Cutter. The result was a magnificent explosion of bright blues and whites, she must have hit the fuel cells. But, she didn't revel in her first kill for long as a stream of bullets tore through the rock beside her.

"Shit shit shit..." She manuevered herself around, grabbed her torpedo and went up, trying to get the elevation advantage on the two remaining Cutters. They'd utilized the element of surprise and tipped the odds in the favor, but just how many other Cutters would be waiting for them at the station.

As she moved, streaks of orange ran past her screen and she watched as high velocity slugs slammed into the rock ahead of her. "Whiskey, report! I'm taking heavy fire here, get a solution now!"

 

[Red Thunder]

But a solution was not going to be soon coming. Whiskey, miraculously, had actually listened to Anira's direction and pulled her rifle to the ready when she'd been directed. Her initial retreat behind the asteroid had not been fast enough, and the three surviving enemies focused in on her position immediately and began peppering her cover with rifle fire. Anira had fortunately taken advantage, and with a brilliant flash they were now sans one more opponent.

The remaining two would not be so easily destroyed. Having seen that their companion had died as he'd fired back in retreat, the two Outies had dove behind asteroid cover themselves, each taking turns to both take shots at Whiskey and Anira and to keep track of their positions. The Clone grit her teeth as she hid; it irked her horribly to not simply meet her enemy head on. But for all her gusto, she knew that the attempt would get her killed or at the least too damaged to aid her partner. So instead she waited, peering around her rock to keep an eye on the enemy and take the occasional pot shot to ensure they stayed where they were.

"I said, 'you're the brains'!" Whiskey called back, the stress of the situation readily apparent in her snippy response. "Come up with a plan while I keep them in place! Or at least give me enough cover to get close enough to end this close quarters!"

She peeked back around her icy cover. Their opponents at that moment were both hiding. If there was a time to move, it was now.

"Anira?!"

 

[JustAFed]

Anira found it hard to respond to Whiskey's little quip as rounds soared past her at velocities that would make her the next big flash in the area. But thankfully, her wingman got the idea and put fire down on her assailants, giving her time to hide behind a stray asteroid. Once in safety, Anira began thinking of a counter attack. Now that there was a lull in the action she was sure that the remaining two cutters were radioing back to their station, which meant reinforcements were likely on the way. Two grey dots pinged on her map where the last two enemy cutters were contacted. She doubted that they would stay long, and would likely retreat to the safety of their base.

"I'm still here." She whispered over their comms, even though secrecy was the least of their worries at the moment.

She was running through transmission travel times and took a guess at just how powerful the comm equipment at the station was. They couldn't act before messages were relayed between the station and the cutters, but messages to other stations or even fast attack ships would take at least fifteen minutes going and coming. That meant they'd have thirty minutes before enemy reinforcements would be on their way. She could make it work, they just needed to get lost again.

Then, a thought came to mind. Quickly she started running a proximity search on the largest asteroids within a 50km radius. While it scanned, she spoke up to Whiskey once more. "Okay, we're about to pull a big disappearing act so listen closely." Anira said as she holstered her rifle. "Set a timer for thirty minutes, if we don't have that station dead to right when it hits zero, we're likely dead if we stay or retreat."

She then brought her torpedo to bear and began the sequence to arm it. "I'm going to hit the biggest rock out here with a torpedo and then we're going to get lost with the result debris that will be travelling towards the station. We'll have to go in cold, even comms will have to be dead. The enemy cutters will be searching the debris field and should leave the station undefended. Once we're close enough, you'll arm and fire your, preferably at point blank and set the detonation on a timer to give us enough time to escape. We'll leave how we came in, through the asteroid debris to try and throw off the targeting on their point-defense guns until that station is molten slag."

Anira gazed to her HUD as one of the asteroids near here was lit up with a green outline indicating it was the largest one that the torpedo could fracture. She took the torpedo in hand and got ready to go. "If you have any objections, now is the time to let them be known. Otherwise I'm going to need you give me covering fire." Anira took a breath and let her hands relax momentarily at the controls. "On your mark, Whiskey."

 

[Red Thunder]

"Uh-"

Whiskey blinked. Anira had rattled off her plan rather more quickly than her companion had managed to absorb it. Comprehension was dawning, to be sure, but it was a slow sunrise. But 'cover fire' she followed just fine. She secured the torpedo to the Cutter's back, and, giving her rifle a quick function check, glanced at her own HUD. There'd been no blips of movement from the enemy's last location; either they were still in place, or they'd figure out how to scoot out without alerting both of the Inners' alarms. Smiling happily, and with no small amount of confidence, she brushed aside an irritating lock of blue from her vision and looked up at the inter-mech video feed.

"Awesome. Here we go."

Hands clutching the controls, Whiskey spun her Cutter about to come out fully from behind cover. As if they'd been waiting for the very thing, their opponents popped out themselves. But the Clone was read for them. Her maneuvering rockets fired, and a Whiskey shot off to the right, getting cover behind the wall of molten led she sent down range at the nearest Outie. She'd kicked off in the opposite direction of Anira, trying to buy her some time, and it seemed to be working; the closest Cutter was too busy trying to keep his machine together as it took fire, and the other was trying to circle around their own cover to recover their view of Whiskey.

Finally her own magazine emptied, and she reached for another. Her enemies leapt at the opportunity; clear of danger for the moment, they both flew into range and opened fire themselves. Cursing, Whiskey retreated as lead and fragments of stone and ice whizzed by her Cutter. First one alarm and then another began going off in her ear, warning of damage to the machine, but all Whiskey could think about was the withdrawal to new cover. A larger Boulder looked like it'd serve the purpose, and she ducked behind it. The bullets still pelted the stone, keeping her locked down, so she took the moment to load the next mag as she ran a damage assessment. It wasn't terrible, considering: one of her port side maneuvering jets was blown to nothing, and her right leg was responding at 27%. But that wasn't the worst of it. Whiskey cursed, harshly: her proximity HUD was filled with lines of white static. Only by squinting could she make out the locations of her nearby foes; trying to find anything at a longer range was out of the question.

Keying on her mic, the Clone grumbled. "My eyes are basically no good anymore. You got your bit finished yet?"

 

[JustAFed]

Anira didn't expect the two enemy Cutters to remain or to even go on the offensive. But thankfully, they were both focused on Whiskey. Her distraction bought her enough time to get to the designated asteroid and planted the torpedo into the largest crack she could find on its surface. She was dead silent as she set the charge to detonate in time with the giant space rock's spin to give the best trajectories for large chunks towards the station. Once she set it, Anira had about fifteen seconds to get to cover. And just as she turned her Cutters back to the fray and grabbed her rifle, she heard Whiskey call for help. A quick glance at her map showed that she was in cover, and that the two Cutters were in open space. Good.

Anira pressed her controls forward and her cutter shot out from behind her new weapon of mass destruction at near max speed towards the Outies."I'm on my way, coming in hot!"

With rifle aimed, Anira got a shot lined up on the Cutter that looked to the be the least injured, and then the other. With a breath, she pulled the trigger twice. A second later, two more bright flashes erupted in the pitch dark just beyond Whiskey's cover. Anira let out a sigh of relief and did her best to skirt behind cover as the counter towards detonation came down to three. Two. "Brace for shockwave!" "One.

Anira's cockpit blinked red for a moment, warning her of radiation before a bright flash spilled from the sides of her cover and was quickly followed by a shockwave that rattled her to the core. She was much too close for an explosion of that magnitude, but it would have to do. The real danger was catching up to the debris heading towards the station without being taken out by all the other flying pieces of rock. "Whiskey? You still alive?" Her voice was confident but shaken by the blast. "Don't tell me I just blew up a giant chunk of rock and ice for nothing."

 

[Red Thunder]

"Fumes."

It was an admittedly neutered curse, and it was one Whiskey said without even thinking about it anymore. The military had years ago taken a strict policy on such harsh words and other similar behaviors, societal changes and developments being what they were. Many so called "qualified" personnel stated unequivocally that anything that might drive the spirit or confidence from a recruit or a private should be utterly extracted from military jargon. In its place, to fill that void, some more creative types began manufacturing other curses and harsh language based on their lives as Cutter pilots, "Fumes" and its variations being one of them. That didn't stop the popularity of the classics, however, and for a time their usage was heavily cracked down on, the policy's violators being given unbearable loads of extra PT in awful conditions. But even the threat of such punishment did little to eliminate the curses, so in time the military brass let up. Whiskey had been trained under a sergeant who was of the new guard, and while he'd not demanded adherence to the substitute phrases, the Clone had taken them on, enjoying the odd look they sometimes garnered her. It spoke to Anira's professionalism that she'd yet reacted to it.

She had at the moment other things to react to. Her partner's Cutter looked like something had tried unsuccessfully to stuff it into a grinder: one leg was responding sluggishly, there were scrapes of various sizes all over the chassis, and her cockpit had taken a round to the left side, though it had luckily only grazed it. Whiskey smiled, still gasping for breath, as Anira called in a status report request. Her own cover had been sturdy enough to withstand the sudden expanding movement of debris, but it had caught her off guard. It following her sprint to her current location, she found herself a touch stressed.

"Let's hope not. I'm tired of hauling around this fuming bomb." Inhaling deeply, she began her tactical breathing to steady her heartbeat. LWhiskey stared again at her HUD, her eyes narrow. Suddenly her leg shot out, kicking the interior casing hard in frustration. Still nothing, save for the blinking dot of her companion. "Okay. You'll have to lead; I can't see a thing for any real distance, though I'm tracking you just fine, luckily."

 

[JustAFed]

Anira breathed a sigh of relief as Whiskey's voice crackled through her helmet's speakers. Good, so far her little plan was working. The amount of debris put out by the broken asteroid prevented her radar from picking up any contacts other than Whiskey, which meant they couldn't detect the two pilots until they were just ontop of them. Stealth and the element of surprise would be on their side again. The only issue now was getting to the base without being smashed apart by flying pieces of rock traveling at speeds that would make even a ship captain shudder in his seat. "Alright then. Try to keep visual on me, I want you over every piece of my rear till we get to the firing point. Understand?"

Anira broke from her cover on a bee line to Whiskey's location, taking time to acknowledge the numerous collision warnings her Cutter was feeding her. Most bits she could let bounce harmlessly off the armor, the rest she simply flew around till she got to Whiskey's Cutter. At a glance she hardly looked sopaceworthy and yet Whiskey didn't let on that anything critical had been hit. So she'd leave it at that and let the techies back at base sweat the details. All that mattered was that she could fly, and that the torpedo would work as intended when the time was right. "Let's get moving. We've got a lot of people to prove wrong." Anira got a good grip on her controls and put them back on course towards the listening post. It'd be no doubt that news of an enemy presence had reached the station by now. And they certainly would have detected the explosion as well. But they were in the dark. If things didn't hit another snag, they'd be back in time for lunch.

---

The flight towards felt painstakingly slow as Anira was soon forced to let her Cutter run cold. Hiding in what debris remained en route to the station wouldn't mean anything if they generated too much heat. Most Cutter tech wouldn't be able to find them even if they were running hot, but the listening post could have picked a warm needle from a kilometer wide haystack if need be. They were fast approaching the station and soon would be right ontop of it. After nearly half an hour of silence between the two pilots, Anira elected to break it with their more archaic, if not reliable, shortrange comm to contact her. Anira was focused once more and as she spoke, any inkling of fear or concern was far gone from her voice.

"Whiskey, wakey wakey, time to earn our stripes." She whispered as if it was going to help. "From the looks of it, we'll drift right below the station with the rest of the debris. The station must have maneuvered in advance. When we get there, it's going to be simple. Ten second timer, release, full burn directly down. Get distance and keep low till the dust clears." Above Anira, she could see a pair of enemy cutters fly towards the debris, could they have found them out? No, if they did, the station simply would have opened fire on the debris. "You've got the ball Whiskey, those cutters are getting close. Fire when ready."