Fallon
NACS-Manitoba. Fifteen days from the Hengan alcubierre node. In transit to NAC Fortress world Sandalphon, 2168AD/ 105AC.

I can see Miiora talking to Forbes's replacement at the table to my right. I don't hate Durge and I don't hold any ill will towards him for replacing my second. After all, soldiering is a dangerous business during regular conditions, but against the lanky's death is expected.

The most we can do to cope with death is go back to the NCO club and share stories about the dead, and having one final drink in their name.Then move on and push them to the back of your mind, it’s cold but humanity has been at war for over a century so we have gotten used to it, expect it. Currently my reptilian girlfriend, the tarantula, and Trombley are conversing in excited tones about something.

“Ahhgh, I fold.” I say slapping my cards down before lying back in my bunk. We have been burning steadily at one point five G since we left the Helghast transit point, and we finally have some free time on our hands. The dead have been recycled or shot into space, and the savaged platoons of the fleets marines and podheads have been left to lick our wounds.

The fleet went to Helgan with thirty ships, four NAC and SRA heavy battle cruisers, one NAC Manitoba class carrier, one SRA troop transport, three NE assault carriers, seven UAF Fighter frigates, two UAF attack Cruiser, two NAC Indianapolis ghost ships, four NAC hammerhead cruisers and their SRA equivalents, and six Siege Breaker class ships. But out of those numbers only nine ships survived the mauling we received at the hands of the Lanky's.

Excluding the Ghost ships the only ships to survive the bloodletting at the station, and the twelve day retreat to the node are the NAC Siege breakers Manitoba, Donnager, and Rodger Young, UAF attack cruiser Shaka Zulu, UAF Fighter frigate Idi Amin, NE assault Carrier Infinite Stratos, and SRA Heavy battle cruisers Han xin, Vasili, Zaitsev, and the Somnath Sharma.

When we finally got a final count the losses were staggering, to say the least. By the time we exited the system under the combined escort of the SRA’s new siege breaker battleship the Nostromo, her escort, the remainder of the Helghast fleet, Changeling Prowler’s. As well as the three UEC ships that had refused to retreat with the rest of their fleet, the Shining Star, Glimmering wake, and Black Arbitrator having chosen to stay with the Humans. The COG fleet had lost a total of three billion tons of ships and equipment, and a terrifying total of one hundred thousand confirmed Dead, with another two thousand missing.

And from the reports given to us by the Shining Star’s captain/commander the UEC lost even more ships. They arrived in Helgan with one hundred and twenty ships and only made it out with thirty. But unlike Humanity the UEC fleet far outnumbers ours and while a serious blow to morale, the loss of that many ships in one campaign wouldn't cripple their navy, or war effort.

But most damning of it all we lost the Leathy, and her captain of over eighty years Rance Barron. That single loss alone struck a major blow to the morale of the fleet and no doubt will hit the rest of humanity hard. That Leathy and her captain had been household names, and where the face of humanity's unwillingness to accept defeat.

‘Attention all hands, brace for turnaround burn, repeat, all hands brace for turnaround burn.’

With a sigh I pull my leg up into the crash couch that passes for a bunk and with practiced laziness strap myself in. Across from me Levoy straps himself into his bunk as well, and I can see Miiora and Trombley doing the same with the seats at the table. Durge, on the other hand, has to scuttle his way over to the bunks and climb up to crash couch to allow for his extra mass. The large spider-like alien couldn't fit in one of our crash couches even if he wanted to, do to his inability to really sit down.

“Everybody settled in?” I ask receiving a chorus of yeses and yes sergeants.

“Lieutenant this is Fallon, my team is all strapped in.”

“Acknowledged Avery, the platoon is green across the board.”

‘All hands report green, All hands stand by for turnaround burn in five, four, three, two, one.’

Suddenly I am struck with a sense of vertigo as the ship swivels on its axis as dozens of maneuvering thrusters shift the ship around. Then I am slammed into the crash couch’s gel as the ship fires her drives. Every part of me feels like it has been flattened and I can feel a pop in my sternum from the sudden G’s. I can hear groans from the ship's badly damaged hull, as well as my squad when my vision starts to tunnel. After what feels like an eternity later the sensation stops, replaced with the much less oppressive partal G of a leisurely deceleration burn.

“I fucking hate this shit.” Trombley says from his spot beside Miiora.

========================================================

Charlotte

NACS-Manitoba. Sixteen days from the Weyland Sector alcubierre node. In transit to NAC Fortress world Sandalphon, 2168AD/ 105AC.

Fally you have to go faster, you won't do anything at that speed.

The ground pounder is good, but space is my battleground. With a smile, I flip my fighter into its alt mode and destroy the incoming missile before returning to my course.

Two days ago an NAC transport arrived to deliver much-needed supplies. Included in this shipment were the rumored ATLAS-2’s, as well as a detachment of the SRA’s own mechs the Grendel long-range attack walker, and finally a few squads of new NAC combat robots.

The fleet lost most of her fighters in Helgan and without an effective fighter screen, we won't be able to hold off UEC bombers if we come under attack. When the Transport arrived the Nostromo and her escort left us to aid the forces on the frontlines. But that now leaves us alone with only the battered remnants of the Helghast fleet as well as the three UEC ships that had defected.

“Rose, Angel come around and hit their seven. Blitz, Raptor their five. Vixen, Lynx their nine, Doll, you and I will hit their twelve and six. ” My HUD flashes with the acknowledgments from what remains of my squadron.bI swing my fighter on its axis and strafe Avery’s position on the Manitoba’s scared hull once again. The lasers stitch the hull leading to Fallon and his group of four MOTH’s.

Fally tracks me with his rifle while using his magnetic shield to block the grenades from the other fighters to his left. Beside him two mechs marked “Rocket Man” and “Amp” angle their ballistic shields and take cover as Valkyrie squadron strafes their position.

The five MOTHs have proven to be tough opponents. They possess almost total superiority on the “Ground” so we can't attack from the hull. And while we can strafe them they can track our movements to easily, thanks to the enhanced sensor suite on their ATLAS-2. The group of MOTHs have set up a turtle like arrangement with their ballistic shields blocking our strafing runs, and continually use their magnetic shields to block any missiles we send their way.

I am about to order another strafing run when a blast of ECM from the crowd of NAC mechs scramble our scanners and displays.

Smart move, He knows Gungnir fighters rely on sensors and scanners to find their targets over a visual scan from external cameras.

I am about to bring my fighter around when my missile warning alarm goes off, and up from Fally’s left shoulder a missile pod swivels and locks into position. I pull back on the stick and gun the throttle as the missiles are launched. Shifting I begin shooting down the missiles but as the last missile is destroyed my Proximity alarm goes off.

I swivel around just in time to see Fally’s mech and maneuver out of the way. A glint of light and a flicker of movement catch my attention behind the mech on its rightmost Icarus mount, and I know he has deployed the preferred close combat weapon of the ATLAS the L-blade.

“Merde!” I shout as Avery’s arm shoots up and he fires a burst from his rifle into my mechs leg. Alarms began going off as the flechettes tear through the comparatively thin armor of my Gungnir. My thrust begins to wane as my main engine shuts down and I am forced to use the secondary.

How could I be so stupid? The ATLAS is designed for ground combat, I can't let that thing get into melee range or I've had it. But what can I do, he just disabled my main engine.

Avery deploys his ballistic shield holding it out in front of him before firing his jump jets bursting towards me. Reacting on instinct I shift my fighter into Valkyrie mode and fly backward in an attempt to get more distance between us. For a split second the image of that Lanky gungnir superimposes itself on Avery’s image.

No its just Fally, he's not that monster. Come on get it together.

On the tactical plot, the symbol representing Blitz’s fighter comes screaming towards the ATLAS’s flank.

Perfect If I can just keep him on this trajectory Blitz can get him.

I continue to fire my remaining engine while bringing my wrist gatlings to bear. I line up a shot and fire, but the shot goes wide with only one of the rounds hitting and tearing off a piece of the shield.

Almost there, just a few more kilometers.

Once Fallon is in Blitz’s weapons range I pull hard back on the throttle, bringing my fighter into a sort of backflip, before flipping from valkyrie to fighter mode.

The transformation to fighter mode isn’t as fluid and graceful as I normally like. It’s almost as if my Valkyrie is physically expressing the apprehension and confusion I feel. That Lanky pilot, it’s machine, it was similar and foreign at the same time. It felt like a mockery of ourselves, and maybe that was exactly what it was meant to be. My Valkyrie reads off the various oncoming weapons fire, and naturally I do what I can to dance around them and return fire. Or I do until it reads a stray shot, something unplanned, something different, that hits the small coolant exhaust port.

My vision lights up with the warnings, I see the oncoming overload of the internal reactor. Ejecting is worthless at this point. The explosion would be equal to an old Thermonuclear warhead. Everything in the surrounding area would be dead in minutes. I close my eyes, thinking of my friends and suddenly the world around me becomes bright, even through my eyelids.

The simulation ends, and I find myself staring at the inside of the sim-pod glad that all I went through was just a training exercise. The last bit, that lucky shot, it was something that I would never have expected, and yet there it was. Part of me feels physically and emotionally drained. A good long hot shower would be a benefit, but another part of me wants to see how the AI came up with that attack.

I listen to my human companions while they speak to one another. I can take their form, and at times I do, but most of the time I remain in my true changeling form. It’s difficult not to sample some of the various forms of love I feel. There is the romantic love, the powerful one, that is shared between the former slave and her chosen. That love is so thick and rich that it is nearly intoxicating even if they don't know it. I find myself attempting to be apart from them when there are battle simulations. I do not wish to make the mistake of believing I am all powerful when it is simply being love drunk.

There is lust as well. Lust tastes different. It is more like sugar, quick energy, not filling, but able to keep one going. I feel that in various forms, but then there is fear. Fear is toxic. It seduces, attempts to show that it can be fed upon, but it hollows out changelings. Queen Chrysalis was right in saying that we need to never feed on fear. Others have died from it.

“Jonesy, you to join the game?”

My large blue eyes look at the one speaking. He is... a friend. The young sergeant Trombley leans back against a box going over something on his datapad. To my left the former slave Miiora sits on a box beside her chosen who is working on one of the NAC’s war machines. The emotions coming off of her are intoxicating and I have to force myself not to feed. Above her the Kleese warrior Durge stands sentinel over her lingering on the stacks of boxes.

“Sure I wou..”

“Officer on the deck!” Trombley yells forcing all of them to spring to attention.

“As you were.”

“Fallon, spending time with your squad I see. Good, just the kind of thing I wanted to see.” The Sergeant stands straighter upon hearing this.

“Come with me son, we need to get ready.”

“Aye skipper, Levoy can you finish this up.” The two then walk out the bay leaving us alone.

“What the hell was that about?” Trombley

“Dont know, but if Burbanjack wants him, it can't be good.” the humans who calls himself Amp says.

We walked for maybe twelve minutes in complete silence after I was forced to change into my class A’s before we came to a door.

“Look skipper it this is about Miiora…”

“What? No I dont give a fuck about that. Look when we get beyond this door, you will be on your best behavior you got that?” He says his steely eyes piercing through me.

“Yes sir.”

“Good.”

“Um, sir what is this about?”

The door opens to one of the ships larger conference rooms. And I am blasted with the noise of the NAC’s national anthem playing. There standing on a plinth in the middle of the room is the Manitoba’s skipper.

“We are here because of these men, These MOTHs faced down insurmountable odds Staff Sergeant Avery Fallon, and Sergeant Andrew Grayson Jr. Avery then went on to protect a fellow trooper from the worst of fates a female trooper can experience. Suffering grievous wounds after the building collapsed. Sargent Grayson used his own body his own machine to protect a squad of SI troopers from an artillery bombardment. They both still carry the scars of these acts, both physical and otherwise.” I Finaly make it to the plinth and stand beside Amp at attention.

“With those acts of courage, you not only saved your brothers and sisters in arms, you also displayed a heroism that will inspire for generations. Vallon worthy of our nation's highest military decoration, the Medal of Honor.” The skipper says while placing the medal around each of our necks before snapping off a salute, one we each return. This is when the fleet news service dove in bombarding us with questions.

After about an hour of answering very personal questions, the two of us are asked one final question by a rather cute news reporter.

“Sargent Fallon, im private Darcy Fleet news. Your grandmother Brianna Fallon received the Medal of Honor and now so have you, some in the defense corps feel that your family is destined for greatness. So my question is this, with another batch of recruits going into boot camp, and more joining up every day. Do you have anything to say to the new recruits anything to the Former’s and human recruits alike? Anything to say to the troops still fighting on the frontline?”

“Well, I don't know about being destined for greatness. I'm just a trooper, same as everybody else. My grandma always says when you're on the ground, in the shit, everyman beside you is a trooper, everyone's an ape. And all you can do is make sure your buddies make it home. So to every potential trooper who doesn't think they can go on. To everyone who is still fighting but still needs that extra push, all I have to is this…” I look from her to the camera.

“Come on you apes, You wanna live forever?”

Author's Notes:

sorry for the wait, I have had some personal shit going on.