[quote]"those in the left side of the GEAR are requested to monitor their side, as the pilots left camera is not functioning at this time. please remain seated until the GEAR has come to a complete stop and thank you for traveling LDF Taxi, where we walk, for you!" [/quote]

Blade gave a dry laugh over the comm as he clambered up the GEARs' extended limb, and strapped himself into place on the emergency seating. In truth, it was more a series of tie-downs and hand-holds designated as the estimated safest place for desperate combat evacs, or situations like the current one, for short-distance travel. Pilots carried a length of webbing strap with clips and loops to secure themselves to the eyelets on the machines' frame, stopping them - in theory, anyway - from falling to their death, or at least serious injury. 
The plastic buckles secured with a [i]click[/i], and the fox held onto the surrounding surfaces of the GEAR as it moved off, the loping motion a little unsettling from the outside. 

As they moved, he caught Ken's message over his helmets' radio, still tied into the tactical net.
[quote]"Sir we've lost contact with the aircraft its way too fast for a helicopter to pursuit. Standing by for orders."[/quote]
"Roger that, Maxwell. You did all you could; tie into the overall LDF commnet for the area. There's gonna be a lot of medevac requests comin' through and we oughta offer all we can. Me an' the rest of the squad are convergin' on the warehouse area now. I'll keep you informed, over".

In the warehouse, the team moved smoothly; Aidan's medical state had been noted, the team had called for medical assistance to be waiting, and had been informed that it would be so. His mental state, however, went unnoticed and unchecked - they were soldiers and professionals, and they had a job to do. Escorting the VIP out of the building was the priority and the mission. Acknowledgement of anything could wait until things were secure. Personal feelings and anything associated with them were locked in a box until the danger was over. That was how they'd been trained and that's how it was.
A rectangle of dimming evening sunlight marked the exit out into the streets, and Es moved ahead to check the surroundings, the team spreading out. Ed covered their rear, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the limping, heavily wounded GEAR pilot and Kellia hesitantly trying to help him along with encouraging words and the occasional hands-on assist. The sound of vehicles outside was also accompanied by the sound of sporadic gunfire as the few holdout forces left behind by the Southerners engaged in pitched-battles with the local militia. Hammering autocannon fire sounded as ATV's and IFV's joined in, suppressing the strongest positions. Shouts from ahead sounded, and the team were quickly moved out with their VIP, Es guiding them back to the ATV, while Ed moved up to the door, turning back to the check on Aidan.

At the same moment, a switch clicked over, deep in internal workings of the Southerners frighteningly more advanced version of the Battlenet. Proprietary and highly secure, it worked on its' own principles and designs. Certain criteria had been met; tallies and checks filled and variables weighed. The objective of the operation was complete, and the remaining forces had no hope of winning. Thus, they were expendable, and the South's secrets, the technologies and concepts important to its' isolation and long-term goals; had to be maintained.
Where they stood, or where they lay injured or dead, the Southern troops underwent a flashingly-brief and abrupt chemical change. Implants that were intrinsically part of their bodies were triggered and activated. Rapid-action binary chemicals mixed, blending with surrounding tissues as they liquified and broke them down into component compounds, before detonating into a ferocious firestorm.
The forces that had been fighting in the streets outside were notably not as devastating. Not confined in internal spaces for the most part, and with more of them alive and spread out, the individual detonations were approximately as bad as a single RPG round. Enough to cause fires and collateral damage, but not to bring a building toppling down.
In the warehouse, however, the concentration of dead, dying, or unconscious personnel, combined with the remaining southern tech which also self-detonated, resulted in a monumental firestorm, which was amplified by the enclosing space. Channelled and funnelled by the interior load-bearing walls, the conflagration blasted apart light walls, flinging debris at deadly velocities and weakening the structure. 
The whole process took fractions of a second, and the concussive blast wave was heralded by a roaring crash of collapsing woodwork, metal and masonry, and an eye-searing brightness.

Ed tried to run to Aidan, seeing the canine seemingly focused on something, a curious expression his face. But the blast flicked him away like a dismissive giants' hand, tossing him bodily from the warehouse to crumple on the floor. Kellia was knocked flat, and the ATV itself skidded sideways, swinging 90-degrees as the concussive wave blasted outward, shattering windows in the surrounding buildings and near-deafening anyone with uncovered ears and snatching breath from the air for a moment. 
The pyroclastic dust cloud rolled outward, settling on everything with a layer of grey film, as it settled, and leaving a rising plume of thick, greasy smoke curling from the skeletal shell of the warehouse, some of the structural members and other half-formed parts remaining standing over a skirt of rubble and debris. 

As the GEARs arrived on the scene, Silverwinds' single eye widened at the scale of the chaos and destruction. He searched the scene for his people, and saw the fireteam, Kellia, and a black-furred vulpine - whom, he realized with a start, was the Imperial princess - trying to shift chunks of rubble, yelling to one another and pulling bits of the building away. Talking to Mike in rapid words, he scrambled down and dashed over, coughing and choking on the dust as he called out to them in a rasp.
"What happened? Who's..." he trailed off as he realized; Aidan was not there. He looked at the ruins and debris, stepping closer, the desire to dig and find him rising in him and he pulled a few large chunks of debris aside. Beneath one he found a combat helmet. It had been crushed and half-melted to the point where it was almost completely flat. 
He tottered a step back and fell to his knees, holding the helmet in both hands. If that had happened to something made of the alloys and ceramics used to construct armour, then any Arvaran in there...
He looked up to the others, and one by one they saw the object in his hands, saw his posture and slowly, reluctantly, stopped digging. 

***

Several hours later, the Roughriders had been called back to the [i]Claw[/i]. The situation in the town was under control to the point where the militia and the local emergency services could take over, and fatigue was beginning to win against anything else. Blade had taken them all off of the duty roster, and ordered everyone back to the ship. Princess Velostroya was secured on the ship. Not in the brig, but under guard in a cabin nonetheless. 
Now, with thoughts chasing each other around his head, and a kind of overwhelming numbness descending on him he recognized as the comedown shock from the last few hours, he began to confront the realities of the mission. Two more of their number were lost - one dead, one rendered unable to perform their duties, long-term. They were down to [i]two GEARs[/i] from their starting number, and only four pilots. Most of the fireteam were wounded. They'd achieved the objective, but the town was a wreck. The only ones who'd come off anything approaching well were Ken, Dane and the Skyhawk, and even then, they'd faced an opponent who'd outclassed them.
The 101st were circling the drain. 

Exhausted, emotionally and physically, the fox pressed his artificial hand to his face, running it down his fur and rubbing gently. He could feel the dust, grime and dirt running through his fur and ground into his bioplastic left hands' fingertips and palm. He hadn't even had time to take a shower, let alone change out of the now ragged civilian clothes he still wore. 
What would he tell them this time? What would command say? What would the princess say when she was debriefed. And what about the mysterious Kellia and her benefactor, who were also on the ship and under a moderate guard. There were so many questions, and right now he had no answers. 
He leant back in the chair in his private office, door closed this time. 
Just outside it was the common area off of the Roughriders' individual bunk-rooms. Half of him wanted to go out there, to say something to them. But the rest of him was terrified of the idea.
What could he say? He lead them into battle twice. And both times, they'd lost people. The first time had been bad enough, and had hit their confidence. He'd only barely managed to harness their anger and frustration and turn it into motivation. This time, he wouldn't blame them - he'd let them down. 
Swinging back in the chair, he stared at the overhead, eye not really looking at the maze of wiring and piping that formed the ceiling. His mind, numbed and burned-out as it was, wandered in dark places until the warbling tone of the in-ship communications sounded.
[i]"Paging Colonel Blade,"[/i] the neutral voice of the 'net sounded, as a holographic panel shimmered to life on the table-top. "[i]Colonel Blade, message from Captain Garrett".[/i]
Groaning, he leant back forward and blinked away as much of the fatigue as he could, before swiping the holographic screen in mid-air in front of him. The image shifted to the Captains' face. Her sharp eyes - also weary - looked him over before she spoke in a quiet, concerned tone.
"Silverwind, I'm sorry about your people," she began quietly. "If there's anything we could have done-"
"You would have done it," he replied quietly. "You know that and I know, Diane. I don't know what I'm going to say to the rest of them yet though," he added with a slight crack of his voice. "Two ops, and two more casualties. I feel like we're cursed. And like everything I was worried about, going back into  combat again, and taking on a leading role; it's all come true. I can't lead them again. Every time I have so far, all I've done is get people killed. I wouldn't blame any of them if they didn't want to follow me on the next mission."
The deers' face faltered and she searched for words, looking into the screen from the surroundings of her own private cabin, decks above.
"I don't know, Silver. It wasn't your fault; we had no idea what the Southerners would be like. And we've had no support since the beginning. You know that High Command doesn't like this operation. But what we've stumbled onto - they have to listen now. Once we've debriefed the Princess, and that Kellia woman-"
"I'm not saying what we're doing isn't important. I'm saying maybe it's time someone else was in charge of it," he said flatly. "I'm a burned out wreck, and I don't want any more of them-" he nodded toward the door, "to die because of me."
"There's not anyone else," she answered quietly. "Not right now, and not for the near future". 
Before he could reply, she continued changing topic, and he listened, his feelings still churning as she spoke. 
"We've got orders. Somehow, through all of this mess, we still got orders. We're going to be re-deploying. Not sure what the end result of it is, or why, but we're heading for Antaria Flats. We're to debrief the princess and Ms. Kellia on the way, and then turn them over to LDF Intelligence once we reach the base, and then 'await further orders', which sounds ominous. I guess our future is being decided," she said with disgust, shaking her head and her ears flicking. 
"Anyway, we've been directed to move out at first light. I've put the crew on full rest until 05:00 hours, and we'll set sail at 06:00... get some rest," she said in a softer voice. "And come and see me once we set sail".
The channel snapped closed, and Blade leaned back, before climbing slowly to his feet and heading out into the main area of the barracks, the common space used for recreation, and for briefings and other group activities. He had news to pass on, and felt the need to say something. He walked quietly to the center of the room, waiting in front of the wall screen until the squads' members noticed him before he spoke.