Collab between [@Sigma] and [@Irredeemable]. [b][u] Zeta-5 Irregulars Landing Zone. [/u][/b] The mass retreat had begun, the ECU protectors, no matter the training, were woefully unprepared for the onslaught the Zetans had instore for them on the surface. Thus, the order was finally given for all protectors to pull back. A vast array of Columbia-based mercenaries had volunteered to aid the ECU in their conflict with the Zetans, and it seemed that help had arrived in the nick of time. Several large shuttle craft were placed in a circle pattern around the landing zone, a company’s worth of soldiers in light power armor were in position, setting up sandbags and portable machine guns and mortars. Among them was Gideon, former heavy weapons expert of the Gravemakers, clad in his personal armor. “Alright you maniacs!” He shouted over the intercom. “We’re to hold the LZ at all costs, and cover friendlies as they retreat, take out any cogheads while you’re at it!” With the protectors on the run, the Zetans had pushed back, and, for the first time since the invasion had begun, re-surfaced. They knew what the ships coming down meant, and they were determined to not allow them to secure a landing. As the shuttles came down, and the mercenaries established an LZ, waves of Zetans threw themselves into the fray to dislodge the invaders. These were some of the creme de la creme of Zetan forces. The Elysium sector had always been the best defended, and the fighting had only resulted in their production cycles becoming more optimized, and their soldiers more veterans. Few humans were among the soldiers here on the surface, and those that were in largely auxiliary roles. Of course, they were- on the surface, the Zetans could finally field-test their new equipment. Recon warforms, equipped with long ranged rail rifles, had set themselves up in advantageous positions. With range, and without the fear of destroying their surroundings with radiation, they could lay down fusillade of accurate, gunpowderless fire, magnetic shots raking the mercenaries whenever they were foolish enough to expose themselves. Up close, the surface also meant that the Zetans were no longer restricted to their smaller warforms. For the first time in the conflict, medium warforms had been deployed, with their thicker armour and heavier armaments. Gouts of flame curled through the air, jellied fuel creating choking smoke, whilst heavy machine guns chugged and thumped. All in all? It was the typical hell that the fighting on Zeta-5 had descended into. The mercenaries looked in sheer horror as the Zetan Warforms made their approach, following the fleeing protectors close behind. “Jesus Christ…” one of the mercs let slip, his arms trembling as he held his rifle closely. “Steady now ladies.” Gideon spoke, his hand raised. “On my signal, give them hell.” The protectors ran with all the might they could, knowing full well the nightmarish metallic beasts were perusing them. Once they were within range, Gideon gave the signal. “Open fire!” The mercenaries popped from cover as they unleashed a volley of bullets and rockets against the warforms. Chipping off pieces of the medium warforms but like the machines they are, they kept advancing. “Focus on the big ones!” One of the mercs shouted, before long, his head had exploded into a bloody, Gorey mess, followed by several more as the recon warforms begun their own attack. “Shit! We got snipers!” Gideon shouted! “Get out of their line of sight!” The mercs, in a last-minute effort, scattered, looking for suitable cover from sniper fire. It was clear that the Zetan warforms, as powerful and impressive as they were, were not invincible. Under return fire the medium warforms stumbled and collapsed, and although sparks and juddering movement showed them to be still functional, enough systems were taken out that they were no further threat. Still the beings pressed on though, and now, from the rear of the line, missiles began to streak through the skies, launched from some kind of rocket artillery battery. It wasn't just a physical fight that the Zetans had prepared for either- they were also targeting their opponent's morale. As they drew closer, it was clear the Warforms had received their own unique decorations- kill counts, depictions of Zetan and Earth predators and insults. They lacked the true individuality of the pre-war anti-hunting warforms, but the effort that had been put in was clear. There was more to their efforts than fancy paintjobs- some of the warforms had been retrofitted with speakers, and, as they charged forward, they let out a menagerie of sounds. From some, warcries, from others, pounding music, and from others still, deliberately high or low-pitched noises designed to unsettle and disturb the mind. It was quite the effective blend. The mercs, now broken in formation, had scattered to wherever felt safe, random rock formations, the shuttles themselves, and some crazy bastards that stood their ground around the sandbags. Regardless of position, whoever was left kept the fight up. One mercenary still held on to his post at the machine gun nest, cackling like a maniac, undeterred by the Zetan’s attempts at psychological warfare as he unleashed a hail of lead on the advancing warforms. “I can do this all day!” He shouted out. Gideon and two other soldiers were holed up in one of the shuttles, looking out at the few who remained. “Crazy fuckers all of you.” He said as he looked to one of them. “You got what you paid for, pal.” One of them replied, taking potshots at the enemy, suddenly going limp as he fell victim to another sniper shot. [i]Sigma-Neumann, recon warform AC-3843, scratch off another one.[/i] The recon warform lacked the physical capacity to feel satisfaction in a robotic body, but... What other way to describe this warm feeling inside them was there? As they ejected the spent fission battery and exposed the already-destroyed landscape to another dose of greys, they took a moment to glance up, to where their original body hung, lifeless, in space. It was hard to feel sympathy for the invaders, even as they became test subjects, to be exposed to chemicals, radiation, extreme weather and new weaponry. They had taken Zetan lives. Taken Zetan bodies. Taken Zeta itself, and now they were only reaping what they had sowed. It was... Karmic. Shouldering their rifle once more, they centered their sights onto the soldier manning the machine gun, barely able to get an angle betwixt the hastily put up fortifications. There was the [b]crack[/b] as the sound barrier broke, the hiss of the rail-rifle's cooling systems, and the silence of the nest. 'Rifle' was, of course, the wrong term for such a weapon, as they lacked any real rifling, but the coiled mechanisms that propelled the slugs suited well enough... And besides, they were far more destructive than any rifle they carried down in the depths. The slugs didn't so much impact a target as they did crater it. When they made contact, they tended to flatten out, creating a miniature shockwave that crushed through the target shortly before the projectile itself did. If the target was fortunate enough to survive the initial shot, they might have had a good chance at survival, considering that the slugs tended to pass through the body rather than stay stuck in, but the gaping, pouring wounds were rather hard to shrug off. Was this really it though? This small infantry incursion? After all they had faced, all they had driven back, they were being met with... Nothing greater than they had already overcome? Gideon peeked out once more, making a quick survey of the battlefield as the mission all went to shit in quick succession, a good handful of the protectors made it aboard one of the shuttles, unfortunate that some were casualties both from Zetan snipers and some due to…friendly fire, that’s an embarrassing one. Regardless, the objective was partially complete, all that had to be done was clear the LZ of hostile forces or die trying. “Fall back to the shuttles!” Gideon ordered. “We make our stand here, and get the hell out!” Those that remained complied with their commander’s orders, a quarter of the company’s strength returning the shuttles, leaving behind the corpses of their comrades at the mercy of Zeta-5. The retreat wasn’t a clean one, a few more fell as the Zetan Warforms crossed over the makeshift fortifications, advancing ever closer to the LZ. “Keep the cogheads at bay!” Gideon ordered once more as pulled out his machine gun, spraying a rain of bullets with a defiant warcry, those that could, returning fire... Nothing greater. What a disappointment. The barrage of long-ranged fire from the recons dwindled and then halted, the remaining frontline warforms sweeping away any foolish or unlucky enough to not have made it to the shuttles. Their job was done. Their homes were safe once more, and every fist of defiance raised made the chances of it being permanently safer greater. The shuttle doors closed shut as they made their ascent towards the skies of Zeta-5, the ground slowly shrinking as they made it past the atmosphere. Gideon laid against the walls of the craft as he slunk down, it’s been decades since he had this much action, and it sure as hell took a lot out of him. “Christ that was close..” Gideon said, Malcom’s voices cracking through the intercom as they made a connection with the Retribution. “Gideon!” He shouted. “Report! You still alive?” “Yup, still alive.” Gideon replied. “Don’t count out the bulldog yet.” “And the mission?” “Partially complete, we took heavy casualties, but we did it. Cogheads were a lot tougher than I thought.”