[b][center][h2][color=magenta]Reya[/color] & [color=SandyBrown]The ‘Boys[/color][/h2][/center][/b]

[color=Olive]Green Knights, this is Gawain Actual…Hostile mechs inbound, rendezvous at nav-point Echo! Repeat, hostile mechs inbou--[/color]

As soon as Sergeant Dalton heard Gaiwan’s voice, he knew it had to be bad news. He shook his head and stood up as the APC rocked underneath him, steadying himself with an overhead handgrip. Speaking with his booming tone both on their channel and to the men of Alpha and Bravo Company right in front of him who had all heard the Colonel’s message same as him. “[color=SandyBrown]Got work ladies![/color]”

—

In the second APC with Charlie and Delta Company, Reya had heard the message as well.

“[color=magenta][i]What did he say?![/i][/color]” She gasped, eyes wide. No one answered, but they had all set into a seemingly well-rehearsed plan of action. Two large cases were brought down from the bulkheads of the APC, nearly as tall as she was, but she wasn’t interested. She knew what she had heard.

—

Dalton opened the hatch on top of the APC and stuck his head out just in time to watch the Crimson Fists darting for the column and the first volley of LRMs obliterate one of the haulers not far behind him. He recoiled slightly resting on his elbows like a tank commander and surveyed the rapidly evolving carnage. “[color=SandyBrown]Son of a bitch,[/color]” He growled and brought his binoculars up. In the far distance was the unmistakable form of what he knew to be a [i]Longbow[/i]. It had been a while since he had seen one and he had nearly forgotten what a bizarrely inhuman silhouette they presented. The enemy pilot’s taunting words broke through the open channel and Dalton’s lips twisted in disgust. He turned and barked down the hatch behind him. “[color=SandyBrown]Bring me the talkin’ stick![/color]” He tilted his head slightly to speak clearly into the mic against the rush of outside air. “[color=SandyBrown]On deck, ‘Tuck.[/color]”

—

The ground beneath Charlie and Delta’s APC rumbled like they were driving across a bass drum. Reya was white with fear and gripped Corporal Tucker’s uniform so hard she could feel her manicured nails pinching through the fabric of his sleeve and into her palm. Hearing Dalton’s orders, he put one hand over her wrist firmly. “Be right back,” He said, speaking as if he were addressing a small child. He reached past her as he got up and tightened the buckles in her seat making sure she was secure. “Just gotta take care of somethin’.”

Reya felt the rough texture of his BDU drop away from her grasp. She was too terrified to protest. 

—

[i]The Talking Stick[/i] was Sergeant Dalton’s favorite Inferno missile launcher and the words were haphazardly scribbled along the side of the tube in a white paint marker that had become worn over time and over many launches. A member of Alpha Company passed the long cylinder up the ladder until it lifted up from his hands in Dalton’s vice-like grasp.

The moving battle continued to erupt around him as Dalton hefted the launcher up through the hatch, sitting it as gently as he could on top of the APC as it bucked and rolled over the uneven terrain beneath him. He shook his head and steadied himself with one hand while locking his legs against the ladder beneath his boots. It wasn’t going to be an easy shot. He glanced back at Charlie and Delta’s APC a few lengths behind them. Corporal Tucker was in place and shouldering his launcher. As the ‘Boys best sharpshooter, Tucker was also their steadiest hand. Dalton slammed his armored gauntlet angrily on the roof of the APC. “[color=SandyBrown]Keep this damn thing steady![/color]” He roared at the driver knowing full well the man behind the controls was doing his level best and was most definitely as scared shitless as everyone else, but Dalton just needed a patch of flat land and a couple seconds. 

The Jenner passed by close along with the mangled Wolfhound. Both presented good targets but the terrain was too rough and he could barely get the launcher shouldered quick enough. They were gone before he could flip open the targeting screen and he cursed a long line of expletives as the motion beneath him seemed to get worse instead of better, like the driver had plowed right through a ditch. A second flight of LRMs closed in as he readied his aim. He paused to watch the arcs come in, knowing for the moment the convoy wasn’t being targeted by their trajectory, but seeing Ziska’s Raven get hammered, he knew which Crimson mech would have to take a lesson from [i]the Stick[/i]. Unfortunately, with the Raven’s slim profile and agility, it would probably be the hardest shot of the three- but they didn’t have a choice. The Knights wouldn’t endure another volley and the next one could likely come for the unarmored convoy. He took a deep breath and shouldered the barrel snugly as the mech’s bird-like nose came around, sprinting away from Ziska and telling him which way to lead it. He activated the targeting computer.

The rotating crosshairs on the small screen snapped into an instant lock. For a split-second he didn’t believe it. It had to be a malfunction, but then he saw it.

Tucked into the side of the torso was Ziska’s NARC beacon.

Dalton didn’t question good fortune any further and squeezed the trigger. The missile angrily roared out the tube next to him, flying almost completely straight and true, barely correcting itself along its suicidal trajectory towards the beacon. He realized, as it soared away and the wash of heat from the blast passed over him, that in all his battles, he’d never once hooked an inferno shot to a beacon planted by a mech. It was the first time… and about as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Corporal Tucker’s shot came rocketing overhead, just as murderous in its intent.