[color=7b8973][h3]SPC "Mikey" Rangel[/h3][/color][hr][hr]Mikey half-dived, half-rolled under the fuselage of the fighter. As she came up to a low crouch, her head twisted back over her shoulder. She had a moment to watch the melee that had ensued behind her, and found it frightening--her allies as much as her enemies. That bodyguard she had briefly engaged was now formed up and training their fire on Ashley, but they might as well have been shooting blind. Her technique was an infinitely more graceful version of the fumbling Mikey herself had just engaged in, and the older woman could hardly follow it.

Then, of course, there was the Zodiac soldier and that huge man--[i][color=7b8973]Vic?[/color][/i]--trading blasts of fire back and forth like they were dodgeballs. 

And somewhere beyond them--crashing sounds, and the screech of rending metal--and the screams of soldiers.

[color=7b8973][i]Griff?[/i][/color] Some of the color drained from Mikey face, but her chance to appreciate the spectacle was cut short as Callie's voice once again came from the area of her radio.

[i][color=7b8973]'About to lose stability'? Is there a missile inbound? No, she would have just said as much...[/color][/i] Mikey's eyes went wide, and her mind flashed back to the refugee camp--how she'd watched from the rooftop as Callie disabled a dozen motorcycles with a wave of her hand. 

[color=7b8973]"Moving!"[/color], she shouted--to no one, since in her panic she forgot to key her radio. The word had barely left her lips when the metal above her head was struck by gunfire.

Mikey fell to one side, Angel Duster appearing in her hands. While she'd been watching her allies, the fire teams with their attached marines had come up behind her. The one who had just shot at her was tracking her with his rifle, but she didn't give him a second chance. Her shot went between his legs, and Mikey rolled to her feet behind him, then spun around and shot the ground between them. 

Instead of a ricocheted bullet, what flew up to meet the marine--and his comrades--was the payload of a Claymore antipersonnel mine. The shrapnel blew a hole in the ranks of the fighting fire crew, and gave her a half second in which she could retrieve another grenade launcher.

Holding that in one hand, she pointed Angel Duster straight up then--clenching her teeth--fired. 

The sensation of free-fall was still terrifying, but she was expecting it this time--and, thankfully, her aim had been true. She was falling down directly above the little phalanx of soldiers.

(Out of curiosity, Mikey had once looked up how long it would take her to fall from her maximum range. The answer had turned out to be anywhere from 8 to 11 seconds, which she had found both reassuring and terrifying. If she'd known that, one day, that would be useful information to have, she probably would have felt less of the former and more of the latter.)

[i][color=7b8973]8, 7-[/color][/i]

Angel Duster disappeared in ribbons of color and Mikey grabbed the launcher in two hands.

[i][color=7b8973]6, 5-[/color][/i]

She pointed the barrel down, pulling her feet back from the line of fire.

[i][color=7b8973]4, 3-[/color][/i]

[i]Pwmp-pwmp-pwmp[/i]--the launcher kicked against her shoulder, rapid-fire, and high-explosive rounds shot down into the tightly packed soldiers below. 

[i][color=7b8973]2, 1-[/color][/i]

She released the weapon--wasteful, but necessary--and Angel Duster again appeared as her hand tracked up. Barely more than a hundred feet from the deck, the rifle cracked, and Mikey appeared--Shaky, but standing--off to one side.

[color=7b8973][i]Ta-[/i]fucking[i]-da![/i][/color]

Turning to Cristina, her voice husky with smoke, and panting with adrenaline: [color=7b8973]"Let's get the hell out of here!"[/color]

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