Boris led the vanguard.

  Lawrence stayed in the rear when he realized the bronze burnished K?mpfer hadn’t kept pace. At some point, it was necessary for him to tow her along by the arm. Frank flanked her to assist.

  Friederika was just ahead of them.

  “I don’t like the looks of this,” Friederika said.

  “I’m gonna get in there later,” Lawrence remarked.

  Maybe Friederika was right and the commander wouldn’t permit rest. Who knows if they could even leave Zeta’s airspace with the state Victoria was in?

  The parameter had expanded. Fresh Shinra forces on carryalls soared past them: these teams headed for Zeta’s engines from what Lawrence gleamed from his radar. If they can force Zeta to decelerate some way or another, it might not be too late. The last defense line was still a long way off.

  “How’s she looking?” Frank asked. He never made eye contact with Lawrence. He still shivered, no doubt anguished over Kaz.

  Lawrence didn’t answer at first. Victoria was hunched over in her chair, the camera made it difficult to see but it dawned on him that she finally passed out.

  “Not good,” he said finally. He cleared his throat. “Not good at all. Kaz should’ve never let her sortie this much,” inwardly, he cursed Kaz and Buttermilch.

  The 13th MAV reached the inner complex of Utah. Carryalls came and went with MT cargo and field prefabs. Just overhead, a atomics was being lowered onto a carryall, a beefed up Shinra team provided security.

  The Tominosky particles weren’t too extreme here. He initiated a laser transmission to the Yilan somewhere above their position.

  Buttermilch looked over papers as Lawrence finished his after action report, and Victoria’s state. They met eyes briefly before Buttermilch spun his chair around out of view for a few moments.

  “Not just her, I should add. My team needs rest,” Lawrence said.

  “Not now,” Buttermilch answered.

  Lawrence clenched his teeth. “What?”

  “The 13th MAV may be called upon to assist the atomics teams.”

  Lawrence’s shock robbed him of an answer.

  “But the situation may soon change,” Buttermilch continued.

  “It’s just one thing after another, isn’t it?” Lawrence said. He shook his head.

  “Watch your tone, Mengde—there’s an Imperium fleet shadowing us,” he answered.

  “What about Zeta?!”

  “It’s in the hands of the home fleet after the colony laser wipes out what remains of it. I’ve already retrieved word they’re going to explode atomics inside Zeta the moment they haul it down—you must’ve seen it by now. You just need to help speed up the process. The sooner you do, the faster you can come aboard.”

  Goosebumps washed over Lawrence just as much as anger swelled in him. How soon could that be? Can he tell his team with a straight face that one more fire mission needs to be done? He cross-checked the simulation of Zeta’s trajectory towards Farragaig and Fasnakyle. He was wrong on his assumption; it wasn’t looking too good. They don’t actually have much time.

  “Do you understand, Second Lieutenant Mengde?”

  Lawrence wanted to defy orders, but he couldn’t. He nodded, “understood. We’ll remain on standby until further orders.”

  Buttermilch’s ugly mutt of a portrait disappeared into a thin line before Lawrence had the chance to.

  The only silver lining was he would let them rest well in a sleep pod—just not now. But leaving Zeta to engage a new fleet? That wasn’t what he was expecting at all. Could even a recuperation give them the energy to fight a fresh fleet?

  “That’s too much, even for Vic,” Lawrence mumbled. He examined Victoria’s profile but all it did was trouble him more.

  Friederika opened up a line with him and they exchanged glances. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words evaded him.

  He had very little knowledge of how a Neo sapiens ticked. Victoria was always uncanny to a mere mortal to him. She could sense every sentient thing around her—their thoughts, their feelings, their whole lives like it was a flip-book, all in the blink of an eye—and he always felt worried for her mental well-being. He loved Victoria with all his heart; she was his sweetheart. but he couldn’t grasp her Neo sapiens trickery and that frustrated him dearly.

  He reached to message the rest of the 13th MAV but couldn’t find himself to do it. Instead, he slid on his helmet and opened the hatch door. It curled out and he floated his way onto his Kampfer’s right arm.

  Friederika had the same idea and was already on her way to Victoria’s cockpit. Lawrence made the leap to join her.

  She reached the Kampfer’s chest first and slid open the controls for it. After the armored hatch opened, Lawrence rushed past her.

  “Vick?” Lawrence gathered his courage. He came to a stop next to her armrest. He reached out and shook her as gently as he could.

  Victoria stirred.

  Friederika was on the other side and slowly raised Victoria's chin when the blonde Valkyrie beauty flinched.

  Lawrence and Friederika recoiled in surprise.

  Victoria had a faraway look to her, very pensive. She glared at Lawrence first—then Friederika.

  Victoria returned to that faraway look and said: “We have to abandon Utah, now.”

  Bewildered, Lawrence blurted: “What?”

  Victoria went into fetal position. She trembled: “He’s . . . He’s coming.”

  “Vick, darling, what are you getting at?” Friederika asked, panic grasped her just as much as it did Lawrence.

  “I’ve . . . . experienced this before. . . .” Victoria straightened up in her seat.

  Goosebumps ensnared Lawrence’s body. “What?”

  Lawrence had no time to react when Victoria grabbed him by the collar and threw him out. The armored hatch sealed tight as his world spun and the Typhoon became distant.

  His helmet feed buzzed with shock.

  He fumbled with his waist pack and managed to slow down. Just in time, too, as a mechanical hand cupped him in darkness.

  “That was a close one,” it was Frank. He hurried Lawrence to his K?mpfer.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Lawrence got inside and strapped in; the armored hatch sealed behind him.

  The golden K?mpfer had reversed course. As she did so, she unleashed a fierce salvo at a vacant streak of hills.

  Lawrence could only watch helplessly as Friederika seemed to wrestle Victoria under control: the golden Kampfer’s aim jerked violently. The crescent shots were erratic, but always aimed at the hills.

  “Has she lost her nerve?” Someone asked; he didn’t know who.

  “What’s the deal with the K?mpfer team?” Someone asked. Lawrence was too stunned and dazed to answer, not that he knew.

  “Get out of here!” Victoria wailed, she choked on the words. “All of you . . . all of you, get out of here!” She never let up on the barrage. No word from Friederika.

  “Mengde, status report! What the hell is going on?” Another concerned pilot went unanswered.

  The questions and confusion heightened, and he had no answer for her behavior.

  Just then, Friederika’s K?mpfer was made a pin-cushion of laz needles. All the units near it dashed away as it unleashed a ball of orange fury that left a huge crater.

  Plasma needles rained over Utah. Lawrence and the others held their pavises, but some Shinra teams weren’t so lucky.

  An endless glitter lined Utah’s rim.

  Lawrence zoomed in, the horror on his face as he realized what they were. The overwhelming abundance of Tacoma was armed to the teeth with neutron bazookas, laz guns, laz bayonets, photon swords, and daggers. It was an all-out counterstrike on Utah Beach!

  But Lawrence felt it then—the foreboding fear crept up his stomach. It snaked its way up his throat and into his cranium—he’s felt familiar with this disgusted feeling now.

  “It’s him,” Victoria uttered.

  Lawrence’s gaze fell upon his radar. A single red blot ripped across it.

  He looked above and saw it then—the bipedal clam monster tore through the wine-dark cosmic sea like a wolf upon flocks of sheep without shepherds.

  It struck down one Star Monitor after another, daisy-chain explosions in its wake—until it crashed like a meteorite right on top of the Star Monitor, which still presently unloaded the atomic.

  A bleached explosion forced Lawrence to cry out; he shielded his face.

  Celestial debris erupted from its crash—deadly shrapnel sprayed everywhere.

  When the dust cleared, the Walpurgis remained there atop the upturned Star Monitor, like a ruined skyscraper.

  It towered over Lawrence like a true cosmic titan.

  The Tacomas began the assault; they poured over like a gray tsunami through a broken dam.

  What Shinra teams remained raced to meet them head-on. Laz threads and crescent shots were exchanged fervently.

  Lawrence didn’t hesitate. He made one great leap and dashed with full thrusters straight for the Walpurgis, weapons primed. Cockpit paneling rattled uncontrollably. His systems whined with every warning of heat signatures that zeroed in on him.

  The Walpurgis remained stationary, but its endless tentacles of sub-arms assaulted him as he ascended the ruined tower. No matter how much he shot, no matter how much he uncurled and shot his chain-mail of bombs on its legs and sub-arms—this Walpurgis was indestructible. He was sure he took it down over the carnage at Side Sidon—he saw it with his own eyes as it burned in its atmosphere. And yet this one stood defiantly against their efforts!

  Lawrence watched, shield held up in desperation, as a golden trooper blurred past him. She effortlessly disabled each subsequent sub-arm and finally threatened the centerpiece of the clam-like Walpurgis!

  Her naginata at the ready: One good plunge, and this nightmare would be ever. He cheered her on under his quick breath. Sweat swarmed his vision.

  But Lawrence was forced back, the momentum by the Tacoma reached its high-tide and he was focus on the small fry.

  But the reality was the two of them were quickly surrounded—Victoria was forced to back off by a dozen who closed in like a phalanx.

  The rest of the Yilan MT corps and what few Shina survived were overwhelmed elsewhere.

  Just then—a crimson flash. The Red Blitz dashed and decapitated the Yellow Typhoon, as well as her photon blade and shield.

  “No!” Lawrence screamed. He ignored the Tacoma and slammed on the thrusters.

  He readied his naginata, fingers nearly on the lever to increase maximum thrusters. He wasn’t going to let the Red Blitz add a few notches to his belt. If he could make it, kick the bastard away…!

  But a Prussian blue K?mpfer—he glimpsed the ID, it was Frank!—beat him to the punch. He tackled the Red blitz and the two disappeared amid the chaos. Victoria and Friederika were free.

  From behind them, the remains of Utah, from above them the cosmic seas, scores of Shinra came in with plasma and rockets ablaze.

  “No!” Victoria yelped, “stay back . . . Luke!” She pleaded with her eyes, tears swelled, ”No!”

  Lawrence’s face was drained of color. Luke led the sky-borne assault overhead the Walpurgis.

  Many of the cavaliers who skied alongside him perished, slain instantaneously by war’s misfortune. No chance to prove their forlorn bravery.

  The point-defense barrage was no match for Luke’s steel resolve.

  But the same couldn’t be said for his peers. There were hardly a dozen left—some of those free-willed souls broke off with their skins intact. The souls of the rest were extinguished, forgotten in a pattern of forgetful flashes.

  But not Luke.

  And in a way, Luke at this very moment was the embodiment of free will.

  Lawrence was pushed back, further and further still from the Walpurgis and Luke’s daring run. Victoria, too, struggled. Friederika clung on for dear life, just barely out of frame.

  Their combined efforts were no match for the sheer determination of the Tacoma legion protecting the Walpurgis. He hacked, he slacked, he emptied his repeater’s magazine—and in a fit of rage, rammed it through a Tacoma commander, he hurled it at lesser foes down below and let the others handle the rest.

  But Luke weaseled his way with remarkable skill. His bazooka at the ready. Lawrence lost all hope of ever reaching him now—and even if he did, it would be impossible to stop this mad bull.

  “Almost there!” Luke declared, Lawrence glared at him as he had his targeting system held firmly to his face with one firm grip. “I almost . . .”

  “Luke!” Victoria cried. “No!”

  Lawrence and the others could only watch in stunned silence as Luke dodged everything thrown at him—not even Jonathan von Churchill could break through god’s grace for this wild young cowboy, Luke Atrides.

  He fired off the bazooka—another dodge, another spin—and in rapid succession he fired off the rest of the rocket launcher.

  The Walpurgis staggered. Lawrence couldn’t believe his eyes; Luke made Jonathon reel from the onslaught.

  And yet Luke pressed on, the fiery determination as it seemed he could truly, by the grace of god almighty, take down the Walpurgis; that wretched Jonathan, with total ease.

  Lawrence watched as Luke’s screen vibrated uncontrollably, just as his K?mpfer landed directly atop the Walpurgis. Collective gasps in his helmet transmitter.

  Luke drew his naginata; his screams rattled Lawrence’s skull.

  Luke unleashed all their collective fury, for Benny, for the fallen at Side Sidon and Ben Nevis. Luke accomplished what no one else could, not even Victoria. He plunged, fully, the photon blade directly down into the Walpurgis.

  The foul monster lost balance. Luke’s drawn-out scream gave out. The Walpurgis free fell over the Star Monitor, smoke cloaked it as it made the fatal fall below.

  The explosion rattled Lawrence’s dome paneling. Tremors rocked Lawrence’s.

  Even so, Luke stood defiantly as a champion atop the Star Monitor, naginata raised overhead.

  “I’ve done it,” Luke declared, his smile radiated like a true cosmic Olympian. He opened his visor to drench his forearm with the excess curtain of sweat. “All you guys had to do was believe in me.”

  The fighting stopped. The Tacomas scrambled back over the battered asteroid ramparts.

  One after another, gun barrels went silent. No more was there the hack n’ slash of photon swords and axes.

  No one said a word. The silence grappled the Confederate pilots until Lawrence broke the silence: “Luke, I . . . I don’t believe it,” Lawrence stammered. “You did it.”

  “You really did it, kid,” Friederika said, shaken at Victoria’s side, chest heaved, visor ajar amid steaming tears.

  Lawrence and Victoria landed. Boris skied over to the duo and placed a hand on her pauldron. His voice rumbled in Lawrence’s head: “You’re a real cowboy, Atrides,” Boris cracked with joy. “Drinks on me son.”

  But Victoria looked deeply troubled. The happiness over the victory was high among the rest; everyone but her.

  Lawrence quickly reached out to her: “What’s the matter?” He asked, hoping to get a grasp of what she was experiencing. And the more he studied her, the more he grew concerned.

  She shivered; her eyes lacked any spark. It was that faraway glare again. She was haggard and remained in a frenzy.

  “Luke,” she whispered, “Luke!” Louder this time.

  Friederika shook her, hugged her, anything to calm her down.

  “Vic, what’s wrong?!”” Lawrence shouted it before he knew it. Fear unnerved him. “What’s the matter with you—look at me. . . Look at me, dammit!”

  Victoria was held paralyzed on the screen. She shook uncontrollably and bearhugged herself. He only wanted to lunge through the virtual screen and embrace her. She curled up.

  “He’s . . . He’s,” Victoria stammered. In an uncanny series of movements, she looked wildly animated. Eyes wide open, teeth clenched. She lurched forward and held her head in her arms.

  “Vic,” Friederika whispered. “What’s going on?”

  “No!” She wailed. She gripped her joysticks.

  Lawrence had enough. He unbuckled himself and was about to open the hatch—

  Just then, a razor-thin thread line zipped upward on Lawrence’s screen.

  A split-second later—Luke’s screen fizzled for a second.—Luke spluttered blood. The ‘air’ icon flashed behind him.

  “No!” Victoria wailed. “Luke!”

  She ignored Lawrence and leaped, a blind rush for Luke.

  Lawrence was on her heels—blindly so, but he felt the need to act in any case. He had no idea what Victoria was getting at, but the urgency of the moment didn’t warrant rationality.

  The smoke below cleared—and it was the Walpurgis, undamaged. The ocean of smoke was sliced through with laz threads along its chassis skirt line.

  “Still haven’t had enough, eh?” Luke said, he spat out blood. “Still want a piece of me?!”

  He propelled off the Star Monitor, naginata in arms . . . Straight for the Walpurgis.

  “No!” Victoria screamed; she broke down into tears.

  She slumped over. He saw no sign of Friederika on screen either. The Yellow Typhoon swayed off-course.

  In the spur of the moment, Lawrence shifted for Victoria.

  “Yippie kai yay!” Luke shouted, and Lawrence glimpsed the last moments he ever had of the cowboy, his unmatched swagger, his serious grin, as it blinked into static.

  Luke torpedoed his K?mpfer straight onto the Walpurgis. The heroic, colorful blip—and nothing. His onscreen vitals vanished into the ether: flatlined.

  No one said a thing. No one shouted for Luke.

  Lawrence slowed the two down enough to crash into the rocky walls of Utah.

  “Luke. . . . Lance Corporal Atrides,” Lawrence choked. “This isn’t the time to be jostling . . . Corporal, do you read me? Answer me, damn it, won’t you?!” Lawrence’s eyes were assaulted by tears. “Atrides, you have a lot of explaining after this . . .”

  “He’s gone!” Boris cried, “let’s scram!”

  But none made a move. The dreaded mobile gear emerged from its sea of smoke—completely unscathed—and unleashed another dazzle of strobe lights from along its chassis.

  And it crouched, like the eldritch abomination it was, and bolted upward into the cosmic void.

  As the Mobile Gear blasted off, it created such an intense aftershock that a fresh wave of debris and an extreme shockwave swept everyone out of Utah and up into the cosmic wine-dark sea.

  When Lawrence came to, he drifted with the Yellow Typhoon still locked in his arms. A searchlight overwhelmed him at first—and he readjusted to see it was an allied shuttle.

  His head was racked with pain, his body encased in cement.

  He raised one arm to answer the distress signal.

  “Second Lieutenant Mengde, was it?” The voice asked.

  He gave an affirmative grunt. It was all he could muster.

  “We lost our Zeta beachhead. We were worried we couldn’t find you or your team.”

  Lawrence craned his neck to see the still unconscious Victoria and what seemed like Friederika as she drifted behind the seat.

  “Where’s the other K?mpfer?” Lawrence asked weakly.

  “Corporal Wellington is already on board.”

  “There. . . Should be another.”

  “There weren’t any; it was just you three.”

  He shook his head. “Coproral… Lance Corporal Erwin, he should be…” Lawrence struggled to stay awake; darkness blanketed his vision, just as two Shinra approached to grab the two of them.