Klaxons blared in the cockpit. His console spoke velveteen: "critical malfunction, cooling sleeve failure, rear medium lasers offline". Of ****** course they ****** are. He gritted his teeth and made a mental note: "when I get back to the ****** stables, those ****** rear guns are ****** GONE!” He glanced at his structure readouts and grimaced to see his back armor had been slashed apart. She wouldn't take much more of that.
Nabor swung his Bandersnatch around but the Falcon had already leapt away, faded into the ruins of the city like a ghost. His cockpit thrummed, the air temperature hot, but stable. Bella purred beneath him. She was a bulky machine. Awkward. Ugly, even. But she was his. They were powerful together..
When he first laid eyes on her, he knew in his guts that they were made for one another. Felifious Bander had designed this machine for someone just like Nabor: a warrior with big enough balls to take something as hideous as Bella into endless gladiatorial bouts and to force the crowds to love the pair simply by being undeniable. He wreathed his beloved in the glory of twisted steel and torn myomer and the adulation of the millions of lost and broken souls on a dead, forgotten planet.
He pushed her forward, down the center of the wide street, towards the other Falcon. It had botched its landing, had landed with the inside edge of its foot on a concrete divider and had rolled it like Nabor had when he was young, on one of the many hunting trips he had taken with his father. He remembered the snapping sound and the white flare of pain.
The Falcon had only just regained its feet and was raising its right arm, pulse lasers cutting a glowing path up toward Bella's groin.
Nabor depressed the firing studs and watched, transfixed, as the muzzle flashes of his LB-X autocannons illuminated the shadows of the buildings and the Falcon danced.
His crew knew what he liked, and his guns spoke that truth. The shots thundered out, cluster rounds and H.E.A.P. rounds alternating, anti-armor shells chasing clouds of deadly fragments, tearing off an arm and then shredding the exposed components. The 'Mech appeared to spin as if underwater as a leg came free, as the engine shielding cracked and a lance of white-hot reactor mass stabbed into the growing dark, as half of its head erupted in a shower of sparks and a hint of glittering red wetness.
The Triplets would have to change their name to the Twins after tonight.
Warning sirens blared, kicking him out of his momentary revel. Bella rocked sideways as a flight of short ranged missiles ploughed into the armored flesh of her left arm and then erupted. He heard her velveteen voice inform him of what he already knew: the missiles had found their mark and one of their mighty guns would speak no more.
Ah, but that just meant more ammunition for the other gun.
He spun to face his attacker, and for a brief moment was certain that the impact had jarred his brain, for a black, angular cloud had descended upon the Falcon, whipping about it and obscuring it like...like a cloud of...falcons.
Schrack!
Huge birds, they must have been the size of hang-gliders, had swarmed the light 'Mech as it perched atop a squat concrete building, gripping it with their razor sharp talons, digging into joint spaces and the gaps between armor plates to pull away its softer bits. He watched one of its arms go limp as a vicious raptor tugged a long, spluttering wire harness from its shoulder cuff. The Falcon flailed with its remaining arm, swatting a heavy hand across its cockpit, plastering huge iridescent black feathers to the viewscreen with blood and pulped flesh.
The Falcon pilot, no doubt sensing his impending doom, triggered his jump jets, desperate to get away from the flock of hellish schrack and away from the deadly gaze of Nabor's autocannon. The skinny 'Mech rose on plumes of plasma exhaust, dragging those schrack that were either too slow or too involved up into the air, tracing a screaming arc of burning light and feathers in the sky.
Bella's glowing reticle tracked unerringly, and Nabor depressed the firing stud, spitting gouts of flame and destruction at the strangely glowing clot of darkness that hung in the sky like a half-spent moon. It bloomed into a fireball as it followed its now-meteoric trajectory into the side of a building, raining concrete and steel and a shower of pulverized debris onto the street below.
A piece of the Falcon’s head broke loose and shot away vertically atop a column of smoke and light. He knew the other Falcon pilot was watching with relief to see their sibling accelerating away from their wreck atop a gleaming spear of salvation punching up into the sky. Just like he knew the other pilot’s stomach turned as the schrack darted upwards, vengeful as winged devils, to wreak bloody havoc on the morsel, their kin, dangling helplessly from orange parachutes above.
(posted originally at my blog
www.godspargames.com)
