The local fighters were on the large side for single man vehicles. At
roughly half again the dimensions of the Vikings Ryand and his unit
were flying. At fifty kilometers, the indicator lights for the first
two Ripwaves in his fighter's racks winked green. He waited until the
distance shortened to half of that before he fired. Not even seconds
after, six more missiles leapt off their own fighters, and started
bearing down on their targets. A dozen similar lights were spat out of
the black dots in the distance, causing the formation of humpbacked
fighters to split apart. The Ripwave-3 missiles were nearly twice as
fast as the local missiles, causing the Adumari pilots to
underestimate them at first, as they didn't know the true potential of
their adversaries. The first pair of missiles detonated a mere hundred
feet from the black craft, peppering them with shrapnel. A thin stream
of smoke issued from various places on the craft, before nosing over
into a terminal dive. The remaining Ripwaves weren't nearly as
successful as the first pair, but each closed to an average of 150
feet before exploding, causing extensive gouging and multiple puncture
in the targets hulls. The survivors of the first attack broke up, with
two whirling onto Mobius, and three pulling up to gain the height
advantage over the Vikings. Ryand was dimly aware of his opponent's
woes, as he pulled the nose of the Viking into a high-G turn to
starboard, causing the six missiles locked onto him to overshoot, and
loop around in the sights of his rear view missile radar. As they
steadied out on his six, two wobbled and fell, out of fuel. Ryand's
mouth curved in a grin, and pulled up and over, to head directly
towards the three climbing Blades. He slowed more, flicked the weapon
selector on his yoke, and pulled the trigger. The stream of tracers
wound their way into the starboard wing of one of the Blade 32, as the
mission briefing had labeled them. The entire wing shuddered, and
disintegrated in the face of the withering firepower. However, the
Blade hung in, even as his former wing tore loose from the fighter,
firing his own main weapons, which slammed into the frontal armor of
the Viking's flight mode, causing small craters to form. However, as
the two fighters flashed past, the four remaining missiles intersected
the Blade. The one direct impact completely shredded the hapless
fighter, and debris caused two more Adumari missile to detonate. The
final one stayed true, homing in on Ryand's fighter, and he pulled a
sharp turn to present his Vikings belly to the missile. When the
impact came, it was rather weak. Leveling out, Ryand took stock of his
unit's damage. Eternity's port gatling cannon had taken severe damage,
Mobius was nearly critical after ramming a Blade who had evaded his
aim, and Hyde was nearly undamaged, knocking out the last hostile
fighter. The small yellow explosion in the woods below seemed rather
anticlimactic. After several moments, Ryand ordered: "Fame Flight,
continue on the flight path. Let's get some answers."
Wedge didn't know what to expect from the line of fighters. "Red
Flight, what do you make of these flights?" Red Four, whose name was
Hobbie Klivian, replied, in his dour tone, "Maybe they're a gauntlet."
Wedge looked over the lines of contacts, flying parallel to their
course. "Maybe if they were firing, but here they are more like
distance markers." His astromech, Gate, beeped at him, drawing his
attention to his sensors. "What is it Gate? The only thing over there
is the welcome mat for the Terrans, and... Red Two, can you confirm
this?" Gate gave him a harsh blat for not believing in his skills, and
Tycho came back over the comm. Yes, sir. The four Terran fighters have
destroyed six enemy craft, using slug throwers and some type of
missile." Red Three, the irrepressible Wes Janson, put in his two
cents: "If those pilots can win, using pebble throwers, I'd hate to
see what they could do with proper weapons." A short pause, before the
channel crackled again. "Three, Two. Shut up. Over."
As Fame Flight dropped down towards the open area in the square, the
assembled crowd gasped and recoiled, as legs dropped out of the
Vikings fuselages, absorbing the shock of landing. The Vikings had
shifted to walkers, with their gatling cannons powered down and
missiles similarly locked. A short hissing noise caused a few in the
crowd to back off nervously, then the cockpit canopies all popped
open, letting out the four pilots. Ryand reviewed them as they formed
a line and stood to attention. Flight Officer Grank Coral, aka Mobius,
was a 44 year old veteran of the Second Great War, his bionic
replacement for his left arm standing mute testimony to his
experiences. His green eyes locked onto Ryand for a split second, then
flicked back to straight ahead. Although Grank had been through
Purgatory, all four battles for it, his stance showed a grim
certainty, his look enforced by his buzzcut head, and the lack of
decoration on his pilot-issue CMC-480 armor, still with its factory
fresh drab green coloration. Ryand moved down the line, to Flight
Officer First Class Chance Coral, aka Eternity. She was the younger
sibling to Grank, and as such hadn't served in the GWII. Her red eyes
gleamed with an enthusiasm to prove herself, but also contained a note
of aloofness. Her armor was painted with a digital camouflage of dark
blue and green, useful for hiding in the skies of normal, Earth-like
planets after punching out. The last pilot was Hyde, who was a
neurally resocialized criminal, and not even Ryand knew his true
story. In a rare display of courtesy, the pilot's visor was up,
revealing ice blue eyes, in a face locked in an expression of
permanent disdain. Satisfied with the short review, Lieutenant
Commander Kazansky climbed the stairs on top of the impromptu stage
set up in the square, and finally noticed the viewscreens set around
on the buildings. Fighters wheeled and died, reenacting every battle
he had been in; excluding the Hybrids. Pirate fighters from the three
different times it had been seen as necessary to enter Republic space
were burned down without mercy, while the one time he had fought
"modern" fighters was displayed proudly, with the tally showing the
total at four X-Wings and two A-Wings. The dogfight he had finished
just five minutes ago was also featured, as long range, jumpy
pictures. Every time the missile hit his fighter, the crowd oohed in
appreciation. Shaking off the adulation, he walked up to the podium on
the stage, nodding to the Protoss Zealots guarding their ambassador.
Ryand turned as the High Templar slowly walked towards him. "Old
friend, was it really necessary to embarrass me in this matter? I
mean, I know I've asked for more appreciation for the Fighter Corps
for years, but this-" Ryand gestured at the crowd, "is more than a
little ridiculous." The High Templar chuckled. "As your people say:
what goes around, comes around. Also, you'll need this so the people
can hear your speech." The patriarch of the Auriga tribe clipped a
small, silver object to the Terran's helmet. Ryand slumped in
exasperation, then turned to the assembled people. Good thing I have a
plan for speeches, he thought.
Step One: Remind them who everyone is in case they've forgotten.
"People of Cartann, and Adumar in general, I am Lieutenant Commander
Ryand Kazansky, and it's my pleasure to meet you at last." His voice
emerged from three strategically placed poles, allowing the entire
crowd to hear him. His comments elicited a loud reaction, with many of
the people starting to chant "Car-tann...Car-tann."
Step two: Remind them of what you're here for. "On behalf of the
United Species, I am pleased to be here for the historic meeting of
our peoples." The cheering became more generalized, with the chanting
dying out.
Step Three: Say something personal so they know you are paying
attention. Ryand gestured at the surrounding video screens. "I'm
impressed that you would go to so much effort for me, and will see if
I can replicate it at my home." Some laughter speckled the horde,
interspersed with the cheering.
Step Four: Wrap it up so you don't make a fool of yourself. "I expect
this to be a productive relationship, and that politicians could give
much better speeches than me. Of course, you don't know if it's true,
right?" As the crowd laughed, Ryand gave a dutiful salute as he turned
to leave. Suddenly he felt a hard impact on his back, and was knocked
off the platform.

"Did you hit him?"
"Yeah, and I hope this rifle penetrated his armor. It looked substantial."
"Don't joke, this thing is rated for penetration for up to light
vehicles. Now let's get out of here."

Grank immediately turned, and blitzed up the rope ladder into his
fighter's cockpit. As the clear overhead swung down, Grank had engaged
liftoff protocols. The Viking seemingly crouched, then exploded
upwards, the entire body twisting into the flight configuration.
Putting the engines to minimal thrust, he exploded forwards, directly
over the crowd. Pulling back on the stick, he bumped up a level above
the streets, following the red thread his HUD showed, which was the
trace of the round. Seeing the window, and the disassembled weapon,
Grank switched to assault mode, landing with a thud, and revved his
cannons. A voice crackled through his helmet. "Mobius, this is
Morpheus Control, there are two vehicles exiting the building, be
advised that one is equipped with hidden weapons, over." The Flight
Officer took the time to visually acquire the target, before sending
twin streams of yellow tracers through the offending vehicle, quite
neatly tearing it to pieces. Blaster shots pinged and sizzled off the
armor of the Terran mech, as Grank turned to face the offending
structure again. A small twitch of the thumb and a pull of the
trigger, sent a pair of missiles into the bottom floor, smashing the
support columns. The building slowly toppled, landing in the vacant
lot next door with resounding finality.