Tacoma Breakthrough
Lawrence hardly had a moment’s time to rest before he heard the all-too familiar whine of the alarm. “Woo… woo,” it rang. Lawrence sprang to his feet and headed out of the mess hall for the crowded hallway. He spotted Charlotte Frenda on her way out with a few of her posse.
“Another strike already?” Lawrence asked. “These guys just don’t let up!” They were thrown around the hallway by violent tremors. Lawrence shielded Charlotte before she crashed into the wall.
“Thanks,” Charlotte said. The two locked eyes briefly, but Charlotte pushed him away and made way for the handrails. Lawrence followed suit without another word.
Lawrence quickly realized she wasn’t heading for the bridge for a briefing of the situation. When Lawrence inquired about this she retorted: “And waste valuable time? Commander’s saying it’s a battalion’s worth of Tacomas out there!”
“Sounds like the picket boys didn’t shred ‘em enough, then,” Lawrence said. “So that’s where we come in—and not a moment too soon, things were getting a little boring around here,” Truth is, he wished the enemy gave him a little bit more shut-eye since the last sortie. He’s been on four so far, but some have volunteered for much more sorties since the pursuit for Zeta began.
They entered a tube elevator and descended to the hangars. There, maintenance personnel were making way for launches. Charlotte and Lawrence joined up with the rest of their team: The Suntory Squadron, but Lawrence stopped when he spotted the one Mobile Trooper Shinra standing out from its peers. It’s burnished bronze was a welcoming sight to peers and the premier ambassador for the House of the Dead for the other. The Yellow Typhoon herself: Victoria.
Charlotte caught his gaze and turned to skip towards the towers, when she signaled: “Let’s get a move on, I’ll brief you guys instead of the captain. Boris, you’re with me!”
“We’re not waiting on the Captain?” The curious baritone voice of Boris reached Lawrence’s ears as the man climbed on top of the catwalk railing.
“He has some business to attend to, ain’t that right, commander—ye-ow!” Luke said. Lawrence glanced to see Charlotte give him the serious boot and drag him by the color.
“Count yourself lucky Lieutenant Schwarzenberger didn’t hear you,” Boris said.
Lawrence dived off the railing and used a grappling hook to reel him in closer to the Yellow Typhoon. It’s armored hatch opened outward and Lawrence couldn’t help but smile—she was expecting him no less. He had a smooth entry into the cockpit.
Normally, Lawrence expected a boot to the face, but he was caught unprepared for Victoria’s superior exceptional agility. He found himself smothered in her domineering embrace.
“Hey… what’s this about?” Lawrence said, unable to hide his embarrassment. Then: “What I’d tell ya about messing with my hair?”
He tried to refrain from getting too angry with her. She always did it because it de-stressed her. “Are we being sortie already?” Victoria asked. There was a slight tremor in the cockpit. “This makes it the seventh time today.”
“Seems so, but listen, Vick, Charlotte just told me there’s a whole battalion’s worth of Tacomas out there right now. Be safe, alright?”
“Did she now?” Victoria’s grip make Lawrence choke. He tapped her lightly and was released—and for a few brief moments his vision blurred as he tried to keep himself stabilized in zero-gravity. He groped his way to the cockpit paneling and turned to face Victoria. Now that he had a better glimpse of her, he found himself gravely alarmed by her condition. But what was even more concerning was her unopened rations. How long ago did she get those?
“Coming out in full force, huh?” Victoria asked. Lawrence procured from his hip pouch a bottled proteins drink. He presented to her, but she was focused on the armchair console, it flashed as Commander Theodore Buttermilch was getting impatient about the ordeal. “I take it we’re catching up fast on Zeta, then.” She paid no attention to Lawrence and the drink.
“You bet,” Lawrence said. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and pointed to her combat rations. “You skipped out on eating?”
“I don’t enjoy its aftertaste, and I wouldn’t have a breath’s moment to step outside here before the next sortie happens.” Another tremor, too close to be tertiary. The Tacoma assault was drawing near. “These imperials are getting frisky, aren’t they?”
Lawrence leaned in through space and rested a hand on Victoria’s shoulder. She was trembling—and it spooked Lawrence. He reached to caress her hand. “Victoria,” Lawrence said, clearing his throat again, “stay safe out there. You’re so gung-go and rambo-like. Look, I… just want you back in one piece.”
Victoria smirked. “Me?” She said, she made no effort to hide a haughty scoff. She flicked her hair as she turned her gaze on a monitor for diagnostics. “I have no equal among the Imperium. It’d take more than a hundred Tacoma to take me down.” She shifted to lock eyes with Lawrence. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
Lawrence instinctively leaned in closer, their helmets touching. Victoria tried to slip hers off, but Lawrence gripped her partway. “This is it, Victoria. I can feel it… when this operation is over and we’re free, we can—ooh!” Lawrence found himself physically outperformanced by Victoria as she launched him out of the cockpit. He couldn’t regain his stability in time, and was left as the butt-end of jeers by the peanut gallery.
Through his visor comms, Victoria answered: “We’ll make it a date, love,” Lawrence could hear the vitality in her voice restored. “See you on the other side!” He watched as the Yellow Typhoon rumbled onto the catapult launcher. In the mean time, Lawrence refrained from heading for his Hoshiga starfighter just yet. He opted to pay one last visit to Victoria’s junior MAV member: Frank Erwin.
As Lawrence approached, the armored hatch was thrown open, and Frank stepped out. Unlike Victoria, Lawrence didn’t perceive him as exhausted but he was reaching that point quickly. It was maybe Frank’s third sortie overall. Lawrence slapped him on the shoulder and held him close. He locked eyes with Frank, and after he felt he had his share of locking eyes with the man, did he release his grip.
“You’re her wingman now, Frank,” Lawrence said. Frank nodded, at a loss for words in the presence of his senior.
“I won’t let her down,” Frank said. “I won’t let either of you down.”
“I know you won’t, buddy,” Lawrence said. He grinned. He patted Frank again, a little rougher this time. “By Mars, if I had my qualifying as a Mobile Trooper, I swear I’d keep both of you safe myself. The last thing Victoria or I need is losing a youngster like you—our future—in this fruitless war and the irresponsibility of us letting you die.”
“I understand,” Frank said. He gave a salute, and Lawrence returned the favor.
“Ensign?” Lawrence said.
“Sir?” Frank asked.
“Frank,” Lawrence said. A smile escaped his lips.
Frank cleared his throat. “Lawrence?”
“Don’t do anything too rash, alright? Just follow her lead and don’t think of youreslf as burdening her. I won’t be there—I can’t be there to hold your hand out there.” He patted Frank. The youngster nodded. “Remember your training, Frank. It’s not exactly the simulations, just… don’t get hit.” Frank said nothing but merely nodded consecutively. Lawrence pushed himself away and headed for his Hoshiga. Frank’s Shinra hugged the wal, his massive laz rifle at the ready as he stood sentry for Victoria’s launch.
As Lawrence entered the cockpit, he watched on as the Yellow Typhoon sprang forth from the catapult and launched out into the vacuums of space.
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