Draken ran through the corridors of the Elven battleship, following his suit's tracker to his unit. They were stuck in pretty well in a battle with psychics, a few mages, and most of the ship's infantry. He ran as fast as he could, even calling upon the aid of his suit's boosters to increase his speed. The mages and psychics were probably collaborating  on something that would be devastating to his comrades.

The ship Vengeance was zeroed in on by a new Elven weapon. Slowly, agonizingly, the arcane systems worked to get a lock on the fast-moving vessel.

It had more problems than just a new, secret Elf weapon. at least a dozen missiles were on its tail, four assault units had requested pickup, and a fighter unit was starting to target them. The drakes in the gunnery positions did the best they could to take out the missiles, and the pilot was truly taxing herself to the limit. Most of the rest of the crew did the best they could to wait out the battle, and pray nothing fatal happened to them. Some smoked. Some prayed. Some paced. The Black Drake mechanic just counted ceiling tiles and hoped the engines didn't blow.

He was right, and when he was right, he usually hated it. Draken blasted his way through a door, and found the mages chanting a spell. Well, not today. He ran one through, then went into a routine that made him resemble a rotary saw blade. He ripped through the mages, and dodged something nasty one of the psychics aimed at him and started to tear them apart. The infantry were milling around in disorder at the deaths of their leaders. someone had restored some order, and the elves had a plasma cannon aimed at what cover the humans had left. One of them was bringing up a missile launcher, training it on him. He blew that elf apart, and flinched as a huge ball of plasma detonated, incinerating the unlucky trooper's fellows and the plasma cannon, lending to the burst of blue flame.

[I've cleared the heavy weapons out. Come out of there and take care of the rest of them!]

[Roger, Leader.] The elves had their standard burstguns, blasting anything not elven in sight. Draken thanked whatever draconic engineer had designed the armor he wore to resist most forms of energy, the small green shots pinging off his armor. The humans had exited their cover, vulcans blazing, making a bloody mess of the remaining elves. [Okay, everybody! We lose anyone?]

[Not this time, sir. You got here just in time. So, when can we expect pickup?]

Draken heard Harken's voice over his communicator. {Sublieutenant! Get your sorry ass and those excuses for bacon drippings you call men up here now or we're leaving you! There are five other assault groups calling for backup and retreival!}

[I'd say... about now. Move out! Back to the torp! Double time!]

The other assault troopers gave their various methods of approval, and they headed with top speed to the extraction point. They found the demolitons cre setting the detonators to blow the ship after they left. Everyone got in as fast as possible, not wanting to be left behind. Once inside, most of the men removed their helmets. Draken was getting tired of h  suit's recycled air, and he removed his helmet as well, breathing in the crisp air that was sent through three sets of scrubbers to reoxygenate it and purify it. "So what's the damage report?

M'Kar, the secondary officer in Draken's unit, spoke

up. "Some cuts, bruises, damaged prieds and

exhaustion, that's all. Beltus' leg went bad again,

and three vulcans got fouled. We're sending the suits

to be repaired immediately."

"Make sure they don't screw up Beltus' leg again.

Every time it stops functioning it puts his entire

unit in danger. I'm going out to do some anti-missile

work."

"Good luck sir. Just come back. Assaults won't be the

same without you to save our asses."

"Trust me, I will." Images of Marcia came to mind,

giving him plenty of reasons to come back alive.