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High above Eastern Hail, a second starship made planet fall, resplendent in the colors of the old Akhwan Guard. It soared through Hail's twilight skies, little more than a red and white blur as it streaked low over the clouds to its pilot's designated landing spot. As expected, a warning tone rang in her ear as her mech-droid picked up someone trying to acquire her on targeting computers.

"New targets on sensors," she muttered. Time to put this Valkyrie through her paces. "Alright, then. Incom, don't let me down."

Ru Laredo red-lined the throttle as a wing pair of Qatar K3 Blade's rose up to meet her. Four J-22 EH engines flared to life, roaring like a triumphant apex predator as they took Ru's Valkyrie to speeds that even Defender Predators could only dream of reaching.

"Attention unknown craft!" said one of the Blade pilots. "This is Lieutenant Helmut Alema of the Amir Planetary Guard! What force trespasses in this airspace?"

They were already trying to acquire missile locks. No question there, that was hostile intent according to mission parameters. Yanking hard on the stick, Ru responded by climbing, inverting, and diving, passing close enough to see the enemy pilots' faces. Wing-mounted autothrusters activated as Ru maneuvered, setting off in quick, controlled burns as she turned back up to engage the two Blades. Target lock.

"Too slow," Ru muttered as the enemy craft turned to engage. Blades were sluggish craft and these guys clearly didn't have the reflexes or foresight to compensate. They seemed almost immobile to the Valkyrie jock as she vaporized the lead fighter with a pair of well-placed cannon shots. She finished off the second a few moments later, sending the fiery debris down to the earth. Just then, her sensors pinged a larger number of unknown signatures coming towards her. Reinforcements, no doubt. No problem, really. All part of the plan.

As the enemy fighters entered visual range, they attempted to hail him. Time to run. Ru banked to starboard and flipped an arming switch on her control panel. She felt the need for speed. And speed was one thing this machine had in abundance. She hit an activator key and was wrenched back into her seat, flight harness digging into her shoulders as she engaged her Valkyrie's RAM drive. In a split second, she was gone, too fast and too far for the enemy Blades' sensors to track.

***

The streets of Hail's capital slowly filled up as dusk fell on the city. Residents fresh off work gathered in street-side cafes and restaurants. In days before the Qatar and Khawarij takeover, people would have chatted about trivialities like gossip, local news, or the weather. Food and drink would have flowed freely as the bourgeois dipped into their generous earnings, hard-earned at the stock markets and factories. These days, though, talk was quieter. Customers were frugal, penny-pinching where they could. In hushed whispers, men and women talked worriedly about the new order. New taxes, new curfews, new disappearances, new military police patrols by the Qatar occupation. The bright neon-lit cheer of the city's commercial district was little more than a facade these days.

Disguised in Amir street clothing, Aiden nevertheless kept to side streets and back alleys. He was silently grateful for the fact that masks were chic again in Amir's fashion industry. It made infiltration so much easier in these early stages. As was standard with Kriegsmarine special ops, most of his clothing was breakaway or fastened with velcro or zippers to ease disguise switching, too. Well, aside from the hat and scarf.

After a few minutes of trudging through poorly salted streets, Aiden eventually arrived at the arranged meeting spot: a run-down tenement in the city's industrial district slums. Off to the side of the rusted chain-link fence, a sign indicated that the building was condemned to demolition within the next few weeks. He knocked on the door.

"How is Amir these days" someone on the other side whispered.

"Amir sleeps," Aiden replied.

"For now," the other said. The door opened.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, the door shut. He felt something poke him in the back.

"Goodness," Aiden said. "You haven't even bothered to buy me dinner yet."

"Eyes forward, hands where I can see them," the doorman hissed. "Any funny business and I put a bullet in your spine."

No doubt, the man's weapon was fitted with a suppressor to keep things quiet. Made sense to stick with slug-throwers instead of pulse guns for stealth. Pulse suppressors were less effective and wore out far more quickly. They knew what they were doing. That, or their supply situation was worse than he thought. Best to cooperate.

The guard pushed him into a poorly-lit windowless room, where a few other rebel fighters were gathered.

"This the one?" asked one of the partisans.

"He spoke correctly," said the doorman carefully.

"Good enough for now," replied another. Judging by his slightly cleaner clothing, he was probably the leader of this cell. "You, stranger. Who are you?"

"Captain Aiden Hunt, Knight Squadron 221st Luftwaffe," the pilot said.

"Hunt, eh? I've heard of you. Word on the street is you never let your prey get away." A bit hyperbolic. Aiden still hadn't accounted for the red Defender. The leader asked, "How many more of you are there?"

Aiden looked at him and shrugged. "I know of myself, three pilots, and a Reich Intelligence contact. Could be more, could be less. We weren't told everything, either."

The door guard scoffed. "The Reich Ministry sends five people to liberate our world? Is this some sick joke?"

"Like I said, I don't know how many of us there really are," Aiden replied. "And remember how many it took last time?"

"A New Kriegsmarine capital ship and its entire starfighter complement, along with a united coalition of Hail, Yanqul, and several other states. Don't be obtuse, Hunt. The feats of your forefathers mean nothing to us."

"Look," Aiden said, "I'm here to help. The old Kriegsmarine faced a situation like yours in a whole lot of cases. Worse, sometimes, seeing as all you have right now is Qatar rather than a full Khawarij government."

"And in many of those cases, the local resistance cell ended up exterminated," the partisan leader. "We need weapons, space superiority, an army. Not a handful of fighter jocks on a suicide mis-"

Just then, another rebel fighter burst into the room, out of breath and holding a pulse rifle.

"We've got incoming!' he yelled. "Two attack tanks and two armored patrol vehicles carrying infantry, ETA five minutes!"

The rebel leader cursed. "What happened?"

"Raid went south," the rebel grunt said. "Half the team's dead. They captured some of the new guys. Must have talked."

"Dammit, we don't have much anti-armor left. You guys know the drill. Hunt, you know your way around a firefight?"

"A thing or two, yeah," Aiden said. A mild understatement. Knight Squadron had gone through cross-training with Waffen-SS and Ministry Intelligence to prepare for this mission.

"Good. You're with the ground floor defense."

Aiden nodded. Nobody offered him a weapon. Alright, then. Just a pulse pistol, a knife, and whatever extra items he'd brought from the Valkyrie. Time to see if that training was worth anything.

***

Phenn sat back and sighed, taking another sip from his glass of brandy. On his desk sat a chaotic array of shorthand notes, smart-pads, and rough sketches. Another Valkyrie sighting, this one vastly different from the star-fighter that had so nearly shot him down. The first one, the green Valkyrie, had been an agile sniper judging by what little he could gather from his flight recorder. Scanner data also indicated the presence of quantum torpedo launchers. A true space-superiority design if he'd ever seen one. In contrast, this new one was built more like an Interceptor-maneuverability, acceleration, and speed that bordered on ludicrous, with knife-fight capabilities that could put the Khawarij's Defenders to shame.

Very little footage had survived the destruction of the Amir response team. Their flight recorders were practically dust by the time they'd been recovered from the wreckage. Shame, Phenn thought. Less data to work with. Khawarji Military Intelligence had decided that these new fighters were of little consequence-too expensive and high-performance to become standard-issue among Luftwaffe fighter pilots. They had a point. RAM systems and fighter-compatible HLCs tended to be notorious for their maintenance requirements and costs. Then again, the old Kriegsmarine had made do with similar resources and come out with star-ships that ultimately proved superior to Sienna's common frontline models. Many of the A-1's at the First Battle of Torreon were hand-built due to a lack of supply. The old Warthogs, despite its short range and cost, went down in the history books as a truly terrifying and nigh unkillable flying tank. And due to the strategic importance of Amir's industry, Phenn knew that the Khawarij Empire would need an answer to these cutting-edge super-fighters.

He poured himself another glass and pulled up his terminal's window. If Khawarij Intelligence had its head up its own ass, maybe NavCom would have a bit more sense.

***

His pistol emptied, Aiden ducked into a ruined storage closet to reload. Two clips left. Well, one. He was saving the absolute last to off himself if things went really, really far south. A quick glance at his surroundings showed him nothing of immediate value. A few cans of paint, some tins of industrial adhesive liquid, and some common cleaning supplies, none reactive enough to be converted into proper explosives.

Slotting his pulse clips into place, Aiden poked his head out and planted a pair of shots into the chest of another Qatar soldier. Off to his side, the Hails' rocket team took position just outside the side door. The rocket tube's back-blast was too much for indoor use.

"Clear!" the gunner yelled.

The loader moved to the side, out of the way of the launcher's rear port, and covered his ears. The first rocket was dead-on, impacting the nearest tank in the side. Though its armor took most of the damage, the explosion was enough to daze the pilot and stop it in its tracks.

"Reload!"

The loader slammed another rocket-propelled grenade into the tube's rear port, tapping the gunner's shoulder to signal it was ready.

"Clear!"

They repeated the procedure. This time around, the rocket penetrated, blowing out the cockpit and sending it tumbling in flames. Luckily enough, the force of the blast also knocked the last two Qatar infantrymen off their feet and out of cover, allowing the shooters on the upper floors to finish them off.

"One down! Reload!"

"Last one!" yelled the loader. "Make it count!"

The rocket bearer shouldered the launch tube. "Clear!" he shouted. The loader sidestepped to get clear as the gunner fired. Poorly constructed and maintained, the rocket went wide, pulling right and making mulch out of a pair of dead Qatar instead. Before they could get back into cover, the rocket team were perforated by a hail of return fire. Having neutralized the anti-armor threat, the Qatar mech-pilot turned his attention to the rest of the building. Another rebel fighter died under the second tank's guns as it riddled the building's thin walls with cannon fire. Aiden had to do something quickly before the whole cell was wiped out.

He dipped the end of a signal flare in one of the tins of industrial adhesive and removing his glove on his right hand, flexing his fingers on his cybernetic hand as he prepared to do something incredibly stupid. His left hand readied his pulse pistol as the enemy tank stopped to fire at a second-story window. While its attention was elsewhere, Aiden stepped out the side door. Taking aim, he planted a few shots on the war machine's side, scratching the paint and distracting the pilot. As the Qatar tank turned to fire on the source of the shots, Aiden tossed the flare. It was right on the money. Thank goodness for his cyber-strength. Burning bright, the flare stuck to the tank's front view-port, blinding the pilot.

Aiden broke cover moments before the tank returned fire, slagging the dumpster he had been using for cover. Using the other ruined tank hulk as a springboard, he jumped up and hauled himself onto the tank.

"The puppet Magistrate may rule with an iron fist, but I've got these gold fingers!"

Aiden's hand glowed with an awesome power. Cooling vents opened, expelling heated air as his bionic arm's integral fusion field kicked into gear. With a roar of effort, he punched his cybernetic hand into the tank's top access hatch and tore it clean off, yanking out the screaming pilot and throwing him to the ground. Let the Amir rebels judge the man's fate. This was as much their fight as it was his. And since now was as good a time for showmanship as any, Aiden stood tall, perched atop the empty walker, silhouetted against the city lights with his scarf blowing against the wind. Hey, a little bit of style goes a long way to inspiring the masses.

And surely enough, the surviving rebels let out a ragged cheer. The dead would be mourned later. This was a victory. Hopefully the first of many.

During the mission briefing, the Intelligence agent said his mission was, for all intents and purposes, to be a hero straight out of old legends. Larger-than-life, and highly visible. Inspire the people, Aiden had been told. Stir the fire in their hearts. This was no old story, Mister Intelligence Spook. Right now, Aiden felt like the real deal.