For the Ticonderoga's Marine complement, the GCE leadership from the platoon level on up were gathered in one of the Deck 6 briefing rooms to discuss strategy. Stills taken of the Iberia were up on the projector and Major Knox was pointing to the little specks on the hull.

Major Kang the S-3 Officer said, "The Saratoga's MEU has a few HeavySuits. We take what we have left from Echo and Golf and give them cover while they target the enemy HeavySuits."

Gunnery Sergeant Grisson raised her hand and asked the Major, "Sir, would they be willing to part with one?"

Major Knox did his best to hide his consternation.

Gunnery Sergeant Grisson followed Major Knox outside the briefing room. Grisson stood at attention the moment the Major stopped walking.

Going to the position of at ease, Grisson replied bluntly, "I'm a liability, sir. They used me to turn Lieutenant Cranitz and his men against you. I can't effectively serve as platoon sergeant, not after everything that's happened. If I do this, though, I can at least be some use to you."

Cold as ice, Grisson replied, "Sir, I died back on Erebus. I do more harm than good by being here, but let me face the Marshal. I don't have anything to lose. No one's going to hesitate on my account."

For a moment, Major Knox had the urge to smack some sense into her. It was not the answer, of course, but neither was this deathseeker routine. He had seen it happen before and it never did anyone any good. Still, he believed in her and he was going to show her how wrong she was.

As tightly as she controlled herself, Grisson could not entirely suppress an appreciative smile.

Major Knox smiled in spite of himself and told her, "Let's get back in there."

One of the HeavySuits stood out from the rest with its extensive modifications and distinctive red and black paint job. It was the prized first prototype of the experimental Mark 5, a special gift presented to the man they called the Father of Mobile Armor.

Donovan Graves started his career in the Marine Corps as a test operator of the MediSuits and HeavySuits when they were still in development. The powered armor was not his own brainchild nor was he the first operator on the project, but he was the best and by the time he rose to the position of project director, he was the foremost advocate of Mobile Armor doctrine and commanded the first MEU with Mobile Armor integration. Regardless of his assignment, he always found time to get hands-on with the latest model in development. His suggestions and criticisms were not always heeded and dead Marines usually followed when the high foreheads and their paymasters thought they knew better than he did. Their turn would come up soon enough.

All this shooting out on the hull was just an excuse to blow of some steam. Plan A had failed and now he had to wait for Plan B to pan out. The so-called 'Lord' Gnosis and his cultists weren't faring too well, but perhaps he was better off without them. If they could take the Ticonderoga and the Saratoga, the Bunker Hill would seem more like an extravagance than the linchpin of their master plan. With the only three spacefold-capable warships in the Union under their control, they'd be unstoppable. First Mars, then Ganymede, Titan, and all the Colonies. Then Earth.

If one thing could be said for his associates, they got results. The only problem was that the infernal Tico had a way of throwing a monkey wrench in their plans. Would she get the best of them this time too?

His thoughts were disturbed by someone contacting him over the radio.

It was Staff Sergeant Darius. If he was contacting the Marshal directly, it could only mean that his platoon leader Lieutenant Aboutaib had already bought it. His people were supposed to be the best of the best. The crew was left barely fed to weaken their resistance and give added incentive to cross over. There was no excuse for them to be gaining so much ground against his men. If the crew took the bridge, it'd be a lot of trouble to dig them back out. The answer was clear.

His associates were supposed to have flushed out all the rats. Surely they were already on the move, but just to be safe...

Switching over to their private channel, he said, "Sauro One, come in. Sauro One."

No answer.

Still nothing. What the hell were they doing?

Only members of the Sauro team had access to this channel and taking one of them down was no small feat.

The Marshal gritted his teeth. Cocky little bastard...

All this chickenshit spook-on-spook action was pissing him off. Did this mean Plan B was out the window? Time for Plan C then. They'd do things his way.

They all opened up on the contact. It was a lone Combat Sparrow. Someone must have thought they could send a Mobile Armor platoon against them. If they properly appreciated who they were up against, they would've sent an entire company.

The Combat Sparrow didn't stick around to take much fire, though. It broke away, but a smaller contact continued to approach them. It deftly wove through their fire, taking a few hits, but not enough to slow it down. It was a HeavySuit and whoever the operator was knew what he was doing.

The Heavy Suit managed to make it to the hull about a hundred meters from where the Marshal and his men stood. They continued to fire, but the shots all glanced off the HeavySuit's shields. Apparently they installed a few extra generators to take even more punishment than usual. The HeavySuit didn't try to dodge their fire after it landed. Instead it just held up its hand.

Intrigued, Marshal Graves told his men, "Cease fire."

When they stopped shooting, the HeavySuit didn't go for a cheap shot or anything. It pointed at the Marshal and then curled its fingers back in a 'come on' gesture. Thus was the last thing the Marshal was expecting, and he was enjoying it to no end.

The Marshal began to approach the mystery HeavySuit, who just stood there waiting.

As he was walking, he locked in on the HeavySuit's signal and told the operator, "You got some serious stones on ya, son. What's your name?"

In his mind, the Marshal was already going through the list of Specials he knew and Marines he'd commanded or trained, anyone who could've pulled off this stunt. What he wasn't expecting was the voice that responded to be rough and husky yet unmistakably female.

"They shoulda read your file better. They shoulda known nothin' short a' killin' ya woulda stopped ya. Alright, Gunny. Ya made it this far. Let's dance."

Grisson drew her cutter and Marshal Graves responded in kind. The cutter was essentially a three-meter chainsaw that you could wield like a sword if you didn't have the sense to use the handle on the spine to better control it. They could chew through standard alloy and composite plating, not as quickly as plasma cutters but it made a much better show. So far, the attempts to develop a plasma blade to get the best of both worlds were unsuccessful. It was just a matter of time, though.

Grisson was playing it smart, holding the cutter with both hands. As dramatic as her entrance was, she wasn't here to showboat. She was obviously there as a distraction. The situation was already spiraling out of control. There really wasn't all that much need for the fun and games.

His men fanned out as ordered. There was a lot of ground to cover if they were going to catch an enemy insertion, but that was their problem to deal with. Grisson was there to distract him, so he was going to enjoy it for all it was worth.

She came to him. She was sticking to the hull of the ship. That made it easier for a melee fight. A classic style duel. He liked this gal's taste.

She closed the distance quickly and made her first cut, a wide slice across. He parried and the two blades glanced off each other. The cutters weren't exactly designed for dueling. If you tried locking blades, one or more likely both chains would break, leaving you with a largely useless hunk of metal and polymer. You could still use it as a club, but it wouldn't be getting through the HeavySuit's shell that way.

What was she looking for, a confession?

She made a big overhead swing that he dodged, exploiting the opening to deliver a solid kick to the gut. The new Mark 5 had better articulation and could do that sort of thing. Grisson had to dig in with her cutter or else she would have gone flying. They weren't held that tightly to the hull, after all, and she'd probably burned most of her booster fuel just getting here.

Having taken the advantage, he felt like mocking her all the more. Anyone who let the legend eclipse the man deserved all the mocking he could give them.

Grisson had already recovered and was coming at him again. Their blades crossed. Another glancing blow. This time she came back quicker, throwing more of her weight into it. Graves met her strike and their blades locked. The chains hooked on each other and if sound carried in space, the engines would be making an awful racket as one strained to overcome the other.

He was hoping to rattle her, but she didn't go for it. Nimble as the Mark 5 was, it had a slight disadvantage when it came to strength compared to the Mark 4. She'd overpower him if he let her. He sidestepped to break loose, letting Grisson's momentum carry forward and off-balance. While she was turning herself back around, he had his blade pointed center mass waiting for her. If her reaction time wasn't as good as it was, he'd already be halfway to her cockpit.

She batted away his blade with a quick swing. She followed through with a couple more swings, each one whiffing by a fair margin.

Playing the mind game could only work to his advantage. Either he'd make her mad, which would cause her to make stupid mistakes, or he'd paralyze her by digging up old trauma. Whichever happened, it'd win him the fight all the sooner. She was keeping her head better than most so far, but how long could she keep it up? Just a little more pushing and he'd find the edge.

"How many ya lost over the years? Frien's, fam'ly, shipmates. The butcher bill gets paid ta Ol' Union Jack."

She tried to put on a tough act, but he knew he was getting to her. Just a little bit more.

Finally, the opening he'd been waiting for. He plunged his cutter right into the cockpit of Grisson's HeavySuit. Forty-eight millimeters of armor at a rate of approximately ten millimeters a second. Whatever she tried to do, it wouldn't save her.

Or at least that's what he thought.

Grisson ejected herself out the back before his cutter could reach her. Normally this would be suicide. There wasn't room enough in the cockpit to wear a full spacesuit. The HeavySuit was your spacesuit. Only Grisson was wearing a full StatSuit. No, it wasn't a StatSuit but it looked similar. Where had he seen it before?

Of course. The Shellies. She was wearing a Shelly MCP suit. It didn't offer much protection, but vacuum of space wouldn't kill you. She'd planned for this all along.

She drifted back until she caught onto something, giving her just enough of a foothold to spring back towards him. He didn't have any idea what she thought she could do. She didn't seem to have any weapons on her and nothing she could possibly carry would get through his HeavySuit. His cutter was still stuck in the wreck of her suit. It'd just take him a second to get it loose and then he'd finish the job.

When Grisson touched down on her HeavySuit, she pried the cutter out of its hand, hoisted it up and brought it down on the right arm of Graves' suit. Even in microgravity, no ordinary human should have been able to wield a cutter like that. Graves was so stunned by what he was seeing that the arm was lopped off at the elbow before he could even react.

Of course. She was half-Shelly. All this time he was taunting her with it and didn't once stop to think about what it actually meant. She was more than twice as strong as any normal human. She didn't need a suit.

Trying to pull out the cutter was a waste of time at this point. She might be stronger than any normal human, but there was no armor protecting her now. All he had to do was crush her with his remaining hand and it'd be game over.

As he was reaching for her, she swung her cutter upwards and sawed through that arm too. She didn't give him a chance to try anything else. As soon as she cut through the suit's arm, she then went right down the middle. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't use her little ejection trick. All he could do was watch his displays go haywire and listen to the whine of the chain as it cut ever closer. The wasn't how the living legend was supposed to go out.