The Real Bames Jond
Inactive Member
Canyon
Years of training were starting to show themselves for her.
The roar of the jets overhead. The heat from the rockets. Even the sight of the Rixxikor landing behind them.
Mao didn't even have time to worry about the young naval officer she watched get hit. Not while Hime-sama was still out in the open and potentially exposed to a torrent of enemy fire. So Mao kept a healthy clip and always tried to put herself between Hanako and the Rixxikor mob . . . even if it wouldn't have done much good against a large, concentrated volley of fire. It wasn't until they were finally in the "cover" provided by the canyon that she moved slightly away from Hanako again. She drew her Type 33 and found cover behind a larger rock before taking stock of the situation.
Outnumbered. Outgunned.
Mao looked to the tarp covering two of the ship's crew and the Nepleslian war hero.
And they were being burdened by wounded.
An Eihei didn't function exactly like other NH-33 variants. Her metabolism was radically different as part of what supported her own unique abilities. Which meant that energy consumption and recuperation were different for her as well. It was with her skin turning steely gray and a grim expression that Mao came to a conclusion. It was one or two days at calm gait. Maybe an hour or two flying at full speed. And there was a small army of foul-mouthed and foul-smelling bugs chasing them with air support. Mao could run, or she could fight. She couldn't do both.
Just as she was set to announce this to Hime-sama and go charging off into an early certain death, her charge announced her plan.
She spoke to the Yamataian Admiral through telepathy in their secured link, "An excellent idea, Hime-sama. I will divert the attention of the whole to the best of my ability, and hunt out any rocketeers among them."
And with that Mao was off.
She wasn't running so much as she was flying so close to the ground that she could kick her legs for the illusion. Iaido was a school that taught restraint until the moment it was deemed necessary to act, and then acting with full lethality and purpose. So there was no flair or style or movie-esque motion when the odachi came free from its scabbard for Mao to rest the blade over one shoulder. With her "off" hand she fired of burst of fire at the nearest Rixxikor gunmen, side-stepping returning fire with the natural speed of her race, and firing until the magazine ran empty. And then it was blade work.
She moved like vapor. In one second she would be there. In the next she would be gone. And before her target could finish some anger-stirred tirade against her mother the cool metal of the blade would be driven into one ear and out the other or carved cleanly through the temple. There was no flash or pomp or style to make a movie director proud and instead there was only the crisp and clear movements to work against her foes. She could almost be accused of making it look effortless to do, or at least not very difficult. But there was an ocean of the bugs and only one Yojimbo at their front.
She could feel her breathing getting heavier and could guess that another variant of NH-33 would have started sweating by now.
She broadcast telepathically to the rest of the ship's crew in the canyon, "If anybody would be willing to start destroying those accursed jets so that we can begin a withdrawal, I would be most grateful."
Incredibly calm sounding for a woman flanked by a sea of foul bugs.
Years of training were starting to show themselves for her.
The roar of the jets overhead. The heat from the rockets. Even the sight of the Rixxikor landing behind them.
Mao didn't even have time to worry about the young naval officer she watched get hit. Not while Hime-sama was still out in the open and potentially exposed to a torrent of enemy fire. So Mao kept a healthy clip and always tried to put herself between Hanako and the Rixxikor mob . . . even if it wouldn't have done much good against a large, concentrated volley of fire. It wasn't until they were finally in the "cover" provided by the canyon that she moved slightly away from Hanako again. She drew her Type 33 and found cover behind a larger rock before taking stock of the situation.
Outnumbered. Outgunned.
Mao looked to the tarp covering two of the ship's crew and the Nepleslian war hero.
And they were being burdened by wounded.
An Eihei didn't function exactly like other NH-33 variants. Her metabolism was radically different as part of what supported her own unique abilities. Which meant that energy consumption and recuperation were different for her as well. It was with her skin turning steely gray and a grim expression that Mao came to a conclusion. It was one or two days at calm gait. Maybe an hour or two flying at full speed. And there was a small army of foul-mouthed and foul-smelling bugs chasing them with air support. Mao could run, or she could fight. She couldn't do both.
Just as she was set to announce this to Hime-sama and go charging off into an early certain death, her charge announced her plan.
She spoke to the Yamataian Admiral through telepathy in their secured link, "An excellent idea, Hime-sama. I will divert the attention of the whole to the best of my ability, and hunt out any rocketeers among them."
And with that Mao was off.
She wasn't running so much as she was flying so close to the ground that she could kick her legs for the illusion. Iaido was a school that taught restraint until the moment it was deemed necessary to act, and then acting with full lethality and purpose. So there was no flair or style or movie-esque motion when the odachi came free from its scabbard for Mao to rest the blade over one shoulder. With her "off" hand she fired of burst of fire at the nearest Rixxikor gunmen, side-stepping returning fire with the natural speed of her race, and firing until the magazine ran empty. And then it was blade work.
She moved like vapor. In one second she would be there. In the next she would be gone. And before her target could finish some anger-stirred tirade against her mother the cool metal of the blade would be driven into one ear and out the other or carved cleanly through the temple. There was no flash or pomp or style to make a movie director proud and instead there was only the crisp and clear movements to work against her foes. She could almost be accused of making it look effortless to do, or at least not very difficult. But there was an ocean of the bugs and only one Yojimbo at their front.
She could feel her breathing getting heavier and could guess that another variant of NH-33 would have started sweating by now.
She broadcast telepathically to the rest of the ship's crew in the canyon, "If anybody would be willing to start destroying those accursed jets so that we can begin a withdrawal, I would be most grateful."
Incredibly calm sounding for a woman flanked by a sea of foul bugs.