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Yes yes, it has been some time since I uploaded my work. And I feel HORRIBLE ABOUT IT! This section itself is more of a transition piece. You'll see as you read on, and hopefully, I'll right something more suitable in the future ^^

Good Reading!!

As soon as the first Correlation Marine uniform came into view down the narrow corridor, the private guarding the door opened fire with his Defense Frontier Sub Machine gun. The small, compact smg made short work of the first group of marines as they clumped together to force their way down the hallway. When the enemy realized they wouldn't be getting too far with the direct approach, everything was quiet while they convened and planned.

Mal gripped the pistol grip attachment of his SANAF-15 firmly. Though only loaded with one clip, the SANAF-15 had been designed to be fed DFSMG clips as a substitute. He wouldn't have to worry about running out of ammunition; just surviving. The small corridors worried him most; the small quarters providing an excellent opportunity to be fragged to death. However, Mal doubted that the Corries would risk blowing their main armory to smithereens just to kill one group of enemy soldiers. That was at least one advantage to the situation, but was heavily outweighed by the situation. There were no back exits from the armory, and without doubt the enemy command would by now have surrounded the armory with soldiers.

Thus, a plan was quickly formulated by Mal and Daris. Taking a Correlation Mauser rifle from the racks, and having two other subordinates prepare two hand grenades, they waited for the opponents to make the move.

After a few minutes of silence, the lieutenant grew anxious. Waving the soldiers on the other side of the corridor to advance, both columns of soldiers began to move forward. They had been told to watch their fire; shooting any of the explosive ordinance inside the room would result in a deadly explosion. As the troops got closer the trap was sprung. Two hand grenades flew in either direction of the approaching columns, in which the terrified Marines turned and fled. The lieutenant closed his eyes for the explosion, but nothing happened. Opening his eyes, the lieutenant fell back with a bloody gurgle as a high caliber round tore through the wall and took him in the throat.

The marines came to a sudden realization at the lack of their deaths; the grenades had been duds. Two imperial soldiers rounded the door's corner on both sides and opened fire, catching any straggling marine in the crossfire. Taking cover behind the corners zigzagging across the corridor the surviving marines panicked. One sergeant gathering the reins and kept everyone calm; and with that the fire ceased for a moment. Then another slug came through the armory wall into the foot of an unsuspecting private. The marine howled and fell to the ground grasping his wounded foot, and the fire continued again.

The sergeant bit his lip and turned to face the other marines. "Fall back!" He hollered, gathering his DFSMG and running down the corridor, "Retreat!"

"They're retreating!" The private at the door announced. The group of soldiers broke into a small cheer, their victory seeming to be a big accomplishment against the dark tide set against them. Mal lowered the large Mauser rifle, sighing in relief, letting the large and empty rifle clip plop to the ground as he replaced the magazine. Being the first to exit the armory, Mal led the way for the others towards the hanger. If they could reach just one Seahawk Transport, they could escape. Of course, the 'escaping the ship' bit depended upon the attention span of the Goliath's gunners.

A groan broke the tension, and the sergeant looked down. The young marine that had taken the Mauser round to the leg was still clutching his wounded leg in one hand, but the other was fumbling with his pistol hostler. The sergeant lashed out with a quick kick, firmly pinning the poor soldiers hand to his gut, out of reach of the side arm. Mal aimed the powerful Mauser at the enemy marine, an in turn received the look of a desperate being, pleading don't kill me. Mal paused, his finger on the trigger, unsure of what to do. Despite the training for such a kill reaction, the look alone from this one soldier gave Mal a pause. In mere moments, his conscience refused to be overlooked, he simply brought the butte of the rifle against the private's head, knocking him unconscious.

Giving a sharp whistle, Mal directed the others ahead of him, their course taking them straight to the hanger. The alarm blazed throughout the corridors, only challenged by the sounds of footsteps as the Correlation Marines began their hunt. Now, it was a game of cat and mouse. Pausing only several times to avoid mass conflict, the small group of commandos quickly made their way across the ship.

Finally, after what seemed to have been an eternity, they arrived at the Goliath's hanger. It was absolutely massive, still containing countless aircraft of varying class despite having released dozens to combat the Imperial Air Brigades. The hanger was decorated with any matter of supplies, ranging from ammunition crates to massive fuel tanks. Of course, it was not long before the Imperial commandos were noticed by a startled Correlation staff member, bringing down the wrath of the Correlation Marines moments later.

Mal ordered his soldiers through the labyrinth of walkways leading across the hanger, bullets pinging and flying everywhere as the Marines behind them opened fire. Here, as well as in the Armory, both sides had to pay attention to what they shot at. The bombs and fuel tanks made excellent improvised explosive devices, but one careless shot could set the entire hanger ablaze.

The Imperial commandos had the advantage this time. Able to take cover behind crates as well as the support riggings of the walkway, the Marines had little firing capabilities and thus had to close the range between them; making them prime targets. Mal would open fire with his SANAF 15 if any lone Marine got close enough. Finally, after searching row after row, one beautiful Correlation Seahawk Transport was docked at the very entrance of the hanger, guarded by one very jumpy Correlation Air Force Private.

The young fox was spooked by all the fire, his twitchy movements and large eyes made him look more ridiculous than threatening. Corporal Daris would have none of it; merely walking up to the spooked fox, who at the time was fumbling with the revolver in hand, received a hard clenched fist to the face. Daris chuckled, waving in his fellow soldiers on board transport. Mal got into the cockpit, and paled. He had absolutely no idea how to pilot this vessel, turning to the concerned faces of others,

"Anyone know how to fly this thing?"

Admiral Sly was absolutely furious. After having lost his cool when the Imperial Navy had managed to remove the main support carrier, he had received notice that a strike team was within HIS ship. The staff onboard were slightly terrified of the Admiral, for rumors of his infamous tendency to violently 'use his rank and command' towards those around him when he was in a rage was widespread knowledge. Banging his fist upon the two dimensional planning table, causing all surrounding staff members to jump like startled rabbits, the admiral finally spoke.

"The Air Carriers are too late, I'm afraid." He grumbled, obviously not all that pleased about having to admit what he was saying. "Send out a retreat frequency. We'll regroup at..." The Admiral bit his lips as he decided upon where exactly to fall back to. "Here. Naval Base Gamma." His finger descended upon one of the South-Most islands leading towards the Correlation controlled mainland. Sly was counting on the Imperials to be too weakened to continue the chase and merely regroup. As the salvo of Anti aircraft batteries continued to bellow through the Command deck Sly growled at the communications officer.

"Well, get to it!"

Mal bashed his fist against the controls and network of buttons inside the cockpit. He wouldn't die here, after something so far! Resting his head gently against one lone lever, however, produced a pleasing result indeed. The main engine boomed to life, the propeller spun to life, sending any Correlation personal in the front running, clearing the way for the bulky Seahawk as is slowly made its way off towards the runway.

Unfortunately, the clear runway made the Seahawk a pristine target. The Correlation Marines used this to their advantage, and immediately the sound of bullets pinging off the Seahawk's hull followed. Daris ordered several soldiers to the Seahawk's gunning positions, only to discover that the transport had not been loaded with ammunition. Mal frantically continued to search for anything that would speed up the escape but to no avail.

One Imperial soldier fell from the transport bay, hitting the ground with a horrid skidding grind, holding his chest painfully. Mal looked outside the cockpit, and swore. It was the young private from earlier, and he was still alive. "Take the cockpit Daris!" The human hollered, handing over the pilot's position to the rather startled corporal. "Wait, what the hell you are up to Sarge?!" He hollered, only to discover that the sergeant had left the safety of the Seahawk, and was out running towards the down private.

Mal huffed, feeling the bullets whiz in every direction around him, the more than trigger-happy Correlation Marines living up to their reputation. The young rabbit looked up as the human sergeant approached, a surprised look upon his face.

"Sarge!" He managed to cry out, before Mal had him up and placed hanging behind him. Mal drew the powerful Bart .75 issue revolver, and began to fire frantically into the crowd of approaching Correlation Marines. "Hold on!" He howled, running backwards toward the Seahawk, acting as a human shield for the wounded private.

Mal felt a slug impact at his midsection, the flak jacket absorbing the majority of the force but the shrapnel flying straight into his chin. He was sweating madly; the wound on his arm from earlier wasn't doing wonder for him either, and the rabbit sure was a lot heavier than he looked. The Seahawk was beginning to catch up in speed; Mal noticed the familiar but frustrated cry of a particular Corporal, and finally caught up with the transport.

The open arms of Imperial Commandos greeted them, but time wouldn't allow two to be picked up. Mal let the private be taken first, then spun around immediately, and picked up his pace. The Seahawk had gained enough speed and was already beginning to lift off the runway. Those familiar arms shot out again, ready to take Mal.

Mal's helmet flew off as his head shot forward. The loud cracker of a powerful Correlation sniper rifle tore through the hanger. The human veered to the side, away from those saving hands, cries of worry following. Mal's view became blurred, but his certain notice was that he was running out of runway. Stumbling over his own feet, he fell at an angle, missing those hands by mere centimeters.

Captain Janks sighed in relief, sitting back in his chair onboard the Damascus. The Correlation Navy was in full retreat; a close victory, but one worth the loss. The Captain turned to look at a smirking Ramsey, still pleased from earlier news. Janks would only shake his head, burying his hands in his paws. If the next few weeks would be like this, things wouldn't be the same, ever.

Sighing, the Captain regained his posture, nodding gently at Ramsey. Upon the return at the 5th Special Army Forces Brigadier Empire Division base of operations, the POIs would be rounded up, and thus the test would begin.