Log:Kneel or Die!
Kneel or Die!
OOC Date: Feb 1st, 2016
Location: Serenno
Participants: Fuze, Pox, Phasma, HL-3114, EM-1710, Booker, FN-4126,
On the forest planet of Serenno. Night has set over the lush landscape of the planet and the clear sky above reveals a multitude of bright pinpricks of far away stars. All TIE pilots have been given strict orders to remain out of sight and radar capabilities a good distance from their target. The ground troops are positioned within the thick forest. Rather than standing in their usual flawless formations, they are are instead arranged into smaller assault groups. The many huge trees around them shield them from view of the base, though given the darkness and clear skies, it can be assumed that any fire or other light sources would quickly give away their position. Off in the distance, the lights of one of the remaining Militia Checkpoints can be seen. One of the largest remaining to conquer, this one also contains an airbase of its own, making it a strategic boon for the First Order.
It was well known to all troops that the powers that be were not happy with the sluggish speed that the campaign on Serenno had managed thus far. General Hux had issued a public announcement earlier in the day declaring that there will be no prisoners for those still resisting the power of the First Order on Serenno. "They will bow, or they will DIE!" he had cried in a passion nearing hysteria as he had given his emboldened speech.
Reminded of the speech, Phasma smirks under her Chromium helmet, Hux always was the fanatic; it was somewhat endearing when she thought about it. Taking up her carbine, Phasma raises it into the air, trained finger resting on the trigger. "Troopers!" She cries out in a rousing call to arms, "Now is the time to show the Resistance what we are really made of, Serenno will be ours, I don't care if the DOGS have anything to say about it, we take no prisoners from the Resistance." With that, she lowers the black carbine, looking at each of her Troopers in turn.
Dark forests and loose formations? This is EM's thing. The sniper is moving, her weapon ready and her senses sharp behind the helmet that otherwise makes her look like any other trooper. One might wonder how someone manages to do her job in white armor, but she gets it done. No words from her, being quiet is the whole point. Instead she spreads out with purpose, keeping a covering flank to the rest of her squad.
The black TIE-fighters of 'Alpha' flight whine through the atmosphere in a holding pattern some thirty miles distant, below the horizon, using a ridge of low hills to obscure them on radar and visual from the enemy base and its environs. The twelve birds are in four groups of three, each trio a staggered V, and the four groups in a spread diamond pattern. Leading the first group is Squadron Commander FZ-4792, callsign Fuze. "Keep it crisp, Alpha Seven," she enjoins on comms, a glance at her display having discerned that the newbie to the squadron (replacing the fellow killed by the Resistance recon mission) is drifting a little out of formation. The message goes to Alpha Seven alone; Fuze is too professional to call out a rookie in front of the whole Squadron. Her gaze flickers over the aspects of her HUD, fingers caressing the control yokes as though they were a lover. Behind her, her gunner is attentive, tracking imaginary targets without engaging lock - no need to warn the enemy of their position just yet. Fuze brushes the comms controls. "How's it hanging, Pox?"
BK-8642 spreads his left hand's fingers and then curls them back into a fist, flexing once again, and then settling the hand on the buttstock of his carbine. It is fully extended out and to the rear as he sits calmly against the wide base of a tree's gnarled roots. At the edge of the squad's position, the stormtrooper remains silent and splits his focus between the other troops dotting the area, their own little alcoves, and the outward surroundings. They should be moving soon. Captain Phasma is speaking in the background. His footing presses down into moss and dirt, stamping the loose ground underboot, and he takes a knee to peer out and beyond. Nothing immediately strikes him as extraordinary. After checking his heading, he stands and returns to moving forward at a steady pace.
"'They will bow, or they will die', and yet we can take no prisoners. I guess they only have one choice, now," observes FN-4126, raising her quadnoculars to her helmet lenses and taking a look at their distant target. She'll leave inspiring the troops to Phasma, since the silver-armored woman is here: Rhona will focus on the tactical side of things, like looking over the Serenno militia base and its airfield. Sensors are wonderful things, but she trusts her own eyes more. "I have eyes on target... looks quiet so far. They have guard patrols out, at least four that I can see. Good discipline, but I don't think they know we're here," she whispers over the comlink. "Ready for some rural renewal, Deltas?"
PX-1221 flies his own TIE-fighter in the same V formation as FZ-4792, currently occupying the position directly behind and to the left. His flight helmet is currently polished to a high gloss, something he likely did upon receiving intel of tonight's attack. His hands grasp the control arm of his own ship with an almost bored grip, fingers loosely holding the gentle curved grip. His index finger traces gently along one trigger, a lazy muscle memory routine to keep the locations of controls at the forefront of his mind. The slight click of his comm precedes his cool voice, "Low and to the left, Fuze, about like always." He rolls his head on his shoulders and glances out of the TIE's view port as he says, "Ready to get into the fray and get some payback.”
The command the Stormtroopers have been waiting for comes through Comms in short order. A slight crackle in each troopers ear and then the words, "Target acquired. Troops move in. For First Order!" From the wooded area, the bright red blasts of artillery can be seen launching into the dark night air. They fly in a graceful arc like oversized flairs, only to curve back down with deadly intent. The first salvos blast into a few of the buildings, setting them ablaze even as troops begin to rush out of the forest, blasters leveled and a steady line of fire already jumping out toward the Militia Checkpoint.
The same command comes through Comms to the Squadron of TIE pilots miles away, "TIE Fighters, attack. Lay down suppressive fire while our troops close on the enemy.”
As she sees the base, Phasma announces to her Deltas, "Alright Delta, looks like we're not getting the drop on them this time, let's just get this over and done with, nice and quick." Then she taps her communicator, "Alpha Squadron, fire on the fighters, best get them before they're in the air, prepare for a dog fight though." Then she readies her blaster, a grin under her helmet as she starts dashing toward the enemy.
Let the others rush forwards. EM-1710 moves at a slower and more even pace, eyes scanning the structures ahead as she exhales a breath behind her helmet. She's waiting for the inevitable counter attack that will pop up and try to shoot at her people. Like cans on a fence that just happen to shoot back. It's a shot she's had to make many times, but still no less important.
Fuze's hands caress the controls as a smile drifts over her lips. The lead TIE banks around in a perfect arc, the ion engines lighting up with the characteristic blue noble gas glow from the plasma discharge as she engages full throttle. Her TIE, followed by the others, streaks eastward, hugging the profile of the land. There is a terse "Phasma, Alpha Flight copies." A flick of a comms switch. "Stay tight, Alphas, we're going in low and fast into a target-rich environment. Firefight's already started so it'll be sporty. Choose your targets and stay on your leaders. Shields up. Weapons hot." Her voice is cool and collected over comms, but inside her helmet she can't resist grinning. This is what she does. This is what she loves.
BK-8642 trudges along and then abruptly stops. It is not from the artillery for that is what sets the tempo of their raid. It is definitely not from everyone shouting one thing or another, intent on instilling pride and zeal into each other. But there is definitely a caterpillar-like insect crawling across the expressionless visor of his helmet. He reaches up with an offhand to remove the thing, watching it between his fingers. He bends down, placing it on a passing leaf, and then continues onward. The insect is not designated an enemy, and refuses to eat his face. He can allow it to live. An explosion at his general one o'clock blooms and billows upwards, filling his view with sudden glare that then quickly dies down. "Huh," breathes the man. His pace easily quickens.
"That's the signal..." Yet a strange sense of foreboding comes over FN-4126, or Rhona as she thinks of herself most of the time. She doesn't lower the quadnoculars, scanning again... There! The patrols are abandoning their patterns at the first shots, rushing for prepared positions. They don't seem in the least surprised! And on the rooftops, flak cannons are pointing their long snouts skyward, emplaced missile systems following suit. "Deltas, TIEs, we've been made! Deltas, stay low and advance, keep each other covered! TIEs, stay sharp, you might have uninvited guests any time now." There's no way Rhona would leave all the aircraft on the ground, not if she knew the trouble was coming: Some are probably doing the same thing as the TIEs and sticking to tree-top level flight to evade sensors.
She straps down the quadnoculars and moves forward, keeping her head low and moving to flank a repeating blaster nest on the perimeter, ready to drop a grenade right in the middle of it. She glances at a neighboring position. "Em, got a target for you at 1274, 7758 relative: Launcher jockey who needs to go down. Do you.../umph/ ...have a shot?" she calls, the words interrupted by a grunt as she primes and heaves the grenade.
A quick jerk of the control arm of his TIE fighter has PX-1221 trailing after Fuze as soon as the command is given. Gone are his previously bored mannerisms, replaced with a cold determination that causes his muscles to tighten, his grip tightening with a familiarity that emphasizes the countless hours he has spent behind the "wheel" of such a fighter. "Roger that, Alpha One. I'm right behind you," comes his voice, cutting across the comms into the ear of the other TIEs. The Squadron moves with a grace that tells of their hours of training together as they race low to the ground across the gentle rise that separates them from the battle at breakneck speed. "Everyone keep your eyes peeled, Gunners watch our six, stay tight. If they are scrambling fighters we will be in for some fun.”
As the ground troops assigned to Phasma's attack group rush along toward the left side of the Militia Checkpoint, a host of Milita fighters come out to meet the wave of Troopers. A group of four such soldiers are running to meet Phasma's specific group, blasters raising to attack. Given the disorder of their formation, this group either hasn't seen much combat or their training cannot compare to that of the Storm Troopers. In fact, some of the young faces rushing toward Phasma and company don't seem to be rushing at all, given the outright terror on their faces.
As the TIEs scream through the air that separates them from the battle and crest the ridge, they can see the base laid out before them. An array of four anti aircraft machines are powering up, stationed at varying intervals around the base. The milita fighters seem to be at a decided disadvantage given that there are only seven on the ground, though if not stopped, they will be in the air in short order.
As Phasma unleashes plasma hell upon the milita men, she hits on squarely in the chest, the bolt easily melting through his armour and creating a flaming hole in the dead center of his chest. A few seconds later, the militiaman drops to his knees and crumples, rather dead.
Last off the transport (only because if she was the first she would likely be trampled), HL-3114 makes up for her position of entry into combat with her bravado for it. Rifle up and trigger pulled, she was bred for this - or rather made for it. She's new to Delta Squad and feels like she has a lot to prove. Both of herself and of her position in the squad. So when she fires and drills one militia member straight through the heart, she is not slowed in her efforts. Rather, she is encouraged. She keeps running and gunning, eager to add another success. The only reason to stop will be when they run out of targets to shoot.
A shot out of the blue, Em takes a breath and depresses her trigger. The shot goes low, lower then she intended, but instead of hitting the running pilot in the temple the single bolt tears through his throat and sends her target sprawling and gasping for breath. Not the cleanest kill, but it's a kill none the less. "Got him." The sniper calls back over her comm link. The battle rages around them, but she has eyes only for the targets before her.
"Delta Leader, Alpha copies. Break, break. Alpha Ten, go high, go high! Top cover." If the hostile air cover is already in the sky, Fuze wants her people above them, and a moment later Alpha Ten and her two wingmen go vertical, three blue ion trails rocketing up into the night sky. "Alpha Four, concentrate on the flak positions. Alpha Seven, stay with us." The engines are screaming as she brushes the trees, and the rookie Alpha Seven picks up a collection of foliage on his 'wings' in a move that could be definitely spruced up - if he lives that long. Tree. Spruced. Haha. Fuze leads her six fighters screaming over Rhona's position, straight down the base longitudinally, six TIEs targetting the parked fighters. A parked fighter flashes into Fuze's sights and her thumbs touch the firing stud, and a moment later the fighter on the ground erupts into an inferno. Orange and red explosions blossom into the air underneath the TIE flight as they blaze past, peeling starboard to circle round again.
"Watch your right- your right," calls out BK-8642 as the assault begins in full swing. He eases his carbine forward mid-stride before coming to a knee and firing once, twice, and then ambles forward as he breaks brush. Another stormtrooper provides covering fire for him and the small group around him continue the same; allowing a steady stream to lance forward. He aims for a militiaman in the distance. Behind the mask, the might of the Order, he adjusts his fire. A salvo rips into the ground, blowing out dirt and detritus, and another sears into the man's leg. Their blaster lowers but Booker remains steady, returning to a forward sprint.
"Good shot, Em!" Rhona calls, unable to tell /how/ good it was, but always glad to buoy the troops' spirits. "And nice of you to join us, Hela," she adds, just to tease the eager rookie who got into the fight a little late. "Watch for canister launchers: I've seen one already. Your armor won't slow those flechette clouds down." And neither will anything inside it, though she doesn't say it aloud. The grenade lands, true: The repeater pit goes up in flames right on time, the blast lighting up a whole patch of battlefield as the volatile charge packs in the reserve pile cook off, creating a few secondary explosions. A few startled faces look up from the neighboring launcher pit, the location of the canister launcher Rhona'd seen. She snaps up her weapon and fires once, sending the launcher jockey tumbling to the ground with a scream. The rest dive for cover, and one for the fallen launcher. Rhona follows their example. It won't take them long to get that launcher back into action, and she has a good idea who the first target will be. "Any Delta near my position, watch for a canister launcher pit. I could use a little help, if anyone's got the drop on it..."
His own fighter screaming in alongside Fuze, protectively holding his rear and left position, PX-1221 races low over the trees. He manages to not pick up any foliage to decorate his ship, unlike the newly recruited rookie pilot. Pox glances to the right, giving a cursory glance to ensure that the pilot managed to not go down after clipping the tree. He brings his attention back to the front as they race over the heads of the Stormtroopers below. His eyes quickly find their target, the fighters that are being manned, a few of which are already beginning to move lifting from the ground as their repulsers come on line and ready themselves for launch. As Fuze begins to open fire, Pox quickly follows. The line of fire from his fixed mount blasters race out toward a fighter which is beginning to move below. A line of two such militia fighters trying to make it into the air, Pox concentrates fire on the rear of the two, and manages to hit with enough concentration that the fighter's engines explode in a blaze of flame. As the rear fighter erupts in fire, Pox eases his stick forward and says into his coms, "Got one, I'm after the second one."
As Phasma's wrecking crew closes on the Militia group rushing out toward them, they manage to make short work of the unorganized soldiers. Quite a few of the group immediately before them go down in a heap, though the fellow that Booker shot in the leg lays on the ground screaming. The sound of his anguish manages to somehow cut through the night, even piercing the sound of artillery and blaster fire, the cry echoing out to the Delta troops as they advance past the initial row of buildings and further into the base.
The TIE pilots scramble in accordance with Fuze's commands, several splitting to lay down suppressive fire on the ground troops, making the advance of Stormtroopers a bit easier, others rush toward the anti aircraft machines, even as they turn to concentrate fire on them. The TIEs manage to make short work of two of the four machines before they manage to take down one of the TIEs. Fuze and Pox's group successfully take down 3 of the six fighters, the other three making it to the air in a blur of speed. They split once off the ground, two racing straight up into the air, and one darting away between the gap between two buildings attempting to get away from the pursuing fighters.
The best way to ensure that the enemy is down is to confirm the shot you just took. Hela follows her shot, rushing up on the next target she hit. The militia trooper took her shot lower, which doesn't mean... nope, not dead. HL-3114 detemines this rather quickly as she comes up on her target to see it is still wiggling. It might have a charred gut and a busted leg but the militia man isn't down. Not yet. Hela is not a tall Stormtrooper, in fact she might be the shortest, but she towers over this downed trooper as she levels her rifle on head at pointblank range. "You should have surrendered," she quips as she pulls the trigger again.
Sometimes the shots just aren't perfect. EM-1710's scope finds itself someone who stands out. Giving orders and directing troopers? That's a priority target. Firing off a shot her bolt misses a litle to the left, scorching on the wall nearby as her aim just doesn't quite find the mark. "I've got an officer ahead. No joy on my shot, I'll keep their head down." "Pox, take him. I've got the other two." Fuze's cocky voice echoes on the fighter frequency as her TIE whips into a nauseating (and actually a little sloppy) inverted-G turn and rockets after the two going vertical, Alpha Three barely managing to stay onto her tail. "Alpha Ten, two bogies coming up towards you. I have them." "Alpha Five's down, Alpha Five's down, Jenna's down!" "Copy, we lost Alpha Five. Stay on your targets." "Alpha Seven, stay with Alpha Two! Stay with Pox!" "Shit, where'd they go? I lost visual!"
The radio chatter in the flight is intense, but Fuze's eyes (and targeting computer) are locking on to the rearmost fighter of the two streaking skyward. Then the L-s9.6 laser cannon bolts drift lazily towards the target, destroying the engines a heartbeat later; a moment later and the fightercraft is disintegrating into a fluttering rain of debris, not all of it metal, fragments scattering off Fuze's shields as she flies through the cloud in pursuit of the other fleeing fighter.
Rhona flatterns herself reflexively at the sound of that canister launcher discharging. A stand of tall grass is sheared off only about a foot above the ground behind her. Fierfek, that was close! "Em? Hela? Some help would be a good thing right now," she whispers into the comlink, not ready to risk the noise of a shout. That launcher jockey's got too good of an idea where she is already!
PX-1221 grits his teeth as the fighter he is in pursuit of races off between two buildings instead of the open air. His eyes are alight now, behind the clear shield of his flight helmet, his body tense as he jerks the control arm of his TIE around and zips along between the two larger buildings behind the enemy pilot. The fleeing fighter is good, he's agile, but so is Pox... either that or he is just lucky, as the two ships zing between a narrow gap, only to take a hard bank left to evade the base of a large spot tower. "Shit!" he grunts into his coms as his ship narrowly manages to miss the building. His eyes remain trained on the fighter, angling for a shot, the targeting computer slowly beeping the closer he gets. Finally gaining the shot, he squeezes the trigger, laser cannons firing in quick succession in a spray of red bolts that race out to chase the enemy vessel. The militia pilot attempts to evade the blaster fire, which only pushes him in line with a quickly approaching building which he crashes into. Pox manages to jerk back on the stick of his ship, barely missing the roof of the building himself as he races out across the base.
Of the six enemy fighters, only the one racing vertical above Fuze remains in the air. The ship continues to race straight up, before turning over slowly in the air and racing just as quickly back toward Fuze. The red light of enemy fire dives for her, lighting the nighttime sky far above the battle below as the enemy ship comes straight on in a collision course. The other TIEs have made more progress with the two remaining anti-aircraft machines, both now out of commission.
On the ground, before the steady march of death that is Delta Company, the Militia troops have no choice but to fall back. A full on retreat, the only direction they have to run is to the center of the base. A few linger to fire around corners at the oncoming Stormtroopers, though for the most part, it is a rout with no where to go. Soon, the troopers have the remaining Militiamen encircled, and in a clear position of defeat. "Alright! ALRIGHT! You bastards! You have us! We surrender!" one particularly fat man says in a worried tone, stepping forward with his hands held high.
Looking down at the fat militiaman, Phasma slowly removes her helmet, looking him in the eyes. The blonde smirks and raises her blaster carbine and blasts the man squarely in the chest. "No surrender, no prisoners, remember that, Delta." She calls out as she refastens her helmet over her head.
HL-3114 does not hesitate. Having just shot a wounded man in his wounded face, she puts her rifle to further use as it comes up. She was called for and she responds. She charges at that launcher's position, calling out as she does. "On it!" Why make so much noise and a fuss of herself? Why, to draw attention of course. If she can get that launcher moving, the focus switched to her... then Rhona can do as she needs, thus save them both by taking out that target. Yay teamwork! Not only is that how victories are earned but it's how HL-3114 will survive firing and running at such a thing.
EM-1710 is off to the side when the order comes about the massacre of the surrendered prisoners. Her finger goes to squeeze on the trigger before she lowers her weapon and moves to climb from her sniper perch, her rifle beginning to deactivate with a waning hum. "EM-1710 moving to regroup." There's no challenge in the kill, no need for her skills...perhaps later she'll realize how strange it is to be thinking such a thing. Strangely enough, she might just take long enough to return for the deed to be well and truly done.
Fuze's TIE rockets up. The X-wing rockets down. Laser fire drifts past laser fire, the two pilots apparently playing a deadly game of chicken as they approach at a closing speed of hundreds of miles an hour. Behind Fuze, Alpha Three peels off, the pilot losing his nerve, but Fuze holds hers and her course. "Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!" she screams, her voice echoing in the confines of the cockpit, the scream heard only by her gunner. The X-wing erupts into a ball of flame...and a fraction of a second later Fuze's hands grasp the ejector handle and /pull/. What follows is synchronised by engineers to a delicate dance if seen in slow motion. Det cord blows off the roof of the TIE-fighter a moment before the pyros under their seats ignite, blasting the pilot and her gunner clear of the collision. Still strapped in their seats, they tumble through the frigid air in a sickening dance that spins them clear of the tangled deadly embrace of the two ships. Exactly three seconds later and the ejector seats fall away to the forest below, while two parachutes blossom into white flowers in the night air.
"Pox, Fuze. Wheeeeeehoooo. I'm taking the slow route down. 'preciate a shuttle pickup when you have a moment," crackles the pilot's voice, breathless with the adrenalin rush. A beat later. "I thought the crazy bugger would chicken out. Guess I was wrong.”
The sudden sound of a shout and running footsteps not far away get Rhona's attention. Hela? What's she doing?
It hits her when she sees that launcher jockey lever his weapon into position. Distraction! The Sergeant doesn't let it go to waste, opening fire. A burst of bright red plasma bolts sends the militia trooper down with a howl, and the rest scatter ahead of the advancing lines. Teamwork is good. "Thanks, Hela," Rhona whispers. "We'd better catch up.”
But ahead, the spectacle is grim: Militia surrendering, and being gunned down for their trouble. Her steps faltering at the sickening sight, Rhona slows her pace, lifting her hand to her helmet as if having trouble with her mic. "It looks like Fuze and her gunner are extra-vehicular," she says to Hela. "My radio's wonky. Can you let them know there's room on our boat?"
Pox snorts into his comms as he makes a low sweep over the remaining Milita soldiers that have been herded into a convenient huddle. It is too easy for the TIE pilot as he makes a few tight circles around the huddle, his laser canons firing into the surrendering soldiers without mercy. Screams split the air as he makes his two passes, and then he races off toward where Fuze and her gunner are drifting down through the night air into the trees. "Copy that, Fuze. I am above, keeping an eye out. Will radio for a shuttle to come and collect you.”
HL-3114 has experience being a comm relay. Hela trots on past the launcher pit position to join with Rhona. She looks where Rhona does first though and she, well, she doesn't seem as bothered by it. Not when she has a task to fullfill. She tilts and lowers ther head as she touches her radio, "FZ-4792, standby for escort. Delta has got you." The helmet hides any smirking but it sure *sounds like* she is smirking. "Will rendez vous. We'll get you home, ma'am."
Hela then looks up to Rhona and... nods. "Glad you made it, sir. That and... well, for seeing what I was doing there." Because, well, Rhona acted and she didn't die.
Screams pierce the night sky as the Stormtroopers fire without mercy on the surrendering Militia forces. Even with their hands held high, blasters at their feet, they are still gunned down. Pleading on bent knee earns them no such grace save for a quick death.
Perhaps even more eerie than the screams tearing through the night, is the sudden hush as all sounds of fear and pain are suddenly extinguished and replaced by the soundlessness of the dark night only interrupted by the crackle of fire from the crumbling buildings blown apart earlier by artillery and TIE fire. Soon enough the command comes through comms to sweep the area, clear the base, and then return to base.
Fuze's gaze takes in the burning buildings and wreckage as she drifts down, exchanging a thumbs-up with her gunner. One of the burning pyres is that of the TIE fighter of Alpha Five, JN-8484, callsign Jenna. She didn't have a chance to eject, and Fuze's gaze is sombre. But, memories can wait. "Alpha flight, formate on Alpha Two and return to base. I'll catch you up." And then comes the ground rush, the trees surging up towards her, and Fuze curls up into a ball in her harness, covering her face with her arms. She crashes through the canopy as her parachute settles over the treetops...and finds herself dangling twenty feet up, swinging from side to side. She closes her eyes and sighs, waiting for a pickup by Delta Squad. Swing. Swing. She isn't going to live this one down.
Rhona nods to Hela, acknowledging that Fuze will be taken care of. She lifts her eyes, and her quadnoculars, to the skies.
It only takes a second to locate the falling parafoils on low-light mode, with thermal sensors activated. She has to chuckle, seeing Fuze alight in the local foliage in such a dignity-free way. "Let's go help the flygirl, Hela. Or stick around here, if you'd rather. Fair warning: This'll be grim." Without waiting for an answer, she turns off and strides for the tree line. Time to rescue a pilot!
HL-3114 is not shy to what work needs to be done at the militia base, yet right now what is foremost on her mind is impressing Rhona. "You're the one in charge." Though, she does spare a look over the battlefield to Phasma. Well, relatively. Directtly, for Hela, it is to Rhona that she follows. Literally, as she takes off in a sprint to catch up. Little legs! It just means she has to pump them faster.
