Peter looked at the video streaming from the base’s perimeter cameras. Cameras which were showing a single Dwarf going out to fight a full Pawn octet. He should have had enough forces to defend against an octet. They’d probably lose against Knights or Bishops, and a single Rook would steamroll over them without even noticing. After all, PVNC’s best defense was the fact that it was hidden.

Or at least, supposed to be hidden.

Peter took a deep breath, and shunted all thoughts of Edmund’s betrayal, and the White Witch Queen’s knowledge of their location, to the back of his mind.

He had a battle to manage, or nothing else would matter.

“Tactical to Dwarf six, over.”

“Dwarf six here,” Rogin’s voice came from Peter’s headset.

“What’s your status, six?”

“All systems green, Tactical.”

“Good. You are the only Dwarf on the field, Six. You don’t have the firepower to take on a full octet, so your priority is to protect the infantry.”

“I read you, tactical. Shield the squishies.”

Peter clenched his jaw to stop himself from reacting. Rogin was always borderline disrespectful, but this wasn’t acceptable, even for a Dwarf jockey. But Peter as damned if he’d reprimand the man just as he was preparing to head out and fight against overwhelming odds.

“Dwarf six, deploy! And Rogin?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck out there.”

“That’s, Peter. I can certainly use it.”

Peter went to switch to a different channel, but still caught a few last words from Rogin’s line, his microphone ‘accidently’ left on transmit.

“Half a league, half a league, half a league onwards…”

Still willing to let Rogin’s antics slide, Peter switched channels to talk to the commander of his lone infantry battalion.

***

Rogin stopped reciting the poem as soon as he was sure Peter wasn’t listening any more. The coming battle would require all of his attention, and so Alfred, Lord Tennyson would have to wait. Just like he’d been waiting for the past six hundred plus years. A number that Rogin found somewhat amusing, considering his favorite of the late Baron’s poems.

Getting as much speed as he could from his Dwarf, Rogin broke left as soon as he cleared the base’s access tunnel, intending to put as much space as possible between himself and the squishies.

The first of the Pawns was already visible, and Rogin fired a quick coherent gamma ray blast at the stone giant. It wouldn’t do any damage at this range, but it would grab the Pawn’s attention.

“Come on, you Polgar-forsaken piece of schist. Eyes on the Dwarf!”

Rogin kept running and gunning, keeping one eye on the approaching Pawns and another on his thermometer. He wanted the dwarf to run hot, but not hot enough to reach the reactor’s danger point.

As he got closer to the enemy, their frostpikes started shooting at him. It was still too far for them to reliably hit, but with eight of the things all shooting at his Dwarf, some of them were bound to hit.

Rogin’s thermometer started to dance up and down. Each frost beam causing it to drop, and prompting Rogin to shoot faster. This was the secret to piloting a Dwarf against Chess Pieces. Get your reactor too high, and you risk meltdown. Let the frost beams drop it too low, and you risk shutdown.

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But get it in that sweet spot just below the red line, and you could fight all day long.

Of course, with eight frostpikes firing at him, managing to put out enough heat to stay there wasn’t really sustainable, and he’ll drop below operating temperature fairly soon.

Rogin added his own Frostpike to the gamma ray laser, and watched his thermometer climb a little higher. The Major always got a really sour look whenever she talked about the alien weapon. Something about thermodynamics and entropy and how ‘cold’ wasn’t even a real thing.

Not that Rogin cared. He just enjoyed watching her get a science apoplexy every now and then. Oh, and using the frostpike against Pawns. He definitely enjoyed that part of it.

Not that the frostpike was that effective against them. The damn things were built with intense cold in mind. But they weren’t built was repeated rapid heating and cooling in mind, and Rogin alternated his frostpike with his laser, trying to break down the stone statues.

With the occasional missile thrown in when the opportunity presented itself.

Unfortunately, his thermometer was ticking down faster than the Pawns were breaking down. Which, to be honest, he was expecting to happen. Even with the addition of heavy plasma blasts from the squishies, who had finally joined the battle, Rogin knew he wouldn’t be able to last long enough to take out the Pawns.

And once his Dwarf was frozen, the infantry wouldn’t last even a minute.

“Tactical, this is Dwarf six. How long till the others can join me?”

***

“Tactical, this is Dwarf six. How long till the others can join me?” There was no levity in Rogin’s voice this time. As usual, when he was actively fighting, the pilot was all business.

“At least fifteen minutes before the Dwarf three is online, Six.” Peter answered. “The rest will take longer.”

“Roger that, Tactical. Please be aware that I’m not sure I can last for fifteen minutes.”

“Do your best, Six. I can’t hurry them up any more than that. We’re cutting down on the safety checks as it is.”

“Well, if you have a rabbit in your hat, Tactical, this is a good time to pull it out.”

“I do have one thing, Rogin. But you’re not going to like it.”

Peter switched to a different channel without waiting for a reply, and gave an order he really never expected he would have to give.

***

“You want me to what?” Lance corporal Jonah Perkins looked at his platoon commander, too shocked to stick to proper military protocols.

“We have to keep the Dwarf from freezing, Lance Corporal. And the only sources of heat we have that might do the trick are the plasma guns.”

“So you want me to shoot at our side? Sir, the plasma guns are not bloody space heaters. They’ll melt that thing off!”

“He’s under a constant barrage of frost beams, Perkins. All we’ll be doing is countering those.”

“That’s gonna take some mighty precise shooting, Sir. He’s dodging like crazy, and we’ll need to both hit him, and keep from overheating him.”

“That’s why it’s you who’s going to do it Perkins. And it’s that or let him freeze.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

***

Rogin could feel the Dwarf starting to slow down due to the cold. The hydraulics were the first victims, the fluid growing viscous at sluggish. Now less maneuverable, his Dwarf couldn’t dodge as well as at the beginning of the battle, and he started taking more hits.

More hits meant faster cooling, resulting in a snowball situation that Rogin knew could only end in him being frozen solid.

Suddenly, red lights started flashing all over his cockpit, and his thermometer jumped a solid twenty degrees higher.

“What the frozen hell was that?” Rogin shouted.

“One rabbit, as ordered,” Peter answered over the radio. “I’ve got a plasma cannon tasked with keeping you thawed.”

“And they thing I’m the crazy one? My system really doesn’t like being hit with plasma, Tactical!”

“Would you rather freeze, Rogin? Cause I sure don’t have any other answer for you.”

A quick glance at his control panel told Rogin that the Dwarf took some damage, but was still I a relatively good condition.

“I wish I did, Tactical. But you’re right. This will extend the time I can hold on. At least until I fall apart completely.”

“Keep it up, Six. You’re doing one hell of a job.”

Rogin’s reflexes were enough to drive the Dwarf while he was talking, but he was still better when actually paying attention, and with his surprise behind him, he went back to focusing on the fight.

One of the Pawns was already down to rubble, the rapid heating and cooling cycles overloading its ridiculous durability. Unfortunately, the rest of them were starting to shoot at the infantry, and Rogin would have to take more hits if he wanted to shield them.

Now needing to actively seek out the frost beam instead of trying to dodge them, Rogin needed more and more plasma hits from his allies to counteract the chill. Which was now subjecting his Dwarf to the same rapid heating and cooling cycle he used to shatter the Pawn.

Alarm sounds and flashing red lights filled his cockpit, and Rogin’s reactor shielding was in a neck to neck race with his outer armor as to who would break down first, when a roar loud enough to drown out the alarms blasted over the battlefield, and a huge robotic lion landed between his Dwarf and the enemy Pawns.