Arriving at the entrance, Hugh placed the Mason jar visibly at his feet then put his hands up in the air. “Hello? Anyone home?” the Espian called out. “I'm looking to buy some of this fine moonshine right here, heard you people happen to be making some.”

The response from the Green Knights wasn't long in coming.

Nearly as soon as the echo of Hugh's voice began to fade, a pair of flashlights shined from a hundred meters are so into the mine. Approaching the Espian man at a cautious but deliberate pace, two sentries emerged from the shadows, each with a TK Assault Rifle pointed at Hugh's center mass.

"Keep your hands where we can see 'em," one of the two soldiers ordered, then glanced over to his comrade. "Search him."

While the first soldier kept his weapon trained on Hugh, the second patted him down. The search was quick but thorough, with little regard for privacy.

"No weapons, no explosives, no wire, no tracking devices," the second sentry reported back to the first. "Looks clean to me."

"Better safe than sorry," the first one said, lowering his rifle, and producing a pair of zip-ties from the pockets on his flak jacket. "Let's keep him here for now, til the Sarge gets here."

The sentries tied Hugh's hands behind his back, and radioed the situation in.

A few tense minutes passed as the two soldiers waited, not entirely sure what to do with the intruder. While he didn't seem to pose an immediate threat, a stranger walking up to their front door was hardly something the Green Knights could afford. If one apparently random civilian knew the location of their hideout, how many more had found out? And what might they have to do to keep this newcomer from spreading the knowledge around?

The guards felt a wave of relief when they saw a second team of soldiers advancing up the mine, armed with shotguns rather than rifles. The Buckshot Boys arriving on the scene meant the Sarge wasn't far behind, and whatever hard decision had to be made here, was no longer their responsibility. Indeed, the solid, swaggering frame of Sergeant Dalton was distinct even in silhouette as the muscular old man approached.

"I don't know who you are, son," the Sarge growled, "But you've either got a hollow brain-case, or a pair of Union-Classes swingin' between your legs, to walk up and call out the--"

His eye caught the empty mason jar, and slowly, a grin crept across Dalton's face.

"Then again, maybe you've got the right idea," he said. He turned away and began to saunter back down the mine, motioning for Hugh and the Buckshot Boys to follow him. "I was told you'd like to do some business. Well, let's have us a word with the manager..."

---

"Green Knights, fall in!" The Colonel bellowed, his voice carrying throughout the cavern to announce the beginning of debriefing. Most of the Knights were already present, but the final few trickled in before he began.

"First and foremost," he began, "I'd like to say congratulations on completing the mission. Chief Aadil has informed me that the haul you secured will provide us with enough potable water to sustain us for the next four months, and enough rations to last another two. We've also secured enough ammunition and armor plating to run at least three more sorties, more if you practice good trigger discipline. And the Chief tells me that he's sending out a salvage team tonight to recover parts from the enemy Raven you downed. We're still on a ticking clock, but today's raid has set that clock back a good way."

As he paced, he saw the looks on the Knights' faces. Some of them were harrowed from the experience, others had a look of guilt about them. The mission was indeed a success, but a costly one, as four of the volunteers had been killed by the Crimson Fists' lance leader, the one who called themselves 'Fire Witch.'

"I know it wasn't a clean victory," he began, addressing the unspoken concern. "That's something we'll rarely get to see, if ever. The four we lost were volunteers; they knew the risk of the mission when they stepped forward, and they were willing to risk their lives to make sure the Knights survive. It's on us now to make sure that sacrifice meant something. We'll mourn the dead when we have the luxury of time to do so."

"We had no way of knowing the Crimson Fists had a Longbow in their ranks. That changed the situation drastically, and you had to make do with the new circumstances. Generally, you comported yourselves well....generally."

There was an accusatory silence in the air before the Colonel began again.

"Now, onto the breakdown of what I saw on your BattleROM footage," he continued. "Use of the ECM field proved to be a double-edged sword. While it kept us hidden from the enemy, it also meant we couldn't see them coming until they were right on us. It's also a good bet that the Fists and the Espian Guards will tighten their security and focus on this general area, so it's unlikely that the same trick will work twice. Speaking of not working twice, judging from their tactics, the Crimson Fists seemed to fall for the common blind spot Mechwarriors often have towards conventional combat vehicles, allowing Merry-Go-Round to deal some impressive damage. It's very unlikely that they'll ignore the Von Luckner a second time."

"Ramrod," the Colonel addressed the Lance Leader, "You made the right call in ordering focus-fire on the enemy Raven, and in ordering the general withdrawal after it went down. Had you chosen to fight it out, it's likely you would have dropped the other two light 'Mechs and possibly even brought down the Longbow, but only after it had killed Alley Cat, more trucks from the convoy, and likely yourself. I'm pleased with what I saw out there."

"Giggles, Desperado," he turned, his attention now on the pilots of the Archer and Phoenix Hawk, "drawing the Longbow's fire away from the convoy was a good move, but it's not something I want to see you making a habit out of. The Archer isn't armored for front-line work, and the Phoenix Hawk's survivability relies on not getting hit. We were lucky the Longbow was splitting its fire rather than giving either of you the full volley. Supporting your lancemates is good, just make sure you stay alive to keep supporting them."

"Family Man...." he said, not looking at Rivers as a long silence again filled the chamber, "....we'll talk after debriefing is done."

"Alley Cat," Colonel Wayne moved on, turning to the wounded Raven pilot, "You had the right idea in staying close to the convoy, and in hitting your opposite number with the Narc Beacon. However, next time I--"

"Sir, Colonel Wayne, sir!" the sharp, explosive bark of Sergeant Dalton cut in with the tone he only ever used to speak to his one superior officer, and even then only in urgent situations. "We have an intruder, sir!"

There were murmurs as the Buckshot Boys led the newcomer at gunpoint toward the Mobile HQ. Some began following the soldiers, others drawing weapons themselves. Colonel Wayne held up a hand to call the chaos within the cavern to order.

"Where'd you find him, Sergeant?" he asked Dalton, giving the intruder an appraising look.

"Sir, at the front entrance, sir," the Sergeant answered. "He made his presence known, and put up no resistance, sir."

"Armed?"

"Sir, only with this, sir," Dalton responded, holding up the empty mason jar.

Colonel Wayne inspected the jar of moonshine, saw the Green Knights label on it, and gave a dry chuckle. "Well, at the very least, he's got good taste in drinks. Cut him loose."

The Sarge nodded, and the two soldiers flanking the newcomer quickly cut the zip-ties from behind his back.

"Now then," the Colonel said, the other Green Knights also turning to face the man, "I believe some introductions are in order. Maybe you'd like to start with exactly who you are and how you found us..."

Location:
Abandoned Neodymium Mine
Eunsan Mountain Range
250 Kilometers Southwest of Balya Gora
Date/Time:
March 23rd, 3030
Interactions:
Gawain and The Green Knights
Gear:
His clothing: Boots, long-sleeved shirt, pants, gloves, holstered handgun with 20 rounds

---

A solid thud resounded through the Green Knights temporary base as the Black Pheonix set down the large cargo container as the machine hummed. Dink marks and scratches flowed across Black Pheonix like rain as then the torso area was shown, burns, heavy metal marks, and explosion craters that strewn the machine. As it stood there, it was like a soldier waiting, still yet rumbling right under the skin, waiting for the moment to continue to follow orders.

Tarak was far better off than his machine, he looked more than fine, he left his machine with a deftness that was seen by people coming back from a quick and easy sortie. Yet this was anything but that, people were lost, machines were damaged quite badly, and it wasn't clean. Tarak sighed before he dug too much deeper, he needed to make sure those around were still there. As the cold air hit him, the sweat he accumulated began to cool very quickly, making some of the many layers less than useful, yet it was better than nothing as his skin was not directly in contact with the air, so that was a plus.

Tarak began to adjust his neurohelmet once his feet touched the floor, no matter how comfortable he was to the helmet, it made his body itch like crazy when he got worked up. Tarak normally had great difficulty reaching for some of the more annoying areas, as he seemed to almost began to shift uncomfortably in his own skin. As he made his way to the area where the Orphans had made their own place, Tarak was rushed by multiple people. They came to him seeming almost like starving wolves as they neared him and started battering him with question after question.

"How'd it go?"

"What'd you get?"

"Do we have more food?"

"What happened out there?"

Tarak took his helmet off as he said, "Itchy". As he began to rub his eye violently like he had some kind of allergy that is affecting him as he left to clean himself of the sweat and feeling he has been having. As he entered his area, he had a bucket of water waiting for him and a scrubbing pad that he used violently across his body. As he cleaned his body, he also got rid of the constant feeling he had from his rig. As once he finished cleaning his body, now came the other places that itched, his ear canals. Tarak had to have made do quite often as with the Green Knights being stuck with no supplies, he had no way of cleaning his ears without a little risk. As he would often use a thin metal stick he would use to scratch and swirl around in his ears to hit very specific areas that seemed to almost make Tarak twitch. Once he had finished his after-battle ritual, Tarak slipped into more comfortable clothing before he began to make his way over to the cargo container he had brought with him.

There he grabbed some of the other orphans as he sent them in and took out everything within, what came out was quite the Hodge podge of things. It was many different pieces of tech, items, and one even came out in confusion holding up the dashboard of a vehicle as they yell, "What the hell are these?!" Tarak answered in a calm and concise manner, "Ah those, for music. Leave one there though, it's a gift". Once unloaded it seemed Gawain had finished up with watching the battle data as a yell resounded throughout the cave. Tarak sighed as he made his way over to the meeting area, maybe Gawain wouldn't be very harsh on them.

Tarak was partially right, Gawain seemed to consider what they did well. Tarak knew they were not perfect, but they were working with imperfect information. A Longbow would quite literally be not on their radar, so there were some things there, yet losing people hurts, no matter if they knew the risk, everyone did, yet it still hurt. Then came what each of them did, for Tarak he protected his Lancemen the best he could, but he should also worry about himself, as a dead pilot can protect no one else. Tarak gave a nod of acknowledgment before Gawain continued on and soon a new face came in, an intruder. He seemed decently built and well off, he seemed unarmed yet as Gawain was informed of the situation he knew why the man was he, moonshine. Tarak chuckled slightly as he thought that someone had come all the way out here for that. Tarak looked to the man still inspecting, yet also curious, what kind of man would be here for this, there was no way he didn't know what is happening here.

Reya Wyatt

The return of the Knights had completely changed the atmosphere in the cave. The somberness and defeatism were gone completely and there was sudden, palpable energy among the staff and techs that had stayed behind. The raid had been a morale victory as much as it was a strategic and logistical one. There were a lot of smiles and pats on the back as Reya walked with Sunny, many from people that would have normally been too afraid to engage with some of her moods, but things were different now and she was not accustomed to such direct and genuine praise. She had put her life on the line the same as the Mechwarriors and the ‘Boys at a time when it mattered more than ever. It made her think if that was partly what the Colonel had wanted in sending her out there. A tired smile formed on her face and she couldn’t deny that the connection she felt with everyone had also changed dramatically.

“Children study tactics, men study logistics...” Lieutenant Lyons said with a sharp smirk as they looked over the footage from Reya’s drone. First controlled by Sergeant Dalton and then by Reya, ending with the only access route to Supply Depot F-10 being completely demolished. “...But today it was a woman.” Lyons continued. “Nicely done.” She said. “There’s a lot to unpack here, but it should help us figure out who we’re really dealing with; the Colonel will be pleased..”

“Also, check the manifest for the ammunition truck that survived.” Reya replied. She eyed Sunny about to push one of the many flashing buttons inside the command section of the Mobile HQ and snapped her finger and pointed. The young girl stuck her tongue out back at her, but relented. “They were storing Bryant 120mm rounds for an AC20, which is the same as the Merry-Go-Round...” Reya rubbed a hand over her forehead and brushed away loose strands of hair that had become a proper mess after a day of running, sweating and being trapped inside a piece of military equipment. She suddenly remembered how tired she was and that they still had to get to the formal briefing. “We got really lucky with that, but it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Understood, we’ll check it out. Get some rest and something to eat, you’ve certainly earned it.”

-

Making her way to the debriefing, Reya carefully looked over the rest of the Green Knights battlemechs as she walked. Archie and Black Phoenix looked okay for the most part, same for Raven’s Shadow Hawk, just smashed and scorched armor, but Susser Todd looked considerably worse for wear and Merry-Go-Round had broken suspension. Bizarrely, looking at the varying levels of damage, reminded her of one of her lecture classes back at the Imperial Institute. The concept of Combat Loss Grouping or CLG- that damage would be spread among the entire lance until one unit fell at which point, they would all fall in quick succession. CLG was evident among the Knights and likewise had affected the Crimson Fists, it had only bitten them harder and bitten them first thanks to Ingrid’s order to focus fire. That lecture felt like it was a million years ago, another life entirely. She walked on, but a voice called causing her to stop and turn.

“Miss Reya!” Magnus Licht, one of Ziska’s junior astechs ran up and presented a thermos along with a freshly liberated pack of wafers from the haul. “Brought you some tea, ma’am. Thought you’d probably be exhausted.” He was young, arrogant and interested in moving up the tech ranks as fast as possible. Reya represented a direct path of knowledge for him to ascend; that and the fact that she was considerably easier on the eyes than Ziska’s chief technician, Benidito Davids.

“Thanks…” Reya replied, not really in the mood for the younger man’s ass-kissing after just being nearly blown up, but accepted the items nonetheless. It would save her another stop. “Where’s Ziska? Is she okay?”

“Already at the debrief,” Licht replied. “Doc Yuri had to threaten her with a sedative to get her to sit still. She-”

“Holy shit! It’s a whole pallet of Fiesta Pail!” An excited voice declared among the din of movement around the convoy’s unloading crew. A raucous clamor of voices arose in response and Licht appeared torn on what to do next.

Reya looked past him momentarily at the feverish work already underway at Ziska’s Raven.“If you don’t get back on that mech, Davids will have your ass.” She said flatly.

“Uhh… Right!” Licht stammered. He backed away before turning into a half sprint. “I’ll catch up with you later!”

-

There was an open spot right between Ziska and Tarak and Reya ungracefully plopped down between them, far too tired to care about etiquette. She winced a bit as she examined Ziska’s bandages. “Are you okay?” She was pretty sure she already knew the answer. The newly opened bottle of Tikinov Vodka pretty much indicated Ziska was where she wanted to be, but it felt cold not to ask. The Raven pilot was her last remaining best friend and they had nearly lost her in the same way as Lena.

@Th3King0fChaos
@Abstract Proxy

When the heaping mass of the Merry Go Round finally arrived at the cave entrance, Aroxy didn’t even think about how badly damaged the tank was. His mindset was always “ men first, material second” when it came to losing war material assets. It was a mindset that would have been alien to more merciless commanders but he thought it was a good one, regardless of the headache he caused Takka. When the crew finally parked the venerable Von Luckner in their camp and crawled off the tank, their reactions were less than stellar.

The frontal armor of the Von Luckner had been blown off, charred and chipped flaps of ceramic plates poking out like teeth. The tank was slanted awkwardly to the right, in part due to the fact that they had no more suspension on their right treads. Or any tread for that matter. One of their SRM launchers had been jostled loose by the airstrike, the launcher pointed downwards whilst the paintjob was scorched off and replaced with a sooty aftercare of burnt fuel and tarnished alloy. In short, the tank had been fucked more thoroughly in this one single bout than any other campaign Aroxy had been on.

Takka took his position in loudly communicating the crew’s feelings on the matter by making loud gasps and sobs as he assessed the tank’s condition. “For fuck’s sake, we go off dickin’ round in a civil war and this is the most damage my baby ever suffered,” Takka tenderly touched the outer hull of the Von Luckner, scratched, burnt and generally damaged beyond general recognition. The young mechanic seemed to flinch in horror as though he was watching his pet dog being disemboweled before him.

Meanwhile, the rest of his crew were behind him, in disbelief at his hysterics. Aroxy eventually whistled to catch Takka’s attention, tired already of his gunner’s antics.

“ So, how bad’s the damage?”

“ BAD?” Takka gave a mock laugh before throwing a wrench down at Aroxy’s feet in frustration. “ Well, most of our frontal plating will have to be removed. We’ll have to get new treads for our right wheel alongside a new suspension. Do we even have a loader or a jack to lift up 50 tonnes because I know we don’t! God knows how long it’s going to repaint everything because hey, it was time she needed new skin, right, Cap?!”

Eyebrows were raised along the other members of the crew as Takka panted raggedly in front of his commander. He then swallowed the dribble that he spat during his incoherent rant and then, calmly spoke again.

“ But yeah, it’s fixable.”

“ Good to know.” Aroxy nodded before turning to the other two members of the crew behind him. “ Now, Helma and Ansel. Coordinate to get what we need to fill Merry Go Round up again before 1800, am I clear?”

“ Sir, yes, sir!”

“ Oh-,” Takka shouted out to the pair. “ Can you seen if you can scavenge something to replace all our ablative? Maybe, we could take apart one of our light mechs like the Raven - “

“ Belay that order, privates! I said, BELAY THAT ORDER!”

”...aaaaand look at the time, it looks like the ambush will have to wait until after the debriefing.” She silenced the buzzer which was almost immediately drowned out by protests.
“What?”
“Noo!”
“You can’t leave us hanging with a Longbow cresting the hill and a Raven negating Miss Ziska’s jamming!”
”Patience, guys. I’m not doing 200 pushups because I was debriefing the next generation of Green Knights.“ The looks in their eyes left her with no doubt that they thought that was a pretty good deal, ”I know: How about you take the time to think about what you would have done if you had been there instead of one of us and we’ll compare against what really happened when the briefing’s over?” That had always worked on her when she was that age and badgering her mother for the latest war stories. ”Best answer gets the candy bar from my next ration pack.” She added on her way out for better effect.

---

Marit nodded at the critique, in full agreement and having expected worse. Although Archers were fairly well armored, the Colonel was right in a way - just because you could didn’t mean you should. Not if she could help it anyway. She didn’t expect they’d try to salvage the Raven though, despite the benefits. They might even go back for the container she abandoned. ”Will there be a sortie to escort the salvage crew?” She asked when the opportunity arose. Not that she was volunteering, but if it had to be done, it had to be done, and surely there was no way the Ostroc or the Raven would be ready that quickly. ‘And it’s free time in the cockpit.’ The pragmatic part of her brain chided its lazy counterpart. After all, if they could attempt to go get it, why wouldn’t the bad guys? Especially since they’d also be looking for their pilot in that area. At least she assumed, she didn’t know enough to decide if they were the type of people to leave the poor bastard to figure out a way home by himself.

As Hugh was led in, an amused grin slowly grew on her face before transitioning into barely stifled laughter as Dalton held up the mason jar. ”Booze really is the mortar that binds humanity together, isn’t it?” She whispered to whoever was standing next to her, ”Think he followed our tracks?”

Shortly before the debriefing proper…

_{Collaboration with @Pilatus and @Th3King0fChaos}

"Never been better," Ziska said, sliding closer to Reya, and making a poor attempt at whispering, "Don’t listen to Doctor Yuri, she’s just looking for an excuse to confine me to my quarters, elegant as they are."

"How is it that you are still sober? You survived your first sortie! That deserves a drink. Here! Drink!" Ziska exclaimed, putting an arm around Reya's shoulder and pushing the bottle of Tikinov vodka into her hand. "Drink!"

A drink to celebrate her first sortie did sound like a good idea, but before she could take the thought any further, Ziska was forcing the bottle at her yet again. "Ziska! Oh my God!" She pushed the bottle away as fervently as it was offered. She knew how uppity she suddenly sounded and that the Mechwarrior had a certain talent in bringing out her more pretentious tones. She began to brush against Tarak as she fought with Ziska over the bottle like two children. The smell of whatever Dr. Yuri had applied to her wounds, the bandages and hard alcohol were revolting. "Get that away from me!" She protested. "The meeting is about to start, you’re gonna piss off the Colonel!"

"Lady Wyatt! You can’t refuse the celebratory drink offered by your most esteemed and wonderful colleague. If you don’t drink, then I will have to insist, and not even the Colonel will silence my protests," Ziska said, her voice sounding suddenly all Davion aristocrat instead of the rough, sharp Periphery dialect of a professional guttersnipe.

Tarak watched and laughed as Ziska almost played with Reya, offering a drink right before briefing was unprofessional, however the Colonel would never know if you didn’t yell too loud. Tarak lightly rocked Reya as she was near him as he said, "Come on, you lived through a tough one. Taking one sip won’t hurt’cha". Tarak looked to Reya with a big smile as he said it.

Seeing Tarak’s goofy smile again reminded her of his equally goofy mix-tape approach and quickly gave her another idea. She accepted the bottle from the Canopian guttersnipe, but instead of drinking it, put it in Tarak’s hand. "Then you drink it." She said with a sly smirk, arching one eyebrow back at him, like she had just handed him a live grenade.

"Oh ho~" left Tarak’s lips as Reya tried to get him to take a drink. Tarak stayed smiling as he said, "You learned something? That’s a surprise". Tarak said with just a bit of a chuckle as he ever so lightly kept it between his hand and Reya’s.

Ziska rolled her eyes, "I hear much talking, but observe a distinct lack of drinking. Need I remind you two that we are on a tight schedule here. The Colonel will no doubt soon deliver a wonderfully cheerful briefing and you risk leaving me alone in my celebrations. Let us barter. If you drink, I may perhaps be inclined to tell you where I hid Reya’s good table linens. Perhaps it slipped my mind in the haste of the moment, but I was able to secure them during our storied flight into these mountains."

"Lies, you can scantily find your way to your mech without me showing you." Reya said, holding her nose just slightly higher as she relaxed into her seat and let the bottle go, leaving it in Tarak’s hand. She had already accomplished what she wanted in disarming Ziska of her booze. "I was in the cockpit without you even knowing." She crossed her legs and took a sip of the tea that Ziska’s very own astech had given her. It was poorly made. Too hot, steeped too long and with too little water- a total crime, but in the cold air of the cave was just good enough. "Maybe Davids will figure out what else I did to it?" She said nonchalantly with a shrug. "Maybe not?"

She glanced back at Tarak examining his boots, pants and the rest of his ensemble briefly before speaking: "I’ve got to do some work on Black Phoenix first, but I’ll make my way back over by the time your techs are ready."

Tarak sighed as he took the bottle in his hand and set it on the table as Reya spoke what seemed to be about work. "Work already? Dang, can’t catch a break can ya?" Tarak said with a chuckle as leaned back into the seat and adjusted himself.[done]

"Argh, what bores the two of you are!" Ziska said, managing an ungainly stumble as she rose to her feet, grabbing her still heavy bottle of Tikinov vodka. Twirling and offing a mock bow, she tilted her head backwards, taking several long pulls of the burning liquid. Sitting down on top of the nearby table with her bottle still in hand, facing her two colleagues Ziska shot a mischievous smirk at Reya. "You know, I’m beginning to think that you are really the troublemaker in this esteemed company. Hiding advanced technology in innocent MechWarriors BattleMechs? Why Miss Wyatt, what will you do next?"

"Do you think I’m a troublemaker, Tarak?"

Tarak heard the almost key phrase that will put him on thin ice, a question that seems innocuous enough, however it felt as if the air cooled when the question was asked. However, like any good Mechwarrior, he kept his cool as he said with a quick rational thought, "You a troublemaker? Naw. Does trouble seem to find you? Maybe". Tarak chuckled as he said with a calm wave of the hands, "But that’s all of us, if trouble didn’t follow we wouldn’t have jobs nor would we be where we are. But causing trouble that ain’t nobody but Ziska and some of the crew". Tarak said as he lightly reached out to the bottle in Ziska’s hand.

Handing Tarak the bottle with a nod, Ziska smiled, "And here I thought we were friends, Tarak. I can’t believe that you would imply that I cause even the smallest amount of trouble. I am nothing more than the unfortunate victim of circumstance and the unfortunately common prejudice leveled at ComStar acolytes and citizens of the Periphery in equal measure."

Tarak laughed as he took the bottle and said, "We are friends, however you have caused enough mischief and headaches for our dear leader that I think our contracts have a few new clauses and I thought I heard the Colonel refer to you as ‘Trouble’ when we first took this job". Tarak took a swig from the bottle and handed it back to Ziska as a "Phew" left his mouth.

"I always enjoy when she calls me ‘Miss Wyatt’." Reya said with some satisfaction. Tired as she was, for a few moments she had felt like her old self, particularly as Tarak carefully tiptoed around the response to her question- An observation she enjoyed immensely. However, as the debrief got underway, she was quickly reminded of her other self; the one that had walked off the APC. The one that had just survived a combat mission and the one who was presently the caretaker of a small child. Her smile faded as the Colonel continued.

---

Listening lazily to the debriefing, Ziska found her chair strangely uncomfortable, and her displeasure at having to sit still for more than five minutes was only mollified by the Colonel's interrupted description of her performance. Right idea was good enough and she filed the comment away under the header another job done right. She almost hoped the Crimson Fist pilot had survived. She needed someone to gloat at. Doubtlessly it had not been a pleasant ejection. Straight into the heart of the storm.

The arrival of the fresh stranger and his empty mason jar of moonshine perked Ziska up, and she smiled listening to banter that followed.

"A tragedy indeed, to fight a war without further spirits," Ziska said, offering a toast with her bottle towards the stranger. "But you might find our price too high for your liking."

What Ingrid heard was praise. Outside of some intentional decisions to engage in honorable dueling, had she ever been truly on the Colonel's bad side? There were failures, as even the greats of the Inner Sphere experienced, but it didn't often come to a scalding after-mission dress down. She was, at her worst, competent but headstrong. A tempestuous person who usually knew better than to let those chivalric impulses influence every possible decision.

It still felt off. Maybe it was that little remark that she had trouble hearing as anything but a barb; you would have dropped that Jenner if you attempted to.

Everything that he said about her felt like it was meant to be positive, but she couldn't help but read it as the least charitable interpretation. Ingrid's eyes kept staring forward as she was debriefed, her face taut and her posture tauter, and she ended it with a quiet "Thank you, sir."

The rest of them did a well-enough job, minus the...concerning lack of control on the part of Mechwarrior Rivers; if it wasn't the Colonel's prerogative she'd also prepare a few remarks on trying to act like a human instead of an animal...and she gave them terse nods in turn as the Colonel finished speaking with them. Regardless of her own doubt, she didn't want it to leak out to the people she temporarily stood above.

She could've solved her issues with some of the alcohol so graciously donated by some backwater hick with more curiosity than common sense, but all the same, an intruder was also a good distraction.

The first introduction the newcomer received to the House Daschke style of hospitality was a sword. She was standing behind the rest of these armed men and women, having watched with cool regard as he was relieved of his moonshine, but the curved sword she had at her side only came out after he was mercifully cut free. Even if he was now their guest instead of just a mere intruder, that short lady in the back sure seemed as if she was looking for reasons to use that sword.

If only because she was standing next to him at the time, Tarak heard a brief mutter: "I was hoping we'd keep ourselves secret...if he returns, he'll tell his whole village of the cave-people with a fresh load of supplies..."

@Th3King0fChaos

If it were in any other place, surrounded by a different set of strangers, it could be said that Hugh had just “done fucked.” Yet somehow, it didn't feel that way. Could be because he was no stranger to roughing it for as long as it took in musty, out-of-the-way places like this. Or because despite being more than capable of ending him right then and there, this motley group of offworlders gave off unassuming, down-to-earth vibes. Including that rough yet handsome woman who he took for a seasoned veteran, as she was quite relaxed like a cat about to pounce on its prey even as she toasted him.

He'd have toasted her back too, if only he had a drink in hand. But more importantly, if the boss-man and his crew weren't staring him down right at that moment, eager for answers.

The Lumberjack pilot was more than happy to oblige. After apologizing for “moseying on in” uninvited, Hugh told the chief and everyone present his full name and how nobody refers to him by that anymore, and then his callsign which doubled as his new proper name (“it's a long story”). He saw that he piqued their curiosity at the mere mention of the word “callsign,” and so he told them that he was part of a citizens' cell of guerillas opposed to both the old corrupt regime and now the current brutal one – with special emphasis on the word was – and that he was perfectly fine drawing away fire for his erstwhile brothers-in-arms in his souped-up IndustrialMech until he found out that the “old college friend” he grudgingly took orders from had plans to sell him out for political gain.

“And just like that, I up and left,” Hugh said as he accepted a glass of water, which he gulped down greedily. “Ah, that sure hit the spot, thanks much. Just so you know, I don't really mind getting shot to shit by small arms fire and missiles and such if it's for the sake of friends, but I won't ever abide being set up as a sacrificial lamb just for a fucking leg up. But I digress. I know what y'all are really wondering right now – it's how I found this here place, isn't it? More like how I found the red bastards, actually. Those cocky pricks must be feeling invincible that lately they've been getting sloppy, and I'm sure y'all here would agree. Just followed them on foot, reckoned it wouldn't occur to them that some rando in the bushes was watching them from a safe distance at every turn. Reckoned you might show up to kick their asses, too. Goes without saying I was right on both counts.” He grinned. “Then I followed you right back here the same way I followed them. Not that hard really if you do it the old-fashioned way, like hide your 'Mech in the woods and go it alone on foot, but yeah, I understand it's also a very stupid way of going about it since either you or they could've easily squashed a suspicious stranger like little ol' me like some bug.”

Hugh's gift of gab took with the mercenaries as far as suspicious yet well-meaning strangers could be taken – that is, with the glaring exception of one. He could see that the foreigner wasn't that much older than he was, younger than the boss-man even, but already his dark hair was turning grey in places and his face was creased with so much worry and disquiet. Perhaps not a little distrust and anger too, from the way the mercenary kept looking at him. He could tell that the man wasn't from here, from light years away even, but clearly something was eating him anyway. Right now Hugh might be as free and unmolested, comfy too, as someone taken into custody could be, but he wasn't out of the woods just yet.

Raven Rivers

Raven looked at Hugh and said, "You were a member of the Free People's Army? If so, tell us of their capabilities - What you know of them at any rate. As it is, what you've said about them is worrying; right now, most of us are thinking of a future alliance with the Cappellan Governor's remnant administration but I have a marked preference for the actual people of the planet... A preference which might end depending on what you tell us about them."

His eyes glinted as he said, "My wife and my son are in Tie Shan Prison, probably being tortured and abused in horrific ways no civilian should suffer through right now. We know full well that they might even be killed if the current regime wants to make an example of them. If the Free People's Army does not want to help us save them, or is capable of being of help doing so, then consider us enemies."

Then Raven shifted tack and followed up with, "But if your former comrades have a smidgen of the audacity, gumption, and actual skill you showed us, then not only do you have a chance at life, but your people, the people of Espia, might find themselves worthy of a new partner in their goals; if the Colonel can be convinced of their bravery and intelligence." His current frown shifted into a wry half-smile as he continued, "So tell me, what do you know of the movement beyond your cell and where in the city of Yuhzny Portveyn do your fellow rebels meet? Can your 'Free People's Army' us the respite they've been given to take the entire city in a week or otherwise prove themselves the strongest potential partner? And finally, do you know anything about Tie Shan Prison beyond its reputation?"

His eyes glinted again as he continued, "My wife will try to protect my son, but the latter is sixteen and fancies himself precocious. He'll probably do something foolish like mouth off to the guards or plan an escape on his own and end up getting tortured and shot in the back of the head for his trouble. The enemy was willing to murder our children while storming our compound to intimidate the rest into surrender. They have no compassion for our civilian contingent and yet still call themselves 'the good guys'. They treat us like the villains of the piece when they keep women and children in a dungeon to be used as their toys or even worse and break them in abominable ways that would disgust most decent folk."

A touch of desperation was entering Raven Rivers' voice, "And it's not just my wife and son. They also have the Colonel's... 'best friend' and our other other loved ones, now sharing some space with various dissidents from your own folk. Every little you can tell us about our potential allies or enemies helps in getting them back - All of them back. You get me?"

@Waylon

"That's quite enough, Mechwarrior, rein it in," Colonel Wayne stated with a hard edge in his voice. "Once we're done here, we're going to need to spend some time reviewing the finer points of operational security. Furthermore, if our new friend here is telling the truth, then he was a grunt who probably wasn't informed of any sort of high-level intel regarding the FPA. If he's not telling the truth, then it stands to reason that anything else he tells us will be false."

The Colonel was already concerned about Rivers' stability after seeing the playback of his outburst in combat. By comparison, this breach of etiquette might be considered minor....if 'Hugh' here was in fact on the level. If the intruder was a spy, however, he had just handed him information that, in the wrong hands, could be used as leverage against the Green Knights.

"Now then...." Gaius said, appraising the newcomer, "You walk alone, with no weapons, no wires, no bugs, no communications equipment with the outside world, into a cave full of heavily armed and desperate mercenaries. And you tell us a story that sounds like you're trying to convince us you once caught a fish 'this big.' Which leads me to believe one of two possibilities. Either you're the worst spy I've ever seen....or you're telling the truth."

He'd of course only ever seen one actual spy, a mole who had been leaking information to the DCMS during action in the Draconis March. Her story had been airtight, her alibis flawless. Ultimately, that was what had exposed her: her stories were too perfect, too close to what the Davion officers had wanted to hear. All it took was the right amount of cynicism and paranoia to blow her cover, but by then, she had lured three 'Mech companies to their deaths.

Hugh's story, by comparison, was ridiculous, but still carried the scent of telling the Colonel what he wanted to hear. A former FPA officer willing to lend his services, someone who had the lay of the land in a way that the Espian Guards and the Crimson Fists could never hope to match, and even had his own 'Mech...even if was only a converted IndustrialMech. If this man really was who he said he was, he could prove a valuable asset to the Green Knights. If not, he could bring down disaster on them.

"You've given me a tough call to make, Hugh," the Colonel admitted. "I'm responsible for the lives of every man, woman, and child who came to Espia on my ships, both those here in the cave, and the ones we intend to get back. If I take a gamble on you and you turn out to be a mole, then I've signed their death warrants. Probably the most practical solution to this problem would be to have Sergeant Dalton lead you further down into the mine and put two rounds in the back of your head. If I do that, though, and you really are telling the truth, then all I've done is murder an honest man looking to help. The smart call, maybe, but not necessarily the right one."

He paced back and forth for a moment, considering all of his options, before he spoke again.

"Here's my decision," he declared. "I'm going to consider myself cautiously optimistic in your case, with an emphasis on cautious. We can't risk you revealing our location to the outside world, so you're staying with us. Sergeant Dalton? Until I say otherwise, I want no fewer than two sets of eyes on him at all times."

"Sir, consider it done, sir," the large imposing soldier said, his voice and his glare intoning that he would suffer no nonsense.

"And that goes both ways, Sergeant," the Colonel added. "Your boys make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, but also make sure nobody tries to do anything stupid to him."

The Sergeant nodded, no change in his icy demeanor.

"Now, the good news? We're not pirates, and you're not being Shanghaied," he continued. "When operations are concluded, you'll be free to go, or to sign on for the long haul. You do your fair share of the work? You'll get your fair share of the pay. The more valuable you make yourself, the more value you'll get once the job is done. I'm not just taking a leap of faith here, Hugh- I'm making an investment. And if I get a return on my investment, we'll all get along just fine."

Taking a step closer, Gaius looked him squarely in the eye.

"But make no mistake: if I get so much as a funny feeling that you intend to betray or harm the people under my command, I will not hesitate to kill you myself. Is that clear?"

Not waiting for a response, he turned to the rest of the Green Knights.

"As for the rest of you," he addressed his Mechwarriors, "you've all had a long day, and we've got good reason to celebrate tonight. And I'm happy to report that one of the supply crates included recreational materials for the Espian Guards. Music, holovids, even a few cases of beer. Tomorrow, we repair our 'Mechs, we refill our ammo bins, and we get ready for the next sortie. But tonight? I think you've earned a few hours of fun. Green Knights, dismissed!"

"People of Espia, our final victory is at hand!"

Raising his hand, Grand General Nikolai Malenkov cut a striking figure as he took center stage before the capital building of Balya Gora. The city square was choked with throngs of people, cheering rabidly at the General's pronouncement. Many of those cheers were indeed genuine, the people caught up in a wave of patriotic mania, a fervor and pride in their new fearless leaders that they never had for the feckless Governor Xiu or the forever-absent Capellans. Many others cheered because the heavily armed soldiers wearing Espian Guard uniforms would have them dragged away to Fort Tie Shan if they were suspected of being dissidents.

Espia had changed quickly in the week since Governor Xiu was overthrown. After the shocking hammer-blow of the initial coup, Grand General Malenkov became the face of the New People's Democratic Republic of Espia, a charismatic leader and powerful figure who commanded the attention of millions just as well as he commanded his legions of troops. Premier Hyeung-Woo Federov was technically the actual head of state, but most considered him a mere functionary, a paper-pusher who took care of the less exciting parts of establishing a new nation. Malenkov, though, was a conqueror and liberator, an inspiring hero and a terrifying warlord. He had led the charge in toppling Governor Xiu and the old guard, and had spent every day since holding show trials, struggle sessions, and public executions of anyone deemed an enemy of the people.

The people of Espia either loved him or saw him in their nightmares, and those two lines of thought were not mutually exclusive.

"As you have no doubt heard," the Grand General stated, "The proud men and women of the Espian Guard have broken through the lines of the last miserable holdouts of Governor Xiu's regime. As we speak, the 3rd Armored Division-- the People's Hammer!-- is ready to strike at the heart of the enemy. Xiu and his few remaining cronies hide behind human shields in the city of Yuzhny Portveyn, poisoning the minds of the honest citizens so that they may become radicals and insurgents. I say this now to our brothers and sisters in the south: fear not! The People's Hammer will strike the decisive blow that brings an end to this fighting once and for all!"

A cheer erupted, many in the crowd professing their love and devotion for the Grand General with a zeal that bordered on religious. Somewhere in the sea of humanity, a young man raised a glass bottle and prepared to throw it, but before Malenkov's soldiers could move in to stop him, the man was struck in the back of the head by another man in the crowd, then dragged down by three more. These men began to kick and stomp at the young man, and others joined to keep him down. The young man did not get back up.

"I solemnly vow," Malenkov bellowed, his hand to his heart, "That before this week is out, Governor Xiu will be brought here, before you, the people, to answer for his crimes! The radical terrorists who call themselves the 'Free People's Army' will be dragged through these very streets, so that they may see the true will of the Espian people! And as for Xiu's murderous sell-sword mercenaries, Gawain's Green Knights? Their cowardly attack on our supply convoy will be answered a hundred fold! The righteous fury of the Espian Guard, and the unstoppable power of the Crimson Fists, together will--"

"That's enough. Off, please."

Premier Hyeung-Woo Federov frowned as the image of the bold and bombastic Grand General flickered out, the holo-vid projector in the center of the conference table cutting off Malenkov's latest performance.



"A ridiculous man," the Premier muttered, "But the people love him and fear him well enough. Now, then, I suggest we get down to business."

Federov was the exact opposite of his 'Grand General,' a mild-mannered middle-aged man who always looked disheveled. A few strands of stringy black hair tried in vain to cover his balding head, and despite his uniform being tailor-made, it never seemed to fit him. Just a few weeks ago, he was a nobody in the Espian Senate, a middle-ranking politico who worked mostly as a go-between with the Office of Central Planning and the military. When the Capellan Confederation abandoned Espia, he had used his connections in the army and his knowledge of the inner workings of government to install himself as the new head of state.

Malenkov could posture for the cameras and chase down dissidents. Federov was interested in actually getting things done.

"Minister Fonua," he began, opening a large binder stuffed with notes and charts, "The current economic downturn will be abated once the remaining board members of the Aqua Vita Corporation turn over their assets for public use. As of now, CEO Martin Khan and Chairperson Natalya Krenkov have declared their allegiance to our administration, but have yet to surrender their assets. At least five board members, including Executive Vice President Ben Kahale, are currently in Yuzhny Portveyn with Governor Xiu. The remaining board members --including Cassandra Jeong, whose family fortune totals nearly one billion C-bills-- have chosen to remain silent. Your team was supposed to have liquidated their assets this past week. I assume there is a reason for the delay?"

"Ah, well, sir," the Minister of Finance stammered, "The Aqua Vita Corporation has threatened to cut off water supplies to the Espian Guard if we attempt to use force against them. Until the fighting in the south is done and we are free to, ah, negotiate more aggressively, they have chosen to simply, ah, ignore our requests."



"A ridiculous thing, asking for what is rightfully ours," scoffed Grigori Ilyanovich, the Minister of Justice and commander of the NPDRE's secret police. "I will send my men to these board members. Once we speak to them, they will either turn their fortunes to the state, or they will find their new residence in Fort Tie Shan. We will have no more need for these 'negotiations.'"

"Can you do it without provoking a response from the corporation?" Federov asked. As much as they would like to believe their hold on the planet was absolute, as long as the Aqua Vita Corporation held control over the massive desalination platforms that provided the planet's only drinkable water, they had leverage over the NPDRE.

Ilyanovich's scowl became a condescending sneer. "I was trained in my field by the Maskirovka. I know how to get results, sir."

"Then get it done," the Premier ordered. Federov loathed Ilyanovich, but he had to admit the man had proven effective in removing potential political threats. "Now then, onto the matter of Yuzhny Portveyn. The Third Armored Division is facing a supply shortage right before the big push, thanks to the Green Knights. General Kwan, I want to increase the number of preliminary air strikes before the fighting on the ground begins. The Third is now going to be running low on ammo and fuel, so the more you can soften up the enemy before they enter the city, the better. Will the current squadrons be satisfactory to get the job done?"



"Yes, sir," answered General Frederick Kwan, commander of the Espian Guard's air wings. "Many of our Meteor Heavy Fighters were damaged in the coup, but repairs are nearly complete. We'll have twenty-two of them ready to bombard the enemy's defenses within seventy-two hours. Civilian casualties will be within acceptable levels, no more than ten to fifteen percent."

"Ten to fifteen percent of the entire city?" Federov raised an eyebrow.

"To avoid enemy flak, we must drop our bombs from high altitude, which leaves little room for accuracy," Kwan explained. "Therefore, we must adopt a policy of 'accuracy by volume.' At any rate, the city is currently an enemy stronghold, so anyone who has chosen not to evacuate by now must be considered an enemy combatant."

The Premier nodded. Kwan had the logic of a true zealot, believing quite simply that anyone not with them must surely be against them.

"If I may make a request," Kwan continued, "the FPA fighters in Yuzhny Portveyn have surface-to-air missiles that may threaten conventional atmospheric bombers, but should pose little threat to a hypersonic aerospace craft. If we were to use our latest 'care package' from our Benefactor, we could--"

"No," Federov interrupted. "Once the Shilone and the Mech Busters are assembled and armed, they remain in the north, patrolling on high alert until the Green Knights are found."

"But sir," Kwan protested, "if we devote our best weaponry to chasing down those mercenaries, we risk losing the real war!"

"On the contrary," boomed a deep, electronically-altered voice as three figures entered the room as if on cue. "The real war is with the Green Knights. And that is a war we fully intend to win."

Striding into the room like royalty at a grand gala, three figures drew the attention of the Premier and his inner circle. Their faces concealed by masks, each looked like the villain in some grand opera.

These were the three lance leaders of the Crimson Fists, the enigmatic Mechwarriors who had helped Federov and the Espian Guards pull off their coup.



"Your fighters will do well to help us find the Green Knights, Kwan," said the figure on the left, a woman with a scarred face and a burning hatred in her eyes. "But I will have their blood myself."

The woman was known only as the "Fire Witch," the pilot of a massive Longbow. She had earned her name several times over in the coup, directing hellish missile fire over the battlefield against Xiu's loyalists and in the surprise attack against the Green Knights. While she had led a lance of light 'Mechs on her last patrol, in proper battle the Fire Witch had other long-range missile 'Mechs to turn any landscape into a raging firestorm.



"Oh-ho-hooo," teased the masked man on the right, "Methinks the Fire Witch is still smoldering. And what would be burning at you so, hmmm? Perhaps we should ask your Raven pilot what he- whoops, I forgot, he went up in smoke, hee-hee!"

The giggling man in the skull mask went by the name "Yellow Jester," and most of the Espian Guard avoided his lance like the plague whenever possible. His 'pranks' tended to be fatal to enemies and supposed allies alike, to say nothing of the civilians that got caught in the line of fire.

"Quiet, Jester!" the Fire Witch snarled, "I'll have them all in flames before this fight is done."

"Or will they have you in ashes, hmm?"



"Enough, the both of you," ordered the man in the center. Wearing a crisp military uniform draped with a deep red cape, the figure's head was encased inside a golden gladiator mask, complete with a red crest. This, then, was the commander of the Fists themselves, the man they called 'The Crimson King.' "Apologies for the crudeness of my companions, Premier. The Fire Witch still has her blood up from her encounter with the Green Knights, and the Yellow Jester can never resist an opportunity to pick fun."

The Premier regarded the three with equal parts fascination, incredulousness, and horror. The Crimson Fists played the parts of theatrical arch-villains, the type of bad-guy-of-the-week that wouldn't be out of place in an episode of Immortal Warrior. It would be laughable, if their actions on the battlefield weren't so terrifying.

"Yes, well," Federov stated, trying to keep his composure in the face of these over-the-top characters, "the supply raid the Green Knights carried out has cost us significantly. Loss of men and materiel, of course, and our timetables have been pushed back several days in a crucial moment! Your 'Fire Witch' was meant to intercept them, and instead of destroying the Knights, you lost one 'Mech and have two more in the repair bay. I...I must ask what you plan to do in the wake of this failure to--"

"Failure?" The Crimson King interrupted. "My dear Hyeung-Woo, this was a setback, but we have gained just as much as we may have lost, if not more. A week ago, our forces were stretched across the entire continent in search of Gawain's Green Knights. Now, they have made their presence known, and our search narrows to a small area. My whole company can now focus on the relative few places where they may have gone to ground. By coming out into the open, they have only tightened the noose around their own necks. I would suggest that information is quite an equitable trade for a single 'Mech and a handful of tanks."

The Crimson King reached into the pocket of his coat, and pulled out a small digital sound recorder.

"There is also the wonderful gift one of the Green Knights gave us," he said. "In the heat of battle, a message was broadcast over open comms. A message that we recorded on our BattleROM data."

He clicked the play button on the recorder, and the voice of one of the Green Knights' Mechwarriors played.

"Hahahahaha! If you guys want to be psychopaths and sociopaths, I will oblige! I will kill you all! All!"

A tinny, eerie giggle rose in the room as the Yellow Jester began to laugh.

"I trust then," said the Crimson King as he handed the Jester the recorder, "That you have been inspired to craft some new jape, my friend?"

"Ohhhh, heee-hee, I have a merry jest in mind, my king," the Yellow Jester responded, "a very merry jest indeed. But I will need a few things, if I may ask."

"And what would those be?"

"A few mere trifles, really," said the Jester. "Just my Lance of Battlemechs, the directions to the nearest undefended civilian population center, and a few tons of Inferno warheads. Oh! And of course, a few fresh coats of green paint..."

Reya & Ingrid

Her sense of timing was disjointed, day and night crossed together inside the cave and it was ironically not unlike being in a jumpship. A sensation she had not known for some time. In the same way, the Knights had taken to “simulating” evening and day with the floodlights to keep everyone on some form of the same schedule. Though at times, on rare occasions when the weather outside was good, there was some sunlight visible through the rocky crevasses in a few places, but it was still an unnatural feeling. In the days that followed the raid there was so much work to do in repairs, refit and inventory, that it was easy not to think about it, but the unbalanced feeling was always present. As short as they were on technicians, her extra hands and eye for details had helped Sol’s operations considerably. The mechs were running ahead of schedule in repairs. However, she was tired, being the only person that went on the mission and then actively participated in the resulting service. About the only saving grace was the blessed shower. During the raid, when she had gone over all the loading manifests, it was the medical truck, she noticed, that included provisioning for a full mobile field hospital and also a small desalination unit with showers. Additionally, with the portable fusion reactor, it could be plumbed and properly hot. Thinking about it made her heart soar. She could take as many as she wanted and anyone caught peeping would face an involuntary scrapyard match with Sergeant Dalton.

Sitting on the back of the Von Luckner, legs crossed, head resting in one hand, she didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic at a glance. The scene in front of her was not unlike what she had worked out for Ziska’s Raven, only bigger. There were more screens, more cables and a hydra of connections that stretched up onto Ingrid’s machine. Her free hand tapped rapidly on a mobile console unfolded like a suitcase while her eyes briefly scanned the other displays. Some distance behind her the portable reactor hummed along happily and momentarily she grabbed a wad of her hair and smelled it, taking in a long pleasant breath of what remained of her coffee scented shampoo and searching for the ever encroaching aroma of grease, exhaust and sweat. If she could just get a music player of some kind, that wasn’t Pops’ makeshift guitar, a modicum of civility might be restored to La Casa Cueva as she had taken to naming it, to herself. She checked her watch. Still some ungodly hour by any normal standards and most everyone on the “day shift” was sleeping best they could. Ingrid’s dedicated tech crew were long turned in for the night after having helped Reya fit four brand new Holly SRMs into Susser Todd’s main launcher which was the current source of her frustration.

The missile diameter was the same, thankfully, but the Holly’s were shorter and lighter. The firewall had to be moved up which wasn’t too bad, but getting the mech to recognize the adjustments was… challenging. Unlike Ziska’s Raven which was happy and new and generally receptive to whatever Reya willed for it, the Ostroc was old, ornery and more often than not seemed to viscerally hate everything she tried to do with it. Several times she had to rerun the dryfire program, translating through multiple computers to “trick” the machine into thinking it was firing the correct ammo. The process was still not perfect and every failed attempt required a complete rebuild of the logic to generate a successful launch. In the mix of code and ancient dialogue the Lyran mech spoke, she was sure it was cussing her out in German. A red message boldly flashed across one of the other screens titled ACHTUNG! followed by some other 2500s era lingo. Reya gave the machine the finger.

She let out a sigh and rested back on her palms, feeling the cold armor of the tank beneath her and stared up at the rock ceiling for a moment. The problem was somewhere between the ignition and boost sequence, both of which happened in fractions of a second at the command of a trigger pull. Missiles were not her specialty, but she understood the principles perfectly. It was just getting the execution… A walk would be nice, she thought. Maybe some fresh air would help. Take a stroll and maybe chat with the perimeter guards just to clear her head and then come back. There was no way she was going to go to sleep. Not until she was satisfied and she was determined to earn even more of Colonel’s stoic approval. The coolness of the plating beneath her crept up her arm gave her a chill and she leaned back forward to her previous warm spot. She was wearing one of Lena’s hooded sweatshirts. Uncle Bucky’s Urbanmech Emporium The worn, cartoon logo on brown fabric reminded her of her friend when she wore it and Reya, busy as they had been, remembered that she hadn’t even thought about Lena since she had worked on the Raven. She shook her head. The thought left her feeling guilty and suddenly, very lonely. Her glance shifted over to where she had set up a crash pad for Sunny and herself, where the young girl presently slept in their little tent and container fort, but the feeling was different than before and she knew it had to be from going on the mission. She didn’t feel like the victim any more, or at least not as much.

—

Though it was perhaps a moment too quick to decide that, if only for different reasons.

From the shadows that lay just past the illuminated, makeshift repair bay, past the sleeping girl’s tent, came the ever-grim glare of the Duchess. She stood there, half-lit, and surprisingly didn’t immediately come with demands and grunts of dissatisfaction. No, once Reya’s eyes met hers, she stood there silently for a few seconds more before coming out to meet her. Now in the light, Ingrid could be seen wearing something quite unfitting with the image she had previously built: satin pajamas in a light blue, with gold lace, and by the way they seemed to bulge at the waist they were probably being worn over other clothing as well. Though as disheveled as anything in this cave, their opulence suggested that they were a rare article that escaped both the flight from Poulsbo and the good grace of Espia. The last time these had been seen within the Green Knights’ illustrious quarters was a year ago, and at that point, someone called them cute. She hadn’t been seen in them for a second prior to this moment.

Nevertheless, her expression seemed just as negative as ever, but just a bit more tired than she usually would let on. Any kind of anger on her part was too much effort for the night, perhaps. She had a similarly muted effect in her speech.

“Ms. Wyatt,” she said in a half-whisper once she was at the base of the Von Luckner. “I heard that some modifications were performed on the Ostroc this evening. Given my knowledge of my technical crew, I take it you were the one responsible?”

—

Seeing Ingrid’s ensemble, Reya nearly did a double take. As usually concerned with image as the Duchess could be, the garments were as surprising as the individual wearing them being awake. What was no surprise however was the blonde’s typical demeanor. The phrase, “factory settings” blinked through Reya’s mind as she looked back up at the Ostroc and then down at her main display once more as the woman approached. A tiny smirk worked its way around the corner of her lips that Ingrid could not see before Reya stowed the thought and continued a few more steps again through the tedious launch sequence knowing the woman would have questions.

“The Colonel asked me to go ahead and modify the launcher to suit the new missile ordnance we liberated.” Reya answered, sticking to the facts as she knew Ingrid preferred. Being in an elevated position, on top of the tank, made it easier to bring up the Colonel’s orders, but she could also sense fatigue in the woman’s voice. A sentiment not missing from her own. “Your tech crew helped me move up the firewall and we did a test fitment on all four tubes.” She said. Her eyes examined the rather exquisite garments for a moment as Ingrid stepped closer, right at the base of the tank. “All the hardware is good, I’m just finishing up with the software now.” She continued and tapped a few more commands, concluding with a sharp, matter-of-fact keystroke she knew would make the same red warning message appear again. “Susser Todd has a very succinct way of talking.” She said, tilting her head slightly towards Ingrid and turning the other display so she could see.

—

She wasn’t terribly happy when the word ‘modify’ was uttered, but that was just a brief flash. Her arms crossed, and her head went up, though a little too far back - her usual perfect posture degraded by the time of the night. It’s no wonder she rarely stays past curtain call to drink, beyond the social barrier keeping her locked out.

The display came up with the same call for attention as before, and its demands were succinct but authoritative. It was as Ingrid would explain: “Ostmann Industries…protective of their warranties.” She settled as she leaned into the side of the Luckner, giving the screen a disappointed look. “Half of my pre-sortie checklist is clearing errors from this poor thing. It’s not been well since my exodus, and it lets me know that…” Further disappointment from her, though who it could be aimed at is made a little less uncertain. “No fault of you and your technicians,” she added as more of an afterthought than a statement to save face, “It simply is a fact of life. Something this old…”

Then, Ingrid looked up at Reya. “I’m sure you would find this amusing; at the side of the Daschke family for generations were the Micheners. A few worked for our house otherwise, but the vast majority, for almost 500 years? In your position. A lineage of solely Battlemech technicians, all under our employ - and they plied their family trade well. It made sense, we were on the border. The Mariks came and visited often enough to where the family Ostroc and Starslayer didn’t simply sit in a bay for a century at a time.”

A little, wistful sigh escaped her.

—

“I can take care of those for you.” Reya said, referring to the parade of startup errors Ingrid mentioned. She tapped a few keys and then worked with both hands momentarily belting off a rapidfire chain of inputs across the keyboard. “I noticed them when I first hooked everything up, you should have said something before.” She tilted her head and bit on her lower lip with some amusement at the screen in front of her, hands slowed to allow Ingrid room to talk, listening to her wistful story as she continued.

All the mechs had personalities and often the machine reflected the person in the cockpit. Susser Todd was a diva, but she kind of liked that about it, the challenge. It didn’t just let her have her way. She could remember several ice cold professors that only viewed mechs as metal and computers with no personality and to be fair, a part of her adhered to that philosophy, but still another part of her knew there was more. They moved, they walked, they talked to her through the terminals, they made mistakes- they got hurt and they accepted a piece of the pilot’s persona. She’d seen it herself.

“I wish it’d been that straightforward where I’m from…” She relaxed some back on one palm, satisfied with what was in front of her and turning her glance back to Ingrid. There was a hint of scorn in her voice at the thoughts. “I’m the only engineer in my family and the first one.” She said. “I think both my parents would have preferred to have married me off, but here we are.”

Reya shrugged and turned the screen once more towards Ingrid. The list of startup errors were displayed. “Look familiar?"

—

It seemed as if it did. Her eyebrows arched in consternation; the same sort of look you’d give when you saw your beloved dog - once again - take a leak on the carpet before you could let it outside. A problem, and not enough to be so easily forgiven, but far too common to put too much of an effort into feeling anger. She drummed her fingers across the cold metal of the hull. “Yes. Yes, it does look familiar.”

She leaned a little closer to squint at the screen, but the speed and patter with which she read it out suggested it was at least partially committed to memory. “Warning, internal servo-motor diagnostic check failed under such and such place in the arm, deliver error code x0394-so-on-and-so-forth to technicians immediately. Laser focusing lens alignment outside of expected parameters (despite being realigned every time it’s been sent out), firing of Feursturm-B M-class LTR may result in catastrophic failure (it has yet to do so). Upper anterior cooling fan has broken, reinstall immediately or pilot death may occur…and to replace it would mean disassembling half the cockpit. The same as usual.”

Another squint, and she briefly ran her finger along the list. “But if you’ve stopped it from barking about that missing, never-existing heatsink, you’ve put in good work. The Micheners never figured that one out,” she said with a rare tone of reverence.

“...but yes. It is all familiar, though I have a feeling that most other manufacturers don’t make such dire warnings like that.”

—

Ingrid’s rare seal of approval did not go unnoticed. Reya’s hands worked over the keys again and she briefly glanced between the display and the mech. The Duchess never specified to actually wipe the error codes, so Reya memory banked them in one of the maintenance subsystems where they could be pulled later and would stop bothering her during the startup sequence. “They all speak their own language.” Reya said. The other screens became animated once again. “Some just like to talk more than others.”

Reya finally crossed her arms and exhaled slowly, running one finger over her lips examining the work on the SRMs once more. The ambient noises of the cave filled the air for a moment as the techs and laborers of the “night shift” went about their work with various tools and conversation. “You should feel a difference in the helmet with your balance,” She said finally. Her face had become a careful study while her eyes seemed to be absorbing data rapidly. “These SRMs are much lighter than your old ones so it should be more comfortable.” Her fingers tapped a few keys. “They’re gonna come out of the tubes like angry hornets.” She pointed to a line item highlighted in red. It seemed like Ingrid was following along so she continued: “The Ostroc’s ignition sequence for these is hardcoded and really was never meant to fire anything else but the heavy Totschlagens…” Her German was surprisingly on point, even hitting the accent. “...So you’re gonna get an increase in velocity for sure. It won’t cause any more damage- but you will probably get a tighter grouping and be easier to hit with.”

—

For once, someone’s pronunciation of a language that rarely leaves Lyran borders was not corrected. Ms. Daschke leaned harder onto the hull, her eyes briefly fluttering as she listened to the explanation. Her brow furrowed, first with effort to keep awake, and then with regards to Reya and what she had said.

“It would initially sound well and good,” she said, some more effort put into enunciation compared to her sleepy pronunciation earlier, “the idea of improved performance…but there is an issue I can foresee.”

She held up two fingers. “One, we have already been cut from supplies for this long; we can’t afford a live fire test. I’m sure the most basic simulations could give me numbers, but the feel,” she cradled an invisible pilot’s stick in her left hand while the two problem fingers shot forward, “it is not something I wish to rely on in the middle of a proper fight.”

She then withdrew her second finger after realizing she only had one issue to discuss.

—

Reya wasn't sure if Ingrid was going to fall asleep on her feet as she leaned further into the side of the tank below her. The Lyran was not much of a night owl, but she was right about the live-fire test. Though they were setting on a healthy supply of the new SRMs, she couldn’t see the Colonel allowing for any to be used in test shots. Not to mention the attention it could attract. Reya paused for a moment, watching Ingrid’s hands then looked up over the blonde at the rest of the cave, scanning for a moment and getting an idea.

“That stranger that came here… We still haven’t recovered the mech he claimed to have hidden in the woods.” As tired as Ingrid was, Reya wasn’t sure if she was following any longer. “The Colonel will send a recovery team with him to get it, but I know they don’t trust him and I don’t either.” She said. In her mind she was still putting the pieces together and her glance narrowed a bit at nothing in particular “If you go out with the recovery squad, you’ll at least get a chance to get used to the balance again and if he does anything shady, you can give him test fire.” She had no doubt Ingrid’s ability to put down hick Espian randos, but it would ultimately be up to the Colonel to decide.

—

Well, there were hardly any better people to make that request to within this company. Her suspicion had clearly laid on him since he waltzed right in, and it wouldn’t take a huge leap in logic to imagine, once he was fully vetted, her continuing to see him poorly with his peasant, low-born nature. She had not often acted in discrimination to the non-noblemen and women of this establishment (presumably because that would be just about everyone here), but some did complain of what they could only call a ‘nobler-than-thou’ air about her.

“I think you may be onto something…wise. Wise…”

She rubbed her eyes, arching her neck and back in a vain attempt to keep awake.
“If you need me to move now, I’ll go out into the snow for a minute, that’ll wake me…”

Ingrid stared upward for a bit. Gears turned, sluggishly but consistently. “Ah. You…probably meant for the morning. Or later. Hmm. So be it,” she held up a hand and stifled a yawn, “You’ve got the Colonel’s ear far better than I do. Do your worst...”

Just as soon as she arrived, she had left, heading back to parts unknown. Keeping that stick up her ass must keep her exhausted.

Location:
Abandoned Neodymium Mine
Eunsan Mountain Range
250 Kilometers Southwest of Balya Gora
Date/Time:
March 23rd, 3030
Interactions:
Gawain and The Green Knights
Gear:
His clothing: Boots, long-sleeved shirt, pants, gloves, holstered handgun with 20 rounds

---

Once Tarak, Reya, and Ziska made it to the meeting after their little shenanigans, Tarak was able to go through the meeting without an issue. However when Hugh was introduced the air felt different, everyone was on edge as Hugh was introduced, even Ingrid seemed completely on edge as Tarak thought he heard the sounds of teeth grinding and as if she was prepared to draw her sword as she grumbled to herself something along the lines of: Hugh is a risk because he could be a spy. Tarak could agree with the sentiment Ingrid was feeling however it was also a gung-ho sentiment of being ready to cut him down at this moment that Gawain seemed to not want to allow. As he set down the law onto the multiple possible people who seemed to have been in the same mind as Ingrid. After which they learned Hugh's story, Tarak could say it is pretty unbelievable, however, Gawain seemed willing to believe, Tarak thought it was possible for him to believe the story, well, not allow Ingrid to slice his throat in broad daylight. After that Gawain let the warriors loose and allowed them to celebrate with some of their spoils they had just procured.

Tarak had another plan, as once dismissed he headed straight for the small blockade the Misfits had made for their little base as he saw them at work. Each one too excited to contain themselves as they are finally able to have a proper meal and drink after such a rough time. As Tarak made his way to the tinkering table as he saw the stereo he had liberated being right now tinkered by a slim blonde young man who seemed to whistle and tap his foot while working on the stereo. Tarak called out to him with a bright smile, "Hey Samuel! How's the stereo going?". The man looked up to the giant and said with a smile, "Oh, it's going well, I just finished up the wiring. Give me another 30 minutes and I can get this into a better casing so you can give it to your Special Friend" Samuel snickers as he is about to go back to working before he remembers something as he turns back and says, "Oh yeah, Iris wanted to talk to you. She said something about maybe getting the Spider back up and running".

Tarak sighed as he began making his way to the Twin's room, where he saw a young blonde girl struggling to do push ups. She seemed almost too focused in her struggle to realize that Tarak made his way into the room as he was able to take a quick inspection of her. 'Her wounds seem to have been healing decently all things considered. Might be because of her innate tenacity', as Tarak inspected her he saw the noticeable scars spanning her arms and legs from what happened. Tarak began remembering what happened, she was in his lance as they were hit by the Crimson Fists, she took some devistating hits and was nearly killed in the quick exchange that occurred, it was honestly a miracle she was able to make it out after the beating the Spider took from the bombardment they sustained. Tarak felt himself get pulled from his thoughts as he heard a voice call to him, "Hey, Tarak!" Tarak's eyes were now looking down to the young girl as she looked up to him as she continued, "Hey were you sleeping or something? You were just standing there".

Tarak shook his head as he came to again now bringing himself back to the present as he said, "Hu? Yeah, I was just tired after all the stuff. So you wanted to talk to me about something?" Iris looked to Tarak worried as she said, "Yeah, was hoping to talk to you about possible sorties or something to go and get parts to patch up the Spider back into a working condition again". Tarak said with a thought on his mind, "Ah another kit bash? I can see what we can do, you do know it will be a while before we will go out again, and we did sustain some damage, so it will probably be a while before we can start to get the Spider back up and running again. And before then you still need to et back into a much better shape". Iris looked down as she rubbed her arm as she seemed almost saddened, she seemed to become lost in thought as tarak set his hand down onto her head and said, "It will happen in due time. We will get the Spider back into the fight when you are ready, just make sure you take care of yourself. There is no need to get the Spider up if you can't pilot her properly". Iris reluctantly nods and accepts Tarak's words as he began to say goodbyes before heading off to check in with the other Misfits, and then finally back to Samuel to get the Stereo that has now been given a new housing to make it a much more portable device and even given a fresh coat of paint.

As now Tarak makes his way off to find Reya, as he had a gift to deliver.

Reya & Raven

Hidden within a small box of treasures that managed to escape with her in the Green Knights retreat from the capital and stored in a place she knew no one would ever find- because some would indeed be looking; bright white, rolled crisply and never folded, handmade with pure linen, was one of the Green Knights’ most unorthodox, but well-known accompaniments, the vaunted, Engineer Reya Wyatt tablecloth. Having just had another shower, her hands were clean as she unraveled it, but not before breathing in the still clean scent of the fabric and for a moment being a table to just taste a glimmer of home and civility. She looked at it, knowing it would soon lose its fragrance and cleanliness, but rather than letting it lose its luster slowly stored away, she decided it was time. The Knights’ spirits were still high from the success of the raid. There was plenty of food and water to go around and certainly no shortage of alcohol either. Work on the mechs had them nearly ready for another sortie. Over her one small table outside of the small area she and Sunny shared, Reya carefully let the fabric settle. The subtle, hand-stitched gray threads of a Kuritan Dragon curling through clouds fell nicely over the round surface. For a moment she allowed herself to just look at it and let her mind travel light years away to another place.

There were two places set. One for Sunny and one for herself. She had one extra chair that would likely belong to Pops if he decided to stop by. He liked to pretend that he was too rough and tumble for a proper sit down, but Reya could tell that some form of proper femininity took his heart back through memories long gone. For Sunny, it was at least a small sliver of what might have been considered “normalcy” and how families set themselves together for a meal. She thought about Lena and the missing chair.

Naturally the meal itself wasn’t quite the exposition as the cloth it sat over. Sergeant Dalton assured her, after his many years in the field, that the “Terra Prime Adventure Meals” MREs were shockingly tasty. Reya could see Sunny instantly turning her nose up and was thinking up various creative descriptions she could use to sell the meal to a ten year old. Admittedly however, she was having a hard time convincing herself to experience something called “biscuits and gravy” alongside “chicken fried rice”, beef stroganoff and assorted freeze-dried fruits and granola. One eyebrow arched as she looked at the package. On a positive note, thanks to the Espian Guards, there was evaporated milk for the tea though it was still served in barbaric tin cups. Still overall, it was forming into a surprisingly quaint scene and she couldn’t deny her love for some of the old ways. She looked at her watch as it would soon be time to put the call out for Sunny and set the meals to their quick cook time before she placed the last two items on the table: Diego’s Marauder action toy, which had simply become something of an unspoken set piece and finally, two volumes of Comstar Scholastic Press Primer - Grade 6. Lena had done her best to tutor her younger siblings and Reya often tried to help. Hilariously, and to no surprise, neither one of them proved to be the most effective instructor. In the time since the escape and the raid, Reya hadn’t been able to keep Sunny’s schooling up and with the work on the mechs being ahead of schedule, she felt like it was at least time to try.

Stealing a few brief moments to herself, Reya picked up one of Sunny’s issues of Never-Ending Hearts Revolution and started thumbing through the pages.

---

Reya could hear footsteps coming closer to her; booted feet from a younger man than Pops. It was Raven Rivers, his face still unsmiling and eyes still turned downwards, while his mouth opened and closed again, before he reached where Reya was and forced a smile for her sake, before asking, “Hey, do you have a spare seat? I know that one is for Pops…”

---

Seeing Raven was a surprise. Ever since the retreat from the capital and his family being captured, he was not himself, or at least not as she had known him in her time with the Green Knights. After the raid he effectively had made himself into a sort of pariah among the crews. She looked at him for a moment, sitting at her ornate table display and before anything else, could hear the words of her father instantly talking to her from her childhood: Never kick a man when he is down. Honor must dictate. It was the Dragon’s way. She couldn’t imagine what Raven had to be going through and the fact that he had found his way to her, meant that he wanted to talk to someone other than another mechwarrior or a soldier. Her hand motioned to the open seat. “It’s fine, I think he’s busy, sit down if you like. Tea?”

---

“Thank you,” Raven said as he casually sipped it, before saying, “You know, Andrew really liked you. He’s a fine kid; always wondering why the Colonel was always so ‘sharp’ with you. Then again, he was four when we left House Davion’s service…”

He chuckled and continued, “Katrina once scolded Andrew when he said he wanted to marry you, both because you were beautiful and because he wanted your noble title. Let’s just say I was glad not] to be at the end of that death glare.”

A half-sob escaped his lips as he said, “They’re going to be killed, I know it. Katrina, Andrew, I’ll never see them again, Reya. I’ll never see them again…”

---

Reya was happy to see him accept her offer for tea and very daintily filled his tin cup in the proper way while thinking in the back of her mind how Ziska would make fun of her absolute love affair for proper dining edicate. Having an unexpected guest as soon as she rolled out the fine linen seemed like a sign of good luck. She set Sunny’s book aside and just let him talk. It was clear he had a lot on his mind and with his family gone, essentially had no one left to confide in. She gave a small shrug when he mentioned nobility. Everyone assumed so much that she was some kind of royalty, but within the Combine, hers was just another wealthy family, not even part or related to the lineage of the Coordinator. It was easier to just let them believe it and a small part of her liked the idea of royal titles.

It was no surprise that he was about to break down and some part of her knew it was probably for the best for everyone in the squad for him to let it out. She thought of herself, having her own moment in Ziska’s Raven when no one was looking. At the time there was nothing anyone could have said to console her, it just had to pass. She considered her words to at least try and build him up: “I already lost my best friend and I’m still here…” She said softly. The words came out more tenderly than she expected, but her thoughts flashed with images of Lena. Again she looked at the empty chair for a moment. “I even went on the mission… We don’t know what will happen, but I know you’re tougher than me.”

---

Raven chuckled again, before saying, “Don’t sell yourself short. I may be a big tough guy on the outside, but to tell you the truth, I’ve been getting ‘sicker’ since our time on the fringes of the ‘Marian Hegemony’. Remember that time they almost got near our civilian contingent that one time? And that other time they managed to cut off a shipment of vital medicine and Andrew’s best friend during that time died?”

He then sighed and said, “I had nightmares about the Marians - Those Pseudo-romans - getting to the civilian contingent and enslaving everyone. Of Katrina being… used while Andrew grows up in bondage, his spirit crushed before it truly grew. Now those nightmares are gone but replaced with something new.”

Another sob wracked him, before he continued, “I’m not a bad father. But I am a bad person. I’ve blundered so badly that I might end up breaking from the strain. The enemy lacks mercy, kindness, compassion, and they still regard themselves as the ‘good guys’. And I let myself get egged on by their trash talk, and now they’re going to find some way of using that against me - If they find out who exactly my family are...”

Then Raven shifted subjects, “Andrew also wanted to marry Ingrid, but my behavior as a bad squadmate probably made that beyond impossible instead of ‘impossible’...”

---

Reya winced a bit at the thought of an arranged marriage of anyone to Ingrid. The subject of arranged marriage was something which she was certainly acquainted. “I suspect they’re more bitter now after losing one of their mechs to us,” She glanced over at Ziska’s Raven on the other side of the cave. “A pretty expensive one too…” There was some satisfaction in her voice, but it trailed off a bit as she again thought about the matching cannon on the Merry-Go-Round and the Crimson Fists’ Hunchback then the haphazard supply depot the Espian Guards had so easily folded on, now ruined. She could see their twisted forms after Sergeant Dalton’s men had erupted on them like a vengeful fire of buckshot and solid slugs. The images stayed with her, though she had quickly forced herself to look away. “I’m not sure everything going on here is what it seems to be.” She said, looking back at Raven. “Maybe I’m crazy, but just call it a woman's intuition.

---

Raven looked her in the eyes, nodded, and said, “I’m not completely blind; I know for sure that there are greater players out there manipulating the scenes. If Andrew were here, he’d confidently say that this coup was probably sponsored by a neighboring stellar power as a ploy to steal a planet from the Cappellans…”

---

Reya sipped at her tea cup, watching Raven’s reaction to what she’d said. It seemed like she’d managed to at least get him to start thinking like a leader again while some broken part of her was scoffing at the entire exchange. A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have been near as gentle with the man, but her whole world was turned upside down and there were pieces of her “old self” lying all over the place within her psyche. The part of her that was deftly accustomed to manipulation to get what she wanted was being eclipsed by another part that had shockingly realized what was actually important in life. Raven’s situation had become swifty relatable to the latter. She refilled his cup. “You know, you’re my first unexpected dinner guest.” She said, smoothing a slight wave in the linen cloth. “I think that’s a sign of good luck.”

---

The response was a smile and a quip, “I don’t think everyone else would regard me as lucky.”

---

Reya gave a small shrug and a smirk in return, tipping her cup back at Raven. “Then you’re welcome.”

---

Raven smiled wider and mimicked Reya’s gesture, tipping his cup back at her before saying, “Anyway, on the subject of whoever is backing the ‘Democratic People’s Republic of Espia’... What are the nearest powers to this planet again? I don’t think we’re so far away from the Marian Hegemony, sad to say…”

---

Reya shook her head as mentioned the “nearest powers”. It just sounded so pedestrian, like there was a nice picket fence between them. The expression was the difference between their cultures in a nutshell, she thought to herself. Raven came from the Federated Suns. In the Combine, the “nearest powers” were the enemy, period. She could think of better terminology for some of the other “Great” Houses, but for the moment she had at least succeeded in getting Raven to go from sobbing to smiling in fairly short order. So smart, Reya. You could have been a therapist too! A passing voice commented in the back of her mind.

“It’s not that simple, I’m sure we’re dealing with something, or maybe someone else, more subversive.” She said, leveling a bit of authority back into the conversation. When she got a twinge of intuition her mind moved like a guided missile. “The only thing valuable on Espia are the Neodymium mines… There’s nothing else here other than jump points and the HPG.” Her expression narrowed a bit. She had another thought go out on a tangent, but stowed it quickly. Some things she would have only confided in Lena or maybe Pops. “Everybody involved, at least so far, hates the Capellans, and us specifically by extension… but they won’t show who they really are…” She looked at him, dead in the eyes, her countenance uncharacteristically dark at the thoughts that came up behind her words: “These Espian Guards? They’re a joke. I saw what Sergeant Dalton’s men did to them in the raid. They barely put up a fight. Some of them even looked glad to surrender to us…They were terrified.” She leaned forward. “Did you know when the ‘Boys swept the admin office of that depot they found a Captain that had shot himself? A Captain. Right before we got there.” She tilted her head slightly to drive the question: “Does that make any sense to you? What was he so afraid of?”

---

Raven arrived at a conclusion instantly, but without jumping to it, if it made any sense, “The puppetmaster. The ones behind the Crimson Fists and the New Regime. Maybe the Crimson Fists are connected with the puppetmaster or potential mysterious benefactor who wants the Neodymium mines?”

---

Reya shrugged and relaxed some back into her chair. “I’m sure it’s a piece of the puzzle, maybe not even the main piece.” She took another small sip and replayed the thoughts in her head for a moment. Her memory was nearly perfectly photographic as she recalled the drone zipping up and down the lines of containers taking pictures and video at rapid speed. “When we were on the mission, I had my drone take a lot of pictures for the intel squad.” She sighed tiredly as she thought about it. “We’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to look at them myself, but I’m going to.”

---

Raven nodded and asked, “Want another pair of eyes to help analyze it? I want to do something more useful than whining and getting angry all the time… Which will happen again once the enemy finds out who exactly my family are and harms them because of my psychotic breakdown or finds some other way of making me look like a frothing berserker, which I was during that time.”

His next question was, “Also, we need to know the official propaganda line of the current regime as regards the attack on their supply lines, or do you guys already know that but I’m just left out of the loop?”

---

Reya recoiled a bit at Raven’s prognostications. His self-centeredness was revolting. “Raven, listen to yourself, you can’t be like that. This company, these people who are still alive here cannot afford it.” She wanted to drive the nail. There were plenty of others who didn’t have the title Mechwarrior in front of their names on the roster that had family killed or captured just the same, herself included, but she remembered her father’s words again and stayed the hammer. “And for God’s sakes, let the Colonel worry about propaganda lines and what not. There is nothing you can do to influence any of that.” She shook her head a bit, trying to remain thoughtful with him though her hands were becoming a little animated. “You are one of the most experienced people we have with one of our best mechs. Get your head in the cockpit and fight the enemy.” She said. “You have all the power and talent you need for that and I know you have more discipline than what these dregs have managed to bring out in you,” Some part of her became keenly aware that she was sounding a lot like the Colonel and wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that in the middle of a conversation. “So it’s time to be a leader again, yea?

---

A Leader. Raven had never thought of himself as one; had let his own skills in that direction atrophy during his time in the Green Knights, but at the same time… He knew Reya was right. He had a streak of self-centeredness which can screw over the Green Knights - who were friends and also family - in the future if it continued to rule him.

He smiled again and said, “A leader. Been a long time since anyone relied on me to do any of that.”

I could do it if I can get over myself. I can do it if I can get over my emotional myopia; the near-sightedness which makes me see only me, Katrina, and Andrew as the only ones important. So his next words were, “Everyone has flaws; you just called me out on mine. Very well, if you trust me that much… Time for me to prove you right.”

The egotism, perhaps even arrogance, was still there. But it was subliminated into a confidence in his skills, into a desire to prove that he was what Reya thought he was. He wasn’t blind to the mix of flattery and force the engineer had brought to bear, but he wasn’t overly cynical about it either - He knew she was sincere.

He got up and said, “Time for me to blow off some steam; the whiny angst I just showed won’t fully go away unless I’ve had a good spar or simulated battle. Want to help me find a sparring partner if, say, Tarak isn’t available?”

Reya & Tarak

Tarak makes his way through the rabble-rousing that is happening throughout the cave. Their mission was a success, they gained supplies that would allow them all to survive longer. They acquired munitions that would allow them to start striking back. Even with those who had died, they gave the rest something they were unable to find, hope. Now many people here are able to live longer, they are able to fight longer, and they can finally think about something other than the cold and thirst. As Tarak moved through he chuckled and laughed with some as his eyes finally landed on Reya as he whistled and said, ”Heyo! Reya!” Tarak started waving to her to get her attention.

—

Having her name called was a pretty common occurrence since the raid. Can you take a look at this? What do you make of that? How does this work? Were the usual followups, or, her personal favorite: What is she drinking now? In relation to a certain mechwarrior. Reya turned from her work, inventorying some of the more valuable salvage brought back from the battle, at the sound of Tarak’s voice. She was fairly rested for once and Sunny was off playing with some of the other children. Other than being in a cave and having nearly been blown up several days ago, things were feeling a tiny bit normal. She arched an eyebrow in Tarak’s direction. “Yes?” It was easy work, but she feigned annoyance with him as he approached, chewing on the stylus to her datapad as if she were considering something more important.

—

Tarak saw Reya’s face and immediately realized that she seemed to have been doing something maybe important as her voice carried a similar weight. His face changed from that of happy to that that could be described as ‘yikes’ as if he might have screwed up, as Tarak made his way over he said, ”Ah, hey, Reya. It seems you were doing something important, sorry about that, but I do have something I think you’d be quite interested in”. As Tarak pulls the stereo out from behind his back with one hand while his other hand does a flared jazz hand. The Stereo look pretty good, it had a solid housing with an even magenta paint job as Tarak said, ”Tada!”

—

Seeing that he had taken her seriously was amusing. It didn’t take her long in her younger years to realize how easily she could manipulate people, particularly men. She eyed Tarak up and down briefly seeing that he appeared to be precariously off-balance from whatever he was trying to hide, so she stepped towards him to make his presentation even more awkward; like he had missed a step in a dance. Her head tilted a bit like she was examining a rookie astech and she leaned forward a bit. “Does it look important?” She could see the magenta edges of whatever it was which piqued her interest slightly. Giving him a modicum of an opportunity to improve his position, she stepped back slightly.

Well, someone’s been thinking about you, a lot. She thought to herself amidst a wave of his ridiculous “jazz-hand” reveal. The fact that he even included a tada! made it hard for her to even keep a straight face. “Don’t tell me you brought that back from the mission?" Then she instantly remembered the bizarre thumbs-up he’d given using Black Phoenix’s hand controls. “You did, didn’t you?" She couldn’t decide if she was impressed or flattered. If the Colonel knew a Mechwarrior had taken time to hunt for gifts in the middle of an operation, he would’ve had a heart attack. Still, she had to ask the next obvious question: “Does it work?”

—

Tarak saw Reya’s face change and thought he was in the clear as he loosened up. When asked, Tarak said, ”Yeah I got it on the mission. I pulled it from a vehicle and got some other parts and pieces for it while we were looking for supplies. Then when we got back I had Sammy go and rig it up with speakers, an internal power system so it can be charged, and then a housing with a new paint job so it doesn’t look trashy”. Tarak chuckled as he thought something similar to what Reya did, if the Colonel found out how much Tarak took for personal reasons, he’d probably die on the spot with the amount of brain hemorrhaging he’d have. As the final question came down as a smile came to his face as he said, ”I don’t know~, wanna find out?” As Tarak holds up the Stereo and then holds out a tape for her to put in, as the tape says, Classics.

—

“Uh-huh…" She regarded him as if she were listening to the tale of a child that had misbehaved on the playground. “...So you stole a stereo for me.” That was certainly a new approach. She gave him a look of some cautious amusement. At a closer glance, the “homemade” nature of the device was more apparent. The look of incredulity across her face was only half feigned and meant to make him even more embarrassed, but he persisted, which she liked. “You already know that it works,” She said. “You just want to be dramatic.” She plucked the tape from his hand, reading the label for a second before dropping it into the open deck. “This better be sappy love songs or I’m gonna be really disappointed, just sayin’” She said, mashing the play button.

—

And disappointed she was, it was not some sappy love songs, though it did cross his mind at some point for the hilarity. No, it was something much more on-brand, as when the tape was put in and the play button was hit the song began. Tarak began bobbing his head and getting into the music as he started lipsyncing with the music and playing an air guitar as he looked to Reya with a smile and tried to get her to start getting into the music the same way he did.

—

Technicians and staff of the Green Knights began to look as soon as the first riff hit out of the speakers, then others as the tempo picked up. It was louder than she expected. The regular sounds of tools and machinery had become so routine that the sound of music was foreign and drew instant attention. People were really starting to notice about the time Tarak broke into unashamed air-guitar and lip-syncing. Reya didn’t know the lyrics or the chords. She’d never heard anything like it, but her countenance was quickly burning flushed red as they had become the center of attention. “Oh my God! Okay-okay-okay!” She went to turn back what looked to be a volume control, but the switch was backwards causing the sound spike even louder before she frantically twisted it the other way. The other Knights were having a hearty laugh and shouts went up for Tarak to continue before Reya snagged him by the arm and led him away amidst even more whoops and hollers. “You are crazy!" She proclaimed, thoroughly embarrassed, but smiling broadly and trying not to laugh even more.

—

Tarak was getting into it as he saw more and more people show up, he was trying to seem as into as possible to get as many people into this/ As Reya seemed to get more and more flustered she tried to stop the music, yet it was too much and Tarak was left laughing as he was snagged and dragged away from the area by Reya. He saw the broad smile and proclamation of his craziness as he laughed out, ”Always have been”. As ocne they finally made it away from the source of the commotion Tarak was still laughing as he said, ”So, it seems like it works. Like it?”

—

“Yes,” Reya replied, shaking her head. and still laughing a bit. "You did surprise me.” She looked down at the rudimentary digital display, blinking slightly under Tarak’s grip before she realized she was still holding onto his arm and stepped away somewhat awkwardly. She made a small production of straightening up her jacket and crossed her arms like she was recomposing herself. “Well, it’s a good thing you pilot your mech better than you perform as a singer.”

—

Tarak chuckled slightly as he saw the little display of Reya trying to recompose herself before speaking once more. Tarak laughed as he said, ”Dang I thought that would have been my big ticket. Guess I’ll have to figure something else out”. Tarak shrugged after saying that as he then said, ”I am thankful that you do like it, I know things are hard. But it’s the little things, you know?” Once he said that Tarak tossed Reya a small smile.

—

Reya’s glance narrowed slightly at the sudden contrasts in Tarak. When it was just the two of them, he seemed hesitant and unassertive, but in front of others he was animated, unafraid of embarrassment. The court jester approach was cute and entertaining, however she had people competing for her attention all the time. Hopeless suitors, even in their current situation, tried their best to impress, seemingly unperturbed by the gravity of their struggle for survival. The gift was definitely useful and unique, but she liked the more debonair Tarak. The one that took her hand as she stepped from the bottom of a scaffold and could read when she’d been upset and lonely. The confident mechwarrior was what she wanted, not the stereo salesman.

She eyed him closely for a moment, knowing the right words would do the job and that no one else was listening. “I’m not worried about that stuff, Tarak.” She said, looking him in the eyes. Her glance was as piercing as a PPC bolt and her tone matched it. “What I want is for you to go out there and kill them.” She tilted her head only slightly after the words, watching his reaction. “Kill them that did this to us, all of them... With your mech, or with your gun…” She retrieved the stereo from his grasp like she was accepting something that had never belonged to anyone else, as if it were her rightful property. “...Or with your hands, whichever…”

—

Tarak had a smile on his face as he was there, yet he felt the atmosphere shift. Reya seemed to have wanted something, something from him, as her eyes told him what she thought, while her words told him what he needed to know. Tarak’s expression changed almost without thought his stance changed as his full height seemed to have been diminished before. His eye sharpened from the soft crescents they made from his smile to that of complete focus. Giving his eyes the look as if they pierce through what they landed upon.

Once Reya took hold of the stereo, it was hers’, so Tarak let go of it for her to take it as once she finished he responded, his smirk never wavering, ”Of course. It never crossed my mind to allow them to liv-e”. As Tarak reached over to Reya lightly as he brushed some of the hair that fell to her shoulder before saying, ”-You don’t have to worry about that”. As Tarak’s head tilted as he threw her one last smile as he began leaving and said with a wave, ”If you want to, you can come by anytime, I have plenty of tapes that would love another set of ears to listen to”. Now as Tarak waved and walked away without looking back, his face was cold, almost as if completely focused on something. He needed to blow off some steam as he could feel the tension building in his back. He felt his anger rising as he was just reminded of something from Reya, the Fire Witch got away.

@Th3King0fChaos

Wolozcyn Memorial Square
Yuzhny Portveyn
March 25th, 3030
0931 Hours



"Keep formation, damn you!" Captain Chung-Hee Choi shouted into his comms over the deafening thunder of the battle. "They're trying to get us to scatter! Stay in formation, and we'll-- Hammer Six, GET BACK IN LINE!!!"

The assault on Yuzhny Portveyn had been a comedy of errors. Since the raid by Gawain's Green Knights on their supply convoy to the north, the Third Armored Division had been running dangerously short on fuel and ammo, not to mention food and water. Espian Guards had resorted to looting civilian grocery stores and restaurants for their next meal, even breaking into residential areas and forcing civilians to surrender their food. But Grand General Malenkov demanded his 'big push' to root out the last of Governor Xiu's holdouts, so Captain Choi and the other tank commanders of the Third had organized into a massive column for the next big offensive rush.

"Sir, there's too many of them!" came the panicked cry of Hammer Six. "They have us surrounded!"

"They have pop-guns and hand grenades, you idiot!" Choi snarled. "You're in a damned tank!"

The Xiu loyalists were former Espian Guards themselves, the ones who had chosen not to back Federov and Malenkov in the coup. To their credit, they fought well enough, but were massively outnumbered, and most of them had fallen back to the Putski Sports Complex for what appeared to be their last stand. Choi's column should have pushed ahead to the Sports Complex and rolled the last of the loyalists up neatly, were it not for the fact that they had found new allies.

"Tangos spotted!" interrupted Hammer Four. "10 o'clock high, in the office block! Looks like one has a shoulder-mounted SRM lau--"

Hammer Four's call was cut off by a loud burst as the Scorpion Light Tank was struck in the turret by a missile. The warhead itself shouldn't have been enough to penetrate the tank's armor, but when struck from above, the angle was enough to cause horrific armor spalling. The inner layers of the Scorpion's cheaply-made armor could splinter off and become deadly shrapnel, potentially shredding the very crewmen it was supposed to protect.

"Hammer Four, respond!" Choi shouted from the command chair of his much larger Manticore. "Hammer Four, this is Hammer One, respond! Dammit!"

The 'Free People's Army,' as they called themselves, had infiltrated Yuzhny Portveyn before the NPDRE could effectively cordon off the city, and their partisan fighters had been making life far more difficult. While they had no loyalty to Governor Xiu, they had apparently decided that the enemy of their enemy was their friend, and had been harassing the Guards at every turn.

"Target the source of that SRM!" Choi ordered to the Manticore's gunner. "Rotate to 112.3....elevate by 26.6-- no, 26.7....fire!"

With an ear-splitting thundercrack, the Manticore's Particle Projector Cannon spit forth a cerulean arc of man-made lightning, smashing into the office block and obliterating most of the building's sixth and seventh floors. Choi scowled, knowing that the PPC would have likely vaporized any guerillas in its path, but also knowing there was a good chance they'd already fled. While the PPC was a devastating anti-'Mech weapon, focusing its energy on a single point made it less effective against infantry.

"Hammer Two, Hammer Three," he barked into his comms to the pair of Scorpions behind his tank, "Concentrate fire on that building. Bring it down!"

"Yes sir!" came the response, and the two smaller tanks began to pelt the building with fire from their autocannons and machine guns. While far less powerful than the Manticore's PPC, the blasts and shrapnel from the cannons, and the streams of lead from the machine guns, were better suited for anti-personnel work.

As the Scorpions blasted large chunks of the building away, a swarm of six or seven smaller vehicles swerved from around a corner, skidding wildly across the shattered pavement.



These were technicals, civilian pickup trucks with plates of armor and machine guns bolted onto them. A staple of militia and partisan forces since before the days of space travel, technicals were typically fairly useless against armored vehicles, but fantastic for causing disruption and sowing chaos.

"More enemies inbound!" cried a panicked Hammer Three, turning the Scorpion's turret to fire at the trucks, as their bullets pinged ineffectually off of the tank's armor.

"Focus, damn it!" Choi roared. "Those technicals can't even hurt us! They're just trying to distract us from--"

As the half-dozen trucks swerved in and around the column tanks, another, much larger truck roared around the corner. This one looked like it had been converted from a dump truck, its bed crammed with barrels and crates, and warheads visibly mounted to its front and sides.



"What the hell...?" Choi muttered. "Hammer Lance, we have a suicide bomber on the field! Redirect your fire, target the big truck! Ignore the small ones!"

"ENEMY 'MECHS, SIR! 'MECHS INBOUND!"

Captain Choi's blood ran cold as the rhythmic thumping of gigantic mechanized footfalls rose among the din of battle.

Sure enough, following behind the technicals were three massive humanoid shapes. It was hard to determine their models among the huge clouds of smoke and dust the battle had kicked up, but as they approached, he saw what appeared to be fearsome weaponry on their arms.

One of them had hands that ended in what appeared to be huge snapping jaws.

Another had the unmistakable shape of a chainsaw at the end of its arm.

The third had a long jutting appendage sticking out from its left shoulder, probably the barrel of a huge cannon.

"RETREAT!" Hammer Six's commander shouted over open comms. "THEY'RE GOING TO TEAR US APART! RETREEEEEAT!!!!"

"NO, YOU FOOLS!" Choi screamed. "Keep fighting! In formation, we can defeat them! Do not retreat, I repeat, DO NOT RETREAT!"

By then, however, the panic had spread like wildfire throughout the column, and the Scorpion tanks began to scatter, fleeing in all directions. Hammer Two plowed blindly into the very same building they had just been shooting at, getting stuck in the rubble. Hammer Three backed up into the smoking hull of Hammer Four, its treads climbing halfway up the other tank's side before losing traction. Hammer Five and Six were nowhere to be found by the time the three Mechs cleared through the smoke.

His Manticore now the only remaining tank in the formation, Choi saw the forces that had scattered his column, and he screamed with frustration and rage.

Construction Mechs.

The huge snapping jaws were shovels on the arms of a Carbine Excavator Mech. The terrifying chainsaw was a logging saw of a Lumberjack. And what looked like the barrel of a cannon on the third was actually the crane of a Loader King. Yes, they had been retrofitted with rocket launchers, a few lasers, maybe a small cannon or two, but they were ramshackle contraptions, not full-on Battlemechs.

Choi's blood boiled. This was a farce, an embarrassment. The Third Armored Division was "People's Hammer," according to Grand General Malenkov. They were the righteous vengeance of the New Democratic People's Republic of Espia. And they were fleeing in terror from construction equipment.

The three converted IndustrialMechs lumbered into the square turning away from Choi's lone Manticore, and began pursuing the technicals down the street. The Loader King actually began to open fire, a flight of rockets sailing over the top of the large truck in the middle of the technical swarm.

As Choi fumed, he idly found himself wondering why the partisans were shooting at each other.

Weren't they all supposed to be on the same side?

---

Frances J. Hwang High School
Makeshift Headquarters of the Free People's Army
Yuzhny Portveyn
March 25th, 3030
0933 Hours

Even several kilometers from the fighting, the rumbles and thumps of explosions could still be heard and felt in the dark and crowded hallways of the repurposed school. The Free People's Army had spent several days converting the building as best they could, reinforcing walls, boarding up windows, creating chokepoints in the halls and outside in the surrounding streets, so that taking the school by force would be a daunting task. Even so, a well-placed air strike could obliterate them all, if the Espian Guards knew where to look.

In the administrative offices, three figures looked over a map of the city, while listening in to the comms chatter.



"Just received word from our advance squad," reported Captain Ryan Taggert. "The Guards are falling back from Memorial Square, and the loyalists are rallying around the Sports Complex. At the moment, the situation looks good."

A young man still in his mid twenties, Taggert was a former Espian Guard, but a patriot more to the people than to the regime. He had despised Governor Xiu, but mistrusted Federov and Malenkov as well, and went AWOL in the weeks leading up to the coup. Since then, the Captain had been instrumental in helping identify the weaknesses in the Espian Guards' methods.



"Indeed it does," remarked Commander Suraj Patel, "but we must be not celebrate our victory before it is won. The Guards gave up the Square because they were surprised and panicked. When they regain their nerves, they may well remember they have us outgunned."

Patel was a gifted military strategist, owing from his time in the Free Worlds League Military. He seldom ever talked about his past, but those who knew him knew that he had come to Espia some fifteen years ago, after having fought in the Marik Civil War. The fact that he had fought on the losing side had given him a pessimistic outlook, but he still believed in the cause.



"Then we won't let them regain their nerves!" replied Councilor Maria Kang. "We have to keep them disoriented, so they don't see how stretched out we are! Make them panic, make them see us everywhere they turn! If we keep them off balance, eventually we can topple them!"

A high-ranking member of the Council before the coup, Kang was an outspoken critic of Governor Xiu even during the Capellan occupation, having rallied for Espia's independence for years. She was one of the first people Premier Federov attempted to have rounded up and shipped off to Fort Tie Shan, but by the time he had established his power base, she had already gone underground.

"Easier said than done," Patel scoffed. "That last round of air strikes came dangerously close to us! The next time Kwan's bombers make a pass, we may not be so lucky."

"Two squads from the South Nui Awa cell have managed to acquire a few field guns from the Guards," Taggert said. "We can smuggle them piecemeal into the city within the next two days, assemble them on-site, and load them with flak rounds. That should buy us some protection from the sky."

"It's a start," Patel mused. "Assuming they don't get stopped at an NPDRE checkpoint."

"Shouldn't be an issue," Taggert dismissed the concern. "Enough of the Guards are willing to look the other way for the right amount of C-Bills."

"Nice to have stupid enemies and rich friends," Kang grinned. "Speaking of friends, have we gotten anywhere with our guest in the teacher's lounge?"

In the immediate aftermath of the coup, the FPA cell in Balya Gora had picked up a civilian, a teenager who claimed to be connected to the mercenaries that had worked for Governor Xiu. Gawain's Green Knights had been driven into hiding by the arrival of the Crimson Fists, but the boy said he knew how to get into contact with them. None of the FPA were particularly thrilled about working with the same mercs who had been Xiu's enforcers, but they were potentially a huge force multiplier, and had plenty of reasons to hate the NPDRE.

They had brought the boy along to Yuzhny Portveyn, keeping him under observation. Rather than keep him in a holding cell, they had hoped the teacher's lounge would be a bit more comfortable, thus making the boy a bit more amenable to cooperate.

"We're still working on it," Commander Patel answered. "Right now he's a lot of big promises, but no actionable information. If he really can get us the Green Knights, so much the better. If not..."

"Have some faith, friend," Councilor Kang reassured him. "We just need to--"

"Attention, attention, all units!" the voice of a young woman came over open comms. "This is Firebrand One, Firebrand Lance is in pursuit of technicals from the Heavenly Sword! Repeat, Heavenly Sword units are in the city! They're heading for the Sports Complex! They have a bomb truck inbound!"

The conversation between the three FPA leaders was stopped dead. They looked at each other, and knew that their plans had all just been dashed.

”We’ve got to stop that truck,” Captain Ryan stated the obvious.

”Or we can kiss Xiu and our loyalist allies goodbye,” muttered Patel.

"Firebrand One, this is Liberty Actual," said Kang into the radio’s microphone. ”Destroy that truck before it can reach the target! Don’t let it get away!”

"Liberty Actual, it’s out of our range!” came the response. "Our Mechs are too slow—it’s breaking away!”

“Is there anything we’ve got in the area that can intercept?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Maybe the loyalists around the Complex can stop it.”

“…and if they don’t?”

Councilor Kang’s face turned grim.

”Then these fanatical bastards will have cost us the city.”

---

Putski Sports Complex
Headquarters of Governor Xiu’s Administration
Yuzhny Portveyn
March 25th, 3030
0935 Hours



“Citizens of Espia,” began Governor Xiu Ruishan, speaking into the tripod-held camera in a conference room of the Sports Complex’s admin building, “The so-called ‘Grand General’ Malenkov and his political puppet Federov are once again spreading harmful misinformation and vicious lies.”

A loud roar from outside shook the room, one of the enemy jets flying overhead. This was accompanied by an angry buzzing from the autocannons of a defending Partisan anti-aircraft tank, filling the sky with deadly flak. Seconds later, the building shook from an explosion a few blocks away.

The pair of Partisans around the Sports Complex had effectively kept aircraft from the Espian Guard from getting close enough to land a precision air strike, so the enemy planes had to rely on releasing their bombs from altitude and hoping for the best. Still, with each pass, the Guard fighters got a bit braver, their bombs came a bit closer, and the Partisans ammunition stores were a bit emptier.

Governor Xiu visibly flinched before regaining his composure. “As I was saying, Malenkov has told you his thugs would march into Yuzhny Portveyn and crush us under their heel, but the rightful government of Espia remains resolute! As their discipline collapses, I stand strong, ready as ever to serve the people whom I dearly love.”

Even Xiu knew this was a farcical statement. Long before the coup, before the Capellans had abandoned Espia, Xiu Ruishan was immensely unpopular with the people of his world. They had seen him as little more than a puppet of House Liao, which wasn’t exactly untrue. He had no love for this planet or its people. He wasn’t even born on Espia, having been installed by the Capellan Confederation years before as a transfer from Sian. But he was a born politician, having been taught the ways of administration and statecraft since childhood. He understood the importance of strong leadership, and that the people needed a stalwart figure to guide them through dark times.

Xiu Ruishan was that leader, an impervious rock that would never buckle. In his own mind, at least.

“Even as we speak,” Xiu continued, “The Espian Guard is falling back, half-starved and in disarray, thanks to the incompetence of their leaders, the corruption of their staff, and the cowardice of their soldiery. The only power they wield is intimidation, and when put to the test, they wither like dried leaves and scatter on the wind. Malenkov can bluster all he wants, but in the end, the true leaders of Espia will restore order, justice, and peace!”

As if on cue, a second blast shook the building, flickering the lights and causing Xiu to dive under a nearby table. As the rumble subsided, a balding Caucasian man in a sharp suit stepped up to the camera and switched it off.



“I think we’ve done quite enough damage to our own image, sir,” said Ben Kahale, one of the senior board members of the Aqua Vitae Corporation.

While the NPDRE technically held political power on Espia now, the planet’s extremely salty waters required massive desalination plants along the coastlines to pump drinking water to the public. Those desalination plants were all owned by Aqua Vitae, giving them an incredible amount of clout. Federov had pressured many board members to swear their loyalty to his regime, but Kahale was no fan of the brave new world the NPDRE had promised. He’d thrown in with Xiu and the old guard, and he had come to regret it since nearly the very beginning.

“You had no reason to cut off my broadcast,” Xiu huffed. “I was telling no lie, was I? The Espian Guards are running like fools; we can still hold out and achieve victory here! The people must know that!”

“The Espian Guard might be bumbling idiots,” Kahale said, “But Federov’s propaganda department still knows how to spin the story to their advantage. By the end of the day, half the continent will have seen you diving for cover, and everyone will have forgotten us pushing their troops out of the Memorial Square.”

Even that wasn’t entirely true—the Free People’s Army had done the heavy lifting on that. And as soon as Malenkov’s men were out of the city, there was a decent chance the FPA would turn their guns on them if Ben didn’t manage the situation carefully. Still, Xiu’s insecurities meant that the corporate mogul had to humor him here, placate him there, and attribute any successes they’d had exclusively to the Governor.

”Nonsense,” Xiu scoffed. “By the end of the day today, we will be celebrating our victory over-“

Kahale felt a buzz in his pocket, and he shushed the planetary governor with a raised finger as he pulled out his phone. "Hold that thought.”

Xiu fumed. “You dare to—“

"What do you mean it’s breached the perimeter?!” Kahale spouted to the military captain on the other end of the line. “You can still shoot it before it reaches us, right?”

Outside, the two men heard the pops and booms of gunfire, and the rumble of an approaching truck. As Xiu looked around in blank confusion, Kahale’s eyes widened.

“I said you can shoot it before it—“

There was a loud crash from a few rooms away as the outer wall of the admin building crumbled, and Xiu and Kahale heard the loud, throaty roar of a massive diesel engine.

A moment later, there was a deafening boom, and the two men were thrown end over end into oblivion.

---

PEOPLE OF ESPIA.

YOU HAVE SINNED AGAINST THE TRUE AND RIGHTFUL RULERS OF THIS WORLD.

YOU HAVE TURNED AWAY FROM THE WISDOM OF THE CELESTIAL THRONE.

FOR THAT…

…YOU ARE TO BE PUNISHED.



THIS IS WHAT REMAINS OF THE HEADQUARTERS OF GOVERNOR XIU.

OUR AGENTS HAVE STRUCK A RIGHTEOUS BLOW.

XIU WAS WEAK. HE WAS INCOMPETENT. HE BETRAYED THE CELESTIAL THRONE.

FOR THAT, GOVERNOR XIU IS DEAD.

BENJAMIN KAHALE WAS A BOARD MEMBER OF THE AQUA VITAE CORPORATION.

HE WAS A GREEDY, CORRUPT CAPITALIST WHO PROFITED FROM YOUR LABOR.

FOR THAT, BENJAMIN KAHALE IS DEAD.

CONSIDER THIS YOUR FIRST AND ONLY WARNING, PEOPLE OF ESPIA.

YOU MUST REPENT YOUR SINFUL WAYS.

THE NEW PEOPLE’S DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF ESPIA IS A SHAM.

THE CRIMSON FISTS ARE AGENTS OF A FALSE REGIME.

THE FREE PEOPLE’S ARMY IS A CONGREGATION OF HERETICS.

GAWAIN’S GREEN KNIGHTS ARE CAPITALIST SELL-SWORDS.

UNTIL YOU REJECT THESE FALSE POWERS,

AND RETURN TO THE LOVING EMBRACE OF THE CELESTIAL THRONE—

—THE ETERNAL WISDOM OF HOUSE LIAO—

NONE OF YOU ARE SAFE.

FROM THIS MOMENT ON,

THE HEAVENLY SWORD WILL CUT YOU ALL DOWN.

Andrew Rivers

All his life, Andrew had been taken in by the stories of 'Adorably Precocious Children', particularly the types who were able to navigate the world of politics and intrigue as well as any adult, using their child's looks and enthusiasm and the fact that everyone underestimated them in order to achieve their goals. He wanted to be one of them, knew he could be one of them if given the chance; he was a genius, he knew things which others did not, and he was 'adorable'.

Or so he thought.

Reality was a harsher mistress. Where once he was top dog among the other kids, here he was mistrusted, looked down upon, and regarded as a potential enemy. They had manhandled him a little before interrogations, too. But Andrew knew enough not to bridle - He had learned patience from his imprisonment.

And so upon hearing the explosion of Governor Xiu's headquarters, Andrew waited a little longer, for the Free People's Army to send someone to him to confirm what he had already inferred - That the Governor was dead and the situation in Yuzhny Portveyn was worse than ever. There was a time to act fast and this was now. And so his next words (after checking the rank of the person sent to talk to him, of course) were, "The Green Knights have a few exclusive channels; I know some of them. However, you will need to let me access communications equipment - Anything else but my voice and they'll think you tortured or killed me for the info. As for why I didn't tell you this before... You didn't trust me enough back then."

He needed them to believe him. He needed them to see the determination, the resolution, in his eyes. He needed to convince them. He also needed to convince himself that there was no way he could have told them about the exclusive channels earlier, that he needed them to trust him more first, that he hadn't just neglected to tell them about it because he was still emotional about his friends dying and his father being in peril and how everything was on a knife's edge.

After all, child/teen geniuses didn't get emotional, except around people they loved, and in order to show them that they are not cold and heartless monsters.

Either way, he waited, waited for them to bring him before their higher-ups, and waited for them to listen to his promises and his offer of exclusive comms channels. And above all, waiting for them to let him access better comms equipment, dangit!

No sign of frustration showed on his face, or rather he thought that there wasn't any sign of frustration on his face; perhaps there was? He was prepared to plead, to let them have a glimpse of the boy behind the 'Wannabe Guile Hero', if only they'd let him have access to the equipment needed to access the Green Knights' comms channels before it was too late - Don't they know that without the Green Knights themselves, the Free People's Army would lose the reprieve they've gained for a city that they have a chance of controlling now?

If they let him near the comms equipment - It didn't matter if they had a gun placed at the back of his head - If they let him have access to a comms suite, he'd access the most encrypted channel he knew, a channel that his father, Reya, and the Colonel were likely to have kept open. And he'd say, his voice cracking with an undignified, un genius-like sob, "Gawain Green Knights, repeat, Gawain Green Knights? Are you here? Are you alive? This is Andrew Rivers. Repeat, this is Andrew Rivers. No, I'm not in Fort Tie Shan right now; I'm somewhere safe. If you're able to receive my calls, tell my father I love him and to get on the comms right now. Also, if Engineer Reya is still alive, tell her I'm sorry for ever planning to marry her for her noble title."

And if he was allowed to talk further, he'd say, "As for the Colonel, I'm sorry for being trouble and going off on my own, but I'm safe now. I hope Dad didn't go crazy in my and Mom's absence; she still isn't safe."

Andrew Rivers, the Wannabe Guile Hero, would not realize the irony in that last sentence until later...

@AndyC@Pilatus

Old Rose Hotel
Former Headquarters of Aqua Vitae Corporation
North Nui Awa
March 25th, 3030

There was never a time when the northern bank of the Tie Shan River was not picturesque. Stretching from the river itself out over hills to the mountains beyond, it was an explosion of painted eloquence all the way to the rocky horizon set in deep greens, tones of earth and on some occasions a whisping blanket of fog that moved so subtly, it looked as if it could be gathered in its excess to be given to some other world, perhaps where a creator had been less demure in their imagination. The view from North Nui Awa was particularly appealing, the city itself seemingly brushed into the landscape with centuries old architecture that was both tasteful, traditional- in the ancient Terran sense, and built to withstand generations of saltwater air. Within this enclave of spires, columns, archways and in many places, hand-placed stone cut by artisan engineers on the river bank centuries before, occupying a prominent bend in the river, was the “Old Tower” or the Rose Hotel, the original home of what had started as a meeting place for some of Espia’s most opulent families that eventually became the Aqua Vitae Corporation.

Over time as the business grew into an undeniable public utility, many in the company leadership moved to the modern construction of Balya Gora and a new tower near the spaceport that allowed for more direct oversight of the export of Neodymium from the mines- the true currency of Espia, and easier dealings with whatever of the Great Houses decided to plant their flag. However, a few remained behind and over the years, even fewer still as modernity encroached along with rest of the Inner Sphere, until only one remained; leaving the old boardroom, the penthouse executives’ level, the rich hardwood and the polished brass to the care and ownership of one Ms. Cassandra Jeong. Under her ownership part of the old hotel floors had been restored, reserved only for her personal guests, a posh restaurant and club occupied another floor while others hosted the local staff of AVC operations, rented spaces and a multitude of Cassandra’s other projects, most of which were overseen daily by people she had never met. When interviewed by the RIver Gazette, the local gossip column for both North and South Nui Awa, about her “waiting out” the other AVC board members to leave the Rose to herself she simply tipped her sunglasses and replied: “Patience pays, darling. Maybe you’d like to move in? If you can afford the rent. Maybe if you write for me, we could work something out?”



In that penthouse level, now Cassandra’s personal office suite, framed on two sides by the view of the Tie Shan River flowing into the distance, patience did pay, the same as it always had. However, the game was different now and different than the predecessors of her family had ever had to play. Of course the usuals, those lacking patience, or for that matter, fortitude had already opened their bed covers for the self-styled “NPDRE” and their lackeys the, “Crimson Fists”. Even a casual mention of the over-the-top mercenary company name caused a nearly involuntary eye-roll for Cassandra. Never could she allow herself to be aligned with such a revolting lack of style. As for her counterparts, if they had only listened to her and pooled their resources, the same as the AVC had done for generations, they could have presented a united front and an absolute bargaining position, but alas, knowledge wasn’t generational and intelligence didn’t pass down through the bloodstream. As her father often remarked: Wisdom doesn’t always come with age, sometimes dumb is forever.

An aide brought her coffee. Like everyone else in the office, the young woman was impeccably dressed. She presented the cup, prepared in the exact way it was required every day, at the exact temperature and placed on Cassandra’s desk at the exact moment it was expected. Seeing no reaction from Cassandra, other than continuing to look down through her glasses at a magazine article, the girl knew the delivery was satisfactory and backed away slowly. Another aide slipped through the doorway behind her and the two nearly collided, both quickled looked back at Cassandra, mortified at their clumsiness, but thankfully received no reaction other than a turn of the page. The newer aide quickly recomposed herself as the former hastily departed. She was unaccustomed to working directly for Cassandra and for a brief moment studied the various framed photographs behind her employer, the largest of which was magazine cover, simply titled SPHERE, featuring a dramatic wedding photo op of Melissa Steiner on her wedding day at Hilton Head Island.



“Do you have something to tell me, Angela?” Cassandra asked, not looking up. “Or did you just come to breath in front of me?”.

“I… ah, uh-um. I’m sorry Ms. Jeong,” The girl stammered, but quickly shook her head to regain her focus. “Mr. McCord reports that he’s in position.” Her tone clearly denoted that she had no idea as to the context of the message she was relaying, but seeing Cassandra look up somewhat piqued from her magazine seemed to indicate she was delivering good news.

“Ah, delightful.” She turned in her chair and waved a hand towards two large monitors. Of the numerous pieces of posh furniture and decorum, the two large screens were the only slightly modern looking set pieces. Taking the cue, the aide switched the displays on. One was a live news broadcast of the fighting in Yuzhny Portveyn while the other was a calm display that looked almost like a targeting screen with the word PASSIVE blinking in a lower corner. From different angles, both seemed to be focused on Putski Sports Complex. The frantic report of a newscaster came up immediately as the sound came on.

“Mute.” Cassandra said flatly.

The aid silenced the display with one quick motion. The report continued with images of burning buildings and towering smoke plumes as laser and ballistics were traded in rapid pockmarks of light and fire against the ruined cityscape. A ticker scrolled along the bottom of the screen.

“Darling, how far away are you now?” Cassandra asked aloud. She tilted her head slightly, gauging her own estimate on the scene.

There was a small delay as the message and the reply moved across several secure AVC owned networks. A man’s voice answered with some static in the line: “Two point three kilometers.”

Prompt, exact answers to her questions were so satisfying, Cassandra thought to herself. She leaned in a bit resting her chin inquisitively in one upturned palm, looking over the utter chaos continuing to develop on both screens as if she were sizing up a finely tailored dress. “Do you foresee any difficulty in retrieving our objective?”

“Negative.”

Cassandra began to speak, but the muted channel suddenly changed to a familiar visage, that of former Governor Xiu. His voiceless lips moved with the typical haughtiness for which he was well known. “One moment, dear” She said aloud towards the disembodied radio voice, watching the other display once more. On screen the Capellan governor prattled on, clearly in distress.

Volume…” Cassandra groaned with annoyance. The aide quickly obeyed.

...Malenkov has told you his thugs would march into Yuzhny Portveyn and crush us under their heel, but the rightful government of Espia remains resolute! As their discipline collapses, I stand strong, ready as ever to serve the people whom I dearly love.

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

The Espian Guard is falling back, half-starved and in disarray, thanks to the incompetence of their leaders, the corruption of their staff, and the cowardice of their soldiery. The only power they wield is intimidation, and when put to the test, they wither like dried leaves and scatter on the wind. Malenkov can bluster all he wants, but in the end, the true leaders of Espia will restore order, justice, and peace!

The screen shook as the former Governor dove away and Cassandra thought she caught a glimpse of the explosion that struck near the building on the other live feed. The newscast was delayed several seconds behind. However, the image of the man that passed over the camera right before the broadcast was cut caused Cassandra’s whole countenance to drop in unbelieving surprise. Her hand fell on the hardwood desktop and her ringed fingers wrapped a sharp thwack! against the lacquered grain dishevelling some of the files and papers in front of her. The aide visibly jumped as if it were a rifle shot. Cassandra rubbed her fingers over her forehead and sighed with annoyance. “Impossibly stupid man.” She shook her head examining the two screens again briefly. “Well, we must give Benjamin credit for loyalty…” She said, picking her phone up from the desk. Her fingers moved with exacting precision before putting the speaker to her ear, her face growing into a burgeoning scowl of annoyance around pursed lips. Her eyes cut over to the aide. “At least tell me that the helicopter is en route?”

The girl fumbled quickly for her datapad again. Cassandra began hearing the line ring on the other side. She sat back in her chair, preparing to give one of her infamous scoldings. The fact the call was into a warzone and to a fellow counterpart on the AVC board of directors was irrelevant.

“The helicopter is-” The aide began to report, but stopped suddenly as one of the displays suddenly flashed with a massive explosion that engulfed what looked like the entire Putski Sports Complex. A shockwave shook the camera feed as a towering plume of rolling dirty-gray smoke began to blossom up from the ground.

The call went to voicemail.

Both sets of eyes shifted to the news broadcast almost simultaneously, anticipating the delay. The angle was better, much closer. The explosion erupted once again, leveling the main complex in a flash of fire. The camera cut to static and then to a shocked news anchor back at the studio who seemed to mirror Cassandra and her aide’s expression through the screen.

“Mother of God…”

The smoke column continued to rise on the other screen and Cassandra realized her mouth was slightly agape. From the phone in her hand, Benjamin Kahale’s voice informed her, through a crisp professional tone, that he would respond to his voicemail at his earliest convenience. She continued to watch for a moment as the reporters on screen scrambled to continue the broadcast however another message message broke through hijacking the broadcast:



Cassandra looked over her desk slowly and took in a deep breath lacing her fingers together to gather her thoughts. Her eyes cut to a folder she had placed with a green tab among other fashion articles and gossip headlines from the Inner Sphere. She took another slow breath and let her shoulders relax, glancing over the office floor beyond her desk area. Her other staff continued on, undisturbed that there was a war on. Hands moved in conversations, phones rang, and the work continued. There wasn’t a single person on Espia that wouldn’t want to be in this building and in this room. For some reason the thought, a statement that she regularly told her new hires, crossed her mind.

“Call the helicopter back.” She said sternly. Her fingers wrapped another quick moment of contemplation on the desktop before she plucked the green-tabbed folder away from the others. She tucked it under one arm and began gathering her things together to leave the building. The aide seemed surprised and unsure what was happeneing Again, Cassandra looked back up at the one steady display. “Jonathan, I want you to meet me at the lake property tonight.”

The voice on the other side of the transmission seemed to ignore the breach in protocol. With chaos that had just unfolded, it was doubtful that anyone was listening. “Yes, ma’am.”

Western Mountains
Abandoned Neodymium Mines
March 31st, 3030

Jon set the helicopter down near an abandoned cabin in a small clearing. He hadn’t flown in a while, but the sense of balance across the cyclic, collective, pedals and the throttle was not a far cry from the requirements of a neural helmet. When they’d left Cassandra’s lake property, he’d taken it slow in order to stay safely under controlled airspace and thankfully the weather was agreeable enough that the visibility was acceptable for low level flight. By the time he sat the gear down on the soft grass, he was looking forward to flying it again. After a few minutes spent folding the rotors up, he staked down the machine and threw an olive drab cover over the slick AVC paint scheme. A few more equipment checks: rifle, sidearm, pack and belt before Cassandra handed him a map with the coordinates of several seismic sensors. She had brought along a pricey satellite GPS which was handy, but he still kept track of his compass bearing as they set off.

Wearing a hooded sweatshirt, loose fitting pants, gloves and hiking boots, Jon looked more like a woodsman than a mercenary. All of his equipment was well-worn from outdoor usage, from his clothing to his rifle. His hair curled out from beneath a very heavily weathered baseball cap that simply sported the GM logo and had molded itself to the shape of his skull through years of rain, sun, sweat and now Espian salt mist. Cassandra on the other hand looked like her entire ensemble had just come out of the box and consisted of expensive outdoor brands that made her look like she had just arrived from a catalog photoshoot. When they had first set out from the lake property, she’d examined his ensemble with her typical, critical air, but rather than being judgemental, she seemed at least minutely curious about selecting something that wouldn’t result in her freezing her ass off in the woods.

The terrain wasn’t overly treacherous for a cross-country ruck and the years of pine needles, foliage, moss and dirt gave way gently underfoot in many places after days of rain. There would be at least a few miles of steady walking to hit all the sensors efficiently and Jon was a little concerned at first about Cassandra keeping up, but she surprisingly moved along and complained little about the conditions. What she did talk about though, nearly non-stop, was a range of her favorite subjects: Fashion and gossip, her ex-husbands, AVC history, her two daughters, Capellan treachery, her Magazine, and finally Ben Kahale and the other turncoat board members, their drama, and how there would have been no need for any of this lunacy if they had all just listened to her. Jon walked along mostly just listening. Much of it he had heard before, several times. He’d been in her office and seen her chew out her subordinates. Being there had made him a bit of a curiosity, but the coffee was the best he had ever tasted and the food from the restaurant was phenomenal- He could have as much as he wanted of any of it. To top it off, the women that worked for Cassandra were some of the prettiest he had ever seen. It wasn’t all work on Espia he’d thought to himself occasionally. All he had to do was keep trespassers off of Cassandra’s zoned properties and in that work he was completely indiscriminate. FPA, NPDRE, CCAF, ABCD- whatever acronym they decided to ride under didn’t matter to his guns.

They walked on sometimes crossing over and sometimes staying on a few logging trails. Occasionally, Jon would motion for Cassandra to quiet down for a moment and listen like he had heard something out of place. She played along at first, seemingly wrapt in the intrigue, but after a while she began to realize sometimes her hired help was just messing with her. When she called him on it, he just snickered a little, shrugged and kept walking. What he did explain though, was that beyond the obvious story that the seismic readings told on paper: that the sensors were picking up an unusual amount of activity in the mountains, the real trail was in the the washed out tracks which would have been impossible to distinguish as the NPDRE and the Crimson Fists searched from the air and from the cockpit of a mech. The abandoned mines were a maze of possibilities, but he had a good hunch.

“How is your father doing?” Cassandra suddenly asked. The topic, for once not related to herself, immediately caught Jon’s attention.

“Still not good.” He replied. It wasn’t where his mind wanted to be, but he had made the decision to tell Cassandra about most of his reasoning for forming his “one-man” mercenary crew during their initial interview. Amazingly, she’d been surprisingly receptive in his desire to get away from fighting for a change.

It makes you genuine my dear, not just another hired savage I could have pulled from the MRB registry. I need real motivated people to work for me no matter what my business may be. Half of these little debutants in my office can hardly fold a sweater without a focus group. It’s exhausting. Was how she had explained it. Jonathan, I’m not a commander or a general, or anything like that, but I understand people and the use of force, whether it may come from the barrel of a weapon or from Hyperpulse message. The newcomers to this planet and the natives alike, underestimate me at their peril.

Once he had become a known commodity on Espia outside of the influence of the former Capellan government, their would-be replacements in the NPDRE and eventually Crimson Fists themselves. The offers began to come in for him to leave his contract with Cassandra and pick a side, but he’d ignored them all. He kept his commitments.

Another half mile to a bend in the logging trail that opened into a clearing bringing up flat grass and good shadows from the tree line. Jon stopped and looked around while Cassandra continued to talk. He exhaled a bit and without a word, slowly unslung his rifle and placed it on the ground before raising his hands.

“Jonathan, what are you doing?” Cassandra questioned sharply.

“Put your hands up.”

“Excuse me, what?”

There was movement from the tree line, two figures stepped out of the shadows weapons ready and moving quickly, a green patch visible on the sleeve. One held a shotgun. Cassandra immediately put her hands up. As they approached, she wiggled her nose to keep her sunglasses in position. There was never an excuse to not be fashionable.

“Smarter than you look, Jonathan.'' One of the soldiers said mockingly and picked up Jon’s rifle while the other kept his sights trained.

“I was waiting for y’all to come out.” The Green Knight began searching him as he spoke, immediately removing his sidearm and a large knife from his belt. “I got another one on my ankle” The soldier promptly rolled his pant leg up and tossed another handgun aside.

“Not wearing any colors, we coulda just put you down. There’s a war on ya know.” This time he removed a pack of cigarettes. Jon frowned.

“Not lookin’ for trouble.”

“Then what are you lookin’ for?” Another voice asked. A mountain of a man emerged from cover to their right, flanked by two more Knights with shotguns. His voice matched his presentation.

Jon watched them walk up from the corner of his eye. “I think I found it.”

Sergeant Dalton snorted amusement at the reply as one of the men handed him Jon’s rifle. Another attempted to very awkwardly search Cassandra. “Dear child, try not to over-indulge yourself.” She said in a tone that came away like a knife being pulled from a silk sheath.

Dalton looked over the rifle briefly. “Nice piece…” He said. “Where you from soldier?”

“New Vandenberg.” The reply came with an obvious air of pride and a smirk.

“Taurus.” Dalton patted his chest with the unofficial hand sign of the Taurian Defense Force.

“No shit?”

“Well, isn’t this lovely? I should have brought a picnic lunch for the happy reunion.” Cassandra piped in. “Now can we get down to business gentlemen?”

“Just out on a hike with granny?” Dalton said, ignoring her. Cassandra’s jaw nearly came unhinged.

“She’s not my granny, she’s my boss.”

“Oh, so it’s like that huh?”

The other Knights chuckled. Jon, still with his hands in the air, grimaced and shook his head.

“How did you find us?” Native camaraderie was set aside, Dalton wanted answers pronto.

“Followed the tracks.”

“Bullshit. Those tracks been washed out for days- How did you find us?”

A tension returned to the air at Dalton’s words. The Knights were well acquainted with the tone and a couple fingers moved over the trigger of their weapons.

“You got something heavy, I think a tank, with a damaged drive gear.” Jon replied, matching Dalton’s grim visage, soldier to soldier. “It cut an unusual track. You can see where the driver was fightin’ with it. Even after the rain, it’s there.”

Dalton seemed somewhat impressed. Some of the other Knights eyeballed the trail, studying the mud and shoulders for what Jon described. “Fair enough.” He said. “But how did you even know to come here?”

“I had an AVC map in my back pocket.” Jon nodded towards the infantryman holding it. “It’s layed out with the old mining complexes and a bunch of seismic sensors y’all have been runnin’ over.”

“And how’d you get a hold of that? Dalton arched an eyebrow.

“Because they belong to me.”

A hundred meters or so down one of the unused tunnels away from the main chamber, Colonel Wayne stared up into the darkness of what had once been an elevator shaft. Flitting about in the shadows, Gaius would occasionally catch a glimpse of leathery wings, hear a short high chirp. A family of bats had taken up residence in the mine before the Knights had moved in.

Typically, planetary explorers had a tendency to classify life forms as a loose approximation of Terran animals, relying on physical features rather than any actual genetics. If it had wings, it went down in the book as a "bird." If it had fins and lived in water, it was a "fish." If it had scales, it was a "lizard," and so forth. He'd seen a few different alien "bat" creatures on various worlds, but these appeared to be actual Terran bats, brought over during Espia's colonization no doubt. Their sudden appearance had struck him with an oddly hopeful sensation.

Gaius was never one for superstition, but a bat was part of his family's old coat of arms, going all the way back to the pre-spaceflight days on ancient Terra. While Colonel Wayne's lineage was never officially noble, his ancestors had been wealthy industrialists and aristocrats, dedicated to the greater good of the people around them. His parents had told him stories of an old folk hero, a distant ancestor of his apparently, who took the family crusade for a better world even further, becoming a crime-fighter and adventurer. He never took the stories all that seriously, but ever since hearing them, Gaius had been fascinated by bats, and considered them a good omen.

And a bit of good luck was what the Green Knights needed.

While the raid on the Espian Guards' supply depot was successful and would allow them to hold out for a while, it was ultimately a half-measure. The Guards still had them outnumbered and outgunned, and sooner or later the Crimson Fists would zero in on their location. In a stand-up fight, the Knights could only delay the inevitable, unless they found a way to tip the scales in their favor.

Worse, Lt. Lyons had been monitoring comms chatter, and had picked up several messages from the Espian Guard regarding the actions in Yuzhny Portveyn. While the details were sketchy, it sounded like Governor Xiu was dead. That meant two things: that their original employer for their contract was no longer alive to pay them, and that the full brunt of the Guards would be coming back up North before long.

The Green Knights were going to need to make a big move, and make it soon.

"Sir?" Sergeant Dalton's voice crackled over the Colonel's personal comm.

"Reading you, Sergeant," he responded.

"Sir, we've picked up a couple more visitors, sir," the deep, gruff voice of the Sergeant rumbled, always beginning and ending each sentence when addressing Colonel Wayne with the age-old "Sir Sandwich" formality common to Taurian ground-pounders. "Sir, they surrendered without a fight, and said they came looking for us, sir. Sir, one of them's a fighting man, the other looks, talks, and smells like money."

"I'll be up there in a minute," the Colonel answered. "Til then, don't let them out of your sight."

The Colonel glanced back up at the bats, and wondered how good of an omen they really were. This was the second time someone had managed to track them back to the mine since the supply raid; if this place was compromised, the Green Knights would need to pack up and move to another location before the Guards and the Fists came knocking. Traveling over land was going to be a huge risk with NPDRE fighters still patrolling the skies, but staying in one place until the enemy walked up to their doorstep was suicide.

Gaius walked back up the tunnel with a purpose, and called out when he entered the chamber.

"Green Knights, high alert!" he bellowed. "We've got another visitor. Could be nothing, could mean more are on the way. Chief Aadil, I want as many supplies as possible loaded up and ready to relocate. And I want the 'Mechs spun up and ready for--"

"Oh, I don't think that's going to be necessary, Colonel Wayne," a woman's voice cut in, not yelling, but with an authority that carried throughout the cavern nonetheless. "It is Colonel Gaius Wayne, isn't it?"

Entering the mine's main chamber, flanked by Sergeant Dalton and two of his best men, was a white-haired woman who was dressed as if she'd heard of the idea of the outdoors but had never experienced it. With her was a gruff-looking man who didn't appear to be too much younger than the Colonel, and who carried himself as a seasoned soldier. A woman of means, and a man of action. Apart from the fact that they had their hands in the air and no fewer than three shotguns aimed at them, their body language suggested a casualness as if they were out shopping.

"Depends on who's asking," Gaius said, approaching the pair. He glanced over at Hugh, the newcomer they had picked up in the wake of the raid, to see if these were friends of his. If they were, then Hugh was a hell of an actor, as the look of surprise and suspicion on his own face didn't suggest any familiarity. "Care to explain who you are and why you thought it was a good idea to walk into an active military operation like you own the place?"

"That's because I do own the place, my dear Colonel," the woman said with a gracious smile. "Forgive me, I suppose a proper introduction would do. Cassandra Jeong, Executive Vice President and board member of the Aqua Vitae Corporation, as well as owner of a quarter of the neodymium mines on this continent. I'd hoped for a chance to make an introduction through more proper channels, but recent events have forced me to take more direct action."

As all eyes fell on Ms. Jeong and her cohort, Colonel Wayne's poker-face was set in stone. "And how'd you manage to find us?"

"A combination of things," she answered casually. "Namely the data from the seismic sensors my surveyors have across the area, and my dear Jonathan's exceptional skills as a tracker. I highly doubt Premier Federov or his lackeys have the resources and the know-how to repeat our success, so you needn't worry about them following suit."

"So we know who and how," the Colonel said, eyeing the woman whose poker-face was far more expressive but just as inscrutable as his own, "but not the why. What's the point of seeking us out? Is this a threat? A shakedown? An extortion?"

Cassandra laughed dryly. "Isn't it obvious, Colonel?"

She risked moving one of her hands to lower her sunglasses, amber eyes looking over each of the Green Knights with a mix of curiosity and hunger like a cat.

"This, Green Knights," she said, addressing all of the mercenaries in the chamber, "is a job interview."