[center][b][h2][color=f26522]Jonathan McCord[/color][/h2][/b][/center]


It didn’t take him long to pick up the trail. Like most outfits, it was a single file line to break up the mark of their prints in the Espian dirt, hide their numbers and make identification harder for scouts. Unlike ground vehicles with non-directional tires or tracks however, Battlemechs could never disguise which direction they were traveling. Jon’s eyes constantly scanned the expansive glass of the cockpit. Even though the territory north of Nui Awa wasn’t completely indian country, he regularly zig-zagged in his path over the Crimson Fists’ trail and kept his torso moving to keep his cockpit from being a steady target for an idling Manticore or Bulldog tucked into a treeline that might want to get fresh. The grassy plains thumped gently under [i]Ossie[/i]’s full stride and the mountain range steadily filled the horizon in front of him. The trail ahead was familiar territory and good hunting ground. Plenty of cover and lots of snow and ice to keep the guns cool. He knew the Knights were going to catch them first, but what that encounter would look like when he got there wasn’t a guarantee and an exfil over the same open country, should they not be successful, was going to be a real shitty deal. He really wanted a cigarette.    

As the terrain slowly elevated and shifted from soft plains grass to juts of sharp rock, he eased into a trot as the profile of the Fists’ trail diverged and they stopped for a moment. [i]Ossie[/i]’s angular form rotated slowly as it hovered like a bloodhound at the conflagration that had apparently taken place prior to the ascent. Jon’s glance narrowed and he quietly named off the machines. “[color=f26522][i]Firestarter…[/i][/color]” The light mech's jaunty little legs took the lead position. “[color=f26522][i]Crusader… Hunchback[/i][/color]” The mediums fanned out on opposing sides. Footpad identification was standard training. Somewhere he had a very worn TDF issued stack of playing cards that had helped commit the images to memory over a multitude of poker games. “[color=f26522][i]Whammer…[/i][/color]” His brow arched a bit as another set emerged that hadn’t been in the datapad briefing. “[color=f26522]...And a [i]Panther[/i][/color]” He looked around a bit further for a moment, pulling himself up in the straps to study the ground. “[color=f26522]Why did you stop?[/color]” His eyes began to carefully follow the trail of the [i]Warhammer[/i] as it appeared to turn and double back towards Nui Awa. [color=f26522][i]Shit.[/i][/color]. His eyes followed the tracks as they led away. The thought of pursuit crossed his mind, but he kept looking for another clue as to why the lance had stopped.

The rendezvous had been quick for sure, not even long enough to fully settle the tracks and just enough for the ‘[i]Hammer[/i] to divert and for another to join in as a sub. Jon’s lips curled a bit. The birdlike prints of a [i]Catapult[/i] were unmistakable against the muddy rock, joining in from the west. His eyes followed up the mountain as the lance rejoined in file and proceeded up the pass. Losing a [i]Warhammer[/i] but gaining a [i]Catty[/i] and a [i]Panther[/i], wasn’t exactly a break in their favor, however in the narrow lanes of the peak it would be harder for the lights to stretch their legs and for the ‘Cat to keep a sensor lock. The missile carrier instantly made him think about Marit first, but he knew at least two of the Knights’ mechs had jump jets. He settled back and throttled up; the machine beneath him leaning into the run, almost sensing the conclusion of the pursuit through his thoughts in the neurohelmet. He knew the Fists weren’t familiar with the pass as he was and would take the regular route before they risked a fall, but a few careful steps and he could save some time and meet them with a clear shot at their flank. He glanced up at the regular gray soup of Espian clouds and then at the time as he started the ascent. A break in weather could give him a glimmer of sunlight to his back, but he prepared himself to come upon the worst as he moved up the trail.