"Rat 1-5," came Hart's voice with the crackle of static, "we have contacts to our west in the vicinity of the sensor net station. Will update as we determine nature of contacts. Put the artillery support on standby, over."

"Roger, wilco." Mazigh shot a look at the officers next to him, then flicked a switch so he could communicate to his people directly. "All units, this is HQ," he said firmly. "This is [i]not[/i] a drill. Contacts have been spotted in the vicinity of the sensor net station. Hex 5 and 6, rendezvous with the recon lance ASAP. Artillery units, direct weapons toward the site and await further instruction." Mazigh snapped his fingers for his aide, and he shoved the cup of coffee at him; he didn't want it anywhere near the electronics with potential hostiles on the loose. "I repeat, this is [i]not[/i] a drill," Mazigh said before flicking the communications off.

"Who the Hell would be stupid enough to try this?" asked Miles, turning away from his screen momentarily. The lighting in the [i]Daimyo[/i] dimmed and took on a slight orange tinge, enough to warn anyone that hadn't gotten the picture that there was a potential confrontation at hand. "They're either stupid or have balls of steel."

"Or they desperately needed a place to land; there's no way of knowing without investigating," Mazigh retorted sharply. He gave Miles a pointed look. "Assume [i]nothing.[/i] Get our goddamned eyes in the sky closer to the station and get our boys some information!"

"Aye, sir!" said the Warrant Officer, a bit of sweat forming on his brow.

Moments later, another message broke through, crackly though it was. First there was mention of a spheroid dropship, and then...

"1-6 here, presumed hostile dropship in AO. We're going to advance in closer. 1-5, I want you to stand by with everything you can throw at the coordinates I am transmitting now and to position vehicles at these other coordinates," Hart's fingers could be heard tapping a console, "to block escape of this element. Engage only on my command or if engaged first. Be careful."

"Roger, wilco," answered Mazigh again, before adding, "Rat 1-5 here, drones are moving toward the treeline and the river. Will keep you apprised. Rat 1-5 out."

Immediately, Mazigh made a few quick dashes on his tactical screen. "Hex 2 and 4," he said coolly to the pilots of the [i]Plainsmen,[/i] "these are your new coordinates. Get behind cover here and prepare to cut off the escape of hostiles. The rest of you, stand by to assist the recon lance. We don't know what we're up against yet; maneuver defensively if attacked. I don't need to remind you that death doesn't come with severance pay."

"Roger, HQ," came a rustic woman's voice with a laugh. It was Sergeant O'Neill, better known as Nervous Nelly, pilot of one of the [i]Condors.[/i] "We'll stay alive, sir."

"You damned well better. HQ out."

"Sir?" came a voice to Mazigh's left. The older man looked over at Brauer, noticing the worry on the young woman's face. She'd paused from her work to look to the Lieutenant for direction; she was talented but inexperienced, prone to lose focus in a combat situation like this. She needed a task to occupy her.

"Resume oversight of communications between the Hex units," Mazigh said quickly. "Relay any information you deem relevant to whoever you feel needs to know, including the recon lance. And Miles?" Mazigh glanced back over at the other veteran. "The moment you get [i]any[/i] data from those goddamned drones, you tell everyone afield. Copy?"

"Affirmative," Miles said, taking a deep breath. "Spheroid dropship..."

"Yeah," Mazigh muttered. "Let's hope its weapons aren't operational."

With a groan, old Mazigh stood up from his seat and stepped out from the side compartment the officers were in, looking at the rest of the assembled crew. "I want our engines roaring in case we have to move out," he called out. "If any hostile elements break away from the station, we need to be ready to protect the artillery. Man your stations!"

-----

A [i]Maxim[/i] and a [i]Saracen[/i] darted out from the horizon and came in behind the forward elements of the recon lance. They joined a pair of [i]Condors[/i], and as they hovered into position sand whipped up into the air. There was quite a bit of weight between the four vehicles: 185 tons in total, and not a small amount of firepower. Perhaps most importantly, it was firepower that seismic sensors wouldn't detect.

"Hex 5 to recon," came a heavy voice with a distinct West African accent. "Vehicular support is in position to move in as soon as ordered. Hex 2 and 4 will arrive at their nav points soon, ETA one minute." The pilot chuckled, then added, "My crew and 6's will support with LRMs before we engage. Will leave the stomping to you and the [i]Condors,[/i] eh?"

Accordingly, the transport and the [i]Saracen[/i] positioned themselves a little further back, and the Condors hovered a little further ahead, ready to charge forward at a word.