[center][h2]Ziska[/h2][/center]
[hr]

Ziska heard screaming. She heard talking. Her head hurt. Her face hurt. She could taste something metallic in her mouth, streaming slowly between her lips. Blood. Her own blood. She ran a hand along her head, until she felt a stab of pain that left her cursing. The cut was deep enough. It would keep bleeding. It would annoy her. Smashing a hand angrily the nearby circuit break panel, she spoke calmly to herself,"Get up. Get up. Get up...Get up, Ziska."

The leg actuators spun with fresh power as Ziska carefully moved her throttle, giving the shaken battle computer ample time to register the granular movements. Trying to see through fresh layer of red, Ziska gently moved her pedals, trying to find purchase on the ground beneath her. Metal groaned, demolished armor plates twisting, and then breaking off as the RVN-3L began to move. Somehow, improbably, the battered light mech stood up. Lying down was death. Standing still was death. Fighting was probably death. But Ziska had almost died several times. It didn't bother her. It didn't worry her. They'd drawn blood. Her blood, but she'd cut them too. The active NARC beacon still flashed happily on her HUD. One way or another, there would only be one RVN-3L standing.

Forcing her BattleMech to stand, Ziska wiped the worst of the blood from her face with the back of her hand. The comms chatter annoyed her. Killing was a business. A job was supposed to be done cleanly. She didn't need her feelings to kill. She didn't hate the Crimson Fists. A job was a job. A kill was a kill. But better them than her.

"You talk to much, you all talk too much," she hissed, shivering with a fresh pang of pain that dug into the front of her forehead, Doc wouldn't be happy, Reya would probably complain, and the Colonel would have some helpful advice Ziska decided with a heavy note of resignation. Not bothering to key her mic. Let them think her wounded. Let them think her already dead. They'd find out soon enough.

"Giggles," Ziska said, shifting her wounded RVN-3L into a shuttering gate as she ignored the alarm klaxon and warning symbology that glittered in front of her,"Kill this trash."

They needed to kill the enemy RVN-3L. They needed the ECM back. They were out of time. The other RVN-3L had to die. She wouldn't weather another volley of LRMs. Her RVN-3L wouldn't survive more LRMs. She had no armor left for the Longbow to sandpaper. It was time to gamble, Ziska knew, it was time to be clever, and it was time to see how cool the Crimson Fists were under fire. Hearing the tell tale swoop of burning rocket engines, Ziska saw a hail of LRMs thundering towards the enemy RVN-3L. She didn't miss the single SRM missile that followed soon after.

Deftly dancing to the side, Ziska aimed her own weapons at the RVN-3L and let loose another alpha strike. Overkill was the only kill as Thrice Hanged had always said.