[center][h3]Ziska[/h3][/center]

"We've got to stop meeting like this, Doc, the Colonel is going to start asking questions soon...and you're not really my type to begin with."

"[b]OW![/b]"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think you'd feel that, Ziska. The numbing agent should have been working already," Doctor Nakajima said, pulling a length of synthetic monofilament thread with a fine needle through Ziska's skin, stitching together the brow that the Firewitch had sundered with her neural lash.

"I'll forgive, you just this once," Ziska muttered, her fingers digging into the pitted plastic of the repurposed table on which she was sprawled. "What's your deal anyways, Yuri? Why are you always so—"

"Stop talking, Ziska! Please! I need to concentrate, this is going to leave a nasty scar if this isn't done right."

"What? Another one? Well damn, I guess I won't be winning a modeling contests any time soon, huh?"

"Ziska," Doctor Nakajima said,"Please."

Ziska sighed, burying the clever quip that she had planned. There was something about the look that Nakajima shot at her. She could see something else in her eyes, something she respected, and something she felt compelled to listen to.

"How's the pain?"

"Not bad, three out of five, I've had worse," Ziska said, hiding a low gasp beneath a forced cough.

"Really? It hurts that little? How do you really feel, Ziska?"

"Never been better, Doc, just let me show you."

"Stay down, Ziska, you're a mess."

"I'm always a mess, Doc. That's my secret charm."

"I would tell you to be more careful, but I know you're not going to listen."

"Sorry, Doc, I would, I really would, but I've got a war to fight. My type of war. No rules. Not this time. Besides, what's a cut for some proper intelligence? I'm still fine. I can still fight. I can still pilot a BattleMech."

"Not if you keep this up."

"Yeah, well, the Colonel wanted intelligence and I wasn't going to let him down. Trading up is all that matters. And we hit the jackpot as far as intelligence goes."

"What did you see?"

"Cannons. Rockets. Bombs. Some fresh new aircraft. MechBusters and a bomber. Quite the arsenal for a masked band of no name mercenaries to command as they attempt to oppress an equally backwater planet. Doesn't add up. Not that it matters. I don't care who's bank rolling them. I saw her. I saw her face. I know her now. She can't hide from me. She can't run when we burn her out. Let's see how the witch likes fire, shall we?"

"Who? What are you talking about, Ziska?"

"The Firewitch. This is her handiwork," Ziska said running a finger along her newly repaired brow. She's a mean one, Doc. Not like Dalton...and not even like me. She's a real piece of work."

Ziska felt Yuri's hand gently squeezing her shoulder. There was real concern in the doctor's eyes.

"Still, she got me twice. In two sorties no less, back to back. Not bad, not bad at all. I'll give her that much at least But now...now I've really got to return the favor."

[hr]

Rising from the collection of oversized tires that she had claimed as her chaise longue, Ziska couldn't help but smile. Lena was alive. The Green Knights had a nuke. The spoils of battle, indeed. They were moving up in the world as far as mercenary companies went. She wasn't sure what the Heavenly Sword was going to do with two more compact nukes, but she found that the notion didn't bother her. Let them pop off a nuke or two and see what happened. She would have dared them if she could. The planet needed some shaking up. It was high time to redraw the map. She was tired of listening to the same old stories.

"Lena's alive? Excellent news, Colonel" Ziska shouted, barging over and practically slapping the Colonel on one of his impressive shoulders. In the background, Doctor Nakajima tried desperately to catch hold of Ziska before the MechWarrior could cause more of a racket.

"And we have a Davey Crockett! By [i]Blake's holy loafers[/i], you all were busy while Tarak and I were skulking around in the shadows. When's the rescue op? I'm not sure about the rest of us, but Von Kemp deserves saving. I recall she owes me five thousand c-bills and I'd rather not be left holding that bag."

"So how about it, Colonel? Just say the word. Give me Dalton and his merry band of misfits. Oh...and let me borrow the Davey Crockett. We'll show this planet what it means to conduct diplomacy."