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


As it had on several occasions, Jon’s [i]Marauder[/i] was the first machine on the field and the last to leave. He watched the Knights moving out, headed to their new location in the scrapyard, but there was no call for him to follow. Marit’s [i]Archer[/i] disappeared behind a tree line in the distance and he was alone with only the sound of the dam’s turbines spinning up behind him, about to wash away every semblance of the battlefield that had spilled over into the river and deposit it into the estuary alongside Fort Tie Shan. He thought about the drink she owed him with a small snort of amusement and looked at the unmolested side of the grassy plain on the far side of the river, reminded again of an old, Taurian expression from the frontier, “[i]When a man leaves his home country he leaves much behind.[/i]” However, no sooner had the sentiment crossed his mind, Cassandra’s voice came on the line, straight into his neurohelmet: “[color=ed145b]Get out of sight and return to the hangar. We’ll talk when you arrive.[/color]”  It wasn’t her regular haughty tone, she was serious, which got his attention. He had never heard her particularly worried about anything.  

“[color=f26522]Copy that, movin’ out.[/color]” 

He wasn’t sure what had spooked her so much other than wanting to keep his status disassociated from the Knights as much as possible, but he had plenty of time to think on the long trail back that ended not far from where they first set out in the helicopter to track down Gaiwan’s Green Knights. When Cassandra had put her maps on display and given her side of the briefing back in the caves, he hadn’t given the slightest indication to their hosts that the map was incomplete, though he could see many of them watching for his reactions during her sales pitch. The actual “base” of operations he worked out of for some time was underground, connected to the tunnel network on the edge of the deep forest northwest of North Nui Awa. The trek back would take him through a section of what was considered NPDRE territory that he had crossed at night, but for the most part he wasn’t concerned with any of their patrols. They left him alone as the border between Cassandra and AVC’s holdings around the city were as political as they were physical and no one in a patrol jeep or light armor was going to question a [i]Marauder[/i]. He throttled up and set out. 

It was several hours later when he made it as darkness fell and he was tired of being in the cockpit. About halfway he’d picked up on the trail of several light mechs along with a medium out on the plain and about an hour later caught a glimpse of them several kilometers away. He knew they could see him as easily as he watched, but they continued on like a pack of wolves exchanging glances with a mountain lion. He noted their position and the time, same as he was sure they were doing and continued. Later he stopped to power down the reactor for a bit, have some chow and a smoke and then just listened as he sat under a tree next to the machine letting his head breath without the weight of the helmet. He read a few pages of a battered old paperback that he had read before, several times: [i]All the Pretty Horses[/i] by Cormac McCarthy, a Terran classic from eons past. It was his favorite book.        

The earth opened up at an angle revealing darkness therein and Jon flicked on the external lights before he proceeded underground. The large jackscrews groaned as he passed, shutting the world behind him again. The tunnel was narrow for a [i]Marauder[/i] and he had to step carefully on a gentle decline for a few hundred meters to not rub the walls while the steady thud of the machine’s feet echoed down through the corridor until the floor opened up into a dull gray expanse nearly the size of a football field and tall enough to accommodate much larger equipment than a heavy mech. Along the nearest wall to the entrance, next to a time-faded logo of [i]BG Metalworks[/i] was a single floodlit mechbay complete with crane arms and a glowing terminal that awaited the return of his machine. Sitting next to it was a heavy AVC work truck with its own large crane and its outriggers already extended, pressing into the ancient cement floor. Jon recognized the silhouette of the heavyset man standing next to it wearing a hard hat as Caesar, his crew chief provided by Cassandra. He backed into the bay and shut the reactor down.   

“Woooo, you been busy.” Caesar’s voice called up as soon as he saw the canopy rise. His eyes scanned the blackened muzzle of the PPC barrels as well as that of the AC5, while the protective environmental film for the laser lenses had been blasted away denoting their usage. 

“[color=f26522]Change the tires, check the oil.[/color]” Jon replied, hanging his helmet behind him and throwing the ladder down. 

Caesar walked around, hands on his hips, looking over the machine, stooping and craning his neck to get an initial assessment. “Well you hardly scratched the paint. Must’ve been a turkey shoot, huh?” He almost sounded disappointed. 

“[color=f26522]It was,[/color]” Jon said flatly. He unceremoniously dropped his pack on the floor from the locker behind the ankle joint and dug out a fresh pack of cigarettes, patting his pant legs for a lighter before Caesar offered one up while he continued to size up what looked to be mostly an easy reloading and post-op job. “[color=f26522]Thanks,[/color]” Jon said, taking a long pull and leaning against the footpad. He ran a hand through the sweaty mop of his hair and savored the smoke for a brief moment before glancing up at one of [i]’Ossie’s[/i] heavily gauntleted arms. “[color=f26522]Most of’em ended up dying of natural causes.[/color]”

Caesar glanced up from a datapad, regarding him strangely. As a native-Marik veteran of the Fourth Succession War and the Marik civil war, he had heard any number of bizarre mechwarrior analogies, but Mr. McCord certainly seemed to be of a different breed altogether. “What?” He chuckled as the word came out.

“[color=f26522]Natural to the line of work they were in.[/color]” Jon said, puffing another cloud into the air. He looked across the dark corridor where the shadows stretched against the light of the mechbay. There was a large corridor on each side of the complex that led further into the tunnel network. His stomach growled.

“How’d those Knights do?” Caesar asked, being done with his initial visual inspection. He was about ready to get down to business.

“[color=f26522]Not bad, not bad at all really.[/color]” Jon said. “[color=f26522]One got stuck in the river right in the middle of the fight, had winch her out, may want to check the gyro is still calibrated all the way, but it felt fine to me.[/color]” He took another drag and thought about Marit again with a small smirk, but then stowed the thought and grabbed up his bag to let Caesar get to work. “[color=f26522]Well let me go give the boss a call, she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.[/color]”

“No she does not,” Caesar replied, typing a few commands into the mechbay terminal. His eyes glanced back and forth from the datapad. “You go have fun with that.”