[color=SteelBlue]"...you."[/color]  There was a sharp boot-stamp behind Sanders, loud enough to pull him from his duty.  [color=SteelBlue]"Your sidearm, now."[/color]

The mechanic hadn't even stopped his work for the fight in the distance.  He was old enough, most of those years being service one way or another, to have seen and participated in enough fights of this caliber that it no longer excited him.  Truth be told, it only annoyed him by this point.  Some spirit of adventure had left him by this point.  Turning around, he saw Ingrid, her neck in a brace that cupped up to her frazzled hair.  Her eyes were red and she was already holding out her hand like an expectant parent - somehow, Sanders knew that this Mechwarrior never enjoyed much of anything in the first place.

Even with the anger in her head already evident, he remained calm from fatigue.  A night of slow work on the heat sinks had left him in a zen state of slow work, and slow realization.  "Ma'am...you probably should just let them work it out."

[color=SteelBlue]"There is nothing to work out,"[/color] she spat back, hand wringing the air in front of her.  [color=SteelBlue]"I can't stop their issues with a [i]sword[/i], so I need your pistol."[/color]  Something about how serious she was came out when she offered out-of-the-blue that [color=SteelBlue]"You cooperate and I'll clear the drinking debt between us, just tell me where it is!"[/color]

That was enough to get him to listen.  He was going to regret it, but if anyone asked, Mechwarrior Daschke had stolen it.  Not like anyone was around to contend with this, as everyone who cared was paying attention to the fight!  He turned back to the fine assembly of tubes that made up the [i]Ostroc's[/i] centuries-old coolant system, pointing his wrench back over his head in a vague direction.  "My cot over there, ma'am.  Under the mags.  Don't look at them."  Ingrid stomped away without any thanks.  He looked from the corner of his vision as she carefully got down on her knees, bonked her neck brace on the metal of the bedframe, and swore in German when she saw what he was talking about.

And then he got back to work.
----
The [i]Marauder[/i] that served as a backdrop for the violence was nothing compared to the terror that manifested itself, not too late after Ziska and Marit had joined in the combat.  Three shots went out and they weren't even pointed upward; just a few feet above their collective heads, landing in a pile of junk behind them and sending a small avalanche of refuse metal downward.  Standing on top of one of the machine gun ammunition crates was Ingrid, her recovery from her whiplash still ongoing but hardly an impediment to acting as the military police that Rivers sought so dearly.

If the bullets didn't get their attention, hopefully her shrill voice would.  [color=SteelBlue]"DROP IT!"[/color]  Her borrowed gun was now pointed directly at the helmeted head of one of the tank crew.  [color=SteelBlue]"LISTEN, YOU LICE!  IF I SEE KNUCKLES TOUCH A JAW OR RIBCAGE ONE MORE TIME, SO HELP ME GOD, I'LL MAKE A LATE ADDITION TO THE AFTER-ACTION CASUALTY REPORT!"[/color]  

The fighters of the Green Knights had fought machines of death as a matter of standard course, they had already survived firefights on foot since their time on Espia had started...but did one mildly unhinged Lyran woman with a gun strike fear in their hearts where others couldn't succeed?