"Uncle Mack's" Industrial Scrapyard
Property of Maxwell Metals Incorporated
A subsidiary of the Aqua Vitae Corporation
100 km south of Geom Haebyon
150 km northwest of Fort Tie
26 March, 3030



"Got dammit, Morozov," a high, reedy voice called out from behind a mountain of disused car parts, "Didjyew run off with the hydrogen cell pump for th' Rotunda?"

"Honest" Ollie Maxwell was a wiry old man, his mottled olive skin barely visible under layers of engine grease and grime. Shocks of white hair sprang from the sides of his head, the rest of his otherwise bald scalp covered by a faded green trucker hat.

"Ees no heff your name on eet, Maxvell," Yvgenie Morozov, an enormous barrel-chested man with eyes too far apart and a slightly gawking mouth, said with a shrug as he pulled a cart full of disused myomer fiber bundles out from under another heap. "Besyides, vas on my syide of property."

Ollie spat a wad of mashed quillar-- spiked with nicotine as a cheap substitute for tobacco--onto the ground, the dark brown lump of wet plant matter leaving a sour smell. "Like hell it was on yer side! If it was, 's only 'cuz wunna yer damn Loader Kings moved it there!"

"Sounds lyike problem for man viss no Loader Kings," Morozov chuckled, before turning away to haul the cart off to his side of the yard.

The Maxwell and Morozov families had lived together in a bizarre symbiosis for generations, inheriting the enormous industrial wasteland some time after the fall of the Star League. While technically the land itself belonged to the Maxwells, the Morozovs controlled the fleet of IndustrialMechs that allowed them to move around countless tons of disused metal.

For dozens of square kilometers, the yard was a labyrinth of metal mounds. Most of it was old mining equipment, rusted out hulks of vehicles, and leftovers from the Star League's Department of Mega-Engineering, but every once in a while they found something truly unique among the ocean of junk. Sometimes they found almost completely intact prefabricated hab-units from Espia's original colonization. Sometimes they found sheets of military armor, actuators, or myomers for old Battlemechs. There was even a mostly-complete chassis of a Capellan Charger that had been left here-- after it had been stripped of its weapons and controls, of course.

The Rotunda was a hobby project that Maxwell had been tinkering with for years, an SLDF scout car disguised as a civilian sedan. Powered by a fusion engine and packing an Amdecker 300 Large Laser, the Capellan military must have discarded it not knowing what it was after the League fell. It'd make a hell of a nasty surprise for anyone who came sneaking about the yard...if he could ever get the thing to work.

And if Morozov and his fourteen sons didn't stop running off with parts of it.

"Morozov! HEY!" Maxwell shouted futilely after him. "If you don't gitchyer ass back here an' gimme back my hydrogen cell pump, there's gonna be hell ta--"

Their bickering was interrupted by the growl of a powerful engine and the rumble of gravel being ground under wheels. Making its way up the winding dirt road to the main entrance of the scrapyard was an armored vehicle-- military, by the looks of it-- with a satellite dish and antennae sprouting out the top of it.

"Looks lyike our guests heff arrived," Morozov remarked.

Out from under what appeared to be unused vehicle husks, shipping containers, and storage tanks, dozens of people in mismatched rag-tag clothing emerged, sporting everything from improvised handguns to shoulder-mounted SRMs. Ranging from young children to wiry old men like Ollie, the Maxwell family was a clan of paranoid survivalists who had turned what was at first glance an oversized junk heap into a veritable fortress. The Morozovs, each one a meaty mountain of a human being, also rose from their hiding spots with an equally impressive collection of weaponry.

"Now now," Ollie called out to his kin, "Ain't no reason to git alarmed. Way Ol' Lady Jeong sez it, these folks is friendly. Jess play nice an' put the hardware away fer now....but don't get too far so's ye cain't git to it if we need it."

The Mobile Headquarters of Gawain's Green Knights slowly rolled into Uncle Mack's Scrapyard, coming to a halt in a large clearing. Flanking it were two APCs, out of which poured a dozen or so soldiers armed with rifles and shotguns. While they kept their weapons down, the Knights infantry made it clear that if a fight were to break out, they'd be more than game for it.

As soon as the infantrymen formed a perimeter, the doors to the Mobile HQ slid open, and out stepped a gray-haired man with one good arm.

"Oliver Maxwell?" the man called out.

Ollie eyed the newcomer and, eventually deciding to be on the level with him, nodded.

"That'd be me," he answered. "Reckon yer Colonel Wayne?"

"That's right," the Colonel responded. "I'd like to thank you for taking us in, given the circumstances."

"Hell, ain't nuthin' to it, err, Colonel sir," Maxwell said, not sure how to properly address the military man. "Lady who owns the place sez to do it, and I don't care much for that Premier Federov er any of his boys anyhow. Yer welcome here, long as you yer crew don't make a mess of the place."

The Colonel wasn't entirely certain if the man was joking, given that the surrounding area was literally several acres of garbage.

"Say, pardon if I'm speakin' outta turn," the junkyard dweller continued, "But ain't there s'posed to be more of ya? Morozov cleaned out the 'Mech bays fer ya an' everythin'."

"The rest of the Green Knights will be making their way here shortly," the Colonel answered. "Before they arrive, I'd like to find a place to set up a semi-permanent base of operations."

"Well, let's show ya around," Maxwell said with a wide smile. "There's a couple of old pre-fab colony buildings we done set up fer yer livin' space-- ain't much, but it's a roof an' some beds an' even runnin' water! An' Yvgenie and his boys can help patch up anythin' done to yer Mechs. An' my Darlene is cookin' up a couple drums a' beefalo stew that'll stick to yer ribs with just a bite!"

Colonel Wayne surveyed the surroundings as the oddball civilian led him around, and allowed himself to relax a bit. It was far from ideal, but it was already a step up from the mine. Plenty of exits if they needed to evac, several defensible positions both on-foot and in 'Mechs, and an open sky overhead.

Better yet, this place was within striking distance of Fort Tie Shan, when the time came. And thanks to the actions of the team at the dam, they now had a tactical warhead-- unarmed and kept several kilometers from the yard, of course-- that could be an outstanding force multiplier when the time came.

Things were finally moving in the right direction. And for the first time since the coup, the Colonel was starting to see not just a way to survive a few more days, but a way to actually win.

Reya Wyatt

Reya’s eyes squinted a bit in the fresh sunlight as the truck emerged from the tunnel works and the momentarily craggy, rough ride of the surface beneath the tires smoothed back into what felt like weathered asphalt. She couldn’t see a lot from the backseat of the cab as trees, brush and rock passed by briefly. However, she thought she caught a glimpse of a heavy AVC work truck and a few stalwart onlookers in hard hats watching them pass. Whatever plans the Colonel and Cassandra had arranged to keep the tunnels hidden had made its way down the chain. The thought made her nervous that more people were now privy to the Knights’ movements, but for the time being, their only choice was to trust. From what she observed and read about Cassandra, even before she knew who she was firsthand, she didn’t seem like the type for military subterfuge, but she was most definitely a calculating opportunist and everyone that they had encountered that worked for her seemed to have the same staunch loyalty to AVC like it represented something superior on Espia whether they worked at an office building or on a field crew. She thought about it as they continued along. There was a similar attitude among her family’s long-time staff, but she knew that was a different case. Within the customs of the Combine, there was a near hereditary flow to the advancement of Wyatt Interstellar and oftentimes a position or even a family’s entire role was essentially traditional. Conversely, Cassandra Jeong had hand picked and cultivated much of her staff. Reya sighed a bit while her mind crossed lightyears back to Tabayama.

There wasn’t a lot said on the return trip. Even though they were holding onto information that would potentially ensure the Knights’ survival, she had felt a growing sense of apprehension about what she was going to say in the debriefing. They had no doubt accomplished their mission and the note from “Stiletto” was in the small purse she’d selected from Cassandra’s fashionable stockpile, not that she needed it. Reya’s memory was nearly perfect photographic. She could easily recall the comm number the woman had scribbled along with the address of the building, what everyone had been drinking, how many people were there and any number of other trivia or details about the whole excursion. When they had gone on the raid, Lyons had been particularly overwhelmed with how much she could remember, but this time was different. Reya knew she would have to tell them and the Colonel would be expecting one of her detailed accounts more than ever. The apprehension wasn’t from their meeting with Stiletto or anything that had been said or nuanced- it was from Lena. She was afraid the Colonel would think she was crazy just as was sure Ingrid did already. She could accept him being skeptical. That was natural, but being seen as lessened in his eyes because of trauma made her seriously hesitant. His approval meant more than anything. Then she would have to tell Pops, which felt assuredly easier. He would believe her and even if he didn’t, he had such a familial air about him, she knew he would at least listen and not judge until he saw more for himself.

The truck stopped and the door opened. One of the ‘Boys helped her step down and she had to cover her forehead with one hand to keep the full brightness of the daylight at bay. The familiar smell of oil, metal, dirt and grease was everywhere, but it was under beautiful open air and sky; not a cave. She breathed it in freely. Her eyes adjusted slowly and she could see the Mobile HQ parked some distance away along with what looked like serviceable mechbays. She continued to look around among the spires of accumulated junk and parts, first looking for Sunny amid the curious onlookers, but her second glimpse of the empty mechbays fully jolted her back to reality and her heart skipped a beat at first. We had to have beat them back here... She thought. If something had gone wrong at the dam, they would have definitely heard about it. The logic quickly settled her nerves, but not fully. What she knew she had looked for first, after Sunny, was also not present: Tarak’s Phoenix Hawk. She let a breath out slowly. It had to be the same, she and Ingrid had just arrived first and the absence of Ziska’s Raven seemed to reinforce that thought as well. There was no way the NPDRE or the Crimson Fists could have throttled both of them. The uproar the two of them could have created would have been on par with the dam flooding. Still, she found her clenched fist covering over her heart and she quickly dropped it, glancing around momentarily in embarrassment. Despite everything, though she’d never admit it, she still wanted Tarak to see her when she was somewhat put together. It had been a long time since she wore anything other than her work clothes and she wanted to savor his reaction. If she’d learned nothing else from the Knights deposition on Espia it was that one had to take time to appreciate the little things.

Raven Rivers

Raven had recovered some of his self-confidence with the successful action on the dam, as well as his commitment to the Green Knights and their mission and his trust in his old friend, Gaius Wayne. And he'd saved civilians too, something that warmed his heart.

But as he returned along with his BattleMech, something gnawed at him anyway; what now? What can he do while waiting for the next mission and the next development? Was he just going to do nothing but train and chat and hopefully get some fragment of news? No; he can read a map, this place was within striking distance of Fort Tie Shan, and Cassandra, their new employer, had promised them the possibility of meeting with the head warden. Perhaps it's time to call that in now that they've won a major victory for her interests?

He'll broach the question with Jonathan later; right now, he was heading to their new home to meet up with the Colonel, redeemed and re-bloodied and re-committed. Not that the other members of the expedition, including Sgt. Dalton and his Infantry, were not instrumental to their victory; the Infantry can even be called the real heroes of the operation for taking that tactical warhead - Raven was personally against WMDs, but not against the threat of them.

Now, to find a way to rebuild bridges and seal said rebuilt bridges; Raven was no politician - Andrew was the more politically-minded of his family - But he knew that this was the right opportunity to build goodwill. As his BattleMech entered the old junkyard and the hangars there, he saw that Reya and Ingrid had arrived before they had.

So Raven, once out of his truck, walked out the door, the rare grin on his face hopefully spelling success, success confirmed by his next words, "Mission Accomplished; the Dam is safe."

Pulling into an actual ‘Mech bay again felt good. A sign of things looking up. Proper maintenance. Spare parts, even? Not having to climb damp, sketchy-ass scaffolding that had been rusting for gods know how long to get in and out of the BattleMech! Following the usual after sortie ritual of scrubbing off a crust of sweat, noting down kills, assists and ‘probables’, way too many for her liking given the nature of the fight, changing and shoving BattleROM tapes into a bag to turn over to the Colonel, Marit took a minute to stand atop Archie and take in the view of their new home before climbing down to earth to debrief with the tech crew.

“The smeg is this?” Lister asked in lieu of a greeting before she could get hers out, scooping up a bit of the leftover mud from Archie’s foot before throwing it at Rimmer, far away enough to miss, but close enough to make him flinch.
”Nice to see you too Dave, and we don’t talk about that. Find a hose.” She handed Lovett a scrap of paper with component run times and leaned against the bay’s support, ”Actually managed to stay far away from everything for most of the mission so the armor is fine, but the missile racks are almost empty. The DI computer didn’t report any flooding during the river crossings. Any news from the other teams?”
“Wyatt and the duchess arrived a while ago.” Lister informed her, the man chronically incapable of and long past even attempting to pronounce Ingrid’s last name. “No idea when the debrief is happening, not my problem. New barracks are that way. We’ve put all your stuff there, there’s even a shower.”
“The horror, right, Lister?”
“Drop dead, Rimmer. Anyway, it’s easy to find, it’s right beside a garbage mound.” He grinned at his own joke.
“Better watch out for the locals, some of them look and talk like they’ve been boning their sisters since the Star League.”
“Plus we’ve been warned about equipment theft by Cassandra.” Lovett added a more factual warning to Rimmer’s, “Don’t leave anything valuable out of sight, even nailed down, they literally have crowbars for that.”
Nodding along and dismissed by Lovett, Marit grabbed the tapes and set out to find the Mobile HQ, warming herself with the thought of vaporizing a Crimson Fists lance with the stolen - Tactically acquired! - warhead. After that, she’d see about two mission-critical things: lunch and that cockpit fridge…

Ingrid had no such need or desire to appear put together. She had stepped out of the APC with her head aflare, hair splayed all over and only given a cursory pat to keep it slightly more manageable. Whereas Reya had something on her mind to keep her up through the night and the next few as well, Ingrid's questions could only be answered by her partner - and she wasn't going to ask them in the company of all of these armored soldiers. The normally stern Mechwarrior had slept the entire way back.

It was quite a sight to see someone sleep through a cross-country road trip, going over hills and gravel roads on the worn, wartime-rough suspension of the APC, but Ingrid did so no matter the obstacles that got in her way. She laid back, put her hat over her face, and then was gone within 20 minutes. A life of posh beds didn't seem to hinder her much here. Once brought to their new base of operations, the effects of the Timbaqui Dark had disappeared in the span of her extended nap - maybe that was her reason for doing so?

Once outside of the vehicle, she was the last to get out - the rest of the soldiers and Reya would see her take a bit of time to wake up, for she was indeed a heavy sleeper. Less than a minute later, though, she was returned to her usual scowl and rigid bearing, as if nothing happened. The scowl was a bit worse than usual, even: she had imagined this place as more of an organized 'parts requisition center' than an actual junkyard. There was a great hesitation in her head to accept this...

...but she would have to deal with it. The place at least had the potential to be warmer than the cave, as long as the owners here weren't brutes who shirked off space heaters as 'high-falutin' city boy nonsense' or whatever the peasantry would say.

Before Raven's return - she didn't concern herself too much with the possibility of the rest of the crew never coming back, as some part of her silently accepted it as an eventuality - she looked over to Reya for a moment. She sized her up, and she sternly said "If you wish to discuss certain matters, I can provide an ear to listen. Later." A very magnanimous gesture.

The first of the convoy returned and Ingrid saluted them, contrasting her stance with her "fashionable" outfit, and stood at attention as Raven and others dismounted. "Were losses kept to a minimum?" she asked of him. She looked askew at a wrecked car and caught sight of herself in a mirror. Her hair was quickly beaten into submission.

---

In collaberation with: @Abstract Proxy

---

Clearing hundreds of kilometers was not an easy task, less of one for those within a mech slow enough to be caught by a child throwing a beach ball. However, for Alleycat and Desperado, they were in mechs fast enough to clear swaths of the area in moments. Desperado called out to Alleycat for simple idle chatter, they had plenty of travel left and little to do. Talking and chattering were fun, yet they were both people of action and a simple question sparked an entire event that would probably go down in Espian history.



“Do you even need to ask?” Ziska replied, managing a smile despite the strips of fabric she had wrapped over her newly split brow. Speed was their best defense from any pursuit. A reason to push herself through the night was what she needed. And having survived yet another encounter with the Firewitch, Ziska simply felt like rolling the dice again.

The roaring of thunder could be heard from miles away, yet the night sky was clear. Leaving 2 Espian guards confused, "Did you hear that?".

"Yeah, what do you think it is?" The taller of the 2 guards seemed to almost look at their compatriot with confusion as they began to look around as what seemed to be a cloud off in the distance seemed to be forming.

"Maybe it's one of those Green Knights. I heard they have devolved into psychos after being forced from our cities". The other guard grabbed a pair of binoculars and began to look in the distance of the cloud.

"I think I see something in the smoke". The man began to squint and try to see into the night, yet all he could see was the cloud growing.

"What the fu-" The guard was about to speak, but it was already too late, a mech was hurdling at them at speeds unheard of. The only warning they had was that thunderous sound, all of which was too late as they saw a battlemech’s foot falling onto them, turning the men into paste.

”Did you hear that?” Desperado pinged off to the Raven, as he thought he heard the sounds of metal being crushed and flattened.

Cackling and laughing resounded the cockpits of the 2 mechs moving at full speed. They knew their destination, the only problem is that between them and their home base is a few hundred kilometers of tunnels, a few enemy bases, and plenty of open fields that are most likely being monitored by aerial support. Nothing much to 2 of the best pilots the Green Knights have ever seen.

Upon entering the tunnels, the Raven with its lower profile used its full speed to its advantage as it made short work of the 50-kilometer tunnel. Yet the Phoenix Hawk was not allowing itself to be beaten. Desperado called out to the Raven as it began to pull ahead, ”No you don't!”. Using its hand actuators and arms to keep itself upright, the Battlemech seemed to almost tip forward and nearly fall over, yet this allowed itself to move through the tunnels more easily and keep up in speed enough to not lose sight of the Raven.

The exit of the tunnel opened up into a large area, filled with jutting rocks, steep slopes, and many places to fall. The Raven exited first, cutting over a rock formation without slipping as Ziska shifted her controls at the last second to keep the Raven moving without any loss of speed. The Phoenix Hawk decided to take the dangerous route, using many of the skills learned within the Gladiator Games on Solaris IIV, the Phoenix Hawk launched itself out of the tunnel like a bat out of hell. The Phoenix Hawk used its boosters before leaving the tunnel to send it out like a bullet. Desperado called out to the Raven, ”Let’s see which bird can fly the fastest!”. Right before landing, the Phoenix Hawk adjusted its arc mid-air to allow it to aim its booster down at the face of the slope, softening its landing and allowing the Phoenix Hawk to slide for moments before it began to run again, gaining upon the Raven that was once taking a substantial lead.

The Raven seemed to almost take offense to this showmanship as once it landed it began to use its forward momentum, leaping and bounding off of rocks like an only modestly earthbound bird while the Phoenix Hawk seemed to treat this area like a snowboarding slope, constantly launching itself in small bursts and using it’s already generated momentum to continue down the rocky slope. The two mechs consistently pulled the lead from each other, using much different forms of speed to keep up with the other down this constant slope. Once they made contact with grassland again, they began their sprint once more, neck and neck once more as the thunderous roar of Mechs moving at their top speeds filled the air. The night gave them cover from direct sight, yet it did not stop those on the ground to feel what seemed to be a small earthquake approaching.

The local comms net broke out into panicked cries as unprepared Espian Guard soldiers tried to figure out what was going on. Left in the dark as comms came crashing down under the burning chrome of the Raven’s souped up Electronic Warfare system. Garbled reports began to ring out as confusion set in. The unlucky had less than a minute to react before they found themselves silenced as a dark cloud of dust swept over them.

Accompanied by thunder and what felt like sudden earthquakes, the dark cloud stayed only briefly, splitting into two, and then vanishing into the night like some mystical force. Fearful guards suspected a major attack and false reports began to fly out over the restored comms, some far beyond any possible range for the pair of Green Knights to have been involved. Madness took hold over some of the less experienced soldiers as combat with a lance of BattleMechs seemed imminent.

In the center of this cloud were two cackling madmen who seemed to have no care for the direness of their situation. They seemed to let everything go and enjoyed the moment, there was no war to them, there was no Crimson Fist, there were no feelings of being stranded, there was only the wish to win this simple race. As when the sun rose all they could see was their new home, it wasn’t much, but it was home. In this simple race, of two pilots each of whom are able enough to face down any opposition, they found themselves unable to determine a winner. Leaving themselves in a draw.

“Tie then,” Ziska huffed, seeing the Phoenix Hawk pull into the junkyard at neck to neck with her Raven.

Desperado let out a laugh as the race finally ended, "A tie again. One of us is gonna win one of these days". The Phoenix Hawk gave a thumbs up to the Raven as they entered their new home, the Junkyard.

"Green Knights, listen up!" Colonel Wayne's voice cut over the hustle and bustle of the Knights, the infantry, and their crews all getting settled into the new digs. The sound of his voice didn't carry as far as it did inside the cave, but even so, the commotion quickly subsided. "Now that I've received reports from all three of our away teams, we'll begin with debrief."

The three concurrent missions the Green Knights had carried out had all been considerably high-risk, but done in the hopes of high rewards. Over the past few hours, each team made it back to the junkyard and reported in. Now it was time to go over the situation as a whole.

Gaius let his Mechwarriors, command staff, and crew leaders gather around before he began.

"First off," he began, "I'd like to commend you all for your work out there. Each one of these missions had the potential to go wrong, but all of you completed your objectives. That's three wins under our belt, three steps closer to getting our people back."

He knew how eager many of the crew were to making their move on Fort Tie Shan, himself very much included. Knowing that they were less than fifty kilometers away from their families, from their spouses and children, from Sal--...from Captain Roth, he bridled at the thought of having to bide his time. However, he knew that without a proper plan of attack, charging at the fort would only get them all killed.

Still, he had to keep that hope alive, to foster the belief that they were that much closer to getting their families back and being done with Espia. But he also had to make sure their thoughts were in the here and now, so he brought the conversation back to the completed missions.

"The defense of the Nui Awa Dam was an overwhelming success," he began, deliberately choosing to omit Saarinen's embarrassment in the river. "The First Infantry Platoon suffered moderate casualties-- Privates Duffey, Dautrieve, and Borden were KIA-- we'll have memorial services for them at sundown. Fortunately, their sacrifices helped save millions of lives; between the combined efforts of the 'Mech lance, the Von Luckner, and the Buckshot Boys, we stopped the Heavenly Sword dead in their tracks. While we don't know exactly how many soldiers or vehicles the faction has in reserve, it's likely we've dealt a severe blow to their ability to carry out large-scale attacks like this, if not crippled it completely.

"What's more, we were able to recover an ace in the hole: a Davy Crockett half-kiloton tactical nuclear warhead. It's not a full-blown city-buster, but put in the right place, it can vaporize a lance of 'Mechs, destroy enemy infrastructure...possibly crack open the reinforced walls to a prison fortress. However, the fallout--both the literal and political kinds-- will have to be taken into account before we decide what to do with our new prize. Until then, it's being safely stored far away from this location," he emphasized, partly to ease any fears from the locals who may be listening in, and partly to discourage over-eager scrap-hunters.

"Now for the bad news," he continued. "While inspecting and disarming the nuke for safe storage, our crew found the serial numbers of the warhead. Its registry number marks it as having last been shipped as part of a group of three. So while the Heavenly Sword may not have any more armored-up land trains, it's very likely they have two more nukes on the planet. It also means their story of being Espian radicals simply loyal to House Liao is just as bogus as the holovid characters the Crimson Fists are pretending to be. They're being funded by someone with deep pockets and no regard for the survival of this planet."

As murmurs carried throughout the group, the Colonel continued.

"Charlie Team also brought us some concerning news from the spaceport," he said. "Whoever is supplying the Espian Guard has significantly upped their air power. In addition to the wing of Meteor atmospheric fighters the Guard has on hand, they've now got their hands on two MechBusters, and a Shilone aerospace bomber. Each of those MechBusters has a nose-mounted cannon on par with the Von Luckner's; they can destroy Light 'Mechs outright and cripple most Mediums in a single volley. Fortunately, those cannons have a short range, so they'll need to be within range of our own weapons to hit. Still, trading fire with one is not advised; operating procedure is to get behind cover when it approaches, then return fire from the back or sides.

"The Shilone, on the other hand, is a whole other set of problems," the Colonel continued. "It can drop bombs from high altitude, well out of the effective range of our weapons, and can outgun most heavy 'Mechs even when strafing from low altitude. What's worse, because it's space-capable and fast as all hell, it can be on us in minutes when we emerge. The Archer's LRMs and the Shadow Hawk's autocannon can reach out and hit it if it comes in for a strafing run, but without a dedicated anti-air platform, the Shilone's going to make things considerably more difficult for us."

This news didn't go over well with most of the crew, nor was the Colonel particularly happy about it. What he wouldn't have given right now for a Partisan tank or a Rifleman in this situation.

"Charlie Team was able to perform some internal sabotage on the enemy aircraft before extracting," Gaius offered some good news. "While we don't know the extent to which they succeeded, hopefully their efforts will render the planes less effective when they come at us. Still, until those fighters are down, this does mean we'll need to maintain a doctrine of hit-and-fade. We'll use the tunnel network to move on our objectives without crossing open ground, hit our targets hard and fast, then bug out before the skies get crowded."

In truth, Gaius didn't like sending any of his 'Mechs out against superior air power, and the tunnel networks were only a stop-gap measure in the long run, but having even a stop-gap plan was always better than having none.

"And finally, Bravo Team successfully made contact with Stiletto, the information broker Ms. Jeong told us about," he said. This last mission was a bit more abstract in its rewards, but had the potential to pay off big. "She provided us with the name of a representative from the Free People's Army, insinuating they were interested in joining forces. While Stiletto didn't provide direct contact information, she did provide a set of numbers-- possibly coordinates-- to arrange a meeting. Once we confirm and verify this, a team will be selected to meet with the FPA and propose an alliance. If Stiletto can be trusted, this could give us substantial aid. And if she can't...well, I'm not sending in a team without adequate backup."

Gaius knew this meeting had the potential to be a trap, but it was risk the Knights had to take. Over time, they might be able to pick apart the Crimson Fists, but the Espian Guard were an entire army. If the Green Knights were to have any chance to do anything beyond raiding and running, they needed an army on their side as well.

"Lastly, one bit of bookkeeping to take care of," he announced. "Keeping track of the current Green Knights roster, we are removing Corporal Lena Von Kemp from the KIA column. While we had initially thought she was killed by the Crimson Fists during the coup, Bravo Team was able to uncover evidence that Wrathchild is, or at least was until very recently, still alive and operating in South Nui Awa. How she got there, we're not sure, but it's a story I hope to find out. I'll be accepting volunteers for a search-and-recovery mission once we've established our base of operations here."

The Colonel hoped this last bit of intel would end the debriefing on a high note. They were making good progress, even if the situation on Espia only seemed to get more complicated.

"If you've got questions, now's the time. Otherwise, dismissed."

Raven Rivers

"Yes," Raven answered Ingrid, "We lost very little in the battle against the Heavenly Sword, although we did gain a lot; the Colonel has already been informed. The Infantry are the heroes of the hour, though - Let's say they did some of the most daring feats I've seen outside of a BattleMech. Either way, there will be more good news come debriefing time."

He was smiling more now, having recovered some of the poise and self-confidence that had made him a good soldier back then, when things were more straightforward.

------

Good news and bad news came in equal amounts, with Raven asking a question once the Colonel had finished, "I noticed you haven't mentioned the Neodyeonum Mines in the briefing - A strike at them won't be viable without FPA support, it seems?"

He then followed up with, "If so, I've made my choice. While I'm a supporter of allying with the FPA, I know full well that previous... incidents have made me an awkward fit for a delegation to them until the dam mission gave us a chance to establish our credibility as not innately hostile to the people of Espia. And by that, I'm volunteering for the mission to the FPA and hoping that the enemy doesn't have any more curveballs prepared for us and that if they do, we can give as good as we've given them."

He then mused, "We know that the Crimson Fists and the Heavenly Sword are funded by an outside faction, but can we be sure that our side avoided being used as pawns as well? And I don't mean by our new employer, Miss Jeong, but by the outside forces that she, as someone who claims to be a patriot of Espia, is indirectly or directly opposing. As mercs, we pride ourselves on our independence, but there are people who are happy to walk all over that, so I suggest that we keep an eye out; while we can't play politics ourselves, we can at least make sure that whoever uses us pays for it or pay us for it. So here's the second question - Are we allowed to keep our eyes open and keep copies of whatever info we get about the behind-the-scenes intrigue going on so we can get an advantage in the future?"

Looking at the Colonel, his friend, Raven continued, "We are acting on the assumption that we are both the most independent actor here and thus a wild card; that will keep our families alive - While I from just last week would have bridled at the idea of holding ourselves back from an attack at Fort Tie Shan, I now agree with you that a strike now, especially with a nuke that can kill our families while we rescue them, would be foolishness. Nevertheless, if Ms. Jeong can pull strings in the prison, as she boasted about earlier, perhaps it's time to call that in as we've saved the dam and we're still her best bet for an Espia relatively independent from outside manipulations - Either way, I'm still going to the mission to meet up with the FPA and hope that things don't go too FUBAR... unless that's not allowed?"

"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."

"OW!"

"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."

---

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 Blake's holy loafers, 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."

Lots of bad news. That Shilone would hit them like a bag of hammers, and even with the MechBusters, all it would take for someone to meet their makers was to zig instead of zag. But despite the bad news, she still had to stifle a snicker at the description of the Crimson Fists. ”So nothing changes, then.” Marit commented when the Colonel mentioned the need for hit and run attacks. The bad news wasn’t ending, given the revelation about the mysterious nuke suppliers. The supposed angry peasants were also mercs in all but name, and on the other hand their only friendly contacts were the people who actually seemed to be angry peasants. Fate, the fuck did the ‘Knights ever do to you?

Then, more news, and in a way she couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. ”Oh gods, Ziska with a nuke. I was just thinking I wasn’t having any nightmares.” Marit grinned, ”What are you gonna do with that, strap it to the Raven and headbutt someone?” Actually, maybe she should shut up and stop giving her ideas, assuming she hadn’t already thought of that and something worse. It was Ziska, she probably did. The news of von Kemp’s possible survival was great to hear, but if she was stuck in bad guy country with nothing but the clothes she dug out of some dumpster somewhere it could still go wrong. They were burying enough people as was already. She’d celebrate when Lena was back among them in one piece. ”But count me in on that rescue run when it comes around.”

A tactical nuclear warhead. An atomic weapon. The start and end point of wars.

Ingrid remained stonefaced throughout the rest of the debrief, even taking the indirect praise that came with her own successful mission with nothing more than a stoic nod. This one bit of information, though, broke through her character with the same amount of destructive power as the weapon that they had claimed. Her eyes bulged, her head turned fully to the Colonel to meet his eyes, and her stance loosened just a bit.

It shouldn't have come as much of a surprise to those who knew her. The Ares Conventions were a thoroughly dead piece of paper drafted centuries in the past, no longer held in serious regard by any of the Inner Sphere's polities...but they still held sway about the Mechwarrior, the kind with the capital M. The sort of person who has memorized some sort of manifesto drafted up by another Mechwarrior about what is 'just' in war and death. The sort who claims noble lineage and placement within their family based on piloting ability instead of anything important relating to governance. The sort who would sooner die than spit upon the family crest of some highborn clan that ruled over their particular slice of space...

...so, exactly the kind of person Ingrid Daschke was.

Ingrid took that bit of the Conventions very seriously, even if her religionesque appreciation wasn't perfect - she had engaged in urban warfare much earlier in her career, something also forbidden for worry over civilian lives - but she had to have some principles, it seemed!

She had many principles, to the point that it was outright constricting, but the point still stood.

In her initial horror over it's announcement and suggested use, she almost didn't catch wind of Ziska forgetting to worry and loving the bomb. Almost. Her head snapped back to her momentarily, but she turned back to the Colonel right after - the only one who had the authority to authorize its deployment.

"Gai--" she caught herself almost instantly, choking back her rare mispoken word and returning to her usual strict look. "Colonel. I will not speak too far out of turn, but...firing off a nuclear weapon? Even if it was for the most justified of reasons, there is a limit to...forgive me for speaking against you, Colonel, but to this sort of transgression. We are a mercenary unit; the best we could make due with a warhead of any size would be to dismantle it so that no one could use it."

Location:
"Uncle Mack's" Industrial Scrapyard
Property of Maxwell Metals Incorporated
A subsidiary of the Aqua Vitae Corporation
100 km south of Geom Haebyon
150 km northwest of Fort Tie
Date/Time:
26 March, 3030
Interactions:
Reya @Pilatus, Ziska @Abstract Proxy, the Misfits, and The Green Knights
Gear:
His clothing: Boots, long-sleeved shirt, pants, gloves, holstered handgun with 20 rounds

---

Steam spilled out of the Phoenix Hawk, as what came out was the same man as always. A cool and calm Tarak, leaving his machine with the same deftness he's been known for. Once Tarak left his mech steam seemed to almost follow him like fire as he began to strip from his multi-layered clothing. Having that same uneasy feeling that he has always had, an uneasiness as if something was crawling within his skin. He left once more to find somewhere to perform his after-battle ritual.

After Tarak had relieved himself of the constant itching feeling he was subjected to any time he used his rig, he heard the Colonel call for a debriefing. Seeing everyone gather in one place again, took a slight weight off of Tarak's shoulder, especially when he was able to see Reya seemed to have made it from her own mission. Tarak used the precious moments before the debriefing to begin to sneak his way over to be next to Reya. Giving her a small smile before the Colonel began speaking.

Bad, grim, and ugly news was all that was given, with more significant weapons hiding, ramping arms race, and dubious allies at best. Yet, consolations were given, and they had done good. All missions were a success, most of their people came back, and they have more information than they did before. With a single piece being one of great importance for some, "Damn, Wrath is alive?" It was the only thing that could leave his mouth as he thought it was such a strange thing to think of. She survived what seemed to be an ambush turned execution, a true miracle appeared to have occurred.

Tarak nodded his head in disbelief as he then took the moment to look towards Reya, trying to catch her reaction to the situation. Tarak nodded once more as he put his hand on her shoulder and began to rub it, showing he was there for her. Knowing this had to be a pretty emotional thing, he knew they were somewhat close, with Reya being with Lena's little sister all the time.

Reya Wyatt

Reya felt Tarak’ s firm grip on her shoulder and put her hand on top of his, letting herself drift back and lean into him as the Colonel spoke. There wasn’t any discernible emotion on her face. She just breathed and listened to the words, feeling Tarak’s chest rise and fall gently against her back. The Colonel had believed her and yet something about it felt surreal, similar to when she had first seen the markings that Lena had left etched into the wall. The Knights had success across the board and now they were in a whole new facility, ramshackle as it might have been, that was a substantial upgrade from the accommodations offered by the exquisite Espian caves. Still though, she couldn’t remove a sinking feeling from the back of her mind. She wasn’t trained for war and sometimes it felt as though no one really cared how she felt about it. A firm voice from the back of her mind chided her that she knew better. Sunny cared even though she was a child. She thought Ziska, despite her flamboyance, genuinely did as well. Her grip on Tarak’s hand tightened slightly and her shoulders sank a bit as she let out a quiet sigh. He was becoming more and more the bedrock for her sense of stability, but darkly she wondered which version of her he really saw. The Combine engineer or the person that had walked off that APC after their first raid.

Ingrid’s words caused her glance to cut towards the shorter woman, breaking her mind out of its drift. There was a well of fire within her at the mention of breaking down their captured nuclear warhead and her brow only twitched as she managed to suppress the absolute ferocity that she felt in her chest at that sentiment. For the last several hours, she’d had to ride along and work with the Duchess and to some extent she knew what she was getting into when dealing with Ingrid, however this questioning of the Colonel felt like a step far out of her lane. According to the intelligence gathered, there was a high likelihood of two more warheads on the planet and she really thought the Knights should just take theirs apart because, “reasons”? No, it was just like the Colonel explained. That weapon truly was an “ace in the hole” and in her mind, she could visualize the foreign expression of downturned cards from having watched matches played by Ziska, Tarak and the tank crew of the crude, ancient game. The concept to her was much more straightforward though: Better to have it and not need it than to need it and have discarded it because of “morals” or some suicidal sense of righteousness. This was the Inner-Sphere and she understood her history. There were plenty of dead still clinging to those notions.

She turned her head and reached behind to pull Tarak’s head down and whisper in his ear, feeling the coarseness of his hair under her fingers. On the tip of her tongue, she wanted to describe to him how satisfying it would be to put that nuclear warhead straight through the cockpit of the Crimson Fists’ lead Battlemaster and the rest of their mechs in one beautiful, violent rush of hellfire, but she relented as he leaned in to listen. “I’m glad you're back." She said softly in his ear.

"Your concerns are valid, Daschke," Colonel Wayne said after Ingrid's protest. At the very least, he appreciated her taking this escalation in firepower seriously, compared to Ziska and Marit. "I've always run this command according to the MRB's regulations, the Ares Conventions, and the informal Honors of War, and I've got no intention of changing that. If we do deploy the Davy Crockett-- and that's a very big 'if'-- it'll be far away from any civilian population centers, critical points of civilian infrastructure, or places where it could do permanent ecological damage. Military targets only, and only with my explicit orders."

The Colonel scanned the looks of the people around him. Some were relieved, others disappointed.

"Make no mistake," he continued, "I plan on doing anything necessary to get our people back and get off this planet alive. But I also plan on making sure the Green Knights have a future after that. Getting branded by ComStar as war criminals is an easy way to make sure we never find work again, or worse, have bounties placed on us by the House Lords looking for more 'bad guys' to kill now that the bigger war's over. I don't want the Knights to have to fight through the Espian Guard and the Crimson Fists, only for the Mariks or Liaos to label us as a 'rogue outlaw unit' and have their regulars use us for target practice."

Despite the stereotype of mercenaries being rowdy gangs of callous killers with a devil-may-care attitude about the damage they do, mercenary commanders had to take their reputations very seriously. From a political standpoint, every one of the Great Houses wanted to project the image of themselves as the good and rightful inheritors of the Star League, regardless of the actual truth, so hiring a band of ruthless cut-throats was usually poor optics. From a tactical standpoint, escalation on that scale invited the enemy to respond in kind, and total unrestricted warfare wasn't something a small 'Mech outfit could sustain for very long.

And, of course, from an ethical standpoint, the decision to deploy a weapon of mass destruction-- even a small one against a purely hostile target-- wasn't something Gaius would put on anyone's conscience. If that decision had to be made, it would have to fall on him.

"We're keeping the Davy Crockett deactivated and disarmed," the Colonel stated. "Only myself, Sgt. Dalton, and two members of his platoon who shall remain anonymous know its location. It will remain off the table until I specifically say otherwise. That is final."

Putting that matter to rest, the Colonel then changed the subject of the conversation.

"As for recovering Wrathchild," he said, "I plan on having a team head back into South Nui Awa in 24 hours. Volunteers only, no more than four. Wyatt, I want you to relay what you know about Von Kemp's means of communication to the team so they know what to look for. Start with where you found her message, and work your way out from there."

As much as the Colonel wanted to get one of his Mechwarriors back, he also knew not to fill the team with false hope. He decided it would be best to manage expectations.

"South Nui Awa is a big city, so the chances of finding her on one expedition are slim. Portions of it are also held by the Espian Guard, meaning you'll likely be operating in enemy territory. Keep a low profile, don't draw attention to yourselves. If you don't make contact, leave messages in the same code Von Kemp uses so she'll know where to find us."

With that, Gaius turned back towards the Mobile HQ, which was now being surrounded with additional equipment and a small tent to become a more "proper" headquarters.

"I'm going to consult our maps, have the MHQ team scan the airwaves for enemy communications, and confer with our current employer, and from there I'll plan the Knights' next combat mission," he said. "Until then, enjoy the night off."

As it had on several occasions, Jon’s Marauder 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 Archer 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, “When a man leaves his home country he leaves much behind.” However, no sooner had the sentiment crossed his mind, Cassandra’s voice came on the line, straight into his neurohelmet: “Get out of sight and return to the hangar. We’ll talk when you arrive.” It wasn’t her regular haughty tone, she was serious, which got his attention. He had never heard her particularly worried about anything.

“Copy that, movin’ out.”

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 Marauder. 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: All the Pretty Horses 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 Marauder 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 BG Metalworks 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.

“Change the tires, check the oil.” 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.

“It was,” 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. “Thanks,” 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 ’Ossie’s heavily gauntleted arms. “Most of’em ended up dying of natural causes.”

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.

“Natural to the line of work they were in.” 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.

“Not bad, not bad at all really.” Jon said. “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.” 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. “Well let me go give the boss a call, she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“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.”

Location:
"Uncle Mack's" Industrial Scrapyard
Property of Maxwell Metals Incorporated
A subsidiary of the Aqua Vitae Corporation
100 km south of Geom Haebyon
150 km northwest of Fort Tie
Date/Time:
26 March, 3030
Interactions:
Reya @Pilatus
Gear:
His clothing: Boots, long-sleeved shirt, pants, gloves, holstered handgun with 20 rounds

---

Tarak held Reya, as she leaned into him, he watched her for a bit, trying to collect something from her emotions. Yet she seemed to hold herself in a quiet calm, he could feel her lay upon him, he could feel her breath. She seemed calm, that's all Tarak knew, and that was all he could work with, even with the finding of this information, she seemed calm. Trak just held her and listened to the news, originally he was taking in the many sides of those who did and did not wish to use the nuke, and for Tarak, he didn't care.

A weapon is a weapon, if the call comes down, and it needs to be done, Tarak would fire it himself. He wasn't even sure if he would feel a thing when the cloud disappeared, it was a weapon, and a target is a target. But Tarak's thoughts were broken when he felt the hand of Reya begin to caress his head and tried to beckon him closer. Tarak obliged as he leaned close to Reya, shifting his hand that was once on her shoulder to be on her hip as he listened close.

A smile then shown on his face, he shifted and lightly gave a small kiss near her ear as he said, "I am too". Once the Colonel had made his final remarks and ended the briefing, Tarak looked to Reya and said, "Wanna take a walk?".

Times like this, Ingrid confused her. On one hand, that was exactly something Marit would expect Ingrid to say. But on the other hand, how could someone with her experience be this… naive? If Marit’s view of their profession was incomplete due to inexperience, she’d call Ingrid’s skewed by romanticism. That being said, Marit would have agreed for once. ‘Don’t be a barbarian. Speak softly but carry a big stick.’ who could find a flaw in that thinking, besides the Crimson Fists, the NPDRE, the Heavenly Sword… Fuck, almost everybody on this saltbowl. But if they fought with gloves on while everyone else was swinging crowbars, all they would achieve is get their faces smashed in. Fuck that noise. Even if they didn’t use it, the threat of it was what counted. That was perhaps the best weapon they had. If they deployed it, it lost effectiveness because everyone would know where it was. If they used it, everyone would know they no longer had one. But as long as it was hidden away, the bad guys would be left guessing. Always unsure. Always unbalanced. Sure, a nuke painted a target on their back, but that had been there for a while now so who cares?

In the end, what Ingrid or herself thought didn’t matter. The opinion that mattered was the Colonel’s, which fortunately aligned with Marit’s view of the problem. ‘Don’t be a barbarian…’ And now that they had their big stick, all they had to do was to beat everyone else into submission, preferably without using said stick, so the soft speaking may commence. Preferably in the form of “Fuck this place, we’re leaving.” Still, she was glad that sort of decision making didn’t lay on her shoulders.

But for now, she had time to kill. She could sleep later, be fresh for the scouting party. In the meantime, she set out to find Reya or Ingrid so she could get an idea of what to expect in the city, at least the part they have been to.

That she got a "Your concerns are valid, Daschke" out of the Colonel at all was a small moral victory. This didn't amount to anything else, though. Her expresion carried with it a growing sense of disappointment in the Colonel's response that she did not hide as he continued, working out a plan of minimal engagement. Engagement, nonetheless.

"Very practical, sir," was her clipped response. Practicality in the face of...well, many things, but she personally imagined it as self-preservation.

She could feel eyes on the back of her strained neck after she spoke up. Some of the others did not find her concerns founded - not news at all. Did they think she was stupid, or simply deluded? She did turn around to face them, sharp eyes scanning theirs in turn, but she wasn't ready to confront anyone in specific.

"If anyone disagrees with me wholly, then you are welcome to take it up with me in private," she said before turning away from the group. This was something she wouldn't bend on, and something she hoped she could make others understand.

...some part of her imagined being a guard for this weapon. That she would eschew sleeping in the same cots as the others and lay next to a nuclear warhead every night, sword kept close to her chest, and she would inevitably cut down anyone who tried to infiltrate and steal the abominable weapon.

There was one concern. She knew otherwise, with her rich upbringing entailing a good education, that sitting next to a disarmed nuclear weapon wasn't seriously going to irradiate her. The danger existed but she probably was worse off sitting in a junkyard filled with the broken shells of fusion reactors anyway.

Nevertheless, fear doesn't have to be rational to be acted upon. And she feared that damn thing.

She instead resolved to run through anyone who worked Ziska up to trying to steal the bomb for a joke.

Yeah.

Ingrid retired soon after she worked through this. Her night would be spent training with the sword against anyone who would take her, her own shadow if need be, as she prepared for this seeming inevitability. All the while, she was keen to explain her view of Nui Awa to Marit after being approached.

To her, it was a city that had seen its best years well before any of them had arrived. Its populace in decline and paranoid, she advised that the sensible approach to espionage - blending in with confidence - would be better made with a touch of looking over your shoulder.

Also the alcohol they served was better than she expected.

"Uncle Mack's" Industrial Scrapyard
Property of Maxwell Metals Incorporated
A subsidiary of the Aqua Vitae Corporation
100 km south of Geom Haebyon
150 km northwest of Fort Tie Shan
27 March, 3030

“I’m just sayin, let’s be reasonable,” Pops pled with the thin and wiry old man over the half-assembled frame of the Rotunda.

“Hell, I been reasonable all dang day,” “Honest” Ollie Maxwell said back, “Waitin’ on you boys to be reasonable back.”

“Po-o-ops, can we go???” Sunny tugged on Pops’s sleeve. “He’s not helping, and he smells funny.”

“In a minute, little one, first we’ve got some business to settle,“ the old man reassured her, then turned back to the scrapper. “Now look, the Colonel’s willing to pay you handsomely for it.”

“With what?” Maxwell responded. ”The last fella who was payin’ ya got blown up, an’ the gover’mint’s already pokin’ their noses into Mizz Jeong’s accounts. No sir, if Federov an’ his boys start followin’ a paper trail, I don’t want nothin’ leading back to me.”

Pops sighed. “It’s not even like you need it. I mean, who the hell ever heard of a car with a Large Laser in it?”

“Ees collector’s ityem,” the big burly Marozov chimed it. “Veel be vyaluwabul ven ees feexed.”

“Oh sure,” the grizzled old Mech tech nodded, “And if you believe that, I’ve got some wedding plates to sell you from military intelligence.”

“Look, fact of the matter is,” Maxwell said with a tone that his patience was wearing thin, “We’re already givin’ you room and shelter and plenty of other things without so much as a thank-you-kindly. And I’ve yet to be convinced as to why on top of our already generous hospitality, I should part with the Large Laser on this here classic piece of Star League era engineering. You ain’t got money, you ain’t got booze, an’ you ain’t got women lookin’ to spend time with the likes of me. So do tell, Pops, what do you have to bargain with?”

Pops frowned for a moment, then an eyebrow raised from behind his oversized mirrored shades. Hanging on the back wall of Maxwell’s workshop was an old beaten-up guitar, a Dobro from the looks of it.

“That six-string hangin’ on the wall,” Pops gestured. “You play, or is that just for decoration?”

“Oh I’ve been known to pick a song or two,” Maxwell grinned proudly. “Had that since I was a sprout; ain’t no one on this planet better’n me with it.”

”Ees vyery good,” Marozov added.

Pops nodded slowly, stroking his chin with his thumb as he inspected the guitar, then said “I’ll play you for it.”

Ollie sneered. “Play me for the guitar?”

“For the laser,” Pops corrected. “Your six-string against mine. Winner gets the laser, loser has to do the winner’s work for a week.”

Ollie and Marozov looked at each other for a second, then burst out laughing.

“Awww hell, Pops,” Maxwell said between bursts of laughter, “Now yer speakin’ my language!”

As the two old men shared a laugh, a young woman in filthy overalls and a coat of grime poked her head into the workshop.

”Hey Pa?” the girl said. ”Ma says there’s somethin’ happenin’ on the holo-vid. Somethin’ real bad.”

The expressions of everyone in the room soured. “There’s already a war on, Jenny, how’s it gonna git much worse?”

“Just come take a look,” Jenny said, and motioned for them to follow her.

In the next building over, an old Star League pre-fab Quonset hut with a few storage cubicles welded onto one side, a small crowd was staring at a large but static-filled holo-screen.

—appears to have been a supply raid gone wrong, the mercenaries then turned their guns on the civilian population. As of now, the estimated death toll is well into the thousands, and is expected to climb. We warn audiences at home, the footage we are about to show you may be disturbing.”

Few things ever got the man everyone only knew as Pops to lose his composure, but his jaw slowly dropped open as the newscast replayed the footage.

“Pops, who is that?” Sunny asked, her breath quickening. “What are they doing to those people? Why do they look like—“

”Go on back to the barracks now,” Pops gently shooed the young girl away. “This isn’t the kind of thing you need to be watching.”

“We take you now live to Balya Gora, where Grand General Malenkov is addressing these events:”

“People of Espia, it is a well-known fact that mercenaries are honorless dogs, barbaric sell-swords who care for nothing but coin. But rarely are we reminded how true this is, until it is too late. The heinous actions of Gawain’s Green Knights will not go unpunished! I will see to it that the People’s Justice is brought upon—"

“Pops, why did they do that to—“

“I said go on now!” Pops said with an authority in his voice he usually didn’t use.

As Sunny turned and scurried back to her corner of the big housing block, Pops turned his attention back to the screen, which was once again playing the footage Malenkov had condemned.

“Sons of bitches,” he muttered.

---

Keahi Township
50 km Northwest of North Nui Awa



The air was choked with smoke and dust, the groan of twisting metal, the deafening punches of gunfire, and a chorus of human screams.
Lumbering into frame of the Espian News Network’s camera drone was the imposing frame of a 70-ton Warhammer, using the club-like barrels of its Particle Projector Cannons to smash into the sides and roofs of buildings and houses. People scattered out of the crumbling buildings like insects from a hive, and the heavy Battlemech, taking big, bounding strides, began to deliberately step on them as they ran. As sparks and flames erupted in the Warhammer’s path, the camera drone zoomed in to show the logo of Gawain’s Green Knights painted on its torso.

A second heavy ‘Mech, this one a humanoid Crusader, fired its arm-mounted long-range missiles wildly into the sky, which then arced back down into the suburban sprawl. It let loose a second volley, this time of it leg-mounted short-range missiles, into a panicked crowd. Instead of explosives, these missiles erupted into splatters of white-hot Inferno jelly, engulfing the innocent people in a wave horrific molten death.

The camera drone turned, now showing a third ‘Mech herding what appeared to be a few hundred terrified civilians down the main street of the township. This one, a broad-shouldered Hunchback, stomped on cars and crushed its fists into storefronts, before aiming its massive shoulder-mounted autocannon at a church at the end of the street. With a cataclysmic roar, the AC/20 fired, obliterating the church and any unfortunate souls inside it.

As the horror-stricken crowd fled the Hunchback, a fourth ‘Mech emerged at the opposite end of the street. Smaller than the Hunchback, it was also humanoid, its arms ending in the barrels of Flamers. As the Firestarter raised its weapons, it played a familiar voice over its external speakers.



"Hahahahaha!" came the pre-recorded voice of Family Man, captured from the Green Knights’ battle with the Crimson Fists, "If you guys want to be psychopaths and sociopaths, I will oblige! I will kill you all! All!”

The Firestarter let loose with a hellish wave of superheated plasma from its four Flamers, as well as a spray of lead from its pair of Machine Guns. The air filled again with the screams of the dying as fire and lead washed over the crowd.

The sound of Family Man’s recorded laughter replayed from the Firestarter over the screaming, and the camera drone once again zoomed in on the logo of Gawain’s Green Knights painted across it.

---

“As of this morning,” The voice of Premiere Federov announced on the holo-vid, “I am petitioning to our local representatives at ComStar to have the Green Knights officially categorized as an outlaw command. This will strip them of any protections from the Mercenary Rating Board, and allow the Espian Guard and our heroic Crimson Fists to bring them to justice by any means necessary. My administration will not stand for such atrocities while—“

“GREEN KNIGHTS!” the voice of Colonel Wayne roared through the camp as he stormed out of the Mobile HQ, a deadly fury on his face. “NEW ORDERS, BRIEFING IS NOW!”

Raven Rivers

Raven was the first to arrive, his pace almost frantic as he said to his commanding officer and old friend, "I should have known to keep my mouth shut. And to think these bastards actually think I'd come near ten meters of a Firestarter."

Colonel Wayne and any other observer who looked hard enough could see that Raven was both more composed than he was during the supply raid, yet somehow even angrier.

The man's next words were, "I'm taking full responsibility for this, Sir."

He didn't elaborate; he didn't need to. He allowed the enemy to get under his skin and now all of them are going to suffer for it. Nevertheless, he had to ask, "We can't get there in time, can we? All those people, they're going to die not knowing whom to properly curse."

This is our darkest hour, Raven Rivers thought. There can be no full rising from this, no ending without something we deeply regret. We'll forever be scarred by this, no matter what happens after.

Even if we kill every last one of the impostors, our enemies, our abusers, we will never rid ourselves of the unclean feeling that they stained us with. Our honor - God, I sound like Ingrid - has been sullied forever.

Raven sighed and said, "The Prisoners in Fort Tie Shan will further suffer for this. Everyone we loved and cared about, including my Katrina and Andrew, they'll suffer from everyone, including their fellow innmates and the guards."

He looked at his Colonel, then at Ingrid, and Reya, and Ziska and Tarak and everyone else and said, "What's the plan? We have plans for a turnaround, right? We can't let this be our darkest hour, we can't let this be the edge of the cliff..."

Andrew Rivers

Andrew was trying to gain the FPA's trust by doing menial labor and chores whenever permitted, giving them advice on weapons and motorcycle maintenance and as much information about the Green Knights as he can without outright compromising the latter. He was trying to prove himself useful and he seemed to have gotten a little bit of progress in that.

Then those impostors just had to burn down North Nui Awa and now he was trying to clear his name to a bunch of soldiers, some his age, then various officers, continually saying until his voice wore out, "We don't even have a Firestarter - These are Impostors! None of us would never touch a Firestarter with a ten foot pole!"

He needed to make his case clear, he needed to convince his captors that the Green Knights and him were innocent. He must not sound hysterical as he did so, or else...

A fist came flying at him; he didn't know whether it was a child or adult who hurled it, but he caught the blow with his forearms - Courtesy of his father's lessons - before repeating his assertion, "Those are impostors. We would never do this. Not when the real enemy is out there..."

He cannot cry. He was sixteen, he cannot cry! He was older than this, he was more capable than most other folk, he was supposed to be - No, no, no, no, he was crying!

His eyes were wet with tears, tears of grief and rage and sadness. He was not above it all. Nevertheless, he could hear footsteps stepping away from him; did they believe him now, or did they still doubt him?

He collapsed onto his knees, inadvertedly, overcome by emotion. Andrew Rivers knew that no amount of hatred hurled at the enemy will fix what they did. Only clearing their names would.

But he had to admit, maybe he had no role to play in that?