“You think this gets broadcast out beyond the system? What if your old company sees this?” Lovett turned to Marit.
”For Fedorov’s sake I hope they don’t, else a company of angry Vikingrs will show up to smack him so hard his mom won’t recognize him for being a lying little shit.” She said with conviction, but doubts and nightmare scenarios were swirling around her mind. ”No fucking way this lie can work, right? One, show me a merc who does something they don’t profit from, this is just a waste of ammo and two, we don’t even have any of those ‘Mechs.” Though she’d be lying if she said she would mind. A Warhammer and a Crusader, like second Christmas.
“And anywhere else you’d be right, but we‘re in Capellan territory. Critical thinking has been thoroughly bred out of them.” Lister countered, so mad about the false flag massacre he scrunched up his beer can and now even madder because of the spilled lager.
“You may have grown up around BattleMechs, but the average person can’t tell an Archer from a Crusader anymore than they can tell Ricotta from Mascarpone.” Kochanski shared a more realistic opinion.
”How? They’re nothing alike.”
“She’s right. Two arms, two legs, more missiles than the pilot has teeth and it’s big and scary. That’s all they see.” Lister said glumly, having skipped the third stage of grief straight to the fourth.
“SLDF will have their work cut out for them to re educate these-”
“Not this crap again, dinosaur breath. They’re not coming back. They’re dead!” Rimmer made Lister roll back to stage two.
The Colonel’s roll call provided a good excuse for Marit to extract herself from the conversation before the two Astechs could start arguing again, shooting Lovett a sympathetic look before making tracks.

---

”No, they’re already dead.” She replied to Family man flatly with a defeated sigh, ”It’s, what, four hexes on the map? 200 klicks, that’s around… three hours with our slowest ‘Mech at full tilt. Even longer if we bring the tank along. And besides, any survivors just got their lives destroyed by BattleMechs flying our colors. I doubt we’d be welcome.”

She looked around the assembly. Ziska was probably going to look bored or beaming. This sort of chaos seemed either like something she’d thrive in, or like a Tuesday to her. Instead, she lingered on Ingrid, expecting either the same dignified mask as always or an overheated boiler minutes from exploding. She just didn’t know what would be the last straw: the fallout of the false accusation or the insult?

”So, what now? I don’t suppose seizing a radio tower and saying our two cents about it would achieve much, would it?” Then, an idea. ”Hang on, when did this happen? If that’s this morning, then our ‘Mechs were inactive, some down for maintenance, so BattleROMs aren't much of a direct option, but logs from other missions could prove we don't have that equipment, else we'd have fielded it before.” It wasn't as good as a simultaneous mission and wouldn't help them in the short term, but being able to take a JumpShip ride without being arrested or shot sounded good.

"We could perhaps get a copy of our ROMs off world, send it to the right people. Some C-Bills in the right hands would go a long way right now," Ziska said with a shrug. She offered Marit a sly grin and subtle wink, the fresh MechWarrior had measured well. She didn't flinch. She didn't panic. All traits Ziska valued. All traits they would in greater measure soon enough. The games were over, but the fun was just starting in her morally questionable view.

Draping herself over a chair in a catlike fashion, Ziska mused loudly, "We could lean into it perhaps, brutality has won some wars, but fighting an entire planet is hard work."

She laughed,"Motherfuckers. I have to give it to those heartless bastards, I didn't think they'd go this far. We miscalculated. We underestimated them. We are dealing with some fanatics here. Some true believers. They'll kill thousands just to put us off balance, just to leave us on our back foot."

"Who are they? Who are the Crimson Fists really? Fresh BattleMechs. Fresh AeroSpace fighters. Wiping out a village to get to some mercs hiding under a mountain of scrap. Lady Death would be proud of the Crimson Fists and that's saying something. We may have picked the wrong fight, Colonel," Ziska said to look around the room.

"Now, before someone goes and thinks I've gone soft. I'm not afraid. I don't mind fighting. I don't mind killing. I'd prefer not to die, but if that's the hand that I'm dealt, then I am prepared for it. That's what we are paid to do. That's what a MechWarrior is for. But this is not a war that ends happily for any of us. And it will only get worse from here."

Ziska seemed almost apologetic as she continued and a frown briefly passed over her features.

"Respectfully, Colonel, this isn't your type of war. Perhaps it's time to consider our options? We have a Davey Crockett. We have C-Bills for bribes. We could spring our people. A nuclear weapon set to blow is a strong statement in any negotiation. We could plant additional conventional devices. What is...the safety of an entire city for our people? We could fade off the map. We could vanish into the galaxy. They are spending a fortune to hunt us down. How hard will they really try to stop us? They will not openly parley with murderers, of course, but it is not unheard of for a planetary militia to let a belligerent force escape rather than drive them to fight to bitter end."

Studying the Colonel carefully, Ziska shifted, crossing her legs and sitting up in the battered folding chair she had claimed,"I would prefer to fight, I would prefer to kill the Firewitch, but it's your call, Colonel."

Reya Wyatt

All of the mechs had a certain personality about them, particularly when broken down to their base components, whether it was a large laser, a missile rack or the delicate arrangement of systems around the gyro designed to interpret the pilot’s sense of balance. Ziska’s Raven still had a sleek “newness” about it despite how ruggedly she treated it while Ingrid’s Ostroc was old and grumpy and seemed to hate everything, including basic maintenance. Both Hawk’s had a similar feel almost like they were brothers. They were soldier’s mechs, agreeable and made to be serviced. They suited Tarak and Raven respectively. Marit’s Archer was similar with a likewise “male” presence that fit its casual nickname, but bigger and stout to carry its payload on the shoulders. At some point in her time with the Knights’ Reya had seen the inner workings of each of them and knew their quirks, however there was one that remained. One she hadn’t managed to get her hands on and the curiosity pecked at the back of her mind for a long time. Now that they were free from the caves and in semi-proper facilities with morale higher than it had been in weeks, it was to see if Aroxy would acquiesce.

Unlike the battlemechs, the Von Luckner was pure machine. Grease, gears and guts fitted together on a Star League assembly line. The complex systems she was used to seeing of feeding ammo and maintaining balance were absent- Even the original autoloader had been removed. The thick aroma of diesel from the backup engine permeated everything inside the turret along with the chemical smell of spent ammunition and the somewhat colorful aroma of the regular crew. However, none of this bothered Reya in the slightest. Long ago she could remember seeing some passing article about “hot rod culture” and how the denizens of that hobby threw away their disposable income souping up land vehicles. The idea didn’t make a lot of sense at the time, but as soon as she stepped down through the hatch and had a look around, it was the first thing that came to mind. Her smile was wide and it unexpectedly felt like coming back to the familiar. She wasn’t a soldier or a spy, she was an engineer. This was correct. Her mind soaked in the machine. The turret was past-due for an overhaul, particularly after the last action and she was going to make sure the next round out of the barrel departed at no less than factory velocity, maybe even a little more.

Tarak’s gifted stereo blasted overhead. In the open air, against the competing noises of the scrapyard, she could turn up the volume much louder than in the caves, loud enough to be heard with the tank’s hatch open. It was warm down in the hull of the machine and her lips mouthed the lyrics as she worked: You gave me fortune, you gave me fame… You gave me power in your god’s name…. Black soot from the main gun smudged her arms and she attempted to carefully wipe away a bead of sweat with the back of her wrist. Their new hosts had provided a proper technician’s coveralls, albeit large, so she didn’t have to ruin any more of her clothes with stains and snags though she had rolled and tied the top half at her waist to give herself more freedom of movement leaving her upper body covered by a black sports bra. Her hair, pulled up in a ponytail, brushed against her back feeling as weighty and laden with perspiration and grime as the rest of her exposed skin, but it was fine. Things were getting better. They were going to get Lena back and they were going to link up with the FPA and they were going to put their enemies in the ground. Not to mention they now had a nuclear warhead. The thoughts were energizing and she nodded to herself that the tides were rapidly beginning to turn.

Someone shut off the music instantly drawing a momentary arched eyebrow of irritation, however the unexpected silence that followed drew her face up towards the hatch in a narrowed glance.

“Meetin’s on sugar-tits.” Takka’s rugged visage popped over the edge of the hatch blotting out the otherwise blue sky above.

Reya stared back blankly at the boney face grinning towards her from above. He offered a slimy hand to help her up the ladder, but she handed him a wrench instead and climbed out.

The outside air felt great, but instantly she recognized the sudden tension in the air and immediately looked first for Sunny, finding some relief when she saw her scurrying across the yard away from a gathering at a holovid.

“Hope ‘Cap knew what he was doin’, lettin’ you service the gun.” Takka said teasingly enough though there was a hint of a jab in the comment.

“Just worry about hitting what you’re aiming at.” Reya replied. She pulled off the spent pair of black rubber gloves she’d been wearing and stuffed them in Takka’s chest before wiping away a smudge she could feel on the side of her face and looking for Tarak.

Still holding the wrench, Takka accepted the gloves with toothy chuckle and eased his gaze down Reya’s back while her glance turned toward the Phoenix Hawk. “Some things are hard to miss.”

Reya shook her head and rolled her eyes. Whatever this was about, she wouldn’t mind a small break to stretch her legs a bit and get some fresh air. Another walk, even a short stroll around the mechbays would be perfect. She looked at Tarak for a moment while he didn't notice her, watching him work. As much as she loved Sunny, she hadn’t realized how much she needed some semblance of normal adult interaction that wasn't heavy drinking or military talk. It was almost therapeutic. “What’s going on?”

@Th3King0fChaos

Fort Tie Shan
March 27, 3030

"It's about time I got to speak to someone in management," Captain Sally Roth said with a defiant grin, "the accommodations here are terrible, and the service is even worse. Though by the looks of you, you've been helping yourself to the complimentary breakfasts. See if I come here again next time I visit this planet."

The room was plain concrete, lit by a single bare light bulb. In the center of room was a small floor drain, and a leaky water hose in one corner-- all the easier to clean up with after the evening's 'entertainment,' she guessed.

Seated in a plain metal folding chair with her hands cuffed behind her, Sally measured up the fat balding man who looked like he fit even worse into his own body than he did into his clothes. Though she'd never met the man before, she recognized the dead look in the man's eyes. There was no anger, no remorse, no reaction to her jeering. They were the eyes of a killer. Or, more likely, a torturer.

"My name is Grigori Ilyanovich," the fat man introduced himself. "I am the head Minister of Justice for the New Democratic People's Republic of Espia. Before the revolution, I was trained in the arts of enhanced interrogation by agents of the Maskirovka."

"So you were trained in how to get your asses kicked by better FedSun spies? That explains all the rumors I'm hearing about how your little war is going," Sally sneered, but her poker face slipped just a tad. The Maskirovka were infamous as the most feared intelligence apparatuses in all of the Inner Sphere, if not for their effectiveness, then for their sheer brutality. The business of spycraft was often dirty and ugly, and agencies like the DEST and SAFE had all done more than their fair share of evil deeds in the name of their respective nations, but the horror stories surrounding the Maskirovka left them all in the dust.

Looking at the metal cart being wheeled in by a pair of assistants, and the various implements laid out in a meticulous order on it, Sally knew this Ilyanovich guy fully intended to live up to his former masters' reputation.

"Yes, the wounds of the Fourth Succession War do sting a bit, even if I am no longer loyal to the family Liao," Ilyanovich admitted with a sad sigh. "Still, such pains are not to be dwelled on, as they are now in the past. I am far more interested in discovering what pains await us in the future, aren't you?"

"Honey," Captain Roth scoffed, "if you think you're the first local yokel from some backwater nowhere planet to threaten me, you're in for some disappointment. I'm sorry if you flew all the way from the capital thinking you were going to scare me into cooperation, but I'm not telling you a damn thing."

"Oh, I'm not interested in information," the fat man waved her remarks away. "Today's session is more of an...introduction. I want you to know who I am, what I am capable of doing, and the true nature of your situation."

The first implement Ilyanovich reached for was not a pair of pliers, a scalpel, an ice pick, or any other sharp or blunt instrument. Instead, he picked a remote control up from the cart, and turned on a small holovid projector.

The holo showed Captain Roth the raw footage of the attack on the Keahi Township. The fires, the screams, the rampaging Battlemechs all bearing the sigil of Gaius Wayne's command.

"A truly heinous atrocity," Ilyanovich said, his voice dripping with false admonishment, "And one which Premier Federov and General Malenkov have already vowed to avenge. As we speak, Federov is asking ComStar's local Precentor to label the Green Knights as an outlaw command. When that happens....I'm afraid the protections granted to you and your people will be null and void."

Sally took her eyes off of the horrific footage to shoot an indignant glare at Federov. "You're full of shit," she said. "You know that's not the Knights, and ComStar will know it, too. Federov, Malenkov, your corny 'Crimson Fists,' you're all full of shit and you know it."

"Perhaps ComStar will reach a similar conclusion," Federov's man nodded, "or perhaps they will not care. As you said, Espia is a 'backwater nowhere planet,' and Gawain's Green Knights are a small command. In the grand scheme of things, I doubt it will matter to them who is 'right' or 'wrong,' merely who remains a paying customer. Rather than spend the time and money and effort on a lengthy investigation, perhaps they can be convinced to simply take the path of least resistance and make this problem go away. Surely a woman as well-traveled as you is aware how little the various players of the great game care about small pieces like Gaius Wayne."

"So that's the play?" Sally asked. "Tell me everything's hopeless, then either torture me and whoever else you can get your grubby sausage-fingers on until one of us gives up where the Knights are, or start executing hostages until Gaius gives himself up?"

Ilyanovich shrugged. "You are free to make whatever conclusions you wish. As I said, tonight I'm merely interested in--"

"An introduction, I heard you," Roth spat. "Well, while we're getting to know each other, maybe you'd like to know something about Gaius. Ever hear of the planet Sendai?"

Grigori shrugged again. "Should I have?"

"It's a Kurita world," Sally explained. "Back during the First Succession War, the Eridani Light Horse were stationed there, working under contract for House Kurita. When they heard about the massacre on Kentares IV, the Horsemen decided they couldn't work for a bloodthirsty lunatic, so they packed up their things and took off. The problem was, their civilian contingent was caught by the local Kurita troops before they could leave, and the planetary governor held them hostage. The Eridani had to either turn around and get back to work, or watch their people die."

"And I suppose the Light Horse pulled some daring rescue to break their people out of prison?" Grigori asked.

"No," Roth answered, "they called the governor's bluff. They appealed to the governor's better nature, hoping that he'd let their families go. But the governor was a true believer in the Kurita cause. All that jazz about honor and service to the Dragon, that mattered more to him than the lives of some mercenary wives and kids. So as the Eridani took off to leave Sendai, he gathered up their civilians and had them all shot, sending the footage on a tight-beam broadcast directly to the Light Horse. Once again, the message was clear: turn around and get back to work."

"That was the Light Horse's mistake, then," Ilyanovich scoffed. "They needed to be taught that actions have consequences."

"Oh, they learned that lesson," Roth nodded, "And they turned their ship around and they got right back to work. As soon as the Eridani Light Horse touched back down on Sendai, they went about killing every Combine official they could find. And I mean every one. Every Mechwarrior, every pilot, every officer, every soldier, every government official, from the highest-ranking government brass all the way down the goddamn mail clerks. Every man and woman on Sendai who was on the payroll of Lord Kurita was in the ground by the time the Eridani Light Horse were done. A small band of mercenaries took on the government and military of an entire world, and by the time they left, that government was fucking dead. Like you said, actions have consequences."

Silence hung between them for a moment, before Grigori snorted.

"An amusing story," he dismissed her words, "but an irrelevant one. The First Succession War was centuries ago. And I've read Gaius Wayne's file; he never served with the Eridani Light Horse."

"Oh, you're right," Sally nodded, "Gaius was never a Horseman. He's worse: he's a fan. Which means he'll stop at nothing to live up to the stories of the mercenaries he's idolized. He knows the story of Sendai by heart-- hell, he's the one who told me about it."

Sally glanced at the cart, the tools that Ilyanovich had laid out, and considered all of the sinister implications of each one.

"So by all means, Grigori Ilyanovich, introduce yourself to me," she said, her expression hardening. "Just know that when Gaius Wayne gets to introduce himself to you, whatever you do to me and the rest of my people? He's going to do ten times over, to you, to Federov, to the Crimson Fists, and to your entire goddamn outfit."

---

"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

Rivers was the first to speak, followed by Daschke and Ziska. Little of it registered to Gaius, as his thoughts were filled with fire and thunder.

Pacing back and forth before his Knights, Colonel Wayne held his tongue until he could cool his mind enough. In desperate times, people tended not to rise to the occasion, but rather to fall to their training. And his years of training and experience in a Mech cockpit kept him from firing off while he was running hot.

Slowly, some of their words were penetrating the rage that clouded his thoughts.

Mount a rescue, perhaps? Unlikely; most of the people in that town were already dead, or would run screaming from the sight of the Green Knights returning.

Send exonerating footage to ComStar? Maybe, but there was no guarantee the Precentor wasn't already bought off.

Use the Davy Crockett in exchange for Sally and the others? As tempting as the thought was of erasing Federov and his goons in a mushroom cloud of righteous fire, the Crockett didn't have the kind of yield to guarantee success. And if anyone survived, that would only confirm the propaganda that the Green Knights were heartless war criminals.

Considering the possibilities cooled his thoughts, dispersed the haze of his anger enough so that he could see a course of action.

"Lyons," he called to the leader of the Mobile HQ team, "Map."

"Ah, yes sir!" Lieutenant Lyons nodded, scrambling about her person for the control to the holo-projector she had set up outside the MHQ.

After a few moments of fumbling about, Lyons sputtered "Got it, sir, sorry for the wait, sir," and activated the projection of the regional map.



"As far as we can tell," Colonel Wayne began, "Within the past hour- give or take fifteen or twenty minutes for broadcast editing- the Crimson Fists launched a false flag attack on the township of Keahi, in sector D-14. Their assets included four Battlemechs: a Firestarter, a Hunchback, and two heavy Mechs, a Crusader and Warhammer. The township had a small population, only a few thousand. It's likely that the majority of them are now dead."

The Colonel became aware of a sharp pain in his left hand. Looking down, he saw that his fist was clenched so tightly that his own fingernails were digging into his palm.

"The goal of this attack was two-fold," Gaius continued. "The first was to delegitimize us in the eyes of any possible allies. The FPA, any civilian support, any surviving loyalists to the late Governor Xiu; as far as they're concerned, Gawain's Green Knights are now an outlaw command. This was a deliberate attempt to destroy our reputation. My reputation."

Colonel Wayne felt his anger boil again, and he paused, holding his words until the heat passed over him.

"The second goal is to goad us out," he said once he had calmed down. "In all likelihood they still think we're somewhere in the north, and that we'll pop our heads up to show that we weren't the ones who attacked Keahi...which will then let them zero their bombers in on us and flatten us. They're expecting a fight, but I don't think they'll be expecting when or where they'll get one."

Gesturing to the holo-map, Gaius pointed out another sector, north of the massive city of Geum Haebyon.

"Sector K-7 has a forward operating base capable of supporting Battlemechs," Gaius said. "Going back to the Espian Guard's main headquarters would draw too much attention, but that FOB is far enough out of the way that the Fists can park their Mechs there and remove our markings from them now that they've done their dirty work. If I were a betting man, I'd put money on them heading there right now, avoiding the main roads in case they get spotted."

Tracing a zig-zag line between the two points, keeping away from main connecting highways or any other places that might draw too much unwanted attention, his finger settled on a sector not too far from them.

"Sector H-13," he said. "There's a pass through the mountains where a lance of Mechs can get through without much risk of being spotted. Everywhere else is either too crowded with highway traffic from Geum Haebyon, or too steep for the non Jump-capable Mechs to traverse. The pass has a sharp drop on one side, and a rocky mountainside on the other. I'd considered using the region for training exercises before the coup, but the snowfall on the mountaintops is so heavy that there was too much risk of causing an avalanche. Given that three of their mechs top out at 64 kph, we can expect them to reach the mountain pass in just under four hours. Once our Mechs are spun up, we can be there in two."

Without a word, Crew Chief Aadil nodded, and gestured for the Mech techs to get to work. A dozen technicians got up from the briefing and ran with purpose to the salvage yard's Mech bays.

"While we make our preparations to fight, I'm going to call in a favor," Colonel Wayne continued his briefing. "I'm going to ask Cassandra Jeong for a helicopter to transport a representative of the Green Knights north, and a meeting with a representative of ComStar. Assuming Jeong's connections are as good as she claims, I need someone to plead our case to the Precentor, so they'll drop Federov's petition to declare us outlaws. That will, at the very least, delay whatever abuse the NPDRE has planned for our people they've got captive. Wyatt, I want you on that helicopter. The rest of us are going to the mountain pass."

At Gaius's gesture, Lyons clicked the control of the holo-projector to zoom in on the mountain pass sector.

"The Knights will set up in ambush positions and wait for the Fists to come through the mountain pass," the Colonel stated. "Set up a kill-box with overlapping fields of fire. Once they're in the box, open fire, and don't stop until all four Mechs are destroyed. Alley Cat, your mission will be to capture as much BattleROM footage as possible, and tight-beam the footage directly to the Mobile HQ, which will be positioned high enough on the ridge to send out a long-range transmission. The Mobile HQ will send that footage to Wyatt, who can then present it as exonerating evidence to ComStar."

With the plan set, the Colonel allowed himself to feel that anger again. "This will be an ugly fight. Tonnage for tonnage, the Fists' lance has us outgunned. But we'll have the high ground, and the element of surprise. All else fails, we bring the goddamn mountain down on them."

Typically, Colonel Wayne liked to open the floor to questions and discussion after presenting the mission. This time, however, his word was final.

"They die," he said with finality. "No prisoners, no survivors, no mercy. They die. Actions have consequences. And today, those consequences are named Gawain's Green Knights."

At the outset of the coup, Jon knew his relationship with the Crimson Fists was destined to go only a very few ways and after seeing the holovid footage and the grandstanding thereafter he was even more satisfied with his decision to ignore their invitations and keep that particular path mostly closed. Since the beginning, he afforded them respect as soldiers and they seemed to respond in equal measure despite his loyalty to Cassandra. Merc life wasn’t often glamorous. Sometimes you held the whip and sometimes you held the post. He’d been on both sides of the equation and understood the roles could reverse rapidly- as the Green Knights unfortunately found out. Outnumbered more than ten to one, he made peace with and reasoned if he ever had to throw down with the Fists, they at least weren’t going to get the jump on him the same way and he was going to go to Valhalla hauling brass like no one they’d ever seen. His face was its regular stoic mask as the thoughts passed. When he first considered his relationship with the other merc squad, it was also under the conclusion that he was dealing with a professional adversary, and they certainly were, however the holovid “production” that had been broadcast on endless loop all morning indicated they were something else as well.

It didn’t make a lot of sense and it felt like something to which he wasn’t privy, had apparently made Espia very personal between the Fists and the Knights for them to commit to action that just seemed… desperate. He shook his head and rubbed the stubble on his chin as Cassandra’s underlings moved about her office level bringing items to her attention and then scurrying away on some new errand. He normally didn’t play these scenarios out in his head. Politics, espionage and propaganda were not his wheelhouse. Maybe he had overestimated them, both in projection and principles. The thought continued to gnaw at him. A side that was “winning” didn’t need to stage a frame-up against a merc company that barely had a complete lance. He knew if he had their resources, he could have tracked down the Knights long ago, as he’d personally demonstrated, and over a long enough timeline, even if the Fists’ couldn’t force a conclusive battle, attrition would favor the greater force if the Knights couldn’t secure a way off-planet. He shook his head a bit again, slower and more contemplative before dismissing the whole mental exercise. He wasn’t sure about any of it and it didn’t matter. The die was cast and the final path was becoming much more clear.

A soldier was something of a medium between the endpoints of policeman and criminal. Decisions had to be made, often in precious seconds that could mean self-preservation or death. To become judge, jury and executioner, or murderer, over and over. A warrior made peace with that as he’d done his whole life as a fighter. He’d seen innocent people killed before, but never flagrantly or on camera for the purpose of deception. Killing people was hard, or it was supposed to be for a man that kept himself centered in the balance. Having served in the infantry, he recognized being in a machine took an element of the personal out of the equation, but he told himself, in his soul, when it got too easy to pull the trigger that it would be time to stop. A still fresh image of the routed Heavenly Sword fighters flashed through his memory. Defeated men shockingly broken in body and spirit all at once- but they’d at least had the choice to put their faith on the line in the contest… then he again thought about the footage from the holovid, how there was even a certain flair about the presentation of the Firestarter as it scorched over unsuspecting people running for their lives.

“Jonathan, are you alright?” Cassandra’s voice asked poignantly.

Though his face was neutral, Jon noticed he was gripping one arm of the chair so hard the fabric cracked under his grip, fraying it from the polished brass buttons that ornately held it. She looked at him from behind her desk, over the rim of her glasses. “Yeah, sorry.”

Cassandra blinked, “It’s fine, we’ll get another one.”

She had summoned him to her office building in North Nui Awa not long after he’d just made it in the night before. Caesar finished up the post-op and reload and he headed back out- meaning he’d only just missed the Crimson Fists’ lance. The multitude of scenarios for that encounter played in his head several times as well. Cassandra pushed a datapad across her desk that Jon knew was intended for his eyes only without her having to say a word. She had a look and an aura about her that was different than any other time he’d seen her before. A vengeful energy, like an ancient witch delivering the dispatch of a wraith. A role he accepted as he took the pad also without having to speak.

“This intelligence comes from Colonel Wayne and his sources; some of our people in the field have also verified it.”

Jon’s glanced narrowed over the text and images as they scrolled under his thumb. “I know this pass.” The projected route of the Crimson Fists’ criminal lance was practically Jon’s backyard, traversing much of the territory still held by Cassandra and AVC properties. It was like handing a fugitive’s torn shirt-sleeve to a bloodhound. He could feel his pulse quicken slightly as he visualized the pursuit.

“Colonel Wayne’s forces will be there first in waiting, but you should be able to catch them not long after they find one another. I’m going to be taking a helicopter to the capital. I still have a good relationship with our Precentor. He’s a level man, not a fanatic. He will listen.” She rose and donned a pair of exquisite black leather gloves and collected an equally posh matching purse from behind the desk. Jon stood as another one her staff quickly appeared and brushed by him, placing what looked like a brand new jacket on her shoulders. She came around the desk, stopping briefly to appraise him. Her fingers straightened the worn AVC logo on the hooded sweatshirt she’d given him months ago and evened out the drawstrings. “Go there, kill them.” The words felt new and sharp. This was no longer a protection detail for the company. The players for Espia’s future were putting their cards down and now she was going to place her own.

“Yes ma’am.”

She looked briefly like she wanted to say something else, but stepped away and was gone.

The Colonel's subtle marker of tension was mirrored by the Duchess, who had gripped the haft of her sabre with enough power to leave her hand frozen in that grip for a while once she realized what had happened. It had been a tense time, between the nukes and the violence committed for no better reason than to dishonor them. The stress would even get to the greatest and most level-headed of them...let alone Ingrid.

She had barely slept the night over. The tension that built up just behind her forehead made her walk out and practice her sword technique against posts outside of the base for hours, both to relieve that stress and with knowledge that, as unlikely as it was, she could be called to stab someone in the coming days. Maybe 70 minutes of passing out was all that she was operating on, boosted by coffee, and several other things that she hadn't taken the time to inspect before downing.

Ingrid's eyebrow twitched. She'd have to pack some more of those stimulants along for the upcoming excursion - hopefully they won't react badly when stored in the sauna heat of a cockpit.

The assignment was...simple. Sometimes complexity meant new ways to make errors and botch it all, but this time it just meant that there was less to leverage. There was no gambit to distract them or have someone act as a harrier for reinforcements or even a retreat planned, just a few seconds of ambush and one way to potentially spite them if everything else goes poorly.

Ingrid relished the opportunity to fight as a Mechwarrior again. She did not look forward to the losses on their side.

When all was said and done, in lieu of questions, an ultimatum was given. A terse silence settled among them before Ingrid spoke to the Colonel.

"...we're to deny them the right to retreat and kill them in their cockpits. Right, Colonel?"

You could imagine Ingrid shouting and stamping her foot, her continued chivalric fantasies driving her to openly rebel against this directive. However, she simply asked with grave seriousness and a composed stare - not "How dare you", but "Do I understand you fully?"

Raven Rivers

Raven grinned widely, before saying to his Colonel, "This is a perfect plan. A chance to exonerate ourselves just barely 24 hours after we've been formally accused. And the only potential flaw is that the Crimson Fists might somehow pull off a win once we ambush them... And that has a snowball's chance in hell."

He could taste it; victory against all odds, the light at the end of the tunnel, a legitimately earned happy ending. And all he had to do was what he did best: Grind down an enemy with all the firepower he can muster, then pummel them with his BattleMech's fists until the cockpits were pulp. His eyes flickered with glee as he said, "It is better to be feared than loved, but that's only if one cannot have both, right? And if all this succeeds, we will have both."

Nothing more need be said, at least from him. His mood was clear, his renewed faith in his Colonel ironclad. But his faith in himself... He had to admit he had a seed of doubt in himself and his capabilities, that he had a dent in his belief that he can make it through the coming battle and campaigns and that he won't fail himself and his people when things got tough. But he looked at the Colonel and everyone around him, and thought, I can do this. For them.

Marit just barely managed to suppress a happy giggle when she caught Ziska’s wink. Some might consider approval from Ziska a step in the wrong direction. Naysayers, the lot of them! And then she opened her mouth. Maybe the naysayers were onto something after all...

”Just because they paint us as deranged maniacs doesn’t mean we have a pass to become that. Isn’t it the average joe that’s gonna be scared shitless of us now, and running to report the ‘green baby killers’ to the nearest patrol as soon as possible? Last thing I want is to give them more reasons to believe the lie.”

”I’m going to act like I didn’t hear the part about nuking a city, let’s pretend that didn’t happen, but I get where you’re coming from. The people that hired us to be here have abandoned this place, the last ones upholding their rule are dead and the locals have hated us from the start, justified or not.“ She counted on her fingers, ”Besides needing FPA cannon fodder to pull the jailbreak off, nothing’s really keeping us here, is it?” Family Man would probably take objection to that, but she had a defense ready. But otherwise, grabbing von Kemp, staging a jailbreak, liberating any ship they could get their hands on that could get them away and leaving sounded good.

Truth be told, Marit was confused. By all rights she should’ve been a nervous mess lamenting the disintegration of her future, and while she understood this would have nasty repercussions on Espia and had the potential to become catastrophic in greater scope, it hadn’t yet and right now she was mad as Hell that they’d have the gall to try. Maybe she just didn’t fully grasp the depth of the swamp they’d just been thrown into. Still, being stuck in the mud was only really bad if one didn’t have anyone to lend a hand and pull you out. She should know. And they had a fairly loaded and connected helping hand, at least for now.

The Colonel thought along the same lines, and had a plan on top. Finally, nothing to protect, but a simple ambush. Perhaps not so simple given what the target was. Assuming the most common models, that was two PPCs, an AC20, two LRM 15s and a bunch of lasers, and given the nature of their target they probably had ammo left for the weapons that required it. ”Once they’re dead, do you think we’ll have time to salvage? I don’t expect we’ll leave much in working order, but you never know what you’ll find until you look. Maybe even some hints to the Fist mystery.”

One by one, the Colonel fielded questions, deliberately walking towards the Mech bays as they spoke. They couldn't afford to waste time while the window for setting the ambush grew smaller, but there was no reason not to answer while they prepped.

"The longer we stay out in the open, the greater the chances are that we get spotted by their aerospace assets," he said, answering Giggles' question. "Mobilizing the salvage crews and getting them into the area will take longer than deploying the combat lance, and the NPDRE will likely have their own recovery team in the area by the time ours arrives. While we can have a skeleton crew ready to pick through the wreckage and bug out as quickly as possible, a full recovery probably won't be an option."

"Ehhh, beggin' yer pardon, Colonel Sir," Mr. Maxwell chimed in as he followed after the military personnel, "But I might respectfully disagree with that last notion. I'm sure your crews are good at their jobs, but my boys are born pickers. An' we know the mountains. We can be on those dead Mechs, pry out anythin' that looks nice, an' git before any o' Federov's boys kin find us."

Colonel Wayne gave the scrapyard denizen an appraising look. "I assume you'll want a share of whatever you recover?"

"Jess what's fair, is all," he said, knowing the two men both had wildly different notions of what "fair" might mean. His grin also told that he knew the Knights had few options if they wanted the job done right.

The Colonel's look was sour, but he nodded. "We'll work out shares when the job is done. Right now, dividing up nothing still leaves us both with nothing."

Maxwell's gap-toothed grin widened. He was going to enjoy putting such a self-serious man over a barrel and making a killing off of this.

"Awright, boys!" he called out. "Git yer shit and be ready ta move, we're gonna have us a helluva haul tonight!"

This brought up a chorus of whoops and cheers from the other scrappers, while Colonel Wayne turned his attention back to his Mechwarriors.

"I want this done quickly," he told them. "First, because there's a limited amount of time before the aerospace assets are called in. Fighting those Mechs is going to be hard enough; fighting them while they have air support will be a whole other story. Second, I want it on record that we are professionals, not butchers. We take them out quickly and efficiently, and we don't let them goad us into losing our composure."

"But make no mistake: the Crimson Fists gave up the right to surrender," he said as unconsciously, his good hand drifted towards his hip, toward the checkered grip of the semi-automatic pistol at his side. "I don't want this to be a spectacle, but it will be an execution. They die, simple as 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, and The Green Knights
Gear:
His clothing: Boots, long-sleeved shirt, pants, gloves, holstered handgun with 20 rounds

---

Tarak was at work on his mech, he wore down multiple parts during the almost insane run he and Ziska took. Much of the leg armor was worn and broken more towards the feet, yet the Phoenix Hawk could still fly. Tarak knew he ran his machine hard, yet he tried his best to keep it operational, he had spent much of his time off working now. He ran the machine to its bones at this point, field repairs and low level fixing was some of what could be done for the poor machine, yet it still ran.

Tarak had just finished some of the leg repairs he needed to do from his interesting mountain surfing. He threw his tools into his toolbox and began to head down where he saw Reya seeming to be waiting for him. Tarak made his way over, "Hey~! Oh, I wasn't doing much until you came around". Tarak spoke with a bit of playfulness as he wore a smile. Reya was important, someone who seemed so different to Tarak they could quite literally be described as people who lived in 2 different worlds, even while stuck on the same one. She was…someone who interested him, he couldn't explain it, but he felt strange around her, at times he could feel at ease with her, other times he felt almost caught for words.

However Tarak's attention was caught to the side as multiple people began running to the makeshift hut that showed holovids. Tarak gestured over as they made their way and watched the Holovid as he saw the horror that was on the screen, then came the roar of the Colonel. Tarak took a breath in and hardened his face, his face seemed to be that of anger as he turned to head to the briefing. There the briefing was filled with questions, everyone worried about the names of the Green Knights, the politics of it, but Tarak didn't care about any of that.

An ambush was to be set, combat and fighting, no combat would say there would be actual resistance. That was not what this was to be, The Colonel put it best, this was to be an execution, Tarak gave a nod, nothing more for himself. He was not one to ask questions, just get results, he was almost always like that. It wouldn't matter, the mission comes first, thoughts and emotions come second. He turned to Reya, however, and said to her, "Good luck, be safe". Tarak's hardened face softened slightly just a moment, worry was there on his once stern and near cold face.

Vagabonds, crows picking at the carrion on the site of war. Ingrid barely held her contempt for the scrappers as the ran out, hooting and hollering. Their services to the Green Knights earned them a stay of indignation, but really - couldn't you show a little circumstance given to the inevitable? Seeing fine machines butchered like, as Ingrid would imagine in her most offensive imitation of that certain low-class drawl, "A right dun-hawm bar'buh'cuh wit' all de fixens, bier's fuh free, yee-haw!" did not endear anyone to you.

This was a minor distraction from the real meat of the matter. Her question was almost redundant, anyway. She understood what was about to happen, and really, there was some small part of her that understood this as necessary. They didn't have the facilities to keep prisoners, their enemies weren't the sort to offer ransom, and they wouldn't have been offered the same clemency. More likely, they'd be tortured until more incriminating soundbites could be pulled out of them.

It still pained her, though. Logically it made sense, but the core principles of her being had yet to come to terms with it.

"I see," she replied to the Colonel, her tone less adamant or icy than one might expect. She didn't seem wholly on-board, but acquiescence would be have to be good enough. "Understood. I won't be particularly kind with them."

Then, she turned her boot about face to look at the rest of the assembled Mechwarriors in the eye, and her shoulders-up back-straight posture suggested that, yes, she was going to speak to them in her position as the Holy Lord of All Honor from whom all martial wisdom flows. And yet, though she certainly tried to sound like she was giving an order, her words were a little less preachy than usual.

"When it comes time and you find it inevitable, give them a fine death. They're dogs, and the same couldn't be expected of them, but even miserable street-curs like these Mechwarriors have some unconscious aspiration to being staghounds. That is to say," her posture loosened up slightly, "do not be sloppy. Show that you're better than them in the killing blow, even more so than the rest of the engagement. You hear?"

Reya Wyatt

Reya had to turn her head away from the holovid. Even before the most gruesome clips aired, she knew where it was leading. Instantly she was reminded of when she’d gone with the raiding party to the supply depot and seen firsthand what the ‘Boys had done to the NPDRE defenders. That was at least a fight among soldiers, no matter how outmatched the sides might have been, however she could vividly remember the blood splatter and twisted forms of those who had tried to oppose them. It didn’t take a lot for her mind to build a ghastly mental picture of what happened to the townspeople. Like them, she’d had to run for her life before and visualizing herself as one of them was enough to make her stomach lurch to the point where she thought she was going to be sick. Women and children mowed down and trod over like insects no different than when she had grabbed up Sunny and ran for it. They hadn’t even been able to save Diego and the thought of his innocent face still cut her heart to the core the same way every single time.

Never had she seen the Colonel so visibly upset and it reminded her of his actual nature as a fighting man and not so much the fatherly-type he’d sort of become in the last few weeks of their desperation. She was a little bit afraid to look at him for fear of perhaps doing something to make the situation worse by not being able to stomach what was propagated against the Knights. Ironically it reminded her of being a child when her father was particularly upset, so she mostly stood behind Tarak and hid herself from his gaze. The Mechwarrior’s stance was firm with no sign of apprehension without even a question. It was what she liked about him most. It gave her some strength and she took a breath and stood a little straighter holding on to his arm at the elbow. Save for maybe Raven, there was something about the rest of them she could never understand about their ability, for the most part, to remove the humanity from a situation. She knew they probably felt it, hopefully, even Ziska, but the only emotions she could observe and sense were directed at being framed whereas she could only see the people in the video.

Then came the news of her role in the plan. A part of her wished so badly not to hear her name. Just when she was getting back into doing what she was best at, she would be pulled away again and the assignment gave her an uneasy and foreboding feeling that she hadn’t expected. She was comfortable representing the Knights to just about anyone and understood the supreme level of trust the Colonel was placing on her shoulders; however, Comstar was never an audience she had envisioned. Images of cloaked figures, ritual incantations and a feigned technological theocracy flashed through her mind along with how universally just about everyone she’d ever met couldn’t stand them. At least like the, “holy Blake”, she was an engineer and maybe that would count for something in their eyes, but she doubted it. She let out a small sigh and looked down at her dirty ensemble realizing she’d have to get cleaned up again in a hurry. Sensing Tarak’s gaze she glanced up at him, not really feeling anything from Ingrid’s pontifications and knowing he didn’t really either. The Colonel’s words ran through her mind. It was going to be an ugly fight. A brawl against murderers.

She touched his face and looked at him, eye to eye. “Come back with your shield, or on it.”

@Th3King0fChaos

Hiyan-Chia Mountain Pass
50km Southwest of Geum Haebyon
0400 Hours
27 March, 3030

"C-c-coffee, Colonel?" Lt. Lyons held up a tin cup of steaming hot brown liquid, her hands trembling from the cold. Further down in their positions in the mountain pass proper, the Mechwarriors of Gawain's Green Knights were nice and toasty, their cockpits environmentally sealed. Even with their reactors shut down to avoid giving away their positions, the residual heat inside their mechs would keep them good and warm for hours. Sadly, the same couldn't be said for the Mobile HQ. Once upon a time, when the vehicle was a top-of-the-line piece of SLDF hardware, it had its own fusion reactor, environmental sealing, and creature comforts to keep a crew operating comfortably for days or weeks on end. Everything from the fusion engine to much of the heat insulation had been scavenged over time, however, leaving the Colonel and MHQ crew to layer up in heavy coats and huddle around battery-powered heaters while they waited.

"Thanks," Colonel Wayne gladly accepted the hot beverage, and quickly gulped some down. The coffee--if it could even be called that-- was bitter and sour and had an aftertaste like a mouthful of dirt, but at least it was hot. Even the Colonel, his composure almost always rock-solid, couldn't drink the stuff without making a face. "Any signals yet?"

"S-s-some scrambled ch-chatter, s-sir," Cadet Higgins, answered, deeply regretting the thin T-shirt he'd been wearing to show off his abs. "D-don't think we can descramble it without their c-c-codes, but th-they're in the area."

"The airspace s-s-seems clear for now as well, sir," Lyons added. "If their p-p-patrols are on their regular s-s-schedule, their response t-time should be about s-s-seven minutes."

"S-seismic sensors are q-quiet, but the m-maps we brought along show some p-p-potential weak spots that match what I got on my initial s-s-scan," Cadet Windham piped in. "A g-g-good shot into Bravo-Bravo 2 could bring d-down a rockslide, and a sh-shot into Quebec-9 can collapse the b-bridge. But there's the s-s-same risk on our s-s-side, in Ch-Charlie 13."

"Then we don't want to play that card too early," the Colonel commented, using an incredible amount of self-control to not let his own voice tremble. "If they see us try to bring down the mountain on them, they can try the same to us."

"S-s-sir! Seismics just picked up incoming s-s-signals!" Windham said as his monitor began to ping. "F-f-four contacts. A thirty-five tonner..."

"That's the Firestarter," the Colonel nodded, his blood beginning to boil as he pictured the faces of the innocent people that pilot had burned.

"A f-fifty-tonner..."

"The Hunchback," he confirmed. The monstrous AC/20 on the Hunchback was going to be a problem if they let it get close; the Knights would have to engage it at range to avoid risking a crippling shot.

"One s-s-sixty-f-five tonner..."

"There's the Crusader," Gaius said. The opposite problem of the Hunchback, the Crusader was a potent missile boat, with a mix of LRMs and SRMs, and he'd seen from the news footage that its SRMs were carrying Inferno warheads. Infernos were dangerous to a Mech thanks to the risk of excess heat, but since the Von Luckner wasn't environmentally sealed like the Mechs, one of those could kill Aroxy and his crew outright.

"And....and a second sixty-five tonner, sir?"

This made Colonel Wayne pause.

"Can you confirm that?"

"Ah, yes s-sir, sixty-f-five," Windham double-checked his readings. Gaius frowned.

The fourth Mech they had seen on the footage of the attack was a Warhammer, a seventy-ton Mech. Theoretically a lighter mech would mean an easier target, but not knowing what Mech the Crimson Fists had called in was troublesome. A second Crusader, maybe? A Jagermech? A Thunderbolt? Depending on what that fourth Mech was, their entire battle plan might be thrown into question.

"Higgins, open up a short burst to the Lance," the Colonel ordered. Higgins nodded, and the Mobile HQ's comms antennae aligned to send out a short ten-second transmission down into the mountain pass.

"Fingers crossed the Fists aren't paying attention," Higgins muttered to himself. "If I'm d-dyin', I d-don't wanna d-d-die while freezing my dick off."

At the Colonel's signal, Higgins switched on the comms equipment.

"Green Knights, Gawain Actual," Colonel Wayne spoke. "Targets 1, 3, and 4 inbound. Target 2 not located. New unidentified target inbound. Plan remains the same. Stay sharp, shoot straight."

Raven Rivers

One of their quarry had escaped, probably to end up as the last survivor of the Crimson Fists once the Green Knights' ambush was done with his co-workers. It didn't matter; whatever happened, he was getting the Firestarter unless Ziska staked her claim to it first. So as the Green Knights' lance entered the battlefield, Raven spoke briefly, "Nothing will save them, no matter what they bring."

Then to Ingrid and the others, he spoke, "Lance Captain, I am requesting permission to climb up the Mountain; best to have the high ground if they're bringing something heavy. Maybe it's the same for everyone else?"

Raven knew that taking the high ground endangered their concealment; movement could be detected and the enemy might be able to flee before they had a proper engagement. But he grasped that even with the advantage of surprise lost, the Crimson Fists would probably be confident enough in their numbers and hardware that they'd pick a fight with the Knights anyway, and that'd be the death of them - He'd make sure of it.

And if they didn't detect the Green Knights deploying for the ambush, which they might not if he did not use his jump jets and instead walked or climbed, then that'd be even better.

So when it came time to deploy, Raven's Shadow Hawk prepared to climb up the mountain, looking for a snowy plateau from where he could take aim at the Firestarter as it crossed the first ice bridge; his plans were to take advantage of the fact that the Firestarter was crossing first to launch everything he had at it, signaling to the enemy that this was indeed a battle to the death.

That said, if the Shadow Hawk was allowed to crawl to the plateau, which would be the equivalent of a ledge to a Mech, Raven reckoned that crouching his Mech down for a bit would grant him a bit more concealment and allow him an elevated position to strike.

But he waited for orders first, though; he suspected that Ingrid would tell him no or approve of his logic - She was black-and-white like that.

At least in this environment, he barely needed his cooling vest; the heat of the mech was actually a blessing and would be more than that in the snowy mountainous battlefield where the weather did not stop being icy just because mere humans were going to have a battle.

If he were a poet or had spare time, he'd describe the scenery as more than, well, scenic; find words about how the white and grey and black spoke to the soul if not for the fact that it'd be destroyed soon. But alas, the blood of their foes called.

Ingrid looked through her cockpit's glass - it seemed as if a blueish cloud had settled directly onto her, tinted in strange ways by the visor on her neurohelm. A layer of thick snow, maybe ten feet deep, lay on top of her Ostroc and held it entirely within its cover. She remembered seeing this view from her window before, though that was an accidental fall and not a thrown-together plan. Not like she'd ever admit to falling on accident in this machine. Every few seconds there'd be some faint thump as another part of the mountain's snowpack, or its unearthed stone fell down on top of her - her heart had stopped skipping a beat when this happened a minute or so ago. If a second avalance were to occur on top of her, well, it'd have to do it fast.

Things were going to get considerably less tranquil in a few moments' time, either way.

At the base of the central peak, Ingrid's mech lay in wait for the trap she had devised. The core of their forces had been assigned their positions back at safer ground - the northernmost ice bridge had been decided to be something that's only traversed when absolutely required, with Daschke urging caution here the most. ("What's more expensive, all the shells you'll miss at range, or having to tow a 'mech out from a hundred-meter-deep canyon in the mountains?") Their plan hinged on keeping the enemy as close as they could, and that meant blowing the southernmost bridge.

Would it be nice if, by a miracle, they were able to shoot it out from underneath the enemy? Let them fall to their deaths?

Well, by Ingrid's standards, that would be a very ignoble death. No, it wouldn't be nice. However, it was still her plan. The rest of the Green Knights had heard it all from her as they arrived, the distinct sound of Ingrid's saber rattling as it hung from her cockpit in the background of the transmission. Lie in wait, blow the southern bridge, take shots at range.

The rest of the crew waited, hugging the mountain while shut down or kept hull-down with intent to give them as much lead time as possible. If the Crimson Fists could cross the bridge before spotting them, everything would be going as smoothly, but she wasn't going to try and bank on the notion of keeping a lance of green-colored armor hidden in the white and black of the mountainside for long. Family Man was given his go-ahead to try scaling the mountain, but to be ready to descend when need be - his long range weaponry wasn't bad, but he would be under-utilized from all the way up there.

She was going to have to be the ambushing force and the bait all in one. They'd get close, cross in front of them, and with God willing, they wouldn't question the snow drift that lay right alongside their path. Getting directly up in close quarters against the enemy wasn't at all safe, but who else would take this spot? The rest of the Green Knights just weren't as sturdy. Additionally, perhaps Ingrid was simply the most suicidal of the group.

A short burst of static preceded an update. One more person would be joining them, not the Warhammer - potentially good if it was something more effective at close range...for the rest of the Knights. Truth be told, there might not be much that's good to look forward to on her end of things. Even the best possible outcome would mean a narrow win on her own right.

Something like fear was with her in the cockpit as she waited. She couldn't do much more than keep staring at the snow in front of her, or uselessly click her saber in and out of its scabbard, or feel the odd way her weight was held in her seat as her Ostroc was frozen in an awkard pose...

...though, her thought did drift to something. She remembered something from long ago, in her days at the LCAF, that an elder statesman of a trainer said to her. The man was in his sixties and he was still riding out in his Griffin near-daily for exercises...

...anyway, what he said was that there was some degree of superstition needed to be a Mechwarrior. Ingrid brushed off that kind of folklore, naturally, but they were already dealing with a miraculous bonding of man and machine. Yhe pilot's mental state was its own influence on how well this connection worked. Little anchors of hope would give them just a little more of an edge, and sometimes that's what you needed. However, for all of those that he brought up as examples throughout the centuries, there was one he insisted was very real.

"Whatever you do, don't look at family photographs right before fighting commences. You're just asking for it at that point, you hear me?"

Maybe Ingrid had forgotten those words or maybe she was intentionally telling narrative-induced fate to piss off, but she looked at a photo held in a crevasse of her cockpit. It was a family photograph, yes, but her attention was focused on one face that remained held in a prison many kilometers from here...

She lingered on that face, but her ears remained alert. All she'd have to wait on was the sound of approaching armor, getting as close to her position as possible...

"New contact, Colonel!" Lieutenant Lyons all but shouted, breaking the tense stillness inside the MHQ. Higgins and Windham nearly fell out of their stools, but the Colonel merely raised an eyebrow.

"Is it the Warhammer?" he asked.

"Ah, n-negative, Colonel," Windham answered, still shivering from the cold. "Ac-c-cording to seismics, it's an-nother thirty-five t-tonner."

"What the hell, W-Windham?" Higgins chided his crewmate. "How'd you m-miss a whole other Mech?"

"Sh-shut up, you didn't catch it either," Windham spat back. "Seismics must have c-confused it with the F-Firestarter."

"You sh-should've caught the extra channel on c-c-comms, Higgins," Lyons scolded the cadet.

"You're t-taking his side?"

"I'm not taking s-s-sides," Lyons said, "I'm saying you b-both should be paying more attention t-to your instruments!"

"Oh you're one to t-t-talk, the last 'instrument' you were p-paying attention to was--"

"Quiet," the Colonel interrupted, "all of you."

Light Mechs were typically best used for recon and support, but few if any of them could survive long in a direct fire-fight. The thirty-five ton range, however, had some Mechs that could make for a very nasty complication. From their earlier fight, Gaius knew the Crimson Fists had at least three other thirty-five-ton Mechs: a Jenner, a Wolfhound, and a Raven. The Jenner and Wolfhound had both sustained heavy damage in the last fight, however, and a Raven would only benefit the Crusader.

"ETA?"

"Less than a minute, sir," Lieutenant Lyons answered.

"They're within passive c-c-comms range now, sir," Higgins remarked. "If we tip off the Knights n-now, they'll pick up our s-signal and give away our position."

"And tip them off to the entire ambush," Gaius grumbled. "Damn it. Maintain silence on comms until the Fists enter the kill-box. Hopefully the lance can do enough damage up-front that an extra light Mech won't make too much of a difference."

Archie had been kneeling down in sector Hotel 10, arms and hands positioned to shield the canopy from the falling snow. It would all melt soon after the fight started, but she didn't want to risk some pileup taking longer to do so and obstructing her view. But the lambs were late to the slaughterhouse. Took a lunch break after a hard morning of wanton slaughter or what? Talk about being late to their own funeral... Trusting the MHQ to let them know when the tardy psychopaths would show up, Marit left the radio running on battery power, took off her helmet and set the volume to max so she would hear it and in the meantime she unbuckled her straps and put her feet up, working her way through the user manual and humming a happy tune. The House Steiner 2S variant featured a pair of SRM-4 launchers? Because what's better for a missile carrier 'Mech than more missiles. Couldn't fault that logic, really.

The Colonel's message jolted her from her reading, eyes darting to the cheat sheet on the clipboard strapped to her thigh. She scowled when she saw the classes of the Crimson Fist BattleMechs. A Crusader, a Warhammer… Who took that sort of power to slaughter civilians? Even she'd accomplished more with less!
"I didn't mean it like that, sorry." She apologized lightheartedly and stroked Archie's dashboard with her hand. "I don't need a Crusader. I would absolutely mount its arms onto you if I could though."
Target two was... The Warhammer. Two PPCs, some lasers and an SRM-6 removed from the equation, replaced by who-knows-what. It likely didn't matter to her. Her target was clearly the Crusader, unless Ingrid said otherwise, Archie being the only 'Mech that could deliver a meaningful amount of ordnance on if it chose to shoot from behind cover. Or maybe they should all focus on the Hunchback and the firestarter to ensure they never get the chance to get close?

Pulling her feet off the dashboard and stowing away the manual, Marit reconnected her cooling vest, strapped herself back in and donned her neurohelmet. Leaving the reactor off until the last possible second, she strained her eyes toward where they expected the Crimson Fists to appear, having to look out the corner of the canopy past Archie's left hand. With no conscious thought from her side, the happy tune from earlier was replaced by a much harsher one with lyrics to match.

Half-buried in snow with a snow covered tarp carefully covering the top of her BattleMech, Ziska lounged pleasantly in her RVN-3L. Cat napping, she listened with well-practiced relaxation to the sound of the mountains that surrounded the Green Knights. She had taken care to nestle her BattleMech between two large rocks in the grid so drolly named L8. The two frozen boulders would only have reached up to the shoulders of her BattleMech had she not left the already small mech crouching. Peeking from between the geological formation, she had shielded all but the right side of her light mech. The less of your BattleMech an enemy could see or target the better.

Once more Ziska felt happy. And once more she felt at ease. She had grown tired of all the talking. Of all the orders. Of all the wishful thinking. Now things felt serious again. And now they were real. Death was nearby and she was an old friend.

An ambush felt good. An ambush felt right. Smash and grab. No words. No mercy. Just revenge. A message for the Crimson Fists. And a message just for the Firewitch. She didn't care about mercy. She certainly didn't care about honor. She was no stranger to battles with flexible rules of engagement. Mercy was not something pirates often offered...or received. Either you won or it was someone else's problem. The dead didn't care, they were dead. Salvage went to the living.

Ingrid's plan pleased Ziska. She smiled hearing it. It amused her. She would have toasted Ingrid had the doctor not confiscated her alcohol before they sortied. Bait was good. Bait was better when she wasn't the bait. She wasn't going to leave Ingrid alone for long though. She had her own game plan. ECM on, powered to full capacity, more than enough to make sure the Crimson Fists fell for the diminutive noble's gambit. And then she'd go in for a lightening quick attack, a "blitz" as the Lyrans called it, not that they understood anything about hit and run tactics. The RVN-3L was fast enough. The ECM Reya had souped up was good enough. It would buy her some time. It would hopefully keep the Crimson Fists guessing for a moment longer. If she could manage a TAG lock or NARC hit, well then, Marit could bring down some thunder. At least she would give Ingrid a chance.

Ziska hoped that Ingrid would survive. She knew there were no guarantees, especially for the brave, but she was going to do what she could to make it happen. It would be very boring if the threat of an honorable duel was no loner having over her. She wasn't sure what she would do if she didn't have such amusing violence close at hand. She might have to turn to reading or something equally tragic like playing chess with Sergeant Dalton.

Minutes passed as the Green Knights dug into their positions. With the Raven's ECM bubble operating, their prey wouldn't be able to detect them on sensors, and with the thick snow, even visuals would be difficult until the Mechs began moving. A cold wind began to howl through the Hiyan-Chia Mountain Pass, a wail that sounded almost mournful as it carried sheets of sleet across the treacherous cliffs. Below them, the heights gave way to a near 50-meter drop, with only a pair of narrow rock bridges connecting the rises between peaks. Above them, hundreds of tons of packed snow and ice sat precariously on the mountaintops, threatening to crush the unwary or the unfortunate.

Long after the intel had predicted the Crimson Fists would be entering the area, that sad wailing wind was the only sound that echoed through the pass. For a time, it seemed that the Green Knights' quarry wouldn't be coming this way after all, that they had taken a different route or turned around altogether.

Eventually, however, the rhythmic thudding of heavy footfalls began to echo through the mountains. Even with the snow muffling it somewhat, the tread of a lance of Battlemechs was unmistakable. One by one, they entered the valley, four Mechs falsely bearing the colors of Gawain's Green Knights.

Leading the column was their primary target, the Firestarter. While most Mechs tended to move with a lumbering, plodding gait, the 35-ton Mech was surprisingly light on its feet, its pilot maneuvering the machine with a spring in its step that made it almost appear as if it were skipping along playfully. It was said that some Mechwarriors were so in-tune with their Mechs that they could almost inject their own personality into the way the machine moved. If the Firestarter's swinging, almost carefree posture was any indication, then its pilot seemed to be quite pleased with himself- a disturbing notion, considering what the Fists had just done.

To the surprise of the Knights, the Firestarter was paired with a second thirty-five tonner, a Kurita-made Panther. Unlike most light Mechs which carried short-range weapons, the Panther was a light and mobile sniper, mounting a Particle Projector Cannon as its main weapon. While it didn't have much by way of armor, that PPC had the potential to do serious damage if left unchecked.

Just behind the two lights was the third Mech, the fifty-ton Hunchback. With its arms swinging wide from its broad chest and a bow-legged stride, the Mech seemed to strut its way into the mountain pass as if it owned the place. And with a massive Class-20 Autocannon that could cripple or destroy most Mechs in a single shot, the Hunchback's pilot had little reason to doubt that he did own the place indeed.

The fourth Mech was one of the two spotted Heavy mechs, the Crusader. While its LRM-15 racks didn't have quite the same output as Marit's Archer, it could still put a significant amount of damage down-field, and the footage from the massacre showed its leg-mounted SRM launchers were loaded with Inferno warheads.

Seismic sensors indicated a fifth contact, also a 65-tonner like the Crusader, was bringing up the rear.

Either unaware of the possibility of enemy presence or unconcerned, the Crimson Fists strode into the Hiyan-Chia Mountain Pass, walking right into the Green Knights' trap.

At some point, the thin hint of wind coming through the blanket of snow wasn't all that she heard. A Battlemech is a loud thing, a weighty block of metal and hissing actuators and clanking feet. One might've ran by her unnoticed, but a lance?

Ingrid's head snapped to attention the moment she heard something that could've possibly sounded out of the normal soundscape, and her hand went into position immediately, hovering over the Ostroc's ignition. With comms blacked out and people waiting for her signal to fire, the only other hint she'd get is if the Fists caught them first. A false start would've ruined the point of this gambit entirely. She waited, and waited a painful amount of time - that noise earlier was the crunch of ice, and with ears trained entirely to it, she recognized it being repeated, and by more than one pair of feet! The enemy had finally arrived, and their engagement was about to begin!

...and Ingrid held.

The sound repeated more, and she could hear the clatter of their feet beyond the crunch. She had to hold.

This surprise's efficacy was predicated entirely on how well Daschke knew her opponent, how they would act, and their machines. They had a Hunchback, flank speed of 64 kmh, and they presented slow targets, possibly only slower with the caution needed to cross a narrow bridge. They wouldn't let a Crusader take point, that'd be a terrible idea if they weren't expecting air support, and the weather in the mountains made that unlikely. The Fists were barbarians, but she had seen the footage they had released enough times to at least understand them as skilled thugs. They were going to move close together to present as little opportunity to cut into their formation as possible. That was textbook 'mech warfare. She's even seen pirates from Circinus understand this, and those people didn't even count as real 'mech jockeys.

Through the muffling cover and through the noise of her thoughts, she heard a second pair. One more and she'd have her guess validated, as much as it could be.

It'd be like this. Firestarter and Hunchback in front, that was no surprise. They required as much ground as possible to keep in range. The Crusader would be behind them...around 60 meters she imagined, the center point to their formation and the anchor which they'd meter their speed on.

She heard the third pair of feet, faintly. Her thumb tensed, but remained arched.

Then it'd have to be the Panther holding the rear as fire support. She wanted to imagine it being the least likely to engage directly, being the slightest bit harder to repair with their distance from the Combine, and deathly weak in melee. That'd be it. FS9, HBK, CRD, PNT. That exact order.

This didn't matter, beyond her choice of immediate target. The question lay solely in their speed...which, imagining the humanoid gait of the Firestarter and her memories of it in pirate hands, she could put that first pair of feet to it with near certainty...and how fast her own 'mech, the venerable Susser Todd, would be able to move from a complete cold start. Four seconds. She just needed to end up within a close enough distance with her second or so of surprise.

Ingrid's world froze for a moment, beyond the growing rumble of the approaching lance. Her hand remained steady.

All of it came down to a rhythm. She'd just enter at the same tempo...

...exactly then.

The engine kicking on pushed a dozen actuators into test-firing and made her mech shudder, a byproduct of safety mechanisms detecting her off-balance pose, and the inside of the cockpit flashed with light as everything came to life in quick succession. Ingrid floored the gas, willing her 'mech through her connection to push itself back into a standing gait as fast as it could, and it all paid with a perfect timing!

From the outsiders' perspective, a bank of freshly avalanched snow shook with unnatural vibrations before falling away entirely, an olive green heavy battlemech appearing from its white hold and heading right onto them!

At about this time, as per the request of someone back at base, the Ostroc's speakers roared with a violent riff as an ancient Terran musical piece blared out at maximum volume. It wasn't Ingrid's taste but she figured it'd help with being distracting.

Her guess of marching order was incorrect in more than one way, the second of sighting she had initially landing on the Panther, but she found her real prize was about where she figured. She lined up everything she had onto the Firestarter, and let loose in a flare of light and heat!