The Crimson Fists finally started lumbering into view, Marit keeping one eye out of the cockpit and one on the list she had written down, making mental tickmarks. They were all there except the Warhammer as advertised, it having apparently been replaced by a Panther.

Ingrid’s entree was an unmistakable go signal, even if she wasn’t doing too well at least the large lasers found their marks The Duchess probably had her hands full getting out of the snow. Quickly waking Archie up and opening the missile doors, she had a lock before Betty was even done with her usual spiel. Walking forward to get all of her weapons in range and to give herself at least some speed to get out of harm’s way, Marit thumbed the trigger linked to the three launchers set to staggered fire and Archie joined the fight. It was marginally better heat wise and the actuators would thank her for subjecting them to three smaller recoil impulses than one large one in the long run. Plus having a steady stream of missiles landing around you and on your head was also a mighty bastard of a morale sink.

Like the Crusader, the unannounced Panther was a long range ‘Mech, but it would take a lot less punishment to bring down and she wanted to capitalize on their surprise before it got moving, making landing any hits like trying to catch a cat that didn’t want to cuddle. Over and above that, a solid hit from a PPC would do far more than getting peppered by an LRM salvo. Half the ordnance from the first launcher hit home, pausing her song with a quietly muttered ”Yes!”.

She frowned as the second ten-piece salvo became more lost than double heat sinks, landing nowhere near any ‘Mech, nevermind the one she was shooting at. Only then did she remember she was going to wait for Ziska to mark a target. If there wasn’t a sticky note with ‘Use TAG, NARC & brain.’ stuck to Archi’s dashboard by the next sortie, she would be very disappointed in her ‘Mech Tech and his crew.

Marit frowned even further as 12 missiles from the third salvo veered off and obliterated the mountain snow, but that frown turned upside down pretty fast when the Panther wobbled on its legs uncharacteristically despite only being hit by three missiles at the time, indicating something’s gone in the gyro. A piece of machinery moving at very high speed coming loose inside the ‘Mech while at the same time impeding the ‘Mechs ability to stay upright didn’t bode well for the False Knight. If Ingrid forgot her origin and went caveman in the heat of the moment, she probably could have sat the Panther on its ass with a punch with minimal effort coming at them as fast as she was, the thought making Marit snicker. Not bad of an opening, despite room for improvement, and the freezing cold outside kept even Archie nice and comfortable, though he’d start cooking if someone got close and she had to start splitting fire.

"Haha, yes! Kill these bastards!" Ziska hissed, cackling loudly to herself as she watched Ingrid pop out of the snow and launch her attack on the lance of misfit toys.

Her amusement turned to outright loud laughter, laughter that shook her to her very core, and hurt with all the wounds she had collected, as Marit launched her own impromptu attack. She had always hated plans anyways. Her instructors had been right. The grizzled old drill sergeants back on Canopus knew the game. There was only one mistake. There was only one sin. The only mortal sin was to hesitate. Everyone knew that. All the way down to the lowest-ranking enlisted infantryman. To seize the initiative and act was the primary imperative. There was no priority higher than that of achieving the mission, of accomplishing the objectives the Colonel had given them.

Ingrid had acted. Marit had acted. And now, she, Ziska, would act.

Death, the old man wanted death, and he would get it, one way or another. Orders didn't matter. The rules didn't matter. Not anymore. Not as long as they accomplished the mission. Overkill was the only answer.

Slamming the throttle of the RVN-3L until she felt the familiar thud of metal on metal, Ziska felt herself pushed back into her seat as the BattleMech leapt up from the crouching position she had left it in. Bursting into a full speed run as the ECM began to scream, sending lines of burning chrome, all the signal noise that Reya had harnessed, smashing into the sensors of the enemy lance. Ziska wasn't going to keep Ingrid waiting. She wasn't going to miss out on any of the party. Speed was what she wanted Speed was what she needed. Speed was what would keep her safe. And if not...then she'd at least die quickly.

Thundering over the packed snow, across the fragile bridge of rock and ice, Ziska race through grid T6, taking aim and firing the entirety of the RVN-3L's payload at the Firestarter. Ingrid had made it clear, whoever the pilot was, he was going to be the first to die. Pulling the trigger, Ziska smiled, her eyes calm, and her heart cold.

Beams of green, two brilliant rays of light, burned ozone, and slashed at the light mech, as Ziska pulled her crosshairs over the Firestarter. As one medium laser dug a deep molten trench into the leg of the Firestarter, the pilot reacted, lurching to the side, and avoiding the burn of the other medium laser.

"Fuck you, you shifty bastard," Ziska shouted to herself, sweeping to keep her TAG center mass on the dodging light mech. Her SRM-6 missiles peppered the Firestarter. Slamming into metal slag, crumbling armor, and stripping the enemy mech down to the internals at several locations. It was a good start, but it wasn't enough. Ziska wanted to see limbs falling off. She wanted to see critical components explode outwards in maelstroms of fire. She wanted to see the fucker die.

Hit with everything the RVN-3L could throw at it, the Firestarter somehow kept going, it kept dancing, and didn't seem like it was gonna stop. The light mech was hurt, that much was obvious. Still, the pilot didn't stumble and didn't fall, much to Ziska's disappointment. The pilot was good, he was real good, and Ziska hated him for it. Even more than she had shorts moments before.

The NARC missile symbology that appeared on her HUD and blinked a pleasant green was her only consolation. Someone would have one hell of a shot. And if they didn't take it, then she intended to finish the job.

Raven Rivers

Raven took the shot Ziska had made so much easier for him, and his five LRMs streaked through the air, each one striking the enemy Firestarter and causing explosions that bloomed across the area, cracking the armor of the enemy's right torso. Then he hailed the Crimson Fists over open comms, his voice firmer, calmer, and yet somehow more fiery than when he had lost his cool during their first fight.

"Ha! For all your bluster and shit-talking, you are no match for the originals, the one and only Green Knights! You spoke with my voice yet you know nothing of what true grief, true despair was! Now face judgment; for today is the day you will know what it is like to lose hope, to have what you love be taken away from you!"

For Katrina, for Andrew, for everyone in Fort Tie Shan, Raven thought to himself as he watched the Firestarter suffer under the impact of the Green Knights' blows before remarking, "But what you guys love are your lives, aren't they? That and coin? You have no families, none whom you love more than your skin and dirty money, otherwise you would not take advantage of a grieving father's words!."

The rise in pitch was strategic, both sincere yet played up to hit as hard as it could as Raven continued, "If you won't bring out the Fire Witch to be burnt at the stake, dance for me! You will all make fine entertainment for our folk trapped in Fort Tie Shan, as well as the relatives of the folk you set on fire - So dance for our amusement... One. Last. Time!"

Now despair, rage, plead... Or try and fail to get under our skins even as you perish. Hopefully, the Devil won't take care of his own... Not today.

“It’s colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra.” Takka grumbled. He again ran his gloved hands up and down his arms and watched his breath dissipate in front of him. Even though he was triple layered through extra gloves and jacket over his regular crewman’s fatigues, it was freezing inside the Merry-Go-Round. He fidgeted in his seat yet again trying to create even the slightest modicum of heat from friction. After they had positioned the Von Luckner and shut down, the lingering heat from the tank’s environmental controls hadn’t lasted long. Aroxy was initially concerned about the prospect of their wide and fresh seventy-five ton tracks being visible, but the snow and the wind through the pass, the same that now gripped them in a shell of ice, had done a fair enough job of covering them up. The backup batteries kept only the most basic of systems alive within the tank’s hull and he checked the readouts between glances up through the periscope.

“Speaking of witches, I hope the main gun fires.” Ansel quipped.

“Cap let the dragon lady have her way with Merry,” Takka continued through chattering teeth though he defiantly rubbed the control column with a gloved hand. “I can tell she feels violated.”

“She should be good and angry then.” Helma chimed in from the auxiliary fire controls. Like the others, save for Aroxy, she hugged herself through multiple layers of heavy fatigues, lowering her helmeted head down into her collar.

“If yall don’t shut up, I’m gonna make you sit outside.” Aroxy growled. He placed his hand on the tank’s hull, feeling as much as listening through his own cold breaths and the howl of the wind outside. Moments passed again in silence until he felt the slightest tremor through the cold steel. The sensation in his fingertips grew until he was sure of the familiar march of battlemechs. “They’re comin, eyes up.’” He wasn’t in the mood for the crew's regular mischief today. The dynamic was much simpler now: kill the enemy, with prejudice. Not the desperation of the stockpile raid or the confused shooting gallery of the dam defense. The mountain pass wasn’t tank country, but was most definitely ambush country and he aimed to even the score for Merry’s drive gear getting mangled the last time they met the Fists.

Right on cue, the Firestarter emerged through howling sheets of gray and white with the lumbering silhouettes of its cohorts joining in shortly behind as well as another light mech, a Panther.

“Ohh, here kitty-kitty.” Takka grimaced at the additional mech in the lineup and sat up in his seat completely forgetting about the cold and looking through the reticle for the main gun as the unknowing figure of the slender mech passed through the elevation and range hash marks. They were still too far out for a high percentage shot, but lobbing a shell wasn’t out of the question.

“Missiles. Stream fire.” Aroxy said. He didn’t have to specify which missiles and Helma was ready by the secondary fire controls. “HE in the barrel.” Ansel nodded. Everyone understood. The Captain wasn’t going to waste a precious AP round on a lobbed shot, but they were most definitely going to send one down range. All that needed to happen now was for Daschke to spring the trap.

“No Warhammer?” Helma said, squinting through her own narrow glass on top of the hull.

“No.” Aroxy replied stoically. Even the single word carried a note of unspoken concern, but it was too late to worry about it.

“They haven’t spotted our position yet?” Ansel asked. Being the only one without a view outside, he was left to his imagination at what the others were seeing. Such was the life of a loader.

Aroxy watched as the Firestarter drew ever closer to Ramrod. He shook his head a bit. If nothing else, she had nerve. “They’re gonna get an education in about ten seconds.”

The furor started with a cloud of snow and light erupting from Susser Todd’s position. The heat emanating off of the mech’s opening volley instantly turned the snow around its hot barrels into steam as the beams found purchase into the utterly stunned light mech before it. Aroxy bit his lip as a flight of LRMs came sailing overhead from the other members of the Knights’ lance, not remembering to give their scout a chance to train her TAG beam or land a NARC beacon. Despite this, there were good hits and there also was also a sudden noticeable rise in temperature within the Von Luckner’s hull as the crew heard the melee begin. This ranged fighting was not their strength, but Aroxy remembered how the Fists’ had foolishly overlooked the Merry-Go-Round during their last engagement. As Alleycat’s Raven sprung to life seemingly out of nowhere, he saw the faint RF signal light for her TAG beacon light up among the basic sensors in front of him. What was even better, was watching her NARC beacon seek and angrily take hold of the Firestarter. It was almost a poetic reversal of their first encounter.

“Reactor, now!” Aroxy barked. Takka’s thumb had been hovering over the large starter button and the tank’s reactor ignited almost as soon as the order was in the air. The full array of systems came online just as he shouted: “Fire!”

Helma’s LRMs roared out of the launcher in a processional line or “stream” rather than taking flight as a singular cloud. The launch setting was preferred when taking on large, slow moving targets like battlemechs as the line of missiles more or less fell in a cascading column towards a mech’s center mass, pounding into the same point repeatedly rather than spreading over the whole of the target’s armor. Conversely, smaller vehicles or agile mechs could more easily dodge the volley.

Aroxy’s eyes immediately shifted to the Hunchback, watching the stunned surprise of its pilot translate through the sudden hesitation and confusion in its step. It was still out of range, but he knew the pilot would more than likely fire out of reaction at what was directly in front of it before taking the time to realize the scope of the ambush. The “boombox” on the medium mech’s shoulder looked like the side of a barn through the periscope, nearly full broadside, but still a difficult shot at distance even for an experienced AC20 gunner. However, Daschke was the tip of the spear and they needed to give her a chance to continue to press the attack. “Takka! Hit that son of a bitch right in the ‘box.”

“On it!” Takka answered. Again the action came nearly in sync with the words. The turret’s drive gear whirred, rotating the barrel towards the Hunchback just as the Firestarter took another pelting of LRMs. The crew were thinking and moving as trained- as one. He could hear the LRM pod reloading and instinctively knew Helma would fire again just as soon as the cycle finished. Takka seemed to be happily talking to himself as the Merry-Go-Round’s gun hovered over the Hunchback and fidgeted vertically as Takka adjusted for the range and wind. “This one’s goin’ downtown!” He cackled and stomped the pedal. The tank recoiled from the shot, shaking off a cloud of snow that had settled on the hull as the sound of the AC20 billowed through the Hiyan-Chia Pass.

“HOLY SHIT!” Takka and Helma said the words simultaneously.

The shell howled out of the barrel like a banshee with such velocity that the drifting snow bands curled and whipped behind it in ghostly wisps. It streaked over the chasm and just clipped the top of the Hunchback’s main gun enough to draw a visible spark along the leading edge of the weapon before it angrily carried on over the far distant chasm behind the Fists’ lance and buried itself in the side of the mountain in a great plume of orange fire that caused a wave of snow to fall over the impact.

“Fucking black magic bitch!” Takka cursed. He frantically began adjusting the sights to compensate for the stunningly noticeable increase in muzzle velocity.

“You fucking missed!” Helma howled.

“I wasn’t expecting it to shoot that hard!”

“Load AP” Aroxy barked. “Probably don’t need to put so much arc on it, Takka.” He looked hard through the periscope. While he appreciated the newfound ferocity in Merry’s main weapon, he wished they’d had time for a few test shots to allow Takka to adjust to the changes. It was like handing their cleanup hitter a new bat when the bases were loaded. “That was your practice swing, next one needs to be in the bleachers.” He said as Ansel hurriedly ejected the spent casing and began loading an AP round. “AP’s gonna be heavier, down angle some more.”

“I got it ‘Cap,” Takka tilted his head up to press his eyes harder into the rangefinder while his hands made a few more small corrections into the fire control. “Just not used to shooting a large laser, I’m a class twenty gunner.”

---

---

Calm and quiet, Tarak was silently waiting. Toasty and calm, he sat within, ready for the moment for action to begin. Snow began to cover the Phoenix Hawk in a thin layer of white, as within, Tarak slowly began to nod his head, slow and calm, quietly, he listened and watched, all in his own world. His eyes were completely peeled and ready, as even the slight movement of the snow did not escape his eyes.

Then the first of their targets came forth, an unknown mech, yet one that would quickly be dealt with if the need came down, next was the emch they waited for, the Firestarter himself. Yet Tarak waited, quietly as his head continued to nod as he slowly waited for the shooting to start. It was to be a giant orchestra started by one movement.

Everyone was preparing to fire, and everyone began to pick targets quietly, for Tarak he could not keep a full target on the Firestart quite sad, truthfully he would wish to put both his large laser and both small lasers on it, however, he did find another target. The uninvited Panther who seemed to carry a pretty nasty weapon, yet it would mean nothing if it was dead.



It was a cacophony of destruction as the Green Knights all at once opened fire, the Phoenix Hawk took aim and fired its' Large laser rifle to bear down onto the Panther, hopefully in center mass (this is the free hit), as the Phoenix Hawk's small lasers followed suit.

It was then, the once red lasers fired a pure bluish hue that seemed almost unstable. The laser almost seemed to have weight, as the laser fired the beam seemed to rip the air apart, any snow flying by wasn't melted but turned into puffs of white souls that seemed to cry out.

Tarak was quiet, the drumming of the song pounded through his chest as the Phoenix Hawk let out the deep and strong drumming from its' mounted stereo system. The curse of hatred, the black magic casted upon his weapons, was much casted upon the user.

In a matter of mere seconds, the Hiyan-Chia Mountain Pass had erupted into a cacophony of destruction. Hateful beams of laser light carved across the armor of the faux-Knights' Battlemechs, warheads from missiles arced through the frigid air to make explosive impact with the massive machines. Mounds of dirt, gravel, and snow were kicked up, filling the kill-box with a near-impenetrable cloud of dust and instantly-vaporized steam. Even using sensors, it became hard to discern one target from another in the maelstrom of gunfire and debris.

As the Green Knights' weapons cooled down, charged, or loaded their next rounds, an open comm line came online, and over it, the Knights heard the sound of laughter.

"Ohhh-ho-ho-hoooo, lookie-lookie who it is, my Knights!" While there was no indication which Mech was the source of the voice, there was little doubt that the sing-song tone matched playful skipping gait of the Firestarter. "Some of our adoring fans have come out to congratulate us on our happy little prank! Welcome, welcome, the Yellow Jester is here for the delight of all!"

"Ohhh, boy, here he goes again," came another voice as the Panther, clearly struggling to remain standing after an unexpected hit to the Gyro threw his Mech permanently off-balance, emerged from the dust cloud.

"And it sounds like they've got themselves a talker, too," came a third voice with a sneering chuckle, as the Hunchback advanced. "Hey pal, feel like giving us another monologue to record? I'm sure we can get some real knee-slappers playing it when we flatten the next civvie town."

To the side of the Hunchback, the wide-armed form of the Crusader lumbered into view. "Nah, a joke's never as funny the second time around. But I'm sure once we waste these guys, we'll have plenty of new material. Hey, maybe we use their own mechs to stomp on the folks we've got locked up in the fort?"

"Ha! Excellent idea, Mister Dimples! The looks on their faces will be priceless, heee-heee-heee!" The Yellow Jester laughed. "But first, let us deal with our soon-to-be dearly departed doppelgangers! So then, my lovelies, what say we bring a bit of the heat!"

The Firestarter, notorious for its quadruple Flamers that could wreak havoc on energy-dependent Battlemechs, started to move towards the laser-heavy Ostroc, which itself was already running hot from the opening salvo. Just as it looked like it was going to break forward into a run, the Yellow Jester suddenly slammed on his Jump Jets, sending the light Mech rocketing backwards.

"April Foo-oo-ools, hahahahaha!" he mocked, firing off the Firestarter's Medium Lasers in a parting shot that went wide. As the light Mech hurled itself up and away, in its place were the hulking frames of the Hunchback and Crusader, each bringing their weapons to bear on the Green Knights' lance leader.

With a thunderous BOOM, the Hunchback's enormous class-20 Autocannon erupted, a single high-powered shell bursting forward just as a similar shell from the Von Luckner skipped across the top of its barrel. The ricochet caused the brawler Mech to veer ever-so-slightly to one side, causing a shot which would have hit the Ostroc square-on to instead make impact on the Green Knight's left arm. The Ostroc's notoriously thin armor on its arms was no match for the high-powered shell, which detonated just below the shoulder, obliterating myomer bundles and alloy bones and wrenching the entire limb away. "How's that for bringing the heat?" the Hunchback taunted as the bigger Mech's arm tumbled into the snow in a mangled wreck.

"Good shooting, Bing-Bong," said the Crusader pilot, the one the Yellow Jester referred to as 'Mister Dimples.' "I was thinkin' of bringing the heat a little more literally."

From each of the missile-boat Mech's hips erupted a salvo of short-range missiles, about half of which made contact with the Ostroc, the other six careening off into the ravine below. Instead of an explosive detonation, these warheads burst open with splatters of gel that erupted into white-hot flames. Inferno warheads, which traded dealing direct damage for playing absolute hell on a Battlemech's heat management, and could immolate the crew of a tank with ease. As the Ostroc's heat began to spike to dangerous levels, its myomer muscles began to seize up, slowing the mech down and making targeting more difficult.

"Aaaa-hahahaha-haaa, as if the Yellow Jester would only have one way to keep things spicy!" The Firestarter pilot cackled. "Speaking of which, variety is the spice of life! Let's give the rest of our adoring crowd some attention!"

"On it, boss," Mister Dimples acknowledged, turning the torso of the Crusader to level its arms at the opposing Archer and let fly with a pair of 15-shot Long-Range Missile launchers. Between the two arm-mounted launchers, only slightly more than half made their mark, peppering the Knights' own missile-boat across the torso and right arm. "Find yourself a dance partner, Honk-Honk."

"Stop calling me Honk-Honk," the Mechwarrior in the Panther grumbled, before raising his Particle Projector Cannon and firing it at the Phoenix Hawk across the ravine. An arc of cerulean lightning connected along the left side of the Hawk's torso, obliterating over half of the armor in that location. The Phoenix Hawk had more armor than the lighter Panther, but in a straight gunfight, the Crimson Fists' sniper had it outgunned.

"Oh yes, there's plenty of laughs to go around!" the Jester continued. "And the hits Just! Keep! Coming!"

Over the tops of the Crimson Fist lance, two swarms of long-range missiles arced gracefully through the air, before thundering down and pelting the Green Knights' Raven. Twenty-seven of the fusillade of thirty ripped into the light scout mech, shredding armor mostly off of its arms and legs.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we have a special guest!" The Jester announced as a fifth Battlemech entered the mountain pass.

The Mech was completely non-humanoid, with a rounded, egg-like fuselage, birdlike back-canted legs, and a pair of boxy missile launchers where its arms should be. While it was a comparatively rare sight on most battlefields, the silhouette of a Catapult was instantly recognizable.

"All the way from Fire Witch Lance, let's give a warm welcome to Captain Waffles!"

"That's not my callsign--"

"Roll with it, it's a thing he's doing."

"....right. Anyway, yes, Green Knights," the Catapult pilot continued, "The Fire Witch sends her regards, and I'll be all to happy to bring her back a handful of your ashes today."

It didn’t take him long to pick up the trail. Like most outfits, it was a single file line to break up the mark of their prints in the Espian dirt, hide their numbers and make identification harder for scouts. Unlike ground vehicles with non-directional tires or tracks however, Battlemechs could never disguise which direction they were traveling. Jon’s eyes constantly scanned the expansive glass of the cockpit. Even though the territory north of Nui Awa wasn’t completely indian country, he regularly zig-zagged in his path over the Crimson Fists’ trail and kept his torso moving to keep his cockpit from being a steady target for an idling Manticore or Bulldog tucked into a treeline that might want to get fresh. The grassy plains thumped gently under Ossie’s full stride and the mountain range steadily filled the horizon in front of him. The trail ahead was familiar territory and good hunting ground. Plenty of cover and lots of snow and ice to keep the guns cool. He knew the Knights were going to catch them first, but what that encounter would look like when he got there wasn’t a guarantee and an exfil over the same open country, should they not be successful, was going to be a real shitty deal. He really wanted a cigarette.

As the terrain slowly elevated and shifted from soft plains grass to juts of sharp rock, he eased into a trot as the profile of the Fists’ trail diverged and they stopped for a moment. Ossie’s angular form rotated slowly as it hovered like a bloodhound at the conflagration that had apparently taken place prior to the ascent. Jon’s glance narrowed and he quietly named off the machines. “Firestarter…” The light mech's jaunty little legs took the lead position. “Crusader… Hunchback” The mediums fanned out on opposing sides. Footpad identification was standard training. Somewhere he had a very worn TDF issued stack of playing cards that had helped commit the images to memory over a multitude of poker games. “Whammer…” His brow arched a bit as another set emerged that hadn’t been in the datapad briefing. “...And a Panther” He looked around a bit further for a moment, pulling himself up in the straps to study the ground. “Why did you stop?” His eyes began to carefully follow the trail of the Warhammer as it appeared to turn and double back towards Nui Awa. Shit.. His eyes followed the tracks as they led away. The thought of pursuit crossed his mind, but he kept looking for another clue as to why the lance had stopped.

The rendezvous had been quick for sure, not even long enough to fully settle the tracks and just enough for the ‘Hammer to divert and for another to join in as a sub. Jon’s lips curled a bit. The birdlike prints of a Catapult were unmistakable against the muddy rock, joining in from the west. His eyes followed up the mountain as the lance rejoined in file and proceeded up the pass. Losing a Warhammer but gaining a Catty and a Panther, wasn’t exactly a break in their favor, however in the narrow lanes of the peak it would be harder for the lights to stretch their legs and for the ‘Cat to keep a sensor lock. The missile carrier instantly made him think about Marit first, but he knew at least two of the Knights’ mechs had jump jets. He settled back and throttled up; the machine beneath him leaning into the run, almost sensing the conclusion of the pursuit through his thoughts in the neurohelmet. He knew the Fists weren’t familiar with the pass as he was and would take the regular route before they risked a fall, but a few careful steps and he could save some time and meet them with a clear shot at their flank. He glanced up at the regular gray soup of Espian clouds and then at the time as he started the ascent. A break in weather could give him a glimmer of sunlight to his back, but he prepared himself to come upon the worst as he moved up the trail.

Much of her fire hit, even with the remaining snow on her windows sublimating in the sudden burst of heat and blurring her vision. It wasn't as if there was much to visually discern, just shoot at something that wasn't white didn't look like a rock! Ingrid's body broke out into a sweat immediately, her skin exposed to the suddenly sauna-temperature cockpit and only hidden by the bare cooling jacket. What she found with her initial burst of damage was...

...a still living Firestarter! She swore, looking up at the flickering target status display at the side of the window. Even with additional fire from her lancemates in the hills, the readout on the little shit hadn't recorded so much as a single systems failure. Either it hadn't picked it up yet, or that pilot was luckier than he had any right to be.

Comms chatter started picking up, both from the ever-fluent Family Man up in the hills and from the increasingly talkative enemy forces - she dialed down the volume on her neurohelm's headset a few notches as they just kept going, offering only a clipped "Stop with the alliteration!" back at the Firestarter's pilot. She pulled her 'mech to the north, ignoring the groan of internal structure from the heat.

Maybe it was this maneuver, or the gun being knocked around, that saved her from worse. Beyond the deafening explosion, Ingrid's main warning that something had went wrong was the way her entire mech's torso spun to the left! The force alone was enough to not only send the Ostroc's gait off-balance, but send her into the side of her seat with force! No, she wasn't large enough to fill the seat, even in something as tight as a Battlemech's cockpit!

Pushing aside the digital, calm report of "Left arm: destroyed," Ingrid saved that grief for later as she focused every bit of mental muscle she had into keeping her ship upright. Even through the bursts of napalm stretching across her flanks, everything came down to keeping up! Falling down in the enemy's midst would spell certain death. From an outsider's perspective the Ostroc looked as if it were about to fall on its face for a few seconds, its feet moving faster to try and keep under itself. She even touched her long arm down into the snow for a moment to push against the ground, and with that, she had barely just kept herself in the game.

Unfortunately, with both this and the burden of heat that she had forced upon herself, keeping upright was going to be about all she could do for the moment. Ingrid made her way slowly back to her lancemates' sides, saying "Hold! I'm not there yet!" across personal comms...

Great, these tossers were about as stable as the Espian government and they weren’t even trying to hide it. True, she almost expected as much from someone willing to do what they did, but it was still nice to know how well put together the Knights actually were, despite their quirks.

And apparently, the true Knights were shit talking back. Can do. Switching comms to a short-range open channel, hopefully she’d reach the Fists without somebody else outside of the map Hex picking it up. ”Hey, look, I get it. It’s okay to be jealous of our talent and style, I know we look stunning, but dressing up your rattletraps to look like our ‘Mechs before you go catch up on your war crime quota is a serious no-go. Cut that shit out before we stop telling the duchess to be nice to you.” It was a little unfortunate that the duchess in question was retreating, on fire and about five degrees from busting her ass when Marit said it, but the lunatics probably didn’t know who that was, so all was in order except the ‘Duchess is on fire’ bit.

Right after that, the Crusader decided to give her some attention, a flight of missiles scratching Archie’s paint. With the way an Archer’s cockpit was placed, from where she was sitting it looked like the missiles were about to fall down the back of her neck. A quick check revealed nothing broken, allowing Marit to get back into the mix unburdened. As far as she and Archie were concerned, the most effective weapon the Fists had so far was the noise coming out of their faces. Maybe if they kept the Firestarter guy talking for long enough, his own lance would switch sides. Furthermore, they basically admitted to their false flag shenanigans, so that was a plus. Spurring Archie forward to get as close as possible to minimize missile spread on target, she stopped uncomfortably close to the edge of the ravine, ready to lean back at the first sign of losing balance. Falling on her back was preferable to falling a hundred meters.

Then the symbols of Ziska’s TAG laser and NARC beacon appeared on Marit’s HUD, and so did a broad grin on her face. Temporarily forgetting the stricken Panther, the missiles eagerly locked onto the marked Firestarter, almost quivering in the launchers to be allowed to fly with purpose. Who was Marit to deny them? ”Dodgy fucker, aren’t you?” Marit idly asked with an audible grin, addressing the Firestarter and setting all three launchers to top fire mode to avoid the Panther and Catapult it was hiding behind, Ziska’s TAG making sure their accuracy wouldn’t suffer like it usually did with indirect fire. ”Dodge this, Piss-colored Clown.” She transmitted as she fired all of her ordnance at the Firestarter.

And fly with purpose they did, riding the beam of Ziska’s TAG home and tearing chunks out of the Firestarter’s torso armor and structure. Its right arm flew off, the left one barely hanging on by myomer and prayers before ultimately joining its sister. Thermals picked up a heat spike through the holes in the Firestarter’s mangled center torso, Archie’s sensors reporting serious damage to its engine with 92% certainty. She liked that number. ”Get fucked!” She cheered off comms. She owed Ziska a drink. Forget that, if she kept the spotting up for a few more sorties, Marit would buy her a whole bar.

Raven Rivers

"I don't give a shit about what you're going to do if we're dead," Raven responded to the Crimson Fists' threats with a general statement of fact, "...Because we're not dying. I'll stuff your ashes into the Fire Witch's nose myself, though; give her our regards."

His mech walked down the mountain then, before halting at the end of the bridge, close to Arroxy but not too close, and aiming the Autocannon it had to fire at 'Bing-Bong' across the ravine, denting the Hunchback's center torso armor before following up with a Medium Laser that just barely missed, but was followed up by a volley of short-range missiles that did hit the left leg and right torso. Then he shot another volley of Long Range Missiles at a different target; the Panther, scoring a straight hit at its right leg.

"You know, Honk-Honk," Raven pointedly ignored Bing-Bong as he hailed the Panther's Pilot, "I am tired of people pretending to be the only sane man in a bunch of lunatics when they are themselves fully complicit in their comrades' crimes. Or are they even your comrades at this point? I can't wait for you to flash back to your oh-so-miserable life and hype yourself up to believe that you had no other choice or that your choices were right or you had your own loved ones or a greater cause to uphold. I was tempted to care for your excuses for a moment, but right now, grieve for yourself - actions have consequences."

He then addressed all of the enemy, "We will grind you down to dust, Crimson Fists. Then we will take everything you have, including the machines you used to slaughter so many innocent people."

A seething hiss then entered his tone as the heat sinks absorbed the heat of his volley, and he continued, "You know, I sympathize with this planet's people. I despised the Capellans' treatment of them before you made things so much worse. I don't blame them for your actions, for the actions of the current regime, but I do have to say that it takes such a dried-up heart to willingly become pawns of... something much larger without regard to them."

"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."

Flashing back to that moment, Raven smiled and as the enemy no doubt began to counterattack, he spoke, "Puppets dancing on a string; resigned to be nothing more. They throw away all hopes of stirring awake, used to being catpaws to the point where they no longer dream of being able to make their own choices. I pity you all."

That cut deeper than any knife or threat, right?

---

---

After that one powerful shot, the Phoenix Hawk was set slightly off-balanced yet not stopped. Within the quiet pilot took hold of his controls, and leaned forward. The Phoenix Hawk began to move, one step forward was then a small tilt, then from that tilt another step as the mech took another step. Slowly but surely, the mech continued forward. Gaining speed quickly as the mech began to slam its feet faster and faster as it began to move quite a distance in a short time.

Once the Phoenix Hawk hit the start of the bridge, it aimed and fired Lasers at the Panther another time. More sickly green energy poured from the lasers, almost as if the witch had cursed them with such malice that it aimed to corrupt everything it touched. As even with a little bit of the energy hitting some of the stone beyond the enemy mechs were gashed deep. Almost like giant claws lashing and cutting anything in its way. The Large and medium lasers sought out the Panther for that one moment before the Phoenix Hawk contained the deep malice that was held within its guns. As there was no longer line of sight for the Phoenix Hawk to hit Panther.

Once the lasers are fired, the mech begins to full-on run across the bridge. Hanging precariously close to the edge as the Phoenix Hawk ran on the very edge of the bridge to save on time to get to the front as quickly as possible. Trying to take heat for his other mechs and possibly set up a great move as it's jump jets began to spark to life.

Feeling the pulsing away from her mech with shrill whine of desperate single heatsinks, Ziska watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the Firestarter ate most of the firepower that Marit could send by way of Archie's LRMs. Staring at the screens scattered across the cockpit of her RVN-3L it was impossible for her not to notice that the heavy damaged that had registered on the Ostroc, Ingrid would no doubt be worse for the wear, and Ziska felt a cool touch of anger travel through her, an electric current of emotion that tasted oddly like blood. There was too much talking. Too much banter. She liked to kill in silence. She didn't need to offer any words. But she was laughing, she felt at peace. This was the life. Fighting. Dying. Who cared for some C-Bills? Who cared what anyone thought?

Drag and bag, baby!, Ziska mused, she would have to play bait, just like Ingrid.

With thoughts of violence in mind, Ziska aimed her paltry armament at the looming Crusader. She would have liked to brawl. She would have liked to stay. But she knew better. She had to stay fast. She had to keep moving. And a light mech had little business deep in an enemy formation.

So she ran. Ducking and weaving Ziska, twisted her torso to keep her TAG laser plastered on the center torso of the Crusader. Her graceful piloting made the RVN-3L look as if it was doing a strange looping dance as it crossed back over the bridge, moving away from the hornets nest of now angry heavier mechs at maximum speed.

"Make it rain, Marit! Crusader has to die! You got NARC! You got TAG! Make em' pay!" Ziska said over the encrypted lance comms, cheerful as ever seeing the TAG and NARC symbology burning bright on her HUD once more. As she darted her light mech back across the bridge, Ziska laughed seeing Tarik charging forward, it was time for the heavier mechs to tank, she had places to be, and no intention to stay close to the AC20 of the Hunchback or the now peppered Crusader.

“Fucking shit, is this a mech lance or debate team?!” Helma growled. The LRM rack flashed green on her display indicating the reload was completed and with Ziska’s NARC newly attached to the Crusader, she didn’t hesitate to put another salvo in the air. The missiles roared out the rack, arcing vertically in another processional line that went right after the beacon.

“Holy shit, does he ever shut up?” Ansel said, hurriedly finishing the loading of a fresh armor piercing round for Merry-Go-Round’s main gun as Family Man walked up nearby and the Shadow Hawk’s steps shook the ground beneath them.

Aroxy didn’t have much to say, but he calmly reached up and turned off the open band scan about halfway through Raven’s speech as he watched the Crimson Fists’ response to the initial ambush through the periscope. He shook his head a little at the constant talking of the Knights. These mechwarriors weren’t nearly scared enough and there was still a strong possibility that they could lose this fight. A group of mercs capable of the slaughter for which the Fists had just engaged were not to be underestimated and were far beyond haughty lecture.

“Somebody needs to put his ass on decaf.” Takka said right after the radio went silent. He was just about lined up again on the Hunchback and made a few last adjustments on the shot right as Ansel announced the gun was ready with a shout.

Aroxy’s face was stern and unemotional as both the mangled Ostroc and missile-scarred Raven retreated in front of the Von Luckner’s barrel. It wasn’t the ambush he would have planned, but Daschke was leading the element and this was the way she wanted it. He wanted to reposition, however he needed Takka to get his confidence back and putting more variables into the gunnery equation would only make it more difficult. It was a risk worth taking he had decided in less than the blink of an eye. They were still the Knights’ overall hardest hitter and his gunner’s aim had the potential to make the difference. “Check that wind, Takka.” He said, observing the black smoke rolling from the exposed arm socket on Susser Todd.

“Got it, Cap.” There was the confidence of a fresh shell in the barrel within his voice. Despite the calamity of their first salvo, he felt ready this time and his mind repeatedly traced the arc of the last shell through the air compensating in the angle of the barrel towards the broadside of the Hunchback’s main weapon.

Aroxy was right on the verge of giving the FIRE command when Tarak’s Phoenix Hawk came blazing right across Merry-Go-Round’s line of fire.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Takka howled, jumping up in his straps at the sight of the humanoid mech vaulting right in front of his shot on the Hunchback. “TELL THAT STUPID COCKSUCKER TO GET OUTTA THE WAY!” He roared as Helma chimed in with a similar string of colorful epitaphs directed at the Mechwarrior. She could see the whole thing from her viewport.

Aroxy grit his teeth, even more glad though that he had switched off the radio. Like the enemy before, his own side had committed the classical Mech Jock gaffe of forgetting about the ground armor.

WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE DETECTED

RIGHT ARM DESTROYED

LEFT ARM DESTROYED

REACTOR SHIELDING BREACHED

EJECT

EJECT

EJ--

"Enough out of you!" the Yellow Jester barked at the automated voice of "Bitchin' Betty" as the cockpit of his Firestarter was filled with flashing warning lights and the blaring of klaxons. "I heard you the first time, and it wasn't funny then!"

The combined fire from the Green Knights' last salvo had left his Battlemech ravaged, the Mech's internal structure holding together almost entirely through spite. Firing his Jump Jets, the Yellow Jester tried to put as much distance between himself and the enemy Mechs as possible, and winced when he felt the Firestarter begin to crumple in on itself upon landing. Opening up a channel to the other members of his lance, he shouted orders and began unfastening the restraints that held him inside his command couch.

"Bing Bong, Honk-Honk, Captain Waffles! Form a firing line and start giving these spoil-sports something to laugh about!" One of his command consoles went dead as he began to work on the cable that connected his neurohelmet to the 'Mech. "Mister Dimples, come give me a kiss!"

"You sure about that, boss?" the pilot of the Crusader asked as a pair of lasers raked across the heavy Mech's armor, followed by a peppering of Short-Range Missiles. "They've already got me narced and tagged, and this maneuver is--"

"I said kiss me, you fool!" He shouted, the sheer ridiculousness of his idea making him more than a bit giddy. "The rest of you! These Knights like to hear themselves talk; keep them yammering for a bit!"

"All right, sure thing," said Bing Bong as his Hunchback lumbered forward, taking an errant swipe at the nearby Phoenix Hawk before taking aim at the biggest gun the Green Knights had: the monstrous AC/20 on their Von Luckner tank. Switching on an open channel, he shouted. "Hey Greenies! What has two thumbs and is about blow your fuckin' heads off!"

With a deafening thunderclap, the Hunchback's cannon fired a high-explosive shell across the ravine, catching the Von Luckner's turret flush. His follow-up attacks with his arm-mounted Lasers went wide, but the primary damage was done.

Answering his own joke, he flexed his Mech's hand actuators to point his thumbs to his Mech's cockpit. "THIS GUY!!!!" For good measure, he swung the Hunchback's leg in a wide swinging kick at the Green Knights' Phoenix Hawk, which the more nimble Mech easily dodged.

"Hah!" laughed Honk-Honk as his Panther painfully lurched forward. "Okay, okay, I got one....what's a Green Knight's favorite novel by the ancient poet Hemingway?"

As the Phoenix Hawk's Large Laser boiled away armor off of the Panther's right arm, Honk-Honk raised the Particle Projector Cannon on the damaged limb at took aim- not at the closer Phoenix Hawk, but at the fleeing Raven. Unleashing a cerulean blast of charged ions, the PPC smashed into the recon mech's right shoulder, severing the limb and robbing the Raven of its lasers.

"A Farewell to Arms!!!" Honk-Honk shouted, proud of himself. The other Crimson Fists just groaned at him.

For good measure, the Panther fired off its four-pack of short-range missiles at the Phoenix Hawk. Two of the missiles went wide, but the other two scratched the paint on the Medium Mech's torso and right leg.

"Okay, good stuff, guys," Mister Dimples called out on open comms as his Crusader closed in on his commander's ruined Firestarter, unbuckling his own seat restraints at the same time. Absent-mindedly, he tried his hand at a joke of his own. "Hey, what do you tell a Green Knight with two black eyes?"

"Nothing," Captain Waffles, the Catapult pilot from Fire Witch Lance cut in to answer him. "Because you've already told them twice."

Lobbing a volley across the ravine, the Catapult's LRM launchers pocked away chunks of armor from the Shadow Hawk's torso and limbs, though didn't breach. Still, that marked damage on every member of the Green Knights. While the damage was mounting up on both sides, it was only a matter of time before things began to give way.

"Are you ready for a smooch?" Yellow Jester called out as the Crusader reached him, opening the hatch to his Mech's cockpit and scrambling onto the top of the Firestarter's head as it began to fall apart around him.

"Boss, you're goddamn insane!" Mister Dimples said, his comms still on the open channel as he popped his own hatch. The Crusader leaned in as closely as it could, the open cockpits to both mechs at least two meters apart and still over ten meters off the ground.

"Has it really taken you this long to notice?!" the Yellow Jester shouted, and with a triumphant cackling howl, took a two-step run-up and hurled himself from the frame of his Battlemech, splaying wide like a bug on a windshield against the Crusader's canopy.

A normal person, even your average Mech jock, would have bounced off from the impact and fallen to their deaths. But the Yellow Jester hadn't always been a mercenary, and his career before that was hardly average. With a grip and adeptness with climbing that suggested a far different line of military service before his time in a Mech cockpit, the Yellow Jester pulled himself up to the top of the Crusader's head, where an open hand from Mister Dimples pulled him up.

"Holy shit, boss, I've never seen anything like that," he said, forgetting to turn off his open channel. "Now come on, get in the Mech, the Duchess isn't paying us to--"

Without a second thought, the Yellow Jester wrenched Mister Dimples' arm, yanking him out of the Crusader's cockpit and sending him tumbling down to the rocky mountainside below. With a dull thud, his body hit the ground and lay still. "No one likes a tattle-tale, Mister Dimples," said the Jester, looking down at his lancemate's corpse.

Quickly scrambling into the Crusader, the Yellow Jester reached back to plug the control cables into his neurohelmet, his whole body convulsing for a moment as the Mech's security measures attempted to fry his nervous system.

"Command Override!" he shouted as his body spasmed. "Clearance Xanthe-01-04-21!"

The consoles inside the Crusader then changed from danger red to a calm green, then a sickly yellow as he settled into the command couch.

"Oooo-hoo-hoo-hoooo," he giggled for a moment, "I smelled my own brain starting to drizzle-frizzle-sizzle for a moment there!"

Fastening his restraints, the Yellow Jester opened up the channel to his enemies.

"Now then, my pretty-witty-ditties," he called out to the Green Knights as the Crusader stepped forward, with a skipping, playful gait, "Where were we?"

Raven Rivers

"Ingrid?" Raven asked after switching to tight-beam comms. "Did you just hear what that Yellow Bastard did? Anyway, here's hoping the enemy has no way to decrypt these comms, but we need to bring down that mountain on the foe - Now is as good a time as any if Tarak uses his jump jets to jump back away from avalanche range."

Brief, maybe even curt by his standards. But if he got Ingrid's agreement, he'd fire his entire available arsenal onto the mountain's side, hoping against hope the Lance would follow his plan. Of course, Ingrid might refuse, and in that case, well, the fight continued and he'd find an alternative target - Maybe the Panther.

@wikkit

Jon had piloted the machine beneath him almost his entire life, since he was tall enough to reach the pedals. Only his time in the infantry and as a regular in the Taurian Defense Force had separated him from Ossie’s cockpit. It was more than enough time combined with experience to know the feel of battle reverberating up through the ground long before he entered sensor range. The footing under the Marauder’s angular gait was treacherous even for a standard walker and he had to be patient with his own sense of urgency as several steps swung the weapon pods over nothing but empty chasms of rock and icy fog below. The wind blew harder and the snow picked up the closer he got, having left the regular trail some time ago. He wasn’t long on Espia, far before the coup, that he’d taken time to get to know the pass as a part of his territory under Cassandra’s contract as well as a shortcut that would make for an easy place to get lost. The battlemech stepped carefully, as if examining its footing cautiously under the reins of its rider. A few more twists and he would be there. A forceful wind blew up underneath the seventy-five ton machine enough to give him pause and remind him there was still one more point of business to handle.

Considering what he had learned about Gaius Wayne and his company, he was fairly confident the Colonel ran a high level of Opsec despite the flamboyant attitudes of many of his employees. Standard practice in any regular outfit was never to use the same signals plan twice so the frequency sets he’d been given at the dam engagement were likely useless at this point and he’d be talking to nothing but static. However, he did know how much the Colonel liked to direct battle from the ancient Mobile HQ he’d seen when he met the Knights back in the northern mountain. Assuming they had their antenna up, which he was sure they did, he needed to let them know of his approach before his again unknown IFF triggered a hail of fire from both sides when he arrived on the scene. Jon’s knowledge of the pass gave him a pretty good idea where the Colonel would have parked the ungainly vehicle after navigating the routes available to wheeled platforms. All he had to do was point a VHF radio burst in the right direction and hope he got an answer. He wasn’t worried about anyone intercepting the transmission. There wouldn’t be anyone crazy enough to be perched, freezing their ass off at just the right time to catch the transmission let alone understand it or further, do anything about it.

Morse code, for the few that still knew it, remained a slick and easy way to put data in the air, particularly after the devastation of the Succession Wars and the general destruction of most high technology from the old days. Jon couldn’t brag about being particularly skilled, but as a recon infantryman he knew enough to satisfy the squad comms geek. As he hit a switchback in the trail with a broad shot up the mountain to where he reckoned the Colonel and his staff, of what looked like kids, would probably have the large vehicle parked. He tapped a few commands into the comms deck and brought up a list of quick brevity codes as the antenna went up on the back of the mech’s torso. He set the lines to repeat on the higher end of the spectrum and fired off the broadcast on repeat leaving a break between bursts:

FREN
MAD3
AVC

With any luck, they would be listening, granted he was correct in the direction he aimed the transmission. A simple spectrum analysis would tell them what frequency he was on and give them a chance to answer and coordinate. He figured the kids would be lost to his subterfuge, but the Colonel would likely understand the use of the code and the seldom monitored frequency range.

---

---

The Phoenix Hawk took the lowest amount of hits in these couple of moments, if anything, there was hoping for more on his side to take some away from his comrades, yet Tarak didn't mind any. This just meant that he had more armor and hell to give. The Phoenix Hawk Jumped up from the kick from the Hunchback and took a few short-range missiles from the Panther, yet was not shifted or moved. It was time to continue the move and force them into a choice, as from that Jump the Phoenix Hawk shot up and away as it fired off its jump jets. Flying up and over the enemy and landed down onto CC9.

The moment the Phoenix Hawk touched down, it slid and turned on the icy ground, as the Phoenix Hawk took up its weapons and fired all of them directly into the back of the Hunchback. Letting loose the withheld malice within his laser weapons. Multiple green lasers began to launch out as they ripped through the cold air with screeches and whistles as the intense heat melted the snow and heated the air in an instant.

The lasers were to try and force the Hunchback to decide, death by lasers from the back or turn and get torn apart by missiles and the Von Luckner's cannon. Within the Phoenix Hawk known as the Black Phoenix, the pilot sat with music blazing yet was still. The pilot was unmoving, like a statue that only moved every now and again to activate the mech's controls. There was no motions from fury, anxiety, worry, nothing, just a cold unmoving machine. Yet for every little emotion the machine within had, the mech that was exposed to the heat of the weapons and the cold of the air exploded with unmatched emotion.

Though she didn't realize it at the time, Ingrid's thoughts aligned with Jon pretty fittingly: everyone involved needed to pipe down. The only real bite back she gave to the enemy was the Hemingway joke, which was met with the following: "I don't need arms to take yours off as well, you cur!" Truly, what could Honk-Honk do after this? How could he ever recover?

Raven's request for a shot was overlaid on top of her view of the fight behind her. Wheeling around as she made it across the bridge, she could see the Firestarter and the Crusader off in the distance. Far enough to be safe, and sadly, just as likely to keep running for the moment - they were going to have to work quickly to try and run them down if they were to keep with the Colonel's orders. "God...no, hold on the slide," Ingrid called back to Raven, "we're going to need to try and cripple them before they pull away." To show her intent, back in place, she faced the Hunchback and let it try to kill her before she could kill it. Beams flew, lasers flew quite a bit more than they should, and she could only hope that the enemy's aim was worse than hers.

Aroxy watched Tarak’s Phoenix Hawk dance out of the way just in time for the inset barrel of the Hunchback’s AC20 to be pointed straight at them.

Shit.

Merry took it right on the chin and it was like being smashed by a massive hammer that rattled the crew’s teeth, but the massive tank took it like a wave crashing against a pier. The lights and sensor screens inside the hull flickered briefly, but everything was holding, having absorbed the blast completely through her armor. She is angry. Aroxy thought to himself as he looked back up through the periscope, his view slightly marred by black, scorched soot from the explosion. The Hunchback attempted a kick towards Tarak, but missed and now they were barrel to barrel again, even closer than before, like two battleships in the stories of old and it was time to remind that stocky little bastard about the pecking order of AC20 shooters on the mountain.

“I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch.” Takka growled through gritted teeth. Aroxy wasn’t entirely sure if his gunner was referring to Tarak or the Crimson Fist pilot.

“FIRE!” Aroxy barked.

The answer of the Von Luckner’s cannon barked back through the pass and the tank shuttered as the high powered shell roared out of the barrel back at the Hunchback.

“Missiles!” Aroxy commanded again. “Give him both racks, Helma.” He knew again. He didn’t have to specify which. The direct hit from the enemy mech had the crew dialed up to eleven. It was real for them. No scratched paint, dancing around, showboating or giving speeches. Helma slammed the launch controls for both the Von Luckner’s short range batteries at the same time sending an angry cloud of missiles right behind Takka’s shot out of the main gun. “Keep an eye on that Crusader, Helma.” Aroxy said scanning, eyes darting fast, assessing, prioritizing. He didn’t have time to notice whatever had transpired as the Firestarter fell, but he was most definitely trying to keep the Knights’ more abused mech jocks in the fight. They needed to move. “Takka, shift left, make ready to fire again, don’t block the TAG beam.” He said watching Ziska’s battered Raven skittering by with an arm missing, but still keeping its nearly invisible TAG beam trained. He could hear Ansel working, knowing just by the sound of his loader’s movements where he was in the reload as he felt the tracks begin to bite in opposite directions and rotate the hull.

That still counted! Abandoning a ‘Mech due to damage was basically an ejection, that was her kill with assistance and Marit would fight about it. She made a mental note of it as Tarak charged past, nimbly dodging the Hunchie’s kick - that ‘Mech didn’t look right kicking, with its stumpy little legs set far apart under a disproportionate torso - while Ziska and Ingrid made their retreat. ”Ramrod, Alleycat, use me for cover if you need to hide behind something.” She offered on Lance comms, Archie’s armor still barely scratched while the two ‘Mechs in question had seen better days and Tarak now moving ahead in a Medium. She would’ve approached, close quarters combat not being her favorite but she did have plenty of armor, but she couldn’t get the thought of the bridge out of her mind. Yes, the Fists had to cross it, but if they started losing they might decide to go back where they came from and shoot it out from under them out of spite. Maybe she should have worded it differently though, the word ‘hide’ may have precluded Ingrid from taking the offer entirely.

Raven’s suggestion had some merit to it, but at the same time what if using the environment would give the Fists the same idea? Regardless of Ingrid’s decision, Marit had her target, Ziska’s targeting equipment doing the aiming for her. She oh-so contemplated taking potshots with some of her lasers at the Hunchback, but she very much did not love the smell of cooked myomer in the morning, it smelled like excessive wear and reduced movement speed. She started walking Archie backwards and keyed her microphone twice to let Ziska know the order had been received and was being processed, about to let loose another 35 missiles when she noticed it. The range. The stationary target. Marit removed one of the LRM 10 launchers from the weapon group and instead selected two lasers for a second trigger. There would be a faint smell of mildly toasty myomer after all.

The first trigger sent 25 missiles toward the Crusader. She could see it between the Panther and Tarak’s Phoenix Hawk, watching with a smile as over half the missiles struck true. With no spectacular effects like limbs flying off or ammo detonations, she didn’t linger to watch and instead turned her attention to the Panther. With a slight adjustment of Archie’s torso, she moved her thumb to the trigger linked to the lasers on Archie’s arms and sent two beams of green light in the Panther’s direction. The temperature in the cockpit jumped higher than before, a notable increase remaining even as the heat sinks did their best. Her reward for the endeavor was an explosion and the Panther’s left arm flying away in a shower of actuator bits and shredded myomer, the armor on its left torso - already largely stripped by previous attacks - now completely gone, exposing the structure beneath it, including the SRM missile rack the laser sadly did not find.