Fighting the controls of her BattleMech, Ziska hissed as she fought the damage from the PPC bolt. She was down an arm and two medium lasers. Her armor was open in more places than she could count. The fight was far from settled. It was no time for caution. She had to act. Ziska watched with a lopsided grin as Merry Go absorbed an AC 20 round and then returned fire. A grin that grew even larger as the slab of armor moved to screen her. It was brave, possibly a bit foolish, but she would take it. There was still a chance and she would keep punching for as long as she could. It wasn't time to run.

"Merry Go Round, move a bit closer, I need to stay in this," Ziska keyed over the tight-beam comms. Uninterested in colliding with the lumbering tank, Ziska kept the RVN-3L skulking behind. When the range indicator finally dipped down to 180 meters, she pulled the trigger, bobbing the right torso of the birdlike BattleMech skyward as she launched her SRMs in a high parabolic arc. Lofting her instructors had called it back in the Magistracy. Something old, something for dumb-fire weapons, but when it worked, it worked.

Ziska could have sworn she heard the whistling death falling from the sky as the missiles slammed into the enemy Panther that had clipped one of her raven's wings. Explosions rattled the scarred Panther, cutting into the left torso from the top and gaps where the left arm had once been. Another SRM missile slammed into the blackened right arm, tearing off what little myomer remained, and sending the PPC thundering to the snow in a great, big puff of powder.

"That'll teach you," Ziska muttered to herself, already targeting the enemy Hunchback as her sensors registered damage that stripped almost all of the remaining armor from the Panther's Right Torso.

The beam of her TAG laser fired, flickering into existence for a moment, before Ziska felt her BattleMech shudder under a loose patch of snow, she cursed as she watched the "good TAG" indicator vanish from her screen. Barreling towards the Hunchback without further input, her NARC instead hit true, and NARC once more blazoned across Ziska's HUD.

"Panther has lost his PPC, Hunchback NARCed," Ziska said, trying to make herself small behind the Merry Go Round. Never say no to a hero Thrice Hanged had always said. She hoped the enemy mediums and heavies were busy enough dealing with the rest of her lance...but if not...well, she had always figured Thomas was right when it came to heroes.

"Shit, that's my arm gone!" called out Honk-Honk, the mercenary in the Panther, as a flight of SRMs from the Green Knights' Raven pockmarked its armor, before snapping the composite alloy bone, myomer muscle bundles, and power couplings that held the light Mech's right arm in place. With the limb fully severed, the Panther staggered, but the mercenary inside managed to keep its footing. "Hell with this, I'm punching out!"

Inside the cockpit of the Panther, the Mechwarrior reached up behind his head to a small black-and-yellow-striped handle hanging above his command couch. Yanking the handle down hard, he braced himself for the explosive bolts that would blow the 'Mech's cockpit open to let his ejection pod rocket away to safety.

Instead, the Mech's external speakers activated, letting out a loud, wet-sounding BRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAP.

"Phhheeeeewwwww-weee, was that you, Honk-Honk?!" called out the Yellow Jester.

"Are you kidding me with this shit?!" Honk-Honk all but screamed at his commanding officer.

"Oh, please, I'm always kidding," the psychotic Crimson Fists lance leader said as he advanced in the Crusader. "But let's be honest, I doubt the goodie-woodie-doodie-two-shoes Knights are going to let bad bad men like us get away anyway. Might as well see this show to the end, ha-haaa!"

"Us or them, Honk-Honk," said Bing-Bong, who pushed his Hunchback forward and drove his Mech's foot into the leg of the damaged Ostroc. Rather than give the Green Knight a full salvo, he turned the stout Mech's torso and instead opened fire into the back of the Knights' Phoenix Hawk. While the massive slug from its autocannon went wide, one of the Medium Lasers found its target square in the enemy Mech's back, boiling away what little armor the Phoenix Hawk had in that location.

"Right, right, us or them," muttered Honk-Honk, who limped his wounded Panther to also flank the Phoenix Hawk, letting fly with his four-pack of Short-Range Missiles, the only weapon he had left at his disposal. Two of the missiles streaked into the mountainside, but the other two hit the mark, one of them digging into the internal structure exposed by the Hunchback's laser. "Okay, now we're talking!"

While the Phoenix Hawk still had plenty of armor in the front, another solid hit from behind now risked coring the Mech out.

"Oh yoo-hoo, Captain Waffles!" The Yellow Jester called out to his lancemate in the Catapult. "I spy with my little eye, a missile boat on the other side of the ravine!"

"I see him, Jester," the Catapult pilot said as he moved his Mech to a vantage point and opened the bay doors of the boxy missile launchers on his shoulders.

"And if remember my math-o-magics," he said, "I do believe two missile boats are greater than one!"

"Sounds about right to me."

"Then what to you say we multiply our firepower together," the Jester continued, "and subtract that Archer from the equation?!"

"I'd say those numbers add up," Captain Waffles concurred, and the two missile-support Mechs let fly with a combined sixty long-range missiles. The warheads rained down on the seventy-tonner, kicking up clouds of smoke and dust all around it. In total, only a bit more than half of the missiles connected, but they shredded substantial chunks of armor away from the Archer's legs and torso.

For good measure, the Catapult opened fire with two of its Medium Lasers into the Phoenix Hawk, one beam catching the lighter Mech in the right leg, while the other caught it flush in the chest. "The Fire Witch wants all of your souls, but you and the Raven she wants most. I'll reduce the both of you to cinders in her name!"

"That's the spirit, Waffles!" The Yellow Jester egged him on as a low rumble began to fill the air. "Ooooh, and don't look now, but we might have a couple of special party guests!"

The Raven's ECM had kept the Crimson Fists from calling for reinforcements, but the Yellow Jester abandoning his Firestarter had caused its IFF transponder to go offline. Ironically, it was the sudden lack of a signal that had tripped the Espian Guards that something had gone wrong with the Crimson Fists, and they had scrambled fighters to investigate.



"Jester Actual, this is Sledgehammer One," came the unmistakably aloof, cocky voice of an aero-jock as the Espian Guards' two Mechbusters roared into the mountain pass. "Preparing to engage, danger-close."

The pair of Mechbusters were flying dangerously low, having to rely on eyeball recognition as the Raven's electronic warfare equipment was interfering with their ability to track targets on instruments. The sabotage that the Green Knights had pulled in the spaceport wasn't helping things either, as someone had been monkeying around with both planes' electricals, effectively shorting out their secondary weapons' fire control without extensive downtime. Once they had managed to get the Mechbusters' main cannons online, General Kwan had ordered them on near-constant patrol.

Without their guided missiles due to sabotage and without proper IFF thanks to the Raven's ECM bubble, the two Mechbusters swooped in and fired their cannons at the one target they could be sure wasn't one of the Crimson Fists: the Von Luckner. Sledgehammer One's salvo hit just short, ripping a deep trench in front of the heavy tank. Sledgehammer Two, however, was right on the money, with a torrent of depleted-uranium shells chewing off nearly half of the Von Luckner's substantial front armor.

Pulling up as they reached the edge of the valley, the two Mechbusters peeled off in either direction, wheeling around to make another pass. Between the lethal power of their autocannons, the monstrous cannon on the Hunchback, and the missile salvos from the Catapult and Crusader, a combined salvo from the Crimson Fists and Espian Air Guard could theoretically destroy any of the Green Knights' Mechs outright. It just came down to where the Yellow Jester directed his fire.

"Now, let's see who wants to make their acquaintance with the dirt first!" he taunted, raising the Crusader's humanoid hand and extending a finger to point at each of the Knights in succession. "Eenie....meenie.....miney...."

WARNING: ENEMY MECH DETECTED

"What the what?" the Crimson Fist commander asked, caught off-guard by the arrival.

Another Battlemech was approaching, coming up from the southeast corner of the mountain pass....from behind the Crimson Fists...

The first azure bolt snapped up from the pathway where the Crimson Fists had first arrived to traverse the pass. Ripping through howling bands of snow, undisturbed by the force of wind, the shot pulsed high overhead and caught the southern turning Mechbuster squarely under the nose as it finished its turn to start a second pass on the Green Knights’ position. Only being an atmospheric fighter, its nominally armored structure was easily pierced by a PPC which ignited the fuel tank into an orange bloom that quickly transformed into a hydra of burning parts and rich black smoke that scattered over the narrow battlefield.

The separated reticles of Jon’s main guns converged over his left eye as he clicked on the arm lock while the rest of his glance remained expressionless as the remains of the fighter fell through the canyon in pieces between the opposing lances. The next shot would only be one PPC and the AC5 together. He would have preferred to enter the fray with a combined salvo, but the Mechbusters hadn’t exactly been a bullet point on the scant briefing. However, with one barrel cycling, he was ready to set up for a very familiar alternating pattern. Like a choreographed dance or the experienced movements of a boxer in the ring, the mech’s steps and the cooldown timing of the weapons would keep the Marauder’s heat in check while the frigid cold of the mountain peak would give him a little extra edge. As everyone turned their attention to the sudden explosion in the air, Jon gently eased his crosshairs over the back of the ragged Panther’s armless form as it engaged the Knights’ Phoenix Hawk, letting the axis lines daintily drift over the left torso before his grip calmly closed on the trigger.

Both weapons erupted together in an instant sending a sleek tracer and a second refined bolt downrange into the back of the light mech cooking off the whole chassis like a stack of fireworks from the waist up. Before the pilot had a chance to react, the torso had exploded into a chaotic blue plume of free reaction mass. Jon’s thumb hovered over the medium lasers as the light mech fell away, but he kept his trigger discipline as the surprise set in and the L-Shape of the ambush was formed in reverse with the Knights. The two quick shots would be hard to follow on just the sensor screen alone, particularly with the high interference emanating from the Knights’ Raven while the lasers would easily trace right back to his position at the southeastern entrance to the pass. He scanned briefly in the chaotic moment. No Firestarter, unless it was already down, while the Von Luckner leveled the Hunchback with a murderous salvo from its main gun and missile batteries, bowling the mech over and removing its left arm. Several of the Knights looked equally worse for wear, but they needed to press now.

Jon could see the muted light flickering from that forsaken “open” frequency as the chaos really set in, but he wasn’t on any of the Knights’ signals instructions so they were going to have to visually coordinate the best they could. He reluctantly hoped the remaining Mechbuster would have some pause after seeing his wingman get the chop on the first pass though from what he knew about aerospace jockeys, they tended to come in two varieties: Bat shit crazy and total coward, though anyone insane enough to strap into a cannon with wings and no armor and fly into this weather was either terrified of their command or every bit of the latter. If the Knights could push the opportunity, they could give them something else much more to fear.

Raven Rivers

Raven could not resist chasing off the departing Mechbuster with a volley of LRMs that just barely missed, before saying through the open comms, "You're damn right! You've killed too many people to be allowed to live, impostors."

The Hunchback was dangerous; in the right circumstances, one of them can stand against an entire lance. Raven was not going to let these be the right circumstances, so he fired the rest of his weapons against the foe, shooting off portions of its torso and hitting a leg. Raven then taunted, "Your cannon... We'll find good use for it; how would your Fire Witch like being shot by something that once belonged to her?"

Then to Arroxy, Raven spoke, "The enemy Mechbuster is still within range of your own LRMs, right? Then if so, it's your turn to save us all - We've been hogging all the good shots and hits lately; don't think I haven't noticed. Consider this an I-feel-guilty speech."

Not that Arroxy and his crew would be grateful; they'd probably think Raven was patronizing despite his every intention not to be such. But Raven had learned to respect Von Luckners in the Fourth Succession War; he could appreciate the idea of a Tank holding its own against Mechwarriors like he was. Now, to address the matter of Ingrid...

"Ramrod, need any help falling back?!" Raven called out to their Lance leader. "I can provide cover fire or attract enemy attention if needed!"

Marit quickly turned Archie’s torso downward, trying to shield the cockpit as best as she could. ”Ow. Ow...” She complained to the warm air in Archie’s cockpit over the din of missiles raining down around her, more annoyed than worried, at least so far. The clown and his voodoo man needed a damn calculator if they thought that was enough to reduce her out of the problem. ”OW, fuck!” She cried out as ten missiles slammed down into Archie’s right torso at the same time, her helmet bag tearing free of where it was secured and a metal buckle smacked her across the shin. She started backing up, checking the rear-mounted camera display in her helmet to make sure she didn’t step into a pile of burning wreckage or slip on the greasy stain that used to be an aerojock. She wasn’t running, she was advancing backwards to a more advantageous position! Damn Hunchback was too close. Turning Archie’s torso to the right as she went, she got an easy lock on the fleeing MechBuster, its thrusters turned toward her, and sent ten missiles its way, not lingering to watch and turning back to the BattleMechs.

And BattleMech things were indeed happening. Tank things, too. She could vividly imagine the grins and jeering inside the Von Luckner as a round from it knocked the Hunchback off its feet. To his credit, the Crimson Fists MechWarrior started moving almost immediately. Shame, be nice if he broke his neck and left the ‘Mech intact. Almost simultaneously, the Panther decided to change careers and become a roman candle. She couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the guy, knowing what’s coming and being powerless to do anything about it. Sod that, just send an AC/20 round through her cockpit without a warning, literally fighting until the last breath. Behind the Crimson Fists, the unmistakable form of a Marauder appeared. They were about to eat shit.

Speaking of, Hunchback. No TAG on this one, but that hardly mattered given his horizontal position. 25 missiles arced over Ingrid, about half of them peppering the prone Hunchback. Not great, not terrible
<Ammunition: 75%.>
Plenty of canned hate left in the racks according to Betty and still almost ten tons of armor left. From where she was sitting, things were starting to look gloomy for the Fists, still getting outgunned in support vehicles despite reinforcements and now outnumbered two to one on BattleMechs. Almost two to one if one counted the Ostroc and Raven as half ‘Mechs in their current state. Checking the sky to her right where she hoped to see a plume of black smoke and falling debris, she was greeted by the disappointing sight of a disturbed cloud of chaff and flares and a MechBuster shrinking in the distance. ”Yeah right. Run, coward...” She muttered under her breath as she tried to police the loose bag with her left hand, knowing that wasn’t the case.

Of everything seen in the field during her time in Espia, the loud report of...bodily...functions in the distance actually made Ingrid pause. At first she imagined it the report of high-volume autocannons that, ironically, would come soon afterward. But no, looking at an ejection chair and running the sound by in her head once more gave her what the punchline was supposed to be. She couldn't even be mad. Not to say she enjoyed it, but it was just too juvenile to take as some kind of lofty insult towards their profession. The kind of thing that seven year olds and drunk uncles took as the peak of humor. Perhaps they were drunk. Perhaps Ingrid felt, for a second, that she would be better served that way.

No. That would have to wait. A quiet "I feel sick" in German, to no one in particular, would comfort her in the meantime.

This action didn't leave her too unaware; she saw the Hunchback pull up towards her well ahead of their collision. She fired back into it, carving glowing trails in the metal with lasers, but as she backpedaled there wasn't much she could do to avoid its impact. In fact, it was backpedaling that left her in a bad space to begin with: there was nowhere near the amount of maneuvering room she usually had to work with, for any further back would lead to the chasm. The Ostroc's internal computers worked with her own sense to try and dodge the stocky swing of her opponent's metal boot, but it caught her in the leg still. Her practice kept her stable, but unable to roll with the blow for lack of space, she was left near-stationary.

To Raven she replied, "You keep going, Family Man! Fire on the Hunchback or let me deal with it - he's decided to make himself my problem!" She took a moment to breathe and added, "Tankers," (the best she'd give mere armor pilots), "you have a bit before the next pass, let them take their time coming back! The rest of you, keep it in mind - they'll take whatever's the most open shot."

This was fine. She could work with this. The Hunchback was falling over already, and she didn't even leave him time to process this: one more burst of light that sent her own heat back into troublesome territory raked across his left side, and she saw her moment.

Striking a fellow Mechwarrior while he's down is hardly forbidden under any code, though would she so willingly do so? After all, she was the honorable one here, even if her opponent was lower than human. Maybe it was finally time to get that pistol duel she's always wanted out of an opponent. In the end, she did not offer much in the realm of clemency beyond a brief, calm advisory notice over loudspeaker,

"Hunchback pilot, be a good man and DIE IN THE COCKPIT!"

and the compressing force of the Ostroc's long leg into the same damaged torso. It held the Hunchback down for a moment as it tried to right itself, crumpling the armor underneath. Then, through her connecting lines to the machine's balance, she felt the sudden collapse of internal structure as the Hunchback's chest cavity broke inward following a whine of bending steel.. A good portion of 60,000 kilos of weight went down on one point, and really...it was a quite rewarding feeling. Worth it. "He's broken," she shouted as she her foot slid off the righting enemy, "Land a shot on that left flank!"

Things had gone from bad to worse to just bad again. One Panther down. One Mechbuster down. One Hunchback taking a brief nap in the snow. Ziska could smell blood in the water...on the snow and not just her own blood.

Hooker and his Marauder had changed the situation. Ingrid was right, deadly right. Aggression had become the name of the game. There was no time for caution and no time to hesitate. The die had been cast. Her BattleMech, her beautiful, sleek RVN-3L was battered and bruised. Its beautiful wings reduced to tatters, but it didn't matter. MechWarriors were just pawns, pieces on the board to be gambled, as long as the victory as achieve, what did it matter how it was won? And so Ziska shifted her throttle forward, sidestepping the heavy tank that had shielded her as she charged.

She didn't care, how they won the battle, Ziska knew that much. Winning the battle. Surviving to fight in the next one after that. And the next one after that. That was all that mattered to a mercenary. Honor didn't buy drinks. Mercy wouldn't save you.

Calmly tracking the prone form of the Hunchback as she leaped over scattered ice, Ziska placed her crosshairs over the left torso of the prone Hunchback and pulled the trigger. Three missiles leaped from her launcher, followed by a sudden beep beep, and a the artificial voice of her BattleMech announcing, "SRM Launcher Error, please stand by, SRM Launcher Error, please stand by, SRM Launcher Function Restored, please fire again."

Ziska cursed, keeping her BattleMech darting across the snow at a full run even as she struggled to present a difficult target on the narrow bridge. There was too much firepower on the board for her to be still or hide behind the Merry-Go-Round any longer. Darting forwards, the RVN-3L ran gracefully across the snow. Ziska had reached a quarter of the way across the natural bridge when the foot of her BattleMech sunk momentarily into a snow bank, sending her NARC sailing just wide of the Crusader and her TAG laser beaming futility off a frozen rock instead.

That time there was no swearing. Ziska didn't have the luxury to offer poetic words. She had places to be and people to kill. The Firewitch was waiting.

A sudden muffled thump, turned into a loud roaring explosion as the ammunition in the left torso of the stricken Hunchback finally detonated. Ziska allowed herself a brief smile, but no more, as she keyed her mic, "Hunchback down, got his ammo."

---

---

The Phoenix Hawk shook and rumbled, this moment of speed was enough to take a hit off of the already weakened heavy hitters. Within the machine, the man within was shaken violently, yet when he rose up once more. The visor shaded over once more as his head turned and saw he had enough fuel for 1 more jump.

The Phoenix Hawk then turned, smoke billowing from the back of mech as it then faced the Crusader behind it. The Phoenix Hawk brought its weapon up and fired both it and its medium lasers onto the Crusader to distract the mech for just a moment as then, the Phoenix Hawk flew once more, this time with malicious intent.

As the Phoenix Hawk flew, black smoke followed behind it, as these black wings guided the mech and it's pilot to near-certain death.

As Honk-Honk's Panther and Bing-Bong's Hunchback both exploded in short order, the Yellow Jester reflected for a moment on how quickly things had gotten out of hand. If there were any gods out there in the blackness of space looking over him and his deeds, he'd have supposed this was some higher justice being meted out. The massacre in that little speck of a town was just the latest in a long line of 'pranks' and 'japes' he'd pulled over the years, going back well before he'd gotten into the mercenary trade. It's possible that this was just all of his sins catching up to him.

On the other hand, though, pissing off the gallant and noble Green Knights to the point where they themselves would carry out a merciless massacre of their own was a pretty great gag.

Jester's Crusader leaned to one side from a sudden shift in mass, as the large laser of the Green Knight's Phoenix Hawk gouged out molten chunks of armor. As the lighter mech arced through the air, determined to plant its foot directly into his cockpit, Jester licked his lips.

"Ah, so you want to play tag?" He called out, suddenly hurling the Crusader's mass to one side and dodging the Phoenix Hawk's foot as it came crashing down into the snow. "All right, then, you're it!"

The Crusader swung its bulky oversized gauntlets towards the Green Knight 'Mech, but the Mechwarrior in the Phoenix Hawk was no slouch at melee combat. The Green Knight ducked under the first punch, and when the second one came arcing towards its head, the lighter 'Mech got its left arm up in time to take the brunt of the blow. As the Phoenix Hawk staggered from the impact, Yellow Jester took the opportunity to break away and advance on the other Green Knights.

"I believe it would be only fair to let your friends play too, ha-ha!" he jeered, surging the Crusader onto the ice bridge to close the gap between himself and the wounded Ostroc, then letting loose with his short-range weapons. The Inferno-tipped SRMs went wild, and Jester's manic smile turned into a frustrated scowl for a moment. His lasers and machine guns, however, found their mark, raking across the Ostroc's torso, a burst of 12.5mm lead stitching its way up the 'Mech to connect with its head.

"Ha! Going to need an aspirin after that, I'll bet ya!" he taunted.

"The situation's looking pretty dire, Jester," came the voice of Captain Waffles, the Mechwarrior in the Catapult on loan from the Fire Witch, as his 'Mech strode up beside his. "Seven on two is long odds."

As it advanced, the Catapult let fly with its LRMs towards the Knights' Shadow Hawk. While the first flight of missiles scattered harmlessly around the 55-tonner, the second flight found its mark, all fifteen missiles arcing directly toward the Shadow Hawk's head. While the Green Knight pilot shielded its head with its left arm like the Phoenix Hawk, a third of them did make contact, no doubt rattling the pilot inside.

"Ohhh come now, Captain Waffles!" Jester chided him. "You're a Mechwarrior, aren't you? Since when has a trifling little thing like certain death ever scared us away? What say we bring one or two of them along for the ride?"

"Well, the Witch did demand I burn one of these Knights in her name," the Catapult pilot said, turning his attention toward the Ostroc. "What say we take you down to hell with us?"

The 65-tonner's heat spiked as it fired all four of its Medium Lasers into the Ostroc. Two of them missed, but the other two carved more into the Ostroc's torso. One of the beams managed to pierce the enemy 'Mech's armor, and for a moment, 'Captain Waffles' hoped to see the telltale green smoke of a crippled gyro or the leaking plasma of an engine hit....

...but to his disappointment, he merely hit the internal 'ribcage,' and the glow of superheated metal quickly faded, as did their chances of killing the Knights' lance leader.

"Well, since we're not getting out of here," the Catapult pilot sighed as the enemy Mechs and heavy tank closed in on them from all sides, "I wanted you to know that, even though we never had many chances to work together.....I always hated your fucking guts, Stroheim."

"No names, Waffles!" Jester hissed.

"....whatever....come and get it, Green Knights."

Ingrid could've kept going. She could've pushed her 'mech to the limit, thrown caution to the wind and...most likely would have burnt up to a
walking cinder. This machine wasn't made to go hot. The heat sinks had been in operation longer than some nation states in the Sphere, and
firing past the safe limit was a great way to make them fail. She could have fired as if she had twice the amount of available medium lasers but did not. The opened cavity of the Hunchback was an opportunity, one that Ingrid was glad to have refused: one burst of missiles hit the wound and, in less than a second, the machine in front of her burst into a brilliant fireball. Ammo explosions can be scary to sit next to, but with a gun that big? It was practically a bomb in and of itself.

Not that the Duchess minded. She smiled, leaned forward in her seat and immediately called out on the comms, "Yes, like that, Alleycat! Right through!" Unbecoming of a knightly one like her, but everything about this engagement was. She continued stepping back carefully, and for her trouble got the worst of it.

There were flashes from the Crusader's lasers, but none as bright as the brief flash that consumed her vision. Ingrid's Ostroc stopped dead for a moment, mid-backpedal, as its pilot lost consciousness for a second - she came to quickly, awakened by the sound of something jingling in her cockpit.

She looked down. A single bit of spalled brass sitting between her legs that would've burnt her skin if she tried to grab at it. She looked up. There was a narrow crack in the bulletproof glass, with a menacing hole in it now. She pat at her head...her neurohelmet had a very pronounced dent in it. By god, she had heard about how tough these damn things are, but this was the first time in her career that it had been put to the test. The windscreen had done most of the ablation, sure, but this ancient and bulky thing blocked an .50 BMG round from entering into her skull! Ingrid, after her wits would be collected, resolved to never, ever let this helmet get cycled out for a new one. No matter how streamlined these things got.

Drawing back from that moment of miraculous luck, and trying to ignore the oncoming splitting headache from her brain rattling around in her cranium, Susser Tod was ready to tell her to not test it anymore. Sirens wailed about increasing heat, her engine plainly wasn't working at full capacity, and her machine was going to fall apart if she did anything besides leave. Ingrid's voice came over comms once more, calling "Pulling back! Don't let them get to close to the tankers or retreat; box them in on the bridge!" Of course, given how she was going so slowly, she wouldn't be leaving the bridge yet...

Raven Rivers

"How does it feel?" Raven said to Yellow Jester as he emptied everything his Shadow Hawk had onto the land bridge with the intent of breaking it apart once Ingrid had hopped off it and reached safety, "To see all your hopes and dreams go up in smoke? No one will avenge you, not even your vaunted Fire Witch - Her day is coming soon."

This was it; this was their day of triumph. The Mechbusters have done nothing, there were no deaths among the Lance. They had proven tenacious and able to last long even against an enemy with every advantage on paper. No longer will they be underestimated, that was to be sure.

But Raven will not underestimate his foes either; they had skill, competence, and a sadistic streak barely restrained by pragmatism. And so he would only rest easy for a moment, for a brief moment... Before resuming his onslaught on the natural feature of the terrain, hoping that everyone else did the same - This land bridge will need a team effort.

"Die now and curse in vain," Raven said to his foes again. "The tide has turned."

Nothing more needed to be voiced.

Aroxy and the rest of the crew of the Merry-Go-Round had barely had a chance to register the successful takedown of the Hunchback before the hull was again rattled to the point where the Von Luckner seemed shutter like some angry war elephant from antiquity, growing more irate with yet another massive hammerstrike to her armor. As the interior lights dimmed and sensor screens flickered, things happened quickly thereafter, but the shift of the energy in the battle was as palpable as the smell of scorched armor and chemical propellant in the air. Almost as soon as the sound of jet noise roared overhead, debris fell over and pranged off their armor like rain. The Panther and Hunchback both exploded, but there was no time to search the periscope for whatever the hell was going on. They needed to put their guns on the next target pronto, and the crew’s silence after the second AC20 strike signaled all were of the same grim sincerity. This was not an unfamiliar position and Aroxy had seen enough in his career to sense the energy in a fight. It was often the same, whether it was a fist fight or a clash of armor. He didn’t need a sensor screen to tell him Merry wasn’t going to take many more high powered shots, the curtain needed to be closed on this circus.

Almost as aggravating as being tagged by two AC20 shots, was Raven’s voice again coming through on comms as if he had somehow sensed Aroxy had turned off the “open” frequency. He didn’t answer the mechwarrior, but if they survived this, there was going to be a certain level of satisfaction to be had at the Colonel’s debrief when it came to signals discipline and some of the Knights’ more enthusiastic warriors. “Keep an eye on that flyer, Helma.” Aroxy growled watching it flash out of effective range.

“Got it!”

Ansel had been slightly knocked out of rhythm by the last hit, but Aroxy could tell by the sound of loader’s work, that the main gun was just about ready to fire again. As the Crusader and Catapult advanced, he could feel his gut tighten with the knowledge the well armored medium mech was still loaded with inferno SRMs. They wouldn’t be able to reverse quicker than the mechs could advance and this was going to be the Fists’ last stand. They had nothing to lose and he could vividly remember how it had only taken a lucky salvo from the Longbow to damage their final drive back in the raid. In a dark corner of his mind, he reckoned if he was a depraved, murderous son-of-a-bitch, a giant target like Merry that was only traditionally armored and not environment sealed like a mech would be exactly what he would take with him if he was about to check out. He could already sense Takka lining up on the mech’s center mass. If Crusader’s were known for nothing else, it was exploding in spectacular ways and that was exactly how this was going to go down- until he heard the squad frequency crackle again:

"Pull… back! Do- let them…. close- -tankers or… treat; -ox them …the bridge!"

He wasn’t sure if a piece of falling Mechbuster had pranged off the antenna or it was just the haggard gasp of Daschke’s nearly wrecked Ostroc, but it instantly reminded him of the briefing: All else fails, we bring the goddamn mountain down on them..

“Takka! Hit the bridge now!” Aroxy barked. “Helma, everything into the structure. We’ll take our chances with the flyboy.”

---

---

The Phoenix Hawk slammed down, whiffing a crashing fall onto the Crusader which then tried to box with the Phoenix Hawk, yet whiffed their blows against the ever agile Phoenix Hawk and then began running with great speed to try and meet the other Green Knights. The Phoenix Hawk then turned, and like a roaring fire, began to run towards the bridge itself, pulling up its guns as the moment it hit the bridge, the Phoenix Hawk's comms came alive and out came the voice of its pilot, "Hit the bridge!"

The Phoenix Hawk then let loose its weapons onto the bridge, letting them tear into the mech on the bridge to make it easier to move over the fallen mech, possibly as it's own disrespect, yet that is neither here nor there. The beams continued to be fired as the lasers cut across the scraps of the mech and then cutting into the bridge itself as it began dashing across the crumbling bridge that was being fired upon. The devastating power of the large and medium lasers that were enhanced and then made to become a deadly weapon, now chopped into the stone and ice like butter. Cutting deep gashes into the bridge in front of the Phoenix Hawk as it danced over its own destruction, leaving the jokers in the dust.

Back to the ‘mechs at hand. It made sense to focus on those, the aerojock would likely go home with no more ‘mechs to support. If they were exceptionally lucky, the Fire Witch would blow a gasket and maim the poor bastard, taking the Mechbuster out of the action for some time. Seemed in character for the Witch from what little Marit knew. She remained standing, quickly attaining lock on onto the Crusader at the edge of minimum range for her missiles when she noticed something. The speed and direction he was moving, if she moved over there, he’d be right in range for an easy shot with the lasers.

Marit spurred Archie forward as she switched firing groups, the boosted lasers hungry for the crusader’s blood when Steel Rain fired, striking the far end of the bridge with too much ordnance for it to be a miss. Ingrid and Tarak confirmed it, moving off the bridge. It was that time, apparently, and fast, lest the Fists grow wiser to their scheme. Adjusting left, she came to a halt beside Raven’s Shadow Hawk, making sure she wasn’t in the way of anyone and turned her crosshairs onto the close end of the bridge, Archie’s four lasers slicing across the ice and rock like scalpels to cut the bridge off. ”Summer’s over, have a nice fall.” She snickered to herself as she decided ‘fuck it’ and sent two LRM salvos to te far end of the bridge. The air immediately became drier as the last trigger was pulled, feeling like hot sandpaper in her nose and throat. ”Fuck, this was a mistake.” She whined, Archie offering the opposite of moral support as the cockpit temperature air gauge climbed past 40°C.

"Oh, I see you've got some jokes of your own!" the Yellow Jester shouted over his comms, apparently oblivious to the stone bridge beneath him beginning to buckle from the combined fire of the Green Knights. "Stop me if you've heard this one!"

The Crusader turned its attention to the Green Knights' Ostroc, letting loose into the already wounded Mech with a salvo of Short-Range Missiles, Medium Lasers, and Machine Gun fire. Both lasers struck home, carving rivulets of molten armor from the Ostroc's left leg and scoring a direct hit in the center of its torso. While the Machine Gun fire sparked and panged harmlessly across the Mech's armor, six of the Crusader's twelve SRMs impacted. Armed with Inferno warheads, these missiles coated the Ostroc in white-hot incendiary gel, spiking the laser-boat's heat to dangerous levels.

"Hey, Jester?" Captain Waffles called out in his effectively pristine Catapult. "I don't think this ground is safe. What say we back off and--"

"NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BACK AWAY!!!!" the lunatic shouted, the bridge crumbling with every step. "NOW IS THE TIME TO HARTY-WARTY-PARRRTYYYY!!!!"

"Oh, to hell with this," the Catapult pilot said, triggering his jump jets and rising up into the air. "You can get killed all you want, Stroheim, I'm gonna--"

A volley of SRMs from the Green Knights' Raven cut off Captain Waffles' sentence, with most of the warheads blasting away chunks of armor but doing little else. One missile, however, struck the Catapult directly in the cockpit, throwing the Crimson Fists' Mechwarrior hard against the restraints of his command couch and smacking his head hard against a console. Reflexively, his grip tightened on the firing studs of his control sticks, returning fire against the Raven with a salvo of medium lasers just as he lost consciousness.

Two of the lasers went wide, but the other two connected. One caught the smaller Mech square in the center torso, while the other penetrated the remaining armor on its right side, and appropriately enough, disabled the SRM launcher that had killed him.

Rather than retreat back to safety as intended, the unconscious Captain Waffles brought his Catapult straight up, then straight back down onto the bridge, just as the combined fire of the Green Knights caused the bridge to give way.

"Ohhhhh," Yellow Jester said, seemingly finally aware of what his enemies had done. "...now that's funny!"

The mountain pass resounded with the thunderous noise of crumbling rock as the bridge gave way, the last two Crimson Fist Battlemechs plummeting down into the ravine. Amid the deafening racket, the Yellow Jester's laughter played out over the comms as his Crusader, the Catapult, and the remains of the Hunchback were swallowed up in the darkness and dust below.

"Sensors are showing the other Mechbuster is bugging out," Colonel Wayne called out on the Green Knights' channel. "The Espian Guard still has a wing of Meteor fighters on patrol, estimated time they'll be converging on the area within thirty minutes. Plenty of time for us to give them the slip. Return to base for debriefing and repairs."

Closing the channel, the Colonel let out a deep sigh.

"Whoo, that's how it's done!" Cadet Higgins shouted, pumping his fists into the air. "Scratch one whole lance of Crimson Shits!"

"I thought you were calling them 'Fisters,'" Cadet Windham said.

"Well, the latter eventually leads to the former," Higgins sneered.

"That's disgusting," Lieutenant Lyons scolded her cadets.

"Hey, what's disgusting is how one-sided our win was," Higgins laughed. "The Crimson Fists kept talking a big game about how they were gonna wipe the Green Knights out, and then when it came to an actual stand-up fight, they went down faster than a Canopian Cat-Girl on--"

"That's enough," the Colonel cut them off.

"Apologies, Colonel," Lieutenant Lyons said, rebuking Higgins and Windham with a dirty look. "We're just excited to have gotten a big win on the board. After what those guys did to that village, taking them down has to have felt pretty good, right?"

The Colonel looked at the monitors, showing BattleROM footage transmitted from Ziska's Raven.

"We've bloodied their noses, and collected data that will help clear our name of the massacre," he stated. "As for it feeling good, after what happened to Keahi, seeing what they did while wearing our colors....no, it really doesn't."

The rest of their trip was spent in silence as the Mobile HQ made its way down the mountain pass, slinking away into the night.

Raven Rivers

One step closer to rescuing his family, one step closer to liberating Espia as their one last good deed before leaving. When the high of victory had left Raven, all he could think about was, What a waste of human life. Even though they were scum, even though they were enemies, I take no satisfaction in their victory.

They were back in the base, and Raven had taken the time to shower and groom himself with the new facilities the junkyard provided. Now he was back in his military fatigues and combat boots, all the while feeling... disassociated from the rest of his Lance.

With all due respect to them, they were hardened and bloodthirsty, and when put in a real life-and-death crisis, they put up walls of violence, rage, and contempt between them and the foe; he had done the same thing earlier, so fair enough. But the thing was, apart from Ingrid, Reya, and the Colonel himself, the rest of the Lance was too focused on violence, on their paychecks, on the thrills of daily life, and that wasn't for him.

But they were family; Katrina and Andrew were too, but that didn't mean that he should discount his Lance-mates so easily. But how can he connect to them when they have such different priorities?

He could not forget how they were somewhat blase about the innocent people killed by those impostors, how they were more concerned about consequences to themselves than the fact that innocent people had died on a planet they had garrisoned in for years. That, and he still felt guilt about his voice being used to frame the group, to make sure that those same innocents had died hating the wrong people.

So Raven was walking to his Colonel's new quarters, asking through the intercom, "Hey, Colonel; mind if we have a chat, just like old times?"

Old times that would never return, old times that were gone forever. But the Colonel had dreamt of being a hero and despite everything that's happened, he managed to make some progress towards being one. So if let in, the Mechwarrior would say, "I can't stop thinking about what happened to that town. I also can't stop thinking about how our Lancemates don't care about the innocent people who've died not just in Keahi, but literally on this entire planet due to that crisis that a lot of ordinary people - Not just us, not just fighters - are caught up in. We were there when mercenaries proved themselves greater heroes than most standing military forces. I was there when you dreamt of becoming heroes - ideal warriors - just like the Kell Hounds, and that dream is actually close to being fulfilled."

He breathed in, then out, before saying, "But the others don't care. I think of them as friends and kin, but they still don't give a dang about the local population, including our employer at times. And that might lead to trouble."

@AndyC

Reya Wyatt

The helicopter ride was quiet. Cassandra hardly spoke; her glance down, hammering away on a datapad nearly the entire time. Reya watched the terrain pass below as the rotors beat quietly above the sound-insulated cabin. It was the first time she had rode in a helicopter in years. As they entered the pattern for the capital and descended she could see the main runway at Balya Gora and there in plain view was the No Leaf Clover and the Dittohead still sitting in the exact place where they had left them so long ago. Her eyes seemed to cut straight to them before anything else. Just the sight of the two ships felt unreal after all she had seen and been through with Gaiwan’s Green Knights. Memories flashed behind her glance and for a moment she could feel her heartbeat pickup faster. She breathed in and exhaled slowly, restraining herself in the movement so as not to draw judgment from Cassandra. The helicopter banked and in the distance the massive dish of the Hyperpulse Generator passed by the window. She swallowed a small lump in her throat seeing the waiting helipad next to the growing afternoon shadow of the massive structure. Cassandra slid her sunglasses down.

They touched down softly and the blades eased to a stop as the engine wound down. An acolyte stood outside waiting while the pilot slid open the door. Reya had no sunglasses and had to shield her eyes from the stark brightness of sunlight reflecting off the freshly washed white stone beneath her feet. Her vision adjusted slowly from the dark furnishings inside the helicopter and she squinted to try and keep up with Cassandra, looking for the other woman’s shadow.

“Cassandra, good afternoon.” a male voice announced softly. As Reya’s eyes still struggled to adjust, another figure materialized as much as he stepped forward. “And Miss Wyatt, welcome.”

“Never miss an opportunity to make an impression, do you?” Cassandra said. The amused smirk on her face was obvious in her words even without it being seen.

The fact that her name was already known was slightly unsettling, but she assumed it had to be on the flight plan Cassandra’s pilot filed in order to land on the pad within the compound. Her eyes finally focused in the brightness of the day and she found an extended hand waiting. She extended her own and he clasped it with both hands, shaking it gently. His touch was delicate, like a gardener handling a potted plant. “I am the Precentor of this facility, but you may call me by name, Jerrard. These are my adepts and acolytes at your service.” He motioned. The cloaked figure standing by nodded at the introduction and she saw another tending a small flower bed along the entrance from the helipad. The grass in the courtyard around them was impeccably groomed and brilliantly green like a sports stadium.

She hadn’t been to a Comstar facility since she was a child, but she knew all the jokes, stereotypes, urban legends and general apprehension most people held, much of it justified, when it came to presumptions about the “Holy Order”. However at a glance, he was unlike any of the images or media typically circulated. Rather than the formal robes worn by the acolytes and adepts that were present, he wore something akin to a conservatively cut Victorian-era suit. Exquisitely tailored, the vest and jacket were white and silver-gray respectively, matching slacks and a gold patterned silk cravat around his neck. Just based on style alone, Reya could see why Cassandra liked him. He was an older man and not much taller than her, but still had a fullness of color in his crisply cut dark hair and neatly trimmed thin mustache. There was a parental air about him that unnerved her as if he already knew everything she was going to say - like she was a teenager coming to confess about crashing the family car. His glance was not intimidating though, and there was welcomeness about him that was disarming. Reya only bowed in return in the way of formal introductions within the Combine. Further words just didn’t feel appropriate.

“Have you eaten?”

“Utterly famished, let’s go upstairs.” Cassandra answered though her tone seemed to denote a demand to get down to business rather than any sense of hunger. She started walking.

Lunch was served at a small table on a rooftop terrace overlooking the courtyard and the capital in the distance. Like everything else about the compound, the entire presentation was spotless and in perfect order; from the washed white monolithic stone construction to the placement of the finely ornate china on the tabletop which was naturally draped in a brilliant white linen tablecloth without even the slightest hint of a crease. Jerrard sipped coffee from a small cup, having already studied the contents of the datapad before him without so much as a hint of a reaction while Cassandra nonchalantly applied a spread to a small piece of toasted bread as if she owned the place. There was an obvious unspoken sparring between them, but the dynamic was not tense, nor was it totally relaxed, very much like a wealthy noble coming to a member of the clergy for a favor. Reya sat quietly through the initial small talk and as the dishes were placed, waited with hands folded in her lap for Jerrard to go first. A surprisingly wide variety of items were set before them with dashes of color and symmetry from what had to have been prepared by a professional chef. After weeks of rations, protein bars and trail mix, it was perhaps the best meal she had ever tasted though she noticed only her place at the table included a pair of chopsticks.

“You should know that Premier Federov requested an audience earlier today.” Jerrard said. There was a distinctive Marik accent to his speech, formal and skeptical simultaneously. Reya noticed he hardly made eye contact when he spoke, but always seemed to glance away slightly as if in reflection, only turning to his audience when he wanted to make a point. “I had my staff politely inform his envoy that I was not available.”

“It would appear his reach has finally exceeded his grasp.”

The Precentor gave a small sigh. “At the outset of this debacle, it was the Order’s policy, as well as my own, to remain neutral in this matter.” He continued, pausing for satirical irony. “Now those who applauded my neutrality clamor publicly for my favor in dispatching a foe they have yet been able to vanquish.”

“Well, it wasn’t for lack of trying.” Cassandra said, daintily replenishing her wine glass from what looked like a finely aged green bottle.

“You already knew this was a frame up.” Reya said. She didn’t think or plan it, the words just came out, but her tone was polite enough. It was merely a plain statement of fact.

“Of course, my child, Comstar knows all.” He replied. A statement of fact as much as her own.

Reya looked back at him, sensing the incredulous glance of Cassandra, just for a second letting her eyes examine the small golden lapel pin he wore: A subtle pair of Greek letters AK. A small flower was pinned to his jacket above, similar to Edelweiss, but had been modified to grow with a red coloring down the stigma to resemble the motif of Comstar. She considered her words: “But you won’t just declare them outlaws even though you know they did this.” She said, her glance narrowed some though not accusatorily, it was the look of her own nebulous thoughts about the entirety of the mystery that was Espia coming together in her mind. “You want something else… or Comstar wants something else…”

“Yes, you are correct. The presence of the Green Knights here on this planet has created an… opportunity, for the Order,” He paused and studied Reya like a professor lecturing a student. ”More than one opportunity, as it were…” His glance drifted off again. “Had Colonel Gaius Wayne’s company never come to this planet, it would have been more difficult to leverage what we suspect.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I'm sure you are aware, many things about this planet are indeed, merely for appearances-”

“There's no need to be cryptic with us, Jerrard,” Cassandra said, arching an eyebrow and leaning back in her chair. “I want the Green Knights exonerated today.”

Jerrard gave a small chuckle and calmly sipped from his cup again. “You see how she speaks with me?” He said in a quiet tone of feigned offense, looking at Reya as if she were a neutral party. “The data you presented will allow me to apply pressure, but you will need to have faith in the methods that I select.”

“As long as it gets done.”

“You have my word.”

Reya started to speak, but stopped as a cloaked figure approached. The form was vaguely feminine, but hard to tell for certain. The hood hovered next to Jerrard’s ear and whispered a message leaving him with a slight hint of annoyance. He took in a breath and exhaled. “How tiresome.”

“Are we boring you?” Cassandra asked.

Jerrard shook his head with a small grin and his expression lightened from whatever the news had been. The Adept stepped back, but did not leave. “Cassandra, you could hardly ever be boring, such is the spice of life for an old man in retirement.” He motioned with one hand to Reya. “You’ve even brought Miss Wyatt here for us to host.”

“Retirement?” Reya glanced at him strangely.

“Semi-retired.” Cassandra corrected with a tilt of her head back towards Reya indicating it was some matter of jest between the two of them.

“Yes, ‘semi’ retired.” Jerrard acknowledged. “There was a time when I was not far removed from the First Circuit, I was physician to Primus Tiepolo for most of my career. We graduated from the same university on Atreus. He was a good friend and convinced me to join the Order as a member of his staff. He instructed me on the operations of the HPG network though it was not my forte.”

“So what happened? I know he passed away.”

Jerrard gave a small sigh at a passing thought. “Julian had an excellent read on people and was a fair judge even when his colleagues chose to betray him. He understood the balance of the First Circuit tilting towards what it has become and advised me to leave for a remote posting. He facilitated my appointment on Espia and so here I am, enjoying… semi-retirement.”

Reya hesitated, glancing at Cassandra who seemed to be momentarily entertained with the exchange. She knew he had left the air hanging just to toy with her curiosity just like the chopsticks left for only her place at the table. The momentum of her mind and the conversation were building as if he had been waiting since before they even sat down. The possibilities about what else he knew about her were burning through her psyche, but something told her not to ask, begged even, something dark in the back of her mind that was afraid of what she would hear. If she didn't ask though, she’d be a fool for wasting the opportunity and the fear of never getting another chance to question someone of his rank and knowledge was impossible to ignore. She knew it was selfish, but her conscience bargained that whatever else she could get out of him might potentially help the Knights.

“And so that’s all there is?”

“What else do you wish to know?”

She hesitated for a moment, but the courage came:“What do you know about me?”

Jerrard regarded her and Reya felt like his glance pierced directly through her like some spirit she’d allowed into her home and now had to confront.

“ISF agents this far out of Kuritan space are easily noticed despite their attempts at subterfuge. At first we suspected they were after your Dr. Yuri, but there was nothing in her past of note other than conflict with the Kuritan policy towards mercenaries, so she was not enough to stir their interest, having been with your Colonel for some time. So there was something or someone else with which they were interested.”

Reya’s countenance turned as white as the tablecloth at the mention of the ISF and Cassandra’s glance seemed to fall somewhere between wonderment and pity at her travel partner, though she was clearly interested in how scandalous the story was going to be. Reya looked down at the table like a child caught in a terrible lie. While her mind raced, her voice was quiet, barely audible over the distant hum of the city and the breeze across the terrace. “It’s because I’m not on the payroll, you wouldn’t see me on the roster… I didn’t need the money…”

“Quite. You certainly caused us to look deeper than a cursory update to the MRB and at that point my interest was piqued. You did cover your tracks well enough, but your work here spoke very loudly. Once my agent had fully profiled the Green Knights, I was able to uncover the connections that brought you here. I suspected you used Dr. Yuri as something of a template when you were selecting a mercenary outfit for your adventure. She was evidence the Green Knights were a safe home for Combine citizens, despite the prejudices of Colonel Wayne, while the size of the company would leave you outside the notice drawn by a higher profile organization."

“Yes.”

“My child, you greatly underestimated your significance. There was simply no possibility the Combine was going to let one of their most treasured instruments of the Imperial Institute simply disappear into the Periphery to develop mining lasers, particularly with your pedigree and academic history…” He spoke calmly as if describing something both beyond belief and which she should have been shockingly aware. “However, I made arrangements to send their operatives in all manner of wrong directions and we have since watched your career with great interest.”

“Well aren't you the little celebrity.” Cassandra nearly had to stifle a laugh.

Reya felt like she was simply going to sink through the chair itself. Now not only were they still fighting for their lives, even if they got off this hellscape of dirt and salt, she would have the ISF hunting for her just to drag her back home. The dishonor to the family name would be unbearable and there was no telling what they might do if anyone from Knights tried to stand in their way. She never believed they would care enough to come after just one person with no royal ties or relations, but they had apparently made it all the way to the other side of the Inner Sphere looking. Her heartbeat hit so hard that it was a physical pain. She swallowed a dry lump in her throat that felt like a boulder before she looked back at Jerrard. “So you were helping me?”

“In some ways, yes.” Jerrard replied, catching a faint eye roll from Cassandra. He continued, casual with the topic no differently than if he’d been discussing the weather: “As I’m sure you are aware, there was a time that the Order would have likely seen fit to place a mind such as yours into an… unfortunate accident. Some would even say we are still no more removed from that philosophy than we were a century ago. Such actions have sadly given us all the reputation we now carry, but this was never the intention of our Progenitor-”

Reya cut him off, feeling a burst of defiance she knew was only hopeless logic: “So if I had just been killed in the coup with the others- then what would you have done?” She could feel tears in her eyes.

”Miss Wyatt,” Jerrard began. His tone changed and was subtly anew with a sense of consolement and even warmth. “Like yourself, I am a student of science, however as I have grown older and spent more time within the Order, I came to accept that the nature of some things in this reality require a certain measure of… faith. You escaped the capital that day, you survived living as a vagabond in the woods, in a cave no less, then again with no experience as a soldier or a spy, you survived a combat raid and a bout of espionage and still in spite of the odds of success in all of this and the added probability of you being personally delivered to this facility, here you sit, at this table, at this time with evidence of great value to our Order that will simultaneously exonerate the reputation of Colonel Gaius Wayne and his mercenary company... Some of my more devout colleagues would have called it the Will of Blake.”

“Look now, you’ve scared her to death.”

“I am a terrible host to be sure, but that was never my intention,” His gaze didn’t leave Reya. “I understand this is a lot for her, but it is better that she is aware of the much larger world to which she has interjected herself.”

Reya stared ahead. Her mind was simultaneously blank and a chaotic explosion so fierce that she didn’t think she could form words to her lips, or even put them together cogently. She continued to look at the table set before her, eyes hollow at the simple image of reality provided to her brain. It sounded like Cassandra and Jerrard briefly exchanged some comments about her situation, but she didn’t comprehend any of the words. For the first time in her life, the only solution that she could think of was to just kill herself and be completely removed from the disaster she had caused; saving the rest of the Knights and her family in the act, though before she could generate the visceral thought any further an image of Sunny’s face flashed through her mind, smiling brightly and then Diego and it burned her heart like a fire.

Cassandra appeared to be gathering her bag to depart and end the meeting.

“WAIT.” She snapped, looking up. Cassandra appeared bemused by someone thinking to give her an order, a quip formed on her lips, but Reya cut her off and looked back at Jerrard. “Do you know where Lena is?”

Jerrard turned back, studying her again. He lifted his hand in a small wave and the Adept folded her hood back, revealing the vibrant green hair of Stiletto. “This is my agent whom you met in North Nui Awa. I assure you, despite her unorthodox appearance, she is exceedingly efficient in her work. She made contact with Miss Von Kemp shortly before she met you. However, like you, Miss Von Kemp has proven particularly resourceful. While I do believe she is most definitely alive, probably not far from where we sit at this moment, I have no recent information on her whereabouts.”

"Now that’s out of your system, let’s go." Cassandra said with finality; looking down at Reya as she tossed her bag over her shoulder.

“Allow me to see you off from the helipad.”

The afternoon breeze gusted over the pad, pulling Reya’s hair towards the sea with the smell of minerals as she walked behind Cassandra’s purposeful stride. Despite the energy she had felt at the end of the conversation, she now felt completely drained and directionless, unsure if or how she would even begin to explain herself. Jerrard and Cassandra again exchanged pleasantries as she stood to the side next to the same cloaked acolyte that had greeted their arrival. Stiletto remained a step behind Jerrard and did not speak, but Reya could feel the eyes of the other woman.

“I want you to know that despite what you have learned today, you do not need to fear for the future.” Reya had been looking down and hadn’t even noticed the Precentor now standing in front of her, his hands clasped together in a gentlemanly presentation. She looked up and met his eyes, but felt empty towards anything else he could tell her.

“The Order has its… eccentricities,” He continued, his demeanor as calm and serene as it had been nearly the entire time. “But it has been very good to me in my life and it is a generosity that I only rarely get to extend. You have my word that I will ensure the Combine’s agents remain misled, even after you leave this planet.” He stopped, seeming to reflect on the small assembly around him, turning his glance towards the sky and the sparse clouds beginning to hue with orange and red. He took in a slow breath and then exhaled before turning back to her. “Our founder's intention was for knowledge and innovation to be preserved for humanity’s benefit. A budding young mind should not be crushed by dogma or politics, whatever path you choose, Miss Wyatt, should you desire, there would always be a place for you here.”

Reya’s countenance shifted in a shocked surprise and her mouth opened slightly at what she heard. Her eyes searched over towards Stiletto who glanced back expressionless then at the other faceless figures clad in their robes. She looked back down for a moment then shook her head slowly, lifting back her gaze back to him. “I- I could never leave the Knights, especially not now…I..”

Jerrard raised a hand to stop her, though he looked pleased with the answer. “Most assuredly. I understand, my child, I would be disappointed if you had made such a decision so easily,” He took the flower from his lapel and presented it to her. “This is my sigil, it will grant you access to this facility at any time, the sentries will summon me directly. Perhaps if fate again determines, we will see each other again. May the Peace of Blake go with you.”

The helicopter lifted off and Jerrard stood watching it climb into the evening with the sound of the rotors fading into the distance. “Inform Premier Federov I intend to declare the Crimson Fists to be an outlaw command, but do not transmit the message to the MRB. I want you to carefully monitor their communications thereafter. Their reaction is our real action and should disturb their true puppet masters.”

Stiletto bowed at the command, but hesitated before leaving.

“Speak your mind, my child.” He didn’t turn from watching the helicopter move further into the horizon.

“She would have thrived here with us.”

“Such a convert could never be taken against her will, she would only hate us. She must decide on her own. It is these times when we must have the same hope as the Progenitor. The stars and fate itself will see to her future.”

“Still, I know it pained you to watch her go.”

Jerrard watched the helicopter finally disappear from sight and his shoulders relaxed with a small sigh. “Verily, but such is the way of the universe... So many are called, but so precious few, are chosen.”

"You're still alive."

"Still alive," Ziska replied, running a hand through her sweat plastered hair. She closed her eyes and let the exhaustion tug at her body, pulling on the thin threads carried only by fading adrenaline.

Blood trickled along the edges of her lips. She had a new bruise. Several even. She had new cuts. And worst of all, she could have sworn her lips were chaffed from the heat of the cockpit. Ziska frowned. The bottle cradled in her arms felt suspiciously light. She suspected Witchcraft. Witchcraft, not just witchcraft. Ansi couldn't be trusted. Not when it came to matters of drinking.

Davids was uninvolved. The pair had left him fuming, swearing up a fresh storm of hatred as he stood in front of the battered RVN-3L she had returned to him. Sunther was too busy calculating, mapping out the damage, and measuring to care. He had a new task, another job to do. Licht had been crestfallen, Ziska thought that he might have cried had she not been there. Lyrans always had strange ideas about the chain of command. Kan and Minhas had been more worried about the weak flesh, the battered MechWarrior piloting the bird of prey. It would have been sweet if it wasn't so inconvenient. And so embarrassing.

She was alive. She was still alive. That was all that mattered.

"You were a bit too daring."

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta be."

"Tsk tsk, Ziska. Cutting it awfully close aren't you? Over and over again. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to prove something."

Ziska shook her head, irritation burning across her cheeks in a burst of red, "It's just math. A Hunchback and a Catapult. A medium and a heavy mech. 115 tons for 35. A battered Raven for two fresh BattleMechs. A good trade. An excellent bargain that any commander would be happy to make in any battle."

"Ah, but what about you? I'd have lost you, my dear friend. They'd have lost you. And your work has only just started. There's much for you to do here. I sense the merciful hand of Blake, blessed be his memory, in all of this. The prophet has not forgotten you."

"Thomas."

"Yes?"

"Shut up

"You wound me, Ziska. I came to congratulate you. You should be happy. You should be celebrating with your...ahhh friends."

"Somehow I don't think there's going to be much celebration."

"Tell me you aren't pleased? With all of this."

"Oh, I am. But they aren't. You think the Colonel wanted this? You think Ingrid was happy to lead a kill squad? Marit, mmm, she might not have minded as much as I thought she would. She's more mercenary than she seemed when Wayne hired her. Rivers is...Rivers. He's out of his fucking min-"

"He's playing his own game, a different game," Thomas interrupted, his grating laughter shaking Ziska's head. "Oh, do not be too harsh, dear Ziska. He has been dealt a poor hand and is locked in a gamble with stakes far higher than yours."

"Not my problem. Besides, you now how this is going to end Thomas. You always knew."

"Perhaps, but so did you."

"Yes."

---

"Ziska?"

The voice was familiar, and Ziska felt her senses returning. Slowly drifting back to baseline as she listened to the soft words. Stern, but not unkind. Calming somehow, despite the unwelcome context and the uncomfortable table.

A distant memory threatened at the edges of Ziska's awareness. A Long buried recollection. A week of R&R. A week that had turned into two weeks and then a month. Too much saké. Too many designer drugs. And all together, too much fun. Chu-i Matsumoto had been one of a kind, she mused. It was a shame things had ended like they did. Like they usually did for Ziska. Badly. And with a gun pointed at her. Several guns if she remembered correctly. They'd always have Solaris though. No one could take that from her. Not even Chu-i Matsumoto.

"Yeah."

"Who are you talking to?"

"No one."

"Right."

"So what's the damage this time, Doc? What do I owe you?"

"Ziska..."

"Don't hold out on me, Doc, the suspense is killing me."

Sitting down on a bar stool that the junkyard rats had helpfully provided for her makeshift office and surgical suite, Doc Nakajima sighed,"Another set of bruises. Moderate. Some cuts. You'll be fine. But you should really get some rest."

"No time for that Doc, I got places to be and people to see."

"You're exhausting, Ziska. You know that, right?"

"That's what they tell me, Doc, but help me up. I need to find my lance. There's a party. And best of all, they're all invited!"

The footpad of Jon’s Marauder came down firmly on the frozen body of one of the former Crimson Fist pilots. If there had been a way to articulate the reverse-jointed mech’s step to emulate grinding out a spent cigarette, he probably would have done it. How the man got there instead of dying in his cockpit, Jon didn’t really care. As he watched the crescendo of the Crimson Fists’ lance destruction, he reckoned the two mechs that fell when the Knights blasted the ancient stone bridge into rubble probably hit a decent velocity before they impacted the jagged rock below. It was fitting that their pilots were headed in the correct direction for their journey into the afterlife.

Unfortunately, his path was also cut off, which meant it would cost him about an hour to doubleback down the mountain and take the long way around before he could pick up another trail that would put him on the Knights’ path back to the tunnels. He waited momentarily as he recalled the path from memory simultaneously listening for the sound of some bad news that was yet missing. He glanced up, waiting, and after only a few seconds at a break in the clouds, caught a glimpse of the second Mechbuster already high enough to be pulling contrails behind its delta wing. “Shit.” He grumbled as its high afterburner finally echoed through the pass, nose pointed directly back towards Balya Gora.

Even though the presence of the aircraft had been unexpected, it still felt like a failure letting one escape, which as he watched the Knights depart for the second time since the dam, he remembered the Warhammer had got away as well. There was an urge to head back down the mountain and track it down, but he knew it would be a foolish attempt at this point and his instructions from Cassandra were to proceed to Uncle Mack’s once the mission concluded. Whether or not Cassandra had informed Colonel Wayne of this deviation was another matter, but that was above his pay grade. Sending those pukes straight to hell did carry a certain level of satisfaction that would be best enjoyed with a cigarette later.

Ossie’s torso and legs turned away from the remains of the battle like an animal that had lost interest. Jon briefly glanced at the main display mounted near his left knee to again verify his BattleROM had been recording. Zapping that Mechbuster mid turn had been a pretty slick shot and he was looking forward to rewatching that particular footage. He tapped a few commands to review the route to the scrapyard. He’d never been there, but at least it would be something somewhat similar to home; though he had heard a few rumors about the proprietors, they couldn’t be any worse than what he’d grown up with on the Periphery. He waggled the stick like he always did out of habit, checking the twist for slack and causing the mech to shake off a light dust of snow before heading back down the mountain.

She would’ve almost liked to stay, move a few hundred meters and ambush the Meteors, but that was just the combat high thinking for her. Before they turned to head for home, Marit managed to coax Archie’s arms into the best approximation of a shrug apology an Archer’s range of motion allowed, a nonverbal “sorry” for the bridge. Between his help on this sortie the fleeing fighter would probably report and Cassandra personally delivering Reya to the capital, Marit couldn’t imagine the lengths one would have to go to to make people think Cassandra was still a neutral party. Assuming that wasn’t a lack of creativity on her part - which admittedly was on the table, even she knew as much - they’d just cost him a detour with their grand finale. As much of a legend a Marauder was in the community, no one had made them fly yet. Well, not the original 75 tonner Jon was piloting, some madlads built a 100 ton version almost two decades ago that could jump, obviously, because overkill is underrated.

---

The adrenaline had hours to wash out of her system, but Marit was still riding the success high when she got out of the cockpit, renewed by the Techs demanding details before they got to work as soon as they learned there were no casualties. Even Rimmer looked happy, a sight so uncanny Marit made haste to make herself scarce for once. As she headed to their barracks to take whatever shower she could get, her gait bore some resemblance to the merry skipping of Jester’s Firestarter. After all, why shouldn’t she be in a good mood? Job well done and everyone was alive, despite some injuries, although she could vividly picture Ingrid holding a military funeral with full honors for the Ostroc’s lost arm, a mental image that only added fuel to her snickering. Maybe paint the new arm to look like it was in a cast, but she decided she wasn’t going to mention that in front of Ingrid just to be on the safe side.

She quickly tried to stifle her giggling as she was passing by Doc Yuri’s office as someone opened the door just as she was going past, with minimal success. Fortunately, Mr. Murphy had been looking elsewhere and it was not the doc. Not that she minded the woman, but getting pulled aside for a psych eval was not on the day’s schedule. If anything, the person in the door was the exact opposite of having to do anything with psychological assessments. ”Hey, Ziska! Back in one piece for a change?” Marit hollered with a broad grin on her face. ”You’re awesome by the way, have I told you that? When we liberate a suitable watering hole, remind me I owe you some drinks for today. The TAG was on point.”