((Collab with @AndyC .))

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."

”You’re making an awful lot of assumptions about your lancemates, Rivers,” Colonel Wayne responded, giving his old comrade a hard glare. “Having some gallows humor or responding to comms chatter isn’t the same thing as not caring about what’s going on. These are the same lancemates who risked their lives to save the South Nui Awa dam. That had the potential to make the massacre at Keahi look tame, and do you know how many civilians ended up KIA during the fighting there? Hell, do you know how many civilians have died as a direct result of any of the Green Knights on this deployment?”

The Colonel didn’t wait for River to answer. “Zero. That’s because we are not the Crimson Fists, and we are not some thrown-together band of bloody-minded sociopaths. Daschke, Tarak, Ziska, Saarinen, I didn’t hire them just because they can shoot straight. I hired them because I trusted that they could get the job done and get it done right. And so far, I haven’t been proven wrong about any of them.”

“Lately, though, I’ve been having my doubts about you, Raven,” Gaius continued, turning for a moment to gather himself. Experience aside, it was never easy to come down on a long-standing friend. “After your outburst during the supply raid, I was a hair’s breadth of pulling you from active duty. I might have done it, if we hadn’t been in such a desperate situation. Since then, you’ve had more than a few breaches of op-sec and comm-sec. And now you’re questioning the integrity of the people fighting alongside you.”

It wasn’t an easy thing to say, but the Colonel came out with it.

“You’re emotionally compromised,” he said. “I understand why, don’t get me wrong. But you’re too close to this one, and it’s causing you to lose your composure. It’s not wrong to care about the situation, or about our people. But if you get too wound up in your emotions, you’ll be at risk of becoming a liability.”

Raven nodded, and said, “Understandable. Then, in that case, it might be best if I request to be pulled away from active duty, assuming I am not as necessary as I used to be.”

He then followed up with, “I managed to rally myself in the Dam mission. But then this happened; I did my part to secure a win, but all victory brought was a slight boost and then I was empty again. But now I’m tired and weary of more than a decade of combat. Colonel… Old friend, we’ve fought against pirates and slavers and that damn Marian Hegemony and now there’s a new war, and then all this happened. And now my wife and son are lost and so are most of our civilian contingent and I - After this crisis is done, I’m quitting Piloting; if Andrew is still alive, he can have the Shadow Hawk, and if he is… Gone, Sunny, or any of the next generation can have it.”

Raven’s shoulders slumped down, his face slackened, and his head bowed down, all bravado collapsing as he said, “I’m out of gas.”

”Easy, Rivers,” Gaius responded, ”I said I was considering pulling you, not ordering it. We’re all tired, we’re all strung out, and we still have a goddamn army to fight our way through before our business is done here on Espia. But we’ve gotten three big wins against our enemies since the start of the coup, and plans for another one in the works. We’re going to get our people back. We’re going to put the rest of the Crimson Fists in the dirt, along with what’s left of the Heavenly Sword and Premier Federov if we can pull it off. And we’re going to see our business through to the end. Once that’s done, then we’ll discuss what role you want in the Knights, or if you want to go your own way.”

In truth, the Colonel had been getting worn thin himself. While their situation was far better than when they’d started, they were still a far cry from toppling the NPDRE, and the Crimson Fists still had them outnumbered two to one even without the entirety of the Espian Guards backing them up. If Federov, Malenkov, or the so-called ‘Crimson King’ managed to find their base and launch a coordinated attack, there wasn’t much the Green Knights could do from being wiped out. To say nothing of what he could do if their enemies decided to execute their hostages in Fort Tie Shan. Still, brooding about it wasn’t going to produce any solutions; the only way out was to push forward.

”I want you to talk to Doc Yuri about combat fatigue and follow her instructions,” Colonel Wayne said. ”Get some rest, clear your head. We’re still going to need you in the fights to come, but only once you’ve got your head back in the game. In the meantime, we’re going to get the Shadow Hawk repaired…and maybe give it some extra punch, depending on what those junkyard scrappers manage to salvage from our most recent kills.”

Raven could only look up and smile and say, “Done. I’ll hop to it at once; sorry for troubling you.”

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. I just have to wait.

The ride back was mostly quiet in the Merry-Go-Round. Sure, they’d scored a solid victory in the pass, but that was what Merry did, she won. The sideshow lance of Crimson Fists they had put down were just more tally marks to be scratched on the hull. Merry had clipped bigger game plenty of times, many of which the crew had long forgotten about. Takka drummed his fingers on the side of the column as he drove. He thought it was amusing how the mech jocks thought she needed to be “defended” because the Crusader was packing some inferno warheads. They didn’t need to be saved, particularly not by that bullet soaker Ramrod or crackpot pirate Ziska. At least Marit was easy to look at, but her boyfriend in the Marauder could eat a bag- they definitely didn’t need his help. His lip turned up indignantly as he thought about the rest of the Knights. Everyone wanted to throttle Raven, but the true subject of Takka’s ire was dancing merrily ahead in the Phoenix Hawk oblivious to the young ginger’s hateful stare. Jumping in the way of Merry’s gun barrel wasn’t healthy for most and that clown’s dimwitted interference was gonna cost him, just like it had cost Merry. By the time they had reached Uncle Mack’s, he had worked out what he was going to do and justified that whatever punishment came down as a result, was just going to be worth it. He grinded his teeth together in a lopsided grimace of restrained glee and sadism.

Right under his feet was the crew escape hatch. It had never been used because neither they nor Merry retreated from shit, but it had a bank vault style lever meant to be kicked by the driver in the event of a bail out. Making sure that the hatch was functional was part of his pre-op checklist as the driver, so he knew that it would work and as long as Merry was parked and completely shut down, no alarm would sound. As they crawled through the scrapyard out of the tunnel, he watched Tarak ease his mech into its assigned bay and where he normally would have pulled straight into the Von Luckner’s “reserved” space, he instead stopped and reversed in so Merry’s nose was pointed directly towards the mechbays. “Thought I felt a little vibration from the drive again, Cap.” He said to Aroxy over his shoulder, daintily engaging the tracks in the opposite direction and craning his neck at the backup camera like an old lady backing in a Rotunda at Discount Dan’s. “Just gonna park her so the tech pit has an easier time.” He heard Aroxy grunt a tired approval while Helma groaned at having to spend an extra minute inside. Ansel seemed to be nearly asleep. Everything was set.

As soon as he heard the main hatch creak and turn over with its usual thud against the hull, Takka jammed his boot against the emergency door lever, hiding its metallic release with the sound from overhead. As the rest of the crew wearily climbed out, he was already on his feet, sprinting like a shot across Uncle Mack’s. Like some feral creature, it had only taken him one or two seconds to bound out from under the tank and as they had drove along he had been quietly alternating his feet on the pedals, keeping them as stretched and limber as he could. He didn’t want to cramp up and now it was paying off. He wasn’t even tired and his feet carried him with a hate-fueled quickness that nearly surprised him. He could see Tarak and his entourage of misfits happily high-fiving and rejoicing in his return and he ran harder, leaning into it. Someone shouted and he could hear the attention shifting towards him, but it didn’t matter. He was nearly on top of them when one of Tarak's followers finally noticed him. The little girl was holding some ridiculous pink boombox, but in her shock at seeing him bearing down on top of her, she dropped it right in his path.

Unable to stop and running far too fast to avoid it, Takka desperately lifted his stride to clear the radio with his next step and he probably would have made it if it weren’t for the restriction of his heavy winter pants. His booted toe clipped the pink box just barely, but his second footfall clamored right over it, switching it on and sending him lunging directly into Tarak like a linebacker.

In a flurry of rabid cursing, sweat and spit...

The brawl was on.

And from one of Tarak’s cursed mixtapes, stuck inside, the volume jammed high from impact- The radio played…

"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."

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Marit," Ziska said, escaping Dr. Yuri's grasp in a sudden flurry of motion. Any sign of weariness or fresh pain vanished from her face in a heartbeat, as she focused all her thoughts on matters of merriment. She hadn't survived fighting off two heavier BattleMechs to die of boredom. Drinks. She wanted to drink. She wanted to party. And she wanted to...fight?

"But please, tell me more about how awesome I am, it has been too long since I received an appropriate measure of compliments, given my peerless reputation in this undoubtedly fine and heroic unit."

Matching Marit's step and avoiding the doctor's growing scowl, Ziska wrapped an arm good-naturedly over Marit's shoulder, taking small advantage in having to support less of her own weight, "Say...where is everyone else? We need some drinks to celebrate our successful mission, no?"

”Hel no, I won’t be responsible for that rising to your head. You want more, you gotta earn them. No freebies in our line of work.” Marit grinned, craning her neck back toward the Doc to give her a thumbs up behind the Raven driver’s back. Not that she expected to be able to keep Ziska from doing stupid things, but it was the thought that counted, right?

”Might even be some silver lining to losing your ‘Mech’s arm, now they get to mount the one from that salvaged Raven and you get to smack the Fire Witch with pieces of her own lance the next time she crawls out of her den.” Marit grinned, imagining the verbose war criminal seething.

”Think I saw Rivers heading to the Colonel’s shack? The rest probably went to get chow before the debriefing. Maybe a nap if-” She began to answer when a commotion from the ‘Mech bays’ direction loud enough to be heard made her pause. ”Vad fan? Sound like your kind of party?”

---

---

The Phoenix Hawk was scorched and burned, the once white and gray paint that covered the machine was now marked with black scorch marks on the back and across the armor. The machine whined and groaned as it had been put through much punishment that it was not ready to forget. Yet it carried on, finally into warmer pastures as the scrapyard that the Green Knights had taken up to be their base of operations was now in sight. Even though it was ram shack in comparison to the many more illustrious places the Green Knights had found themselves in before this entire endeavor. There was a faint feeling of comfort from it, at least it was not in some dark cave that could barely keep the heat in.

As the Phoenix Hawk finally moved into the scrapyard, the great machine seemed to sigh as it began to lean back into its' bay. the great machine almost looked to have slumped down once the reactor was shut down. The cool air began to warm quickly around the machine as it seemed to release all the stress it had accumulated within the past day. The man within the machine let out a sigh as he adjusted his helmet and began to gather his things before leaving the great machine.

Tarak took hold of his bag as he began to pass it through the hole where another person stood to take hold of it and pull it out before assisting Tarak with his own exit. His size has been an issue in several machines, often many had to be modified to fit him, and the Phoenix Hawk was no exception. Tarak shimmied his arm and shoulder through first, then his head, then his other shoulder and arm, shifting and switching till he was able to slip out far enough to finally yank himself free.

Once out, Tarak sighed and began to head down from the scaffolding, beginning to scratch at his neck as he began answering the off question here and there as he made his way down, but kept it light. It was not until he made it to ground level the itching stopped. Tarak's eyes flashed and flickered, he felt incredibly uneasy, this never happened to him before. The itching normally required him to go to great lengths to stop if not wait for it to subside after an hour. Yet in this moment, it was gone.

Then, Tarak felt what could be described as a baseball bat slam him directly in the stomach and bring him down to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Through gritted teeth and shock, he began to yell out himself as he took to defending himself before lashing out at his assailant.

Most of the Misfits were in shock, many watched in horror as they didn't even think something like this would happen, not now, not in the middle of a mech bay.

Yet some soon began to get their head wrapped around the situation.

Many stayed out, some assuming this was some misunderstanding or that one of them deserved what was to come.

Others instead brought themselves back and were not going to let it stand.

The music blared out louder and louder making it hard to tell who was yelling, or why.

"Think I saw Rivers heading to the Colonel’s shack? The rest probably went to get chow before the debriefing. Maybe a nap if-” She began to answer when a commotion from the ‘Mech bays’ direction loud enough to be heard made her pause. ”Vad fan? Sound like your kind of party?"

---

Ziska paused, leaning against Marit as she listened. Music blared, but it didn't sound like any normal sort of party. She heard grunting. She heard shouting. She heard crashing and smashing sounds. It sounded like battle. It sounded like fighting. Ziska knew the sounds well. She had fought her way across the dive bars of the Inner Sphere and Periphery. Pugilism had always been an outlet. A way to relieve the anger that she felt. The frustrations that gathered over the long, boring weeks of garrison duty. Fighting for their lives, had precious little time for R&R. And Ziska realized that she missed it.

Marit was right. It was a brawl. Exactly her sort of party. Ziska could feel her blood heating up. It was dumb, pointless even, to fight with friends and comrades. And yet, violence was often the solution, within the lance as outside of it.

Half dragging Marit, Ziska ambled forward with surprising speed, “Come on, Marit! Rivers and the Colonel can wait, we've a grand ball to attend, and we can't miss an invitation so kindly delivered.”

The scattered sea of swinging souls made identification difficult. Ziska didn't care. One enemy was as good as another. Laughing, Ziska shoved Marit gently away, ducking under a wild blow that sailed over her head from her left. Her hands rose in a flash and gone was any weariness that she had carried.

Her right hand measured the distance, darting forward and catching the bloodied astech over his cheek. He helped with pain, hurtling another desperate haymaker at Ziska. Dancing just out of range, she stepped back in and hammered her fist over his nose. Blood poured from his nose and the young man collapsed onto his knees, raising a hand fearfully, muttering something about giving up.

Ziska smiled, lightly patting him on the head, as if petting a favored dog. Engrossed in her theatrics, Ziska didn't see the bottle that crashed into her shoulder and the oil covered woman that followed.

Caught between her strong arms, Ziska sprawled, fighting to remain standing as she pulled and pushed her new foe towards the ground.

She saw another shape moving towards her and shouted to Marit, "Giggles, 2 o'clock, cover me!"

Raven Rivers

Raven was just headed outside, barely a few steps away from the Colonel's office, when the brawl broke out, a brawl between the Tankers and Tarak's own band of groupies for reasons he did not want to know about. Seriously, just because he lost his marbles did not mean everyone else had to lose theirs'!

He then commed the Colonel, saying, "I'm getting Colonel Dalton and as many Infantry as I can commandeer on short notice. This has to be nipped in the bud - I'll talk to Doc Yuri later after additional combat fatigue and injuries."

Before this entire war started, the Green Knights had been on garrison duty, putting down brawls and riots with the minimum of cruelty and heavy-handedness, unlike their Capellan paymasters. Raven had, before things went to hell, been a good soldier and this incident brought back some of his learned instincts. The moment he made contact with any squads of Infantry close to the brawl site/hangars, he would shout, "Cordon off the hangar bay! Repeat, cordon off the hangar bay! This is Pilot Rivers, requesting Sgt. Dalton and all Infantry to prepare for riot control; anyone with any experience as riot police is to step forward and help me restore order - We cannot allow this to spread!"

Raven knew no one respected him now that he was losing his edge, his sanity, and anything that made him 'serviceable'. But that was no reason for him not to try and do his part; he just had to remember his lessons and make the right call. No fancy gimmicks such as turning off the lights or using the sprinklers. He and Sgt. Dalton and any Infantry with riot police experience will form up around the edges of the mech bays, then begin the process of restoring order by slowly closing in, whatever improvised shields and blunt weapons they had up, and demanding that the riot be stopped 'In the Name of the Colonel'. If they had spare Anti-Riot weapons such as sticky foam, sound guns, or anything rescued from the initial escape from the Crimson Fists, those would be used.

He'd let Sgt. Dalton be the carrot to his stick as they put down the brawlers; let them hate, as long as they knew that there was still some fight left in him. Right now, Raven was going to resolve this swiftly, strongly, and with as little pain as he could bring.

"Stop this at once!" he'd only bark out once before working with the Infantry to put down (non-lethally) the brawling crews, which he realized were divided among partisan lines between Tank Crew and Mech Crew (and Pilots). Then he'd turn to Sgt. Dalton and say, "You're neutral in this and everyone respects you; what should we say to make them stop?"

@Abstract Proxy@Th3King0fChaos@Starlance@Pilatus

”Wait, hold up, let me catch up you magnificent lunatic.” Marit protested as she staggered after Ziska, surprised by the sudden shift from being weighed down to being dragged along. The scene that greeted them was about as could be expected if too many fighting folk live in tight quarters for too long. They could have at least saved the fighting for bad times when it was understandable. ”Is it so hard to simply bask in the victory and keep all your teeth? We should- What? Em- Ziska, NO! For Gods’ sake.” She should’ve anticipated that, that was on her. She jumped to the nearest person who wasn’t Ziska and tried to pull them away from the fight, not feeling like getting socked in the head by the madwoman in her blood haze. ”Save it for the Fists!”
“Here’s a fist.” Someone she didn’t recognize in the melee retorted and clocked her in the cheek.

Marit wasn’t good at fighting with her hands, as an oh-for-two score in the Scrap Yard illustrated. It was one thing to wield a bar stool like a bat to even out the odds when some spaceport worker was talking shit, but such tactics couldn’t be applied to the situation at hand because unlike the random peasants in a bar, broken ribs and noses were a concern here. Still, a hit like that did release some small reservoir of Viking blood into her system. Briefly seeing red and subconsciously noting Ziska’s callout, Ziska’s phrasing switching on the fighting autopilot in Marit’s mind, she took advantage of being grounded and latched onto the leg of her assailant, lifting it up and toppling him to clear a way for her to intercept Ziska’s oncoming problem with a blow to the gut followed up by an elbow to the back of the head.

In the corner of her vision she noticed a crowd of spectators assembling. ”Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast.” She replied to Rivers’ voice, earning herself another bite of a knuckle sandwich with a loud *clack* of her teeth for momentarily dropping her guard.

He hated the tunnels. Miles on miles of the Maruader’s lights painting the same picture of unremembered ferrocrete, cracked pavement and in some places, solid, mineral rock. Occasionally, he would pass a dingy sign or some graffiti, maybe even a stretch of warped railway. It was easy to remember, because there was nothing else to look at. A while back he thought he saw a mildewed SLDF banner painted in the corner of a large switchback and gave a huff of amusement before glancing down at the route plotter next to his leg as the meters continued to tick away slowly. Not a lot easily bothered him in the pilot seat during his career as mechwarrior, but these tunnels just didn’t agree with his blood. He could feel it in the controls as well. Ossie didn’t care for it at all. She was an open field hunter and these subterranean routes were nothing more than a narrow cage. Not that he was expecting to draw down on anyone while several stories below ground, but the monotony was nigh unbearable. Nothing to keep you sharp or weary, just walking and walking and unfortunately, plenty of time to think.

For a while he had thought about what he could have done had he gone back down the mountain and tracked the Warhammer that separated from the group. Cassandra had technically given him an “order” to follow the Green Knights back to Uncle Mack’s, but ultimately she wasn’t his commander, just his benefactor and he was pretty confident he could have justified his position particularly with bagging another mech. It had a head start, but the tracks showed clearly that it was wounded and its dragging stride was like blood in the water. He thought about it several times. That pilot was the last survivor of the massacre and he had let him slink away. Sure, that guy could have made it wherever he was going, but there was also a chance he didn’t. Then there was the Mechbusters. Jon knew he got pretty lucky with that initial snapshot, but sometimes he could just feel, even before it came out of the barrel, that it was a strike. That would be some BattleROM footage worth watching later. The one that got away though, was going to spell trouble. He failed that objective. There needed to be no survivors. Granted, no one even knew they were going to be there, but that was just how it went sometimes.

He thought about his dad most of all and it was hard going for a while as his thoughts darkened. Cassandra kept a private line open with Comstar, but there had still been no news, though he wondered if she found out anything on her visit today. She would have checked for him. She said as much. Cosmopolitan as she was, she kept her word. At present, he had more than enough saved from this job to settle up what was left of the debts, the family business and keep the farmland- He just had to give off this God-forsaken shithole planet. The FPA, the NPDRE, the Guard, the Crimson Fists… they could all do a flying backflip from the hotel office as far as he was concerned. He started to add the Green Knights to that list, but stopped short as again. Marit, as usual, was the first to drift through his mind. It felt like years since they’d met in the cave and then the raid on the dam, but that was just how war and fighting weighed on a man. He considered himself, now past the age of his dad when he was born and he wondered how his ancestors would see him as a man and as a warrior and he was never satisfied. Seventy-five ton steps pressed beneath him.

When the ramp for Uncle Mack’s came up, he got an odd feeling, like entering a room and finding a monitor unexpectedly turned on. The doors widened into the clear night sky above as the Maruader stepped up, the angle steep enough that he had to lift his chin slightly to look over the A-frame through the top of glass. Then he heard it: Shouts, screams and the unmistakable raucous of an excited gathering. The cockpit cleared the threshold and for a moment, he legitimately wondered if he had taken a wrong turn somehow, but no, there were the Knights’ mechs, surrounded by absolute bedlam, right at the foot of the Phoenix Hawk. “What in the fuck…” He murmured. His floodlights cast hard over the throng of chaos and Jon’s unseen face looked back in bewilderment as some shielded their eyes while others seemed completely uncaring or unaware. He looked around. Rivers was visible, mouth running, which was no surprise and again confirmed he was in the right place. Sgt Dalton was visible as well, along with a contingent of his platoon and appeared to have a man by the shirt collar in each hand tossing them around like pool toys. Jon shook his head and made ready for shut-down. It was beyond time for a cigarette.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if in reply to Daschke's demands, the loud blaring horn of a big-rig truck cut through the air, causing no small number of the crewmen to flinch.

"What's that?" Sunny asked from inside a hollowed-out clothes dryer, one of the dozens of hiding places she'd found in the scrapyard where she could watch the Mechwarriors without getting in the way. Pops, who had been keeping her far enough away that she didn't get caught in the brawl but close enough that he could still watch and take bets, grunted.

"Ol' Maxie wasn't kidding," Pops said as the rumbling of huge diesel engines grew into a dull roar, "His boys work quick."

After another blast of the horn, the gates to Uncle Mack's Scrapyard swung open, allowing in a small convoy. The scrappers themselves, still covered in dust and grime from digging through the debris of the Green Knights' battle, mostly rode in on smaller vehicles, dirtbikes and ATVs and buggies, hooting and yelling with triumphant excitement about the haul they'd brought in.

Following behind on a trio of flatbed trucks, was the haul itself.

As the fray in the makeshift Mech bays parted, Colonel Wayne emerged from the Mobile HQ, just as "Honest" Ollie Maxwell poked his head out from the cabin of the lead truck. "Good t'see ya agin, Mister Colonel Sir! We done brought in one helluva catch fer ya!"

"I'll be damned," the Colonel muttered as he approached the lead truck, and Ollie Maxwell clambered out onto the roof of the cabin, then began climbing on top of his prized salvage.

Strapped to the bed of the lead truck, battered and crushed but still in one piece (for the most part), was the Crimson Fists' Catapult. Somehow, though for the life of him Gaius couldn't have guessed how, Maxwell's pickers had managed to dig a 65-ton Battlemech out of the rubble and drag it out from the bottom of the mountain pass.

"Weren't easy, I can tell ya that fer sure," Ollie answered the Colonel's unspoken question, beaming proudly from atop the ruined Mech. "An' I do b'lieve my boys'll be entitled to some proper compensation fer our efforts. But hot damn if this ain't the best scrap we ever got! Reactor's intact, gyro's stable, mosta the in-ternal structure's holdin' up. All she really needs is a few patches here'n'ere, a fresh licka paint, an' spray out the cockpit with a hose, an' she'll be ready fer some action!"

"A total salvage," Pops said, letting out an impressed whistle. "I'll be dipped in shit."

"That's gross," Sunny remarked.

"Maxvell not onlee vonn viz great syalvage," piped in the big burly Marozov from the second truck. "Vee heff pulled as much vyaluwabul eqvipment and veapons from enemy byattulmyechs as vas vorth taking. Enough to fix Mechs, to repair dyamage, to customize Mechs how you vish! All at very reasonable prices, of course!"

Maxwell and Marozov's crews began unloading ton after ton of equipment picked over from the ruined Crimson Fists.

Several tons worth of Battlemech-quality armor, bundles of myomer fiber and actuators, pieces of Mech "bones," enough raw material that an experienced crew of Mech techs with the right equipment could patch up structural holes and even rebuild lost limbs. Pops saw plenty of spare engine and gyro parts in the mix as well, and his mind began turning thinking of ways to tune up the Green Knights' machines.

The haul of weaponry wasn't half bad, either. Partial salvage on a PPC and an LRM launcher, full salvage on pair of medium lasers, a flamer, two SRM launchers, even the massive autocannon from the Hunchback, with spare parts from the Mechbuster's cannon as well.

"Not bad, Mister Maxwell, not bad at all," Colonel Wayne said, clearly getting plenty of ideas of his own. "I want a full inventory of the salvage, and then we'll discuss the best way to split everything up. Chief!"

Deck Chief Sol Aadil, a wrench in one hand and someone's lapel still in the other, looked up. "Sir?"

"Coordinate with Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Marozov on where to store the salvage while we negotiate. Green Knights?"

Looking over the scene of the brawl, the Colonel scowled. "Since we don't have a functional brig to administer Level 1 disciplinary action at the moment, we'll have to make do with something more short-term, but which will still get the point across. Ten lashes for everyone involved, before the day is out. Dismissed."

As the crewmen involved in the fight sullenly began to line up, Sonny tugged on Pops' overalls.

"Why's the Colonel being so mean to them?" she asked. "I thought he was happy about getting all this stuff!"

"I'm sure he is," Pops nodded, "But he's got to keep the peace, even if that means being hard on the people under his command sometimes. Besides, sticking our Mechwarriors in some rusty shack for a week would kill our morale way more than a few welts and bruised egos. This way, they can take their licks for acting out of turn, then still get to celebrate their win after they're done."

"Awright, boys, git the hose an' let's open 'er up!" Maxwell shouted as he started to pry at the cockpit of the Catapult.

"Now c'mon, squirt, let's go find somethin' else to do for a bit," Pops said, pulling Sunny out from inside the hollowed-out dryer. "You don't need to be seeing what's in there."

She was about to swing when another crack was heard, not a part of the fighting but the sharp barking of sonic cracks followed by shouting. Turning to face the angry voice, in utter disbelief at what just happened. ”What by Odin’s ravens are you doing? Has no one taught you how to safely handle firearms, you maniac?!” The combination of discount berserker rage, blatant violation of gun safety and sudden onset tinnitus enough to get even the sunny-natured MechWarrior to fly off the handle. Not that she couldn't be expected to apologize for the outburst by breakfast except under extreme circumstances. But first and foremost, she simply didn’t see Ingrid’s threat being worth taking seriously in this situation. Even Takka, the apparent instigator of the brawl, wasn’t that batshit nuts, right? Right…?

But something kept tugging at her eyes. Something wasn’t right. It took Marit a second or two to figure it out, maybe on account of a pretty good haymaker she found herself on the receiving end of just before Ingrid’s non-negligent negligent discharge. But there it was. Despite standing some distance away, Marit was looking Ingrid in the face with her head level, not canted downwards. She started snickering at the sight, pointing the box out to Ziska.

Nevertheless, orders were orders and she took her place in the queue. Best to get it out of the way early, and maybe the pain would go away by the time she went to sleep. ”I ever tell you you can be hard to like sometimes?” She said to Ziska in the same tone someone complains they ran out of milk, a smile nevertheless creeping onto her face despite knowing how much the rest of the day would suck.

Distracted by the sight of the salvaged Catapult, Ziska had found herself thoughtlessly lining up next to Marit. Her eyes were still full of warmth as she tore her gaze away from the welcome sight of the recovered Heavy mech.

"Why, Giggles, I will have you know I am very likable, too likable. In fact, I believe you may be experiencing the early symptoms of infatuation."

Ziska laughed, making no effort to hide her humor. Fresh welts that would soon turn into bruises didn't matter. Another cut above her eye didn't matter. Her battered knuckles didn't matter. They were alive. Still Alive. And they would another Heavy mech to use.

Soon. Soon enough the Crimson Fists would be paying with more blood and more, much more steel.

"Besides, cheer up!" Ziska began pointing at the Catapult laid out on the bed of the truck as if momentarily resting.

"We've got a Catapult! A couple of lashes isn't gonna change that."

Reya Wyatt

“What in the fuck…” Cassandra proclaimed, looking out the window as the helicopter banked over Uncle Mack’s.

Reya glanced up. Being completely mentally exhausted, she was right on the edge of sleep, but couldn’t see from the opposing side of the cabin. In their short time together, she’d never heard Cassandra once utter anything remotely profane. The older woman seemed far too aristocratic for such language. The words seeped out as if her travel partner was both disgusted and somehow, not surprised. She didn’t say anything, having not uttered a word the whole trip from the Hyperpulse generator. Neither had Cassandra. Whatever it was hadn’t disturbed the flight path and the glow of the scrapyard floodlights grew around the windows as the pilot smoothly descended. Cassandra grumbled something else and rapidly hammered something on her datapad just as nose flared. Reya still couldn’t exactly see what was happening and was not in the spirits to take another verbal quip so she remained quiet until the pilot opened the door.

Cassandra immediately bounded after the Colonel and another person she remembered as Ollie Maxwell along with his scraggly work crew, but stopped as her harsh direction caught a glance of her mercenary smoking a cigarette at the food of his Marauder and her step seemed to lighten a bit. Reya glanced up at the pilot who merely shrugged as she stepped out. The commotion, whatever it had been, was still rampant in the air amidst shouted threats and pointed fingers, but she overlooked it and counted out the mechs: Phoenix Hawk, Archer, Raven, Ostroc, Shadow Hawk and then the imposing main gun of the Von Luckner was visible, angled up towards the night sky. She breathed an exhausted sigh of relief. They had at least all made it back, though a couple of them were badly mangled and her worry returned for Ingrid especially, but somehow she just knew Ziska would be too stubborn to die. It gave her a light smile in spite of everything. What in the world had been going on when they circled to land?

“Reeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyaaaaaa!” Sunny’s voice erupted. The girl seemingly emerged from a tunnel of household junk and tripped slightly as she bounded forward. Pops followed not far behind. Even though it was night, he still wore his sunglasses. Sunny jumped for Reya’s arms unexpectedly, nearly knocking her over, but she caught her and held her tightly as a moment of pure selenity washed over her at the child’s innocent embrace. Taking a deep breath, she held her tighter still only trying to savor the feeling for just a few more seconds. She had to wipe her eyes as Sunny leaned back, still in the crook of her arm. “No crying!” Sunny protested and patted Reya’s shoulders for emphasis. “Look! We got a Catapult!”

“I see that,” Reya replied, putting her other arm under Sunny to hold the girl’s weight. She was tired, but didn’t care. “Is everyone okay?"

“Ya, they just had a huge fight, though, Colonel says now they get lashes. I think I saw a tooth on the ground.”

“A fight? What?” Reya glanced at Pops.

“Boys will be boys, I s’pose.” Pops said, almost with a fatherly sense of amusement, looking over at the still unruly precession. Sergeant Dalton was busy separating what was left of the apparent sides. His massive arm pointed at someone like the barrel of an AC20 and silence followed. “Tarak did something to upset the tankers on the mountain and coming back alive just wasn’t enough. All full of piss and vinegar when they got here.”

Reya’s shoulders sank a bit at the mention of Tarak being the center of attention. “Oh no…” It was too dark and still far too many people were moving about for her to see him.

“Who gave you a flower?” Sunny said, looking down quizzically.

Reya’s eyes shifted down to the crisp white and red flower pinned to her dress. “Oh, the nice Precentor did, I think he’s gonna help us.” Even as soon as she said the words, she could sense the uneasiness in Pops’ glance at the Precentor’s mark. He didn’t say anything.

“Were they chanting at the microwave?”

Reya chuckled a little nervously. “Not exactly.”

Seeing the Colonel still preoccupied with Ollie for the moment, Reya very timidly approached Cassandra and stood to the side not wanting to face the Colonel on her own. She was talking to the Marauder pilot, Jon. Just like before in the cave, he seemed like this uncaring image of war and she didn’t trust him. Like many had said, if Cassandra told him to shoot the Knights in the back, he would do it without hesitation. She kept her glance away and crossed her arms. They were both going to need to see the Colonel together anyway and she waited for Cassandra to finish with him.

“...I always record the open freq, you never know when somebody might say somethin’ stupid. I heard some names when I was listening back through it on the way here.” Jon took a long pull at his cigarette and blew the smoke away from Cassandra. His mind played back through the recording and he wiped a hand over his face. “Stroheim... I think was one of’em. It’s on my ROMs.” He nodded towards the salvaged Catapult and the eager junkers giddily unrolling a firehose. “’Probly wanna get somebody to pull the radios before they hose that bastard out.”

Cassandra smiled approvingly, her red lipstick forming a sly grimace and she patted his cheek like she was petting the family dog. Her eyes cut back at Reya like a tag-a-long child. “Let’s go honey, you certainly have some explaining to do.”

The arrival of the salvage crew gave her just a small reason to pause her premeditated assault. It wasn't a murder, it wasn't going to be a murder, but the first person with a bruise on their face to backsass her was going to catch a few inches of iron into his or her jaw instead of a few millimeters of lead. Ingrid's taken that sort of corrective measure before. She came out a fine officer. What kind of military academy didn't beat their students every once in a while? Presumably a Free Worlds League one, which is why they'll never amount to anything.

"Of all the times to arrive..."

She felt little of the joy the others did over the recovered 'mech. That'd be someone else's day made, not hers. Her pistol raised back up to threaten the sky instead of the rioters, with Ingrid's temper briefly turning toward someone else instead. "I could have gone into the infantry if it weren't for the physical requirements," she snapped back at Marit, which was an indirect way of admitting she was too short to be considered for the cor, "and I know exactly what I'm doing!" She stepped off her box, keeping any comments about it similarly unsaid, then unloaded and ejected the remaining rounds. Stuffing the gun into her pants, she then...

...also took a spot in line. Shameful as it was, she considered herself as much of a participant as the others, and she'd take those strikes like a fucking champ. Even with a fractured collarbone! This ended up with her awkwardly standing behind Marit, and this lead to a bit of an unwise discussion.

"In a real military unit, my decision would've been seen as sound. SOMEONE has to break it up, regardless of cost."

Tarak fought like a madman even while being jumped and mounted. Some of the Misfits tried to break it up, others stepped away as they thought they would be punished if they got involved. The fighting was like a mosh pit that made it difficult to almost know who they might hit. Yet as a gunshot rang out, the fighting stopped. Tarak even stopped as he had just grabbed the little shit and nearly threw his rat ass.

There was only one thing to follow.

Back in Tarak's bunk area, he threw water over his back which only irritated his wound more, however, he wanted to clean the blood and sweat. He sighed as he began to wipe himself down and people began to cry out from the pain.

"Ah why were we hit!"

"We did nothing!"

"Quiet down, we take these because we are together".

"Maybe you were!"

"Hey stop yelling! Some of us are licking our wounds in peace!"

Tarak sighed as he began to stand up and made his way out to the common area to start talking with them. Tarak took a breath in and began to walk among them and tried to just talk to them to let them vent. Even though they were all adults and had been in fights before, disciplinary action of this nature was not something they were used to. For many of them, they thought they had left this type of stuff behind. However, after much of their ranting and complaining, many settled down, and some seemed to even forget the pain as they talked and laughed among each other.

As physical pain meant nothing when they had been given countless good news. They wiped out a lance of mechs, and retrieved countless pieces of material and equipment, with now Reya returned with some good news. A little pain with the pleasure made the good times feel better.

Tarak left the Misfits to their own devices, they had settled and now, he went to look for Reya. He wanted to talk to her directly about what had happened with her time. Also to make sure she knows he's fine, whatever that's worth.

NPDRE Forward Operating Base
North Nui Awa
1800 Hours
28 March, 3030

"What a goddamn mess," Jester 2 muttered to herself as she read the tactical debriefing on her noteputer, detailing the ambush at the Hiyan-Chia Mountain Pass. This operation was supposed to be easy; knock over a company of mercs who weren't expecting anything more than a few angry civvies, then keep the local yokels in line until the cavalry arrived. They had an army at their back, and the "resistance" groups they faced were a joke. Two thirds of Gawain's Green Knights had been wiped out in the initial coup, and they were supposed to be down to a single lance. The Knights were supposed to be on the way out.

So how the hell had they gotten the better of them twice now?

"Excuse me, sir?" the timid voice of one of the local AsTechs came from outside of her tent, with a light tapping on the front flap the closest equivalent to knocking.

"What is it?" Jester 2 growled.

"I, ah, was asked by Captain Albano to ask how long you and your Warhammer were planning to, erm, 'grace us with your presence' before you rejoined your Lance, and--"

The AsTech- a twentysomething blonde girl who always looked like she was trying to defuse a bomb when speaking to her- ducked with surprisingly fast reflexes as Jester 2's noteputer flew past where her head was a split-second before.

"I don't have a Lance anymore, you idiot," Jester 2 spat as she fumbled around inside her tent, looking for the full-face mask she wore to cover her identity from the people of Espia. When she finally managed to pull it over her face, she opened the tent flap and stared the AsTech down. "Haven't you read the reports?"

The ambush in the mountain pass had been a disaster. Stroheim-- or rather, "Yellow Jester"-- had gotten too lost in his gimmick, especially after they'd stomped that village. He was always a creep and an animal, but something had finally driven him fully looney. He led her Lance mates right into a trap, and rather than withdraw until backup could arrive, he'd charged in and gotten them all killed.

She didn't particularly like any of the other members of Jester Lance-- frankly, they'd all been assholes. Not that she was any better; she'd taken part in the carnage just as willingly as the rest of them. But that didn't make them any easier to get along with. She wouldn't be crying for 'Honk Honk' or 'Mister Dimples' or whatever other stupid names 'Jester' had given them. No, what got to her was the fact that if it weren't for her foot actuator acting up...she would've died right along with them.

"N-no, sir! I-I was told anything about your unit is n-need to know!"

"Well," she snarled, "What you need to know is that I'm waiting for Crimson King and Fire Witch to come here, so I can rendezvous with the other Crimson Fists."

The AsTech gulped. "Th-they're coming here?"

"They'll be here within 24 hours," she said, "And they're not going to like it if my Warhammer still has a busted foot actuator."

The blonde girl turned pale, and underneath her mask, Jester 2 grinned. Things might be getting out of hand, but it did make her feel a little better about herself to be able to make these indigs squirm.

"And whose responsibility is it to make sure that the Crimson King and the Fire Witch aren't upset about that foot actuator?" she said, twisting the proverbial knife a bit.

"...th-the maintenance te--"

"Yours," she snarled. "Which means if the repairs aren't done, then all of the repercussions of that are yours as well. Got that?"

"Y-yes, sir," the AsTech stammered.

"Now say it again. Whose job is it?" Jester 2 said, her hand wandering to the laser pistol by her nightstand.

"M-mine! Mine!" the AsTech all but screamed.

"Good, now go," she dismissed the shivering blonde. "And tell Captain Albano-- and use these exact words-- that if he has any more stupid fucking questions for his betters, he can take them up with the King."

The trembling AsTech ran from her tent, and Jester 2 laughed to herself. This 'masked villain' routine was ridiculous, but she did get a kick out of scaring people like this. She could see how Captain Humphr--that is, "Crimson King"-- and the others, could buy into this act.

"Mine...mine..." the girl kept muttering as she ran from the masked mercenary's tent. Tears flecked the corners of her eyes, and a few of the other techs sneered cruelly as she ran past.

Whoever this Mechwarrior was, she was just as much of a psychopath as the stories all said...

"...mine....mine...."

....which meant that she was going to sleep easy when the time came to kill her.

"....mine....mine...."

Since coming to North Nui Awa, the woman in the dirty faded jumpsuit had been any number of things. She'd been a hungry refugee, trying to escape the horrors of the conflict. She'd been a ditzy party girl, looking for some thrills with a hot young man in uniform. She'd been a desperate out-of-work wrench monkey who would do any job for a paycheck. And when backs were turned and guards were down, she'd been making quite a mess.

"....mine....mine...."

Killing NPDRE soldiers and officers had become almost second nature to her now, getting her the supplies she'd needed to escape Baliya Gora, the food and money to survive in a strange city, and eventually the credentials to get onto the NPDRE forward operating base without drawing attention to herself.

She was getting closer and closer to her ultimate target, but it wasn't going to be easy.

"....mine....mine...."

She was thankful that the Crimson Fist Mechwarrior always wore a full-face mask. And that she was close enough to her size that she could pass for her once she put on the flight suit. But it wasn't going to be a simple matter of jumping into the cockpit and strolling away.

There was a long list of checks and procedures that had to be followed. Security measures she'd need to overcome. The Neurohelmet itself was almost certainly neuro-locked to 'Jester 2,' so anyone else putting it on would likely have their brain fried. These were problems, but none were insurmountable. Just like she'd done back on Von Strang's world, if she couldn't figure out a problem herself, she had all sorts of ways to pressure the people who did know to do it for her.

"....mine....mine...."

Lena Von Kemp, 'Wrathchild' of Gawain's Green Knights, slowed her run to the collection of gantries and cranes that made the makeshift Mech bay. Pretending to be rattled and out of breath, she told the other Mech techs to double their efforts, overriding any and all security protocols if need be. When the chief tech asked who she thought she was, using the name of the Fire Witch scared him into compliance.

That itself was a bitter pill for her, since she'd learned the Fire Witch was in the Longbow that had killed her own Wolverine during the coup. But Lena would make sure that both she and this so-called 'Crimson King' would get what's coming to them.

She looked up at the 70-ton Warhammer, and while frightened and breathless on the outside, on the inside Wrathchild was hungry.

Mine.

Raven Rivers

Ten lashes should not have cleared his head.

If he had been Andrew, he'd have bounced back and forth between blaming literally everyone but himself, then blaming himself and mentaly self-flagellating. But he wasn't his son; he was not a haugthy, over-ambitious child who had not learned contentment with what he had.

So as he recuperated from the ten lashes in his new quarters, Raven seriously began to rethink and reflect upon his behavior so far, and found it wanting. He hated to admit it, but he was out-of-character; loony and incompetent. Well, except on the battlefield; despite him breaking opsec and a number of communications offenses, he still scored a number of hits against the Crimson Fists - That cannot be taken away from him.

Pain had eliminated his emotional distractions; it should not have taken that extreme to do so, but it did, anyway. Now that his mind was clear, Raven did not focus on his damaged ties with the other members of his Lance and his Captain, nor the fact that his family was in the hands of the enemy like everyone else's. No, what he focused on was winning.

They had turned the tide, humiliated the Crimson Fists and their paymasters, the NRPDE. The FPA should be considering flocking to them, because there was no other way for their resistance to win, no other way for them to achieve their dreams. So all they had to do was wait for cooler heads who had not been taken in by the NRPDE/Crimson Fists' deceptions to prevail and they can do this. At the end of the day, in this universe, the real monsters got what was coming to them, one way or another.

But to do that, he had to give up on rebuilding bridges with the rest of the group - Not because he had stopped liking them, but because those bridges would rebuild themselves if he just focused on the job. Victory allowed many grievances to be forgiven. And victory will allow his family to be rescued or avenged much sooner than if he spent his time moping about them, too.

So Raven focused on winning. On planning to make the best use of his Shadow Hawk and its suite of weaponry that he knew like the back of his own two hands. He loved its missiles, its autocannon, though even to this day he couldn't quite grasp how optimally to use his machine's lasers. So he had to double down on his missiles and other comfortable physical weaponry... Or actually learn the best usage of energy weapons...

People's Memorial Park (Formerly Xiu Springs Park)
Balya Gora
0900 Hours
29 March, 3030



"People of Espia," Grand General Nikolai Malenkov bellowed, his voice amplified through speakers throughout the park, "you have come here today to witness the People's Justice in action! Today, we bring judgment to enemies of the revolution, to enemies of the people! Today, we deal with those who spread chaos and terror, who spread lies and misinformation! Today, the will of Espia will be done!"

A throng of angry voices roared, thousands of the Espian capital's citizens shouting and pumping their fists in the air. Many had been all too willing to believe Malenkov's bluster, having suffered long under the previous government and wanted a change. Many shouted just to shout, to have some outlet for their rage and their frustration, and didn't care who was suffering now as long as it wasn't them. Many more, however, cheered because they knew the consequences of not cheering. Better to be a spectator of what was about to happen, than to be an unwilling participant.

"Comrades!" Malenkov called to the black-clad officers of Minister Ilyanovich's secret police, standing just to the side of the stage. "Bring forth the enemies of the people!"

As the angry, hungry masses shouted and jeered, a paunchy man with a receding hairline was dragged onto the stage. The prisoner did his best to put on a brave face, all defiance and indignation, until a guard struck him roughly in the gut with the butt of his rifle. He let out a somewhat nasal wail as he collapsed to his knees, drawing another roar from the crowd.

"Jeremy Soo-Won," the Grand General addressed his victim without looking at him, "You have been accused of spreading anti-revolutionary lies and propaganda. How do you plead?"

"This is lunacy!" Soo-Won protested. "I-I'm a news reporter! All I did was report ComStar's message about the--"

A second guard kicked the reporter in the teeth, and Soo-Won cried out, clutching his hands over his mouth. After a few seconds, blood visibly trickled from his fingers.

"You admit to perpetuating a dangerous and anti-revolutionary conspiracy theory," Malenkov pressed, "started by members of the Blakist cult, suggesting that the massacre at the Keahi Township was not perpetrated by the vicious and evil sell-swords the Green Knights, but by our own gallant allies the Crimson Fists in disguise! This notion is not only ridiculous on its face, but makes radical insinuations about the People's allies, and by extension the People themselves! By admitting to this deception, you are an enemy of the People!"

Jeremy Soo-Won was pulled from the center of the stage, taken a few paces back and to the side, where another pair of black-clad secret police officers were waiting for them. Soo-Won's face went white when he noticed there was a large tarp covering the floor where he had been set down, and the tarp already had a collection of dark brown-red stains.

Another victim was brought forward, a young olive-skinned woman with a buzzed haircut, and a wad of gauze taped over one eye.

"Regina Molokovich," Malenkov rattled off her name, "You are accused of using a stolen IndustrialMech, converted into a weapon of terror, and firing upon soldiers of the Espian Guard. How do you plead?"

Molokovich scowled defiantly and spat at Malenkov. While the wad of saliva fell short of the target, the message was clear. The two soldiers that had brought her to the stage quickly descended upon her with a flurry of boots and rifle butts, making sure not to hit her head and end the entertainment too early. Once she had been brought low, they dragged her to the back of the stage next to Soo-Won.

This brought a decidedly mixed reaction from the crowd. Many shouted all the louder, their rage brought to a fever pitch. Others turned their heads and looked away.

"Kai Li Hu," Malenkov addressed the next prisoner as if nothing had happened, "you are accused of aiding and abetting the radical terrorist organization known as the Heavenly Sword, a cult of zealots who would see our world and our People brought back under the oppressive yoke of House Liao. How do you plead?"

"Glory to the Celestial Throne!" Li Hu shouted with fanatical vigor. "Premier Federov is a false ruler, and you are a blustering puppet! Only the guiding hand of Heaven can--"

Like the others, Kai Li Hu was silenced by the heavy-handed guards. This time, the crowd was united in its cheering. While many have secretly harbored sympathies for the Free People's Army, no sane person on the planet had any love for the Heavenly Sword.

One by one, more prisoners were dragged before the mob, and their alleged crimes against the people read aloud. FPA soldiers and sympathizers, teachers and academics who promoted 'anti-revolutionary thinking,' workers caught slacking on their shifts, neighbors who had been reported for not reciting the Pledge of the People's Loyalty during morning reveille or evening curfew. Even a few actual criminals sprinkled in here and there, just to keep the crowd's righteous fury stoked.

This was not merely a public execution. In fact, many of the people brought to this stage would live...but only after they had been thoroughly broken. This was a "struggle session," a political ritual first popularized on ancient Terra in the twentieth century. Rather than merely being shot or hanged, these prisoners were to be humiliated, beaten, subjected to all manner of horrors until they confessed to their crimes, until they swore true loyalty to Federov's rightful rule, or until they died.

The secret police would begin their punishments, but soon after, members of the crowd would be allowed to join in, then people close to the prisoners. It wasn't uncommon for students to turn against their teachers, husbands to betray their wives, children to turn against their parents, and vice versa.

Under Federov's watch, with Malenkov's iron fist bearing down on the people and Ilyanovich's secret police in the shadows, Balaya Gora had become a veritable hell, where fear and paranoia reigned supreme. And too many people had come to believe that the only way to survive in hell was to behave as devils.

Malenkov stepped from the podium, moving to the far right of the stage and stepping onto the tread of the massive tank they had brought out for this ceremony. A hulking beast with a rounded, dome-like turret sporting a pair of wide-bore cannons, the Demolisher was one of many new toys the Espian Guard's benefactor had so generously given them. This was a tank that could kill assault Mechs, and Malenkov had promised to ride it into battle against the Green Knights, and any other 'enemies of the People' he could imagine.

The Grand General waved to the roaring crowd, ready to let the struggle session begin in earnest. He knew most of them hated him, would cry for joy and relief if he died. But as long as he fed them "enemies of the people," they would fear him more than they hated him, and in time, would convince themselves that they loved him.

"People of Espia," he shouted as they rose to a crescendo, "Let the People's Justice be done!"

---

Temporary Headquarters of the Free People's Army
Abandoned Metro Station, underneath the corner of 41st and Mayfly
South Nui Awa
0930 Hours
29 March, 3030



"You're sure this is real?" Councilor Maria Kang asked, watching again the footage of a Hunchback in Green Knights' livery being gunned down by a lance of mechs flying the same colors.

"As sure as we can be," Captain Ryan Taggert answered. "This was delivered to us by our contact within the ComStar compound. We can't find any trace of digital tampering, and our contact promises it's the raw BattleROM footage."

"Of course, we all know how much a promise from ComStar is worth," Commander Suraj Patel remarked. A former Free Worlder, his people had had a long and turbulent history with the Blakists. "We must remember that information control is their lifeblood; believe nothing they tell you, and only half of what they show you."

"If that's the case," Kang mused, "then the original footage of the Keahi Township massacre should be called into question even more. Taggert, tell our contact that the meeting is back on."

"Consider it done," Taggert said. When the news of the massacre first broke, various cells of the FPA were thrown into chaos. Before, many had been pushing to find and recruit the surviving members of Gawain's Green Knights, but were now calling for their blood. ComStar's supposed revelation of a frame-job had calmed some of that, but many still weren't sure what to believe.

"This is not something we should take lightly, Madam Councilor," Patel said.

"Agreed," Kang nodded, "that's why we're not making any promises or signing any deals. Just meeting with the Knights, making sure they're above board."

"I seem to remember Gawain's Green Knights on Governor Xiu's payroll," Patel mused. "Using mercenaries who were in the pocket of our previous oppressors will not go over well."

"The Knights were on Xiu's payroll, but they weren't part of Xiu's regime," Taggert countered. "All reports we have of their actions before the coup were clean. The only civilian casualties on their record were caused by Espian Guard troops working with the Knights, not by the Knights themselves."

"You think we can trust them?"

Taggert considered his answer carefully. "I think we can deal with them. More importantly, I think we can't afford not to deal with them, and they can't afford not to deal with us. We have supply lines they need, logistical support. We have infantry, artillery, and armor we can offer. They have heavy Battlemechs-- and let's not forget, if Stiletto is correct about the after-action reports at the Nui Awa Dam, they have a nuke."

That last part hung heavy over the three de facto leaders of the FPA. A weapon of mass destruction, even a low-yield one, could swing the tide of the war if put in the right place at the right time. It could also leave a stain on their souls forever if things went wrong.

"We need to end this war," Kang stated, "and the Green Knights are our best shot at doing it. I want to meet them face-to-face within 24 hours."

---

Maintenance Sub-Level
Fort Tie Shan
1200 Hours
29 March, 3030

"Hello?" Diego von Kemp called out, his voice echoing down the long, dark corridors. "Is anyone here?"

Diego had gotten into it with one of the older kids, the ones who had come in after them and didn't have parents. They'd grouped together into little gangs, and while Miss Sally and the other grown-ups tried to keep them in line, when the adults weren't looking, the big kids would find any excuse to torment the younger kids like him. This time, during the mid-day recreation break in the yard, he'd stood up for himself and given one of the boys a bloody nose. They hadn't liked that, so they chased him around the yard, threatening to beat his face in.

"Hello-o-o-o?" he tried again, this time more for the fun of making his voice echo than for any actual hope of being heard.

The guards didn't pay much attention to the kids in the fort; they were more interested in keeping the grown-ups from "getting any funny ideas." It was easier than he'd thought to slip out of the yard when the guards weren't looking, but his pursuers got past them just as easily. He knew better than to run down the main halls; another guard would catch him, send him back to the yard, maybe give him a backhand for annoying them. He'd tried to hide in a janitor's closet, but found out it was actually a hatch for a maintenance tunnel, one that led down and down further into the prison.

When Diego heard the older boys also climbing into the tunnels, he kept running, going down until he no longer heard their voices. He had no idea where he was, other than it was somewhere way down, and somewhere too dark.

"Whoa," Diego said to no one as he rounded a corner, the small, narrow maintenance tunnel suddenly becoming a catwalk. The catwalk was old, rickety, and creaked when Diego stepped on it. His foot caught a loose screw and rolled it off, and it was a couple of seconds before Diego heard it hit the ground. Wherever he was now, he was on the top part of some big room, and it was a long drop if the catwalk broke.

Every rational part of his brain, every sensible bone in his body, told him to head back, to find his way back upstairs before the guards noticed he was missing.

The part of him that had crawled around in forgotten mine shafts on Strang's World, the part of him that wanted to know every dark nook and cranny to hide from bullies or sneak up on his sisters, had to know where this led.

Slowly, carefully, Diego inched himself along in the dark, praying to find a light switch somewhere at the other end of the catwalk. He didn't know how long it took, stopping himself short every time the old metal structure creaked, moaned, or shuddered. Eventually, however, he reached the end of catwalk, finding a dusty metal wall, and he clumsily groped for a light with every slow, deliberate step he took.

Finally, after what felt like hours of fumbling in the blackness, he found a heavy switch, and flipped it.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with an angry buzz, a handful of service lights flickered on. They were dull and dim, and most could only manage a few seconds of illumination before flickering back out, but what Diego could see made his jaw drop.

This was a loading bay. A big one, like the one on the Clover. People could move all sorts of stuff in a room this big, maybe even Mechs.

At the far end of the bay, Diego saw a pair of huge sliding doors, cracked partway open. And again, he had to know what was on the other side.

Diego slowly crept along the scaffolding, holding onto the railing whenever it looked strong enough to support him, flattening against the wall where it looked dangerous. He reached a ladder well and began climbing down, cursing when he realized the ladder didn't reach all the way down. There was a good five foot drop onto a hard floor, and Diego thought about his choices.

He could climb back up and find another way to the floor. He could head back up and hope he didn't get in too much trouble. Or he could let go at the bottom of the ladder, and risk really hurting himself.

At the bottom of his climb, Diego took a deep breath...and let go of the ladder.

He managed to land on his feet, but his legs gave out underneath him and he quickly crumpled to his back. Diego groaned painfully for a moment, quickly checked to make sure his arms and legs weren't broken, then with the confident sense of invincibility only afforded to children who don't know how fragile they are, he picked himself up and approached the enormous doors.

Why is there a loading bay so far underground? he wondered to himself. What kind of stuff were they moving down here?

When another service light flickered by him, casting a long shadow against a distant wall, Diego got a better sense for how big this place was, and how much trouble he could be in. Maybe the guards or the big kids wouldn't find him, and something else down here would...

He was ten years old, too old to believe in monsters and bogeymen. But he'd heard Pops tell stories of huge animals on some of the alien planets he'd visited. Big crab-like things that lived down in the bottom of the ocean. Winged lizards so big, you could ride them. Worms that dug through the ground and left tunnels you could drive a train through.

His imagination running wild, Diego began to tremble, but he kept moving forward, one careful step after another, until finally he reached the doors.

They were gigantic, easily big enough to fit a Mech through. And while they were mostly closed, 'mostly' at that size meant still more than enough room for him to peer through.

Diego poked his head through the enormous bay doors, and saw a sign. Dimly lit by the service lights, he could barely read it, but the sign was in plain English.

WARNING!

ACCESS TUNNEL 033

UNDER MAINTENANCE

DO NOT ENTER

At the bottom of the sign, Diego saw something that made him gasp: an eight-pointed star, the point on the right side elongated to make the star look almost like an overturned kite. In his old copy of Doctor Banzai's Primer for Elementary History, that logo was the sign of the Star League.

A few more ancient Star League service lights flickered in the distance, showing him a tunnel that stretched on and on into the distance.

"Oh wow," was all he could manage. He'd heard Miss Sally and Miss Cynthia arguing about what they were going to do, what if the guards decided to start hurting them, how they might get out.

This might be the answer they were looking for. He had to get back up to the top levels, to tell Miss Sally what he'd found...

...that is, as long as he could find a way back up off of this floor...

Collab between @Letter Bee and @Starlance.

Flashback

Marit went straight from one queue to another, from lining up for ten lashes to lining up for disinfection and verbal lashing from Doc Yuri. All for want of a shower, which was still on the schedule and now with an increased priority. She hung back in the queue a little bit as her previous position would place her behind her roommate, an astech Marit didn’t remember which ‘Mech she was assigned to, but she vividly remembered decking the smaller woman. Best let her cool off first. Her new place put her directly behind another victim of splash damage. ”You too, huh?” She asked Family Man in the same tone someone casually comments on the weather.

Raven Rivers nodded at that, having already put his shirt back on after disinfection, carefully looking away from Marit because he was a married man, damnit. He then responded, “Probably what I needed to clear my head.”

Leveraging the fact that he was the older person here, he would request, “I should probably wait till you shower for us to talk; practical reasons. That said, the Colonel called me out on my skewed priorities earlier; we agreed that once this is over, retiring is an option for me.”

He smiled faintly, even though Marit would not be able to see it, “Let’s talk in the cafeteria in an hour and fifteen minutes; I need to gather my thoughts in my quarters. Assuming you want to, of course.”

”Works for me. Win like this calls for a celebration anyway.” Just not like this. Whatever Ziska thought, this was not the way to go about it.

Present time

Marit sat down with a cup in front of her, looking at it like a holy relic. Coffee. It was terrible, but it was available. Beggars can’t be choosers. Improvement or not, they were still squatting in a junkyard. ”That was needed to clear your head? Ever heard of hobbies?” She joked, taking a sip of the life-giving liquid and burning her tongue. Probably a blessing, given the coffee’s taste.

Raven mused as he sipped his own cup, “I cook when I have supplies and Katrina isn’t the one doing it; I love cooking but… We’re currently in a crisis - I can’t spend my time cooking when we have a campaign to win and a people to rescue from liars and bullshitmongers who dared to wear our face and use my voice without my consent.”

As quickly as the anger spiked, it faded to be replaced by relaxation, a breath that signaled that he was letting go, and he spoke, “But to be honest, I do need hobbies; I can’t think of war all the time.”

Tilting his head slightly towards her, Raven asked, “So, what about you? What do you do to pass the time? With me, it was doing household chores with Katrina together and listening to Andrew boast about his ambitions and how he was going to earn us all a Noble’s landhold…”

Marit choked back her coffee. ”Gotta start small, right?” Not that her family and entire mercenary company’s generational dream of free Rasalhague wasn’t the exact same one-in-trillion pipe dream. ”These days it’s mostly cards. Not much else you can do with what we have available, certainly haven’t seen any backgammon boards laying around. I’ve started pestering my techs about Archie a while before the shitshow really kicked off. Might as well know what’s under me.
But you’re right, can’t think about work all the time. Blessed be us rookies, I just go where the Colonel tells me and do what Ingrid says while there.” On the other hand, keeping his mind on the job could be a good distraction if not taken too far. That was how radio outbursts happen. ”That, and I like to imagine the Fists' faces when they get the news about our recent stunt. Would love to be a fly on that wall.
Wondering what’s next. Feels like we’re coming out of the shadows a little with ComStar clearing us.”

Raven smiled, one of the first times he had done so since this entire crisis started and said, “Greatness or death or both; not to sound like Andrew, but we’ve got something good here - A story that has reached a point where even total and complete failure would be so epic, people will be talking about it as far as, well, Rasalhague for at least a decade. The Captain is a fanboy of the Eridani Light Horse; there’s a non-zero chance they’d be reading about what we do today in Espia… If we do things right.”

He grinned, showing his teeth, “And if we do things super-right and win, then keep fighting, then the sky is the limit.”

”You and I have vastly different definitions of ‘good’. ‘Better than before’ we can talk about.” She returned the smile, ”I suppose if one has to die, it’s better to burn out than to fizzle away, just in case mom’s right.” Hel sounded like a boring afterlife.

”But we’ve got a good hand on the big-picture controls, or hand-and-a-half, and minor character defects aside, if Ingrid told me she had a plan to walk across the sea, I’d at least hear her out. I’m not worried about us.” The Colonel hasn’t put a foot wrong yet, and despite some setbacks, a very good backer just fell into their lap on her own. Add on top the fact that they’ve just reduced the expected Crimson Fists strength by a third and marit was feeling pretty confident if their sole goal was to get their people, liberate a ship and get the fuck off Espia. It was that which worried her. The folks in Tie Shan and biting off more than they could chew.

A nod as Raven’s smile held, as he responded, “We technically don’t have any responsibility towards the people here. Technically. After all, we’re not friends, maybe even less than that. One wrong step and we’d even be enemies. Nor is it our job to ensure that every petty tyrant and inhumane despot gets their just deserts.”

The implications of that statement, his specific phrasing, were given a few seconds to settle before the middle-aged soldier said, “Nevertheless, I feel uncomfortable leaving an enemy behind our rear and a people who’d resent us as catspaws of the Capellans who added to our offense by being cowards who left them to be crushed by someone who is our enemy anyway. Add that to the fact that the Crimson Fists and Heavenly Sword are backed by forces from outside that we do not know the full details of, and could potentially give those assholes reach beyond this planet, so I think it’s best we don’t leave any loose ends.”

He then mused, “That, and I want to make sure no one uses my voice for a frame-up ever again…”

”Do we want to piss off mysterious puppeteers by messing with their evil plans more than we need to?” Marit countered with the opposite viewpoint, ”As far as I know, their problem with us - before we embarrassed them, that is - was that we were in the way. And the Heavenly Sword hates us because we understand economics and they don’t, but they’re a non-concern. If we don’t put them in the dirt, whoever is pulling the strings behind this will as soon as they don’t need them.” People like that were not a good thing to have on a planet you have plans for. ”As for the locals? They already hate us. Not that I can blame them. But they want our ‘Mechs, not us. If there are any FPA left alive and able to resist after Portveyn went up in flames. Lesson in decentralizing I guess. So does it matter how much they don’t like us?” She shrugged.

Raven closed his eyes and pursed his lips, as if to give it deep thought. He then opened them and said, “I know this won’t earn me any fans from you or them, but it does to me. I know they probably hate my guts because my voice was used by the people who killed their kin, as well as other offenses, but we’re not the sort of mercs without a conscience; the Colonel won’t be proud of us if we were. We’re not saving them out of affection or pity or because we don’t hate back - I don’t yet, but it’s a possibility - we’re saving them because it’s the right thing to do, it leaves us with a secure rear and one less dedicated foe who is petty enough to pursue us to the death because we embarrassed them, and because I do not envision the Colonel as someone who wants a guilty conscience or loose ends.”

He then sighed, “I was a founding member of the Green Knights, and before that, I fought beside the Colonel as part of the FedSuns during the Third Succession War. We decided to be mercs not for the money but because the Kell Hounds were better and more honorable warriors than even our own professional troops. Our Colonel has earned his reputation by being the very opposite of an opportunistic coward or someone who does not clean up after himself. So if one argument does not appeal, the other, more pragmatic one should.”

”There’s some good arguments there, I’ll give you that.” She concurred. Yes, the main reason she was there was because the Colonel took a chance on someone with a blank CV, but the main reason she approached the Green Knights was their reputation. ”On the other hand, I was raised to look after my own people first. Everyone else is just a welcome bonus. Would it be nice if we could help? Of course it would. After our people have been taken care of.” Marit was one of the lucky ones, ‘only’ having friends in Tie Shan, not family, but that didn’t change the fact that if something happened to them while the free Knights were off solving other peoples’ problems, that would be a hard one to live with. Not that she was about to bring that up directly, Raven needed everything but being reminded of that.

”Either way we’ll need to clean up around here at least a little bit, whether for us or for them.” She shrugged. The time to be allowed to leave, if there ever was one, was three missions and a few weeks gone. ”Good thing we got some new gear, even if the salvage is going to cost us an arm and a leg. You thinking of any upgrades?”

Raven smiled again, responding with, “A PPC; retooling my Shadow Hawk into that sniper model.”

Then he followed up with, “As for what you said earlier, how else can we bust open Fort Tie Shan and get our friends and families out if not by getting help? As it is, it’s local help that’s already getting us our upgrades, isn’t it?”

A pause before he continued, “Confession to make, I actually complained to the Colonel about how the rest of you seemed to be callous about the locals and their plight. He told me to have faith in you guys, that he recruited you all because he recruits people who are not sociopaths. To be honest… You convinced me he’s right and that I should have faith in you all. More to the point, I should have talked it over instead of assuming.”

”We have our moments.” Marit smiled before turning back to look where Tarak’s Phoenix Hawk was towering above the scrap piles, ”Ignore that.” They had those moments, too. ”Don’t suppose the Colonel shared any plans for the future while you were there, did he?”

Raven grinned at the memory as he shared what he remembered, “We’re ‘seeing this through to the end’, he said. And putting the Crimson Fists, Federov, and the Heavenly Sword’s remnants in the dirt, too. Also getting our people back. Quite frankly, I’ll do my best to do all three. And once we’ve done it… Want to continue to talk once I retire to civilian life and before the Colonel gets us a landhold?”

His smile held as he sipped his coffee.

”Depends on the ComStar prices.” She joked, ”Looks like they like us so far, there’s hope yet.”

END