Pilatus

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Sgt Dalton & The 'Boys

Sgt Dalton looked around. His hard glance scanning like a sensor pack on a mech. The ‘Boys were having a good day sharing some of the ammunition stolen from the Espian Guards with the formerly unacquainted members of the Heavenly Sword. They were spread out in good defensive positions that crossed multiple killzones and amplified the presence of the big guns on Knights’ mechs and the Von Luckner. Even in the deep dark of the valley before first light, there was nowhere that their haphazard attackers could hide from them. The enemy were not soldiers, just fanatics and some broke in the face of the withering wall of fire that had suddenly changed the terms of their would-be glorious appointment with the afterlife. Others pressed on with crazed devotion straight into their guns. The machinations people’s minds could be twisted into believing never ceased to amaze. When the call came in for a flare down range, Dalton had barely lowered his binoculars and turned in his position on top of the APC to see the trooper behind him quickly loading an illumination round into the mounted mortar on the rear decking of the vehicle. The shot went out, rocking the APC gently as it launched out of the tube. After a few seconds the tiny star had barely erupted before another pair of PPC bolts streaked overhead close enough that Dalton could feel the electric heat rip through the air, illuminating the surrounding area for a split second in hot blue-white light. Two more drones erupted into molten rain and Dalton took another look through the lenses. Heavenly Sword fighters were actively avoiding the drones. He could see them running and driving away frantically to get clear, apparently feeling their chances were better in some way with Marit’s missile barrage, Steel Rain’s variety pack of death, being literally stomped underfoot by Raven or just mowed down by the ‘Boys' machine gun positions. He gave a snort of approval watching them flee.

Gently falling from the top of its trajectory, the flare cast a ghostly white over the field, mixing deep shadows with burning orange and the curling black smoke of destroyed vehicles. Tracers arced and cut through the night amid the smell of burning tires, cordite and faintly the hot sizzle of something he knew was most definitely not bacon.

It was almost a lull, he could feel it in his gut, a brief quiet, but like most of the long-timers he’d known when he was just a recruit himself, there was a sort of developed sixth sense for the energy in a battle and when it was about to shift. Like the change in wind when a sudden rainstorm approached. “Eyes up ladies.” He said grimly into the mic fastened to his shoulder. Even though the battle still continued around him, he knew the ‘Boys would understand his skeptical tone. ‘The only easy day was yesterday’ as the saying went. The Knights weren’t even close to finished business at the Tie Shan River Dam and his instincts were proven right only a few seconds later when the first buggy came skidding down the broken highway in the distance. A mix of more buggies and armored cars came behind the leader, and more headlights behind those. The morning was breaking slightly and gentle orange curves were beginning to form under the cloud layer. He glanced through his binoculars. “Round two comin’ up…”

He had barely got the words out before an explosion buffeted the air not far from his position. Having listened to cars, trucks and high explosives detonate in the open air all morning. This sound was different, almost muffled, like something had struggled to contain the blast and quickly failed. He had hardly turned his head to look before one of the ‘Boys came on the channel:

“Holy Shit Sarge! Bastard just ran through a house and exploded himself!”

Dalton turned to see what was left of a burning farmhouse as a confetti of debris fell around the destroyed structure. Another explosion sounded then another. An angry shout from one of the ‘Boys came on the radio, but Dalton already knew what he was going to say. “Fuckers are goin’ after the civie houses!”

“Hold position!” Dalton barked.

“But Sarge!”

“If they get past us, then we’re gonna lose every house!” He barked. And our own asses with them.. His mind quietly completed the thought. “Now hold Goddamnit! You remember what the Colonel said, every shot’s gotta count, This is it!”

Dalton understood what was going on. Whoever was commanding this force of zealots was just upping the stakes, like pushing chips into the center of the table for a high hand. The gambit was that the Knights would break position, even just a little, from covering the dam to protect civilians. He wasn’t going to do that. The ‘Boys, and likewise the mechs and Von Luckner would have to make the most of their advantage and protect what they could, but the pathway to the dam absolutely could not be left in jeopardy. It sucked. It was a fucked choice to have to make and he understood people were going to die as a direct result of his decision- This was the true face of war. Nobody really won and often innocent people got caught in the middle. As he had done many times before, he would make peace with it, but in due time. For now he had to save who he could and do his best to keep them all from dying.

He looked back at the rapidly approaching second wave as the ‘Boys opened up again with renewed determination, ripping out short bursts of fire at as many targets as they could. This new column looked much more purpose driven than the previous gaggle and they all seemed to be focused on a single point, like a giant arrowhead swarming over the battle-shredded terrain. “Check six, Family Man, looks like you got their attention.”

Raven Rivers

“We’ll search for survivors when this is over…” Raven said, answering Marit. It was the closest thing he could think of to “reasonably doable” as the Colonel had described. He hosed down another group of vehicles with his laser when another pair of Jon’s shots came racing overhead so close he had to resist the involuntary reflex to duck his head in the cockpit. He gritted his teeth, not sure if the man was doing it on purpose, but he also couldn’t dispute that the sensor screen was clearing. It’d be worth mentioning to the Colonel later. The Knights didn’t need another PPC hotshot like Golden Boy.

The first bomber to claim a civilian structure exploded on the edge of Raven’s periphery, followed by another then another in quick succession. He could hear the ‘Boys pleading with Sgt Dalton and sympathized with them. Like him, several of the infantrymen had wives and children and the thought of them being left to the random chance of some brainwashed psychopath on a motorcycle or a truck laden with high explosives made his stomach twist in knots, the fact that he was in a position to do something to stop it just worsened the feeling. Like the troopers on the radio, Raven’s first instinct was to help, but he had to concede to himself that the sergeant was right and hoped that after all the fighting thus far, maybe the occupants had ran for the hills for safety. As a mechwarrior and lance leader, he had the authority to override Dalton’s decision, however such a notion was simply not entertained on the battlefield within Gaiwan’s Green Knights. Dalton’s field experience was worth more than any amount of medals, rank or campaign badges. It still stung though, same as it always did. He knew he couldn't save everyone but unlike many within his chosen profession, his compassion for his fellow man never degraded into the callousness for humanity that many exhibited. He still valued life and “better them than me” was no way to live.

Brimming with anger at the desperation of the Heavenly Sword, Raven turned at Sgt Dalton’s warning call and put a full alpha-strike into the head of the new wave of attackers. The Shadow Hawk shuddered around him at the release of all its weapons and the reload timers immediately began refilling for another salvo at the corner of his HUD. The front of the Heavenly Sword column of armored cars and buggies rippled like one mass reacting to his attack and the explosion in front of him erupted from the ground lighting up the sky and low cloud of the breaking morning. Still they kept pressing and Raven knew he was being swarmed. It was the only tactic they had left. He could see his leg armor beginning to register hits from rocket fire as they raced around him and he literally kicked a buggy like a soccer player putting the ball back in play from a corner of the field. The small vehicle cartwheeled away headlights flipping end over end through the dim morning as the Shadow Hawk’s jump jets ignited again and Raven performed a small hop while his legs twisted beneath him and he hit ground already moving towards the river bank. The trick maneuver cleared his blindspot momentarily, but the armored cars and buggies continued to pursue him vigorously, firing the whole way. Like the ‘Boys he couldn’t abandon his defensive position around the main road leading to the dam, but he could at least draw them closer for Aroxy and Marit to do some damage. “Looks like I’m really popular today.” He grumbled, checking his speed. “I’m gonna try and swing them around for a broadside. When I cut back, let’em have it!”

For a moment, Raven’s Shadow Hawk looked more like a Javelin as he kicked the jets again and rotated his legs back the opposite direction, finessing the machine into what would be an inhuman contortion. It was one of his favorite maneuvers and was as natural for him on the controls as hitting the ball with the bat. The footpads hit the ground running again, biting into the terrain like giant metal cleats. He fired at the angry gaggle pursuing after him and they likewise turned to give chase sending rockets soaring around him.

Mechwarrior 4 [Rant]

Batchall intensifies

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The Sword Bearer drummed his fingers on the console in front of him. If he felt any sort of emotion in regards to the complete slaughter of a large number of his compatriots at the hands of Gaiwan’s Green Knights, it wasn’t discernable. His first reaction at the initial report of mechs defending the dam was not concern for the success of the operation, it was that there was a mole within their ranks. Someone had tipped off Cassandra Jeong and that someone was from considerable rank in the organization, equal to or above his own position. It was very likely someone he knew personally and had met face to face. His face let slip the tiniest scowl. There was no time at the present. It would have to wait. The radio blared more horrid screams and cries as the first wave was literally torn to pieces, or worse, burned alive. He didn’t have a sensor screen or any direct camera feed from his position in the staging area to the south and he needed a clear picture of what was going on in front of the dam, other than the frantic shooting gallery, before he launched the second wave.

“By the Throne! Would someone give me a status report and be quick about it!"

The chaotic chatter on the radio seemed to die down for a moment before a quivering voice finally came up. The man sounded like he was curled up in a drainage pipe. Damned coward. The Sword Bearer thought.

“There’s one mech, he’s right here with us! He’s insane!” An explosion crackled the speaker and the man released the button temporarily before jumping back on the channel. “Another one on the far river bank and a damned HUGE tank!”

“Is that all?”

“No! There’s ground troops everywhere and something else is firing at us from the dam. We-”

The Sword Bearer cut the volume knob. He needed to think and he knew every precious second wasted would make it that much more difficult for the second wave. He was not a tactician, but he did understand numbers. They were still continuing their attack as if they were meeting the expected level of resistance. He needed to change the game. They had one mech mixed in with them along with a spread force of ground support. The other mech and the tank were on the opposite side of the river, which meant they were unsure about crossing. The mech could probably make it, while the tide was low, but it would be slow going. The tank would be too low to the ground and the other mech taking pot shots at them from the dam wouldn’t matter if the gambit forming in his mind worked. He turned up his broadcast power so he could break through all the desperate clamor. He wasn’t even sure how many were left to hear the command, but only a few would be enough to change the dynamic of the Knights’ defense.

“Anyone within the sound of my voice, begin attacking civilian targets at will. We will not have your sacrifice wasted at the guns of these mercenary dogs. There are none innocent to the eyes of the Throne on this day, let them try and defend the entire field of battle from our wrath!"

He changed to the high frequency channel of the second wave, a mix of buggies with mounted rocket pods and armored cars, still close to him and ready to leave the staging area. He could hear their engines revving outside the cabin as they overheard his last command to the broken first wave and they seemed reinvigorated at the sound of a new plan. The Sword Bearer could feel his confidence swelling at the sound as he came onto their channel: “Attack the lead mech directly, ignore the others and force him to withdraw. We will be as angry hornets. While they struggle to defend every piece of filthy property these ungrateful Espians have built for themselves Gonggoog will arise and teach them all true atonement”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

Jon smirked a bit at Marit’s comment. “Nah, I wouldn’t try it.” He said, answering her question about crossing the dam. His tone was a little lighter and the drawl in his voice was more evident on the radio. There was a roadway across the top of the structure that would accommodate vehicles. He reckoned a Flea or a Locust could probably scamper across, but he didn’t know of anyone trying anything heavy and she was only five tonnes lighter than him. He was on the verge of a slick remark about her coming and trying to take the stick from him when the Heavenly Sword decided to show up and derail his trash talking. He set the master-arm making his weapons hot and glanced again at his watch: Almost shift-change for the dam. Right on time. He thought. A couple more small tablet-size screens came to life around him that had been fastened inside the cockpit as the whole machine “woke-up” from its napping, passive state, feeding him more information that had been curated according to need over time. However, he reached past those high-tech offerings for a simple handheld radio. The same as the ones carried by the dam security crew. The shift lead spoke just before he could hit the push-to-talk button.

“Mudcrutch, this is AVC3!” The voice crackled with a hint of excitement bleeding through the corporate veneer. The number three in the callsign denoted the third shift. “Got a copy?”

“Yeah, I see’em. Stay cool. If you see something, call it out and I’ll help.” He clipped the radio back behind his head.

Raven had entered the fray first with a circus-stunt display of jumping the river, but to his credit had done a fair job of sewing chaos among the attackers. There were a lot of them and at a glance of the sensor screen, Jon had to concede that if he had to take on the mission solo, it could have been an unholy shitshow. The Knights’ opener reminded him of an old Taurian battle doctrine. A tenet he knew as he watched the column of Heavenly Sword vehicles scatter in disarray, Sgt. Dalton would be thinking as well: Attack the enemy hard enough and fast enough and he will forget his loyalty and his numbers to try and save himself from the wrath about to sit down upon him. Exploding vehicles pockmarked the landscape blooming in the early morning like orange flowers from the still dark terrain. Explosive echoes reverberated through the river valley and he could see the muzzle flash of some of the Buckshot Boys heavier machine guns raking arcs of instant death into vehicles never designed for frontline combat. It was as Raven described. They were all loaded for bear and it slowed them into a killing field that they never expected. He shook his head a little.

With the Von Luckner opening up, the Knights had effectively trapped the column into an arrowhead shaped ambush that used the river to help tighten the noose- It was one less place to run and a couple vehicles had already lost control and crashed into it. Jon knew Raven was pushing the angle, trying to arch around and keep up the crossfire but he was particularly interested in whatever was stopping Marit from firing. Like her, his shots were wasted on small trucks and cars, though he was curious if he could clip a dirtbike on a dead run from well over half a kilometer. He zoomed in, looking past Raven. The Marauder’s torso turned slowly in the dark and the reticle over Jon’s eye separated as he disengaged the arm-lock with a small motion of his fingers like he was readying a double-set trigger on an ancient rifle not unlike the one painted on the side of his machine. He took a slow breath and let it out, relaxing in the seat. It was still hard to see the drones with the mix of darting headlights and explosions staring back at him in the narrowed zoom window. Only a flex of his fingertips moved the sighted reticle upwards. It would be a PPC shot. A large truck came apart in a massive plume and he could see the underside of their saucer-like shape, wafting unsteadily in the morning breeze and dumping something as they moved, the particles glistened in the firelight. “I got it Knights, throttle back.” He said. “Danger close.” The crosshairs lazily passed over the drone and his hand on the column tightened over the trigger.

For a seasoned mechwarrior the sound of a PPC shot was familiar. The flash came first in a high velocity bolt followed by the sonance, like a high caliber cannon shot combined with the jagged soundwaves of a tesla coil. The pinpoint arrowhead of the burst tended to make a unique spectacle upon impact spreading over the target as the excess energy was dispersed even though it was a precision weapon. For the uninitiated however, it was a vision of awe and terror so incomprehensible in its shock presence through the dark of the river valley that the majesty of the Celestial Throne suddenly felt distant like a god that had unexpectedly turned its gaze away from the faithful. The first Gossamer drone in the line, supplemented like all the others with excess hydrogen gas to improve its lifting ability, was a fireball before the hateful techno-static report of the shot arrived. Its payload of fine metal filaments meant to disrupt sensors instead became a hellish molten rain that melted and burned into whatever or whoever was unfortunate enough to be nearby. The air crackled unnaturally amid agonized screams before the next shot arrived scorching the air again in electric fire.

Jon watched the second drone erupt in a shower of burning rain. A quick glance down showed the sensor screen starting to clear as the weapon cycle alert chirped in his ear that the first barrel was ready to fire again. Gently he rotated the crosshair for another shot. It was barely even a perceptible motion. The channel buzzed with Sgt. Dalton giving orders on the ground and he thought he could hear another Knight commando shout something along the lines of Don’t shoot let’em burn! which he found satisfying. Still, other than brief glimpses of their distant silhouettes in the chaotic light, there was too much general mayhem for him to get a good look at the next pair of drones farther down. If the operators had any sense about them they would start moving them apart, but he also knew they couldn’t get too separated or they wouldn’t be able to cover their allies from the Knights’ sensors. He keyed the mic: “Buckshot, pop a flare to the east. Help us get a visual and we can take out the rest.”

The Marauder’s torso rotated again, only slightly, before the characteristic muzzle flash of his AC5 briefly lit up the the air around him and the shot went down range only arcing slightly in the distance at the edge of its range and crashing through the backseat of Burro support truck attempting to train its machine guns on some of Dalton’s troopers.

@Starlance
@Bork Lazer

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya & Ingrid

A strange insect, somewhere between a beetle and a long-legged crane fly, buzzed around Ingrid's face. She swatted at it passively, before managing to line up a hand and expertly kill it with a hard flick mid-flight. The thing was sent careening with its last wing beats, and then brushed aside with the rush of air that accompanied one of the many passing cars along that main thoroughfare. To avoid most of the local guard, they had to go on a very circuitous path, but once this concrete bridge had been crossed it wasn't going to be much further.

Getting here wasn't hard. Their illustrious employer hadn't lied, the papers she provided were good. The few times contact with random jackboots had been inevitable, IDs flashed, Ingrid shrank and acted properly fearful, and they didn't seem to question it any more than that. There were a few more blocks to go, and inevitably that was going to be the worst of it, but if Reya had something to worry about it wasn't her parter in espionage.

Nothing could be done about the accent; on the ride to the district she had briefly attempted a more local dialect and plainly failed. It wasn't going to be too much of a problem, though. Even if they were far out from Lyran space, the ones that could afford to travel to the other end of the Sphere had the cultural pride to keep their accents and identity. Thus, though still too noblesse to oblige a more naturalized persona, she wasn't worried.

What she lacked in skill, though, that was made up for with her seemingly natural talent at acting. The moment she had stepped out of the car, she stopped with the rigid movement that always seemed like she was a few steps away from stamping out a military march into the grey and brown mud beneath her boots, and loosened her gait to the point she seemed like she could be a normal person. In knit cap and heavy coat, borrowed pants and mittens, she looked like she could be any random nobody walking the streets of Nui Awa. Still uncharacteristically shivered whenever the wind picked up, perhaps, but natural otherwise.

Recovering from that same quake, Ingrid conversed with Wyatt, not too loud or quiet - "Let me put it this way: the man had already fallen down stairs in front of everyone while sober, multiple times by that point. We were worried that if he was going to go walk down 30 flights of stairs while blind drunk, he'd reach the bottom floor as a pile of broken bones."

She had regailed her with a relatively uninteresting story about a very clumsy man she once worked with - sanitized to being a fellow office drone, rather than whatever military personnel or posh nobleman he might've been in reality. "A few others and I, we actually managed to go up 10 flights in the time it took him to stagger down one, just to make sure he didn't die. We were seriously worried, and it was a good thing he forgot about it by the morning, because he was the kind of person to act sullen if anyone showed him any kind of support. It's a miracle he got that high up in...the company."

—----------------------

Reya was feeling exceptionally satisfied with herself as she walked alongside Ingrid on the streets of North Nui Awa. Not because the mission felt more natural to her strengths, i.e.: getting what she wanted with words or manipulation rather than bullets or laser beams, but because in addition to their documentation, Cassandra provided a surprisingly remarkable selection of modern Espian fashion for them to choose in order to blend in along with something akin to a concierge, whose job it was to make sure their selections were satisfactory- and that’s when Reya remembered.

When they had first arrived on Espia, one of the more obscure urban legends that she uncovered from the locals was that Espia was the actual home of SPHERE magazine. A popular Inner Sphere gossip and fashion journal that some of its more critical targets might have regarded as a rag due to its less than flattering tones towards their wardrobe decisions. Reya had glanced at the magazine from time to time when she was younger and in college though its brand of salacious commentary was not exactly smiled-upon reading material within the Combine. The whole periodical was ghost written, for obvious reasons, but having made the connection just on her naked intuition, particularly with the significant pains made to conceal the true identity of its chief editor, made the knowledge much more satisfying. She doubted anyone else had figured it out, or cared, but it meant their new “sponsor” was exceptionally more connected than she had let on and was holding out on the Colonel. Of course Reya couldn’t be completely sure about her hunch, but she knew when was right about something.

Wearing the sweater dress and boots she’d picked out along with her coat and leggings and her hair tied in something other than the broken ponytail of the last few weeks, Reya was sure she could have passed by the guards at some of the checkpoints without any papers. Cassandra’s representative had tried to withhold a scowl at Ingrid’s bland choices, but seemed much more approving of Reya’s ensemble and the two of them presented a surprisingly convincing contrast. She mused about how Tarak would like it, but then rolled her eyes at the thought of herself. Unlike Ingrid, she wasn’t acting, but the image of the two of them reflected in a passing glass storefront reminded her of another realization that was steadily emerging in the back of her psyche. It was a view of her two selves: Her old self wearing designer clothes and strolling through a wealthy business district and her other self, the one who had felt the wave of chaos in her heart when she’d nearly been killed on the raid and the one playing mother to a child that wasn’t her own in a nearly broken camp of mercenaries on the run. She looked down at her wrist where a single charm dangled loosely on a bracelet. Maneki Neko, the happy cat, smiled up at her and was originally a gift she’d given to Sunny, but it didn’t particularly seem like the young girl’s style. Other than Never Ending Hearts, Sunny was still too young and tomboyish for jewelry. As they began cleaning up to leave the cave, she had given it back to wear on the mission. Reya was beginning to wonder about the type of person she was becoming and if it would be good enough to watch over the girl.

In the time she had been with the Knights, never had she heard Ingrid talk so much. It was as if her shorter partner had banter and stories saved up for weeks and Reya figured that perhaps her work on the Ostroc had earned a measure of trust from the other woman that might have been lacking before. She just listened thoughtfully and took in their surroundings. As they crossed the long bridge she thought about Marit, Raven and Aroxy, far down river and likewise Tarak and Ziska. A saltwater breeze moved under her hair and she pushed it away from her face. “I’m sorry.” She said after a long pause following one of Ingrid’s stories. “Sorry about how I was… before all this.” Her tone denoted a clear sense of shame and she looked at some of the buildings on the riverside as if there was something written there that she could read and say more, but there wasn’t anything else. She wasn’t sure how Ingrid would react, but it felt right to let the words out.

—----------------------

Though Ingrid continued with the story as Reya reminisced and pined - eventually devolving into a strange tale of several “lower-ranking workers” having to impersonate “office security” and convince the drunkard that he had been arrested on charges of corporate espionage, and then keep him in a side room with guards armed only with spray bottles - she slowed her speech. Only a little at first, but as she noticed her partner’s continued slipping away, the way she craned her head down and around and huffed, she was clearly offput. By the time she spoke out loud, she had started walking a little slower as well, and almost stopped as they cleared the bridge - not too long to go.
“I’m sorry?” she parroted, with just a hint of annoyance but more clearly made out of concern. “It’s fine, I can shut up. I suppose it’s not the most entertaining story,” she holds up a gloved hand, “so don’t worry, you heard most of it already. If…alcohol’s a sore subject or something, we can move onto something else.”

If this kind of consolation sounded awkward, that’s because it was. She clearly understood something was wrong, but she didn’t seem to know what, or what to do about it properly. As they came to a crosswalk, the Duchess pressed down the button once (not the rapid slamming most city-folk seemed hard-wired to perform), and they stopped. She tried not to stare at her too hard.

—----------------------

“No, it’s fine… I shouldn't have brought it up when we were so close.” Reya replied, glancing back at her partner with a dismissive, half-smile and shake of her head. It was unusual to sense a hint of concern in the other woman’s voice. Ingrid didn’t seem to be following which conversely made Reya feel somewhat relieved and somehow a little bit worse about herself. She never apologized for anything and it seemed Ingrid didn’t know anything about accepting apologies either. They were indeed quite a pair.

Standing at the crossing with another block and corner to turn before they arrived at the Diamond, as the locals called it. Reya proceeded to straighten the ensemble of the Duchess a bit just as if Ingrid had asked and to change the subject. Her hands gently evened up the lapels. She actually had been paying attention to the strange story. Not doing so was simply impossible. Her mind absorbed information constantly. From the characters in the “corporate espionage” tale, to the design of the buttons on the jacket or the street and shop names they passed- no information was too trivial to be overlooked and still her mind wandered like it needed more to be satiated. Ever since the run from the capital, her internal thoughts had been overwhelmingly negative and she countered it by constantly keeping busy on the Knights’ equipment or watching after Sunny. Taking a walk to the meeting target was giving her way too much time to think.

“There…” She said with finality and a small smirk as she minutely adjusted the knit cap so that it was perfectly centered on Ingrid’s head. “Much better.” The crossing sign changed for them to pass.

—----------------------

Something clearly chafed Ingrid, because a bit of the usual standoffish hostility was shown with the flash of a scoff as she was dolled up. Not much, but just enough to tell that further adjustments weren’t appreciated. As the crosslight started barking the order to walk in multiple languages, and she was freed from Reya’s perfecting touch, she didn’t bristle so much.

“You don’t need to worry much.” Her previously cheerful tone had soured a little. “It’s just a drink between friends. Between us two, you’re the more accomplished speaker.” She added “I’m just not good around people” as an afterthought, less a truth and more to make it sound ‘casual’ in her head. “You need to be up and alert if we’re going to have a fun time. Besides, I’m paying, so you better enjoy it. If anything gets between you and a good drink, I’ll be there to make things easy on you.” Don’t worry, I’ll shoot anyone who causes problems for you. Ingrid clearly couldn’t think of anything more comforting.

By that point, they had reached their destination. Not many drunkards seen hanging outside, and someone must’ve been cleaning up the vomit, which altogether made it appear one of the nicer establishments in this city. Ingrid’s eyes briefly passed over the tinted windows - it seemed busy on the inside, and the noise of loud conversation could be heard through the metal and glass doors, which given the state of things shouldn’t be that surprising. People need their drinks.
Ingrid said “Come along.”

—----------------------

Happy with having reset the Duchess to factory settings Reya gave a smile back at Ingrid’s attempt to withhold a full scoff. The previous conversational topic was forgotten and they crossed the street.

In her mind she had an image of a “dive” bar based on research and then she had the description happily offered up by Ziska later after the briefing. What appeared in front of them was something of a mix of the two. A couple patrons on the outside had the steady sway of a few drinks in their stance, but the venue itself was fairly clean and fit the current situation on Espia appealing to both the businessman and the soldier, however the whole establishment was smaller than she had envisioned. Back home on Tabayama, she had walk-in closets that were bigger. Her eyes drifted up to a large billboard for Comstar Financial Services then back towards the bar itself when she noticed the imperfections in the wall. Items not the result of erosion, but tiny and purposeful. She looked closer, then she narrowed her glance then she stopped walking. Her arm snapped out to grab the back of Ingrid’s jacket sleeve firm enough to dishevel what she had just straightened up, but her eyes stayed fixated. “Stop.” She said flatly. It was a command, not a request.

—----------------------

Ready to get in and get to work - surely, it had been some time since she had to use the diplomatic parts of her body, this would be a welcome return to form for the ex-noble - Ingrid was steeling herself. Just a little further, as she had done all she could to prepare since the moment the mission briefing had finished, but that level of obsession as normal for her.

With that in mind, it was a miracle that she didn’t snap to and cause something bad to happen the moment she was pulled aside. She did yank back, freeing her arm before Reya could do it herself, and looked up at her “attacker” in surprise and then a brief hint of confusion. ”What?”

Quickly, though, she followed Reya’s gaze…

—----------------------

Reya looked, then she looked harder and then she looked again, paying no attention to Ingrid at all. Her face was like stone, like an archeologist carefully surveying the uncovered work of some long lost treasure as if they couldn’t believe it was real and right in front of them. She touched the carvings, letting her fingertips judge the depth while simultaneously coming to the realization that she thought she might be sick to her stomach. Unlike an archeological discovery however, these carvings were fresh and wanting to be found, at least for those that knew how to look. Her lips quivered and the roaring torrent of computation that was her mind simply locked up at the data being provided by her eyes.

At some point she could feel Ingrid’s confusion burning into the side of her face and she took a step back, but it felt like her legs were going to give way beneath her. Her hand searched behind her for something for the rest of her body to sit and not make a scene by collapsing, only finding the cold touch of a streetlight that she leaned against with great relief.

Her countenance was completely aghast, wide-eyed, like she had seen a ghost.

—----------------------

Ingrid kept close to her side, only sparing a glance at the markings before Reya’s reaction became worse, and as she staggered back she kept pace with her. Immediately, her mind was turned away from the inscription and toward the rest of the world. Imagined assassins, the unfortunate dead of the war must exist at every corner…

And as Reya caught her breath, slowly, she came down from her own high of panic - there was nobody here who had a knife under their coat, nor a horror to be seen. Ingrid looked at the inscription one more time, and confirmed that it really was all that had bothered her. Unbecoming of her assumed persona, she lingered on it for a moment, and then groaned in disappointment.

Positioning herself and raising Reya up a little, trying to make it seem like she was merely helping a friend up, she grumbled under her breath: ”Get it together! It’s nothing! We’re right here and we’re expected, and I need you to work with me.”

She didn’t slap her, step on or foot or anything like that to psyche her out, but her grip on the underside of her arm was tight. ”I don’t know what it is that’s got you like this, but can’t it wait?”

—----------------------

Reya had to stand there for a moment, letting Ingrid pretend to be helping her before she tried to manage her composure again. No one seemed to have paid them any mind. They were outside a bar after all. It was still a while before she could look away. However, her partner’s impatience struck a nerve and she wanted to bark at her to shut up. She clenched a fist. Anger twinged at the edge of her glance and her emotions were all over the place. Ingrid hadn’t watched her best friend get exploded or spent the last several weeks being a mother to a child that wasn’t her own or going on missions and repairing mechs herself. It wasn’t the end of the world if she could just get two-fucking-minutes. Get it together Reya!. A voice barked at her fiercely from the back of her mind. It wasn’t Ingrid’s fault. Ingrid was just, Ingrid. She was focused on the mission and that was the right thing. Reya let out a long breath and tried to relax. Why she didn’t feel happy, she couldn’t explain. It still felt more like fear, like she was dealing with something sepulchral. It was nearly a physical feeling in her chest, like a ghost had stabbed her right through the heart.

“Lena is alive.” She said finally, but didn’t look at Ingrid. She already knew the other woman was going to think she was crazy, but the words were out there now and she wouldn’t blame Ingrid if she did. It was probably the last thing she expected to hear. Reya still didn’t believe it herself. She stepped towards the wall again and put her back to the markings so they were right over her shoulder. Well, we might as well be academic about it…. Something told her not to point them out. There was no telling who was watching. She finally looked back at her partner and tried her best to explain: “These markings are what’s called ‘low sign’. I know this because it’s a way that Lena, Diego and Sunny would communicate on their home planet. Lena was my best friend, she explained to me how it works and how it’s unique to them, like a family cipher… Diego is with the others at Fort Tie Shan, Sunny is back moving with the camp.” She paused, took in a breath and exhaled slowly, wiping one eye dry. “These markings are only a few days old.” She crossed her arms and looked back and forth briefly and tried to swallow a lump in her throat. “The final sign in the sequence is Lena’s initials, ‘LVK’... but there’s a message in the other markings about a woman with green hair that speaks in code. I think that might be our contact.”

—----------------------

The explanation was enough to calm down the impatient fire beside her. As she went on in detail, Ingrid progressively shrunk, retreating from her flash of anger and into a quiet, awkward kind of stupor. She had let go of her by this time, and crossed her arms as she viewed the inscriptions once more.

A veritable scholar she was, having learned three languages to fluency and had done good work with Latin and Japanese before the circumstances that lead to the removal of her House, but this ‘low’ speak was indeed too low for her to have even heard of. She assumed, at first, it was some cryptic insult or threat written in whatever street cant they used around these parts.

Aside from her puzzling having been cleared up, though, Ingrid felt just a bit of sympathy, though it would be some time before she’d explain why this was the case.“I see.”She took a breath and paused, looking now at Reya and her own flush of emotions. Then, a simple nod. “I see…””

“I have…spoken out of turn,”” she said with some difficulty, and then more as she added a formal “Forgive me for my impudence. You had an acceptable reason to be concerned.”” Ingrid, of course, was the arbiter of whether or not a breakdown like that could be justified or frivolous. Self-appointed, naturally.

She let the ambiance of cars, soft rain and muffled conversation fill in the silence for a minute, before a sigh led her to say, “She’s in there. The contact. A better chance at finding your Lena than anywhere else in this world, I’d bet. Whenever you’re ready.”” She stepped away, moving toward the door. At least now Reya could choose whether it was a moment of dire importance or not.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Raven Rivers

In the time that he had been with Colonel Wayne, Raven had encountered countless vagrants, soldiers, House armies and rival merc camps. There was a mix of the twisted and the sane in a dance as old as war itself, but what he saw massing in the distance and headed towards the Knights position was truly hard to match against any of his past experiences. Seeing the footage of the stadium attack in Yuzhny Portveyn on the holovids was one thing. He’d seen people self destruct a mech or crash a fighter kamikaze style when there was no hope left, but he knew when he first saw them that these Heavenly Sword followers were a different breed altogether. He’d never seen anyone on the field of battle that was blatantly suicidal. It was the first time and it was almost a sight to behold in itself. Almost. What a waste. He thought. He shook his head and pushed the ‘Hawk’s throttle forward firmly and pivoted the torso into a leaning run beneath him. He leaned with it in the straps. The mass of vehicles seemed to be growing even larger as a jumble of small contacts coming into the edge of his sensor screen. The Shadowhawk was in a full sprint now, the river’s edge coming up quickly in front of him, he could see water breaking over rocks in white trails as he thumbed the jump jets on the throttle and spoke into the mic: “Knights! Chain fire! Keep the trigger hot!”

The Shadowhawk soared over the river like an olympic long jumper, legs still cartwheeling as it flew. Leading the charge, far out front was some exceptionally devout member of the Sword riding a monobike that presented as good a target for landing as any and Raven wanted to make an impression on the rest of his followers. This wasn’t the supply raid. They weren’t desperate. This was the Green Knights on a contract. It was a bad day to be a suicidal lunatic. The full weight of the ‘Hawk crashed down on the roadway and skidded, breaking up the pavement. Raven thought he felt a dull thud beneath him as the mech’s footpad landed, but he figured it was probably the gas tank exploding on the bike he’d just buried under several feet of dirt, rock and asphalt. Whatever it was, he didn’t think any more about it as he cut the stick and throttle to allow the machine to slide in a crouched posture like a defensive lineman, careful of the angle of his main gun over the terrain. He raised one arm and raked the full burn time of his medium laser across a crowd of wheeled vehicles that were unable to flee from the roadway.

The resulting explosions were much larger than he anticipated, momentarily lighting up the early morning. His glance quickly narrowed. He pivoted and fired an SRM salvo into a scurrying hoverjeep that also exploded with enough force that he could see the concussion spread through the air. “They’re all loaded with explosives…” He said, twisting the Hawk’s figure slightly to dodge a rocket fired from far out of its range. Its exhaust trail curled past him and the mech’s humanoid figure resembled someone observing an annoying insect flying closeby. He leveled the AC5 and cracked off a shot into a large truck. Having loaded armor piercing rounds that were none too graciously provided by the Espian Guards during the raid, the shot punched through the cabover design with such force he thought he could see springs, rotors and the entirety of the engine and drivetrain being blown out the sides of the vehicle. “Steel Rain, load AP, target the larger trucks, they’re too overloaded to maneuver effectively.” He knew full well Aroxy’s crew would be more than elated at the prospect of a sitting duck for their hungry main gun. He continued: “Target the cab.” His face might have winced a little at the sound of the words and what it meant. One of the Von Luckner’s rounds wouldn’t punch a hole like his AC5, it would remove the cab, like a freight train hit.

It was time to move again, not that he’d been standing still. Mechwarrios didn’t last long on the front lines standing still and certainly he was not in the habit of underestimating opponents, no matter how lopsided the confrontation might have been. The whole opening exchange had only been a few seconds since he’d touched down on the south side of the river. However, he’d done what he set out to do: create a log jam along the roadway and sew some unexpected fear into the hearts of their attackers. There was some satisfaction in seeing the frantic flash of brake lights and he knew it was time to get Marit’s volleys into play. Moving again, his medium laser was back on the trigger and he washed another shot over a cadre of technicals careening past the truck’s broken carcass. He glanced at the sensor screen as he worked. Sgt Dalton and his shooters would be in position to help him with the fast movers, but he could see some disturbance on the screen clouding more vehicles in the distance and preventing him from getting a lock further out for his LRMs.

“Buckshot 1, move up. I’ll cover. This isn’t their main push." He squinted a bit at the sensor screen between his legs, comparing it to what he could see with the naked eye in thermal view. “They’re using some kind of drones…” He lamented his aging vision, having to look harder like some old codger studying the morning paper. A younger version of himself would have had no trouble seeing what was going on. The drones wafted in the air uneasily like they were overloaded and the sensor screen made more sense. “We need to take’em out so Giggles can open up.”

For the time being he knew Marit could target whatever he could get a sensor lock on, but the vehicles were too small and random, more suited to himself and Sgt Dalton’s troopers and wouldn’t make the most out of her lethal volleys. It would be like swatting flies with a sledgehammer. He arced his turn, firing as he went and tapping on the jump jets making the ‘Hawk almost skip over the terrain and being careful to stay out of Aroxy’s kill zone, keeping the insanity contained in a crossfire between them. He didn’t bother giving orders to Jon, because Jon wasn’t a Knight. He was just there. Raven felt like they didn’t even need him and the fact that he had some hot rod mech was unsurprising. It seemed to fit Cassandra’s air of extravagance like another piece of jewelry or designer clothing. He fired another burst from his AC5 that folded a light truck in half and kept moving.

@Starlance
@Bork Lazer

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

Jon had been sitting there in the dark for a while with only the dim glow of the Marauder’s instruments providing any light. He had his arms crossed and was watching the terrain as the canopy glass refreshed in subdued green. The machine beneath him hummed in a low tone like an animal sleeping with one eye open. He thought about his dad, laid low in a hospital bed, his mom, the farm and what was left of the salvage business. Sometimes the feel of the seat reminded him of being a kid and he could picture his much younger father showing him the controls before he could hardly touch the foot pedals. Back then Ossie’ didn’t even have any weapons and he could remember stomping it around the open fields on their property with a neurohelmet too big for his head just barely trying to keep his balance. He and the mech had almost grown up together. When he thought about it now, after everything that had happened, he just felt low, like he didn’t appreciate those times enough or that he was responsible for what had happened to the Legion. He knew he wasn’t and there was nothing else he could have done, but other than the faceless onslaught that had attacked them out on the frontier, there was no one else. Owning your shit was just part of being Taurian.

The Knights arrived. He could feel the ground quake under him before he could see the movement. The Shadowhawk in the lead followed by the Archer, the Von Luckner and a contingent of APCs. The line crackled with Raven’s voice and he watched Marit moving into position without even noticing him on the far side of the dam. None of the others seemed to either. He found it interesting that the odd-talking Raven was leading the lance. The Colonel must have had some measure of faith in the guy, but whatever the case, Jon reckoned the Heavenly Sword was going to shit a holy brick when they rounded the bend a few kilometers back and figured out their little network of insanity had been infiltrated. He smirked a little bit at the thought.

His fingers hovered over the transponder output and the strobe control that operated the small safety light on top of the insectoid torso section. In addition to defending the dam, Cassandra wanted him to evaluate the Knights, see how they operated as a team and how worthy they were going to be as an investment. She had also told him to play nice so he figured it was time to let them know that he wasn’t late to the party. “Mudcrutch is on station.” His voice on the comm was about as enthusiastic as it had been in the cave. Maybe if they lived long enough they would get to hear his real nickname or get close enough to Ossie to read it on the side next to his name under the canopy. Until then he had a list of throw away callsigns. He glanced over at Marit’s Archer briefly before tapping the transponder and strobe. The light on top of the Marauder blinked quickly three times in the darkness next to the tree line and for a moment the Knights’ IFF sensors would pick up an unknown contact on top of the southern hill.

@Bork Lazer
@Starlance

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Raven Rivers

“Roger that, Giggles.” Raven answered. The swift stride of the ShadowHawk beneath him was so familiar from years behind the controls that the feeling of momentum it carried in the throttle was fifty-five tons of second nature and having to keep their pace low for Sgt Dalton’s APCs and Aroxy in the Von Luckner made it nearly an afterthought. He eased back on the speed even more, bringing the machine to a slow trot as they neared the waypoint the Colonel had issued to link up with Jon. He scanned the world around him that was exploded in the grainy green of his mech’s night-vision sensors. Nothing on scope other than the Knights and only the dam in the distance, glowing white as the sensors magnified the structure’s lighting. “Boats don’t really seem like their style.” He said. The newsfeeds from Yuzhny Portveyn that the Knights had picked up played in his mind. The Heavenly Sword literally drove a truck to the front door of the stadium and exploded themselves. As functional and correct Marit’s proposition was, it seemed like it lacked the same bravado. “Watch your footing on the way up, probably best to stay off the structure itself though, we don’t know what it’s rated to hold.” He cautioned.

As they approached he could see the roads connecting over the top of the dam the same way the Colonel had described in the briefing. It would take Marit a few minutes to get into position. He checked the sensors again, probing the terrain with a careful sweep, nothing. His lips twisted a bit. He knew Jon was here. The man didn’t seem like the type that was late and had nearly a day’s head start on them. Something about him felt off to Raven, after their initial meeting. He’d seemed distant, nonchalant even, like he didn’t really care if the Knights were wiped out- well except for one: He noticed the way Jon glanced at Marit first whenever he spoke, little that it was. The others may have thought he’d lost sense of himself in the combat that followed the raid and they were right, but Raven knew his fatherly instinct was unquestionably intact. He raised a son, haughty and stubborn as he might have been, but he still felt he owed a measure of protection towards the younger women of the Knights: Marit, Reya, Lt. Lyons and some of the others. There were too many unknowns about this mercenary. Raven pegged the man for a mechwarrior, but it didn’t really matter, he would keep his eyes peeled. His gut warned that if Miss Jeong ordered him to shoot them all in the back he’d do it.

Raven shook his head and reeled the thought back in. Perhaps that was too dark. He let out a sigh, thinking about Andrew and Katrina and glanced briefly at a worn photograph of the two of them tucked into the frame of the Hawk’s canopy armor. The Knights were a family, not just another sell-sword mercenary crew. Something he knew the Crimson Fists and maybe even their supposed new allies had any concept of. They were different. When he led his lance, they were under his care and direction, not just employees collecting a paycheck, at least not him. Maybe it was the reason for his breakdown before, the way he cared. His resolve hardened at the thought and again he was starting to feel like his old self. He keyed the comm to report back to the Colonel that they arrived as scheduled: “Knights in position, Gringolet. We’ll fan out and lay low. Giggles is posting up near the structure. No sign of our associate... Standing by.”

@Starlance
@Bork Lazer

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Jonathan McCord

A cigarette burned dimly in the darkness and a wisp of exhaled smoke curled into the night. Overhead a rolling blanket of cloud marched steadily across the sky shrouding the light of Espia’s moon into a subdued gray and silver like a heavy cloth being pulled slowly across a lantern. Jon watched the wind carrying the amorphous forms and smoked. He’d been there for a long time, having moved into position when third shift opened the spillways and the generators spun up with a roar of water and machine that filled the canyon and masked all sounds other than warning claxons and the freight-train thunder of millions of gallons moving seaward. As the Tie Shan River settled through another cycle of man-made tide control, the air quieted and the structure took on its own ambiance, humming with the steady movement of giant turbines at low rpm and the somewhat soothing sound of water moving. Amber and red fixtures spread ghostly light over walkways and service doors, combining to give the whole facility a sepulchral glow. Occasionally a loudspeaker would broadcast some announcement in crackled tones from a speaker that had seen many years outside in thick saltwater air. Jon drank a cup of coffee from a thermos top and leaned back against the footpad of his Marauder.

At some point Cassandra had made the decision not to tell the regular employees of the dam about the potential for danger. As for security, she had entrusted Jon to brief them for the possibility of both friendly and unfriendly visitors and that their agreeable secrecy would be appreciated in ensuring that operations continued uninterrupted should the situation become more, “complex”. She had a way with words. Jon thought. A sentiment that he knew didn’t go unnoticed by Colonel Wayne. He took another sip and set the cup down next to the thermos and lit another cigarette. It hadn’t taken long to brief the relatively small security crew which mostly amounted to having eyes up, ears open and that they would be most dangerous, should the need arise, by keeping the channel open and making their communications short and professional. From what he observed from his time on Espia, at least within Cassandra’s sphere of the Aqua Vitae Corporation, was that they were fairly rigorous in hiring practices. Everyone on the shift understood what was said and further what was not said in a potential defense of the structure. When the shifts overlapped, he’d give the briefing again, but the regular passdown between the guard crews was to be conducted normally.

His gaze shifted with a gentle wind that swayed the tree tops slightly. He didn’t anticipate having to take any shots at extreme range, but paying attention to windage was a bit of a habit. At a standard 1G the drop in his AC5 was predictable and nothing short of gale force would affect its trajectory out of the barrel for a significant distance. The biggest challenge he’d found, other than the regular shitty weather, was that being a smaller planet the Coriolis Effect came into play much sooner and had to be taken into account. The PPC’s naturally were undisturbed by windage, however he liked the simplistic ruggedness of his shoulder mount and the Kentucky Rifle painted on the side armor had felt like the perfect harkening back to a time of warfare long past on ancient Terra. Occasionally, he liked to read the surviving stories of the woodsman and cowboys of that time. The mountaineers, the trackers and hunters and the tactics they used. HIs mind wandered for a moment. He didn’t really consider himself spiritual in any way, but at some basic, genetic level, he’d felt the foregone call of eons in his blood. He felt it on the desolate Taurian frontier protecting terraformers from pirates and raiders poaching supplies and he could feel it the forests of Espia in the mineral salt taste of earth and water.

He pulled a sleeve back from his jacket and glanced at the watch face under his wrist. The sun would be up in a few hours and the Knights would be due in at any time. Marit crept into his mind first and he shook his head slowly, looking up at the hefty cloud layer again. At least the weather was helping for a change, he thought. With no moon or starlight, the Knights approach would be in near total darkness. He finished off what was left of his cigarette and turned to start getting his kit back together. Crouched in a depression on the edge of a treeline at the top of the southern hill that overlooked the dam, the profile of his Marauder would be hard to distinguish when the Espian star first rose in the east and cut long shadows through cloud against the morning. He thought he could have probably handled the mission alone, particularly with good position and surprise on his side. The southern road had an especially dangerous bend along the hillside that would make a hellish ambush point. However, Cassandra wanted to see what the Knights were made of and the Task Force Ops were the Colonel’s way of showing her just that. Jonathan didn’t envy their position, but after what he’d seen at the sports stadium, he didn’t mind the extra firepower on his side either.

He killed the rest of the coffee and took a leak before crawling up the side of the machine to the cockpit. The canopy folded down around him as he subtracted his jacket and stored it, along with the rest of his pack, in the compartment behind the seat. The sensors came online, however “bitchin’ Betty”’s voice was more subdued with systems again in passive surveillance. He pulled a worn, red cotton headband over his relatively unkept and windblown hair for the sweat that was sure to come later. It wasn’t quite time for the neurohelmet and he left it on the hook while opening a channel to the ops frequency and waiting for the Knights to arrive.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

Not being a military person, the Colonel’s barked orders always had a very theatrical feel to Reya. She didn’t really jump or move any faster even though she knew he was completely serious. She just sort of moved because it suited her to know what was going on and she respected him as a good man and a leader. The ones that snapped to ramrod attention and clicked heels, giving the whole nine-yards, always seemed a little comedic to her. She crossed her arms with a scrutinizing glance as the briefing got underway and particularly as Cassandra spoke. Whatever it was about this person that continued to elude her was driving her insane in the back of her mind, not just because she couldn’t remember, but because she always remembered. She arched an eyebrow at the part about editing public records to keep the knowledge of a hidden subterranean tunnel network a “family secret”. Even though it was about to be their ticket out of the cave, the whole thing sounded more than a little dubious in relation to Jeong family history. Considering it was also once Star League infrastructure, she was fairly certain that Comstar likely had the unedited planetary surveys. Questions filled her mind behind her eyes: How did they build it? What did they use to do the digging? Where was it now? How much of the tunnel network was natural formation?. The fact that it was supposed to be secret knowledge is what made her want to know.

The prospects of a 21 acre scrapyard however did make a certain part of her heart soar. Proper mechbays, tools and room to work sounded almost as good as upgrading their living conditions. She had everyone’s beams dialed in to run a little hotter using Espia’s natural climate to help the heat sinks do their work along with pulling a little extra damage, and it seemed like some of the mechwarriors even preferred it, especially Ingrid. Often in the midst of the other work that filled her days, she had thought about how they could use that preference. They needed another edge the next time they met the Fists, who by this time had likely salvaged some of her previous work and started gleefully installing it on some of their mechs. Her lips pursed slightly at the thought. It was like fine artwork stolen and hung up in the gutter shanty of a criminal. She had some ideas, but their limited resources hadn’t allowed much opportunity. Again she thought about the Ostroc’s original Totschlagen SRMs. She wanted to keep at least one of them because they were so rare and in case they ever needed to refit the mech back to original spec for some reason. She was definitely going to make sure Sol didn’t turn them into blasting charges. Trapped in a battle for survival and you’re being a hoarder. She thought to herself. She shrugged one shoulder at no one in particular. Yep.

What she hadn’t expected was for her name to be called out for another mission. She didn’t know what a “dive” bar was, but instinctively glanced over at the still smoking Ziska at the first mention of it. Unlike the raid, there wasn’t a pang of apprehension in her stomach at the legitimate prospect of violent death, apropos, being with Ingrid and a contingent of the ‘Boys in plain clothes felt very reassuring and dealing with people as a representative of the Knights was more her forte. She caught Ingrid’s glance from the corner of her eye and thought that maybe Lyons would have the particulars, but her soon-to-be partner went ahead and questioned the Colonel directly, in front of everyone.

Are we going to be using our own names? Something about Ingrid’s tone towards the Colonel or the way she said the words, made the bizarre question echo forward in Reya’s mind. She assumed the answer would be, No. Obviously. That would be ridiculous, but it felt more like a strange premonition than an inquiry she would ever verbalize. She shook her head a little and glanced at Tarak for a moment before looking back at the Colonel.