For The Money - A Mercenary's Tale

[Light Ice]

Capital City, Adarian
August 3rd, 3051​

The city looked peaceful at night. It was a welcomed change from the crisp, military chatter of the day. Here, with the black out in full effect, he had to really look for the emplacements to notice them. The Defenders of Capital City had gone a long way to disguise them, to make buildings bristle with secret artillery points and corner-set machinegun emplacements. The shadowed apartment complexes and administrative offices loomed over the asphalt streets like silent sentinels, each carefully scouted to provide overlapped firing arcs and a murderous funnel of fire. A city fifty-thousand strong had been turned from an agricultural-based metropolis into a testimony of urban warfare in the course of two short months. In that respect Rylan could claim no credit. His small group of Mercenaries had operated only as exterior patrol and support. There had been no shots fired. There had been no casualties. There had only been handsome checks and the occasional briefings with Major Hollis Stanford.

For right now the city slept and Rylan admired it. It was a handsome little burg, a quaint city as far as cities went. The kind of place that was in-touch with its roots and hostile to outsiders and corporations. He appreciated that about the people here. He liked their demeanor. It gave them a genuine feel. He imagined them now, huddled in shelters or in their homes with large blankets on the windows, huddled over plasma-lanterns drinking this year's wine and making nervous jokes. He imagined their hardiness mingling with fear.

It was hard not to get anxious but he tried. A few deep breathes and he was better, back in the moment. He looked out over the darkened buildings and closed his hands on the railing, using the cold steel to ground himself and pull his thoughts further away from the restlessness of his night. Scott Rylan afforded himself a moment, a mental check of where he was and how he got there. He was a career soldier, forty-one years old. He was in tremendous shape and finally wealthy. The short hair cropped tight to his head was still raven black, not graying, and he easily looked ten years his junior or so. He was alive. He was a success. And he was under contract.

A breeze picked up. It was light and smelled like summer, cooled his naked frame. He welcomed it, even as he felt his penis shrink up against the chill and a faint shiver run through him. The air whipped briefly past him, rustling some papers on the table. He looked back at the noise and saw a few fall to the floor only to look past them to the woman sleeping in his bed. She was easily fifteen years younger than him, long and lean. The sheets were pulled up over her breasts and pressed against them, outlining their perfect shape in sheer fabric. The breeze had stiffened her nipples into tight beads.

Her face was half-veiled in a curtain of natural, auburn waves. The kind of deep and passionate red that accented her green eyes. They were closed, hidden behind long lashes. She stirred some as he watched her, one of her small feet poking from beneath the sheets at the foot of their bed as she turned over. Yes, they were under contract. They'd signed their word to stand and supplement the Federation Commonwealth's defenses of this planet. For two months they had lingered here, paid to run empty patrols while worlds beyond this one burned under the advance of the Clanners. For two months he and Rory had lived as lovers, worked and played, while the rest of the Galaxy suffered war.

He hadn't felt guilty about it. Not at all.

But in the last few days anxiety had set in. His mind had turned over the inevitable arrival of the clans, come to terms with the fact that the Federation Commonwealth's decision to send only the 22nd Heavy Armored Division's Golden Eagle Company would leave them drastically outnumbered. Adarian's militia had only a few aging machines to spare, most were lightly-armed variants built as cost-saving peace keeping machines rather than fully-equipped assault weapons. Infact, side from the Golden Eagles First Lance, Rylan's three squadron mates were perhaps the only true battle-tested and reliable machines the city had.

And that's what made the decision to stay a difficult one.

"You should get some sleep, handsome."

She slipped her lean arms around his middle, splaying one tiny hand's fingers against his belly. All at once he felt grounded, certain, sure. The gentle press of her sleek body into his back gave him a rush of awareness. She provided the contrast he needed to ground himself in his masculinity once again. Her perfect breasts pillowed gently against his back and he felt her turn her cheek into the back of his shoulder, leaning into him while her finger-tips played with the muscles of his stomach.

"Sounds like hypocrisy to me, Rory." He answered.

The reply came with a kiss to the broad blade of his shoulder and Rylan felt her small nose press into the skin there. He wondered if she would ever know how much he enjoyed that.

"My man stands on the balcony, nude and restless at all hours, keeping me up."

"He sounds like an anxious one."

"We'll stay if you tell us to, Scott." She answered. She was trying to assure him.

"I know."

"I'll stay anyway." She said softly now. He felt her kiss him again and softened some.

Reaching back with a hand, he grabbed the soft round of her hip. She yielded immediately, leaning more heavily into him. The gentle brush of her fingers along his stomach had gone from light to intent, the kind of soothing touch that'd become a near ritual for them when they stood like this. He could feel her fingers traveling the cut of his muscles, following the mannish cut of his narrow hips.

"Is it going to be that bad?" She asked him. He could see her face in his mind even though she was behind him.

'Yes," he nodded, looking out over the darkened buildings once again. "I didn't hear you get up. I was just watching you."

"I made sure not to run into that poor table." Her words were a breath against his shoulder and she leaned into him.

If she meant to make him smile she did so. He looked over his rugged shoulder, eyes cutting down to the mass of reddish waves that helped hide her face from him and squeezed her hips. Again, warmly, she pressed her naked body into his own.

The table lay between the balcony and the room's bed. It was a simple and nice-enough table. The only flaw it had was a bum leg, the wood splintered partially. When they had first arrived in Adarian she'd come to his room, walked in and bent over it. She'd watched him over a shoulder as her fingers pushed her fatigues down, revealing the round halves of her backside and the pink of her sex between her spread legs. They'd been rough that first time, needy. It'd been over two months since they'd been able to secure time alone. He'd bruised her hips where he'd held her down, steadied her as he pounded away. They came together, grunting, before falling into a tangle on the floor. By the end of that first night both of them were battered and better for it. The brutal welt she'd left on his shoulder was only now yellowing, a mark he recognized immediately from when she'd bit him to stifle a cry.

"We're going to stay as long as we can." He said finally, in reply.

She nodded against him. Rory knew him well-enough to know why he wouldn't leave them outright, even if it was the better decision to be made. Her lips were soft and wet and each kiss she planted against his shoulder was cooled by the air, until he was pressing back into her.

"I love you, Scott." She replied, reaching up to touch his chin. A gentle thing, meant to turn him. He twisted around until she was standing infront of him, going up on her toes as his rugged arms stretched around her hips. The dip of her back was entirely covered in his large hand and she leaned into him again, this time a heat blushed sharp between them. Her teeth nipped his chin submissively.

"It was nice while it lasted." He admitted, looking into the green of her eyes and feeling suddenly like the greatest danger of the war was the chance they'd never get time like this back.

"I love when you look at me like that."

"Like what?" He asked.

She smiled at him and he loved her more, loved her crazily. The kind of passion that only she had ever sparked in him.

"Like I'm everything to you. Does wonders for a girl's confidence. Don't mind your wandering hand, either." She quipped, revealing her radiant smile.

She'd alerted him to it. He'd not noticed his hand slip down to run its caress along the curves of her backside, over the bare round of her ass. Scott was also, suddenly, aware of how ferociously hard he was. The chill of the August wind was an unworthy adversary to their connection, a ferocious and passionate bond that had his length proudly defying the breeze. She curled her fingers over it, low, at the base. The stroke of her small hand along his thick inches ending with the gentle press of her thumb into the sensitive place beneath the slit in his dick's plump head.

"We have a night to make the best of. I bet I can put you to sleep sweetly." She spoke.

Scott kissed her. Her lips crushed eagerly to his and their tongues met, wet and sweet as her body bent against his. The night was quiet and she was beautiful. They would fight tomorrow. The warriors of Jade Falcon would come and the defenses of Capital City would be tried. The Clanners would come and their Eden would turn once more into the sklagg of war.

But for now she was in his arms, kissing him. It was the best place to start.

 

[SiaKlynn]

Rory Keegan

Silhouetted on the balcony Rory and Scott embrace in a passion kiss enjoying the quiet of night before the storm of war. She leads him back to their bed, smoothing her hands over his skin and straddled his waist as he sits on the edge. Placing her hands on the side of his face she gazes into his eyes electricity buzzing between them. The excited anticipation for what’s next always there, never waning in want and desire.

Breathing a little deeper her lips brush against his brow as she reaches between their bodies, lightly fingertips touch the length of his hard shaft. Feeling a shudder move through his body, she smiles and strokes his length, slowly. Rising up on her knees, the hard tips of her nipples drag against his chest, and she guides him inside of her with a soft moan and tremble. Gazing into his eyes Rory watches her lover as she lowers body down on his length feeling him slide deep inside. Slowly she begins to roll her hips back and forth in a steady rhythm. The swollen head of his cock massages against the inner walls coaxing soft moans to her lips. The sex is sweet and he allows her to control the pace. The grip of his hands is firm. His rough fingers press into the smooth round of her ass, but he restrains from taking control.

Trembling against him Rory quickens her pace fucking him a little harder and continues keeping eye contact. He can see the wild urgency of their passion there within the depth of her green eyes. Words are not needed to communicate. They know what is between them. Minutes pass. Rory’s back arches as she tosses back her head and lets out a groan. Scott grips her hip harder thrusting his hips upwards a single hand smoothes up her back to tangle his rough digits into her mass of rich auburn waves. His lips move down her throat, nipping at her collar bone before taking a single hard nipple between his lips, teeth clamping down roughly. Soft screams of pleasure fill the quiet dark of their room as she comes hard, shuttering and panting.

Scott having held back pulls Rory from lap and guides her to knees on their bed. Moving behind her, he grips her hips with his powerful hands and thrusts his slick throbbing cock forward. She hears him groan as his fingers press into her skin leaving behind familiar red marks. The pain is sweet and a thrill runs through her when he spills himself inside her with his fingers tangled in her hair forcing her to severely arch her back. They fall against the sheets together their warm moist skin prickling against the cool breeze blowing in from the open balcony doors.

A sigh passes between smiling lips as Scott nuzzles the back of her neck through her hair murmuring a few sweet words before he drifts off to sleep. She lays there awake wrapped in his arms listening to his breath give way to the swallow soft sighs of sleep.

---------

She was named for her grandmother, Lorelei, but her father always called her Rory. Rory has always known what she wanted. Even before she had the words to communicate she found ways make her demands known. As she grew older she knew what she wanted most was to sit in the cockpit of a Mech. Watching her father spend hours in a cargo bay repairing and upgrading the behemoth machines she would daydream piloting one. Since she was eight years old it’d been only them taking care of each other. When she was fourteen she lost him when one of the Mech’s wiring systems short circuited and the electric shock caused his heart to seize. A week after his funeral her estranged grandparents took in the scrawny teen with her mass of red hair shoved up in a hat and her frame hidden within her father’s leather jacket. They tried to control her as they had her mother and like her mother she ran away.

The last unit her father had worked for had been the only family, the only home she’d known, it was the only place she had to go. Trenton’s team of mercenaries lived on a beat up, but fully functional, Leopard class dropship called Lady Luck. He’d been like an uncle to her and since she was nearly an adult he saw no reason not to accept her as one his crew. Rory learned to pilot a Mech and became the best scout he’d ever hired. Those were good years. Rory was sorry to see them end.

Though Trent was a retired officer his loyalty to the Federated Commonwealth couldn’t keep him out of the war. He’d given them the option to leave before he contracted Lady Luck and its MechWarriors to help “kick some clan ass.” They were on Colmar helping to evacuate willing civilians when Clad Jade Falcon attacked. They were caught by surprise and out manned. Rory almost died that day along with her unit, but managed to eject before her Mech took a direct hit. Still she’d sustained severe injuries – four broken ribs, a concussion and a deep slice down her side, a thin long scar still remains. While waiting for help she almost bled to death as the battle raged on.

Hours later she woke up in the medical bay of the Polaris, a Vigilant-class corvette, and there she remained for the next two weeks. When she had recovered she realized she had nowhere to go and had lost everyone she cared for and loved. Rory had two options, get hired with another mercenary unit or go back to her grandparents. It was fortunate Captain Sol of the Polaris knew Scott Rylan was looking to hire. She applied and he accepted.

From the first moment Rory Keegan laid eyes on Scott Rylan she knew she wanted him. It didn’t happen straight away. She warred with herself on a daily basis, but in the end there really wasn’t any choice, for either of them. When their eyes first met something passed between them. It was more than attraction or lust though they played a heavy part, especially the day she walked into his room on Adarian.

-----

Dawn hasn’t yet chased away the darkness when Rory wakes up alone in their bed sweeping her hand over where he should be and notices his side is cold; he’s been up for a while. Blinking her eyes open she pushes strands of auburn from her face to see Scott dressed and sitting at the table in the center of their room. His concentration deep enough not to notice she’s awake. She hugs a pillow under her chin and watches him. She knows he’s not telling them everything. A natural born leader bearing the bulk of the burden. She loves and hates this about him.

Sliding out of bed she walks to his side, fingertips lightly brush against his upper arm as she leans down to press a kiss tp his temple, “Good morning, my love.”

When they are alone in their room she indulges in endearments. Outside of their sanctuary she is part of the team. “Morning.” He murmurs glancing up and then back to the papers on the table.

Squeezing his arm once before stepping away she misses his sidelong glance, a final look at her naked form, before she disappears into the bathroom.

 

[Light Ice]

Roughrider's Command (Formerly Bilso and Co. Warehouse) - Capital City, Adarian, August 4th, 5:04 am

It began to rain. The heavy drops once again assaulted the paved streets, thudding gently in rhythm while what was left of the city began to wake. Chris Harby still found it eerie now that it was evacuated. The great exodus of citizens had left most of the buildings empty and silent. Heavy black sheets hung in the windows, the final instructions of the Duke before he had retreated off-world. Chris hadn't been surprised that the Duke had left. He was not a fighting man. He was, however, surprised that he had left so soon. It'd been a small mercy that the greater portion of the City Defense Force had seemed oblivious to the man's cowardice. A greater one, even, that he had not attempted to stay and assist.

A bad leader did far more harm then none in some cases.

He didn't see Lilly come up behind him. He was too busy watching the street. It was called Elm Collar Boulevard, a wide six-lane thoroughfare that bisected the lower-half of downtown and ran directly to the outskirts. Flanked on either side by tall buildings, Elm Collar carried on until it literally touched the fields at Capital City's edge. There, it simply ended, T-ing off with South Avenue. There, at that intersection, hovered under camo-webbing and surrounded by mounds of sandbags and cinderblocks, were two concealed artillery pieces. He could see two men milling about at their base, one pouring coffee for the other.

And that was when she jabbed an elbow into his side, sucking the air from him.

He hated when she did that. Not because it was mean or because she was cruel. He hated it because she always surprised him, always pushed the air from his lungs and reminded him how thin he was. How weak he was. He hated it because he loved her and she did not love him. But, despite the shame and the red-hot spark of anger that ran through him, Chris gave her a faint smile. She returned it.

"You're zoning out, Spider. We've got work to do." She said. Her face was smudged with grease.

Lilly Collis was the Roughrider's mechanic. She was twenty years old, a whole year younger then Chris. Like Chris she'd been recruited heavily by Rylan when they'd served beneath him, spotted as prodigal talents and stolen away when he'd ended his service and forged the Roughriders. Unlike Chris, however, she did not have a nickname. One that she had come to hate.

He smiled anyway.

She was a tiny thing. A pixie of a woman. The narrow cut of her body hiding small, feminine curves and a trim condition. Her hair was a naturally curled mane of golden blond, unkempt and neglected. She had it tied back with a yellow bandanna, keeping it from falling infront of her clear blue eyes. Beautiful. Girlish. Full of life.

And so capable with a wrench that Rylan had kept a close eye on her.

"I'm finished." He said, looking back to the street. Chris lifted a finger and pointed to the gun emplacement. "I can't link those positions to our grid. They're using a different transponder code and refuse to give me the credentials."

"What about the Skipper, could he help?"

Chris considered the question a moment before nodding. There wasn't much Scott Rylan couldn't help with. He may have been all thumbs with defense networks and communications but people listened to him. They listened well. And that came through in spades when it came to getting access to a network.

"Yeah. I'll have to ask him. You finished with the Uglies?' He looked back to find her frowning at him. It didn't suit her. The mirth was already returning in the glint of her eyes.

"Those are my babies, Spider. Careful or I'll make one step on you." She cautioned, before breaking into her charming, sweet little laugh. "Yeah, they're all set. It took a minute to get the speed-loaders ready but they'll work."

Spider nodded. He hadn't expected any different and she looked from him to the street as well. The rain was beginning to catch on the breeze and come inwards, brushing the legs of Spider's pants and dampening his face, dotting his glasses with small beads of water and soaking through his mouse-brown hair. He had nearly dyed his hair a week earlier, attempted to shed some of the plainness from his look. But in the end he simply couldn't do it. It didn't feel right.

"Is he really going to stay here and fight?" Lilly asked without looking.

"I think so."

They both wanted to sigh. He could feel it. Fear. It rumbled up in you. He looked to her and saw that she'd been looking at him already. Spider wondered how long. He wondered what he should do.

Then Lilly took his hand and squeezed it. She'd done it before. It'd always been friendly, nothing else, and in the rare moments she was overwhelmed with something. It shut his mind down, tore the thoughts away, and he squeezed it back.

"He's got a plan. If they listen to him this morning we'll be fine." He assured her and she nodded, looking from him then. Just like that her small fingers were gone and Spider's hand was empty. He could feel the grease that'd been on her fingers on his now and the fading warmth of her touch. His heart broke in the way only a boy's could.

He looked out to the rain with her.

"You think he'll marry Rory if we survive this?" She asked suddenly.

Spider rolled his eyes. Girls were funny like that. One moment they were delicate, soft, vulnerable. And the next they were fine. Sometimes they needed to cry and others they needed to hold hands. But, just like that, she was back. Smiling out into the street. He took the chance to gently dig his elbow into her hip, knocking her sidelong.

She laughed and swatted him as he gestured inside.

"Come on, Pixie." He said, leading her back into the massive warehouse that'd become the Roughrider's Mech Bay. "I don't think the Skipper is the wedding type."

"Oh, I don't know. I bet he's romantic." She said. Sighing in exaggeration.

They both laughed. Chris felt her brush past him on the way towards the machines, looming in the dark.

"Hey..." She said suddenly, looking to him. "I liked that."

"What?" He asked, arching a brow and looking to her.

"When you called me 'Pixie'." She didn't look at him and smiled some. "I thought it was cute."

He almost said it. Something stupid about how cute he thought she was, something weak about how it suited her. But there wasn't a need and Chris didn't summon the courage. He didn't even take her hand. Instead, Chris Harby laughed and walked with her towards his "Web". The dense nest of computers where he operated as support and intelligence for their efforts here. The battered leather couch creaked under his weight.

"Well, Spider-Geek, I'll leave you to nerd haven. I wanted to get ready." She spoke from over his shoulder.

"Ready for what?"

Her smile faded some. "If we're staying for the fight that means, sooner or later, it'll be another mad dash to the Dropship. You better pack a bag, Chris. I got a bad feeling about this."

-----------------------

Capital City Command, Capital City, Adarian

They hadn't spoken to one another all morning. There was no need. They sat beside one another, as always, in the main briefing chamber of Capital City Command. C-Cubed, as it was called, was the city's only military bunker, laid two stories under solid concrete and steel fortifications with a wide, sloping ramp that lead from the street-level into the hanger. The interior was a network of rounded hallways and passages that honey-combed through the base, six floors in all, and connected the various quarters, barracks, and operational rooms. It was woefully neglected. The walls showed cracks in places. The lights faltered in others. The Jade Falcon invasion had come after years of quiet. Years that had, for better or for worse, had the people of Adarian slowly settle into a ritual of peace and prosperity and turn away from the small fortifications that had once been so necessary when they were considered a part of the Federated Commonwealth's vast frontier.

He was seated along one of the table's longer sides, nestled amongst the few NCO's of the Adarian Defense Force that had been invited. They were lifers. Their long faces were stubble-clad and fatigued. Rylan knew they had spent the better part of the last month preparing the defenses he had suggested, pulling bricks and stone up with a grim purpose and soldierly attention to detail. They had been, to his surprise, the greatest asset the planet Adarian had produced since his arrival. Their leader was a man at their end, farthest from Rylan and Rori. He was a man who, like Rylan, was nearing fifty named Sal Ventrionne who was an American-Born Italian. That was something of a legend in itself. A kind of sub-culture that had survived even as the centuries past and the memories of Ellis Island and immigration from Europe fell beyond the minds of most Terrans. He had greying hair that was slicked straight back and short, heavy black eyebrows, and a long hooked nose that gave his features a severe, buzzard-like quality. He looked at Rylan with bark-brown eyes and nodded, managing a grim smile.

"Merc." He said.

"Sergeant." Rylan did not know him enough to call him "Trenchspike" like the others in the room.

Their brief exchange was typical. As friendly as it usually became. The room was filling to capacity now and the hum of conversation filled it.

He spotted a familiar face, young and handsome. The kind of devastatingly handsome man that often depicted a MechWarrior hero on the Net Stations. Usually, when it came to men, that kind of handsome was enough to sour Rylan's opinion. That kind of handsome, he found, grew in the absence of a man's greater qualities. In this case, though, it wasn't so. Mich Crosswind was a hell of a Mechwarrior and as honest as they came. He flashed Rylan a winning smile as he crossed the room, only to bypass him entirely on his way to Rori.

"Mich!" She said, laughing suddenly as her lean arms went up and around the strapping warrior's middle.

"Hello, gorgeous." He said, hugging her with a thick arm.

"You came. Scott didn't think you would."

Rylan looked from Rori to Mich.

"Hoped I wouldn't, probably. You going to leave him and run away with me already?" He tossed his curly blond hair dramatically. Ever the charismatic one, Mich had a tendency of making fast and long friends. Rylan cracked a smile.

"You don't run fast enough. Either of you." He offered.

Rori released Mich and the pair sat, Rori's place between them serving as a focus. Both men had leaned toward her now. The three had spent quite a bit of time together.

"I didn't see the Bell of the Ball get loaded up, Rylan. You sticking it out with the ADF?" Mich asked, his humor suddenly gone.

Rori answered for him and he let her. She was proud. He felt himself love her a little more just then.

"We signed a contract to assist with the defense, didn't we?" A challenge. She was a pistol. Mich looked plainly at her.

"And with a clause that you'd a right to pull out at any time. Adarian is a lost rock."

"Maybe." She said.

Mich glanced past her then, his smile entirely gone, and leveled a sudden and serious glance at Rylan.

"What did you tell her?" He said.

Mich Crosswind was charismatic. He was handsome. He was a hot-shot in a Battlemech and definitely loud. But he wasn't dishonest. And he wasn't insensitive. The look that he gave Rylan was a dour one, a severe one. It was the kind of look that melted the Mech Jocks in his command and helped make him an efficient Merc Captain. But Mich Crosswind, despite his chivalrous intent, was out of his league. He was, by Rylan's standards, a pup.

Rylan watched him, met his eyes. For a long moment nothing was said. The silence stretched on until at last Mich leaned back, sighing suddenly.

"I'm sorry, Scott. I am. But you're insane to stay here. There has to be a-..."

-Clack Clack Clack-

The conversations went quiet as the room filled with the smack of a pistol butt on the table's head. The man holding it was Caesar Darlus. He was the General of the ADF, the last of the High Command to remain. He spoke with flat authority.

"Listen up. I'm not going to waste time. First of all, thanks to Sergeant Sal and his Militia for finishing all the emplacements. The last time we met Scott Rylan offered suggestions on how to get this job done and then told me he was staying. I'm going to ask him to speak. But before I do, I want to make it clear to all of you that I have never been so proud to be from Adarian. The Clanners made a hell of a mistake coming here. They assumed we were soft. They assumed we were weak. And I know they were wrong. They'll know too. Soon."

Rori squeezed his knee under the table hard, her features suddenly knitting with anger. He looked and knew why they were there. He'd told Darius that the Roughriders were staying before he'd mentioned it to them, or to her. It was the kind of decision he usually made with her and not for her.

"Alright, Rylan. Let's hear it again."

Rylan looked into the faces that surrounded him, to the strangers. He looked past Rori. He looked past Mich. They were either too young or too old. But they had hardened faces. The cold mask of determination and the grim eagerness of killers lingered there. Hatred. Pure hatred. It'd galvanized this group before he had ever arrived and forged them into highly-motivated, highly-prepared men. Caesar Darius was not a military genius. His tactics were rudimentary. But he listened and so did Rylan. As he began to speak, Rylan accepted that many of the men in here would die before the day was done.

And he saw that they were alright with that.

-------------------------------------------

Scott Rylan had not meant to find love. It'd found him. It'd only been her. From the very beginning the pair had held to one another. Strength and strength. She was sweeter than he was. She was the kind of woman that people liked right away, trusted right away. He tended to scare the shit out of people, or anger them, with his silence. His reserve. The way he seldom flashed a smile and almost never revealed a compassionate thought or inclination. It wasn't entirely by design. He'd numbed to things after time.

But never her. Even when they'd spent an entire morning in near silence there was no sense of distance between them. She was there. Always.

That's what made him love her so. She didn't need constant assurance. She knew he didn't either.

But, all the same, he did stop her. She was angry. Damned angry. Now, more than ever, they needed the kind of talks that lesser partners needed so frequently. He could almost feel it pouring off her like heat, visceral and sure. A fire that was a harder contrast to the ones she'd stoked the night before when her sweetly-curved body rocked against his. His strong hand splayed on her belly between the folds of her cooling vest. He loved that she wore it unzippered so often, found it attractive. He used it now to guide her from the corridor into an empty meeting room, pushing her back until her round ass struck the steel-table's edge and she was trapped against it.

She hadn't flinched. But now she looked up at him, green eyes searching his own like daggers.

"You're supposed to talk to me. You haven't. For four days. You have hardly said a word and you let me find out about your decision in a meeting." She hissed. It was a small marvel she could keep her voice so hard, so sharp, and so quiet all at the same time.

"I know. I'm sorry." And he was.

"Damnit, Scott! I don't ask for much..." She growled. Unassuaged.

A few men passed by the door behind him, talking in low words. He saw her green eyes shoot over his rugged shoulder to watch them pass before she looked back to him, leaning away and pressing her palms to the table's edge. It gave her back the poise he'd stolen away when he'd pushed her in here. And it was a warning. Like a cobra ready to strike. He knew it well and found it powerfully compelling.

"I decided not to speak to you about it and for that I'm sorry."

Her mouth dropped open as if he'd struck her.

"You -decided- not to talk to me about it?" She hadn't expected him to say it so simply, even though she knew him. He watched her features flicker; they changed from incredulous to furious in an instant.

Rylan knew she was reaching critical mass.

"Rory. Let me explain?" His voice was level.

"Explain?! You fucking -better- explain. It better be good, too." She said.

He said nothing. He searched her green eyes with his pale ones, wondering how long it would take for her to settle.

"Alright," she sighed, softening her stare some. The displeasure still ran through her face, written in the stern look she was giving him. But her eyes had softened. Broken down. She stepped back across the line she'd strayed over. "But I'm damned hurt, Scott. You told me that you respected my opinions."

It wasn't petulant. She didn't have it in her. It was honest. She never disappointed him. For all the anger, for all the emotion twisting up in her, she'd settled herself in an instant and found her way back to a conversation. There were few things that made him feel so lucky as these moments, the moments when things were harder on them both and they so naturally found their common thread.

"Rory, I felt that if I spoke to you about it I'd pull us off Adarian and have Darius release us from the contract." He said.

She didn't press, but waited. His desire to hold her came sudden and sure but he fought it down. She deserved an honest answer far more than he deserved her in his arms right now.

"Everytime I look at you I want us to get on Belle and get away from here. I don't want to get you killed. I needed to decide away from you so I knew I was doing what I thought was best."

"Why are we staying, Scott? She asked. Her words were quiet now. She looked back up to him and tentatively reached out, curling her fingers against his cheek. Scott leaned into her hand some, turning his face to kiss her palm.

"You know why." He said to her, looking into her eyes. They changed colors. They always did. He'd look into them and watch them flicker Jade and then Emerald, even soften to a sea-green so pretty that his breath caught. She blinked her long lashes and leaned into him some.

"Because the contract was to assist, indefinitely." She breathed, almost tiredly. He felt her sag into him all at once and swept her up in his arms. The bag he carried in one briefly resting over the round of her backside. "What is that anyway?"

He'd almost forgotten. The time seemed right.

"I owe you something." He said.

She arched a brow at him, surprised. He pushed the bag he'd been carrying into her hand, feeling their fingers touch. It was like a surge, a wave of force ran between them. It lingered in the silence as they stood close to one another, her body nearly trapped by his own. He watched her face as her fingers opened the bag, looking inside. When her eyes widened he looked down to see the dress barely visible over the cusp of the bag, her fingers running through the sheer fabric.

"Scott?!" She whispered.

"When this is done. I am taking you dancing." He said, simply.

"Dancing?" Another question, even quieter now. She was looking at the dress as it moved between her fingers, gauze like. Expensive. Sheer. Utterly feminine. A stark contrast to the way they'd stood beside one another at the last formal function. She'd worn dress uniform. He'd insisted on it.

"Yes." He said. And then, with the great and quiet sincerity of his feelings. "I was a fool to make you wear a uniform. Even at my age a man should learn from his mistakes."

She smiled and he knew she understood. They leaned, as though to share the kiss they both wanted. But at the last moment, in unison, they pulled back. She took one of her hands from the bag and tucked the dress inside, watching it slither down the inner panel to pile with the rest of it in the darkness of its home. She laid that hand atop his then.

"Alright. When we get back." She agreed.

If anything it made things right. It let her know how he felt. It helped her understand what he couldn't bring himself to say.

An hour later they would be in their machines, flanked by the buildings of Capital City on its eerily empty streets. They'd watch the sunset rise up over the eastern horizon, blanketing the sky in deep and passionate twirls of color. The most dominate was pink. An almost rose, heavy color that saturated the entire horizon so completely that the sun's bold vermillion was briefly shamed.

It was the last Adarian sunrise they would share so near to one another, only yards away. Her massive Hellion immobile beside the bird-like profile of his Marauder.

 

[Light Ice]

Section 8A, Grid 345 - Outside Capital City, Adarian, August 4th, 6:47am

It was a frontier territory and therefore a place of contest. This, alone, had made it valuable to him. The more purchasable truth for those within the circle of their Khan, however, had been the fields in which he now stood. To the spoiled and pampered children of Terra the planet Adarian had become expendable. It was, by the Inner Eye's measure, a backwater world whose value was limited by its novelty. And yet, as he reached his hands out from his sides and felt the feathered stalks of grain brush through his gnarled fingers, Luca Pryde was reminded the pragmatic worthiness of this world for the storm that had fallen upon it. It would feed the clan worlds. Very well.

The morning had begun with a whimper and continued whining now. Above him, looming, the clouds began to whir and twist angrily against a stiff southern breeze. The air tasted of rain and smelled of thunder, fresh and clean. It would be a storm of storms. He stuck his tongue out, letting it splash above the forks he had cut into the muscle many years ago. The ends flickered in different directions, a gross spectacle that the men beside him pointedly ignored.

"Our forces have made ready?" Luca asked him without looking sidelong.

He disliked Kova Suran. The Star Commander was as ambitious as he was untested. Respect, to the boy, had not been a lesson he had cared to learn. It was unfortunate. It was also very rare. It was a unique flaw to be found in a Trueborn and rarer still to survive the training. He had accepted Kova Suran's placement amongst his corps because the Council had insisted and he was bound to do so without protest. But in his thoughts, even now as the boy stood beside him, Luca had his doubts. At seventeen the fair-haired boy's fresh look and thin fingers suggested so many things to Luca. Warrior was not amongst them. Sometimes, even amongst those of Herald, politics played their part. Luca had lived nearly sixty years upon the front line and was terribly proud. The boy's place at the command of his First Star, his best, was a blemish on his otherwise satisfying career.

"Aff, OvKhan." The boy said. His voice was as thin as his fingers were. Dagger sharp. Luca thought him best in a laboratory.

He disliked the clipped language, traditional or otherwise. It lacked the elegance that a warrior should have. The pride, the ritual, the great respect for all things including each living moment seemed absent when it was spoken. It was something he often refused to indulge, speaking instead in the almost ancient fullspeak. In that way he was ancient himself, bound to the philosophical tenants of a code in which too many young-made were allowed to recite without understanding.

Or maybe, he thought, he was simply old.

Luca nodded absently. The blades of wheat lashed his fingers urgently, born by a stiff breeze. He could taste rain on the wind. The air was thick with it. Suitable. As the storm gathered above them, twisting and tumultuous clouds marking its approach, so too did their own. He felt no mercy for the men and women defending Capital City. This was the path they had chosen and their homeland to defend. But he pitied them because they were unprepared. They were not ready. They were militia and citizens, fresh blooded soldiers with old machines. The mercenaries would leave them and he would destroy them. It was what he was bid to do. There was no honor in it, though. No glory. And in Kova Suran he saw a boy who did not seek honor but what came of its speaking. Reward. He saw greed.

And that was unworthy, too.

Looking out at the forces of Jade Falcon, Luca felt familiar comforts. The sparkle of Jade Green metal beneath a red morning sun. Battle formations. The five-pointed Star of Kerensky's herald, born by The Great Father, formed by the forms of their Battlemech's and flanked by ranks upon ranks of infantrymen and Elementals. It was an unsuitable opponent that awaited them. There would be no honor in this. But he had made these battles before. They were written in his Codex, footnotes in an otherwise fulfilling life. They were steps on the way towards greater things and only worthy of being remembered that way, as steps.

He saw that his young counterpart did not appreciate or understand steps.

The wind pushed against him, filled his lungs with Adarian's sweet air and bent the grain around him. It danced, swaying with it like waves on the ocean. The stalks bent, fluttered. He looked after them, past the boy, and watched as those nearest his Mech brushed its massive feet. The Jupiter was an aging design. It was a herald of the old days and a relic. It was one-hundred tons of purity, battered and broken. He started toward it, reaching, until his fingers took hold of the ladder lent against it. The day he could not climb it was the day he slipped from war. Hopefully death would come first. It would be a far better end.

"Star Captain?" He paused. The metal rungs of the ladder were cool under his fingers.

"Sir?"

"Advance quickly. The Council has decided the right to First Blood is yours but my men will not wait long. Send your infantry and elemental units to clear the buildings before you bring your Mechs and Armor close to the city. They'll be using the streets as cover."

The pause was potent. He knew the face. Arrogance. Anger. The advice had been unnecessary but he had given it anyway.

"I am glad you abide the Council." Kova replied. The tone of his voice was enough to make Luca look back to him. The boy was glowering. Seething.

"Clear to the first Waypoint. We will come after you reach it."

Turning, Luca said no more. The ladder passed quickly beneath him, his arms and legs moving in unison. It would be a violent afternoon. The clouds above were churning and lightning flashed silently over Capital City. From his Mech's cockpit, sixty feet up, it was a dark mass of concrete and steel amidst a sea of wheat. An abomination. The Inner Sphere's concept of cities were wasteful and ugly thing.

Before he entered the Jupiter's hatch he looked down. The boy was gone. He would deal with him later. Capital City could not last long.

 

[SiaKlynn]

Rory Keegan

Rory walks around their room quietly gathering a few personal items and packing them in a medium sized duffle bag. She’s always traveled light. A product of her upbringing. You never know when you might need to leave in a hurry. In this war torn galaxy words could not be truer. A few articles of clothing, a picture of her as a child with her mom and dad, a picture of she and her dad taken only weeks before he died. There is her journal filled with scraps of pictures, scribbled sketches and recounts of most of her life over the last several years. She doesn’t write in the tattered leather bound book every night or even week; she only logs what she feels is important. In the last few months she’d made more entries than in the last year.

The duffle bag lays open on their bed half filled, but fully packed aside from the dress Scott had given her minutes prior. The dress lays spread out next to the bag. It’s sleek and slender lines will cling to her shapely curves. She looks forward to the evening she’ll wear it for him. Once more her fingertips gently glide over the soft sheer material and she looks over her shoulder at Scott.
They hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the small meeting room. It’d been their worse argument. The hurt still lingers, but that is to be expected. When two people trust and depend on each other as they do the hurt is that much stronger. Still, she doesn’t dwell on the feelings. What was done is done. She understands why and loves him all the more.

The battle ahead of them is essentially a suicide mission. The odds are against them, but that is war and they made a promise to help defend Adarian. Rory picks up the dress and carefully folds it into the duffle bag before zipping it closed. The physical contents of her life contained she turns around to stare at Scott who is standing out on the balcony buried in thought. He hadn’t taken as long to pack.
Walking up behind him she slides her arms around his waist slender fingers splayed against his abdomen and chest. Rory presses her cheek against his broad shoulder blade. She feels his hand cover over one of her own followed by a gentle squeeze. Taking advantage of what will likely be their last quiet moment in long time she puts to memory how he feels in her arms. Closing her eyes they remain quiet everything that needs to be said is there in the silence. There is however one thing she needs. Sliding around to the front of him Rory gazes up at her lover both hands moving to rest on either side of his face. There is much she wants to voice, but to utter a word feels as if she’s saying good-bye. Searching his eyes she finds what she’s looking for, what she needs - his strength and his love. A reassuring smile breaks across her lips before she reaches up on her tip toes and presses parted lips sweetly to his.

Sitting in the cockpit of her Hellion, Rory stares at the horizon watching the bright hues of pinks and blues illuminate and compliment the rich green cover hills. The parting clouds still let lose sporadic bursts of rain. Where their Mechs stand the clouds release little more than drizzle just enough to make things wet and slippery. Turning her head to look out the viewport to Scott’s Marauder even in this state, standing side by side in their Mechs she can feel their connection. It was like nothing she could describe and something she could have ever imagined she’d feel.

In a short while they will engage Clan Jade Falcon. Beneath her calm façade is a seething desire for revenge. Six months ago she wasn’t one of Rylan’s Roughriders; she was a member of Trenton’s crew aboard his vessel Lady Luck. It was home for many years. A surprise attack by Clan Jade Falcon on Colmar stole the lives of her remaining family. On the battlefield, battered and broken, she was prepared to die – alone, but it hadn’t been her time. She’d healed, but she hadn’t forgotten nor had she forgiven. The words casualties of war didn’t excuse their deaths. This time there would be no surprise attack. She would face Clan Jade Falcon head on. She will fight to kill them. In an effort to save Adarian and its people and she will fight to stay alive for Scott Rylan.

 

[Light Ice]

Outside Capital City, Adarian, August 4th, 10:14am

Weeks of empty patrols had not been wasted. Though, by design, he had intended for it to look as though they had been. While out running the grounds they had done very little by way of maneuvering. They were intentionally laxidasical and sloppy. It had been a gamble, he knew it, but for the easiness with which they strolled in the field Rylan had ensured they had paid their price in sweat in the simulators. It had been a relentless game. The exercises had been brutally hard. The entirety of their purpose, his efforts, would begin their steady culmination now.

Scott Rylan had survived the fury of the Clans for many, many years. They were not new to him. And when the dropships had begun landing he could envision the Clanners pouring from within, gathering in an armored wave that was meant to storm across the stricken rural planet and pluck it from grasp of the people who had forged a life on it. It had been a small miracle that the militia to whom he was contracted had listened to him. Rory, he imagined, could take some credit for it. Where he was a hard man, an unlikable man in many ways, she shined. It wasn’t just her beauty, though that never hurt, but the casual warmth of her that drew people in. Her laugh had a way of making even the most awkward of moments comfortable. In every dinner they had attended, in every meeting, she had been the star.

The cockpit of the Marauder was less spacious than those of the other machines, less forgiving. It was a venerable design, an old one, and had not been built to absorb the upgrades he had forced on it. His coolant suit kept him comfortable, his neuro-helmet and visors kept him plugged into the massive machine wrapped around him. It felt so familiar now, after twenty-five years of use, that in many ways it was an extenstion of who he was. All systems had passed their checks. Another benefit of the three weeks of light duty was that all four of their Mechs had been serviced into prime condition. It was rare that the Roughriders endured such a luxury with the Clanners landing throughout the sphere on every habited world.

“All Wraiths – sound off.”

“Wraith Four, go.”

“Wraith Three, go.”

“Wraith Two, go.”

“Wraith Leader, go.” He answered them. Briefly, he ran a scan of all their systems and began the process of mapping their first waypoint onto the unit’s HUDs. “Three, I want all targets linked between the Lance right from the get go. I’ve a feeling we’re going to be saturated with them before long.”

“Three copies, Lead.” Spider was a kid, really, but his talent was substantial and his courage was tireless. He’d found the boy right before retiring and had been able to scoop him up before someone else could. Spider’s real name was Chris and Chris could wear two hats. In a Mech he was a stable hand, good at mixing it up and keeping himself from absorbing a beating. The kid’s versatility and intuition were the kinds of things you couldn’t teach. He listened to Scott and that alone was worth its weight. But really, what made him unique, was how skilled he was with network systems and applications.

Spider had proved essential with their computer systems. The kid was always in the bay with Lily or elsewhere on the ship. They’d formed the youngest team of maintainers that he’d known in the game but were the most talented he’d ever seen. Lily could spin a wrench and get anything put together. Spider was quick to have it networked and could do everything from hacking closed systems to locking down their own.

“Four, you’re the prettiest of our motley crew, but that doesn’t mean you can hog the attention today. I need you back behind us to start like we talked about. Stay tight.”

Rory was Wraith Four. She had always been Four. Her Hellion represented the lightest Mech in the Lance and that earned her the last callsign – but she was lethal and the number wasn’t indicative of skill. He trusted her in the machine more than anyone. It took tremendous skill to make a sixty-foot tall machine move with discretion and even more to keep it in the fight when things went bad. Light Mechs were more valuable than most people knew. Maneuverability and firepower were deadly in the right combination. Still, this wasn’t going to be an open field kind of engagement. And her abilities as a scout, while incomparable, would do them very little good here. She was going to be on harassment duty – and that’d make her a target pretty early in.

“Lead, we have incoming.” She was all business on the radio. Still, her voice stirred him. It was strange to feel like she was so close he could reach out and touch her hand. Her long-range scanners began to filter information to everyone else’s machines. That was Spider’s doing.

The first wave would be front line Clanner units. That, he had anticipated. They were moving steadily in formation. Clan formations were called “Stars” and sported one extra Mech than their Inner Sphere counterparts. This gave them superiority in firepower on pure numbers alone. But the real struggle with Clan units was that their Omnimech’s boasted technology that nobody else could compete with. In a culture groomed on warfare they were often younger, more experienced, and more fanatical than anyone in the Inner Sphere could imagine. It was part of the reason they had already washed through the exterior worlds.

“Three, I need Comms with that Command Star.” He said quickly. “Hold your fire, everyone.”

It was an unnecessary order at this point. The Clan Mechs were still three kilometers out at this point and wouldn’t be in range for another minute or so. Still, he wanted to be sure. He quickly cut his microphone over to the militia frequency.

“Hornet’s Nest this is Wraith Leader, hold your fire until my command. Remember what we trained.”

“Hornet Nest copies Wraith Leader.”

A moment later and his microphone toggle flashed a third pre-programmed option. He could imagine Spider working quickly at the keypad, breaking into the Clanner’s frequency. All at once the radio crackled as the encryption protocols collided and Spider broke through. The voice that came across was young, arrogant, and spoke the formal language of the Old Star League.

“Mercenary Commander, this is Star Commander Kova Suran. Tuck tail and run – you are not being paid enough to die here. I will not offer you an exit again.”

“Star Commander Kova Suran, I decline your offer, and make the following reply.” Rylan steeled his voice. Across the radio it was a low, threatening, distinguished rumble. All at once the clipped, easy English turned elegant and formal. He sounded every bit at ease with the Clanspeak as the Star Commander was. “I am Mechwarrior Scott Rylan of the Roughriders, piloting the Marauder and commanding this Lance of Battlemech’s. I ashamed to know that the steel talons of Clan Jade Falcon have since softened to the point where they no-longer follow the solemn rights of Batchall upon the field. I can only surmise that I am facing the freeborn dezgra here upon this small world. There will be no Circle of Equals today. Come and let’s be done with it. I won’t bother to add you to our tallys. There’s no honor in it.”

--------- ----------- ------------- -----------------

For a long moment Kova Suran stared blankly at his sensor readouts as his Night Gyr lead the first binary of Jade Falcon across the field. They were nearly in range. At seventeen he was the youngest Star Commander in the Clan’s grand army and reveled in the sneering distaste it had forged in those above him. He had, however, finished first in his sibko – unrivalled in all challenges. His name and reknown had not yet had the opportunity to grow, but it would, and he would start the tide now.

Or so he thought.

The radio was dead silent after the Mercenary’s reply. Fury, and shame, coiled itself in his belly. The Inner Sphere commanders had often made a mockery of the batchall through deception and in doing so few in Jade Falcon had seen fit to follow it. But to have it quoted to him, to hear the icy discontent of the freebirth scum as he loomed ahead of his pathetic assortment of mechs, drove an ice pick into the belly of his pride.

It quickly turned to rage and he found his heart pounding, quickly snarling his youthful voice into the radio.

“You know nothing of honor, Mercenary Scum.”

“The freeborn and his motley Star of Bondsmen offer me the opportunity to disgrace myself – and, yet, here I am. This new batch of chicks that Jade Falcon has spit out speaks of their desperation. Come on then, chick. Tweet Tweet.” The voice on the other end of the radio was granite and unyielding.

“I am Kova Suran and my blood is named! FIRST of my sibko and standard bearer of Clan Jade Falcon!” He snarled, seeing red before his eyes as he quickly toggled to his Night Gyr’s twin PPC cannons. “I pilot the Night Gyr in Alpha Star and command the blooded warriors inside them. I hereby invoke the ritual of zellbrigen and challenge the pilot of the Marauder in green and brown to a duel of warriors. In this solemn matter let no man interfere!”

“You dishonor me, invader. I would have you and all your chicks. I would have your Star and its blooded warriors in the Circle of Honor against my Lance. Should you win our duel than what remains of my Mercenary contingent on this planet will depart and surrender its contract. Should I win you will afford us a day to measure your honor and the ruins that you leave behind.”

“You want the full compliment of my Star and would stand to it with your goonish rabble? WELL BARGAINED AND DONE, FREEBIRTH!” He snarled savagely and broke his Night Gyr into a full sprint. It took his Star a second to comprehend the arrangement and break off after him. Nomatter – the mercenary would die and he would see the rest of them tuck tail and run. “I see no equals before me.”

“STAR COMMANDER SURAN – how dare you?!” The radio crackled with fury as the ovKhan roared in shock. Still, Kora would not allow the old man to steal his thunder or halt his rise. Scrambling the channel he watched as he crossed the plane and entered the valley where his name would be forged.

“Alpha Star, designated your targets. Leave the Marauder. That scum is mine.”

They were nearly in range for their first volley – one which he knew the Mercenary’s from the Inner Sphere could not match. His thin lips curled in a sick smile despite it. He would leave nothing but molten skag upon the grass. Nothing but skag.

--------- ------- ------- ------

It had been a calculated risk – one that Rylan had known how to make. He could almost feel Rory smiling in her mech as the young Clanner took the bait. It would not work a second time – but he had bought them time. All at once he was designating targets and issuing commands, switching back to their secure channel while he switched over to his heavy cannons. The Marauder beneath him felt ready – and he certainly was.

“Two, Three. I want you to break right. Traverse to the waypoint that I’ve marked for you. Four, I want you to be their shadow, use them as a screen against the Star’s big guns. Engage them as soon as they cross into range. We’re playing by their rules so don’t engage the same target until we’ve thinned the herd.”

He charged headlong as they broke for their mark, focusing his reticule on the Night Gyr charging to meet him. Already, breaking off slightly, he could see the rest of the Clan Star angling towards Two and Three. They were still dramatically outgunned but the risk was calculated. The rest of the Clan Star consisted of a Cougar, a Thor, a Loki, and a Onager. The latter of which was lagging behind, gratefully, because it sported a HAG 30 Gauss Rifle that was absolutely murderous.

“Watch that Onager’s Gauss Rifle. Four, wait until my mark and then break to the waypoint I’ve set for you. I want you to use Jets and hit and run. Do not engage head to head. Clear?”

“Copy, Lead.”

With a slight head start the Night Gyr crossed into range first. Rylan couldn’t help but smile. His reticule keyed red and a soft tone triggered in his helmet. Pressing his triggers he felt the immediate flood of heat in the cockpit as the massive Particle Projector Cannons hummed to life. There was a nano-second delay before they detonated, hurling crackling man-made plasma lightning streaking across the field.


----- ----- ----- ------

He was about to fire when Kova saw the massive barrels of the Marauder’s arm-mounted cannons flash to life. It was impossible. They were just outside his own range and no Inner Sphere technology could reach them. It was impossible. He hadn’t expected it so he cut hard to the right, attempting to side-step himself clear of the cannon blasts. He was too late and they both connected. It was an impossible shot even at range, requiring something of a dead-eye to even consider. Kova had been charging straight in, true, but the Night Gyr provided a narrow target and the range was so extreme he couldn’t remember hearing anyone hit at that range.

The impact was furious – he was at a dead run. It took everything he had to keep the massive mech on its feet as the twin balls of pale blue lightning plowed within a meter of one another high up on his left thigh. He’d just turned enough to catch it where his armor was thickest. But the sudden scream of an alarm in his ear and the abrupt blast of heat through the cockpit told him he was lucky it was not worse. On his HUD the profile of his own machine turned crimson high up the left leg, nearly at the hip actuator. The damage read outs scrolled lightning fast through and revealed that the particle cannons had melted almost 85% of his armor through.

Kova attempted to swing his arms up and bring his own to bear. Aware, abruptly, that the rest of the Lance had split to his back with his maneuver and were drawing his Star away. He was naked and another salvo on that thigh would put him out of the fight. Still, he could return, and the Marauder had not stopped charging towards him and closed to an easier targeting range. He had the superior machine and he was the superior pilot, Trueborn and first of his kin, Star Captain to the mighty Clan Jade Falcon. The Night Gyr’s torso tracked back to the left so he could bring his big guns to bear.

And then the massive maw of the cannon over the Marauder’s bird-like shoulder flared to life. And in a split second his ego evaporated and Kova knew he had made a terrible mistake.

------- ------ ------- -------


In his periphery vision, to his right, he saw Wraith Two’s Orion IIC open up with its rack of long range missiles. The “Great Bow” system unleashed 20 massive anti-armor projectiles at just over 1100 meters. They streaked on crimson tails across the green grass and through the rain. The Thor, known as a Summoner in the Inner Sphere, was a seventy ton Mech that had a well-earned reputation for being able to take an absolute pounding. It was clearly the target. All at once the rest of the Star spread out, attempting to avoid splash damage, surprised perhaps by the size of Two’s missile battery.

Right before impact he saw a burst of chaff leave the torso of the Thor, thinning the angry cloud of missiles by nearly half, and then the human-like silhouette of the Thor vanished in a plume of crimson flame and dark, black smoke. The explosions thundered in his ears even at this distance as the smaller mech gave a staggered step backwards and stopped its advance entirely. For a moment it remained entirely wreathed in flames before the smoke lifted. The aftermath of the battery was savage. The Thor had lost the missile placement on its left shoulder and the entirety of its left arm was left dangling. It was still dangerous with its main gun on its right arm, but it was now out of range to fire back.

Rylan urged the Marauder to cross more quickly now, and it was fast for its size. Seventy-Five tons of Battlemech, outfitted with the best technology he could scavenge, and he would take it against any machine on the field. The Star Commander’s arrogance would finally be exposed as he centered his reticule just ahead of the stricken Night Gyr’s next step. And he would wait. Time. Breath. Machines moved to a pattern, to a cadence, and the terrain was a slow constant descent for them both that would have eventually had them meet in the midst of a valley. Satisfied, certain, he pulled the trigger.

The 207mm Cannon roared, deafening in the cockpit even with the sound dampening effects of his helmet. Inside he could already hear the heavy clatter of the auto-loader beginning to feed another 600lb shell into place. A half-second later and he saw that he’d hit.

The armor-piercing shell slammed just below the Night Gyr’s hip and plowed clean through what remained of the Mech’s melted, partially vaporized armor plates. The PPCs had sloughed off entire molten slabs of armor, softening the target. Usually, a Marauder carried a 115mm gun on that shoulder. Rylan had upgraded his six years ago, prior to even forming the Roughriders. The young Star Captain’s lesson was immediate and hard-learned. The shell penetrated deep into the upper thigh of the Night Gear and then detonated in a massive boom of high-explosive propellant. It tore the leg free at the hip and sent it bouncing across the grass. In mid-stride, the Night Gyr was thrown sidelong and backwards, its face pointing to the sky briefly as smoke ripped from internal fires in the hip joint.

Rylan was happy to see the crown of the cockpit flash orange and then the black dot of the cockpit chair rocket skyward as the Star Captain ejected. A moment later his Night Gyr landed on its right shoulder and plowed an ugly, deep furrow in the wet grass before it came to a rest.

---------------- ------------ -----------

Spider had seen Scott Rylan make shots like that before, in simulations, but never in real life. He was still relatively new to the outfit. It was a legendary kind of shot. The kind of shot that made the circles in the holovids and were whispered about. But, sure enough, at over a kilometer out his Skipper had blown the leg clean off a Night Gyr before it’d even fired a shot. The ejection of the couch had assured two things. The first was that they were now fighting on even strength. The second was that Scott Rylan would soon be firing into the flanks of the remaining Clan Pilots.

His celebration was short lived. Opening up, the Cougar unleashed both racks of its long-range missiles. He immediately tilted his Mech’s torso to the right and bent it forward, leaning into the impact while his anti-missile system fired its chaff. Impacts peppered his left torso, smoke curled infront of the cockpit and he felt the rumble of explosions shake his Mech and slow its advance. Even with guidance the shot had been in rhythm and remarkable. The Clan pilots were no joke, he realized, and then his Mech lurched and explosions ripped along his left-hand side once more.

It’d used the smoke as a screen and fired a second volley, this time from its auto-cannon. The 88mm was small enough that he was alive but it chewed through his armor and left his left-hand torso dangerously thin. Spider cursed and cut the alarms that ran through the cockpit, well-aware of how bad that had been and how much worse it could have gotten.

He slammed down on his trigger and his Gauss rifle roared. The magnetically accelerated slug was essentially an over-sized shotgun, but they’d closed to range, and he was confident in his snap-shot. For good reason. The Cougar was a small mech but it was squat and provided a pretty easy target to hit. Spider watched his slug slam into the elbow of its arm, blow clean through it, and then detonate against its torso. The pilot had turned like Spider had to eat the shot in the thickest part of the armor but the Gauss rifle softened it up well. He didn’t hesitate then and fired a full salvo of seven missiles, the Cougar was still straightening when they slammed into it. Armor formed a molten cloud of silvery drops that showered the grass, peeled chunks of it thrust out in jagged edges in all directions. But Spider and Two had closed quickly, quickly enough that when the Onager fired, it missed with that awful HAG-20, thankfully sending the tank-busting slug whistling overhead. A wave of heat followed it that he could feel.

Spider fired his medium lasers as they stabbed deep. He fired his Gauss Rifle again, missed, and fired his lasers once more. The heat warnings screamed at him as he crossed into the yellow, only a few shots away from red if he didn’t cool down. But it didn’t matter. He had to pour it on the smaller machine now before things got ugly.

“Four, now, BREAK BREAK BREAK!” Rylan bellowed over the radio.

Spider doubled down and didn’t bother to check to see if Rory was swinging further to the right and breaking off. A laser crossed infront of his cockpit while another dug into his right torso as the Clansmen finally realized the trouble they were in. The snap shots were mostly desperate. Spider fired once more with his rifle and both lasers at the same time. The two crimson beams converged in the torso of the Cougar, burning deep, while the Gauss slug followed them in. Spider saw the entire machine give a hard, violent shudder, before its legs locked up and black smoke began pouring from its wound. The pilot never ejected and its ammunition bay cooked off, a rumbling sequence of explosions that ripped the Mech into pieces from the inside out. Chunks of armor, fragments of steel cable and superstructure, spun off in all directions as it came apart.

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Scott watched Rory cut the Hellion free and found his heart swell. He was a hot-hand on a gun, and a solid pilot by any standard, but when it came to making a 30 ton machine dance he’d never seen anyone with Rory’s touch. Loving her more seemed impossible, and yet, he constantly found ways to. This was no different. She broke hard to her right-hand side and slid out from behind Spider’s Osprey. The Hellion opened up almost immediately, drawing both the attention and burning off precious armor with its lasers. Then, she was airborne, and he watched as the grass where she’d been erupted with heavy gun and missile fire. She’d drawn the Onager’s attention, just as he’d hoped. The slower and heavier Mech was the only one not engaged enough to be able to break off for her.

Rory swung wide, wider still, landing at a full-sprint with absolute grace. She’d a few more seconds before the Onager had her targeted and cut loose. A few more seconds before she was in serious, serious trouble. But this had all been by design, and she trusted him, and she should have.

At seven-hundred meters, Rylan had the Onager’s back and a clear shot. It was a broad, hulking behemoth and filled his viewport. Two and Three were taking a bit of a pounding, but holding their own, and he could see lasers and missiles criss-crossing the field as they began to swing back left and give Rory room to move. Timing, and initiative, were everything. They’d already stacked the table well for their success. Rylan watched as Rory seemed to intuitively know to slow, to let the Onager steady itself to line her up. They’d always had this chemistry. They’d always seemed to just know what the other needed.

He didn’t bother staggering his shots. At this range he simply opened up. All of his weapons roared to life. The heat in the cockpit suddenly flashed to red on his display and for a moment he couldn’t hear anything but the roar of the Marauder unloading a full broadside into the back of the massive Onager. A massive explosion ripped through the field as all points converged low , just above the hips, on the 90 ton assault Mech. The explosion enough to pitch it forward on staggered steps before its legs went dumb and it buckled on itself.

The twin PPCs blasted through the much thinner rear armor and opened up two holes, four medium lasers poured through and severed myomer tendons and the machine’s endo-steel hip sockets. Twin 110mm cannons punched deep and detonated, severing circuitry and control conduits to the legs before the massive 207mm plowed at a downward angle through the gaping hole and blew clean through the front hip socket of the massive Mech. It folded itself in half as the attempted to eject, slamming his command couch directly into the earth and the jagged remains of its guts after the 207mm had eviscerated them onto the field. The pilot, Rylan knew, had died instantly.

Finally, the Mech recoiled and its legs crumbled face-first into the earth while the torso fell backwards, literally folding it in half on itself with the torso and cockpit facing skyward and its heels touching the back of its head.


Rory was already looking back into the back of the surviving Clanners. The injured Thor and battered Loki were all that remained, and now they were pinched between his full Lance. Spider’s machine had taken the most damage. The rest were almost immaculate. Tactics, he knew, had gotten a slid leg-up from the Star Commander’s arrogance. It was a massacre. He began to close the vice and watched as Rory beat him to it, nimbly delivering the kill-shot on the Loki’s back.

“Jade Falcon Thor – power down all weapons and abandon your Mech. I will call this test of honor complete and acknowledge your bravery and skill, by their hand you have earned the right to leave the field and fight another day. You have five seconds by which to reply.” He snapped into the radio.

“Aff, Scott Rylan. I concede the day. As the last seated pilot of Star Commander Suren’s force – it is by my bloodname, Thorin Karmitov, that you will have his negotiated prize. All salvage on the field is yours – and no more blood will spill this day.”

“Cease fire, Wraiths.” he offered. And inside of him, unable to be contained, a spark of hope turned to flame. The Clanners would not make the same mistakes, that much he knew, but the start of the engagement had already made it costly for them. They had twenty-four more hours of preparations.

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