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| - by Dave Wainio '26 November 3052 Captain Osmo Woods, Intel and Combat Communications Officer of the Suomi Warders, edged back a few steps to look down the hall. Again. Still no sign of them. He glanced nervously at his watch. There was only about ten minutes left. "Don't worry Osmo," soothed his commanding officer. "Gracie's always almost late. Sven's probably just trying to hurry her up." Major John Linna turned away from the Captain and peeked through the bunched stage curtains out at the assembly of people below. Although the audience hall wasn't full, it was the largest group of Warders he had ever seen other than in old pictures. While a small part of his mind worried about where his two missing command team officers might be, most of his thoughts were centered around the group of men and women beyond the curtain and what he would be asking them to do in just a few short minutes. He would be asking them to go to war. Technically he was about to call for the traditional campaign vote, but in his heart he knew that the vast majority of those sitting out there would willingly follow his call to arms. While there was a bit of thrill to it all, it was also oddly disquieting knowing that so many people were willing to kill and be killed at his word. It had been a long road to finding his sister and finally securing a solid target to strike back at to avenge his parents. He had built up the sleepy Warder outfit he had inherited from his grandmother into a solid fighting unit for just this purpose. And right then, for the first time, the question hit him. Was he doing his duty towards the Warders or was he just using them for his own ends? The irony was not lost on him. For several years now he had recruited 'Warriors and officers based on their drives and beliefs so that the Warders would be led by people who put doing the right thing above doing the personal thing. But at the same time he had also chosen people that demonstrated a dislike of pirates and raiders. Although he had lived by the ‘do the right thing’ rule himself for the most part, ultimately he had rebuilt the unit with one goal in mind. To use them against the people responsible for killing his parents and kidnapping his sister. When he had started his quest he had vowed that any missions that were solely personal would be volunteer only. And he still stood by that vow today. Yet with the circumstances the way they were could he truly consider this a vote by unclouded minds? Having finally brought Holly home and having spent time around her, he could see large parts of himself mirrored in her. Her sole defining purpose in life was a drive to kill those that had harmed her and killed her parents. John felt that impulse as well. The two main differences between them was that he had made use of better available resources to put together a much larger strike force than she had and that he had not totally abandoned all other parts of life. He assumed that his rational mind was in control, that he never let his desire for vengeance cloud his judgements. But now he found himself wondering how he would know? By definition, an irrational person wouldn't be able to recognize their irrationality. John gave his head a little shake to clear it. There wasn't any fruit to be borne going down that path of thinking. Besides, he realized he knew the answer. He had good solid people around him like Gracie, Osmo, Sven and Naoko to look out for him while he looked out for the unit. And if fate had conspired to link their current problems with the attackers of the Starcade then that wasn't his karma. If the Warders got to avenge their fallen comrades through helping him avenge his lost parents then he wasn't going to rock the boat. He turned back to Osmo. "By the way, about the time table for departure. Thanks," he told Captain Woods. "Thanks for what?" "For the amazing coincidence that we're lifting the day after Sandi's birthday." Osmo shrugged. "That was just the way the cards fell Sir. The JumpShip circuits and all." John smiled. "Sure, just a coincidence. But thanks anyway. And thanks once again for saving my daughter. Yes, yes, before you start your denials again I know you were just doing your job and that other people 'did all the real work'- including Naoko and Lieutenant Laidie. The point is that you were looking out for everyone's families. Mine just happened to be the one in danger. I won't ever forget your dedication to us Osmo. I'm serious. You ever need anything, any favor no matter how big, just ask." Osmo's breath caught in his chest as he struggled with both his conscious and trying to come up with something appropriate to say. "Thanks," he managed at last. "I'm glad I was able to help. Look, here come Lawman and Mother Goose." John glanced over and saw the two MechWarriors hustling down the hall. The four exchanged quick greetings then Sven and Gracie moved to their starting spots just off stage as John and Osmo drifted over to theirs. "They look like they have something they're thinking about confessing," John whispered to Osmo as the recorded march music started and hushed the crowd. "I was thinking the same thing," admitted Osmo. John shrugged the thought off. "Probably just debating about admitting that Sven purposely smacked the heck out of Holly's lancemate in that 'accidental collision'. I already watched the ROMS. I'd have whacked her too," he chuckled. Then the drums sounded and all four marched out onto the stage. John stopped at center stage a few steps away from the speaking podium while the other three went a bit farther and lined up to his right. Off in the darkness someplace the assembly's Sergeant at Arms called out in a loud rolling voice. "At-ten-tion!" The collection of soldiers snapped to in front of their seats, all hands touched to brows in salute towards the four officers on stage. Save two. Having chosen to sit in the back corner, Holly's and Leena's decision to stand but not salute went unnoticed. Although the two of them noticed that the other half of their lance, the Bhati sisters, saluted with the same intensity the locals did. Leena frowned slightly to herself as the Major stepped forward to his microphone and returned the assembly’s salute. It seemed that Yawni and Inra were starting to buy into this whole 'white hat' bit these Warders liked to delude themselves with. She hadn't thought a bunch of fancy gear would impress the sisters so easily. "At ease. Everyone please be seated," announced the Major. He waited a moment for the general noise to fade as everyone retook their seats. "For many of you this is a routine tradition. But to a good many others this is your first 'Vote Assembly' and you might be wondering what it's all about. The tradition started many generations past when the original Warders were forced to split into smaller groups to carry on a guerrilla war against an occupying enemy. Resources were limited, the consequences of failure drastic, and each independent cell effectively voted on whether to attempt a given mission or not. "In later years as several of the direct ancestor units formed into the private unit we are today, that tradition carried forward with the first Warder Free Company. The Officers would negotiate a contract, then the members of the elements involved would cast a vote indicated whether they would abide by the contract or not. There have been refinements to the system over the years, but basically the substance of the tradition is the same. All who wear our uniform are bound by oath and contract to defend the unit and this planet. In return you have the right to forgo contracts that require travel off Sampsa. A given contract and any missions that ensue from the contract we refer to as a 'Campaign'. I will now outline the campaign facing us so that you can make an informed vote." As the Major paused for a brief moment Leena looked around curiously. The sea of bodies spread before her was absolutely silent, hanging on the Major's every word. She couldn't recall ever having seen anything like this. In the Black Warriors there were always at least a few yap-heads making snide remarks in the back no matter who was talking. "I regret to inform you," John continued, "that for security reasons I cannot tell you our destination nor target at this time. Once we lift off a full briefing for all personal will ensue. I also regret that we will need to lift before Christmas. We leave in about three weeks actually. This campaign is a bit unusual as technically I am the contract holder. Standard combat pay and salvage bonuses will still apply. I can confirm the rumor that the campaign is related to our battle at Hamano and to the raiders that recently attacked us here at home. "I want to make sure I am perfectly clear about this next point. This is not a garrison or training mission. We will be on the offensive. There will be combat. Some of us will not be coming home. Consider this before you submit your vote by tomorrow's dead line. This campaign is a first in that it calls for all hands that care to lift. Every element of the Warders is invited to participate - even the base garrison units if they choose to come. Those that choose to skip this campaign will be formed into temporary elements to provide base security for the duration. I am setting the campaign time limit at one year. Dependents will not be allowed to accompany us on this campaign. Are there any questions?" The sergeant that headed what was usually the permanent base security section rose from his seat. "Sir. What happens if too few elect to stay behind for proper security here at home?" "Safeguarding our home is an important task that I do not take lightly. Anyone that decides to stay and protect the base will be serving the Warders with honor as recent events have shown that our enemy has the means to attack us here. In response to this I have bought back the contracts of our garrison and security specialists that were scattered about doing corporate work to bolster our own defenses. Most will arrive back too late to join the campaign and will be assigned to base security. In the event that we still look thin, the AeroSpace arm of the Sampsa Defense Force has expressed an interest in leasing our newly refurbished AeroDrome as a base for next year's Top Gun contest. Accepting their offer should pretty much take care of the base's security." Lieutenant Runeberg, the unit's armor commander, rose next. "Sir. Will we be hiring any more outside units for this campaign?" "As many of you are aware," replied the Major, "I have brought back from Outreach a lance of light BattleMechs for scouting support. Other than some transport and medical staff I have scheduled to meet us en route, I do not anticipate hiring any additional forces." The part about his sister being some nameless merc from Outreach was a lie and John felt bad about purposely deceiving his troops. But he took solace in the fact that once they were close to the objective he would be able to safely share the truth. John scanned the faces before him to see if anyone else had any questions. For a brief moment there was some shuffling as others in the crowd twisted to look around as well. Then MechWarrior Baseem rose to his feet. "Sir, I take it that you will be personally leading this campaign?" John resisted the urge to frown in puzzlement. He'd assumed that his presence would be self evident. However, it was a straight forward question. "Yes, I will be leading the campaign." "Then that is all I need to know," smiled the Combine trained ‘Warrior as he bobbed a shallow bow with his upper body. "I will join you on this campaign al-Linna. As your saying goes Sisu Sir!". That was the spark that lit the powder keg. The other MechWarriors surged to their feet to voice their assent as well. A scant heartbeat later everyone was on their feet as the can-do call of the Warders rang again and again from the various duty sections. "Sisu Sir!" Leena looked about in alarm as the intense outburst crashed around her. She had no idea what the heck "sisu" meant and in her experience an excited crowd was a dangerous crowd. But Holly knew the meaning. She'd been living it for all of her short adult life. It was a Finnish term that roughly meant they were pledging to do whatever was necessary without regard to the personal price. Her brother's unit might be a bit prissy and high horsed, but it was willing to fight and fight hard. She could put up with their silly war games for a few weeks if these Warders would aid her quest for vengeance. That was all that really mattered in the long run. The Major raised his hands for silence and the noise subsided. "Thank you, thank you. I truly appreciate your fighting spirit and I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is the finest outfit I have ever had the pleasure to share a room with. But I meant it when I said that staying back to guard our families is as important as joining this campaign. Your official votes are due by noon tomorrow. I urge you to consider your choice carefully, especially in light of any special family obligations or expected medical events. Now I formally dismiss ..." "Excuse me Major," interrupted Osmo's voice. John paused and looked to the Captain in surprise. "If I may be allowed to interrupt before you dismiss everyone for a quick bit of unit business?" "Certainly Captain," nodded John as he stepped to one side and surrendered the podium to Osmo. John noticed that the Captain seemed to have something cupped in one hand but couldn't see what it was. "Greetings fellow Suomi Warders," intoned Osmo in his deep baritone voice. "If our Commanding Officer looks a little surprised at my interruption it's because he is. We didn't tell him of our plans and I thank him for the chance to address all of you. Like some of our more better known mercenary brethren such as the Blue Star Irregulars, the Northwind Highlanders, and the Eridani Light Horse; the Suomi Warders traces it's history back to the Star League Era. In fact, in the Warders case even earlier than that. That long history brings with it many ancient traditions, one of which I am invoking tonight. "Before Colonel Lammi-Linna passed away she transferred command to Major Linna. However, the Colonel never got around to officially adjusting the Major's rank and he has not chosen to adjust it himself. Our regulations and organizational tables clearly call for any battalion sized element to be headed by a Lieutenant Colonel and as a combined arms unit the Warders now exceed a battalion in strength. However, after a thorough search of those same regulations we - the Review Board - could not find any mechanism for giving the Major a promotion to the required rank. Thus we decided to fall back on a very old tradition. "In the early years of the Warder's existence as a free company their size and membership was somewhat fluid. To deal with such changes the senior officers would call a simple roll vote of the unit to either promote or demote the most senior position. Thus the Review Board of First Lieutenants Aukland, Jorgsenson, and myself, present Major John Linna to you as candidate for the new rank of Lieutenant Colonel. All those in favor please indicate so by stating 'aye'." There had been an expectant hush as the assembled Warders had seen where the Captain was going before he finished his statement. John had realized what Osmo was about to do as well, but couldn't think of any way to head him off before the wild approval burst forth from the floor. Woods brought his hand up, opening it to reveal the silver eagle pins that denoted a Lt. Colonel within the Warders. John made sure he cut his mic button. "Osmo, I can't. I'm not old enough to be a junior Colonel. I don't have enough experience," he protested. "I've been reading the history files John. The Warders have had a number of full bird colonels that were younger than you over the years. They filled the role when it needed filling, just like you will. It's largely just procedural anyway. You'll be the same CO as a Lieutenant Colonel that you are as a Major. You deserve it John. Your people want you to have it. Take it." John sighed in resignation as he re-keyed the mic. He had avoided promoting himself because he didn't want to appear vane. Yet Osmo did have a valid point. With the size the Warders had grown to his being a Major was gumming up the organizational tables. "I'm… I'm speechless," admitted John. "I humbly accept this honor." He pulled the thick Major bands from his collar and replaced them with the silver eagles. What Osmo had said to him was true. His position as owner and commanding officer was no different now than when he wore the Major band. Yet somehow, greater responsibility seemed to settle upon him as he pinned the eagles in place. "Let the record show," announced now Lieutenant Colonel Linna, "that on November 26th, 3052, the assembled Suomi Warders by popular vote elevated one of their number - Major John Linna - to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel with the Review Board's consent. And as my first official order as a Lt. Colonel I hereby dismiss this assembly before Captain Woods can spring any more surprises on me." As the crowd broke up and filtered out in high spirits Leena and Holly exchanged stunned looks in the rear of the assembly. "That was the strangest military meeting I have ever witnessed," Leena snorted. "Do you think that whole promotion vote thing was staged?" Holly shook her head negatively. "I don't think so. He could have promoted himself any time in the past few years and I don't think anyone would have said boo about it. His name's on all the paychecks after all." "If you say so. Not that it matters much I suppose. Whatever he calls himself, he's still the guy in charge until we finish this mission and strike out on our own." "Yeah," grunted Holly. "I guess so," the younger Linna sibling added to herself. There had been a swirl of well wishers, congratulations and offered hands but fairly soon the press of Warders had faded back to their own business giving Gracie and Sven a chance to pull John aside. The two MechWarriors insisted they had something important to discuss with their CO and XO that couldn't wait so the four of them set off backstage in search of a private room to use. A suitable chamber was found near the lavatories. As John had been the first to enter the small storage room he continued to the rear, slipping to one side around a work table that was centered in the chamber. The other three filtered in behind him. John and Osmo exchanged quick glances that asked the other if he knew what was going on. Neither of them had a clue. The two that had asked for this impromptu meeting did however. "So what's up?" John asked in the general direction of Sven and Gracie. Gracie produced a file folder that she had tucked behind her back under her uniform jacket. "There's no easy way to tell you this John so I'm just going to drop it on you. I had your corporate security folks checking out Osmo's and his wife's background while we were off finding Holly. Their conclusion is that both of them still work for WolfNet. I'm sorry." With a grim face she dropped the file on the table that lay between Osmo and John. John just stared at it like it was a snake or some other equally deadly thing. He found himself unwilling to reach for. He suddenly noticed the way Sven had parked his hulking frame to block the only exit and the way that Gracie's hand hovered slightly behind her back as if she had something else parked back there as well. There was no doubt that they were deadly serious. His dwindling hope was that they were somehow wrong. John looked up to see Osmo's reaction and found that the Captain was just as surprised and shocked as he was. But there was something else in Osmo's eyes. Almost like relief. Just like being hit with a laser shot seemed to burn an instance after you felt the hit, there was an instant of confusion then in a rush John knew that it was true. Dozens of trivial oddities from the past few years suddenly took on an ordered pattern. A comment here, a question there. The new Lt. Colonel leaned wearily on the small table with both hands. "I don't even need to look in that file do I?" "No," replied Osmo sadly. "It's true. We've both been sending information back to Outreach. I ... I'm sorry John." "Yeah. Sorry," sighed John as his head slumped and he closed his eyes against the pain and betrayal he felt. In most instances John's mind would flash through alternate scenarios, do damage assessment, and pop up various courses of action when faced with a crisis. He found his thoughts blank and didn't even attempt to martial them into any sense of order. For several minutes more the only sound in the room was breathing as three sets of worried eyes watched the Lt. Colonel and waited for some sort of reaction. The silence stretched on as John just stood there numbly leaning on the table. "John?" asked Gracie at last. "Are you all right?" She had been mentally prepared for a flair of anger and accusation. A burst of rage and denial. This response worried her far more than any of the scenarios she had run through her mind. The sound of her voice kick started his brain back into gear. "Sure. I'm all right Gracie," he sighed. "Now Mr. Woods, perhaps you would be kind enough to explain what your mission with us was supposed to be? The Dragoons already have Clan Tech and all sorts of war toys that are better than anything we have. What interest could the mighty Wolf's Dragoons have with the provincial Suomi Warders? If it's not too much to ask that is." "You have to believe me John, I didn't come here to do the Warders any harm. Dealing with the Clan invasion was paramount to all Dragoon operations. Your Warders represented one of the highest indigenous tech levels within the Inner Sphere and you had the personal resources to grow the unit to a much larger size. To WolfNet planners you represented an under-valued asset. They knew you had an interest in periphery matters by the track record of the contracts you had accepted. My only mission was to assess your tech level, report on any promising breakthroughs, and try to steer you towards accepting contracts that might help slow the Clan advance. Then after the Tukkayyid battle they seem to have temporarily lost interest in me or the Warders. But I really care about the Warders John. I would never do anything I thought would harm the unit." John finally looked up, locking cold calculating eyes on Osmo's. "What have you reported about our little shadow war with a stellar conglomerate? Or about my sister or our upcoming mission?" “Not much really. There’s a big hole in WolfNet’s planning. They don’t seem to recognize the danger a rogue megacompany poses to the stability of the Inner Sphere. I haven’t reported Holly’s return nor the target of the upcoming op. Partly because they didn’t seem to care…and partly because it just wasn’t their business. I doubt WolfNet has been compromised by anyone, but our own mission security would have been endangered by the transmissions.” “I’ve noticed,” observed Sven from the doorway, “that you use ‘our’ to refer to the Warders and ‘they’ in reference to the Dragoons.” A dry chuckled escaped from Osmo. “So I have been, haven’t I. It’s something I’ve been wrestling with for quite a while now. Where does my heart ultimately lay? The Dragoons were a purpose in life…but the Warders have become not just a purpose but a home. I suppose I was living for a fantasy where they never recalled me and my Dragoon ties just melted away. But this is real life, and real life requires decisions and consequences. John, I once told you the only way I would surrender my Warder uniform was from my cold corpse. I still mean it. I won’t be running back to Outreach with my tail between my legs. I surrender myself to you and will stand Court Martial here on Sampsa to whatever bitter fate I have earned.” John snorted in wry amusement. "A pretty speech but it's not as if I have the authority to shoot you as a spy. At best I could lodge a civil complaint over industrial espionage. Maybe get you some jail time and try to wrangle a few C-Bills in damages from the Dragoons. Sure, we could strip you of rank and perform other embarrassments in a Court Martial but what would be the point? All I'd accomplish is hurting our own morale. So just go. Take your 'wife' and your little bag of WolfNet Spy tricks and hop the next DropShip headed for Outreach. I'm tired and there's still a huge amount I need to do." For a fleeting moment the thought of having Osmo killed flitted through his mind. John squelched it without giving it real consideration but it did bring a frown to his lips. Having crossed the mental line by seriously considering having his ex-wife murdered, it seemed that the mental barriers that would have automatically batted away such thoughts in the past had been weakened. He knew it was likely a fool's argument, but he was determined to stick to the idea that some killing was justifiable and some was just plain wrong. Murdering friends was definitely in the wrong category. With that thought played out John realized, somewhat to his own surprise, that the matter was closed. He didn't feel that Woods would do anything to endanger their mission against the Starcade pirates and Osmo wouldn't be passing on any more intel to the Dragoons once he was gone. Sure, the sour taste of betrayal hung in the back of his throat. But unlike the raw fury that had formed against his ex-wife, with Osmo he felt mainly loss. Lydia had consistently placed her own petty desires above the safety of all others, Osmo had been serving what he saw as a greater goal- stopping the Clans. And he hadn't overtly endangered anyone to do it. "Let's go," John announced quietly to Sven and Gracie as he started towards the door. "John, wait," called Osmo. John paused, but didn't turn to face the Captain. "You told me that no favor was too big," Osmo reminded him. "I'm going to call that favor." A chill ran down John's spine as Woods paused to collect his thoughts. "I want to stay on until we finish this campaign," started Osmo. Then he paused and started again. "No, that wouldn't be fair of me to demand. I ask only that you consider letting me stay through the campaign as your CIC lead. After that, if you wish I'll fade away in whatever manner you deem. I want a piece of the bastards that killed our people at Hamano, tried for your at Outreach, and tried to hit us here as much as any other Warder on the base. I have a lot to offer to the campaign. Just a day or two. That's all I ask. Analyze the situation for a day or two instead of just writing me off here on the spot." John looked to his MechWarriors. "Have either of you told anyone else about any of this?" Each assured him they had not. "Two days then. I owe you at least that much. Go home with the flu or something until then." "Understood Sir. And thank you," replied Osmo. Then John left the little room, leaving the Dragoon / Warder officer alone with the file folder. Osmo sighed wearily as he picked it up. He now knew without a doubt that the Warder's causes had become his own through and through. He'd rather spend his professional life taking concrete steps to save a few hundred lives here and there than being a small cog making abstract ones that theoretically affected the fate of planets. But he despaired that he had come to this knowledge about himself too late. Jennifer Laidie hummed lightly to herself as she sashayed into the main mess hall. Actually, she decided, 'cafeteria' would be a closer description of the well appointed eating area. It equaled half the restaurants she'd ever eaten in and was a damn sight better than any mess hall she'd frequented out on the rim. And they didn't even charge for anything. Show the chow guys your ID and take whatever you wanted. Knowing that her people had a guaranteed food supply had done wonders for her ability to sleep at night. She couldn't prove it, but she'd swear that some of the canned field rations they had eaten back on Outreach were actually relabeled dog food. "Good morning Lieutenant," smiled the civie mess worker as he handed a tray to Jennifer. "Indeed it is," she replied with a genuine smile. She grabbed a roll, some eggs, and a huge portion of various berries and melon slices (a steady supply of fresh fruit was another thing she still hadn't gotten used to even after months with the Warders) then wandered out into the sea of tables. The main breakfast crowd had passed, but there were still a decent number of people within. Spotting her CO sitting at a table by himself she decide to go over and offer her congratulations on his new promotion. She'd meant to do it last night, but there had been a press of his local folks and she hadn't wanted to intrude. "Good morning Lieutenant Colonel," she started brightly as she drew near. "Or perhaps not," she faltered as she caught a good look at his face, "I'm sorry for intruding. I just wanted to offer my congratulations on your promotion Sir. I'll be going now " "No, sit," he interrupted, "You're not intruding at all. I just have a few things on my mind is all." "If you don't mind my saying," Jennifer tested carefully as she seated herself, "they don't appear to be very happy thoughts." That brought a fleeting grin to his features. "No, I suppose some of them aren't. However I still have duties, responsibilities, and simple courtesies to attend to regardless of what's on my mind. And in your case I've been too lax in all of those areas. You've been on board for a while now and other than a few general staff meeting and a thank-you meeting for your role in rescuing my daughter we've hardly spoken. I apologize for that. You and your outfit have become an important part of the team and we should probably get to know each other a little better." Learned reflexes made her automatically sift his words for layered meanings. She was painfully aware that she was considered by many to be an extremely attractive woman. She did nothing to enhance or flaunt her beauty, nor did she try to disguise it. Her shoulders relaxed as she decided there was no hidden innuendo. "I imagine I have you at an advantage in that department. I've had plenty of time to read up on you from a number of different sources plus talk to many of your people. Except for the thin hiring dossier I provided I imagine that I'm largely a blank slate to you." "I wouldn't go that far," John replied. "For instance, you're stunning yet haven't tried to use your good looks for any advantage around here which tells me you probably had to be twice as good as the next pilot to advance as far as you did. You have the leadership skills that generate trust. Enough trust that a company of soldiers elected to follow you far away from the Periphery. And you kept them together under adverse circumstances. From your rescue of Sandi and the battle out at the pumping station I get the feeling that you're a 'lead from the front' type. When we first offered you a contract you took the time to check us out rather than accepting on the spot despite the financial hardship you were in. That tells me you're more interested in finding a good answer to a problem than the easiest one. And it appears that you blush when complimented." Jennifer blotted at her lips with a napkin, more to hide her cheeks then clean her chin. "I didn't think you'd noticed," she admitted sheepishly. "Your blushing?" "No, my looks," she countered earnestly. "This might sound odd but when I first reported and you practically looked right through me like I didn't exist that was when I knew in my gut that I'd made the right decision to hook up with your unit. I was just some unknown fly-girl that your officer corps had dredged up to ferry your infantry around. You accepted your subordinate's choice to hire us without question, which told me that you knew how to pick officers you could trust then actually trusted them. I also saw that I would have to earn that trust by merit rather than looks and that you weren't prejudging me either way based on my bra size. It's all I've ever wanted in life. To be a good pilot and a good soldier. I feel I can do that here." A quick snort escaped John as he mused that this straight talking helo-pilot reminded him of Gracie. Then sighed heavily as his thoughts centered on the theme of trust. "You headed your own mercenary company for a while," he started. "Let me ask you something. If you had a trusted subordinate that you found out had messed something up then hid it from you for a long time, how would you decide how far to trust them again? Or if you could ever trust them again?" "Is this about me or any of my people Sir? If it is, I'd rather speak directly to whatever the problem is." "No, this isn't about any of your 'Hawkes'. And no, it isn't rhetorical either - but I'm not at liberty to share the details. You've been in my boots so to speak. Final decision maker and arbiter for an entire outfit. I was just curious about how you approached the general subject." Jennifer paused to order her thoughts. This was certainly a much deeper conversation than the idle breakfast chatter she had been expecting. It could all be some elaborate test of course. But she doubted it. Her sense was that the Lieutenant Colonel had a few hefty decisions to make and was in the process of working through them. She had indeed been there herself. "Obviously I can only respond in general terms," she began. "But the first thing I try to do is separate my emotions. I don't want friendship or anger influencing me to go one way or another. After that I would want to make sure I had all the facts straight. Then it's part gain verse threat assessment and part gut feeling. I'd look at what would be gained by keeping the person employed against what threats would be faced. Then do the same for cutting them loose. Let's say it's a mechanic that keeps fudging safety tests on anything that isn't past half it's hours rating. If he's just an average astech and I can't afford to have someone always double checking him then the gain for keeping him is minimal and the threat is the potential of a lost aircrew because he refused to take the time to follow procedure. I can't afford to trust him any farther so out he goes. Say maybe my exec pulled a stupid flying stunt trying to impress a potential client. I need him to keep the unit together and although he could cost me an aircrew as well, in this case I can probably keep him from repeating the stunt. That's where the gut feeling comes in. Deciding if you're dealing with a repeat offender." "The exec doing air stunts example was strictly hypothetical I presume?" "No truth to the matter," she grinned. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it. But if he ever does it again I'm going to staple his butt to a desk chair routing supply requests." "Thanks for the input. I've still got a lot of thinking to do but it helped. Since I'm already bending your ear, maybe I could run something else by you." "Hypothetical I presume?" "Nope," John answered. "This time directly to the real issue. You know the full results of my resent trip to the Periphery but your people don't. I know everyone was cheering and gung ho at the assembly last night but the bottom line is that I'm asking them to follow me half way across the Inner Sphere for what is largely personal reasons. I'd like to know what they think about the whole thing. And what you think." She grinned. "As the saying seems to go around here, 'No Worries' there Sir. Most betting money is that this is going to be the mission to rescue your sister while a few think you've figured out who hired those Blitzkrieg guys to attack us and plan to go return the favor. And for the record, I’ve stayed out of the pools. “But to tell you the truth it really doesn't matter much to them. We're mercenaries now. We got stiffed by our own government and went solo. We still have standards, and honor means something to us, but we knew when we decided to form a company that we'd have to accept missions that pitted us against people we'd have no true reason to want to harm. And we accepted that as the cost of having some control over our own destinies and being true to our natures. We're soldiers. Fighters. My people are delighted that they'll be going against scum rather than some poor farmers running a resistance movement someplace. To my Hawks it's a bonus that you're personally involved. They figure it means you're going to devote enough resources to the job to get it done. Most anyone from any of the Periphery nations hates bandits of any stripe. We don't need an excuse to attack pirates. Getting paid to do it is an added bonus. "As to me personally, I'm behind the campaign one hundred percent and with no reservations. I know you already got your sister back. And I realize that no matter how many pirates we kill, you'll never get your parents back. But I also know that the rotten bastards that prey on the defenseless deserve to be tracked down and blown away. From my viewpoint you aren't spending your fortune buying vengeance - you're performing a public service. If you get some personal satisfaction out of it then bully for you. The way I see is like this: if me or any of my Hawkes are going to get killed then I'd rather have it be fighting pirates or the people that bankroll them than doing something like dropping Liao insurgents behind enemy lines on some poor Chaos March planet or helping one of the idiotic Great Houses score a little payback in their forever feud. As fellow Periphery denizens I'd imagine that your Coleson's Orb recruits probably feel about the same way." John was surprised at the fire that had entered her voice. This was not just a helicopter pilot - she was a warrior. And if he wanted to pack everyone in DropShips and trek off across the cosmos hunting pirates she was eager to join the hunt. "Thanks for your candor. I...excuse me a moment please." John's hand-cell had started buzzing just as he had started to talk. He'd glanced at the LCD display and noticed the 'high urgency' icon blinking. He spoke into it briefly, answering in the affirmative a few quick times, then cut the connection with the young admin specialist on duty at the command offices. "If I may ask," nodded Jennifer towards the comm unit, "was that good news or bad news?" "It seems that Colonel Jeffery Tapiovarra from General Harrisberg's office has dropped in for an unannounced visit. He and thirteen friends are waiting in one of the conference rooms at this very moment." John stood and clipped the hand-cell to his belt. "While the escort part is puzzling, from an earlier conversation I had with the General I expect that the Colonel is here with good news. The kind of good news that comes with wings and guns." She smiled. "Ah, one of my favorite kinds of good news." John started to excuse himself, then was struck with the idea that he was going to have to start expanding the base of officers involved with the planning for their raid sooner rather than later. As it stood at the moment, all his ground commanders were out on training maneuvers this morning. Plus it really was high time he started getting a better handle on how this beautiful scrapper thought and fought. "I realize you haven't had much of a chance to eat, but if you'd like why don't you come along with me to see what the Colonel has to say. You might as well get the 'scuttle-butt' first hand." For a brief moment Jennifer froze, stunned by the unexpected offer. Then she shot to her feet. "Yes Sir. I appreciate the invite Lieutenant Colonel." The ghost of a grin touched his features for the second time this morning. "When we're standing at a mess table while you're eyeing your breakfast wondering if you can sneak one last mouthful I think the situation is informal enough that 'John' is fine." She laughed. He'd caught her red handed lamenting her abandoned fruit. "You're a very observant CO John. My friends and comrades call me Jenny." "Then let's not keep the Colonel waiting Jenny." John turned to lead the way towards the main exit. In a single fluid movement Jennifer scooped up her spoon and quickly shoveled two heapfulls into her mouth before hurrying after him. She still wasn't used to leaving perfectly good food behind no matter how much she knew must be stored away on this base. About ten minutes later the two officers were in the main entrance hall of the admin complex. The high vaulted ceilings were hung with long colorful banners bearing the colors and logos of the various units that together comprised the long history of the current day Warders. Jenny had been here twice before and each time the muted colors, plush couches, and general décor reminded her more of a corporate headquarters than a military one. There were plenty of martial touches to remind a visitor of what this outfit's business was. The framed artwork all depicted battle related scenes. The four small display cases held models of BattleMechs and armored vehicles. Still, she mused that this could just as easily be the public entrance of a BattleMech producer such as Irian or Coventry Metal Works. Not that she'd ever been to such a place. She just had always imagined that they'd look something like this chamber. In a number of areas the Warders weren't much for formalities. Thus John simply nodded at the receptionists and the guard detail then walked into the main briefing room unannounced with Jenny keeping pace two steps behind him. The room within was very large with a huge table dominating the center. A wet bar and seating ran along one side as well. As the occupants were busy talking to each other they failed to immediately notice John's and Jenny's arrival. The dapper form of Colonel Tapiovarra sat at the near corner of the table with four others seated down the line from him. The balding one second down from the Colonel had the other's attention as he explained whatever it was he was explaining. The other six members of Tapiovarra's party were at the bar. While all eleven were in civie clothing, those at the bar wore the leather flight jackets with unit patches that had been favored by aircraft pilots since the early centuries when they were required for survival in open cockpits. And if there was any doubt as to their profession, two of them had their hands up in the air demonstrating banking angles and vector changes to go along with their stories. Aerojocks. Jenny could smell them a mile away. Realizing he had caught them unawares, John took an extra few moments in shutting the door. It was sufficient for them to be noticed and the Colonel to get to his feet. "It's good to see you again," started Jeffery Tapiovarra as he stepped towards John with a hand extended. "The General sends her congratulations on your promotion and I add my own Lieutenant Colonel. As you likely surmise, I am here in response to that conversation we had in her office recently." "I assumed it was likely," agreed John. "Welcome to Fort Ilmarinen Colonel Tapiovarra. My thanks to both you and the General. Would I be inferring too much if I further assumed the lively bunch by the bar mean that not only have you found me some AeroFighters but pilots to go with them as well?" "Spot on target," smiled Jeffery. "Lieutenant Colonel Linna, may I present the Yeager Flying Club. Torr and Tairia Fenris, Dale Manike, Maurie Goldberg, Tien Tien Chou, and Peeki Hrothgar from left to right." "Greetings," responded John. "And my I introduce the commander of our VTOL company, Lieutenant Laidie. If you don't mind my asking Colonel- the 'Yeager Flying Club'?" "It's a civilian fellowship of ex-military aero-pilots and spacers. They maintain some old aircraft for shows, run a small museum, have a small air cargo service, and such. This particular sorry looking bunch happens to have all been AeroFighter jocks that crossed career paths with me before cashiering out to go civie." "Hey now Colonel," complained Torrs, "you promised you wouldn't impugn our reputations up front like that by admitting we knew you." The others all laughed as Jeffery chuckled then turned his attention back to John. "Back at the General's office I mentioned that I might know where to scare up some pilots. So here they are. I can't vouch for their discipline or decorum, but I do guarantee that each of them is still qualified to hot seat a fighter. The General came through on the AeroSpace fighters. Four 65 ton Lucifers that are part of a group we're mothballing rather than upgrade, an old 50 ton CSR-V12 Corsair, and a Hellcat II. I think you'll find the Hellcat 50 tonner particularly useful as it's a sensor model with detection gear equal to a standard DropShip's. I have the paperwork with me. Just sign the line, send a credit voucher to the Government, and they're all yours." "That's great news Colonel," smiled John. "This shores up a big hole in my ops planning. My sincere thanks to you and General Harrisberg." "Well, there is one minor problem you could help the General with," hedged Tapiovarra. "Which is," prompted John cautiously. "There's a seventh ship that the General was hoping you could take off her hands. It's a little beat up and it seems that it's tracking paperwork is all screwed up so it's just easier for the General to purge it from the equipment rolls by slipping it into this sale. It's a little more pricey than the others though." "Colonel, I'll buy the fish tank from her outer office if she wants me to. Now could you kindly quit tap dancing around the subject and tell me what this booby prize ship is?" "An old Leopard CV AeroSpace fighter carrier," beamed Jeffery. "By an amazing coincidence, it happens to be designed to carry six fighter craft." John just stared at the other man for a moment. He'd always figured that he could get a handful of fighters from the General without much problem. But an entire combat JumpShip? "I..I don't know what to say. I wasn't expecting the Government to be willing to become very connected to the mission." "I wasn't at the meeting, but the way the General tells it took almost half an hour for her to talk the Vice President out of attaching a squadron of DropShips to you. Interest in your mission has sparked heavy support at the top levels. Or so the General informs me anyway. Still, there are some formalities to be kept for appearances sake. The Council determined her value to be about a quarter of current 'book cost' for the newer models. About 23 million C-Bills." Jenny found a sudden lump in her throat at the casual mention of that much money but she noted that John didn't even bat an eye. "Done. Just give me the sales form," John replied. Then his eyes suddenly narrowed. "Not that I want to sound suspicious, but I did notice that there is a second group of people you haven't introduced yet and somehow they don't strike me as accountants here to oversee paperwork. The little fact that you're out of uniform didn't pass unnoticed either." "Well, I was thinking that it might be handy to have a crew for that Leopard. At the table there is Helmsman Aalto, Navigator Kivi, Tac and Weapons Officer Waltari, and Engineer Scotts. I'm still short two crew but I figured turning up deckhand astechs couldn't be too hard." "I'm still short two?" repeated John with a stress on the 'I'm' part. "Well, I was thinking that the old bird would be needing an experienced captain. I logged many hours in a Leopard just like her before I got tapped to fly a desk for General Harrisberg. If you'll have me, my resignation from Suomi Air Defense is already signed by the General and just waiting for a date." "Have you thought about this really hard Colonel?" asked John. "If we run afoul of any political problems you're not going to be able to get your commission back." "I had a cousin on the StarCade," Jeffery informed him quietly. That was pretty much all John needed to know. "Looks like you just became the first Warder DropShip Captain. Where are the ships now?" "Down in the desert at Melborne Air Base. It'll take us about a half day to get there I imagine." "Perhaps not," thought John out loud. "Jenny? If memory serves your unit isn't involved in today's exercises correct?" "Just two birds on emergency standby in case of medical needs," she supplied. "Could you detail one of your VTOLs to fly these folks down to pick up their ships?" "No worries L.C. I'll have a Redhawk ready to lift by the time they get their gear together." "Thanks," nodded John to her before turning his attention back to the others. "If it's convenient, we'll meet tonight to iron out the details. I'm planning on taking part in the afternoon's exercises but by 19:00 hours I should be free. I apologize for the rush but we plan to leave before Christmas." "Then we better get cracking. We'll be back by then," promised Tapiovarra. "19:00 hours." Holly wiped at the sweat that was stinging her eyes as she stared at her plot readout. All in all it hadn't been a very good day for her lance and she was growing into a fouler mood with each exercise. Going into the afternoon they were only one for four in the mission win category. They'd racked up a decent number of kills considering their weight disadvantage but that was little salve for her bruised ego. That damn Ranger and his simulated Clan large pulse laser had been tearing them up every time they crossed his path. Holly was very dubious about the simulation specs being set to the real life values. It was just one more edge among many that her brother's unit had given themselves. It seemed that the Warders wanted to make sure a group of raggedy Periphery pilots in lighties didn't rain on their parade and make them look bad. It had been mainly small things until now. It really wasn't that annoying in a way. Back on Circinus the OpFor (Opposing Force) always had some sort of extra angle going. Usually it was just in judging as the Black Warriors didn't have the same sophisticated simulation projection equipment the Warders did. But it seemed that to end the day the Warders really wanted to drive home the fact that she and her lance were silly little light 'Mech pilots. The assigned mission was to stop a convoy from travelling from point A to point B. Not so bad on the surface as the route was through rough terrain with good cover an attacker might use. What made the mission practically impossible was the nature of the convoy. Four Rommel Mk II tanks. 65 tonners mounting the largest bore cannon in common use in the InnerSphere. Plus their escort of Condor Mk II hovertanks with a few BattleMechs thrown in. She had four light scout 'Mechs. If she had drawn an assignment like this in real life she'd have just hid in the hills for the rest of the day and reported that she couldn't find the convoy. Not really an option with the Warder's satellite overhead and the fact this was a timed training exercise. An exercise in foolishness. "Hey Longblade," came Leena "Swifthawk" Callahan's voice over the radio. "No one has ever accused me of being a tactical genius but even I can tell we're royally screwed on this one." "I agree," chimed in Inra. "I do not see the purpose of this practice mission. Even the Goddess would admit that we cannot prevail here." "I can't argue Death Dancer," sighed Holly. "And you called it on the nose Swifthawk. We're screwed. So what do you 'Warriors want to do about it?" "Might as well rush in and get killed," opined Swifthawk. "We can take one or two of them with us, then we'll be done for the day and we can head back early and grab some brews." "Perhaps the Rommels have simulated armor damage or no ammo," suggested Yawni. "Hah," scoffed Leena. "You're always the optimist Flame but I think you're asking your Goddess for too much with that one." "We'll sweep through them at nav gamma," decided Holly. "Weave like a drunken spacer on the way in then concentrate on the lead tank. Shoot low, maybe we can immobilize a few of them before going down. If we get real lucky maybe we can stop all of them. After all, our mission orders are only to keep the convoy from reaching Bravo. They don't say anything about surviving the attempt or destroying the Rommels." Only 10 kilometers away the elder Linna was checking his plot as well. He'd decided to put his internal debate regarding Woods on hold and go do some piloting to clear his mind for a while. There was something almost majestic about piloting one of the great metal beasts. Or if not majestic, then intoxicating with power anyway. He never felt it when headed into a real battle, but in practice maneuvers or even when just moving his Camelot to a DropShip or the Mech Bay there was no denying to himself the rush that come with sitting astride the personified power a BattleMech represented. It could be pretty heady stuff, especially for those that couldn't put the feelings aside. It was possible to have a huge amount of firepower at one's fingertips through other means of course. The heaviest tanks often carried an arsenal equal to most BattleMechs and the weapon's office of a true space borne WarShip had immense destructive power on tap. But through the past few hundred years it was BattleMechs that had become the predominate war machine and the MechWarriors that piloted them the 'featured' warriors of most military forces. There just seemed to be something different about piloting a 'Mech. Psychologists had built entire careers around studying MechWarriors in pursuit of the question of what put the extra swagger in a Mech pilot's walk compared to the average tanker, spacer, or infantryman. John's degree was in engineering, not psychology, but he was fairly sure he knew the answer. It was because 'Mechs had legs and feet. In a 'Mech you could stomp and kick things like a vengeful giant - similar to the way young children expressed early displays of personal power by stomping and kicking toys. There had to be some reason hardwired into the human brain that temper tantrums across all known societies involved a lot of feet stomping. It really wasn't that often one would really use a 'Mechs feet in combat, but the point was that you could. So for John's money it was having huge feet that made a BattleMech more than just an upright tank to the pilots that controlled them. The only warriors that habitually swaggered as much as MechWarriors were AeroJocks. Sure, AeroSpace fighters didn't have feet. But they had wings. For some folk the ability to fly reached some hidden pit inside their brains similar to the ability to stomp around like a giant. Curiously, the group of professional warriors he would have most expected to exude some sort of superiority complex rarely did. In his experience anyway. The special forces types he'd run across in his day always seemed quietly calm. Even their own first and second platoons, arguably spec op types even if they didn't officially carry the designation, were like that. Sure, John assumed that they probably cut loose and partied hard like soldiers of all stripes at times. But whenever he happened to cross paths off duty in Suomi City with one of his specialist infantrymen they were never dressed special or acting in any fashion that would call attention to themselves. On the other hand, it was very common to see AeroSpace fighter jocks and MechWarriors adorned in their fashionable jackets with patches blazing over whatever civilian garb was their preference. And the sunglasses of course. Often even indoors. He'd pondered this from time to time and never really had come up with any answers. Maybe it was simply a matter of training. Pilots of all types trained to kill machines. Commando types trained to kill people. Warfare wasn't as glamorous when you stripped it of fancy paintjobs and faceless enemies. Since he started learning personal combat techniques from her, Sergeant Cascade has taught him a number of ways to potentially kill someone with his bare hands. The first time he caught himself looking at a random passer-bye and idly calculating the best ways to disable or kill them based on their body size and estimated speed and strength had put a chill in him. It was the same way he often looked at parked BattleMechs. The really scary part was that after a while when such thoughts passed through his mind it wasn't a big deal anymore. The scariest part was that a small part of him wanted to know if he could successfully put to use any of the techniques. Not because of some morbid curiosity about what it might be like to kill someone up close and personal. He already knew what that was like and found no joy in it. It was simply a matter of wanting to try untested skills. He returned his full attention to piloting. There really wasn't any use in brooding over any darkness that might be in his soul. If he wasn't prepared to kill when necessary he wouldn't be a soldier. On this run he'd assigned himself to the location least likely to be attacked while putting Racker and Storm in the hot seat where his sister should strike. He wanted his least experienced 'Warriors to get the most practice. Gracie was paired with Vilho and the ancient Capellan Catapult he pilotd that the techs had put back into working order. They were walking along some seven hundred meters off to his left. The rest of the eight vehicle convoy stretched before him. His other 'Mechs were off to the south engaging the rest of his armor in a different exercise. This one should pretty much be a 'gimme' for his sister as long as she didn't try to attack the tanks. "Contact, contact, bearing 35 degrees ahead," came the sudden report from the lead Condor. John uttered a short curse as he twisted his torso to that facing. Sure enough, four red blips soon appeared on his sensor display. They must have been hiding on low power in a ravine with passive sensors. Now they were lighting everything up and bounding to the attack. As all four of them were present, John immediately realized this wasn't some sort of diversion attack. "All units, the is the Duck. Engage at will," he ordered as he zoomed in his visual and located the OpFor 'Mechs coming down from their initial jumps. He could probably squeeze off a decent shot with his enhanced range particle projection cannon but elected to hold his fire. His sister and her lance were charging into enough trouble already. The Condor hovertanks were already speeding off to the sides to form a box around the attacking BattleMechs while the Rommels came to a halt figuring they weren't fast enough to outmaneuver the light 'Mechs so they might as well fire from as stable a platform as possible. Mother Goose took Kissa and started drifting forward and to the outside for a good firing lane while John just stood his ground with the Rommels. His guess was that all OpFor fire would be directed at the 65 ton tanks. Or who knew? Maybe he would be the primary target. Sometimes it seemed like his sister was starting to warm to him and other times it seemed like there was some invisible wedge between them and a ten ton chip on her shoulder. Sharp eyed Yawni was the first to spot the graceful curved lines of the Lt. Colonel's Camelot as her lance sprung it's ambush. She called it out to her fellows as they started their charge. "But there's nothing on my scope," Holly started to complain. Then it hit her. She'd forgotten about the electronic counter measure suit his 'Mech carried. That explained why the convoy had been so close before they picked it up on their passive sensors. "Everyone go active. We don't need any more surprises." As Leena switched her sensors to active she keyed her mic as well. "You’re right Flame. The top dog decided to come play after all. I notice he's just sitting there with the tanks. A good ringside seat to watch us get splattered from." "Just keep zigging and try to keep that Catapult from getting a good lock on you," spat Holly. "He's the big cheese. He gets to park where ever he wants." But inside she couldn't help but wonder at her brother's unexpected appearance. Had he indeed joined the mission unannounced just to watch her go down in defeat? "Now we'll get a chance to make an impression," added Yawni. Holly sighed to herself as she watched the distance counter wind down to decent medium laser firing range. Sometimes Flame's constant cheerfulness could be very trying. "Yeah, a big flaming impression when we get blown to scarp parts," quipped Leena. Swifthawk's persistent sarcasm could get on her nerves at times too. If Death Dancer tried to pull her mothering attitude bit then Holly would strongly consider a little accidental 'friendly fire'. Luckily for unit harmony Inra was too busy jinking and targeting to add to the vocal by-play. Muzzle flashed from the blank rounds carried by the Condors started popping as the low power lasers attached to the turrets flashed blue lines that simulated the fire of the long range class five ultra autocannons. At long distances real shells would need to be arced while lasers did not. But this wasn't long range for the 60 millimeter hyper-velocity weapons. At about the same time Mother Goose's Awesome started firing, blasting away on single fire as she placed individual weapon hits on the attackers. Gracie had been forced to strip the heavy particle projector cannons and mount lighter enhanced range large lasers to open tonnage for the 3C master computer her BattleMech now carried. The ER large lasers still packed a solid punch however (even simulated) and sections went red on the armor displays of three of the attacking lights before they reached their own firing range. The Spider and Falcon of the Bahti sisters had a slight lead and fired first, spearing the receptors of the lead Rommel with scoring lasers. The Firefly and Jenner added their shots shortly thereafter. The Rommel's thick hide withstood the calculated damage, although the scoring computers determined that a tread was severed and the turret's traversal gears were slowed. It was effectively immobilized and was unable to track and fire anything except it's secondary bank of paired SRM-4 launchers. The other three had no such difficulties however. Three 130 mm class 20 autocannons roared as the dummy loads spewed sparks and thunder, rocking their carriages. Secondary lasers that represented short range missiles flared to life as well as the four light BattleMechs raced by at high speed. Leena's Firefly and Yawni's Spider both slowed to a stop as the computers determined they had suffered torso shattering damage from the onslaught. John fired his lasers at the Falcon as it zipped by but missed as Inra's erratic vector adjustments avoided his fire. In the Catapult Vilho had been tracking the rear most attacker, which happened to be the Jenner. Although he had solid tone he held fire as the Jenner streaked past. At the edge of his minimum range there was a real chance that the missiles wouldn't be able to turn quick enough and would miss. Had they been real missiles that is. The training lasers would not have such difficulties. Vilho always treated any training mission just like the real thing however so he held off until the Jenner was moving away from him and the deflection angle was much better. The venerable 'Mech had been fitted with high tech Artemis fire control systems for it's twin missile launchers and each had locked on to supply continuous tracking info for the long range missiles to home in on which would increase the number that hit. His machine rocked realistically as the explosive charges packed in the launch tubes fired to simulate the drive rockets of missiles leaving. Smoke drifted across his wide bubble canopy but rather than the flare of missile thrust he saw the blue-green lasers of his training gear lance out to touch the fleeing 'Mech. It slowed to a crawl, reduced to minimal throttle by a simulated leg destruction. Inra executed an improbably sharp 180 considering the speed she was carrying and came back through firing; this time on the rear most Rommel. The Condors had swarmed in on Holly's Jenner, destroying it twice over with their attacks. Improbable as it was, the Falcon managed to careen through a veritable web of bluish training lasers with only a minor SRM hit. John hadn't even tracked to fire, assuming that the damaged Falcon would be taken down by one of the tanks. He squeezed off a hasty ER PPC shot that missed as the target uncannily changed heading at just the right moment again. The light 'Mech bobbed unsteadily as she fought it to keep to a tight high speed arc that the turrets of the tanks were having trouble following. John counter rotated his entire Camelot, planning on hitting her when she came around again but never had the chance. Being farther out, Gracie had more time to track her intended target. The arc that was keeping the Falcon ahead of the tank guns had also put the light machine on a predictable route. This time Gracie linked all three ER large lasers and fired once. The shafts hit the right leg with what the computers calculated as more than enough energy to melt through and sever the limb. The throttle shut itself down slowly and the Falcon came to a halt. And as quickly as the roadway had come alive with weapon fire, the scene grew silent as the Condors all settled down on their skirts. Tank hatches started popping as Rommel crew stuck their heads up and a general cheer went up for the daring Falcon pilot that had been about to run rings around them. From her Jenner Holly could see the crew persons climbing out and could tell they where engaged in some sort of cheer but assumed that they were congratulating themselves on defeating a lance of BattleMechs. Holly switched to the joint command frequency and commed her brother. "Well Lieutenant Colonel," she spat, "now that we have effectively proven that a lance averaging 30 tons can't successfully take on eight tanks and three medium to heavy 'Mechs will you kindly issue the mission completed command so we can take our rides back to our rally point and end this day's charade?" "That wasn't the point of this exercise Lieutenant," objected John. "Yeah, whatever. Our contract with your Warders requires inclusive training. But it also stipulates that I have command rights over my unit. Thus if we're done here for the day I would like to leave." John sighed to himself. He wanted to explain that the point had been for them not to attack the convoy. But he knew his fiery tempered sister wasn't in the mood to listen to him at the moment. Especially to tell her where she had gone wrong. "Control, this is the Duck. The mission is complete, reset all scoring computers. All units in Convoy Op, repeat, all units in Convoy Op you are transferred to your lance commanders and may return to the barn. Good job all. Debrief schedules will be posted to the electronic calendar so be sure to check them later tonight. That is all." Without saying another word- or at least one that she bothered to transmit to him- Holly's lance turned to the east and sped off. John switched to the tanker's tactical frequency and forwarded Holly's congratulations to them in a fictional act of good sportsmanship. Then he turned so he could gaze out in the direction his sister had departed and shook his head in wonder. How the Sam Hill had this gone all wrong? Had Holly simply failed to recognize what he assumed would be obvious or had she realized the offered course and assumed it was some sort of trap? Or had she seen the solution but chosen to ignore it just because she wasn't in the mood for 'games'? Well, he had wanted something to divert his mind from his problem with Osmo. Be careful what you wish for, eh? "Well, whatever else you might say about them they certainly do the unexpected," came Gracie's voice over the channel they had chosen for the three 'Mechs to share for the exercise. "That's the biggest problem," he sighed as he glanced to his side and saw the other two Warder BattleMechs standing off a little ways from his. "They do the unexpected every single time. Hurts the teamwork and reliability aspects. I don't get it Goose. They're competent if inexperienced pilots that managed to hold their own in a rough outfit like the Black Warriors. But they've been floundering around like first year recruits." "I don't think it's a matter of competence," opined Gracie. "It's a matter of trust. They don't have any for anyone outside their little group of four." "Or their lead element doesn't anyway," added Vilho. "Ranger told me the sister pair met him and a couple others at the Lion's Den before the assembly. He said they had a few unusual cultural hang ups but seemed enthralled with what they had discovered of our homeland so far." "I guess I better try to talk to her and see what the problem is," decided John. The other two intuitively knew he was referring to his sister. "I don't think so John," replied Gracie. "I think there's too much going on in her head for you to get through to her. If you don't mind my saying so I think the best thing would be for me to go have a little chat with all of them as a group. You've got enough 'C.O.ing' to do right now without the extra hassles anyway." Possibilities and courses of action cascaded through his head quickly and he was forced to admit that he might well indeed be too close to the problem to see it clearly. If he wasn't actually a direct part of the problem. "You're right as usual. Go ahead and take a whack at them. I'll buzz you later to see how it went." As he watched Gracie and Vilho trot off in the direction Holly's crew had gone he was struck by the irony of telling Gracie she was usually right when one of her biggest decision making goofs was walking beside her. She'd failed to tell anyone else when Vilho had been suffering psychological problems and almost got both Vilho and who knows how many others killed when he had frozen up in the middle of a firefight. Yet here he was back on board and seemingly in full control of himself. Much more subdued than he had been in the past, but still at the top of his game. If anything, he was perhaps an even better pilot now that he didn't push the edge as hard as he used to. That problem had worked itself out to a positive resolution. Perhaps Holly and her Harassers would settle down as well. Holly gave the wooden supply crate another good kick just for good measure before stomping off to find something to drink. Her anger had mostly subsided. It might have washed through her more quickly if she had ever been able to decide what exactly she was angry about. Mostly just angry at the universe she had eventually decided. That one wasn't a particularly unusual anger for her to have, it just hadn't gripped her in a while since she had started making notable progress towards her goal of revenge. The AeroDrome had started to grow crowded between the VTOL company and all the supplies that were being stockpiled there so she had decided to move her little band of MechWarriors out to a central camp site from which they were making their training mission sorties. The Bahti sisters had been saddened to leave the hustle and bustle of the Warder base and the nearby city behind while Leena had proclaimed herself pleased to get away from the spit shined, goodie two shoes Warder personnel. Holly had rationalized that the less face to face contact she had with people the lower the risk that someone would recognize her as the missing Linna sister. But the truth was she was starting to feel hemmed in by too many cultural reminders of her childhood which was making it harder for her to squelch the penned up emotions about finally returning home and concentrate on planning her vengeance. So they now shared a large tent that along with two others and a portable potty on a trailer comprised what they had jokingly dubbed Camp Nowhere. "Hey Leena, where did you put the damn…." Holly started to call out then trailed off. "Looks like company," noted Inra as she and her sister emerged from the 'mess' tent as the plodding footfalls of BattleMechs grew louder. "So I noticed," observed Holly. She saw mirrored on the faces of her friends the same thing that was probably on her face. The question of whether or not they should scramble like mad for their BattleMechs. Then the outline of Gracie's Awesome appeared on the hilltop, it's two distinctive shoulder plates that guarded the head from side shots rising like dorsal fins on each side. Moments later the rounded bulb-like body of a Catapult with it's two boxy missile launchers where the shoulders and arms of most 'Mechs would be appeared beside the Awesome. "Somebody break out the good plasticware," Holly deadpanned. "Looks like we have visitors." In short order the two Warder BattleMechs had stopped short of the small camp and settled down into a secure position. The two respective MechWarriors appeared and climbed down then headed towards where Holly and her lance were making a big show of ignoring the new arrivals. Whatever they wanted at least Holly would be free to speak her mind with these two. As she understood it, all of the Warder MechWarriors knew who she really was already so there would be no need for the 'hired mercenary' bit. As Gracie and Vilho approached Leena shaded her eyes with her hand and peered at them for a moment before asking, "Something wrong? Don't like the beer they serve on base maybe?" Gracie just snorted and walked over to the cooler and reached in. She pulled out a bottle, read the label, then dropped it back inside. "Grainbelt? That crud will rot your gut. I'll pass." "I wouldn't mind a slug of good old H2O," shrugged Vilho. "Over there," nodded Holly towards two large vats sitting on a table in front of their food tent. "Help yourself." "Thanks," he smiled as he stepped over towards the containers. Holly took a long pull on her beer. "Social call?". "Business actually," smiled Gracie. "I'm here to find out whether you four are the dumbest bunch of Joeys I've ever had the misfortune of trying to train or merely the most stubborn." Holly actually choked on her beer as she shot to her feet with a snort of righteous indignation while the other three froze in their tracks. For a moment the only sound in the camp was Vilho quietly whistling to himself as water gurgled into the plastic mug he had found. Holly set her beer down and settled her hands on her hips. "Just chalk it up to both and get the hell out of my camp. Out by these tents I'm in charge, not your special buddy John." "Honey, I'm not leaving until I either talk some sense into you four or beat some into you," laughed Gracie. "And what's he for then? Backup?" snorted Leena. "Nah, he's got advanced training in first aide. I brought Vilho along to put you back together in case I had to bust a few heads." "Before this goes any further can someone point out your main med kit to me," shrugged Vilho casually. Although he didn't show it, on the inside he was wondering what Gracie thought she was doing and wishing that she'd confided a bit more about her plans before they had dismounted. These ladies looked like they just might take Gracie up on the offer to tussle. And they didn't look like the types to worry about fair odds. "All right, we'll try talking first," frowned Holly as she picked her beer back up. Holly had developed a certain amount of respect for the older MechWarrior on the long ride in from Circinus. "But I get to choose the subjects. Why don't you start by telling me what the point was of that final engagement today? Some lame attempt to teach us the 'proper' role of light 'Mechs or 'beat' some humility into us or something?" "It was supposed to be the confidence building mission where you craftily succeed against a superior force to end the day on a high note," supplied Gracie. "Yeah right," snorted Leena. Inra and Yawni looked on with great interest however, listening intently. "Then I must be an idiot because I don't see it," shot back Holly. "There were two fortified base camps too strong to attack and a moving objective that was also too strong to attack. It was the kind of mission a light lance might draw back in the Federation just to make the enemy use up some ammunition before the higher ups performed the real assault." "I presume you looked at the map." "Sure," shrugged Holly. "Two rivers, easily jumpable by BattleMechs. Or even fordable. No heavy forests but decent terrain coverage from the rugged hills. One road, thus the probable route. Although there was no reason you needed to stay on the road except for habit. The ground wasn't rough enough to really hamper hover tanks and the tracked Rommels wouldn't have any problem with….Oh hell. I am a complete idiot." Holly sagged to the table bench with weary shoulders as she realized the obvious tactical choice they had all over looked when discussing their options. "The bridge," breathed Inra as the same realization hit her as well. "All we had to do was blow up the bridge." "That wouldn't stop the rest of the convoy," supplied Yawni to finish her sister's thought, "but the Rommels would have been stranded and to win all we had to do was stop the Rommels." "With bonus points for blowing the one behind them so they couldn't go back. We even had targeting receptors rigged on both bridges. It wasn't a total freebie. Racker and Storm were in place to defend the forward span. But I figure you could have managed." "Well la-de-da," spat Leena. "Thanks for coming by to rub our noses in it." "You know MechWarrior Callahan, your attitude is really a pain in the rear. I suggest you get your head out of your butt and open your eyes and ears. The point has never been a one-upmanship game between us and you all. The point is for us to assess what your current capabilities are and then impart as much training as possible into your thick skulls before the firefights turn from simulated to real. Look, you all have solid raw talent and a knack for surviving or you never would have won your way into 'Mech cockpits to begin with. But although you're all as mentally hardened as any combat veteran, your skills are essentially those of green pilots. And let's be realistic about your training in the Federation. It wasn't exactly top notch was it? I imagine that most of the useful tactical training you got was probably informal stuff tossed out randomly by the occasional combat veteran you ran across that was in a talkative mood. So let's cut the bull okay? "We are not going to risk any Warder personnel on your lance unless it shapes up in a hurry. And before you start giving me any argument Holly, I am fully aware that your brother promised you that you would be there in a 'Mech when we drop on the bad guys. But unless you want that 'Mech to be the back seat of his I suggest you stop fighting us. We are not your enemy. Frankly, I'd rather have your four BattleMechs helping us than sitting on the sideline. But if you don't learn to trust a little it's not going to happen." Holly just stared at the taller woman for a moment as her mind processed what she'd been told. It was true that John had promised her she'd be there in a 'Mech for the assault. But it was equally true he hadn't specified she'd be piloting. Holly knew from her short time around him that in his way he was just as stubborn as she was and probably twice as sneaky. If he felt her unit was more liability than asset then he wouldn't let her loose on the battlefield. "So I take it you have something in mind?" asked Holly warily. "A few things," admitted Gracie. "The first is that you have to let go of your past. No, I don't mean the Starcade and all that. That's what's driving this whole thing forward. I mean just about everything you learned by accident with the Black Warriors. With them it was every lance, every pilot, for themselves. You couldn't trust anything to be at face value and everyone knew it so the entire command structure was predicated on how much you could trust any given set of orders or any given officer. We work entirely the opposite. The goals of the whole and needs of the team are paramount and it's assumed that you can trust everything to be on the level. Our command structure is built around the knowledge that no one will purposely feed into it anything self serving or purposely misleading. You've filtered every exercise so far through a lens of trying to spot the hidden truths and buried motives. The less you find the harder you look, growing frustrated and then finally making silly mistakes." "It's easy to say 'just trust us'," brooded Holly. "But trust isn't just something you turn on like a faucet." "I know," sighed Gracie. "It has to be proven and earned. But if nothing else, please trust at least this much as a start. Where you came from many wanted you to fail. Where you are now we all want you to succeed. If it helps then think of it in these terms. There is no profit in it for us to cause your failure and everything for us to gain by having an extra lance of BattleMechs that will cooperate with us." "And the second thing?" "With your permission I'll have John scrap this entire joint exercises business. Instead, we'll run our advanced scouting program for you just like you're a paying client. There will be plenty of time shipside to play in the simulators and get used to working together. But there's many nuances of getting the most out of a light 'Mech that can only be learned from a real cockpit. That's where Kissa here comes in. His call sign means cat in Finnish because he can slink a BattleMech through the trees and hills like a giant metal panther. Yeah, I know we've got him in a fire support 'Mech at the moment. But that was because we were planning on having you four as our scouts and we're thinking we want all the firepower we can field when we drop for real. I'd like for you to work with him. We'll stick him in Jason's Commando and set the five of you loose in the hills. You guys know how to fight. What you need to learn is how not to fight. What do you think?" Inra was excited by the offer and determined to sway their lance leader before Leena tried to shoot the idea down. "It would reduce the competitive friction Holly. And you have to admit, most of our tactical training comes from reading stolen Free World’s League Militia manuals in our spare time. Some formal training couldn't hurt us at all and would make us more marketable later." Holly looked to Leena. "There's probably a good reason or two we should tell Mother Goose here to stuff it," groused the MechWarrior. "But I'm forced to admit that I can't think of any at the moment." "Okay First Lieutenant Aukland," decided Holly, "we'll give it a go your way." After Vilho and Gracie had remounted and he was sure there wouldn't be a chance of being accidentally overheard, he opened a private comm channel with her. "Hey Goose? Since when do we have an 'Advanced Scouting Program'?" "I'd say you have about twelve hours to come up with it," she laughed. "Besides, it seemed like a better sell then telling them I wanted to have them start all over again with 'Basic Light BattleMech deployment'." "Heh, I'm only out of things for a couple of months and when I come back everyone is scamming like Ranger," he mused. "We're just adapting to the situations as they arise my friend. And it seems like the situations keep getting weirder and weirder around here lately." John quietly slipped open the door and peered into the dark room within. The form on the bed seemed to be laying perfectly still. He held his own breath as he watched intently for any sign of life. Then she murmured in her sleep and turned over a bit and he sighed in relief. It really was a foolish fear, but sometimes when he peeked in on his sleeping daughter he felt compelled to make sure she was breathing and all right. This wasn't a new thing since the kidnap attempt. Every since she had been a baby he had occasionally been gripped with the irrational fear that he needed to check on her bed to make sure she was all right. Sandi’s shift of position revealed the stuffed toy she clutched under one arm. He always smiled in amusement when he saw it. It was an UrbanMech pillow-like thing he'd gotten from a Capellan manufacturer as a promotional gimmick years ago. He hadn't thought that Sandi would still have it. Especially the way her mother had disapproved of 'war toys'. Yet it seemed that Sandi had waged a successful guerilla action to collect what she wanted as her room was awash with 'Mech models, military action figures and such brought forth from hiding around her Mother’s estate. Presumably Sandi had help from her mother's staff to keep the stuff hidden. Not to mention some assistance from some of his own people. John was pretty sure he had spotted a few things that Gracie had said were for her cousins among Sandi’s toys. He wondered if it was common for ten year olds to sleep with stuffed animals - well, stuffed BattleMechs he amended - but then again after all she had been through if a plush UrbanMech brought her a little security and easier dreams than he sure wasn't going to try to take it from her. Pulling the door mostly closed he slipped back down the short hallway to the upper loft area. The two bedroom, multi-level dwelling was part of a duplex tucked among many others just like it on the Warder base. He'd discussed his personal living arrangements with security personnel and the consensus was that they could more easily ward this unit tucked in among the others around it than the General's House (the traditional on-base home of the Warder CO) or any of his personal residences. "She is sleeping well?" asked Naoko as the Combine MechWarrior slipped into his arms for a quick hug. "Yeah, she's fine. I just get a case of the 'noids now and then," he smiled. "The 'noids'? I am not familiar with that term." He chuckled in amusement and gave her a quick kiss on the tip of the nose. "From paranoid. Slang for suddenly having a really bad feeling for no real reason about something. You won't find it in a Japanese-English translation dictionary. How's the movie so far?" They had been curled up on the couch watching a selection from his large collection of Ancient West holodramas. A few two-dee ones dated all the way back to the late twentieth century. This particular one was his favorite version of the classic Magnificent Seven horse opera made around sixty years ago. There were probably at least twenty versions from over the centuries but this one was his favorite because it did a great job of showing how the main gunfighter leads the others without ever really seeming to overtly grab authority. He'd picked it because the main story was based on an ancient samurai tale from Japanese Terra even though it was cloaked in cowboy hats and six shooters. He had not really been paying much attention to it however. His mind kept working over the Woods situation over and over to little avail. "Hai. You were right, I have seen this story done before with samurai. And even House Kurita warriors of the late twenty-eight century in one version. Of course, the Kurita versions put more emphasis on how the warriors lost their honor and how protecting the town will regain it than your Ancient West version which leaves many of the honor questions open ended and unanswered. And your foot is on fire. Because you're not listening to anything I'm saying." He caught that last part as he tuned back his attention too late. He looked down at her with a rueful grin. "Sorry about that. You're right. I drifted away again." She frowned slightly as they returned to the loft area. "I have come to know your ways John. Something is troubling you a great deal." "A whole handful of things are troubling me," he burst out in an amused snort. Then he grew more somber. "But yes, one problem in particular is hexing me right now." "Is it about Sandi? Is it something you can tell me about?" The concern in her voice was so real he couldn't look her in the eye while admitting he couldn't tell her about it for security reasons. So he left her as she sat back down on the couch to wander over to the window that looked out onto the courtyard below. "No, Sandi is fine. And it's not about you or my sister Holly. Not that Holly and I are exactly getting along at the moment. I can't really give you the details Naoko. I wish I could. Believe me, I really wish I could. I have a short amount of time to decide if I should place a lot of trust in someone that might not be worthy. And if I do, then I must forever keep secrets from others who have placed their full trust in me." He rested his head against the glass pane. He was alone with the woman he loved and he couldn't tell her about Osmo's connection to WolfNet nor his own struggle to decide whether to drum the Captain out of the Warders or let him stay on. Except in oblique terms he couldn't talk about it with anyone. Movement along the walkway below caught his attention and he glanced down to see a figure approaching the guard on duty in front of the condo he currently occupied. Well, there was someone he could talk it over with he reminded himself. Below Gracie paused to exchange a quick greeting with the night guard as she headed back to her place a few units down. And there was Sven too of course. They were the ones that had brought the information to him in the first place. "I understand," soothed Naoko as she rose and went over to him. "You have obligations beyond your personal wishes. That is the way of the military. The way of bushido. I walk your path John. I know that there are many things that you cannot tell me. For what it's worth John, you have a good heart. If your mind cannot decide your question, then listen to what your heart tells you." "Thanks," he replied simply as he turned away from the window and wrapped her in another hug. He happened to turn slightly so that Naoko could see out the glass down at whatever he had been staring at moments before. She glanced out and could see Lt. Aukland looking up at the window. In the darkness Naoko was unable to see the other woman's face but it seemed to her that Gracie nodded once in their direction before turning sharply and walking away. A nod of greeting? A nod of confirmation of something to herself? There was no way to know. As Naoko clung to John she watched Gracie's back grow farther away in the dim light. The Combine Mechwarrior had never considered herself as sensitive to portents but she sensed tragedy looming. A case of John’s “noids”. She hoped she was wrong as she gazed into the darkness that had swallowed Gracie's retreating form. She prayed she was wrong.
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