The Misadventures of Darius Davion #1 - Darius and the Hound

[Tokage]

DARIUS AND THE HOUND
THE MISADVENTURES OF DARIUS DAVION
- 1 -

Prologue

- The truth and nothing but ... for once -

     You've probably heard a lot about me. I'm Darius Davion. Daring Darius, that's what the tri-vid newshounds call me, the utter idiots, but to be fair you can't blame them, like just about everyone else they are simply fooled by my service record and public reputation. I personally prefer Dashing Darius, as I was once more aptly tagged by the Tharkad Court Press.
     As you may be aware, I am known to be one of the bravest and best MechWarriors in the service of our glorious Federated Commonwealth, may it stand a thousand years, outshining the lost Star League etc etc.
     I generally avoid Avalon City these days, as it's not the same roaring town I first knew under old Prince Ian, ever since Hanse started believing his own propaganda and 'cleaned up the remnant sinks of cabalist debauchery', as the blustering bore put it, the old place has been as straight laced as a Exituri funeral. However occasionally I can't avoid it and on those rare occasions when I am forced to stand up at court these days and wear my full dress fig, I carry more metal on my breast than my Victor does; Sir Darius Davion, ME, KFS, OD, bearer of all three Sunburst medals, Robinson and Syrtis Medals of Honour, Commonwealth Medal of Honour and the Order of the Tamar Tigers. Then there are the more unusual ones, the ones I wear out of myschevious spiteful glee, the ones that draw the slantendicular looks of surprise and confusion at court; the Liao Grand Cordon of Merit, a Marik Crest of the Eagle with a bullet scar running across it, the Andurien Legion of Valour, a Canopian Croix de Guerrier, the Bushido Blade, the Tyr Cluster and the Rasalhague Star to name but a few.
     My lineage is impeccable of course, my father being Major-General Xerxes Davion, my mother Countess Lydia Davion ne Campbell, cousin to Amanda Campbell, the mother of Princes Hanse and Ian, who are thus distant cousins of mine. I am Baron of the Seven Cities of New Belfast (no really!) and heir, should mum and dad ever pop their clogs, to the planet of Killarney.
     My service history is not just public record but the stuff of popular legend; I left (though never actually  graduated from) Sakhara Academy in 3013, then won undying glory on Mallory's World later in that year by being the man who carried Prince Ian's corpse to safety, and from there I saw action in the AFFS notably on Harrow's Sun in '20, New Ivaarsen in '21, Hoff in '23, Galtor III in '25, Kittery in '26, through numerous major battles during the Fourth Succession War years, then Galtor III again, Sadalbari, An Ting, Thestria and Exeter during the '39, after that there was the Tortuga Campaign of '42 and Operation Baldur in '44.
     I have served as a staff liason to the vaunted Ian McKinnon of the 7th Crucis, been ADC to Ardan Sortek during his special service in Lyran space in '27, where my actions during the Silver Eagle affair won me my OD.  I served in a 'diplomatic function' on Sian in '29, and was also liason between Pavel Ridzik and Ardan Sortek in that same year. I was involved in training the Tyr rebels into a true army between '33 and '34, when I became involved in the Ronin War and I later served as a AFFS-DMR recruiter in the Circinus Federation in '38.
     Beyond the borders of the Federated Suns I have travelled widely, some of the stranger notings in my Who's Who page date from those wanderings; head-bodyguard to Anton Marik 3014-3015,  Open-Class Solaris MechWarrior duelist 3037, 'Second Champion' of the Magestrix of Canopus 3033, Chairman of the Antallos Free Trade Cooperative in 3024, Special Envoy to Dame Paula Trevaline of Tortuga in '42, and Generalissimo of the Rim Collection Armed Forces more recently in '48. 
    Oh I cut quite the figure as you may have seen from those trivid news progs, still looking mighty trim and hearty in my dress blue and golds despite my advancing years. How could anyone doubt such a Hector could be anything but the hero he appears, a man who has won not only the highest awards of his own great homeland, but who is clearly such a fire-eater he has roamed the stars like a modern day knight errant seeking out foreign wars when there were no domestic ones to sate his bloodthirsty yet clearly noble heart?

* * *

     Well then, let's have at it. Even if this document is never read, I think it will feel good to lay down here the truth, the whole truth and nothing but. For the first time in my life.
      I'm not concerned about possible scandal mind you, for if this was to leak out no-one would believe it anyway, they wouldn't want to d'you see? It's easier for us all to believe war is glorious, our heroes are true hearted bluff coves who you'd be happy to babysit your sprogs, our successful campaigns are all down to meticulous planning and efficient execution by an organised and just army, our defeats caused by unavoidable ill-luck, treacherous enemy bluffs and in fact not really defeats at all, rather just temporary setbacks. Pick up that recently published history of the '39 for example, y'know the one written by those cloistered squarehead Ellsies out on Dromini, to read it you'd think the Snakes never won a battle through the whole year, that Teddy K simply made a few daring bluffs and we carefully pulled back after soundly thrashing the Dragon about it's collective ears. Well I was with that arrant ass Sortek up to my neck in stinking mud on An Ting and I'm here to tell you Sortek royally screwed up, he panicked in the face of the enemy, (not that I didn't too mind you), we were hammered and I barely scrambled to the DropShips before they left, while many of the 1st Guards never made it. That and many of the other evacuations going on at the same time were not organised retreats off world, we ran, many of our units didn't stop till they reached the perceived safety of the Crucis March for Unity's sake! 
     Which brings me back round to the truth, which is that my entire career, every one of my medals, every awed war story told about my bravery ... are all lies. Or at least profoundly false, for many times, especially in later years when my legend was already monolithic, I had nothing to do with inventing the tales about me, others seemed more than happy to do so on my behalf.
     Oh yes, I am as great a coward and liar as any that walk, skulk and cower across the Inner Sphere and beyond. I have, as Redjack Ryan once insightfully realised of me during one of the most terrifying drinking bouts of my misspent life, a yellow streak longer than that left behind a fast moving herd of diarrhitic Odessan Raxx.
     I have fled, crawled, scarpered, sidled and squirmed my way through life, and through some bizarre blessing of the fates I have survived not only with most of my hide intact (though my left hand is a prosthetic and I have more scars and old wounds than most braver men would ever acquire), but also laden with shining honours and public repute.
     How, you ask?
     Well that's a long story. Let's just put it this way, I've seen more than anyone should ever have to of not just the scum of known space, but also the so called great and good, and believe you me they are not only difficult to tell apart but also equally dangerous to the likes of you and I.
      I have lived my life by simple codes; take your tumbles where you find them, for you never know when the next girls going to come along or who she might be, always eat well when you can, never allow fools to hoodwink you with ideas of honour and duty, and always ... always ... look after number one.
     I've bedded some of the most famous women alive, though sometimes I was not altogether willing - for example I still have nightmares about Paula Trevaline's scorpion bed-pets. Then there was the time I was under the orders of that boy-scout madman Xiang-Allard on Sian and I was secretly rogering not just Allard's own paramour Candace, but that she-devil Romano. I never was sure who I was more worried about finding out; Max Liao or Xiang-Allard. Oh believe me, your daring Fed Suns public school boy heroes tend to be quite murderous when you cross 'em.
     I've been in and out of beds from Avalon City to Tharkad, Dandavella to Butte Hold and if I do say so myself, have left many a flushed bosom and broken heart in my wake. From the delectable and deadly Suzie Morgraine-Ryan, to the Black Widow herself. I was the 'junior officer' who nearly ruined Vanessa Bisla's career by being caught in the act with her on a holo-map table, during a staff function at the Fox's Den, despite her later marrying that insipid subaltern of hers. Oh yes, you think you know who Darius Davion is? Think again.
     I've burned towns down with pirates, run a slaver band for a while on Antallos, I was the man who pulled the trigger on Jaime Wolf's beloved brother, though thankfully ol'Blackbeard and his band of Periphery weirdoes never found out about that and I'm still a welcome guest on Outreach, despite La Kerensky's coldness towards me these days unlike in times past. All these crimes and much else besides were, it should be said, forced upon me by cruel circumstance, aside from my carousing and womanising, for if fate has ultimately saved and rewarded me throughout the many deadly and terrifying avenues of my life, it has also shafted me royally more times than I'd like to count.
     I have after all spent my life trying to avoid battle, tyrants, spies, murder, slaughter, wild beasts, pirates and assassins, yet have time and again been tossed into their close proximity, quivering like a schoolgirl and sobbing with abject terror most of the time.
     Here it is then. My story, the true one. I hope you young greenhorns about to leave academy can find use of my coward's wisdom and experience in keeping your own skins safe. Historians and arm chair scholars will scorn what I have to say about some of our Fed Com heroes of recent years, but those are the same buffoons who think I'm the bravest of the brave ... so what do they know?

[Hellfire]

I'm glad to see this back on the internet Tokage. I've always been a big fan of the story.

[Tokage]

I'm glad to see this back on the internet Tokage. I've always been a big fan of the story.

Thanks, I am aiming to repost them all, but as I'm doing a spring clean edit as I go it's slow going. :)

[Tokage]

Part 1

- An inglorious beginning -
Sakhara - 3013

1

     The kind of oily squibs who write history books, or hover in the shadows of their betters taking notes, will tell you, should you be so foolish as to let them, that great historical events are shaped either by the careful planning and machinations of the leaders of nations, or perhaps great cultural, political and social movements that bring about sweeping change.
     Well if they are correct then my drinking habits shouldn't be a factor on the stage of universal events. However I can state with certainty that had I not snuck out past curfew to go boozing on the night before Sakhara Academy's annual Jousting Day Gala, in 3013, then First Prince Ian Davion would not have died in action later that year, Hanse would almost certainly not have then become First Prince in that same year, thus his later marriage to Melissa Steiner, and the ensuing Fourth Succession War would not have happened, one hundred million people would not have died in that war and perhaps most notably I wouldn't now be receiving c-mails every Christmas from my formidable mother reminding me to send gifts to cousin Hanse's abominable brood of brats.
     Don't believe me? Well read on then and you shall learn something about the last year of the reign of First Prince Ian Davion and how your's truly first became the public's darling I have remained ever since.
 
* * *

     Sakhara Military Academy was a very fine place for the likes of me back then, first founded by a bunch of retired Star League army officers in 2613, as the Succession Wars had dragged on the place had become more and more exclusive until by my day it generally would only accept cadets whose family could pay the ruinously expensive fees. Hence only the very best families of the Federated Suns tended to get their offspring groomed for war there, families like mine.
     Dear old dad had attended the place back in his distant and apparently very misspent youth and he'd insisted on paying for myself, his only son, to follow in his less than exemplary footsteps. I'd heard rumours and whispers throughout my youth that Daddy had been involved in the waning years of the MechWarrior Cabalist movement and you know what kind of fun they were prone to, the lucky brutes.
     I was nineteen and had been at Sakhara three years by April '13 and had settled most comfortably into a happy routine there by that time. You see, though there are actually federal laws against giving any preferential treatment, especially during training or combat situations, to a chap like me who bears the Davion name, I'm here to tell you from a lifetime of experience it's a rare citicen of these Federated Suns who wont spit-shine your shoes once they find out you're related to the royal family. As you can imagine I have always made it a point to take advantage of this fact.
     Oh yes it wasn't exactly boot camp at the Sak in my day. My quarters were a suite of rooms on the third floor of the Prince Andrew building, overlooking the sprawling grounds of the Academy Park of Remembrance with it's massive and horribly vulgar bronze statue of a constipated looking MechWarrior cradling his fallen comrade, whilst shaking his fist at a serpent rearing above them both. Typical late First Succession War era tatt. The rooms themselves though were pleasantly decorated, spacious and the folks had provided more than enough bunce to ensure they were decked out most admirably. I had top of the range tri-vid players in every room, a library of classic tri-vids to play on them (including a hidden stash of contraband porno I was most attached to), my furniture was the best the Lyran Commonwealth could export, my wardrobe large and carefully selected.
     Being both a Davion and a MechWarrior cadet I also had a couple of orderlies who saw to my every whim, I recall in my early days at the Sak I'd been annoyed I wasn't allowed to take some of my properly subservient Killarnees from back home, but by three years into my schooling I'd trained up the two local Sakharans, Ashrim and Omar, to a fair degree.
     The only fly in the proverbial ointment was the fact that the academy commandant, a grizzled monster named Asa Goldstein, detested me and made no bones about it. He had tried to kick me out twice before for bullying and petty theft, each time my name and family connections had obviously saved my neck as the academy fathers seem to have intervened. A fact that made the ex-tanker Goldstein all the more determined, I now believe, to see me gone. 
     Sakhara is a relatively small school as you may be aware and I was part of a class year consisting of some twenty MechWarrior cadets due to graduate in 3014. My primary cronies at the time were Roderick Fitzroy Kent of the New Avalon Kents, and Pat Meldon. Roddy Kent was the firstborn of one of the richest families in our space, he went on in later years to have a dazzling but all too brief career in the AFFS before he died during that bloody shambles on Harrow's Sun in '20, partly due to the actions of your correspondant. Pat Meldon is still alive, has reached Marshal rank and I occasionally look him up for a spot of hell raising.
     Back then we were in our prime and spoilt rotten, we would saunter about the Academy as if we owned the place, skip classes if the mood took us, break curfew regularly to visit the local flesh pits, repeatedly flaunt dress regulations, and generally we made it a point of pride to make the other cadet's lives hell, especially those in the years below us. Oh we were bullies of the worst kind, spiteful, vicious and clever. I remember dousing first yearer fags with coolant fluid and locking 'em out of halls on winter nights, laying out savage beatings on a near daily basis, or extorting secrets from certain cadets then broadcasting said private news across the planetary net. Roddy may have been a true war hero in later life, unlike my good self, but he was if anything worse than me when it came to bullyragging and it was point of fact his bad behaviour rather than mine that eventually was to prove my comeuppance.
     
* * *
 
     Roddy was ill that night and I could immediately tell he wasn't faking, I stood in his quarters, trying hard not to gaze at the large holopic of his absolute peach of a little sister that sat upon a window sill, while taking in his pale, feverish complexion and sweat slicked brown hair, as he sat visibly shaking on his bed.
     "Oh come along ol' fellow, a PPC is just the thing to perk you up." I pleaded, all consideration.
     "Push off Dee, I've got the Sak-Shivers you can see that." I'm known as Dee to my close acquaintances by the way. "One PPC and I'll chuck up that caviar ma'ma sent us. Besides tomorrow's Jousting Day, I wont even be able to sit in my 'Mech if I get pissed with you untill the early hours." He barked at me moodily in his cut glass Avalonian accent. Jousting Day is the annual event when Sakhara's governors, large numbers of planetary dignitaries and academy alumnae descend on the old place and watch the cadets parade and drill in honour of defeated Kuritan attacks on the planet in the past.   
     I was fuming inside, Pat had snuck off on his own at short notice with a low class floozy he'd picked up at the Academy gates and if Roddy baled on me I'd be on my own for the nights entertainment I had been looking forward to. I was not overly scared about being caught alone sneaking off academy grounds, I'd breeze past any punishments for that, no it was more the stories that had been circulating over previous months about cadets being mugged by local souk cutthroats in the dives and alleys of nearby Kemidin City.
     Three tall, heavy set, chaps like us would have been more than enough to scare off any Sak-harry footpads looking for an easy mark, myself alone on the other hand would seem too easy a target for my liking.
     "Please Roddy, I've got us VIP entry and freeby-goes with two girls each." To this day I still feel Roddy should have taken me up on my more than generous offer, a cold drink followed by some hot slap and tickle with a ready trollop is just the thing if you're down with the flu in my experience. Still that night he was having none of it, the ungrateful bugger, so hurling an angry curse at him I stalked out in a fine fury.
     I returned to my own quarters, where I found Omar turning down the bed. He saw my mood as soon as I stormed in and he quickly bowed, making to leave. Outraged at the oaf's timidity I walloped him hard about his head and booted him up the arse, roaring at him to fix me a drink. The fool came back with a tumbler half filled with a fine Skye malt whiskey in his shaking hands and barely considering the strength of that particular brew I threw it back and bellowed at Omar to get out of my presence.
     Well, that whiskey hit home with a vengeance and enjoying the soothing burning sensation in my gut I got up, poured myself another and began to drink myself brave enough to risk the red lights of Kemidin's souk alone.

* * *

     I remember being half cut even as I was clambering out the window of my quarters that fateful night, a safely secured metal runged 'Mech cockpit rope-ladder allowing me to swing, giggle and clumsily knock myself down the wall and then away into the shadows of the Park of Remembrance. After stopping for a quick release of my bladder up the side of the great statue, I hurried away swaying a little into the cool night.
     Sakhara is a desert planet you know, even the air seems dry a lot of the time, in direct sunlight by the middle of the local day it can feel like you're having the moisture literally sucked out of your body. By night it gets cold though as you would imagine and dressed in my best civies; black crushed velvet and silk jacket, shirt and trousers, all the product of a Marik coutre house that night as I recall, I was shivering by the time I reached the agreed rendezvous point near the fence camera I'd disabled earlier that day.
     Clambering over the fence in safety I dashed over the asphalt road and into the waiting hover-taxi. Slumping into the back seat I congratulated myself on my ingenuity and waved the driver on, as he burbled on at me in the local pigeon dialect.
     I may have slept a little as I don't recall that journey at all, but I do remember stepping out the cab outside the Lady's Dice Casino as I ordered the driver to hang around and tipped him fifty D-Bills to wait all night for me to come out, with a promise of fifty more on my safe return to the academy later that night.
     I was pretty full of myself as I walked in, catching sight of my reflection in a wall mirror; back then I was nineteen and in my prime, six and some feet tall, muscular but not too heavy, with skin that tanned easily, raven black hair shaved in the academy buzz-cut, clear blue eyes, straight nose and a damn-you expression no doubt. I've been told many times I can be the most charming fellow you'd ever want to meet and certainly my success with the fairer sex would back that up. Dressed in the height of that years Atrean fashions as I was that night, I thought myself the model of a young demigod as I strode into that souk-casino, until that is I promptly blundered somewhat drunkenly into the last cadet of the academy I would have dreamed would ever break curfew, let alone frequent such a den of infamy.
     He was a little chap, dressed in a smart but simple business suit, spare muscled and whip thin. Having nearly knocked him flying by walking into him, I now towered over him as he looked up at me with those damnably calm dark almond eyes, set in that handsome face that showed traces of oriental features.
     "Justin Allard!" I blurted in amazement.

* * *

     Justin Allard is of course a name everyone knows these days. The co-ruler of the St Ives Compact, spy-master of the Fed Com, one-time Solaris Open Class Champion, the man who brought the Capellan Confederation to wrack and ruin practically single handed. Oh yes this was that same fellow.
     Back then Allard was in the year above me and was some few years older being in his early twenties. He'd attended university and graduated before enrolling at Sakhara and was due to graduate the academy later that year. He was an odd bird even then, certainly for Sakhara, there were stories that his father was some kind of diplomatic bigwig on New Avalon who'd married a Capellan woman for political reasons, later divorced her and then married again, leaving Justin the only remaining trace of that first marriage.
     I'd heard stories that Justin had initially been very much an outsider when he'd arrived at the academy nearly four years before, but that he soon began to outshine all the other cadets in 'Mech piloting and martial arts classes and like most successful people became somewhat more popular. Without question he was the best 'Mech pilot of any year then at the academy, I saw him do things in the academy's training 'Mechs that would have put hardened MechWarriors with decades of experience to shame. He seemed to have an intuitive connection to BattleMechs that went beyond neurohelmets and simple skill. However he always remained somewhat of an outsider if you ask me; he was too cautious seeming, diffident, very polite and even somewhat formal for most of the cadets.
     Personally I'd always been a little wary of him. He didn't scare me exactly in those days, that would come later, but I'd quickly spotted him even then as a chap to avoid crossing, he hated bullies and I made it a point to never wind him up, or pick on any of the oiks while he was around. Roddy however had taken an intense dislike to Allard from the beginning and the pair had had some pretty bloody scraps both officially and unofficially. Roddy hated the fact Allard was half-Capellan and never missed an opportunity to sneer, jibe or annoy Allard about the fact, most of the time Allard would simply ignore Roddy, sometimes however he'd get up and brutally teach Roddy just how good a martial artist he was. I must say being your typical cowardly bully myself, I only pick on those I'm fairly confident can't beat me back, so I was quite impressed that ol' Roddy never let the fact that Allard kept beating him stop his bile and the feud continued to bubble.
     Allard seemed unsure as to what to make of me, I'm sure he was appalled by the company I kept and doubtless snerks had filled his ears with my bad reputation. However my scrupulous avoidance of ever doing him wrong seemed to confuse him. He was also painfully loyal to House Davion, so my actually being a member of the royal family must have caused him problems, also if Allard was without question the best 'Mech pilot at Sakhara, then I was a close second.
     Oh yes, that part of my reputation is factual, I can pilot a 'Mech better than most MechWarriors in known space, I'd not still be alive if I couldn't. I just don't like risking my life by going into battle in one of the blasted tin cans.
     So then, Allard and I had kept our distance, we knew each other to say hello too, we respected each other as pilots, he worshipped my family, but was clearly far from sure I was quite the right sort and here we were facing each other out past curfew in the Lady's Dice Casino, as ill-reputed a souk dive as any such as we could dare enter. Frankly I was amazed he'd risk his pristeen record at the academy by slipping out carousing and I'm sure my face showed it.

[Tokage]

2

     "Hello Darius ... you've got a commander's gift pass too then?" Allard asked me in that supremely calm, low pitched voice of his, all the while watching me closely out of those slanted black eyes.
     "What? Ahh yes, gift, as you say old fellow." A clumsy and obvious lie, but then I was drunk and very surprised as I have said.
     "So, wouldn't have pegged a straight arrow like yourself for this kind of den." I ploughed on regardless of his immediate scowl of affront. "Slumming it eh? Looking for a little back stairs action I bet?" I added with a friendly nudge and wink.
     "Back ... stairs?" He began to colour and I immediately relaxed, assuming the clearly inexperienced fourth yearer had indeed snuck into this casino-come-knocking-shop to buy a girl for the night. That assumption caused me, in my befuddled state, to let down my guard a little and I clapped my arm around his scrawny-hard shoulders drawing him a little stiffly along with me into the club's main room.
     The Lady's Dice was built on three floors, with staircases and balconies running up around the walls, gaming tables filled this the ground floor allowing patrons to flutter away their bills on all manner of games of chance. Hologames flashed, cards were played, holo-roulette wheels spun in mid air and the smell of tobacco, alchohol, various narcotics and fun filled the smokey air. Everywhere there were practically nude waitresses and female croupiers and a prettier bunch of girls you'd have been hard pressed to find this side of Canopus. I glanced sideways down at Allard and the little chap was craning his neck about as if he were trying to take the whole place in at once ... or, it occurred to me in a flash, he was looking for someone in particular.
     "Why you sly dog Allard, you've a special girl in mind tonight haven't you?" I said, thinking he was here for some specific floozy who worked there, I chuckled punching him lightly on the arm in jovial fashion. To my surprise he squirmed out of my comradely grip and stepped a little back from me straightening his slightly rumpled jacket. Turning back to me he seemed about to speak, I was sure I saw anger spark in those Capellan eyes of his and it struck me he was possibly about to physically rebuke me. Remembering the lethal pummellings I'd seen him dish out to Roddy I began to back away quickly. Then from behind him snaked up a pair of shapely bare female arms and hands which covered Allard's glaring eyes.
     "Guess who?" Came a coy husky voice and yet another of my fellow academy MechWarrior cadets intruded upon my evening.
     The girl glided around gracefully to Allard's side, her hand slipping into Allard's own as they both turned their attention away from each other and onto me. I recognised her of course, as I have said there aren't that many cadets at Sakhara, there were even fewer female ones back then and anyway I can assure you I would never have forgotten this beauty.
     Sarah Nealson. She was a second year cadet then, I hear these days she's one of the highest scoring aces in the 'Grinners', back then she was the most sought after of the female cadets and the object of countless fantasies no doubt. Certainly I had spent many a night imagining stripping her out of her cooling suit; she had long slender legs, a perky rear end, small firm breasts, academy buzz-cut blonde hair, huge blue-green eyes and striking features. All in all when she walked past even statues looked up!
     I must confess she'd shot me down in flames twice over the past year and I was not used to that. I had been spoilt perhaps by the pull with the ladies my name, affluence and obvious good looks brought and I didn't cotton to being given the broken actuator swing by some snotty second yearer. I'd already eased my disgruntlement and vented some of my bile however by spreading about some invented viciously salacious rumours about just how she achieved such generally high grades and I was pretty sure she knew the baseless gossip had been started by me. Certainly she gazed at me coldly, like I was something the cat had dragged in, ate and then regurgitated on her prize Omniss-rug.
     "Why it's young 'Prince' Davion of the Third Year." Her tone was mocking and Allard, the little toadying swine, chuckled and gazed up at her adoringly. He was clearly as spoony over her as a love struck preteen at his first infant school dance. Mind you I realised he'd clearly succeeded where I'd failed with the lovely yet aloof Sarah, she was here with him afterall and I was doubly stung by that fact, added to the trollop's teasing.
     "Oh hello Sarah, what's this you found an evening job to supplement this years fees?" I glanced pointedly at a passing waitress whose poonts jiggled across our line of vision most charmingly. The barb struck home as I thought it might, her family were no great shakes and there were rumours she'd got in on some kind of scholarship arrangement due to her natural skill.
     "You slimy bastard!" She spat back at me, "I might not come from the 'heights' you do, but my family are worth a million of the likes of a lying rat like you." Allard suddenly placed himself between Sarah and I, his small frame belying the sense of immediate strength he projected.
     "That's enough both of you. Remember we're all representatives of the academy here. Think about the good name of the old Sak. Please." Typical of Allard to play on love of our academy to placate us. If he hadn't been there, all calm solidity, I would have decked that teasing tart right there, however with him between us I realised after perhaps sobering a little from the anger, that I'd better build some bridges if I was to remain in Allard's good graces.
     "Oh, I am sorry Justin. I do apologise, what a scene we must be making. It was a stupid joke. Come let me buy you two a drink and we shall put any ill feeling behind us." I could tell Allard and Sarah didn't want me tagging along as gooseberry, but I put on my best 'schoolboy' charm and sealed the deal by fixing Allard's dark eyes and saying;
     "Please Justin old chap, I'd hate to part company with fellow cadets of the Sak on bad terms the night before Jousting Day." Letting out a sigh of relief and resignation Allard smiled and clapped my shoulder guiding us towards a gaming table. I could feel Sarah's hatred towards me as clearly as I could smell her light perfume and I smirked to myself that I would find a way that night to get even with her for her sharp words and for turning me down. I was prepared even to risk falling into Allard's bad books I decided if I had to, but I would try to avoid it if I could.

* * *

     We dived into one of the continuous Galainan Craps games on the first floor balcony, away from the Sak-Harry street-trash that pushed pennies on the ground floor. I quickly realised as the three of us began to spin the dice across the shifting, three dimensional game surface, that Allard and Sarah had played before and were as proficient players of this game as was I. They'd almost certainly learnt here. They'd been here together before then I realised.
     The jealousy bit at me all the more, I couldn't credit that a filly like Sarah would prefer a half-Capellan runt like Allard to me. Damn it all, I fumed inwardly, I am a Davion afterall. With bitter spite and envy distracting me, it didn't take long for me to begin losing on the table; wells swallowed my dice time after time, I'd roll into valleys from which I could get nowhere, a pyramid bet I put down trying to recoup my losses collapsed. I even became convinced the blank faced boxman had it in for me.
     Naturally, with me playing with all the skill and subtlety of a bear with a headache, Allard and Sarah were soon raking it in, which only made my mood worse, as did the tender kisses of congratulation the trollop kept giving him every time they won.
     Well, as you probably have found yourself, this kind of night is only made bearable by getting savage drunk, so as I slumped back from the table for a while I ordered up drinks for us all. Allard and Sarah insisted upon only having a couple of bottles of Timbi-Lite, a low alcohol beverage then in vogue with the non-drinking set, I went straight to my tipple of choice; local style PPCs.
      As any connoisseur of cocktails will tell you PPCs are not named after a weapon that hits you like a bolt of lightning for nothing. Four parts grain alcohol and two parts bourbon is not a drink for the weak of stomach and I had been half drunk before beginning then had perhaps four or five PPCs in an hour and a half. Understandably I was soon as drunk as a skunk that had been half drowned in a vat of liquor.
      Naturally Allard, in his role of nanny for the evening, noticed I was on a fast train towards oblivion and several times tried to politely advise me to at least slow down. I think I remember him citing tomorrow's gala, I do know Sarah carefully kept herself quiet and intent on the craps game. I should have known she was plotting a revenge of her own, but by that time I'd drunk away any intricate schemes of pay back against her and was content to drink yet another PPC and began singing a bawdy old Guard's staple pa'pa taught me when I was a nipper; Broken Hearts and Dirty Boots.
     By the time I was pounding out the fourth verse and getting to the bit about the Coordinator's wife and daughters, the Boxman was shouting angrily at me in the local Sak-Harry gibber and some of the casino thugs were beginning to gather like buzzards over not quite dead carrion.
     I heard Sarah say something about me to Allard and he laughed gently, but with a pained look on his face. I should of course have staggered off home to my quarters at that point and slept it off. I didn't and I was damned from that moment onwards.
     "What was that you slut?" I roared across the table at her. I think Allard was shocked, but at the time I was glaring venom at Sarah and didn't even notice him. Sarah was on her feet instantly, her aquamarine eyes blazing, but totally in control of herself.
     "Look at yourself. You call yourself a Davion? You're less than any common drunk from the lowest backwater world." Her words scourged me and I spat back without thinking.
     "What would you know about Fed Suns folk, you only shag Capellans!" As soon as the words were out I realised I'd overstepped the line with Allard and made to half turn to apologise to him, however the devious tart was already moving to make things worse.
     "Hah! Justin's twice the man you are Darius! He's a better citicen of these Suns and a better MechWarrior." She lingered over those last words and looking back she clearly knew how they'd strike me hard, my stupid boyish pride in my 'Mechsmanship was clearly obvious to anyone who knew me. The words were out of my lips without thought.
     "Rubbish! I can beat any man or woman in a 'Mech. I can certainly beat him." Sarah stood behind the then cold faced Allard, I can still see the small smile of victory spread over her lips, the glint of glee in her beautiful eyes.
     "Prove it." She purred the words, Allard glanced back at her and then across at me, then spoke softly.
     "Well, perhaps a race through the lists might be in order next week." Allard was no fool you see, even then, he would face me, but wanted to give us all time to cool down, I don't know to this day if he took much offense to my drunken insults. On Kittery thirteen years later he said to me at the time he'd put it down to youthful high spirits and too much drink, the sort of thing that could happen to any hot blooded fellow. Then again, when I came face to face with him in chains on Sian in '29 and Max Liao ordered him to shoot me dead ... I firmly believe he was going to do it and I think there was in fact real hate deep in his soul towards me. At the end of the day, with Justin Allard, you never could tell exactly what his true thoughts were about any damn thing.
     "Tonight Justin. Tonight." Sarah said softly to him, his almond shaped eyes widened and he gazed at her intently as if seeing her for the first time.
     "Come on Justin ... you know how Roddy Kent has been bragging about how that racist piece of trash there is a better MechWarrior than you'll ever be. This is your chance to prove Kent wrong." There it was, her ace in the hole, bringing up my pal Roddy, Allard's arch-enemy, who certainly had made that bogus claim about me being better in the cockpit that Allard several times and I'm sure it had rankled Allard deeply. Certainly a flicker of something dangerous came into Allard's expression and when he turned and looked at me I felt a chill of fear settle over me through the fog of drink.
     Bloody Roddy, without his feud with Allard Sarah would never have been able to goad Allard into a spot of midnight 'Mech racing. Whatever the ultimate cause, the die was now cast as they say.

[Tokage]

3

     I cannot recall much about the hover-cab ride back to the Sak that night, it must have lasted about an hour but all I can remember is leaving the casino and then suddenly Sarah was pulling me by the hand out the door of the cab and into the cold desert night.
     "Sober up now you weak-kneed swine." The lovely Miss Nealson snarled in my face and I shook myself into wakefulness to find we were some hundred yards away from the academy gates, the air cold enough that our breath was misting. Allard seemed almost a different person to the diffident, conscientious little goody-two-shoes I'd previously known him to be. Once committed to the lark he was all bright eyed mischief and dangerous looking as he paced about to my right as the cab sped away.
     "Are you still up for this Darius? You look drunk." He asked with a clipped manner while squinting away from me up towards the academy gates. "I wont race you if you're incapable, what would that prove?"
     Sarah looked worried at this, fixed me with her cold glare, walked up to me and without a bye your leave cracked me one straight across my face with her open hand, I squealed like a scalded pig and straightened up in fury. Half moving towards her, though not without some hesitation seeing Allard's Capellan features crease into a warning frown.
     Sarah may have been a cruel hearted bitch, but her simple trick worked. For an instant I was shocked sober, well soberish anyway. I scowled at her and resolved to teach her lover-boy a little lesson in 'Mechsmanship. Nodding to Allard I followed him up the road towards the gates.
     There may be some of you who doubt that MechWarrior cadets could possibly gain access to academy BattleMechs in the middle of the night and race them in a totally unauthorised manner. Well perhaps these days that would be true, certainly the Sak tightened up it's regulations on the subject after the night I'm describing, then again even were the best security in the world put in place I still say that if one of the cadets trying to get to the 'Mechs was Justin Allard then within half an hour they'd be inside 'Mechs and racing in short order.
      In the years since the whole of humanity was made patently aware of Allard's ability to switch himself from being your typical old-school Fed Suns paladin to a devious super-spy capable of penetrating the highest levels of the Capellan secret police and court, I have dined out several times on the fact that I was part of his first covert op. The famous Allard-Davion 'Mech Race of 3013. It's a shame that at the time he would merely end up with a slapped wrist and I would be ... well I'll get to that part soon enough.
      Exactly how he got us to the West 'Mech Hangars and into the 'Mechs I'm far from entirely certain myself. We passed through the front gates easy enough, with Allard calmly flashing his 'gift-pass' at the infantry guards on the gates, who politely saluted him, but positively gushed over me.
     "Eev'ning young master Davion sir. Cold night init?" I'd learnt early in my life that Fed Suns soldiers like a cool hand from their social betters and decided to shoot a little barb at Allard, playing my lifetime roll instinctively despite the booze swilling about my belly, I swaggered through, back ramrod straight, head up like I was at the court.
     "Hmm, yes my good man, cold as a Capellan's teet." The guards, naturally being aware of Allard's rumoured background, choked back laughter as Allard and Sarah stalked past ahead of me fuming quietly to themselves no doubt. Behind us the laughter could be heard along with a faint;
     "E'll go far that one, young master Darius. Cousin to the two princes 'ee is, proper noble fru and fru, y'can tell can't yer."
     Perked up by this pointed reminder to us all of our respective stations in life I didn't take much notice as Allard led us by a sheltered partly underground side route, that I didn't even know existed, around the north of the Academy Presidio Building. I was beginning to feel the drink again and I think we cut through the Prince John Barracks to get to the West Hangars.
     I recall I hung back while Allard and Sarah went to talk to the infantry cadets and the Master 'Tech then in charge of the Hangars. I was urinating most enjoyably over the hangar wall when Sarah stuck her head around the side of the building and cursing me softly motioned me to follow her.
     Allard was perched on the edge of the Master 'Tech's desk inside the side door we entered through, sipping at a steaming mug of synth-i-caff and I caught some of what he was saying.
     "... wait to try it. Commandant Goldstein as you may imagine is keen for his two best pilots to have run the lists before the gala tomorrow and as you know there wasn't the opportunity yesterday.
     Why here's Cadet Davion now!" He exclaimed like I was his long lost brother, the impudent weasel, gesturing for me to come over. I recognised the grease monkey behind the cluttered desk to be Master 'Tech Tom Ewings, a retired veteran 'Tech from the Avalon Hussars. His face was hideously scarred from the laser wound that presumably ended his career, when he spoke it was through a grilled metal prosthetic set into his seared throat causing him to sound like a cheap tri-vid robot.
     "Good evening Sir." He sprang up upon my entry saluting smartly, from Allard's expression old Ewings hadn't shown him anything like the same deference so I warmed to the 'Tech, instantly spotting him as yet another commoner who would do my bidding happily thanks to my family name.
     "Sit down Ewings you'll do your spine an injury snapping up like that." I smiled at him and he grinned blissfully back showing dirty gold teeth. I noted Allard's gift pass was on Ewings's desk atop some computer parts the 'Tech had clearly been tinkering with. Allard never told me exactly what story he'd spun, it had to do with loopholes in the way the pass was worded I think. I could be wrong. At the time it was all I could do to keep up the act and not sway down into the desk. The drunkenness was washing over me again and I turned and walked past Allard to a door behind him, then pushing it open I stepped through into the cavernous space of Sakhara Academy BattleMech Hangar West One.

* * *

     I expect any of you reading this who haven't been around BattleMechs much in your life have a picture in your mind of a 'Mech hangar being a largely empty big warehouse-like space lined at it's read end with towering 'Mechs standing proudly erect like sentries or statues, well that's typically how they are portrayed in the tri-vids and in paintings and such. However that's not how they are in real life in my experience.
     You see good MechWarriors rarely leave their 'Mechs in a standing position, as firstly when you're in the field it takes longer to climb in and out of the usually head mounted cockpit, secondly the 'Mech standing makes it a larger target for the enemy, and thirdly it makes the 'Mech a taller thing for your own techs to work on. We cadets at the Sak were thus taught early on to always leave our 'Mechs crouched and I still hold to that habit to this day. You know some of the best MechWarriors I've served with, or fought against, actually lay their 'Mechs down prone when dismounting, on it's back or side, so they could practically jump into the cockpit if necessary. You have to be really good to do this though, as it's a bugger of a job to get a 'Mech up from laying down in a hurry, though I once saw Natasha Kerensky spring that black Warhammer of hers up from it's back in as little time as it takes to say it.
     Hangar West One actually consisted of three parallel rows of connected 'Mech silos, each holding a lance of four 'Mechs. Each crouched 'Mech was covered in a berth with leads and cables connected to banks of monitors and coolant tanks studded into the silo body itself. The silos also consisted of ladders and gantry walkways that would allow the techs to clamber easily over the bodies of the great war machines.
     Though the hanger roof was very high, the hangar space at ground level actually felt crowded and enclosed, with narrow walkways between each silo bay leading to the row beyond. Only the large avenues for the 'Mechs to walk along were open and clear. That heavy smell of grease, coolant fluid and stale sweat you always get where techs and 'Mechs are to be found filled the air and in my drunken state I grinned stupidly as I became excited about the prospect of saddling up.
     Ignoring the noise behind me of Justin shooing off Ewings I stripped down to my underwear and plucked a cooling vest from a nearbye rack. Shrugging into the thing, I hit the control studs at the belt-line and shivered as a ripple of cold pulses surged through the vest, raising goosebumps on my skin. Walking, somewhat unsteadily, to another rack I lifted one of the neurohelmets it held with both hands, as always it's weight surprised me a little and I took a deep breath and lifted it onto my head, the padded shoulders of the vest absorbing the bulk and heaviness. For a long moment my head swam and I nearly vomited over the pentagonal armoured face plate. But, as Allard came out of the Master Tech's office behind me and began to change, I got a grip and with my throat burning from swallowed vomit I pulled on a pair of soft soled 'Mech boots and started sticking the sensor leads to the appropriate points on my body.
     All the 'Mechs in the hangar were of the same type, the staple of the Sak's MechWarrior training program; CLN-7V Chameleons. The Chameleon is an elegant and cleverly designed training 'Mech that dates back some five hundred years I believe. Roughly nine and a half meters tall, weighing fifty tons, bipedal and humanoid in shape, with a pistol-like large laser cannon in it's right hand and packing an arsenal of smaller lasers and a couple of sperry-browning heavy callibre machine guns in it's chest. It's cockpit 'head' consists of a long tinted armour-glass bubble that is sunken down above the central torso.
     Being a training 'Mech the Chameleon is designed partly to teach cadets to watch their heat build-up and if a MechWarrior in a Chameleon exceeds the cooling power of the 'Mech's ten heat sinks all the 'Mech's weapons are designed to shut down. The 'Mech also has unique computer systems that allow it to take on the speed and manoeuvrability characteristics of several other common types of BattleMechs, hence the Chameleon's name, thus enabling trainees to experiment in handling different types of 'Mechs with the academy only having to own the training 'Mech itself.
     Each of the academy's very old, yet immaculately kept, Chameleons bore a nickname given to it by some long past class of cadets. I elected to take out the 'Mech bearing the name Metal Mandy which had a faded but saucy painting of a bikini clad beauty on it's left shoulder plate. Allard opted for Death or Glory, which had a death's head grinning out of the sunburst crest.
     Even with 'Mandy crouched down in the silo berth it was a five meter climb up a swinging metal runged rope ladder to the cockpit and it took me a lot of clumsy effort to get up there, liberally cursing and swearing the whole way. Eventually I half fell into the open cockpit, a jumble of flailing legs and arms, and then got myself comfortable in the worn, yet clean, leather seat. I plugged my connector cables into several sockets on the consols before me and after craning my head out to check Allard was in the process of starting up his mount I hit the power up switches.
     A tingle of sensation prickled from my helmet's receivers across my scalp, making my hair initially stand on end for a moment, a thrum of power throbbed deep under me in the 'Mech's chest as the fusion reactor came to life and a warm female voice sounded through my helmet.
     "Please provide voiceprint pattern check by stating your name and cadet number." I coughed and then spoke as clearly as I was then able.
     "Cadet Third Year Darius Davion. Cadet Number 15-3010."
     "Authorisation confirmed. Voiceprint pattern match obtained. Training 'Mech Metal Mandy is at your command. Please enter desired 'Mech pattern." I could feel the link between my brain and the fifty ton BattleMech connect and as we'd already agreed to race with the Chameleons set to default settings, I simply stated default, closed the cockpit bubble and still feeling very drunk  stood the 'Mech up in it's berth, the connector pipes auto-disengaging with a string of explosive popping sounds.
     I don't know if any of you have ever tried to pilot a 'Mech when you were as drunk as a Skyesman at a funeral, if you have you will have some idea of the stomach churning sensation I was feeling as I began to walk 'Mandy out down the silo avenue. I know some of the newer 'Mechs you see these days are fitted with recently rediscovered lostech computers advanced enough to detect intoxication in the MechWarrior's brain patterns and will shut down if you try it and probably rat you out to your CO at the same time. Back in '13 there was nothing in BattleMechs to do that, it's quite surprising to me how well kept a secret it is just how many MechWarriors routinely went into battle drunk. I never saw Redjack Ryan for example get into a 'Mech entirely sober, lord knows how he managed to be so damn deadly, as personally that night at the Sak I was struggling to focus enough just not to tip my machine over, or slam it into the wall or silo.
     I walked out the avenue and through the opened hangar doors, feeling each footfall vibrating through my body, a small wash of heat rising through the metal surrounding me. The desert night outside was lit by a few lights from nearbye academy buildings and it dawned on me only then this was quite some stunt Allard and I were engaged upon. In effect we were stealing two BattleMechs, we could easily both be expelled for this. Overcome by a rush of fear at the thought I was almost about to turn back around and put 'Mandy back in her berth when Allard's 'Mech appeared at my shoulder.
     "Okay Darius, let's walk it quiet as we can over to the lists." His voice crackled over the comms unit and I realised, despite the sudden fear of this whole affair that had descended upon me, I couldn't now back out. Allard would let me back down without question and probably could have been persuaded not to mention it to anyone else, but Sarah, who had dived into a small hovercraft behind us to follow us in, would ensure everyone knew I'd backed out and would undoubtedly ruin any credit I held either for bravery or my 'Mech skills at the Sak.
     There was no going back. I followed Allard's 'Mech and tried desperately to keep my supper down as we headed over to the chosen site for our race.

[Tokage]

4

     The Sakhara Academy Lists. Named after the jousting fields of medieval Europe back on dear old Terra, these large areas of the Sak's grounds were a linked series of what other academies refer to as 'Gauntlets'; that is booby-trapped courses and mazes designed to test a cadet's skills in a 'Mech.
     To use the Lists properly one needed Techs to operate the traps, however we were going to simply race each other through the obstacles, so a lack of Techs wasn't an issue.
     "Do you agree we shall begin in Lionheart and proceed through Charlemagne, ending in Barbarossa?" Allard's comm jolted me out of the stupor I'd lapsed into during the slow walk of our 'Mechs to the Lists.
    "Yes, uhh, okay." I was slurring my words by this point and my head was swimming due to vertigo and the concentration involved in just keeping 'Mandy upright.
     Without another word we stepped into Lionheart List, Sarah in her hovercraft humming behind us, the tart eager not to miss anything no doubt. Each List was surrounded by fifteen feet high ferrocrete walls, not unlike anti-'Mech city walls such as I was to later see on border planets, it was entered through great gate-like access points. I switched the HUD on my cockpit bubble to night-vision and gazed down the lanes of twisting lower walls, studded with emplacements and obstacles.
     Running along the left-hand edge of the List was a wood and ferrocrete stadium holding long rows of seats, six or seven deep, where the next day the great and good would sit sipping wine and nibbling on snacks as they watched the display runs of Jousting Day 3013. Allard turned his 'Mech around towards mine and his voice crackled again in my ear.
     "Right then Darius. Once round, first man out of Barbarossa wins." I found myself mutely nodding and the neuro-connection made my Chameleon mimic the motion.
     Without another word the horrible affair began.
     MechWarriors amongst you will know it's actually quite a strain, both physically and mentally, to keep a 'Mech running at fast speeds over rough terrain. Your mind is ever alert for upcoming hazards, your body becomes bathed in sweat as the heat rockets up around you and despite the usually padded cockpit seats and the softening of the impact caused by myomer muscles within the 'Mech's body each slamming 'Mech footfall jars you till you quickly feel like you're being hurled about in an enormous cocktail shaker. If you're running at night through a Gauntlet then it's doubly hard work. If you're drunk to boot, then I would advise to pull the 'Mech up and get out.
     Sadly I didn't have the experience then I do now.
     Allard was first into Lionheart, his Chameleon bounding along like a athlete on a race track. I sped after him, gritting my teeth at the immediate jarring I was subjected to, mud kicked up in great clods by Allard's 'Mech spattering my cockpit. Allard hit his jump-jets ahead of me in mid-stride and soared over the first barrier with a roar of flame and smoke.
     "GO JUSTIN!!! GO!!!" Sarah's shrill cry of support for her lover came over the comm and I cursed her and followed the little half-breed's lead, being jammed back into my seat by the upward motion. I came down very hard on the other side of the barrier and nearly skidded over, just managing to keep my 'Mech's feet on the ground. Still I lost some distance and for the next few minutes he began to continue to draw away from me, he would keep his 'Mech steady through deep water troughs, over rough ground, through nests of 'Mech traps designed to slow or bring down a 'Mech, even skilfully using his jets to soar over clusters of anti-'Mech caltrops or the many barriers.
     Damn but he was good. On my best day I wouldn't have been able to keep up with him, let alone beat him. On that night I stood no chance and soon began to realise it.
     As I steamed clumsily into Charlemagne List, squinting through the cloud of mud splatters that now covered my cockpit bubble, I suddenly realised where I was going wrong.
     I was playing this game by the rules, just like Allard. Well I've always believed if you can't win fairly then you should cheat. I was in a training 'Mech that could imitate other 'Mechs ... other faster, more agile 'Mechs.
     Now, a word of warning to you rookies, you aren't meant to reconfigure a Chameleon while you're running along at about ninety klicks an hour through a Gauntlet. At the time I ignored this fact and hammered the reconfiguration controls, punching up a request for 'Mandy to function as an ASN-21 Assassin, which I reasoned in my befuddled state would give me an extra twenty kilometres an hour speed over Allard and an increased jump range. Naturally I'd have to play it smart to avoid Allard getting wind I'd broken the rules, but that shouldn't be too difficult, after all when you're hammering through a Gauntlet you don't stop to speed check your opponent.
     Despite warning messages against reconfiguring on the move flashing at the bottom of my HUD, I hit the final command and was rewarded by a sudden spurt of extra speed, however as I hurtled faster forward the connection between my booze sozzled brain and the 'Mech flickered for a moment as the change went ahead.
     I don't recall much beyond steaming off the List track at about a hundred and twenty klicks an hour and with a fearful wail of terror heading straight towards Charlemagne List's spectator stands. I couldn't stop in time and smashed straight through the middle of the stands, sending an enormous cloud of splinters, dust and broken plastic seats up into the air. I hadn't stopped either and found myself stamping along through the stands at about forty five klicks an hour.
     I can assure you a fifty ton 'Mech, even when pretending to weigh only forty tons, crashing along at a fair lick goes through seating arrangements like they aren't even there. I was out the end of the main stand in under thirty seconds and managed to then stop long enough to turn and look at the absolute destruction I'd wrought.
     At the time I actually giggled, perhaps hysterically realising this would cause some raised eyebrows the next day. But I didn't pause long, back in charge of my 'Mech I pushed it to the redline and began to gain on Allard, who'd briefly paused some way ahead of me presumably after hearing the enormous crash of my collision into the stands.
     From there on the race was much closer, I had my cheated edge in speed and manoeuvrability, he had his superior skill and sobriety. We were neck and neck for much of the way through Charlemagne and then Barbarossa, with it's treacherous low hanging bridges, tripwires and pitfalls. I must say it was actually capital fun, however as the exit arch of Barbarossa came up ahead of us I realised unless I did something drastic Allard would win, he was ahead of me by just an arms reach but would doubtless pile on the speed to keep his lead for the short distance to the finish.
      I wished for the ability to use my laser cannons on the wretch, but even drunk I wasn't that stupid, however I did come up with a fine solution. Using the extra jump power of my secretly reconfigured 'Mech I soared forwards and deliberately clipped Allard's 'Mech's arm in passing. There was an almighty clang of 'Mech on 'Mech and he spun left away from me.
     With a final spurt of speed I was running on, aware Allard was trying to catch me again at my heels. Oblivious to lights which seemed to be gathered beyond the exit arch I sped through triumphantly and found myself smashing over and through a collection of groundcars and hovercraft.
     My head span and tripped by the clinging debris of buckled metal and smashed vehicles tangling around the pummelling feet of my 'Mech I lost my balance and Metal Mandy smashed bodywise down in a great shrieking whoomf of metal, earth and dust. I remember as I passed out smiling inanely to myself over beating that little swine Allard and then all went black.

* * *

     Suffice to say I was not then the most popular cadet at the Sak.
     Unknown to Allard and myself, when I'd stamped the seating stadium in Charlemagne List to match-wood, alarms had been triggered in the academy security centre and large numbers of academy staff had awoken and rushed out to the Lists to find out what was happening. I'm told some of the veterans who doubled as instructors, guards or Techs, thought that the Kuritans had launched a sneak raid and were actually attacking the Sak.
     Worst of all, my old nemesis Commandant Asa Goldstein was foremost amongst the academy staff who arrived at the exit to Barbarossa List just as I came storming out. Thankfully, largely due to people throwing themselves physically out of the way of my 'Mech's thundering feet, I didn't actually kill anyone when I trampled amidst them, on the down side I did destroy three academy hover-apcs, a jeep and worst of all when my 'Mech fell it completely flattened Commandant Asa's pride and joy; an antique Kathil General Motors Mk2 ground car.
     The GMKI Mk2 hasn't been made for over two centuries and the Commandant had often been heard to brag how his was the only one running in the entire Draconis March. He'd loved that car, anyone could see it, he'd spend Sundays watching cadet defaulters, myself included more often than not, scrub and shine it's long scarlet flanks, barking at them the whole time about spots of dirt they'd missed or extorting them not to forget the hubcaps. Well it was a fine piece, no error.
     I'm told Asa had wept real tears standing there looking down at my 'Mech laying across the place his precious car had previously been. I cannot say as to the truth of that, I can attest he had me in tears later on that morning when he gave me one of the worst tongue lashings I've ever received.
     I must say the details are a little vague now, I was certainly suffering from one of the worst hangovers of my life, right up there with that awful morning on Butte Hold surrounded by dead bodies with my head fit to burst and Redjack Ryan's lusty wench of a daughter practically raping me.
     The Commandant had me in his office, stood at attention, while he paced about me thrashing his own thigh with the riding crop he kept on his wall. I winced at every bark, quivering with terror and mumbling answers to his ranting bellows. I remember once trying to blame Allard and being rewarded with an actual punch in my belly so hard I doubled over onto the brute's desk.
     "You despicable cowardly piece of excreta." He roared at me so loud I'm sure the Coordinator himself off on Luthien looked up from his desk.
     "How dare you traduce an honourable, if misled, cadet. A cadet who understands the true meaning of duty, of honour and of the Sak." And so on it went for at least an hour or more.
     I wont bore you with the specifics, suffice to say Allard was given a token punishment detail for a week or two and Sarah got off scot free, the scheming bitch probably flashed her eyes at Asa. However, Cadet Darius Davion of the Third Year was permanently expelled from Sakhara academy and deported from the planet of the same name. If I ever set foot on Sakhara again, I was warned, I could expect to be arrested and deported again.
     At that time I'd never have believed you if you'd told me I'd next be back at the Sak some forty five years later as a respected and honoured guest speaker.
     By the end of Jousting Day I had been hustled out of the academy in shame, my clothes stuffed into a few grimy gunny-sacks which were then tossed, along with myself, aboard a filthy merchant DropShip carrying gallons of stinking cactus-oil.
     I wasn't even allowed time to say farewell to Roddy or Pat.
     I can remember sitting on the flea ridden bunk in the cupboard of a cabin I'd been grudgingly allocated aboard that drop-freighter, my head in my hands sobbing. I was ruined. Shamed surely beyond redemption. I faced a life of recrimination and ridicule. Then came the worst thought of all ...
     "Oh Unity, what will mother say?"

[Tokage]

Interlude

- At the Court of the Hound -
New Avalon - 3013

   

5

     I'd decided even before reaching the Merchant Class JumpShip that was awaiting our arrival at Sakhara's jump-point, that returning to my family home on Killarney, as I'd been ordered to by Commandant Asa, was not an option. If I arrived back on the old pile's doorstep in disgrace I could only expect to end up on the receiving end of an even more brutal telling off from my mother, who would then probably never let me out of her sight again. She would most likely ensure I ended up in the Killarney Planetary Parliament, waffling on about crop yields or pushing a pen like some common clerk.
     I might lack courage and practically any recognisable morals, but I certainly wasn't such an irredeemable heel that I wanted to become a politician.
     My father was with his regiment on Remagen and I didn't fancy that above half either. Don't get me wrong the old man adored me and I could always wrap him around my little finger, it was just I didn't cotton to signing up with a lowly March Militia formation, such as he had recently assumed command of.
     No, I had my heart set upon getting into the Guards or the staff, finding something on the capital that would give me a smart uniform, a healthy pay cheque and the ability to settle safely down in a comfortable Avalon City office well out of harms way. It was a simple dream, but fate was not to be so kind to me and I would soon come to wish that I'd stayed on that tramp freighter all the way back to Killarney and suffered dear old mater's bile.
     I arrived on New Avalon on the 28th July 3013. I had surprised myself with the resourcefulness I'd shown hopping JumpShips through half a dozen star systems to get to the capital of our realm and though I was very nervous I was by and large in fine fettle.
     I had used the dwindling money in my trust-fund, my Davion name and my natural cunning and had made it there safely. I'd even seduced a cracking little JumpShip Captain's daughter and enjoyed several days in the sack with her on layover at Saginaw. During which time, between you and me, I had managed to steal a few thousand D-Bills from her father, before sneaking off the ship.
     I'd been to Avalon City twice prior to this time; once when I was a babe-in-arms for my Christening at the Cathedral and a second time in 2999, when I was about five and along with my parents I had attended the coronation of First Prince Ian. Both times I was too young to remember much, but I knew enough to book into the best hotel I could find. I chose the Lyonesse on Lucien Boulevard, a great gilded faux-medieval folly, then promptly send my respects to the Court along with a request for an audience with my cousin the First Prince.
     It was incredibly forward of me I know, but I was actually desperate and was so terrified the Prince would take a very dim view of my expulsion from the Sak and send me packing back to my parents, I didn't even have the courage to explore the bars and brothels of the sprawling megalopolis I found myself within until the second night I was there.
     Avalon City was much less straight-laced back in those days, well old Ian never gave two pence for propriety or prudishness. He was a soldier first and foremost in all things and like most fighting men I've ever met he loved to get roaring drunk with his cronies, visit brothels about town and generally cut things up, when not engaged off-world in battle naturally. Unsurprisingly large parts of the populace of his capital were happy to emulate him and I had three or four riotous nights out about town. I dined with gorgeous local girls on the River-Bridges, gambled in the towering casino-spires of Damosel District, got falling down drunk in Old Town pubs and spent most of my remaining scratch on Red Castle Street strumpets.
     You can give me Avalon City of Ian's era any day, compared to the staid, boring, trading centre that Hanse has made the old place. Back then MechWarriors carried much more weight with the masses too, we could do what we liked; smash shop windows drunk, turn civies off of bar stools, cut into dancing couples and woo the ladies, sometimes folk would even thank you for your trouble afterwards.
     Mind you I quickly picked up on an undercurrent of rumour that the realm had not entirely prospered during Ian's fourteen years on the throne. Over the previous decade or so my cousins, Ian and Hanse, had won some singular victories on the Draconis Front, but the distrusted Haseks had been losing worlds to the Capellans over the same period. Hanse's recent successful stint as military commander of the Capellan March a year or two before had changed this trend, but there were rumours of a possible schism between the Hasek's and the two Princes, and maybe even a coming civil war. Also Ian's obsessive bloodthirstiness meant his advisors rarely could tear him away from his military plans and actions and thus the day to day running of the realm and it's economy was beginning to suffer.
     I have to say though, history books you read these days about the public wishing Hanse had been made First Prince instead of Ian are so much stuff. The public were aware of spiralling inflation and fewer coins in their pockets certainly, some politicians moaned about Ian's disinterest in fiscal plans and projected economic trends, but by and large Joe Average loved Prince Ian and every military victory he gave them to enjoy reading about over their breakfasts made them love him all the more.
     That's the thing with the public d'you see? They are bored by politics as much as Ian was himself, but like him they love war. Especially when our side's winning. The difference between your average chap and Ian however was that whereas when you or I come face to face with the realities of battle at first hand we'll be terrified and probably sickened, Ian on the other hand loved it all the more. He thrived on it. He would positively grin and come to cheery life when the hot lead was flying past his head, lasers were searing the air and destruction was laying waste all about him. Strange way to be aint it? I'm glad I'm a coward and sensible enough to know to try to avoid such terrifying situations, rather than to race into them, it's why I'm alive today and Ian's been cold and stiff in his tomb now for forty years or so.
     Anyway, I knew Ian was my best chance to redeem myself, in order that I could put the shame of my expulsion behind me and hopefully that he might set me up in a cushy little New Avalon based AFFS staff job. I was thus very happy when I woke with a hangover, after my fourth night out and about town, to find an invite to a dinner at Camelot itself. The Royal Palace of the Davions.

[Tokage]

6

     That morning I visited Johanson-Brown's, a Mission Way tailor shop, and with the final dregs of my money purchased a pretty decent evening suit. It's exaggerated wrist and ankle cuffs were white, it's one piece body-suit dark blue serge. I wasn't sure however about the faintly ridiculous looking huge pale blue left shoulder pad which, according to the fawning shop-boy, was added in homage to the breastplate of an AFFS officer's dress uniform. I considered whether to wear the rowel less spurs of a Davion MechWarrior and eventually decided to do so, reasoning I could pilot a 'Mech better than most, so why not broadcast the fact.
     Thus, dressed in my new smutter, I waited at the Lyonesse until early evening then hailed a cab and was sped through Sculpture Park and up towards Mount Davion, ogling the ultra-exclusive estates that cover it's lower slopes as we went.
     Leaving the cab I walked up the West Slope Mall along with the tourists, passing under towering 'Mech sized statues of past members of my family wrought in marble, ediobony, bronze and ceramite. I then passed under the guns of two Stingers dominating the Palace's West Gates, noting their green and beige camouflage patterns and the badge of the Seventh Crucis Lancers upon their belly sections.
     I was a little surprised to see Crucis boys watching the Palace and wondered where the Guards were. Approaching a sentry post at the side of the closed gates I introduced myself and waited a few minutes while the smartly dressed infantrymen called my details in for confirmation. Perhaps mindful of my name the guards apologised for the delay and politely marched me in through a side door and across the vast circular courtyard of the outer Palace.
     I was awed by the scale of the Palace buildings as I crunched across the gravel that evening, following the pair of efficient seeming sentries. Though originally built by all accounts to match some ancient English pile from the old planet, it was enlarged on a vast scale and down the centuries had clearly been expanded and added to by various Princes. There were great towers, glass domes, buttresses and ornate porticoes. As I was led inside I passed through chambers with fountains and dazzling flower gardens, some of the vast hallways were decorated with captured Capellan and Kuritan banners, others bore shields showing the insignia of various units of the AFFS.
     I soon lost track of where we were and was a little confused when I was left in the care of a pinch cheeked old butler who looked at me down his vulture-like beak and sniffed, then walked me to a doorway, opened it allowing the buzz of conversation within to be heard and then announced in a bored sounding voice;
     "Darius Davion, of the Killarney Davions." Barely anyone seemed to stop speaking or even to register his lackluster introduction so I hustled past him and found myself in a long dining room. It was perhaps a hundred feet in length, with several large tables running along it's length and an upper table at the far end, where presumably the First Prince and his important guests would be eating. The walls of the dining room were covered in a fantastically intricate fresco depicting important events from the First Succession War, whilst glittering chandeliers, confections of many hued crystal, lit the room with a dazzling dappled pattern of light.
     I was led forcibly by the butler to one of the lower tables during which time I strained to see who was on the top table. I spotted the distant form of the First Prince, but was sat down before I could study the man himself or his guests.
     I noted that the lower tables I was sat amongst were mainly full of junior officers, largely from the Guards and the Seventh Crucis. I was one of the few people not in dress uniform and I immediately felt uncomfortably out of place. Food was brought to me by an unsmiling, harassed looking young waiter and I looked in surprise down at rather overdone roast beef doused in onion gravy, with vegetables and potatoes. Not what I'd expected from the Palace kitchens.
     It's a fact that Ian's pedestrian taste in food caused Palace baquets in his day to be terrible affairs where you were dished up roast beef platters, stodgy suet puddings, spotted dick and the like, without any other options to chose from. That's one thing Hanse improved at least.
     "Heh! Aint up to much is it young snotty?" The officer sitting opposite me drawled bitterly. I shook my head in surprise and looked him over. He was very dapperly dressed in the full blue and gold fig of a Captain in the First Guards with a Silver Sunburst medal glittering on his right breast, apparently in his thirties he was muscular, dark haired, with a moustache and goatee beard, tanned skin and angry black eyes. I didn't like his manner, and he definitely looked like trouble, however I wasn't to find out just how insanely dangerous he truly was until some months later, but that's a different story.
     "Jonathan Bright. Haven't seen you before. You new?" I nodded and introduced myself, his eyes blinked in surprise when he heard my name and he seemed to rein in his ill humour a little.
    "So then, well perhaps you can ask the Prince to serve something other than the usual roast shit platters at the next one of these bun-fights." At this the chap beside me, a solid fellow with thinning, close cropped, grey flecked hair dressed in a green and gold uniform bearing the patch of the Seventh Crucis, leaned into our conversation and pointed his fork at Bright.
     "Cut out that talk Jonathan and leave this chap alone. I'm trying to enjoy tonight and your surly mood is giving me wind." He barked and Bright seemed about to protest this intrusion, but looked into the fellow's face and saw something there that made him back down and take a long pull at his wine glass whilst glowering over it's rim at the both of us, as if I'd somehow slighted him too. Meanwhile the officer beside me fixed me with his pale blue eyes and smiled openly.
     "I'm Captain Ross McKinnon of the Seventh Crucis. Pleased to meet you young Davion." I think my jaw probably dropped as he pumped my flipper, this chap was famous.
     "Not ... The Ross McKinnon?" I blurted with surprise, at which McKinnon grinned again and Bright opposite me snorted in derision.
     "There's only the one of me that I know of." He smiled and I recalled what I'd heard, that for the last twenty years this chap had led more raids, punitive expeditions and skirmishes against Periphery pirates than any other serving AFFS officer. His company, almost the last remnant of the practically extinct Seventh Crucis, were known as McKinnon's Raiders and were amongst the most celebrated of the MechWarriors serving in the AFFS at that time. I noted McKinnon himself also wore a Silver Sunburst at his breast as well as some other medals I didn't recognise.
     I must have been quite star-struck at the time and only vaguely recall chatting to McKinnon about a few of his more famous exploits, while Bright simmered across from us making the occasional sarcastic comment under his breath. Looking back it strikes me now that McKinnon must have been a bit in love with his own reputation, he didn't mind at all that I toadied and flattered him and he positively thrilled to tell his war stories. I'm not saying he didn't deserve his reputation for deadliness mind you, I was to see him in action later that very year and he was every bit as lethal a MechWarrior as he was said to be.
     His constant companion and bodyguard, the much older seeming MechWarrior Kurt Lytton, sat on McKinnon's other side, peering suspiciously at the rest of us from under great bushy eyebrows whilst shovelling the awfully bland food into his down turned mouth.
     Eventually McKinnon tired of talking about himself for a moment and took the time to ask why I was at the Palace. I told him I'd 'left' Sakhara and come here looking for a posting from the First Prince. Clearly word about the truth behind my leaving the Sak was not yet common knowledge and I'd obviously massaged his ego well enough, as he promptly offered me a provisional training position in his company. Well, as you can imagine, my belly flipped with fear at the thought of joining such a high risk unit, so I frowned and put on my best look of constipated discomfort. 
     "Well I appreciate the honour you do me Sir, but really I'm barely out of academy. I'd hold you back in the field and you know it. No it wont do. I'll earn my spurs properly, like any other Fed Suns MechWarrior." When he began to insist it would in fact not be a problem at all, I began to get really worried and stern as I could I looked him in the eye.
     "I wont be given priveledge and position just because of my name Sir. I dare say there are half a dozen MechWarriors in this room alone who would fill any gaps in your unit better than a greenhorn still wet behind the lugs like myself." That's the way to win them over you see, self deprecating apparent honesty. Do you know the sentimental fool fell for it, I swear his pale eyes even welled up a little and he clapped my shoulder shaking my hand again in wordless admiration for what he took to be a noble, self-sacrificing Davion of the old school. What an idiot!
      Eager to change the subject I asked McKinnon what he was doing at the Palace and mentioned I'd seen some of his unit's 'Mechs guarding the gates. McKinnon became a little cagey at this, his eyes seeming to become shadowed.
     "Ah, well, special orders of Prince Hanse. Classified you understand?" I noted that Bright was still watching us closely and leaned over the table.
     "I've heard it's to be Halstead Station next!" He hissed at McKinnon, "Are you to be part of it old chap?" McKinnon glanced about as if there were ISF agents standing at our very shoulders.
     "Now then Jonathan, that's enough of that. You know what classified means as well as anyone. Loose lips and all that."
     "Oh Ross come along, everyone knows the Third, the Heavies and the Fourth are all due to ship out for the border within the next couple of weeks. Why that's why your rough-housers are guarding the palace and not Brigade 'Mechs." McKinnon went red in his face and glared at Bright, placing his knife and fork down he scowled at the Guards officer.
     "Enough." He softly said and Bright backed down again. Well this was news to me, it seemed a major offensive on the Kuritan border was rumoured, I resolved to ensure I stayed well out of it. Bright stared at McKinnon for a long moment then spoke again.
     "I see Prince Hanse has brought his bum-boy to Court with him again." I sprayed a mouthful of wine over myself in surprise at Bright's comment. McKinnon scoffed;
     "You really are full of it Jonathan. Dan Sortek's no more an uphill gardener than I am! You're just jealous he's been promoted to lance command in such short time. I dare say he's earned the rank fair and square." Bright sneered at this;
     "Rot! I'd sooner shoot myself than win favour in the way that young fag has."
     I'd not heard of Sortek before this, he was only twenty then after all and just a year out of Albion. Straining my head I couldn't see him at the top table. I'd not heard any gossip about Hanse being that way inclined prior to this and I was most surprised. Not that I hold any special dislike for shirt-lifters, leaves more women for the rest of us is my view.
     While on this subject I should lay down that I never saw anything to prove Hanse and Sortek were ever anything other than close friends. They were closer friends than is normal in chaps though, that's undeniable. Certainly Sortek didn't advance as quickly and as far as he did without some skill and merit, but he'd never have done it so rapidly in my opinion without Hanse's patronage.
      I was mopping at the wine that had dripped onto my trousers when I was tapped on the shoulder by another Captain in blue and gold, this one wearing the patch of the Fourth Guards, First Prince Ian's own RCT.
     "Excuse me, might you be Darius?" He was a rangy, gristle tough looking man with tousled blonde hair and grey eyes. I nodded and he shook my hand, his grip firm and strong.
     "I'm Lucus Hillnas, Prince Ian has asked you to attend him." My heart in my mouth I followed Hillnas as he wended his way back through the lower tables while nodding and smiling hellos to officers he was clearly acquainted with. I gulped as we drew near the top table, aware that my very future now hung in the balance.

[Tokage]

7

     As Hillnas and I reached the top table I was surprised to find it had emptied, without hesitation Hillnas marched me around the side of the table and through a tall polished ediobony double door, pausing to draw it closed behind us. We were standing at the edge of a very large and spacious study, with a deep red carpet which was imprinted at it's centre with the black fox crest of my family, the room had a very high ceiling, paintings of Davions passed lining it's walls, stuffed red and green leather armchairs set beside small tables and huge windows along the far wall which were opened out onto a long balcony, beyond which the cool Avalonian night was visible. The lights of the city a sea of twinkling stars spread below us.
     Standing and sitting in small groups around this impressive room were some of the most important people in the Federated Suns at that time.
     By the fireplace stood the tall broad shouldered figure of Hanse Davion, then thirty years old, his cropped red hair instantly noticeable. He was deep in animated conversation with a much younger and slimmer man in the green and gold dress uniform of a Leftenant of the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars, presumably this was the Sortek that McKinnon and Bright had argued over.
     At one table smoking cigars and sipping brandy were a cluster of older, less martial looking sorts; a skeletal man with cropped white hair, a woman who looked for all the world like your typical friendly Grandmother and a rotund chap with flushed cheeks who was finishing some crude joke I think as we entered.
     By the balcony windows arguing in low voices and partially turned away from the rest of us were the First Prince himself and three hard looking men; two were Guards officers, a General and a Major General. The third I recognised as none other than the Duke of Robinson and Commander of the Draconis March himself, Aaron Sandoval.
     Not wishing to intrude upon the Prince's conversation, we drifted towards the fireplace and Hanse looked up and patting his friend's arm came towards us.
     It was the first meeting of many I would have with the man who became the most successful First Prince we've ever had. He and I have had a strange relationship down the years that's for sure, as you shall come to learn. My problem with Hanse I was to find was that I don't think he ever bought my act and I've always had the sneeking suspicion he's known me for exactly what I am since ever that very first evening at the Palace.
     "Hello there, so this is our midnight 'Mech racer then?" Hanse grinned at me. Hillnas, Sortek and Hanse then all laughed and though his words struck terror into me, they all seemed so at ease about the fact Hanse had revealed he clearly knew about the details of my expulsion from the Sak, I merely smiled queasily and bowed.
     Hanse shook my hand firmly, he was certainly an imposing man, easily as muscular and tall us myself, his face was somewhat broad and even a little course seeming, his unusually light blue eyes were so penetrating as he took me in I became unnerved and stammered a little.
     "Thank ... uhh ... thanks for ... umm ... allowing me too ... well for seeing me." He cut me off with a curt wave of his hand.
     "Think nothing of it, you are part of the family when all's said and done, now then introductions. You've met Lucus there I see, I think I'm known to you, so then allow me to introduce Leftenant Ardan Sortek, of the Seventeenth Hussars." I gave my best winning smile to Sortek, deciding if he was in favour with the Prince I'd better be friends with him too.
     Sortek, though appearing slender at a distance was in fact, it was clear, a very fit and muscular man, only perhaps a few months older than myself. He moved with that peculiar grace that some MechWarriors aspire too, personally I've always thought it was too effeminate and made sure I never affected it. He was handsome in a clean cut, painfully honest way, with a jaw so square you could use it as a spirit measure. His brown hair was worn short, but seemed flyaway none the less, his eyes were intelligent seeming.
     "Pleased to meet you I'm sure." Perhaps irrationally, I disliked Sortek intensely even as he shook my hand for the first time, I think it's because I knew his type from the Sak. A true blue, died in the wool, boy's own hero. Just the sort of crazy fool who if you're not careful will get you killed, whilst he earns the medals. It's been one of the great frustrations of my life I kept bumping into this idiot down the years, he's been behind some of the worst times I've ever had; for example that fiasco on the Silver Eagle would never have happened if he'd listened to me, then a couple of years later in '29 if he hadn't sent me to apologise on his behalf to Ridzik I'd not have ended up on Sian at the mercy of Max Liao. Oh I've cause to hate his pious, pompous guts and not just me either, I'm not the only one who'll not forgive him for what he did on An Ting during the '39.
     As we made some small talk and I tried to avoid the conversation turning back to my inglorious departure from Sakhara, the study doors opened and Ross McKinnon strolled in flanked by his hulking bodyguard-come-manservant. Hanse waved him over and soon he and McKinnon were huddled together talking privately, so Hillnas, Sortek and I moved back over to the fireplace. While Sortek and Hillnas chatted in a friendly manner I realised Hanse and McKinnon were talking about me, as McKinnon gestured towards me a few times and Hanse squinted curiously at me more than once.
     I didn't know whether or not to be worried, so I tried to concentrate on Sortek and Hillnas's conversation.
     "No, you're wrong there Sir. Uhh, I mean in my opinion." Sortek stuttered apparently realising he'd just contradicted a senior officer in a pretty off hand manner. Hillnas smiled a lazy grin and gestured for the young windbag to continue. I was curious as to the nature of their dispute and I swear this is what I heard word for word. Don't believe me, check your history, in his youth Sortek spoke like this all the time.
     Sortek - "What I mean is, just because the BattleMech is the pinnacle of warfare, doesn't mean we MechWarriors should forget our ancient codes of chivalry and decency. We are bound to protect the lowliest peasant in his field and provide good government for him. Why I sometimes wish I could become a simple farmer myself. Their lives are so much more honest and easier than ours I feel ... sometimes."
     Hillnas - "Well, uhh, I don't know about that Dan and I leave good government to the politicos. I mean we're soldiers aren't we, not Arthurian knights?"
     Sortek - "Why?"
     Hillnas - "Why what?"
     Sortek - "Why couldn't we be ... or rather act ... like those legendary knights. Oh I know we're soldiers, I have prayed many times for forgiveness for those I've killed and will no doubt kill in the future. I just feel that we here in the Fed Suns have a destiny to bring back the golden age. The Star League and all that. I mean don't you?"
     Hillnas - "Well, yes, that is ... not exactly."
     Sortek - "Hanse and I have talked of the need for social reforms in this great realm of ours many times. I ... that is we believe that there must be more social justice for all classes, the way some MechWarriors act is shocking. We should give thought to the good of all from Dukes to serving wenches. Don't you agree Darius?" I was standing open mouthed, stunned by this Sortek's imbecilic, naive twaddle and caught off guard I blurted out.
     "Well, I'll give thought to the serving wenches, you handle the Dukes." Hillnas roared with laughter at this and continued until tears rolled down his cheeks. Sortek looked confused and genuinely hurt, flushed red and quickly drifted away back over to the protection of his friend and patron. I was actually appalled, Hanse surely didn't buy into this ridiculous, and by the way hypocritical, schoolboy nonsense did he? I mean he was thirty years old and was a very experienced grown man. All this twoddle about envying farmers who break their backs in the fields whilst he stood there sipping brandy in the Palace, and that rot about praying for those he's killed. I'm sure they'd thank him. I couldn't credit it and said something of the sort to Hillnas, who wiped his tears away and lowered his voice.
     "Don't let Hanse hear you slag Dan off. He's a school days friend of Hanse and our Prince wont look well on you if you badmouth him. The smart money says, assuming he doesn't get killed first, Sortek will be very important one day. Bear that in mind." Hillnas, who I thought seemed a good sort, led me to the three seated civilian types and introduced me to them.
     The granny looking biddy was in fact Yvonne Davion, one time Supreme Military Commander of the Capellan March and now the head of MI2, she nodded at me curtly, bobbing her grey-white hair and flicking her sharp brown eyes over me.
     The skeletal man to her right was her boss, Marshal Doger, head of the DMI. He raised his glass in a slightly mocking salute to me and went back to his conversation with the other man. This was Count Nicholas Truston, or 'Truffle-Hunter' Truston as I always thought of him; the Minister of Intelligence Investigations and Operations, Ian's spy-master. He was a deeply unlikeable porcine man whose machinations in later years would land me into more tight spots than I care to remember, most notably forcing me out of a pleasant spot of gambling on Solaris and into the hell that was the Marik Civil War. At this time the Truffle-Hunter however ignored me, or at least seemed to, chatting over Hillnas's introduction quite rudely I thought.
     "Now then. Young Darius, over here please." The instruction was barked in a deep, gruff voice that on it's own would explain why Ian was nicknamed the Hound, however as I strode over to the open balcony windows, where he stood flanked by two generals and the most powerful Duke in the Fed Suns, I was reminded it wasn't the only reason.
     He was if anything even bigger and more powerful than Hanse, was dressed in the uniform of General of the Fourth Guards and stood with his arms folded across his massive chest. His face was dominated by a large nose, his mouth was down turned and his features had the kind of expression you usually see on an aged gun-dog. His large dark blue eyes were somewhat sunken and sad seeming and only heightened the impression. He was only three years older than Hanse, but he seemed much older, he had worry lines and creases about his eyes and his red hair was stippled with grey already.
     Bowing deeply I straightened and stood before him at attention. Doger had also ambled over and now stood at Ian's side, then whispered into the First Prince's ear for a long minute or more, while I stood stiffly awaiting Ian's attention and began to feel the sweat trickle down my back. Ian didn't make any expression or sound while listening to Doger, until finally waving him back he growled at me as if I'd tried to lift a bone from under his nose.
     "Disgraceful."
     I gulped, my mouth as dry as a Sakharan picnic, as he glared at me for a moment then continued.

[Tokage]

8

     "You break curfew, steal two BattleMechs, race them through the academy gauntlets without any thought whatsoever to safety regulations, destroying in the process a spectator stadium, numerous vehicles, including the Commandant's car, you nearly trample academy staff to death and to cap it all you were as drunk as a JumpSailor at a dim star!
     By my throne I hope you've got a good explanation for this." The Hound's sunken eyes blazed in that rumpled long face of his and I decided, despite my quivering terror at his anger, I should at least try to bluff my way through this, never dreaming I'd actually be successful.
     "I apologise your highness. As a fine point of honour, I cannot discuss the reasons behind my expulsion from Sakhara." There were several gasps and sucked in breaths as the others in the room drew closer around us, no doubt expecting to see some blood as Ian tore me limb from limb. This was followed by a silence so heavy with tension I was sure I could hear my own heartbeat as it thundered in my breast. Ian leaned in closer to me, his long nose mere inches from mine.
     "What did you just say to me?" His growl of a voice was low and dangerous. I nearly broke at that point and considered collapsing to my knees and begging his forgiveness. I stiffened my back all the more however and looking straight ahead at Ian's chin I spoke again in as even a tone as I could muster.
     "I am most sorry sire, but as the reasons behind my dispute with Cadet Allard were over an affair of honour, I cannot very well discuss it without him being here to defend himself." I saw that ass Sortek nodding his head approvingly out the corner of my eye and Hanse beside him sipping his brandy while watching me shrewdly. Ian stood back a moment, dropped his arms from their folded position across his chest, causing me to panic and assume he was about to lay into me with those ham fists of his, then to my surprise roared a great bark of laughter.
     I've rarely been so surprised and was still gaping in amazement when the rest of the people in the room, like good little toadies, all began to emulate their Prince and joined in with his laughter.
     "Well said young man. Unity but is good to see our line still breeds gentlemen! Well cousin, I hear Quintus Allard's eldest is quite the hotshot pilot, can you at least advise us who won? Who was the better 'Mech pilot?" Ian was still chortling as I glanced about and noted the only person not laughing was Hanse who simply saluted me with his raised glass and a wry smile. I snapped my attention back to Ian and realised whatever I said now would soon leak out to the court at large. Taking a moment to apparently wrestle with my noble emotions, whilst in fact weighing the best thing to say, I looked the Prince in the eyes and said;
     "Justin Allard is the better pilot sire. But as you will be aware, there's more to a race than technical skill. I will simply state my honour was satisfied." Ian beamed at me proudly.
     "Hear hear! That's the spirit eh Hanse?" Ian said loudly to his brother, "We must find this young man a place in our ranks. Perhaps a position on the staff, that lazy bunch of 'Mission Way MechWarriors' could learn a lot from this fellow's spirit?" This was all going much better than I'd hoped and I was welling up with happiness as Hanse stepped forward a little and promptly dashed my hopes by speaking up in a dry voice;
     "Well, I would Ian, but Captain McKinnon has been telling me Darius there will not accept favoritism and wishes to serve his way up through the ranks." Christ! I swore to myself, that bloody idiot McKinnon! I felt my heart sink like a stone, this could go very badly indeed, but there was no way I could now beg for a cushy staff position. Ian chewed his lower lip in thought for a moment, nodding his head in concentration.
     "So be it. But we can't have a Davion serving in the ranks of any old regiment. I want you in the Fourth, my unit, I think young Darius." Perhaps seeing my face go white with horror Ian smiled warmly at me showing straight but somewhat yellowish teeth.
     "Oh don't fret you young firebrand. It might be the Guards, but we shall see action all too soon don't you worry. The 'Bane will never be far from the front while I'm their C.O." I tried my best to look all eager happiness at this awful turn of events, while there was a ripple of applause for my new posting.
     "Your highness, if it pleases you, I have an opening in my company and would be more than happy for Darius to fill it." Hillnas said from alongside Sortek and Ian nodded agreement instantly.
     The rest of that night went past for me in a haze of queasy fear. I'd heard about how regularly Prince Ian went into battle, there had been barely a year of his reign when he'd not trekked out with his Fourth Guards to the Kuritan border and engaged in bloody warfare against our ancestral foes. A Guard's position was an honour and did hold many good points, but with an offensive rumoured all too soon against Halstead Station I didn't doubt that if I couldn't find some way out of this posting I'd soon see action against the dreaded Kuritan army.
     The two AFFS generals attending Ian were introduced to me as General Ran Felsner, then C.O. of the Heavies, and Major General Eugene Drivers of the Fourth. I think they were both quite friendly towards me, but I was in such a state of worry I don't recall too much about what was actually said. Naturally Felsner and Drivers are famous names these days, it's a notable fact you shall begin to notice as your read these memoirs, that despite the vast size of the AFFS and the huge areas it has had to fight across, it's leading lights were relatively small in number. The Davion's keep their trusted military servants busy and I came to know most of them both professionally and socially as the years went by.
     After an hour or two of chit-chat I felt Hanse's hand close upon my arm and was led by him across the study and out onto the balcony. The cool night air drew me back to my senses somewhat and as the prince handed me a cigar and lit it for me there was a moment that I became terrified that the rumours about him batting for the other side might be true and that he might be about to try to seduce me. I needn't have worried though as he gazed out onto the lights of Avalon City he sipped at his drink then turned back to me.
     "You did well in there Darius. I'm sure you will be quite well known in the court by this time tomorrow." I wasn't sure if I'd get away with trying to play Hanse like I'd just done with his brother and I mumbled something about fame meaning nothing to me.
     "Are you aware Darius that Quintus Allard is a good friend of mine?" He said and I think I began to get worried.
     "He told me all about your race with his son before you even set foot on New Avalon." I gulped and wondered where Hanse was going with this.
     "I just wanted you to know that, don't worry I wont ruin your posting to the Guards. I actually think serving as a MechWarrior in a combat unit might well make you, or break you of course ... we shall see. Just remember if you ever try to pull the wool over my eyes I'll see you serving as a latrine Tech on a backwater world. Are we clear?" His dreadful blue eyes were burning into me as I stammered I understood and he smiled and wandered off leaving me in a terrible funk.

* * *

     As it happens I actually began to enjoy serving as a MechWarrior in the Fire Lance of Hillnas's Company, First Battalion, Fourth Davion Guards. I was assigned an ENF-4R Enforcer at the orders of Prince Ian and within a week or two had moved out of my suite at the Lyonesse and into the Fourth's section of the Mount Barracks, Avalon City.
     I'd instantly sent c-mails to both my mother and father as soon as I'd woke the day after the evening at the Palace, notifying them of my new posting and playing down my leaving Sakhara. I think I probably implied that I'd left at my own decision out of a desire to serve my Prince and nation. As expected within a relatively short period of time my doting and proud father had replenished me with considerable monetary funds and my distrustful mother had sent me a c-mail of congratulations that actually read like a savage reprimand.
     I'd had three years at the Sak so I wasn't exactly new to the barracks setup and soon found that Guards MechWarriors lived a pretty easy life while not on active service. We were able to lounge about boozing, whoring and gambling in the evenings and our days were filled with mundane, yet in no way menial, military chores interspersed with increasingly regular drilling and exercises which we were forced to endure in preparation for the rumoured upcoming offensive.
     As I say I was placed in the Fire Lance of Hillnas's Company and found myself under the orders of Leftenant Anwar Feruc, the younger son of the Duke of Jaipur. Feruc was about thirty and was chafing at the bit for action, a dark skinned man with striking gray eyes, he was decent towards me, having doubtless heard the rumours that I'd been involved in some famous and noble 'affair of honour' at Sakhara. He piloted a SHD-2D Shadow Hawk and had seen perhaps ten years service in the AFFS, including combat against the MechWarriors of both Liao and Kurita.
     Then there were MechWarriors Clive Holloway and Jacques Labroc, both veterans of other AFFS units who had won promotion to the Guards Brigade in reward for battlefield prowess and loyalty to House Davion. Both piloted WTH-1 Whitworths and neither initially much liked me being posted into their Lance through family connections, however Labroc was an inveterate gambler and I soon won him over by using my name to get into some pretty exclusive casinos and card games. I remember we got into one game at the Palace run by that Lexington Lumberjack Felsner and Labroc was so chuffed he swore to watch my back when we went into combat.
     Holloway was one of your self-taught Techs who managed to salvage a 'Mech for himself and get promoted up through the ranks. He was about forty by this time and carried a large chip on his shoulders about fellows like myself who hailed from privileged noble families. I enjoyed winding him up about this by making comments to Labroc about grease monkeys and the like in Holloway's earshot. Silly really, because he was clearly a very tough soldier and bore knife scars on his face, but I knew he'd never raise a hand to me as, though he probably didn't know it himself, he was I believe in truth still in awe of us real MechWarriors and would never dare jeopardize his hard won position.
     Though I put my mind hard to trying to find some plausible way to stay on New Avalon I could find no escape and when the RCT shipped off towards the Kuritan border in late August 3013 I was with them.

[Tokage]

Part 2

- My First Campaign -
Mallory's World - 3013

9

     Mallory's World.
     I still have nightmares about the hell I went through on that pestilential border planet.                   
     As I sit down to write this, the memories flood back over me; the pungent reek of ozone, coolant fluid, scorched metal and charred flesh fills my nostrils and in my mind's eye I see ferocious 'Mech battles blazing across the white dust fields ... cannon fire hammering into my Enforcer ... night fighting under great anti-'Mech gun emplacements before the walls of Colterville ... Sword of Light 'Mechs surrounding me in that city plaza, their weapons leveled on me, about to blow me to kingdom come ... grinning DCMS soldiers having their holos taken alongside a row of severed heads lined up along the top of a low brick wall ... the stinging needle pricks of the sharp ended little legs of those filthy lionroaches as they crawled up my naked body towards my mouth, nose and eyes, whilst that psychopath Zakahashi snarled at me; "They will make of your flesh a nest Davion. You should pray their venom kills you before their eggs hatch and their young feast upon you." ... the city in flames as I ran through the streets hand in hand with a beautiful young woman, pursuers hot on our heals as 'Mechs destroyed buildings all around us ... that idiot Sortek urging us on even as the trap was sprung at SandsEdge, "On boys on! We'll take their Warlord. ON FOR THE FIRST PRINCE! ON FOR DAVION" ... the touch of cold steel at my neck as the Coordinator's finest warrior prepared to behead me ... that last terrible battle at Desolate Pass and an Atlas falling in flames, it's great arm missing my prone body by feet ... the thud, thud, thud of the approaching Warhammer and the certain knowledge I was about to die.
     Well, I apologise, I'm getting ahead of things again. Now I'm no historian but it's perhaps necessary to set out for any youngsters amongst you what great events brought about the Mallory's World Campaign of '13, which I was to be plunged kicking and screaming with fear into.
     
* * *

     So then, are you sitting comfortably for Professor Darius's learned discourse on the Kuritan border campaigns of the reign of First Prince Ian Davion? Good, then I shall commence.
     The Third Succession War was half way through it's second century by the time of Ian's ascension to the Davion throne. Over the fourteen years Ian had been First Prince, for all his other failings, he had begun to turn things around in the seemingly endless war against the Draconis Combine. In 3002, AFFS troops led personally by Ian, had routed a numerically superior Kuritan force on Harrow's Sun. Then, over the following few years, first the world of Cylene II was conquered from the Kuritans and then Elidere and Deshler were liberated. By the year I joined the Fourth Guards, the Kuritan border was seen as stabilised and there was a great deal of optimism in the AFFS about the possibility of beginning to seize back worlds lost in the First Succession War and perhaps even to begin to carve into the Combine itself in earnest.
     During the previous year, 3012, Prince Ian's spies had learned that the Kuritans, at the direct orders of Takashi himself, were building huge storage depots on the planet of Halstead Station, a world about one jump inside the Combine's Dieron Military District. If completed, this great supply centre would vastly speed up resupply operations for the DCMS all along the Dieron/Fed Suns border and could threaten our future planned advances into the Combine.
     Ian had spent most of the latter months of '12 and the first half of '13 readying and moving units for what was to be a massive strike at Halstead Station, aimed at capturing the super-depots and the planet entire.
    However, the Dragon was not sleeping and ISF agents began to warn the Coordinator on Luthien that AFFS RCTs were beginning to vanish from their established postings. Worried by these intelligence reports and at the urging of his ISF spies, Takashi ordered the Warlord of Dieron to seize the strategically important Fed Suns border planet of Mallory's World. Partly because of it's importance as a jump-centre and partly to try to draw Ian's hand and make him reveal his hidden forces.
     I know you young pups think we took worlds with about a company of 'Mechs back in those days, but I'm here to tell you that was generally speaking not the case. On September the 18th, 3013, the DCMS hit Mallory's World with a large invasion army consisting of at least ten conventional regiments and three BattleMech Regiments; the crack Second Sword of Light, the Twenty-fourth Dieron Regulars and the Second Legion of Vega. In a daring nighttime strike at targets across the large Joshua continent stretching up and astride the world's equator and the northern Oregon continent, the DCMS invaders quickly inflicted heavy casualties upon the local Ugly PUGs and joined battle against the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars, who'd arrived on the planet as part of the preparations for Halstead Station.
     We in the Fourth Guards were also part of the troop movements for the beginning of the Halstead Station offensive, but were waiting in space, while Ian was meeting with his commanders on New Avalon at the time. Ultimately Takashi's attack on Mallory's World was successful as it did draw Ian out and into battle, I don't think anyone could have predicted how things would play ultimately out on that war scarred planet however.
     We had heard about the Kuritan attack on Mallory's World and many of the chaps were itching to get to grips with the snakes there, I made it a point to be the most vocal calling for action, whilst inwardly praying we'd stay floating in space while others were sent to the battle front. I was not to be so lucky.
     First Prince Ian and his personal staff arrived at our little fleet within a week of the invasion occurring and by October 3rd we were descending through the orbit of Mallory's World. Ian had mustered a significant force to go to the aid of the beleaguered Seventeenth Hussars, consisting of the entire Fourth Guards RCT; that is the 'Mech Regiment itself, four armoured regiments, five infantry regiments, an artillery battalion and two aerospace fighter wings. A strong force, especially when coupled with the Seventeenth's RCT already in-planet, but there were many, myself included, who felt we would still be outgunned by the DCMS forces on the planet.
     There endeth the history lesson. I shall now return to my own, more personal memories.

[Tokage]

10

     "Mallory's World, gentlemen! It may not have been our choice to meet the Dragon here, at this time. The urgent need to keep this world part of our freedom loving state may have been forced upon us. Do not let these facts dishearten you.
     The future can still turn on such overlooked planets and unlooked for battles. We all of us can make history, if we have but the courage to seize control of it from our foes.
     Remember the honour of our House, our people and most of all the people of Mallory's World. These are citicens of the lost Star League. We owe them protection.
     Let us fall like avenging knights upon our wicked enemies, break them and then we shall complete that task we all have been preparing for. The ultimate strategic victory on the Draconis Front. The final humbling of House Kurita!"
     Ian's typically worded and gruffly delivered speech echoed about the dark 'Mech bay as we plumeted like a meteor down through the upper atmosphere of Mallory's World and I sat in my Enforcer, deep in the belly of the Union Class DropShip FSDS Michael Muttley, listening to the Prince's broadcast to his troops. The chaps cheered heartily in their cockpits, as did yours truly, though even then I snorted to myself about the similarity of Ian's words to the speeches I'd read or seen Ian making on the news 'vids from the start of previous campaigns. Ian was charismatic in a bluff, brisk, soldierly way, but he tended to string several typical themes together in his speeches; appeals to honour, citing the memory of the lost Star League and wild claims about ultimate victory being within our reach. Once you'd heard one of the Hound's speeches you'd heard them all.
     I recall my arm was still badly swollen and was throbbing with pain following the host of immune-jabs we'd had to have quickly injected, in order to protect us against the swarms of virulent parasitic insects that are to be found on the planet's surface. I'd been advised that anyone who was to be so foolish as to go down to Mallory's World without their jabs would be dead inside a week tops, so I can assure you I'd not only had double doses, but had even stashed spare booster ampoules in my 'Mech cockpit just in case.
     "Get ready lads, we're almost there. I want a clean landing, don't bunch at the doors and get off those ramps quickly. We can expect immediate interception by Sworders, so lock and load now if you please." Captain Lucus Hillnas's voice crackled inside my neurohelmet and I rechecked my 'Mech's weapons with a shaking hand, then confirmed to myself that my personal survival kit was safely stored in the arm of my seat and my newly purchased Bereiter 49S 'Ultra' laser pistol was in the shoulder holster strapped across my chest.
     I was petrified, my bowels were grumbling from the terror that gripped me and I was covered in a cold sweat at the fear we'd be shot out of the sky before we even landed. Mind you I was grateful at least that we weren't put through the paralysing awfulness of an atmospheric drop, it wouldn't be until later that same year I would get my first taste of skydiving through a planetary atmosphere in a fifty ton hunk of metal.
     There were dogfights going on all around us judging by the comms, as our outnumbered fighter wings and DropShips were burning their way down through the planet's sky. Kuritan fighters from the crack 43rd DCMS Aerospace Wing, the 'Striking Serpents', had moved into the upper atmosphere to meet us and were locked in air to air combat with our aerojocks, who were thankfully doing sterling work, however I still felt the regular judder of our DropShip's batteries firing at very close targets.
     I was particularly scared at the sound of a rumbling explosion, which tossed our ship backwards and forwards, rattling us in our 'Mech berths. I'm fairly sure I passed out at that point from total fear, as I came too with Hillnas's voice calling for a pre-landing sound off to make sure everyone was fit for action. At my dazed sounding response Hillnas queried if I had a problem.
     "I ... uhh ... no Sir. No ... are we there?" Too which Labroc's voice came over the comm excitedly.
     "Jesus!! The warry bugger was asleep." He laughed and the whole company joined in, ribbing me for being the coldest blooded fellow they knew of, naturally I didn't disabuse them of their absurd notion. Hillnas let the brittle good humour continue for a moment, then as we were rocked again by a sudden violent movement he broke it up.
     "Okay lads, that's enough. Davion wake yourself up and get ready, you're about to get your first taste of the Dragon's hospitality." I gritted my teeth to stop them chattering over the comm in terror and ever ready to play the hearty hero, on the spur of the moment, said as calmly as I could.
     "Right oh, Sir. Do you think they'll serve me a full-Federated breakfast if I ask them nicely?" Weak I know, but it was the best I could come up with at the time and yet d'you know one of the company leaked that I'd said this to a journalist some time later and that little piece of nonsense got quoted in the press from New Avalon to Great Gorge. One news-sheet, Rénard Reportage I believe, even had a cartoon of yours truly sitting down to breakfast in front of my 'Mech with a pile of dead bug-eyed Kuritan soldiers littering the ground around me.
     We were dropping into the Bone Desert some fifty klicks south of the Joshua Provincial Capital of Colterville. At least two battalions of the Second Sword of Light and some attendant conventional troops were based in the city and we were expecting very fast interception by Sword 'Mechs upon landing.
     Prince Ian had decided to only strike at the Kuritan troops in Joshua at first, aiming to relieve the Seventeenth who were strung out across the north of the continent, then once we linked up with the Seventeenth we'd strike at the Kuritan forces that had seized the planetary capital of Mallory City on the continent of Oregon. There were also the treaty-protected agricultural continent of  New Helen and desert covered Juniper, but as far as we were aware these had avoided direct Kuritan attack as yet.
     While the DropShip was still thundering downwards the two great, thirteen meter high, 'Mech bay doors began to roll up allowing harsh light to wash over the shadowed metal bay floor and then suddenly the craft seemed to slow abruptly with a loud whooshing sound as it's retro thrusters kicked in. For about a minute our deceleration continued, then with a jarring crump we were down and as green lights flashed on the walls about us we began to move out in our assigned order. First through the doors were the generally heavier 'Mechs of the Command Lance, then the lights of the Recon Lance, then the Fire Lance, including your trembling correspondent.
     My hands were sweating, my heart hammering and my belly churning. I genuinely believed I might faint again with fear and the only thing keeping me going was the equally strong fear that my cowardice might become known to my comrades and I would face public disgrace. My cockpit's armour-glass visor immediately began to filter the harsh light of the local yellow sun as I moved out of the DropShip as slowly as I could safely manage without drawing attention to myself. 

* * *       

     Last man out of the DropShip, I was relieved to find we were not yet under enemy fire, my 'Mech made clanging footsteps down the exit ramp as I moved behind my lancemates who were already off the ramp and spread in a tight arc ahead of me. Taking time to get my bearings I looked out upon a flat, bare, expanse of cracked, parched desert. Fine white dust had been sent up by the DropShip landing and more was being scuffed up by each 'Mech footfall and it was already like thick smoke that hung in the air up to about the midriffs of our 'Mechs. The company was fanning out, seeming to wade through the wafting clouds of dust.
     Above us was a clear, almost cloudless blue sky, across which ran an overlapping lattice of wispy trails, the contrails of our craft and the enemy's. As I arched my 'Mech's back to gawk up and enjoy the strangely pretty pattern of interweaving lines, there was a shockingly sudden sound like a thunderclap and a Kuritan SL-17 Shilone aero-fighter roared over me, so close I was immediately blinded by the oily black smoke belching from it's huge engine nozzle and was nearly blown over backwards by it's wash. I let out a girlishly high pitched scream of surprise, which was mercifully lost in the great liquid whoomf of the explosion as the fighter struck land some two hundred feet to my left.
     This time I was actually thrown over, the blast knocking us all down like ninepins. Only Captain Hillnas, in his MAD-3R Marauder, weathering the fierce blast wave and remaining upright.
     "Hol-eeee crap!" Hillnas gasped over the comm as I struggled to get my Enforcer up from where it had landed alongside the exit ramp of the DropShip. As I righted myself and stood up through the white haze I could see a great fireball still burning at the heart of the roiling black cloud of smoke. Most of the rest of the company were also on their feet, but I quickly realised Leftenant Feruc's Shadow Hawk was not, though I couldn't see where it was due to the dust clouds surrounding us like mist.
     "Leftenant? Leftenant Feruc? Are you well?" I spoke into the comm. There was no response, Hillnas realised something was wrong and quickly had the company fan out in a search pattern.
     I was the one who actually found Feruc's 'Hawk. He'd apparently been unlucky enough to have been running in the direction of the point where the crippled Kuritan fighter had crashed, his 'Mech was lying prone on it's back, it's front armour melted and scorched black from the devastating fuel explosion. We didn't have time to get out of our 'Mechs and pry open the smoldering head-cockpit, we didn't need too; Feruc had to have been cooked as crispy as an overdone Christmas turkey. I stood in my 'Mech looking down in horror at what could easily have been me and my 'Mech laying in the white dust. It was imagination I know, but I was sure I could even smell burnt meat and I nearly gagged at the horrifying speed the whole thing had happened.
     "That's hard luck." Hillnas's matter of fact soldier's sang froid, as he stood his 'Mech briefly beside mine, made me cringe.
     "Anwar was keen as mustard to get stuck into the snakes again too." Hillnas added, then promptly ordered us into our correct formation, enemy tanks were approaching and DropShip command had sighted enemy 'Mechs moving on the drop zones ... fast.
     As I ran my 'Mech into the dust clouds I was appalled at the sudden randomness of Leftenant Feruc's death. He might have been a better MechWarrior than the great James O'Gordon, that past years second time running Solaris Champ, I'd mused and yet would still have been broiled alive in a split second. If Feruc could go like that, so could I.
     Ahead of me I could hear sudden gunfire and the dying started in earnest.

[Tokage]

11

     I had already learnt a few tricks at the Sak about how best to safely get through battlefield situations as a MechWarrior and I have continued to use these tactics down the years. You should always endeavor to hang as near to the back of your unit as possible, but you should make as much noise and thunder as you can manage, your voice should be constantly filling the comm with great oaths, war cries, condemnations of your enemy and, when appropriate, shouts of victory. You should also make good use of long range weaponry, firstly because you might get lucky and take out an enemy while they're trying to maneuver and secondly because your comrades will assume you're firing upon clear targets and generally doing your job. If things get close in, 'Mech to 'Mech, then you're in real trouble. That's when you're reliant on your skill and luck being better on the day than your enemy's.
     Naturally the safest option is to avoid battle entirely if you can, it that's not possible however I've always preferred fighting tanks to 'Mechs. Generally speaking and leaving aside the rarer nastier heavy tanks and missile carriers, a tank poses little real threat to any 'Mech above twenty to thirty tons, especially if you've got jump jets. I have to say though that you have to watch yourself around tanks that are attached to a Sword of Light formation. On that day back in the Bone Desert, I didn't even see the tanks coming.
     They were in close amidst us before I even registered they were there, the white dust clouds swirling and obscuring them. Lean, swift moving, hover tanks, painted with white and gray camouflage patterns, each bearing the circular black dragon device of the Draconis Combine, with the stenciled markings '3LG' underneath, stamped upon their flank.
     I spun as my comrades began shouting warnings and sighted one of the tanks streaking across my field of vision a scant twenty meters away, as I registered it was there it's heavy front mounted cannon opened up. There was a bright muzzle flash, a great deep thudda-thudda-thudda sound and a long stream of high calibre autocannon shells chewed into Captain Hillnas's Marauder's left leg, sending great smoking chunks of ceramite armour flying into the surrounding dust clouds.
     "Watch out Captain!" I made a great point of roaring into my comm mike as, with a cruel grin that came from knowing I had the drop on this snake and he was no threat to myself, I triggered the ChrisComp 43 laser cannon mounted in my 'Mech's left arm. A pulse of steaming heat filled my cockpit and the laser beam licked along the flank of the Kuritan tank, I think it was a Saladin AHT but the dust was thick enough for me not to be sure. I can still remember seeing the camouflage paint bubble then peel away in a split second, then the tank's armour literally melted and ruptured, the whole side split apart and the vehicle was shattered by a violent explosion that blew the surrounding dust away with it's blastwave and left the skidding blackened wreckage of the tank an inferno of flames and smoke.
     I suppose you imagine I should have had long sad thoughts for the Kuritan tankers I'd just immolated, how I should have been wracked by sincere guilt over the fate of those fellow human beings I had just killed, like hypocrites such as Sortek would claim. I can honestly say the only thoughts that went through my mind at the time were vicious glee and satisfaction, tempered by relief that I'd caught them on the hop and they'd not even had a chance to do the same to me.
     You think that cruel? Well then you've never been to war and I envy you.
     "Thanks Darius!" Hillnas's voice came over my helmet earpiece and I congratulated myself also, however I could tell our company mates were under heavy attack and the desert air was riven with shrieks of short range missile fire, the deep sounding zeeps of laser cannons, the thudda-thudda of autocannons and the occasional electrical thunderclap of a PPC. Even some of the DropShip's batteries were opening up and I saw two more Saladins that had got too close to the egg-shaped craft ripped apart by cannon fire. Explosions, both from hits and misses, began to make the ground literally shake and plumes of black smoke rose out of the dusty haze.
     I followed Hillnas's Marauder, as the ten meter tall insect-like machine stalked into the middle of the arc our company was advancing outwards in. I saw a blue-white flash from the Marauder's right arm mounted weapon pod and a stab of eye-searing light seethe across the desert narrowly missing a Saladin that skidded skillfully to avoid the PPC shot.
     This was just the time, I then decided, to implement my academy learnt coward's tactics and so, shouting colourfully venomous hatred at the oblivious Kuritan tankers, I moved along Hillnas's trail firing off a volley from my Federated Autocannon at the vague shape of a hovertank at the edge of my weapon's effective range.
     For several minutes things progressed in a most pleasing manner, I continued my blustering act from the edge of the battle, whilst my comrades were giving and taking hits left, right and centre. I saw flashes of the action through breaks in the white dust clouds, which soon became so thick as to actually begin to refract laser fire, I saw Hillnas stamp upon the front of a Saladin, causing the armoured vehicle to slam up and over onto it's buckled roof ... a couple of Saladin's circled a Phoenix Hawk and with a paired volley from their heavy autocannons blew the 'Mech's legs off at each knee, causing it to topple into the smoke and dust ... the crew of a hover tank scrambling to evacuate their vehicle while on fire and flailing out into the dust like sputtering sparks from a winter hearth ... Holloway's Whitworth standing heroically in front of one of the recon lance's Wasps which was limping badly and leaking gouts of pinkish coolant fluid from a ruptured heat sink in it's breast, Hollaway triple tapped a Saladin with three Intek laser cannon shots that left the tank a spinning fireball.
      "We've beaten them boys! They're running! Hoorah for the Bane!" Labroc's infectious cry caused several cheers from others in the company and I was just sighing in relief that I'd lasted the dreadful melee without injury and watching as the handful of surviving hovertanks skidded back the way they'd come, many leaking flame and smoke from hits, when Holloway's common voice jarred into my thoughts.
      "Don't start handing out the cigars yet Jacques." Hillnas's grim voice crackled over the comm. "Here come the 'Mechs."

* * *

     My heart stopped for an instant as I strained to make out anything through the wall of white and black dust and smoke that surrounded us. Glancing back I couldn't even make out the DropShip, what blasted fool had landed us in this foul desert I cursed and then realised by hanging back during the skirmish I'd now made myself somewhat exposed.
     The speed of the anti-tank fighting had drawn the rest of the company some way to my left and although back from their scattered line, I was now the nearest to the direction the tanks had come from and retreated toward.
     It was as I was about to move myself hastily back into the bulk of the company, now some hundred meters or more away from me, that I was hit.
     I didn't know exactly what had hit me initially, all I felt were three massive blows to the front of my 'Mech in rapid succession, my ears rang and as I blinked in surprise a banshee scream ripped past, making my 'Mech wobble, as a long range missile missed my 'Mech's head by what felt like inches. Snapping about I was horrified to see a small cloud of missiles streaking towards me through the white haze, I swear I could see the black and yellow cone warheads of each of the wicked things and it looked to me like they were all going to hit me slap in the cockpit.
     Screaming with terror, my 'Mech piloting instincts clicked in and I wrenched the Enforcer around and began to run anywhere I could. Damn, but that had been some shot, it had been presumably made at long range through dust and smoke and yet he'd still hit me! I quickly checked my HUD for damage and found my 'Mech had lost a fair part of the armour on it's central torso, other than that I was okay.
     "Form on Davion! C'mon lads the poor brave fool's trying to take on the entire Second Sword on his own." Hillnas's rallying call barely registered with me as I was now dodging not only a constant stream of missiles, but the occasional PPC shot. Only my natural talent with 'Mechs saved me going down, but this was far harder than the toughest simulator or gauntlet test I'd ever faced at the Sak. Explosions and near misses were tearing up the hard baked ground under and around me.
     It's a strange thing, but as I was running, leaping, hitting jump jets and generally doing all I could not to be hit by the barrage of extremely accurate fire raining down around me, I suddenly could actually hear in my mind the words of Bentine, my old Games and Theory tutor from back at the Sak.
     "Sit up straight Davion you young hoodlum and put out that filthy cigarillo! Why, I shudder to think what would happen to our great nation should the likes of you should ever be expected to hold back the best of House Kurita.
     Attend me do cadets, for the best of the DCMS are the regiments of the Sword of Light; in order to even join these units, that in some senses equate to our own Brigade of Guards, a DCMS soldier must first serve with the highest distinction in another line regiment. Only those with the best gunnery skills, the best piloting ability, the most unquestioned loyalty to the Kurita family, the most fanatical hatred for the enemies of the Combine and who are possessed of the most suicidal bravery will ever earn the badge of the Myoo's sword.
     They will never surrender and you can expect no quarter from them."
     I gulped as I remembered with sickening horror that these MechWarriors now trying to kill me weren't just Sword of Light, they were members of the Second Sword. The best of the elite.
     I tried to cry into the comm link for help but I was gripped by bowel emptying fear and the only sound I managed to get out of my throat was a dry rattle as vague, fast moving shapes began to emerge from the wall of white haze to my right.

[Tokage]

12

     The Sword 'Mechs were painted in similar white and grey desert camo patterns to the hovertanks and were not easy to see clearly until they were within some forty meters or so of me. I was actually speeding across their line of advance and was being fired upon by a medium lance on their right flank.
     The lance consisted of an ominous looking fifty ton TBT-9E Trebuchet, it's head seeming to resemble the helmet of an ancient Terran samurai. This 'Mech would probably have been the source of the long range missile fire that had wounded my 'Mech, as missile pods studded it's right torso and it's left arm. Spread ahead of the Trebuchet were a trio of  PNT-9R Panthers, thirty ton humanoid 'Mechs that packed a fearsome Lord's Light PPC mounted into their right arms. As they drew closer to me I could see the flaming sabre badge of the Sword of Light painted on each 'Mech's torso section, under which was their regimental crest, which I recognised as the old flag of the planet Kentares aflame ... a gruesome mockery of the victims of the infamous Kentares Massacre of the First Succession War, which the Second Sword were rightly notorious for having played a major role in.
     There were at least two more lances of the Sworders headed for the DropShip itself, perhaps intending to cut us off from our landing craft and slaughter us piecemeal.
     Two of the Panthers fired their PPCs at me while they were at the run, thankfully they both missed. However, despite my cockpit's tinted glass, my eye's were dazzled by the searing flashes of artificial lightning and the third Panther spat a volley of four short range missiles from the centre of it's torso. With a triple explosion three of the missiles impacted upon my 'Mech, one on the right arm, one on the right leg and one on the right torso. The fourth missile streaked past and away into the swirling dust clouds.
     "Blake's Blood!" I cursed, the temperature in my cockpit soaring as a heat sink died and smoke billowed out of the wounds on my 'Mech's body. These bastards were as deadly as old Bentine had warned me back at the Sak.
     "Tally hooooo!" Labroc's high pitched war-cry sounded over the comm link and I staggered to a clumsy halt as Labroc and Holloway's Whitworths stampeded past me on either side, then expertly the two MechWarriors concentrated their fire on one of the Panthers. Even back in those days most AFFS MechWarriors didn't fight by the chivalric, one-on-one nonsense so prized by the Kuritans. We fought to win, if that meant ganging up on the snakes, then that's what we'd do.
     The targeted Panther skillfully dodged two laser cannon beams, but was lashed by four more. The armour on the Sworder 'Mech's right arm was savaged by one beam, then totally evaporated by the second, which penetrated deep into the myomer muscle bundles with a flash of flame. The arm seemed to lock in place, leaving the PPC pointing down at the ground, then another beam slashed a black scorch mark across the 'Mech's central torso and the fourth hit the 'Mech's head leaving it seared but still intact.
     The battle for me then telescoped down to our three 'Mech versus their four. Thankfully that first volley from my lancemates had taken out the first Panther's PPC, however the Kuritan MechWarrior piloting the 'Mech was good enough to still be a real danger with only his missile rack.
     I fought, I had no choice. I couldn't run, firstly because Labroc and Holloway would have reported me if they survived the battle and I could then be shot for cowardice and desertion in the face of the enemy, secondly these Sworders were all over us and turning to run would open my paper-thin rear armour to the tender mercies of their expert gunnery.
     D'you know I sometimes wonder if it's not a deliberate tactic military commanders insist upon when 'Mechs are manufactured, that the back armour is half the strength of the front, precisely in order to stop sensible types like myself from turning and fleeing the field every time battle is joined. 

* * *
   
     Most soldiers, from whichever branch of the military you care to choose, will tell you they don't recall too much about the fine details of combat. Sometimes that's just a tactic to avoid dredging up memories of horror, death and destruction, sometimes it's true. I certainly don't recall everything about the few minutes of intense, savage 'Mech-to-'Mech close combat that then occurred on that day in the Bone Desert.
     I know I tried to keep Holloway and Labroc's Whitworths between me and the Trebuchet and as much as possible the undamaged Panthers, whilst I concentrated upon the wounded Panther. Images and flashes of the fighting come back to me now as I think upon it ... dodge and counter dodge as we circled each other ... sweating heavily, my eyes stinging as I triggered a long volley of autocannon fire at the snake bastard, jaw clenched in terror as I saw my volley blaze past him, his 'Mech dancing aside like it was the simplest thing to do in the Universe ... seeing Holloway's Whitworth take massive missile fire from a Panther and the Trebuchet ... the smell of ozone and sweat and fear ... dodging the Panther's next missile barrage by hitting my jump jets and then firing my heavy laser cannon down at him from about fifteen meters up in the air, my shot drilling down through the crown of his 'Mech's head, then the dull 'crump' sound of an explosion as his cockpit was seared away in seconds ... the Panther collapsing onto it's knees and remaining in that position rather than falling forward, it's head a flaming hollowed out skull shape ... turning to see one of the other Panthers was half turned away from me, whilst fighting Labroc practically hand to hand, I jigged round to the left and risking the heat I triggered first my autocannon, then my heavy laser cannon, then my light laser ... the temperature rocketed and warning lights flashed across the HUD, however my aim was good and ceramite armour dissolved across the Panther's back, then erupted outwards as superheated laser light, then heavy calibre autocannon shells flailed it ... that little wobble as the Panther seemed about to totter over onto it's face, then the blinding flash and sledge hammer blast as the fusion reactor powering the 'Mech blew ... dazed coming to, looking up through my cockpit at scudding clouds of black and white smoke through which I caught glimpses of the blue sky ... hearing and feeling the thump, thump, THUMP, THUMP as heavy 'Mech footsteps approaching me ... blubbing and pleading "Don't kill me, I wont do it again!" as I awaited what I assumed was an approaching Sword 'Mech coming to finish me off ... the static hiss that was all I was getting through my comm link ... then the heavenly sight of Captain Hillnas's Marauder above me.

* * *

     I think I blacked out again for a minute or two, then blinked myself back to consciousness and righted my 'Mech finding myself gazing across a vista of blackened, scorched desert, dotted with fires, the occasional burning tank or downed 'Mech and the stalking vague shapes of my comrade's machines. Of the Panther I'd caused to meltdown only a pair of severed, smoldering legs remained recognisable, standing over them Labroc's Whitworth was mercifully still intact, though it was leaking smoke and most of it's frontal armour was so melted away I could make actually out the 'Mech's somewhat singed myomers and adamantium bones. Labroc had popped his cockpit and was perched up on the shoulder of his 'Mech puffing at a cheroot, he waved at me, but I was still just getting static on the comm.
     I later learned the Sword 'Mechs had pulled back when Hillnas had downed their commander at more or less the same time I'd caused the reactor explosion and knocked us all over. By the end of the Battle of DropZone H, as we later referred to the action, our company had destroyed some nine Saladin hovertanks and five enemy BattleMechs. For ourselves we'd lost three 'Mechs and two MechWarriors; Leftenant Feruc and his Shadow Hawk, MechWarrior Killian Rook had safely punched out of his downed Pheonix Hawk when the Saladins had knocked out it's legs and MechWarrior Nathan Lefevre of the Command Lance had been killed when his Griffin had taken a PPC hit to the face.
     Most of the rest of us were badly mauled, for myself my Enforcer had practically no armour left on it's torso, it's right arm and it's leg. My comm link had been knocked out, so thankfully my sobbing for mercy like a scared twelve year old schoolgirl had not been heard, and I soon learnt I was regarded as having acquitted myself admirably in my first battle.
     I was sitting on the foot of my crouched 'Mech sipping at water laced with Skye whiskey from a hip flask when Captain Hillnas walked up, the dimly visible shape of his Marauder just discernible beyond Labroc's Whitworth. Hillnas's rangy muscular body was covered in sweat, white dust and grime, his cooling vest open. He ran his left hand through his thick sweat slick blonde hair and held up a Kuritan pig-sticker sword.
     "Hullo Darius, what d'you think of this for above the fireplace back at Hillnas Manor? It's a Dragon Foundries Sun Zhang katana. Had to shoot the silly bugger it belonged too as he tried to detonate a grenade when he popped the cockpit on his 'Mech.
     I hear you've racked up an assist and your first 'Mech kill today, to say nothing of that Saladin you took out for me. That's good going in your first fight, especially against Sword of Light MechWarriors!" I think I was so exhausted with fear I didn't answer and just gaped up at him blankly, he frowned and held out the hand not holding the sword.
     "I hope you don't think I'll forget you probably saved my bacon back there, one more of those cannon hits from that hovertank and my 'Mech's leg might have been blown off! I owe you one old chap." He was the picture of manly sincerity and I smiled weakly, shook his hand and took sucked down another long pull at my flask, before croaking out.
     "Well, we won then Sir. Are they pulling out now?" To which he naturally roared with laughter, misunderstanding my ragged relief for disappointment over the potential we'd see no more action here and he drove the katana into the dry ground before him.
     "Hah, look at you, all cut up about not getting to see any more action. What, pull out? Why this was just a 'how-de-do'. A little welcome from the Dragon. We have a long way to go before we kick the Dragon off this world and there'll be plenty more opportunities for glory you crazy young savage." I was inwardly terrified at the thought of more of this madness, if I'd known then that what was to come would be infinitely worse I think I'd have decked Hillnas just to get court martialled and thrown into a nice safe cell.

[Dave Talley]

oooh more craziness!

[Tokage]

13

     Similar skirmishing to the battle following our landing, had occurred across the RCT's four primary Drop Zones and it took roughly two local days, that is approximately one and a half T-days, to stabilise the front and advance safely as far as the Oasis town of Cactus Flats.
     It was a dead and alive little dump, consisting of a central Star League era 'Oasis Tower' that rose like a giant dust-scoured metal mushroom fifty meters into the air and also descended deep underground, surrounded by a great shambles of stone and adobe hovels, divided by narrow, filthy alleyways. Anti-'Mech traps and minefields ringed the outer edge of the hovels, but the DCMS had decided to pull back to the reputedly far stronger defences of Colterville to the north and we'd marched unopposed into Cactus Flats to the sound of Broken Hearts and Dirty Boots being broadcast at full blast from some wiseacre's cockpit speakers.
     The locals, a rag tag looking bunch of salt-miners, nomads, big-rig trokkers and assorted riffraff lined the one main thoroughfare wide enough for 'Mechs to march down single file and cheered us in, even singing the Federated Banner in apparently earnest celebration.
     I remember strolling about the town with some of the chaps after we first arrived and being surprised to note that on building walls there were faded, peeling DCMS recruiting posters alongside more modern propaganda posters of Prince Ian. Some walls had overlapping graffiti in Japanese kanji, and even older looking Capellan Russo-Mandarin and Anglic. A fawning shop keeper trying to sell us roast-megants, foul looking ant things about the size of your finger, told us through his blackened teeth that a Mallorian had to be able to sing Dragon Over The Stars one week and the 'Banner the next, and both with equal enthusiasm. They had to be able to weather the all-too regular changes of government you see, and it was well known the Kuritans tended to summarily execute anyone on a conquered world they even vaguely suspected of being Davionist in sentiment, whereas even we would usually arrest and then 'transport' known Combine supporters off to detention camps far away across our vast interstellar nation.
     You don't hear much about this kind of thing in the regular history books, but take my word for it, aside from the wide scale destruction the ongoing Succession War itself brings to the border worlds, the resultant occupation, no matter which side wins that year, is very dangerous to the planet in question's civilian population. 
     What a way the people of those scarred worlds have to live! This planet had been ravaged by war for hundreds of years, sometimes it would be part of the Combine, sometimes the Federated Suns, back in previous centuries the Capellans had even sent armies here and before that it had been the scene of major battles between the Star League army and Rim Worlds troops. During the advance from the DZ to Cactus Flats I'd seen ample evidence of those old and not so old battles; dust bleached metal skeletons of 'Mechs, armoured vehicles and downed aerospace craft dotted the Bone Desert liberally.
     You could also see the effects of the waves of different armies that continued to come and go across the world by looking at the locals themselves. I'd read that the original colonists had been British, but it was very apparent now that they were a mongrel mixture of many different races and backgrounds, between themselves they even spoke a broken argot of Anglic, Japanese and Mandarin Chinese.
     Their culture was a strange, pragmatic, mix of the diplomatic forms of the old Terran Hegemony, the tyranny of the Combine and the rather shambolic parliamentary neo-feudalism of the Fed Suns. There were even little, well tended, O5P shrines on some street corners, yet aside from the great Oasis Tower the biggest building in the town was the local New Avalon Catholic Church.
     The Oasis Tower itself was a marvel of Star League engineering, a great fortified shelter and air conditioned storage building built over a deep water source, that was large enough to take in the entire eighteen thousand plus populace of the town in times of need. I was told that sometimes ferocious storms would rip out of the poisoned heart of the desert and lash the town with enough force to strip the flesh from one's body. Aside from that bad enough threat the Bone Desert itself wasn't entirely natural having been greatly expanded by pollution and the use of nuclear weapons during the fall of the Star League and the subsequent First Succession War. An inland sea had once covered part of the desert lands of today, but had dried up due to changes in weather patterns following the multiple use of holocaust weapons, it's silt mixed now with the white desert dust and locals advised that it could still be dangerously radioactive.
     Then there were the insects. They seemed to swarm everywhere, great finger long megants scuttled in little packs about the alleys and streets. Thumb sized red and black fever-flies buzzed and droned anywhere there was an electric light switched on, or popped and fizzled sickeningly on the blue 'fly-killer' lamps found in most buildings, most of which were cleaned so irregularly as to be caked at their bottom with clumps of black fly corpses. Desert moths fluttered annoyingly about your bunk at night and you were constantly having to spoon tiny firegnats out of cups of 'caff or plates of food. In the days of the original colonisation these insects and others species across the world had nearly wiped out the first settlers with the highly contagious diseases they are apparently carriers of, and were it not for the invention of a blanket immunisation cure human habitation here would still be untenable. The regular jabs caused nearly all the, usually semi-parasitic insects of this shit-hole to be unable to even bear to be within a few feet of an immunised human being or animal. However just because the horrid little things stayed a few feet away from me didn't make them any more endearing or any less repulsive.   
     So then, that was Cactus Flats. Not the best billet I ever struck upon and to add insult to injury our company were unlucky enough to be allocated quarters in a sprawling salt-storage warehouse outside the Oasis Tower, in order that we would be nearer the edge of town in the event of a Kuritan attack.

* * *

     It was at our Cactus Flats billet, on October 6th 3013, I had my second encounter with First Prince Ian.
     I'd spent two T-days lounging about with the other MechWarriors watching our Techs and a company of attendant PBI grunts knock the mercifully cool adobe warehouse into some kind of half decent state to serve as a fitting billet for Guards MechWarriors. The Techs were also kept busy patching up our ravaged 'Mechs and scrounging up the precious parts necessary to do so. I always said the best Techs are one part mechanic and one part professional thief and the 'Bane's were no exception, they were frankly wizards when it came to getting your machine fighting fit again, but you wouldn't want to leave your wallet within reach of their sticky fingers.
     I recall it was early in the local evening and the yellow sun was setting into a hazy red-orange sky, beyond the stinking morass of the 'Flats, that was as beautiful as anything an Ink District dauber could imagine. Hillnas had somehow managed to stow a crate of very fine Galainan Gray David Merlot on the DropShip and myself and several of the chaps from the company were engaged upon polishing off the last three bottles whilst lazing in the cooling evening breeze.
     We were seated on canvas chairs at a little cafe-like cluster of tables we'd set up at the front of our billet, the Brigade and Regimental crests were set on the front of the warehouse behind us and stenciled in white paint upon the doors were the words;
     HILLNAS CO., 1ST BAT., 4TH 'MECH REGT., DAV. BRIG. GUARDS
     Under which one of the lads had painted in a flowing hand; 'The Dragon's Bane'.
     "I still don't understand why we're fighting on this dreadful continent when the capital is up in that fat farming country on Oregon?" Labroc drawled and I idly glanced over as that upstart Holloway sighed, clearly exasperated at Labroc's ignorance. I have to admit it hadn't occurred to me that we were conducting this campaign a hell of a distance from the centre of the planet's government, but now Jacques brought it up I became curious myself. Holloway pulled out an E-pad and slid it across the table towards Jacques and I. It showed a satellite map of the Middle Sea region, comprising the north of the Joshua continent and the southern half of Oregon.
     "Okay, so the Snakes struck this world on September 18th. Two T-weeks before that however the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars had arrived to carry out harsh-terrain training in preparation for ... ahhh ... an upcoming operation. Their training was going on naturally not in the gentle farm and grazing lands of Oregon, but across the inhospitable Bone Desert of Joshua.
     The Kuritans dispatched about a sixth of their invasion army, formed around the Second Vegan Penal Legion, to Oregon in order to secure the north and the planetary capital. But the bulk and best of their forces dropped onto Joshua in order to crush the Seventeenth Hussars, they've been chasing the Seventeenth across the western regions ever since. After we arrived the Second Sword has now pulled back with support elements to their fortified positions in and around Colterville, whilst the Twenty-fourth Dieron Regulars have continued to try to run the Seventeenth to ground on the other side of the Salt Mountains to our northwest.
     Naturally the First Prince has decided our best bet is to defeat the Second Sword, then move to link up with the Seventeenth and together finish off the Dieron Regs."
     As the smart arse one-time Tech finished his somewhat impertinent lecture I studied the map and sipped some more of the light, fruity, aromatic Lyran wine. I couldn't fault Holloway's take on the situation though and felt a tremor of fear at the thought of an impending siege action against the defences of Colterville.
     "'Tennnn-SHUN! It's the Prince." Urqhart from the Recon Lance hollered out suddenly, as three one-man skimmers hummed into the courtyard before us, the drivers were wearing full tan coloured body armour and visored battle helmets. As they leapt off their vehicles and unslung bullpup carbine model FLRs, a quartet of wheeled APCs sped in, followed by three more skimmers. Like the rest of the chaps I sprang to attention and saluted as the APCs disgorged a platoon of Guard infantry.
     Though Cactus Flats seemed friendly this was still a warzone and it was possible there were ISF insurgents hiding amidst the town's population and waiting for targets of opportunity. Thus the infantry spread to watch all the entrances to our billet as First Prince Ian stepped down out of the second APC.
     He was dressed in the field uniform of an AFFS General, with desert camouflage cap, jerkin and boots over tan fatigues, a nickel handled auto-pistol hung on his hip in an open holster. Flanked by a couple of aides he hurried over and threw us a brisk salute with his MechWarrior-gloved hand.
     "Good evening Gentlemen. At ease, at ease." Ian growled, then while accepting a glass of wine proffered to him by Leftenant Chalmers of the Recon Lance he spotted me and skinned those yellow chompers of his in a genuine smile.
     "Well this is capital. How are you Darius?" He stomped over and pumped my hand, while the chaps looked on, clearly envious of my good favour with the Prince.
     "Fine thank you Highness." I naturally straightened my back and played the good little soldier. Ian seemed more vigorous and enlivened than he had back at the Palace on New Avalon. He was out on the front you see? He loved war as I have told you and I could see he was positively like a child on Christmas Eve, which doubtless meant we'd all be back in the thick of it directly.
     "Heard about your actions at DropZone H, capital! A Sword of Light kill in your first action. That's something special. Why I was two years older than you are now and First Prince already when I bagged my first kill, that was Harrow's Sun in ought two of course and my man was a mere Galedon Regular." Well he became so caught up in his fond memories of his happy younger days that he actually pulled up a deck chair and sat down, motioning for us all to do the same and for the next five minutes or so, while swilling his wine he related the details of the incident.
     I don't actually recall the specifics of his story, I just have this picture of us sitting at those deck chairs, clustered about Ian while he told the story animatedly, gesturing expressively with his big hands as the sun went down and the sky changed from orange to purple. He had charisma there's no doubt of that. I remember looking at the faces of my comrades and the staff wallahs and they were all spellbound, smiling and wide eyed. Remember Ian was busy at that time, he was planning an assault on a city fortified and garrisoned by the premier 'Mech regiment of the most dreaded army in known space and yet still found the time to boost his men's morale and he clearly enjoyed doing so.
     At some point Captain Hillnas had come out and stood leaning at the doorway puffing on a cigar and watching Ian's performance. Eventually one of Ian's aides interrupted him with a pointed cough and Ian looked up, spotted Hillnas and slapping his thigh he sunk the last of his Merlot and putting the glass down on the table stood.
     "Well ... I thank you for your hospitality Gentlemen. I'm afraid I have duties to attend." He then turned to me and smiled again.
     "I wish you joy of the coming fight Darius. Keep up the good work ... keep up the good work all of you. I know you will. What do we in the 'Bane carry to the Dragon?" To which of course we all roared;
     "BLOOD, DEATH AND PAIN!" We all cried out while jumping up into a round of crashing salutes and smiling Ian ushered Hillnas into the APC and the infantry troops of Ian's bodyguard detachment all filed back inside behind them and then with a cloud of dust they were gone back into the town. I scowled as I realised that while he'd woven his story the cheap bugger had drunk the last remaining half bottle of the Merlot and I resigned myself to drinking my fears into submission with the foul cactus-juice concoction that seemed to be the only alcohol drunk by the locals.

[Tokage]

14

     The advance from Cactus Flats to Colterville began at local dawn of the next day, precisely 11:07 hours of October 7th TSC. It was a distance of roughly one hundred klicks from the Flats to Colterville, mainly across the hard white dust fields of the Bone Desert and we made slow going.
     In an attempt to speed things up the Prince had split the RCT into three flying columns, each centred around one of the 'Mech battalions, ahead of each were fanned out three Lances of recon 'Mechs. Along the flanks of each column stamped several RFL-3N Riflemen, their quad-autocannons pointed up at the blue sky and moving slowly back and forwards, whilst the wing shaped Garret antennae over their heads revolved scanning for enemy aero-elements. Our Lance was firmly in the middle of the First Column thankfully and though we'd occasionally hear stuttering cannon fire from the Riflemen or the Partisan tank units that also rolled alongside us, the closest I came to seeing an enemy was stamping past the flaming wreckage of two DCMS Guardian ground attack aircraft.
     As I say we made slow going though, our recon scouts kept stopping to fully check the dangerous gullies and defiles that began to break up the flat desert plains the further north we got and I overheard some comm chatter about the First Prince becoming angry up at the head of the line. At the point where the desert broke into scrubby grasslands the second column was hit by a devastatingly fast moving Second Sword raiding party. We could hear the fierce exchange of gunfire in the distance to our right and a string of large seeming explosions and plumes of black smoke began to appear along the horizon.
     The battle only lasted some ten minutes, before the Snakes sped away as quick as they'd come and by the time our column reached the battlefield they were long gone. Two Sword JR7-D Jenners lay in flames, but some four of our 'Mechs were downed, two more were in a bad way, a pair of coolant tankers were burning like gigantic phosphorous flares and we'd lost three MechWarriors and some three dozen infantry grunts whose APCs had been stomped. It was a real mess and a lot of my comrades were thrown into paroxysms of righteous fury, cursing the wicked trickery of the Kuritans and swearing vengeance when Colterville fell. Personally, despite being sure to join in and bluster loudly about how I'd teach those Sworders a lesson in manners when I caught up to them, I was privately developing a healthy fear of the Second Sword and would have been beyond happy to run as fast as possible back to our DropShips and let the Dragon keep this awful planet.
    As an unpleasant note, it was here that I discovered our immune jabs only seemed to work while we remained alive and breathing, as the charred bodies of the dead were soon covered in foul quivering swarms of megants, fever-flies and lionroaches. Later in the campaign as the corpses really began to pile up, both our Med-Techs and the enemy's used this fact as a quick way of telling wounded from dead. If the insects descended on a body it was a sure sign the fellow had kicked the bucket.
    In the end, what with spending a couple of hours guarding the wounded second column whilst the Techs, Medicos and grunts tried to salvage what human and mechanical remains they could, it took us a total of nine hours to finally sight Colterville.
    I have to say I was appalled by what I could see of the place from our hastily established lines some half a mile or more away from the great city walls. Colterville was the largest city on the continent of Joshua, located at the southern edge of the verdant coastal hills near the continent's northernmost shore and apparently grew from modest beginnings, originally being a small trading community, that to eventually serve as the northernmost hub for the cross-desert trokking route. According to the travel guide I had saved onto my E-pad, the original trok-stop had been operated by the Colterman family, a gang of clannish crooks who'd dominated a smuggling empire that covered most of the planet from here during the Age of War. With the coming of the Star League era however the Coltermans affected an air of respectability and had became Hegemony nobility. Since then the Colterman family had probably switched sides more times than a Lyran merchant lies. They'd made sure their city was able to survive anything short of nuclear attack however and since the days of the First Succession War Colterville had become heavily fortified.
     The city that we gazed upon in '13 in horror was surrounded by a great double circle some five klicks wide of heavily fortified, grey-black ferrocrete anti-'Mech walls standing ninety odd meters high and bristling with artillery bunkers, missile batteries, mosquito towers, gun emplacements and doubtless many nastier hidden defences such as 'Mech traps, backstab bunkers (sensor baffled bunkers built into the backside of defiles and hills), mine fields and who knew what else.
     I could just make out the red tiled roofs and spires of blockish, probably equally fortified, grey stone buildings within the great walls. Moving across the rim of the enormous walls themselves were crowds of DCMS infantry and here and there a 'Mech or two.
     "By Blake's Blessed Balls, that's a monster aint it!" Labroc gasped beside me and I gulped. Not only was Colterville clearly a highly fortified position, it's defenders included at least two battalions of some of the best MechWarriors in the Inner Sphere, or anywhere else come to that. Before I could frame an answer Captain Hillnas's voice broke my tremulous chain of thought.
     "Okay boys. Stop sight seeing and muster on me at the ruined Hegemony stadium at grid Gamma-oh-Seven."

* * *

     By the time myself, Labroc and Holloway made it through the great mass of our tanks, infantry APCs, coolant bowsers, scout vehicles, infantry lines and the general ordered chaos of an army arriving at it's target and setting up it's shop, it was night and a very loud chirruping chorus of some variety of the local insect-life filled the air.
     The old Hegemony Stadium had once been a domed sports arena, presumably quite an important one as, even ruined, it commanded respect by it's sheer monumental scale. We walked our 'Mechs through a tumbled down, overgrown gap in the walls where once one of the entrances must have been located and I still felt dwarfed by the towering seventy meter high remnants of the stands we passed under. Hundreds of years ago this stadium must have seated tens of thousands, now it was a quarry for nearby Colterville and home to vermin and birds. I felt a strange sadness at all that had been lost with the Star League, perhaps for the first time in my life ... back home on Killarney we were far from the border wars, but here the devastation and a bleak awareness of the senselessness of nearly three centuries of war seemed very immediate.
      Our Company was in the process of erecting a large temporary camp on the great bare grassy space at the heart of the arena, along with another company and a battalion of tanks, I noted busy infantrymen setting up man-portable PPCs in makeshift emplacements at several points around the crumbling ring of white stone and six Vedette tanks rumbled out past us as we were entering, their headlamps dazzling, presumably on their way to patrol the outer edge of the Stadium perimeter.
     We stamped our machines carefully through the lines of tents, past tanks and crouched, deactivated 'Mechs, upon which clambered dozens of Techs. Then up ahead I spotted Hillnas's Marauder alongside the other 'Mechs of our Company at the far end of the now roofless arena. We hurried over, stopped our 'Mechs, crouched them down and popped our cockpits.
     A Tech found the time to hold the end of my cockpit rope ladder for me and as I clambered onto the grass I snapped an order at him to find me a drink as I tugged over my fingerless MechWarrior gloves and shivered at the chill in the night air. Waiting for Labroc and Holloway to get down, whilst taking the gin and tonic proffered to me in a battered tin cup by the grubby Tech, I looked down at a pile of white pseudomarble blocks, perhaps tumbled from the roof centuries back. Seeing some faded graffiti scratched into the largest of the blocks I knelt and rubbed at the moss growing half across it, it was in Anglic and depicted a crudely carved shark emblem. The graffiti above the image read;
- Demolished by Order of His Imperial Majesty Stefan Amaris -
- Courtesy of the 13th RLL - You put 'em up, we knock 'em down -
- 20th January 2772 -
     There was some kind of Chinese writing painted over part of the scratched engraving, but time and the elements had all but worn that away and besides we couldn't read Chinese.
     "What you found Dee?" Labroc stopped over me, I sipped my G&T and looked up.
     "Nothing old chap, nothing." I got up and alongside Labroc followed Holloway up to the Captain's large command tent, whilst inwardly brooding over how little had changed in nearly two hundred and fifty years and that soon we'd be the one's doing the demolishing, well in theory at least, at that time I was far from certain it would be that easy.

* * *

     D'you know I don't actually recall very much about the briefing session prior to the catastrophic first attack on Colterville, I was probably half in a funk at the time and mainly concentrating upon not soiling my pants, or perhaps the horrors that were to come have blotted out this quiet before the storm in my mind. I do recall the remaining ten of us from our company were there, including Captain Hillnas of course, but I'm also fairly sure that Eugene Drivers was in attendance.
     If my memory isn't playing me false Gene Drivers, Ian's XO in the Fourth at that time, had personally brought Hillnas his sealed orders because our Company's role in the attack on the city was to be an important one and Gene, being an efficient and thoughtful man had wanted to stress this to us all personally. He'd met me briefly at Ian's dinner as you may recall and he nodded politely at me as I entered the tent. In later years he was to become a friend and at one point even tried to try to get me to marry his horse faced middle daughter, but that's another story.
     Gene Drivers is one of those AFFS bright lights you will know these days by his shining record and public repute and in my experience, for once, I'd say he deserved his plaudits. Since he took over the Fourth Guards after the events of this campaign his career has been almost flawless, leading the 'Bane with distinction throughout the grinding three year war that was to drag on across Mallory's World, long after my story there ended, he later knocked one of Liao's vaunted Warrior Houses into a cocked hat on Aldebaran during the Fourth Succession War and came within an inch of actually capturing Teddy K himself on Exeter during the '39. In command of troops in battle he was fearless, inventive and daring. He was a clever General, very well versed in the use of combined arms tactics long before everyone was crediting Hanse with inventing them.
     Personally he was a nice fellow; rather ordinary looking, from a good family, he had a dry sense of humour, wasn't boastful like Ross McKinnon, or borderline psychotic like Stephen Davion, nor manipulative like Hanse, or pious like Sortek. He was a professional soldier of the best kind. He didn't fight for grand goals, airy ideas of nobility, or the lost Star League ... he fought for his men, all of them, right down to tankers and even the common PBI.
     He stood behind Hillnas, I think, as our Captain handed out data slugs for our E-pads which when we plugged them in showed maps of Colterville. I recall Hillnas, in an even voice, pointing out there were four major and two minor gates through the city's walls, three of the major routes in were roads used by the big-rig multi-wheeled armoured troks that shipped goods across the Bone Desert, to and from the distant Sopolar Coastal City-States. The fourth major gate was an access point for a maglev line that ran from Colterville east to Harrison's Ferry, the busy main sea port on Joshua's northern coast. Hillnas looked up from his E-pad, the green light of it's digital screen reflecting in his eyes as he ominously stated;
     "We've got the job of knocking out that maglev line and thereby smashing a breach into the outer wall at the gate the line enters the city through." Everything he said after that I didn't hear, my mind was too busy racing. I had to think of a plausible way to get out of this insanity. An attack on those walls was suicide, we'd be blown to tatters in less time than it would take to kill a Capellan.
     I could shoot myself in my foot, 'while cleaning my sidearm'. No, I decided, way too painful and besides too bloody obvious.
     Perhaps I could stop taking my jabs and I'd go down with one of the foul diseases carried by the swarms of bugs here? It took barely a moment to dismiss that idea, the very thought of those hideous little things crawling on me and pumping their filth into my bloodstream nearly made me retch there and then. Besides it would take days for the jabs to stop working.
     Dessertion? They shot you for that and besides I wanted to come out of this alive and with a good name at least fairly intact. Besides I didn't fancy wandering about this continent alone, even in a BattleMech, the place was positively crawling with Kuritans.
     Then my one chance came up. Something Hillnas said intruded upon my thoughts.
     "Ah, what was that Sir?" I asked as politely as I could. Hillnas looked mildly annoyed as he responded.
     "I said Holloway's got the Fire Lance, I'm giving him a brevet Leftenantcy, to be confirmed after the completion of the campaign." Even as Hillnas said it I saw clearly what I could do. I would have to be careful though. Keeping my face blank I simply stepped back, while seeing my deliberately stony face some of the others looked at me curious like. Attention was swiftly taken off of me when the ground shook and then we all heard the steady 'crump-crump-crumpa-crump' of a rolling barrage. Long Toms from the RCT's Artillery Battalion by the sound of it.
     "Well, that's it. We've got four hours before we need to be ready while the artillery targets the appropriate turrets. Before you stand down, I think the Major General here would like a brief few words." Hillnas stood aside as Gene stepped up smartly, so his accountant's features were in the light of the electric lamp on the briefing table.
     "Lads, you've pulled a tough one. If you boys make the breach, don't push into the city, hold that breach and we'll get to you as fast as is humanly possible. Remember what Captain Hillnas has told you about that man hiding behind those walls over there, if we can get him alive the First Prince wants him ... but he probably wont be at the wall anyway." I wondered who the hell Gene was referring to and suddenly wished I'd managed to concentrate on the briefing better ... oh well, I inwardly shrugged, if my plan went right I shouldn't be with the lads when they went to their deaths at the maglev gate anyway.
     "So then a tough one ... but that's no change for us is it?" The chaps all cheered, to which I joined in as enthusiastically as I could struggle to manage.
     "Haha, well then, remember who you are, you're Guards. But above that you're the Dragon's Bane! What will you give 'em?" To which the motto was bellowed once more.
     "BLOOD, DEATH AND PAIN!!"

* * *

     I deliberately hung back when the others filed out chatting excitedly amongst themselves and Gene hurried off, after a quick shake of the hands to each of us, to give orders to other units. Hillnas glanced up from his E-pad.
     "What is it Darius. Get some chow and a little shuteye. We've got an early start." I stood to attention and cleared my throat.
     "Sir, it is with the deepest regret I must request a transfer to another unit." Hillnas dropped his E-pad in shock and looked up at me with a stunned expression on his face.
     "Have you lost your mind?" He gasped, gazing at me as if in horror. "We're four hours away from a major battle and you want a transfer?" I knew precisely how I was going to play this but that didn't stop my heart thundering with fear. If my strategy went wrong I could end up in serious trouble. However I knew if I worked this correctly I could earn the sympathy of at least a section of the Guards, whilst slipping out of the assault on the maglev gate, which was the thing uppermost in my mind at that time.
     "Sir ... it is with great sadness I feel I must request this. It is a matter of my honour." Hillnas frowned and narrowed his eyes.
     "Darius we all get scared. Why I recall I wet -" Leaping in as I'd planned I strived for a look of truly pained hurt.
     "Sir, please do not think that of me! I assure you that is not it. You know I'm no coward." He looked at me doubtfully, I could see the confusion in his eyes. Then as if making a big decision I spoke again slowly.
     "Very well then, if you must have the truth ... I cannot, on my honour as a Davion and a MechWarrior, serve under a jumped up grease monkey." Hillnas rocked back in his chair at this and sighed.
     "Darius, Clive Holloway is an eight year combat veteran and has four years as a front line Tech under his belt before that. He's got a fine service record and is besides by far the most senior MechWarrior not yet an officer in the Battalion, I cannot in good conscience pass him over. Surely you don't think you should replace Leftenant Feruc?"
      "Of course not Sir. I'm just a greenhorn when it comes to campaigning and I accept everything you say and while I'm sure Holloway's a fine 'Mech pilot ... technically ... I feel I have to point out, you haven't had to socialise with him much. I assure you he's boorish and crude and certainly not a Gentleman." Hillnas frowned and raised his eyebrows.
      "Some of the other chaps speak very highly of him, they say he has the makings of a top flight officer. Why he'd not have made the Brigade if he didn't surely?" Oh, I will go to Hell I know, but to be honest I'd have cheerfully trampled over the careers of a thousand Holloways if it saved my skin and I'd do the same thing tomorrow if the circumstances demanded it. This trick would never work these days of course, under Hanse's military reforms anyone, no matter how low their blood, can be an officer in the Guards if good enough. Back then the class divide was much larger however and there were very few non-nobles in the Brigade. Most Guards MechWarriors in those days wouldn't be happy about serving under a self taught commoner. Hillnas was from a good family and though prepared to be even handed with his men, he possessed the same inbred prejudices we all did. I saw him weighing things up and I could see he'd made a decision. He didn't seem to be glaring at me so I thought I had succeded and Hillnas would send me to a different unit.
     "Well, it doesn't sit well with me, I can tell you that. But I do owe you for that Saladin." I was sighing inwardly already, I'd done it. I was out. Hillnas was going to allow my transfer, hopefully I could now begin to wrangle the safest unit to get posted across too before Hillnas and his men committed collective suicide the next morning.
     "I'll reverse the brevet, it's not been filed yet anyway. Jack Labroc can have it." I think I was even beginning to thank Hillnas for the transfer when it sunk in I was going nowhere and coupled to that had dashed Holloway's promotion into the bargain. Holloway, the hard fighting man with the grizzly knife scars on his face.
     Oh Jesus, I thought as I walked out of that tent in a daze. If by some miracle the Kuritans didn't kill me, now Holloway probably would.

[Tokage]

15

    One thing I learnt after Colterville was that, no matter how scared you might be at the time, you must make sure you listen carefully at briefings. Being distracted and engaged in ultimately fruitless windy plotting during Hillnas's briefing would end up landing me in a far worse position than I was already in.
     I don't know if any of you have had the misfortune to take part in a siege. Personally, I've been on both sides of the walls more than once; for example I was with Lester Otto on Marlette in '44 at Fort Bourgogne when the Big Mac ruined my fiftieth birthday bash by completely destroying the place. I spent three days of hell trying to break into Tikograd with the Lancers in '28 and was quaking on my knees alongside Anton Marik on New Delos in '15 when the Black Widows came literally smashing through the walls of his fortress. Oh yes I came to be quite the old siege hand and I have to say given the choice I'd rather be behind the walls than in front of them, I was to first learn this fact painfully at Colterville.
     I wasn't actually aware, as I walked my 'Mech behind Holloway's Whitworth through the night in an arc that would bring us around the eastern edge of the city, that various other elements of the RCT were also preparing to attack certain of the other gates. Ian had apparently decided it was better to spread the attacks and prevent the enemy defenders concentrating their fire on a single massive strike.
     I remember I was cursing the feverflies that, drawn to the lights of my HUD and console, were crawling across the outside of the armourglass of my cockpit's visor when we reached the attack mark. The artillery had fired for an hour upon the emplacements over the section of the wall we would be assaulting, before switching to target another sector of the city defences and we could see fires burning up on the distant wall. We were still about half a mile out from the city and to my right I could make out a long string of small winking lights, set into the maglev line I realised.
     We were running comm-silent and I sat quaking, my belly grumbling and making sounds not unlike those that might emanate from an Odessan Raxx with an upset stomach. The green light of the digital counter on my HUD began running down the last three minutes and time seemed to slow, I found myself thinking about the Sak, the flashing lights of the Lady's Dice Casino and the realisation that this was the pass my bad behaviour had brought me to. I think I prayed, promising never to gamble, drink or break curfew again if I could but survive this night. Well I survived but it could be argued that the man upstairs knew I'd break my promise and decided to punish me by arranging the events that were to directly follow that night's assault.
     The counter went into the last minute. The artillery were still firing on what sounded like the other side of the city and klaxons were blaring somewhere behind those dreadful walls. They must have known we were coming, they were readying their weapons.
     Thirty seconds. Oh mother, I'm sorry. I don't know where that thought came from, but a shrink would probably have a field day with me, I always seemed to come back to being worried about what mater would have to say about the bad times in my life. D'you know I actually cried out 'Sorry ma'ma.' that time on Butte Hold when I thought Redjack's Mrs, Maria Morgraine, was going to open up my belly with a carving knife. Actually saved my life too! Mrs Ryan found it so hilarious the murder-rage left her, she dropped the knife and rolled about laughing. Cheeky bitch.
     Ten ... nine ... oh Jesus please ... five ... four ... noooo. .. two ... one.

* * *

     My bleat of raw terror as the HUD counter flicked down to 00:00 was lost as, in an amazing piece of timing, four STU-K5 Stukas from one of our aero-wings roared over our heads towards the city. The Stuka was arguably the best aerospace fighter still in service in those days and they were firing shrieking clouds of long range missiles at the maglev gate within seconds of passing overhead. At those sort of ranges a 'Mech would always avoid missiles, barring bad luck, but a gate wasn't about to start dodging and we whooped as we saw missile after missile hit home, until the gate seemed one continuous roiling ball of flame in the night.
     The Stukas were soon much closer to the walls and still operational gun emplacements began sending up streams of very accurate looking tracer fire and laser beams. The Stukas beginning a deadly dangerous wheeling game of dodge and fire over and around the gate area.
     Meanwhile, accompanied by a battalion of armour we were steaming hell for leather towards the damaged, though clearly still very much secured gates. I could hear the aerojocks talking with each other over the comm as we advanced.
     "Fox-Twenty away."
     "Roger that Rebel, you have a confirmed hit. Watch that PPC battery to the right."
     "Hey don't worry Bossman, I'm all over that Snake mother'. Say hello to a Cyclomite CX-12 four-pack you murdering Snake scum!" I could see the Stuka piloted by the aerojock call-signed Rebel arc up and around, then run his hundred ton beast of an aerospace fighter along the length of the wall and eventually spew a tight cluster of four short range missiles from under his craft's nose. They slammed into a bunker on the wall and I could hear the muffled flash-crump, as the CX-12 explosive warheads broke the bunker and presumably killed all within.
     "Hoooo-AHH!" Came the pilots shout followed by the rueful response of his superior, Bossman.
     "Okay, okay, hotshot, that's a magnum of champagne I owe you, now concentrate on the gate, I want to-" His comm ended in sudden static and we all saw one of the Stukas flash blue as at least two PPC bolts from behind the wall struck it. Aerospace fighters, like 'Mechs, are heavily shielded, in order to be able to resist the chance of a PPC hit's five megajoules or so of destructive electrical energy causing a massive electrical overload. I guessed Bossman's shielding was damaged or faulty as, though still intact, the Stuka span out of the sky. I didn't see if Bossman managed to punch out, his Stuka however plummeted down behind the wall and there followed a muffled explosion.
     "That Snake bastard in the Warhammer is mine!" Rebel's pained voice crackled over the comm and at that Captain Hillnas cut into the comm channel.
     "That's a negative Rebel, if that was a Warhammer that downed Bossman it could be Target Number One! Remember your orders and get that gate down. Leave any 'Mechs, especially Warhammers to us." Target Number One? I pondered, then realised we were getting into effective range ourselves.
     "Oh ... oh ... look how tall it is." I heard one of the tank commanders gasp in horror over the comm and I was in agreement with his shock. It's difficult to imagine how big an anti-'Mech wall actually is until you get close to it. They have to be high enough that 'Mechs can't just hit the the jets and jump over them y'see, to give you some idea ninety meters is roughly the height of a twenty story building, or if you prefer six times again as tall as an Atlas. Autocannon, missile, PPC and laser cannon batteries studded the areas to the right and left of the wall, not just on the top, but in great bristling hard-points covering large parts of the upper half or so.
     As we got to within perhaps three hundred meters the wall defences began to concentrate their fire primarily on us, leaving the remaining trio of Stukas to duel it out with the uppermost batteries. I was running my re-armoured and fixed up Enforcer somewhat behind Labroc and Holloway's 'Mechs at the left flank of the Company, while about twenty meters to our right were the Command Lance and to our left were a company of tanks, consisting mainly of fifty ton Vedettes.
     I can still remember see the surviving wall batteries open up. There was ripple of light all around the smoldering crater pocked gate and suddenly we were running towards a cloud of long range missile swarms, stabbing laser beams, flickering eye achingly bright PPC bolts and streams of tracer lit autocannon fire.
     A Vedette some five meters to my immediate left slewed and swerved as missiles rained about it, explosions ripping the earth up underneath and to it's sides, then eventually several missiles slammed into it's body. I kept running, risking a glance behind to see the crew bailing out as the missiles continued to fall, one landed on the turret as the commander was clambering out his hatch and I heard a metallic echo in the resulting explosion.
     My terror left me in a cold sweat despite the rising heat in my cockpit, the night was lit up like a massive firework display and we began firing back as best we were able at the run. As per our orders we strived to ignore the barrage coming down around us and aim for the gate. We were taking hits inside a minute or two.
     I saw Holloway's Whitworth shed a molten shower of armour fragments as autocannon shells tore into his right torso, causing him to nearly stop then run on again. As I ducked and dodged a quintet of streaking missiles, Chalmers shouted over the comm in an animated voice.
     "Urqhart's down! He's not moving, ahh Jesus his head's taken a hit."
     "Andy get a grip." Hillnas's voice sounded over the comm "We don't have time ... AHH ... shit ..." I glanced right to see Hillnas's Marauder stagger under a trio of flickering laser beams, ceramite armour melted explosively off the shark-like torso of the 'Mech and smoke billowed out.
     "The Captain's hit!" Labroc cried. I kept running and stopped some lighter caliber autocannon hits on my right arm, thankfully the armour there weathered it ably. Six or seven Vedettes were still up with me and churning along to my left, their tracks blurring, dirt flying behind them. It was then I hit the minefield, the thunder of my 'Mech's pistoning feet activating the vibration detecting mines, I actually felt the first of the mines begin to detonate and threw my 'Mech forwards towards what seemed to be a incline ahead. At least three ferocious explosions went off behind me, flaying armour from my 'Mech's back and legs, the blasts themselves throwing me bodily forwards into the gully-like defile.
     I rolled my damaged Enforcer onto it's back as best I could and registered two things in a split second of horror; firstly three of the Vedettes that had been with me were now just so much twisted metal, secondly I was staring through my cockpit visor directly into the double linked 70mm muzzles of a small ferrocrete backstab bunker's autocannons.
     Without conscious thought I raised both arms of my 'Mech and triggered first my own autocannon and then my heavy laser cannon. At that range I couldn't miss and my shots tore the bunker's weapons apart and then punched through into the bunker itself. To this day I've no idea how I managed to fire first, I told Hillnas about it some time later and he was of the opinion that the vibromines had been set too close to the bunker and when I'd triggered three rapid explosions the shock of the blasts may have knocked out the gunners. It occurred to me at the time I might have come in at such a lick they'd just been plain surprised and hadn't reacted in time. Well, whatever the reason, I was still alive, my 'Mech prone, behind me loomed the cliff-like walls and back the way I'd come my comrades were still being mauled.
     Hillnas was clearly still alive as I spotted his wounded Marauder flashing bolt after bolt of PPC fire at the gate some way over, whilst it's long barreled, top mounted Whirlwind 120mm autocannon sprayed rapid fire shots at the enemy batteries. Two Vedettes hammered across the gully I lay in and passed me without pausing, their guns also firing constant stuttering bursts at the gates.
     Labroc's Whitworth then appeared at the far side of the gully, limping on it's left leg and trailing severed myomers out of two laser burns, it's chest mounted pods firing missile after missile in shrieking volleys. As Labroc then jumped down into the gully he spotted me and I realised, despite the paralysing fear that gripped me, I'd better play the part.
     "Jacques, that you? Give me a hand up, I think I'm stuck in the mud."
     "Dee? Well if you will run ahead of us all trying to get to grips with the whole DCMS all by yourself what d'you expect? Okay I told you I'd look out for you. Here come along old fellow, let's get you up and we can go for the goal mouth together." Whitworths, like my Enforcer, don't have hands, so with a bit of two-ing and frowing we struggled my 'Mech upright. Further along the gully other members of the Company were jumping in, though that brave madman Hillnas kept on firing his PPC from the open, missile and cannon fire from the wall batteries carving the earth up around him.
     "Up and at 'em lads! We're almost at the gates." Came Hillnas's somewhat hoarse voice over the comm, his 'Mech cockpit must have been oven-hot the way he was spraying that PPC around. I risked a peek over the rim of the gully and could see the great fifty meter high gate set into the wall was riven with impact craters, burn scars and was positively glowing red where Hillnas had been flaying it with PPC bolts. The maglev line was a buckled ruin and had been successfully severed.
     Approximately half the batteries around the gate were still active, but great fires and gouts of smoke covered the rest. Above the gates the remaining Stukas were still in the air and seemed to have cleared most of the uppermost batteries and were now shooting beam after beam of laser canon fire into the gate.
     As I prepared to go over with the rest, I noted we'd only actually lost Urqhart and his Wasp, but we'd all taken damage and most of us were probably very low on missiles and cannon ammo. Oh and probably about half a battalion of tanks burned across the battlefield.
     "Up boys! UP!!" That's when I heard the squawk of surprise from Hillnas.
     "Huh? What're they up to ... ohhh hell, it's a sortie, the gates are opening. Prepare for 'Mechs."

[Tokage]

16

     The rest of the company were up and jetting, or clambering, over the edge of the gully towards the slowly opening gates so I had no choice but to join them. As I landed on the other side I found myself some twenty meters from the wall itself, the wall batteries had stopped, presumably so as not to fire upon their own 'Mechs that were about to come out of the gates, save for a couple of wall bunkers that is, which were still shrieking off volleys of short range missiles at Captain Hillnas, who was now moving down and across the defile.
     The Sword 'Mechs came out of those gates fast and two abreast, but we were all ready and they faced a massive volley from ten BattleMechs and a dozen or so tanks. I couldn't initially make out what model 'Mechs the front two were, we were just opening up with everything we had and I was wincing at the heat as I hit the triggers on my cannons over and over again. The din was intense as autocannons, lasers, missiles and PPCs smashed into the giant battle machines trying to get out of the city gates.
     Easing off the triggers for a few seconds to give my 'Mech's heat sinks time to cool things down somewhat I saw a pair of ON1-K Orions staggering forwards, great rents torn across their bodies, exposed ruptured myomers bleeding pinkish coolant fluid, smoke belching from fires burning across their molten armour. Only heavy 'Mechs like they were could have weathered the storm we'd laid down on them and still be standing, but they were clearly on their last legs. I made to fire my autocannon at the left of the pair, but was rewarded only by an awful dry click-clack sound that told me I was out of ammo. Hillnas's Marauder stalked past to my right and triggered off another shot from it's remaining PPC, the blue-white lightning smashed into the right Orion and fused it's innards, a rumbling explosion went off in the Kuritan 'Mech's chest and suddenly the MechWarrior punched out, his ejector chair spinning far up and away into the air.
      As the Orion fell and we all pushed forward, myself as far to the rear as I could manage, lighter, faster enemy 'Mechs began to run and jet out.
     "There they go, get that Panther someone." Hillnas shouted excitedly, I fired a long shot at the thirty five ton Panther the Captain had pointed out, but the Sword MechWarrior dodged it expertly and I cursed loudly.
     "Heh heh, never mind Dee, plenty more where he came from." Labroc said over the comm and he was certainly right. As the bitter, vicious struggle at the gates continued, more and more enemy 'Mechs were breaking out and drawing our right flank. We were doing damage to them and I think we downed three 'Mechs in as many minutes but there were simply too many of them and we were all wounded and most of us were down to energy weapons only.
     "There's your Warhammer Sir." Holloway's voice crackled over the comm to Hillnas and I wrenched my attention away from a Panther that was trying to loop around and I was having to keep at bay with my heavy laser cannon. The Warhammer came out of the city gates at a steady pace, there was something terrible about the grace with which the heavy seventy ton beast moved and I went numb with fear when I saw it rotate it's torso with an uncanny swiftness, and without seeming even to aim it loosed off twin PPC bolts into Labroc's Whitworth as Jacques was maneuvering to get the drop on a Dragon towards the centre of the increasingly confused and close quarter mellee.
     "What on Terra?" Labroc screamed as his 'Mech's torso armour was seared away in a glittering spray of molten ceramite. Trying to turn to face his attacker Labroc cried in anger as the Sword Warhammer danced elegantly to his right and opened up the missile pods beside it's head, then in a brief, shrieking burst sent six accurately placed CX-12 tipped short range missiles straight into Labroc's 'Mech.
     "Jacques get out of there NOW!" I screamed, seeing Labroc stood no chance against the Kuritan in the Warhammer. It was too late. Jacque's voice screamed, incoherent with terror, over the comm, then was abruptly cut short as the missiles exploded in a line across the Whitworth's torso and head, wrecking terrible damage with each hit. I saw, as if in slow motion, the smoke and explosions clear leaving the Whitworth strangely still standing but practically gone save for it's legs and it's lower and left torso, fire and smoke pluming out of the wreckage.
     Poor old Jacques, I'd liked him well enough and his death had seemed supremely cruel. The bastard in the Warhammer was already moving on to new targets, God but the bugger was cool, he seemed to be able to make that beast of his move like a Locust.
     Dodging by a hair's breadth a PPC blast from that Panther who was stalking me, I decided it was time to get out of this nightmare, before I ended up as dead as Labroc, Urqhart and Feruc. The problem was things were extremely confused by this time, about a company and a half of Sword 'Mechs had issued successfully out of the city and the area was a great mass of struggling war machines.
     I still don't quite know how I made my mistake, I think I heard, or perhaps imagined, Captain Hillnas call for a general retreat. I know I was having to edge further and further around the left flank of the battle towards the city walls, in order to avoid that tricky swine in the Panther who was gunning for me.
     I took a light hit to my 'Mech's head, I think from one of our own tankers who was firing his cannon almost randomly from across the battlefield so my head was ringing from the impact and my eyes were blurred, and blubbing with fear I just began running. I ran till I must have been going at least fifty kilometers an hour, I recall making out confused shapes and blurs that might have been 'Mechs as I sped on and I think I heard Hillnas calling out to me over my comm, but I'd lost it and no order or fear of court martial for desertion now mattered to me. All that mattered, all I cared about, was getting out of that field of death and destruction.
     I know now of course Hillnas had been amazed and ordering me to stop because he'd seen what he took to be an act of suicidal bravery, as your correspondent ran his battered Enforcer straight through the amazed Kuritan line and into Colterville itself!

[Tokage]

17

     I was to find out sometime later that Prince Ian had ordered a general retreat back from the walls of Colterville just minutes or seconds before I began my run. Naturally Hillnas and the boys were aghast and assumed I'd gone mad with rage at the death of my friend Jacques Labroc. They genuinely believed I was so enraged towards the Kuritans I was determined to get into the city and slaughter as many of them as I could.
     Incredible isn't it?
     However that's the story that became legend throughout the AFFS and later our nation at large. The newshounds of course lapped up the story and embellished it shamefully, for example I recall reading in some New Avalon rag or other, later in that year, that;
     "The noble Darius, his heart wounded beyond all solace, resolved upon only one suitable course of action to avenge his slain comrade in arms and friend. Only one thing could ease this heroic Davion son's suffering spirit. The city that they were fighting before must fall, or he would sacrifice himself in the attempt.
     Thus, despite hearing orders to pull back, Darius resolved to fight through to the heart of the enemy on Mallory's World. To strike one mighty blow to the heart of the Dragon in occupied Colterville."
     Well, there you go. Stirring stuff you'll agree. Of course when I'd run, I had thought I was heading away from the city, not into the blasted place and there was no 'fighting' my way through, I just surged straight past enemy and friend alike.
      I actually first began to come to my senses when I realised I was not in the open ground surrounding the city but bracketed into a street, with large gray ferrocrete buildings to either side of me. I think I was so befuddled with fear I actually stood looking around  trying to remember where these buildings were in the open country before the walls. Then I saw a platoon of DCMS regular infantry, dressed in plasteel helmets and brown flak vests over gray overalls, come marching out of an alleyway up ahead of me and begin to cross the street. I sat in my Enforcer watching them for a long moment, then looked left and found myself gazing up at the inside of the towering walls. I looked back amazed at the infantry stamping across the street, presumably heading to reinforce the wall garrison, and with a rushing, sickening feeling of renewed terror I realised I was inside the city ... alone.
     Just at that moment one of the Kuritan infantrymen glanced in my direction, I could see the look of puzzlement on his bland features and then his mouth moved animatedly. The file of infantry followed suit and began to scatter and raise their assault rifles, at the same moment as a searing flash of PPC fire struck the house to my rear.
     Ignoring the infantry I ran forward, away from that damned Panther that had come in after me. I think I probably squashed several of the infantrymen as I ran through them, I registered a faint 'tinkety-tink' sound as small arms fire spattered into my 'Mech, then I was deeper into the city.
     There followed a terrible game of hide and seek through the avenues, streets, plazas and squares of Colterville. Running through the street I'd come in on, I ducked left into a small plaza and then headed on up a side street, which I nearly caused to collapse behind me by accidentally slamming into the buildings on either side as I ran. The very footfalls of my 'Mech caused windows to shake and sometimes actually shatter and civilians and Kuritan soldiers rushed to doorways and windows as I passed.
     Klaxons were sounding everywhere and at one point I ran into a small industrial park full of perhaps a battalion more of DCMS infantry, sitting about on their armoured vehicles. I'd never seen the effects of 'Mech weaponry on human beings before this moment and was appalled as I leveled and fired my heavy laser cannon on them in a simmering beam. At least a dozen or so men and women instantly immolated under such intense heat they were flash-seared into explosive puffs of ash in seconds.
     Horrified at the power of a 'Mech against men, I waded through the scrambling mass of Kuritans trying to get away from me, whilst burning up any who stood and fought. Soon the area was full of wafting clouds of gray-white ash and tatters of charred uniforms.
     I hammered across the open space, ducked down into an adjacent area of warehouses, past a long line of civilian troks and out into another of the blockish civilian housing districts. Pulling up short I cast around for some kind of landmark, scrambled about with my hand down the side of my cockpit seat and pulled up my E-pad, which contained the map of Colterville we'd been given at Hillnas's briefing. The sound of cannon fire and artillery was distant and I fealt that it was probable the nights attack on the city had ended and clearly not in victory for our side.
     Well I've found myself in some equally tight straights since then and these days if I found myself in a 'Mech deep inside an enemy held city, with Sword of Light 'Mechs, tanks and infantry doubtless looking all over for me, the first thing I'd do is get out of the 'Mech and get inside a house or something. Back then of course I lacked the experience to realise this and thought that the 'Mech was the only thing that gave me a chance to survive.
      I was just pondering whether I was in the north or the south of Colterville when I heard the deep metallic thuds of a 'Mech's footsteps and my heart jumped into my mouth as that bloody Panther stalked catlike out from around the rearmost of the line of parked troks. D'you know I think the sadistic brute was taunting me, for he came on slowly, almost making his 'Mech saunter out into the open. Without a backward glance I was off again like a greyhound from a trap. Bounding, jumping and leaping down the street.
     "Oh please, oh please, oh please!" I kept whimpering to myself as I ran, this was the stuff of my worst nightmares.
     Buildings flew past on either side, some showing signs of the earlier shelling. At one corner, I had a glimpse of a pair of small children crouched by a dead woman lying across the sidewalk and then I was through and into a wide square, with a central fountain and lined with what looked like large administrative buildings.
     I was about twenty meters across the square when the 'Mechs began to appear. From sidestreets they stepped quietly out in ones and twos, Sword of Light 'Mechs in the same desert camouflage pattern as before. I screeched to a halt and gibbering to myself with raw manic terror turned to run back the way I'd come ... only to find myself facing that vicious sod in the Panther. I could almost hear his mocking laugh of victory. He had me dead.
    Turning slowly around I found I was surrounded by at least a company of Kuritan 'Mechs, their weapons leveled upon me, presumably awaiting the order to fire. I dropped my Enforcer to it's knees and futilely raised it's arms in surrender ... I knew the Snakes didn't take prisoners and mewled and wept at the injustice of life that I should come to such an end.

[Tokage]

18

     As I knelt there waiting for the guns to go off, I began to feel deep shudders go through my 'Mech as something big approached. The 'Mechs ahead of me parted to allow access for a towering BLR-1G Battlemaster that stamped towards me, the eighty five ton assault 'Mech stopped and towered over me and suddenly the pilot broadcast on loudspeaker in a booming Japanese accented voice.
     "I, Tendoru Zakahashi, Tai-i in command of Attack Company Ivory, 'Zakahashi's Zombies', of the Second Sword of Light Regiment, samurai of House Kurita and soldier of the Draconis Combine, do you the honour of acting as your second." With that the ruthless Snake bastard lifted the great right fist of his enormous 'Mech, clearly about to bring it down and smash in my cockpit. I was just about to spin my 'Mech backwards out of desperate instinct when there came a shout also on loudspeaker, but in rapid harshly spoken Japanese, so I could not understand what was being said.
     However Zakahashi stayed his hand and replied in a burst of similarly sharp toned Japanese, whilst I twisted about a little and realised it was the pilot of the Panther who had stopped Zakahashi stoving in my 'Mech's head. The exchange was brief and clearly heated but the Panther pilot seemed to win to some degree as Zakahashi took two heavy steps back from me, then his sour sounding voice echoed once more off of the surrounding buildings.
     "So be it. You are a prisoner of the DCMS. Open your cockpit Davionist dog, make any further moves and I will fry you." Well, as you might imagine, I very slowly popped the cockpit and stood up, my hands high in the air. It was a strange, awful moment, standing there in a cooling vest and boxer shorts, at the heart of a Kuritan held city with over a company of Sword of Light 'Mechs training enough weapons on my breast to burn down a cathedral.
     Squads of efficient looking DCMS shock-troopers ran past the feet of the 'Mechs and began shouting up at me in broken Anglic, motioning downwards with their assault rifles.
     "You-a come-a down Fedlat!"
     "We kirra you ... down ... DOWN!" I tossed my cockpit-ladder over and ever so cautiously began to climb slowly down to the ground. As I did so most of the 'Mechs began to fan out around the plaza and I noted the Panther nod it's head lightly in my direction and then turn and run back out into the city.
     "You dead man Fedlat!" As my foot touched the ground one of the Snake shock-troopers grabbed my shoulder, spun me about and kneed me hard in the groin. The pain doubled me up and there followed a savage volley of punches, kicks and rifle butts pummeling me until I was a bloody, sputtering mess in a fetal ball on the asphalt. One of the thugs, an officer I think, rapped out some orders in Japanese and I was grabbed by two of the soldiers and felt wrist binders snapped onto me, my arms painfully held behind my back.
     Then I was hustled along, my body a throbbing mass of stabbing, blinding pain. I gasped for mercy, but they ignored me. As we headed towards the largest building on the square, I noted a red flag emblazoned with the black coiled dragon emblem of the Combine, was draped limply over the front of the place.
     "Hey Fedlat. Rook, rook ... you rike yes?" I raised my nodding, pulped head to see what the bastard was gibbering about. The Kuritan infantry officer pushed his ugly mug into mine, his black eyes gleaming with wickedness as he then stepped back to reveal four or five infantrymen proudly standing in front of a row of about a dozen severed heads, set in a line upon a low wall in front of the steps leading up to the building's entrance. The black hearted scum were positively having their holos taken, each had struck a 'heroic' pose and big grins were spread across their features, while another stood laughing and snapping off a holo-recorder. At their feet were the half naked bodies of their victims. I gagged to see one of the soldiers idly waving gathering insects away from the heads.
     "You next Fedlat! You next." To which the swine laughed and made a slicing gesture with his finger across his neck. I was spitting vomit and retching as they hauled me up the bloodstained ferrocrete steps.
     As we reached the top, my captors halted and the officer approached the tall double doors, opened them a crack and shouted something in Japanese. At that the door opened and two soldiers in full yellow NBC bodysuits and bug eyed gas masks stamped out, some kind of flame thrower looking devices on their backs. Clouds of greenish smoke issued out around their ankles and dissipated in the air. In my beaten condition this pair seemed like some kind of alien executioners and I writhed and flinched away from them, till my friendly Kuritan tour guide smashed his fist like a sledge hammer into my face.
     As I was then dragged into the long foyer of the building I saw the wispy green smoke hanging close to the floor and one of the brutes dragging me along leaned down and spat into my face.
     "Kirra bugs, see. No more bugs, yes?" I realised he meant the NBC suited soldiers had been spraying insecticide as I then noted more signs of Kuritan occupation, a pathetic sprawl of bodies was huddled under blood stained bullet holes in the west wall. Seeing my eyes on the bodies, the helpful chap laughed.
     "They bugs too. Ha ha ha! You bug too." I was then half carried, half dragged into a cramped elevator and after another fearful round of beatings from the lads by way of an 'enjoy your stay', I was stripped naked and tossed into what appeared to be an old cleared out storeroom of some kind.
     D'you know when I told a class of cadets at the Sak last year about these events, leaving out any hint of cowardice on my part of course, some of them didn't believe me. They prattled on about noble samurai, about how Kuritans just hold to a different culture to us, that the Combine's not even an evil state really and that I was probably letting my prejudices colour my recollections of my captivity, the ignorant young pups!
     I don't know where this modern tendency to disbelieve in the every day atrocities that the DCMS routinely practised back then, and in my personal experience continue to do so at least as late as only a few years back, comes from. The O5P have not rewritten that murder manual the Dictum Honorium to the best of my knowledge and House Kurita still rules over historically Davion planets with an iron fist. I'd like to drop some of those pig headed cultural revisionists, dressed in Guards fig, onto a Kuritan border world and see how they manage to get along with the noble samurai and their attendant 'citizen soldiers'.
     Well then, that's by the way. I was a captive of the Second Sword of Light, I was too battered and bruised to care much why they'd not killed me, as was SOP for the DCMS according to our intelligence briefings. Still, despite sobbing with the pain and hugging my legs up against my chest on that cool, dry stone floor, I managed to breath a sigh of relief. I was still alive.

[Tokage]

19

     I don't know how long I was in that little storeroom-come-cell, I know I slept because I recall I was wracked by terrible nightmares where Asa Goldstein and my mother were chasing me around the empty streets of Colterville waving pig-sticker swords, whilst singing Dragon over the Stars. The dream ended abruptly when someone rammed a syringe into my right arm without any subtlty or preparation at all.
     My eyes snapped open and I screamed at the pain, firstly of the needle, then from all my swollen bruises from the beatings I'd taken courtesy of the Kuritan grunts. I found I was no longer in my bare cell but in what seemed to be a basement room, there were shelves along one wall, holding what looked like some kind of ledger books, no windows and only the one door. The white walled room was lit by a single bare light bulb in the centre of the ceiling.
     I was still naked and sat on a chair directly under the light, my arms and legs secured to the chair with binders. Looking down at my body I sobbed to see the black and purple bruises covering most of my belly, groin, arms and legs. Meanwhile, a tall slim man with shaven blonde hair, wearing an ornate turquoise and yellow gown, stepped back from my side and placed the long syringe he'd just stabbed me with onto a blue velvet cushion set on a little silver trolley.
     "What the? What's that? What have you done to me?" I pleaded with the strangely dressed man, but he simply ignored me and stepped back, then stood staring down at me with his blank blue eyes. I tried wheedling, begging and even ordering him to speak to me, but the passive swine just stood there for ten minutes or more, then turned as the door opened and three DCMS MechWarrior officers entered laughing and chatting to each other.
     They were dressed in smart uniforms, consisting of dark grey jerseys with a thin red stripe running across the chest, metal rank insignia gleamed at their left collars and the Kuritan Dragon emblem was stitched onto their left sleeves, and dark grey trousers with red piping running down each leg, calf length polished black jackboots and black visored caps bearing the Sword of Light's flaming sabre badge. Each also wore a wide black leather belt, with a circular silver buckle wrought in the shape of the Kuritan Dragon emblem and a holstered pistol at their hips.
     There were two men and a woman. I knew enough from intelligence briefings at the Sak to spot that the first man through the door wore the blue metal badge of a Tai-i, or Captain, whilst the other man and the woman both wore the three blue bars of Chu-i, or Leftenants.
     The Tai-i was a short, wiry man with apparently buzz cut black hair under his cap, his face was brutally ugly and ravaged by what looked like some kind of pox scars. He was carrying a lacquered black box about the size of a laptop P-comp.
     The other man was much taller, broader and more obviously muscular looking, in fact he looked like your average backwater Fed Suns farm hand, with a handsome, if somewhat bovine face and blonde hair.
     The female Chu-i, quite a rarity in the DCMS back then, was a peach, possessing a heart shaped, soft featured face, pillow lips, small nose and big brown eyes. Her lustrous looking black hair was bound up at her neck in a tight bun and she had a slim, long legged body and high firm breasts. I think even in my somewhat compromised position, sitting as I was bound to a chair stark naked and covered in bruises, my natural instincts kicked in and I tried to catch her eye.
     The three officers all gave brisk Kuritan salutes to the robed mute standing to my side, their right arms crossing their breasts, their fists clenched over their hearts. The robed man bowed politely back. Then the little Tai-i rattled off a string of Japanese, during which I made a vow to myself that should I survive this ordeal and escape Mallory's World I would make it my first job to learn how to speak Japanese. Which promise to myself I did actually keep by the way.
     The robed man answered in a deep, soft voice and then glided out past them, leaving the three 'Mech officers standing before me. I looked up into the Tai-i's slant eyes and gulped. I saw he had placed the black box he had entered with down on the floor in front of my chair and was holding up my dog-tags and making a show of reading them.
     "MechWarrior Darius Davion, Fourth RCT, Davion Brigade of Guards." I recognised his rasping, Japanese accented, voice as that of Zakahashi, the swine in the Battlemaster who'd been about to kill me out in the square.
     Well now, in your typical boys own story, this would be the part where I clam up as tight as a nun's privates and refuse to give the evil Snakes any information, no matter what dreadful tortures they might concoct. As you might imagine however I am not so stupid. I'd decided immediately I guessed we were in for a spot of torture to tell them anything and everything they wanted to know.
     "Yes, that's me. What do you want to know?" I blurted already in a half panic. They glanced at each other and Zakahashi stepped closer to me, I could smell some vile spice on his breath and pulled my head back from his pox scarred mush as best I was able.
     "Darius Davion." He lingered on my surname like it was giving him real physical pleasure. "I'm Tai-i Tendoru Zakahashi, commanding officer of Zakahashi's Zombies, these are my Chu-is Susie Elgin and Bob Crenshaw. You will have heard of our unit I would imagine?" I looked blankly at him for a moment, I probably should have known of these particular Snakes, we got plenty of intelligence primers on the various known companies of the Second Sword back at Cactus Flats after all, but I'd lazily skipped them all so had no idea who they were. Naturally however I spewed out a great flood of entirely invented complimentary twaddle.
     "Oh yes, the Zombies, oh my, we've all heard of you fellas, I mean yes, you're the best MechWarriors Kurita's had since Musashi, Svenson and Kazutoyo! We were told you were holding this place practically single handed. The brass are terrified of you!" I tailed off as Zakahashi stepped back, looking inscrutable, then turned to his cohorts and began laughing. They joined in and petrified I giggled a little too ... well maybe we were all going to be friends? Zakahashi stopped laughing suddenly and leaned back down towards me.
     "I think you're lying ... I think you've never heard of us?" I stammered that wasn't the case at all and he waved his hand.
     "That is, how do you say ... no skin off of the nose? It is good to be reminded sometimes of the failings of your vaunted spies." He straightened up and began pacing around me in a circle most distractingly, for it's certainly no fun to not be able to see a DCMS officer who may be about to club you from behind.
     "We are the 'foreign' company of the Second Sword." Coming back around he spotted my blank expression, tutted in exasperation then continued. "Officially race is not a factor in our universal state and only a MechWarrior or soldiers skill and loyalty matters. However, in reality, those of Japanese lineage are valued higher generally speaking. Thus in a regiment of such prestige of ours there is an unofficial tendency to lump fighters of different cultural and racial backgrounds into specific companies. We are one of those, however you should not think us in any way less loyal, less devoted to the Dragon, than our comrades ... our company contains men who've struggled through some of the hardest battles and toughest fighting imaginable to attain the highest honour a DCMS MechWarrior can aspire to; joining the Sword of Light." I nodded mutely and he paced around behind my back again, then placed his cold hands on my shoulders and made me jump in terror.
     "So you are a Davion? One of the ruling line? A member of the great enemy clan of our House Kurita?" I nodded again.
     "Yes Sir. Uhh is there some information I can ... ahh ... provide for you? Because I feel, I should help you fellows as best I'm able and -" He left his hands on my shoulders and leaned down to whisper in my ear.
     "Shhhh ... be silent Darius. You will tell us all you know. But first you should be aware you will never leave this room. I intend to watch you die here. I've always wanted to kill a Davion family member for my Coordinator and now I can. Why, when that upstart Tetsuhara demanded you were taken for interrogation I was furious, but what a service the black swine did me ... had I known who you were then I would never have allowed you such a quick and honourable death." I began sobbing uncontrollably with fear. This chap was clearly as mad as Maximilian and intended to torture me to death.
     "Nooo, you have to -sob- send me to a -sob- prisoner of war camp - and abide by the -sob- Ares Conventions dictat on -sob- prisoners in wartime." The three brutes, even that cracking little piece Susie Elgin, sneered down at me and Zakahashi stamped back around from behind me to stand before me, hands on hips, a look of complete loathing spread across his foul features.
     "You worthless offal. You cowardly gutter rat. I always suspected the rulers of your realm were not real warriors, now I see evidence this is truth." He drew his black metal, snub nosed, auto-pistol and I wailed thinking he was going to shoot me, but he simply pistol whipped me, breaking my nose in the process, blood spattering down my chest. The pain robbed me of the ability to think for a while, then as my vision cleared through the blur of tears, I saw the brute had holstered his pistol and was holding the lacquered box he'd previously put down on the floor before me.
     "Do you wish to know what it was that Brother Physician Larraby injected you with before?" I gulped and nodded. "It was a serum that reverses the effects of the immune jabs everyone visiting or living on this planet must take, in order to ward off the voracious local insect life." I think I screamed upon guessing where this was headed. He waited for me to stop screaming and continued.
     "In this box are several of one of the more nasty breeds of that insect life. Lionroaches to be precise."
     "Nooo, please, look I'm rich. I can get you money, C-Bills! As much as you like. Please be a sport. You're a samurai. A Gentleman ... well sort of." I was blurting out anything I could think of to get out of this, Zakahashi's face darkened and he flicked a hand at Elgin. She stepped elegantly forward, leaned in and to my surprise silenced me by kissing me gently with her oh-so-soft lips. Well I was just musing with surprise this must be what they mean by 'good cop - bad cop' interrogation technique, and how much more I preferred her 'good cop' to Zakahashi's bad, when the bitch bit down hard on my lower lip, drawing blood and began laying into me with a quick succession of rabbit punches to my gut.
     "Do not ever attempt to buy my honour again you dog." Zakahashi spat, as that minx Elgin stepped back, wiping my blood from her chin.
     "Now, where was I? Ah yes ... the lionroaches." He opened the box and upended it over my lap, six or seven tan coloured thumb sized insects landed on me and I tugged and struggled ineffectually against my bonds. The chair seemed to be secured in some way to the floor. Zakahashi leaned his face in so close to mine I could feel his spice stinking spital hit me as he crowed.
      "These little creatures are quite fascinating you know. They burrow into the flesh of mammals, deep down so that they cannot be dislodged or scratched out, then lay their eggs. The eggs hatch within about thirty six hours and the young eat themselves fat from the flesh of their host. Their bites also typically carry several fatal diseases." I screamed myself hoarse while the sadistic maniac gave his little lecture like some deeply twisted professor, and I began to feel the stinging needle pricks of the lionroaches sharp ended little legs prick their way up my bare thighs and into my bruised crotch.
     "They like to makes their nests in warm, damp parts of the body, you are lucky your backside is firmly on that seat. However your mouth, nose and eyes will be their likely targets. They will make of your flesh a nest Davion. You should pray their venom kills you before their eggs hatch and their young feast upon you."
     I futilely thrashed against the tight bindings and screamed, I saw Zakahashi and his two juniors begin to laugh and I think I actually went a little mad with the horror as the pin pricks reached my belly and continued on up towards my thrashing head.

[Tokage]

20

     The lionroaches were making their way up my neck when the door slammed open and three more DCMS officers stamped into the basement. One was dressed in the same dark grey uniform as Zakahashi and his juniors but the other two were wearing the elegant all black tunic, trousers and jackboots of senior officers. As Japanese orders were barked I felt one of the lionroaches climb across my chin then begin probing at my lower lip with it's horrid flickering little pincers ... I bit hard and caught the thing's head in my front teeth.
     By this time I was a struggling, sweating, screaming, bleeding mess and I could hear harsh protesting from Zakahashi as one of the newcomers; a black skinned Chu-i, hurried over to me and tugged and flicked the lionroaches from my crawling skin, then crushed them most satisfyingly under his boots. I gasped my undying gratitude and looked up at him, he looked to be in his mid twenties and was not a particularly handsome man, having a wide, flat nose and thick down turned lips, but his brown eyes were soulful and bright with intelligence. He bowed his head briefly to me and it reminded me of the move made by the Panther in the plaza, this then must be the Tetsuhara mentioned by Zakahashi.
     He then turned and there followed a one sided discussion, the senior officer who was wearing the apple green insignia of a DCMS Chu-sa, a Leftenant-Colonel, was speaking softly, yet clearly firmly to Zakahashi, who was obviously protesting the summary cessation of my torture. However I could tell Zakahashi was on the back foot with this newcomer, as to each of Zakahashi's bitter protests the Chu-sa would simply say a few quiet words and each time Zakahashi clearly backed down some more.
     The Chu-sa was perhaps in his mid thirties or so, he was not wearing a cap so his close shaven dark hair was visible, as were his glittering dark eyes and a face dominated by a long thin nose, he was not a tall man but he had an amazing presence to him. I don't believe in all that mystical Kuritan nonsense, but I swear I could feel an energy, a power, practically pulsing from him.
     The third fellow was a handsome and youngish looking Sho-sa, who seemed very deferential towards the Chu-sa, presumably being his aide.
     I wasn't to know it at the time, but those three newcomers would in later years go on to change the structure of the DCMS in ways that would have seemed impossible back in '13, and in future decades I was to be pumped by the DMI for my memories about them.
     They were Chu-sa Yorinaga Kurita, cousin to the Coordinator himself and then commander of one of the Second Sword's battalions. Even then he was regarded by the Kuritans and our military analysts alike as perhaps the deadliest MechWarrior then serving in the DCMS. Of course he went on to command the Second Sword for the next three years, until his fateful duel with Morgan Kell, and then vanished into the back of beyond until '27, when he reappeared at the head of the Genyosha, in my experience and opinion the best 'Mech regiment to ever fight for the Dragon. The black skinned Chu-i was Minobu Tetsuhara, who would go on to become the godfather of the Ryuken and close friends with Jaime Wolf. The Sho-sa was Narimasa Asano, who had then just joined the Second Sword's Command Staff and was clearly in awe of his new commander, as you will be aware he would one day inherit command of the Genyosha from his hero Yorinaga.
     I wasn't aware of any of this back then of course and was simply grateful that it looked like these newcomers were going to haul my fat out of the fire, so to speak. Eventually Zakahashi shut up, bowed from his waist stiffly and the Chu-sa turned and walked over to stand before me. His bright eyes fixed on mine and I felt a strange calmness descend upon me.
     "Konichi wa, Davion san. I am Chu-sa Kurita Yorinaga, I command these officers and offer my sincere apologies for their actions. War sometimes makes men forget the path of honour and can lead to these kind of acts ... shigata ga nai." His voice was low, rich and soothing. I've never met another man, before or since, who had such dignity, such economy of movement, such control of mind and body.
      "You are a MechWarrior of the Fourth Regiment of the Davion Guards are you not?" I nodded mutely. "Good. Please confirm for me ... is the First Prince here on Mallory's World?" I nodded again and a flicker of emotion showed in his face, his eyes gleamed all the more and he actually allowed a smile to break that emotionless face. I noted the other officers in the basement also smiled like cats that had been told a fat mouse would be along shortly and it was at that moment I twigged that this was that Yorinaga Kurita; the best MechWarrior in an entire nation of skilled MechWarriors, direct cousin to the Coordinator, undoubtedly the pilot of the Warhammer that Hillnas had dubbed 'Target Number One' and the man who had killed Jacques Labroc.
     I was still a little stunned as, at orders from Yorinaga, Asano and Tetsuhara freed me from my bonds and helped me out past the still furiously scowling trio of Zakahashi, Elgin and Crenshaw. As I passed them I noted Zakahashi's wicked eyes fixed on mine and realised if I ever crossed his path again I could expect him to continue what had been interrupted. Being the man I am however, I couldn't resist a little twist of the knife and so at the door turned in my rescuers arms and threw Zakahashi a mocking wink and wrenching my right arm free from Asano for a moment, flipped Zakahashi the bird. The door closed just in time for me to avoid catching their reaction, but I heard what sounded like a great crash as Zakahashi presumably tore down the book shelves in fury.

* * *

     Yorinaga left me in the care of Tetsuhara, who had me placed on a stretcher, carried across the plaza and into what was apparently once Colterville's best hotel. It had now been taken over as billets by the Second Sword's senior officers and staff.
     As I was carried under another of those evil blasted Dragon flags, I breathed a sigh of relief as I entered a pleasantly air conditioned and clean smelling foyer. Infantry guards slammed smart Kuritan salutes and clicked their heels together as Tetsuhara led us into a plush, gilt decorated lift, which even had piped in classical music. It was a recent local rendition of Oedipus at Colonus by Atreides and the blasted theme brought ma'ma to mind. I wondered if I'd have died down in that basement at the hands of Zakahashi what she would have said at my funeral, or memorial? Knowing her she'd have, admittedly correctly, said I'd reaped the wages of years of sin.
     Tetsuhara had his soldiers carry me into a tidy suite with tall windows, it was rather vulgar for my tastes; all plush red velvet and stuffed leather armchairs, however it was certainly one hell of a big step up from the empty broom cupboard which had been my previous accommodation. The grunts carried me on my stretcher through to the bedroom and lifted me onto a soft bed, with recently washed linen sheets and big fluffy pillows.
     "I shall have a Physician sent in ... ahh ... not Brother Physician Larraby though I think." Tetsuhara said softly and followed by the two soldiers walked out. I didn't even have the strength left to check if he'd left guards on the suite doors, though he doubtless did.
     I awoke to find another of the turquoise and yellow robed monk-like Brother Physicians beside my bed, this one was a plump, shaven pated porker who was, and I swear on my precious life this is one hundred percent true, dancing and singing. It was a strange, other worldly thing to wake up to after all I'd been through and for a moment I thought it was another nightmare. The tub of suet was hopping from foot to foot, while humming and singing a lilting chant, his belly wobbling in time with the jig. I glanced down my body to note I'd been thoroughly cleaned and my wounds salved or bound with clean white bandages. My nostrils were full of the reassuring smells of anti-sceptic and fresh sheets. Stopping his little song and dance routine fatso smiled down at me.
     "Ahh you are awake. Good, good. I have finished purifying you now. You feel better yes? I have thoroughly spoken to your wounds and they are now healing properly. If you need further of the Dragon's healing magic you should ring this bell here by your bed ... yes?" I looked at the chubby madman and nodded in amazement, as he then packed up a large medical bag, bowed deeply several times and backed out of my new bedroom.
     It may be hard to credit, but that's how DCMS military surgeons act. They seem little better than witch doctors to civilised people like you and I, but I have to say from personal experience they could teach those arrogant sawbones from the AFFS Medical Division a thing or two. Talking to wounds and singing and dancing to purify the patient, might not be approved NAIS practice but I was feeling most recovered within a day or two, so who knows maybe the Snakes are onto something after all.
     
* * *

     I soon became quite at home in my new 'cell'; properly deferential civilian staff cleaned my suite and changed my sheets daily, whilst under the gaze of the DCMS troopers acting as my jailors, indeed the servants would bow and scrape so much that they reminded me of my family's Killarnees and I settled down all the more.
     I was given a clean, tan coloured set of DCMS military fatigues with all insignia removed, to wear about my suite and received three square meals a day and I have to say the food was top notch, especially for Mallory's World, judging by my previous experience of the catering industry there. I assume the old hotel kitchens were still being run and I was receiving the same grub as the Snake officers who were billeted there. Like all top brass, in any army I've ever known, they ate well.
     For breakfast I'd receive coffee, orange juice and hot buttered croissants and chocolate, or a full Federated made with fried chickaroo eggs, bacon, fried potatoes and sausages, with toast and marmalade on the side, or sweetened cereals if I preferred. For lunch a pretty little maid would roll in a serviette trolley laden with a steaming bowl of soup, cold roast chickaroo drumsticks, fresh baked bread, cheeses, redapples, oranges and other fresh fruit. Then for dinner I would sit up in bed to mouth watering concoctions; for example one evening I recall wolfing down a starter of  buffalo mozzarella with tomatoes and pseudobasil, followed by scallops, pan fried beside my bed with a lemon and herb crust. I finished off with a lovely little fancy, that only after I'd finished it was I advised had in fact been 'Megant Honeycomb and Ice Cream with Caramel Sauce'.
     Mind you I still believe that the Kuritan officer corps in the city were hogging the best wine, as all I could get were bottles of cheapo local house whites, which to my refined and trained pallet tasted like something a tabiranth had passed. Well the first few glasses did anyway, I always find that once you're into your second bottle, the finest Blake Burgandy might as well be Eau De Tabiranth, if you catch my drift.
     There was a tri-vid player in the comfortable sitting room of my suite and I well remember spending one afternoon knocking back a, purely medicinal, bottle of the house wine while watching three Immortal Warrior 'vids I'd found in a cupboard, back to back. Half way through I realised my two ever present Kuritan guards were sneaking peeks from the doorway. So, in the spirit of interstellar relations, and because these two had not been part of the platoon that had so badly used me, by the end of the second 'vid I had 'em over sitting stiffly on the sofa, their assault rifles propped by their legs. It didn't take long before I then got them playing that drinking game where you knock back a gulp each time the improbably muscular hero kills someone and I have to say I was surprised by their lack of tolerance, as by the end of the afternoon they were pissed as farts.
     Minobu told me later they'd both received a dozen lashes as a punishment for this lapse in discipline. I was a little put out by this as it had been a fun afternoon.
     Anyway, this was all more in line with what I would hope to be the lot of a Davion Guards MechWarrior who'd been captured by the enemy in time of war and d'you know it took at least a day or two of this before I began to wonder what my ultimate fate would be. Even then I just assumed I was to be exchanged for a captured Kuritan MechWarrior, taken at some point by our side.
     Only two things were to interrupt this very easy existence. The first being the continuing war raging outside my rooms.
     The distant thunder of artillery fire rumbled constantly across the city and as the days passed there must have been at least four or five more assaults by our chaps on the city walls, as below in the central square I could make out great movements of Kuritan troops and armour. Also with each attack the sound of weapons fire increased and sometimes even made the windows shake, I recall on my third day in the old hotel room one of our Stukas actually went down on the other side of the square and there was an almighty explosion that blew in my bedroom windows. Luckily I was on the toilet at the time and stayed there shaking and sweating, thinking the boys had finally broken through into the city and a battle must be raging outside.
     It took me a good hour to pluck up the courage to venture out of the bathroom and I was soon ringing my little bell for someone to come and clear the glass off my bed.
     This incident jarred my complacency a little I think, but I was sure I was a lot safer here than facing that hell outside the walls again and again. There was no way I planned to play Darius-Do-Right and try to escape, besides I was in the heart of a besieged occupied city, I had no map and no way of getting out of those massive walls even if I could reach them. I reasoned with myself there was nothing I could do, save sitting it out and awaiting liberation, ransom, or a prisoner exchange.
     The second interruption to my easy captivity were twice daily visits from Minobu Tetsuhara. Not that he was an unpleasant guest per ce, it was just when he was around I had to make a pretence at being the nobly suffering, good little soldier who, despite my still not healed wounds, was itching to get back to my unit. I asked him initially several times what their plans were for me and he would simply state that decision was not his to make, so eventually I gave up asking.
     I actually got to know Minobu fairly well over the course of those few days. He would always arrive quietly and would politely knock on the door before entering, I never saw him looking in the least bit ruffled or perturbed by the bloody fighting he must have been involved in shortly before. He always wore his smart dark grey uniform, black visored cap, polished boots, and sometimes a pig-sticker sword as well as his pistol.
     The visits would always begin with small talk, like you might make were you dragged into visiting a sick relative in hospital. He would talk about his home in the Combine, which I recall was on a planet called Awano, located in the Benjamin Military District. I can still see him sitting at the foot of my bed, by the high windows, Colterville's red slate roofs clear behind him, with the distant plumes of presumably shelling damage, or buring vehicles, whilst he talked softly about how he looked forward to returning to that house near a high plateau, where the air was cold, clean and thin and smelt of Cryptomeria trees and flower beds.
     On another visit he told me of his pretty wife and young son. She was called Tomiko, if memory serves and was, judging by holos he showed me of her, one of your haughty Kuritan noblewomen. All stiff neck and whispers. I've known the type in later life by the way and I have to say if you can crack that icy, disapproving exterior you're in for the ride of your life. I recall his son was still an infant then and looked like a little brown bundle of trouble.
     I think, looking back, he was very subtly interrogating me during those chats, I'd grow so at ease from his free and open manner about himself, I'd find myself telling him stories about the family pile back on Killarney. I would recount tales of horseback riding on walladog hunts, on chilly spring mornings, the horns blaring over the vast hill country of our estates. Or of playing hide and seek as a child with my father in our hundred and three room mansion, getting lost in the old sealed off east wing, which dear old ma'ma had told me was haunted and crying under a dusty bed until nanny-Jane found me. Each time he would eventually bring the conversation around though to military matters and I undoubtedly and unashamedly provided him with stacks of data on the make up of the Fourth Guards, it's officers, it's positions around Colterville and what I knew about the Seventeenth Hussars. 
     One time he talked about his years at Sun Zhang and we got into a debate about the respective merits of the place as opposed to the Old Sak. Sun Zhang sounded like a hell-hole to me, being located on a waste-world named New Samarkand, where students engaged in live fire exercises through empty cities and had to dodge land pirate packs and robber bands. When I told him an edited version of my expulsion from the Sak, he looked appalled and stated that he would have felt compelled to commit suicide if he'd been given the boot.
      It may have been during that particular conversation I finally plucked up the courage to grill him about something that had niggled at me throughout my time in the hotel suite.
     "Minobu old chap, I need to ask you something." He sat in his chair by the window and looked out over the roof tops. I took his silence as acceptance to continue and so carried on.
     "Well, okay. Look, it's like this, I can see you stopped that bastard Zakahashi from killing me out there because you thought I'd be able to give you information on the 'Bane ... but, well, I know a little about your culture's views on prisoners. Well, you tend to kill captives don't you. You're Sword of Light afterall. You've been very kind to me and ... well deuce it all ... why?" He sat for a long moment looking out the window and without turning to look at me he spoke softly.
     "The need for military information is not the reason I demanded you were taken prisoner by Tai-i Zakahashi and his company." He paused again as if deep in thought then, while watching a local red winged bird fly over the roof of a nearby house. "I did not wish to see you die an honourable warrior's death, because I do not believe you are in your heart either honourable or a warrior." I looked at him in confusion and he turned and smiled gently.
     "I do not mean to insult you by saying this thing, which in yourself I am certain you know to be the truth, I merely answer your question as best I can.
     I saw fear master you at the Battle of the Maglev Gate, you fled the field and ran from me through this city." I opened my mouth to protest this, but d'you know for once in my life I could not bring myself to lie, so lacking anything to say I hung my head in shame.
     "I do not however think you will never be a warrior. In the old days a samurai's sword was his soul. It was a part of him, a channel through which his ki, his spirit you might say, could flow. Today, we samurai of House Kurita carry our swords as symbols only, I have never drawn mine in battle. The BattleMech takes the place of the samurai's sword as the channel of our ki. A MechWarrior enters his 'Mech and almost literally becomes one with it. It is a symbiosis that no samurai could ever achieve with his sword.
     I have seen you in a 'Mech and you are a skilful pilot, but until you learn to accept death and conquer your fear of it I pity you, for you will never be a true MechWarrior. One of the duties of a Kuritan samurai is to bring promising foreigners to the light of wisdom, Yorinaga sama has ordered me to find out more about you and make you comfortable while you are here." He then gave a slight shrug before adding.
     "Death is a feather, duty is a mountain."
     At the time I understood barely anything of what he'd said, except that he'd shrewdly pegged me for the spineless coward I was and I began stammering something about feeling ill, at which he quietly left. Bowing once to me before he went. I've pondered his words over the years since and d'you know I think he was paying me a kind of backhanded compliment in his way, based on his flawed philosophy that if one was a good 'Mech pilot they might become the same kind of fearless, selfless, fool he was. It's a notable fact, that by Minobu's logic, if I'd been a brave madman like Hillnas for example Minobu would have been first in the queue to cut my head off ... he only saved me as he didn't think me worthy of killing. Kuritans eh? They're a strange bunch and no mistake.
     To me death is a mountain I hope never to climb and duty is a feather I tickle women's ass's with.
     Still I was grateful to Minobu, whatever his personal reasons, for saving me twice. Once when he demanded I was taken prisoner for interrogation and the second time by going straight to the top, Yorinaga, when it came to getting me out of Zakahashi's clutches. Also, though he thought me a shameful coward, I genuinely liked the man and I think at bottom he liked me too.
     I was not to see him again after that conversation for another fifteen years, but that's another story. 
     That last time I saw him on Mallory's World was, as best I've been able to figure out, on the twelfth of October and before he came back to visit again I was to be shaken from my rest and pitched back into the nightmare of the campaign.

[Tokage]

21

     I woke with a start. Someone was in my bedroom. I could hear movement. The lights were out and I strained to locate the source of the stealthy sounds that had disturbed my sleep. I was just about to go for the bedside lamp, when someone flew onto me bodily. I instantly began thrashing about, trying to free myself and scream out to the guards, but my attacker was heavy and muscular and he rammed a pillow tight over my face.
     "My Lord, please be still and silent. We are friends." His deep toned and respectful voice seemed muffled somehow, but I regained control of myself and stopped trying to break free. "I am going to lift the pillow. We're here to rescue you."
     Nodding under the tight, suffocating pillow as best I could, my mind began to race. They were here to rescue me! Surely I was not important enough for the First Prince to have sent commandos into the city to spring me?
     The pillow and blanket were lifted back and someone flicked on the lamp, revealing to me the chap sitting on top of me and two others at the foot of my bed. They were all wearing the yellow, full NBC type bodysuits, gas masks and backpack mounted gas sprayers that the Kuritan troops wore when carrying out what I'd learnt were weekly insecticide sprayings of important buildings.
     The fellow still perched on me pulled off his gas mask, revealing a sweaty red face under a mop of damp, ruffled blonde hair. His blue eyes burned with barely suppressed excitement, like a boy on a wild jape. He held out his hand for me to shake.
     "Get off of me you ruddy ape!" I hissed angrily. This was a surprise to me you see and I was already beginning to resent this attempt to drag me out of what had I'd begun to feel was a very comfy little bolt hole, where I'd been hoping to safely sit out the campaign. The lummox looked abashed and sprang off me.
     "Sorry my lord." He stood beside the bed still holding out his hand, so I leaned over out of my covers and pumped his gloved flipper quickly.
     "Now, what's this nonsense about rescuing me? I'm going to be exchanged or ransomed soon anyway I would expect. So there's no need for you brave chaps to put yourself in harms way. Look you scoot out the way you came in and I'll watch your backs." I smiled my best winning grin and the burly oaf looked surprised beyond all measure. He seemed about to speak, when one of the other two yellow suited figures stepped forward quickly, whilst pulling off their mask too. This member of my rescue party was a young woman, her ash blonde hair cut in a somewhat tousled bob, she looked to be in her mid twenties and had high cheekbones, big green eyes, tanned skin and a wide expressive mouth. When she spoke to me quietly and quickly, it was in a soft husky voice.
     "Please, we have no time for this. The Snakes are not going to exchange or ransom you. They intend to send you back to Luthien, to be paraded through Imperial City in an iron cage, as a trophy of this campaign." I looked at her aghast. No this had to be wrong, I began to protest, I was under the protection of Yorinaga Kurita himself. He'd saved me.
     "Listen to yourself. Saved you? That man's every thought is bent upon total victory over your family. Sources inside the Kuritan military here have let it slip that he's long wished to face and kill the First Prince in 'Mech to 'Mech combat. Now he knows Ian is here, Yorinaga thinks his time has come.
     Our sources in the enemy camp also informed us about you being held here and that Yorinaga has a spy in the Fourth Guards. Using information provided by this spy, the Sworders have pinpointed a weakness in the Fourth's siege lines and mean to break out of Colterville any time soon. When they go they plan to take you with them.
     Yorinaga then intends to lure Ian into the desert again and bleed the Prince's army until the Second Sword can lead them into a trap. Yorinaga already has a live Davion to take home to his cousin, the Coordinator. He now wants Ian's head as his second and greatest trophy." I went cold, firstly I prayed no one had guessed that this so called spy the enemy had in the Prince's RCT was surely in reality my good self and secondly I could see the logic in this earnest seeming girl's words. I realised I had no cause to assume Yorinaga would not do precisely as she had described.
     Suddenly my quarters here seemed like a gilded cage, so I sat up in bed and all seriousness asked;
     "Okay, sorry I'm just a bit shook up by being woken in this manner. So what unit are you? Stealthy Foxes, Special Forces, Guards Infantry?" There was a pause as they glanced at each other, before the girl spoke again.
     "We're partisans, soldiers of the MVF, the Mallory Volunteer Force. When we learned a Davion was being held by the Sworders we knew we had to try to get you out."
     This wasn't the best news as far as I was concerned. The DMI and MIIO sponsored, armed, and trained numerous of these kind of underground militias, on worlds all along the border. So called 'Johnnie Teams' trained and prepared the militias during times of peace, then in the event of an invasion would direct them in guerilla warfare against the enemy. It was fearfully dangerous work, the Kuritans always tried to root out the underground militias immediately they arrived and a captured partisan could expect to face torture and eventually execution. Some of the border worlds that changed hands regularly, like Mallory's World, even had competing Davionist and Kuritan aligned underground groups.
      My concern was that it was well known that the military value and skills of these partisans varied widely, in later years for example I saw a similar collection of such guerillas known as the Galtor Irregulars slaughtered by the DCMS practically to a man during the '25 campaign on that planet. At the end of the day most such groups, brave though they might be, were not real soldiers and when not under a tight rein by their Johnnies they tended to make basic tactical errors. Still, this particular bunch had managed to get into my room, dressed in Kuritan protective suits and masks, so I tried to act cool as be damned.
     "Very well, what's the plan?"
     It transpired, in the early hours of the local morning and under the cover of one of our side's air raids, they'd used a controlled blast to get up through the city sewers and into the cellars of the hotel. They'd bought the protective suits, masks, and insecticide sprayers from a greedy quartermaster in the Kuritan forces. Their sprayers now actually contained a potent tranq-gas, part of their stashed DMI provided armoury and equipped with these and some forged military passes, they'd made their way up to my room. The guards outside my door were each given a face-full of the tranq-gas and were lying paralysed in my suite's sitting room.
     "Get into this suit, we'll head back down to the cellar, out through the sewers and we'll then get you first to a safe-house, then out under the city walls and back to the Fourth. You can carry word to the Hound of the Sworder's plan to break out and to Prince Ian that Yorinaga is now actively hunting him and will be laying an ambush for him. If we move fast the First Prince can catch Kurita on the hop and smash the Second Sword once and for all." The beautiful young woman's eyes lit up as she talked and I found myself gazing quite smitten into them. Realising I was still in my boxers and in bed, I leapt out and began struggling into the spare yellow protective suit they tossed me. I caught the girl watching me out the corner of her eye and I had enough experience to know that kind of look, she was clearly impressed with my muscular, if bruised, physique and I resolved that I was not leaving Colterville until I'd got to know her a lot better.
     As I pulled on my gas mask she introduced herself as Jennifer Devlin, the heavyset fool who'd pinned me to my bed stated his name was Tom Chaplin and the third member of the team, who'd not removed his mask, mumbled that he was called Pavel, I never did learn if it was his first or last name.
     Their plan seemed fairly sound and I was eager to get safe and cosy with Ms Devlin in this safe house she'd mentioned, so I was in a nervous but basically hopeful frame of mind as I pulled on the gas mask, was helped on with the backpack and finally handed a small canvas bag. Peering inside I found it contained a compact black-metal submachine gun and four or five clips of ammo.
     "Kogyo-Khorsakov 9mm SPW 920s-K." Jennifer drew it out and allowed me to heft it.
     "A favourite sidearm of Kuritan security forces and DCMS officer bodyguard squads. It can be set to fire single shot, burst and full auto. Thanks to an integral silencer it's virtually inaudible at ranges greater than thirty meters, hit that button there and it deploys a retractable snaplock bayonet." While talking almost proudly about the gun, she took it from me, slapped in a fifty round clip and dropped it back in my bag. I noted they all carried one too. I prayed we'd not need them.

* * *

     As I followed Chaplin and Jennifer into the sitting room, I saw Pavel stand up from the two prone bodies of the DCMS troopers, the fully masked and suited partisan was wiping a stiletto on a cushion from one of the sofas. I felt sick to see he'd slit both the tranq'ed guard's throats, Jennifer and Chaplin didn't blink or comment, so I chose to ignore the murderous act reasoning to myself that the Kuritans here were every bit as bad. Still, it never feels nice to be in the company of someone who'll cut an unconscious foes throat as casually as if he were opening an envelope, in my experience such types can turn on you all too easily.
     Chaplin opened the door a crack, eased his head out cautiously and then waved us up while still scanning the corridor outside my suite.
     We hurried out into the corridor and with myself at the centre and hurried along, though being careful not to run, towards a stairwell exit at the far end. We passed other rooms and I kept expecting the doors to open to disgorge DCMS shock troopers, or sword wielding senior officers, at any moment. However, we reached the stairwell door without any trouble and Chaplin led us through and into a white walled shaft down which spiralled a black tiled stairway.
     "We're seven floors up here, we need to get all the way down to the cellar." Jennifer whispered in my ear and with my heart thundering in my breast and my right fist inside the bag and holding the pistol grip of my KK-920s, we began our seemingly endless downward march.
     After we passed the third floor exit I began to dare to believe the plan would succeed without a hitch, which was perhaps predictably when things began to go wrong. We all heard Japanese voices.
     Chaplin held up his right hand and we squeaked to a halt on the polished stairs. My ears strained and I could tell the voices were definitely coming from below us and seemed to be from people coming up the stairs, it sounded like two or three men talking and laughing animatedly to me. Naturally I could not understand a word that was being said.
      Pavel prodded me hard in my back and jabbed a yellow gloved finger back up at the third floor doorway, though angry at the thug's lack of respect for my person, I saw the merit in his suggestion and patted Chaplin and Jennifer on their shoulders and motioned back at the door. As quietly as we could we hurried back up the stairs and hurried through, Chaplin closing the door carefully behind us.
     While the other three clustered about the door, trying to listen for the approaching Snakes coming up the stairs to pass. It crossed my mind they might actually be coming up to this floor and prayed we were not to be that unlucky. Turning I looked up a red carpeted corridor, lined with doors, much like that of the floor I'd been held on. Something about the corridor disturbed me though and I felt a strangely ominous sense of foreboding.
     Just as the sound of squeaking footfalls and laughing Japanese voices passed by the other side of the stairwell door, I realised what was worrying me about the corridor we were standing in.
     A little red light was flashing above a lift door at the opposite end and it had now stopped flashing upon the number '3'. With a cheerful bell chime and a dreadful slowness the lift doors slid open.

[Tokage]

22

     The lift doors opened and a pair of black uniformed Sworder officers stepped out. They were talking quietly to each other and it took them a moment to notice us and stop dead in surprise.
     There followed a long pregnant pause as they took us in, four yellow suited grunts clustered about the doorway to the stairs doubtless looking rather guilty and suspicious. One of the pair, a skinny, slant eyed little bastard opened his mouth to shout something and before I could whisper to the others to try to use the fake passes, Pavel had his KK-920 out. I felt rather than heard the submachine gun go off beside me, bullet casings pattering off the side of my suit and there was a rapid 'thump-a-thump-a-thump' as Pavel's burst stitched a line of bloody holes across the Snake officer's uniform tunic. The unfortunate Sworder went flying back and his friend dived left into a doorway.
     "You stupid ..." I began dragging out my gun, but Pavel dropped to one knee and began spraying full auto fire down the corridor at the surviving Sworder. Pavel unfortunately was as bad a shot as he was a covert operator and 9mm bullets splintered doors and ricocheted off the brass gilding of the lift. I saw a puff of red as the enemy officer was hit in the arm, at approximately the same time he began screaming in Japanese at the top of his voice.
     "Back up." Chaplin called out and I realised whoever had just passed up the stairs had heard the shouting and were now headed for the door we were standing in front of. There was a voice querying in Japanese cautiously on the other side of the doorway and Chaplin leaned back into me and sprayed an entire clip through the closed door. The door was instantly riddled with a mass of bullet holes and there was a loud thudding sound as whoever was on the other side went down hard, however I could hear more loud shouting from the stairwell.
     Jennifer, cursing under her breath, leaned past me and firing her sub-gun one handed, expertly picked off the poor chap clutching his arm in the splintered door-well he was using for cover. I saw Jennifer's shots slam his head back and into the door and he slid down leaving an unpleasant blood stain. Turning straight back, Jennifer kicked through the stairs door and rolled through, there was immediately a deafening sounding burst of gunfire to the right of the doorway as someone fired an assault rifle at point blank range and it was a deuced brave and skilful move she made. Firing as she rolled, narrowly being missed by the rifle fire aimed at her, she must have hit who she was shooting at as she sprang up unharmed and motioned at us to follow.
     Well, I needed no further urging and dashed past that moron Pavel and the lunkhead Chaplin out into the stairwell. At least one of the officers billeted in that corridor had been woken however, for as I skidded down the first few stairs, over the bullet riddled corpse of a Kuritan infantry sergeant, I heard two sharp cracks; pistol shots I realised. Chaplin followed and pulled the door too behind himself. Bullets smacked through the wooden door and into the stairwell wall.
     "Where's Pavel?" Jennifer shouted and Chaplin's solemn face and quick shake of the head told her all she needed to know. My only satisfaction as we began to run full pelt down the stairs, was knowing that Pavel lay dead or dying up above us in that corridor. We all pulled off our suffocating gas masks as we ran.
     We skidded past the second floor door as outside klaxons were going off, doubtless raising the alarm and rousing literally thousands of DCMS troops from their bunks. I bitterly swore and led the headlong flight down the stairs, the others some way behind me, I think Jennifer was laying down covering fire but I didn't stop to check. This was simply awful, if we were caught between two forces on these bloody stairs we were dead!
     I skidded into the stair-rail as a short burst of assault rifle fire rattled up from below and chewed into the white painted wall, sending up puffs of white ferrocrete dust. I held back and tried to guess where the firer was. Motioning Jennifer and Chaplin to hold up, I turned in time to see a grey plasteel battle helm edge around the corner of the stairs, I took my time and fired a silent three round burst straight into the face peering out from beneath it. There was a triple-thud, a spray of red and the Snake soldier went down like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
     Cautiously, while shouting began to bounce off the walls from some way up the stairs, I edged down and shot a glance over the body of the chap I'd just killed. I could see from this angle straight down to the first floor landing. There were at least two DCMS soldiers, dressed in full padded flak vests over grey fatigues down there and they began firing up as they caught a glimpse of me.
     "Jerrrrome!" I swore loudly as high velocity rifle rounds smacked into the stairs, walls, and bannisters all around me, covering me in more ferrocrete dust. I scrambled backwards up the stairs and fell into Chaplin. Jennifer looked down at me, and asked urgently;
     "How many?" I shrugged.
     "Three, four. Maybe more. We're finished! We have to surr -" But she was already moving past me and her hand came out of her canvas bag grasping a cylindrical metal canister. She twisted the top, waited a moment, then rolled it down the stairs.
     "Get down." She ordered calmly and we all huddled together, with our arms clasped protectively over our heads. The grenade's explosion was thunderous in the confined space of the stairwell and sudden, making the floor shake beneath us and sending a great whoosh of choking smoke up the stairs over us. I was literally deafened for a moment, the ringing in my ears preventing me from hearing. I saw Jennifer's mouth moving in what seemed to be an urgent manner, then she had her KK up and firing over my head, I twisted around to see two Kuritans in tan fatigues mown down by her fire and smash into the far stairwell wall. Chaplin pulled me to my feet, his face grey-black with smoke and dust. He was speaking rapidly, whilst grinning like a crazed fool, but the ringing only eased off enough for me to catch the end of what he said.
      "... concert at New Avalon." I wonder to this day what he'd been saying, probably some macho nonsense aimed as much at easing his own panic as mine. At the time I was in no mood to ask and I was up and running after Jennifer as she fearlessly took the stairs down three at a time.
     We passed a hideous scene of carnage at the first floor exit. Have you noticed that in the tri-vids when a frag grenade goes off next to some dastardly foes, they hurtle into the air like they are on wires and land in one piece? Well let me assure you that aint what happens in real life. There was blood everywhere, liberally sprinkled with bits and bobs of what were once human beings; an arm still in a grey uniform sleeve lay on one step, a torso without it's head was propped oddly against the shattered door and I skidded on a smouldering hunk of indefinable flesh as I hammered on down towards the ground floor. If I'd not been so scared I'd have probably stopped to throw up.
     Jennifer halted us half way down and pulled out another of her wicked little grenades. Ducking and crouching I hugged the wall as she rolled it down and I wept at the concussion as the beastly thing detonated. Someone began screaming below us and heedless we ran on down, past the door and on towards the cellar.
     Chaplin was behind me and I think it must have been as we passed the doorway to the ground floor he was hit. Bullets were ricocheting and cracking all around us, I heard more than one pass my head by millimetres, making whining 'zip' sounds as they passed. Chaplin staggered and fell, rolling me down with him. I crashed and bumped my way to the cellar floor, the wounded partisan's bulk restricting my legs. Jennifer sprayed a full auto burst from her KK up the stairs and continuing to fire one handed, grabbed me and dragged me back. Chaplin groaned, then pushed himself up and crawled after us, his right leg pulsing great gouts of blood from a bullet hole through his inner thigh.
     Jennifer ran to him and helped him up.
     "Tom? Tommy, can you make it?" Chaplin's face contorted into a rictus grin and he leant heavily on her. I sprang to my feet and cast about for where to run to next. The cellar room we'd entered was large, stale smelling and apparently connected to several others, there were numerous doors leading to connecting storerooms and the like. Jennifer shot a look to me.
     "Follow me, the hole to the sewers is through to the left." I fidgeted along behind her, walking half backwards, ready to fire on any Snakes that came in after us.
     "Can't that idiot move any faster?" I snarled, angry with fear.
     "Leave me Jennifer." Chaplin gasped and I seized upon his noble foolishness.
     "Devlin, you said you were a soldier. Well this man is compromising your mission. He knows his duty, I know it's hard but we must do ours. We have to get word to the First Prince about Yorinaga's plans. The breakout, remember?" I spoke as coolly as I could manage and she paused and looked into Chaplin's face.
     "Are you sure Tom?" She asked softly and I sensed a lot of unspoken history pass between them. 
     "I'm sure." He whispered, then half rose his hand towards her face, but stopped himself and dropped it again to his side. "Tell Alan ... well tell him I'm sorry I wont be there for New Years Eve." He smiled and a tear came into his eye. "Kiss little Will from me and Jennifer ... I love you." He turned apparently overcome with emotion and I guessed the soppy dolt had never told her this before, I also knew enough about totty by this time to know instantly she didn't feel the same about him. It was in the body language, this was an unrequited situation for sure.
     He tore himself away from Jennifer's final embrace, as she shoved her KK into his left hand. She began to say something more, the tears running down her cheeks now. Blake's blood, I inwardly cursed, but this was getting like an episode of The Fighting Falcons, so without any more preamble I grabbed the delectable Ms Devlin's hand and tugged her on into the cellar. I glanced back to see Chaplin, a KK in each hand, slide slowly down into a slumped position by a ferrocrete pillar and await his destiny.
     For you fellows reading this safe in your armchairs I expect this makes for a moving, emotional little tableau; the romantic partisan, a gun each hand, badly wounded, yet ready to sell what remains of his life dearly in order to buy the time needed by the object of his fantasies to escape along with an important freed nobleman.
     Well back then, personally I barely gave him a second thought, at the best of times I never could stand these milksops who pine over one girl for years, too scared to make a play for them. At that moment I'd happily decided far better him than me and vowed if I got out I'd shag Jennifer for him.
     The hole in the cellar floor was up ahead and as the shooting began echoing from behind us I bodily dragged Jennifer towards it.

[Tokage]

23

     Naturally we couldn't hear Chaplin's shots from the silenced KKs, but the echoes of rifle fire rattled after us as we ran through filthy, stinking water down a circular, brick walled sewer tunnel. Jennifer had pulled a flashlight from her clothes and it's wobbling beam was our only light.
     The gunfire seemed to go on for several minutes behind us before there was a muffled explosion, presumably as one of the Kuritans threw a grenade down into the cellar. Jennifer suddenly stopped and I thought she was going to do something insane like run back towards the hotel.
     However, she in fact crouched by the side of one of the tunnel walls and I stepped over to see what she was doing.
     "Jennifer, we have to hurry, they'll be down here after us directly now that ..."
     "I know, that's why we left this here." She answered in a voice taught with emotion. I saw her pull a long wire from a blockish thing I realised was some kind of explosive device. She walked the wire across the tunnel, at about ankle height, to the other side and secured it to a second explosive block.
     "Plastique. Enough to bring down this whole section of the sewer." She murmured, then stood, looked once back the way we'd came and then turned and began running again. I needed no urging to splash quickly after her.
     Jennifer clearly knew the sewers like the back of her hand and we'd gone on for about another five minutes when the booby tap went off. There was an almighty explosion, the rolling echo of which seemed to spiral up the tunnel from behind us, followed by a long shudder and what sounded like thunder.
     "That's for Tom Chaplin and Pavel." I heard her hiss under her breath as we kept on going.
     Realising the tunnel through which we'd escaped the hotel was now blocked, I began to feel a little safer again and tried to make conversation as we jogged through the darkness.
     "These tunnels seem ancient." Jennifer kept running as she answered.
     "They are. Some sections date back at least five hundred years. We in the MVF use them to get around the city unseen. There are stories that some of the SLDF garrison hid down here from Rim Worlds troops for more than two years during the Amaris takeover of the Star League. Some Coltersmen claim there are still hidden chambers containing Star League weaponry and lostech treasures. Others say that the ghosts of Star League soldiers still walk these tunnels. Then there are the rumours about giant man-eating insects." I realised she was teasing me and I was pleased to note a fragile little smile on her beautiful features as she glanced over at me.
     I don't know about giant insects, but the sewers of Colterville were definitely full of the smaller variety common to this waste-world. As we went deeper into the maze of brick tunnels, I noted there was a specific type of beetle known as bulbers, that had some kind of bioluminescence and glowed like little pale white lights. They crawled in great spiralling lines up and around the walls, creating an dazzling pulsing light show and it was only the truly terrible stench of the sewers and Jennifer's dry comment that bulbers fed on excreta that ruined my appreciation of them.
     "Here." Jennifer stopped by a section of apparently solid sewer wall. She pressed two specific bricks in quick succession and a door like section of the slimy brickwork sprung open, revealing a stone staircase leading up.
     "This leads to the safe-house. We'll rest there for a few hours, when the Kuritan search peters out I'll take you to our headquarters and then out of the city." I followed her up the stairs, planning my own next move.

* * *

     The stairs led up to a metal door, which Jennifer opened by tapping a code into a keypad lock set on the wall beside it. We went through into another basement room, lit by two strip lights on the ceiling and simply full of military hardware. Rifles, submachine guns, pistols and even a few laser weapons and rocket launchers hung in racks over the far wall, lockers lined another wall and crates of ammo and explosives another. There were two other doors, the first of which I found led to a narrow barracks type room containing seven double bunk beds and an attached kitchenette, the second was a shower and toilet.
     "We'll stay down here, the upper sections of this building are camouflaged to resembled a derelict property, so we'll only go up there when we mean to leave. I'll whistle up something to eat and drink, you use the shower and change. There are civilian clothes in the lockers there."
     After the hellish terrors of my escape from Kuritan captivity, it was divine to stand under a steamingly hot shower and let the grime, filth, sewer sludge and most of all my fears wash off of me. The MVF had got me out, well as far as this safe-house at least, they'd lost two of their own doing so of course, but as you know I didn't, and still don't, give a damn about that. As the water began to cool a little I allowed myself to imagine that perhaps the worst of this campaign was behind me. Maybe Ian would take the city, kill or capture Yorinaga and I would be greeted with a hero's welcome by the regiment. Then it would be back home to New Avalon in time for gongs and tea. It was perhaps just as well I had no idea what further horrors the future actually held for me on Mallory's World.
     I deliberately wore only a towel about my waist when I came out of the shower room, I knew from her glance before Jennifer secretly appreciated my manly physique and I wanted to give her every chance to indulge her admiration. She had changed into plain brown and tan jacket and trousers, her blonde hair was still filthy and she was seated in a tatty old armchair sipping at a mug of recaff, a half eaten sandwich on a plate beside her. Her eyes were red from crying and she barely glanced at me as I strutted over to the lockers.
     "Good lord!" I exclaimed in genuine horror, as I looked through the clothes on offer.
     "Who picked these rags?" I'd never seen such a moth eaten, musty smelling, collection of tramp-wear.
     "Tom." Jennifer answered flatly and I kicked myself. Picking out a black woollen jersey and some grey slacks I decided to play the role of Mr Sensitive, which as you chaps will probably know yourselves is always a good idea with the kind of brave, serious woman Jennifer clearly was.
     "You were good friends with Tom, weren't you?" I asked gently and Jennifer sipped her recaff, her large eyes distant as she clearly became caught up in her memories.
     "Yes, we grew up together and joined the Planetary Guard at the same time. Tom was the man who recruited me into the MVF three years ago." Something about Chaplin's last words crossed my mind at that moment.
     "So he mentioned an Allan?" I asked as casually as I could.
     "My husband." She said quietly. Hmm, so she was married, perhaps that explained why a noble hearted sod like Chaplin left off making a play for her until he was about to die. I mused that I would not be so foolish, as Jennifer continued in a soft voice.
     "Allan's a Captain in the Sixth Crucis Lancers. Tom and I met him when his unit was rotated through here about seven years back. Tom met Allan first, while on R&R Allan had got into some kind of bar fight and Tom ended up wading in and pulling him out.
     Thereafter they became firm friends and Tom introduced me to Allan. Allan wasn't like ... well some MechWarriors you meet. He had no pretensions to him, his family were fairly rich, but he was just a regular guy, I think that's what first attracted me to him. He treated everyone as his equal.
     Allan and I got together on New Years Eve, ought seven, we married the following year. Tom was Allan's best man. I'm sure when he said ... well what he said back there ... Tom meant y'know he loved me like a sister." I was absolutely bloody certain he hadn't and that she knew it, but I said nothing. So, this resourceful bint had a husband in the Lancers. As she had burbled on I'd been wracking me brain to recall where they were stationed at the moment. I couldn't remember precisely, but I was certain it was somewhere in the Capellan March, one hell of a long way from Mallory's World, that was for sure.
     "It must be hard living so far from your husband? Did you never think of going with him when the Sixth left here?" I noted she was a little uncomfortable with this line of questioning and guessed all was not rosy with her marriage. Hell, if this Captain Allan Devlin was serving with the Sixth as she'd said, then she would be lucky to see him once a year, maybe rarer even than that.
     "Ahh, well I've never wanted to leave Mallory's World. It's my home. I have a bond of duty to fight here and to help ensure it never again falls into the Dragon's claws." That was certainly not the whole truth I thought to myself. From her scant description, I'd deduced this Captain Devlin was probably a rough and ready carouser, who'd been only too happy to leave his wife here, whilst probably going through every hooker from Midale to Mira. All that stuff about him treating everyone as equal, in my experience, just meant he was probably a crude, uncultured fighting man. You know the type, no class or breeding. Oh yes, I decided, this might be easier than I'd thought, Jennifer had clearly been living a lonely life without a husband to warm her bed and she was in an emotional state following the death of her friend. An easy target for an operator like myself.
     "Do you still love him?" I asked gently, keenly watching her face flicker with surprise and confusion at my presumption.
     "I ... well ... that's none of your ... that is ... yes of course I do." I sighed and sipped the recaff she'd set out for me, gagging behind my hand at it's foul taste.
     "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I hadn't meant that to be a difficult question." She stood and paced about, pulling a pistol off the wall and beginning to strip it down and clean it.
     "Look can we talk about something else?" She asked over her shoulder, whilst I appreciated a fine view of her tight trouser covered rear end. Well, reasoning it never hurts to remind a potential mount how well set you are financially, I proceeded to talk about my homeworld. I made a point to seem the proud noble who cares awfully about the welfare of his subjects. I seem to recall talking, amongst other things, about sunsets over the megalocorn fields in fall, drinking stout at the New Belfast Steeplechases and distributing presents to needy orphans at Christmas. At some point she returned to her chair and smiling sadly watched me closely, with her almost feline green eyes, as I talked.
     "You miss it don't you?" She asked, completely falling for my act.
     "Well, yes sometimes. But y'see I'm needed out here on the front lines. This is where I feel most at home. This may sound silly to you, but when I hear gunfire and the scream of rockets, well that's like a rallying cry to me. I've had a privileged background, but I feel deep down that I owe a debt of duty to the folk of places like your fair planet here.
     Oh gosh, now I sound like a complete dolt." I slapped my forehead and laughed. I was gratified to note she joined in.
     "No. No you don't at all." Then she looked a little embarrassed and cleared her throat. "You're not anything like I expected you to be." She added and I laughed again at that.
     "No really. I mean you're a Davion. You hear things, about how the high nobility are all spoilt, self obsessed, arrogant bastards." She replied and I frowned, silently damning the impudence of the borderer scum who spread about this kind of stuff. She saw my face darken and hurried on.
     "But you seem very normal and nice." I stood and bowed playfully at this.
     "I am happy to have surprised you m'lady." Well this was all going swimmingly. I knew not to push things too fast, so continued our easy conversation, lightly edged with flirtation, for the next hour or two. Until Jennifer glanced at her crono and stood.
     "Okay Dee." I liked that she used my name as I'd asked her to. "Let's move. I'll take you to our headquarters. There's someone there I'd very much like you to meet." I looked up at her questioningly.
     "My son, Will." She answered smiling.

[Tokage]

24

     I was, as you can imagine, somewhat surprised that such a fit and young looking piece of crackling had a child, but I was certainly not about to let that fact end my campaign to bed her. Actually, as I was tugging on a pair of soft soled training shoes, I began to factor this detail into my plan of attack. It's a fact, any of you trying to pull a woman with any sprogs would do well to remember, that the ladies set great store by the opinion their children have of you. Strange eh? I mean you or I wouldn't trust the point of view of a snotty nosed toddler to be right about the simplest of things, let alone their ability to judge the character of an unknown adult with decades of experience in telling lies.  Of course there is often also the added unspoken fact that whether they mean to or not such women are quietly judging you as a possible stand in father for their brat, so treating their sprogs with friendly kindness is essential.
     Now naturally I intended to leave Jennifer as soon as I boarded the fastest DropShip off this world, but I knew I had to do well in any meeting with her son in order to continue the forward movement towards boarding her.
     She passed me a snub nosed Sternsacht Compact 10mm autopistol and three clips of ammo, each holding six hollow point rounds. I slid the little gun inside my belt at the small of my back and pulled the bottom of my jersey over it, whilst pocketing the false ID card she passed me.
     "Right Dee, now if we get stopped you're Harry Fraser, a local nightclub owner. I'm using my own name and sing in your club, the Setting Sun. The Kuritan officers have allowed the club to stay open and some of them frequent it, but the owner is a reclusive guy who is sympathetic to our cause, so it'd be a rare Snake who would know you're not him. If we're questioned just let me do the talking." I suddenly became rather worried about this whole business. I'd enjoyed our little sojourn in that hidden bunker-like basement and would much rather have stayed there and got more friendly in one of those bunks.
     "Uhh, this sounds rather dangerous ... for you I mean ... I don't like to think of you putting your life at risk for me. Why don't you just send Ian word of Yorinaga's breakout plans by comm, or mirrors or something and we can hole up safe and warm here and wait for the 'Bane to march in?"
     "Not possible I'm afraid." She shook her head, grim faced. "The Kuritans have constant comm jamming nets blocking out any signals originating in this city other than their own. The walls tend to dwarf any but the highest buildings and any that do overlook them are constantly guarded and used by the Snakes for siting gun emplacements and the like. Also if we signalled openly the Snakes would probably spot the message being made and change their plans accordingly.
     No, we need to get physically out to the Prince's lines and secretly get the news to him." Well, I'd had to give it a try and shrugging I nodded and timidly followed her through the door and up the stairs towards the surface.

* * *

     Immediately we stepped out into the filthy ground floor of the half ruined old building we'd been sheltering below, I realised an attack on the city was underway once again. The air was riven by the mournful wail of klaxons, over constant heavy gunfire and explosions from not too far away and I could hear and feel the footfalls of BattleMechs.
     "It's only a short walk." Jennifer smiled at me and I instinctively reached out and took her hand, noting through my growing funk that she didn't pull it away from me.
     We walked quickly through bare, debris littered rooms to an empty doorway in through which spilled morning sunlight and the smell of smoke. Jennifer pulled me back with a jolt as two DCMS soldiers, dressed in blood stained tan fatigues, ran past in the street outside carrying a stretcher upon which writhed a badly burned and screaming MechWarrior in the remains of a cooling suit. After letting a minute or so pass, we cautiously approached the doorway again and Jennifer ducked her head quickly out, then pulled me through.       
     The narrow street was clearly located in a low class residential neighbourhood, burned out shells of civilian groundcars stood here and there and a building over the road was actually on fire, perhaps from a stray missile or artillery round. We were the only people in sight and Jennifer hurried me on. Overhead one of our Stukas thundered past, antiaircraft auto cannon fire arcing up at it from some rooftops further in towards the heart of the city.
     My delectable guide and protector led me by the hand down to the bottom of the road, where it intersected with a main artery through which big-rig troks would have rumbled in more peaceful times. We hugged the wall of the end building, an abandoned apartment block, shooting glances round the corner and down the long thoroughfare, at the bottom of which I could make out a Kuritan tank company rolling on presumably towards the city walls. Glancing in the direction of the city centre, to my right, I saw the top quarter of a red painted Sword of Light Dragon, over the roof tops of a shopping centre. The 'Mech was launching hissing bursts of Telos Decacluster long range missiles which spiralled after the fast moving and jinking Stuka ineffectually, leaving white smoke trails in the blue sky.
     "Christ and Conrad! We've stepped out for a stroll through a bloody battlefield." I swore under my breath. Jennifer was however all business and efficiency. Squeezing my hand to get my attention, she nodded over the wide trokkers road towards the entrance to what looked like an alleyway, alongside a office building missing the glass from it's many windows and scarred by bullet holes across it's ruined facade.
     "That's our route." And with that she was running over the road, I swore again to myself and ran after her, immediately missing the feel of her hand in mine. We made the alley entrance without apparently having been spotted, then ran the length of it, crunching over broken glass and litter.
     Ducking down a side alley, Jennifer led me on through what seemed to me an increasingly confusing string of alleys, side streets and even empty buildings. After about ten minutes the moment I'd been dreading happened. We ran slap bang into a platoon of DCMS regulars. They were stamping smartly down the road we were just crossing, singing a Japanese marching song and they all levelled their rifles as they saw us.
     Jennifer and I both raised our hands and Jennifer stepped slightly forward, so she could answer the inevitable questions. The Kuritans had fanned out across the street and we were now looking down the barrels of about twenty or more KK assault rifles. A grizzled officer stepped forward, a heavy needle pistol in one hand and a drawn pig-sticker sword in his other.
     "Cards!" He barked at us, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, while I noted his cold grey-blue eyes run over Jennifer's body lasciviously. Jennifer and I handed the false ID cards over and he passed them to a non-com who slotted them one after the other in a handheld E-pad, his round spectacles reflecting green text.
     "You're the terrorists we are warned about, yes?" The officer growled, putting the tip of his sword under my chin and pushing my head up awkwardly.
     "The terrorist girl and the Davionist spy? I will be rewarded most highly I think."
     "You have it wrong, I'm a singer, Jennifer Devlin and this is my employer Harry Fraser-san from the Setting Sun. We're friends of the Dragon. We've been given dispensations by the interim military government." She spoke politely and deferentially and the brute leered at her all the more. He dropped the point of his sword down from me and moved it to rest at Jennifer's throat, half turning to his men to bark;
     "A singer!" Then he roared with laughter, which his thugs joined in with. I was meanwhile shivering with fear, we were screwed that was clear and I began to reason to myself that if we surrendered we'd at least live ... well I would anyway, they wanted to take me to their filthy capital planet after all. Maybe Black Luthien wouldn't be so bad, I tried to convince myself, I mean I could handle a little polution and some of those geisha girls looked absolute peaches. It would be a shame about Jennifer of course, but hey ho, easy come easy go.
     "The cards check out sir." At that moment I could have kissed that four-eyed grunt. The officer scowled and snatched them back from him. Turning back round to us he squinted at us suspiciously.
     "Why are you out on the streets? Where are you going to?" Jennifer answered again.
     "We're headed for Fraser-san's home on Goldback Boulevard, it's been a long night." She smiled and he patted the flat of his dreadfully sharp looking sword on her shoulder thoughtfully.
     "So you're a singer? Hmm ... well then sing us something little songbird." Oh for Unity's sake, I inwardly raged, why couldn't this mean spirited bugger just let us go? I prayed Jennifer had a good voice and my heart was once more in my mouth, as she stepped back and began to sing. Well I have to say I'd never been so impressed with an impromptu bit of crooning before in my life.
     Jennifer actually sang Dragon over the Stars and I was reminded of that dirty street hawker in Cactus Flats who'd joked about how being able to sing that Draconian anthem well was a vital survival skill on Mallory's World. At the time he told me that I certainly hadn't thought him to have been talking literally. What a strange thing war can be, to this day I can still close my eyes and see that scene; standing in a debris littered street, surrounded by murderous Kuritan troops, as a beautiful girl sang sweetly and a BattleMech on the horizon was firing off thunderous bursts with an autocannon at distant AFFS aerospace fighters, that wheeled in the smoke smudged but cloudless blue sky.
     She had a really good voice and I noted the Snake infantrymen all lowered their guns as she tunefully ended the last verse. I clapped along with several of the beaming grunts and noted the scarred officer had sheathed his sword. Handing back our cards, he nodded curtly to us and leaned in to whisper to Jennifer.
     "I will visit this club you work at on my next free period." Jennifer smiled thinly at him and then we waited as the platoon carried on past us down the road, some of them grinning at Jennifer as they passed. She grabbed my hand and we ran on.
     "We were lucky they obviously haven't distributed your holo amongst the troops yet." She gasped to me as we carried on, I nodded guessing that the great Yorinaga probably wouldn't want to publicise too much that I'd been rescued from under his very nose.
     We reached the MVF's base of operations about five minutes later.

[Tokage]

25

     "A church?" I stood gawping up at the grey stone, steepled building in surprise. Jennifer nodded curtly and began to knock on the door.
     "Yeah, the Snakes don't tend to tolerate any religion other than their own Ivory Cult garbage, but they put up with Christianity as long as it isn't too overt. It's a rare DCMS soldier who'll hang around a church more than he has to, so it makes for a good base. This is part of the Malorian Reformed Church, they are careful to not be connected officially to House Davion, unlike the NACC which gets hit hard whenever the Snakes take a world from us. The vicar here is a friend of ours."
     "Who's that?" An old man's voice came from behind the heavy old looking, iron bound wooden doors.
     "Two penitent sinners seeking solace." Jennifer answered, clearly using some kind of pre-prepared code. There was a clank of metal as a lock was pulled and the door opened to reveal a black robed priest. He was a big man, perhaps in his sixties, with balding salt and pepper hair, watery blue eyes and a dour looking thin lipped mouth. Most unusually he had a faded seven digit number tattooed onto his wrinkled forehead, I forget the exact number now. He stepped forward and hugged Jennifer warmly, then quickly ushered us into his church, pulled the doors closed and locked them. Turning back to us, he stuck out his big liver-spotted hand to me and I shook it politely.
     "Good morning my son. You're Darius Davion then?" I nodded as I felt his rheumy eyes weigh me up.
     "Hmph, well you're a long way from the court here boy. Don't expect any 'by your leaves' or 'I do beg your pardons'! I'm a plain man and I didn't survive fifteen years as a slave on a Dieron Tea Plantation to kow-tow to our own nobles!" Well that explained the number on his forehead, men convicted of crimes on Kuritan occupied worlds could expect to be sentenced to transportation into the Combine and years of forced servitude for the most minor of offences. Deciding to play to the crowd I nodded and looked him clean in the eyes.
     "I understand and I don't want any special treatment. I came here to help ensure no one else from Mallory's World has to endure the kind of hell you clearly have." He grunted again, perhaps unsure what to make of me, then turned and stumped up the aisle of his gloomy stone church.
     "Don't mind Father Hawksley, his bark may be worse than most people's bites, but he's a good man when you get to know him." She smiled and I noticed she held my hand again as we followed the miserable old codger deeper into the building.

* * *

     Hawksley stopped behind the altar and groaned as he crouched, threw back a ragged woollen rug, and then pulled open a trapdoor. He then stood back to allow us to climb down a wooden ladder into a damp smelling little stone room, with a metal door set in one wall. A slat in the door was open and I could see a man's eyes watching us closely through it. Jennifer smiled.
     "Long live Mallory's World and those who love it." She said calmly and from behind the door a male voice rasped in response.
     "May the sun and broadsword fly over us always." The door opened and a peg legged, but tough looking, middle aged man with dark hair and Oriental eyes hobbled out towards us while holstering an auto-pistol.
     "By Blake's Blessed Trousers! You did it Jen. You got him out!" He laughed and pumped first her hand, then mine.
     "Hollo sir! Kyle Carter at your service and very pleased to meet you." He beamed while leading me into the well lit spacious underground room beyond, when suddenly a little bundle of trouble came steaming past his knees at top speed.
     "Mommeeee!" The blond mop-top, who looked to be about five or six years old, sprang into Jennifer's ready arms and the pair happily hugged.
     "Ooff, but you're getting big." Jennifer laughed and plonked her sprog down on his little legs. I guessed Jennifer was debating whether to tell Will about the demise of his Uncle Tom and she clearly decided against doing so for the time being. I also realised the others had wordlessly read her expression well enough not even to bother asking after Chaplin and Pavel.
     "Will, this is an important man. His name is Darius and he is a Davion." She said it portentously and the cute, cornflower blue eyed, tyke puffed out his little chest and pulled off a damn fine salute, complete with a stamp of his right foot that a Guards Sar'-Major would have been proud of.
     I grinned and returned his parade ground salute with one of my own. Then knelt and smiled my best charming grin at him.
     "Good show young Will. But do you know how we in the Guards salute." He shook his head wordlessly.
     "Would you like to?" He glanced up at his mother for permission and she smiled warmly down at him, giving him a little nod. He turned back to me and nodded. I put the first and second fingers of my right hand together and flicked them casually to my hairline, like the dandies do on New Avalon. He watched and began practising himself, before smiling shyly.
     "My dadda's in the Kroozis Lancers. I'm gonna be a Lancer too when I grow up." I picked him up and placed him on my shoulders.
     "Well for now I'll be your 'Mech." Then with a hearty yell began running the kid, squealing with the fun, about the place, keeping him entertained and laughing for quite some time while Jennifer sat down with the half a dozen men who were holed up there and presumably filled them in on how the rescue had gone, though I caught her glancing our way and smiling once or twice.
     I was bluff, friendly and down to earth with Will d'you see. All part of the plan. When I put him down on a bunk inside the clean stone walled secret base of the MVF, he saluted Guards fashion and I must say it was hard to dislike the young scamp and at the time I half felt real affection for him.
     "When I grow up and are a Lancer, can we kill Koortans together?" He asked I remember. Well, they grow 'em hard on Mallory's World and no error. As it happens he and I were to end up fighting Capellans, not Snakes, side-by-side many years later. That would be on Tikonov, where his boyhood dreams of glory would end with - ah, but I should tell you all about that another time.

* * *

     "There's a sewer tunnel that runs twenty five meters out beyond the walls, here." Jennifer stabbed her finger at a point at about the eleven o'clock position on the map of the circular city. I leaned in and studied where she was pointing.
     "At the outflow where it ends we've hidden a small two seater civilian VTOL hopper. A Cal-Boeing Cloudgazelle, to be precise. You and I will re-enter the sewers around the corner from this church and once we're out of the city we can fly the Cloudgazelle over to the Fourth's siege lines." It sounded risky to me, but I simply chewed my lower lip and looked thoughtful, I was learning that when nothing can be done to change someone's mind from dragging you along on some damn fool dangerous exploit, you're better off keeping quiet and waiting for your chance to duck it to arrive.
     I must have been dog tired when we first arrived at the church, as I'd woke from snoozing on the bunk with young Will sprawled half across my head. Jennifer had been standing gently shaking my shoulder and ushering me over to the table strewn with maps, guns, slicksheets and E-pads. She'd advised me I'd slept for five hours or so.
     "When do we leave?" I asked her.
     "Now." She replied flatly, before turning to go peck a farewell kiss on her sleeping son's cheek, she then turned and came back holding two more of the silenced KK submachine guns, one of which she tossed to me, the other she slung over her shoulder. She also passed me a red cap, with the Fed Suns sunburst crest on the brow.
     "When we land in the middle of your regiment's lines we need to be able to be easily seen as friendlies." She stated and I stuffed the cap into my pocket. Jennifer embraced Father Hawksley and the other MVF men then in the underground base, before she led me back up and out into the church.
      The ground shook as we walked down the church aisle and there was a steady rumble of gunfire from outside. I gulped, once more unto the breach it was to be then. I only hoped this was the last bit of mortal danger I would have to face on Mallory's World.

* * *

     Immediately we were out in the street I could tell this was the big one, by both our boys and theirs. The sidewalk absolutely shook, a column of Sworder armoured personnel carriers was speeding across the road some forty meters away from us and I could hear, though not actually see BattleMechs marching. Gunfire, the shriek of missiles, the electrical cracks of PPCs all filled the air in a chorus of death. There was a foul, acrid stench of cordite, smoke, burning meat and ozone.
     "We've got to hurry, it looks like this could be it." Jennifer shouted at me.
     "We'll never make it in time. Let's get back down into that base of yours and wait for the 'Bane to roll into town." I bellowed back at her. She smiled and touched my arm.
     "You don't have to protect me Dee, I'm a big girl." With that the silly bitch was out and running and of course I had to follow. Protect her? I'd been thinking about myself.
     She'd said it was only a short trip round the corner from the church to the nearest sewer entrance. Well, I'm not sure what standard of measurement she was using there but it felt like a marathon to me, it was such a harrowing run I only remember flashes. Pounding past the church itself and seeing civilian corpses in the gutters, swarming with the beastly insects and bugs ... a Kuritan APC stopped, it's crew fixing a broken axle, spotting us and without any preamble opening up with their rifles ... bullets cracking and zipping past us as we ran down a side road ... a Snake Archer firing clouds of it's Doombud missiles apparently at random into the lower city, the explosions causing what looked like a government building to collapse as neatly as if it had been professionally demolished ... three civilian women, their clothes shredded and in tatters running screaming past us in the other direction, their hair scorched from their heads ... the sound of an audio slug playing blaring Lyran 'Star Drive' pop music from an open window ... at one point Kuritan's in a jeep seemed to be chasing us, firing wildly, then slewed around a corner and were gone ... buildings were on fire everywhere, our sides concussion shells, designed to detonate the vibromine fields, overshot the walls at one point and there were numerous rumbling blasts as solid blocks of apartments, shops and official buildings came down causing great clouds of smoke and dust to billow out down the streets ... I saw an old man jump from a sixth floor window to escape the flames in one apartment complex.
     I think I was sobbing at the madness by the time Jennifer pulled me by the hand down into those reeking sewers again and the din above became more muted, though showers of brick dust kept falling upon us from the sewer roof as we ran down the tunnels.
     It's easy for historians to write dispassionately about siege warfare, take it from me, when you're there on the ground, with burning buildings, bodies, 'Mech, tanks and artillery fire all around you, it is pure chaotic hell.
     It took under ten minutes or so, once we were in the sewers, to pass under the city walls and to get away from the worst of the noise above. Jennifer and I slowed to a jog and I began to start thinking rationally again, if we went back to the Fourth carrying the news about Yorinaga's plans, as Jennifer wanted us to, then it would be no time at all before that bloodthirsty war-dog Ian had me back in a 'Mech and in battle again. It was at that moment I came up with my own plan, aimed at my avoiding any more involvement in this dreadful war, unfortunately it's actual result would be to end up landing me in the middle of one of the worst and most costly military blunders made by an AFFS RCT during Ian's entire reign.

[Tokage]

26

     The Cal-Boeing Cloudgazelle was hidden at the bottom of a ten meter deep shaft, which we entered from the outflow pipe of the sewer tunnel, the centre of the circular area was dominated by a pool of stinking sewerage, by the side of which stood the hunched shape of the VTOL itself. Looking up I could see, in the beam of Jennifer's flashlight, the top of the shaft was covered by what seemed to be a light camouflaged lattice of foliage and canes.
     The VTOL was covered in a dirty tarpaulin, which Jennifer tugged off, revealing the craft itself. Cloudgazelles, if you're not familiar with them, are neat little civilian hoppers, with two large and powerful multi-rotational turbofan engines positioned either side of the central body section and it's cockpit, which contains two seats, located one in front of the other. Cal-Boeing's ad's claim they utilise military technology and they are popular with wealthy businessmen, landowners and corporate types.
     "Jerome! You expect us to make our lines in that?!" I exclaimed in horror, gazing on what appeared to me to be little more than a rusted, beaten up pile of scrap. Jennifer giggled and replied sarcastically.
     "Oh sorry, your highness, but I'm afraid Davion-1 is in for repairs this week." I scowled and she laughed easily again, clearly enjoying herself, the cheeky mare.
     "Don't fret Dee, this old girl will get us where we need to go." Ignoring my sceptical expression, she went behind the Cloudgazelle and began tinkering with the right turbofan. I ran my hand over the nose of the little aircraft, it was about the size of a large, somewhat wide, groundcar. Flakes of rust skittered off with the movement of my hand.
     "How much fuel to we have?" I asked as matter of fact as I could, she shouted back.
     "Oh we always keep her with a full tank. We could fly to Oregon and back. Getting a few klicks to the Fourth will be no problem." I grinned to myself, this might work. I began planning out how I'd play it as I lifted up the cockpit canopy bubble. Jennifer came back round to the nose, wiping her hands on the front of her trousers and we clambered up into the narrow cockpit, Jennifer in the front seat, myself in the raised back seat. Both had identical pilot controls and I cleared my throat, as Jennifer pulled the bubble down.
     "Eh-hum, well now my pa'pa has several of these little beauties back on Killarney so I'll drive if you like?" I said and Jennifer craned round to look back up at me doubtfully.
     "Are you sure? I mean she's a solid craft despite her looks, but she can be as difficult to handle as a bad tempered mule." It was however important to me that I was in control of the hopper for this little jaunt, so I persisted and Jennifer reluctantly agreed, switching controls from her console to mine.
     I'd lied of course, about pater owning any of this particular model hopper, but I had personally owned a much flashier Lyran sports-hopper back home and I reasoned that there shouldn't be too much difference.
     I hit the powerup and was immediately rewarded with a throaty hum from the left turbofan engine and a sputtering cough of black smoke from the right.
     "You're flooding the right 'fan, ease up on the peddle." Jennifer cried agitatedly. Cursing under my breath I eased up and toggled the ventilators on the right engine, clearing out the fuel tainted smoke. The engine hum evened out and we began to rise slowly from the ground, I pulled back on the 'stick lifting us up towards the flimsy camouflage roof.
     "How do we get through that?" I jerked my thumb upwards and Jennifer called back over the engine noise.
     "Just give it some boost, we designed the roof to break when hit with any force. Don't worry the old girl can take it."
     "Your wish is my command, m'lady." I kidded and dragged the 'stick back hard, sending us smashing straight up, through the flimsy lattice and into the air, pieces of foliage and cane trailing off the cockpit canopy.

* * *

     I levelled out at about twenty five meters up, hit hover and spun the nimble hopper around in a three sixty degree rotation to get the lie of the land. The city was a mass of smoke and fire, I could make out the distant shapes of Fourth Guards 'Mechs struggling through the streets of the lower city and the wall was down in at least two places. Ian would have Colterville within a few hours if I was not mistaken in my guess, but both Jennifer and I realised at the same time we were indeed too late, the bulk of the Second Sword of Light were spilling out of the wall gates directly behind us. 'Mechs, tanks, APCs, trucks, bulldozers, coolant bowsers, even a few commandeered troks. Aerospace fighters from both sides duelled over the scene. Jennifer was horrified, I was over the moon.
     It was now or never, spinning the hopper about, I rotated the engines and roared away from the city. The little craft made a hundred and twenty kph in no time at all and we were soon zipping above tank and 'Mech traps, infantry trenches and even Fourth Guards tents and camps. A few trigger happy bastards from one of our infantry units were sending up small arms fire at us at one point, so I raised the hopper's nose and put my foot down all the more.
     "Dee, we can land here." Jennifer called over the roar of the twin engines and ready for this moment, I called back.
     "Sorry sweetheart, that's a no go. If we put down here we'll be stomped into the mud by the Second Sword's 'Mechs when they reach this point in a few minutes, along with the rest of those poor bastards down there." I nodded down at the weakly defended stretch of our siege lines. Jennifer saw the truth in my words I think, but I carried on with the rest of my prepared lines.
     "It's a shame Jen, but we've failed anyway, Yorinaga and his boys are out now and warning the Prince would be like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted. Our best bet is to head north, we can then loop around and rejoin the Fourth later." Jennifer craned her neck about and pointed to her left.
     "If we bank left now we can circle the city and ..." I was ready for this too.
     "Uh-uh Jen, if our own boys don't get us, those Snake aero-fighters will spot us and shoot us down toot sweet. Don't worry, I'll get us to our lines, but I'm not going to risk losing you in the process." Nice touch huh? Making myself sound like a romantic braveheart, like the late Tom Chaplin, whilst actually heading off into the wilderness to hide out, avoid the fighting and hopefully consummate my relationship with the lovely Mrs Devlin.
     "I guess you're right. I just wish this hopper had a comm unit so we could at least warn the Prince as to Yorinaga's plans." I let her worry about that as I dropped to thirty meters and put as much distance as I could between ourselves and the towering plume of black smoke that marked the unfortunate city of Colterville, which I must say I was heartily glad to finally see the back of.

* * *

     I was glad to notice the long hours of exertion, stress and danger quickly caught up with Jennifer and the whining hum of the turbofans lulled her to sleep. I promptly took advantage of this and turned the nose of the hopper left, as I planned to head for the, by all accounts, lush forests of the Equatorial Peninsular. We could hole up there for at least a few days I reckoned, during which time I could take out some vital part from the Cloudgazelle's engine and delay our return to the army for as long as I decided was prudent.
     I'd checked an E-pad about potentially hazardous flora and fauna we might meet in that region and aside from the insects, which we were protected from by our jabs and a few fairly rare carnofelids we would be safe. The plantlife produced ample edible fruit and there were even reports of abandoned holiday resorts along the shores of Palewater Bay.
     I scanned the sky for enemy, or indeed friendly, aircraft but the Second Sword seemed to have led our aerojocks east into the Bone Desert again. I knew the Seventeenth Hussars and the Kuritan Twenty-fourth Dieron were skirmishing and manoeuvring against each other somewhere far away to the west, but I was fairly sure I was nowhere near them yet.
     All in all, I was a happy bunny.
     Jennifer awoke after we'd been going about three or four hours. She arched her back, yawned and began looking down into the verdant, quite empty green land we were flying over. Turning she looked back up at me.
     "Where are we?" I smiled and responded to her question.
     "Hullo sleepy head. Welcome to Davion Air Tours, unless I'm mistaken to your right is Palewater Bay, whilst up ahead you can just make out the scenic wooded hill country of the Equatorial Peninsular." She glanced at the sparkling aquamarine waters of the ocean below us, it was late local afternoon and Mallory's Star was low in the sky, causing a very pretty wash of orange haze on the horizon. You wouldn't know there was a war on.
     "You've taken us quite a way west." She murmured thoughtfully. "If we went south now we'd be on the wrong side of the Salt Mountains."
     "We're in a hopper Jen, we'll just fly over them."
     "The winds can be dangerous over the peaks Dee." She grumpily answered, clearly annoyed at being taken so far from where the action was.
     "We'll go round them then. Look Ian will stay in Colterville to lick his wounds for a day or two any way." I was by no means sure of this by the way, but was just saying anything to keep her content to leave me in control of our movements.
     "Ahh, now this is what I've been looking for." I called out, pointing ahead of us and nudging the hopper's nose down. From the air it looked almost intact, an aged white stone and imported gath wood sea-side villa, set back from a sandy beach and a half rotted away wharf. The metal skeleton of a huge looking old tank was rusting away, half buried in the sand, near the base of the little cliff bluff the villa was sited at the top of.
      I put the hopper down at the rear of the villa gently and was grateful to get out and stretch my legs, Jennifer strolled over to the villa, which seemed much more ruined on the ground than it had from the air.
     "It looks to have been abandoned at least twenty years ago. This whole stretch of coastline was ravaged and ultimately depopulated during the Kuritan raid of '92, so that would be about right." She called back to me, while peering through empty windows. I ambled over to the cliff's edge and gazed out across the gentle waves rippling up the beach below, the scene's beauty marred by the rusting tank and I was struck again at how every part of Mallory's World, no matter how peaceful, bore the scars of generations of conflict. I sat and enjoyed the feeling of the sea breeze on my face.
     "So, Mr Tour Guide, what did you plan on us eating?" Jennifer sat down beside me and pulled her knees up to her chin, her green eyes squinting against the dying sunlight. I realised we'd taken no food from the MVF's base and I was cursing when Jennifer rested her hand on my arm and laughed.
     "Don't worry hotshot, we keep some ration packs in the Cloudgazelle at all times, just in case. I'm afraid they're DCMS issue though." I smiled and reasoning I'd be unlikely to find a better or more romantic spot to make the first move, with the sun setting over the horizon and turning the sea gold, I leaned in and kissed her laughing mouth gently. She resisted and began to pull away a little at first, but I held her arm and after an awful moment when I thought she might really put up a fight and clout me one, she surrendered and began kissing me back.
     Well, modesty prevents me detailing any more about the next hour or two of our camping trip to that picturesque little beachside villa, let's just say as I lay back looking up at the stars beside Jennifer later, pointing out New Avalon to her, it struck me that Chaplin had been a bloody fool not to chance his arm at Jennifer and her husband, Alan Devlin, was an even bigger fool for leaving such a beauty alone, hundreds of light years away. She became quiet, as we lay there and I recall stroking her arm and asking her whether she was sorry, she'd smiled at me and kissed me again.
     "No, I'm not sorry Dee. Just sad. This is a moment of madness, which'll be lost in the greater madness that's raging all around us.
     I was actually just thinking about something my grandma used to tell me, that when you're hanging from a cliff by your fingertips and you see a wild strawberry growing on a little ledge before you, you should always pick the strawberry and savour it all the more." I enjoyed just holding her close for a while, before we went inside the ruins and ate the foul DCMS rations, though you can take it from me, we enjoyed strawberries for dessert. Twice.
     "Hello Dee," I can hear some of you chaps sneering, "What's this? Can we detect uncharacteristic emotion when you describe this tryst? Were you a little spoony over this bint yourself?" Well truth be told, damn your impudence, I was. She was brave, resourceful and stunningly beautiful and I fell for quite a few of my gals, in my own way of course. Oh, like her, I knew this was just a temporary thing, but I did enjoy being with her in more ways than just physically and I still come over a little misty eyed, even today, when I recall lying with her on that cliff top above a calm beach on Mallory's World as the local sun went down.

[Tokage]

27

     We stayed for another local day at that tumbled down villa. Even the ever dutiful Jennifer seemed content to leave the war to it's own devices for a while and enjoy the moment. I tried my trick with removing a component from the Cloudgazelle's engines, but due to never having actually bothered learning Tech stuff I must have pulled out the wrong blasted part as when we mounted up, after I agreed to let Jennifer be pilot, the damn hopper started without any problems at all.
     I was silently cursing for the next few hours as Jennifer flew us south. The land quickly became drier and broken, we passed over sandy gulches and arid canyons, then it began to grow ever more mountainous, especially to our left.
     These were the Salt Mountains of Joshua, sometimes called Colter's Peaks, great towering pinnacles of unnatural looking black, red and grey rock. Sharp as shark's teeth they looked, as we buzzed along over the western slopes and I could see no passes through them. The wind seemed to rush through the ragged gaps between the heights, making eerie screaming whistles and as we were buffeted time and again, I began to understand why Jennifer had not been keen to fly this way around to the Fourth's lines at Colterville, or the Drop Zones, where our DropShips were presumably still standing. If we were to go down on these bare, rocky, mountain sides we'd probably die of thirst, assuming we survived the crash.
     It was about midday when Jennifer swore and pointed to her left.
     "Jesus and Jerome! Look at that!" I span in my seat and my jaw dropped in horror, a great black thunderhead covered a long stretch of the sharp pointed peaks for what must have been miles. Lightning flashed ominously deep inside it like distant PPC strikes and as my skin went cold with terror at the sight of the nightmare cloud there was one hell of a loud clap of thunder than nearly made my heart stop and my bowels open.
     "A Peakbreaker Storm that big will swat us out the sky like a tennis ball, we've gotta head west, try to outrun it, storms like that can sweep down the slopes in minutes." With that she rotated the left turbofan and span the hopper away from the mountains and out over the arid and apparently uninhabited western foothills. I could already feel a dreadful shudder at the rear of our craft as with a great rushing movement the thunderhead caught in several of the fearfully powerful wind banks and rolled down off the peaks behind us. It almost seemed to me that this Peakbreaker as Jennifer called it, was sentient, malignant and after us!
     There was another clap of thunder and several rapid flashes of lightning, then the hopper began to violently be tossed from side to side, as the dark clouds surrounded us. I think I covered my eyes and put my head between my knees in terror, whimpering a prayer to God, Blake and Father Christmas to save me.
     "I'm going lower, try to get under it. We might have to dodge the lightning though." Her voice was taught with her own fear and my scream of terror about dodging lightning was swallowed by another ear splitting clap of thunder.
     My stomach flipped as she sped the hopper practically vertically downwards, I then screamed once again as we tore out through the blinding black clouds and the dry, broken ground became visible rushing up to meet us. Skillfully Jennifer levelled out at about five meters and we were much steadier as we experienced the most singular sensation of racing, practically at ground level, underneath a  massive, rushing bank of black storm cloud so large it went as far as we could see in either direction. There was a moment of peace and I breathed a sigh of relief, then suddenly there was a bright arc of lightning down out of the clouds straight ahead of us, Jennifer pulled the hopper right and we zipped past the point where the lightning had been barely a moment before.
     There then followed a simply terrifying game of dodge the lethal lightning bolts. I don't know how my heart stood the stress, as the bloody super storm seemed to be actually aiming at us. Jennifer's shoulders were hunched and she was silent as she concentrated on flying as she never had before. A bolt slashed down to our right, she would spin left, then moments later she'd have to cartwheel back away from another.
     We'd actually almost made it, the cloud was beginning to break up as quickly as it had formed when we were clipped by one of the last dying bolts. There was a loud 'bang-crack-hiss-bang-zzzt-bang-BANG' and the cockpit filled suddenly with electrical smelling smoke and sparks. Our hair literally stood on end and we both received pretty strong shocks.
     "We're going down. Dee, I'm sorry." She called back and my mouth dried in such terror I was unable to speak, scream, whimper or say goodbye.

* * *

     She actually put the hopper down pretty well, considering the circumstances. We slammed hard into a dried up river bed, gouging a great trough through the sand and dust and eventually coming to a nose-first halt. A fire burst out on the console my head had just smashed into and I threw myself back from it and scrabbled up at the canopy catch. The smoke was tearing up my eyes and it took me a good minute to get the blasted thing open, the fire was meanwhile spreading and I could hear Jennifer groaning in front of me.
     Gasping as the canopy opened and blessed fresh air came rushing in, I stood up, feeling the heat of the flames on my legs, then clambered around and checked Jennifer. She was only partially conscious, blood pulsing from a nasty looking wound on her forehead, her eyes lidded and barely open.
     "Jennifer, oh Lord, come along old stick, wake up." I babbled, terrified at the thought of being stranded out here alone. I slapped her hard to try to wake her and she actually passed out. Sobbing, I hit the release clip on her seat belt and pulled and dragged her out as my own seat was consumed in flames. Realising the fire would reach the fuel soon I dragged her to a stand of red rocks some good way from the hopper and collapsed myself, facing our downed craft.
     At that moment it exploded in a rolling blast that sent pieces of it's ageing bodywork spinning and careening outwards in a great circle, one shard of the cockpit canopy missed me by inches and shattered on the rock I was leaning against, sending stinging shards into my cheek. The heat of the flames was strong on my face, despite the distance I'd pulled Jennifer and I passed out.
     I can't have been out long, as the fire was still blazing amidst the wreckage and a great towering plume of black smoke coiled up above us into the now blue sky. I turned and found Jennifer was still out, her breathing seemed shallow and I began to panic again, I had no medical supplies, was stranded in the back of beyond and Jennifer looked like she was dying here and now.
     Of course your Goody-Two-Shoes heroes, like Allard for example, who actually listened during wilderness survival classes at the Sak, would doubtless have fixed Jennifer's wounds with shoelaces, chewing gum and bits of lint from their pockets, whilst knocking up a comm unit from the wreckage and after first triangulating their position by the stars, they would then send a message for help, whilst munching on the roast desert vole they'd just caught.
     I however, sat down behind that rock and wept, the tears rolled down my face and I raged against the cruel fate that had brought me to what looked likely to be a bad end, when I should have been boozed up and rogering back on Sakhara still at my age.
     I must have wallowed in self pity for an hour or two, when I stopped mid sob and turned my head. I was sure I'd heard something. There it was again on the wind ... distant music. I then felt a slight shudder in the ground and then another. 'Mech footsteps, or I was a Lyran!

http://Http://www.contemplator.com/ireland/minstrel.html

     That tune ... I recognised it, it was The Minstrel Boy, the ancient anthem of the Avalon Hussars. I sprang to my feet as the music, broadcast with cavalier abandon over a 'Mech's loudspeakers, grew ever louder and I danced out from behind the rock waving my hands and jumping up and down. The tears rolling down my cheeks now tears of joy and blessed relief, I jammed my red Fed Suns cap on my head and called till I was hoarse.
     "Oh, oh, the Seventeenth! Jennifer, it's the Seventeenth Hussars. We're rescued, we're safe, we're safe." I babbled, foolish with joy as four BattleMechs ran up the dried river bed towards us, puffs of ochre sand kicked up with each footfall; a recon lance; two Locusts and two Stingers. Their legs were painted in orange and red desert camo schemes, with reflective blue-sky paint on their upper sections, the white sword on a gold shield badge of the Avalon Hussars proud on their breasts, with the black '17' of the Seventeenth painted beneath.
     They slewed to a halt around me and the music cut out. There was a crackle and a plummy accented Avalonian voice drawled out of the loudspeaker of one of the Stingers;
     "I say, if it's not awfully rude of me to mention it, you look like you could do with some help old chap."

[Tokage]

28

     "Don't worry old son, the sawbones will have her back on her feet again before you know it." Leftenant Travers Worrell slapped me on my shoulder, as I sat hunched on the foot of his Stinger sipping from the flask of scotch laced water he'd handed me. I gazed past him as the Hussar Med-Techs carried the still unconscious Jennifer on a stretcher towards the Karnov heavy lift VTOL that had been called in by Worrell's 'Mechs.
     "Pretty little thing." Worrell muttered half to himself and I nodded, feeling numb from the recent terror and stress. Worrell was a somewhat plump bellied fellow, who seemed a little old to still be a leftenant, his thick carrot red hair was liberally streaked with white at the temples and his florid face, with it's purplish nose, seemed to be showing the signs of many years of good living. He was sweating profusely in the heat and was constantly mopping at his brow with a silk handkerchief embroidered with the Avalon Hussar crest.
     "You rescued her you say?" He glanced back at me with his grey eyes.
     "No sir. She rescued me." I morosely answered. Now that I was safe, I'd become very struck by the thought Jennifer was going to die, she seemed very close to death's door certainly and believe it or not I was genuinely distraut. So much so in fact I hadn't had the inclination or will to lie to Worrell's brief questioning, while we'd awaited the med-evac VTOL to arrive. Realising Jennifer was about to be taken away from me however I stood and handed Worrell his flask back.
     "Sir, I must go with her. It's the least I can do and ..." Worrell cut me off with an apologetic motion gently waving his soft looking, pudgy white hands.
    "Sorry Darius, not possible I'm afraid. Orders. When I reported we'd come across you, the C.O. went potty for a moment, then specifically ordered we were to await transport for you and thereafter escort you back to camp. I think the old man wants to hear the full story for himself." He seemed noncommittal and evasive and I began to feel the sweat trickle down my spine. I realised the Marshal of the Seventeenth might believe, correctly as it happens, that I was a deserter. I mean I had to be the only member of the Fourth Guards west of the mountains.
     "Ah here come's your cab." Worrell shaded his eyes against the midday sun and said something else that was lost in the sudden whining roar as the Karnov's twin directional rotors began to blur and in a cloud of swirling red-orange sand and dust Jennifer was carried out of my life, as far as I knew for good.
     As the Karnov rotated it's props and began to climb away, I lowered my gaze to see a deal of movement coming towards us, as another lance of 'Mechs charged up, either side of a couple of Pegasus light hover tanks and two hover-APCs. I sighed, despite my best efforts, I was being drawn back into the army again and the war on this vile, stinking, dangerous death-world was still far from over.

* * *

     "It's a right 'onour, your lordship and no mistake! To 'ave a real live, as yer bloody please Dav-yon ride in my APC. Well, I'll be writing 'ome to mum about this first chance I get." The ghastly prole of a PBI sergeant, in command of the APC I'd been pretty much frog-marched into, grinned at me for the umpteenth time, his teeth stained yellow-brown from some kind of chewing tobacco, which he masticated constantly like a cow grinding cud. I smiled back at him queasily.
     "Thank you sergeant." It was all I could think to say, gazing about the cramped metal can we were humming along inside, which smelled like someone had been using it as a urinal, but that might just have been the grubby sergeant's breath. Three other sweaty, grinning grunts shared the APC with us, including the driver, and I was hard pressed to give my normal routine, beset as I was with thoughts about the possibility I was about to be brought up on charges of desertion, or possibly even summarily executed by 'Mech firing squad. Desperate to divert my thoughts from such horrors and the reeking stench that filled my nostrils, I decided to at least make a half hearted effort at seeming vaguely interested in these commoners.
     "So sergeant ..." I couldn't and still cannot remember his name despite the fact he told me several times during the journey. "... ah ... so you're with the Seventeenth then?" To which he puffed out his chest, straining ever more sweat stains onto his blue-gray shirt.
     "First Company, Fird Battal-on, Second Lek'sin'ton Reg'lars. H'at your service, m'lord." The gruesome creature barked absurdly proud, but he jogged a memory in my distracted mind.
     "Oh, General Felsner's old unit?" I recalled during one of the Lexington Lumberjack's card games at the Palace, that I'd crashed with Jacques Labroc what seemed a thousand years before, Ran Felsner had told me a little about how he'd enlisted at fifteen into the infantry and joined the Second Lexington Regulars upon graduation from some shit-hole boot camp the next year. He'd been with the Regulars when the Seventeenth Hussars RCT had invaded the Kuritan held world of Breed in '92 and won a battlefield commission to platoon commander during that, his first campaign, and had served on with the Regulars until '94, when he'd won a position at the Robinson Battle Academy and thereafter transferred to the Seventeenth's 'Mech Regiment. The sergeant positively preened at my mention of Felsner.
     "Ol'Never-Ran?!? You friends w'im sir? 'Ow's 'ee then? Jerome H Blake! Ballsiest private I ever served wiv, we came fru the Blackwarter tergever. I saw 'im puking his guts up first time he got drunk. Same squad we was, an' now 'ees a Gen'ral, who'd have credited it? Blimee though, 'eel recklect me, wont he just. Ask 'im, tell 'im ... sends 'is best." As I say I forgot this creature's name as soon as he told me, looking back it wouldn't have mattered anyway, by the time I was to see Felsner again that sergeant and his crew were almost certainly bleached bones in Mallory's World's desert like the rest of their regiment.
     It makes you think though, when you next see a holo of the Lexington Lumberjack all proud and playing the high and mighty noble, right down to that ridiculous affected monocle of his, think like I do about how he was once a grunt private serving alongside the likes of that forgotten sergeant.
     It took maybe three hours for us to reach our destination and I managed to catch maybe an hour's catnap time, before being nudged awake by the still beaming sergeant.
     "'Ere we go then m'lord. You 'member me to Never-Ran first chance you gets, yeah?" I nodded and hurried out the rear of the APC into the midst of a vast seeming military encampment. There were marching companies of infantry, lines of hover tanks parked in ranks, stamping 'Mechs, great 'dozers breaking ground for lines of tents, Techs fiddling with sentry guns, even a regimental band sitting on cans of fuel tuning their instruments and playing a broken rendition of The Minstrel Boy. I glanced about trying to locate Worrell's lance, but they were nowhere to be seen in the orderly confusion.
     "MechWarrior Davion?" A slim, yet hard looking, black skinned 'Mech Leftenant dressed in a short sleeved blue-grey shirt, tan fatigue trousers and black jackboots stamped up, a submachinegun swinging at his side. I snapped off a salute, which he returned smartly.
     "I'm Leftenant Burnside. Follow me please." He was the picture of unsmiling business and I became all the more worried as I followed him deeper into the camp which, it soon became obvious to me, held the entire body of the Seventeenth's RCT. We cut through the lines of the Ninety-ninth Avalon Armour, their hover tanks guns forming an arch on either side of us. As we walked tankers spotted Burnside's 'Mech regiment patch and began shouting out in good humoured banter;
     "Hey leftenant, when do you need the Ninety-ninth to pull your 'Mechs out the fire again?"
     "Wanta join a fighting unit sir? We need a gunner in ol'Gertie here! You'll need retraining first o'course."
     Burnside pointedly ignored them and we passed out the tank avenue and into a line of tents, beyond which the sound of sergeant majors bellowing drill drowned out the course laughter and jeering of the tankers behind us. We then passed the massed ranks of the Eighty-fourth Avalon Light Infantry, square bashing like they were back home in barracks on New Avalon. We returned so many salutes my arm ached and through it all Burnside ignored my attempts to draw him into conversation.
     The 'Mechs were at the centre of the great arc shaped camp and with the aero-jocks of the Forty-fifth Avalon Air Wing wheeling above us on overwatch, we entered the huge field command tent of an AFFS Marshal.

* * *     

     The Seventeenth Avalon Hussars were, theoretically at least, a fairly prestigious unit in those days. Their battle honours ran back into pre First Succession War times, they had a truly famous reputation for bravery, were said to be expert in the ability to attack and deploy under fire and along with the other Avalon Hussar RCTs they tended to include some of the best MechWarrior cadets from the various Fed Suns academies in their ranks. However, since the mysterious disappearance of two of their Overlord DropShips, containing almost all of the RCT's regimental commanders, twelve years earlier while en route to a combat mission against the Kuritan world of New Mendham, people had been talking about the RCT being jinxed and some wags had even taken to calling them the 'Snake-bit Seventeenth'.
     Sergeant Foul-breath's old bootcamp buddy Felsner had won the Medal Excalibur for assuming command of the RCT in the field at New Mendham and of having saved them from further disaster at that time. But since then, although the 'Mech regiment had carried out a couple of successful raids over the past year or two, the Seventeenth had not been able to shake off the rumours of bad-luck and the gossip was that they were itching to prove themselves in a major action.
     I'd not at that time actually met the Marshal of the Seventeenth and all I knew about him as I entered his command tent was his name; Charles Burke-Jankowski. Though the AFFS is broadly speaking one of the more efficient militaries of known space, I've had the misfortune to be under the orders of some prize blockheads during my life; for example there was that bungling young fool Arlin Stuart on New Ivaarsen in '21, Baden-Powell on Galtor in '25 and my dear old Uncle, Tom Davion, on Sadalbari during the '39 and I was to learn the hard way Burke-Jankowski was up there with the worst of 'em.
     As we walked through into the outer section of the Marshal's tent past a couple of well turned out infantry sentries in full battle dress, with sawn-off auto-shotguns held across their armoured chests, I was amazed to hear what sounded like numerous voices raised in loud prayer up ahead. Burnside marched me into a large command centre, lined at each side with several banks of Techs at portable sensor arrays, computers, holovid players and comm units. At the centre of the area, in front of a great stand holding the RCT's draped regimental banners, was a holomap table around which about twenty Hussar officers knelt, each on one knee, their heads bowed as one of them led the prayer loudly, in a reedy voice and the others murmured the words after him. Throughout the whole thing I cringed in embarrassment at the singular scene.
     "... of the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars, to find in our service in the RCT a sure way of serving Thee: help us to dedicate our lives that we may live for others rather than for ourselves; and grant that through the power of the Holy Spirit we may be steadfast in duty, patient in hardship, and bold at all times to declare the truth in the name of Him who loves us and died for us, Jesus Christ our Lord, and protect our beloved Federated Suns. Amen." To which the others said amen fairly briskly and stood up to return their attention to the map table. This wasn't normal for the AFFS, most of the chaps I served with wanted to keep religion out of the army and saw such matters as either completely unnecessary, or a private business for each person's own conscience. I'd certainly never seen a Marshal leading his staff in prayer before.
     "Darius?" One of the more junior officers, in fact I realised the most junior, came around the side of the table a look of surprise on his face. He was wearing standard Avalon Hussars field dress, green trousers, a blue grey shirt, a light tan jerkin and polished black jackboots, his jerkin was fitted with a gold leftenant's epaulette. My heart sank as I recognised his preppy handsome features, that damnable square jaw and those bright innocent seeming eyes, I'd forgotten he was with the Seventeenth, still I was in need of a friend here so I smiled at him warmly and rushed forward to pump his hand like a long lost brother.
     "Dan? Dan Sortek! Oh it's wonderful to see you old chap. You wouldn't believe the scrapes I've been through over the last few days." I gushed and the trusting ninny was grinning and I believe he even hugged me in welcome, before turning abruptly to the assembled commanders of the Seventeenth, who were gazing at us pretty perplexed.
     "Sir, you wont believe this, but this is the Princes's cousin, Darius Davion of the Fourth Guards." Marshal Burke-Jankowski stepped forward, he was a mid sized fellow, with a full head of cropped slate grey hair, his tanned features and trim figure spoke of frugal living, cold showers and plenty of exercise. He had cold blue eyes and a mouth that he continually pursed like he was sucking a lemon, I quickly noted he was rarely still, either hopping from foot to foot when in one spot, or pacing about like a caged animal at other times. He shot a sternish glance at Sortek and then fixed me with his gimlet gaze.
     "Now then sir ... I think you'd better explain how you have come to be found in the desert, accompanied by a ... civilian female ... a thousand miles away from the rest of your unit?" I couldn't read his expression and I straightened up, painfully aware of being dressed in the ragged remains of my civilian disguise. He had to have contacted the First Prince surely, so he must have known I'd been taken at Colterville and besides when telling a lie it's best to stay as close to the truth as possible, especially in this case what with the possibility of Jennifer coming too and telling the tale, so I began to tell my story with that in mind.
     I started with a graphic description of the Battle of the Maglev Gate, lingering on my taking out the backstab bunker. Which drew rueful whistles from some of the attentive officers. Then proceeded to describe the Kuritan sortie and the appearance of the dreaded Yorinaga in his Warhammer and his slaying of poor old Labroc, being sure to have a catch in my voice and the very slightest tear in my eye. Sortek put his hand on my shoulder in commiseration at this point and a few of the others offered condolences, muttering 'bad luck', 'well he went like a man' and the like.
     I then matter of fact threw my ace down.
     "So we received the recall order and I know now I was wrong to do so, but I disobeyed that order." And turning to Burke-Jankowski; "I will accept your recommendation for court martial should you desire sir. It was a direct order and I disobeyed it." Sortek and some of the others, clearly firmly on my side already scoffed and asked how I 'felt' I'd disobeyed orders.
     "Well, I was stupid and deserved to die, rushing about firing my weapons around the town like some bloody Periphery barbarian. Any damage I did was not worth the loss of my 'Mech." There were gasps and Sortek stuttered.
     "Ab .. about the town. You disobeyed orders by breaking through into the city, while the rest of your unit retreated?" His voice was heavy with amazement, but he was looking at me with that strange mixture of awe and confusion I've grown more used to down the years as my legend has continued to inflate.
     "Well, I wouldn't say I broke through, the gate was open after all and I only had to walk over a couple of downed Snake 'Mechs. As I say I aint proud of my actions. Bloody rage and the lust for revenge are nothing to brag about." I could tell this bunch were lapping up this kind of stuff and it struck me this story would go round the entire army in a flash. For the first time since I'd begun speaking Burke-Jankowski spoke up, sounding for all the world like a country vicar.
     "Indeed not young man and it isn't fitting or proper for a member of your family, of all people, to be ruled by his emotions. No matter how justified the grief that spurred your actions might have been. However, I have to admit, there's certainly none can say you don't have the heart and spine of a true Davion." His officers actually cheered at that and I've since seen it quoted in print about me from time to time in later years.
     "So how on Earth did you avoid being taken by the Sworders?" Sortek asked. I looked grim.
     "I didn't." My crowd gasped, one fellow's mouth dropped and his pipe fell with a clatter onto the holomap table.
     I proceeded to give them a fairly accurate recounting of my captivity, making sure to change several important details; in this new edited version of events, my 'Mech was downed in that central square and I punched out, I left in the bit about Tetsuhara saving me from Zakahashi, but claimed that during my torture in the basement I'd rather have died than give Zakahashi any information. You wouldn't believe how involved, astounded and sympathetic my audience became and d'you know I'm sure at some points Sortek was positively jealous I'd got to survive such a close shave with the enemy commanders.
     I made my later days of captivity sound like hell, describing a bare cell, manacles, watery gruel and dirty water swimming with bugs. It's a fact that when he heard my story some days later First Prince Ian absolutely issued a formal condemnation to the DCMS high command on the planet, complaining in the strongest terms about the 'cruel and inhuman' way I'd been treated by Yorinaga.
     And so I came to my rescue by the MVF. I told this fairly straight, perhaps I threw in a bit more daring-doo by myself, a few more dead troopers here, a sword fight with a Snake officer there. I certainly made a point to praise Jennifer's abilities and I actually came over emotional when it struck me again she might be dead. Sortek smiled sadly at me, as did some of the others who glanced knowingly at one and other, doubtless guessing I'd fallen for an unattainable married beauty and imagining romantic nonsense about the class divide and the like.
     "I'm sure she'll be okay Darius." Sortek said softly and I smiled thanks at him. Well, I hurried on to our brush with the Kuritan platoon in the street and some of the fellows actually looked askance at me perhaps believing I was making the whole thing up. To which I can't blame them, though would point out, as is often the way it's ironic that it's the truth that's seems so unlikely that people wont believe it and not the lies. I made a point of playing up my time at the church and made some vague references to praying for deliverance and the like, correctly guessing Burke-Jankowski would love that.
     Now came the tricky bit, how did I explain how I get out of Colterville, yet had ended up here, way across the Salt Mountains? I reasoned that I could afford to be more liberal with the truth from this point on, as if Jennifer did survive she would be most unlikely to wish it to be known that we'd holed up in a love nest for a day or more. Thus I span an elaborate story about being chased north of Colterville by a Kuritan aerospace fighter, a red painted Shilone with seven skulls under it's cockpit. It always helps to pay attention to details when going for the lie, if you want your teacher to believe your dog ate your homework make sure to tell him what breed of dog it was, what his name was, how he smelt from the muddy water outside and the sound the regurgitated the homework made when he spat it out onto your bed. Eventually the weight of information overwhelms the truth.
       I wont go into the whole invented tale here, if you want to read it I refer you to the first volume of my official memoirs. It's all in there, the daring chases through the clouds, the brush with bandits in the ruins where we made our camp and a more truthful, but still very much extended struggle against storms all the way down the mountains. Suffice to say no one in that room believed me a deserter by the time I concluded with a sob;
     "Then we went down, I'll never ... -choke- ... forgive myself for allowing Jen ... ahh ... Mrs Devlin to take the controls. It's my fault she's ... she's ... -sob-" Well as I say it worked a treat, suddenly I was surrounded by misty eyed Hussar officers all wanting to slap my shoulder and pump my hand in congratulations.
     "Good show! Damn fine!"
     "Brave fellow!"
     "There, there, old chap, she'll pull through. Don't worry we'll kill some Snakes for her soon enough." Etc etc. Then Burke-Jankowski pushed through and he pulled himself up and saluted me, his jaw trembling, then as I returned his salute, he offered me his hand and warmly shook mine.
      "I'll have someone find you a uniform young Davion. If you're amenable I think it best you serve with us for as long as it takes to link up with the 'Bane." I nodded, thinking that with the Second Sword far off across the desert that might well be quite some time indeed and feeling very pleased with myself.

[mikecj]

I forgot about the good ship Michael Muttley  ;)

[Tokage]

29

     A few hours later, after I'd slept and dined, I stood in a chamber in Ardan Sortek's large tent and looked myself over in a mirror. My handsome features were still marred by now fading yellow-purple bruises, a broken nose and the more recent cuts I received in the hopper crash. My black hair was growing out of the academy buzz cut somewhat and was now becoming more like the rakish style I would normally prefer. All things considered I still looked pretty fine, I decided, in the Avalon Hussars officer's field uniform I'd been provided; tight blue-grey trousers and shirt, polished black hussar jackboots and a light tan jerkin upon which some resourceful soul had found a Fourth Guards patch to sew upon the right breast pocket, alongside the Seventeenth's crest on the left. I cinched a black leather belt about my trim waist and secured my Sternsacht Compact automatic in a button down holster.
     I could hear talking in the next room of the expansive tent and walked through to find Sortek seated chatting at a table with a chap in a hover-chair. Sortek's companion was a handsome young man in his mid twenties, with light brown hair, clear blue eyes, an easy grin, and a somewhat thin moustache, who was dressed in plain olive fatigue trousers and shirt, with an ID card tagged to his breast pocket. I noted a tattoo on the back of his right hand, with which he was directing the movements of his chair, depicting the Heavy Guards grinning fox head badge. His left hand held an E-pad and his legs were positioned in a crooked and unnatural manner which clearly indicated he could not walk upon them.
     Sortek sprang up and handed me a steaming tin mug of pleasantly aromatic tea.
     "Hullo old man. Here, allow me to introduce our embedded journalist; the correspondent for the New Avalon Herald, Brandon Corey." I nodded hello cautiously. Corey, as you will almost certainly be aware, is a big name in Fed Suns military journalism these days, but it's a fact that being the man who'd got to break first the story of my early exploits and then that of Prince Ian's fate later in the campaign, was what really got his career rolling. I certainly don't begrudge him that as, from that first meeting in the Seventeenth's camp on Mallory's World, I've always got on well with him and as I was to cross his path during many a campaign in later years, he's done me no end of good by publishing many of my 'heroic' deeds and embellishing them with a gusto. Seeing my initial hesitation however Sortek smiled;
     "Oh don't fret Dee, Brand's a very decent and honest sort, well he would be, he served under Hanse as a MechWarrior in the Grinners after all. Hanse actually introduced Brand here to me when Brand was on New Avalon recovering from his wounds." Sortek blushed a little at that realising he might have touched on a tender subject and my eyes were drawn embarrassingly to Corey's crippled legs. Corey waved our awkwardness aside easily however. 
     "No worries, I caught a packet on Elidere, my wounds involved pretty severe spinal damage that's prevented the grafting of prosthetic legs and I've been confined to a hover or wheel chair ever since. Still it's given me a chance to follow the flag in another way." He gestured at a little holocam mounted on one arm of his chair and an E-pad and stylus that rested on the table before him.
     "Anyway, I've been itching to talk to you since having three different colonels laud your recent exploits to me in as many hours. They're already comparing you favourably to Alexander Davion." He grinned, half joking and I warmed to him. He was toadying for a story of course, but he had a trustworthiness about him that you don't normally find in members of the press, so sipping the actually rather good Earl Grey Sortek had furnished me with, I sat down at that little camp table and talked Corey through the story I'd given earlier, being careful to stick to the same details I had previously. Sortek thrilled once again to my largely invented and grossly distorted tale and Corey whistled a few times, recording on his E-pad as we went along. Eventually, as I finished, Corey sat back, looked at me inscrutably for a long moment and then blew out a long breath and smiled.
     "Good lord Darius, that's the damnedest story I've struck on yet! Well, I can't wait to write this up and get it in a c-mail back to the Herald. I think it's safe to say you'll be quite the celebrity when we all get home to NA." I smiled happily, though I wasn't totally sure he'd entirely bought my story and I'm still not to this day, he's a shrewd bird Brand, however he was as good as his word and the Herald's sales went through the roof when they ran Corey's account of 'Darius Davion on Mallory's World'.
     Sitting there, I became all the more eager to get off this hell-planet and back home to the deuced attractive prospect of public fame and adoration.
     "So Dan, Brand, what's the state of play? I mean, I'm aware we've won Colterville and Yorinaga got most of the Second Sword and it's attendant units out, but where's the First Prince and the 'Bane? Also where are the Twenty-fourth Dieron?" Brand hit a few buttons on his E-pad and passed it to me, with the map of northern Joshua lit up, then talked me through the progress of the damnable campaign as things stood on that day, the fifteenth October, 3013.
     "Well, we've received broken comms stating that the Hound has moved into the Bone Desert south-east of Colterville, chasing the Sword's battle group. We heard the 'Bane took quite heavy casualties at Colterville, as you will be better aware than us, so they are reliant on us keeping between them and the Twenty-fourth, who are somewhere south-west of this position and doubtless would like nothing better than to fall on the 'Bane's rear.
     Reverand Charlie has received orders from the First Prince to avoid direct confrontation with the heavy 'Mechs of the Twenty-fourth, but to keep them away from the 'Bane's flank." As Brand took a breath, Sortek leaned in animatedly and interrupted.
     "The Marshal knows his trade Brand and like myself, he believes we can take those bastards in the Twenty-fourth. What, you don't believe the Seventeenth Avalon can break a pack of murderers and miscreants like them? Why even their 'honour title' speaks of their vile barbarity; 'the Takers of Heads'!" Sortek spat the last words, his eyes blazed with excitement and I was struck by his past talk about his guilt over those he'd killed and would kill in the future. The blasted hypocrite was spoiling for blood and battle.
     "Look, no offense Dan," Brand replied, frowning too. "The Seventeenth are a tough RCT there's no doubt of that. I'm just saying that this tradition you chaps have of rushing into close quarter combat and grabbing the belt buckle of the foe as Reverend Charlie puts it, would most likely be a disaster here. Look now, your 'Mechs are mostly lights and mediums, you're typical hussars in the old sense; light, fast moving cavalry. But if you get in close to Snake heavies you wont stand a chance, I don't care how skilled a MechWarrior you might be. Believe me, I saw enough DCMS lights taken to pieces by our heavies during my time with the Grinners." Sortek didn't dismiss Corey out of hand, but I could tell he was bristling.
     "But Brand, you're thinking like a 'heavy', which is only natural considering your history, you're just not seeing the potential of manoeuvre and speed. We've been trained to run rings around the foe at close quarters. I've seen the Seventeenth's tactics work during two successful raids into the Combine over the last year. Oh and by the way, while he might be a little eccentric, the Marshal is a fine commander, he's built this RCT up from it's already solid quality into one of the best in the AFFS since he took over from Ran." Brand looked sceptical but, seeing he'd raised Sortek's hackles, he waved in a placatory manner.
     "I'm just saying I hope Rev ... the Marshal, sticks to his orders. All we need to do is keep the Twenty-fourth west of us and give the Prince the time he needs to run Yorinaga to ground." Glancing at me, then back to Sortek he changed the subject.
     "Well then Dan, what d'you make of these rumours that the Warlord of Dieron is actually with the Twenty-fourth?"
     "I see no reason to disbelieve our intel, Brand." Sortek eagerly replied, ignoring my attempt to question what this was all about, I'd not heard the Snakes had a Warlord on this rock. Sortek continued.
     "We know Takashi ordered the Dieron Warlord to take Mallory's World, why wouldn't he be here?" Brand mulled this over thoughtfully before answering.
     "Well we only picked up on this rumour through some comm intercepts over the last couple of days, prior to that our best information suggested the commanders of the four battalions of the Second Sword were jointly in charge on the ground here, probably deferring to Yorinaga as their senior and social superior.
     Now suddenly, exactly when we're closing in on the Twenty-fourth, the Snakes let slip the Warlord is leading them. I just find that suspicious." As did I, as I sat listening, Brand then voiced my own thoughts.
     "Then if you factor in the generally well know eagerness of you boys for a major battle and your RCT's traditional tactics, I think dangling the possibility of a Warlord being in their midst might be ... well the piece of cheese in the mousetrap so to speak." Sortek snorted at this and seemed about to argue on, then clearly relaxed and smiled.
     "Perhaps you're right Brand. Give us some credit though, I'll remind you of your doubts when we're piling the Twenty-fouth's standards onto the Palace steps back home."
     I've recounted this conversation for you here to give some idea of the politics and emotions that were rife throughout the Seventeenth on that morning, Sortek was in fairness no worse and considerably better than many of his brother officers in the RCT at that time, in his eagerness to rush into battle against the Twenty-fourth. I was worried, but sat as I was in the centre of a full strength AFFS RCT, surrounded by regiments of tanks, infantry and of course a 'Mech regiment, I felt quite safe. At that time I simply wouldn't have been able to conceive it possible that within a day or so that RCT might be half wiped out, completely broken and shattered into retreating pockets. Ever since I've known no military force is too strong, too numerous, or so well trained that it cannot be misled into disaster.

[Tokage]

30

     Our conversation was rudely interrupted by a sudden commotion outside, shouting and the roaring ignition of dozens of tank engines. Somewhere I could hear a synthesised recording of a trumpeter sounding the charge as a call to alert, followed by loudspeakers around the camp blaring out Marshal Burke-Jankowski's shrill voice.
     "This is a general alert, all senior officers report to the Command Tent immediately, all men and junior officers muster for action. This is it boys, we've got lucky." I glanced at Sortek who was already up on his feet and running for his cooling suit and neurohelmet, then back to Corey, who was swinging his chair around towards the exit to the tent, catching my eye he nodded to me.
     "Come 'long Dee, seeing as we've no units to report to we may as well sneak a peek into the Reverend's briefing session." I decided I would do well to find out what that religious loon Burke-Jankowski considered getting lucky and hurried after Corey.
     Corey's hover chair could make a fair lick and I had to run hard to keep up with him, but I caught glimpses of the Seventeenth preparing for battle as I pelted along, while all the time that damn trumpet sounded; three MechWarriors, dressed in their bulky cooling vests, with massive neurohelmets under their arms, ran across my path laughing to each other and bantering about which one of them would 'bag the Warlord' ... a Tech arguing heatedly with a crew of tankers about the amount of ammo they were piling into their Vedette ... a file of at least a hundred infantrymen peeling off by squads into waiting APCs ... two 'Mech leftenants toasting each other with raised glasses of champagne while standing by the feet of a Griffin, then dashing their glasses against the 'Mech in a tinkle of shards ... an infantry orderly holding a barking basset hound while it's master clambered up a ladder into his 'Mech's cockpit.
     Corey and I were halted at the command tent's entrance by a gaggle of surly infantrymen from the 243rd, Corey flashed his press badge and when they consented to let him in, he barked that I was Prince Ian's favourite cousin, on attachment to the Seventeenth, at which point they visibly paled, backed down quickly and let us both through. We entered to find what looked to be most of the command staff assembled once more around the holomap table and the Marshal pointed with a light wand as he talked.
     "... over Beetle Butte here and the town of Sandsedge here. During it's first fly by the drone was shot at from positions dug in around the town, upon it's second pass north it confirmed the data gathered during it's first pass ... here half way down this slope ... ahh ... Ash Ridge, there is a broken down convoy consisting of two J-27 Ordnance Transporters and ... a Daimyo Class Mobile Headquarters vehicle." The Marshal looked up as he spoke these words and hit a button on his light wand that summoned a blown up three dimensional holo representation of the massive MHQ vehicle, which rotated at the centre of the table for all to see and consider.
     "Gentlemen, I'm sure I don't need to tell you what this means. No mere commander of a regular 'Mech regiment would be given one of these rare beauties by the Coordinator. This has to be proof that the Warlord of Dieron himself is indeed here and within our reach, as our intel has been suggesting." Burke-Jankowski swept his gaze across his officers, a bright light in his blue eyes.
     "Sandsedge is a two hour march away. We are going to get that MHQ ... whether it  holds the Warlord or not." One of the 'Mech regiment majors spoke up as the Marshal finished.
     "How many troops are in the town itself?"
     "Our drone's report suggests one to two tank regiments are dug in around and inside the town, at least a battalion of 'Mechs is thought to be positioned in the broken land north of Beetle Butte. All in all, best guess is we'll be up against a third to half the Twenty-fourth Dieron's battlegroup. The rest are a good way west of Sandsedge according to intel." The officers grinned at each other and I heard a few whisper excitedly about having finally got the Twenty-fourth where they wanted them. Burke-Jankowski cleared his throat in order to get their attention again.
     "Gentlemen, I want this to go smoothly and quickly. No messy duelling when we meet any Snake 'Mechs that might be in the attack zone. We will divide the RCT into three flying columns; I will lead the first; a fast attack force consisting of the First 'Mech Battalion, supported by the hovertanks of the Ninety-seventh Avalon Armour and the hover APCs of the Second Lexington. We will sweep along the top of Ash Ridge in an arc west, then come down the ridge onto the MHQ convoy from the slopes of Beetle Butte.
     The Second Column; consisting of the Second 'Mech Battalion, the tanks of the Hundred and Twenty-third Avalon Recon and the troopers of the One Thirty-fifth Jump Infantry, will head straight for the town itself.
     The First Company of the Third 'Mech Battalion will hold this bluff here near the start of Ash Ridge as a fortified regroup point in the unlikely event we need it.
     Meanwhile the third column, being made up of the other two companies of the Third Battalion and the other tank and infantry regiments will sweep wide to the east and move to completely encircle the town and prevent any Kuritans there escaping.
     Naturally our good friends, those Knights of the Void, from the 45th Avalon Fighter Wing will be providing air cover throughout this operation.
     Questions?" The brisk way he said it made it clear he didn't expect any, his officers seemed to be happy with his plan and if I'm honest I have to admit I didn't think it a bad plan of attack, given the information he was acting upon. I jumped a little when Corey beside me glided his chair forward however and loudly spoke up.
     "Marshal, I have some questions." Burke-Jankowski turned and looked down at Corey angrily.
     "Mr Corey, much as I respect the freedom of the press and your own publication, now is probably not the best time for me to be carrying out interviews. Perhaps after this action I can find you the time to sit down and chat ... but right now I have a Kuritan Warlord to catch and a Snake 'Mech regiment to defeat." His officers chuckled at this, but Corey was not to be put off.
     "Just two questions sir. You mention intel reports show the bulk of the Twenty-fourth Dieron being well to the west, what is this intel and how reliable is it?" Burke-Jankowski went red, but biting his tongue snapped out an answer.
     "Spotter Drones picked up the movements of two battalions of 'Mechs three days ago, a hundred and fifty klicks west of Sandsedge and we captured three DCMS scouts last night, during a skirmish at the edge of the camp, they have confirmed these two Dieron Battalions are now about two hundred klicks to the south-west of Sandsedge. Satisfied Mr Corey?" Corey paused as if considering then answered in a quiet voice.
     "Not really, no sir. We're relying on three day old intel and the word of Snake prisoners who might well be ISF plants who deliberately got captured in order to feed us this, possibly false, data." Corey was making a lot of sense to me, but I could see many of the Seventeenth's officers weren't happy, they'd just been promised the golden chance for one big battle to cleanse their regimental record and they wanted to hold onto that hope. Seeing Burke-Jankowski wasn't going to give him any more, Corey asked his final question.
     "Have you cleared this plan of attack with the First Prince, Marshal?" The murmur of the gathered officers died off as Marshal Burke-Jankowski paused before answering.
     "I have tried to." He stated flatly. There were some voices raised at that in question from the Seventeenth's officers. The Marshal glared at Corey, then swung around to address his officers again.
     "The storms over the Salt Mountains are playing havoc with our comm signals, I've sent a fighter back to the Fourth's DZ with word of our plan, but we've yet to hear back from it. We will however have received word back from Prince Ian by the time we reach Sandsedge, if he decides we don't go ahead with the attack, though I doubt he will do so, then we can call it off at that time.
     Very well, good ... now that's out the way. Gentlemen a toast I think." At that white jacketed orderlies came in carrying silver trays full of flutes of Avalonian champagne, after we'd all taken one the Marshal turned slowly, his glass raised to us each in turn.
     "There is no other body of fighting men I'd rather be facing battle with today than you, my brothers in the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars. For twelve years we've been under a cloud through no fault of our own. Today we will clear that stain on our regimental record and win a great victory, for God and the Federated Suns.
     Gentlemen, please raise your glasses in our accepted manner; Where is Captain Conrad Warrent?" The officers all gulped back their drinks as the Marshal called out this strange question, so I did the same, wondering who this Warrent was. Then they all threw down their glasses and roared;
     "DEAD ON THE FIELD OF HONOUR." There was then three cheers and after that they all filed out past me, grinning like schoolboys on their first trip to a peepshow.
     I was later to learn that strange regimental toast hailed back to the First Succession War, when the Seventeenth had retreated off world, leaving some of their cut off MechWarriors behind, during the Kuritan invasion of New Rhodes. These handful of MechWarriors, led by Captain Conrad Warrent, waged a guerilla campaign and caused such trouble for the DCMS that, though eventually slaughtered, they allegedly delayed the planned invasion of New Avalon. At the time the Seventeenth vowed never to forget Warrent and his comrades and Warrent's name has been bellowed out at regimental bun-fights and the like ever since. 

* * *

     I was still holding my empty champagne glass when Burke-Jankowski spotted me standing behind Corey and waved me up to the holomap table, he gazed down at it alongside me, as Corey took the hint and hummed out after the departing officers, shaking his head in what I took to be disgust. Burke-Jankowski turned to look at me, the green and red light of the map table playing across his lean, tanned face.   
     "Well young Davion, what do you make of it?" He gestured at the table, seeming to imply the situation and the plan, perhaps he saw me as Ian's surrogate who was there to give him permission to go ahead, despite my very low military rank and extremely limited experience. Or perhaps he just needed to hear someone agree with him after Corey's perceptive and in my opinion damning questioning of the plan of attack.
     "Oh, erm, well it looks pretty thorough sir. Really top hole. Should be a famous victory. I just wish I was going along with you. It'll be gongs and garlands back at the Palace for you fellas I'm certain." I was babbling you see, I'd an inkling, call it a coward's intuition if you will, that this Sandsedge operation might not be as easy as Burke-Jankowski and the other officers of the Seventeenth were clearly expecting it to be and I was scared. Burke-Jankowski beamed at my words however and clapped my shoulder.
     "I thought you'd say that. Good fellow. Never fret, I had a hunch you'd want to come along and I've already arranged it." Well, fool that I was, I didn't listen above half to what he was saying and thought he was talking about his plan, so I gushed on about it some more.
     "Well it'll be a rare day, quite the triumph, tally ho and ... err ... come again?" I stopped in mid flow as what he'd said sunk in. His blue eyes seemed beady and dangerous in the reflected light from his table as he smiled again at me.
     "I said I've arranged for you to come in with us. Never fear brave fellow ... I wouldn't think to leave you out of this chance for glory, you're going to be at my shoulder, in one of our 'Mechs, when we net us that Warlord." I struggled to keep the smile on my face from changing into a rictus of sick terror, I knew I'd got only one chance to avoid having to climb back into a 'Mech and I did my best.
     "Oh now sir, that wont do. I wont have some other MechWarrior sit this one out while I pinch his 'Mech and medals." I looked stern, but nodding approvingly Burke-Jankowski patted my shoulder warmly.
     "And I wouldn't dream of expecting you to. One of our lads broke his leg in a fall from his cockpit a week ago, he can't pilot his machine and when I asked him on your behalf, he specifically asked me to assure you he wants you to take it into this action. He's from a well set family and will understand if any damage is done to his 'Mech, so don't feel you can't get properly stuck into the foe in it. I thought I'd attach you to young Sortek's lance, as you two are such firm friends." I gazed back down at the holomap and realised I had a choice to make one way or the other. I could refuse, sit it out in this camp and my recently acquired reputation would be dashed and gone, I'd be alive but more than likely my past reasons for being caught in civies far from my unit might then be looked at rather less sympathetically. Or I could agree and go in with the Seventeenth, as part of that fool Sortek's lance no less, when they attacked Sandsedge and this stalled convoy.
     Well, not wanting to lose my newfound repute and trying to tell myself that the Marshal's plan might work as well as he seemed to think it would, I made the wrong choice.
     "Well, when you put it like that sir, I have been itching to get some payback for Jennifer and Jacques. I'd be glad to join your little party."

[Tokage]

31

     I never did find out exactly whose 'Mech it was I rode into the Battle of Sandsedge. It was a DV-6M Dervish, a fairly common fifty five ton medium 'Mech, that packed a pair of Federated 10-Shot long range missile pods mounted in it's right and left torso, and a ChrisComp 39 medium laser, over a Federated 2-Shot short range missile launcher, in each arm pod. Luckily it's cockpit chassis, being manufactured by the same company as that of my Enforcer, made it easy for me to acclimatise myself to piloting it.  It could reach a maximum speed of about eighty five kph, but felt very slow and clunky compared to my old 'Mech and pounding along in the dusty wake of Sortek's Fire Lance I missed that lost machine.
    Sortek was sitting pretty just ahead of me in his pristine condition, VTR-9B Victor, a beast of an eighty ton Assault 'Mech which he piloted, I have to admit, skilfully enough to make it look like it was forty tons lighter than it was. His second, Sergeant Randall Hooper, was also piloting a Victor, while flanking on either side were MechWarriors Ivor Machinski, in a JM-6A Jagermech, and Orsen Navarre in his birdlike CPLT-C1 Catapult.
     We'd been running at full pelt for a good hour and a half at least and my body was aching and jangling with each jarring footfall by this time. I could see many other 'Mechs away ahead of us, to each side and when I craned my neck, to our rear. Occasionally Stukas and Corsairs would wheel overhead reassuringly.
     "How many would you say there were Hoops?" Sortek's annoyingly cheery voice crackled across the comm, as he chatted with his sergeant about some raid they and the other two lance members had fought through last year.
     "Five or six at least sir." The gruff sergeant grunted into his comm and as they continued to revel in their past glories, I silently cursed first them, then Marshal Burke-Jankowski, then the unbelievably twisted chain of events that had carried me from the lovely arms of Jennifer Devlin, to this potentially lethal situation.
     After leaving the Marshal's command centre, I'd numbly staggered straight into Sortek, who'd been summoned to collect me and while the blasted swine saw to the retuning of a neurohelmet for me and I struggled into Sortek's own spare cooling vest, Brandon Corey had sat in his chair watching the RCT's continued progress towards combat readiness.
     "Listen Dee, I know you're a fighting man and you want to be where the metal meets the metal." He'd begun slowly, proving right there he didn't know me at all. "But I've a bad feeling about this one ... a hunch I've not had since before the op' during which I bought my New Avalon ticket." He glanced at his ruined legs.
     "Look, just be careful old chap. Keep sharp and frosty out there, d'you hear me?" Oh that was just the kind of talk I needed to hear at that moment and I was practically soiling my boxer shorts as I secured the cooling vest and felt the pulse of cold fluid against my skin. I'd managed to raise a farewell bit of bravado for him and his readers however, well I was already committed to accompanying the Seventeenth and he was a journalist at the end of the day. Smiling, I'd handed him one of the cigars I'd been given by one of the officers at the command tent, after I'd finished my public rendition of 'the Adventures of Dashing Darius'.
     "Don't be a croaker Brand. Come on, confess, you're just sorry you're not going with us aren't you. Here light this up in two hours time, safe in the knowledge I'll be smoking Snakes by then." Bluff, warry old Darius eh? Of course he welled up the silly sod and sat there waving us all off, the lucky blighter probably then scooted around one of the mess tents for steak and chips, washed down with a pint of lager, while he bemoaned the cruel fate that kept him from the hell the rest of us were about to race headlong into.
     "Darius, you still with us?" Sortek's annoying voice intruded once more upon my windy brooding and I hit the comm.
     "Sure am Dan! What's up." I could hear the suppressed excitement in his voice as he replied.
     "We're approaching the start line. Just follow my lead out there. This is going to be amazing. Get ready lads ... this is the big one." Shaking with fear I could make out through the orange sand and dust up ahead Burke-Jankowski's massive CP 10-Z Cyclops command-'Mech, surrounded by a lance of three CRD-3R Crusaders. Along with Sortek's lance's Victors, these were the heaviest 'Mechs in sight, elsewhere most of those 'Mechs I could see were Phoenix Hawks, Blackjacks and lights such as Locusts and Wasps.
     Glancing right I could make out what seemed like a massive number of 'Mechs, tanks, APCs and other vehicles veering away from us, they threw up a great deal of dust and it occurred to me that the Snakes would be able to see us coming from many miles off.
     "There go the Third Column, boys." Sortek cried and it struck me we were getting damn close then to Sandsedge and this broken down MHQ convoy.
     "No outside loudhailers from this point till you hear my signal for attack." The Marshals broad-beamed comm piped into all our ears and the tension began to grow. As I ran I looked up and aside from the vapour trails left by our fighters, the sky was perfectly blue and cloudless. I spotted a little red dot flying over us from the direction we were headed and zooming in a gun-camera on it I found it to be a small red winged bird, like that Minobu had been watching during our last conversation of my captivity. I don't know why, but nervy as I already was by that point, I seized on this little insignificant thing as a very bad omen and became convinced we were rushing to our doom. Sadly, I wasn't wrong.

* * *

      Ash Ridge was a vaguely crescent shaped slope, rising some hundred meters from the desert floor up to a broken hilly area of gullies and defiles, above which rose Beetle Butte, a plateau like flat-topped hill that towered a further couple of hundred meters into the hot azure sky. As we sped along the edge of the Ridge about three 'Mechs abreast, in a great speeding column, we could look left down across the flat desert land below, where the town of Sandsedge sat on the bend of an apparently seasonal river, that was presently completely dried up. The town from this height was a reddish blur of shanty dwellings and desert hovels, there seemed to be the skeleton of an Oasis Tower at it's centre, but unlike that I'd seen at Cactus Flats this one was gutted and corroded. A smudge of smoke hung above the distant town, but I couldn't spot any enemy movement.
     "There go the Second Column!" Sortek spoke over the comm and I glanced further to my left to see the impressive sight of thirty six 'Mechs leading about a hundred and ten tanks out of column and into a fanned line for the charge on the town, whilst above them some six hundred jump infantrymen flew in a great cloud, looking for all the world like a swarm feverflies at this distance.
     "Wooo-hoooooo! Go get 'em lads!" Hooper cried and I squinted further out beyond the charging Second Column trying to spot any sign of the more distant Third Column, I could just make out very faint dust clouds, but they had to be some way off. Wrenching my attention forward I strained to see the stranded MHQ convoy we were headed for.
     "Put your foot down boys, this'll be like the Avalon City Derby back home." Sortek barked over the comm and with that the over eager madman ran faster and passed some of the 'Mechs in front of him to pull up alongside the Marshal near the head of our column, as the rest of the lance cheered and followed him, I cursed and did my best to keep up, hammering along the edge of a gravely precipice as I was.
      "There they are boys. DaviiiiONNNNN!" With a great shout Marshal Burke-Jankowski activated his 'Mechs loudspeakers, and then began playing The Minstrel Boy at top volume, his signal to attack. So it was he led the last charge of the First Battalion of the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars. I was there, about four 'Mechs right of him, just behind Sortek in his Victor. Well, there's been a lot written about this battle and you probably have heard some pretty tall tales, I'll try to describe all I saw as accurately as I can, then at the end will recount those parts of the battle I had no connection to and saw nothing of.

* * *

      In my memory the long sliding run down the very steep hundred meter slope of Ash Ridge seems to go on for hours, I recollect stepping my 'Mech off the precipice and into empty air, as if it happened in slow motion, then those awful first sliding, crunching, teetering, running steps down towards the still fairly distant seeming grey-green MHQ and the two Ordnance Transporters.
     "Jerrrrome!" I swore as I realised the gradient of the slope was considerably steeper than I'd anticipated and that it's grey surface was largely loose grit, gravel and shale. We were sliding and running and some of us began to skid and fall very quickly, I saw one Phoenix Hawk away to my right crash down in a cloud of grey dust, then get pummelled as a Clint smashed into and over it from behind. It took all my 'Mechsmanship to keep upright and moving forward, one couldn't stop or you'd be run over by the roughly two dozen careening 'Mechs coming down behind us. Way down the left flank the hovertanks and APCs of our attendant units had it much easier and were arching around to circle the convoy.
      To give them the credit they deserve, those Hussar boys were brave as Lucifer himself and they could pilot their 'Mechs as well as I any I ever saw, the charge down that slope should have been impossible, yet aside from that Pheonix Hawk and the Clint that hit him, I didn't see any more of us fall as we hurtled down the slope in a skittering, flying pack. I was vaguely aware of gunfire and explosions far off on the desert plain, which I correctly assumed was the Second Column engaging Twenty-fourth Dieron forces around the town at long range.
      As those of us near the front of this insane charge drew to within about thirty feet of the side on convoy vehicles we tried to slow and level our weapons. I couldn't make out any enemy in the area, the vehicles looked to be intact, but I could see no troops, 'Mechs or tanks around them at all. Which struck me, even in my state of raw terror, as mighty odd and suspicious, Brand's warning came back to me just as Sortek's voice bellowed over my comm, shouting to be heard above that blasted maudlin regimental anthem.
      "On boys on! We'll take their Warlord. ON FOR THE FIRST PRINCE! ON FOR DAVION" Then with that Sortek ran ahead of all of us, showing amazing skill by streaking out some five meters in front of the rest of the charge, his lancemates rushed to try to catch up and I was being pushed up alongside the Marshal's Cyclops at that dreadful moment when the entire side of the MHQ itself collapsed, to reveal the terrifying sight of what looked like the weapons rack of an SRM Carrier.
      "Oh, Jesus and Jerome .... Nooooo!" I screamed as I looked over the speeding heads of Sortek's lance's 'Mechs and directly into the maws of sixty NCK short range missile tubes. Time slowed, I tried to back up, my 'Mech's arms flailing into a 'Mech behind me with a clang, the Marshal half turned while running as if his 'Mech was shouting a warning to those behind him, Sortek's war cry became a distant roar in my ears, my heart beat in my chest and then the missiles erupted in a twisting, rippling cloud towards us.
      To this day I don't know how I didn't go down in that first barrage. Sortek and his boys were actually lucky enough to be under the line of the missiles elevation and ducked beneath the screaming, spinning, rain of death. The rest of us were not so lucky.
      Explosions went off everywhere, till my ears rang and my nose bled inside my neurohelment. Packed in like we were and at that range, they couldn't miss. At least four struck the Marshal's Cyclops to my side, showering my 'Mechs flank with shrapnel and molten ceramite armour, one missile cart-wheeled in to land at my 'Mech's feet, while another struck my left arm. Yet another screamed past my head and exploded into the torso of the 'Mech directly behind me, I was blown forwards and my 'Mech slid on it's back down the slope, the sky spinning, rocket trails hanging in the air above me.
      There was a brief moment of peace, as somewhere The Minstrel Boy died in a strained crackle, then came the sound of someone screaming incoherently over the comm, the pitter-scritch-patter of the disturbed gravel raining down upon my 'Mech and the screeching sliding of metal and 'Mechs intact and otherwise coming on down. Somewhere in my mind I heard the voice of old Bentine again, from back at the Sak;
      "Davion, damn you for a lazy Capellan! What is the rate of fire of a standard SRM Carrier. Come along boy! What, you think you'll have time to look it up when you're facing one?" D'you know, not for the first or last time, old Bentine the Bastard's lessons came back to me in the field and I found myself rasping aloud as if in class.
      "One carrier can launch sixty missiles every ten seconds and most carry enough ammunition to keep up that rate of fire for over a minute." Groaning I struggled to right myself as my 'Mech's arm was suddenly grasped by Sortek's Victor's great right hand and he pulled me upright, his voice also hoarse with shock over the comm.
     "Are you okay Darius?" I croaked a reply and spun to level my weapons on that beastly missile trap, then to myself muttered;
     "How long ...?" Without firing I threw my 'Mech forwards and smashed Sortek's down in the process, quite accidentally, screaming as I did so.
     "Get down, everyone get down." My comm was lost in the sudden banshee wail of the seemingly never ending whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the missile launchers going off over us from mere meters away. The ground shook like an Earthquake and the enormous rolling explosions once more drowned out all other thought or sound.
     "Up. Get up and firing!" I screamed, I knew this was our only chance, we had ten seconds to blow these mother-malfers to mincemeat, or they'd destroy whatever remained of the First Battalion across that terrible slope. Sortek and his lancemates were up fast and we all triggered our weapons at point-blank range into the missile racks.
      There were several rumbling explosions deep inside the bogus MHQ and I shouted a wordless bellow of savage victory as I half turned to gaze back up the slope. My victory shout died on my lips, the slope looked like nothing so much as a great burning scrap heap, with here and there a smouldering, blackened 'Mech picking itself up out of the debris littered across it. Smoke plumes rose from burning 'Mechs in a great crescent in front of the missile-trap and I counted a mere thirteen 'Mechs including our own still moving. Half a battalion had been destroyed in twenty seconds. I was appalled. I think Sortek was sobbing as he gazed upon the ruin of his regiment's First Battalion. Then I saw something rise up beyond the decoy convoy vehicles, rise up out of the red sand, showers of it raining off it's sides.
      "Ohhh shiiiiiit!" I heard Hooper scream in terror, as I stared numbly at the red 'Mech's body, with it's white painted deaths-head shaped cockpit that kept on rising into the air. "An Atlas!"
     As three more Kuritan Assault 'Mechs rose from hidden bunkers under the sand behind the Atlas, the battle took a turn for the worse.

[Tokage]

32

     I was close enough to make out the circular, black on red, Dragon's head badge on the monster 'Mech's chest plates, above the gruesome crest of the Twenty-fourth Dieron Regulars; a hand holding a bloody severed head, in a strange moment of lucidity I recognised the long, droopy features depicted as those of Prince Ian and muttered to myself;
     "Oh, they've got his ears wrong." At that moment, the Atlas lurched forward, a heavy autocannon set into it's side firing a short, coughing, burst of depleted uranium tipped shells into Hooper's Victor. Then, firing as it advanced, it played iridescent beams of laser cannon fire over Hooper's flailing 'Mech, causing melting armour and a spray of myomer fluids to erupt from it's left torso.
     "Jumping Jerome! Get this thing off me!" Hooper gasped over the comm and the rest of Sortek's lance opened up, as did some of the survivors further up the slope. It was a ragged volley, hastily fired, however and the hundred ton Snake 'Mech's grinning  death's head seemed to be laughing at us as it suddenly sprang forward in a skilful move and smashed it's right fist, with all the sudden speed of a Skyesman prize fighter, straight into Hooper's cockpit.
     "Hoop!!!" Sortek's anguished cry sounded over the comm.
     I'd never seen anything like it, the Victor's head seemed to explode like a New Syrtis pinyata, pieces of it's armourglass canopy and cockpit flying out behind it. I couldn't see Hooper, but there was no way he could have survived that hit. The Atlas seemed to have caught it's fist actually in the twisted remains of the cockpit and made an almost comical tugging motion a couple of times, while taking a few hits across it's impervious seeming Durallex heavy armour, before it's arm came free and Hooper's Victor collapsed in a heap at the Snake 'Mech's massive feet.
     Some of our hovertanks came whining in from behind, others swept wide around the outer edge of the decoy convoy, all were firing and I briefly hoped we might be able to organise some kind of fighting retreat. However, as two Dieron AWS-8Q Awesomes and a BLR-1G Battlemaster approached behind the lightly damaged Atlas towards us, I heard the tanks behind the burning fake MHQ firing on yet more 'Mechs.
     I came to my senses and decided in a flash there was nothing for it but to run. Just as I was thanking God that I'd been given a 'Mech with jump jets and was hitting them, there came Burke-Jankowski's broken voice over the comm.
     "Retreat, pull back boys. Fall back on me." Well I was already in the air, jets pushing me up over the debris of fallen 'Mechs, so I certainly needed no further encouragement. One of the Awesomes fired it's PPCs at me as I went, one bolt cracked past the face plate of my Dervish, the other struck my left leg. I felt the manmade lightning sear away ceramite in a crackling, jarring explosion. My HUD flickered at the massive electrical charge that ripped through my 'Mech, but thankfully the shielding held and I was able to control my landing about a quarter of the way up the slope.
     I risked pausing to glance back and I was horrified to see an entire company of assault 'Mechs at the bottom of the slope, our tanks were being slaughtered, some of the Dieron 'Mechs were taking down two tanks each volley. Sortek was still at the base of the slope squaring off with the Atlas, the insane fool. As I stood there, I saw Machinski's Jagermech cut down by an enormous volley from a Battlemaster and one of the Awesomes. Energy weapons and short range missiles blew out the Jagermech's central torso and Machinski punched out just as the 'Mech's reactor went critical and exploded like a tac-nuke. The metallic, echoing, blast sent adamantite 'Mech bones, bundles of burning myomers and shattered pieces of armour flying up the slope and thankfully pushed the Kuritans back behind the MHQ vehicle for a moment.
     I took this second or two to quickly appraise my position, if I continued to burn jet fuel to get to the top of the ridge I'd be exposing my back to long range missile fire from the twelve enemy 'Mechs at the base of the slope. I remembered Burke-Jankowski's holomap table and recalled there it showed a gully at the far end of Ash Ridge, running in a twisting line back up to the crest of the slope, if I could make that I reasoned I'd have at least some cover behind me.
     So I hit the jets, but rather than join the staggering, limping, running, jumping handful of 'Mechs clustered in a loose line about the Marshal's Cyclops, in heading straight back up the loose gritty slope we'd come down, I soared away to the left making for my gully. Two very battered and scorched Pheonix Hawks followed me and as I landed down in the rocky, but much more steady ground of the high sided gully, that sloped upwards towards the edge of the ridge, I saw Sortek's Victor and Navarre's Catapult jetting up after us. Long range fire upon us from the Kuritan assaults began in earnest at that point, missiles fell like rain across the slope and to a lesser extent into my gully, and autocannon fire chewed up wafts of grey dust along, a Wasp was torn in half when a heavy autocannon burst ripped through it's paper thin rear armour and the ruined scout 'Mech exploded into a towering pillar of flame and smoke when it's Bical missile stocks were touched off.
     Without waiting to see if anyone followed me, I sprinted up the mercifully solid rock of the gully and round a corner, I could hear missiles screaming into boulders and the stone of the gully walls back the way I'd come in and I breathed a brief sigh of relief, I was out of the line of fire for the time being. I dashed on and up as fast as my somewhat wounded 'Mech could manage, whilst meanwhile I could hear some of the others behind me and garbled, terrified shouting filled the comm.
     Sortek - "What? Where did those Assaults spring from?"
     Burke-Jankowski - "On ME, muster on ME."
     Navarre - "Did you see what happened to Ivor, that Snake bastard in the Atlas stamped on him! That murdering swine."
     Unknown - "All dead, the others are all dead."
     Burke-Jankowski - "Muster for counter attack at the crest of the ridge."
     Sortek - "Bastards, bastards."
     Unknown singing - "In the ranks of death you will find him ..."
     Unknown - "Ma'ma, ma'ma save meee."
     Okay, that last one may well have been myself. This was, as you can imagine, far worse an experience than I could have envisaged, we'd been well and truly mauled, I had no idea how many of the Ninety-seventh Avalon Armour's tanks had survived their mad charge at the Dieron assaults, or what had happened to the Second Lexington. All that concerned me now was making the ridgeline and speeding back toward the fortified redoubt point at the end of the line of hills.

* * *

      I hit the jets where the gully ended in a low cliff and soared up and to my right, landing near the southern foot of Beetle Butte, it's towering dry grey-brown side rising before me, swinging further right I saw three or four Hussar 'Mechs jump up over the rim, then two more claw and pull themselves across even as distant enemy fire peppered the slope around them. One of them was the Marshal's very battered Cyclops and I was seized by the vicious urge to open up on that pigheaded, arrogant, stupid fool myself.
     As those 'Mechs that had followed me came up behind, I realised out of a battalion of thirty six 'Mechs, there were now just eleven of us left and almost all of us were badly damaged. A few hovertanks and APCs soared over the ridge, just as the Pheonix Hawk directly to my rear was hit by a volley of long range missiles and a PPC bolt cracked past myself.
      I turned slowly to see the worst sight of my life to that time. Spread in a great line and coming up the low northern slopes towards us at a fair pace were the rest of the Twenty-fourth Dieron Regulars; perhaps seventy 'Mechs, most of them heavies. The ground began to shake beneath me and I just stood there and gazed as long distance missile and autocannon fire began to hit amidst us.
     "Merde." Sortek gasped in horror as he saw them.
     "A trap. It was all a trap." I whispered. Burke-Jankowski's Cyclops was at my shoulder and his voice crackled over the comm.
     "Snake-bit indeed ... sorry boys, looks like this is where I end my command. Any of you who want to stand with me, I'd be glad of your company." Well, he wasn't having mine if I could help it, however it was deuced hard, even for a thick-skinned rogue like myself, to simply tip your cap call 'cheerio then' and speed off while everyone else linked arms and went in for the final scrum down. After all, in the unlikely event any of them survived, they'd ruin my name by telling the story of how I ran. Sortek's voice sounded over the comm.
     "I think I speak for us all sir, when I say I'd be honoured to stand here with you." A general murmur of consent sounded across the comm from the others and I desperately pummelled my terror befuddled brain for some way to politely run for my life. Strangely it was Sortek who provided me my answer.
     Sortek's Victor was already pretty savaged and while the others were proudly taking up positions at the base of Beetle Butte, behind great boulders that lay there from some past rock slide, he was hit by two PPC bolts from the advancing mass of Kuritans. The lightning arced across the body of his 'Mech and his leg actuators fused and locked in a flash of blue white electrical flame. Sortek screamed in frustration as his Victor teetered, then began to fall, landing on a boulder.
     "Get out of there leftenant. That's an order, you can do no more good here." Burke-Jankowski bellowed over the comm, whilst opening up with his Delta Dart long range missiles. The idea came to me as I saw Sortek pop his cockpit, the lucky swine was being ordered to run for it, I glanced around quickly, there were plenty of pretty nippy hovertanks and APCs to commandeer around the place.
     Moving behind the largest rock I could find, I began loudly shouting curses over my 'Mech's loudspeaker at the advancing Kuritans and hanging my left arm's weapon pod out the side, I started loosing wild shots off.
     "Come on you Snake swine, I'll show you how a Davion dies." Then, when I was sure I was out of the line of sight of any of our own side, most of whom were understandably fixated upon the advancing swarm of Dieron 'Mechs anyway, I fired the Federated 2-Shot missile launcher in my left arm pod ... down at my own 'Mech's foot.
     It wasn't a pleasant experience, the explosions at that close range threw me over and onto my 'Mech's back, but I was most gratified to find my 'Mech was now footless and crippled. I put on my best rueful voice and gasped into the comm.
     "Ahh ... uh ... I'm down ... I'm down damn them ... I can get up ... ahh shit." Burke-Jankowski's voice came over the comm.
     "Get out, if you have time, young Davion -zzzt- the Prince -zzzt- Hussars." His comm broke up, but I was already out my cockpit and running across the shaking ground for the nearest vehicle; a hover APC, bearing the badge of the Second Lexington. I glanced right to see the horrific vision of Kuritan heavy 'Mechs looming out of the great dust clouds their marching feet had raised, weapons thundering. Thankfully, for the time being, they were concentrating their fire upon the 'Mechs not me.
     "Darius here, here." Sortek called from the rear hatch of the APC, waving at me to hurry and I fell in just as the APC's driver hit the accelerator and we sped off. The last glimpse I caught of Burke-Jankowski's last stand has been seared into my memory ever since; the handful of Avalon Hussar 'Mechs huddled amidst the boulders in a ragged semi circle, firing for all they were worth, as dozens of generally much larger Kuritan 'Mechs advanced on them, taking hits but launching volley after volley into the doomed Hussars. Then for just a few seconds, amidst the near deafening gunfire and explosions, I could swear I could just make out the distant, faint strains of The Minstrel Boy, perhaps being played over one of the Hussar 'Mech's loudspeakers.
     Sortek slammed that APC's door, cutting off my view of the horrific scene, and the vehicle's acceleration caused us both to fall back into a slime of blood and gore covering the crew compartment; a missile had apparently exploded amidst the APC's infantry complement as they'd been about to dismount, my eyes stung with tears and I wept. Sortek seemed totally drained and stunned, he sat and stared at me, his hair plastered to his forehead, then leaning forward he grabbed my shoulder.
     "I wont forget Darius. You saved my life down there, in front of that damn missile launcher. I wont forget."
     I struggled out of his grasp. As the APC jigged left and right to avoid scattered enemy fire. Sickened by him, he'd been as much to blame for this catastrophe as Burke-Jankowski had in my opinion, him and those other damn fools in the Seventeenth who'd allowed their desire to win back lost laurels for their RCT to overcome their better judgement. Looking back now, I tend to believe they hadn't been bad soldiers, or more stupid than any others, it had just been an unfortunate combination of events that had allowed the Kuritans to exploit their weaknesses.   
     In the years since, as you know, this 'last stand' has been turned into an example of AFFS heroism and gallantry, there have been tri-vids and paintings and books. A few years ago, I finally accepted an invite to attend the now annual anniversary memorial gala held by the Seventeenth, on their homeworld of Cassias. There were several new paintings unveiled in the mess hall of the 'Mech regiment's barracks, solemn speeches of remembrance and Dan Sortek got up and made a turgid speech which ended in him sobbing about his guilt over surviving when the rest of his lance, company and battalion had died to a man. I'd had too much wine at luncheon, prior to his speech, however and caused a minor stir by dozing off and snoring loudly as he reached his summation.
     Still, as I was prodded awake by a sour faced, matronly old bag in widow's weeds, I must admit as the regimental anthem was played by the RCT's band in that echoing church, for some reason I began to cry myself, as for a moment I was on that slope again and certain I was about to die.
     As the music continued to surround me, I had to get up and leave the church and find a local knocking shop, in order to perk myself up. I shan't be attending the memorial again.

[Tokage]

33

     We hummed at top speed into the Recovery Point, held by the First Company of the Third Battalion of the Seventeenth, followed by maybe a dozen other hovertanks and APCs. I could see out of the driver's view slit that wounded 'Mechs and tanks from the Second Column were also limping back into the Recovery point. There was gunfire hammering away as we opened the rear door of the APC and Sortek and I staggered out of the stiflingly hot armoured vehicle and into the sunlight.
     I looked around and quickly spotted large numbers of Kuritan tanks moving towards us across the desert plain from the direction of Sandsedge itself. In the midst of the tanks were the assault 'Mechs that had caused us so much damage. I put my hand over my eyes and turned back towards Beetle Butte, a pillar of grey-black smoke hung in the air beyond the Butte, but I couldn't see any Dieron 'Mechs on our trail yet. In the air above us I noticed for the first time a savage string of dogfights was raging between our aerojocks and theirs.
     "You there, Sortek is it? Where's the Marshal? Where's the First Battalion? What're you doing here?" A ginger bearded Major came running over to us and I let Sortek field his questions, Sortek lowered his voice, clearly not wanting to cause a panic, but the shocked Major kept blurting stuff out loudly in amazement.
     "A trap ... assault 'Mechs ... slaughtered ... last stand ... all dead?" I saw tank crewmen and infantrymen manning dug in semi-portable weapons turning and listening in horror, then gazing back at the smoke visible beyond the Butte. The Major, his face white, turned to an aide beside him.
     "Get me a comm link to the Third Column. I need to know where the hell they've got to? If you can raise them, tell them to hightail it back here pronto! Huh?
     Tell them we've been caught on the hop. Tell them ... the Marshal's Column is lost. Presumed wiped out." I could feel the panic in the air, a few hours before these men had felt invincible, now the spectre of total defeat seemed to hang upon their collective shoulders. Turning briefly back to me the Major, whose name I never learned, nodded shortly.
     "Glad you made it out at least, wouldn't want to have the loss of a Davion on our conscience on top of everything else."

* * *

     So there you have it, more or less, my experiences at the Battle of Sandsedge. The commander of the Twenty-fourth Dieron Regulars and it's attendant conventional units had played the Seventeenth like a master. The Warlord of Dieron had never been on Mallory's World of course, they'd just invented that bit of false information and fed it to us in order to lure us into their trap, just as Brandon Corey had suspected.
     There had been three well positioned tank regiments in Sandsedge itself and thanks to a couple of lances of Ontos heavy tanks, they'd been more than able to beat back the light 'Mechs of the Second Column, after inflicting some pretty severe damage on them. The Snakes had also got very lucky by dint of the fact the Third Column had got lost if you can believe that, they'd swung too far west and by the time they got close enough to see what was happening the rest of the Twenty-fourth Dieron were in the process of massacring Burke-Jankowski and his valiant fools. The Third Column pulled back and was pursued by large numbers of the Dieron 'Mechs and so took several days to link up with the other survivors of the RCT. In their defence, even if they'd been with their Marshal under the slopes of Beetle Butte they wouldn't have made much difference and would probably have been lost too.
     The Seventeenth Avalon Hussars RCT was decimated, to put it mildly; it lost roughly half it's 'Mech regiment, the Second Lexington Regulars and the Ninety-seventh Avalon Armour had both been practically wiped out, whilst the Hundred and Twenty-third Recon lost about half their tanks. I believe I'm correct when I say we lost about twelve hundred men; including a Marshal, a Leftenant General, two Colonels, six Leftenant Colonels and God alone knows how many more junior officers. It took the Seventeenth nearly a year to regroup, patch up their 'Mechs and become battle ready again, they were to stay on Mallory's World while they did so and would gain revenge against House Kurita by defeating in battle the Second Legion of Vega later in '14 and then subsequently out-tricked their old enemies from Sandsedge and forced the Twenty-fourth Dieron to retreat off world shortly thereafter. By the way Sortek's Victor, which had been salvaged by the Snakes after Sandsedge, was recaptured at that time and was returned to him by his comrades about a year after he lost it. The Twenty-fourth returned to Mallory's World after a period of months and were to duel with the Seventeenth there for another two years inconclusively. It should be said the Seventeenth hadn't recovered to full strength even as long as twelve years after Sandsedge.
     The important thing at the time of the defeat was that the Seventeenth were effectively out of the campaign, they could only retreat, trying to regroup as they went and thus would leave the Twenty-fourth Dieron quite able to advance east and move to attack the rear flank of Prince Ian's beloved Fourth Guards.
     Sandsedge could have very well cost the Federated Suns not just a large part of an AFFS RCT, but Mallory's World entire. 

* * *

     As I stood quaking amidst the bloodied survivors watching hundreds of Kuritan tanks spread over the desert below us, I knew none of this, in fact I remember thinking we were all going to be wiped out. I was sat behind the APC, gulping warm brackish tasting water from a flask I'd found inside the vehicle, I heard someone shout my name and looked up bleakly to see Sortek running towards me.
     "Darius, Darius, quick old fellow, up you get." Oh Jerome, I cursed to myself, what now? Still I could hear the distant tread of those assaults and the volleys of tank fire drawing ever closer, so I wasn't about to get too comfortable here.
     "Darius, I've spoken with the Major and he's in agreement, you have to carry word to the First Prince of what's happened here today." I looked at him as if he was mad.
     "Dan, the Prince is over a thousand klicks from here. Why not just comm him?" Sortek briskly shook his head.
     "Those damn storms over the mountains I'm afraid, we're still not getting any signal through them. Besides, news of this ... disaster ... should come from someone the Prince trusts and anyway you were there too, right in the thick of it ... you can tell the Prince exactly what happened ... make him see ... well ... that we did our best. One of our fighters has been ordered to land ten klicks back from here, the Major has ordered you to accompany a fuel tanker back there, use it to fuel the aero-fighter and then have the pilot fly you to the Fourth's position." He handed me a data slug containing my orders along with a veri-code.
     I glanced up, the dogfights were still raging, but then again if all the Snakes fighters were here, as they seemed to be, we could scoot up into low-planetary-orbit and probably safely reach the Drop Zone and then the Fourth's position without much danger. Certainly less than I'd face if I remained there, so standing up, dressed in my smoke blackened cooling vest and shorts, I saluted Sortek. He returned the salute and then absolutely hugged me.
     "God keep you Darius. If I don't make it ... tell Hanse ... well just tell him it was an honour to be his friend." I nodded, pulling back pretty brisk like, as I remembered the Court-gossip about Sortek and Hanse being shirt-lifters.
     With that I dashed for the fuel truck Sortek pointed out, two infantrymen rushing behind me as a totally useless bodyguard, then piling into the cramped cab we set off and I left Sortek and my horrific time with the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars behind me.
     The Stuka waiting for me at the assigned rendezvous point sat on a flat dry mesa, it seemed much larger than I'd imagined as we drove up to it. It's armoured fuselage painted with orange and black tiger stripes and it's nose decorated with a cartoon fanged mouth. I saw the words Flying Tiger painted in flowing script under it's cockpit and below that the badge of the Forty-fifth Avalon Fighter Wing, a stylised bomb above the head of a 'Mech silhouette, with their motto proudly emblazoned; 'The Mechbuster Wing'.

[Tokage]

34

     As my flight from the remnants of the Seventeenth to the camp of Prince Ian and the Fourth Guards RCT was relatively uneventful I shall not detail it in great length here. Again I would refer you, if you're interested, to my official memoirs, where you can read of the cheery banter I swapped with the ex-racing car driver turned aerospace pilot, the thrill of being crushed into the back of his cockpit as we thundered up and through the faint wisps of cloud, the awe inspiring experience of cruising above the atmosphere where the curve of the planet was visible and sun beams glittered across the hard purple-black region where space meets sky.
     We'd made contact with the DropShips at the Fourth's DropZone and from them learned the position of the 'Bane, some hundred klicks south of the port of Harrison's Ferry, in the Bone Desert. We gave the bare bones details of the loss of the Seventeenth to the DropShips to forward to Prince Ian and it took a staggeringly brief seeming time for my pilot to begin his descent back down into Mallory's World's atmosphere. We hammered through traces of cloud, then down and through into the typically clear blue sky above Joshua, to be greeted with an amazingly vivid view of the desert far below, the pilot then hit his jets and we shrieked in like a falling star.
     Soon I could easily make out the Fourth's camp, it's great lines of tents, tanks, 'Mechs and vehicles, arrayed at the edge of what appeared to be the remains of a ruined town or city, half buried in the yellow-white sand. A landing strip was clearly marked out by winking red and green lights at the southern edge of the camp and after my pilot tipped his wings politely to the pair of Guard Stukas that came up to meet us, he took us down. I never felt in danger once during that flight, we had air superiority over the middle regions of Joshua at the time, though that was going to change all too soon of course, but I didn't know that then.
     After landing I shook hands with the pilot, waved goodbye and trudged through the unpleasantly familiar dusty white sand of the Bone Desert, which drifted lightly in the air and began to get into my nostrils, eyes and hair once more. It was a hot local evening and I was still only dressed in Sortek's spare cooling vest, shorts and soft soled MechWarrior's boots, my holstered Sternsacht still riding my hip. Blake, but I must have looked a sight with all I'd recently gone through.
     I was walking off the landing strip when a jeep came bumping along towards me from the tents at the edge of the strip. I waved tiredly as it skidded to a halt ahead of me, throwing up a white dust cloud that made me cough and splutter, a figure then jumped down from the driver's seat and stepped toward me through the dust.
     "Good evening MechWarrior Davion." I inwardly groaned as I recognised Clive Holloway's flat, uncultured, vowels. Dressed in tan fatigue trousers, sweat stained shirt and jerkin, dusty boots and a pair of mirrored sunglasses, his scarred face seemed as grim as ever as he snapped a salute. I thought this rather formal of the jumped up oik and went to get into the jeep without lowering myself to respond, at which he barked at me like I was some buck private in a bootcamp.
     "It's customary for a MechWarrior to salute an officer in this army." I instantly spotted his restored yellow and white Leftenant's epaulette and I groaned all the more, it seemed with Labroc dead and myself missing Hillnas had given Holloway his promotion after all. I drew myself up and saluted the swine. He was doubtless enjoying this small revenge and he walked around me, taking in my condition.
     "So, the wanderer returns. Missing for well over a T-week, last seen running into an enemy stronghold and yet here you are, alive and well ... relatively speaking." He leaned in towards me, so close my nose prickled at the sour smell of his sweat.
     "I'd like to know how exactly you've managed that?" Sensing he was simply making the most of this moment and confident I could win the Prince over with my story, as I had the officers of the Seventeenth, I decided to have some sport with this uppity peasant.
     "Well come along, you can be there when I make my report to my cousin, First Prince Ian. Oh ... hold up though, I doubt he'll be in need of a grease-monkey, so your presence might not be required." He couldn't help himself and blushed, I chuckled and jumped in the passenger seat of the jeep.
     "Hurry up there my good man, I've an appointment with royalty don't you know." He spat, shook his head in impotent disgust, walked around to the driver's seat and clambered in, then pausing he turned to look at me, taking off those glasses of his.
     "Darius ... what did I ever do to you? I know it was you who got Captain Hillnas to reverse my promotion before Colterville, but what I don't know is why? Why'd you do it?" I smiled at him and pointed at the wheel, positively gleeful this tough dolt still knew his place enough not to simply rough me up.
     "Drive on please." He swore, rammed his glasses back on and skidded the jeep around and back through the camp. It was an enjoyable ride for me, as word of my return from the dead had obviously gone around the RCT like wildfire, crowds would begin to appear as we motored through the lines; MechWarriors, tankers, infantrymen, Techs, I even nodded to a pair of cooks who were standing waving at me from the entrance to a mess tent.
     "It's Darius!"
     "Darius Davion's back! He's alive."
     "He's been in a 'Mech sure 'nuff."
     "Here Darius old chap, where have you been hiding?"
     Some simply stood and gawped like I was the walking dead, y'see back then no one ever got captured by the Kuritans and came back. The Snakes didn't take prisoners it was that simple, I was reported as Killed In Action when Hillnas returned to our lines outside Colterville after the failed attack on the Maglev Gate. My driving through the camp now over a T-week or more later was seen as nothing short of a miracle.
     Holloway swerved down past a company of crouched 'Mechs and I noted, though Techs were working on them, they showed quite a bit of damage and the company only numbered nine 'Mechs. We drove through the camp lines and up to a tall, yet half buried, old building at the edge of the ruins the Fourth were camped beside that evening.
     The building had an impressive ferrocrete dome, a broken colonnade of pillars, and showed ancient seeming cannon damage. A platoon of infantry in combat armour guarded it's approaches and a pair of Locusts plodded almost delicately past us on patrol, their sensor rods twitching like the antennae of giant insects.
     I swung out of the jeep ignoring Holloway and marched towards the armoured infantry, they were expecting me and six of them led me inside the dim, echoing, interior of the strange ruin. Within we passed through into a circular chamber, ringed with more Grecian style columns, with a pock marked and scarred decorative armour-glass floor, now covered in white desert dust, my mouth open I gazed up at the remains of a beautiful fresco depicting the various leaders of the Star League painted upon the towering synth-marble domed ceiling. We then crunched across the floor towards a doorway that seemed large enough to accommodate a BattleMech.
     More guards snapped off salutes as we passed through and I was suddenly aware of the sound of conversation up ahead, strip lights had been set up by some of the RCT's Techs, with trailing wires leading to portable generators, and they illuminated what once must have been a formal dining room, three long green plasteel military tables had now been set up down it's length and the RCT's command staff filled the tables, working away on E-pads and P-comps, running sensor checks or making what seemed like a myriad of comm messages. As I was marched down one side of the room I gazed up to find it had a twenty meter high ceiling, studded here and there with skeletal remains of long ago shattered chandeliers.
     The guards led me through the long room and down a spiralling flight of synth-marble stairs, down the side of which more power cables had been laid by our Techs. I asked one of my escort what this ruin was and he glanced at me and answered eagerly.
     "It's the old BSLA Diplomatic Mission. One of our recon patrols found it. It's location has previously been lost for decades apparently." I looked blankly and the fresh faced young Leftenant smiled and answered my unspoken question.
     "The Bureau of Star League Affairs, Diplomatic Mission. That ruined 'town' out there, it was all geared towards servicing this place. Every Star League planet with a population of over a million had one of these missions, they were the centre of the League's power on it's worlds. The Planetary Administrator was based here and it was through these places the League's laws flowed to the individual planets." He grinned sheepishly, realising he'd been talking like a book.
     "Here we are, if you'll wait outside, the Prince knows you're here and will call you in shortly." They left me in another vast but empty room and I sat in a rickety metal deck chair set beside the tall, closed double doors, before which two unspeaking armoured infantrymen stood with rifles across their chests and noses in the air.
     There was a good deal of conversation going on in the room I realised, as the echoes of my escorts departing footfalls faded off back up the stairs. Concentrating, I could make out a good deal of what was being said while sitting there quietly and recognised the voices, it was an important moment in the campaign and I shall lay down here what I heard and who I believe said what.

* * *

Prince Ian -     "No. I wont have it."
Gene Drivers -     "But Your Highness, you must, as Hanse and I have been reminding you, we have three entire RCTs sitting on their hands barely one jump from here. Bring them in and we can crush both the Second Sword and the damned Twenty-fourth Dieron and be home in time for Christmas."
Ian -     "No Gene, no. We don't need those reserves, like I've c-mailed Hanse twice now damn his stubbornness, and those units are not 'sitting on their hands' as you put it. They are waiting for H-Day. If we bring even one of those RCTs here we'll have to delay H-Day by possibly months, giving Takashi all the time he'll need. Also the Dragon might throw in his own reserves here to counter us and then we'll be stuck fighting over this blasted planet for years and the super-depots will certainly get completed. Look if H-Day goes ahead according to schedule it's very likely the DCMS will pull at least one of it's 'Mech regiments off this world."
Drivers -     "Sire, H-Day's still months off and it's my duty to point out that we are being led ever deeper into the Bone Desert by the Second Sword, Kurita's number one regiment. With the Seventeenth smashed beyond any usefulness, we will soon have the heavies of the Twenty-fourth Dieron hot on our tail and when they catch up to us, our prey out ahead of us there will turn around and we'll be caught between two fires.
     By all military good sense, you only have two reasonable choices. Either we retreat to fight another day, or you call in the reserves."
Ian -     "Possibly, possibly. Luke, I know they are in the dark at the moment about the fate of the Seventeenth, but what's the men's morale like, do they feel they need reinforcements?" 
Lucus Hillnas -     "Your highness, the 'Bane will follow you to hell and back."
Ian -     "I never doubted that Luke."
Hillnas -    "We'll follow where you lead Sire. I just wish we still had the Seventeenth watching our backs."
-long pause-
Ian -     "There is a third choice Gene. It came to me while I was drafting my last c-mail to Hanse."
Gene (wry voiced) -     "I didn't think we were at the point of surrender yet Sire." -general laughter-
Ian -     "Mercenaries Gene, mercenaries."
Gene -     "Ahh. Who've we got in the neighbourhood?"
Ian -     "No one major I'm afraid. I've been paging through my lists and as you know I'm playing a pretty fine balancing act preparing for H-Day, for example I don't want to risk interrupting the Eridani Light Horse raiding calendar. However I think I've found just the unit. Here, on Mara right next door so to speak, two 'Mech battalions of Lyrans going by the name of the Kell Hounds."
Gene -     "The Kell Hounds? Oh yes, those are the boys who had a spot of luck back in February against one of the Sun Zhang Cadre regiments?"
Ian -     "That's right old chap, I wouldn't say it was luck though, they really took the Ninth Cadre to pieces and even stole the DCA JumpShip that brought the Ninth to Mara!"
Gene -     "Oh yes I remember now, didn't I hear that they sent a c-mail to Luthien asking for Takashi to send another ship to pick up the Ninth's survivors?" -Laughter-
Ian -     "Damn fine. Damn fine that."
Gene -     "Still though, I heard the Kells were a little ... well ... dodgy. Mara aside they've barely seen action and I read in the Gazette that, even in Lyran space, they've been accused of being amateurs. I mean aren't they led by a couple of dilettante noblemen? Social Generals playing at being mercs?"
Ian -     "I don't know about that, but I judge by results Gene, as you know and so far they've earned their pay. Hell, they cost me enough, I may as well get some more use out of 'em."
Gene -     "Two battalions would make all the difference it's true. Well, I still think it would be safer to bring in one of the reserve RCTs, but it's your call Sire. How quickly can they be here?"
Ian -     "Ten days. Think we can survive for ten days Luke?"
Hillnas -     "Without a doubt Sire."
Ian -     "Damn that bungling fool 'Jankowski anyway. Did he know what it costs me to put an RCT in the field? If he was still alive I'd have him up before a court martial in a trice.
     Now then, where's young Darius. I could do with some good news and if I'm not mistaken he's going to have quite a story to tell us."

* * *

     There you have it. Ian could have thrown three more entire line RCTs at the Kuritans on Mallory's World and chose not to. Incredible isn't it? He thought he could win with just the Fourth if you ask me, it was in his voice when he was talking about the Kell Hounds, he only agreed to call them in to placate Hanse and Gene Drivers, who were both pushing either for a retreat off world or for Ian to commit some or all of his reserves.
     H-Day was of course the planned go-date for the Halstead Station Operation.
     Sitting out in that dusty antechamber, in that wobbly chair, I was amazed at Ian's arrogant stupidity, as I saw it then and still do to this day. I couldn't see that it would really matter that much if Ian went to Halstead Station in a year or so, it would certainly have been a preferable option to falling on Mallory's World. That was Ian for you though, he was enjoying himself and was like a gambler on Galaina, putting his entire remaining cash down on one more spin of the wheel. If it had come off he might have defeated Kurita's best and still been over the border at the head of his RCTs on Halstead Station in a few months time and the Inner Sphere would be a very different place today, of course like all gamblers he had the odds stacked against him.   
     Upon entering the circular room cluttered with E-pads, papers, maps, unit rosters, parts of the Prince's personal baggage and a table set with large plates of corned beef and cheese sandwiches and bottles of lager chilling in a rusty bucket full of half melted ice, I found Ian, Gene Drivers and Captain Hillnas were gathered to welcome me back to the RCT and I basically gave the same story as I had to the officers of the Seventeenth as regards my earlier adventures.
     Then when I reached my time with the Seventeenth, I told the tale fairly straight, knowing that there was every chance that lucky bugger Sortek would survive, to be able to confirm or refute anything I said here. Naturally though, as with anything, it all depends how you spin the raw facts. In this case I made it sound like I'd immediately spotted the dangers inherent in Burke-Jankowski's plan of attack and subtly talked Corey into voicing the doubts he did, knowing that a common MechWarrior, no matter what his last name was, could never expect to have his voice heard in a command level briefing.
     Then, naturally I claimed to have practically begged the late Marshal privately, on bended knee, into allowing me to come along for the ride, I think the way I put it to Ian was;
     "Whatever my concerns about the Marshal's strategy Highness, I knew it was my duty to be there with them." Ian had nodded his big head at that approvingly, as had Gene Drivers I noted.
     I continued with as detailed a description of the battle as I could manage, lingering upon the, for once, true story of my hearing Bentine's voice asking me about the rate of fire of short range missile launchers and my using that memory to lead Sortek's Lance in taking out the missile launcher and it's crew. I moved on then to the appearance of the Kuritan assault 'Mechs and the flight for the gully, claiming to have actually deliberately led those Hussars who'd followed me.
     I told the story of we few survivors seeing the massed ranks of the Twenty-fourth Dieron bearing down on us, then the preparations for the last stand and the loss of first Sortek's, then my own 'Mech to missile fire. Hanging my head as I gave a carefully prepared little speech.
     "I ... I feel like I deserted them Sire. I could have fought propped against a boulder or lying down. But I cut and run with Dan Sortek." Well, if I could drop him in the pan, whilst coming off as the suffering hero, racked with remorse and guilt over surviving when his comrades didn't, I would do my best to do so. Hillnas slammed down his beer bottle at that.
     "Don't be a damned fool Darius. What would that have gained us, save the loss of another brave man?" I did my best to snuffle a little, bite my lip, straighten my back and look forward over Ian's head awaiting the Hound's response. Ian gazed at me from under his thick bristling red eyebrows. I think he was still brooding over the cost he felt Burke-Jankowski had slapped him with by effectively losing his RCT, but he did also look at me with a degree of honest respect and before I left with Hillnas for our tent line, he held my shoulder hard in one of those great ham fists of his and growled;
    "You're staying close to my side for the next few days Darius. I need some of your luck to rub off on me."

[Tokage]

35

     Ten days may not seem a long time to you chaps, sitting comfortable in your armchairs, sipping Avalonian brandy and puffing on a cigar, but when you're deep in a half-poisonous dust desert, with the Second Sword of Light ahead of you and the Twenty-fourth Dieron due to turn up behind you at any moment, let me tell you it can seem like months.
     Ian sent his summons to the Kell Hounds on the sixteenth of October and within a day the previous situation of us trying to chase the Second Sword down into open battle was reversed. We received word from our air wing that the Twenty-fourth Dieron were moving fast around the north of the Salt Mountains, possibly in the direction of Colterville, which was then held by a garrison the Fourth had left behind, consisting of two of the RCT's conventional regiments. Comm chatter between the Twenty-fourth's forward elements and Kuritan positions deeper in the desert, doubtless belonging to the Second Sword, was soon detected and within hours our recon Lances and patrols began to clash with Second Sword units. These engagements were light skirmishes at first; resulting only in a bit of damage here, a 'Mech temporarily crippled there, but they let the Snakes know roughly where we were and the larger battle Ian had to avoid seemed imminent.
     Yorinaga and his Second Sword knew the rules of the game had changed and we had now become the prey. Within two or three days the Twenty-fourth Dieron had moved between Colterville and our DropZones and had effectively severed our lines of communication, the Second Sword's probing scout units were now pushing us ever deeper into the Bone Desert and the Prince had the doubly difficult job of manoeuvring to ensure he not only kept us out of reach of the Second Sword's main body, but that he didn't leave us open to a strike from the Twenty-fourth.
     The only way we were getting supplies during this period was through air drops, our fighters shuttled backwards and forwards between our desert camps and the DropZones, escorting the four or five Karnov UR Transport VTOLs that the Prince had shrewdly brought with us to Mallory's World. There had been a couple of dogfights between our aero-jocks and those of the Twenty-fourth, but so far the drops were still getting through.
     This all sounds pretty grim doesn't it? Well it was, just not for me. After all my awful luck during this campaign it seemed I'd finally come out on top, there were no spare 'Mechs needing me to pilot them thank God and so I was not involved in those desert skirmishes. My reputation in the unit was by then truly stellar and I was generally regarded as inhumanly brave, supremely resourceful and something of a good luck charm. As one fellow put it;
     "Bugger it all Dee, aside from beating the rest of us into Colterville by five T-days, you're going to be the only man-jack of us who gets to brag about having been at both Colterville and the Battle of Sandsedge!" He was right to be jealous, you can't buy that kind of publicity and I was itching to get back to civilisation to see how it worked with the ladies.
     That's not to imply my time traipsing about the Bone Desert with the 'Bane was particularly onerous for me. Far from it. Ian had been as good as his word when he said he wanted to keep me close to his side and I'd been spending the stiflingly hot desert days, far from where the lead and lasers were flying, in Ian's air conditioned mobile headquarters, or Gun Dog One as it was affectionately known to the AFFS. Ian spent much of his time closeted in there organising the airdrops with the precious DropShips and planning the next movements of the Fourth necessary in order to stay one step ahead of the Snakes. When the Prince was there too, I'd attend him, toady him as much as I thought prudent, fetch and carry for him, laugh at the appallingly vulgar Lyran jokes he liked to tell, join him in damning Burke-Jankowski and commiserate with the tight fisted miser when he moaned about the state of the nation's war-chest. When he was elsewhere, I'd cheerfully sit sipping recaff or artichar, laced with spirits I snagged out of the Hound's own drink's cabinet, chatting with the trio of lads who manned the MHQ's powerful comm system, whilst listening to the reports coming in from our prowling scouts and the occasional sounds of battle.
     In the evenings, when the Fourth would find the best cover it could and dig in, I'd stroll about the camp looking for mischief. I'd usually be accompanied on these night time promenades by MechWarrior Killian Rook, a fellow member of Hillnas's company who you may recall lost his Pheonix Hawk in that first battle we fought upon landing on Mallory's World and MechWarrior Moshe Galan of the Second Battalion who'd punched out when his 'Mech went supernova during the storming of Colterville.
     Rook, a very muscular dark skinned fellow who hailed from somewhere in the outback, where his family ruled an entire world like they were absolute kings if rumour was to be believed, was one of your tough, gentleman-duelist types and was bitterly unhappy about having had his 'Mech crippled so early in the campaign. He was arrogant, very quick to take offence at the smallest things, and in some ways reminded me of Roddy Kent.
     Moshe Galan was new to the Fourth, having recently transferred from the First Robinson Rangers, he was a career soldier through and through. The younger son of a loaded Robinsonian banking family, he had the carefree attitudes of the truly wealthy and I felt he would be a good contact for later life. One thing my father taught me early on was that one of the most essential things you need in life is a friendly banker.
      So we three, temporarily dispossessed, young gods would saunter about camp, taking drinks with the RCT's officers thanks to my surname, playing cards with the lower ranks, trying it on with the few attractive female members the Fourth included amidst it's ranks in those days, and generally treating what should have been a desperate military situation like we were on holiday. Boozing and gambling while camped deep in a war zone is strictly against AFFS regs of course, but we were Guards MechWarriors, as long as we weren't on active duty we were more or less our own masters.
     It was on the night of the twenty second of October that I was to allow my sense of well-being and safety to over-ride my common sense and I would lay the seeds that would end up casting me out of the bosom of the RCT and once more into the hell of the campaign.
     We'd been forced deeper into the Bone Desert and were on the northern edge of a broken region of dry plateaus, wadis and deep canyons, apparently known locally as Hell's Anvil. Our tents and camp lines were spread against the foot of a horseshoe shaped cliff face, along the top of which we could see the faint winking lights of 'Mechs patrolling. Killian, Moshe and I had had our orderlies clean, press and iron our walking out dress uniforms during the heat of the day and showered and scrubbed up we'd headed down the lines for Leftenant Chalmers's tent.
     Andy Chalmers headed Hillnas's Recon Lance and we'd heard he'd scrounged up some bottles of Kuritan sake, plundered when the 'Bane had liberated Colterville, and he was by all accounts prepared to share his good fortune. Chalmers hadn't been the same man after the repeated attacks against the walls of Colterville. He'd been good friends with Urqhart, who'd died during that dreadful attack on the Maglev Gate, and gossip was that Chalmers was cracking up and not sleeping well. Naturally we just wanted to try the sake, before toddling down to one of the card games run on the quiet by those rogues in the 'Bane's Arty Battalion.
     It quickly became clear that most of the rest of the 'Bane's MechWarriors and officers must have had the same idea as us that night, as when we turned the corner of the line of tents we could hear the sound of a fair number of people talking and laughing. Chalmers's tent was spilling out officers and MechWarriors, some still dressed in cooling vests and shorts, each holding little white bottles or cups of sake. Chalmers, his eyes rimmed with dark shadows, his face wan and drawn seeming, was hurrying around like a house-proud Avalon City matron, filling cups and even offering dry ration biscuits around like they were cucumber sandwiches.
     I noted immediately we arrived Holloway was standing talking quietly to a Tech-Leftenant, whose red jacket was covered in coolant fluid and oil stains, his grimy hands were leaving black fingerprints upon the white china cup he was drinking from and as I took them both in, I quickly decided it would be fun to have some sport with Holloway that night.

* * *

     As my cronies and I swiped a bottle of sake each and began to swill the foul tasting Snake muck, I realised that the best of the Fourth Guards 'Mech Regiment was visiting Chalmers that evening, doubtlessly only in order to drink his Kuritan sake. I was actually quite surprised that, knowing his propensity for enjoying other people's hospitality, the Hound hadn't stuck his muzzle around the corner and guzzled some of Chalmers's stash of captured booze.
     After I had tossed back my first bottle, well they were quite small and the stuff went down quickly, I took another and very loudly said to Rook.
     "I say it ain't right is it? Techs drinking with MechWarriors. What next, are we going to invite in the PBI latrine patrol over for tea and scones?" As intended my voice cut through the polite buzz of conversation and out of the corner of my eye, I caught Holloway's rather startled jump and his Tech-Leftenant friend's surprised head turn in our direction.
     I wasn't in the least bit worried. Remember at that time I was living under the Hound's protective shadow and was the darling of the RCT. Holloway could not afford to take too much offence to anything I said publicly, for if he started a fight it would be a real breach of regulations and besides I had Rook to club him down, on the other hand if he went the whole hog and challenged me to a duel, I could simply point out the fact that duelling was banned by the AFFS during active service and use it as one more stick to hit the peasant with. Rook, bless his brutal heart, actually thought I was being serious and immediately took massive affront to an officer of Techs 'pinching' MechWarrior's liquor.
     "Bloody right it's not right Dee! It's a damn disgrace, what is this a malfing merc unit or something?" Some of the other chaps were nervously laughing at our increasingly loud conversation and I was all glee as I noted Holloway's cut up mug was blushing furiously at our bare faced cheek. Make no mistake, reputation counts for a lot in any 'Mech regiment and that goes doubly so for a Guards unit. If Holloway could find no way to politely put us in our place it'd be around the RCT by breakfast;
     "Hey d'you hear how Darius showed up that Tech-chap in Hillnas's Company."
     "Oh really, well he was promoted up through the ranks, what d'you expect?"
     "Aye and Darius was probably doing the chap a favour."
     "Really, how so?"
     "Well, you know Darius, he'd probably spotted this Tech chap making an ass of himself and wanted to give him an excuse to slope off without doing himself any more damage."
     "Yeah, I expect so, damn but Darius is a top hole sort of chap ain't he just? Helping that commoner out like that."
      Well, you get the picture. Moshe, who wasn't really much of a snob, didn't join in and stood back chatting with a fellow Robinsonian from Third Battalion, so I relied upon Rook's quick temper and extreme views to carry me through.
     "Well I don't know though Rook. Perhaps a Tech can fight as well as a MechWa-"
     "Whaaat? A grubby fingered Tech will never be able to fight as well as the likes of you and I. D'you know why? They're bred to put 'Mechs together and we're bred to take 'em to pieces, d'you see?" I smiled thinly as I replied cool voiced.
     "Oh, I see old chap, it's all in the breeding then?" At that the Tech-Leftenant, knowing he couldn't win, said something softly to Holloway, put down his cup and stalked off into the desert night. Holloway was scarlet and doubtless aware of the many pairs of eyes that were watching him. He had to do or say something, or his good name in the RCT would take a fair knocking. I waited, pretty sure I was holding all the aces in this game.
     He made his move. Still carrying an empty sake cup, he stomped over and in a low voice said to us.
     "I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour from -" Rook jumped in at that.
     "Behaviour? What behaviour? We were having a private conversation." I leapt in at that point.
     "Yes sir, we were discussing the fighting merits of Techs and the like. Why would that be improper?" I smiled at him, meeting his furious gaze. He was hooked, he could only publicly take offence by reminding all there about his less than noble background and that was the last thing his kind ever want to do. His scars were livid white on his flushed red face and his fists were balled at his sides. Then without another word he turned on his heel and stormed away, to a great chorus of cheers, laughter and whistling from the assembled, slightly drunk crowd.
      You might be wondering why I was so cruel to Holloway? As he himself had asked me upon my return to the 'Bane, what had he done to me that warranted my tormenting him? Well I can only answer these questions honestly, I didn't like his kind outranking me or even being my equal, his kind are bred to serve ours. It's that simple. Also I'm a bully, always have been, it's in my nature. When I know I can get away with making someone else's life hell, I'll do it with a passion, because that's the kind of chap I am.
      If there is a moral minority reading these words, who are tutting in anger and disgust at my unrepentant attitude, then they may rest easy. Those few minutes of spiteful fun at Holloway's expense, would directly result in my final terrifying and horrific string of experiences on Mallory's World.

[Tokage]

36

     The day after my shaming of Holloway at Chalmers's little soiree, Ian led a raiding party consisting of two companies of the 'Bane, aimed at luring the Second Sword away east, while we in the main body of the RCT were actually pushing due south into Hell's Anvil as fast as we could manage.
     I spent that day swilling booze-spiked recaff in Gun Dog One listening to the fractured comm reports from the Hound's probing raid. The initial contact between Ian's force and the Snakes was fierce but brief, during which our boys ambushed an enemy recon patrol and downed a couple of Kuritan lights, before the enemy rushed in reinforcements and Ian sensibly ordered the recall. I shall recount here the details of the comm chatter I then heard, which will give you some idea of Ian's character.
     I was stood alongside Gene Drivers, behind the trio of comm-Techs who manned the MHQ's forward comm-desk, as we heard the firing lull for a moment and Ian's gruff voice bark to his men.
     "Pull back. Pull back to muster point Gamma." There was more firing and one of the raiding force Leftenants cried out in response to Ian.
     "Your Highness, watch your right." There was a thunder of autocannon fire, then the Prince growled again.
     "Thanks Pete, now get out of here, I'll see you off."
     "But Sire, we can't just leave you."
     "That's an order Pete, I'm in the heaviest 'Mech here and have some new dance steps I want to try out on the Snakes." I couldn't believe my ears, aside from being struck by the stray thought that it seemed all the AFFS commanders on this campaign seemed obsessed with dancing with the enemy for some reason, the silly bugger was actually going to stand on his own in the face of what had to be a strong Sword force and buy time for his men to safely retreat.
     "He'll die for sure." I gasped aloud in horror, to which Gene, though looking and sounding worried himself, patted my shoulder.
     "Don't write him off yet Darius, that old dog still knows a few tricks." I turned my attention back to the comm signal.
     "Three Dragons on your left Highness." A younger man's voice broke through the sounds of battle.
     "Thanks, but get going now, for the last time this is an order. Retreat. First man back to the 'Bane gets to order lunch, I fancy pork-chops in gravy." Ian's forced levity was clear and his words were punctuated by his weapons fire.
     There was then a long period with minimal comm traffic, during which we all paced and sweated despite the cool air inside the MHQ. Each of us knew Ian might already be dead, or worse, captured and were pondering the collective disgrace we'd suffer for losing our First Prince, well I was anyway. Then, about twenty minutes after Ian's last comm, his voice crackled into the MHQ and a great sigh of relief went up.
     "Okay, where's my lunch. Gene, you there?" Gene stepped up and took a mike.
     "Yes Sire, it's good to hear your voice. Are you well?" Ian barked a quick laugh, then replied.
     "Well? I'm bloody marvellous. I bagged four more kills to my tally. When we get back to New Avalon I'll treat the 'Bane's officers to a ball in honour of my new score." Gene and the comm-Techs chuckled in relief, whilst I sagged and sank half a mug of almost neat gin to steady my nerves. I damned Ian's ridiculous, near suicidal bravery. He was the leader of the largest state in known space, the fate of billions hung on his actions and he was acting like a green rookie trying to win medals. I was no military genius, or expert on the rules by which a Fed Suns Prince fought, but even I could tell this was far from normal, or sensible. These thoughts were confirmed as, while Ian caught up with and bantered on with his returning raiders, Gene turned to me and led me by the arm into the Map Room, lowering his voice to a whisper.
     "Darius ... I ... ahh wish to consult you confidentially." He was all deference, despite being a Major General, while I was not even an officer at that time, but I motioned for him to go on.             
     "The Prince is a very brave and honourable man, we both know that. But he must stop placing himself in such dangerous positions. It's one thing for him to lead raiding parties, but to stand alone in the face of overwhelming Kuritan numbers is pure folly." He looked at me nervously and I nodded agreement, he then turned away slightly as if embarrassed.
     "Look Darius. I know you're a young blade just starting out on your career, but it's clear that the Hound likes and respects you. Well you and he share more than just your Davion blood, the same fires of bravery, honour and pride that light Ian's heart are to be found in yours too." I was getting jittery as Gene went on, I was already beginning to learn that when senior officers start making poetic speeches it's time to beat a hasty retreat and find a table to hide under. In this case, for once, I needn't have worried.
     "Can you speak with Ian about this. Stress to him how much we need him alive. He'll take it well enough coming from a man whose own courage has quickly become a byword throughout the RCT." I smiled, mainly in relief, as I'd feared I was about to be sent on some damn fool commando mission or something, whilst agreeing without reservation to offer my wisdom to the First Prince of the Federated Suns.

* * *

     An RCT on the move is pretty chaotic, but sitting in the stable, air conditioned, and comfortably decorated Royal MHQ, we saw few of the hardships the rest of the unit were enduring. Ian had arrived back still in his cooling vest and shorts at about noon and after he'd washed up and changed into a field uniform, we'd all sat down to a lunch of his pre-ordered pork-chops in gravy, though after I found what seemed to be a beak in mine I wasn't at all convinced there was much pork in it.
     Ian was animated and cheerful throughout the meal, excitedly telling his new war story in lingering and bloodthirsty detail, whilst myself, Gene and the other command level officers oo'd and ahh'd at the appropriate places like good little toadies. After the first course we had cheese and crackers for dessert and a glass of one of Ian's dreadfully cheap and nasty red wines.
     While the dirty dishes were being cleared away, I asked to speak with Ian privately and he nodded politely asking me to follow him up a ladder which led to an observation point built into the roof of the MHQ, sort of like a low conning tower such as you might find on a wet naval submarine. We stood with our hands on the raised ceramite plating gazing along the body of the long vehicle and beyond into the great mass of tanks, 'Mechs, and support vehicles that were motoring ahead, behind, and to either side of us.
     We were moving down a wide dusty valley, red rocked hills were dimly visible away to either side and the sky above was clear and blue. I turned and took in Ian's profile for a moment as he proudly surveyed his favourite RCT on the move; his big nose seemed slightly lumpen from this angle, his chin heavy with his drooping jowls, his eyebrows protruding and his thick hair catching the sunlight with a coppery sheen. I knew our fates might be linked to his and personally I expected to do very well from his patronage once we got off Mallory's World, so I was happy to act as Gene's tactful messenger of caution. Just as I was about to speak, Ian smiled and beat me to it.
     "It's beautiful isn't it?" He said and I tried to see what he was looking at, but all I could make out were the dust clouds of several hovertanks up ahead of us and a Catapult running along to our right.
     "Sire?" I enquired curiously.
     "The Fourth, Darius. The Fourth at war. This is how it should always be. We're outnumbered, practically cut off and faced with deadly, yet worthy, foes. There's no uncertainty out here is there? No politics beyond we either kill them or they'll kill us. This is how life was meant to be for men like you and I." I stammered an affirmative I think, but he wasn't listening anyway and rumbled on.
     "My father died in bed you'll know and his father was murdered by our own side. When I go ..." I interrupted him at that point like a good little toady, telling him he'd live to be a hundred and ten, but he smiled and shook his head.
     "No, no, Darius. I've always had a hunch I wont live a long life. I don't mind that, I just hope that when I do shuffle off this proverbial coil, it's in battle not like when father went and an honest death unlike what was done to Grandpapa." I jumped in again spotting an opening to bring up Gene's request for Ian to adopt a little self preservation.
     "Sire, you're First Prince of the Federated Suns. You cannot risk death in battle like you did today. You'll certainly never live to old age if you make a habit of doing that." He looked a little surprised at my blunt words, I'd decided to play the bluff, honest soldier you see. He frowned and squinted to his right away to the far off hill-line.
     "Darius, it is precisely because I'm First Prince that I must always act as an example of nobility, self sacrifice and honour. I cannot ask my subjects to do that which I will not. I will always be first onto the field of battle and last off of it. That's my pledge to my men and I've lived by those words since I took up the sword of state." He turned and looked at me, a light covering of white dust flecking his hair.
     "Gene's asked you to speak to me, hasn't he? Oh don't worry, you can tell him I agreed to be more careful, but between you and I, as one fighting man to another, I give you my word that I will continue to fight by the code of chivalry and honour men such as we revere. I would sooner die than leave the likes of you and your comrades behind on the battlefield."
     He then made an excuse, perhaps a little overcome with emotion, saluted and headed back down into his MHQ's interior, while I stayed up above watching his RCT trundle along. I have often wondered if Ian was having premonitions of his own death at that time, well he'd come close to being killed that very morning and I suppose that's enough to give even a war-horse like he was pause for thought.
     Make what you will of his words, I mention them here because they were the last real conversation I was to have with Ian and they would prove chillingly prophetic within a very short space of time.

[Tokage]

37

     Later that same day our prospects grew even bleaker. The RCT had reached an arranged drop-point where our fly-boys would escort in the Karnovs carrying our daily water, ammunition and food supplies.
     I was in the Prince's MHQ, dozing on a bunk, when I was awoken by the sound of explosions and weapons fire. I fell out of the bunk and panicked for a moment, then ran to a vid-screen to see what was going on, the screen filled with an image of our vehicles scattering as what seemed like dozens of Kuritan aerospace fighters strafed over them. I could hear shouting from the comm-centre up forward and ran through the connecting door to find Ian bellowing into a mike.
     "Where are our Riflemen? What? Yes, you bloody cretin, we need them NOW!" I gazed appalled at view screens set upon one side of the expansive comm desk, that showed what were clearly aircraft burning on the ground, several of them.
     "Oh sweet Jerome ... are those what I think they are?" I gasped in shock and horror. Ian didn't turn, but snapped over his shoulder.
     "If you think they're our Karnovs ... then yes." Our supply lifters had been destroyed and for the next hour or so I watched the combined air wings of the Second Sword and the Twenty-fourth Dieron systematically slaughter the best part of our own fighter wing in the skies above us. Our boys were good, but they were badly outnumbered and taken by surprise had lost several fighters on the ground in the first few minutes of the Kuritan sneak attack. Eventually our Riflemen and a couple of lances of Partisan heavy tanks drove off the triumphant Snake aircraft, but by then the damage had been well and truly done.
     I well recall that evening the creeping feeling of despair that seemed to hang over us, as I sat at the back of a command briefing in the map-room of Gun Dog One and listened to Ian spelling out our situation. He typically started out in apparent good humour, but I could tell even his belligerent, near mindless, optimism in the face of military hardship was wavering.
     "Come along, come along, I'm a busy man. There's a card game down at the Artillery Battalion's lines I intend to make tonight." He began and there was general nervous laughter as his officers shuffled in and found chairs, during which time he continued his attempts at gallows humour.
     "Hullo there Matt, still not found a tailor who can make you a uniform that fits I see. Gene you sit over there next to Armand, yes Gene I know he still smells of garlic, that's the Fifteenth's mess's fault I'm afraid, it's why I wont eat over there. What's that Dick? You'd like me to hurry up because you're due to see a lady later? Well sorry, I'm afraid you'll just have to make do with Madam Palm and her five lovely daughters like the rest of us." His officers laughed and d'you know, crude and stupid as his vulgar gags were, I did note a slight relaxing as he stood up front, hands clasped behind his back and smiled, showing his large yellow teeth to us.
     "So then gentlemen, to business. As you are all aware we were caught napping today and were hit bad. We lost all but two of our air wing. All of our Karnovs were destroyed on the ground and we have thus lost not just our air superiority, but more importantly our only means of supply." He paused to let his words sink in before continuing, his sunken dark eyes moving from face to face.
     "There's no point sugar coating it, we're paddle-less and up shit creek. Our reinforcements, the Kell Hounds mercenary battalions, aren't due to make landfall for three more T-days and even then it's far from certain the Snakes will allow them to drop particularly close to our position.
     However we have one thing on our side I think Johnny the Snake has forgotten." I leaned forward as did the others at this, had I missed something ... did Ian in fact still have an ace up his sleeve?
     "That is, that we are the Fourth Davion Guards, the Dragon's Bane and we ain't never been beat!" His eyes shone and the assembled officers all cheered dutifully, as did I while my heart began to sink and my belly churn, this was his ace in the hole? More bluster, waffle and calls to simply keep on going.
     "We will play a little game with Yorinaga and his yobs. A spot of hide-and-go-seek I think." The war-mad bugger then proceeded to detail a very thorough plan of ambush, run, hide, move on by night, ambush again and so on. His projected route was shown on holomaps down to each rendezvous, every chosen ambush point and the various routes of escape. I'd learned my lesson after Colterville, so listened very carefully and even set about memorising the various maps.
     
* * *

     The next four T-days passed very slowly indeed, Ian led at least three more ambushes that I can remember, each time staying true to his promise to me to be the last man off the field. I personally continued to hide out in Gun Dog One, but there were no more night-time festivities, even us lucky members of Ian's inner circle and indeed the Prince himself were down to emergency rations of water and food.
     We hid during the sweltering daylight hours, concealing our 'Mechs and vehicles under bluffs, in caves, under camo-sheets and even sometimes actually buried under the dusty white sand. Our throats became parched, our bellies grumbled and we sweated from the heat, as well as nerves over the ever present threat of air attack, or the fear of the Second Sword's 'Mechs finally catching up to us.
     By night we'd drive, hell for leather, through the labyrinth of twisting canyons, valleys and dried up riverbeds that made up Hell's Anvil. Whilst our 'Mechs struck desperately at the pursuing and by that time dangerously close Snake forces, each time inflicting a little damage, taking some themselves and then pulling back down the prearranged escape routes, with Ian standing alone time and again to hold off the Sword 'Mechs until the last possible moment.
     The fateful air-raid we were all dreading actually happened on the twenty sixth of October, the day the Kell Hounds dropped safely outside the walls of Colterville, which was still held by the garrison troops we'd left there. It was early evening and we were beginning to move out of that day's hiding zone, which was a complex of shallow caves at the foot of a broken plateau and inside Gun Dog One I was avidly listening to the fractured, partially jammed, comm signals from the Kell Hounds DropShips as they were burning down through the atmosphere and their fighters were duelling with the Snake craft that had rushed up to meet them and prevent them getting too close to Hell's Anvil.
     The Prince had led most of our 'Mechs in two raiding columns to our north and so we were pretty much naked when we were hit. I've read and been told at later dates that it was a pair of lost Twenty-fourth Dieron Shilones that got lucky and hit us, they had been scrambled to meet the Kell Hounds and had somehow become separated from their wing. At the time all I knew was suddenly there was a pair of enormous seeming explosions from further up towards the front of the MHQ and I barely had time to throw myself to one side before a storm of fire and explosive blast ripped through the comm-centre.
     I came around to find the smell of roast pork teasing my nostrils and my mouth became pleasantly moist with saliva, seconds later I realised my legs were getting very hot. I looked down to see my blackened trouser legs were beginning to catch fire, little flames licking across them, kicking and squirming in terror I struggled up, to find there were fires everywhere. One of them crackling over the scorched corpses of the three comm-Techs who had been my companions throughout the Fourth's desperate chase, I gagged as I realised they were the source of the roasting pork smell that had awoken me and tempted my hungry senses.
     The comm-centre was gone, and judging by the flames billowing from the forward car Gun Dog One had taken at least one direct hit to it's front cab.
     Smoke began to choke me and despite realising painfully my body was a mass of burns and bruises I struggled as fast as I could for the connecting doorway leading to the map-room, my hands burning as they touched the ceramite armoured walls.
     I fell through the smoke and into the map-room, which had been partially thrown to one side, then continued on, smoke and flames at my heels, coughing at each breath, until I reached the nearest external door-hatch and pulled desperately on the release lever, only to find it was wedged or burned shut. The rear of the MHQ was completely buckled and twisted so I could see that I would find no exit there and spinning around I knew the burning front end of the vehicle was also a total no go. I looked back to the hatch before me and realised through my pain I was trapped in the shattered MHQ and if I didn't actually burn to death soon, the smoke would quickly suffocate me.
     I clawed at the unyielding hatch lever again and again, screaming at the top of my voice for help, my seared throat and lungs burning in pain. Then eventually, as the smoke began to fill the map-room around me, I sank down with my back to the hatch and wept.
     This was it then, all my dodging, running, hiding and scheming to keep myself safe had brought me was this, perhaps the worst death I can imagine. Dying either from breathing in scorching smoke, or feeling the flames first bubble, then crisp your flesh, melt your eyeballs and eat up your hair.
     As I was blubbing all the more, between choking on the fumes, I suddenly felt the hatch move behind me, spinning I began to hammer on the blasted thing as it seemed to bend outwards a little. As I was beginning to wonder what manner of man had the strength to pull a sealed ceramite hatch off like that, I was engulfed in smoke and fell forward into unconsciousness again.
     
* * *

     I've no idea how long I was out, I seem to recall a dream of being picked up in a great hand and a voice speaking to me, but I came to laying on my back with the feel of cool air on my face and opened my eyes to blink up at a clear night sky, studded with twinkling stars. I breathed deeply and was immediately rewarded by a sensation like someone had taken a cheese-grater to my throat, coughing and heaving I rolled over and onto my hands and knees. After about a minute I tried to take in my situation and surroundings. I realised I was still only wearing the burned remnants of my duty uniform and a pair of boxer shorts and my almost naked body was badly burned in several places.
     I had been lying some ten meters from the blackened, still smouldering, husk of Gun Dog One and in the centre of about a dozen other burned out vehicles. It was at that moment it hit me. I was alone. The rest of the RCT were nowhere to be seen. Looking down into the white dust at my feet my eyes locked onto something laying beside me, I leaned down and picked it up curiously.
     Brushing at the stiff piece of material I realised it was a red AFFS 'Mech Leftenant's epaulette ... strange I thought, it did not seem to have been torn or blown off a uniform ... then I dropped the thing like it was a poisonous serpent.
     "You bastard! You low-bred dog. I'll get you for this." I screamed at the top of my voice as with a rush of rage and fear I guessed what the epaulette meant. It had to have been Holloway, he must have pulled me out of Gun Dog One, using his 'Mech to break off the hatch, then presumably reported to the rest of the RCT, which would have anyway been fleeing from the Kuritan air-raid, that everyone inside was dead. This was the grease-monkey's revenge. He'd left me, naked and alone, for the Sword of Light to find. Even if by some miracle I survived to reach our boys, my only slight proof was the epaulette, which naturally represented a response to a decidedly questionable act on my part so would not be something I'd want to have to explain before a board of enquiry. Holloway could simply claim he'd searched the MHQ as best he could, but in the confusion of the fire he'd obviously missed me. There might be a few raised eyebrows, but certainly no danger of him actually being accused of anything untoward.
     I was still kicking and screaming at the epaulette when I felt the first distant tremor of the approach of at least one BattleMech.

[Tokage]

38

     Standing in the midst of those wrecked vehicles, my body black from the smoke save for the red of my burns, I instantly knew the approaching 'Mechs were not those of our side. I remembered from my careful scrutiny of the Prince's plans and maps, that his raiders were retreating through two different canyons to link up with the main body of the Fourth. These had to be Sword 'Mechs. I cast about for somewhere to run to, there were the shallow caves we'd sheltered in during the day before, but they'd really only been good for avoiding being detected from above, a 'Mech's night-vision sensors would spot me in there like I was a turd on a pool table.
     I looked up and it struck me that if I could reach the top of the plateau, I could get out of their line of sight. The cliff looked to be about fifty meters tall, but it was rocky enough that unwounded I'd have easily been able to climb it. In my sore condition I'd struggle, but what other choice did I have?
     Dashing across the dust and past the remains of the MHQ, I began clambering up the cliff-face and I made pretty good going, as all the while the ominous, ground shaking, 'Mech footfalls drew ever nearer. I think I might have actually been successful had I not slipped at one point, after I put my hand in a small nest of rockmites and instantly flailed screaming backwards. By the time I recovered enough to scramble back up and begin pulling myself over the rocks again, I was suddenly aware of a powerful and unmistakable smell. It was that mixture of scorched metal, coolant fluids and burnt grease that when you've smelt it once you can never forget it and I knew it's source was directly behind me.
      A spotlight flicked on, trained directly onto me and I slowly turned to find myself at about cockpit level with a Second Sword DRG-1N Dragon, it's right arm mounted Imperator-A 60mm autocannon raised and trained upon me. As I clung there by my burnt hands to the rock face the 'Mech's pilot activated his loudspeaker.
     "Make another move and I shall end your life." His Anglic was fluent and I slid back down to the ledge as slowly as I could manage, this was it then either death here or at best a return to captivity and eventual shipment to Luthien, I turned on the narrow ledge and raised my hands.
     Thankfully my captor this time was not a member of Zakahashi's Zombies, otherwise there's no question I would have been killed on the spot. I was taken by one of the many lances that were fanned across Hell's Anvil, searching for the 'Bane, which was thankfully commanded by an honourable man, who like Minobu, didn't just blindly shoot prisoners as the DCMS regulations demanded.
     He apparently first called in a report of my capture before, using his 'Mech's left claw, helped me back down to the sand. I stood there surrounded by the Dragon and three other 'Mechs away in the darkness. With a slight metallic groaning sound, my captor knelt his 'Mech, then I heard rather than saw the cockpit canopy open and a ladder clatter down. Agile and wiry seeming, the 'Mech's pilot climbed swiftly down and turned towards me, a katana sword in one hand and a stubby little KK submachine gun pointed at me in the other.
     He'd left his neuro-helmet in his cockpit, so I could see he appeared to be in his early forties, with shaved greying hair, bright black eyes and swarthy skin. Dressed as he was in his dirty-white one-piece cooling suit and boots, I could see he was trimly muscled and tough looking.     
     "I am Chu-i Leon Gambetta, Fourth Battalion, Second Sword of Light. If I may enquire whom have I the honour to have captured?" I considered lying, but quickly dismissed the idea, as soon as Yorinaga got wind a prisoner had been taken fitting my description the game would be up, so I decided I'd better play my role as the noble and true Dashing Darius Davion.
     "MechWarrior Darius Davion. Fourth 'Mech Regiment, Davion Brigade of Guards."  I made sure to say the words proudly and they had the desired effect, Gambetta jumped visibly and was lost for words for a moment, then stammered.
     "You? The ... the prisoner who escaped at Colterville?" His rich, deep toned, voice was heavy with amazement.
     "That's right old chap," I said with a rueful grin. "Keep it to yourself though, this is getting to be a habit and we don't want people to talk."

* * *

     Gambetta was certainly one of the nicest Kuritan officers I ever met, mind you most of them, it has to be said, were either borderline psychopaths like Zakahashi, raving madmen like Suribachi on Hoff in '23, dangerously lethal professional killers like Yorinaga, Asano or Brahe, or treacherously slippery bastards like Conti or Samsonov, so he didn't exactly have a high bar to beat.
     While we waited for the rest of the Second Sword to arrive, Gambetta sat on the foot of his  'Mech next to me sharing a flask of cool, sweet water. He didn't bother to question me, he simply sat there with me taking it in turns to swig the water as more and more Kuritan lances converged on our position and a small crowd of curious Snake officers began to gather around us, while their lances formed a perimeter about the position and the sound of aero-fighters could be heard in the night sky above us.
     "Davion!" I recognised that triumphant Japanese accented rasp and instinctively moved closer to Gambetta's side as Zakahashi came pushing through the crowd, his pig-sticker already drawn. Gambetta stood and raised his hand before saying in Anglic;
     "Honoured Tai-i, this prisoner was taken by 'Mechs of the Fourth Battalion. You would do us a grave insult were you to try to take him from us." Zakahashi stood glaring at Gambetta, his pox-scarred face red with fury and for a moment I thought he would actually cut the Chu-i down to get at me again. However he lowered his sword and stabbed his finger in my direction.
     "That cowardly offal sitting there was taken by my Company first, he belongs to us." Gambetta shook his head firmly, but politely spoke again in a calming voice.
     "Tai-i Sama, I request we await the arrival of  Chu-sa Kurita, that he may decide this man's fate. This Davion may once indeed have been a prisoner of your Zombies, he was not so however when I captured him here tonight." Zakahashi looked fit to burst at that but, surrounded as they were by at least a dozen other Tai-i and Chu-i, he simply spat to his side and then leaned around Gambetta to fix me with a truly evil glare.
     "It is fate and the Will of the Dragon that sees you here again within the breath of my sword. When Yorinaga has done with you, your head will be mine." As he stamped back into the crowd I gulped and prayed Yorinaga still wanted me as a live trophy for the Coordinator. I gushed thanks to Gambetta for saving me from Zakahashi, but he waved away my thanks modestly. After that confrontation though I wasn't surprised to later learn Gambetta was known to his men as 'the Orator'.
 
* * *

     Support elements of the Second Sword soon arrived and further along the base of the plateau wall began to raise tents and prefabricated huts. I was hustled into a tent under the guard of ten DCMS infantrymen and Gambetta actually shook my hand before he headed off.
     "I'm sorry your career and life have brought you to this end." He said quietly to me, then turned and left, leaving me to slump down on the simple bunk and sob, he was sorry? I was bloody well in despair. I must have eventually slept though, as I was awoken by a sharp, hard prod in my belly, and jerking awake I found myself looking up into the handsome features of Sho-sa Narimasa Asano, who was standing above my bed and jabbing at me with the end of his scabbarded sword.
     "Up! Up! The Tono will see you now. Up Fedrat." Still barely clothed and aching from my burns and bruises I staggered after the beautifully dressed Snake officer, proud in his black tunic, trousers, polished jackboots and cap. Four of the infantrymen outside my tent fell in behind me and I noted they had such a low opinion of me that they didn't even bother to bind my wrists.
     The Second Sword had evidently all arrived by that morning, there were 'Mechs every where and I only recall fragments of what I saw as I was marched through their camp to meet Yorinaga Kurita for the second time; we passed two O5P monks in long red robes stained white along the hems with the dust of the Bone Desert, who were stood chanting before a line of twelve suited up MechWarriors, each of whom was knelt upon one knee, their heads bowed and their swords placed on the ground beside them ... a man was being flogged on a punishment rack, his back a mass of raw red wounds and blood, the bare chested sergeant wielding the long hide whip breathing hard with each draw of his muscular arms, before laying on again and carving another bloody line deep into the poor screaming victim's flesh ... a pair of deuced attractive female aero-jocks in skintight brownish-purple jumpsuits, that clung to their lithe bodies in wonderful ways, strolled past us chatting, their domed gold visored helmets under their arms ... finally we walked past a long trestle table where dozens of infantry grunts wolfed down what appeared to be bowls of rice, as we passed them some of the scum prodded their comrades and glared daggers at me, or spat in my direction.
     Eventually we reached a very large olive coloured command tent, in front of which fully armoured ceremonial guards stood to attention before fluttering pennants showing the Sword of Light sabre badge, the burning Kentares flag of the Second Sword and the House Kurita dragon banner. Asano, turned and ushered me through into a empty seeming cool, probably air conditioned, area hung with white and blue linen drapes decorated with images of clouds and mountains. Seated at the centre of the area on a floor covered by tatami mats, facing away from us was Yorinaga. I could tell it was him, even though he had his back to us, there was just something unmistakable about him.
     He was wearing all white coloured formal Japanese style robes, kamishimo to you scholars of Snake culture though of course I didn't even speak Japanese back then, I also wasn't then aware of the significance of the colour white, which to the Kuritans signifies death. Without any warning whatsoever Asano suddenly sliced his scabbarded sword hard across the back of my knees and I cried out in pain and fell face forward, the callous brute then held the point of the scabbard hard between my shoulders so I had to literally crawl towards Yorinaga at Asano's urging.
     As I stopped a meter or so from him, Yorinaga suddenly turned with a swish and rustle of his immaculate formal robes. His thin nosed face was alight with what seemed to me to be an uncharacteristic and wild excitement, his glittering eyes practically blazed at me and he smiled the sort of thin lipped grin you normally only expect to see on a shark. All in all he seemed quite the different man from the seemingly very calm and controlled chap I'd met in Colterville. Looking back I think it was the closeness of Prince Ian that was disturbing Yorinaga's usual serenity, as one flowery text I once read put it; 'he could almost taste the Hound's blood on the wind and was certain the duel he sought was very close now'.
     "Konnichiwa Davion Darius San, the winds of war and fate have brought you to us again, is this not a sign of a shared destiny?" He waved Asano back, and the sod knelt in that awkward cross legged fashion the Snakes affect, near the entrance. I wasn't sure if Yorinaga expected an answer to his question so I simply nodded.
     "Where is your unit and your cousin the First Prince at this time?" Now, previously most of the time I'd been in Kuritan hands I'd been fairly sure Minobu was protecting me from being killed, after I revealed information to the Kuritans, so I'd sang like a starbird. However I was far from sure I now enjoyed any such protection, certainly I'd not seen Minobu about the camp and had a hunch if I ratted out the Prince this time my head would then be off and gift wrapped to the Coordinator in time for Christmas Eve. Naturally if I played the stolid, brave soldier, who'd rather sell his own life than reveal anything of importance to the enemy, Yorinaga would probably hand me back to Zakahashi and his little box of pets. I decided therefor to try to stall him.
     "They're up ahead somewhere. I've honestly no idea where. We run by night and hide by day." Yorinaga watched me while I spoke, then said something in Japanese to Asano, who nodded and backed out of the tent. Yorinaga then nodded at me.
     "How did you escape from us at Colterville?" This I was happy to answer and I gave him yet another version of my escape, this time massively playing down my own involvement in the killing of any Snake soldiers and making the MVF sound like violent, rogue, madmen. I even ran on into the story of Sandsedge. After I eventually finished he sat back on his feet for a moment, frowning, and then staggeringly ... he laughed, a great belly laugh. It was as strange and unexpected then coming from that cold hearted sod as it sounds now and in later years there've been many who refuse to believe me when I tell them that this actually happened. The Yorinaga Kurita, the greatest Kuritan samurai of our time, reputedly a master of mental and physical self control, sitting there roaring with laughter at me.
      Well, it threw me and no error, but eventually, as you've probably found yourself, when someone just sits there and laughs until the tears are streaming down his cheeks, you just can't help but join in. So I did and there we were for what seems, in my memory, like it was several minutes, before he finally stopped and dabbed at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve, gasping for breath.
     "Do you know why I laugh Darius San?" He asked, clearly composing himself once more, and I stated perhaps because it sounded like a tall tale.
     "No Darius San, the Dragon only smiles when He has bested His prey and is preparing to feast upon it." I didn't like the sound of that at all and half turned as I suddenly became aware someone was behind me again, Asano was sat there once more, with a long distinctly sword shaped bundle of red silk on the tatami before him.
     "You tried to tell me nothing about Ian's location, yet gave me an epic tale about your escape from us at Colterville. You are like the Monkey that with his capering and screeching tries to distract the Dragon from His prey." Yorinaga said softly and I began to get very worried indeed and even began pleading with him.
     "Chu-sa please, this is not necessary, I can lead you to Ian." I meant what I said, but Yorinaga just smiled dangerously again, before speaking.
     "Time is of the essence in this hunt. Our prey, the Dragon's arch enemy, the Hound of War, runs fast, he turns with his pack regularly and his biting fangs wound us. I have not the time to dance at the tune raised by you Monkey. Asano kun if you please." He held out his hand and Asano shuffled forward to my left still on his knees, he then bowed, his head held low while his hands held up the red silken bundle to Yorinaga. Then after Yorinaga took it from him, Asano shuffled back to his place behind me.
     Reverentially Yorinaga drew back the silk wrappings, which I noted bore numerous black Kurita family crests, to reveal a pair of pig-sticker swords. Each was sheathed in a gleaming black lacquered scabbard and had red and black twined cloth bound hilts, set with gleaming triangular jewelblood studs. The Kuritan dragonshead crest, wrought in gold and more sparkling jewelblood, was set at the top of the hilts. Yorinaga picked up the longest of the two swords.
     "These swords were made at the orders of Coordinator Urizen Kurita, well over three hundred years ago. They have been passed through my family line down the generations since and were given into my keeping by Coordinator Takashi himself. Each blade has countless tales attached to it and has ended many lives at the will of the Dragon. For example, this wakazashi was the blade with which Coordinator Zabu redeemed his failings in war and life, by using it to open his belly. While this katana was that used by Jinjiro Kurita when he stood as kaishakunin for General Sorai, who had failed to protect Coordinator Minoru on Kentares.
     You should consider it a very great honour that your neck will test this katana's ancient edge here today." As his words sank in I sprang to my feet and instinctively made to turn to run, I vaguely heard a rustle of cloth from Yorinaga's direction and suddenly he'd struck my legs out from under me with a powerful and blindingly fast sweep of his own right leg.
     I hit the tatami hard onto my back and the wind was knocked explosively out of me. Then Asano was above me, dragging me up and onto my knees. Yorinaga now standing, moved to my side while struggle as I might, in my weakened state I could not break the iron grip of Asano's hands firmly holding my in that awful position. I was blubbing and crying again as Asano clouted me savagely from behind causing my head to dazedly fall forward and I was dimly aware of the cold touch of that evil sword on the back of my neck. Then there was a slight hiss, as Yorinaga swept the sword up for the stroke with which he would strike off my head.

[Tokage]

39

     When the holy joes say that a brave man only dies once, but a coward dies a thousand deaths, they could not be more correct. Though stunned, from Asano's thump to the back of my head, I was aware of Yorinaga raising the sword rapidly in preparation for his sudden downward strike that would sever my precious noggin. I'm not proud of what happened next, but it's possible it saved my life. I only say possible because, due to what happened later the following day, I am now far from convinced Yorinaga did in fact mean to kill me. However I shall come to that shortly.
     My terror was so sickening, so all consuming, that I lost control of my bladder and kneeling there, on those pristine tatami, I literally pissed myself in fear.
     Oh go ahead, laugh it up. However I'd respectfully point out that until you've had one of the deadliest swordsmen alive decide he'd rather like to practice his cutting strokes on your neck and has one of his bloody thugs hold you down while he prepares to do so, I suggest that you should perhaps still your mirth and consider how brave you'd have been in my shoes.
     Well, that's all by and by, back then my reaction was to piss myself. I wasn't personally aware I had until the strong odour of urine hit my nostrils and I felt a warm pool forming between my legs. Asano smelt it first and saying something in Japanese, which was clearly a reaction of disgust, he sprang back gagging. Surprised to find my shoulders released from the bastard's vice like grip, I rolled forward as quickly as I could manage, expecting to feel the bite of Yorinaga's beastly sword somewhere upon my person at any moment.
     However as I rolled away from Yorinaga, leaving a trail of yellowish pools of steaming 'piddle', as mater would have described it, across his tatami, I half turned to see him still stood rigidly in his side on stance, his sword held raised beside his head in both hands, but his face a mask of what seemed to be a mixture of total surprise, disgust and loathing.
     Well, I wasn't looking the best I ever had I'll admit; blubbing, burned, frazzled, bruised, half naked and now lying cowering with the piss literally running down my bare legs. D'you know, amazing as this seems to me at least, I rather got the impression Yorinaga had never had someone who's head he was about to hack off piss themselves before. He seemed most put out. Indeed it was like I'd somehow committed a faux pas on the magnitude of passing the port the wrong way, using an incorrect piece of cutlery at a royal banquet or farting loudly just when you're leaning down to accept your nation's highest award. The last of those I did actually do by the way ... Hanse nearly forgot his words he was so shocked and angry.
     "A base and cowardly Monkey indeed. I could never stain this sacred blade with your filthy blood." Yorinaga said that in a tone that suggested he expected me to be sorry about that. Then he rattled off some Japanese in a harsh tone to Asano and with that the surprisingly strong little Snake grabbed me and began booting and punching me out the tent. As we left I heard Yorinaga say quietly to himself in Anglic;
     "I only pray that the Hound is a better man."
     Asano had me carried out and thrown into an outdoor shower stall. I tried to steady my very jangled nerves under that cool shower and it didn't take me long to realise that once again my rank cowardice had saved me from death at the hands of these insane warlike people where, had I been the brave fool society expected me to be, my head would have been on it's way to Luthien without the rest of me attached. Still, after the initial rush of relief at being whole and alive, it didn't take long for me to start fretting and worrying about being perhaps handed over to Zakahashi, or even simply shot.
     After I'd washed myself off, I stepped out naked and cupping my meat and two veg' protectively with my hands. A DCMS sergeant, with arms like treetrunks and a shaven, bullet shaped, head threw an orange boiler suit and white training shoes at me and I quickly dressed myself, uncomfortably aware the sergeant watched me with an unpleasant leer on his bulldog like features the whole time. Then I was dragged into a tiny, cupboard like, plasteel hut containing only a chair.
     It was clearly designed to catch the sun and I sweltered in there for the rest of that day. I must have lost a stone. But I wasn't about to complain and ask for different lodgings, I was just happy to be ignored. As night fell the little hut became cool, then actually chilly and I spent a disturbed night fitfully catnapping, then waking repeatedly with a start as I almost fell off the damned chair.

* * *

     It must have been just past dawn when I heard the lock being turned and the door opened to reveal the slim figure of Chu-i Leon Gambetta, wearing the dark grey duty uniform of a DCMS junior 'Mech officer. He motioned me with a black gloved finger to his lips to be quiet and handed me a tin cup. Cautious, I checked it and then gulped back the cold water it contained, whilst standing unsteadily. Handing it back to Gambetta I thanked him, he motioned again with his hand for me to be silent and handed me a tan coloured DCMS infantryman's field uniform.
     "Put this on and be quiet. Your life depends upon it." His hissed whisper made me start with surprise, I could see the hazy purple-blue of the dawn sky beyond him and was about to do as he said, before suddenly being struck by the extreme likelihood this was some kind of cruel game or trick. Holding the tan uniform in my hands I stared him hard in the face and whispered back at him.
     "Why? Why would you, a Sword of Light officer, help me?" He looked exasperated and shot a glance over his shoulder nervously, before he turned and harshly fixed me with those piercing dark eyes of his.
     "Because, at the orders of Yorinaga Tono, you're to be crucified tomorrow." I gasped and nearly dropped the uniform in a start of terror. Gambetta frowned as if struggling with his conscience there and then, before continuing in a barely audible voice.
     "I am ... privately, a Christian, as that is permitted within the Ivory Laws." He said that as though it explained everything. I gestured frantically at him to continue and he sighed.
     "Whilst I am loyal to the Lord, I also offer prayer to the Holy Trinity and I feel certain that this act would be blasphemous. My faith would never allow me to stand by, while a captive I have taken, is used in such a manner. Now hurry, do you want your freedom or not?" Well, even at the time I didn't buy it. Sure, I knew there were Christians living in the Combine who were also loyal servants of the Dragon, or 'the Lord' as they were encouraged to put it ... but one who was serving in the Sword of Light, the most fanatical and ideologically 'pure' formation in the DCMS? Even accepting that was possible ... would this unlikely person then risk his position and more importantly his life, to aid in the escape of a captive member of the Davion family?
     There could be only one answer to that, a resounding no!
     However what choice did I have but to play along with Gambetta and see where this strange game led? I quickly stripped down and changed into the infantry uniform and stepped out into the cool fresh dawn air and noticed the brutish sergeant slumped against the side of the plasteel prison hut. He snored softly and I noted an empty flask beside him. Gambetta nodded down at him.
     "That ape will catch the blame for your escape." We then hurried across the dusty ground to a line of parked hover-APCs. He chucked me a key card and pointed to the nearest of the vehicles.
     "Take it and go. You'll probably be picked off by our perimeter patrols anyway. But that's your worry not mine." With that he jogged away down a line of tents, leaving me standing before the APCs, I glanced around to see if I was being watched, but for all my best efforts I could see no one.
     Maybe ... just maybe? Could Gambetta have been on the level?
     Well, I pulled up the driver's hatch of the APC and jumped in, pulling it closed behind me with a soft clunk. The seat was comfortable and the control panel spread before me lit up, revealing a considerable number of red, amber and green lit Japanese kanji. It took me a couple of minutes of exasperated fiddling with the controls to get my head around the differences between the Kuritan vehicle and our equivalent. At one point two patrolling soldiers passed the front of the APC, laughing and chatting quietly to each other. For a dreadful second I thought they'd notice the sergeant snoring on his undoubtedly drugged booze, however he was well back in the shadows and they ambled past oblivious.
     After waiting a few minutes I hit the starter button and nudged the accelerator pedal then, whilst getting the feel of the vehicle, began edging through the Second Sword's camp. I was sure at any moment I'd be headed off by 'Mechs waiting for me, or perhaps even come under fire and be killed 'trying to escape', however after a few tense minutes of purring down quiet lines of tents and vehicles, I slid out through the lines. I couldn't even spot any 'Mechs or tanks out on perimeter patrol.
     This was of course all highly suspicious to put it mildly and it was while I was going through my memories of Ian's briefings it struck me like a PPC bolt.
     "They're going to follow me to Ian." I exclaimed aloud. It was obvious once it occurred to me, Yorinaga had realised that he didn't need to sully his hands by ordering, or overseeing, my torture to get an honest answer out of me as to where the Hound was to be found ... all he needed to do was to put me in a vehicle and track me from a distance, knowing I'd head straight for the protection that the Prince and his RCT would afford me.
     I could almost hear him making up some haiku about 'the Monkey and the Hound', the cheeky sod. Still Yorinaga clearly had the measure of me as, where your true blue hero types if placed in the same position would have led the Snakes in the wrong direction on the longest wild goose chase they could devise, I instantly decided to make for Ian regardless. If the Snakes followed me then so be it, but at least I'd be able to try for the RCT's main body, while the Prince and his MechWarriors took on the Second Sword.
     I remembered, it now being the local daylight hours of the twenty eighth of October, that Ian and a raiding party of two companies would be hidden in a gorge-like canyon, marked on Ian's tactical holomaps as Desolate Pass. If my memory wasn't playing me false I thought it was about sixty klicks roughly south of the Second Sword's camp and as soon as I felt safe I put my foot down and sped towards that fateful place.
     The journey was not easy, Hell's Anvil as I've said is a veritable maze of canyons, plateaus, hills, valleys and broken country covering thousands of square miles. You can get lost in there and never come out. So I was very pleased with myself for memorising numerous maps of the region during my time in the Royal MHQ over the previous few days, even so I had to turn back and try different routes several times when I drove into dead-end gullies and impassable canyons.
     It was during one of these double backs that I first spotted my pursuers. Driving back out of a deceptive box canyon I caught sight of a large dust cloud coming from the north and a pair of aero-fighters high in the blue morning sky above it. They kept their distance, but I was aware they were slowly catching up to me so I accelerated on and a couple of hours later I reached my destination.

* * *

     With my foot on the throttle I hurtled into Desolate Pass. Rarely, in my experience, has a place been so aptly named. It was a narrow dusty canyon about ten klicks long, that cut between two steep red rock cliffs, at it's entrance it was about half a kilometer wide, but it narrowed to about ten meters at the southern end. There were no plants at all, no animals, not even any birds in the stark blue sky above.
     It may be retrospective, given what occurred there that day, but I swear I remember feeling a sense of despair about the place, as if death was waiting for us all to arrive.
     I was making about a hundred and ten klicks per hour in the APC and checking my rear view-screen I could see the great cloud of dust sent up by the 'Mechs that were still hot on my tail. Two Snake Locusts were now gaining on me fast I noted, and several other lights were not far behind them. I was aware of aero-fighters now above me too, though they didn't then seem interested in attacking me.
     I knew if my memory was playing me correct there was meant to be an ambush party led by the Prince up ahead half way down the canyon. I had to let them know I was on their side before I got too close to them, so I hit an all channels open comm and began repeating.
     "Hound, this is Darius, Hound this is Darius. I have multiple Snakes on my tail. Please give me cover. I am in a Snake hover-APC, repeat a Snake hover-APC." I repeated this several times before I got a comm back, I guess the Snake aircraft were trying to jam us as it was broken and fuzzy.
     "Darius? Darius, -zzzzzt- -did you spring from? We took you for -zzzzzt- -many enemy?" I instantly recognised the Prince's gruff tones and sobbing quietly with relief narrowed my comm down to the frequency he was using.
     "Too many Highness. At least two companies, maybe more. They're onto your position, they spotted you by air. I managed to escape and steal this heap to try to warn you. Pull your men out now. Sire ... Yorinaga Kurita is with them." I'd prepared my story you see. Darius leading the Sword straight to Ian's position, would hopefully become Darius saving Ian's bacon.
     "Right-oh laddy-buck ... but you get yourself to the gap smartish ... I'm not leav -zzzzzt-" I cursed as the Kuritans overhead jammed us. I had to make maybe eight klicks to reach the gap at the end of this wretched canyon and was pretty certain Ian would be waiting for me there in his Atlas and would cover my retreat, as he had with his men on many another occasion over the last week or two. Once through the gap, I'd be able to link up firstly with the 'Mechs Ian had with him and secondly later the main body of the 'Bane, then hopefully the Kell Hounds too. Even then I wasn't sure about our odds against these blasted Kuritan regiments, but still my hopes were high that if I could just reach Ian and his Atlas I'd at least live another day and rejoin friendly forces.
     Suddenly a string of explosions thundered to my right, my APC rocked like a boat at sea and I skidded hard to the left, before hammering along forwards again. The Shilone that had now begun to strafe me screamed overhead and I could see the bloody thing arcing up and around in the sky ahead of me. A second Shilone rocketed away down the canyon, presumably to confirm the location of their prey. The Second Sword had clearly decided I'd now served my purpose and could safely be rubbed out.
     There followed a nightmare couple of minutes as I weaved and sped through volleys of Shigunga long range missiles and Diverse Optics laser cannon fire from the bastard above me. I actually took some glancing damage twice and each time thankfully the pretty frail armour of the APC held out, but only my desperate driving skills, the result of many misspent hours in my Lyran sports hover car as a young teen, saw me through.
     I knew I was getting close to the end of Desolate Pass, where hopefully Ian was waiting, when I saw a plume of smoke rising over the bluffs ahead. Ian had presumably downed the Shilone I'd seen headed his way. I was just breathing a premature sigh of relief, when I glanced right and saw the running legs of a Locust moving to cut across my path.
     "Jerrrome!" I swore and wrenched my APC left again, but this time smashed straight into the second Locust that had been gaining on me quietly. The Locust had ten tons on my APC and there was an almighty screech of metal on metal, my left side front end was crumpled in like cardboard, but thankfully the 'Mech was momentarily thrown off balance and it swerved clumsily away from me. Though my APC was now handling badly and pulling heavily to the left, I hurtled around the bend ahead and managed to stay ahead of the second Locust. As I levelled out into a long, but narrowing, stretch of the canyon I heard a steady chatter of heavy machine gun fire from the 'Mech behind me and felt bullets chewing into my APC's rear armour. The only good thing about the Locusts being in close to me was that damn Shilone that had been trying his damnedest to bag me had to pull off, for fear of hitting his own side's 'Mechs.
     My speed was dropping steadily I realised and I literally stamped on the accelerator, whilst screaming at the top of my voice.
     "Please, oh please, come on, come on, come ON!" It was just as I began to make out the vast, distant figure of an assault 'Mech, wreathed in the white dust cloud of retreating 'Mechs behind it, that I heard; zzzzatttt-boom-clatter-b-b-BANG.
     The damn Locust's Martell laser cannon melted through the rear of my APC and there was one hell of an explosion back there. My speed dropped to about fifty kph and the Locust actually overshot me and sped past, it's legs kicking up dust that spattered into my view-screen like static. I screamed a high pitch wail of terror and tried to dodge past the scout 'Mech, which had skidded to an ungainly halt and was turning, it's under-slung laser cannon swivelling down and around towards me. I glanced in the rear view screen to see the second Locust a bare thirty meters back, it's machine guns already firing on me, then it's laser cannon flickering a beam that seared the dust in a smoking line just to the left of my vehicle's flank.
     So there I was limping along in a half destroyed APC that was leaking smoke badly, with two light BattleMechs raining down fire on me at close range. The front Locust burned the front end of my APC and that was the end of the road, there was a whoomf of fire under my feet and I screamed in pain as shards of metal tore explosively through my left arm.
     My APC span to a stop, crunching down into the dust in a cloud of smoke. If I didn't get out soon the power-plant might explode, or any ammo stored in the rear turret for the twin machine guns might cook off. However through the white and black smoke haze I could make out the two suddenly very large powerful looking 'light' 'Mechs stalking in to finish their kill. I'd been so close ... so close.

[Tokage]

40

     The smoke was so thick I wasn't initially sure exactly what then happened, but I heard a thundering string of explosions and suddenly pieces of shattered ceramite armour clattered off my ruined APC. Then there was a final rolling explosion and I caught a glimpse of a Locust's severed leg falling into the smoke.
     As I was gaping at this wonderful turn of events I felt and heard what had to be the shrieking whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of long range missile fire and perhaps mingled within it the thunder of a 120mm autocannon. More explosions rocked me in my seat from behind and I took the moment to breath a prayer of thanks, wrench the near side hatch open and pile out of the burning APC and into the hot dust. Coughing and hacking, ignoring the many aches and pains of my superficial, though numerous wounds, I ran.
     I couldn't see where I was going and didn't care, so long as it was towards the source of that ranged fire that had saved me. I risked a glance back at one point and could see three black smoke plumes rising out of the white dust haze, I assumed marking the remains of my APC and the two Locusts.
     Suddenly I was out the cloud and into open air, under the harshly clear blue sky. Before me, some fifty meters away, towered First Prince Ian Davion's AS7-D Atlas, it was painted shining silver and flashed in the rays of Mallory's World's sun. I'd never been so relieved in my life, or felt so vulnerable at the same time, for the ground was shaking as I ran and I knew dangerously close behind me, through the smoke and dust cloud covering the wreck of my APC, possibly upwards of a battalion of BattleMechs of the Second Sword of Light were coming.
     Gasping for breath and limping somewhat from my lightly grilled legs, I waved frantically and the Atlas moved forward, seemingly very fast. I nearly fell over at the force of it's footfalls at this distance, but kept going, just praying the Prince watched where he was putting his machine's feet. I thought he was coming to pick me up ... he wasn't.
     At about ten meters from me he very smoothly leaned and dodged to his left as Doombud long range missiles began streaking out the breast of his mammoth 'Mech. My ears rang and I dived behind a large red boulder just up ahead. Ian's Atlas was now a mere ten meters or so ahead of me and perhaps five or six meters to my left. Being on foot, that close to an Atlas fighting, is simply terrifying. It's stamping feet make minor landquakes, it's weapons deafen you and there is a constant risk the pilot will misjudge where you are and kill you in any one of a dozen ways without even being aware of having done so.
     I tried to ignore Ian's 'Mech and risked a squint around the edge of my boulder, just in time to see Ian's very accurate fire tear the legs off an Ostscout. The ugly thirty five ton 'Mech's flaming torso smashed into a heap and I couldn't help but cheer. Though my instinctive jubilation died on my dry lips, as other shapes began to loom through the haze in the distance. Lots of shapes.
     I glanced behind myself to judge if I might risk running on for the gap and leaving Ian to it, however at that moment Ian stamped right to artfully dodge a volley of missiles that tore up great explosions across the ground for some way beyond him. I ducked, gasping with fear, back against the large rock and shook my head to myself ... there was no way I could chance that. A stray missile volley, or even Ian manoeuvring his 'Mech would kill me for sure.
     For what seemed to me to be the next half an hour or so, Ian stood alone against at least a Company of Snake 'Mechs. He exhausted his Doombud long range missiles in volley after volley, driving back enemy 'Mechs that tried to advance upon him trying to get into medium or close range. I'm sure I saw him down at least two more medium 'Mechs, but most of the time his very accurate fire was aimed at wounding and keeping the enemy at bay.
     His attackers were Zakahashi's Zombies I realised, as I could see Zakahashi's own Battlemaster at the centre of their formation and several times the bastard scored PPC strikes upon Ian's Atlas, each time molten and superheated shards of ceramite armour erupted and showered the ground. I had to twice throw myself out of the way of splashes of sizzling armour and then scramble rapidly back behind my scant cover.
     It occurred to me Ian was only standing and not making a fighting retreat, because he knew I couldn't safely run for the gap and he refused to break his oath and leave me. Strangely though, it never occurred to me Ian would actually be beaten. He seemed invincible as I cowered there looking up and across at his massive 'Mech as it dodged and was occasionally peppered with fire. I think I actually thought the Sword 'Mechs would back off and give him time to pull back, at which point I'd motion to him to pick me up and that would be that. Sounds insane now doesn't it? I certainly did not think this was Ian's last fight, I wonder sometimes if he did. Certainly knowing him, he probably wouldn't have done anything differently if he had known. This was the way he'd told me he'd wanted to go out after all, nobly battling worthy opponents and all that rot. 
     Ian switched to firing his laser cannons and the heavy 120mm autocannon and I realised he'd run out of missiles, then for the next few minutes I caught glimpses of the Snake 'Mechs edging closer and they began to score hit after hit on the Prince's Atlas. Armour and ruptured coolant fluid splattered and littered the dusty canyon floor all around us and I began to worry Ian might have to eject.
     Suddenly the enemy fire, which had been so heavy even my rock was being flailed by stray cannon and missile fire, ended. There was an immediate deathly silence as Ian paused in his own firing and the sound of one 'Mech approaching reached my near deafened ears. Risking a peek, I saw it as it came on, that fearfully graceful Warhammer, it strode out of the dust and smoke clouds some way off, but there was no mistaking it. Yorinaga was here. I saw the other Sword 'Mechs pull back and Yorinaga's 'Mech moved up for the duel that Snake swine had so long wished for.
     So there I was with a ring side seat for one of the most talked about 'Mech duels of the century. Solaris Games junkies have often plied me since with booze and meals to get my opinion of this fight. Badgering me with questions; 'Who was the better would you say?' 'Oh yes, Yorinaga won, but he waited until Ian had been badly wounded first.' 'Ian had the better 'Mech.' 'What an Atlas? Give me the twinned PPCs and that Holly missile rack any day of the week.' 'I hear Ian outfought Yorinaga, but Yorinaga won by a lucky hit on Ian's reactor.' And so on.
     As ever here I'll simply try to tell the truth, I knew Yorinaga was certain he would win this duel, he was an arrogant sod at heart like most of his family and at that time he'd never lost a 'Mech duel, so to be fair he had some cause to be. Still, even damaged, Ian's 'Mech packed a great deal of armour and Ian was piloting the thing like a master, indeed I'd not seen an Atlas move which such apparent agility and lightness before or since. I suppose at the end of the day Ian was doomed ... but I'm damned certain he didn't think that.
     One thing I will say is that it was over damn quick, like most death matches are between elite MechWarriors. Ian didn't wait for Yorinaga to bow or anything fancy like that, with an artful motion he half crouched and was suddenly spraying a thunderous autocannon volley. I heard an explosion and darted my head around to see the heavy calibre shells flay the Warhammer's left PPC, for a moment I thought it was actually going to tear the thing off, which would have really evened things up and  given Ian a chance, however the Kuritan's armour held and Ian switched to a double pulse with his laser cannons. The beams played across the Warhammer's central torso, leaving smoking, glowing red wounds.
     Yorinaga's 'Mech seemed to stagger back a moment as if reeling under the hits, then he sprang once again into lethal life. If you've never seen a Warhammer spring and doubt my description, then I'd wager you've never seen Yorinaga Kurita in action. Dodging and running he fired first his right PPC, then the left, then the right, then the left again. Each bolt hit Ian's Atlas and I was momentarily blinded by the dazzling blue-white lightning and fell back screaming in pain, my arm over my eyes.
     I heard two more PPC bolts crack off and then, while wondering how long Yorinaga could possibly keep up that rate of fire without shutting down from the heat build up, I heard a rumbling double explosion, followed by the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of missiles coming in towards the Prince's Atlas.       
     
* * *

     Blinking my eyes open desperately I saw oily black smoke pouring from Ian's Atlas, out of what looked to be at least ten serious wounds in it's armour, coolant fluid spilled down it's great legs and fires raged through it's ruined innards. The final missile out of a volley of six impacted hard on the skull head as I watched and there was a dull thump of an explosion. I couldn't see that the missile had penetrated the cockpit armour, but suddenly the Atlas's arms went limp and the 'Mech leaned slowly to it's left.
     Time seemed to slow and I can recall thinking; punch out. Punch out you fool! But the cockpit remained sealed and for that endless moment the Prince's Atlas just stood there like a lopsided statue, fires gutting it's enormous body.
     I was on my knees behind my rock when it fell. It teetered and I realised it was coming down, just at the same moment it occurred to me that I was probably well within it's falling distance. With a dreadfully slow half turn it collapsed, it's back coming down first, it's arms spread and it's head lolling like it's neck was broken. The thing's enormous multi-ton left arm seemed to be headed straight for me and I leaped up and dashed away from my boulder, looking up and bleating in fear. One hundred tons of 'Mech smashed down a few meters in front and behind me, the left upper arm and hand missing my back by about what seemed like inches, the force of which threw me forwards, so that I landed face down beside that great skull.
     I've never known anything like it, my elbow actually popped out and back into it's socket, with the sheer kinetic force of the 'Mech hitting ground so close to my unprotected body. Blood burst from my mouth, nose and ears and I was smashed into unconsciousness for a brief moment, then the pain snapped me back into screaming agony.
     Pulling my poor wounded body into a ball I would have been happy to lay there, but for the heavy, jarring tremors of an approaching 'Mech. I instantly realised Yorinaga was coming to either confirm his kill, or to capture Ian. Pulling myself up, while rubbing at my agonisingly numb left elbow, the dust cleared before me momentarily, giving me a clear view of the fallen Atlas's partly blackened head.
     It lay facing me, as if gazing at me and I stood in the swirling, concealing dust and smoke, so close I could read the great black letters painted onto the 'Mech's chin; 'I, DAVION'. I was about to run, when I realised once out of this cloud I'd be all too visible to Yorinaga's gaze, I needed some kind of cover ... the cockpit had been partially burst open by the impact I realised, as I was quickly casting around for something, anything, to shield me and aghast I then saw a human hand flop slowly out, it was blackened and singed ... but it had moved on it's own. Ian was still alive.
     I dashed forward and ignoring both my own agony and the steady, increasingly heavy thud, thud, thud beneath my feet of the approaching Warhammer, I wrenched at the scorching metal of the cockpit and was rewarded by a blast of intense heat and choking electrical smoke. Ian had somehow managed to unclip himself from his seat harness and lay face down across his console and exit canopy.
     Ignoring his pinkish-red half-broiled skin, I grabbed him by his arms and threw him across my back, so that I had his body covering me from behind. Blake but he seemed to easily weigh a ton himself I recall, but fear leant me strength and I began a staggering run around the dome of the 'Mech's head, Ian's feet dragging through the dust behind me.
     "Dar- Darius?" I ignored Ian's pitiful rasping croak and kept going. It didn't even occur to me that if I survived I'd get credit for saving Ian ... all that was going through my head was that if the bullets started flying our way I now had a handy Prince shaped bullet catcher on my back. I could still feel the steady shudders of Yorinaga's 'Mech, then they stopped and I craned around desperately as Ian gasped again in my ear.
     "Darius ... tell ... -cough- ... Hanse ... tell him ... -gasp- ... don't trust ... trust-" I snarled at Ian to shut up as I glanced back at him and  caught a glimpse of the upper section of Yorinaga's Warhammer towering out of the smoke above Ian's wrecked 'Mech. Christ, but I'll see that sight in my nightmares until I'm dead and gone. I sped up as I watched the 'Mech swivel and open fire with it's PPC. The man-made lightning bolt struck some good way behind us, but the shock of the searing electrical explosion it created flung us both bodily forward into the air. Ian naturally caught the worst of it, as I'd intended when I'd picked him up in the first place, and we were spun so forcefully I actually landed half on top of him.
     I forced myself not to black out and lay there my hands over my head, aware of the smell of smouldering flesh and singed hair. I was about to leap up and try running for it alone, when I was suddenly aware of heavy gunfire behind me, I cringed expecting to be torn to pieces by another shot from Yorinaga. However the death shot didn't come, so lifting and turning my head I caught a glimpse of a Wolverine in the air, it's jump jets flaring, then landing through the smoke from the ridge behind and snapping off an amazing shot with it's chin mounted Magna laser cannon. It's lethally accurate fire literally blew off Yorinaga's 'Mech's left arm mounted PPC with a metallic explosion, just as the bastard had been raising it to finish Ian and I off.
     Beyond Yorinaga I could just make out a Shilone, hopefully that same swine who had been strafing me earlier, spiralling to the canyon floor and then exploding in a great pillar of flame.
     'Mechs were jumping down the canyon slopes either side of us and the ground was shaking ahead of us back up towards the gap. I watched an red painted Archer on the ridge top begin firing volley after volley of long range missiles away into the distance beyond Yorinaga. Several other non-jump capable heavy 'Mechs plodded along the ridge top firing down on the Sworder, while red winged aerofighters thundered low overhead coming up from the south.
     My head sagged in exhaustion as I saw that terrible Warhammer back away under heavy fire and I could almost feel Yorinaga's anger at being driven off his from fallen prey, robbed of his final glory.
     "Highness, we've made it. We've made it." I sobbed, but there was no reply. I sat up and realised I'd been laying, for at least a couple of minutes, bodily pressed down over Ian's head.
     With an awful sense of foreboding I looked down to see Ian's rumpled face, his hair practically seared off, his dead deep blue eyes open and staring, his mouth set in a gaping death grimace. It then suddenly occurred to me that, there was a possibility at least, I'd suffocated him to death.

* * *

     You will no doubt have seen the grainy holo-pics taken by Brandon Corey as he sped up in his hover-chair, right amongst the 'Mechs of Hillnas's Company as they rushed to rescue the Prince, while the Kell Hounds fought off the Second Sword. Study my face in that first pic and you will see the horror and guilt as I sit there rocking backwards and forwards, holding Ian's head in my hands and gazing into the holo-camera's lense.
     I had been weeping and pleading with Ian not to be dead when Corey approached, the company 'Mechs saw us and surrounded us, while Hillnas stopped his Marauder, crouched it and clambered down his cockpit ladder.
     Hillnas had dropped to one knee beside me and I heard him sigh bitterly, before he turned to me and tried to gently take my hands off Ian's head. I turned to him and blubbing, blurted out.
     "I meant to ... it wasn't me ..." Thinking he was about to arrest me for the murder of the Prince you see, I'd tried to deny everything and I even yanked my hands from Hillnas and tried to get to my feet, making to run away from him in blind funk.
     Hillnas, his blonde hair stuck to his tanned forehead pulled me easily back down and shook his head, tears running down his cheeks too.
     "You're wrong Darius. It's been you ever since you joined us, you've been the one who's led our charges, you're the one who's taught us to reach for new levels of bravery and honour. You saved his body ... you've been the best of us man." I shook my head and that was when Corey got his second pic as Hillnas embraced me, while we both wept over Ian's body. Of course Hillnas was crying manly tears through devastation at losing his beloved Prince and Commander, while I was crying for altogether different reasons.
     Corey wrote it up as follows for the Herald;
     Darius, his clothes burned from his body, his flesh seared, bruised and pierced by shrapnel, upon the approach of Kurita's demonic 'Mech had pulled Prince Ian's dead body from the fallen Atlas and unwilling to allow the Dragon to sink his claws into Ian's mortal remains and despite his own weakened condition, had carried Ian away from the firing Warhammer.
     Then, when nearly hit by a PPC bolt and unable to run any further, Darius lay his own body across that of the Prince, trying to protect his royal cousin's remains, at the almost certain cost of his own life.
     Saved only by the arrival of the Kell Hounds, who fought off the Second Sword 'Mechs in Desolate Pass, Darius was heard to berate himself over the fact the Prince had died and not he. Captain L. Hillnas, Commander of the Fourth Guards Company that first arrived back on the scene, later said to this journalist that Darius had tried to run back, on foot, into the battle that had still raged in that cursed canyon, presumably so that he could find death himself to ease his grieving heart.

* * *

     The 'Bane brought up a MASH truck and Hillnas and the boys escorted us back to the main body of the RCT. I remember being massively relieved as I heard a surgeon whispering to a nurse that the Prince had apparently suffocated in his cockpit and mentioned that he'd heard Hillnas state the same thing after taking a quick look at the Prince's downed Atlas. That final missile had knocked Ian unconscious and apparently set off internal fires in the cockpit that practically cooked the Prince alive.
     I slumped back into my clean linen sheets and breathed in and out a few times. I only had a faint inkling then, but I did realise my life had changed in Desolate Pass ... in truth I'd first knowingly led the enemy straight to my royal cousin, secondly had used his still living body as a human shield for myself and thirdly I had then in all probability killed him myself, though it must be said he looked badly wounded when I'd been carrying him and he may well have died even if I hadn't smothered him, or indeed allowed him to take the brunt of a close miss from a PPC.
     However, to the universe at large, besides all my other false heroics throughout this first month of the Third Battle for Mallory's World, I'd been the man who saved Ian's body from the clutches of House Kurita. To this day that's not changed, I quite undeservedly became one of the immortal names of the AFFS in that dusty canyon. Corey's holo-pics and accompanying story were sold on by his employers to just about every major news organ across the Inner Sphere. Like a great ripple over the next couple of T-months or so people opened their morning papers and saw me cradling my dead cousin, my face a picture of woe, then read of my heroic saving of his body from the wicked clutches of Kurita's best MechWarrior.
     At the time though, in that MASH truck, I was simply happy to have survived and I sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.

[Tokage]

Epilogue

     I remained out of it for most of the next two T-days. When I finally came around, muzzy headed and aching from my many wounds, I was still in that MASH truck, but we were rolling into Colterville along with the main body of the 'Bane and the two battalions of the Kell Hounds. I was content to be fussed over by the pretty nurses, as our column drove up one of the city's, now half ruined, old trok roads.
     An hour or two after I awoke, Gene Drivers popped in to visit. He was wearing dust and sweat stained desert camo battledress and looked pretty peeky, but his accountant's features creased into a warm, though sad, smile at the sight of me sitting up and sipping a mug of recaff.
     "Darius my boy. Good to see you're back amongst the living." Even as he said it he flinched and shook his head in mute apology. He then pulled up a chair, sat down beside my bed and grilled me, in the nicest way, about how I came to be in Desolate Pass. It was no great problem spinning him a story about my second short stint of Kuritan captivity and then an invented story about how I escaped in order to try to warn the Prince that the Snakes were onto him. I recall I lingered over my near beheading by Yorinaga and he looked horrified.
     "Oh I don't think he mean to go through with it sir." I casually commented, enjoying seeing him getting incensed by this further evidence of Kuritan war crimes on Mallory's World.
     "He simply meant to try to scare me into revealing secrets, if you ask me sir." Gene snorted and replied to that in an admiring tone;
     "Pshaw, given your record over this campaign young fellow, it'd take a better man than Yorinaga Kurita to be able to do that!" Little did he know I thought. Gene then became serious again and actually placed his hand over mine, gentle like.
     "Listen Darius, Luke Hillnas told me something of what you said and did when he reached you and ... well the Prince's body. Ahh ... it may not be my place to say this, but you mustn't blame yourself. You did more than any man could have, in the circumstances, the Med-Techs are saying Ian was probably already dead when you pulled him out of his 'Mech and besides you saved his body from the Snakes.
      At the end of the day, son, you're a soldier. You did your best. But you shouldn't dwell on things you can't control. We're at war, people die. It's a hard fact, but there it is. You've a chance to really set out into a glowing career, but you can't let guilt and grief overcome you." The big ninny clearly thought I was tormented by surviving where Ian had not and I decided I'd better play up to keep up my act, I let my head sag and then mumbled.
     "I just wish ... I could have got him out, sir. I was so damned close."
     "Enough Leftenant. That's an order." He then got up and turned to leave, as what he'd just said sank in.
     "Leftenant?" I repeated and Gene turned and beamed down at me before replying.
     "Battlefield promotion. By Blake and all the Saints, if anyone's earned it you have. Also, as the ranking AFFS officer now on this planet, I mean to see a Silver Sunburst on your breast the next time you put on your blue and golds." He was as good as his word too.
     After he'd left me, I sat there in a state of daze. I'd not known by that time that I was now 'the Hero of Mallory's World' and in my first campaign had won not just promotion to Leftenant and a Silver Sunburst medal, but would soon be a famous and popular hero of immense proportions.
     For the next T-day or so I believe Gene kept most of the would be visitors away, to give me a chance to recover a little, but I still had a string of callers. Brandon Corey, for example, came in to congratulate me and show me his holo-pics, and read me some of the amazing tosh he'd written. Captain Hillnas showed up, actually seeming embarrassed by our shared emotion over Ian's corpse, but after a while stood and saluted, before backing out promising he'd hold a lance commander position open for me.
     Killian Rook and Moshe Galan popped in, on their way to the Setting Sun club the swines, but they seemed different around me and I caught both of them looking at me sideways a few times. It was a look I'd grow more used to down the years ... a curious mixture of respectful awe, envy and perhaps a little fear of the uncanny. Well, they believed the legend didn't they? So they thought I was a maniacally brave, fiercely bloodthirsty, noble-hearted Fed Suns hero and were clearly unsure now how to treat me.
     All in all I was feeling very well set up and I only fretted a tad over what might be happening beyond the breached walls of Colterville.

* * *

     Hillnas had filled me in a little and I learned the rest later. Basically, after the timely arrival of the Kell Hounds who then beat the Second Sword out of Desolate Pass, the campaign had reached a temporary stalemate and a lull that both sides seemed to have agreed to as an unspoken truce.
     The Second Sword were still deep in the Bone Desert somewhere, the Twenty-fourth Dieron were to our north and the remnants of the Seventeenth Avalon were scattered west of the Salt Mountains. Here in Colterville the 'Bane and the Kells licked their wounds and mourned the loss of Prince Ian. His body, by the way, was kept under constant armed guard at the heart of our camp, stored in a specially made ceramite casket, full of coolant fluid, to keep it fresh.
     We all learned later that as a reward for killing Ian, Yorinaga was promoted by Takashi to the rank of Tai-sa and formally given command of the entire Second Sword. A few weeks after Ian's death the Second Sword were rotated off of Mallory's World, but they soon returned and would then remain there fighting throughout the next three years of the Third Battle for the planet.
     The 'Bane were to remain on that crap-hole for that whole time as well, along with the rebuilding Seventeenth Avalon and elements of the Kell Hounds. Fortunately I personally would not be with them.
     I managed to get up and about at about local noon, on the 1st of November and was interested to receive a visit from one of Gene's aides. A timid looking young squib whose name escapes me, he fumbled with a leather file and then handed me an invite to the Fourth Guards farewell wake to their First Prince and Commander, which was to be held that night in the officer's billets. I was a little concerned to note those billets were located in the same hotel in which I'd previously been held prisoner by the Second Sword.

* * *

     Gene had had someone rustle up a dress uniform for me, complete with new red epaulette on it's right shoulder and a burnished golden half breastplate hung over the left. Good ol' Gene even arrived as I stood there stiff from my wounds, my left arm in a blue silk sling one of the nurses had provided and he pinned the ribbon of the Silver Sunburst he'd promised me onto my right uniform breast, while swearing he'd see to it Hanse formally awarded me the actual medal itself at a later date.
     I took a last look at myself before leaving the MASH car, I was considerably leaner than I had been a month before, my jet black hair had grown out into a romantic length and my face was badly bruised. I could only walk very slowly, or pain lanced through my burned legs and feet, whilst my arm as I say was in a sling. Damn but I looked the part though!
     Gene was wearing mess dress of a gold trimmed white half jacket over a white shirt, with tight blue pants, spurs and polished black shoes. It was a cool clear night and we chatted amiably as he led me across that damned square where I'd been taken prisoner by Zakahashi and his thugs. I shuddered however as we passed the spot where the severed heads had been lined up, and I saw faint brownish blood stains amidst the rubble here and there. Gene spotted my discomfort and asked if anything was wrong, I told him about the DCMS troops activities and his usually bland face became a mask of hatred for a brief moment.
     "Those bloody Snake swines ... I wish we could show those liberal idiots back home, who call for a negotiated peace with the Dracs, a little of what we've seen eh? Might shake some of those wrongheaded notions about 'cultural relativism' out of their drug-addled brains." At the time I'd nodded, not really knowing what he'd been on about, well the cultural relativism movement that's now widespread in our realm hadn't then been about long. He was right though, in my opinion. Oh, you know I'm no warrior, I'd have been more than happy to let the Dragon have Mallory's World, but then I'm a venal, self serving, coward and care for no one save myself. Gene was and is a decent chap and he knew that no Federated Suns citicen who had enjoyed the Six Liberties would want to live or die under the dreadful tyranny of Kurita's state.
     Anyway we slowly negotiated the steps to the hotel, and where I'd been previously dragged up by those bastard Snake grunts Gene now gave me his shoulder to lean upon. We then entered the air conditioned foyer, where several of the 'Bane's officers were waiting and joined us as we strolled on into the hotel's ball room.
     It seemed like there were over a hundred or more officers in that somewhat looted and scarred room and as we entered someone struck a crystal glass with a spoon three times, all conversation instantly died and everyone turned our way. I could see officers of all ranks from Subalterns up to Colonels, mainly from the 'Bane of course, who were dressed either in blue and golds, or the white and blue mess dress like Gene. There were also however a good few of the Kell Hounds officers here, done up in their own pretty smart dress uniforms; consisting of trimly cut waist length red jackets, which were double-breasted with black cloth cut in the form of their hound's head badge, white gloves, black pants and polished black jackboots.
     As we stood there in front of all those curious seeming faces I actually began to panic, until suddenly someone called out from amidst the throng;
     "Three cheers for Darius Davion ... HIP HIP ..."
     "HOO'RAH" The shout from all those men and women seemed so loud as to shake the partially stripped chandeliers glittering above us. I stood there amazed as they cheered on and then as the third hoo'rah echoed around the ball room they absolutely began singing For He's A Jolly Good Fellow and I was rushed by a great grinning mob of brother officers, chinking glasses, shaking hands, patting my back and making me wince in pain.
     Gene, eventually extracted me from the crowd and handing me a medicinal pint of stout smiled.
     "This may be a wake Darius, but you've given us hope to go on. If there are Davions like Hanse and you coming up, well ... all's not lost with Ian." I didn't know what to say, my reception by the RCT's officers had knocked me for six, I suppose I should have been feeling riven by guilt at profiting by my despicable acts throughout the course of the campaign. Naturally I wasn't. I was primarily then still just happy to be alive and safe. Later I'd come to be over the moon at my new fame and reputation. I didn't know then of course, that having a name as a legendary fire-eater and man of action tends to lead you into being forced into still more dangerous positions. That awful realisation would come later.
     "Oh, here let me introduce you to someone who's been itching to meet you." Gene led me through the clusters of boozing officers towards a small group of Kell Hounds mercs standing by a table, upon which a painting of Prince Ian sat propped up and draped in black silk ribbons of mourning.
     "Leftenant Darius Davion ... allow me to introduce the Baron von Arc Royal, Colonel Morgan Kell." Gene smiled as Kell turned to salute, then warmly shook my hand. Morgan Kell was only twenty seven then, despite having been leading his merc unit for three years by that time and was a tall, strong seeming, man with a clean shaven, youthfully handsome face, a mouth that often twisted into a sly grin, and long black hair.
     "I apologise for not getting to you sooner Leftenant. I shall regret our tardiness for the rest of my life. Ian was a great commander." I accepted his kind words, but I was a little thrown by the soft Irish lilt to his Anglic, which reminded me of the peasants back home. Perhaps because of that, I didn't like the look of him above half. He was dangerous I quickly decided, wild and possibly a little mad.
      He went on to introduce his brother Patrick, who being then in his mid twenties was a couple of years younger and was a smaller, quieter chap, with similarly clean cut good looks, but with buzz cut black hair. My attention was however immediately fixed upon a spanking little red head who was standing with them, she looked to be about twenty three, was petite, gracefully slender and from what I could tell had a very womanly frontage. Catching the direction of my, doubtless obviously lustful, gaze Morgan spoke again.
      "This is Captain Salome Ward. She was the pilot of the Wolverine that beat off Yorinaga Kurita." I was distracted at first by her name and gazing into her eyes I wondered if she could dance as well as her Biblical namesake was reputed to, however suddenly Morgan's words sunk in and I absolutely blurted out in disbelief;
     "What? This little cracker beat Yorinaga?" There was a sudden shocked silence in our little circle and I realised what I'd said, so tried to smooth the ruffled feathers by rattling on. "Ahh, that is, of course she did. Beautiful and deadly. A rare combination."
     Salome smiled thinly and shook my hand, cool as be damned.
     "And a dangerous one." She said dryly.
     I took the hint and besides quickly spotted the body language between her and Morgan, she was obviously his bed warmer. Mind you, that wasn't the only reason for her position in the Hounds, I'd seen her in action and she had to be one of the best and most overlooked MechWarriors I ever met ... she beat Yorinaga after all. Short of Morgan himself, there was no one else who ever managed that.
     "You must carry our sincere regrets to Prince Hanse when you reach New Avalon." Morgan interjected, cutting across my bows to stand proprietarily over Salome.
     "New Avalon?" I asked him confused, at which Morgan looked embarrassed, realising I was in the dark. Gene cleared his throat and placed his hand on my shoulder.
     "I'm sorry to do this to you son. I know you'll want to be back into the fray here again as soon as the fighting kicks back off ... but it wont do. You're wounded and need rest and recovery time. Besides, who could possibly make a better escort for the Hound's body than you, the chap who carried him from danger? A command circuit is being organised as we speak and you're to leave by DropShip with Ian's remains tomorrow." I did my best to look devastated, whilst inside cheering and laughing with joy. I was to leave for home tomorrow. No more Mallory's World, no more war, no more murderous Kuritans, no more filthy desert heat, no more beastly insects everywhere! Still, even then, I knew I had to keep up my act.
     "But sir ... I'll be fit and ready for action in no time. You can't send me back. I want to kill Kuritans. I need payback." Gene and the Kells smiled faintly and exchanged knowing looks of respect. But Gene was thankfully adamant.
     "It's an order Darius. You are to board the Royal DropShip tomorrow and escort the body of First Prince Ian back to New Avalon for his funeral and entombment. It's a signal honour. Now, let's hear no more about it. You can propose a toast at Hanse's coronation on behalf of the 'Bane while you're there, as we're staying on Mallory's World until we've done what Ian brought us here to do." He winked and I acted like the wind had been knocked out of my sails and though nodding agreement, I wandered off on my own to a buffet table and fumbled about one handed with a china plate bearing the Fourth's crest upon it's centre.
     As I was struggling to pile on some grub, a slender and blessedly familiar pair of feminine hands reached around me and began to help. Spinning, I came face to face with Jennifer Devlin. She was wearing a deuced attractive little black dress, with a white and gold trimmed Guards mess jacket over her shoulders with the sleeves hanging loose. A bandage circled under her blonde hair, her tanned skin seemed somewhat paler, her big green eyes were a little shadowed, but her sensual mouth was curled into a beautiful smile and she stood very close to me, gazing up into my face.
     "Hi Dee." She breathed and we were suddenly kissing, oblivious of the gasps of surprise and scandalised envy that several of the chaps closest to us made. I pulled back and babbled a needless stream of questions, which she waved off, while leading me out a side door, then up into one of the empty bedrooms.
     Well, we spent my last night on Mallory's World saying goodbye in the best possible way. I still look back very fondly on Jennifer, she wasn't the most famous, or the most beautiful, or the most deadly dangerous of my girls ... but she had that indefinable something and to this day I still sometimes find myself day-dreaming wistfully about her. She stayed on Mallory's World y'know, like she'd said she would, remained married to her distant husband, who eventually returned and settled down with her in later years and together they raised their family. I never met her again, to my slight sorrow.
   
* * *

      Distracted by my farewell tryst with Jennifer I nearly missed the DropShip, which put down just outside Colterville, while Kell Hounds aero-fighters flew overwatch. I ran, still in my now somewhat dishevelled dress uniform, out through the mustered lines of the 'Bane's 'Mechs, that were drawn up to honour the passing casket carrying Ian's body, while the RCT's band somewhere were playing a funeral march.
     "C'mon Leftenant step it up." Gene called from the ramp of the waiting DropShip and I turned once to gaze down the solemn avenue of BattleMechs, beyond which rose the scarred walls of Colterville. The blue sky seemed less stark and here and there clouds scudded along. With that I span and ran past Gene up the ramp, crunching a bug of some kind under my shoe as I went. Gene called out from behind me.
     "Your baggage is stowed, the Prince is aboard and you're to go to Cabin One. There's a surprise I've arranged waiting for you there." I waved to Gene and the cluster of slightly bemused seeming officers stood with him, including the Kells I noted, as the ramp began to rise. I then allowed myself to be guided by fawning crewmen to my cabin.
     As I entered eager to find what present Gene had arranged for me, I stopped short. There was a man sitting in the large double cabin. He was wearing the grey shirt, tan jacket, olive trousers and tan kepi of a 'Mech Leftenant of the Seventeenth Avalon Hussars. My heart sank as I looked down at him in horror and he turned in his seat to smile widely up at me and then leapt to his feet to grab my hand and shake it avidly.
     "Why there you are old chap. You're late you know. Well, isn't this is a wonderful turn up, we're to be cabin-mates all the way back to New Avalon." My dreams of a pleasant, peaceful and enjoyable journey home died, as I collapsed opposite Ardan Sortek and was forced to listen to his puerile opinions about the death of Princes, his excited thoughts on the good works he and Hanse could now begin and his undying respect for my own 'chivalric deeds'. It suddenly seemed like it was going to be a very long voyage.

-HERE ENDS THE FIRST FILE OF THE MISADVENTURES OF DARIUS DAVION -

[Tokage]

Editor's Note -

The Disappearance of Darius Davion
     The celebrated AFFC soldier, General Darius Davion, disappeared from his personal pleasure yacht, the Naughty Natasha, while recharging on layover in the June system, some time between the dates of the twentieth of January and the tenth of February 3050. The Naughty Natasha was found drifting in space, unmarked and showing no signs of damage, or violent action. There was nothing apparently missing and no clues as to where Darius went, or why.
     Darius never lacked for powerful enemies and the list of possible assassins, or kidnappers, who might be behind this mysterious event are countless.
     As an old friend of Darius I made it a personal mission to try to learn the truth about what actually happened to him and I travelled to June as soon as I heard. Upon going through his personal computer files I discovered a massive collection of text files, apparently written by Darius and encrypted by him. Although it took me several months I finally cracked the encryption and found that these files were apparently secret memoirs of Darius's life.
     These memoirs are highly controversial, for they state that Darius, a holder of our nation's highest awards for gallantry and a byword for bravery across known space, was in truth a coward, a bully, a cheat, a womanising lecher, a regicide, a deserter and much else besides. I knew I would never be able to publish these memoirs openly for, besides the highly unfavourable light they cast upon Darius himself, they contain many state secrets that our government and rulers would not wish to be publicly known. So after a great deal of soul searching I have begun to post these files anonymously on various p-nets, in the hope they can serve as a lesson to future generations about what really happened across the Inner Sphere and Periphery over the last forty odd years.
     I have considered their authenticity from many angles. Numerous people have stated their belief that these files are fake, a clever hoax, or perhaps even a deliberate smear campaign orchestrated by the Maskirovka, or maybe the ISF. I can only say that where I myself am occasionally mentioned in several of the files, the events match my own memories almost exactly as to what was said and done at each given time, which suggests a degree of authenticity to me. Where possible I have made every effort to check events, dates and people mentioned, and each time have either found the facts match, or differ only in small ways that can be safely put down to a difference of perspective or memory. Also, given certain allegations Darius (or the author of the files claiming to be Darius) makes, for example, as to the true paternity of Romano Liao's heir, or his claims about several events involving the Kuritan royal family, I have discounted the possibility of an enemy state planting the files.
     Difficult as it has been for me, a patriot and for my part a dear friend of Darius, I believe these files are precisely what they claim to be. Darius speaking the truth about his life for the first and only time. Coming clean in a sense. Sometimes I can clearly hear and recognise my friend's voice amidst the spite, the bitter bile and the sickening selfishness, and I find myself smiling, then stop myself and feel very sad. I pity Darius, that he lived a lie for so long, but I strongly feel the public has a right to hear and read the truth about him.
     Some readers have asked for a layout of Darius's movements and in answer to them I thus include this brief and very patchy timeline, which I was roughing out shortly before Darius vanished, with a view to writing an authorised biography.
Brandon Corey
New Avalon
19 March 3051 
             
The Known Movements of Darius Davion - 3013 - 3050

3013 - April - Sakhara (Fed Suns) (Darius and the Hound) While in his third year at Sakhara Academy, aged 19, Darius engaged in an out of curfew 'Mech race with fourth year cadet Justin Allard, which ended in Darius being expelled from the academy and deported from the planet.
- July to August - New Avalon (Fed Suns) (Darius and the Hound) Darius arrived at the Davion Palace and managed to gain an invite to attend Prince Ian. Ian awarded Darius a position as a MechWarrior in Hillnas's Company of the Fourth Guards.
- October - Mallory's World (Fed Suns) (Darius and the Hound) Darius saw action during the initial landings, the Siege of Colterville (where he was captured by and subsequently escaped from the DCMS), the Battle of Sandsedge, and was with the Fourth Guards during their fighting retreat through the Bone Desert. He was captured again and escaped to be at Desolate Pass when Prince Ian was killed in 'Mech to 'Mech combat with Yorinaga Kurita. Darius was credited with saving Prince Ian's body from the DCMS, was awarded the Silver Sunburst Medal and received a battlefield promotion to Leftenant, from Marshal Gene Drivers. Then along with Ardan Sortek, he accompanied Ian's body back to New Avalon as part of the official escort.
- November to December - New Avalon (Fed Suns) (Darius at the Coronation) Upon his return to New Avalon Darius was secretly co-opted by Hanse Davion into penetrating a Cabalist society within the Brigade of Guards, headed by Captain Jonathan Bright, which was dedicated to assassinating Hanse and seizing power in the resultant chaos. Darius was a pallbearer at Ian's State Funeral, following which he accompanied McKinnon's Raiders in the 'Mech assault on Bright's country estate which effectively wiped out Bright's group and their foreign backers. After attending Hanse's Coronation Darius apparently left New Avalon on a civilian liner.
3014 - First Quarter - Solaris VII (Lyran Commonwealth) While officially on the half-pay list and on extended leave, Darius seems to have spent the early part of this year on a 'gambling holiday' on Solaris. He is rumoured to have run afoul of certain criminal elements there and is known to have left, shortly after a private meeting with Count Truston of the MIIO. His movements are then something of a mystery.
- Marik Civil War - Several reports place him at Duke Anton Marik's headquarters on May 22nd, when the Duke begins the Marik Civil War. A holo pic snapped by a journalist on Nova Roma in September shows Darius in cooling vest talking with Natasha Kerensky, apparently on a battlefield. Other than this his movements during the early months of the Marik Civil War are unknown, beyond the fact that he was apparently serving with Anton's forces (whilst possibly on secret service at the behest of the MIIO) and even seems to have received a Crest of the Eagle medal from Anton.
3015 - Darius's service with Anton's rebel army continued at least until Anton's death and the fall of New Delos. One rumour states Darius was actually with Anton when the Wolf's Dragoon dependants were murdered and later when Anton was killed during the attack by the Black Widow Company. Darius appears to have been 'rescued' by Wolf's Dragoons, but his movements for the rest of the year are unknown at this time.
3016 - Movements unknown at this time. One unconfirmed report suggests he may have travelled throughout the FWL and the Marik Expanse of the Periphery during this time. He definitely does not seem to have returned to the Fed Suns.
3017 - First Quarter - Tharkad (Lyran Commonwealth) Accompanying Duchess Olivia Fenlon, who was on a diplomatic mission and whom he apparently met by chance while he was headed back through Skye towards the Fed Suns, Darius visited the Lyran Capital world early in 3017, court gossip at the time hinted at a possible romantic liason between he and Katrina Steiner. He apparently left Tharkad as part of a military fact finding tour of the LCAFs posititions along the FWL border.
Second Quarter - Lysidas (Lyran Commonwealth) While with the LCAF inspection party on the recently captured border world of Lysidas, Darius disappears again, this time during the Oberonic mercenary Redjack Ryan's brutal reign of terror on that world. Some scattered reports state Darius was kidnapped by Ryan and was taken with the mercs when they went pirate and fled into the Lyran Rift. One scurrilous report claims Darius was actually a member of Ryan's Rebels and is in fact none other than the notorious pirate 'Dirty' Dick Dergeezi; Redjack's 'First Gun' and 'Chief Torturer', until his apparent disappearance/death in 3018, and is the man who caused the poisoning of Lysidas's atmosphere, rendering half the planet uninhabitable. 
3018 - ? Darius is believed to have been held captive by Ryan (or served under him if you believe scandalous rumours) at least until the second quarter of this year. He certainly seems to have been tortured on the face of it as he was missing his left hand when he arrived back in the Fed Suns later in the year, after nearly five years away. How he escaped Butte Hold is not known.
3019 - June - Hesperus II - Darius is part of a Fed Suns business mission visiting the Defiance Industries factories, serving in the role as an unofficial military consultant with Federated Boeing, and actively participates in the Lyran defence of the world against the attack by Wolf's Dragoons. Darius is present at the Battles of Erewhon River, the Widow's Breakthrough - where he was notably the sole survivor on the Lyran side, and throughout the campaign. Darius is officially commended and thanked for his actions during the campaign by both Archon Steiner, and Duke Brewer. Some rather unpleasant backdoors Lyran rumours at the time claimed however that Darius was working both sides of the fence and possibly provided Natasha Kerensky with the information she used to cross the river, this seems highly unlikely even accepting Darius' friendly relations with the Dragoons.
Third Quarter - Nashira - Darius accompanies his old friend and comrade Ardan Sortek, as part of the 17th Avalon Hussars raiding force that hits Nashira. Darius was in the thick of the action throughout the two weeks of heavy fighting, and is credited by Sortek as being the man who courageously mounted a single handed surprise rush attack on the Kuritan positions about the space port, which ultimately enabled the raiders to escape the world.
3020 - Harrow's Sun (Federated Suns) Darius saw active service and combat during the Fourth Battle of Harrow's Sun. The details are as yet still classified by the AFFS.
3021 - First Quarter - Bromhead (Federated Suns) Darius is part of training exercise on Bromhead in the Capellan March at the time the world is attacked by the Taurian Lancers. Darius plays an important part in the battles which ensue.
- Third Quarter - New Ivaarsen (Federated Suns) (Darius and the Heartbreaker) Darius sees action during the Kuritan invasion of this world, he is known to have formed an attachment during the campaign to the notorious Crucis Lancer MechWarrior Paula Stillson and a friendship with Duke Stephen Davion. Darius was also heavily involved in the subsequent disgrace of Lt. General Arlin Stuart and MechWarrior Stillson. Darius was promoted to Captain and awarded the Gold Sunburst Medal at the end of the campaign.   
3022 - Galaina (Lyran Commonwealth) Darius was assigned as a merc liasion to Snord's Irregulars, saw action on Tamar, at the Battle of Vrance, then accompanied the Irregulars on an unauthorised raid into the Draconis Combine. He is rumoured to have been captured and imprisoned on Alshain, where Darius has mentioned to me he shared a cell with Magnusson and Miraborg ... the men who would go on to found the Free Rasalhague Republic in later years. How Darius escaped back to Lyran space is at this time unknown.
3023 - April-May - Hoff (Federated Suns) Following a scandal created by certain ' disparaging off-hand comments' made by Darius to the press about the NAIS, Darius was attached to Project Pheonix and posted to Hoff. He served with valour throughout the Kuritan campaign aimed at capturing the next-gen tech being worked on by Project Pheonix and was credited with saving the Pheonix Techs and equipment, winning membership into the KFS for his efforts.     
- Third Quarter  - New Avalon (Federated Suns) Darius was on New Avalon at the time of the death of Count Nicholas Truston, Minister of the MIIO, in a 'DropShip accident'. Certain comments he has made in my presence lead me to believe there may have been more to Truston's death than is publicly known and Darius may have been involved in an intelligence operation revolving around it.
3024 - January - La Blanc (Federated Suns) Due to his known connections to Natasha Kerensky, Darius was placed in charge of two Techs who were to be used in an ill conceived plan aimed at luring the Black Widow Company into leaving Wolf's Dragoons and switching contracts away from the Combine back into Davion service. Darius failed and took part in the resultant 'Mech battle between the Widows and The Bounty Hunter's Cadre.
- March - February  - Argyle (Federated Suns) (Darius and the Heartbreaker) Returning to the Davion palace on Argyle to report the failure of the La Blanc Proposal, Darius became involved in a public scandal involving the disgraced MechWarrior Paula Stillson. At the advice of Hanse Davion, Darius joined an expedition into the Periphery. His travels in the following months are hard to track, but he seems to have visited Micanos, Novo Franklin, then the Slavers World of Antallos, where he fell into the hands of the Bandit King Helmar Valasek. Why Valasek was on Antallos is not known at this time. Darius was later present at the Battle of Longbow Mountain in the Outworlds Alliance ... according to Outworlds sources a three way battle between Valasek's band, Outworlds forces and a Taurian military unit! (?)
3025 - May - September - Galtor III (Federated Suns) After returning to the Fed Suns, apparently considerably wealthier than when he'd left, Darius was assigned the rank of Major and placed in charge of Hanse's dummy Star League cache on Galtor III. From this position Darius goes on to serve with distinction throughout the Galtor Campaign, being notably present during the Battle of the Fake Depot, the Defence of New Derry, the Last Stand of the Raman DMM and the Final Battle for Galtor. Darius was awarded the Robinson Medal of Valor for his part in the campaign, which he described to me at the time as the worst fighting he'd yet seen.     
- November - Conroe (Federated Suns) Darius was involved in this campaign.
3026 - April - June - Ozawa and Markab (Federated Suns) Darius was attached to the 3rd Crucis Lancers during their campaigns against the 5th Sword of Light on these two worlds. Being famously present at the valiant Last Stand of the 3rd Crucis's Rearguard on Markab, where the C.O. of the 3rd was killed along with his Command Lance ... Darius was the only AFFS MechWarrior to manage to fight his way out of the battle.             
- November - Kittery (Federated Suns) Invited to give a lecture on his extensive battlefield experience by his old school chum Justin Allard, Darius was on Kittery at the time of the controversial battle between Liao raiders and Allard's 1st Kittery Training Battalion, this was the first time Darius saw action against Capellans. 
3027 - January - New Avalon (Federated Suns) Darius stood as a witness for the prosecution at the Trial of Justin Allard.
- Tharkad (Lyran Commonwealth) - Darius was with his good friend Ardan Sortek throughout the Silver Eagle Affair.
3028 - April to May - Misery (Draconis Combine) - Darius fought alongside Wolf's Dragoons during this famous campaign. How this came to occur is a mystery which I have yet to be able to discover.
3028 - August - Terra - (Darius and the Happy Occasion) Darius arrived uninvited at Hanse's wedding, dressed in the uniform of a Major in Wolf's Dragoons and in the company of Jaime Wolf himself. He was typically modest and reticent to brag as to how this came about beyond stating he'd 'helped the Dragoons out on Misery'. Darius was one of the Ushers at the Wedding and there were rumours at the time that Darius fought a secret duel with a Kuritan Otomo officer, who was in the Coordinator's Party, while on Hilton Head Island. 
- September to October - Tikonov (Capellan Confederation) -  Darius was attached to the Crucis Lancers Command Staff during the Invasion of Tikonov. He served with distinction at both the Battle of Bulun and the Siege of Tikograd.
- Northwind  - (Federated Suns)  Darius was involved in orchestrating the defection of the Northwind Highlanders, whom he has always affectionately called 'the Sweaties' to me, from Sweaty Socks - Jocks. The details of his precise movements are unclear, but he definitely arrived with one of the Highlander regiments and took part in the Highlander attack on the DCMS forces then on Northwind.
3029  - Darius's movements during this year are hard to trace, I am sure he was on Elgin at the time of the bomb attempt on Ridzik, he then served with Sortek as adc during Ridzik's brief reign as lord of the Tikonov Free Republic. One report I have uncovered suggests Darius was present in the Hotel Percheron at the time of Ridzik's assassination and that Darius was kidnapped by the Maskirovka assassin while trying to save Ridzik. From there Darius was smuggled across the border into Liao space and taken to Sian. He spent several months in bestial Capellan captivity, used and abused as no Fed Sun's soldier should ever be, until he was rescued during the attack of the Kathil Uhlans.
3030 - Following reports of a scandal involving himself and the Lyran officer Vanessa Bisla, Darius somehow came to be fighting for the Andurien/Canopus Alliance, during their initial invasion of the Capellan Confederation. The story behind this is at present unknown. One report seems to suggest Darius was captured during the campaign on Andarmax and taken back to Sian once again, where he was again subjected to yet more inhuman torture at the hands of Romano Liao. Capellan gossip of a restarted illicit liason between Romano and Darius should be treated with the contempt such blatantly false tittle-tattle deserves.
3031-32?-   Darius seems to have been back in the Andurien/Canopus Invasion of Liao again during this year. Details are few and far between at this time.
3033 -      Darius was definitely on Canopus itself some time in the first quarter of this year. The details are unknown at this time.                     
- Last Quarter - Tamar Pact Darius was involved in the training of the Rasalhaguian Tyr rebels at this time.
3034 - Darius fought for the FRR during the Ronin War. However the details are as yet unknown. He was decorated some years later by the FRR for his part in the fighting.
      Darius apparently left the Ronin War towards the end of the year and seems to have somehow come across the path of Maria Morgraine's pirates. Reports that Darius led Morgraine to Butte Hold and caused the formation of the Greater Valkyrate seem highly unlikely however. As do rumours that Darius struck up a relationship with Susie Morgraine-Ryan during this period. Darius was almost certainly a prisoner of the Ryan family once again however.
3035 - Darius seems to have escaped captivity in the Greater Valkyrate into the Oberon Confederation. His movements there are unknown at this time, however he reappeared towards the end of '35 at the world of Delos IV in the Draconis March aboard a vessel belonging to a previously unknown Periphery people, who Darius stated called themselves 'the Jarnfolk'. The facts of this epic Periphery odyssey are unknown at this time.
3036 - Wei - Promoted to Lt. Colonel, Darius was made AFFS Military Governor of Wei, in the Sarna March. He was ultimately honourably discharged from the position at the instigation of Melissa Steiner-Davion, when she famously replaced all AFFS troops on Sarna worlds with Lyran soldiers. There are numerous rumours of financial corruption, sexual misconduct and brutal treatment of the indigs connected to Darius's stint as Governor ... however this is not unusual in the Sarna March, where the Maskirovka constantly are at work fomenting anti-Davion feelings with black propaganda and these libels can be safely discounted.
3037 - January to March - Xanthe III (Greater Andurien) Darius was back fighting in the Wars of Andurien Secession, on the side of Andurien, in this period and was present at the death of Duncan Marik. He is even sometimes credited as the man who killed Duncan.
3038 - Early to Mid (Circinus Federation) Darius was part of a mercenary recruitment expedition to the Circinus Federation. Ultimately successful, Circinus Mercs fought for the Fed Com during the War of 3039, there are however rumours Darius became dangerously involved in Circinian politics and may even have taken part in the Circinian war for Dersidatz.   
- Late - Murchison (Draconis Combine) Darius was with Wolf's Dragoons during their ill fated raid on this planet.
End of '38-3039  - War of 3039   Darius's movements during the War of 3039 are confused - he seems to have been on Galtor III again, with the special forces teams, fighting a guerilla war against the Kuritan occupation army from late '38, through to March. Then was on Sadalbari from April through May. One report states he was captured there and spent some months behind enemy lines, rumours abound about this time he spent in Kuritan hands, one claim is that he was involved with a top secret ISF faction, another that he may actually have hidden amidst the Yakuza soldiers of Teddy K's Ghost army ... whatever the truth, amazingly he appeared again on An Ting at the end of July, where he is credited with saving the 1st Guards by some commentators. Part of the retreat from An Ting, he was on Thestria from August to September, then Exeter. For his amazing service throughout the war, elements of which have had to remain classified and out of the public domain for reasons of national security, he was awarded the Medal Excalibur and promoted at the end of war to full Colonel.
3040 - Fomalhaut (Draconis Combine) Darius was part of an unauthorised attack by the Guards on Fomalhaut, he was with the officers who later faced court martial on Caph, but seems to have been saved by direct order of Hanse.
3041 - October to November (?) - Antallos (Periphery) Perhaps because of his familiarity with the Slavers World, Darius was part of the AFFS force which hit Port Krin on Antallos seeking the arch criminal Damien Sorno.
3042 - Galtor III Due to his extensive knowledge of Galtor, Darius was part of the AFFS rescue mission to that world.
- Tortuga - Darius was attached to the 2nd Fed Com RCT and serves throughout the Tortuga Campaign. He is reported to have carried out a daring solo penetration of the inner most sanctum of Lady Death Trevaline and was instrumental in her capture. Trevaline's later attempts to maliciously smear Darius's good name by claiming a romantic connection to him have been widely, and correctly in my view, dismissed as the deluded ravings of a mad woman.
3043 - early 44 -  Darius is reported to have been on intelligence work at the climax of Operation Flush. His movements during this year are completely unknown, though I have reason to believe that he was on Terra at some point and may even have penetrated ComStar itself. Darius certainly knew more about ComStar theology in later life than anyone I've ever met...it was he that educated me in the truth about the Inner Mysteries, I shall not go into greater detail here, but I shall just say they don't worship toasters (or any other machines) as is commonly believed...there is a good deal more to it than that!
3044 - May - Marlette (Federated Suns) Invited to celebrate his fiftieth birthday at Fort Bourgogne, by an old friend, General Lester J. Otto, Darius was by chance present and fought heroically during the attack and destruction of that great border fortress by the Big MAC. He was awarded the Syrtis Medal of Honour for his part in the action.
- Skondia (Draconis Combine) Operation Baldur - Promoted to Lt. General Darius's first command was a disaster. The details are confused at this time, but malicious gossip states that Darius's was inept and caused the loss of nearly two entire RCTs. Darius was reassigned back to a staff position at the end of the campaign.
3045      ?
3046      October to December - Westover (FWL) Darius, while travelling in a civilian capacity, seems to have been involved in the Westover Crisis and has made mention to me of a secret Scourge of Death involvement in that planetary revolt. He even has stated to me that a Selaj pretender was behind the whole affair. Westover was historically a Scourgist hotbed, but FWL sources have poured scorn on these claims when I have raised them. The truth at this time is unknown.
3047 - April - Atreus (FWL) - Darius was present at the Wedding of Thomas Marik and Sophina Desiree of Oceana. Rumours abound at the time on Atreus of a plot by aging Janos loyalists to kill Darius at the wedding.
- June - Feb '48 - (Rim Collection) Darius is recruited/convinced by Professor James Moroney into accepting the position of Generalissimo of the Rim Collection Armed Forces. He travels from Atreus to the Rim Collection and is heavily involved in the final creation of that new Periphery nation. Lyran press reports at the time suggested Darius led the Rim Collection's nascent military in several fierce battles against pirate forces of the Bandit King Hopper Morrison.
3048 - Second to Third Quarters - Promoted to the rank of full General, Darius sees yet more action with the AFFS, this time on the Taurian Frontier, during the brush fire war that rages for a brief time following the Landmark and Pinard incursions. Darius mounts an ultimately unsuccessful 'independent diplomatic mission' to Taurus, for which he is officially reprimanded by Hanse Davion...though many of my colleagues in the press agree that Darius was nobly attempting to defuse a tense situation, that might escalate to total war. Regardless of the 'We're backing Darius' Press Campaign, Darius is ordered to 'retire to Killarney' by Hanse         
- Fourth Quarter - In retirement, Darius told me he intended to write his memoirs. He was fifty five.                                 
3049 - Darius spent most of this year on Killarney, presumably writing his memoirs.
- November - Highspire (Federated Commonwealth) Darius was on Highspire to receive the Pride of Sarna Medal, 'for his honourable contributions towards the de-Liaofication of the Sarna worlds', when the Thuggee Rebellion broke out. He was present at the Siege of the Fed Com Building
- December - Sian (?) (Capellan Confederation) Darius is rumoured to have been back on Sian at this time, perhaps kidnapped on Highspire, it seems possible he was involved in the Capellan Hussars Purge which occurred while he was there, his last c-mail to myself made mention of his meeting Sun Tzu Liao and having been 'pretty pleased with him - chip off the old block', whatever that means?

[mikecj]

Maybe Sun-Tzu is Darius' offspring, not Hanse as suggested in the canon

[Tokage]

Maybe Sun-Tzu is Darius' offspring, not Hanse as suggested in the canon

Questionable canon too - in that it's presented in the 'may or may not be true' bracket. ;)

As to Darius being the father ... we'd have to check the dates I guess.  8) ;)

[Dave Talley]

looks like Darius has spent more of his life on dropships than any other single place,
except perhaps captivity :-)

[Tokage]

Heh, true. He says of that subject in Chapter 1 of story #2;

     Jump travel can be a real bore. Sometimes you can get lucky if your ship has an easy going captain and a crew prepared to while away the days with cards, boozing, and good conversation. If you're really lucky there will be a willing female aboard with you and you can spend your time getting to know each other in interesting zero-g positions. However if, at it's best, it can be something like a rather cramped house-party, at it's worse it can feel like a stretch in prison.

From my own notes, here's some more Darius Data;

Darius' Campaigns serving with the AFFS or AFFC:

Mallory's World - 3013
Suppression of the Bright Cabal, New Avalon   - 3013
Nashira (Raid)   - 3019
Fourth Battle of Harrow's Sun   - 3020
Bromhead - 3021
New Ivaarsen - 3021
Rigil Kentarus -    3022
Hoff - 3023
Galtor III - 3025
Conroe - 3025
Ozawa - 3026
Markab - 3026
Kittery - 3026
(4SW) Tikonov - 3028
(4SW) Northwind - 3028
Galtor III (Special Duties)   - 3039
Sadalbari   - 3039
An Ting - 3039
Exeter - 3039
Antallos (Raid)   - 3041
Galtor III (Relief Mission)   - 3042
Tortuga -   3042
Marlette (Defence of Fort Bourgogne) - 3044
Skondia (Operation Baldur) - 3044
Menke (Raid) -    3045
Taurian Frontier Campaign - 3048
Benet III   - 3049

Ranks Officially Held:

Hauptmann General   -   AFFC
Major          -   Wolf's Dragoons
Generalissimo    -   Rim Collection

Medals & Decorations:

Silver Sunburst (FS)          - Awarded 3013 for actions on Mallory's World
Crucis Cross (FS)          - Awarded 3013 for actions on New Avalon
Crest of the Eagle (FWL/Rebel)   - Awarded 3014 by Anton Marik
Order of the Lyran Harp (LC)      - Awarded 3019 for actions on Hesperus II
Gold Sunburst (FS)         - Awarded 3021 for actions on New Ivaarsen 
Order of the Knights of the Federated Suns (FS) - Awarded 3023 for actions on Hoff
Robinson Medal of Valour (FS)   - Awarded 3025 for actions on Galtor III
Diamond Sunburst (FS)       - Awarded 3025 for actions on Galtor III
Order of Davion (FS)         - Awarded 3027 for actions during the Silver Eagle Affair
Liao Grand Cordon of Merit (CC)    - Awarded 3030 by Romano Liao (?)
Canopus Cluster (MC)      - Awarded 3033 for actions during Canopian invasion of the Cap Con
Tyr Cluster (FRR)         - Awarded 3042 for actions during Ronin War of '34
Rasalhague Star (FRR)      - Awarded 3042 for actions during Ronin War of '34
Andurien Legion of Valour (A)   - Awarded 3037 for actions on Xanthe III
Order of the Bushido Blade (DC)   - Awarded 3039 by Theodore Kurita (?)
Medal Excalibur (FS)         - Awarded 3039 for actions throughout the course of the war of that year
Federated Commonwealth Medal of Honour (FC) - Awarded 3044 for secret service on behalf of the state (Operation Flush)
Federated Commonwealth Star (FC)   - Awarded 3042 for actions during Tortugan Expedition
Syrtis Medal of Honour (FC)      - Awarded 3044 for actions on Marlette
Pride of Sarna Medal (FC)      - Awarded 3049 for earlier contributions toward the de-Liaoification of the Sarna worlds

Order of the Tamar Tigers (LC) - ?

[Centurion03]

I can't wait to read more about Daring Darius!

Although, I can't help but wonder how many heroes of the Inner Sphere share
at least a few characteristics with Darius...