AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, to make up for last time, this one is long. I feel a little bad about this chapter, since I used some dialogue and situations out of The Wild Geese. Still, it's appropriate, and the characters are original, though their motivations are probably too repetitive. I didn't get the idea of this chapter from The Wild Geese, though; actually, I was watching the NFL Draft last weekend and got to thinking, "Hey, what if these guys were MechWarriors?"

A lot of Battletech minutiae in this, but I figure that people who read this stuff like that. The mercenary community in Battletech seems to actually be somewhat close-knit, so the various units know each other. And yes, the brief mention of "Pete Aron" is a reference to Grand Prix (another classic movie) and the name "Kahvi" refers back to my favorite ElfQuest character.

REVIEWER'S CORNER:

SulliMike: There were units that raided the Clans, according to Blood Legacy; Ulric Kerensky mentions to Phelan that he's tired of rear-area raids at one point. (And I apologize—I think I kind of harshed on you in my last response.) Of course, the whole Snowbird Saga is supposed to take place "between the pages" of the Blood of Kerensky and other Battletech books, so their impact on the war is minimal compared to the big battles on Luthien and elsewhere, as you mention. But every little bit helps…

4477: You probably know more about the real Rubicon than I do. My knowledge of the Roman Empire is sadly lacking. I know Napoleon and WWII, but man, Caesar loses me.

GreenKnight: Well, you're probably right. And thanks for the mention of Corregidor. I did mention Bataan earlier in this story arc, and you'd better believe it's going to be a big part of later ones.

MUSIC CORNER: Maybe "Autobots" from Transformers or "Veteran of the Psychic Wars" by Blue Oyster Cult from the Heavy Metal soundtrack. Pretty rare, but if you're familiar with the Tim Malloys (an Irish band out of Minneapolis), their "Twa' Recruitin' Sergeants" would be pretty appropriate too.


Hyatt Regency Reichenberg

Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

3 October 3051

"Thank you," Sheila Arla-Vlata said to the MechWarrior that stood in front of her. "We'll be in touch." The MechWarrior came to attention, stomped his feet, saluted, about-faced, and walked out. Sheila waited until the door closed behind him, then threw down her pencil onto the table in front of her. "When hell freezes," she added quietly.

Max solemnly nodded. "That was number eleven." He nodded to Frederick Matria, who hit a button on his laptop. The name of the man who had just been in was erased.

"How many are on the list?" Senefa Malthus asked.

"We're down to twelve," Matria replied with a sigh. "What was wrong with that last guy?"

"Nothing," Sheila said, "except that he was married and has six kids."

"What's wrong with that? We've got married couples. Hell, you guys just adopted." Matria nodded at Sheila and Max.

"The marriage part isn't a big deal," Elfa Brownoak answered him. "It's the kids. What we're going to be doing is going to be dangerous as hell. We don't need to make any more orphans." She involuntarily glanced at Sheila, then quickly turned away before she hoped her commander noticed. Elfa had not approved of Sheila's choice, and though she kept quiet about it, Sheila and Max both knew it. Many of the Snowbirds privately, and a few publicly, wondered what their "commanding couple," as they fondly referred to Sheila and Max, had been thinking, adopting. But they kept it within the battalion.

"What about that other fella—Pete Aron?" Matria asked, looking at Sheila's handwritten notes. "He seemed solid, and he didn't have kids or a wife."

"No friggin' way," Marion Rhialla growled from her position next to the door. "I saw the look in that bastard's eye. He was looking for a free ride. I'd say at least half the jerks we've interviewed so far were looking for that."

Sheila rubbed her eyes. The Snowbirds had put out the word that they were looking for some good MechWarriors, over and above what the Sentinels themselves were looking for, four days before. Sudeten was filled with MechWarriors, with a 'Mech and Dispossessed, who were looking for a new unit. The great mercenary hiring hall was on Outreach, home of Wolf's Dragoons, where the Dragoons operated the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission that handled most above-board recruitment. Others, with less savory reputations, frequented Galatea, the infamous "Mercenary's Star." Though those were the two big places to hire individual mercs or whole units, nearly every planet with a 'Mech garrison in the Inner Sphere had mercenaries looking for work. The exceptions were the Free Rasalhague Republic, where mercenaries were disliked, and the Draconis Combine of House Kurita, where mercenaries were unwelcome to the point of death by the samurai of that realm. Many mercenaries gave up the merc lifestyle and "went regular," joining House units for a hitch or two, more in need of a paycheck and a meal than the freedom that a merc's life supposedly offered. Sudeten was just such a planet: it was obvious that the planet was becoming the focal point of the Federated Commonwealth's defensive frontier against the Clans, and MechWarriors willing to face the Clans flocked to the planet, trying to "catch a ride," as the merc vernacular went. Most would be successful, since even House units were willing to look the other way on even criminal records if the MechWarrior was skilled; there were too many open gaps in the ranks.

The Snowbirds had to be a bit more discerning. Sheila knew, as the others in the room did, just what the battalion would be facing. Only the best could be accepted; anything less would get quickly exploited and most likely killed by the Clans. Sheila had decided against a formal announcement, but rather spread the hiring offer by word of mouth, which was quicker anyway; the offer was to join an elite unit that would be facing the Clans "on independent operations," a watchword for raiding. It was also, more quietly, let known that those who the Snowbirds hired could expect an exciting and quite possibly short life. That turned away those who weren't much interested in adventure, but brought more in who craved it. MechWarriors were often adrenaline junkies, and whatever the Snowbirds were going to do, it certainly offered a danger high. 117 MechWarriors had applied, turning in their personnel files with the Sentinels.

From that list, Sheila had gathered her "brain trust": Max, of course; Marion Rhialla and Elfa Brownoak, two veterans who had nearly sixty years of experience between them; Frederick Matria, whose hacker skills were needed for background checks on the files; and Senefa Malthus, who could spot a liar from a kilometer away. Matria had, over the course of a day, eliminated 46 of the candidates as security risks: people who looked a little too good to be true and might hide anything from petty criminal records to Maskirovka assassins of Romano Liao, or people who had been heard talking about their prospective Snowbird "ride" in bars. People like that were also likely to have loose lips when it came to security matters. A further 23 were crossed off the list because they were what Marion called "hotrocks," MechWarriors with brand spanking new military academy diplomas, BattleMechs that were gifts or inheritances from rich parents, and youthful overconfidence that would simply get them killed in their first battle, assuming they didn't flee their first time under fire. The Snowbirds needed veterans, people who had seen the elephant and been shot at. That left 48 MechWarriors who looked like they might pass the bar. The brain trust had assembled at eight o'clock that morning. Max had jokingly called it the "Snowbirds Draft," and Sheila had to admit it did kind of feel like the combat football draft that was always eagerly watched in the Lyran Commonwealth.

It was now nearly four in the afternoon, and there were only a dozen left.

Of the 36 that had been interviewed so far, only three had been hired. One was a woman named Glynnis Griffin, who had immediately assured them that she piloted her own Panther and not a Griffin, thank you very much. After that, she had quietly handed Sheila a handwritten note from Sheila's old company commander, Catherine Houndlikov. It had stated simply, "Ms. Griffin saved my life on Highspire during the Fourth War. Deny her nothing." That had been an easy choice, despite the fact that Houndlikov had not mentioned how or what unit Griffin had been in when she had achieved that feat. A phone call to verify was all it took. The second had been a man, Michelangelo Burke, who had been with the 12th Star Guards on Vantaa, which almost immediately gained him a nod; the third had been a jovial MechWarrior, Tam Seneca, who had prior service with the Sentinels, had gotten mixed up with a Rasalhagian unit during the retreat off Rasalhague, and had just now managed to find the unit after over a year of being shuttled to and fro fighting Clan Wolf. Again, it had been an easy choice. Griffin, Burke, and Seneca had been first, second, and third, and it looked like, as Max had said, a nice, deep draft.

Since then it had all been downhill. Some, like Peter Aron, had immediately aroused Marion's suspicion. It was by no means uncommon for mercenaries to hire on with a unit, fight a battle or two, get their 'Mech fixed up, and then either buy out their contract or simply desert, leaving the unit holding the bag. Others had been too flippant, responding to Sheila's questions with contempt for her youth, or simply acting like they didn't care one way or another if the Snowbirds hired them. A few had gone the other direction, and been too enthusiastic; one older man, wearing the faded patch of the Knights of St. Cameron, had responded to Sheila's question of "Why do you want to join the Snowbirds?" by dropping to one knee and giving an embarrassed Sheila his eternal fealty on the honor of the ancient rulers of the Star League, the Cameron family. Marion had politely and quickly escorted the man out. That had been a little too fanatic. Finally, some had been eliminated simply because they were family men, for the reasons Elfa had outlined. But the day was getting on, and the Snowbirds still had a lot of spots to fill, if they were going to move up to a full battalion.

Sheila let out a long sigh. "Okay, Marion, show in the next person."

"Right." Marion opened the door and walked into the large antechamber to the converted office. The dozen left still waited there. Marion consulted her holoclipboard absently as she walked to the front of the room. As she did so, a young tow-headed man leapt from the chair and snapped to attention. Marion stopped. He had been doing that all day, whenever she or another Snowbird officer had passed. "You," she said, pointing to him, though she knew he wasn't next on the list. "Follow me." He gave a sharp nod, followed Marion into the office, and came to ramrod attention as the door closed behind him.

"State your name, last rank, last unit, age, and home planet," Marion barked out.

"Polycutt, Daniel. Former Lieutenant, Vandelay's Valkyries. 23 years old. Rahne, Federated Commonwealth." Polycutt's response was clipped, like a cadet's on a parade ground.

"I know of Faith Vandelay," Elfa put in, her voice full of suspicion. "She doesn't promote 23 year olds to lance command."

"Yes, Major," Polycutt replied, having accurately read her rank off the shoulder boards. He kept his eyes fixed on a spot above and behind Sheila's head. "I received a battlefield promotion on Wyatt in 3049." Elfa's eyebrows went up, and she wasn't alone. That meant Polycutt had gotten a lance when he was only 21. That was unheard of in veteran mercenary units like the Valkyries. Sheila looked over at Matria, who was rapidly typing away. He stopped, looked up, and nodded. Polycutt wasn't lying.

"Where did you go to school?" Max asked.

"Nagelring, sir. Class of 3047."

"Why did you join a mercenary regiment then?"

"My father was in Free Skye, sir."

Sheila tapped her pencil against her chin. That explained one thing, at least: the Free Skye Movement, Duke Samuel Bonner and Ryan Steiner's bunch, had done much to upset both Hanse Davion and Melissa Steiner-Davion, to the point where officers connected to the movement had found themselves relegated to militia units or kicked out of the AFFC altogether. "You didn't take a militia assignment?" she asked.

"With respect, ma'am. I didn't go to school for four years to get fat in some March Militia unit. I went to school to become a MechWarrior and fight. I resigned my commission and got on with the Valkyries. Again, with respect, ma'am."

Sheila nodded, impressed. "Is that why you left the Valkyries and came here? To fight?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Personal vendetta against the Clans?"

Polycutt looked surprised. "No, ma'am. Just want to fight. They're invading my home, and I don't want to run away, ma'am."

"You could go regular."

"Yes, ma'am. If I never wanted to be promoted, ma'am."

Marion stepped forward and was nearly in Polycutt's face. "What do you think of Free Skye, mister?"

"With respect, ma'am, I don't give a shit one way or the other. Politics is for politicians."

That brought a smile to Marion's face. She looked at Sheila. "You have your own 'Mech?" Polycutt replied in the affirmative. "What do you pilot?"

"Dervish, ma'am. DV-7D."

Sheila whistled softly. The Dervish was a Davion light fire support 'Mech, fairly mobile but not terribly well-armored. It was not something to go hunting Clan Omnis with. One look at Polycutt, however, and she knew he was more than willing to try. She looked over at the others. They approved. "Okay, MechWarrior Polycutt," she told him, "you're in. Report to the base at 0700 tomorrow morning with your gear."

"Ma'am." He had never gone to at ease—none of them had asked him to—so he simply saluted, turned on one foot, and left. But he couldn't hide the smile on his face.


Marion had gone down the list and the next person looked like another dud. She had been chewing gum loudly in the other room, and her hair was dyed jet black and combed over in classic goth-punk. Sheila glanced at her fingernails, and wasn't surprised. They were painted black as well. Her ears were pierced at least seven times each. Still, she stood at firm attention.

"Holliday, Kassy," she said. "MechWarrior, Black Cat Lancers. 22 years old. New Oslo."

Sheila consulted her notes. There had been several Black Cat Lancers on the list, a merc unit that had gone up against Clan Wolf on Radstadt and paid the price. The commander had been so badly wounded she had to be medically retired, and the remnants of the Lancers had been summarily kicked out of the Free Rasalhague Republic for no other reason than they were mercenaries who lost. Most had just enough money to make it to Sudeten with their 'Mechs. "Did you fight on Radstadt?"

"Damn straight. Got three kills."

"Say 'ma'am,'" Marion snapped. "Officer on parade."

"Ma'am." It came out as a snarl.

"You got a problem with rank?" Max's voice was just as harsh as Marion's.

"No, sir. I'll take orders with the best of 'em. Just orders that make sense."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"On Radstadt, sir, some dumbshit Rasalhagian line officer right out of the academy led us into an ambush. Miss Sheridan—" Holliday referred to the erstwhile commander of the Lancers "—told him the Wolves were waiting. He didn't believe her. He was the first down…but not the last, sir. Not the last." Her voice softened.

"How many?" Elfa asked, gently.

"Thirty, ma'am." Holliday suddenly took a deep breath, obviously fighting tears. "We were a good unit, ma'am, with our own good flag. Fought hard. My daddy fought with the Lancers until he got killed during the Ronin War in '44. Mom died a couple of years after that." Holliday fought for control of herself, got it. "I pilot my daddy's 'Mech, a Commando. I can do my own repairs, too."

Sheila marked that down. Three kills in a light Commando said something for Miss Holliday. "Why do you want to join up?"

"I want to kill Clanners, ma'am."

Senefa had been silent to this point. Now she leaned forward. "I am a 'Clanner,' Miss Holliday. Does that extend to me?"

Holliday faced Senefa without blinking. "Not if you're on our side, ma'am. But if you came against me and mine? I'd kill you, sure."

Marion turned red. "That's enough." She put her hand on Holliday's shoulder. "You're done."

Holliday moved like a striking cobra. She was out of Marion's grip in a half-second, had grabbed the offending hand in another half-second, and forced the surprised Marion into an arm lock before the older woman could react. A knife appeared in one hand—despite the fact that none of the prospects had been allowed to carry weapons in, and that the Sentinels Light Infantry had made sure of that. "Please don't touch me like that, ma'am," Holliday said evenly.

Elfa had shot to her feet, mouth open to call for security, but Senefa reached out and touched her arm. "MechWarrior Holliday," she said calmly. "Where did you learn that?"

"I grew up hard, ma'am. Rasalhagians don't like mercenaries." She let go of Marion and handed her the knife. "Sorry, ma'am. Reflex action." Marion rubbed a sore wrist. She looked for a moment like she was going to cut Holliday's throat, then she grinned and handed the younger woman her dagger back. "I like her," Marion said.

Elfa sat down, and Sheila let out a breath. "If I put you under her command," Sheila asked, pointing to Senefa, "will you obey orders?"

"Absolutely. 'Long as they're not stupid." She gave Senefa a short, quick nod. "I don't think they will be."

From anyone else, Sheila thought, she probably would've had Kassy Holliday arrested. Yet there was something in the young woman's eyes. She had seen much. She would know the difference between a good order and one that was insane. "Were you ever in prison?" Sheila asked on impulse.

Holliday smiled. "Public disturbance and resisting police. 14 arrests, no convictions."

Sheila couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Any objections?" No one said anything. "Very well, MechWarrior Holliday. You're hired. But if you pull any of that, or get into a fight here on Sudeten, and we'll kick your ass out an airlock. Clear?"

Holliday snapped to attention and saluted. "Crystal. I won't let you down, Commander."


"Nicolas, Peter. Former lance commander. Five years with the 21st Centauri Lancers, eight years 4th Tau Ceti Rangers, and six years with McGee's Cutthroats. 46 years old. Nullator, Free Worlds League." Peter Nicholas was a big man, with blond hair cropped so close he looked bald. Sheila looked at his right arm: like hers, it was artificial. He had a bad scar across his face as well.

"At ease, Mr. Nicholas," she ordered. Nicolas' hands went to the small of his back. Sheila studied the letter of recommendation that he had proferred upon entering the room. Colonel Evelena Haskell was one of the more respected mercenary commanders in the Inner Sphere, and she had written Nicholas the letter, but it was rather succinct and said nothing about the man. "Have you ever commanded anything higher than a lance?" If Nicholas had never progressed beyond the rank of lance commander, that meant something was wrong, or that he simply never aspired to higher command. There were some like that.

"Commanded a company with the 4th Tau Ceti." He hesitated, then added, "Ma'am." A small smile. "Sorry, Commander. I'm not used to taking orders from a 20 year old."

"Is that a problem?" Senefa asked.

"Negative."

"Why did you leave the Centauri Lancers?" the Clanswoman said next.

"Pay dispute. They weren't giving me my fair share. Plus guarding the Marik frontier got kinda boring."

"And you are 46? That seems kind of old for a career change." Marion narrowed her eyes at Senefa's statement, and Sheila shot her friend a warning glance. In the Clans a warrior of 46 had better be commanding a Galaxy or be the Khan of a Clan—and even then. The Inner Sphere was different, which Senefa had trouble remembering.

"We don't pay that well," Sheila put in, to forestall an argument. "Based on your experience, you'd be only given 400 C-Bills a month."

"Would I get more as a lance commander or company commander?"

"Yes," Sheila said guardedly, "but we'd have to see how well you could fight a lance."

"That's good enough for me, Commander. I pilot a Marauder, by the way."

Sheila looked around at the others. There were signs of agreement. "We need all the veterans we can get," she told Nicholas. "You're in."

"Thank you, Commander. You won't regret it." He smiled at Senefa. "I'm every bit as good at 46 as I was at 26, Miss Malthus."


"Masterson, Cecilia C. Former lance commander with the Black Cat Lancers. 25 years old. New Vallis, Taurian Concordat." Masterson was of average height, her skin the color of coffee, with an easy smile. "Call me CeeCee."

"Long way from home," Max commented.

"I haven't lived there since I was six, sir. My parents were techs. We moved to the FRR back in '47 for a new start. I did a hitch in the Kungsarme after I graduated and I didn't like it, so I joined up with the Lancers. Good times, until Radstadt."

Sheila looked down at her notes again. Masterson was being modest. She had won the Order of the Silver Fox for actions on New Oslo, the Lancers' first fight against the Clans. It was exceedingly rare for a medal of any kind to be awarded to a mercenary in the Free Rasalhague Republic, much less one of their higher orders. She had taken on a Masakari head to head on Radstadt and won, which was no easy feat in even an 80-ton Zeus. "Why do you want to join up with us?"

"I like to keep busy, ma'am." Masterson noticed Marion's foul look, and added, "Seriously. I've heard about the Snowbirds and looked over your record. Whatever you're doing, it won't be dull, and it's likely to give me another crack at the fucking Clans. No disrespect, ma'am."

"None taken." Sheila was already liking CeeCee Masterson. "It might be a bloody campaign."

"Aren't they all, Commander?"

Another look, more nods. "Welcome aboard, CeeCee," Sheila said.

"Thank you, Commander." Masterson hesitated. "Do I have time to get a divorce?"

"Plenty," Sheila replied. This was a new twist.

"Capital. I can't wait to see the look on her face." Masterson grinned, saluted, and left a stunned Snowbirds high command in her wake…which had been her intention.


"Munroe, Ariel. Formerly 3rd Drakons, Rasalhague Kungsarme. 23 years old. Rasalhague." Ariel Munroe's skin was darker than Masterson's, and she was nearly Sheila's height, with straightened hair that fell over her backside. Another Rasalhagian, Max scratched on Sheila's notes. There certainly seemed a great deal of them today.

"What brings you to Sudeten?" Elfa asked. "You're not a mercenary."

"My unit, much like my bank account, has been wiped out, Major. And frankly, I'm tired of being shuttled from repple-depples—" she used the common vernacular for replacement depots "—and being told we've lost the war. Well, maybe Rasalhague has thrown in the towel, but I haven't. I want to fight, Commander Arla-Vlata," Munroe said, looking at Sheila.

"Might be a lost cause," Marion said, mainly to see what Munroe would have to say to that.

"My ancestors were Zulus," Munroe answered. "We know all about fighting lost causes." She turned back to Sheila. "I have my own 'Mech, a Phoenix Hawk. I'm willing to fight anywhere, with anyone, except for ComStar, because they freak me out. I'm ready, willing, and able, and hungry."

"Hungry?" Senefa raised an eyebrow, wondering if Munroe was being allegorical or she was serious.

"Yes, ma'am. I spent my last C-bill getting my 'Mech stored for the month. I'm staying down at the shelter and giving plasma to eat."

"You're hired," Sheila told her, liking her enthusiasm. It would've been easy for Munroe to simply stay in the repple-depples and wait for reassignment, but she wanted to fight—enough that she was willing to drive herself into poverty to do it. That was the kind of person Sheila wanted.

"Commander, you've made my day." Munroe grinned. "Would it be possible to advance me about fifty C-Bills?"

It was Max's turn to raise some eyebrows. "You are hungry," he commented.

"It's actually for my hair, sir." Munroe gathered up its long length. "I have a barber who charges by the meter." That brought a few laughs. Max signed a voucher over to Munroe, who saluted and allowed Marion to lead her out the door. There had been a few more prospects between Masterson and Munroe, and none had worked out. That left only two in the room: a young man and a young woman, sitting opposite from each other. They looked enough alike to be siblings. "Okay, you," she said, pointing to the woman. She stood, and so did the man. "Sit down," Marion snarled. "One at a time."

"No, ma'am," he replied. "We're a matched pair—my sister and me. Get one, get the other." The woman nodded vigorously.

Marion took a step forward. "What if I don't like you?"

"Then I'll walk too," the woman said in reply.

Marion looked from one to the other, contemplated tossing them out the door, then rubbed her eyes. "Oh God. All right, both of you…come on." They were eager to follow, and ended up in front of the desk, crashing to attention in the Davion style by stomping their feet. "State your name, former position, age, home planet," Marion intoned.

"Robert Drakon," the male said.

"Betsy Drakon," said the female.

"MechWarriors, formerly with the Twycross TMM," Robert continued. "24 years old, Twycross."

"And how old are you?" Marion barked at Betsy.

"24. We're fraternal twins," Betsy answered. Marion slapped her forehead, both at her own stupidity and the thought of adding these two to the Snowbirds.

Sheila consulted her notes about them. Drakon wasn't a name you picked out of a hat. "You're real last name is Drakon?"

Robert and Betsy looked at each other for a moment. "Well, no," Robert said. "Our parents were with the TMM too, but they disappeared when the unit was overrun last year. We were here on Sudeten at the time, in OCS."

"Both of you were in Officer Candidate School?" Elfa asked incredously.

"Oh yes," Betsy insisted. "We both got chosen. Pure coincidence."

"Go on," Sheila told them.

"Well, since our parents might be in a Jade Falcon POW camp somewhere, we figured we'd better change our names," Robert explained. "Drakon—Dragon—seemed like a good choice at the time."

"Our real last name is Smith," Betsy said. Max covered his eyes, then his mouth, so as not to laugh.

"So, what do you pilot?" Sheila was almost afraid to ask.

"Blackjacks." This from Robert.

"Both of you?"

"Yes, ma'am." From Betsy.

"But different kinds," Robert added. "I pilot a standard BJ-2. I got the upgrade last month…we've been assigned to the Sudeten TMM, but we want out of that."

"Right," Betsy agreed. "Militia units don't last long against the Clans. We want to be with someone who knows what they're doing. I pilot a modded BJ-1 with an AC/20."

"An Autocannon/20?" Senefa asked. Like everyone else, she now was looking at Robert Drakon, but it was Betsy who answered, "Sure. With the right counterweights, you can do it pretty easy. It's a Pontiac 100 I salvaged off a Victor. I necked it down some so it isn't so obvious. The other arm's just got a small laser, but I welded a length of pipe to the end and beefed it up with styrene so it looks like a large laser. I'm a tech too."

"She does maintenance on my 'Mech," Robert put in. "I managed to scrounge some double heat sinks and she installed them, slick as a whistle."

Sheila put a hand up, as Betsy opened her mouth, and sighed. "Okay. I've got just one question for you two." She pointed to each in turn. "Do you do the switching off thing normally, or is it an act for our benefit?"

"Oh no," Betsy said.

"It's just how we are," Robert said.

Sheila resisted the urge to laugh or strangle them. She glanced over at Matria, who gave her a thumbs-up. Whatever else the Drakons were, they were qualified—and it was obvious they would be solid in a lance. "Any objections?" she asked the others. Marion started to say something, thought better of it, and was silent. "All right, you two—you're in," Sheila told them. "Can you report with your gear at 0700 tomorrow? I imagine the militia might have something to say about you deserting."

"No, ma'am," Robert answered, once more throwing them off balance. "We resigned yesterday."

"We knew you'd hire us, ma'am," Betsy said.

"Don't let it go to your head," Sheila warned them. "See you in the morning." They saluted and left, leaving the door open as they went. Marion watched after them, then back at Sheila. "What's next, circus clowns?"

"No, we've already got Tooriu." Sheila went back to her notes, secretly enjoying Marion roll her eyes at the quip. "Is there any more?"

"That's it," confirmed Matria.

"Thank God." Elfa got up and stretched. "Not too bad, I guess. With the Loose Wiring Twins there, we've now got ten MechWarriors. We still have two slots open, but we can get them from somewhere. Maybe raid a POW camp somewhere and get another Clanner." She grinned at Senefa.

Senefa took it in stride. "You should be so lucky." It had taken a little time, but she was getting used to Elfa's ribbing.

"Actually, we've only got one more slot to fill," Sheila said. "I understand we're getting our own liasion officer. Morgan sent me a message saying that, since we're going to be on extended ops offplanet, the FedCom wants to make sure we're not screwing them out of salvage. They're still miffed that Nicia managed to 'misplace' the four Omnis we have."

"Fuck 'em," Marion proclaimed. "Just hope they don't send us some noob." There was a knocking at the door. "Hm. Speak of the devil and he appears. I'll get it." She walked into the other room and opened the door. Instead of finding an expected AFFC uniform, it instead was a young Asian woman, dressed in an unmistakably-Kuritan style, kimono-like women's suit, with her black hair put into four braids that dangled from her ears. She was soaked to the bone with the sleet from outside. "Who the hell are you?"

The other woman bowed deeply and held it. "Sumimasen. My name is Kahvi Falx. Am I too late for the hiring hall?"

Marion still held the clipboard. There was no Kahvi Falx on it. "You're not on the list."

She straightened up. "I am sorry; I am not. I just made planetfall an hour ago. I was checking in at the front desk downstairs and heard someone speaking about it in the lounge. I hurried up here." She looked beyond Marion and saw the other officers now gathered in the outer room, and bowed again. "My name is Kahvi Falx," she repeated. "I wish to join the Snowbirds."

"You're a MechWarrior?" Max asked.

"Hai."

"Speak English," Marion snapped. "We're not in the Combine."

"No, of course not…forgive me. My English is only fair. I did not get much chance to use it."

"Kahvi Falx." Marion shook her head. "Bullshit. What's your real name?"

Falx hesitated, then looked at her shoes. "Kimiko Matsushima," she said quietly.

"I knew it." Marion thumbed towards the door. "Get lost."

"Hold on a second." Sheila stepped forward, intrigued. "What's with the assumed name, Miss Matsushima?" she asked.

"My father is Hiro Matsushima."

"Wait," Max said. "The CEO of Tanadi Electronics?" Falx nodded. "What are you doing here?"

Falx's head came up, and fury smoldered in her eyes. "I graduated from Sun Zhang Academy in 3050, with honors," she said angrily. "I had a scholarship." That took them aback. While Draconis Combine society was slowly liberalizing in the 31st Century, as a byproduct of losing the Fourth Succession War, women were still something of second-class citizens. While females could become MechWarriors, they were almost never promoted past the rank of captain, and never commanded a regiment. The postwar reforms sponsored by Theodore Kurita, the Combine ruler Takashi's son, was changing that, and women now held higher command—at the cost of being ostracized from a still very male-centered society and military. For a woman to go to the elite Sun Zhang Academy was achievement enough, but to do it on a scholarship was exceptional. She reached into her suit and profferred a diploma. They all looked at it. It was verigraphed and unforgeable. Kahvi Falx—Kimiko Matsushima—was telling the truth. "I was silenced when I was at Sun Zhang. I was not allowed to speak for four years—but I persisted. I graduated. And my father still refused to let me serve in a line unit."

There were tears in her eyes now. "I changed my name, drained my account, and came here. The Clans have invaded my home. If I stayed in the Combine, my father would never let me do what I have suffered much to do. So I must come here."

Marion looked skeptical. Sob stories were common, even from someone who might be an ISF spy. MechWarriors might feign to be down on their luck so they could get a quick ride and just as quickly leave. "Can you prove it?"

"My diploma—"

"—says that you're Kimiko Matsushima. But we don't know that you are. Do you have a 'Mech?"

"No," Falx said sadly.

"So how did you figure on getting hired?" Elfa asked.

"I was a test pilot at Tanadi. Though my father forbid it, I know my way around electronics. I can start out as a tech and work my way up."

"The last person we hired on as a tech turned out to be a Liao assassin," Marion growled. "How do we know that you're not more of the same?"

Falx hesitated, then held up her hands. They were smooth, not at all calloused. "A spy would not as so foolish to appear as a pampered rich girl—nor would she give an easily verified cover story." She looked to Sheila. "Please, Commander Arla-Vlata." She stumbled over the name, which could give Kuritans unused to English fits. "Forgive my poor English. Give me a chance."

Sheila began to say something, but Senefa, with a glance, kept her silent. She suddenly barked, "Kahvi!" Falx instantly turned to look at the Clanswoman. "There is a 'Mech at your three o'clock, range 420 meters. Engage him with your primary weapon system."

"H-how—"

Marion grasped what Senefa was trying to do. "Air guitar it!"

Falx complied quickly. Her hands grasped imagined control sticks, even looked to her right, and shifted as if trying to move a heavy 'Mech around. Her fingers jerked as she cycled through her weapons and engaged. It took a space of less than three seconds. "Very good," Senefa said.

"Yeah, except that the primary weapon trigger's on the right stick," Matria said.

"Not on the Dragon," Marion corrected him. "It's on the left stick. Drives MechWarriors crazy."

"Gomen na—ah, I mean, I am sorry," Falx said, "but in the Grand Dragon, it was moved to the right. I was engaging with LRMs. It would be a better choice at 420 meters, which is medium range for missiles but long for an ER-PPC."

"I've heard enough." Sheila reached out and put a hand on Falx's shoulder. "You're staying here at the hotel? Okay. You're not hired yet—I want to do a background check—but if that clears, you're good to go. We'll contact you. Fair enough?"

"Yes!" Falx bowed deeply once more. Sheila, awkwardly, returned it, but as a commander would. "Thank you, Commander, thank you. " She bowed to each of them in turn, hesitated a moment, then seeing she was dismissed, turned to leave. "One more thing," Sheila said, halting her. "You're a Sun Zhang alumni. Where's your swords?" All Sun Zhang graduates were awarded swords on graduation—a paired katana and wakizashi. The latter was to commit ritual suicide if they failed the Kurita Dragon.

"In my luggage."

"Didn't want to be known as a Kurita," Matria commented. "Makes sense."

"Iye. I am not a MechWarrior yet." Falx bowed once more and was gone.