AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another relatively short chapter this time. We're over midway through this story arc now; gotta wrap this thing up. It's rapidly becoming not only the longest story arc, but practically a novel in and of itself! That's a problem, because I'm also trying to finish a real one…anyhow, hopefully this chapter will shock and amaze a bit. It's not a very pretty chapter, but war isn't very pretty either.

I wish I could update faster, but with work and everything else going on, it's slow. I've also gotten addicted to NCIS lately, and the muse has been whispering in my ear, telling me to write NCIS fanfiction. Which I may do, just to take the occasional break from the Snowbirds—but not at the cost of finishing this story. That takes precendence. (And if I do, it'll be a one-shot story…I've gotten to love the NCIS cast, but my heart still belongs to my Battletech stories and the occasional Inu-Yasha fics too. Oh, and Evangelion. And then there's this Warrior Nun Areala story I've got half-completed on my hard drive.)

My muse is a little weird sometimes. Geez. Felisanna's going to end up looking like Abby before long.

REVIEWER'S CORNER:

Rogue: You'll find out about Senefa one way or the other in this chapter. Thanks for the credit, though I hate writing 'Mech fights. I always feel they don't sound as good as Stackpole's. And Char hasn't lost yet…

Panzerfaust: Yeah, I have to admit that writing Maysa suddenly becoming a T-800 was my favorite part of the last chapter. She's grown up, but probably not in the way Marion would like. And if you're going to dream, dream big! (That and this chapter should put that bishonen stuff to rest.) I love Harold Coyle's early stuff—I read Team Yankee before I started on this chapter—though I personally think he lost something after The Ten Thousand. Red Army was damn good, and I regularly read Ralph Peters' column in Armchair General. My favorite author of all time, besides the late great George MacDonald Fraser, is Bernard Cornwell. A lot of Sharpe probably shows up in my stories.

Moisin: Yep, Senefa's not enjoying herself right now, that's for certain.

MUSIC CORNER: The theme to Harry's Game by Clannad, "Sentimental" by Kenny G (okay, maybe it's cheesy, but it's good for the part with Sheila and Max), and the theme to A Fistful of Dollars by Ennio Morricone. Hmm. I wonder if I would get in trouble by posting a whole "Snowbirds iPod list" someday.


SDS Minerva, Toriyama

Kagoshima, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

1 January 3052

Rainbow Levine finished administering the bandage to the militiaman and smiled, though she didn't feel cheerful at all. "There you are," she said in Japanese. "Just a light wound. Can you return to your unit?"

The militiaman nodded vigorously. He had already seen the Minerva's infirmary, and felt embarrassed to even be in the DropShip. The shrapnel he had taken from a near miss from an LRM had barely broken the skin, but his company commander had ordered it looked at nonetheless. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Get along then." Levine's smile faded as soon as the militiaman limped out. She wished all of her patients were so easy. She wished she had never volunteered to help at all. To this point in her life, most of her medical training had been used to treat minor problems around her village—bruises, contusions, once or twice a broken bone, and the everyday diseases that people caught. She could count on the fingers of one hand genuine emergencies, and all she had really had to do there was stabilize the patient and keep them safe until the hoverambulance arrived from Iwakuni or a helicopter from Kagoshima City landed. Her happiest "duty" had been that of a midwife; most of the women in her village believed in natural childbirth, and she was pleased to help. The closest she had come to performing actual surgery was assisting an Iwakuni EMT in performing an emergency ceasarean.

Now, however, Levine figured she probably had more experience than that EMT in the past six hours than he had in a lifetime. Her sterile greens were covered in blood, she had gone through eight pairs of latex gloves, and she smelled like a butcher. Levine could only guess what she probably looked like, because she was exhausted.

Doctor Honma, she could say with reasonable certainty, looked worse. His doctor's apron was so stiff with blood that it could probably stand on its own. "Nurse Levine, would you mind bringing up the list of patients? It's quiet for the moment, and I need to know where we stand."

Levine wanted to tell Honma to go to hell, she was going to bed, but instead she gave him a tired nod and walked over to a computer terminal. Honma was a good man, and she had been impressed watching him work. He could diagnose wounds with a glance, treat the patient, and never seem to tire or even lose his sense of humor. As he sutured cuts or even removed limbs, he would be humming to himself. Levine didn't recognize the tune and she suspected that Honma was making it up as he went along, but it comforted the patients and his exhausted staff.

Ignoring her own body's screams for rest, Levine hesitantly tapped in commands and downloaded the information to a datapad. She scanned the names. Betsy Drakon—serious condition, but prognosis good. Her brother, Robert Drakon—good condition; probably could be released. Michelangelo Burke—good condition; probably just an overnight or a day or two, amazingly enough, considering that she had heard he had been literally blown out of his 'Mech. Ariel Munroe—good condition, but with a suppurating wound she had torn open; probably overnight. Larry Stohr—dead. Sadachi Konno—critical condition, not expected to survive; he had lost more blood than the Minerva's stores could replace, even with steady transfusions from volunteers. Taylor Cantwell, dead. Six more names, all Japanese, from the militia, also dead. Levine blinked as she read the name of an old man who lived in her village—dead, of a heart attack.

Also on the list were five Smoke Jaguars: three MechWarriors and two Elementals. Of those, one MechWarrior was more stunned than anything else, and would join the two pilots the Snowbirds currently had ensconced somewhere on the base. Another was hurt, but would recover; the third would not last the night. Both Elementals were dead from burns and trauma. One had died almost the moment she hit the operating table, the other had begged Honma to shoot him. Honma had instead given the man a fatal overdose of morphine. Levine supposed she should be shocked or upset about that, but she simply couldn't muster the energy. She had noticed real hate on the faces of the other nurses, who were drawn from the militia, but they had worked as hard as she had to save the lives of the two wounded Jaguar MechWarriors. Looking down at them while they were being operated on, all Levine saw were young people frightened of death as much as their Inner Sphere counterparts, and wondered how Arla-Vlata and the others could find that dark part of themselves that allowed them to kill so quickly and easily. It made no sense to her.

Levine found her vision swimming, and knew she had to at least get some rest. She was more of a danger to her patients than a help. She gave the datapad to Honma, then sat down in a fold down seat against the hull of the DropShip. Levine leaned her head back and closed her eyes, but sleep did not come, to her surprise. Instead, her brain relived some of the last few hours. Detachedly, she found certain patients' reactions to be interesting. One militiawoman had come in with a piece of shrapnel lodged in her foot, and had been screaming at the top of her lungs of the pain. Konno, the Sun Zhang MechWarrior, had come in missing a leg, covered in blood from a severed artery, barely conscious but having taken no painkillers—and yet was as calm and collected as if seeing the doctor for a cold. The older Burke, his hair singed and artificial arm mangled, had laughed as Honma removed a finger that was hanging by a piece of muscle, joking "Will I play the violin again, doc? Because I never could before."

"Excuse me," a voice asked, "can you tell me where to find Doctor Honma?"

Levine opened her eyes, and to her surprise, saw it was Sheila Arla-Vlata. Her appearance was a little worse for wear as well, dark circles under her eyes betraying a lack of sleep, her drab jumpsuit dirty and spattered with dried blood. "He's in there," Levine replied, thumbing towards the operating theater. "But you can't go in. You're dirty."

"Oh, yeah. Well, maybe I could borrow some scrubs then…" Sheila's voice trailed off as she recognized the nurse. "Rainbow Levine? Is that you?"

"In the very tired flesh. Why? Are you surprised?" Levine's smile was sardonic. "Thought I'd leave people to die?"

"Actually, yes," Sheila shot back. "I figured you liked seeing warmongers die."

Levine felt the desire to jump to her feet and punch Sheila out, but she was too tired to do more than slowly get up. "I don't like to see anyone die, Commander. Not even you." She saw the play of emotions on Sheila's face, and wondered if her own were visible. Something had changed, and Levine was not so foolish as to pretend it hadn't.

She also noticed there was a bandage on Sheila's cheek, that it had been put on ineptly, and that blood had soaked through it. "Are you hurt? Is that why you need to see him?"

Sheila looked mystified for a moment, then shook her head, pointing to the wound. "What, this? I've cut myself worse shaving my legs. No, I'm looking for my friend. Senefa Malthus." Levine realized she must have looked completely lost, because Sheila gave her a brief description. It did take her a moment to remember that name, and to also realize that she had completely overlooked that name. She also noticed that Sheila had turned remarkably pale, and not from blood loss.

"Malthus…oh, yes." Levine went back to the computer terminal. "Serious condition, but expected to live."

"And lucky to be alive at all." They turned as Honma walked out of the operating room. "I understand she took a cockpit hit from a Gauss shell?"

"No, it missed." Barely, Sheila added to herself. When she had arrived at Maysa's position and seen the sprawled Thunderbolt, icy fear seemed to seize her completely. The medics, however, didn't find the expected ruined body—assuming there would be anything left at all. Senefa's life had been saved by Nicia's modifications: instead of ripping through the cockpit, the shell had struck the ammunition trunk for the LRM-5, rerouted by Nicia to feed directly from the left torso rather than the center as on most Thunderbolts, since the LRM-5's ammunition bin was smaller than the normal LRM-15. This had slowed down the shell enough that the cockpit armor had absorbed the rest. It still had enough kinetic energy left to cause the armor to blister into the cockpit itself, smashing instrumentation, shattering the windscreen, and slamming Senefa brutally against the opposite side of the cockpit. She had been as limp as a rag doll when they had carried her out, and Sheila had not been able to remain long to find out what her friend's injuries were, or even if she was still alive.

Now Honma told her. "Lance Commander Malthus' worst injury is her right leg. It's broken in three places, one of them a compound fracture. She also has a concussion, though no trauma of the skull itself. There was some internal bleeding, but it was minor and mainly from shock damage. It would have been much worse except for Malthus' remarkably good health."

"Can I see her?"

"No. I won't lie to you, Commander. Her concussion was serious. She hasn't woken up yet. There could be bleeding in the brain…I don't have the equipment here to find out. I don't think that there's a problem, but if she doesn't wake up in the next twelve hours, there could be." Honma leaned against the bulkhead. "She certainly won't be in any condition to pilot a 'Mech for at least a month or two. That leg was pretty horrible. Still, considering where her 'Mech was hit, I'm just happy to report she's alive."

"What about my other MechWarriors?"

"It could be worse." Honma handed over the datapad.

Sheila scanned it. "Burke's alive?" she murmured in amazement. "Wow. Maysa will be happy…the Drakons are okay, that's good…Ariel busted her stitches, huh? Doesn't surprise me…Stohr..." She stopped, and sighed heavily. "Shit."

"He was dead before he got here," Honma said. "Massive head trauma. It was likely quick."

"I still have to write a letter." Sheila sat down slowly. "Stohr was married. Dammit." She glanced at the datapad again. "Cantwell, Konno, Vincent, Arashi, Ikari, Urashima, Ibuki, Katsuragi…don't know them."

"They died for you," Levine snapped despite herself. "You should know them."

"They died for Kagoshima, and you, Miss Levine," Sheila snarled back. "Not me. And I promise you that I will get to know them. I'll be writing their letters too."

"It's all butchery," Levine said. "Nothing more than butchery."

"It certainly will be if the Jaguars take Toriyama."

Honma put his hands up. "Ladies, stop it. You're both tired. We're all tired. Let's just do our duty and live with it later. Miss Levine, go to bed. Commander Arla-Vlata, if possible, you should do the same." He pointed at the bandage. "Let me change that first."

"I'll do it," Levine said, shocking them both. Honma took in both women for a moment, then shrugged and went back into the OR.

Levine reached into a storage locker set into the bulkhead, withdrew a first aid kit, and pointed to the chair. Sheila sat, and Levine bent over to pull off the bandage—none too gently, Sheila winced—and went to work cleaning it with a cotton swab. "You didn't clean this before you slapped the bandage on?" Levine asked her.

"I had other things to do. And it's not easy putting on a bandage with this." Sheila held up her artificial arm.

"Huh. How do you shave your legs then?" Levine raised an eyebrow.

"My husband helps."

"Oh. Well, that is one advantage to being married." Levine had a ghost of a smile. "You know, this doesn't make us friends. I still hate what you do."

Sheila shrugged. "I'm too tired to care, Rainbow."

Levine chuckled. "Me too. I just wanted to make that very clear…however, I have learned one thing from this."

"And that is?"

"I respect you." At Sheila's expression of disbelief, Levine sniffed. "I do, Commander. We're in a hopeless position up here. I've heard talk that the Jaguars intend to kill us all when they take the hill—I still think you should've surrendered, mind—but these people believe in you. You know that MechWarrior, Konno? He's a Sun Zhang cadet. He doesn't even know you. But he was so brave. He knows he's going to die. But he's okay with that, because he thinks it's worth it. He thinks you're going to hold Toriyama." She tied the bandage on. "Now, then. That looks good. It should heal fine." Levine straightened. "So, are you going to hold Toriyama? Be honest."

"We are going to hold Toriyama, Rainbow."

"All right, we then. Are we going to hold Toriyama?"

"Yes," Sheila said instantly.

Levine closed the medikit. "I hope so, Commander. I truly do." She collapsed onto the seat after Sheila got up. "Because I'd hate to think all these brave young people are dying for nothing."


Rainbow's words haunted Sheila as she sat on the parapet of the wall around Toriyama. It wasn't much of a parapet anymore; the point she sat on was one of the highest left. It was well after midnight, and cold, but Sheila, huddled in her parka, barely felt it. The Smoke Jaguars had their pickets out at the base of the mesa, and they had dutifully played the Deguello once more, but other than that, it might have been peacetime. Whatever that was.

"Hey, babe." Max came up and sat down next to her, handing her a mug of steaming coffee. "You go and see the doc?" He inspected the bandage on her cheek. "Yep. Looks a lot better."

"Rainbow did it for me," she told him with a small smile. "She's been assisting Honma."

"So I heard." Max took a sip of his coffee. "Well, at least it looks like she didn't commit malpractice." He looked at her. "You should come inside, get warm. Marion's on duty. She can watch the north slope. Besides, they're not coming tonight."

"I know." Their words held the conviction of fact. If the Snowbirds were battered, the Jaguars were not much better. "I wonder what Furey's doing right now. That was actually a pretty good plan of attack," Sheila admitted. "We just fought a little harder, like the piece of coal that wants to be a diamond." It was close, Sheila told herself, and the defense had come down to the militia's trick with the homemade napalm, Tooriu and Elfa holding the southeast corner against all odds, and Maysa Bari suddenly becoming a stone cold killer. Sheila didn't admit to herself that her sudden counterattack at the northeast corner had turned the tide there.

"They didn't hit the west face at all. That's strange," Max mused. "The tanks have barely fired a shot all battle. The Elementals were there, they just didn't attack. I bet Furey is pissed."

"Good." Sheila drank some of the coffee. "If he's smart, he'll leave. Even if he takes Toriyama, his Khans aren't going to be too thrilled if he eviscerates his Cluster doing it."

"I don't think he's going to leave." Max finished his coffee. "By the way, happy new year."

"Huh?" Then Sheila remembered. "Wow. First I forget it's Christmas, and now I forget it's New Year's. Well, happy new year to you, too." She craned her head upwards and kissed Max's cheek. "Not the best way to spend it. We should be having sex or something."

"This is going to sound strange coming from a guy, and me in particular, but…I can't say as I'm in the mood. Just too much happened today."

"Yeah, me too." Sheila wasn't really feeling all that up for certain activities, either. "Besides, Marion gave Maysa and Dan a few hours off, so they're probably making up for us." Sheila settled close to Max, who put his arms around her. "I feel so damn old all of a sudden."


"That settles that, quiaff?" Thom sighed. Char Furey nodded, his expression one of barely controlled rage. Dougray, on the other hand, leaned against a statue of Takashi Kurita nonchalantly, faintly amused. They were standing in the central park of Iwakuni, which normally on New Year's Day would be filled with people celebrating the holiday. Now it was mostly deserted, save for a handful of Smoke Jaguar warriors. In the middle of the park was a six-meter wide concrete circle that had the town's crest worked into it. That crest was scarred a little now, because the park had served as the venue for a Circle of Equals, to settle a Trial of Grievance between Elemental Star Commander Shannon and Elemental Star Commander Meaghan. Meaghan stood shakily at the side of the Circle, the winner, while Shannon was dragged dead from the Circle by medics, the loser.

Thom found the entire Trial ridiculous. Shannon and Meaghan had hated each other thoroughly, but both had been competent commanders. When Shannon had been cut out of her Elemental battlesuit, which had fused nearly solid from burning napalm, she had immediately demanded a Trial of Grievance with Meaghan, who once more had not pressed the attack on the western slope. The excuse she used was a valid one—Meaghan had reported seeing two Ontos heavy tanks waiting for her, and Elementals had learned to fear that tank's murderous firepower—and it was just enough to keep her from being court-martialed. Thom suspected, as did every other officer in the 17th Jaguar Regulars, that Meaghan had not pressed the attack simply because she hated Shannon and wanted to see the other Elemental embarrassed. The fact that the 17th Jaguar Regulars were losing the battle for Toriyama because of it didn't bother her in the slightest. A stronger commander might have stopped the rivalry somehow before it progressed to a duel to the death, but Optimai was an old man waiting to die.

"Aff, it does," Furey growled. "And now perhaps we can get on with this battle." He turned to look at Toriyama. In the dawn light, it looked even more formidable. The wall at the top was battered and even less of an impediment than it was before, but the smoking debris of 'Mechs—his 'Mechs, Furey reflected angrily—still lay scattered on the slope. From what he had heard, the southeast corner, what Zellos had dubbed appropriately "Hell's Corner," looked even worse. There, the defenders had piled 'Mech parts on top of each other, presenting an attacker with a maze of burnt and twisted steel. His losses now totalled nine 'Mechs and 25 Elementals; the 6th BattleMech Star had ceased to exist. In theory, he still had a powerful force of 25 'Mechs and twice as many Elementals, but his master tech had informed him the Cluster needed a full day to rest and refit. That meant more lost time.

"Morale is low," Thom informed him, as if reading Furey's thoughts.

"Aff. What do you suggest we do about it?"

"Permission to speak frankly, Star Colonel."

Furey half-smiled. It was one of the reasons he liked Thom: the older MechWarrior was not afraid to talk straight to him. "Granted."

"We should leave Kagoshima."

Furey's eye began to tic. "What did you say?" He had not been expecting that.

"We should leave Kagoshima," Thom repeated. "Star Colonel…Char…this planet is killing us. Even if we take Toriyama now, we will lose more doing so. It will be a hollow victory if we wreck the 17th Regulars in the process. The Khans will award victory, aff, but not a Pyrrhic one! Win or lose on Luthien, this war is far from over. Terra is still very far away, and the Clan will need us."

Faye, Zellos, and Dougray drifted over. "Need us!" Dougray spat. "Need us to guard supply routes, you mean."

"Aff!" Thom whirled on Dougray. "That is a way to honor the Clan, Dougray. It frees up other units to fight at the front. That is what garrison Clusters are for." He turned back to Furey. "Star Colonel, we have inflicted grevious damage on the Snowbirds, and we have practically destroyed the Sun Zhang Cadre. The battle for Luthien will start soon, if it is not underway already. We have achieved our goals of pinning down Kurita units and putting them out of action for awhile. Everything else is just hubris."

"I cannot leave Toriyama," Furey insisted, but Thom could see he had made his point.

"And what is Toriyama?" Thom asked. Furey, too busy staring at the mesa, said nothing, so it was Zellos that answered, "Toriyama is nothing more than a rock."

"Neg, it is a symbol!" Faye countered. "If we leave without having taken it, the Clan will still brand us a failure. I for one will not allow a pack of Inner Sphere freebirths mock me!" The fact that she herself was a freebirth apparently did not matter to Faye.

"You are welcome to try again," Zellos replied. "I, for one, am quite tired of watching my comrades and sibkin die for a symbol."

"That is cowardice!" Faye shouted.

"Neg, Star Commander. It is exhaustion." Zellos' quiet words shocked them into silence. "We are all exhausted."

"So are they. If we are to that point, so is Arla-Vlata." Furey turned his back on Toriyama. "Dougray, you have been somewhat quiet, for once."

Dougray ignored the jab. He was feeling quite pleased. The battle was going well for him. He was rid of two longstanding rivals in Cray and Shannon, and he had killed Senefa Malthus. He had watched in the early morning light as the Snowbirds had dragged the limp Thunderbolt back across the wall. The hole near the canopy was unmistakable. Now all that remained was to take Toriyama and find irrefutable evidence that the former Jade Falcon was dead, take her body—or part of it, depending on what was left—and see it delivered to the Jade Falcon Khans. Once that was done, Dougray would easily accept adoption into that Clan, and compete and win a Bloodname of his own. Even if he failed in that, it was worth it to get away from the vainglorious and vacillating Char Furey, and the old fool Thom.

In the meantime, however, he had to make sure that Thom did not manage to convince Furey to leave Kagoshima without taking Toriyama. "I have been thinking, Star Colonel." He pointed to the mesa. "Those people up there are laughing at us right now." He doubted that, personally, but it was important to appeal to Furey's pride; besides, watching Faye turn purple with rage made her look all the more cute. "We must make them fear us again."

"The Deguello does not seem to be helping much," Zellos mused sardonically.

"Neg, because only history frea—ah, I mean, historians like Arla-Vlata would recognize it." Dougray had to be careful here, because Char Furey was also quite the historian, just as the Snowbird commander was rumored to be. "To the others, it is just a song. In fact, they may appreciate our serenading them at night, quiaff?"

"I wish we had artillery to serenade them with," Faye hissed.

"Unfortunately, we do not. I propose a more…visual method."

Furey looked interested. "Such as?"

Dougray smiled.


Sheila felt like she had just closed her eyes when her radio beeped for her attention. She was back aboard the Minerva, rather than sleeping in her 'Mech or in Max's Battlemaster as she had been doing recently. The bed felt so very nice, and now some son of a bitch was disturbing her. "What is it?" she snarled into the radio.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sheila, but Furey's calling for you." It was Miroku Usagi.

Sheila was awake now. She glanced at the chronometer: she'd been asleep for two hours. It would have to do. "What's he want? Patch him through."

"Not over the radio. At the bottom of the north slope. We're communicating by loudspeaker."

Asshole probably wants to play history games again, Sheila thought derisively. "All right, dammit. I'll be out there in a bit." Sheila clicked off the line, saw that Max was sound asleep, and decided against waking him. Slowly and quietly, she dressed in a jumpsuit—she had gone to bed wearing only her tube top and her MechWarrior shorts, in case the Jaguars attacked—and walked the kilometer to her position on the wall. It took time, but she didn't care if Furey had to cool his heels for awhile.

She stepped up to the top of the parapet where she and Max had cuddled the night before. The sun seemed unusually bright today, and it was actually rather pleasant. At the base of Toriyama stood Furey's Masakari, surrounded by the rest of his Command Star. He stood below it, flanked by a number of Elementals. Usagi sat on the parapet, feet dangling over the edge, Marion Rhialla alongside with her binoculars. They turned when Sheila arrived. "Hand me the loudspeaker," she ordered, and raised it to her lips. "I'm here, Furey!" she shouted. Her voice sounded strange and tinny as it echoed down the slope. "Can you hear me?" She lowered the loudspeaker. "Not that I give a shit whether you do or not," she murmured.

"You're in a bad mood," Marion grinned.

"Yes, I am. Bastard can't make up his mind whether or not he wants to talk or fight."

"I can hear you fine, Commander. How am I?" Furey's voice drifted back.

"You're five-square, Star Colonel. What do you want?"

"First to congratulate you on your defense of Toriyama, Sheila. May I say, you have done exceptionally well to this point."

"Why, thank you, Char. Let me say you've done exceptionally lousy to this point." Sheila felt her anger building and let it do so. "Now that the hearts and flowers horseshit is over, what do you want?"

"I'm giving you one last chance to surrender, Commander."

Marion rolled her eyes. "This guy really does think he's Santa Anna or something, doesn't he?" At Sheila's questioning look, Marion shrugged. "What? I do read, Sheila."

Usagi shook his head. "We must have hurt him worse than we thought yesterday."

Sheila hesitated before replying. Best estimate was that Furey had lost ten or eleven 'Mechs so far, plus an unknown number of Elementals. Sheila had lost six; Usagi two, along with less than a dozen militia. The battle was still a very even fight. Mainly to see what Furey was up to, Sheila finally answered, "What terms are you proposing?"

"You leave Kagoshima within six hours."

"Impossible, Furey! I can't load more than half my 'Mechs in that time."

"I realize that, Sheila." Sheila could swear that she heard a smirk in Furey's voice. "Whatever you cannot load, you must leave behind. Understand my position, Commander. I have taken casualties."

"Really? How many?"

"I am not a fool, Sheila. I must have something to show for my troubles when I report back to my Khans. A few trophies will do."

"Tell him to go fuck himself," Marion said. "I won't have my 'Mech used as some prize, so Furey here can wave his dick around and claim to have actually beaten us."

Sheila was tempted to repeat Marion word for word, given how profanity bothered the average Clanfolk, but restrained herself. "You want your trophies, Furey, you're going to have to come and take them."

Furey actually laughed at that. "Very Leonidas of you, Sheila! May I make a counterproposal, then?"

"Knock yourself out, Furey." She glanced at Marion. "This ought to be good."

"I will allow your entire battalion to leave, with their 'Mechs and their colors, if you give yourself up."

Sheila blinked. "Come again?"

"Surrender yourself, Sheila Arla-Vlata. Just you. The rest of your battalion and the Sun Zhang can depart freely within 24 hours if you do so."

Sheila nearly fell. Furey couldn't be serious. "You'd do that, just for me?"

"Of course, Sheila! It is a fair trade. You for your battalion. I promise you no harm will come to you. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman."

Sheila's knuckles turned bone-white around the loudspeaker. She looked at Usagi. He shook his head once. Then she looked at Marion. "Keep him talking," the older woman said, her face red with anger. "I can get Kinosh up here with a sniper rifle and we'll put a new asshole in his head." Mistaking the expression on Sheila's face for something else, she leveled a finger at her. "Do not play the martyr, Sheila. I'll duct tape you to the Minerva before I let you give yourself up for that jumped-up little prick."

"Well, Commander?" Furey called out.

"I'd be your bondswoman?" Sheila asked instead. Now every head within earshot on Toriyama was turned in her direction.

"Aff, Sheila!"

Sheila handed the loudspeaker to a stunned Marion, pulled out her revolver, and fired it at Furey. He was far out of range, but the report sounded like a howitzer. She could see Furey leap backwards, out of surprise. Holstering the pistol, she grabbed the loudspeaker again. "There's your answer, you bastard!"

"I am truly sorry to hear that," Furey replied, and he sounded as if he truly was. She could see him turn to one of the Elementals, and motioned for the binoculars. Through them, she saw the Elemental drag out Mary Scott. She fought and kicked, but Sheila could see that Scott had been hurt, and one eye looked puffy. She looked weak and bedraggled, but still defiant as ever. She was also in chains, hand and foot. To Sheila's horror, she saw the Elemental put the barrel of its underslung machine gun to Scott's head.

"Sheila," Furey spoke, "this is your MechWarrior Mary Scott."

"I can see that, jerkoff! What game are you playing at?"

"No game, Sheila. If you do not surrender in six hours, or give yourself up, I will be forced to start shooting prisoners."

"He can't be serious!" Marion exclaimed. "Good God! Even I won't start gunning prisoners!"

"Furey, are you crazy?" Sheila shouted back. "What about honor? You want a fair fight, you have it, but don't do this!" Sheila brought the binoculars back up again, and to her surprise, Furey seemed hesitant. He glanced behind him twice, and she thought she saw someone else standing in the shadows. "We don't shoot prisoners! That's against every law of armed conflict there is!"

"Those are my terms, Commander. Do you accept or not?"

Sheila told him, "Let me consult with my officers," mainly to buy time. She had turned to Marion and Usagi, and now Elfa had waddled up. She had no idea what to do.

The decision was made for her. Mary Scott suddenly lashed out, snatched the loudspeaker from Furey's hands in her own manacled ones, and yelled up the slope, "To hell with him, Sheila! He doesn't have the balls—" She was cut off in midsentence as a shot rang out—but not from the Elemental, who staggered back in surprise as blood splashed across its armor. Mary Scott fell forward, dead before she hit the ground; whoever had fired had done so from behind.

A roar of shock and outrage went up from Toriyama's ramparts, and Sheila saw weapons raised. "Hold your fire!" Sheila shouted, hoping the MechWarriors would hear her; Furey was out of range of all but the longest weapons, and there was no telling how many more prisoners might be behind the Masakari. Or that the Jaguars simply wouldn't massacre Iwakuni town. Sheila raised the binoculars, trying to see some sort of life from Scott, to see if she had been wounded, but the spray of bright blood against the grayish rock of Toriyama told her otherwise. Sheila felt tears on her cheeks. Detachedly, she noticed that Furey actually looked shocked himself, staring down at Scott's body, but that didn't matter. "Char Furey, you son of a bitch!" Sheila screamed over the loudspeaker. "You want an answer, motherfucker? I'll give you a fucking answer!" She whirled on Elfa. "Get the Jaguar prisoners. Bring them out here."

Elfa saw what was in Sheila's eyes and shook her head vehemently. "No, Sheila. We can't—we can't do that—"

"Now, Major! Get them out here!"

Elfa turned, stopped, and then looked back at Sheila defiantly. "No, Commander," she repeated. "That is an unlawful order, one I will not obey."

"I'll do it, then." Marion jumped to her feet and began yelling orders laced with profanity. Stung into action, people moved towards the Minerva, where the prisoners were being kept in locked staterooms and in the infirmary. Elfa speared Sheila with her gaze. "You're going to shoot prisoners, Sheila?"

"I'm going to retaliate, Elfa."

"An eye for an eye?" Elfa shot back. "All that's going to do is make the whole world blind."

"When did someone replace my second-in-command with Rainbow Levine?"

Elfa's eyes were blazing. "When they replaced my commanding officer with Joseph Stalin! Sheila, for God's sake! We can't sink to Furey's level!"

"He just killed Mary Scott, Elfa!" Sheila yelled at her. Half the mesa could hear them, but she didn't care. "I saw him do it! He's probably going to kill more, so I'm going to kill some of his right back. He wants to play rough, so be it!"

Elfa walked over to the foot of Kahvi's battered Dragon and sat down heavily. "Okay, Sheila. Okay. But I want to see you do it yourself. Don't order someone else."

Sheila reached down and pulled out her pistol again. "I never had any intention to ask someone else, Elfa." She spun the cylinders; there were five rounds left. She saw that there were three prisoners being dragged towards her; the fourth was still in bed recovering from his wounds. From the glares the Jaguars got, the majority was on Sheila's side in this. One of the Jaguars stumbled and fell; Felisanna, who had been leading them along with Marion and a mixed group of militia and Kinosh's infantry, kicked him before dragging him to his feet. "Where do you want them?" she asked.

"On the wall. Where Furey can see them."

Felisanna noticed the gun in Sheila's hand. "You going to shoot them?"

"You're damn right I'm going to shoot them."

"Let me do it." Felisanna patted the butt of the assault rifle she carried. Until her Wolfhound was repaired sufficiently, she had assigned herself to Kinosh's platoon. She motioned at the bandage around her head. "I owe them." She looked at the Jaguars. "I owe them a lot."

Sheila didn't like what she saw in Felisanna's eyes, but that could wait. The Jaguars had heard the exchange, and their expressions of defiance and arrogance were now gone completely, replaced by fear. Their hands were zip-tied in front of them and their shoelaces tied together, so there was no chance of them making a break for it down the slope. Two militiamen shoved the three Jaguars to the parapet. The MechWarrior came to attention as best he could, knowing what was going to happen and determined to die bravely. The fighter pilots tried to do the same, but Sheila could see that they were clearly out of their element. Pilots, even more so than MechWarriors, didn't shoot people in their parachutes as a matter of honor; pilots that did this were ostracized even among their own units, and in every Successor State but House Kurita and House Liao, would face a firing squad of their own should they do so. The Jaguar pilots were terrified.

"Shoot the blonde first," Elfa called out.

"Fuck off, Elfa," Sheila snapped. "You're not making this any easier." Nonetheless, Sheila stepped up and put the heavy revolver between the eyes of the blonde fighter pilot. She was not pretty at all, a product of Clan genetic engineering that gave their pilots large eyes and slight frames, to see better and resist G-forces more efficiently. The Jaguar bit her lip to keep it from trembling and closed her eyes. Sheila looked past her; even at this distance she could see Scott's body, and the stick figure that was Furey. She thumbed back the hammer, which sounded extraordinarily loud. The pistol trembled slightly, and Sheila cursed under her breath to keep it steady. Her finger was tight on the trigger. The barrel was less than a centimeter from the Jaguar's head; it would not miss and would be instantly fatal. Sheila smelled urine and realized that the pilot had wet herself. The Jaguar opened her eyes for a moment, gazed down the barrel, and swiftly closed them again, but not before Sheila noticed her eyes were opaline blue.

The same shade of blue as Louisa Keynes Arla-Vlata's.

Sheila lowered the pistol. "I can't. I can't do it, dammit." She more fell to the parapet than sat. "God help me, I can't do it." She threw down the revolver, buried her face in her hands and began to cry bitterly, hating herself because everyone could see her and commanders weren't supposed to start crying.

Sheila instinctively jumped and threw herself to one side when she heard the clatter of an assault rifle firing. Ending up sliding down the parapet on the friendly side, she looked up to see the Jaguar prisoners drop in a welter of blood to fall down the other side of the wall. Felisanna walked forward, stood on the wall itself, raised the rifle, and emptied the rest of her magazine into the prisoners' bodies. She raised the rifle high with one hand, gave Furey the finger with the other, and dropped back down on the other side. "It's all right, Commander. I got this one," she said conversationally as she walked past, tossing aside the empty clip and loading a new one.