Swindelli cocked an eyebrow as he watched the enemy units, which had been skirmishing with III-Alpha's heavy and medium units on the valley floor below, withdraw to the flanks, pulling II-Bravo and Gamma with them. The opening salvo from II-Alpha and the command unit had wrought havoc and the mysterious intruders evidently had no appetite for further punishment.

However, before his confidence could return, he was greeted with the sight of a dozen assault mechs, wearing the enemy's colours of matt black and light grey, appear over the opposite ridgeline. Before he could call out a warning over the radio, they were unleashing their own barrage of destruction on the 66th Shadow Division mechs, still locked in combat on the valley floor. They soon moved out of range as they pursued their fleeing quarry, leaving the opposing assault units to face each other.

Now that both sets of combatants were in visual range, there was no need for any further commands. Pilots on both sides simply selected targets and opened fire.

The pilot of the Deimos drew first blood in the battle of the assault units, unleashing a salvo of long-range missiles at the Grigori Cominus and following up with several volleys from its autocannon. The ECM bubble the command unit was operating inside, negated the damage caused by the missiles somewhat, but could do nothing to lessen the sting of the Deimos' battery of AC2s.

Armed with medium and short-range missiles, the Blakist mech was too far away for the pilot to retaliate. Instead, they activated their jumpjets, making a long leap forward, in a bid to get out of the line of fire, while also closing the range. That just brought them to the attention of several other Dinochrome mechs. The Mauler and Thug from Hector Company and the Warthog and Talos from Nike Company raked it with ERPPC and autocannon fire, all through its ascent and descent. It landed heavily and lost its footing on the sloping valley wall, tumbling in an undignified heap to the bottom. Along the way, the ammo bin for its arm-mounted MRM launcher caved in and exploded, ripping off the entire lower arm. It did not move again, indicating the pilot had either been killed or knocked unconscious by the fall.

Baker, searching for a target, drifted his crosshairs over a larger, sleeker mech, on the right of the gap in the enemy formation, left by the fallen Grigori. He squeezed his primary trigger, unleashing his quad LPPCs, flaying armour off the Blakist machine's torso. Jeff brought his Behemoth to a temporary halt and braced his mech, before thumbing the tertiary trigger button, firing the Assault Gauss Rifle. The massive projectile smashed into the Seraph's torso and caused it to stagger, but failed to breach its armour. It responded with a blast from its Heavy PPC, which vapourised nearly half a ton of armour from the Behemoth's right torso.

Fifty metres to his left, Captain Monroe was concentrating on the more immediate threat. His Behemoth's paired gauss rifles flashed their pale blue discharges, sending a quarter of a ton of nickel ferrous metal at hypersonic speed, smashing into the broad, squat torso of a Blakist King Crab. While it was still reeling, he followed up with several volleys from his paired large pulse lasers – eventually forced to cease fire, to allow his mech to cool down. The Blakist pilot pushed his mech to full throttle, in a desperate effort to get close enough to use his mech's devastating LB20-X autocannon, firing its extended range large laser in response. Recognising the danger, Caesar's Zeus and Longbow, together with Acting-Captain Hallis in her Blood Asp and Captain Osterbruck in his Annihilator, pounced on the luckless Blakist, who found himself subjected to a nightmarish barrage of PPC, gauss and missile fire that rapidly stripped away a large portion of the Crab's eighteen tons of armour. The multiple impacts overloaded the 100-ton machine's gyro and it crashed heavily to the ground, burying several feet of its front end into the dirt.

Hanging on the fringes of the battle, it was becoming apparent to Swindelli that the Manei Domini were outmatched on this particular occasion. Despite their superior speed and accuracy, the enemy were simply better equipped for long range combat, as well as being able to concentrate high volumes of fire on individual targets.

"Precentor Alastor, I think it would be advisable to conduct a fighting withdrawal. As well as speeding up our rendezvous with Malthus, it will lure the enemy forward into a situation where they will be outnumbered".

For once, Alastor's response lacked its usual barely-restrained contempt.

"I think that, on this occasion, that may be the best course of action. The heretics' lapdogs fight with unusual skill and tenacity. Keeping them at arm's length until we can bring more force to bear may frustrate them and cause them to overreach themselves".

The conversation ended abruptly as the Manei Domini commander switched channels.

"Alastor to all units, reform the battle line around the command unit and begin a staged withdrawal to nav point Iota – uploading position now".

He then switched back to the command channel, "Omega Prime to Beta Command, the intruders are proving harder to eliminate than anticipated. We are conducting a fighting withdrawal to avoid a pitched battle for the time being. Prepare to rendezvous at nav point Iota – sending co-ordinates now".


Cavaliers Mobile Field Base,
Wicken Caverns,
15km southwest of Westminster

Star Captain Marcus Steele paced the length of the cave entrance in an agitated state, relying on his peripheral vision to avoid the numerous techs, medics and warriors coming and going. Risa Clearwater sat on a smooth, age-worn boulder, back against the cave wall, her head tilted back and eyes shut.

Inside the cavern was a hive of activity. Medics had tended to the wounded as best they could and were now mainly employed preparing the dead for storage and transportation. It was hoped they would be able to conduct a proper warriors' funeral ceremony later. Adding to the organised chaos were the technicians, repairing and rearming the mechs, which had been parked in the temporary gantries hastily erected inside the caves.

Against the medics' advice, Clearwater had struggled outside, ignoring the pain of her injuries, to escape the noise and near-constant stream of requests, needing to clear her head and come to terms with the loss of Star Colonel Nuyriev. It was rare, almost unheard of, for Clan warriors to form emotional attachments to one another, but the 246th Strike Cluster had been asked to perform a highly unusual mission…one not attempted since Clan Wolf had sent the Dragoons to the Inner Sphere, over half a century earlier. With the unit's remaining original personnel now having served together for close on a decade, many close friendships had formed, above and beyond those normally found in the Clan warrior caste. The normally harsh, abrasive attitudes, most often associated with younger warriors had mellowed, especially as many were now approaching the age where they would normally be considered solahma, or past their prime.

Consequently, the close relationship that had existed between Nuyriev and Clearwater was just one of many throughout the unit. Now, the anguish she was experiencing made her wonder if the Clan way of emotional detachment wasn't the right one after all. The fact Steele had tracked her down and was now badgering her with further requests, did nothing to help her state of mind.

"Risa, I don't like the fact we have no idea what's going on. Our surviving sensor equipment has limited range and we have no patrols out. For all we know the Blakists could be marching on our position as we sit here".

Clearwater wearily put a hand to her head and leaned forward, "What would you have me do, Marcus? You know the condition of our warriors and mechs as well as I. We need time to rest and refit before we meet the enemy in combat again".

Steele nodded, "Normally I would agree, but right now I don't think we can afford to just sit here, deaf and blind to what goes on around us. These Blake-worshipping fanatics mauled us – worse than any opponent we have fought previously. If they can hurt us this badly, how do you think the Coalition's forces will fare against them?"

Clearwater sighed, "Right now I do not much care".

The fact she had stopped objecting to his use of contractions in his speech was just another sign of how distracted she had become.

Marcus gave an exasperated sigh of his own, "We may be masquerading as money-warriors, but we are still Clan, are we not? When we sign contracts, we may be legally obliged to fulfil them, but as warriors are we not also honour-bound to see them through, having given our word?"

Risa ran a hand through her tousled, raven hair, wincing as pain shot through her arm, "I suppose so. What are you suggesting? One last glorious charge for the honour of the Clan?"

Steele smiled, "Nothing so dramatic. Just that we at least send some recon drones out to give us the lay of the land, while we finish refitting and rearming".

"And if they show the Blakists marching on our doorstep?"

"Then we shall teach them my favourite part of the Remembrance".

"Master of man and machine, servitor to none, the Coyote awaits.

Skilled and tenacious, a predator without peer, the Coyote strikes:
Fear in the hearts of its enemies,
Pain at their sides,
Death at their throats
".