The Storm Strikes

Zenith Jump Point

System S-319570410, Grantville Cluster

15 December 2005

In an area of space devoid of any mass but passing solar winds, multiple globes of sundered space-time flared into being. The globes had no right to exist, singing their violation of the cosmic Order of Things for all to hear in the form of a massive outpouring of electromagnetic radiation on nearly all frequencies.

The event did not go unnoticed by outside observers. Satellites and ground-based stations had been scrutinizing this area for the past six months as well as a similar area on the other side of the system's primary. They saw the globes of radiation, saw them vanish, and saw them replaced with the much dimmer forms of many, many JumpShips.

However, they did not see nor hear the radio waves carrying the voices of those within. But the inhabitants guessed that those transmissions would be there and wondered what malevolent and devious schemes were being laid within them.

"Are we there yet?"

"YES! Yes, we're there, God dammit! Now shut up and leave me the fuck alone!"

International Orbital Defense Headquarters

Low Earth Orbit

Sol System, Independent Systems Alliance Provisional Space

15 December 2005/860 AS

"Contacts." The sensors officer called to the rest of the CIC.

General Mathews looked at the holographic display of the near solar system. A mass of red icons appeared above the Sun, denoting unknown contacts. The changes in the past few months were remarkable for the station. The past month had seen the arrival of the ISA's Chani, staffed primarily by Earth-born soldiers. That had allowed for more manufacturing capability, massively expanding the station into a veritable fortress. The last essential parts still under construction were the hangers and the massive mass driver along the spine. He had never imagined a rail gun so big that it ran nearly the entire length of a ship, but here it was being constructed.

His sensors officer zoomed in as much as they could at the mass of ships above the Sun. It was a myriad of mismatched JumpShips and DropShips, most with differing insignias and in various states of repair.

"Looks like an invasion force, alright." He said.

"Tactical, how are our platforms?" Captain Toft, ISA liason, asked.

"Ma'am, all systems nominal. We just have to wait for them to get in range." The tactical officer replied.

"Regimental strength from what they told us." Mathews said.

"Nice to be prepared, huh?" Toft asked.

"Sure is. These bastards are going to be running a gauntlet."

Situation Room

White House

Washington DC, United States of America

"They're here." President Ryan said, looking at the newly installed main holographic display. He noted the position of the Stilgar and the Chani in high orbit.

"Sure are." Serov's holographic image said on one of the secondary displays, "Stealth drives are operating as intended. We're invisible to them."

"Goddamn, that's some tech." Brentano said, "Will the people on board the Chani be alright?"

"They understand their jobs. We'll see if they can carry them out."

"Scott," Ryan looked to his Secretary of State, "Prepare me a statement. I want to have a greeting prepared for our guests."

Dropship Shadow Wing

Zenith Jump Point

16 December 3020

The intercom beeped.

"Sanders, go."

"Colonel, Bridge. We have an incoming message addressed to you."

"Okay, what does Black want this time?"

"It's not from Colonel Black, sir. It's from Motherlode."

Sanders' eyebrows rose in surprise. Most other Periphery backwaters wouldn't have been able to pick up JumpShips at a jump point. On the other hand, most of those worlds wouldn't have had the level of industrialization that Motherlode had either. Sanders took a moment to silently berate himself for taking something like this for granted and wondered what else his preconceptions had missed.

"Alright," he said after a moment. "Let me hear it."

"Unidentified fleet, this is President Ryan representing the planet Earth." The message began. It was crystal clear, "If you come in peace, then the people of this world will welcome you with open arms, relishing the opportunity to establish trade and open interstellar relations with whatever state you represent."

The tone of the message shifted to a much more serious edge, "However, if you come with hostile intent, then we will defend our world with every last resource at our disposal. I will give one warning: If you approach our planet without express permission, we will assume hostility and react accordingly. President Ryan out."

Sanders thought about it, a plan percolating in his mind. If he could convince this 'President Ryan' that his fleet were in fact friendly, then they could pull a Trojan Horse and land unopposed. With the planet's leader on hand, they could swoop in and capture him, taking the whole planet in one fell swoop!

"Bridge, Sanders. Has any reply been sent yet?"

"Yes, sir. Colonel Black has already transmitted a reply that, ah, basically amounts to his boasting how he was going to, ah… establish relations. Only his actual words included a great deal of profanity and lurid description."

"Goddamnit!"

Sun-Earth Lagrange Point

20 December 2005/3020/860 AS

The Chani, being the vastly less combat experienced of the two Planetary Carriers, watched this patch of space diligently. They knew that the KF drives used by the JumpShips of this universe did not have the capability of jumping to any point that had any significant gravitational distortions. There were only two safe spots to jump in system for a fast and clean path to Earth: here and the Moon-Earth Lagrange point.

This point was the safest for a fleet this large. If any ships emerged on the Moon-Earth point, they would be crushed by the weapons of the orbital defense network in short order if the Stilgar did not get them first.

In a cacophony of electromagnetic noise, the fleet emerged at the point, rending space-time apart at their place of arrival. The Chani reported her readings to the rest of the Earth's defense forces, signaling the beginning of the battle.

Bridge, DropShip Shadow's Wing

"Jump complete." The PA announced.

"Sensors online, checking local space."

"Engineering reports all systems nominal."

"Beginning disengagement from JumpShip." Announced the helmsmen.

"All ships accounted for but one." The sensors officer noted, "No, wait, there it is. It's at the planet-moon point."

"Of course, someone wants to leapfrog in early." Sanders sighed, "Let me guess, it's Black and the Band, right?"

"No sir." Came the reply, "Both Band JumpShips are with us. The leap frogger is the Kip Branhagan. They're carrying independents.

Bridge, DropShip Distant Home

"And there we have the obligatory moron jumping ahead." Major Staedele remarked with a grin.

"I owe you five C-bills, Andreas." Hanna Staedele, the Major's aunt and Captain of the DropShip replied.

"Let's see how those idiots do. Heh, they'll make for a perfect scout detail that way, and no one will shed a tear if they get their heads torn off by the locals." Andreas turned to Hanna, "Hanna, keep us at the far end of this mob, about ten-thousand kilometers distance as a safety margin. We're not in a hurry.

"Aye aye." The old woman replied cheerfully.

Situation Room

White House, United States of America

"Okay, this was unexpected," Ryan said aloud.

In all the contingency planning done for possible invasion scenarios, this one hadn't come up before. It had generally been agreed by both military planners and civilian consultants that any invasion by BT forces would have everyone coming in all at once. After all, there was little point in sending anyone ahead to be defeated in detail before the main force could arrive and save it.

Only, it looked like this invasion force did just that.

"What are we looking at?" Ryan asked.

"It looks like the early birds are three Leopards, Mister President," Brigadier General McMayers said as he studied the data. "Those profiles are distinctive; they're basically just flying bricks. Carrying capacity's not much better than a single Union, but the odds that they're all carrying a full load of mechs are probably pretty good."

"Now the main body is a different kettle of fish," McMayers went on. "They're still detaching from their Jumpships and sorting themselves out, so it's difficult to get a hard count. There's lots more Leopards, some other aerodyne types, and lots of spheroids most of which appear to be Unions, but it's hard to tell spheroid-type Dropships apart. But there is definitely an egg-shape in there, meaning at least one Overlord."

"At a guess," Mayers concluded, "they're sending a probe ahead as a sacrificial lamb to see what kind of defenses we built in the last six months. Clever. I wouldn't have thought they'd do that given how valuable Dropships are to them… or at least how valuable we think they are."

"Any good news?" Ryan asked, disgruntled.

"I'm not sure, but I think the probe force is going for a landing on the far side of the planet from the main body," McMayers said. He smiled humorlessly. "Unless they drop off a communications satellite before hitting atmosphere, there's no way that they're going to be able to call for help if they get in trouble."

"Oh, that's good." The holographic image of Serov said, "I'll have a few wings escort our guests down. One of them has my man on board, so they won't be an issue. The other two will be persuaded as gently as they can be. We should be able to get them in our hands before the real party starts."

"We'll save the orbital platforms for our guests, then." Ryan said. "They're going to be in for a surprise."

21 December 2005/3020/860 AS

"Well, one of the bastards tried running, but we've captured all of them." Serov's hologram reported, "The one with my man has offered their services to us, they're contained in Camp Dodge in Iowa of your country. The other two are contained in China and Russia. They didn't feel like getting their asses blasted into nothingness, so they surrendered without incident."

"Fantastic." Ryan replied. "Do we have an idea of everything the enemy has?"

"I think we have final entry dispositions now," McMayers said. He pointed at the display. "This group here is the one with the Overlord; we're calling them Force Alpha. This one over here we're calling Force Bravo, it's mostly made up of Unions. The rest are pretty much scattered all over the place in ones and twos; those we've given number designations."

"There also close enough that we can get a look at their unit insignia. Alpha and Bravo appear to be mostly homogeneous units. The smaller groups appear to be all different units for some reason. And one other thing; our old friend the Drakon appears to be flying with Force Bravo."

"Are you sure?" Ryan asked.

"Pretty certain," McMayers replied. "They've got that same faded Federated Suns paint job and the armor on the nose looks a good deal more patchwork than it used to be."

Ryan filed that bit of information away. It might become useful later.

"They're nearing the range our closest platforms," Serov said, "Your nukes have the range, closest being Alpha. You want to give them a nice cordial welcome?"

"We should try to capture that Overlord." Ryan noted.

"Gotcha. I'll let Mathews know. I'll have the Chani send a special present for that Overlord."

DropShip Drakon

Captain Mamoto stared at the beautiful blue and green world that filled his screen, a giddy feeling of triumph welling up within him. Finally, he had returned to this bloody planet, and this time he had a huge military force with him, the largest the Periphery had ever seen since Kerensky's Exodus. Now the stupid Motherloders would learn the price of vandalizing his precious Drakon when he…

"That's weird," Jane Dietrich murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

"What?" Mamoto said quickly, something cold crawling up his spine. "What's weird, Jane?"

"I'm not sure, skipper," the sensor officer replied. "There's something in orbit that I'm having trouble getting a RADAR read on. I would have thought that it was just the RADAR acting up, but then I pointed an optic camera at it and… well look at it for yourself."

Walking over to Jane's station, Mamoto peered at her display over her shoulder. The blue seascape of a Motherlode ocean filled the screen, featureless but for the white speckling of clouds and an ugly black silhouette in the shape of a cross. Even as he watched, it seemed to change shape slightly and he realized that it was turning.

"What is it?" Mamoto asked, dread creeping into his stomach. "Is it a satellite?"

"I don't think so," Jane answered, frowning. "I think it's too big for that, bigger than any satellite that I can actually see anyway. I think it's more the size of an aerospace fighter given the zoom on the visual, maybe bigger. But it doesn't feel right; I don't think it's a fighter either."

"Come on, Jane," Mamoto scolded her irritably. "You're supposed to be better than that. Tell me something definitive."

"Skipper, I don't have any…" Jane began. "Huh, there's another one I think. Hold on…"

They both found out exactly what it was as alarms started blaring.

Low Earth Orbit

The box had been deliberately designed to be low visibility in space. It was painted pitch black and coated with a liberal layer of RADAR Absorbent Material. There wasn't enough fabrication bandwidth in the Stilgar during the preceding months to upgrade the platforms up to proper spec, but they certainly could get the job done.

It worked, despite being primitive by ISA standards. On reception of a signal from the Orbital Defense Network, the box fired its maneuvering thrusters and pointed itself at a seemingly random patch of sky. As it did, a lid on the box folded opened revealing a cluster of cylindrical objects, each sitting in its own cell.

At the precise moment ordered, six missiles fired out of the orbital launcher. Each one upgraded against the harsh environment of space and upgraded with 'primitive' fusion torch engines they flew to meet their targets. In tandem, two more launchers fired their own payloads, their own missiles reaching out to meet the enemy.

DropShip Shadow's Wing

Colonel Sanders had been strapping into his Warhammer when the alarms started blaring and gravity began shifting wildly in strength and directions, a sure sign of evasive maneuvers. He hit the communications switch.

"Bridge, this is Sanders. What the hell is going on up there?" he demanded.

"Sorry, sir," came the reply. "The Motherloders just launched what the threat computer is calling 'capital missiles' at us."

"What's a… never mind," Sanders said, cutting himself off. "Are they dangerous?"

"I'm not sure," the bridge officer reported. "They're bigger than missile has any right to be and… wait one. Sir, it looks like they're all targeted at the Band's DropShips. They're launching fighters and trying to pick off the missiles now with weapons now."

"Okay, I don't like this," Sanders said. "Get our own birds into space and-" Sanders orders were interrupted by the bridge officer's next words.

"Holy shit!"

Low Earth Orbit

Eighteen missiles slashed in towards the Dropships of the Band of the Damned from three different directions. While their fusion torch powered thrusters were laughably weak by the standards of Star League-era capital missiles, they still imparted better acceleration than what their targets were capable of. Of course, the price of that was limited endurance, which was why only three launchers were even close enough to fire.

The Band was not idle though. They took what evasive maneuvers they could and fired their weapons in an effort to shoot down the missiles. The problem was that they were busy decelerating towards the planet, which meant that their rears were pointed at the missiles coming towards them, and the rears had the weakest coverage of weapons.

Still, the missiles only had the most rudimentary evasion capability. One by one, they died, vaporized by laser fire. One missile was clipped by autocannon fire from the Black Eye. One shell clipped its tail, setting it spinning. The next shell neatly bisected the missile; both halves went spinning away towards the Band out of control.

Then everyone discovered what they were dealing with.

One fighter, a Sholagar that had managed to launch early, closed in eagerly on one surviving missile and got a bit too close. A proximity sensor in the missile picked up the aerospace fighter and set off its 300 kiloton W87 warhead in its face. The fighter and its pilot were completely vaporized. The flash from the explosion slugged sensors and burned away the majority of the armor from the closest Dropship, a Union, but it was far enough away to survive the experience… barely.

A second surviving missile got distracted, losing lock on the Overlord as another Dropship accidentally interposed itself. Falling back on preprogrammed instructions, the missile locked onto the first thing it could see – the Leopard that had blocked its view in this case – and drove itself into the unlucky vessel. The Leopard was rapidly converted into an expanding cloud of plasma.

Unseen and undetected, a small transport vessel closed on the Overlord Black Eye. Sent by the Chani, this ship had a very important mission: capture the vessel and land it on Earth. They didn't fear the nuclear hell raining down around them, the shields would hold. It began the process of hacking through the docking door and signaled the start of the bloody process of taking the ship from its current occupants.

The ISA's orbital weapons went to work on whatever targets were closest, their presence hidden by their stealth drives. Lasers, missiles, rail gun shots began to find purchase, scything into those unlucky enough to be in range.

JumpShip Kip Branhagan

Planet-Moon L1 Point

"…multiple nuclear explosions, and orbital weapons fire! Dear God in Heaven, what have we run into?" Wailed the sensors officer.

Good question. Tasha thought grimly. In her mind, her duty became crystal clear. They had to return home and report this possible threat to her superiors. Anyone willing to throw around weapons of mass destruction was far too dangerous to be left alone. Only…

"How soon can we jump out?" Tasha asked, turning to the Captain.

"We can't," came the reply. "We hot charged are KF drive to jump this early. We're going to have to wait the full seven days before we can jump again else we'll almost certainly suffer a mis-jump."

"All Dropships, this is Sanders!" the external communications speakers blared, interrupting their conversation. "Head planet side at best speed and hope like hell that these guys won't set off nukes in their own atmosphere."

"Fuck you, Sanders!" someone else replied. "I didn't sign up for this shit! I'm outta here!"

"Don't-"

Sanders didn't get to finish. On the holo plot, one of the Dropship icons peeled off from the rest of the descending icons. It slid sideways, skimming the edge of the atmosphere, then rising away in an obvious attempt to slingshot around the planet and get back to a JumpShip. Unfortunately, it ran into another wave of nuclear missiles that practically appeared right in its face.

Meanwhile, the surviving Dropships descended towards the planet, scattering randomly as evading nuclear death became their foremost priority.

"So, we have to hang around here," Tasha said slowly, "in plain view with a planet that throws around nuclear weapons like popcorn?"

"Unfortunately, yes," the Captain said unhappily.

DropShip Black Eye

Over Montana

"Chani, this is Six. We've taken the bridge." Major 'Ding' Chavez reported, "We're clearing the rest of the ship now."

Rainbow had been deployed aboard the Chani and were given the distinct honor of testing their newly learned boarding tactics on a live ship. Command of the vessel had been conceded to a few clones of the skipper of the Chani, Yuki Nagato. That still tripped him out, seeing three of the exact same person working in tandem with one another. They even helped them fight their way to the bridge, accounting for some of the kills necessary to gain access. Team Two were assigned to clearing the lower decks and making sure they secured the 'Mech bay.

The surviving bridge crew were restrained and put in the corner, overseen by the leader of Team One Peter Covington.

"Kinda weird to be working with clones, Ding." Covington said.

"Sure is. Still, they're damn good at their jobs." Ding replied.

"Six, Price." Chavez' radio crackled.

"Go ahead, Price."

"Got a… hostage situation."

Chavez was confused, "Explain."

"Well, Six, guy here is holding another one of his own guys hostage. Says he'll off 'em if we get any closer."

"Was the guy being held fighting us?"

"No, Ding."

Goddamnit, we don't have time for this. Chavez thought, Well, breech and clear, I suppose.

"Arr, ye dirty fuckin' boarders!" the bridge's comm system barked.

One of the Nagato clones motioned Chavez to the internal comms system.

"Price, standby for breech and clear. I'll keep 'im talking, you take care of shit when he's nice and distracted."

"Roger, Six."

Chavez pressed the comms button, "This is Major Chavez. Seems like you're in a pickle, mano."

"Fuck ye, ya piece of backwards filth!" the intercom spat back at him.

"Friend, you have two options: One, surrender and we take you into custody where you won't be harmed; Two, we come on in there and spread you brains across the bulkheads. Your choice."

"Please!" another voice joined in, "Black is crazy! He won't-"

"Shut yer hole before I put one in ye!"

Chavez took his finger off the intercom button, "Do we have any internal cameras?"

"No, Major," the clone on comms replied, "this ship does not have any security cameras to speak of."

"Well, I guess we do this the hard way." Chavez pressed the intercom button again, "Last warning, release the hostage and put your weapon down."

"Not a chance, ye fuckin' prick! I'll kill ye! I'll kill every last-"

Black's words were interrupted by the *BANG* of a flashbang, followed by the distinct sound of suppressed weapons fire.

"Six, Price. We took 'em down. Hostage is secure. We're throwing 'im with the rest of the captured crew."

"Roger, Price." Chavez turned to the comms clone, "Send a message to the Chani: Overlord secure. Bringing her down at Minot."

"Confirmed, Major. Message sent."

DropShip Distant Home

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?" someone screamed.

Watching the footage on the outer camera, Major Staedele didn't answer. His face became extremely pale as he watched the nuclear hellfire unleased on the Band of the Damned. The Black Eye made it through, but the entirety of the rest of that force had evaporated in the upper atmosphere.

Luckily there was still time.

"Hanna, get us into a stable high orbit NOW!" he yelled at his aunt, "I don't want us to get even a meter closer to that planet, goddamnit!"

"So, what now Andy?" asked Lieutenant Nedeljko. He knew his friend well and understood that he needed to give the man a minute to think.

"That asshole Vorax was either lying through his teeth or didn't know shit." Andreas clenched a fist, "Motherlode my ass. More like 'Deathtrap'. Fuck it, contract's off. I'm not going to risk our ship in a nuclear gauntlet. Okay, think. Calm down and think…"

He had a breakthrough.

"Prepare to send a message on an open frequency. Make sure the people down on the planet will get it."

"Sir?" the comms officer asked.

"Just do it!"

"Okay, sir. Channel open."

Andreas took a breath.

"This is Major Andreas Staedele of the mercenary unit Buron Cavalry, currently aboard the DropShip Distant Home. Apparently, my employer hired me on false pretenses. As such, I consider my current contract to be null and void. We will not approach the planet any closer unless authorized by local authorities and with a guarantee that we will not be fired upon. On a sidenote, the Buron Cavalry is hereby free for hire and will take any job that doesn't require me to risk this DropShip which is incidentally carrying our dependents."

He signaled for the transmission to be terminated. The entire bridge looked at him like he had just lost his mind.

"What? I'm not going to risk all our lives running that gauntlet. This is our best chance to bypass that, keep all our stuff, and maybe even come out ahead."

"Andy, I-" Nedeljko was cut off.

"Save it. Oh, send a text message to Sanders: Fuck you, Sanders. I'm not gonna get my people nuked. You're on your own. Staedele out."

With that, Andreas settled down into a vacant chair on the bridge asking himself what kind of situation they had just walked into.

Situation Room

White House

President Ryan listened to the somewhat frantic transmission made by the Buron Cavalry. Gears started turning in his head.

"You're not seriously considering that offer." SecState Scott Adler asked.

Ryan simply smiled at him, "Scott, something I've learned in my days in the Agency: When someone is looking to defect under duress, you try to take advantage of them as soon as possible before someone gets to them first."

"Oh, we're taking it." Serov's hologram said simply, "We have the hard currency. The contract is yours to make."

"Get me a line to that ship." A technician punched the appropriate keystrokes, opening the channel.

"This is President Ryan to Major Staedele. Your message had been received. I'm going to have my people draw up the contract and transmit it as soon as possible. Until then, remain in your orbit. Our military will not target your ship unless you take hostile action. Respond, over."

"This is Major Staedele." The voice replied, "Message received. Awaiting contract."

Ryan motioned to mute the comms, "Okay, details."

"We pay them a retainer, the rest to be paid upon completion of contract." Serov said, "Ten million C-bills up front, with another ten upon completion with an option to extend for a period of five years. We retain full command, no salvage rights." The others in the room looked at his image incredulously, "What? I used to do this kind of shit for a living."

"Okay," Ryan said, "Where do we put them?"

"Dover Air Force Base." Joint Chiefs Chairman General Moore said, "We'll escort them down. Serov, can you handle that?"

"Not a problem. I'll have a wing ferry them down."

"Great." Ryan motioned to the tech to open the channel again, "President Ryan to Major Staedele."

"Staedele copies."

"Major, you will surrender all command rights to our personnel, and you will have no salvage rights. You will land at Dover Air Force Base, escorted down by a wing of fighters. Any deviation from this vector will be seen as hostile action and you will be fired upon. When you arrive you will unload your dependents. This is for their safety, we don't want civilians in a war zone. Afterwards you will deploy at our command and will be active for the duration of the conflict. Payment will be a ten-million C-bill retainer with another ten million upon completion of the contract. The completion of the contract will be at our discretion and we will have an option to extend for another five years. Finer details to be transmitted. Over."

"Staedele to Ryan. Just to confirm, you said ten million in retainer and another ten on top?"

"Correct."

"You have yourself a lance. Transmitting account information. Please relay the approach vector, over."

Multi-Purpose Room, DropShip Distant Home

Andreas watched the officers of the Buron Cav as they sat or stood around the table. Most of them were looking just as uncomfortable as he was feeling.

"So, you all heard the offer." Andreas started, "Contract has been transmitted. Anyone have words?"

"Boss, it's ten-million C-bills and they actually delivered." Christine Miller, the youngest MechWarrior in the unit, commented, "How? How do they have that kind of money?"

"Does it matter?" Marie Staedele, Andreas' wife and head tech asked, "This is exactly what we need right the hell when we need it."

"Agreed." Hanna noted, "It's not like we have much choice. If we refuse, who says they won't blow us out of the sky anyways?"

"Then it's decided." Andreas said with finality, "Inform the dependents. Tell them to pack their stuff and that they'll probably be relocated to an installation planet-side. Marie, I want the 'Mechs drop ready yesterday. Ned, Tom, Chris: Ready Room. Marc, infantry on security detail. If they do fuck us over, make 'em bleed for every square centimeter into our ship. Let's get this rolling people."

On his way to his ready room, he had some time to brood. He was sure he missed something in the conversation with Ryan. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Bridge, DropShip Drakon

"We're all gonna die!" Mamoto cried as another distant nuclear explosion rocked the DropShip.

"Shut the fuck up!" Jane Dietrich yelled, "You're not helping!"

"Quiet, both of you!" Lieutenant Koltan cursed from his seat. He'd originally come to the bridge to see what the hell was going on. They were flying like a drunk monkey and it was freaking out all the Dark Wing's dependents. Of course, he had to walk into a madhouse. Jane was pissed, Mamoto was freaking out, and the Motherloders were firing enough nuclear weapons to fight the Second Succession War.

"If you two can't keep your cool, we're all dead." He growled, "Now, someone tell those gunners to shoot at anything that even vaguely resembles a missile that heads to our goddamn ship."

"Thank you." Dietrich sighed.

"Sir, incoming transmission." The comms officer called.

"Who is it?" Mamoto asked.

"Unknown."

"Put it through." Koltan ordered.

"This is Bashar Superior Thomas Serov of the ISV Stilgar to the Drakon, how do you copy?"

"I don't see any ships in orbit…" Dietrich noted.

"You won't unless we want you to." The voice replied.

"This is Captain Mamoto of the Drakon. What do you want?" Mamoto asked, a tinge of fear in his voice.

"Captain, I have been requested by the people of this world to escort you down. I will transmit an approach vector. You will follow it, or the fighters already on your ass will punch some holes in your hull and you'll all burn on the way down."

"He's bluffing," Dietrich called, "I have no contacts on the scope."

"Am I?" The hull of the Drakon shuddered as weapons fire marred its hull, "I will repeat myself once more: You will follow the approach vector I am transmitting to you, or else I will order you erased from existence."

"Mute the channel." Koltan ordered.

"What do we do!?" Mamoto was in near hysterics now.

"If I can't pick them up, I don't think we have a choice." Dietrich said simply, "He's already transmitted the coordinates. I don't feel like burning up in the atmosphere, do you?"

"Fuck me," Koltan muttered, "Fighters we can't see? Nukes? Orbital fucking weapons? I agree with Jane. We surrender and plop down where they tell us to plop down."

"Open the channel." Koltan cleared his throat, "Stilgar, this is Lieutenant Koltan of the Drakon. We will comply with your order. We're approaching on your vector."

"Affirmative, Lieutenant. Good choice. You'll have an old friend waiting for you. Serov out." The comms went silent.

"I-I-I just, I just…" Mamoto was chittering incoherently at this point.

"Shut up, Mamoto." Dietrich spat, "What did he mean by old friend?"

"Who knows." Koltan replied, "I mean, it could be Hale, but that would be impossible."

DropShip Hammer of the Gods

"Hudson, will you shut the fuck up!?" Chief Nigel Murray yelled over his comms.

Normally being wrapped in sixty-five tons of fusion powered 'Mech was enough to make him feel nigh-invincible. Now, the cockpit of his CRD-3L Crusader felt like a mobile steel tomb. Their approach had been an absolute clusterfuck. Nuclear power not seen since the Second Succession War had harried them all the way down, as well as weapons fire from platforms they couldn't see. This wasn't some backwater, ass-backwards world. These people had to been descendants of the legendary General Kerensky, hidden away for hundreds of years. Who else would have the knowledge to produce so many nuclear weapons?

"Ilya," he called to the bridge, "when will we be clear of re-entry blackout? We need to know where we're gonna land!"

"Blackout lifted in three… two… one…" his helmsman called, "we're clear now, Chief! Plotting descent track against planetary geography… oh fuck."

He knew that tone, but things couldn't get any worse, could they? He flipped the settings on one of his monitors to clone the geo-plot from the bridge. Their projected descent vector put them…

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Chief, we're getting a signal from our projected LZ. Routing it to you now."

A new voice came over comms, quite angry.

"…say again, this is General Martin Te Huki of the New Zealand Defense Force to incoming DropShip. If you surrender your forces and land peacefully at the coordinates we specify you will not be harmed. If you deviate from the flight plan or open fire, know that we will make you suffer for every last meter. We will make you bleed. Confirm transmission. Over."

Murray closed his eyes, Fuck everything. We did not sign up for this shit.

Murray shook himself and thumbed over to the all-hands channel.

"Listen up. This is now a straight up raid: In-n-out. Ilya, find a flat spot inside the city. Somewhere close to a lot of valuable or highly populated real estate. Set the Hammer down there. Hopefully these people aren't crazy enough to nuke their own civvies to get at us. All our 'Mechs will hot drop from three-thousand meters up. Our job will be to blaze a trail to the Hammer. Everyone else, establish a perimeter around the DropShip and don't let a soul through. When the militia show up, chew the hell out of 'em. Make 'em too afraid to come near us before Ilya can plot us an escape vector that won't get us annihilated. Tanks and infantry protect the DropShip. 'Mechs keep mobile, break up anything that looks like a coherent strike force. Gerhardt, we're gonna need the probe on your Cyrano to help us spot militia trying to infiltrate towards the Hammer. Get airborne ASAP."

Waiouru, New Zealand

They had been mobilized as soon as the International Orbital Defense Headquarters passed the word of the invasion force's arrival to all the ISA Signatory states, and now everything was ready as it was going to be. The vehicles had been checked, armed, and fueled. The infantry had been issued their new weapons and ammunition: ISA M-7 'Kindjal' Rifles and HW-3 'Inkvine' Anti-Armor/Anti-Air launchers. Each soldier was now their own target designator, increasing their combat potential multi-fold.

Now, the 1st NZ Brigade, the near entirety of the New Zealand Army, could do nothing but the hardest part of soldiering: waiting. They wondered if, when, and where they would be deployed. What would await them when they got there.

It was a bleak, jittery sort of wait. It was made worse by looking up into the bright blue late-spring sky to see the flash-bulb spots of nuclear detonations among the incoming invaders. The troops traded the usual pre-battle banter and jokes. Every man was trying to ignore the oppressive tension hanging in the air and avoid pondering his own mortality. Non-coms and officer occasionally delivered pep talks. Those did some good, but they weren't sparkling successes. The simple truth was that every trooper knew that even with the new weapons and equipment they had received over the past few months their military was primarily a peacekeeping and insurgency-fighting army. What they now faced was the worst kind of fight that could come to the New Zealand Army. Their armor was severely lacking. They had no tanks since retiring its handful of scouts in the early 90s. It only had towed artillery, which despite its upgraded shells were too few for comfort. Their heaviest vehicles were hastily up-gunned NZLAVs with ISA-spec weapons but no real protection against BattleMechs and their contemporaries.

Colonel Hayley Locklear snatched the phone across her office before it rang a second time.

"First Brigade, this is Locklear."

"Colonel, they're trying to get a force planet-side before the orbital defenses chew them to pieces." The Chief of the Defense Forces was an Air Force man, but like Locklear he was in no mood to mince words.

"They've scattered all over God's green Earth, but there's a single DropShip headed our way and it hasn't answered our calls. Experts say it's a Lion-class, so they're anticipating a combined-arms force. Eight 'Mechs and a dozen ground vehicles, backed up by infantry. Current approach vector puts them somewhere in the North Island- hold on." The line went dead for a moment, "Orbital HQ's updated the plot. Bastards are headed for Auckland. Their comms might be out, but I doubt it. Move the Brigade north immediately. If they're hostile, engage. Make every effort to prevent civilian casualties. We can always rebuild buildings. Understood?"

"Sir."

The line went dead. Locklear tried not to think of the mess that many 'Mechs and tanks would make of her command, much less the citizens and poor police and Territorials who'd run into them first.

I hope the Air Force isn't late to the party. She thought to herself, If they are, a lot of people are gonna die for nothing…

Northbound towards Auckland, New Zealand

Twelve F-16s were burning towards Auckland, all of them heavily armed, all of them crewed by hard-eyed pilots with ill intent.

James Garvey had been awarded the New Zealand Gallantry Star for his flight's role in the first Battle of Auckland. It wasn't much consolation. It hadn't rebuilt any of the wrecked buildings or resurrected a single dead civilian.

Fortunately, the new civilian advisors and ISA hardware had given his planes some greatly needed firepower and tactics to defeat these invaders.

If mister Blackbeard thinks he can just wave g'day as he flies up-up-and-away this time around, he's in for a rude bloody shock before he runs back into the nukes!

DropShip Hammer of the Gods

Over Manukau Harbor, New Zealand

"Looks like there some fighters coming up from the south, Chief." Ilya called over comms, "Might be the same ones that hit Mamoto, but it looks like they brought a dozen of 'em. They build planes fast. Okay, descending through four-thousand meters. Opening bay doors."

A moment later, the drop-door opened before Murray's Crusader.

"Holy shit! It's that wet-ship Mamoto ran into!" someone on the bridge screeched.

"Sink the fucker!" a third voice snarled.

The Hammer's gunners would have been flung out of any House gunnery school for their slovenly habits alone, not to mention their adherence to the school of 'spray and pray.' Lucky for them they were shooting near straight down at their target. The Hammer's aft-facing batteries unleashed all the weapons in range, their missiles and lasers clawing at their target.

The HMNZS Otago was not idle. It had been rushed into service, hastily fitted with an ISA pulse laser system and a small rail gun. The pulse laser worked overtime, trying to cut down the missiles that were streaking towards her. Her rail gun fired as fast as it could, trying to keep a firing solution up with the quickly descending DropShip. Three rail gun shots found their marks, cratering the already battle-damaged armor of the Hammer. The DropShip rocked when the rounds hit, nearly jostling a 'Mech out of its bay door.

A few of the missiles managed to evade the watchful eye of the pulse laser, striking the patrol vessel with force, nearly destroying the poor vessel in the first volley. Then came the lasers.

The beams of light sliced through the deck. Two connected with the engine, setting off the fuel in its diesel engines. The engineers were vaporized by the resulting explosion. The other pair cut mercilessly through the bridge, slicing the vessel in half.

The Otago exploded with her crew of forty-five souls aboard.

There were no survivors.

Over the Waikato Valley

Garvey's face tightened as the Otago's radio chatter cut off in a screech of static. The sudden roil of smoke was a black dot at this range, but he didn't have to guess what caused it.

"Now we bloody have you mate." Garvey growled into his oxygen mask. He keyed his radio to the rest of the squadron, "Bogies are hostile, say again hostile. Tiki flight, with me. Weapons hot, switch Hammerhead. All others, hold here."

"Tiki Two."

"Tiki Three."

"Tiki Four."

It was the work of instants for each of the Falcons to get a hard RADAR lock on their target. Even without a positive IFF transponder code, it was rather hard to overlook the metal spheroid ninety meters in diameter. Garvey waited half an instant for good tone.

"Tiki One, Fox-One! Fox-One!" He thumbed the pickle twice.

One of the most galling aspects of the last raid had been watching the Drakon climb skyward, too fast for their Sidewinder missiles and well out of the effectiveness of their missiles. In the preceding months, the ISA had made a few upgrades to their weapons stockpiles. The Malakitona State Industries MAM-5 'Hammerhead' missiles were designed for all manner of targets and utilized chemical engines to maximize their maneuverability and warhead capacity. The New Zealanders weren't in the US when the missiles were demonstrated to their contemporaries, but they had heard of their effectiveness. These were more primitive than the current loadout of the ISAs own F-11 Fedaykin fighters, but they were more than enough for Earth's native forces. The shaped charge in the nose of these missiles carried more explosive force than the Mavericks used to destroy the Hermes II in the first invasion and could lock on air and ground targets. Earth's weapons manufacturers had found these missiles quite easy to fabricate, so the stockpiles were generously shared with all the ISA's Signatory nations.

The first Battle of Auckland had demonstrated that 'Motherlode's' weapons could damage or destroy BattleMechs under the right circumstances, but they had no idea how far they had advanced in such a short amount of time. The Drakon had not seen how far Motherloder weapons could reach, so being shot from more than fifty kilometers away at such low altitude gob smacked the Hammer's sensors officer.

The eight Hammerheads flew true to their target. Seven spread throughout the hull, smashing armor. One nearly blew through a previous rail gun hit, saved only by the fact that section was slightly less battle-damaged before being struck.

The last Hammerhead, Tiki Three's second shot, caught Conchita Torres' Stinger just as it fired its jump jets and exited the 'Mech bays drop door. It detonated against the side of its boxy head, ripping it off completely. The Stinger fell lifelessly into the rocky shore Waimanu Bay.

I haven't even set foot on it yet, but I think I really hate this planet. Murry mused as he watched Torres' 'Mech fall into the bay below. It fell intact, so it might have been retrievable, but that would come later.

"Abort drop! Abort drop!" he yelled into his headset, "Everyone stay inside until we've landed! Ilya, close the damn doors and get us on the ground NOW!"

DropShip Home

150 Kilometers South of Fort Irwin

Captain Li-Feng oversaw the deployment of his forces. His raiders made it through the nuclear hellfire intact, something that he very grateful for. He had decided to land his DropShip south of what looked like a small city. He could smell the loot even one-hundred-fifty kilometers south. A city that big would have countless treasures, and his Union-class could hold them all. He deployed his lance of 'Mechs, his vehicles, his two fighters, and the infantry to raid that city. He could taste the wealth…

75 Kilometers South of Fort Irwin

Simmons hated the desert. Heatsinks weren't as effective, and it was harder to spot things with IR sensors during the day. This particular desert also had a lot of nooks and crannies for things to hide. He was constantly blasting his lasers around the myriad bends, to the endless amusement of his lancemates. Still, there was little chance that the target he spotted earlier would escape him. He had deployed Menk's Wasp and Randall's Jenner out on the flanks to prevent an ambush. They just had to find a good elevated position to wait for the slower lance behind to make their way into contact with the target. They would hit it in the rear while the command lance moved through the slower lance to crush him.

Dansel hated the desert. He had grown to know the desert around Fort Irwin, and he was quite good with Quasimodo at this point, but that did not change his opinion: The desert sucked. The NTC had deployed their forces, and they were assured of air backup soon. It was his job to make initial contact and harry the enemy before they made their way to meet the welcoming committee the brass had set up.

He loved the improvements. The rotary rail gun was a deadly piece of kit. Its ability to render most 'Mechs impotent after a single shot at any range made it one of the most devastating weapons he had ever seen. The paired pulse lasers made short work of anything closer, slicing them to ribbons. The armor upgrades made it so that it could repair over time and withstand even more punishment, rivalling the most potent assault 'Mechs. The shield was the coup-de-grace: the BT universe had never seen defensive technology like this. A physical forcefield able to shrug off anything short of an AC-20. His opponents were in for a very rude surprise.

The first warning Simmons had was a blast that took out his left leg. Left completely unstable, he fell sideways, unable to see where the shot came from. Intense laser fire followed right where his mech was standing. He panicked in that moment, firing his lasers blindly. From beside one of the numerous hills emerged a Hunchback, its signature cannon looking much different than what he remembered.

Dansel leveled his right arm, about to decapitate the prone Griffin when a Jenner rushed him on his left. He swung his torso around, firing the lasers at the approaching 'Mech. The Jenner responded, firing its own laser compliment followed by a missile volley. The Jenner's shots impacted harmlessly on the Hunchback's shields, dispersing the energy all around him. Dansel's shots rang true, decapitating the poor scout. It came skidding to a halt before his feet, the cockpit completely destroyed.

Simmons rotated his Griffin and fired an alpha strike at the Hunchback. The lasers and missiles did nothing against an invisible barrier that seemed to surround the standing 'Mech. His mouth was agape, looking in horror as this seemingly invincible Hunchback fired its lasers at his cockpit.

Dansel looked down at the Griffin, its cockpit obliterated, its left leg blown off its joint. Quasimodo was now unmatched. Its dominance complete. The Wasp charging from his left didn't get the memo. The twenty-ton 'Mech rounded a hill, firing its laser and missiles as fast as it possibly could. They were completely ineffectual. Dansel turned his attention to the new arrival. Dansel went for an alpha strike, full rail gun burst. Six rail gun rounds tore into the Wasp's legs, causing the poor 'Mech to topple backwards. The lasers sliced off the arms, leaving just a battered torso and cockpit laying face up. Dansel flipped on the external speakers.

"Now if you'll refrain from making any transmissions and eject when I tell you, I won't have to hunt you down and dismember you like I did your 'Mech. Cool?"

CIC, Fort Irwin

"Dansel's doing a fine job out there." Commander Simeonov noted, "Good to see the improvements we've made are working a treat."

Fort Irwin went into overdrive when the President's order went out. Being on the cutting edge of weapons testing, it had received the upgraded weapons and armor first. All of infantry were issued Kindjal Rifles and Inkvine Launchers. The vehicles were properly upgraded: rail guns, pulse lasers, shields, armor. Their VTOL craft had weapons appropriate to kill their targets and were shielded.

"Commander, it's Bashar Serov." Called the communications officer.

"Put him through."

Serov's holographic image appeared before him, "Commander, how goes the battle?"

"It goes, sir. I'm sending our tactical uplink." Simeonov nodded to the comms officer.

"I'm seeing this." Serov paused a moment, "Wait, is that our Hunchback in battle by itself?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. He hopped into the 'Mech before we could stop him, and he's been doing a good job keeping the enemy off balance. He's managed to kill three of their 'Mechs before they've even ran into our battle line."

"Is that prudent?"

"Well, sir, I don't know that we could stop him even if we tried."

"I see." Serov's image turned to the General in command, "General, do you need air support?"

"We would appreciate it." she replied, "That DropShip only has two fighters, but we'd rather not tangle with those things if we could avoid it."

"I have a wing coming your way. Callsign Omega."

"Thank you, Bashar."

"Well, I have to check in with the rest of this fuckin' mess. Good luck, all." Serov's image disappeared from the holo display.

"Is he always so brash?" the General asked.

"Yeah. There are other members of the Basharate he kind of pisses off. Don't worry, though. He's very good at what he does."

50 Kilometers South of Fort Irwin

Burgess Hale sat in the back of the modified Stryker. He was a 'MechWarrior, and yet here he was as a poor bloody infantryman. It was a strange thing, these ISA and Earth types. They put a lot of stock on their infantry quality. These vehicles were a damn sight more spacious than any he had seen in his time with the AFFS, and the weapons and armor upgrades he and the rest of his comrades now possessed were unreal. This tiny twenty-ton vehicle could stand toe-to-toe with their Inner Sphere counterparts and prevail.

They were waiting. Waiting ever so patiently for enemy contact. The long hours were nerve-wracking, but he was used to it. Waiting for a combat drop, it was pretty much the same. He heard a call from the front.

"Contact!" Lieutenant Banderas called, "We have enemy armor incoming. Infantry is close behind. Standby."

What are we 'standing by' for? Hale wondered. His question was answered a minute later as he heard a series of explosions from outside the vehicle.

"Choppers nailed 'em. Time to mop up. We're moving forward."

Well, if I get to stay in this can the entire time and live, I'm okay with that.

Skies over Fort Irwin

The pair of Transit fighters circled again over the battlefield, trying to provide intelligence for their forces below. They caught sight of a Hunchback pushing forward alone. The pair switched their autocannons on and began an attack run.

Unbeknownst to them, a wing of F-11 Fedaykin fighters were closing fast. Coming from above, the Transits had no idea until a RADAR indicator started screaming at them about a missile lock. From seventy-five kilometers away, the four Fedaykins each fired a pair of MAM-7 'Tiger Shark' missiles at their targets, causing them to break off their engagement and redirect their anger at the incoming missiles

The Transit pilots thought they could fly head long into the missiles, relying on their armor to power through and close the distance with to engage with their impressive knife-fighting weapons. Unfortunately, their sensors couldn't find their counterparts. The Fedaykins had no such problem. Four missiles pounded into the first Transit, tearing off a wing and sending it tumbling towards the Earth. The second Transit tried to break off, but caught all four missiles to its aft side, tearing the craft to pieces. The first Transit pilot managed to eject, but the second wasn't so lucky. The missiles had managed to mangle the electronics, seizing up the ejection controls. A quick burst from a Fedaykin's pulse lasers quickly put that pilot to rest, sending the remains tumbling down.

75 Kilometers South of Fort Irwin

Dansel blasted a Blackjack with his rail gun, coring the 'Mech. It fell over unceremoniously, useless to help its comrades. A Phoenix Hawk came in from above, trying to smash into Quasimodo with its legs. Dansel readjusted, looking up and firing his pulse lasers at the approaching forty-five ton 'Mech. They sliced through the legs, bisecting each leg as the Hawk came crashing down. It slammed into his shields, harmlessly raining debris around him. The upper half crashed face-first into the desert floor, leaving it useless for the rest of the battle. The thirty-ton trashcan known as the Urbanmech came trundling in front of its heavier comrades, firing its AC-20. A shell hit the shields, nearly overloading them. Dansel fired his railgun at the trashcan, but not before it was able to squeeze off one more round. Dansel's shields collapsed.

"Shit." He cursed, "Well, let's hope the armor holds."

A particle cannon fired into his right leg, melting some of the armor. Dansel scanned for the shooter. He spotted it. A Panther hidden behind a Rifleman. The Rifleman fired its payload, scarring the armor of Quasimodo for the first time in the course of battle.

CNN reporter Barry Wise suppressed a wince as one of the autocannon shots roared overhead. Even at this distance and being nowhere near the line of fire that was the third near miss so far as they scrambled to keep the action in shot.

"This is Barry Wise, once again reporting on the ongoing action outside Fort Irwin. This is the third engagement with the invaders which Earth's premier experimental 'mech has participated, and it is the first that it has received any real damage. My technical consultant informs me that what the Hunchback is doing and how it is shrugging off deadly fire is completely at odds with all BattleTech standards. We are given to understand that the United States' cooperation with the Independent Systems Alliance has given the US access to technology not native to the BT universe, but this is the first we are seeing it in action. I remind the viewers that this footage is not in real time, so as to keep from compromising the operations of our military against-"

"Jesus!" the cameraman cried, interrupting Wise as a burst of laser fire blew off an arm of the Rifleman.

"I-I can't, this isn't right! Not even the Star League had technology like this! Even the Clans would have a tough time matching that!" The crew's 'technical expert,' an intern attached to Wise who was intimately familiar with the BattleTech universe, stammered as a burst of rail gun fire danced across the Rifleman's armor, tearing off the other arm and knocking it down, "If this is the tech we have now, God help the Inner Sphere…"

The Panther, having lost its cover, unleashed an alpha strike against the advancing Hunchback. The PPC shot hit the torso while missiles closed in. The pulse lasers sliced the missiles out of the air, their broken forms covering the steady advance of the imposing Hunchback. It fired its shoulder-mounted rail gun again. The results were unforgiving. The Panther turned into a pile of scrap in that moment. The battle was won, and the Hunchback made it out in one piece.

DropShip Home

Captain Li-Feng tried to raise his lances. None of them responded. He tried his two aerospace pilots. Nothing. Armor. Nothing.

I suppose I have to contact the meat sacks.

"Raise the infantry commander." Li-Feng commanded his comms officer, "I need a status report."

The comms officer nodded and motioned for him to begin speaking.

"This is the Captain. What is the situation out there?"

"We- ov-un!" the voice answered, static filling the line.

"Say again. I can't understand you."

"We're being overrun! We can't see them! We need to retreat!"

"Impossible." Li-Feng scoffed, "How are these backwater peasants pushing you back?"

"We. Can't. S-" the line died in static.

"Sir!" The sensors officer called, "We have incoming!"

"How many?"

"I… I…"

"Spit it out, damnit!"

"Hundreds of them!"

CIC, Fort Irwin

"Tell them to hold and have one of them paint the DropShip." The General commanded.

"Done, Ma'am." The communications officer responded.

"Good. Open a channel with the DropShip."

"Channel open."

"Unknown DropShip, this is General Nicole Steiner of the United States Army. Power down your weapons and surrender."

"This is Captain Li-Feng of the DropShip Home." Li-Feng's face appeared on the comms screen, "I don't believe your weapons can harm me. Do your worst."

She nodded to another officer. She saw the image of Li-Feng's face shake.

"That wasn't a ground weapon. That was an orbital strike at twenty-five percent power."

"What kind of damage did that weapon deal!?" Li-Feng screamed at an off-screen officer.

"Next one goes straight into the bridge. Or, if you'd like I can order all those ground forces to give you nice funeral pyre. Your call, Captain."

Li-Feng's face twisted into a pained expression.

"Clock is ticking."

"Okay! Okay. Fine. We surrender."

"Good. Stand down and prepare to be boarded."

Bridge, DropShip Jolly Roger

Above Camp Dodge, Iowa

MechWarrior Natalie Rosswood, the self-styled 'Black Widow,' found herself in an interesting position. The man next to her, Jacob Morgan, offered her an interesting proposition after she and Dana had their way with him. He offered their little company a ridiculous contract: two and a half million C-bill retainer, with five million upon completion of the contract to defend the planet; no salvage; full command right surrendered to her employers. She thought he was off his rocker, but when they agreed the retainer was immediately wired to the company account. Then, when their Leopard was on final approach to a surface military base, she heard the comms and saw the flashes. These Motherloders were using nukes to defend their planet, and a whole hell of a lot more than any successor state had. It was then she realized that her company had made the right choice.

Morgan had taken command of the comms, guiding their Leopard safely through what she assumed would be a nuclear gauntlet.

"Alright, we have clearance to land." Morgan reported.

"What do we do?" Rosswood asked.

"You sit tight and please don't do anything stupid like try to lift off without permission or anything like that. You won't survive."

"I-" Rosswood was cut off

"Natalie, please. We've had a wing of fighters escorting us down the entire way. If they wanted us gone from the skies, we're dead."

"Who are you?" Natalie wondered out loud.

Morgan smiled, deflecting the question, "We're just about to land. When we land, the base's commanding officer will speak to us."

Without another word, their Leopard landed on a runway. Natalie Rosswood was left to wonder as Jacob Morgan quickly departed the bridge.

Lieutenant Morgan walked out the cargo bay doors, greeted by what looked like the entire base's garrison and their commanding officer.

"Colonel." Morgan saluted the superior officer.

"Lieutenant." He returned Morgan's salute, "Hell of a coup. I hear we've also hired another company."

"Really?" Morgan looked around at the assembled soldiers, vehicles, and helicopters, "I see you're not taking any chances."

"I'd rather not." The Colonel motioned up the ramp, "Shall we?"

"Of course."

"Jesus, Steiner, Davion, Marik and Liao!" Exclaimed the DropShip's eccentric Captain Roger Jircniv Farlord el Nix, "I think they have the entire base aiming guns at us!"

"Are you surprised, old man?" commented infantry commander Tibalt Glasser, "We were bringing the noise, they brought louder speakers."

"You got that right." Natalie noted, "Fuckers have a lot of nukes, and they're not afraid to use them. Vorax kicked the hornet's nest…"

"They won't use the nukes on Port Kirin, will they?" Glasser asked, "I mean, that's against the Ares Conventions."

"If these people followed the Ares Conventions, there wouldn't be nuclear hellfire as the others tried to enter the atmosphere."

"Good point."

The door to the bridge opened. In entered Morgan followed by a tall black man in combat fatigues.

"Everyone," Jacob began, "This is Colonel Bartlett. He's the commanding officer of Camp Dodge."

"Good to meet you all." Bartlett extended his hand to Rosswood. She returned the handshake.

"Okay, the situation is evolving. We've just gotten word of a DropShip landing in Nevada." Morgan walked over to the tactical station and plugged in a device, "Let's see who it is…"

"What the hell are ya doin' to my ship!" el Nix yelled, "Yeh can't just go around messing with shit! What if you-"

"Alright, we have IFF transponder IDs of all the DropShips. The one landing in Nevada is… the Shadow Wing."

"Oh shit…" Rosswood breathed.

"Is that a problem, Natalie?" Morgan asked.

"That's the leader of this bunch. Dark Wing battalion." She took a breath to steady herself, "They have assault 'Mechs. Goddamn assaults. We'd be torn to pieces."

"I've been briefed on assault 'Mech capabilities." The Colonel chimed in, "I think they'll be in for a nasty surprise."

DropShip Shadow Wing

60 Kilometers North of Roswell, New Mexico

"Bridge, Dark Wing Six," Sanders said as he felt the Dropship slow for landing. "Give me a sitrep. What's the situation on the ground, Jim?"

"Dark Wing Six, Bridge," came the instant reply. "LZ looks clear of any living soul. There's some kind of town about 48 kilometers south of our position, so any locals there will probably have seen us come down."

"Okay, what's the terrain like?" Sanders asked as he felt the Dropship touch down.

"It's pretty flat," came the cheerful reply. "Not much cover so we can see and shoot at anyone trying to get to us. It's also a bit warm. It's your basic scrub brush desert."

"Wait a minute," Sanders said slowly. "Are you telling me you set us down in the middle of nowhere with nothing the locals might consider too valuable to destroy?"

"Yes… is that a problem?"

Visions of being in the middle of a nuclear dart board danced before Sanders' eyes.

"No…. not at all," Sanders replied. "Just make damn sure you maintain good air watch and don't let any of the Motherloders drop a nuke on top of you."

"Uh…"

"Now let us out," Sanders growled. As the Dropship doors opened and the mech cradles released the Mechs, Sanders asked, "Where can we expect hostile resistance to come from?"

"There's what looks like a militia airfield about a few hundred kilometers to the southwest. I've sent a pair of our aerospace fighters, the Sparrowhawks, to check it out. The Shilones are currently flying CAP over the LZ."

Holloman Air Force Base

"Sir, I have a pair of hostile bogies inbound at Mach 1.5," a RADAR tech reported.

"Hmm… Any sign they've noticed the Nighthawks or Raptors?" General Brian Brass asked.

The planes had been launched when it became all but certain that one of the invading DropShips would be landing in his area of responsibility. Tests had shown that existing stealth methods would be effective against BT sensor suites. Their existing planes had received upgraded missiles, the MAM-5 'Hammerheads,' from their new ISA benefactors but they couldn't continually put those weapons on target thanks to the lack of microfabricators on their planes. The Raptors had downscaled ISA pulse lasers, powered down so they could operate without the worry of the immense power draw that required a fusion engine. The Nighthawks were carrying more conventional weapons, but who knows? They might work here.

"If they have, they're not giving any sign of it, sir," the tech replied apologetically.

"Okay, then," Bass said thoughtfully. He turned to his flight control people. "All planes are to not engage enemy fighters for now. Order them to proceed to the LZ and maintain a position within strike distance while waiting for the attack order. And for God's sake, try not to get spotted by them."

"And the inbound bogies, sir?"

"Engage with every SAM we got," Bass answered. Those were expected to work perfectly fine. He studied the RADAR image. "Hmm. Have the SAMs stand by and have them ready to fire on my command. Let's see if we can't lure them a little deeper into our web."

Dark Wing Recon Flight

"Damn it, there's another one," Josh "Raven" Kress swore.

"There just sensor ghosts, Raven," replied his wingman, Jean Paul "Crow" Demarco. "Must be more of that lostech we heard about. The Motherloders are trying to screw with our sensors using ECM or something. Ignore it."

"Okay, okay," Kress grumbled. "Shadow Wing, this is Raven. We're almost on top of the base now and no resistance so far. I'm seeing lots of runway so far and that's about it. Are you sure this is a military base?"

"Wait a sec, Raven," Demarco broke in. "I'm getting a lot of RADAR sources pinging us, way too many to be some civilian airfield."

"Then why haven't they fired on- HOLY SHIT!"

A virtual tidal wave of missiles rose up from Holloman Air Force Base below as every AA missile launcher vomited fire at the pair of light aerospace fighters intruding on their air space. And these weren't the swarms of small missiles that the two aerospace pilots were used to seeing. These missiles were big, in some cases almost as big as their fighters. That alone made them very intimidating to people who were used to missiles no bigger than their arm.

Even though they were "light" fighters by BT standards, both Sparrowhawks were armored well enough to take a couple hits even from these missiles. But more there were more than a couple and each Sparrowhawk was hammered by dozens of such missiles.

In Kress' case, this was pure overkill as one missile stuffed itself into a tailpipe before exploding. Kress died as his fighter was turned into a massive fireball.

Demarco was luckier. He managed to eject even as his fighter was disintegrated by the multitude of shockwaves from impacting missiles. And by some miracle, none of the flying shrapnel flying about hit anything vital on him or his ejection seat as he punched out.

Debris rained down on Holloman, doing some damage to the buildings, but not much, and nothing of any significance. There were Air Force Security Forces waiting to greet a thoroughly scratched and bloodied Demarco when his parachuted-self touched down.

Shadow Wing LZ

Six Battlemasters accompanied by six mere heavy mechs of the Dark Wing's First Mech Company spread out around the Shadow Wing to cover all approaches to the Dropship. These mechs had been the foundation of Sanders' mercenary career, salvaged from an ancient Star League weapons cache. There wasn't much in the way of advanced lostech, but the mechs and weapons were in good condition which was more than could be said of many mechs in the Inner Sphere is these fallen times.

Now for all Sanders' knew, these mechs could be all that was left of the Dark Wing. He knew at least one Dropship had been outright destroyed by surface to space fire, but of the rest, especially the Drakon which was carrying the Dark Wing's dependents, he was in the dark.

Damn the Motherloders and damn Vorax too! He thought. He had suspected that this job was too easy, but he never in his worst nightmares expected to see nuclear weapons being tossed around.

There was that mysterious base that had shot down two of his Sparrowhawks. The Dropship hadn't been able to see much but thought that the fire was likely to have been from fixed defenses. The Sparrowhawks had reported that the base had looked mostly empty before they had been shot down. And given that only a blind man could miss the Shadow Wing landing, that meant that whatever forces were housed on that base had already left the base and were coming for them. But they couldn't be heading in a straight line for the LZ or else the Sparrowhawks would have seen them. So, they must be taking an indirect route to try and catch Sanders by surprise. Only, where were they?

"Shadow Wing, this is Six," Sanders said over the command channel. "Any signs of the locals yet?"

"Nothing yet, Six," came the reply. "The Shilones are watching the ground like hawks and they're not seeing anything except what's clearly civilian traffic, and not much of that either. On the other hand, we're starting to pick up sensor ghosts, so we think the locals are starting to play ECM games with us. Either that or all our scanning equipment is packing up at the same time."

"I don't like this," Sanders muttered. "The locals have to be out there. Tell the Shilones to widen their patrol pattern."

Something blipped on Sanders RADAR but was gone before his mind really registered it. Just a sensor ghost, he thought. But it could be an indication that the locals were screwing with his Warhammer's scanners, which would mean that they must be close. He scanned the terrain in the blip's general direction but didn't see so much as a truck.

"Sir, we have an incoming transmission."

"Who? Is it the Drakon?" Sanders voice perked up with a touch of hope.

"Unknown, sir. They wish to speak to the commander of this unit."

"Put them through."

"Colonel Sanders, I presume." The voice said.

"Identify yourself." Sanders responded.

"Bashar Yuki Nagato of the ISV Chani. I have a very simple command for you, Colonel: Stand down."

"Why would we do that?" Sanders questioned.

"We have the Drakon, Colonel. From what I understand, it carries your dependents."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Do not worry, Colonel. No harm will come to them. We do not engage in the wanton violence of slaughtering noncombatants. What we do engage in is the destruction and subjugation of enemy combatants."

"What?"

"Colonel, as we speak I have a wing of fighters piloted by native fighter pilots of the country you have invaded. They are on their way. If you do not stand down, they will destroy you."

"Impossible."

"Is it?"

Dark Wing Air Patrol

Denise "Nightshade" Kurosawa made another pass over the stupid little town in her Shilone aerospace fighter. The Shilone was a flying wing design and carried a respectable weapons load for a medium fighter. The only problem was that there was nothing to use those weapons on. After her ride got nuked, she was just itching to return the hurt that these supposedly "primitive" yokels had given her people. Unfortunately, the bosses all insisted that she keep a lookout for actual military threats, so strafing that town was out of the question for now.

"This is useless," she complained. "There's no army out here waiting to pounce on the ground pounders. We should just go in and get that base."

"They're out here, Nightshade," replied her wingman, Jack "Spacebat" Hernandez replied. "I can feel it. And this ECM we're getting hit with proves it, even if it is behaving a bit weirdly."

"That's probably just some camouflaged van with ECM gear parked in the middle of this desert," Kurosawa replied, leaning back in her seat. "Cause I ain't seen anything like an…"

It was only the fact that her head was tilted back that allowed her to see it. At the same time a sensor ghost momentarily appeared on her RADAR display, a black speck cruised across her line of sight, darting from one cloud to another. For a moment, Kurosawa wondered if she had just imagined it when another pair of specks appeared. Her eyes darted to her RADAR display which remained blissfully unaware.

"Aircraft!" she shouted in, anxiety rising. She gunned her engine and started climbing. "I have aircraft is our AO and they're above us!"

"Nightshade, what?" Hernandez replied. "I'm not reading anything."

"Nightshade, this is Shadow Wing. Can you confirm contact with local aircraft? Our RADAR isn't showing anything."

"Neither is mine, but I saw them," Kurosawa insisted. "They're using the clouds to stay out of sight and… There's one!"

The black shape couldn't have been more than a couple kilometers away and she was behind it. It should have been an easy shot. But her missiles failed to lock on and went wide. Her large laser while close, missed and must have alerted the other pilot that he was being shot at because the plane jerked away in an obvious evasion attempt. Kurosawa scowled when she realized that in addition to being RADAR invisible, the local plane was also not generating an IR signature that she could lock onto.

Distracted by the darting specs, she barely had time to notice the incoming missiles.

"Tally-ho, tally-ho!" Captain Bronco Winters, US Airforce, called over the radio, "Prepare another volley!"

Already an ace thanks to abortive war between the Chinese and the Russians, Captain Bronco Williams' flight was selected to serve aboard the ISV Chani as the US contribution to the Chani's wing. The F-11 Fedaykin fighters were leaps and bounds above his old F-15. G-compensation combined with the advanced flight suit he was issued allowed him and his flight achieve maneuvers previously impossible by the physical limitations of the human body. The Fedaykin was truly an extension of his body, more so than any other plane he had ever flown.

The fighter he had locked on to broke skyward, attempting to break the missile lock.

"Eagle One to Holloman," Winters called on the radio, "engaging the enemy."

"Roger, Eagle One." Holloman Air Control confirmed, "We'll clear the air space. Good hunting."

"Eagle One to flight, volley on my mark then close the distance." Winters cranked the throttle and prepared to thumb his flight stick.

"Eagle One, Fox-One! Fox-One! Fox-One! Fox-One!"

Alerts blared at Kurosawa as suddenly over a dozen RADAR signatures appeared on her display. Only they weren't local planes, they were missiles. On reflex, she threw her Shilone into a barrel roll to evade the missiles. It barely helped. A couple of the damned things exploded behind her and destroyed her rear mounted SRM.

"Spacebat, break!" she screamed over the radio. Four sleek black shapes flashed overhead, raking her Shilone with laser fire. Control surfaces were barely responding.

"Spacebat, eject!" not a moment later, Kurosawa hit the eject button as four more missiles utterly destroyed her machine.

"Colonel, stand down." The voice repeated over Sanders radio.

Sanders could only watch helplessly as the last two fighters in his company were swatted from the skies.

"All mech units, we have hostile aircraft incoming from the south. Aircraft are invisible, I repeat, invisible to RADAR! Use visual targeting to engage!"

Sanders' head snapped up. He quelled the instant protest that came to his lips. Why, with purely visual targeting, his people would be lucky to hit targets at a few hundred meters, never mind fast moving aircraft.

Even as he quelled that thought, his eyes locked onto a formation of black specks skimming under the cloud level. His eyes darted to his RADAR and confirmed that they were indeed not showing up there. He laid crosshairs across a speck and triggered his PPCs. Both artificial lightning bolts reached out… and hit nothing, not even a cloud. Sanders saw a few other PPC bolts reach out and even a few lasers, again with equally depressing results.

A Warhammer next to him was hit with a volley of missiles. Barely standing, the Warhammer tried to fight back, firing a PPC shot uselessly into the sky.

"Colonel, those pilots will destroy you. Stand down."

"Sanders to all units! Fall back to the DropShip! We'll get torn apart out here!"

He changed the channel back to the unknown voice, "Okay, Nagato. What are your terms?"

Situation Room

White House, United States of America

"We broke them."

"Excuse me?" Jack Ryan asked.

"The orbital platforms." Responded General Mickey Moore, "They broke them. Our forces are defeating their elements in kind. Europe and Asia have already reported capturing multiple DropShips, including the ones we've forced down. Bashar Serov?"

Attention turned to the holographic image at the other end of the room.

"We've put out the infernos and we're now working on the brushfires." Serov's hologram reported, "Their largest force, the one lead by one Colonel Sanders, has surrendered to us. The Drakon is secure at Fort Irwin. We may want to employ Sanders like we did with Staedele and the crew of the Jolly Roger. Combat leaders like that are few and far between, and we could use their experience in Inner Sphere tactics."

"Do you think that's prudent?" Ryan responded, "It seems more than a little reckless."

"Ryan, I was a mercenary before I got to my current gig. You treat 'em right, pay 'em well, give them no reason to turn against you, they'll be your best friend."

"What about someone else outbidding us, causing them to turn?" Moore asked.

"That's why you treat them well. Give them good intel. Treat them like the valuable assets they are. Treat them as though they are your own soldiers."

"From what I've read in the source material, it doesn't seem to be commonplace to treat mercs well."

"No, but we can change that. I'll ask Merlow about starting our own contract board."

"So," Ryan wanted to redirect the conversation back to more pressing matters, "Initial contacts are looking good, but what about in countries that haven't signed on with us."

"Well, the most notable are the DropShips that have landed in the Middle East and Africa." Moore continued, "The Middle East is interesting. Apparently one of the invaders turned on the others, working to defend Mecca. Africa is a different kettle of fish there. One Union-class DropShip has landed in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. We can take it, but they were one of the countries that voted against joining us."

"There are UN Peacekeepers there," Ryan said, "We can't leave them out to dry."

"Very true, sir, but I think we may want to help the Saudis first. Last reports indicate a rather large force bearing down on Mecca. Can you get some guys down there, Serov?"

"We have people on the Chani that are of the faith itchin' for a fight. I think they'd love a chance to defend the holiest site in the Islamic faith. I'll deploy them and a flight."

The table's holographic display lit up with a new threat indicator.

"Shit." Moore muttered, "They've landed in Chicago…"

Troop Transport Corrin

En Route Planet-side

"Change of plans, people!" the transport pilot called over the intercom, "We're headed for Chicago!"

Staff Sergeant Katrina Brietbarth, US Army, sat patiently in her seat. She had volunteered to be transferred to the Chani as the first wave of infantry to train with the ISA as a direct part of their military. She was Military Police in the US Army, but the ISA did not care. It placed merit above all else, and one of the officers recognized her abilities to be a leader. So, here she was, commanding a squad in a sci-fi transport about to help save the world.

The entire infantry company loaded on to the transport were from Earth. All from the US Army, all angry and eager to fight an enemy so hell-bent on invading their country. The vehicle crews were the same, trained quickly in the operation of these highly advanced ISA ground craft. They understood that even with advanced technology, they were never to be complacent. That had already bitten the United States in multiple conflicts, and the ISA were used to fighting outnumbered. Smart and powerful, that was the ISA's philosophy to a T.

The transport approached Chicago's Midway International Airport. The distinct sights and sounds of war were already in the air. The DropShip had unloaded its infantry and 'Mechs, firing on the police and National Guardsman already occupying the airport. They were severely outgunned: They hadn't received any upgraded equipment yet.

One of the 'Mechs, a Dragon, fired its AC-10 at the landing transport. To its utter dismay, it did absolutely nothing as the shields absorbed the damage. The Dragon fired again and again, each shot doing nothing to the target. The Dragon was rewarded for its efforts with a hail of missile fire from the Fedaykin fighters that escorted the transport down. It was erased from existence.

The transport was much closer than any of the soldiers expected to the DropShip, but they needed to draw heat away from their under armed comrades already dying out there. The fighters provided cover, firing missiles and strafing with pulse laser fire to draw the attention of the DropShip and the 'Mechs on the ground. As the fighters continued their bloody business, the Corrin unloaded its payload of infantry and vehicles. Two MBV Ix Tanks took the lead, followed by four IFV Vernius Infantry Vehicles. Infantry not assigned to the vehicles followed close behind and used the vehicles as cover.

They broke for the buildings, moving quickly, firing at enemy in the center of the runways.

DropShip Ghost's Vengeance's LZ

Midway International Airport

"New contacts!" a voice blared over the comms, "A dropship just dropped tanks and infantry!"

Major Vernon Brown was already engaged with the RADAR-invisible fighters. He couldn't get a lock, he couldn't land a shot. The infantry his company had initially engaged were easy. They were hardly making a dent. They were annoying, weaving from position to position, firing at his 'Mechs and his infantry. The dropship and its fighter compliment were an unwelcome surprise. Their dropship didn't pick them up at all on their sensors, only revealing themselves after breaking cloud cover. The ship looked as big as a Leopard and brought a hell of a presence with it. These vehicles and that ship had some sort of invisible barrier that protected them from fire, as Harmon, his lancemate in the Dragon found out to his utter detriment.

Brown swung his Awesome around and volley fired his PPCs at the nearest vehicle. It looked like a tank, but a design his computer couldn't make out. The artificial lightning crackled all around the tank, revealing the bubble of energy protecting it.

What in the fuck!? He thought, That's impossible!

The tank responded, firing its main weapon at a nearby Powerman. The militarized HaulerMech was maimed, its right torso blown clean off. It was knocked down, out of the fight for now. One of the vehicles unleashed a volley of missiles at his Awesome, his armor cracked and cratered. He checked the armor levels. Fifty-percent of his armor was shattered by a single missile volley.

"Damnit!" Brown switched on the comms, "All 'Mechs, focus fire on the vehicles and tanks! We're getting torn apart here!"

Another one of his lancemates fell that instant, destroyed by another volley of missiles from the fighters above.

"Boss!" Wasp pilot Richardson called, "We have to fall back!"

"Goddamnit!" Brown fired another volley of PPCs at the tank, "Vengeance, for fuck's sake, we need fire support! Kill us a vehicle!"

"We're down two turrets!" The Vengeance responded, "Those fighters, they're killing our weapons!"

"Fire what you have!"

The gunners on the Ghost's Vengeance swung the remaining turrets around and began firing on the vehicles circling their comrades. The large lasers tried to tear their way through the IFVs, but their efforts were in vain. The invisible barriers held. The remaining missile batteries unleashed their fury, eighty missiles lashing out in anger. Those efforts were in vain. The turrets on the IFVs locked on to the incoming missiles and swatted them out of the sky, their pulse lasers tore the explosive metal birds in twain.

"Fuck!" Brown yelled, "Where is our air cover!?"

Skies over Chicago

A Lucifer and Sparrowhawk launched from the Ghost's Vengeance were already in a bind. They were told that Motherlode only had airbreathing lightly armored aircraft. They were completely taken aback by the appearance of four highly advanced and heavily armored aerospace fighters.

The Sparrowhawk tried to engage one of the fighters, but found it was completely outmatched. It couldn't get a lock, and found its opponent was able to match them turn for turn in a dogfight. It fired its laser compliment at it but missed by a wide margin. Another fighter latched on to the Sparrowhawk's tail, lashing its rear with its own laser fire. The rear armor was completely slagged, melted by the high energy weapons. The Sparrowhawk pulled up, hoping that would break off its pursuer, but that was futile. The fighter matched its maneuver, both fighters screaming skyward with their powerful engines.

The Fedaykin fighter unleashed a round of missiles and continued to pursue, hoping to drive the Sparrowhawk pilot into making a grave mistake. It did. The Sparrowhawk nosed down, slowing it just enough for the missiles on its tail to catch up with its nonexistent rear armor. Three of the four missiles connected. The Sparrowhawk erupted into a fireball, raining debris on the city below.

The Lucifer now found itself alone, facing off against four fighters its sensors couldn't see. It tried to climb into the clouds to evade its enemy, but that was no use. The Fedaykins found it. Sixteen missiles were hunting it down, filling its cockpit with alert noise. It broke into a dive, hoping that whatever guidance system those missiles were using couldn't keep up with its maneuvers. It shook off some of them, but not all. Seven missiles found their mark, tearing their prey to shreds. All that was left of the Vengeance's fighter support was debris falling harmlessly from the sky.

"Air cover is gone, Major!" the Vengeance cried over comms, "Their fighters are unreal!"

"Fall back!" Brown ordered, "Fall back to the DropShip! Vengeance, take down as many of these fucks as you can before we take off! 'Mechs, infantry, fighting retreat!"

He backpedaled his Awesome as quickly as he could and fired his weapons all the while. He kept taking hits, each one nearly knocked him off his feet. The tank drivers were damn good, and the fact that he couldn't harm them at all made him panic a little.

Another one of his 'Mechs went down, this time a Stinger. Both legs were blown out from under it, knocking out the pilot and taking another valuable 'Mech out of the fight. His only other assault 'Mech, a Zeus, was barely standing. It had sustained multiple hits from the vehicles and was down to its lasers.

He fired another PPC volley at a tank, and this time one of the blasts actually hit. He cried out in triumph, thinking that he finally landed a killing blow. To his dismay, the tank shrugged off the lightning blast and responded, blowing off his left arm. He cursed wildly.

"How the FUCK are these things still alive!"

Brietbarth kept firing, keeping herself behind the advancing IFV. She didn't want to be out of position in case the shields collapsed. The invaders were trying to fight their way back to their ship, firing their weapons to cover their retreat. The enemy infantry was fairly well organized, but they were no match for the vehicles the ISA provided. Another missile volley was launched from her IFV, destroying another light 'Mech. They realized that if that DropShip managed to make it off the ground, it would kill indiscriminately until it was brought down. Time was of the essence to capture it before it was too late.

"Pour it on 'em!" she commanded, "Choose your targets, stick to the armor!"

"Sarge!" one of her soldiers pointed up at the DropShip.

They saw one of the turrets pointed straight at them, prepared to fire its weapons.

"Tanaka!" Briethbarth called, "AT, kill that thing!"

Corporal Tanaka, a fresh-faced young man, shouldered his Inkvine launcher and fired at the offending turret. The weapon pierced the housing, hitting the ammo stores and completely destroying the turret. They were lucky, the turret had already sustained damage from the fighters above, allowing for such a hit.

Another 'Mech fell in front of them, victim of one of the tanks.

Brown managed to make it back to the landing ramp, his Awesome battered. Only his comrade in the Zeus was remaining out of the eight 'Mechs he deployed. No loot, six 'Mechs gone and countless infantry lost. This 'Motherlode' was the death of his pirate career. The landing door closed. His remaining forces made it back, but they certainly weren't out of the woods yet.

"Sir," his command line came alive, "They're demanding our surrender."

"Fuck that! We'll be tortured and executed!"

"We can't escape the atmosphere, sir. The moment we clear, we'll be subject to their orbital network."

"We find another target, then." Brown snarled, "We make them pay for every last poor bastard they've killed."

The DropShip rocked violently.

"What in the fuck was that?"

"Unknown, sir! It didn't come from the fighters or vehicles outside." The comms officer paused a moment, "Sir, communication coming in. They've ceased fire and wish to discuss terms."

Brown shook his head, "Put them through. Be ready to fire up the engines and weapons."

"Am I finally talking to someone in charge?" the voice asked over the comms.

"Who is this!?" Brown yelled.

"The man whose putting orbital shots into your DropShip. If you'd like, I can put an actual hole in it."

"Bullshit! All we saw were nukes tearing ships apart in orbit!"

"Are you sure about that?" the DropShip rocked from another blast, "You want me to crank the power next time?"

Brown growled, "If you can destroy us, why don't you? All I smell is a bluff."

"Because you're much more valuable alive than dead. I'd rather have a usable ship for research and people I can talk to than to waste resources and energy cleaning up yet another destroyed DropShip."

"You'll never take us alive!" Brown screamed, "Fuck you, and fuck your planet!"

"Shame. Well, good luck leaving. I'll leave you to it." The voice disconnected.

"Sir," the bridge called, "they're backing off!"

"Take off, now! Spin up the engines and get us the fuck outta here!"

Those were Brown's last words.

The infantry and vehicles made quick time to the surrounding buildings, told of what was to come. The DropShip hardly cleared a meter from the ground when a series of weapons shots rocked the vessel. Particle blasts and rail gun rounds fell from heaven, striking down the launching DropShip. The shots tore through the bridge, the 'Mech bay, the mess hall, everything as the entire crew was rent apart by the orbital weapons platform. It was the last anyone saw of the crew of the Ghost's Vengeance.