Chapter Two

            "No, no, no," the Colonel heard as he walked into the officer's room on board the Right.  The Angels' two Overlord dropships had been lovingly renamed the Right and Left Hand of God by the mercenaries' chief technician, Sean 'Fingers' McGee.  The tank drivers, especially their commander Major Dallas Shrike, and infantry took great delight in pointing out to the mech jocks that they occupied the favored Right Hand.  Shrike had been in the Demolisher that had sprung the trap on Cochren's forces during yesterday's exercises.  "You've got it wrong.  I heard that we're going to help the Dracs out.  Word's out that things are heating up in the Lyon's Thumb."  The Lyon's Thumb was a small area of the Federated Commonwealth that jutted into the neighboring Draconis Combine.

            The speaker was Captain Quix Neal, the leader of Second Company.  Entering with a flourish and sweeping the door shut with his foot as he came through, the Angels' Colonel laughed.  His chuckle stopped the major from blasting Neal with a verbal riposte.  "Close, Quix," he said, seating himself at the head of the table.  The Captain's odd first name was pronounced 'kicks', prompting many a discussion as to whether or not his parents liked him.  "But no cigar.  The good delegation of the Free Rasalhague Republic has made us an offer, and this is your chance to say yea or nay."

            "What world?" Mellert asked, sitting down again as his Colonel entered the room.

            Tossing the papers he'd brought with him on the wardroom table, Cochren leaned back in the chair and grinned.  "St. John."

            Everyone else leaned forward, not sure that they'd heard him right.  "St. John?" Perry Quince, First Company's CO, echoed.  Master Sergeant Kelly 'Old Man' Packard and Wing Commander Patsy 'Bumblebee' Richards exchanged incredulous glances.  The Old Man was the Angels' infantry commander, and as tough as they came.  He stood about six feet tall and was as stocky as Cochren was thin.  Bumblebee was the exact opposite, not even five feet tall and extremely petite.  She was the unit's aerospace wing commander, and Bryan had never seen anyone handle a sixty-five ton Shilone fighter like she could.  The Colonel nodded affirmation.

            "St. John.  Awesome," Neal breathed.  St. John was the very world they had fought the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery on during the Ronin War, winning it for the Free Rasalhague Republic.

            "Now," Cochren began, looking at each one of his officers in turn.  "This isn't the only option open to us.  The only contracts are garrison jobs-" he was cut off by a chorus of groans from around the table.  "-But St. John, oh-so-recently liberated by yours truly and company, is the best spot for potential action.  Who knows if old Takashi will decide he wants Rasalhague back?"  Takashi Kurita was the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine, whose Japanese heritage stressed honor above all.  "In addition to standard garrison duty, we'll be training a home-grown militia, including mech, ground, and air forces."

            "How long is the term for?" asked Richards.  While small physically and very unassuming, she reigned supreme in the air for the Angels.  It would be her responsibility to train the air forces of St. John.  Bryan turned to Nesmith and nodded, indicating for her to take over the conversation.

            "Six months-"  The Old Man laughed.

            "Ain't enough time," the rugged infantryman drawled.

            "-with a renewal incentive for an additional six months to a year, on agreement by both parties.  As Kelly put it, six months just isn't enough time to train a militia.  Which means that they'll need our help beyond this contract, and therefore giving us an excellent bargaining chip come renewal time," Leslie finished.

            "Do they have their own equipment, or will we be supplying it?" asked Quince, senior officer under Cochren and Mellert.  He had a knack for seeing the things other people missed.  Just like now.

            The negotiator shrugged.  "I honestly hadn't thought to ask.  I assume they'd have their own stuff, but I'll make sure in the next round with the FRR rep.  If I can, I'll get a listing of their assets to go along with a simple yes or no answer."

            "What about salvage rights?  Good, bad, or ugly?"  The officers shared a chuckle at the XO's posed question.

            "I suppose that depends on how the final negotiations pan out, but the standing offer is twenty-five percent material and fifty percent stores.  I may be able to get them to climb on that, but since this is a garrison job with no real threat of action, I'll concentrate on the flat rate pay.  Room and board is included, too, guys.  Apparently you'll be occupying the old Kurita base."

            "But that was completely destroyed during the fighting!  They restored the barracks without even having a force on planet to make use of it?" Neal asked incredulously.

            Bryan spoke up again.  "I think they've been planning this for quite some time, actually, but didn't put the contract offer up until the barracks were completed so they could use them as an additional incentive to take the contract.  And now they just want it to house us until we get their militia up and running and they do have their own forces on planet."  Neal nodded, along with most of the other officers.

            "Makes sense, I guess," said the Old Man in his peculiar drawl.  "What're the other offers?"

            Leslie sifted through her papers until she found a hand written one that she'd been taking notes on.  "There are contracts up for grabs from the FedCom, Snakes, and the FWL.  The ones from the Federated Commonwealth and the Draconis Combine are for worlds that are low on potential action, and the FWL is, well, the FWL.  The Draconis contract is for a world on the FRR border, and the FedCom and FWL contracts are each on the borders of the other."

            "The FRR, then," Kelly said.  "I wonder if Ann Gregory still lives in Port Lucent.  We-"

            "-really don't need to hear about your love life, Kelly," interjected Patsy.  "My vote is for the FRR, as well.  I liked the people there."

            "Anyone else?" asked the Colonel.  Mellert, Neal, and his wife all nodded.  "Quince?  What's up?"

            "I couldn't really tell you, sir.  I just don't think it's a good idea, is all.  Call it a gut reaction.  I know we've been there before, which helps the welcoming process considerably, but I just don't like it."

            Cochren sat and thought about that for a second or two before responding.  "Well, Perry, you know I respect your opinion, but everyone else says yea.  We'll put it before the Angels later today.  If they give it a go, we're heading out rimward within a few days.  We'll just have to be ready for anything the Snakes can throw at us.  We kicked their asses before; we can do it again.  Agreed?"  There were nods of agreement all around.  "Go and let your people know that we'll have a full personnel meeting at oh three hundred this afternoon.  Dismissed."  The seven officers filed out, each heading for their crew's quarters to let everybody know about the general assembly.  Cochren glanced at his watch.  "Well, Leslie, I'm going to need as much information as you can give me that I can field questions from the guys, unless you want to get up on that podium with me."  She grinned and shook her head.  "And I think you should call up the FRR representative and arrange a more intimate meeting to discuss terms.  I can practically guarantee that they'll agree to another tour in the FRR.  There may be a few more like Perry, though.  The whole superstitious lightning-striking-twice mentality isn't uncommon among soldiers."  He sighed.  "Whatever it is that's setting off his instincts, though, will get a taste of what my angry Angels can do."

            "Forget all that!  Will we get our paychecks on time?" shouted one of the tankers from the ranks gathered outside the Overlord dropship Right Hand of God.  The Old Man gave the private a withering glare, but Cochren grinned as a ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.  While the fighting arm of the Angels was just over two battalions of ground forces and a dozen aerospace fighters, the actual size was exponentially larger, with crew of the dropships, mechanics, cooks, and all the sundry other people necessary to keep such a large outfit running. 

            "Whine, whine, whine!  I miss a couple of signatures and you people never let me forget it!"  More laughter.  They'd never missed a paycheck for lack of funds in the first place, even when it meant he paid them out of his own pocket.  The Colonel was quite adamant about keeping his people happy.  "If Leslie rips as much out of our dear friends the FRR as she seems to think she can, you'll all get a nice bonus on top of it all.  I'm also considering incentives for those of you who come up with suggestions for or take an active role in the training of St. John's militia."  The Angels cheered and burst into applause.  "So I ask you, Angels!  Yea or nay?" he boomed into the microphone.

            "YEA!" came the chorus of replies.

            Bryan nodded.  "Major Mellert?"

            His executive officer snapped a salute to him, then clicked his heels and faced the assemblage.  "Angels, suh-LUTE!"  Hundreds of hands snapped to their owner's foreheads, palm facing forward in the salute of the Federated Commonwealth's Armed Forces.  "Company dis-MISSED!"  The pair stood there on the gantry for a few minutes, watching the Angels fall out and go back to their assigned tasks.

            Cochren turned to his long-time friend and executive officer.  "Well, Dave, what do you think of this?"

            Mellert leaned against the railing, collecting his thoughts.  "Personally, I'm all for it.  St. John beats the hell out of some of the places we've been."  He smiled as a lance of BattleMechs stepped out of one of the Left's bays.  A shiny Grasshopper was in the lead, followed by a Trebuchet, Catapult, and a heavy Cataphract.  The Grasshopper's head swiveled to face the officers and the thin mech waved as it walked by.  Its external speakers boomed with an Asian-lilted voice.

"Good afternoon, Major Mellert!"  Mellert cursed.

Pointing at the mech, he shouted, "You just wait, you little bouncing flea!  Next time!"  Sun Chin's laughter rattled off the permacrete of the spaceport before he turned the speakers off.  Bryan laughed.  Dave turned back to him.  "You think it's funny?"  Now he nodded, and Dave chuckled along with him.  "Man, but he's good.  I could only get a back laser shot at him, and he must have whittled away five or six tons of armor from Death."

"Yeah, he's definitely a hot one," the Colonel agreed.  "Too bad he's green, or I'd already have him as a lance leader at Lieutenant."  He turned back from watching the quartet of mechs and faced his XO again.  "You watch it, Dave! Pretty soon he'll have your job!"

The bigger man scoffed and changed the subject.  He knew better than to justify that with a response.  "If he lives that long."  He shook his head.  "But anyway, back to the point.  Going back to a world you helped liberate?  What are the odds?  Those people love us, so we'd be hard pressed to find a better welcoming committee."

"Yeah, I guess."

"What do you mean, 'you guess'?" Dave asked.

Cochren shrugged.  "I guess.  I mean, I agree with you that going back to St. John is a one in a million shot as a mercenary unit, but Perry's got me spooked now.  I can't help but think that there's something in the shadows somewhere, just waiting to jump up and bite us in the ass."

"Whoa, Bryan.  You afraid of the Snakes all of a sudden?"

Colonel Cochren laughed.  "Now, you know better than that.  We kicked their tails before and we can do it again.  It's just one of those things."

Mellert nodded somberly and turned to stare across the tarmac of the spaceport.

"Yeah…one of those things." 

In the soldier's life, ignoring those 'things' often got one killed.

"How's it coming, Kerry?" Bryan shouted across the open expanse of permacrete later the next day.  Kerry Brown was the Captain of the Left Hand and thus the mechjocks' ride.  Right now she was standing outside the massive Overlord dropship supervising the loading of liquid helium into the ship's massive fuel tanks in preparation for liftoff. 

She turned at his voice and snapped a smart salute.  While on the ship the Captain was the Supreme Being, but here on the ground she deferred to the Colonel just like any groundpounder.  "Not bad at all, Colonel," she replied.  "Not bad at all.  The tin men are all loaded up, we're just finishing with the perishables for the trip out to St. John, and the fuel's just about done as well.  I figure another 3 hours until liftoff."

After his talk with his XO, Bryan had left to attend the final negotiations with Leslie Nesmith.  After what seemed to him to be interminable hours of haggling and accountant double-talk, she had announced the papers ready to sign, which he had.  Then they had had to rush to the Mercenary Bonding and Review Commission to have the contract ratified by the Mercenary Review Board.  By the time that process had been finished, it was nearing one o'clock in the morning local time and he was beat.  He had notified the Angels that the deal was done and retreated to his apartment to sleep.  By the time he had woken up, he'd found most of the Angels' mechs already loaded and stowed and the vehicles still rolling, hovering, or clanking their way up the ramps into the Right.  As usual, his XO was right on the ball, getting everyone ready to ship out for the Angels new contract.

"Excellent, Kerry.  Tell you what.  When you're one hour from liftoff, give me a call.  Until then, Major Mellert's the man in charge.  I'm going to go see Morgan before we head out."  Before she'd even begun to nod, he had spun on his heels and started to walk briskly away. 

She grinned lopsidedly.  "Yes, sir, Colonel, sir!"  She saluted his back, and he turned around to flash a smile at her and keep going.  He'd gotten another ten paces before she called out, "Morgan, sir?"

Without turning around, he shouted over his shoulder, "Morgan, Kerry!  Morgan Kell!"

She turned back to the helium loader and raised an eyebrow.  Morgan Kell?  The leader of the Kell Hounds?  She shook her head.  The guy never failed to amaze her, and somehow it didn't surprise her at all that he knew the cousin of the Archon.

"Ahh, well," she said to herself.  Maybe up in space she'd ask him about it.  Spotting a possible trouble spot, she suddenly shouted, "No!  That's the overflow valve!  The other one!"  Shaking her head, she headed off to give the young crewman a tongue lashing on paying attention.

Getting to see the venerable leader of the Kell Hounds was no mean feat, unless you knew him.  Morgan Kell was widely thought to be the greatest MechWarrior alive, Justin Xiang-Allard's Solaris Championship notwithstanding.  He had retreated for meditation and reflection for many years, emerging from his shell to fight a duel against his old enemy, Yorinaga Kurita.  He had remained with the Kell Hounds afterwards, although not technically their Colonel anymore, and he was just the man Bryan wanted to talk to.

The two had known each other for quite some time, both professionally and personally.  When he was ushered into Morgan's room on Outreach, he found the older man sitting peacefully in an easy chair and sipping what appeared to be brandy from a small glass.  "Bryan!" the legend burst out.  Getting up, he walked quickly across the room and grabbed Cochren's hand in a firm grasp.  "How the hell have you been?"

"Great, Morgan, just great.  The Angels are heading into Rasalhague space in just a few hours, as a matter of fact."  Morgan raised a bushy eyebrow.  "I hear the Hounds are as well?"

The man nodded.  "Yeah, Dan signed a contract with them to put an end to some pirate activity near the Periphery.  He didn't commit much, just a company, so most of the Hounds will stay here for a bit before heading off to Arc Royal."  Dan Allard was Justin Xiang-Allard's brother and now the Colonel of the Kell Hounds.  Arc Royal was the Hounds' homeworld, of which Morgan was the Duke.  Being the cousin of the Archon of the Federated Commonwealth was not without its perks.  "Where are your Angels heading?"

"St. John.  Garrison duty."

"St. John?  Isn't that the world you defended during the Ronin Wars?"  Cochren nodded.  "Oh, where are my manners?  Would you like a drink?"  The Angels' Colonel nodded again.  "What'll you have?"

"Is that brandy you've got there?" he asked, pointing at Morgan's glass.  Morgan, by way of answering, popped open his liquor cabinet and held up a bottle.  "I'll take some of that, then."  Morgan poured a snifter of brandy, brought it over, and then sat back down across from him.

"So, what brings you in?  I haven't seen you in, what?  Three years?  I doubt this is merely a social call with you being so near liftoff."

Bryan smiled.  "You're as perceptive as ever, Morgan."  The older mercenary scoffed.

"Don't try to butter me up, Bryan.  We've known each other too long."

Cochren held up a hand.  "I'm not, Morgan, I'm not.  I just came to ask you something, since I know your information sources are better than mine."

Kell shrugged.  "Shoot."

"Have you heard anything of something brewing in Rasalhague?"

"Other than Ryan and his pirates?  No.  And I doubt he'd come in so far as St. John.  The Royal Kungesarme, while still small, would make mincemeat of him."

"Nothing else?"  Kell shook his head in negation.  "Hmph."

"What's the matter?  Have you heard something?"

"No, no.  One of my company commanders has a bad feeling, and he infected me.  Like there's something everyone's missing, and I was hoping you could shed some light on it."

Morgan held out his hands.  "I'm sorry, Bryan.  Wish I could help you out.  Trust me, if I knew anything, I'd tell you.  The Hounds are going that way, too, remember."

"I know, Morgan.  I know you wouldn't hold out on me either."  He drained the rest of the brandy from his glass and raised it with an inquisitive look.  Morgan nodded, so he stood and filled the snifter again.  "For you?"

"No, I've had enough already, thanks."

"Suit yourself.  You used to drink everyone under the table."  They both laughed.  "So tell me, how are Phelan and Caitlen?" 

"Good, good.  Phelan's got one of those Wolfhounds that Dan designed years ago…great light 'mech.  Beats the crap out of those Panthers that the DCMS uses.  He's in the company going into Rasalhague, actually."

The two Colonels talked for nearly another hour, one soldier to another, as friends.  Glancing at his watch, Bryan finally stood up.  "Well, I should be going.  We're due to lift off in about-"  His phone rang, and he chuckled.  "Well, apparently in an hour.  It was good to see you again, Morgan."

"Likewise, Bryan."  He stood and shook his hand again, then his face went stern.  "You be careful.  Garrison or no, don't discount your gut feelings."  Cochren gave him a warm smile, then turned and left.

"Everybody strap in, we take off in two minutes," Captain Brown announced over the public address system of the Left.  The massive Overlord dropships would lift and burn out-system together before docking with the Messiah and making the first jump on the long trip to St. John.  At a leisurely one gravity's worth of acceleration, the trip to the Messiah would take almost three days.  Then the Angels' faced several months' worth of travel by jumpship before finally reaching their destination

It was a rather ironic truth that faster than light travel by jumpship wasn't really very fast.  While the jumpship's Kearny-Fuchida drives could instantly transport them up to thirty light years away, the massive drives required so much power to operate that it could take up to two weeks to recharge after using it.  Some jumpships had newer lithium-ion batteries that allowed the ships to make two consecutive jumps without recharging, but such ships were few and far between, and the Messiah wasn't one of them.

Five tones sounded throughout the dropship, signaling the final five seconds before main drive ignition and liftoff.  As the last tone sounded, an enormous roar thrummed to life from the bowels of the huge ship.  The engines ignited, and slowly the dropship lifted off the permacrete tarmac, its sister ship the Right only a few seconds behind.  On board each ship the crew and passengers braced themselves at the sudden acceleration, their bodies feeling many times heavier as before from the boost needed to escape Outreach's gravity well.  A short while later, the pressure eased, the dropships having escaped Outreach's atmosphere and gravity well and accelerating at a steady one G.  The Captain and bridge crew unbuckled their harnesses and got up to stretch, with Bryan following suit.  Brown made her way to the communications console and pulled a microphone towards her.

"We're up, everyone.  You can unbuckle and move freely.  We'll keep a constant one-G for thirty-three hours before flipping for deceleration.  Welcome back to the Heavens, Angels, and be nice to your crew.  We've got you in the palm of our Hand."  The bridge crew laughed as Cochren made his way over to Kerry to pat her on the back. 

"Another perfect liftoff, Kerry.  How do you do it?"  The tall woman turned her gray eyes on him.  She was big, powerfully built and the total physical opposite of Bumblebee Richards.  They were, naturally, best friends.

She smiled at him and pulled a lock of dark brown hair out of her eyes.  "Because I'm the best, Colonel."

Chuckling, he pointed out the heavily reinforced viewport at the Right and playfully chided her with, "Oh?  I don't think Yuri would agree with you."  Yuri Griegorovich was the Captain of the Right Hand and a huge bear of a man.  It was rumored that the two were something of an item, but Bryan didn't know or care as long as it didn't impact their performance as dropship Captains.  Brown shrugged.

"I could clean his clock any day, and he knows it."  Cochren laughed and walked towards the bridge door to head for the mess and see about getting some coffee.  As the bulkhead door closed behind him, he heard her mutter, "He'll just never admit it!"

Traveling from the command deck near the bow of the vessel to the mess room deep in the bowels of the forty-story vessel took quite a bit of ladder climbing.  He had to pass the barracks section, as well as the crew quarters before getting there.  He found the coffee already brewing, Nichole, Quix, the Old Man and Perry all standing around chatting.  He kissed his wife and greeted his officers while waiting for the coffee to finish.

"So where were you this morning before liftoff?" Nichole asked him, slipping an arm around his waist.

"I went to go see Morgan."  She nodded, then waited, obviously expecting more of an answer.

"And…?"

"And we talked.  Played catch up.  It's been years since we saw each other, you know."  Quix raised an eyebrow.

"Morgan, Colonel?"

Nichole elbowed him in the gut.  "Kell, Quix.  Morgan Kell.  You know.  As in Colonel Morgan Kell of the Kell Hounds?"  Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Yes, thank you, I know who Morgan Kell is.  I just didn't know our esteemed Colonel knew him."

"I've known Morgan for almost twenty years now, Quix.  I actually applied with the Kell Hounds way back before he took his hiatus from mercenary life and retreated to the St. Marinus House."  Bryan's gaze was off in some distant memory as he spoke.  "He told me to go join the regular army for a while and then come back to see him.  He made quite an impression on me back then, and we kept in touch through my stint in the AFFC.  When I retired from the House military, though, I started my own mercenary group instead of reapplying with the Hounds.  They didn't have any open slots for someone with my rank and experience, anyway.  I still talk to Morgan whenever possible, ask him for advice on running a large merc unit or just life in general."  His officers nodded politely.  "But anyway.  I came down here to get some coffee and look for Mellert.  Any idea where he is?"

 Ten minutes after Cochren entered the simulation training room, one of the pods popped open and Sun Chin stepped out, dripping in sweat and wearing standard MechWarrior garb of shorts and a cooling vest.  Beaming and obviously pleased with himself, he tossed his Colonel a salute before heading to the analysis computer to check his most recent scores out.  Out of another pod further down the line of eight stepped his XO, Major David Mellert.  The bigger man, his dark brown hair cut short and dripping with sweat, did not look happy.  Bryan smirked from where he leaned up against a bulkhead.  "He whipped your ass, didn't he, Dave?"  It wasn't really a question.  He got a sweaty towel in the face in lieu of an answer.  Laughing, he tossed it back to him as the other began his rant.

"That damned Grasshopper!  Christ, but he lives up to that thing's name!  I don't think I've seen anyone jump as often or as good.  And boy, it doesn't screw up his aim any.  We started out on opposite sides of hilly terrain.  I took my sweet time coming up-"

            "Is there any other way in an Atlas?" Bryan interjected.

            Dave gave him a baleful glare.  "And just when I got near the top, WHOOSH!  Over he goes, sailing along on those Leviathan Lifters like there's no tomorrow.  Before I can even think of turning around, he's put a hole in my right rear torso big enough to shove a car through and I missed entirely with my rear lasers as he takes off again!"  His XO sighed.  "My only consolation is that it took him so long to put me down."

            "Did you get a piece of him at all?" Cochren asked.

            "Oh, yeah, after a couple of rounds like that I managed to kick him in the gut with my Mech Hunter A/C.  I also got the odd missile and laser potshot in, but not enough to take him down.  I don't know how they got enough heat sinks in that thing for him to jump so much.  He must have leapt a hundred and twenty times inside seven minutes!"  Bryan chuckled.  "What?"

            "Did you notice anything odd about his weapons choice?"

            Dave gave him an odd look.  "No."

            "He ever use his LRMs on you?"

            "No, but he was always pretty close.  I just figured he was inside the minimum range for them."  The Angels' Colonel was shaking his head, and the answer belatedly dawned on Mellert.  "Fingers took it out, didn't he?  And replaced it with more heat sinks."

            "Yeah.  I never saw the reason for the LRMs in the first place, especially in the head.  Really rattles you around when five missiles go streaking out of the tubes right next to you.  Grasshopper's made to get down and dirty anyway, with those lasers and jets."  Sun Chin came walking up, having finished his post-battle analysis.  He saluted both of them.  "And there's no better 'hopper pilot than this guy."

            Mellert stuck his hand out at Sun Chin.  "Boy, you got the stuff.  Glad to have you with us."

            Chin shook the hand firmly, then bowed.  "Thank you, Major.  Would you care to spar again?"  Mellert chuckled. 

            "No, thanks, I think I'm done for the day.  Why don't you ask the Colonel here?"  Dave shot him a mischievous grin.  Cochren shrugged.

            "Why not.  Dave, why don't you get yourself cleaned up and start pulling all the old and new info we have on St. John together.  Be ready in an hour."

            His XO saluted with a, "Yes, sir!" and wandered out of the sim room. 

            Bryan turned back to Sun Chin.  The youthful Capellan was wearing a huge grin.  "Well kid, are you up to taking on God?"