Costa Mesa City Spaceport,

Tharkad, Donegal Province,

Lyran Alliance

"Ok, can someone explain to me how in the hell it can be 36-degrees, and still raining?" Cairo asked as he waited for the staff car to arrive.

"Like I said: Monsoon season." Cameron pulled his hat down so the visor covered his face, "Most people think of Tharkad as cold, but it dose have a small tropical zone." A flash of lightning filled the sky, followed by an ominous roll of thunder, "And all the storms get kind of concentrated."

"Brilliant!" Cairo muttered as the staff car approached through the torrential rain, "Remind me to fire my travel..." The complained died on his lips as the staff car exploded.

A hail of heavy gunfire exploded from the jungle at the far side of the landing field, ricocheting off the hull of the DropShip. Cairo dived to the side, knocking Sinade to the ground, covering her body with his own. The Ferro-creet exploded to their side as a mortar-round landed, followed closely by a second, nearer round. A burst of gunfire tracked across the ground and up a deck hand who'd stepped out the hatch to find out what all the noise was. His body jerked as the heavy calibre rounds ripped through him and on into the cargo-bay beyond.

"INSIDE! INSIDE! INSIDE!" Cairo yelled above the clatter of a machinegun, his own body kept between his wife and the attackers. His feet slipped on the wet metal steppes, pitching him over the side and down to the ground.

He landed hard, his shoulder protesting as he rolled to his side, trying to get behind the landing leg. A loud hum filled the air as a laser turret on the side of the Fitzpatrick tracked round and fire in the general direction of the mortar-fire. Cairo scurried across the wet Ferro-creet on his hands and knees, diving behind the thick landing strut just in time to avoid a long, tracking stream of machine-gun fire. Backing up against the titanium wall, Cairo looked towed the open landing bay door a few scant meters away. He considered making a run for it, but the chance of making it up the slippery steps before the machine-gun found him was slim to none.

The low whistle of descending plasma jet's heralded the arrival of a point of Elementals, their grey/white paint schema telling Cairo that they where from Star Colonel Jake Kabrinski's command. He ducked back behind his hiding place as the weapons fire from the jungle turned to face the new threat, rounds pinging off the Battle-Armour.

Acting as if the deadly hail of lead was nothing more than the rain, the Ghost Bear Elementals carefully took aim and fired their backpack mounted SRM's. Half the rounds exploded a few meter's from the Elementals, a mix of napalm and phosphorus commonly known as 'Willey-Pete', setting the trees on fire, and clung to the attackers as they tried to run. The other missile turned the tree line into a death trap of flying mettle and explosions.

"Clear?" An amplified voice from the lead Elemental asked.

"Arf, Point Commander, clear." An Elemental closer to the carnage reported, "Most of them are dead, but a few still live."

"Keep them alive." The Point Commander instructed, "Dead men tell no tails." He turned to face Cairo, who was surprised to see the Smoke Jaguar crest on the front of the Battle-Armour, identifying him as one of the bondsmen on Tukayyid. "All clear Sir." His claw-like hand rose up in an attempt at an Inner Sphere salute.

"My thanks, Point Commander." Cairo slowly rose to his feet, returning the salute, "Secure the prisoners and escort the prisoners to the guard-house."

A wheeled A.P.C. skidded to a halt, a squad of militia troops jumping from the back in long rain-capes, assault Rifles at the quarter-arm, unsure what to do.

"You!" Cairo pointed at the Sergeant who seemed to be commanding the troops, "Secure the perimeter: I'm requisitioning this vehicle."

"Sir?" The Sergeant looked at Cairo: his uniform was soaked and muddied from his fall and subsequent splashing about under the DropShip. His protest died un-uttered when he saw Cairo's rank insignia and the ComStar crest on his uniform.

"Steven?" Sinade hurried down the steppes from the DropShip, "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." Cairo looked his wife over, relived to see she was also unharmed, "Anyone else hurt?"

"One crew member dead, another two wounded." Sinade looked around the landing field: the continues rain had all but put out the fires started by the inferno-rounds, and the dark clouds created a perpetual twilight that cast deep shadows, "Word of Blake?"

"I hope so." Cairo nodded, leading the way to the A.P.C. "I hope so..."

Costa Mesa militia HQ,

Tharkad, Donegal Province,

Lyran Alliance

Marshal Lord Basil Spendlove looked younger than Cairo had anticipated: his hair, cut short, was only just beginning to turn grey around the edges, as was the thick moustache that covered his top lip. He was dressed in his full dress-uniform, and looked unhappy with the still damp duty uniform Cairo ware. His aide, a Kommandant Alexia Grissum stood at his side, also dressed in full regalia, his chest showing a row of medals Cairo would have place good money on being unearned.

"So, the Precenter Martail sent you here did he?" Spendlove looked up from the orders Cairo had handed over upon reporting for duty, "Must be a bit of a come-down for you: front line to garrison duty in a backwater like this."

"I believe that was the intention, Sir." Cairo did his best to act presentable, but Davion's order's still came to the frond of his mind: he had been sent here to see if Spendlove was a traitor, and if he was, to kill him. "He felt that my unit needed some down time to recuperate after our last few battles." He could shot him, right here, right now, and Davion would never ask. The idea sickened him: he was no-ones assassin.

"Well, I don't think you'll be getting much rest round here." Spendlove closed the file, "The dammed Blakist's seem to know what where planning before our own troops do! Kommandant Grissum here has gone through our security time and time again, but we can't find any leaks."

"I'm not an expert in that particular field, Sir." Cairo nodded, "You'd have to ask Major Clearwater, my intelligence officer."

"Yes, quite." Spendlove pulled a sheet of paper from a pile on his desk, "I'm afraid that space is at a premium right now, so we've had to billet your unit in a shipyard just outside the base, down on the river. The construction sheds should provide ample room for you're Mech's, and you can convert the warehouses into living quarters."

"I think we passed by on the way from the Spaceport." Cairo nodded, "Sir." With a salute, he turned and left."

"What do you think of him then Alex?" Spendlove asked Grissum.

"I don't like him Sir." The Kommandant shook his head, "He's just a yokel from the Periphery. How he ever got command of a ComStar regiment is beyond me."

"I agree, but still..." Spendlove looked at Cairo's file, "Victor sent him here personally. Keep an eye on him: I don't want a Davion lap-dog messing with my command."

"As you wish, Sir." Grissum smiled, "As you wish..."

To Be Continued...