Eleven jet-black metallic titans lay nestled in their cocoons as they awaited the orders to begin their dance of death. Normally there would be twelve of them but on this particular mission, their objective was to retrieve the missing one. Cables that fed streams of information jutted out from their hookups but would be detached as soon as the cavernous drop tubes would open. The vessel that carried them looked like a giant, metallic ball with a hole in its rear that spewed forth fire and brimstone as it burned towards the desert moon's upper atmosphere. Each mechanical giant carried enough firepower to level cities and smash armies but it was almost as if invisible hands held the reins and would unleash their destructive force only when the proper time came. While the soft hum of the fusion engines reverberated along the cubicles, each of the pilots lay strapped in their cockpits, waiting to be unbound like the dogs of war that they were.

Lieutenant Lewis Sorenson kept his eye on the topographical readouts while sitting in the cockpit of his 75-ton Dark Knight BattleMech. Even at this stage of the mission, his navigational settings were being constantly updated with the latest reports as both the Union class DropShip and the Thrush Aerospace fighter kept scanning both the terrain and the ongoing battle below. Sorenson had decided to make a combat drop right on top of the enemy forces; it seemed that the Blakists were already making preparations for the final attack on the beleaguered delegates at that very minute. The initial proposal for a soft-landing and embarkation from the DropShip dozens of kilometers away was ruled out just minutes before due to time constraints. It was possible that they may be already too late, he thought. Sorenson's hands trembled slightly as he continued to check the current positions of the WOB forces. This was going to be close and very, very risky.

The remaining two members of his command lance were both women, and both had very different thoughts as time trickled on. The first was young dark-haired Beatrix Banzai; she was one of the newer members of the unit. All that she could feel was a nervous apprehension as she kept rehearsing the tactics and skills within her mind in a hopeful attempt to not let her team down. The second woman stared out into the darkness of her modified Black Hawk-KU's darkened cockpit; she had deactivated the internal lights in her cockpit as her soul boiled in rage. Ten years ago, Tara Ravin had been one of the hottest young MechWarriors in the Twenty-First Centauri Lancers, a premier mercenary unit that was to be employed by ComStar to help garrison humanity's birthplace: Terra. All that changed when the Blakists took the unit's dependents hostage in an attempt to blackmail the Lancers so that a WOB unit could infiltrate Terra using the very guise of the mercenaries in order to conquer it. The resulting operation was highly successful as the Blakists were able to wrest control of Terra from their hated ComStar brethren. That WOB also executed her parents and younger brother as a show of force only made her more vengeful towards this radical splinter group of former ComStar fanatics. But the most humiliating event of all was that the Lancers high command decided to cooperate with the Blakists and forbade any sort of retaliation as WOB returned their remaining dependents to them. It was then that Tara resigned her commission with the Lancers and became a freelancer who joined any group opposed to the Blakist theocracy. Now that she was with the Black Widows and now that they were going up against the Blakists, her body trembled with anticipation as thoughts of revenge penetrated every fiber of her soul.

A loud beep snapped her out of her brooding as she punched in the receiver. "What is it?" Tara snarled.

"It's me." The voice belonged to the Widow's Executive Officer, Lewis Sorenson. "Tara, I just wanted to remind you- I know this is a personal thing with you and I understand, but try to stick with the gameplan, okay?"

"Don't worry about it." Her voice was soft as silk but he could still feel the rage.

"Okay, then. I won't bother you any more about it. Remember what I said." With that, her 'Mech's private comm. link went silent again.

It was then that she noticed that she had subconsciously curled her gloved hands into fists and had clenched her teeth in an animal-like grimace. Tara knew he was right, of course. The best way to do it was to stay disciplined; if she kept her cool she could stay alive longer and kill more of them. That last thought gave her some comfort as she allowed herself to relax somewhat.

While the command lance was short of one 'Mech, namely their commanding officer, the other two lances of the Black Widows were at full strength. Jimmy Clavell's Wolf Spider lance would be the first to drop down onto the enemy positions followed closely by the Widow Command lance and the assault-class Tarantulas would launch last.

Lieutenant Jimmy "Casanova" Clavell took off his black and red colored neurohelmet for the sixth time since he strapped himself into the pilot's chair of his Mad Cat Mk II BattleMech and inhaled a deep breath as he wiped off the sweat from his forehead. Alcohol and light gravity did not mix, he thought to himself as he was still fighting to get through his hangover. He had been drinking since they lifted off from Tharkad and had gone through countless instantaneous jumps as the entire unit traveled across the borders of the Lyran Alliance towards the uninhabited Polyphemos system using a command circuit of waiting JumpShips. Clavell closed his eyes as he popped another stim pill into his mouth that would hopefully stop the incessant pounding in his head.

As Stilicho Jones was playing a racing game using his Pillager's computer console, a loud beep sounded on his comm. link signifying a call was coming through to his private line. The former Archer's Avenger punched the accept button after pausing his game.

"Hey, buddy! What's up?" the voice belonged to non other than his lance mate, Johnny Gundam.

"I'm at stage sixteen of my Need Fer Speed v7021 game, you're botherin' me." Stilicho quipped.

"Oh I'm sorry Mr. Car Racer, sir. I just finished stage twenty-two on that one."

"You dog. Did you have one of the techs crack the code to enable the cheats?"

"You insult me." Gundam said. "I never cheat."

"Suuure." Stilicho said sarcastically. "Quit botherin' me. I wanna get back into my game."

"Oh, well I just wanted to ask if you want to put up a new wager again." Gundam said. "Even though you lost the last one you still won't ante up. Let's say I bet you 50,000 C-Bills on who gets the most kills on this one. How about it?"

"You didn't exactly win that last bet, Johnny."

"Oh yes I did. I took out those two Fafnirs clean and square. And I didn't even have to use my lasers or the Thunderbolt."

"You only took out the last one 'cause I pinned it to the wall of a skyscraper. I wouldn't call that winning 'fair and square'." Stilicho countered. "In fact, if it wasn't for me, you would have been toast."

"Oh yeah, I guess I do owe you one for that!" Gundam giggled. "Okay, pal. Let's start out with a clean slate this time, okay?"

"So you want just the number of 'Mechs killed, then? You could cleave a lot of light BattleMechs with that damned hatchet of yours and you're way faster than me." Stilicho said. "I think it would be more fair if we add up the total tonnage and go with that, don't you think?"

"Okay, buddy. It's a bet!"

"Well we can't shake each other's hand actuators this time so a verbal one would have to suffice." Stilicho added.

"I could always chop my way through the cocoon and slice open these doors with my trusty hatchet." Gundam said wistfully.

"Well if you do that, then I'm definitely gonna win, then. Now sign off and lemme get back to my game." Stilicho chuckled as he switched off the private comm. link before Gundam could counter his latest quip.

While the two veteran MechWarriors traded jibes with each other, the youngest member of the Wolf Spiders sat in the cockpit of his 45-ton Stealth Hawk medium 'Mech in nervous anticipation. His stomach was beginning to cramp despite the fact that this was not his first combat drop. As he tried to slow his breathing by silently chanting a Buddhist mantra that the Monk had taught him, Chris MacLaren continued to shake like a little twig in a wind tunnel.

A loud beep coming from his private comm. link startled him as he nearly stood up from his cockpit chair but the restraints held him down. As he recovered his senses he punched the accept button and quickly acknowledged. "MacLaren here."

"Just checking on you, kid. You okay?" The calm and steady voice belonged to none other than Pale Rider, one of the members of the Monk's Tarantula Lance. MacLaren had been in countless tense situations with the Black Widows before but the one thing he observed was that Pale Rider's voice never changed no matter how bad it got; it was always cool and collected- like a rock that could be used as an anchor during a storm.

"Yeah, I think so." MacLaren smiled. A calm reassuring voice was all he needed. Already the butterflies were starting to settle down. "Thanks, I needed that."

"No problem, kid." Pale Rider said. "Just remember, stick to the game plan and follow orders. You'll do fine. Out."

Chris MacLaren couldn't help but smile as he rechecked his 'Mech's systems. His mind was clear now.

While the two were speaking, they did not realize that the Monk was silently listening in using his 'Mech's command circuit. He was tempted to say something to the lad but Pale Rider had done it for him. The Monk grinned in spite of himself as he flicked off the command circuit and continued to monitor the incoming topographical information.

The man called Sudden Smith sighed as he settled back on the chair of his 95-ton Nightstar assault 'Mech. Like many other MechWarriors he gave a nickname to his war machine; it was almost like a living person to him. He called his 'Mech the Gilgamesh, after a mythical Sumerian hero who led a failed quest for immortality. When he was young, he thought that he could fight on forever; but then came the battles and the deaths that seemed to never end. He had lost many friends, some casual, some close, and each time, it seemed to take away something from him; it made him feel like less of a human being when he lost someone dear to him. When Delilah died, it seemed like a tragedy; although it took him years to get over her, he seemed to finally make it through when he met Ameena. Although she wasn't like Delilah, she seemed charming in her own way. But when Ameena died too, he felt his whole world crumbling around him; and so he lived a kind of half-life, an existence that resembled that of an automaton, eating, sleeping, training and fighting. And that last battle nearly took away his life as well; he had been in a coma for months and had only recently recovered. His injuries were severe; he had lost both his legs and his right arm. By using the glory of technology they gave him advanced prosthesis that made him physically more powerful than he ever was before. But they never tried to fix what was needed the most, his soul.

Smith looked at his newer arm as he held in front of him. Although the fine touch wasn't there he could feel the artificial nerve endings that very much mimicked the way his original arm felt. But that was where the similarities ended. He knew that if he gave it enough force, the myomer-enhanced prosthesis could punch a hole in a brick wall if he so chose. Even though the MechWarrior combat suit covered his entire body he knew that half of him was now practically that of a machine. But would his soul be half mechanical as well?

"Attention, all 'Mechs. Prepare for drop." The DropShip Captain's voice sounded in his neurohelmet's earpiece. Smith could hear the clunking noise as the umbilicals detached themselves from his 'Mech. It wouldn't be long now.

As if on impulse, he willed his new fingers to activate the private comm. link to the 75-ton Falconer heavy 'Mech to his right. "How are you doing, Kardra?" He asked.

"Like any warrior before battle, a mixture of anticipation, slight nervousness and a big sense of eagerness." The former Clan warrior said.

"Wolf Spiders, launching in three… two... one... DROP!" A loud clang reverberated throughout the entire DropShip's hull as the airlocks suddenly opened and ejected the Wolf Spiders into the howling atmosphere of the desert moon. As the 'Mechs would burn through the atmosphere, the cocoons surrounding them would both slow their descent by acting as a braking chute that could then be detached as they hit the ground.

"I know how that feels." Smith said softly. "This might not be a good time to bring this up but remember our last unarmed combat training session a few months ago?"

"Aff. What about it?"

"That time that I kicked you in the forehead during the sparring session, the one that stunned you temporarily? You were out for a full minute and as I was helping you up I said I was sorry, I was just wondering whether you heard me. I just wasn't sure if you were conscious or not."

"I heard it. You did very well that time, I thought I could block you and throw you using a countermove I knew but you were much quicker and more powerful than I had anticipated. You did indeed stun me temporarily but I was still conscious." She said.

"Widow Command lance, launching in three… two… one… DROP!" A thunderclap sounded as the Command lance was on their way. They would be next.

"Look, Kardra," Smith was feeling uneasy but he had to get it out of his system now. "You may not have known this but I had full power on the AMBLE system because of my prosthesis- I may have used too much force on you unfairly at that time. I truly was sorry when I apologized, but more truly sorry than you ever know and it still bothers me, even up to now."

"Are you saying you cheated? I am not offended." Kardra said. "But why would you bring this up now?"

"Because I just wanted to let you know in case we never get to talk again." Smith said as he cut off the comm. link.

"Tarantulas, launching in three… two… one… DROP!" As his words echoed in her mind, she began to feel an uneasiness that she never felt through all her years in the Clan homeworlds. When her former Clan, the Steel Vipers, was preparing to invade the Inner-Sphere, they had told her that she would be experiencing feelings that she never quite thought possible. It was a strange sensation that she felt now as she contemplated his words even as she felt the sudden lurch as her 'Mech began to slide down the rails towards the open sky.

And then they were gone, leaving behind hollow cubicles within the cavernous hold of the DropShip as the launch tubes began to close while the vessel started to climb back toward the heavens once more, to hold its position in high orbit and wait for the final outcome.