The other Black Widows didn't say anything to Natasha as she walked up the landing ramp of the Union class DropShip. Having already tied down the unit's BattleMechs into their safety hangars, the crew made immediate preparations for liftoff. The Black Widow took one last look at the barren desert landscape before signaling the crew chief to close the ramp. She then proceeded to her quarters with nary an acknowledgement to anyone.

Lieutenant Lewis Sorenson wanted to have a chat with her but decided against it. He knew that Natasha had been through a lot and it would not have been the appropriate time for it so he instead proceeded to the DropShip's cargo hold where some of the unit was going through an impromptu debriefing.

As Sorenson strode inside, the Monk handed him a noteputer printout. "What's this?" The Black Widow's executive officer said as he started reading it.

"Just a brief summary of our battle reports." The Monk said. "Other than Clavell's EVA, I think we did well and stayed disciplined throughout the entire battle, yes?"

"Yeah, you're right." Sorenson kept scanning the report. "I wouldn't want to bother the Captain just now, she isn't in a talkative mood."

"I've noticed. Makes me wonder though." The Monk sighed. "We were able to salvage her 'Mech and from what I read in the Warhammer's black box, she was up against some mighty tough odds, yet she survived."

"Yep, I can see that. What makes me wonder is how a group of mostly inexperienced and under-equipped delegation members were able to hold off and in some cases cause a high amount of casualties to an experienced WOB level-three unit. In most circumstances, their morale would have broke and they would have just surrendered. I've always pictured the Blakists as the fanatical ones, but those civilians put them to shame."

"Who knows?" The Monk himself was trying very hard to understand it. As a professional soldier, he made it a habit to analyze past engagements in order to better his understanding of the age-old craft of war. "Perhaps they believed in peace so much that every one of them was more than willing to sacrifice their own lives to further it. War makes strange bedfellows; even a lowly office clerk can turn into a raging animal who is more than willing to defend her young to the point of being a fanatic. You can't really tell who a true warrior is until you're actually fighting. It's a paradox and I can't really explain it any further than that. Unless something even stranger happens, I'd count this as a prefect example of the shifting fortunes of war."

"Good point," said Sorenson. "I'll conclude that it was a combination of excellent leadership, good use of terrain and innovative defensive tactics."

"I'll concur with that assessment," The Monk said. "And don't forget the choice of cause."

"That too." Sorenson concluded as he started to head back out. The DropShip would be lifting off shortly and he needed to be strapped in.

As Johnny Gundam and Stilicho Jones were strapping themselves in their stateroom, they continued to argue about their wager.

"I won, pal. You owe me!" Gundam exclaimed.

"No you didn't! The chopper didn't count. We never agreed that the bet covers aircraft. That makes it a grand total of one hundred five tons for you and one hundred fifteen for me! I won." Stilicho protested.

"You're really full of it, you know that?"

"I'm not, you are!"

As the two kept going at it, Jimmy Clavell sneaked back into his own private stateroom, took out his stash of spirits and started to mix himself a PPC cocktail. He preferred the Davion variant: two shots of bourbon with the signature four shots of grain alcohol but since he didn't have the bourbon, he decided on downing the moonshine straight. As the DropShip's engines began to rumble, he was already dozing off, spilling onto the metal floor what was left in the opened bottle that was dangling in his hand.

When Natasha entered her stateroom, she failed to turn the lights on and instead, just sat down on her narrow bed and stared out into the all-encompassing darkness. The intense vibrations along the walls that indicated the DropShip's successful liftoff didn't change her demeanor nor did it alter her mood as she continued to stare out into the void.

But even the black abyss itself was not even empty for it was all filled with the faces of the dead. Natasha didn't even know them all and was partly glad for there was no longer any room in her sorrows for it but that made her hate herself all the more. Dominic was gone and she would have to live with that; of all of them his death was the hardest to take and she felt all the more guilty because of it that just added to her misery. She still couldn't believe that she was the sole survivor.

Then again, it was always like this. They were all professionals, whether they were diplomats, secretaries, scientists, pacifists or warriors, all had stared death in the face and only one lived to tell the tale. She would be the sole keeper of their moments and would carry those thoughts to her grave. The SLDF soldiers starting with Sergeant Pryce made the ultimate sacrifice in order to give them time and they made the most of it. The crews of both DropShips also contributed; Captain De Llandes got the delegation safely to the desert moon while a short, hardworking crewman named Eladio enabled Natasha to deploy two BattleMechs on the ground, enabling the hostages to strike back at their tormentors that gave them crucial time to gain some distance from the Blakists. Even the younger delegate members like John Palatine displayed a dauntless tenacity that inspired the older, more timid ones. With the determined leadership of Dominic Durant and Carlos Sanz, the group of delegates stumbled onto an ancient city that had an uncanny resemblance to ancient Babylon and then allied themselves with an archaeological expedition to fight a pitched battle against their WOB adversaries. No one ever questioned their leadership and everyone trusted and obeyed till their last breath. Did they all die for the sake of a datadisk? Would their memories be tarnished if she dishonored their legacy? Could she have the will to keep on living knowing the unfathomable sacrifices they all made for her to deliver the prophetic message to the Star League?

The never-ending questions haunted her in the darkness. When she couldn't take it any longer, Natasha buried her tired face in her numb hands and wept.

As the DropShip flew out into orbit, the howling winds had finally died down on the moons surface as the afternoon sun began to set on the horizon. The first thoughts of Acolyte Rogelio Chavez when the massive 'Mech footpad drove down into the crevasse where he had lain in was that he would be buried alive and that to him would be a horrible way to die. But after much determination, he was able to get his elbow free and continued to call for help using his throat microphone but all he got back was static. After the explosions around him had finally died down, he noticed that his earpiece receiver had begun to function again, indicating that the enemy was using some sort of ECM counter measures when they attacked. In what seemed like hours, Chavez kept calling for help until finally he could hear something above him as hands started to dig him out of his rocky grave.

After a few tense minutes, Chavez was pulled free by a pair of massive arms. As he looked back at the bald, tattooed face of his rescuer while dusting himself off, he realized who it was. "Thank you, Adept Goth. May the Peace of Blake be with you."

Amon Goth grunted in acknowledgement. He had been able to eject just in time as his BattleMech's reactor went into a core meltdown as he fought those black-painted 'Mechs. It was apparent that the entire unit had succumbed to the attackers, as he could now see what remained of a mushroom cloud in the distance, he could see that the base camp was gone too. It was now highly probable that the enemy took wiped out their aerospace assets as well, leaving them marooned on the desert moon. "Are you hurt?" He said.

"No, Adept. Just my pride." Despite what had happened, the LOM sniper kept his cool. "Are there any other survivors?"

"Down there." Goth pointed towards the foot of the mountain. "A few MechWarriors managed to eject from their stricken machines and a few of our tech crews were in the ancient city when they attacked the base camp with nukes."

Chavez could see Adept Achmed Faud climbing his way up towards them, daintily picking his way among the jagged rocks until he finally reached the bottom of the boulder where they were standing on. "Adept Goth, I count three MechWarriors, four infantrymen, three vehicle crews and eleven technicians still alive, sir." The senior tech said. "Most of us were doing some sweeps in the city when the base camp was destroyed. Some are wounded, but none too seriously."

"Understood," said Goth. "We will be declared overdue in another few weeks time, I would imagine. Survival would be our first priority. What is our food and water situation?"

"We found a supply cache that the archaeologists were using in the city, sir." Faud made a slight smile. "We should be able to last a few years with those."

Chavez stared out into the distance. The sun was now halfway below the horizon and the dust storms had ceased. There seemed to be a stillness that settled unto the moon once more, as if the eternal cycle that was once interrupted by men from other worlds had begun to start again. He could also see the broken temples and blasted walls of the ancient city several kilometers away. Now that they had time, perhaps they might very well explore the ruins of the city in order to unearth its secrets? Perhaps they might even find new wonders, new vistas. That would depend on their new commander, of course.

Goth saw the look on Chavez's face and smiled, for the first time in years. "I know what you're thinking. I too am curious as to the mystery surrounding that place. Yes, we might as well make some time to explore that strange city." He said.

"Blessed be to Blake." Chavez grinned as he started to make his way down the boulder. Achmed Faud patted the LOM sniper's shoulder and both started towards the other survivors.

Goth remained standing on top of the sandy boulder as he removed his cooling vest and let it fall to the ground. They would bide their time and ration the food and water while keeping themselves busy. Soon the WOB rescue unit would arrive and he would have to explain to the Precentor Martial about the death of his younger brother. And if his superior would be merciful enough, he would task Goth himself to bring him back all the heads of the Black Widows on a silver platter. How he would love to have his revenge, especially against the Black Widow herself. He beat her once and would beat her again. He was having a bad day at the moment but the thoughts of future vengeance made it somewhat tolerable.

But in the meantime, the ancient and mysterious city beckoned. He had once considered becoming an archaeologist but decided he could serve Blake better as a warrior. Goth sighed and started down towards the base of the mountains. They were right, he might as well keep busy.