They had pushed on throughout the night, and then early into the next day before Tanaka decided to call camp. The thirty-one men and women of the Republic, plus a certain gatón, all worked to set up a temporary camp in a miniature valley formed by a tributary of the river that flowed past Tanzano. Soon, though, their tents were set up and the watch posted. A tank and 'mech each rotated in six hour increments, spreading the burden around. In addition, the two squads of armored infantry from the 3rd Platoon under Sergeant Renard made irregular patrols designed to sweep over terrain not previously covered before.

Despite this, and the occasional faint screech of an aerospace fighter overflight, Alexis was nervous still. We're just sitting here, hundreds of gradragnas from any help, from the base at Hercor, and the Wobbies could launch an attack at any time, she thought darkly as she worked to clean her laser rifle. And that feeling of homesickness is knawing at the back of my mind… But homesick for what? I can't go back to Shulana, not with how I will be seen by many there.

Alexis then dropped one of the pieces she was balancing on her lap; a focusing lens. She growled a bit in frustration as she bent over on the log she was sitting on and retrieved the piece. It got dirty again, she thought, and then sighed. You've got to focus Alexis. You can't be looking down the road so much that you trip on your own feet. She told herself the old saying from her village as she polished the lens again with the cleaning rag she was using.

Her log was one of several that had been dragged to the center of the camp to provide a sort of 'ring' around a makeshift fire pit where people could sit. There were five of the logs, all deadfall from a nearby patch of forest that the armored troopers had dragged over, though all were empty save the one Alexis sat on, and one of the ones almost directly across from her, which held one of the tank crews from Checker lance. They were all sitting down and talking to each other about some card game they had played the last time they were on New Honshu. Alexis didn't pay them much attention, as she was busy working on her rifle.

A minute later, though, she had it fully reassembled. Remembering the brief training she had gotten on New Honshu and the additional help the Vanquishers had given her, Alexis snapped the rifle to her shoulder and looked over the iron sights to make sure that they were aligned properly. They weren't of course, and so she worked on them until she had them perfectly aligned for the longer ranges that the rifle was good at. I prefer to be like my people's archers, and hit the enemy before they can get close, Alexis thought with a wry smile as she lay the rifle down to lean it against the log.

"You took care of that pretty good," a voice spoke behind Alexis, startling her a bit. She turned around and saw one of the 3rd platoon's troopers standing there, though he had shucked off his armor and was wearing simple olive drab shirt and pants that lacked insigne. The brown haired man smiled at Alexis' embarrassment as he walked between the log Alexis was sitting on and the next one. "You must've had some decent training, eh?"

Alexis smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Yes. A few weeks at New Honshu, and then some additional work when we took the ship out here."

The man raised an eyebrow as he sat on the next log down, a good meter and a quarter from Alexis. "Really?" He asked, and then waited for her to nod again. "Well, given the way you hit that Blakest a few days ago, I thought you'd have a bit more experience than that."

Alexis frowned at the comment. "I'm sorry, but have we met?"

"Oh, not formally," the man said as he blushed. "My apologies. I'm Samuel O'Riley," he said as he leaned forward and extended his hand. "But people like to call me 'Shotgun Sam.'"

Alexis reached forward and shook the man's hand. "I'm Alexis Hurano, thought you probably already know that," she said with a small smile as they both retrieved their hands.

"Indeed I do," O'Riley replied with a short chuckle. "I don't think there's many in the task force who haven't heard of you or your friends."

Alexis blushed at that. "It seems that more people know about us than I've ever known in my entire life."

O'Riley smiled broadly. "Well, you're famous, in a way, since you're the only natives here that know how to speak English… And know how to use firearms," he added the last with a gesture to Alexis' laser rifle. "Speaking of which, don't you have a scope for that?"

"A what?" Alexis asked, a bit confused.

"A targeting scope. You know, like a telescope?"

"Oh, that," Alexis said as she realized what device he was talking about. "I just never trained with one, so I don't have one now, nor would I know what to do with one."

O'Riley just sat there for a moment giving Alexis a strange look. "That night we were attacked, I was the guy who told you 'good job,'" he said quietly. "I thought you had a scope then to hit that accurately. But now you're tellin' me you did that all over iron sights?"

Alexis blushed a bit, remembering the confused emotions of that night. "Yes, I did."

O'Riley stared at her for another moment, making her blush deeper. "Damn, you got some talent, I must say."

"Oh, no," Alexis protested. "It's nothing special, really. All of my people are good aim with ranged weapons."

"Are they all that accurate?" O'Riley asked incredulously.

Alexis frowned slightly. "I… I really don't know, exactly." She said quietly. "I never had any martial training until I got to New Honshu, so I do not have any one of my people to compare myself to."

O'Riley smiled a bit then. "Well, if they're all crack shots like you, then maybe we should ask a few more of 'em to come and help us take care of the Wobbies," he said, and then chuckled.

"I'm sure some of them would like that," Alexis replied with a grin. Then her smile faded as she remembered the outing with her father. "Though maybe not all of them."

The trooper shrugged. "Ah, it was a joke, anyway," he said casually. "No offense to your people, but we're too busy to go trainin' them like you were."

Alexis nodded at that, a trepid smile appearing again along her muzzle. "Well, just so long as we're taking the fight to the Wobbies, then I think they won't mind."

O'Riley laughed at that. "Sounds like you learned more than just marksmanship from them space heads," he said, which made Alexis blush again. "But then, they can't all be nutcases, now can they?"

"I'd hope not," said another voice that belonged to a man who approached from the same angle as O'Riley had. "After all, Sam, we're gonna be relyin' on them if the shit hits the fan." The new blonde-haired man said as he sat down next to O'Riley. Alexis quickly noted that he was dressed the same way as O'Riley, and she surmised that he must also be a trooper from the 3rd platoon.

"Yeah, yeah," O'Riley muttered lightly. "Leave it to the space heads to sit in their ship all the time just so they can come down all dramatically and save the day."

The new man rolled his eyes. "Will you let up on that crap? It's not like the M.I. are the enemy, anyway."

O'Riley shrugged. "I know, I know, I'm just peeved they're sittin' pretty in a WarShip while we're sittin' down here as bait."

Alexis decided to speak up then. "If you think they do not do anything, then you are mistaken," she said neutrally. "They spend hours running around the grav deck, working on weights and such equipment, and then they practice firearms in a modified cargo bay."

The two troopers looked at her then, O'Riley affecting a bored look, while the other smiled slightly. "Ya see?" The newcomer asked as he turned to O'Riley and elbowed him. "At least you don't have to run around doin' that microgee crap like a hamster in a habit trail."

O'Riley grunted again as he looked at Alexis. "Great, make me look dumb why doncha?" He asked somewhat sarcastically, though he winked and smiled to show that he wasn't serious.

Alexis ventured a small smile of her own. "Well, I shall not try to take that prerogative away from you then," she said coyly, causing the new trooper to laugh and O'Riley to blush.

"Oh, you got burned, Sam," the blonde-haired man said, which caused O'Riley to turn and razz the man. "Ah, stow it Josh," O'Riley returned.

"Hey, all I'm sayin' is that the lady knows how to burn," 'Josh' said with a smile.

O'Riley grunted at that, but he kept his peace. Alexis, however, turned to the new man and nodded once. "Thank you for the compliment, I think."

Josh smiled at her. "No problem. I'm Josh, by the way," he said and held out a hand. Again, Alexis went through the ritual and introduced herself.

Josh nodded. "The famous lady herself," he said, causing Alexis to blush again for what seemed to her to be the fiftieth time. "Looks like you know your stuff too," he said, and gestured to the laser rifle.

At this, O'Riley re-entered the conversation. "I'll say she does. You remember that Wobbie with the shot hand a couple of nights ago, right?"

Joshua nodded. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, Miss Hurano here did that at night, during a storm, and with no scope."

Joshua turned and gave Alexis an appraising look. The gatón blushed and she wondered if her ears would become stuck in the position by the conversation's end. "You train as a sniper?" The man asked curiously.

Alexis frowned a bit. "I don't think so. At least, I don't know what a 'sniper' is."

Joshua blinked at that. "Really? Well, you could be one with an aim like that," he said assuredly. "Maybe we should get you a scope and see what you can do with that?"

Alexis shifted a bit on the log. "I think you may overestimate my abilities. It was dark, true, but the storm was outside the hull and the enemy was close."

"Mebbie so," O'Riley said. "But I'm willin' to bet that you'd be good enough to hit a can at a full klick."

"Maybe with a laser rifle," Joshua added. "The light ain't affected by wind. Now, a ballistic rifle, she'd probably not be able to hit it… Well," he paused a second to backtrack. "Maybe a couple of times, but not all the time."

O'Riley turned and looked at Joshua. "Oh? You wanna bet?"

Joshua looked at the other human. "How much?"

"Fifty dollars and a shift at guard duty."

Joshua grunted. "You don't fuck around, do you?"

O'Riley grinned. "Not when I know a sure bet when I see one," he said and nodded towards Alexis, who was becoming confused.

"Even so, Sarge ain't gonna let you trade guard shifts here I the field," Joshua countered. O'Riley nodded a bit and shrugged. "Okay, just the moolah then."

"Sounds good then," he said, and then looked at Alexis. "So, will you help us settle a bet?"

Alexis blinked a bit. "You mean my marksmanship? You're betting on that?"

O'Riley nodded. "We will, if you'll agree to a little bit of shooting," he said gently. Then he shrugged. "But don't feel pressured. Me an' Josh here make bets all the time, not all of them get settled."

"Yeah, you don't have to do anything," Josh added with a nod. "We're just tryin' to liven the mood 'round here, ya know?"

Alexis frowned slightly. "I don't know… I thought betting was illegal with your people?"

"Sometimes it is," a familiar voice said from off to Alexis' right. She and the two soldiers turned and looked to see Tanaka standing there with a smile on her face. "But I think we can bend the rules a bit. That is," she turned her head and gave the two troopers a sly smile. "If you two don't mind opening that bet up for everyone to have some fun?"

"No, not at all," Joshua said a bit too forcefully. "You don't mind, do ya Sam?"

"Of course not," O'Riley replied more casually. He then grinned at Tanaka. "Figure we could even make it into a pool."

"Sounds like a plan," Tanaka said. Then she turned her head to look at Alexis. "So what do you say, Alexis?"

The gatón couldn't tell whether Tanaka approved or disapproved of her participation. What should I do? She wondered, and thought hard for a few moments. Finally, though, she nodded. "All right then, if it will give everyone something enjoyable to do, then I'll be glad to help."

Mikula awoke from sleep to the motions of Nguyen's Hellbringer II slowly coming to a stop. He opened his eyes and looked out the cockpit ferroglass to see that the outside had become dark with the fall of night. Nguyen had the light-amplification setting for his HUD on again, and the forest they traveled in was rendered in eerie green tones that mocked the natural color of the flora.

"What's going on?" Mikula asked as the 65-ton 'mech came to a halt. In the HUD, he glimpsed icons outlining the images of the other three 'mechs in Whiskey lance as they all assumed a diamond formation that was centered in a small clearing.

"Stoppin' for the night," the MechWarrior responded. "Though from the way you were snoring, you might not need the break, eh?" He asked with mirth in his voice.

Mikula blushed a bit. "So I was tired," he said with a shrug that Nguyen heard rather than saw. "We've been going for so long. All through the night last night, all through the day, and only now do we stop," he said, trying to keep his voice from sounding tired or whiny. "Frankly, I'm surprised that you and the other pilots can go for so long without needing to stop and climb out just to stretch your legs."

Nguyen smirked at that, which let some self-assuredness leak into his voice. "Well, we get a lot of training in these things before we go on a mission like this, so we're used to it," he said as he pressed controls that locked the 'mech's limbs and torso into place.

"I'll say," Mikula replied in a gruff tone. "We've only had, what? Four breaks for self-relieving?"

Nguyen chuckled hoarsely at that as he worked to put his 'mech into standby mode. "Well, it's a little rough on the bladder, to be sure, but this way if the enemy finds us, we're not caught with our pants down… Literally." He chuckled again.

Mikula found himself grinning slightly to the human's wordplay. "Indeed. Well, what now?"

Nguyen responded as he began to unlatch his neurohelmet. "Now, we get out and set up a couple of tents for the night. We already chose who's going to be on watch, so he stays in his 'mech until the next watch cycle."

Mikula nodded, and he began to unbuckle his seatbelts as he realized that Nguyen couldn't leave the cockpit easily with the lupar sitting in the way. "Well then, we should not dawdle then."

"And we shan't."

A half hour later, Whiskey lance had set up a small encampment in the center of their 'mechs' formation. All save Jeffries, who was the assigned guard, and his Summoner II's torso occasionally swiveled with a soft whirring noise whenever he felt the need to focus in on something that piqued his interest.

Mikula heard it whirr again from within his own, miniature tent. It was a design that was, originally, not even created for the military at all. Rather, it was a small one-person tent manufactured by a civilian company for hikers and hunters and others who wished to have some peace in the wilderness alone.

Many MechWarriors, however, had purchased the small kit when it came out on the market, as it fit easily into a 'mech cockpit's storage area, could be unfolded quickly and with little trouble… And most importantly, it was cheap. Thus, the military had given in and placed an official order with the company, improving its fortunes and helping MechWarriors throughout the Republic.

Such an odd way to do things, Mikula mused over the story as Nguyen had told it to him. Yet, it seems effective… Extremely effective. His mind added in the last words as he noted just how pleasant the inside of the tent was. Unlike the outside air, which was chill with autumn, the environment inside the tent was warm, but not so much that it made the air stuffy.

Such his mind wandered as he lay inside the small polymer tent, mulling over the recent events of his life. I think of them so much, he mused. And yet, who can blame me? My whole world turned upside down… Whole conventions tossed aside, the old way of doing things… He sighed, letting the sound fill the tent. I've changed so much as well…Such were his thoughts as he drifted off to sleep.

The next day dawned easily over the Tanzano plains, illuminating the Republic camp even as it was broken down and repacked into the tiny compartments that every combat vehicle had.

However, after they were done, the soldiers didn't go straight to their vehicles, but instead started to gather on the other side of a small hillock, talking and bantering back and forth as they surrounded a smaller sub group.

Being at the core of the day's event, Alexis felt jittery, especially as she knew money would be exchanging hands this day. And they way it goes will depend on how I do, she thought nervously. She glanced around, saw people talking, and noted that many of them appraised her openly even as they conversed with each other. Usually, this was followed by a visit to one of the temporarily anointed 'bookies' that were recording bets.

The idea of a small wager contest had grown to include the entire camp, pretty much, with only Captain Tanaka, Lieutenant Peterson, and Sergeant Renard exempting themselves from the fray. They now stood as neutral referees around Alexis as the gatón looked over the sniper rifle again to hide her anxiety.

She had to admit that it seemed a good weapon, though it is a bit heavy for me to use a lot, she figured. The long barrel didn't use the regular system of measurement, she had been told, but rather used an older, almost anachronistic method. They call it a 'fifty cal.' I wonder why? To her, the sleek black rifle looked less like it should be called any number, but rather, it should have a name like some of the mythical weapons she had heard about in bedtime stories her father had told to her as a cub.

The thought of her father brought Alexis' mind out and away from the small contest for a bit. I miss him, she realized. The she shook her head a bit. Of course I miss him. I miss mother and Reyato and Shaya as well…

"You okay, Alexis?" Tanaka asked softly from the side. Alexis blinked herself back to the immediate situation, and she turned her head to look at the captain. "I'm… Fine. My mind was drifting just a bit."

Tanaka nodded a bit. "If you want, we can still call this off," she said quietly, so that no one in the larger group could hear. "We're in the field, so no one can really complain."

Alexis shook her head a bit. "No, that's all right," she said with a wan smile. "I actually want to do this now." And it was true, as talk of the contest had lightened the mood in the small camp. Besides which, she thought as she turned and checked over the rifle again. Hearing people talk… People are betting for my skills as much as others are betting against them. The thought gave her a warm feeling of camaraderie. It shows confidence in my abilities, and a trust in myself as well.

"Well, since you want to, should we start then?" Tanaka asked, a smile growing on her face. Alexis nodded and smiled wider in reply. "Indeed."

With that, Tanaka nodded to Renard. The burly sergeant turned and bellowed to the other soldiers with a voice that only noncoms seemed to command. "Listen up boys and girls! We're gonna start now, whether you're watchin' or not, so no bitchin' if someone cheats you 'cuz you were too busy shoveling bull!"

The noises quieted down, and people started to draw closer. Tanaka turned to Alexis and nodded as the area became silent. "Okay then, Alexis, do your thing."

Alexis nodded, her smile gone with the increase in nervousness that came with being the center of attention for so many people. Quietly, she placed some cotton balls into her ears to protect them, and then turned to the rifle, laying down on the ground next to it and then working her way to a classic sniper's prone position. The heavy rifle rested on its forward grip stock on a small rock placed there countless years before by geological processes, and Alexis quickly balanced it.

There had been discussion over whether Alexis should do the shooting without any attempt to familiarize her with the new weapon, or whether she should have some target practice first. Finally, though, everyone had settled on he having three practice shots during the night to get used to the weapon's recoil, weight, and noise.

Now, the real contest would begin. Alexis took in a deep breath and then let half of it out, as one of the instructors at Neo Tokyo had told her to do with aimed shots. Quickly, she used the rifle's iron sights – the scope removed as part of the bet – to aim at one of five spent MRE cans that had been placed on a log about fourteen hundred meters away. With precision, she moved the rifle slightly and took into account the wind, and then pulled the trigger. The huge gun bucked in her arms with a profound noise, and she felt it wrench her shoulder back a bit. She was ready for it, however, and so all it did was give her some temporary discomfort.

Downrange, however, the can flew from its perch as the half-inch bullet tore through the metal at supersonic velocities. Alexis then worked the bolt and fed the next oversized round into the breech. Once this was completed, she shifted the rifle and worked to aim at the next can, which went flying in less than two seconds.

She repeated this three more times, and when she was done, Alexis felt her chest fill with pride as every can had spun up and away from its resting point. I hit them all, she thought as she stood and took out the cotton from her ears.

As soon as she did, she began to worry, as she heard no sounds from the people around and behind her. Cautiously, she turned around and saw everyone staring at her. Then someone started clapping, and soon everyone joined in a round of polite applause.

Alexis blushed at that, and she was relieved when Tanaka announced the results and told everyone to settle their bets. Then the human captain placed a friendly hand on the gatón's shoulder. "That was pretty good, Alexis."

"Indeed it was," Renard added in. "I don't suppose you'd like to transfer from the M.I.?" He asked with a small grin.

Alexis felt her ears fold down as low as they could, and her tail wrapped itself around her left leg. "Thank you both," she said quietly. Then a thought entered her head. "I hope no one will be disappointed at loosing a bet."

"I doubt it," Tanaka said with a grin. "But even if they do, it'll just remind 'em to not bet against you in the future."

This elicited chuckles from everyone, which made Alexis wondered at why she had joined in. I think it must be because I proved something… Not only to them, but also to myself. I've proven that I can be just as good as them, that I can be their equal.

Tanaka said, something, and Alexis shook her head a bit to clear it. "I'm sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?"

Tanaka smirked at her. "I said, let's get things packed up and get that rifle back to private MacDonald so that we can get goin.'"

Alexis nodded, remembering not to salute in the field. Knowing now what someone can do with a rifle at range, I can see the sense in the precaution. Aloud, she spoke "Yes sir."

The sun was just setting, casting its light so that long shadows from the western woods stretched and touched a gatón village that was known by the name of Shunyo Tala. Roughly translated, it meant 'the land of good fortune,' which referred to the river and fertile fields that the small village sat next to. A sheltering cliff face to the east and the waterfall of the small river that cascaded down the rock added to the idyllic scene.

Although of late, the name seems more and more like a cruel joke played upon us by the Gods, thought one gatón male, barely into his majority. He was Tulo Hurar, and he was grunting with the strain of carrying a burden of bundled jolo, a native equivalent of Terran wheat, to the edge of town where a trade road passed by.

Hurar grumbled to himself as he moved past the last house and spied the gathering point for many of the village's crops. So much of it going out, he thought sadly. And for what? His thoughts turned dark and his ears folded back against his skull, tail wagging back and forth in the angry feline manner. All of this could feed us throughout the winter with plenty for trade, yet we have to give almost everything up now just so the invaders won't kill us.

He was like most young men, this Hurar, and his pride chafed at the thought that the bastards took so much from his village, from him. The affront was all the worse because it was not merely an insult, but it was backed with raw, naked force. Hurar shuddered as he reached the gathering point and dropped his burden. They slayed our best fighters with their strange weapons, and then demanded we serve them or die. The memory tempered his anger with fear, and he knew that no matter how much it grated him; he could do nothing about the situation.

"Are you ill, Tulo?" A voice asked from the side. Hurar turned his head and saw a good friend of his, who was also unlimbering some of the jolo harvest to the ground. "You looked like you had a fever for a minute there."

Hurar sighed and shook his head. "No, Shar, I'm fine. I'm just still upset over," he gestured to the pile that they stood next to. "This," he said, pronouncing the word with venom. "How we have to give up that which is ours to buy a respite from death's hand. A respite made tenuous by that which we must give."

Shar chuckled darkly then, causing Hurar to give the other male a sour look. "What is so funny?"

"You were always a poet at heart, Tulo," Shar said with a wan smile as he lifted his bundle again so that it would be stacked properly. "Even when condemning something, you speak with such florid prose."

Tulo blushed a bit at the compliment, which also served as a kind of rebuke. "You think I talk to much?"

Shar sighed as he leaned back from his work. "Not so much that you talk, but rather, that you do nothing with it," he said and then looked at the other gatón. "You complain a lot, but we're in the same dire situation as you, Tulo. Yet you don't hear us using our breath for speaking when we could be working."

Hurar felt his ears again going down in embarrassment. "Well, maybe people should talk more about such things. Then maybe, we could all see just how much we can really do to change them."

Shar chuckled again, this time without much mirth. "You always were a dreamer, Tulo."

"It doesn't seem to be much use being anything else."

Across the road and just within the southern treeline sat a trio of figures, one of them staring at the moderately distant village though electronic rangefinder binoculars. "They seem to be piling something up along the path that leads to the main road," the one with the specialized optics observed.

Lieutenant Williams nodded absentmindedly to Nguyen's voice. "Yeah, kinda strange. Or is it?" He directed the second question to the third member of their scout party.

Mikula shrugged a bit in response. "It is sometimes done in smaller villages that are expecting an arrival of a trading party, since they lack the same kind of storage facilities that large communities have," he said cautiously. Then he turned his head from the Lieutenant and stared across the croplands with his naked eyes. "But this seems fishy… Most of that is food, and it's an awful lot to be traded away for such a tiny village."

"You think it's tribute?" Nguyen asked as he put down the binoculars and blinked his eyes clear of the harsh, eye-straining effect of the unit's display.

Mikula nodded. "Winter is coming, and food will be in high demand. Whether the Wobbies will want it for their own stockpiles, or to use as bribes for support, it would help them immensely."

"SAR scans did show some rather regularly-shaped metal 'round these parts," Nguyen added, speaking to Williams as he did so. "But I don't see any of them 'round this place. Perhaps it's not a permanent presence?"

"That's what I'm thinking," Williams admitted with a nod. "The thing is, when will the Wobbies be coming?"

Nguyen shrugged. "We could have Ladavic reroute an obsat or even one of the assault ships to do another SAR scan…" His voice trailed off then, as the three heard a new, unmistakable sound. "Or we could just listen for their vehicles," the Asiatic MechWarrior added with a grin.

Williams and Mikula couldn't help but smirk at the comment. "Indeed. Now lemme have them binoculars," the former said. Nguyen handed them over and the Lieutenant quickly brought them up and pointed hem towards the sounds of approaching vehicles.

It took another five minutes before the two Blakest vehicles wound their way around the path from the east, coming down the small, gentle ridge that reminded Williams of the mountains near where he had grown up. He pushed those thoughts aside though, as he quickly identified the two vehicles.

"Looks like we got heavy wheeled APC leadin' an IS-standard flatbed," he said and then adjusted the binoculars. "Looks like the flatbed's an SRM conversion."

"Dear God, I hope they ain't loaded with infernos," Nguyen breathed, and he shuddered at the idea of the napalm-like fluid turning his 'mech into an oven.

Williams grunted. "Just in case, we'll blast it first." He muttered quietly, the scene lying before him making his voice unconsciously drop. "I'm a bit worried about the APC. They could have some SRM troopers in there."

"Or worse, flamer troops," Nguyen added. In his voice both Williams and Mikula could read more than just the fear of fire it had held when discussing the possibility of Inferno SRMs. They felt the same worry, that the Blakests could turn on the natives and set their town ablaze just to cover their escape.

"Well, that means we'll have to be fast," Williams said as he brought the binoculars down to look out unaided. He then nodded to himself. "Let's do this."

Hurar and Shar had been joined by the other young men from the village, and by some young women as well. They stood in a line behind the tribute mound, while the village's shaman stood alone next to it as the monstrous metal beasts stuttered to a halt. Hurar shuddered when the doors in the side of the two craft opened and out came several of the tall invaders, dressed in the strange battle garb they affected. In their arms were cradled the terrifying, almost mystical weaponry that Hurar had seen take the lives of half the village's fighting men before their shaman had called a surrender all those months ago.

"Why are they being so cautious," someone grumbled behind Hurar. "Isn't it enough that they beat us and treated us like cubs?" Sounds of rumbling, guttural assent reverberated throughout the group.

"Be quite!" Hissed one of the shaman's apprentices. "Do you want them to hear and bring more ruin to us?" The words had their chosen effect, and everyone fell quiet as the humans approached the shaman standing next to the pile of food.

The man in the lead wore some additional adornment that seemed to mark him as the group's leader, or so it seemed to Hurar. He walked up to the shaman and eyed him as if the elder gatón were a disagreeable hair found in one's soup. The man then looked over the tribute, and he grunted before speaking to the shaman.

"Is that all?" He asked disdainfully. "And here I thought that you wanted to stay living for another few months."

Hurar wanted to shiver at the menace in the voice, and he was amazed as the shaman simply stood still in the path that led to the village, symbolically blocking the invader's access. "This is all we could spare. Any more, and we will starve during the winter months," the shaman said, his voice low, yet still possessing a quality that made it carry. "Even as it stands, we have so little that many will go hungry."

The Blakest officer smirked at that, and Hurar felt a sudden sense of foreboding. "Well then, let's make that a bit easier, shall we?" He asked in such a way that Hurar could tell that he meant no help at all.

This was proven when the main raised his rifle and took aim at the crowd of gatón standing behind the shaman. "So, how many should we kill to make your winter easier, hmm?" He asked in a mocking, sadistic tone.

Before the shaman could speak out, however, and before anyone could move away in fear, a new sound came from the woodlands to the south. Thump.

The gatón all paused, wondering what it meant. Hurar noticed, though, that the invaders all suddenly tensed up at the sound, their leader even turning white as he whirled about from the natives and called to his men in their own tongue.

The thumping noise grew louder, faster, and it seemed to come from all around. The invaders were all racing for their vehicles, and the villagers were taking the cue to run back for their own houses. The exception was Hurar, who stood in mute wonder at what could possibly scare their implacable foes so.

Then a shape burst through the trees to the south, and Hurar's eyes went wide with fear and amazement as he saw a figure, painted a black so dark that it seemed to drink up the light all around it, race forward with such speed and grace for its massive size that it made him stand in mute admiration.

The new figure promptly raised one of its hexagonal arms and pointed it at the second of the two invader craft. Two brilliant blue beams then leapt from these arms, tearing out a sound that seemed to rip the air itself apart.

It was nothing, though, as the beams poured unholy fire into the side of the second vehicle, melting away the entire slab of armor and then eating into the internal structure with the same ravenous hunger of a locust swarm in a wheat field.

Before his eyes, Hurar saw the invader's vehicle disappear in a massive conflagration of light and noise. The shockwave from the blast pushed him onto his back, and likely saved him from being impaled by some slower-traveling shrapnel from the blast, which rained down around the area.

Despite the stunning effect, Hurar pushed himself up on his elbows to see the first vehicle racing away from its dead companion, leaving three soldiers behind. The dark shape beyond loomed closer as it turned and raced for the running vehicle. Another shape appeared from the woods then, and then another, both painted the same darkest black. They, too, raced with a finesse that made them seem like Gods on the warpath.

Then with a great rumble of noise and light, another, fourth avatar of death leapt out from the woods and landed directly in the path of the fleeing transport. Even as the wheels screeched and tried to halt the APC, the war machine in front of it unleashed the hellfire of its fusion heart. Two of the same beams that had eliminated the truck now hurtled their way towards the enemy vehicle.

Fortunately for the ones inside the APC, one PPC missed, sending its horrific stream of charged particles to burn a glassed furrow along the roadside. The other tore into the front armor, but despite its mighty power, the armor absorbed and deflected the punishment by melting and shattering in layered plates, redirecting the furious energy away from the crew within.

It was the last bit of luck the hapless craft would ever receive, however, as the other two shapes that had appeared behind the first one sent their own coruscating blue, red and green beams into the armored hide of the APC. Chunks of metal flew off or slagged to the ground in such frenzy that it seemed as if a horizontal volcano had erupted from the craft, and it lurched sideways as if kicked.

Hurar stared at the ruined hulk, watching as smoke bellowed from it, the wind carrying the stench of burnt flesh to his nose. The rumbling thump of the walking death machines moved slower now, and the gatón turned to watch the first one as it approached the village.

Then he saw the three surviving invaders fleeing from the advancing shades, a look in their eyes of total fear. It was a look Hurar had seen in his family's eyes when the invaders had attacked months ago, and it was also the same look that he knew was upon his own face.

One of the fleeing soldiers erupted into flame as a beam of red light came from the middle of the leading attacker, though his scream of pain was cut mercifully short as his flesh was vaporized. Words in the invaders' foreign tongue seemed to blast from the attacking shapes, and the volume assailed Hurar's sensitive ears.

The words also visibly assailed the two soldiers, who halted in their tracks and turned to look up at the advancing war machine. One raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender that even the natives of Bowman's Planet used. The other seemed to follow suit for a second, but then spun about and ran towards the village.

The invader spied Hurar lying on the ground, and the gatón saw something spark in the man's desperate eyes. Before the attackers could move to prevent it, he reached Hurar and in a flurry of motion, yanked the stunned gatón upwards in a chokehold.

"Goddamnit!" Nguyen cursed as he saw the Blakest hold the local gatón before him as a human shield. Gatón shield, whatever, his thoughts flickered on the technicality for a split second.

"You won't touch me!" The Blakest trooper's words came into the cockpit via the Hellbringer II's external microphones. "Get away infidels!" He wrenched the gatón higher, bringing the hapless native off of his feet. The villager reached up and pulled on the arm, not too much to pry himself loose, Nguyen could see from his face, but simply to pull himself up a bit so that his own weight didn't choke him.

"Don't do anything stupid," Williams' voice rang out over the landscape. "You either," he said, pointing one arm at the other surviving Blakest, who had begun to look towards the village. To emphasize, Williams aimed the right arm-mounted ER PPC of his Timber Wolf A directly at the soldier. The other he aimed at the one with the hostage.

Suddenly, Nguyen heard the speakers in his neurohelmet click a bit as his radio interrupted the microphones' data stream. "Whiskey Two, how does your passenger feel 'bout takin' a trip down?"

Nguyen turned his head and looked over at Mikula, whom he knew listened to the same channels that the MechWarrior heard. "What're you thinkin' One?"

"I'm thinkin' that maybe this asshole won't notice someone small slipping down and getting' a bead on him with a rifle," Williams said in clipped tones.

Mikula nodded. "Sounds good."

Hurar pulled on the burly man's arm with all the strength he could muster from his air-starved muscles. I can hardly breath! His thoughts were almost panicky, and the only thing that helped him, oddly enough, was the invaders' fear of the creatures before them.

He could understand why, of course, after seeing what the black shapes could do to him. Yet, why don't I fear them? The thought wasn't totally true; He did have some fear, he knew, but it wasn't the overwhelming terror that seemed to make the invader's body tremble as he held the gatón off the ground.

The alien conversation between the man holding Hurar and the dark shapes had paused for a few moments, but now it started again. The angular, bird-legged shape in front seemed to sway a bit, almost as if it contemplated moving forward again, and the man holding Hurar moved to face it directly. He yelled something towards it, and Hurar felt the man reach down with his free hand to draw one of the smaller, yet no less deadly weapons that he had strapped to his side. Even as the weapon's deadly end was pointed against his temple, however, Hurar's attention was diverted to a small shape that seemed to slip down and away from one of the straight-legged death givers. In the illusion-creating effects of twilight, it went unnoticed by the man holding Hurar.

Then, suddenly, the man flinched and yelled in pain. He let go of Hurar, who dropped to the ground and rolled away instinctually. The gatón then turned on his side and looked up at the invader to see an arrow sticking from the rear of his left shoulder. The man turned and looked towards the village, which prompted Hurar to follow suit.

Standing next to a house was Shar, a bow in his hand that he now worked desperately to notch a new arrow. Time seemed to slow for Hurar then, as the invader brought the weapon in his uninjured hand to bear on the other villager.

Mikula slipped down the handholds on the omnimech that had been placed there for battle-armored troops to hitch a ride. Now, however, they let the lupar clamber down quickly and relatively quietly despite the ablative/flak vest and helmet that he wore over his gray M.I. uniform.

Paranoia pays off, he observed as he dropped to the ground near the Hellbringer II's right foot and unslung his rifle. Williams couldn't know things would've happened this way, yet he still told me to get ready for such combat anyway, Mikula thought with some admiration for the lieutenant. Then he refocused on the present and crept forward a bit to get a clear view of the scene.

"I'm warning you for the last time, Wobbie," Williams was saying over his 'mech's loudspeakers. "Surrender now, and you'll be treated fairly. Resist, and you'll suffer." He shifted his 'mech again to keep the soldier's attention focused on the 75-ton war machine, rather than let him sweep his vision around and see Mikula.

"Not as much as this one'll suffer!" The Wobbie called back as Mikula slid along the ground, using the sparse leaves of the now-harvested plants that still stuck up. The Blakest then pulled a gun and pressed it to the side of his hostage's head. "I'll kill him!"

Not with me here, bastard, Mikula thought darkly as he kneeled behind a clump of leaves from a ground-hugging plant. He brought up his rifle and sighted for the Blakest's forehead. Now just stand still…

Suddenly, the man yelled out in pain, and his left arm dropped the gatón. The latter rolled away quickly in a manner that Mikula appreciated, and the lupar tried to re-sight his aim on the whirling Blakest.

The soldier spun about and was bringing up his weapon to bear towards the village. Mikula realized instantly that someone had landed an arrow into the Blakest, and now that someone was the Wobbie's next target.

The lupar acted first, however. The soldier, in his fear and anger, again made the mistake of not watching his back and standing still. Mikula willingly took payment for that mistake, as he aimed and fired his assault rifle, sending three rounds downrange.

The effect was immediate, as the trio of bullets slammed into the base of the Wobbie's neck, tearing through flesh and bone and severing the man's spinal cord. The lead slugs fragmented and ricocheted off of the neck bones, spreading the damage so much that the man's head was nearly severed. Red flowers of blood and gore erupted from the entry and exit wounds in the man's neck, and the momentum caused the body to flop to the side as it thudded to the ground.

Mikula spared a glance to the other Blakest soldier; seeing him quiescently kneeling with his hands on his head, the lupar dashed forward in the bent-legged fashion taught to him by the trainers on New Honshu.

He reached the gatón first, who was laying on his side still, staring wide-eyed at the bloody death of the Blakest. When the local then looked up at the approaching lupar, he flinched a bit in surprise.

Mikula crouched near the gatón and gently put a hand to the young man's shoulder. "Are you all right?" He asked in Gatonese.

Hurar took a moment to reply, so startled he was by the appearance of a lupar in such strange clothing, wielding an invader's weapon and now even speaking his own language. "I'm… I'm fine," he managed to stutter out after a moment. "Who… Who are you?"

"I'm a friend," Mikula replied quickly as he let the gatón go and turned to walk over to the dead body of the Blakest trooper. He is most definitely dead, the lupar mused darkly. Then he turned to look over at Williams' 'mech and triggered his radio with an upraised hand. "He's dead, the hostage is safe," he spoke in English.

"Good work," Williams responded with a release of breath. "Now, watch the guy who surrendered while we try to clear the place up a bit."

"Roger," Mikula replied and nodded his head. He clicked his radio off and then turned around to heck the scene once again.

He was startled to see many of the village's inhabitants standing nearby, right at the edge of the last house. Several of the gatón detached themselves and cautiously walked over to where their fellow still lay on the dirt path. One of those walking up was a bit older than most, and the way he carried himself identified him as a man accustomed to reverence as much as his robes showed his status. Mikula nodded to the elder gatón as he approached. "Shaman," he said friendlily in Gatonese.

This made the man start a bit, and the other gatón halted and looked at Mikula even more strangely now. The shaman, however, recovered easily and nodded to the lupar. "You know our ways?"

Mikula nodded. "Yes," he said, turning his head to look over at the prisoner who still was down on his knees in submission. Despite Williams' order, the lieutenant was keeping his weapons trained on the Blakest.

He knows that it is important that I speak to these people, Mikula realized, and he turned back to the shaman. "I hope that no one is hurt?"

The gatón shaman looked over at Hurar, who was standing now and brushing himself off while he watched the scene. "We seem to be fine," the shaman said as he turned back to look at Mikula again and openly appraised the lupar.

Gods know that I look strange enough, Mikula thought. Dark gray armor over gray clothing and my own gray fur... I must look like a statue.

"So, what is going on here?" The shaman asked. "What are those... Things?" He gestured to the large war machines, three of which were using their handless arms to lever the wreckage of the Blakest machines towards the southeast.

"Those are war machines," Mikula said slowly, adding together the two Gatonese words carefully. "They are controlled by people who are friends… Friends to you as much as to me, though you may not know it."

The shaman frowned and looked over the scene again. His eyes lingered on the dead body off to the side, and also at the food pile just beyond. "Why do you come here?"

"To free you," Mikula said carefully. "The men who were in those vehicles," he paused and pointed to the burned wrecks that were being dragged off in a haphazard fashion, "were enemies of my friends. They are my enemies, as well, because they've attacked my home, my friends and loved ones." Though he spoke slowly and with a controlled voice, some of Mikula's emotions drifted into his words and gave them weight. "So we've come to fight them."

The shaman stood there for a second, thinking. Behind him, Mikula could see that practically the entire village was out, watching the scene, listening to the conversation. He gave them a neutral look, and some of them turned away.

"Where did you learn such Gatonese?" The shaman asked, seemingly on a tangent. Mikula, however, had talked enough with Forbasa and van Horn and others to know the real question: Are you trustworthy? "I learned from Shaman Forbasa of Kuamket," Mikula spoke with respect in his voice.

The name had an effect on the shaman, who blinked his eyes in surprise. "Shaman Revalo Forbasa? The elder shaman of the forest tribes?"

Mikula nodded, recognizing the lengthy formal title. "The same."

"But… We heard Kuamket was destroyed," the shaman spoke with finality. "A trader saw the ruins with his own eyes."

"It was…" Mikula said, and then tilted his head down a bit. He closed his eyes in remembrance as he spoke. "I was there. Some fortunate few of us survived, and we moved away, to the west and north, to find refuge."

"I've never known Shaman Forbasa to have lupar friends," the village shaman spoke neutrally. Mikula, however, could 'read between the lines,' as the humans said, and he raised his head and opened his eyes to look at the shaman. "Things change," he said, and gestured to where Williams' Timber Wolf still stood.

The shaman looked over the jet-black 'mech, and then turned his attention back to Mikula. "So it would seem," he said with a nod. Then he sighed. "I suppose you will be wanting the food then?" He asked, gesturing to the tribute pile, which had remained untouched.

Mikula frowned as he glanced at the food, and he shook his head. "No. That is yours, and we'll not take it," he replied. "We are not like the invaders, we do not take what is not ours."

The gatón, all of them, looked hopeful, save the shaman, whose face was an inscrutable mask. Then he finally cracked a small, almost insignificant smile. "Yes, you definitely sound like someone who Revalo would have as a friend."

Mikula blushed at that. "Thank you," he replied quietly.

"You're welcome," the shaman said. Then he nodded. "Well, we haven't been introduced. I am Shaman Oser Derono, of the village Shunyo Tala."

"And I am Mikula Farkas, formerly of Tanzano," Mikula replied with a genuine smile. He held out his right hand so naturally that he didn't realize what the strange look on the shaman's face was until he noticed where the gatón's eyes had moved.

Mikula blushed again and dropped his hand. "My apologies. It is a greeting my friends have, and I appear to have picked it up." How much like them I've become, he realized.

"That is, quite all right," Derono replied. "Speaking of your friends, do they wish to come down from those… Machines? We would welcome them for their help."

Mikula grinned sheepishly. "I am sorry, but we have little enough time as it is," he said and gestured to where the massive 'mechs had manhandled the vehicle wreckage. "After we hide our involvement here, we must move on and continue our campaign against the invaders." A thought then struck Mikula, and he gestured with his head towards the smaller pieces of metal wreckage. "In fact, you might wish to have your villagers clean up the area. It is for your protection, as the invaders might come down hard if they know that some of their own died here."

Derono gave Mikula a nearly poisonous look. "You mean that the invaders may come back?"

Mikula frowned "Perhaps… Or perhaps not," he said, and then shrugged. "We will be doing our best to attack them, and hopefully, this will distract them enough that they'll ignore you. However," he paused and thought of a way to translate a certain maxim. "'Any battle plan does not survive contact with the enemy.'"

Derono's look shifted into one of contemplation. "I do not know battle so much as others would, but those words have the ring of truth to them," he said and twitched his tail about in mild irritation. "So, what happens if they come back?"

"You run," Mikula said without hesitation. "It may not be prideful, but a wise man once said, 'honor is a thin cloak against the chill of the grave.'"

This made Derono twitch an ear in surprise. "Again, you speak words with much truth in them."

Mikula smiled wanly. "I am but a simple student who knows what to read," he said. Then the smile disappeared. "In any case, you might want to have someone up on that ridge and watch the east." He pointed as he spoke, indicating the finger of land that the trade road winded up. "Watch for vehicles, especially those that carry the sword and star emblem of our mutual enemy."

"I will consider it," Derono replied, though his words were neutral his tone belied his like for the plan. "So, you will be leaving soon, yes?"

Mikula glanced back at the movement of the 'mechs and the wreckage. He then nodded at the shaman. "Yes. Though we may wait a bit longer while we consider what to do with that one," he gestured casually to the captured Blakest at the last.

Derono's tail twitched in agitation. "You should kill him."

Mikula sighed. "Perhaps… But my friends are not that way with their prisoners. I think we will wait a bit for someone to come get him from our main camp to the south."

"Wait… You have more of your friends elsewhere?" Derono asked as if the idea didn't occur to him.

Mikula grinned lopsidedly. "Many more, and many, many more to come, as well," he said assuredly. "They are but an advanced force, come here to taunt the enemy before the hammer falls."

"That sounds like a momentous day," a voice came from behind Derono. He and Mikula turned their glances and spied the gatón who had been held hostage by the Blakest soldier.

"Indeed it shall," Mikula agreed with a nod. "The skies will fill with light from their ships, and the air itself will rumble with their forces."

The natives all gave him strange looks, and Mikula blushed a bit at his waxing lyrical. I think I've been around Earl too much. "In any case, you can identify my friends thus," he said and reached into a pocket underneath his armor. Mikula then withdrew one of the small tokens that Colonel Sakamoto had had made back on New Honshu for just such an occasion. "This is the standard which will be displayed by their forces. And you can have this so that they may know that you are friends." He then held it out towards Derono.

The shaman looked at the medallion in Mikula's hand, and he slowly took it and held it up to catch the last, waning light of the sun. It was a medallion made of bronze, and upon one side was the diving eagle insignia of the USAF. Derono then flipped it over and saw that the other side was engraved with words in both Gatonese script and Lupari lettering that said thus:

"Our sacred promise

To defend the innocent

And to bring Freedom"

Derono read the words several times before he lowered the metal disc and looked over Mikula again. "Grand words. Do they mean it?"

Mikula nodded. "I've seen their homes, and what they've done for some people already," he said quietly. "Those words are no idle boast nor empty promise. They've saved the lives of my family, and of the woman I love," he paused at the last, not intending to go so far, and his emotions outran his mouth. Mikula then shook his head a bit to clear it, and he went on. "In any case, you may trust them so long as they bear that insignia and repeat those words."

Derono nodded sagely. "I shall remember."

Mikula smiled. "Good. And now, I have a duty to perform," he said and then turned to look at the prisoner. "It is easier to watch a person from the ground than from the control area of one of those machines."

Derono nodded again. "Then let us all attend to our duties."