Well all...Been a LONG time (Too long) but I got busy and then hit writers block.

A couple things:

#1. Thanks for everyone reading it :D

#2. My DEEPEST apologies if this chapter is newbish to battletech...I lost all my beta's!!

#3. ANYONE wanting to beta the chapters (One with Battletech knowladge preferable) would be highly welcome. I can't exactly pay you, but I am willing to repay the services.

#4. Added a planet name...Okay? I looked and it didn't have any background so I just picked one.

#5. I want a opinion from the reviewers on somethign I got for the next chapter.

I am planning on adding a Lyran Reinforcement unit in the next chapter. I wanted it to have;

A. Enough respectability, that if they win Melissa Steiner can use the victory for Lyran propoganda

B. Unknown enough that if they lose, they won't detract to badly from the Lyran image.

C. Decent skill without leaving a front-line un-attended.

I know NOTHING about specific Lyran units, so I looked through a list, and picked something that I figured may be logical. If it will NOT work, let me know...real newbish on this stuff ;)

I picked one mech Battalion from the 1st Alarion Jaegers, and a reinforced armor battalion from the 12th Alarion Armor regiment. From the Lyran planet of Alarion...I know they are sorta planetary militia, but they were the only ones that obviously were not bigshot units, and yet may be considered enough "Regular military" in the LAAF. They have fanatical loyalty ratings to the Lyran Alliance so it seemed fitting.

Does that sound reasonable?

--

Orbit above Planet Rosice.

Lyran Space

3063.

Strapped into his mech, Grant looked around at the cockpit interior. Flipping several switches he began the startup procedure and the mech slowly rumbled to life.

"Name and identification code," the monotone computer demanded.

"Commander Grant Prien. Authorization code, I don't have time for this shit."

"Voice recognition pattern recognized. Startup procedures continued. Reactor online, sensors online, weapons online, all systems nominal." The computer replied.

Although his mech was clamped into it's slot inside the dropship, he flexed slightly, feeling the resistance to his moves. Sighing, he waited as he felt the dropship slipping through space towards the planet below.

If there was one thing he hated, it was being inside a dropship going planetside. Completely powerless and at the whim of someone else. Add in aerospace fighters and the chances of faulty drop, it made his skin crawl.

Nonetheless things went smoothly for some time until the dropship intercom began it's buzzing and the red lights surrounding every room began flashing.

A voice came over the intercom, the cool calmness of it's captain, Jacob Harley, "All crew not assigned to battle stations report for damage control teams. We have incoming fighters, brace for impact."

As his voice left, the dropship shuddered as the incoming fighters made strafing pass. Keying the intercom, Grant contacted the dropship bridge, "Captain Harley. What've we got?"

"Nothing we can't handle sir. Looks like a lance each of Rievers and Corsairs going for the dropships, and another quad of Sparrowhawks going for the escorts. We'll rip em up. Escorting fighters engaging."

Although he couldn't see it, Grant could visualize the unit's ten aerospace fighters moving in formation against the attacking craft.

--

"Falcon 4 engage the Rievers, we'll take those Corsairs off your backs," Tipper Harley spoke into the comms as his aerospace fighters engaged those coming up from the planet, "Falcon Flight 3. Engage the escorts. Make sure it's not a friendly, you got the same birds."

"Roger Falcon lead." "On it Lead," came the replies.

His flights having their orders, his trio of Corsairs rolled hard right to engage identical ASF's that were setting up for a strafing run on the Outpost a Union class dropship.

"Okay boys, take em out," he ordered. His flight spread out and targeted the enemy fighters. At the last second before weapons range the flight of Corsairs broke, scattering in the face of his attack.

He picked a Corsair making a wide turn that was way too slow and meandering to have a skilled pilot in it. He dropped onto it's tail and unleased his lasers. A flurry of blue and green light flashed for a instant, connecting his Corsair with the one in front of him. The left wing took both of his medium lasers and three of the small lasers, while his large laser and a small missed.

The attack rattled the pilot, obviously not accustomed to combat. He throttled it, counting on high speed to get out of range, a stupid plan for a pursuing fighter with identical speed. Harley gauged a moment then unleashed a second wave of lasers. The large laser slammed into the already damaged wing and it split off, the fighter now spiralling out of control, until a second later it blossomed into a fireball.

His fighter made a jerk as he pulled out of the attack run. Glancing at his computer he noted a sparrowhawk had latched on his tail.

"Damnit," he muttered. Keying the intercom he spoke, "Falcon two where are you? I got a hawk on my tail and he ain't letting up."

To emphasise his point another small laser hammered his tail and he yanked his Corsair into a tight turn. He was somewhat surprised when the small fighter tucked in behind him, plastering him with a medium laser. Obviously this was a better pilot than the average back-water planet jock.

He made a feint left, then jinked his fighter into a hard right, but the Sparrowhawk kept on his tail, hitting with another medium laser, this time on his undamaged right wing.

"DAMNIT TWO," Tipper snarled into the mike. He always hated it whenever his wingman took off. Although a good kid, and a excellent pilot, he had a bad habit of running off sometimes.

"Right behind him Lead," came the calm voice. Harley risked a glance back and saw his wingmans Corsair slip behind the Sparrowhawk. It took the pilot a moment, but noticed the Corsair, but by then it was too late. In a blistering flash of light, the fragile fighter ripped apart and "Wildcard" Perkins pulled alongside the wing leader.

"They're on the run lead. Friendly planetside fighters are on their way up, Kelly got one and our dropships ripped one apart."

Harley sighed and glanced at his wingman, "Okay. I'll buy that. Where the hell were you?"

"Following that Hawk,"came the reply. After taking a moment of silence he continued, "Curious if you could take him."

Before answering Tipper had to chuckle. The kid had balls to say that to his face. He liked it, but..."Sounds good kid...You're paying back half the damage though." Before the younger man could reply Tipper temporarily blocked out that comlink, tired and not feeling up to what he knew would have been a lengthy argument.

--

Not having any control over the battle, Grant cut off the comms to listen in and sat back in the mech. As he moved his hands over the controls, he sent a mental thought at the mech, "How do you take freefalls?" Although he knew it was a coincedence the mech gave a slight shuder, his own impulses triggering it.

Captain Harley's voice interupted him, breaking him out of thoughts, "Sir. There are four Sheppard fighters coming up to assist. The Kinsey fighters are breaking off, minus one...wait...minus two Rievers, a Sparrowhawk and a Corsair. We will be planetside in one hour, thirty five minutes."

Re-assured somewhat Grant leaned back to "Enjoy" the ride.

After what seemed like a lifetime he could feel the dropship as the jets fired to bring the massive egg closer to it's designated path. A few seconds later, the dropship shuddered as it hit atmosphere.

Then came another eternity, longer than the one through space. Every second taking an hour to pass. The buffeting as the dropship plowed through the atmopshere increased, and clamped in mech shuddered, only increasing the nerves of the mech pilots.

The dropship gave a massive burst with it's jets, slowing the descent, followed by a massive thump, signalling touchdown.

The clamps retracted from Grant's mech, as Captain Harley's voice came over the comlink, "We are planetside. Dropships Outpost and Destructer are just touching down. The entire combat unit should be touching dirt within 20 minutes. It'll take us longer to unload the logistics."

"Take your time captain. As long as our battlemechs are out we shouldn't be bothered," Grant switched the comlink channel, "Okay Wolf, Eagle and Firebird lances. Follow me out and set up a defensive perimeter until the entire unit is out."

He pushed down on the foot petals and the mech slowly stomped forward, out of the dropships bay doors, quickly followed by the other 11 mechs of his company.

He glanced around the country surrounding the trio of dropships, "Firebird's Take that low ridge 2 clicks north. Keep an eye out for anything unusual. Eagles stay by the dropships, Wolf lance is going to make a quick sweep of the area."

The various mechs departed into their assigned directions, his own lance peeling off for a wide perimeter check.

As they made their pass, he knew that nothing should happen. They were 70 kilometers behind the Sheppard lines, and he doubted that anything big enough to pose a threat could make it through without being noticed, especially with the firepower of three dropships. Nonetheless he played it cautious, it didn't take much extra effort to take the extra precautions, and the benefit was large.

It took nearly three quarters of an hour to complete their circuit, taking an extra-long pass around the landing area. They hadn't seen anything other than some farmers working the fields, and a small group of children outside a house that all ran to the yard's fence, gazing at the mech's and attempting to identify them from their comic books.

When they had returned, the relatively peaceful large section of rolling grasslands, surrounded by low-lying hills had been transformed.

The dropships had landed on the edges of the grass field, providing long-range scanning ability, and able to spot incoming forces and provide defensive fire. The entire mech and tank force had made it out and formed lines along the clearing edge, making room for the setup teams.

Although the dropships made up a large portion of his command operations, especially the Overlord class dropship, he usually housed many of his troops in crude tent/plywood barracks, a welcome change from the cramped, six-to-one bunkrooms on the dropship that could only house four men at a time, relying on the other two to be working a shift.

Rows of tents had gone up, along with several large canvas "Shops" to work on tanks and other smaller vehicles out of the sun.

The VTOL's had been unloaded and were specks in the distance, making their way to a Sheppard airbase to join the ASF's. That was one of the few weak points in his company, lack of proper maintenance techs, and logistics for air cover, relying mostly on local resources.

All of this in a span of 40 minutes, although admittedly, most of the tents were a simple pop-up style. And the fact that his personal, even the low-rung techs on the dropship had been trained in quick bugout operations. Several times in the Clan front, only the rapid dismantlemant of equipment and bases saved them from Clan attacks, a lesson which was one of many he had not so much learned, as burned into his brain from the Clans.

Looking over the layout, he moved his mech into the lineup, intent on leaving it's cockpit and overseeing the camp's setup.

"Alpha Wolf Leader, this is Firebird Leader, we got mechs inbound from west. I make out 10 mechs of varying class, speed 35 kilometers per hour, looks like they are escorting a small convoy. "

Sighing, Grant keyed the comlink, "Sheppard mechs?"

"No sir, the sensors read Smoke Tigers," came the reply.