AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, an update that didn't take a year! That's progress.

I have managed to plot out where the story is going before it jumps back to Rasalhague, and from there to where this chapter will end. Am I continuing it afterwards? You bet! I think I'm a better writer now than I was in 2003, so hopefully most, if not all the entire Snowbird Saga is getting a rewrite.

Sentinel Base Grunwald

Grunwald, Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth

20 April 3050

Calla Bighorn-Vlata sat down heavily in his chair, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He needed rest, he knew that. He had looked in the mirror in the bathroom and for a moment didn't quite recognize the man that looked back at him. That man had lines on his face that belonged on an older man, gray hairs, and a paunch that was getting noticeable. He would turn 49 in two months.

At least I'll be celebrating it at home, he thought. Unlike the tiny room he had shared with Arla on Persistence, this was their true home. Hanse Davion had assigned the Sentinels to Grunwald in 3034, just as the unit had reached battalion strength, and had told Calla to consider the planet to be the Sentinels' new home. They did not run the place like Wolf's Dragoons ran Outreach, nor was it a feudal holding like the Kells had on Arc-Royal. It was a garrison, but Grunwald was far enough back from the frontier that it was not likely to be raided. It was indeed home.

Calla wearily got up and walked across the living room, down a short flight of stairs, to a large picture window. By nobility standards, the house wasn't much: a two-story affair with the bedrooms upstairs, a living room downstairs, with an attached kitchen and an office/workshop for Calla. When he had time and there wasn't anything pressing, Calla would retreat to the latter and build models. Arla would curl up on the couch and watch reality tridee series—a habit Calla had never quite understood—and Sheila, if she was home, would hang out with either one of them. He looked down the hallway to the closed door of his office, and smiled. For as long as he remembered, Sheila would lean against the doorway and talk to her father, or watch enraptured as he built his models. She had tried, but she was all thumbs at it, without the patience it required—but she enjoyed watching him build them all the same.

He wasn't going to have much time for it now, Calla reckoned. The day before—the day after the regiment had returned from a long trip inward from Persistence—the regiment had buried their dead. 22 new graves were in the regimental cemetery on a hill overlooking the base, which curled around a bay. There were nearly that many that were in the base hospital, though those would eventually return to duty. Three MechWarriors had simply left the regiment, taking retirement papers or walked away at the Sentinels' one stop at Antares, preferring desertion to facing the Clans again.

And face the Clans they would. Calla knew that. The only question was when, and if the Sentinels would be able to bring their numbers back up to fighting strength before that happened.

He walked into the kitchen and was about to get a beer from the refrigerator when there was a knock on the door. Who the hell would that be? Arla was out drilling her infantry, who had taken no casualties on Persistence, while Sheila was getting her company sorted out. Company! Calla had known Sheila would get her own company someday, but he figured it would be several years, not several months. He opened the door.

Marshal of the Armies of the Federated Commonwealth Morgan Hasek-Davion was raising his hand to knock again. He grinned at Calla; the two were of a height, though to Calla's chagrin, Morgan's hair was still as red as the day they had met on New Avalon before the Fourth Succession War. "Hi, Calla."

"What the…" Calla suddenly remembered who he was talking to. He came to attention and saluted. "Sir."

Morgan returned the salute. Beyond him, down the stairs that led to the road, Calla saw a staff hovercar parked with four armed guards. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, sir." Calla opened the door wider. "Sorry, I didn't know you were onplanet. No one told me, sir."

"Unofficial. And drop the sir, Calla. We've breathed the same smoke enough times for that."

"Not sure that being on the same planet in '39 counts as the same smoke, but all right…Morgan." Calla was surprised at the easy familiarity, but then figured he shouldn't be. This was the way Morgan Hasek-Davion did things. He was the type to walk into a room of total strangers, and within an hour everyone there felt like the man's friend. He and Calla had met a number of times, the last time at the Nagelring when Sheila and Victor had graduated, but Calla didn't really know him that well.

Morgan set his hat down on the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. "Nice place."

"Thank you, sir—er, Morgan."

The Marshal of the Armies grinned at him. "Got a beer? It's five o'clock somewhere."

Calla grinned back. "I was just about to get me one when you arrived." He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two beers, handing one to the other man. Morgan twisted the cap off and took a drink. "Not bad." He looked at the label. "Drooling Goat?"

"Local microbrew. Good stuff, though." Both of them sat at the bar. Calla took a drink of his own and decided if Morgan was going to be informal, so would he. "You didn't stop here for a beer and to swap war stories."

"No. I'm on my way to Sudeten. That's probably going to be our concentration point. The Eridani Light Horse are on their way there, along with the 10th Lyran Guards. We're going to start working on trying to stop these Clan bastards."

"And you're going to want the Sentinels."

Morgan nodded. "Right now, Calla, the Sentinels are one of the few regiments to even get off a world that got hit, let alone give these Jade Falcons a bloody nose. We need that experience." He took another drink. "This is most secret, so don't tell anyone, not even your daughter. We lost a dozen worlds in the first wave, including Persistence—to the Jade Falcons and another Clan, the Wolves. We think the latter is the ones that got the Kell Hounds on Sisyphus' Lament. The wave that started last week, while the Sentinels were in transit, was just four planets. We don't know if the Sentinels contributed to that, or the 12th Donegal did, or both."

Calla remembered the 12th Donegal, on Trell I. "We heard Prince Victor got offplanet. How bad did the 12th Donegal get torn up?"

"They're still fighting. Guerilla tactics, but the Jade Falcons have had to reinforce, at least. We've got other resistance forces on Somerset that we're in communication with, but that's it for now. There's others, but so far, we haven't been able to get messages in."

"Persistence might have one." Calla remembered Nichole Danderson angrily accusing Calla of abandoning her people and Persistence. The words had stung, and Calla's attempts to tell her that the best thing Danderson could do would be to work with the invaders until a counterattack could be made fell on deaf ears. I hope you didn't do something stupid, Danderson, Calla thought. He had little doubt that the short, friendly saKhan Cavell Malthus would start shooting people if such a resistance was attempted. But if it was me, would I just quit? He took another drink. "Can you tell me how bad things are in the FRR and the Combine?"

"We don't actually know," Morgan admitted. "Best guess is that Rasalhague got hit as hard as we did. So did Kurita. Turtle Bay got hit—another Clan, calling themselves the Smoke Jaguars. Rasalhague's under attack from the Wolves and the Ghost Bears. We don't know yet if Turtle Bay fell, but Theodore Kurita's son was stationed there."

"Jesus." Another memory: an arrogant, ridiculously mustachioed, young Theodore Kurita telling an equally young and arrogant Calla Bighorn-Vlata to surrender the Ziegenhain Repair Facility to him. Calla had told the heir to House Kurita to shove it. The Sentinels had held, but only because the 10th Lyran Guards were pounding down the road to their rescue. Wonder if he still remembers that. Probably not. It had been a minor skirmish at best. "Who the hell are these guys, Morgan?"

"I wish I knew, but they are kicking our arses right now." He took another pull at the beer as well. "How bad was it on Persistence?"

"Bad. We outnumbered them three to one, down behind one of Amaris' old forts, and they still damn near overran us. If it hadn't been for the fact that I mined the hell out of the walls, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Calla finished the beer. "Funny thing about the Clanners. They were so impressed that we held them off that they let us go. Gave us a week to gather our things and let us leave. 'Course, they're probably pissed now, since we sabotaged the repair facility, but they were magnanimous. Polite as hell. The guy commanding them—saKhan or something, but his name is Cavell Malthus—he fought in the old way, way old." Morgan looked a bit confused. "You know, ancient Earth. Two commanders meet between their armies, salute each other, 'I honor a gallant antagonist,' stupid shit like that."

Morgan nodded. "I've heard that from other people who survived. They also like to fight one-on-one, like Kurita used to, back before Theodore took over as Kanrei."

"They didn't do that with us, but the situation was pretty confused, so I'm not surprised." Calla finished his beer. "That's going to cost them. I didn't go to NAIS like you did, but my pappy taught me to dogpile your enemy."

"I went to Warrior Hall, actually…but yes, they taught us that as well. It's just common sense." He finished his beer. "Look. I came down to Grunwald to get some fresh air and let you know what you're planning. How soon can the Sentinels be combat effective again?"

Calla was silent for a moment, doing the math. "I'm down about 40 MechWarriors right now, with about half that in the hospital until next month. 50 'Mechs gone, with another 50 in the repair shop. That's another thing—the Clans didn't take any salvage. They allowed us all of that. They didn't let us get to any of theirs, of course." That part wasn't quite true. Calla knew that Nicia Caii's techs had managed to steal two Clan Gauss Rifles before the Jade Falcons had hauled away their destroyed 'Mechs. Calla wasn't supposed to know about that. "Anyway, I'd say two months—a month if we rush things."

"They probably don't want it. Their stuff is better." Morgan got off the stool. "I can't help you with the MechWarriors, but I can get you about 30 remounts in a week. They won't be the latest models, but they'll get some people off the Dispossessed rolls."

"I can't afford that, Morgan."

"Free of charge." Calla's mouth dropped open, and Morgan laughed. "It's a down payment on the future, Calla. Believe me, you're going to need them." He walked towards the door, Calla following, and paused at the threshold. "You've got three weeks, Calla. That's all I can give you."

Tooriu Kku walked down the long hallway of Storehouse Two, one of five huge warehouses where the Sentinels kept a little bit of everything—spare parts, uniforms, old equipment that the techs refused to throw away, and even personal effects from Sentinel personnel that had either not wanted to store in their barracks rooms or were dead. Tooriu was not his normal affable self, but that had nothing to do with Persistence, rather his current mission: inventorying the regiment's spare medium laser barrels. As nearly every 'Mech in the unit used medium lasers, it would be a long, boring way to spend the afternoon. Just because I laughed when Major Carabinera slipped on some coolant and nearly busted her ass. Man, why is it all the girl officers we have are all grumpy old women? He smiled. Well, except for Elfa, of course. They had been on separate DropShips leaving Persistence, but neither of them had been on Grunwald long before Tooriu came to Elfa's small apartment in the officers' quarters. Less than thirty seconds had passed from the moment he knocked on her door to the moment both were stark naked. They hadn't even made it to her bed. Damn. Whoever said older women aren't good in bed was a farking idiot. They had planned to get together tonight, and Tooriu idly wondered if they would make it to her bed this time. She's insatiable for you, Tooriu. Shit, who am I kidding? I want her just as bad. Mmm, yeah…those tits…natural blonde…

Tooriu's increasingly X-rated thoughts were interrupted as he passed one of the many doors in the warehouse, the difference being this one was open. He stopped and looked in. To his surprise, Max Canis-Vlata was trying to pull a footlocker off a stack of them, and not having much success. Before his friend could hurt himself, Tooriu stuffed the datapad he was holding into his fatigue pants and ran in. "Allow me, Max." Tooriu was as strong as a bull, so he had no trouble with the footlocker; Max helped, but didn't really have to.

"Thanks, Tooriu." Max wiped his hands on his fatigues. "I never would have gotten that down."

"Should've asked for help. You're a Lance Commander—get one of your guys to help." Tooriu glanced down at the footlocker. On it was a name: BALLEW, MICAJAH. "Oh."

"Yeah." Max stared down at it like it was a coffin he didn't really want to open—which, Tooriu thought, was a good analogy. "When we were bugging out on Persistence, I didn't really have a chance to go through his things. Siembieda and I just tossed everything into the footlocker. They're supposed to send his stuff to his dad here on Grunwald tomorrow…I wanted to go through it. Make sure there's nothing there that Mica wouldn't want his dad to see." Max shrugged. "I was his roomie. It's my responsibility."

"Of course." Tooriu watched as Max popped the locks open with a sonic wrench and opened the locker. As Max sat down, Tooriu sat next to him. "I'll help."

"Thanks, but aren't you here for something?"

"Ah, Carabinera got pissed at me for laughing in formation so she sent me to count medium laser barrels. I can find out how many there are—the techs keep track of that stuff. Hell, Caii probably has it in that bald head of hers." He set the datapad aside. "Besides, Carabinera would understand this." Gnea Carabinera was as nasty and gruff as Marion Rhialla—or wanted everyone to think she was. In reality, the 35-year old had a heart of gold beneath the tough exterior, the type of person who would take extra guard shifts so her MechWarriors could get a full night's sleep, or would lend money to people who needed it in her company, even though she was far from rich herself.

They went through Ballew's things. Micajah Ballew had been fairly spartan in his things; there were only a handful of books. Max set aside a few novels and Ballew's Bible, which he knew his former roommate had read every night. There was a few other odds and ends, including a few sticks of holographs and an expensive camera, plus the paperwork that followed MechWarriors through their careers no matter what unit they served with; Ballew's hobby had been nature photography. Tooriu whistled. "Man, talk about your clean living. Not even a porn holo. Did the man have a girlfriend?" He paused. "Or boyfriend? Or whatever? I mean, I didn't know him."

"Mica had a girlfriend. I don't even know who she was—they broke up before the Sentinels went to Persistence."

"Whoever cleans out my stuff is going to be shocked at what I've got." That was actually not true: Tooriu didn't own a single bit of lewd books or holos; he'd never needed it. He nudged Max. "You got anything juicy?"

Max took it in the spirit it was intended; Tooriu was just trying to keep their minds off the fact that they were cleaning out a dead man's things. "Yeah, I've got a few graphic novels saved."

"Oh yeah? Tell me." Tooriu set aside some pay stubs; he'd burn that later.

"None of your business, man."

"C'mon."

Max rolled his eyes. "All right, fine. You ever hear of the one with the two girl MechWarriors who like to tie each other up?"

Tooriu's eyes widened. "Whoa, I didn't think you were into that stuff!"

"I'm not!" Max protested. "I like the art, okay?"

"Uh huh. What do we have here?" Tooriu pulled out a stack of handwritten letters. Those were rare in a century where e-mail and hololetters were far more in use. "Hmm. Maybe Mica saved some of his letters from his girlfr—oh, wait." He had seen the envelopes. "From his dad." Tooriu set those aside. Suddenly he didn't feel like being funny anymore.

The rest of the work was done in silence. They did find a letter from Mica's girlfriend, which had been printed out; neither man looked at it, but put it in the burn pile. Then they were done. Everything that would not be disposed of was set back neatly into the footlocker. Tooriu helped Max put it back in place, then looked around. There were a number of footlockers in the storehouse, which suddenly felt cold. "Hope they're not just having some poor bastard of a delivery person dropping that off to him."

Max led Tooriu out of the room, then closed and secured the door behind him. It felt like sealing a mausoleum. "No, I'm doing it."

Tooriu put a hand on Max's shoulder. "Dude, you should allow the chaplain to do that. Ballew was Catholic, right? Father Dan can take care of it." The Sentinels, like most mercenary units, did not have a chaplain assigned to them or on staff. They invited various clergy to the small nondenominational church to give services. Daniel Powell was the local Catholic priest.

"He was my roomie and my lancemate. I was his lance commander. My responsibility."

Tooriu put up his hands defensively. "Sorry."

Max motioned him down the hallway. "No, I'm sorry—that came out harsher than I intended. C'mon…I'll help you with the laser barrels. We can at least come up with a believable number." Tooriu nodded, and they walked further down the hallway. When they came to the right door, Max paused. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know what porn you own now, so we would be even."

Max laughed. "Fair enough." He became serious again. "Tooriu, I'm dating Sheila."

"I know."

"You two used to be together."

"Yep. Used to." Tooriu smiled. "Hey, no hard feelings. Sheila wanted more than I could give. I don't hold it against her, and I don't think she holds it against me." He hesitated. "Does she?"

"Not that I know of. I think she's embarrassed to talk about you. But…I wanted you to know." Max scratched the back of his head and laughed again. "Feels like I'm asking your permission."

"That's her dad, and best of luck with Calla. But I've got no designs on her, man. We're friends, but that's it. Besides, I'm doing some dating myself…as you know."

"The whole regiment knows." Regimental gossip was the fastest communication known to man.

"Uh, yeah." Tooriu's smile became a sheepish grin. "Anyway, yeah, I mean, best of luck. Have you two…you know…"

"No. Not going to lie—I've thought about it, but…it doesn't feel right. Not yet."

Tooriu keyed in the datapad. "You're being smart about it. We jumped into the sex thing too fast." He slapped Max on the back. "Better stock up with oysters and bacitracin when you do decide to take it to the next level, though."

Mira Canis-Vlata looked up as Sheila walked into her office. The younger woman came to attention before her superior's desk. "Major Arla-Vlata reporting for duty, ma'am." The words sounded strange to Sheila. On her red rank boards was the single diamond of a major.

Mira smiled. "At ease, Major." She chuckled. "That sounds really weird saying that. I remember when you were just a baby, screaming because you chucked all your stuffed animals out of your crib." She waved it off. "Anyway…did you prepare a battalion personnel sheet?"

"Yes, ma'am." Sheila handed her a piece of paper. Mira scanned it.

4th Company

13th Light Dragoons

Major Sheila Arla-Vlata, Veteran Shruiken

MechWarrior Kaatha, Veteran Griffin

MechWarrior Marcus Drax, Regular Phoenix Hawk

MechWarrior Nkosiyabo Malinga, Regular Crusader

7th Fusiliers

Lance Commander David Ladyman, Veteran Stalker

MechWarrior Charles Badaxe, Regular Atlas

MechWarrior Grattan Long, Regular Charger

MechWarrior David George, Regular Banshee

23rd Fusiliers

Lance Commander Michael Whelan, Regular Stalker

MechWarrior Kathleen Wethrea, Regular Victor

MechWarrior Meduit Rori, Veteran Stalker

MechWarrior Maria Thyatis, Regular Wolverine

33rd Fusiliers

Lance Commander Perry Martin, Veteran Cyclops

MechWarrior Mimi Stykkis, Regular Crusader

MechWarrior Peter Zelensky, Regular Banshee

MechWarrior Paul Crispin, Regular Marauder

"Promoted Dave Ladyman, Mike Whelan, and Perry Martin to Lance Commanders?" Mira tapped the paper. "Ladyman and Martin are great choices—they've got five and eight years in service." Sheila remembered that Mira had a photographic memory for names and faces—something Sheila wished she had. "Not sure about Mike."

"He did really well on Persistence. I talked to Meduit about him. She agrees."

"Mm. Meduit would've been a better choice, but she's always turned down promotion. Good operator, but lazy." Her finger went down the list. "Mimi Stykkis?"

"Her company's getting temporarily disbanded anyway," Sheila said. To replace the losses at Persistence, the Sentinels were losing Ceta Battalion, which technically reduced them to a two-'Mech battalion regiment, but since the Sentinels used four-lance companies, they were still the equivalent size of most mercenary regiments. "We can send her back when we get Ceta going again."

"That might be awhile." Mira shrugged. "I should say no, but she's your roommate and friend. Just be sure you treat her the same as everyone else." She went down the list. "Nkosiyabo Malinga, Charles Badaxe, Maria Thyatis…all from Ceta. Fairly new people. Any particular reason why?"

"Nkosi got hold of me on the trip back from Persistence—he said he'd heard some good things about me from Marcus Drax. I asked for Maria because I think Alpha/4 is too heavy and slow. When Maria transferred, Charles Badaxe came over too, because he's crazy about her." Sheila shrugged.

"Hmm. Nothing much we can do about company romances, I suppose." She tapped Badaxe's name. "You do know he's actually Kino Katt's son, right? The myomer magnate?" Mira shook her head. "If Kino wasn't a former Sentinel, I'd just say Charles is just another rich kid playing at being a MechWarrior."

"He did okay on Persistence, ma'am," Sheila argued.

"Well, see what you can do with him." Mira handed back the sheets. "Very well; company approved. Now comes the next question."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Can you command it?"

The words made Sheila's stomach tighten up. That's the big question, isn't it? she asked herself. Sheila wasn't sure. She knew she didn't want the command, but here she was. "I'll try, ma'am."

"Don't try. Do. You know what your dad says about things like this."

"When in command, command," Sheila quoted.

"Exactly." Mira got up and walked out from behind her desk. "Listen, Sheila. Yoshi Kazikawa was hard on you because he knew you needed it to learn how to be a lance commander. You did fine on Persistence, which really was being thrown into the deep end of the pool. And I want you to understand that he didn't retire because he is a coward; he's just hit the end of his rope. You will too. The day will come when you'll fall down somewhere and cry like a baby, and you won't be even sure why. Not necessarily when you see the butcher bill, but just when you hit that wall. We all face that test. Some thrive on this. Some grind through it. And some quit when it's time to quit. There's no dishonor in that." She tapped on the papers in Sheila's hand. "Some of these people will die, Sheila. That's inevitable. You have to learn to deal with that. You want to be these folks' friends, but you can't be." Mira held up a hand to forestall Sheila's next words. "Yes, Mimi is your friend. But there will come a day when you have to order Mimi into an impossible position that may kill her. Like the man said, Sheila—to do the job we do, you have to love it. To command, you have to be willing to destroy that which you love. I don't know if the Nagelring taught you that. They didn't teach it at Sanglamore. But the Clans, or Kurita, or Marik, or Liao, or whoever…they will teach you that lesson." Mira smiled. "Of course, the trick is to teach them that lesson too."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

"All right. Dismissed." Sheila came to attention, then turned and left the office. Mira stood there for awhile, alone.