AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another long chapter, and the one I've been looking forward to for over a year. Yep, this is the chapter where I get to write Marion Rhialla as Drill Sergeant Nasty. I shamelessly stole from First Sergeant Mulcahy from Glory, Gunnery Sergeant Highway from Heartbreak Ridge, and naturally RSM Sandy Young from The Wild Geese, but those cliches exist for a reason. It does say in Battletech canon that the Dragoons subjected the royal heirs to a lot of abuse, but not who gave it to them...

One area that this chapter does violate Battletech canon is that the heirs' training began in January 3051 rather than Feburary, immediately after Jaime Wolf's speech and revelation about the Dragoons. Something tells me he wouldn't wait a whole month to get started, so I moved up the timetable a bit. I also did quote again from Blood Legacy, but this is the last time. I promise. I think.

And if you're easily offended by some of the worst profanity put forward since Full Metal Jacket...don't read this chapter.


Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters

Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth

13 January 3051

"You want us to do what?" Sheila yelled, half-out of her chair.

Christian Kell was calm. "No need to shout, Commander Arla-Vlata. I'm right here."

"But…that's insane!" Sheila got up all of the way out of her seat, her eyes wide. "We're nobody!"

"I wouldn't call someone who defeated a Clan MechWarrior and an Elemental in hand-to-hand combat 'nobody,' Commander."

"Oh right!" Sheila threw her hands up in frustration. "Both were luck! Senefa was kicking my ass before I faked her into thinking I was about to pass out, and that Elemental almost killed me until I was able to stab him!"

"Major Kell," Max put in—he was still seated, but his face wore the same expression of shock as Sheila's. "We appreciate the honor, but…the Snowbirds have fought one battle, one real one, against Clan forces—and those were second-line units."

Kell raised an eyebrow. "That's strange, because I was told that both Sheila Arla-Vlata and Max Canis-Vlata had both led lances and companies into combat against the Clans."

"Usually we got defeated, Major," Max pointed out. "We're simply not qualified to do what you're asking." He looked to Sheila for confirmation, and she was nodding vigorously.

Jaime Wolf had been watching the scene with obvious amusement. He was leaning back in the conform-lounger, his hands behind his head. "I disagree, Major. You may not be aware of this, but—defeated or not—you two are among the most experienced MechWarriors in the Inner Sphere right now. Persistence. Rasalhague. Blackjack. Twycross. Planting. Most Inner Sphere MechWarriors are lucky to survive one encounter with the Clans, and here you two sit, having faced them five times. I'd say you are both eminently qualified."

Sheila's eyes pleaded with Wolf. "Colonel, sir…we're mercenaries."

"I had noticed," Wolf replied with heavy sarcasm. "You may have noticed that Wolf's Dragoons are as well."

"Yes, sir, but you're Jaime Wolf! You lead the Dragoons! The Sentinels—I mean, maybe we're not nobodies, and we're not Wilson's Hussars or Wylie's Coyotes, but we're not you, or the Eridani, or the 21st Centauri either. People listen to my dad because he's been doing this since 3025, but we've barely been doing this a year! I'm 20 years old! So is Max!" She shook her head. "The people you're asking us to train—"

"—are people," Wolf finished. "Yes, they have titles. Yes, they are the heirs to the Successor States." He leaned forward and fixed her with a steel glare. "But they are also human beings. They have their own fears and foibles. They bleed red. They will be ordered to put away those titles, Sheila. And they will, or they are history—quite possibly literally." He leaned back in the chair. "They will do as they're told, Sheila. It doesn't matter if I do it, Christian does it, or you do it."

"We understand that, sir," Max put in. "But surely Major Ngov or Colonel Allard would be better choices—"

"And once more we come back to the crux of the argument," Kell interrupted. "How many engagements have I been in against the Clans?" He didn't wait for the two Sentinels to answer. "Two. Prince William Island on Verthandi and the Plain of Curtains on Twycross. That's three less than either of you."

"But what about the Dragoons?" Sheila blurted.

Wolf laughed. "Sheila, I'm not going on vacation and leaving you in charge of all of Outreach. Much of the training will still be done by myself, Major Kell, and my son MacKenzie. You will handle the rest. Your job is simple: pass on what you have learned." He looked from Max to Sheila. "And you've learned quite a bit. Sheila, you've been through a Trial of Possession and now know the rite for it. That's something that no one but the old Dragoons like me know. Damn few of us are left from the old Clan days—Kurita saw to that on Misery and Crossing—and none of those recruited after the Fourth Succession War have ever faced the Clans, let alone be part of them. And even for the old heads…" Wolf shrugged. "Things change slowly, but not that slowly, even among the Clans. The knowledge I have from 3014, which was the last contact we had with the Clans, might get me killed against the latest crop of Clan warriors. So even I need to learn some things." Once more, his stare was garnet, and Sheila was cowed by it. "People have died for that knowledge you two possess. You'll not see that blood go to waste."

Sheila was quiet for a moment. She glanced at Max. "Colonel…I won't promise anything. We'll do our best."

"I can't ask for anything more," Wolf told them. "You may surprise yourself, and learn that you don't know what your best is." He checked the wall chronometer and his face broke into a smile under the graying beard. "Well, shall we get to it? I imagine that our young charges in the conference room down the hall have found the C-34 by now."

"C-34?" Max and Sheila exclaimed at the same time.

"Relax," Kell grinned. "It's got an inert detonator. We're doing it as a test of character." He got up and followed Wolf out the door.

Sheila wished Outreach would open up and swallow her. "We are so screwed," she whispered. "And not in the fun way like last night." She got up and touched Max's hand. "Sorry I got you into this."

"Oh, what the hell. What's the worst that can happen?" Max said with utterly false confidence. "Besides some of those people sending Death Commandos or DEST ninjas after us. Easy peasy lemon squeezy."

They went out into the corridor and caught up with Kell and Wolf. They had only gotten a few meters down it before the doors on the far end opened, admitting Hanse Davion and Theodore Kurita. "Oh shit," Max muttered, and Sheila fought the urge to find a bathroom. They were about to be face-to-face with arguably the two most powerful men in the Inner Sphere, and there was nowhere to run. Sheila had met Davion before, but that was at the graduation ceremony where she could get away with a handshake and a nervous smile.

Davion's hands were moving emphatically with gestures that Sheila and Max recognized from countless holovids. He was also beginning to show his age, with gray creeping into his hair as well, but he was still more than impressive. Likewise, Kurita was no less impressive, lean and tough-looking, his hands behind his back as he listened to Davion. So engrossed were both men in their conversation that they did not notice the four other people in the corridor at first. Finally, Davion looked up from his conversation, and gave the foxlike smile that had given Hanse Davion his nickname. "Ah, good morning, Jaime—Christian."

"Good morning, Highness," Wolf said, then turned to Kurita, giving him a formal and correct bow. "Ohayo, Kanrei." To Sheila and Max's horror, he straightened and motioned to them. "You know Lieutenant Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata and Major Max Canis-Vlata of the Sentinels."

"Of course," Davion said. "Congratulations on your marriage, both of you." He extended his hand to Sheila, who was closer, but she was already bowing deeply and holding the bow to Kurita, leaving Davion's hand clasping empty air. Max somewhat salvaged the faux pas by stepping forward and doing the honors. He then bowed to Kurita, who was returning Sheila's bow with a slight inclination of his head—the acknowledgement of a samurai lord to a very, very minor samurai. Finally Sheila was able to shake hands with Davion. Both older men exchanged a look of humor.

"My congratulations on your union as well," Kurita intoned politely. "I have heard of your exploits, Arla-Vlata-san. Impressive, but I would expect nothing less from your line."

"M-My l-line, sir?" Sheila stammered.

Kurita chuckled. "One of my first engagements in the Legion of Vega was against the Sentinels on Morningside, when your father was only commanding a company. We were both just inexperienced young fools then, thinking ourselves immortal and smart. Thankfully, we survived the engagement to become older and wiser."

Sheila's reply was lost in the sounds of a commotion from the conference room. Kell quickly tapped in a quick set of numbers on a keypad. The door clicked open, and he opened it.

Sheila wished she had a camera for history's sake. Sprawled on the floor next to half of a heavy conference table was the future Archon Prince of the Federated Commonwealth, Victor Steiner-Davion, who was delivering a punch to the ribs of the future Coordinator of the Draconis Combine, Hohiro Kurita, who was trying to strangle Victor. Behind them, both men's aides—Galen Cox and Shin Yodama—were wrapped up in a comedic tableaux that made them appear like they were dancing rather than trying to keep the other from interfering. Next to them was Ragnar Magnusson, the son of the president of the Free Rasalhague Republic, who looked horrified at the fight. To one side was Cassandra Allard-Liao of the St. Ives Compact, who seemed like she was about to level a smug Sun-Tzu Liao, heir to the Celestial Throne of the Capellan Confederation. The only one not distracted by the fight or measuring someone else to start one was Kai Allard-Liao, who was busy working on the C-34 attached to the bottom of the upended conference table, trying to saw loose the fake detonator with a bit of plastic string.

"Enough!" bellowed Hanse Davion, closely followed by Theodore Kurita's no less impressive, "Hohiro, fusagu!" Sheila and Max both took an involuntarily step back, as if they were too close to two handfuls of plutonium. Instantly, Hohiro let go of Victor's throat and he came to instant attention, wincing from the pain in his side. Victor jumped to his feet as well, and the grin he was wearing disappeared very quickly under the rage of his father.

Wolf brushed past Kell and stepped into the room. "So this is it? This is the future leadership of the Inner Sphere?" He glanced at Hanse and Theodore. "I wish you both long life and more heirs to ward your realms."

He took two angry strides forward to loom over Victor and Hohiro, though Hohiro was as tall as Wolf. "I am especially surprised at the two of you. Both of you have already faced Clan troops and both of you know that it took everything you had to win. You had to coordinate your actions, plan your strategies, and possess the vision and flexibility to adapt as the situation changed." Wolf's voice rose to a snarl. "But here you let petty jealousies reduce you to behaving like children bickering in a sandlot."

The commander of Wolf's Dragoons whirled on the others. "Understand this, all of you. The Clans are not going to roll over and play dead because you command them to do so." He pointed to Kai, who had stood up as he realized the C-34's detonator was fake. "It will take more than one soldier thinking about the objective to defeat them. I had hoped to use you, the scions of the Inner Sphere's ruling Houses, as an example for how we might all cooperate to combat this threat. I had hoped that the seeds of the rivalries that have sundered the Inner Sphere for three centuries had not sprouted nor taken sufficient root."

Wolf stepped back and glanced back at Kell, and MacKenzie Wolf, who had just arrived. "If I was wrong, I apologize to you, MacKenzie, and to you, Christian, for assigning you the task fo bringing this rabble together into a unit. And you as well, Sheila and Max." Wolf turned back to the royals, stabbing a finger towards Sheila. "Do you see that woman there?" Sheila fought the urge to hide behind someone. "She is close to the same age as all of you. Maybe you will listen to her, then. She has more experience than everyone in this room combined against the Clans. She and her husband there were married yesterday, but they have agreed to put aside their honeymoon to help me train you. After seeing this farce, I'm tempted to tell them not to bother." He saw the expression on Hohiro's face. "That's right. You're going to take orders from mercenaries. And you will obey those orders. You will become the unit I need you to be, or you will be discarded! This is no longer a fight of House against House. It is us against the Clans. If I have to manufacture leaders for that war, I will do it." Wolf contemptously turned his back on them and left the room, leaving silence in his wake.

Hanse shook his head, putting a hand on Theodore's shoulder. "I apologize for my son's behavior. I don't know what possessed him."

Theodore waved it off. "It is not his fault. He is yet young. My son should have known better." With one last look of disappointment, the ruler of the Federated Commonwealth and the commander of the Draconis Combine's army left the room.

MacKenzie Wolf clapped his hands together to get everyone's attention. "The bomb test is the least of the challenges you will face in your time here. If you want to fight, we'll make sure you get plenty of opportunities, but unless you start working together, you'll die fighting each other." He thumbed towards the door. "Outside! Move it! You've got a full day of drills ahead after breakfast. Let's not try to screw them up as badly as you did this one. Lieutenant Commander Arla-Vlata will be in charge." The people in the room shuffled out slowly. "I said move!" The royals picked up speed. All of them looked at Sheila as they did so, measuring her. Victor gave her a respectful nod, as did Kai. Cassandra wore a wry smile. Ragnar looked confused. Galen and Shin ignored her. Hohiro and Sun-Tzu gazed at her with hostile contempt.

MacKenzie watched them go, then turned to Sheila and Max with a big grin. "Well, that went well. Ready to start training some spoiled brats?"

"No," Sheila answered. "Sirs, again…this is the worst idea Colonel Wolf has had since he took employment with House Kurita. Max and I can't do this! Victor's dad signs our paychecks, for the love of Freud!"

"Sheila's right," Max agreed. "No offense, but we can't be hardasses to these people. We're out of our league and they know it. They'll ignore us, or worse, laugh at us. They can buy and sell planets. They're nobles. We're third-tier mercenaries with a name that was forgotten with Amaris."

"Wrong," MacKenzie argued. "Titles aren't anything more than a fancy piece of paper and words."

"They don't think so, sir," Max told him. "Sir, these people need a drill sergeant, not two people their age giving them orders. They just will not take us seriously. I wouldn't."

MacKenzie opened his mouth to reply, but Sheila interrupted him. "Wait! I've got it!"

"What?" Somehow all three men managed to harmonize.

"Max is right. These people need a drill sergeant. We don't have one, but we've got the next best thing—assuming we can get all their parents to sign off on it."

"What the leaders of the Successor States don't know won't hurt them," Christian said. "Who are you thinking of?"

"An older, respected MechWarrior. Someone who cares only about titles in how she can turn them into insults. Someone with a filthier mouth than my father, if that's humanly possible, and doesn't give a categorical damn about what anyone thinks of her. Someone who insulted the saKhan of the Jade Falcons to his face."

"Sheila, no," Max groaned. "You're not serious."

"I'm very serious!" Sheila protested.

"Oh God." Max put his head in his hands.

"Sounds like a great person," MacKenzie smiled.

"She isn't," Max said from between his fingers. "She isn't."


Marion Rhialla walked at an unhurried pace from the Dragoon Peregrine helicopter that had brought her to the sprawling Dragoons base. Sheila wasn't sure if Marion had changed into the baggy olive drab fatigues that were standard issue to AFFC mercenary units, or she had woken up in them. Her graying black hair blew in the breeze generated by the Peregrine, then dropped as the VTOL lifted off again.

The trainees had ate an alleged breakfast, seemingly picked by the Dragoons for its lack of taste and color. MacKenzie Wolf, who had taken over overseeing the training for the day from Christian Kell, had dined heartily on wonderfully-smelling pancakes and bacon, which apparently was chosen to torment the trainees. Sheila and Max, however, had joined the trainees in eating the same bland breakfast as them, sitting down next to Victor and Galen. When Victor had asked why they were sitting down, Sheila said they were no longer just instructors, but would go through the same training the Dragoons intended. That got the two mercenaries respectful looks, even from Hohiro Kurita. Sheila felt better, knowing she was fulfilling her father's old mantra of never ordering someone to do something a commander wasn't willing to do themselves. Now that Sheila saw Marion walking towards the trainees, she was wondering if perhaps she hadn't made two mistakes: first, in joining the training, and second, in asking Marion to be here.

Marion stopped next to MacKenzie and exchanged handshakes. "Welcome to the training grounds, Lance Commander," he said.

"Thanks. Good to be here." She surveyed the trainees. "Are you sure you want me to do this?" Her eyes fell on Sheila, who gave a very slight nod.

"Absolutely. You came highly recommended." There was humor in MacKenzie's voice. He's enjoying this, Sheila thought with growing worry.

"Uh-huh. And I'm not going to have kill teams from various Houses trying to strangle me in my sleep for training these people like they need to be trained?"

"Not at all," MacKenzie assured her.

"All right." Marion let out a sigh. "Let's see what we have to work with." The ten trainees were drawn up in two rows of five—just like the Clans, Sheila realized. Marion walked down the front row, then around the back row, then returned to the front. "Good God," she said. "I can't believe I gave up getting shitfaced drunk for this." It was just past eleven in the morning.

Marion glanced back one more time to MacKenzie, got another slight confirming nod, and then returned her attention to the people in front of her. Hohiro was in the front row, and Marion walked up to him. "Who are you?"

Hohiro blinked. "What?" he asked incredulously.

"Your name is 'what'?" Marion asked.

He stared at her. "You know what my name is."

"Sorry, I don't." Marion got closer to him. "What. Is. Your. Fucking. Name."

Hohiro managed both disgusted and stunned at the same time. "Hohiro Kurita," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy, which it probably was.

"Ah. Arigato." Marion stepped backwards and raised her voice to address them all. "I had to ask Mister Kurita there what his name was because I don't follow society holos. I don't know who any of you are." Her gaze fell on Victor. "Some of you look like the sons of my employers." She gave a brief wink to Sheila. "Some of you look like my commanding officers." She pointed to the door to the training facility. "Once you leave that door over there, you become the heirs to the thrones of the Successor States. If I see you in the hallway, I will snap to attention and say 'Good day, milord!' or 'Hello, ma'am!'. If you tell me to jump, I will answer 'How high?'" A smile crinkled the sun-darkened skin of her face. "But out here? On these fields? You're fucking nothing to me. You are not Lord Kurita, or Lady Allard-Liao, or Prince Magnusson. You're whatever I feel like fucking calling you."

Marion took another step back, drawing herself up to her full height. "My name is Lance Commander Marion Rhialla. I have drunk more beer, pissed more blood, rode more dick, and killed more people than all of you little shits combined. I am the daughter of a Bellatrix coal miner and I have seen shit you would not believe. I am fifty-two years old and I hate everyone…especially nobles." She briskly walked forward and grabbed Shin Yodama's hand; the yakuza warrior did not react-he knew better not to. She held up his hand. "You see this? This is a working man's hand. This is someone who doesn't have a servant to wipe his ass. By the time I'm done with you, all of your hands will look like this."

She dropped Shin's hand and nodded respectfully to him. "You will ask whatever deity you worship why you got sentenced with me. You will hate my fucking guts. You will want my saggy ass dead. Hell, some of you fuckers might even send assassins my way because you're too much of a fucking pussy to come after me yourself. And you know what?" She looked directly at Sun-Tzu. "I don't give a fuck. Do any of you spoiled shits know why?" There was silence. "Goddammit, I asked a fucking question!" Marion shouted. "Doesn't anyone have the balls or the ovaries to fucking answer?" She marched to Sun-Tzu and stuck her face in his. "Mister Liao? Maybe some of your mother's so-called Celestial Wisdom has rubbed off on you, the fucking nutcase."

Sun-Tzu did not flinch. "Do not talk about my mother that way," he hissed. "I will not tolerate it."

Marion shoved him to the ground. Taken by surprise, Sun-Tzu fell. "I will talk about your fucking cunt of a mother any way I fucking please, you piece of Liao shit!" she shouted. Sun-Tzu, murder in his eyes, leapt to his feet, fists balled. "Oh, now you want to fight me?" Marion grinned. "Good. Take your best shot, little boy." MacKenzie stepped forward, but Marion shooed him off. She put her hands behind her back. "Come on, Mister Liao. It's been awhile since I was at court in Sian, but I'm sure they still teach kung fu there, right? So hit me. Come on. I'll give you a free shot." Sun-Tzu hesitated: Marion was too eager for him to hit her. "Come on, you son of a bitch!" Marion screamed. "Hit me!"

Sun-Tzu pulled a fist back, then stopped. "This is a trap. I will not."

Marion reached down and pulled out her pistol from her holster. MacKenzie's eyes widened, and Sheila shouted, "Marion, don't!" She didn't raise the weapon, just held it against her side.

"That's not loaded," Sun-Tzu said, though the nervousness in his voice betrayed his fear. "You won't shoot me. My mother would kill you."

"Your mother already wants to kill me, asshole," Marion snarled. "Which means I have nothing to lose. Now answer my fucking question. Why don't I care if you sic the Death Commandos on my ass?"

"Because you have nothing to lose," Sun-Tzu answered.

"Wrong, vermin." Marion stepped away and holstered the gun, returning to her position at the front of the trainees. "I don't care because on some distant shithole of a planet, there may be a Clan warrior who wants to kill me worse than you do, and you may be the only thing standing between their fucking Gauss Rifle and my fucking head!" Her voice whip-cracked across the grounds. "So if you are on my flank on that distant shithole, I want to know there is something between my thick skull and the aforementioned fucking Gauss Rifle than a fancy title and some puffed-up little prick, who thinks they're better than the daughter of a Bellatrix coal miner because their great-grandaddy fucked a princess. Because that Clan warrior doesn't give a Solaris alley rat's ass about your goddamned lineage anymore than I do. Do you understand me?" There was silence again. "I asked another fucking question!" Marion shrilled.

"Yes, Lance Commander!" they barked.

"Capital. About face!" The formation did so. Victor, Galen, and Kai instinctively stomped their feet as they completed the movement, AFFC style. Marion pounced. "Sweet Mother of Pizza, you Davion dipshits! Quit stomping your fucking feet! We're not at the Royal Cotillion!" Victor made the mistake of looking at her, and Marion was instantly on him. "Don't you look at me, Victor Ian Fucking Steiner-Davion! You keep those eyes forward, you little shit! Looking leads to liking, liking leads to loving, and loving leads to fucking, and you don't fuck me, boy!" Victor quickly found something interesting on the horizon. She went back to addressing all of them. "You will do everything instantly and with one single fucking mind! John Clansman isn't going to pick his targets according to what House he likes, so you need to quit thinking about shit like that." She smiled viciously at Hohiro. "Start thinking like mercenaries. We don't give a fuck. Isn't that right, Major Wolf?"

"Sure, Lance Commander." MacKenzie laughed. "Are you sure you're not the Sentinels' regimental sergeant major? My God. Sheila wasn't kidding about that mouth."

Marion whirled on him. "Sir! If you don't address me with respect, I will tear off the Major's stupid looking mustache and shove it up his fucking ass, sir!"

MacKenzie's face turned red with anger, then he visibly relaxed, realizing Marion had been right to call him out. "You're correct, Lance Commander. I apologize. Carry on with today's schedule, Miss Rhialla."

"Thank you, sir!" Marion returned her attention to the trainees. "Are those smiles I see? What the fuck are you smiling at, morons?" All of them—except for Shin and Galen—were fighting grins without much success, even Sheila and Max.

Unfortunately for him, Ragnar—the youngest and the only one with only a modicum of military training—finally could not hold back a snicker. Marion stomped over to him. "Did you laugh, Mister Magnusson?"

Ragnar quickly made his face a mask. "No, Lance Commander."

"Good. Because that indicates pleasure, and we're not into that shit." Ragnar bit his lip, but they could see him fighting back another laugh. There's one in every crowd, Sheila thought. Holovids usually showed this in basic training movies, along with the foul-mouthed nasty drill sergeant, which Marion was playing to the hilt. However, both cliches existed because both were true. "Oh, now you're smiling again, Mister Magnusson." Marion's face suddenly split into an unholy smile, and she slapped the young man on the back. "You find me fucking hilarious, don't you?"

Ragnar composed himself. "No, Lance Commander."

"Bullshit, Mister Magnusson." Marion's smile disappeared like a snowball in a desert. "Strip."

The word was said so casually that Ragnar missed what Marion said. "Pardon?"

"I said strip, Mister Magnusson. As in take off your clothes." When Ragnar just gaped at her in amazement, Rhialla grabbed the front of his Dragoon-issue jumpsuit and jerked it straight down, tearing the zipper. "I said strip, you stupid Rasalhagian fuck!" Ragnar needed no further prodding: he hopped on one foot and got off his boots, then his socks, and then practically tore off the jumpsuit, leaving him in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. He grabbed the latter and started to pull them down, but Marion stopped him. "Whoa there, boy! You're not that fucking good looking and I'm not that fucking desperate. You're what, sixteen? Wouldn't even get me off." She handed his boots and socks back to him. "Put these back on, Mister Magnusson." Luckily, it was not a cold day, though there was a bite to the air for those in their underwear.

Cassandra Allard-Liao bit her lip, but she couldn't resist breaking into a grin at Marion's words. Marion's head came around like a 'Mech locking onto a target. "Oh, Miss Allard-Liao!" Marion said with mock amazement. "You're smiling too? I'm shocked—shocked, I tell you." She grinned satanically at the young woman. "Looks like you'd better strip down to your undies as well."

"You're—you're kidding," Cassandra said. Marion took three steps and lunged for the front of her jumpsuit, but Cassandra was just able to get out of her grasp. "Lance Commander, please! There are men around!"

"No shit!" Marion snapped. "I'm so pleased to hear that Justin Allard has instilled in his children the power to state the fucking obvious. Now get that fucking jumpsuit off or I swear I will strip your Compact ass naked!" Cassandra, her face burning in embarrassment, did as ordered. Marion turned around. "Well, we wouldn't want Mister Magnusson and Miss Allard-Liao to feel all self-conscious and shit, so I think everyone should strip. Right fucking now." All of them stared at her in horror, and Marion folded her arms across her chest. "Are you wondering why I'm doing this shit? The reason is simple, you stupid bastards. If you ever have to eject from a burning 'Mech and find yourself stranded on some asshole of the galaxy like Idlewind or Twycross, you'll only be wearing a cooling vest and some shorts—pretty much what your underwear simulates right now. So don't you think it's a good idea to learn how to fucking survive in your unmentionables before that unhappy day?" Marion slapped Ragnar on the back again. "Thanks, Mister Magnusson! I was going to get to this, but you just accelerated the process."

Cassandra was now in her bra and panties, along with her socks and boots, which made it look like she was auditioning for a bad military pornographic holo. She shivered. As Marion got a lungful of air to further tear into the trainees, all of them began reluctantly stripping down to their underwear as well. Instead, she went down the lines, picking out each person.

"Strip faster, Mister Yodama, or I'll order you to cut off your fucking fingers. Nice tattoo, by the way…public humiliation, Mister Steiner-Davion? Maybe in your case, it's pubic humiliation…well, well, well, Miss Arla-Vlata. I had forgotten you were on your honeymoon." Sheila had intended to seduce Max after the training, so had worn some sexy underwear—a bright red bra that barely contained her impressive breasts, and equally red panties that were little more than a thong, a wisp of scarlet fabric covering her most intimate area, and the strap of the thong disappearing between the cheeks of her bottom. Now everyone was staring at her, and Sheila wished Senefa had killed her on Planting. "Tomorrow I suggest you wear something a bit more regulation…don't get a hard-on, Mister Cox; she's married to that ugly son of a bitch over there now…that's right, Mister Canis-Vlata, I know your mother, and I can say that." She patted Max on his shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll get what's left of the little woman back after we're done, if you live…fast work, Mister Kurita; you must be used to stripping…Mister Allard-Liao, you haven't had this much fun since the Great Gash, right?" She winked at Sun-Tzu. "Oh, don't look so smug, Mister Liao. The only fighting you've done is with your batshit sister. And I bet she kicked your ass."

Satisfied she had insulted, humiliated, and angered everyone, Marion got up to the front of the trainees…and pulled off her own jumpsuit, leaving her in issue olive-drab underwear. She strapped the gunbelt over her narrow hips. "What's the matter, you never seen a half-naked fifty year old bitch before? Do my tits sag or something?" She nodded. "Right! Let's try for our first heart attack! Attention!" The cold trainees came to shivering attention. "Don't worry, we'll warm up your asses soon enough! Forward…march! At the double, idiots!"

They all jogged past MacKenzie Wolf, Marion at the lead. Sheila glanced at MacKenzie as she ran past, an apology written on her face. All he could do was laugh.


Marion's efforts to tear the trainees apart with her mouth was just the beginning. What followed was eight hours of grueling training. It started with a six kilometer run up and down hills, and despite the cool weather and their lack of clothing, they were soon covered in sweat. Marion still easily led them on the track. They were allowed to get dressed again, then it was time for an obstacle course that made them wish Marion had left them in their underwear. They were then treated to a lunch no better than breakfast, and only given fifteen minutes to eat that. Once they were barely finished with lunch—only Galen, Shin and Marion were able to eat in the alloted time—they were run over to the shooting range for basic weapons instruction with heavy, out of date Federated Long Rifles. Before they could load their weapons, however, Marion suddenly pulled them off the line and handed each of them a short knife: it was bayonet drill instead.

The entire time, they were lashed with the vulcanized tongue of Marion Rhialla, for whom nothing was ever good enough. Ragnar Magnusson quickly became her favorite target. "See that dummy?" Marion pointed to a sandbag that was roughly human-shaped. "That's the Clanner that fucked your capital. Well, not really, because Tyra Miraborg killed that bastard, but pretend it is. Can you do that for me, Mister Magnusson?"

"Yes, Lance Commander!" He dashed forward and stabbed the bayonet dummy with what he thought was a mighty shout. He nearly fell and struggled to pull the bayonet free.

"Oh my God." Marion stepped forward and shoved Ragnar. "Was that a Rasalhagian war cry? No wonder the Clans are kicking your ass. Your country is so fucked, Mister Magnusson." She shoved him again, but it was just to create more separation between them. "All right. Stab me."

"What?" That was becoming Ragnar's favorite word, and he had used it frequently that day.

"For fuck's sake!" Marion exclaimed. "Does Rasalhague give special training in stupidity or were you born with fucking natural talent? I said stab me, you dipshit!" She motioned him forward.

"Well…okay…" Ragnar gave a half-hearted thrust towards Marion's stomach, clearly not wanting to hurt her. She slapped away the rifle.

"You trying to fucking tickle me? I said stab me, Mister Magnusson!" He hesitated, and Marion rolled her eyes, turning to Victor and Hohiro. "I can't believe your parents let these dickless wonders have their own country. They deserve to be fucking slaves."

That did it. Ragnar's temper finally blew and he screamed as he rammed the bayonet home, aimed at Marion's side. She turned, let the bayonet slide past, grabbed the barrel sleeve and slammed it backwards into Ragnar's stomach. He doubled over, and she swept the butt of the rifle across his face. Ragnar dropped to the ground, blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. He lay there and burst into tears. Marion, to everyone's surprise, seemed to realize she had taken it too far. She dropped the rifle down next to him. "No shame, son. Get up."

"I can't," Ragnar cried. "I can't."

"Goddammit, I tried to be nice—get the fuck up, you fucking abortion!" Marion reached down and grabbed his arm, but suddenly Ragnar sat up, grabbed her arm, and jerked hard. It caught Marion by surprise and she fell. Ragnar rolled to his feet, still bleeding but enraged, his fists balled, swearing at her in Swedish. Marion looked up at him and began laughing. She slowly got to her feet. Ragnar took a step towards her, but she raised her hands. "Well done, Ragnar, well done." She reached forward and slapped him on the shoulder. "Now you're learning." The anger drained out of him as he realized she had used his first name for the first time. "Okay, after we shoot, you can walk back to HQ, Ragnar. Stand easy for now."

"Thank you, Lance Commander!" Ragnar beamed.

"Don't let it go to your Rasalhagian square head." Marion turned to the others. "All right, nobody told you to stop working! Let's see you start fucking stabbing!"

"Wait a minute," Sun-Tzu said. "All we have to do is beat you, and after that, we can take it easy?"

"Sure," Marion smiled. "But what makes you think you've got what it takes, you stupid fuck? Your shitty little realm is Hanse Davion's bitch, and so far, you're continuing the family tradition." Her smile got bigger. "Don't fucking like that, Mister Liao?"

"I do not, Lance Commander," Sun-Tzu gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Good. Then fucking pretend that dummy is me, and have at it." Sun-Tzu did as asked, and practically tore the bayonet dummy to pieces. After the bayonet drill, Marion cancelled the shooting and made them jog back to the headquarters area—except for Ragnar, who was allowed to walk at his own pace, and Sun-Tzu, who Marion made run back with his rifle held over his head. He was vomiting by the time he got back, but Sun-Tzu accepted the punishment without protest.

Marion inspected them. "You people ready to quit? You tired? Want to head back to your racks, get some sleep, get a shower?" She stopped. "You people don't fucking learn too well. When I speak, you'd better fucking answer me!"

"Yes, Lance Commander!" they barked.

"About fucking time. Well, too bad. The Clans don't give a fuck and neither do I. Now we're doing some unarmed combat training. After you're done beating the shit out out of each other, get cleaned up and get on your formal uniforms. Dragoons formal reception tonight at 1900." That sent them murmuring. "Don't fucking care if you hate it. I'll be there too, getting hammered on free booze and writing my will, because you stupid bastards are going to get my ass killed by the Green Chickens." She spread her arms wide. "Federated Common Fools and St. Elmo's Compact over on my left, every other fucker on the right. Pair off and beat each other up. Just don't kill each other or I'll fucking shoot you in the head and your realms will have to fall back on the spare heir." She stopped Sheila and Max. "Not you two. Everyone else, what the fuck are you waiting for?"

As the others paired off in teams, Sheila asked Marion, "Why aren't you letting us fight?"

"Two reasons, Miss Arla-Vlata," Marion explained. "First of all, MacKenzie ordered me not to, and second, take a look." The trainees were pairing off almost exactly on rival House lines: Victor versus Hohiro, Kai against Sun-Tzu, Galen and Shin. Cassandra and Ragnar were fighting each other by default. "The only ones you'd get to fight is each other, and next thing I know, you'd be fucking right there on the mats in front of God and everyone."

Sheila bit back a rather nasty retort. Marion gave her a brief smile to let her know it wasn't personal, then raised her voice higher. "Besides, who's going to take you on, Sheila? You fought a fucking Clanswoman and put her skinny ass in the mud, then snapped her fucking arm like it was a twig. Did you fuckers know that Clanners scream? Because they do. Rather satisfying, really. So learn how to fight, and you too can win a Trial of Possession or whatever the shit they call it." They had stopped fighting. "Why the fuck did you stop?" Marion shouted. "Get back to fighting! You, Mister Magnusson! Are you trying to wrestle Miss Allard-Liao or are you trying to cop a feel? Quit trying to grab her tits! Miss Allard-Liao, punch him in the balls if he tries that shit again!"

Finally, after punches, kicks, wrestling, and more insults and both racial and homophobic slurs from Marion Rhialla, it was allowed to end. Marion gleefully informed them that she would be kicking them out of bed the next morning at 0600, and let them go. Everyone was tired, cold, bruised and filthy—and they all realized with a collective groan that there was still a reception to attend.