THE SNOWBIRD AND THE WOLF

Book III of the Snowbirds Saga

By Sentinel 28II

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: It is January 3051. The Clan invasion of the Inner Sphere has reached a lull after the death of the Clans' ilKhan. As many of the Clan warriors return home to elect a new ilKhan, Colonel Jaime Wolf of Wolf's Dragoons has taken advantage of the lull to gather the leaders of the Inner Sphere together on Outreach. Somehow, the Inner Sphere must unite against the Clan threat—a near impossibility.

In the middle of this historic summit is Sheila Arla-Vlata and Max Canis-Vlata, invited by Wolf to Outreach due to their experience fighting the Clans. They plan to finally marry there, but a match made in heaven might just be a honeymoon conducted in hell…

Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters

Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth

12 January 3051

Victor Steiner-Davion was no stranger to balls, receptions, and fetes—as the heir to the Federated Commonwealth, he had been going to them for as long as he could remember. He had disliked them as a child and he disliked them now; because of his status, and the fact that Archon Melissa Steiner-Davion could be a bit fussy with her children, Victor associated gatherings like this with being extremely bored. He would much rather be around MechWarriors, to talk shop rather than shake hands, remember the rules of etiquette, and pretend that he knew and liked someone he had never met before.

Then again, Victor considered, he wasn't likely to have that problem this time around, nor was he likely to be bored. The room was filled with MechWarriors from every House and several mercenary units, a kaleidoscope of uniforms and a babel of languages. There were so many heads of state, nobles and military commanders that, as he walked into the room, no one seemed to notice Victor Steiner-Davion at all. That gave him a brief pang of frustration, but then Victor laughed at himself for the lapse into arrogance. He was only nineteen with only two battles and one victory under his belt, and the victory on Twycross was more through luck than design. It would be a long time before his name would be mentioned in the same breath as most of the people in the room.

Victor felt self-conscious as he walked into the room and found himself looking for a familiar face. He found one in Morgan Kell, who was in a conversation with two men wearing Marik Militia uniforms. At well over six feet, Kell tended to tower over most, but his reputation and charisma made him seem even taller. The blood-red and black uniform of the Kell Hounds contrasted with the purple of the Marik dress uniform; the stylized fox's head tunic was bedecked in medals and campaign ribbons. Kell had always worn his hair long over his shoulders, and if that hair and the beard was nearly all gray now, he showed very little of his 64 years.

Morgan noticed Victor approaching and excused himself from the two Marik warriors, who backed away as Victor drew closer; he felt another pang of disappointment, because he was curious as to what the three men were talking about. All the same, Morgan's face split in a wide grin, and he shook hands with Victor, who felt like he was shaking hands with a bear. "Highness, as always, seeing you is a pleasure without equal."

Victor grinned back; the man's smile was infectious. "Without equal? My mother won't be happy to hear that."

Morgan put up his hands in surrender. "Ah, you've caught me—your mother has a special place in my heart. Consider my statement amended, but no less heartfelt."

"Done."

Morgan took in Victor's uniform, the formal uniform of the AFFC—blue except for a golden sunburst that took up most of the right side of the tunic. There were only a handful of campaign ribbons and one medal, the Order of Steiner-Davion. Morgan nodded. "Dan Allard told me good things about you in that action on Twycross. He said you can think on your feet and you weren't afraid to mix it up. That's good." The smile faltered a little. "It got your uncle Ian Davion killed on Mallory's World, but it's pulled your father and cousin Morgan Hasek-Davion out of more scrapes than I've got digits to remember."

Victor shrugged. "If the Hounds hadn't been there and Colonel Allard not been willing to take a chance, things might have turned out much differently."

"And if you hadn't sent Kai Allard to recon the pass or Sheila Arla-Vlata to find out what happened to Jungblud's company, how do you think things would have turned out?"

Victor noticed Kai Allard in the crowd. He wore the same uniform as Victor, and was talking with his mother and father—Candace Liao, the ruler of the St. Ives Compact, and Justin Allard, the head of the Davion intelligence service. Kai's younger sisters, Kuan Yin and Cassandra, were there too. Kai was looking at his boots while his father said something to him. He wore a depressed expression, and Victor knew it wasn't from Justin Allard. "If only Kai would allow himself to realize it, Morgan."

Morgan put an arm around Victor's shoulders. "I think you'll find warriors like Kai keep a tight rein on themselves because they're afraid of what would happen if they don't. If he ever cuts loose, there's not much in the Inner Sphere that could stop him. Just be glad he's on your side." Morgan looked to his left and his smile returned. "And speaking of someone else that you should be glad is on your side, it looks like the wedding couple is here."

Victor turned around. There were indeed a myriad of uniforms and formal attire in the gathering, but there was only one wedding dress—and Sheila Arla-Vlata was wearing it. She was returning the greeting of a Dragoon officer Victor didn't recognize, who then went to shake the hand of the groom, Max Canis-Vlata. "What are they doing here? The ceremony was just an hour ago. I barely had time to get over here myself."

"They invited you to the wedding?" Morgan snapped his fingers. "I forgot, you and Sheila went to the Nagelring together."

"We served together on the JOSG as well." The hurried invitation to the wedding at Outreach's Cathedral of St. Michael had come as a surprise, especially when Victor found out he was one of the groomsmen. "I knew Jaime Wolf invited them, but it seems odd that they would come here after the reception instead of go on their honeymoon."

"I suppose they couldn't miss this." Morgan laughed. "I can hardly blame them. I'm having flashbacks to your parents' wedding on Terra." He nudged Victor. "Well, where are your manners, Highness? I don't know that I've ever met either of them."

"Right." Victor began to lead Morgan towards Sheila and Max, but then remembered something else: Sheila was one very big reason why Phelan Kell had been thrown out of the Nagelring. She had been the deciding vote on the Cadet Honor Board. There had been no love lost between Sheila and Phelan. He wondered if Morgan knew, and hoped the older man didn't.

Max wore the formal uniform of the Sentinels RCT's newest unit, the Snowbirds Special Missions Combined Arms Team; the unit's snowy owl patch was on his left shoulder. It was a good looking uniform, Victor decided, all white and powder blue, with a cape and red rank boards at the collar, and his pants bloused into MechWarrior boots complete with spurs, in the Davion fashion. He had twice the number of ribbons as Victor, but he had been in nearly twice as many engagements. Like Morgan, Max wore his black hair long and to his shoulders.

Sheila was radiant in the gown, a very traditional affair of an all-white, floor length billowing dress and thin waist. The dress ended just above her breasts, and she was covered from there to her throat in shimmersilk, which reflected the lights in a rainbow of colors. One might not know Sheila was a MechWarrior at all except for the Commonwealth Star at her throat. The veil had dropped back over Sheila's face, but she threw it back haphazardly over her black hair. "What happened to her?" Morgan asked incredulously.

"She got married." Victor knew what Morgan meant, but he couldn't resist the quip.

"Smartass." Morgan lightly slapped the back of Victor's head. "Her face."

"She fought a Clan MechWarrior hand to hand in some kind of bizarre Clan ritual. Forced the Jade Falcons off Planting."

"I knew that, but that fight was almost two months ago. I didn't realize she had been that badly hurt." The bridge of Sheila's nose was still bandaged from where it had been broken, and there was still a bruise on one cheek. Victor knew that they couldn't see the bruised rib, or the fact that she was missing two teeth-luckily, not ones that showed when she smiled.

Then Max and Sheila noticed the two men walking towards them. They stopped and came to attention, and began to salute—which looked very odd for Sheila. Victor waved it off. "None of that, Sheila. I'm sorry I missed the reception."

"It's all right—wasn't much of one—" Sheila was staring at Morgan, and he saw her swallow in fear.

"Sheila, Max, this is Colonel Morgan Kell of the Kell Hounds…of course." Morgan shook hands with Max first, who looked positively thunderstruck, and then kissed Sheila's hand. Victor fought down a laugh as she blushed, which seemed to make her injuries look worse. "A pleasure to meet you both. Maximilian, I see you're continuing your father's tradition of marrying beautiful women."

"You…you know my mother, sir?" Max stammered.

"I met Mira on Zebelgenubi, back in '35. You were just a little thing then." He turned to Sheila. "And you look stunning, Sheila. You certainly stand out, even among those here." He motioned at her nose. "How did the other one look?"

"Uh…well, a lot worse than I do, sir." Sheila looked like she wanted to run.

"Enough with the 'sir'," Morgan corrected them. "I'm a mercenary, same as you. I work for a living." He folded his arms across his chest, the smile still on his face. "I've read reports of your actions. Persistence, Rasalhague, Blackjack, Twycross, and now Planting. You've done exceptionally well. You'll have to share your secret with the rest of us!"

Sheila and Max looked at each other, eyes wide. Victor knew what they were thinking: Morgan Kell is asking us what our secret is? "If we figure it out," Sheila said nervously, "you'll be the first to know."

"It was luck," Max blurted. "A lot of it."

"Luck is what others call skill when they have none," Morgan told them; he wasn't smiling now. "No, Max…luck isn't the reason. You've discovered a key that we old-timers haven't yet. And in case you were wondering why you are standing here, that is the reason. I would say enjoy your honeymoon while it lasts, because I imagine a lot of people will have a lot of questions for you."

"Sir—I mean, Morgan," Sheila protested, "we lost more than we won. The only reason we shoved the Jade Falcons off Planting was because we figured out what their weakness was."

"And isn't that how you win?" Morgan said. "You find where your enemy is weak, and enemies always have a blind spot. You found it and exploited it." He peered a little closer at Sheila's nose. "The hard way, it seems." His smile returned. "And I'm not doing what your father would call blowing sunshine up someone's ass, Sheila. In case Victor has never informed you, I am not that kind of person." Morgan put his hands on their shoulders. Much to Victor's chagrin, both could look Morgan in the eye; Victor only came up to his chest—or Sheila's, which was always a bit embarrassing for both of them. "Enough war talk. Congratulations to you both. You've got more restraint than I have. When I got married, I couldn't wait to kick the guests out of the door so I could get to the fun part of the wedding day." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and all of them couldn't resist a chuckle.

"You are Morgan Kell?" All four of them turned around at the angry voice. It belonged to a white-haired, bearded man dressed in the uniform of a general of the Free Rasalhague Republic. His face was horribly scarred and he sat in a wheelchair. Standing behind the wheelchair was a young woman about Sheila's age, though not quite her height, who also wore a Royal Kungsarme uniform; above her breasts rode the silver wings of an aerospace pilot. Morgan gave the general a slow nod, and the man spat, "I am Tor Miraborg! Your son murdered my daughter!"

Victor was taken aback by the sheer venom in the statement, and both Sheila and Max took an actual step back. Morgan merely clasped his hands behind his back. "Do you mind explaining how my son, dead for a year and half now, could have murdered your daughter?"

"Your son Phelan came between Tyra and me," Miraborg shot back. "His influence drove her away and made her accept a position in the Drakons. My daughter died fighting the Clans!" His face was twisted in hate and sorrow.

Morgan returned the stare, looking down at Miraborg. "Then your daughter and my son shared one last thing in their all-too-brief lives. I received a holodisk from her not long ago, and she was kind enough to share with my wife and I some remembrance of her time with Phelan."

Miraborg's mouth dropped, and he visibly slumped deeper into the chair. He suddenly was very old. "She…she talked to you?" he said in a half-whisper. "She recorded a holodisk…for you?"

"Her disk came in response to one I had sent her," Morgan explained, in a much gentler voice than before. "I will let you see the message, if you wish."

Miraborg's head came up. "No," he spat. "I want no part of your message. Tyra stopped being my daughter the day she left Gunzburg." He spun the wheelchair around in a whine of electric motors and disappeared into the crowd; the woman behind him had to hurriedly get out of his way.

The woman watched the old man go, then looked back to Morgan. "Colonel Kell, I'm Anika Janssen. I was Tyra's wingmate. I was also her best friend." She visibly controlled her emotions, then glanced in Miraborg's general direction. "Please ignore what he said. He's just a bitter old man. I knew your son and was with him and Tyra many times. I was there when they met the first time. You've nothing to be ashamed of in your son. Phelan and Tyra were very good for each other."

Morgan nodded. "Thank you, Lojtnant. I'm glad to know Phelan had friends."

The fighter pilot returned the nod and swallowed past the lump in her throat. "And if you wouldn't mind, sir…I'd like to see that disk she made. Tyra and I never had a real chance to say goodbye. She rode her Shilone into the Clan flagship's bridge. She did more to stop the invasion than anyone else in the whole Kungsarme, and the Iron Jarl—" she thumbed back towards Miraborg, her voice rising "—he won't even acknowledge her existence, let alone her heroism!"

"The Kungsarme?" Max said. "Lojtnant, Tyra Miraborg did more in five seconds than the entire Inner Sphere's been able to do in five months. It won't bring her back, but…" Max's voice trailed off.

"Yes, I know. Thank you, ah—" Janssen hesitated.

"Major Max Canis-Vlata, Sentinels. This is my fian—" Max caught himself, and even Janssen smiled at that. "My wife…who also happens to be my commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata."

"Oh, congratulations." Janssen's smile was genuine, Victor saw, but it never made it to her eyes. "Excuse me. I should go look after the Iron Jarl. He's my responsibility."

"Of course," Morgan replied. "I'll have a copy of the disk to you by tomorrow morning." He returned her respectful nod, and then Janssen also retreated into the crowd.

Except for the noise of the crowd, it was quiet. "We should leave," Sheila said in a low voice, but Morgan turned around. Sheila took a deep breath. "Colonel Kell, we're intruding."

"Absolutely not," Morgan replied. "You should stay. I know what you're thinking, Sheila, but the two of you standing there represent something very important." He motioned around the room. "We've lost a great deal in the last six months. Not just me, not just Miraborg."

"Colonel." Sheila could no longer stand not addressing the issue Victor had been thinking of, what they had all probably been thinking of. "Colonel Kell…I'm…I'm probably responsible for Phelan's death."

Morgan shook his head. "Unless you're the Clan Wolf warrior that took his life, you're not at all responsible for anything, Sheila." He held up a hand to forestall what she was about to say. "I know about the Honor Board. I know you were the deciding vote. I also know that the Board made its decision based on the facts of the case. Trust me, if I did not think that, I would have had Phelan appeal the decision."

"Did he ever…say anything about me?" Sheila asked quietly.

Morgan's smile was wry. "He said you hated him, and the feeling was mutual." Once more, Morgan raised a hand. "Sheila, he was angry. Phelan tended to be angry most of the time. But I have little doubt that if he was here, you two would not hate each other, but forgive in the face of a much greater threat." He nodded towards where Miraborg had gone. "Hatred blinds you. Someone can only live on hate for so long until it burns them out. If they survive, they become a shell of a person." He glanced at Max. "When I see both of you there, I wonder what Phelan and Tyra would've looked like in the same pose—he in his Kell Hound uniform, she in a bridal gown. I don't think that merely because I so dearly wish it could be true. I think that because, like them, you two have managed to find a little light in all this darkness. It might be useful to remind everyone in this room of that, because you two—and you, Victor—you represent the future. If we don't fight for that, what's the point?"

Morgan blinked, then laughed. "Apologies. I didn't mean to preach." He returned the wave of Dan Allard across the room. "Let me give the newlyweds some advice—and you as well, Victor; it'll be your turn someday. Don't waste time arguing over things. You're both MechWarriors, and our profession is one of the most dangerous in the Inner Sphere. You don't have time to argue over things. Live instead." He shook hands with Max and kissed Sheila's uninjured cheek. "I speak from experience. I abandoned the woman I love for a decade, and I'll regret that lost time until the end of my life. Congratulations—we'll speak later." He nodded to Victor and strode away.

"Victor," Sheila said in awe, "I wouldn't make a pimple on that man's ass."

Victor burst into laughter. "Sheila, neither would I." He saw Max take Sheila's hand. She smiled beatifically, and Victor felt a bit envious. Not of Max marrying Sheila, but of the fact that the two of them had, as Morgan had said, found a bit of light in the middle of darkness. He wondered if he would ever feel the same way.

His thoughts were interrupted by nearly being run over. Victor spun around, and looked up into the face of Tooriu Kku, who returned his gaze. "Oops. Sorry there, Vic…I wasn't watching where I was going."

Victor decided not to take offense at the big MechWarrior's easy familiarity. "I'm surprised you can see anything all the way up there, you Goliath of Gath." The Biblical reference was clearly lost on Tooriu. He grinned at Sheila and spun something lacy around his finger.

Sheila peered at it. "All right, Tooriu…I know damn good and well you didn't catch my garter. Marcus Drax did."

"I know. Just borrowing it to show off to some of the other guys."

"What the hell for?"

Tooriu shrugged and looked down at Victor again. "See what you missed? You should've stayed for the reception, dude. I bet Sheila would've totally thrown it to you."

Victor wasn't sure if it was annoying or refreshing to find someone in the Inner Sphere who simply did not acknowledge rank, noble status or station. "Just what I needed."

Tooriu craned his head over. "So was that Morgan Kell you were talking to?" Max acknowledged it was. "Cool. Who was the mean old bastard in the wheelchair and the hot fighter pilot girl?"

"Long story," Max said. "Uh oh. Enemy contact, eleven o'clock."

All four of them turned in that direction. "Romano Liao?" Victor said. The ruler of the Capellan Confederation was gliding into the huge room, dressed in black, red-trimmed silk and trailed by her husband Tsen Shang and her son Sun-Tzu. "Enemy contact is right."

"Oh shit," Sheila muttered. "Marion was at the reception. Was she coming here?" At Victor's questioning expression, she explained, "Romano Liao has a kill order on Marion Rhialla. Apparently Marion's old battalion retreated rather than be wiped out, and she had them all shot. Marion and a few others are all that's left."

"I don't think Marion's coming," Tooriu said. "She mentioned something about finding Natasha Kerensky and drinking the Black Widow under the table. Or maybe it was to kick her ass. Possibly both."

"Now that you mention it…" Victor checked the room. "Where is Natasha Kerensky? She'd be hard to miss, even in this group."

"I don't know. That was Gentleman Jim Clavell we were talking to earlier. If he's here, then the Widow's likely on Outreach as well," Max replied.

They turned as a woman came up to hug Sheila. "Sheila! Oh my goodness, you're so beautiful! You look positively angelic!"

Sheila laughed. "Thanks, Maysa, though I'm about as angelic as Catherine the Great." Maysa turned her head to one side quizzically, like a confused cat. Sheila gestured to Victor. "Maysa, have you met Victor Steiner-Davion? Victor, this is Maysa Bari, one of my MechWarriors—one of my best."

"Hello," Victor said, putting out a hand. He half-wondered if Sheila was pulling a prank on him, because Maysa appeared about fifteen: she had a peaches-and-cream complexion and wide, green eyes, like a kid in a candy store. Still, she wore the Snowbirds' dress uniform, and her bright red hair was cut close to her head, in Steiner MechWarrior fashion, with a braided tail going down her neck. Maysa's eyes widened even more, she grasped his hand, and gave a bow so fast and deep their heads nearly collided. "H-h-h-hello!" Maysa stammered. "P-p-p-pleasure meet you—I mean, it's a p-p-p—"

"Likewise," Victor returned. A series of chimes resounded through the room, for which Victor was thankful, because Maysa looked like she was going to pass out. He turned around to face the front of the room, but out of the corner of one eye, he saw that Maysa was now hiding behind Sheila. That's new, Victor thought. He had run into all kinds of reactions to his name and status—toadying, boorishness, snide remarks, casual indifference, even outright hatred—but this was the first time he had ever frightened anyone.

Tooriu noticed as well, and leaned down to Victor. "Maysa's really shy around strangers."

"I hadn't noticed," Victor quipped.

Jaime Wolf took the stage at the other end of the room, taking up position behind a podium with the Wolf's Dragoons emblem worked into it. Several other men and women that Victor recognized as the Dragoons' regimental and battalion commanders were at loose attention behind him; once more, he did not see Natasha Kerensky.

Wolf was not a particularly tall man, half a head shorter than Morgan Kell and not much taller than Victor himself. Again, it was the reputation and the force of personality that made him seem larger. His once coal-black hair was going gray as well, and there were deep lines on the older man's face, betraying that Jaime Wolf had been leading his five regiments into often desperate battle for over fifty years.

"Thank you all for responding to the summons that brought us together here on Outreach," Wolf spoke. "Some of you must have found it strange, and yet you have sensed that my reason was not frivolous. Rather, I wish to speak with you about a problem that faces all of us and whose depth perhaps only the Dragoons can know."

"No offense to the man," Max whispered to Sheila, "but how's he going to back that up? When did the Dragoons ever fight the Clans?"

Sheila shrugged. "Hey, they're Wolf's Dragoons. Major Sneuth told me when I was getting ready for the wedding that there's a full case of orange soda in our honeymoon suite. I don't remember telling her that I love orange soda." Victor glanced behind him, and Sheila quieted.

Wolf was still talking. "As you all know, the Inner Sphere has been invaded in the last year by an enemy possessing BattleMechs of extraordinary power. Recently the Federated Commonwealth, the Free Rasalhague Republic, and the Draconis Combine have had some notable successes against these invaders. After months of trial and error, they have finally managed to hand the invaders some reverses on Twycross, Wolcott, Planting, and most importantly, Radstadt. Since then, the invaders have, for all intents and purposes, withdrawn into the shell of the worlds they conquered."

"It's because we kicked their ass!" Tooriu shouted. Sheila turned nearly as pale as Maysa had at his temerity, but Tooriu's defiant cheer was taken up by others in the room, from the AFFC, the DCMS, and the Kungsarme. Tooriu held out a giant hand to Victor, who, caught up in the moment, clasped it like they were a pair of football players after a game.

Wolf shook his head at the cheers and raised his voice, silencing them. "Can you really believe that so implacable an enemy is cowed by minor defeats? They withdrew because one Rasalhagian pilot sacrificed herself by smashing her Shilone into the invaders' flagship. At the very least, she killed the invaders' leader and crippled the command structure of the enemy forces. If she'd missed ten meters up or down, left or right, the Clans would still be marching inexorably forward." His hard eyes cowed even the ebuillent Tooriu. "If you are so naïve as to think that a few minor victories and a lucky stroke by a brave pilot could drive these invaders back, our chances for success are poor indeed in our war against them."

Sheila kept her mouth shut, but she wanted to protest Wolf's words. You didn't see it, Colonel, she thought. You didn't see the fear on Star Captain Lefar's face on Twycross. You didn't hear Star Captain Senefa scream in agony when I broke her damn arm. They're not unstoppable. They bleed red like the rest of us. They feel pain and they get scared just like the rest of us. She was surprised at Wolf's words; it was almost as if the older man was afraid of the Clans.

"Our war?" Sheila's thoughts were interrupted by the grating voice of Romano Liao. "Of course!" she shrilled, with a triumphant laugh. "I knew it all along! You've just been waiting for their troops to take stock of the invaders. Now Wolf's Dragoons will stalk from their den and into the battle!" She stabbed a long fingernail at Wolf. "Yours are the fiercest mercenaries in the Inner Sphere. With your help, we shall send these rimworld renegades running!"

Wolf speared her with a cold stare. "I'm afraid you have it all wrong, Madam Chancellor. The enemy we face is not composed of either renegades or bandits." Yeah, no shit, Sheila thought. "The invaders will be back, probably in less than a year. We'll have to be ready to meet them with everything we've got, because we've only seen a small sample of their strength." He gazed out over the crowd at large. "After Radstadt and the death of their leader, they'll come at us full force. They'll ask no quarter and grant none." A vision of Mimi Stykkis flashed into Sheila's mind.

Wolf took a breath. "Ladies and gentlemen…now begins what easily could be the last days of the Inner Sphere."

The meeting had lasted another hour before Jaime Wolf ended it. Sheila and Max left and silently got into the hoverlimo that Wolf had kindly provided, which took them to the Hilton Inn Outreach, the most prestigious hotel on the planet—Sneuth, and Wolf by extension, had kept their promise to provide the honeymoon suite at the hotel. They had already been given the keys at the reception.

They rode up the elevator, both of them wanting to talk about what they had just heard, but there was always someone around—other guests and hotel staff, who congratulated the newlyweds—until finally they stepped off at the 58th floor, almost the top, and walked out. There were four suites up here, but the hallway was finally empty.

"I can't believe it," Sheila finally said. "I just don't believe it—" Her eyes crossed comically as Max put his finger against her lips. Then he replaced the finger with his own lips. When they parted, Sheila smiled ruefully. "You're right. It can wait."

They walked hand in hand down the short hallway to the entrance to the honeymoon suite. There was already a DO NOT DISTURB sign hung on the door. "I wonder who put that there," Max observed.

"Knowing my dad, it was probably him," Sheila snickered. Neither Calla, Arla, Mira or Todd, even though they had attended the wedding, had come to Wolf's briefing; they had finished the night at the hurried reception. It had surprised Sheila and Max both that their parents were not present, but they supposed Wolf would brief them later—or already had. Their parents had seemed a little distracted during the ceremony.

"Might have been mine," Max said. "Or both." He turned to Sheila. "Well…better see if I can do this."

"Do what?" Sheila stifled a scream as Max reached down and picked her up in his arms. "Oh…right." She grinned and kissed his cheek. "My loving husband."

"Your loving husband…isn't going to be able to do this for much longer…" Max struggled out. He simply was not a particularly strong man. "Hurry up and get the door!"

"Got it." Sheila placed her hand on the keypad. It read her fingerprints and the door clicked open. Max kicked it open and managed to carry his wife over the threshold, and set her down on the other side. "Whoof," he breathed, and massaged his back. "You're heavier than you look."

"Oh, thanks so much," Sheila groused as she kicked the door shut behind them. "Great way to start the marriage, telling your wife she's fat—" Then she turned around and gasped. "Max…are…are we in the right room?"

"Yeah, I think so," Max replied absently. He was just as shocked as she was. The honeymoon suite was palatial. It was nearly the size of Sheila's home on Grunwald. There was a large living room, fit for a wedding reception, with a curved picture window that looked out over the night cityscape of Harlech. Set on a large coffee table next to a conform-lounger couch was a huge dinner, and flowers and cards were piled high on the smaller dining table.

"This is just the main room," Sheila breathed. She kicked off her shoes, picked up her dress and hurried over to the French doors, followed by Max. The doors opened into the bedroom, half the size of the living room—which itself was twice the size of their barracks rooms. The bed looked like it could hold a platoon of infantry, a four-postered affair. On it was set a stuffed wolf holding a balloon, on which was written Congratulations Max and Sheila; they realized it was Jaime Wolf's handwriting. Another picture window took up most of the wall. Max brushed past her and opened the closet: all of their luggage had been delivered, and their uniforms hung up neatly in a closet that could hold an Elemental with room to spare.

"Do we even dare look at the bathroom?" Max wondered.

"Hell yes," Sheila told him, and flung open the doors. "Oh my God!" The bathroom was huge as well, dominated by a hot tub in the shape of a heart—a tub that looked like a small pool. There was a walk-in shower the size of the closet, obstensibly in case the newlyweds got bored with the tub. She turned to Max. "I don't know where to start."

"Well," Max said, unbuttoning his collar, "we have two choices. Food or sex."

Sheila had to think about that one. Her stomach rumbled. "Food?" She wore a sheepish expression.

"Concur. We didn't have much chance to eat at the reception besides cake and champagne…and it's not like we haven't made love before." He unbuckled the cape and hung it up in the closet, then pulled off the tunic and boots. "Hope you don't mind if I eat in my skivvies."

"Not at all. I'm going to do the same thing. I just know I'll get food on this gown." Sheila pulled off the veil and carefully set it on one of the overstuffed chairs in the bedroom, then took off the shimmersilk, unwrapping it from her neck and upper torso. "Um, Max? Could you unzip me? I can't reach the back of the gown."

"Sure." Max, now in his boxers and socks, walked over and unzipped the gown. The small zipper went to the small of her back, and Sheila took it off. He suddenly realized that she didn't wear a bra beneath it—of course, the straps would've shown under the shimmersilk. He stepped back. Sheila didn't seem to notice that she was naked from the waist up as she first reached up to undo the clasp holding her ponytail, letting her raven tresses fall over her shoulders, and then she shimmied out of the gown itself. It left her in a garter belt, stockings, and panties, all white and all sheer, leaving very, very little to the imagination. "Sheila?" he said hoarsely.

"Yeah?" Sheila bent over to grab a camisole from her luggage, her back to him. That didn't help Max at all.

"Turn around."

"What's wrong—oh." She did so, and suddenly realized two things: one, that she was naked above the waist and barely clad below it, and two, Max was no longer interested in eating. At least, not food. A slow smile spread across her lips. He stood there gaping at her as Sheila walked to him. "Do you want me to leave on the garter belt and stockings?"

"No," Max said, his voice heavy. "I want you naked."

She kissed him, her hands taking down his boxers. "You first."

The bedroom picture window was voice-controlled: it could show the Harlech cityscape, or the guests could choose several planetary landscapes, or even a starfield. It could also simply be polarized. At some point, one of them had chosen to polarize the window, which was a wise decision…otherwise, it might be steamed up. The lighting could also be changed, and now holographic candles lit the room.

Sheila was indeed naked, laying on her back, satisfied. She held her wedding ring up to the light. Max was also not the wealthiest of MechWarriors, so they had agreed to just use their engagement rings. Sheila wouldn't wear it in the cockpit of her 'Mech, but she would certainly wear it everywhere else. "Max," she whispered.

"Yeah?" He lay next to her, just as nude and just as satisfied.

"Do you want me to change my name?"

"To Sheila Canis-Vlata?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head. "I think you should keep it. Everyone's used to Arla-Vlata by now."

"You're not offended?"

He turned over and kissed her shoulder. "Nope." He grinned mischievously at her and kissed his way down her waist. Sheila sucked in her breath and smiled; they hadn't been finished more than ten minutes from their last session, but if Max was ready to go again, she was more than happy to accommodate him. I'm married, she thought, and wanted to yell in sheer happiness. "Oh God, Max…" He was licking at her navel. "That really turns me on…"

"Good, because I am going down on you, ma'am." He kissed her flat stomach. "Didn't get a chance to do an inspection down here earlier, since—"

"Since you were intent on banging my brains out after you saw that garter belt," Sheila finished with a grin. "Not that I minded." She fluffed up the pillows. "I want to watch. That's half the fun." Max gave her another kiss, but before he could move downward, her stomach growled like an angry tiger. He slowly looked up at her. Sheila's face turned red, and not with desire. They were silent for a moment, then it growled again. "Um…"

Max chuckled. "You know, we should eat."

"But honey, weren't you about to?"

"Ha ha." She gave a start when he did kiss her down there. "I'll get back to you later," he promised, then slid off the bed and walked naked to the coffee table. The food was still warm, kept that way by a heating element in the table itself. He brought back two plates of chicken and dumplings, while Sheila activated built-in tables that rose from either side of the bed. Once the plates were set, he got orange soda out of the refrigerator, and Sheila clapped her hands like a little girl. They toasted each other in soda and ate.

Max kept watching her. Sheila certainly didn't eat sexily; she actually wolfed it down like there was a battle imminent. Yet he couldn't stop watching her, even as he finished his chicken. "Wife," Max finally said to her.

"Husband," Sheila returned, her eyes a little misty. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"It sure does. Been a long time coming."

"Oh, it didn't take me that long—"

Both of them burst out laughing. Sheila then suddenly jumped. "What the hell—oh." She reached behind her pillow. Jaime Wolf's balloon was floating along the ceiling, but the wolf was still there on the bed. Sheila kissed him. "Sorry, little wolf. We probably traumatized the poor thing." She set the wolf on the bed between them. The stuffed toy suddenly brought back why they were here on Outreach, besides just the wedding. "So…you want to talk about it now?" Sheila said.

Max let out a long breath. "Well…not sure there's much to really say. We had a feeling that the Clans were Kerensky's people come back. Now we know. Wolf's Dragoons being their former scout unit was pretty damn surprising, though." He shook his head. "Fighting the heirs to the SLDF. I guess that makes us Stefan Amaris." It was a joke, but it fell flat.

She brushed barbecue sauce on his nose. "No, it doesn't. They started this. They invaded us. Granted, we'd probably be fighting each other by now, but that's different—that's our war, over our land. Kerensky and the SLDF hauled ass and left. They ran away. Their responsibility ended when he bugged out. The Clans have no business sticking their noses back into it." Sheila pushed the table to one side and got up. "More soda? Or champagne?"

"Soda. I don't really like champagne." Sheila grabbed two more cans and set one down on his table, then sat crosslegged and popped open the other. He reached out and stroked her hair. "You think we can beat them?"

"You think we can't?" Sheila countered.

"I don't know. Wolf certainly acted like we don't have much of a chance. I get that we have to unite, but…" Max snorted at that. "Yeah, like the Successor States can agree on anything but wanting each other dead."

"We're going to have to, though. Hang together or most assuredly hang separately, as old Benjamin Franklin said," Sheila said.

"Maybe we should just retire and become history teachers." Max leaned back against the headboard and pushed his own table aside. "But good point. We can beat them, sure—hell, we have. But Wolf was right that some of that was just pure luck. How much longer will our luck hold out?" He put his hands up. "Enough. You don't know the answer to that anymore than I do."

Sheila gave him a peck on the cheek. "Hard lock and fire, husband of mine. We've got to take it one day at a time. Trust me, though—we're going to beat the Clans." She suddenly leapt to her feet, and threw her hair over one shoulder in the same fashion as Romano Liao, putting her hands on her hips in a haughty pose. "Because I am the Celestial Wisdom, and I know all!"

Max rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Glad you're not. I'd never know if you wanted to make love or do needlepoint on my balls. How Tsen Shang isn't dead is beyond me. He's got more guts than I do."

"We'll just beat the Clans to be contrary." Sheila considered it. "You know…we're taking this whole 'end of the world' thing rather well."

"Being on our honeymoon, eating gourmet chicken buck-ass naked helps."

"True." Sheila glanced at the chronometer on the wall. "I guess we'd better not screw around all night, though. Mackenzie Wolf did tell us that we need to report to the Dragoon CP tomorrow at 1000…and I heard him tell Victor that he needed to report to the CP at 0930. That can't be coincidence. It would be just like Jaime Wolf to start putting this coalition together immediately."

"And he would want us to start passing along what we've learned on Planting and so on, stuff Victor doesn't know about. I just hope he doesn't want us briefing the other royals. Kai's no problem, but I really doubt Hohiro Kurita's going to listen to a bunch of mercenaries—and we'll be lucky if Romano doesn't just order us to be killed by Death Commandos for even talking to her son." Max opened his soda. "Don't you speak Japanese?"

"Kind of? I can order dinner and keep from being decapitated," Sheila said. "How's your Chinese?"

"Passable." Max leaned closer to her. "Wo ai ni."

"What's that mean?"

He smiled and kissed her. "I love you."

"Aw, how sweet." She waggled a finger in front of him. "Better not use it on anyone but me, though."

"Well, I wasn't planning on saying it to Kai." Max leaned back.

"Something tells me this training that Wolf wants to do is going to be tough. We're going to be rode hard and put away wet." Sheila giggled. "So to speak."

"Sounds like fun." Max raised the orange soda as if to pour it over her breasts. She scooted back. "No! Not on these sheets!"

Max got up. "True." He set the soda on the tray. "Shall we test out that hot tub? I want to ride you hard and put you away wet."

"Well on the way to that last part." Sheila dashed into the bathroom. "Race you!"

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ah, wedded bliss.

Welcome to the first chapter of the third Snowbirds Saga story arc-the Snowbirds on Outreach! This was where my original Snowbird stories really hit their stride and I felt like I was writing good fiction, not mediocre stuff. I added something of a cute bridge between the two chapters of the original, where Sheila and Max attend Wolf's reception, and when they're talking about it in the honeymoon suite. Got to give our newlyweds some time here to breathe...and it gives me an excuse to write some sexy time.

Note that most of the dialogue from the first two-thirds of this chapter is taken directly from Michael Stackpole's superb Lethal Heritage. The Snowbird stories fit "between the pages" of those books, and this is probably the only part of the entire saga where I'm using Stackpole's dialogue. Absolutely no copyright infringement is intended! I wanted to insert Sheila and Max (and Tooriu and Maysa) into that scene, where they get to interact with Victor Steiner-Davion, Morgan Kell, Tor Miraborg, and Anika Janssen. It fits them into the larger narrative.

What's next? Well, we screw with canon a little bit by getting Sheila and Max involved (reluctantly) in training the royals of the Inner Sphere...except they won't be the ones doing much of the training. Leave a review or two if you like, and if you enjoyed this, check out the sixth book (hell, the whole series) of On RWBY Wings.