Marc next gave his attention to the courageous warrior directly in front of him, the Longinus
armored-soldier who blocked his view through the Spider's ferroglass cockpit. The solider was
now firing a laser into the cockpit, hoping to break through in time to kill Marc. Marc had been
unable to prevent the first shot in time.
Knowing the situation could prove fatal if drastic action was not taken, Marc carefully raised his
Mech's left arm and reached for the soldier. Caution was a necessity as a poorly-directed
attempt might smash the cockpit with the Mech's own fist. As he spread the Spider's fingers
wide apart, he rubbed the hand against the ferroglass in a shrill screech that sent shivers through
his body. The move was successful though, and the Longinus armor slid from the ferroglass and
dropped to its death on the unforgiving floor below. Scratches from the giant fingers and a
distortion burn made by the Longinus's laser were all that was left of the enemy.
As he moved towards the shed's main door, Marc called out for help into the Mech's transmitter.
"Anybody out there. The main quarters is being destroyed Where are our guards and security?
Report, over. Somebody talk to me."
There was no answer. Worse even was the sudden appearance of a silhouette blocking his view
of the night outside the shed. Its dim highlights barely showed under the light of the moon. Marc
hadn't even thought to check his sensors yet. He'd been too concerned with the swarming
Longinus troops that had nearly killed him.
Here comes trouble.
Star Colonel Devon Carns clenched his teeth in frustration. Sweat beads ran together on his
forehead, gliding down into his eyebrow. His concentration was like never before. He was
eager to prove his combat skills yet again.
He'd powered down to get off enemy sensors, taking refuge in a grove of Miranda's native
billow trees. It was one way he could even the odds a bit. The bastards must have sabotaged
all security comm systems, based on the remote charge that had blown his Direwolf's system
offline just minutes ago. As the seconds flew by, he plotted an ambush for the next Mech to
wander into weapons range.
He had volunteered for tonight's guard duty on a whim, or at least that was how it seemed to the
other Striker Mechwarriors on patrol. But Devon had already known some of what was
coming. He had not exactly anticipated it, but rather it was revealed to him. His meditation
tonight had given voice to his dreams as it always had. But tonight's revelation was different.
Clearer... The clearest vision I have had.
Only unreliability with previous visions had robbed him of the desire to warn everyone tonight.
Early on in his days with the Strikers, he'd earned a reputation for his false predictions. This
particular problem was his true Achilles heel, which had always left him open to verbal attacks
by the few Inner Sphere surats courageous enough to openly criticize him. His strength as a
warrior had earned him more than enough respect though, easily making up for this other
weakness. In fact, his strengths had surpassed that weakness so far that it was becoming easy to
completely forget about it.
But he still wished he could have contacted Dana Douglas to tell her of his vision and its
consequences. His lancemate and coupling partner for the last four years, Dana was also a
person of visions. She was currently off-base for a few days undergoing a thorough medical
review. All her symptoms suggested she was with child.
Pregnant.
Devon couldn't believe he might be having a freeborn son or daughter. Warriors of the Clans
rarely bore children. Such a thing was controversial. How life has changed since joining the
people of the Inner Sphere.
His choices would define his legacy of course, and in these he had walked a razor's edge
between Clan and Inner Sphere. He hoped the best for Dana and had even considered marrying
the woman. The concept was almost too alien to his way of life. Nevertheless, he wanted to
make Dana happy just as much as he wanted to live and die as a warrior.
He pondered whether or not he could take the coward's way out, to escape and live another
day. He'd done it before. On Wasat he'd fought the Blakists. He'd helped lead the retreat at
the end of that mess. Run away. The concept haunted him.
It was true. He had run.
But in running, he'd also saved lives that day.
On Miranda, he'd stopped the enemy cold and rallied his unit to a victory. But he'd ejected in
the Stricken Desert, choosing life over a glorified death. Why had he done it? What forces had
driven him to change?
His culture had partially faded, and he'd faded as a person with that change. He hoped what
was left was good enough for his Clan. The Nova Cats did not judge lightly after all.
This night itself might prove to be the ultimate test for the Strider's Strikers. They would be
judged by their ability to defend Nova Cat territory. Tonight's attack was a direct move against
Devon's Clan, home, and way of life. He would do all he could against any immediate threats he
would face. He felt he could not eject. In this battle, one graver than any he'd predicted before,
every second he was in this cockpit would matter. His was the warrior way tonight.
Already three enemy Mechs lay strewn across the battlefield in so many pieces. Piloting his
100-ton Direwolf around the base had seemed ridiculous at first, but the vision had come true. It
was the Blakists. They were out for blood, pure and simple. He knew it in their piloting style.
He was no stranger to their Mechs either. A 45-ton Blue Flame here, an 80-ton Legacy there,
and the most disturbing of all, a 55-ton Kintaro. Two purely Blakist designs and something
obviously of Kuritan design.
The Black Dragons were involved again. This was the same sort of attack as before. But this
time the Strikers had been caught off-guard even worse than in '65. The Dragons were not
happy with their last failed investment. This time they were here to finish the job.
Devon silently promised to himself: They will get only hellfire from me.
Andrew Allen could not believe his eyes.
From the other side of the Mech shed, a shadow moved out of the darkness. It rounded the
corner of the building in two great strides as its upper body spun to face inside the open shed.
The shape was easy to recognize. He'd seen it dozens of times in the simulators.
A Nexus. Word of Blake. Again. Without thinking, Andrew fired his pistol at the machine.
