This is a story that's been going 'round my head and is actually on text now - I just decided not to post it here, seeing as sentinel28's got his own Clan Invasion series, and I didn't want to rain on his parade. Updates will be alternating between this and Redfire, so after this, Chapter 5 of Redfire will be up, then Chapter 1 of this, and so on.

Our special guest stars appear in this one, as well as several others...

Atreidean Warhawks
'Redemption Through Laser Fire'
Prelude: Outreach

.3051
Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters, Harlech
Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth
1500 Hours Ryzan Standard Time

“I feel distinctly out of place,” Jagdea Bree muttered, glancing around at the gathered officers.

“Cutchat, Ensign.” Chak Lefth shot back. “Five kills in one Enforcer, three of them heavier than you are, is more than just luck. You're good enough for the best, Jagdea, don't dare sell yourself short.”

“And all that at seventeen years,” Lieutenant Nahum Livair quipped. “Betcha somebody's undercut her already, though.”

“Rifleman pilot with the Sentinels,” Chak said. “Got one year on her. Be that as it may, Jagdea, let me say this: I've seen a lot in my time, and believe me when I say you're good enough.”

The three were gathered in the meeting chamber of the Dragoons' general headquarters. Colonel Atreides had sent them on, seeing as she and Captains Aximand and Devon had recruiting to do. Chak had pointed out that his own battalion was also understrength and he had to do some recruiting of his own, only for Atreides to respond that she was recruiting for him and that he'd be better off finding out what it was the Dragoons were wanting to announce.

“Well, looks like we've got a newlywed couple there,” Livair said, nodding to two people whom he'd just seen. One of them, a man, was wearing a white uniform trimmed in powder blue with a cape around his shoulders; his companion wore a wedding gown. Chak's dark jade eyes scanned the two of them intently, taking in every detail.

“Speak of the bloody devil and one of her superiors pops right up,” Chak said. “That's Sheila Arla-Vlata.”

“What, that kid?” Livair said. “The girl who dueled a Clan MechWarrior on Planting?”

The stories had traveled fast. The Warhawks had taken grievous casualties, adding their three engagements together; they were too beat-up after Rasalhague to participate in Blackjack or Twycross, their order of battle cut in half. They'd fallen back to Outreach to regroup and recruit, but as always, had kept up with the mercenary grapevine.

“Indeed. You two have fun – I'd better send the Warhawks' congratulations.”

Jagdea and Livair looked after Chak as he strode towards the two, the former with a bemused eye, the latter with a knowing look. “He does this all the time?”

The lieutenant merely shrugged. “He's Chak Lefth, is who he is. We've long stopped trying to understand him.”

Chak's clicking footsteps alerted the newlyweds to his approaching presence. The three made quite the contrast – Max and Sheila in white as opposed to Chak's sharp blacks. He noted the aftereffects of quite a bit of dueling on her face and grinned slightly; while he'd still pick one of his troopers over the Falcon who'd bloodied her, the warrior had done quite a job.

“Good day to you two. Happily married?” Chak said, sticking a hand out to the two. “Captain Chak Lefth of the Atreidean Warhawks. I wanted to thank you lads for coming back then on Rasalhague.”

Max took his hand and shook it, somewhat uncertainly. “Happy to help. And, yeah, we are...I'm Max -”

“I know, lad, the both of you.” Chak cut him off, holding up a hand. “At the risk of sounding like a bloody stalker, I've been following your exploits ever since I heard about Persistence. You two are good, Max, Sheila; you've done quite well.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Sheila responded. “Just a question: Where did you fight?”

“New Caledonia on March, New Bergen on May, then Rasalhague, then a fighting retreat wherever we could find any targets.” Chak shook his head. “We're currently at half-strength and recruiting to shore up our numbers. We got the short end of the stick on all three, mainly because of composition; we've nothing over seventy-five tons. Fast-movers, really.”

Max winced. “And you've been up against Black Hawks, Mad Cats and Man O' Wars?”

“That given,” Chak smiled slightly, “It's expected that, should one not possess a weight advantage, one must seek an equaliser, whether it be tactical, strategic, conditional, terrain-related, or psychological – any such advantage, to be quick about it. Or you fight dirty and damn the consequences. After all, in the seventy and seventy-five ton weight range, two particular designs mount multiple PPCs. D'you know how much damage six PPCs on one target can do?”

“Or would you rather not live forever?” Victor Steiner-Davion said, grinning as he completed Chak's declamation. “It's good to see you guys again.”

“Hey, Vic,” Sheila smiled, turning to greet Victor. “You were missed at the reception.”

“I know. I had planned to attend, but I had to get over here. I hadn’t realized you were coming.” Victor smiled.

“What, and miss this? Jaime Wolf gathering the leaders of the Inner Sphere for some sort of grand strategy meeting?” Sheila responded, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll tell my kids about this, if I ever have any.”

“Sheila, Max, Chak, you all know Colonel Morgan Kell of the Kell Hounds, of course,” Victor introduced the big man he'd come with. Chak smiled slightly; seeing the two newlyweds glance between themselves before they saluted; Chak only gave the informal salute of middle and index fingers to the Kell Hounds' CO.

Of course, Morgan merely smiled, putting his hand out to Max, who awkwardly took it. “A pleasure to meet you, Maximillian,” Morgan said formally. “I see you're continuing the family tradition of marrying beautiful women – your mother was and is quite the lady.” Max's reply was in a stammer, something about the pleasure being his.

Sheila had held her own hand out for a shake, but Morgan took it, bent over, and kissed it. Victor and Chak hid smiles as Sheila blushed, red rushing from her neck to her forehead, oddly reminding Chak of Eltharion's always-troublesome heat gauge. “Ah, Sheila,” Morgan said, smiling at her. “Absolutely stunning. How did the other one look?”

“A lot worse.” Sheila answered without thinking. “Sir.”

Morgan waved it off. “Enough with the 'sir'. I'm a mercenary, same as you, I work for a living. Good to meet you again, Chak. How's your Colonel?” he said to Chak, putting his hand out for another handshake.

Chak took it and shook firmly. “Likewise, Colonel Kell. Colonel Atreides couldn't attend, she's busy with recruiting, but I'd say she sends her regards. And I must reiterate that, unless there's a miracle or if Silent Winter dies, there's no chance of anything heavier than seventy-five tons getting into our order of battle.”

“I wouldn't have you and your men any other way.” Morgan folded his arms across his chest. “I read about what you did, all of you – Planting, Twycross, Rasalhague, your company on New Caledonia, Chak...I think you've made up for your infraction on Blackjack, Sheila.” He turned to Max. “You three have done exceptionally well against the Clans. You'll have to share your secret with the rest of us.”

“It was all a matter of psychology in my case,” Chak said. “An understanding of the Clan warrior ethos. That, and good aim on cockpits. Know your enemy and all that.”

“If we figure it out,” Sheila responded, “you'll be the first to know. Half the time I wasn't even thinking about what to do.”

“I'd say luck, sir,” Max added. Chak grimaced involuntarily at that; while he didn't have Cordenn's fixation on luck and its various forms, he was still in his own way quite the gambler.

“If you'll excuse me,” Chak said, “I think Ensign Bree's calling. I'll see you lads again on the field when we get back on the line.”

The three looked after him. “It's a surprise how he doesn't look like he's aging,” Morgan said. “He looks just like he did twenty-five years ago...But, no...Max, luck is what others call skill when they have none...”

.3051
Atreidean Warhawks Central Operations, Romulus
Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth
1100 Hours Ryzan Standard Time

One who attempted to piece together Chak Lefth's life would have quite a monumental task before him, especially when his trail went colder than a Ryzan blizzard at times. Therefore, for lack of a history, one would ask after his capabilities.

Those were myriad. He was already a proficient marksman, adept with the innards of his own BattleMech – a modified, extremely modified, seventy-ton Guillotine – and a hell of a battlefield commander. He wasn't afraid to close in and mix it up. One could say with minimal inaccuracy that he could fulfill just about any battlefield role. There were, of course, some battlefields he utterly hated: one in particular being the battlefield in which a bureaucrat thrived.

“How's our ORBAT?” he asked Lieutenant Aves Raeille, his executive officer, as he stepped into his office.

“Not good.” Raeille responded. “We had standard size back last year – four-three-three, as per normal, plus your lance. That makes for forty, total. We've got thirty, currently.”

“Emperor's teeth,” Chak muttered. “Parjai Battalion has it worse than us, right?”

“They're at twenty-five, counting Ensign Bree.” Raeille said. “Of course, that's not the worst of it.”

“Never is. When does der Fuchs want us back on the line again?”

“By the end of the month with what reinforcements he's drawn up,” Raeillie said, looking back down at the compad he held. “We're bound for the latest battle line – Twycross through Planting.”

“Vantaa and Seiduts between them.” Chak grunted. “You've got the Vantaa ORBAT?”

“Yeah. Two battalions each from the Tenth Donegal and 12th Star Guards, plus the Sentinels. Largish force, but we've seen how the Clans can tear largish forces apart at five-to-one odds.”

“Indeed. No doubt Hanse's keeping us as a mobile reserve, and he bloody well should since Justin-bleeding-Allard knows who I am. Clausewitz aside, taking Vantaa leaves Planting high-and-dry and clears one avenue from Twycross. Vantaa's going to be a grinder, no doubt. But I can ignore the Finns and Civil War fanatics for the meantime, because I'm looking at getting in through somewhere.”

“Hm.” Raeille sat down. “What did you have in mind?”

“Funny you should use 'you',” Chak said. “Aves, there's no need to worry about who's sending who where and for what reason, or even about logistics. I'm heading out alone, and I mean it this time.”

“Chak, I know you're good and all, but one man against an entire planet isn't very reassuring.” Aves said, setting his compad down on the table. “What is it you're planning to do?”

“Get a trooper from their side. Alive if at all possible. I need answers, answers which MIIO, LIC, or even the Maskirovka can't get because their efforts aren't focused on it. Answers I won't get if I arrive as CO of Prudii Battalion.”

“Very well,” Aves said, deciding to leave the question raging in his mind aside. “But why alone?”

“You think I want to involve you lads in this?” Chak smiled grimly. “Aves, my record's holed and my age listed as 'official'. You think anyone with a working brain would believe a word in my file? No, lad. On this one, I have to be alone, so if I'm caught, you're all clean. You've read Zahn, you know what Formbi said.”

Aves sighed. He knew exactly which line Chak was referring to. “If you so insist. Alright, since it's just you and Eltharion, that makes for one DropShip and one JumpShip. Siona's going to be on your case if you take one of each of ours.”

“I won't need to. Everything's taken care of.”

Aves frowned then, meeting Chak's dark jade gaze with his own purple eyes. “Who is it who keeps 'taking care' of things for you?”

“Better not to ask, Aves. Better not to ask.”

Later that night, Colonel Siona Atreides found a compad in her quarters.

Don't try to follow this time, Siona. You've done enough.
And I'll be back anyway.
-117