1. Old Ghosts and New Beginnings

The skies over Harlech, Outreach, Chaos March, 31st July 3068 "Bridge to Shadow Lead. Thirty seconds to drop zone - stand by", came the terse message from the comms officer on the bridge of the Grey Wolf - the Overlord IIC class dropship Wolfs Dragoons were using to ferry them into battle. "Shadow Lead to bridge...acknowledged", replied Major Callum Fraser McLaren - commanding officer of the Second Battalion of the Third Cameron Guards RCT, nicknamed the Shadowlancers. The massive dropship shuddered and shook as shots from the harassing Word of Blake aerospace fighters found their mark. Even cocooned inside their mechs, McLaren and the other Lancers could hear the explosions and sounds of weapons fire as the battle raged outside. Callum closed his eyes and whispered a brief prayer to any gods that might be listening. As he did so he pictured the men and women of his command and prayed for their safe delivery from the hell they were descending into. Some would be making peace with whatever deities they believed in, some would be running system checks and planning their first moves once they got clear of the dropship. The new recruits, he knew, would simply be scared as hell as they faced their first live combat mission. McLaren shook his head slowly as he checked and double-checked his instrument readings. They'd picked a hell of a time to make their debuts. Of course, the veteran warriors would be nervous too, but with experience came the ability to control their fear and use it their advantage, giving an edge to their senses and reflexes. The vision darkened and faded to be replaced with a new one. Now he was leading Prowler Company through rolling countryside interspersed with dense patches of woodland. Jaime Wolf, Commander of the Wolfs Dragoons had requested their assistance to stem a drive by a Word of Blake battalion that threatened to breach their lines. The Lancers had split into companies, forming a 3-sided box, enveloping the Blakists' line of advance. They were hoping to use the standard doctrine of meeting the advancing enemy head on with a third of their force, before hitting them from either side with flanking units once they were engaged. As much as he tried not to, McLaren fretted about his newer recruits, wondering how they would fare against such a fanatical enemy. It was a waste of time and effort though. He had to trust his company and lance commanders to look after their men, while he concentrated on the bigger picture. A call over the battalion channel from Captain Mark Hunter told everyone that the Blakists had engaged Wraith Company, who were holding the centre. This vision faded and was replaced with darkness. Then came the voices... "Major, this is Hunter! We cannot hold! Blakist forces too strong...withdrawing to regroup!" "Hunter - get your men out of there! Stalker Company, make best speed to Wraith's position and engage any enemy forces you encounter!" "Roger, Commander. Making best speed for Nav Point Alpha!" "Prowler One to Wraith One, whats your status?" McLaren's enquiry was met with silence. He tried again. "Hunter, this is McLaren, do you copy?" Again, the radio mocked him with just the quiet hiss of static. Callum thumbed the transmit button again in desperation, not knowing what else to do. "Mark, if you can hear me, pull your men back to position Delta. Stalker is en route to relieve you, over". Suddenly the radio burst into life. The frantic voice on the other end faded in and out, interrupted by weapons fire and static. "Sir, this is Lieutenant Donovan! The Captain's dead - his mech took a PPC hit to the cockpit! The Blakists are all over us...for god's sake, hurry, sir!" "Hold it together son, Stalker Company is 60 seconds from your position. We're just a little further behind". "Copy that, Major. We'll do our...aaaaaaaarrrrgh!" The com-link was suddenly filled with static. "Donovan...Donovan...do you copy, over?" There was no reply. McLaren squeezed the controls until his hands hurt. Pushing his throttle to the stops, he radioed Montgomery. "We've got to hurry - they're getting slaughtered down there!" "I know, sir", came Liz's harassed-sounding reply. "We're going as fast as we can". She and the rest of Stalker Company had undoubtedly heard Donovan's desperate transmission. Vision returned and now Callum was driving his Templar through a small stand of trees, homing in on the laser fire and missile smoke. The rest of Prowler Company lagged slightly behind him and he was the first on the scene. For some reason, Stalker Company were nowhere to be seen. The sight that greeted him made his stomach knot into a tight ball. Scattered around the fire-blasted landscape like so many broken toys were the remains of Wraith Company. The smoking remains of eight Lancer mechs lay where they had fallen. Scattered wreckage told him the survivors were not likely to be in good shape either. One aspect of the dreadful scene of carnage that gave him some grim satisfaction, was the remnants of at least twelve Word of Blake mechs, their distinctive white colour scheme easily distinguishable from Lancers' camouflage. Three Blakist mechs were still standing however and had surrounded the only operational Lancer mech he could see. Callum's stomach lurched as he saw the smoking, scarred form of Terri Hutchings' Rattlesnake. Terri was one of the Lancers' rookie contingent and her light mech was taking a fearful mauling from an Anvil, an Initiate and a Griffin - all of which were larger and more powerful. She was twisting and turning, moving this way and that inside the Circle of Death the Blakist mechs had created, but each time they manoeuvred to block her path, denying her any chance of escape. They were obviously toying with her, as they could have destroyed her in moments. McLaren selected a private radio channel to contact her."Terri, why the hell didn't you withdraw when I gave the order?" When Terri spoke she sounded close to breaking point. "I was providing cover for the rest of the company with Kerrigan and D'Arcy - giving them time to get clear", she replied, managing to keep her composure. "But the Blakists were right on top of us by the time we were ready to pull back. Steve and Ed...they tried to get clear...but they didn't make it", she said, her voice finally breaking. McLaren wanted to ask her who had made it out, but there wasn't time. He lined up the Templar's massive arms, which housed a pair of light gauss rifles, on the Anvil and fired. Both slugs hit the Blakist mech squarely in the torso, the impact knocking it to the ground. He allowed his crosshairs to float over the downed mech a few seconds longer until he got missile lock and followed up with salvo of LRM15s. The missiles peppered the Anvil, blasting armour from its torso and legs. "Get the hell out of there!" he yelled at Terri as an escape route opened up for her. Terri didn't hesitate. Kicking her battered mech into a run she fled from the remaining Blakist mechs. McLaren fired his quad medium lasers at the Anvil as its pilot struggled to right it. The ruby lances cored into the stricken mech's torso, exploiting the damage done by the gauss slugs and damaging the engine shielding. The pilot was trapped in his machine as it went into automatic shutdown to prevent a reactor breach. At the same moment, the Griffin fired its PPC at the retreating Rattlesnake, destroying the right leg actuator and crippling Terri's mech. It followed up with a volley of LRM10s, which knocked the light mech to the ground. "Terri!" McLaren yelled vainly, trying to manouevre his Templar between her and the WoB mechs. In response, the Griffin activated its jump jets and sailed over him. The pilot had to be risking shutdown, overheating his mech like that, McLaren knew. He yanked desperately on his controls, trying to bring the relatively sluggish assault mech around to target the airborne Blakist, he could only watch in horror as it executed a perfect landing right behind the Rattlesnake, before unloading its PPC and LRMs into the back of the helpless Lancer mech. "Terri...no!" McLaren whispered, tears running down his face as he watched the missiles gut the downed Rattlesnake, bursting through the cockpit canopy and consuming the Lancer mech in an expanding ball of fire. He was stirred back into action as his mech was shaken by a hail of fire from the Initiate. It had closed to almost point blank range and was peppering the Templar with its array of small and medium lasers and SRMs. He would never have any recollection of his next actions, but rest of Prowler Company, who had by now caught up with him, bore silent witness to his savage destruction of the two WoB mechs. Ignoring the Initiate, he lined up his gauss rifles on the Griffin, which had gone into shutdown after its attack on Terri, targeting the head. With his target stationary, he couldn't miss. The twin nickel ferrous slugs ripped into the medium mech's lightly armoured cockpit, killing the pilot instantly. He followed up with his LRMs and medium lasers, knocking the inert machine to the ground. Callum turned his attention to the remaining Blakist and instead of waiting for his gauss rifles to reload, he simply swung the massive barrels at the smaller machine, catching the pilot by surprise. The impact knocked the Blakist mech sideways. Before the pilot could recover, he drove the Templar into its right flank, the ramming sending it crashing to the ground. As the WoB pilot tried to right his downed machine, McLaren walked slowly over and planted first one foot, then the other on the Initiate�s knee joints. The Templar's huge armoured feet shattered the Initiate's relatively delicate leg joints and smashed the actuators, crippling the lighter machine. The Blakist pilot, in one last desperate act of defiance, fired both his SRMs and LRM rack at point blank range. The barrage hit the Templar squarely in the torso, blasting away nearly two tons of armour, even though the LRM warheads hadn't had time to activate. McLaren compensated for the sudden shock without even thinking about it - barely noticing the jolting he received as his mech rocked under the barrage. Slowly, in a trance-like state he walked round to the downed mech's cockpit. Aware of nothing, except the ice-cold fury surging within him, he raised the Templar's massive right foot and brought it down on the Initiate's cockpit. Not even feeling the vibrations and tremors as the WoB mech crumpled and disintegrated underneath him, he brought the Templar's foot down again and again, oblivious to everything but the need to utterly destroy the Blakists who had killed Terri. Suddenly, he was aware of someone yelling in his ear. It was Liz Montgomery. Stalker company had finally arrived, after getting held up by some rough terrain. She drove her Highlander into the side of his Templar yelling, "For Christ's sake sir, that's enough!" 3rd Cameron Guards Headquarters, Arc Royal, Arc Royal Defence Cordon, 26th November, 3068 "Major...Cal...are you alright?" McLaren awoke with a start to find Liz Montgomery standing over him, shaking his shoulder. His vision was blurred and he blinked away tears, wiping his face as he felt them roll down his cheeks. When he looked up at Liz the expression of concern on her face suggested she had overheard his latest nightmare. "Aye, I'm okay", he said gruffly, though his answer fooled neither of them. "Sir, Colonel McKinlay and General O'Donnell are here to discuss our deployment with the Lyrans to halt the Clan Wolf incursion in the Pandora theatre. If you're not up to it I can tell them you've had to go to sickbay or something". Callum ran his hands over his face, took a deep breath and stared round his office to get his eyes focusing properly. "Nah, gimme ten minutes to get freshened up and I'll be ready for 'em".

2. A Change Is As Good As A Rest

2nd Cameron Guards Headquarters, Arc Royal, Arc Royal Defence Cordon, 26th November, 3068 Callum looked at his reflection in the mirror and didn't like what he saw. His troubled afternoon nap had done little to refresh him. He'd been having these nightmares for some months now and it was beginning to take its toll. He splashed cold water on his face, took a couple of aspirin for the stress headache that was building in his forehead and brushed his straight, medium length dark brown hair into some semblance of tidiness. He often wondered why he hadn't started going grey yet, though at 33 that was probably a little premature. He straightened his crumpled fatigues as best he could and headed off to the briefing room. O'Donnell and McKinlay were waiting for him, seated around the long oval conference table. "McLaren, are you okay? You look like hell", said O'Donnell, with just the barest sheen of civility to his words. He didn't bother to stand or offer his hand in greeting. Seeing General O'Donnell and hearing his voice again immediately set him on edge. As far as McLaren was concerned, the comanding officer of the Cameron Guards RCT was the worst possible candidate for the job, as he had all the strategic and tactical acumen of a lamp post. Still, he had to be careful. The man had powerful political connections - the only reason he'd risen as far as he had in the ranks. "Never felt better, sir", Callum replied sarcastically, "Though you look a little tired, sir. Have you been sleeping well, lately?" Cal couldn't resist that little jibe. O'Donnell's womanising was the subject of varying degrees of amusement and disapproval among the lower ranks of Guards personnel. The General's face reddened and his expression told Cal that his barb had found its mark. "Come on gentlemen, lets not start this meeting on the wrong foot", said McKinlay, rising to shake Cal's hand. In a lower tone he added, "At least make an effort to be civil Cal - we're here to try and help you". "By taking me out of the frame and shipping me off to the Lyran sector where I won't be a problem to anybody?" Cal replied bitterly, shaking Mike's offered hand half-heartedly. At least I have one ally here - I hope, he thought to himself. McKinlay was a career mechwarrior, who earned the respect of the men he commanded and cared little for the opinions of his superiors, except when they directly affected himself and his unit. "Now you know there's more to it than that. You were transferred here because we needed an experienced commander to lead the forces we're sending Steiner to try and shore up their defences". "Whats the matter - scared of facing off against the Wolves?" asked O'Donnell, unable to keep a slight sneer out of his tone. McLaren bit back the response that sprang immediately to mind. During his early years as a lance commander, he had been posted to the Skye province of what had then been the Lyran half of the Federated Commonwealth, with O'Donnell as his battalion commander. In typical fashion, Major O'Donnell had ignored intelligence reports from Davion sympathisers, warning of a revolt by the Skye Seperatist movement. Over the following months, the rebels had ambushed patrols, hijacked supply convoys and disrupted communications until their position had become untenable. Instead of withdrawing off-planet or requesting reinforcements, O'Donnell had insisted on flushing the rebels out himself and committed his remaining troops to battle, knowing the prestige that a victory over the rebels would bring him. Setting out from their base with a reinforced company, to hit a known rebel stronghold, they ran into an ambush in a canyon. With missile carriers firing from the clifftops, rebel mechs firing on them from both ends of the canyon and artillery fire hitting them with infero rounds and littering the ground with mines, O'Donnell's force was decimated. Against his better judgement, after having his own mech shot out from under him, McLaren had dragged the unconscious Major from the cockpit of his downed mech and radioed the surviving mechs for help. They'd eventually been picked up by by a fleeing Hatchetman and Vulcan, retreated to their base and made good their escape off planet. In the inquiry that followed, McLaren was credited with organising the withdrawal of the survivors and subsequently promoted, while Major O'Donnell was reprimanded for his handling of the situation. O'Donnell had since then nursed a special hatred for his former subordinate, even though his own career had only suffered a temporary setback. McLaren thought carefully before he spoke. "Ordinarily sir, I'd jump at the chance to go up against the Clans, but given the way the Blakists have been tearing up the Inner Sphere on this Jihad of theirs, I would have thought we needed every mechwarrior we can muster against them". O'Donell's response was scathing. "Come off it McLaren, do you really believe you're in any fit state to jump back in against the Word of Blake after what happened to your unit on Outreach?" he said. letting the junior officer know that his hatred had not faded with time. Callum didn't know how to respond to that. His silence said more than any words he might have spoken just then. He desperately wanted to throw a biting riposte back in the faces of his superiors, but as he sat there, examining his own feelings, looking within himself for answers to the questions that had plagued him for the last 4 months, all he found were more questions and more uncertainty. "Look Cal" McKinlay began in a kinder tone "Steiner's begging for help. Archon Peter only just survived that attempted assassination last month. The've no hard evidence yet, but the signs points to Katrina loyalists. They've got Clan Wolf driving for Tharkad, Word of Blake tearing up the Donegal and Skye provinces and the LAAF is on its knees after the Civil War". The Colonel walked over to the far side of the room, where a holo-projector had been built into the wall. He fished in his pockets for a memory stick and plugged it into the machine. He punched a few buttons to bring up the data file he was searching for. An image of current force deployments in the Inner Sphere was displayed on the large projection screen. "The Donegal regiments got mauled badly in the Civil War so they've no cover there. The nearest combat-ready force is the Third Guards RCT, though as you know, First and Third Regiments are already committed to reinforcing the Davion Guards in the Capellan March. The only Guards unit not already involved in the conflict is the Arc Royal Second Regiment". McKinlay switched off the holo-projector and sighed as he walked back over to the table. "Unfortunately we're a little short on dropships and jumpships at the moment and don't have enough to transfer an entire regiment at once. The best we can manage is to ship out a battalion at a time". Mike stood next to Callum and put a hand on his shoulder. "First Battalion is the most experienced unit in the Second Guards and you're one of the best battalion commanders I know". He paused again and McLaren mentally braced himself for whatever came next. "After reading the report from your last psych evaluation, we're not sure you're ready to go up against the Blakists again...not yet anyway. This is an important mission and will help cement our relations with the Lyrans if it goes well. The question is, are you up to it?" "Its either that or you get put on extended leave", said O'Donnell quietly, this time without any hint of malice. "With no fixed date for return to active duty and further psychological evaluations until you are deemed fit...or otherwise". He stared intently at McLaren, watching for his reaction. McLaren sat in silence a few moments longer before letting out a long sigh. "Doesn't seem like I have much choice, does it?" he said finally. "I really think this assignemnt could be good for you" said McKinlay, "Different territory, different situation - not to mention different opposition. A new start should help you get your head together - get you focusing on being a mechwarrior again." "Thanks - I'm overwhelmed", Callum said in a feeble attempt at humour. "Any idea how soon you'll be able to send the rest of Second Regiment?" "The short answer to that is no. Basically, it'll be as soon as we can scrape the jumpships and dropships together. As I said before, your battalion is the best in terms of combat-readiness, so you get first crack at the Wolves. You'll be on your own for a while so take it easy - don't go in there trying to win the war on your own". "Wouldn't dream of it, Colonel", McLaren said with a hint of sarcasm. "So, when do we report for briefing?" he asked, wondering how much they knew about what they were tossing him and his troops into. McKinlay and O'Donnell looked at each other, then at Cal before Mike concluded the meeting. "A detailed intel report will be distributed to you and your senior officers tomorrow, with everything we and the Lyrans know about the Wolf forces. A formal briefing will be held the following day and the battalion will depart for Tharkad by the end of the week. On your arrival, you'll be met by your Lyran counterpart and escorted to your base of operations". "Thats assuming the Wolves haven't already taken over the planet by the time we get there", said McLaren as he stood up to take his leave, unable to resist one last wisecrack. McKinlay sighed wearily. "Its not like we're dropping you into the meat grinder Cal. Latest reports put the leading Wolf forces over a hundred clicks from the capital. You'll have time to scout out the area and work out a battle plan". McLaren nodded before coming to attention and saluting. "Sirs". The Colonel returned his salute. O'Donnell, he noticed, did not. "Dismissed". As McLaren left, the General turned to McKinlay, "I'm having him taken off active service as soon as we find a suitable replacement. You saw the state of the man - he's in no shape to lead a mission of this magnitude". "And where are you going to find someone better at a time like this, Aidan?" McKinlay replied, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. He didn't much care for the General's pompous attitude either. He was aware of the previous history between the two men but it offended his sensibilities that any soldier, never mind a senior officer, would let personal feelings cloud their judgement."That wasn't just flattery when I said he's one of the best battalion commanders I know. He just needs time to get his head straight, sir. Give him a chance and he'll do the job". "I'm afraid time is one thing we don't have, Mike", the General replied tersely, gathering his coat and briefcase before striding out of the office. McKinlay remained seated and continued to stare disconsolately at the table, wondering if and how he should break the news to McLaren.