The Anvil or the Hammer?
The three pilots of Ashen Lance stood in the command center, studying the holographic display. Command Krine awaited the groups’ decision.
Incubus spoke first. "Defense is what he expects. Torres has been studying us. He knows we think tactically. He's prepared for us to use those fortifications."
"But ambush is also what he might expect," Shax countered. "He knows we're smart enough to try it. He's probably got countermeasures ready."
Gigratu was quiet for a long moment, then: "With the supply convoy, we were aggressive without thinking. We lost and made a dangerous enemy. We then raided Warden Station. We thought before we acted. We won.” Gigratu gestured all around the room. “And here we stand, in Fort Steadman. We executed a complex assault with precision."
He looked at his lance. "What are we best at? We're not defensive fighters. We've never played that game. We're fast, we're mobile, we think on our feet. Defense means sitting still and trading shots with a Hamoto-Chi. That's not our strength."
"So ambush," Incubus said.
"So ambush," Gigratu confirmed. "Yes, Torres might expect it. But if we execute it right—if we're faster, smarter, and more precise than he anticipates—we can still win. Because knowing someone might ambush you and stopping that ambush are different things."
Shax grinned. "Besides, sitting in a fort waiting to get shot at by a pair of PPCs - that's not why we became mercenaries."
Commander Krine had been listening. "You're sure? This is all-or-nothing."
"We're sure," Gigratu said. "We ambush. We hit them hard, we hit them fast, and we don't give Torres time to think. That's what we're good at."
Krine nodded slowly. "Then you have three hours to get to Razor Pass and set up. Private Johnson, Private Darko and Sergant Voss’s units will accompany you. Make it count."
Deployment Begins
Ashen Lance and FTM support elements moved out from Fort Steadman under cover of darkness. They had one goal: Be in position, set the trap and be ready before dawn. Torres's task force was 12 hours out—plenty of time if nothing went wrong.
Shax's Whitworth began the a brutal climb to Position Alpha. The terrain was treacherous—loose rock, steep grades, narrow ledges where one wrong step meant a 60-meter fall. His 'Mech's gyros screamed warnings, but he pushed through.
"This is insane," he muttered as his Whitworth teetered on a ledge barely wider than its feet.
"You've got this," Incubus encouraged over comms. "Just don't look down."
"Not helping!"
But he made it. Two hours of careful maneuvering, and his Whitworth stood on the high north ridge, overlooking the entire kill zone. Perfect sight lines. Perfect firing position. Perfect amount of partial cover.
"Position Alpha secured," he reported. "I have eyes on the entire ambush zone. This is going to work."
Final Positions
Gigratu's Talon and Johnon's Locust nestled into the rock formations at Position Bravo. Fifty meters from the path, concealed behind massive boulders. Their 'Mechs were powered down to minimal signatures, heat masked by the sun-baked rocks.
Incubus's Jenner and Slut Master’s Flea waited in the side canyon at Position Charlie, ready to spring the flanking attack.
Combat engineers armed the devasting mine field charges and rejoined Sergeant Voss’ team. Sergeant Voss's hovercraft and scout car teams were invisible among the rocks, SRM launchers loaded and ready.
Everyone was in place. Now they waited.
First Contact
"Contact," Command Krine reported. "VTOL reconnaissance, inbound. Approximately 5 kilometers out."
Gigratu tensed. This was the moment. If the VTOL spotted them, the ambush was blown.
"All units, minimal signatures. No movement. Let it pass."
The VTOL swept over Razor Pass, sensors sweeping. It was looking for something—but what? An obvious ambush? Fortification efforts at Fort Steadman?
The VTOL circled once, twice, then moved on toward Fort Steadman.
"VTOL passing," Krine reported. "No indication they detected ambush positions."
"First hurdle cleared," Gigratu said quietly.
The Convoy Arrives
Corporal Deana Biggs' Wolfhound entered the canyon at high speed, its sensors sweeping aggressively. The young pilot was nervous—she knew Razor Pass was perfect ambush terrain. Every shadow looked like a threat.
"This is Scout One," she reported back to Torres. "Entering Razor Pass. Visibility limited. Checking for—"
She stopped. Her sensors had picked up something. Heat signature? Electronic emission? Movement?
"Scout One to Command. I'm detecting... uncertain. Possible thermal anomaly on the canyon floor. Investigating”
In Position Alpha, Shax froze. "She's in the mine field & nothing’s happening. Orders?"
Gigratu calculated rapidly. If they struck now, Torres might turn the convoy around immediately. The fight would take place outside the pass & be exposed. But if the engineers didn’t setup the mines correctly...
"Let it pass," Gigratu decided. "Slut Master, Incubus—be ready. If she confirms detection and reports it, you get this party started. Otherwise, let her through."
The Biggs’ Wolfhound moved cautiously forward. Then a thermal updraft from the canyon floor washed over the sensors, flooding them with heat signatures. Natural convection from sun-baked rock.
"False alarm," Biggs reported. "Just environmental interference. Continuing sweep."
The lead Wolfhound moved through the canyon and the convoy’s progress resumed.
"She's past us," Incubus reported. "In position to intercept when this starts."
Gigratu exhaled. "Second hurdle cleared. Now we wait for the main event."
AMBUSH INITIATED
The TCA column entered Razor Pass in standard march formation:
Lead Element : Two Wolfhound scouts (Biggs & Wedge)
Main Body:
• Captain Rostov's Bushwhacker
• 2x Scout Cars with infantry
• 1 Armored personnel carrier
Rear Guard (300m behind):
• Major Torre's Hatamoto-Chi
"All units," Gigratu broadcast. "Targets acquired. On my mark."
He watched Torres's Hatamoto-Chi advance confidently, its PCCs tracking potential threats. He watched the Bushwhacker lumber forward, it’s A/C10 powered but not aimed at anything specific.
They had no idea.
THE HAMMER FALLS
Both Wolfhounds traverse the mine field. Perhaps the FTM equipment was faulty. Then the first Scout Car begins to roll through. Suddenly a deafening sound shook the canyon walls, a bright flash of light and geyser of smoke and dust shot 60 meters in the air.
Mines detonated. As the dust fell back to the ground, there was no trace of the Scout vehicle.
"What the—AMBUSH!" Wedge screamed into comms. "Ambush at Razor Pass! Mine fieldin the can—"
His transmission was drowned out by more incoming fire.
Gigratu & Johnson emerged from concealment at full sprint, 50 meters from the path. Both 'Mechs opened fire on Biggs’ Wolfhound. Gigratu's three medium lasers carved into the ‘Mechs left torso. Johnson's medium lasers hammered its right leg. Not enough to cripple it, but enough to hurt.
Major Torres reacted instantly. His Hatamoto-Chi, positioned at the end of the convoy, locked PPCs toward the new threats. "All units, we are under attack! Multiple 'Mechs, infantry support, this is a coordinated ambush! Form defensive perimeter!"
But it was too late for formations. The attack had already started.
Captain Rostov in her Bushwhacker identified Gigratu's Talon as the command unit. Her AC/10 charged and fired. The tremendous slug missed Gigratu by meters, scorching the rock wall behind him.
"Evasive!" Gigratu called, already moving. His Talon juked left as pair of Wolfhounds’ lasers fired. Most missed. Two connected, scarring his 'Mech's left torso.
FTM vehicles: Opened fire on the stalled APCs. SRM warheads slammed into the cliff side.
"Biggs, Wedge – advance on their position! Rostov, target their command 'Mech! Scout One, circle back and hit them from behind!"
But executing orders in an ambush is harder than giving them.
AMBUSHED
Major Torres assessed the situation with the cold professionalism of a veteran:
• Bigg's Wolfhound chased a Locust, then a Flea, took shots at Talon – a panicked solider if he ever lead one
• Wedge faired no better. A Jenner appeared from the south, over a wood ridgeline and slammed its lasers into his backside.
• Rostov's Bushwhacker was still fighting but doing more damage to the northern cliff face then the paritally covered Whitworth tearing her apart 10 missiles at a time.
• The ground support was decimated before the fight began. Only that cowboy crew in Scout One survived and now flew around the battle at top speed.
• The ambush was working exactly as Ashen Lance had planned
He had two choices: Stand and fight (possibly win, but at catastrophic cost), or conduct fighting withdrawal (preserve force, live to fight another day).
Except this wasn't about tactics anymore. This was personal.
"All units, fighting withdrawal!" Captain Rostov called over comms, taking command. "Biggs, fall back north. Wedge, circle back and—"
"NEGATIVE!" Torres said coldly. His voice cut through the channel like a knife. "We're not retreating! Not again! Not from these... these.. mercenary scum."
"Sir?" Rostov's confusion was evident. "We need to—"
"I said NO!" Torres's Hatamoto-Chi settled in an alcove at the canyon’s entrance, weapons trained forward. He fired at the small ‘Mechs dancing before him.
"Major, this is suicide!" Rostov protested. "They have superior numbers and chose this position! We need to—"
"They've beaten me THREE TIMES!" Torres screamed into the comm. "Checkpoint Charlie! Warden Station! Fort Steadman! And now this! I'm not running again! I'm not letting them win again! All units, ATTACK! KILL THEM ALL!"
RECKLESS FURY
Torres's Hatamoto-Chi was older tech. The arsenal it carried vastly outpaced its cooling. Every shot cost heat—massive heat. Torres didn’t care. His cockpit temperature spiked. Warnings flashed red across his displays.
OVERHEAT WARNING: 10/30 HEAT CAPACITY
He ignored them. Fired again. The PPCs thunder echoed through the canyon.
Another miss. The Ashen Lance ‘Mechs were too fast, too mobile.
"Stand STILL, damn you!" Torres roared.
An explosion to the north. Biggs’ Wolfhound had caught the Locust from behind! One of those accursed ‘Mechs would be neutra-
No – it wasn’t an explosion from a ‘Mech reactor. It was another mine field. Ashen Lance had set a more elaborate trap than expected. Biggs’ Wolfhound was now face down in the dirt, legs scattered to the winds.
Torres fell further into rage. He surged his ‘Mech forward, ascending the central rock formation that gave Razor pass its north and south division. He triggered his PPCs again – this time at the Whitworth carving up Rostov. More heat. His cockpit was an oven. Sweat poured down his face. The life support system screamed warnings.
OVERHEAT WARNING: 20/30 HEAT CAPACITY
"I don't CARE!" Torres shouted at his own 'Mech. Like Zeus, throwing lightning bolts from Olympus, Torres fired his PPCs from his elevated position. But all his fury could not change the events unfolding below.
Wedge used every scrap of armor available on his 35 ton Wolfhound. He took laser fire after laser fire from the enemy’s Flea. The Flea took Wedge’s laser fire as if made of 20 extra tons of Ferro-Fibrous armor. The two ‘Mechs surgically removed each other’s limbs until finally, FINALLY, the Flea collapsed. His victory lasted only a moment as the enemy Jenner, jumping down from the ridgeline, took the easy kill shot on Wedge’s one-legged combatant.
Rostov, ever the solider, obeyed her commanding officer’s order. She fought the FTM forces – taking fire from ‘Mech & tank alike. Outnumbered, outflanked and running out of options, she made a desperate gamble running through Razor Pass. Had Major Torres even radioed HQ for support? Could she hope to cripple the enemy’s command ‘Mech and force a ceasefire?
“TCA Headquarters, this is Captain Rostov. MAYDAY, We have been ambushed at Razor Pass. I repeat AMBUSHED AT RAZOR PASS, Over!”
Before she could hear a response, a volley of SRM missiles slammed into the back of her Bushwhacker, breaking her battered engine’s containment. She wouldn’t remember whether she was pulled from wreckage or flung from her ‘Mech by the ejection system.
THE COST OF HUBRIS
Torres realized, dimly through his rage-clouded mind, that he was alone.
Biggs & Wedge were trapped in Wolfhounds’ without legs. Rostov had ran out of the canyon. The APCs were gone. He was fighting Ashen Lance's entire force by himself.
A rational officer would have stopped. Would have retreated. Would have lived to fight another day. Torres fired his PPCs again.
OVERHEAT WARNING: 30/30 HEAT CAPACITY – SHUTDOWN IMMINENT
"NO!" Torres overrode the shutdown. His fusion reactor screamed. His cockpit hit 65 degrees Celsius. He could barely see through the heat shimmer and his own sweat.
"I'll kill you MYSELF!" he screamed. "You hear me, Ashen Lance?! I know you GIGRATU, you Lyran washout! A Family DISGRACE! You think you're BETTER?!"
Suddenly, a Jenner landed beside him. A skillful jump from outside Torres field of vision. He spun Hatamoto-Chi to bring both arms to bare. He fired.
The PPCs connected, ripping tons of armor off the Jenner’s frame.
HEAT LEVEL CRITICAL: 40/30 - AUTOMATIC SHUTDOWN IN 3... 2...
Four medium laser beams converged on the Hatamoto-Chi's head. They cut through the exposed internal structure, through the myomer bundles, through the last layer of protection. They melted the vessel containing a once great solider, but now home to madman.
Torres never felt it. At those temperatures, death is instantaneous.
AFTERMATH
Major Torres had contacted headquarters. They heard Torres's final moments over the comms. Heard his rage. Heard his death.
"This is Captain Elena Chikatilo to Ashen Lance mercenary unit." Her voice was controlled, professional, cold. "Major Torres is dead. I am assuming command of TCA Task Force Retribution. Under Ares Conventions, I am calling a temporary ceasefire to recover wounded and assess casualties."
Gigratu responded: "Acknowledged, Captain. Ceasefire accepted. One hour."
"One hour," Chikatilo confirmed. Then, quietly: "He was a good officer. You broke him."
"He broke himself," Gigratu replied. "We just survived it."
Back at Fort Steadman
"You won," Krine said, his voice solemn. "Torres is dead. His task force is broken. The TCA northern offensive is finished."
"But?" Gigratu prompted.
"But you didn't just beat Torres. You destroyed him. Psychologically first, then physically." Krine met Gigratu's eyes. "I'm not criticizing. He made his choice. He chose pride over survival. That's on him."
He paused. "But understand—the TCA won't forget this. Torres was an officer. He had friends. He had comrades. And you not only killed him, you killed him in a way that left nothing to bury. That matters to soldiers."
"We didn't force him to stay and fight," Gigratu said.
"No," Krine agreed. "But you beat him. Three times. You got into his head. You made him question himself. And when you ambushed him here, when you outthought him again, he snapped."
"You're saying we're responsible for his breakdown?"
"I'm saying that defeating someone completely—tactically, strategically, psychologically—has consequences. Torres is dead. But his death may motivate TCA soldiers who knew him. You've gone from 'dangerous mercs' to 'the unit that killed both Torres.' That's a different kind of threat."
Gigratu absorbed that. "What do we do about it?"
"Stay smart," Krine said simply. "Don't become what Torres became. Don't let victory make you arrogant. Don't let success make you reckless.
