Mission Summary: Reclaimation

[ComStar Marshal]

Warden Station
The cargo trucks arrived. The drivers, nervous but professional, backed up to the loading docks. Voss's people worked like a choreographed dance team: medical supplies into Truck 1, communications equipment into Truck 2, and rations into Truck 3. Total cargo: 85 tons of critical supplies.
"Shax," Gigratu called. "Reinforcement status?"
"Sensors picking up contact. Northeast vector, 8 kilometers and closing fast. Multiple 'Mech signatures." Shax's voice was steady, professional. "One heavy, two medium. ETA seven minutes."
Seven minutes. They had planned for fifteen. Someone was pushing hard to catch them.
The trucks rolled. Voss's team riding with the three cargo haulers, accelerating toward the breach point. Ashen Lance formed a rearguard, 'Mechs moving to cover the withdrawal. Incubus's Jenner scouted ahead, confirming the escape route was clear. Shax's Whitworth turned to face the approaching contacts, LRM tubes angled toward the northeast.
"Range?" Gigratu asked.
"Six kilometers. They're running hot—looks like forced march speeds. Wait..." Shax's voice changed, an edge of recognition. "That heavy signature. Myomer profile is inconsistent with reported TCA assets. That's not a garrison 'Mech."
Incubus understood first. "That means someone has taken this personal."

The Chase That Wasn't
Captain Mikhail Torres, against TCA's orders and his own better judgment, had commandeered a TCA Hatamoto-Chi HTM-27T from the New Perth reserve depot. His temper flared, his heart still heavy with grief, but when he heard "Warden Station under attack," he knew exactly who it was.
Those mercenaries. The ones who destroyed his son’s Wolfhound. The ones who murdered his legacy.

He pushed the Hatamoto-Chi beyond safe speeds, the two medium 'Mechs struggling to keep up. The depot was 25 minutes away at standard pace. He made it in 15, heat warnings screaming in his cockpit, his PCCs primed and ready.
He arrived to find an empty depot, scattered supplies, and his garrison standing around with their hands up.
"Where are they?" Torres demanded over the radio.
"Gone, sir," reported the shaken security commander. "Withdrew three minutes ago. Southwest vector."
Torres checked his sensors. Multiple heat signatures, moving fast, already 5 kilometers away and increasing. His Lance could catch them—maybe. If he pushed it. If he ran it into heat shutdown. If he was willing to risk everything for revenge.
He stared at the signatures on his display, his hand hovering over the throttle.

Lt. Torres successfully destroyed the enemy convoy, sir. …. however, his lance was defeated and Lt Torres was KIA.

That subordinate’s report echoed in his memory. His son had won at Checkpoint Charlie, destroyed the convoy, killed the guerilla fighters —and this mercenary somehow group killed him. Now they'd raided a TCA depot, taken critical supplies, and vanished before he could even engage.
The mercs defeated his boy in combat and now executed a perfect raid. That made them far more dangerous than simple thugs with 'Mechs.

"Stand down," Torres ordered his lance. "Return to New Perth."
"Sir?" his second-in-command questioned. "We can pursue—"
"No. They planned this. They timed it. They knew exactly how long they had." Torres's voice was flat, professional, hiding the fury underneath. "We pursue into open terrain with heat-stressed 'Mechs, we're the ones who'll be ambushed. They're smarter than that."
He took one last look at the southwest vector, memorizing the sensor profiles. The Talon. The Jenner. The Whitworth.
"Ashen Lance," he said quietly. "I'll remember you."

Aftermath: Redemption
The convoy rolled into Redstone Vale at 0820 hours, three trucks loaded with supplies, three 'Mechs providing escort, zero casualties, zero collateral damage. The southern agricultural communities would have their medical equipment. The FTM would have communications gear. And Ashen Lance would have something more valuable than C-bills.
Commander Krine met them at the depot entrance, Sergeant Voss already debriefing him via radio. He watched as the trucks parked, as Voss's infantry unloaded crate after crate of supplies, as Ashen Lance's 'Mechs powered down in their assigned bays.

When Gigratu climbed down from Gray Verdict, Krine was waiting.
"Clean raid," Krine said without preamble. "No collateral damage. All objectives achieved. Zero civilian casualties. Withdrew before reinforcements arrived." He paused. "Sergeant Voss says you disabled one of the hovertank’s weaponry but didn’t completely scrap it. That true?"
"The tanks were TCA property," Gigratu replied. "Destroying them would have been satisfying but wasteful. We needed to secure supplies, not prove we could blow things up."
Krine's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did. "You learned."
"We learned."
"Captain Torres was there," Krine continued. "Pushed a Hatamoto-Chi beyond safe limits trying to catch you. He wanted revenge for Checkpoint Charlie and his son. You know what stopped him?"
Gigratu shook his head.
"Fear. He feared you’d planned the timing. Thought you'd have fallback positions. Thought chasing you would be walking into an ambush." Krine allowed himself a small smile. "You won without fighting. That's the definition of smart warfare."
He extended a hand. "Welcome to the FTM, Ashen Lance. For real this time."