26 September, 2779
The campaign has nearly ended. General Patrick Scoffins surrendered what remained of the Unity City defenses to General Kerensky ten days ago, and the hunt for the usurper himself was on. Intelligence was completely fooled; via a brilliant electronic and physical deception campaign, every SLDF analyst believed fully that Stefan Amaris lay somewhere inside the city on the Puget Sound. Now, practically every WarShip, DropShip, Areospace Fighter and Conventional Aircraft makes frantic trails across the sky, searching for the most wanted man in the Inner Sphere.
For you, it's as if you've come full circle. Spared combat duty after the hell of the Anchorage Landings, you played rear-echelon security while fresh elements secured Alaska and swept south through the Yukon. In June, the remnants of the 741st Striker were ordered to cantonment at an improvised DropShip landing site where you spend the next two months on "ready-response" alert; far enough from the battle lines not to be caught up accidentally, but a mere hour or so's DropShip flight time from the forward combat zone north of Vancouver. The view from Chevron Peak is astounding, and on clear, sunny days you can look down into the valley between your camp and Mount Storrs with your binoculars. Though you argue amongst yourselves regarding it, you all harbor the sensation that the lee side of a very large rock in that valley looks very familiar. Thirteen years ago, you think, you were very grateful for the shelter which that boulder provided as you took count of your pitiful band of survivors.
Vancouver fell on 15 July, and Portland on 20 August. You redeployed further south, to Spokane, on the 23rd of August, to help guard the rear of the SLDF Armies that should make the final assault on Unity City. And there you sit, recovered and recuperated, but out of the fight, simply because there isn't room for another regiment to operate in the Unity City invasion.
And so now the campaign has nearly ended. Unity City surrenders, and the hunt for Amaris is on. You sit around the makeshift hangar and twiddle your thumbs; usually metaphorically, occasionally literally. All of you look desperately forward to the end of the war which has consumed your lives for fifteen years.
Which is when Lieutenant Reed, passing by the sleek, idling form of WO Banzai's Land-Air-Mech with bottles of bourbon pinched between his fingers, two to a hand, hears the radio squawk to life.
"Jon? Jon?! It's Peri! From Omega-3. Are you out there? We need help!"
Two bottles of very good bourbon meet their end on the pavement as Reed swarms up the boarding ladder, one hand tapping the comm bead at his throat and calling for Banzai to get on the tacnet. Banzai sprints to the nearest radio as Reed tunes the incoming message in to the company network.
"Peri, this is Banzai. Good to hear your voice. Are you okay?"
"It's bad, Jon. We need help here, and fast. We're being hit by a force of Rim Worlds raiders. Rebecca and Roger have been trying to delay them with some of the Wasp LAMs we have here, but Rebecca's hurt and we're out of fuel for Roger. I saw your IFF on the satellite feed, and - "
"It's OK, Peri, we'll get help."
"Jon, you don't understand. We've got two hours, tops, before they're on top of us. You've got to get out here. We've got..I can't say over a channel. It's something that'll help the war - something that can take down Amaris. You've got to help us! Anybody else would go through channels and they'd take too long getting out here. But you -"
A powerful vibration rumbles the tarmac, and you recognize the sound of a DropShip warming up its engines. Freund's voice breaks into the feed.
"Everybody load up. Banzai? Let's not keep the lady waiting. Liftoff in five."