[ WP ] `` Do not mistake honor for kindness . ''

Civil Wars, were n't. 
 
 Nathaniel Deshler knew everything in the faces he saw. Their eyes were sunken and hollow like grave men's. Their hair- if it was not hacked short by a bayonet or sheep shear -was tangled and filthy. The men bore thick beards, the youths pimply with sweat and stress. There was a feral air about them, as if all the centuries of civilization had been stripped away to the barest bones through hardship and hungry and a desperate struggle to survive. 
 
 `` I'm looking for your commander,'' he said. `` Lady Devon.'' 
 
 `` I'm her,'' a voice said from the back of the crowd. The sea of unwashed bodies parted to reveal a woman in her late thirties, the first few strands of grey creeping into her tied back hair. Her clothes, though of better make than those around her, was in similar disrepair. She had a submachine gun slung over her shoulder and a beret tucked underneath the right shoulder strap of her jacket. There were dark bags under her eyes which, Deshler noted, were the same color as glacial water. 
 
 `` Lady Devon. I am Captain Deshler, commander of Clifton's Rangers. We have arrived.'' 
 
 Someone coughed as the noblewoman stared at the Andurien-born mercenary. She said nothing as she took in his clean clothes, his modest collection of ribbons and the slim laser pistol holstered at his waist. 
 
 `` You're late.'' 
 
 Deshler shrugged. `` We had dodge system defenses on the way in. You did n't mention anything about your opposition having Aerospace support.'' 
 
 It was Lady Devon's turn to shrug. `` Baron Barstow recently hired a squadron of mercenary pilots. They arrived just two weeks ago and are already been making things tenuous for us. They have two *Lucifier's* on standby at all times with the other four ready in less than an hour. Twice we've been forced to abandon otherwise successful raids once they scrambled their fighters.'' 
 
 `` You hired the Rangers, Lady Devon, to help end your world's internal conflict. A lance of Jihad-era BattleMechs and a mixed regiment of armor and infantry, that was the enemy. We're not an Anti-Air unit.'' 
 
 The noblewoman pursed her lips, thinking. 
 
 `` We're willing to offer twenty percent bonus i-'' 
 
 `` Fifty.'' 
 
 `` Excuse me?'' she asked. 
 
 `` I want a fifty percent bonus upon completion of this contract. In addition, I want salvage rights to all'Mechs Barstow has.'' 
 
 `` That was not part of the original agreement,'' Devon stated. 
 
 `` A squadron of Aerospace Fighters was n't either,'' noted Deshler. `` If you do n't agree to the new terms, I'll go to the mercenary commander and make it plain that he is in no way, shape or form part of my mission. He'll be free to follow his contract so long as he does not attack my Rangers. I'm guessing he's already thinking of stating the same to Baron Barstow. I'm here, Lady Devon, because you're offering hard currency. I will honor our contract, but no further.'' 
 
 `` Damn you, Mercenary,'' she finally spat. `` You'll have your fifty percent, and your'Mechs. Damn you and your greed.'' 
 
 `` My thanks, my lady. But remember one thing: it was you who contacted us. You could've left this world in the hands of a usurper and in doing so save it years of war. Damn you and your stubbornness.''
