A couple months ago, after our disorderly retreat from Biarred, the Marauders needed a place to hole up and lick our wounds. The Smoke Jaguars had left us half a company. Six 'Mechs, two tanks, my Pegasus, newly rechristened "Patches". We hired on as a 'support team' with the Draconis Combine, on Marshdale way up near the new border in the Pesht district. Our contract included major medical support; a bionic eye for the new Captain, little necessities like that. Need I say we were working for dirt wages? We'd have signed anything, just let us rest for a month or so. We were extremely pleased when the healing time extended to two months. We got edgy around the beginning of the third month when nobody attacked us and ... nobody attacked ANYBODY. The Clans were quiet. No news came out of the Conquered Worlds. And there was no intelligence. Usually you can get a liason officer to hint that there are things that he knows that you can't know, and thus get scuttlebutt intel from the things he doesn't say. Ours wasn't afraid to drink with us, because he had no secrets to safeguard. The Penguin, Julian, and I were trying to pump him, largely for something to do, in a small bar (pretending to be a classical inn) in a smaller town called Calebsville when the waitress came up to the bar with a drink tray and I overheard her order. "...and another flask of sake for Matsuo-sama's party in room Twelve." Once when I was in the dentist's chair, the drill hit a nerve. The strength of the adrenalin reaction that hit me then almost obscured the pain. It's the only thing I can think of to compare to my reaction to that hated name. I was up from the bar stool with my hand clamped around the waitress's arm before my brain caught up to my body. I could see a bouncer starting toward me, and the barkeep gesturing him back. "If the honorable..." his eyes hastily scanned my insignia "...Tank Commander ... would release the servitor's arm?" he suggested, eyes burning into me. I tried to think. Etiquette, Kurita, subsection C-12: How to Recover From a Blunder While Not Losing Too Much Face. First, let go the woman's arm. "My apologies to the honorable establishment." I said slowly. (That implies, my respect to the proprieties here, but not particularly to you, cauliflower-brain!) "Imagine my excitement when I overheard the name of an honored (Think, girl, lie fast and lie well!) ... former instructor on this young lady's lips. (Nice one, Laura! Not a total lie - the lady had taught me plenty! Now keep those er- creative truths flowing!) Naturally, an establishment of this quality would not reveal the name of a guest in a private room. But is it possible that a letter to the Lady Sakkura Matsuo could be delivered without annoyance to the lady's party?" Overriding him as he began to speak, "And is it possible that an ink stone and brush, and paper of a quality suitable to the lady's rank be found for me? For a suitable fee to compensate your efforts, of course." (Julian, you're stuck for the drinks, I'm sorry.) The size of the K-bill my hand laid on the bar conveniently close to his made his eyes pop despite his best efforts to be cool. I turned without waiting for his answer. (They're fellow scouts; they've known me a long time; sure hope they'll back my play. I gotta keep the upper hand or risk playing burglar later on.) There was a desk in the entry way. I sat at it, looking back at him expectantly. (Yowsah! Julian and Penguin had turned back to the LO, hanging on his words just like he had brains. And the barkeep was sending the waitress on an errand .. either very good or very bad.) I concentrated on looking contemplative, and fought my scattered wits into formation. Lucky thing my martial arts instructors insisted on an art form as a mental discipline. Lucky thing mine was ink brush painting. That leads naturally to calligraphy. Poetry comes harder. But in this case, I didn't need to come up with anything new. I just had to remember a transmission I'd sent on a battlefield more than a decade ago. Bingo! He'd sent a servant over with a pot of tea ... and an eIderly cup with a crack. (As I recall, I'm supposed to admire the sublimity of the crack. This is a compliment, not an insult.) So I studied the crack, just like I had subtlety. It looked like a root system, that sort of meandering branch. It actually entered a brown streak in the cup, like a root looking for nurture... Maybe I wasn't as bad at this game as I'd thought. (Careful! Keep humble! As long as you feel outclassed you stay attentive, remember that!) A nice ink stone arrived, with a little ceramic box with two holes (the old-style water well, wonder if they thought I wouldn't recognize it), a selection of brushes, and - one piece of grey rice paper. Great! /get one try. This is either a compliment, a challenge .... or maybe they only have one decent piece of paper. I flexed my wrist and looked souIful. I ground ink, partially closed one opening of the well, and sprinkled water, spilling just a little to wet the ink ... Medium Brush was safest, something like a # 3. I did the merest suggestion of a flippant bird-wing at the top of the page, then in my best calligraphy: Yellow bird aloft Rode above lightning's currents Scorch'd, the frail peony! *Ed Note: The Yellow Bird is the legendary enemy which is the only possible slayer for a dragon. The Peony appears on the heraldic circular crest of House Matsuo. The poem is a challenge. The inclusion of a past verb makes this a battle boast. It is also imperfectly scanned, having six syllables in the last line instead of five. If the honorable Lady Warrior remembers the writer of this poem, perhaps she would allow a few moments' speech in the press of her weighty affairs? I may be reached through the garrison here. Lt. Laura Casey CO 2nd Armor Lance, Yellow Bird Co. Selah's Battalion (The Battalion and Selah haven't existed since the 3039 War, and the 1st Armor Lance hadn't existed since Bjarred, but heck, this was a formal occasion. Best foot forward and like that. No need to tell her the name of my former CO. After all, she was the one who'd put him in that wheelchair for life.) I folded the note into a simple circle and brushed the name "Matsuo" on the outside. No honorifics needed for the House Leader. The servitor took my letter with a bow. (Stay and wait for an answer? Nah, looks too much like I cared. And I do care. So I can't show it. ) Circular logic again. Only my pride got me on my feet. I walked slowly to the garden shrine, admiring it to calm my thoughts, reassumed my footwear and made a dignified exit. Alone. I have a better ability to simulate calm than I'd thought. I didn't sleep all that well, but I did manage to get some work done the next day. I found time for a private conversation with Julian (the words "next payday" came up more than once). A couple of lifetimes later, I got her message. A haiku, of course. Autumn falls early bright, the frail leaf coloring my path with its death. Her note said, "The honorable warrior underrates herself if she imagines she can be forgotten. My time just now is at the convenience of the Kanrei. Important issues are being discussed relating to the current hostilities. Due to the pressures of the conference, I must set a meeting time which is rather late. This Thursday, 8:30 in the evening; ask for me at the inn." Good. She knew my culture well enough not to ask me to eat with her. I don't break bread with enemies. It had occurred to me that the CO might just need to know what I was up to. McInerny was a seasoned Mechwarrior when I was a greenie. At first I'd been leery of him; until he showed two traits that changed my mind. Unlike most Mechwarriors, he actually preferred working with combined arms, and he trusted our employers about as far as he could throw a Battlemaster. This endeared him to me. I've seen the inside of too many House-sponsored company stores. "So," McInerny's good eye bored into me (they have a new joke about McInerny since he took over the unit. How do you tell which one is McInerny's false eye? It's the one with the kindly expression!) "Tell me everything you know about House Matsuo." "It goes back almost two centuries as one of the richest Merchant Houses from Albiero in the Pesht District. They were ennobled as a direct result of their contribution of money and resources du ring the 2899-2901 Albiero Plague. Their 'voluntary contribution' to the Draconis Combine Mustered Forces has risen from company to regimental level over the course of the last century and a half. Not Sword of Light level, but a good tight force all the same. Lady Matsuo became their war leader after the 3039 War, and is designated her father's heir. This unit has some history with them, as you know. Sir." "What are the odds she's in the high level planning sessions?" "As the best reserve regiment left in this end of the district, native to the only planet in the Albiero Prefecture which hasn't yet seen a Clan invasion, I hardly think Theodore Kurita will overlook her specialized knowledge." "Those planning sessions ... wouldn't you like to be a fly on the wall, so we can find out just what they do know?" I nodded agreement. He went on, "A fly, or maybe a bug?" I nodded again, more slowly. He hitched his chair closer to the table and we began considering means and methods. It wasn't all that hard, really. I expected a much worse time of it. I suppose that we'd have had a lot of trouble getting into the conference, or trying to broadcast a signal through the walls. We didn't try those things. We didn't look for secret passages, try bribing a servant, or making a listening hole in the roof, either. That sort of stuff is for C-grade Marik vids. We put microrecorders the size of burrs on the floor of the teashop closest to the conference hall, in the sawdust next to the coat rack. We put them in the ladies' and gentlemen's rooms in front of the mirrors and other fixtures, right where they had max chance of attaching to uniform pants. The minis don't cost a lot to make because they're one-shot recorders; not reusable. They debrief through a one-time dump on a radio link, or you can recover them physically. Nice little gadgets. A teacher of mine called Tremaine showed me how to make them once on Canopus IV, just before we backed the wrong side on the Duchess-daughter thing and had to leave with informal suddenness. We lost a couple to trompling and jostling. We got some odd glimpses of servants' hall private life. And we guessed it right as usual. The second-level people for the conference weren't second-guessing each other at the conference table, nor playing etiquette games at formal receptions. They were having tea at convenient places and talking nonstop. There are sixteen basic types of 'Mechs used by the Clans, maybe ten of which are favored by the Smoke Jaguars. It is confirmed that they use a modular type of construction, with different packages of weapons and equipment being interchanged according to the 'Mech's mission. So the recon 'Mech of Tuesday might be part of Wednesday's Fire Lance. Ouch. But it did explain a lot we'd seen, like the 'Vulture' Medina's autocannon-10 had torn a chunk of right-torso armor away from that showed up the next day with a new pair of extended-range large lasers and an attitude you wouldn't believe. Matsuo-sama was right up there with the planners. It seemed from the commentary that her intel was up to date and a little more. Many of the generals there seemed to think they were fighting the last war but one. From her bleak expressions, Lady Sakkura seemed to have a better concept of just how heavy an enemy she was fighting. I was a little surprised at our own daring when I heard one of our second-level types told to stand close to the Kanrei. He was holding a briefcase, I think. We heard this top level, ultra high clearance speech about how far the Clans had gotten and how they were going to try some new tactics. It seems that the Clan types, at least the Smoke Jaguars, take our word at face value. There'd been a couple of units built of re- formed Ryoken troops which the Jags had misestimated. They seemed to know unit histories, at least up to the '39 War, but units that didn't have reputations were another story. Mercenary units were discounted; they seemed to share the Inner Sphere Conservative's disbelief in merc morale and commitment. So certain units were due for a renaming before the campaign began on... About then the bug began a shattering whine; Julian & I raced to shut down our equipment as it popped and melted. We rescued maybe half of it from the little room we'd rented. Anything that gave off a traceable frequency, we just abandoned. Then we stashed the goods, went to our backup room, disarranged our clothing and put one of those pointless Kurita pillow vids on play. The house to house search caught us apparently napping. Yawn. Thursday. I have dressed for a hot date with less nervousness. I had a clean uniform, praises be. It wasn't pressed, but then, I could hardly impress her with my couth anyway. No weapons, not even my ceremonial dagger. My uniform has the Dragonslayer ribbon, with the '39 war campaign ribbon next to it. Well, she knew all about that campaign, and our participation in it. She was chasing us for most of it. At precisely five minutes before the appointed time, I was in the outer garden. I asked for Sakkura-sama's room, and was shown instead to the back garden. What had she in mind? She certainly had worn well. There she was, lovely in vermillion and cream formal kimono, BOWING to me in the doorway of the teahouse. I bowed back, feeling clumsy. The scent of evergreen was suddenly strong. She did the whole bit, tea, whisk, water heated over a small wood fire, three times offering the cup. As far as I could tell, she did it perfectly. The silence grew around us as the ritual unfolded. In spite of myself I felt welcomed. I drank the tea in an equal silence, set it down, bowed again. Courteous again, she did not make me open the meeting. "I have wanted a meeting between us. It is my fortune that we are in.... a neutral place when we met." "If there is such a thing as a neutral place in this conflict." The proper honorifics fled my mind. Never mind, she'd have to take it in my crude soldier's speech. "Do you see this conflict as different from others?" "Infinitely different." Had I interested her yet? Hard to tell. It was cool in the teahouse, but I was sweating. Careful now. Let her ask you first. Maintain polite interest in her topic. "But I am remiss. What had you wished to discuss with me?" "There is a matter between us which puzzles me. My mind is so constructed that an unsolved puzzle does not quiet itself, but teases me at unexpected times and places." "Puzzles you, Matsuo-sama?" "On the last day of the campaign for Oshiba, your three lances triggered an ambush I had set. Your captain was almost destroyed, rendered unconscious. Your second in command fought well, but you were in an untenable situation. Your armor conducted a fighting withdrawal all the way back to the ship. We managed to destroy only two of your vehicles. As your DropShip lifted, you sent me a message, replying to my haiku to your captain, and declaring yourself personally my enemy." "That is approximately as I remember it, yes." Oops, that's a little strong for politeness. "I am flattered that it remains in your mind so clearly." "If it were not offensive, a question wishes to be asked.." "It is not offensive," Just how much can you sweat, girl? "Why?" "Why did I declare enmity? Or why did I have the presumption to consider myself sufficiently your equal that my enmity would matter?" "The first was my question. The second ... did not require to be asked." That means she wasn't curious, but now she is! Wonderful! Laura the diplomat strikes again! Now, let's see if we can word this with any delicacy at all. Remember, you are asking her for a favor. And you haven't let yourself ask it yet. "It has come to my attention from time to time," I began slowly, "that you have been interested enough in me personally to ask questions about my background and current actions. Not just the Captain; I could see that with the families feuding and all. But me, the nameless kid from the Periphery. By your terms I have no standing by birth or by training. Add to that that I am a mercenary, and proud of my skills AS A MERCENARY. And your people think of mercs as only fit for killing. And then add that I'm not even a MechWarrior, only a tank gunner. Well, frankly, I didn't think it would matter a rat's ... a bit to you what I declared. But my kind of honor demanded that I not let what you did go by!" Her eyebrows went up. Her face was lit with amusement. I lost it, no excuse, just lost it totally. "Look, back then I was just the junior tank lance leader. What I really did then -- what I really do now -- is covert ops. You found that out a long time ago, didn't you? Some of the time we shoot at people and skitter around under the 'Mechs feet and go boom, then run. Some of us do that while others are breaking into safes. Or into computer files. I hate it when my people die pulling fire as a diversion." "I have a cynical attitude about 'most people' and their motivations. 'Most people' can be moved by appealing to greed, fear, or vanity. 'Most people' don't have what it takes to put themselves on the line, even for those Big Three. 'Most people' won't pay what it costs to stick to a principle when times get tough. I saw a body once -- a dead mother in a cellar. Kid was next to her. Kid was alive, barely. Mom had starved herself to feed kid. Literally; there was food on plate next to kid. That's what it takes to impress me nowadays. I can't claim that kind of guts. But when I can, I look after my people. Don't tell me about the honor of the Big House. My unit is all the allegiance I can afford." She regarded me steadily. "And you say I cannot understand your form of honor? I believe you do me less credit as an enemy than I do you!" "Lady, my people were frying alive in that tank, and you laughed and sent my Captain a haiku! Don't tell me about honor, and don't ever wonder why I called you out! 'Mech or no 'Mech, if I could have reached you just then, I'd have tried to kill you!" Her side of the room radiated ice. "You believe I laughed at their deaths? You honestly believe that I would do such a thing?" "Why not? They were mercenary scum to you, lowest of the low. And you've spent the last decade arranging little pitfalls and potshots for us. Stealing our rescued prisoners on Robinson! Dropping a hint in the ear of the Liao consul so we didn't get hired, but ambushed instead! Not to mention that stock market manipulation that wiped out the unit pension funds!" "All of those attacks I have made. They were legitimate exercises of wit against your captain, who pilots my father's 'Mech, and who is my avowed enemy. I do not target you because you sell your services. Not all citizens of the Draconis Combine despise mercenaries. Many of us have the good sense to recognize quality where we see it, even in a pig's snout! Even serving an unworthy fool! Never, never, would I laugh at the deaths of brave warriors! " There was something here that didn't add up. Something she wasn't saying. Something she was hinting at telling... Carefully I began, using her words "A question requires to be asked. It may be an impertinent question, but honor requires it..." A nod was my answer. "Whose was the other 'Mech -- the Panther -- that my Captain took out in that fight?" Her lips compressed. She lowered her head so I could not watch her face as she told me what I must always have known. "Your Captain used the weapons of the 'Mech he piloted - - MY FATHER'S DRAGON WHICH HIS FATHER STOLE -- to kill my brother on that battlefield. And yes, I laughed as I fought you, as my reserve forces blew your murderers into that same netherworld Yatsuo had just entered. Fighting laughter that keeps the fighter from knowing what losses he has taken! I was high on the fight until long after you whimpered your ways to the DropShip. And then ... But that is all honor demands I reveal. The rest is of interest only to my family." As she bowed to me, I knew she was dismissing me. I hadn't had a chance to tell her my purpose yet. I might be judged an uneducated barbarian, but I was going to get it across to her. "Lady of Matsuo, at the risk of being presumptuous..." No answer from her. "I came here to you to speak of something beyond our lives, or even the quarrel between your house and my unit. I have put my pride aside to speak with you. Please grant me a few more moments of your time." I'd beg if I had to. An appreciative lift of her eyebrow showed she knew that, even enjoyed it. "Our unit had to retreat from Bjarred. There were ... there were extensive losses. I suppose you know that the Captain's old injury was aggravated, that he is now permanently retired?" A nod from her. "What we saw on Bjarred ... what we saw on Bjarred was not warfare. At least, not warfare as we know it. It was sheer slaughter, like cattle in a pen. These Smoke Jaguars, they're like ... they're not like ... They do not fight as either of us would consider honorable! They fight us warrior for warrior, or two of us to one of them, or three! But their weapons pick us off at ranges where we can't even aim! And their infantry keep fighting until they are literally blown apart! You and we aren't very alike, but compared to them, we're identical." I was doing this so badly and it was so critical. I found myself sputtering. "We can't win against them unless we get new weapons and new tactics. And considering that it takes four or five of our deaths to account for one of theirs, we need a coordinated strategy. It may easily take more than the Draconis Combine can muster to beat them back. And it certainly won't be done if the forces of the DCMS and we mercenaries remain at odds." I saw her now as the leader of thousands. Her face was all business. "Continue." "Look, we're not the worst of the forces you have at your command in this theater. But even militia units get supplies before we do. We've got adequate medical care, and enough field rations, but we can't get mortar rounds resupplied, let alone 'Mech ammo. As for repairs, forget it! "Look, we could be digging in on a planet or even two planets on your frontier, giving early warning and slowing down their next advance -- and you KNOW there's going to be a next advance, you've got to know that! "Such is the DCMS contempt for us that we haven't even been debriefed. We fought the Jags on Bjarred, and we pulled fifteen 'Mechs back out of that bloodbath. I've been nose to armpit with those nasty Elementals of theirs. And I have a fair analysis of one of their battlecodes. But when I tell the liason officer that I have something to contribute to Intel, he just says they'll get around to us 'in due time'. By the time they do, this planet may well be under attack." "No," she returned absently, "I'm not sure that it's on their path..." "If this is because of that old fight, if you consider that you and I are enemies, and that you must kill me, I'll ... I'll guarantee to give you your shot at it. As soon as the frontier is safe, I'll meet you anywhere. Tank to 'Mech, hand-to-hand, whatever." Her eyes warmed to amusement. "You think that you could take me in either battle?" I grinned right back at her. "My odds are one in seventy eight in the first instance, maybe as good as one in five in the second. But you haven't heard the other half of the bargain." "Which is?" "You help the unit. You authorize our ammo, our repairs, our consumables. And you get us something real to do, so we aren't just sitting ducks in a shooting war. My home planet used to talk about a 'straw death', a death in bed of old age. That was the worst death for a warrior. For me for us -- the worst death is one that could have been prevented IF WE WERE ALLOWED TO FIGHT!" "You mercs will fight and die for the Draconis Combine?" Her voice was meant to sting. My reply was equally contemptuous. "Of course we will. That's our job, lady!" "No, I didn't blow it completely. She said that there were places we could be of use, that she'd consider my offer, and talk to me early next week. But look, Mac, I'd appreciate it if we kept the terms to ourselves. It sounds like bad vid drama even to me. Whatever she comes up with, it's up to you to say yes or no." Please, please don't remind me that the unit needs every trained officer it has let me find out if I will be alive next week, then we will make plans for the future. McInemy eyed me soberly. He didn't say anything about my choice. I was grateful. Then his eyes changed, as an incoming call distracted his consciousness. "This is a private call, Casey. I'll let you know when she contacts us." Our new employer was coming to dine. Captain McInerny put me in charge of the arrangements. I think it was to keep me busy. I pulled battalion funds for the dinner. Fugu fish, a mutated variety of a poisonous Terran blowfish, smoked eel, fried flowers. Every delicacy that I could think of that was proper to the season and the honor we wished to pay her. It had to be catered from the inn; we sure couldn't generate it from the food synths. We wanted to welcome her onto the DropShip though, because that was our territory. We had a kavit instead of sake, and lutfisk instead of sushi, but then we gave her food we knew she would like. The Matsuo Kanrei brought two of her aides, and dinner was an amazing, cheery affair during which nothing at all was said. The aides composed poems. So did Captain McInerny, surprisingly well. Then the aides went into a corner with some of our personnel to look at viewvids, while the three of us got down to business. She didn't haggle, but let us have it directly. We were to be resupplied. We were to proceed to some planet called Wolcott as a special operations group attached to a private regiment. Her house regiment. Unit pensions were to be prepaid into a ComStar account or a Games Foundation account, as we chose; she gave no sign that she was providing for the future of her old enemy as she signed on the dotted line. McInerny's real eye was suspiciously wet. Then she dropped her bombshell. "Captain, your unit regulations are based on traditions of what world?" "Originally, those of New Caledonia, Ma'am, modified over the years." "Then your traditions would allow a duel to select a regimental champion?" What in seven ice world's frozen halos was she getting at? And why was McInerny trying not to grin? "That's correct, Ma'am." "I am formally notifying you that Lieutenant Laura Casey has challenged me to such a duel." Huh? I had challenged her to a fight, yes, but not this kind of fight. Duelling? The notion is as antiquated as a lacefan! Pardonme, sir, may we politely discuss the conditions under which I am allowed to kill you ? That sort of drek. "As challenged party, ma'am, you have the right to name the time and conditions of battle." Thanks a lot, McInerny, you really know how to back your people up. She wasted no time. "Place: an empty cargo bay, in atmosphere, null gravity. Weapons:" she paused to look at me for reaction "hand-to-hand." She must know I'm competent in the martial arts, I thought wildly. She's probably trained as well, but why, why is she giving up her advantage to fight me in freefall? "And, Captain? I believe that the parties involved in a duel must bear themselves with restraint, that in fact they may not fight until the duel takes place." Why was Mac grinning? "That is entirely in accord with tradition, Ma'am." "Time:" she continued, "two weeks after this regiment's officers agree that a peace has been signed. " Two weeks after ... huh? You mean I get to fight with the unit? You mean you aren't going to strap me in a cockpit for target practice after all? "Until then, the issue is to be dropped. We are employer and employee. And.. " after all this, she had the gall to smile at me demurely "if the honorable leader of Midnight Ops thought she knew some dirty tricks, she had best prepare herself to be educated..." The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend. But I'm sure glad that we're on the same side. RECORDING: 24 JULY 3050 MARSHDALE, PESHT MILITARY DISTRICT, DRACONIS COMBINE INCLUDED WITH COM PACKET, NOT REFERRED TO IN TEXT "CAPTAIN MCINERNY, DO YOU KNOW OF THE OFFER WHICH LIEUTENANT CASEY MADE TO MET' "I DO NOT APPROVE, NOR WAS I CONSULTED. I THOUGHT OF FORBIDDING SUCH A FIGHT, BUT IT SEEMS TO ME THAT CASEY HAS THE RIGHT TO MAKE A CHOICE HERE. YET I CAN'T SEE IT AST HONORABLE OF YOU TO GET HER INTO A FIGHT SHE CANNOT WIN..." "NOR DO 1. 1 ONLY WISH IT WERE THAT SIMPLE. SHE HAS DECLARED FORMAL ENMITY. SHE HAS OFFERED ME A FIGHT IN WHICH, UNFORTUNATELY, SHE DOES HAVE A CHANCE. NOT A VERY GREAT CHANCE, OF COURSE. BUT HOW CAN I DISHONOR HER BY REFUSING TO FIGHT? SHE HAS GREAT COURAGE, THOUGH LITTLE SENSE." "I WONDERED HOW YOU MIGHT BE THINKING ABOUT IT. IF I MAY SAY SO, LADY MATSUO, YOUR DOUBTS DO YOU CREDIT. NOW, IF YOUR CUSTOMS ALLOW A LITTLE VARIATION FOR LOCAL TRADITION ... YOU ARE THE CHALLENGED PARTY, TECHNICALLY, AND THAT GIVES YOU SOME RIGHTS YOU MAY NOT BE AWARE OF." RECORDING DETERIORATES. Back to BattleTechnology 16 Table of Contents Back to BattleTechnology List of Issues Back to MagWeb Magazine List © Copyright 1992 by Pacific Rim Publishing. This article appears in MagWeb.com (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. Other military history articles and gaming articles are available at http://www.magweb.com