<div class="floatright">(https://image.spreadshirtmedia.com/image-server/v1/compositions/105366373/views/1,width=280,height=280,appearanceId=1,version=1439463983.png.webp)</div><strong>April 3rd, 3025, 12:35 local time</strong><br/><strong>Aragon System, Aragon, Salvador province, Salvador City, Parade Grounds</strong><hr/><br/>The ink was barely dry on the contract before the functionary responsible for negotiating the matter -- Leona Giraldo -- ushered the five Mechwarriors to a waiting groundcar, which would take them across the spaceport they had landed to the adjacent military base.  Their ride, some sort of fusion-powered luxury vehicle almost certainly imported from the Hanseatic League, was something a few leaps and bounds above the rest of the transportation machinery visible from their position; the hangars they could see were full of half-way constructed or skeletonized aircraft, none of it featuring the sleekness of a proper Aerofighter, and those planes actually in use were being towed hither and yon by cobbled-together internal combustion vehicles -- or, in the case of one smaller plane, an actual team of oxen.<br/><br/>The state of the military base was not much better.  The groundcar passed through a nominal security check which the driver was mostly waived through, then the inside was ramshackle barracks and hangars.  While there were easily a number of vehicle bays, theoretically enough to outfit most of a regiment, there was activity at perhaps a third of them.  As to where the rest of them were -- that question is answered at least in part when your groundcar turns a corner onto a main avenue, the driver slows down notably and rolls down the windows.  The first thing that strikes you is the relative silence -- even a military base in peacetime should be making -some- noise, but aside from the crunch of stone and gravel beneath your car's wheels, there is nothing...<br/><br/>Then, things became a bit clearer.<br/><br/>Looking out the windows, the mercenaries could see two columns of tanks, one on either side of their vehicle, their turrets raised as if to form a bridge the car was passing under.  Between each tank was a squadron of infantry, standing at parade rest.  Distantly, the faint strains of band music started drifting in through the window.<br/><br/>This slow crawl went on for quite a while before the car finally came to a stop, and the functionary opened the door.  "This way, mercenaries," she said in her heavily-accented English, a thin smile on her face, before she stepped out herself.<br/><br/>Roughly twenty meters ahead of the groundcar stood several men in dark red jackets and black trousers, the dress uniform of Nueva Castile's armed forces.  Leona lingered at the groundcar only long enough to make sure everyone is out and ready to go, then took the lead towards the men ahead.  When she was about ten feet away, she slowed, stopped, then knelt and pressed her head against the pavement of the parade grounds.<acronym title="My lord, these are the mercenaries who have accepted your offer."><strong>"Mi príncipe, estos son los mercenarios que han aceptado su oferta,"</strong></acronym>she said solemnly, rising only high enough to extend the sealed envelope containing the written contract.<br/><br/>One of the officers near the back whispers something to the one in the center of the formation.  The man's response is more audible, vaguely irritated, not addressed to the mercenaries, then steps forward at a brisk not-a-march to receive and review the document.  After a moment, he nods acceptance, and Leona stands and moves to his side, turning to face the Mechwarriors translating for them as he speaks in brusque Spanish.<strong>"Principe Montes welcomes Victor's Valkyries to Aragon.  He apologizes for the poverty of your reception; it was his hope to offer you a grander celebration to honor your arrival, but events on the front have called away much of your intended reception.  He wishes to assure you that when things are calmer, you will receive the full welcome that is your due."</strong>