"Crusade" - BattleTech Dark Ages/BattleTech "Concertverse" AU Crossover Book 2

[Steve]

Chapter 22 — Communal Strife


CLS Revolutionary Fortitude
Inbound, Great X System
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
Transglass Inner Sphere
3 September 3143


It was not the first time that Evan Roberts had set foot in the tactical command center of the Revolutionary Fortitude. Since coming aboard as a war correspondent for the Antarean Press Service, he'd visited a number of times as the command ship of the Fourth Communal Guards made their way across the Glass and to this mirrored version of their own reality. Something had changed from those prior visits, something he could sense in the air. A quiet anticipation that hadn't been there before.

The reason why hung in the open air over the main holotank. A holographic representation of the planet Great X hung in the air over the holotank table. Roberts reflected on how often the world had seen conflict on his side of the Glass, as a border system of the League and its longest-surviving foe, the Kingdom of Ghastillia. It had changed hands repeatedly in the Vanguard War before the monarchists had secured it for good with the Fourth Succession War and the Peace of Buckminster. Now we're here, on this version, to help another group of capitalist monarchists drive off a bunch of fascist eugenicists. I wonder how many of the locals will take us up on the emigration offer?

Roberts did not speak on these thoughts. His attention went to the figures arrayed around the table. In contrast to his plain spacer's jacket and jumpsuit marked with press credentials, they wore primarily green CLAF service uniforms with some in dark gray, marking them as land and aerospace force personnel. A woman in burnt orange with yellow striping stood out. Roberts recalled her name from memory: Bataliono-delegito Rosa Allen-Scholtz, the Carabineer officer appointed as the Fourth's chief communal security officer. The red stripe on the outer arms and legs of her uniform marked BatDel Allen-Scholtz as a Vanguardist in her politics, with similar colors on some of the other officers and personnel.

The majority had black striping. Roberts focused his attention on one of the eldest present and nodded. "Brigadisto Selum," he said respectfully.

The CO of the Fourth nodded. Rozerin Selum hailed from Rastaban's Kurdish communities. The facts he knew of her career flashed through his mind. Fourth Succession War veteran, made her name commanding a 'Mech company during the counter-offensive that kicked the Feddies off Sudeten in '12. Elected through battalion and then column command through the rest of the war, nearly got killed in the failed attack on Irece in '19. Recognized Unionist in political leanings. "Mister Roberts," she said. "Your timing is impeccable. The advance scouts have confirmed the presence of not just the garrison the Arcadians reported but two of the line formations that escaped the butchery they committed on Arc-Royal. They are two days ahead of us and are about to make planetfall." Her Esperanto was some of the best Roberts had ever heard; the League's official language was not a difficult tongue to master but the accents were usually quite distinct. Unionists do love to get rid of their accents.

"So the battle's going to be harder? Has the unit voted to ask for reinforcements?" I know my Esperanto isn't as good. I wonder if it will ever be? Maybe if I thought more in it than English…

"Neg." Selum shook her head. Roberts recognized it as the CLAF’s regular term for “negative” or “no”, with “aff” as the opposite. Going by the vids from Arc-Royal the Clanners got the same idea. I suppose there’s only so many ways to make short, snappy versions of “affirmative” or “negative”.

His attention snapped back to Selum as she explained her answer. "We have a strong brigade of forces and superior aerospace. Better that the First Shock moves on to secure Deia."

"Yet we will undoubtedly take losses we could avoid." The male voice prompted Roberts to turn his head to face Grupodelegito Carl Litchens, one of Selum's subordinates and the highest-ranked man with a red Vanguardist stripe in the room. He was in the dark gray uniform for aerospace personnel. "The First Shock would let us crush them in the initial landing."

"Winning the battle in a fell swoop can be costly in of itself, GruDel Litchens," Selum replied. "Remember what the Ghasties did to us on our Great X in '12? The Fourth is meant for this sort of campaign, and we don't need to push recklessly. If you want to bring it to a vote of the soldiers, though…"

Litchens frowned and said nothing. There wasn't an imminent combat situation so voting wasn't out of the question, but Roberts had interviewed enough of the Fourth's people to know that while the Vanguardists were making inroads into the ranks, the Fourth was still majority Unionist. Aerospace fliers are the only Vanguardist-majority formation in the brigade. But the 'Mech pilots are starting to tilt that way too…

"Flash traffic from the Forward Watcher, Brigadisto," one of the center personnel said. "They're detecting signs of weapons fire."

Eyes around the room widened in surprise. Selum nodded. "Tell them to maintain status."

"The Clanners have to have seen us," BatDel Allen-Scholz said. "Would they have one of their combat trials just two days from facing invasion?"

"Not these Mongols, they barely follow even their own honor code," Selum noted. "Something else is going on. Not that it changes our mission."

"It does not," Litchens concurred. "It just makes this less bloody."

The conversation drifted into examination of the Fourth's readiness to fight. The unit had seen little action since the end of the war. But with the Falcons' many crimes on Arc-Royal now added to the long-viewed footage of the victims on Morges, the Fourth and their comrades in the other brigades were eager to see action and bring down the fascist warriors and their entire system. And it'll be a good day. A shame we'll be leaving these worlds to the Lyran Commonwealth and its oppressive social system, but they agreed to let us promote emigration. And maybe we'll influence the local people against the Commonwealth just by being what we are… He shook his head. That's what my folks' generation thought about the Feddies and the Ghasties too, but that didn't work out at all. Spreading the revolution by force is always going to push people against it.

Both the discussion and his thoughts were interrupted by the CommTech again. "Brigadisto, we have an incoming vidcall from the surface. It is from the Falcon garrison commander."

"Does he look to have us give one of their 'batchalls'?" Litchens pondered openly.

"Perhaps or perhaps not. Put him on, KommTek Rodriguez," Selum ordered.

The holotank shifted, to a distorted, static-laced image; a product of heavy jamming. The audio link still worked, well enough to catch a sharp, “Stabilize that transmission!”.

After a moment, the image did stabilize, resolving into the image of an older, middle-aged man. Roberts had seen those kinds of crows' feet and distant eyes before, in his father and a host of other veterans of the Vanguard War and Fourth Succession War. This man had seen a multitude of battles. His sharp, vulpine features shared a likeness with the … Trueborn, they call themselves Wolf-in-Exile warriors Roberts had met briefly, and he carried a neurohelmet, the same colour as his yellow-trimmed jade cooling suit. From his surroundings it was clear he was in some kind of forward command post; equally clearly, one preparing for battle. "Attention invaders of Great X. I am Star Colonel Teryn Roshak of the 371st Garrison Cluster. I do not call to ask for your batchall, but to inform you that battle has already been offered and accepted. My warriors prepare to engage our own bloodmaddened kin. The Eleventh Talon and the Eighth Velite Clusters are making planetfall as I speak, and they have made clear their purpose is to strip this world of every speck of grain and every piece of hardware that their DropShips will fit, and burn the rest. The harvest is in, and it was not plentiful. Without that food, thousands will starve, and many thousands more will be dehoused by the scorched earth campaign the Mongols are ordering."

Roberts' jaw clenched. He watched Selum's gaze harden. Litchens verbally fumed, "Fascist bastards."

Roshak's voice vibrated with fury and despair as he continued. "As military governor of Great X, I cannot allow that to happen, and I have bid the 371st in battle to protect the civilians under our charge. It is to be a Trial of Annihilation, for the Mongols will not accept surrender, and we will not ask for it; so we seek our deaths in battle to fulfill the purpose our Founders left to us. All I ask is that you do what is necessary to put down the Mongol-maddened, dishonored remnants of my Clan, and that if any of my warriors, or the mercenary Black Cats who stand with us, survive, you treat them with all honor for having done their duty to the utmost, and allow my warriors to serve you in honor as bondsmen. I go now to die, with only my honor left to me. What tactical data we have is being transmitted to you now. Thus shall it stand until we all fall. Seyla," he concluded, with the sonorous ring of ritual phrasing.

Selum glanced towards KommTek Rodriguez who nodded in affirmation "We are receiving data. Enemy unit information, their assigned machines, their current positions, and comm channel frequencies and codes."

"Distribute that data to all ships, I want it factored into our plans," Selum answered. "KommTek Rodriguez, begin recording a reply." She turned to the holocam receiver. When Rodriguez nodded from his station, Selum began speaking in an accented Star League English. "Star Colonel Teryn Roshak, I am Brigadisto Rozerin Selum of the Fourth Communal Guards. Thank you for that data and your actions. In recognition of your humanity and bravery, I will allow any member of the 371st who survives a place in our ranks, should they wish to serve our cause. Die well, Star Colonel, and know your names will be remembered and honored."

Roberts watched Litchens' face slightly redden, and Allen-Scholz looked slightly perturbed. Rodriguez confirmed the transmission was off before Litchens spoke. "Are you really going to let those fascists simply change their coats? How much proletarian blood is on their hands?"

"They are fighting to save Great X's people, GruDel Litchens. Besides, you read the data on the Clans. They are many things, but one thing they are not is capitalist. Their own society is organized in lines more compatible with our own, if the castes are softened into trade union organization." Selum met his glare with defiance. "This is a chance for the League to show the Clanners that they have an alternative to the Great Houses. They can be a revolutionary asset, GruDel. Why throw them away?"

"A Unionist sentiment, but not unwise," BatDel Allen-Scholz agreed.

Litchens sighed and crossed his arms. "It's your discretion, Brigadisto. But it remains to be seen if a caste raised to believe in its own superiority can ever adjust to our society."

"We won't know until we try, GruDel. Now, let's look over this data." Selum's eyes focused on the holotank display as the first TO&E chart popped up. "We have fascist butchers to kill."




Vicar's Atlar Plateau, Great X
3 September 3143


I have done my duty.

Teryn Roshak fixed that thought uppermost in his mind as incoming fire lacerating his BattleMech’s armor plate, and his own weapons lashed back with headache-purple particle bolts. The thought didn't provide the comfort it once had, for though I have done my duty, to the final extremity, it has not been enough.

Still, there were worst places, and far worse company, to die in, at least. The open ground, a long, and long-abandoned – long enough that its sides and floor were thick with new growth – valley quarry was good defensive ground, and made better by the efforts of ForestryMech-piloting local volunteers and his own battlesuited infantry, directed by the Black Cats’ engineers. That thought did elicit a fractional smile; so, we can work together, in the spirit of the Star League. It just takes imminent destruction to achieve it.

Bright, snapping autocannon fire rattled off his Banshee’s torso plating, and Teryn sent twinned particle beams and one of his precious Gauss slugs back in response. The Gyrfalcon — in the colours of the Eighth Velites — staggered at the impacts. Smoke billowed from the torn armor on the Gyrfalcon's flank, shards of refractory plating spalling from the impacts as it leapt backwards. Teryn took a moment to assess the field, with no other targets in sight.

“Star Captain Helen, report,” he ordered. The flash and thunder of weapons fire was still visible at Beta Trinary’s positions, but jamming made the tactical display less than useful.

“Falling back on our tertiary positions,” Helen replied, the rippling shriek of her Tundra Wolf’s missile launchers just audible beneath her words. “The Talon are pressing us, but not too hard.” There was a smile in her voice at the next words. “I believe I have taught them better than that.”

Teryn nodded at that. Beta Trinary had all of his remaining heavy and assault armour, and Helen knew exactly how to use it, wielding the tanks’ thick armor and massive firepower to dominate sections of the battlefield. Freeing space for the lighter units to manoeuvre. “Understood,” he said, refocusing on his own section of the battlefield. “Continue as you must.”

“Enemy infantry, advancing,” one of the Black Cat platoon leaders called in, the valley floor lighting with fire. Light OmniMechs dropped battlesuit Points, missiles, laserfire and the lightning of support PPCs and plasma rifles crisscrossing back and forth. Teryn caught a Mongol Elemental, struck in midleap by a burst of Magshot fire, seeming to trip and come apart in midair, before the heavier BattleMechs of the Eleventh Talon began a renewed push.

Too many to stop.

“All forces, initiate withdrawal. Command and Beta Stars will remain and hold the rearguard,” Teryn ordered. That was not, he told himself firmly, suicide but clear military logic. Command and Beta Stars were his heaviest units, the least able to break contact and the best armed.

“Acknowledge that, Star Colonel,” the Black Cats’ Colonel Lambert responded, as personnel carriers began the practiced dance of recovery and retreat. “Good luck, ‘till we meet again at God's right hand.”

“Bargained well, and done, Colonel,” Teryn said, counting the warriors left to him. Seven; an auspicious number in such affairs. “Warriors, the eyes of the Great Father and Elizabeth Hazen are upon us. Into them; to the death!”

“To the death!”

And forward they went, a fighting wedge that scattered the Mongol battlesuit screen like giants wading through a mob of children. Crushing them underfoot, shattering them with high-explosive shellfire and lasers as the Mongol BattleMechs, night-black, moved forward; responding to the challenge, the goad to their pride, in the only way they could.

He had time for a brief look to either side as both sides clashed. Star Commander Asilia’s Thunderbolt IIC crashing into the midst of a formation of light and medium machines behind a blitz of laserfire. The Axman of Warrior Carlsen driving a Grand Summoner back, the great blade splintering midnight plate from the heavier OmniMech's raised weapon armatures with the metronomic rhythm of a man chopping wood. Interlacing missile contrails as the last survivor of Gamma Trinary — whose name Teryn was ashamed to realise that, in that moment, he couldn't remember — locked her Hel's tactical missile racks onto an equally missile-laden Bane. Then the world's focus narrowed down to the centre of his own gunsights, and there was nothing to do but fight.

Teryn sent a light Omni — some new type his warbook couldn’t identify; a prototype from Alyina’s weapons labs — crumpling to the ground in broken pieces. He looked around for another target, before one came crashing out of the forests, shouldering trees aside with murderous intent. Marauder IIC, huge, untouched, and every bit his Banshee’s match in firepower.

Triple streamers of charged particles lashed out, pulverising armour, ripping away the Banshee’s shoulder SRM mount and shattering one of Teryn’s own particle cannon before he could fire. Follow-up laserfire gored the torso wounds wider, bursting heat sinks and cracking engine shielding. The gyros stuttered out of sync for a moment, scattering Teryn’s retaliatory laser barrage, forced him to concentrate on staying upright. Unable to evade as the Marauder readied for another salvo.

Twin barrages of heavy laser fire, bright as new-polished jade, tore into the Marauder’s arm and flank as Asilia turned from her own battle to his aid. Her Thunderbolt glowed white on thermal, intensified as another barrage of laserfire blew the Marauder's arm away at the shoulder, flayed open its hip and punched deep inside the Mongol BattleMech's torso, rupturing heat sinks and leaving coolant dripping from the wound like blood. But the immense heat burden sent Asilia stumbling, and before Teryn could call a warning, a Mongol Nova — itself lamed by laserfire — put the combined fury of its laser array into her back at nearly point-blank.

Asilia’s Thunderbolt simply vanished, consumed in a globe of argent fire. The Mongol warrior didn't live to celebrate; the explosion's staggering force reached out, stripped away their machine's frontal plating. It tore the forward-thrust cockpit apart like a used ration pack. Nearby battlesuit troops were plucked from the ground, cast away to land the Founders only knew where.

The blast staggered Teryn and his opponent; the Marauder went down, hip actuator buckling. With cool, glassy focus — a bulwark against emotions he couldn't allow himself at this moment — Teryn stepped forward, placed his remaining particle cannon against the downed machine's cockpit module, and blew it, and the warrior within, to molten ruin. Then he took a moment to survey field and tactical display.

Asilia’s spectacular demise had left only a single friendly icon nearby, and that one soon became none as an Onager and a pair of Hel Betas brought down the Gamma Trinary mechwarrior — Akiko, Teryn finally recalled. A Hel joined her in death, but now, Teryn stood alone, against most of a Binary of Mongols.

Bright sparks in the sky drew his focus. Descent flares; from DropShips and single-BattleMech assault pods both. And below, the contrails of aerospace fighters shedding speed from orbital velocities. A practiced blink brought them into full magnification; the types, Teryn didn't recognise, but their colours told him all that he needed. Night black, striped with pristine white. Their insignia a white-within-black roundel with paired overlapping stars; one three-pointed in red, the other five-pointed in green.

The invaders have arrived. Victory is mine, and at the least, I can look my dead in the eye.

He turned to face the encircling Mongols, began to advance. Lightning bolts and gem-bright laser beams and his few remaining Gauss slugs blazed from the Banshee’s weapons, the great fist outstretched to rend and crush.

And, in the end, Teryn Roshak found the death in battle he sought.



Albertburg, Great X
4 September 3143


The town of Albertburg was not a significant urban center, but as it contained the granary for an entire agricultural district of the planet's main settled region, it had been targeted by the Eleventh Talon. When it first came onto Delegito Joachim Lieb's holotank, a terrible feeling came to the pit of his stomach. He remembered what his own hometown of Rothberg had looked like after the Arcadians were expelled in the fighting in 3112. Subconsciously he pushed his throttle further, pressing his Guillotine OmniMech past the regular run speed into a sprint.

"Don't leave us behind!" a voice called out on his comm. To his right, the Guillotine of Kaporalo Luz Nogales kept pace. While his machine had the primary favored configuration for the machine, mixing a Streak SRM-6 launcher and twin pairs of ER medium lasers on the torso with large ER lasers on the arms, her machine's arms carried deadly Terran-grade ER PPCs and one less torso laser. Contained within the armored hide of her machine was a dedicated targeting computer, which would allow advanced firing solutions and delicate fine control of her weapons. "You're getting too far out ahead, Del."

He eased on the throttle a bit, giving him better control. Right. Maintain element cohesion, or KompDel Reynolds will blow their top at me.

Another Guillotine bounded up to his left, and then advanced further at a continued sprint. "For just a moment I regretted not voting for you, Del," said Kaporalo Quan Khanh. His Guillotine was rather different; he had the same right arm mounting as Lieb's, but the left arm carried a heavy bore Gauss Rifle. Twin SRM launchers and medium laser mounts on the torso signified Khanh's machine as the close-range brawler of the element, as the heavy bore rifle could fire a heavy slug with enough force to penetrate armor even a heavy autocannon wouldn't break. "But just a moment."

The sight of the black-painted Guillotine included the one major difference in its appearance. While Lieb and Nogales sported the white flash stripes of Unionists, Khanh's Guillotine used Vanguardist red.

"Leave it to a Vanguardist to be overeager to get shot at," Nogales ribbed.

"Leave it to a Unionist to dally while fascists burn down another town," Khanh retorted.

A fourth voice ranged in. "Delegito Lieb, do we need to have a discussion about comms discipline?"

Lieb swallowed. Behind them, the rest of the heavy company was moving to join in their slower heavy and assault weight machines, including the hundred ton Standardbearer that Kompanio-delegito Jules Reynolds employed. "Neg, KompDel, we do not. My pilots will behave themselves, or they'll get a disciplinary meeting."

"Acknowledged," echoed through the line from each of his pilots, though Khanh had grumbled his. The young Vanguardist eased up as well, though remaining ahead of Lieb and Nogales. His Guillotine's left arm leveled. Lieb's attention went to his holotank and the red-outlined machines that his sensors were getting an outline on.

There was a flash from Khanh's machine, and in the distance, one of the Falcon 'Mechs, labeled a Summoner on Lieb's readout, staggered from an impact. Lieb directed his targeting crosshairs over the black-painted machine and fired his arm lasers. Twin sapphire beams lashed across the distance to slice away at the Summoner, though neither beam touched the damaged plate left by Khanh's shot. Khanh's own laser made a glancing hit on the Summoner's arm that failed to damage anything.

Nogales joined their attack. Twin cerulean bolts crashed into the enemy machine, both striking the damage Khanh's initial shot caused. The space below the enemy machine's shoulder-mounted missile launcher was engulfed in a violent plume of flame and metal, the adjacent arm torn free by the blast. Thick chemical smoke billowed from the machine's wrecked side.

Lieb refocused his crosshairs and fired once more, catching the machine just before the pilot could twist away to protect his damaged side. His laser shots, and Khanh's, cut into the interior armored spaces of the machine. A burst of fusion plasma accompanied the 'Mech collapsing onto its side.

Ten seconds, and they had their first kill. From the ruins of the town, more of the red icons were turning their way. Half a dozen enemy 'Mechs and as many combat vehicles started to track Lieb and his people. "Evasive!" he shouted, giving up on taking another shot and focusing on keeping his machine mobile.

The storm of fire that came sent Lieb's machine rocking. His maneuvering had let him miss the heaviest hits, but every section of his 'Mech showed armor damage from incoming missiles, and part of an autocannon burst had torn a gash across his Guillotine's hip. He glanced toward his fellow pilots and ensured both were mobile, though enough enemy fire had landed to cripple Nogales' left arm. Still, all according to plan, Lieb thought. As the advance element they'd done their job, attracting enemy attention, and most importantly, provoking them into revealing their positions.

Kompanio-delegito Reynolds and the other six 'Mechs of their company took brutal advantage of this. Another storm of fire filled the air, this time in the opposite direction. Lieb directed his attention on one of the enemy Savage Wolf 'Mechs just in time to see its upper missile launcher smashed by a direct slug hit by a gauss rifle. He spit his crosshairs on the enemy machine and contributed to the fascist warrior's misery with sapphire death, sending his lasers to cut away at armor. The molten material left by his weapon flowed free, weakening the Savage Wolf's armoring. Still out of SRM range, he thought. But just close enough… He triggered his medium lasers in sequence, letting his cooling suit protect him from the surge of heat that filled the machine as emerald light cut more angry wounds in the enemy 'Mech's black hide.

He half-expected particles to strike the enemy, but Nogales had seemingly found other prey for her surviving PPC. Khanh, on the other hand, had sprinted closer, letting him fire the heavy bore cannon on his left arm within its best range. He first fired with lasers, though only one landed a direct hit. Bad shot… oh, clever, Lieb thought, seeing that Khanh had been testing his own aim as he moved into optimal position. His 'Mech slowed, steadied, and a ripple of air and caviation briefly formed at the muzzle of his left arm mount. A heavy slug crashed into the enemy machine and smashed right through the damaged armor below the destroyed missile pod. Lieb's IR scanners verified a heat spike as oily smoke billowed from the wound. Engine hit. Now let's bring it down!

Forward movement had brought him to the very furthest range of his missiles. When he stroked the trigger for them he expected to get a "lock failure" and no shot, and was quite pleased to instead see six missiles erupt from his 'Mech. He triggered his large lasers on the arms. One beam was slightly off, scoring intact armor just below the Savage Wolf's cockpit, but the other played over the wrecked armor left by the earlier shots. The heat spike intensified. Missile after missile struck home, and Lieb waited to see the machine collapse

It did not. His missiles had blasted yet more armor from it, and the Savage Wolf was clearly on the verge of tottering, but the Clanner kept their machine upright and directed their attention to Lieb. Twin ER PPC shots struck out from the machine's arms. Particle backwash briefly distorted Lieb's HUD and other displays, and when they stabilized, he saw the black indicators of armor failures, with one of his medium lasers dimmed out on the weapon display. Lucky shot! Lieb turned his crosshairs towards the enemy 'Mech as missiles erupted from the surviving missile pod. He twisted, presenting his stronger left side to a series of impacts from LRMs. Armor indicators went yellow and orange, but no further interior damage was visible.

The Clanner was clearly angling for another shot. An explosion of metal stopped it in its tracks, as another gauss slug slammed home through its wound. The Clanner 'Mech tipped over as fusion plasma crackled briefly from within, super-heating the surrounding air and creating an explosive blast that finished destroying an adjacent structure and left the Clan machine a blasted ruin.

"You're welcome, Del," Khanh said. His Guillotine was already tracking another Falcon 'Mech that was occupied with a barrage from Reynolds' imposing Standardbearer. "If I land more confirmed kills than you, maybe you should vote for me to be our element delegito?"

"Focus on the job, Khanh," Nogales immediately snapped. Lieb noted that her machine was sporting superficial damage aside from the burnt stump of her 'Mech's severed left arm, and a decapitated Falcon Gyrfalcon showed what she'd been up to.

"Cut the chatter, we have a battle to finish," Lieb reminded them, just in case KompDel Reynolds was paying attention. If this keeps up I'll never get the votes to succeed Reynolds if they win the next battalion election…

"Aff, Delegito," Nogales replied.

"Aff," Khanh echoed.




371st Field Base
Outside Crifton, Great X
Donegal Province
Lyran Commonwealth
6 September 3143



The CUV — Common Use Vehicle — bore Brigadisto Selum through the shattered perimeter wall of the 371st's main base. Burnt 'Mechs not yet claimed by salvage crews had fallen beside shattered tanks. The 371's last surviving forces had waged their final stand here, it was plain to see, and the fact the base's structures were only half-gutted reflected that it had not been in vain.

Armored infantry from Bet Column's assault battalion were ready at arrival. Bet's commander, Kolumno-Delegito Oscar Lupo, was waiting with a bodyguard element of soldiers in battle armor suits. "Brigadisto." He saluted, as did his soldiers. They all bore the white Unionist stripe on their black-colored armor suits. "They're waiting."

Selum nodded and let Lupo lead her into the facility. Dried bloodstains showed where people had died in vicious close-quarters fights as the final storming and relief had come. Had I come but an hour earlier it would not be dried, she imagined. "The bodies are removed?"

"Aff. We threw the Mongol Falcons into a pile for burning, the 371st's dead are set to the side for the moment."

"The Clans would only keep the remains for claiming genetic material, and that is not our way. Still, do not cremate them until it is cleared," Selum ordered.

Only the final halls saw the reduction in signs of violence. In the heart of the facility, an active holotank and other displays reflected this was a command center, though nothing was manned for the moment. A collection of people in emerald and yellow jumpsuits were gathered under the careful watch of Lupo's infantry troopers. A number were wounded, and as their eyes focused on Selum, only one stood and stepped forward. She was one of the genetically-engineered "Elemental" phenotype, a massive woman of at least two meters height, by Selum's reckoning. Her left arm was nothing but a bandaged stub about ten centimeters below her thick muscled shoulder. "You are Brigadisto Selum, quiaff?"

"Aff, I am."

"I am Star Commander Martina," the hulking woman said. "I was adjutant to Star Colonel Roshak, and the senior surviving warrior of the 371st."

Selum nodded quietly. "I have seen the battlefields. Colonel Roshak died?"

"Aff, three days ago, in the fighting at the Vicar's Altar Plateau."

"So we imagined. He made our advance forces' landing much easier." Selum held her hands behind her back. "You have upheld your pledge to defend the people of Great X from butchery, so I will uphold mine. Any of you who wish to serve in the CLAF may do so. For a time you will undergo ideological education, to understand our society and the CLAF's role within it. Think of it as the same education your Clans would give a bonded warrior. Once this is done, and you have recovered from your wounds, you will be offered assignments in the Fourth or with other formations as are available."

Martina nodded. Selum could see the pain in her eyes, not from her lost limb, but from all she'd lost psychologically, mentally. She and the other survivors had seen their own Clan turn against that which they believed was right, and many of their comrades had died resisting that treachery. "I…" Martina's voice softened. "I wish… I wish I had died too."

Selum said nothing. She simply nodded in understanding.

"My Clan was all. We were the Jade Falcons, Children of Kerensky, the inheritors of his word and vision. The future for Humanity. We were meant to restore the Star League, the greatest accomplishment of Human history. But now… we are reduced to bandits, to Blakists, in this dezgra savagery." Martina's eyes filled with quiet tears, and she used her remaining hand to wipe them off. "What do my warriors and I have left?"

"Your lives. Another chance to serve a higher cause." Selum took a step forward. "The Star League was not without flaws, but in its vision of a peaceful humanity, there was a chance for better. We, the Communal League of Sudeten, have that vision as well. A humanity where the gluttonous nobles of the Houses and all those who selfishly hoard the wealth of society for their own pleasure are stripped of their ill-gotten power, where all have everything they might ever need in a society of equals. We of the CLAF are the defenders of that vision, the armed might of the revolution that will one day sweep away the Great Houses on both sides of the Glass. For devoted warriors like you, we will always have a place in our ranks."

It was clear not all of those present were ready for what she said. Not after what they had gone through. But Martina… Selum could see that glint in her eye. She was cast into a sea of doubt, of uncertainty, and this was a lifeline. A cause she, in this hour, desperately needed.

"I will accept. My warriors will decide on their own," Martina said.

Selum nodded. "I look forward to the day you serve in my unit, Fusisto Martina. KolDel Lupo will see that you and your people are billeted while they make their choices." If more Falcons like Martina live, then we may yet find fertile ground for communitarianism among the Clans. And that will only advance our cause towards completion.