Tides of Fire Chapter 1
Posted: 2003-03-28 08:42pm
Chapter 1
Presidential Command Center, Emergency Government Center
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, United States, Scorched Earth
17 October 2015 S.E.C.
9 August 3058 I.S.C.
Deep within the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain, the most heavily guarded command post in the United States contained the President and all of Congress. Security was rigidly tight to maintain the defense of the nation's leaders, which prompted the soldiers who served in the Mountain to call it a "prison". On the outer shell of the mountain, several ABM and SAM launchers were arrayed about the center and several more on various locations of the actual mountain, ready to shoot down any enemy aircraft attacks or missiles, while the hardened bunkers were also protected by the steel armor plate several inches thick, and above the plate the natural mass of the mountain. With the fall of Washington D.C. to the Giuseppian advance, Cheyenne Mountain now served as the heart of the country.
Morgan Kell and his entourage had allowed their weapons to be temporarily confiscated at the first security checkpoint as a show of trust, equal to that shown by the Americans by Kalick's visit to Arc-Royal. Morgan found himself looking into the eyes of each of the soldiers they passed on their way through. Most of the soldiers showed signs of subdued optimism, but all were uniform in that their moods were full of gloom and resignation. The enemy was only five hundred miles from the Mountain at their closest position and they were in all likelihood counting their final months of life before they would be called upon to give their lives to ensure the government could escape. Morgan sympathized with them. And the grim defiance he saw in their eyes hardened his own resolve, one way or the other, these people would get the help they needed to win their war. He would see to it. And he could see the same resolve in his son's face, and within the eyes of Dan Allard, Ranna, and Caitlin. They all felt the same obligation to stop the horrible bloodshed and destruction that had descended upon this world.
They were escorted into a large network of chambers before reaching a central office. It was a kidney-shaped chamber, carpeted, with a wooden desk where Jason Andrews was seated. Secret Service men armed with assault rifles stood on each side of the office, while the seats in front of Andrews were occupied by a pair of men, a tanned man with a moon face and another man, older than the first, with a fair complexion and graying brown hair. Andrews looked up at them and stood, his dark skin standing out against the white paint within the office. He stepped around the desk as Morgan approached and offered his left hand, so as to shake Morgan's natural left hand instead of the prosthetic hand. "Grand Duke Morgan Kell, I presume? I'm President Jason Andrews, pleased to make your acquaintance, Duke Kell."
Morgan accepted the statesman's hand with a friendly grin and a nod. "A pleasure, President Andrews. This is my son, Khan Phelan Kell of the Wolf Clan, my daughter Caitlin, Colonel Dan Allard of the Kell Hounds, and Star Colonel Ranna of the Wolf Clan."
Andrews accepted their hands while the other two men who had taken seats sat up. He pointed toward the tanned man first. "This is Representative Alberto Rodriguez of Florida..." He moved on to the other as Rodriguez began shaking hands with Dan Allard. "...and Senator James Nielson of Virginia. The rest of Congress is in session at Salt Lake City, and they are here to act as my liaisons." Andrews waited for them all to shake hands. "My people are getting extra seats for you now. Secretary Kalick said something about you wishing to speak with me?"
"Yes, Mister President," Morgan answered. "Your planet is in danger. Not just the danger posed by Giuseppe's madness, but another danger. We fear you may soon face an invasion by the other Clans."
Andrews nodded stiffly. "Yes, that's what we've been discussing. Satellite reconnaissance tracked another ship that landed in Geneva about twelve hours after Vickers departed. They left a couple of days ago after a stopover in occupied territory in Minnesota."
"They may have left some of their own 'Mechs, then." Phelan's jaw clenched. "Mister President, with your permission, I'd like to take my Star up to Minnesota. I have a very bad feeling that the Jaguars left more than just observers."
Andrews saw the grim look on the junior leader's face. He nodded stiffly. "Do what you must. You," he looked at a Secret Service agent, "show this man out. Expedite his way through security as well."
"Yes, Mister President."
The agent led Phelan and Ranna out of the room. When the door closed Morgan turned back to Andrews. "Mister President, I have a proposition I would like you to consider."
"Yes?"
"Namely, we may not be able to get our own BattleMech units to this planet in sufficient force to fully make the difference, but, we should be able to supply enough BattleMechs to you and your allies, if you are willing to go along with setting up training camps."
Nielson and Rodriguez did not show any reaction, while Andrews had one that showed his internal pondering. "What will this entail?"
"My Kell Hounds have some of the most advanced training equipment in the Inner Sphere, as do the Wolves," Morgan replied. "Combined with instructors from our nations, and other Star League nations, we would be willing to train people from your world to pilot BattleMechs. It will help maintain parity and give us time we need to prepare for our own actions against the Clans, which will benefit the front here." He swallowed. "I must warn you, in the Inner Sphere, MechWarriors spend up to three years training before they are even assigned to standard line units. We can try and compact basic 'Mech piloting into as little as three months, but full skills..."
Andrews cut him off with a nod. "With all due respect, Duke Kell, the United States doesn't have three years. Three months is probably stretching things. We will do what is necessary."
"You are aware that the Clans raise their warriors from birth to fight? Their MechWarriors are genetically engineered to maximize their combat capabilities." Morgan shook his head sorrowfully. "You could be sending your people into a death trap."
Andrews gave another nod, this one even more stiffly. "I know. Too many of my countrymen have died already, and many more will die to make sure the war is won. But it is a price that must be paid. The price of arrogance, I am afraid. Our arrogance, Denise Saunders' arrogance, shot us in the foot before this war even began." Andrews blinked uncomfortably. "Thomas Jefferson said that the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. I am afraid that this time, it will take the blood of many patriots to keep it alive, with very little tyrant blood to throw in." He looked over and saw quizzical expressions on the faces of his guests. "Wait, what year is it on your calendar?"
"3058 AD."
"Ah." Andrews nodded and seemed to smile a bit. "So you've never heard of Thomas Jefferson, I take it."
"Thomas who?" Caitlin blinked.
"One of the founders of the American nation, if I'm correcting recalling the Old Earth history course I took at the Nagelring," Morgan answered her.
Nielson snickered and Rodriguez suppressed a chuckle, both amused by the confusion. The door to the office opened and a quartet of chairs were brought in by some Army personnel. They saluted at Andrews when they sat down the chairs, and he responded with a curt "At ease" so that they could relax and leave the room. "Now that you have some seats," Andrews went back to his seats as the others found seats, "we can sit down and get on with business. This training system, for instance..."
Combat Zone, West Bank of the Red River of the North
10 kilometers south of Moorhead, Minnesota-North Dakota Border
The sounds of battle ripped through the light fog and into the ears of the men and women of Bravo Platoon, Able Company, Rochester Battalion, 1st Minnesota (Volunteers) Infantry Regiment. The thundering of tank and artillery cannon fire broke the still air and prompted the soldiers to brace themselves in their quickly dug foxholes, even as tanks and men appeared on the far side of the river. Explosions rang their ears to each side as shells began to land about their position and the positions of the other units in the regiment, and the entire 1st Armored Division. Opposing them was the 5th UN Armored Division, or so they had been told by their superiors. The 5th was apparently a junior unit, so it wasn't as if they were facing an elite force like one of the Panzergrenadier Korps. And they fought like a junior unit, their commander ineffectually probing the line to look for a place to cross the river into North Dakota.
Standing with his platoon members was a tall and well-built Caucasian male with the single bar insignia of a Second Lieutenant. Chris Hayal's black hair was barely regulation length, he preferred it long, and a filled out goatee and beard covered his face. A fully-loaded M16 hung from his right shoulder on a nylon strap. Range-finding binoculars were clutched firmly in his hands as he observed the UN APCs begin to move into the water with fixed floating attachments. They would have to disembark within firing range for his platoon and he intended to make sure that every inch of ground the disembarking troops took was paid for with blood. The woman on his right, Sergeant First Class Catherine Barton, pushed a lock of her light brown hair under her helmet and gave him a quick grin and a wink with her iceberg blue eyes before looking back at the APCs, which were almost halfway across. The anti-armor platoon of the company opened fire with their Javelin anti-tank missiles. The missiles crossed the kilometer distance swiftly. Computerized anti-missile defenses mounted on the APCs opened fire with light rounds that destroyed two of the missiles in flight. The other two missiles found their targets, slamming into the fronts of the APCs. One barely survived, it's armor plate just thick and strong enough to resist the penetrator on the Javelin, and the other turned into a ball of fire and began taking on water. The back hatch forced itself open and a dozen men leapt out in a panic to get away as the APC sunk to the bottom.
"Get ready people!", Hayal shouted, looking through his binoculars. He noticed something moving behind the enemy line, partially obscured in the fog, and homed in on it. He looked over at his radiowoman, Corporal Delilah Danvers, and asked, "Ask the Captain if HQ's told him about any enemy armor in this sector." He pulled the binoculars back up to his eyes and looked through them again. "Tell Raulson and his tankers to kill..." He stopped and strained his eyes, almost incapable of believing what he was seeing. "What in the Hell is that?!"
From a kilometer away, Star Colonel Ratache Osis's Summoner Prime stomped through the fog. Flanking him was the Timber Wolf Prime of Star Captain Cameron, his immediate aide, and the Hellbringer B of Star Commander Beatrice. Rounding them out was a Shadow Cat A piloted by MechWarrior Tobias and an Adder Prime piloted by MechWarrior Tabitha. Ratache grinned ferally at the sight of his quarry reaching weapons range. "Star Captain Cameron, fire when ready."
Cameron's extended range large laser sent out a beam of green energy that lashed the trenches of Baker Company's position. The green energy vaporized the head of the company's commanding officer and killed his XO and his radio officer with glancing blows. The beam traveled north, scorching another squad of men and destroying the sandbags placed in front of their positions before it disappeared.
Hayal watched the beam play along the trenches and then turned back to see the APCs hit shore. They moved up onto soil and the troops inside began to disembark. The APCs main guns fired and raked the trench area with 20mm fire while the men and women of Able Company fired at the incoming troops. The bullets ripped through the body of one of his privates before the young man could duck below the sandbags bordering the trench. Blood exploded from the entry points of the massive rounds, which bored through his body until they emerged from the other side and embedded themselves in the soil. He fell dead to the ground. "Tell Raulson to shoot whatever the hell that is!", he shouted to Danvers, pulling the trigger on his M16 as the UN infantry rushed closer.
As if on cue, the thunder of an M1A2 Abrams' main cannon reached their ears from behind. A 120mm APFSDS round raced over the trench at supersonic speed and rammed it's penetrator into the leg of Cameron's Timber Wolf. The depleted uranium tip pushed itself about three centimeters into the armor before the armor's diamond-supported fiber-based material stopped it. Only a small three centimeter "hole" and some slight millimeter-sized fracturing around the hole came of the entire thing. The tank crew did not notice that damage had been minimal before the loader had loaded a HEAT round into the 120mm smoothbore. The gunner lined up his sights on Ratache's Summoner and fired the cannon again. The HEAT round took only a second and a half to cross the distance before it slammed into the Summoner's left torso. The explosion of the directed charge blew away portions of the OmniMech's armor but also failed to do any decent amount of armor damage or penetration. The tank's commander, Sergeant Raulson, stared at the apparently unphased target and felt his mind reel against the impossibility of their rounds being so ineffectual.
As he did so, Ratache Osis pulled on the right hand trigger for his extended range PPC. A bolt of cerulean lightning emerged from the barrel on his Summoner's right arm and struck the Abrams on the left tread. The tread's armor buckled swiftly and melted away, the plasma in the particle beam vaporizing and melting the tread and immobilizing the tank. Tabitha’s Adder fired a second cerulean bolt of lightning that speared the tank directly. The tank's advanced armor proved no match for the particle beam, which tore through the front of the tank, and due to it's slight downward angle, cut into the ground beneath the tank. Raulson and another man, the gunner, scrambled out of the tank before a green energy beam from Tobias's Shadow Cat ripped it in half. Ratache's PPC fired again at a second Abrams rushing to the front. The beam stroked the Abrams' main cannon and tore it off before cutting through the turret armor and reducing the turret to so much slag, leaving the driver with three scorched corpses in the destroyed turret. Ratache smiled with satisfaction at his shot before watching a flight of LRMs leave the left shoulder launcher on Cameron's Timber Wolf. The missiles fired in succession, taking only five seconds to empty out of the launcher. Aimed at the higher angle they exploded in the backs of the trench, killing half of a platoon in a series of terrific explosions and leaving the survivors strewn out on the ground with shrapnel from the missiles' detonation having torn into their bodies. "Re-adjust the line!", Hayal heard his company commander shout through the radio. "Keep your attention on the oncoming infantry! Let the armor handle these guys!"
"This is bad, sir!", he heard Barton yell while they continued to try and keep their fire constant at the onrushing wave of UN troops, who were alternating between running and laying cover fire in the "fire-and-movement" style of attack. With their line having been compromised by the 'Mechs that had engaged them they were severely weakened. And this also meant that as a weak point, the enemy would soon put their weight into an advance through the river. Hayal's stomach twisted as he realized that those damned walking machines had just doomed his entire platoon, and likely the whole regiment. He kept his fear to himself and popped his head up to fire again. As he put a trio of bullets into the torso of a dark-skinned woman he felt an impact on his right ear that stung horribly. He ducked back down and touched the ear, finding blood from the graze of a bullet. To his right Barton was leaning against the wall of the trench, ducked down and putting a new clip into her rifle. She grunted and stood back up, firing the M16 on full automatic. Hayal was unable to see how well she was aiming from his low position in the trench. He pulled out his own empty clip and was putting another in when she howled. Barton fell back into the trench with a pair of bullets in her, one in the upper left chest and the other having torn her right shoulder up. Blood poured from her wounds as she fell to her posterior in the trench, clutching at her torn shoulder. "Son of a bitch!", she screamed angrily.
Hayal knelt down by her. "Cat! Cat, are..."
"Ignore it," she said. "Flesh wound."
Hayal took a deeper look at the wound on her left side, just above the heart. "Bullshit," he muttered as he felt her blood begin to pour onto his hand. He looked around frantically for a medical team while reaching into his gear for a first aid kit. "Hey! I could use some help..."
"Dammit Chris, get back to fighting!" She pushed away at him. "You heard me!"
Hayal did not disagree with her, noticing a pair of medics making their way into that portion of the trench. He looked back over the trench and was lifting his rifle to fire at an enemy only thirty meters away from their position when he heard rumbling behind him. The approaching enemy infantry looked up at something behind the line, so Hayal could not resist but glance in that direction.
As he did so, a penetrator round slammed into the massive BattleMech behind him, courtesy of the Gauss Rifle on Star Commander Beatrice's Hellbringer. Hayal looked up at the dozen meter plus height of the massive hundred ton Dire Wolf OmniMech that was walking toward the line. A five star insignia was emblazoned on the right portion of the chest, and on the arms and legs a wolf insignia shined prominently.
To the 'Mech's left was another massive 'Mech, slightly smaller; a Warhawk OmniMech in the Prime configuration, sporting a quartet of deadly ER PPCs, two for each arm, to go with a medium missile battery on the right shoulder. The Warhawk's right arm PPCs fired a twin blast of blue fury that scourged the armor of Cameron's Timber Wolf. A continuing streak of missiles came from a Mad Dog accompanying the other 'Mechs, forty missiles in all, and they all connected with the offending Hellbringer that had dared strike the 'Mech piloted by the Khan of Clan Wolf.
Nestled in the command couch of the Dire Wolf Assault 'Mech he was piloting, Phelan Kell centered his targeting systems on Ratache's Summoner and triggered his own pair of ER PPCs. The two beams struck simultaneously in the chest of the Summoner, savaging it's chest plate armor and obliterating the Smoke Jaguar insignia that was emblazoned on the heart. The tremendous energy of his attack cut right through the armor of the 'Mech and damaged the Summoner's internal skeleton.
Ratache noticed his damage indicators go red and cursed loudly. "Damn Wolves..." Ratache switched to active sensors and clenched his jaw at the sight of two more contacts, plus what could have been several Elementals.
Before he could think, a voice came through on his comm system and over the lead Wolf 'Mech's external speakers. "This is Khan Phelan Kell of the Wolf Clan. I offer you hegira, Jaguars, so that you may return to your masters and warn them that these people are under my protection."
"I am Star Colonel Ratache Osis, freeborn bastard," Ratache retorted, "and I will not run from traitors like you, nor the helpless freeborns you support."
"Then you will die, Star Colonel," Phelan replied. "I have elite MechWarriors and two Points of Elementals to throw at your Star. This battle is mine to win. You and your allies should withdraw. Now."
Ratache clenched his fist angrily. I will show that...
Before he could complete the thought, the UN commander's voice came over the radio. "All forces, retreat immediately," the Frenchwoman barked. "We will break through here later."
At that command the UN troops began to fall back to their APCs to cross the river again. Ratache howled in frustration. "No you cowardly freebirths, fight!"
"It seems your allies have no more stomach for battle," Phelan crowed. "Do you wish to die at my hand, Star Colonel Ratache?"
"Damn you, Wolf! This is not over," Ratache raged. "I will see this world lifeless before I allow your traitorous brood to have it!"
"And my Wolves and I will die before I allow you and your Jaguars to destroy these people," Phelan responded coldly. "You are welcome to try again, we will be waiting."
"I accept hegira, freeborn false-Khan," Ratache hissed. His mind raged angrily at the humiliation of reporting to Howell that he had failed to help the UN Army penetrate the line. Those damned Wolves had ruined everything! "But only this time."
Ratache began backing his Summoner up, prompting his fellows to do the same. Phelan watched them move away on his scanner screen and sighed. "Ranna, Ragnar, looks like we saved the day."
"For now, at least," Ranna sighed. "I have MedTechs on standby."
"Bring them in to help care for the American wounded," Phelan ordered. He lifted the face plate of his neurohelmet and wiped his forehead of sweat. This was only the first shot. Soon this entire world will be a 'Mech battleground. Maybe even enough to rival Tukkayid...
The field hospital for the Minnesotan Volunteers regiment was a scene of organized chaos when Phelan and Ranna stepped into it. They had left their 'Mechs standing outside the hospital and were still in "combat uniform", namely, sleeveless brown shirts with their rank insignias embroidered over the left breast and knee-length brown shorts. A low groan came from a dark-skinned woman on a bed next to where the entrance way was, prompting both to look and watch as a medic tried to remove a bullet lodged in her ribs. To her side a white-skinned male was barechested. Several shrapnel entry wounds had torn across his stomach and abdomen, and a few pieces of shrapnel were still embedded in his chest and just below the neck He gazed at them with drunken eyes before his head fell back down onto the pillow of the cot and eased into sleep from the pain-killing drugs in his system. "We should have brought more MedTechs and equipment," Ranna said as they watched the medical personnel rush to give aid to all of the wounded.
Phelan nodded slowly while walking up to a cot that was covered by a sheet. He lifted the sheet and stared into the dead blue eyes of a pretty teenage girl. He put a hand on her dark hair, which reminded him of Caitlin, before lifting the sheet back over her head. He clenched a fist and walked away from the cadaver. "Triage," he sighed. She looks no older than sixteen.
"Her name was Denise Strouten," a gruff male voice said to him. "She was a fifteen year old girl who lived in Minneapolis, and signed up with the Volunteers just before we had to fall back."
Phelan looked over at the origin of the voice and saw a man in his early forties standing nearby, also surveying the wounded. He saluted to Phelan as a gesture of respect. "Colonel Harlan Davidson at your service, sir. The rank is 'Khan', correct?"
"Khan Phelan Kell, yes." Phelan returned the salute. "Why is a girl her age here?"
Davidson's eyes lowered. "We need every soldier we can get, Khan Kell. And at the very least she's died a swift death in the service of her country, instead of suffering God knows what fate she might have had in the occupied areas."
"You are so pressed for soldiers that you force children her age into service?", Phelan asked, somewhat repulsed by the notion but also sympathizing with the desperation that had brought it about.
"No, draft age is eighteen," Davidson replied. "She signed up voluntarily, which is why she's in the Volunteers."
"The Volunteers?"
"Yes. Units raised by the Army, they were hoping it might get some home morale up to have units composed entirely of volunteer enlistees instead of the draftees." Davidson cleared his throat. "I'd like to thank you, sir. You saved us all."
"It is quite all right, Colonel Davidson." Phelan looked over at another light-skinned soldier, a male of about eighteen, having the sheet pulled over his head as well. "Your casualties were bad?"
Davidson nodded a bit and let his frown grow. "I've got just over 800 men and women in my regiment, sir, and I'd say a good two hundred of them are either dead or dying. I've lost a good half of the remaining armor platoon I had. If you hadn't come, they'd all be dead or dying."
"I see. I have ordered my MedTechs to help in saving those they can."
The tent entrance opened again and admitted two privates carrying Barton on a stretcher. Hayal and Danvers followed behind, up to where Barton was put down on a bed. "Feeling good, Cat?"
She grimaced and winked at him. "Fifth time I've been shot in three weeks, wonderful," Barton gasped with a slight grin. "I'm going to get addicted to painkillers if this keeps up."
"Well, at least you managed to avoid getting a bullet somewhere important," Danvers chuckled. "You have all the luck."
"Noticed that, huh?" Barton leaned her head back. "It'll probably be a while before they work their way to me. I'm not going anywhere. Why don't you two get back to work? Someone's gotta be out at that trench to make sure those bastards don't try again."
Her commander shook his head. "I'll let the others know that their First Sergeant's going to make it," Hayal promised her. "At least you made it. Andy Clark and Cal Culson weren't so lucky."
Barton closed her eyes for a moment. "They were good kids. Wish they could have had better."
"Yeah, I know." Hayal wiped some of the sweat off her forehead with his left hand. "Make sure they get those bullets out of you so I can have you back up front. Sergeant Bergmann's still young, I'd like an old hand out there."
"I'm twenty-seven, you asshole," Barton growled in response, her eyes snapping open in offense. "Don't call me old!"
Hayal snickered. "So am I, but considering that we've got a couple thirteen-somethings in one of the other platoons, and several teenagers, we are pretty old. These are kids who probably don't even know what a dial-up modem is."
"Point taken." Barton sighed. "Well, don't get in any trouble without me. And make sure Marc doesn't fuck up too badly." She looked over at Danvers. "Keep him in line for me, huh?"
Danvers blushed and meekly answered, "I can try."
"Good girl." Barton laid back again. "I'll get out of here ASAP, don't worry. I'll be back out there before those bastards try anything else."
"Take it easy, Cat." Hayal stepped away from the bed, sliding past a medic on his way out of the tent. He looked up and saw the massive "BattleMech" that he had seen before and shook his head, grumbling, "Looks like things around here are going to get real crazy, real fast..."
Landing Pad, 6 km from Cheyenne Mountain
Colorado, United States, Scorched Earth
18 October 2015 S.E.C.
10 August 3058 I.S.C.
It was past midnight when a small convoy of jeeps pulled up to the Union-class DropShip Fang. President Andrews stepped out of the first one with Morgan Kell and Senator Nielson following. The second one disgorged Dan Allard, Representative Rodriguez, and Caitlin Kell, and the third had a fatigued Phelan Kell with Ranna and Evantha Fetladral. Andrews turned back to Morgan and handed him a small disc in a case. "Here, I want you to have this."
Morgan slowly took the disc with his biological hand. "What is on it?" He looked it over in it's clear plastic case, watching the lights from the jeep and the Fang create a rainbow of color on it's surface.
"Consider it proof of just how evil Giuseppe and his people are," Andrews answered. "I can't tell you more, not out here. We've kept a lid on this to protect our deep cover operatives. I'd ask that you only show it to those who need to see it for the sake of our future here."
After a few moments of considering it, Morgan slipped it into a pocket. "I do not know when I will return," he said. "We will probably spend several weeks on Tharkad. But, I have already made the necessary arrangements for the Kell Hounds and what forces are at my disposal to come here and help hold the line. They will also be bringing testing equipment, to judge how many people on your world can be trained as MechWarriors. And as results come in, actual training equipment and BattleMechs will be brought in for your people to train in."
"It will take months to test every available person." Andrews offered his hand. "But we'll make due with what we get. Thank you, Duke Kell. You've given us a real chance to actually win this war."
"The war is not won yet," Morgan reminded him, taking his hand in another handshake. "Let us hope that the Clans are delayed, our hopes here are riding on it. And, if I may be so modest as to my intentions, my homeworld will be the first to be attacked if the Clans succeed here."
"I understand, and it re-assures me. We are both aware of what it takes to defend a person's homeland from foreign conquerers." Andrews turned and began to shake Phelan's hand. "I thank you, Khan Kell. You prevented a strategic disaster."
"It was the best I could do," Phelan said, waving off the praise. "I am still completing the final touches on our reorganization following the Refusal War. When they are finished, I will see about sending a few Clusters in. To keep the Smoke Jaguars quiet."
"My generals look forward to it."
"Yes. And, my Clan will also be doing what it can to further your training. We may even make some raids into Jade Falcon territory to seize some of their equipment." A grin crossed Phelan's face. "I am certain my subordinate Khan will enjoy it very much."
"Again, I thank you."
"President," Morgan began again, "you have my solemn promise that I will do all within my power to make sure the other nations of the Inner Sphere make their own contributions to your defense."
"The free world will be grateful for whatever aid you can render," Andrews said.
Morgan and Phelan both nodded in response for stepping into the DropShip behind the others. Andrews got back into the jeep and told the driver, "Let's go back now." As the jeep drove away, Andrews turned his head and watched the Fang launch, carrying with it the last hope of the free people of the world.
Presidential Command Center, Emergency Government Center
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, United States, Scorched Earth
17 October 2015 S.E.C.
9 August 3058 I.S.C.
Deep within the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain, the most heavily guarded command post in the United States contained the President and all of Congress. Security was rigidly tight to maintain the defense of the nation's leaders, which prompted the soldiers who served in the Mountain to call it a "prison". On the outer shell of the mountain, several ABM and SAM launchers were arrayed about the center and several more on various locations of the actual mountain, ready to shoot down any enemy aircraft attacks or missiles, while the hardened bunkers were also protected by the steel armor plate several inches thick, and above the plate the natural mass of the mountain. With the fall of Washington D.C. to the Giuseppian advance, Cheyenne Mountain now served as the heart of the country.
Morgan Kell and his entourage had allowed their weapons to be temporarily confiscated at the first security checkpoint as a show of trust, equal to that shown by the Americans by Kalick's visit to Arc-Royal. Morgan found himself looking into the eyes of each of the soldiers they passed on their way through. Most of the soldiers showed signs of subdued optimism, but all were uniform in that their moods were full of gloom and resignation. The enemy was only five hundred miles from the Mountain at their closest position and they were in all likelihood counting their final months of life before they would be called upon to give their lives to ensure the government could escape. Morgan sympathized with them. And the grim defiance he saw in their eyes hardened his own resolve, one way or the other, these people would get the help they needed to win their war. He would see to it. And he could see the same resolve in his son's face, and within the eyes of Dan Allard, Ranna, and Caitlin. They all felt the same obligation to stop the horrible bloodshed and destruction that had descended upon this world.
They were escorted into a large network of chambers before reaching a central office. It was a kidney-shaped chamber, carpeted, with a wooden desk where Jason Andrews was seated. Secret Service men armed with assault rifles stood on each side of the office, while the seats in front of Andrews were occupied by a pair of men, a tanned man with a moon face and another man, older than the first, with a fair complexion and graying brown hair. Andrews looked up at them and stood, his dark skin standing out against the white paint within the office. He stepped around the desk as Morgan approached and offered his left hand, so as to shake Morgan's natural left hand instead of the prosthetic hand. "Grand Duke Morgan Kell, I presume? I'm President Jason Andrews, pleased to make your acquaintance, Duke Kell."
Morgan accepted the statesman's hand with a friendly grin and a nod. "A pleasure, President Andrews. This is my son, Khan Phelan Kell of the Wolf Clan, my daughter Caitlin, Colonel Dan Allard of the Kell Hounds, and Star Colonel Ranna of the Wolf Clan."
Andrews accepted their hands while the other two men who had taken seats sat up. He pointed toward the tanned man first. "This is Representative Alberto Rodriguez of Florida..." He moved on to the other as Rodriguez began shaking hands with Dan Allard. "...and Senator James Nielson of Virginia. The rest of Congress is in session at Salt Lake City, and they are here to act as my liaisons." Andrews waited for them all to shake hands. "My people are getting extra seats for you now. Secretary Kalick said something about you wishing to speak with me?"
"Yes, Mister President," Morgan answered. "Your planet is in danger. Not just the danger posed by Giuseppe's madness, but another danger. We fear you may soon face an invasion by the other Clans."
Andrews nodded stiffly. "Yes, that's what we've been discussing. Satellite reconnaissance tracked another ship that landed in Geneva about twelve hours after Vickers departed. They left a couple of days ago after a stopover in occupied territory in Minnesota."
"They may have left some of their own 'Mechs, then." Phelan's jaw clenched. "Mister President, with your permission, I'd like to take my Star up to Minnesota. I have a very bad feeling that the Jaguars left more than just observers."
Andrews saw the grim look on the junior leader's face. He nodded stiffly. "Do what you must. You," he looked at a Secret Service agent, "show this man out. Expedite his way through security as well."
"Yes, Mister President."
The agent led Phelan and Ranna out of the room. When the door closed Morgan turned back to Andrews. "Mister President, I have a proposition I would like you to consider."
"Yes?"
"Namely, we may not be able to get our own BattleMech units to this planet in sufficient force to fully make the difference, but, we should be able to supply enough BattleMechs to you and your allies, if you are willing to go along with setting up training camps."
Nielson and Rodriguez did not show any reaction, while Andrews had one that showed his internal pondering. "What will this entail?"
"My Kell Hounds have some of the most advanced training equipment in the Inner Sphere, as do the Wolves," Morgan replied. "Combined with instructors from our nations, and other Star League nations, we would be willing to train people from your world to pilot BattleMechs. It will help maintain parity and give us time we need to prepare for our own actions against the Clans, which will benefit the front here." He swallowed. "I must warn you, in the Inner Sphere, MechWarriors spend up to three years training before they are even assigned to standard line units. We can try and compact basic 'Mech piloting into as little as three months, but full skills..."
Andrews cut him off with a nod. "With all due respect, Duke Kell, the United States doesn't have three years. Three months is probably stretching things. We will do what is necessary."
"You are aware that the Clans raise their warriors from birth to fight? Their MechWarriors are genetically engineered to maximize their combat capabilities." Morgan shook his head sorrowfully. "You could be sending your people into a death trap."
Andrews gave another nod, this one even more stiffly. "I know. Too many of my countrymen have died already, and many more will die to make sure the war is won. But it is a price that must be paid. The price of arrogance, I am afraid. Our arrogance, Denise Saunders' arrogance, shot us in the foot before this war even began." Andrews blinked uncomfortably. "Thomas Jefferson said that the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. I am afraid that this time, it will take the blood of many patriots to keep it alive, with very little tyrant blood to throw in." He looked over and saw quizzical expressions on the faces of his guests. "Wait, what year is it on your calendar?"
"3058 AD."
"Ah." Andrews nodded and seemed to smile a bit. "So you've never heard of Thomas Jefferson, I take it."
"Thomas who?" Caitlin blinked.
"One of the founders of the American nation, if I'm correcting recalling the Old Earth history course I took at the Nagelring," Morgan answered her.
Nielson snickered and Rodriguez suppressed a chuckle, both amused by the confusion. The door to the office opened and a quartet of chairs were brought in by some Army personnel. They saluted at Andrews when they sat down the chairs, and he responded with a curt "At ease" so that they could relax and leave the room. "Now that you have some seats," Andrews went back to his seats as the others found seats, "we can sit down and get on with business. This training system, for instance..."
Combat Zone, West Bank of the Red River of the North
10 kilometers south of Moorhead, Minnesota-North Dakota Border
The sounds of battle ripped through the light fog and into the ears of the men and women of Bravo Platoon, Able Company, Rochester Battalion, 1st Minnesota (Volunteers) Infantry Regiment. The thundering of tank and artillery cannon fire broke the still air and prompted the soldiers to brace themselves in their quickly dug foxholes, even as tanks and men appeared on the far side of the river. Explosions rang their ears to each side as shells began to land about their position and the positions of the other units in the regiment, and the entire 1st Armored Division. Opposing them was the 5th UN Armored Division, or so they had been told by their superiors. The 5th was apparently a junior unit, so it wasn't as if they were facing an elite force like one of the Panzergrenadier Korps. And they fought like a junior unit, their commander ineffectually probing the line to look for a place to cross the river into North Dakota.
Standing with his platoon members was a tall and well-built Caucasian male with the single bar insignia of a Second Lieutenant. Chris Hayal's black hair was barely regulation length, he preferred it long, and a filled out goatee and beard covered his face. A fully-loaded M16 hung from his right shoulder on a nylon strap. Range-finding binoculars were clutched firmly in his hands as he observed the UN APCs begin to move into the water with fixed floating attachments. They would have to disembark within firing range for his platoon and he intended to make sure that every inch of ground the disembarking troops took was paid for with blood. The woman on his right, Sergeant First Class Catherine Barton, pushed a lock of her light brown hair under her helmet and gave him a quick grin and a wink with her iceberg blue eyes before looking back at the APCs, which were almost halfway across. The anti-armor platoon of the company opened fire with their Javelin anti-tank missiles. The missiles crossed the kilometer distance swiftly. Computerized anti-missile defenses mounted on the APCs opened fire with light rounds that destroyed two of the missiles in flight. The other two missiles found their targets, slamming into the fronts of the APCs. One barely survived, it's armor plate just thick and strong enough to resist the penetrator on the Javelin, and the other turned into a ball of fire and began taking on water. The back hatch forced itself open and a dozen men leapt out in a panic to get away as the APC sunk to the bottom.
"Get ready people!", Hayal shouted, looking through his binoculars. He noticed something moving behind the enemy line, partially obscured in the fog, and homed in on it. He looked over at his radiowoman, Corporal Delilah Danvers, and asked, "Ask the Captain if HQ's told him about any enemy armor in this sector." He pulled the binoculars back up to his eyes and looked through them again. "Tell Raulson and his tankers to kill..." He stopped and strained his eyes, almost incapable of believing what he was seeing. "What in the Hell is that?!"
From a kilometer away, Star Colonel Ratache Osis's Summoner Prime stomped through the fog. Flanking him was the Timber Wolf Prime of Star Captain Cameron, his immediate aide, and the Hellbringer B of Star Commander Beatrice. Rounding them out was a Shadow Cat A piloted by MechWarrior Tobias and an Adder Prime piloted by MechWarrior Tabitha. Ratache grinned ferally at the sight of his quarry reaching weapons range. "Star Captain Cameron, fire when ready."
Cameron's extended range large laser sent out a beam of green energy that lashed the trenches of Baker Company's position. The green energy vaporized the head of the company's commanding officer and killed his XO and his radio officer with glancing blows. The beam traveled north, scorching another squad of men and destroying the sandbags placed in front of their positions before it disappeared.
Hayal watched the beam play along the trenches and then turned back to see the APCs hit shore. They moved up onto soil and the troops inside began to disembark. The APCs main guns fired and raked the trench area with 20mm fire while the men and women of Able Company fired at the incoming troops. The bullets ripped through the body of one of his privates before the young man could duck below the sandbags bordering the trench. Blood exploded from the entry points of the massive rounds, which bored through his body until they emerged from the other side and embedded themselves in the soil. He fell dead to the ground. "Tell Raulson to shoot whatever the hell that is!", he shouted to Danvers, pulling the trigger on his M16 as the UN infantry rushed closer.
As if on cue, the thunder of an M1A2 Abrams' main cannon reached their ears from behind. A 120mm APFSDS round raced over the trench at supersonic speed and rammed it's penetrator into the leg of Cameron's Timber Wolf. The depleted uranium tip pushed itself about three centimeters into the armor before the armor's diamond-supported fiber-based material stopped it. Only a small three centimeter "hole" and some slight millimeter-sized fracturing around the hole came of the entire thing. The tank crew did not notice that damage had been minimal before the loader had loaded a HEAT round into the 120mm smoothbore. The gunner lined up his sights on Ratache's Summoner and fired the cannon again. The HEAT round took only a second and a half to cross the distance before it slammed into the Summoner's left torso. The explosion of the directed charge blew away portions of the OmniMech's armor but also failed to do any decent amount of armor damage or penetration. The tank's commander, Sergeant Raulson, stared at the apparently unphased target and felt his mind reel against the impossibility of their rounds being so ineffectual.
As he did so, Ratache Osis pulled on the right hand trigger for his extended range PPC. A bolt of cerulean lightning emerged from the barrel on his Summoner's right arm and struck the Abrams on the left tread. The tread's armor buckled swiftly and melted away, the plasma in the particle beam vaporizing and melting the tread and immobilizing the tank. Tabitha’s Adder fired a second cerulean bolt of lightning that speared the tank directly. The tank's advanced armor proved no match for the particle beam, which tore through the front of the tank, and due to it's slight downward angle, cut into the ground beneath the tank. Raulson and another man, the gunner, scrambled out of the tank before a green energy beam from Tobias's Shadow Cat ripped it in half. Ratache's PPC fired again at a second Abrams rushing to the front. The beam stroked the Abrams' main cannon and tore it off before cutting through the turret armor and reducing the turret to so much slag, leaving the driver with three scorched corpses in the destroyed turret. Ratache smiled with satisfaction at his shot before watching a flight of LRMs leave the left shoulder launcher on Cameron's Timber Wolf. The missiles fired in succession, taking only five seconds to empty out of the launcher. Aimed at the higher angle they exploded in the backs of the trench, killing half of a platoon in a series of terrific explosions and leaving the survivors strewn out on the ground with shrapnel from the missiles' detonation having torn into their bodies. "Re-adjust the line!", Hayal heard his company commander shout through the radio. "Keep your attention on the oncoming infantry! Let the armor handle these guys!"
"This is bad, sir!", he heard Barton yell while they continued to try and keep their fire constant at the onrushing wave of UN troops, who were alternating between running and laying cover fire in the "fire-and-movement" style of attack. With their line having been compromised by the 'Mechs that had engaged them they were severely weakened. And this also meant that as a weak point, the enemy would soon put their weight into an advance through the river. Hayal's stomach twisted as he realized that those damned walking machines had just doomed his entire platoon, and likely the whole regiment. He kept his fear to himself and popped his head up to fire again. As he put a trio of bullets into the torso of a dark-skinned woman he felt an impact on his right ear that stung horribly. He ducked back down and touched the ear, finding blood from the graze of a bullet. To his right Barton was leaning against the wall of the trench, ducked down and putting a new clip into her rifle. She grunted and stood back up, firing the M16 on full automatic. Hayal was unable to see how well she was aiming from his low position in the trench. He pulled out his own empty clip and was putting another in when she howled. Barton fell back into the trench with a pair of bullets in her, one in the upper left chest and the other having torn her right shoulder up. Blood poured from her wounds as she fell to her posterior in the trench, clutching at her torn shoulder. "Son of a bitch!", she screamed angrily.
Hayal knelt down by her. "Cat! Cat, are..."
"Ignore it," she said. "Flesh wound."
Hayal took a deeper look at the wound on her left side, just above the heart. "Bullshit," he muttered as he felt her blood begin to pour onto his hand. He looked around frantically for a medical team while reaching into his gear for a first aid kit. "Hey! I could use some help..."
"Dammit Chris, get back to fighting!" She pushed away at him. "You heard me!"
Hayal did not disagree with her, noticing a pair of medics making their way into that portion of the trench. He looked back over the trench and was lifting his rifle to fire at an enemy only thirty meters away from their position when he heard rumbling behind him. The approaching enemy infantry looked up at something behind the line, so Hayal could not resist but glance in that direction.
As he did so, a penetrator round slammed into the massive BattleMech behind him, courtesy of the Gauss Rifle on Star Commander Beatrice's Hellbringer. Hayal looked up at the dozen meter plus height of the massive hundred ton Dire Wolf OmniMech that was walking toward the line. A five star insignia was emblazoned on the right portion of the chest, and on the arms and legs a wolf insignia shined prominently.
To the 'Mech's left was another massive 'Mech, slightly smaller; a Warhawk OmniMech in the Prime configuration, sporting a quartet of deadly ER PPCs, two for each arm, to go with a medium missile battery on the right shoulder. The Warhawk's right arm PPCs fired a twin blast of blue fury that scourged the armor of Cameron's Timber Wolf. A continuing streak of missiles came from a Mad Dog accompanying the other 'Mechs, forty missiles in all, and they all connected with the offending Hellbringer that had dared strike the 'Mech piloted by the Khan of Clan Wolf.
Nestled in the command couch of the Dire Wolf Assault 'Mech he was piloting, Phelan Kell centered his targeting systems on Ratache's Summoner and triggered his own pair of ER PPCs. The two beams struck simultaneously in the chest of the Summoner, savaging it's chest plate armor and obliterating the Smoke Jaguar insignia that was emblazoned on the heart. The tremendous energy of his attack cut right through the armor of the 'Mech and damaged the Summoner's internal skeleton.
Ratache noticed his damage indicators go red and cursed loudly. "Damn Wolves..." Ratache switched to active sensors and clenched his jaw at the sight of two more contacts, plus what could have been several Elementals.
Before he could think, a voice came through on his comm system and over the lead Wolf 'Mech's external speakers. "This is Khan Phelan Kell of the Wolf Clan. I offer you hegira, Jaguars, so that you may return to your masters and warn them that these people are under my protection."
"I am Star Colonel Ratache Osis, freeborn bastard," Ratache retorted, "and I will not run from traitors like you, nor the helpless freeborns you support."
"Then you will die, Star Colonel," Phelan replied. "I have elite MechWarriors and two Points of Elementals to throw at your Star. This battle is mine to win. You and your allies should withdraw. Now."
Ratache clenched his fist angrily. I will show that...
Before he could complete the thought, the UN commander's voice came over the radio. "All forces, retreat immediately," the Frenchwoman barked. "We will break through here later."
At that command the UN troops began to fall back to their APCs to cross the river again. Ratache howled in frustration. "No you cowardly freebirths, fight!"
"It seems your allies have no more stomach for battle," Phelan crowed. "Do you wish to die at my hand, Star Colonel Ratache?"
"Damn you, Wolf! This is not over," Ratache raged. "I will see this world lifeless before I allow your traitorous brood to have it!"
"And my Wolves and I will die before I allow you and your Jaguars to destroy these people," Phelan responded coldly. "You are welcome to try again, we will be waiting."
"I accept hegira, freeborn false-Khan," Ratache hissed. His mind raged angrily at the humiliation of reporting to Howell that he had failed to help the UN Army penetrate the line. Those damned Wolves had ruined everything! "But only this time."
Ratache began backing his Summoner up, prompting his fellows to do the same. Phelan watched them move away on his scanner screen and sighed. "Ranna, Ragnar, looks like we saved the day."
"For now, at least," Ranna sighed. "I have MedTechs on standby."
"Bring them in to help care for the American wounded," Phelan ordered. He lifted the face plate of his neurohelmet and wiped his forehead of sweat. This was only the first shot. Soon this entire world will be a 'Mech battleground. Maybe even enough to rival Tukkayid...
The field hospital for the Minnesotan Volunteers regiment was a scene of organized chaos when Phelan and Ranna stepped into it. They had left their 'Mechs standing outside the hospital and were still in "combat uniform", namely, sleeveless brown shirts with their rank insignias embroidered over the left breast and knee-length brown shorts. A low groan came from a dark-skinned woman on a bed next to where the entrance way was, prompting both to look and watch as a medic tried to remove a bullet lodged in her ribs. To her side a white-skinned male was barechested. Several shrapnel entry wounds had torn across his stomach and abdomen, and a few pieces of shrapnel were still embedded in his chest and just below the neck He gazed at them with drunken eyes before his head fell back down onto the pillow of the cot and eased into sleep from the pain-killing drugs in his system. "We should have brought more MedTechs and equipment," Ranna said as they watched the medical personnel rush to give aid to all of the wounded.
Phelan nodded slowly while walking up to a cot that was covered by a sheet. He lifted the sheet and stared into the dead blue eyes of a pretty teenage girl. He put a hand on her dark hair, which reminded him of Caitlin, before lifting the sheet back over her head. He clenched a fist and walked away from the cadaver. "Triage," he sighed. She looks no older than sixteen.
"Her name was Denise Strouten," a gruff male voice said to him. "She was a fifteen year old girl who lived in Minneapolis, and signed up with the Volunteers just before we had to fall back."
Phelan looked over at the origin of the voice and saw a man in his early forties standing nearby, also surveying the wounded. He saluted to Phelan as a gesture of respect. "Colonel Harlan Davidson at your service, sir. The rank is 'Khan', correct?"
"Khan Phelan Kell, yes." Phelan returned the salute. "Why is a girl her age here?"
Davidson's eyes lowered. "We need every soldier we can get, Khan Kell. And at the very least she's died a swift death in the service of her country, instead of suffering God knows what fate she might have had in the occupied areas."
"You are so pressed for soldiers that you force children her age into service?", Phelan asked, somewhat repulsed by the notion but also sympathizing with the desperation that had brought it about.
"No, draft age is eighteen," Davidson replied. "She signed up voluntarily, which is why she's in the Volunteers."
"The Volunteers?"
"Yes. Units raised by the Army, they were hoping it might get some home morale up to have units composed entirely of volunteer enlistees instead of the draftees." Davidson cleared his throat. "I'd like to thank you, sir. You saved us all."
"It is quite all right, Colonel Davidson." Phelan looked over at another light-skinned soldier, a male of about eighteen, having the sheet pulled over his head as well. "Your casualties were bad?"
Davidson nodded a bit and let his frown grow. "I've got just over 800 men and women in my regiment, sir, and I'd say a good two hundred of them are either dead or dying. I've lost a good half of the remaining armor platoon I had. If you hadn't come, they'd all be dead or dying."
"I see. I have ordered my MedTechs to help in saving those they can."
The tent entrance opened again and admitted two privates carrying Barton on a stretcher. Hayal and Danvers followed behind, up to where Barton was put down on a bed. "Feeling good, Cat?"
She grimaced and winked at him. "Fifth time I've been shot in three weeks, wonderful," Barton gasped with a slight grin. "I'm going to get addicted to painkillers if this keeps up."
"Well, at least you managed to avoid getting a bullet somewhere important," Danvers chuckled. "You have all the luck."
"Noticed that, huh?" Barton leaned her head back. "It'll probably be a while before they work their way to me. I'm not going anywhere. Why don't you two get back to work? Someone's gotta be out at that trench to make sure those bastards don't try again."
Her commander shook his head. "I'll let the others know that their First Sergeant's going to make it," Hayal promised her. "At least you made it. Andy Clark and Cal Culson weren't so lucky."
Barton closed her eyes for a moment. "They were good kids. Wish they could have had better."
"Yeah, I know." Hayal wiped some of the sweat off her forehead with his left hand. "Make sure they get those bullets out of you so I can have you back up front. Sergeant Bergmann's still young, I'd like an old hand out there."
"I'm twenty-seven, you asshole," Barton growled in response, her eyes snapping open in offense. "Don't call me old!"
Hayal snickered. "So am I, but considering that we've got a couple thirteen-somethings in one of the other platoons, and several teenagers, we are pretty old. These are kids who probably don't even know what a dial-up modem is."
"Point taken." Barton sighed. "Well, don't get in any trouble without me. And make sure Marc doesn't fuck up too badly." She looked over at Danvers. "Keep him in line for me, huh?"
Danvers blushed and meekly answered, "I can try."
"Good girl." Barton laid back again. "I'll get out of here ASAP, don't worry. I'll be back out there before those bastards try anything else."
"Take it easy, Cat." Hayal stepped away from the bed, sliding past a medic on his way out of the tent. He looked up and saw the massive "BattleMech" that he had seen before and shook his head, grumbling, "Looks like things around here are going to get real crazy, real fast..."
Landing Pad, 6 km from Cheyenne Mountain
Colorado, United States, Scorched Earth
18 October 2015 S.E.C.
10 August 3058 I.S.C.
It was past midnight when a small convoy of jeeps pulled up to the Union-class DropShip Fang. President Andrews stepped out of the first one with Morgan Kell and Senator Nielson following. The second one disgorged Dan Allard, Representative Rodriguez, and Caitlin Kell, and the third had a fatigued Phelan Kell with Ranna and Evantha Fetladral. Andrews turned back to Morgan and handed him a small disc in a case. "Here, I want you to have this."
Morgan slowly took the disc with his biological hand. "What is on it?" He looked it over in it's clear plastic case, watching the lights from the jeep and the Fang create a rainbow of color on it's surface.
"Consider it proof of just how evil Giuseppe and his people are," Andrews answered. "I can't tell you more, not out here. We've kept a lid on this to protect our deep cover operatives. I'd ask that you only show it to those who need to see it for the sake of our future here."
After a few moments of considering it, Morgan slipped it into a pocket. "I do not know when I will return," he said. "We will probably spend several weeks on Tharkad. But, I have already made the necessary arrangements for the Kell Hounds and what forces are at my disposal to come here and help hold the line. They will also be bringing testing equipment, to judge how many people on your world can be trained as MechWarriors. And as results come in, actual training equipment and BattleMechs will be brought in for your people to train in."
"It will take months to test every available person." Andrews offered his hand. "But we'll make due with what we get. Thank you, Duke Kell. You've given us a real chance to actually win this war."
"The war is not won yet," Morgan reminded him, taking his hand in another handshake. "Let us hope that the Clans are delayed, our hopes here are riding on it. And, if I may be so modest as to my intentions, my homeworld will be the first to be attacked if the Clans succeed here."
"I understand, and it re-assures me. We are both aware of what it takes to defend a person's homeland from foreign conquerers." Andrews turned and began to shake Phelan's hand. "I thank you, Khan Kell. You prevented a strategic disaster."
"It was the best I could do," Phelan said, waving off the praise. "I am still completing the final touches on our reorganization following the Refusal War. When they are finished, I will see about sending a few Clusters in. To keep the Smoke Jaguars quiet."
"My generals look forward to it."
"Yes. And, my Clan will also be doing what it can to further your training. We may even make some raids into Jade Falcon territory to seize some of their equipment." A grin crossed Phelan's face. "I am certain my subordinate Khan will enjoy it very much."
"Again, I thank you."
"President," Morgan began again, "you have my solemn promise that I will do all within my power to make sure the other nations of the Inner Sphere make their own contributions to your defense."
"The free world will be grateful for whatever aid you can render," Andrews said.
Morgan and Phelan both nodded in response for stepping into the DropShip behind the others. Andrews got back into the jeep and told the driver, "Let's go back now." As the jeep drove away, Andrews turned his head and watched the Fang launch, carrying with it the last hope of the free people of the world.
