"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.

[Steve]

With contributions from Orsai.


Chapter 23 — By Right of Blood


Trial Grounds, Beta Galaxy Bivouac
Chukchi
Wolf Empire
Transglass Inner Sphere
14 September 3143



The knife flashed across Alaric's vision as he pulled away from his foe, taking only a cut to his bare chest instead of a stab into his lung. The Wolf Elemental warrior, Thomas, was like all those bred in his phenotype: large, immensely muscular, and quick for his colossal size. Both men were stripped down to the waist, and all those warriors watching could see the contrast. Alaric was quite fit himself, and took pride in his physical training regimen, but he was a MechWarrior and bred closer to human baseline, unlike the two meter tall mountain of muscle and sinew he faced.

He knew all eyes were on him. This was a fight for a Bloodname, and he had done something no MechWarrior in his right mind would have done. He'd been the hunter, his coin had chased Thomas', and he could've made this a fully augmented fight and faced Thomas in a 'Mech-versus-battle armor suit fight. That he'd chosen knives for augmentation was foolish in the eyes of his peers.

But it was the kind of foolishness that forged legends. After retreating from Tharkad, with Liam Ward's hostility known to all, he needed the legend. He needed the prestige of winning boldly and not by exploiting an advantage over his foe. Victory in this fashion would secure the loyalty of more warriors, which he needed to keep his ambitions alive.

Thomas advanced again. There was impatience in the move, and Alaric gladly exploited it. He went low, allowing a knife strike to graze and cut his neck and shoulder as he went into a half roll and drove his knife into Thomas' heel. The giant howled in surprise more than pain as his ankle abruptly stopped working and refused to support his gargantuan size. He lunged in his fall and missed by a millimeter.

Alaric gained some distance. With his leg useless Thomas was effectively crippled. "It is over, yield."

A smile crossed the crippled man's face. "Come and make me."

Yes. You would like that. Alaric carefully studied Thomas, judging his chances if he let himself get within arm's reach of hands that could snap his bones with enough time.

"I smell your fear," Thomas taunted, his smile turned into a sneer. "If you will no longer fight me, yield, Alaric Wolf."

Alaric smiled back. He brought his right arm up and thrust it forward, letting go of his knife almost by muscle memory, given how long he'd practiced this throw.

Thomas' arms weren't in the right place to stop the thrown knife. It slammed into the giant's chest, just below the heart. Flesh and bone sundered from the force and sharpness of the blade. The surprised gurgle from Thomas' throat, and the bubbling spray of blood from the impact, made the extent of the wound clear. He toppled.

Alaric stepped up to his fallen foe. "I need only wait until you bleed out, Thomas. Do you yield?"

He didn't need the reply. The mortal fear in the giant's eyes told him he'd won.




WIthin hours of his triumph, Alaric was stepping into the Clan Council's current meeting space. The injuries he'd suffered were still stinging, added by the entirely-too-deep cut Liam Ward had made on Alaric's hand during the Bloodnaming ceremony. We will have a reckoning yet, Loremaster. But there are greater issues to deal with, like my ascension.

The Clan Council was now fully assembled. It had already been in motion towards Chukchi, allowing for a more rapid assembly than the Wolves' strained communications would have otherwise allowed, though the plan was originally to hold a triumphant gathering in the Triad after its fall. Now a more somber task was at hand.

Garner Kerensky, saKhan of the Wolves, took a seat on the podium near the lectern. Liam Ward was standing there, pale with anger and frustration. He had been hoping for Thomas' victory and my death. Alaric considered yet again when and how he should challenge his slain nemesis' old ally, but the Clan's survival, and the survival of his ambitions, was the greater concern by far. Alaric joined the other senior commanders of the Clan on the outer side of the podium, letting him look out at the assembled Wolf Bloodnamed. They were an assemblage that ran the entire gamut of the rank structure, with the handful of Bloodnamed who had yet to Trial past the basic rank of warrior, a bit more who had managed to reach star and point commander rank, and the more numerous collection of star captains and star colonels that represent the great bulk of the Bloodnamed.

The moment the clock displayed 19:00, Liam called the Council to order. "My trothkin, our Clan faces its gravest crisis since the Blakists unleashed their dezgra forces upon the whole of the Inner Sphere," Liam said. "The forces beyond the rift, the 'Looking Glass', have taken Thuban, Gallery, and our other conquests around Tharkad. Chukchi is likely their next target, and here, we must face and defeat them before their strength grows. The Clan must fight as a pack to survive the Arcadians who vow to destroy us. As such, we must replace our fallen Khan, and I now call for a vote for a new Khan to join saKhan Kerensky. Let us begin the nominations."

Alaric smiled at seeing Chance Vickers beat the others in standing. "Loremaster, I nominate Alaric Ward, who has won many victories against the Spheroids and other Clans." Mumbles of asset came from assembled warriors, including many who held posts in Alpha and Beta Galaxies.

Liam silenced the mumbles with a rapping of his gavel. "I cannot concur with that, but as it is clearly seconded, Alaric's name is on the table. I personally nominate Elise Ward for equal consideration. Of all our forces on Tharkad's, hers is the only one to have not known failure." He said those words with a glance towards Alaric, who contemptuously ignored the barb.

One of the older warriors among the Bloodnamed echoed the nomination.

Elise stood. "Loremaster, I am honored by your consideration, but it is quite clear this could be a divisive election if it is hotly debated, and delay consideration of other important matters. To maintain the unity the Clan needs to face the Arcadian threat, this vote must be swift. As such, if I do not attain a majority on the the first ballot, I will withdraw my name."

"Such is your choice, Galaxy Commander. Any further nominations?"

One of the oldest warriors nominated Liam, which drew a derisive snort from Alaric, and one of the younger star colonels got a small group to nominate her. With four candidates Liam called the vote. None got a majority, though Alaric had a two vote lead on Elise.

Liam sighed deeply. "No Khan is elected."

Elise stood. "I consider my name withdrawn, and I give my vote to Alaric Ward."

It was clear Liam was opposed, but when no other nominations came, and the fourth candidate likewise endorsed Alaric, there was nothing left for him to do. He called the second vote, and this time Alaric won a comfortable majority.

Alaric stood and approached the lectern. "My Wolves, I give you your new Khan," Liam said through clenched teeth. Alaric smiled at him and took the lectern. "Try to remember our Clan before your own ambitions, chalcas," Liam mumbled once he was away from the mic.
"I can say the same for you," Alaric whispered back. "Call me that again and I'll call a Trial of Grievance against you, and I will kill you."

Liam said nothing else but headed to his seat.

Alaric gripped the sides of the lectern. "Wolves, it is not the time for words but actions. The enemy is coming and our defenses must be ready. If we let the foe take Chukchi, not only do we lose vital materials for our aerospace industries, we risk a wider attack into the heart of our hard-won Empire. I call for the Council to adjourn so that the senior commanders, saKhan Kerensky, and I can see to our defensive plans. We will need every warrior to survive what is coming. But we can beat them. I felled the Arcadian ruler Nathaniel after he killed Khan Ward, and I defeated Julian of the Davions when he saved Nathaniel from my claws. Alpha and Beta Galaxies claimed many individual victories in the battle for the Triad, and only the weight of the enemy's numbers kept us from claiming our conquest. For those warriors who have yet to fight this foe, know this. The Arcadians have weapons equal to ours but their warriors are no better than any other spheroid. We are their superior, now and always. And by fighting with unity, we will win."

Howls of agreement came from some of the youngest of the Blooded, and expanded until all but the oldest warriors joined in. Alaric added his own. We will need this spirit. And now… I must find what price Elise expects of me.



The strategy session went well enough. The naval and aerospace assets knew the plan and were moving their ships into position. Scouts were out towards the jump points, ready to relay the enemy's arrival point when they came. The defensive fortifications were the thorniest issue. Clan warriors weren't trench rats by preference, as there was no glory or honor in such fighting. But their Clan faced death if it did not prevail.

Once the session was over, Alaric waited until everyone filled out save Elise and Garner Kerensky. "You have made me Khan," he said. "I expect you will want a consideration."

"Gamma Galaxy will enjoy your full support in providing us the output of the Empire's factories, and leave to purchase the best machines the Foxes will sell us," Elise replied. "After all, Gamma was not defeated at Tharkad. We took our objectives, ruined the Lyrans who resisted us, and held them until hegira was granted."

"Aff. And so you will be rewarded." It will displease Alpha to not gain first pick. But they cannot argue against this logic. "And our attack plan. You do not have objections?"

"Neg, we do not," Garner said. "But we must fight wisely. We cannot replace our WarShips if they are lost, and the Arcadians can."

"Not easily," Alaric pointed out. "The Sea Foxes' intelligence makes clear their fleet would be overstretched if it drew more reinforcements."

"Yet the Foxes have also revealed they can divert ships from Timkovichi, if needed," Elisa added. "The Rasalhaguans and these Communal Leaguers from Sudeten are hunting the Falcons, and the Glass will no longer need to be tightly defended. We will not win this war if we lose all our WarShips in the first bid battle."

"Aff. We will also not win this war if our best troops are ground down and destroyed by their forces," Alaric pointed out. "We must defeat them in the void, and reduce their numbers so our warriors can bleed them dry once they land. Otherwise our defenses will not be enough. We must press the naval attack once the ambush is launched."

"It will be pressed," Garner guaranteed. "But we must preserve them, not just to keep our ships, but to ensure we can withdraw our warriors if the enemy attack is too heavy. Otherwise the Wolf Clan dies on Chukchi."

Alaric nodded. Inwardly he feared the naval commanders would have similar sentiments to Elise and Garner, and the attack would be insufficient. Yet if I try to contradict them… Khans can be removed by vote and even if I kill them in trials, there will be more to come. And the Clan would be too divided to resist. I must accept this caution. I can only hope it does not ruin us.




AFS Sara Proctor
Nadir Jump Point
Gallery, Donegal Province
Lyran Commonwealth
Transglass Inner Sphere
15 September 3143


While not as large as the full CIC, the wardrooms of the Sara Proctor had the added benefit of being on the largest of the armored cruiser's gravdecks, so they provided gravity for Nathaniel and his re-assembled war council while the ship remained at station recharging its jump engine. The war council was rather larger now. His cousin Lord Matthew and General Bridger, Rear Admiral Abdul-Jabbar, Captain Winters, and Colonel Laughlin had been joined by Jasek Kelswa-Steiner and Roderick Steiner to represent the Lyrans, Julian Davion, and two of the mercenary commanders from the Cisglass; Roland Carlyle of the Gray Death Legion, and Group Captain Janice Prohaska of the Blackhawks Aerospace Group.

The wardroom holotank displayed Chukchi system with a side profile of the full known count of Wolf forces. It was a larger assemblage than had assaulted Tharkad. Nathaniel poured over the list and felt a sickness in his gut. This is going to be like one of the big fights in the war. They're too numerous to outnumber and outmaneuver. The bloodshed is going to be…

"No two ways about it, the Wolves mean to make us fight for this planet," Jasek said. "From our pre-existing intelligence and what the Foxes were willing to sell, as much as eighty percent of the Wolf touman is now on or near Chukchi, including most of their aerospace assets."

"Their WarShips are what concern me," said Admiral Abdul-Jabbar. "Our combined picket forces are going to be the deciding factor if they bring their cruisers together for this fight. My available force is only equal at best, given the tonnages of their Star League ships, and it would take us until the end of the year to get any reinforcement."

"And until our COMINTERSTEL friends have the Falcons well and truly in hand, I'd not want to take Donegal and her fleet off of their Glass overwatch duty," Bridger added.

"We have the means to deal with it," Captain Prohaska declared. She cut a fine figure in her dark blue uniform overcoat. A yellow disc and black hawk's head was embroidered over the heart, along with a round double-winged rank insignia. "The Blackhawks train for anti-WarShip fighting as much as we do anything. We took down the Yukikaze over Morthac two years ago, left her a near-crippled ruin."

"We may need that skill, Group Captain, especially if the enemy does as I suspect." Abdul-Jabbar manipulated the holotank controls to zoom in on Chukchi and its moons. "The lunar system of Chukchi will create deep sensor shadows from the jump points, an enemy fleet could hide during our entire burn inward and we wouldn't know it until their drive flares lit off to begin the intercept. Three moons also greatly reduces our margin of error on pirate point jumps, we could never bring enough ships to make the risk worth it."

"We could send our blackwater elements ahead and try to act as a tripwire," Roderick suggested. "Even without using the pirate points."

"You don't want to send them too far ahead, especially if we need your divisions' aerospace fighters to support us. And there's always the risk they've found other ambush points…"

Nathaniel kept listening. It was, as with most issues in war, a question of what risks to take and how to keep them from becoming a defeat. The worst was that, either way, he knew he was about to bring good people to their deaths. If only you'd accepted, Alaric, he pondered. If only you'd agreed to go to our Pentagon worlds, and rebuild your Clan anew. This bloodshed wouldn't be coming.

Around him the talk had shifted to the ground operation plans. The Wolves' concentration of force required an equal commitment, and that need had been met. Nathaniel shivered reflexively at the array of might set to be hurled against Chukchi; in his history, there hadn't been a force like this assembled since the days of the Fourth Succession War, perhaps not since Scipio O'Reilly's invasion of Arcadia in 3099. The entire strength of the Expeditionary Force was represented in those glittering insignia, ones he knew like his own skin; the full Household Guard Corps, the First and Second (Federation) Royal Guards, the Arcadian Rangers, the Bolan Heavy Guards, the Second Strikers and Second Royal BattleMech Brigade, and the two mercenary commands, two of the Gray Death Legion's regiments and the elite hundred-plus fliers of the Blackhawks. Alongside them were other insignia Nathaniel had gotten to know well over the last few months — the Corinthian helmet of Julian Davion's First Guards, the skeletal warrior and charging Zeus of the reborn Tenth Lyran and Fourteenth Donegal Guards, the Lyran First Royal Guards' lion's-head and the gauntlet-and-starburst of the First Buena Guards — and others that were still new; those of the Eighth and Ninth Lyran Regulars, and, surprisingly, a mixed regiment from the Eleventh Lyran Guards down from Lancaster.

The longer the discussion continued, the more Nathaniel felt like an imposter. These were experienced leaders, men and women who had faced far more violence than he, and were far more qualified to lay out the plan. He could see no issues with it. Press, draw enemy elements out to be hit by firepower, break the lines where they buckle and sweep in to encircle and destroy. Yet it would be bloody. The Wolves had proven that to him directly, on Tharkad and on Thuban. This was a slugfest and even victory would see the deaths of good people.

"A shame we can't just leave them to wither," he finally said. It was more a thought he gave out loud than a serious proposition, but it drew attention. Might as well. "Could we not leave them to wither on Chukchi, locked down under a blockade, or perhaps give them a chance to withdraw so we can break them up in smaller chunks elsewhere?"

Matthew shook his head. "I get your thought, my Lord. But we have to take out their army at some point. This means it's not a dozen bloody battles on a dozen worlds. And at least they've set up outside Chukchi's main cities, by our intel. Better to deal with them here."

"And here, with so many of their Bloodnamed elite concentrated, we might be able to convince the Crusaders that they've lost if we beat them," Roderick Steiner weighed in. "A lesson as old as war, Highness; defeat occurs first in the mind of the enemy. Of course, it might not matter, even with that," he added grimly. "They're stubborn."

"Cannae," Julian said, quietly, getting nods from Roderick, Matthew, and a scattering of other officers. Nathaniel frowned. He'd never heard of a world by that name; here or back home. Yet the name sounded familiar.

"Cannae was a battle on Terra between two city-states, Rome and Carthage, my Lord," Matthew explained. "A very long time ago, but it looks like Lord Markesan's tutors shared the interests of my own. Looked at one way, it was an absolute jewel of a battle," he smiled. "As decisive as any commander could want. Utterly shattered the Roman army, killed most of their senior commanders and a third of their damn government, and cheaply at that. But, unfortunately for Hannibal, the Carthaginian commander, he needed them to quit afterwards and they didn't. Just raised new armies and kept fighting; won that war and sacked Carthage, eventually, as I recall."

"I've no desire to be Hannibal," Bridger said. "But I concur. This is the best place to hit."

"At least it won't be Andurien." Roland Carlyle had a distant look in his eyes. "We can win this fast with this much talent on hand. We just have to be decisive."

Nathaniel nodded. "Your point is taken. I apologize for the interruption."

They returned to the discussion. The tactical planning was sound. The heavy elements — led by the Proctor Assault Guards, the Lyran First Royal, and the Bolan Heavy Guards' assault battalions — would launch direct assaults on the enemy's main line, identify their strong points, and set up air and artillery attacks to diminish them, while the Proctor Light Horse, the Second Strikers, and Gray Death Legion pressed any visible flanks or breakthroughs backed by the Tenth Lyran Guards as heavy support. The secondline and reserve forces were allotted, the aerospace assets distributed, and the final decisions made without a further word from Nathaniel. Bridger called the conference to an end and the war council made their way from the room.

"You all right, cousin?"

Nathaniel glanced up at Matthew, the only person left in the room. He drew in a small sigh. "I'm an ornament," he said. "My crown is the only reason I can sit in a room with the likes of Carlyle and Prohaska, yourself, Lord Julian and Lord Jasek. You're the veterans, I'm a lance lieutenant who inherited an interstellar empire. My blood is the only reason I'm here."

Matthew nodded. "I know. You're the youngest Proctor to assume the throne in over a century. I can't imagine how I'd have handled it, so the way I see it, you're doing this the right way."

"Oh?"

"You don't know these things. But you don't pretend you do, and you listen to those who do know. You're here by right of blood and you understand that, you're heeding advice. The real danger would be if you tried to use your right to force us to do stupid things."

"Hrm." Nathaniel nodded. "I see."

"History's full of young or overmatched rulers who didn't. They didn't last long." Matthew folded his hands. "It's also full of good young rulers who died on battlefields well before their time."

Nathaniel turned his head. Their eyes met. "Go ahead, say your peace."

"You've done your part, Nathaniel. You killed the Wolf Khan and held the Narrows, you oversaw the liberation of Thuban. You don't need to be here, and the Federation needs you back in Roslyn, getting married and keeping the Peace of Dieron so that bull mammoth Arnold doesn't break it. Would you please consider going back? DeMarcus and I can finish this."

Nathaniel drew in a breath. It's a temptation. But he kept flashing to the hospitals, to all those dead and dying and wounded soldiers who had followed his orders swho had joined his crusade. "What does it say if I go back home while this war, this crusade I declared, is still being waged?" He shook his head. "I owe it to the soldiers to be here, as they fight and die by my command."

"Dammit all." Matthew sighed and shook his head. "Your great-grandfather used to say the same damn thing. Ethan always pulled that line, right up until the Dowager's knights killed him." His eyes met Nathaniel's again, and Nathaniel didn't flinch. "Well, it's your call."

Nathaniel accepted the concession with a small smile and nod. "Thank you, cousin. You've been everything a ruler can ask for, even if it's not your job."

Matthew chuckled. "Well, I'd better get going, the other Household Guard COs are going to want to hear their assignments. I'll see you later."

"Dinner, I hope? I'd be a poor crusader king to not dine with my generals."

That drew a chuckle before Matthew left.





Matthew went further down the gravdeck, heading for the connection leading to the lateral decks that would take him to the shuttle bay. The rotation of the deck meant he'd have to wait when he got to the door. When he stepped up to the hatch, he found Julian waiting as well, scribbling something on his noteputer with a stencil. "Lord Julian. Didn't make it on the turn?"

"I did not," he replied. He leveled a knowing look at Matthew. "He said no."

"He's too damn much like Ethan," Matthew grumbled. "Proctor stubbornness is worse than Davion, I swear to God."

"You know, it's not altogether a bad thing that he's going to stick it out, at least for now," Julian commented, smiling slightly at Matthew's remark. "Shows he wants to take, to own, responsibility for his decisions at least, and that's a solid foundation for a ruler. Same reason that the First Prince has to serve; to show willingness and ability to take on responsibility for the people of the Suns, and defend those people with their life if they have to." He chuckled, mirthlessly. "I think the idea's supposed to be that they grow out of doing it personally, rather than using the Army and Navy, while they're still young."

"It won't do us any damn good if he gets himself killed when we hit Chukchi."

"True, but that's a risk of him seeing combat at all, and he's pretty clear on being there." Julian shrugged. "At least you and Bridger managed to argue him into keeping the Lifeguards back as our last-ditch reserves."

"Yeah. I just have to pray we don't have to use them. The Federation needs Nathaniel as a living ruler, not a dead martyr." Seeing Julian's curiosity, he sighed. "You've probably read up on the mess twenty years ago. MORNING STAR."

Recognition showed on Julian's face. Matthew had mentioned it on prior occasions, but only in passing compared to Trillian's report. "I've read Lady Trillian's report, yes, and I know enough to figure out what it doesn't say. One quick, overwhelming strike to liberate Sirius and Procyon while the Liaos' attention was elsewhere, fast enough to present a fait accompli to everyone else. Only the intelligence data was wrong, or got misread, and the Liaos were ready for you. What should have been a brief and decisive strike turned into an indecisive bloodbath, and before you could secure either world, the rest of the Sphere intervened to preserve the Dieron peace. They forced things back to status quo ante, and imposed reparations on the Federation."

"Like you were there. You been following me to veterans' association meetings?" Matthew smiled to take any sting out of his words.

"No, but I've heard that kind of thing before." Julian sighed. "Back when I was first commissioned, in the Sixth Syrtis, there were a lot of veterans of the Victoria War still around — my first Sergeant-major for one. We technically won that one, but nobody felt like it, and everyone had their theory as to who was to blame on our side, from Prince Harrison on down."

"Yeah, that figures. Parliament were … less than happy, to put it mildly, about how MORNING STAR fell out," Matthew noted, with what he felt was commendable understatement. "It's one reason we've lagged behind in rearmament compared to some of our neighbors; Parliament got a lot more serious about our military budgets. They cut everything and kept us from rebuilding to the pre-war level. Honestly, I can't blame them; Jackie did the right thing in the end, but she spent too damn long listening to the idiots in the General Staff who thought we could face down the whole Sphere! They're all gone now, thank God; most resigned after MORNING STAR collapsed, and Parliament and the Privy Council forced others into early retirement by threat of being court-martialed. But they left behind plenty of subordinates who saw things the same as they did. People like Lord Arnold. I'm sure you've heard the name, but you've never met the man. I've no doubt he was prepping Jacqueline for another go at the Capellans when she died."

"What I've been hearing is that Lord Arnold gave Trillian no end of hell in the alliance negotiations," Julian said. "Might even have killed the whole thing if he hadn't overplayed his hand, gotten Nathaniel angry enough with him to personally intervene."

"No doubt about it. The man's arrogant enough."

"And you think he'll, what? Try to put himself on the throne?" Julian frowned. "I haven't memorised your line of succession, but I didn't think Arnold was on it."

"Oh, he's on there. So am I; Arnold's higher than me, but we're both pretty near to the bottom. And the law on succession's been pretty well baked-in by now, so he'd need to be willing to start a civil war to jump the queue, or pull a mass kinslaying that even a Kurita would balk at. I don't think he's the type. Though," Matthew let his guard fall, a little. Julian Davion was about the only person he could safely discuss this with. "God knows I'm worried I've never known him as well as I thought. Thing is, he doesn't need to actually take the throne; until Nathaniel and Sophia produce an heir, the next in line is Nathaniel's aunt Melissa. She's about your age, was part of Arnold's military family in MORNING STAR and they've been close ever since, even after she retired from the Army. I don't know her politics as such — Melissa's always kept them quiet — but many of the people and groups she's tight with are in our War faction. And the Maskirovka know it as well as I do, unless they're much dumber than advertised. Nathaniel trusts her, but I don't think he realises how much her associates worry our neighbours."

"I can see that; trusting the wrong people's just as bad as trusting no-one. But, it doesn't seem like there's a lot to do about it, right now at least?"

That merited a nod. "I guess, in the end, I'm just worried Jackie cursed the family with her recklessness," Matthew sighed. Noting the hint of a wan smile on Julian's face, he asked, "Guessing you have a similar issue back home? First Prince Caleb's a bit of a character, I hear."

"Ah, yes. 'Bold' is the term most of his instructors used." Julian's expression shifted, to an uncomfortable mix of amusement and worry. "We were friends, once, but — not for a long time, now. And I wasn't officially read into it, but yes, he's been planning a major attack on the Liaos; Aunt Amanda kept me informed. SUNSHOWER should be jumping off soon; for all I know," and that expression Mathew knew well; the helpless worries of a commander, unable to exert any influence on a battle far away, "it already has."

[Steve]

Orsai wrote this chapter, I did some editing.


Chapter 24 — Echoes Of The Past

First Royal Cavaliers HQ, Cretaceous Basin
Orbisonia, Kathil Operational Area
Capellan March
Federated Suns
Transglass Inner Sphere
18 August, 3143


Thunder rolled across the early morning calm, drowning out for a moment the sounds of nearly seventeen thousand people — a full Regimental Combat Team of the AFFS — awakening to the tasks of the day. Few of them paused at the thunder, for this was Orbisonia, a war-world, and the emptiness of the iridescent blue skies overhead confirmed that it was simply one more in the constant parade of Federated Suns DropShips coming and going.

Standing on a ledge jutting from one of the Basin's coral formations, Caleb Hasek-Sandoval-Davion smiled as he took a deep breath of clean, crisp air. Most people wouldn't think it, given the repair facilities, parts foundries, munitions works and armour rolling plants that sprawled across its surface, but Orbisonia was a clean world; stringently enforced environmental regulations saw to that, ensured the air, water and soil remained clean and safe for future generations. It wasn't that alone that drew one of the Prince's rare smiles, though; the main cause was that he knew the identity of the arriving DropShip. It was the armour transport Ribald Song, carrying the lead elements of the Seventh Avalon Hussars. The final pieces of SUNSHOWER were falling into place, and in a few weeks, they'd be on the move.

Smiling still, Caleb made his way back inside. Corridors bored by long-extinct creatures and high-tech machinery threaded their way through the coral mountain; strung with lights and interrupted at key points by heavy blast doors and security checkpoints, they led deep into the heart of it. There, in a cluster of chambers buried deeply enough that even WarShip bombardment couldn't affect them, the Royal Cavaliers' headquarters had been established.

Accepting a mug of strong coffee from one of the staffers moving around the console- and screen-crowded command centre, Caleb sipped at the hot, bitter liquid as he joined General Justin Sortek at the main holotank.

"Good morning, Highness," Sortek smiled, his boyish good humour reminding Caleb for a bittersweet moment of Julian, of how they'd been before … before. He shied away from that thought like a skittish horse; nobody seemed to notice. "We were just waiting for you; now we can start."

Caleb nodded, taking in the five holographic projections arrayed around the map image; the commanders of the units of Taskforce SHOCKWAVE present. Demosthenes McCarron, the ebon-skinned Heavy Guards Marshal built to the same broad solidity in limbs and chest as his Battlemaster. The Second Guards' Stephanie Krupskaya, a slender, elegant pale blonde in armour crew battledress with cold sniper's eyes. Admiral Min Seung-hyun, the CIC of the Lucien Davion visible behind her. Sebastian Hasek-Cole, the Syrtis Avengers commander flexing his bionic arm, legacy of the Victoria War. And Colonel Vixen Sinclair, commanding the Orbisonia planetary guard; young for her rank and uncomfortable at her inclusion in this meeting, but Caleb had been impressed by the readiness and willing of the Orbisonian guard units.

"So, what's the form for today?" Caleb said. They'd gone over it already, of course, but it never hurt to make sure.

"Able and Delta of the Heavies and the Orbisonia PG as Gold Team defending, Avengers and Baker and Charlie of the Second attacking as Green Team, Cavaliers as umpires," Sortek read off his noteputer. "Attackers, Capellan form; goal's to keep testing how well their augmented battalion setup works against our defensive tactics. Defenders, since we want to account for the Liao penchant for commando ops," he offered an apologetic smile, "I'm afraid your people have to count out any aerospace support, Demosthenes."

"About what I figured," the Heavy Guardsman replied in his deep, grinding rumble. "We'll just have to keep our aerodromes well protected for real."

"Any restrictions?" Krupskaya asked.

"Try to keep close combat to a minimum," Caleb answered. "We want this as real as it can get without mass casualties, but melee fighting is further than I think we want to take it." There were nods at that; BattleMech melee drill was close behind jump infantry training for the number of serious injuries it caused each year, and that was under controlled conditions. Trying it in field exercises was a recipe for lengthy casualty lists and more fatalities than were remotely worth it.

"Maybe we could add a little sporting proposition?" Hasek-Cole suggested. "Troops've been drilling for long enough they're starting to lose their edge. Carrot and stick might get them back on the ball some."

"I like that," McCarron put in. "Grading by companies in each unit; highest performing gets excused duties and a forty-eight-hour pass to Lancaster, double duty for the lowest-scoring?"

There was general agreement to that, and the discussion shifted to details, outlining exercise areas and precise goals. Caleb stood aside from that; he didn't have the experience to interfere there, and it was instructive to watch. As the discussion wound down, Admiral Min spoke up.

"I'm reinforcing the picket groups we have monitoring the Lagrange, Zenith and Nadir points," she said without preamble. "Something doesn't feel right here, and I have no intention of being caught with our shorts down."

"I thought our screening units had reported all clear?" Krupskaya frowned. "That's what their latest status updates said, anyway."

"They did," Min agreed. "That's exactly what's worrying me. The Capellans pulling their horns in from raiding entirely says to me that they're up to something."

"Do it," Caleb ordered softly. "And pass the word to the screening forces at the border, I don't want them caught napping either."

Despite his words, part of Caleb thought that Min was simply being an old woman about the whole thing. He'd spoken with Colonel Kline on Lee and General Dietrich on Cammal less than a week ago, via Black Box, and their reports had been that everything was quiet.

How something could have blown up from nowhere in just a few days, he couldn't imagine …




Great Rift Valley
Cammal, Kathil Operational Area
Capellan March
Federated Suns
Transglass Inner Sphere
21 August, 3143


Colonel Riley O'Kane stamped down hard on his Enforcer III's pedals, spitting vicious curses as its jump jets carried him back into the shelter of the jungle just ahead of a massive volley of long-range missiles. The Capellan salvo tore up the supply road, shredding vegetation and asphalt, reducing trees taller than the Avalon Hussars' BattleMechs to matchwood and demonstrating conclusively that this route was a no-go as well.

On the cameras covering his machine's lower angles, Riley could see jungle critters running, crawling and flying past the 'Mech's ankles, determined to get deeper into the jungles and away from that unknown, unnatural thunder. At that, they're probably showing more good sense than I am.

"Sky-Eye, this is Sugar-lead," Riley ground out, forcing his voice to stay level as his command lance fell back with him. "Tell me you got a fix on those damn launchers this time."

"Negative on that, Sugar-lead." The Cutlass pilot high overhead sounded as frustrated as Riley felt. "The jungle canopy's too thick. Even with the active probe I can't spot those Catapults before they fire, and by then they're displacing." The painfully young pilot's voice took on a somber edge. "ESM's picking up targetware emissions from one Rifleman at least, maybe two, down there. I go down low enough to pick them out for sure, I'm not coming back up."

"Roger that, thanks for trying," Riley replied. If he'd thought it'd achieve anything, he would have ordered them down. But it wouldn't, and he wouldn't expend a life simply to salve his pride. "Stay on station until relieved, Sky-Eye. Let us know if they start pushing."

"Roger that."

Riley shot a wistful look at the mist-shrouded valley walls as he set out ground-bound pickets. If they could just break out into the open spaces of the Great Rift Valley proper … ! But that wasn't an option. The brittle black rock wouldn't take the weight of any of the Shooting Stars' jump-mobile machines, and they just didn't have anything heavy enough to bull through on the ground.

"Command," he called in on HQ frequency, "another no-go. ASR Seventh Veil is covered by hostile fire."

"Acknowledged, Colonel." Frustration edged General Dietrich's voice. "Set out pickets and then get back here. We'll just have to see about coming up with another option."




The air-conditioned coolness of the ground ops centre aboard Joyous Gard was a welcome contrast to the close, oppressive mugginess outside. But it wasn't doing anything to lift the moods of anyone present.

"You're sure there's no viable ground route out?" General Dietrich asked, tone sour as he studied the holomap, displaying a sixty-kilometre circle around the Hussars' field base. The wirey, jockey-like man stalked around the main holotank, glaring angrily at the jade icons.

"Positive," Riley said. He highlighted a series of roads. "They've got heavy demi-companies covering these routes. Those are the only viable ones for us to break out along, and the terrain means we'd effectively have to come at the Cappies one at a time."

He exchanged worried looks with Colonel Lee Tae-yeon, head of the local guard regiment, and nicknamed 'Tiny' for the obvious reason of being nearly seven feet tall and built like she could bench press a Destrier. Ordinarily Dietrich's pugnacious, bull-at-a-gate style was useful — a cavalry officer without aggression was a sorry thing indeed — but if he decided to try straight charges down the roads…

"My people can start work on blinding their spotter network, at least," Tae-yeon said, to a reluctant nod from Dietrich and a rather more enthusiastic one from Riley. He'd watched the Cammal Mounted Infantry at work; their teradons could climb like nothing else he'd ever seen, the big hexapedal reptilians taking nearly sheer cliff walls without breaking stride. And the local wildlife got big, and bad-tempered, enough that sensible gear for excursions into the jungles meant weapons which were a serious threat to battlesuited infantry; as witness, the chunky malevolence of the heavy-gauge blazer rifle sling across Tae-yeon's back.

"Even with that, sir, I think the suborbital hop plan's the option we've got to go for. I know you don't like it," Riley noted, seeing the sour look on Dietrich's face, "but despite the risks, we need to get into open ground somehow, and it's—"

They were interrupted by a naval officer, from Joyous Gard's comms section.

"General, Colonels," the sublieutenant saluted. "We've gotten a signal through to one of our JumpShips."

As it turned out, that was overstating things, a little. The signal link was bounced through two comms satellites to the JumpShip Airavata, in a high polar orbit over Cammal II, with almost seven minutes of transmission lag to the rocky inner planet. But it was something.

Even with bearing little but bad news.

"I'm Sublieutenant Tran, sirs, assistant engineer," the youthful naval officer on the main comms board said. Despite the poor transmission quality, they could see her amber skin was pale with shock, one arm cased in a gel-filled support cast and bound tightly to her chest, and a bloodstained bandage wrapped around her forehead. "I… I think I'm in charge."

Riley shared a look with Dietrich; communicating mutual horror. Airavata was a fully crewed military Star Lord, and assistant engineer meant Tran was ninth in her chain of command. Unfinished Book, how heavy had her casualties been?

"It's alright, sublieutenant. Just tell us what happened." Dietrich layered his voice with calmness and paternal charm, which Riley thoroughly approved of. Shouting would just fray Tran's already badly worn nerves even further.

"Yes, I… yes, sir." Tran took a deep, steadying breath. "When the Cappies jumped in, most of the flotilla was able to jump clear. We got caught in the middle of refuelling and recovery ops, and they sent a couple of fighter squadrons after us. Our escorts got them, but not before they strafed the daylights out of the Command and Comms modules, and tore up our sail pretty badly. After that …"

The story came out over an hour, the harrowing emergency jump into the inner system and a litany of systems failures and hasty repairs that left Riley feeling profound respect for sublieutenant Tran, as much as she downplayed her own role.

"…And that covers it up until we got main comms back online about two hours ago." Tran's expression shifted, looking worried. "No sign of the Black Box, though. I think it must have been lost when the Comms module went. I'll get our logs downloading to you."

"Good work, Leftenant," Dietrich nodded. "Get some rest; you look like you need it. My staff'll get with your second officer if we need anything." Tran nodded, saluting before the screen blinked out. Dietrich turned to face Riley and Tae-yeon. "I'm writing Tran up for the Star, at least; Medal of Honour if I can swing it."

There was nothing to do but nod at that, and before Riley could shift topic, one of the sensor techs spoke up.

"Sirs," he said as the senior officers clustered around his screen, "Airavata got a good look at the Cappie flotilla before she jumped in-system." The sensor readings came up on the display, and Riley felt his heart drop into his boots at the scale of it. This was no raid, but the vanguard of an all-out invasion.

"At least four 'Mech regiments," Dietrich commented after a moment's study. "I'd say four and a Warrior House, plus the battalions they've got bottling us up and fleet regiments; looks like enough collars for a bit over three RCTs, but the Cappies run much lighter conventional elements than we do."

"That what I think it is?" Tae-yeon asked, indicating the largest contact.

"Feng Huang class cruiser, ma'am," the sensor tech nodded. "The sensor picture's not good enough to tell which, but…"

Nothing else really needed saying. Whichever of their cruisers it was, the Capellans would only commit one to a major offensive; showing up here, that meant one aimed for Kathil — and, more importantly right now, for Orbisonia, where the regiments of Taskforce SHOCKWAVE were mustering.

And without the Black Box, we can't warn them.




Orbisonia, Kathil Operational Area
Capellan March
Federated Suns
Transglass Inner Sphere
26 August, 3143


Late into the evening watch cycle, FSS Centurion's bridge was a place of calm, quiet peace.

Commander Francine Trevayne smiled. Centurion was as good as new; an Arondight fresh out of refit in the Federated-Boeing yards over Delavan. Over a hundred Navy personnel and Marines, more firepower than a 'Mech battalion — in conjunction with her squadron mates, visible on the main holotank making their long circuits through Orbisonia's primary near-orbit jump point, enough to end a small war in minutes — and it was all hers to command.

Or it will be, she noted, her expression souring at the persistent orange indicator on the weapons status board, if we ever get the damn Kraken launcher working right.

As if on cue, a comms request lit on her board.

"Captain, ma'am." Midshipwoman Colmer, exhausted and with her shipsuit half-off, tied around her waist to reveal a sweat-stained t-shirt, snapped off a quick salute. "I'm pretty sure we've found the problem with the Kraken. It's in the software, not the hardware; looks like the newest update broke something. It keeps locking the autoloader into maintenance mode. I should be able to fix it in an hour or so; less if we need it, but I'll have to stay on-mount in that case."

"Good work, Mid," Francine nodded. "Get it fixed, and then I want you off duty and in your bunk. You're not going to do us any good if you're out of it from missed sleep."

As Colmer acknowledged and signed off, Francine brought up the latest bit of electronic bump from the Watchtower — revisions of smallcraft maintenance schedules, from the title — and was about to start skimming it when the sensor watchstander called to her.

"Ma'am," he said, an odd edge to his tone, "did we have a near-orbital arrival scheduled for today?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Francine frowned, calling up the data. No, the next scheduled arrival was the Fourth Crucis Lancers, two weeks from now, and they were going to use the nadir point. "No, nothing. Why?"

In answer, the sensor tech pushed the data to the main holotank, and Fracine felt her blood run cold. Jump precursors were flickering into existence at the close-orbital lunar point; dozens of them, far more than the Fourth Crucis. Shock froze her reactions for a moment, and then her hand slapped down on the GQ alarm.

"All personnel, set battle readiness Condition One, all compartments," she said over the intercom, voice raised to carry over the alarm's shrill atonal shriek. "Comms, send to Fleet Command and ground HQ, 'Enemy forces in-system, currently unknown but significant strength'."

Her exec arrived on the bridge in time to hear that last statement, although Leftenant Farant was experienced enough to merely raise one eyebrow as he took his station at Gunnery Control.

"I know. If that's wrong, I'll be lucky to command a two-person Periphery listening post," she said. "But I'd rather risk being a damned fool."

And besides, she added to herself as the jump precursors started solidifying into hard contacts, I know I'm not wrong.




Freshly dressed after his evening shower and thinking pleasant thoughts about his plans to get back into the field with the Avengers armour brigade, Caleb Hasek-Sandoval-Davion was busy towelling his hair dry when the alarms began. Shock froze him for a moment, and then, towel thrown aside, he was sprinting for the command centre, sealing up his uniform jacket and grabbing his armoured vest from a chair back as he moved.

Twice as he moved through the corridors, Caleb was forced to step aside and wait as squads of armoured infantry thundered past. The delays made him grind his teeth in frustration, but not even a Prince could argue with eight tons of battle armour moving at speed.

By the time Caleb reached the command centre, events were in full flow. The holomap was tuned to display the orbital zone overhead, swarms of jade and gold tactical markers interlaced, and General Sortek giving out strings of orders to a cluster of staff officers.

"…tell Commodore Brigatta that I don't give a damn if it's difficult. Her fighters and ground crews will be on their way to their dispersal fields within fifteen minutes or she will be under close arrest pending court-martial," Sortek was saying as Caleb arrived. Then, as the staffer scurried off, Sortek braced to attention. "Highness."

"General." Caleb nodded in return, freeing Sortek to relax. "What's the situation?"

"Confederation forces in system, engaging our aerospace units. Emergence was fifteen minutes ago, and they're pushing hard for the ground." Sortek indicated the holomap. Caleb set to studying it, trying to discern the complex array of course projection lines and multicoloured dots.

"I didn't think Daoshen could be this bold," he whispered, recognising the identifier code for one contact; a capital ship, one of less than a dozen such vessels left in the Inner Sphere. If the Capellans were risking it, then things truly were serious. "Do we have ID on that cruiser?" Caleb called out.

"Tracking puts it at about seventy percent confidence she's the Aleisha Kris," one of the naval staffers replied. "Another few minutes and we should have her electronic signature fixed for sure."

A burst of cheering broke Caleb's focus, and he looked across to bright gold lines spreading out from an icon tagged as C-31.

"Lucien Davion's joined the fight," Sortek explained as he saw Caleb's momentary confusion at the map coding. "This is going to be something, Highness; the first clash of capital ships for fifty years."



Centurion's deck shuddered at another impact. This one felt deeper, as though it had punched inside rather than just chewing up armour.

"We just lost one of the aft laser clusters," Farrant said, his fingers dancing over the weapons console. "Not destroyed, but out of the director circuit." He checked the boards again; and cursed. "Damn! Another hit like that, we lose that quarter's AMS cluster."

"Com-scan, backtrack," Francine said, her eyes taking in the full tactical plot. "Get me the source." She brought up near-space visual on her own secondary board. Both displays showed chaos. Fighters and Pocket WarShips clashed throughout the orbital zone, drive flares, missile tracks and the flash of energy weapons interlacing in a demented cat's cradle of light and fury centered around the Capellan troop carriers burning for the ground. Above it all, the leviathan capital vessels duelled, the thrust and parry of energy weapons and missiles crisscrossing. So far, it looked like the Lucien Davion had the edge, her heavy ship killer missiles smashing a capital laser cluster to wreckage, but—

"Got them!" The com-scan rating called out. "Cappie Vengeance conversion, two-eighty klicks vertical relative to us. Highlighting on the main tank." The holodisplay zoomed in, red circling a jade icon. "The Charybdis, Moonstar and Tracer squadrons report in position to support our attack run." Francine tracked the icons; an Overlord-A3A, a squadron of Daggers and another of Cutlasses, the fighters with NL-45s in support.

"That'll do. Helm, get ready to bring us bow-on to the Cappie, thirty-second burn right at them," Francine ordered, before flipping the intercom live. "All hands, secure for hard manoeuvring. Thirty-second burn, t-minus two minutes."

She had time to double-check her shock frame was secure, and to hope that everyone had gotten the word. Then came the familiar gut-wrenching sensation as the maneuvering thrusters flipped Centurion end-over, followed by the sustained kick in the spine as the main drives lit, shoving them on a new vector.

"Guns, engagement is yours," Francine managed to force out past the G-forces.Then it was down to simply watching the tactical plot for a need to step in, and trusting her crew.

Charybdis' missiles came screaming in from astern, full-scale capital munitions that drew the Capellan gunners' eyes and fire as the fighters slashed down from "above" the Capellan dropper. Light-calibre missiles rippled off the Cappie's topside launchers, scores — more than a hundred — reaching for the Davion fighters, but they'd trained for this. The formation shifted, bringing the gunships and Cutlasses forward, their electronic warfare suites projecting overlapping bubbles of white noise and false targets. Tightly clustered missiles scattered, seekers blinded or chasing ghosts; blitzing strings of powered flechettes from the gunships' antimissile arrays blazed a trail of fire through the few that remained on target. Gauss slugs, gem-bright laser beams, the whiplash arcs of particle cannon and storms of lethal metal from the Daggers' and gunships' autocannon struck back, wreathing the Vengeance in a cloud of shattered armour, wreckage and flash-frozen mists of air and water; a spray of defensive fire caught one of the Cutlasses across the cockpit, sent it tumbling away out of control.

But the rest flashed by, flipping to begin deceleration, just as Centurion's main drives cut out.

"Range-field clear, shooting solution locked," Farant sang out, his lilting, almost musical Sun Prairie accent thicker than she'd ever heard it. "All forward guns, follow director and prosecute to destroy!"

The whole ship seemed to shudder at the slamming force of the forward cannon array lighting off as one — Francine knew that was an illusion, caused by the bridge's proximity to the cannons' recoil spaces, but the worried looks on some of the young faces about the compartment reminded her that only she, Farant and Bosun Moore of Centurion's crew had ever fought ship-to-ship.

"Helluva way to earn our pay, isn't it, Rodriguez?" Francine remarked to the closest crewer, a radar tech who sat up a little straighter, buoyed up and nodding at her comment.

The long-range optics display was shunted to the main tank, the reality of the sterile language of track-markers and damage codes in silent blossoms of light and metal walking along the Cappie's belly from bow to stern. Armour splintered away, atmosphere gushing outwards and — though she couldn't see it — almost certainly taking bodies with it.

"Captain," Farant subvocalised over her headset, "their fire control reads as offline."

"Continue engagement, Leftenant," Francine rebuked him gently. "Remember the Endeavor." Farant didn't respond verbally, but the cannon fire kept going.

In the end, the Vengeance didn't die in the glare of nuclear annihilation or a detonating main magazine. It just … broke apart under the cannonade, one of Centurion's last shots a deftly guided Kraken that broke her keel.

"Cease engagement," Francine ordered. "Prep to launch smallcraft, let's see if we can nudge a couple of those pieces that still have atmosphere into a stable orbit. Marines to—"

"Karman line breach; Capellan troop carriers are at atmospheric interface."

Fracine wanted to swear at the truth of that, writ plain as the tank display zoomed out to general orbital display. Jade icons swarmed into the upper reaches of Orbisonia's atmosphere; some continuing down, others shedding droppods like lethal snow. AFFS interceptors rose to meet them, but the Capellan fighter screen parried all too much of their strength. Capellan icons flared and died; too few to make much difference.

And, up here in the higher orbits, there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

"Coms, signal the flag and find out what we're supposed to do now." The capital ship engagement had broken off; the Lucien Davion and Aleisha Kris trading a last few desultory shots as they maneuvered into different orbits. "Helm, find me our squadron's tender; magazines need topping up. Someone get me a casualty and dam-con report."

And start praying for the ground forces, she thought, watching the Liao tide falling on Orbisonia. Because they're gonna need it.




"I'm heading outside," Caleb called to General Sortek as he began making his way out of the command centre. "I have to see this!"

To his credit, Sortek didn't waste time arguing. He just nodded, gesturing for a pair of infanteers to accompany Caleb before returning to giving out streams of orders.

A quick sprint through the corridors — almost empty now, save for the repulse squads and defence positions at critical points — brought Caleb and his escorts to one of the ledges, looking out across the Basin proper. A team from the Royal Cavaliers were just finishing setting up an observation post when he arrived, with field telephones and radios resting on empty ammo boxes; heavy laminated field service maps unfolded and pinned up on walls, covered in scrawls of marker pen; tripod-mounted long-range optics and rangefinders. And, set into sandbag firing positions, a pair of infantry-support Magshots and a heavy four-tube StarStreak ground-to-air missile launcher.

In the valley floor below, the Cavaliers' cantonment was like a kicked termite mound underscored by the deep rumble of massed engine noise, crimson and grey tanks, personnel carriers and BattleMechs moving at speed, guided by the frantic imprecations and waving lightwands of the Military Police pulling traffic control. The ready battalions were already on their way to their dispersal points; ribbons of metal and people moving out for the wide arc of defensive positions that should make the Cavaliers a harder target for orbital fire.

Overheard, contrails chased one another back and forth across the vivid dusk sky with missiles, energy fire and lethal projectiles. Some fell, trailing smoke, others breaking away from or rejoining the fight; above, a backdrop to the aerial combat, the fiery trails of Liao DropShips and droppods clawed across the heavens like the talons of some great beast. Scores of them, easily; probably more than a hundred that he could see.

Caleb shuddered at the thought of the Liao cruiser high overhead. If there hadn't been some kind of warning, if the Navy hadn't been deployed ready for battle … the first we might have known would've been orbital fire erasing half the Cavaliers.

Shuddering again at the thought of Fate being that cruel, Caleb turned and headed back inside. There was work to do now, for the Prince of the Federated Suns.

Behind him, the skies continued to burn.

[Steve]

Co-written with Captain Orsai. Slacker approved the writing of Grace.

Chapter 25 — The Councils of War



Davion Palace
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March
Federated Suns
Cisglass Inner Sphere
4 September 3143


The Privy Council chambers hadn't changed in decades, not since their rebuilding following the Kuritan invasion in 2858, the last gasp of the dying Combine of the time. Even the Terrans hadn't managed to damage the chamber in their siege of the city in 3050, given how well the rest of the palace was rebuilt for resisting attack.

First Prince Grace Silver-Davion sat at the head of the table, the sigil of the Federated Suns cast in amber and gold on the back of the chair, every bit as resplendent as the white and gold state robes she wore for meeting the leaders of her government. With one exception they were all present; the ministers led by First Minister Bao, the Arch-Dukes of the Marches, and the heads of the AFFS, the Grand Admiral of the Navy and Marshal of the Armies. Her husband Erik sat near her, wearing the regalia of the Arch-Duke of Crucis March, as he served as her designated representative. Their eldest son Prince Arthur sat down the table with the ministers, as the Minister of Ways and Means.

Grace paid particular attention as he spoke. Over thirty years before, she'd held that post, and for much the same reason. The Ministry of Ways and Means was the Government of the Federated Suns, in some respects; it managed finance and commerce, controlling everything from currency minting and printing to taxation to interstellar trade and ensuring the funding of every aspect of the government and its chosen policies. As such it had, since the days of Julian Davion's reformed Crucis Pact in the 30th Century, been the preferred training position for the heir, to ensure the future ruler understood how the government was funded and supported.

"Despite some pessimism the Azami have fulfilled their '43 interest payment on the post-war loans," Arthur said, consulting his tablet. "This gives us a further sixty-three billion pounds for the bond repayment fund…"

The bane of rulers since the days of ancient Terra. Finance. Grace always felt headaches at it and, in darker moments, that fond wish to just tell people what money she wanted and what she wanted done with it, no need to worry about state bond rates, interest payments, and that other minutiae that could dictate whether a state's financial system hummed along or went into a nosedive. She blamed her paternal grandfather for this. It's so much easier to be a pirate king…

Arthur finished his summation of the Suns' finances. It was, on the whole, good news. The Suns' recovery from the Fourth Succession War was, economically speaking, complete. The debt load of the government was lighter, their credit rating had gone up again, and the economies of worlds in the St. Ives and Taurian Marches had completed their adjustments from the worlds lost to the Great Capellan Backstab of '18. It had taken nearly a generation, but the Suns were back on the same sound footing they'd enjoyed when Grace took the throne from her mother Victoria in 3107.

Yet things are different now. Two long hostile borders, the Capellan naval yards are churning out over a dozen new battleships, and our best ally against them is busy fighting fursuited neobarbs in an alternate Inner Sphere.

Arthur sat down, having completed his final remarks. "Excellent news, Your Highness," First Minister Bao pronounced. "Given current matters, it is a relief to know that the Federation's economy is on sound footing."

"Quite well done, Minister," Grace agreed. Erik gave a nod of agreement, and their son returned it.

"Now that regular state business is handled, before we adjourn the Council, I wish to speak on the emerging situation," Bao said. "The incident at Tikonov last month, and the complication to our strategic situation it has brought."

"Prime Minister Timoshenko has promised she will make no aggressive moves through the new Glass without consulting us," said the Minister of Foreign Relations, Countess Romana Green-Cavanaugh.

"Nevertheless, Tikonov's security is compromised," Bao said. "The report that Lord Cunningham acquired from the Sea Foxes on Arcadia shows clear indications of an imminent Capellan advance on the other side. Can we trust that the other Capellans will not attempt to cross? And if they do and we have to fight, that will complicate our defensive posture."

"Not as greatly as you fear, First Minister." Lord Alastair Danton, the head of MIIO, spoke concisely. "The Concord's been moving troops about and our estimate is they're going to launch some kind of strategic counter-attack against the Combine in the near-future. Their troop movements are admittedly opaque—"

Erik smacked a hand on the table, interrupting the spymaster. "Your last report indicated they'd moved troops and ships towards us, not away," he pointed out. Grace restrained a grimace. Her husband's tone was a bit too heated, but it often was when it came to the people occupying his homeworld.

"Yes, it did, and I stand by that. But fresh intelligence indicates it as a troop rotation, not a buildup. A number of the units moving to the border are confirmed as being involved in Outworld campaigns. Nor do we see sign of a buildup of supplies for any operations against the Suns."

"We should still be ready, remember '19," Erik growled.

"I do, my Lord," Danton replied icily. "It's why MIIO has devoted so many resources to developing sources in the KSDF. But I stand by my people."

"As you should," Grace said, casting a brief silencing glance at her husband. If we'd managed to salvage Robinson, at least, it might not have been so bad. She'd spent over twenty years with that thought in her head and imagined she'd keep it until she died. "What about the Dracs?"

"It's a harder job there. Our efforts to penetrate their military HPGs have failed, the ISF's caught everyone who got close. We're still overly reliant on HUMINT sightings and observations. Azami sources confirmed the Fifth Sword of Light is on the way to either Cebelrai or New Wessex, and we have some confirmation that numerous regiments of Tok Do and Pesht Regulars are on the move. It could just be internal shifting, of course, even a transfer of material but not pilots."

"Or it's a buildup," Grace said.

"Another possibility, yes, and one the Azami are particularly interested in observing. We do have some few contacts with SIS and RISO, enough to know the Arcadians and Rasalhaguans are monitoring this as closely as they can. Unfortunately the trade across the border is still quite thin, and most of the commerce is Drac and Capellan ships. Our sources are just not wide enough to draw as effective a picture. That said, given the fighting in the Outworlds, the Dracs would have to be lunatics to focus everything on that front."

"They are lunatics, unfortunately," Grace observed. "And what do we have on the Capellans?"

"We have strong suspicions that they learned about the Tikonov Glass very quickly, for one, or at least the USD does and I've no reason to think them wrong. They're quietly looking for more Liaoists again. Our concern is that we have indications that the Emperor Jonah and Normann Aris finished their refits early and are back in service, though not where. And the Ser Arthur Klaes is already in shakedown. One of our people even verified the first crews arriving for the King Alexander's shakedown. We expect operational deployment by the end of the year or early in the next."

"So we do," said Grace. "But I'm more concerned about the two ships in the wind."

"We have a possible sighting at Krin of a Celestial Wisdom-class WarShip that could be either the Aris or the Emperor Jonah. The source was on a civilian JumpShip recharging nearby and they could not determine more. It was noted that activity at Krin's zenith point was greatly higher than it had been mere months ago, and the military exclusion zone expanded. The Empire's even made one of their recharge stations off-limits."

"That's just two jumps from the border," Arthur said. "We should reinforce Harloc PDZ then."

"We have defenses ready, I assure you, Your Highness," Admiral Morgan said.

Arthur nodded silently, but Grace could see her son wasn't content. Ursula and her family wouldn't be happy either at the threat to their world. Though New Avalon enjoyed little more security, with the Concord three jumps away. How we have gotten used to this… "Make sure, Admiral, Marshal, that everyone's ready. With the Arcadians distracted, Robert Liao might decide he's got the perfect opportunity to go for outer Victoria."

"There's always the Flavians," First Minister Bao said.

Grace scowled. "You can't trust those Roman costume players," she said. "The Arcadians did, and that's why I lost good people at Duncan Station. And I'm certainly not trusting Imperatrix Julia given some of the things MIIO has reported."

"Lord Alaistair's profession requires a certain cynicism, Highness," Bao said, "and Julia is certainly not her father, but some of the things reported are… perhaps farfetched."

"Patricide is an O'Reilly family tradition, First Minister, so no, I don't put it past her."

Bao sighed. Before he could do more, Admiral Morgan spoke up. "Our representatives on Arcadia have heard many in Roslyn who share our concerns about the Empire. Some of them even think we should act first."

That prompted a glare from the First Minister. "No," Bao growled. "We can't even fathom it, unless you want to bring my ministry down. The Social Democrats would bolt from the Government."

All heads turned towards the Minister of Industry and Development, Vincent Alvarez, a member of said party. "We would," he confirmed. Morgan sullenly glared, and Grace noted a number of the others doing the same, including Marshal Gutierrez and his cousin Rose, Arch-Duchess of the Periphery March.

"That's your right," Grace said, "and I've little desire to shatter the Peace of Dieron. Especially not at my age. We agreed on defensive buildup only and we're sticking to that. So let's settle down now." She put a little heat into those words. I'm not in the mood for politicking. "Marshal, Admiral, we have forces in place to aid Tikonov, yes?"

Gutierrez answered for them. "Colonel Victor has the First Davion Guards RCT and the Achilles' squadron, as usual, and we've detached the Fourth Colorado Zouaves from Talcott to back him. The Heavy Guards and the Second Guards are ready to join them if absolutely necessary, along with their naval support."

"Very good," said Bao. "The Prince's Champion being present will reassure our allies and the populace, and we can focus on other matters. Speaking of, with no other matters before us, shall we adjourn, Highness?"

"We shall," Grace said, even as she noted the intent look on Admiral Morgan's face. My day hasn't ended yet, however.




Half an hour later, Grace busied herself with another state paper when one of the secretaries signaled an unscheduled visit. "Send Admiral Morgan in," she replied over the intercom.

Morgan entered. "Highness. You were expecting me." A slim smile crossed the younger woman's face. "You always did."

"You shouldn't have been so damned predictable," Grace teased. "But we have come a long way from when I was commanding Temeraire and you were one of my watch leftenants. I suspect you have more to say on the Arcadians' feelers?"

"I do. I wasn't going to say it in front of Bao or especially the SocDems on the Council. But our attaches on Skye and Arcadia have had some contacts with the AFRF. Fairly high-ranking, from their reports, including the Governor-General on Skye and staff officers for their Planning Department heads. The Arcadians aren't telling us everything yet but…" Morgan pulled from her jacket a data drive. "May I?"

Grace nodded. She had a feeling what she was about to see, especially given what she knew about the AFRF's upper echelons and the head of the Planning Department, Lord Arnold. It was best to make sure.

Morgan made her way to the desk and offered the drive to Grace. Grace took it and slotted it into one of the input ports for her desk computer. Within seconds it haad decrypted the data and activated the desk's small holo-projector. A starmap of the Rimward Inner Sphere appeared and focused on the Oriento-Capellan Empire. Blue and green WarShip profiles popped up across the magenta-toned Royal Federation and dark red Flavian Principate, from which dotted lines went through various systems and terminated at specific parts of the Empire. At the top of the projection, the words EAGLE CRY flashed to life.

Boras. New Delos. Fletcher. Oriente. The main naval yards of the Empire. Grace rubbed at her head. "Jacqueline…" she murmured. Dammit, we had our war. Did you really want another one on your heart and soul at our age?! "They trusted this to us?" she asked bluntly.

"It is marked as a case study," Morgan said. "Though we suspect it was more."

"This isn't a case study, Gloria, let's be damn clear about it. This is a war plan. The Royal Federation was planning a pre-emptive strike on the Empire with the Principate."

"And if we joined it, we could get all their yards. A dozen Imperial battleships, future threats to the security of the St. Ives March, could be reduced to twenty million tons of ruin in a day." Morgan used her hand to indicate the Empire's Victoria Commonality. "Without their Navy, the Empire can't hold everything. We could settle the account now. We could reclaim every system they stole from us in '18, and more besides. We could break the Empire forever."

Grace stared at the map. She knew it was a gamble. This would cause another war. The Fifth Succession War.

Though she said nothing, her thoughts quickly got an answer. "The Concord and Combine are too busy fighting each other," Morgan insisted. "COMINTERSTEL's more likely to dig into the Combine than hit the Arcadians, and the Azami economy would shatter the moment they turned on us for the Empire, if they even dared. And we could always offer the Arcadians a greater share of the Sirian Commonality to get Sabik back for the Confederation."

Grace nodded slowly. "True." I'm considering this. Am I? Why shouldn't I? The Empire's naval buildup is the greatest threat to the Peace now, even more than the Outworlds fighting. If we shattered their fleet, reclaimed our worlds, trimmed the Empire down to size… it could work. It'd permanently end a very big threat and give us breathing space.

But the risk, especially now, especially with the Glasses… "Maintain contact with the Arcadians, and bring MIIO in. Lord Alastair won't go blabbing to Bao, I'm sure," Grace said. "But do not say we will do this; make sure the Arcadians don't think we will. Not yet."

"We're running out of time."

"I know, but this… it's not something I can commit to. There's too many unknowns here, and most of them could blow up right in our face."

There was disappointment on Morgan's face. "Yes, Highness. Is there anything else?"

"For one, don't give me that look, it brings back too many memories," Grace said. "And consider one of those unknowns."

"Highness?"

Grace gestured to the hologram. "This isn't High King Nathaniel's planning. He'd never approve this, or anything like it; he's been very clear about that. So. Just why are Lord Arnold and his people trying to get us to commit to something the ruler of the Royal Federation would never, in a million years, agree to do?" And just why did that viper Arnold think I wouldn't notice that 'little detail'.

Morgan pursed her lips. "Maybe they figure they can convince him."

"Or maybe they're going to try and come up with a fait accompli while he's off fighting the Clans," Grace said. "If MIIO's information on Princess Melissa's associations is right, they might have the current heiress to the throne helping, but that's the point — we don't know. I'm not going to risk tying us to a rogue operation — or worse, the wrong side of a civil war. Beyond the political and diplomatic fallout, which would be catastrophic, I've got no interest in playing hireling there. It'd be as bad as Gregory Liao sucker-punching us back in '18."

"I beg to differ, Highness," said Morgan. "Though I do understand your concern. I'd not want us to commit and attack just to have Nathaniel suddenly shut down their end."

"If you were reckless enough to chance that, I'd sack you." Grace pulled the drive from her desk. "This is highest clearance. Show it to Lord Alastair and not another soul. Not your staff, not your confessor; not even my husband. Have your people start sounding out their Arcadian opposite numbers — quietly, discreetly — about exactly how serious this is, and how much support it has. Not," she tapped the drive against her desk for emphasis, "what Arnold wants us to think, but actual support for an effort to force Nathaniel's hand."

"Yes, Highness. Permission to be dismissed?"

"Granted." Grace nodded at the farewell salute and watched Morgan depart. Alone, she could now rest her head in her hands to nurse the headache she felt growing. I don't know if I could do this, even if it was the smart play, she thought quietly. What a way to be reminded…

Her mind went to Jacqueline Proctor. They'd met before, during the Dominate War, and then at the Congress of Dieron. With her and Gregory Liao dead, I'm the last monarch of our generation, the generation that grew up in the broken promise of the Robinson Accords, the first war with the Concord and Galedon, and all of that petty fighting afterward. The others only knew what came after, and the holocaust of the War…

The War. Grace had seen her realm suffer and come out, by most metrics, one of the losers. The glorious moment of Restoration shattered in the desperate sweep of the Concord's battered armies after the Capellans dug the blade into their backs. But she'd been lucky personally. My father was already dead, my mother survived the war. My children all came home. I can watch Arthur grow into a capable ruler. Jacqueline didn't get that. She lost her father to war, her mother to illness, and then her oldest son… God, she was so bitter, would I have been that way had Arthur died on Harloc, or Eric fought to the death on Robinson? Maybe I would have already broken the Peace.

It's going to be time soon, she realized. Time for Arthur to take the reins. I'll have to talk with him about it, see what he thinks, and make sure he's ready.

Her eyes lowered to her desk, and the pile of unread state papers. First things first, I suppose, she thought, moving to the next paper, a commission for a newly-graduated leftenant from New Syrtis. She signed it, not allowing herself to wonder if she'd soon be committing the young officer to war.




The Iron Citadel
Tikonov, Tikonov Operational Area
Capellan March
Federated Suns
Transglass Inner Sphere
4 September 3143


Aaron Sandoval met the delegation from beyond the Glass in one of the Iron Citadel's secondary war rooms. That hadn't been his plan; the stark martial austerity served little for putting people at ease. He'd intended to hold this meeting in what had been the civic legate of Tikograd's townhouse, a pleasant, informal environment.

But, as seemed to keep happening since the Blackout, events had once again outpaced desire.

"Gentlemen," he greeted the Grand Union and … other Federated Suns representatives. "I apologise for the sudden change of venue. However, as you can see," he indicated the holographic wall map. "Matters have escalated."

The map showed both the northern Operational Areas of the Capellan March — and the sickly green bites of the known Liao invasions, like gangrene corroding healthy flesh. Swallowing worlds long coveted — Achernar and Demeter, New Hessen and Tigress — and forming daggers aimed at Chesterton and right here. Tikonov's weapons works had, once, been the crown jewel of Liao industry, and Daoshen would wish it to be so again. Make it so, if he could.

Their reactions were instructive. Alvin Rozhenko, the Commanding General of the Tikonov Union Defense Forces, was trim and neatly uniformed, as fit the headquarters warrior he was now — though he'd been a fighting man and then some in his younger days, from Lady Trillian's report — kept a tight rein on his emotions, only the slightest clenching of hands betraying his worry. Victor Silver-Davion, the Prince's Champion from the other side and an AFFS colonel by his all-too-similar rank marker, had less mastery of his emotions — hardly surprising with his being thirty years' Rozhenko's junior — sucking in breath as he read the map's implications plainly.

Silver-Davion gave Aaron pause in that moment. He looks very much like Julian; their differing manner hid it, for there was an overt swaggering self-confidence in the Farside Champion that Julian had never worn, but if you looked beyond that … The two could have been brothers, close cousins at least; alike in their tall, trim-muscular builds, the same neatly trimmed mechwarrior haircut even if Silver-Davion's was a fiery red color next to Julian's red-blonde. Even their uniforms would have been similar, right down to the Corinthian helmet shoulder flash of the First Guards. The likeness was disconcerting, to say the least.

"I'm not going to waste time on rhetoric — neither of you have the reputation for having any taste for it," Aaron continued. "Since Captain Pugachev's inadvertent arrival here, the Capellan Confederation has launched a full scale offensive against the Suns; one which, from the reports we're receiving, exceeds any operation they've launched since the First Succession War in scale and effectiveness." And barbarity, in which it eclipses even those, he didn't add. Barbara Liao had been ambitious to the core, an exemplar of the Liao willingness to countenance almost anything for victory, but there'd been a cold-blooded rationality to her at least. Daoshen was a rabid animal by comparison, and the way all too many of his commanders were behaving …

"And Tikonov is clearly a target," Rozhenko noted. "What kind of defense can you mount?"

"Of regular troops, the Eighth Crucis Lancers Regimental Combat Team, Third and Fourth Federated Suns Lancers Light Combat Teams, and the Martial Academy's cadre regiment." There was little point in trying to hide which line units made up Tikonov's defenders; the public datanets held that information. My own press releases, come to that; Aaron didn't regret them, it had been necessary to reassure Tikonov's people that the Suns weren't going to abandon them. But it did make the usual exigencies of diplomacy awkward. "The planetary guard, of course. And the local naval squadrons." Whose full strength was not publicly recorded, and he had no intention of revealing unless needed.

"And one of your LCTs is, essentially, a battalion of 'Mechs with a regiment or short brigade apiece of supporting armor and infantry?" asked Victor Silver-Davion. "How well can they hold up against full-sized frontline brigades?"

"Effectively enough, in battles where they can shape the field, or operate as fits them best," Aaron noted. "The Capellans tend to operate lighter conventional elements than we do, which helps. I admit that if forced into a head-on engagement, they have tended to suffer. A more detailed breakdown would need one of my unit commanders here."

"So your ability to hold is contingent upon the enemy's devotion of resources," Rozhenko said. The old general frowned deeply. "And I would expect a world as valuable as Tikonov is on either side to be a priority strategic target, even without Liaoist ideology."

"That would be correct. However, ideology is the primary motivation." Aaron took a steadying breath, reminded himself that vehemence wouldn't help convince these men of what lay before them. "I know the Sea Foxes have provided you with the political lay of the land here, but I don't believe they've adequately explained Daoshen Liao. I've met the man, and he truly believes, as absurd as it may sound, that he has been divinely appointed to assert the Confederation's 'rightful borders'." A gesture to the map. "Tikonov is among those 'ancestrally Capellan' worlds he's vowed to 'reclaim', as is Chesterton; in his own words, 'even if that means washing them clean with blood'. And Daoshen does not make idle threats."

"And unlike our backstabbing Liaos, his cause hasn't brought him to touch the hot stove yet," Victor remarked. "So he's not learned the need to be cautious. Makes him more likely to gamble and not hold back reserves, among other things."

Rozhenko sighed. "What are your reserves, then? How many forces could you add to your defenses if and when an attack is detected?"

"Limited, in both numbers and potential availability." The map here didn't display unit markers, but Aaron had them memorised. He dismissed the thought of the Fourth Ceti Hussars on Valexa and Fifth Crucis on Chesterton immediately, both needed where they were; the former to chivvy the Valexa CMM's timorous commander, the latter to defend a world the Liaos coveted even more dearly than Tikonov. He still didn't know where the First Suns Lancers had withdrawn to after being forced off Demeter, which left five units close enough to respond quickly. Twelfth Vegan Rangers on Ulan Batar. The Second Suns Lancers on Caselton. Third Armored Cavalry and Third Crucis, on Rio and Addicks respectively. And the Illician Lancers' Twenty-first Rangers on Sanilac. "Others can call on, may already have, those units available for reinforcing Tikonov. And, with the limitations the Blackout imposes …"

There were other sources of support, of course. Invoking the family name, requesting — or demanding — aid from deeper within the Draconis March. But, with the Dragon stirring, I can only do that when I have no other choice.

"...you cannot be sure until word is brought to you by JumpShip," Victor finished for him. He shared a glance with Rozhenko. "So you are not counting on significant reinforcements. At least, not from your own side."

"Yes." So, there it was; the implicit offer. "I won't," Aaron continued, "ask either of you to commit your governments to anything." If only because the First Prince himself couldn't make that decision on the spot. "However, I would suggest a consideration of whose possession of Tikonov, and this end of the Tikonov Glass, may be in your best interests."

"Good, for we do not have the power to authorize anything beyond defense of our side," said Rozhenko. "I will confer with Prime Minister Timoshenko."

Victor nodded. "I would need First Prince Grace's approval as well, and odds are she will not give it without Timoshenko's approval." Noting Aaron's quiet disappointment, Victor added, "We certainly have no desire to see a capital system of our alliance threatened by a megalomaniac. I'm going to recommend we support your defense."

"As will I. But I cannot promise the Prime Minister will agree." Rozhenko shook his head. "And I do have authority to provide some materials for your arms lockers. If you lack any supplies, I will arrange deliveries to the fullest extent of my personal authority."

"I'll consult my quartermaster staff, and ensure any such requirements are with you before you return home," Aaron nodded. "On nonmilitary matters, with regards to transit rights what I propose is …"



The discussion went back and forth for another half an hour, and as matters wound down and guests readied to leave, Aaron found himself satisfied. They'd at least established some sound preliminary agreements, and there'd been hints of military intervention.

Not as much as I'd hoped, but far better than I'd expected.

"As a matter of private curiosity, Field Marshal," Victor said, smiling his easy, confident smile as they shook hands. "For your needs, what might the minimum commitment you'd want from my government be?"

An old comment occurred to Aaron, from pre-space history he'd studied at Sandhurst. One made in circumstances very much like this.

"One soldier," he replied. "And you can be sure we would get them killed very quickly."

"Ha!" Victor laughed. "I didn't think most people studied that history much anymore. You've got some style to you, Sandoval; Aunt Grace is going to like that. And she'll get the reference, at least." He flashed Aaron a conspiratorial grin. "And if I know her, we'll find a way to get you the help you need, whatever the politics."

After the delegates had left, Aaron gave it ten minutes before returning to the main war room. An exercise was playing out on the main holotank, in light-coded maps and gun camera footage from 'Mechs, tanks and battlesuited infantry; the Martial Academy cadre playing defence against the Fourth Lancers' faux-Liao attacks.

It didn't look to be going well for the defenders.

Marshal Rahm and Major-general Jemima Lý — commander of the Third Suns Lancers — waited for him at the holotank controls. Good; together, the two made for his best military advisers, Rahm's methodical staff college-trained caution a good balance with Lý's temper as one of cousin Corwin's salamanders, an aggressive ex-ranker happiest where the fire was hottest.

"Lord Sandoval." Rahm nodded in greeting. "The word?"

"No active military cooperation, not yet." Aaron kept his tone level and calm. "Agreement on most civil matters, supply of arms and equipment, and possible direct support in the future."

"God dammit, we don't need more guns!" Lý cursed sharply. She gestured at one of the secondary displays, showing Earthwerks' output; winced as the sudden movement strained injuries not quite fully healed from Operation PELAYO's abortive drive into the Combine. "We've already got more than we can use. What we need is trained troops to stop the Liaos. Do they want Daoshen on their doorstep?"

"Calm, General," Rahm said. "They haven't said they won't help us. Daoshen's going to make all the arguments we need for intervention, given time. And the longer he holds off on an assault, the more ready we are."

"It's not going to be long enough," Lý snapped. "Unless Daoshen holds off for a year or more, we're not going to have any more trained mechwarriors or aerospace pilots ready. And Intel's most optimistic figures say it's no more than three months until the Liaos hit us; more likely, one."

"I grant, it's not what we hoped," Aaron said calmly, "but immediate commitment was always a long shot. They've the same strategic problem we do; against Liao, they're strong. Against Kilbourne or Kurita, they're strong. Against several, or all — well, that's what it is. And Marshal Rahm is correct, General," he added, seeing Lý's dark Afro-Vietnamese features flush as she built a head of steam for more arguing. "Daoshen will make the case for intervention for us; and I'm fairly sure Rozhenko and Silver-Davion are on our side. So, I think it best to make sure we're alive when that comes to fruition, yes?"




Second McCarron's Armored Cavalry HQ
Jarman City
New Hessen, Sarna Commonality
Capellan Confederation
Transglass Inner Sphere
4 September 3143

The end, when it came, happened quickly. Twin columns of assault-class tanks and BattleMechs — one clad in cobalt and gold, the other in dappled jungle camouflage — stormed out of hidden sally ports behind the Capellan regiments pinned against the city's defences. Light 'Mechs and fast hovertanks fanned out behind, forcing wider the gaps broken by those crushing mauls as more tanks and assault 'Mechs, these in olive-drab trimmed in white, burst from Chesterton City's main gates behind an intense hurricane barrage of high-explosive shellfire and heavy bombardment rockets.

The Capellan troops didn't die easily, and didn't die alone. But, their formations broken and too many of their commanders dead or disabled in the opening moments, die they did.

"So," Danai Liao-Centrella commented as the techs paused the simulation. She pointedly ignored the tiny representation of Yen-lo-wang, frozen as it fell to a hunting pack of Gunsmiths. "I think we can all agree that is a total disaster, yes?"

"I'd call it a fast way to lose a few billion yuan," Cyrus McCarron said, smiling with what he thought was boyish good humour.

The reactions of the rest of Taskforce JASMINE's command team were a useful thing to observe. Clara Parks — 2 MAC's senior battalion commander since Danai had gotten herself bumped to acting sang-shao — smiled and shook her head, playing the indulgent older sibling. House Ijori's field senior, Evan Kurst, was his normal silent, inscrutable self, though Danai thought she caught a flicker of amusement in his eyes. And Eliza Zhao, commander of the newly arrived Dynasty Guard shared a look of sullen disapproval of the attempted humour with her aide, sao-shao Bogdanovitch.

"There's degrees of totality," Parks pointed out, as she adjusted the simulation table. Casualty figures shimmered into being in midair. "Even in the worst case projections, at least a quarter of our troops would manage to get clear."

"And I have to question assumptions here," Zhao stepped forward, highlighting unit insignia. "The Second Suns Lancers and Vegan Rangers weren't on Chesterton at our last intelligence updates." Her expression showed that Zhao recognised the limits of that, thanks to the Blackout.

"No, they weren't," Danai agreed. "And if they stay on Caselton and Ulan Batar, all well and good. But both are only a single jump from Chesterton, and since we've lost both of the regiments that were supposed to keep them bottled up," there was a collective wince at that. The First Liao Grenadiers had been hurriedly yanked away for the Victoria-New Syrtis thrust; and after the debacle of their attempt at raiding Axton, the Third Chargers weren't going to be battle-fit for years. "I'd much rather plan for worse than we end up facing."

"I don't see that we need to worry about the Second Suns Lancers, even if they do put in appearance," Bogdanovitch sneered. "They ran from here, they'll run again. Now that we've broken their front, the Davions are reverting to their natural state — rabble!"

Eliza frowned at her subordinate's comment, and Danai was about to politely rebuke him when Cyrus McCarron opened his mouth — and poured inferno gel on the fire.

"Yeah," he drawled, smirking. "Just like the 'rabble' on Moravian!"

Bogdanovitch flushed with anger; took a half-step forward with a challenge on his lips before Eliza stopped him. That's torn it.

"Sao-shao McCarron, you will apologise for that insult, or you will withdraw from this council until you've regained command of yourself," Danai ground out, forcing level reason into her voice. "And you, sao-shao Bogdanovitch, will hold your temper," she added. "I shouldn't need to remind either of you about the strictures against duelling between serving officers, in standing orders and the Articles of War."

She was going to tear great bleeding strips off Cyrus for that later, in private; and from his expression as he apologised to, and — however grudgingly — shook hands with Bogdanovitch, he knew it. Beyond that Eliza Zhao was her friend, they needed to cooperate closely with the Dynasty Guard to make this work; bringing up the First Syrtis Fusiliers making fools of them on Moravian was not going to help with that.

At that, CELESTIAL REWARD just wasn't going the way it was supposed to. The Davions weren't collapsing the way they should, the way the Strategios had predicted. Instead, even the weekend janshi of the federal guard were fighting with a determination and skill Danai hadn't expected, and there were insurgent groups popping up like flowers in spring; here on New Hessen for sure. They weren't very good — more enthusiasm than skill — but they were learning, and no matter how many the Maskirovka and the regiments swatted there seemed to be plenty of fools willing to take their place. As for Davion regulars…

"One thing I will caution all of you about is that we cannot afford to underestimate our enemy." Danai locked eyes with each officer in turn, hoping some of her conviction got through. "The Taygeta Lancers notably didn't run, sao-shao Bogdanovitch," she continued. "They accomplished their mission — the factories here won't be providing more than basic munitions for six months at least thanks to that — and then fell back off world in good order. We're winning right now," or going forward, which isn't necessarily the same thing, "and the people of these worlds will rally to us when they see we're here to liberate and bring them just governance. But the Davions and their collaborators aren't going to give up what they've stolen easily. Given that," she reset the simulation, "we can't assume they'll break at the first pass of blades. So -"

"Ma'am." One of the infantry sentries stepped into the command room, bracing to attention with a precision that would have done credit to a member of the Red Heart Guard. "The commanding officer, Third Canopian Light Horse, is here."

Quicker than I expected. The Light Horse had only landed two nights ago; were still recovering from the sprint that'd brought them here nearly three weeks ahead of best estimates. That is good.

"Well then, show them in."

Danai had been expecting Yukiko Mello, been ready for the old veteran's affected haughty attitude. She hadn't expected her cousin Isolde, wearing her usual easy smile and very new colonel's collar tabs, with a scarred veteran Force Major and very young Ensign in tow.

"It's good to see you, cousin." Danai smiled as she stepped forward, meeting Isolde with the forearm to forearm embrace of close friends. "Though I'd thought Colonel Mello still had the Third … ?"

"Family affairs meant she had to resign the command." Isolde's look told Danai not to inquire further. "It's been a bit last minute, but I had the brass and Gran's favour, so I got the command." She gestured her two companions forward. "Allow me to name Force Major Eloise Perday, my senior battalion commander, and Ensign Benter Centrella, my aide."

"What happened to you?" Cyrus commented, looking at the stark white scar tissue splitting Perday's amber features from brow to jawline, narrowly missing her left eye. Fortunately, the Force Major seemed amused, rather than angry.

"Marian in an Axman tried to take my head off," she explained, her voice a dry, dusty rasp. "They missed. I didn't."

Danai smiled as she went through the introductions on her side. This may just work out.

"We were," she explained to Isolde, as her cousin joined the officers around the holotank, "planning the liberation of Chesterton. So, given your regiment's capabilities and equipment, where would you use them?"




The planning session that followed took about an hour, and was, blessedly, clear and concise. Isolde Centrella respected the Capellan army for a lot of things, but far too many of its senior officers were badly in love with rhetoric for its own sake.

At least that isn't a vice Cousin Danai's fallen into. Yet.

" … so, I think that covers everything we can today?" Danai was saying as the last sim run played out to a halt. Nods and a chorus of quiet assents answered her. "Good. Then I'll speak to jiang-jun Tao tonight, and we'll reconvene here at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow to start planning exercises."

As the meeting broke up, with Eloise and Benter collecting noteputers loaded with intelligence dossiers, Danai stepped over, joining Isolde close enough for private conversation.

"The new planetary shonso's throwing a ball tomorrow night, and they want attendance from all the regiments here," she explained. "It's a distraction we don't need, but politics. Party of a dozen officers, full dress, you know the drill, cuz."

"I do, and we'll be there, cuz," Isolde smiled. "Putting the MAF's best foot forward. Grandmother sends her regards, by the way; and she hopes you can make it back to Canopus soon."

At the mention of Erde, Danai smiled, suddenly looking years younger. "How is she?"

"As well as anyone her age can be, but there's only so much even the straios can do." Isolde couldn't keep an edge of bitterness out of her next words, but at least it's said. "With how often the Magestrix is on Sian these days, I worry Gran's working herself too hard."

"I see." Something caught Isolde's notice there, a brief flicker of bitterness-worry-shame crossing Danai's features,but it vanished into court-trained blankness almost as fast. "We'll, I'll leave you to your work, anyway, cuz."

That flicker of emotion stuck with Isolde as her party left, making their way through gas curtains and blast doors to the command centre's underground hangar. Her personal transport waited, a Hasek halftrack captured in the Victoria War and refitted for a commander's use since.

A demi-squad of infantry on guard stood nearby, scattered around seemingly at random — in a way that was actually calculated to give the Ebon Magistrate commandos clear, unrestricted fire-zones.

"I'll take the co-driver seat today, Lisette," Isolde told one of the crew as she mounted up with long-practised ease. "You're on comms-watch." It was never a good idea to be too predictable about where you were, and having something practical to do always helped her think.

The familiar tasks of weapons board and active probe occupied her as the halftrack rolled out into Jarman City's streets, the escorts forming up about them. It helped settle Isolde on the needed actions; a request for MIM to find whatever they could about past Liao attempts on Chesterton, for a start. As easy a prospect as Cousin Danai wanted it to seem, the CCAF had tried repeatedly in the past and never succeeded; and I need to know why, in detail.

That thought led to Jarman City itself, and to her escort; all in the black and silver of the Light Horse. A dozen hoverbike outriders. Pairs of Tamerlane hovercraft and Manticore heavies. A Fox armored car. And the two BattleMechs, Agrotera and Shadow Hawk. It should, would have been excessive for a pacified city. But Jarman City didn't feel that way.

It felt like a live inferno warhead. Tension thick enough to cut with a dull blade was everywhere as they moved. The bubbles of space and silence left by the locals around Liao infantry patrols, who were moving at tactical spacing and with their weapons ready to use. Tanks and personnel carriers positioned to dominate road intersections. Carbon scoring around launch tubes and weapon muzzles that told of recent — and serious — use.

A long clattering sound came through on the external audio pickups; brief pause, then repeated. Isolde winced reflexively; she recognised the sound of the standard Capellan squad machine-gun. It fed from an eighty-round box, which meant that someone nearby had been concerned enough to send the better part of two hundred rounds of persuasion downrange at barrel-melting speed.

"Eloise," she said over the headset, "get on comms. I want the patrols around our camp double strength, and pushing out further. Officers' meeting when we get back; company commanders and above."

"Acknowledged." Perday's tone said that the veteran had read the same things she had in the atmospherics. She'd know anything else that needed doing.

Which just leaves me, Isolde reflected, to figure out what the hell we've been sent into, and how bad it really is.