- Location
- Florida USA
You're very welcome. We're in the climax of the story now so everything's going to start concluding... and setting up Part 2!
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For all readers and writers
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"Emergence" - BattleTech Dark Ages/BattleTech AU Crossover
You're very welcome. We're in the climax of the story now so everything's going to start concluding... and setting up Part 2!
Post 38 - Circle of Death
- Location
- Florida USA
Co-written with @Captain Orsai. You might say his parts were awesome, in more ways than one. 
38 - Circle of Death
Martenholm
Timkovichi, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth (Disputed)
1 February 3143
The ravaged, empty city of Martenholm loomed ahead through the canopy of Eva's Paladin as it tromped across the border laid out by the Clans, displayed for her benefit as a red wall on her holotank. She moved at a leisurely pace, allowing the slower family-owned Awesome Allison insisted on piloting. It reminded her of her older cousins Mirabel and Isabella and their insistence on still piloting the century old Paladin PLD-2S 'Mechs, Killjoy and Huntress, that their family founders Sir Alexander and Lady Rachel piloted during their careers. Even when they'd served in the Eighth Strikers alongside her parents they'd continued to pilot the older 'Mechs. Though they did at least accept upgrades to Royal weaponry, Say Your Prayers — what a name for a 'Mech — still uses the old Kreuss PPCs with the minimal range issue!
Granted, the AWS-8Q was arguably one of the best designs around, at least among the older generation of 'Mechs that the broken Successor States could still manufacture and maintain post-collapse. It had the heat sinks to deal with the heat output of its three PPCs, and they still packed a wallop. A pilot good enough to deal with the short range targeting issues could maintain a steady output of damage and the head-mounted small laser gave it an extra sting if someone got close. But given the caliber of their opposition, even accounting for Allison's experience piloting her family machine, Eva worried that having a newer 'Mech would've been better for them.
Still, at least we've got some synergy going. Given the PPCs' slight range deficiencies, Eva's 'Mech was outfitted for a combination of long-range fire and short-range punching. Each arm was fully fitted with actuators, the right adding an extended range large laser — a Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 16 — while the left had a Defiance P6M pulse laser, a second of the same on the middle of her 'Mech's chest. The right side of the chest had one of the newest pieces of kit in the AFRF, Defiance's V1200 PPC, a Variable Focus Snub-Nose that auto-adjusted the focusing hardware for bolt formation to allow for the same extended range as the powerful Terran-designed ER PPCs, but at the cost of doing less damage than even a normal PPC unless the enemy came closer while putting out the same heat. When they did, she could also rely on the weapons mounted opposite of the Variable Focus PPC; two six-salvo SRM launchers with Streak pre-lock technology, economizing her ammo load. Ammunition. Now I have to be careful with the heat levels, and how much I use my jump jets.
A projected blue marker on her display told Eva she was approaching their starting point. She made the final distance and drew in a breath. So this is it. I don't think I can live through this, but if I give Allison the chance to win, it'll be worth it. I'm not a hero, but I can do that much.
"Hey," the private laser-link from Allison's Awesome blinked live. "Look, don't know how much this is gonna help you, but it sure helped me before my first fight. Something one of my instructors said." Allison paused for a moment, probably marshalling her thoughts. "Remember that the other guy's as fragile, and as scared, as you are, and don't think about winning the whole fight. Just concentrate on winning each minute of it."
It was good advice. Eva nodded, though Allison wouldn't have seen the gesture, and triggered the link in reverse. "Yeah, that's good advice. One step at a time. Win each minute until we've won the whole thing." With that said Eva glanced at the clock. They were minutes from the appointed hour, and while she could see both observation vehicles on the scanners, the Falcon 'Mechs had yet to arrive. It's too much to ask that they're deciding to just give it all up… no, they're on their way. C'mon, push away the fear. Winning matters. Winning. For the people who used to live and work in this town. For the people you saw homeless in Cirenholm, or those prisoners we liberated on Morges. For the Second RCs that fought to save this world. For Allison, for Mom and Dad and everyone… for yourself. I want to go home. I don't want to die here.
She drew in a breath to steady herself. As she released it, her scanners lit up with new contacts in the distance. Two BattleMechs of heavy or assault tonnage, approaching at a sixty kph clip. There they are, she thought. Remember the battleROM footage, remember the training. We fight as a team.
Stephanie kept her Jade Hawk at an even fifty kph stride as the jade-and-gold colored machine entered the opposite side of the circle around Martenholm. Beside her, Isaac Roshak piloted a Shrike from the 9th Talon, painted in a black-dominated color scheme to declare his adherence to the Mongol Doctrine. If I am fortunate, perhaps my opponents will end his life before I defeat them, Stephanie thought, though she chided herself un the unworthiness of it after a moment's consideration. No. He is still a warrior under my command. I have a responsibility, as unappetizing as it is.
Their machines gave them the stop points. A light scout vehicle, a salvaged Swiftwind, drove past them, bearing Star Colonel Raquel Hazen, the Delta Galaxy reserve commander Stephanie picked to be the Oathmaster for this duel. While waiting for Raquel's vehicle to reach its central point, Stephanie took the time to examine her foes' machines. One, which her updated systems identified as a Paladin OmniMech, reminded her of a Royal Black Knight, though it mounted missiles on the chest and bore something of a crown or tiara-like formation on top of the head. It matched her in speed and weight, at the very least; this battle would come down to skill. Hopefully the Arcadian ristar piloting that machine will prove a worthy foe for my codex, beyond her role in Malvina's defeat.
Standing beside the Paladin was the familiar shape of an Awesome-type BattleMech, not just any type but the initial AWS-8Q. That color scheme, I believe I recognize. That warrior has been fighting through the invasion, and even now, they bring that machine to this fight instead of a newer one. I like this warrior; they are wise enough to trust their skill and a machine they know, rather than an unproven one. They will prove a worthy foe, I believe.
"I feel insulted that they meet us with less weight, as if we are brats fresh from the sibko." Isaac's voice had its usual harshness. "I look forward to killing them."
"Do not get overconfident, Star Colonel," Stephanie warned. "Their machines are as deadly as any other. And do not expect our enemies to engage us under the limits of zellbrigen."
"I have no such expectations, nor do I wish it either. We should concentrate fire on the slower target then."
"Or perhaps the foe who is clearly geared to provide close-range fire support for the enemy?" Stephanie proposed, keeping the edge in her voice out of both frustration and reminding Isaac he did not frighten her. I would be perturbed about not honoring the Clan Way, but I know our enemies will not, so it is a moot point. "We can deal with the heavier 'Mech at our leisure once we are assured SRMs are not blasting our armor apart."
"Do what you wish, Galaxy Commander. I know how to fight foes."
Star Colonel Raquel's voice crackled in. Her Swiftwind was now at its assigned point. "Are all in their places? Challengers, are you ready to face your foes?"
"We are," replied a new voice for Stephanie. Undoubtedly the young Arcadian pilot who'd landed a couple days before.
"To the challenged, are you prepared?"
"We are," Stephanie replied.
"Then all is ready. In this solemn combat, let none interfere. Fight with honor, warriors."
"Seyla," Stephanie murmured, drawing in a breath and letting the familiar rush fill her. She put the Jade Hawk into a run. Beside her, Isaac's Shrike went into motion. With this battle, we win the planet. I will be Khan, and the reform of the Jade Falcons shall begin.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLLUEDul4hM
The moment the Falcon "Oathmaster" cleared the fight to start, Eva leveled her crosshairs on the larger assault 'Mech. She felt a chill at seeing it was the same model as Malvina's machine, giving her mental images of that fateful day half a year ago when the world stopped working right, when that assault machine moved like a light 'Mech and took the lives of Captain Kincaid and Lieutenant von Krager. Keep it together, Eva. She sent her 'Mech into motion to avoid the autocannon fire the Shrike was capable of while her fingers stroked the triggers for her long range weapons. A thick sapphire beam shot out from her right arm and slashed armor from the wing and shoulder of the enemy machine. Beside it, the variable focus PPC whirred to life, concentrating the resulting bolt enough to reach the distance. The hit was glancing and caused insignificant armor damage, particularly as the bolt lost much of its power at that long range.
Allison's 'Mech was already in motion, lumbering ahead and looking to gain the range. Her PPCs fired in sequence, causing superficial damage only given the range and the loss of intensity in the bolts. Her target, likewise, was the enemy Shrike, who doggedly continued on. The Shrike's arm came up and autocannon fire responded, the shells tearing into the Awesome's armor but causing no further damage. Laser fire streaked through the air and missed from a last second rightward shift by Allison.
Eva fired off her long range weapons again, to no effect as this time the Shrike turned enough to evade completely. These pilots are good.
"Jade Hawk getting close, Eva," Allison warned.
"I see it." She turned her attention to the other winged humanoid BattleMech, its shoulders and sides mounting six-shot missile launchers and a number of visible laser ports built into it. At its speed it was drawing into weapons range quickly and needed attention. Eva focused her crosshairs on it, confirmed no solid SRM lock was possible, and fired her long range guns again, in the company of two of Allison's PPCs.
All four shots missed. The pilot spun around, evading them. A third bolt from Allison's arm-mounted PPC found the leg, but only did surface armor damage.
WIth her mouth dry and her heart pounding, Eva's checked the range and added her P6Ms into the next barrage, just for all but the large laser to miss again. The blue beam did do something, slicing over the right hip missile launcher and melting the weapon enough to knock it out.
This didn't deter Stephanie Chistu. With that practiced skill Eva recognized from the battleROM footage they'd viewed the last two days, Galaxy Commander Chistu's 'Mech maneuvered deftly around the incoming fire until it was at maximal range for SRM shots. Eighteen SRMs raced from the launchers, all locking on to Eva's 'Mech. Out of habit she twisted and presented the 'Mech's left side, using the left arm to take much as the barrage as she could. Ten missiles out of the salvo struck there, blasting away much of the armor on the limb and, going by her warning light, damaging the elbow actuator. The pulse laser mounted in that limb would be harder to keep on-target now.
Of course, now her launchers were in range too. She twisted her torso towards the Jade Hawk and triggered them.
Nothing. No lock was confirmed and the missiles didn't fire. Now that they were in the thick of Martenholm's ruins, the Jade Hawk was moving through the wreckage of one of the commercial buildings, throwing off the targeting systems on Eva's 'Mech and avoiding the lock.
Her machine rocked hard, a barrage of autocannon shells tearing into her Paladin's right arm and chest. This brought her focus back on the distant . She brought her 'Mech's right arm up and, after a moment to make sure she had a good shot, triggered her long range weapons. This time she caught the Shrike pilot mid-jink, lasing armor from his torso while the particle bolt blasted a little more from the autocannon arm.
The Jade Hawk soared into view on plumes of fusion plasma, bound for Allison's 'Mech. Particle bolts fired at it, two hitting, but the maneuver was carrying Chistu into the minimum effective range of Allison's PPCs. She'd be at a severe disadvantage. Eva turned away from the Shrike and, to throw off the enemy's aim, triggered her own jump jets. She rose into the air, plowing through the ruins of a streetside billboard, trying to hold her crosshairs gold over the Jade Hawk as it came to a landing. She triggered her missiles.
This time both of her missile launchers had solid enough locks to fire. Eight of the missiles hit home on vulnerable rear armor and the 'Mech's readied arms, stopping the pilot from an attack with the sharp claw appendages designed for ripping 'Mech armor to pieces. Eva's fingers squeezed trigger after trigger. The PPC blast went wide, unfortunately, especially as she was at a range where the full power of the shot would have hit, and her right arm's damage made the pulse laser only manage an armor-scorching glancing hit. The large laser did its work, though, melting a gash of armor from the Jade Hawk's hip and side while the chest pulse laser's emerald darts drilled a fresh wound into the left arm at the elbow.
Her cockpit turned into a sauna. The combined heat of her jumping and all of her weapons firing in sequence so rapidly left her heat dangerously high. The myomer muscles were slowing, which would reduce her speed and throw her aim off. Got to watch the heat, don't need my SRMs exploding on me.
She'd done the damage she needed to, at least. The Jade Hawk's attention was entirely on her now. Three ruby beams played over her 'Mech's chest and side, melting away sky blue armor, and SRMs raced across the short distance to hammer home, even as Eva forced her 'Mech low and twisted, this time taking the damage to her right arm and side from the missiles that successfully hit. The Jade Hawk rushed forward and brought its right arm down towards her, the claw raking through the armor on the right shoulder and arm of her Paladin, exposing some of myomer muscle with how deep the wound was. Both arms damaged.
Regardless of her heat, her fingers stroked her triggers again, leaving out her arm-mounted weapons. The PPC struck home this time, its full power at this range scourging a score of armor from Chistu's Jade Hawk, while the SRMs battered away above the waist of the winged killing machine. The pulse laser on her chest burned away the Jade Falcon insignia on the breast of Chistu's machine.
The cost of this barrage was to keep her heat high, however, high enough that her machine didn't move fast enough to avoid getting pummeled yet again by the SRMs of the Jade Hawk. She took the whole hit on her left side this time. The weight balance of the Paladin altered as the sheer number of explosive impacts literally tore the left arm completely away. Four more missiles blasted apart much of the armor remaining on her left side. One of the small lasers raked over her head module, melting armor along the crown piece and the face plate.
I'm losing. I'm losing this fight. Her hands tightened on her joysticks as she forced her overheated machine, now denied two of the heat sinks it sorely needed, to keep moving and plow into an empty office structure, giving her a brief respite from any more incoming fire. No. No fear. I knew I was going to die today. But this isn't over!
The Jade Hawk lunged forth, its armored claw coming back up to rake her again. Eva moved the 'Mech's right arm forward. The tactile sensors on her joystick commanded the hand to clasp just as it reached the elbow of the Jade Hawk. Myomer muscle strained against myomer muscle, her one-armed machine trying to hold back the enemy limb. The other limb came up while ruby light played over her 'Mech, erasing the sunhawk patch on the chest. Eva let go and stumbled her machine backward, hitting her jump jets and carrying herself just out of range of the claw swipe that might have otherwise ripped into her weakened left side. In mid-air the shrill tone of a solid lock prompted her to squeeze the missile triggers yet again. Both weapons confirmed their locks and fired. A half dozen missiles scored damaging hits, taking more armor from the Jade Hawk, while her pulse laser found another of the missile launchers and disabled it.
She landed her Paladin and jinked to the left, covering her weakened side and taking another SRM barrage on the right instead, clearing the remaining armor from that limb. "Allison, you okay?" she asked, aware she'd lost contact with her comrade in her wild maneuverings.
"Busy, but alive," came the strained reply.
Eva tried to get a lock but had no time, not with the Jade Hawk charging forward yet again, wicked claws looking to slice her to ribbons. Faced with her relentless foe, she dodged and continued her struggle to live out the day.
But maybe not alive for long, Allison added to herself
The Shrike, black as death, seemed to drink the energy fire she and Eva were hurling at it, lit only by the sullen glow of the radiator panels for its solid-state heat sinks. Beam fire lanced from its shoulder mounts, cutting glowing scars across armour and heads-up display. Allison cursed, shifting up to full speed as she moved down a ruined side road
Explosive shellfire shattered the wreckage of buildings, Roshak's Shrike pacing her — no, pulling ahead. Fighting back another curse, Allison twisted Say Your Prayers' torso as far right as it could go, blazing out lightning bolts.
More buildings flew apart in bubbles of dust and shrapnel — tiles, bricks, mortar — from the lacerating crossfire as the two war-engines strode forward, their paths converging. Less than two blocks apart, they crossed onto the main road. Now.
Allison locked the right leg's brakes on full, letting momentum swing her machine around. Sparks flew from its slab-like boots, gyroscopic stabilisers screaming as they fought to keep the eighty-ton titan from toppling onto its face; Allison leaning back as far as she dared to keep it steady.
Something gave, a knee actuator flashing yellow as metal and myomer cried out in protest, but it worked. She was at a dead stop, facing Roshak's Shrike barely a hundred metres away, still trying to steady itself from its sudden halt. Her thumb flicked the switch tying everything to her primary triggers, and her trigger fingers clenched.
Beam fire — the lurid sapphire arcs of her particle cannon and the thinner, pale laser beam — hammered at the Shrike, blowing semi-molten craters in its armoured shell. Driving it back one step; two.
In answer, Roshak fired back with everything. A blitzing hail of neon-bright laser beams, tracers that flickered like comets and shrieking missiles tore across the intervening space; too close to miss. Shattered and molten armour panels tumbled to the tarmac, stabilisers groaning and stuttering briefly put of sync as they fought to compensate for the loss of tons of armour. Allison bit her lip as she held Say Your Prayers upright by what felt like willpower alone, tasting copper and salt as yellow and orange swathed her armour readouts. But nothing punched through, and the charge readouts for her particle cannon flashed green.
Like two pre-space — hell, pre-fission, even — battlewagons on Terra's oceans, the two BattleMechs stood and hammered at each other. Armour splintered and flowed in molten runnels; a laser beam punched clean through her torso, shattering a titanium rib and bursting a heat sink in a gush of blue-grey coolant. Her own weapons lashed coruscating fire along the clawed right arm, reducing the targeting computer nestled in the shoulder joint to so much burnt out deadweight.
"Fall!" Roshak snarled over the general address channel. "Fall!"
"You … first," Allison panted, blinking sweat from the rising heat curve out of her eyes.
Then one of her cannon — the one mounted low on the left — fell out of the circuit. It didn't vanish, but the power linkage icon burned red. And the loss of that was all it took to unbalance things.
Fire pounded her backwards, with no time to stabilise a firing solution. An autocannon shell burst low against her cockpit.
The next thing Allison was aware of was coming to, slumped in her command couch. Say Your Prayers had fallen — against what had been an apartment building, at a guess — reactor stuttering as it struggled to rebuild enough power for drive start. And Roshak's Shrike was stalking forward, aiming for an up-close kill.
"Eva," Allison called, her voice a dry rasp. "Any backup you can give."
The running fight had brought Eva's Paladin and Chistu's Jade Hawk into view, glowing on thermals as they battled it out without care for heat curves. Eva didn't respond — not in words, anyway. Her machine's torso snap-twisted into line so fast it was like it was on magnetic bearings, and unloaded everything. Snaking missile contrails blasted chunks out of Roshak's rear armour, and beam fire sheared away one of the high pseudo-wings jutting from the Shrike's back. A second round of beam fire — a dangerously fast followup — shredded the chain-feed mechanisms for Roshak's autocannon before ripping the arm itself away at the elbow. At the same time, the Paladin seemed to jerk, blowout panels flaring as ammunition detonated.
Christ, she must've pushed her heat so high her SRMs blew, Allison realised, trying to force her probably concussion-addled mind to work through the restart sequence faster, and curse Say Your Prayers into moving. Come on goddammit you old bitch, you've never failed when I needed you before, don't do it now!
With her heart pounding from the thrill of imminent victory, Stephanie pounced on her wounded foe, letting out a determined shriek in the heat of the moment. Her enemy turned, chemical smoke still rising from the damaged engine and the hollowed out left partition of the Paladin's body. The Paladin's right arm rose to fire her remaining laser, joined by the PPC and pulse laser still intact on the torso, but Stephanie was ready for the attack and already had her Jade Hawk airborne, evading the sapphire beam that cleaved a broken department store in two while the two other weapons only took armor from her legs without effect. Her small lasers and remaining SRMs fired as she swooped down. A couple low-flying SRMs hit the Paladin's left leg, removing the remaining armor and blasting away half of the knee actuator. The remaining weapons fire all found the battered chest of the knight-like 'Mech, savaging its remaining armor. Sparks flew as one of the ruby laser beams found the barrel of the Paladin's snub-nose PPC, destroying key electronics within to leave the weapon inoperable.
The combination of leg damage, armor loss, and overheated myomer brought her foe down. The Paladin started to tip to the side, but Stephanie's foe had enough skill to roll and lay on her back instead. Stephanie righted her own machine, getting her momentum back after landing, before advancing to finish the fight.
It was going to be a kill. In ordinary circumstances, I would take this warrior, this Lieutenant Evangeline, as isorla for my victory. She has potential and would serve well as bondswoman and warrior of the Falcons. But that can never be. Isaac Roshak and the dezgra Mongols would ensure her death with as much cruelty and malice as they could muster, and I would be unable to protect her from all the ways they might act.
No. All I can give this warrior for her bravery is what all warriors deserve: a death with honor and the memory of their valor being passed on. A place of respect in the Remembrance, for falling the bloodfoul Khan and her courage this day as my foe, so all Falcon warriors will remember the importance of our traditions.
Indeed, her enemy, despite her predicament, didn't give up. Her right arm rose and the large laser there flashed to life, joined by the emerald light of the surviving torso weapon. At this range Stephanie couldn't hope to avoid in time. The laser cut cleanly through her armor, a sapphire lance that found her 'Mech's engine with precision. Her systems lit up with damage warnings as extra heat filled her machine from the damaged shielding on the fusion engine.
Stephanie reacted by reaching down and running her claw through the weakened armor of the Paladin's right elbow, the blow so fierce that it severed the limb at that joint completely. She brought the other hand up and slashed the Paladin's chest, cutting the pulse laser port deeply enough to break the focusing lens within the assembly. With her foe disarmed, Stephanie brought the crosshairs up towards the damaged head. The indicators turned gold as they solidified upon the visor-shaped cockpit and the small form within, seated in the command couch.
Victory.
Eva's final shot, her final hope, was done, and she'd missed. The slight arm damage kept the large laser from firing into her foe's head module. That she still landed a pair of direct hits, one of which an engine hit, meant little, not as the Jade Hawk methodically cut her remaining weapons away, leaving her helpless on the ground.
I knew I was going to die. This is it. She watched the enemy 'Mech loom, just shy of her Paladin's feet. Even the remaining small lasers on the other machine could pierce her cockpit, and in her state, she was a sitting duck.
It was enough, wasn't it? She'd fought as long and hard as she could, she'd left a mark, she'd honored her oath. She was simply against a superior foe. There was no shame in that.
I want to live!
That instinctive desire, and with it sheer desperation, drove her mind to consider her position. Her torso was savaged, her arms gone, one leg hobbled at the knee, and her weapons destroyed. All she had left were her leg-mounted jump jets.
The idea formed with lighting rapidity, so fast that she'd not even consciously considered the results before her body was already reacting, her feet shifting on the pedals to manipulate the legs of her stricken 'Mech.
Myomer contracted, expanded, and both legs rose up, as if to kick her enemy. From four nozzles, installed in the calves and shins of the Paladin's legs, jets of fusion plasma erupted, spewing white-hot flame and energy over the Jade Hawk's form…
…and right into its head.
Force sufficient to lift a seventy-five ton war machine over a hundred meters into the air shattered the cockpit of the Jade Hawk in an instant, allowing the fusion plasma to flood the cavity and the occupant within. Only later would Eva have time to wonder how horrified, or surprised, Galaxy Commander Chistu had been before she was flash-fried to death.
The Jade Hawk, bereft of its brain, teetered and fell over, smoke flowing from the shattered cockpit.
Laid back in her command couch, Eva drew in several breaths. I… I won… I'm still alive… I'll get to go home and—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the warning tone of a hard target lock from an active enemy sensor. Habitually she tried to stand her 'Mech up, rolling to try and use the stump of the right arm to prop herself into position. The maneuver brought her face to face with the burnt, damaged visage of the Shrike, its blackened wounds and armor, visible only against the off-hues of the otherwise black-painted machine, reminding her of Malvina's Black Rose in its final moments.
Ha. Haha. Her mental laughter became real laughter at realizing the other Falcon pilot was triumphant over Allison, and he was about to kill her. I guess I'm going to die after all.
Say Your Prayers staggered to its feet, reeling like a punch-drunk prizefighter. But she was active, and mobile, and I still have my guns.
The Shrike's back armour was still intact enough that standard fire wasn't going to do anything — not in time. Allison punched in one very specific command sequence, one she'd learned from an old instructor at Buena who'd survived the Jihad because he'd learned how to do this — from an instructor at MSMA who'd survived the Clans from figuring it out — as goddamned stupid as it was; cutting the inhibitor feeds out of the circuit.
Glowing brighter and hotter than Timkovichi's sun, both particle cannon fired. The arm mount's beam cut off after a second, the weapon blowing apart in a cloud of whizzing shrapnel as feedback shredded its safety systems. The other held, long enough to rip through Roshak's rear armour right on the centreline, gutting engine and gyro in an eruption of molten metal before cutting out. The Shrike froze, helpless, looking like it would tip over if the slightest breeze brushed against it.
"Huh." Eva's voice crackled over the laser link. "We did it. We won. We're both alive."
"Yeah, Eva." Allison winced, the euphoria of victory only slightly taking the edge off her aching head. "We won. Now, I'm just gonna wait for the medtechs, okay?"
38 - Circle of Death
Martenholm
Timkovichi, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth (Disputed)
1 February 3143
The ravaged, empty city of Martenholm loomed ahead through the canopy of Eva's Paladin as it tromped across the border laid out by the Clans, displayed for her benefit as a red wall on her holotank. She moved at a leisurely pace, allowing the slower family-owned Awesome Allison insisted on piloting. It reminded her of her older cousins Mirabel and Isabella and their insistence on still piloting the century old Paladin PLD-2S 'Mechs, Killjoy and Huntress, that their family founders Sir Alexander and Lady Rachel piloted during their careers. Even when they'd served in the Eighth Strikers alongside her parents they'd continued to pilot the older 'Mechs. Though they did at least accept upgrades to Royal weaponry, Say Your Prayers — what a name for a 'Mech — still uses the old Kreuss PPCs with the minimal range issue!
Granted, the AWS-8Q was arguably one of the best designs around, at least among the older generation of 'Mechs that the broken Successor States could still manufacture and maintain post-collapse. It had the heat sinks to deal with the heat output of its three PPCs, and they still packed a wallop. A pilot good enough to deal with the short range targeting issues could maintain a steady output of damage and the head-mounted small laser gave it an extra sting if someone got close. But given the caliber of their opposition, even accounting for Allison's experience piloting her family machine, Eva worried that having a newer 'Mech would've been better for them.
Still, at least we've got some synergy going. Given the PPCs' slight range deficiencies, Eva's 'Mech was outfitted for a combination of long-range fire and short-range punching. Each arm was fully fitted with actuators, the right adding an extended range large laser — a Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 16 — while the left had a Defiance P6M pulse laser, a second of the same on the middle of her 'Mech's chest. The right side of the chest had one of the newest pieces of kit in the AFRF, Defiance's V1200 PPC, a Variable Focus Snub-Nose that auto-adjusted the focusing hardware for bolt formation to allow for the same extended range as the powerful Terran-designed ER PPCs, but at the cost of doing less damage than even a normal PPC unless the enemy came closer while putting out the same heat. When they did, she could also rely on the weapons mounted opposite of the Variable Focus PPC; two six-salvo SRM launchers with Streak pre-lock technology, economizing her ammo load. Ammunition. Now I have to be careful with the heat levels, and how much I use my jump jets.
A projected blue marker on her display told Eva she was approaching their starting point. She made the final distance and drew in a breath. So this is it. I don't think I can live through this, but if I give Allison the chance to win, it'll be worth it. I'm not a hero, but I can do that much.
"Hey," the private laser-link from Allison's Awesome blinked live. "Look, don't know how much this is gonna help you, but it sure helped me before my first fight. Something one of my instructors said." Allison paused for a moment, probably marshalling her thoughts. "Remember that the other guy's as fragile, and as scared, as you are, and don't think about winning the whole fight. Just concentrate on winning each minute of it."
It was good advice. Eva nodded, though Allison wouldn't have seen the gesture, and triggered the link in reverse. "Yeah, that's good advice. One step at a time. Win each minute until we've won the whole thing." With that said Eva glanced at the clock. They were minutes from the appointed hour, and while she could see both observation vehicles on the scanners, the Falcon 'Mechs had yet to arrive. It's too much to ask that they're deciding to just give it all up… no, they're on their way. C'mon, push away the fear. Winning matters. Winning. For the people who used to live and work in this town. For the people you saw homeless in Cirenholm, or those prisoners we liberated on Morges. For the Second RCs that fought to save this world. For Allison, for Mom and Dad and everyone… for yourself. I want to go home. I don't want to die here.
She drew in a breath to steady herself. As she released it, her scanners lit up with new contacts in the distance. Two BattleMechs of heavy or assault tonnage, approaching at a sixty kph clip. There they are, she thought. Remember the battleROM footage, remember the training. We fight as a team.
Stephanie kept her Jade Hawk at an even fifty kph stride as the jade-and-gold colored machine entered the opposite side of the circle around Martenholm. Beside her, Isaac Roshak piloted a Shrike from the 9th Talon, painted in a black-dominated color scheme to declare his adherence to the Mongol Doctrine. If I am fortunate, perhaps my opponents will end his life before I defeat them, Stephanie thought, though she chided herself un the unworthiness of it after a moment's consideration. No. He is still a warrior under my command. I have a responsibility, as unappetizing as it is.
Their machines gave them the stop points. A light scout vehicle, a salvaged Swiftwind, drove past them, bearing Star Colonel Raquel Hazen, the Delta Galaxy reserve commander Stephanie picked to be the Oathmaster for this duel. While waiting for Raquel's vehicle to reach its central point, Stephanie took the time to examine her foes' machines. One, which her updated systems identified as a Paladin OmniMech, reminded her of a Royal Black Knight, though it mounted missiles on the chest and bore something of a crown or tiara-like formation on top of the head. It matched her in speed and weight, at the very least; this battle would come down to skill. Hopefully the Arcadian ristar piloting that machine will prove a worthy foe for my codex, beyond her role in Malvina's defeat.
Standing beside the Paladin was the familiar shape of an Awesome-type BattleMech, not just any type but the initial AWS-8Q. That color scheme, I believe I recognize. That warrior has been fighting through the invasion, and even now, they bring that machine to this fight instead of a newer one. I like this warrior; they are wise enough to trust their skill and a machine they know, rather than an unproven one. They will prove a worthy foe, I believe.
"I feel insulted that they meet us with less weight, as if we are brats fresh from the sibko." Isaac's voice had its usual harshness. "I look forward to killing them."
"Do not get overconfident, Star Colonel," Stephanie warned. "Their machines are as deadly as any other. And do not expect our enemies to engage us under the limits of zellbrigen."
"I have no such expectations, nor do I wish it either. We should concentrate fire on the slower target then."
"Or perhaps the foe who is clearly geared to provide close-range fire support for the enemy?" Stephanie proposed, keeping the edge in her voice out of both frustration and reminding Isaac he did not frighten her. I would be perturbed about not honoring the Clan Way, but I know our enemies will not, so it is a moot point. "We can deal with the heavier 'Mech at our leisure once we are assured SRMs are not blasting our armor apart."
"Do what you wish, Galaxy Commander. I know how to fight foes."
Star Colonel Raquel's voice crackled in. Her Swiftwind was now at its assigned point. "Are all in their places? Challengers, are you ready to face your foes?"
"We are," replied a new voice for Stephanie. Undoubtedly the young Arcadian pilot who'd landed a couple days before.
"To the challenged, are you prepared?"
"We are," Stephanie replied.
"Then all is ready. In this solemn combat, let none interfere. Fight with honor, warriors."
"Seyla," Stephanie murmured, drawing in a breath and letting the familiar rush fill her. She put the Jade Hawk into a run. Beside her, Isaac's Shrike went into motion. With this battle, we win the planet. I will be Khan, and the reform of the Jade Falcons shall begin.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLLUEDul4hM
The moment the Falcon "Oathmaster" cleared the fight to start, Eva leveled her crosshairs on the larger assault 'Mech. She felt a chill at seeing it was the same model as Malvina's machine, giving her mental images of that fateful day half a year ago when the world stopped working right, when that assault machine moved like a light 'Mech and took the lives of Captain Kincaid and Lieutenant von Krager. Keep it together, Eva. She sent her 'Mech into motion to avoid the autocannon fire the Shrike was capable of while her fingers stroked the triggers for her long range weapons. A thick sapphire beam shot out from her right arm and slashed armor from the wing and shoulder of the enemy machine. Beside it, the variable focus PPC whirred to life, concentrating the resulting bolt enough to reach the distance. The hit was glancing and caused insignificant armor damage, particularly as the bolt lost much of its power at that long range.
Allison's 'Mech was already in motion, lumbering ahead and looking to gain the range. Her PPCs fired in sequence, causing superficial damage only given the range and the loss of intensity in the bolts. Her target, likewise, was the enemy Shrike, who doggedly continued on. The Shrike's arm came up and autocannon fire responded, the shells tearing into the Awesome's armor but causing no further damage. Laser fire streaked through the air and missed from a last second rightward shift by Allison.
Eva fired off her long range weapons again, to no effect as this time the Shrike turned enough to evade completely. These pilots are good.
"Jade Hawk getting close, Eva," Allison warned.
"I see it." She turned her attention to the other winged humanoid BattleMech, its shoulders and sides mounting six-shot missile launchers and a number of visible laser ports built into it. At its speed it was drawing into weapons range quickly and needed attention. Eva focused her crosshairs on it, confirmed no solid SRM lock was possible, and fired her long range guns again, in the company of two of Allison's PPCs.
All four shots missed. The pilot spun around, evading them. A third bolt from Allison's arm-mounted PPC found the leg, but only did surface armor damage.
WIth her mouth dry and her heart pounding, Eva's checked the range and added her P6Ms into the next barrage, just for all but the large laser to miss again. The blue beam did do something, slicing over the right hip missile launcher and melting the weapon enough to knock it out.
This didn't deter Stephanie Chistu. With that practiced skill Eva recognized from the battleROM footage they'd viewed the last two days, Galaxy Commander Chistu's 'Mech maneuvered deftly around the incoming fire until it was at maximal range for SRM shots. Eighteen SRMs raced from the launchers, all locking on to Eva's 'Mech. Out of habit she twisted and presented the 'Mech's left side, using the left arm to take much as the barrage as she could. Ten missiles out of the salvo struck there, blasting away much of the armor on the limb and, going by her warning light, damaging the elbow actuator. The pulse laser mounted in that limb would be harder to keep on-target now.
Of course, now her launchers were in range too. She twisted her torso towards the Jade Hawk and triggered them.
Nothing. No lock was confirmed and the missiles didn't fire. Now that they were in the thick of Martenholm's ruins, the Jade Hawk was moving through the wreckage of one of the commercial buildings, throwing off the targeting systems on Eva's 'Mech and avoiding the lock.
Her machine rocked hard, a barrage of autocannon shells tearing into her Paladin's right arm and chest. This brought her focus back on the distant . She brought her 'Mech's right arm up and, after a moment to make sure she had a good shot, triggered her long range weapons. This time she caught the Shrike pilot mid-jink, lasing armor from his torso while the particle bolt blasted a little more from the autocannon arm.
The Jade Hawk soared into view on plumes of fusion plasma, bound for Allison's 'Mech. Particle bolts fired at it, two hitting, but the maneuver was carrying Chistu into the minimum effective range of Allison's PPCs. She'd be at a severe disadvantage. Eva turned away from the Shrike and, to throw off the enemy's aim, triggered her own jump jets. She rose into the air, plowing through the ruins of a streetside billboard, trying to hold her crosshairs gold over the Jade Hawk as it came to a landing. She triggered her missiles.
This time both of her missile launchers had solid enough locks to fire. Eight of the missiles hit home on vulnerable rear armor and the 'Mech's readied arms, stopping the pilot from an attack with the sharp claw appendages designed for ripping 'Mech armor to pieces. Eva's fingers squeezed trigger after trigger. The PPC blast went wide, unfortunately, especially as she was at a range where the full power of the shot would have hit, and her right arm's damage made the pulse laser only manage an armor-scorching glancing hit. The large laser did its work, though, melting a gash of armor from the Jade Hawk's hip and side while the chest pulse laser's emerald darts drilled a fresh wound into the left arm at the elbow.
Her cockpit turned into a sauna. The combined heat of her jumping and all of her weapons firing in sequence so rapidly left her heat dangerously high. The myomer muscles were slowing, which would reduce her speed and throw her aim off. Got to watch the heat, don't need my SRMs exploding on me.
She'd done the damage she needed to, at least. The Jade Hawk's attention was entirely on her now. Three ruby beams played over her 'Mech's chest and side, melting away sky blue armor, and SRMs raced across the short distance to hammer home, even as Eva forced her 'Mech low and twisted, this time taking the damage to her right arm and side from the missiles that successfully hit. The Jade Hawk rushed forward and brought its right arm down towards her, the claw raking through the armor on the right shoulder and arm of her Paladin, exposing some of myomer muscle with how deep the wound was. Both arms damaged.
Regardless of her heat, her fingers stroked her triggers again, leaving out her arm-mounted weapons. The PPC struck home this time, its full power at this range scourging a score of armor from Chistu's Jade Hawk, while the SRMs battered away above the waist of the winged killing machine. The pulse laser on her chest burned away the Jade Falcon insignia on the breast of Chistu's machine.
The cost of this barrage was to keep her heat high, however, high enough that her machine didn't move fast enough to avoid getting pummeled yet again by the SRMs of the Jade Hawk. She took the whole hit on her left side this time. The weight balance of the Paladin altered as the sheer number of explosive impacts literally tore the left arm completely away. Four more missiles blasted apart much of the armor remaining on her left side. One of the small lasers raked over her head module, melting armor along the crown piece and the face plate.
I'm losing. I'm losing this fight. Her hands tightened on her joysticks as she forced her overheated machine, now denied two of the heat sinks it sorely needed, to keep moving and plow into an empty office structure, giving her a brief respite from any more incoming fire. No. No fear. I knew I was going to die today. But this isn't over!
The Jade Hawk lunged forth, its armored claw coming back up to rake her again. Eva moved the 'Mech's right arm forward. The tactile sensors on her joystick commanded the hand to clasp just as it reached the elbow of the Jade Hawk. Myomer muscle strained against myomer muscle, her one-armed machine trying to hold back the enemy limb. The other limb came up while ruby light played over her 'Mech, erasing the sunhawk patch on the chest. Eva let go and stumbled her machine backward, hitting her jump jets and carrying herself just out of range of the claw swipe that might have otherwise ripped into her weakened left side. In mid-air the shrill tone of a solid lock prompted her to squeeze the missile triggers yet again. Both weapons confirmed their locks and fired. A half dozen missiles scored damaging hits, taking more armor from the Jade Hawk, while her pulse laser found another of the missile launchers and disabled it.
She landed her Paladin and jinked to the left, covering her weakened side and taking another SRM barrage on the right instead, clearing the remaining armor from that limb. "Allison, you okay?" she asked, aware she'd lost contact with her comrade in her wild maneuverings.
"Busy, but alive," came the strained reply.
Eva tried to get a lock but had no time, not with the Jade Hawk charging forward yet again, wicked claws looking to slice her to ribbons. Faced with her relentless foe, she dodged and continued her struggle to live out the day.
But maybe not alive for long, Allison added to herself
The Shrike, black as death, seemed to drink the energy fire she and Eva were hurling at it, lit only by the sullen glow of the radiator panels for its solid-state heat sinks. Beam fire lanced from its shoulder mounts, cutting glowing scars across armour and heads-up display. Allison cursed, shifting up to full speed as she moved down a ruined side road
Explosive shellfire shattered the wreckage of buildings, Roshak's Shrike pacing her — no, pulling ahead. Fighting back another curse, Allison twisted Say Your Prayers' torso as far right as it could go, blazing out lightning bolts.
More buildings flew apart in bubbles of dust and shrapnel — tiles, bricks, mortar — from the lacerating crossfire as the two war-engines strode forward, their paths converging. Less than two blocks apart, they crossed onto the main road. Now.
Allison locked the right leg's brakes on full, letting momentum swing her machine around. Sparks flew from its slab-like boots, gyroscopic stabilisers screaming as they fought to keep the eighty-ton titan from toppling onto its face; Allison leaning back as far as she dared to keep it steady.
Something gave, a knee actuator flashing yellow as metal and myomer cried out in protest, but it worked. She was at a dead stop, facing Roshak's Shrike barely a hundred metres away, still trying to steady itself from its sudden halt. Her thumb flicked the switch tying everything to her primary triggers, and her trigger fingers clenched.
Beam fire — the lurid sapphire arcs of her particle cannon and the thinner, pale laser beam — hammered at the Shrike, blowing semi-molten craters in its armoured shell. Driving it back one step; two.
In answer, Roshak fired back with everything. A blitzing hail of neon-bright laser beams, tracers that flickered like comets and shrieking missiles tore across the intervening space; too close to miss. Shattered and molten armour panels tumbled to the tarmac, stabilisers groaning and stuttering briefly put of sync as they fought to compensate for the loss of tons of armour. Allison bit her lip as she held Say Your Prayers upright by what felt like willpower alone, tasting copper and salt as yellow and orange swathed her armour readouts. But nothing punched through, and the charge readouts for her particle cannon flashed green.
Like two pre-space — hell, pre-fission, even — battlewagons on Terra's oceans, the two BattleMechs stood and hammered at each other. Armour splintered and flowed in molten runnels; a laser beam punched clean through her torso, shattering a titanium rib and bursting a heat sink in a gush of blue-grey coolant. Her own weapons lashed coruscating fire along the clawed right arm, reducing the targeting computer nestled in the shoulder joint to so much burnt out deadweight.
"Fall!" Roshak snarled over the general address channel. "Fall!"
"You … first," Allison panted, blinking sweat from the rising heat curve out of her eyes.
Then one of her cannon — the one mounted low on the left — fell out of the circuit. It didn't vanish, but the power linkage icon burned red. And the loss of that was all it took to unbalance things.
Fire pounded her backwards, with no time to stabilise a firing solution. An autocannon shell burst low against her cockpit.
The next thing Allison was aware of was coming to, slumped in her command couch. Say Your Prayers had fallen — against what had been an apartment building, at a guess — reactor stuttering as it struggled to rebuild enough power for drive start. And Roshak's Shrike was stalking forward, aiming for an up-close kill.
"Eva," Allison called, her voice a dry rasp. "Any backup you can give."
The running fight had brought Eva's Paladin and Chistu's Jade Hawk into view, glowing on thermals as they battled it out without care for heat curves. Eva didn't respond — not in words, anyway. Her machine's torso snap-twisted into line so fast it was like it was on magnetic bearings, and unloaded everything. Snaking missile contrails blasted chunks out of Roshak's rear armour, and beam fire sheared away one of the high pseudo-wings jutting from the Shrike's back. A second round of beam fire — a dangerously fast followup — shredded the chain-feed mechanisms for Roshak's autocannon before ripping the arm itself away at the elbow. At the same time, the Paladin seemed to jerk, blowout panels flaring as ammunition detonated.
Christ, she must've pushed her heat so high her SRMs blew, Allison realised, trying to force her probably concussion-addled mind to work through the restart sequence faster, and curse Say Your Prayers into moving. Come on goddammit you old bitch, you've never failed when I needed you before, don't do it now!
With her heart pounding from the thrill of imminent victory, Stephanie pounced on her wounded foe, letting out a determined shriek in the heat of the moment. Her enemy turned, chemical smoke still rising from the damaged engine and the hollowed out left partition of the Paladin's body. The Paladin's right arm rose to fire her remaining laser, joined by the PPC and pulse laser still intact on the torso, but Stephanie was ready for the attack and already had her Jade Hawk airborne, evading the sapphire beam that cleaved a broken department store in two while the two other weapons only took armor from her legs without effect. Her small lasers and remaining SRMs fired as she swooped down. A couple low-flying SRMs hit the Paladin's left leg, removing the remaining armor and blasting away half of the knee actuator. The remaining weapons fire all found the battered chest of the knight-like 'Mech, savaging its remaining armor. Sparks flew as one of the ruby laser beams found the barrel of the Paladin's snub-nose PPC, destroying key electronics within to leave the weapon inoperable.
The combination of leg damage, armor loss, and overheated myomer brought her foe down. The Paladin started to tip to the side, but Stephanie's foe had enough skill to roll and lay on her back instead. Stephanie righted her own machine, getting her momentum back after landing, before advancing to finish the fight.
It was going to be a kill. In ordinary circumstances, I would take this warrior, this Lieutenant Evangeline, as isorla for my victory. She has potential and would serve well as bondswoman and warrior of the Falcons. But that can never be. Isaac Roshak and the dezgra Mongols would ensure her death with as much cruelty and malice as they could muster, and I would be unable to protect her from all the ways they might act.
No. All I can give this warrior for her bravery is what all warriors deserve: a death with honor and the memory of their valor being passed on. A place of respect in the Remembrance, for falling the bloodfoul Khan and her courage this day as my foe, so all Falcon warriors will remember the importance of our traditions.
Indeed, her enemy, despite her predicament, didn't give up. Her right arm rose and the large laser there flashed to life, joined by the emerald light of the surviving torso weapon. At this range Stephanie couldn't hope to avoid in time. The laser cut cleanly through her armor, a sapphire lance that found her 'Mech's engine with precision. Her systems lit up with damage warnings as extra heat filled her machine from the damaged shielding on the fusion engine.
Stephanie reacted by reaching down and running her claw through the weakened armor of the Paladin's right elbow, the blow so fierce that it severed the limb at that joint completely. She brought the other hand up and slashed the Paladin's chest, cutting the pulse laser port deeply enough to break the focusing lens within the assembly. With her foe disarmed, Stephanie brought the crosshairs up towards the damaged head. The indicators turned gold as they solidified upon the visor-shaped cockpit and the small form within, seated in the command couch.
Victory.
Eva's final shot, her final hope, was done, and she'd missed. The slight arm damage kept the large laser from firing into her foe's head module. That she still landed a pair of direct hits, one of which an engine hit, meant little, not as the Jade Hawk methodically cut her remaining weapons away, leaving her helpless on the ground.
I knew I was going to die. This is it. She watched the enemy 'Mech loom, just shy of her Paladin's feet. Even the remaining small lasers on the other machine could pierce her cockpit, and in her state, she was a sitting duck.
It was enough, wasn't it? She'd fought as long and hard as she could, she'd left a mark, she'd honored her oath. She was simply against a superior foe. There was no shame in that.
I want to live!
That instinctive desire, and with it sheer desperation, drove her mind to consider her position. Her torso was savaged, her arms gone, one leg hobbled at the knee, and her weapons destroyed. All she had left were her leg-mounted jump jets.
The idea formed with lighting rapidity, so fast that she'd not even consciously considered the results before her body was already reacting, her feet shifting on the pedals to manipulate the legs of her stricken 'Mech.
Myomer contracted, expanded, and both legs rose up, as if to kick her enemy. From four nozzles, installed in the calves and shins of the Paladin's legs, jets of fusion plasma erupted, spewing white-hot flame and energy over the Jade Hawk's form…
…and right into its head.
Force sufficient to lift a seventy-five ton war machine over a hundred meters into the air shattered the cockpit of the Jade Hawk in an instant, allowing the fusion plasma to flood the cavity and the occupant within. Only later would Eva have time to wonder how horrified, or surprised, Galaxy Commander Chistu had been before she was flash-fried to death.
The Jade Hawk, bereft of its brain, teetered and fell over, smoke flowing from the shattered cockpit.
Laid back in her command couch, Eva drew in several breaths. I… I won… I'm still alive… I'll get to go home and—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the warning tone of a hard target lock from an active enemy sensor. Habitually she tried to stand her 'Mech up, rolling to try and use the stump of the right arm to prop herself into position. The maneuver brought her face to face with the burnt, damaged visage of the Shrike, its blackened wounds and armor, visible only against the off-hues of the otherwise black-painted machine, reminding her of Malvina's Black Rose in its final moments.
Ha. Haha. Her mental laughter became real laughter at realizing the other Falcon pilot was triumphant over Allison, and he was about to kill her. I guess I'm going to die after all.
Say Your Prayers staggered to its feet, reeling like a punch-drunk prizefighter. But she was active, and mobile, and I still have my guns.
The Shrike's back armour was still intact enough that standard fire wasn't going to do anything — not in time. Allison punched in one very specific command sequence, one she'd learned from an old instructor at Buena who'd survived the Jihad because he'd learned how to do this — from an instructor at MSMA who'd survived the Clans from figuring it out — as goddamned stupid as it was; cutting the inhibitor feeds out of the circuit.
Glowing brighter and hotter than Timkovichi's sun, both particle cannon fired. The arm mount's beam cut off after a second, the weapon blowing apart in a cloud of whizzing shrapnel as feedback shredded its safety systems. The other held, long enough to rip through Roshak's rear armour right on the centreline, gutting engine and gyro in an eruption of molten metal before cutting out. The Shrike froze, helpless, looking like it would tip over if the slightest breeze brushed against it.
"Huh." Eva's voice crackled over the laser link. "We did it. We won. We're both alive."
"Yeah, Eva." Allison winced, the euphoria of victory only slightly taking the edge off her aching head. "We won. Now, I'm just gonna wait for the medtechs, okay?"
Captain Orsai
Davion Heavy Guards Captain
For the record, the trick Allison did with boosting her PPCs' damage by cutting out the inhibitor circuitry is discussed in Shrapnel! issue 4. It lets you boost a standard PPC up to cER PPC or Heavy PPC level - for one shot.
After which it pretty much inevitably bricks the gun, and/or causes it to explode.
After which it pretty much inevitably bricks the gun, and/or causes it to explode.
AWESOME! A close victory.
- Location
- Florida USA
RangerKarl
angry un liaison on forced vacation
Little early for Thanksgiving but I'll take it.
- Location
- Florida USA
See it as a Thanksgiving gift of some sort? Maybe birthday would be more apropos?
RangerKarl
angry un liaison on forced vacation
Don't think I've ever had roast turkey for my birthday before, but there's always first times for everything.See it as a Thanksgiving gift of some sort? Maybe birthday would be more apropos?
- Location
- Florida USA
Ha ha ha!
I admit I misunderstood you, lol, yeah, the Thanksgiving thing makes more sense now.
Post 39 - Honor and Shame
- Location
- Florida USA
39 - Honor and Shame
Field Base Carroll
Near Cirenholm
Timkovichi, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
1 February 3143
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lN4Pcl_iEY
The Hummingbird III OmniVTOL painted in Eighth Striker sky blue came to a stop at the helipad in front of the Field Base HQ. A crowd, mostly in AFRF red but a few in the uniforms of the merc companies or the local militia, milled about the pad. The side door opened, allowing Eva and Allison to dismount from the swift chopper's transport pod that had ferried them back to Field Base Carroll from Martenholm.
Even as their feet hit ferrocrete, the crowd of uniformed men and women started cheering and applauding. Allison grimaced, undoubtedly from the concussion the medtechs confirmed when they were examined. While Eva had no such injury the roar in her ears amplified the strange feeling of unreality she had over everything she was seeing and doing. The battle was over and, contrary to all her expectations, she was alive. She'd lived. More importantly, she and Allison won. They'd beaten the Falcon leaders, and by the terms agreed upon, the Falcons would leave Timkovichi.
Generals Bridger and Khan led the command officers of the various units up to meet them. Training kicked in and Eva brought her hand up in a salute, Allison's snapping into place a second after hers did given she was still smarting from the head injury. The cheering and roars died down and more arms came up in salutes.
Before saying anything, Bridger brought his hand up in a salute as fine and solid as any Eva ever saw, the kind the Nagelring held up as the standard for parade reviews. Khan and the others mirrored it. "Leutnant Palisser, Lieutenant Penton, congratulations on a battle well fought and a victory well earned," Bridger said, his voice booming with pride. "You've saved this planet from the Falcons."
"We did our duty, that was all," Eva said, her words more by rote than feeling.
"You fought like a team, and you kept your heads against some of the finest piloting I've ever seen," Bridger said. "I couldn't be more proud."
"Aff, it was a fine battle," Patrik Fetladral declared. "You fought with unity where your foes did not, and as our Rememberance rightly says, the strength of the Wolf is the Pack. Your victory is well worthy of memory, and I shall see to it personally."
"Yes," Tanhause agreed quietly. "Leutnants — both of you — that was one of the best things I've ever seen; and I saw Kai Allard-Liao fight when I was a boy. You're a credit to your services and yourselves, and I'm writing you both up for a medal." He smiled softly. "More importantly, I understand that there's to be a party in the mess later, and you're both to be the guests of honour. The Duchess herself has contributed some fine brandy."
"So is it over, sir?" Allison asked. "Are the Falcons honoring their word?"
"So far, looks like it," Huyten offered. "We've got recon resources monitoring them, but they're pulling everything back to their initial field camps now, save their units observing the prisoner exchange. They started that the moment the fight was over."
Laguna's eyes met Eva's. "You okay, Lieutenant?"
"I'm… just surprised, sir," Eva said. "I honestly thought I was going to die today."
"Hell, I always figure the next day is the day I'll buy it," Evan Kell offered, grinning. "Good to see you're still with us, though. Khan Malvina Hazen, now Galaxy Commander Stephanie Chistu. The Falcons just might start urgin' us to keep you benched in the next fight."
Allison laughed. "I'd hope not, sir. Not until we've chased them out of the Commonwealth."
Eva's eyes went back to the crowd, who weren't cheering again but were standing at attention. Not for the generals, either. For us. How… how did I end up here? How am I the heroine? In the crowd she spotted Kevin, standing with a straight spine. When he noticed her attention was on him he smiled thinly and said, "Eva, good of ye to come back. I'm sure Captain Kincaid and Lieutenant von Krager are proud of ye. Lieutenant Norton too."
She nodded at him in reply. I hope so. I hope my parents are too. I guess I'd better write a new letter…
"Alright everyone, we still have duties to see to!" Khan called out, since most of the assembled were wearing the patch of the Second Royal Cuirassiers along with their individual regimental patches. "The Falcons are still here, remember? Until they're gone, we remain ready for action!"
"Yes sir!" a number of voices called out, at which the crowd began dispersing.
"I heard the medtechs checked you out, so how about you come in for a nice meal and we'll get your formal after-action debriefing going?" Bridger offered, his voice kind.
"Yes sir. I'm famished," Allison admitted. Eva nodded, though she had only a calming tea in mind. She wasn't sure she could handle food just yet.
Delta Galaxy Headquarters
Mannelbourg Township
Fury burned in the heart and soul of Star Colonel Isaac Roshak as he stomped into the central hall of Mannelbourg's baronial estate. Every set of warrior eyes, even those of the technicians, seemed to be judging him, searching for signs of weakness, for his abject failure. Everything for nothing! If Chistu were alive I would kill her, shoot her dead, challenges be damned!
Still, I survived, and I inflicted significant blows on my foes. Chistu is dead, and let her rot. If I am to survive, and keep the traditionalists from leaving our Clan weak, I must show strength now.
The Star Colonels of the entirety of Delta Galaxy were present, those from Chistu's original forces and the units picked up on Sudeten and Morges. A couple still sported injuries much like Isaac's own, though more progressed in healing. Star Colonel Kimberly Mattlov, Chistu's new personal aide, spoke first. "The prisoner exchange is being seen to as we speak, as are our withdrawals from forward exposed points. We will be ready to depart in forty hours."
"Then we are retreating?" The challenge was clear in Star Colonel Uther Mattlov's voice, and his eyes glistened with anger, as did every pair of eyes from the dark-clad Mongols in the room. "We are denied victory because of weaklings who failed to follow the ways of the Chinghis Khan?"
Without another word Isaac stormed up and laid Uther out with a punch. "I fought as hard and great as any warrior would!" he shouted while Uther stared up at him in shock, the same visible on the others. "And I will challenge any of you who think otherwise! And yes, we have lost the Trial, and so under the terms the late Galaxy Commander laid, we have been granted hegira to withdraw from Timkovichi with honor."
"There is no honor but victory!" hissed Star Colonel Wanda Helmer, another of his fellow Mongols. "We should renew the attack, or better yet, call down the fury of our WarShips!"
"You will do no such thing," barked one of the Delta Galaxy commanders, Star Colonel Lisa Hazen. "Galaxy Commander Chistu agreed to accept hegira if defeated. We will honor that and withdraw, and if you try to break faith and disgrace our Clan, we will help the victors put you down for your treachery."
Helmer turned in rage on Hazen, but the other Delta Galaxy loyalists of Chistu stood together. As tempting as it would be to shoot them all, we do need to preserve our troops, thought Isaac. If only for use elsewhere. "While I did not approve of her decisions, as Galaxy Commander Chistu's second in the duel, I am honor bound to obey her orders on this regard. Hegira has been granted. We withdraw, to get our Clan in order, and enjoy the truce the Galaxy Commander secured as a condition for the duel."
"Then we are humiliated yet again." Uther lifted himself from the ground, the blood from his lip and nose dripping over the black leather of his suit. He snarled at Isaac. "We should kill you for your defeat."
"You are welcome to try." Isaac stared down the other black-clad Mongol commanders before turning his focus on Star Colonels Kimberly and Lisa. "Since hegira is granted, and I was chosen by the Galaxy Commander as her second in the duel, might we dispense with a Trial of Position for the moment and I assume temporary command of Delta Galaxy?"
"You?!" Lisa laughed harshly. "You have no right to it. The Galaxy Commander picked you to quiet your shrieking, nothing more. Delta Galaxy will be commanded by one of our own."
"Then I will insist on a Trial of Position, as is tradition." Isaac spoke the word with particular relish. If you wish to do this, I will oblige, and kill my way through your ranks until I am in command!
"What is important is returning to Sudeten to inform the Khans of the truce, and the outcome here," Kimberly said. "As well as the examples of Arcadian technology our technicians recovered from the sites of our victories. Many of their weapons match our own, but they seem to have refinements we lack."
Recalling the long-ranged snub-nosed PPC that the Arcadian fledgling warrior employed on her machine, Isaac recognized the truth of the remark. "Such weapons will improve the Clan once we can employ them as well," he agreed.
"That said, Star Colonel, my willingness to let you act in Galaxy Commander Chistu's stead extends only as far as honoring our pledges. The truce, and our accepting hegira, will not be violated." She said those words in a strict tone. "You will withdraw as required, and I will not hear a word of trying to convince or compel our WarShips to attack. Quiaff?"
Isaac nodded. Star Admiral Crichell is another of the 'traditionalists' we should have killed in the Rending. She would never accept my order anyway. "Aff, Star Colonel. Aff."
"Then I will continue seeing to the withdrawal."
"The same for all of us," Isaac said. "Tell your warriors to prepare for departure, as soon as possible. This battle is over, but more remain for us to seize glory for our Clan."
The black-clad and green-clad officers all dispersed. Isaac, content to let Star Colonel Mattlov handle the drudgery of arranging their withdrawal, departed towards the offices of the baronial estate, where the Watch's contingent among the invasion force were headquartered for the moment. The Watch's overseer on Timkovichi, Star Captain Forrest, saluted at him, his black leathers worn proudly even if he was barely a warrior. "Star Colonel, what might I do for you?"
"Act quickly, Star Captain. Arrange to have Galaxy Commander Chistu's quarters searched. All data files and materials she had must be examined and cataloged, then brought to me."
"It will be done, Star Colonel."
The saKhan clearly favored you, Galaxy Commander Chistu. I wish to know why. Isaac nodded and departed, to see to the Ninth Talon's withdrawal preparations.
Field Base Caroll
Near Cirenholm
The mess hall of Field Base Caroll was decked in printed buntings and banners proclaiming the victory in the second fight for Timkovichi. Personnel from most of the assembled units were around, coming and going as their duties allowed. It seemed everyone, from fresh privates to grizzled sergeants and the regimental commanders, were coming by to give Eva and Allison salutes and handshakes, usually to impromptu cheers from those enjoying the drinks provided by Duchess Schmitt-Levensky. Mugs of Timbiqui Dark, which was somehow even better on this side of the Glass, lifted repeatedly with those cheers, and the same left the usual warm taste in Eva's throat as she took another drink.
They're making me a hero. Me. I just… I did my duty, and I thought I was going to die. I didn't do anything heroic. I didn't throw myself in front of a blast or… She stopped the thought. She had, hadn't she? Driving her 'Mech so hot her SRMs cooked off because she was busy helping Allison, that was risking herself, the kind of "team effort" that earned you promotion and honors.
But they act like I proved I was the better MechWarrior. I wasn't. I just won because I got desperate, and she didn't see it coming.
"Aye, there ye are, Eva."
Hearing Kevin's voice prompted her attention to return to her surroundings. Allison wasn't looking her way, seemingly in conversation with some of her present comrades. She focused her eyes in the direction of the voice and found Kevin approaching with Colonel Perez and Captain Choudhury. They faced her with grins and smiles. She saluted and they replied with their own. "At ease, Lieutenant," Perez said. "Don't worry about the formalities, this is your victory celebration after all."
"I…" Eva swallowed. 'Thank you. It's still a bit much, but thank you all. For everything. You've fought at my side all through this madness, and helped me become strong enough to survive what I faced today."
"Ah, ye're a natural too, don't forget that," Kevin insisted.
"I got lucky, I think," she answered. "I'm not as good as that Falcon warrior I beat."
"Sometimes it isn't about being a better pilot, it's keeping a cool head." Captain Choudhury offered her hand. Eva accepted it and the resulting handshake. "To be honest, I'm a little miffed, you might end up getting poached from me."
"Poached?" Eva looked at her with some confusion. "You mean assigned to another unit?"
"Not just another unit. The General might assign you to his staff, or the AFRF might recall you for media relations," Perez said. "It wouldn't be the first time they pulled a good pilot for PR work when they're set to become a media darling. It's happened a lot in the Sunhawks' long history. Dani Verdes, for instance, got yanked from the Arcadian Guards after the press made her a war hero, and ended up a Sunhawk afterward." He grinned. "That was when she got knighted too. Makes me wonder if you'll end up getting the shoulder taps from the High King."
Eva blushed at the idea. Becoming a Knight of the Federation was hardly something I ever planned on!
"They'll decide later," Kevin declared, ending the conversation for her sake, she imagine. "For now, let's celebrate our young lass returnin' hale and hearty!" His words prompted the attending — including some of the other First Battalion Sunhawks — to again let out a cheer before returning to their discussions.
She blushed again at the cheers. I don't deserve this, she thought. Allison, sure, but not me. But it's what they want, I guess. I fought and almost died for them. The least I can do is let them have a party with me, can't I
I wonder how Allison is taking it? She glanced toward her fellow victor, but found she was still in quiet discussion with her own comrades. Best to leave them to it then.
"Hauptman Devika Xiang."
The name — the last in a long, long list — carried on in soft repetitions among the assembled Armoured Guards; all of them, less the handful, chosen by lot, to man their remaining Quaestor mobile HQ and watch the Falcons' withdrawal, and those too badly hurt to be out of the hospital. Glasses lifted; the amount of brandy in each was purely ceremonial — duty tomorrow, for all of them fit to work — but the proprieties had to be observed.
"Here's to the dead," Jacob Tanhause raised his voice, speaking clearly enough to carry.
"And hurrah for the next one to die," they all shouted in response. Allison didn't know where this tradition had come from — she'd heard stories; from the SLDF, from the Davions in the FedCom days; even one claim that it'd been acquired from the Canopians somehow — but it helped.
So many. In half a year, they'd gone from a proud brigade to the tattered few. Barely a lance of MechWarriors left, with less than one functioning 'Mech between them — maybe one and a half, if Warrant Burnes' old Warlord could be fixed — some bone-tired vehicle crews, and a smattering of infanteers. Not one survivor from their aviation company, or the aerospace defence boys; their short squadron of FedCom-era Sparrowhawks had been wiped from the skies before the Kell Hounds arrived. So many faces gone.
"We kept the faith," she said aloud. "Timkovichi breathes free. The Falcons are leaving, and this time…" Her voice caught. I want to say they won't be back any time soon. But that's the problem with the Mongols; they're like a ghost bear with a toothache. They'll go after anything, and sure as hell don't care about their word. They might be back next month for all we know, Arcadian reinforcements be damned.
Well, to hell with them. We'll fight them again, dammit, and send more of them to join the rest… no, that's the brandy talking. If they come back, and it's a real fight, I doubt any of us will be left to celebrate if our side still wins.
"You're right." Tanhause's voice carried over the silence. "We kept the faith, and that's what matters." He considered the glass, as if preparing a new toast. Allison readied hers.
Before either could speak, the base PA system crackled. "Attention, everyone." The voice of Evan Kell spoke loud and clear. "A spot of great news to share. Our message shuttle just made it back through the Glass, and they've got news fresh off the HPGs on the other side. Earlier today, Lady Trillian signed a treaty of alliance in Archon Melissa's name with High King Nathaniel of the Arcadians. Everything we've done here on this side of the Glass, it was just the start, folks. We're allies now, all official, and together we're drivin' the Crusader Wolves and the Jade Falcons right out of the Commonwealth!"
"Well, forget what I was thinking before." Tanhause stood and lifted his voice, gaining the attention of the Eighth Striker and Second Royal Cuirassier personnel present, the mercenaries' people too. "To the health of High King Nathaniel and our Arcadian allies!"
Allison joined the chorus of voices that echoed his words.
"To the health of Lady Trillian, Archon Melissa, and our Lyran allies!" Colonel Perez called out, lifting his own shotglass of brandy. The Arcadian personnel echoed his words with their own toast.
After an exchange of grins, the two commanders added the final touch to the toast. "And to victory!"
Everyone joined in, and in one gulp, a great deal of brandy sealed their words.
CJFS Timurlane
Departing Timkovichi Orbital Space
3 February 3143
The Falcon DropShips rising from the surface of Timkovichi formed a constellation through the viewing port on the Timurlane. The Overlord-class ship carrying the bulk of the Ninth Talon was one of the last vessels to launch. Aboard the Mongol-named vessel, seated in the command center, Isaac's fury remained unspent since the stinging defeat of two days before. Had Chistu not been a coward, this world would be ours, and the Arcadians would not have humiliated us once more! He hated so intently he wished he could burn every one of them to death for their refusal to submit to the Falcons. I would have made a funeral pyre of this world, in the name of the Chinghis Khan, and taught the outsiders to fear the wrath of the Mongols.
In the distance, the White Aerie and the rest of Crichell's WarShips were in position, preparing to escort Delta Galaxy away. Even now he could imagine the result of turning the ship's impressive guns on the planet. Enemy 'Mechs and tanks melting to slag, the cities burning around their battle- and power-armored infantry, their fighters blasted to pieces on their aerodrome fields. That was how resistance should be dealt with, not this wasteful 'Trial' business that Chistu insisted upon. But it is too late to change that. Let this place be a lesson to us all of the death we face if we continue to adhere to the old ways. The path of the Golden Ordun is our destiny. That way lies greatness and conquest.
Still, the truce would be useful. The Falcons would keep their conquests. As they did ninety years ago, they would break down the Lyran resistance on those worlds, implement the caste system, and destroy any who resisted it. Give it a generation and, like their initial conquests, those worlds would be Falcon worlds with the lower castes fully-productive members of the Clan. And they could turn their troops elsewhere. Towards the Reach, and beyond, the Republic. Their Fortress walls would not last forever, and until then there were more worlds to secure, other enemies to destroy. When the wall fell, he and his Clan would be waiting. And when the truce ends, we will be back, and this planet will burn.
One of the ship technicians spoke. "There's a buildup of energy in the anomaly. Something is coming through."
Isaac looked towards the screen showing the glittering blue field that had illuminated the sky on several of their nights fighting on Timkovichi. The blasted portal, whatever it was, intensified in brightness for a second before, in a flash, a vessel appeared. It was a WarShip, only slightly smaller than the White Aerie or Jade Aerie, carrying what he imagined were ballistic weapons of some sort along with other weapon types Other ships came through in the following minute. Two more were WarShips, smaller but one also bearing large-bore weapons, with a multitude of DropShips of varying shapes and sizes. This force cleared the anomaly rapidly, burning into a position between the Falcons and the planet.
A snarl formed on Isaac's face as the anomaly's flashing built in intensity until a much larger vessel emerged. The techs focused the external cameras on the arriving vessel. The behemoth was the size of a legendary McKenna battleship of the Star League, a colossal ship with multiple heavy ballistic weapons, missile batteries, and naval PPC and laser emplacements on every side and corner. The bluntly-tapered bow stood out below the ship's navigation bridge, flanked by the bow-mounted cannon turrets, with a great golden metal hawk fitted onto it that gleamed in the light of Timkovichi's star.
Isaac's mouth went dry. From his mind Chistu's angry remarks came back to him. "...we do not have the strength to invade this other Inner Sphere as well…" He murmured the words and felt his mouth grow bitter at them, true as they were given the monster of a WarShip burning through, flanked by more DropShips, a few at or at least approaching the size of the Republic's feared Castrum-class Pocket WarShips. It was a sobering sight, made worse as another four WarShips emerged, with ever more DropShips. "How many ships came through through?" he asked aloud.
"Going by our scanner returns, Star Colonel, there are eight WarShips and over forty DropShips, about forty-four, ranging in size from attack type vessels of not ten thousand tonnes to fourteen Pocket WarShips of up to a hundred thousand tonnes of mass."
Such a fleet. It is easily the sum of our Touman's entire naval force. Could they truly have yet more? How could Spheroids manage it, as backwards as they are?! Isaac felt his fury chill. This was a foe that was a threat to his Clan unlike any other. But they do bleed. I have killed their warriors myself, and they were not our equal. No. We can beat them. We will beat them, with the teachings of the Chinghis Khan to guide us to victory. Even their colossus will fall to atomics! He imagined it, entire Binaries worth of brave Falcon aerospace warriors driving home attacks with atomic-tipped weapons until even the giant ship was a molten ruin. That is our future.
Minutes passed as the Falcons continued to burn away, left alone by the enemy forces in-system. Yet more ships were coming through the portal now that their fleet was present, combat transport DropShips and a number of JumpShips. They mean to continue operations then. Will they betray the truce? We must get back to Sudeten and make ready, whether they hold the truce or not!
I have seen enough. Under the one point five gravities the fleet was maintaining to get back to their JumpShips, Isaac still moved well enough the depart the command center. He returned to his office where a visitor awaited. Star Captain Forrest handed him a noteputer. "Galaxy Commander Chistu's prepared dispatches to Sudeten, Galaxy Commander," the Watch officer explained. "Flagged by my people for your likely interest."
He accepted the noteputer and glanced at the first page. Reading the words there made him wish he could throttle Chistu to death, given her insults and slander towards the Chinghis Khan and the Mongol Doctrine. He scrolled enough to see replies not just from her commanders, but a recent dispatch from Sudeten. When he saw what was written, and who had written it, his fury burned yet again, joined by a longing for satisfaction. "Keep this quiet," he instructed Forrest, "and ensure our people are ready to deal with Delta Galaxy's remaining command staff, should it prove necessary."
"I will, Galaxy Commander," Forrest pledged. "And I will ensure the Watch on Sudeten is informed of what you need once we are burning in."
"Good." Isaac placed the noteputer on his desk. A vicious grin formed on his lips. "All there is to do now is wait until our return." And once we do, I will finish the work the Chinghis Khan began in the Rending.
Field Base Carroll
Near Cirenholm
Timkovichi, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
1 February 3143
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lN4Pcl_iEY
The Hummingbird III OmniVTOL painted in Eighth Striker sky blue came to a stop at the helipad in front of the Field Base HQ. A crowd, mostly in AFRF red but a few in the uniforms of the merc companies or the local militia, milled about the pad. The side door opened, allowing Eva and Allison to dismount from the swift chopper's transport pod that had ferried them back to Field Base Carroll from Martenholm.
Even as their feet hit ferrocrete, the crowd of uniformed men and women started cheering and applauding. Allison grimaced, undoubtedly from the concussion the medtechs confirmed when they were examined. While Eva had no such injury the roar in her ears amplified the strange feeling of unreality she had over everything she was seeing and doing. The battle was over and, contrary to all her expectations, she was alive. She'd lived. More importantly, she and Allison won. They'd beaten the Falcon leaders, and by the terms agreed upon, the Falcons would leave Timkovichi.
Generals Bridger and Khan led the command officers of the various units up to meet them. Training kicked in and Eva brought her hand up in a salute, Allison's snapping into place a second after hers did given she was still smarting from the head injury. The cheering and roars died down and more arms came up in salutes.
Before saying anything, Bridger brought his hand up in a salute as fine and solid as any Eva ever saw, the kind the Nagelring held up as the standard for parade reviews. Khan and the others mirrored it. "Leutnant Palisser, Lieutenant Penton, congratulations on a battle well fought and a victory well earned," Bridger said, his voice booming with pride. "You've saved this planet from the Falcons."
"We did our duty, that was all," Eva said, her words more by rote than feeling.
"You fought like a team, and you kept your heads against some of the finest piloting I've ever seen," Bridger said. "I couldn't be more proud."
"Aff, it was a fine battle," Patrik Fetladral declared. "You fought with unity where your foes did not, and as our Rememberance rightly says, the strength of the Wolf is the Pack. Your victory is well worthy of memory, and I shall see to it personally."
"Yes," Tanhause agreed quietly. "Leutnants — both of you — that was one of the best things I've ever seen; and I saw Kai Allard-Liao fight when I was a boy. You're a credit to your services and yourselves, and I'm writing you both up for a medal." He smiled softly. "More importantly, I understand that there's to be a party in the mess later, and you're both to be the guests of honour. The Duchess herself has contributed some fine brandy."
"So is it over, sir?" Allison asked. "Are the Falcons honoring their word?"
"So far, looks like it," Huyten offered. "We've got recon resources monitoring them, but they're pulling everything back to their initial field camps now, save their units observing the prisoner exchange. They started that the moment the fight was over."
Laguna's eyes met Eva's. "You okay, Lieutenant?"
"I'm… just surprised, sir," Eva said. "I honestly thought I was going to die today."
"Hell, I always figure the next day is the day I'll buy it," Evan Kell offered, grinning. "Good to see you're still with us, though. Khan Malvina Hazen, now Galaxy Commander Stephanie Chistu. The Falcons just might start urgin' us to keep you benched in the next fight."
Allison laughed. "I'd hope not, sir. Not until we've chased them out of the Commonwealth."
Eva's eyes went back to the crowd, who weren't cheering again but were standing at attention. Not for the generals, either. For us. How… how did I end up here? How am I the heroine? In the crowd she spotted Kevin, standing with a straight spine. When he noticed her attention was on him he smiled thinly and said, "Eva, good of ye to come back. I'm sure Captain Kincaid and Lieutenant von Krager are proud of ye. Lieutenant Norton too."
She nodded at him in reply. I hope so. I hope my parents are too. I guess I'd better write a new letter…
"Alright everyone, we still have duties to see to!" Khan called out, since most of the assembled were wearing the patch of the Second Royal Cuirassiers along with their individual regimental patches. "The Falcons are still here, remember? Until they're gone, we remain ready for action!"
"Yes sir!" a number of voices called out, at which the crowd began dispersing.
"I heard the medtechs checked you out, so how about you come in for a nice meal and we'll get your formal after-action debriefing going?" Bridger offered, his voice kind.
"Yes sir. I'm famished," Allison admitted. Eva nodded, though she had only a calming tea in mind. She wasn't sure she could handle food just yet.
Delta Galaxy Headquarters
Mannelbourg Township
Fury burned in the heart and soul of Star Colonel Isaac Roshak as he stomped into the central hall of Mannelbourg's baronial estate. Every set of warrior eyes, even those of the technicians, seemed to be judging him, searching for signs of weakness, for his abject failure. Everything for nothing! If Chistu were alive I would kill her, shoot her dead, challenges be damned!
Still, I survived, and I inflicted significant blows on my foes. Chistu is dead, and let her rot. If I am to survive, and keep the traditionalists from leaving our Clan weak, I must show strength now.
The Star Colonels of the entirety of Delta Galaxy were present, those from Chistu's original forces and the units picked up on Sudeten and Morges. A couple still sported injuries much like Isaac's own, though more progressed in healing. Star Colonel Kimberly Mattlov, Chistu's new personal aide, spoke first. "The prisoner exchange is being seen to as we speak, as are our withdrawals from forward exposed points. We will be ready to depart in forty hours."
"Then we are retreating?" The challenge was clear in Star Colonel Uther Mattlov's voice, and his eyes glistened with anger, as did every pair of eyes from the dark-clad Mongols in the room. "We are denied victory because of weaklings who failed to follow the ways of the Chinghis Khan?"
Without another word Isaac stormed up and laid Uther out with a punch. "I fought as hard and great as any warrior would!" he shouted while Uther stared up at him in shock, the same visible on the others. "And I will challenge any of you who think otherwise! And yes, we have lost the Trial, and so under the terms the late Galaxy Commander laid, we have been granted hegira to withdraw from Timkovichi with honor."
"There is no honor but victory!" hissed Star Colonel Wanda Helmer, another of his fellow Mongols. "We should renew the attack, or better yet, call down the fury of our WarShips!"
"You will do no such thing," barked one of the Delta Galaxy commanders, Star Colonel Lisa Hazen. "Galaxy Commander Chistu agreed to accept hegira if defeated. We will honor that and withdraw, and if you try to break faith and disgrace our Clan, we will help the victors put you down for your treachery."
Helmer turned in rage on Hazen, but the other Delta Galaxy loyalists of Chistu stood together. As tempting as it would be to shoot them all, we do need to preserve our troops, thought Isaac. If only for use elsewhere. "While I did not approve of her decisions, as Galaxy Commander Chistu's second in the duel, I am honor bound to obey her orders on this regard. Hegira has been granted. We withdraw, to get our Clan in order, and enjoy the truce the Galaxy Commander secured as a condition for the duel."
"Then we are humiliated yet again." Uther lifted himself from the ground, the blood from his lip and nose dripping over the black leather of his suit. He snarled at Isaac. "We should kill you for your defeat."
"You are welcome to try." Isaac stared down the other black-clad Mongol commanders before turning his focus on Star Colonels Kimberly and Lisa. "Since hegira is granted, and I was chosen by the Galaxy Commander as her second in the duel, might we dispense with a Trial of Position for the moment and I assume temporary command of Delta Galaxy?"
"You?!" Lisa laughed harshly. "You have no right to it. The Galaxy Commander picked you to quiet your shrieking, nothing more. Delta Galaxy will be commanded by one of our own."
"Then I will insist on a Trial of Position, as is tradition." Isaac spoke the word with particular relish. If you wish to do this, I will oblige, and kill my way through your ranks until I am in command!
"What is important is returning to Sudeten to inform the Khans of the truce, and the outcome here," Kimberly said. "As well as the examples of Arcadian technology our technicians recovered from the sites of our victories. Many of their weapons match our own, but they seem to have refinements we lack."
Recalling the long-ranged snub-nosed PPC that the Arcadian fledgling warrior employed on her machine, Isaac recognized the truth of the remark. "Such weapons will improve the Clan once we can employ them as well," he agreed.
"That said, Star Colonel, my willingness to let you act in Galaxy Commander Chistu's stead extends only as far as honoring our pledges. The truce, and our accepting hegira, will not be violated." She said those words in a strict tone. "You will withdraw as required, and I will not hear a word of trying to convince or compel our WarShips to attack. Quiaff?"
Isaac nodded. Star Admiral Crichell is another of the 'traditionalists' we should have killed in the Rending. She would never accept my order anyway. "Aff, Star Colonel. Aff."
"Then I will continue seeing to the withdrawal."
"The same for all of us," Isaac said. "Tell your warriors to prepare for departure, as soon as possible. This battle is over, but more remain for us to seize glory for our Clan."
The black-clad and green-clad officers all dispersed. Isaac, content to let Star Colonel Mattlov handle the drudgery of arranging their withdrawal, departed towards the offices of the baronial estate, where the Watch's contingent among the invasion force were headquartered for the moment. The Watch's overseer on Timkovichi, Star Captain Forrest, saluted at him, his black leathers worn proudly even if he was barely a warrior. "Star Colonel, what might I do for you?"
"Act quickly, Star Captain. Arrange to have Galaxy Commander Chistu's quarters searched. All data files and materials she had must be examined and cataloged, then brought to me."
"It will be done, Star Colonel."
The saKhan clearly favored you, Galaxy Commander Chistu. I wish to know why. Isaac nodded and departed, to see to the Ninth Talon's withdrawal preparations.
Field Base Caroll
Near Cirenholm
The mess hall of Field Base Caroll was decked in printed buntings and banners proclaiming the victory in the second fight for Timkovichi. Personnel from most of the assembled units were around, coming and going as their duties allowed. It seemed everyone, from fresh privates to grizzled sergeants and the regimental commanders, were coming by to give Eva and Allison salutes and handshakes, usually to impromptu cheers from those enjoying the drinks provided by Duchess Schmitt-Levensky. Mugs of Timbiqui Dark, which was somehow even better on this side of the Glass, lifted repeatedly with those cheers, and the same left the usual warm taste in Eva's throat as she took another drink.
They're making me a hero. Me. I just… I did my duty, and I thought I was going to die. I didn't do anything heroic. I didn't throw myself in front of a blast or… She stopped the thought. She had, hadn't she? Driving her 'Mech so hot her SRMs cooked off because she was busy helping Allison, that was risking herself, the kind of "team effort" that earned you promotion and honors.
But they act like I proved I was the better MechWarrior. I wasn't. I just won because I got desperate, and she didn't see it coming.
"Aye, there ye are, Eva."
Hearing Kevin's voice prompted her attention to return to her surroundings. Allison wasn't looking her way, seemingly in conversation with some of her present comrades. She focused her eyes in the direction of the voice and found Kevin approaching with Colonel Perez and Captain Choudhury. They faced her with grins and smiles. She saluted and they replied with their own. "At ease, Lieutenant," Perez said. "Don't worry about the formalities, this is your victory celebration after all."
"I…" Eva swallowed. 'Thank you. It's still a bit much, but thank you all. For everything. You've fought at my side all through this madness, and helped me become strong enough to survive what I faced today."
"Ah, ye're a natural too, don't forget that," Kevin insisted.
"I got lucky, I think," she answered. "I'm not as good as that Falcon warrior I beat."
"Sometimes it isn't about being a better pilot, it's keeping a cool head." Captain Choudhury offered her hand. Eva accepted it and the resulting handshake. "To be honest, I'm a little miffed, you might end up getting poached from me."
"Poached?" Eva looked at her with some confusion. "You mean assigned to another unit?"
"Not just another unit. The General might assign you to his staff, or the AFRF might recall you for media relations," Perez said. "It wouldn't be the first time they pulled a good pilot for PR work when they're set to become a media darling. It's happened a lot in the Sunhawks' long history. Dani Verdes, for instance, got yanked from the Arcadian Guards after the press made her a war hero, and ended up a Sunhawk afterward." He grinned. "That was when she got knighted too. Makes me wonder if you'll end up getting the shoulder taps from the High King."
Eva blushed at the idea. Becoming a Knight of the Federation was hardly something I ever planned on!
"They'll decide later," Kevin declared, ending the conversation for her sake, she imagine. "For now, let's celebrate our young lass returnin' hale and hearty!" His words prompted the attending — including some of the other First Battalion Sunhawks — to again let out a cheer before returning to their discussions.
She blushed again at the cheers. I don't deserve this, she thought. Allison, sure, but not me. But it's what they want, I guess. I fought and almost died for them. The least I can do is let them have a party with me, can't I
I wonder how Allison is taking it? She glanced toward her fellow victor, but found she was still in quiet discussion with her own comrades. Best to leave them to it then.
"Hauptman Devika Xiang."
The name — the last in a long, long list — carried on in soft repetitions among the assembled Armoured Guards; all of them, less the handful, chosen by lot, to man their remaining Quaestor mobile HQ and watch the Falcons' withdrawal, and those too badly hurt to be out of the hospital. Glasses lifted; the amount of brandy in each was purely ceremonial — duty tomorrow, for all of them fit to work — but the proprieties had to be observed.
"Here's to the dead," Jacob Tanhause raised his voice, speaking clearly enough to carry.
"And hurrah for the next one to die," they all shouted in response. Allison didn't know where this tradition had come from — she'd heard stories; from the SLDF, from the Davions in the FedCom days; even one claim that it'd been acquired from the Canopians somehow — but it helped.
So many. In half a year, they'd gone from a proud brigade to the tattered few. Barely a lance of MechWarriors left, with less than one functioning 'Mech between them — maybe one and a half, if Warrant Burnes' old Warlord could be fixed — some bone-tired vehicle crews, and a smattering of infanteers. Not one survivor from their aviation company, or the aerospace defence boys; their short squadron of FedCom-era Sparrowhawks had been wiped from the skies before the Kell Hounds arrived. So many faces gone.
"We kept the faith," she said aloud. "Timkovichi breathes free. The Falcons are leaving, and this time…" Her voice caught. I want to say they won't be back any time soon. But that's the problem with the Mongols; they're like a ghost bear with a toothache. They'll go after anything, and sure as hell don't care about their word. They might be back next month for all we know, Arcadian reinforcements be damned.
Well, to hell with them. We'll fight them again, dammit, and send more of them to join the rest… no, that's the brandy talking. If they come back, and it's a real fight, I doubt any of us will be left to celebrate if our side still wins.
"You're right." Tanhause's voice carried over the silence. "We kept the faith, and that's what matters." He considered the glass, as if preparing a new toast. Allison readied hers.
Before either could speak, the base PA system crackled. "Attention, everyone." The voice of Evan Kell spoke loud and clear. "A spot of great news to share. Our message shuttle just made it back through the Glass, and they've got news fresh off the HPGs on the other side. Earlier today, Lady Trillian signed a treaty of alliance in Archon Melissa's name with High King Nathaniel of the Arcadians. Everything we've done here on this side of the Glass, it was just the start, folks. We're allies now, all official, and together we're drivin' the Crusader Wolves and the Jade Falcons right out of the Commonwealth!"
"Well, forget what I was thinking before." Tanhause stood and lifted his voice, gaining the attention of the Eighth Striker and Second Royal Cuirassier personnel present, the mercenaries' people too. "To the health of High King Nathaniel and our Arcadian allies!"
Allison joined the chorus of voices that echoed his words.
"To the health of Lady Trillian, Archon Melissa, and our Lyran allies!" Colonel Perez called out, lifting his own shotglass of brandy. The Arcadian personnel echoed his words with their own toast.
After an exchange of grins, the two commanders added the final touch to the toast. "And to victory!"
Everyone joined in, and in one gulp, a great deal of brandy sealed their words.
CJFS Timurlane
Departing Timkovichi Orbital Space
3 February 3143
The Falcon DropShips rising from the surface of Timkovichi formed a constellation through the viewing port on the Timurlane. The Overlord-class ship carrying the bulk of the Ninth Talon was one of the last vessels to launch. Aboard the Mongol-named vessel, seated in the command center, Isaac's fury remained unspent since the stinging defeat of two days before. Had Chistu not been a coward, this world would be ours, and the Arcadians would not have humiliated us once more! He hated so intently he wished he could burn every one of them to death for their refusal to submit to the Falcons. I would have made a funeral pyre of this world, in the name of the Chinghis Khan, and taught the outsiders to fear the wrath of the Mongols.
In the distance, the White Aerie and the rest of Crichell's WarShips were in position, preparing to escort Delta Galaxy away. Even now he could imagine the result of turning the ship's impressive guns on the planet. Enemy 'Mechs and tanks melting to slag, the cities burning around their battle- and power-armored infantry, their fighters blasted to pieces on their aerodrome fields. That was how resistance should be dealt with, not this wasteful 'Trial' business that Chistu insisted upon. But it is too late to change that. Let this place be a lesson to us all of the death we face if we continue to adhere to the old ways. The path of the Golden Ordun is our destiny. That way lies greatness and conquest.
Still, the truce would be useful. The Falcons would keep their conquests. As they did ninety years ago, they would break down the Lyran resistance on those worlds, implement the caste system, and destroy any who resisted it. Give it a generation and, like their initial conquests, those worlds would be Falcon worlds with the lower castes fully-productive members of the Clan. And they could turn their troops elsewhere. Towards the Reach, and beyond, the Republic. Their Fortress walls would not last forever, and until then there were more worlds to secure, other enemies to destroy. When the wall fell, he and his Clan would be waiting. And when the truce ends, we will be back, and this planet will burn.
One of the ship technicians spoke. "There's a buildup of energy in the anomaly. Something is coming through."
Isaac looked towards the screen showing the glittering blue field that had illuminated the sky on several of their nights fighting on Timkovichi. The blasted portal, whatever it was, intensified in brightness for a second before, in a flash, a vessel appeared. It was a WarShip, only slightly smaller than the White Aerie or Jade Aerie, carrying what he imagined were ballistic weapons of some sort along with other weapon types Other ships came through in the following minute. Two more were WarShips, smaller but one also bearing large-bore weapons, with a multitude of DropShips of varying shapes and sizes. This force cleared the anomaly rapidly, burning into a position between the Falcons and the planet.
A snarl formed on Isaac's face as the anomaly's flashing built in intensity until a much larger vessel emerged. The techs focused the external cameras on the arriving vessel. The behemoth was the size of a legendary McKenna battleship of the Star League, a colossal ship with multiple heavy ballistic weapons, missile batteries, and naval PPC and laser emplacements on every side and corner. The bluntly-tapered bow stood out below the ship's navigation bridge, flanked by the bow-mounted cannon turrets, with a great golden metal hawk fitted onto it that gleamed in the light of Timkovichi's star.
Isaac's mouth went dry. From his mind Chistu's angry remarks came back to him. "...we do not have the strength to invade this other Inner Sphere as well…" He murmured the words and felt his mouth grow bitter at them, true as they were given the monster of a WarShip burning through, flanked by more DropShips, a few at or at least approaching the size of the Republic's feared Castrum-class Pocket WarShips. It was a sobering sight, made worse as another four WarShips emerged, with ever more DropShips. "How many ships came through through?" he asked aloud.
"Going by our scanner returns, Star Colonel, there are eight WarShips and over forty DropShips, about forty-four, ranging in size from attack type vessels of not ten thousand tonnes to fourteen Pocket WarShips of up to a hundred thousand tonnes of mass."
Such a fleet. It is easily the sum of our Touman's entire naval force. Could they truly have yet more? How could Spheroids manage it, as backwards as they are?! Isaac felt his fury chill. This was a foe that was a threat to his Clan unlike any other. But they do bleed. I have killed their warriors myself, and they were not our equal. No. We can beat them. We will beat them, with the teachings of the Chinghis Khan to guide us to victory. Even their colossus will fall to atomics! He imagined it, entire Binaries worth of brave Falcon aerospace warriors driving home attacks with atomic-tipped weapons until even the giant ship was a molten ruin. That is our future.
Minutes passed as the Falcons continued to burn away, left alone by the enemy forces in-system. Yet more ships were coming through the portal now that their fleet was present, combat transport DropShips and a number of JumpShips. They mean to continue operations then. Will they betray the truce? We must get back to Sudeten and make ready, whether they hold the truce or not!
I have seen enough. Under the one point five gravities the fleet was maintaining to get back to their JumpShips, Isaac still moved well enough the depart the command center. He returned to his office where a visitor awaited. Star Captain Forrest handed him a noteputer. "Galaxy Commander Chistu's prepared dispatches to Sudeten, Galaxy Commander," the Watch officer explained. "Flagged by my people for your likely interest."
He accepted the noteputer and glanced at the first page. Reading the words there made him wish he could throttle Chistu to death, given her insults and slander towards the Chinghis Khan and the Mongol Doctrine. He scrolled enough to see replies not just from her commanders, but a recent dispatch from Sudeten. When he saw what was written, and who had written it, his fury burned yet again, joined by a longing for satisfaction. "Keep this quiet," he instructed Forrest, "and ensure our people are ready to deal with Delta Galaxy's remaining command staff, should it prove necessary."
"I will, Galaxy Commander," Forrest pledged. "And I will ensure the Watch on Sudeten is informed of what you need once we are burning in."
"Good." Isaac placed the noteputer on his desk. A vicious grin formed on his lips. "All there is to do now is wait until our return." And once we do, I will finish the work the Chinghis Khan began in the Rending.
The wrong clanner died, damn.
Post 40 - Preparations
- Location
- Florida USA
40 - Preparations
Royal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
7 February 3143
The end of the customary weekend was not as quiet as it had previously been, by Trillian's reckoning. The energy in Roslyn was at a fever pitch as the alliance had the Arcadians pushing forward with restoring deactivated units and preparing for the military effort of a campaign through the Glass. Over a dozen BattleMech regiments, with attendant forces, were in motion towards the Glass, or preparing for such deployment, and units were being scheduled for re-activation with releases from the Arcadian strategic reserve stockpiles and increased orders from Defiance, Selassie, TharDef, and the other armament firms of the Federation. Recruitment to the AFRF was spiking by reports, with a number of applicants seeking assignment beyond the Glass. Local and interstellar efforts at bond drives would contribute to financing the war and the alliance provisions. It was all so much.
But that wasn't the only source of energy. February 8th had come, and with it, Nathaniel's formal coronation. He'd inherited the throne the prior May with his grandmother's accidental death and by tradition waited until the new year. Now rulers from across the Federation were on world to pay homage to their new High King, attending with diplomats and special envoys from half of the Successor States and ComStar. She hadn't seen Nathaniel himself since they left the Senate triumphant, given the need for rehearsals and meetings to see to his coronation.
So she was both surprised and a little relieved to get the summons to visit his office on the eve of the ceremony. She arrived and was shown in by Sophia Marik, who remained at the door once it closed.
Nathaniel was with Peter, but they were not alone. Three other individuals were seated around the room. She quickly recognized Lord von Kassel of Ghastillia, but it took her a few moments to recognize the others.
Ambassador Serafina Wotjak of the Communal League of Sudeten was seated nearest to the door, a tall woman — formerly an armored infantrywoman of the 1st Autonomous Assault Regiment — with a wide face and broad hips and shoulders, one side of her face still bearing burn scars from fighting in the Fourth Succession War. Trillian had only met her briefly, really in passing, during the New Year's celebration, with most of her feelers to the Communal League being dealt with by Wotjak's subordinates. Her clothing was austere and business formal, without some of the ornamentation of court uniform or dress that von Kassel and Trillian herself now wore. Only a pin on her collar marked her official position, bearing the insignia of the Communal League and its flag: a white disc trisected by a three-pointed red star laid over a five-pointed green star.
The same was true for the man seated beside Wotjak, her colleague Hans Christian Heg, Ambassador of the Free Communal Republic of Rasalhague. He was older than Wotjak, his face worn and his hair a silver-gray, thin as a rail. His suit was respectful and had a more elaborate cut than Wotjak's, though it was still austere, devoid of any ornamentation save the stylized, wolf's head and dragon-serpent's head of silver filigree joined on a Nordic-style sun cross lined with runes. Given distance, and the Rasalhague Republic's pressing need to see to the defense of their border with the Draconis Combine, Trillian had left them as a lower priority to her diplomatic efforts, though she'd heard from Lord Marienberg that Heg was sympathetic to the Lyran cause.
"Lady Trillian, thank you for joining us," Nathaniel said from his desk. He indicated one of the open chairs around the table at the side of the office, under the century-old portrait of High King Thomas Proctor and High Queen Johanna Steiner. Trillian settled into it, putting her across from the two COMINTERSTEL ambassadors. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day, but I wished to get this matter settled given you will soon be departing for the Glass."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Trillian said respectfully. "Is there a matter you seek to discuss?"
"It concerns the aid to the Commonwealth, and the necessary scope to put a definitive end to the Clan threat."
"I see." And you alone can't send enough troops to completely defeat them. Having that confirmed by the materials released to her by the AFRF Command Staff upon the alliance's signing was a bit of a damper, even if it didn't change the bare fact that the alliance made the Commonwealth's survival possible. It just meant it would take longer and be bloodier. And we have already lost so much blood… but maybe… dare I hope he's found a way to provide more aid?
"I will speak plainly to you, Lady Trillian." Wotjak's voice was blunt and accented strangely. Her people use the constructed language Esperanto as their official language, Trillian recalled. I wonder if that is the influence on her accent? "The Communal League believes it is the proper destiny of Mankind to end aristocracy, capitalism, and all forms of class and hierarchy that have for millennia kept workers' dreams and aspirations suppressed. We do not approve of your Commonwealth any more than we accept the social system of the Federation or the Ghastillian Kingdom. But we are practical people and can recognize when one system is better for workers than another. Your Commonwealth, though unacceptably flawed to us, is of greater kindness to the common people than the eugenicist madness of these Clans, as shown by the bloody butchery revealed to us. So we are willing to make common cause with the Lyran Commonwealth to liberate the worlds held by the Clans and end their oppression once and for all."
"I appreciate the candor, Excellency," Trillian replied politely. "I admit I was uncertain about our possible relations and did not pursue connections out of doubt, it's good to know where you stand."
Wotjak nodded once. "I have had an alliance treaty drawn up as well, and I can assure you it would be ratified by the Communal Assembly." She presented a noteputer to Trillian, who accepted it and started reading the text.
Much of the treaty was standard, virtually the same as Trillian wrote with Nathaniel. She noted that the treaty was with the COMINTERSTEL alliance, not just the League. "Rasalhague is a party then as well?"
"We and our allies do not always move in lockstep, but in this matter, the Communal Republic is in full agreement." Heg's expression remained stoic, but his eyes flashed with muted anger. "These Clans must be destroyed for their crimes, and the FolksArme is ready to join the war."
"It would be a separate treaty, I see, to those I've already signed." She nodded to Kassel, who nodded back. "Though there are to be consultations?"
"Strategic consultations on who will fight where, to ease logistics and prevent misunderstandings," Kassel said.
"Right." They were enemies. Are still enemies, if amicable ones. "And to work around the truce the Arcadian commanders agreed to?" Trillian cast her eyes towards Nathaniel. "I was informed your General Bridger and General Singh agreed to a five year truce between your forces, and our forces, with the Falcons."
"They were not authorized to pursue such terms, though I will uphold them." Nathaniel motioned to the others present. "Of course, I do not speak for our prospective allies, who were not party to said agreement, nor did the Falcons request their participation."
In other words, Rasalhague and Sudeten are not covered by the truce agreement Chistu required before she agreed to put the fight for Timkovichi down to a single duel, so no point in repudiating the agreement. Trillian went through the final terms. And there we are. "Article 16… I see. That is your price?"
"It is," Wotjak said, her tone firm.
She quietly read over the text again. "The Lyran Commonwealth agrees to free emigration in perpetuity of all residents to the COMINTERSTEL worlds, and will not impede by any means of regulation, fee, or other duty or obstruction the right of peoples of their worlds to emigrate to the COMINTERSTEL worlds. The Lyran Commonwealth recognizes the rights of COMINTERSTEL to publish the terms by which life among the COMINTERSTEL worlds is maintained and advise potential emigrants on…" They require us to let our people leave for their worlds. She thought on the term and how it'd be seen back home. There is little scandalous about it, but they will undoubtedly be seeking to recruit widely, especially among our educated.
She continued on to the bottom. "I have no objections to these terms." Trillian handed the noteputer back. "I do have reservations on Article 16. The Lyran Commonwealth desires to ensure that any emigrants who decide they wish to return may do so, and on the same grounds. We also will need assurance that this treaty will not interfere with proceedings in family custody courts and that children taken unlawfully by emigrating parents will be returned if such a case comes up."
"We would be willing to submit any such cases to a neutral arbiter, with the best interest of the child or children factored in," Wotjak replied.
"As for lawful fugitives, we do not consider Article 16 to give away any right to search a ship for suspected fugitives from the Commonwealth's courts and justice system, or to detain them and return them to custody, notwithstanding protected classes such as diplomatic missions."
"We accept that statement, and so long as it is exercised responsibly and properly, it will not be challenged." Wotjak grinned thinly. "Though we will regard abuse to be an abrogation of the treaty and demand compliance and compensation."
"Understood." Trillian nodded. "I will sign the treaty, then, and provide it alongside my existing treaties with the Royal Federation and Kingdom of Ghastillia for the Archon's ratification."
"Excellent."
"Then it is settled," said Nathaniel. "Our four states will work together to clear the Clans from the Commonwealth's worlds and end their abuses."
"Yes, we share a common cause once more," Heg said happily. "Our troops will begin moving at once. The Glass has been cleared completely, correct?"
Nathaniel nodded. "Yes. Fourth Battle Fleet is securing the Timkovichi system and the Falcons are burning for their JumpShips as we speak. Additionally, we invite you to join us in protecting the Glass, until such a time as the Clan threat recedes and the Lyran Commonwealth can assume defensive duties over Timkovichi."
"It will be passed on, King Nathaniel." Wotjak stood. "And as you have your ceremony tomorrow, we will not take up any more of your time. Good day." She nodded once and went for the door, where Sophia opened it without a word.
Heg lingered a moment longer, bowing respectfully to Trillian. "I have observed your actions since coming to Arcadia, Lady Trillian. You have been a spirited advocate for your bleeding nation, and have earned Rasalhague's respect and admiration. We will have the formal treaty ready to sign within two days, with all your reservations accounted for."
"Thank you, Your Excellency," Trillian replied, bowing her head as well. "From my studies of your history, I am filled with admiration for the spirit of Rasalhague's people on this side of the Glass. It is a tragedy my side's Rasalhague did not long get to enjoy independence before the Clans ended it."
"Yes, it is." Heg grinned wolfishly. "We may yet do something about that, if the circumstances permit. But the Falcons must be dealt with first. Good day, Lady Trillian, King Nathaniel." With a final slight bow of his head, Heg departed.
Kassel bowed as well. "I shall see you all tomorrow. Good evening." He walked out.
"It is done," Trillian said. "Your four states, together, should be able to turn the tide decisively, so long as you arrive before Tharkad falls."
"Yes. It is why I already have troops in motion, and JumpShips being prepared for transit through the Glass."
"And you will be with them?" The moment she said the words Trillian noted Sophia's eyes lower thoughtfully.
"I will, yes," Nathaniel said. "I cannot ask my soldiers to fight this war if I do not go to the front myself. It would not be appropriate. My Lifeguards, the Second Proctor Guards, and the Arcadian Rangers already have their orders to embark."
"I understand. You will be welcomed on Tharkad, I will see to it." Seeing the look in his eyes she quickly added, "I am certain you have matters to attend to before tomorrow, so I will leave you to them. Thank you again for the invitation to the coronation, my staff is honored."
"And we are honored to host you."
With a final smile and agreeing nod, Trillian left the room.
Typically Sundays were Prince Peter's day away from his office, but with the coronation ceremony to come he stepped in to get through the week's opening paperwork early. As he was effectively leader of the government in terms of ensuring the domestic policies of Parliament's leaders were being enacted and the day-to-day business of government followed, the civil service always had papers for him to review. The benefit to it being an off day was getting to have Kevin with him.
His husband, born Lord Kevin McGonagal of Cameron, was once a vital, broad-shouldered man, a MechWarrior of the Proctor Heavy Guards' First Battalion. But old war wounds, a family history of cancer, and an onset of Webster Syndrome all combined to take their toll. Cancers in his brain and stomach sapped his vitality and were, ever so slowly, robbing him of his motor functions, which were impeded anyway due to the Webster Syndrome, an after-effect of gyro feedback suffered when he was nearly killed by the Oriento-Capellan Empire's forces in the Fourth Succession War. He was mostly bald now, with wisps of graying brown hair remaining on the crown of his head, and confined to a wheelchair given his difficulty walking. Peter felt guilty just looking at him sometimes, as if his remaining strength was an insult to his dying lover.
For the moment, Kevin had a noteputer up. "So far so good in the daily running of the Federation," he said, his voice about the only part of him still sounding like it had when he was barking commands over las-comm links to his company of assault 'Mech pilots. "I'd say you managed to balance the budgets right."
"It took some work, but we found the pounds for it all." And angered a few special interests, several government watchdog groups committed to reducing tax burdens, and the Royal Revenue Service that has to deal with the complaints.
"You think he's being a young fool, don't you?" Kevin asked. "Our dear boy king."
Peter leveled his husband a sardonic look. "He probably deserves better than to be called that."
"Ah. Sorry, I forgot that's how your mad cousin refers to him." Kevin chuckled dryly. "I was more thinking of the little boy who once proudly and defiantly declared he'd never fight a war, even when it made everyone in the palace furious."
Peter drew in a sigh and allowed himself a wistful smile. "It took me time to set him straight. Maybe I did the job too well. Talking to him about his duty to his people, that the King must fight if his people need him too. Now he has found a fight he thinks we need, and he will go join it."
"If we were to have ever had a son ourselves… well, listen to me." Kevin shook his head. "He was about it, I think. The reason we never did. Now we might lose him too. I'm worried about that, for your sake. You lost James, Jackie, now James' son will be out there, and here, I've not got long left."
"You'll make it through, you're strong," Peter snapped. "Don't talk like that."
"Just being realistic, Peter. And my worry is how it's going to hurt you. You've lost too much."
Peter brushed the fear welling inside him away. The cancer wasn't responding well to the therapy, he would likely lose Kevin before long. And his sister was gone, the nephew he'd been responsible for, and the grand-nephew he'd helped to raise… if he lost all of them, he'd have so little left. It wasn't like he was close to Thomas, or to Renard, and Johanna hadn't spoken to anyone in the family since both her children were killed at Sirius and Procyon in '23 as part of the MORNING STAR disaster.
Please God, bring him home, Peter prayed. Bring Nathan home safe and sound. Don't let him die out there…
The approaching coronation made the Palace busier than usual, much to Arnold's annoyance. Nobles who'd not stepped foot here since Jacqueline became High Queen were present. Dozens of dukes and planetary rulers in the Arcadia, Donegal, and Skye Marches were coming and going, making personal appeals of one kind or another before their day in the coronation to pay personal homage. Access to Nathaniel was non-existent, and here he was, arranging plans and shuffling troops for a war he knew to be against the wrong enemy. But Prince Peter's words were clear; any effort by Arnold to impede the war would see him removed and probably disgraced. His only choices were to obey to the best of his ability or to resign.
Now he looked with pain and longing at his parents' portrait, wondering if he should just accept the latter. Resign, go back to Stronburg, and actively move into the Opposition. I am no politician, though, I am a soldier. Here I can be of use, I can pick up the pieces when this effort inevitably fails, and lead our people into the war we should be fighting.
The door opened. "I'd heard you were moping, cousin," a voice called out. "But certainly you might have spared a moment to meet my ship?"
Arnold's first instinct at the door opening was to berate his yeoman, but the thought died at hearing the soprano voice and soft Islay burr of his cousin and the brat boy king's aunt and presumed heir. Princess Melissa Proctor-Steiner stepped into the room, wearing a formal court gown of Steiner blue mixed with Proctor red, a gold hawk crest on the left breast of the suit. Her skin, a light brown from the influence of her Brewer bloodline, still looked young, though she was almost to her mid-40s now.
A quarter century separated them in age, but it was Lord Arnold, as commanding officer of the Fourteenth Donegal Guards, who brought the young Sanglamore-educated officer-candidate into his unit during the fierce fighting of the latter Fourth Succession War. It was he who'd later sponsored her promotions all the way to Colonel in the peacetime AFRF, and in all respects supported her once she decided to change over to civil administration and support her heartbroken mother. They didn't always agree, but he was certain she would prove a better ruler than the foolish boy king they were about to crown instead. If only the monarchy were elective within House Proctor. I would have thrown my votes to her over Nathaniel without a doubt.
"I hear you and Uncle Peter had quite the row," Melissa said.
"He betrayed his duty," Arnold grumbled. "He's let his sentiment towards Nathaniel overcome all prudent judgment of our situation."
"He's also a grieving spouse waiting for the day he'll be a widower," she pointed out. "Though I'll admit Nathaniel is being obstinate. A family trait, unfortunately. We Proctors are utterly pigheaded when we think we're upholding a moral cause, you know that. Even though you are more Steiner than Proctor."
"House Steiner's history is long and proud, House Proctor's distinguished but lacking in comparison," Arnold insisted. "So yes, I favor my Steiner heritage, and our destiny to restore the Lyran Commonwealth Katherine Steiner built seven hundred years ago."
"I needn't tell you the mood on Skye is one of not caring on that distinction, only that Skye is protected and kept strong," she replied, easing into an available chair. "Though I do worry about you, cousin. Your temper towards my silly nephew can cause us more trouble, and do nothing to deal with the problem. I hope you're not planning some foolish resistance to the war now that we're committed to it? The people seem unified behind it, after all, I can feel their anger in the air, all thanks to those ghastly images from the other side of the Glass."
Arnold sighed and shook his head. "Ghastly images, yes, but that doesn't mean we can afford to spend our strength when we face a threat ourselves. And while I considered the idea of trying to stall the war… no. My oath must be obeyed. Peter, damn his soft heart, reminded me of that. I swore to protect the Federation, and I will do so, until my dying day. I can only pray I am wrong about how this war will undermine our defenses."
Melissa nodded. "Exactly what I expected to hear, cousin. Perhaps this conflict will do Nathaniel good. It may shake loose whatever pacifist inclinations he retains and ready him for whatever conflicts lie in our future."
"Perhaps." I do not hold out the hope, Nathaniel is too certain of himself. But miracles do happen. He dare not voice the treacherous, dark hope he sometimes felt, and which a part of him thought best though the rest of him was horrified by it. The hope that Nathaniel would meet his end across the Glass, killed by his foolish crusade, and Melissa would be High Queen. Then we would have a ruler with the mettle to face the Dowager Empress of Oriente and her puppet great-grandson.
"In the meantime, I believe I will continue my own efforts," she said. "I have had numerous enlightening conversations with House Davion's consul on Skye these past years. Lord Gregory Morgan of Kittery, you may have heard of him? His grandfather was one of old Long Tom's Brethren pirates, you know. A lot of those men and women still rankle at the Empire's treachery."
Arnold grinned at that. "Yes, I think they would. Still, the Davions have other concerns, and we can't be sure Tikonov and the Azami will be so willing to work with us as well."
"Not right now, but in time…"
Given what was to come on the morrow, Sophia finished her day with a quick visit to the Royal Chambers. The guards checked with Nathaniel and immediately let her in. She found him reading a noteputer, a quiet, grim sort of expression on his face. He was in evening wear, a basic vest and shirt with leggings, all whites and blues, and no mark of his rank showing. He looked up at her and, while he didn't smile, he did seem to relax. 'Sophia. Don't tell me I forgot something?"
"Nothing important," she said, easing into the chair beside him. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, given what a day we'll have tomorrow."
"Yes. The coronation." He sighed, setting the noteputer down. "The rehearsals went well enough. Everything will be in place. Bishop Stanford will perform the service well."
"I would hope so, though I imagine Cardinal Greevey is disappointed," Sophia remarked. Presiding Bishop Stanford was the head of the Episcopalian Church of Arcadia. They were the largest church on Arcadia, though concentrated primarily on the continent of Islay. Nathaniel's church membership had only been decided recently, and unsurprisingly, was in line with Prince Peter's as opposed to his mother, who practiced the Umayr family's Hinduism, and his grandmother and father, who were Roman Catholics due to Jacqueline's decision to convert from the Steiner Lutheranism of Thomas and Ethan..
"I admit many of the doctrinal questions between the churches strike me as mere quibbles," Nathaniel said. "The essence matters more. But I think it will reassure many, and restore some sense of balance due to Grandmother's religious affiliations."
"That, it might very well do," Sophia said. She shifted in the chair. "It occurs to me that your work across the Glass won't just be military. Archon Melissa will have concerns, and more, the Commonwealth will probably have a number of political problems. And you'll need to keep aware of matters here. Perhaps I should come to continue serving at your side."
Her look was pleading, but she saw no sign she would get her wish. "I won't be performing day-to-day governance. That'll be Sara-Marie's job, and she'll need your help."
Sophia knew well of whom he spoke. Lady Sara-Marie Proctor was a distant cousin of Nathaniel's, the daughter of the controversial Princess Abigail, younger daughter of High Queen Sara-Marie. "The Veterinarian Princess' daughter, then?"
"She served my grandmother well enough, on those few times Grandmother Jackie went offworld," Nathaniel said. "And she is a common sense woman, I think you and Uncle Peter will work well with her in keeping matters at home going well."
"Right." Sophia tried to hide her disappointment, but knew she wasn't. Damn. How does Uncle Kenneth do it? All of those nobles with their poker faces!
"You really wanted to come with me?"
"More like I fear you will not come home," she admitted. "These Clans sound ferocious, and the stories told by Lady Trillian, the Wolves may be more lethal than the Falcons when in combat." She felt a tear in her eye and angrily wiped it away. "Why must you go? You've got commanders to lead in the field, and here, a people who need you. You are risking everything you stand for by doing this. If you were to die, where will that leave the peace you are creating with Emperor Robert?! Your aunt is one of Arnold's creatures, for the Lord's sake! She would make war with the Empire rather than peace."
"Don't underestimate Aunt Melissa," said Nathaniel. "Though we don't see eye to eye, she is not Arnold's puppet. She has her own mind, whatever their past, and if the worst should come of it, I have faith she would do right by our people." After a moment's pause he reached forward and took her hand with his. His voice spoke with a gentleness that warmed her spirit. "And after months of telling my people I stood for peace, I have suddenly declared war. I must show them why I ask them to fight, why I'm risking so many lives, so much blood and treasure, on a cause many still are unsure of. People like your father and your granduncle aren't wrong to be worried I'm doing the wrong thing. At the very least, I must prove to them I am willing to back up my conviction with my own life and blood. I have to show our people I am worthy to lead them, in peace and in war, by fighting, though even now I feel a dread in my heart at the prospect." He swallowed. "I know I may end up like my father, or like my great-grandfather, or his father in turn. God will decide that, in the end."
There was a quiet moment between them at that admission. Sophia felt the tears forming in her eyes ease away. In some ways I am falling in love with this sweet, intelligent, kind man, she admitted to herself. How fortunate I am, unless he does not return. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Then I will say no more, so I spare you any pain from my fears," she said, after which she stood. "Sleep well, my King, my husband-to-be. Tomorrow is a big day."
"It is," he agreed. "I shall ensure it."
Royal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
7 February 3143
The end of the customary weekend was not as quiet as it had previously been, by Trillian's reckoning. The energy in Roslyn was at a fever pitch as the alliance had the Arcadians pushing forward with restoring deactivated units and preparing for the military effort of a campaign through the Glass. Over a dozen BattleMech regiments, with attendant forces, were in motion towards the Glass, or preparing for such deployment, and units were being scheduled for re-activation with releases from the Arcadian strategic reserve stockpiles and increased orders from Defiance, Selassie, TharDef, and the other armament firms of the Federation. Recruitment to the AFRF was spiking by reports, with a number of applicants seeking assignment beyond the Glass. Local and interstellar efforts at bond drives would contribute to financing the war and the alliance provisions. It was all so much.
But that wasn't the only source of energy. February 8th had come, and with it, Nathaniel's formal coronation. He'd inherited the throne the prior May with his grandmother's accidental death and by tradition waited until the new year. Now rulers from across the Federation were on world to pay homage to their new High King, attending with diplomats and special envoys from half of the Successor States and ComStar. She hadn't seen Nathaniel himself since they left the Senate triumphant, given the need for rehearsals and meetings to see to his coronation.
So she was both surprised and a little relieved to get the summons to visit his office on the eve of the ceremony. She arrived and was shown in by Sophia Marik, who remained at the door once it closed.
Nathaniel was with Peter, but they were not alone. Three other individuals were seated around the room. She quickly recognized Lord von Kassel of Ghastillia, but it took her a few moments to recognize the others.
Ambassador Serafina Wotjak of the Communal League of Sudeten was seated nearest to the door, a tall woman — formerly an armored infantrywoman of the 1st Autonomous Assault Regiment — with a wide face and broad hips and shoulders, one side of her face still bearing burn scars from fighting in the Fourth Succession War. Trillian had only met her briefly, really in passing, during the New Year's celebration, with most of her feelers to the Communal League being dealt with by Wotjak's subordinates. Her clothing was austere and business formal, without some of the ornamentation of court uniform or dress that von Kassel and Trillian herself now wore. Only a pin on her collar marked her official position, bearing the insignia of the Communal League and its flag: a white disc trisected by a three-pointed red star laid over a five-pointed green star.
The same was true for the man seated beside Wotjak, her colleague Hans Christian Heg, Ambassador of the Free Communal Republic of Rasalhague. He was older than Wotjak, his face worn and his hair a silver-gray, thin as a rail. His suit was respectful and had a more elaborate cut than Wotjak's, though it was still austere, devoid of any ornamentation save the stylized, wolf's head and dragon-serpent's head of silver filigree joined on a Nordic-style sun cross lined with runes. Given distance, and the Rasalhague Republic's pressing need to see to the defense of their border with the Draconis Combine, Trillian had left them as a lower priority to her diplomatic efforts, though she'd heard from Lord Marienberg that Heg was sympathetic to the Lyran cause.
"Lady Trillian, thank you for joining us," Nathaniel said from his desk. He indicated one of the open chairs around the table at the side of the office, under the century-old portrait of High King Thomas Proctor and High Queen Johanna Steiner. Trillian settled into it, putting her across from the two COMINTERSTEL ambassadors. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day, but I wished to get this matter settled given you will soon be departing for the Glass."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Trillian said respectfully. "Is there a matter you seek to discuss?"
"It concerns the aid to the Commonwealth, and the necessary scope to put a definitive end to the Clan threat."
"I see." And you alone can't send enough troops to completely defeat them. Having that confirmed by the materials released to her by the AFRF Command Staff upon the alliance's signing was a bit of a damper, even if it didn't change the bare fact that the alliance made the Commonwealth's survival possible. It just meant it would take longer and be bloodier. And we have already lost so much blood… but maybe… dare I hope he's found a way to provide more aid?
"I will speak plainly to you, Lady Trillian." Wotjak's voice was blunt and accented strangely. Her people use the constructed language Esperanto as their official language, Trillian recalled. I wonder if that is the influence on her accent? "The Communal League believes it is the proper destiny of Mankind to end aristocracy, capitalism, and all forms of class and hierarchy that have for millennia kept workers' dreams and aspirations suppressed. We do not approve of your Commonwealth any more than we accept the social system of the Federation or the Ghastillian Kingdom. But we are practical people and can recognize when one system is better for workers than another. Your Commonwealth, though unacceptably flawed to us, is of greater kindness to the common people than the eugenicist madness of these Clans, as shown by the bloody butchery revealed to us. So we are willing to make common cause with the Lyran Commonwealth to liberate the worlds held by the Clans and end their oppression once and for all."
"I appreciate the candor, Excellency," Trillian replied politely. "I admit I was uncertain about our possible relations and did not pursue connections out of doubt, it's good to know where you stand."
Wotjak nodded once. "I have had an alliance treaty drawn up as well, and I can assure you it would be ratified by the Communal Assembly." She presented a noteputer to Trillian, who accepted it and started reading the text.
Much of the treaty was standard, virtually the same as Trillian wrote with Nathaniel. She noted that the treaty was with the COMINTERSTEL alliance, not just the League. "Rasalhague is a party then as well?"
"We and our allies do not always move in lockstep, but in this matter, the Communal Republic is in full agreement." Heg's expression remained stoic, but his eyes flashed with muted anger. "These Clans must be destroyed for their crimes, and the FolksArme is ready to join the war."
"It would be a separate treaty, I see, to those I've already signed." She nodded to Kassel, who nodded back. "Though there are to be consultations?"
"Strategic consultations on who will fight where, to ease logistics and prevent misunderstandings," Kassel said.
"Right." They were enemies. Are still enemies, if amicable ones. "And to work around the truce the Arcadian commanders agreed to?" Trillian cast her eyes towards Nathaniel. "I was informed your General Bridger and General Singh agreed to a five year truce between your forces, and our forces, with the Falcons."
"They were not authorized to pursue such terms, though I will uphold them." Nathaniel motioned to the others present. "Of course, I do not speak for our prospective allies, who were not party to said agreement, nor did the Falcons request their participation."
In other words, Rasalhague and Sudeten are not covered by the truce agreement Chistu required before she agreed to put the fight for Timkovichi down to a single duel, so no point in repudiating the agreement. Trillian went through the final terms. And there we are. "Article 16… I see. That is your price?"
"It is," Wotjak said, her tone firm.
She quietly read over the text again. "The Lyran Commonwealth agrees to free emigration in perpetuity of all residents to the COMINTERSTEL worlds, and will not impede by any means of regulation, fee, or other duty or obstruction the right of peoples of their worlds to emigrate to the COMINTERSTEL worlds. The Lyran Commonwealth recognizes the rights of COMINTERSTEL to publish the terms by which life among the COMINTERSTEL worlds is maintained and advise potential emigrants on…" They require us to let our people leave for their worlds. She thought on the term and how it'd be seen back home. There is little scandalous about it, but they will undoubtedly be seeking to recruit widely, especially among our educated.
She continued on to the bottom. "I have no objections to these terms." Trillian handed the noteputer back. "I do have reservations on Article 16. The Lyran Commonwealth desires to ensure that any emigrants who decide they wish to return may do so, and on the same grounds. We also will need assurance that this treaty will not interfere with proceedings in family custody courts and that children taken unlawfully by emigrating parents will be returned if such a case comes up."
"We would be willing to submit any such cases to a neutral arbiter, with the best interest of the child or children factored in," Wotjak replied.
"As for lawful fugitives, we do not consider Article 16 to give away any right to search a ship for suspected fugitives from the Commonwealth's courts and justice system, or to detain them and return them to custody, notwithstanding protected classes such as diplomatic missions."
"We accept that statement, and so long as it is exercised responsibly and properly, it will not be challenged." Wotjak grinned thinly. "Though we will regard abuse to be an abrogation of the treaty and demand compliance and compensation."
"Understood." Trillian nodded. "I will sign the treaty, then, and provide it alongside my existing treaties with the Royal Federation and Kingdom of Ghastillia for the Archon's ratification."
"Excellent."
"Then it is settled," said Nathaniel. "Our four states will work together to clear the Clans from the Commonwealth's worlds and end their abuses."
"Yes, we share a common cause once more," Heg said happily. "Our troops will begin moving at once. The Glass has been cleared completely, correct?"
Nathaniel nodded. "Yes. Fourth Battle Fleet is securing the Timkovichi system and the Falcons are burning for their JumpShips as we speak. Additionally, we invite you to join us in protecting the Glass, until such a time as the Clan threat recedes and the Lyran Commonwealth can assume defensive duties over Timkovichi."
"It will be passed on, King Nathaniel." Wotjak stood. "And as you have your ceremony tomorrow, we will not take up any more of your time. Good day." She nodded once and went for the door, where Sophia opened it without a word.
Heg lingered a moment longer, bowing respectfully to Trillian. "I have observed your actions since coming to Arcadia, Lady Trillian. You have been a spirited advocate for your bleeding nation, and have earned Rasalhague's respect and admiration. We will have the formal treaty ready to sign within two days, with all your reservations accounted for."
"Thank you, Your Excellency," Trillian replied, bowing her head as well. "From my studies of your history, I am filled with admiration for the spirit of Rasalhague's people on this side of the Glass. It is a tragedy my side's Rasalhague did not long get to enjoy independence before the Clans ended it."
"Yes, it is." Heg grinned wolfishly. "We may yet do something about that, if the circumstances permit. But the Falcons must be dealt with first. Good day, Lady Trillian, King Nathaniel." With a final slight bow of his head, Heg departed.
Kassel bowed as well. "I shall see you all tomorrow. Good evening." He walked out.
"It is done," Trillian said. "Your four states, together, should be able to turn the tide decisively, so long as you arrive before Tharkad falls."
"Yes. It is why I already have troops in motion, and JumpShips being prepared for transit through the Glass."
"And you will be with them?" The moment she said the words Trillian noted Sophia's eyes lower thoughtfully.
"I will, yes," Nathaniel said. "I cannot ask my soldiers to fight this war if I do not go to the front myself. It would not be appropriate. My Lifeguards, the Second Proctor Guards, and the Arcadian Rangers already have their orders to embark."
"I understand. You will be welcomed on Tharkad, I will see to it." Seeing the look in his eyes she quickly added, "I am certain you have matters to attend to before tomorrow, so I will leave you to them. Thank you again for the invitation to the coronation, my staff is honored."
"And we are honored to host you."
With a final smile and agreeing nod, Trillian left the room.
Typically Sundays were Prince Peter's day away from his office, but with the coronation ceremony to come he stepped in to get through the week's opening paperwork early. As he was effectively leader of the government in terms of ensuring the domestic policies of Parliament's leaders were being enacted and the day-to-day business of government followed, the civil service always had papers for him to review. The benefit to it being an off day was getting to have Kevin with him.
His husband, born Lord Kevin McGonagal of Cameron, was once a vital, broad-shouldered man, a MechWarrior of the Proctor Heavy Guards' First Battalion. But old war wounds, a family history of cancer, and an onset of Webster Syndrome all combined to take their toll. Cancers in his brain and stomach sapped his vitality and were, ever so slowly, robbing him of his motor functions, which were impeded anyway due to the Webster Syndrome, an after-effect of gyro feedback suffered when he was nearly killed by the Oriento-Capellan Empire's forces in the Fourth Succession War. He was mostly bald now, with wisps of graying brown hair remaining on the crown of his head, and confined to a wheelchair given his difficulty walking. Peter felt guilty just looking at him sometimes, as if his remaining strength was an insult to his dying lover.
For the moment, Kevin had a noteputer up. "So far so good in the daily running of the Federation," he said, his voice about the only part of him still sounding like it had when he was barking commands over las-comm links to his company of assault 'Mech pilots. "I'd say you managed to balance the budgets right."
"It took some work, but we found the pounds for it all." And angered a few special interests, several government watchdog groups committed to reducing tax burdens, and the Royal Revenue Service that has to deal with the complaints.
"You think he's being a young fool, don't you?" Kevin asked. "Our dear boy king."
Peter leveled his husband a sardonic look. "He probably deserves better than to be called that."
"Ah. Sorry, I forgot that's how your mad cousin refers to him." Kevin chuckled dryly. "I was more thinking of the little boy who once proudly and defiantly declared he'd never fight a war, even when it made everyone in the palace furious."
Peter drew in a sigh and allowed himself a wistful smile. "It took me time to set him straight. Maybe I did the job too well. Talking to him about his duty to his people, that the King must fight if his people need him too. Now he has found a fight he thinks we need, and he will go join it."
"If we were to have ever had a son ourselves… well, listen to me." Kevin shook his head. "He was about it, I think. The reason we never did. Now we might lose him too. I'm worried about that, for your sake. You lost James, Jackie, now James' son will be out there, and here, I've not got long left."
"You'll make it through, you're strong," Peter snapped. "Don't talk like that."
"Just being realistic, Peter. And my worry is how it's going to hurt you. You've lost too much."
Peter brushed the fear welling inside him away. The cancer wasn't responding well to the therapy, he would likely lose Kevin before long. And his sister was gone, the nephew he'd been responsible for, and the grand-nephew he'd helped to raise… if he lost all of them, he'd have so little left. It wasn't like he was close to Thomas, or to Renard, and Johanna hadn't spoken to anyone in the family since both her children were killed at Sirius and Procyon in '23 as part of the MORNING STAR disaster.
Please God, bring him home, Peter prayed. Bring Nathan home safe and sound. Don't let him die out there…
The approaching coronation made the Palace busier than usual, much to Arnold's annoyance. Nobles who'd not stepped foot here since Jacqueline became High Queen were present. Dozens of dukes and planetary rulers in the Arcadia, Donegal, and Skye Marches were coming and going, making personal appeals of one kind or another before their day in the coronation to pay personal homage. Access to Nathaniel was non-existent, and here he was, arranging plans and shuffling troops for a war he knew to be against the wrong enemy. But Prince Peter's words were clear; any effort by Arnold to impede the war would see him removed and probably disgraced. His only choices were to obey to the best of his ability or to resign.
Now he looked with pain and longing at his parents' portrait, wondering if he should just accept the latter. Resign, go back to Stronburg, and actively move into the Opposition. I am no politician, though, I am a soldier. Here I can be of use, I can pick up the pieces when this effort inevitably fails, and lead our people into the war we should be fighting.
The door opened. "I'd heard you were moping, cousin," a voice called out. "But certainly you might have spared a moment to meet my ship?"
Arnold's first instinct at the door opening was to berate his yeoman, but the thought died at hearing the soprano voice and soft Islay burr of his cousin and the brat boy king's aunt and presumed heir. Princess Melissa Proctor-Steiner stepped into the room, wearing a formal court gown of Steiner blue mixed with Proctor red, a gold hawk crest on the left breast of the suit. Her skin, a light brown from the influence of her Brewer bloodline, still looked young, though she was almost to her mid-40s now.
A quarter century separated them in age, but it was Lord Arnold, as commanding officer of the Fourteenth Donegal Guards, who brought the young Sanglamore-educated officer-candidate into his unit during the fierce fighting of the latter Fourth Succession War. It was he who'd later sponsored her promotions all the way to Colonel in the peacetime AFRF, and in all respects supported her once she decided to change over to civil administration and support her heartbroken mother. They didn't always agree, but he was certain she would prove a better ruler than the foolish boy king they were about to crown instead. If only the monarchy were elective within House Proctor. I would have thrown my votes to her over Nathaniel without a doubt.
"I hear you and Uncle Peter had quite the row," Melissa said.
"He betrayed his duty," Arnold grumbled. "He's let his sentiment towards Nathaniel overcome all prudent judgment of our situation."
"He's also a grieving spouse waiting for the day he'll be a widower," she pointed out. "Though I'll admit Nathaniel is being obstinate. A family trait, unfortunately. We Proctors are utterly pigheaded when we think we're upholding a moral cause, you know that. Even though you are more Steiner than Proctor."
"House Steiner's history is long and proud, House Proctor's distinguished but lacking in comparison," Arnold insisted. "So yes, I favor my Steiner heritage, and our destiny to restore the Lyran Commonwealth Katherine Steiner built seven hundred years ago."
"I needn't tell you the mood on Skye is one of not caring on that distinction, only that Skye is protected and kept strong," she replied, easing into an available chair. "Though I do worry about you, cousin. Your temper towards my silly nephew can cause us more trouble, and do nothing to deal with the problem. I hope you're not planning some foolish resistance to the war now that we're committed to it? The people seem unified behind it, after all, I can feel their anger in the air, all thanks to those ghastly images from the other side of the Glass."
Arnold sighed and shook his head. "Ghastly images, yes, but that doesn't mean we can afford to spend our strength when we face a threat ourselves. And while I considered the idea of trying to stall the war… no. My oath must be obeyed. Peter, damn his soft heart, reminded me of that. I swore to protect the Federation, and I will do so, until my dying day. I can only pray I am wrong about how this war will undermine our defenses."
Melissa nodded. "Exactly what I expected to hear, cousin. Perhaps this conflict will do Nathaniel good. It may shake loose whatever pacifist inclinations he retains and ready him for whatever conflicts lie in our future."
"Perhaps." I do not hold out the hope, Nathaniel is too certain of himself. But miracles do happen. He dare not voice the treacherous, dark hope he sometimes felt, and which a part of him thought best though the rest of him was horrified by it. The hope that Nathaniel would meet his end across the Glass, killed by his foolish crusade, and Melissa would be High Queen. Then we would have a ruler with the mettle to face the Dowager Empress of Oriente and her puppet great-grandson.
"In the meantime, I believe I will continue my own efforts," she said. "I have had numerous enlightening conversations with House Davion's consul on Skye these past years. Lord Gregory Morgan of Kittery, you may have heard of him? His grandfather was one of old Long Tom's Brethren pirates, you know. A lot of those men and women still rankle at the Empire's treachery."
Arnold grinned at that. "Yes, I think they would. Still, the Davions have other concerns, and we can't be sure Tikonov and the Azami will be so willing to work with us as well."
"Not right now, but in time…"
Given what was to come on the morrow, Sophia finished her day with a quick visit to the Royal Chambers. The guards checked with Nathaniel and immediately let her in. She found him reading a noteputer, a quiet, grim sort of expression on his face. He was in evening wear, a basic vest and shirt with leggings, all whites and blues, and no mark of his rank showing. He looked up at her and, while he didn't smile, he did seem to relax. 'Sophia. Don't tell me I forgot something?"
"Nothing important," she said, easing into the chair beside him. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, given what a day we'll have tomorrow."
"Yes. The coronation." He sighed, setting the noteputer down. "The rehearsals went well enough. Everything will be in place. Bishop Stanford will perform the service well."
"I would hope so, though I imagine Cardinal Greevey is disappointed," Sophia remarked. Presiding Bishop Stanford was the head of the Episcopalian Church of Arcadia. They were the largest church on Arcadia, though concentrated primarily on the continent of Islay. Nathaniel's church membership had only been decided recently, and unsurprisingly, was in line with Prince Peter's as opposed to his mother, who practiced the Umayr family's Hinduism, and his grandmother and father, who were Roman Catholics due to Jacqueline's decision to convert from the Steiner Lutheranism of Thomas and Ethan..
"I admit many of the doctrinal questions between the churches strike me as mere quibbles," Nathaniel said. "The essence matters more. But I think it will reassure many, and restore some sense of balance due to Grandmother's religious affiliations."
"That, it might very well do," Sophia said. She shifted in the chair. "It occurs to me that your work across the Glass won't just be military. Archon Melissa will have concerns, and more, the Commonwealth will probably have a number of political problems. And you'll need to keep aware of matters here. Perhaps I should come to continue serving at your side."
Her look was pleading, but she saw no sign she would get her wish. "I won't be performing day-to-day governance. That'll be Sara-Marie's job, and she'll need your help."
Sophia knew well of whom he spoke. Lady Sara-Marie Proctor was a distant cousin of Nathaniel's, the daughter of the controversial Princess Abigail, younger daughter of High Queen Sara-Marie. "The Veterinarian Princess' daughter, then?"
"She served my grandmother well enough, on those few times Grandmother Jackie went offworld," Nathaniel said. "And she is a common sense woman, I think you and Uncle Peter will work well with her in keeping matters at home going well."
"Right." Sophia tried to hide her disappointment, but knew she wasn't. Damn. How does Uncle Kenneth do it? All of those nobles with their poker faces!
"You really wanted to come with me?"
"More like I fear you will not come home," she admitted. "These Clans sound ferocious, and the stories told by Lady Trillian, the Wolves may be more lethal than the Falcons when in combat." She felt a tear in her eye and angrily wiped it away. "Why must you go? You've got commanders to lead in the field, and here, a people who need you. You are risking everything you stand for by doing this. If you were to die, where will that leave the peace you are creating with Emperor Robert?! Your aunt is one of Arnold's creatures, for the Lord's sake! She would make war with the Empire rather than peace."
"Don't underestimate Aunt Melissa," said Nathaniel. "Though we don't see eye to eye, she is not Arnold's puppet. She has her own mind, whatever their past, and if the worst should come of it, I have faith she would do right by our people." After a moment's pause he reached forward and took her hand with his. His voice spoke with a gentleness that warmed her spirit. "And after months of telling my people I stood for peace, I have suddenly declared war. I must show them why I ask them to fight, why I'm risking so many lives, so much blood and treasure, on a cause many still are unsure of. People like your father and your granduncle aren't wrong to be worried I'm doing the wrong thing. At the very least, I must prove to them I am willing to back up my conviction with my own life and blood. I have to show our people I am worthy to lead them, in peace and in war, by fighting, though even now I feel a dread in my heart at the prospect." He swallowed. "I know I may end up like my father, or like my great-grandfather, or his father in turn. God will decide that, in the end."
There was a quiet moment between them at that admission. Sophia felt the tears forming in her eyes ease away. In some ways I am falling in love with this sweet, intelligent, kind man, she admitted to herself. How fortunate I am, unless he does not return. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Then I will say no more, so I spare you any pain from my fears," she said, after which she stood. "Sleep well, my King, my husband-to-be. Tomorrow is a big day."
"It is," he agreed. "I shall ensure it."
KnightDisciple
Brotherhood. Unity. Peace.
- Location
- Midwest, USA
IT BEGINS
Post 41 - The Unsheathed Sword
- Location
- Florida USA
41 - The Unsheathed Sword
St. John Episcopal Church of Roslyn
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
8 February 3143
After her morning meal, Trillian had her finest court gown brought out of the closet and fitted into it with the help of her domestic staff. She and her Chief of Staff, Lord Marienburg, took a vehicle in the procession of Royal guests and dignitaries to their destination, in the heart of Roslyn itself. The city was quieter than usual, even for the start of a week. For the people of Roslyn it was a holiday, not a working day, and Trillian imagined soon enough the empty streets would be filling up with spectators for the parade and ceremonies to come.
Just east of the city center and the Financial District, settled close to where the Rha River briefly bent northward on its way to the sea two kilometers away, St. John Episcopal stood as the beating heart of the Anglican Communion of Arcadia, the traditional place of investiture for rulers of Arcadia stretching back to House Duncan's foundation on the planet in the twenty-fourth century. It was a suitably grand church of white with brass furnished trim, including a towering cross-tipped steeple and belfry, stained glass windows, and large interior and attached park space, including a second floor balcony looking out over the church courtyard.
One by one the vehicles came to a stop and allowed their personages to disembark with the aid of church ushers in their plain church uniforms. One such usher, a red-headed woman with freckles, helped Trillian out of her vehicle along with Marienburg. She moved them along to the entrance, where they were guided through the main door and to their assigned seats among the Royal guests in the front pews.
Trillian took in the scenery of the church. It'd been badly damaged in the Terran invasion of Arcadia in 3050 and rebuilt to exacting specifications. The second floor had expanded seating on ascending rows back to the far end of the nave, at the vestibule. The acoustics were improved for both services and ceremonies through alterations to the vaulted, chandelier-lit ceiling, while the interior expanded to increase the size of the transept and chancel to allow a superior layout for the ceremonial role of the church, and all sorts of minor improvements implemented.
To either side of the transept were long benches, spare pews possibly, that were vacant, while squads of Lifeguard infantry clad in Grenzer battle armor, their modular arm mounts fitted with lasers instead of the usual Gauss weaponry. The altar, normally in the chancel but now moved to the north-middle part of the transept while allowing for sufficient space to walk about it, was covered in a fine velvet cloth, with a plain looking but solid table of wood surfacing and metal placed beside it.
The valuable ceremonial items were already resting upon it. They were certainly made to leave an impression, she thought. A hawk-shaped ampulla sat in the middle, containing the consecrated oil for the ceremony. The Scepter, the representation of temporal, secular power in the hands of the ruler, was made of alloyed gold, with a swept wing silver-plated hawk at the tip. Beside it was the symbol of spiritual authority and responsibility, the Orb, a solid pearl from the oceans of Zwenkau. Two bands of gold crossed over it marked with iconography, a golden cross set into the "top" with a hawk perched upon it. The Crown itself was a band of gold topped with a royal purple cap, marked with cruciforms set over pairs of rubies and sapphires, with one large pearl set into the golden hawk crest at the brow.
Across the transept, right inside the chancel, was the ceremonial throne. It was a frame of metal and gold filigree lined with cushioning of royal purple for the seat and sides, with the arms topped with golden-varnished hardwood. A compartment below the seat bore a single slab of stone, of some weight and heft, purportedly the Stone of Scone itself, spirited off Terra during the Amaris Coup and winding up in the personal collection of the warlord Carl Tabot, "High Lord of Arcadia", until his death at the hands of Sara Proctor. There were strong doubts about the authenticity, but as it was a trophy of the Liberator's victory and the purported Stone of Destiny for the crowning of the High Kings of Scotland and English and British rulers alike, it was implemented into the coronation ceremonies when Sara-Marie became the first High Queen a century later, and the claim to its authenticity formally made.
In the far corner of the chancel, a finely-built organ was being manned and tested by the organist, and a pianist likewise doing the same for their instrument on the opposite side of the dais. The choir was still filling up with white-robed men and women, chatting amiably or testing their voices.
Time passed to the beginning of the procession. This was signaled by the activation of one of the church's modern features, a large holovid projector built into the classical-looking chandeliers hanging from the arching roof above. It gave the attendees an idea of how long they had to prepare for the coming ceremony, whether it be quick calls of nature — as she noted several notables making discreetly — or checking their messages or finishing conversations. The screen itself was a feed from the Federation Broadcasting Corporation, showing the beginning of the Royal Procession in a parade from the gates of Fort Defiance to the church. It was an impressive display, certainly. BattleMechs, vehicles, and armor-suited infantry of the Second Proctor Guards, the Arcadian Guards, the Arcadian Rangers, the Fourth Royal BattleMech Regiment and Brigade, and the First Arcadian Royal Federal Militia Brigade all marched along the reinforced surfaces of Roslyn's boulevards and avenues. They must have been training for months for this, she thought at seeing how well they handled the maneuvers through the streets, the MechWarriors and tank drivers turning smartly in column where necessary. The number of 'Mechs alone numbered over a hundred, the representatives of five regiments of 'Mechs and many more of armor and infantry, undoubtedly brought in from every garrison point on the planet for the ceremony. How many of them will be coming with Nathaniel? How many of these men and women are going to die because of the alliance I've just signed?
The lead formation was the important one. The Lifeguards' 'Mech and armor formations — their infantry was undoubtedly already at the church and surrounding grounds, working with the Royal Security Service to safeguard the ceremony, and the Lifeguards' aviation forces were protecting the proceedings from above — were on all sides of a single BattleMech. Growing up around MechWarriors Trillian knew just enough to see the design had some aesthetic similarities to Black Knight machines, but the telltale crown assembly on the head marked it a Paladin, specifically a PLD-3 OmniMech since it mounted missile launchers and carried a sword compartment built into the right arm. Given the white and gold paint job, and the prominent crowned hawk on the chest, plus the focus being given to the machine, it had to be Liberator, Nathaniel's 'Mech.
By now the streets, lined with protective barricades, were filled with people. Banners were held, as were flags, bearing patriotic slogans, supportive words, or statements for this or that cause. She noted a number of Lyran flags were prominently displayed as well, usually twinned to Arcadian ones. Are they Lyrantreu or supporting the new alliance? Possibly both. Given it had been over a quarter century since the last coronation, this was being treated as the event of a lifetime. If Nathaniel lives a full life, it may very well be for many older than we are, Trillian thought. He could reign into the thirty-third century. The treacherous addition of If he doesn't get killed saving the Commonwealth slipped in, an unwelcome thought.
The main parade flowed to the approach to St. Johns. There they began to peel off. The 'Mechs and vehicles of the Lifeguards took up protective positions around the church while the other units moved on, following the final leg of the parade procession back to their base by its northeastern entrance. One lance from the Lifeguards continued on, arranged around Nathaniel's machine, until all five were in the courtyard before the church's main doors. There they stopped. She noted a couple more were similarly Paladins, though only one was in Lifeguard colors. The two other BattleMechs, which she didn't immediately recognize, were marked as 'Mechs of the Bolan Heavy Guards. The regiment Nathaniel served in before his grandmother died and he inherited the throne. The other Paladin bore the emblem of the Proctor Heavy Guards. They must have come here for the ceremony, realized Trillian, since those units were stationed on Bolan and Stewart at the moment, though were slated to join Nathaniel's expedition to Tharkad and the battle with Clan Wolf.
Around her, people were getting back to their seats. Noteputers started to get put away. She heard one mumbled voice fuss and turned her head to a group a few spaces down, past Lord Marienburg and Prince Peter's husband Lord McGonagal, to where a more plainly clad middle-aged woman was shushing a child of about ten, quietly aided by an adolescent girl three years older despite her looking very bored as well. They were not badly-dressed, but clearly not in court uniform or wear either. Trillian leaned over and asked, "Hello, I am Lady Trillian Steiner, may I have the honor of your name?"
The woman smiled and nodded. "Mrs. Prudence Corey, ma'am."
Corey. I do recognize that name. "As in, William Corey?"
"Yes, ma'am," the woman replied. Her accent was one Trillian hadn't heard nearly so much of, lacking even the soft burr of most Roslyn residents, nor the tones of old England. It was one usually associated with the Plymouth Peninsula, and the Anglo-Americans there descended from New England settlers. "My husband John was a Corey, as are his children. This is my grandson, also named John, and granddaughter Sarah, they're here with me to represent the family. Their parents are offworld and couldn't make it."
She almost asked for the woman's title, to ensure she addressed her properly, but stopped. She'd already identified herself merely as "Mrs. Corey", and even with how Arcadian court culture seemed a little more relaxed than Lyran, she couldn't imagine even a Freiherr not wearing proper court dress or displaying the family arms or insignia in some way. No, this woman and her grandchild, they're commoners. Commoners, in the front pew during a state ceremony! I can't imagine any Archon having that at a coronation, if they were deserving they'd be ennobled immediately before. It was a reminder that whatever the pomp and ceremony, the Arcadians did not have the same mentality of her Lyrans.
She almost asked the reason the Coreys were represented here, but stopped herself. William Corey was, by all accounts, the love of Sara Proctor's life. Biographers believe she never got over his death. Inviting his family to her coronations was the next best thing to having him there, I suppose, and her son carried the tradition on for whatever reason, despite his own difficult relationship with her. Maybe because he was named for her dead lover? So now, two centuries later, they get to sit among the great and mighty. It was, in its own way, somewhat inspiring, as tragic as it was.
Her attention returned to the holovid display. The cameras outside showed the 'Mechs were dismounted. She couldn't immediately recognize two of the pilots following Nathaniel to the entrance, all still in their cooling suits, but realized the one walking from the 'Mech with the Proctor Heavy Guards insignia was Prince Peter. Of course. His old unit. The other men must be Colonel Laughlin and officers Nathaniel served with, maybe his company and battalion commanders? The four figures entered the church entrance together. A moment later, the holovid display blipped away, leaving only empty air above the chancel. A dark-skinned man stood from where the choir was now seated, clad in pontifical vestments of white and gold, with a bishop's miter of the same colors on his head. Every step was measured and deliberate as he walked around the throne and to the north side of the altar, where he stopped and stood quietly. Bishop Stanford, I would assume.
By the time the bishop was in place, the church was silent. All the noteputers had disappeared. The ceremony was set to begin. Trillian waited patiently for the start.
"Our ruler is ready," a voice proclaimed from behind her, his voice amplified by the acoustics of the church and the cleverly-installed speakers hidden above. She recognized the speaker as Prince Roman Brewer-Steiner's.
Remain seated until the King is passing by. The instruction, provided by Lord Murray in his notes to her, stayed in Trillian's mind until she saw the figures of Prince Roman and Grand Princess Amita. She rose in line with the others on the pew, just in time for Nathaniel to enter her vision. He was in a white robe of shimmering, splendid material, with a red vest and stole fastened over the robe. And the cooling suit is still underneath, I bet. Behind Nathaniel came a procession of the remaining March-ruling Archdukes of the Federation, led by Amir Karim Abdullah Rayhan of Dar-es-Salaam and Archduke Kenneth Marik of Atreus, and due to the constitutionalism of the system, the Duchesses of Gienah and Hyde and the Duke of Launum, representing the original co-founding worlds of the Free March, and the planetary Archdukes of the old Kingdom of Donegal, who retained the title though they were only planetary rulers.
The procession moved partway into the transept and many of the lower ranking members moved away, to the empty pews set into the sides of the transept, leaving plenty of room for the ceremony. Only Grand Princess Amita of Bolan, Prince Roman, Archduke Kenneth, and Archduke Birendra Shah of Tamarind remained beside Nathaniel. The significance wasn't lost on Trillian. They are all rulers of what were once independently-sovereign parts of the Federation.
Nathaniel stepped out from among them and towards the altar, where Bishop Stanford moved forward and held his handout, gesturing for Nathaniel to lower himself. When Nathaniel did not obey, Prince Roman stepped forward and, in a tone more ceremonial than forceful, demanded, "Who are you to make the sovereign kneel?"
Stanford's reply filled the church. "It is the place of all sovereigns to kneel before the Creator of the Universe."
Roman, ceremonially chastened — though I doubt not a whit in fact, Trillian thought with bemusement — stepped back to join his peers, leaving Nathaniel to obey and drop to one knee. He bowed his head in supplication and, with quiet energy, announced, "I am humbled before the Lord my God, Creator of All, font of Justice and Mercy."
"Why have you come?"
Nathaniel lifted his eyes, though his knee remained on the floor of the church. "To assume the throne of Arcadia," he replied, his tome firm but not in any way authoritative. "I am Nathaniel Ethan Proctor. The blood of the Liberator flows in my veins. It is my duty to take the burden of protecting the peoples and worlds of our realm, so help me God."
"And you solemnly swear, before the Almighty Creator of the Universe, to uphold the work of the Liberator and protect the sacred dignities of all souls within your realm, owned by none by the Will of their Divine Creator?"
"Yes."
"To uphold the rights that Nature and Nature's God bestow upon all souls, with all your power?"
"I do."
"To rule with justice and mercy as the Lord rules over all?"
"I do."
Stanford nodded. "Then, in the eyes of the Creator and your people, take up the sword of your foremother."
A young woman of tan skin approached from the chancel, wearing the uniform of a court page. Something about the way she carried herself reminded Trillian of her cousin Melissa when she'd been a teenager, or myself if I am being honest. A daughter of the nobility, I assume. In her hands she held a long object. When she rounded the altar from the south, the opposite side from Stanford, Trillian noticed the handle and realized it was a sheathed sword, with a scabbard of fine leather but, notably, not one piece of jewelry or precious metal present on its surface. Only a metal disc prominent on the visible surface provided ornamentation, bearing a gold and white hawk sigil. Quietly the young noblewoman strapped the scabbard to the left of Nathaniel's waist. When she was done, she retreated back to the side of the altar to retrieve the table. It scraped audibly along the floor, filling the church with the noise, before coming to a rest between Nathaniel and the altar. From the south arm of the transept, two more young people in page uniforms came, carrying between them a meter and a half of solid metal chains, each end terminating in a manacle.
A faint sound came from the transept, metal scraping against metal, and the glint of the church's light flashed upon the blade of solid steel. I've heard swords unsheathed before, LCAF officers give scoldings if their subordinates make a noise. It is deliberate, then. The sword was nothing special. The hilt, crossguard, the pommel, it looked like a plain sword, the kind of European longsword you might find in collections or made as props for fantasy or historical holodramas, not quite a meter in length. The only ornamentation was a silver-colored disc set into the crossguard depicting the Proctor family seal of a sword shattering a set of manacles.
It does not look at all like it belongs in the Regalia, not compared to the gold and jewels of the Crown, Scepter, and Orb. But everything I've read says it's considered the most important piece, the heart of it all, argued as the ultimate expression of House Proctor's authority on Arcadia and across the realm. Trillian focused her eyes on the blade as Nathaniel held it up, examining it for the moment. The Sword of Liberation, they call it, a blade forged from the metal of shattered slave chains. It was presented to Sara Proctor as a gift by a married couple, metalworkers freed from Carl Tabot's slave pens after his death at Parnon and the liberation of his estate in Sannazaro. She worked the blade into the investiture ceremony when she was made Duchess of Arcadia, and later did the same at her coronation as the first March-Princess of the Free March.
Nathaniel's eyes moved from the blade to the chain on the table before him, where the two pages laid the chain down, the manacles placed along the opposite edges of the table. They stepped away, one, two, three steps, and waited.
In a practiced movement, Nathaniel brought the blade down on the middle link. The church rang with the sound of steel on steel. Sparks briefly leapt from the impact point. The pages stepped forward again and picked up the chain by the manacles, revealing to all that they had been split at the central link. The symbolism is not subtle. This is a pledge.
Nathaniel turned to Bishop Stanford. ""Let this be an example of my conviction."
"It is witnessed. Let all chains fall before your sword."
While the two younger pages returned to the chancel with the broken chains and the sword-bearing page brought the table back to its original position, Stanford went to the altar and took up the ampulla. Nathaniel knelt once more, lowering his head, and the four retainers brought forth a golden shroud — Where did it come from? Was it handed to one of them by an usher while we were all watching Nathaniel take up the sword? — and held it over him. Bishop Stanford stepped up to the kneeling ruler and with care tipped the ampulla, just enough to allow a dabble of oil to land on Nathaniel's shrouded head. Stanford spoke in a reverential, firm tone. "By this holy anointing, in the name of the Father and Creator, of his Son the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, you assume dominion with His Grace."
Music sounded from the chancel. By the time Stanford placed the ampulla back on the altar, the choir's voice filled the church with a slow, joyous melody that she slowly recognized from old memories. We have this. It's from the… Age of War era? Maybe earlier. I can recall this from services when I was young. "The Work of Samuel". The call for a king to defend Israel, and the Hebrew prophet Samuel journeying to find a suitable candidate.
The retainers took the oil-stained shroud from Nathaniel's head. Together they removed the red tunic and stole. Grand Princess Amita and Archduke Kenneth replaced it with a vest of strong, bright blue, then a fine jacket of crimson. Did Roman ask not to do this, or is this because he is not as close in terms of family? Amita's grandson and Kenneth's betrothed grandnephew-in-law? Archduke Birendra provided the final piece, a flowing cape of royal purple lined with ermine. Even though Nathaniel was by no means short, the cape still flowed to the ground and then some, so Archduke Birendra and Prince Roman each took a corner and followed Nathaniel to the throne. Amita helped him unstrap the Sword of Liberation and place it on his left beside the throne, after which he sat with the aid of the others in arranging the too-long cape. No throne is a recliner, but he looks uncomfortable in it. It forces his back to remain flat, I suppose?
The choir continued to sing, the organ alone playing to accompany them, while Stanford turned back to the altar. First he brought the Scepter, which Nathaniel accepted with his right hand. Second, in a separate trip, he handed the Orb, which settled into Nathaniel's left hand. The final trip brought forth the Crown. Nathaniel bowed his head as Stanford lifted the Crown high, in full view of the church and all present, before he settled it on Nathaniel's head, bearing it down to his brow. Nathaniel's head rose until he was sitting upright, showing that the golden hawk with its luminous pearl was directly above the center of his forehead. And through it all he holds still, unmoving, not relaxing. This is a trial more than it is a celebration. Which is the point, as it would be for us. As it should be.
Yet Trillian felt like there was something different than what she'd known in the coronations she'd witnessed on Tharkad. Our Houses are different. The Commonwealth and the Federation share many values, we are related peoples even with the change in history, but we are not the same. This is how the people here view their ruler, or at least, how their ruler should be. Humble, burdened, and carrying a sword to cleave chains of captivity. Not a sign of wealth as a bringer of economic prosperity.
Stanford turned to the assembled and spoke, his voice thundering as the music and choir lowered in volume. "In the name of the Lord, I present to you His Royal Majesty King Nathaniel, by God's Grace High King of the Federation! May he reign long and well!"
"Long life and health to His Majesty!" Archduke Birendra called out. How deeply does he mean that, given Tamarind's festering dislike of Arcadia's refusal to press the return of the old Duchy from the Principate? Trillian suspected this was not going to be the Archduke of Tamarind's favorite part of the ceremony, nor his next role.
The prior piece ended and the choir struck up Te Deum Laudum, along with the organist and pianist. The ancient hymn, predating Human spaceflight and updated in the twentieth century, filled the room, a praise to the Divine in thanks for blessings.
The four retainers lined up, while the benches to either side of the transept emptied. One by one, these personages lined up, joined by more from the pews behind Trillian. Altogether, including those who were in the original procession, Trillian counted twelve March-governing archdukes, the Archduke of Tamarind as a former sovereign, the half dozen archdukes from the Donegal side of the Federation, the presidents of the two Free States, and almost ninety dukes, margraves, landgraves, presidents, secretary-generals, and committee chairmen and chairwomen who served as planetary rulers in the three Royal Marches that the Crown governed directly, as well as Nathaniel's Governor-Generals on Skye and Donegal, the Royal Governor of Tharkad, and the head of the planetary government of Arcadia itself. Each and every one of them has to pay homage. Then the foreign dignitaries will be recognized, including me. He must be getting tired.
Even with each homage taking only about fifteen seconds, it took half an hour before Trillian herself was bowing in respect before him, Lord Marienburg beside her repeating her bow. She could see the fatigue on his face at enduring the long, drawn out process. "On behalf of Her Royal Highness Archon Melissa Steiner, the Lyran Commonwealth's deepest regards for your reign, Your Majesty," she said formally.
"My thanks to Her Royal Highness and the Lyran people," he replied. Despite his tiredness, a flash of a grin formed on his face. "Their plight is on my thoughts, and will be spoken of before the day is out."
Trillian nodded and stepped away. Just what does that mean? she thought. What is he planning?
She returned to her pew with Lord Marienburg, but she barely had time to sit down before Lord Murray came up. "Lady Trillian, His Majesty would be pleased if you and Lord Marienburg would join him on the balcony when he is presented to the people," Murray said.
A gesture, then, that is his plan. "I, we, would be honored," she replied, standing. Murray led them towards the northern end of the transept. She glanced towards Nathaniel and noted he was smiling again, this time addressing young John and Sarah Corey with their grandmother. The children bowed to him again before their grandmother brought them away.
Doors brought them into the north foyer of St. John's Church. Murray guided them toward the east and a set of stairs to the second floor. They were cleared through a door by a pair of dark-suited figures — Royal Security Service agents, most likely — and to the balcony foyer, built beyond the apse within the church's sanctuary given the curving of the walls. More works of art were present, along with security, chairs for waiting, and facing the east, a set of heavy red curtains. Prince Peter was waiting, as was Sophia Marik, her father, and her granduncle, while Bishop Stanford remained quiet near the curtain. Trillian bowed respectfully to them, particularly to Kenneth. "Your Grace, I have not had the honor," she said.
"Nor have I." Kenneth's hoarse voice made her think he might have a throat ailment of sorts. He was an octogenarian by her reckoning, not weakened by age, but showing it rather more than she'd imagined. Sir David MacKinnon is older and yet more spry than this man… ah. He has had to endure how many invasions of his capital world in his life? How much lost blood? Dead family? "I did not approve of your mission, but His Majesty's arguments were well-reasoned, my nephew Lord Paul has concurred, and his daughter remains an advocate as well."
"I understand, Your Grace, your concerns for the security of your people," Trillian said delicately. "I can only hope that by our victory, the security of both realms is strengthened."
"Yes, that much we can agree upon. Though I wonder how our cousins on your side of the Glass will respond to all this?" There was an edge in that voice. "I trust you will not expect our forces to replace these Wolves as your allies in conquest, hrm?"
"The treaty was written to prevent such a thought, I saw to that myself." Melissa may not be pleased either, but I could hardly expect even Nathaniel to have agreed to backstop the LCAF marching toward Atreus again. No, she will have to settle for saving the Commonwealth. I hope. "Believe me when I say I understand we made a terrible decision, and we have paid for our hubris and greed."
Something about Kenneth's eyes told her that he wasn't believing her, or at least, that she was speaking for her Archon. Which was sadly true, all Trillian could hope was that her experiences would make Melissa willing to yield on her ambitions now. But I must press on.
The south door of the foyer opened, admitting Nathaniel, his mother, and his grandmother. Nathaniel was shed of his cumbersome coronation gear, the red jacket and purple cape replaced by a much lighter jacket of royal purple lined with ermine, and his head bearing the usual tiara of intertwined platinum bands with a hawk sigil on the brow. The Regalia were no longer on his person, presumably returned to the altar to be taken back to secure storage.
No, he's still got one piece, Trillian realized, eyes lowering to his left hip, where the Sword of Liberation was once again strapped to his robe's belt.
Finally meeting Princess Sita Umayr, the widow of the late Prince James, made clear where Nathaniel's cheekbones came from, as well as his shapely chin. They were in Bolanese court dress, with blue saris over colorful blouses and garments, each bearing a bindi mark on the forehead. Nathaniel spoke first. "Mother, Grandmother, Lady Trillian. And I see Archduke Kenneth has had the pleasure?"
"He has," Sophia said, in the voice of someone hoping the prior conversation would not continue.
"Your Highnesses." Trillian bowed once again. Kenneth and his entourage did likewise, and the temperature of the foyer warmed. "An honor."
"The honor is ours, Lady Trillian," said Grand Princess Amita. "I have seen your interviews and arguments on the news holovids, you are a worthy representative of Archon Melissa."
"Thank you, Highness."
"Majesty." Murray went towards the curtain and looked back. "It is time." Across from him, Bishop Stanford stepped up.
"Then let us proceed."
The curtain was opened fully by church ushers. The light of Arcadia's sun flooded the foyer, as did the rustling noise of a great crowd outside. Nathaniel took Sophia's arm, after which they went out onto the balcony and walked to its very end. Trillian joined the others in walking up behind him, giving her a view of the cheering crowds waving flags in the wide spaces of the Church's steeple courtyard below.
Bishop Stanford stepped out onto the balcony, came to Nathaniel's side, and lifted his arms as if to bless the crowd. "Peoples of the Federation, I present to you our High King, Nathaniel Proctor!"
The cheering became a roar.
So it's done. By her search Trillian knew this was the end. Nathaniel would remain for a few minutes, enjoying the adulation of his people, before returning to the church. The ceremony would be over and he would be on his way back to the Palace to see to business and prepare for the night's coronation reception dinner with all the attendant elements of high society.
She noted Nathaniel tapping on his collar for a moment. What's he doing? she wondered.
His hand went up, at first seeming to wave, but instead soon obvious as a call for attention, even quiet. "Peoples of the Federation!" he called out.
Silence came to the crowd. Stanford blinked at him, and Murray frowned. Peter let out a sigh. What is he doing? Trillian wondered, repeating herself. His grandmother, her predecessors, they never spoke before. This isn't supposed to be for speeches. Not even during the Fourth Succession War!
"It is not usual for the Crown to make an address after this solemn occasion," he began, "but these are not usual times. An event of extraordinary implications has changed our world, our times, in ways we have yet to understand." His voice boomed over the crowd, courtesy of the same speakers Stanford had employed. "I do not break with tradition easily, but given what I am asking of you, asking of the peoples of the Federation, I feel I must."
"In the Inner Sphere beyond the Glass, a dark age has descended. The wonders of interstellar communication, of the hyperspace pulse generators that even now carry my words to every corner of the Inner Sphere, have fallen silent. The pillars of peace have been shaken to rubble, and a new era of war is fueled by the fear and uncertainty wrought by this cataclysmic event. This suffering alone would cause one to weep, but it is worsened by the brutality that we have come face to face with since our arrival through the Glass. The reports come, each worse than the last. Courageous soldiers tortured and murdered simply for fighting back! Civilians slaughtered for the slightest resistance! People led away in chains, compelled to serve as slaves to warlords determined to subjugate the entire Inner Sphere under their dark, twisted ideology of genetic superiority! Whole worlds poisoned for refusing to yield!"
As he spoke the crowd's shouting grew, cries of horror and anger.
As if fed by their energy, Nathaniel continued, his hands gripping the balcony railing around the wrapped pieces holding the red and blue bunting in place. "We saw those images from Morges, we all did, and it is only part of what has been inflicted on innocent worlds from Sudeten to Atreus by these Clans, these perverted scions of Aleksandr Kerensky's Star League Defense Force. Indeed, we have learned that only a scant few of them have a sense of honor, of duty to righteousness, worthy of their forefathers. We have already fought at the side of these noble Wolves. They resist their cruel brethren to protect the innocents of the Inner Sphere, but they are small in number, and while they struggle valiantly, they cannot win alone."
"These Clans, these Jade Falcons and Hell's Horses, this so-called Wolf Empire, have fallen upon the Lyran people on the other side in order to devour them." Another crescendo of angry cries answered him. "The Commonwealth, weakened by all that has happened, betrayed from without and from within, cannot hold. The reborn Free Worlds League is struggling to regain its life. Across the Inner Sphere, the insidious and inhuman ideology of the old Capellan Confederation has found its ultimate degenerate end with the blasphemy of Daoshen Liao, who proclaims himself a living god and seeks to conquer and enslave the peoples of the Republic and the Federated Suns." The crowd roared their disapproval yet again. "The Draconis Combine, no better than the one we have seen reborn in brutality and treachery, is reported to even now be killing off one of the few Clans to show human values and decency. The peoples of Rasalhague have spent a century under Clan domination and have yet to show whether they stand on the side of decency and humanity or have become just as vile as the others."
He has read the reports we brought, but clearly hasn't absorbed everything. I can't say he'd approve of Caleb Davion any more than I do, if the worst of Caleb is true. Trillian pushed the thoughts away. Where is he leading with this?
"But the people of this Inner Sphere need no longer face these horrors alone," Nathaniel declared. "By a miracle, one I cannot help but credit to the hand of God the Creator, the Glass was formed, linking our Inner Spheres together. They no longer need struggle without succor, without hope, against the dark age that threatens to smother them. We are here, and we can, we must, answer their pleas for help." He drew in a breath while the crowd started to shout in support. Cries of "Yes!" "Long live the Federation!" and "In God's name!" echoed from below. "When I came to the throne, I pledged peace. And I still wish for it, I wish to never have to order your loved ones into battle. But there can be no peace with cruelty and barbarity at the scale we are witnessing. Such peace only means sacrificing innocents, and for nothing, as these forces will inevitably come for us when they wish it. So I, who wished for peace, must instead take up the sword." Word after word came and the crowd's shouts and cheers grew in furor. Trillian felt frozen in place. She had the sense that, tradition-breaking as this was, it was also going to be a historical moment that none present would ever forget.
Nathaniel's hand went to his hip. Metal shrieked briefly against metal until the light of the sun gleamed on the blade of the Sword of Liberation. The shouting in the crowd died down, as if the people were breathless in wondering what the young man standing before them was going to do next.
Nathaniel held the sword at his side, pointing downward. "A bleeding people call out to us. A savage, unflinching foe stands poised to enslave them, another to torture and murder them. I have signed an alliance against these brutes, and I will personally lead the Federation's armies through the Glass to meet them and drive them back. And I will not be going alone. Our oldest allies, the redoubtable peoples of the old Rim Worlds, will march under the Ghastillian banners. The stalwart communes of Sudeten and the fierce warriors of Rasalhague, whose strength and courage have proven them as deadly enemies and steadfast allies in the past, rally their armies to join us in this cause. Because we are not fighting to claim worlds, nor just for the honor of our noble houses and our given word. This, my people…" — and as he let his words hang in the tense silence, his right arm shot up, lifting the Sword of Liberation high to shine in the Arcadian sun — "is a holy war for our most cherished principles!"
He barely had time to finish the line before the loudest roar yet came from the crowd. Trillian, from her point on the balcony, saw fists rise everywhere. Not just fists, as military officers who came for the occasion in ceremonial dress started reaching for their own officer swords and drawing them, sending their tips skyward as well.
"The Clans must be stopped!" Nathaniel shouted. "We must drive them back, run them down, and end their reign of terror! In the name of God and Liberty, we must free the worlds they have seized and the innocent peoples they have kidnapped!"
"Death to slavery!" For Liberty!" "For Freedom and Federation!" "For God and Liberty!" "In the name of God!" "God wills it!" Voices cried those words over and over again, and for all this was for the benefit of the Commonwealth, Trillian felt the hairs on her neck stand up on their ends.
Whether he was caught up in the energy he'd provoked, or had more remarks to say, Nathaniel continued. "This will be a long struggle, but we must see it through to its end! So long as a single bondcord remains upon the wrist of a Clan slave, so long as a single world flies the Godforsaken banner of the Wolf Empire or the murderous standards of the Jade Falcons and their Horse allies, our work is not done, and our swords will not be sheathed!"
The crowd roared approval at that. The air was rushing with energy, and Trillian's satisfaction, though not gone, was now tinged with fear. What have I done? What have I unleashed? she wondered. They are truly different from us. Religious fervor happens in our Inner Sphere too, but when is the last time… no. No, that is unfair.
But the comparison couldn't slip free from her mind. There were conflicts that saw the belligerents as energized as this. The Capellan Crusades, and before them, the Blakist Jihad. I can't compare what the Liaos and the Blakists did to this. These people aren't out for domination, they don't want to murder, they want to stop it!
Lyran and Leaguer, Skye and Tamarind, so many identities, but the Arcadians are the beating heart at the center. They bind all of this together. Their ideals provide the form. And they were shaped by struggling against slavery, against oppression. The Clans, their taking of bondsmen, and the way they acted on the conquered worlds from a hundred years ago… that is anathema to these people. Trillian glanced towards the crowd and back to Nathaniel, plus his entourage, who seemed alternatively surprised, uncertain, or supportive while he continued on. And after twenty years of struggling to come to terms with the feeling of being cheated of worlds rightfully theirs, twenty years of bitterness about the war, fear about how far they can push, or whether to push at all… now they have a cause. Something to unite behind. An enemy beyond the pale, to fight without having to risk bringing a new Succession War down on everyone's heads. A clean battle to uphold their idea of right in the world. No wonder they seem ready to march to the DropShips now.
She breathed a gentle sigh, relief and uncertainty mixing in her heart, even as the cheering continued. I came to win an ally. I'm going home with a crusade gathering behind me, and who knows where this one will go…
St. John Episcopal Church of Roslyn
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
8 February 3143
After her morning meal, Trillian had her finest court gown brought out of the closet and fitted into it with the help of her domestic staff. She and her Chief of Staff, Lord Marienburg, took a vehicle in the procession of Royal guests and dignitaries to their destination, in the heart of Roslyn itself. The city was quieter than usual, even for the start of a week. For the people of Roslyn it was a holiday, not a working day, and Trillian imagined soon enough the empty streets would be filling up with spectators for the parade and ceremonies to come.
Just east of the city center and the Financial District, settled close to where the Rha River briefly bent northward on its way to the sea two kilometers away, St. John Episcopal stood as the beating heart of the Anglican Communion of Arcadia, the traditional place of investiture for rulers of Arcadia stretching back to House Duncan's foundation on the planet in the twenty-fourth century. It was a suitably grand church of white with brass furnished trim, including a towering cross-tipped steeple and belfry, stained glass windows, and large interior and attached park space, including a second floor balcony looking out over the church courtyard.
One by one the vehicles came to a stop and allowed their personages to disembark with the aid of church ushers in their plain church uniforms. One such usher, a red-headed woman with freckles, helped Trillian out of her vehicle along with Marienburg. She moved them along to the entrance, where they were guided through the main door and to their assigned seats among the Royal guests in the front pews.
Trillian took in the scenery of the church. It'd been badly damaged in the Terran invasion of Arcadia in 3050 and rebuilt to exacting specifications. The second floor had expanded seating on ascending rows back to the far end of the nave, at the vestibule. The acoustics were improved for both services and ceremonies through alterations to the vaulted, chandelier-lit ceiling, while the interior expanded to increase the size of the transept and chancel to allow a superior layout for the ceremonial role of the church, and all sorts of minor improvements implemented.
To either side of the transept were long benches, spare pews possibly, that were vacant, while squads of Lifeguard infantry clad in Grenzer battle armor, their modular arm mounts fitted with lasers instead of the usual Gauss weaponry. The altar, normally in the chancel but now moved to the north-middle part of the transept while allowing for sufficient space to walk about it, was covered in a fine velvet cloth, with a plain looking but solid table of wood surfacing and metal placed beside it.
The valuable ceremonial items were already resting upon it. They were certainly made to leave an impression, she thought. A hawk-shaped ampulla sat in the middle, containing the consecrated oil for the ceremony. The Scepter, the representation of temporal, secular power in the hands of the ruler, was made of alloyed gold, with a swept wing silver-plated hawk at the tip. Beside it was the symbol of spiritual authority and responsibility, the Orb, a solid pearl from the oceans of Zwenkau. Two bands of gold crossed over it marked with iconography, a golden cross set into the "top" with a hawk perched upon it. The Crown itself was a band of gold topped with a royal purple cap, marked with cruciforms set over pairs of rubies and sapphires, with one large pearl set into the golden hawk crest at the brow.
Across the transept, right inside the chancel, was the ceremonial throne. It was a frame of metal and gold filigree lined with cushioning of royal purple for the seat and sides, with the arms topped with golden-varnished hardwood. A compartment below the seat bore a single slab of stone, of some weight and heft, purportedly the Stone of Scone itself, spirited off Terra during the Amaris Coup and winding up in the personal collection of the warlord Carl Tabot, "High Lord of Arcadia", until his death at the hands of Sara Proctor. There were strong doubts about the authenticity, but as it was a trophy of the Liberator's victory and the purported Stone of Destiny for the crowning of the High Kings of Scotland and English and British rulers alike, it was implemented into the coronation ceremonies when Sara-Marie became the first High Queen a century later, and the claim to its authenticity formally made.
In the far corner of the chancel, a finely-built organ was being manned and tested by the organist, and a pianist likewise doing the same for their instrument on the opposite side of the dais. The choir was still filling up with white-robed men and women, chatting amiably or testing their voices.
Time passed to the beginning of the procession. This was signaled by the activation of one of the church's modern features, a large holovid projector built into the classical-looking chandeliers hanging from the arching roof above. It gave the attendees an idea of how long they had to prepare for the coming ceremony, whether it be quick calls of nature — as she noted several notables making discreetly — or checking their messages or finishing conversations. The screen itself was a feed from the Federation Broadcasting Corporation, showing the beginning of the Royal Procession in a parade from the gates of Fort Defiance to the church. It was an impressive display, certainly. BattleMechs, vehicles, and armor-suited infantry of the Second Proctor Guards, the Arcadian Guards, the Arcadian Rangers, the Fourth Royal BattleMech Regiment and Brigade, and the First Arcadian Royal Federal Militia Brigade all marched along the reinforced surfaces of Roslyn's boulevards and avenues. They must have been training for months for this, she thought at seeing how well they handled the maneuvers through the streets, the MechWarriors and tank drivers turning smartly in column where necessary. The number of 'Mechs alone numbered over a hundred, the representatives of five regiments of 'Mechs and many more of armor and infantry, undoubtedly brought in from every garrison point on the planet for the ceremony. How many of them will be coming with Nathaniel? How many of these men and women are going to die because of the alliance I've just signed?
The lead formation was the important one. The Lifeguards' 'Mech and armor formations — their infantry was undoubtedly already at the church and surrounding grounds, working with the Royal Security Service to safeguard the ceremony, and the Lifeguards' aviation forces were protecting the proceedings from above — were on all sides of a single BattleMech. Growing up around MechWarriors Trillian knew just enough to see the design had some aesthetic similarities to Black Knight machines, but the telltale crown assembly on the head marked it a Paladin, specifically a PLD-3 OmniMech since it mounted missile launchers and carried a sword compartment built into the right arm. Given the white and gold paint job, and the prominent crowned hawk on the chest, plus the focus being given to the machine, it had to be Liberator, Nathaniel's 'Mech.
By now the streets, lined with protective barricades, were filled with people. Banners were held, as were flags, bearing patriotic slogans, supportive words, or statements for this or that cause. She noted a number of Lyran flags were prominently displayed as well, usually twinned to Arcadian ones. Are they Lyrantreu or supporting the new alliance? Possibly both. Given it had been over a quarter century since the last coronation, this was being treated as the event of a lifetime. If Nathaniel lives a full life, it may very well be for many older than we are, Trillian thought. He could reign into the thirty-third century. The treacherous addition of If he doesn't get killed saving the Commonwealth slipped in, an unwelcome thought.
The main parade flowed to the approach to St. Johns. There they began to peel off. The 'Mechs and vehicles of the Lifeguards took up protective positions around the church while the other units moved on, following the final leg of the parade procession back to their base by its northeastern entrance. One lance from the Lifeguards continued on, arranged around Nathaniel's machine, until all five were in the courtyard before the church's main doors. There they stopped. She noted a couple more were similarly Paladins, though only one was in Lifeguard colors. The two other BattleMechs, which she didn't immediately recognize, were marked as 'Mechs of the Bolan Heavy Guards. The regiment Nathaniel served in before his grandmother died and he inherited the throne. The other Paladin bore the emblem of the Proctor Heavy Guards. They must have come here for the ceremony, realized Trillian, since those units were stationed on Bolan and Stewart at the moment, though were slated to join Nathaniel's expedition to Tharkad and the battle with Clan Wolf.
Around her, people were getting back to their seats. Noteputers started to get put away. She heard one mumbled voice fuss and turned her head to a group a few spaces down, past Lord Marienburg and Prince Peter's husband Lord McGonagal, to where a more plainly clad middle-aged woman was shushing a child of about ten, quietly aided by an adolescent girl three years older despite her looking very bored as well. They were not badly-dressed, but clearly not in court uniform or wear either. Trillian leaned over and asked, "Hello, I am Lady Trillian Steiner, may I have the honor of your name?"
The woman smiled and nodded. "Mrs. Prudence Corey, ma'am."
Corey. I do recognize that name. "As in, William Corey?"
"Yes, ma'am," the woman replied. Her accent was one Trillian hadn't heard nearly so much of, lacking even the soft burr of most Roslyn residents, nor the tones of old England. It was one usually associated with the Plymouth Peninsula, and the Anglo-Americans there descended from New England settlers. "My husband John was a Corey, as are his children. This is my grandson, also named John, and granddaughter Sarah, they're here with me to represent the family. Their parents are offworld and couldn't make it."
She almost asked for the woman's title, to ensure she addressed her properly, but stopped. She'd already identified herself merely as "Mrs. Corey", and even with how Arcadian court culture seemed a little more relaxed than Lyran, she couldn't imagine even a Freiherr not wearing proper court dress or displaying the family arms or insignia in some way. No, this woman and her grandchild, they're commoners. Commoners, in the front pew during a state ceremony! I can't imagine any Archon having that at a coronation, if they were deserving they'd be ennobled immediately before. It was a reminder that whatever the pomp and ceremony, the Arcadians did not have the same mentality of her Lyrans.
She almost asked the reason the Coreys were represented here, but stopped herself. William Corey was, by all accounts, the love of Sara Proctor's life. Biographers believe she never got over his death. Inviting his family to her coronations was the next best thing to having him there, I suppose, and her son carried the tradition on for whatever reason, despite his own difficult relationship with her. Maybe because he was named for her dead lover? So now, two centuries later, they get to sit among the great and mighty. It was, in its own way, somewhat inspiring, as tragic as it was.
Her attention returned to the holovid display. The cameras outside showed the 'Mechs were dismounted. She couldn't immediately recognize two of the pilots following Nathaniel to the entrance, all still in their cooling suits, but realized the one walking from the 'Mech with the Proctor Heavy Guards insignia was Prince Peter. Of course. His old unit. The other men must be Colonel Laughlin and officers Nathaniel served with, maybe his company and battalion commanders? The four figures entered the church entrance together. A moment later, the holovid display blipped away, leaving only empty air above the chancel. A dark-skinned man stood from where the choir was now seated, clad in pontifical vestments of white and gold, with a bishop's miter of the same colors on his head. Every step was measured and deliberate as he walked around the throne and to the north side of the altar, where he stopped and stood quietly. Bishop Stanford, I would assume.
By the time the bishop was in place, the church was silent. All the noteputers had disappeared. The ceremony was set to begin. Trillian waited patiently for the start.
"Our ruler is ready," a voice proclaimed from behind her, his voice amplified by the acoustics of the church and the cleverly-installed speakers hidden above. She recognized the speaker as Prince Roman Brewer-Steiner's.
Remain seated until the King is passing by. The instruction, provided by Lord Murray in his notes to her, stayed in Trillian's mind until she saw the figures of Prince Roman and Grand Princess Amita. She rose in line with the others on the pew, just in time for Nathaniel to enter her vision. He was in a white robe of shimmering, splendid material, with a red vest and stole fastened over the robe. And the cooling suit is still underneath, I bet. Behind Nathaniel came a procession of the remaining March-ruling Archdukes of the Federation, led by Amir Karim Abdullah Rayhan of Dar-es-Salaam and Archduke Kenneth Marik of Atreus, and due to the constitutionalism of the system, the Duchesses of Gienah and Hyde and the Duke of Launum, representing the original co-founding worlds of the Free March, and the planetary Archdukes of the old Kingdom of Donegal, who retained the title though they were only planetary rulers.
The procession moved partway into the transept and many of the lower ranking members moved away, to the empty pews set into the sides of the transept, leaving plenty of room for the ceremony. Only Grand Princess Amita of Bolan, Prince Roman, Archduke Kenneth, and Archduke Birendra Shah of Tamarind remained beside Nathaniel. The significance wasn't lost on Trillian. They are all rulers of what were once independently-sovereign parts of the Federation.
Nathaniel stepped out from among them and towards the altar, where Bishop Stanford moved forward and held his handout, gesturing for Nathaniel to lower himself. When Nathaniel did not obey, Prince Roman stepped forward and, in a tone more ceremonial than forceful, demanded, "Who are you to make the sovereign kneel?"
Stanford's reply filled the church. "It is the place of all sovereigns to kneel before the Creator of the Universe."
Roman, ceremonially chastened — though I doubt not a whit in fact, Trillian thought with bemusement — stepped back to join his peers, leaving Nathaniel to obey and drop to one knee. He bowed his head in supplication and, with quiet energy, announced, "I am humbled before the Lord my God, Creator of All, font of Justice and Mercy."
"Why have you come?"
Nathaniel lifted his eyes, though his knee remained on the floor of the church. "To assume the throne of Arcadia," he replied, his tome firm but not in any way authoritative. "I am Nathaniel Ethan Proctor. The blood of the Liberator flows in my veins. It is my duty to take the burden of protecting the peoples and worlds of our realm, so help me God."
"And you solemnly swear, before the Almighty Creator of the Universe, to uphold the work of the Liberator and protect the sacred dignities of all souls within your realm, owned by none by the Will of their Divine Creator?"
"Yes."
"To uphold the rights that Nature and Nature's God bestow upon all souls, with all your power?"
"I do."
"To rule with justice and mercy as the Lord rules over all?"
"I do."
Stanford nodded. "Then, in the eyes of the Creator and your people, take up the sword of your foremother."
A young woman of tan skin approached from the chancel, wearing the uniform of a court page. Something about the way she carried herself reminded Trillian of her cousin Melissa when she'd been a teenager, or myself if I am being honest. A daughter of the nobility, I assume. In her hands she held a long object. When she rounded the altar from the south, the opposite side from Stanford, Trillian noticed the handle and realized it was a sheathed sword, with a scabbard of fine leather but, notably, not one piece of jewelry or precious metal present on its surface. Only a metal disc prominent on the visible surface provided ornamentation, bearing a gold and white hawk sigil. Quietly the young noblewoman strapped the scabbard to the left of Nathaniel's waist. When she was done, she retreated back to the side of the altar to retrieve the table. It scraped audibly along the floor, filling the church with the noise, before coming to a rest between Nathaniel and the altar. From the south arm of the transept, two more young people in page uniforms came, carrying between them a meter and a half of solid metal chains, each end terminating in a manacle.
A faint sound came from the transept, metal scraping against metal, and the glint of the church's light flashed upon the blade of solid steel. I've heard swords unsheathed before, LCAF officers give scoldings if their subordinates make a noise. It is deliberate, then. The sword was nothing special. The hilt, crossguard, the pommel, it looked like a plain sword, the kind of European longsword you might find in collections or made as props for fantasy or historical holodramas, not quite a meter in length. The only ornamentation was a silver-colored disc set into the crossguard depicting the Proctor family seal of a sword shattering a set of manacles.
It does not look at all like it belongs in the Regalia, not compared to the gold and jewels of the Crown, Scepter, and Orb. But everything I've read says it's considered the most important piece, the heart of it all, argued as the ultimate expression of House Proctor's authority on Arcadia and across the realm. Trillian focused her eyes on the blade as Nathaniel held it up, examining it for the moment. The Sword of Liberation, they call it, a blade forged from the metal of shattered slave chains. It was presented to Sara Proctor as a gift by a married couple, metalworkers freed from Carl Tabot's slave pens after his death at Parnon and the liberation of his estate in Sannazaro. She worked the blade into the investiture ceremony when she was made Duchess of Arcadia, and later did the same at her coronation as the first March-Princess of the Free March.
Nathaniel's eyes moved from the blade to the chain on the table before him, where the two pages laid the chain down, the manacles placed along the opposite edges of the table. They stepped away, one, two, three steps, and waited.
In a practiced movement, Nathaniel brought the blade down on the middle link. The church rang with the sound of steel on steel. Sparks briefly leapt from the impact point. The pages stepped forward again and picked up the chain by the manacles, revealing to all that they had been split at the central link. The symbolism is not subtle. This is a pledge.
Nathaniel turned to Bishop Stanford. ""Let this be an example of my conviction."
"It is witnessed. Let all chains fall before your sword."
While the two younger pages returned to the chancel with the broken chains and the sword-bearing page brought the table back to its original position, Stanford went to the altar and took up the ampulla. Nathaniel knelt once more, lowering his head, and the four retainers brought forth a golden shroud — Where did it come from? Was it handed to one of them by an usher while we were all watching Nathaniel take up the sword? — and held it over him. Bishop Stanford stepped up to the kneeling ruler and with care tipped the ampulla, just enough to allow a dabble of oil to land on Nathaniel's shrouded head. Stanford spoke in a reverential, firm tone. "By this holy anointing, in the name of the Father and Creator, of his Son the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, you assume dominion with His Grace."
Music sounded from the chancel. By the time Stanford placed the ampulla back on the altar, the choir's voice filled the church with a slow, joyous melody that she slowly recognized from old memories. We have this. It's from the… Age of War era? Maybe earlier. I can recall this from services when I was young. "The Work of Samuel". The call for a king to defend Israel, and the Hebrew prophet Samuel journeying to find a suitable candidate.
The retainers took the oil-stained shroud from Nathaniel's head. Together they removed the red tunic and stole. Grand Princess Amita and Archduke Kenneth replaced it with a vest of strong, bright blue, then a fine jacket of crimson. Did Roman ask not to do this, or is this because he is not as close in terms of family? Amita's grandson and Kenneth's betrothed grandnephew-in-law? Archduke Birendra provided the final piece, a flowing cape of royal purple lined with ermine. Even though Nathaniel was by no means short, the cape still flowed to the ground and then some, so Archduke Birendra and Prince Roman each took a corner and followed Nathaniel to the throne. Amita helped him unstrap the Sword of Liberation and place it on his left beside the throne, after which he sat with the aid of the others in arranging the too-long cape. No throne is a recliner, but he looks uncomfortable in it. It forces his back to remain flat, I suppose?
The choir continued to sing, the organ alone playing to accompany them, while Stanford turned back to the altar. First he brought the Scepter, which Nathaniel accepted with his right hand. Second, in a separate trip, he handed the Orb, which settled into Nathaniel's left hand. The final trip brought forth the Crown. Nathaniel bowed his head as Stanford lifted the Crown high, in full view of the church and all present, before he settled it on Nathaniel's head, bearing it down to his brow. Nathaniel's head rose until he was sitting upright, showing that the golden hawk with its luminous pearl was directly above the center of his forehead. And through it all he holds still, unmoving, not relaxing. This is a trial more than it is a celebration. Which is the point, as it would be for us. As it should be.
Yet Trillian felt like there was something different than what she'd known in the coronations she'd witnessed on Tharkad. Our Houses are different. The Commonwealth and the Federation share many values, we are related peoples even with the change in history, but we are not the same. This is how the people here view their ruler, or at least, how their ruler should be. Humble, burdened, and carrying a sword to cleave chains of captivity. Not a sign of wealth as a bringer of economic prosperity.
Stanford turned to the assembled and spoke, his voice thundering as the music and choir lowered in volume. "In the name of the Lord, I present to you His Royal Majesty King Nathaniel, by God's Grace High King of the Federation! May he reign long and well!"
"Long life and health to His Majesty!" Archduke Birendra called out. How deeply does he mean that, given Tamarind's festering dislike of Arcadia's refusal to press the return of the old Duchy from the Principate? Trillian suspected this was not going to be the Archduke of Tamarind's favorite part of the ceremony, nor his next role.
The prior piece ended and the choir struck up Te Deum Laudum, along with the organist and pianist. The ancient hymn, predating Human spaceflight and updated in the twentieth century, filled the room, a praise to the Divine in thanks for blessings.
The four retainers lined up, while the benches to either side of the transept emptied. One by one, these personages lined up, joined by more from the pews behind Trillian. Altogether, including those who were in the original procession, Trillian counted twelve March-governing archdukes, the Archduke of Tamarind as a former sovereign, the half dozen archdukes from the Donegal side of the Federation, the presidents of the two Free States, and almost ninety dukes, margraves, landgraves, presidents, secretary-generals, and committee chairmen and chairwomen who served as planetary rulers in the three Royal Marches that the Crown governed directly, as well as Nathaniel's Governor-Generals on Skye and Donegal, the Royal Governor of Tharkad, and the head of the planetary government of Arcadia itself. Each and every one of them has to pay homage. Then the foreign dignitaries will be recognized, including me. He must be getting tired.
Even with each homage taking only about fifteen seconds, it took half an hour before Trillian herself was bowing in respect before him, Lord Marienburg beside her repeating her bow. She could see the fatigue on his face at enduring the long, drawn out process. "On behalf of Her Royal Highness Archon Melissa Steiner, the Lyran Commonwealth's deepest regards for your reign, Your Majesty," she said formally.
"My thanks to Her Royal Highness and the Lyran people," he replied. Despite his tiredness, a flash of a grin formed on his face. "Their plight is on my thoughts, and will be spoken of before the day is out."
Trillian nodded and stepped away. Just what does that mean? she thought. What is he planning?
She returned to her pew with Lord Marienburg, but she barely had time to sit down before Lord Murray came up. "Lady Trillian, His Majesty would be pleased if you and Lord Marienburg would join him on the balcony when he is presented to the people," Murray said.
A gesture, then, that is his plan. "I, we, would be honored," she replied, standing. Murray led them towards the northern end of the transept. She glanced towards Nathaniel and noted he was smiling again, this time addressing young John and Sarah Corey with their grandmother. The children bowed to him again before their grandmother brought them away.
Doors brought them into the north foyer of St. John's Church. Murray guided them toward the east and a set of stairs to the second floor. They were cleared through a door by a pair of dark-suited figures — Royal Security Service agents, most likely — and to the balcony foyer, built beyond the apse within the church's sanctuary given the curving of the walls. More works of art were present, along with security, chairs for waiting, and facing the east, a set of heavy red curtains. Prince Peter was waiting, as was Sophia Marik, her father, and her granduncle, while Bishop Stanford remained quiet near the curtain. Trillian bowed respectfully to them, particularly to Kenneth. "Your Grace, I have not had the honor," she said.
"Nor have I." Kenneth's hoarse voice made her think he might have a throat ailment of sorts. He was an octogenarian by her reckoning, not weakened by age, but showing it rather more than she'd imagined. Sir David MacKinnon is older and yet more spry than this man… ah. He has had to endure how many invasions of his capital world in his life? How much lost blood? Dead family? "I did not approve of your mission, but His Majesty's arguments were well-reasoned, my nephew Lord Paul has concurred, and his daughter remains an advocate as well."
"I understand, Your Grace, your concerns for the security of your people," Trillian said delicately. "I can only hope that by our victory, the security of both realms is strengthened."
"Yes, that much we can agree upon. Though I wonder how our cousins on your side of the Glass will respond to all this?" There was an edge in that voice. "I trust you will not expect our forces to replace these Wolves as your allies in conquest, hrm?"
"The treaty was written to prevent such a thought, I saw to that myself." Melissa may not be pleased either, but I could hardly expect even Nathaniel to have agreed to backstop the LCAF marching toward Atreus again. No, she will have to settle for saving the Commonwealth. I hope. "Believe me when I say I understand we made a terrible decision, and we have paid for our hubris and greed."
Something about Kenneth's eyes told her that he wasn't believing her, or at least, that she was speaking for her Archon. Which was sadly true, all Trillian could hope was that her experiences would make Melissa willing to yield on her ambitions now. But I must press on.
The south door of the foyer opened, admitting Nathaniel, his mother, and his grandmother. Nathaniel was shed of his cumbersome coronation gear, the red jacket and purple cape replaced by a much lighter jacket of royal purple lined with ermine, and his head bearing the usual tiara of intertwined platinum bands with a hawk sigil on the brow. The Regalia were no longer on his person, presumably returned to the altar to be taken back to secure storage.
No, he's still got one piece, Trillian realized, eyes lowering to his left hip, where the Sword of Liberation was once again strapped to his robe's belt.
Finally meeting Princess Sita Umayr, the widow of the late Prince James, made clear where Nathaniel's cheekbones came from, as well as his shapely chin. They were in Bolanese court dress, with blue saris over colorful blouses and garments, each bearing a bindi mark on the forehead. Nathaniel spoke first. "Mother, Grandmother, Lady Trillian. And I see Archduke Kenneth has had the pleasure?"
"He has," Sophia said, in the voice of someone hoping the prior conversation would not continue.
"Your Highnesses." Trillian bowed once again. Kenneth and his entourage did likewise, and the temperature of the foyer warmed. "An honor."
"The honor is ours, Lady Trillian," said Grand Princess Amita. "I have seen your interviews and arguments on the news holovids, you are a worthy representative of Archon Melissa."
"Thank you, Highness."
"Majesty." Murray went towards the curtain and looked back. "It is time." Across from him, Bishop Stanford stepped up.
"Then let us proceed."
The curtain was opened fully by church ushers. The light of Arcadia's sun flooded the foyer, as did the rustling noise of a great crowd outside. Nathaniel took Sophia's arm, after which they went out onto the balcony and walked to its very end. Trillian joined the others in walking up behind him, giving her a view of the cheering crowds waving flags in the wide spaces of the Church's steeple courtyard below.
Bishop Stanford stepped out onto the balcony, came to Nathaniel's side, and lifted his arms as if to bless the crowd. "Peoples of the Federation, I present to you our High King, Nathaniel Proctor!"
The cheering became a roar.
So it's done. By her search Trillian knew this was the end. Nathaniel would remain for a few minutes, enjoying the adulation of his people, before returning to the church. The ceremony would be over and he would be on his way back to the Palace to see to business and prepare for the night's coronation reception dinner with all the attendant elements of high society.
She noted Nathaniel tapping on his collar for a moment. What's he doing? she wondered.
His hand went up, at first seeming to wave, but instead soon obvious as a call for attention, even quiet. "Peoples of the Federation!" he called out.
Silence came to the crowd. Stanford blinked at him, and Murray frowned. Peter let out a sigh. What is he doing? Trillian wondered, repeating herself. His grandmother, her predecessors, they never spoke before. This isn't supposed to be for speeches. Not even during the Fourth Succession War!
"It is not usual for the Crown to make an address after this solemn occasion," he began, "but these are not usual times. An event of extraordinary implications has changed our world, our times, in ways we have yet to understand." His voice boomed over the crowd, courtesy of the same speakers Stanford had employed. "I do not break with tradition easily, but given what I am asking of you, asking of the peoples of the Federation, I feel I must."
"In the Inner Sphere beyond the Glass, a dark age has descended. The wonders of interstellar communication, of the hyperspace pulse generators that even now carry my words to every corner of the Inner Sphere, have fallen silent. The pillars of peace have been shaken to rubble, and a new era of war is fueled by the fear and uncertainty wrought by this cataclysmic event. This suffering alone would cause one to weep, but it is worsened by the brutality that we have come face to face with since our arrival through the Glass. The reports come, each worse than the last. Courageous soldiers tortured and murdered simply for fighting back! Civilians slaughtered for the slightest resistance! People led away in chains, compelled to serve as slaves to warlords determined to subjugate the entire Inner Sphere under their dark, twisted ideology of genetic superiority! Whole worlds poisoned for refusing to yield!"
As he spoke the crowd's shouting grew, cries of horror and anger.
As if fed by their energy, Nathaniel continued, his hands gripping the balcony railing around the wrapped pieces holding the red and blue bunting in place. "We saw those images from Morges, we all did, and it is only part of what has been inflicted on innocent worlds from Sudeten to Atreus by these Clans, these perverted scions of Aleksandr Kerensky's Star League Defense Force. Indeed, we have learned that only a scant few of them have a sense of honor, of duty to righteousness, worthy of their forefathers. We have already fought at the side of these noble Wolves. They resist their cruel brethren to protect the innocents of the Inner Sphere, but they are small in number, and while they struggle valiantly, they cannot win alone."
"These Clans, these Jade Falcons and Hell's Horses, this so-called Wolf Empire, have fallen upon the Lyran people on the other side in order to devour them." Another crescendo of angry cries answered him. "The Commonwealth, weakened by all that has happened, betrayed from without and from within, cannot hold. The reborn Free Worlds League is struggling to regain its life. Across the Inner Sphere, the insidious and inhuman ideology of the old Capellan Confederation has found its ultimate degenerate end with the blasphemy of Daoshen Liao, who proclaims himself a living god and seeks to conquer and enslave the peoples of the Republic and the Federated Suns." The crowd roared their disapproval yet again. "The Draconis Combine, no better than the one we have seen reborn in brutality and treachery, is reported to even now be killing off one of the few Clans to show human values and decency. The peoples of Rasalhague have spent a century under Clan domination and have yet to show whether they stand on the side of decency and humanity or have become just as vile as the others."
He has read the reports we brought, but clearly hasn't absorbed everything. I can't say he'd approve of Caleb Davion any more than I do, if the worst of Caleb is true. Trillian pushed the thoughts away. Where is he leading with this?
"But the people of this Inner Sphere need no longer face these horrors alone," Nathaniel declared. "By a miracle, one I cannot help but credit to the hand of God the Creator, the Glass was formed, linking our Inner Spheres together. They no longer need struggle without succor, without hope, against the dark age that threatens to smother them. We are here, and we can, we must, answer their pleas for help." He drew in a breath while the crowd started to shout in support. Cries of "Yes!" "Long live the Federation!" and "In God's name!" echoed from below. "When I came to the throne, I pledged peace. And I still wish for it, I wish to never have to order your loved ones into battle. But there can be no peace with cruelty and barbarity at the scale we are witnessing. Such peace only means sacrificing innocents, and for nothing, as these forces will inevitably come for us when they wish it. So I, who wished for peace, must instead take up the sword." Word after word came and the crowd's shouts and cheers grew in furor. Trillian felt frozen in place. She had the sense that, tradition-breaking as this was, it was also going to be a historical moment that none present would ever forget.
Nathaniel's hand went to his hip. Metal shrieked briefly against metal until the light of the sun gleamed on the blade of the Sword of Liberation. The shouting in the crowd died down, as if the people were breathless in wondering what the young man standing before them was going to do next.
Nathaniel held the sword at his side, pointing downward. "A bleeding people call out to us. A savage, unflinching foe stands poised to enslave them, another to torture and murder them. I have signed an alliance against these brutes, and I will personally lead the Federation's armies through the Glass to meet them and drive them back. And I will not be going alone. Our oldest allies, the redoubtable peoples of the old Rim Worlds, will march under the Ghastillian banners. The stalwart communes of Sudeten and the fierce warriors of Rasalhague, whose strength and courage have proven them as deadly enemies and steadfast allies in the past, rally their armies to join us in this cause. Because we are not fighting to claim worlds, nor just for the honor of our noble houses and our given word. This, my people…" — and as he let his words hang in the tense silence, his right arm shot up, lifting the Sword of Liberation high to shine in the Arcadian sun — "is a holy war for our most cherished principles!"
He barely had time to finish the line before the loudest roar yet came from the crowd. Trillian, from her point on the balcony, saw fists rise everywhere. Not just fists, as military officers who came for the occasion in ceremonial dress started reaching for their own officer swords and drawing them, sending their tips skyward as well.
"The Clans must be stopped!" Nathaniel shouted. "We must drive them back, run them down, and end their reign of terror! In the name of God and Liberty, we must free the worlds they have seized and the innocent peoples they have kidnapped!"
"Death to slavery!" For Liberty!" "For Freedom and Federation!" "For God and Liberty!" "In the name of God!" "God wills it!" Voices cried those words over and over again, and for all this was for the benefit of the Commonwealth, Trillian felt the hairs on her neck stand up on their ends.
Whether he was caught up in the energy he'd provoked, or had more remarks to say, Nathaniel continued. "This will be a long struggle, but we must see it through to its end! So long as a single bondcord remains upon the wrist of a Clan slave, so long as a single world flies the Godforsaken banner of the Wolf Empire or the murderous standards of the Jade Falcons and their Horse allies, our work is not done, and our swords will not be sheathed!"
The crowd roared approval at that. The air was rushing with energy, and Trillian's satisfaction, though not gone, was now tinged with fear. What have I done? What have I unleashed? she wondered. They are truly different from us. Religious fervor happens in our Inner Sphere too, but when is the last time… no. No, that is unfair.
But the comparison couldn't slip free from her mind. There were conflicts that saw the belligerents as energized as this. The Capellan Crusades, and before them, the Blakist Jihad. I can't compare what the Liaos and the Blakists did to this. These people aren't out for domination, they don't want to murder, they want to stop it!
Lyran and Leaguer, Skye and Tamarind, so many identities, but the Arcadians are the beating heart at the center. They bind all of this together. Their ideals provide the form. And they were shaped by struggling against slavery, against oppression. The Clans, their taking of bondsmen, and the way they acted on the conquered worlds from a hundred years ago… that is anathema to these people. Trillian glanced towards the crowd and back to Nathaniel, plus his entourage, who seemed alternatively surprised, uncertain, or supportive while he continued on. And after twenty years of struggling to come to terms with the feeling of being cheated of worlds rightfully theirs, twenty years of bitterness about the war, fear about how far they can push, or whether to push at all… now they have a cause. Something to unite behind. An enemy beyond the pale, to fight without having to risk bringing a new Succession War down on everyone's heads. A clean battle to uphold their idea of right in the world. No wonder they seem ready to march to the DropShips now.
She breathed a gentle sigh, relief and uncertainty mixing in her heart, even as the cheering continued. I came to win an ally. I'm going home with a crusade gathering behind me, and who knows where this one will go…
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I'm not crying, I just have dirt in my eyes...
Epic ending right there!
Epic ending right there!
Post 42 - Peer Review
- Location
- Florida USA
42 - Peer Review
Celestial Palace
Imperial City, Wuhan Continent
Sian, Sian Commonality
Oriento-Capellan Empire
11 February 3143
Moving across interstellar space at a steady clip via the HPG network, the holo image depicting Nathaniel's speech now played on an active holovid projector in the Advisory Chamber of the Imperial Palace. Seated in a high-backed chair displaying the standard of the Empire — the Halas raven in flight over the rearing Allison horse, a Liao dao positioned between the two overset by the three pearls of Oriente — Emperor Robert considered his younger peer's words and behavior. Interesting. So far he has struck me as more the intellectual type, and his course work with the Royal University of Roslyn confirms his potential. Now he rallies the crowds as the crusading king. I would be worried if his target was not so obvious.
Arrayed at the table around him were some of his most trusted advisors, including his wife, Empress-Consort Dana Rivoli, who served as his Minister of Production and owned Ceres Metals, one of the top arms producers in the Empire. The Imperial Strategos, Marshal Yevgeny Danilov, sat close as well, as did Lady Salma Chen, head of the Maskirovka. His great-grandmother was likewise represented in the person of Ser Jonathan Hawkwood, a former member of the Knights of the Red Sword, one of Oriente's Knightly Orders that formed the basis for their forces from before the formation of the Empire. Finally, sitting between the Empress-Consort and Lady Chen, Princess Xiaoli Halas-Liao was the least useful person at the table by far, but she was here to learn, and grudgingly accepted it.
"I have full faith in Lady Sophia, my wife-to-be, and my regent Lady Sara-Marie, that with the cooperation of Prince Peter and the Privy Council the Federation's day-to-day affairs will be seen to, and the defenses maintained," Nathaniel was saying to the crowd, his sword now lowered but still unsheathed. "For my duty lies beyond the Glass…"
Robert tapped the control and muted the playback. "Well." He folded his hands on the table. "Our young adversary rides to war, but not with us. It would seem matters in the Federation progress in ways beneficial to the Empire. They will not be easily embarking on any strikes with that many troops beyond the Glass." He said the first line in a very dull tone, inviting objection.
"I concur, Celestial Wisdom," Lady Chen said. "In conjunction with our intelligence of the recent months, it would seem the uncertain indicators of a potential strike are no longer present, or at least, no longer detectable. I would not rule out the more hostile elements of the AFRF attempting a provocation, however."
"They would have to be fools," Danilov snorted dismissively. "With their forces diminished, and months to a year before this new expansion can show fruit, they would be hard pressed to face even a modest counterattack."
"You forget the prospect of the Legions joining them." Lady Chen leveled a disapproving glare. "The Imperatrix is more ambitious than her father by far, and claiming worlds from the Empire would please the Rim Commonality section of the Principate, easing their integration."
"He is being a fool, going to the front," Robert murmured. I misjudged the young man, I thought him too intelligent. Or immune to that irritating Proctor sentimentalism and moralism.
"Especially with a doddering old woman as his regent," his wife added. "The Lady Sara-Marie is not a stateswoman, she is a seatwarmer, and was raised a commoner besides. She lacks the presence to command."
"Undoubtedly she will have the young Lady Sophia Marik and Prince Peter to provide her with direction." Robert shook his head. "Yet even with them, I do not trust that the likes of Lord Arnold will not attempt matters regardless, especially with our naval buildup incomplete, and the indications that their naval forces will not be as necessary on the other side in terms of maintaining a campaign. His subordinates may yet try something while he is out of easy communication."
"Then perhaps, Celestial Wisdom, we should act first?"
Robert turned his head to Ser Jonathan, as did all of the other attendees. The old knight didn't flinch under the attention, rather he manipulated a control on his noteputer, casting a holomap into the table's projector. The display showed the length of the border of the two realms, from the resettled world of Köln and the fortress world New Olympia on one end to Sirius and Procyon on the other, the end of the bulge of Imperial-held Terran worlds separating the Royal Federation from the Grand Union of Tikonov. Icons flashed, showing the present positions of the Empire's frontline forces, including those in transit since Robert agreed to the initial mutual border drawdowns. "We know that the Proctor Household Guards will be going through the Glass, as well as a number of other formations," Ser Jonathan pointed out. "This has weakened the defensive assignments along the borders of the Sirian and Harsefeld Commonalities and the Duchy's New Olympia Province."
"Their defenses in the area remain quite formidable in assignment," Danilov pointed out icily. "The Atrean Dragoons and Marik Regulars remain concentrated in the Principality of Atreus, and numerous major formations remain on or near the border, including four of the Royal Assault regiments. Not to mention they maintain reserves in the Hesperus and Arcadia regions that can be quickly deployed."
"Not if we throw our naval power at them. We will have an opening towards the end of the year when the Ser Arthur Klaes and the King Alexander join the fleet. We can commit the vast bulk of the Navy to positions on their Royal Road network, which we can seize with Marines, and intercept any incoming reinforcements, while the Orders and Fusiliers claim Atreus and Campbelton for the Empire, and the bulk of the Liao Guards, Harsefeld Lancers, and Sian Dragoons fall upon their garrisons at Irian, Marik, New Dallas, and New Earth." A button press reflected these movements on the map. "The Second, Third, and Fifth Allison Heavy Guards, and the Free Worlds Guards brigades, will remain in reserve, or to embark on a second wave assault on whichever targets we please, from Summer to Stewart." Ser Jonathan grinned. "The Cadies will think it's 3041 all over again by the time we're done. They'll wish it was just 3041."
The reference to the Empire's successful offensive a hundred years ago, in their intervention into the War of Donegalian Succession that carried their armies to McAffe, a mere two jumps from Arcadia, was clearly meant to inspire. A snort was the answer instead. "Yes, Ser Jonathan," Xiaoli said, giggling very snidely. "If at first you don't succeed, try try try and try again, yes? The fourth time will be the charm on your Orders' continued failures to conquer Atreus? Or would this be the fifth try, I've honestly lost count."
Robert and Empress Dana shot stern looks at their daughter, speaking out of turn as she was, but there was a tittering of laughter from some of the others, especially Lady Chen and Marshal Danilov. The look of pale, expressionless rage that formed on the knight said it all. He and his comrades came close in '19. Very close to securing Grandmother Eris' dream of seizing Atreus as punishment for the humiliation the Arcadians delivered her a century ago. Now my daughter, with her wild mouth, throws that failure in his face. All those lost comrades, his lost arm, and she insults him. I will have words with her later.
"This plan is wildly dangerous," Danilov said. "The Legions will counterattack into the Grand Duchy, and it leaves our border with the Fedrats wide open! Those pirate spawn of Grace Silver-Davion's will be wide open to attempt a reconquest of Grand Base and Bellatrix, maybe even Sarna!"
"And the Concord will grab for Filtvelt while the Dragon invades the Azami and Tikonov," Ser Jonathan predicted. "Though perhaps the Dragon will seize opportunity and focus instead on Arcturus, leaving the Azami free to strike at Sabik and raid the Isle of Skye. As for the Legions, they have wasted away since the war, and are needed to keep the Rim Commonality separatists down, as I know Lady Chen has been hard at work with them."
"A restored Rim Commonality that is friend to the Empire would be an opportune outcome," Chen agreed.
"You speak of igniting a new Succession War," Robert said. "Would you have me repeat my father's mistakes? All so your mistress can finally avenge a century old insult, regardless of what it would risk for the Empire?"
"We would win this time, Celestial Wisdom," Ser Jonathan insisted. "The boy king of our enemy has provided us the perfect opportunity to reclaim what we lost at Dieron, and break the power of the Proctors for two generations!"
"Only if absolutely everything goes your way," Danilov shouted. "This is not an offensive of strategy, it is a lashing out, by an old woman who lives on her hatred!"
"I challenge you, Marshal!" Ser Jonathan screamed. "You, who dare to insult the founding Empress!"
"Silence!" Robert's voice filled the room and quieted matters. "There will be no duels! Strategos, you forget yourself, the Dowager Empress is of my blood and you will refer to her appropriately!"
"My apologies, Celestial Wisdom, I let my passions go too far," Danilov said, bowing his head for effect.
"As for you, Ser Jonathan, I will not be coaxed into repeating history!" Robert waved dismissively at the map. "My father listened to similar advice thirty years ago, and it brought us the Fourth Succession War, where we avoided disaster by the slimmest of margins. Now we do not even have the fig leaf of the old Compact to safeguard our rear, just another enemy looking for revenge. The Navy will be the shield that protects the Empire from future threats, not your cudgel for wild plans of glory and conquest! The answer is no."
Ser Jonathan's face gradually regained color, but it was clear he still felt aggrieved. "Understood, Celestial Wisdom."
"We will let this play out," Robert said to the others. "Though on the matter of the Glass, I would make inquiries as to our progress in that field."
His Minister of the Sciences, Mandarin Eric Cheng, answered. "I am pleased to report, Celestial Wisdom, that the research teams have made theoretical progress, and some test jumps by multiple ships have shown interesting readings that were not present in recorded scans from the years prior to 3132."
"So, then it is possible. We might make our own Glass."
"It appears so, Celestial Wisdom."
And then we will meet our counterparts on the other side, this reformed Free Worlds League, and an intact Capellan Confederation. I wonder if this Daoshen Liao is some sort of madman and megalomaniac, or simply living to a standard established for him? We will have to be cautious… "Then bid them to continue their work, but do not attempt a Glass-making until I have approved it."
"As you wish, Celestial Wisdom."
Imperial Palace
Nova Roma, Gaul Continent
Alphard, Capitol Province
Flavian Principate
13 February 3143
The Imperial Palace. The name itself won the attention of all of Nova Roma's four millions, given the prominent place the Palace enjoyed on the skyline. The sprawling city was a ring of modern skyrises and structures, fit for the capital of a major Successor State of the post-Star League Inner Sphere.
Of course, this was not in the Inner Sphere, as it was generally known. While the majority of the two hundred and forty worlds and star systems that made up the Principate were in the Inner Sphere, Alphard was out on the Periphery, the furthest reaches of Human space, where colonizable worlds grew rare due to accidents of solar formations or one of a hundred other theories why so many of the habitable garden worlds lay within four hundred light years of Earth before their numbers dwindled by average.
This fact was part of the character of the world. Settled partly in Star League days, then re-settled in the thirtieth century, the people of Alphard had a special pride in themselves and the Principate. They, who were once derided as backwoods periphery barbarians, now governed the fates of peoples on worlds like Timbiqui, Cajamarca, Regulus, and Tematagi. They'd become one of the major states of the Inner Sphere by sword and by pen. It was the leaders and delegates of those worlds that came here, out to the Periphery, to interact with their ruler and the institutions that ruled them, a complete reverse of the history of the rest of the Periphery.
Of course, not all of Nova Roma was a glittering jewel of modernity. In the heart of the city, within that ring, the old sandstone structures of the early Marian Hegemony still contained the principle institutions of the capital. The Imperial Palace itself was no exception, rising in the center, flanked by the Senate, Ministerium, and Magisterium — the legislative, administrative, and judicial leadership of the Principate's government — as well as the Collegium Bellorum Imperial and attached Administratium Bellorum Imperial, where the PAF's officers were trained, PAF's military command administration was located, adjoined by the barracks for I Legio, part of the capital's defensive force. The Praetorian Guards likewise kept their barracks in the Palace itself, a combined arms regiment of MechWarriors, aerospace pilots, vehicle crews, and battle armor troopers that protected the figure at the top of the Principate.
Imperatrix Julia O'Reilly was perhaps not the most imposing figure, at least not heightwise, at barely a hundred and fifty centimeters. But her patrician nose, her thin face, and intelligent eyes had a way of making her subordinates uncomfortable, even if the day was long gone when even the Imperatrix could summarily execute a citizen, or consign them to lethal gladiatorial sport for their own amusement. The kind of atrocities and abuses that the likes of Sean O'Reilly and other earlier Imperators filled the Palace halls with were no longer an acceptable part of the government. Even Scipio, aggressive conquerer that he was, had mostly limited himself to just clean execution or exile of domestic rivals, before he met his end on Tamarind following his fateful defeat on Arcadia.
A palace servant brought her a fresh glass of wine. To one side, her husband Sanjeet Vulcan-Maximus enjoyed his own glass, while on the other, Chief Minister Marcus Anthony Zielinski was quietly observing the recorded footage from Arcadia. Once the speech was over, he was the one who terminated the playback. "An… interesting speech, Your Highness, don't you think?"
A smirk curled her lips. "I was informed by our analysts, and my cousin, that he was an intelligent man, but the new High King sounds disappointing. Those were not the words of intellect, they were the impassioned bleatings of a flighty mystic." The smirk turned to a frown. "And thanks to his whims of 'moral war', a prime opportunity to crush our common foe slips away."
"If Claudius' reports are anything to go by, he was never going to approve EAGLE CRY," Sanjeet said. "If we curse anything it should be that High Queen Jacqueline failed to take care of herself."
"She was a foolish woman in her own way, but one we could use," Julia said. "Her hatred of the Empire, in particular. With it clear the Arcadians are going to waste the next two years, or more, on this vainglorious 'crusade' of Nathaniel's, we can no longer count on their participation against the Empire. What, then, shall we do?"
"We needed their war fleet in conjunction with ours to make the pre-emptive strikes feasible," Zielinski noted. "Perhaps Lord Arnold will find a way to see it through, but I would not be certain if Nathaniel's loyalists maintain a grip on government power."
"So it would seem our alternative is to build further. The Senate will have to be pressed."
"We could expand our constructive capacity at Tematagi and Karachi." Sanjit took a moment to take a sip of wine. "Promote it as an economic investment measure, to restore the old Rim Commonality's industries to full."
"Your collective committees may not concur with establishing greater internal competition, Sanjit." Julia considered the matter. "Still, it will help, though we are surrendering the initiative to the Empire. Nor do I like the recent reports among the legions along the borders. The old fires that claimed my grandfather and enabled Scipio are igniting once more."
Zielinski knew immediately whom she meant. "The King of Pilpala can be dealt with by the Vigilus."
"And turn the other auxiliaries against me? No. The 'King' may not be respected, but his position is too similar to their own." Julia shook her head. "Perhaps I should let my displeasure towards the Arcadians be more obvious. Let him make a descent or two on the Bolanese… no, you needn't frown, Sanjit, I am merely voicing frustration. Scipio's folly destroyed decades of careful work turning those moralizing busybodies into our allies, and we are decades still from undoing that stroke of ambitious stupidity."
"Perhaps the legions may be appeased with the Empire as a target?" Zielinski suggested. "Nothing direct, of course, but some out of control forces making things hard for the Dowager and letting the hotheads vent. We needn't turn our border into another Kilbourne-Combine zone, of course. And who knows, perhaps they will start focusing towards the Davions."
"That would be too beneficial, I dare not assume it would be." Julia set the wineglass down. "For the time being, we watch, and we keep our legions prepared. And maybe, if we are fortunate, the boy king gets himself killed and High Queen Melissa commits to a timetable."
"If we are fortunate," Zielinski murmured.
Davion Palace
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March
Federated Suns (Farside)
14 February 3143
For most people of Avalon City, Valentine's Day was a time for romance and the commemoration of love. The homily of the Saint Valentine Mass given by Pope Gallant IX of the New Avalon Catholic Church still hung in First Prince Grace's mind as she began business in the State Chambers.
One of a number of rebuilt rooms in the Palace after the damages suffered in 3050 and 3071-72 against invaders, the State Room was dominated by the great jeweled mosaic on the inner wall, opposite the large windows looking out at Avalon City. The mosaic represented the original Federated Suns as it had been when the Star League fell apart following the defeat of Amaris and Kerensky's death, with glittering gems for all three hundred plus stars that once made up House Davion's Federation, New Avalon a glittering large fire diamond of the richest red.
Her realm today had a rather different shape. Robinson, represented as one of the historic March Capitals with a fine sun ruby from the gem mines of Markesan, was still in Concord hands, as was most of the former Draconis March and parts of the old Outer March. Yet her Federated Suns was of even greater economic and territorial scope, as it included the entirety of the old Taurian Concordat and parts of what were once worlds of the Capellan Confederation, including the old Star League factory world of Victoria and the founding Capellan world St. Ives, where her distant relatives from House Silver still governed over a population still heavily East Asian in culture.
Grace's table had the usual retinue. Her husband Eric Sandoval, the exiled ruler of Robinson and House Sandoval; her nephew Colonel Victor Silver-Davion, Prince's Champion and youngest child of her middle brother Jonathan; First Minister Bao Chen Luo, the head of the House Council and responsible to the Assembly of Worlds; the heads of the AFFS, Marshal of the Armies Fernando Gutierrez and Fleet Admiral Gloria Morgan; finally, Lord Alastair Danton, the Minister of Information, Intelligence, and Operations. All watched quietly while Lord Cunningham's transmitted report, or rather the coronation speech attached to said report, played on the holovid built into the State Room's table.
"Well, he's full of fire," Victor said, grinning thinly. He was a tall man with a head of fiery red hair cut to military perfection, much like his father's, given both the Silvers and Davions had a genetic tendency towards red hair. Also like his father, he was one of the best MechWarriors the family had ever produced, an officer of the First Davion Guards from his early commissioning at the very end of the Fourth Succession War. "So much for that talk about him being a coward afraid of war."
"I never imagined he was a coward, simply not interested in more war," Grace said. "But given those images that came through the Glass, I'm not surprised that it'd put fire into any belly."
"There is the matter of what this means for the balance of power." Bao spoke with a quiet, firm tone, as was his wont. "The Lyrans and COMINTERSTEL working together means both may be reduced in their capability to confront the Dracs. The Dragon may decide to strike them, or alternatively, that it can widen its unofficial war with the Concord beyond the Outworlds region. That may have ramifications of its own."
""And there's no telling what the damn Liaos are plotting," Admiral Morgan added. "They've got breathing room now to finish that fleet expansion."
"Going by his rhetoric Nathaniel wouldn't have stopped them," Grace said. "So I see little having changed there." She turned her head toward Bao. "Unless matters have changed in the Assembly?"
"No, all of the major parties and blocs concur on the need to expand the Navy, Your Highness," Bao said. "We're set to continue our own building as scheduled."
"The Concord and Combine will as well, of course," Victor opined. "And we continue on our merry way towards a naval arms race."
"Better than the alternatives," Grace said. "Anything from Doctor Sato and that team from the Sakharov Institute?"
Gutierrez was the one to reply. "According to the last report from NAIS, they're ready to begin proper testing. The number of JumpShips and WarShips they're asking for is going to be noticable, though."
"See what you can do about it, Lord Alastair," Grace said to Danton, who nodded quietly. It irritated her that Danton seemed devoted to playing the quiet spymaster stereotype to the hilt. "And I suppose that brings us on to other business…"
Unity Palace
Imperial City
Luthien, Pesht Military District
Draconis Combine (Farside)
15 February 3143
After dismissing his wife from one of their rare visits — House Kurita needed more heirs after all — Coordinator Yorinaga Kurita eased himself onto one of the sitting mats in his receiving room, wearing the kimono of black and red for his private suites. Outside the Order of the Black Dragon's bodyguards stood ready to challenge any who approached his chambers; inside, their leader, Grand Master Ichiro Tetsuhara, sat likewise in a casual kimono of alternating red and black colors, the twin black dragons of his order's current seal visible on the chest.
The news from Arcadia was a week old, but Yorinaga had only just returned from a trip to Pesht to consult on matters with his uncle Tai-shu Hadeo. Now that he was home and had seen to the urgent business of his return, Master Tetsuhara was free to bring his attention to the recordings and full report he'd only heard of in passing.
He listened to the new ruler of Arcadia with quiet contemplation. The usual wheedling about 'liberty' or 'freedom' or whatever other lies the gaijin tell themselves to justify defying the Dragon's might. At least with Emperor Robert I only need deal with practical matters, not such tripe. "Well. I see patience continues to bring benefit," he murmured. "This will certainly prevent any foolish repeat of Vega or New Wessex."
"There is the matter of Tai-shu Rhee's proposal, noble Dragon," Tetsuharu remarked. "If we gave him command of the Otomo and the available Swords of Light, and some reinforcement from Pesht, Arcturus might very well be gained for the Dragon's glory, or the systems that border Vega at the very least. And we would sow terror and discord in the Royal Federation."
"We would harden their resolve too," Yorinaga noted.
"The Order and the ISF know how to deal with such 'resolve', great Dragon," Tetsuhara assured him. "Tai-sho Ballymont would likewise be greatly indebted for a chance to atone for his failure on Vega."
"I'm sure he would. And perhaps, in time, he will get that chance. Has the ISF found my traitorous cousin yet?"
Tetsuhara shook his head. "No. Contact was lost last year and he has not been found at the usual locations. A few analysts have proposed the Arcadians may have quietly disposed of him for pushing matters against us while they eye the Capellans' naval buildup."
"No. They would not gift us such," Yorinaga said dismissively.
"Indeed, and I have had ISF flag those analysts for observation, in the event they are loyal to the would-be usurper. Meanwhile we do have DEST teams in deep cover in the Arcadians' Arcturus Theater, ready to move should Musashi be located."
"Very well. I require no further information until the deed is done." Yorinaga turned his attention back to the frozen holoimage of his new enemy, sword raised and rallying his people to war. "Perhaps fortune will be with the Dragon in another way. Nathaniel has the potential to become one of our most intractable foes. Should these 'Clans' cut him down, the Dragon will benefit."
"I concur, great Dragon." Tetsuhara smiled. "If it is your wish, the ISF can ensure he does not return."
"Ha! Hahaha!" Yorinaga's laugh startled his loyal retainer. "They might try, but I would have such devoted servants of the Dragon spend their lives on more fruitful plots. Nathaniel is making enemies even among his own people, and they may very well settle the matter for us."
"The Dragon's wisdom again shines through my foolishness."
Yorinaga waved dismissively. "This is not court, Master Tetsuhara, I need no flattery. It was a worthy suggestion, and perhaps one day may be necessary, but for now, we will wait patiently. Our scientists continue to investigate how this Glass was formed, so that we might create our own or destroy the existing one as we require. Our enemies continue to be blind to the Dragon's true strength. We gain everything through patience. We will see how events play out, and when the time comes, the Dragon will claim its due."
Celestial Palace
Imperial City, Wuhan Continent
Sian, Sian Commonality
Oriento-Capellan Empire
11 February 3143
Moving across interstellar space at a steady clip via the HPG network, the holo image depicting Nathaniel's speech now played on an active holovid projector in the Advisory Chamber of the Imperial Palace. Seated in a high-backed chair displaying the standard of the Empire — the Halas raven in flight over the rearing Allison horse, a Liao dao positioned between the two overset by the three pearls of Oriente — Emperor Robert considered his younger peer's words and behavior. Interesting. So far he has struck me as more the intellectual type, and his course work with the Royal University of Roslyn confirms his potential. Now he rallies the crowds as the crusading king. I would be worried if his target was not so obvious.
Arrayed at the table around him were some of his most trusted advisors, including his wife, Empress-Consort Dana Rivoli, who served as his Minister of Production and owned Ceres Metals, one of the top arms producers in the Empire. The Imperial Strategos, Marshal Yevgeny Danilov, sat close as well, as did Lady Salma Chen, head of the Maskirovka. His great-grandmother was likewise represented in the person of Ser Jonathan Hawkwood, a former member of the Knights of the Red Sword, one of Oriente's Knightly Orders that formed the basis for their forces from before the formation of the Empire. Finally, sitting between the Empress-Consort and Lady Chen, Princess Xiaoli Halas-Liao was the least useful person at the table by far, but she was here to learn, and grudgingly accepted it.
"I have full faith in Lady Sophia, my wife-to-be, and my regent Lady Sara-Marie, that with the cooperation of Prince Peter and the Privy Council the Federation's day-to-day affairs will be seen to, and the defenses maintained," Nathaniel was saying to the crowd, his sword now lowered but still unsheathed. "For my duty lies beyond the Glass…"
Robert tapped the control and muted the playback. "Well." He folded his hands on the table. "Our young adversary rides to war, but not with us. It would seem matters in the Federation progress in ways beneficial to the Empire. They will not be easily embarking on any strikes with that many troops beyond the Glass." He said the first line in a very dull tone, inviting objection.
"I concur, Celestial Wisdom," Lady Chen said. "In conjunction with our intelligence of the recent months, it would seem the uncertain indicators of a potential strike are no longer present, or at least, no longer detectable. I would not rule out the more hostile elements of the AFRF attempting a provocation, however."
"They would have to be fools," Danilov snorted dismissively. "With their forces diminished, and months to a year before this new expansion can show fruit, they would be hard pressed to face even a modest counterattack."
"You forget the prospect of the Legions joining them." Lady Chen leveled a disapproving glare. "The Imperatrix is more ambitious than her father by far, and claiming worlds from the Empire would please the Rim Commonality section of the Principate, easing their integration."
"He is being a fool, going to the front," Robert murmured. I misjudged the young man, I thought him too intelligent. Or immune to that irritating Proctor sentimentalism and moralism.
"Especially with a doddering old woman as his regent," his wife added. "The Lady Sara-Marie is not a stateswoman, she is a seatwarmer, and was raised a commoner besides. She lacks the presence to command."
"Undoubtedly she will have the young Lady Sophia Marik and Prince Peter to provide her with direction." Robert shook his head. "Yet even with them, I do not trust that the likes of Lord Arnold will not attempt matters regardless, especially with our naval buildup incomplete, and the indications that their naval forces will not be as necessary on the other side in terms of maintaining a campaign. His subordinates may yet try something while he is out of easy communication."
"Then perhaps, Celestial Wisdom, we should act first?"
Robert turned his head to Ser Jonathan, as did all of the other attendees. The old knight didn't flinch under the attention, rather he manipulated a control on his noteputer, casting a holomap into the table's projector. The display showed the length of the border of the two realms, from the resettled world of Köln and the fortress world New Olympia on one end to Sirius and Procyon on the other, the end of the bulge of Imperial-held Terran worlds separating the Royal Federation from the Grand Union of Tikonov. Icons flashed, showing the present positions of the Empire's frontline forces, including those in transit since Robert agreed to the initial mutual border drawdowns. "We know that the Proctor Household Guards will be going through the Glass, as well as a number of other formations," Ser Jonathan pointed out. "This has weakened the defensive assignments along the borders of the Sirian and Harsefeld Commonalities and the Duchy's New Olympia Province."
"Their defenses in the area remain quite formidable in assignment," Danilov pointed out icily. "The Atrean Dragoons and Marik Regulars remain concentrated in the Principality of Atreus, and numerous major formations remain on or near the border, including four of the Royal Assault regiments. Not to mention they maintain reserves in the Hesperus and Arcadia regions that can be quickly deployed."
"Not if we throw our naval power at them. We will have an opening towards the end of the year when the Ser Arthur Klaes and the King Alexander join the fleet. We can commit the vast bulk of the Navy to positions on their Royal Road network, which we can seize with Marines, and intercept any incoming reinforcements, while the Orders and Fusiliers claim Atreus and Campbelton for the Empire, and the bulk of the Liao Guards, Harsefeld Lancers, and Sian Dragoons fall upon their garrisons at Irian, Marik, New Dallas, and New Earth." A button press reflected these movements on the map. "The Second, Third, and Fifth Allison Heavy Guards, and the Free Worlds Guards brigades, will remain in reserve, or to embark on a second wave assault on whichever targets we please, from Summer to Stewart." Ser Jonathan grinned. "The Cadies will think it's 3041 all over again by the time we're done. They'll wish it was just 3041."
The reference to the Empire's successful offensive a hundred years ago, in their intervention into the War of Donegalian Succession that carried their armies to McAffe, a mere two jumps from Arcadia, was clearly meant to inspire. A snort was the answer instead. "Yes, Ser Jonathan," Xiaoli said, giggling very snidely. "If at first you don't succeed, try try try and try again, yes? The fourth time will be the charm on your Orders' continued failures to conquer Atreus? Or would this be the fifth try, I've honestly lost count."
Robert and Empress Dana shot stern looks at their daughter, speaking out of turn as she was, but there was a tittering of laughter from some of the others, especially Lady Chen and Marshal Danilov. The look of pale, expressionless rage that formed on the knight said it all. He and his comrades came close in '19. Very close to securing Grandmother Eris' dream of seizing Atreus as punishment for the humiliation the Arcadians delivered her a century ago. Now my daughter, with her wild mouth, throws that failure in his face. All those lost comrades, his lost arm, and she insults him. I will have words with her later.
"This plan is wildly dangerous," Danilov said. "The Legions will counterattack into the Grand Duchy, and it leaves our border with the Fedrats wide open! Those pirate spawn of Grace Silver-Davion's will be wide open to attempt a reconquest of Grand Base and Bellatrix, maybe even Sarna!"
"And the Concord will grab for Filtvelt while the Dragon invades the Azami and Tikonov," Ser Jonathan predicted. "Though perhaps the Dragon will seize opportunity and focus instead on Arcturus, leaving the Azami free to strike at Sabik and raid the Isle of Skye. As for the Legions, they have wasted away since the war, and are needed to keep the Rim Commonality separatists down, as I know Lady Chen has been hard at work with them."
"A restored Rim Commonality that is friend to the Empire would be an opportune outcome," Chen agreed.
"You speak of igniting a new Succession War," Robert said. "Would you have me repeat my father's mistakes? All so your mistress can finally avenge a century old insult, regardless of what it would risk for the Empire?"
"We would win this time, Celestial Wisdom," Ser Jonathan insisted. "The boy king of our enemy has provided us the perfect opportunity to reclaim what we lost at Dieron, and break the power of the Proctors for two generations!"
"Only if absolutely everything goes your way," Danilov shouted. "This is not an offensive of strategy, it is a lashing out, by an old woman who lives on her hatred!"
"I challenge you, Marshal!" Ser Jonathan screamed. "You, who dare to insult the founding Empress!"
"Silence!" Robert's voice filled the room and quieted matters. "There will be no duels! Strategos, you forget yourself, the Dowager Empress is of my blood and you will refer to her appropriately!"
"My apologies, Celestial Wisdom, I let my passions go too far," Danilov said, bowing his head for effect.
"As for you, Ser Jonathan, I will not be coaxed into repeating history!" Robert waved dismissively at the map. "My father listened to similar advice thirty years ago, and it brought us the Fourth Succession War, where we avoided disaster by the slimmest of margins. Now we do not even have the fig leaf of the old Compact to safeguard our rear, just another enemy looking for revenge. The Navy will be the shield that protects the Empire from future threats, not your cudgel for wild plans of glory and conquest! The answer is no."
Ser Jonathan's face gradually regained color, but it was clear he still felt aggrieved. "Understood, Celestial Wisdom."
"We will let this play out," Robert said to the others. "Though on the matter of the Glass, I would make inquiries as to our progress in that field."
His Minister of the Sciences, Mandarin Eric Cheng, answered. "I am pleased to report, Celestial Wisdom, that the research teams have made theoretical progress, and some test jumps by multiple ships have shown interesting readings that were not present in recorded scans from the years prior to 3132."
"So, then it is possible. We might make our own Glass."
"It appears so, Celestial Wisdom."
And then we will meet our counterparts on the other side, this reformed Free Worlds League, and an intact Capellan Confederation. I wonder if this Daoshen Liao is some sort of madman and megalomaniac, or simply living to a standard established for him? We will have to be cautious… "Then bid them to continue their work, but do not attempt a Glass-making until I have approved it."
"As you wish, Celestial Wisdom."
Imperial Palace
Nova Roma, Gaul Continent
Alphard, Capitol Province
Flavian Principate
13 February 3143
The Imperial Palace. The name itself won the attention of all of Nova Roma's four millions, given the prominent place the Palace enjoyed on the skyline. The sprawling city was a ring of modern skyrises and structures, fit for the capital of a major Successor State of the post-Star League Inner Sphere.
Of course, this was not in the Inner Sphere, as it was generally known. While the majority of the two hundred and forty worlds and star systems that made up the Principate were in the Inner Sphere, Alphard was out on the Periphery, the furthest reaches of Human space, where colonizable worlds grew rare due to accidents of solar formations or one of a hundred other theories why so many of the habitable garden worlds lay within four hundred light years of Earth before their numbers dwindled by average.
This fact was part of the character of the world. Settled partly in Star League days, then re-settled in the thirtieth century, the people of Alphard had a special pride in themselves and the Principate. They, who were once derided as backwoods periphery barbarians, now governed the fates of peoples on worlds like Timbiqui, Cajamarca, Regulus, and Tematagi. They'd become one of the major states of the Inner Sphere by sword and by pen. It was the leaders and delegates of those worlds that came here, out to the Periphery, to interact with their ruler and the institutions that ruled them, a complete reverse of the history of the rest of the Periphery.
Of course, not all of Nova Roma was a glittering jewel of modernity. In the heart of the city, within that ring, the old sandstone structures of the early Marian Hegemony still contained the principle institutions of the capital. The Imperial Palace itself was no exception, rising in the center, flanked by the Senate, Ministerium, and Magisterium — the legislative, administrative, and judicial leadership of the Principate's government — as well as the Collegium Bellorum Imperial and attached Administratium Bellorum Imperial, where the PAF's officers were trained, PAF's military command administration was located, adjoined by the barracks for I Legio, part of the capital's defensive force. The Praetorian Guards likewise kept their barracks in the Palace itself, a combined arms regiment of MechWarriors, aerospace pilots, vehicle crews, and battle armor troopers that protected the figure at the top of the Principate.
Imperatrix Julia O'Reilly was perhaps not the most imposing figure, at least not heightwise, at barely a hundred and fifty centimeters. But her patrician nose, her thin face, and intelligent eyes had a way of making her subordinates uncomfortable, even if the day was long gone when even the Imperatrix could summarily execute a citizen, or consign them to lethal gladiatorial sport for their own amusement. The kind of atrocities and abuses that the likes of Sean O'Reilly and other earlier Imperators filled the Palace halls with were no longer an acceptable part of the government. Even Scipio, aggressive conquerer that he was, had mostly limited himself to just clean execution or exile of domestic rivals, before he met his end on Tamarind following his fateful defeat on Arcadia.
A palace servant brought her a fresh glass of wine. To one side, her husband Sanjeet Vulcan-Maximus enjoyed his own glass, while on the other, Chief Minister Marcus Anthony Zielinski was quietly observing the recorded footage from Arcadia. Once the speech was over, he was the one who terminated the playback. "An… interesting speech, Your Highness, don't you think?"
A smirk curled her lips. "I was informed by our analysts, and my cousin, that he was an intelligent man, but the new High King sounds disappointing. Those were not the words of intellect, they were the impassioned bleatings of a flighty mystic." The smirk turned to a frown. "And thanks to his whims of 'moral war', a prime opportunity to crush our common foe slips away."
"If Claudius' reports are anything to go by, he was never going to approve EAGLE CRY," Sanjeet said. "If we curse anything it should be that High Queen Jacqueline failed to take care of herself."
"She was a foolish woman in her own way, but one we could use," Julia said. "Her hatred of the Empire, in particular. With it clear the Arcadians are going to waste the next two years, or more, on this vainglorious 'crusade' of Nathaniel's, we can no longer count on their participation against the Empire. What, then, shall we do?"
"We needed their war fleet in conjunction with ours to make the pre-emptive strikes feasible," Zielinski noted. "Perhaps Lord Arnold will find a way to see it through, but I would not be certain if Nathaniel's loyalists maintain a grip on government power."
"So it would seem our alternative is to build further. The Senate will have to be pressed."
"We could expand our constructive capacity at Tematagi and Karachi." Sanjit took a moment to take a sip of wine. "Promote it as an economic investment measure, to restore the old Rim Commonality's industries to full."
"Your collective committees may not concur with establishing greater internal competition, Sanjit." Julia considered the matter. "Still, it will help, though we are surrendering the initiative to the Empire. Nor do I like the recent reports among the legions along the borders. The old fires that claimed my grandfather and enabled Scipio are igniting once more."
Zielinski knew immediately whom she meant. "The King of Pilpala can be dealt with by the Vigilus."
"And turn the other auxiliaries against me? No. The 'King' may not be respected, but his position is too similar to their own." Julia shook her head. "Perhaps I should let my displeasure towards the Arcadians be more obvious. Let him make a descent or two on the Bolanese… no, you needn't frown, Sanjit, I am merely voicing frustration. Scipio's folly destroyed decades of careful work turning those moralizing busybodies into our allies, and we are decades still from undoing that stroke of ambitious stupidity."
"Perhaps the legions may be appeased with the Empire as a target?" Zielinski suggested. "Nothing direct, of course, but some out of control forces making things hard for the Dowager and letting the hotheads vent. We needn't turn our border into another Kilbourne-Combine zone, of course. And who knows, perhaps they will start focusing towards the Davions."
"That would be too beneficial, I dare not assume it would be." Julia set the wineglass down. "For the time being, we watch, and we keep our legions prepared. And maybe, if we are fortunate, the boy king gets himself killed and High Queen Melissa commits to a timetable."
"If we are fortunate," Zielinski murmured.
Davion Palace
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March
Federated Suns (Farside)
14 February 3143
For most people of Avalon City, Valentine's Day was a time for romance and the commemoration of love. The homily of the Saint Valentine Mass given by Pope Gallant IX of the New Avalon Catholic Church still hung in First Prince Grace's mind as she began business in the State Chambers.
One of a number of rebuilt rooms in the Palace after the damages suffered in 3050 and 3071-72 against invaders, the State Room was dominated by the great jeweled mosaic on the inner wall, opposite the large windows looking out at Avalon City. The mosaic represented the original Federated Suns as it had been when the Star League fell apart following the defeat of Amaris and Kerensky's death, with glittering gems for all three hundred plus stars that once made up House Davion's Federation, New Avalon a glittering large fire diamond of the richest red.
Her realm today had a rather different shape. Robinson, represented as one of the historic March Capitals with a fine sun ruby from the gem mines of Markesan, was still in Concord hands, as was most of the former Draconis March and parts of the old Outer March. Yet her Federated Suns was of even greater economic and territorial scope, as it included the entirety of the old Taurian Concordat and parts of what were once worlds of the Capellan Confederation, including the old Star League factory world of Victoria and the founding Capellan world St. Ives, where her distant relatives from House Silver still governed over a population still heavily East Asian in culture.
Grace's table had the usual retinue. Her husband Eric Sandoval, the exiled ruler of Robinson and House Sandoval; her nephew Colonel Victor Silver-Davion, Prince's Champion and youngest child of her middle brother Jonathan; First Minister Bao Chen Luo, the head of the House Council and responsible to the Assembly of Worlds; the heads of the AFFS, Marshal of the Armies Fernando Gutierrez and Fleet Admiral Gloria Morgan; finally, Lord Alastair Danton, the Minister of Information, Intelligence, and Operations. All watched quietly while Lord Cunningham's transmitted report, or rather the coronation speech attached to said report, played on the holovid built into the State Room's table.
"Well, he's full of fire," Victor said, grinning thinly. He was a tall man with a head of fiery red hair cut to military perfection, much like his father's, given both the Silvers and Davions had a genetic tendency towards red hair. Also like his father, he was one of the best MechWarriors the family had ever produced, an officer of the First Davion Guards from his early commissioning at the very end of the Fourth Succession War. "So much for that talk about him being a coward afraid of war."
"I never imagined he was a coward, simply not interested in more war," Grace said. "But given those images that came through the Glass, I'm not surprised that it'd put fire into any belly."
"There is the matter of what this means for the balance of power." Bao spoke with a quiet, firm tone, as was his wont. "The Lyrans and COMINTERSTEL working together means both may be reduced in their capability to confront the Dracs. The Dragon may decide to strike them, or alternatively, that it can widen its unofficial war with the Concord beyond the Outworlds region. That may have ramifications of its own."
""And there's no telling what the damn Liaos are plotting," Admiral Morgan added. "They've got breathing room now to finish that fleet expansion."
"Going by his rhetoric Nathaniel wouldn't have stopped them," Grace said. "So I see little having changed there." She turned her head toward Bao. "Unless matters have changed in the Assembly?"
"No, all of the major parties and blocs concur on the need to expand the Navy, Your Highness," Bao said. "We're set to continue our own building as scheduled."
"The Concord and Combine will as well, of course," Victor opined. "And we continue on our merry way towards a naval arms race."
"Better than the alternatives," Grace said. "Anything from Doctor Sato and that team from the Sakharov Institute?"
Gutierrez was the one to reply. "According to the last report from NAIS, they're ready to begin proper testing. The number of JumpShips and WarShips they're asking for is going to be noticable, though."
"See what you can do about it, Lord Alastair," Grace said to Danton, who nodded quietly. It irritated her that Danton seemed devoted to playing the quiet spymaster stereotype to the hilt. "And I suppose that brings us on to other business…"
Unity Palace
Imperial City
Luthien, Pesht Military District
Draconis Combine (Farside)
15 February 3143
After dismissing his wife from one of their rare visits — House Kurita needed more heirs after all — Coordinator Yorinaga Kurita eased himself onto one of the sitting mats in his receiving room, wearing the kimono of black and red for his private suites. Outside the Order of the Black Dragon's bodyguards stood ready to challenge any who approached his chambers; inside, their leader, Grand Master Ichiro Tetsuhara, sat likewise in a casual kimono of alternating red and black colors, the twin black dragons of his order's current seal visible on the chest.
The news from Arcadia was a week old, but Yorinaga had only just returned from a trip to Pesht to consult on matters with his uncle Tai-shu Hadeo. Now that he was home and had seen to the urgent business of his return, Master Tetsuhara was free to bring his attention to the recordings and full report he'd only heard of in passing.
He listened to the new ruler of Arcadia with quiet contemplation. The usual wheedling about 'liberty' or 'freedom' or whatever other lies the gaijin tell themselves to justify defying the Dragon's might. At least with Emperor Robert I only need deal with practical matters, not such tripe. "Well. I see patience continues to bring benefit," he murmured. "This will certainly prevent any foolish repeat of Vega or New Wessex."
"There is the matter of Tai-shu Rhee's proposal, noble Dragon," Tetsuharu remarked. "If we gave him command of the Otomo and the available Swords of Light, and some reinforcement from Pesht, Arcturus might very well be gained for the Dragon's glory, or the systems that border Vega at the very least. And we would sow terror and discord in the Royal Federation."
"We would harden their resolve too," Yorinaga noted.
"The Order and the ISF know how to deal with such 'resolve', great Dragon," Tetsuhara assured him. "Tai-sho Ballymont would likewise be greatly indebted for a chance to atone for his failure on Vega."
"I'm sure he would. And perhaps, in time, he will get that chance. Has the ISF found my traitorous cousin yet?"
Tetsuhara shook his head. "No. Contact was lost last year and he has not been found at the usual locations. A few analysts have proposed the Arcadians may have quietly disposed of him for pushing matters against us while they eye the Capellans' naval buildup."
"No. They would not gift us such," Yorinaga said dismissively.
"Indeed, and I have had ISF flag those analysts for observation, in the event they are loyal to the would-be usurper. Meanwhile we do have DEST teams in deep cover in the Arcadians' Arcturus Theater, ready to move should Musashi be located."
"Very well. I require no further information until the deed is done." Yorinaga turned his attention back to the frozen holoimage of his new enemy, sword raised and rallying his people to war. "Perhaps fortune will be with the Dragon in another way. Nathaniel has the potential to become one of our most intractable foes. Should these 'Clans' cut him down, the Dragon will benefit."
"I concur, great Dragon." Tetsuhara smiled. "If it is your wish, the ISF can ensure he does not return."
"Ha! Hahaha!" Yorinaga's laugh startled his loyal retainer. "They might try, but I would have such devoted servants of the Dragon spend their lives on more fruitful plots. Nathaniel is making enemies even among his own people, and they may very well settle the matter for us."
"The Dragon's wisdom again shines through my foolishness."
Yorinaga waved dismissively. "This is not court, Master Tetsuhara, I need no flattery. It was a worthy suggestion, and perhaps one day may be necessary, but for now, we will wait patiently. Our scientists continue to investigate how this Glass was formed, so that we might create our own or destroy the existing one as we require. Our enemies continue to be blind to the Dragon's true strength. We gain everything through patience. We will see how events play out, and when the time comes, the Dragon will claim its due."
AFRF Uniforms
- Location
- Florida USA
AFRF Uniforms
Personnel in the AFRF have an assortment of uniforms meant for specific duties and occasions. Some of these are particular to certain specialties and positions, like MechTechs' work jumpsuits or a MechWarrior's cooling suit, while others are general use for all positions.
Rank insignias are typically placed prominently on the collar, for officers, or the shoulders, for enlisted personnel. Service insignia, such as gold wings for an aerospace fighter pilot, a 'Mech on a shield for a MechWarrior, or crossed rifles on a shield for an armored infantry soldier, are often displayed on the lapel of a uniform collar or, for uncollared uniform coats, the right side of the chest.
Some units, due to historical tradition or their regional backgrounds, deviate from regular uniforms in various ways. As an example, members of the Skye Rangers wear kilts and tartans instead of trousers while in ceremonial dress. There is an assortment of different headwear associated with some of the various corps of units. Pilots of flying craft, be they VTOLs, air-breathing conventional jet-driven aircraft, or aerospace fighters, will often wear wings denoting active flight status on their uniform coat shoulders or as a badge on the chest. Naval officers will employ black trim on the uniforms and cuff. Additionally, under regulation, permission is given for the wearing of culturally or religiously significant headwear and other pieces, whether it is the turban and kirpan of a Sikh or a headscarf for a committed Muslim.
Battle Dress
Battle Dress Uniforms, sometimes called BDUs, can vary by function. There is one basic BDU that all AFRF personnel can wear as an alternative to their "duty reds". It is a loose-fitting red jacket displaying unit insignia, rank insignia, and name, matched to blue trousers. It is typically worn over whatever specialty BDUs are employed, whether it is the flight suit of an aerospace fighter pilot or a MechWarrior's cooling suit. Said specialty suits tend to be red in the torso areas with blue on the limb pieces. Armored infantry jumpsuits are an exception, typiically found in olive (for Army personnel) or black-with-gold sleeves (for Marine battle armor troopers). Unit patches and rank insignia are typically on the arm, or ranks on the collar for officers, though only if space permits. Standard neurohelmets remain brown or gray in color.
For hot weather environments, uniform shorts and lighter short-sleeved uniform shirts can be substituted (in the appropriate colors) but are rarely worn over specialty BDUs. More commonly, a specialty red parka and blue thermal trousers are allowed for cold weather.
Duty Dress
For regular wear when not in field conditions, the Duty Dress Uniform is employed. It consists of a red low-collared jacket over a white or blue t-shirt with appropriate rank insignia on the arms (enlisted) or collar (commissioned officer), the branch insignia and name on the right breast, with blue trousers using a standard black belt with buckle. A red parka and thermal trousers variant is available when in cold weather conditions, while in warm weather conditions the warm weather BDUs are permitted as a substitute. The standard service cap, a blue peaked military cap with black visor with a white hawk on the cap front, is considered part of the uniform and should be worn outside of structures. It can be replaced by a different piece of headwear for those in units with traditional alternatives, such as Striker berets or Lancer shakos, or if a religiously-mandated piece of headwear is required.
Formal Dress
The Formal Dress Uniform, typically known as "formal reds" or "mess reds", is worn on occasions such as formal dinners, change of command ceremonies, court-martial proceedings, and non-state funerals. The uniform consists of a full-sleeved red uniform tunic coat with a folded collar, blue cuffs, and non-tasseled gold epaulets, with five gold buttons lining the front of the coat. The wearer will likewise wear aiguillettes of specific coloring and style depending upon their background and status. Examples include gold or silver aiguillettes on the right shoulder epaulet connected to the uniform breast for department heads or staff officers, double-looped silver aiguillettes on each shoulder for MechWarriors, double-looped brass aiguillettes on each shoulder for aerospace fighter pilots (with black piping for naval aerospace pilots), single-looped gold aiguillettes on the shoulders for armored vehicle officers, and two silver aiguillettes form left shoulder to breast for artillery officers. A blue uniform shirt is worn under the coat with red trousers held up by a black belt with a silver hawk buckle, the legs of the trousers bearing lines of blue along the outside. A black belt with a hawk buckle holds the trousers in place with black dress boots. Branch insignia are worn on the collar's lapel, a name tag on the right breast, and medals and ribbons on the left. Covers are required to be worn unless decorum demands their removal, either the standard service cap or regimental specialty headwear.
Ceremonial Dress
Ceremonial Dress Uniforms, or "dress reds" for short, are the most elaborate and ornamental set of uniforms. A red tunic coat is worn over a blue collarless dress shirt. Blue-trimmed red dress trousers go down to regulation footwear, a pair of polished black dress shoes, with the trousers held to the waist by a belt of stygian black with a gold hawk buckle. The coat has gold tasseled epaulets on the shoulders, where the wearer attaches aiguillettes like on formal uniforms. At the neck is a high folded collar where the branch specialty pin is placed upon the lapel. Five pairs of gold buttons travel down the chest of the uniform coat. On the blue arm cuffs are a pair of silver buttons and gold tim separating the cuffs from the red of the coat arms.
For enlisted personnel the rank insignia are stitched into the upper arms. Officers wear a rank pin on the collar and a blue and gold-trimmed Officer's Sash over the left shoulder and down to the lower right side at the edge of the waist. A gold-winged white hawk is displayed on the sash, up on the left breast, with medals and commendations worn below unless they are neck or necklet orders. Service ribbons are displayed below the sash on the left breast.
Personnel in the AFRF have an assortment of uniforms meant for specific duties and occasions. Some of these are particular to certain specialties and positions, like MechTechs' work jumpsuits or a MechWarrior's cooling suit, while others are general use for all positions.
Rank insignias are typically placed prominently on the collar, for officers, or the shoulders, for enlisted personnel. Service insignia, such as gold wings for an aerospace fighter pilot, a 'Mech on a shield for a MechWarrior, or crossed rifles on a shield for an armored infantry soldier, are often displayed on the lapel of a uniform collar or, for uncollared uniform coats, the right side of the chest.
Some units, due to historical tradition or their regional backgrounds, deviate from regular uniforms in various ways. As an example, members of the Skye Rangers wear kilts and tartans instead of trousers while in ceremonial dress. There is an assortment of different headwear associated with some of the various corps of units. Pilots of flying craft, be they VTOLs, air-breathing conventional jet-driven aircraft, or aerospace fighters, will often wear wings denoting active flight status on their uniform coat shoulders or as a badge on the chest. Naval officers will employ black trim on the uniforms and cuff. Additionally, under regulation, permission is given for the wearing of culturally or religiously significant headwear and other pieces, whether it is the turban and kirpan of a Sikh or a headscarf for a committed Muslim.
Battle Dress
Battle Dress Uniforms, sometimes called BDUs, can vary by function. There is one basic BDU that all AFRF personnel can wear as an alternative to their "duty reds". It is a loose-fitting red jacket displaying unit insignia, rank insignia, and name, matched to blue trousers. It is typically worn over whatever specialty BDUs are employed, whether it is the flight suit of an aerospace fighter pilot or a MechWarrior's cooling suit. Said specialty suits tend to be red in the torso areas with blue on the limb pieces. Armored infantry jumpsuits are an exception, typiically found in olive (for Army personnel) or black-with-gold sleeves (for Marine battle armor troopers). Unit patches and rank insignia are typically on the arm, or ranks on the collar for officers, though only if space permits. Standard neurohelmets remain brown or gray in color.
For hot weather environments, uniform shorts and lighter short-sleeved uniform shirts can be substituted (in the appropriate colors) but are rarely worn over specialty BDUs. More commonly, a specialty red parka and blue thermal trousers are allowed for cold weather.
Duty Dress
For regular wear when not in field conditions, the Duty Dress Uniform is employed. It consists of a red low-collared jacket over a white or blue t-shirt with appropriate rank insignia on the arms (enlisted) or collar (commissioned officer), the branch insignia and name on the right breast, with blue trousers using a standard black belt with buckle. A red parka and thermal trousers variant is available when in cold weather conditions, while in warm weather conditions the warm weather BDUs are permitted as a substitute. The standard service cap, a blue peaked military cap with black visor with a white hawk on the cap front, is considered part of the uniform and should be worn outside of structures. It can be replaced by a different piece of headwear for those in units with traditional alternatives, such as Striker berets or Lancer shakos, or if a religiously-mandated piece of headwear is required.
Formal Dress
The Formal Dress Uniform, typically known as "formal reds" or "mess reds", is worn on occasions such as formal dinners, change of command ceremonies, court-martial proceedings, and non-state funerals. The uniform consists of a full-sleeved red uniform tunic coat with a folded collar, blue cuffs, and non-tasseled gold epaulets, with five gold buttons lining the front of the coat. The wearer will likewise wear aiguillettes of specific coloring and style depending upon their background and status. Examples include gold or silver aiguillettes on the right shoulder epaulet connected to the uniform breast for department heads or staff officers, double-looped silver aiguillettes on each shoulder for MechWarriors, double-looped brass aiguillettes on each shoulder for aerospace fighter pilots (with black piping for naval aerospace pilots), single-looped gold aiguillettes on the shoulders for armored vehicle officers, and two silver aiguillettes form left shoulder to breast for artillery officers. A blue uniform shirt is worn under the coat with red trousers held up by a black belt with a silver hawk buckle, the legs of the trousers bearing lines of blue along the outside. A black belt with a hawk buckle holds the trousers in place with black dress boots. Branch insignia are worn on the collar's lapel, a name tag on the right breast, and medals and ribbons on the left. Covers are required to be worn unless decorum demands their removal, either the standard service cap or regimental specialty headwear.
Ceremonial Dress
Ceremonial Dress Uniforms, or "dress reds" for short, are the most elaborate and ornamental set of uniforms. A red tunic coat is worn over a blue collarless dress shirt. Blue-trimmed red dress trousers go down to regulation footwear, a pair of polished black dress shoes, with the trousers held to the waist by a belt of stygian black with a gold hawk buckle. The coat has gold tasseled epaulets on the shoulders, where the wearer attaches aiguillettes like on formal uniforms. At the neck is a high folded collar where the branch specialty pin is placed upon the lapel. Five pairs of gold buttons travel down the chest of the uniform coat. On the blue arm cuffs are a pair of silver buttons and gold tim separating the cuffs from the red of the coat arms.
For enlisted personnel the rank insignia are stitched into the upper arms. Officers wear a rank pin on the collar and a blue and gold-trimmed Officer's Sash over the left shoulder and down to the lower right side at the edge of the waist. A gold-winged white hawk is displayed on the sash, up on the left breast, with medals and commendations worn below unless they are neck or necklet orders. Service ribbons are displayed below the sash on the left breast.
FM: Royal Federation - The Royal BattleMech Regiments
- Location
- Florida USA
The Thin Red Line: The Royal BattleMech Regiments
The Royal BattleMech Regiments are the workhorse regulars of the AFRF, sent to every corner of the realm as needed to supplement local regulars as the Federation's operations require. They began as the Free March Regiments in 2962, combined arms formations of BattleMechs, armor vehicles, aviation, and mechanized infantry drawn from all member worlds and loyal to the Free March, not any one world. Expanded to three regiments in time for the Rayhannid War, they were at four a generation later when the Second Age of War began, at the time a 'Mech-heavy formation with artillery and battle armor battalions as support. After the formation of the Royal Federation they were re-designated to their current name.
As the Royal BattleMech Regiments, they have been in repeated action, filling out to their current standard of a brigade-sized force centered around the 'Mech regiment in question. They have been the single largest corps of troops for decades, reaching a peak of twenty-six regiments in 3116 (due to absorbing the Mounted Rifles brigades of the Consolidant military after the Consolidation Acts formalized the Hesperan state's folding into the Federation), with serious considerations being given towards combining the individual units into "BattleMech Divisions" to meet the needs of the battlefields of the Fourth Succession War. Such thoughts were necessarily shelved when battle losses and mergers brought them down to their current size in 3124. As the AFRF concludes its final recovery it is certain to begin reactivating more of these capable formations.
Commanding Officer
General Sir Abdullah Olajuwon of Thermopolis joined the Royal BattleMech Regiments fresh out of the Atrean Military Academy in 3101. Serving primarily with the 16th Royal he rose in rank during the Fourth Succession War until he became a battalion commander in 3116. He was among the unit's survivors when they were overrun in 3117 covering the evacuation of Dickinson. Badly injured in the fighting, he was nursed back to health as a POW of the Order of the Rose Knights. Freed with the signing of the Peace of Dieron, General Olajuwon was knighted for his battalion's bravery on Dickinson and after a suitable convalescence returned to service as regimental CO of the 5th Royal. He gained his first star in 3128, served a term as Brigade CO of the 5th Royal, and moved on into a variety of command staff positions and a stint as Vice-Commandant at the AMA in 3134-3136. In 3140 he was elevated to his current position as Commanding Officer of the Royal BattleMech Corps. Generally quiet and apolitical, it is said he has had a recent falling out with a number of other command officers at his rank level, including having his name removed from consideration to be moved into the Command Staff upon the next retirement or re-assignment of a member of that organization, and there are rumors this was due to his private support for High King Nathaniel's peace policy towards the Oriento-Capellan Empire.
Forces
The Royal BattleMech Regiments, as they are called in short-hand, are balanced units, with authorized organizational strengths calling for equal numbers of 'Mechs of all weights. Traditionally they are joined by a supporting brigade of two cavalry regiments, air and regular, a mechanized infantry regiment, supporting battalions of aviation and artillery, and two wings of aerospace fighters in an assigned aerospace group formation. Parlance often refers to the whole formation as "Royal Brigades". In terms of kit they do not enjoy the support of more elite formations, Terran-grade technology typically making less than half their strength and often concentrated in command and specialist formations. Due to their size and role these formations do not have dedicated JumpShip transport assets and are typically assigned JumpShip transport from their assigned Theater Command's transport pool.
Unlike many formations, the battalions of the BattleMech regiments are not identified by number but by their role, with the most common division being an assault battalion, a heavy battalion, a flanker battalion, and a light battalion, with 'Mechs in proportional weights assigned to each.
Colors and Insignia
The Royal BattleMech Regiments all employ a standard insignia depicting a white hawk with a golden royal crown emblazoned on a blue shield, the regiment's numeral visible in red upon the center of the hawk. Their parade colors are blue and red, with a third color added by some units. Additionally a few have been authorized to have specialized changes to their insignia to reflect traditional accomplishments.
1st Royal BattleMech Regiment: First In, Last Out
Formed in 2962 from personnel drawn from all of the standing forces of the original Free March worlds, the 1st BattleMech Regiment has a combat record spanning the era of Arcadian interstellar power. From the defense of Hyde from pirate raiders in 2964 to the relief of Atreus in 3119, the 1st has served the national cause with valor and skill. From the first they have often being chosen to spearhead attacks or to hold the rear of retreats and withdrawals, resulting in their unit motto.
While badly damaged pushing back the Order of the Shining Star on Atreus in 3119, the 1st remained on the rolls after the post-Dieron consolidations. By tradition and the favor of various Procurement officers they tend to be one of the best-equipped regiments, and the better pick of pilots and personnel for their equipment. They are thus often assigned to important worlds across the Federation as circumstances demand. Since 3140 they have been posted to Concord, with some speculation as to when they may be re-deployed elsewhere.
The unit insignia is the standard regimental insignia of the Royal 'Mech Regiments with the numeral "1".
Officers
Brigadier Aristide, like many field officers of his rank, is a veteran of the Fourth Succession War who has served in various formations over the years. He is known as a studiously apolitical man who supports his husband and family on Bondurant on his officer's salary. Analysis of his career reveals him to be a competent tactician and a capable administrator.
Lieutenant Colonel Spartan is a veteran of the Proctor Light Horse and has honed the 1st's Light Battalion into a formidable skirmishing and reconnaissance force through repeated training.
Tactics
The 1st's tactics are fitting with the regiment's equipment and training level, with an emphasis on employing what Terran-level machines they do have in specific companies in each battalion to act as a decisive reserve in engagements.
1st Royal BattleMech Regiment (Veteran/Reliable/C)
CO: Brigadier Jean-Paul Aristide
Regimental CO: Colonel Ari ben Gideon
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Yolanda Lopez
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Adrian Lewen
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Moses Malone
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Jack Spartan
Four out of ten of the regiment's 'Mechs are Terran-quality machines, concentrated in the lead companies of each battalion.
88th Aerospace Group (Veteran/Reliable/B)
CO: Group Colonel Alexa Marks
1st Royal Support Brigade (Veteran/Reliable/C)
29th Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Frank Waters
44th Royal Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Ahmed al-Tikriti
60th Royal Foot (MIR): Col. Janet Fisher
20th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Graham Hastings
13th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Kevin Matanga
2nd Royal BattleMech Regiment: The Iron Wall
The 2nd was officially formed in 2972 as the 2nd Free March Regiment, as the Free March's growing industries expanded the AFFM's abilities to sustain multiple regiments in service. The unit made its name and fame in 3011 when stationed on Mariefred. The Skullcrackers, a mercenary unit turned to piracy, raided Mariefred with the intention of looting the world's capital of Braunberg. The local militia broke under the Skullcrackers' heavy and assault 'Mech formations, scattering and becoming combat ineffective. The 2nd Regiment rallied into a defensive position on the approaches to Braunberg and held against the numerically-superior mercenary unit for several days of relentless assaults. In a news report that spread across the Inner Sphere, a witness remarked that the 2nd's 'Mechs stood like "an iron wall" against the repeated attacks of the now-desperate mercenaries. The reputation stuck long after the 2nd drove the Skullcrackers from Mariefred, and the unit now looks with pride upon its reputation for solid, unyielding defensive strength, proving this capability again and again, on Concord in 3041-42 against the might of the Oriento-Capellan Empire and again in 3050-52 against the Terran Union's forces. Surviving the 4th Succession War was no small feat, as they held Campbelton for two years against repeated Oriento-Capellan assaults, including the crack 2nd Allison Heavy Guards and the devoted 3rd Young Liao Guards, suffering over seventy-five percent casualties by war's end in 3120. Rebuilt to regular strength by 3135, they have spent the last decade as part of Donegal's defensive garrison.
The 2nd Regiment's patch was changed after Mariefred. While initially a copy of the 1st Regiment's save the change of the numeral to a 2, the blue shield of the patch has been replaced with the likeness of a castle wall of iron-colored gray. Likewise, the 2nd has added iron gray to its ceremonial parade colors.
Officers
Brigadier Gheorghe is born of the Romanian nobility of Gypsum, the heir to the Barony of Galațion his homeworld. His choice of the Tamarind Military Institute for his academy education is one of many indications of the end of the classical enmity between Tamarind and Bolan. A recipient of the Star of Bolan during fighting with Pilpala-backed mercenaries from the Principate during the Hidden Front campaigns of the 4th Succession War, Gheorghe has spent the post-war years quietly rising through the ranks, his wife and children often stationed with him. His assignment to command of the 2nd Royal in 3141 is the latest reward for his quiet, dutiful career.
Tactics
Made famous for their defenses stances, the 2nd Royal continues to train extensively in defensive tactics and maneuvers. Staged withdrawals, false retreats, and "bite back" counterattacks are all part of the regiment's repertoire.
2nd Royal BattleMech Regiment (Regular/Fanatical/B)
CO: Brigadier Lord Claudiu Gheorghe
Regimental CO: Colonel Andre Nguendet
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Gregory Battles
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Joanna Davenport
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Afewerk Getatchew
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Tsisia Gelashvili
49th Aerospace Group (Regular/Reliable/C)
CO: Group Colonel Andrew Culpepper
2nd Royal Support Brigade (Regular/Reliable/C)
33rd Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Frank Osman
77th Royal Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Hernando de Soto
61st Royal Foot (MIR): Col. Albert Mandela
6th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. John Hathcock
24th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Halina Murdoch
3rd Royal BattleMech Regiment: The Comeback Kings
Among the original Free March Regiments, the 3rd Regiment was the last regiment to be founded for over a quarter of a century, coming into service in 2995. Early in its history the 3rd was blooded in the fighting on Senftenberg against the Dar-es-Salaam Regulars before said unit was shattered by the Arcadian Guards' timely arrival. The unit was reformed after the peace and re-assigned to the former Marik world of Megrez. In 3019 the Black Warriors of the Circinus Federation landed in force on Megrez as part of an extended piracy raid into the Inner Sphere, supported by allied pirate bands that gave them the equivalent of three regiments of 'Mechs. In conjunction with local militia forces the 3rd waged a fighting retreat against the Black Warriors and their pirate allies, avoiding defeat for two weeks until they succeeded in a counter-attack that overran the pirates' main base camps, leading to the rescue of captives and reclamation of goods and items looted during the campaign. The pirate coalition broke up over recriminations, allowing the 3rd Regiment to secure most of the planet before reinforcements from the rest of the Free March burned in and scared the pirates into fleeing. The 3rd was credited with turning the tables on the Black Warriors' campaign, earning them their sports-like moniker.
The unit was effectively destroyed early in the Second Andurien War, being overwhelmed by the 4th Harsefeld Lancers and the 5th Free Worlds Guards on Surundo during the initial stages of Operation INGRATITUDE. Reconstituted as the re-designated 3rd Royal BattleMech Regiment after the war, the 3rd would get a rematch with the 4th Harsefeld Lancers on McAffe in 3041-42, where the unit suffered significant losses denying the 4th Lancers an easy victory on the continent of Eire. The arrival of relief forces to McAffe allowed the 3rd to survive this ordeal and rebuild. True to their name, they likewise bounced back from being roughly handled by the Terran invaders of McAffe in the opening days of the Terran War, and would participate in the relief of Concord and Hesperus, the liberation of Skye, and the conquest of Denebola. By the time of the Fourth Succession War, resilience was a vaunted trait for the much-tried 3rd, which was rebuilt after the war following enduring severe casualties in the taking of Procyon.
After being rotated around the Federation during the decade after the war, the 3rd Royal spent several years as part of the strategic reserve held in the Principality of Hesperus before receiving their current assignment as one of the garrison units on Alarion in 3136. Generally considered a quiet assignment, the 3rd's personnel spend their days training, enjoying the peace and quiet, or finding new and interesting ways to disrupt that peace and quiet. Some of the officers are agitating for reassignment to Arcturus Theater in the hopes of preventing the 3rd from becoming "sand happy", though it is apparent to many (including the recently-arrived 14th Donegal Guards) that they are likely too late.
The insignia patch of the 3rd Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "3".
Officers
Brigadier Cutter is a late bloomer career wise. Only recently promoted to command in 3141, she spent most of the 3120s as a junior field officer passed up for promotion due to repeated issues in her performance evaluations that prompted Promotion Boards to pass her over repeatedly. After reportedly resigning her commission in 3129, she was assigned to the 4th Royal Lancers and found her career rejuvenated by the energy of the Lancers' commands. This has remained with her through her transfer to the 3rd as a Battalion CO in 3136 and her current command. While new to the command, she is gradually working her lethargic forces towards better performance, aided by the sting of their failures with the 14th Donegal Guards.
Tactics
The 3rd's time on garrison duty in the quiet of the Alarion March has led to some observed decline in the unit's capability in pulling off specialized tactics. Wargaming has shown them to remain capable in counter-attack maneuvers, at least, though their recent severe defeats at the hands of the 14th Donegal Guards have the officers smarting.
3rd Royal BattleMech Regiment (Regular/Reliable/C)
CO: Brigadier Andrea Cutter
Regimental CO: Colonel Lady Shireen Ganji
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Sebestyén Horváth
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Julian Finney
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Karol Nowakowski
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Cyril Řezník
144th Aerospace Group (Green/Reliable/C)
CO: Group Colonel Delanie Martin
3rd Royal Support Brigade (Green/Questionable/D)
12th Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Danielle Falco
18th Royal Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Alexander Fuchs
38th Royal Foot (MIR): Col. John Martin
46th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Adriana Hustings
54th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Karen Sampson
4th Royal BattleMech Regiment: The Shiny Ones
The 4th was the last of the Free March Regiments to be raised, officially assuming duties in 3027 on Arcadia. Dubbed "the Shiny Ones" due to a newsvid reporter's interview with a child during the Liberation Centennial celebrations on Arcadia in 3028, this early nickname and the association with not seeing action quickly ended once the Free March launched its first expansion drives in the Second Age of War. The 4th would be involved in repeated major operations through the Second Skye War and the Second Andurien War. During the War of Donegalian Succession they were assigned to the Donegal front, suffering tough losses against the 2nd Commonwealth Guards and 1st Steiner Guards before retreating from Gibbs, then returning in the company of the 6th Royal BattleMech Regiment and 4th Donegal Guards to drive the New Commonwealth and Legitimist forces off-world permanently. Kept in garrison for the early Terran War engagements, they were tapped for Operation MJOLNIR, the seizure of Tharkad from ComStar and Terran forces, and later served on the Buckminster/Vega front before sitting out the remainder of the conflict from their losses.
Numerous campaigns since have added quite a lot of ash and grime to the "shine" of this unit, their most prominent success being the conquest of Hamilton in 3111, including the defeat of the 14th Autonomous Assault Brigade of the CLAF. They later suffered significant loss in the failed assault on Sudeten and had to be removed from the front, ultimately returning to see to the battle on Buckminster in 3119 to drive the Galedonian invaders off alongside their former foes in the CLAF and FolksArme.
Reduced to 30% effective by the Peace of Dieron, the 4th remained in Arcturus March for much of the following years, occasionally skirmishing with the Combine's new Legions of Vega during the "reprisal campaigns" mounted over rebellions in Vega Prefecture and the Federation's rescue of Musashi Honda. In 3140 they were reassigned to Arcadia and given defense responsibilities over the continent of Mull. Their presence on the capital has been a boon to the unit's TO&E as they have enjoyed assignment of surplus from the factories and warehouses of the AFRF, making them the best-geared Royal Brigade in the AFRF at this point.
The insignia patch of the 3th Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "4".
Officers
Brigadier Mekurye is a rarity in this field; a graduate of the Carnwath Armored School, she's spent her career as a tank commander in the Royal Cavalry. After commanding the 14th Royal Cavalry she was surprised to receive the nod from General Olajuwon to take command of the 4th when it relocated to her homeworld and home continent, but her performance evaluations and the praise of her predecessor, Major General Gephardt, ensured her elevation. The only Brigadier in the Royal BattleMech Regiments who is not a MechWarrior, Mekurye has been training her forces extensively to make sure the 4th stands out among their fellow regoments.
Tactics
The 4th's history is one of every tactic being employed as needed, though rarely to the level a specialist formation is capable of.
4th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Regular/Reliable/B)
CO: Brigadier Zeritu Mekurye
Regimental CO: Colonel Natalie Priester
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Yitzhak Goldstein
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Anwar al-Ghaza
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel John Reubens
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Jacklyn Carter
All of the company and lance commanders pilot OmniMechs of Terran design, and nearly sixty percent of the regiment's OmniPods employ Terran-grade weaponry.
64th Aerospace Support Group (Regular/Fanatical/B)
CO: Group Colonel John Rogers
4th Royal Support Brigade (Regular/Reliable/B)
5th Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Akeem Yakub
14th Royal Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Maya Landers
29th Royal Foot (MIR): Col. Grigory Mishkin
94th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Lord Haile Tishome
48th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Paul Finnegan
5th Royal BattleMech Regiment: The Battling Bastards
The 5th was the first of the "Thin Red Line" to be raised after the foundation of the Royal Federation. Placed in garrison on the border world Bainsville and its vital artillery factories, the 5th surprised many by surviving the onslaught of the Oriento-Capellan invasion of 3041. Attacked by the crack 3rd Knights of Liao, the 5th's forces repeatedly escaped tactical traps that might have quickly rolled the unit up and permitted the Empire to declare the world captured, ultimately establishing a strong defensive position around the artillery factories of Villafranca that continued, for much of the siege, to provide support weapons for their defenses. The arrival of Imperial reinforcements in late 3041 nearly spelled their end regardless, if not for their own reinforcements, allied forces from the Rim Commonality, who turned the tide back to stalemate until the Empire was forced to withdraw following the collapse of the New Commonwealth. When the fighting was over the 5th Royal was a spent force, but they'd made themselves a legend and acquired the nickname that has stuck to them since: "The Battling Bastards of Bainsville".
After another uncompromising defense of Bainsville to close out the Fourth Succession War, the 5th has been rebuilt over the succeeding decades and still maintains itself on the planet it shares such a bloody history with. The Battling Bastards, as they continue to call themselves in pride, are not an elite unit, but members tend to exhibit a higher morale than average, especially in the BattleMech Regiment proper.
The insignia patch of the 5th Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "5".
Officers
Brigadier Soong is a survivor of the last battle for Bainsville, which saw her inducted into the Order of the Saber, and has readied her troops extensively for another go with IOCF troops should the Peace of Dieron fail. An authoritarian by nature, she has hewed to the chain of command and not joined a number of other commanders from the Principality of Atreus in the grumbling at High King Nathaniel's peace policies. Regardless, she still enjoys the high respect of her troops. She has raised some controversy for public support of the Fortress Party in the Principality's politics.
Tactics
Given their posting and history, it is little surprise the 5th have a preference for artillery support and the use of it for defensive operations, coupled with flanking and bite-and-hold counterattack methods.
5th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Regular/Fanatical/C)
CO: Brigadier Marika Soong
Regimental CO: Colonel Florian Beall
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Dominique Dupont
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Allen Causwell
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Yoshiro Hamada
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Gregory Sutherland
90th Aerospace Support Group (Regular/Reliable/C)
CO: Group Colonel Roger Kinderhook
5th Royal Support Brigade (Regular/Reliable/C)
22nd Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Shemar Moore
30th Royal Armored Regiment (AR): Col. Lord Paul Atkins
28th Royal Foot (MIR): Col. Gunther Roth
65th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtR): Col. Phineas Cobb
109th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Mikaela Nadezhda
The 65th Royal Artillery has a second battalion with Sniper artillery guns, giving the 5th a wider range of artillery support options, at the cost of tying their heavy forces down and seeing their support brigade include the 30th Royal Armored Regiment, not the usual cavalry regiment, to provide further heavy armor and anti-air support to protect the artillery.
6th Royal BattleMech Regiment: Shock and Awe
Raised during the War of Donegalian Succession, the 6th was among the bulk of forces sent to support the Loyalist faction of Johanna Steiner. Their arrival on front led to their pairing with the 1st Royal Guards and the newly-formed 2nd Donegal Grenadiers for the invasion of Arc-Royal in late 3040. Tasked with pinning the 2nd Kell Hounds Regiment in place to permit maneuvers to seize the Arc-Royal MechWorks, the 6th surprised their own allies and their foes with the ferocity of their assault, breaking through the lines and forcing their mercenary foes into repeated maneuvers to avoid being overrun such that they could not break off and resist the other opposing units. The cost was a severe casualty rate in personnel and machines, such that the 6th would spend the rest of the war in garrison on occupied Arc-Royal, placing them in the awkward position of welcoming their former enemies once the Kell brothers received their world back upon swearing loyalty to Johanna Steiner.
Their true trial by fire came a decade later in the Terran War. Assigned to the Buckminster garrison, the 6th was nearly annihilated by the overwhelming power of the Terran invasion forces in 3051. The handful of survivors of the attack took to the bush and eventually fled in 3053 when raiders from COMINTERSTEL forces gave them an opening and a ride. Reduced to only thirty percent strength, the unit was nevertheless rebuilt and, though not back to full, aided in the liberation of Buckminster two years later.
Their final service of the 4th Succession War was on the Vegan front, resisting Galedon's final attempt to secure the worlds within a jump of Vega by seizing Baxter. Taking advantage of the planet's dust storms, the 6th and the understrength 22nd Royal BattleMech Regiment, with the 10th Donegal Guards, drove the Galedonian force back off-world. The campaign culminated in the liberation of Cleopolis, the planetary capital, with the 6th battering their way through the 4th Tok Do Regulars and the Amaranthine Legion mercenaries to pierce the enemy's defensive lines and pry them from the capital's approaches. The victory on Baxter came at the cost of all three units' strength, reducing them to such a degree the 22nd's survivors were folded into the 6th post-war. The restored unit has spent the years since the war while on assignment across the Arcturus and Skye Theaters. Following the attack on Freedom in 3139, they were reassigned to that world's defense. A number of personnel were pulled away to help rebuild the battered 3rd Proctor Guards after that unit's problems on New Wessex, leaving the 6th reliant on new personnel, many fresh from the academies or the federal militia.
The insignia patch of the 6th Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "6".
Officers
Brigadier Rourke is a fighting man's commander by reputation, an ace MechWarrior pilot whose skill in a Firehawk is of service-wide notoriety. The 6th is his first command and is unlikely to be the last, especially if he gets them back into shape as regulars.
Tactics
The 6th's reputation is for offensive operations, particularly rapid and fierce assault maneuvers. The lowered experience level of the unit does degrade their effectiveness at more complicated maneuvers, which has Brigadier Rourke pushing to get the unit's cohesion back to normal.
6th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Green/Reliable/C)
CO: Brigadier James Rourke
Regimental CO: Colonel Abebech Mekonnen
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Pavlo Dobzhansky
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Horace Cushing
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Sanjit Dasgupta
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Michel Dupont
67th Aerospace Support Group (Regular/Reliable/C)
CO: Group Colonel Sharonda Rutherford
Most of Colonel Rutherford's pilots remained with the 67th Aerospace when personnel were diverted to the battered 3rd Proctor Guards, making her wings the most proficient formations of the unit.
6th Royal Support Brigade (Green/Reliable/C)
39th Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Zhanna Yarovenko
24th Royal Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Alvin Richards
8th Royal Grenadiers (HIR): Col. John Pulaski
104th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Nadya Michaels
29th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Sasha Alexander
Replacing losses in the armor and infantry regiments of the 3rd Proctor Guards depleted personnel in a brigade that was already weighted to the inexperienced.
7th Royal BattleMech Regiment: Unlucky Number Seven
The 7th Royal was brought into service officially on the New Year's, January 1st 3041, on Concord. They barely had time to finish the mustering out ceremony when the planetary defense alert went out at the arrival of an invasion force from the Oriento-Capellan Empire. Working with the Concord Militia Brigade, the 2nd Royal, and the Concord Borderers, the 7th helped contain the initial invading force, but the later arrival of the crack 2nd Allison Heavy Guards and 1st Knights of Liao tilted the tables against the defending forces. The planet was barely held through a bitter defensive struggle over the next sixteen months in which the 7th suffered over sixty percent permanent casualties, often being caught exposed due to their inexperience in operating together, creating the perception of unluckiness that was only slightly offset by a penchant for their own misfortunes to aid their comrade units' efforts as well as their own. When at great cost the Imperial blockade of Concord was lifted in mid-3042, the 7th and their battered comrades were reduced to holding the city of Princeton and the Reddington Armaments factories there. After the Ten Year Peace was signed a year later, the 7th was retained as Concord's defensive garrison and rebuilt to full strength… just to suffer again with the Terran invasion of 3050, this time for a twenty month-long campaign until the Terrans withdrew, having demolished over half of the planet's military industries… and two-thirds of the 7th Royal.
Now known as "Unlucky Number Seven", the 7th's record across the last century has been a mix of victories and defeats, both at the tactical and campaign level, and whichever came about, the members of the unit persisted. A regimental culture of defying their own poor luck often provided odd shots of morale at key moments, even though the skepticism of even "guaranteed victories" tended to sour morale at the onset of operations. Many hold that this makes the regiment's reputation a self-fulfilling prophecy while explaining its survival from the occasional proposal that the unit be deactivated. While it never seems to do so flawlessly, the 7th still gets the job done often enough.
After a grueling experience in the 4th Succession War the 7th has bounced about the Federation. Its current posting is the system of Pobeda, near the Ghastillian frontier. There have recent issues with the unit reported in some quarters, specifically hostility towards their Ghastillian neighbors and a spike in Lyrantreu agitation in the ranks, including hazing and other discriminatory behavior against personnel hailing from ex-League worlds of the Federation or from the Isle of Skye. Brigadier Treitschke bitterly refutes any allegations of such, insisting any morale issues are simply from the unit's reputation and being assigned to such a "low priority" posting.
The insignia patch of the 7th Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "7". An unofficial variant replaces the numeral with seven six-sided dice rolled to one, reflecting the unit's famed luck.
Officers
Brigadier Treitschke is a Nagelring graduate and firmly molded in the old school Lyran style. The younger son of nobility from Smolnik, all reports are that he is an ardent, if not radical, Lyrantreu advocate. This has led to some accusations that he is intentionally ignoring the poor behavior of subordinates towards those who do not share Lyrantreu attitudes, or who come from worlds deemed insufficiently Lyran or not Lyran at all.
Colonel Penton-Aghliesi was assigned to the 7th recently to try and get the regiment's morale standards up. So far the only thing that has been accomplished, going by reports, is to fuel even more complaints about misbehavior, with Penton reporting resistance "above and below" for every measure he takes to curb suspected misbehavior. Brigadier Treitschke recently issued his own complaint about his subordinate, insisting on Colonel Penton's "immediate reassignment" for "pointless agitation against loyal personnel over trifling political disputes".
Tactics
The 7th's history is one of dogged warfare on offense and defense, as well as turning minor tactical slipups into either embarrassing setbacks or unexpected advantages. A common attitude has been to not worry about operational plans but reacting to whatever is thrown at you in the field.
7th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Regular/Questionable/D)
CO: Brigadier Maximilian Treitschke
Regimental CO: Colonel Rafael Penton-Aghliesi
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Lionel Thorne
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Janice Peters
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Walter Louis
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Kathryn Delaney
The cost of being assigned to a quiet sector is that the 7th's turnover of material has resulted in the assignment not of new equipment, or even like equipment, but whatever can be gleaned from the local armories or released from the Strategic Reserves. As a result nearly two-thirds of the unit's machines are old Renaissance "field upgrade" 'Mechs pulled from the Alarion March's storage, and even a smattering of old Collapse-era Succession War machines are found in a few of the lances.
77th Aerospace Support Group (Green/Reliable/D)
CO: Group Colonel Demitu Gudina
The pilots under Colonel Gudina are the only personnel who seem to get along, though the majority being aerospace graduates from the Nagelring or the RSMA undoubtedly explains this.
7th Royal Support Brigade (Green/Questionable/D)
38th Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Lucas Meriweather
59th Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Jawar Letta
46th Royal Foot (MIR): Col. Luz Martinez
92nd Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Paul Abdisa
3rd Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Jane Rice
Like their MechWarrior comrades, the troops of the 7th's Support Brigade are a divided lot. The officers are overwhelmingly Lyrantreu and there is widespread discontent among the rank and file against perceived bias in the day-to-day running of matters. A severe hazing incident recently led to one squad in the 38th Air Cavalry breaking apart in a brawl started between a Tamarindian soldier and a pair of Tharkad-born soldiers. Colonel Meriweather's report pinned the matter on the Tamarindian volunteer, but the local MCIS agent's investigation placed the blame on the Tharkadians. Local JAG attorneys have yet to file any official charges and the officers, fearing the morale problems, are reportedly planning the transfer of the Tamarindian soldier.
8th Royal BattleMech Regiment: Pieces of Eight
The 8th Royal came into service in 3042 during the height of the War of Donegalian Succession. Formed on Gienah, their first action came not from the expected invasion but a raid by the Star Dragons regiment from the Brethren of the Stars, sent to support their Oriento-Capellan allies against the Federation. Fighting alongside the Gienah Militia Brigade they managed to keep the Dragons' raids from taking critical gear or from damaging the vital factories. The remainder of the war saw their participation in the liberation of Bondurant before being assigned for the final push of the war to reclaim Summer from Tikonovite and Brethren troops, a campaign that barely succeeded and caused significant losses to the 8th before the enemy retreated. Given the presence once more of pirate troops, this has led to some debate that the unit moniker is derived from the ancient "piece of eight" coin that is often tied to depictions of Terran nautical pirates, while others believe it was derived by remarks about all the "pieces of the 8th" left behind in their brutal combats on Summer.
The 8th was recalled to Arcadian territory and, due to the reductions to the forces available to Donegal, assigned to Alarion to help maintain a grip on the newly-taken world and deal with any remnant NCAF forces that resisted the surrender. This left them untouched in the initial waves of Terran assaults on the Inner Sphere in 3050. Kept as Alarion's garrison through that conflict, their only engagement was with elements of the 19th Striker Regiment of the Eridani Light Horse in 3053, when said Terran force was conducting deep raids on targets in former Lyran space. The 8th took numerous casualties dealing with the crack formation, managing to blunt some of the raids and prevent the loss of aerospace industrial facilities planetside.
Their service through the remaining decades was steady. Deployed to the Azami front of the 4th Succession War, they were involved in defending Lyons from several Azami invasions in 3110 through 3113, reducing their strength considerably. Replenished mostly with green recruits, fresh academy graduates, and pilots gleaned from militia units, the 8th was redeployed to Tamarind and nearby systems, putting them at the periphery of the "Hidden Front" fighting that saw several skirmishes with the Pilpala Auxilia of the Flavian Principate until the 3116 Truce of Tamarind. Scheduled to deploy back to the front, the 8th were required to stay on Tamarind after the McCarthy's Cutthroats mercenary brigade struck at the capital and inflicted severe damage to the Tamarind Military Institute campus. They sat out the remainder of the war as Tamarind's garrison, gradually being rebuilt to full strength by 3130 while serving across the Principality of Bolan and the Duchy of Tamarind to watch the border with the Principate.
In 3140, the 8th was reassigned to Atreus, likely in response to new information at the growing scope fo Oriento-Capellan rearmament. Over the past two years they have enjoyed a fair increase in the quality of their armaments, such that half of their 'Mechs, fighters, and vehicles are Terran-grade models. Only the 4th Royal enjoys greater largesse.
The insignia patch of the 8th Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "8".
Officers
A mustang veteran from the Federal Militia, Brigadier Hightower was already in his thirties when he was made an officer and moved to frontline 'Mech service due to his wartime record, and a quarter century later is older than the vast majority of his peers and even some of his superiors. He is noted for not being particularly ambitious to move ahead, though that hasn't stopped him accepting every promotion offered. As a commander he runs a tight ship, enforcing discipline regardless of social rank or background, which has endeared him to his commoner subordinates if not his highborn officers.
Colonel Stewart of the Flanker Battalion is the younger son of a cadet branch of House Stewart, from the planet of the same name. Though a member of a planetary ruling house he is by law, and by inclination, a commoner, and has proven himself a capable commander who is due to succeed Colonel Gebeyehu whenever he should be promoted.
Tactics
The 8th are brawlers, with a number of their machines configured with melee weapons and short-range cannons and missiles, typically supported by extensive long range fire support to help close the range.
8th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Regular/Reliable/B)
CO: Brigadier John Hightower
Regimental CO: Colonel Gebisa Gebeyehu
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Martina Lopez
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Angus MacGonagal
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Frederick Stewart
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Sabrina Thomas
91st Aerospace Support Group (Regular/Reliable/B)
CO: Group Colonel Lady Gertrude Steiner-Brewer
8th Royal Support Brigade (Regular/Reliable/B)
26th Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Kevin Sanchez
28th Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Olga Larsen
18th Royal Foot (MI(A)R): Col. Jonathan Peebles
111th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Fiona Towers
90th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Renard Gosling
9th Royal BattleMech Regiment: The Mounted Rifles
The 9th Royal came into being during the Ten Year Peace, part of the AFRF's efforts to rebuild from the War of Donegalian Succession. Marshaled on Dar-es-Salaam, the 9th early on fought much as the Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry did, having undergone their formation exercises against that unit through 3048. Upon formation they were relocated to Launum. Due to the Terrans' priorities they did not face an attack in 3050 and were thus called upon to join the large reinforcement force sent to Arcadia after the New Year, where they assisted in the clearing of the enemy from the Mull continent and eastern Munster. After rebuilding from this they aided in clearing the foe from other worlds in the Federation, culminating with a part in the 3054 campaign for Atreus. With losses light, the 9th was tasked to join the AFRF's contingent to the Skye Front, helping the Consolidant to push back and reclaim the Isle of Skye.
During this campaign, the 9th's association with the Consolidants' Mounted Rifles formations began, as they were often paired with one or two Mounted Rifles formations in campaigns for Zaniah, Gacrux, and Milton, culminating with the 9th joining Task Force RODEO and taking New Dallas for the Consolidant. Afterward the 9th remained on New Dallas and in the local province, aiding the Mounted Rifles in combating isolated Terran troops and later IOCF forces. Though occasionally rotated back to Arcadia or up to Donegal during the later decades of the century, the 9th was often selected for service with the Consolidant and especially the Mounted Rifles units, whose mobile tactics they learned to emulate.
Upon the Consolidation Act of 3116 and the folding of the Mounted Rifles into the Royal Regiments, the 9th continued to operate with its now-sibling units. Between the liberation of New Dallas and the campaign to seize Irian and surrounding worlds, these units all took severe losses against ferocious IOCF resistance, such that post war the decision was made to merge the 9th and these formations together. After the merger the 9th took to calling itself the Mounted Rifles, even winning permission from High Queen Jacqueline to modify their unit insignia to add part of the Mounted Rifles emblem into their own.
After years of service in the Isle of Skye, in 3141 the 9th was redeployed to Tongatapu in the Principality of Atreus. With the Empire's rearmament publicly acknowledged, though the scope not yet fully known, the 9th is now one of the Royal brigades reassuring the peoples of the former Marik Commonwealth that Arcadia is maintaining their defense.
While originally employing a standard Royal Regiment insignia, after the official merger of the surviving Mounted Rifles formations into the 9th's battered ranks, the unit's insignia was modified to add crossed rifles beneath the white-and-gold hawk, the barrels gray and the stocks brown. Gray has likewise become a parade color for the 9th. As typical, the red numeral is a "9".
Officers
Lord Sebastiano is in the later stages of his career, as the heir to House Lestrade and its traditional holding of Summer. He is an admirer of the late High Queen Jacqueline who is more ambivalent about her grandson and the new ruler's reputation for desiring peace. He has not espoused the kind of Skye separatism or regionalism that others in his family have, however, and has made clear his continued loyalty to the Federation.
Tactics
The 9th emphasizes mobility in its tactical operations, favoring maneuvering around enemy strongpoints instead of rolling through them, with its assault battalion and artillery to pin down enemy forces to keep them from adjusting.
9th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Regular/Reliable/C)
CO: Brigadier Lord Sebastiano Lestrade
Regimental CO: Colonel Frederick Lupo
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel John Goldsmith
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Karla Michaels
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Kira Loznitsa
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Steven Falworth
115th Aerospace Support Group (Regular/Fanatical/C))
CO: Group Colonel David Ho'omalu
Highly respected by his pilots, Colonel Ho'omalu's training and leadership have them operating at a higher morale level than normal for the 115th and similar formations, even if the majority of their fighters are older OmniFighters and non-Terran-grade craft.
9th Royal Support Brigade (Regular/Reliable/C)
44th Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Arpad Lacza
62nd Royal Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Teshome Seyoum
46th Royal Foot (MIR): Col. Getatchew Daniels
122nd Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Shlomo Reubens
120th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Yulia Oliynyk
10th Royal BattleMech Regiment: Hesperan Excellence
The 10th was founded a year before the Terran War erupted, marshaled on the planet Stewart. This led to early engagements given the Terran raids on that world in support of their efforts to suppress the Arcadian half of the Federation. When an opening to rush reinforcements to beleaguered Hesperus was detected, the 10th was the unit sent in, and while not utterly pivotal to the planet holding out, they were regardless recognized for their role, and Defiance saw to the unit's outfitting.
After the Terran War the 10th ended up assigned near-permanently to protecting the Consolidant, and much like the 9th, it became associated with this sister Lyran realm even before the marriage of Prince Ethan and Princess Mathilda ensured the eventual merger of the Consolidant to the Federation. The 10th only rarely rotated out of the Consolidant and would, at times, even be employed in Hesperus' own garrison, a mark of favor in the pre-Consolidation days due to their unit's association with the fight against the Terrans.
For the majority of the 4th Succession War the 10th was on the Azami and Kuritan fronts, including involvement in the failed strikes on Vega and the successful capture of Kessel. They liberated the world of New Wessex in 3018 as part of shaping operations on the Vegan front, to cover for the joint offensive with Rasalhague further coreward. Alas this success was short-lived, as the 3rd Tok Do Regulars and 19th Pesht Regulars arrived with mercenary support in late 3019 and expelled the 10th after two months of fierce fighting, costing the understrength unit over half its remaining strength while covering refugee evacuations. The 10th evacuated under fire on Christmas Day, 3019, leaving New Wessex an utterly spent force.
Following the Peace of Dieron, the 10th was assigned to the Principality of Hesperus. Its losses were replaced from the ranks of former Hesperan units broken in the fighting, effectively making the 10th a Hesperan unit in all but name, with its new nickname reflecting this change. Currently the unit is stationed on Solaris, the infamous Game World, to provide defense and support for the planet's security services given Solaris' regular chaos. The assignment has reportedly had a number of negative effects upon the unit, unfortunately, particularly the MechWarriors.
The insignia patch of the 10th Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "10", set on the emblem on the flag of Hesperus.
Officers
Brigadier Saint-Denis is a native of Bondurant, in the Arcadia March, making her a minority among her own troops. The real issue for the Brigadier isn't her background, though, but the effect that posting to Solaris has for her unit. The 10th's discipline was already slipping before she took command, and it is taking everything she has to keep it from further decline, including harsher punishments for MechWarriors going AWOL to moonlight in the amateur fights or simply from getting too involved in the nightlife. She has agitated for reposting the 10th to no avail.
Tactics
Assault specialists by trade, the 10th enjoy the presence of a second artillery battalion that gives them the firepower to smash enemy defensive formations for their 'Mechs to then overrun, typically while the cavalry regiments flank to either side.
10th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Green/Questionable/C)
CO: Brigadier Teresa Saint-Denis
Regimental CO: Colonel Jan Maartens
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Daniel Willis
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Lucas Albright
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Benjamin Schneider
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Ronald Applegate
12th Aerospace Support Group (Green/Reliable/C))
CO: Group Colonel Vincent Levina
10th Royal Support Brigade (Regular/Reliable/C)
52nd Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Yukio Mishima
37th Royal Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Johannes Fischer
59th Royal Foot (MIR): Col. Ferdinand Rodriguez
55th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtR): Col. Judit Szabo
79th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Rachel Thomas
11th Royal BattleMech Regiment: Snake Eyes
The 11th Regiment, formed during the Terran War, has the distinction of being the first of the Royal Regiments raised in the Donegal section of the Federation. Mustered officially on Halfway, the 11th was assigned to defensive garrisons at first, on Tharkad and then Donegal. It only entered the war later, joining the liberation of Skye in 3056 and the invasions of Denebola and later Procyon. They were rotated back to Donegal for service on Odessa in the early 3060s before being called in as reinforcements to blunt the Azami thrust into the Isle of Skye in 3065.
Fighting among the forces reopening a line of secured systems to Albalii during the Concord-Compact War, the 11th aided in the retaking of Ascella, working alongside the 3rd Confederate Brigade of the Azami forces against the 24th Galedon Regulars. The 24th's strong defensive positions indicated a tough time was in store for rooting them out, but the 11th's scout lances found a riverbed approach that a mobile, jump-capable 'Mech force could exploit to get at their flank. The resulting attack dislodged them completely, forcing the 24th into a running battle that compelled their retreat offworld.
Whatever bonds they established with the Azami mattered little after the war, unfortunately, and they would encounter the 3rd Confederate Brigade once more, as foes, when the Azami invaded New Wessex in 3082 as part of a general renewal of warfare along the entire Lyran Alliance-St. Ives Compact border. The 11th fought them off and returned to Porrima to rebuild and recuperate, having suffered significant losses in their close-won victory. Afterward they were posted to Odessa, fighting off Communalist guerrillas that lingered after the CLAF and Rasalhaguan troops were forced out in 3083, and in 3091 helped reclaim Surcin after five years of Communal control, then fail to secure Borghese in 3092.
During the 4th Succession War the 11th once more fought COMINTERSTEL, taking part in the successful captures of Lyndon, Summit, and Graceland before joining the failed 3112 invasion of Sudeten, suffering vicious losses at the hands of the 2nd Communal Guards and the Wolfram Division in the fighting near Hamarr. Recalled to rebuild on Odessa, the 11th went back into line service in 3116 to help repulse the Galedonian invasion of Fort Loudon. After assisting the battered 2nd Berserkergang in liberating Ueda from the Galedonian forces, they participated in the large-scale battle aimed at smashing the main Galedonian forces staging from the agricultural world of Tukayyid. Once again their losses were significant, trying to dislodge the 16th Pesht Regulars from the Holth Forest near Spanac, which fell to the 6th Autonomous Assault Brigade of the CLAF while the 11th held the 16th in check. After a time to recover their losses on Tukayyid, the 11th had one final engagement, helping to reclaim Ogano from the crumbling Galedonians in the final months before the Peace of Dieron was signed.
Since the peace the 11th, rebuilt to full strength, has remained on station in Arcturus and Alexandria Marches, watching the Rasalhaguan and Kuritan borders. In 3136 they had a brief combat when the 2nd Legion of Vega raided Phalan, a result of Tai-sho Ballymont's continued operations to punish the Federation for Operation SOVEREIGN SON in 3134, in which both units caused some loss before the 2nd withdrew, claiming objectives complete. Currently the unit is on Shionoha, awaiting any further raids from "Butcher Ballymont".
The insignia patch of the 11th Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "11". A pair of rolled dice is often placed below the seal, the depiction of the 11th's moniker.
Officers
Brigadier Miller is the younger daughter of the Baroness of Garvey and a long-time veteran of the Gienah Heavy Fusiliers before transferring out on her promotion to Brigadier. Brigadier Miller has proven herself a beloved commander of her troops, raising the morale and fighting spirit of the 11th with her training, hands-on approach, and approachability. Given her record in the fighting on Vega in Operation SOVEREIGN SON, she is the perfect fit for one of the units facing the Kuritan threat, and like many who went to Vega eight years ago, is a strong advocate of re-aligning the AFRF to better resist further attacks by the DCMS and even to, if possible, liberate the worlds lost in the Peace of Dieron.
Lt. Colonel Proctor-Grimke of the regiment's Flanker Battalion is one of many in her branch of the ruling family who have made a lifestyle of AFRF service. She is a relatively new assignment, having returned to field service after a two year maternity and child-raising leave. Her husband, an officer at Fort Defiance serving in the Supply and Procurement Department, is now caring for her child while she serves in the field.
Tactics
The 11th are a unit that frequently "stands and deliver", as the saying goes, and next to the 2nd may be one of the best defending units in the Thin Red Line, though they treat defensive stands as little more than a preliminary to a ferocious, spirited counter-attack to smash their exposed attackers to pieces.
11th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Regular/Fanatical/C)
CO: Brigadier Lady Shauntelle Miller
Regimental CO: Colonel Uwe von Freihausen
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Maryam Demeksa
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Fred Weathers
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Angelina Proctor-Grimke
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Adam Lewis
81st Aerospace Support Group (Regular/Reliable/C)
CO: Group Colonel DeMarcus Johnson
11th Royal Support Brigade (Regular/Reliable/C)
36th Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Ignatio Blackstone
25th Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Barbara Winthrope
33rd Royal Foot (MIR): Col. Eleutherios Metropoulos
119th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Linda Ferris
117th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. William Stoudamire
12th Royal BattleMech Regiment: The Vengeful
Formed towards the end of the Terran War, the 12th earned their name by the tragedy that befell them early in their service. Mustered on Whittington in 3057, they came under attack by a raiding force from the 19th Armored Cavalry Regiment of the TUDF. The 19th was commanded by General Thomas Furlough, a devoted Terran nationalist and reputed descendant of the infamous Amos Furlough of the Reunification War era. Striking at Whittington's ammunition factories, which produced rounds for Terran-grade Gauss Rifles and other weapons, Furlough invoked Director-General Kerensky's Reprisal Doctrine and conducted direct attacks on the housing for the factories' workers, as well as base housing when his 19th Armored moved through Whittington's AFRF facilities. As many in the 12th had brought their families to what was generally presumed a safe, behind-the-lines world, they suffered significant bereavement from the wanton slaughter of their dependents.
Two years later, during the fighting on Thorin, they had their shot at revenge, as the 19th was one of the units assigned to the defense. Brigadier Robert Macklin, the 12th's commander who had lost his wife and children to the deliberate demolishing of their home in the attack on Whittington, immediately led the 12th into their tormentors' positions as the 19th attempted to flank the Hyde Lancers. The 19th fought back ferociously and reaped from the 12th significantly, but it only drove the unit to fight harder until the 19th completely broke and retreated, ultimately being surrounded in a river gulley. When General Furlough stepped his smoking, hulking Atlas II towards the 12th's lines under a white flag, Brigadier Macklin responded by raising a red blood flag from his Gae Bolg before opening fire, signaling the rest of the battered 12th to commence the annihilation of the 19th Armored Cavalry. True to the blood flag, the 12th's survivors allowed no quarter. Those who survived the destruction of their war machines, including Furlough, were unceremoniously forced to their knees and shot dead before the Hyde Lancers or any other unit could interfere. Once the deed, still remembered by the sarcastic moniker of "Macklin's Mercy", was done, Brigadier Macklin turned himself over to the custody of his AFRF superiors. After the JAG investigation he and multiple members of the 12th's command company who survived the battle were court-martialed and cashiered from service, with suspended sentences contingent upon "continued good behavior" in light of the circumstances of their case. Macklin, a broken man, shot himself.
Though many survivors of the 12th were transferred to other units or resigned from service after the massacre, the unit itself was irrevocably attached to the proceeding, earning the moniker "The Vengeful". Their combat history has not shown any repeats of "Macklin's Mercy", but still shows a tendency to be particularly aggressive at even the slightest hint of threat to dependents or civilians by a hostile force, with most enemies failing to get an opportunity to surrender if they threaten civilian life.
After honorable service on the Rasalhague front of the 4th Succession War, and spending the 3120s and 3130s as an interior reserve force, the 12th is currently assigned to Bolan to contribute to the Principality's defense against any approved or unapproved aggression by the Principate's legions.
The insignia patch of the 12th Regiment is the standard insignia for the Royal Regiments, with the numeral "12". Some MechWarriors have an unofficial practice, frowned upon by authority, to place the insignia over a blood flag, an ungentle reminder of their unit's dark history.
Officers
Brigadier Shapiro has served in the 12th for most of his career, starting as a lance lieutenant during the 4th Succession War. Since a number of his troops are new or recent transfers from militia, he is doing what he can to train them while keeping them from getting mixed up in the notorious factionalism of Bolan's city-state rivalries.
Tactics
The 12th does a bit of everything, operationally, with little history of preferred specialist tactics. What they are known for is the ruthless efficiency with which they destroy enemy forces conducting attacks on civilian targets.
12th Royal BattleMech Regiment (Green/Reliable/C)
CO: Brigadier Joseph Shapiro
Regimental CO: Colonel Magda Dobbs
Assault Batt.: Lt. Colonel Wanda Finney
Heavy Batt.: Lt. Colonel Richard Marks
Flanker Batt.: Lt. Colonel Merera Negewo
Light Batt.: Lt. Colonel Evan Wallace
120th Aerospace Support Group (Regular/Reliable/C)
CO: Group Colonel Joan Magnusson
12th Royal Support Brigade (Regular/Reliable/C)
45th Royal Air Cavalry Regiment (AiCR): Col. Florian Szabo
80th Royal Cavalry Regiment (CR): Col. Leonard Tasker
70th Royal Foot (MIR): Col. William Presley
99th Royal Artillery Regiment (ArtB): Lt. Col. Tafari Kitessa
124th Royal Aviation Regiment (AvB): Lt. Col. Jane Sanders
Armed Forces of the Royal Federation: The Chain of Command
- Location
- Florida USA
The Chain of Command
As with all state and military systems, the chain of command for the Royal Federation is bound up in the institutional mentality and ideologies of all involved. Command authority over the lives of many hundreds of millions of soldiers across three hundred worlds creates a crushing responsibility, and failing to see that authority maintained can result in the history of the fall of the Great Houses repeating.
The AFRF, from the lowliest new recruit to the most senior general officer, is held to adherence to this chain of command. Beyond the official regulation-recognized chain of command, however, other political authorities likewise must be recognized in their areas of responsibility, especially as they wield powers that likewise influence the AFRF's operations and guiding mission.
The High King/Queen
The High King or High Queen of the Federation, sometimes referred to neutrally as "the Crown", is the ultimate authority for the AFRF as a whole. The monarch not only serves as the embodiment of the Federation as a state institution, they are by law and tradition the Commanding Officer of the Armed Forces, and with the exception of High Queen Sara-Marie, all have been academy-trained and educated military officers. It is a hereditary position of House Proctor by the laws of gender-neutral primogeniture, though there are constitutional provisions for the Crown to pass further down the line of succession in the event of incapacity.
The power of the Crown has shifted over the years depending on the holder. High Queen Sara-Marie, before her abdication, was most active in civil affairs when allowed by circumstance, while her son High King Thomas and Thomas' wife, High Queen Johanna Steiner, often directly controlled the AFRF with the Command Staff treated more as aides and advisors. In more recent years High Queen Jacqueline allowed the Command Staff to direct the AFRF's day-to-day operations with little involvement and has only rarely weighed in on higher matters of policy and strategy. Her grandson, High King Nathaniel, has taken a more active interest in directing policy and strategy upon assuming the throne, however, which has understandably created friction within the upper echelons of the AFRF.
The Privy Council
The Privy Council is primarily a civil government body, consisting of the Cabinet — the appointed secretaries of state operating various ministries and bodies of the Federation's central government — and an assortment of lifetime appointees, mostly former ministers, but significantly, all former Chiefs of Staff of the AFRF. These grandees are responsible for enacting the Crown's policies, be they civil affairs or budgetary matters or even diplomatic and military issues, with the Lord of the Privy Council being a Royal appointment responsible for advising the ruler while, in theory, furthering the ruler's chosen policies among the Council and transmitting their advice in reply.
Given the Privy Council often includes several former officers, both former Chiefs of Staff and those who served before going into civil service, the AFRF's voice is heard clearly in the body, though the Council has little role in the chain of command governing the AFRF on any basis.
Parliament
The Parliament of the Federation is a combination of influences from the old Free Worlds League and Lyran Commonwealth, as well as the pre-Federation Arcadian Free March. It is a bicameral body of two houses with different methods of appointment. The Assembly is democratically elected by the citizenry of various worlds. All worlds are guaranteed at least one representative in this house, with the most populated worlds having several. As of the reapportionment from the 3140 census, the Assembly now stands at one thousand three hundred and ninety-two seats, giving an average of four seats per world. The Senate, meanwhile, is of a smaller membership, with each world having two senators. One is elected by the populace, the other is a direct appointee of the planet's ruler or ruling authority.
The Parliament has no direct authority over the AFRF nor a role in the military's day to day decision making. What it does enjoy is the power of the purse: Parliament sets the Federation government's yearly budget from the tax apportionments, duties, and other sources of finance enjoyed by the central government. The Joint Committee on Defense, made up of both Assemblymembers and Senators, is the most prominent exercise of this connection, as they are responsible for reconciling the services' requested budgets with the money set aside for the year.
The Command Staff
Serving as military advisors to the Crown are the Command Staff, the highest-ranked officers of the AFRF. Led by the Chief of Staff of the AFRF, the Command Staff are made up of the heads of each Department of the AFRF. They determine many high level decisions about the operation of the military along with their advisory role to the ruler as well as Parliamentary leaders.
Post 43 - Fury in the Storm
- Location
- Florida USA
43 - Fury in the Storm
Wolf Empire Staging Ground Epsilon
Gallery, Donegal Province
Lyran Commonwealth (Disputed)
15 February 3143
The Wolf veteran commanding SG Epsilon's defences did their best. Outnumbered and outgunned, they were clearly determined to do as much damage as possible before going down.
Jasek Kelswa-Steiner swore, ducking his Templar under a stream of light-calibre autocannon shells. Snarling more oaths that would have horrified his long-ago etiquette tutors — and ignoring obscene commentary from Sergeant Dunleavy as the sudden motion knocked her squad of Gnome troopers loose — he sent twin particle bolts and a volley of SRMs lashing down the alley; blasting the auto-turret into a burnt out shell. Ammunition began to cook off in a series of sharp cracks.
"Storm Six to Ranger Six," Jasek ground out, forcing calm into his voice as he resumed the advance, his guard lance close behind. "Petrucci, I thought your people had swept CR Twelve-Twenty-four."
"We did," Antonio Petrucci's voice came back, underlined by the hammering roar of his Schmitt's autocannon at maximum rate. A glance at the tactical feed showed he was blasting the Clanners out of their fortified barracks blocks. "But the Wolves randomised the activation timers for those damn auto-turrets, and they're battery-powered. Until their targeting systems go live, there's no way short of walking every alley to know if we've gotten them all; and we don't have the time, General."
"Understood," Jasek acknowledged, before cutting the link. Saying anything more would have just left him swearing at Petrucci, and that wouldn't be fair to the Colonel or his troops. The Lyran Rangers had done everything they'd been ordered to and done it well, but right now the Stormhammers were supposed to be looting SG Epsilon of everything the support units could carry, not still trying to clear the Wolves out. And it felt like every second of time the dangerously close pirate point emergence had bought them was slipping away, faster and faster.
If he found them, if they survived, he was either going to strangle the solahma officer leading this dance, or shake their hand and offer them a job. They'd mauled the leading companies of the Lyran Rangers badly, then — rather than stand and die as the rest of the Stormhammers came up — scattered their Trinary, and those damn turrets, through the staging ground, fighting a running battle Jasek wouldn't risk sending his support teams into. If more Lyran officers had that kind of guts — especially the sort needed for a Clanner to play for time, rather than a heroic death — and skill, they might not have lost Gallery in the first place.
Still, we're winning. They'd sectioned the camp, accounted for most of the Supernova Trinary stationed here, and —
"Contact left," Leutnant Shawcross called out. Her Battlemaster's particle batteries lit off in the same moment, banishing Gallery's twilight for an instant in blue-white strobes. The flat thunderclap of a Gauss shot riposted, shattering away armour low on the assault 'Mech's torso.
- and I figured hanging myself out as bait was going to get results, Jasek noted, swinging his Templar around. Four BattleMechs, a squad of battle armour; and led by a Clan-mod Victor. Everything the Wolves here had left, and aiming for the throat as their last throw of the dice. Just as planned.
"Blue Company, White Company, close the box," Jasek ordered, smashing a Wraith suit out of the air with a particle bolt. Icons moved on his tactical display, collapsing inward around the Wolves, while Dunleavy and her squad traded laser beams and SRMs with the remaining Wraiths' machine-gun fire.
"Keep your IFF transponders live, and watch your fire," he added, targeting computer painting potential weaknesses up and down the Victor. The last thing they needed right now was friendly fire, and that was all too possible in this kind of close-quarters brawl. "Shawcross, step out left!"
Beamfire and projectiles interlaced, tearing back and forth through tents, repair silos and buildings. A close range slugging match; the Clan machines had heavy firepower, but aside from the Victor, none of them were heavier than an old-style Black Hawk, and all visibly damaged already. His guard lance's lightest machine was an Eight-Delta Rifleman, fifteen tons heavier, and they were all but untouched.
Shawcross' Battlemaster stepped aside, rounding on the Black Hawk, and for a moment Templar and Victor stood facing one another, an island of calm in the storm.
"I offer you hegira, Star Captain in recognition of an honourable foe," Jasek sent over general address, keeping his machine loose and ready to move. It was worth a shot, even if he didn't expect it to work; and the formalities had to be observed.
"I am Eltar, of the Vickers Bloodheritage," the Victor executed a neat, almost courtly bow; fitting to the quiet dignity of the Wolf warrior's voice. "And I regret I cannot accept your honourable offer, General Jasek. But, my duty compels me to fight to the finish."
"Understood," Jasek replied, thumbing his targeting system to full-active, and drawing the aim-point to the Wolf machine's hip. Disable if I can - a warrior this good deserved better than to be wasted for Alaric's pride. "Battle it is, then." With that, he fired.
Eltar was already moving, jumpjets flaring as they shoved the Victor sideways, fast enough that even the targeting computer couldn't compensate fully. One of Jasek's particle beams went wide, the lightning bolt grounding itself in a prefab hut; the other flaying away thigh armour in semi-molten composite.
The Victor staggered for a moment; nearly fell. Then it set itself, and returned fire.
Twin laser beams cut gem-bright lines across his Templar's broad shoulders, one close enough to the low-slung cockpit to leave a black burn scar along the ferroglass panels. Streak-guided warheads burst up and down one leg, knee actuator flashing yellow and forcing Jasek to compensate for the sudden loss of stability; and the blur of a Gauss rifle slug snapped away the left arm medium laser like a twig in an Elemental's battleclaw.
Taking a step back, Jasek locked everything that could range into his primary trigger, sliding the crosshairs over the Victor's left hip. A wave of heat accompanied collimated lances of azure fire and a stabbing pale blue laser beam savaging the already-wounded armour there, punching deep wounds in the titanium bones beneath. Twin short-range missiles struck high on the torso, splintering armour just below the Victor's missile launcher; a third went wide.
And the fourth hit home, shattering the hip joint. The Victor's own weight finished the job, metal shearing, the unholy shriek lost in the deep thud of the 'Mech's collapse onto its back.
"Star Captain Eltar," Jasek limped his Templar over to the downed Victor. The rest of the Wolves were down; the Black Hawk falling under a combined barrage of particle bolts and autocannon shells even as he watched. "I hereby claim you as my bondsman, and this staging ground as my isorla. Yield." Don't make me kill you, old man.
"I yield," the Star Captain responded, voice slurred by pain. "I am transmitting the stand-down code for the turret defences now."
"Thank you," Jasek said the words with feeling as he summoned a casevac team; under strict terms, Eltar hadn't had to do that, but it certainly made things a lot easier. "Dunleavy, keep an eye on the Star Captain until the medics get here. And don't hurt him," he added; Dunleavy was a good soldier, but the campaigns against the Jade Falcons had etched hate for the Clans deep in her, "he's a Stormhammer now."
Acknowledgement came back, and Jasek put it from his mind as he studied the tactical feeds. It didn't seem like there was anything wrong, on the surface, but the lack of any Wolf regulars had him worried. They'd definitely been here, recently, and Alaric didn't think in straight lines. He thought in curves; Jasek had found himself on the receiving end of that on Uhuru.
"Shield Six, this is Storm Six," he brought up the link to Joss Vandel's mobile HQ. "Start moving the support teams in now. Cautious - some of the auto-turrets might not've gotten the shutdown signal - but fast as you can. I want recon elements out at least two klicks, and everyone not loading in defensive posture. Something feels wrong here, Joss, and I'm not getting caught with my shorts down again."
"I'll move the DropShips in too; give us a base of fire to work with, and cut down time for loading whatever we steal," Vandel responded. "Recon screen's going out now, but we need to keep our air assets close to landing sites; Met Section has what looks like another storm system building up fast, moving in from the south."
"Send me the data." Jasek brought up the maps on one of his secondary screens; south meant the storm would hit SG Beta - which the Wolf Hunters were in the middle of looting - first. And - damn, it really was a true Gallerian storm, enough to force VTOLs and lighter aerospace fighters to ground, and broad enough to cover the advance of half the Royal Guards -
He stopped, feeling a sudden chill. Yes, the storm front would hide a major force, and something like that was exactly how Alaric liked to play things.
"Joss, get me a link to Alpha Kerensky, now," Jasek ordered. If I'm wrong, she'll never let me hear the end of it. But he could live with mockery, given the alternative.
"You sure about this, Kelswa?" Anastasia asked, running through the power-up sequence for her Savage Wolf's combat systems at speed.
"Sure, no," Jasek replied. The Steiner officer's frown deepened. "But we haven't run into any Wolf regulars, I'm assuming you haven't either -"
"We haven't," Anastasia agreed, inwardly cursing and kicking herself for not seeing that sooner.
"And this is exactly the kind of thing Alaric would use," Jasek finished. "Maybe he's just not going to fight it out, but I'm done underestimating him."
Anastasia nodded at that, studying topographical maps and her own memories. She'd paid close attention to Jasek's work at SG Epsilon; pretty standard Lyran tactics, but competently executed for all that they weren't subtle. That might lead Alaric to underestimate him - too much in love with his own cleverness, that one; even after she'd humbled him - the fact that Jasek was freeborn was certainly going to lower the Stormhammers in Alaric's priorities. Which meant her Wolf Hunters were going to be hit first, and hit hardest.
Oh well. That was what they were paid for.
"Listen up, Hunters," she called over general address. "It looks like Alaric Wolf's coming out to spar with us - after we've made free with his stores." She waited four long heartbeats. "Just like a Crusader to do everything backwards." There were chuckles at that. "He'll be swinging a mighty big hammer our way, and we're not going to be there when it lands. Support teams and battlesuit squads, back on the DropShips and get ready to lift. Artillery, and -" she designated three of her Hunters; all piloting slower assault machines, a Warhammer IIc, Mangonel and Stalker, "hold position here. Everyone else, form lances, and we hunt."
Swinging her Savage Wolf south, a Destroyer, Ocelot and Bellona forming with her, Anastasia found herself smiling. Win, lose or draw, this was going to be interesting. And, speaking of that …
"Hunter Alpha to Skyfire Central, requesting designation for fire mission." Always best to plan for if things went wrong.
"Skyfire Central receiving you, Hunter Alpha," the Stormhammer FDC replied. "My board is clear; call the ball."
"Prep for fire on these coordinates," Anastasia rattled off four map references, barely glancing at her map screen; these references she'd made sure to memorise. The locations of the four largest munitions and spare parts stockpiles her people hadn't had the time to strip. "Cruise missiles if you have them; if not, then Long Toms - high-ex, cluster and incendiary, in that order. Firing command is misericorde." Not a word likely to be used in casual comms chatter, and so perfect for what she had in mind.
"Fire mission locked and registered. Ready to go at your command, Alpha."
"Thank you much, Skyfire," Anastasia replied, as lightning crackled under the clouds to the south, followed a few moments later by the hollow boom of thunder. She laughed briefly; dramatic lighting, on top of everything else. It seemed the universe had a sense of humour after all.
Gallery was, Alaric Wolf had concluded after spending some time there, a world genuinely resentful of human occupation. And it baffled him as to why the Steiners maintained estates here. Unless it is out of stubbornness.
Though, he had to admit that there was a certain primal beauty to the storm-wracked perpetual twilight. From his Savage Wolf, now paused on a low rise, he could see clearly the flash of lightning casting blue-white shadows across the black underbelly of the clouds; rain, sleeting in at what seemed almost horizontal angles, glinted in the beams of vehicle headlights and 'Mech searchlights. Thousands of tons of armoured fighting machines - tanks, hovercraft, and BattleMechs, the last with battlesuited infantry clinging to them like infant simians - grinding across ground rapidly transitioning to mud. At the edge of the forests, a Gallerian night boar - a huge, shaggy male, with tusks that looked like they could carve through Elemental armour - bellowed a challenge, but displayed enough association with good sense not to try charging the Mars assault tank rumbling past it.
Alaric smiled. He liked the beast's spirit, and while he hadn't found the time yet, it would be interesting to hunt one in the traditional manner; on foot, with spears. Dangerous, to be sure, but the danger was the point. Victory without some measure of personal risk to achieve it was hollow; that was why he'd used himself as bait for the trap that slew Thaddeus Marik.
His mother wouldn't approve, of course, but that just meant not telling her what he planned. The thought of Katherine Steiner-Davion soured Alaric's good mood; it was past time for a reckoning between them, a reminder that he was not her pawn to be shoved around a board as she wished. And that his patience with her attempts to rule his life was rapidly coming to an end. That, above all else.
A tan-painted Jupiter with Zeta Galaxy markings joined him on the rise, the soft glow of a laser-link request at the centre of Alaric's comms board.
"Thinking deep thoughts, or just admiring the view?" Verena Wolf's sharp-edged Arc-Royal accent didn't hide the amusement in her voice, and it lifted some of the bleakness from Alaric's thoughts.
"Something of both, actually," Alaric replied, feeling a wistful cast to his emotions. He'd missed Verena; missed her far more than he'd realised. Having her around - for the first time in a long time, and he could see his mother's hand in the series of orders that had kept Verena far from Gallery - made Alaric feel … not complete, not precisely, but as though he'd been without something so fundamental he'd only realised it was missing when it was restored. "I was thinking on the settling of accounts."
"A fine thing, before battle," Verena smiled, gesturing with one of the Jupiter's fists. "But perhaps it is time to think less on it, and settle some of those accounts directly, quiaff?"
"Aff, that is so," Alaric agreed, instinctively falling into step with Verena's machine as,they rejoined the column. Just one of five such columns advancing under the storm's cover; all of Beta Galaxy, and the half of Zeta that had landed less than a week ago. And neither Anastasia Kerensky or the Lyrans knew they were there. They might suspect - Kerensky was nobody's fool; and for all his bullheadedness, Kelswa-Steiner could learn - but they didn't know, and their need for haste was their enemy in finding out.
Falling into the familiar rhythm of marching gave Alaric more space to think, which wasn't altogether a good thing. There were so many questions he'd found himself with of late; ones that he couldn't answer, and Alaric was starting to understand some of the odder philosophical texts he'd heard of speaking about how being alone with yourself was a punishment. His feelings for Verena, for a start; "love" wasn't something he truly understood, but the definitions he'd found from Spheroids - other than his mother, whose definition was far more self-serving - seemed to fit, and that unsettled him. Everything he'd been taught was that a trueborn Clan warrior wasn't supposed to feel that kind of intense, personal closeness, and that left him with no-one to talk about it with; no-one who'd understand, at least.
Then there was his father. Not for the first time, Alaric regretted that he'd never been able to meet Victor Davion, that all he knew of him was from the writings and recollections of others. Some, he could put aside as mere hagiography; others, as character assassination by jealous, lesser souls - the Capellan histories had been particularly amusing there. His mother's venomous remarks were rather less so; and the more Alaric learned about Victor, it seemed the less he understood him. How could a warrior who had commanded such power as Victor had, who could have ruled much of the Inner Sphere if he'd ever just reached out and taken it, be content - even happy - with a life little different from that of a mid-ranked labourer, as Victor apparently had been for the final decade of his life?
Alaric sighed, putting those thoughts to one side as he began sliding units into place. Maybe the purity of combat would help dispel some of his doubts.
Artillery fire screamed out of the sky, walking pillars of flame and earth and shattered trees across the leading edge of the Stormhammers' advance. Submunitions lacerated armour plating; one - a freak hit on the ammo bays - disintegrated a Shandra in an orange-white globe of flame.
"Storm Six to all Stormhammer elements, push forward, now," Jasek called, shoving his Templar's throttle to full; shouldering aside a tree, sensors already painting hostile contacts. "Get in under the guns before they can retask. Sierra Lance, make for the ridgeline and take out their spotters," he added, slamming twinned particle bolts into the chest of a Griffin IIc clearing the treeline ahead.
Stormhammer tanks and BattleMechs pounded forward, hammering into Wolf machines with beam fire, projectiles and missiles at close range. This was warfare at its most direct, two roughly even forces battering at each other with few or no options for manoeuvre - exactly the kind of battle that his instructors at the War College of Mars and the Nagelring had always taught Jasek to avoid, but sometimes you just didn't have a choice.
Hauptman Klein's Barghest raced up the slope, mud splattering away from its steel paws as Klein strafed light-calibre particle bolts and laser pulses across the Clan spotters' positions. Bounding forward on bursts of ion flame, the remainder of Sierra Lance - a Griffin and Rawhide - scattered inferno warheads from their multi-launchers along the ridgeline, burning cover away from the Wolf positions. Like demons rising from Hell, the angular forms of Black Wolf battlesuits swarmed up out of their positions and returned fire; one vanished in a snapping chain-detonation as a full-on PPC hit ignited their suit's reactive armour. The rest scattered, laserfire flashing out at the 'Mechs.
The Clan Griffin's tactical missiles struck at Jasek's Templar, fracturing armour layers across its chest, but the assault 'Mech had been built to take that kind of punishment. He laid down another full salvo, particle cannon and lasers, and Michaela Freeman's Atlas muscled in by his side. Lasers and autocannon shells joined the lightning bolts, stripping the last of the Griffin's torso protection; heat sinks burst in gushes of coolant, ammunition and the heavy laser in the shoulder mount blew apart, and white flared on thermals as fractures shredded the engine shielding. Explosive bolts triggered, blowing the cockpit shield free ahead of the ejection seat climbing on thruster flare; the Clanner pilot evidently willing to chance the storm on their parafoil rather than stick it out.
"Keep moving," Jasek suited actions to words, shouldering more trees aside. This was reckless, and he knew the Stormhammers were getting more and more strung out, and harder to command - especially with the jamming the Wolves were throwing out playing hell with long-range comms however many emitters his people found and destroyed - but there just wasn't time to play things carefully. "Kerensky, situation report."
Static filled the channel for a moment, before Anastasia's response came back.
"Getting pretty sporty here, Steiner," she replied, the scream of particle cannon underlying her words. "My people's ships are getting ready to lift, then the rest of the Hunters'll break out your way. I've got something personal to handle."
"Acknowledged. My people are at CR -" Jasek paused to check, "Thirteen-Twenty. We'll link up with your people soon as, and then-"
He didn't get a chance to finish before, bounding up again, Sierra Lance's Griffin seemed to trip in midair. As it folded backwards, crashing to the ground - the shattered cockpit module telling of a lethal Gauss hit - contact reports exploded across the short-range net.
"- Juliets Five and Nine are down, me and Seven are damaged! Where the hell did they -"
" Carstens, van Dijk, lay down fire left. We got two more incoming, out of the tunnels; they're dropping Toads -"
Hell and damnation. How many troops does he bloody have? "Cancel that, Kerensky. We've got our own problems. Be back in touch as and when."
"Don't take too long if you want a shot at Alaric, Steiner."
Confident as always. Wish I could say the same. His Templar took the slope ahead at full speed, stepping into line with Klein's Barghest, and giving Jasek a painfully clear view of just how bad the situation was.
And it was very bad indeed. Hidden by the storm and the jamming, what looked like the better part of two Clusters were pounding into his Stormhammers' flanks, preceded by a rain of artillery missiles - launch flashes of more, almost certainly from Huitzilopotchis, visible under the clouds - as dozens of BattleMechs and tanks drove forward. The variety was almost as shocking as the numbers, the very presence of them - Jasek's warbook flagged up modern and ancient Marik designs, the latest productions of the Wolves' own armouries and machines that hadn't been seen since the original Clan invasion - and they didn't show any sign of hesitation. Alaric must've cleared out their caches and stuffed everyone with both eyes who can fog a mirror into a cockpit, ran through Jasek's mind as he levelled particle beams at a Warwolf Charlie wearing Star Captain's insignia.
The Warwolf and its Starmates were game for a fight, it seemed, arrowing in for his command lance. Tactical missiles ripple-fired from its shoulder mounts, light range-enhanced warheads splintering armour all across the Templar while the heavy pulse laser clawed molten wounds low across its chest. He rode the loss of armour with practised skill, concentrating particle bolts on its already weakened torso.
Fast-cycling his particle cannon, Jasek found his breathing strained by the sudden wave of heat as more protection melted away over the Warwolf's heart. Just a few more shots, he thought, willing the straining fusion core to build power faster.
Return fire tore deeper into his 'Mech, high-yield warheads cracking open the armoured shell over his targeting computer and reducing the sophisticated machinery to a burnt-out wreck. Antoher burst within the Templar's chest cavity, shrapnel clawing at the gyro housing; Jasek stumbled for a moment, struggling to regain balance as the stabilisers went out of synch.
Heat-induced sluggishness and the loss of the t-comp's support made aiming a struggle, but Jasek forced the crosshairs into line, tying everything into his primary triggers. Laser beams, particle bolts and short-range missiles lashed out; missiles crumpling one of the Warwolf's shoulder-launchers, one lightning bolt arcing low and chewing a bite out of the leg armour. The rest hit dead-on the centre-line, dumping enough energy into it to burn through what was left of the Wolf machine's defences and turn the gyro to a river of semi-molten metal. The Clan machine took two steps before collapsing onto its front.
Slapping the emergency override button - cutting off the automatics' attempts to shut the 'Mech down - Jasek let the Templar cool. His lancemates were driving the lighter Clan machines back; a Mad Cat III crumpling under the autocannons of Leutnant Renfrew's Rifleman while the rest fell back. That gave him time to read sight and tactical displays, and assess the situation facing the Stormhammers.
That was better than he'd feared, but not by much. The Wolves had pushed deep into the Stormhammers' lines, and might be able to cut off and destroy the Archon's Shield if they didn't fall back and consolidate. Which in turn cut off any ability to get to the Wolf Hunters in time to do any damn good. We're going to lose too many people, even if we get away. Alaric has the devil's own damn luck! I…
Crackling static broke over his comms. "New contacts, repeat, new contacts bearing from southeast, through the storm! 'Mechs and fast armour; looks like at least another Cluster"
The course would put them on the flank of the second Wolf force, which was not good news at all for the Stormhammers. Yet there was nothing Jasek could do but continue his fighting withdrawal and save what he might. Save my command. That's what this has come down too. Save my command and hope the weeks we've bought from what supplies we have torched is enough to save Tharkad. On his tactical display he watched the Wolves' reinforcements come up on their flanks…
…and tear right into them.
"Visual contact with new force! They're not Wolves!" another voice called out. "I can just make out the colors… Davion Guards! It's the First Davion Guards!"
They came through after all. "Alright Stormhammers, about face! The Davions are hitting them in the ribs, let's kick their jaws in!" With that order he set his troops back into the fight, taking pressure of his endangered battalion and the newly-arriving Davion 'Mechs and tanks.
The storm's fury seemed determined to match that shown by Alaric's warriors and their foes, filling a sky choked by gray and black clouds with crackling lightning bolts every bit as luminescent as those generated by the PPCs employed on both sides. He left his warriors to their battles; he had one foe in mind, one enemy whom he was ready, finally, to face, and to defeat.
He found Anastasia Kerensky in a distorted mirror of his own Savage Wolf, armed with the typical configuration of Clan PPCs on the arms and SRM launchers with Streak capability in the pods above the shoulders, in contrast to his lasers and ATM launchers, and without his small pulse lasers for close-range bite. "Alaric Wolf." Her voice crackled over his comm speaker. "You went to a lot of trouble bringing me to this storm-covered rock. That eager for another lesson in defeat?"
"We have accounts to settle between us, you and I," he answered. "And," he added harshly, "levity in matters of honour is unseemly for a warrior."
"Not a one for humour in combat, then?" Anastasia replied, tone infuriatingly light. "That's the difference between us, Wolf; when I make my kills, I'm always laughing. Still, bargained well and done. Let's see what you've got." The Savage Wolf seemed almost to strut forward, arrogance in every motion.
"Dezgra bitch," Verena hissed. "She dishonors that name."
"See to the others. This one is mine." He said the words in full confidence she would accept, albeit grudgingly. He watched her machine step away and set his into motion towards Anastasia.
Just as she fired her main weapons, he shifted his gait to the left. One of the PPC bolts crashed against his upper arm, nearly destroying the armor protecting the limb in a bright flash of particles and light. The other missed. Judging the range, he opened up with his arm mounted lasers and missile pods, the latter loaded with salvos of the extended range ATMs. The lasers flashed sapphire light through the stormy air between them, punctuated by the lightning crossing the sky above. Her maneuvers threw off both of his shots, much to his frustration, causing only minor armor scorching on one foot in the brief moment of laser contact. The missiles streaked past and around her, half the salvo striking home to blast armor from her torso and left arm.
A second exchange quickly followed, then a third. Sweat beaded on Alaric's forehead after a PPC bolt crashed against his armor, just a couple meters to the right of his cockpit. His systems warned his armor was becoming compromised on that side, but it was not yet showing failure. He could endure a few more strikes. He had to endure.
I will not let her beat me again! Despite the range not being quite optimal for them, Alaric keyed his missile launchers to draw upon the ton of HE warhead tactical missiles his 'Mech carried. Sacrificing range for a greater payload that hit harder than a standard SRM, they would be quite effective assuming he could land enough on Anastasia's 'Mech.
It was quite the assumption to make given her skill, with the first missile volley flying wide of her Savage Wolf after a last moment maneuver and turn threw off the missiles' targeting lock. Growling, Alaric triggered his lasers yet again, ignoring the growing heat buildup of his machine for the satisfaction of finally landing a solid blow, both lasers cutting through the upper right arm of Anastasia's machine until the limb, and its weapon, dangled uselessly at her side.
She twisted her machine and raised the other arm. The PPC blast lit up his cockpit and, for the barest moment, he thought she might just have killed him. His machine rocked from the impact of the bolt and a warning light showed a partial armor breach over the fusion engine. Her shot had come low.
He knew he would never get another. He set his crosshairs on her machine and squeezed a trigger. A sapphire beam lanced through the air and hit nothing, the other machine twisting and ducking to avoid him.
Just as I wanted! He re-aligned the crosshairs and his fingers hit every other trigger at his disposal.
At this extreme range, the pulse lasers still hit well enough to bore away some of the armor, but it was the large laser that did the bulk of the work, shearing off the remaining armor on the 'Mech's left leg. Twelve powerful tactical missiles billowed from his missile pods, their rockets driving them through the pounding rain and the lighting above towards their appointed target, on-board avionics controls responding to the targeting system and adjusting their course mid-flight. Two of them yet flew wide, hitting the ground beyond, but ten struck Anastasia's machine straight on, blasting away chunks of armor across her body.
Save the three missiles that hit the Savage Wolf's damaged leg. The armor there was too thin to resist them. Explosions sent burning myomer and electronic cabling into the air instead. The leg crumpled, and down the 'Mech went.
Alaric struck quickly, closing and firing his lasers into her remaining arm as Anastasia struggled to right her 'Mech. Sapphire scalpels sliced away armor and myomer and the steel bones beneath, at which point the limb snapped just above the elbow. The mangled Savage Wolf collapsed, and could provide no resistance as Alaric finished disarming the machine. He stomped up in his 'Mech and leveled his arms on the cockpit. "You are beaten, Anastasia Kerensky. Now yield."
Within her toppled, helpless machine, Anastasia frowned at herself. So here I am. He's gotten better than I expected. Well, better see to it. "Skyfire Central, misericorde. I repeat, misericorde. Fire and get the hell out of here."
"Confirmed, Hunter Alpha."
She switched to the general address frequency. As her finger wrapped on the switch she considered refusing. After all she'd done to Alaric before, when he was under her power, she could expect no better. Perhaps even worse.
But so long as I am alive, I may have a chance to fight again. He'll have need of strong warriors.
She triggered the switch. "I yield, Alaric Wolf." She triggered her machine's shutdown sequence, watching through the rain-spattered canopy of her cockpit at the looming shape of Alaric's Savage Wolf. "The tables have truly turned. You have come far."
Alaric slipped his fingers away from the firing triggers on his control joysticks. She will seek to be one of my warriors, and she may even attain that soon enough. We have need of them. "I have farther still to go."
"Galaxy Commander, Staging Grounds Delta, Zeta, Eta, and Theta have all been hit by heavy artillery fire. I am afraid we've lost over ninety percent of the supplies in each."
Alaric smiled grimly at the news. "See to whatever wounded are on site, and recover what you can. All forces, continue engagement, drive the enemy before you." He swapped back to the general channel. "Even in defeat, you seek to vex me. You had my remaining supply posts in this region under artillery targeting the entire time."
"I came to do a job, Alaric. And when I give my word, I see it through to the end. That is my honour. Will you accept it for what it is, or is yours cheap enough that you're going to kill me after all?"
"I will gladly do the honors!" Verena offered hotly.
"No. You are my bondswoman, and you will not escape your service to the true Clan Wolf that easily, Anastasia Kerensky," Alaric answered. "You will be of use for the campaign to capture Tharkad."
"You figure you can afford the Foxes' rates? Or that they'll have a fire sale of sorts? You lost enough munitions to keep two Galaxies fighting for a month!"
"We may buy some replenishment from them, but we will not require much. By this summer, Tharkad will be the latest prize of the Wolf Clan. And you will be there to see it."
Jasek met Julian Davion in the twin shadows of Himmelstor and Markesan Pride. Eventually, he knew - assuming the Commonwealth survived - some jackass was going to paint this meeting, and they were inevitably going to pretty it up; putting him and Julian in full regimentals rather than the shared uniform of shorts and battledress jackets over cooling vests. Probably cleaning up the damage and battle scars on their twinned Templars - one in blue and silver, the other Davion's personal crimson and gold - as well. Julian had the look of someone still adjusting to being under gravity again after a long voyage by JumpShip. Given he's come across half the Inner Sphere, I can't be surprised. "Well, Julian. It's been a while, and I'm damn glad to see you. Gladder that you managed to get here in time."
"Eight years since Terra, and we're neither of us who we were then." Julian nodded, his blond hair still matted down from the neurohelmet he'd just so recently removed. "Responsibility looks like it's done you good, Jasek. As for getting here in time, well," he offered a soft, self-deprecatory smile, "Admiral Moon has a very skilled staff engineer. And one day, if I'm lucky, she may be willing to speak to me again. Most of the Guards are still on their way to Tharkad, but I've got enough of our naval escorts here to keep the Wolves from getting any ideas."
"It's about time something broke our way," Jasek half-snarled. "We'd heard Zeta Galaxy was held up by sabotage to their JumpShips, but we've identified at least half of their clusters among Alaric's troops here. We already knew this whole damn thing was a trap, but even that caught us by surprise. And now…" He shook his head. "...now we've lost Anastasia Kerensky on top of everything else. She was the one thing keeping the Wolves on their toes. They've got nothing to worry about before hitting Tharkad."
"It's a loss, but it could have been worse - it could've been a lot worse, and we both know that," Julian replied, in an unshakeably reasonable tone, "and we've bought some time with all the supplies we hit."
"Not anywhere near enough damage, going by our people we pulled out of the tunnels," Jasek forced himself to stay calm, and not shout, however frustrating Davion's calm facade was right now. "They've been watching the Wolves since we had to leave them behind, and going by their counts, we've only inconvenienced them. Maybe cost them a month or two at most. And we don't have time to go after Alaric's other caches, not if he's got Zeta Galaxy on hand too." Getting his frustrations out helped, but ultimately it left him facing them regardless. "Well, we do what we have to, and right now that's getting the hell out of here and back to Tharkad." Jasek extended a hand. "Thanks again for showing up. And, on behalf of the Lyran Commonwealth, welcome to our war, Marshal Davion."
Julian accepted the hand without hesitation. "Proud to be here."
Wolf Empire Staging Ground Epsilon
Gallery, Donegal Province
Lyran Commonwealth (Disputed)
15 February 3143
The Wolf veteran commanding SG Epsilon's defences did their best. Outnumbered and outgunned, they were clearly determined to do as much damage as possible before going down.
Jasek Kelswa-Steiner swore, ducking his Templar under a stream of light-calibre autocannon shells. Snarling more oaths that would have horrified his long-ago etiquette tutors — and ignoring obscene commentary from Sergeant Dunleavy as the sudden motion knocked her squad of Gnome troopers loose — he sent twin particle bolts and a volley of SRMs lashing down the alley; blasting the auto-turret into a burnt out shell. Ammunition began to cook off in a series of sharp cracks.
"Storm Six to Ranger Six," Jasek ground out, forcing calm into his voice as he resumed the advance, his guard lance close behind. "Petrucci, I thought your people had swept CR Twelve-Twenty-four."
"We did," Antonio Petrucci's voice came back, underlined by the hammering roar of his Schmitt's autocannon at maximum rate. A glance at the tactical feed showed he was blasting the Clanners out of their fortified barracks blocks. "But the Wolves randomised the activation timers for those damn auto-turrets, and they're battery-powered. Until their targeting systems go live, there's no way short of walking every alley to know if we've gotten them all; and we don't have the time, General."
"Understood," Jasek acknowledged, before cutting the link. Saying anything more would have just left him swearing at Petrucci, and that wouldn't be fair to the Colonel or his troops. The Lyran Rangers had done everything they'd been ordered to and done it well, but right now the Stormhammers were supposed to be looting SG Epsilon of everything the support units could carry, not still trying to clear the Wolves out. And it felt like every second of time the dangerously close pirate point emergence had bought them was slipping away, faster and faster.
If he found them, if they survived, he was either going to strangle the solahma officer leading this dance, or shake their hand and offer them a job. They'd mauled the leading companies of the Lyran Rangers badly, then — rather than stand and die as the rest of the Stormhammers came up — scattered their Trinary, and those damn turrets, through the staging ground, fighting a running battle Jasek wouldn't risk sending his support teams into. If more Lyran officers had that kind of guts — especially the sort needed for a Clanner to play for time, rather than a heroic death — and skill, they might not have lost Gallery in the first place.
Still, we're winning. They'd sectioned the camp, accounted for most of the Supernova Trinary stationed here, and —
"Contact left," Leutnant Shawcross called out. Her Battlemaster's particle batteries lit off in the same moment, banishing Gallery's twilight for an instant in blue-white strobes. The flat thunderclap of a Gauss shot riposted, shattering away armour low on the assault 'Mech's torso.
- and I figured hanging myself out as bait was going to get results, Jasek noted, swinging his Templar around. Four BattleMechs, a squad of battle armour; and led by a Clan-mod Victor. Everything the Wolves here had left, and aiming for the throat as their last throw of the dice. Just as planned.
"Blue Company, White Company, close the box," Jasek ordered, smashing a Wraith suit out of the air with a particle bolt. Icons moved on his tactical display, collapsing inward around the Wolves, while Dunleavy and her squad traded laser beams and SRMs with the remaining Wraiths' machine-gun fire.
"Keep your IFF transponders live, and watch your fire," he added, targeting computer painting potential weaknesses up and down the Victor. The last thing they needed right now was friendly fire, and that was all too possible in this kind of close-quarters brawl. "Shawcross, step out left!"
Beamfire and projectiles interlaced, tearing back and forth through tents, repair silos and buildings. A close range slugging match; the Clan machines had heavy firepower, but aside from the Victor, none of them were heavier than an old-style Black Hawk, and all visibly damaged already. His guard lance's lightest machine was an Eight-Delta Rifleman, fifteen tons heavier, and they were all but untouched.
Shawcross' Battlemaster stepped aside, rounding on the Black Hawk, and for a moment Templar and Victor stood facing one another, an island of calm in the storm.
"I offer you hegira, Star Captain in recognition of an honourable foe," Jasek sent over general address, keeping his machine loose and ready to move. It was worth a shot, even if he didn't expect it to work; and the formalities had to be observed.
"I am Eltar, of the Vickers Bloodheritage," the Victor executed a neat, almost courtly bow; fitting to the quiet dignity of the Wolf warrior's voice. "And I regret I cannot accept your honourable offer, General Jasek. But, my duty compels me to fight to the finish."
"Understood," Jasek replied, thumbing his targeting system to full-active, and drawing the aim-point to the Wolf machine's hip. Disable if I can - a warrior this good deserved better than to be wasted for Alaric's pride. "Battle it is, then." With that, he fired.
Eltar was already moving, jumpjets flaring as they shoved the Victor sideways, fast enough that even the targeting computer couldn't compensate fully. One of Jasek's particle beams went wide, the lightning bolt grounding itself in a prefab hut; the other flaying away thigh armour in semi-molten composite.
The Victor staggered for a moment; nearly fell. Then it set itself, and returned fire.
Twin laser beams cut gem-bright lines across his Templar's broad shoulders, one close enough to the low-slung cockpit to leave a black burn scar along the ferroglass panels. Streak-guided warheads burst up and down one leg, knee actuator flashing yellow and forcing Jasek to compensate for the sudden loss of stability; and the blur of a Gauss rifle slug snapped away the left arm medium laser like a twig in an Elemental's battleclaw.
Taking a step back, Jasek locked everything that could range into his primary trigger, sliding the crosshairs over the Victor's left hip. A wave of heat accompanied collimated lances of azure fire and a stabbing pale blue laser beam savaging the already-wounded armour there, punching deep wounds in the titanium bones beneath. Twin short-range missiles struck high on the torso, splintering armour just below the Victor's missile launcher; a third went wide.
And the fourth hit home, shattering the hip joint. The Victor's own weight finished the job, metal shearing, the unholy shriek lost in the deep thud of the 'Mech's collapse onto its back.
"Star Captain Eltar," Jasek limped his Templar over to the downed Victor. The rest of the Wolves were down; the Black Hawk falling under a combined barrage of particle bolts and autocannon shells even as he watched. "I hereby claim you as my bondsman, and this staging ground as my isorla. Yield." Don't make me kill you, old man.
"I yield," the Star Captain responded, voice slurred by pain. "I am transmitting the stand-down code for the turret defences now."
"Thank you," Jasek said the words with feeling as he summoned a casevac team; under strict terms, Eltar hadn't had to do that, but it certainly made things a lot easier. "Dunleavy, keep an eye on the Star Captain until the medics get here. And don't hurt him," he added; Dunleavy was a good soldier, but the campaigns against the Jade Falcons had etched hate for the Clans deep in her, "he's a Stormhammer now."
Acknowledgement came back, and Jasek put it from his mind as he studied the tactical feeds. It didn't seem like there was anything wrong, on the surface, but the lack of any Wolf regulars had him worried. They'd definitely been here, recently, and Alaric didn't think in straight lines. He thought in curves; Jasek had found himself on the receiving end of that on Uhuru.
"Shield Six, this is Storm Six," he brought up the link to Joss Vandel's mobile HQ. "Start moving the support teams in now. Cautious - some of the auto-turrets might not've gotten the shutdown signal - but fast as you can. I want recon elements out at least two klicks, and everyone not loading in defensive posture. Something feels wrong here, Joss, and I'm not getting caught with my shorts down again."
"I'll move the DropShips in too; give us a base of fire to work with, and cut down time for loading whatever we steal," Vandel responded. "Recon screen's going out now, but we need to keep our air assets close to landing sites; Met Section has what looks like another storm system building up fast, moving in from the south."
"Send me the data." Jasek brought up the maps on one of his secondary screens; south meant the storm would hit SG Beta - which the Wolf Hunters were in the middle of looting - first. And - damn, it really was a true Gallerian storm, enough to force VTOLs and lighter aerospace fighters to ground, and broad enough to cover the advance of half the Royal Guards -
He stopped, feeling a sudden chill. Yes, the storm front would hide a major force, and something like that was exactly how Alaric liked to play things.
"Joss, get me a link to Alpha Kerensky, now," Jasek ordered. If I'm wrong, she'll never let me hear the end of it. But he could live with mockery, given the alternative.
"You sure about this, Kelswa?" Anastasia asked, running through the power-up sequence for her Savage Wolf's combat systems at speed.
"Sure, no," Jasek replied. The Steiner officer's frown deepened. "But we haven't run into any Wolf regulars, I'm assuming you haven't either -"
"We haven't," Anastasia agreed, inwardly cursing and kicking herself for not seeing that sooner.
"And this is exactly the kind of thing Alaric would use," Jasek finished. "Maybe he's just not going to fight it out, but I'm done underestimating him."
Anastasia nodded at that, studying topographical maps and her own memories. She'd paid close attention to Jasek's work at SG Epsilon; pretty standard Lyran tactics, but competently executed for all that they weren't subtle. That might lead Alaric to underestimate him - too much in love with his own cleverness, that one; even after she'd humbled him - the fact that Jasek was freeborn was certainly going to lower the Stormhammers in Alaric's priorities. Which meant her Wolf Hunters were going to be hit first, and hit hardest.
Oh well. That was what they were paid for.
"Listen up, Hunters," she called over general address. "It looks like Alaric Wolf's coming out to spar with us - after we've made free with his stores." She waited four long heartbeats. "Just like a Crusader to do everything backwards." There were chuckles at that. "He'll be swinging a mighty big hammer our way, and we're not going to be there when it lands. Support teams and battlesuit squads, back on the DropShips and get ready to lift. Artillery, and -" she designated three of her Hunters; all piloting slower assault machines, a Warhammer IIc, Mangonel and Stalker, "hold position here. Everyone else, form lances, and we hunt."
Swinging her Savage Wolf south, a Destroyer, Ocelot and Bellona forming with her, Anastasia found herself smiling. Win, lose or draw, this was going to be interesting. And, speaking of that …
"Hunter Alpha to Skyfire Central, requesting designation for fire mission." Always best to plan for if things went wrong.
"Skyfire Central receiving you, Hunter Alpha," the Stormhammer FDC replied. "My board is clear; call the ball."
"Prep for fire on these coordinates," Anastasia rattled off four map references, barely glancing at her map screen; these references she'd made sure to memorise. The locations of the four largest munitions and spare parts stockpiles her people hadn't had the time to strip. "Cruise missiles if you have them; if not, then Long Toms - high-ex, cluster and incendiary, in that order. Firing command is misericorde." Not a word likely to be used in casual comms chatter, and so perfect for what she had in mind.
"Fire mission locked and registered. Ready to go at your command, Alpha."
"Thank you much, Skyfire," Anastasia replied, as lightning crackled under the clouds to the south, followed a few moments later by the hollow boom of thunder. She laughed briefly; dramatic lighting, on top of everything else. It seemed the universe had a sense of humour after all.
Gallery was, Alaric Wolf had concluded after spending some time there, a world genuinely resentful of human occupation. And it baffled him as to why the Steiners maintained estates here. Unless it is out of stubbornness.
Though, he had to admit that there was a certain primal beauty to the storm-wracked perpetual twilight. From his Savage Wolf, now paused on a low rise, he could see clearly the flash of lightning casting blue-white shadows across the black underbelly of the clouds; rain, sleeting in at what seemed almost horizontal angles, glinted in the beams of vehicle headlights and 'Mech searchlights. Thousands of tons of armoured fighting machines - tanks, hovercraft, and BattleMechs, the last with battlesuited infantry clinging to them like infant simians - grinding across ground rapidly transitioning to mud. At the edge of the forests, a Gallerian night boar - a huge, shaggy male, with tusks that looked like they could carve through Elemental armour - bellowed a challenge, but displayed enough association with good sense not to try charging the Mars assault tank rumbling past it.
Alaric smiled. He liked the beast's spirit, and while he hadn't found the time yet, it would be interesting to hunt one in the traditional manner; on foot, with spears. Dangerous, to be sure, but the danger was the point. Victory without some measure of personal risk to achieve it was hollow; that was why he'd used himself as bait for the trap that slew Thaddeus Marik.
His mother wouldn't approve, of course, but that just meant not telling her what he planned. The thought of Katherine Steiner-Davion soured Alaric's good mood; it was past time for a reckoning between them, a reminder that he was not her pawn to be shoved around a board as she wished. And that his patience with her attempts to rule his life was rapidly coming to an end. That, above all else.
A tan-painted Jupiter with Zeta Galaxy markings joined him on the rise, the soft glow of a laser-link request at the centre of Alaric's comms board.
"Thinking deep thoughts, or just admiring the view?" Verena Wolf's sharp-edged Arc-Royal accent didn't hide the amusement in her voice, and it lifted some of the bleakness from Alaric's thoughts.
"Something of both, actually," Alaric replied, feeling a wistful cast to his emotions. He'd missed Verena; missed her far more than he'd realised. Having her around - for the first time in a long time, and he could see his mother's hand in the series of orders that had kept Verena far from Gallery - made Alaric feel … not complete, not precisely, but as though he'd been without something so fundamental he'd only realised it was missing when it was restored. "I was thinking on the settling of accounts."
"A fine thing, before battle," Verena smiled, gesturing with one of the Jupiter's fists. "But perhaps it is time to think less on it, and settle some of those accounts directly, quiaff?"
"Aff, that is so," Alaric agreed, instinctively falling into step with Verena's machine as,they rejoined the column. Just one of five such columns advancing under the storm's cover; all of Beta Galaxy, and the half of Zeta that had landed less than a week ago. And neither Anastasia Kerensky or the Lyrans knew they were there. They might suspect - Kerensky was nobody's fool; and for all his bullheadedness, Kelswa-Steiner could learn - but they didn't know, and their need for haste was their enemy in finding out.
Falling into the familiar rhythm of marching gave Alaric more space to think, which wasn't altogether a good thing. There were so many questions he'd found himself with of late; ones that he couldn't answer, and Alaric was starting to understand some of the odder philosophical texts he'd heard of speaking about how being alone with yourself was a punishment. His feelings for Verena, for a start; "love" wasn't something he truly understood, but the definitions he'd found from Spheroids - other than his mother, whose definition was far more self-serving - seemed to fit, and that unsettled him. Everything he'd been taught was that a trueborn Clan warrior wasn't supposed to feel that kind of intense, personal closeness, and that left him with no-one to talk about it with; no-one who'd understand, at least.
Then there was his father. Not for the first time, Alaric regretted that he'd never been able to meet Victor Davion, that all he knew of him was from the writings and recollections of others. Some, he could put aside as mere hagiography; others, as character assassination by jealous, lesser souls - the Capellan histories had been particularly amusing there. His mother's venomous remarks were rather less so; and the more Alaric learned about Victor, it seemed the less he understood him. How could a warrior who had commanded such power as Victor had, who could have ruled much of the Inner Sphere if he'd ever just reached out and taken it, be content - even happy - with a life little different from that of a mid-ranked labourer, as Victor apparently had been for the final decade of his life?
Alaric sighed, putting those thoughts to one side as he began sliding units into place. Maybe the purity of combat would help dispel some of his doubts.
Artillery fire screamed out of the sky, walking pillars of flame and earth and shattered trees across the leading edge of the Stormhammers' advance. Submunitions lacerated armour plating; one - a freak hit on the ammo bays - disintegrated a Shandra in an orange-white globe of flame.
"Storm Six to all Stormhammer elements, push forward, now," Jasek called, shoving his Templar's throttle to full; shouldering aside a tree, sensors already painting hostile contacts. "Get in under the guns before they can retask. Sierra Lance, make for the ridgeline and take out their spotters," he added, slamming twinned particle bolts into the chest of a Griffin IIc clearing the treeline ahead.
Stormhammer tanks and BattleMechs pounded forward, hammering into Wolf machines with beam fire, projectiles and missiles at close range. This was warfare at its most direct, two roughly even forces battering at each other with few or no options for manoeuvre - exactly the kind of battle that his instructors at the War College of Mars and the Nagelring had always taught Jasek to avoid, but sometimes you just didn't have a choice.
Hauptman Klein's Barghest raced up the slope, mud splattering away from its steel paws as Klein strafed light-calibre particle bolts and laser pulses across the Clan spotters' positions. Bounding forward on bursts of ion flame, the remainder of Sierra Lance - a Griffin and Rawhide - scattered inferno warheads from their multi-launchers along the ridgeline, burning cover away from the Wolf positions. Like demons rising from Hell, the angular forms of Black Wolf battlesuits swarmed up out of their positions and returned fire; one vanished in a snapping chain-detonation as a full-on PPC hit ignited their suit's reactive armour. The rest scattered, laserfire flashing out at the 'Mechs.
The Clan Griffin's tactical missiles struck at Jasek's Templar, fracturing armour layers across its chest, but the assault 'Mech had been built to take that kind of punishment. He laid down another full salvo, particle cannon and lasers, and Michaela Freeman's Atlas muscled in by his side. Lasers and autocannon shells joined the lightning bolts, stripping the last of the Griffin's torso protection; heat sinks burst in gushes of coolant, ammunition and the heavy laser in the shoulder mount blew apart, and white flared on thermals as fractures shredded the engine shielding. Explosive bolts triggered, blowing the cockpit shield free ahead of the ejection seat climbing on thruster flare; the Clanner pilot evidently willing to chance the storm on their parafoil rather than stick it out.
"Keep moving," Jasek suited actions to words, shouldering more trees aside. This was reckless, and he knew the Stormhammers were getting more and more strung out, and harder to command - especially with the jamming the Wolves were throwing out playing hell with long-range comms however many emitters his people found and destroyed - but there just wasn't time to play things carefully. "Kerensky, situation report."
Static filled the channel for a moment, before Anastasia's response came back.
"Getting pretty sporty here, Steiner," she replied, the scream of particle cannon underlying her words. "My people's ships are getting ready to lift, then the rest of the Hunters'll break out your way. I've got something personal to handle."
"Acknowledged. My people are at CR -" Jasek paused to check, "Thirteen-Twenty. We'll link up with your people soon as, and then-"
He didn't get a chance to finish before, bounding up again, Sierra Lance's Griffin seemed to trip in midair. As it folded backwards, crashing to the ground - the shattered cockpit module telling of a lethal Gauss hit - contact reports exploded across the short-range net.
"- Juliets Five and Nine are down, me and Seven are damaged! Where the hell did they -"
" Carstens, van Dijk, lay down fire left. We got two more incoming, out of the tunnels; they're dropping Toads -"
Hell and damnation. How many troops does he bloody have? "Cancel that, Kerensky. We've got our own problems. Be back in touch as and when."
"Don't take too long if you want a shot at Alaric, Steiner."
Confident as always. Wish I could say the same. His Templar took the slope ahead at full speed, stepping into line with Klein's Barghest, and giving Jasek a painfully clear view of just how bad the situation was.
And it was very bad indeed. Hidden by the storm and the jamming, what looked like the better part of two Clusters were pounding into his Stormhammers' flanks, preceded by a rain of artillery missiles - launch flashes of more, almost certainly from Huitzilopotchis, visible under the clouds - as dozens of BattleMechs and tanks drove forward. The variety was almost as shocking as the numbers, the very presence of them - Jasek's warbook flagged up modern and ancient Marik designs, the latest productions of the Wolves' own armouries and machines that hadn't been seen since the original Clan invasion - and they didn't show any sign of hesitation. Alaric must've cleared out their caches and stuffed everyone with both eyes who can fog a mirror into a cockpit, ran through Jasek's mind as he levelled particle beams at a Warwolf Charlie wearing Star Captain's insignia.
The Warwolf and its Starmates were game for a fight, it seemed, arrowing in for his command lance. Tactical missiles ripple-fired from its shoulder mounts, light range-enhanced warheads splintering armour all across the Templar while the heavy pulse laser clawed molten wounds low across its chest. He rode the loss of armour with practised skill, concentrating particle bolts on its already weakened torso.
Fast-cycling his particle cannon, Jasek found his breathing strained by the sudden wave of heat as more protection melted away over the Warwolf's heart. Just a few more shots, he thought, willing the straining fusion core to build power faster.
Return fire tore deeper into his 'Mech, high-yield warheads cracking open the armoured shell over his targeting computer and reducing the sophisticated machinery to a burnt-out wreck. Antoher burst within the Templar's chest cavity, shrapnel clawing at the gyro housing; Jasek stumbled for a moment, struggling to regain balance as the stabilisers went out of synch.
Heat-induced sluggishness and the loss of the t-comp's support made aiming a struggle, but Jasek forced the crosshairs into line, tying everything into his primary triggers. Laser beams, particle bolts and short-range missiles lashed out; missiles crumpling one of the Warwolf's shoulder-launchers, one lightning bolt arcing low and chewing a bite out of the leg armour. The rest hit dead-on the centre-line, dumping enough energy into it to burn through what was left of the Wolf machine's defences and turn the gyro to a river of semi-molten metal. The Clan machine took two steps before collapsing onto its front.
Slapping the emergency override button - cutting off the automatics' attempts to shut the 'Mech down - Jasek let the Templar cool. His lancemates were driving the lighter Clan machines back; a Mad Cat III crumpling under the autocannons of Leutnant Renfrew's Rifleman while the rest fell back. That gave him time to read sight and tactical displays, and assess the situation facing the Stormhammers.
That was better than he'd feared, but not by much. The Wolves had pushed deep into the Stormhammers' lines, and might be able to cut off and destroy the Archon's Shield if they didn't fall back and consolidate. Which in turn cut off any ability to get to the Wolf Hunters in time to do any damn good. We're going to lose too many people, even if we get away. Alaric has the devil's own damn luck! I…
Crackling static broke over his comms. "New contacts, repeat, new contacts bearing from southeast, through the storm! 'Mechs and fast armour; looks like at least another Cluster"
The course would put them on the flank of the second Wolf force, which was not good news at all for the Stormhammers. Yet there was nothing Jasek could do but continue his fighting withdrawal and save what he might. Save my command. That's what this has come down too. Save my command and hope the weeks we've bought from what supplies we have torched is enough to save Tharkad. On his tactical display he watched the Wolves' reinforcements come up on their flanks…
…and tear right into them.
"Visual contact with new force! They're not Wolves!" another voice called out. "I can just make out the colors… Davion Guards! It's the First Davion Guards!"
They came through after all. "Alright Stormhammers, about face! The Davions are hitting them in the ribs, let's kick their jaws in!" With that order he set his troops back into the fight, taking pressure of his endangered battalion and the newly-arriving Davion 'Mechs and tanks.
The storm's fury seemed determined to match that shown by Alaric's warriors and their foes, filling a sky choked by gray and black clouds with crackling lightning bolts every bit as luminescent as those generated by the PPCs employed on both sides. He left his warriors to their battles; he had one foe in mind, one enemy whom he was ready, finally, to face, and to defeat.
He found Anastasia Kerensky in a distorted mirror of his own Savage Wolf, armed with the typical configuration of Clan PPCs on the arms and SRM launchers with Streak capability in the pods above the shoulders, in contrast to his lasers and ATM launchers, and without his small pulse lasers for close-range bite. "Alaric Wolf." Her voice crackled over his comm speaker. "You went to a lot of trouble bringing me to this storm-covered rock. That eager for another lesson in defeat?"
"We have accounts to settle between us, you and I," he answered. "And," he added harshly, "levity in matters of honour is unseemly for a warrior."
"Not a one for humour in combat, then?" Anastasia replied, tone infuriatingly light. "That's the difference between us, Wolf; when I make my kills, I'm always laughing. Still, bargained well and done. Let's see what you've got." The Savage Wolf seemed almost to strut forward, arrogance in every motion.
"Dezgra bitch," Verena hissed. "She dishonors that name."
"See to the others. This one is mine." He said the words in full confidence she would accept, albeit grudgingly. He watched her machine step away and set his into motion towards Anastasia.
Just as she fired her main weapons, he shifted his gait to the left. One of the PPC bolts crashed against his upper arm, nearly destroying the armor protecting the limb in a bright flash of particles and light. The other missed. Judging the range, he opened up with his arm mounted lasers and missile pods, the latter loaded with salvos of the extended range ATMs. The lasers flashed sapphire light through the stormy air between them, punctuated by the lightning crossing the sky above. Her maneuvers threw off both of his shots, much to his frustration, causing only minor armor scorching on one foot in the brief moment of laser contact. The missiles streaked past and around her, half the salvo striking home to blast armor from her torso and left arm.
A second exchange quickly followed, then a third. Sweat beaded on Alaric's forehead after a PPC bolt crashed against his armor, just a couple meters to the right of his cockpit. His systems warned his armor was becoming compromised on that side, but it was not yet showing failure. He could endure a few more strikes. He had to endure.
I will not let her beat me again! Despite the range not being quite optimal for them, Alaric keyed his missile launchers to draw upon the ton of HE warhead tactical missiles his 'Mech carried. Sacrificing range for a greater payload that hit harder than a standard SRM, they would be quite effective assuming he could land enough on Anastasia's 'Mech.
It was quite the assumption to make given her skill, with the first missile volley flying wide of her Savage Wolf after a last moment maneuver and turn threw off the missiles' targeting lock. Growling, Alaric triggered his lasers yet again, ignoring the growing heat buildup of his machine for the satisfaction of finally landing a solid blow, both lasers cutting through the upper right arm of Anastasia's machine until the limb, and its weapon, dangled uselessly at her side.
She twisted her machine and raised the other arm. The PPC blast lit up his cockpit and, for the barest moment, he thought she might just have killed him. His machine rocked from the impact of the bolt and a warning light showed a partial armor breach over the fusion engine. Her shot had come low.
He knew he would never get another. He set his crosshairs on her machine and squeezed a trigger. A sapphire beam lanced through the air and hit nothing, the other machine twisting and ducking to avoid him.
Just as I wanted! He re-aligned the crosshairs and his fingers hit every other trigger at his disposal.
At this extreme range, the pulse lasers still hit well enough to bore away some of the armor, but it was the large laser that did the bulk of the work, shearing off the remaining armor on the 'Mech's left leg. Twelve powerful tactical missiles billowed from his missile pods, their rockets driving them through the pounding rain and the lighting above towards their appointed target, on-board avionics controls responding to the targeting system and adjusting their course mid-flight. Two of them yet flew wide, hitting the ground beyond, but ten struck Anastasia's machine straight on, blasting away chunks of armor across her body.
Save the three missiles that hit the Savage Wolf's damaged leg. The armor there was too thin to resist them. Explosions sent burning myomer and electronic cabling into the air instead. The leg crumpled, and down the 'Mech went.
Alaric struck quickly, closing and firing his lasers into her remaining arm as Anastasia struggled to right her 'Mech. Sapphire scalpels sliced away armor and myomer and the steel bones beneath, at which point the limb snapped just above the elbow. The mangled Savage Wolf collapsed, and could provide no resistance as Alaric finished disarming the machine. He stomped up in his 'Mech and leveled his arms on the cockpit. "You are beaten, Anastasia Kerensky. Now yield."
Within her toppled, helpless machine, Anastasia frowned at herself. So here I am. He's gotten better than I expected. Well, better see to it. "Skyfire Central, misericorde. I repeat, misericorde. Fire and get the hell out of here."
"Confirmed, Hunter Alpha."
She switched to the general address frequency. As her finger wrapped on the switch she considered refusing. After all she'd done to Alaric before, when he was under her power, she could expect no better. Perhaps even worse.
But so long as I am alive, I may have a chance to fight again. He'll have need of strong warriors.
She triggered the switch. "I yield, Alaric Wolf." She triggered her machine's shutdown sequence, watching through the rain-spattered canopy of her cockpit at the looming shape of Alaric's Savage Wolf. "The tables have truly turned. You have come far."
Alaric slipped his fingers away from the firing triggers on his control joysticks. She will seek to be one of my warriors, and she may even attain that soon enough. We have need of them. "I have farther still to go."
"Galaxy Commander, Staging Grounds Delta, Zeta, Eta, and Theta have all been hit by heavy artillery fire. I am afraid we've lost over ninety percent of the supplies in each."
Alaric smiled grimly at the news. "See to whatever wounded are on site, and recover what you can. All forces, continue engagement, drive the enemy before you." He swapped back to the general channel. "Even in defeat, you seek to vex me. You had my remaining supply posts in this region under artillery targeting the entire time."
"I came to do a job, Alaric. And when I give my word, I see it through to the end. That is my honour. Will you accept it for what it is, or is yours cheap enough that you're going to kill me after all?"
"I will gladly do the honors!" Verena offered hotly.
"No. You are my bondswoman, and you will not escape your service to the true Clan Wolf that easily, Anastasia Kerensky," Alaric answered. "You will be of use for the campaign to capture Tharkad."
"You figure you can afford the Foxes' rates? Or that they'll have a fire sale of sorts? You lost enough munitions to keep two Galaxies fighting for a month!"
"We may buy some replenishment from them, but we will not require much. By this summer, Tharkad will be the latest prize of the Wolf Clan. And you will be there to see it."
Jasek met Julian Davion in the twin shadows of Himmelstor and Markesan Pride. Eventually, he knew - assuming the Commonwealth survived - some jackass was going to paint this meeting, and they were inevitably going to pretty it up; putting him and Julian in full regimentals rather than the shared uniform of shorts and battledress jackets over cooling vests. Probably cleaning up the damage and battle scars on their twinned Templars - one in blue and silver, the other Davion's personal crimson and gold - as well. Julian had the look of someone still adjusting to being under gravity again after a long voyage by JumpShip. Given he's come across half the Inner Sphere, I can't be surprised. "Well, Julian. It's been a while, and I'm damn glad to see you. Gladder that you managed to get here in time."
"Eight years since Terra, and we're neither of us who we were then." Julian nodded, his blond hair still matted down from the neurohelmet he'd just so recently removed. "Responsibility looks like it's done you good, Jasek. As for getting here in time, well," he offered a soft, self-deprecatory smile, "Admiral Moon has a very skilled staff engineer. And one day, if I'm lucky, she may be willing to speak to me again. Most of the Guards are still on their way to Tharkad, but I've got enough of our naval escorts here to keep the Wolves from getting any ideas."
"It's about time something broke our way," Jasek half-snarled. "We'd heard Zeta Galaxy was held up by sabotage to their JumpShips, but we've identified at least half of their clusters among Alaric's troops here. We already knew this whole damn thing was a trap, but even that caught us by surprise. And now…" He shook his head. "...now we've lost Anastasia Kerensky on top of everything else. She was the one thing keeping the Wolves on their toes. They've got nothing to worry about before hitting Tharkad."
"It's a loss, but it could have been worse - it could've been a lot worse, and we both know that," Julian replied, in an unshakeably reasonable tone, "and we've bought some time with all the supplies we hit."
"Not anywhere near enough damage, going by our people we pulled out of the tunnels," Jasek forced himself to stay calm, and not shout, however frustrating Davion's calm facade was right now. "They've been watching the Wolves since we had to leave them behind, and going by their counts, we've only inconvenienced them. Maybe cost them a month or two at most. And we don't have time to go after Alaric's other caches, not if he's got Zeta Galaxy on hand too." Getting his frustrations out helped, but ultimately it left him facing them regardless. "Well, we do what we have to, and right now that's getting the hell out of here and back to Tharkad." Jasek extended a hand. "Thanks again for showing up. And, on behalf of the Lyran Commonwealth, welcome to our war, Marshal Davion."
Julian accepted the hand without hesitation. "Proud to be here."
Post 44 - Farewells
- Location
- Florida USA
44 - Farewells
Royal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
17 February 3143
The final preparations were over, and after nearly three months, Trillian Steiner-Davion was on her way home.
Her final day began with a normal morning routine of a particularly rich breakfast and an extra-long shower, given she would be going without either for months. Once she was dressed and ready she saw to a final check to ensure her personal belongings, as well as any remaining gifts, were accounted for and on their way to the Archon's Fist. The rest of her staff saw to the same process in their suites, though some of their belongings were not being sent to the cargo spaces on the DropShuttles from Archon's Fist, but rather to the moving trucks carrying them to the new Lyran Embassy, down near the Capital District.
After a habitual final check to make absolutely certain she forgot nothing, Trillian gave her suite a final look at the door. While she was long familiar with having temporary living spaces, this suite would stick in her memories for the rest of her life. I almost died here. And despite everything I don't think I've ever worked so hard and so persistently from a single set of rooms. I spent so many long nights here, dictating letters, going over treaty terms, checking finances, reading and compiling histories into the early morning hours, and all those days getting dressed up and readied for interviews and meetings… and now it's done. I succeeded and I can return to Tharkad, treaty in hand. I wonder if I will ever see these rooms again? With that in mind she closed the door a final time and handed her keycard over to a waiting palace staffer, who thanked her and disappeared down the corridor.
Before going to the lift she walked past the open door to Lord Marienberg's suite. He was overseeing the final stages of his move to the new embassy. "Lord Ambassador," she said to him, smiling as she did.
"Lady Emissary." The older man returned the gesture. "It has been an honor to work with you, and to have such trust placed in me."
"You more than earned it, my Lord," she replied. "You'll represent the Commonwealth proudly."
"So is my hope. Safe voyages to you, my Lady, and may you remain safe." He gave her a final gentlemanly bow, which she returned before stepping away.
The lift ride, she noted, was playing the same symphony she'd heard the day she arrived. Then again, they do loop the same pieces every day, so not much symbolism there. Along the way she noted a few signs of changes. More RSS personnel, fewer Lifeguards, and the occasional enlisted personnel moving batches of crates down the access halls on the way to the pad where her DropShuttle awaited.
For all this activity, there were no grand state occasions today, at least, and she could casually take her leave of Arcadia, as much as she might have enjoyed a chance to see more of the world without the pressures of her mission. Still so much work to do when I get back.
Despite expectations, she did have a small contingent waiting for her near the shuttle. Nathaniel, Sophia, and Peter stood together, wearing the flowing gowns of regular court dress. She bowed in respect to each of them, in turn. "Your Majesty, Highness, Ladyship."
"Lady Trillian. It was a pleasure, despite the difficulties, to work with you," Nathaniel said, giving his own slighter return bow of his head, the platinum hawk tiara settled on his brow as always.
"You have been a most gracious host, and it has been my own pleasure to deal with all of you," she replied. "I look forward to introducing you to my cousin and the others on Tharkad."
"I look forward to meeting them," he assured her. "And you'll have quite the head start on me." Nathaniel grinned at his grand-uncle. "Uncle Peter has seen to that."
"A command circuit has been prepared, you should be at the Atocongo side of the Glass in a few days." Peter gave Nathaniel a knowing look. "It should give you time to arrange your internal matters now that you have the treaty, and ensure the Commonwealth is ready to receive Nathaniel and the troops he'll be leading."
There was no mistaking the slight flash of uncertainty that came over Lady Sophia, but only Trillian caught it for how quickly it disappeared. Sophia hides her concern well. Trillian felt the familiar quiet come over her own expression. No use feeling guilty. It is what it is. Hopefully now the Commonwealth will survive and so will King Nathaniel. "We will be ready regardless of how long it may take you." Even if I have to instruct Roderick and Jasek to drag Vedet out of the Archon's office! "Not alone either, I imagine?"
"No, which is why I'm still days from my own departure. Unfortunately it takes time to get thousands of troops ready for such deployments. I will be coming along shortly enough, though, with my Lifeguards, the Second Proctor Guards, and the Arcadian Rangers in my company. The other units will follow from their own starting points and join as quickly as they can. I will likely have a short stopover at Timkovichi to give the JumpShips time to transit out to the jump points, but it will be straight to Tharkad from there."
"They will all be welcome." And necessary, if the Wolves keep advancing.
"A safe voyage to you, Lady Trillian," Sophia said. "Hopefully we will see you again, perhaps for the wedding?"
Trillian smiled at the invitation. "I would be honored to be there, just as I would enjoy seeing you hosted at the Royal Court on Tharkad should you come to visit afterward." That would be a sight, I suppose. An allied Marik queen being officially welcomed at the Court.
After a final exchange of pleasantries and farewells, Trillian embarked on the shuttle. She found her seat and waited the remaining few minutes as the takeoff clearances were given, flight paths confirmed, and their escorts lined up. The kick of the shuttle's main engines pressed her into her seat, signaling their liftoff, and she watched the Royal Palace recede from the viewing ports, then the skyline of Roslyn itself. Soon the atmosphere itself was fading away, the blue gradually replaced by empty black void.
It's done. Now to return to Tharkad, and see to Vedet.
Field Base Carroll
Near Cirenholm, Aurum Continent
Timkovichi, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
18 February 3143
The change was complete for Field Base Carroll. Mostly gone were the emblems of the cuirass-clad hawk that the Second Royal Cuirassiers and their support formations employed; many insignia now depicted a rearing horse under a pair of crossed lances, a death's head insignia between the lance handles and a crown above; the insignia of the First Royal Lancers, with their motto "Death or Glory" along the insignia's edge. The sunhawk of the Eighth Strikers and the hound's head of the Kell Hounds were fairly prominent as well, though most of those units were posted to other bases going up across the planet.
The distant roar of a DropShip fusion engine brought attention skyward, to the lifting off of what proved to be an Overlord II-class DropShip, one of the Second Royal Cuirassiers' 'Mech transports. Watching the launch from the door of the Field Base Carroll Headquarters, General Singh ruminated at how empty the bays were compared to their arrival. None of his battalions came below a thirty percent total loss rate, in machines and personnel. Second Battalion was down to just a company and a lance worth of effectives. The armor and infantry regiments suffered similarly, and Air Commodore Weiss had only forty percent of her aerospace fighters and a quarter of her hard-hit conventional wings left, including the loss of Group Colonel Sharpe.
He drew in a breath at the feeling of pain it brought him. So many good people, brave soldiers true to the Federation, and they were gone. Lost under his command.
"I guess this is goodbye, then." He turned at hearing the words, noting Colonel Kell, Lt. Colonel Allard, and General Bridger were coming out the door. Bridger's duffel bag matched Singh's own, the personal belongings from their offices. He saluted his superior even before Bridger noticed him, prompting Bridger to respond. Evan and Nadia joined him. "General Singh, makin' it out too?" Evan asked in his slight drawl.
"Yes. The Sir Johannes is waiting for me, with the last of my command staff and Brigadier Shawcross' command company aboard," he replied. "I make it a point to be the last man offworld. Just in case."
"Just in case." Bridger nodded in agreement. "They give you the final confirmation on where you're rebuilding?"
"I imagined Arc-Royal, but General von Luckner has recalled us to Fort Marsden," Singh replied.
"Donegal, then. Well, a good spot, especially to get graduates from the RSMA, and all those TharDef manufacturing lines. Not as close to the action though."
"The Second Royal Cuirassiers are, regrettably, out of the war." Singh shook his head quietly. "Command estimates we won't be front line service-ready again until late '44, maybe '45."
"Well, even if the truce doesn't hold that long, we'll make sure to save some Falcons for you and yours, General," Evan joked.
"Assuming they survive what's coming." Bridger grinned. "Word is the Commies and Rasalhague won't be following the truce, not like they signed it after all."
"No, they didn't." Singh grinned. Perhaps it makes a liar out of me… but I cannot speak for allies my people did not yet have, can I? God will decide, I suppose. "But I cannot imagine it will be an easy fight for them." He inclined his head to Bridger. "What of you, General? You are joining me, I hear?"
"Heading out on a DropShuttle, actually, and I'm only going as far as Arc-Royal. Meetings with Archduke Ethan." Bridger's grin turned sardonic. "It's implied I may get my fourth star, and that His Majesty is picking me to be his OpGroup commander."
"Well now, congratulations, General," Evan offered.
"Thank you, Colonel. If it's true, expect me back around the time the King comes through the Glass. Until then…"
"Yes." Singh noticed the transport jeeps pulling up. "We have a timetable to keep with the JumpShips arranged for our transport."
"After you, General."
"One last thing," Evan said, bringing their attention back to him. He snapped a firm salute at Singh. "You and yours did your Federation proud, General Singh, fightin' the Falcons so hard, and your people deserve the break they're gettin'. Don't you worry, whatever happens, the folks you've left behind here… we'll see it through for them."
Singh drew in another sharp breath before nodding and returning the salute. "I trust our honored dead to you and to the people of Timkovichi. Thank you for your words, Colonel."
Evan nodded and lowered his hand, extending it forward. Singh took it for a wordless handshake before stepping away. Whatever was to come of this conflict, he and his troops had done their duty, they'd done it well, and it would be for others to finish the job. God bless them all.
Fort Defiance Military DropPort
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
18 February 3143
The day that Sophia Marik had been dreading for the past few months had finally arrived, and despite her misgivings, she came to see it through.
The DropShips arrayed about Fort Defiance's DropPort were in various stages of loading, some already hurtling skyward with their loads of soldiers and machines, bound for the reflection of their reality that lay beyond the Glass, and the savage Wolves that were to be their foes. Sophia could see them through the glass windows of Terminal A and the private command-officer entryway that would take Nathaniel and his RSS protection detail to the military tram waiting to carry him to his ship, where the RSS would formally relinquish their protection over to the Lifeguards. From her place she could look down into the terminal proper and the crowds of families and friends here to see loved ones off for what might be years apart.
The DropShip occupying the nearest pad, emblazoned with the insignia of the Lifeguards, was another of the spheroid types, a massive orb with engines and guns and giant bay doors that even now admitted multiple hulking BattleMechs and large, advanced battle tanks into its spacious interior. The AFS Hawk's Nest was the designated combat transport for Nathaniel and roughly a third of the Lifeguards. Sophia craned her neck at the hulking vessel, one she was told was a brand-new "Bastion-class Command DropShip", to look towards the shapes of two of the four colossal artillery guns stored in the ship's uppermost decks, almost two hundred meters in the air. Within the bottom decks, situated around the vital engineering spaces, seven bays provided for plentiful cargo as well as a company each of BattleMechs, vehicles, VTOLs, and armored infantry, plus bays for an embarked squadron of aerospace fighters and four DropShuttles. A number of weapons mounts showed on every facing, though she had little knowledge of what each weapon was. Beyond two more ships of the same design, the Hawk's Pride and Hawk's Glory, were on adjacent pads, embarking the last vehicles and personnel of the Lifeguards.
Unlike his well-wishers attending in civilian court dress, Nathaniel was in uniform today, wearing a regular AFRF duty uniform. It suits the moment, Sophia thought with a tinge of bitterness. More befitting the warrior-king leading his armies on a holy crusade, not the peaceful ruler he'd intended to be when he first landed here ten months ago. Indeed, he'd only belatedly acquiesced to an insistence from Lord Murray that he bring a couple sets of civilian court dress in the event of an official function on Tharkad, now stowed away in his quarters on the Hawk's Nest and likely to go untouched. Even the usual lightweight tiara was gone. Only his specialized rank insignia, the crowned hawk over a rank tab square, indicated he wasn't just another junior field officer waiting for deployment.
That… and the Sword of Liberation, resting in the scabbard strapped at his waist against his left hip, set so that he could lay the sword across his lap if needed. Bringing the weapon was a symbolic gesture, and not entirely popular among the Protocol Office or the Exchequer (responsible as they were for House Proctor's treasures, including the Regalia), but given what it represented, it would hopefully be inspiring for those fighting a cosmos away.
This is duty, she reminded herself. After all he's said, he can't back out now. He has to go through. He has to face the Clans in battle and see them forced back. A small shiver went through her. I care for him, perhaps more than I should. He will be a good husband, better than I'd hoped! But only if he comes back. God, please let him come back, he has so much to do to make the rest of this century the peaceful era we all long to see!
Peter was here, of course, in court dress like Sophia. His expression was somber but reserved. Beside them the Dowager Queen Sita stood, her court dress the traditional conservative Bolanese combination of sari, choli, and parkar, colored in red, green, and blue with gold-threaded trim. To Sophia it seemed she was about to break down in tears at seeing her son's departure. A realization came to her. If I did not know better, I would think they were both his parents, coming to see their beloved son off to war… though, I suppose, Nathaniel is the closest thing Peter ever had to a son. I wonder if they have ever thought of their relationship that way.
The last member of the entourage was the Regent herself. Lady Sara-Marie Proctor was by law a minor noble, her title a courtesy one for being the daughter of a prince or princess of the realm. Right now the nonagenarian looked more like a doting grandmother of Nathaniel's than a distant cousin, and her simple court dress struck Sophia as being very inspired by the inhabitants of the Plymouth Peninsula here on Arcadia, the traditional homeland of House Proctor. The dark blue gown was only visibly court wear by the House Proctor sigil over the heart and the Regent's Seal, the golden and crowned hawk insignia of the monarch's chosen stand-in, hanging from the silver necklace it was attached to. "You be careful, young man," she said, her voice hoarse with age, though the tone was gentle. "Your people expect much of you. They need you back."
"I have every intention of returning with my duty done, my Lady," he replied, bowing his head. "Just as I trust you three to see to the realm while I'm away."
"We'll keep Parliament on task, certainly, as well as the Command Staff." Peter nodded. "We had a couple lower-level resignations, but even our cousin Arnold is picking duty over pride. In time, perhaps we can reconcile you two."
"I would love to be, but I fear he will not be happy unless I give him what he wants, and that I cannot do" Nathaniel lamented. He turned to Princess Sita and his face fell into a frown, as if he were a child who'd just disappointed his parents. "Mother, I… I am sorry. It is a duty, dharma, and it must be done."
"I know, Nat. I know." She spoke the words with pain in her dark, reddened eyes. "I pray that your father's spirit will guide you, and that by the fulfillment of dharma you will be rewarded with a safe return."
He turned his eyes towards Sophia. "When I return, I hope the wedding will not wait long."
"As soon as you're back through the Glass, I'll order the invitations sent," she promised. She smiled wistfully, though it was difficult. "I'm smiling for both our sakes, I admit, because I don't feel it within. I fear for you, Nathaniel, just as much as your mother does. I know it is your duty to follow your pledge, but I can't help these feelings. These Wolves are said to be lethal warriors, moreso than the Falcons in some cases, and according to Trillian they've already killed the military leader of the Free Worlds. If you go into battle they're going to focus on you just the same."
"They will try, I agree. The Lifeguards will not make it easy for them, nor will I. I promise you that."
"It will have to be enough," she said, knowing for her it wouldn't be. If only the Glass hadn't formed. Things would be so much easier… but now I am giving myself to a flight of fancy. This is the reality we face.
To her surprise she drew close and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. It was an act of impulse, not quite inappropriate nor particularly appropriate either. "A promise, then, of what will come, when we are married, and our people prosper under the renewed peace we will bring them when the Clans are dealt with."
He recovered from his surprise well enough. "A promise, yes, and I look forward to our keeping it."
The PA system came alive with a loud shrilling tone, made to draw attention. A man's voice barked in an Islay burr, "Loading of Hawk's Nest complete. All personnel report to transport trams, we are T minus thirty minutes to launch."
Sophia turned her head back towards the crowds, already thinning out. She recognized a few of the Lifeguards themselves, mostly infantry personnel who took up watches in the Palace, but she noted with surprise the presence of the Duke of Bondurant, Edmond de Fortemps, and his sons, separating from a fourth man of silvery platinum hair dressed in military uniform instead of their casual court wear. They behave as brothers and father, but I thought he only had two sons? Or, two legitimate ones, I suppose.
One could indeed tell the commoners from the nobles; the former had more open weeping and tears among the families, the latter practiced the "stiff upper lip" demanded of their station, though their hugs looked just as heartfelt. It reminds me of Mother whenever Father went away on tour. No matter the social station, all families face the same fear; our loved ones aren't going to come back this time.
"I suppose I could order them to wait," Nathaniel said. "But that wouldn't be appropriate."
"No. This is part of the life," said Peter solemnly. He put a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder and for all the world looked like he was about to embrace him, only to hold back for a moment until Nathaniel started one, a warm embrace. She thought that if a voice could genuinely melt, it was Peter's at that moment as he said, "Go, make your father proud, make your family proud, but by God, come home. We'll watch over matters here while you defeat the enemies of humanity."
Sita embraced him next and Sophia could hear a few low sobs escape her otherwise-controlled demeanor. God, the poor woman is living a nightmare, isn't she? Everyone says she truly loved Prince James, that their political marriage was one of those rare ones where the participants fall in genuine love with one another. And she lost him after only a few short years. Now she might lose her only son… no, no, for Nathaniel's sake, don't follow that thought. Smile, and let him go with a glad heart, not thinking how we're suffering.
After finally gently pulling free from his mother, Nathaniel gave them all one last look and a short, personal bow of the head. "I'll see you all when I come back," he said, his voice full of confidence, as if he weren't frightened at all it would be otherwise. With that said he walked down the accordion tube, disappearing around a corner.
Sara-Marie, gentle soul that she was, took Sita by the arm and led her away to a window, giving her a good view of where Nathaniel would likely pass on his way to the ship. Peter watched them go and sighed. "God, even now I couldn't bring myself to give him the hug he's earned. He had to start it. I scold him for it, but sometimes I wonder if he's right that commoners do it the right way."
"We get privileges they don't, so we must make amends for it by denying ourselves where they don't have to," Sophia answered. "Or so my mother once told me."
"Makes me think sometimes, maybe Ambassador Wotjak and her people have a point about aristocracy." Peter gave her a knowing look. "Though speaking of aristocracy, you didn't tell him about that last minute coronation 'gift' that's coming from Oriente, did you?"
Sophia sighed. "I didn't see the point, especially not when I looked up just who this 'Boniface of Montferrat' was." Not like it was going to make it here in time, it's only just been commissioned according to Lady Lucero. Consul-General Lady Gracia Lucero, the diplomatic representation of the Federation on Oriente, had dutifully submitted her report that a statue had been commissioned as a personal gift from Dowager Empress Eris to Nathaniel "in commemoration of his stirring coronation speech", depicting an ancient medieval Terran ruler from the 12th and 13th centuries "that his words much reminded me of". One quick check of the planetary infonet's historical sites provided the reasoning for the Dowager's taunting gift. "It's not like he doesn't know the Dowager would love to see him and the rest of the family dead. How is that woman still alive with so much hate poisoning her soul?"
"Spite is a powerful thing," Peter observed. "And it's an old tradition for the evil old hag to taunt the family. Usually sympathy cards whenever one of us is killed, especially if we die fighting the Empire. The messages were especially mocking when my father died." He clenched a fist.
"Really?" Sophia gaped in astonishment. "I know her grudge is legendary, but that's… I guess you don't report it very widely, I've never heard of this."
"It stays within the family. It's a personal grudge, after all, one we played a part in starting, wouldn't do to get the populace fired up about a stubborn old woman's taunts. Speaking of stubbornness, Senator Zento's already trying to hold up certain budget items vital to the war effort. We'd better start working to see that he doesn't succeed."
Of course he is. "I am at your service," she promised.
Royal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
17 February 3143
The final preparations were over, and after nearly three months, Trillian Steiner-Davion was on her way home.
Her final day began with a normal morning routine of a particularly rich breakfast and an extra-long shower, given she would be going without either for months. Once she was dressed and ready she saw to a final check to ensure her personal belongings, as well as any remaining gifts, were accounted for and on their way to the Archon's Fist. The rest of her staff saw to the same process in their suites, though some of their belongings were not being sent to the cargo spaces on the DropShuttles from Archon's Fist, but rather to the moving trucks carrying them to the new Lyran Embassy, down near the Capital District.
After a habitual final check to make absolutely certain she forgot nothing, Trillian gave her suite a final look at the door. While she was long familiar with having temporary living spaces, this suite would stick in her memories for the rest of her life. I almost died here. And despite everything I don't think I've ever worked so hard and so persistently from a single set of rooms. I spent so many long nights here, dictating letters, going over treaty terms, checking finances, reading and compiling histories into the early morning hours, and all those days getting dressed up and readied for interviews and meetings… and now it's done. I succeeded and I can return to Tharkad, treaty in hand. I wonder if I will ever see these rooms again? With that in mind she closed the door a final time and handed her keycard over to a waiting palace staffer, who thanked her and disappeared down the corridor.
Before going to the lift she walked past the open door to Lord Marienberg's suite. He was overseeing the final stages of his move to the new embassy. "Lord Ambassador," she said to him, smiling as she did.
"Lady Emissary." The older man returned the gesture. "It has been an honor to work with you, and to have such trust placed in me."
"You more than earned it, my Lord," she replied. "You'll represent the Commonwealth proudly."
"So is my hope. Safe voyages to you, my Lady, and may you remain safe." He gave her a final gentlemanly bow, which she returned before stepping away.
The lift ride, she noted, was playing the same symphony she'd heard the day she arrived. Then again, they do loop the same pieces every day, so not much symbolism there. Along the way she noted a few signs of changes. More RSS personnel, fewer Lifeguards, and the occasional enlisted personnel moving batches of crates down the access halls on the way to the pad where her DropShuttle awaited.
For all this activity, there were no grand state occasions today, at least, and she could casually take her leave of Arcadia, as much as she might have enjoyed a chance to see more of the world without the pressures of her mission. Still so much work to do when I get back.
Despite expectations, she did have a small contingent waiting for her near the shuttle. Nathaniel, Sophia, and Peter stood together, wearing the flowing gowns of regular court dress. She bowed in respect to each of them, in turn. "Your Majesty, Highness, Ladyship."
"Lady Trillian. It was a pleasure, despite the difficulties, to work with you," Nathaniel said, giving his own slighter return bow of his head, the platinum hawk tiara settled on his brow as always.
"You have been a most gracious host, and it has been my own pleasure to deal with all of you," she replied. "I look forward to introducing you to my cousin and the others on Tharkad."
"I look forward to meeting them," he assured her. "And you'll have quite the head start on me." Nathaniel grinned at his grand-uncle. "Uncle Peter has seen to that."
"A command circuit has been prepared, you should be at the Atocongo side of the Glass in a few days." Peter gave Nathaniel a knowing look. "It should give you time to arrange your internal matters now that you have the treaty, and ensure the Commonwealth is ready to receive Nathaniel and the troops he'll be leading."
There was no mistaking the slight flash of uncertainty that came over Lady Sophia, but only Trillian caught it for how quickly it disappeared. Sophia hides her concern well. Trillian felt the familiar quiet come over her own expression. No use feeling guilty. It is what it is. Hopefully now the Commonwealth will survive and so will King Nathaniel. "We will be ready regardless of how long it may take you." Even if I have to instruct Roderick and Jasek to drag Vedet out of the Archon's office! "Not alone either, I imagine?"
"No, which is why I'm still days from my own departure. Unfortunately it takes time to get thousands of troops ready for such deployments. I will be coming along shortly enough, though, with my Lifeguards, the Second Proctor Guards, and the Arcadian Rangers in my company. The other units will follow from their own starting points and join as quickly as they can. I will likely have a short stopover at Timkovichi to give the JumpShips time to transit out to the jump points, but it will be straight to Tharkad from there."
"They will all be welcome." And necessary, if the Wolves keep advancing.
"A safe voyage to you, Lady Trillian," Sophia said. "Hopefully we will see you again, perhaps for the wedding?"
Trillian smiled at the invitation. "I would be honored to be there, just as I would enjoy seeing you hosted at the Royal Court on Tharkad should you come to visit afterward." That would be a sight, I suppose. An allied Marik queen being officially welcomed at the Court.
After a final exchange of pleasantries and farewells, Trillian embarked on the shuttle. She found her seat and waited the remaining few minutes as the takeoff clearances were given, flight paths confirmed, and their escorts lined up. The kick of the shuttle's main engines pressed her into her seat, signaling their liftoff, and she watched the Royal Palace recede from the viewing ports, then the skyline of Roslyn itself. Soon the atmosphere itself was fading away, the blue gradually replaced by empty black void.
It's done. Now to return to Tharkad, and see to Vedet.
Field Base Carroll
Near Cirenholm, Aurum Continent
Timkovichi, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
18 February 3143
The change was complete for Field Base Carroll. Mostly gone were the emblems of the cuirass-clad hawk that the Second Royal Cuirassiers and their support formations employed; many insignia now depicted a rearing horse under a pair of crossed lances, a death's head insignia between the lance handles and a crown above; the insignia of the First Royal Lancers, with their motto "Death or Glory" along the insignia's edge. The sunhawk of the Eighth Strikers and the hound's head of the Kell Hounds were fairly prominent as well, though most of those units were posted to other bases going up across the planet.
The distant roar of a DropShip fusion engine brought attention skyward, to the lifting off of what proved to be an Overlord II-class DropShip, one of the Second Royal Cuirassiers' 'Mech transports. Watching the launch from the door of the Field Base Carroll Headquarters, General Singh ruminated at how empty the bays were compared to their arrival. None of his battalions came below a thirty percent total loss rate, in machines and personnel. Second Battalion was down to just a company and a lance worth of effectives. The armor and infantry regiments suffered similarly, and Air Commodore Weiss had only forty percent of her aerospace fighters and a quarter of her hard-hit conventional wings left, including the loss of Group Colonel Sharpe.
He drew in a breath at the feeling of pain it brought him. So many good people, brave soldiers true to the Federation, and they were gone. Lost under his command.
"I guess this is goodbye, then." He turned at hearing the words, noting Colonel Kell, Lt. Colonel Allard, and General Bridger were coming out the door. Bridger's duffel bag matched Singh's own, the personal belongings from their offices. He saluted his superior even before Bridger noticed him, prompting Bridger to respond. Evan and Nadia joined him. "General Singh, makin' it out too?" Evan asked in his slight drawl.
"Yes. The Sir Johannes is waiting for me, with the last of my command staff and Brigadier Shawcross' command company aboard," he replied. "I make it a point to be the last man offworld. Just in case."
"Just in case." Bridger nodded in agreement. "They give you the final confirmation on where you're rebuilding?"
"I imagined Arc-Royal, but General von Luckner has recalled us to Fort Marsden," Singh replied.
"Donegal, then. Well, a good spot, especially to get graduates from the RSMA, and all those TharDef manufacturing lines. Not as close to the action though."
"The Second Royal Cuirassiers are, regrettably, out of the war." Singh shook his head quietly. "Command estimates we won't be front line service-ready again until late '44, maybe '45."
"Well, even if the truce doesn't hold that long, we'll make sure to save some Falcons for you and yours, General," Evan joked.
"Assuming they survive what's coming." Bridger grinned. "Word is the Commies and Rasalhague won't be following the truce, not like they signed it after all."
"No, they didn't." Singh grinned. Perhaps it makes a liar out of me… but I cannot speak for allies my people did not yet have, can I? God will decide, I suppose. "But I cannot imagine it will be an easy fight for them." He inclined his head to Bridger. "What of you, General? You are joining me, I hear?"
"Heading out on a DropShuttle, actually, and I'm only going as far as Arc-Royal. Meetings with Archduke Ethan." Bridger's grin turned sardonic. "It's implied I may get my fourth star, and that His Majesty is picking me to be his OpGroup commander."
"Well now, congratulations, General," Evan offered.
"Thank you, Colonel. If it's true, expect me back around the time the King comes through the Glass. Until then…"
"Yes." Singh noticed the transport jeeps pulling up. "We have a timetable to keep with the JumpShips arranged for our transport."
"After you, General."
"One last thing," Evan said, bringing their attention back to him. He snapped a firm salute at Singh. "You and yours did your Federation proud, General Singh, fightin' the Falcons so hard, and your people deserve the break they're gettin'. Don't you worry, whatever happens, the folks you've left behind here… we'll see it through for them."
Singh drew in another sharp breath before nodding and returning the salute. "I trust our honored dead to you and to the people of Timkovichi. Thank you for your words, Colonel."
Evan nodded and lowered his hand, extending it forward. Singh took it for a wordless handshake before stepping away. Whatever was to come of this conflict, he and his troops had done their duty, they'd done it well, and it would be for others to finish the job. God bless them all.
Fort Defiance Military DropPort
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
18 February 3143
The day that Sophia Marik had been dreading for the past few months had finally arrived, and despite her misgivings, she came to see it through.
The DropShips arrayed about Fort Defiance's DropPort were in various stages of loading, some already hurtling skyward with their loads of soldiers and machines, bound for the reflection of their reality that lay beyond the Glass, and the savage Wolves that were to be their foes. Sophia could see them through the glass windows of Terminal A and the private command-officer entryway that would take Nathaniel and his RSS protection detail to the military tram waiting to carry him to his ship, where the RSS would formally relinquish their protection over to the Lifeguards. From her place she could look down into the terminal proper and the crowds of families and friends here to see loved ones off for what might be years apart.
The DropShip occupying the nearest pad, emblazoned with the insignia of the Lifeguards, was another of the spheroid types, a massive orb with engines and guns and giant bay doors that even now admitted multiple hulking BattleMechs and large, advanced battle tanks into its spacious interior. The AFS Hawk's Nest was the designated combat transport for Nathaniel and roughly a third of the Lifeguards. Sophia craned her neck at the hulking vessel, one she was told was a brand-new "Bastion-class Command DropShip", to look towards the shapes of two of the four colossal artillery guns stored in the ship's uppermost decks, almost two hundred meters in the air. Within the bottom decks, situated around the vital engineering spaces, seven bays provided for plentiful cargo as well as a company each of BattleMechs, vehicles, VTOLs, and armored infantry, plus bays for an embarked squadron of aerospace fighters and four DropShuttles. A number of weapons mounts showed on every facing, though she had little knowledge of what each weapon was. Beyond two more ships of the same design, the Hawk's Pride and Hawk's Glory, were on adjacent pads, embarking the last vehicles and personnel of the Lifeguards.
Unlike his well-wishers attending in civilian court dress, Nathaniel was in uniform today, wearing a regular AFRF duty uniform. It suits the moment, Sophia thought with a tinge of bitterness. More befitting the warrior-king leading his armies on a holy crusade, not the peaceful ruler he'd intended to be when he first landed here ten months ago. Indeed, he'd only belatedly acquiesced to an insistence from Lord Murray that he bring a couple sets of civilian court dress in the event of an official function on Tharkad, now stowed away in his quarters on the Hawk's Nest and likely to go untouched. Even the usual lightweight tiara was gone. Only his specialized rank insignia, the crowned hawk over a rank tab square, indicated he wasn't just another junior field officer waiting for deployment.
That… and the Sword of Liberation, resting in the scabbard strapped at his waist against his left hip, set so that he could lay the sword across his lap if needed. Bringing the weapon was a symbolic gesture, and not entirely popular among the Protocol Office or the Exchequer (responsible as they were for House Proctor's treasures, including the Regalia), but given what it represented, it would hopefully be inspiring for those fighting a cosmos away.
This is duty, she reminded herself. After all he's said, he can't back out now. He has to go through. He has to face the Clans in battle and see them forced back. A small shiver went through her. I care for him, perhaps more than I should. He will be a good husband, better than I'd hoped! But only if he comes back. God, please let him come back, he has so much to do to make the rest of this century the peaceful era we all long to see!
Peter was here, of course, in court dress like Sophia. His expression was somber but reserved. Beside them the Dowager Queen Sita stood, her court dress the traditional conservative Bolanese combination of sari, choli, and parkar, colored in red, green, and blue with gold-threaded trim. To Sophia it seemed she was about to break down in tears at seeing her son's departure. A realization came to her. If I did not know better, I would think they were both his parents, coming to see their beloved son off to war… though, I suppose, Nathaniel is the closest thing Peter ever had to a son. I wonder if they have ever thought of their relationship that way.
The last member of the entourage was the Regent herself. Lady Sara-Marie Proctor was by law a minor noble, her title a courtesy one for being the daughter of a prince or princess of the realm. Right now the nonagenarian looked more like a doting grandmother of Nathaniel's than a distant cousin, and her simple court dress struck Sophia as being very inspired by the inhabitants of the Plymouth Peninsula here on Arcadia, the traditional homeland of House Proctor. The dark blue gown was only visibly court wear by the House Proctor sigil over the heart and the Regent's Seal, the golden and crowned hawk insignia of the monarch's chosen stand-in, hanging from the silver necklace it was attached to. "You be careful, young man," she said, her voice hoarse with age, though the tone was gentle. "Your people expect much of you. They need you back."
"I have every intention of returning with my duty done, my Lady," he replied, bowing his head. "Just as I trust you three to see to the realm while I'm away."
"We'll keep Parliament on task, certainly, as well as the Command Staff." Peter nodded. "We had a couple lower-level resignations, but even our cousin Arnold is picking duty over pride. In time, perhaps we can reconcile you two."
"I would love to be, but I fear he will not be happy unless I give him what he wants, and that I cannot do" Nathaniel lamented. He turned to Princess Sita and his face fell into a frown, as if he were a child who'd just disappointed his parents. "Mother, I… I am sorry. It is a duty, dharma, and it must be done."
"I know, Nat. I know." She spoke the words with pain in her dark, reddened eyes. "I pray that your father's spirit will guide you, and that by the fulfillment of dharma you will be rewarded with a safe return."
He turned his eyes towards Sophia. "When I return, I hope the wedding will not wait long."
"As soon as you're back through the Glass, I'll order the invitations sent," she promised. She smiled wistfully, though it was difficult. "I'm smiling for both our sakes, I admit, because I don't feel it within. I fear for you, Nathaniel, just as much as your mother does. I know it is your duty to follow your pledge, but I can't help these feelings. These Wolves are said to be lethal warriors, moreso than the Falcons in some cases, and according to Trillian they've already killed the military leader of the Free Worlds. If you go into battle they're going to focus on you just the same."
"They will try, I agree. The Lifeguards will not make it easy for them, nor will I. I promise you that."
"It will have to be enough," she said, knowing for her it wouldn't be. If only the Glass hadn't formed. Things would be so much easier… but now I am giving myself to a flight of fancy. This is the reality we face.
To her surprise she drew close and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. It was an act of impulse, not quite inappropriate nor particularly appropriate either. "A promise, then, of what will come, when we are married, and our people prosper under the renewed peace we will bring them when the Clans are dealt with."
He recovered from his surprise well enough. "A promise, yes, and I look forward to our keeping it."
The PA system came alive with a loud shrilling tone, made to draw attention. A man's voice barked in an Islay burr, "Loading of Hawk's Nest complete. All personnel report to transport trams, we are T minus thirty minutes to launch."
Sophia turned her head back towards the crowds, already thinning out. She recognized a few of the Lifeguards themselves, mostly infantry personnel who took up watches in the Palace, but she noted with surprise the presence of the Duke of Bondurant, Edmond de Fortemps, and his sons, separating from a fourth man of silvery platinum hair dressed in military uniform instead of their casual court wear. They behave as brothers and father, but I thought he only had two sons? Or, two legitimate ones, I suppose.
One could indeed tell the commoners from the nobles; the former had more open weeping and tears among the families, the latter practiced the "stiff upper lip" demanded of their station, though their hugs looked just as heartfelt. It reminds me of Mother whenever Father went away on tour. No matter the social station, all families face the same fear; our loved ones aren't going to come back this time.
"I suppose I could order them to wait," Nathaniel said. "But that wouldn't be appropriate."
"No. This is part of the life," said Peter solemnly. He put a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder and for all the world looked like he was about to embrace him, only to hold back for a moment until Nathaniel started one, a warm embrace. She thought that if a voice could genuinely melt, it was Peter's at that moment as he said, "Go, make your father proud, make your family proud, but by God, come home. We'll watch over matters here while you defeat the enemies of humanity."
Sita embraced him next and Sophia could hear a few low sobs escape her otherwise-controlled demeanor. God, the poor woman is living a nightmare, isn't she? Everyone says she truly loved Prince James, that their political marriage was one of those rare ones where the participants fall in genuine love with one another. And she lost him after only a few short years. Now she might lose her only son… no, no, for Nathaniel's sake, don't follow that thought. Smile, and let him go with a glad heart, not thinking how we're suffering.
After finally gently pulling free from his mother, Nathaniel gave them all one last look and a short, personal bow of the head. "I'll see you all when I come back," he said, his voice full of confidence, as if he weren't frightened at all it would be otherwise. With that said he walked down the accordion tube, disappearing around a corner.
Sara-Marie, gentle soul that she was, took Sita by the arm and led her away to a window, giving her a good view of where Nathaniel would likely pass on his way to the ship. Peter watched them go and sighed. "God, even now I couldn't bring myself to give him the hug he's earned. He had to start it. I scold him for it, but sometimes I wonder if he's right that commoners do it the right way."
"We get privileges they don't, so we must make amends for it by denying ourselves where they don't have to," Sophia answered. "Or so my mother once told me."
"Makes me think sometimes, maybe Ambassador Wotjak and her people have a point about aristocracy." Peter gave her a knowing look. "Though speaking of aristocracy, you didn't tell him about that last minute coronation 'gift' that's coming from Oriente, did you?"
Sophia sighed. "I didn't see the point, especially not when I looked up just who this 'Boniface of Montferrat' was." Not like it was going to make it here in time, it's only just been commissioned according to Lady Lucero. Consul-General Lady Gracia Lucero, the diplomatic representation of the Federation on Oriente, had dutifully submitted her report that a statue had been commissioned as a personal gift from Dowager Empress Eris to Nathaniel "in commemoration of his stirring coronation speech", depicting an ancient medieval Terran ruler from the 12th and 13th centuries "that his words much reminded me of". One quick check of the planetary infonet's historical sites provided the reasoning for the Dowager's taunting gift. "It's not like he doesn't know the Dowager would love to see him and the rest of the family dead. How is that woman still alive with so much hate poisoning her soul?"
"Spite is a powerful thing," Peter observed. "And it's an old tradition for the evil old hag to taunt the family. Usually sympathy cards whenever one of us is killed, especially if we die fighting the Empire. The messages were especially mocking when my father died." He clenched a fist.
"Really?" Sophia gaped in astonishment. "I know her grudge is legendary, but that's… I guess you don't report it very widely, I've never heard of this."
"It stays within the family. It's a personal grudge, after all, one we played a part in starting, wouldn't do to get the populace fired up about a stubborn old woman's taunts. Speaking of stubbornness, Senator Zento's already trying to hold up certain budget items vital to the war effort. We'd better start working to see that he doesn't succeed."
Of course he is. "I am at your service," she promised.
Last edited:
- Location
- New Jersey
I loved this part. (For those unaware, Boniface of Montferrat was the leader of the disastrous 4th Crusade). So does she expect Nathaniel to somehow end up burning Tharkad in his attempts to help them?
- Location
- Florida USA
Among other things. Consider what happened to him after all.
I should note @Silence (Pretty sure this is the same Silence from SB) created Eris Halas as ruler of Oriente in the original GSRPG game this AU is based on. After reading Chapter 41 he proposed to me that she'd send the statue of Boniface as a reaction to Nathaniel's coronation speech.
Post 45 - Those Whom the Gods Destroy
- Location
- Florida USA
45 - Those Whom the Gods Destroy
Fort Defiance Medical Administration Building
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
2 March 3143
Like most of the AFRF's departments, the Medical Department used its headquarters at Fort Defiance as main offices for its lead personnel. With his clearances and in light of the summons he'd received, Doctor John Albright easily strode through the existing security and into the offices of the Military Psychiatry Division. A yeoman brought him into the presence of Vice Admiral Sirtis, where he promptly saluted his superior, seated in her chair wearing a standard red duty uniform with black naval trim. She returned the salute. "Doctor, you sent a note about discussing the Hazen situation?"
"I did, Doctor, ma'am." He drew in a breath. "Firstly, has there been any progress in my proposal to fit her for prosthetics? She's trapped in bed and utterly crippled, and the lack of activity is a cause of significant psychological stress and discomfort." He said the words as he'd said them two dozen times these past four months.
"I'm sure it is, and I will repeat the request." Sirtis shook her head. "I suspect it will be 'considered' and quietly ignored. Your own reports of her past, and Miss Hazen's behavior, have convinced the rest of the Medical Department, particularly those responsible for hospital security, that she would be a danger to herself and others if provided any means of independent locomotion."
"So they would torture her instead." Albright shook his head. "It's wrong, Admiral. This is a violation of her rights."
"The Department feels it provides sufficient stimulation through her holovid access and the orderlies giving her tours of the Corey Hospital's garden and grounds. I will take the matter up again regardless, but don't expect much change," she warned. "For that matter, how have your sessions gone? You provide vital interaction for what remains of her mental health."
Albright chuckled bitterly at the words before shaking his head. "It's been quite a challenge for me," he admitted. "Especially since the material from Morges came through, and Malvina's unrepentant reaction."
"I would take that as further indication of her sociopathy, the lack of remorse is marked."
"It is." He swallowed. "I simply… do not know if we can ever understand what drives such a person. What creates this bizarre assemblage of traits. A sociopath shouldn't have the fondness and regret she feels for her dead sibko mate Aleks. Nor would she have treated the girl Cynthy as she did, where genuine affection seems to have crept in despite the otherwise abusive nature of her behavior. There's just so many contradictions."
"You find them in our line of work, Doctor." Sirtis patiently settled her hands on the desk. "My question, the salient question is, are you going to testify against her competency to stand trial?"
"I cannot, in good conscience, testify for it," Albright said. "I honestly do not think a trial will give anything but the most base sense of closure, especially with the likelihood she will be condemned. Her mental condition, her upbringing, all these factors tell me she was put on the path to becoming what she is, and I don't feel comfortable with declaring her competent. I'm still not convinced it is the just end."
Sirtis shook her head. "Doctor, I would like you to consider that you are mistaking a professional judgement for a personal one. You are deciding a trial would not be just, so you are refusing to acknowledge her competency."
Albright quietly pondered Sirtis' words. I can't deny it's possible, but all the same, it doesn't mean it is. "If you feel so, Admiral, then remove me from Hazen's care," he finally said. "That would be the appropriate choice."
"Don't think I haven't considered it," Sirtis warned. "It's clear to me that you've become overly fascinated with studying Malvina Hazen. Remember that at the end of the day, she is a monster, as you've admitted in your own words."
"She is, yes," he conceded, "but she is a crippled monster, without fangs or claws to harm any living being ever again. Executing her will not protect a single soul, it will only be vengeance."
"I can't agree with that," Sirtis said. "Not wholly. No, she can't cause harm herself, but she has caused so much harm already, killed so many, that to let her live untried is to diminish her crimes. At some point, people like her have to answer for their misdeeds."
"Even if she, as an individual, has diminished capacity from her upbringing? If anyone should be tried, it is the entire Jade Falcon Clan, for the horrors they subjected her to as a child. Malvina Hazen the Chinghis Khan, Butcher of Skye and Apostica and whatever else the Lyrans call her, isn't the product of a diseased mind. She's the product of the traumas visited on a scared little girl by an entire culture. She was never given a chance to be better, she was broken before she even joined their warrior caste."
"So noted."
He sighed. "But yet, you don't agree with me, and you're still on board for this trial."
"Correct." Sirtis leaned back in her chair. Her voice turned conciliatory. "For what it's worth, Doctor Albright, I do believe you have justifications for the way you see this matter, even if I don't agree with them, which is why I haven't actually removed you. And as it turns out, the JAG attorneys assigned to the case have their own views on your participation." She produced a printed paper and handed it to him. "Consider this a sign of their interest in your continued involvement."
Albright accepted the paper. He read it quietly. Really? I never expected to… He looked back up at her. "So the process is beginning. And I am being assigned indefinitely to serve as Malvina's psychiatric counselor?"
"I do not envy you your job, Doctor, but yes," Sirtis said. "Lord Cassel was impressed, and he's made clear he wants you, the most vocal critic, to have a role here. This is going to be a fair trial."
"With all due respect, Doctor, it can't be. Malvina… does not understand the concepts for which she will be charged and put on trial. She can't support her own defense."
"Opinions like that are why you'll be here, as Malvina's court-ordered psychiatrist," Sirtis said. "God help you too, you'll need it. You are dismissed, Doctor."
With the orders in hand, he departed the office. So the trial goes on, despite my reports. Though I can understand why…. yes, seeing those images from Morges, I can see it. People need justice for it. Closure. Telling them Malvina can't stand trial would rob them of that.
But it's not true justice. Her Clan destroyed her as a child and now she is being punished for it, though they were the ones who turned her into the monster that committed those terrible crimes. God have mercy on all of us.
And with that in mind… time to say goodbye to my other patient.
He returned to the parking area, got into the Ford-Chrysler 3110 model Splenda he'd been assigned by the Fort Defiance motor pool, and drove his way out of the Fort Defiance grounds and to the nearby environs of Roslyn Aerospace Port. The complex for runways and blast-protected landing pads was a combination airport and DropPort, servicing aircraft and spacecraft alike in connecting Roslyn to the rest of the planet, the space stations in orbit, and beyond. After parking — thankfully AFRF personnel and their vehicles enjoyed free complimentary parking by law — he walked through the assemblage of shops, eateries, and interactive terminals to the DropPort terminals. Near a store of consumer electronics, for those travelers desperately looking to replace a broken noteputer or backup data drive or the like, he found what he was looking for.
Cynthy looked… normal, for lack of a better term. Her hair was in a loose ponytail and well-kept. She'd gained a little weight, too, and filled out the blue blouse and dark slacks she was clad in, enough that one might almost think she was just a normal adolescent girl. It was when you looked at her face, the uncertainty there, the glimmer in her eyes, that you could see she wasn't quite what she looked to be.
Indeed, the two women flanking her also made somewhat clear she wasn't just coming through with family. One was a tall, broad-shouldered woman of middle-age, half of her dark face just slightly off-color from the rest to show it was the result of skin grafting and reconstructive surgery, the kind you saw on survivors from the business end of a flamer. The metal cast of her right hand lent further credence to that. It was a prosthetic for a limb that was once incinerated. Given her age, just young enough for it to be from the Fourth Succession War, he guessed. Beside her, a woman of slight tan complexion with short dark hair wearing a light green headscarf was helping Cynthy pick out a case for a noteputer.
He caught the eye of the broad-shouldered woman first. His interest was clear enough that she brought a hand up. "Excuse me, sir?"
"Doctor John Albright, Military Psychiatrist," he said to identify himself, bringing up his military ID from his wallet. "Cynthy here was my patient, I came to say farewell."
The woman nodded. "Borna Nyaoke, Marsabit Regional Family Protection Service on Uhuru," she said, speaking with a slight Kenyan-Uhuran accent. "My associate, Zainab Salbi, Royal Family Court. We're Ms. Freeman's escort for her transfer to the custody of Doctor Admassu."
Cynthy's eyes flashed with brief fury at the use of the name "Freeman", but she said nothing.
Albright nodded in acknowledgement. "A pleasure, and please, my regards to Doctor Admassu, and my thanks once more for his agreeing to take Cynthy in as his patient." He felt recalled gratitude at first hearing the news just a month before. Doctor Sir Haile Admassu, Dean of the College of Pediatric Psychiatry, Royal University of Kenyatta on Uhuru, was one of the most distinguished child psychiatrists in the Inner Sphere, with experience in handling children traumatized by violence and abuse. I can only imagine how emotionally trying it is to work with children like that, and I hope he helps Cynthy. He will do her far better than I did. He glanced her way again. She recognized him, and she wasn't entirely pleased to see him, but at least she didn't have that energy about her, like any moment she would leap into violence, as she'd been like months before after being recovered from the Falcons. Maybe she can have a normal life. A good family.
"Doctor Albright." She spoke the words with a quiet tone, not reverential, more like she was testing her ability to speak them. "You still see the Khan… Malvina?"
Nyaoke and Salbi exchanged concerned looks. Albright swallowed and nodded quietly. "I am treating her, yes."
"Then, please, do right by her."
"I am trying."
"No, that's…" Cynthy stopped speaking for a moment and shook her head.
"We should get to the DropShip gate," Salbi said, giving him a look that made it clear she wanted the conversation over.
It was Cynthy who spoke again, resisting the effort to pull her away. "Doctor Albright, do the right thing for Malvina. Promise me."
He drew in a breath. How could he explain the issues with her? What did he dare risk saying, when it might cause further harm to a child who'd already suffered so much? He made his choice and, gently, replied, "I promise I will do right, as much as I can for her, that's all I can fairly promise, Cynthy. I will try to heal her as much as I can, as much as I'm allowed."
The girl shook her head. She clenched her fists. "No. No. That is not what I mean!"
"Cynthy, we must go," Nyaoke insisted.
"That's not what I mean, Doctor Albright. Do right by Malvina. Do right by her! Let her die."
Now the two women escorting the girl looked particularly aggrieved, and Albright felt a twisting in his gut. "That's not my place, Cynthy."
"Let her die, Doctor. Your people are torturing her. Let her die, it's all she wants, it's… it's all she's wanted." Cynthy swallowed. "Nobody understands. Why do they not understand? They used her and never understood… let her die. Doctor, let her die."
"We're done. Come along, Cynthy, our ship is waiting." Nyaoke gave him a displeased look before taking Cynthy's arm.
"Let her die, let it end, please," Cynthy called back before turning her head, and letting the two women pull her away.
Albright watched her go and swallowed. His mind went back to the Arcadia infirmary, to the sight of Cynthy tearing the respirator from Malvina's face. At the time he thought it was rage, a lashing out at her now powerless tormentor, but his mind likewise recalled Malvina's cries to Cynthy, the order to kill her in her bed, while the orderlies and guards subdued the girl. After Aleks, Cynthy was the only being Malvina had any affection for, even with the abuse. That girl may be the only being in the Inner Sphere, either Inner Sphere, who can understand Malvina. And now she's heading two jumps away. The insight she could offer for Malvina's defense… no, what am I thinking? She's a traumatized child and Malvina was her captor, her abuser! She needs to be as far away as possible to recover!
He stood alone for the moment in the DropPort-side shopping area. Malvina is a monster. A broken, tragic monster, but it doesn't change that she's hurt people, and Cynthy is one of her victims. It's better this way.
But try as he might, he couldn't quite stop thinking about Cynthy's words, and his own wondering if the most merciful thing for his patient might very well be the judicial execution he saw looming on the horizon, and which he still felt morally obliged to resist.
Dr. Nancy Corey Memorial Hospital
It was late in the day. That was all Malvina Hazen knew, given the angle of the sunlight shining through her barred windows. Her stomach rumbled slightly from a minor hunger. Dinner was still an hour away. But it would come, unlike those she remembered from the sibko, when it might not come at all, or would come in a far reduced portion. Then they will put me in the wheelchair and walk me through their garden. Doctor John's orders. As if I am sated by a ride.
She turned on the tri-vee player. The holographic display showed one of those accursed Spheroid news services, talking yet more about the war on her Clan, on all the Clans. She paid enough attention to hear a man called Zento saying it was a waste, that it was weakening the defenses of Skye. That planet. She snarled. Aleks. Lost for that world. I should have burnt it down, but for the resources it provided my Clan. She smiled at seeing Zento shouted down by an audience and the other speakers, accusing him of myriad things like cowardice, arrogance, and "regionalism". No, if he were true to the "values of the Federation", he would be supporting "the War against the Clans".
They will war with my Falcons and the Horses. They will likewise war with the Wolves. And may Seth Ward and that upstart pup Alaric enjoy it. Perhaps even the Bears will face their armies, and nothing of value will be lost there either.
She changed the channel, once, twice, three times. The other news networks spoke of similar things. Others had the usual vapid Spheroid pap in them. All of the entertainment, whether it was degraded combat on Solaris between mercenary gladiators or fictional productions that were a waste of resources from Malvina's perspective, did nothing to fill the quiet. Trapped in this bed, without a foot to stand on, a hand to grasp with, all she had were her memories, and the pain they represented.
The door opened. Doctor John entered. "Malvina."
"Our conversations have long exhausted the stories of my past," Malvina replied, her lip curled in a disgusted, frustrated snarl. "Perhaps you are not the hunter of mental illness you thought to be, if you have not caught your prey among my words yet."
"Memories are just the start of such hunts," he replied, moving to a chair. "Before we begin the session, I have news to share."
"You will give me prosthetics? Let me move on my own? Perhaps just legs, so that I might walk." Then I can smash my brains out against the wall, if I choose.
"Not approved yet," he replied. "I've been given your first court hearing, it's in about seven weeks. To determine your fitness to stand trial for war crimes."
"Ah, my trial you promised. My, how slow you Spheroids are. I look forward to it."
"You'll be assigned a defense team. And I will remain as your psychiatric counselor."
"To continue your hunt, up until the day I am shot. Well, we shall see how well that goes." She noted his frown. As if I will face any other fate. They will kill me. I look forward to it.
"You still feel no remorse for the people you hurt?"
"Had they surrendered, had they accepted their new roles in the Jade Falcon Clan, they would not have been hurt. They chose to resist."
"You're going to lose the trial if you say things like that."
"I doubt I have any chance to win either way, so I shall be honest." She glanced at him again. He was tapping the noteputer again. I will not let it bother me. Let him tap. She grinned. "So let the trial come. I look forward to it."
Provisional Jade Falcon Council Building
New Hamarr, Sudeten
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
25 March 3143
Everything was ready long before the Timurlane made its landing and disgorged the warriors of the Ninth Talon. Isaac Roshak led the other Bloodnamed Mongol warriors of Delta Galaxy and its attached units to the Council Building, flanked by vehicles commandeered by the Watch for their transport. The other commanders like Lisa Hazen would not be far behind, but they would find their efforts to depart their ships hindered by a lack of transport. The Watch had to get their convoy from somewhere, after all.
Upon arrival Isaac led his comrades right to the Council chamber. They eschewed the helmets that were normal, indeed, each was in their black combat BDUs, as if all they needed was a few moments to get into cooling vests, flight suits, or infantry armor and face battle, separating them from the Falcon warriors wearing formal council uniform. Seeing them made Isaac smirk in contempt. Tradition, as always. The binding chain that has held our people back, until the Chinghis Khan showed us the way forward. Without a word he and his comrades took their seats and waited for the meeting to begin.
The Loremaster, Andwar Icaza, was already in his place, Isaac noted. The senior Khan, the doddering old fossil and former Clan Oathmaster Wenceslas Buhallin, was seated beside the main target of Isaac's ire, Beckett Malthus, though their faces were obscured by their Falcon masks. Isaac thought he saw anger in Beckett's eyes, but he couldn't be sure. I hope it is fear too. Fear for what he has reaped.
Still, as much as he ached to be done with this, he had to play along for now. They would do this in open session. If anything, it would buy the Watch the time needed to finish other preparations.
The mere appearance of Isaac Roshak and his black-clad warriors prompted a snarl to form on Beckett's face. A part of him pondered calling the disrespect out, but somehow he couldn't find the energy. The very fact Roshak was here, wearing the insignia of a Galaxy Commander, spoke of how wrong things had gone. He'd sent Stephanie Chistu to secure the future of the Clan, but instead she'd followed Malvina into death. Noritomo Helmer would be my only hope, but I have no expectation of his return, not in time. He glanced towards Wenceslas, who remained quiet. He was only supposed to serve as a temporary fill-in, but now, I need him longer. Assuming I can block the Mongols.
He listed patiently to Loremaster Andwar open the meeting before speaking, firmly, "Star Colonel Roshak, you insult this chamber with your lack of appropriate dress."
"And you insult our entire Clan with your machinations and treachery, Malthus," Isaac spat back. He pulled the noteputer from his uniform and held it aloft. "I have read all your correspondence with Galaxy Commander Chistu. Your treasonous plans to destroy the followers of the Chinghis Khan were found by the Watch, and you will answer!"
"Treasonous plans? I spoke only of what would have to be done if the most hardline Mongols reacted poorly to her election," Beckett answered. "But if is satisfaction you want, I will face you in a Circle of Equals."
"Vermin like you don't deserve honorable combat. You are fit only to be exterminated. You in particular, traitor, for your disservice to the Chinghis Khan you claimed to loyally serve."
By now a number of the other warriors, Mongols or Mongol-leaning Bloodnamed, were casting furious eyes his way as well. Beckett's jaw set under his mask. We lost too many in the Rending. I have no other options left.
Movement at the doors caught his attention. Elemental infantry in the colors of the Ninth Talon, mixed with black-clad warriors armed with rifles… and bearing the insignia of the Watch.
"You conspired to destroy us, the followers of the Chinghis Khan," Isaac charged openly. "To put our Clan back on the road to slow death and decay, not glorious victory and our destiny as the future ilClan. For this, Beckett Malthus, Wenceslas Buhallin, you are now condemned. The Watch has already begun purging those loyal to you, freeing our Clan of their cowardly taint. The Mongol Way is the way of the future."
"Everything I have done, I have done to preserve our Clan, to remain true to our redes as the Great Father and Elizabeth Hazen set them down," Beckett responded curtly, though inwardly he felt fatal resignation fill him. I have lost. I have failed. My Clan will not survive this; yet still I must try to make them understand. "Even Malvina, bloodfoul as she was, understood this better than you; she had enough wisdom to know when not to kill."
He only managed to finish the sentence because his insult to Malvina had rendered Isaac and the other Mongols stupefied briefly. But now retribution came. With a furious shriek Isaac pulled a sidearm from his waist and leveled it towards Beckett. He met the mad Mongol leader eye to eye before the gunshots rang through the Council Chamber.
He imagined the pain would be intense, but it was still more than he expected from the bullets piercing his uniform, smashing their way through his ribs and into his lungs, heart, and stomach. The whole clip was spent in the time it took Beckett to fall back into his chair. Blood flooded into his lungs, but only briefly, as his savaged heart could no longer beat on account of the damage it had taken.
So dies the Jade Falcon Clan, he thought bitterly before the chasm of death swallowed him whole.
Isaac listened to the repeated hammers of gunfire. The Watch were methodical, targeting all that their own investigations determined were insufficiently Mongol, or those that strayed after the loss of the Chinghis Khan. It took half a minute for the purging to be complete, but when it was done, over a third of the Council members present were dead at their benches, leaving only those true to the Way of the Chinghis Khan.
He cast his eyes to the standing, quiet form of Andwar Icaza. "We have vacancies," he said. "Who shall step forward to assume the Khanship."
"I will," said Isaac, chambering a new clip into his weapon as he did, the audible clicking of the pistol mechanism filling the blood-smeared chamber.
"You?!" Uther Mattlov's voice echoed through the chamber. "You failed at Timkovichi, you are—"
Isaac turned, his gun leveled. His tormenter had no time to speak further before a bullet went through Uther's neck, blasting through his larynx and silencing him before exiting out the side of his throat. Uther stared in shock before slumping down, trying to stop the bleeding from his throat.
"I fought and slew many of our foes at Timkovichi, just to be betrayed by the dezgra Galaxy Commander Chistu during our combat trial, who allowed the enemy to focus on my 'Mech," Isaac proclaimed. "I survived her treachery and assumed command to pull our forces out of the trap her timidity placed them in. Had she honored the ways of the Chinghis Khan, Timkovichi would have burned, a warning to all who would defy the Jade Falcon Clan. Now our foes are emboldened. They believe us cowed and weak. Under my leadership, we will prove ourselves anything but. We will strengthen the Clan, punish our foes, and prepare to resume the desant, to become ilClan as is our rightful place."
"Until the Republic's so-called 'walls' go down, what shall we do?" The question was from one of the new Bloodnamed Mongols, Jacinda Icaza. "Expand our invasion of the Lyrans? Strike at the Bears? Punish the Horses?"
"We will have suitable enemies to blood new warriors, that I assure you." Isaac grinned. "The truce that the coward Chistu extracted from our new Arcadian foes is of some use, but I would reinforce it with blood. We must remind them what renewed hostilities mean, especially under the Chinghis Khan's way and not the coward Stephanie Chistu's. Once we are assured they are cowed, we will turn our attention towards the Republic and any others that stand in our way. For now, my fellow warriors, we prepare for revenge. After all…" He sneered. "Chistu's truce was for the Arcadians and the Lyrans. It says nothing about the traitor Wolves."
The laughter that came from his peers told Isaac the election was as good as his.
Fort Defiance Medical Administration Building
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadia Royal March
Royal Federation
2 March 3143
Like most of the AFRF's departments, the Medical Department used its headquarters at Fort Defiance as main offices for its lead personnel. With his clearances and in light of the summons he'd received, Doctor John Albright easily strode through the existing security and into the offices of the Military Psychiatry Division. A yeoman brought him into the presence of Vice Admiral Sirtis, where he promptly saluted his superior, seated in her chair wearing a standard red duty uniform with black naval trim. She returned the salute. "Doctor, you sent a note about discussing the Hazen situation?"
"I did, Doctor, ma'am." He drew in a breath. "Firstly, has there been any progress in my proposal to fit her for prosthetics? She's trapped in bed and utterly crippled, and the lack of activity is a cause of significant psychological stress and discomfort." He said the words as he'd said them two dozen times these past four months.
"I'm sure it is, and I will repeat the request." Sirtis shook her head. "I suspect it will be 'considered' and quietly ignored. Your own reports of her past, and Miss Hazen's behavior, have convinced the rest of the Medical Department, particularly those responsible for hospital security, that she would be a danger to herself and others if provided any means of independent locomotion."
"So they would torture her instead." Albright shook his head. "It's wrong, Admiral. This is a violation of her rights."
"The Department feels it provides sufficient stimulation through her holovid access and the orderlies giving her tours of the Corey Hospital's garden and grounds. I will take the matter up again regardless, but don't expect much change," she warned. "For that matter, how have your sessions gone? You provide vital interaction for what remains of her mental health."
Albright chuckled bitterly at the words before shaking his head. "It's been quite a challenge for me," he admitted. "Especially since the material from Morges came through, and Malvina's unrepentant reaction."
"I would take that as further indication of her sociopathy, the lack of remorse is marked."
"It is." He swallowed. "I simply… do not know if we can ever understand what drives such a person. What creates this bizarre assemblage of traits. A sociopath shouldn't have the fondness and regret she feels for her dead sibko mate Aleks. Nor would she have treated the girl Cynthy as she did, where genuine affection seems to have crept in despite the otherwise abusive nature of her behavior. There's just so many contradictions."
"You find them in our line of work, Doctor." Sirtis patiently settled her hands on the desk. "My question, the salient question is, are you going to testify against her competency to stand trial?"
"I cannot, in good conscience, testify for it," Albright said. "I honestly do not think a trial will give anything but the most base sense of closure, especially with the likelihood she will be condemned. Her mental condition, her upbringing, all these factors tell me she was put on the path to becoming what she is, and I don't feel comfortable with declaring her competent. I'm still not convinced it is the just end."
Sirtis shook her head. "Doctor, I would like you to consider that you are mistaking a professional judgement for a personal one. You are deciding a trial would not be just, so you are refusing to acknowledge her competency."
Albright quietly pondered Sirtis' words. I can't deny it's possible, but all the same, it doesn't mean it is. "If you feel so, Admiral, then remove me from Hazen's care," he finally said. "That would be the appropriate choice."
"Don't think I haven't considered it," Sirtis warned. "It's clear to me that you've become overly fascinated with studying Malvina Hazen. Remember that at the end of the day, she is a monster, as you've admitted in your own words."
"She is, yes," he conceded, "but she is a crippled monster, without fangs or claws to harm any living being ever again. Executing her will not protect a single soul, it will only be vengeance."
"I can't agree with that," Sirtis said. "Not wholly. No, she can't cause harm herself, but she has caused so much harm already, killed so many, that to let her live untried is to diminish her crimes. At some point, people like her have to answer for their misdeeds."
"Even if she, as an individual, has diminished capacity from her upbringing? If anyone should be tried, it is the entire Jade Falcon Clan, for the horrors they subjected her to as a child. Malvina Hazen the Chinghis Khan, Butcher of Skye and Apostica and whatever else the Lyrans call her, isn't the product of a diseased mind. She's the product of the traumas visited on a scared little girl by an entire culture. She was never given a chance to be better, she was broken before she even joined their warrior caste."
"So noted."
He sighed. "But yet, you don't agree with me, and you're still on board for this trial."
"Correct." Sirtis leaned back in her chair. Her voice turned conciliatory. "For what it's worth, Doctor Albright, I do believe you have justifications for the way you see this matter, even if I don't agree with them, which is why I haven't actually removed you. And as it turns out, the JAG attorneys assigned to the case have their own views on your participation." She produced a printed paper and handed it to him. "Consider this a sign of their interest in your continued involvement."
Albright accepted the paper. He read it quietly. Really? I never expected to… He looked back up at her. "So the process is beginning. And I am being assigned indefinitely to serve as Malvina's psychiatric counselor?"
"I do not envy you your job, Doctor, but yes," Sirtis said. "Lord Cassel was impressed, and he's made clear he wants you, the most vocal critic, to have a role here. This is going to be a fair trial."
"With all due respect, Doctor, it can't be. Malvina… does not understand the concepts for which she will be charged and put on trial. She can't support her own defense."
"Opinions like that are why you'll be here, as Malvina's court-ordered psychiatrist," Sirtis said. "God help you too, you'll need it. You are dismissed, Doctor."
With the orders in hand, he departed the office. So the trial goes on, despite my reports. Though I can understand why…. yes, seeing those images from Morges, I can see it. People need justice for it. Closure. Telling them Malvina can't stand trial would rob them of that.
But it's not true justice. Her Clan destroyed her as a child and now she is being punished for it, though they were the ones who turned her into the monster that committed those terrible crimes. God have mercy on all of us.
And with that in mind… time to say goodbye to my other patient.
He returned to the parking area, got into the Ford-Chrysler 3110 model Splenda he'd been assigned by the Fort Defiance motor pool, and drove his way out of the Fort Defiance grounds and to the nearby environs of Roslyn Aerospace Port. The complex for runways and blast-protected landing pads was a combination airport and DropPort, servicing aircraft and spacecraft alike in connecting Roslyn to the rest of the planet, the space stations in orbit, and beyond. After parking — thankfully AFRF personnel and their vehicles enjoyed free complimentary parking by law — he walked through the assemblage of shops, eateries, and interactive terminals to the DropPort terminals. Near a store of consumer electronics, for those travelers desperately looking to replace a broken noteputer or backup data drive or the like, he found what he was looking for.
Cynthy looked… normal, for lack of a better term. Her hair was in a loose ponytail and well-kept. She'd gained a little weight, too, and filled out the blue blouse and dark slacks she was clad in, enough that one might almost think she was just a normal adolescent girl. It was when you looked at her face, the uncertainty there, the glimmer in her eyes, that you could see she wasn't quite what she looked to be.
Indeed, the two women flanking her also made somewhat clear she wasn't just coming through with family. One was a tall, broad-shouldered woman of middle-age, half of her dark face just slightly off-color from the rest to show it was the result of skin grafting and reconstructive surgery, the kind you saw on survivors from the business end of a flamer. The metal cast of her right hand lent further credence to that. It was a prosthetic for a limb that was once incinerated. Given her age, just young enough for it to be from the Fourth Succession War, he guessed. Beside her, a woman of slight tan complexion with short dark hair wearing a light green headscarf was helping Cynthy pick out a case for a noteputer.
He caught the eye of the broad-shouldered woman first. His interest was clear enough that she brought a hand up. "Excuse me, sir?"
"Doctor John Albright, Military Psychiatrist," he said to identify himself, bringing up his military ID from his wallet. "Cynthy here was my patient, I came to say farewell."
The woman nodded. "Borna Nyaoke, Marsabit Regional Family Protection Service on Uhuru," she said, speaking with a slight Kenyan-Uhuran accent. "My associate, Zainab Salbi, Royal Family Court. We're Ms. Freeman's escort for her transfer to the custody of Doctor Admassu."
Cynthy's eyes flashed with brief fury at the use of the name "Freeman", but she said nothing.
Albright nodded in acknowledgement. "A pleasure, and please, my regards to Doctor Admassu, and my thanks once more for his agreeing to take Cynthy in as his patient." He felt recalled gratitude at first hearing the news just a month before. Doctor Sir Haile Admassu, Dean of the College of Pediatric Psychiatry, Royal University of Kenyatta on Uhuru, was one of the most distinguished child psychiatrists in the Inner Sphere, with experience in handling children traumatized by violence and abuse. I can only imagine how emotionally trying it is to work with children like that, and I hope he helps Cynthy. He will do her far better than I did. He glanced her way again. She recognized him, and she wasn't entirely pleased to see him, but at least she didn't have that energy about her, like any moment she would leap into violence, as she'd been like months before after being recovered from the Falcons. Maybe she can have a normal life. A good family.
"Doctor Albright." She spoke the words with a quiet tone, not reverential, more like she was testing her ability to speak them. "You still see the Khan… Malvina?"
Nyaoke and Salbi exchanged concerned looks. Albright swallowed and nodded quietly. "I am treating her, yes."
"Then, please, do right by her."
"I am trying."
"No, that's…" Cynthy stopped speaking for a moment and shook her head.
"We should get to the DropShip gate," Salbi said, giving him a look that made it clear she wanted the conversation over.
It was Cynthy who spoke again, resisting the effort to pull her away. "Doctor Albright, do the right thing for Malvina. Promise me."
He drew in a breath. How could he explain the issues with her? What did he dare risk saying, when it might cause further harm to a child who'd already suffered so much? He made his choice and, gently, replied, "I promise I will do right, as much as I can for her, that's all I can fairly promise, Cynthy. I will try to heal her as much as I can, as much as I'm allowed."
The girl shook her head. She clenched her fists. "No. No. That is not what I mean!"
"Cynthy, we must go," Nyaoke insisted.
"That's not what I mean, Doctor Albright. Do right by Malvina. Do right by her! Let her die."
Now the two women escorting the girl looked particularly aggrieved, and Albright felt a twisting in his gut. "That's not my place, Cynthy."
"Let her die, Doctor. Your people are torturing her. Let her die, it's all she wants, it's… it's all she's wanted." Cynthy swallowed. "Nobody understands. Why do they not understand? They used her and never understood… let her die. Doctor, let her die."
"We're done. Come along, Cynthy, our ship is waiting." Nyaoke gave him a displeased look before taking Cynthy's arm.
"Let her die, let it end, please," Cynthy called back before turning her head, and letting the two women pull her away.
Albright watched her go and swallowed. His mind went back to the Arcadia infirmary, to the sight of Cynthy tearing the respirator from Malvina's face. At the time he thought it was rage, a lashing out at her now powerless tormentor, but his mind likewise recalled Malvina's cries to Cynthy, the order to kill her in her bed, while the orderlies and guards subdued the girl. After Aleks, Cynthy was the only being Malvina had any affection for, even with the abuse. That girl may be the only being in the Inner Sphere, either Inner Sphere, who can understand Malvina. And now she's heading two jumps away. The insight she could offer for Malvina's defense… no, what am I thinking? She's a traumatized child and Malvina was her captor, her abuser! She needs to be as far away as possible to recover!
He stood alone for the moment in the DropPort-side shopping area. Malvina is a monster. A broken, tragic monster, but it doesn't change that she's hurt people, and Cynthy is one of her victims. It's better this way.
But try as he might, he couldn't quite stop thinking about Cynthy's words, and his own wondering if the most merciful thing for his patient might very well be the judicial execution he saw looming on the horizon, and which he still felt morally obliged to resist.
Dr. Nancy Corey Memorial Hospital
It was late in the day. That was all Malvina Hazen knew, given the angle of the sunlight shining through her barred windows. Her stomach rumbled slightly from a minor hunger. Dinner was still an hour away. But it would come, unlike those she remembered from the sibko, when it might not come at all, or would come in a far reduced portion. Then they will put me in the wheelchair and walk me through their garden. Doctor John's orders. As if I am sated by a ride.
She turned on the tri-vee player. The holographic display showed one of those accursed Spheroid news services, talking yet more about the war on her Clan, on all the Clans. She paid enough attention to hear a man called Zento saying it was a waste, that it was weakening the defenses of Skye. That planet. She snarled. Aleks. Lost for that world. I should have burnt it down, but for the resources it provided my Clan. She smiled at seeing Zento shouted down by an audience and the other speakers, accusing him of myriad things like cowardice, arrogance, and "regionalism". No, if he were true to the "values of the Federation", he would be supporting "the War against the Clans".
They will war with my Falcons and the Horses. They will likewise war with the Wolves. And may Seth Ward and that upstart pup Alaric enjoy it. Perhaps even the Bears will face their armies, and nothing of value will be lost there either.
She changed the channel, once, twice, three times. The other news networks spoke of similar things. Others had the usual vapid Spheroid pap in them. All of the entertainment, whether it was degraded combat on Solaris between mercenary gladiators or fictional productions that were a waste of resources from Malvina's perspective, did nothing to fill the quiet. Trapped in this bed, without a foot to stand on, a hand to grasp with, all she had were her memories, and the pain they represented.
The door opened. Doctor John entered. "Malvina."
"Our conversations have long exhausted the stories of my past," Malvina replied, her lip curled in a disgusted, frustrated snarl. "Perhaps you are not the hunter of mental illness you thought to be, if you have not caught your prey among my words yet."
"Memories are just the start of such hunts," he replied, moving to a chair. "Before we begin the session, I have news to share."
"You will give me prosthetics? Let me move on my own? Perhaps just legs, so that I might walk." Then I can smash my brains out against the wall, if I choose.
"Not approved yet," he replied. "I've been given your first court hearing, it's in about seven weeks. To determine your fitness to stand trial for war crimes."
"Ah, my trial you promised. My, how slow you Spheroids are. I look forward to it."
"You'll be assigned a defense team. And I will remain as your psychiatric counselor."
"To continue your hunt, up until the day I am shot. Well, we shall see how well that goes." She noted his frown. As if I will face any other fate. They will kill me. I look forward to it.
"You still feel no remorse for the people you hurt?"
"Had they surrendered, had they accepted their new roles in the Jade Falcon Clan, they would not have been hurt. They chose to resist."
"You're going to lose the trial if you say things like that."
"I doubt I have any chance to win either way, so I shall be honest." She glanced at him again. He was tapping the noteputer again. I will not let it bother me. Let him tap. She grinned. "So let the trial come. I look forward to it."
Provisional Jade Falcon Council Building
New Hamarr, Sudeten
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
25 March 3143
Everything was ready long before the Timurlane made its landing and disgorged the warriors of the Ninth Talon. Isaac Roshak led the other Bloodnamed Mongol warriors of Delta Galaxy and its attached units to the Council Building, flanked by vehicles commandeered by the Watch for their transport. The other commanders like Lisa Hazen would not be far behind, but they would find their efforts to depart their ships hindered by a lack of transport. The Watch had to get their convoy from somewhere, after all.
Upon arrival Isaac led his comrades right to the Council chamber. They eschewed the helmets that were normal, indeed, each was in their black combat BDUs, as if all they needed was a few moments to get into cooling vests, flight suits, or infantry armor and face battle, separating them from the Falcon warriors wearing formal council uniform. Seeing them made Isaac smirk in contempt. Tradition, as always. The binding chain that has held our people back, until the Chinghis Khan showed us the way forward. Without a word he and his comrades took their seats and waited for the meeting to begin.
The Loremaster, Andwar Icaza, was already in his place, Isaac noted. The senior Khan, the doddering old fossil and former Clan Oathmaster Wenceslas Buhallin, was seated beside the main target of Isaac's ire, Beckett Malthus, though their faces were obscured by their Falcon masks. Isaac thought he saw anger in Beckett's eyes, but he couldn't be sure. I hope it is fear too. Fear for what he has reaped.
Still, as much as he ached to be done with this, he had to play along for now. They would do this in open session. If anything, it would buy the Watch the time needed to finish other preparations.
The mere appearance of Isaac Roshak and his black-clad warriors prompted a snarl to form on Beckett's face. A part of him pondered calling the disrespect out, but somehow he couldn't find the energy. The very fact Roshak was here, wearing the insignia of a Galaxy Commander, spoke of how wrong things had gone. He'd sent Stephanie Chistu to secure the future of the Clan, but instead she'd followed Malvina into death. Noritomo Helmer would be my only hope, but I have no expectation of his return, not in time. He glanced towards Wenceslas, who remained quiet. He was only supposed to serve as a temporary fill-in, but now, I need him longer. Assuming I can block the Mongols.
He listed patiently to Loremaster Andwar open the meeting before speaking, firmly, "Star Colonel Roshak, you insult this chamber with your lack of appropriate dress."
"And you insult our entire Clan with your machinations and treachery, Malthus," Isaac spat back. He pulled the noteputer from his uniform and held it aloft. "I have read all your correspondence with Galaxy Commander Chistu. Your treasonous plans to destroy the followers of the Chinghis Khan were found by the Watch, and you will answer!"
"Treasonous plans? I spoke only of what would have to be done if the most hardline Mongols reacted poorly to her election," Beckett answered. "But if is satisfaction you want, I will face you in a Circle of Equals."
"Vermin like you don't deserve honorable combat. You are fit only to be exterminated. You in particular, traitor, for your disservice to the Chinghis Khan you claimed to loyally serve."
By now a number of the other warriors, Mongols or Mongol-leaning Bloodnamed, were casting furious eyes his way as well. Beckett's jaw set under his mask. We lost too many in the Rending. I have no other options left.
Movement at the doors caught his attention. Elemental infantry in the colors of the Ninth Talon, mixed with black-clad warriors armed with rifles… and bearing the insignia of the Watch.
"You conspired to destroy us, the followers of the Chinghis Khan," Isaac charged openly. "To put our Clan back on the road to slow death and decay, not glorious victory and our destiny as the future ilClan. For this, Beckett Malthus, Wenceslas Buhallin, you are now condemned. The Watch has already begun purging those loyal to you, freeing our Clan of their cowardly taint. The Mongol Way is the way of the future."
"Everything I have done, I have done to preserve our Clan, to remain true to our redes as the Great Father and Elizabeth Hazen set them down," Beckett responded curtly, though inwardly he felt fatal resignation fill him. I have lost. I have failed. My Clan will not survive this; yet still I must try to make them understand. "Even Malvina, bloodfoul as she was, understood this better than you; she had enough wisdom to know when not to kill."
He only managed to finish the sentence because his insult to Malvina had rendered Isaac and the other Mongols stupefied briefly. But now retribution came. With a furious shriek Isaac pulled a sidearm from his waist and leveled it towards Beckett. He met the mad Mongol leader eye to eye before the gunshots rang through the Council Chamber.
He imagined the pain would be intense, but it was still more than he expected from the bullets piercing his uniform, smashing their way through his ribs and into his lungs, heart, and stomach. The whole clip was spent in the time it took Beckett to fall back into his chair. Blood flooded into his lungs, but only briefly, as his savaged heart could no longer beat on account of the damage it had taken.
So dies the Jade Falcon Clan, he thought bitterly before the chasm of death swallowed him whole.
Isaac listened to the repeated hammers of gunfire. The Watch were methodical, targeting all that their own investigations determined were insufficiently Mongol, or those that strayed after the loss of the Chinghis Khan. It took half a minute for the purging to be complete, but when it was done, over a third of the Council members present were dead at their benches, leaving only those true to the Way of the Chinghis Khan.
He cast his eyes to the standing, quiet form of Andwar Icaza. "We have vacancies," he said. "Who shall step forward to assume the Khanship."
"I will," said Isaac, chambering a new clip into his weapon as he did, the audible clicking of the pistol mechanism filling the blood-smeared chamber.
"You?!" Uther Mattlov's voice echoed through the chamber. "You failed at Timkovichi, you are—"
Isaac turned, his gun leveled. His tormenter had no time to speak further before a bullet went through Uther's neck, blasting through his larynx and silencing him before exiting out the side of his throat. Uther stared in shock before slumping down, trying to stop the bleeding from his throat.
"I fought and slew many of our foes at Timkovichi, just to be betrayed by the dezgra Galaxy Commander Chistu during our combat trial, who allowed the enemy to focus on my 'Mech," Isaac proclaimed. "I survived her treachery and assumed command to pull our forces out of the trap her timidity placed them in. Had she honored the ways of the Chinghis Khan, Timkovichi would have burned, a warning to all who would defy the Jade Falcon Clan. Now our foes are emboldened. They believe us cowed and weak. Under my leadership, we will prove ourselves anything but. We will strengthen the Clan, punish our foes, and prepare to resume the desant, to become ilClan as is our rightful place."
"Until the Republic's so-called 'walls' go down, what shall we do?" The question was from one of the new Bloodnamed Mongols, Jacinda Icaza. "Expand our invasion of the Lyrans? Strike at the Bears? Punish the Horses?"
"We will have suitable enemies to blood new warriors, that I assure you." Isaac grinned. "The truce that the coward Chistu extracted from our new Arcadian foes is of some use, but I would reinforce it with blood. We must remind them what renewed hostilities mean, especially under the Chinghis Khan's way and not the coward Stephanie Chistu's. Once we are assured they are cowed, we will turn our attention towards the Republic and any others that stand in our way. For now, my fellow warriors, we prepare for revenge. After all…" He sneered. "Chistu's truce was for the Arcadians and the Lyrans. It says nothing about the traitor Wolves."
The laughter that came from his peers told Isaac the election was as good as his.