The Lords of Ruin -- Battletech/Killzone
- Thread starter prometheus110
- Start date
- Crossover
Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
Yeah, this tracks with my expectations.
It also basically specifically fucks over the Wolves, who now need to get a perfect victory. And Comstar just got two nearly intact forces to redeploy against them.
And this was after some of their best units got mauled by the Wolf's Dragoons.
So... things are not looking good for the Wolves.
It also basically specifically fucks over the Wolves, who now need to get a perfect victory. And Comstar just got two nearly intact forces to redeploy against them.
And this was after some of their best units got mauled by the Wolf's Dragoons.
So... things are not looking good for the Wolves.
Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
Also, narratively this is almost kind of a reversal from Canon where the Wolves performed the best out of most of the Clans who bid their forces on Tukayyid.
Here, no matter how well they perform, the odds are so stacked against them that it's unlikely they'll be able to secure any kind of non-pyrrhic victory.
Edit:
Like I get it, on the one hand, if ComStar wins decisively here, they'll have a blooded, basically intact military, which could cause people some problems.
But honestly... politically speaking, all of the people for whom Problems would be caused for? Doesn't include ORDI. I'm sure it'll to some degree be a bit of a mixed bag and maybe cause us a couple headaches, but it's far from our greatest problem.
Here, no matter how well they perform, the odds are so stacked against them that it's unlikely they'll be able to secure any kind of non-pyrrhic victory.
Edit:
Like I get it, on the one hand, if ComStar wins decisively here, they'll have a blooded, basically intact military, which could cause people some problems.
But honestly... politically speaking, all of the people for whom Problems would be caused for? Doesn't include ORDI. I'm sure it'll to some degree be a bit of a mixed bag and maybe cause us a couple headaches, but it's far from our greatest problem.
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Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Heh. It all comes back to that one question a Comstar Adept asked of a Clan Loremaster: What do you do when a Clan joins another's challenge, but intentionally loses to fuck over the partner Clan?
- Location
- USA
Down to the fucking wire. Yeah, whatever dust up happens in the Cluster after this, Snow Raven will be in a prime position to exploit it. Definitely coming out on top with this invasion, able to withdraw with pretty much all of their men if not equipment. And either Clan Wolf looses, which will deal a death blow to the Crusader faction or they 'win' but are so shattered that they can't capitalize on the victory. Either Snow Raven wins, or they win more.
Omega-Chris
The Friendly Ghost
Now this update was really interesting. It's a good showcase in why Snow Raven has been so successful in this invasion and how there thinking ahead for beyond the invasion (which I belief not many clans are actively doing).
It maybe possible the Ravens are also preparing for a full scale migration back in the homeworlds like the Ghost Bears did in canon. Which why there trying to minimize casualties now so they can protect there holdings until the rest of there clan arrives.
Right now the score is 10-8 in ComStars favor so the Wolfs have to get a perfect victory for the Clans to even get a draw and with how intact the ComStar forces going against the Wolves is I don't think they will achieve that. But who knows maybe the Wolves will pull of a miracle.
It maybe possible the Ravens are also preparing for a full scale migration back in the homeworlds like the Ghost Bears did in canon. Which why there trying to minimize casualties now so they can protect there holdings until the rest of there clan arrives.
Right now the score is 10-8 in ComStars favor so the Wolfs have to get a perfect victory for the Clans to even get a draw and with how intact the ComStar forces going against the Wolves is I don't think they will achieve that. But who knows maybe the Wolves will pull of a miracle.
Perhaps, but here the Wolves neither have the plot armor nor the narrative-centered moral superiority of OTL. For all we know, they may end up creating the Mongol movement in response to how things play out.
Genolution
Hello there
I will say, I think it's unlikely so long as they have yet to actually secure a particular type of strategic asset that is of critical importance to their doctrine and strategic positioning; that is to say, an intact naval fleetyard capable of manufacturing full-sized capital ships. The Snow Ravens hold Lum, the only major shipbuilding centre in the Kerensky Cluster, and the basis of their positioning as the primary naval power in the Clan Homeworlds (and, depending on how hard ComStar have reactivated their mothball fleet—it is possible that with different leadership more concerned with budgetary sustainability, hey haven't activated every warship they can get their hands on—potentially the largest operator of heavy capital ships in human space). If they plan in relocating their operations and population to the Inner Sphere, then they are going to need to relocate an entire orbital shipyard complex as well, and that is a non-trivial matter, especially since I believe the Snow Raven invasion corridor hasn't captured any of the known Draconis Combine shipbuilding centres.
Omega-Chris
The Friendly Ghost
Indeed but considering they are the Snow Ravens the partial creators of the Leviathan class I think they can figure something out.
However I do think the Ravens like every other invading clan will have to choose which territory they rather want to occupy. Having territory in the Innersphere and Homeworlds is untenable as showcased in canon. The distance between the two is simply to great, one is going to have to be given priority over the other.
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Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
For all I suspect they have more of a semblance of a long-term plan than most of the other Clans (or hell maybe all of the other Clans), I don't think relocating everything they have is one of them.
Without heavy industry (and I do mean a critical mass of it to snowball with, like in Terra, or say, capturing the core worlds of the Commonwealth), the planets the Clans have captured are at risk of a full-blown insurgency, and putting it down as ham-fistedly as the Smoke Jaguars should result in a sullen populace not eager to convert to Clanner culture anytime soon.
The options are to try to solidify a hold on the worlds conquered, or to back out of the IS to avoid having a white elephant drain your coffers and focus on Homeworlds affairs.
The most likely way, even per canon, for having a long-term future in the IS, is integration. And options for integration are not super cut and dry here, nor are they without risks with a heavily industrialized and up-arming set of neighbors who you just picked a fight with.
Without heavy industry (and I do mean a critical mass of it to snowball with, like in Terra, or say, capturing the core worlds of the Commonwealth), the planets the Clans have captured are at risk of a full-blown insurgency, and putting it down as ham-fistedly as the Smoke Jaguars should result in a sullen populace not eager to convert to Clanner culture anytime soon.
The options are to try to solidify a hold on the worlds conquered, or to back out of the IS to avoid having a white elephant drain your coffers and focus on Homeworlds affairs.
The most likely way, even per canon, for having a long-term future in the IS, is integration. And options for integration are not super cut and dry here, nor are they without risks with a heavily industrialized and up-arming set of neighbors who you just picked a fight with.
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Omega-Chris
The Friendly Ghost
This is the exact reason why the Ghost Bear and Wolf in canon decided to whole sale move to the Innersphere even before the invasion ended. The Ghost Bears did it secretly only letting the Raven know because they needed there help moving everyone. While the Wolves had already taken most of there industry with them at the start of the invasion. I wonder if they did the same thing here?
Still I could see the Ravens taking the Ghost Bear route but it depends on if they can also move the shipyards they own. Which is a very big maybe. But honestly if they can move to the Innersphere wholesale I would welcome it as a player as it would make events in the potential sequel really interesting.
Genolution
Hello there
I mean, I'm not positive this is the case? There were multiple powers who were involved in both the Clan Homeworlds and the Inner Sphere all the way through to the Wars of Reaving; and the Wars of Reaving were due to a very particular set of circumstances that may or may not arise this time. The question then becomes, would a scenario such as the canon Wars of Reaving occur? And if so, would a Clan with Inner Sphere holdings be able to move enough troops from the Inner Sphere to the Clan Homeworlds to rapidly overmatch the Home clans before their last Homeworlds holdings fall? There are clans with highly developed merchant fleets participating in this invasion with captured infrastructure, unlike in canon, for example, and their is incentive, without the Refusal and Hegira Wars, to cooperate in preventing the Clan Homeworlds from being seized.
It depends on what they choose to do for integration, however; some are more viable than others, and some are viable insofar as creating a desert and calling it peace is viable. The Snow Ravens in canon "integrated" with the Outworlds Alliance by, in effect, agreeing to serve as the OWA's military in exchange for having space to set up enclaves and infrastructure and resource extraction, while remaining largely separate; a much simpler ask of "integration" than what faced, say, the Jade Falcon Occupation Zone or Ghost Bear Dominion. That was, in effect, rather than a full integration, effectively a military and political alliance formed by two powers occupying the same space. However, I have heard a good argument that that was prompted in large part by the initial respect won by the Alliance Military Corps in beating the Snow Ravens on their home turf. Here, the Ravens have none of that prompting to come to an accomodation with their occupation zone.
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Omega-Chris
The Friendly Ghost
True but all of those with multiple holding eventually had to make the choice of which one they would rather keep and had difficulties controlling both territories at the same time. Eventually the Homeworld clans will smell that the Invading clans have been weakened and begin striking at the holding they have in the Homeworlds. It's the Clan's nature to strike at another weakened Clan to strengthen there own Clan especially if the Star Adders are pulling the strings.
And something like the wars of reaving can still happen but we don't know if it will. Personally I hope something like it will happen to make the situation in the Innersphere more interesting then just the great houses with some clans becoming a permanent part of the Innersphere like canon.
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Genolution
Hello there
Regarding the 2nd part, it bears pointing out that the Star Adders weren't the driving force behind the Wars of Reaving, the Steel Vipers were; the Star Adders were just the primary beneficiaries. The Wars of Reaving still required a continuous series of shocks to the Clan system way up to the Great Refusal as well as arguably many of Ulric Kerensky's plots to set the mindset. For the 1st part, it may depend ultimately on how built up the infrastructure is along the Exodus Road; built up enough, and the combination of jumpship command circuits and warpships (with the proliferation of warp drives, there's really no way the clans aren't getting that eventually) means it is much easier for a clan to move troops between the Inner Sphere and Clan Homeworlds.
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Omega-Chris
The Friendly Ghost
Yea the Steal Vipers where the main driving point of the wars of reaving but who were there behind them egging them on and pointing them into certain directions before leaving them out to dry when they were no longer useful? It was the Star Adders. The wars of reaving might have been a knock on effect from Ulric's actions but it was the Adders who where the puppet masters once the wars really got going. They directed the Snake alliance, they played clans against each other before swooping in to take there resources and it was they who had the chance to end the wars early but didn't because letting it go on longer played into there hands in the long run.
Honestly the entire Wars of Reaving where a master class in manipulation and how to put you're self ahead of the competition. Once everything was said and done the Adders where essentially the kings of the Homeworlds letting everyone that remained think they where still independent when in reality they were all basically vassals of the Adders. If someone doesn't play along with them you can bet they won't be around for much longer.
Genolution
Hello there
I mean, perhaps, if you believe that the Wars of Reaving were in fact planned and organized by the Star Adders from the beginning; but I actually disagree. I feel like the Wars of Reaving make more sense as a conflict that in a way proceeded as a natural development of Clan society in response to a number of events relating to the Inner Sphere and which rapidly escaped control. To be frank, I do not think the Wars of Reaving make that much sense as something planned from the start by the Star Adders, for several reasons. First of all, Clan society is not set up to faciliate the specific type of coordinated, long term planning required for a grand conspiracy like the Wars of Reaving. Second of all, so many of the events that caused the Wars of Reaving and escalated them were very much beyond the control pf the Star Adders, or were indeed contrary to their goals—the uprising by the Society, for example, or the remnant Burrocks breaking away from the Star Adders. Finally, if it was planned, then it arguably cost the Star Adders far too much in terms of resources for it to have been a successful plan. The Clan Homeworlds post-3080 are a far poorer place than they were pre-3050, with numerous significant manufacturing centres, settlements, and resource extraction points destroyed by the fighting. The Star Adders, if they had planned it, in effect destroyed their logistical network by ejecting the Diamond Sharks and their naval infrastructure by ejecting the Snow Ravens, for example.
To that end, while I don't think it's impossible that the Star Adders planned the entire thing, I think it certainly makes much more sense if it was in fact a much more moderate plan that spiralled out of control or if they were indeed just shifted into that position by the course of events.
Omega-Chris
The Friendly Ghost
You misunderstood what I meant or I am just bad at bringing across my point. The Wars of Reaving weren't a Adder plan from the start but they became the manipulators during it. Pushing factions against each other to strengthen themselves. They didn't have everything planned out from the start but once the Reavings began they actively manipulated Steel Viper into targeting rivals or weakening other Clans to the point the Adders had a easier time in taking there stuff. The Adders indeed weren't aware of the Society but once they came into the open the Adder took advantage of it to weaken the scientist cast of other Clans.
So yea the Wars of Reaving weren't a Adder plot from the start but once things started going the Adders took the most advantage of it by manipulating things into there favor. And in the end it worked out for them as now there the Kings of the homeworlds and nobody there can effectively stand against them.
But honestly we have gotten a bit off track this discussion has become more about canon events rather then the quest. So yea we will have to wait and see what the epilogue will imply happens to the Clans after the quest ends and the potential sequel begins.
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The Battle of Lyndon - Part Ten
prometheus110
Join Cayman-Global & be part of the 1E-9 percent!
- Location
- La Ballena City Raft
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Toledo, Johnson, Lyndon
ComStar Intervention Zone, Lyran Commonwealth
26 May 3051 (Day 20 of Operation GUILLOTINE)
At Wolf Clan Headquarters, Khan Conal Ward paced through the middle of the holotank alone among his many officers, a galaxy blossoming around him as he interrupted errant beams of light. On his right, the OmniMechs of the 4th Wolf Guards had set themselves up for a counterstrike by a ComStar force, while to his left, the 37th Striker held off ComGuard assault units trying to retake the town of Agra. In the fierce fighting that had lasted through most of the morning and into the afternoon, Clan Wolf had failed to close a loop around Toledo to trap ComStar's First Army. Worse still, the swift arrival of this new force, ComStar's Seventh Army, meant the region's conquest would take far longer than expected.
Long enough, he worried, that their already low ammo stocks would begin to run dry.
He allowed himself a grimace. You are good, Anastasius Focht. Very good. I had hoped that our delay in landing would have had you send your best troops elsewhere, but I see now that I was mistaken. You have annihilated the Goliath Scorpions in Shilo and extricated your forces from battle with the Snow Ravens. For a Spheroid, you would have made a fine Wolf.
Despite his best efforts, anger blossomed within him at the memory of the Snow Ravens' actions.
"She will get her due," he muttered.
Someone coughed behind him.
The Khan's head came up, the snarl on his lips fading as he spotted his aide approaching. "Yes?"
"My Khan," the woman said in a tone devoid of emotion, her face held carefully neutral despite its evident fatigue. "Reports are in from the Red Keshik. Their scout star, Gladius, has reported enemy forces massing in sectors 3050 and 3051. Several regiments, at least."
The aide clutched a tablet in front of her, one hand poised to tap out his next commands. Coldly, he noted the slight shaking of her fingers.
Conal nodded and returned to the holographic display, a step back allowing the image to reconstitute itself in a spray of glowing particles.
"The 11th Wolf Guards have just met the advanced position of the 169th Division," he said aloud. "And the rest of the 13th Guards are skirmishing with the 322nd Division along this broad front south of the Maumee River. Combined with Gladius' report, this suggests the ComGuard are preparing an offensive against the 279th Battle Cluster."
With the updates from Gladius programmed in by the headquarters staff, the tactical map left the whole western flank of the ComGuard position open. Conal knew that Focht was too wise a leader to leave a vulnerability unguarded out of hand. Still, it was not unheard of for a commander to trust in the audacity of leaving a part of their line open to strike a lethal blow with the troops that should have been defending it. Detaching a Cluster from Delta Galaxy to probe an unconfirmed opening in their opponent's until-now invulnerable hide and attempt a lethal blow was a gamble, but one that could deliver him a triumph.
Ignoring the wash of voices that pervaded the room—the background radiation of a Clan at war—Conal waved a finger through a forested ridge. "If they meet resistance, it will start here. They will hit them when they are halfway up the hill and snap at their heels with artillery."
"Sir?"
He waved a hand through the ghostly hologram. "Send the following to Galaxy Commander Ward: Dispatch the 4th Striker to penetrate sector 2999 in force. Mission parameters are to seek and destroy enemy logistics hubs behind their lines. We need them taken out if we are to make any headway against the ComGuard. I will devote a trinary of OmniFighters to provide air support to the unit, but that is all I can spare. Do you have that?"
The aide tapped his keyboard rapidly. "Yes, sir."
"Good. I want this done quickly and efficiently. We have lost enough Warriors to the Stravags' artillery; I want them ammo-starved by nightfall."
"Yes, sir."
As the aide made to leave, Conal rubbed the bridge of his nose and fought back the wave of exhaustion that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.
"And get me another batch of stimulants!" He called after the woman.
Turning his gaze back to the display, the Khan gave a languid blink and thought. Come, Focht. Let us see if this is the hour of the Wolf or Star.
Anastasius Focht refused to surrender to fatigue.
In his virtual world, he stood atop a ridgeline ridge and saw a Star of five Clan Mechs waiting at the base of the rise, their lights off and weapons held high. Beyond the Star, half hidden in twilight's deep shadows, the rest of the Cluster was slowly moving up after them, countless Fleas leaping at their feet as they sought to keep up. Even without the ghostly information panels that hovered around him, he could recognise the unit by their choice of camouflage; the black triangles splattered across their woodland colours marked them as Delta Galaxy mechs.
"This is the real stupidity of war, isn't it, Conal?" He told the empty air.
"I know how good you are. I know how bravely your Warriors will fight. I have read all the reports on your Wolves, and I know that even though we outnumber you and have closed the technology gap in the years since your arrival, the skill of your Warriors is such that the ComGuard will lose many soldiers and machines fending you off. Likewise, our tactics here will deprive you of skilled Warriors when you need them most and wreck machines whose only source lies more than a thousand lightyears away. Even so; even though it will cost us both dearly, we are forced to oppose one another. Damnfool honour demands it of us both."
Shaking his head, he opened a radio channel to Demi-Precentor Pravin Granger. "Demi-Precentor, the 4th Striker Cluster is approaching the ridgeline as expected."
Granger's voice displayed no emotion. "We will carry out Blake's mission, Precentor-Martial."
Focht nodded to no one. "This I trust, Demi-Precentor. Remember that surprise is your advantage here. While you are shielded by the ridgeline's magnetite deposits, they cannot tell you are there. Be aware, however, that this unit is extremely skilled, and they will respond the moment you open fire. Pick your first shot carefully, and do not fear dishonour if you must fall back.
The man grunted. "We will hold."
"Very well." Focht rasped, the words catching in his throat.
Yes, the stupidity of war afflicts us both.
"If you wait for the Cluster's lead elements to make it halfway up the hill, you can trap them with the inferno charges and destroy them before the rest of the unit can respond."
"Consider it done, Precentor-Martial." Granger's voice rattled. "Is that all?"
Focht was not immune to the man's probing tone.
"Affirmative. I will observe via drone cameras, but the engagement is yours, Demi-Precentor. May Blake be with you."
"And also with you," he replied.
As if hearing the sign-off, the quintet of Mechs at the base of the ridge began to move, the forest floor churning into mud beneath their wide-toed feet as they raced towards the ComGuard's hidden mechs. Simultaneously, the rest of the 4th Striker started to follow them, the twilight forest coming alive with the sounds of mechs in motion. Fast and dangerous and formed into a long wedge with the scout Star at their head, the Clan mechs swung their weapons left and right as they advanced, mechanical eyes doubtlessly open wide for any sign of ComGuard treachery.
And they will find it, the ComGuards' head thought as the first mechs crossed the halfway mark.
An instant later, a flash of orange light lit up the twilight as the inferno charges buried beneath the ground detonated; twilight's pinks and gold suddenly transformed into a blazing, blistering orange. In the blink of an eye, a strip of earth halfway through the charge erupted into a wall of fire fifty meters high and ten wide, a handful of mechs vanishing within its greedy flames as a dull whump knocked free a shower of pine needles from the surrounding trees. Not wasting time, a spray of lasers and autocannon rounds erupted from the forest ahead and around the mechs, geysers of dirt and shrapnel filling the air as the ComGuard troops engaged their opposites.
As expected, the 4th Striker reacted instantly.
Moving with machine precision, the veteran MechWarriors lay down a thick sheet of fire even as their comrades fell, the sprinting mechs immediately changing course to make as difficult a target as possible. Caught between the firestorm behind them—its hungry flames already spreading from tree to tree—and the onslaught ahead of them, the Cluster's lead elements charged towards their attackers with a rabid single-mindedness; Clan weapons fired less often than their Inner Sphere counterparts but with far more accuracy. Stuck behind them, blinded by the flames but far from useless, the rest of the Cluster fired into the swelling melee guided by their comrades' words, the ComGuard's sheer numbers ensuring that the attacks struck true more often than not.
He should call it in soon, the Precentor-Martial thought as a Level II of bone-white mechs vanished amidst a storm of laser fire, their killers imperiously advancing towards the ridge.
On cue, a midday sun blossomed in the dusky forest as an artillery shell fell within the Cluster's back line, a dull roar filling Focht's ears courtesy of the virtual environment's control program. Rippling from one end of the assault force to the other, yet more screaming shells and firey missiles tossed up vast gouts of soil as the rest of the barrage landed; mechs and battle armour thrown this way and that as the support fire threw their advance into confusion. A heartbeat later, an almost imperceptible shift swept through the Cluster, and, like a river shifting course, the assault transformed into a well-organised retreat in the blink of an eye, trinaries covering one another as they fell back down the ridge in leaps and bounds.
"Do not chase them," Focht warned the Demi-Precentor, recognising the danger. "They will attempt to pincer your forces if you do. Hold your position and prepare for a second attempt."
Clever, he thought as Granger agreed with his assessment. It might have worked on another foe, too.
As if to reinforce his orders, an OmniFighter Star dove from the darkening sky and dropped a brace of munitions on a trio of combat vehicles that had advanced too far forward on their own recognisance. An instant later, the proud machines were replaced by a cloud of smoke and dust in a blast of noise and fire, burning scrap metal all that remained of them when the wind shifted and blew the pall away.
Watching the Wolves withdraw from the range of the ComGuard and their artillery, Anastasius Focht bid the Demi-Precentor goodbye and turned his attention to the next battle, the virtual forest floor shifting beneath his feet as if he'd taken wing.
It may have been a trap on ComStar's part, Khan Ward thought as he felt the warm tingle of stimulants ruching through his blood, but I know the measure of your defences, Focht.
"Well fought," he acknowledged as the 4th Striker completed its withdrawal from the ridgeline in good order, the last dregs of ComGuard artillery falling well short of the assembled host. "You will be reinforced ahead of another assault."
"Aff, my Khan," the Cluster's commander acknowledged before cutting the channel.
Barking the orders to his aide, Conal turned his attention to the next trouble spot, the holographic map at the centre of the HQ rolling to reveal a flood of crimson and blue icons scattered over the disparate collection of buildings that was the Agra township.
From Conal's god's eye view, Agra had become a battlefield par excellence, blue-green grass churned to muddy fields by feet and tracks and digitally rendered explosions tearing apart buildings as if they were toys. Once a sleepy farming town that served double duty as the last stop before the city of Toledo, the Wolves had quickly smashed aside its brave defenders in an orgy of violence and seized control of the victory point at its centre; the entire 37th Striker Cluster deployed in its defence. Even as he watched, the Wolf Khan saw a full Star of mechs take position inside a wide earthen trench and engage a collection of ComStar vehicles trundling up the road from Toledo, one mech falling as the final vehicle exploded into flames.
A bad exchange, he worried as his hand jittered of its own accord, a conscious thought required to steady it. If we continue as we have, our bid will be wiped out before we run out of expendables.
Clearing his throat with a machine gun rattle, the Khan spoke to the room. "Inform Star Colonel Hall that we will be reallocating the 13th Guards' air support to the defence of Agra, quiaff?"
"Aff, Khan Ward," an unseen voice answered back. "I will do as you command."
It would doubtlessly cause him some trouble after the battle to take back promised air support while the 13th were busy with Focht's ComGuard, but Conal would gladly fight any number of post-facto challenges if it meant that Clan Wolf carried the day.
Staring at the holographic display, the Wolf Khan grinned savagely as a Star of OmniFighters suddenly streaked into view and arrowed towards an advancing wedge of ComStar mechs, glowing figures hovering above them telling of a combined 600-ton mass.
"This battlefield is ours, Focht," he growled softly as a dozen star-bright dots dropped from the OmniFighters, the spinning bombs falling towards the humanoid war machines in a lazy arc.
"There has been no effect on target. Repeat: No effect on target. Bow Flight form up on me."
As he spoke, Liam relaxed his grip on the yoke and let his OmniFighter's nose settle on the horizon, the fireball behind him fading in the twilight. Glancing at the 160-degree view of the battlefield displayed at the top of his neurohelmet, he cursed again as the ComStar mechs trudged through the blaze indifferently, the electric blue glow of energy shields fading as the threat passed.
"Bow Leader to command, strikes are negative. The mechs are shielded."
"Roger, Liam," the unseen operator spoke, the dull edge of frustration picking at his nerves. "Attempt a ground strike with your onboard armaments. They must be destroyed before they can punch through our lines."
Ignoring the urge to snap back at the man, Liam flicked the Visigoth's joystick to the side and began a long, looping turn, the rest of Bow Flight chasing him.
"We'll only get one shot at this before their sensors can clear and they can shoot back," he told the rest of his flight as the six ComStar Atlases heaved in front of his Visigoth's nose, sheer distance rendering them dark specks caught dead centre in his silver crosshairs.
"Wait until my command, then hit them with everything you have. The mudbugs need our help to win."
Ignoring the jokes and jibes that spilt from his flight at that last comment, Liam watched coldly as the skull-faced mechs strode through a withering barrage of fire—streams of lasers, missiles, and autocannon rounds splashing off them like water as their shields flashed an electric blue.
Keeping one eye on the rapidly approaching mechs, he punched the ground command frequency. "Navaja One, this is Bow leader. We have eyes on the targets and are coming back around for a retry. Keep your heads down and your guns ready. We will pop their shields, and you can crack their armour."
"Aff, Bow leader," came Navaja One's reply, the woman's voice stretched thin by stress. "Thank you for the assistance."
Liam snorted at her pained tone, the distance marker in his HUD spiralling down. All at once, his silver crosshairs turned gold.
And.
Here.
We.
Go.
Focht stared unblinking as a blinding flare of blue-white light marked the failure of the lead Atlas' shields, coruscating lightning bolts writhing in the air as ungrounded currents sought release. As the final remnants of the shield buckled, a dozen lasers washed over the assault mech's hull, globules of glowing metal spraying off the mighty war machine and splattering to the ground. All at once, one of the mech's knees buckled, and the vehicle crashed to the ground with an almighty impact, his virtual environment faithfully translating the feeling into a bass rumble that ran up his legs.
"End the assault on Agra and reposition to support the 117th," he said as the remaining assault mechs split their fire between the fleeing OmniFighters that had popped their shields and the distant mechs engaging them. "It appears the Wolves will try another attack shortly."
Beckoned by his words, a panel appeared from nowhere, Demi-Precentor Wambui-Košar's helmeted face fading into view.
She did not mince words. "End the assault? Why? They're almost at their breaking point."
Despite the fury of the combat she'd endured for an afternoon now, the Demi-Precentor seemed livelier than he had ever seen her, the bright eyes beneath her raven hair flicking from place to place as she drank in information from her mech's innumerable screens. Unlike him, Miryam had no virtual environment from which to observe the battlefield in comfort, the Demi-Precentor commanding her forces from within the venerable Royal BattleMaster she had claimed for herself.
Focht nodded amiably. "I happen to agree. However," he gestured with a finger, a dozen more info panels appearing around him.
Gesturing again, he sent the reports that had caught his eye to the younger woman's mech, a narrowing of her eyes telling him she'd spotted what he had.
"If the Clan's second attempt manages to punch through Granger's lines, it'll take us a while to scrape together enough units to stop them," she pronounced coldly, her eyes settling on his. "The damage they could do to our supply lines would threaten the entire op."
"I agree," Focht replied with another nod. "We'll have to cede this point to the Wolves, but we can suffer a draw better than they can."
Letting out a frustrated hiss, Miryam shook her head.
"I don't like it, but I'll withdraw my forces from Agra and move them to support Granger's people. What's the ETA on the next attempt?"
Focht frowned as he read his analysts' latest work. "Unclear, but it's likely only ten minutes away at most."
Miryam grunted, her eyes resuming their frenzied motion across the BattleMaster's screens. "Blake, what I wouldn't give for their command loop."
"I'll cut the orders," she continued momentarily. "If we move fast, we can hit them as they advance up the slope."
"Just so, Demi-Precentor."
Leaving the Demi-Precentor to her work, Focht returned to the distant ridgeline, the man soaring over the virtual battlefield like an eagle before landing amidst a copse of fire-blackened trees.
Now that night had fallen, the forested ridge was cloaked in shadows so deep they seemed to absorb all light, the remnants of a million dying fires filling the air with smoke but doing little to illuminate the scene. Gesturing for artificial enhancement, Focht felt his face stiffen as the false-colour image revealed troops in ComStar power armour hunkered down among the countless fallen trees, battlemechs and combat vehicles dotted among them in trenches and behind earthen parapets. Everywhere he turned, countless technicians, runners, and other assorted personnel dashed this way and that through the woods as they set about repairing and resupplying whatever they could, the low buzz of a thousand conversations faithfully recreated by his command program as an unintelligible tide of voices that rose and fell with oceanic languidity.
Though they had taken a battering in doing so, Granger's men had held the line against the Wolves once before. Watching as they worked, Focht could only pray they could do so again.
All at once, the buzz of conversation suddenly shifted—its gentle rise and fall replaced by a sudden harshness and a newfound haste. Turning downslope, Focht grimaced as his artificial eyes spied Clan mechs approaching through the forest, dozens of Fleas clutching their hulls as yet more bounded at their feet. Glancing at the info panels that spawned around him at a twitch of a finger, the Precentor-Martial's expression deepened as he spied unit badges from several other Clusters among those from the 4th Striker.
"You've reinforced the 4th," Anastasius muttered as he glanced at the disposition of forces available to Granger's 117th.
Given the size of the Wolf bid and the extent of the combat raging in Toledo, he doubted that Khan Ward had been able to pull multiple Clusters from the frontlines to support the 4th Striker. More likely, the man had pulled whatever Trinaries or Stars he could spare to assist the 4th Striker Cluster and temporarily make good its earlier losses. It was a desperate move, but he couldn't help but feel that it might pay off.
Wiping the expression from his face in an act of will, Anastasius Focht reopened his channel to Wambui-Košar.
"Miryam," he said as the woman's pinched face appeared. "The 4th Striker has already begun moving faster than expected, and they've been reinforced. The 117th will need your machines ASAP."
Cursing, the woman pursed her lips together in a flat line.
"They're still five minutes out." She growled as she glanced at something offscreen. "Granger's Adepts will just have to hold on until they can arrive."
"As Blake wills," Focht offered.
"As he wills," she returned before signing off.
"Damn you, Focht!" The Wolf Khan cursed as yet another Timberwolf detonated in a flare of fusion fire, its death at the top of the densely forested rise throwing hard-edged shadows into the night courtesy of the holo table's rendering engine.
Fighting the urge to throw his tablet aside, Conal Ward swallowed thickly and grimaced at the acid taste of bile in his mouth—a gift from the last batch of stimulants he'd taken. Seemingly none the wiser, the headquarters' staff continued speaking to one another, invisible rivers of reports and commands flowing through the air around him; their tenor tenser than before, but their speed unhurried.
Even as he watched, the ComGuard counterattack slammed into the 4th Striker with the momentum of a runaway mag-train, the Cluster's battered units engaging the blunt wedge of shielded assault mechs with expert grace but doing little to slow their charge. Supported by VTOLs, Combat Vehicles, and armoured infantry—the forest between them transformed into a maze of blinding lasers and flashing autocannons—the ComGuard mechs wadded into the fray with little regard for the danger they faced. Watching from the safety of his headquarters mere kilometres away, Conal's heart yearned to be among the battle developing there, every glance revealing another possibility for heroism, another chance at glory.
Growling softly as the shield of one mech finally failed, Khan Ward smiled approvingly as a Warhammer sent a pair of PPC bolts into its cockpit, the pilotless machine collapsing to the forest floor where it lay motionless.
They are not as invulnerable as they like to appear, he consoled himself as the Atlas' comrades pushed past it. A moment later, a Gargoyle like his own lost its left flank as it proved too slow to dodge, its leg and arm spinning off into the night.
Shaking his head fractionally, the Khan looked for his aide and paused as he spotted her. Though they'd only been battling the ComGuard in earnest for three days, it seemed she had aged a decade, her face drawn with deep bags under her eyes, and her posture slumped from fatigue. Dimly, he wondered if he looked so afflicted before banishing the thought with another head shake.
He had little time for vanity and even less for weakness.
Returning to the holo table, he paused to examine the sector battlefield in its totality.
Though the 4th Striker had—after being reinforced with spare Stars and Trinaries—pushed up the slope and overcome the ComGuard units defending the ridgeline, the appearance of reinforcements from the Guards' frustratingly intact Seventh Army had seen the assault falter. Numbering at least three, the ComGuard regiments plunged into the now overextended side of the 4th Striker's advance with relish, the unanticipated attack raking bloody strips from the Cluster's flank. Looking in from the sidelines, the Wolf Khan could only snap and growl as the attack inexorably pushed deeper and deeper into the Cluster's line of advance, the Clan force bending, bending, bending around its spear point.
And then, inevitably, it broke.
Without a sound, without a word, the renewed assault on the ridgeline shattered in two; one-half of the reinforced Cluster isolated on the ridge and the other all the way downslope, a solid mass of ComStar ground troops sitting square in the middle. Rising from nowhere, a sense of unreality overcame Conal Ward, the wave of not-quite-sensation washing over him with an almost physical force and sending him swaying in place. In the blink of an eye, Focht and his Precentors had turned what should have been a strategic victory for the Wolves into a painful loss, the 4th Striker dissolving like tears in the rain before his eyes as the relief group turned their guns onto the beleaguered mechs.
Hissing a low curse as he returned to his senses, Conal ordered the holo table to zoom out and dragged his eyes over the battlefield, hoping to spot some forgotten Trinary he could tap for support or an oversupplied assault force he could pull from. None appeared despite his silent pleas.
Turning to his aide, he cleared his throat with a rasping cough and spoke. "What units do we have available to respond?"
Startled from her reverie, the woman gave a languid blink and paused to examine her tablet. A heartbeat passed, then another, then another.
Her lips moved silently.
"What?" He barked as he shot her a venomous glare, his brows knitting together. "Speak up. What units do we have available?"
Distantly, a part of his mind noted that the headquarters' chatter had ceased, the Khan and his aide the centre of attention for every officer in the room.
Hesitantly, the woman swallowed.
"None," she said after an age. "We have none, my Khan."
Damn you, Focht.
Breathlessly, he turned back towards the holo table, the faithful tabulation of the unthinking device showing battle after battle slowly turning against the Wolves across Toledo.
Damn you.
Sucking in a lungful of air, the antiseptic scent of the building now stained with the bitter stink of fear and exhaustion, the Wolf Khan paused for a long moment. Then, softly, he said the words he had hoped he would never have to.
"Send the following to SaKhan Radick and Galaxy Commander Ward: Transition to fallback plan Kappa and withdraw back to Agra. Victory has slipped from our grasp; we can only hope for a draw."
Glancing at his aide, he clenched his fist tight, the nails of his hand digging painfully into his palm.
"Ready my mech and inform Focht that we wish to negotiate," he growled low and loud. "I will either die as a Wolf in the defence, or I shall save us from humiliation at the hands of Spheroids."
"Inform the Wolves that we accept their offer."
The words fell from Anastasius Focht's mouth simultaneously and paradoxically light and heavy, the sweet taste of victory blooming within him and wiping away his tiredness with newfound energy. Gingerly, ComStar's Precentor-Martial placed both hands on either side of his head and pantomimed lifting a helmet off it, a last glimpse of Agra's wartorn outskirts vanishing as the virtual dissolved into the real.
Seated in the ComGuard headquarters beneath Mount Oliver, the silver-haired man looked at the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of those present and smiled broadly.
"Well," he said to them as he turned from one face to the next, his Lyran accent deepening as something like pride blossomed in his heart. "I rather hope someone brought something to celebrate with. I'd hate to make a toast to our victory with water and MREs."
ComStar Intervention Zone, Lyran Commonwealth
26 May 3051 (Day 20 of Operation GUILLOTINE)
At Wolf Clan Headquarters, Khan Conal Ward paced through the middle of the holotank alone among his many officers, a galaxy blossoming around him as he interrupted errant beams of light. On his right, the OmniMechs of the 4th Wolf Guards had set themselves up for a counterstrike by a ComStar force, while to his left, the 37th Striker held off ComGuard assault units trying to retake the town of Agra. In the fierce fighting that had lasted through most of the morning and into the afternoon, Clan Wolf had failed to close a loop around Toledo to trap ComStar's First Army. Worse still, the swift arrival of this new force, ComStar's Seventh Army, meant the region's conquest would take far longer than expected.
Long enough, he worried, that their already low ammo stocks would begin to run dry.
He allowed himself a grimace. You are good, Anastasius Focht. Very good. I had hoped that our delay in landing would have had you send your best troops elsewhere, but I see now that I was mistaken. You have annihilated the Goliath Scorpions in Shilo and extricated your forces from battle with the Snow Ravens. For a Spheroid, you would have made a fine Wolf.
Despite his best efforts, anger blossomed within him at the memory of the Snow Ravens' actions.
"She will get her due," he muttered.
Someone coughed behind him.
The Khan's head came up, the snarl on his lips fading as he spotted his aide approaching. "Yes?"
"My Khan," the woman said in a tone devoid of emotion, her face held carefully neutral despite its evident fatigue. "Reports are in from the Red Keshik. Their scout star, Gladius, has reported enemy forces massing in sectors 3050 and 3051. Several regiments, at least."
The aide clutched a tablet in front of her, one hand poised to tap out his next commands. Coldly, he noted the slight shaking of her fingers.
Conal nodded and returned to the holographic display, a step back allowing the image to reconstitute itself in a spray of glowing particles.
"The 11th Wolf Guards have just met the advanced position of the 169th Division," he said aloud. "And the rest of the 13th Guards are skirmishing with the 322nd Division along this broad front south of the Maumee River. Combined with Gladius' report, this suggests the ComGuard are preparing an offensive against the 279th Battle Cluster."
With the updates from Gladius programmed in by the headquarters staff, the tactical map left the whole western flank of the ComGuard position open. Conal knew that Focht was too wise a leader to leave a vulnerability unguarded out of hand. Still, it was not unheard of for a commander to trust in the audacity of leaving a part of their line open to strike a lethal blow with the troops that should have been defending it. Detaching a Cluster from Delta Galaxy to probe an unconfirmed opening in their opponent's until-now invulnerable hide and attempt a lethal blow was a gamble, but one that could deliver him a triumph.
Ignoring the wash of voices that pervaded the room—the background radiation of a Clan at war—Conal waved a finger through a forested ridge. "If they meet resistance, it will start here. They will hit them when they are halfway up the hill and snap at their heels with artillery."
"Sir?"
He waved a hand through the ghostly hologram. "Send the following to Galaxy Commander Ward: Dispatch the 4th Striker to penetrate sector 2999 in force. Mission parameters are to seek and destroy enemy logistics hubs behind their lines. We need them taken out if we are to make any headway against the ComGuard. I will devote a trinary of OmniFighters to provide air support to the unit, but that is all I can spare. Do you have that?"
The aide tapped his keyboard rapidly. "Yes, sir."
"Good. I want this done quickly and efficiently. We have lost enough Warriors to the Stravags' artillery; I want them ammo-starved by nightfall."
"Yes, sir."
As the aide made to leave, Conal rubbed the bridge of his nose and fought back the wave of exhaustion that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.
"And get me another batch of stimulants!" He called after the woman.
Turning his gaze back to the display, the Khan gave a languid blink and thought. Come, Focht. Let us see if this is the hour of the Wolf or Star.
***
Anastasius Focht refused to surrender to fatigue.
In his virtual world, he stood atop a ridgeline ridge and saw a Star of five Clan Mechs waiting at the base of the rise, their lights off and weapons held high. Beyond the Star, half hidden in twilight's deep shadows, the rest of the Cluster was slowly moving up after them, countless Fleas leaping at their feet as they sought to keep up. Even without the ghostly information panels that hovered around him, he could recognise the unit by their choice of camouflage; the black triangles splattered across their woodland colours marked them as Delta Galaxy mechs.
"This is the real stupidity of war, isn't it, Conal?" He told the empty air.
"I know how good you are. I know how bravely your Warriors will fight. I have read all the reports on your Wolves, and I know that even though we outnumber you and have closed the technology gap in the years since your arrival, the skill of your Warriors is such that the ComGuard will lose many soldiers and machines fending you off. Likewise, our tactics here will deprive you of skilled Warriors when you need them most and wreck machines whose only source lies more than a thousand lightyears away. Even so; even though it will cost us both dearly, we are forced to oppose one another. Damnfool honour demands it of us both."
Shaking his head, he opened a radio channel to Demi-Precentor Pravin Granger. "Demi-Precentor, the 4th Striker Cluster is approaching the ridgeline as expected."
Granger's voice displayed no emotion. "We will carry out Blake's mission, Precentor-Martial."
Focht nodded to no one. "This I trust, Demi-Precentor. Remember that surprise is your advantage here. While you are shielded by the ridgeline's magnetite deposits, they cannot tell you are there. Be aware, however, that this unit is extremely skilled, and they will respond the moment you open fire. Pick your first shot carefully, and do not fear dishonour if you must fall back.
The man grunted. "We will hold."
"Very well." Focht rasped, the words catching in his throat.
Yes, the stupidity of war afflicts us both.
"If you wait for the Cluster's lead elements to make it halfway up the hill, you can trap them with the inferno charges and destroy them before the rest of the unit can respond."
"Consider it done, Precentor-Martial." Granger's voice rattled. "Is that all?"
Focht was not immune to the man's probing tone.
"Affirmative. I will observe via drone cameras, but the engagement is yours, Demi-Precentor. May Blake be with you."
"And also with you," he replied.
As if hearing the sign-off, the quintet of Mechs at the base of the ridge began to move, the forest floor churning into mud beneath their wide-toed feet as they raced towards the ComGuard's hidden mechs. Simultaneously, the rest of the 4th Striker started to follow them, the twilight forest coming alive with the sounds of mechs in motion. Fast and dangerous and formed into a long wedge with the scout Star at their head, the Clan mechs swung their weapons left and right as they advanced, mechanical eyes doubtlessly open wide for any sign of ComGuard treachery.
And they will find it, the ComGuards' head thought as the first mechs crossed the halfway mark.
An instant later, a flash of orange light lit up the twilight as the inferno charges buried beneath the ground detonated; twilight's pinks and gold suddenly transformed into a blazing, blistering orange. In the blink of an eye, a strip of earth halfway through the charge erupted into a wall of fire fifty meters high and ten wide, a handful of mechs vanishing within its greedy flames as a dull whump knocked free a shower of pine needles from the surrounding trees. Not wasting time, a spray of lasers and autocannon rounds erupted from the forest ahead and around the mechs, geysers of dirt and shrapnel filling the air as the ComGuard troops engaged their opposites.
As expected, the 4th Striker reacted instantly.
Moving with machine precision, the veteran MechWarriors lay down a thick sheet of fire even as their comrades fell, the sprinting mechs immediately changing course to make as difficult a target as possible. Caught between the firestorm behind them—its hungry flames already spreading from tree to tree—and the onslaught ahead of them, the Cluster's lead elements charged towards their attackers with a rabid single-mindedness; Clan weapons fired less often than their Inner Sphere counterparts but with far more accuracy. Stuck behind them, blinded by the flames but far from useless, the rest of the Cluster fired into the swelling melee guided by their comrades' words, the ComGuard's sheer numbers ensuring that the attacks struck true more often than not.
He should call it in soon, the Precentor-Martial thought as a Level II of bone-white mechs vanished amidst a storm of laser fire, their killers imperiously advancing towards the ridge.
On cue, a midday sun blossomed in the dusky forest as an artillery shell fell within the Cluster's back line, a dull roar filling Focht's ears courtesy of the virtual environment's control program. Rippling from one end of the assault force to the other, yet more screaming shells and firey missiles tossed up vast gouts of soil as the rest of the barrage landed; mechs and battle armour thrown this way and that as the support fire threw their advance into confusion. A heartbeat later, an almost imperceptible shift swept through the Cluster, and, like a river shifting course, the assault transformed into a well-organised retreat in the blink of an eye, trinaries covering one another as they fell back down the ridge in leaps and bounds.
"Do not chase them," Focht warned the Demi-Precentor, recognising the danger. "They will attempt to pincer your forces if you do. Hold your position and prepare for a second attempt."
Clever, he thought as Granger agreed with his assessment. It might have worked on another foe, too.
As if to reinforce his orders, an OmniFighter Star dove from the darkening sky and dropped a brace of munitions on a trio of combat vehicles that had advanced too far forward on their own recognisance. An instant later, the proud machines were replaced by a cloud of smoke and dust in a blast of noise and fire, burning scrap metal all that remained of them when the wind shifted and blew the pall away.
Watching the Wolves withdraw from the range of the ComGuard and their artillery, Anastasius Focht bid the Demi-Precentor goodbye and turned his attention to the next battle, the virtual forest floor shifting beneath his feet as if he'd taken wing.
***
It may have been a trap on ComStar's part, Khan Ward thought as he felt the warm tingle of stimulants ruching through his blood, but I know the measure of your defences, Focht.
"Well fought," he acknowledged as the 4th Striker completed its withdrawal from the ridgeline in good order, the last dregs of ComGuard artillery falling well short of the assembled host. "You will be reinforced ahead of another assault."
"Aff, my Khan," the Cluster's commander acknowledged before cutting the channel.
Barking the orders to his aide, Conal turned his attention to the next trouble spot, the holographic map at the centre of the HQ rolling to reveal a flood of crimson and blue icons scattered over the disparate collection of buildings that was the Agra township.
From Conal's god's eye view, Agra had become a battlefield par excellence, blue-green grass churned to muddy fields by feet and tracks and digitally rendered explosions tearing apart buildings as if they were toys. Once a sleepy farming town that served double duty as the last stop before the city of Toledo, the Wolves had quickly smashed aside its brave defenders in an orgy of violence and seized control of the victory point at its centre; the entire 37th Striker Cluster deployed in its defence. Even as he watched, the Wolf Khan saw a full Star of mechs take position inside a wide earthen trench and engage a collection of ComStar vehicles trundling up the road from Toledo, one mech falling as the final vehicle exploded into flames.
A bad exchange, he worried as his hand jittered of its own accord, a conscious thought required to steady it. If we continue as we have, our bid will be wiped out before we run out of expendables.
Clearing his throat with a machine gun rattle, the Khan spoke to the room. "Inform Star Colonel Hall that we will be reallocating the 13th Guards' air support to the defence of Agra, quiaff?"
"Aff, Khan Ward," an unseen voice answered back. "I will do as you command."
It would doubtlessly cause him some trouble after the battle to take back promised air support while the 13th were busy with Focht's ComGuard, but Conal would gladly fight any number of post-facto challenges if it meant that Clan Wolf carried the day.
Staring at the holographic display, the Wolf Khan grinned savagely as a Star of OmniFighters suddenly streaked into view and arrowed towards an advancing wedge of ComStar mechs, glowing figures hovering above them telling of a combined 600-ton mass.
"This battlefield is ours, Focht," he growled softly as a dozen star-bright dots dropped from the OmniFighters, the spinning bombs falling towards the humanoid war machines in a lazy arc.
***
"There has been no effect on target. Repeat: No effect on target. Bow Flight form up on me."
As he spoke, Liam relaxed his grip on the yoke and let his OmniFighter's nose settle on the horizon, the fireball behind him fading in the twilight. Glancing at the 160-degree view of the battlefield displayed at the top of his neurohelmet, he cursed again as the ComStar mechs trudged through the blaze indifferently, the electric blue glow of energy shields fading as the threat passed.
"Bow Leader to command, strikes are negative. The mechs are shielded."
"Roger, Liam," the unseen operator spoke, the dull edge of frustration picking at his nerves. "Attempt a ground strike with your onboard armaments. They must be destroyed before they can punch through our lines."
Ignoring the urge to snap back at the man, Liam flicked the Visigoth's joystick to the side and began a long, looping turn, the rest of Bow Flight chasing him.
"We'll only get one shot at this before their sensors can clear and they can shoot back," he told the rest of his flight as the six ComStar Atlases heaved in front of his Visigoth's nose, sheer distance rendering them dark specks caught dead centre in his silver crosshairs.
"Wait until my command, then hit them with everything you have. The mudbugs need our help to win."
Ignoring the jokes and jibes that spilt from his flight at that last comment, Liam watched coldly as the skull-faced mechs strode through a withering barrage of fire—streams of lasers, missiles, and autocannon rounds splashing off them like water as their shields flashed an electric blue.
Keeping one eye on the rapidly approaching mechs, he punched the ground command frequency. "Navaja One, this is Bow leader. We have eyes on the targets and are coming back around for a retry. Keep your heads down and your guns ready. We will pop their shields, and you can crack their armour."
"Aff, Bow leader," came Navaja One's reply, the woman's voice stretched thin by stress. "Thank you for the assistance."
Liam snorted at her pained tone, the distance marker in his HUD spiralling down. All at once, his silver crosshairs turned gold.
And.
Here.
We.
Go.
***
Focht stared unblinking as a blinding flare of blue-white light marked the failure of the lead Atlas' shields, coruscating lightning bolts writhing in the air as ungrounded currents sought release. As the final remnants of the shield buckled, a dozen lasers washed over the assault mech's hull, globules of glowing metal spraying off the mighty war machine and splattering to the ground. All at once, one of the mech's knees buckled, and the vehicle crashed to the ground with an almighty impact, his virtual environment faithfully translating the feeling into a bass rumble that ran up his legs.
"End the assault on Agra and reposition to support the 117th," he said as the remaining assault mechs split their fire between the fleeing OmniFighters that had popped their shields and the distant mechs engaging them. "It appears the Wolves will try another attack shortly."
Beckoned by his words, a panel appeared from nowhere, Demi-Precentor Wambui-Košar's helmeted face fading into view.
She did not mince words. "End the assault? Why? They're almost at their breaking point."
Despite the fury of the combat she'd endured for an afternoon now, the Demi-Precentor seemed livelier than he had ever seen her, the bright eyes beneath her raven hair flicking from place to place as she drank in information from her mech's innumerable screens. Unlike him, Miryam had no virtual environment from which to observe the battlefield in comfort, the Demi-Precentor commanding her forces from within the venerable Royal BattleMaster she had claimed for herself.
Focht nodded amiably. "I happen to agree. However," he gestured with a finger, a dozen more info panels appearing around him.
Gesturing again, he sent the reports that had caught his eye to the younger woman's mech, a narrowing of her eyes telling him she'd spotted what he had.
"If the Clan's second attempt manages to punch through Granger's lines, it'll take us a while to scrape together enough units to stop them," she pronounced coldly, her eyes settling on his. "The damage they could do to our supply lines would threaten the entire op."
"I agree," Focht replied with another nod. "We'll have to cede this point to the Wolves, but we can suffer a draw better than they can."
Letting out a frustrated hiss, Miryam shook her head.
"I don't like it, but I'll withdraw my forces from Agra and move them to support Granger's people. What's the ETA on the next attempt?"
Focht frowned as he read his analysts' latest work. "Unclear, but it's likely only ten minutes away at most."
Miryam grunted, her eyes resuming their frenzied motion across the BattleMaster's screens. "Blake, what I wouldn't give for their command loop."
"I'll cut the orders," she continued momentarily. "If we move fast, we can hit them as they advance up the slope."
"Just so, Demi-Precentor."
Leaving the Demi-Precentor to her work, Focht returned to the distant ridgeline, the man soaring over the virtual battlefield like an eagle before landing amidst a copse of fire-blackened trees.
Now that night had fallen, the forested ridge was cloaked in shadows so deep they seemed to absorb all light, the remnants of a million dying fires filling the air with smoke but doing little to illuminate the scene. Gesturing for artificial enhancement, Focht felt his face stiffen as the false-colour image revealed troops in ComStar power armour hunkered down among the countless fallen trees, battlemechs and combat vehicles dotted among them in trenches and behind earthen parapets. Everywhere he turned, countless technicians, runners, and other assorted personnel dashed this way and that through the woods as they set about repairing and resupplying whatever they could, the low buzz of a thousand conversations faithfully recreated by his command program as an unintelligible tide of voices that rose and fell with oceanic languidity.
Though they had taken a battering in doing so, Granger's men had held the line against the Wolves once before. Watching as they worked, Focht could only pray they could do so again.
All at once, the buzz of conversation suddenly shifted—its gentle rise and fall replaced by a sudden harshness and a newfound haste. Turning downslope, Focht grimaced as his artificial eyes spied Clan mechs approaching through the forest, dozens of Fleas clutching their hulls as yet more bounded at their feet. Glancing at the info panels that spawned around him at a twitch of a finger, the Precentor-Martial's expression deepened as he spied unit badges from several other Clusters among those from the 4th Striker.
"You've reinforced the 4th," Anastasius muttered as he glanced at the disposition of forces available to Granger's 117th.
Given the size of the Wolf bid and the extent of the combat raging in Toledo, he doubted that Khan Ward had been able to pull multiple Clusters from the frontlines to support the 4th Striker. More likely, the man had pulled whatever Trinaries or Stars he could spare to assist the 4th Striker Cluster and temporarily make good its earlier losses. It was a desperate move, but he couldn't help but feel that it might pay off.
Wiping the expression from his face in an act of will, Anastasius Focht reopened his channel to Wambui-Košar.
"Miryam," he said as the woman's pinched face appeared. "The 4th Striker has already begun moving faster than expected, and they've been reinforced. The 117th will need your machines ASAP."
Cursing, the woman pursed her lips together in a flat line.
"They're still five minutes out." She growled as she glanced at something offscreen. "Granger's Adepts will just have to hold on until they can arrive."
"As Blake wills," Focht offered.
"As he wills," she returned before signing off.
***
"Damn you, Focht!" The Wolf Khan cursed as yet another Timberwolf detonated in a flare of fusion fire, its death at the top of the densely forested rise throwing hard-edged shadows into the night courtesy of the holo table's rendering engine.
Fighting the urge to throw his tablet aside, Conal Ward swallowed thickly and grimaced at the acid taste of bile in his mouth—a gift from the last batch of stimulants he'd taken. Seemingly none the wiser, the headquarters' staff continued speaking to one another, invisible rivers of reports and commands flowing through the air around him; their tenor tenser than before, but their speed unhurried.
Even as he watched, the ComGuard counterattack slammed into the 4th Striker with the momentum of a runaway mag-train, the Cluster's battered units engaging the blunt wedge of shielded assault mechs with expert grace but doing little to slow their charge. Supported by VTOLs, Combat Vehicles, and armoured infantry—the forest between them transformed into a maze of blinding lasers and flashing autocannons—the ComGuard mechs wadded into the fray with little regard for the danger they faced. Watching from the safety of his headquarters mere kilometres away, Conal's heart yearned to be among the battle developing there, every glance revealing another possibility for heroism, another chance at glory.
Growling softly as the shield of one mech finally failed, Khan Ward smiled approvingly as a Warhammer sent a pair of PPC bolts into its cockpit, the pilotless machine collapsing to the forest floor where it lay motionless.
They are not as invulnerable as they like to appear, he consoled himself as the Atlas' comrades pushed past it. A moment later, a Gargoyle like his own lost its left flank as it proved too slow to dodge, its leg and arm spinning off into the night.
Shaking his head fractionally, the Khan looked for his aide and paused as he spotted her. Though they'd only been battling the ComGuard in earnest for three days, it seemed she had aged a decade, her face drawn with deep bags under her eyes, and her posture slumped from fatigue. Dimly, he wondered if he looked so afflicted before banishing the thought with another head shake.
He had little time for vanity and even less for weakness.
Returning to the holo table, he paused to examine the sector battlefield in its totality.
Though the 4th Striker had—after being reinforced with spare Stars and Trinaries—pushed up the slope and overcome the ComGuard units defending the ridgeline, the appearance of reinforcements from the Guards' frustratingly intact Seventh Army had seen the assault falter. Numbering at least three, the ComGuard regiments plunged into the now overextended side of the 4th Striker's advance with relish, the unanticipated attack raking bloody strips from the Cluster's flank. Looking in from the sidelines, the Wolf Khan could only snap and growl as the attack inexorably pushed deeper and deeper into the Cluster's line of advance, the Clan force bending, bending, bending around its spear point.
And then, inevitably, it broke.
Without a sound, without a word, the renewed assault on the ridgeline shattered in two; one-half of the reinforced Cluster isolated on the ridge and the other all the way downslope, a solid mass of ComStar ground troops sitting square in the middle. Rising from nowhere, a sense of unreality overcame Conal Ward, the wave of not-quite-sensation washing over him with an almost physical force and sending him swaying in place. In the blink of an eye, Focht and his Precentors had turned what should have been a strategic victory for the Wolves into a painful loss, the 4th Striker dissolving like tears in the rain before his eyes as the relief group turned their guns onto the beleaguered mechs.
Hissing a low curse as he returned to his senses, Conal ordered the holo table to zoom out and dragged his eyes over the battlefield, hoping to spot some forgotten Trinary he could tap for support or an oversupplied assault force he could pull from. None appeared despite his silent pleas.
Turning to his aide, he cleared his throat with a rasping cough and spoke. "What units do we have available to respond?"
Startled from her reverie, the woman gave a languid blink and paused to examine her tablet. A heartbeat passed, then another, then another.
Her lips moved silently.
"What?" He barked as he shot her a venomous glare, his brows knitting together. "Speak up. What units do we have available?"
Distantly, a part of his mind noted that the headquarters' chatter had ceased, the Khan and his aide the centre of attention for every officer in the room.
Hesitantly, the woman swallowed.
"None," she said after an age. "We have none, my Khan."
Damn you, Focht.
Breathlessly, he turned back towards the holo table, the faithful tabulation of the unthinking device showing battle after battle slowly turning against the Wolves across Toledo.
Damn you.
Sucking in a lungful of air, the antiseptic scent of the building now stained with the bitter stink of fear and exhaustion, the Wolf Khan paused for a long moment. Then, softly, he said the words he had hoped he would never have to.
"Send the following to SaKhan Radick and Galaxy Commander Ward: Transition to fallback plan Kappa and withdraw back to Agra. Victory has slipped from our grasp; we can only hope for a draw."
Glancing at his aide, he clenched his fist tight, the nails of his hand digging painfully into his palm.
"Ready my mech and inform Focht that we wish to negotiate," he growled low and loud. "I will either die as a Wolf in the defence, or I shall save us from humiliation at the hands of Spheroids."
***
"Inform the Wolves that we accept their offer."
The words fell from Anastasius Focht's mouth simultaneously and paradoxically light and heavy, the sweet taste of victory blooming within him and wiping away his tiredness with newfound energy. Gingerly, ComStar's Precentor-Martial placed both hands on either side of his head and pantomimed lifting a helmet off it, a last glimpse of Agra's wartorn outskirts vanishing as the virtual dissolved into the real.
Seated in the ComGuard headquarters beneath Mount Oliver, the silver-haired man looked at the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of those present and smiled broadly.
"Well," he said to them as he turned from one face to the next, his Lyran accent deepening as something like pride blossomed in his heart. "I rather hope someone brought something to celebrate with. I'd hate to make a toast to our victory with water and MREs."
prometheus110
Join Cayman-Global & be part of the 1E-9 percent!
- Location
- La Ballena City Raft
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So that's the secret I've been holding on to (poorly) since the Battle for Lyndon began. Despite the Clans pouring in a huge amount of their best warriors and machines, they lost to the ComGuard 11-9. While not a supremely telling victory by any standard, it's still a victory and one the Clans are bound to uphold. More importantly, they lost a shit ton of skilled warriors and values machines—devastating their ability to persecute a war with the Inner Sphere until they can recover.
I'll need to think about what the closing post should be, but I figure you'll all have a bunch of questions whose answers I can just collate.
In short: Merry Christmas from the future, fellow nerds.
I'll need to think about what the closing post should be, but I figure you'll all have a bunch of questions whose answers I can just collate.
In short: Merry Christmas from the future, fellow nerds.
Where the hell did the clans get petrusite again?
- Location
- The internet
Since I'm reasonably certain that the program you're using to generate the maps keeps track of this, what's the final score for every polity in terms of systems controlled?
Bonus points for adding in their starting values as well.
Bonus points for adding in their starting values as well.