Author Topic: A Reckoning  (Read 55470 times)

alkemita

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A Reckoning
« on: 27 December 2017, 17:53:18 »
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all.

It has literally been years since I posted anything here, mainly thanks to Real Life. In the intervening time, I've slowly sketched out a few stories. This one showed the most promise, and so I have decided to release it into the wild to see if it survives.

Full disclosure - a large portion of the first installment is taken straight from Michael Stackpole's Lethal Heritage

A final note before the story begins. I'm doing this to try to improve as a writer, so please give me some feedback. If you think my writing sucks, my ego can take it, but please do me a favour and tell me why it sucks so I can try to do better next time.

And so, I give you:

A Reckoning
An Alternate Tale of the BattleTech Universe

Outreach
Tikonov Free Republic
16 August 3030


Natasha Kerensky entered Colonel Jamie Wolf’s office as only she could - without knocking or hesitation, and with only slightly less force than she would have used had she been taking an objective in her iconic black Warhammer. Marching right up to the Colonel’s desk, she held the yellow sheet of paper out for his inspection, but he looked straight through it and her. Seated behind a cluttered desk, he leaned back in his chair and pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. Only the rise and fall of his chest told her he was alive.

   “It’s here,” she told him, slapping the paper down on top of the report Wolf had been working on. “The Tikonov Free Republic” - Jaime could almost hear the sarcastic quotation marks around the name of that new-born state - “has, after only a bit of strong-arming by the next First Lord, the war-god Hanse Davion, coughed up free and clear title to Outreach.”

The news brought animation back to Wolf’s face. Though a small man, he gave off an aura of strength and his presence was commanding. Still, long years of almost constant warfare had taken their toll. His once-black hair was shot through with white, while the lines around his eyes and creasing his forehead showed how heavy had been the weight of his burdens. The slump in his shoulders told that he knew more difficulties were in the offing, but the glint in his grey eyes left no doubt that he would face what he must.

He gave the Black Widow as smile. “Yes, Natasha. Thank you. This is welcome news indeed.”

Kerensky glanced out of the arched window near Wolf’s desk. “I thought we’d have more trouble getting this world for our home. I assumed Davion would be determined to keep it once he heard we wanted it.”

Wolf shrugged. “He knows Outreach was once the Warrior World. He knows the SLDF Martial Olympics were held here and that not quite all of the useful equipment has been stripped from it in the three centuries since the Exodus.”

The dying sun burned highlights into Kerensky’s hair as she turned to face him. “Do you think he knows exactly how much is left? He’ll have asked Quintus Allard to send some of his damnable operatives here to see what we would be getting.”

The leader of Wolf’s Dragoons smiled like a man with a secret. “Hanse has lived up to his nickname of ‘the Fox’ quite admirably on this one. Quintus Allard asked us to complete a technological survey because he claimed he couldn’t spare an agent for Outreach at this time, but Snord’s Irregulars have already been and gone. Hanse must certainly expect that we’ve withheld some information, but I don’t think it matters to him. He’s happy to have us here to prevent local rebellions or a strike from the Free Worlds League. The report we sent back to Allard should be enough to quiet any complaints that we were handed a treasure trove of lostech.”

The use of the idiom for valuable technology lost after the fall of the Star League brought a brief smile to Kerensky’s full lips , but her tone was worried. “Is our own survey complete yet? Is there enough equipment here for our needs?”

Wolf shook his head and steepled his fingers again. “It looks as though things like computers and obvious manufacturing resources were carried off long ago, but I don’t think anyone out there even guesses at the vast complex of stuff under the surface here. We’ve got the facilities we need to repair and manufacture BattleMechs. But whether it’s enough to complete our mission is hard to say.”

She groaned and thumped a convenient wall with the side of her fist. “****** the mission! We’ve done what they wanted. Let’s get ourselves healthy, get our machines at a hundred and ten percent, and then go kick some ass! Preferably Marik or Kurita, but I’m not picky.”

The Widow’s outburst made Wolf smile in spite of himself. “Natasha,” he said quietly, “I’d like nothing better, but you know I can’t agree to that. You also know that the others won’t be able to stop them. We’ve been entrusted with a mission that we cannot abandon.”

Natasha reflexively glanced over her shoulder and then leaned forward over his desk. “Which mission, Jaime? Kerlin Ward’s mission, or the new one you and Blake cooked up over the last few months?”

Wolf stood abruptly and paced the length of the room. “They may be the same mission, when you come down to it.”

Her sharp laugh brought him up short. “Did you just miss the last two years, Jaime? Everything’s changed, including us! The Successor States have clubbed each other senseless, dozens of their best units are wrecked, we have break-away states seceding, not to mention what it’s done to us.” She paused for a moment at the look that flickered across Wolf’s eyes, and, she was sure, her own as well. “It’s hopeless,” she finished flatly.

“Not quite,” replied Wolf, his tone becoming quieter. “The Inner Sphere may be in sad shape, but not all of the military is. The Kell Hounds survived the war in good shape, as have the Eridani Light Horse and the Northwind Highlanders. I’ll admit they’re not enough to do everything, but it’s a place to start.”

Natasha seated herself on the edge of Wolf’s desk, watching him pace. “You’re not thinking of bringing them here to train, are you? You wouldn’t compromise our security that way!” Suddenly she slapped the open palm of her right hand against her forehead. “You are planning to do that, aren’t you? That’s why Morgan Kell and his wife Salome are already heading here from their JumpShip. Are you mad? How much does Kell know?”

Wolf drew himself up to his full height. “Morgan Kell knows what I have trusted him with - and trust him I do. He and Salome are coming here so we can run some tests and help them with an infertility problem.”

The Black Widow’s mouth gaped open. “You told them about…”

The small man shook his head. “No, I’ve not told Morgan everything, though I imagine he has figured out what I didn’t. The man is a friend and I’ve decided to help him. He is also a MechWarrior of great skill and courage. I believe Morgan might be persuaded to prepare his forces to help us when the time comes. Furthermore, I think he would be willing to let us train certain of his people so that what we know can be passed on to others without jeopardising our security.”

A shudder passed through her body. “After jeopardising our security like that, I’d ask if you’re going to invite ComStar to set up a Class A HPG here on Outreach, except for the discussions you and Blake have been having.”

That suggestion won a bitter chuckle from Wolf. “Not a chance. ComStar’s benign pacifism died with Primus Tiepolo. The new Primus, this Myndo Waterly, is aggressive and dangerous. Under the old regime, we may have had a slight chance of swaying their support over to our side - although probably the best we could have hoped for is their neutrality - but that’s not going to happen now, and they will likely be an enormous obstacle when the Others come.”

Natasha smiled grimly. “Which is why you’re adding an impossible mission to our already impossible mission.” She sighed wearily. “Look at us. We’ve been fighting here for twenty-five years. We should be retiring, not worrying about preparing others for a war. That task should fall to the whelps up and coming.”

Jaime laid a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “I agree, but we have a problem. The youngsters have been raised here in the Successor States. We lost a good number of the originals fifteen years ago in the Free Worlds League, and then even more escaping from the Draconis Combine two years ago. The survivors weren’t raised with the same traditions as we. They barely understand that we’re different. And now we have outsiders among us. They, too, must be trained and inculcated with our ways. The only people who can do the training are those of us who have survived all these years.”

The Black Widow shook her head ruefully. “You’re right, of course. Damn it, you’re right again. At least you’re in charge of this whole circus, so I don’t have to do anything other than wait for you to tell me what to kill next. I’ll leave the grand strategy to you.”

Wolf spared a quick glance at his desk chronometer before fixing his subordinate with a steely look, only partially softened by a smile. “Oh, don’t be so sure, Natasha. What do you think’s on the agenda for this evening’s command conference?”

He turned and headed out of his office, then paused, hand on door knob, and called back to Kerensky. “Come on, Captain - we have five minutes and you know I hate being late.”

Kerensky’s response would have earned her a court martial in any normal military.

Outreach
Terran March
17 June 3032


“Fraser’s Company, Able Battalion - front and center!”

Regimental Sergeant Major Rahul’s shout easily carried across the parade ground to where the twelve Epsilon Regiment MechWarriors stood at parade rest amongst two battalions of their comrades.

From his position on the reviewing stand, General Jamie Wolf watched the dozen smartly detach themselves from the ordered ranks of Able Battalion and march in lockstep toward him.

He noted approvingly that Fraser’s Company took pride in their bearing as they approached - a good sign for the future.

For the umpteenth time, he thanked a God that he didn’t believe in that he had turned away from the path of revenge for revenge’s sake.

It had been all too easy to go down that path in the aftermath of Crossing, the battle that had nearly finished the Dragoons just three years ago, given how personal that campaign had become. Wolf had even begun planning for the inevitable resumption of the Dragoons’ vendetta against the Combine as their unusually empty DropShips burned into the Outreach system for the first time.

Most of his surviving senior officers had agreed with him. But not all.

Wolf had shuttled over to the Solace, one of the Dragoons’ medical DropShips, doing the rounds of the wards to see the injured. He’d done so every couple of days during the transit. There were so many injured, but at least some of them were showing progress, like Thomas West, pulled unconscious from the wreckage of his Griffin eighteen hours after the Battle of Crossing ended. On Wolf’s last visit, the veteran MechWarrior and one of the few remaining original Dragoons had been bedridden. This time, he was sitting in the lounge when Wolf passed through, offering the Colonel a jaunty left-handed salute in deference to his cast-immobilised right arm.

On the other hand, Captain Dechan Fraser remained in the coma he’d been in since Misery, felled at the same instant he had brought down Michi Noketsuna. Noketsuna and Jenette Rand were now part of Wolf’s initial plan for revenge against the Draconis Combine. He did not expect to hear from them for some time, but he could be patient, he reminded himself as he nodded a greeting to a medical orderly just leaving a cabin.

Stepping into the same cabin, Wolf was heartened to see Major Stanford Blake sitting up in bed, perusing a tablet. Noticing Wolf, Blake set down the tablet and attempted to pull himself more upright.

   “Colonel,” he began, as Wolf waved off his effort at formality.

   “Stanford - how are you feeling today?” Wolf asked, taking the stool beside the injured intelligence officer’s bed. Blake unconsciously touched the bandages covering most of his head and one ear. “Well, the headaches and dizziness are manageable without drugs now,” he reported with more cheer than he really felt. Both he and Wolf knew that unless the chronic conditions cleared up, Blake’s days in the cockpit were over. They’d seen it happen to others.

There was a tense pause, before Wolf broke the silence. “What are you doing?” he indicated the tablet.

Blake picked up the compact computer and turned it to face Wolf. “I’m going stir-crazy in here, Colonel, so I’ve been doing some thinking.”

Wolf picked up the tablet. On it was a summation of the the current situation as it pertained to the Dragoons. It wasn’t pretty reading.

At the bottom of the screen was a question - “How to accomplish the mission from here?”

Wolf looked up, surprised.

Blake nodded, reading his CO’s mind.

“We’ve still got the mission, Colonel. The real question is how.”

Wolf stood abruptly, leaving the tablet on the bed. “Why should we?” he demanded, his voice almost as icy as that time when he had confronted Takashi Kurita at the Steiner-Davion wedding that had started the recent war.

Blake leaned forward, wincing at the stab of pain that went through him at the sudden motion. “Because they need us more than ever, Colonel! Jamie,” he added urgently “if the Others find out that two of the Successor States have merged and just about destroyed a third, how do you think they’re going to react?”

Forcing himself to calm down, Wolf considered the question. He took two paces to the door, all the space there was in the cabin, and turned back to face his Intelligence Chief.

“They’ll see it as a signal that Hanse Davion intends to reform the Star League with himself at its head - and without them. They’ll vote for invasion immediately.”

“And the Inner Sphere is in no position to stop them.” Blake completed the rough analysis. He leaned back against the pillows, briefly closing his eyes. “You’ve been talking to the Originals about striking back at Kurita -”

“How did you know that?” Wolf demanded. Those conversations had been private affairs.

Blake opened his eyes and cracked a smile. “I’m your Intel Chief, Colonel. Work it out.”

Despite himself, Wolf let out a snort of amusement. Blake pushed on.

“Seeking revenge against Kurita is understandable. I get it - I want my pound of flesh too - hells, Jaime, they shot me out of two ‘Mechs and I’m more than likely never suiting up again because of them!”

The stark statement caused a pang in Jaime - so many were already gone from the ranks, here was yet another.

“But Kurita is nothing compared to what the Others could bring down on the Inner Sphere. And not even Dracs deserve to live under their rule. We’re the only ones who can help the Inner Sphere. Forget Kurita -”

No!

The heated outburst was atypical for Jaime Wolf. It was hard to say which of the two men was more surprised by it. When Wolf showed no sign of continuing, Blake spoke again.

“I don’t mean forever.” He sighed. “I suspect Kurita won’t let us forget, anyway.”

Blake propped himself fully upright now, staring intently at the Dragoons’ commander. Wolf had the odd feeling that if Blake had had the strength to do so, he would be grasping him by the lapels.

“Jaime, Wolfnet is good, but we’re not invincible. Except for a bunch of emergency rendezvous coordinates, we’re completely cut off from the homeworlds. We have no idea what other efforts they’re making to gather intel on the Inner Sphere. We know ComStar has ships exploring the Deep Periphery - and while they have the largest operation, the Lyrans, Dracs and FedSuns all have their own little expeditions going.

“What happens if they and the Others stumble across one another? We cannot control that. The only thing we can control is how we prepare the Inner Sphere. Kerlin Ward said he thought he could delay an invasion by ten to fifteen years. We’ve used up twelve years of that margin, and our first attempt has failed.”

Blake collapsed back onto his pillow as his strength failed abruptly, cursing as he did so.

Wolf jumped forward to catch his friend.

“Stan! I’m calling a medic,” he reached for the call button at the head of the bed.

“No need,” groaned Blake. “Just tired.” Now that Wolf was right beside him, Blake did reach up to grab his collar.

“We need to refocus on the mission. Damnit Jaime, I need you focused on stopping the Others.” He stared right into Jaime’s eyes as his commander waged a war within himself. Then, somehow seeing that Wolf had come to the right decision, Blake let go and sank into the thin mattress.

“Thanks for coming by, Colonel,” he said softly, closing his eyes.
“No, Stanford, thank you,” Wolf replied, patting Blake gently on the shoulder. “We will talk about this later. Get your rest, Major.”

Blake did not reply - he was already asleep.

Wolf made no more visits that day - there was work to do.

...and now, before him, some of the fruits of those works were blooming.

The dozen MechWarriors came to a stop at the prescribed distance from the reviewing stand, went to attention and saluted on command from Captain Fraser.

Wolf returned the salute. As his hand dropped to his side, Wolf addressed the scarred veteran in command.

“Congratulations, Captain Fraser. You’ve done well with your command.”

Fraser visibly straightened at the compliment - but so did the rest of the company. Good - esprit de corps was strong here.

“It is my honour to promote you to the rank of Major, Dechan Fraser,” he continued, as an aide held out a pair of olive rank tabs marked with two red stars.

“Thank you, sir!” replied the newly promoted Major Fraser as Wolf attached the rank tabs to his collar.

“Your reputation has preceded you. You are hereby transferred to the Black Widow Battalion,” Wolf told Fraser as he shook the junior officer’s hand.

“I - thank you, sir. But, my company -” started Fraser.

“With the job you’ve done, I’m sure they will be in good hands under Captain West,” chimed in Colonel Elisabeth Nichole, Epsilon Regiment’s CO. She handed a pair of captain’s rank tabs to Fraser, who pinned them on his old comrade, both of them competing to have the biggest grin in the process.

“I suppose Strike Lance needs a new commander, huh?” West asked. And both of them turned to Corporal Emilia Tzu, a product of one of the first Dragoon Sibkos.

“General, would you do the honors?” asked Captain West.

“My pleasure, Captain,” smiled Wolf. Colonel Nichole handed a pair of white discs to him, and with that little action, the next stage in rebuilding the Dragoons began.


New Avalon
Federated Suns
6 November, 3035


Quintus Allard was in Hanse Davion’s personal study for the third time today. The first time was at 0745 when he had delivered the morning intelligence summary, something which he still did once a week or so. It was really the job of a mid-level officer, but Allard liked to keep his hand in. He’d returned at 0930 to discuss the future integration of the LIC with his MIIO. When he returned to his own desk from that meeting, he found an Intelligence Estimate that had been flagged by Alex Mallory for his attention. The contents of said Estimate were the reason he was back in the First Prince’s presence as the sun set over Camelot.

Quintus sat back in the comfortable chair that faced Davion’s desk, watching his sovereign work his way through the three-page summary. He noticed how Davion held the papers almost at arm's length as he read. Still refusing to use the reading glasses, thought Allard. Six months ago, an administrative memo had come from Hanse’s Senior Executive Assistant directing that all reports for the First Prince’s attention had to begin with a double-spaced summary no more than four pages long, with the text at least sixteen-point in size.

Hanse finished reading and placed the summary on top of his copy of the Intelligence Estimate. The centimetre-thick folder sat alone on the dark green blotter portion of the First Prince’s desk, but there were stacks of similar folders in trays to either side, differentiated mainly by their multi-coloured borders depending on their subject, security classification or both. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, covering it by also pinching the bridge of his nose as he contemplated what he had just read.

“Let me see if I understand this,” Hanse began as he reopened his eyes. “Wolf’s Dragoons are probably artificially growing a bunch of elite MechWarriors on Outreach, and have the means to outfit them with ‘Mechs.”

Quintus nodded.

Hanse picked up the summary again and flicked to the second page. “Alright, let’s go through this again. Six years after being reduced from five fully supported regiments to one understrength combined-arms regiment, the Dragoons are better than halfway rebuilt, with three fully supported regiments taking contracts and elements of the other two also spotted in the field as attachments. That would be an excellent job for one of our wealthier PDZs, but it’s downright remarkable for a single world.”

Hanse stabbed another point with his finger. “Their ability to re-equip with BattleMechs far exceeds the production facilities on Outreach, but that must be where the machines are coming from since they haven’t bought enough from outside manufacturers to rebuild even one regiment.”

Quintus nodded again. “Which means we’ve just proven that the survey done by Snord’s Irregulars before you signed over the world to the Dragoons is, at best, flawed and incomplete.”

“At worst,” Davion picked up the thread, “The Irregulars are collaborating with the Dragoons.”

“Actually, we now believe that they’re a clandestine unit of the Dragoons’ intelligence arm,” Quintus admitted.

Hanse merely grunted as his scenario got even worse, then flipped to the last page. “Replacing material is one thing, but finding warriors for all those machines is another. The Dragoons have taken in a lot of soldiers who lost their units in the last war, but only a few met their standards. Your analyst thinks that would be enough for…?”

Quintus didn’t need to consult his copy of the full report. “They took in enough MechWarriors from destroyed commands for about one battalion, plus about two squadrons’ worth of AeroWarriors, two battalions of armour crew, and an unknown amount of infantry, but certainly no more than a regiment’s worth.”

“So, still not enough. And that leads to this outlandish conclusion that somehow the Dragoons are growing their own troops?”

“Unfortunately, if you look at the evidence that’s accumulated since the Dragoons arrived thirty years ago, it’s a credible possibility.” Allard raised a finger. “One, the Dragoons’ military prowess tends to blind people to the fact that they have medical lostech. And that they’ve used that lostech to treat outsiders as well as their own since they came.”

Hanse nodded. “I know, one of my cousins went to them for…” Hanse’s tired eyes sharpened as he realised the implications of the rest of his sentence. “... fertility treatment.” He fairly hissed the final two words.

“She was far from the only one,” Quintus pointed out. “And this brings me to point number two. From what we’ve been able to reconstruct, after battlefield injuries, the most common way the Dragoons have used their advanced medical knowledge since arriving in the Inner Sphere is in the area of infertility treatments - with a remarkably high success rate, I might add.”

Hanse shifted his gaze to a spot on the back wall, over Allard’s head. “I remember when word got around the FedSuns nobility about the ‘wonder cures’ the Dragoons had, and the race to take advantage of it.”

“Which brings up point number three,” said Quintus. “Most of the people who sought medical help from the Dragoons have been nobles. It was true here, and we have no reason to suspect it was any different in the other states they worked for. The nobility of the Inner Sphere contains a significant proportion of MechWarriors and other military personnel.”

Hanse put down the summary sheet and looked straight at Allard. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”

Quintus ploughed on. “The Dragoons have been in a position to collect genetic material from many of the Inner Sphere’s finest warriors. When the Dragoon’s dependents arrived in the FedSuns from the Combine during the war, they contained substantially more children than they should have. From the information they gave Immigration Services, our analysts worked out that the average Dragoons family has three-point-oh-seven children - well above the FedSuns average as a whole, and only slightly less than some of our Outback Worlds.

“We don’t normally analyze the dependents of mercenary units, but with all the red flags popping up about the Dragoons, our team did so. The average mercenary unit employed by us has one-point-eight-six children per family.”

Hanse turned the summary back to the last page. “And then - “

Quintus jumped in. “Yes. We went back and looked at the blood samples they gave Immigration Services. We found that all of the children were related to at least one of their parents, but only around a third of them were actually related to both their parents. Concentrating on the anomalous two-thirds, what we found is not conclusive in and of itself, but taken along with all the other evidence...:”

Now it was Hanse’s turn to jump in. “So, they found genetic markers that tend to be more common in certain families, including -” he flipped open the Intelligence Estimate to the page cross-referenced on his summary sheet, and read the list of names “ - Stephenson, Zibler, Davions of Argyle, Davions of Victoria, McLeod, Ellerslie, McGuigan, Kim, Vu... Quintus, this is a veritable Burke’s Peerage of the top MechWarrior families in the Suns!”

“Yes, I know,” Quintus conceded. “For what it’s worth, they appear to have been equal-opportunity genetic pilferers. Our data is much more limited here, but we believe we have found children with lineages from the leading MechWarrior families in the Combine, Commonwealth, League and Confederation as well.”

“Katrina’s going to hit the roof when she finds out,” muttered Hanse, thinking of his mother-in-law’s propensity for decisive action. He reached for his glass of scotch, then paused with the drink halfway to his lips. “Quintus, do we know if they did the same with military personnel from other arms?”

Quintus sighed. “Unfortunately not, sire. We track MechWarriors mostly because of their prestige. We simply don’t have enough readily available data to do the same for say, tankers or artillerymen.”

Hanse grunted. “So much for being more egalitarian than the other Successor States.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “Put together a group to look at the implications and recommend courses of action - a small group,” he ordered.

“Already done, Hanse. Alex Mallory is heading it up. They aim to have some projections by the end of the week.”

« Last Edit: 28 December 2017, 16:50:37 by alkemita »

Daryk

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #1 on: 27 December 2017, 19:24:27 »
Not bad, not bad at all.  I'll say I think you captured the voices of Hanse and Quintus better than Jaime and Natasha, and you could have used a copy editing pass.  But really, not bad at all, and interesting to boot.  I look forward to more.  O0

(And I recommend the BattleTech 2.0 skin to see that emoji correctly...)

snakespinner

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #2 on: 27 December 2017, 19:34:44 »
Natasha was a bit bland, the writing was good.
Good work. O0
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DOC_Agren

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #3 on: 27 December 2017, 22:37:56 »
Interesting
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Shadow_Wraith

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #4 on: 27 December 2017, 23:30:49 »
Nice start!  Hope to see more!

drakensis

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #5 on: 28 December 2017, 04:27:14 »
Hmm. Very interesting idea there and one that the Dragoons may not have considered all the implications of.
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DoctorMonkey

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #6 on: 28 December 2017, 08:47:41 »
Interesting


Generally well written
Reasonably paced


My only thought would be to try to avoid direct commentary of people (especially women) by their appearance when trying to suggest personality as you did with Natasha Kerensky - or you could put it along the lines of "Natasha Kerensky's mood seemed to match her fiery reputation and temper which her carefully cultivated image meant she also matched with her hair" which is too wordy and that is why I am a critic rather than an author
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alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #7 on: 28 December 2017, 15:57:17 »
Posted by: Daryk
« on: 27 December 2017, 20:24:27 »
Quote
Not bad, not bad at all.  I'll say I think you captured the voices of Hanse and Quintus better than Jaime and Natasha, and you could have used a copy editing pass.

Posted by: snakespinner
« on: 27 December 2017, 20:34:44 »
Quote
Natasha was a bit bland, the writing was good.

Posted by: DoctorMonkey
« on: Today at 09:47:41 »
Quote
My only thought would be to try to avoid direct commentary of people (especially women) by their appearance when trying to suggest personality as you did with Natasha Kerensky

Thank you all for the feedback. I actually lifted about 90% of the first chunk verbatim from Stackpole, so Natasha Kerensky's dialogue and the description are all from him. I debated re-writing that scene, but thought that since an official BTech writer had already done it, I might as well copy it wholesale.

On reflection, and given your input, I will rewrite this.

Hmm. Very interesting idea there and one that the Dragoons may not have considered all the implications of.

Do you mean the genetic pilfering, or something else?

Hope to have the next chapter up later today.

Keep the feedback coming.

Dave Talley

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #8 on: 29 December 2017, 00:34:30 »
This looks good
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drakensis

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #9 on: 29 December 2017, 05:14:20 »
Do you mean the genetic pilfering, or something else?
The genetic pilfering.

After all, they may consider that they're just making warriors but this is a dynastic culture and they're also creating potential claimants...
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DoctorMonkey

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #10 on: 29 December 2017, 08:31:59 »
I may not have been sufficiently positive in my feedback - I really like this


I am interested that what I disliked in the description was lifted from a different author probably written quite some time ago


I have a few friends who are authors and some of them are also quite strong female-types and so point out these sorts of things and when pointed out I then notice them
Avatar stollen from spacebattles.com motivational posters thread

ChanMan: "Capellan Ingenuity: The ability to lose battles to Davion forces in new and implausible ways"

mikecj

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #11 on: 29 December 2017, 14:26:07 »
I'm enjoying it, thanks for sharing
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alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #12 on: 29 December 2017, 23:54:15 »
Thank you for your patience. Here's Part 2, delayed by real life and a cold.

One note - I hate the AFFC rank structure deleting "Colonel", so I've restored it.


Forging the Pack - The Untold Story of Wolf’s Dragoons in the Reckoning
By Drs H. R. Cowan & T. S. Choi
Pub. New Avalon Press, 3068

The first concrete expression of the Dragoons’ plan was the revitalised and rebuilt Black Widow Company.

Although hurting for resources in the aftermath of the 4th Succession War, Wolf spared no expense in turning Kerensky’s command into the premier OPFOR in the Inner Sphere.

They were helped by the fact that nine of the Widows survived the war, although two of them would never pilot a ‘Mech again due to extensive injuries that not even the Dragoons’ medical wizardry could rectify. Kerensky turned the rest into her sub-unit leaders as the Widows grew into an augmented, combined arms battalion.

Although no one knew it at the time, Kerensky actually rebuilt her command as what we would now recognise as a fairly typical Clan Cluster. For security reasons, the Dragoons continued to refer to “Lances” and “Companies” rather than “Stars” and “Trinaries”.

Kerensky’s Command Star was built around her iconic black Warhammer, with four more heavy BattleMechs in support. These machines were piloted by hand-picked graduates of the Dragoons’ training programs, and soon included the first generation of Dragoons sibkids. The members of Kerensky’s Command Star rarely remained in the Black Widow Cluster for more than four months, rotating to other postings after participating in a few wargames and the occasional live mission.

It appears that Kerensky and Wolf were using the assignment to rapidly season potential leaders for the Dragoons in a relatively safe environment. Indeed, many of those sibkids soon rose to lance and company commands in other Dragoons units. By the time of the Reckoning, just over a third of the Dragoons’ battalion commanders and nearly half the company commanders had spent time in the Black Widows Command Star.

In battle, Kerensky used her Command Star as a trouble-shooter unit, roaming freely around the field to wherever they could be a decisive force. Occasionally, she would attach a Star from another Trinary to her Command Star to create a pair of Binaries.

Spider Trinary was the sledgehammer of the Cluster, comprising two Heavy/Assault Stars and one Star of faster Heavy BattleMechs. The first commander of Spider Trinary was Kerensky’s long-time second in command, Major Johnny Clavell. Kerensky packed Spider Trinary with some of the best gunners in the Dragoons, in part to better simulate the devastating firepower that a Clan Assault Trinary could bring to the battlefield.

The second Black Widow Trinary, named Tarantula Trinary, was a fairly typical Clan Battle Trinary, with one Star each of Heavy, Medium and Light machines. Initially commanded by the Inner Sphere-born-and-raised Major Dechan Fraser, Tarantula was a “swing” unit, able to play many roles proficiently, from hit-and-fade attacks to mobile defence. Under Fraser and his successors, Tarantula Trinary was usually the first encounter trainees had with the Widows, and it was an universally unpleasant one.

Web Trinary was also built as a Battle Trinary, but beefed up into a Supernova by attaching a thirty-man jump infantry platoon to each Star (the extra man in each Point/Squad drove a Blackwell Industries designed hovercraft). Each jump-infantry Point typically moved with the same BattleMech, creating a reasonable facsimile of the Elemental Battle Armour units that would cause so much fear later. In exercises, the ersatz-Elementals’ signature move was to slap simulated demolition charges marked by a spiders web onto critical components of opposing ‘Mechs, harmlessly but graphically demonstrating their lethality.

They were assisted in this by the hovercraft that moved them (never formally named but universally known as “Mules”). Each vehicle was unarmed and unarmoured, but carried man-portable SRM-2 launchers and Support Lasers on quick-access racks allowing its passengers to select from a variety of weapons options. Although the Mules were never intended for actual combat, Web Trinary did use them on various short term contracts. The reputation gained by Web Trinary made them almost as feared as the Black Widow Command Star.

Finally, the Cluster was rounded out by the addition of an AeroSpace Fighter Binary (one Light/Medium Star and one Medium/Heavy Star) and a 7th Kommando Team. The former is a normal component of Clan units, but the latter was not. The elite special forces unit was used to simulate other capabilities of Elementals, such as Headhunter tactics that the Mule-mounted infantry would find difficult to replicate.

It should be pointed out that the Black Widow Battalion was not the only OPFOR used by the Dragoons. Elements of the Dragoons Home Guard rotated through the Tetsuhara Proving Grounds acting as OPFOR in the initial stages of a unit’s visit. This allowed the Dragoons to sharpen their Home Guard by giving them regular practice defending against ‘Mech-heavy units - a prescient decision, as it turned out.

Definitive information on the exact nature of the training program (known by the deceptively bland title “The Series”) that the Black Widow Battalion carried out for their comrades (and later, for the Association of Mercenary Commands) remains frustratingly elusive. To date, none of the surviving Dragoons has ever discussed the program in detail.

Several mercenaries from AMC commands, however, have left written accounts of their experiences in the Series, and these records make up the majority of what we know. It is certain that the Dragoons had a slightly different syllabus for their own troops since AMC trainees did a 3-week program, while two different Dragoons have referred to a 4 week program, but we believe the majority of the training content to have been identical.

The Series for AMC members began with a strictly controlled arrival in the Outreach system. Before their DropShips detached for the final leg to Outreach itself, each vessel was boarded and thoroughly inspected by Dragoons staff for security reasons. The inspections were rigorous. Retired Colonel Helena Mattoli of the Illician Lancers went through the Series as a new company commander with her battalion. In her autobiography, she related an anecdote about how a data entry mistake on a customs declaration by one of her lancemates led to Dragoons inspectors searching their ‘Mechs down to their myomer bundles.

After surviving that scrutiny, the battalion would make planetfall and be billeted at one of the Dragoons’ bases. Exactly which base seems to have varied, with Fort Joshua, Camp Shostokovitch, Camp Wells and Fort Jones all being identified by AMC members. Being the four largest of the Dragoons’ facilities on the Romulus continent, they offered the widest range of facilities for visiting units, an important consideration since they were not allowed into the civilian areas of Outreach for security reasons. Master Sergeant Christina Zvados of the Eridani Light Horse commented that she had been to Outreach twice in her life, both times to participate in the Series, but had never seen anything on planet other than barracks, Mech ‘Bays and the Range.

The next two days following arrival were devoted to in-processing and integrating all vehicles and their crew into the Dragoons’ Star League-era simulation facilities. This system was broadly similar to those in use by all major militaries, except that it was equipped to handle a greater number of individual units on each side, possibly up to brigade size on each side.

This would tally with the “new” Dragoons operational doctrine that attached armour and mechanised infantry companies to ‘Mech battalions, sometimes bulking them up to double normal size.

After final briefings, the Series itself would get underway early on day three - usually between 0000-0200 hours local, with a no-notice deployment order.

The opening scenario was designed to shock participating units and expose weaknesses or inflexibility.

Then Captain Mattoli describes the opening scenario thus.

“If there was a small mercy, it was that my Company had finished all our prep early, and so we’d managed about four hours sleep before loud buzzers shocked us awake at 0230. Captain Lincoln (the night duty officer) came on the horn next, ordering us all to the briefing room in five minutes.

“Once we were seated, still rubbing sleep from our eyes, a Dragoon Major took the stage and flicked on the holo-tank. The first slide said ‘Series Phase A - Scenario 1’. Now we knew things had kicked off.

“Without preamble, the Major began to lay out the situation. In Scenario 1, we were acting as a theater reserve unit. Apparently, the Main Effort had established a beachhead on Remus 24 hours ago, but was now being massively counterattacked. We were to embark on WiGE transports in 30 minutes [note: other participants used DropShips to make the trip. There is is no clear reason why one mode was selected over another], cross the strait to a designated [Landing Point] and reinforce the Main Effort. Opposition was estimated at a brigade-plus of infantry and armour, no ‘Mech support spotted.

“A torrent of administrivia followed - comms frequencies, loading plans and the like. This all had to be written down on paper - no compads allowed. I’m sure it was all part of the effort to ramp up the pressure on us.

“Thirty minutes isn’t a lot of time to power up a Battalion of ‘Mechs and assorted attachments, march them over to a transport and lock them down again. We barely managed it, mainly because many of us had been in a similar situation on our last contract - what a gong show that was! - and we all managed to leave the line of departure on schedule.”


The battalion would be loaded into either DropShips or WiGE transports and moved to the Tetsuhara Proving Grounds on Remulus, where they would unload directly into a firefight. The scenario cast them as a hasty relief force thrown into battle to contain a sudden enemy penetration of friendly lines. It appeared to have been designed to put trainees under maximum stress. Colonel Mattoli recalled this introduction to the Series as utter chaos:

“The moment our [WiGE] transport hit the beach, the briefed plan didn’t just change, it was alpha-struck out of existence.

“For starters, we were on the wrong beach. Secondly, the perimeter being held by the friendlies we had come to reinforce was collapsing, and thirdly, we were actually on the outside of said perimeter.

“My Lance Sergeant was ‘killed’ within seconds of disembarking, and my wingman followed her not long after. MechWarrior Sharma and I somehow made it to the improvised company rally point to discover two things. One - Mace Company had taken fifty percent casualties in the first three minutes, including both my Lance Commanders, and; two - a second enemy wave, estimated at battalion size, would be hitting our sector of the line in thirty seconds.”


Once the battle was over and Captain Mattoli joined her comrades in the After Action Review, there was a final surprise.

“To add insult to injury, we discovered then that the OPFOR had consisted of a Dragoons Home Guard infantry regiment backed by a battalion of medium armour. Three months ago we’d decisively beaten the Regulan Hussars on their own turf, and now we’d been routed by part-time foot-sloggers and tread-heads.”

From this unpromising beginning, the visiting battalion would continue to be put through the wringer for the next three weeks or so. The program would be familiar to soldiers from the Successor (and some minor) States - individual missions that stressed every aspect of the training unit’s command, operations and logistics, followed by comprehensive and rigorous After Action Reviews.

The difference with the Series was that most mercenaries did not get the chance to participate in such training, so slots were eagerly sought, and simply being able to pay the substantial fee was no guarantee that your command would be selected for a rotation.

As we now know, the Dragoons were actively searching for units that they could train up to oppose the Clans. Those that did well in the Series were offered membership in the Dragoon-sponsored Association of Mercenary Commands (AMC).

The supposed goal of the blandly named organisation was to raise the standards of mercenary units. Although the ComStar-run MRBC was quietly suspicious of the AMC, publically they had to approve of it. Under the guise of advanced training, AMC members held regular seminars, published newsletters and exchanged lessons learned from their contracts.

Whatever the MRBC thought of the AMC, they could not deny that having “AMC Member” in a Command’s listing was a gateway to more lucrative contracts, fewer defaults and a better image for a controversial industry.

Of course, that was before they discovered the true purpose of the AMC.

Gladius
Virginia Shire, Federation of Skye, Federated Commonwealth
03 March 3037


Danke,” replied Cassius Reiter automatically as the server deposited a snifter of the excellent local fruit liqueur on his table. The man bobbed his head in acknowledgement as he withdrew, leaving the AFFC Colonel to his contemplations.

Reiter put down the glossy brochure he was reading and tipped half the contents of the snifter down his throat. He’d discovered the exquisite drink on the first day of the Skye Militech Show and had returned to the GM Hospitality Suite on the second day for some more.

The GM suite sat just below the high ceiling of the Hyacles International Convention Centre’s Hall D, with large windows affording guests like Reiter an impressive overview of the show floor. Despite having a window seat, Reiter ignored the vista. He had spent the better part of the last two days down on the floor as part of a joint team from the LCAF Quartermaster Department and the AFFS Transport and Resupply Command, and had seen almost all there was to see - from prototypes of advanced gloves for armoured crew to entire new BattleMechs. As a former (he would have said “current”) MechWarrior, it was, of course the latter that most interested him.

The Davion half of the team had shown far more interest in the infantry and armoured fighting vehicle developments. His AFFS counterpart, one Colonel Benedict Zibler had condescendingly pointed out to Reiter that since the AFFC would be adopting the Davion RCT structure, which was dominated by infantry despite being spearheaded by a ‘Mech Regiment, they owed it to the troops to investigate any development that would protect them better or increase their battlefield lethality.

Reiter saw nothing wrong with the current organisation of the LCAF, and so had “suggested” that the team split up to cover more ground and keep Zibler as far from himself as possible. Unfortunately, Zibler had insisted that they exchange some team members, so he was saddled with a trio of AFFS officers, only one of whom was a fellow MechWarrior, to go with his three LCAF comrades.

However, being the senior officer, he was able to “reward” his half of the team for their good work over the past couple of days by giving them some time off before dinner, which allowed him to wander back to the GM Hospitality Suite alone, and unencumbered by having to look at yet another “improved” load bearing harness or “advanced” all-environment boot.

As the warm glow from the liqueur settled in his belly, he turned back to the stack of promotional material (all BattleMech related) that he had collected that day.

   “Cassius?”

   Reiter twisted in his seat. A tall woman wearing the uniform of the Illician Lancers mercenary brigade stood before him. For those unfamiliar with the rank insignia of the Illicians, she wore a single AFFC epaulet suspended from her right breast pocket - a common convention for mercenaries under contract. The epaulet bore the rank of Kommandant. There were new grey streaks in the woman’s dark brown hair and more lines on her face than when he had last seen her.

   “Helena!” Reiter jumped out of his chair to greet his old comrade. “Mein Gott - how long has it been?” he asked as he pumped his old comrade’s hand, guiding her to the free chair on the other side of the table.

   “Almost seven years - just after we got back from New Wessex,” Helena Mattoli settled herself in the chair, placing a tumblr of green liquid next to Reiter’s brochures.

   “Ah, yes, of course,” Reiter replied, his eyes briefly far away.
   “They managed to save your leg?” she asked next.

   Reiter sighed, picked up his tablet, and used it to tap the side of his right shin. It produced a decidedly non-fleshy sound.

   “I’m sorry, Cassius,” Mattoli said after a brief pause.
   “Don’t be. Best prosthetics money can buy - thanks to being the second son of Graf von Kockengen. I can still pilot, but the damn medics won’t clear me for frontline service, so here I am, using my vast combat experience for the benefit of the Quartermaster Corps.” He took another sip of his drink. “So -” he continued, “I heard you got out, but I see you signed up with the Lancers.”

   Mattoli likewise took a drink before replying. “Tried the civilian life, but civilians drove me crazy. Rep-Dep wanted me to jump through all sorts of hoops to reactivate because I was out for seven weeks longer than some stupid deadline the have.”

   Reiter grunted in sympathy - the capriciousness of the Replacement Depot Corps bureaucracy was legendary in the LCAF.

   “So I went down to the MRBC office, dumped my service record into their system, and the Lancers were the first to call back. Been with them since.”

   “Ah, I see. How’s Jovina?”
   “Good - she got a position in the Illician Admin arm, so it’s no worse than when I was running around the Sphere trying to keep you in line.”
   “Ha!” Reiter took the jibe in good humor.
   “What about you and Silvie?”
   “We got married once I got out of rehab.” Reiter extracted his personal comm and passed it to Mattoli.
   “Congratulations, Cassius,” she said as she scrolled through the family photos. “You have a child!”
   He nodded. “Harold - he’ll be four this August.”
   “Named after your father?”
   “Ja.”
   “Thank goodness he looks more like his mother,”
   “Remind me again how come I never charged you with insubordination when you were my exec?” chuckled Reitner.
   “Because I always knew how to make you look good in front of General Steiner,” laughed Mattoli as Reiter lifted his glass in salute.

   “So, you seen a lot of action with the Lancers?”
   “Some.” She hesitated.
   “Come on, Helena - you never spared my feeling when you were my Exec,” Reiter smiled to take the sting out of the rebuke.
   “Alright,” Mattoli smiled back. “They gave me a Lance at first, but with the rebuilding after the war, I had a Company in six months. Took them to Outreach for the Dragoons’ war games-”
“Was it as tough as they say?”
“Remember Vega?”
Reitner snorted “As if I could forget.”
“Right - that’s what the Series was like.”
Scheiße. But I interrupted your resume.”
   “Where was I? Oh yes, I had Mace Company for three years - some action against Liao and Marik, and then-”
   “God be good - you actually made Battalion CO! Congratulations!”
   “Yep. Third Battalion of the Ninth Lancers. Just finished my tour.” Reiter could hear the disappointment in her voice. He’d never have his own Battalion, much less a Regiment, but he’d heard from others how those were the best commands to have in the LCAF - from a certain point of view.

   “And now?” He probed. Mattoli gestured at the stack of brochures littering the table between them.
   “Same as you, I presume - looking over the latest and greatest and making recommendations that will be read and ignored.”
   “No kidding.”

   Mattoli downed her drink and slapped the glass back onto the table. “You want to write our reports together?”

   Reiter nodded. “Let’s see what GM’s idea of a good feed is.”

   An hour later, they were agreed that the interstellar conglomerate did indeed put on a good feed. Both had their tablets out, working together like they did in old times in the 3rd Lyran Guard. Reiter quite enjoyed the nostalgic rush. They’d moved to another table with more room to spread out their collected bounty.

   “Okay - Johnston Industries is done,” said Reiter, suppressing a burp with one hand. “What’s next?”

   “Blackwell,” replied Mattoli, pushing a small stack of leaflets into the center of the table with one hand while filching an eclair from Reitner’s plate with the other.

   “Ah yes. Spent a lot of time in their booth today,” Reiter commented. “Booth” being somewhat of a misnomer - Blackwell’s area covered a full third of Hall J.

   “I was there yesterday,” Mattoli responded through a mouthful of dessert.
   “Your opinion, Oberleutnant?”
   “They’re trying some interesting things with classic designs,” Mattoli hedged.

   Reiter snorted, flipping open the glossy brochure while tabbing over to his own notes on the tablet.
   “So, they have licenced some of the most common ‘Mech designs from their manufacturers and reworked them for easier maintenance - that’s their basic angle, ja?”
   “Right.”
   “Which ones again?” He seemed to have lost that page. Mattoli found the appropriate page in her copy. “Locust, Wasp, Stinger, Griffin, Shadow Hawk, Phoenix Hawk, Thunderbolt, Archer, Warhammer, Marauder and Stalker,” she rattled off.
   “Trying to appeal to the widest possible market then. Easier to maintain is fine, but there’s nothing revolutionary there.”
   “Au contraire, Hauptmann,” riposted Mattoli. “Didn’t they take you through their -” she rapidly flipped through her copy of the brochure until she found it “- here it is! Their Modular Weapons Management System?”

   Reiter frowned as he thought back. He’d seen a lot of presentations in the past couple of days, and it took him a moment to remember.

   “Ja, that was the one where they programmed the Master Computer to recognise and adjust for different models of weapons, correct?” At Mattoli’s nod, Reiter shrugged. “So? Any competent tech can put an Intek Medium Laser into a Martell casing in half an hour.”

   “Yes, Cassius,” Mattoli continued. Reiter recognised the tone as the one she’d often used as his second in command when she found he’d screwed up the paperwork again. He just managed to avoid reflexively saying “What did I do now?” like he used to. In any case, Mattoli rolled on.

“But what Blackwell has done here is to design the mount to take any Medium Laser, without having to jury rig it. So now - you still drive your Thunderbolt-5S, right?”

Reiter nodded.

“Okay, so now,” She flipped open the appropriate brochure, “with this Blackwell -5WD version, if one of your DO-18 mediums goes kaput, and all you have on hand are Magna Mark-2s, your competent tech can simply pull out the non-op medium, slap in the Magna-2, without modification, and the Modular WMS will auto-calibrate. See here?” She pointed to a chart. “Can all be done in five minutes.”

“Impressive,” conceded Reiter. He pulled out his own copy of the brochure. “However! The price you pay for this - this -5WD model is nearly seven million C-Bills. Almost one third more expensive. And for your information, Oberleutnant, I did go over their demo model extensively. Did you know that the power feeds to the -5WD’s Large Laser are rated to 750 percent over peak loads? That’s a ridiculous margin - if you get that much surge through the line, the whole arm will blow off anyway. It’s like that all over the design. Overengineered, overpriced.”

“So you’ll recommend against? Because of the cost factor?”
“Ja, and knowing you, you’ll recommend for, because now your logistics are simpler.”
“It’s different from the mercenary point of view,”
“Noted. Can you pass the cheese plate?”


mikecj

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #13 on: 30 December 2017, 00:08:35 »
Not Omni but getting there, and getting them used to the idea of it...
There are no fish in my pond.
"First, one brief announcement. I just want to mention, for those who have asked, that absolutely nothing what so ever happened today in sector 83x9x12. I repeat, nothing happened. Please remain calm." Susan Ivanova
"Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. Teach a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime." - Belkar Bitterleaf
Romo Lampkin could have gotten Stefan Amaris off with a warning.

alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #14 on: 30 December 2017, 00:21:12 »
Not Omni but getting there, and getting them used to the idea of it...

*Ding!Ding!Ding!*  :)

Daryk

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #15 on: 30 December 2017, 00:26:14 »
This part reads much better than the first, nice job!  There were a couple of typos, but nothing like the first one.  I'm looking forward to part 3...

alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #16 on: 30 December 2017, 00:33:41 »
The genetic pilfering.

After all, they may consider that they're just making warriors but this is a dynastic culture and they're also creating potential claimants...

Yes - I must admit I haven't yet found a solution to this one that doesn't totally de-rail the plot I'm going for, or doesn't smack of hand-wavium

marauder648

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #17 on: 30 December 2017, 02:52:36 »
Darn good stuff!  Well written and good pacing!
Ghost Bears: Cute and cuddly. Until you remember its a BLOODY BEAR!

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snakespinner

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #18 on: 30 December 2017, 03:17:56 »
Well done.
Reiter sounds like the usual LCAF dipstick.
Blackwell's idea is very good. Will make it easier to train tech's on Omni mechs later on. O0
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
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Growing up is optional.
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Daryk

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #19 on: 30 December 2017, 06:59:17 »
Yes - I must admit I haven't yet found a solution to this one that doesn't totally de-rail the plot I'm going for, or doesn't smack of hand-wavium
As long as all the legitimate acknowledged heirs survive, there's no problem at all...

Speedbump

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #20 on: 30 December 2017, 18:19:11 »
Quote
“Impressive,” conceded Reiter. He pulled out his own copy of the brochure. “However! The price you pay for this - this -5WD model is nearly seven million C-Bills. Almost one third more expensive. And for your information, Oberleutnant, I did go over their demo model extensively. Did you know that the power feeds to the -5WD’s Large Laser are rated to 750 percent over peak loads? That’s a ridiculous margin - if you get that much surge through the line, the whole arm will blow off anyway. It’s like that all over the design. Overengineered, overpriced.”

“So you’ll recommend against? Because of the cost factor?”
“Ja, and knowing you, you’ll recommend for, because now your logistics are simpler.”
“It’s different from the mercenary point of view,”
“Noted. Can you pass the cheese plate?”
I'm going to have to side with him on this one. A 30% cost increase (or close to it) for true omni capability is worth it. Merely easy swap outs is not. Even if you're a mercenary the money saved and the will mean that quite often you'll be able to afford more replacement/additional mechs (if you're doing well) or to actually buy replacement parts at all.(if you're doing badly) Going from zero to Omnimechs certainly isn't my expectation, but in cannon even when the Inner Sphere got Omnimechs they found the cost to benefit ratio even enough that they kept on developing non-omni Battlemechs even for their best units.

Putting that aside I'm enjoying the story so far and I look forward to seeing how it goes.

Intermittent_Coherence

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #21 on: 30 December 2017, 22:07:01 »
Locust, Wasp, Stinger, Griffin, Shadow Hawk, Phoenix Hawk, Thunderbolt, Archer, Warhammer, Marauder and Stalker,”
That's a veritable who's who of Unseen designs.

alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #22 on: 30 December 2017, 23:11:17 »
I'm going to have to side with him on this one. A 30% cost increase (or close to it) for true omni capability is worth it. Merely easy swap outs is not. Even if you're a mercenary the money saved and the will mean that quite often you'll be able to afford more replacement/additional mechs (if you're doing well) or to actually buy replacement parts at all.(if you're doing badly) Going from zero to Omnimechs certainly isn't my expectation, but in cannon even when the Inner Sphere got Omnimechs they found the cost to benefit ratio even enough that they kept on developing non-omni Battlemechs even for their best units.

All good points, Speedbump. To say more would be spoilers at this point.

alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #23 on: 30 December 2017, 23:12:18 »
That's a veritable who's who of Unseen designs.
;)
I see what you did there. As for the list, what can I say, I'm a classicist.

alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #24 on: 30 December 2017, 23:14:38 »
Reiter sounds like the usual LCAF dipstick.
Blackwell's idea is very good. Will make it easier to train tech's on Omni mechs later on. O0

I hope he didn't sound too much like a dipstick - after all, he survived some pretty bad fighting in the 4th succession war, but yes, he does have some of the LCAF blindspots in his thinking.

snakespinner

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #25 on: 31 December 2017, 01:28:33 »
I meant by that a classical Lyran, concentrating on mechs.
That was just the training up to that time.
Basically what you can expect early on in the FC. O0
I wish I could get a good grip on reality, then I would choke it.
Growing old is inevitable,
Growing up is optional.
Watching TrueToaster create evil genius, priceless...everything else is just sub-par.

DoctorMonkey

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #26 on: 31 December 2017, 06:38:13 »
I hope he didn't sound too much like a dipstick - after all, he survived some pretty bad fighting in the 4th succession war, but yes, he does have some of the LCAF blindspots in his thinking.


He sounds like he was signed up to the classic doctrine of the Lyran Commonwealth
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DOC_Agren

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #27 on: 02 January 2018, 17:04:18 »

He sounds like he was signed up to the classic doctrine of the Lyran Commonwealth
and hasn't gone Merc yet which is where the best of the Lyran Officers endup, so they escape the social general issue

I like this by the way  👍
"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed:And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!"

alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #28 on: 30 January 2018, 01:42:38 »
And here's Part 3. I found this a real pain to write, and I'm still not totally happy with it, but here it is.

Outreach
Terran March, Federated Commonwealth
1 April 3034


The doomed regiment group swarmed over the geological formation known as Complex Rho in good order.

Three pairs of Light AeroSpace fighters led, streaking out ahead of their ground-bound comrades. Cavalry Scouts mounted in hovercraft and covered by light tanks took the high ground next, establishing over-watch positions. They were soon joined by Partisan Air Defence Tanks, a pair to each high point.

Once convinced that all was secure, the main body of the First Dismal Disinherited (Malik’s Plague of Locusts)  flowed through the four  nearly parallel natural channels that transected Complex Rho, detaching security elements as they exited the channels onto the gently undulating landscape in this part of the Tetsuhara Proving Grounds.

Major Dechan Fraser watched all this on his cockpit secondary monitor. The feed was a bit shaky and periodically staticky, an unavoidable side effect of it being obtained from a hand-held camera with a very large telephoto lens. Said camera was in the hands of a 7th Kommando team member halfway up a rocky formation nearly three klicks from Complex Rho - further away, in fact, from the 1st Dismal Disinherited than Fraser himself.

Fraser was professionally impressed by the way the Plague conducted the movement (they’d adopted the 1st’s nickname after the first couple of days of this rotation in deference to how long the full title of the unit was), especially after the trials they had been put through in the preceding twelve days.

The Plague’s machines showed the wear and tear of two weeks hard campaigning - including some un-repaired armour damage - accidents still happened in training, and every surface carried a patina of the red-brown dust and dirt that covered much of the Outback.

Despite everything the Plague had been through, they maintained cohesion, and their tactical smarts were only increasing. Complex Rho was ideal ambush terrain. Indeed, Fraser’s Tarantula Company had decimated the Plague’s Third Battalion in just such a scenario last week. But the Plague had learned from their mistakes, and had flooded Complex Rho in full force this time to make a repeat of that encounter impossible.

The Tarantulas were hunkered down under sensor-reflective tarps in hide sites on the reverse slope of the next ridge that the Dismal Disinherited would have to cross on their way to the scenario objective at Hill 882.

Within the cockpit of his MAD-3WD model Marauder, Fraser heard the muffled sound of the Plague’s Air Lances sweeping low and hard over his position. The tarps did their job - the Plague did not change their dispositions as they came on, oblivious for now.

Beep.

That was the signal from a remote sensor. The Plague’s lead elements were now within 750 metres of his position.

With the bulk of the regiment safely through Complex Rho, Fraser could see half their over-watch elements leaving their positions and sprinting forward.

“All WIDOW CALLSIGNS, WIDOW-SIX. We are live. TAR-ONE, initiate at your discretion.”
“Copy, WIDOW-SIX,” Fraser replied. He switched to the company push. “All TAR, TAR-ONE. Standby to initiate.”

He looked back down at his secondary monitor. The Seventh Kommando cameraman had gone to a wider angle shot, which allowed him to see almost the entire breadth of the Plague’s deployment. He waited till there was a good concentration of vehicles and scout ‘Mech Lances within 500 metres of his position, and then hit the battalion push, in order to let them know what he was doing.

“All TAR CALLSIGNS - initiate now, now now!”

Without conscious thought, Fraser simultaneously powered up his ‘Mech, activated his sensor suite and pressed the button that would detonate a small shaped charge built into the camouflaging tarp covering his position.

Having done this many times before, Tarantula Company surged out of their concealed positions, fifteen black and red ‘Mechs in three rough chevrons converging on the left flank of the Plague.

There was little need for orders - the Black Widows ran these scenarios several times a year, to the point where it was common for Fraser to tell his company in pre-mission briefs “We’ll do it just like last time.” He suspected that Colonel Kerensky still took them on short term contracts twice a year out of sheer boredom.

Fraser swept his crosshairs across the target-rich environment in front of him, looking for anything in range.

The Plague had shaken off their initial shock at seeing an enemy force seemingly appear out of nowhere, and were now reorienting themselves to face the threat. A short company of Vedettes was closest to Fraser. He switched targeting mode from integrated to independent, and now, instead of one crosshair on his HUD, there were five, representing each of the five weapons his Marauder was armed with.

Unconsciously, he began to regulate his breathing, the way Tom West had shown him. Using both hand controllers and their hat switches, he dropped the crosshairs for his PPCs and AC5 on three different tanks and pulled the triggers as the associated crosshairs flashed green.

His cockpit became noticeably warmer as excess heat overwhelmed the heat sinks’ capacity. He ignored it, watching all three of his shots land. One of the tanks stopped moving - probably due to a wrecked track. All three fired back at him with their AC5s, for two hits to either side torso that he shrugged off.

Then the balance of his Alpha Lance opened fire, flushing over a hundred LRMs at the unfortunate tank company. Like Fraser, the rest of Alpha Lance was using independent targeting, so six out of the other seven tanks were hit - the exception having jinked hard at the last moment. Better than three-quarters of the missiles hit, which was good enough to mission-kill half the company and send the remainder racing for cover.

They would not make it - for Beta Lance pounced, emerging from behind Alpha to tear the the survivors to shreds.

With their rears thus covered, Alpha Lance plunged deeper into the enemy formation.

A two-tone chirp in his ear alerted him that hostile air was incoming, and indeed, on his HUD, he saw MechWarrior Aziz’s Crusader rock from a strafing run. A moment later, his left arm was jolted by a medium-laser hit.

“AIR-ONE-ONE inbound!” And with that, ten AeroSpace fighters, all black with red wingtips and nosecones, bounced their Plague counterparts and ended their attempts at strafing Tarantula Company as they fought for survival.

“Nice timing, AIR-ONE!” Fraser radioed while changing course slightly as he spotted a Plague Grasshopper - an obvious Company or Battalion commander’s ride from the way it was moving around the field of battle.

“GAMMA-ONE, TAR-ONE. Target Grasshopper. ALPHA and BETA, cover GAMMA,” Fraser called next on the company push.

Like twin spearheads, Alpha and Beta Lances tore through waves of tanks, IFVs and ‘Mechs, aiming to cause as much chaos as possible. Athough they had neither the firepower nor weight of numbers to quickly destroy their targets, their targeting of multiple opponents caused the Plague to advance more cautiously than they otherwise would have.

Not all the damage was one-way, of course.

“ALPHA-TREY is out!” That was Corporal Redman, voice tinged with frustration. At a glance it looked like his Thunderbolt had been the victim of a freak gyro hit.

“TAR-ONE-ONE, WEB-ONE-ONE. Mind if we crash your party?” The radio call arrived along with thirty new green icons in fifteen pairs on Fraser’s sensor display - Web Company had blown their own camouflage and were now racing in from Fraser’s right, their jump-infantry carrying Mules pacing their assigned ‘Mechs.

“Not at all, WEB-ONE-ONE,” replied Fraser as he dropped an already damaged Plague Centurion with his left PPC, while his right PPC bit deep into a Rifleman’s thigh. The Rifleman managed to tag his right torso with a large laser and an AC5 burst in return, sending his armour display into the amber range. He’d have to be careful with it.

Web Company crashed into the Plague’s partially exposed flank. Like the Tarantulas, they were shooting at anything they could get a valid sight picture on.

Fraser decided the Grasshopper was a battalion CO’s ride given the way he or she was splitting their attention between the Tarantulas and the newly arrived Webs.

With the Plague battalion facing pressure from two sides, Fraser could see the balance of the regiment reorienting to reinforce their beleaguered sub-unit. They had to move now.

“GAMMA, go!” he called as he fed another PPC to the stubborn Rifleman’s left arm, and was rewarded by seeing it go limp, while firing the other PPC and adding a medium laser into an Ontos that had somehow made it this far. To his left, Captain Simms risked shutdown by firing both her LRMs and SRMs simultaneously - the former at an oncoming Merlin, and the latter at a pair of hover APCs who were gamely taking shots at her 70-ton ‘Mech. To his right, the twin Crusaders of MechWarriors Aziz and Red Crow were standing off a medium lance. Both had taken about one-third losses in armour. Fraser knew they had enough in them for one more hard push, but that was all.

“Roger, TAR-ONE-ONE,” That was Lieutenant Nikolai Koniev, an original Black Widow, and now commander of Gamma Lance. Although composed entirely of Light ‘Mechs, Gamma Lance was anything but a recon unit. Their speciality was head-hunting, something that Koniev himself was a master at.

Fraser had found Koniev to be a “do as I do” type of leader, which he was generally fine with, but it also meant that he was often found leading the way, which was not necessarily the best place for a unit leader to be.

Right now, he was out in front again, his Firefly driving straight for the enemy Grasshopper.

Without needing a command, Beta Lance’s four survivors joined Fraser’s Alpha Lance in launching an all out assault on the increasingly heavy opposition gathering between Gamma Lance and their target.

Fraser jerked in his five-point harness as a PPC punched through the remains of his left-torso armour coverage. Reacting automatically, he slapped the “AMMO EJECT” button, dumping the remaining half-ton of his AC5 ammunition from its bin on that side of his ‘Mech, while sending his own PPC back at the offending Manticore that had attacked him.

Off to the right, Web Company’s infantry had managed to work their way forward of their supporting ‘Mechs.

The fourteen surviving squads simultaneously launched a barrage of inferno SRMs into the front rank of opposition, stalling their advance.

Momentarily distracted by the awesome sight of the flame-front created by sixty-seven exploding inferno warheads, Fraser was jolted back by a hit from an AC10 that stripped almost all the remaining armour from his right flank. A warning tone accompanied a message on his HUD “HS INOP.” As if he needed any confirmation, his next PPC volley caused his cockpit to feel like a sauna, and the heat also played havoc with his controls, causing one of his shots to go wide. The other PPC took the turret - and therefore the vast majority of the firepower - from the persistent Ontos.

But it was enough. Alpha and Beta had cleared the way for Gamma, who were now swarming the unsupported Grasshopper like a pack of hyenas tearing at a lion. The battalion commander went down hard - dropping MechWarrior Macmillan’s Locust and taking the left arm from Sergeant Chen’s Wasp - but finally succumbed.

Full credit to the Plague battalion - the loss of their commander did not cause them to collapse. There was some momentary confusion, which Fraser took full advantage of to pull back his battered company as reinforcements started arriving in numbers. Two pairs of Black Widow AeroSpace fighters helped out with strafing runs.

“WIDOW-SIX, TAR-ONE-ONE. All TAR CALLSIGNS are withdrawing toward WAYPOINT 37,” he reported as he back-pedalled his Marauder, taking shots at anyone still game to come after him.

There weren’t many of those. They were now occupied by Web Company’s jump infantry, who were down to about two-thirds strength but were well inside the Plague’s lines, attempting to kneecap BattleMechs at every opportunity. Faced with enemies within and without, it was only a matter of time.

How much time was determined by the next radio call:

“All WIDOW CALLSIGNS, WIDOW-SIX. Inbound.” And twenty heavy and assault ‘Mechs crested Ridge 5003, led by the infamous all-black Warhammer of Colonel Natasha Kerensky.

“...at which point, with the balance of First and Third Battalion Groups oriented toward destroying the remnants of Tarantula and Web Companies, Spider Company and the Widow Command Lance, task organised into two short companies, were able to effect a pincer movement, here and here, to destroy Third Battalion Group.

“First Battalion Group was unable to come to the aid of Third due to Tarantula and Web Companies combining with Widow Air containing them and the remnants of Second Battalion Group until Spider and Command finished defeating First and were able to join their comrades, finally adding enough mass to defeat Third in detail.”

Dechan Fraser watched Colonel Jeremy Ellman, the former commander of the Dragoon’s Beta Regiment and now Director of Training Command, concisely walk the tentful of officers and senior NCOs through the just concluded exercise. One end of the large tent joined the trailer section of a vehicle built on the frame of a commercial All-Terrain cargo hauler. A large holotank extruded from the side of the trailer and was providing the visuals to go along with Colonel Ellman’s commentary.

The officers of the Black Widow Battalion sat along the left side of the tent. The majority of the remaining chairs were taken up by Plague personnel, with Colonel Gordon Malik himself front and center. A few of them looked disappointed, most were taking notes. It was an improvement from the first week, when there had been many angry people in those seats. By now, they had realised the truism that you learn more from defeat than victory, and they were lapping up everything.

Colonel Ellman tried to end on a positive note. “Look, the Black Widows won, but it was a pyrrhic victory - “ There was a very audible snort that seemed to come from Colonel Kerensky’s chair. Colonel Ellman ignored it “A pyrrhic victory. You inflicted 50% losses on them.”

Fraser half tuned out the rest. He knew the form the rest of the After Action Review would take. Individual commanders would be asked to explain critical decisions they had made. Again, by this stage of the Series, the initial defensiveness would be mostly gone; Company Commanders would freely admit that, yes, they’d taken too long to react to certain stimuli, while Battalion Commanders could be heard saying that their order to Echo Company to move to Grid reference such-and-such did in fact leave said company in an untenable position.

The basic lesson they wanted the Plague to take from this battle was that while their local overwatch was great, they didn’t push out their screen far enough and trusted too much in their aerial recon to confirm that all was clear. Fraser knew that while his company had been well dug in against aerial observation, a good ground scout should have been able to recognise their hide sites at half a klick. In fact, Colonel Ellman was making just that point to the Plague’s cavalry battalion commander.

Finally after another twenty minutes, Ellman yielded the podium to the Plague’s Commander.

“Thank you, Colonel Ellman. Could I clear the room of all Dragoon personnel, please?” he asked.

Ellman nodded, and Fraser joined the small group of Dragoons in their signature light blue jumpsuits exiting the tent into the late afternoon sun. Colonel Malik customarily did this. While none of them had eavesdropped on the Colonel, they were agreed that he must have been a pretty good motivational speaker because no matter how badly the Widows and other Dragoons OPFOR beat them in a scenario, the Plague’s officer corps always came out of the AAR with their heads up and ready for more. Fraser looked forward to talking to his counterparts at the end of cycle social function that they closed the Series with to confirm this.

“I thought they did pretty well, considering,” opined Major Clavell as he lit up one of his cheap cigarettes. Fraser nodded agreement. “They didn’t fall apart much until the very end. Their subordinate leaders are really stepping up to replace casualties.”

“What do you think, Colonel?” asked Captain Ikeda as they approached the Mobile Field Base site where their ‘Mechs were being checked over.

Kerensky considered for a beat. “If they keep improving at this rate, I’d recommend AMC membership to the General,” she finally said. It was high praise from her.

And that would make… let’s see - Kell Hounds, Illician Lancers and the Lexington Combat Group - so they’d be the fourth in, thought Fraser. So it would be these four units plus his own Dragoons against the… Others.

The thought was enough to sour his mood all through the process of getting his ‘Mech (which he’d named Jenette) back to the company hangar, an hour’s worth of paperwork in his small office as twilight set in and the short walk from there back to his quarters. Along the way he had to yield to a small convoy of air cars led and tailed by MP jeeps. As distracted as he was, it was only after they had passed that he registered the middle aircar as being very similar to the one General Wolf used. The Dragoons CO did make the occasional visit to the Black Widows’ base, but he usually arrived in the morning and left by the afternoon.

It had been almost two years since Fraser had finally been let into the inner sanctum of the Dragoons. To say that he had been shocked by the revelation of the true nature and mission of the Dragoons was a tremendous understatement. Like almost everyone in the Inner Sphere, Fraser had grown up hearing tales of the long-vanished golden age of the Star League, including the one about the great General Kerensky, who had taken the bulk of the Star League Defence Force out into the deep periphery.

Intellectually, Fraser knew that the SLDF had to have undergone some changes, but the society he was told about was like something out of a bad dystopian vid.

A military autocracy. Stratification of society. No personal freedoms. Social Darwinism given life. And worst of all, with all the assuredness of the religious fanatic, the absolute belief that this was the best model for human society, and they had the right - no - the solemn duty to impose it on the Inner Sphere.

And now Dechan Fraser was working in the shadows, trying to prepare his home and way of life to defend against this perversion of the best of the Star League.

He picked at a hastily heated Quik-Eat from his small fridge, paired with a can of Pharaoh-lite beer, trying to stave off the next phase of his brooding. He knew that soon he would be thinking about Jenette again, reliving the day Michi Noketsuna had returned from his mission with two boxes. The larger contained the head of Tai-shu Samsonov, and the smaller held the ashes of Jenette Rand. Then the what-ifs and self recrimination would begin.

No.

Fraser stood abruptly as if repelling that chain of thought physically with his whole body. He needed to talk to someone - the coping mechanism he had developed.

Dumping his half-eaten meal in the garbage can, he grabbed a worn leather jacket and opened his apartment door -

Standing in the doorway, hand raised to push the buzzer, was Colonel Kerensky, looking as startled as Fraser himself probably did.

The moment dragged out, and Kerensky recovered first.

“Going somewhere?”
Fraser found his voice. “Yeah. To see you, actually.”
Kerensky looked closer at him. “Jenette,” she said.

Fraser nodded, then his mind caught up. “Wait - what are you doing here, Colonel?”

“Let me in and you’ll find out,” she replied.
“Right.” Fraser backed away from the door and Kerensky strode in, not stopping till she reached the centre of the living/kitchen area.

Fraser followed after shutting the door.

“There’s a change of plans for tomorrow,” Kerensky told him. Fraser had the Series schedule memorised. Tomorrow was Series Phase C Scenario 2. The Plague would be tasked with defending an installation against the Black Widows, who would be reinforced by a Home Guard armoured battalion and an infantry regiment.

“We got problems with Range Nine?” he asked, thinking that equipment failure was the most likely issue. It was rare, but it happened. However, a little voice in the back of his head noted that Kerensky wasn’t likely to deliver such news in person. The other shoe had yet to drop.

“No.” Kerensky looked at him levelly. “We’re still go for the scenario, but we’re moving it from the morning to late afternoon.”

“Why?”

“Because most of the battalion’s senior officers, including you, need to be at Arena Crater at 0700 tomorrow, suited and locked.”

“Is this another no-notice live-fire test?” Fraser asked, somehow knowing it wasn’t.

Kerensky shook her head, and took one pace toward him. Her face was grim. “When we brought you all the way in, we told you about the Others’ combat trials. Do you remember?”

Fraser did. “We only use modified versions of those,” he said, then remembered a detail: “That’s how Clavell got transferred into your company - he used lethal force in that - that -” Fraser groped for the correct term.
“Trial of Grievance, yes,” Kerensky supplied. “Wolf banned those practices outright after that.”
“Until now…” Fraser realised.
“Smart boy, Fraser. Yes, Trial’s been called and accepted, and you and I, among others, are going to be the witnesses.”
Combat veteran though he was, a chill ran through Fraser’s spine. “Who’s going to be fighting, and why?”

Twelve Hours Earlier

That’s your plan? Are you insane?!” Cranston Snord heard his chair tip over and crash behind him, so violently had he propelled himself out of his seat. He felt his daughter, Rhonda, put a placating hand on his shoulder from where she sat at his side.

The target of his invective remained seated on the other side of the conference table, flanked by two subordinates. It was one of them who answered Snord’s outburst.

“Watch it, Snord,” snarled Colonel Kelly Yukinov from General Wolf’s right. Snord wheeled on him.
“Watch it? I’m not the one blindly getting behind a disaster waiting to happen, Yukinov!”

Now Yukinov came out of his chair, but before he could speak, Jaime Wolf raised a hand.

“Enough,” he said. He did not raise his voice, but there was steel in his tone. Yukinov slowly settled back in his chair, never taking his eyes off Snord.

For his part, Cranston Snord allowed Rhonda to drag him back upright. He did not sit down, however, and turned back to Wolf.

“Jaime,” he said, having taken a deep breath to calm down. “When we last met four years ago, you told me that it was almost inevitable that the Others would invade within our lifetimes. And you agreed with me that among the measures we had to take was starving them of accurate intelligence on the state of the Inner Sphere. But now you’re proposing to give them everything that Wolfnet -” he stabbed a finger at Colonel Stanford Blake, on Wolf’s left “- and the Irregulars have gathered to date.”

“There’s a bigger picture to consider, Cranston,” Wolf replied levelly.

“So paint it for me, Jaime, because clearly I haven’t the strategic foresight to see it.”

“Snord,” growled Yukinov again. Wolf was forced to wave off his Alpha Brigade commander even as he replied. “Cranston, the Others coming, whether we want them to or not. Kerlin Ward can’t stay in power forever, and we cannot assume that the Wardens will be able to keep blocking the Crusaders as skillfully as he has done. Right now, the initiative rests with them. We can only react to them.”

“So you’re getting tired to waiting for the show down? Is that it, Jaime? Or are you like Alexander the Great, now you’ve beaten everyone in the Inner Sphere, you weep that there are no more worlds to conquer?”

Snord leaned right across the table. “You’re deliberately inviting Them to attack!”

Blake spoke up for the first time. “Snord, look at the correlation of forces: there’s no way the Others have the manpower to conquer the Inner Sphere. As the old saying goes - ‘Quantity has a Quality of its own’.”

“I’m sure the families of the dead will take great comfort when you tell them that, Blake,” snapped Snord.

Yukinov rolled his eyes. “Since when did you decide that scorched earth tactics were a good way to bring us round to your point of view?” he asked sarcastically.

Snord threw up his hands. “Alright, alright. I might as well hear this out.” He turned around, picked up his chair and dropped back into it.

“Right, General Wolf, sir, - why are you poking the bear?”

Wolf suddenly looked much older. He got up, paced the length of the table and came back to stand behind his chair.

“Because the Clans are not the real threat here,” he said quietly. Off the startled looks on both the elder and younger Snord, he added “They’re a threat, and a big one, but there’s a bigger and more fundamental threat out there - actually, here.”

Rhonda Snord voiced - whispered it. “ComStar…” she hissed, sweeping her eyes over the three men before her. All looked back at her with the same grim expression. Stanford Blake gave the merest hint of a nod as she locked eyes with him.

“They worship technology, jealously guard their interstellar communications monopoly and stifle progress.” Wolf resumed pacing, but now his movements seemed to give the impression that he was his namesake stalking prey. “If they wanted to, they could repair ecologies, prevent pandemics and rebuild the devastation of the Succession Wars.” He stopped and planted his fists on the table.

“They don’t want to. And all the Successor States are sure that ComStar has actively sought to sabotage their attempts to make advances in fields that ComStar considers their exclusive domain.They’ve got their own military on top of the threat of Interdiction to shield them. People and worlds die for the sake of their megalomania.”

Wolf stood tall again. “The Wardens believe the purpose of the Clans is to guard the Inner Sphere against threats to great for them to handle. Can you think of anyone in the Inner Sphere who can handle the threat that ComStar poses?”

Cranston Snord closed his eyes for a long moment.

“I’m not saying I disagree with your analysis, Jaime,” he said slowly. “But what you want to do amounts to bringing two predatory beasts into your home and hoping they’ll kill each other instead of you.”

“I know, which is why we’ve been laying the groundwork for a hedge against that.”

“Your AMC. You think you can bring the merc community up to parity with the Clans? You’re delusional if you think so.”

“That’s only part of it,” interjected Blake, somewhat defensively. “There’s a lot of wheels in motion on this one.”

“Just means more things to go wrong,” observed Rhonda Snord.

“Be that as it may - we’re not playing by their rules anymore,” Wolf resumed. “And by that, I mean either the Clans or ComStar.”

Wolf dropped back into his seat.

“Blake is right - we have a lot of pieces to this plan. Operational security means I can’t tell you more than that right now. Your part in this involves finding hard evidence that ComStar has systematically and deliberately strangled Lostech recovery in the Inner Sphere.

“To that end, you are to end your contract with the Federated Commonwealth and sign on with Interstellar Expeditions. Their aims and yours coincide, and they have a large network of contacts that you will be able to draw on. I will assign a team from the 7th Kommando to bolster your forces.”

Wolf paused, clearly expecting Snord to say something. The pause drew out so long that Rhonda Snord eventually turned to her father.

“Dad?” she prompted.

Cranston Snord stood again, with great deliberation.

“You’re really set on this course of action?” he asked his long-time comrade.

“We have a chance to do something of worthwhile and lasting value for the whole Inner Sphere, Cranston. Yes, I am resolved to follow this plan.”

“Even with the risks that it entails?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re determined to use the Clans to accomplish your goal.”

And now Wolf merely nodded.

“And what if the Clans win? What will you do then?”

Yukinov reentered the conversation. “Damn it, Snord, you have your orders. Are you going to carry them out?”

Rhonda clearly knew what was coming, because she jumped to her feet.

“Dad!”

Now Snord cut her off. “Sit down, Captain.” He wheeled on Wolf.

“You are risking not just your command, but potentially the whole Inner Sphere on a gamble. You want to bring the Clans into this, well, we were both of the Clans originally.”

He stood tall and spoke formally. “Jaime of Clan Wolf, I, Cranston of Clan Goliath Scorpion declare a Trial of Refusal over your decision.”

The room exploded with a surprising amount of noise considering that Snord and Wolf remained silent.

Wolf let it go on for a few seconds, then slapped his hand on the table, which shut everyone up. He stood up, locking eyes with Snord.

“You’ve made your point about how you feel, Snord.”
“I don’t think I have. General Wolf, do you choose Augmented or Unaugmented Combat?”

“That’s not how a Trial of Refusal works,” objected Yukinov.

“I think I know where he’s going with this, Kelly,” Wolf said. He walked around the table until he stood only a couple of decimeters away from Snord. He had to tilt his head back a bit to look the taller man in the eye.

“I don’t want to fight you, Cranston.”
“I don’t want to fight you either, Jaime,” replied Snord, “but you’re not seeing sense, and I can’t think of another way to get your head screwed on straight.”
Wolf sighed. “Very well. If I win, you accept and carry out my orders.”
Snord nodded. “And if I win, you call off your foolhardy plan.”
Wolf jerked his head once. “Agreed. To answer your earlier question; we are both MechWarriors, I choose augmented combat,”

Snord, too, nodded. “With what forces will you defend your position?” he asked.
Rhonda stepped up next to her father. “I can guarantee that all the Irregulars will fight with you.”

Snord’s face broke from the stony glare he was wearing to a smile for his daughter. “I know they would, and it honours me more than you could know, but let’s see what Wolf offers.”

“I see no need to bring anyone else into this, Snord. I will face you alone.”

“General!” exclaimed Yukinov. “Let someone else champion you! Hells, I’ll volunteer,” he offered.

“Thank you, Colonel Yukinov, but I’m sure.”

“Very well, Jaime. Just the two of us.”

“Bargained well and done.”

alkemita

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Re: A Reckoning
« Reply #29 on: 30 January 2018, 01:47:20 »
Outreach
Terran March, Federated Commonwealth
2 April 3034


Arena Crater was so named because it was the weathered remains of an ancient volcanic caldera, roughly one half eroded away to give it the look of a classical amphitheatre, but on a grand scale, fully a klick and a half in diameter.

Dechan Fraser’s black and red Marauder sat two thirds of the way up the caldera, almost dead center. Spaced at irregular intervals to his left and right were nine other ‘Mechs, half belonging to the Dragoons, and the other half to Snord’s Irregulars - all older members who were fully briefed about the real history of the Dragoons and their own Irregulars.

Below them, at either end of the half-bowl formed by the decayed formation stood two Archer class BattleMechs. On Dechan’s left was Colonel Snords’s classic ARC-2R, painted in three-tone grey camouflage, and on the right was General Wolf’s legendary gold and blue ACR-2W model.

Live-fire trials were just one of many things Fraser disliked about the Clans. But now his commander was going to duel, possibly to the death. Because of his unease with the whole situation, it took him long moments to realise that something was off about Wolf’s Archer.

Before he could look closer, his radio came to life.

Trothkin, hearken to my words.” It was Colonel Kerensky. “I am the Oathmaster. Jaime Wolf and Cranston Snord, are you prepared to contest this Trial?”

“Yes.”
Aff.”

“The Circle of Equals is set. The trial will continue until one combatant is unable to continue, or breaks the circle. In this solemn matter, let none interfere.”

Seyla,” chorused eleven voices, Fraser’s among them, but slightly behind the others.

Down below, the two Archers sprang into motion, Wolf sprinting, while Snord ambled forward at a steady walk.

On paper, Snord had the advantage at distance - the Dragoon variant of the common fire support ‘Mech sacrificed three tons of armour for added short range firepower - hence Wolf trying to close the distance as fast as possible, while Snord advanced at a pace that allowed him to hold aim better.

The moment the range hit 630 metres, both MechWarriors let fly with their paired LRM-20 racks. Fraser thought that Wolf fired a fraction of a second faster.

The twin swarms of missiles crossed in flight and impacted on and around their targets. Both ‘Mechs staggered slightly as their gyros struggled to compensate for the kinetic force and the sudden loss of over a ton of armour. Snord’s barrage distributed its destruction fairly evenly across the entire torso of Wolf’s ride, and a couple of missiles had also marked the left forearm.

Fewer of Wolf’s missiles hit, but most of those that did find their intended target landed on Snord’s center and left torsos, removing almost three quarters of the protection in the latter case.

Fraser was estimating the damage by drawing on his experience. He’d been briefed that turning on his targeting sensors to gather more detailed data on the combatants could be construed as a breach of the Trial, so he had to make do with the telescopic abilities of his Mech’s vis-light cameras.

It was when he turned his lenses back on Wolf that he suddenly realised that the General was not in his usual ride. The twin medium laser mount that covered an Archer’s rear arc was missing, and the lasers mounted to its forearms were definitely larger than mediums.

In the circle, Snord now threw his ‘Mech into reverse, trying to preserve his long range advantage. Both ‘Mechs flushed their LRM batteries again. The Archer had barely adequate heat management capacity for its suite of weapons, and it showed in Snord’s case as the air around it shimmered from the overtaxed heat sinks working to dump excess heat.

Wolf’s ‘Mech, however, was still running cool, something Fraser confirmed by switching his cameras to IR mode. Something is definitely not right here, he thought as fresh missiles rained down on both combatants.

Snord again hit with almost all his salvo, pockmarking armour from high on Wolf’s centerline in a diagonal slash that ended at the squat ‘Mech’s right knee. Fraser saw Wolf throw out his ‘Mech’s right arm in order to maintain balance.

Again, Wolf scored with fewer missiles, but again, his groups were far more concentrated. Most of them hammered at the weakened left torso, and there was a sickening hollow crunch sound as some of the missiles punched through the armour into the internals. Snord’s left LRM launcher seemed to twist and sag in its mount, a sure sign that it had been damaged.

In confirmation, the ammo-eject ports on the back of Snord’s left torso sprang open, dumping hundreds of unused projectiles. Half of Snord’s long range firepower was gone.

He did the only thing he could. Assuming that Wolf was in his usual ‘Mech, Snord still had an armour advantage. He righted his ‘Mech and charged at Wolf, who suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, lifted both arms, and unleashed those over-sized lasers Fraser had noticed earlier. They bit deep into the armour on Snord’s right leg, ablating away great chunks of it. Somehow Snord kept his wounded ‘Mech upright, and even answered with his remaining LRM launcher.

But then, so did Wolf - triggering both LRM launchers on his ‘Mech. And finally, on Fraser’s display, did Wolf’s Archer show a heat spike.

Snord’s abbreviated barrage crashed against Wolf’s left and right torso. It should have been enough to almost lay the internals bare on the right side, but there was not sign of an impending penetration. A couple of missiles actually impacted the Archer’s head, but didn’t do more than rattle Wolf around in his harness.

The radio came back to life, on the open frequency. It was Snord.

“You’ve got Clantech on your ‘Mech, haven’t you, Jaime.” It was a statement of fact, not an accusation.

“Yes I have, Cranston. There’s too much at stake here.”
“Yes there is, just not in the way you mean.” Cranston sounded very tired.
“Call it off, Cranston - request hegira. There’s no way you can win.”
“That’s what you-”

Snord never completed his sentence. His ‘Mech staggered forward and then slumped gracelessly to the ground, resting on its left side.

“Cranston!” That was Wolf.
“Dad!” Rhonda.
“This trial is concluded!” Kerensky. “Medics to the fore!” she continued even as Wolf raced his ‘Mech up to his fallen foe. Fraser saw Wolf pop his canopy and exit his ‘Mech as a hover ambulance raced in from the edge of the caldera.

Mercenary Command Status Change Reports
April 3034
Order By: NAME


Benedict’s Berzerkers
Dissolved due to insolvency.
Creditors contact MRBC Dispositions Office and cite Case # 58164-34-A3X

Cooper’s Cohort
Rating Upgrade to C+

Cranston Snord’s Irregulars
New Commanding Officer: Colonel Rhonda Snord
New Name: Rhonda Snord’s Irregulars
New Employer: Interstellar Expeditions

The Eglin Legion
Rating downgrade to C