The Huskarls' Hold

[Siegfried Marcus]

The Huskarls’ Hold
Prologue

Planet Svelvik, Free Rasalhague Republic
31 October 3049
   
I should be entertaining ComStar dignitaries or renegotiating tax treaties in the gardens of New Coffton. Instead, Laura Nikula watched a holographic display from a crowded reconnaissance helicopter.  The pirates’ battlemechs outpaced the Republic’s Gustav tanks.  Soon they would reach the base of a rocky ledge and complete their escape.

The KungsArmé had been struggling for years to counter pirate raiding along the periphery border, and it had deployed two of its new Huskarl tank regiments to assist.  But the Huskarls were intended to stop to an invading army, not chase down pirates.  The Fourth Huskarl, or “Black Horse,” was nearing the end of its deployment.

Broad-shouldered Robert Latvala leaned in on Nikula’s right.  The Latvala family bitterly opposed the Huskarl reforms that had shifted emphasis from battlemechs to internal combustion vehicles.  On her left was Kazim Demerci, an advocate of the reforms.  Opposite her sat Lieutenant-Colonel Olmet.

“The hovercraft are in position to harass and allow our tanks to catch up,” Olmet announced.  Six Jackals waited to cut off the pirates’ retreat.  Each carried a medium laser and a machine gun.  They were supported by two militia hovercraft armed with rockets.   Even Nikula knew that wasn’t much against the three light mechs.  Did Olmet order them to attack solely for my benefit?

“This is pointless,” Latvala said.  “These vehicles aren’t just cheap, they’re worthless.”  The hovercraft are too weak to damage a mech, and the tanks are too slow.”  Latvala was technically an observer, but his actual purpose was to discredit the Huskarls.  Demerci had insisted on accompanying them as a counterweight.  Many in government had staked their careers on the Huskarl reforms.  Let these parliamentary pawns squabble.  Thank God I serve the Prince.

“It’s true we aren’t best suited to fighting pirates,” Olmet conceded.

“The army did have the perfect forces to do so,” Latvala said.  “They’re called battlemechs.  We would have beaten the pirates already if we had maintained our mech forces.  That Panther probably came from our own factories.  Instead of those glorified paperweights, we could have had a lance of mechs.”

Why did the Latvalas send him?  They ought to know I can’t abide the arrogance of youth, and a mechwarrior at that.  It’s just as well though; he has already provoked his equally useless counterpart.

“We both know you can’t actually buy a fusion engine for list price,” Demerci said.  “Practically every mech component also requires payment in favors and concessions.  Instead, we have traded those favors to increase our own productive capacity and –”

“More like traded for mercenaries because we are defenseless.”  Latvala paused for effect.  Mercenaries had a particularly poor reputation within the Republic.

If only you knew.  Mercenaries could be our most effective answer to piracy, but no one wants to hear that. “Enough,” Nikula said.  “If I need partisan bickering, I can get it straight from the Riksdag.  Prince Magnusson sent me to observe, and I can do that quite well without you.”  The next minute passed in silence.

Olmet indicated where the forces were about to clash, then switch to optical display.  The hovercraft swarmed to flank the two leading Jenner mechs.  The Jenners charged forward and concentrated fire, crippling a Jackal.  Then the unmistakable flash of a particle beam slashed across the battlefield; the Panther entered the fight.  A laser cut a gash across another Jackal, which swiveled unsteadily to hide its weak side.  From long range, the militia craft unleashed an impressive hail of rockets at the Panther, but they all missed.  Olmet inhaled sharply and glared as the militia withdrew. I suppose you had given them orders to close in and make their one shot count, but what did you expect from militia?

At first the mechs advanced slowly, letting the Panther’s PPC keep the Jackals at bay.  Suddenly, they seemed to remember the tanks closing behind them and ran for the ridge.     The Jackals refused to give the pirates an easy pass.  Although they were faster than the mechs, they had to skirt around patches of thick vegetation to make their attack runs.  The Jenners engaged in a running battle as the slower Panther kept full pace.  A stabilizer hit sent a Jackal  tumbling, but two pressed in close enough to use their machine guns.  Bullets scraped against the mechs’ armor like a knife against a pine door.  The lasers cut deeper which provoked the mechs to turn and level all their weapons on the pursuers.  Immediately the Jackals backed off, but not before the Panther cut one of them down.  Olmet ordered the remaining Jackals to fall back.  The tanks would get their chance. 

Our soldiers fought with courage and tenacity.  Perhaps I’ve underestimated the morale of this national army.  But the Prince demands tangible results.

The mechs had to climb a rocky bank before they could make the jump up the ridge.  As they did, the tanks came into position and fired.  A round slammed into the left side of the Panther, and its arm went slack dropping a crate of stolen loot.  Meanwhile, the Jenners activated their jump jets and cleared the ridge.  The tanks got off one more salvo as the Panther made its jump, but the high explosive shells only tore the face from a section of rock.  Seconds later, the Panther disappeared into a cloud of dust.

“Can you take us in closer?” Nikula asked.  “I want to see how much damage we did.”

Olmet gave her a surprised look.  “The pirate dropship is well armed and will be here soon, and that PPC has good range.  We should be able to assess damage from the footage.”

“Is the battlefield below safe now?”  Nikula persisted.

“Yeah probably,”  Olmet answered.  “We have an air defense vehicle just behind our tanks, and the pirates are unlikely to risk another fight with nothing to gain.”

“Take us down then, and give me your assessment of the battle.”

A few minutes later they were on the ground.  The smoke had cleared, but an acrid smell remained.  “Tell me Lieutenant-Colonel, how does this engagement compare to your previous encounters with pirates?”

Olmet answered carefully.  “The pirates have been bold lately, and we almost punished that.  We guessed their line of retreat, so we were able to intercept with hovercraft and even engage with our tanks.  We took some losses, but they risked losing a mech.”

“Are you saying this a victory?”

“No, but it could have been, and that threat may deter future raids,” Olmet said.  Nikula resisted a wry smile.  Perhaps, but explain that to the Prince.

“If I may,” Olmet continued, “that was a recon lance.  We need some big guns like the Saladin if the hovercraft are going to be engaging like this.  Faster tanks like the Vedette would help too.”  Nikula made a brief notation and gave an even briefer nod. 

One of the Jackal pilots ran up to them.  “Private Olson, reporting.  We recovered some of the uranium, but the seal is broken.  We better get a hazmat team.”  She was in her late teens.  Her hands and voice betrayed a tremor.

As Olmet issued orders by radio, Nikula spoke to the young soldier.  “You fought bravely.  Who commands your lance?”

The private looked to Olmet for confirmation.  He explained, “This is Nikula, Attaché to Prince Magnusson, and she is here to evaluate our performance.  You will be frank with her.”

Olson saluted then turned back to Nikula.  “Corporal Henry commands.  That is, if he’s still alive.  I lost my comm.”

“Your tactics seem well drilled.  Was this your first battle?”

“Yes.”

“Are you from a military family?”

“No.  My father served in the militia during independence is all.”

“I see….  How has your training prepared you for this type of engagement?”

“We are trained to pursue and harass battlemechs in support of our tanks.”

“But you took the primary engagement while the tanks were still closing….”  The private seemed to be searching for a response when Nikula concluded, “I thank you for your bravery in service to the Republic.”

Olmet looked up and said, “Attaché, with your permission, I would like to recommend one or two members of this unit for commendation.”

“Lieutenant-Colonel, it will take more than recovered cargo to impress anyone on Rasalhague.”

[David CGB]

nice story, will there be more

[DOC_Agren]

Interesting I hope to read more

[Red Pins]

Agreed, nice to read a story that emphasizes the Lance of take vs single Mech.

[Siegfried Marcus]

 

Chapter 1-1

Rasalhague, Free Rasalhague Republic
3 January 3050

It was a matter of comparative advantage.  Tanks and mechs should each be assigned to the missions for which they are best suited.  Kazim Demerci had spent the last several years promoting increased reliance on conventional vehicles.  He believed they were a cost effective way to fulfill the KungsArmé’s primary mission of deterring or preventing an invasion from the Republic’s two more powerful neighbors.  But mechs were faster and more potent.  Despite their high cost, they were a better way to fight piracy.

It wasn’t that conventional forces couldn’t do the job.  With a strong enough presence, they could eventually reduce piracy to acceptable levels, but maintaining such a presence required a lot of support.  Mechs could do the job with less force and a much smaller logistical footprint.  Mechs were comparatively better at fighting pirates, just as tanks were comparatively better at defending planets. 

I can’t be the only one who sees that.  I have to convince Tobiassen to reconsider staking the Huskarls’ reputation on a task they can’t do well.  We can only shift and hide costs for so long before poor policy will catch up with us.  The Huskarls were never meant to be a total replacement for mechs.

Demerci reviewed the Requisition Confirmation for the Fourth Huskarl, which was consolidating to refit on St. John before dispersing again to defend the periphery.  Supporting an oversized regiment in the field was costly, but the Black Horse would want for little.  There would be the Saladin hovercraft requested by Lieutenant-Colonel Olmet, a generous fuel and ammunition allotment for training, and even a bonus to rations.

It was an impressive commitment,  proportional to the influence of Johan Tobiassen, who was the parliamentary force behind the Huskarl reforms.  Demerci had spent most of the last year observing the Fourth Huskarl to ensure that the Riksdag was getting its money’s worth.  Demerci had already sent Tobiassen and advanced copy of his findings.

Tobiassen’s office was sparsely decorated in the bucolic style of his homeworld, except for his ornate mahogany desk and chair.  He motioned for Demerci to enter, but continued talking into the comm.  “I don’t care if he is a major; that’s all the more reason I want him out.”  Tobiassen indicated the chair across from his desk.  “But no family connections, right?  Well then shunt him off to some garrison where he can’t make trouble.  Look, I have to go.  That was good work.”  Tobiassen turned to Demerci.  “Kazim, welcome back.  How are Charlotte and the baby?”

“They are well.  They remained here on Rasalhague, so it has been good to see them.”

“Good, good.  My staff reviewed your report.  They will have a new draft ready by tomorrow.”  No doubt the new report is more optimistic and less informative.  Tobiassen continued, “It needs to be less about numbers and more about esprit de corps.  Even Nikula noted it, and it’s what the Riksdag wants to hear.”  Demerci nodded.  He’s right I suppose, data will only go so far, and Tobiassen’s team tells a good story.

“You saw I’m sending you back with presents,” Tobiassen said.  “Make sure the Black Horse knows who loves them.”

“Yes, but if the Fourth Huskarl is to be based out of St. John now, we need a solid logistical base to support us.”

“‘Us?’  Have you enlisted now?  You know, they’ll never accept you if you keep calling them the Fourth Huskarl.”

Tobiassen found the folder he was seeking among his archaic paper files.  “That reminds me – Lieutenant-Colonel Olmet: is he one of us?”

“Hmm, yes I think so.  He was a tank commander with the Lyrans, and –”

“I know he what he has done; I need you to keep an eye on him.  We are going to be drawing on the Black Horse for promotions, and I need to know.”  Tobiassen tucked the folder away then continued, “Nikula’s  audit could have gone better.”

“I don’t think Robert Latvala was able –”

“They sent Robert?  What, did Vanessa die or something?  I don’t suppose you had the sense to stay quite the one time I wish you would have?”

Not after you insisted that I directly challenge the Latvalas’ presence. “Even better, he looked like an ass interrupting me.”  Demerci immediately regretted his tone.   

Tobiassen narrowed his eyes, but then gave a snort of amusement.  “OK, what now?”

“The best approach would be use the Huskarls to free up mech forces.  The sheer bulk of a regiment of tanks can offset up to a battalion of mechs in a defensive –”

“I’m not asking for an approach.  I need you to justify our current policy.  I can think of plenty of reasons why it’s a lousy idea, but I need you to tell me why it’s brilliant.  You’re a clever bastard; give me something.  You must realize that we can’t just admit dependence on mechs against the one threat we actually face.  Our cause would lose credibility and influence.  Not to mention, you would be out of a job.  Anyway, I want you to meet with Ashlyn Garza and sit in on the SMAP.” 

The Strategic Military Assessment Panel served as Tobiassen’s think tank on military affairs.  When Prince Magnusson agreed to reform his army, he needed support from the Riksdag.  Tobiassen brokered that support, but in exchange the legislature assumed greater influence and oversight over the army.  It was still the KungsArmé, but now it had a more republican organization. 

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 1-2

Rasalhague
3 January 3050

“Demerci, it’s an honor to finally meet you.”  Ashlyn Garza stood to greet him.  “I read your work on jump capacity as a limiting factor of large scale mech deployment.  Your suggestion that reduced force levels would be sufficient to fully exploit our response capability raised some eyebrows, even if it was hidden in a footnote.” 

Demerci fought to keep from smiling like a fool.  Did anyone really notice that? “Oh, from my graduate work?  I wasn’t the lead author,” he said.

“Then who was?  Rinck had been senile for years, and Solheim was spending more time in the lobby of the Riksdag than the Academy.  Some of us know what really goes on around here.  Please, be seated.”  Garza got them each a glass of water.  “Economics is an unusual field, especially for someone with no business connections, why did you choose it?”

“I have a knack for digesting disparate information and drawing conclusions about complex systems.”  What is she driving at?

“Your conclusions are somewhat unorthodox.”

“My studies lead me to appreciate the classical school with its emphasis on market prices.  I feel that modern states often suffer inefficiency from their reliance on vassal obligations and command-control of industrial policy.”  Demerci was warry, but if she really was familiar with his work, there was no point in hiding his views.

“Is that what lead you to support the Huskarl reforms?  You seek to rectify this error for the good of the people?  That makes you something of a patriot, doesn’t it?”

So that’s it.  She’s feeling out my loyalty.  What else would I expect from Tobiassen’s aid?  “I guess you could say that.”

“Johan is a patriot too, you know.  He may look like a grasping politician, and perhaps he is, but he understands the Republic better than anyone else.  It takes more than labor and capital to make a nation … or an army.”  Garza rose to look out the window.  “Did you know that Huskarl means ‘house man?’  In ancient Scandinavia the huskarls were the retainers of the nobility.  They formed a sort of professional military class.  Like the huskarls of old, many of ours have connections to military families – second sons, cousins, or just retainers.  But many do not.  Many come from the middle class, and they are proud to take their place in the new army.  You see, the Huskarl reforms aren’t about tanks.  They are the democratization of warfare.  Rasalhague cannot survive as a mere principality, but it can survive as a nation.”

Garza turned to face Demerci and continued.  “Johan saw how to bring the Prince to our side.  He showed Prince Magnusun how to claim the populist mantel and bolster his own standing against the nobles who might challenge his authority.  And yes, Johan played no small part in fostering and exploiting divisions among the warrior elite.  But of course, you must know about all that.”

It was this last issue that made Tobiassen one of the most divisive figures in government.  He convinced many mechwarrior families that despite their resentment, they had more to gain by supporting the Prince and cannibalizing their recalcitrant peers.  He found supporters in the opposition Motpart who favored military expansion by any means.  He further blunted criticism from Motpart by emphasizing that its leader, Christian Mansdottir, boasted of his role in acquiring tanks from Aldis Industries.  Tobiassen even supported Mansdottir as the man to negotiate technical assistance from Terran manufacturers to aid the Republic’s industrial expansion. 

Some families agreed to the sale of the mechs on which their status relied in exchange for shares in the new enterprises and positions in the new tank regiments.  Some immigrated along with their mechs while the Republic received skilled technicians and tank crews in return.  But not everyone gained as much from reform as Mansdottir.  Many mechwarriors could not abide the challenge to their prestige and power.  Conflict was inevitable, but when revolt fomented, the conspirators were betrayed from within.  Their lands were forfeited and turned over to more loyal families.  The state owned their battlemechs, which were sold to further accelerate conventional military production.  The mechwarriors who remained might feel slighted, but they were purged of open dissenters.  In all, the Republic had sold something close to half its mechs, though it retained the best of them.

“No one has accomplished more to reform the army,”  Demerci agreed.

“Your mentor, Professor Solheim didn’t agree.”

She’s definitely testing me – maybe to see if I’m afraid to challenge her and Tobiassen.  “I wouldn’t say that, but they definitely clashed over the Zaibatsu.  I think even Tobiassen would now agree that they have proven to be an asset.”

The Zaibatsu were self-styled industrial revolutionaries of Oriental heritage.  Prince Magnussen saw the opportunity to win allies by quietly allowing the Zaibatsu to invest in government backed initiatives even while shutting them out of the army leadership to appease Nordic conservatives.  They provided much of the seed capital and expertise needed to expand military production. 

“An asset perhaps, but not without risk,” said Garza.  “They control large shares in several vital suppliers, and their influence is growing in the Fourth Estate.”

“And if their investments had not been so successful, where would we be then?”  Careful, she’s trying to provoke you.  “We will need support from all segments of the population if our nation is to thrive.”

“I see.  So what is a deep thinker like you doing observing troops in the periphery?”

Good question.  You’re the one who claims to know what’s going on around here.  “I served as a logistics officer in the war.”

“So you did,” said Garza, “but Johan says you are lousy at political infighting.”

“My official duties do not include infighting.”

“Spare me.  I want you here at Strategic Assessment, but you need some seasoning and credentials first.  It would make waves if I brought you in too quickly.  Colonel Wahlgren is a good man, one of us.  He runs a tight operation.  Learn what you can on the ground, and you will be in this ivory tower by year’s end.  How does that sound?”

Demerci was dumbstruck for a moment, then he managed, “I agree that would be a better use of my talents.”

“Good.  I’m giving you access to the latest production estimates from Benson and Bjorn.  I want you to sit in on our meeting later.”

“I’ll be sure to look them over.  Thank you.”



[Note: I now have most of the vehicles designs I use posted here:
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=53755.0

and a write-up for the Fourth Huskarl posted here:
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=55453.0 ]

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 1-3

Rasalhague
3 January 3050


Benson and Bjorn was the Republic’s primary manufacturer of combat vehicles.  It had expanded greatly to meet the KungsArmé’s demand.  The original facility on Spittal continued to churn out Axels, Vedettes, and Scorpions.  These tanks formed the second line armor units, and they were increasingly used to fill in gaps in new Huskarl formations.  In addition, B&B had a 40% stake in the new Gotland Armory on the capital world, Rasalhague.  Rasalhague’s large population, well-developed economy, and supporting military industries made it an especially favorable location.  The Gotland Armory produced several vehicles types, including the Huskarl’s signature Gustav. 

Demerci had seen the sprawling assembly lines where the resources of an interstellar economy took shape in war machines.  The Gustav had scores of skilled workers alongside precise industrial robots moving in a steady rhythm until the daily quota was met.  The Spyd and Scorpion lines were less glamorous and more rushed.  Two ten hour shifts had kept their machines running almost to full capacity.  Ammunition and parts were made on the outskirts of the main factories.  As big as it was, Demerci saw potential for much more.  With so much capital in place already and the supply chains established, the marginal cost of increasing production was modest.  Demerci’s analysis suggested that redoubling the investment could increase overall production five to eightfold.  That was the kind of economy of scale that would make the Republic unassailable. 

Garza wants the democratization of war, but that requires mass production commensurate with the size of the Republic.  A nation of billions need not rely on a tiny military elite for its defense.  Espirit de corps stirs the soul, but keeping those factories busy defends the Republic. 

Perhaps no other state could have undertaken such a revolution in military doctrine, but the Free Rasalhague Republic was a republic in more than name.  It was carved from the Inner Sphere, but without the calcified rigidity of a successor state.  This allowed it to shed the feudal model, and the Republic’s precarious strategic position made even desperate measures prudent.

Sadly, the latest projections from Benson and Bjorn showed a gradual tapering of orders, especially for the scorpion.  It seemed the KungsArmé was now content to pull vehicles from the auxiliaries to flesh out new Huskarl regiments.  At great cost and considerable risk, the Republic was now in a position to leverage its industrial potential.  It had moved quickly to close the gap left by the diminished mech forces, and then, on the verge of success, it fell into complacency. 

We risked so much to build this capability and now the government refuses to fully exploit it.  Contractors aren’t going to reinvestment unless they are assured of a buyer.  Could B&B find new buyers for its tanks?  Maybe, but it is less economical to ship them far, and our trade policy is a mess.  Would the central government encourage planetary governors to expand their own forces?  No, Rasalhague fears a militarized Valdherren almost as much as foreign invasion.

The Prince had always seen military reform primarily as a political maneuver, so he lacked sustained commitment, but where is Tobiassen?   Then a sickening realization came over him.  He’s more interested in appearing successful than creating an army.  He doesn’t want to press the urgency of continued implementation.  Politics is ever the enemy of good policy.  And look at me, wading deeper into the muck.

The strategy session was informal and not well attended.  Garza introduced Demerci as an official guest, but she dismissed herself after just a few minutes.  Demerci decided he would keep his opinions to himself. 

Ms. Daines seemed to share his concerns.  “The Latvala faction has a point.  Battlemechs are better at fighting pirates than the Huskarls or the fusion armor.  Can’t we concentrate our Huskarls to relieve the remaining Kavelleri and Hussars?”

Mr. Masih answered patiently.  “Our remaining mech forces are committed as honor guards where their prestige is indispensable.  No number of tanks can serve this essential purpose; therefore, the Huskarls must combat piracy.”

“Can’t we at least incorporate Spyds with the mech forces already assigned to the periphery?”  At least I’m not the only one naïve enough to look for efficient solutions.

Ms. Svendsen gave a belabored sigh.  “If we could return to tank production… Odin Manufacturing will be increasing production of its LBX autocannon.  We are maintaining orders for the Gustav, especially since we have been unable to obtain gauss rifles again this year.  Furthermore, Odin is confident in its export potential if necessary, although we hope to absorb whatever they can produce.”

LBX technology was the cap stone of the Republic’s military industry.  Although ComStar had originally advised against the Huskarl reforms, it became a major buyer of the Republic’s mechs.  As payment, ComStar offered generous terms to expand the Republic’s industrial output.  Demerci suspected the joint project between Odin Manufacturing and Blankenburg Technologies was a back-door arrangement to transfer ComStar technology to the fledgling state.

Svendsen continued, “The Spyd light LRM carrier has attracted interest from foreign buyers, so B&B expects to maintain production levels for the time being.  The Vedette and Scorpion are slated for reductions, self-propelled artillery as well.  That brings us to the venerable Axel.  Existing stocks are deemed sufficient while the facilities on Spittal are retooled for the 55 ton Axellette.  Ultimately, the Axellette is expected to be 20%-25% cheaper with only minimal reduction in firepower.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Perhaps I should mention this is an AU.  The Huskarl reforms are the only major twist.  I have also made a few simple non-cannon vehicles that are (in this AU) more or less standard issue for their purpose (e.g. the Jackal hovercraft, a tracked Thumper carrier, a tracked AA gun.)  I appreciate comments.

@Red Pins - The concept of scale is important to my story, so I'm glad you liked the small scale clash.  They won't all be small, so we'll see how I do.

[Shadow_Wraith]

 O0 nice update!  I like how the story is told!

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 2-1

St. John
4 March 3050

This isn’t about oversight.  You are after influence, Tobiassen, as always.  At first, Nikula resented being sent to follow up on the Fourth Huskarl’s retraining efforts, but on arrival she had received sealed orders to “evaluate the regiment's devotion to the crown, and identify any competing interests.”  Didn’t I warn you, my Prince?  At least the mechwarriors know whom they serve.

Demerci’s report to the Riksdag had been just the kind of puff piece she would expect from a Tobiassen flunky, but he kept coming up clean.  A week of digging gave her nothing.  He just doesn’t seem the type.  Either Demerci is more cunning than I can imagine, or Tobiassen is just looking out for the public good, which is even less likely, or … what?  Or … Tobiassen doesn’t need Demerci because he already owns the Fourth!  You won’t get your hooks in the KungsArmé, you upjumped yokel.

“Mikhail, dig into Colonel Wahlgren and his family.  Look for connections to parliament’s proxies, especially recent business deals.  Do the same for the other seniors.  Keep it quiet.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mikhail said.  “Remember there is a priority message from Colonel Meyer sent this morning.”  Nikula and her secretary worked from a private cottage on the outskirts of Joplin, where the Fourth Huskarl was now based, but she would need to use the military comm channel to see what the planetary militia leader thought was worth her attention.

“Very well, prep the car.  Anyway, I’d like to look Wahlgren in the eye.”

Nikula arrived at the regimental HQ half an hour later, but found Wahlgren was away conducting training exercises.  His staff reluctantly agreed to allow her to use his office to receive the confidential message.

A shield-shaped tapestry hung behind the desk.  It featured the silhouette of a rearing black stallion on a red and white background.  It looked suspiciously like a coat-of-arms, but they were reserved for mech regiments.  Some people just don’t know their place, or rather won’t accept it.

Meyer’s message was a bombshell.  The key phrases were: “probable dropship fleet” and “assumed hostile.”  Damn it, they should have sent for me immediately.

Nikula stormed back into the command area.  “Has Colonel Wahlgren received word from Colonel Meyer today?”

“Yes.  I am authorized to tell you he put our forces on high alert and cancelled all leave.  A detachment of helos will be transferring north to support the militia.”

“Put me on one of those helos.  I need to see Meyer ASAP.”

“I can’t do that without authorization, and Colonel Wahlgren won’t be available –”

“You sure as hell can if you serve the Prince,” Nikula said.

She arrived at the St. John Free Brigades HQ feeling sore and shaken.  Even a combat transport offered a better ride than wedging into the corner of a Warrior cockpit.  From what she could gather, there were multiple drop ships capable of landing in 16 hours, and they were not responding.

“Does this look like a pirate raid?” she asked Colonel Meyer.

He frowned.  “Honestly it must be a hell of a raid.  I don’t know what they would be after on St. John to justify over a half dozen dropships.”  A half dozen now?  Who do you think I am that you can sideline me?

“Have you gotten hold of Colonel Wahlgren?”

“No, but I’m told he is receiving updates,” Meyer said.

“You two better get on the same page.  I’m not convinced he’s taking this seriously enough.  And get me some food and a pain killer before I become irritable.”  Nikula felt only marginally better when they received an incoming message from the unidentified fleet.  Meyer seemed surprised when she followed him into his office to hear the transmission, but he said nothing.

The holo projector showed a striking man in an unfamiliar military uniform.  He said, “This is Star Colonel Ramon Sender of the 341st Assault Cluster, Beta Galaxy.  The Wolves of Kerensky have claimed this world for their own. What tame dogs defend it?"  The man faded from the projector, but he left an unnerving presence.

“He’s got a lot of balls,” said Meyer.  “Who the hell are the Wolves of Kerensky?  Any pirate outfit that can muster that kind of fleet has to be in the database.  Get me their file.  And prep the transmitter, he won’t wait long for my reply.” 

Something is off.  He has a true soldier’s posture and a sense of purpose.  Did he say “claim this world?”  He’s no pirate.  This is a political threat.  Suddenly, Nikula felt the spark of … was it divine inspiration?  She stood forcefully, and everyone looked to her.

“Belay that order.  I am assuming authority over these discussions in the name of the Prince.”  She wondered when she had decided that, but her actions betrayed no reluctance.  Before Meyer could respond she added, “These pirates have clearly come from outside your system Colonel.  That gives the crown jurisdiction.  As Attaché, I speak for the Prince in this matter.  Now prep the transmitter for my reply.”

There was a stunned silence, then Meyer turned to his staff and said, “Do it.”

“Pirate captain, this is Attaché Laura Nikula, I speak for Prince Magnussen who rules this world.  You are in violation of sovereign space.  You will stand down immediately and surrender your vessels or face the wrath of the Free Rasalhague Republic.”

Nikula cut the transmission and stepped away.  “Do we have anything that can contest those drop ships?”

Meyer laughed.  “I couldn’t even accept their surrender if they offered it."

"I suspect we will be spared that embarrassment," Nikula said.

Suddenly Meyer stood at full attention.  "Attaché, I must clarify, if … now that the crown has assumed jurisdiction here, are you placing the KungsArmé Colonel in overall command?” 

Wahlgren?  I think not.  “No,” Nikula said.  “You will retain command and responsibility for this world’s defense.”

Several minutes later another transmission came.  “Attaché Nikula, I will forgive your insolence but once.  I am Ramon Sender of Clan Wolf and I have come to conquer this world under the rite of batchall.  I have at my command the 341st Assault Cluster which consists of 50 battlemechs, 10 aerospace fighters, and 100 elementals.  I ask again, what forces would defend this world against me?”

The second transmission was more disconcerting than the first.  Sender was not merely foreign, he seemed almost alien.  His inflection was all wrong.  There was something haunting and archaic about him.  He has a mechwarrior’s superiority but with more discipline.  He exudes resolute devotion, but to what?

“He’s bluffing and hoping for some kind of concessions,” Colonel Meyer said.  “Does he think we are going to disclose our strength to him?”

“Is he bluffing?”  There was no response as Nikula pondered the question.  She walked back to the transmitter.

“Star Colonel Ramon Sender, I am unfamiliar with your batchall, and I see no reason to disclose our strength to you, but I assure you that your forces are inadequate to conquer this world.  Leave now and your transgression shall be forgiven.”

Meyer’s staff scurried about in the brief time while the signals travelled through space.  Meyer gave her a studious look before joining them.  Nikula replayed the incoming messages several times.  Then word from Sender arrived.

“Attaché Nikula, by accepting the terms of batchall, we agree to honorable combat.  If you are true warriors who wish to meet us in glorious battle, you will accept.  Additionally, if you disclose your forces with candor, I will submit a reasonable bid against them.  If you wish to provide additional terms, you may do so now.”

I don’t know what game you are playing, but I sense you sincerely want to play by some kind of rules.  Nikula turned to Meyer, “Colonel, how many regiments will you have ready by the time that fleet arrives.”

“You can’t seriously be thinking about giving in to that bullying?”  Meyer met Nikula’s eyes for a few seconds, then he said, “I will have four brigades Attaché.  They will need a little time to form up though.  Attaché, we don’t have to respond right away.  If this guy’s for real, he just made you an offer, he’ll wait an extra hour for your reply.  Let’s stop and think this trough.”

“No.  The iron is hot.  I can sense his impatience with what he sees as inevitable.  He is looking right through us, to some greater objective.  He doesn’t see us as a threat.  We will not disturb his delusions just yet.  Put me through.”  God I hope I’m right.

“Star Colonel Ramon Sender.  We agree to honorable combat.  The St. John Free Brigades are the militia of this world.  We send four brigades against you.  We have no battlemechs or fighters, but the hearts of our people are resilient.  Also there is most of a conventional tank regiment currently refitting.  As additional terms, I demand 48 hours in which to assemble our forces.  And I demand a written memorandum of our agreement with all terms clearly defined.”

Nikula walked back into the command center feeling slightly dazed.  Colonel Meyer asked her, “What was that?”

She answered, “I’m not sure.  Prepare for an all-out assault.  I need to send a high priority HPG.” 

After she returned, another message from Sender arrived.  “I decline your request for reprieve.  My word is my bond as your word is yours; there will be no writing.  You have requested no other terms.  I shall send against you Supernovas Command and Second as well as Trinary Battle.  Well bargained and done.”

[marauder648]

Excellent update! I'm really enjoying this well written story even if this is my first comment on it.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 2-2

St. John
5 March 3050

Colonel Wahlgren climbed from his CV and strode into his HQ. Militia always exaggerate the threat.  How was I to know this was the one time they really had something?  We’ve been chasing pirates across half a dozen worlds, and today they landed right in our lap.  His staff saluted as he entered, and he had them prepare to send a general announcement.

Wahlgren’s voice broadcast to every vehicle, garage, and warehouse in the regiment.  “Congratulations, Black Horse.  The enemy has come to meet us.  This could be the hottest action any Huskarls have ever seen.  The militia is afraid of these bandits, but we are eager for the fight.  These poor devils have no idea what they’re up against.”

Wahlgren grabbed a coffee and recomposed his demeanor for the senior officers.  Now, to acknowledge my staff without admitting error.  “All our deployments look solid.  It’s good to see you can handle that deployment on your own.  Now, let’s get into the fight.  Expand the recon perimeter another two clicks.  Tell the hovers to avoid combat; I don’t want to scare them off too soon.”

The raiders had a surprisingly large force using lances of five mechs.  There was a lance coming up from the south about to meet his recon.  Further south in Duluth, an assault lance with battle armor support threatened to capture the Sixth Free Brigade’s base.  Another lance had landed well to the north and occupied the road connecting him with Meyer’s main force.  A drop ship had landed near the training grounds where Wahlgren and the Second Battalion had just been.  Finally, a company with battle armor were engaging Meyer’s three brigades of militia in the north. 

I’ve never heard of a pirate raid this large, but it’s not nearly enough to take on our defenses.  They can’t expect to conquer the planet with that.  It’s strange that they issued no demands though, and stranger still that they are tearing straight into the militia.  But if they’re spoiling for a fight, we’ll give them one.

Most of the Black Horse forces were on leave or in training when Wahlgren heard about the incoming dropships.  Nevertheless, his staff got three companies into the field.  First Battalion’s light company screened for a heavy and a medium company from Third.  They were moving south to relieve the Sixth Brigade.

“Sir, Colonel Meyer wanted to talk with you as soon as you got in,” one of his staff reported.

“Put him on.”  Wahlgren addressed the holographic image.  “Sir, my forces are about to engage the raiders.  Don’t worry, we’ll rescue your brigade.”

Meyer scowled.  “These aren’t raiders, Colonel Wahlgren.  They say they are here to conquer this world, and they’re off to a good start.” 

“Colonel, a couple companies isn’t an invasion, –”

“Listen Wahlgren, these mechs and battle armor are far more advanced than anything I’ve seen before.  And it’s not just the ground forces.  They’re taking out our satellites, and they have fighters blockading us from orbit, so neither of us is going anywhere until this is over.”

“Sir, my regiment can deal with the ground threat, and we have substantial AA capability.  I’ve given orders to secure Duluth with a battalion.  They will get the job done.  By tomorrow morning, I’ll have the Second Battalion driving north to relieve you.”  I shouldn’t blame him for being so excitable.  He’s only militia, even if he was a hero.

“Negative,” said Meyer.  “You will be cut to pieces in detail unless you have overwhelming force.  You are to hold Joplin and support Sixth Brigade in consolidating on your position.  You are to review the latest data on enemy capabilities.  These mechs are big, and fast, and mean.”

Overwhelming force?  What do you think a Huskarl battalion is?  “With all due respect, Colonel –”

“I’m not asking for your respect, Wahlgren.  I’m ordering your compliance.  Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.  I understand and will comply.”  But first, I’ll bloody these raiders so badly, they’ll make me a general.

Soon one of his staff said, “Sir, our recon reports hostile mechs sighted.”

“Which lance?”  Wahlgren asked.

“HQ Lance.”  On the display, a red dot appeared inside the hover perimeter screen.  Huskarl doctrine often made the third lance the command and reserve.  Like most lances in the Fourth Huskarl, this one had six vehicles, but one of them was the unarmed Tio CV.  Two Vedettes, two anti-air Sentries, and a light close-quarters Rottweiler still made it a versatile, if not powerful lance.

“They are taking heavy fire,” his staff reported.

“Put me through to the major.”  Even as he spoke the display focused in on the HQ Lance, but the Tio’s electronics didn’t rise to the level of a true command vehicle.  He needed a clearer picture.  “Major Evensen, what is your situation?”

Evensen said, “Faster, damn it.”  A second voice, garbled by static, screamed before being cut off abruptly.  There was a small rumble of explosions punctuated by a detonation against the Tio’s armor.

“Major Evensen, this is Black Horse Actual.  What do you see?”

Evensen reduced the signal to his personal comm.  “Sir, three mechs right on us.  So fast.  Oh God, another one just cut us off.”

“Sir, we lost contact.  I’m showing no sign of the HQ lance.” 

Maybe Meyer is right. “I need eyes on that force.  Send the patrolling Warriors down the road, and get the other two in the air.  I need surrogate command for First Charlie.  Have them maintain the recon perimeter, but avoid contact.  Tell Jarvi to get turned around.  I don’t want to engage until we know what we’re up against.  And get First Alpha to join them ASAP.”

There was a second of hesitation before his staff responded.  No one expected an HQ lance to stand up to a lance of mechs, but they weren’t supposed to be annihilated in seconds either. 

Wahlgren said,  “I want to review the militia’s intel.  And find out if Sixth Brigade has eyes on that lance.”  Wahlgren gulped down the dregs of his coffee.  It had gone cold.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 2-3

St. John
5 March 3050

Major Yerzov commanded Third Battalion’s Bravo Company.  It was classified as heavy, but only the Axels exceeded 50 tons.  The Axel’s main job was to obliterate targets that got into close range.  Its complement was the well-armored 50 ton Halberd, armed with a long-range gauss rifle. Two over-sized lances gave him six of each.  The third lance consisted of his own command vehicle, four Gustavs, and a Sentry.  Finally, no front-line Huskarl company would be complete without a lance of fast and cheap missile support.  Six 25 ton Spyds each carried an LRM 15. 

From a small hill, Yerzov watched his column of tanks.  Fleeing infantry overtook them and got tangled in his formation.  This is ridiculous.  My company isn’t made for a fighting withdrawal, especially with routing friendlies.  He checked the map again.  We can’t link up with reinforcements in time.  I don’t care if those pirates are the Devil’s own spawn, I’d rather face them like we were trained.

Yerzov called in to Third Battalion HQ.  “Hey, I know we got orders, but this ain’t gonna work.  The militia is jamming up that little bridge ahead, and more keep bumping into me.  If we keep running, we’re gonna get caught all strung out.  I’d sure appreciate if you could get Wahlgren to let me stand and fight like a Huskarl.”

“I hear you Major, but orders come from Meyer, and he has overall command,” said Lieutenant Colonel Jarvi.

“What?  I’m not getting my men killed ‘cause of some half-wit militia commander.  It’s his men in my damn way.  I’m digging in.  You can have me shot later.”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Yerzov.  You say you don’t think you can cross the bridge in good order, and you want to dig in?  I’ll run that by Wahlgren and we’ll see what he says.  Meanwhile you have my permission to roll right over any militia that get in your way.”

“Copy that, thanks boss.”  Yerzov looked to the patchwork of trees near the stream.  That’s just enough cover, good line of sight, and the enemy is going to come tearing up that road hot on the heels of our militia.  I’ll be damned if I let half my company get across the bridge and then get permission to dig in.

“Hey Trine, I want you to come up another 300 meters and pull off to the right.  Get comfy in those woods.  We’re gonna blast ’em as they come up the road.”  Yerzov switched to the second lance and gave orders to take up position on the other side.  Unfortunately, that put them on lower ground, but he had to cover both approaches.  The Spyds hid further back.  His own lance would conscript some of the less panicked militia into helping to conceal the Axels and Halberds.

A short while later, Jarvi called back.  “Wahlgren agreed to leave tactical decisions to the commanders in the field.  Have you been able to clear that stream?”

“No, but I have a good position southeast of the bridge, and I’ll keep the bridge clear in case you got any help coming for me.”

“Damn it Yerzov, I don’t like you forcing my hand, but I do like that plan.  I’ll have Charlie back you up, but I don’t know if they’ll make it in time.”

“What about arty or helo support?” Yerzov asked.

“Negative.  Arty isn’t ready, and our air is making sure we don’t get blindsided.  Don’t expect any help from our recon either.”

“Still no sign of enemy eyes in the sky?”  With this cloud cover, we’ll see who gets blindsided this time.

“That’s right, but don’t get cocky, Major.  They’ve killed one major already.”

There hadn’t been time to prepare proper hull-down positions, but the six Axels and six Halberds were reasonably well concealed from the direct approach.  Another lance of Spyds had arrived.  The rest of Charlie Company would be here soon, but not before the enemy.

A detachment of infantry reported five mechs approaching fast.  The lead mech would soon be known as a Fenris.  It bounded gracefully into view.  Although nearly 50 tons, it was moving easily at 80 kph.  It fired its PPC into a likely tuft of woods near the road to flush out any hiding infantry.   

“All guns, on my mark.”  Just a few more seconds and even the Axels will have a good shot. Suddenly, the mech aimed and fired at the nearest tank hitting it square.  The First Lance responded with six guns and missed. 

A second later, two of the Halberds from the Second Lance fired as their target swerved for cover.  The two metal slugs were an iron and nickel alloy with a depleted uranium head.  One round tore through the top of the ridge and struck the left leg.  The uranium vaporized as it cut into the armor, which exhausted its strength dispersing and absorbing the massive shock.

The second round struck high on the head mount.  The metal rod burned then snapped through the armor.  Pyrophoric uranium, molten metal, and superheated ceramic poured into the internal section killing the pilot.  A gout of flame shot from the hole, and the 45 ton humanoid slumped to the ground with its head bent at a macabre angle.  A hail of missiles from the Axels redundantly showered the area.

The other mechs were further back, but they advanced quickly.  A Mad Cat and a Ryoken carried paired large lasers which began melting pools of armor from the tanks.  A Vulture provided missile support, and a Black Hawk took the flank.  But the Halberds were doing well.  One slug struck a Mad Cat arm.  Another narrowly missed as the Mad Cat took cover.  The Spyd’s heavy barrage of missiles shredded much sod, but scored only a few hits against the fast moving mechs.

Yerzov gave orders on the open channel.  “Trine, pull your lance back into better cover.  Ersan, get across the road and help her out.  I’m sending in Third Lance.”  Oversized lances and integrated missile support placed a heavy burden on company commanders.  Therefore, Yerzov stayed behind the lines in a ten ton Tio.  It had four tons of armor and could outrun a Vedette.  Instead of weapons, it had a modest suite of communications and sensory gear.  Even as his lance joined the battle, Yerzov remained well behind were he could focus on directing his forces from hiding.  The Sentry could engage ground targets, and it stayed with him to cover his retreat if it became necessary.

Clan Wolf advanced on the left, using the woods as cover.  Even at extreme range, their lasers fired at the exposed Second Lance and tore the tread off of a Halberd as it crested the ridge.  “Okay, Trine move up again to cover Second.”  Two of the Halberds got off a shot, but incendiary rounds fell around both tanks and set the woods ablaze.  One of them became trapped, and lost.  The Black Hawk flanked the First Lance.  It fired a battery of lasers which crippled a Halberd, but it also took a gauss rifle shot.

Yerzov addressed his sole staff officer, “Move up the Spyds for direct fire.”  The Halberds are doing all the work, and I’m losing them fast.  I have to risk the LRM support.  His six Axels added to the volume of missiles, and their AC 20s deterred the enemy from overrunning the position.  A lance from Charlie had just crossed the bridge. 

The mechs pulled back and casually eliminated the stranded Halberd on the ridge.  Their modest heat levels dissipated almost immediately.  Good God, they can outrange a gauss rifle?  They’ve got twice the firepower they should, they don’t go down easy, and even the heavies are fast.  The militia wasn’t kidding.

Yerzov ordered his forces further back into the woods.  The mechs continued to punish his tanks from long range, but smoke from the fires slowed the pace of battle.  They can gradually pick off my forces at that range.  I’ve got to get in closer or try to run.  When the lance of Gustavs reinforced his own four, he sent them all forward. 

The Black Horse relied on the Gustav as its primary battle tank.  It was faster than the heavies, and its excellent gun had good range and versatility.  They raced forward and fired cluster rounds in a tight pattern.  The Spyds were right behind, and sometimes ahead, adding fire where it was worth their dwindling ammunition.  The Axels joined the push.

The mechs gave ground, allowing only occasional opportunities for return fire.  Their lasers wore down the armor on several tanks, causing them to pull back.  Fortunately, the mechwarriors rarely teamed up to finish off a target immediately.  The Vulture got too close going after a Gustav it had damaged.  Dozens of small explosions lit up the mech and knocked it back, but it somehow kept its feet.  Its armor was mangled and it was throwing sparks from the left missile launcher.  Their mechwarriors are amazing, but so aggressive.
 
Clan Wolf retreated across the road and out of range of the tanks.  The two heavies concentrated fire to destroy a Gustav, while the Black Hawk escorted the heavily damaged Vulture from the field.  I can’t move across the highway over uneven ground.  They have range and speed on the Gustav.  He said, “Pull back, keep cover, and be ready to snap back on them if they pursue.”  A Gustav and a Spyd were cut to shreds in the retreat. 

Yerzov regrouped as more reinforcements arrived.  The two mechs were unwilling to risk another attack, but they held the battlefield under the threat of their guns.  This stalemate lasted a while, then Yerzov got word than an enemy drop ship was inbound, and he was to disengage.  It’s too bad we can’t grab that mech.  A prize like that might justify my losses. Yerzov had lost three Halberds, two Axels, and a Gustav.  That was over a third of his front line tanks.  Charlie had lost a Gustav and a Spyd.  Our one kill was thanks to surprise and luck; we can’t count on that again. Jesus, they might have cut up my whole company if we hadn’t been reinforced.  I don’t even want to think about if they caught us in column from behind.

[Dave Talley]

nice to see clanners bleed

[snakespinner]

Tanks against clan mechs. Good win. O0

[Challenger]

Realy enjoying ths.  I can realy feel the confusion the Black Horse are experiencing fighting an enemy they just arn't prepared for.

Challenger

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 3-1

St. John
7 March 3050

“These are terrible, but I’ll have another,” said Sylvie Olson.  They were drinking watered down booze made from whatever it was they grew on St. John.  The militia had established a camp and started consolidating stragglers.  The booze was meant as an incentive since the prospect of being shot for desertion was generally considered preferable to fighting the Clan.  As units reformed, they were sent back into combat.  So far, the Clan did not feel it was worthwhile to interfere.  Olson’s new friend David Forsyth was a Jackal pilot like her.  His friends had introduced her, and about a minute later, he ditched them to start buying her drinks.

Forsyth returned with two glasses in each hand.  They sat on the ground amidst the raucous soldiers  He asked, “So what’s a Huskarl doing slumming it with us militia?  I thought you only drank Terran vodka and spoke pure Swedish.” 

“Normally yes, but times are tough.  Actually, we lost our commander, so HQ decided to cut us loose to give you guys a hand.”

“Poor little orphan Huskarl.  But really we could use the help.  A Jackal is considered heavy fire support in the 60th Battalion.”

“I’ve had a taste of heavy fire, and I prefer light recon.  What did you mean earlier about the Clan not using patrols?”  Olson was half done with one drink already.  Drink fast or you won’t even get a buzz.

“Well they have patrols, but usually just one or two really strong groups, so they are easy to avoid.  The weird thing is, their garrisons just establish a perimeter and call it a day.  It’s like they are afraid to come out on patrol, but they fight like rabid dogs if you get too close.  And the really weird thing is they keep using the same two lances to hit our positions and take cities, then they send down support after the fight is over.”

“What about their dropships?”

“Yeah they are armed, but they don’t attack us.  Just the mechs and those infernal armored infantry.  They could probably wipe us out if they used those ships to overrun our bases.  I guess it doesn’t matter because we can’t scratch them anyway.  It will just take them a little longer is all.”

“How many of those have you had?  I’m not going to hang around and listen to that.  If you militia boys have the guts to defend your homes, the Huskarls won’t let you down, I promise that much.”

Forsyth looked a little hurt.  “Yeah, you’re right.  They knocked us on our ass, but now we have a chance to regroup thanks to your tanks.  They gave us a day of breathing room as that enemy lance patched up.”

“A day?  I heard they took serious damage.”

“They lost one, but they turned the rest around in no time.  They are way beyond what we can do.  I even heard they’re from some other galaxy.  You can tease if you like, but these guys are out of our league.  But tonight they are far enough away, so what do you say we live like there’s no tomorrow?  I got a bottle back at my bunk.”

“Well that is a tempting offer, but I’m due back soon.  Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“In this zoo?  Not likely.”  He gave her a smile.  This one’s not so bad, and cute.  And he’s right; we could be dead tomorrow. She kissed him.  He started to put his hands on her, but she broke away.

“The night is young; you still have time to try your moves on some other girl.”

Olson returned to the large tent that served as her lance’s barracks.  She was surprised to see a lot of techs bustling about, but none of the pilots.  She tried to slip in unnoticed.

“Olson, you’re late.  Have you been drinking?”  Corporal Henry was in the middle of a briefing.  He had a hand-drawn map taped to the wall.  “We’re moving out to intercept an enemy detachment.  They are starting to use mechs in pairs and even individually with their infantry.  These new tactics could put a lot of pressure on the militia, but it also means we have a chance of taking a fight.”

It was still light in the western sky when they set out.  The hostile fleet in low orbit was already visible.  Henry and Sassa piloted Saladins armed with a heavy autocannon.  The other four members still used the Jackal.  Two Jackal LRMs that had been assigned from the fire support lance were also with them.  Olson was sent ahead to scout, as usual.

For a planet being invaded, St. John was remarkably serene.  There was a curfew, but people in critical jobs were still going to work.  The police in captured areas were allowed to let civilians come and go in order to keep the lights on and the bread trucks moving.  There really was no “front” where sustained fighting took place.  The only real sign of war that Olson encountered was a gravel road that had been torn up by a column of heavy vehicles moving too fast.  Then she saw the large pole light of a farmhouse flicker.  Twice it disappeared for a split second.

Those lights are usually 5 meters off the ground.  Is the power grid straining, or did something really big just pass by? She switched to infra-red, but couldn’t make out anything. Those Clan mechs run so damn cool.  Don’t they just have a deck full of aces?  No, not a whole deck.  Just one really good hand.  The longer this game goes, the more chance we have.

“Olson investigating possible contact along Highway 37.”  She took her hovercraft into the ditch and accelerated.  The ditch ended where the ground rose up to meet the farm house driveway.  She took a couple seconds to cool off before poking up to have another look.  She could see the heads of two giant figures against the darkening sky, only two.  “Olson reporting two mechs just north of Highway 37 about 10 clicks east of the junction.  They are moving east at good speed.”

Henry said, “Copy that, Olson.  Maintain visual.  The LRMs will rendezvous with you; the rest of the lance will intercept.”  Olson spent the next several minutes dashing and ducking into hiding while trailing the two mechs.  She kept a lookout for more, but saw none.  She met up with the two Jackal LRMs, but she had them stay further back.  One of the mechs suddenly spun 180 degrees without missing a step. Oh my God, is that thing running backward? Olson slowed to a crawl then stopped behind a clump of bushes.  There was no indication that she had been spotted.  I’m small and low to the ground at least.  No chance of being skylined.

She renewed her pursuit, but kept a little more distance until she saw kilo marker 285 along the side of the road.  She confirmed the go ahead then punched it up to high gear.  The missile support pulled up beside her.  “Fire when ready, then circle round.”  Twenty missiles launched from the two hovercraft.  They failed to hit, but one of the mechs turned on them.  It fired a PPC bolt that sliced just above her, and she broke off.

Meanwhile, five hovercraft under Henry charged in from the opposite direction.  They concentrated fire on the mech with its back to them.  One of the lasers hit, and a burst of autocannon rounds detonated into the left arm of the Puma, blasting it to splinters.  The other mech, a Phantom, used a half dozen lasers to cut through one of the Saladins.  Olson started to lead another run, but changed her mind when she saw the second Saladin go down to the Puma’s remaining PPC.  The other Jackals sped away.  Amazingly, the Phantom kept pace with them as it fired missiles.  The one-armed Puma faced off against her and the missile support.  It set its feet as if issuing a challenge. I bet you’d like that. Olson turned her Jackal and fled. 

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 3-2

St. John
8 March 3050

The remnants of Henry’s lance were gathered back at the tent.  The drawing of their battle plan was still tapped to the wall, but the actual operation had been torn to shreds the previous night.  Their leader was dead, and they lost two Salidin’s and a Jackal.  The mood was sullen, but Olson refused to be defeated.

“The militia is moving this camp today because Clan patrols are getting too close,” she said.  “Jakobs, you’re the senior now.  You need to take charge.  We have to strike and move our stuff.  I volunteer to help patrol.  We should have at least one more.”

Jakobs gave her a dejected and incredulous look.  “We’re done, Olson.  Henry is dead.  Evensen is dead.  Wahlgren is pinned down.  We just lost over half our strength.  We are officially combat ineffective.  But if you’re so eager to die too, I won’t stop you.”

“Our orders are to assist the militia, and that’s what I intend to do.  Is anyone else with me?”  Neither her surviving lancemates nor the two supporting pilots met her eyes. 

Henry’s lance had recruited Olaf Rudin from the Svelvik militia a couple months earlier to replace its losses.  “Half our lance died yesterday,” he said.  “I’m pretty sure that means we’re entitled to a day off.  You’re upset, don’t do something rash.”

“Rash?  You think covering our retreat is rash?  Why not just clasp on some shackles and present yourself to the Clan?”  Damn it, this isn’t getting me anywhere. “Fine.”  Olson stormed out and told the techs to prep her craft.  She set out to find David from the night before.

She found the commander of the 60th Battalion Provisional Special Reconnaissance Force.  That sounds awfully fancy for a haphazard collection of survivors, stragglers, and repentant deserters.  After showing her ID, she said, “I’m looking for a Jackal pilot named David….”  She realized she didn’t know his surname or rank.  “He’s medium height, kinda dark, provincial accent.” 

“What for?”

Oh, right.  “I uh, … need to discuss enemy dispositions.  I’m heading out, and I know he’s patrolled in that area.”

“Wait here.”

A while later, he showed up, and they went out to talk.  “Are you okay?  I heard you guys got torn up last night.  I was, well I’m glad to see you made it out.”

“Yeah thanks.”  Olson made a point of not answering his question.  “Are you going out today?”

“Not for a few hours.  Just sweeping east to make sure it’s clear.  Shouldn’t be too bad.”

“You still have that bottle?”  He retrieved the bottle, and they found a quiet spot to talk.  Olson took a long pull and said, “Hey, next round is on me, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.  So is your outfit still tagging along with us?”

“Yeah, I’m going out soon though.”  She gulped down more of the liquor.

“Don’t you think you better slow down on that?”  David took the bottle and capped it.  He hadn’t had any.

“Hey, you said the Clan was resupplying at Aulum?  What can you tell me about that?”

“Christ, they’re sending you to Aulum?  After last night?”

“Yeah, well …  You filed a report, right?  Here’s my info, send it to me.  I gotta go.”  She turned and walked briskly.

“Hey, take care of yourself.  You owe me a drink.”

A couple hours later she was cruising at a fuel efficient 60 kph.  Even if they somehow spotted her, a single Jackal wasn’t worth hunting down, or so she hoped.  And she could outrun almost any mech, but not the Phantom from last night.  She was thinking more clearly now.  It’s not a death wish, I just need to do something.  Henry had the wrong idea.  He wanted to use the Saladins to take down a mech.  Well that didn’t work, but we’ll see if I can find a softer target.  This Clan is hard as tungsten in the front, but they can’t be strong everywhere.

Jakobs’s voice came over the comm.  “Olson, I want to say sorry.  Just come back and we can –”  Olson turned it off.  Rudin must have put her up to that.  She replayed the audio of Forsyth’s info on Aulum.  If I come in from the north …,  but I don’t need to sneak up with the Jackal. Olson parked in an empty barn about three clicks outside of Aulum and set out on foot.  Unfortunately, she only had her uniform rather than infantry camo, but she stayed off the road and took her time. 

She crawled through the grass until the town came into view.  She didn’t see the mech that was reported to be there, but there was a battle-armored infantryman.  She watched a while and saw another.  There were a few civilians moving around, but the town was basically locked down.  Most of the residents probably fled before the Clan arrived.  She watched a long while, then moved to another spot.  She finally decided there were four infantrymen.  A heavy truck drove in, and a fifth infantryman emerged with a team of workers to load crates onto it.  The crates were pretty large by civilian standards.  Even at maximum magnification she couldn’t make out the labels, but it had to be military supplies.  Soon the truck set out again heading east.

That truck is unescorted.  She carefully crawled back until she was out of sight, then stood and ran for her Jackal.  Why did I park so far away?  It had taken her an hour to get into position.  Now she ran with abandon.  They don’t have anyone here.  They are advancing past this area.  So long as some traitor didn’t tip them off to my Jackal, I’ll be okay. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday.  She didn’t sleep well the night before.  She was feeling the adrenaline crash after the fight.  Her body protested, but she embraced the suffering and increased her pace.  Each step stoked her anger.  By the time she reached her Jackal, she was in a frenzy.

She scarfed down a ration bar and put the Jackal into motion.  Soon she got on the main road and gunned it up to top speed at 150 kph.  She nearly lost control on a curve in the road, and decided to ease off a bit.  That truck isn’t turning down one of these farm roads.  I have time to catch up. There was a smaller truck going west, but it graciously pulled aside for her. 

Soon the truck came into view.  There was no shoulder, but it came to a stop.  She pulled her Jackal in front of it and turned to show her weapons.  The Jackal was a minnow on the battlefield, but fifteen tons of military hardware seemed to impress the truck driver.

Olson ordered her out of the truck, then emerged with her pistol aimed at the woman.  “Where are you going?”

“Skamstrup.  Don’t shoot.  I’m just delivering supplies.  I have a pass.”  She had a local accent. 

“Did you radio in?”

“I don’t have a radio.  Wait, who are you?”

“Private Sylvie Olson, Fourth Huskarl, KungsArmé.  You and that truck are coming with me.”

“I can’t.  If they think I betrayed them –”  Olson fired a round into the trailer.  The woman gasped, “Jesus, do you know what’s in there?”

“High explosives?”  Olson guessed.  “I’d be happy to leave your corpse as evidence of your loyalty to your new masters.”

“You can’t threaten a civilian like that,” the woman said with the defiant spark of a Free Rasalhague Republican.  “I’ll report you to your superiors.”

“My superiors?  My –”  Olson started to say it again, but she was interrupted by her own laughter.  The woman in front of her went pale; she just nodded slowly.  Olson pointed to the truck, and the woman got in.  By the time they got to the new camp, Olson was feeling much better.

[marauder648]

Superb stuff as always :) Its interesting to see this kind of warfare from a vehicle crewman's perspective.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 3-3

St. John
12 March 3050

“Sir Second Battalion has driven off the latest thrust, but they’ve lost another Gustav and suffered heavy damage to two more.  We had to use direct fire artillery again.”

Wahlgren’s staff didn’t bother reporting on enemy losses, which were assumed to be negligible.  Even the Vulture’s lost arm proved to be only a temporary set-back for the enemy.  By contrast, the Black Horse was being worn away with every engagement.  Also unmentioned were the militia’s losses, which were assumed to be substantial.

Wahlgren asked, “How soon can we put those tanks back in action?” 

“A day or two for one, closer to a week for the other.”  While they were well provisioned with fuel and ammunition, they had perilously little replacement armor.  They were relying on militia stocks, but those were running low.  On the other hand, his techs had ample support from civilian volunteers.

“Are we expecting any more attacks before nightfall?”  At least they take time to sleep now.  Those first two days I thought they might be robots.
“No sir.  Their Alpha lance is headed back west after hunting elements of the 60th Battalion, we beat up Bravo enough for one day, and Charlie has moved back up north.  Our air recon continues to go unchallenged.  Oh yes, Olmet requested permission to make field promotions in his light company.”

Those are the only forces I have outside the city, so it would be good for morale.  Olmet always was good with that.  “Sure.  If we ever make it off this dirtball, the high command won’t begrudge us that.  And speaking of command, tell Meyer I’m available now.” 

A holographic Meyer said, “Colonel, you’ve done well to hold Joplin.  I know you’ve been under heavy pressure, and you’ve saved half my Sixth Brigade, but I need more.  You can’t just hole up and wait this out.  Duluth will fall soon.  We need to press the attack.  I’ve been taking heavy losses, but I have kept them off balance, and they slipped up a couple times.  You have to be willing to take some risks.”

“Sir, I’ve read your reports, but you have to understand, I can’t just split up into seven man squads and infiltrate their positions.  So long as I have a credible force, we can hold Joplin as a bastion of resistance, and your infantry can use it as a base.  I’m looking for ways to hit harder, but I’ll bleed out in no time in the field.”

Meyer looked unconvinced.  “I have a shipment of replacement armor coming to you by boat from the Fifth Brigade’s stores.  I’ve been trying to convince Nikula to let me start calling them up, but she insists that the Clan would respond by committing more forces to their strike groups.  She seems to think she’s gotten inside Sender’s head and knows something about how they operate.”

Wahlgren had to chuckle.  “You’re alright Meyer.  I should have known it was political meddling.  At some point, you might need to just do what needs to be done.”  Yes I see that sour look, and I hope she is listening.

“You never mind the Fifth Brigade, Colonel.  I need you to do more with the Fourth Huskarl.  I’ve gotten some favorable reports about your detached recon force.  You will detach your other light company for skirmishing duty with the 60th Battalion.  The Clan is sending a star north to fight me.  That means they aren’t taking you seriously enough.  One more thing, Nikula wants a word with you, maybe you can convince her to untie my hands with those other brigades.”

“Yes sir.”  I’ve got to hand it to the guy.  He’s done more with those second rate militia than I would have imagined possible.  I wish I had another of him here leading the third rate Sixth Brigade.

Okay, let’s hear what the new military expert has to say.  Nikula appeared in the holotank.  “Attaché, how can I serve?”

“I want to review some of the points of my latest advisory memo.  Have you read it?”

“Yes, they call their lances ‘stars’ and their battle armor ‘elementals.’”

“Don’t get snide with me, Colonel.  I’m more concerned that you understand why the Clan is holding so much of its force in reserve.  The enemy commander insists on a victory on his own terms.  I haven’t determined his purpose, but I can see that he is frustrated.  We need to exploit that.

Nikula continued, “Colonel Meyer wanted to order you out of the city to seek battle.  I overruled him for one simple reason.  That is exactly what Sender wants.  I know because yesterday he requested we meet him for a decisive field battle.  He seems to have a number of grievances with the way we are conducting our defense.  So far I haven’t responded, but I will soon.  Before that happens, I would like you to poke him in the eye.  By all means, continue to deny battle with your main force, but do what you can to intensify the guerilla campaign.”

Well I’ll be damned.  The political advisor with no military background overruled a competent officer, and she is right.  Has the whole universe been turned on its head? “Yes Attaché, I believe you are right.  The Clan has shown a healthy respect for our guns since we decapitated that first mech, but they seem to be growing increasingly impatient.  I must admit, I initially underestimated their capabilities, but I now think we can fight only under the most favorable conditions.”

“Colonel, I am not sure defending that city will save this planet.  I have received no response to my HPGs.  ComStar is no longer convinced that my messages are getting through.  It is possible that the Clan has some way of interfering.  It is also possible that ours is not the only world under attack.  In any case, we must be prepared to prolong the fighting at any cost.  Even if St. John is lost, we will buy time so that the Republic can prepare.  Colonel Meyer is a local, but I expect you to appreciate the bigger picture.”

Dear God.  “The Black Horse will resist as long as we are able or until we have driven these invaders from the planet’s surface.”

“I expect nothing less.  And remember Colonel, for all their brashness, the Clan is very loss averse.  Our best hope is to convince them that the cost of fighting us is too great.  We will never be vanquished nor subjugated, nor will they ever enjoy the fruits of conquest here.  Like pirates, they may decide to find an easier victim.  Good luck, Colonel.”

Wahlgren spent a long while contemplating the lack of HPG communication.  Up until now, he had assumed that the fleet would be coming to their rescue soon.  Even without an HPG, Rasalhague would notice when one of its planets fell off the grid.  Is there a Republican armada about to jump in and rescue us?  Nikula doesn’t seem to think so.  She would know more about the fleet’s priorities than anyone else on this planet.  But it doesn’t really matter, does it?  It’s like making a drop on a hostile planet: either you live or you don’t.  Except that I have something to do.

Wahlgren took down the coat-of-arms from behind his desk and hung it from the front door of his command center.  Then he addressed his staff, “Pull back; dig in.  I want a new line at the highway.  Shift the Third Battalion to the south and have them cover the main bridge.  Tear down the other one.  I don’t care if you have to use pick axes.  We will hold the industrial district at all costs.  Tell Mäkinen I need her Charlie to prepare for independent operations.”

The militia’s heavy equipment was stationed in Duluth, but civilian contractors had been conscripted to fortify infantry positions.  The infantry were deployed at the squad level and served two purposes.  They prevented the Clan from moving freely along the streets, and they were spotters for LRM and artillery fire.

What I wouldn’t give for my engineers.  The Fourth Huskarl’s engineering company and much of their ancillary support remained on Kirchbach.  Huskarl regiments were designed to be a formidable fighting force that could operate independently, but the strength-in-numbers approach made them a royal pain to transport between systems.  So, thanks to Demerci’s hare-brained scheme, much of the equipment they were using was borrowed from the 24th Huskarl based on St. John.  Meanwhile the 24th was using Black Horse tanks on the various periphery border worlds.  Demerci is the reason I’m not on Kirchbach right now.  I’ve never met anyone more obsessed with saving a buck on freight. Nevertheless, other than his second VTOL company, which couldn’t be spared from its duties, Wahlgren had the entire fighting force of the Black Horse available to reshape into pirate hunters. 

Yet the great test of my Black Horse turns out to be an invasion after all.  We were ready for the Dracons or the Lyrans, so fate threw us this instead.  Plus an orbital blockade with no promise of relief.  What am I supposed to do about that?

“Sir.  Sir?  Collingnon from the 56th isn’t happy about abandoning the hospital.  They have a lot of wounded there.”

“Tell him the Clan won’t attack the hospital.”  Not if Nikula knows as much as she thinks she does. 

[Siegfried Marcus]

I've tried not to make revisions to what I've posted, but I mixed up my regiments and my battalions, so I changed David's unit to the 60th Battalion.  I'm a total amateur at military matters, so you'll have to forgive me for botching some details.
[Edit: I changed my mind about revisions to improve the writing, but I haven't made any significant changes.]

Also, I can't resist sharing that the gauss rifle shot to the head from Yerzov's company was the direct result of the dice.  I was committed to accepting the results of that first volley, and I'll be damned if I didn't roll a 10 to hit and box cars for the location.  The rest of that battle was loosely based on table top action, as will be some of the future battles.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 4-1

St. John
16 March 3050

Nikula ate alone.  Pickled herring was a rare delicacy on St. John, but being an Attaché had its perks.  She took care to relish each bite, though she did not particularly enjoy the flavor.  Instead it served to connect her to her ancestors.  Not the one’s from Terra, whose lives were far removed from her own.  Like many citizens of the Republic, she carried a Scandinavian name, but she neither knew nor cared how much her ancestry reflected that.

Her people were those of the Principality of Rasalhague who had claimed these planets from the void.  They had carried traditions and culture from the Old World.  Those had faded and morphed over time, but the symbolism remained.  The common bond was important in putting down roots in virgin soil, but the precise character of the culture wasn’t important.  It was like sharing a common language; Swedenese would do nicely, but so would any other. 

She had a single glass of white wine with her meal.  The touch of alcohol would help prepare her for battle.  Her adversary, Ramon Sender had the advantage in their first engagement, but Nikula had learned much since. 

Earlier, a lance of Jackals found an isolated garrison of five Elementals and killed them with LRMs.  Nikula made arrangements to speak with Sender.  Those Elementals weren’t part of your bid, but they must be warrior caste.  You can’t stand the thought that we could inflict even a single defeat on you, can you?

After finishing her meal, she dressed into her uniform and had an attendant touch her up.  Then Nikula stood before the projector with all the pride she could muster.  “Colonel Sender, I apologize that affairs of state have precluded me from responding earlier to your concerns.  I hope that I can address them now.”

Sender’s form appeared before her and spoke.  “You agreed to the terms of batchal.  You will abide by them or be declared dezgra.”  He glared, expecting her to account for the Republic’s actions.

“Your claims are false.  We have not employed civilians to fight against you, nor have we targeted non-combatants.” 

“I have laid out your violations in detail.  How can you deny them?”

Nikula spoke slowly.  “You have identified specific conduct, but you have made no case for your claims.  We have no obligation to ensure your subjugation of land you claim to have conquered.  The military forces of my government have, in some instances, surrendered but you cannot expect your oppression to go unchallenged by a free people.”  Sender looked dumbfounded, so she continued.  “Furthermore, our military has struck at your invading warriors, killing five of them just hours ago, as well as their bases of operation and logistical assets.”

“You have deliberately killed technicians and laborers.” 

“They were directly involved in supporting your attack.  Every invasion depends on defending its supply lines.  You tacitly acknowledge as much by using garrison forces to protect them – though poorly.”

“You have agreed to batchal.”

“I agreed only to honorable combat.  And we have fought honorably.”

“No.  I will not let you twist words to escape their meaning.” 

“My word is my bond as your word is yours.”  Nikula had practiced mirroring Sender’s cadence and inflection; he clearly recognized his own statement being thrown back at him.  She gave a slight smile.  I do love the classics.  “When I use a word,” she said in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.”

“That is absurd.  You would void our agreement by making it meaningless.”

“Not at all.  You agreed to your words, and I agreed to mine.  Just as you said.”

Sender sputtered then managed to say, “That is not what I meant.”

“Perhaps not, but just now we are speaking of what I meant.”

“I will hear no more of this.  I am declaring the city of Duluth to be conquered.  Your forces no longer offer consistent or organized resistance.  Furthermore, if you continue to disregard the distinction between warriors and workers, your government and your people will suffer.”

Sender waved his hand abruptly, and the transmission ended.  That went quite well, I think.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 4-2

St. John
17 March 3050

Wahlgren addressed his senior staff.  “The Clan is gearing up for a big push on us.  Their assault lance and battle armor have left Duluth.  They have pulled back from their minor outposts to deprive our skirmishers of targets.  That means the two lances that’ve been containing us have no distractions.  They’re even recalling the lance they sent north a few days ago.  At least that will relieve pressure on Meyer.  I’ve ordered our light companies to harass and delay that last lance.  Overall, we face 19 mechs, many of them heavy, and a couple dozen battle armor.  Hayashi, will give us a run-down of our available forces.”

Hayashi said, “Regarding the light companies, Second Charlie is mostly intact, and First Charlie has shown surprising effectiveness at guerrilla war despite heavy losses, including its command.  Nevertheless, we predict they will be unable to significantly delay the enemy.  First Battalion has lost four Gustavs with another three in the shop.  That puts them at 27, or about 80%.  Second Battalion has suffered heavy losses with only 23, or two thirds, of its Gustavs effective.  We have prioritized repairs for the heavier tanks, so Third Battalion still has eight Axels and ten Halberds, all of which can be deployed if needed.  Third Battalion has all three companies present, so they also have 20 Gustavs.  Of course, that’s not counting the Gustav with each Battalion HQ.  We’ve lost some Spyds, but still have over 75% of our LRM support.  We have seven combat helos, but we hope to continue using them for recon and spotting.  Across the regiment, we have 11 Thumpers and 4 Snipers, although ammo is becoming an issue for the artillery.  The Sentries are at full strength, but they are being kept for air defense despite the lack of air attacks so far.”

As one of the original Huskarl regiments, the Black Horse was expected to retain its cohesion in the face of such losses.  They had even done extensive training with reduced strength lances.  Furthermore, Huskarl members were selected for martial enthusiasm, and their training cultivated a certain degree of self-sacrifice.  While only average in terms of skill, the Huskarls were exceptionally devoted.  Even Huskarl morale can’t endure this slow death with no sign of progress or relief.  Let the enemy come and settle this.  My men and I are sick to death of waiting, and urban warfare plays to our strengths.

“Thank you, Hayashi.  Given our reduced strength, and the Clan’s superiority in small engagements, I’m concentrating our forces in two districts.  First and Second will hold downtown, along with most of the militia.  Third will hold the southern industrial center.  So long as the Clan doesn’t use artillery or support weapons, there should be little danger in ceding otherwise important ground to them.  Our artillery can keep up a harassing fire if they decide to camp out.  Recon reports Clan mechs are using a different weapons loadouts that emphasizes close range.  If they want to go toe to toe, this could be our chance to bring numbers to bear and take a clear victory.  I know it’s been a hard week, but all the chips are down today, and that’s how we like to play.”

Two hours later, The Clan’s Alpha Second Nova as well as Alpha and Bravo Battle Stars waited on the western outskirts of Joplin.  Charlie Battle Star was still 50 kilometers north and making steady progress despite its hovercraft shadow.  Svenskovich wanted to begin artillery bombardment, but Wahlgren had a different plan to draw in the attackers.

He broadcast a message to the enemy commander using loudspeakers.  “Lee Kerensky of Clan Wolf, you have come to conquer this city, have you not?  Several times you challenged me and my men to fight you, but you’re the ones who claimed you would defeat us, so we await your attempt.  Or does this man who bears Kerensky’s name need more time to summon his courage?”

A few minutes later, the Ryoken started in their direction, but fell back when the assault lance failed to follow.   Well, so much for that idea.  But when Charlie Battle Star arrived, it did not join their forces to the west.  Instead, it attacked immediately from the north where it met only light resistance.  Meanwhile the rest of the Clan forces drove hard to cut in between the strongholds in the south and center of the city.

Soon the Clan’s plan became clear.  The assault mechs and one of the battle stars moved against Third Battalion in the south, while the Elementals and the remaining star took up defensive positions to cut off reinforcement.  Most of the infantry is downtown and useless on the attack.  Third Battalion has nowhere to run.  The district is too small and we’ve barricaded the only bridge left.  Congratulations Wolves, you’ve cornered your prey.  Now let’s see if you can bring it down.

Wahlgren studied the map before issuing orders.  “Dispatch a lance of Gustavs and the militia’s flat-beds to tie up that norther lance.  First and Second Battalion need to break through; they have priority for artillery support.  Third Battalion will just have to weather this.  That’s what they were made for.”

Within a minute the images on Wahlgren’s tactical display were responding to his orders.  First Battalion met determined resistance, but it forced both battle stars to respond to their counterattack.  That left only the mighty assault mechs to press the Third Battalion.  They were headed for Alpha’s position.  Why is Third Bravo not moving?  “Jarvi, report.”

Lieutenant-Colonel Jarvi said,  “Sir, I’ve deployed Alpha in two lines.  The outer perimeter can’t hold, but it should buy us time to consolidate.  If they wait on that Daishi, we should have a chance to fall back.  After that, we’ve got our backs to the river, so “hold at all costs” goes without saying.  Bravo company is coming in radio-silent, so I can’t say exactly where they are.”

“Understood.”  Wahlgren looked to his tactical display where Third Bravo glowed steadily, while the real company was doing God-knows-what. Yerzov, this stunt is your idea.  That man has too much independence for a major, especially of a heavy company.  Damn it Yerzov, how am I supposed to lead this regiment when my officers disappear like that?

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 4-3

St. John
17 March 3050

Major Yerzov lead his company through the narrow and twisted back roads of Joplin’s industrial district.  The rear camera display showed his tanks forcibly widening the path by plowing over vendor carts, personal vehicles, and any other obstruction that was easier to roll over than around.  The heavier tanks struggled to keep the pace he was setting, but he had to make up for the time lost by taking a less obvious approach.  It was dangerous to lead with the command lance, but if it added to the sense of sense of urgency for the drivers, it would be worth it.  Besides, his men had orders to charge headlong into battle if he should be killed, say by turning this next corner and meeting a hostile mech.

At the end of the next block, his guide waited on a motorbike.  Yerzov guessed he was not yet fifteen, and certainly not official militia.  He didn’t wear a uniform, but he knew his way around, and he wasn’t afraid to drive straight at the enemy without so much as a helmet.  The fool.  No boy that age knows what it means to risk death … but four more years makes all the difference, right?  How many kids following me will die today? The boy on the bike snapped out his left arm holding a red flag.  One Gustav moved toward the boy while the CV and its escorts waited facing him.  It was important that the lead heavy tanks saw which way he went.  What I wouldn’t have done at that age to usher a company of tanks into battle.  Yerzov pushed the boy from his mind. 

He could still receive some incoming data.  This indicated that he was about to come face to face with an assault lance.  One or two mechs were guarding against an approach from his direction, so they were expecting him, but probably not from this street.  They wouldn’t hear him coming.  Thousands of tons of heavy metal crashing around made a terrible racket, but it was nothing compared to the autocannons and missiles just ahead.  The low boom of Third Battalion’s four Thumpers added to the noise, but they were not positioned for direct fire, and their shells were falling far away. 

The boy ditched his bike just before reaching the main highway.  He peeked around the corner then signaled one enemy.  Not bad, kid.  This isn’t as narrow as I feared, and the buildings are tall enough to give us good cover.  Despite the desperate situation of the Third Battalion, Yerzov took a moment to form up.  Again the boy checked around the corner.  Judging by the skyward inclination of his head, the enemy was close.  Some of the tanks still hadn’t caught up, but there was no more time. 

“Charge!”  Yerzov broke radio silence with the most venerable of all battle cries.  Over a dozen tanks came pouring out of the inconspicuous avenue and opened fire on the nearby Man O’ War.  A Halberd and an Axel each scored hits, along with all three of the Gustavs.  From down the street, a Halberd from Alpha fired from its concealed position and hit.  The avalanche of heavy metal and explosives tore into the mech’s legs and all along its right side.  But the tanks had left their sides exposed as they rushed into position.  The Man O’ War’s heavy autocannon unloaded rounds a fearful rate and stripped the armor from a Halberd.  It’s lasers heavily damaged the treads of an Axel.  Still don’t respect the toughness or our tanks?  Or are you just desperate to reduce our numbers fast?

“Major Yerzov engaging at main highway.  Patching in to the tac data.  I need spotters.”  The tactical display lit up, but before he could orient himself, the floor beneath him lurched.

“We need to move,” said his driver even as the vehicle whipped past the fighting and ducked into the next side street.  A Fenris had come in behind him.  Its PPC and inferno missiles were a serious a threat to his CV.  Fortunately, one of the Axels was far enough behind to assist the Sentry as a rear guard and ward off the potential ambush.

The other Clan mechs shifted their position toward the beleaguered Man O’ War, but they were heavily engaged.  Now that Yerzov seized the initiative, Jarvi ordered a general advance.  The other Man O’ War quickly destroyed a Gustav with its heavy autocannon.  The Daishi damaged two tanks, and the Vulture finished one of them off at close range.  Ever since the first battle, Clan Wolf had shown a greater willingness to share kills.  The Vulture also pounded a Halberd at longer range with its missiles.  But the missiles flew both ways, and the volume of fire from two lances of Spyds overwhelmed the Vulture’s anti-missile system and did significant damage.

Although half surrounded, the damaged Man O’ War destroyed an Axel and made it across the street, depriving most of the tanks of a clear shot.  One exception was a Halberd which kept within optimal range for its gauss rifle.  The giant metal slug hit just below the right knee and took off half the leg while burning out the myomer tissue above it.  As the mech tumbled to the ground, a barrage of LRMs from Yerzov’s Spyds landed.  The Man O’ War’s AMS shot down several incoming missiles, but they still destroyed the mech’s right arm.  In less than half a minute, Bravo Company had crippled the neigh invincible omni-mech.

The Clan tried to withdraw toward where their lighter forces where faring better, but the Daishi was too slow.  The Vulture collapsed under the next salvo of missiles.  This allowed several Gustavs from the medium company to close distance.  They switched to cluster rounds to poke at the holes in the Vulture’s armor, and they damaged a foot actuator.  The two heavier mechs continued to punish the advancing tanks.  The Daishi destroyed one with its battery of lasers, and the second Man O’ War heavily damaged another, but Jarvi could afford to pull it back and press the attack with fresher forces. 

The dismembered Man O’ War managed to stand and didn’t go down again easily, but its fate was sealed.  Yerzov’s company pressed on as they took turns unloading rounds into the doomed mech.  The Fenris could only offer modest support as a swarm of tanks closed around the rest of its lance.  The Daishi soaked up considerable damage and heavily damaged another tank, but the Gustavs sped past it to fire more cluster rounds into the Vulture.  This time, the Vulture’s lower leg actuator locked up, further reducing its speed.

The remaining Man O’ War savaged another Gustav, but Yerzov’s company shoved itself into the fray and isolated The Daishi and Vulture.  The Third Battalion’s great numerical superiority quickly proved decisive over the heroic aspirations of the trapped Clan warriors. The hobbled Vulture went down in another hail of LRMs, and an Axel finally gutted the giant Daishi.  The remaining two mechs were in good condition, but they withdrew.  Word soon came that the Clan was withdrawing from the fight near the center of the city, but the Black Horse was in no condition to pursue.

No one can doubt the Huskarls now. Yerzov’s enthusiasm was soon tempered as the sobering data on Black Horse losses came in.  He had only lost an Axel and a Gustav, but the rest of the battalion lost five Gustavs and five heavier tanks, mostly before his forces had arrived.  First and Second Battalions were showing over a dozen losses total, but they also killed a mech and several battle armor.  We paid a brutal price, but we won.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Of course after saying I don't like to make changes after posting, I decided to change something.  I renamed the Huskarl's signature tank the Gustav because: 1) I didn't really think about how Gustavus is a Latinized version of the original name, and it makes no sense that the FRR would use it.  (Gustaf might be even better, but I'm okay with using English spellings.)  2) It's shorter and has a more martial sound to my mind.  3) It looks way better when plural.

P.S. Acknowledgements to Lewis Carroll for the line I stole from Humpty Dumpty.

[DOC_Agren]

Do we have stats on the Tanks?

[Siegfried Marcus]

Stats and background for my combat vehicles are now here. 
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=53755.msg1239177#msg1239177

I will also create a listing for the Fourth Huskarl on the non-canon units page.

[DOC_Agren]

thanks

[Challenger]

I'm realy enjoying this! Good work!

Brings back bad memories of running into a company of Pattons with a lance of medium mechs. A painful learning experience.

Challenger

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 5-1

St. John
23 March 3050

Despite his security clearance, Demerci had been frozen out of high level intelligence briefings since the invasion.  That was to be expected for a legislative observer, especially with a Prince’s Attaché present, but he refused to be sidelined.  Sergeant Yoshida, the regiment’s logistics officer, had owed him a favor which he traded for information on the enemy fleet’s composition.

The  fleet seemed impossibly small.  Even if it came from just a few jumps away, it would still be inadequate.  Jump ship capacity was a major constraint on any invasion, and Demerci set out to find and exploit any related vulnerabilities. 

He wanted to examine the Clan’s ground logistics, but he was restricted to low-level reports.  One of those was by a Private Olson.  Demerci took notice because she claimed to have first-hand observations of enemy activity.  He got permission to contact her, and they soon formed a partnership.  She provided information, and he studied it to help her determine the lowest risk targets.  In the process, they recognized a shared view of the Clan threat.

Once again he considered something Olson said.  “Why garrison a town with elite forces?”  It has to be the limited jump capacity.  They need the smallest possible footprint.  And that means the garrisons are as indispensable as the front line.

During their morning conversation, Demerci asked, “Corporal, has the Clan augmented their garrison forces?”

“Augmented?  It’s the same gear, if that’s what you mean.  They still rely on civilian collaborators for support, but they haven’t armed any.  Sometimes the Elementals will ride a vee, but that’s it.  We haven’t seen any tanks, no hovers, no foot.  Nothing but the best for the Clanners.” 

“Clanners?  You’re starting to sound like the militia.”

“Well,” Olson said, “I don’t get a lot of support from HQ these days.”

“They gave you another lance.”

“That’s just twice the responsibility and still no support.”

“We’re all scrambling,” Demerci said.  “What is the latest from Duluth?”

“They say three mechs and maybe a couple dozen elementals.  There’s never more than one dropship.  Still not my idea of a soft target.  Won’t they just fly in reinforcements if they see us coming?”

“I don’t think they have enough reinforcements to spare.  I’ve been studying the militia data you sent me on Clan reactions in the northern theater, and I’m confident we can overwhelm their response capabilities.”  Reasonably confident, subject to the usual caveats.  “One more thing, I noticed a Forsyth in your lance, but I don’t see a listing.”

“Oh yeah, that’s David.  I got him from the militia too.  Jakobs wasn’t working out in my unit, so I traded her for Forsyth.”

“Can you do that?”  Demerci asked.

“I guess so.” 

Demerci laughed.  “I won’t tell.”  He ended the call.  The militia provides her with more secure intel than what the Fourth provides to me.  I suppose the militia feels more desperate.

The Sixth Free Brigade command was especially interested in Demerci’s idea to retake Duluth.  To him it was a potential target of opportunity, but to the Sixth Brigade, it meant restoring their primary base.  He reviewed their assessment of the city’s importance.  Most importantly, It was the only major port in the region.  To the south, a fleet waited to reinforce and resupply the Republic’s forces.  The fleet carried much needed replacement armor and artillery rounds, as well as two battalions that had been stationed on the big island. 

Will they do it?  Olmet is aggressive, but Wahlgren won’t like moving away from the Clan’s main force.  The Attaché is the wild card, and now she wants to talk.  At least I’ve gotten her attention.

Demerci went down the hall to get more biscuits and amphetamines, then he returned to his small office.  He pulled up his estimates for the Clan’s rapid response force.  He reviewed the data as he ate, then he leaned back and closed his eyes.  It’s as if they have no contingency reserve to replace losses.  Would the Clan have allowed Colonel Meyer’s offensives to go unanswered if they did?  Demerci imagined how the Clan would respond to an attack on Duluth under certain assumptions.  He visualized the scenario using the same schematics as his computer models.  Red lines converged on Duluth.  That wouldn’t give us much time. 

As he contemplated alternatives to the scenario, there was a knock.  Demerci opened his eyes to see Nikula standing in the doorway.  He said, “I didn’t realize you would be coming in person.”

Nikula closed the door and leaned against the wall.  “My schedule and movements are classified.  I’m told that Olmet’s new proposal is based on your work.  I’m concerned that your ideas rely upon an incomplete picture.  You don’t appreciate the significance of the Clan’s honor culture, and you are using outdated estimates of the enemy fleet size.”

“Then provide me with better information.  Has the Clan jumped in reinforcements?” 

Nikula regarded him skeptically.  “You really don’t know, do you?  I’ve watched you struggle to establish a network of contacts.”

“I never needed one before.”  Demerci tried to sound bland, but a tinge of resentment crept in.

“Yes, I see that now,” she finally said.  “There was no second jump, but there were additional dropships trailing the fleet.  They carried mechs and elementals that Sender did not disclose.  Nevertheless, I believe they sincerely intend to conquer this planet with the forces they bid.”

So, you have finally decided to trust me.  “Their intentions may be sincere, but they are also self-serving.  They want to limit the scope of the conflict to avoid straining their supply chain.  Their bid has focused our attention on the strike groups and away from the vulnerable garrisons.  I believe that the Clan has exhausted its reserves.”

“If you are wrong, and the Clan reinforces heavily, our forces risk being caught in the open.” 

… and annihilated.   “We need to start exploring high risk options.  Meyer has been imploring us to take the offensive from the start.”

Nikula nodded distractedly.  “Our situation is indeed becoming desperate.  The Clan is shifting two stars and the elementals north to subdue Meyer.  He believes he could hold the capital for a week or two at most.  One star has been left to intercept the Fourth Huskarl as it moves north to assist.  Colonel Olmet is proposing your plan to strike south and liberate Duluth first.  I’m inclined to agree.  Any losses we can inflict here will weaken the Clan’s next attack.”

“You think he plans to assault other worlds?”  Demerci still assumed that Sender would withdraw from St. John once he got what he wanted.

“Sender talks as if he has superiors and peers.  He fears that mere success will be overshadowed by others within the Clan.  Furthermore, Sender couldn’t expect to hold the planet against a concerted response.  I believe Clan Wolf has launched a full scale invasion of the Republic.”

From where?  Trying to explain Sender’s presence defies imagination.  So why couldn’t there be a whole wave of such attacks?  “If that’s true, we are not likely to see our families again.”

“Don’t be so sure.  The Kempten’s Shimmer made an emergency in-system jump when the Clan arrived.  We may be able to slip something past the blockade.  I want you to assist in optimizing the loadouts for a potential escape; I understand you are good at that.  But first you will be assisting Lieutenant-Colonel Olmet’s staff in retaking Duluth.  I will upgrade your operational clearance accordingly.”

[Cidwm]

Nice to see an update on the story. An enjoyable read.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 5-2

St. John
25 March 3050

Thunder rolled up from the southwest, low and distant, but strong.  Thjálfi Soren caressed the hammer pendant that hung at his chest.  Battle approached, and Thor, protector of humanity, shrouded the flotilla with heavy clouds through the brief St. John night.  Most of the crews had taken cover to avoid the constant drizzle, But Soren preferred to pray in the open air.  The light in the eastern sky now cut through gaps in the clouds, and it was possible to see the first wave of ships unloading.  Soren imagined himself at the oar of a longboat.  This is in my blood.

Soren came from a line of warriors from the planet Kufstein.  His great uncle had been a mechwarrior until fate cast him down to the dispossessed, but the martial traditions carried on.  Soren was an eager militia cadet when the call came to form the Huskarls.  He volunteered immediately for the chance to join the KungsArmé.  The agressive Huskarl ethos matched his own.  He was now a professional soldier who fought to defend his nation and its people.  More than that, he was a warrior who embraced a primal need for combat.  Odin, All-Father, here stands Thjálfi of clan Soren.  Today I seek battle, that I might bring glory to us both.  May the blood of my enemies be proof of my devotion.  Soren imagined returning to Kufstein in triumph.  His colony of Uusi Viro was a Modern Norse enclave, and he would be celebrated accordingly.  Teresa would marry him and bear him sons who would one day fight, but never against such an awesome foe as he was about to vanquish.

A soldier called, “Sarge says load up.”  Soren went below deck where his Gustav waited.  Isayev supervised as Nari tightened down the nuts securing the wheels.  Soren began double checking the pop-up cameras and periscopes, then he diligently cleaned the targeting cameras housed just above and below the Gustav’s gun.  This particular Gustav was not the one Isayev called “Janelle,” but it was just as good.  Or rather it had been until the Clan started shooting it up.  Now there were places where the outer armor plates didn’t quite meet because of hasty work by civilian techs.  Isayev told Nari not to expose the left side if he could help it.  That was no concern to Soren; his only job was to put rounds on target.

“All systems check?” asked Isayev.  “Alright, load up.  It’s time to hunt down some wolves.  May God grant us victory.”

My gods don’t grant victory.  I must forge it for them. The KungsArmé was distinctly Protestant, especially among the officers, but Modern Norse was well represented among the Huskarl lower ranks.  The saying went, “Lutherans lead, Norse fight.”

Soren climbed down the gunner’s hatch and took his place.  He donned the bulky helmet that blocked out the cacophony inside a tank and replaced it with the voices of his commanders and crew.  After a series of audio checks, he activated the small tac-display to his left.  He would check the primary targeting display once they disembarked.  Slightly above and to his right was the heart soul of the Gustav, the OMBT Class 10 Autocannon.  Produced by Odin Manufacturing, it was often called the Odin, even by its non-believing gunners.  An auto-loader fed it 120mm shells and could rapidly switch between conventional and cluster munitions.

Soren’s lance was aboard a small ship that had been gutted out to carry them.  The ship shuddered as it ran aground near the edge of the river.  The engineer detonated charges that blew open a section of the hull, allowing the tanks to quickly unload.   Soon the lance had formed up and set out for its objective, leaving behind the spent husk of the ship.

“This thing still wants to pull left.  It’s been that way since Downtown,” Nari informed them once again.

“Maybe it’s still just nerves after you pissed your pants.” Isayev chided.

“I told you that was hydraulic fluid, you ass.”

“Yeah,” Isayev said, “you did say that.”

“You saw the burst line in the driver’s compartment,” Nari said.

“Funny it never got on your jacket though.  But not everyone can be as brave as me and Soren.”

“It’s easy for you guys,” Nari said.  “No god is gunna scoop my guts out of this coffin if we get toasted.”

“Fight like a warrior,” said Soren, “and I’ll pick you up on my way out.”

They arrived at a small hill where defensive works overlooking Duluth were taking shape.  A few hundred infantrymen were digging in with shovels.  They carried short-range shoulder-fired rockets that were barely capable of damaging mech armor, but they no longer bothered with their rifles.  Near the hilltop, seven self-propelled Thumpers were nestled into the reverse slope of the hill, four of which were borrowed from Second Battalion.  Soren’s lance took a position behind a newly made earthwork at the base of the hill.  From there, they were concealed from direct fire and could swing around either side to engage.

As the last of the tanks took their places, Olmet spoke to his battalion.  “We will now retake the city of Duluth.  We have no possibility of retreat and no other path.  The Free Brigades have launched a successful diversionary attack, and our own Second Battalion is heavily engaged to buy time for our assault.  The fate of this planet now rests squarely on your shoulders.  I know that you will triumph for the sake of our people and your fellows of the Black Horse.  Once we succeed, we will have a new stronghold and new allies.  We will have the strength to relieve Meyer and demonstrate to the Clan that they cannot conquer this world.”

With that, a Thumper opened fire.  There was a short pause for the spotters in Duluth to report, then the gun fired again.  Again there was a pause, then the seven guns fired together and commenced a sustained bombardment.  Although Soren could not hear the artillery through his helmet, he could feel the ground tremble beneath him. 

“They’re pounding that dropship,” said Isayev.

“If we take the city, you think we can really win?” asked Nari.

“No idea,” said Isayev.  There was nothing else to say.

Soren tried not to think.  He didn’t like to ask questions like, “Can we win?”  It doesn’t really matter.  Win or lose, live or die.  Those are matters for fate.  I’m just a man, and my role is to fight.  When the Valkyries come, victor and vanquished are judged the same.  They will judge me worthy, … but what if I live?  Not so simple then. He closed his eyes, and there was neither sight nor sound, only the measured rumbling of the artillery.

Soren lost track of time, but noticed immediately when the bombardment ceased.  Olmet announced, “Huskarls, the enemy commander has offered to surrender the city if we can defeat her forces in open battle.  She commands elements of the Gurbeng Garrison Cluster which are separate from Ramon Sender’s command, and she feels that Sender has not properly demonstrated the honor of Clan Wolf.  I have agreed to her request for a single, decisive battle.  If we are victorious, she will surrender the city and her surviving forces, if we are not, I will surrender my entire command.  As you know, we have enemies closing in, so the opportunity for an immediate resolution serves our strategy.    I have studied the tactical situation, and I have every confidence of victory.  Therefore, our Gustav tanks will fight alone against three mechs and thirteen battle armor at a place called Hokkaido Park.  We will be departing immediately.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 5-3

St. John
25 March 3050

Soren studied the topography of Hokkaido Park on his tac-display.  A large hill dominated the northwest corner, and there were a few wooded patches.  It was reasonably good defensive ground, but it was quite small.  Why do they want to fight here?  They don’t have room to keep us at range for long, and they can’t win toe to toe.  Are they trying to lure us out where we’re sitting ducks for their air power?  Olmet sure has a lot of faith in the honor of these glorified pirates.

The battle plan was simple.  Their two companies would push straight across while preventing anyone from skirting around the narrow sides.  They would press the Clan to the northern edge and trap them there.  Like a chess player with more pieces, they just needed to keep forcing trades until their material advantage proved decisive.

Soren switched to the cameras, and as the park came into view, he didn’t like what he saw.  “Isa, you better take a look on the optical.  Did anyone actually see this place before we agreed to fight here?”

“Hold on, we just got new deployments,” Isayev said, “but patch it in for second, and I’ll take a – Oh, … the damn thing is practically terraced.  Nari, you getting this?  I hope you’ve got your climbing boots on.”  The maps failed to indicate that the elevation changes were actually a series of steep embankments.  Though each was only a little over a meter tall, they presented a significant hurdle to the tanks.  To make matters worse, the ledges would make it easier for the mechs to reveal themselves to only a few tanks at a time.

When they arrived a few minutes later, there was no pep talk from Olmet, only orders to form up tight and focus on the mechs.  No doubt he was busy making last minute adaptations.  Alpha Company deployed on the west, directly across from the hill.  Bravo Company faced a small depression on the east side, but beyond that, the ground was mostly level.  Just south of the park, two lances of Spyds and four Sentries waited to intervene at the first sign of treachery.  Soren took a moment to pity the Spyd crews who were reduced to spectators of their own fate.

Three mechs appeared at the top of the hill.  Their red paint glistened against the drab sky.  Frost Giants.  Big, always cold, and my enemy.  But these particular mechs looked vaguely familiar.  Could that middle one be a Flashman, and the skinny one’s maybe a Lancelot?

The Flashman stepped forward and announced, “I am Mechwarrior Lanfen of Clan Wolf.  It is my duty to defend the city of Duluth with three battlemechs and thirteen Elementals.  On behalf of Epsilon Galaxy, we will uphold the true honor of Clan Wolf.  You have bid twenty-three Gustav tanks.  We await your attack.”

Alpha Company had orders to hold while Bravo advanced.  The mechs dashed into battle.  Their lasers flashed across the field toward the tanks of Bravo.  “One thing I’ll say for the Clanners,” said Nari, “they don’t keep you waiting.”

After several long seconds, Soren’s company charged into action.  The Black Horse tanks were paired up in the hope that any mech that had a clear shot at one would take return fire from both.  Tight formation was tactically potent, but disfavored due to its vulnerability to artillery and bombs.  Soren looked suspiciously to the low clouds.

The mechs continued to fire on Bravo Company while denying battle to Alpha.  The blaze of an Exterminator’s powerful jump jets caught Soren’s eye.   He took aim where the mech would land, but it dropped out of view as they approached the first embankment.  Nari had found a spot that was not quite so steep.  The treads climbed half way up, then carved into the slope like a chainsaw, collapsing the top of the ridge.  Nari reversed then charged the weakened point.  The Gustav’s weight compressed the ground beneath them, and the treads found purchase. 

Once they cleared the ridge, Soren saw the mechs shifting east.  They were giving up the high ground, but also using it to keep him from getting a clear shot.  Bravo Company reached the far edge of the depression and came under more accurate fire as they climbed out.  Their formation was beggining to fray as tanks became damaged and fell behind, but Bravo was now returning fire. 

For a couple seconds, the Exterminator’s upper body peeked above the high ground.  “Steady,” Soren requested as he pressed his foot into the firing pedal.  The Gustav’s Odin gun recoiled in rapid succession as it sent a few rounds screaming toward the enemy.  The shells missed, but the shock inside the turret jolted Soren into full battle readiness. 

The Clan mechs fell back allowing Soren only fleeting glimpses.  They had seriously damaged several tanks already, while only a single Gustav had scored a hit, but the Huskarls were gaining ground.  Bravo had secured a solid position on the eastern side, while Alpha continued up the hill.  Bravo absorbed laser fire and returned AP shells.  A chorus of cheers came over the comm indicating that Bravo was finally getting in some hits.

Soren’s tank cleared a second embankment and closed directly on the mechs to the northeast.  He watched impatiently as they seemed to always be just around the corner or behind a ridge.  Then the Exterminator dashed into view as it closed to use its medium lasers.  It’s another tough shot, but I can feel this one.  Thank the gods for the Odin.  The Gustav’s advanced autocannon provided a keen edge for the otherwise unremarkable tank, and its additional range helped to even the odds against the Clan’s superior weapons.

“Steady,” Soren said, but Isayev was shouting something.  The tank lurched just as he fired.  “Damnit Nari …” but even as he said it, he could see Elementals landing around them.  Unlike the mechs, they were painted in the purple-brown of the local undergrowth.  Soren heard the sharp clang, even through his helmet, as an armored soldier slammed into their turret.  Nari put them in a rapid reverse causing a second Elemental to slide off their hull.  Their partner tank was not as quick, and Elementals clung on like rodeo champions.  The Elemental on their turret fired once, then hopped over to join its fellows on the other tank.  Soren switched to cluster rounds.  “Give me a shot, I can pick them off.”

“Negative, advance on the mechs,” Isayev ordered.  Ahead of them, Bravo was dealing with Elementals too.  The armored warriors swarmed one tank, but a smaller group had mistimed its jump, and instead was forced to trade fire.  Then the tank from Bravo dislodged its tormentors and left them in a heap.  “All guns on that battle armor,” said Isayev, echoing the orders he just received.  Soren set their sole gun for a tight cluster spread.  As the Elementals were getting to their feet, he fired.  Although he preferred the precision of standard rounds, his clusters ripped into them.  From much closer, the guns of Bravo battered them from multiple sides, but they shrugged off the damage and jumped onto their target once again.

Soren looked back to see their doomed partner tank heroically carry its attackers away from the fight.  The other two Elemental teams stood right in Bravo’s path.  They latched onto the tanks like ants attacking a beetle, tenaciously hobbling, then crippling, then killing.  Bravo was in disarray; nevertheless, the lead tanks charged up another ridge and through the trees where the Elementals had been hiding, all the while taking punishing fire.

Two lances from Alpha continued toward the top of the hill, but the three remaining tanks from Soren’s lance drove straight at the enemy mechs.  Soren targeted the Lancelot, aiming for the center of mass as he had been trained.  It danced back as its lasers sliced the barrel from a Gustav.  Soren launched a burst of shots and watched them pass within a decimeter of the mech’s slim profile.  Other tanks from Alpha were adding their firepower now too.

“Come right 60 degrees,” Isayev ordered.  “We’ll cut them off.”  Soren adjusted his aim as Nari took the turn.  The mechs had almost run out of room and were starting to take significant damage.  They could have easily crossed the street to maintain distance or simply disappeared into the city.  Instead they broke for the eastern edge of the park, again choosing to take on Bravo Company.  Soren fired on the slower moving Flashman and rejoiced at seeing his rounds detonate against its leg.  The Flashman returned fire and melted a divot out of their frontal armor.  Isayev’s decision paid off as they merged with the lead elements of Bravo now racing to intercept the mechs trying to slip behind them. 

The Flashman had stood its ground just a little too long and found itself trapped in the northeast corner, but the faster Lancelot and Exterminator had slipped around the defenders and threatened to break free.  Even as they ran for their lives, the mechwarriors rotated to keep up as much fire as their heat sinks would allow. 

The Lancelot is the bigger threat.  Soren lined up his shot then broke procedure to clutch his pendant as he fired.   He hit the Lancelot dead center blasting rents in its armor.  Most of the other gunners were not so successful.  The heat was becoming oppressive, and he tore off his jacket while avoiding moving parts of the auto-loader, which competed for the scarce space inside the Gustav.  Meanwhile the mechs knocked out the two lead tanks, thus clearing their way.  But one of the Gustavs with a damaged wheel had fallen behind.  It was only now clearing the ridge and was in position to fire as the mechs ran by.  Two of the rounds smashed through the Lancelot’s weakened central armor and into its guts.  After two unsteady steps, it collapsed.  Soren turned his gun on the Exterminator. 

“On our left!” Isayev shouted.  Soren checked to see the Flashman had fallen back to take aim at their exposed side.  He toggled back to the firing cam and tried to get off a quick shot at the Exterminator.  Suddenly, a blast of pressure buffeted him.  His vision blurred out, and his ears rang.  For a second, he forgot what he was doing, then he remembered his target.  But the turret wouldn’t move.  It was so hard to see, and to breath.  Air, I need air. Soren climbed up and opened the hatch.  He flopped halfway out and gasped.

“Isa, Nari,” he called into his comm.  Heat and smoke poured from the hatch, but Soren gulped down a breath and ducked back inside.  He found Isayev unconscious and pinned by his legs.  He struggled to pull him free, but he felt weak.  He soon ran out of breath and sucked in smoke.  He began to swoon and barely made it back out.  Next he slinked to the driver’s hatch and got it open.  The smoke wasn’t as bad there.  He was able to rouse Nari and help him out of the crippled tank.  “We have to get Isa,” but even as he said it, he could see thick smoke still billowing out the hatch.

Soren and Nari dragged themselves a small distance then took stock of the battle.  The Lancelot lay near where it had first fallen.  It now glowed the iridescent red of a reactor failure.  The Flashman lay in ruins to the north.  Several tanks were finishing off the Elementals from a respectful distance.  The Exterminator had moved into the center of the park, but it foolishly refused to withdraw further.  The Gustav could match its lasers for range, and the much depleted remains of the Huskarl force regrouped to take down the last remaining mech.  Eventually, they battered it to the ground.  Despite an apparently ruined gyro, the mechwarrior refused to surrender.  The Gustavs fired round after round into the prone mech until it was was still.

Then the hatches opened and men and women poked their heads out, shouting and waving their arms.  The rest of the battalion approached, including the medical staff.  Soren and Nari sat in silence.  From the city center, a dropship rose into the sky leaving Duluth to the Black Horse.

[Siegfried Marcus]

I now have a write-up for the Fourth Huskarl in the Non-Canon Units section.
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=55453.0

Also, I'm thinking of posting this story a whole chapter at a time.  I just can't get it posted as quickly as I had imagined, so maybe it makes more sense to just allow a longer break with fewer installments. 

[Hellfire]

This story is growing on me. The start was a little rough, but it's getting better.

The begging of the story just didn't sell how alien the Clans are. There is no surprise at the appearance of battle armor for the first time or any mention of coming up with all of those names for mechs. Characters in story (not a narrator) knowing all of the correct Inner Sphere names for mechs in the first wave of the invasion breaks my suspension of disbelief.

That said this story is pretty good and has a unique bent so keep it up.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Thanks for offering your views Hellfire, and I'm glad you are getting into the story.  As far as the Clan mech names, I deliberately fudged them.  When I first refer to one by name, I say it "would soon be known as" to try to indicate that the story uses the cannon name even though it would not be in use at the time.  Keep in mind, the dialogue would generally be spoken in Swedenese, so that what you are reading is a "translation."  Realistically, the defenders on St. John would have come up with their own names in Swedenese for the mechs.  Consider the canon names used in the story to be the English translations of whatever words they would be using.  I thought it was expecting too much of my readers to learn yet more names for the Clan mechs.  Incidentally, Nikula speaks English with Sender, so they can communicate directly.

[ckosacranoid]

Took a while before I treied reading this story. But pretty cool when I started reading and nice to see some tankers getting the spotlight over the jocks.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 6-1

St. John
30 March 3050

Nikula did not typically attend these strategy briefings because Meyer and his people resented her involvement enough already.  Meyer had invited her, perhaps to show good-will for her releasing the Fifth Brigade.  She reasoned that if Sender could use forces outside the bid to garrison a captured city, so could she.  They had officially recaptured Duluth from the Epsilon forces defending it, so she authorized the Fifth Brigade to garrison it.  The brigade had been distant and scattered when Clan Wolf landed, but over the last month, they had assembled and arrived at the front.  She had sent a carefully worded message to that effect, but received no response.

At the front of the room, a staff officer summarized the situation in the south.  “Due to political constraints, the entire Fifth Brigade is restricted to defending Duluth.  We expect this to deter any attacks for now.  In addition, The Fourth Brigade’s missing battalion has arrived In Duluth and is free to exert control over the surrounding area.  Everything else is moving to join us under Task Group South.  This consists of Free Brigade and KungsArmé forces, as well as a large supply train.”

 “We have reorganized the Sixth Brigade as the 16th Regiment.  That includes their battalion arriving by sea.”  The display shifted from a map, to icons illustrating how three tattered regiments were scrunched into less than one, then topped off with a previously missing battalion.  “We have reassigned the best equipment to the more experienced soldiers.”

Next icons representing the Fourth Huskarl appeared.  The First and Third Battalions looked respectable enough despite heavy losses, but there was a lot of white space in between.  The Second Battalion’s two tank companies had been completely overrun.  While the First had been retaking Duluth, the Second had engaged a mech star that was attempting to relieve the city.  The tanks had a good position in the woods, and they pushed back the Clan’s first attempt to break through.  Then, nearly a star of Elementals cut through the infantry defending their rear.  They set upon Alpha Company, killing many tanks and throwing the entire force into disarray.  Then mechs used incendiaries to hem in the Huskarls while the Elementals forced them into the open where the mechs’ speed and range proved decisive.  Second Charlie’s hovercraft briefly tried to support, but accomplished little.  The fighting was over in a few minutes, and the remaining Huskarl tankers surrendered.  They had lost two companies; the Clan units withdrew for repairs. 

The speaker continued, “The 16th Regiment will be joined by the Fourth Huskarl, fielding about 40 tanks and many lighter vehicles.  Assuming they arrive successfully, the Huskarls’ role will be to help stabilize any breakthrough in our defenses and punish any mechs operating in urban areas.  They provide the firepower to challenge the Clan presence.  In other words, solid defense to go with our counterattacking game.”  That’s odd.  I have always heard infantry should defend cities while armor counterattacks.

“The advance consists of a series of short dashes between good defensive positions.  While both armor and infantry are vulnerable alone, a mixed force succeeded in driving back multiple stars at Joplin.  We anticipate that the Clan will challenge our advance, but there still seems to be only one star in position to do so.”  The map indicated places where the Republic’s forces could bunker down if they came under attack.  Currently, they were 370 km north of Joplin and ahead of schedule.

The presentation then turned to the possibility that the Clan would try to collapse Meyer’s position before reinforcements arrived.  Oddly, the Wolves were not positioned to do this either.  By all appearances, they were hanging back.  Have they finally decided we are too tough to chew?  Perhaps they will realize we are not worth the trouble after all.  Now that we control Duluth, the Clan will have to cede the entire southern region because they can’t afford to garrison it.  Sender might exceed his bid, but that would unleash the Third Brigade.  Assuming morale holds and the supply train arrives, we can make them pay dearly in either time or blood.   

Mikhail, her aid, came up and whispered in her ear.  Meyer noticed and said,  “That’s Sender, right?  I figured if he wasn’t going to fight, he must want to talk.  I’d like to be in on this.” 

“Of course,” said Nikula.  Although I would rather you weren’t.  Is that why you invited me here?  “You should issue a heightened alert, Colonel.”

When they arrived, Sender refused to open a channel.  Instead, he sent a transmission.  He was dressed just as he had been when she first saw him.  His mystique had faded revealing the frustration of the man underneath.

He said, “You have made a mockery of batchal.  I offered you the opportunity to prove yourselves worthy of joining our warrior caste.  Instead, you have proven to be a disgrace.  I will no longer subject myself to this farce, and I no longer have time for your delaying tactics.  You have chosen to refuse battle; therefore, you must surrender this planet and all its forces unconditionally.  Since you have waged war without distinction between warrior and civilian, now so shall I.  I will strike directly at the civilian population whom you hypocritically claim to defend.  You failed to defeat me in honorable combat, and now you must admit as much.  I will give you one hour to submit for the sake of your people.”

They both sat stunned.  Meyer spoke first, “We have no answer to his air power.  My guys can dig in and hold out a while longer, but they can’t protect civilian targets.  And for what?  It’s been almost a month and no word on reinforcements.  We’ve done everything we can.”

“Sender could be bluffing,” Nikula said as she grasped for a better argument.

“He wasn’t bluffing when he showed up here.  I don’t like it, but there’s no other way.  If they stuck to the bid, we might have won.  We both know that was our only chance.”

“He won’t do it.  He can’t achieve glory by bombing civilians.  It goes against everything I know of them.”

Meyer slammed down his fist, “This isn’t about how clever you are.  You can’t beat Sender at his own game because he’ll just change the rules.  Stop pretending like you know how the Clanners think.  For all we know, they’ll nuke the whole planet if we don’t live up to their expectations.  I’m not going to risk our people for nothing.”  He waited for a response, but received none.  “I have to figure out what to say to the troops,” he said as he walked out.  He’s right.  I don’t know what the Clan will do.  And if I don’t know, then I must find out.  If we surrender now, we ensure that the same threat will be made on every world.  We must challenge them; either they will back down, or they will reveal to us the true monsters we face.

As she watched the replay, Nikula noted the phrase: “this planet and all its forces.”  Of course, she knew what Sender meant, but she felt an impish desire to exploit the technicality that the Huskarls were not “this planet’s” forces.  Look where that approach has gotten you … but it’s not just a technicality.  The Fourth Huskarl isn’t from here.  They don’t have lives and families here.  They are part of the KungsArmé, so they owe their allegiance directly to the Prince and the Republic … at least in theory.

She placed a call to Colonel Wahlgren.  “Colonel, I have often wondered where your loyalties lie.  Tell me now.”

“To the Republic and the Prince,” bristled Wahlgren, “and to my regiment.”  The last addition was sometimes seen as a way of admitting to a bit of careerism: to being an officer who looks out for his own, and maybe incidentally, himself.

It will have to do.  You’re the only Colonel I’ve got. “Sender has threatened to attack civilians directly unless our forces surrender.  Meyer is unwilling to risk the local population, but the Republic cannot countenance such an ultimatum.  I need a plan to hit the Clan hard in the next one to three hours.  It has to be fast, and it has to be your people only.  Make ready to move your most essential personnel to Duluth immediately after the strike.  There you will board a dropship which will be leaving this system.”

“So, you want me to poke the Wolf in the eye and then run away?” he asked flatly.

“I need you to force the issue.  We need to know what the Clan is really willing to do, and whether our people will continue to resist.  Furthermore, if Meyer surrenders, you can serve the KungsArmé best by escaping.  This might be our only chance to slip the blockade.”  And if that furthers your ambitions, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.

Wahlgren said, “Understood.”

Nikula ended the call and turned to her aid.  “Take us to the Riziryanto Maru.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 6-2

St. John
30 March 3050

Olson awoke with a start.  Her dreams left an aftertaste of death.  Senn shook her shoulder.  He was one of the guys from First Lance.  Everything left of the company was hers now.  “The Colonel wants to talk to you,” he said.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“All quiet,” Senn reported.  “Militia just got orders to pull back.  Some kind of cease-fire, I hear.” 

She had to fire up her Jackal to use the Huskarl channel.  Colonel Wahlgren said, “Corporal, we have orders to sting hard with any and all assets, carte blanch.  I know you don’t have much left, so I’m putting Second Charlie at your disposal.  You and the helos are to find and destroy a patrolling mech, preferably a lone one.  How quickly can your people locate a target?”

“I usually rely on the militia for recon; they have better stealth.  Our people are mostly lighting up collaborator patrols because the militia don’t want to be the ones to do it.”

Wahlgren’s tone hardened, “Yes, well the Huskarls are here to do what the militia will not.  That’s why this entire operation is on us.  Do not inform the militia.”

“Colonel, I don’t like that.  I rely on them for everything.  And what’s this about a cease-fire?”  When did I start questioning the Colonel?  She expected to be rebuked.

Instead, Wahlgren hesitated, then spoke with a disquieting tenderness.  “There is no cease-fire, only the chance for submission.  The Clan has threatened to slaughter civilians unless everyone surrenders, but we will not be subdued by threats.  We will galvanize the resistance and show that a free people cannot be conquered by intimidation.”

“All assets, carte blanch?”  Olson pondered for a moment.  “First, let’s get some Jackals raising hell around Violetstone.  Wait …”  A new idea began to shape.  “You said sting?  What are those rocket choppers?  They’re fast.  Do we still have them?”

“We have three Karnovs,” Wahlgren said, “but don’t overestimate them.  Those rockets don’t have much AP or accuracy.”

“They only need to hit the broad side of a barn.  Prep the Karnovs; pull everyone else back.  Let’s let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Explain, Corporal.”

She explained, and Wahlgren approved her plan.  She decided to go out alone.  There was no need for her lance’s minimal firepower.  Despite her every effort to avoid combat with mechs, her active forces had dwindled to three Jackals.  We still outperform Second Charlie.  Man for man, no one does more to keep the Clan running in circles. 

As she finished gearing up, Forsyth, her deputized Huskarl, approached.  She didn’t have a Jackal for him anymore, but he still came around.  “You going out?” he asked.

“Not for long,” she said, “just to the 131 junction.  We’re standing down.”

“That’s rubbish.  I can see it on your face.  That’s your war face.  Look, this isn’t just a cease-fire, I heard from a major that the Clan has launched all its fighters, and they will bomb the cities at the first sign of trouble.  You promised to help protect us.”

“No,” said Olson, “I promised we’d stand beside you to fight the Clan.  Do you really want to surrender to anyone who would target civilians like that?”

He stepped in front of her, and put his hand firmly on her shoulder.  “You don’t have to do this.  You can’t.”   

Olson drew her side arm and aimed it at his chest.  What do you see on my face now? “Senn,” she called, “place Forsyth under arrest.  Don’t allow him to leave or communicate.”  Olson handed Senn her gun.  She still had another stashed in her Jackal. 

It didn’t take long to get in as close as she dared.  She hid her Jackal in some trees along the bank of a dry stream and changed into camo.  She hadn’t been down in the weeds like this since Aulum.  The knee high grain was damp and offered little cover as she ran.  On her right, a searchlight lit up.  She dropped to the ground in terror.  The Clan’s collaborator sentries aren’t very motivated. That thought helped a bit.  Demerci would say it’s a problem of incentives and probably suggest putting a bounty on my head.  Then he’d figure out how much it was worth.  These particular sentries passed her by.

The Clan was refitting in open, isolated places to reduce the risk of raids and sabotage.  There was no doubt when she had found the right place.  It was a large two-story farmhouse.  In front stood two battlemechs, a Mad Cat and a Gargoyle, each prepped for service in a free standing sort of frame.  A pair of Elementals stood guard, while a Puma patrolled the area.  The lights of the ground floor were on.  Olson sent the location and attack vector to the Karnovs, which were already airborne.  The two idle mechs and their mechwarriors were bid forces, more than fair game in Olson’s view.

Minutes crawled by, then she could just hear the helos approaching.  The lights went on upstairs, and the Puma returned from its patrol.  The helos rapidly grew louder.  Someone came scrambling out of the house.  The figure leaped onto the scaffolding surrounding the MadCat and began climbing furiously.  Definitely a mechwarrior. 

The Puma charged forward and began firing.  Then the whole scene lit up as two Karnovs each fired 140 rockets.  The wave of rockets chewed through the farmhouse and the shockwave blasted it to splinters.  Rockets also fell in clumps all around it.  One of the Karnovs had been hit.  It tumbled, burning, from the sky.  The mechwarrior had somehow held on and continued the climb.  Then the last helo fired showering the two standing mechs, and, more importantly, the scaffolding around them, which was reduced to a broken and twisted heap.  If that doesn’t piss off the Clanners, I don’t know what will.  The thunderous boom of the first salvo crashed by.  Olson turned and ran.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 6-3

DropShip Riziryanto Maru, Rodigo system
10 April 3050

The remains of Wahlgren’s Black Horse regiment had escaped aboard the Riziryanto Maru, a decrepit Fury class DropShip.  The vehicle bays and most of the amenities had been stripped out when it was converted to civilian use decades ago.  When the Clan arrived, it had been undergoing repairs, which meant it couldn’t flee before the army requisitioned it.  There had been other ships available to the regiment, but this had been the least conspicuous.  The Clan didn’t suspected that over 400 Huskarls were on board, including all his officers, all the crewmen fit for combat, and the most indispensable techs.  Hundreds more had been left behind, including the seriously wounded.

The ship was terribly overcrowded as it was.  Besides the Huskarls there were a couple dozen passengers whose status or station earned them a place.  People took turns two to a bunk, most of which had been hastily added.  The rest of the time they spent huddled on or between cargo containers.  Everyone had been on quarter rations until food ran out yesterday.  The overworked purifiers left a hint of urine in the water.  Sanitation was inadequate, and people were getting sick.  This is the worst I’ve seen in my 30 years.  When he complained to Demerci he got a feeble smile and the reassurance: “All according to plan.  So far, so good.”

Furthermore, a pall of unspoken guilt hung over the regiment.  Neither Wahlgren nor his soldiers could shake the feeling that they had betrayed their own people.  The Huskarls they had left behind would pay for the sins of those who escaped.  Both the locals and the Clan were furious about the Karnov strike.  As they had rocketed away from St. John, several cities were already ablaze.  The fighters that might have challenged their escape were preoccupied murdering people below.

And that wasn’t even the bad news.  They soon learned that Clan Wolf had conquered the entire periphery border region, at least half a dozen worlds.  When they arrived in the Rodigo system, it was all but abandoned.  The Kuolan Niemimaa was the only other jump ship in the system.  All the commercial ships had fled, and the Republic’s own fleet was in disarray.  Command/control was breaking down as Fleet Command ordered one thing and the Prince another.   

Along with grim news, the Kuolan Niemimaa provided salvation; they were sending desperately needed provisions.  Furthermore, most of the Riziryanto Maru’s passengers would be transferred to other drop ships bound for Rasalhague.  The First Battalion, however, would remain aboard and return with the Kempten’s Shimmer to the Fourth Huskarl’s base world of Kirchbach.

Wahlgren had been reluctant to split his command, but there was limited room with the Rasalhague bound ship.  He refused to cram his people in for another two jumps of misery.  This plan also allowed him to satisfy the Prince’s demand to defend outlying planets, while putting himself on the capital world. 

Major Jesper Al-Bishi, Wahlgren’s XO, entered the bridge which now doubled as the regimental HQ.  He was one of the better young officers in the KungsArmé, but an Arabic surname could hold back a promising career, especially in the Huskalrs.  Yet Al-Bishi insisted on joining and eagerly adopted the unique Huskarl ethos.  He had just informed the soldiers of their assignments.  “Well?” Wahlgren asked him.

“They’re spent sir, too exhausted to care if they’re going to Rasalhague or Kirchbach.  They just want something to eat and a chance to stretch their legs.  And we still have a few weeks of travel ahead …”

Even Jesper’s worn down.  This is my last day with the full regiment, I’ve got to pull them together.  I won’t have my Black Horse fall apart. “Get me coffee.”

“There’s no coffee sir.  I’ve got some amphetamines.”  Al-Bishi began digging through his pockets.

“Forget it.  I’m going to address the men – in person.”  Wahlgren felt a small surge of invigoration.

“Sir, you look as bad as they do.  Take the stims, wash up, collect your thoughts.”  Al-Bishi extended his hand and offered two small pills.  They had become discolored and grubby.

Wahlgren wanted to argue, but he lacked the energy.  He took the pills.  “Hang our banner at the front of the main bay.”  Half an hour later, he stood before his regiment.

“Men and women of the Black Horse, you have performed superbly.  No regiment in the history of our nation has fought harder or sacrificed more.  I wish I could send you all home with a medal on your chest, God knows you’ve earned it, but our work isn’t finished.  The Republic, and our people, require more of us.  The worst is yet to come, and I regret that I must ask you to fight on, perhaps even to die.

“I know every one of you will perform your duty, as your fallen comrades have.  Not a soldier among you will falter so long as our people are in peril because you are the Huskarls of the Black Horse.  You chose to be here, and you gave your oath.  Ours is the only free nation in all humanity, and a free people cannot survive as slaves.  So though the sacrifice is great, you will earn recognition for your comrades, honor for yourselves, and survival for your families. 

“You are now the Black Horse, and the legacy of your fallen comrades rides with you.  There’s only one reason we escaped while our fellows did not: fate.  Fate spared us so that we can defeat Clan Wolf.  That is now our destiny.  Fate has given us the honor of avenging our fellows and saving our people.  And we will defeat the Clan.  Despite their technology, and their cunning, and their treachery, they cannot vanquish us. 

“You have been through the crucible and emerged the most hardened warriors this side of Valhalla.  You are now more than combatants; you are exemplary soldiers.  It is no longer enough that you fight heroically, you must lead as well.  The KungsArmé will look to you, and you will not allow them to be thrown to the wolves as you have been.  So I ask still more of you.  Though we suffer, it is time to step up and accept greater responsibility because you are the only ones left who can.  The fate of our people lies on your shoulders, and you will prevail!”

The Huskarls managed a feeble cheer.  It reflected their exhaustion, despair, and misery, but under that was the edge of defiance.  Wahlgren smiled, and the cheer did not die.  It grew stronger as each person drew strength from the others.  Then a ragged voice managed two distinct syllables.  “Black Horse.”  Others picked up the cry. “Black Horse.  Black Horse.”  Unexpectedly, Wahlgren’s eyes flooded with tears.  The chant echoed through the metal shell surrounded by void.  “Black Horse.  Black Horse.  Black Horse.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

I've shown the Black Horse strength as of 30 March 3050 in the Non-Canon units section.
http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php?topic=55453.0   
Reply #3

Edit: I'm going to start labeling my posts Chapter X-1, X-2, etc. so that each post has a heading.  I also retouched that awkard fourth paragraph in 6-1 where I recap how the Huskarls lost two companies when we weren't looking.  I meant to bring out the Elementals' contribution more; I agree with Hellfire that I haven't done the best job with them.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 7-1

St. John
12 April 3050

Nikula lay in bed stoking her resentment.  Today’s meditation was on ComStar: their evasiveness, implausible excuses, and contrite eyes.  Their support for the Republic was opportunistic at best, they’ve simply found a more suitable counterweight to the great houses.  Or maybe they intended us as feeder fish for these Clans all along.  I wouldn’t put anything past ComStar.

She resolved to learn what she could of the invaders and somehow get the information back to Rasalhague … home.  For generations, her blood was enmeshed with the nation.  By Providence, she had lived to see independence and to see her children find worthy places within the state.  Jalamari managed his father's barley estates and had four children.  Valter taught mathematics at Southern Hainfeld University and married a woman of comfortable means.  Karoliina married a military man and followed her mother’s path into the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. God willing, the Prince will recognize my service and promote her to my place.   

A stocky Clan orderly came to tell her to get up and prepare to meet with the counselor.  Although stern, she lacked the glaring sense of superiority found in Clan warriors.  Nikula rose from her bunk and grabbed the clothes that had been laid out for her.  The orderly gave her seven minutes in the bathroom, including 120 seconds to shower. 

Nikula tried to reclaim her anger, but it was too exhausting.  Instead, a wave of guilt overcame her in the shower.  The last reports before she surrendered this world had indicated many thousands of civilian casualties.  The holo-vids were horrendous.  She had to fight with Meyer to buy enough time for the Huskarls' escape.  Preservation of military assets at the cost of civilian blood: the logic was impeccable, but it felt wretched.  She started sobbing.  Are they listening, even now?  The water shut off.

As she dried off, she reflected on her fate.  She had remained on St. John to formally surrender because her absence would have aroused suspicion.  It was one more sacrifice for the good of the Republic.  She had half expected Sender to execute her, but he and his officers boarded a drop ship immediately afterward.  Newly arrived Clan officials took everyone to a large barracks.  An armored Elemental ordered everyone to line up and stood guard as a hulking man went down the line asking people if they were military or civilian.  He asked the rank of those who said military.  Anyone who said major or higher was pulled aside.  For those who said civilian, he simply pointed to the door.  Nikula said civilian. 

She and her fellow civilians had been bussed off to makeshift quarters.  Nikula claimed (somewhat truthfully) to be a tax assessor for the Republic.  Her captors classified her as “inessential administrative” and subjected her to a naïve brainwashing program.  The central message seemed to be that she was lucky to be conquered by the strongest and wisest of the Clans.  You have chosen the wrong people to subjugate.  A thousand generations will not break the will of our people.  You would have done better to target the Lyrans or even the Combine if you are looking for malleable subjects.  Yet doubt lingered.  How many other Clans are there?  The Wolves alone have at least five “galaxies” if the names Beta and Epsilon are anything to go by.  And they conquered this world with less than one.  Can we really resist such a force?  

The orderly brought her to the counsellor and stood behind her.  The counsellor was a young man with an affable smile that added insult to injury.  No we can’t be friends, you brainless twit.  He said, “You have been identified as resistant to integration.  You will require assistance, quiaff?

“Neg.”

His smile broadened.  “Good, then we may –”

“I have no intention of integrating,” said Nikula calmly.  “I am a sovereign diplomat of the Free Rasalhague Republic.  Under diplomatic protocol, you are obliged to release me.”

“Your previous obligations no longer matter.  Clan Wolf will assign you new responsibilities.  You should take the aptitude assessment.  Agricultural labor would be a difficult assignment at your age, and you are capable of better, quiaff?”

Nikula felt the rage come surging back.  “I demand that you notify my government of my situation at once.  I personally negotiated batchall with Ramon Sender.  If you deny my status, you have no claim on this world.”  She immediately regretted the outburst.  They have no respect for diplomatic protocol, so I have no chance of release.  It’s time to abandon that false hope.   

The orderly placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, but the counselor waved her off.  He spoke as if reading a script, “You seem to be having trouble letting go of your previous responsibilities.  Rest assured that Clan Wolf will maintain social order and find you a position appropriate for your abilities.  Do not fight a battle that has already been lost.”  When he saw that she offered no further objections, he continued, “Now, I will ask a series of questions.  You will respond either aff or neg.  Do you understand?”

“Aff,” she heard herself say.  She cordoned off the part of her that replied.  These were not her thoughts.  For the next hour she pretended to gradually relent.

After lunch the orderly from that morning retrieved her again.  “What is this about?” she asked, but she received no answer.  The woman hurried her down an unfamiliar hall then suddenly glanced around, opened a door, and thrust her through it following closely behind. 

From a dark corner a man’s voice asked, “Is this is the diplomat who claims to have conducted batchal with Ramon?”  The orderly affirmed.  What was I thinking?  Meyer was right, they don’t play fair.  I gave myself away for nothing.

From the darkness, the man’s voice asked, “What is your name?”  Nikula stood stone faced.  “I understand your reluctance to cooperate.  Ramon’s actions have sown much distrust on this world.  There is some evidence he may have mischaracterized his decision to attack civilians.  If that is true, I will see that he is brought to justice.  Not all Wolves are scoundrels, but I need your help to prove it.  If you believe Sender has wronged you, this is your chance to see him punished.  Otherwise, I must turn you over to our military interrogators.”  Well, under that kind of duress, how can I doubt your good intentions?

“Do not judge me too harshly, even without my intervention, you would not have been overlooked much longer.  Soon permanent administrators will arrive here and make a systematic effort to identify important individuals.  You can neither resist nor elude Clan Wolf, but you can help me to uphold its integrity.  What is your name?”

Is this some elaborate con?  Perhaps, but it could also be a genuine division that I can exploit.  And that would be something to live for.  “Laura Nikula.”

“If you are a civilian, how could you negotiate batchall?”

“As the personal representative of the Prince, I held authority over interstellar attacks within the realm.”  Nikula felt a surge of pride at saying that.  Careful now.  Pride is the enemy of wisdom.

“But how …”  The voice trailed off in exasperation.  “Are you familiar with the circumstances of the helicopter strike of 30 March 3050?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a cease-fire in place at that time?”  The voice from the darkness asked urgently.

“No.  I requested time to consider Sender’s ultimatum, but I neither offered nor accepted a cease-fire.”

“Why then do most of your own warriors admit to one?” 

“The militia commander, Colonel Meyer offered a cease-fire, but he had no authority to speak for me or the KungsArmé.  I authorized the strike personally and ordered Colonel Wahlgren to executed it; Meyer’s forces did not participate.”

“Wasn’t Colonel Wahlgren under the command of Colonel Meyer?”

Nikula thought for a moment before answering.  “Only at my discretion.  When Colonel Meyer refused to defend St. John further, I authorized Colonel Wahlgren to act independently.”

“Did you inform Ramon Sender of this?”

“Inform him of what?  That my authority exceeds that of Colonel Meyer?  I conducted all of the official negotiations.  If Sender wanted a comprehensive cease-fire, he needed to get it from me.”

There was a brief pause.  The man stepped from the shadows.  He was perhaps 40, small and wiry.  His movements were fluid and precise.  Administrative with combat background, aero-jock or possibly fleet.  Another perfect specimen of the warrior elite.

The man said, “You were a … secretary, quiaff?”

“Close enough.”

He gave her a curious look.  “Very well.  I am Ade Ibori, and you will be my secretary.  You will accompany me to our flag ship.  There you will testify before the Khan, and Clan Wolf will serve justice on those who have betrayed the path of the Warden.  You are to speak to no one else about what we have discussed here today.  Do you agree?”

“I agree.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 7-2

Jump Ship Dire Wolf, New Bergren system
7 May 3050

The Dire Wolf absolutely dwarfed any spacecraft Nikula had seen before.  She estimated it was nearly a kilometer in length.  As they drew closer, she saw that it bristled with massive weapons.  Not since the days of the Star League ….  It seems these truly are the “Wolves of Kerensky:” humanity’s guard dogs gone feral.

Ibori stood beside her and said, “Perhaps now you fully understand why you cannot fight the Clans.  Why you must assist the Wardens to become the guiding force of this invasion.  We are the only ones who can protect your people now.”  Nikula nodded.  You really think I will mistake the Wolves for shepherds?

Once aboard, they were escorted to a small room with two cots and one desk.  Ibori went to work on a computer while Nikula was to read more from some text outlining the Warden philosophy.  Ostensibly, she was the intended audience: newly conquered people of the Inner Sphere who need only recognize their liberation and claim their place in a more just society.  It was better suited to assuaging the guilty conscience of those like Ibori.  Nikula read, “The Successor States have brought battle without honor, war without strength, and conflict without resolution.  Each faction exists only for its own sake and is consumed from within by the same rotten culture.  The Wardens are the guiding hand to lead humanity from the stagnant oppression of the so-called Great Houses.”  It seems you didn’t bother to update your propaganda to address the Free Rasalhague Republic.

Ibori glanced over, “You are not impressed, quineg?”

“It’s just that I can’t reconcile these words with the actions on St. John.”

“That reconciliation is precisely why we are here.  You will see the true nature of the Wolf Clan’s justice, and then you will help your people to see it.  That is how you can serve them best now, quiaff?”

“Aff,” said Nikula with hint of wistful regret.

Ibori nodded sympathetically.  “I am taking you to meet an inquisitor.  She will likely ask you the same questions as I have.  When she hears your answers she will summon Ramon to account for his actions.  His codex will affirm your claims, even if he will not.”

Nikula returned to reading until Ibori said it was time to go.  When they got off the second lift, there was a man waiting at the end of the hall.  Ibori froze for a second, then he leaned in to whisper, “That is a Smoke Jaguar.  Say nothing.”  He had cautioned her that the Smoke Jaguars were the most ruthless and dishonorable of the Clans – the very opposite of the Wolves.  Furthermore the Smoke Jaguars currently held a leadership position and threatened to use their influence to undermine the Wolves and to advance their own Crusader agenda.

The Smoke Jaguar saw Ibori stiffen and bounded over to talk.  He was a bit younger than Ibori, but pudgy and fidgety.  He smiled insincerely as he asked, “Are you here to see the inquisitor?”

“That is no business of yours,” said Ibori.  He stepped in front of Nikula as if to shield her.

“Of course, of course,” said the Smoke Jaguar.  “You can go ahead of me; I don’t mind waiting.  I’m sure you have pressing business.”  As he spoke, he dug a device from his pocket and studied it.  “Ade Ibori, quiaff?  I am Ian Suzhou.”

“I am.”

“And you are coming from … St. John.  Interesting.  How fare the Wolves on St. John?  Not so well if you are here, quineg?  One does hear of a bit of trouble there.”

Ibori straightened.  “Nothing more than idle wind, but speaking of Idlewind, one hears of more than a bit of trouble for the Smoke Jaguars there.”  Idlewind, that’s a Combine world.

Suzhou frowned.  “Luckily for you, the Wolves face the weakest corridor.  And yet you are the most dependent on your merchant caste.  That demonstrates a lack confidence in your warriors.” 

“It is you who lacks confidence,” said Ibori.  “The ilKhan has sent you skulking here to look for scandal, quiaff?  Perhaps you now begin to realize that you lack the wits and forethought to match our progress.  Your provisions are inadequate, and now you seek the slightest pretext to impede us.” 

So the Wolves claim to be the best prepared.  That would make them the most dangerous.  And the Smoke Jaguars wish to impede the Wolves’ conquest of our Republic?  I’ll let the Combine contend with these Crusaders if it means weakening the Wardens who would destroy my home.

“We shall see.”  Suzhou offered an impish smile.  “But I fear that we are upsetting your charge.”  Ibori jerked his head and his eyes back at her, confirming that he had forgotten her presence.

Now or never.  Nikula stepped forward.  “I am not upset by words.  I am upset that Clan Wolf has committed atrocities against my people, has violated its own laws, and hides these facts.  I have personally witnessed the crimes of Ramon Sender and the efforts of Clan Wolf to prevent your ilKhan from learning their full extent.  I seek an audience so that Clan Wolf can be brought to justice.”

Ibori’s voice ached with sorrow, “You fool,” was all he said.

Suzhou beamed as he tapped at his computer.  “I am afraid you will both have to cancel your meeting with the inquisitor.  The ilKhan will want to hear of this right away.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 7-3

Jump Ship Dire Wolf, New Bergren system
27 May 3050

At last the day came when Nikula would see the Clans’ justice.  Seeing Sender punished would give her no satisfaction, but she intended to argue that Clan Wolf’s claim on St. John was illegal because her surrender was subject to illegal duress.  She had been interrogated on several occasions, but only as to the facts surrounding the alleged cease-fire and the helo strike that followed.

One of the Smoke Jaguars’ giant warriors brought her and Ibori into a large hall and directed her to a seat near the back.  At the front, a malevolent looking man sat at a podium marked with a grey wildcat – a smoke jaguar, it would seem.  He was flanked by over a dozen individuals with their own animal insignias.  They stood in turn for some kind of roll call:  Ice Hellion, Nova Cat, Snow Raven, Wolf ….  Are these all seperate Clans?  There are so many!  They must be attacking across the entire coreward front.   

Once the preliminaries were done, a pale, lanky man stood to address the Clan representatives.  “Clan Wolf has laid forth an ambitious proposal for the next wave of Operation Revival.  Though they claimed to oppose our invasion, they now imagine they are uniquely capable of carrying it out.  As you can see, the Wolves intend to target twice as many worlds as any other Clan.  Their newfound ambition knows no bounds as they even expect to take a capital world.”  Does he mean Rasalhague?  Nikula’s blood ran cold.  The speaker continued, “The ilKhan would like nothing more than to leave each Clan to its own plans, but we have recently learned troubling news that calls into question the wisdom of this approach.”

The lanky man spoke in smooth and measured tones.  “Unfortunately, Clan Wolf has proven itself incapable of managing such a sweeping offensive, They have already brought disgrace upon us all.  Please review the ilKahn’s counter-proposal.  The twelve worlds Clan Wolf seeks will be divided between the third and fourth wave.  This will allow necessary and proper oversight.  Before I demonstrate the necessity of this approach, is there anything the Wolves wish to say in defense of their excessive ambitions?”

The man behind the wolf head insignia stood.  He was over fifty, older than most of the representatives.  “It is unbelievable that the Smoke Jaguars make accusations against us after their own barbarity on Turtle Bay.  The use of an inquisitor in this matter is irregular and inappropriate.  I have already dealt with the unfortunate events on St. John.  This proposal is rooted in jealousy and designed solely to hamstring our efforts.  We have an ambitious schedule, so I hope this farce will not keep us long.”

 “Thank you, Khan Kerensky for demonstrating the very impatience I wish to address.  As expected, the Wolf Clan attempts to deflect attention away from their own conduct.  But where they see persecution, the ilKhan has only concern.  The Wolf Clan has failed to maintain discipline in these early stages and requires a firm guiding hand.”

The inquisitor called forth Ramon Sender.  Sender stood facing the Clan representatives while the inquisitor interrogated him.  “Star Colonel Ramon, have you been briefed in preparation for this hearing?”

“Neg.”  Sender’s voice dripped with resentment.

“You were the Star Colonel assigned to capture St. John, quiaff?”

“Aff.”

“Did you succeed?”

“Aff.”

“Then why were you reprimanded?”

Sender mustered as much dignity as he was able.  “Khan Kerensky saw my ultimatum threatening civilians as dishonorable, even in face of the defender’s own tactics.”

“The ultimatum, but not the actual act, quineg?”

“The Khan acknowledged that once the enemy violated their own cease-fire, the consequences must be enforced even though I was wrong to threaten them.  The Khan has also opened my command to a Trial of Possession, which would already be determined if I had not been summoned here.”

“Before issuing this ultimatum, had you defeated the forces declared against you?”

Sender clenched a fist as he answered, “Neg.”

The inquisitor’s voice now carried a mocking undertone.  “So you used this threat as an alternative to victory on the battlefield, quiaff?”  As Sender began to stammer, the inquisitor interrupted him and turned to the Clan council.  “On Turtle Bay, the Smoke Jaguar warriors first defeated the legitimate defenders and turned on civilians only in response to criminal insurgents.  I trust all but Khan Kerensky will recognize the distinction.”

The inquisitor returned his attention to Sender.  “Your opposition must have been strong to resist the mighty Wolves, quiaff?  Tell us, how many battlemechs did you face?”

A shudder of rage ran through Sender.  “None.”

“None?” asked the inquisitor in mock disbelief.  “How many aerospace fighters?”

“None.”

“We have heard that Rasalhague possesses powerful fusion vehicles.  Perhaps it was these that resisted your invasion, quineg?”

“Neg.”

Khan Kerensky stood to speak.  “What is the purpose of these questions?  It is disgraceful to shame a mechwarrior in this way.”

The inquisitor ignored him and continued to press Sender.  “You were defeated by primitive vehicles supported by simple infantry, quiaff?”

“Neg.  I was not defeated.”

“Of course,” said the inquisitor indulgently.  “How many omnimechs did your Cluster lose in this victory?”

“Five.”

“An entire star from Beta Galaxy … and that’s not counting your Elemental losses, nor your second line forces that you failed to support.  I understand mechwarrior Lanfen and her entire command died in battle.”

“Lanfen defied my orders!”

“Yet she fought with honor.”  A couple members of the Clan counsel reacted with disgust, as if the unspoken implication was too grave an insult.  The inquisitor changed tack.  “Why did you issue your ultimatum?”

Sender took a moment to collect himself, then said, “The defenders consistently refused to fight honorably as they had agreed to.  They showed no regard for civilian lives.”

“So you wanted to reduce yourself to the dishonorable methods of the enemy, quiaff?”

“I believed it was necessary to compel them to honor their initial agreement, though I accept that I was a mistaken.”

“You said killing civilians was a necessary reprisal for violating the cease-fire agreed by Colonel Meyer, quiaff.”

“Aff.”

“If your enemy had simply refused to surrender, would you have carried out your threat?”

“I … not in the same way.  I would have targeted military forces but with less regard for civilian casualties.”

“But their defiance made you angry, quiaff?”

“Their treachery made harsh reprisal necessary.”

Several on the council nodded sympathetically.  Does this inquisitor know what he’s doing? 

“What treachery?  Who violated the cease-fire with Colonel Meyer?” he asked sharply.  “Specifically.”

“It was a helicopter force.  They were elements of the Huskarl’s Fourth Battalion.”

“Under whose command?  Come on, you must know.”

“Colonel Wahlgren.”  As Sender answered the Wolf Khan leaned in and, for the first time, looked genuinely concerned.

“Did he also agree to a cease-fire?”

“No, but he was subordinate to Colonel Meyer.” 

“Was he?  Who told you that?”  The inquisitor waited a moment.  “And that brings us to the issue of ultimate authority.  Who had ultimate authority for the defense of St. John?

Sender shifted his weight and his answer came reluctantly.  “Colonel Meyer was the senior military leader.”

“Who accepted your batchall?”

“A political representative, Attaché Laura Nikula.”

“When you lodged official complaints against St. John’s defenders, to whom did you address them and who responded?”

“Attaché Laura.”

“When you accepted the surrender of St. John, who signed first for Rasalhague?”  The inquisitor had adopted an exaggerated rhythmic cadence.  I guess amateurish rhetoric cuts across culture.

“Attaché Laura.”

“Again, who had ultimate authority for the defense of St. John?”

“Attaché Laura.”

“Did Attaché Laura offer you a cease-fire?”

Nikula noted that Sender’s rigid posture began to slump.  He said, “She requested time to consider the ultimatum.  She must have delegated that responsibility to Colonel Meyer since he requested the cease-fire immediately afterward.”

“That is an interesting theory.  Did she inform you that she had authorized Colonel Meyer to negotiate on her behalf?”

“Neg.”

“Did Colonel Meyer claim to speak on her behalf?”

“Neg.”

“Before lashing out, did you request to speak with Attaché Laura to determine who was bound by Colonel Meyer’s agreement?  ...neg?  Attaché Laura is prepared to testify that Colonels Meyer and Wahlgren held separate commands, and she personally authorized Wahlgren to make the attack of 30 March 3050.  Do you have any reason to doubt her?”

“Neg.”

“Did you speak with Colonel Wahlgren to determine if he was bound by Colonel Meyer’s cease-fire?”

“Colonel Wahlgren fled the planet rather than take responsibility for his actions.”

“You mean he escaped while you punished the innocent, quiaff?  You are a Star Colonel.  You were expected to take responsibility.  Instead you acted rashly based on false assumptions.”

The inquisitor turned away from Sender to face the Clan representatives.  “But we are not here to judge Star Colonel Ramon.  Khan Kerensky, tells us he has already done so.  And now, allow me to answer his earlier question: ‘What is the purpose of shaming Star Colonel Ramon?’  To reveal Clan Wolf's failure to do it themselves.  To show the kind of warrior they see fit to lead an invasion and their failure to learn the truth.  By contrast, Galaxy Commander Perez paid for his error with his life.”

“Now I make a special appeal to the Warden Clans.  I fear that we have made a great error in trusting your honor to the Wolf Clan.  Ask yourselves, is this the Warden way?  Indiscriminant bombing because you are frustrated by your own failures.  If the Warden philosophy stands for anything, you must agree that Clan Wolf requires closer scrutiny.  That is why the Khan’s proposal gives you special authority to oversee and investigate your fellow Warden.”

“And that is our purpose here.  To determine ultimate authority.  We do not seek to punish Clan Wolf, but the ilKhan must take responsibility for Operation Revival where the Wolf Khan has failed.  We expect no more and no less of them than the other Clans.  That is why the  counter-proposal restricts Clan Wolf to conquering six worlds in the next wave, just as the Jade Falcons and Smoke Jaguars will.  Naturally, Clan Wolf will prioritize attacking the Federated Commonwealth, due to its greater strength.  If they fear the growing might of Rasalhague …”  The inquisitor paused to allow sporadic snickering.   “… the ilKhan is prepared to activate Clan Steel Viper to assist in that corridor.”

Have I unleashed a whole new foe upon us?  What if Ibori was right and the Wolves are the least of our concerns?  I hope that intended only as an insult.

Khan Kerensky addressed the assembly.  “I came here with the intent to resist any attempt to sabotage our invasion, but what troubles me now is that I see I have lost the confidence of my fellow Wardens.  Though painful, I will take this opportunity to redouble my commitment to the Warden path.  Therefore, I will accept Warden oversight unconditionally.  Furthermore, I will accept the ilKhan’s proposal for wave three, on one condition.  If each of the Warden Clans agree that we have honorably conquered our assigned worlds in the third wave. (insofar as Operation Revival is an honorable project), then henceforth, we shall be free to prosecute the invasion within our corridor at our own pace.”

So that is it.  The Wolves need the political support of the Warden faction, and the Wolf Khan hopes to win them over with minimal concessions to the Crusaders.

The ilKhan was taken aback by the Wolf response, but he quickly recomposed himself.  He looked displeased as he scanned the faces of the Clan representatives.  “As Khan Kerensky has said, we all have much work ahead.  I do not wish to drag out this sordid affair, so I will restore Clan Wolf to its former autonomy if they can meet the conditions they have set for themselves.  But I do not surrender any rights as leader of this invasion, and Khan Kerensky should remember that he represents all the Clans, not only the Wardens.”  The ilKhan remained standing, as if unwilling to let the matter go.  “I must also say that seeing this lack of discipline from front-line clusters only increases my reservations about allowing Provisional Garrison Clusters to participate in the invasion.  I will now meet with Khan Kerensky and the Warden representatives privately.”

Everyone stood at once and turned for the doors.  Nikula was shocked that such an important meeting would end so abruptly.  “Wait.  I demand the right to speak,” she said.  “You have spoken on my behalf –”  Before she could complete her sentence, her chaperone reached over two seats and hoisted her by the collar.  The warrior turned to Ibori and told him he was free to go.  Nikula, obviously, was not.  I will submit to this indignity, and whatever else fate subjects me to, but I will resist your invasion.  I have hurt you today Clan Wolf, haven’t I?

[Zureal]

Interesting story, will be looking forward to seeing if ahe is helping or she seriously misunderstoodneverythimg amd messed it upneven further.

[Siegfried Marcus]

I haven't been working on this lately, so the next update is still a long way off.  At the risk of disrupting my narrative, I'm going to make a few comments.  First, a member here, zephir, pointed out a misleading statement that I just corrected.  Laura Nikula's child, Jalamari, is male and manages the agricultural concerns of his father (Laura's husband).

Chapter 7 was the most difficult for me to write because of my lack of understanding of the Clans.  I hope I will be forgiven for playing fast and loose with them, and especially Ulric and Leo Showers.  The "trial" in 7-3 is a sort of ad hoc hearing and not a Grand Council.  With the exception of Ulric, the delegates are not Khans.  I hope the events are plausible within the canon universe given Showers' determination to thwart Clan Wolf, the jealousy of the Crusader Clans (sparked by Wolf's announcement of its Wave 3 objectives), and Wolf's reliance on support from the Warden faction.  As a side note, 7-3 indicates my first significant departure from the canon timeline of Operation Revival.

As always, I appreciate feedback, including criticism.  I apologize for places where I'm cliche and unoriginal, especially with descriptions.  I'm sure I've ripped off other authors here, as well as Stackpole.  If you have made it this far, I trust you have found something worthwhile.  There's plenty more story if I can manage to write it.  The Huskarls have not yet begun to hold.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 8-1

Kirchbach
17 June 3050

Little remained of the Fourth Huskarl’s headquarters on Kirchbach when Thjálfi Soren and the remnants of the First Battalion arrived.  The entire regiment had been stricken from the rosters, and its remaining equipment and personnel had been shipped off to New Oslo or Rasalhague.  The Huskarls were re-assigned to the First Kirchbach Armored Regiment, or 1KAR. 

At first, the arrival of shell-shocked, half-starved “reinforcements” did little to inspire confidence.  The KAR tankers started calling them “Pale Ponies” as a jab at the Black Horse moniker, but the Huskarls adopted the name with sardonic pride and earned the respect of their rival regiment.  The old-line tankers often resented the recent swell of Huskarls who claimed to be their equals, but they now acknowledged the Huskarls as worthy.

Lt. Col. Olmet’s soldiers replaced less experienced members of the 1KAR’s Second Battalion.  Olmet took personal command of Second Charlie Company.  He kept the two lances of Vedettes but replaced much of the crews with his own people.  For the third lance, he replaced the Scorpion LRMs with Maxim hovercraft and hand-picked crews from the militia.  He also assembled a special infantry company to ride in the Maxims.

Soren now commanded a Vedette in Second Charlie’s Second Lance.  Like nearly every tanker, he had considerable training with the ubiquitous Vedette.  At least it’s fast enough to make a nuisance of itself.  If we’re lucky we’ll draw a couple volleys from a Mad Cat, and then it’s on to Valhalla.

“Come left to 1-3-5.  Nham, targets at 3-4-0, long range and moving fast.  Fire at will.”  Soren converted the data he received into orders for his crew.  Nari had grown bolder in the driver’s seat.  He seemed to enjoy his status as a combat veteran.  Their tank came charging through a cloud of smoke at 83 kph.  The turret rocked slightly as the tank barreled forward.  Soren watched the targets through the gun-cam.  “Shoot, now!”

“They’re too fast,” Mia Nham objected.  She had been the best gunner in the lance, but she struggled under pressure.  Soren would gladly have traded places with her, or better yet, taken the gunner seat for one of the Gustavs of Bravo Company, but Olmet insisted on giving him his own tank.

“You shoot when I tell you to.  You got a couple more days to learn, or you’ll be the death of us all.”  God, I’m worse than Isa.  No wonder the sarge told me to lay off.  Soren said, “Nari, come to 3-3-0 on … mark.”  The tank lurched heavily but remained under control.  “Nice.”  They closed rapidly on the practice targets.  A flight of LRMs from the Maxims streaked overhead and landed in front of them creating a new cloud of smoke to conceal the Manticores that followed. 

As they burst through, Nham fired at the middle target, but her shots went high.  Soren instructed, “Center of mass.”  The next burst of shells clipped the right arm of the mock Vulture.  “Center of mass,” Soren repeated.  Nham punched a tight group of holes in the left torso.  “Nari, straight at it.”  Another burst of shells just missed the left side.  “Come to 0-9-0.”  The tank turned sharply, but went into a skid as two more Vedettes raced past.  The top-heavy turret leaned out causing Nham’s final shots to plunge into the snowy ground well short of their target.  Soren said, “Nari, you’re killing me.  Just when we got ourselves a crack gunner.”

Due to Olmet’s experience fighting the Clan, he had special authority to conduct training and preparation for the entire regiment.  For the next several hours, they practiced screening for the more powerful Alpha and Bravo Companies.  Olmet’s doctrine emphasized battalion level coordination and aggressive tactics.  In particular, he transformed his own “Pale Pony” Company from a training reserve, to the leading edge of the battalion.  Stalking Horse Company is more like it. 

That night they were given leave.  Soren went downtown with a mixed group of Huskarls and KARs.  It was bedlam in New Samos.  Only the robust police presence prevented a riot.  The northern bar district was having “Armageddon Days.”  Since the Clan ships had arrived, prices had skyrocketed and had to be paid in C-Bills.  Not that that mattered to Soren or his companions; their KungsArmé uniforms entitled them to free drinks and effectively anything else they wanted.  Half a block ahead, four police officers took delight in clearing their path.  Soon they arrived at the Ghost Moon where a couple dozen men were being ejected to make room for them.  A brief scuffle ended with a large man being clubbed and kicked to the curb. 

Once inside, Soren went to the back room where the pounding beat of pop music wasn’t quite so overpowering.  He started on 235s, which were spiked with uppers and mild hallucinogens.  It was a quick buzz, though supposedly they were murder on the kidneys.  He got 235s for Nari and Nham too.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” said Sylvie Olson with a wry smile.  She had struck up a friendship with Nham and now tried to turn her back to good, clean vodka. 

Olson and Nham started complaining about how the bar kicked out only men, thus cutting their odds of finding a decent hook-up.  Soren tried to explain the policy, “It’s simple numbers.  We brought in more men because men tend to be more martial.  Besides, you’ve already got fresh meat from all the KAR boys.  Hansen and a bunch of the Manticore guys are in the main bar.”

“What do you mean ‘more martial?’” asked Olson.

I see, she just wants to argue.  “Oh come on, you’re the hero of the Black Horse, but overall men are more aggressive.  It’s just biology.”

Now Nham jumped in.  “Only if you’re talking about beating someone to death with a club.  This is the 31st Century and women can pilot a mech or ‘man’ a tank as well as anyone.”

“Okay,” said Soren, “then why’s the KungsArmé two-thirds male?”

“Same reason it’s two-thirds Sorensons and Olsons,” shot back Nham.  “Women actually make better tankers on average because there’s a larger pool of women short enough to do it.  It’s simple numbers.”

“Hold on, you’re saying women are better tankers because they’re smaller?”  Soren regretted starting an argument about numbers because he was already too buzzed to follow her reasoning.  Fortunately, everyone was suddenly distracted by something in the main room.

The whole bar went silent, except for the flat-screen.  It showed someone wearing an ominous wolf mask.  She told them that death and defeat awaited those who resisted Clan Wolf.  She warned that many of their fellow citizens had died needlessly and offered that there was no disgrace in surrendering to a force they could not hope to challenge.  The screen cut to a man in a mechwarrior uniform.  The right side of his face was burned away.  He identified himself as Major Jason Lundquist of the Second Drakøns.  He explained that his superiors sent him against an invincible enemy.  His entire company was wiped out by just a handful of Wolf mechs, and New Caledonia fell the same day.  Even the vaunted Drakøns couldn’t hope to compete with Clan Wolf.  He said he was well treated as a bondsman, and that it would be better for them to surrender rather than squander their lives.  Next the governor of Csesztreg reported that his planet’s forces were devastated in a one-sided battle.  He surrendered the world rather than waste more lives.  A parade of colonels and governors followed with similar stories.  Then Colonel Meyer appeared.  He said that he resisted the Clans with all his guile, but that his treachery only brought misery and death to the people of St. John.

“He’s a coward and a traitor,” declared one of the Huskarls.

“That’s a lie,” countered Olson.  “He fought harder and better than anyone else on St. John, including us.  He’s the only reason we had a chance to organize.  He tied down elite forces with his pitiful militia and held out for weeks.  I learned everything I know about fighting the Clan from him.  He’s the best damn colonel the Republic had as far as I’m concerned.”

Olson’s face flushed, and her eyes blazed.  No one dared dispute her but the woman on the screen.  From behind the mask, she said, “As you see, you cannot stop us.  There is no point in fighting.” 

Soren removed his pistol and put three rounds into her image.  “No point in fighting?” he bellowed.  “Haven’t you heard?  It’s the end of the world.  Fighting’s the only thing to do.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Here is the OOB for the 1KAR and, I hope, a picture of of the initial deployment at the battle of Thorston's Hollow

1st Kirchbach Armored Regiment
   
Reg. HQ
Hi-Scout, 1 Partisan, 1 Pike, 1 Gustav
   4 Self-Propelled Thumpers
   4 Warrior VTOLs

1st Bat.
Tjugo, 1 Partisan, 1 Pike, 1 Gustav

A – assault fusion company
   2 Schreks, 2 Axels
   2 Schreks, 2 Axels
   2 Schreks, 2 Axels

B – standard fusion company
   4 Manticores
   4 Manticores
   4 Hunters
   
C – standard fusion company
   4 Manticores
   4 Manticores
   4 Hunters
   
2nd Bat.
Tjugo, 1 Partisan, 1 Pike, 1 Gustav

A – heavy company
   1 Schrek AC, 3 Axels
   1 Schrek AC, 3 Axels
   1 Schrek AC, 3 Axels
      
B – medium company
   2 Manticores, 2 Gustavs
   2 Manticores, 2 Gustavs
   2 Manticores, 2 Gustavs

C – Pale Ponies
   1 Tjugo, 4 Vedettes
   4 Vedettes
   4 Maxims (w/o TAG, using smoke)
      2 platoons mortar inf, 2 platoons spotter inf.

3rd Bat
Maxim CV, 1 Beagle, 2 Scimitars

A – hover hammer
      4 Saladins
      4 Saladins
      4 Scimitar missiles

B – hover
      4 Saladins
      4 Pegasus Missiles
      4 Scimitar Missiles

C – hover
      4 Saladins
      4 Pegasus Missiles
      4 Scimitar Missiles

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 8-2

Kirchbach
16 June 3050

As the Gul Slot River winds down from the Granite Peaks, it levels out on the narrow valley of Thorston’s Hollow.  Almost a meter of ice covered the Gul Slot’s surface, but deep water still flowed along the bottom of the west channel where it ran almost right against the mountain cliffs.  The east bank rose gently to become the farmland that supported the hamlet of Thorston.  There were a few patches of trees along the river, but most of the valley lay fallow under a thin blanket of snow.  Further east, foothills rose abruptly into the mountains.  A road ran the length of the valley connecting the upper pass with the broad plains to the south. 

As sunlight crested the eastern mountains, it reflected over the virgin snow, illuminating the bucolic serenity.  Then the First Kirchbach Armored Regiment arrived.  Two tank battalions ripped into the brown soil as they practiced deploying and redeploying.  Assorted hovercraft raced up and down the river.  Overhead, a few helicopters kept watch and made frequent sweeps over the mountains.  The 1KAR now stretched across Thorston’s Hollow, holding the last defensible ground between the invaders and the capital.   

Lt. Col. Olmet had convinced the regimental commander, Col. Nielsen, to challenge the Wolves to a winner-take-all fight for the planet similar to the agreement that Mechwarrior Lanfen had made with him for the city of Duluth.  The Clan accepted despite their obvious disappointment at having no mechwarriors to oppose them.  Nielsen offered to fight with only the 1KAR, while the Clan commander committed one trinary with another available as reinforcement.  It’s just as well we left the militia out of it.  They have no stomach for this fight.  I just hope these KungsArmé tankers are worthy of the name. 

The First Battalion took its position on the left, just behind a fortified ridge.  A spur from Mount Clovenhoof extended into the valley, and engineers had prepared paths and defensive positions along its length.  Each of First Alpha Company’s three lances consisted of two fusion-powered Schreks and two Axels.  From the ridge, the Schreks could sweep the field with their triple PPCs, while the Axels provided both defense at short range and indirect fire.  First Bravo and Charlie each used two lances of Manticores and one lance of Hunters.  The Manticore/Hunter combination was the gold standard for KungsArmé armored companies.

The Second Battalion was a downgrade of the First.  It waited on open ground further back from the ridge and nearer to the river.  In order to attack them, the Clan would have to come into range of the positions on the ridge.  Second Alpha used one Schrek AC and three Axels per lance.  Second Bravo used two Manticores and two Gustavs per lance.  Olmet had assigned some of his Huskarls to these Gustavs.  His own Pale Ponies completed the battalion with eight Vedettes and four Maxims.  Spotter infantry from the Maxims were already hidden in the foothills and in Thorston.   

The Third Battalion consisted of hovercraft.  Bravo and Charlie Companies used a lance of Saladins, a lance of pure SRM Pegasi, and a lance of LRM Scimitars.  Alpha replaced the Scimitars with an extra lance of Saladins. 

Colonel Nielsen’s command also included four Warrior VTOLs and four Thumpers which replaced the Snipers that had been reassigned to Rasalhague.  He coordinated the entire force from his exceptionally capable Hi-Scout guarded by a Partisan, a Pike, and a Gustav.  The first two battalions also had a command lance consisting of a Tjugo CV and the same escorts.  The Third’s command lance used hovercraft.  Olmet used a Tjugo command vehicle, while the other company commanders lead from the front, as was the custom of the Inner Sphere. 

As the lead Wolf mechs began to engage the outer ring of recon drones, Colonel Nielsen proclaimed,  “Warriors of the KungsArmé, the enemy is upon us, and it’s time to prove our mettle.  Our Huskarl friends assure us these guys are every bit as good as they claim, but they’ve underestimated the strength of the Rasalhague people.  Kirchbach is the birthplace of the Republic.  It is here where the Tyr Movement first fought to claim our nation, and it is here on Kirchbach’s sacred soil where we will save it.  Our proud people will not be reduced to bondage.”

Nielsen switched to the officer’s channel, “Those first ten mechs must be the ‘Rouge’ team.  The ten in back are the reserve, called ‘Assault.’  Let’s hammer Rouge before they send in their reinforcements.  First Alpha and Bravo, take the ridge on my mark.  Birkeland, Third Battalion is to hold position until they’ve committed their reserves.”

These are called trinaries, but I only see two lances of mechs.  There should be a third group of battle armor attached.  “Sir,” Olmet said, “I still think they must have some battle armor hopping through the mountains or ready for rapid deployment.  Those things are deadly in tight quarters.”

Nielsen replied, “Understood Colonel, but we’ve swept the mountains carefully.  I appreciate you helping to prepare us, but I can handle this regiment.  Frankly, I’m more worried about the fighters.”

Olmet said, “In my experience, the Clan doesn’t use its air assets directly in a formal battle.  It’s something to do with their warrior code.”  The feed from the Hi-Scout gave Olmet an excellent picture of the battlefield.  Two Fenris mechs were probing ahead of eight Man O’ Wars armed with long range lasers and PPCs.  The Assault group waited further back.  It used the same mechs, but many of them were configured for close range.

The two Rouge stars charged forward to attack the exposed Second Battalion.  Each star converged their beams on a single tank.  The staggered bursts cut through armor to the insides.  The Clan mechs were just pulling back as the First Battalion took the ridge and open fire.  The crest lit up with powerful discharges.  Despite firing into cover, the Rouge stars punched through one of the Schreks and tore into the armor of another.  The KungsArmé gunners were less successful but they were supplemented by scores of LRMs from Axels and Hunters.

Suddenly, the helo scouts reported fighters coming in fast and low through the Granite Peaks.  Colonel Nielsen noted their trajectory and said, “Get off the ridge!  Fall back.”  Four Jagatai swooped over the ridge and opened hatches to release incendiary bombs.

Most of the tanks were caught in disarray.  First Alpha was virtually eliminated as its slower tanks took the full brunt of the strike.  Some of the bombs fell behind the ridge, thus hitting the retreating tanks of First Bravo and trapping some in front of a wall of fire.  A pair of Axels detonated dramatically as their ammunition exploded.  Some of the tanks emerged from the flames and disgorged their crews, who staggered, scrambled, or limped away as fast as they were able.

The 1KAR’s air defense couldn’t respond before the Jagatais streaked away.  Immediately a new wave of fighters was on them.  These used standard armaments rather than bombs.  Too late, Nielsen realized they were targeting the radar signatures from the Partisans that were meant to protect his command vehicles.  Two Visigoths went after First Battalion’s command lance.  They immediately destroyed the Partisan and the battalion CV while shrugging off return fire.  A pair of Jengizes swooped down on Nielsen’s own position.  Their massive firepower included inferno SRMs and a vast assortment of weapons which destroyed nearly the entire lance. 

Olmet’s feed from the Hi-Scout vanished and was replaced by the more basic information provided by his own Tjugo.  Their best battalion was shattered and paralyzed, the Second was heavily engaged, and the Third was out of position.  Worst of all, the chain of command was now decapitated.  Olmet gave thanks that his own position, concealed in a shed outside Thorston, remained safe.

The Second Battalion came under fire from the advancing mechs.  Lt. Col. Essam ordered them to fall back and hide behind the flaming ridge.  The two fighters that had been patrolling at high altitude were now coming in fast on the Second’s command lance.  Essam said, “Target the fighters, use cluster.”  The Avar fighters mauled the last Partisan and hobbled Essam’s Tjugo.  Return fire sent one of the fighters tumbling into the ground; the other wobbled off trailing dark grey smoke.

The Clan mechs danced at the edge of their enemies’ effective range.  They would dart in to fire, then slide away.  They presented the tanks only fleeting opportunities to return fire, so they suffered few hits.  Meanwhile, the Clan mechwarriors methodically sliced away the  retreating tanks.  Essam desperately ordered his troops to hold a line before the mechs overran his CV.  We’re about to lose this thing. Olmet ordered his Maxims to lay down covering smoke while the Vedettes fell back with the rest of the battalion.  We need help.

Who’s in charge now? Olmet assessed the comm channels and confirmed his fears.  No one.  He opened the officers’ channel, “This is Lt. Col. Olmet.  We’ve lost contact with Col. Nielsen.  Essen, your position is exposed.  I suggest you transfer overall command to me.  I can pull this regiment together.”  There was no argument.  Although he was a newcomer to the 1KAR, Olmet had established a rapport with the senior officers during their weeks of preparation. 

“Major Dahlberg, move up and engage.  Second Battalion will stand if you can relieve some pressure.”  To Olmet’s great relief, First Charlie, which had been spared by the bombs, formed up and turned back to fight.  “Major Wallin, take command of my company.  Keep using smoke.  Be ready to form a line.”  Smoke, that’s our best asset right now. “Who’s got the arty?”  His staff sergeant connected him.  “I need smoke at Tango and Uniform.”  Next he contacted Third Battalion.  “Birkeland, we need you.  Now!”

Birkeland responded, “My orders are to attack from behind once the enemy commits.  I can’t engage with half their mechs in reserve.  These are hovers, they’d be cut to pieces.”

I know how to use hovers, you blue-blooded parade colonel.  “I’m giving you new orders!  Those mechs won’t attack yet.”

“Just like the Clan won’t use fighters, right sir?” On cue, the four remaining fighters tore into Second Battalion.  They withstood the return fire, but in their ardor to destroy the tanks below, they discounted the Warriors.  A burst of missiles met the lead Jengiz and sent it skittering into the ground.

The Rouge mechs pressed hard in the wake of the air strike.  The charge exposed them to more risk, but their armor was only beginning to take significant damage.  By contrast, the skilled Clan gunners cut through the smoke, and their deadly beams focused down their targets.  Every few seconds another tank dropped off of Olmet’s display. 

The mechs were nearly even with the ridge when heavy smoke from the artillery blanketed the area and zoned out one of the Clan stars.  In frustration, five mechwarriors mounted the ridge to get a clear line of sight.  A few lingering flames accented the menacing grey titans that now commanded the heights.  Even Olmet was awestruck for a second.  Then one of the mechs reeled and staggered from close range auto-cannon fire.  An Axel had apparently lain in ambush after surviving the inferno.  Suddenly the Wolves’ spell of invulnerability was broken.  The mechs found themselves closer than expected to Dahlberg’s advancing company, and a vicious exchange ensued.  PPCs punched a fatal hole in one Manticore, and another suffered heavy fire.  But the veteran KungsArmé tankers of the First Battalion proved deadly at closer range as well.  The incessant pounding of missiles caved in the chest of a Man O’ War and left it crumpled on the ground.  Charlie Company, supported by an additional lance of Hunters from Bravo, drove the mechs back off the ridge. 

The other star now found Dahlberg’s company on its flank.  Olmet ordered his Pale Ponies to move up and give the wavering Second Battalion something to rally behind.  This is what we’ve been drilling.  Let’s see if these KARs will fight. The Second Battalion surged forward behind its Vedettes.  This sudden reversal brought them into range to punish their pursuers.  The Rouge mechs took a savage beating.  One of them fell and became an easy target.  It took heavy damage getting to its feet, and scrambled to the back.  The rest of the star was content to cover their companion’s retreat for a moment. 

The fighters returned, but showed caution as well.  They struck the artillery, which lacked adequate AA protection, and picked off a Warrior that strayed too far from the guns on the ground.  The Rouge mechs did not rush to reengage, and the fighting entered a lull.  Soon the fighters departed for their base rather than attack alone.

Olmet scrambled to juggle his fragmented command.  First he moved his own vehicle onto the field to provide some visible leadership.  Then he sent the Maxims to rally and return tank crews from the First Battalion.  Some of the tanks might still be combat capable.  He pleaded with Birkeland to commit his hover battalion, but the man was convinced that the reserve mechs would pounce on him if he took the field.  He insisted that only his sagacious restraint held those the Wolves’ reserve in check.  After a few precious minutes the fresh mechs of Trinary Assault started forward.  Olmet’s staff sergeant said, “Sir, I just got a report of ten more fighters inbound on us, ETA six minutes.”  Olmet’s heart sank.

Then came an announcement from the Clan.  “This is Star Captain Bryston.  It seems you are worthy of the allowances we have granted.   You have fought well to withstand the first swing of the Cyclops’ Club.  There is no need to die now.  Therefore, I offer your regiment safe passage off this world.  Otherwise prepare yourselves to be smashed by the Cyclops’ Shield.”

“Captain Bryston, This is Lt. Col. Olmet.  I offer you the same terms.  I defeated Mechwarrior Lanfen of Epsilon Galaxy on St. John, and I will defeat you here.  I need no time to prepare; I seek battle immediately.  Claim this world now if you can.” 

Bryston replied, “I see.  You fear our fighters.  As you wish.  You have earned the right to be vanquished by mechwarriors.  We shall decide the matter now.  But if you have mistaken us for the equivalent of Epsilon Galaxy, your folly is worthy of death.  You now face the Fourth Wolf Guards.”

Olmet took stock of his remaining forces. On the ridge we’ve got five chewed-up Manticores, maybe a few more fusion tanks if the crews rally, an Axel, and a couple Pikes.  On the field that leaves just four Manticores, seven Axels, five Gustavs, ten Hunters with low ammo, and my company … against 19 Clan mechs.  I need Third Battalion.  Forget Birkeland, I’ll go straight to the company commanders.  Saari is bold, and Wright knows her duty.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 8-3

Kirchbach
16 June 3050

The Second Battalion took up its former position to await the Clan’s charge.  Soren’s Vedette waited in the picket line just ahead of the main battle tanks.  So far the Clanners had shunned the under-gunned Vedettes, so only one had been lost.  Soren’s own tank was still in perfect condition, though a Man O’ War could reduce it to scrap in seconds.

The Clan mechs raced forward.  The pristine Assault stars lead the way.  Each had a Fenris out front, two brawler Man O’ Wars armed with a heavy auto-cannon, and another pair armed for long range.   The battered Rouge stars brought up the rear.  Soren struggled to keep his breath even as over a dozen Assault mechs came racing at them.  More psychological warfare.  They’ve had us on the back foot from the start.  We need something to swing the momentum.  One of the lead mechs indicated left in an all-too-human manner and two mechs followed its directions.  Alpha-One-Four, that’s the leader.  Somehow we have to take him out, just like they did to us.  But this tank just doesn’t have the firepower to make a difference; all I’ve got is speed … and an overconfident enemy.

The Rouge stars stayed back to provide covering fire, but the Assault stars kept coming.  Soren ordered combat maneuvers.  In just a few seconds the Cyclops’ Shield would bash into the Second Battalion, and the gods would cast their lot.  And here comes the cavalry.  Soren nearly wept for joy as three dozen hovercraft swept in straight at Rouge. 

To his front the Assault mechs opened fire.  Soren said, “Target is Alpha-One-Four.”  Nham’s shots went high.  She’s panicked.  Too soon out of training.  There’s only way to stop that mech.  “Nari, set intercept course, ramming speed.”

“That’s suicide,” said Nari even as he turned to meet the 80 ton monster.

“It’s our only shot.”  Soren’s tank was lost in the chaotic melee that was underway.  The Second Battalion advanced under a murderous fire.  The center of their line crumbled, but the Clan mechs took heavy damage.  A lucky PPC shot stripped away the armor from a Man O’ War’s head, and seconds later an SRM cratered out the mech’s skull. 

Soren looked ahead to where Rouge’s second star turned and fired on the approaching hovers.  The battle-worn mechs took down three hovercraft, but the rest came speeding onward.  The heavy guns of the Saladins dropped one mech and left the others vulnerable as the Pegasi spat out a storm of SRMs.  One mech erupted in a fireball, and two mechwarriors ejected from crippled machines.  Only the nimble Fenris survived the assault.

Amid the chaos, the mech designated Alpha-One-Four didn’t turn on Soren’s tank until the last second.  Pulse lasers chopped into the barreling hunk of metal, but failed to stop it.  Soren braced for impact.  The 50 ton tank barreled into the Man O’ War.  It bashed aside one leg and slammed into the other.  The joints buckled against the brunt of the charge, and it knocked the mech onto its back in front of them.  The impact also smashed in the left front of Soren’s tank; jagged shards of armor scraped off three wheels and a tread.

Soren checked the instruments to see that the gun and turret still worked.  “Abandon the vehicle,” Soren ordered.  Nari and Nham were happy to oblige.  One man is all this baby needs now.  Soren did not follow Nham out the hatch, instead he took her gunnery seat.  Still smoldering and with the hatches open, no self-respecting Clanner will fire on me.

Inspired by Soren’s charge, the Second Battalion rallied.  The Assault stars now found themselves with tanks to their front, fire from the ridge on their flank, and hovers behind.  The second star turned back to prevent the hovers from taking a free pass at the last of the Rouges.  This left their brawlers without targets, but it also warded off the hover companies.  Meanwhile, the first Assault star lacked direction with its leader struggling to rise.  Almost immediately, incoming missiles pummeled him back to the ground.  The air sizzled as high energy beams cut through it.  Soren lost sight of his fleeing crew in the smoke and dust.

The four leaderless mechwarriors tore into the ever-diminishing Second Battalion, but they became bogged down in a melee, fighting without coordination or direction.  This allowed the Axel’s heavy guns to be brought to bear.  Even hobbled tanks could be of use in the brief slugfest, though Soren held back rather than give up his ruse.  The Hunters fired their last salvo at optimal range against the slow moving mechs.  The combined fire devastated the Clan mechs.  The Fenris disintegrated and the other mechs were gutted or else cut down when the Gustavs switched to cluster rounds.  The Second Battalion knocked out the four isolated mechs, but exhausted the last of its strength doing so.

The entire Clan force now consolidated.  The four remaining mechs from Rouge were heavily damaged,  one was missing an arm.  The four mechs from Assault were s in better condition, despite taking hits from all sides.  They easily suppressed the fire from the ridge then paused a moment. 

Soren glanced up to where the First Battalion frantically searched for serviceable tanks.  He tried not to think of the grisly task of pulling out charred corpses before checking if the guns still worked.  Alright First Battalion, your turn to stand strong.  That just leaves the Third.

The Clan commander apparently suspected an ambush on the ridge, so she circled around to approach from behind.  The hovercraft of Third Battalion moved to follow the mechs and threatened to dash into range, so the Wolves split their force.  Four mechs advanced on the heights, while a Fenris and three Man O’ Wars detached to ward off the Third Battalion.  Soren’s tank rattled slightly as they passed him by.  The Fenris guarding their rear was preoccupied by a pair of Warriors that flirted just out of range.  The Man O’ Wars faced down the Third Battalion.

Thorston … I just realized that’s an auspicious name.  Soren clasped the pendant at his neck and drew inspiration from his faith.  He singled out the brawler.  That’s what’s keeping our hovers in check.  It’s an absolute death sentence to lead a charge at that thing.

The Scimitars fanned out with a probing attack.  The long range mechs sniped back while the brawler paced out in front.  Soren waited until his target exposed its rear torso.  He aimed for the center of mass, and trusted the gods to guide his strike to a weakened section of rear armor.  One of his shells punched through, and the Man O’ War’s heat signature spiked, revealing a hit to the engine shielding.  Though the damage wasn’t serious, the startled mechwarrior started to pivot on him.  You just had to deal with me personally, didn’t you?  Now we’ve got you. 

Soren slithered from the gunnery position to command.  He radioed, “Third Battalion, now!”  His nemesis scanned the battlefield for a few seconds.  The wave of hovercraft started accelerating toward them.  Third Battalion just needed that little nudge.  Now they will overwhelm this detachment and the mechs storming the ridge. The brawler’s mechwarrior had identified him.  Soren stared down the barrel of a giant cannon.  You must be so disappointed to find only this crippled Vedette.  His tank was already melting from lasers as a single shell flew at him. My Valkyrie has come.

[robbybarbera]

Thank you Siegfried Marcus I have enjoyed the story of The Huskarls' Hold since you started it and I am looking forward to more. Keep at it!

[DOC_Agren]

Lt. Col. Thjálfi  Olmet
You gave it your all
I hope it was enough to break the damm clanners
 [cheers]
For you because I know you were there https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7oVzfzuts3o


corrected

[Siegfried Marcus]

Lt. Col. Soren Olmet

You are thinking of Thjálfi Soren.  He was a gunner turned tank commander.  Lt. Col. Olmet is the senior Huskarl officer on Kirchbach.  Parts one and three are from Thjálfi Soren's perspective.  Part two is from Olmet's.  I can understand the confusion because I gave Soren a first name as his surname.  Just as background, his ancestors changed their name to something "Nordic sounding" in order to better assimilate on Kufstein.  A Nordic surname signifies identity with the dominant Rasalhague culture, regardless of blood line.  The predominance of Nordic names is also enhanced by the practice of newlyweds taking the surname of the more Nordic sounding spouse.  I know it's hard to keep track of things when I don't post for months at a time.  It's hard to believe I started this story over a year ago. 

Thanks for the link.  That's the spirit I was going for. 

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 9-1

Rasalhague
20 June 3050

Demerci arrived at the Keiretsu Industrial Lathe and Press compound on the outskirts of Reykjavik.  After waiting for a couple trucks to pass through the gate, he spoke to a grey-haired woman with a  submachine gun.  They had to shout to be heard over the din.  Afterward, Demerci waited next to an open-bed truck crammed with sinewy youths as a stream of traffic poured in. 

Soon, Aimi Hamasaki arrived.  She kept her name, so she must have married for talent rather than status.  Certainly not for love.  Still, she looks as good as ever.  She said, “Kazim, It’s been a long time.  I heard you are with Transportation now.  Why are you here?”

“Special assignment.  We have business to discuss, but first I would like to see this facility,” said Demerci. You don’t look happy to see me, but that’s not surprising.

“I don’t normally provide tours, but how could I refuse an old friend?  You will need this.”  She handed him a helmet.  Her voice came through on internal speakers.  “Though small by comparison to our Ymir facilities, this is one of the larger tool works on the continent.  It is certified to produce parts for the Armaments Guild, though our primary focus has always been the commercial market.  Nevertheless, we have answered the call to arms.”

She led him into an enormous building clad in plastic sheeting that rattled with the heavy hammer blows from inside.  Through the helmet he could also distinguish the grinding, screeching, and clanging of metalwork.  Over all this were the foremen shouting into megaphones.  The floor was packed dirt, except for a few concrete slabs supporting heavy equipment.  Forklifts darted between work stations and rickety conveyor belts.  Workers crowded the floor as they scurried to perform their jobs.  At their end of the building, a team unloaded giant metal rods and feed them into a furnace.  Other teams held them in place as two drop hammers pounded them down.  Each blow reverberated through the hollowness in Demerci’s chest. 

Hamasaki explained, “This is a completely new line making 1.6 meter augers for the earthworks projects.  Many of these machines were made at this facility.”  She gave him a moment to observe.  “We have made every sacrifice to meet the urgent need for such equipment.” 

A network of wires and pulleys suspended the rods from the building’s steel frame as human brawn hoisted and dragged them back to the furnace and then on to the next station.  More workers clamped the flattened metal and twisted it into its distinctive corkscrew shape using a crank and flywheel.  Such primitive methods formed a production line punctuated by a few professional machine tools.  Further down, there was a second furnace, and beyond that an occasional spout of flame where hot steel met cool oil.  Periodically, a shower of sparks marked the latest progress. 

Demerci said, “You must have over a hundred people on the floor.”

“Given a few months’ notice, we could have reduce labor requirements immensely.  But manpower is our most versatile asset.”  She paused a moment.  “If this is about our safety record, keep in mind that injuries among union metalworkers have risen only six-fold.  Considering we’ve nearly doubled the number of union-man-hours, sped up production lines, and allowed apprentices to work unsupervised, I’d say we are doing well.  The real spike in injuries comes from production lines like this where the workforce is eighty-five percent unclassified laborers; many are new recruits.  We do our best to protect the foremen, and we do what we can for the rest.  In fact, we are actively identifying, training, and promoting promising workers.  In time, we hope to recoup our losses of skilled workers.”

Demerci nodded.  Hamasaki led him to another building.  She said, “Here we manufacture end mills for machine tools.  We are currently retaining thirty percent of our output for use in our own facilities.”

They had entered from the back where finished mills were sorted and packaged.  Forklifts and cranes carried supplies across the floor.  Workers dotted the semi-automated production line.  It advanced at a stately pace while laborers brought in materials and cleared debris. Hamasaki said, “Two tungsten carbide milling machines from our Ymir facility enable production of high-grade steel tools.  The grinder near us is from Alshain.  Due to the need for precision, this line cannot be sped up.  Instead, we are running two eleven hour shifts.  We now offer stock incentives to metalworkers who exceed the required six shifts a week.  In addition, we are using common shares to pay master craftsmen and even some journeymen.  As the market continues to fall, this is becoming increasingly prohibitive.”

Common shares?  The Zaibatsu jealously guard voting stock.  They are indeed desperate, but are they willing to take the leap of faith we require?

Hamasaki next took him to a small office with reasonable soundproofing.  She took off her helmet, obliging Demerci to do the same.  She glared at him with her left hand propped on her hip.  I remember that stance.  I guess the tour is over.  She said, “I could show you the facility that produces our KTL-29 Lathe.  It has over sixteen kilowatts of spindle power and is capable of 2600 rpm.  Keiretsu’s commitment to excellence has made this model an industry standard.  Or you could tell me why you dragged me halfway around the planet.  You want me to see that you have status now in the government?   I see it.  I never doubted you, but I’m Hamasaki.  Each generation has sacrificed to build this dynasty.  I chose to be a part of that, and I married accordingly.”

Demerci said, “No, I’m not here for you, but I am here for your family.  I need the Hamasaki to sustain Rasalhague’s secondary armament’s industry.”

She laughed.  “Oh, is that all? … Anyway, we don’t have the political influence to compete in the armaments industry.  That’s why we specialize in subsidiary contracts.”

“Political influence is a fluid commodity these days.  Capability is at a premium, and your vertically-integrated industrial conglomerate gives you expertise up and down the supply chain.  You are uniquely positioned to make new acquisitions.”

Hamasaki objected, “My family is only one of several that form Keiretsu.  Without a controlling interest –”

You taught me better than that.  “Your grandfather is one of the only Zaibatsu elders still on Rasalhague.  Someone had to be left behind to manage the company holdings.  That’s why he’s still here, isn’t it?  And you are still here because he relies on you.”

She acknowledged as much with the tilt of her head.  “Even so, our financial reserves are depleted, and we are operating at a loss.”

“It’s a buyer’s market,” offered Demerci.

“Yeah, because the market is collapsing.  Capital is fleeing this world faster than light.”

“No,” said Demerci.  “Money is fleeing.  Equipment, factories, materials, skilled labor, going-concern value – all these are still here.  They just needs a guiding hand.”

“Assuming we had the financing, why would we produce second-rate weapons for a government that isn’t even buying them?”  The color drained from her face as she asked.  “Oh, I see.  You are thinking of the next government.”

“No,” said Demerci.  “We can win.  Right now the military is focused on quality, but we can leverage far more might through mass production.  Once other companies see your lead, they will follow, helping to stabilize key industries.  There’s still a lot of wealth tied down on this planet.  Show investors where it belongs.  You have profited from the Huskarl reforms, now’s the time to double down.”

Hamasaki eyed him skeptically.  “How much use are para-military weapons against the Clans?  Kirchbach was our only success, and I heard we fought with only our best regiment.”

She’s well informed.  “I was attached to a Huskarl regiment on St. John, and I saw what the militia could do with a standard 150 mm rifle and basic rockets.  Even infantry LAWs can do damage at close range.  We need to make this a war of attrition.  The Clans must be at the end of a very long supply chain.  That’s why they’re so eager to economize losses.”

She said, “Wow, you are talking about primitive tech.  And are you going to just bypass the Armaments Guild?”

“The Guild exists to maintain artificial scarcity.  It’s the same reason we restrict planetary militias: to prevent local autonomy.  So long as the Republic played by those rules, we could placate the Successor States and control the Valdherren governors.  But now we need to unchain the Valdherren and enable them to defend themselves.  We need to organize defenses on the principles you are using to make those augers.  We substitute blood and sweat for capital.  We use proven, scalable methods.  We exploit vast untapped resources for even the most marginal value.  We can achieve overwhelming numbers, but we need a new military-industrial paradigm.  One that can underpin the KungsArmé with enormous planetary militias.  Life is cheap, but battlemechs aren’t.”

Hamasaki spoke softly, “You want to export this model to the entire realm?  You are talking about reshaping our entire society.”

“I’m talking about forging a true republic that is held together by more than the antiquated notion of ethno-nationalism.  Many of the core Norse worlds have already fallen.  If the Republic is to survive, it must incorporate new identities.” Even Tobiassen sees that now.  “You can be at the forefront of that movement.”

After a moment’s consideration Hamasaki  asked, “How much time do we have?  What you are proposing would take months to even begin to bear fruit.”

Demerci said, “It all depends on the KungsArmé.  That’s why this place needs to keep tooling-up more factories to make shells.  We have a chance, and it’s our only chance.  The Clans openly boast of enslaving the captured.  They call themselves “trueborn,” which I guess means super-human.  God only knows what they do with the sub-humans once they take control.”

“What can I do?”

“Prepare a takeover of West Hammerfest Steel.  They are going into bankruptcy next week, and we can’t allow them to liquidate.”

Hamasaki’s furrowed her brow.  “West produces five times the steel we do.  It’s going to take more than a sweetheart procurement contract to make that happen, and I still need to sell the old man.  Just how much influence are you peddling?” 

Demerci cracked a smile.  “How about a meeting between old-man-Hamasaki and Tobiassen?”

“Johan Tobiassen?”  She reeled back.  “How do you have that kind of pull?”

It seems I’ve amounted to more than your family expected.  “Set it up.  I’ll show myself out.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 9-2

12 July 3050
Rasalhague

Slylvie Olson dreamed she was back on St. John.  She could barely slog through the mud and grass.  Why can’t I run?  In the dying light, she scanned the horizon for some clue where to go.  There, to the east, something moving, coming fast. Panic gripped her as a massive, blocky figure emerged from the dark bounding toward her.  It fired off missiles.  Olson collapsed to the ground as explosions all around threw mud and water onto her.  A wretched squishing sound grew louder with every stride of the mech’s approach.  She started to cry. It’s almost on top of me.  Suddenly, the ground sank and pulled her up against the metallic foot that nearly crushed her.  A moment later, the foot wrenched free and she tumbled into the hole it left behind. 

Olson cowered there a while, then climbed out of the newly formed puddle.  They will be back.  They’ll send collaborators to find me, and then they’ll kill me.  She tried to run, but her legs resisted. Don’t I have a Jackal?  Am I not a Huskarl? Instantly, she found herself speeding across the open ground. 

Back at the base, the civilians were preparing to leave.  “You can’t go,” Olson said.  “You can’t join the Clan.”  She tried to stop them, but they pushed past her, looking hurriedly in all directions.  She ran out ahead of them and drew her pistol.  “Turn back, or I will shoot you.”  They approached anyway, and she fired.  She wounded the closest man in the leg, but he and all the others continued on.  She shot him in the chest, and he died.  She fired again and again.  “Stop.  Stop, damn it!”

She took aim at another fellow citizen, but this one she recognized.  It was her sister, and behind her, their parents.  No.  They can’t be here, they’re safe on Trond… Then she remembered and collapsed from the agonizing emptiness in her belly.  Olson awoke with a start as her legs fell over the side of the bed.  She took a moment to untangle herself from her blankets, then reached for the drawer containing her commissary vodka. 

Later, she received an unwelcome visitor.  She asked him, “Colonel Wahlgren, sir, are you here to cancel my leave?”  After the battle of Thorston’s Hollow, the survivors of Olmet’s old First Battalion transferred to Rasalhague and were granted indefinite leave.  But she hadn’t actually fought at Thorston’s Hollow; she’d been on patrol looking for the battel armor Olmet suspected. 

Wahlgren took a look around the room and then at her.  If you say one word about that bed, so help me … Instead, he said, “Corporal, you need to take better care of yourself.” 

 “Are you cancelling my leave?”  she insisted.

“No,” said Wahlgren.  “I’m sorry about Trondheim.  A lot of us have lost family.”

“Why are you here?”

“I want to show you something.  Let’s get out of here,”  Wahlgren said.  Olson knew she couldn’t refuse.  She stood to grab her hat and coat, but her vision blurred, and she dropped to one knee.  It’s nothing, I’m just a little dizzy from … standing up.  Oh God.

They walked to a Jackal hovercraft at the end of the parking lot.  It was the APC version with an LRM-5.  “You drive,” said Wahlgren as they approached.

“I can’t.  I’m not fit to –”

“There won’t be traffic, and I’d ride with you anytime.  Get in and drive, Corporal.”  Wahlgren and his aid went to the back.  Olson climbed in the front.  Fine with me if I get us killed.

The display indicated a rout leading through the defensive works going up around the city.  The Jackal’s communications capabilities were on par with other front-line combat vehicles, and several points were highlighted to link to a description of those positions.  On St. John, Meyer’s militia had used Jackals as much for command and control as for combat.  The engine hummed as she throttled it up.  There were no missiles loaded.  Just checking.  Well, let’s see what you’ve got, Colonel.

Soon they came to the first of the earthworks.  A series of great ridges of dirt, stone, and concrete stretched across the land.  Between these were trenches built to battlemech scale.  This network carved a massive gash across the landscape.  The trenchworks ran straight through the shops and homes that once lined the highway, but the road itself remained intact to bridge the trench.  A pair of bunkers housing AC-10s guarded the road.  What are those supposed to do against a Clan mech?  Upon closer inspection, they were decoys or maybe stand-ins, but a number of smaller guns were concealed among the buildings on either side.

“Who’s going to be manning these defenses?” Olson asked.

“KungsArmé infantry, supplemented by extra field gunners brought in from off-world.  The earthworks are the heart of it though, and they don’t require manpower.  The brass have decided to withhold our militia to bargain for a reduction in enemy forces.  I’m not sure anyone really knows how that’s supposed to work, but the militia are probably better used as a bargaining chip than cannon fodder.”

They passed by a shopping mall, turned fortress.  Half a dozen artillery pieces sat in the parking lot alongside three Scorpions and a Hetzer.  A pair of backhoes worked to deepen the trench surrounding the grounds.  Wahlgren’s voice came over the headset, “The idea is to use the trenches and a series of strongholds with mutually supporting artillery to restrict enemy movement.  It’s not just here.  We have major earthworks like this outside Tyr and Asgard, and we have smaller works across the planet.  This will even the odds for our armor.” 

“What if the Clan just jumps over the trenches?” asked Olson.

“What?  Most of their mechs don’t have jump jets,” Wahlgren said uncertainly. 

You don’t know if they can reconfigure their mechs to jump, do you?  You didn’t even think of that? “Well, I’m so relieved everything is under control.  So, can we skip the outer defenses and get back for lunch?”  In truth, she felt more confident and self-assured as she banked her Jackal and accelerated through a hard turn.

Wahlgren ignored her comment.  “The killing blow will come from our air force.  We have a lot of fighters to contest the skies.  It won’t be like Kirchbach.  And we have hundreds of ground-attack aircraft to finish off the Clan mechs.”

“Speaking of Kirchbach,” said Olson.  “There was not a single Huskarl awarded a Seraphim.  I’ve seen the footage, and that’s not right.”

“There was nothing I …” Wahlgren started awkwardly.  “The truth is: the Huskarls won that battle.  But medals are a political matter.  Olmet was wrong about the air threat, and others took control of the narrative.  It would have been damaging to the Republic to dispute it.  Besides the KungsArmé regular tankers really needed the morale boost.”

Figures it would be some B.S. like that.

“And,” added Wahlgren with some reluctance, “our allies in the Riksdag were able to leverage the issue in exchange for tangible results.  I’m forming a new regiment from surplus equipment and volunteer Huskarls brought in from off-world.”

“So, you sold out your men for a new command?” asked Olson.  And these are the leaders of the Republic.  We’re doomed.

“I leveraged their sacrifice to keep fighting.  That’s the only way we can honor them now.”

That’s just like you.  “So, you want me to go back,” said Olson.

“Not go back, the enemy is coming to you.  The only choice you have is whether to fight back.” 

They passed through another ghost town.  All the homes inside the defensive perimeter were abandoned.  Olson said, “It won’t be like you say.  Maybe you’ll sting the Clan, but then they will change the rules, and it will become a bloody mess where we do all the bleeding.  And I’ll be killing the people who used to live here – because we can’t protect them!”

Wahlgren said, “We won’t be targeting collaborators.  We have agents in place to infiltrate their ranks: saboteurs and assassins.  We’re ready for them this time.  But we don’t have experienced junior officers.  If you don’t fight, I’ll lose a lot of soldiers before I get someone who can replace you.  You can never escape what you’ve had to do, but you can spare so many others.”

Olson said nothing.  After a moment, Wahlgren renewed his entreaty.  “Your family on Trondheim is not dead.  Their spirit is not broken.  They are counting on the KungsArmé to rescue them; they are counting on you.”

Olson had to slow down as her vision blurred with tears. I hate you, Wahlgren.  “Fine.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 9-3

Jump Ship Dire Wolf, Rasalhague system
7 August 3050

Nikula sat across a small table from Abe Ibori.  Apparently he was the closest thing Clan Wolf had to an expert on Inner Sphere culture.  Without meaning to, she had been repeatedly drawn into conversations with him. I must remain on guard, but somehow I keep slipping up.  Maybe I am losing it, or maybe they are drugging me.

Ibori said, “You have told us how important family is to you, and that the Clan can never replace them.  Soon we will reunite you with your family, and they will all be given the chance to earn positions of honor.  This will allow you to serve Clan Wolf, qui-aff?”

“What are you saying?  Where are we?”  But Nikula knew where they were.  She mustered all her dignity to keep from retching at the realization.

Ibori said, “Rasalhague, of course.  I had hoped you would be pleased.  You want to be reunited with your family, qui-aff?  Furthermore, you wish to resume your responsibilities as an administrator for this world.  Now you have the chance to earn that privilege once again.  Once we have taken Rasalhague, we will be free of the ilKhan’s edict, and you will see the full stride of the unchained Wolf. You can save your people by promoting the Warden cause.  Through us, you can help to reshape the Inner Sphere.”

“I will not help you subjugate my family.  You people are monsters!  You have traded your humanity to the Devil.  You do not even realize what you have become.  You cannot lead humanity.  You can’t even understand it!”  Nikula’s chest heaved as she struggled to breath.

Ibori thought for moment then said, “Perhaps you are right that our warrior class has made sacrifices that we do not acknowledge.  But your view of humanity is too narrow.  Traditional kinship bonds were important to many societies, but they are not the only means of finding solidarity.  The Clans are family too, and linked by blood.  Perhaps it is enough that fate will allow you to serve both your family and your Clan.”

“Fate has yet to be decided on that point, qui-aff?  If your Clan has one weakness, it is over-confidence.”  Why am I telling him this?

“Quite true,” said Ibori.  “We have come to the same conclusion.  We have studied our failures in this campaign.  Our pride and hunger for prestige has caused us to take unnecessary risks.  Our commanders at Kirchbach knew the dangers of fighting at close quarters, but their pride would not allow them to adjust their tactics.  That is a flaw in our character just as the Republicans penchant for deception is a flaw in theirs.  Captured officers often tell us we have fallen for the ‘oldest trick in the book.’  Now we have compiled our own book of Inner Sphere tricks.  It was only our virtue and forbearance that made us vulnerable in the first place.”

Nikula made a point of saying nothing, and Ibori continued.  “We were mistaken to bargain so freely with non-mechwarriors.  Part of this was pride, as you say, but try to understand our perspective.  We are the Hidden Hope of mankind.  Whether Warden or Crusader, we have long dreamed of this triumphant return.  We believed such a glorious event must be decided by honorable combat between the finest warriors.  Imagine our dismay when we learned that the Republic had replaced so many mechwarriors with mere soldiers.”

Unbelievable…  Sorry, no sympathy for the Devil.

Ibori continued, “I see that you still do not appreciate our commitment to honor.  In any case, we will not allow pride to cost us this victory.  You see, The Republic can only defeat us when we allow them the opportunity to do so.  This time, we will take no unnecessary risks.  The Khan must have his prize.” 

His prize?  And you believe yourselves to be different from the Successor States?

Ibori gave her an appraising look.  “This also will be a test of the Republic’s martial virtue.  You know the Prince personally, qui-aff?  Is he a man of valor?”

Nikula welled with indignation.  “The Prince will defend his people at all costs.  If you hope to intimidate him, your defeat is assured.”  Shut your mouth, no good can come of this.

Ibori said, “We have heard he is more fox than lion.  Would you agree?”  Nikula struggled to remain impassive.  Ibori pressed on, “He is not a coward, of course, but will he stand and fight or flee to resist another day?”  Doubt flickered through Nikula’s mind as Ibori spoke.  “If, by some apparent error, we offered him a last chance to escape, would he take it?”  He is the Silver Fox, after all.  He would try to slip away.  Nikula felt herself twitch and shudder.  Ibori smiled and said, “Yes, I thought he would.” 

For shame, my weakness has betrayed him.  I am nothing but a liability now.

Ibori rose from his chair.  “Do not judge yourself too harshly.  Your stunt with the inquisitor may have bought this world a few weeks, but we have been preparing for our return for centuries.  The conquered people and those yet to be conquered recognize the natural inevitability of Clan rule.  The will to resist is crumbling throughout the Republic.  Our intelligence indicates that Rasalhague does not even expect its militia to participate in the fight.  Though our cultures differ, we both obey one fundamental principle: The strongest rule.  You would do well to accept the reality of the situation while you still have some value to us.”  Ibori looked satisfied as he rose to leave.

“You are wrong about the militia,” called out Nikula as a half-formed idea burst into her head.  “The reason they are not preparing to fight is because they expect to be ‘bid away’ in the negotiations.  That is how your system works, qui-aff?” 

Ibori raised an eyebrow.  “Neg, you may have drawn false assumptions from our previous conduct, but as I told you, we will be making no further deals.  We are about to conduct bidding with a rival Clan to determined our force commitments.  Your insight into the Prince is much appreciated in that regard.”

“But you are relying on a trick to reduce your opposition.”

“We have not tricked anyone, and you are merely speculating about why the militia is not expected to fight.”

“I know Rasalhague plans to bid away the militia because that was the advice I sent out in my last communication.  The government will rely on my advice because of my experience, and my experience of Clan Wolf is tainted by Ramon Sender.”

“That is absurd,” stammered Ibori.  “Obviously Sender’s crimes have nothing to do with this.”

Your reaction gives away as much as mine.  You can’t risk even a hint of scandal.  Nikula felt a surge of elation and seized hold of it.  “This much is obvious: I formed a false belief based on the conduct of a dishonorable warrior.  If you allow that falsehood to stand, you are complicit in his actions, qui-aff?”  Honestly, it is a little thin.  Perhaps if I throw in a gratuitous insinuation … “And before you try to bury this too, remember, I know that these conversations are monitored by the Snow Raven representative.”

Ibori stiffened as he said, “Of course, we will take this new information into consideration.”

And one more swipe at their pride.  “If my Prince flees, as you claim he will, the militia will be of no consequence.  Yet you still rely on deception to avoid fighting them.  Perhaps it is Clan Wolf’s valor that is lacking.”

Ibori’s confidence returned.  “As you say, the militia will be of no consequence.  Even if they do fight, they are only capable of delaying tactics.”  Nikula smiled for just a second. Meyer’s militia used delaying tactics … and look how that turned out ... Her satisfaction drained away as she remembered.

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 10-1

Rasalhague
12 August 3050

Johan Tobiassen awoke to the buzzing of someone at his door.  Just a few hours earlier, he had returned to his penthouse apartment overlooking the Oslo River.  He couldn’t get home to his villa, but he had promised himself a decent night’s sleep and a view of the sunrise.  Instead he awoke to see Sigurd’s crescent reflection off the black water.  He took a moment to look out across the river to the towering buildings and grand parks of the south bank.  If I can’t take a moment to appreciate this, what’s it all for?  The city of Reykjavik surrounded him.  Beyond that was one of human civilization’s great worlds.  Rasalhague’s abundance had supported billions of people for centuries.  But for the blaring doorbell, one couldn’t help but stand in awe of the crown jewel of the Republic.

Tobiassen threw on a silk robe and greeted Ashlyn Garza.  He said, “You better not have gotten me up to tell me Ymir has fallen.”  The entire defense of Hammerfest had been a disaster.  Now the main industrial centers were all but lost.  So much for Demerci’s plan to convert civilian production to military use.  He grabbed a mug.  “Coffee?”

Garza waived off the offer and said, “I have worse news, I’m afraid.”

“They’re attacking on Reykjavik?”

“Just the opposite.  They have intensified their air activity over Hammerfest.  That has left a window of opportunity here at the capital –”

Whalgren speculated, “You’re worried we will overcommit our fighters?”  A reasonable concern considering the lingering command issues between Prince Magnusson and General Mansdottir.

Garza said, “That’s what I thought at first.  The Flying Drakøns are on high alert, and my sources indicate they are preparing for a massive operation authorized by the Prince himself.  I’ve been unable to determine the purpose, which is suspicious in itself.  I can’t reach anyone on the Command Council either – it seems no one can.  If there is a major action planned, they should be at their desks despite the hour.”

Garza paused to let that sink in as Tobiassen fumbled to make coffee and grasp the significance of her report.  Once the coffee started to brew, he said, “So …?” 

“Twenty minutes ago, I learned that General Mansdottir will be taking direct control of all forces present on Rasalhague once ‘immediate operations’ are concluded.  There was no exception for the Flying Drakøns or the Royal Guards Company.”

It’s about time the Prince got his nose out of Command, … but there’s no way he would give up his Guards.  Does he have one last mission for the Flying Drakøns?  If he wouldn’t commit the fighters to save Yimir before, why would he now that it’s too late?  Wait a second … “all forces present on Rasalhague.”  Garza nodded to confirm the realization.  He’s not defending Rasalhague, he’s abandoning it!

Tobiassen boiled with indignation.  “Over my dead body!” He thinks he can rid himself of me.  The shear arrogance of it.  As if his divine will runs the Republic.  As if a few top ministers could govern from afar?  But he’d trade half the Republic for a kingdom.  This is his chance to be rid of parliament.  Maybe he sold us out already.  God knows we don’t stand a chance of holding this world without the Flying Drakøns. “We need to stop this.  Get me Mansdottir.”

“Sir, he’s got to be going along with this.  If he wanted to take the reins, he’s had his chances.  And if we tip our hand to him …”

“Yes … too bad.  Some men just aren’t cut out for greatness.  That means I need an army of my own.  If we present Mansdottir with a fait acompli, he will go on being the good soldier.  With The Prince gone –”

“No,” said Garza.  “We need him as much as we need the General.”

“Curse you, you’re right.  It would tear the Republic apart to see its beloved Prince betray them.  So we need to force him to serve as figurehead.  We need to shame him into doing his duty.”

Garza nodded.  “He makes a public statement committing to defend Rasalhague to the end, and he turns military control over to Mansdottir.”

Tobiassen thought a moment and said, “We need more assurance.  We need to hold the Prince until we can consolidate control.  We purge those who threaten the the Republic.  Then, we have him convene the Riksdag for an emergency session to unify the Estates under a newly-elected Chancellor.”  In his mind, a well-crafted plan of execution spontaniously emerged.  He felt compelled to add, “God help me, I never wanted this.”

Tobiassen was already a major figure in the Riksdag, when he helped persuade Prince Magnusson to adopt the Huskarl reforms.  Since then, the political landscape had shifted.  The traditional military nobility still held enormous power, but they were fractured among loyalists to the Prince, General Mansdottir, and more traditionalist leaders within Mansdottir’s own MotPart.  Meanwhile, Prince Magnusson and Tobiassen had drifted apart.  Now they competed for the broader factions empowered by the Huskarl reforms.  Tobiassen had emerged as a leading voice among the parliamentarians who called for clear limits on the powers of the Prince and increased authority for the Riksdag.  He served as a powerbroker among the representatives of his own Second Estate.  Although Lutheran, he held particular influence with the Orthodox Christians and Hindus in the Third Estate.  And he cultivated alliances with the new money of the Fourth Estate.  More recently, he leveraged this influence to develop deep ties within the military; some of his allies worried they were too deep. It was these connections that Tobiassen hoped to draw upon now.  He said, “Get me General Nurmsalu.”

Garza replied, “Sir, what you need is a colonel.  A general has more troops under his authority, but a colonel has direct command.  A good colonel owns his regiment.”

Yes, of course.  It’s always the colonels. “Well I’ve got a few of those don’t I?  I throw enough money at them.”

“In the infantry, sure, but this has to be armor.  And it’s got to be someone deep in your pocket.  That means the Royal Tanks are out.  I’d say Jacobsen is your only good bet.  Fourth Armored Regiment, and he’s under Nurmsalu.”

“Set it up in my study.  I’ve got to hit the head.”  A few months ago every senior officer in the Republic wanted a slice of the pie, where are they all now?

Tobiassen sat in his study with his first, much needed, cup of coffee.  “Colonel Jacobsen, I need your help in an urgent and dangerous matter.”

Jacobsen replied, “Representative Tobiassen, I was told … this is highly irregular.  I’m not comfortable with you coming directly to me.”

If you’re uncomfortable now, just wait.  “Desperate times, desperate measures.  We don’t have the luxury of going through the chain of command.  This is a matter of survival for the Republic.  I’m going to need you –” 

“Stop right there, sir.  I’m not doing anything crazy for you.”

“This isn’t for me,” Tobiassen protested.  “This is for you – for all of us.  We have one hope to stop the Clans. The Prince is –”

Jacobsen cut him off again.  “I have the terrible feeling you are about to say something I can’t hear.  I’ll do whatever the Republic requires of me.  If this is over the General Numsalu’s head, I need to see authorization from the Prince or General Mansdottir.  The day I start taking orders from a politician is the day I put my head in a noose.  Now, out of respect for our history –”

Damn it, this isn’t going to work.  “Colonel, you have misunderstood me completely.  I was just trying to expedite things, but you are right.  You will receive all necessary communications through the proper chain of command in due time.  Good luck out there.”

Tobiassen let out a long sigh.  “Ashlyn, who else we got.”

Garza looked incredulous.  “Call him back.  The Prince has stacked the capital with his own officers.  You’ve got to get Jacobsen.” 

“What about the Huskarls?  Didn’t I turn the KungsArmé on its head to create them?”

“As you know, Andersson commands the First.  The Sixth and Eighteenth are in Hammerfest.  Bitar’s training regiment doesn’t have the cohesion, and neither do Wahlgren’s new auxiliaries.”

Tobiassen seized on that last name.  “Wahlgren from the Black Horse?  Now there’s a man I own.  Is his regiment in action?” 

Garza frowned.  “It’s not strong enough.  They are newly organized with second rate gear.  Few of the officers know Wahlgren personally, and, despite our best efforts, some of them are not politically reliable.”

“This isn’t a test of strength, it’s a test of will.  Wahlgren has the will.  And his head is already in the noose; he knows if I go down, he’ll be dragged down with me.  Where is he now?”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 10-2

Rasalhague
12 August 3050

Colonel Wahlgren never liked the narrow layout of the Tjugo.  The holo-display on his left cut him off from everyone but his XO.  Al-Bishi reached awkwardly to indicate the route for the Second Battalion.  Leave it to the Huskarls to cram a regimental HQ into a 20 ton chassis.  But then, if it weren’t for that kind of mentality, there wouldn’t be 28 Huskarl regiments.

The hastily assembled 28th couldn’t compare to the Black Horse he had formerly commanded.  The lances were only four strong.  He had no attack helos and no heavy tanks.  The Gustav As forming the core of his force used a standard AC-10 due to a shortage of the superior LBX.  His Third Battalion had no tanks at all, instead it consisted of an awkward mix of Harassers and Hetzers. 

Personnel problems compounded the deficiencies in equipment.  The crews were Huskarl volunteers from off-world.  They had the resolve to fight the Clan but no experience working together.  Many of the officers seemed to have been chosen more for their political allegiance than their battle readiness.  I know I’m lucky to have a command at all, but there’s no more time for this factional infighting.  The enemy is on our soil for God’s sake, and Tobiassen’s people are still concerned about how some lieutenant’s wife voted.  When the dust settles, I’m going to be awfully exposed on this.  But it’s too late to hedge now.  Not to mention we still have a war to win.

The main problem with off-world officers was that they had no resistance to the Fenris Plague.  The 28th had extra crews to account for this contingency, but not enough.  Wahlgren had gotten the Plague several years ago, and this bout wasn’t as bad.  Yet even with treatment, he endured headaches and vomiting.

If I had a couple more months, I could have made this a real fighting regiment.  Thank God the Clan went for Asgard instead of Reykjavik.  We’ve barely had time to assemble our defenses, much less prepare them.  My regiment will be ready enough, but who knows about the militia.

The capital world didn’t place much reliance on militia because of the abundance of regular KungArmé regiments.  The brass had planned to bargain away the militia, but they reversed that after initial contact with the invaders.  Now every reservist was being called to arms, but after weeks of hearing that they wouldn’t be needed or useful, they were of dubious value.  Yet each passing day made the fight more real.  Most people cared little about what happened on distant planets, but this was their home.  A hostile and alien people were on their soil, and this hardened their resolve.

As for his own regiment, Wahlgren had felt confident so long as he had been supporting the First Huskarl at Stenlille.  The First Huskarl was rife with cronyism and stocked with monarchists.  On the other hand, it had excellent equipment, good junior officers, and well-trained crews.  Besides, who has time for politics now?  The Clan threatens monarchists and parliamentarians alike.  Well I’ve got my regiment, and I’ve got my orders.  If we’re to be a speedbump, let’s be as bumpy we can. 

Wahlgren had just split his forces to be divided between two strongholds along the partially completed outer defenses.  Each stronghold would also have a battalion of KungArmé infantry and a couple regiments of militia.  If the Clan tried to bypass the stronghold, he was to harass them.  If they made a direct assault, he was to inflict “prohibitive losses” to drive them away.  It worked on St. John when the Black Horse teamed up with Meyer’s tenacious militia, but they were facing much longer odds this time. 

An urgent request came in from General Nurmsalu’s office.  What does he want?  I thought he was running the Southern District.  The Wolves are at our throat, and we still haven’t even figured out our bloody chain-of-command.  Wahlgren’s head-ache flared up as he opened the channel.  “This is Balsam Fir Actual.  Security protocol …”  The pounding in his head prevented him from finding the right procedures. 

A familiar voice said, “Save it, Wahlgren – no time.”

“Johan?  You can’t call me like this.”  Why would he be so careless? 

“I need your regiment in the capital ASAP,” said Tobiassen.  “There’s a crisis.  I’ll work on getting you orders, but I need you to move now.  Who are your most loyal company commanders?”

“Most loyal?  What kind of crisis is this?”  I’m talking to a politician; what does that tell me?

“You know exactly what I mean, Colonel.  I need officers who serve the Republic and its people above all else … even above the Prince.”

“Johan!  Are you insane?  How long do you think it will take for this to get back to Command?” 

Tobaissen said, “Longer than it will take Prince Magnusson to flee off-world with the Flying Drakøns.  Unless you stop him, Rasalhague is lost.”

“Jesus …”  A flash fever swept through him.  Suddenly Wahlgren noticed the looks his staff were giving him.  I’m all-in now.  He turned to Al-Bishi, “Get my regiment turned around, and pull the files on all our company commanders.”  Tobiassen gave a grunt of approval from across the comm. line.  Wahlgren said, “Johan, what can you do about Andersson’s First Huskarl?  They control the bridge at Stenlille.  Can we get through?”

“You have to.  I’ll do what I can.”

That’s not encouraging.  “When are we going to stop bickering and unite against the Clan.”

Tobiassen said, “Tomorrow.  I promise.  Good luck, Colonel.”

Wahlgren fought off another wave of aching and exhaustion.  On the way back to Stenlille, he reorganized his command.  I’m going to need my most reliable troops to face down whatever we run up against.  I’ve got some carryovers from the Black Horse, but some of them have questionable subordinates.  Tobiassen’s people gave me a few recommendations.  The lances from Radstadt and Spital should be good.  Olmet will lead.  If we present a solid front, the guys in the back will go along, especially if they don’t know what’s going on.  With any luck, they’ll only need to look impressive.  If shooting starts, they’ll have to return fire, right?  Still, I have an awful lot of weight to carry and only a  shaky grasp on this regiment.

He called up Olmet.  “I’m consolidating our most reliable soldiers on your battalion.  Pull out anyone who’s sick or afraid.  Also, I’m pulling Avery.  I’m giving you Frank instead and the best of Ando’s men.”

“Sir, Avery has more combat experience –”

Wahlgren said, “I know that, but we need people we can trust: parliamentarians.  Do you have rapport with any of Avery’s captains?”

Olmet hesitated, “Sir, this sounds really bad.”

“Yeah, I think you’ve got the picture.  I need names of officers you trust with this.  Also, look over the ones I’m sending you now.  We got ten minutes to get you a new battalion.”

Soon Wahlgren’s regiment arrived back at Stenlille.  Highway 20 cut across the defensive works and formed the only bridge for many kilometers.  Though he couldn’t see them through the dark, he knew the First Huskarl, was ready to oppose anyone who tried to cross without permission.  Wahlgren rode at the head of his column and climbed out into the cold to personally persuade Colonel Andersson to allow him to pass.  Spotlights blinded him and illuminated the vapor of his breath as he approached the checkpoint with Al-Bishi at his side.  This is no way to fight off the Fenris Plague. He shielded his eyes to see Colonel Andersson scowling in front of him.

Andersson said, “What are you doing back here?  Every minute you waste gives you less time to dig in.”

Wahlgren tried to sound casual but settled for weary.  “There was some kind of mix-up with the orders again.  Now they need us back in Reykjavik.”

“I think you’re the one who’s confused.  I still show you on the eastern perimeter.  And my orders are: no one gets through unless I hear otherwise.”

“Come on Andersson, we both know Command is a mess.  You worry about the First, and let me worry about the 28th.”

For a second Wahlgren thought he caught a glimpse of actual human decency from Andersson as he said, “I understand you are worried about your regiment.  They aren’t ready, and you drew a tough lot, but orders are orders.  I’ll check with General Hermansen; if he wants you back in the city, he needs to let me know.”

How dare this parade colonel lecture me on stepping up to the fight?  “Look Andersson, I didn’t know about it myself until 40 minutes ago.  The brass are even more turned around than usual right now, but I got urgent orders.  I’ll take full responsibility for the consequences.”  That part is for sure.  I’ll be lucky if I don’t get shot over this.

Andersson gave an indulgent smile.  “Let’s not have you stick your neck out.  I’ll make it easy for you.  You aren’t getting through without orders from the general.”

I can get you a general. Wahlgren turned to Al-Bishi, “Get me General Nurmsalu.”  He noticed the look of surprise from Andersson.  Andersson knows Nurmsalu is a parliamentarian.  I’m way out on a limb now. Andersson’s eyes flickered with doubt; he was about to respond when Wahlgren turned away.  Instead Andersson started barking orders at his own staff.

For the next few minutes radio messages flew back and forth as the two colonels’ staffs raced to muster authorization.  Wahlgren got to his general first, but Nurmsalu didn’t have any direct authority.  Nevertheless, they devised a new approach, and Nurmsalu fired off a message to General Hermansen.  This is a weak bluff to put it all on the line.  Moments later Andersson approached with a triumphant smile and handed Wahlgren a comm. saying,  “General Hermansen for you.”

The general spoke first, “What’s this Andersson says about you wanting to go back to Reykjavik?  I didn’t order that.”

“Yes Sir.  General Nurmsalu was supposed to coordinate with you, but I guess he’s been tied up all day.”

“We all are, you fool.  It’s like a bloody hurricane here.  I’ll see you flogged just for making me deal with this.  Whatever you’ve got it will wait until tomorrow.”

“No sir,” said Wahlgren.  “I promised my men that I’d get my sick out of the combat zone.  My regiment will hold those god-forsaken heaps of concrete so long as they’ve got breath and ammo, but not if I have to go back on my word with them.”

“What are you talking about?  Your regiment is 85% effective.”

“No sir.  We’ve been ravaged by a new bout of plague.  You know these guys aren’t local, and the plague is tearing through them.  There was some problem with the data upload on my last entry.  Maybe you show 85%, but I’m nowhere close.  General, I promised my soldiers.  If you send me back with my tail between my legs, I’ll have no cred with my men, but if you let me do right by them, we’ll be your rock.  Plus Southern can use some of our spare equipment.  Check with Nurmsalu.”

General Hermansen let out a belabored sigh, “Hold on … there is something.”  The line went silent for a moment.  Andersson gave Wahlgren a look of death.  He held out his hand to demand the comm. back, but Wahlgren refused.  Hermansen spoke again, “Wahlgren, you were out of line making promises like that without my approval, but what’s done is done.  I’m clearing you to get your sick out, and the rest of you get back in position.  You had no business bringing your whole regiment back in the first place.  You will answer for that later, but right now, I don’t want to hear another word about this.  Put Andersson back on.”

“Yes sir,” said Wahlgren.  He handed back the comm. I’ll have to put Olmet in charge.  Andersson will expect to see me lead the rest of my regiment back.  Olmet’s battalion is the only one I’d count on anyway.

“But sir,” said Andersson, “he’s changing his story … but …but sir.  Yes, sir.  I understand, sir.”  Andersson stiffly returned the comm. to his staff.  “Alright Wahlgren, whatever game you’re up to, you’re in deep now.  You’ve got just enough rope to hang yourself.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 10-3

Rasalhague
12 August 3050

“Yo, Cologne, we’re up.”  Robert Latvala’s mates called him “Cologne.”  As if they hadn’t been just as eager to impress the Duchess of Clay Flats.  And last night I was the one who scored with … Kasumi, was it?  Not that the members of the Royal Guards Company needed much help with that.  It was the most prestigious posting in the Republic for a young mechwarrior.

Twitch pounded at the door, and Latvala shouted, “Alright, Twitch.  Le’ me get cleaned up.”  He climbed over the woman from last night.  This better not be another parade.

Twitch opened the door and said, “No time for preening, Casanova.  Major says report for duty in fifteen.”

Latvala grunted and started getting dressed.  For real this time?  Thank God.  I was afraid they were going to keep me standing around the palace like some toy soldier.  If anyone’s equipped to go toe to toe with these Clanners, it’s us.  A mech like Skoll deserves to see some action.

He respected the threat from the Clan mechs, but the Royal Guards Company fielded a new generation of battlemechs.  The Command Lance had two premium BattleMasters: a commander’s BLR-1C and a BLR-3M with an ER PPC.  Older models, a Thunderbolt and an Archer 2K, filled the other slots.  The Recon Lance had two of the Republic’s own Phoenix Hawk 3K prototypes, a Jenner, and a Firestarter.  The Battle Lance consisted of some of the most modern mechs in the Sphere.  A Grand Dragon DRG-5K served as a second command mech.  The Centurion 9D carried the Republic’s own LBX type AC.  Sadly, Twitch was still riding a standard Griffin while waiting for the new 3M model to arrive.  That left Skoll: Latvala’s own Wolverine 7K.

Latvala strode into the briefing twelve minutes later.  Only the Command and Battle lance were there, suggesting that Recon had moved out sometime earlier on secret orders.  The guys were debating whether they would deploy with the rest of the First Drakøns or cover potential weakness in the southern lines.  Most assumed that their status ensured they would fight alongside their fellow mechwarriors.  Some said they would form the vanguard of a special hunter-killer task force, while others said they would be used as a strategic reserve to counter enemy breakthroughs.  One thing was certain: this was something big.  Noxie’s brother was an officer in the Flying Drakøns and she said they were putting all their birds in the air.  Only Lt. Smets said nothing.  His expression suggested that his warriors were about to be disappointed.  I guess they can’t just throw us into the thick of it, but if we’re mobilizing now, they must plan on showing us some action soon.  We’re too good to sit this one out.

Moments later, Major Lundberg entered and began his briefing.  He would personally lead Battle Lance from the second cockpit of Smets’ Grand Dragon.  The Prince would ride with Command Lance … to the spaceport … where they would all board transports and escape off-world.  The briefing room erupted with indignation that momentarily derailed the briefing.  The major waited until the ruckus died down, then patiently explained that their mission – indeed their purpose – was to ensure the safety of the Prince.  The Prince had determined that he cannot rule from a planet under blockade, and so it was their duty to escort him to safety so that he can continue to lead the war-effort.  The briefing concluded with the details of their route and the necessity of their mission.  Despite grumbling and disgruntled looks, the mechwarriors resigned themselves to their duty. 

They make it sound like we’re beaten already.  A few minutes ago we were fired up to fight, and now they’ve sucked the life right out of us.  But what can we do?  The Prince himself made the call.  I can’t believe he would do that.  What’s the point of electing a warrior if he won’t stand and fight?  It’s got to be those Citadel generals behind this.  Them and the Parliamentarians.  Tobiassen and the rest, they got to him somehow and convinced him to run.  Just like they convinced him to turn his back on his fellow mechwarriors. 

Latvala climbed into the cockpit of Skoll and ran the diagnostics.  He had the standard load out for the new 7K model, making a it a heavy-hitting, short-range brawler.  The display on all those fancy weapons systems lit up showing off twice the firepower of his old Mech.  For a brief moment he imagined cutting up some Clan Elementals with his pulse lasers, then he remembered he would be doing nothing of the kind.  I’ve got a brand new mech with the latest engine, specialized lasers, and increased armor.  I should be taking this beast into battle.  Instead we’ll probably get toasted while docking and end up as space junk.  What a shameful way to go. 

It was a short trip to the spaceport.  He took point hopping along the rooftops.  Despite all the upgrades, Skoll still used the same underpowered jump jets of its predecessors.  None of the jumps were much over 100 meters.  No pushing the envelope on this mission.  No, we’re playing it safe all the way to … Radstadt maybe, Gunzburg, Skandia? Where does it stop?

Of course these wouldn’t be our only advanced mechs if it hadn’t been for the Huskarl reforms.  The Archer 5R was supposed to be in production by early last year.  If we had upgraded our mechs instead  of dumping money into antiquated tanks ….  The Huskarls might have made sense 20 years ago, but there’s a new generation of battlemechs, and we’re missing out thanks to those glorified militia.  Oh look, there’s a bunch of them now.

Latvala radioed Major Lundberg.  “Bow Tie, this is Cologne, I’m seeing a bunch of our armor parked in front of the A-25 bridge.  Are they part of the escort?”

“Negative.  Find out who they are.”

Latvala tried to radio them as he approached.  He touched down about 150 meters away and demanded an explanation over the loudspeakers.  Mostly Gustavs, definitely Huskarls, probably some honor detachment here to soak up the last dregs of prestige from this sad business.  Well it’s your fault you’ve undermined us real warriors who could have defeated the Clan. 

There was still no answer from the tankers.  There were a couple companies just sitting in front of the bridge.  Every barrel followed him with cold menace.  They don’t look very ceremonial.  They’re spattered with mud, and they’ve got grit in their treads.  Infra shows they’ve been running hard.    

“Bow Tie, I’m getting no response from these bus drivers.  Looks like Huskarls, but they don’t seem too friendly.”

“Cologne, remain in position, we’re right behind you.”

Three more mechs came racing onto the scene and took up position behind Latvala.  The implacable tanks still refused to respond.  Soon the Command Lance arrived but stayed a bit further back.  Latvalla wanted to fall back, but he couldn’t suggest any sign of weakness.  If it came to a fight, the Royal Guards would surely win.  Whether he would get out alive was not so certain.

The hatch opened on the lead tank, and an officer emerged.  He walked out halfway to Latvala’s mech, then spoke into a megaphone.  He seemed tiny standing there alone.  “This is Lt. Col. Olmet of the 28th Huskarl.  Subversive elements within the government have conspired to steal away our Elected Prince in our hour of greatest need.  I cannot allow that.”

The Grand Dragon stepped up in front of Latvala and spoke, “This is Major Lundberg of the First Drakøns.  I speak for the Prince, and you are in defiance of his orders.  A detachment of the Flying Drakøns is already en route to ensure his will.  You will stand down immediately or face execution for treason.”  So the Major has taken direct control of the Grand Dragon. 

From below Olmet said, “If it is treason to stand and fight for Rasalhague, then you may kill me now, Major Lundberg.  I refuse to believe that our Elected Prince, who has sworn to defend the Republic, would abandon his people.”  Olmet?  Why does that sound familiar?  He’s got heart, I’ll give him that.  Here are these second-rate tankers trying to make a stand against the First Drakøns.

Lundberg said, “You know nothing of the strategic situation.  Return to your command post, and obey your orders.  Time is short.” 

Olmet did not waiver.  “I’ve faced annihilation from the sky before.  On Kirchbach the Clan rained fire and death on us, but we fought on to secure victory.  And I saw what the Clan’s air power did to our people on St. John.  Is that the fate you will leave for Rasalhague when you take our fighters and run?”

The Grand Dragon’s posture slacked just a touch.  Oh yeah, Olmet was that Huskarl I met on Svelvik last year.  They did some hard fighting on St. John.  And he was on Kirchbach too.  Why are these Huskarls fighting at every turn, while we’re still in parade blue?  Do they really have the heart to stand in our way?  Olmet’s tanks remained inscrutable. A tank’s got a great poker face, not like a mech.  You can can read a mechwarrior from the stance of his machine.

Major Lundberg tried a new tactic.  “I know this isn’t easy.  Our leaving makes things harder on you, but the fight is bigger than that.  We all have our duty to the Prince.  If he lives then the Republic lives.  If the –”

“B.S.,” Olmet’s voice boomed out from every tank now.  “We have a duty to the Republic, and the Republic is the people.  These people.  This world.  A prince who abandons his people is nothing.  If you let the Clan tear the heart out of our nation, you’re the traitor.”

Siren’s Centurion rotated its ankle awkwardly, it’s head hung just a bit in shame.  The left arm of Twitch’s Griffin pulsed with agitation.  We’re mechwarriors!  I’ll be damned if I let these Huskarls put Rasalhague’s finest to shame.  Siren and Twitch feel the same; I can tell.  This is warrior’s blood in my veins, and I’d rather die than suffer this disgrace. 

Major Lundberg started to speak, but broke off when Latvala brought Skoll striding confidently past him.  The tank gunners took notice too, but Latvala let his arms hang slack.  He walked out halfway to Olmet then turned to face his company.  He said, “Above all else, I’m a mechwarrior.  Rasalhague is my home, and these are my people.  When future generations tell how the Clans came to take this world and enslave its people, let them say that Robert of the house of Latvala fought against them.”  Twitch started  walking toward him now.  Siren hung back only a second longer.  The Grand Dragon stood dumbfounded for a moment.  What are you going to do now Major, tell the airjocks to fire on their own regiment?  Noxie’s Archer broke ranks from the Command Lance and started walking toward them.  She hates the Huskarls more than I do.  It’s their fault she’s still riding a 2K.  But today we stand with anyone who will fight for Rasalhague.

The Grand Dragon lurched forward suddenly, then recovered its stance and spoke.  It was no longer Major Lundberg’s voice.  “This is Lt. Smets assuming command of this mech.  I stand with my lance and the people of Rasalhague.”  He turned to face the three remaining mechs. 

Olmet said, “Come out Prince Magnusson.  The threat is over.  Your loyal subjects will lay down their lives to protect you.  Now repay them by joining us on a tour of the city’s defenses.  Come down where the people can see you.  Take your place beside me atop the lead tank of our column.”

After a moment, the last three mechs stepped out.  Prince Magnusson’s voice waivered as he said, “It would be my honor to ride with the Huskarls.”

[DOC_Agren]

Nice to have it back

[Daryk]

Nice indeed!  Hell of a way to talk the Prince around too!  :thumbsup:

[Siegfried Marcus]

Thanks for some feedback.  It's going to be awhile before the next chapter, again.  I suppose that makes it harder to follow, but I do intend to finish it eventually.  Honestly, I could never have written this much if I didn't post it as I finished each chapter.  I hope I've created a plausible alternative to the canon now that I've made a major deviation.

[DOC_Agren]

I have enjoyed this AU, I do hope to hear more from it