IndexPolitical Situation: After the Arluna Flu was brought under control, and a new form of treatment allowed most victims to survive it, and with the development and widespread distribution of a vaccine, the SLDF in the form of two full Corps of Terran Hegemony troops, backed up by a massive Free Worlds League, Draconis Combine, and Federated Suns effort, pushed the Clan invasion back to the 3066 era line. This all happened in mid-to-late 3068. The combined allied forces then drew back, to consolidate on strategically and militarily important worlds, leaving much of the "Plague zone" near the Periphery, undermanned and understaffed, and still recovering from the calamity that befell it. Into this vacuum, worlds that were lightly hit, or whom had managed to recover quickly, were forced to 'take up the slack'.
One of the worlds with the strongest survival rates, was the world of Kowloon. As the most coherent paramilitary force capable of deploying elements on an interstellar scale, the "Lyran 44th Reserve Fleet", aka the Kowloon Coast Guard, was often deployed in penny-packets. On worlds whose native defense was stripped, and whose economic situation made hiring mercenaries difficult, Coast guard personnel found themselves in the un-enviable task of having to assist in rebuilding local militia establishments that had suffered massive losses from the Flu, and from the disruptions that accompanied it.
Equipment was, thanks to the Star League's largesse, not much of a problem for planetary militia, but trained personnel were in short supply-and worlds like Kowloon, and Neerabup, were dragged into the task of trying to train (or re-train) local defense forces. Some worlds (like Anembo) this worked rather well, on other worlds, worlds like Kwangchowwang, the task was monumentally difficult- the combination of defeatist feelings of abandonment, panic, and lingering terror, the loss or destruction of local power structures, and the refusal in some cases to face the reality of their situation, made rebuilding defending forces difficult, especially when the 'advisors' are rated as little more than militia themselves, and have a pronounced lack of the most respected element of any Lyran force-Battlemechs.
The Kowloonese have always had a problem finding 'mechwarriors among their population, and Infantry, no matter how successful or well-trained, just don't draw the same kind of respect from petty nobles that a 'mech, no matter how beaten up, badly maintained, or poorly piloted does...Kwangchowwang, 3069/May/11Lt. Sr. Grade Pol Nguyen stepped off the ramp of the dropshuttle, into Kwangchowwang's bright, bluish-hued sunlight. "Top, I do believe these people must be insane." he said. Still in his mid-twenties, Nguyen had a hard, eurasian face with the perma-tan of Ia Drang ancestry, his eyes and neck had the permanent rash of "one of a thousand" who'd survived the flu without treatment, and his hair was peppered with iron-gray that showed even with the Coast Guard's mandatory "High and Tight" haircut for ground troops. A scar, where he'd had a close touch with a needler's spray, gave his face a 'ripple' to the left side, and his left ear had a permanently ragged look.
The Local Militia's lead companies were formed up in the 'port in parade dress, and Gunny Pak Lo Chu could see what Nguyen was talking about immediately. "I see...sweet god those lines are ragged, and the drip pans..." Shu had the same plague-scars his commander had, but where Pol's complexion almost hid them, his pale, almost china-like skin brought them out like purplish warpaint, with highlights from shrapnel injuries long healed into twisted scars. The final insult, were his teeth-half of them were made of synthetic bonded cerametal rooted in a ceramic lower jaw-his original lower jaw, indeed, the lower half of his mouth, had been destroyed putting down a "Gang of Ferals" outside Buenos Estadia on Arluna during the Plague year-the NIOPS doctors had worked on him at great risk to themselves-because a survivor was one in a thousand...
Both men, if they'd taken their blouses off, had more signs of life in low-intensity conflict than most.
"Yeah. They armoralled the tyres with hydraulic fluid, too." Pol agreed, "Showy, but bad for the gear...and notice that Kommandant over there?" he pointed at the senior ranker in Kwangchowwang's militia. "I bet we could carve half the fat off that bastard and make another sgt. Shu."
The jeep hauling the obscenely fat Kommandant wheeled to a stop at the foot of the ramp. "You are the help??" Kommandant Fritz Voordt demanded in a thick New Capetown accent.
"Coast Guard, currently seconded to SLDF for relief and supplementary military advice and training, and yes, Kommandant, we ARE the
Help." Pol replied, neglecting to salute the man.
"You are supposed to salute a superior officer!" the Kommandant barked.
Pol shook his head, "You, Kommandant, are outside my chain of command, and part of a subordinate organization-unless Kwangchowwang's seceded from the Lyran Alliance AND the Star League." He said quietly, "Technically, I out-rank
you-lack of medals for good penmanship notwithstanding." The long hours spent studying Interstellar business German paid off here-unlike Pol's english (or lack of skill therein), his German was quite...understandable.
The Kommandant had an aide-who was frantically nudging and gesturing.
"Okay, Geri, I will ask...what is that medal there?" the Kommandant asked, pointing at Pol's dress tunic.
"Survival Medal, Arluna Relief force, and Kommandant, each of the bars is a month I was in the hot-zone." Pol said, "I landed there with the initial team. I worked next to and with both SLDF and Clan forces on-planet, I know how the Clanners think, operate, react, what they will do, what they respect, and what will make them back off-based on the array of force I'm looking at here, your men could do with what I and my men have to teach them, because half-functional assault tanks are NOT going to impress them, nor are ersatz-panels repainted to look like armor on 'mechs old enough to still have replacement parts from the Reunification War...."
Pol took out the swagger-stick, an affectation handed to him by an SLDF officer when the 11th was pulled in, before continuing, "Your troops are in a disgraceful state of unfitness, your machinery is badly kept, you yourself would not pass a standard Lyran Alliance physical fitness exam, and dressing your girlfriend of the week in Leutnant's bars does not make her an adequate aide, nor officer. I was sent here, to correct these deficiencies, since, with the Clans getting active on the border again, the odds that a proper Lyran line unit will be ready to answer if you people get in trouble are about the same as your passing a basic Airborne Infantry qualification exam on the first try, with a 99th percentile score." He tapped the swagger stick on the ramp, as he added, "Now, if you dislike or mislike any of this, you are free to report me to the closest link in my chain of command-which would involve waking Peter Steiner Davion out of bed, or out of a meeting, or away from State Business. Do we understand one another, Kommandant?"
The Kommandant harrumphed a bit, and said, "SO...you're from LOKI then...I can make troubles for you..."
"Not from Loki, get that out of your fat head, you bloated pig." Pol told him, "Loki has nothing to do with this, though I suspect that their operatives would agree with my immediate, direct, and
based on Lohengrin reviews accurate assessment of the readiness of Kwangchowwang's military establishment to face
enemy forces, both enemies seeking 'trial' combats, and those seeking more...direct...forms of violent interaction. I have been sent to help you get this mess back on its feet, establish and enforce training and recruitment standards to feed the War effort, and secure your world from external threats. I have been given a broad latitude in terms of how best to accomplish this. You would be healthier not finding out HOW broad my mandate is."
because it's razor ****** thin, but bullies always cave to the right kind of threat... and incompetents just about always cave to bravado."What do you require?" Kommndant Voordt asked through gritted teeth.
"Assemble everyone you have pretending to be an officer in..." he looked around, "In front of THAT hangar, 14b, in half an hour. Leutnants and above. Senior NCO personnel as well-specifically Platoon and Company grade NCO's, AsTech ratings, and Lance Leaders below the rank of Leutnant. We will begin with an audit of your equipment and paperwork, followed by instruction in the new Physical Fitness standards, and we will establish a schedule for tactical and operational training for Operational personnel, and a Logistics Review for support personnel-no exceptions or exemptions. If someone is abed in the hospital, better make sure the bed is on wheels."
The angry Kommandant waddled back to the jeep, and his aide drove him away.
"Kind of harsh." Gunny Pak said quietly, "You sure you want to piss him off the first day?"
"****** him." Pol said quietly, "If I could shoot his ass, I would-he reminds me of that Bandit outside Hector Lake, you remember? Drove a Battlemaster and surrounded by an armed rabble?"
"Too well." the Gunny agreed with a nod, "What's the new PT plan?"
"Marine Standards." Pol said, "that way if a Clanner gets an eye on one of these bozos, he doesn't laugh himself to death-where's the Tech-Rep from Coventry Metals, Need him to go have a look-see at some of that half-ass junk over there, see what's actually salvageable enough to fix, what needs to be replaced, and what needs a trip to the scrappers."