Chapter 16 - The Cruel Weight of Responsibility
AFS Hawk's Nest
Rawlinsburg, Snake River District, St. George's Continent
Thuban
Wolf Empire/Lyran Commonwealth (Disputed)
18 July 3143
The Operational Command Center aboard the Hawk's Nest was abuzz with activity. AFRF duty reds predominated, with a small grouping of AFFS green present, primarily around the central holotank. There, Nathaniel and Julian stood in company with the other commanders joining them for what had been dubbed as "Operation BACKHAND" during the burnout from Tharkad.
Most of Thuban was secure now, indeed had not even been fought over. From what Nathaniel had learned, hitting a world like Thuban with three crack divisions was considered overkill in the Transglass. Even back home it would have spoken of a fairly significant priority to the target or expectation of strong enemy resistance.
And they had certainly brought such crack forces. The Lifeguards alone were, losses aside, arguably a match for the cluster of Wolf solahma warriors holding Thuban's capital of Ickesburg. But Julian's First Davion Guards were also here in their entirety, as were Nathaniel's old unit, the Bolan Heavy Guards, and his father and great-grandfather's storied unit, the Proctor Heavy Guards. The battle for the Wolves was hopeless by all measure. And yet…
The frowning middle-aged woman on the holo, in her gray leather, gave nothing but a defiant snarl at Nathaniel's words. "We do not seek hegira. Either come and destroy us or leave this world to the Wolves." She promptly disappeared.
"She can't win." Those words came from Nathaniel's old division CO, Kashinath Gunaji. A Bolanese commoner and war veteran, Gunaji was one of the most respected officers in the Bolan Corps of the AFRF, and had won command of House Umayr's prize unit by dint of his service history. His hair was turning gray at the fringes and his beard and mustache were already primarily of that color, well kept by both AFRF and Bolanese standards. "This is insanity."
"That's solahma for you," Julian offered. "They're the losers of the warrior caste, the ones who were never skilled or bold or lucky enough to get Bloodnames at a young enough age. The only value they provide the Clan now is a warm body in a castoff machine that can hold ground or take fire that spares more valuable warriors, and their overriding goal is a glorious death in the hopes they'll at least get their genes used by the scientists for new batches of warriors."
"Well, they'll get that death." The commander of the Proctor Heavy Guards, Major General Katherine Tremaine, was a stocky and broad-shouldered woman. A native of the planet Concord, she had graying brown hair pulled into a regulation bun and a light complexion made pale by the months of travel to come from their Inner Sphere to this one. While she had the regular AFRF cover tucked on one shoulder of her duty reds, the other bore the sky blue beret of the Striker Corps, a reminder of Tremaine's long service with the Eighth Strikers before she was brought into the AFRF's premiere formation.
She ran a hand over the display, marking the buildings where the Wolf forces were focused. "But they're dug into some of Ickesburg's densest districts. If we attack there's going to be a lot of collateral." She leveled her eyes at Nathaniel. "We can try to limit it by holding back on some of our stronger munitions, though it's going to cost us in casualties."
"I understand." Nathaniel glanced towards Matthew, who frowned at the layout of the city. Snarling wolf heads on small generic 'Mech and tank markers showed where enemy machines of those types were in concentration, and small likenesses of generic armor suits reflected enemy armored infantry. "Any suggestions, General Proctor-Steiner-Davion?" He'd almost used the far quicker "cousin" but caught himself.
Matthew nodded. "General Tremaine's got the right of it. We've hit the limits of what we can do with fancy footwork; from here on out, it's going to get bloody. That said, we go in hard enough and fast enough, rip the bandage off as quickly as we can, that should keep it bearable. So I think it's time we break out the really heavy armor; Marshal Davion, you've got those superheavy assault tanks, right?"
"Destriers, yes," Julian said. "We've got two companies of them and this is exactly the kind of situation they were designed for; we call them 'siege-breakers' for a reason. And I can see what you're thinking, General. We hit them in a way that makes sure they don't get the glory they want, the word'll get out — the Sea Foxes'll make sure of that — and that should make others more likely to accept hegira in future." He considered the map table for a moment. "And since the only other ways we could do that are a protracted siege, or having the Sara Proctor turn her main batteries on the Wolf positions — neither of which is acceptable — it should work." Julian frowned. "But it won't be pretty."
"Better for the people of Ickesburg than dragging it out, though," Gunaji noted.
Nathaniel nodded. "I had hoped… well…" He sighed. Though the lights of the holotank showed simple facsimiles of structures, he knew the real thing contained people. Civilians, old great-grandparents and young children, people who would die just as quickly to one of his guns as to a Clanner one. If we send forces into that city, we will kill people. There is no avoiding that. But if we don't, the Wolves will just wait us out, and steal the food of the citizenry to avoid starvation.
Matthew must have seen his hesitation. "I suppose a siege might see their machines wear down over months, but our timetables won't allow for that, and there's no telling what the solahma will do if we don't come in. We rip the bandage off. That's the best way."
Nathaniel nodded quietly, feeling a cruel weight on his soul at it. "This is war," he said in a low, pained voice. "I knew that coming in, that a decision like this might come. Order the attack."
"Right away, Majesty."
Ickesburg
The GUSV — or "Goose" — brought Nathaniel and his entourage through the streets of Ickesburg. It'd been clear from their VTOL-borne arrival at the Bolan Heavy Guards' FOB that the city had been hammered in the assault, with columns of smoke and some visible flame prominent along its skyline. Some of that died down on the ground approach, but only some, and the undamaged outskirts of the city proved a deception as the damaged buildings and telltale detritus of combat increased. By the time they made it into the central districts, the driver was actively having to swerve around debris clogging up the road.
For Nathaniel, the sight brought not just memories of Tharkad City after the Wolf attack, nor the rubble he'd seen on Timkovichi. It brought him back to when he was just about six and watching the holovid news reports of MORNING STAR and the devastation it brought to Sirius and Procyon. I knew then that war was to be avoided, though I was too young to understand how hard that could be.
The driver was forced to change roads by the presence of a Juggernaut tank in Bolan Heavy Guard colors. The hundred ton assault tank was turned so that it sat across the road and presented its side and front towards them, showing the glacis plate was virtually gone from weapons fire, and one of the barrels on the turret had been blasted off. I wonder if the crew all survived. Beyond it, work crews in AFFS green were swarming over the even more colossal form of a Destrier with a gutted track unit, though it looked like the crew had come through unharmed. A moment before the sight disappeared behind a building, Nathaniel caught a glimpse of a fallen Hunchback in amber and gold
"Urban warfare." Gunaji shook his head. "I prayed to never see it again."
"I'm sorry for thwarting that, General," Nathaniel murmured. I gave the order. His eyes stayed on the passing buildings and street. Already the residents were coming out of hiding. Some seemed to approach for help before reconsidering,
"They didn't give us a choice, damn them," Tremaine said from her seat, fuming. "A damn waste."
The worst was yet to come. The destruction became more intense. Half-crushed buildings contained fallen BattleMechs. Tanks still fumed, even burned, and the blackened marks of ammunition explosions showed on some of the derelict wrecks and the surroundings. Bodies in mangled armor suits lay strewn in the streets or amongst the rubble, as the wounded had been cleared first. More and more he saw his soldiers, his old comrades, working with their 'Mechs and engineering equipment to clear the roads, dig through rubble, and otherwise give aid and comfort to the residents.
Eventually their progress was barred. The road was not yet cleared. Nathaniel dismounted the GUSV, signaling the others to do the same, and approached the nearest ruins. Looks like a mixed residential/commercial block. Oh God. He was unfamiliar with the ruined BattleMech in Wolf colors that lay prostrate across the broken structure, but it was clear what it had suffered.
"Almost no surrenders and not many more prisoners," Gunaji confirmed, stepping up behind him. "They were not going to give in."
"Like I said, all they have to live for is the hope they fight well enough to get their genes into the breeding program," Julian said. A hard look came over his careworn face. "We just didn't give them many chances for it."
"Regardless, the responsibility is on me," Nathaniel said quietly. In his heart and mind, the baleful, confused glare of a heart-broken six year old prince accused him of betraying a long-sworn vow to never fight a war.
An AFRF officer in a combat engineer powersuit stepped up. She looked not much older than Nathaniel was through her visorplate. Her armored hand snapped up in a salute. "Captain Gupta, Second Nagpur Sappers," she said succinctly. "Majesty, sirs, this is as far as we can safely permit you to go. Colonel Nayak's orders are explicit. We have too many potential UXOs and other explosive hazards beyond this point."
"Understood, Captain," Nathaniel said. Maybe we shouldn't have come. Maybe we're getting in the way. "I just… I needed to see it for myself."
"I understand, Majesty." Perhaps it was something in his expression that prompted Captain Gupta to quickly add, "It looks worse than it is around here. These were commercial districts the Wolves shut down as 'unnecessary'. The buildings appear to have been empty, though we're still—"
"Captain!" Another voice called out, in a Bolanese accent that Nathaniel thought was thicker Nagpuri than Guptas. "Heat signature confirms life!"
A brief flash of frustration and embarrassment crossed Gupta's face before she turned. Nathaniel, forgetting himself, followed towards a broken building with the ruined husk of a Clan Conjurer splayed across it. Already some of the suit-clad engineers were digging into the ruin, using the stronger myomer muscles of their suits to shift and remove significant chunks of debris. Yet the work might have continued for another hour if a colossal hand had not descended. A looming BattleMech, a Chieftain with hand pods, carried away a large pile of the crushed mortar and concrete. The MechWarrior dropped the debris into a pile while the other hand grabbed more.
Another thirty seconds passed before a leg was visible through the rubble. Nathaniel nearly held his breath as the final pieces of debris were removed. He dared not think his hopes, since they seemed so faint.
"Dead," one of the engineers said once the head was clear. Blood and gray matter were visible on the chunk of brick the suit-clad engineer held in his powersuit's hand. "Body is just warm."
Nathaniel closed his eyes. God, forgive us all, forgive me please. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he heard clearly the muffled sound that the shifting of debris had so far masked. His eyes snapped open. Without hesitation he rushed over, dropped to his knees in the dusty rubble, and forced his arms under the body. Around him others were in motion, the noise becoming clear to all involved, but it was he that found the source of warmth and felt the movement that created it. He pulled his arms free and let his eyes focus on the weight now wriggling weakly in his arms, as the crying of a terrified infant filled the air.
"Corpsman!" Nathaniel screamed. "Get a corpsman now!"
Gupta echoed his order and the call went out. Nathaniel's eyes focused entirely on the bruised little form shifting in his grasp. The baby was in a crawler suit that bore tears and cuts from being hit by debris, with more cuts visible on their pale bronze skin and across their fuzzy head. Screams of pain and hunger and terror continued, though weaker than most would expect.
"Unfinished Book," Julian breathed.
Nathaniel felt a grip clench around his heart, indeed his very soul. "This is my fault," he murmured lowly. "This child almost died, lost someone, and I caused it. This is on me."
"The Wolves didn't give you the choice," Matthew reminded him. "They're the ones with the blood on their hands."
"I still gave the order, knowing it would come to this," Nathaniel insisted. He tried but couldn't hold back the tears, not now. His soul ached. "All of this harm. All of this ruin. The responsibility is mine. I called for war, I called it holy, God forgive me. But this is what war is. Even if I didn't start it… even if it's for a good cause… this is what it is. It's what it always ends up being."
He said nothing more and waited for the corpsmen to come for the battered life wailing in his quaking arms. Indeed, he would say nothing more for the rest of the inspection.
Galbraith cavern-city
Gallery
Wolf Empire/Lyran Commonwealth (Disputed)
19 July 3143
The tightly packed apartment blocks of Galbraith's northern districts loomed large, putting Jasek Kelswa-Steiner in mind of the early-colonisation era tomb fields on distant Nusakan. Their shadows cast the street in twilight, obscuring the dimming solar lamps in the cavern roof high above; most of the street lights here had been shot out in earlier fighting, and the apartment blocks were quiet and dead; the Wolves had cut power to them long ago.
A Manteuffel assault tank ground forward, its pale off-white plating looking ethereal, ghostly, in the dying light. Troopers in Grey Death Infiltrator suits swept ahead of it, looking for mines. More followed behind the assault tank, clearing the way for the trio of APCs — a pair of MHI amphibs and a Hasek halftrack — screening the bulk of the infantry; two squads of Hauberk Commandos and a double-platoon of troopers in conventional battledress working a standard sweep pattern, rifles watching high and low for potential threats as the scanner teams did their work. Sniper and weapons teams shifted between overwatch positions with the unhurried speed of long practice. Bringing up the rear of the advancing company were a pair of lumbering Schildkröte tanks, screened by the last squad of Grey Death Infiltrators and a Hound. The seventy-ton BattleMech's long, heavy shoulder mount was up and ready, the eighty-millimetre autocannon panning for threats.
There was an overly precise consistency to the infanteers' dispersion, a rigid application of The Book that Jasek recognised, from his days in the RAF long ago. The sign of a unit still young in the Army List, without learning yet the thousand and one ways that how to apply doctrine in the field differed from the books. The Twenty-sixth Arcturan Guards were exactly that; newly formed and worked up, so recently they hadn't been ready to commit to the battle for Tharkad — not unless things had gotten much, much worse than they'd turned out.
But they are good, Jasek noted silently as he watched the video feed. Good and as well-equipped as possible. That, and the fact that the Twenty-sixth was the only full-strength unit in Taskforce BACKHAND was why they had the point.
Sudden gunfire cut across the image. Bright strings of tracer fire. The stabbing pulse of energy weapons. Snaking missile contrails. Lashing down from the nearest apartment block; shattering away armour, punching men and women from their feet. Shock reigned for a moment, as the Arcturan Guards absorbed the suddenness of the ambush.
Orders and training combined to counter that shock. Weapons fire lanced out at the unmasked Wolf positions; small arms, lasers and particle fire from the APCs' turret mounts. Chewing away at the building the fire had come from as medics and their squadmates dragged or carried the wounded into cover — Jasek caught one infanteer, of Elemental stock from the size of them, carrying two injured comrades to safety at the same time, and made a mental note to find out who they were and write them up for a medal. Autocannon fire walked destruction across the building's front, ripping away chunks of the facade and spilling them — and the Wolf support gunners sheltered behind — to the street in pieces.
The fire from above cutting off gave the infantry their opening, a double-squad storming in behind one of the Hauberk teams. More small arms fire, the occasional faint crump of grenades — once, twin javelins of shrieking particle fire as the Hound took out a particularly stubborn point of resistance — filled the next few minutes, before the job was done. As the clearance team emerged, bringing their casualties with them, the Guards troopers prepped to move out again.
"And that," Leutnant-General Sarah Regis commented softly, "is pretty typical of what we're up against. Small-scale ambushes; mostly no more than a Point or two of infantry. Haven't hurt us, much, but they're bleeding time. As you can see," she indicated the situation map across one wall of Arcturan Shield's ground operations centre, "there have been a lot."
Jasek nodded, The situation map showed the three tightly clustered cavern-cities the Arcturan combat commands were pushing into, tendrils of blue sweeping back tan Wolf controlled regions. Crimson contact markers speckled the whole display; few active, but the map looked like a plague victim's face with all of them showing up.
"How many casualties in the engagement we just saw?" Roderick asked. "We can't afford too many this early on. It's a long way from here to Gienah — or Skye," he added with a nod to Jasek, surreptitiously adjusting his jacket at the same time. Still not comfortable with a general's uniform; or, most likely, the insignia of the Tenth Lyran Guards on his shoulderboards.
"Fifteen." Regis' eyes flicked down to her noteputer for an instant. "Four dead, three wounded badly enough they'll likely rate medical discharge; the rest light wounds. As for casualties in general," she shrugged, "They're running about what we expected from the pre-assault planning, just disposed differently; more infantry losses, less in other arms. Fighting our way into the cavern-cities was cheaper than we thought; getting through them's proving harder. I admit I'm not happy about taking this many infantry casualties this early, though. Not to mention, where are the rest of the Crusaders?"
Jasek caught himself nodding along with Roderick at that. Neither of them knew Regis very well; she hadn't been first in line for the command of the Twenty-sixth, that had been Tammy Diaz, an old colleague. But Tammy had been badly injured in a Wolf bombing raid on the Nagelring, and had to retire from active service. So far, at least, Regis was showing she could do the job, and that was a good question to ask.
"Star Captain," Jasek addressed the fourth officer standing around the holotank, "Do you have anything for us?"
"No," Star Captain Khora shook his head. "We have taken bondsmen, but they did not know much. Just that Star Colonel Castus is preparing something deeper within the caverns." The dark-skinned Exile officer frowned for a moment. "Were I to guess — and I have always been lucky in games of chance," he commented with a roguish grin, "Castus is expending his conventional infantry to buy time to establish a redoubt deep within the cavern systems, force us to dig him out."
All of them knew what that meant; either a drawn out siege, or a grinding assault that, even in victory, was going to render their units combat ineffective. And that assumes we know where they are. The thought of what the Crusaders could do to units strung out searching all of Gallery's tunnels and caverns for them made Jasek shudder.
"Generals!" One of the staff officers manning consoles called, the situation map shifting even as they spoke. "Combat Command Charlie reports contact with friendly forces in Dalkeith cavern!"
The holotank shifted again, to the static-fuzzed pseudocolour of immediate battlefield imagery; direct feed from one of the Twenty-sixth's gun cameras. The newcomers — what looked like a ragged battalion, led by a limping Thunder Hawk — couldn't have had more than a bare dozen tons of armour left between them, and they looked like absolute hell. Most had grey plating mottling them from slapped-on armour patches, limping, broken treads or lift skirts slapping against the ground, smoke coming from too many engines. But they were still in ordered formations, the badges of their regiments still intact.
A comms feed from the survivors came through on the main tank, revealing the interior of a mobile HQ. Centred in the camera was a woman, one Jasek vaguely recalled from the staff meetings barely half a year ago. Older, grey-haired, wearing Donegal Guards recog flashes and a Kommandant's shoulderboards. The bandage over one eye was new though, definitely. Her haggard expression evaporated as the image cleared, and she snapped off a textbook perfect salute. "Generals. My God but it's good to see you. I — Hauptmann-Kommandant Katrin Voll, Eighth Donegal Guards and acting CO Gallery defence command, reporting."
"At ease," Jasek allowed himself a smile. "It's good to see you as well, Colonel Voll, and it's not just for a raid this time. The Commonwealth's back here to stay. Now, what do you need from us?"
Voll's eyes widened slightly at the abrupt promotion, but she concentrated on the practical. "Medics, repair teams, any spare parts you have. Ammo, we've got, but we've been robbing Peter to pay Paul for weeks on everything else."
"I'll get on that right away. Stand by," Regis said, stepping away from the holotank, calling for officers from the Twenty-sixth's B Echelon.
"We need information from you, Colonel," Roderick spoke up, leaning forward slightly. "Anything you have on just where the Crusaders've holed up."
"Um," Voll frowned, exhaustion clearly taxing her efforts to recall. "McMurdo Cavern, we think. That's definitely where they were concentrating, and it's the best place I can think of for the kind of defence they'd run. If there's nothing else, sirs, then I need to see to my people."
"Of course, Colonel," Jasek nodded. "Just let us know if you need anything else in the way of support. And," he unbent slightly, lent his voice a softer tone, "Tell your people, from me and from the Archon-designate, that we're proud of them. They've done good service for the Commonwealth staying alive and active this long. They'll be honoured for it, and there'll be every chance they want to get some back from the Crusaders."
"Thank you, sir." Voll saluted again, before her image shimmered out of being.
"Tactical, bring up our maps of McMurdo Cavern, please," Jasek called. The holodisplay rippled and reformed, into a pure nightmare.
"Hell and damnation," Roderick cursed, and Jasek felt like agreeing with him. McMurdo had been an industrial/processing and refinery cavern, before the mines that fed it had been played out in the days of the First Star League. Spoil heaps and long-dead factories and open-air machinery made it an defender's dream, creating an area of sensor shadows and ambush sites that an attacker could only grind their way through. And dozens of tunnels radiated outwards from it, like the tentacles of some deep-sea creature.
"We can't assault it. Not for any cost we could bear," Roderick continued, highlighting the tunnel dimension readouts. "It'd be a shooting gallery; couldn't use our numbers or any kind of cover. Hell, one reactor overload'd probably collapse the tunnel."
"And I don't think a siege is going to be a practical option either," Regis added, joining them. "To position blocking forces at each of these tunnels, and decent-sized reaction forces to support them — it'd take everything we have and then some. Especially with no way to use aerospace or artillery. Added to that, we don't know how much in the way of supplies they have, and there's the recyc systems to consider. McMurdo supported a mostly self-sufficient civilian population before the invasion; not a very big one, but big enough for the recyc systems to keep anyone going for a while." At Jasek's questioning look, she clarified; "I was stationed here when I did my staff rotation, in Supply." She frowned, studied the map for a moment. "Maybe we could drill out some of the tunnels, widen them or link some of the ones that run close together, open up enough frontage for a decent assault. There's heavy mining gear we could call up from Gibbs or Donegal that should do, surely."
"You know, if we had more time that might just work," Roderick commented thoughtfully, cutting off what Jasek had intended as a caustic rejoinder. "But we don't have the time. The closest boring engines we've got that could cut through Gallerian rock reliably or safely are on Hesperus, and have you seen them at work, Sarah?" That got a shake of the head, and Roderick continued. "Well, I have. Their top speed's about fifty centimeters a day, and we couldn't run them at that without probably collapsing the tunnels we're trying to widen."
"That's it," Jasek snapped his fingers, a solution clicking into place. "We collapse the tunnels — completely, or at least enough that the Crusaders can't dig themselves out any time soon, leave them to starve. We've got the engineers to get it done, and fast."
Studying the reactions was interesting; Roderick contemplative, Khora mildly shocked, and Regis looking somewhere close to mutiny.
The Exile officer spoke first. "Bloodnames of the Founders, that," Khora observed with forced calm, "is a cold way to kill."
"It'll do what we need doing, though." Roderick, ever concerned with practicalities above all else. "End this in days rather than months, and at a cost we can afford to pay."
"McMurdo was never fully evacuated." Regis's voice dropped to a rime-laden whisper that Jasek almost had to strain to hear accurately. "There are going to be hundreds of our people down there. Do you have any idea of the consequences of what you're suggesting?"
"Yes, Sarah, I do." Jasek very pointedly did not snap, or raise his voice. This wasn't a time for theatrics. "I've seen the Falcons and Liaos both use starvation as a weapon, I know precisely what I am ordering. I also know that we don't have the time to do this any way that won't kill most of those people anyway. If you have any better suggestions, by all means, share them."
"We challenge him." Regis's expression shifted to a determined, focused cast. "Single combat, anyone you want to put forward; we win, he clears out. Hell, I'll take on Castus personally. Just give me time to get my Battlemaster bombed up and for Star Captain Khora to convey the challenge."
"It would not work," Khora sighed. "Castus undoubtedly has orders forbidding him from accepting any such challenge, and in any case, we know his orders are to delay us. We could not offer isorla weighty enough to convince him to disregard them."
Roderick exchanged a quick look with Jasek — getting a nod of permission to reveal close-held information — before carrying on. "There are political concerns, as well, beyond the ones we've already covered," he explained. "This has to be a joint advance; us and the Arcadians, hand in hand. If we stay level, even pull ahead of them some, that's fine; but if we start lagging, if it looks like we need the Arcadians to achieve anything, that's going to cause problems. Widmer, for a start."
"What does the Margrave of Timbuktu have to do with this?" Regis asked, frowning heavily.
"He's been making secessionist noises." Jasek kept his voice low; enough to carry across the holotank, but no further. This wasn't for the staff — a discrete distance from their commanders — to hear. "Deniably, so far — and even quieter since his friend Vedet got thrown out — but there's evidence he's been stacking the Second Buena Guards' officers with his creatures. If Widmer thinks the LCAF won't, or can't, put him down at need, it'll be Bendler and the Sappir Archonette — so-called — in '27 all over again."
"I see." Regis's expression blanked, turning inwards and shrouding her feelings in a commendable display of self-mastery. "Thank you for that information, Generals. It does … clarify why you feel this course of action is necessary, and I will, of course, comply with lawful orders. However," a waspish edge overlayed the cold formality in her voice, "I am obliged to record, for the General Staff and in the Twenty-sixth's operational diaries, that I do so under protest, in this case."
"That is, of course, your prerogative, General," Jasek responded in the same coldly formal tones. Well, if I can't manage a warm working relationship, I'll take professional.
"We could make the challenge, at least," said Roderick. "We set the charges, then we make it clear to Castus that either he agrees to quitting Gallery if we win a Trial, or we bury him. God knows I'd feel better for at least trying."
"And what are we supposed to offer them to get this Trial? Because we can't leave them on Gallery, you know that as well as I dot," Jasek pointed out.
"I don't know." Frustration edged Roderick's voice. "Equipment, maybe; we've enough in the salvage yards that was never properly inventoried after the Jihad. Maybe one of us, if we stand champion in this duel; the Wolves've always gone for that."
"And if they refuse, we blow the tunnels," Jasek stated flatly. "Immediately. And I'm counting as refusal their trying to spin any haggling over terms out, or asking for what they know we can't give. I understand the desire to preserve civilian lives, we have to make it clear the Wolves can't expect us to balk if they hide behind human shields."
"In that case, General Kelswa-Steiner, with your leave, I need to get with my engineering staff and figure out how we're going to do this." Barely waiting for a dismissal, Regis turned on her heel and walked away, calling for her staff engineer.
Jasek looked after her for a moment, and everything that went into his makeup prevented him from calling after her, as he wished to, What else would you have me do?
