"Emergence" - BattleTech Dark Ages/BattleTech AU Crossover Event

[Steve]

As a rough guide, Royal Marches represent marches under the direct control of the monarch, as in their central worlds are the monarch's direct territories (High King Nathaniel is Archduke of Arcadia, Donegal, Tharkad, and Skye.... I think my earlier list fails to list Tharkad but he'd be the ruler there too).  Principalities represent former sovereign rulers, specifically the Brewers of Hesperus, the Umayrs of Bolan, and the Mariks of Atreus, although the latter do not hold princely title as the Prince or Princess of Atreus is the Heir-Apparent to the throne.  Federal Marches represent a basic federal province of sorts, with their own march militia and government and such.  Finally, the two Free States represent worlds that have republican forms of government and which refused to appoint nobility (Concord has, or maybe had, a figurehead Duke who may have since had their position dissolved).


Each subdivision has its own local legislature that governs affairs at that level, since its easier than the original Arcadian structure of every world being a component of a federal body (not hard with 20 worlds.  Rather harder with 70, and likely impossible at 260 or so).  Originally Federal Marches were under March-Dukes, but as part of the fusion with the Kingdom of Donegal, the title "Archduke" was formalized for them instead.  There are some worlds in the former Donegal realm that are governed by local Archdukes (usually Steiner cadet branches), including Halfway and Gallery.


While it's a tricky map element to have, Dar-es-Salaam is a March capital primarily to fulfill obligations due to the feudatory compact with the rulers.  Technically the Amirs of Dar-es-Salaam, House Rayhan, were also once independent, but they never held an interstellar state (they tried and the early Free March stomped them), so they don't get Principality status.

[Steve]

6 - Reactions (On One Side)

Royal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadian Royal March
Royal Federation
12 August 3142


The sprawling Royal Palace dominated the hill along the coastline of Roslyn, long-time capital of the planet Arcadia.  Once fairly smaller, as the Ducal Palace, the Palace's destruction during the Terran invasion of 3050-51 led to its replacement by this larger, more modern structure.  Part armed command post, part government office building, part permanent dwelling for the ruler and immediate advisors and family and temporary dwelling for any number of visiting dignitaries or royalty, its marble walls (backed by ferro-fibrous alloy armor) and twenty storey high structure befitted its place as the center of power in the Royal Federation.

The civilian domestic staff, which numbered in the hundreds, were used to uniformed AFRF officers shuffling and rushing about, usually bearing reports or getting to briefings and meetings on time.  But seeing a Field Marshal, in this case Lord Arnold Proctor-Steiner, doing so was cause to note the matter.  A relation of the current rulers - the elderly man's late father William was a younger son of High King Thomas Proctor and High Queen Johanna Steiner - he usually moved with far greater gravitas than the rushed pace with which he now walked through the halls of the Palace.

A couple floors above the ceremonial throne room, near yet separated from the Privy Council Chambers and the office of the Lord of the Privy Council, the Royal Office was the day-to-day beating heart of the Arcadian government.  In its confines the ruler signed state papers, received visiting officials and nobles, and gave the Royal Assent to laws passed by the Federal Parliament (although like most Inner Sphere rulers, military command and foreign policy were firmly in the monarch's grip).

The reception area was under the tight guard of Lady Sophia Marik, daughter of the Count of Corin, and the official Royal Secretary.  With three secretaries below her, and immediate authority over the power armored detachment of the Household Guards that protected the Office itself, anyone could be forgiven for forgetting the young woman was herself only twenty-seven years old, barely older than the High King himself.

Sophia, a finely-featured woman of light brown hair and grayish blue eyes, arose from her desk beside the large, paneled doors leading to the Royal Office.  She was wearing a white and purple blouse and dress that was very formal looking and, Arnold thought contemptuously, very Marik.  Indeed, the purple eagle of House Marik's sigil was set over her heart.  Yet were I to wear a Lyran fist I would be accused of Lyran nationalism, Arnold thought with some frustration.

That frustration was quickly forgotten as he recalled his purpose, and her sad link to it.  "Your Ladyship," he said politely.  "I need to see His Majesty, it is important."

"Understood, Lordship."  She pressed a key on her desk.  "Majesty, the Count of Stronburg is here to see you."

"Send him in."

Arnold took a breath and waited for the door to open.  The two Household Guardsmen, wearing sets of Chasseur light power armor, gave him salutes as he passed by, their automatic gauss rifles at attention.  He saluted them back as he passed by.

The office inside was richly furnished, although not as richly as one might see in, say, a corporate president's office.  Arnold knew by experience the personal office of Roman Brewer-Steiner, the Prince of Hesperus and leader of Defiance Industries, was far more opulent.  But here the need of prestige, for a certain look to the monarch's personal office, clashed with the traditional practicality and humility of House Proctor.  The couches and chairs weren't quite as expensive as others, and the art was not rare and valuable collectibles but all personal portraits of prior Proctors and other figures.  The many portraits included depictions of Count Andrew Laughlin, who helped negotiate the founding of the Arcadian Free March, as well as Archduke Joshua Marik, who essentially formed the "loyal" branch of House Marik that still governed on Atreus, joined portraits of all the ruling Proctors since Sara herself.  Arnold felt old grief fill him at the images of those he'd lost through his life.  The grandparents he'd not met, for instance, given the fabulous portrait of Thomas and Johanna in their prime of life, freshly crowned and leading their unified realm after the near-disaster of the War of Donegal Succession.  Arnold's dear uncle Ethan, with trimmed blond beard and brilliant blue eyes, brought back memories for Arnold of the desperate fighting in 3098 and 3099, and how much they owed to Ethan seeing them through the worst that Scipio O'Reilly could throw at them.  And Jacqueline herself, a loss the entire realm felt so keenly…

He focused his attention to the central desk, and the occupant there: Nathaniel Ethan Proctor, the twenty-five-year old High King of the Federation.  Much to the chagrin of many in the family, Nathaniel kept Jacqueline's habit of not using the Steiner name that, technically, was appended for all the descendants of Thomas and Johanna.  Arnold's younger cousin was fair-skinned, although his face bore some characteristics of the ancestors from India that he shared with his mother's family, House Umayr of Bolan.  His dark hair was finely combed and a proper Proctor brown, but his blue eyes, like Arnold's own, were firmly of Steiner origin.  He bore some resemblance to his paternal grandfather, the Royal Consort King James McQuiston-Stuart, in the shape of his cheekbones and his larger build.  Like his Royal Secretary he was wearing a set of what looked more like robes than a classic suit, with the chest red, the sleeves and lower garment blue, and gold trim to it all.  A white hawk fringed with gold on the wings was embroidered over the heart.  "Cousin."  He nodded to Arnold, who detected the twitch of a salute that was stopped.  It's taken a couple of months but at least he's remembering not to salute me first.

Instead it was Arnold's hand that came up in a formal salute to his monarch, who returned it with a nod.  "Your Majesty."

"You said there was an issue?  Has there been another attack?  The Dracs hitting around Alexandria again?"

"No, sire.  This is worse.  We've lost the 1st Battle Fleet."

Whatever his qualms about Nathaniel's worthiness as High King, Arnold was pleased to see the disbelieving expression begin to pale.  He recognized the severity of the news.  "The entire fleet?"

"And Training Force Siegfried," Arnold intoned gravely.

"How?"

"It appears to have been a misjump of some sort."

The severe reaction turned to confusion.  "The entire fleet?  They all misjumped?"

"So it would seem.  The Ghastillian contingent was lost as well."

"But… the odds of that…"

"...are quite low, yes," Arnold finished for him.  "I've already ordered an investigation into possible sabotage."

"Even sabotage would require every ship to have a saboteur," Nathaniel pointed out.

"This is the sort of thing the Mask would do.  Spend years making arrangements.  They might even have someone in Personnel to ensure all the ships would be assigned an infiltrator.  Whatever the method, it will be checked on.  In the meantime, I have already spoken with Grand Admiral Stewart.  The Command Staff will hold emergency meetings to discuss the situation, and all of our units on the border will be on standby alert for an attack."

"Yes, a wise choice."  The shock was already fading from Nathaniel's face.  He was thinking, which Arnold wasn't sure he liked.  He thinks too much.  "Do we have any other reports?  Some indication of what might have happened?"

"Just confused claims right now.  Rumors and stories."

"Like?"

Arnold sighed.  Here we go.  Millions of tons of WarShip and five hundred BattleMechs go missing and he's worried about tall tales.  "We received one report of a persistent jump field remaining where the fleet was.  It has yet to be substantiated."

"We have ships on the way, right?"

At least it's a pertinent question.  "The Suwannee and her patrol group are burning for their JumpShips now, but they're three jumps away.  Even with the Royal Road we won't hear anything for days, not unless another JumpShip reports first.  And the Ghastillian authorities are already ordering that the nadir point at Atocongo be given a wide berth so this doesn't happen again."

"Right. A reasonable precaution." The young monarch's words belied the thought going on behind his eyes.

"You will attend the meeting, I would hope?"

"Of course.  Hopefully we will know more by then."

"Hopefully, but it will do little to improve the situation.  Our fleet has lost a quarter of its fighting power, and we've lost the 8th Strikers and 1st Kell Hounds as well.  The Ghastillians are short Wotan and their 4th Grenadiers.  Those are severe blows to our force levels.  And the wargames with the Principate and Canopians will have to be canceled."

"Regrettable, yes.  Is there anything else, Lord Arnold?"

"Nothing, sire.  By your leave?"

The nod was sufficient to give Arnold permission to withdraw.  'Regrettable'.  As if he wouldn't have canceled the war games himself if it wouldn't have caused a diplomatic row.

It was times like this that made Arnold all the more wistful for High Queen Jacqueline.  The old woman hadn't lost sight of the threats against them, and given half a chance she'd be marching them against the Capellan Empire or the Draconis Combine, whatever the damned Concert had to say about things.  To die as recklessly as she had… it was almost tantamount to dereliction of duty.

Don't fool yourself.  Jacqueline had the right attitudes, but '23 and the failure of MORNINGSTAR broke her spirit.  Even she might have rejected EAGLE CRY…




Nathaniel watched his distant cousin depart and drew in a breath.  An entire Battle Fleet lost. The AFS Arcadia itself, built and rebuilt twice after bringing desperate victories over the Terrans and the Oriento-Capellans in 3051 and 3098, was gone, as was her whole fleet.  The famed 8th Strikers and the best of the two Kell Hound regiments, likewise gone, along with the stalwart 4th Grenadiers, the heroes of the Buckminster campaign in 3117.

It defied comprehension.  One ship could misjump.  But dozens?  Ships relied on their own navigational data to avoid this sort of thing, and there were further safeguards.  How did so many navigational officers, military and auxiliary, all fail in precisely the same way, along with all the necessary failures of command and mechanism to produce a mass misjump?

It's no wonder Lord Arnold believes it to be sabotage.  It was a convenient reason.  Convenient especially for those like Arnold who never reconciled themselves to the end of the War.

The War.  Twenty two years and it still shaped everything, as did his grandmother's failed challenge to the Peace of Dieron.  Its prominence was obvious: the outcome formed the modern Inner Sphere.  No worlds had traded hands by force since the final territorial dispositions, even the remaining conflicts were all by raiding, and none allowed to become greater.  For the first time since the Star League, the Inner Sphere's borders weren't changing.  For trillions like Nathaniel, that was a happy thing, but it seemed for others, it was a leash they struggled to snap loose from.  Now this incident might give Arnold and those like him the justification they needed.

But it made no sense. Sabotage was just as ludicrous a cause as any other.  If the Mask had that many spies and agents in the Royal Navy, they'd have been able to steal the ships just as easily as destroy them via misjump, and agents that skilled would be too valuable to lose callously. Would that many Mask agents have been so devoted and fanatical as to kill themselves?  Without a single one breaking down?  It defied comprehension.

There was something else.  It had to be something else.  He'd have to call up Professor Whateley at the Royal University and see if the hyperspace physicists there had any thoughts.  If this was some new phenomena, well, it had to be investigated.  They had to be sure this wouldn't happen again.  Losing all of those people…

A second jolt came to him.  Thoughtless, Nathaniel!  Thoughtless!  So wrapped up in the thinking you forgot there's more to it! All those people,, all their loved ones…  I should be the one, shouldn't I?  Just like Mother told me about my father…  He pressed his intercom key.  "Lady Sophia?  A moment?"

Within thirty seconds the doors opened. Sophia Marik entered and stood before him.  While her expression remained quite business-like, her face curled into a slight smile that matched his own.  "Your Majesty?"

"No."  He stood and shook his head.  "That's… not for this."

"Okay then.  Nathaniel."  She approached the desk, which he rounded so he could be close to her.  She'd need that.  "What is it?  I'm guessing Lord Arnold said something?"

"It's the news he came to convey," he replied.  "I should be the one to tell you."

The quiet joy and little smile left her face.  "Tell me what?"

There were so many ways to do this.  Going to quick would sound callous, drawing it out would just make it hurt more…  "The Arcadia is believed lost," he said.  "From a misjump."

Her face paled.  While she was as controlled as ever, he knew her well enough to see the blow was telling.  "Father's gone."

"His whole fleet.  And the troops with them."

"Dear God… how?"

"They're not sure.  We're still getting details."  His arms twitched a moment, as he thought of embracing her but stopped.  It wasn't his place.

It also wasn't necessary.  In this private place, where they didn't need appearances, she didn't bother trying to maintain them.  As sobs tore from her throat she sought comfort, and he gave it.  "Father, no.  It wasn't… he's not supposed to…"  She had no words after that, merely grief-stricken sobs, and as he had nothing to say to ease that grief, he chose to say nothing.

That was what you did for those you loved.




Nighttime was falling when the Command Staff meeting was set to begin.  Nathaniel traversed the corridors of the Palace toward the usual location,  the War Room, the large command theater in the subbasement levels that allowed him access to military information from across the realm, every report delivered in real time once it was received by the officers present.  He'd spent his first week of his rule in daily meetings there, seated in the upper conference room where windows could be set to transparent or opaque as needed, but since only attended biweekly meetings given his time was set so heavily to other matters.

The lift was manned by a House Guard in Chasseur light power armor.  The insignia of the 2nd Proctor Guards was on the shoulder, an open palm with a white and gold-winged hawk set into it.  The soldier, a woman of dark bronze complexion, saluted and reached to close the lift door.

Before it could close, another figure bounded through the door.  Despite everything Nathaniel felt a small grin crease his face at the sight of Prince Peter Proctor-Steiner, wearing a civilian formal suit like his own with the gold-winged hawk as lapel pins, and the crown sigil that marked him as Lord of the Privy Council.  The youngest brother of his late grandmother Jacqueline, Peter was a veteran of the War as were many in the family, fighting in the Arcadian Guards and Proctor Heavy Guards through the decade of battle that cost so many lives, including Nathaniel's father Prince James.  "Uncle."

"Nathaniel."  Peter stepped up beside him.  The trooper closed the lift door and keyed them down to the Command Level.  While the powered lift descended into the armored bunker beneath the Palace, Peter said, "It's been a rough day.  How is Lady Sophia?"

"Grieving.  I gave her the news."

"That was kind of you.  Hopefully we'll find out something.  Sometimes… ships survive misjumps.  They even end up close enough that they can be found and brought home."

"I'm praying for it."

They said nothing more until they arrived at the bottom.  Once they were in the rather more utilitarian, gray walls of the command bunker, Peter spoke again.  "Are you still intending…?"

"I am.  When the moment's right.  But not right now."

"She's a good match, don't let the others convince you otherwise," Peter said.  "I've been working the Privy Council to make sure there's no strong objections.  Honestly, just securing the succession will please most of them."

Nathaniel nodded.  An idle thought came to him.  "You know Tom Fitzroy finally asked Laura Michaels out on a date?"

Peter snorted.  Were it any of the others, Nathaniel would know the snort was directed at him and his casual interest in the lives of the civilian staff.  With his uncle… it could be 50/50.  "About time," he said noncommittally.

"It's so much easier for them.  They just have to work up the courage, and there's no politics involved.  No worry about complications to feudal contracts or property rights.  Just… love."

"That's a fairy tale view of commoner life."  The admonishment was clear in Peter's voice.  "And ignores a lot of the problems they have we never will.  In war they suffer the most easily and have fewer means to deal with that."

"It's why war is the last resort, or should be," Nathaniel said.

A look of forbearance for his nephew's views showed on the older man's face.  "Tell that to Yorinaga Kurita."

The reference to the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine made Nathaniel frown.  "I heard about New Wessex, but not the casualty count."

"As usual the Dracs are being dismissive and refusing to acknowledge any casualties, but our estimates are now up to seventy thousand dead, three hundred thousand displaced, about half of them in ISF resettlement and indoctrination camps."

Nathaniel frowned and shook his head.  "Is it…?"

Peter nodded stiffly.  "Butcher Ballymond is at it again, he has the 9th Galedon Regulars on the warpath.  The rebellion's probably going to sputter on a little longer, but they're all going to end up dead at this rate."

The reference to the warlord in charge of the Vega Prefecture, Tai-sho John Ballymond, was unwelcome.  Ballymond was an adherent to the reborn Combine and held a perfectly Kuritan view towards those who dissented; namely, that dissent was a cancer to be rooted out and should be punishable by death for the dissenter, their families, and usually anyone in the general vicinity just to be sure the cancer was gone.

"I want to give more to the refugees, and we should get a couple more units to the Alexandria and Arcturus Marches as a security measure," Peter continued.  "The 1st Arcturan Guards don't have the experience if Ballymond decides to send anyone after escapees, and the 17th Skye Rangers have been truculent lately about re-deploying.  And I'm sure Ballymond won't be sending a Legion of Vega this time."

"I'll give the order.  There's a few units that can be brought up from the Skye and New Earth Marches.  My missives with Emperor Robert have been making some progress."

That drew a sigh from Peter.  "I know Lady Jessup's supportive, but you really should be getting the others more input with this initiative of yours, Nathaniel.  Robert's not a slouch, and any wider peace with the Capellans will have a price attached."

"War would be costlier, Uncle, you know that, even if the Concert makes everyone stop before it goes far."

"I also know how things are in Skye lately, the last thing you need is to make them feel like you're leaving them to dangle."

Nathaniel sighed.  "I'm doing what I can.  I've approved greater funding to their economic expansion and stronger defenses.  I even granted a regiment of surplus Star League-quality BattleMechs to the March Militia."

"And that's all well and good, but it's not always enough.  Before you protest, I know there's little more you can do, and if you give them more, Tamarind will want more, and Bolan, and Arcturus… just be careful with the balancing act."

"I'm trying."  I'm always trying.  If only Grandmother lived longer...

Inwardly he felt guilty, as he always did when his thoughts ventured that way.  He'd wanted to give a gesture to his mother's part of the realm and chose the Bolan Heavy Guards to serve in when he got out of Ayrshire and his post-graduate semester at Tamarind Military Institute.  He was part-Umayr, after all, and the Bolan Heavy Guards deserved the recognition after all they'd done for the Federation.  But that entailed assignment to Bolan, and while he'd enjoyed being around his mother's family and helping to balance the squabbles of Bolan's quarrelling city-states, had he picked assignment to the Arcadian Guards he'd have been posted here, on Arcadia, and he'd have been able to learn from his grandmother directly.

Nathaniel banished those thoughts upon striding into the War Room.  Over two dozen specialists and officers manned various desks and controls, most pointed toward a large holotank that currently showed a stock image of the Inner Sphere and Near Periphery.  The Royal Federation glowed magenta on the display, something of a compromise color between Lyran blue and Marik purple given its cultural breakdown.  The Combine was an angry red and the Oriento-Capellans a rich purple.  While the current borders were well-marked, he noted the "proper" border was still showing too, depicting the worlds formerly in the Marik Commonwealth, Sirius and Procyon, and the Vega Prefecture as within the proper Royal Federation border.  It was something his grandmother ordered and the current AFRF stuck with, and reflected the bitter disappointment so many of them felt with the Congress of Dieron's drawn borders.

He idly wondered how other rulers showed similar maps.  Did Emperor Robert Halas-Liao have personnel depicting St. Ives and Victoria and Kittery in OCE colors instead of Federated Suns, maybe even Irian and Regulus as all still Imperial?  First Princess Grace Silver-Davion might very well see an ideal map that included Sarna and Bellatrix and other former Brethren-held worlds lost to the Empire, plus Kilbourne and Robinson and much of the Kilbourne Union, and they in turn might see Filtvelt and Malagrotta as theirs as well as the handful of worlds they didn't reclaim from the Combine.  And it was rather obvious what the Combine map would show (that is, everything under Combine rule).

Peter's hand on his shoulder reminded him of his purpose.  He led his uncle up the nearby metal stairs to the upper level and the conference room.  A number of the Command Staff were already present, including Lord Arnold, already in seats and going over noteputers and folders.  The table's holo-projector provided an image of Atocongo and Timkovichi systems side by side.

The last arrival was a man with snow-white hair and lithe build.  Grand Admiral Lord Malcolm Stewart, the uncle of the current Earl of Stewart, served as Chief of Staff of the AFRF.  He was officially Nathaniel's senior military advisor, although in truth he'd been appointed by Jacqueline just a couple months before her death and Nathaniel felt no reason to replace him so quickly.  He gave an uncertain eye to Nathaniel before saluting, and in turn was saluted; Nathaniel's early arrival was clearly something he considered out of sorts.

Once he was seated, Nathaniel spoke up.  "I'm sure we've all heard about the 1st Battle Fleet, but for sake of covering ground…"  He nodded to Grand Admiral Stewart.

In his smooth Stewarter burr, the admiral laid out the details about the misjumps.  No other signs of the ships were known yet.  An investigation into sabotage was set to begin, but it was already rather obvious they wouldn't be very effective since the best evidence would be on the ships themselves.

"Sabotage doesn't make sense."  The female voice rose above the other murmurs.  With striking, bright green eyes and a tan bronze complexion, Dame Bethany Verdes-Shameel, an Army Field Marshal and head of the AFRF Engineering Corps, was a tall woman with dark hair not yet more grayed than the fringes.  Her uniform was well-kept, the only aberration being the locket hanging around her neck.

"Don't they, Marshal Verdes?" Arnold asked from his seat.  "It seems the only logical explanation.  Once you eliminate impossible explanations, whatever remains has to be the truth."

"Except there are too many practical issues involved," she replied stonily.  "Too many safety systems would have to be sabotaged on every single ship.  If the Capellans can infiltrate us to that degree, they'd be doing more than making ships misjump."

"So what's your explanation, Field Marshal?" Arnold asked.  "How else can you explain so many ships misjumping together?"

"We can't, not yet, not until we get more data."

"For what it's worth, I concur with Field Marshal Verdes."  The words, spoken with the particular accent of an Iaukean Islander of Arcadia, came from another of the room's Grand Admirals, Lord Samuel Keahi, a noble descendant of famed abolitionist guerrilla leader Auli'i Keahi.  Broad-shouldered and with the bronze complexion common to his people, descendants of Polynesian, Papuan, and Balinese settlers of the Iaukean Islands, the Baron of Molokai looked more like a former battle armor infantryman than a naval officer, even an intelligence officer, as he was the head of the Intelligence Department of the AFRF.  Noting the disagreeing look from Lord Arnold, he added, "We have extensive counter-intelligence assets checking for any Capellan infiltrators.  That they could infiltrate multiple ships, or high enough to somehow force bad jump coordinates over the heads of so many astrogation officers, is the realm of fantasy."

"It would also represent quite the embarrassment for your department, Lord Samuel."  The German-accented voice of Grand Admiral John Pastig, ruling Duke of the planet Bjornlunda and Chief of Naval Operations, had a sarcastic edge to it.  "I would rather the matter be investigated, given my service is the one to lose a quarter of its active fleet."

"Of course we're investigating the matter, but the idea defies reason!" Keahi shouted back.  "Besides, we have more data now, and it hints against a sabotage operation."

Nathaniel's eyes locked on the man.  "What do you mean, Lord Samuel?"

"We have a military intelligence liaison on Atocongo operating with Ghastillian Militia Command," Samuel explained.  "He's forwarded a report that confirms there is an artifact left by the fleet.  A persistent jump field, or something of the sort, marks the point in space where they jumped.  A Ghastillian JumpShip, the Grunstern, witnessed the jump and is burning toward the location to provide whatever readings they can.  It won't be much, I grant, but it would be something."

"Well, that is something."  Nathaniel folded his hands on the table.  "We do need to learn more about such a phenomena.  There are other concerns, though."

"We've lost a quarter of the fleet and a number of skilled forces.  The fleet in particular is the greatest loss.  It will take us years to make good on it."

"Yes.  Until that time, the Concert remains our best bet to avoid wider entanglements."

Even before speaking the words, he anticipated the hostile reaction.  The Concert was not widely loved in the AFRF's upper echelons.  These were men and women who felt that they'd been on the cusp of greater victories in 3120, and that the Concert did them wrong in '23.  Nathaniel remembered the attack on Sirius as the first time he understood what war was, and how much it disgusted him.  The entire thing was unnecessary, provoked by generals and admirals exploiting his father's death and his grandmother's bitter grief for it.  As if taking the planet where his father died would fix everything.

"We'll need the Skye and 4th Fleet to remain on station permanently," Admiral Stewart commented, not speaking for or against Nathaniel.  "This will complicate our naval deployment patterns, but we're fortunate that the peace with COMINTERSTEL remains solid.  If we can keep the Dracs and Cappies from cooperating, it will go far in buying the needed time to replace the Arcadia and her fleet.  Emergency construction orders will be necessary but the funding…"

[Steve]

The meeting adjourned with little fanfare.  It was getting late and the department heads had the regular peacetime duties of their positions awaiting them in the morning.  Nathaniel watched them go quietly.  They always frustrated him, especially Lord Arnold and the others most hostile to his support for the Concert.  As if war was the superior alternative, given all it'd cost the peoples of the Federation.

Given all that it'd cost him, and those he loved.

His memories of Prince James Proctor-Steiner were old holorecordings of the messages he sent home to his wife and son.  Princess Sita, his mother, played them with him as a child, enduring emotional agony given the depth she'd loved James, which was admittedly not an often thing among the nobility.  You didn't marry for love, after all, you married to improve the dynasty and expand links to other great families.  But for Sita, the long-desired match of an Umayr to a Proctor heir was a gift from the gods, as James was "the most kind and gentle lord a lady could ask for".

Jacqueline was different, of course, but James' death wounded her as deeply.  Sita was a pacifist studying agricultural sciences and spearheading the effort to expand arable land on Bolan.  Jacqueline had been a Warrior Queen, the first such Proctor since Sara the Liberator won her crown by her own hand, stubborn and willful and death in the cockpit of a BattleMech.  And yet, in the end, she'd lost her son in a battle her injuries and position denied her participation in.  Giving up the planet he died taking, then failing to capture it by force in defiance of the newly-formed Concert, was something Nathaniel saw as the cause of her own inevitable death.  All her escapades, her 'Mech duels and grueling lifestyle in defiance of her injuries and age, until she finally failed at the wrong moment and lost her life.

A hand touched his shoulder.  He looked up into the face of Prince Peter.  "Uncle.  You were rather quiet."

"You were handling them well enough," Peter said, his voice full of gentle pride.  "And it's good for their perception of you to be the one speaking."

"Arnold will not relent."

"True.  But you won't either, and that's what matters."

"He's angling for the Chief of Staff position, and I'm not inclined to give it to him."

Peter sighed.  "I know you're not, but that's not going to do you any favors with the senior staff."

"And the rank and file?"

"That depends, he's not a popular man there.  But you're not universally popular either."

"I was trying to extend a hand to Bolan.  They've had their concerns put by the wayside often enough," Nathaniel pointed out.

"You needn't defend yourself on that count to me.  As I said, balancing the components of the Federation is always going to be tricky.  Speaking of which, you should consider scheduling your first official visit to Tharkad and Skye soon."

"I will.  Once this mess clears up."  Nathaniel stood.  "Thanks, Uncle, you've been there for me since… well, since I could think."

"Doing right by my sister, and my nephew."  Peter's voice strained a little.  "I was too slow to save him on Sirius.  The least I could do is make sure his son is okay."  The old pain was clear on his face.

"And all I can do is be the ruler he'd have wanted me to be," Nathaniel replied, embracing his uncle.

Their tender moment was interrupted by a knock at the door.  Peter got there first, where an AFRF Lieutenant with an intelligence branch insignia - crossed keys under a miniature sphinx figure - stood, an intent expression on her face.  "Your Majesty, Your Lordship, you'll want to hear this."

They followed her out into the War Room proper.  The Watch Officer, an Aerospace Force Group Captain of Afro-Asian ancestry with the name M'Buta on his uniform, saluted and nodded to another officer.

The central holotank display came alive with the visage of a dark-skinned woman with a spacer's pale complexion, wearing a jumpsuit common to long-service JumpShip crews.  "We received this message on high priority from Atocongo, Majesty," Group Captain M'Buta explained.

"I am Captain Greta Gunderson of the Grunstern, addressing authorities in Ghastillia and the Royal Federation.  My ship has detected a sensor drone emerging from the unknown jump field here.  The probe is relaying information from an Arcadian naval vessel.  It is requesting that the drone be remotely dispatched back into the field with acknowledgement of receipt.  Some of the message is coded and I cannot read it, but the uncoded part makes clear that the ships that misjumped are intact and their crews and passengers alive on the other end.  I will await confirmation of receipt by related governments before I send a reply.  Grunstern out."

"Oh thank God," Peter gasped.

Nathaniel heard the news.  "Send immediate acknowledgement, thank Captain Gunderson and ask her to make contact with our people.  Let them know we're sending ships to investigate.  Group Captain, have the data decoded and prepared for the Command Staff and myself.  We'll go over it first thing in the morning."

"Yes, Majesty."

"And… which set of command codes came with the coded segment?  Can you show me?"

Captain M'Buta gestured to another of the officers.  The arriving data was still being loaded, but within ten seconds they had a reply.  "Code is from Admiral Lord Paul Marik, CO 1st Battle Fleet," the naval Lieutenant replied.

"I'll see you later, Uncle," Nathaniel called out, already rushing for the stairs leading down to the War Room's entrance.  By then he was nearly at a run, and would be by the time he was in the corridor.  He made it to the lift where the same soldier from before was still on duty.  "Up, now!"

She wordlessly operated the control, and the lift ascended.

Once the doors opened again he rushed out into the corridors.  Surprised expressions were his reward whenever he passed a member of palace staff or one of the security agents on duty, and a part of him knew it was inappropriate for him to be running like this.  But he had to get where he was going, and quickly.  This had to be shared.

His course took him to the main gallery of the Palace, where portraits of battles and individuals abounded, and he swiftly ascended the stairs to the side, took a corridor, then more stairs, until finally arriving in the residential suites.  Bewildered security men saw him through, escorting him and clearly wondering why he was running.

For all his exercise regiment kept him fit, Nathaniel was still nearly out of breath when he arrived at the door of fine white wood.  He knocked vigorously and spent the wait regaining his breath before it opened.  Sophia Marik was in her nightrobe, modest and no longer in any makeup, if yet still plainly beautiful to his eyes.  Her cheeks were still wet with tears, and the pain on her face gave way to an expression of surprise.  "Nathan— Your Majesty, what is the matter?"

"Your father's alive!" he blurted out.  "They've made contact!  He's still alive!"

Her chest heaved from the rushed breath that escaped her lungs.  Disbelief briefly appeared before giving way to inescapable hope.  "He's alive?"  She asked the question haltingly, as if she couldn't dare say more lest the universe reverse it all.

"Yes!  We don't know how or what happened to him, but we received a message under his codes.  It couldn't come from anyone else."

For a moment she remained silent.  Only a moment.  Then the tears came back.  She threw her arms around him, overcome with joy, and sobbed happily into his chest as his arms embraced her in turn.

[drakensis]

Nice to get an inside look at the Arcadians back home. Looking forward to more of this.

[Steve]

So, got this working, but it's still incomplete as I have to pick a lot of dead systems to restore:

https://stgarrettjr.github.io/concertofthesphere/

Chapter 7's slow-going, my co-writer's taking the lead on it since it centers on the "Nearside"/Canon TL Kells and their reaction to the events now that shooting is over and the portal's confirmed as safe for traveling through.

[Steve]

Been a while, but finally worked with Orsai to get this update out, it was mostly his work in fact.

Reactions (On The Other Side)

Kell Hounds HQ
Timkovichi, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
16 August 3142

It was late in the day when Evan Kell managed to find time to make the rounds of the wounded. Part of him hated himself for that, as much as there were so many things that had needed doing. But at least he had found the time now.

The field hospital’s smells of antiseptic and pain reminded him of his first time in the ring, four decades ago now. And that was against the Falcons too; back in business at the same old stand, with the same old crowd, Evan reflected, stepping aside for a gurney carrying a prone patient, hung with rattling saline and medicine drips.

Thankfully, most of his Hounds had made it through the day whole - no thanks to me - but Armoured Guard really had been hammered; with almost four in every five of them dead or in the hospital. They were taking it well, though; like the young infantrywoman he’d talked to earlier, badly burned by an Elemental’s flamer. “It’s alright, sir,” she’d said, waving the amputated stump of her arm to take in her bandaged eye. “I’ve put in for transfer to the Navy. They say they’ll front me the hook and eyepatch, but I’ve gotta find my own parrot.”

Children. Brave, foolish children, Evan thought sadly. All they wanted to hear from him was that they’d been brave, that they’d done right by their families and their friends, no matter the ruin modern weaponry had inflicted on them. Then, oh stop it, Kell. You didn’t invent war, and you for damn sure didn’t invite the Falcons or Horses here. Now quit woolgathering and finish up.

Corporal Eddie Carson was sitting up in bed as Evan approached, and smiling with remarkable good cheer for a man missing his right leg in midthigh. That might just have been the pretty young Arcadian nurse he’d been quietly flirting with; the instant he spotted Evan, Eddie dropped the smile and stiffened instantly to as close he could come to attention. Not really a surprise, from someone who’d been in trouble as often as Eddie had.

“Colonel,” he managed, with a trace of his normal cockiness. “Guess I kinda screwed up big this time, huh?”

To tell the truth, Evan had been seriously considering writing Eddie up for a medal. He wasn’t sure what it said about the young mechwarrior’s good sense - if not anything worse than getting broken to the ranks nine times did - but taking on a Hellstar and a Balius with his bulky, unlovely Götterdämmerung to cover a lancemate’s retreat was worth something. You might not be able to eat a medal, but hell, even at its worst - like the days on Dustbowl twenty years ago - the LCAF could usually make sure you had enough to eat.

“Not this time, son,” Evan replied. “And I hope you don’t think you’re going to be getting a soft job after the docs stick a new leg on you.” The 8th Striker’s chief surgeon had let him know that was going to be easy; they’d already done the preliminary surgeries.

“If you’ve got anything other than soft jobs for someone who’s Dispossessed.” Bitterness edged Eddie’s tone, and Evan understood that well. Even back in his grandfather’s day, BattleMechs hadn’t been common, and getting a new one if you lost yours had been brutally difficult; despite a decade of work to undo the results of Devlin Stone’s Redemption Program, ‘Mechs were even harder to come by now. But -

“ ‘Dispossessed’ nothing, Corporal. Blackstone might’ve screwed up the ejection system -” trying to work the complicated escape mechanism was where Eddie’s leg had been mangled badly enough the docs’d needed to take it off “- but they did right on survival features. Just gotta get her back to Arc-Royal, and your ‘Mech’ll be better than new sooner than you will.” Last he’d seen the Götterdämmerung, in fact, it’d been secured on the bed of a J-100 transporter, swarmed by techs from the Hounds and the Arcadians - the latter, Evan was fairly confident, volunteering to help out making it fit for transport to get a good look at a ‘Mech design that must’ve looked pretty weird to them.

That news brought Eddie’s smile back in full, and he managed to snap off a perfect salute with an enthusiastic, “Thank you, Colonel!” in response.

With one last comment of, “Listen to the doctors, son. I’ll check up on you where I can,” Evan stepped back out into the open.air. The dimness of early evening - Timkovichi’s sun went down fast, this late in the local year - had a strange, off-blue cast to it. The source of that was, well, the whatever the hell it was that the Arcadians had arrived through; he’d heard it called the Emergence, the Anomaly, the Transition, and half-a-dozen other names.

Personally, Evan had decided that outside of official circumstances, he was inclined to go with what a Sergeant from the Armoured Guard had called it: Weird Bollocks.

“Kroner for your thoughts, Colonel.” Nadia Allard’s voice came from behind him, and Evan turned to face the younger officer, accepting the mug of steaming hot chocolate she handed him.

“Just thinking about, well, that,” Evan nodded to the glowing blue-white anomaly, low in the southern sky. “What it is, what it might mean - hell, just who we’re dealing with beyond the obvious. Admiral Marik and General Bridger did help us out; they seem okay, and I think they’re over the same barrel we are figuring the implications of that thing - and whether it might happen somewhere else. But how do we know if their bosses are gonna think the same way?” His expression turned pensive. “What happens if their boss - this High King of theirs - decides we’re a threat?”

“I don’t think that’s likely,” Nadia frowned, staring into her own mug. “I got a chance to talk with some of the Eighth Strikers’ staff echelon, and from what they let slip, High King Nathaniel’s not much of one for warmongering; and has enough threats back home that fighting us, at least, wouldn’t be something he’d back. What he’ll feel about the Falcons, though,” she shook her head, frustration edging her tone. “I don’t know. Even before we get into that, though, we have to figure out other things, like the congruences between their home and ours, despite the massive divergence. The Kell Hounds being formed, at, from what I could find out, about the same time and by roughly the same people or at least analogues of them? That suggests some things might be interlinked on a level beneath what we think of as ‘normal’ space-time. I mean, I remember reading a paper from Royal Tharkad U a few years ago that argued that neither the probabilistic or determinist theories of the world were wholly right, that there’s overlap; some determinist mechanism for a set of probabilities that might happen, but -” Nadia stopped, realising she’d managed to lose Evan in the details of the theories. “I just don’t know how this works. And I went into the Engineers, Evan, because I like precision; I like certainty!”

His reply was a low chuckle.  "If you’re after certainty, then you really are in the wrong line of work; soldiering’s as uncertain as it gets. Should’ve gone for a banker instead."  At her sharp, frustrated glare he added, "I know, I know.  It's a lot to think about.  You'd think that after so many centuries, with so much different, the people living would be entirely different.  Then," Evan grinned in what he fondly imagined as a suitably piratical fashion, “us Kells are stubborn. We’d probably make sure everything came out the same way in every universe, just to annoy whoever’s in charge of the whole thing.”

“Speaking of,” Nadia reverted to seriousness, “I made sure that before she jumped out for Arc-Royal, High Ecliptic had full casualty lists, plus everything we’ve learned about the Arcadians. Order of battle, capabilities, what I could find about their sociopolitical structure, the lot.”

“Should make for some fun bedtime reading for Martin, when it gets to him,” Evan commented.


Planetary Defence Headquarters
Arc-Royal, Arc-Royal Theatre
Lyran Commonwealth
24 August, 3142

Duke Martin Kell rubbed at eyes that - from lack of sleep and overwork - felt like they were full of grit, before returning to the vast array of paperwork, noteputers and verigraphs on his desk.

Part of him wondered if there was any victory to be found here, or if he was just engaging in Sisyphean makework before the end. Every day the Falcons and Horses held off assaulting Arc-Royal, their defences were made stronger; more Kell Hounds and Wolves-in-Exile returning from their distant deployment stations, more new recruits and recalled veterans in the militia were certified as combat-ready, more defensive works finished, and more tanks, battlesuits and BattleMechs rolled or marched out of the weapons foundries, or off DropShips from Donegal, Coventry, even distant Hesperus.

Yet, no matter how strong they made their defences, Malvina Hazen’s rampage seemed impossible to stop, and her reputation alone was worth a full Regimental Combat Team even before accounting that she was probably the best fighting commander the Falcons had produced since Taman Malthus and had the devil’s own luck besides. That was why Evan had taken all the Hounds available into the field six weeks ago, to slow her down and try and take the shine off that reputation.

Damn the Blackout; and damn Melissa Steiner’s overweening ambition and greed, as well! Too much of the LCAF’s strength had been committed to HAMMERFALL, or to cover for those commitments, pulled far out of position to defend against the Falcons and Hell’s Horses; even with that, though, if the HPGs still worked a coordinated defence might have been possible. Instead, by the time word reached him of a world under assault, it was too late.

Be honest. What’s really bothering you is that you don’t know what’s happened to Evan, or Callandre. Martin sighed, looking to the one personal touch he’d added to his desk here in Defence Command. It was a holograph, nearly thirty years old with a frame worn and battered by time and abuse; showing a much younger Martin and Evan Kell - he in the uniform of the LCAF Quartermaster Corps; and Evan in Kell Hounds battledress with a Major’s chevrons on his sleeve - then-seven-year-old Callandre Kell, a study in a child’s sullen resentment of posing for formal portraiture; and, frozen in time barely a month before she died, Alicia Kell (née Bradford), small, compact and dark in her naval aviator’s uniform, next to his and Evan’s broad, pale height.

That wound was still raw even now, decades later. Maybe it wouldn’t have been if she’d died in battle, instead of in a stupid crash that wasn’t anyone’s fault. At least, I’d have - and Callandre would’ve - had someone to blame then, Martin thought, sadly. Might’ve kept us on speaking terms. He’d not managed being much of a father to Callandre since Alicia’s death; had let himself forget that just as he’d lost his wife, Callandre had lost her mother. Maybe if I’d remembered that, she wouldn’t be such a hell-raiser; then again, maybe not. Maybe she would’ve turned out that way regardless; certainly, he’d hoped that her friendship with Julian Davion at the Nagelring might cause some of his sober steadiness to rub off on Callandre, and that had certainly ended badly. Despite himself, Martin chuckled, his bleak mood abating at the memory of the furious late-night call from the Nagelring’s commandant, after Callandre’s masterpiece of redecoration in the Archonal throne room, demanding to know if she’d “Been raised by the bloody Wolf Elemental sibkos or something?!”. That had taken a lot of work to smooth over; work, money, and shameless favour-invoking from the Old Boys’ Network, but Evan had laughed himself silly when he’d heard, and as angry as he’d been at the time, Martin could see the funny side now.

Feeling better, he went back to his work,and was part way through another complaint from Old Connaught’s Chamber of Commerce about loss of earnings thanks to the local aerospace defence fliers buzzing the city again (a quick note scribbled on a post-it reminded him: Get with Kmdre. von Hammer and sort this out) when his vidphone activated, with the triple-tone of a priority message from the main plotting room.

“Your Grace, this is Leutnant-Kapitan Donnellan, Duty Plotting Officer,” the dusky-skinned young woman onscreen introduced herself. “We have a jump precursor at the Thorwatch L1 point. There’s nothing scheduled, and Kommodore von Hammer requests your presence.”

Martin was about to ask why the Leutnant-Kapitan was telling him this, rather than Khan Fetladral or Major Brahe when his exhaustion-addled mind reminded him that they’d taken the Golden Keshik, First Wolf Legion and the Second Battalion of the Second Kell Hounds into the hills above Old Connaught for exercises, and weren’t available in person.

“Understood. I’ll be down there ASAP,” Martin responded finally, standing and reaching for his jacket.



Arriving at Defence Command’s war room, his escorting squad of battlesuited infantry - half the new Cuchulain suits and the other pair Davion-built Infiltrator Mk. IIs, the best of the Hounds’ armoured infantry gear, at Evan’s insistence; with the Jade Falcons’ propensity for headhunter strikes, chances weren’t being taken on that, and there was no point arguing. The Hounds’ close protection specialists would obey any order except one that put him in danger - peeling off to join the squad of Grenadier suits and Point of fully armoured Wolf Elementals on guard duty, Martin took a moment to examine the room. Most of it was as normal, with dozens of officers and NCOs - in Kell Hounds, LCAF and Wolf-in-Exile uniforms - working at consoles, moving around, studying noteputers, readouts and clipboards, and generally conducting themselves with that self-important feeling of Busy that he knew from dozens of HQ sections - and from sessions of Arc-Royal’s civil government, at that. It was the kind of thing that just happened whether decisions were made, and power was concentrated.

The main difference from normal was the main holotank. Rather than displaying a full map of the Arc-Royal Theatre, it showed Arc-Royal alone. Painted in translucent, pale blue light structures, the whole of cislunar space was suspended above their heads, threaded through with dozens of lightcode icons; every DropShuttle, fighter, Jumpship and DropShip within the orbital sphere of Arc-Royal’s twin moons. Martin couldn’t interpret it himself, of course, not in any kind of detail - that took years of training and experience - but he could grasp well enough what the dull grey unconfirmed code hanging between Arc-Royal and Thorwatch was.

“Your Grace,” Kommodore Kurt von Hammer.nodded in greeting. Tall and well-built, von Hammer wore pilot’s wings at his collar, and somehow - despite being five hours into an eight-hour shift - his khaki day uniform was immaculate. He was still a first-rate flier, too, even though he was well past Martin’s own age. “We have a JumpShip arrival at the Thorwatch L1 point. Invader-class, with two DropShips inboard; just the one, so unlikely to be an invasion, but she could be a raider. Transponder claims she’s the High Ecliptic, but -”

“Transponders can be faked,” Martin nodded.

“Just so.” Von Hammer pointed at a pair of dark blue icons. “We have a fighter section closing for an up-close check now.” He gestured to a chair in front of one of the repeater displays. “If you’d care to observe.”

Taking up a headset, Martin listened in to the lead pilot’s voice.

“Cloudtop, this is Red Sting Three, going in for sweep,” the young pilot’s voice came in loud and clear, as the icon representing their Morgenstern swept in towards the unidentified contact. “Red Sting Four breaking high to cover.”

The channel was quiet for a few moments, and then; “Red Sting Three to Cloudtop; it’s the High Ecliptic alright. I can see the dent on her bow where a tug nudged her back in thirty-eight. Even recognise the DropShips; Iron Fang and High Vengeance. They’re ours, no question.” Everyone in Defence Command relaxed visibly. “I - wait one. Got a comms request from them; relaying to you.”

“”Get me a link to Khan Fetladral, and route the message to this console,” Martin ordered, adjusting the headset and screen; and wishing he’d kept in better touch with how they worked as it took longer than he’d hoped.

The screen shimmered and reformed, the orbital plots vanishing to be replaced by a split feed; the High Ecliptic’s bridge sphere, and Patrik Fetladral’s field HQ.  The Khan of the Wolves loomed large, courtesy of the genetic engineering that produced the armored infantry warriors of the Clans, amplified by the troglodytic, blue-grey immensity of his powered battle armour..  The bridge displayed a pale man, red-haired with a scattering of freckles, hanging in the middle of the null-gravity space.  Martin searched the man's sky blue eyes for a sign of what he'd come to report.  His arrival had to be a portent of what happened at Timkovichi, given the last news packet from Evan.  For it to be this fast… my brother is dead.  Martin felt his heart sink, before he forced the spasm of grief aside. Time for that later.  Evan, his command, they all had to be lost, probably to some damned murderous scheme of that blood mad bitch Hazen - he was already drafting, in his mind, the message to Callandre, asking her to convince Julian Davion, or his cousin, to commit forces to stopping Hazen ...

"Your Grace, Khan Fetladral, Captain Greg Hardy of the High Ecliptic.  I've got news from Timkovichi that I think you’re gonna have a hard time buying."

Something about the man's voice made Martin dare to hope.  Hardy didn't sound like a man bearing news of death and defeat.  "There are a great many things I will accept if it means we are triumphant, Captain Hardy."

"Well, I can tell you that much.  We did take a beating - got casualty lists ready to download to you - but the Hounds won.  Malvina and her allies’ve been smashed flat, and they've got her in custody."

Martin's heart threatened to leap from his chest.  "What?  How?!"

"That's the part that’s probably gonna have you sending for the psychs, Your Grace…"

Martin and Patrik Fetladral listened to the summarized report by Hardy.  After the three minute explanation, Martin had to admit Hardy was right: He didn't believe it.

That was when the linkage finished uploading the battleROM footage.



The image of the Jade Falcon cruiser breaking apart and tumbling into Timkovichi's atmosphere in semi-molten ruin hung over the holotank yet again.  Khan Patrik stood at Martin's side now, having rushed in from the field exercises for this strange occasion.  "Bloodnames of the Founders, I almost cannot believe it."

It wasn't just the sight of the Red Talon's death, just moments before it could slaughter Evan and the Hounds, and with them, the Commonwealth’s hope.  It was the other part of the image.  The WarShips delivering that killing barrage, one the size of a McKenna or the like, represented the greatest concentration of naval power Martin had ever seen; hell, it was the largest fleet anyone had seen since the Coalition’s final assault on Terra, seventy years ago..  Three cruisers.  Half a dozen frigates and destroyers.  And all those DropShips and fighters… and that thing, which looks like it could run over the Yggdrasil and barely notice.

Plus the… "effect", or whatever it was.

At his nod his officer shifted the holorecording of Timkovichi orbit.  The ghostly blue light of an active jump, usually a brief chain of firefly-like flickers when a JumpShip's field reached peak strength, persisted as if it was frozen in time, lighting up the hulls of what looked like standard transport JumpShips and an assortment of DropShips, their white and gold-winged hawks and rings with three outward arrows visible in some of the angles.

Arcadians.  Evan's report named them.  The Arcadians of the Royal Federation, governed by a High King named Nathanial Proctor, and their capital a world that Martin only knew as a border world in the Dar-es-Salaam Theater, hardly important enough to ever become the center of the empire implied by the force that saved the Kell Hounds.

"Another Inner Sphere," he breathed.  "I don't believe it, but I see it with my eyes.  Can your scientists give us an explanation?"

"I will speak with Scientist-General Gunther at the first opportunity," Patrik rumbled. “I know there are theories, but this matches nothing I know of.” He shrugged, a gesture that, with his broad-shouldered immensity, always reminded Martin of mountains rising and falling. “To some extent, the ‘how’ is not truly relevant; these ‘Arcadians’ are here, and we must focus on what that means.”

"Well, they can clearly be added to the list of people Malvina's tactics’ve won over," Martin commented with carefully studied sarcasm.  He brought back up the footage that would set the entire Lyran Commonwealth into rapturous celebration once it made its way through the JumpShip mail network.  An ancient Awesome in militia colors and a sky-colored 'Mech that broadly resembled a Black Knight, but with a crown-like shape to the head and the melted ruins of an orange-winged hawk insignia on its chest, pumped PPC and laser fire into a Shrike 'Mech marked with the Black Rose.  Malvina Hazen's personal 'Mech had its leg sawn clear through and fell forward, right into the PPC of the battered Awesome.  The cockpit was blown in by the PPC blast, and if it’d just been a few degrees lower, there'd have - just barely - been enough left of the "Chingghis Khan" to bury in a shoebox.

Malvina alive, and a prisoner.  That's going to be trouble. Lord knew there were reasons enough to just shoot her, but the idea of sinking to Malvina’s own level like that bothered Martin, even if she deserves it. At the same time, we can’t put her on trial - there wasn’t a judge or jury in the Commonwealth where that wouldn’t be a case of, “March the guilty bitch in, Sergeant-major”, and that wasn’t any better than a lynch mob; well, maybe between them him and Evan could put together a court-martial board that would at least try to be impartial, but that’d be military justice, which was to the real thing what military bands were to music. Christ, it’s tempting to just tell the Arcadians to keep her, and let them handle this political ******[/B]. Not an option, of course, but tempting as hell.

“Right.” Martin cudgelled his mind to focus on what needed doing. “Last I heard, Lady Trillian was on her way here via Coventry, which means we’ve got some time to get a coherent set of briefing notes put together, and some idea of what the hell we’re gonna do now.” He sighed. “We’re gonna need some coffee; this is going to be another all-nighter, I think.”

The officers and non-coms in Defence Command, who’d been contriving reasons to hang around in eavesdropping range, scattered to their stations. There was something new, a fresh infusion of energy driving them, but it took Martin a few moments to realise just what it was.

Hope. For the first time in years, there was hope, that with their new allies, the Commonwealth might actually win.

[Shadow_Wraith]

A very nice chapter to read!  The LCAF forces that know of the visitors from another dimension now have hope!

[Steve]

A very nice chapter to read!  The LCAF forces that know of the visitors from another dimension now have hope!

Heh,between this and another reaction I'm beginning to think "hope" might've been used too often... but it does sort of fit the situation given the depressing canon outcome of Timkovichi.

[Steve]

Broken


AFS Arcadia
Orbit, Timkovichi
Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
24 August 3142

Commander Albright stepped into the wardroom on the ship's third gravdeck with a noteputer in his hand and his freshest duty uniform.  He doubted the latter would make an impression, but his studies so far implied it might at least make an impression on his most troubling patient ever.

The girl's name, apparently, was Cynthy, although whether that was her birth name or an appellation given to her by her former master, he was uncertain of.  She was wearing a generic crewwoman's jumpsuit in place of anything else.  As always her gaze unsettled him.  Such a young face shouldn't have it, something of a cross between a predator's hunting look and someone who had already experienced too much pain.  "You.  The talker."

"Yeah."  He took the seat at the table left for them.  Unlike him, she was not free to move, handcuffs holding her to her own chair due to her frequent aggressive outbursts.  Remember, she responds well to aggressiveness.  She's not a normal patient.  But I can't let that go too far.  "At some point I figure you're going to have to talk."

"There's no point.  The Khan will kill you.  Maybe me, for surrendering."

Not for the first time Albright wondered if it was time to show her the "Great Khan" she spoke of.  Whatever Malvina Hazen was before, she was now a broken, comatose figure in the Arcadia's infirmary.  Seeing her stripped of all power might just be what broke her hold over Cynthy… or it might cause its own psychiatric damage.  He couldn't be sure.

"Well, until she does, why not humor me?"

Albright was rewarded with a moment of silent contemplation.  "There's nothing to speak about.  I am isorla.  Won by the Khan's victory, my life belongs to her."

"You're a human being, Cynthy, not a piece of property."

"I am isorla," she snarled, her arms straining against the handcuffs.  "And the Chingghis Khan will kill you for taking me!  I just hope she lets me watch before she punishes me too!"

Albright said nothing, jotting notes down and waiting to see if she'd say anything else.  When she didn't, he sighed and stood.  "I didn't want to do this," he said.  "But there's one thing I need to show you."  With no reply from her, he want to the door and the guards beyond.  "Take her with us."

The infirmary was outside the gravdeck, since that was safer for the patients and easier on the equipment than having to constantly switch between gravity by rotation and gravity by thrust.  The guards kept the girl moving with no sign of trouble.  Indeed, Cynthy made no remarks on their way, merely a distant stare and occasional twitch of her mouth into a half-crazed grin, as if she were imagining something amusing.  Given her mental state, Albright wasn't sure he'd ever want to know what was going on in her head.  Given her violent outbursts, it wouldn't be pleasant.  God above, what did these people do to that girl?

After going up one tube and down another hall with the practice born of years on ship duty, Albright arrived at the infirmary hatch.  Inside most of the patients were from the Clan DropShips that were destroyed in their original fight, plus some wounded fighter pilots from both sides.  Very few of the casualties were from the ground fighting.  Every one of them was secured to their beds by straps, with machines gently trilling as they read EKG, EEG, and other life signs.  He glanced back to see Cynthy was glowering at some of the occupants.  "Cowards.  They should have invoked bondsref."

More of these strange customs.  Is this what these 'Clans' turn people into?  Bloodthirsty murderers?  He said nothing regardless, bringing her to the critical care area, and the main occupant.

Malvina Hazen was not a pretty sight.  She'd suffered one of the more gruesome fates a MechWarrior could have while still possibly living through it, with her shattered cockpit maiming her body.  No limbs were left intact on her, and an eye seemed to be missing as well.

Albright turned to see Cynthy's reaction. Her eyes searched carefully, as if trying to find the one sign that would reveal this was all a fake.  After several seconds she shook her head.  "No.  This… no!  She is the Chingghis Khan, she can't be beaten!"

"She was."  Albright said the words gently, watching the horror on Cynthy's face and starting to feel like he'd just made a terrible mistake.  But she needed this, to shock her out of this worship.

"But she… she cannot lose.  She never loses.  She destroys the people who fight her."  The girl's voice was barely a squeak.  The look on her face made her disbelief plain.  Reality was no longer working as it should be.  Everything was going wrong, like if gravity stopped working or two plus two suddenly equaled fifty.  When she wasn't given an answer, she screamed, "The Khan cannot lose dammit!"

"She did.  You're not her… 'isorla' anymore, Cynthy, and we'll do everything we can to make sure you're cared for.  Maybe even find if we can get your parents back."

"They're dead.  Gone." For the first time Cynthy used a contraction without flinching.  The shocked look wasn't fading.  "She… she is… was… all I have."

Albright swallowed.  God, what have I done?  I just wanted to break her from dependency, but I might've just broken her completely.

Tears flowed down the girl's face.  Her eyes kept pulling over toward the broken form of Malvina Hazen, as if to remind herself it was true, that Malvina was there, and was an utter wreck of a being.  "You were supposed to conquer," she muttered at the unconscious form.  "I was going to watch you conquer and become ilKhan!  You promised!"  She turned away from Malvina, as if the sight couldn't be borne anymore.

Maybe she can still heal.  If this breaks her association with these Clans enough, she can become a normal young woman.  She…

Albright noticed the intensity in Cynthy's eyes too late.  She swung back to Malvina, moving with surprising agility through the zero-G environment, and her mouth lunged for the breathing tube (given her hands were cuffed behind her back).  Her momentum carried her though the empty air above Malvina, and with it came the tube, drawing it out in a cloud of wet droplets.

The guards, trained in zero-G themselves, pushed off after her and got her in mid-air, but it was too late. The tube was already pulled.  An electronic tone sounded as the respirator recognized it was no longer connected to its patient.  Nurses floated over, using the rails on other beds to guide themselves, but when they got their hands on the tube Cynthy wouldn't let go, keeping her jaw firmly set to hold it in place.

Albright watched in disbelief, and more than a little guilt, while Cynthy fought and writhed, resisting the guards and nurses trying to bring the respirator loose.  His eyes wandered down to the patient, to see if she was dying yet from the loss.

Her eye opened.




The darkness ended for Malvina Hazen.

At first there was just the vague sense of existing.  Pain came next, dull pain, familiar.  But there was the unfamiliar.  The stings, all over her face and neck and arms… no, not her arms.  Her arms felt… nothing.  Her legs nothing.  No pain, no ache, no anything.  Just a nothingness.

Her chest burned.  The fire filled her lungs and for a moment she thought they would stop, but they kept working, forcing the breath in and out, in and out.

Her open eye burned too.  Burned from the light, so sudden and bright.  The other eye… nothing.  Like it wasn't there.

Her mind searched for answers.  Battle.  Yes.  She and Black Rose, triumphant over the Mad Cat with the strange orange bird on it, and more 'Mechs with that same bird, and the white bird with gold-fringed wings.  The warning sirens as fire tore her 'Mech to shreds.  But what else had happened?

The light.  And then darkness.

Yet she was alive.  As her mind processed that fact, other memories came to be, and with them, a certain realization of what this meant.

A shriek drew her attention and forced her to finally pay attention to her surroundings.  To one side was a man, wearing a red uniform that included the white hawk she'd seen on those landing ships.  Above her, hoving in zero-G, was Cynthy, a plastic tube lodged firmly in her mouth while two men and a couple figures in white with red trim wrestled to pull it out.  Their rotation brought to view Cynthy's back, where her wrists were cuffed together.

I am a prisoner.  The thought crackled like lightning through Malvina's brain.  The world cracked around it as if reality itself would fall apart.  She, the great Chinggis Khan… a prisoner.

The Lyrans would not spare me.  They would kill me.  For Apostica, for everything else.  Who are these hawk people?

She tried to raise a hand, but the nothingness sensation remained.  No muscle reported movement to her brain.  There was a void where it should be.  She willed her left hand to come up into her vision, but nothing moved that time either.  Her legs would not answer commands.

"Commander, one side!"  MedTechs — they were the ones in white — flew into view.  Hands reached for her and she heard voices making notes.  "She's stable.  Looks like the respirator's not necessary now."

"Who?"  The word came out of her mouth with little energy behind it.  Indeed, they barely seemed to hear it.  "Who are you?" she managed, forcing her throat to speak.

Above there was a shriek, with Cynthy's mouth finally emptied of the tube.  The guards had her under control.

"Who are you?"  Malvina repeated.  Not much energy in those words either, but more force behind them.  She needed to know why.  Why her victory was snatched away, why her world was disintegrating every second she remained awake.

The man in the red uniform cleared his throat.  "I'm Lieutenant Commander John Albright, Royal Navy.  Khan Malvina Hazen, you are aboard the Arcadian Federation Ship Arcadia, flagship of the 1st Battle Fleet of the Royal Federation, and are being held by request of the Lyran Commonwealth on charges of major crimes against Humanity."

"There is no… Royal Federation."

"Not in your Inner Sphere, no.  We come from another, misjumped, and arrived here."

It was such a mad thing to say.  Not her Inner Sphere?  What other Inner Sphere could there be?  But the truth was plain.  It was obvious.  Yes… they were not from her Inner Sphere.  They were from Somewhere Else, tossed across the tides of reality to herald her defeat.

For all that her voice had been a hoarse whisper before, the laugh that erupted from her throat was surprisingly loud, drawing the attention of everyone in the infirmary.  Fate exists.  It took Fate to defeat me! she thought as the realization rippled through her.  I could be stopped by nothing less!  I would have been ilKhan!  The laugh was joined by another, until it all just came out, agonizing laughter that felt like it would suffocate her, but she couldn't stop, she couldn't, because reality had gone wrong simply to spite her and what else could a warrior do but laugh at such a thing?  To have been so great that nothing else could stop them?

And yet… yet she had been stopped…  "I cannot feel my limbs," she said, the laughter subsiding.

"Because they're gone.  You were maimed by a cockpit collapse.  You're a quadriplegic now."

Of course.  Because even these strangers from beyond could not defeat me otherwise.  The titters came, and with it the laughter, laughter so hard she really was suffocating herself, and yet the weeping joined it, deep sobs she'd never otherwise let herself fall into, not even when Alexei died, no, only now as her world crashed around her and everything was ruined.  Her enemies in the Clan, so terrified of her they would never challenge her directly, would now make their moves, and she could not stop them.  They would keep her conquests, oh yes, but she would be Abjured, her name treated like mud, her genes tossed aside, maybe even her entire Bloodheritage Reaved, and all because reality decided to spite her!

The laughter and crying choked, and it burned, and she loved it, and she just wanted it to end.

"Kill me," she managed between the sobs and laughter.

"Pardon?"

"I invoke bondsref!  Kill me!  Kill me!"  That was all she managed before the laughter and crying took her over again.

Albright didn't move, but he did shake his head.  He would not kill her.

"Kill me, Cynthy!  My last command!  Kill me!"

But there was no sign of her bondswoman.  Just the "drip drip drip" of an IV nearby.  Through the laughter and sobbing she felt a numbness claim her.  They were sedating her.

Denied even death.  What have I left?

Slowly, quietly, she pitched back into the darkness, and welcomed it as she'd once welcomed Alexei into her arms.




Albright watched Khan Hazen drift off into a sedated slumber.  Beside him, one of the naval corpsmen pulled out the syringe of sedative from the IV auxiliary tube.  "Doctor's orders," he said to Albright.

"Right."  Albright sighed and turned away.  He made practiced little jumps and used the handholds to leave the ward.  The two MPs held Cynthy between them.  The adolescent girl was crying as hard as Hazen had been.  "You're free of her."

Cynthy didn't respond.

Dear God I think I screwed up, he thought.  I screwed up big time.  "It's going to take time to adjust, but you can have a life," he continued.  "You can find yourself."

And yet again, there was no response, merely more weeping.

Seeing that there was no point in continuing on, Albright motioned to the door.  "Return her to the cell.  Make sure her meal's especially appetizing."

"A waste of good food, she usually just throws it all around," one of them said.

"Maybe she won't this time.  But it's important.  We've broken the hold that woman had on her.  Now we need to get her on the path to healing."

There was a skeptical glance from the guards that mirrored his own fears.  They took her away without another word.

Albright departed himself, for his nearby office, and the report he was going to be filing with Medical.  They'd probably not be any happier than he already was with himself.

[Steve]

Put together one of their frontline OmniMech designs, the SBT-3 Sabaton.

Code: [Select]

Sabaton SBT-3

Mass: 100 tons
Tech Base: Mixed
Chassis Config: Biped Omnimech
Rules Level: Experimental Tech
Era: Second Age of War/Concert of the Sphere
Tech Rating/Era Availability: F/X-E-E-D
Production Year: 3105
Dry Cost: 24,825,000 C-Bills
Total Cost: 24,825,000 C-Bills
Battle Value: 1,277

Chassis: Arcadia Arsenal Standard
Power Plant: RussTech FusionWorks iXL 300 Fusion XL Engine
Walking Speed: 32.4 km/h
Maximum Speed: 54.0 km/h
Jump Jets: None
    Jump Capacity: 0 meters
Armor: Arcadia Arsenal Standard Armor
Armament:
    55.5 tons of pod space.
Manufacturer: Selassie Defense Works
    Primary Factory: Arcadia
Communications System: Opel-Neuworth MilComm 3093
Targeting and Tracking System: Opel-Neuworth Model 3097

Overview:
One of the first original design Assault 'Mechs attempted by Selassie Defense
Works, the Sabaton has now been given a full update with modern technology and
conversion to OmniMech capability.


Capabilities:
The SBT-3's Improved XL Engine allows it plenty of pod space even with its
maximally-efficient armor scheme.  54km/h speed is regular for many machines of
this size, and allows for the greater pod space capacity that gives AFRF
officers much-desired flexbility in making configurations to account for
tactical needs.  Selassie's designers used the layout of the humanoid legs of
the Sabaton to fashion an improved armor scheme, fittingly making the Sabaton's
legs more protected and capable of enduring damage.


Battle History:
The 'Mech arrived in numbers in time for the 4th Succession War, where it would
find widespread employment in the Proctor Household Guards and the Royal
Assault Regiments throughout the war, filtering into other units as production
ramped up and older machines were spent in the fighting.


Deployment:
Today every regiment in the AFRF that has any assault 'Mechs as part of its
TO&E has at least one or two SBT-3s assigned.  It's become the mainstay Assault
OmniMech of its weight class currently in Federation service.  Some salvaged
models are reported to be employed with the DCMS and the Azami forces. 
Ghastillia uses the design to supplement its own production of faster
Stormhammers.


Variants:
The Primary configuration recalls the original SBT-1, with three Gauss Rifles,
although two are arm mounted to allow for the large Defiance Industries
Enhanced Targeting Computer to be added to provide exceptional accuracy boosts
for the impressive armament.  Three Defiance Royal Pulsars or Vickers-Armstrong
Mk. 16s and a Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 19 provide backup armament with very little
heat buildup even on an alpha strike, and with the latter, some anti-infantry
ability.


The Alpha configuration adds three Heavy Duty RussTech TurboJets to the design,
giving a 90 meter jump capacity, and reduces the laser armament to just two
extended range medium pulse lasers, again typically Vickers-Armstrong or
Defiance models, as well as Defiance's LightSweeper micro pulse laser.  The
main armament change is Defiance's new Improved Gauss Rifles*, which with a
Defiance Targeting Computer give the Alpha immense range and accuracy with it. 
The sheer space these colossal weapons require takes up the entirety of the
torso's spare volume, however, forcing the large targeting computer to be
mounted within the left arm.


Bravo is an indirect fire support firing platform, carrying three Matthews
SureShot-20s and two tons of ammo per launcher, allowing for the design to rain
ammo-efficient LRM fire on targets, although space requirements require one ton
of ammo to go into the right arm.  Laser armament consists of the Federation's
extended range pulse lasers, either Defiance Royal or Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 16s
and an 18, with an anti-infantry Defiance LightSweeper mounted to the central
torso.  The heat buildup danger means the pulse lasers and LRMs cannot be fired
together, save maybe one or two of the medium-grade ones, without major heat
buildup that can risk cooking off the ammunition.  Skilled fire support
MechWarriors often learn efficient combinations of the two groups to maximize
their defensive fire while raining missiles upon their foes.


The Charlie is a close-range monster and urban fighter, carrying twin 20-rated
ultra autocannons, typically Kali Yama Deathhammers or Matthews Ballistics
DoubleShot-20s, and a pair of Matthews Ballistics SureShot-6s.  Twin
Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 14 lasers provide some long-range firepower if the enemy
moves out of effective SRM or autocannon range, but cannot be safely fired once
in close range.  A Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 13 and Mk. 19 give anti-infantry
firepower, although even their relatively minor heat levels can be dangerous if
the pilot is firing double-salvos from both autocannons.


Delta is a hot-running, long-range combat machine.  Four extended range PPCs -
typically Fusigon Xs, Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 8s, or Defiance Industries 1011s -
give extraordinary energy-based firepower, all guided by a Defiance Targeting
Computer.   With a good eye and the targeting computer's aid, pilots typically
don't have to juggle their firepower vs heat ratios for long.  To help them
along, the excess tonnage capacity of the configuration is spent armoring all
the weapons, the targeting computer, and several of the heat sinks, making it
harder to reduce the Delta's capability.


The Echo is a versatile configuration, but has earned the derisive name "Hell's
Boot" for it's high heat levels.  There was only room for 8 extra heat sinks,
so the 'Mech cannot fire all of its weapons without threatening to shut down or
cook off its wide variety of ammunition.  A Reddington Longbow-20 II and two
Shortbow-6 II launchers provide both short range and long range missile fire. 
One extended range pulse laser of each class is joined by a pair of
Vickers-Armstrong Mk. 14s, the reason for the 'Mech's heat difficulties should
it cut loose with everything.  Rounding out the firepower is a Defiance Class 5
Rotary Autocannon, allowing some anti-air capability on top of extra firepower.
 Veteran pilots have long adapted to turning their cockpits into saunas, and
staggering their fire as necessary to control the heat when it approaches
shutdown levels.



*The Improved Heavy Gauss Rifle's development went differently in the
Concert-AU timeline, it has even longer range at the cost of only fifteen
damage per projectile, although it has a normal Gauss Rifle's shots-per-ton of
ammo.


Notable 'Mechs & MechWarriors:
Lance Lieutenant Pieter van Damme of the 2nd Royal BattleMech Regiment proved
instrumental in ensuring the extraction of friendly Rasalhaguan forces from
Yamarovka in 3117, ordering the rest of his lance of damaged 'Mechs to retreat
through a pass in the Scherazade Mountains while employing Gauss Rifle fire to
hold off a company from the 5th Sword of Light.  He was overwhelmed and
perished in the fight just before a company from the 1st Einherjar arrived to
secure the route.  The Einherjar destroyed the Galedon forces and bought time
for the extraction of van Damme's remains.  He was posthumously awarded the
Grand Cross of the Federation by High Queen Jacqueline, as well as the
Valkyrie's Mark by the Rasalhague Peoples' Assembly.


================================================================================
Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Internal Structure: Standard                     152 points               10.00
Engine:             XL Engine                    300                       9.50
    Walking MP: 3
    Running MP: 5
    Jumping MP: 0
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        10(20)                    0.00
Gyro:               Standard                                               3.00
Cockpit:            Standard                                               3.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA    R: SH+UA
Armor:              Standard Armor               AV - 304                 19.00

                                                      Internal       Armor     
                                                      Structure      Factor     
                                                Head     3            9         
                                        Center Torso     31           48       
                                 Center Torso (rear)                  13       
                                           L/R Torso     21           31       
                                    L/R Torso (rear)                  11       
                                             L/R Arm     17           33       
                                             L/R Leg     21           42       



================================================================================
Loadout Name: Prime                                          Cost: 28,470,000
Tech Rating/Era Availability: F/X-X-E-D                       BV2: 3,167

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    CASE Locations: LT, LA, RA                                             0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) Gauss Rifle                             RA        1         6        12.00
(CL) Gauss Rifle                             LA        1         6        12.00
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         RT        5         1         1.00
(CL) Targeting Computer                      RT        -         9         9.00
(CL) Gauss Rifle                             LT        1         6        12.00
2 (CL) ER Medium Lasers                      LT        10        2         2.00
(CL) ER Small Pulse Laser                    CT        3         1         1.50
@Gauss Rifle (16)                            RA        -         2         2.00
@Gauss Rifle (16)                            LA        -         2         2.00
@Gauss Rifle (16)                            LT        -         2         2.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 10

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:     10    Points: 32
3          7       8       5       0      4     0   Structure:  5
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Alpha                                          Cost: 30,096,250
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 2,832

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jumping MP: 3  (Standard)
    Jump Jet Locations: 2 LL, 1 RL                                         6.00
    CASE Locations: CT, LT, RT                                             0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA+LA+H    R: SH+UA+LA+H

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   RA        6         2         2.00
(CL) Micro Pulse Laser                       LA        1         1         0.50
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   LA        6         2         2.00
(IS) Improved Heavy Gauss Rifle              CT/RT     2         2/10     20.00
(IS) Improved Heavy Gauss Rifle              CT/RT     2         2/10     20.00
@iHGR (8)                                    RA        -         2         2.00
@iHGR (8)                                    LA        -         2         2.00
@iHGR (4)                                    RL        -         1         1.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 8

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:     10    Points: 28
3j         6       6       5       0      4     0   Structure:  5
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Bravo                                          Cost: 32,223,750
Tech Rating/Era Availability: F/X-X-F-E                       BV2: 3,539

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jumping MP: 3  (Standard)
    Jump Jet Locations: 1 CT, 1 LL, 1 RL                                   6.00
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        13(26)                    3.00
    Heat Sink Locations: 2 LA, 1 RA
    CASE Locations: LT, RA                                                 0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA+LA    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   RA        6         2         2.00
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   LA        6         2         2.00
(CL) ER Large Pulse Laser                    LA        13        3         6.00
2 (CL) Streak LRM-20s                        RT        12        10       20.00
(CL) Streak LRM-20                           LT        6         5        10.00
(CL) Micro Pulse Laser                       CT        1         1         0.50
@Streak LRM-20 (6)                           RA        -         1         1.00
@Streak LRM-20 (30)                          LT        -         5         5.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 8

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:     10    Points: 35
3j         6       6       5       0      4     3   Structure:  5
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Charlie                                        Cost: 29,841,000
Tech Rating/Era Availability: F/X-X-E-D                       BV2: 2,695

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        17(34)                    7.00
    Heat Sink Locations: 1 CT, 2 LT, 2 RT, 1 LL, 1 RL
    CASE Locations: LT, RT, LA, RA                                         0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) Ultra AC/20                             LA/RA     7         8/8      12.00
(CL) Ultra AC/20                             LA/RA     7         8/8      12.00
(CL) Streak SRM-6                            RT        4         2         3.00
(CL) ER Large Laser                          RT        12        1         4.00
(CL) Small Pulse Laser                       RT        2         1         1.00
(CL) Streak SRM-6                            LT        4         2         3.00
(CL) ER Large Laser                          LT        12        1         4.00
(CL) ER Small Pulse Laser                    LT        3         1         1.50
@Ultra AC/20 (10)                            RA        -         2         2.00
@Ultra AC/20 (10)                            LA        -         2         2.00
@Streak SRM-6 (30)                           RT        -         2         2.00
@Streak SRM-6 (30)                           LT        -         2         2.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 1

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:     10    Points: 27
3          7       7       2       0      4     4   Structure:  5
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Delta                                          Cost: 36,065,000
Tech Rating/Era Availability: F/X-X-F-E                       BV2: 3,565

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        26(52)                   16.00
    Heat Sink Locations: 1 CT, 4 LT, 1 RT, 4 LA, 4 RA, 1 LL, 1 RL
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(A) (CL) ER PPC                              RA        15        2         7.00
(A) (CL) ER PPC                              LA        15        2         7.00
(A) (CL) ER PPC                              RT        15        2         7.00
(A) (CL) Targeting Computer                  RT        -         5         7.50
(A) (CL) ER PPC                              LT        15        2         7.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 2

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:     10    Points: 36
3          6       6       6       0      4     1   Structure:  5
Special Abilities: OMNI, ENE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Echo                                           Cost: 29,695,500
Tech Rating/Era Availability: F/X-X-F-E                       BV2: 3,069

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jumping MP: 3  (Standard)
    Jump Jet Locations: 1 CT, 1 LT, 1 RT                                   6.00
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        18(36)                    8.00
    Heat Sink Locations: 1 LT, 2 RT, 3 RA, 1 LL, 1 RL
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) ER Large Pulse Laser                    RA        13        3         6.00
(CL) ER Small Pulse Laser                    RA        3         1         1.50
(CL) Rotary AC/5                             LA        1         8        10.00
(CL) SRM-6                                   RT        4         1         1.50
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   RT        6         2         2.00
(CL) LRM-20                                  LT        6         4         5.00
(CL) SRM-6                                   LT        4         1         1.50
(CL) ER Large Laser                          CT        12        1         4.00
(CL) ER Large Laser                          HD        12        1         4.00
@Rotary AC/5 (40)                            LA        -         2         2.00
@LRM-20 (6)                                  RT        -         1         1.00
@SRM-6 (15)                                  RT        -         1         1.00
@LRM-20 (6)                                  LT        -         1         1.00
@SRM-6 (15)                                  LT        -         1         1.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 0

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:     10    Points: 31
3j         6       6       4       0      4     4   Structure:  5
Special Abilities: OMNI, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA, IF 1



[idea weenie]

Put together one of their frontline OmniMech designs, the SBT-3 Sabaton.

Code: [Select]

Sabaton SBT-3
(snip)


The Prime has a nice donut damage ring at 3-5 hexes, where it is at short range for all three of its Gauss Rifles and ER Medium Lasers, while only generating 18 heat.  Running at a speed of 5 to get in position, it will only build up 2 heat, meaning it will be heat neutral at that range.  Its opponents have to avoid long open stretches due to its Gauss Rifles, but the feature of its weapons that they are still effective even in close means enemies will get hurt at close range too.  Off-hand I'd recommend swapping out one of the Clan Gauss Rifles with a Clan ERPPC.  This will reduce the tonnage needed for the Targeting Computer, free up 7 tons and 4 critical slots, which can be used for more gear while maintaining the Prime's long-range punch and giving it more endurance.  Tossing on a Beagle Probe (or other 1-ton sensor system) and three Jump Jets would be a nice idea to turn it into a nasty city-fighter.

How does the Alpha version manage to fit both HGR in the right torso?

For the Beta version, does Streak still build up heat even if it doesn't fire?  If so, then you might want to drop one of the CL-Streak-LRM-20, or just resign yourself to only firing the CL-LPL and two of the CL-Streak-LRM-20 each turn.  That third CL-Streak-LRM-20 will almost never be used if attempting to keep heat neutral.  But if you need extra firepower, that third launcher would be needed.

Charlie - the Ultra AC/20s only have 10 shots each, while the Streak SRM-6 have 30 shots each.  You are going to miss more often with the Ultra AC/20, so I'd recommend dropping the SRM ammo to 2 tons, and replacing it with more Ultra AC/20 ammo.  Both of them have roughly 1:3 for Heat:Damage ratio, though the Ultra AC/20 has the double-fire option and immunity to any AMS the target mounts.

Delta - keep it back, keep a Medium Brawler next to it as a bodyguard, and use it to support whichever of your front-line Mechs need help.  Your opponents will be very aggravated as it tosses four relatively accurate 15-pt blasts almost every turn.  Every opponent will fear a headcap from each shot, and lighter units that didn't move as much will worry that they are going to lose a limb when this beast selects them for special attention.  An opponent trying to sneak around to the side just means that only three of the ERPPCs can fire on them, and the pilot can use that opportunity to reduce their heat load at the same time.  It is a brute, it is cruel, and I love it.

Echo - use the LPL and ERLL almost exclusively, and you should only build up 1 pt of heat even while standing still.  Swap out energy weapon selections as the target gets closer.  The LRM and RAC should be used for the rare situations that need their specialized capabilities, so I predict that the LRM at least will almost exclusively carry specialized munitions.  Use it like the Delta most of the time, switching to specialized munitions from its ammo-based weapons when needed.


Interesting design though, thank you for sharing it

[Steve]

The Prime has a nice donut damage ring at 3-5 hexes, where it is at short range for all three of its Gauss Rifles and ER Medium Lasers, while only generating 18 heat.  Running at a speed of 5 to get in position, it will only build up 2 heat, meaning it will be heat neutral at that range.  Its opponents have to avoid long open stretches due to its Gauss Rifles, but the feature of its weapons that they are still effective even in close means enemies will get hurt at close range too.  Off-hand I'd recommend swapping out one of the Clan Gauss Rifles with a Clan ERPPC.  This will reduce the tonnage needed for the Targeting Computer, free up 7 tons and 4 critical slots, which can be used for more gear while maintaining the Prime's long-range punch and giving it more endurance.  Tossing on a Beagle Probe (or other 1-ton sensor system) and three Jump Jets would be a nice idea to turn it into a nasty city-fighter.

I admit my thought was more direct fire support kind of model, but I can see that kind of "Prime-B" configuration being employed for other combat roles.

How does the Alpha version manage to fit both HGR in the right torso?

RASSAN' FRASSAN'.... frickin' SSW!  It's one per torso side, with a leftover crit in the CT.  All the ammo's in the limbs due to this.

For the Beta version, does Streak still build up heat even if it doesn't fire?  If so, then you might want to drop one of the CL-Streak-LRM-20, or just resign yourself to only firing the CL-LPL and two of the CL-Streak-LRM-20 each turn.  That third CL-Streak-LRM-20 will almost never be used if attempting to keep heat neutral.  But if you need extra firepower, that third launcher would be needed.

I imagined Streaks don't build heat if they don't fire?

Also, the role of the Bravo is indirect fire support.  The ERPLs and such are for dealing with threats that get a firing bead on them, if they're not able to stay in cover and rain LRMs on targets.

Charlie - the Ultra AC/20s only have 10 shots each, while the Streak SRM-6 have 30 shots each.  You are going to miss more often with the Ultra AC/20, so I'd recommend dropping the SRM ammo to 2 tons, and replacing it with more Ultra AC/20 ammo.  Both of them have roughly 1:3 for Heat:Damage ratio, though the Ultra AC/20 has the double-fire option and immunity to any AMS the target mounts.

I like that.  Suggestion accepted.

Delta - keep it back, keep a Medium Brawler next to it as a bodyguard, and use it to support whichever of your front-line Mechs need help.  Your opponents will be very aggravated as it tosses four relatively accurate 15-pt blasts almost every turn.  Every opponent will fear a headcap from each shot, and lighter units that didn't move as much will worry that they are going to lose a limb when this beast selects them for special attention.  An opponent trying to sneak around to the side just means that only three of the ERPPCs can fire on them, and the pilot can use that opportunity to reduce their heat load at the same time.  It is a brute, it is cruel, and I love it.

Why thank you. :)

Echo - use the LPL and ERLL almost exclusively, and you should only build up 1 pt of heat even while standing still.  Swap out energy weapon selections as the target gets closer.  The LRM and RAC should be used for the rare situations that need their specialized capabilities, so I predict that the LRM at least will almost exclusively carry specialized munitions.  Use it like the Delta most of the time, switching to specialized munitions from its ammo-based weapons when needed.

I imagined swapping weapon groups at specific ranges and tactical situations would be the machine's main purpose.  Versatility at the sacrifice of heat control.

Interesting design though, thank you for sharing it

Thanks.

I don't play table top so I design 'Mechs more for worldbuilding, to have machines to assign characters to, etc.  So the way I think of tactical roles is, I'd guess, not entirely synced with how a table-top player would think (as seen with the Bravo).  It's good to have the input, though, shows where I didn't think of things or didn't consider alternatives.

Also, reminded I've yet to share some of the other Concert-era 'Mechs I've made, mostly Royal Federation, but as a result of someone talking how much they liked the canon Vindicator but were interested in a 55-ton variant, I designed a Vindicator III 55-tonner that is an Oriento-Capellan design.  I'll have to post those some time.

[Steve]

Strategic Considerations

Royal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia, Arcadian Royal March
Royal Federation
28 August 3142


There was a certain tension in the Privy Council Chambers when Peter Proctor-Steiner arrived.  Unlike normal days, when it was just the Privy Council itself in what was essentially his political domain, the gathering was an assortment of figures.  Not only in terms of those seated, but those showing on the monitors, their images projected up to hundreds of light years away.  He recognized Konigin Gerda Bradford, the Duchess of Coventry and currently elected ruler of Ghastillia, on one screen; a middle-aged woman of fine features that hid a capable political schemer behind a genial expression that reminded him of a holovid show ideal of a middle-aged grandmother.  Another had the broad-shouldered and bearded visage of Archduke Ethan Kell, ruler of the Arc-Royal Federal March, Arc-Royal itself, and the current Commander-in-Chief of the Kell Hounds, wearing the half-cape uniform of that unit.  Peter's elder niece, Princess Melissa Proctor-Steiner, had a darker skin tone, as the Brewer heritage favored her more than it had the others of either generation of Ethan and Mathilda's progeny.  She was currently serving as the Governor-General of the Royal March of Skye, and as the second of Jacqueline's children, held title as Heiress-Presumptive of the Royal Federation.  Archduke Kenneth Marik likewise broadcasted from Atreus, as did Prince Roman Brewer-Steiner from Hesperus, Grand Princess Amira Umayr from Bolan, and the Governor-General of Tharkad and Donegal and the Archdukes of Arcturus, Alexandria, New Earth, Stewart, and Tamarind.

All of our border march rulers and the Princes, except those on the Ghastillian frontier.  It is a reasonable political move, nephew, but dear Lord this could go wrong.

There was one other image coming in, showing the general officers of the force that made the fateful misjump. Admirals Marik and Kruger with Generals Bridger and von Istenburg, all visible on one of the screens.  So they got Arcadia's HPG fixed too.  We were hoping for that.

Hyper-Pulse Generators.  For centuries, they'd turned communications in the Inner Sphere into something more than packets on JumpShips or the rather less-capable "fax machine" devices.  Made the domain of ComStar when the Star League and the Great Houses fell, now the technology was understood by every Successor State. ComStar, reduced to the oversight body for Terra proper, still spearheaded research into refinements, and in some realms still operated HPGs under operating agreements with local governments, but they were a shadow of the power they'd wielded during the Succession Wars under the aegis of the all-powerful Terran Union.  If not, this would be breaking the bank, Peter thought.  As it is, we're spending millions of pounds every second to have this many real-time connections ongoing across so many HPGs in the network.  From what he'd heard, the Inner Sphere on the other side of the Atocongo Anomaly was no longer able to use HPGs, that something had happened there that made HPGs stop working.  Even those on their WarShips that performed the fateful misjump overloaded or otherwise shut down on the other end.  That Arcadia was broadcasting over HPG meant that repairs worked and that they'd finished the resetting of their computer systems to ensure no hostile code of any kind had entered their system during their stay on the far side.

Grand Admiral Stewart represented the AFRF Command Staff, and the Speaker of the Federal Assembly, Dikembe Soto of Uhuru, sat beside his opposite from the Federation Senate, Dame Tessa Stuart of Caledonia.  Peter recognized that alongside his grand-nephew Nathaniel were his Royal Secretary, Sophia Marik.

Peter took a seat between Nathaniel and the legislative leaders.  It was properly symbolic, given his political role as Lord of the Privy Council.  It was also, of course, the only available seat left.

Nor was he the last to arrive.  A bald-headed, dark-skinned man showed at the door, flanked by two power-armored Household Guards.  He wore a double-breasted jacket of pale blue with a white vest underneath with matching pants.  From his neck hung a Starburst of the Order of St. Michael, Knight's Grade.  Peter recognized him as easily as anyone else: Doctor-Professor Sir Kenneth Whateley of the Royal University, one of the Inner Sphere's leading experts on hyperspace, HPGs, and K-F Drives.

"Doctor."  Nathaniel rose.  "Thank you kindly for attending on such short notice."

"It is quite alright, Majesty."  He spoke with an Anglo-Arcadian accent, with a Plymouth Peninsula denizen's vigorous tones.  "Your Graces, Your HIghnesses."  He bowed respectfully, fully aware of courtly protocol.

"If we might get to business?"  Princess Melissa's voice was not frigid, but on the cool side.  Undoubtedly she had her own pressing business dealing with the recent restiveness in Skye, and attending a massive interstellar conference was taking her away from that.  "We are hearing a lot of rumors of this 'misjump', but as Admiral Marik and his command are clearly with us, hopefully we might have something to calm nerves."

"Admiral, if you will please?"

Peter had already read Lord Paul's report, so he imagined some frustration that the man now had to share that yet again, and verbally, but he did so with concision and brevity.  The strange misjump, the engagement at the other Timkovichi, his decision to deploy the training units to fight these "Clans"... and the existence of the other Kell Hounds, other Kells, and an intact Lyran Commonwealth on the other end.

Peter wasn't sure he liked the reaction to that from some of the others, specifically, the Lyran March leaders.  Ethan Kell was obviously read-in already and showed little emotion to the revelations being presented.  But the others… we still have those who dream of House Proctor becoming another branch of House Steiner, and a rebirth of the Commonwealth.  Ghastillia and Sudeten continuing to exist, and retaining their independence, puts a damper on it, but only some, given how many worlds of the old Lyran Commonwealth we control.

Prince Roman spoke up first.  "Did these 'Clans' have any JumpShips that might carry word back to their brethren?"

"Going by Colonel Kell's people and our own scans of the system, there were Clan JumpShips up at the zenith point that jumped out shortly after we destroyed the Red Talon," Lord Paul replied.  "So it is quite likely word is spreading."

"Then the question is if there is a threat of an incursion."  That came from Konigin Greta.  Her concern was obvious, although Peter wondered if she'd have a greater agenda.  She'd been shrewd in negotiations whenever Peter had to deal with her, always pressing Ghastillian interests.  "How much do we know of their forces?"

"Colonel Kell's been providing us with intel from his side.  We know there are multiple 'Galaxies', as the Clans call them, brigades or over-sized regiments by our standards, operating in the area.   They are organizations of two to five 'Clusters', each one typically being something like a battalion of 'Mechs or armored vehicles with a company of battle armor infantry and a wing of aerospace fighters, with, I must stress, significant variance in practice.  But even the captured prisoners can't say much about their plans.  We just blew up the Falcons and Horses' plans by capturing the Falcon Khan and taking out a major Horse unit, not to mention one of their few WarShips."

"Uncertainty is the issue, then?  A naval guard should be posted over Atacongo."  The Ghastillian ruler clearly meant that for Admiral Kruger.  "We will dispatch a patrol squadron, then, and hope the Communists do not misconstrue our intentions."

"I've spoken with Ambassador Wotjak, they're already stating readiness to accept heightened activity without seeing it as provocative."  This came from Lady Jessup.  "Although they've made it rather clear they expect the 1st Battle Fleet to withdraw in a timely fashion."

"I'm sure they did."  Admiral Stewart spoke the words with some heat.  "We can't simply ignore the potential for an incursion, and I admit, I am inclined to say we should see about defenses on the farside of the… anomaly."

"Given how the war's going for them, I doubt the Lyrans will mind much, for now," said Bridger.  "If we agreed to post a 'Mech regiment to the defense of Timkovichi, with supporting aerospace assets, it'd do a lot to ease their own situation, especially since Timkovichi's militia nearly got wiped out by the Falcons.  They won't be in any shape to hold the planet for months."

"Well, that settles it, doesn't it?  I can speak with the Planning Staff and get units up that way—"

"You assume we have the forces."  Archduke Horace Fhyne of Arcturus interrupted the Grand Admiral with clear impatience.  "The Combine may raid our worlds at any time, looking for 'renegades' or whatever they want to call it.  I was promised reinforcements!"

Before Stewart could reply, Nathaniel spoke up.  "They are coming, Your Grace.  The 1st Free March Cavalry Brigade and the 4th Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry are already burning for their JumpShips, they'll be there before October."

Fhyne's broad face did not show any sign of pleasure.  "Two brigades?!  Only two?!"

"You already have the 1st Arcturan Guards, and the 4th Donegal Guards, on station," Stewart reminded him.

"The first unit is still untried, and the 4th are ill-led!  I think we deserve greater consideration!  The entire Skye Ranger corps is on the border below us, why can't we get similar defense?"

"The Combine's only got four 'Mech regiments in the entire Vega Prefecture, and Ballymond is tied down with the revolt on New Wessex still smoldering, and with Rasalhague's forces at Buckminster the Dracs can't afford to throw anything at us," Princess Melissa replied on Stewart's behalf.  "We need the Skye Rangers in Skye and New Earth Marches to protect from the Azami, Tikonov, and the Cappies."

"You already have the Brewers' forces backing you!"

"No, she has my forces protecting Defiance Industries facilities," remarked Prince Roman, smiling thinly.  "And while they will continue to do so, they are not available for the AFRF to send to wherever they please."

"And we are to be left dangling, Your Majesty?  Ballymont sent for the 5th Sword of Light.  Why would he do this if he isn't planning retaliations for our shelter of Musashi Honda and the Galedon guerillas?  You remember what they did on Freedom!"

Notwithstanding memories of the Combine attack on their world three years past,, Lord Peter could think of several reasons why the 5th Sword of Light was sent, including the Combine wanting to rattle sabers, or deciding to make an example of New Wessex, as bloodcurdling as that sounded.  It might also be to replace units desperately needed in the Outworlds, where the Concert was at its weakest with the Lexington Combat Group almost monthly testing Combine defenses.

Before he could raise any of those points, Nathaniel spoke up.  "Your Grace, I understand your concern.  But surely you must understand that for me to send more regiments to your March would be provocative in of itself, it might even lead Ballymont to panic, assume we are going to intervene on New Wessex, and attack.  The two units we're sending will firm your defenses without causing such alarm.  But, if you wish reassurance, I will have Mercenary Operations send one of our mercenary forces to Arcturus.  Hamilton's Land-Air Brigade would provide for a strong defensive presence without appearing to herald offensive attacks.  That is the best I can do."

There was a brief silence from Fyhne.  It ended with a nod.  "I find that commitment acceptable, Majesty.  Thank you for your consideration."

It was a lie, and everyone in the room knew it was.  Peter knew, or at least hope, his nephew recognized it too.  If he did or not, Nathaniel accepted the statement with a nod.  "I wish to have Professor Whateley weigh in on the Atocongo Portal," he said.  "But we should arrange troops deployments first.  I am inclined to send a defensive force to Timkovichi on the other side.  I am aware that the AFRF can only spare so many units, but this is important.  The dispatch of the light cruiser Epaminondas and its flotilla should provide for a suitable naval defense, and to aid the people of Timkovichi, I would ask for Duke Ethan's agreement to keep one regiment of Kell Hounds on the far side."

"I concur," Ethan said.

"As further guarantee, the 2nd Royal Cuirassiers are among our few reserves remaining, yes Admiral?"

"Aye."  Stewart clearly didn't look pleased, but he didn't contradict the High King.  His eyes met Peter's, as if to seek Peter's help, but there was none.  Good, nephew.  A heavy unit, with a Regimental Combat Team of support.  That should be an equal to at least one of these Clan 'Galaxy' units.

"We will also shift the 1st Royal Lancers to Arc-Royal, to join the 2nd Kell Hounds as reserves, and adjust forces in-theater as needed.  Are there any questions?"

"What about the Household Guards Corps, or the Arcadian Guards, Majesty?" asked Ethan Kell.  "A number of them were shifted toward Atreus, but we should consider the need to pull them back.  In case we have reason to strongly reinforce the portal."

"That will also be discussed with the Command Staff, and I'll have a decision soon," Nathaniel promised.  "Now, if there's nothing else, I'd like to let the Doctor-Professor speak on the portal."  When no one raised an objection, he nodded to Whateley.  "The floor is yours."

"Thank you, Majesty." Whateley cleared his throat.  "My Lords and Ladies, at His Majesty's request I have gone over the available data we have so far.  It is, yes, strikingly unique, unknown in our whole history, and has already provided scientific insight into the nature of hyperspace and how it interacts with reality itself.  It has also proven, rather directly, the truth behind certain theories on space-time and what we call the 'many worlds' theory.  Indeed, it would seem hyperspace may link such worlds together, a common medium of sorts."

Peter forced down the sigh he felt forming.  My boy, you are ever the scientist, but you are losing your audience by having this presentation, he thought to himself.  While Nathaniel was clearly interested, and indeed some of the others present showed some interest as well, well over half the faces in the room were shades of barely-hidden disinterest and frustration.  They hadn't come here to burn precious moment sof their time, and millions of pounds or marks, for the privilege of hearing a lecture fit for a science symposium.

Undoubtedly Professor Whateley was used to such disinterest, as he moved on without missing a beat.  "I will cease the scientific side here, of course, as I understand that is not the issue at hand.  The important thing is, I believe this can occur again, and I believe I know how to prevent it."

Peter allowed himself a smile.  Well, good show.  That's what they want to hear.

"Can you have learned enough to make such a promise?" asked Princess Melissa.

"I believe so, Highness.  It involved some research into transit logs, aided by my research teams diverted to the task, and access granted by His Majesty."

Grand Admiral Stewart, and a couple others, cast annoyed glances at Nathaniel, but said nothing.  "And what did you determine?" Peter asked.

"Given the testimonies offered by Admiral Marik and the others affected," he began, casting a brief glance and nod at the image depicting the four commanders still at Atocongo, "I believe it was the rare occasion of such a large number of ships of such varying masses jumping simultaneously."

"You mean to say, our fleet-wide jump into our Timkovichi caused this?" Admiral Kruger asked.

"Yes, Admiral.  The records I was shown indicate that such jumps are not common.  They tend to be in sequence, yes?"

"This is so," Kruger agreed, with Marik and Stewart nodding.

"Exactly.  Going by the records given to me by His Majesty, there has been no such regular mass jumps since the War, and the last jump of that magnitude was in 3130 during what I take was a set of wargames or some such.  I find that date interesting because of the other material provided, specifically your reports on this… other Inner Sphere, on the opposite end of the Looking Glass, so to speak."

Peter noted understanding dawn on Admiral Marik's face.  "It was before the HPG Blackout that afflicts the other side, you mean?"

"Yes."  Whateley nodded.  "That was my thought exactly.  The nature of that blackout is a strange one, I grant, and we may never grasp the mechanics of it, indeed there is much we still don't know and may never know about hyperspace given we cannot effectively measure anything in it.  But it stands to reason that the Blackout, as they call it, could have influenced this event."

"There have been other fleet movements of great size since 3132, however," Stewart said.  "The Combine's Alpheratz Campaign in 3137 involved a large fleet and army unit, bigger than the one that jumped into Timkovichi, and the reports we received indicate they did one mass jump.  Why didn't they misjump like this?"

"I need more data.  It could be the fleet composition did not have the right balance of large ships versus smaller ones.  Maybe their formation was further spread out?  We are dealing with an entirely new phenomena, Admiral, and we just don't have the data to provide firm answers.  What we do know is that a force of that specific size and that makeup broke some sort of hyperspatial barrier when it jumped, creating a gap in the form of a persistent K-F field that bridges two different iterations of our universe.  With otherwise similar physical laws, at least."  Whateley folded his hands together.  "All I can recommend to this assembly is that all such formations jump in stages, at least a minute apart, to give time for the wavefront of the field to fully dissipate."

"Any objections, Admiral?' Nathaniel asked Stewart.

"None, Your Majesty," replied Stewart.  "It is not a matter of much consequence.  There are some tactical situations in naval combat where such a restriction could cause difficulty, but not likely."

"Indeed, I only organized the mass jump to keep us in practice," Admiral Marik added.  "It would appear to the gain of the people on the other side of the 'Looking Glass', as our dear Professor so intriguingly put it."

It sounds better than 'Anomaly' at least, Peter thought.

"Doctor-Professor, thank you for your counsel and your efforts," Nathaniel said.  "I intend to assemble a Royal Science Commission to investigate this matter more thoroughly, and I will definitely seek further counsel from you."

"I'd be honored, Majesty."  Whateley didn't need to be told he was being dismissed, but he waited until Nathaniel made it formal before standing.  Peter thought he could see some slight relief on the man's face before he departed the room.

"I have another matter before we adjourn," Bridger said.  "Given the age of the intel Colonel Kell has, we have no idea where these 'Clans' are in our proximity.  With your permission, I'd like to take the 8th Strikers and the 1st Kell Hounds on a fishing expedition."

"Two BattleMech regiments with supporting brigades is a rather large expedition, General," Peter said.  "What do you wish to accomplish?"

"Find Clan forces and capture intelligence as to their dispositions and intent."

"This is rather more than protecting the portals," Konigin Greta protested.  "And it is an active intervention in this conflict on the other side."

"With respect, Your Highness, we already have intervened.  We're at war with these Clans just as much as the Lyrans there are.  And given what they were doing on Timkovichi, what they were about to do, I can't in good conscience ignore the matter.  And from a military perspective, we need to know more if we're going to protect the Looking Glass."

Peter stifled a chuckle.  The Doctor-Professor's term seems to be catching on.

"I need the 4th Grenadiers to guard Atocongo, so I cannot support this," said Greta.  "But I will not stop you either, King Nathaniel, should you wish to support this expedition."

Peter noted the heated look on Stewart's face.  Archduchess Yvette Mercier, ruler of the New Earth March, likewise seemed displeased, and both glanced to him as if he might stop this.

"I do," Nathaniel said firmly.  "There are disturbing elements to these Clans I wish to see investigated.  General Bridger, make what arrangements you must.  The Arcadia must remain on this side, but the Sara Proctor and a couple of the destroyers should be sufficient for your protection from any Clan WarShips, I think?"

"I'll detach them to General Bridger's command immediately, Majesty," Lord Paul pledged.

"Thank you, Majesty.  I'll get preparations done immediately."

"If there is nothing else, I believe that is all for today," Nathaniel remarked.  "I know you all have much business to attend to, and that we are burning the Government's communications budget for the year at a prodigious rate.  I declare this meeting adjourned.  God save the Federation."

"God save the Federation."  With that ceremonial exhortation, the meeting ended.



Peter barely got back to his office before the knock came.  Stewart entered, with Lord Arnold in tow, also in uniform.  "I just heard," Arnold said, looking severe and flustered.  "So our timetable for EAGLE CRY diverts yet further."

"Let's be honest, cousin.  EAGLE CRY died with my sister," he remarked, reaching for the Glengarry Reserve off his cabinet.  He poured a glass and offered, which they declined.

"So who is going to explain this to Ambassador Claudius?"

At the reference to Claudius O'Reilly, the Flavian Principate's ambassador to the Federation, Peter shrugged.  "I will, if it must be done.  The Imperatrix will be displeased, but there will be no moving Nathaniel.  I know his mind as well as any of you.  He would only accept war for an immediate, clear moral good."

"Breaking the Capellans before they finish their new fleet program is in the vital interests of the Royal Federation," Arnold insisted.  "You know this!"

"Of course I do!  But Nathaniel feels he is making progress with Emperor Robert diplomatically."

Stewart sighed and Arnold rolled his eyes.  "That young pacifist fool will be a disaster.  I wish James hadn't died on Sirius."

Peter's hand clenched his glass tumbler so hard he thought he might break it.  His mind flashed back over twenty years, to the heat-filled cockpit of his Paladin, the sharp fight, the sight of the lance of Vindicator hunter-killers that ambushed them, pummelling Prince James' Atlas… the LRMs that breached his cockpit.  The sight of his nephew, broken and bleeding in his shattered command couch.  "Tell Sita and Nate… tell Mother… I love…" and then nothing but the cold, empty sky blue eyes of a young man formerly so full of promise, a young man who inspired his soldiers and would have made a great and good monarch.  The pain, even these decades later, was such that Peter thought it would choke him. I failed them.  I failed James.  I failed Jackie.  I failed Nathan, and my parents, and my siblings, I could have saved him, if only I'd been faster!...

He blinked and forced himself back to the present.  "We all do."  There was a dangerous tone in his voice as he turned his head.  "EAGLE CRY might have worked, and we might have made good on everything, but it is not happening, Arnold.  Let it go.  Do your duty."

"I'm trying.  But we have threats here, and now, to deal with.  This other Inner Sphere can tend to its own business."

"We're connected now, there is no escaping that.  Thinking we can ignore their situation is folly."  Peter went to his desk, enjoying the rich flavor of the whisky as it burned its way into his belly.  It'd been so long since he'd remembered that terrible day on Sirius.  Nathaniel is so like his father in that regard, forceful, ready to push where he feels the push must be made.  I just need time to temper him.  To make him recognize when he needs to pull back, whatever his wishes.  "As for His Excellency, I'll address Lord Claudius personally to make it clear.  EAGLE CRY is not viable.  There will be no joint war against the Empire."

"This could cost us with the Principate.  The Legions grow restless again."

"Then let them find outlet for their energies, as they please," Peter snapped.  "Imperatrix Julia does not make the policy of the Royal Federation, no more than her damned fool of an uncle did!"

"There is opportunity," Stewart said softly, finally joining the conversation.  "As news of this… 'Looking Glass' becomes more widespread, and our involvement on the other end, it might bring the Capellan Empire to a softer state of readiness.  Even if EAGLE CRY is not implemented, we might benefit from a mutual drawdown on the border worlds.  More troops for the Azami and Combine borders, or for any problems we face in this other Inner Sphere, is welcome, and moreso, the other Inner Sphere could be a chance to blood our troops in real campaigns before any major fighting here."

Arnold shook his head.  "They train well enough."

"It's not war, and you know it's not."

"And letting our men and women die for the benefit of some mirror copy of our reality is the solution?"

Peter chuckled.  "And here I would think a devoted Lyrantreu like you would be happy with helping an intact Lyran Commonwealth, Arnold."

"Don't forget we're Steiners too, Peter," Arnold said, recognizing the jibe for what it was.  "And the Steiners were ruling hundreds of worlds when the Proctors were mere farmers."

"The Steiners also lost most of those worlds while the Proctors were 'mere farmers'.  And don't forget the blood of that commoner-born Sara Proctor flows in your veins too, cousin, and as founding legends go, I would pick her over Katherine Steiner any day."

Arnold grunted but said nothing more on the subject.  He let Peter take a drink in peace before saying, "Well, so here we are.  The Concert will chug along for another year, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Arnold," Peter muttered.  "Now, if you'll please, gentlemen, I have affairs of state and government to clear before the day ends.  There is more to this Federation than your dreams of broken Capellan WarShips, after all."

With that stern reminder, the two left.  God help us all with those two, Peter thought.  And help me to not lose my temper like that with him again…  He took another drink before getting to work.

[Steve]

Time for another Royal Federation OmniMech, a heavy cavalry model called the Ranger.

Code: [Select]

Ranger RNG-3

Mass: 60 tons
Tech Base: Mixed
Chassis Config: Biped Omnimech
Rules Level: Experimental Tech
Era: Concert of the Sphere
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X
Production Year: 3132
Dry Cost: 16,340,000 C-Bills
Total Cost: 16,340,000 C-Bills
Battle Value: 927

Chassis: Advanced Materials Industries Endo-Steel
Power Plant: Onassis FusionWorks iXL 360 Fusion Engine
Walking Speed: 64.8 km/h
Maximum Speed: 97.2 km/h
Jump Jets: RussTech TurboJets
    Jump Capacity: 0 meters
Armor: Springfield Arsenal Ferro-Fibrous Ferro-Fibrous
Armament:
    25.0 tons of pod space.
Manufacturer: Springfield Arsenal
    Primary Factory: Loric
Communications System: Springfield Arsenal TacComm Mk. 9
Targeting and Tracking System: Botts Tactical Systems 3130 Model

Overview:
A post-4th Succession War update to the RNG-2, the RNG-3 Ranger is Loric's
answer to the need for a fast heavy OmniMech for the AFRF's armored
cavalry units.


Capabilities:
With a top speed of over 96 kph, the Ranger is as fast as cavalry "Mechs with
lower weight and can even keep pace with light-weight hunter-killer 'Mechs. 
Since the size of the 360-rated iXL engine proved prohibitive on providing
flexible pod space for the design, Springfield Arsenal contracted RussTech for
its improved XL gyros as well as employing Terran-quality endo-steel and
ferro-fibrous armor.  While this removed room for any additional equipment in
the core of the machine, it brought the weight down to allow twenty-five tons
of pod space, giving the Ranger surprising flexibility for a sixty ton 'Mech
with a sixteen and a half ton engine.


Battle History:
During the 3139 fight on Freedom between the 1st Launum Armored Cavalry and the
2nd Sword of Light, the RNG-3 performed admirably in enabling the outmatched
Launumeños to stymie and delay the Combine 'Mechs in their destructive rampages
through Freedom's countryside.  Their speed and the use of jump jets on many
variants provided many opportunities for tactical ambushes or quick responses
that thwarted the hunt for Musashi Honda's surviving guerrillas and ensured the
2nd Sword of Light's failure in the campaign.


Deployment:
The Ranger is primarily found in the cavalry-orientated regiments of the AFRF,
particularly the Striker regiments and the Royal Cuirassiers.  The Kell Hounds
and Ransom's Raiders have both shown a certain enthusiasm for the design in
their cavalry formations.  Loric's main manufacturing center at Hagerstown has
been quite active to ensure a regular production rate.


Notable 'Mechs & MechWarriors:
During the Freedom campaign of 3139, Lieutenant Rodrigo Benitez - Company A,
2nd Battalion, 1st Launum Armored Cavalry - piloted a Ranger in a number of
different configurations, downing two Combine 'Mechs and sharing kill credit
for two more during the Armored Cavalry's counter-attack down the Eleutherios
River.  He was awarded the Military Cross of Valor for the battlefield
victories and continues to pilot a Ranger in the 1st LAC to this day.


================================================================================
Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Internal Structure: Endo-Steel                    99 points                3.00
    Internal Locations: 1 LT, 2 RT, 1 LA, 1 RA, 1 LL, 1 RL
Engine:             XL Engine                    360                      16.50
    Walking MP: 6
    Running MP: 9
    Jumping MP: 0
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        10(20)                    0.00
Gyro:               XL                                                     2.00
Cockpit:            Standard                                               3.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA    R: SH+UA
Armor:              Ferro-Fibrous                AV - 201                 10.50
    Armor Locations: 1 HD, 1 LT, 1 RT, 1 LA, 1 RA, 1 LL, 1 RL

                                                      Internal       Armor     
                                                      Structure      Factor     
                                                Head     3            9         
                                        Center Torso     20           30       
                                 Center Torso (rear)                  10       
                                           L/R Torso     14           21       
                                    L/R Torso (rear)                  7         
                                             L/R Arm     10           20       
                                             L/R Leg     14           28       



================================================================================
Loadout Name: Prime                                          Cost: 18,617,600
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 1,932

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        13(26)                    3.00
    CASE Locations: RT, RA                                                 0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA+LA+H    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) LB 10-X AC                              RA        2         5        10.00
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   LA        6         2         2.00
(CL) Streak SRM-6                            RT        4         2         3.00
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   RT        6         2         2.00
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   LT        6         2         2.00
@LB 10-X (Cluster) (10)                      RA        -         1         1.00
@LB 10-X (Slug) (10)                         RA        -         1         1.00
@Streak SRM-6 (15)                           RT        -         1         1.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 7

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:      7    Points: 19
6          5       5       1       0      3     0   Structure:  3
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA, FLK 1/1/1


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Alpha                                          Cost: 18,864,000
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 2,329

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jumping MP: 4  (Standard)
    Jump Jet Locations: 2 LT, 2 RT                                         4.00
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        12(24)                    2.00
    CASE Locations: RA                                                     0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) Rotary AC/2                             RA        1         4         8.00
(CL) ER PPC                                  LA        15        2         6.00
(CL) Laser Anti-Missile System               RT        5         1         1.00
(CL) Laser Anti-Missile System               LT        5         1         1.00
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         LT        5         1         1.00
@Rotary AC/2 (90)                            RA        -         2         2.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 12

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:      7    Points: 23
6/3j       3       3       3       0      3     0   Structure:  3
Special Abilities: OMNI, AMS, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Bravo                                          Cost: 19,535,200
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 2,519

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jumping MP: 6  (Standard)
    Jump Jet Locations: 3 LT, 3 RT                                         6.00
    CASE Locations: LT, RT                                                 0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA+LA+H    R: SH+UA+LA+H

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         RA        5         1         1.00
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         LA        5         1         1.00
(CL) Streak LRM-15                           RT        5         3         7.00
(CL) Streak LRM-15                           LT        5         3         7.00
@Streak LRM-15 (8)                           RT        -         1         1.00
@Streak LRM-15 (16)                          LT        -         2         2.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 10

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:      7    Points: 25
6j         4       4       3       0      3     1   Structure:  3
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Charlie                                        Cost: 18,367,200
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 2,397

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        13(26)                    3.00
    CASE Locations: LT, RT                                                 0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA+LA+H    R: SH+UA+LA+H

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2 (CL) ER Medium Lasers                      RA        10        2         2.00
2 (CL) ER Medium Lasers                      LA        10        2         2.00
(CL) LRM-20                                  RT        6         4         5.00
(CL) LRM-20                                  LT        6         4         5.00
@LRM-20 (12)                                 RT        -         2         2.00
@LRM-20 (12)                                 LT        -         2         2.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 5

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:      7    Points: 24
6          5       5       3       0      3     0   Structure:  3
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA, LRM 2/2/2, IF 2


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Delta                                          Cost: 18,419,200
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 2,350

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jumping MP: 2  (Standard)
    Jump Jet Locations: 1 LT, 1 RT                                         2.00
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        11(22)                    1.00
    CASE Locations: LT                                                     0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA+LA+H    R: SH+UA+LA+H

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2 (CL) ER Medium Pulse Lasers                RA        12        4         4.00
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   LA        6         2         2.00
(CL) ER Medium Pulse Laser                   RT        6         2         2.00
(CL) Gauss Rifle                             LT        1         6        12.00
@Gauss Rifle (8)                             RT        -         1         1.00
@Gauss Rifle (8)                             LT        -         1         1.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 7

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:      7    Points: 24
6/1j       5       5       2       0      3     0   Structure:  3
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Echo                                           Cost: 18,535,200
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 2,235

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        13(26)                    3.00
    CASE Locations: LT, RT                                                 0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA+LA+H    R: SH+UA+LA+H

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         RA        5         1         1.00
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         LA        5         1         1.00
(CL) Streak LRM-10                           RT        4         2         5.00
(CL) Streak SRM-6                            RT        4         2         3.00
(CL) Streak LRM-10                           LT        4         2         5.00
(CL) Streak SRM-6                            LT        4         2         3.00
@Streak LRM-10 (12)                          RT        -         1         1.00
@Streak SRM-6 (15)                           RT        -         1         1.00
@Streak LRM-10 (12)                          LT        -         1         1.00
@Streak SRM-6 (15)                           LT        -         1         1.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 7

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:      7    Points: 22
6          6       6       2       0      3     0   Structure:  3
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Foxtrot                                        Cost: 18,801,600
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 2,108

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Jumping MP: 4  (Standard)
    Jump Jet Locations: 2 LT, 2 RT                                         4.00
    CASE Locations: LT, RT                                                 0.00
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA+LA+H    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         LA        5         1         1.00
(CL) LB 20-X AC                              RT/RA     6         1/8      12.00
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         LT        5         1         1.00
(CL) Streak SRM-4                            LT        3         1         2.00
@LB 20-X (Slug) (10)                         RT        -         2         2.00
@LB 20-X (Cluster) (10)                      RT        -         2         2.00
@Streak SRM-4 (25)                           LT        -         1         1.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 8

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:      7    Points: 21
6/3j       4       4       0       0      3     0   Structure:  3
Special Abilities: OMNI, CASE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA, FLK 1/1/0


================================================================================
Loadout Name: Gamma                                          Cost: 17,992,000
Tech Rating/Era Availability: X/X-X-X-X                       BV2: 2,487

Equipment           Type                         Rating                   Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Heat Sinks:         (CL) Double Heat Sink        21(42)                   11.00
    Heat Sink Locations: 2 LT, 3 RT, 3 LA, 3 RA
    Actuators:      L: SH+UA    R: SH+UA

Equipment                                 Location    Heat    Critical    Mass 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(CL) ER PPC                                  RA        15        2         6.00
(CL) ER PPC                                  LA        15        2         6.00
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         RT        5         1         1.00
(CL) ER Medium Laser                         LT        5         1         1.00
                                            Free Critical Slots: 3

BattleForce Statistics
MV      S (+0)  M (+2)  L (+4)  E (+6)   Wt.   Ov   Armor:      7    Points: 25
6          5       5       3       0      3     0   Structure:  3
Special Abilities: OMNI, ENE, SRCH, ES, SEAL, SOA




[Steve]

Winning Edge

Orbital Space
Timkovichi, Arc-Royal Theater
Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
1 September 3142


For the third time in his life, General Sir DeMarcus Bridger made the seemingly-impossible journey from one world to another.  Not one planet to another, as he'd done often, but the more classical definition of "world", with a portal through the very fabric of reality allowing him to move from the world he knew, where Aleksandr Kerensky died on Terra and the Great Houses fell and all of that, to the world where the Great Houses survived and Kerensky survived to lead his soldiers into the far reaches of space, their descendants to return two and a half centuries later to wreak bloody havoc.  A possibility unfathomable a month ago, but now it was a reality he and everyone else had to live with.

The first two times, he'd been aboard the AFS Arcadia.  This time, he hadn't even bothered transferring to one of the DropShips; a DropShuttle from Arcadia brought him back through "the Looking Glass", as he and Admiral Marik and so many others were now calling it.  It's a fitting name.  Our two worlds, our Inner Spheres, are like distorted, funhouse mirror images of one another, the similarities as surprising as the differences.

Once again the trip was nowhere near as agonizing or rough as the first had been.  It was even a little easier than the customary nausea of a normal jump.  From his compartment in the back, shared by his Chief of Staff Brigadier Uwe von Hammersmark and a couple of junior staff officers, he listened to the pilots confirm landing permission from planetary control.  With a key tap, a monitor showed him the feed from a hull-mounted camera.  Most of the orbital space was empty now, with the exception of the destroyer AFS Cuchulainn and the picket ship Plucky, as the rest of 1st Battle Fleet was on the other side of the Glass now.  So were the JumpShips brought with them for the training operation-turned-misjump.  He'd spent the last few days making arrangements for the return of enough to carry his assigned units to their targets, and these talks would confirm if they got the order to make that return.

The DropShuttle landed Bridger in the field headquarters shared by the 8th Striker and the 1st Kell Hounds.  In keeping with the new nickname for the portal, someone had erected a spray-painted sign in the heart of the camp, "WELCOME TO FIELD BASE CARROLL", with signposts directing one to locations such as the "Mad Hatter's Tea Party" - pointing towards the base mess hall - and "The Red Queen's Court", specifically, HQ itself. He could even see a working party, directed by a bellowing non-com, touching up one of the signs, and the homey familiarity of that sight drew a smile from Bridger.

MPs and assorted personnel of all ranks saluted Bridger and his people on their way into the prefab HQ structure.  The command center was a roomier version of what you'd find in a field HQ, although more vulnerable since field HQs had that inestimable advantage of being able to move.  A main holotank, and secondary ones, allowed for real-time analysis of ongoing battles across an entire world, especially if there were orbiting ships or satellites to provide "eyes in the sky" images.

Brigadier Laguna and Colonel Ward were present already, with officers, and Deirdre's local counterparts in the Kell Hounds.  They were joined by Kommandant Jacob Tanhause, whom Bridger hadn't seen since the fateful day they landed, and an older woman in black mourning robes, a tiara on her whitening hair and her face an example of quiet suffering, the kind you typically saw among bereaved nobles.  Bridger knew her as Duchess Katarina Schmitt-Levensky, the wife of Timkovichi's late ruler Duke Roderick Schmitt.  He'd been killed in the early Falcon strikes on the planet.  Word was the couple's children, all but one, was either dead or believed dead in prior battles with the Clans, and a grandchild had died in the Falcon bombing of the family home.  The human soul can only take so much pain, he mused to himself as he made a courtly bow.  The Duchess bowed back slightly, but said nothing.

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon, General," Evan Kell said, in the tone of a man who was very pleased to be wrong.  "Your message yesterday was welcome, so I asked Her Grace to join us, given what you were bringing up."

"Thank you, Colonel, it'll make this quick and easy, and then we can get on with other matters."  He set his eyes on Duchess Katarina.  "Your Grace, in light of the seeming permanence of the portal, or 'Looking Glass' if you will, the Royal Federation has a vested interest in the defense of your world.  Our Ghastillian allies will see to the defenses on our side.  We request permission to station a force on Timkovichi to protect this side from Clan incursion."

It wasn't hard to see the flash of triumph in Evan's eyes.  Jacob looked like he'd just had a sentence commuted.  Katarina had the most reserved response, but Bridger could see relief showing through the cracks of her quiet demeanor.  "On behalf of the Lyran Commonwealth, General, we would be pleased to host a force of Arcadian troops sent to protect our world."

"We'll get the documents prepared today, then, for your approval, Your Grace," Bridger replied.  They had their legal justification now, at least, until the Archon on Tharkad had a chance to reply.  But given the lack of HPGs and what was likely the strategic situation of the Commonwealth, that was possibly months away, and unlikely to contravene the Duchess' order.

"How solid a defensive force are your commanders planning on?" Evan asked.

"At present, the 2nd Royal Cuirassiers are being readied for the trip, and would arrive in about two weeks' time.  Four at most, if they're a jump or two off the Royal Road."

"Royal Road?"

"A network of jump stations, wasn't it?" Nadia asked, undoubtedly having heard of it given her many talks with Brigadier Laguna's officers.

"Yes.  A jump station network linking Arcadia and every March capital and most of the key border worlds."  Content he'd explained sufficiently, Bridger pressed on.  "There'll be a naval defense too.  We've got a light cruiser coming, I guess you might also call it a heavy frigate or destroyer, and its attached carrier and picket force.  They'll safeguard the Looking Glass and the 2nd will protect the planet."

He wasn't surprised to see the dawning pleasure on their faces.  They want us in.  Might need us in.  "I'll be honored to greet them," said Katarina, "in my grandson's name."

"How is he?"  Bridger recalled the grandson in question, Daniel, survived the Falcon attack with injuries.  Officially he was Duke now, with his grandmother ruling in his name given his parents did not survive that attack.

"He is getting stronger by the day, thankfully."

"Glad to hear it."  He glanced toward the military officers.  "Does Your Grace wish to stay for our military planning?"

"No, I do not think it will be necessary.  Let me know when you have the stationing agreement ready, General Bridger, and I will sign."  With a final slight sketch of a bow, she departed.

"Poor woman's lost a lot, just like her people," Laguna remarked sadly.  She gave Bridger a knowing look.  "You were a little coy on the drone messages these last few days.  I'm guessing King Nathaniel and the Court approved something?"

"That they did.  Consider Training Force Siegfried re-designated to OpForce Siegfried, Brigadier, and get your people ready."  Noting Evan's growing interest, he turned his head back toward the Kell Hound commander.  "I'm formally requesting some assistance, Colonel Kell.  I've been authorized by King Nathan to conduct a bit of a 'fishing expedition', you might say."

"And what kind of fish are you looking to hook, General?" he asked, a certain wolfish look coming to his face.  The question was more rhetorical than an actual question.

"We want more intelligence on Clan forces, dispositions, and intentions, and the best way to get it is to go ask ourselves.  The 8th Strikers and the 1st Kell Hounds — Colonel Ward's, I mean — will be jumping to whatever worlds you figure the Clans have taken, where we will engage in raiding operations to take prisoners, rescue captive POWs, and secure whatever intelligence can be claimed from their databases.  We're leaving as soon as we can confirm the 2nd Cuirassiers will arrive before any Clan attack force can."

"Well, General, I like the sound of that. Got one condition for getting you that intel, though; I want in. Me and the Hounds, my Hounds, have more than a few accounts to settle with the Falcons."

Bridger grinned.  "I find that term acceptable, Colonel.  We'll be glad to have you."

Evan nodded. “I’ll get with my staff, figure out a target list; least the best we can, with the Blackout a lot of this is gonna have to be pretty tentative. And we’ll see what we can deploy.”

"You've got black boxes, right?" asked Nadia.  "Coordinating through multiple systems would be a big help, in case someone runs into something really heavy."

"It's standard issue with all commands," Bridger replied.  "Almost everyone on our side has it anyway, so there's no need to safeguard the technology itself, just the encryption protocols.  And I'm prepared to bring whatever you've got available, Colonel Kell.  Fishing expedition aside, doing some damage to the Clans will make protecting the Looking Glass easier too.  We'll have to settle certain command issues, of course."  He didn't bother saying the issue of having two "1st Kell Hounds" in the operation.  "As soon as we have that list of targets, everything else will fall into place."



The rest of the meeting was fairly standard, with Brigadier Laguna and Colonel Ward providing them their units' active TO&Es and the two groups organizing the DropShip and JumpShip assets necessary for the operation.  When it was all said and done and they were on their way back to their own command HQ, there was some silence while they passed through on the compressed gravel laid as temporary road for the self-dubbed Field Base Carroll.

"First things first; Nadia, you’re staying here. Don’t argue,” Evan raised a hand to forestall the inevitable reaction, “one of us has to, and even with the best will in the world, I’m about as diplomatic as a bull mammoth in rutting season. You’ve got our B Echelon and whichever combat units we leave behind to look after, and I need to be sure there aren’t going to be any issues between our people and the new Arcadian units, alright?”

“Understood, Colonel,” Nadia replied, looking more than a little sullen, but at least less than outright mutinous. “I’ll make sure our people are all in their jammies by eight.” That got general chuckles, and Evan carried on.

“Beyond that, finding targets is going to be tough," Evan shook his head.  "We're gonna have to play this a lot more carefully than I, or, I’m pretty sure, General Bridger, like to, considering how out of date our intel on the Falcons’ deployments is.  We might stumble into a staging point with an entire Galaxy waiting for us, or land to find another world Malvina wiped out because she couldn't deal with the local resistance." He frowned, thinking of the Red Talon and Malvina’s willingness to risk her fleet. “Hell, could end up blundering into a cruiser on patrol ops if we aren’t careful.”

"I get the feeling this is the kind of thing the 8th Strikers were made for, at least," said Nadia.  "Heavy cavalry and raiding; and we do have a decent picture of their fleet deployments.  We can ensure that they can avoid the major WarShips; and other than that, wherever the Strikers hit, the Clanners will feel it."

"As long as we get our share."  His expression turned wistful.  "Commonwealth's in a bad place right now, and the Arcadians can bring us out of it.  But we've got to play a part in that or we might as well as let them take over."

"Well, we're effectively down a battalion, but since I think we can stick with light security elements, since we won't have to worry about protecting Timkovichi solo once these 2nd Cuirassiers arrive," she said, not interested in joining his ruminations.  She glanced toward Jacob as she spoke, recognizing his interest on that point, "we should probably leave the Two-First - they got hit hardest - and send the Three-Second into the field; that gives us a full strength regiment. It’ll be light on support elements, though; with casualties, and what we need here, I don’t think we can put together more than a combined-arms battalion for deployment."

"That’ll be enough to work with,” Evan nodded, already working out tactical options. “Once we’ve got a better handle on things, and maybe some of our units on the way, we can start sending units back for rest and refit."

"The Duchess has spoken of paying for arms from the other side, so the Armoured Guard can be back to fighting shape more quickly," Jacob said, entering the conversation.  "With the way communications are on our side, we could have orders in place and on the way faster if they come through the portal."

"Arms from Wonderland."  Evan cracked a smile at that remark.  'The Looking Glass' is about as good a name as 'Weird Bollocks', I suppose.  "Looking at their hardware I'm tempted myself.  Their 'Terran' stuff is as good as the Clans' and they're building a lot more of it.  And they'd probably be cheaper than the Sea Foxes."

"Better in some cases.  They don't have some of our specialized gear, from what I've seen, but for example, those extended range pulse lasers they've got are better than what we can get from the Foxes or anyone else making Clan gear." Jacob sighed. “I wish we could send some of the Armoured Guard with you; I know a lot of my people like the idea of getting payback, and I’ve already had to talk half a dozen of them out of trying to stow away with your people.”

Evan chuckled.  "Can’t fault them for fighting spirit, at least.” He turned serious, “Look, Kommandant, you tell them from me that I’ve, the Kell Hounds have, absolute faith in their ability to look after our support units. That ought to calm them down. As far as building back up goes, unless their Inner Sphere is completely alien to ours, there should be mercs on the other side who figure our C-Bills and kroner will spend as good as their pounds or marks or what-have-you.  Could at least buy the time and space to replace your losses."

"That's just the military side.  Think of how the Estates General and all the corporate boards are going to react.  More competition and more trade opportunities."

"And their side will act the same way.  Hell, imagine the two Defiances working together or getting into legal scraps.  Still…"  His low chuckle at that thought ended.  "We need 'Mechs, and they've got 'em, and that alone might turn the tide.  Even if there are problems later on, if this saves the Commonwealth… well, I'd say that's good enough for me."

"There's one thing we're going to have to settle before everything kicks off, Colonel," Nadia pointed out.  "We've got two Kell Hound regiments, and they're both the 1st, and they're both proud of being the 1st.  But we can't both be the 1st."

"No we cannot.  But I've got some ideas on that score…"




Even though they were likely a week from departure, minimum, Deirdre Ward had no intention of letting her Hounds stay resting on their laurels.  They'd had two weeks to unwind after the misjump and the fight; now it was time to get them honed and ready, and that couldn't be done on a DropShip.

Her 'Mech of choice, like many in the Kell Hounds, was the Mad Cat II, or rather, a variant license-built by Arc-Royal MechWorks dubbed the Warhound.  She kept it at a firm pace with the rest of her command company, running it at over eighty kilometers an hour while firing simulated shots at enemy machines.  This lacked the accuracy of a proper simpod, but you didn't bring simpods into the field, and besides, it let her put her machine through its paces and make sure the Hound MechTechs got everything back into proper working order after one of those Falcon "Hellstar" 'Mechs blew one of the arms off and left the torso a molten mess.

The rest of 1st Battalion was coming along, running in company formations and practicing a large-scale maneuver.  The 8th Striker's 3rd Battalion moved along the flank, acting as their opponents and behaving like a screening force to corral them.  Ward kept her machines pressing.  'Mechs disappeared from the simulation, "defeated", their pilots instructed to start maneuver practice the moment they were down.  These Clans aren't an enemy to understate, we've got to be at our best.

The 3/8th Striker gave them the fight she was hoping, but as she'd expected, her Hounds triumphed, superior skill and some superior weight letting them press through to their objective.  She activated the AFRF wideband.  "Nicely fought, Colonel Olindo."

"You Hounds are something else," the Launum-accented voice replied.  "Save some of that for the Clans."

"Don't you worry about that," she laughed.  "Alright, Hounds, you did well today, I'll give you the rest of the night.  But I expect everyone to be ready for a full day exercise tomorrow."  The affirmations came company by company.  Tomorrow would be the whole regiment, too.

They returned to the 'Mech bays assigned the Hounds' 1st Battalion.  The black and red 'Mechs lined themselves back up in their bays, with Techs ready for the customary post-run checkovers.  By the time Ward released herself from her command couch, put away the coolant and biosensor cords, and shut the reactor down, a gantry lift was already in place at her primary hatch to let her out.  The Tech aboard saluted, giving her room to board, before promptly entering the cockpit himself to begin his duties.  Ward pressed a hand to the lift controls and lowered herself to the ground.

She was met by Colonel Fromm.  "You've got a visitor, sir," he said.  "Colonel Kell."  He gestured to where Kell was waiting by the 'Mech bay's office door, taking in the sight of all the machines docking in place for the night.

Without a word she walked up to him, neurohelmet secured under her left arm.  He greeted her with a nod.  "Colonel.  Mighty fine machine.  Although I'm still having trouble with your side building those things too."

"I suppose the idea of a Marauder with a Catapult's body is just one of those things a 'Mech design team would eventually get to," she offered.  "Our Kells build some mighty fine ones, too."

"The Wolves, our Wolves on Arc-Royal, still operate a production line in their enclave.  It's kind of their totem 'Mech, they call it the Timber Wolf."

"Huh.  We call our version the Warhound."  Ward led him into the bay office.  Technically this was the abode of First Sergeant Wainwright, the lead MechTech for the 1st, but custom was the CO could borrow a corner when needed.  "So, I'm betting you're not here to talk 'Mechs."

"Nope.  I've been thinking about our little problem."

Fromm smirked slightly, which didn't match the wide, thinking smile Ward had.  "We can't have two 1st Kell Hounds, but we're all 1st Hounds, we won't give up that designation easily.  That about sum it up?"

"Just right," he said.  "So let's make this simple."  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin.  It was marked with the numeral 50 with a woman on the face side and a Steiner fist on the reverse.  "Half-kroner," he noted.

She reached into one of her zipped suit pockets and pulled out a silver coin of about the same size.  The face side had a female likeness — Queen Mathilda Steiner-Brewer, wife of High King Ethan and once ruler of the Defiance-Hesperus Consolidant — with a "50" below the face.  The reverse had a larger 50 interposed over a crowned hawk.  "Half-pound," she noted in turn.  "So, your half-kroner or my half-quid?"

"I suggested, so yours."

"Alright.  You call, then.  Winner's regiment remains the 1st."  At his nod she tossed the coin in the air.

"Edge."

Her eyes widened in surprise in the seconds before the coin stuck the floor.  It landed on its reverse side, showing the likeness of the late Queen and Princess of Hesperus.  Instead of picking it up she stared at him in surprise.  "Whatever made you call that?"

"Bit of history on our side of the Glass, thought I might get lucky where they didn't."

Ward laughed.  "Ah, Kells.  No matter the world, you're all the same.  Well, my unit's the 1st, yours can be the 1B.  Less confusion, keeps your normal designation.  Only for comms, I wouldn't dream of having you repaint the designators on your machines."

"Generous of you, Colonel, and thanks.  My Hounds will appreciate it."  He noted the nearby board showing the maintenance schedules.  "Looks like you're running your people hard."

"Get some focus into them for the fights to come, can't practice so much on a DropShip, right?"

"Nope.  What say we mix it up?  Get our Hounds used to cooperating, and to the comm protocol we just settled?"

"Sounds like a plan, Colonel Kell," she replied, still suppressing laughter.  'Edge.'  This one'll be a story for the unit history for sure...

[Steve]

Opportunities



DropShip Bec de Corbin
Zenith Point, Yeguas System
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
8 September 3142


The Falcon DropShip kept its position level with the White Aerie, preparing to begin its connection to the great Black Lion-class battlecruiser.  The old Star League relic had a long and honorable battle history under Falcon command.  For saKhan Beckett Malthus, though, there was little thought of glory.  He was a man holding a wolf by the ears; a dangerous place to be, but he didn't dare let go lest the wolf gore him.

On paper, he should be happy.  The Falcons were sweeping all before them. The Lyrans were finally broken.  They might even take Tharkad before the Wolves could drive up from their captured League worlds.  After nearly a century, the Crusader dream of crushed Great Houses and a reborn Star League, a true Star League under Kerensky's children and heirs, was in sight.

And in winning that victory, it would be well for Malvina Hazen to die. Suitably gloriously, of course; a dead hero he could control, a living Malvina Hazen was far less so. Be honest with yourself, Beckett, and he did have to, for seeing things as they truly were was the main thing that had kept him alive this long, where many of his peers, more martially skilled but less gifted in mind, had fallen along the honour road. The truth is that you are to blame for this far more than she is. The sword you forged of her has no hilt, and must be broken before she drags the Jade Falcons down beyond redemption, and bleeds them to death in so doing. In truth, it might have been better for him to have guided her into the glorious death in battle that she’d wanted after Aleksandr’s death on Skye, rather than into walking the Khan’s path; not in a personal sense, but better for the Clan, and the galaxy as a whole. Still, what was done was done, and it was to him, now, to try and repair what he could.

And yet, who to replace her with? None of the Mongol Faction were an option; all would be worse than Malvina, if only because they were far less skilled. Noritomo Helmer, perhaps? Beckett considered that thought for a moment, and then put it aside; Helmer was too unambitious, too needed where he was preventing Damien Redburn from ravaging the Falcon’s Reach any more than the Republic Remnant already were; and too unpopular with too many Mongol officers. And too many others with the skill, the Bloodname and the ambition had died, in the Rending and afterwards. It must be Stephanie Chistu, then; which meant finding a signal victory for Delta Galaxy once they were rebuilt. But, she was skilled - perhaps enough to slay Malvina in challenge, if it came to that - of an impeccable Bloodheritage and reputation, and easily guided into the appropriate decisions. Yes, she will suffice.

"My Khan." Star Captain Rutherford spoke from his crash couch, breaking Beckett’s train of thought.  "Emergence signature.  Looks like regular JumpShip mass."

Within a minute a flash of light filled the monitors in the Bec de Corbin’s control center.  The vessel was a plain JumpShip ferrying no DropShips with it. A messenger then.  Something important, perhaps, if they left their post.  "Identification?"

"Verdant Wing."

Assigned to Great X.  What could this be?  A message from our 'Chingis Khan'?  Perhaps Timkovichi did not go as planned.

The aerospace warrior at the comm station lifted her head.  "Verdant Wing is transmitting to us.  A message, and holo-recordings."

"Play them."  Beckett turned his attention to the holotank.

The incoming recordings played as they downloaded into his ship's databanks.  As he watched, the world twisted out of focus for Beckett.  Nothing made sense, and yet the proof…

He watched the fate of the Red Talon from its own perspective, in its final moments.  The DropShips planetside likewise transmitted their own footage of the large force that appeared from literal void, carrying with them several Clusters worth of 'Mechs and battle armor, and these forces came down and utterly wiped the Golden Ordun from the face of Timkovichi.  The final footage confirmed the DropShips themselves were being boarded, and the crews were resisting… and then nothing.

To his fury, Beckett felt his hand shake as he operated the controls, played them again.  They gave him a look at the enemy, a better look.  The light browns and reds of the  'Mechs with the three arrows emerging from the center of a ring.  Sky blue machines, including a few Mad Cats and other OmniMechs, all sporting hawk insignias.  Some, he could make sense of — more of the stravag Kell Hounds, dogging the Falcons’ steps as seemed their reason for being — but the others … what were Davion Guards doing here?

If that were true he considered — for a moment — the merits of a descent on the planet housing the hated mercenaries and the dezgra Exiled Wolves they harbored.  But this footage made it impossible.  His creation, his bane, was gone.  By the Bloodnames of the Founders, Malvina was gone.  Dead, soon to be dead, a prisoner, it didn't matter!  She could no longer bring the Falcons on this dezgra course, and the Golden Ordun being destroyed meant she had few loyalists left in the Council.  Finally, the Falcons would be saved from his error.

But first things first.  He could not exploit Arc-Royal's possible weakness because the Falcons needed a new Khan.  We must gather the Clan Council somewhere fitting… Sudeten, yes.  We must elect a new Khan.  He considered his candidates for the position.

"My Khan, those holos.  How could such a force appear from nothing!?" asked Star Captain Rutherford.

He brought the playback to the last images from the Red Talon.  In the wake of that WarShip squadron that single-handedly destroyed Malvina Hazen's latest effort at dezgra tactics, the pale blue light of a jump field was obvious.  It did not fade in the chain of fireflies as it typically did.  It persisted.  Strange.  Some form of K-F jump error?  The scientists can tell us, right now I have other matters.

"Send to White Aerie.  We are no longer proceeding to the next target system," he said.  "We are returning to Sudeten."  He released his harness and floated from his crash couch.  "I must go see to the summons, Star Captain.  The Khan has fallen in battle.  Whether she is bondswoman or prisoner, it matters not.  The Clan needs a new Khan before we determine our course."

"I understand, my Khan," was the reply.

Beckett left him, returning to his own staterooms, and the noteputer where he would write the messages to head out.  Finally, this war would be fought as he wanted it to be.





Kell Estate
Old Connaught, Arc-Royal
Arc-Royal Theater
Lyran Commonwealth
15 September 3142



It'd been some time since Trillian Steiner-Davion set foot on the homeworld of her distant cousins.  The DropShuttle deposited her on Martin's own personal landing pad in the rear grounds of his estate.  She emerged in formal business wear instead of court gown, looking more the part of a corporate executive than the personal agent of Archon Melissa.

I came here expecting to find the Falcons already descending on the world.  That would have been par for the course given the campaign.  Without HPGs the word was delayed whenever it got to her on the Archon's Fist, but it was always the same:  a world assaulted, then a world fallen, typically with a savagery that made even the long-extinct Smoke Jaguars seem like the lap kittens popular with court ladies on Tharkad.  The Commonwealth was being squeezed from two ends now, with the Wolves still nipping at them along the old Marik border, undoubtedly marshalling for a new blow whatever Vedet Brewer thought about the matter back on Tharkad.

Brewer.  Martin might not even know yet.  Although it won't be the same shock his news was to me…

Martin was waiting for her in Kell Hound uniform.  The intimidating presence of Patrik Fetladral towered over the both of them, his genetically-augmented muscular body seeming to press the limits of the gray leathered jumpsuits favored by the Clans.  "Lady Trillian."  Martin politely bowed his head.  "Looking busy as usual.  Melissa sent you out to check on the front with the Falcons and Horses, I gather?"

She nodded stiffly.  "We need to talk about that, in private."

The glint in his eye told her he got the message that something was wrong.  "This way then."  He and Patrik led her into the palatial residence of the Kells.  Their destination proved to be an upper floor conference room or wardroom.  Large windows looked out at Old Connaught and the courtyard of the estate.

"Alright.  This is as private as things get around here, short of my stateroom or the Khan's personal quarters."  Martin took a seat, prompting Trillian and Patrik to do likewise.  "You get news from the other front?  Have the Wolves pushed on after all?"

"That's likely, but that's also not why I came."  Trillian folded her hands on the table.  The weight of the moment crushed her.  Martin deserves to know, and I need to tell him.  But the consequences if we overreact…  "There's no easy way to say this, Martin.  Melissa's been deposed.  The LCAF General Staff removed her from her throne and made Vedet Brewer Archon."

The fury that formed on Martin's face was frightening in its intensity.  "I damn well knew something was up with that bunk about her being in recovery."

"Maurer is in control of the LCAF side.  They're keeping Melissa's location a secret, but Vedet's already prying, trying to find a way to get to her to kill her.  He even tried to compel me to recognize him as Archon by threatening her life."

"And your answer?"  Martin asked the question with real venom in his voice, even as Patrik had an expression that spoke a thousand words about Spheroids and their power politics.

Trillian's voice matched his venom with heat.  "I told him to go to Hell."  Because that was when Maurer brought word of the Falcon and Horse invasion, but no need to mention that.  "After we received the first word of Malvina's invasion, the LCAF left Vedet no choice but to release me so I could get to work.  And before you ask, last I've heard Melissa's alive.  The General Staff are using her to keep Duke Vedet under control.  Unless he finds a way to turn the tide back his way again, I doubt that will change."

Martin accepted the unspoken rebuke quietly, at least.  Given her situation, the idea she might give Vedet what she wanted wasn't too surprising.  The thought crossed her mind, I almost did, if I'm being honest with myself.  He spoke in a calmer voice this time.  "Well, this is just… with Malvina out, the Falcons are going to back off.  The Horses lost a whole Galaxy so they'll have to as well.  Once Vedet learns of that he's going to take credit with the public."

"So we need to prevent that," Trillian said.  "First, let's edit this material for public consumption.  Get every holovid viewer in the Commonwealth playing that footage of the Arcadians landing on Timkovichi.  I want the jump in, I want their fleet, I want it all.  Make it abundantly clear to everyone that this isn't some secret force that Vedet brought in to win the war."

"Hell, I'm all for that."

Patrik nodded.  "Aff.  That is the important first step, but what of the next?  The Falcons will spend time gathering to vote a new Khan.  We will have an opportunity to go to Tharkad and restore the Archon to her rightful place.  However foolish she may have been, she is a better choice than that backstabbing dezgra son of a Blakist Brewer." He straightened to his full height. “I can have Alpha Galaxy ready to lift within the hour.”

"No."  Trillian almost hissed the word, it came out so quickly.  "That’s exactly what we can’t do, even though I agree Vedet deserves it. All we’d accomplish trying to free Melissa by force would be starting a civil war — and if either of you think that’s impossible with the Crusader Wolves at the gates, you’ve both read less of our history than I thought — and even if we beat Vedet, the Commonwealth won't be in any shape to fight on either front." She sighed. “Not least because we’d have to fight probably half the Margraves as well; they haven’t been happy with Melissa’s rule — for good reason — and wouldn’t stand for putting her back in charge by force. Especially since we’d have to admit she’d been deposed in the first place. We’d be stuck putting down rebellions for a decade.”

"True, wouldn’t exactly be unreasonable of them," Martin agreed. “But the longer we let this go on, the more chance that shiftless idiot does something even more stupid, and the harder it’s gonna be to get his ass off the throne.”

“Aff,” Patrik nodded. “I agree, Lady Trillian, that force is not a very good option, but unless you have a political solution that will work fast, it may be the only one we have.”

"That's the other reason why I want every world in the Commonwealth to know who and what the Arcadians are.  I want the LCAF to know too.  Because we're going to need them."

Martin leveled a questioning look her way.  "Just to be clear, Lady Trillian, you're not talking about asking them to put Melissa back on the throne, because that'd be even worse.  So what do you have in mind?"

"Something we need anyway, but if I do it right, it gives us the leverage we need with the General Staff to turn against Duke Vedet," Trillian explained.  "We make it impossible for them to reject Melissa as Archon."

"Well, I'm all ears," Martin said.  "Go on.  What do you want from the Arcadians?"

"An alliance," she replied.  "Between the Arcadian Federation and the Lyran Commonwealth, signed in Melissa's name and on her authority.  The LCAF will have to restore her or have the treaty become void."

"Well, now that… that might just work," Martin allowed.

“Ha!” Patrik laughed suddenly. “I see the way of it; this would give us what we want — the contest for the throne over and stable leadership — and the High Command what they secretly wish — a way to reject Vedet with honour — publicly, so they cannot deny or refuse it without destroying their internal unity. Wrongly were you named, Lady Trillian,” he smiled in a manner eerily reminiscent of his Clan’s totem, “‘Ulrika’ would have been a wiser choice, for that is a gambit worthy of the Old Wolf himself. The question we must answer, though, is surely if the Arcadians will agree to such an alliance?”

Trillian allowed herself a brief smile for the comparison to Ulric Kerensky, more out of diplomacy than anything else.  She was too focused on her intent to consider the scope of the compliment.  "If not, I'll need to get them interested, and that means I need to address their ruler.  Directly."

The emphasis on that final word was clear enough.  "You're meaning to go through to the other side of the portal," said Martin.  "Meet this High King Nathaniel in person."

He didn't need to hear the answer.  She knew it was clear by the light in her eyes.

[Shadow_Wraith]

Nice story update!  Looking forward to the meeting between Trillian and the ruler of the Arcadian Federation.  Will she have visual twin? 

[Steve]

Nice story update!  Looking forward to the meeting between Trillian and the ruler of the Arcadian Federation.  Will she have visual twin?

No, as amusing as that might be.  Can you imagine Katherine Steiner-Davion meeting a double who is this beloved humanitarian princess who rejected taking the throne and just likes to negotiate peace agreements and spoil her great-grandkids rotten? :D

Anyway, yeah, there are no Steiner-Davions on the other side of the Looking Glass.  There are a whole slew of Proctor-Steiners though, and a fair number of Brewer-Steiners.  To sum how that might play into Vedet's little coup: "Awkward..." 8) >:D

[Daemion]

Tagging. I want to come back to this, since I'm hopping in just now.

[Steve]

Hope nobody's intimidated by ten thousand word story posts...

....urgh, forgot the character limit!


12 - Pride and Honor


AFS Charles Sinclair
Inbound, Great X System
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
11 October 3142


General Bridger cut short a meal period to attend to the call he received from Colonel Yolanda Martinez, the commanding officer of the 8th Strikers' primary command DropShip.  Due to the positioning of Great X's best pirate points they were several hours out from orbit of the planet and he'd thought to get in a meal before finalizing their drop plans; now it seemed something else was up.

He was gratified that at last they were under thrust, and thus enjoyed "gravity", given the weeks he'd spent in zero-G conditions while OpForce Siegfried made its way from Timkovichi to Great X.  It wasn't the first occupied system they'd come through, but it was the strike force's first target.  Evan Kell's intelligence reports hinted that alongside a garrison "Cluster" a frontline unit damaged in earlier fighting with the Kell Hounds' Clan allies was likewise on the planet.  Accessing the reports and databases of a frontline unit would give them a better picture of the Falcons' strategic goals and planning than just smashing up what amounted to a march militia unit.

Salutes from the enlisted and officers of the Sinclair's crew greeted Bridger at his arrival in the ship's command center.  The central holotank displayed the formation of ships bearing the Strikers and both of the 1st Kell Hounds to their target.  With no WarShips in-system the Sara Proctor was hanging back to protect their JumpShips, leaving her attached carrier the AFS Wright and picket ships to escort the forces burning in.  They were still the largest units in the formation.  The Sinclair, the primary command ship of the 8th Striker, was divided by some distance from the Alexander Penton, another ship of the same class that ferried Colonel Patel and much of the 2nd Battalion.  Assorted DropShips of smaller size burned alongside them, spheroids and aerodynes, bearing a three regiment force down the gravity well and their waiting target.

One of the CommTechs spoke up.  "We're receiving a radio-com signal from the planet, sir.  It's the planet's defense commander and he wishes to speak with you."

"I wonder if he's planning on surrender."  Somehow Bridger doubted it, given how diehard the Clans acted on Timkovichi.  "Put him on."

The air above the holotank shimmered for a moment, before resolving into the of a man image in what Bridger guessed was late middle age; white-haired, with the look of muscle starting to run to fat despite strenuous effort, the green-uniformed soldier’s easy smile made him look more like an indulgent uncle than anything else. The man appraised Bridger for several moments before speaking.  "Kell Hounds and allied forces, welcome to Great X. I am Star Colonel Teryn Roshak, commander of the 371st Provisional Garrison Cluster, charged to defend this world in the name of Clan Jade Falcon.  Do you seek this world as your prize, or another prize altogether?"

Bridger settled his hands behind his back.  "I take it this is the 'batchall' you Clanners issue before a fight, Colonel?"

"By tradition, it would be the attacker who issues formal batchall, but evidently,” there was a dry humour in Roshak’s tone that left Bridger feeling that, under better circumstances, he might actually have liked this man, “those who taught you our ways did not think to teach you manners along with them. Under my command is the full strength - four combined arms Trinaries - of the 371st and our attached aerospace Star, as well as the remains of the 3rd Talon Cluster, consisting of two Trinaries and one Binary.  I will provide you with our full force listing and codexes." His voice shifted to an odd, formal intonation, like an Old Testament prophet handing down laws. "What forces do you bid to seize this world from the Falcon's claws?"

"If you're asking me to commit to some trial by combat with only a portion of my troops, Star Colonel, then let me disappoint you.  I'm deploying the entirety of the 8th Striker Brigade with the 1st Kell Hounds and 1st-B Kell Hounds.."  A flatscreen display showed their incoming data stream, appropriately partitioned off from the main systems to avoid any attempt to upload cyberwarfare weapons.  The opposing force had, at best, two battalions worth of BattleMechs, plus both battle armored and regular infantry and some armored vehicles.

“It is to be melee, then.” Roshak didn’t seem surprised, somehow. “Nonetheless, I will extend the offer of safcon, and recommend that our dispute is resolved at the Vicar’s Altar plateau. It is far from any population centres, and I suspect you have no more desire than I to see the civilians dragged into a matter between warriors.”

"I've no desire to fight among civilians," Bridger confirmed.  "We'll deploy in the region upon arrival."  This doesn't sound like the same people we fought on Timkovichi.  I guess this fellow is closer to what Colonel Kell's data said was the Clans' usual methods.

"If it is not control of the planet you seek, what is?  Information, supplies, bondsmen?"

"You return all POWs of the Lyran Commonwealth being held, for starters.  A few other things."

"Information, then.  Very well."  A thoughtful expression flickered over Roshak's quiet features.  "Naturally, I reserve the right to keep captured 'Mechs and warriors of your forces as isorla in the event of our victory."

"You'll do no such thing, not as a term," Bridger said hotly, almost snapping the words.  "I'm not leaving any of my people behind."

Roshak didn't blink at Bridger's heated words.  "If you have the capability to exchange for them in such an event, I will consider more salvage as acceptable. But it is our way to take bondsmen of defeated warriors, certainly you have learned that much?"

"Maybe, but it's not our custom to leave our soldiers as prisoners if we can make an exchange."  Bridger kept the stern look on his face, hiding the storm of emotion he felt at his words.  "See you when we're planetside."

”Bargained well and done, General,” Roshak nodded. “I will attend to my warriors, and meet you upon the field of battle.” The transmission link cut off almost instantly.

For a moment Bridger took some effort to calm himself.  It shouldn't have surprised him that the Clans would behave that way, it was their way going by Evan Kell's reports.  And it wasn't like even successful raids didn't sometimes see isolated or overwhelmed troops taken prisoner, even left behind if the circumstances demanded.

Like on Vega.  The memory came unbidden at his lie to Roshak and made him clench a fist as, in his mind's eye, Tai-sho Ballymont's katana and many others came down on helpless necks.  Never again.  He took another breath.  Business first.  "Put the field commanders on for me," Bridger instructed the sergeant manning the comm station.

It took a few minutes, but soon the holotank displayed three other visages: Evan Kell on the Light’s Hammer, Deirdre Ward on her ship the Pack Leader, and Patel over on the Alex Penton.  Brigadier Laguna arrived just in time for the conversation to commence.  "I just had a conversation with the local Falcon commander, a Star Colonel named Teryn Roshak.  He confirmed they've got what I'm guessing is a frontline unit, the 3rd Talon Cluster, and a garrison force.  They'll be waiting for us on the Vicar's Altar plateau."

“Yeah, that figures,” Evan nodded. “We haven’t got much intel on Roshak, but what there is says he’s a real hardline traditionalist; that’s why he’s running a PGC despite a Bloodname and a pretty decent battle record. Vicar’s Altar was the site of a battle during the Jihad, company of the Twenty-fifth Arcturan Guards against a Falcon Binary; so he’d figure it for a good place to fight it out. As for the Third Talon,” he frowned, “not so good - well, good and bad for us. They’re known for heavy Mongol leanings, so they’re not gonna work well with Roshak - he hates them, and they hate him right back - but means they might do something stupid and violent if they look like losing. Even with the Wolves-in-Exile’s Beta Galaxy beating them up, they’re still first-class troops, too.”

"So they'll need to be dealt with ASAP," Bridger said.  "What do you know about their makeup?  'Mech makeup, tactics?"

“Third Talon are known for favouring jump-capable ‘Mechs pretty heavily, and not that it matters here, but they’re good at fighting in lousy weather conditions. Mainly mediums and heavies, plus battle armour. Roshak’s Cluster,” Evan’s frown deepened, “Really hard to say. PGCs have some pretty wild variances in gear, and he said combined arms Trinaries. By the books, that’d mean one each of ‘Mech, tank and battle armour Stars, but some of them might be Novas rather than standard Stars, and they’ve got access to pretty much any hardware we do. Running into a couple of Clan Demolisher mods in close terrain isn’t gonna be fun.”

"Demolisher tanks.  Hate those things," Ward grumbled.  "Ran into a Drac half-company of 'em during our campaign with the Kilbourners on Alpheratz, driving the Dracs out.  Lost almost a whole lance before we got the upper hand."

"Well, thankfully, this won't be in cities," Laguna observed.  "Either group of Hounds should be capable of facing the garrison, I'd think?  Sounds like the 3rd'll make for the nasty part of the fight, although we'll have the numbers to outflank them," Laguna said.  "I can have 1st and 2nd Battalion hold them down while the other Hounds take them in the flanks.  3rd and 4th Battalions can be our reserve."

"More than that," said Bridger.  "We'll bring most of the 8th's armored infantry regiment to the main battle to deal with their armored infantry, but I want the SOT and a combat command held in reserve to rapidly deploy to their prisons or HQs.  If these 3rd Talon fellows are like the ones on Timkovichi, you never know what they might pull."

"I'll get everything ready," Laguna said.

“One last thing,” Evan said, “don’t underestimate these guys. We beat the Horses and Malvina, yeah, but you caught them blind. These guys know what they’re facing. The Third Talon are a first class unit; and the PGC is gonna be either solahma - meaning they’ve managed to live significantly longer than average for a Clan warrior, despite a pretty brutal winnowing process, and are going out there looking to do some serious damage, whether or not they survive - or sibbies who’ve just passed their Trial of Position; they’re at the peak of their form and convinced nothing can kill them. And Roshak’s record says he’s tricky; he might figure he can defeat at least one or two of our units in detail if he manages to move fast enough.” He grimaced. “I’d give my left arm - or at least my Daishi’s missile rack - to figure out what was going on in Roshak’s HQ right now.”

Bridger nodded.  "Thanks for the warning, Colonel.  We'll make sure our people know not to let our last win go to their heads."  And I would indeed give a lot to know what's going on down there…




The atmosphere within the Jade Falcon command centre was thick enough to cut with a dull knife; thick with tension between the three commanders assembled around the main holotank. Their aides waited a discrete distance away; close enough to be instantly available at need, and far enough that they could pretend not to hear the argument going on.

“Why grant these barbarians safcon?” Star Captain Evander Malthus demanded. The cadaverous mechwarrior jabbed one boney finger at the holotank, showing the Lyran force’s approach vector. “Why not simply destroy them in space?” The you doddering old fool went unsaid.

“Because,” Star Commander Perrin cut in, “we cannot do it.” An archetypical example of the Clan aerospace phenotype, in a chair that had been designed to comfortably seat an Elemental, she looked very much like a child, her slight frame almost swallowed by its immensity. “If the Star Colonel,” she emphasised Teryn Roshak’s rank carefully, “demands, then I and my pilots will try. We will try with all the fury of Turkina herself. But we cannot do it, and will die badly trying.” She reached forward, delicate fingers adjusting the display to show relative orders of battle. “We have six fighters, and of the pilots, only myself and Point Commander Danil have any exoatmospheric combat hours; the other four are so green I feel like a nursemaid, and can barely keep their relative orientations straight. Against that ‘formidable force’,” everyone present winced at the sarcasm as she highlighted markers on a radar display, “our foes have three times our number, just counting the standing CAP, of elite fliers, who are a match for, or superior to, the pilots of the Turkina Keshik itself. In DropShips the disparity is even worse.” She didn’t quite add You ranting Mongol misbreed, but her tone and expression made it clear.

“Enough.” Teryn Roshak didn’t shout. He spoke in calm, level tones, pointedly stepping between the two officers before either could issue challenge. “Both of you. We have neither the time to argue, or enough warriors that I can indulge you shedding one another’s blood for your pride. Star Captain Malthus, are your warriors ready for battle?”

“The Third Talon stands ready.” Evander nodded. “We are to be taking the right flank of the plateau, aff?” At Teryn’s nod, he turned and - with a lack of acknowledgement that bordered active insult - stalked away, his aide close behind.

“You know that he is going to challenge you when this is over, I trust?” Perrin commented. “And, before you ask, Teryn, my pilots are ready for ground support missions. I cannot promise they will live beyond providing one airstrike, but that, they will provide.”

“I am aware of Star Captain Malthus’s preference for solving command disputes with his fists, aff.” Teryn sighed. For all his cadaverous build, Evander Malthus had a well-earned reputation for vicious skill at unaugmented combat, and he was barely two-thirds of Teryn’s own age in addition. It was possible to match the younger warriors, even well into his sixth decade - he’d done so, still did so, regularly - but the trouble was, the price of that effort got higher each time. Sooner or later, it would become too high to pay. “Still, that relies on both, or either, of us surviving the battle to come. I will take my battles one at a time, for preference.”

As he left for the main hangar, Teryn’s aide, Star Commander Martina, fell in behind, cursing as her head caught the top of the door; not very loudly, but then she was used to hitting the tops of doors at this point. Product of an Icaza genemother and mixed Hazen-Osis genelines, Martina had ebon skin and flame-red hair, as well as a build that made it impossible for her to fit into one of the new Fire Elemental suits; it had been necessary to restore an ancient set of standard Elemental armour for her. Doors designed for the use of Lyran soldiers averaging a foot and a half shorter than her were proving a similar obstacle.

“You should let me kill him,” she said without preamble. “Malthus insults you with his disrespect, and the Mongols shame the entire Clan with their dezgra actions.”

“For now, Martina, we need him,” Teryn replied. At her sullen expression, he continued, “Oh, I agree that he is trying very hard to insult me - but he is also an able commander, and we do need him for this battle. Afterwards, well - the Kell Hounds may kill him for us, but if they do not do us that courtesy, then you may do so. Also, Martina,” his tone shifted, becoming quieter and harsher, “around me, you can say such things, but be careful. The Watch detachment here has too many Mongol followers among their ranks, and I cannot protect you from them if they have more than rumour and innuendo to act on.” And it would serve the Clan ill indeed if I allowed Malvina Hazen’s spite and hatred to destroy another of those who might make us once again what we should be.

“Aff, Star Colonel. I will endeavour to exercise greater … discretion in future.” Martina’s brow furrowed. “I wish to know - I did not see deployment orders for my Star?”

“That, Martina, is because you no longer command a Star,” Teryn took a noteputer from his uniform pockets, handing it to her as they walked. “You now have a Nova to command.”

There was silence for a few moments as Martina studied the details of what she now commanded; her own Star of Elementals, two Points of Zibler OmniTanks captured from the Lyrans, a Point of SM1 Destroyers, and the fast moving Mist Lynx and Viper ‘Mechs belonging to MechWarriors Ciara and Jean respectively. Then, as she reached their deployment orders -

“We are to be kept from battle, Star Colonel?” There was genuine affront in Martina’s tone at that, and quiet danger if the truth turned out to be unsatisfactory to her.

“Neg, Nova Commander.”  Teryn shook his head to add emphasis. “I have for you two tasks; the first, if all goes as I hope, will be for your Nova to serve as a Lyran Lightning Company does. For that, I need a warrior of judgement. And, more importantly, if all goes as I fear it will, you must stop the Mongols from disgracing us further than they already have.” He sighed, suddenly feeling the full weight of his nearly six decades of life. “The people of this world do not love us, nor do we need them to; but you and I have ensured that they do not hate us, either. Malthus would throw all of that away out of spite, and I cannot allow that to happen.” During the discussion, they’d arrived at the main hangar, and were now standing at the shoulder of Teryn’s own ‘Mech; a captured Lyran Banshee, new, and rearmed with with some Clan weaponry where possible. He took a moment to survey the space, watching as techs and warriors alike saw to preparing for battle - the crew of a Schmitt assault tank helping slide the dark, belted coils of fifty-millimetre rounds for its autocannon into ammunition bays; Star Captain Helen’s Tundra Wolf dry-cycling its tactical missile launcher, testing the repaired loading mechanism; a Point of infanteers, clad in battledress that closely resembled that of their Lyran opposite numbers, heavy body armour and extra kit rather than the lightweight battle order Clan infantry had once made do with, double-timing across the hangar floor - while word of his arrival spread, activity stilled, and soon every eye was turned to him.

Good. There are parts of every Trinary I command here, and they will carry my words forth. "Warriors," Teryn began, shouting now; to ensure all heard him clearly. "The Lyran Archon does us great honour this day! She has sent forth her finest warriors to spar with us; the Kell Hounds themselves, in full strength and led by their Khan, Evan Kell, in person. More," he continued, raising his arms to quiet the high, exultant shrieks of pride, "a new foe comes with them - the Eighth Striker Brigade, they name themselves - to test our strength for themselves. Our Mongol 'kin'," mocking laughter came at that, "have ensured that when we meet the foe at Vicar's Altar, it is to be melee, and we are outnumbered by more than five to one."

No cheers came at that, and Teryn let the silence stretch for a long moment, studying each of his warriors. The older ones were calm and steady, thinking only of how to die with honour; the younger warriors standing up straighter, chests thrust forward and eyes shining with pride, each convinced they could defeat any five Lyrans ever born. When they'd been sent to him, few others had wanted them, but now - now I would not trade them for the finest Cluster in Alpha Galaxy.

"This will be a hard battle, my warriors," Teryn continued, "and we may not survive. But if we fight with courage, with skill, with discipline, and above all else, with honour," he almost roared that word, "then even in death we will triumph!"






The second battle of her career was markedly different for Evangeline Penton-Vallejo.

Instead of a combat air drop, 1st Battalion deployed directly from the Charles Sinclair after it grounded, just outside of the expected combat zone.  Her new Lance Lieutenant, Oliver Norton, piloted another Paladin configured with a Gauss Rifle and a PPC as its primary armaments, while the other new lancemate Lieutenant Jasminder Gupta was in a Chevalier 'Mech refitted with Terran weaponry.  Norton was a battalion staff officer placed back on the field, Gupta from the March Command's reserve pool on Arc-Royal.

Her pre-fight jitters ended the moment the first shots came.  Warnings screamed at hard-locks detected and incoming missile fire.  The AMS lasers on Norton's 'Mech and the guns on Gupta's picked off the incoming projectiles, but it couldn't get them all.  Several missiles hit or nearly hit her as part of the incoming barrage, turning some of her status lines into pale yellow to show armor hits.  She kept her machine moving through the impacts, maintaining the line formation with the others.

The targets ahead were mostly 'Mechs.  Lt. Colonel Perez's warning sprang back to mind; these were believed to be the best of the enemy troops on Great X, and the Strikers were taking the fight to them.  The machines had a green-dominated paint scheme, the same as those she'd fought on Timkovichi, while the insignia was a large sword impaling a moon.  One of these machines, IDed as a Flamberge, fired salvos of missiles, twelve projectiles in all, at her.  Gupta's Chevalier moved up beside her, giving her the benefit of the ballistic AMS guns attached to the shoulders of the humanoid 'Mech, the older OmniMech design a visible cousin to her own Paladin. Streams of interceptor rounds intersected on the approach vectors of the enemy missiles, blowing up four.  Five of the remaining eight struck home despite Evangeline's maneuvers, their blasts tearing armor from the sky-blue plating of her machine.

With the utmost concentration, taught through all those years at the Nagelring, she not only kept her 'Mech mobile through the impacts, but also kept her eyes on her holotank tactical display.  Her hands pressed the joysticks inward and brought the crosshairs of her various weapons systems squarely over the enemy machine.  A press of her index finger trigger let loose a crackling azure lightning bolt, of similar intensity to the one that Gupta's Chevalier fired.  Gupta's shot missed from the last minute maneuvering of the Flamberge pilot.  Eva's struck home, scourging armor in blackened chunks from the winged 'Mech's chest and shoulder.

She let her heat settle for a moment before triggering her large extended range lasers next.  The sapphire beam missed narrowly, with the enemy pilot jinking at the last moment, while the streams of sapphire pulses were guided back on target to chew through the melting armor near the wound she'd already created on the 'Mech's shoulder.

The entire machine shuddered around her at an impact that broke through her armor and lodged a round in the structure of her Paladin.  Another enemy machine, marked a Shadow Cat II by her systems, reminded her of holos of the Shadowcat OmniMech her mother piloted during the war.  Lasers the color of bright emeralds cut into the soil beneath her, barely missing her 'Mech's legs.

She nearly diverted to take the target, before noting Kilroy's lasers striking home.  "Bravo 3, Bravo 4, stick with the winged one," Norton ordered.  A moment later a lighting flash played over the Shadow Cat II; a miss, as the other pilot skillfully shifted balance and leaned away from the path of the shot.

The Flamberge pilot was of similar skill.  Gupta's autocannon barrage only scored a single non-penetrating hit before the Falcon pilot moved their machine out of the barrage's path.  A flight of missiles made multiple impacts on the Chevalier despite its AMS shooting down a couple.  Eva took an extra moment in making her shot, not just buying time for her heat to return to baseline, but to take advantage of the pilot's maneuvering.  When Gupta fired her PPC the Flamberge again shifted its weight, turning a direct hit into a glancing shot that did little more than surface damage.

That was her opening.  Eva squeezed her triggers.

The heat flooded her cockpit, with warning indicators shooting up through the shutdown threshold.  The shots counted, though; the PPC blew through the wounded shoulder, tearing the Flamberge's arm off, and the lasers made molten slag of large sections of the Falcon machine's torso armor.  Even her smaller Mk. 15 lasers struck home, their emerald light carving molten gashes into the Flamberge's leg and hip armor.

The kinetic impact of the PPC had an extra benefit.  It affected the balance of the machine at the same time it lost tons of mass from the armor melted or vaporized away, shifting the Flamberge's center of mass and weight profile.  These factors together could bring down even an experienced pilot if they weren't able to correct with their own sense of balance quickly enough.  The Falcon MechWarrior succeeded regardless, keeping their machine standing.

But it also took all their concentration, leaving them vulnerable for a crucial second.  Gupta took ruthless advantage.  Her autocannon roared to life again, spitting 88mm rounds into the Flamberge that the preoccupied pilot wouldn't be spiraling their way out of this time.  A second lightning bolt, another PPC shot, blew through the Flamberge's damaged hip and nearly severed the leg.  The molten ends of broken myomer bundles showed through the wound on the machine.

The hip damage was the final straw.  The Flamberge tumbled.

Eva wasn't taking chances.  Not after Timkovichi.  Even with her heat still up, she spit the crosshairs on the enemy machine's chest and fired another full salvo.  This put her machine's heat directly in the red and she had to slam a fist down on the override button to prevent a shutdown.

With the enemy 'Mech prone, every shot hit home.  Azure lightning and emerald and sapphire light, working in tandem, melted and blasted through white-hot armor to savage the guts of the machine.  A brief surge of white-hot fluid erupted from the wound to ignite the grass and soil beneath the machine.  The lasers and PPC shot hadn't just torn through the chest armor, one had successfully opened up the fusion vessel at the heart of the engine.  The Flamberge went still at the death of its power source.

My third kill.  Eva felt an involuntary surge of pride in that.  Her second action and already a third kill.

It proved a dangerous distraction.

She took another hit from the Gauss Rifle on the Shadowcat II.  But it wasn't like before.  Multiple rounds smashed into her armor all along her right side.  A warning light declared her right shoulder actuator was locked up, making her particle cannon on that arm nearly useless since it couldn't be aimed.  How… do they have rapid fire Gauss Rifles?!

"Everyone, eyes on that Shadowcat II, looks like one of those H-A-Gs the locals talk about," Norton said.

A pair of laser beams scoured armor from Eva's 'Mech.  The rest of the enemy unit's machines were on the attack, and she'd drawn their attention.  With orange and yellow now showing on her damage indicators, she returned fire with the large lasers, spearing the enemy machine.

Norton spoke up again.  "Everyone hold firm.  We've got them where we want them."

Eva wondered about that while maneuvering her 'Mech.  Another noiseless shot from the enemy 'Mech took more of her armor, even as it dodged Gupta's autocannon fire but not her particle cannon hit.  It's like that wargame we did with the 2nd Donegal in my third year.  These pilots are unbelievable!

Another series of impacts took more of her armor, and Eva had to fight to keep the machine steady despite the hits and lost mass.  She nearly tripped, and would have if another shot struck home.  That one didn't was entirely on Kilroy.  His Paladin moved up beside hers, intersecting the fire from the Shadowcat II while his own rifle and lasers shot back, damaging the machine.  "Stay with it, lass.  The Brig's got a plan, an' we're part of it."

"I've got shoulder damage and a lot of surface hits, but I've got my weapons intact.  Just give me shots."  Even as she made that remark she directed fire on a Falcon heavy, a machine called a Night Gyr, that was engaging Norton's Paladin.  Again her lasers scored home, mostly because the pilot was too busy evading Gupta's shots to note she was turning her weapons on him.

I hope this plan turns out soon, these Falcons are fighting worse than two to one odds and I'm worried they might still beat us, they're this good…

[Steve]

Teryn Roshak bit back a curse as the Kell Hounds Wolfhound came at him again. A new model, one his warbook didn’t recognise - its heavy arm mount something that looked like a laser but wasn’t, from the holes it had burned in the Gyrfalcon it had been savaging - the pilot knew their trade, coming on not in an easy to track straight sprint, but an irregular broken field run; weaving amongst the trees. His lasers chased it, slashing glowing scars into tree trunks - no risk of fire; the autumns here were cold and wet, and there had been heavy rains for most of the last week - and burning semi-molten wounds across the Wolfhound’s skin, but none deep enough to tell. Torso twisted as far as it could go, the Kell Hounds ‘Mech lashed back with its own weapons; the thick, flickering-orange beam of the arm gun burning armour from his Banshee’s leg in a mist of liquid composites. The torso-mounted mediums’ aim wavered from the evasive run, dark blue beams tracing pale yellow bands across the damage readout. Then the SRM launcher blinked red. Roshak looked at the status readout and then he did curse.

“Stravag!” Despite himself, he was impressed. The Kell Hounds warrior had used their own motion to weld his missile rack’s protective cover sealed; a master’s trick. Being impressed didn’t stop him throwing heat discipline to the winds and unleashing both of his Banshee’s extended-range particle cannon. Whiplashing arcs of manmade lightning blazed out; one reducing a tree the size of an Atlas to splinters and semi-vaporised pulp, the other skimming the Wolfhound’s head, clipping away one of the sensor “ears”. With the Gyrfalcon - plus a newly arrived Bellona, lofting salvoes of long-range missiles - rounding on them, the Kell Hounds warrior wisely chose to depart, falling back amongst the trees, following the rest of their lancemates.

That lull bought Teryn time; time to jettison his now-useless short-range missile ammo, and try and find some solution in the still heat-addled tactical feed. There was good and bad there in equal measure - truthfully, things were going better than he’d hoped; the swirling chaos of action within the woods was forcing the Lyrans to be markedly more cautious than he, their superior numbers little advantage, and they were pushing only very carefully now. And with the plateau securing one flank, Star Captain Helen - employing her assault tanks and battle armour, along with a Point of Hadur artillery vehicles, with judicious care - had stopped an attempt to cut the Cluster off from the Third Talon cold.

Yet, as well as his warriors were doing, this attritional brawl favoured the Lyrans’ weight of numbers. He needed something to try and even the odds -

“Command Alpha, this is Talon Six.” One of his scouting VTOL pilots, their voice thready from pain. “Possible Lyran command element contact; heavy air defence fire at CR blue, 124 by 37.”

Teryn frowned at that report. It didn’t seem normal, not for the Kell Hounds he knew; Evan Kell and his commanders preferred to operate from mobile, dispersed sites - Kell himself usually from his mammoth Dire Wolf - but - some of the contact reports had mentioned oddities of ‘Mechs and markings on some of the “Kell Hounds” they’d engaged, and - he checked the chart reference; yes, that would be the right place for a command post  Decision crystallised.

“Acknowledged, Talon Six; RTB, immediate. “Skybolt,” he switched channels to the one assigned to communicate with Star Commander Perrin, fingers tapping across his comms board, “firefall. Coordinates attached.”


“Skybolt acknowledges. Will attack soonest,” Perrin lowered the radio headset, then turned to the astech manning the console. “Download those coordinates to our fighters’ terrain mapping systems, and then get ready to evacuate this site.”

She stepped out of the radio hut, moving along the flight line - such as it was - to her fighter, dodging around, or pausing to allow for the passage of, tech teams removing camouflage netting or making final checks on the bombs slung under her squadron’s wings, and the rocket boosters attached above.

As far as Perrin knew, this airfield had never even been named, and ordinarily - probably why the Lyrans’ reconnaissance had overlooked it - would have been too small for aerospace fighters loaded with external ordnance - even the pair of light Bashkirs, Avar and Sulla, never mind Danil’s Visigoth or her own Sabutai - thus the rocket boosters. Coming from an unexpected angle might just make this work.

Pausing by her own fighter, a worn, battle-scarred old Sabutai Charlie, Perrin double-checked the pair of fifteen-hundred-kilogram bombs under its wings; not that she’d be using them, if the Lyran air screen was even half-awake. It would be down to her and Danil to try and keep them off the younger pilots, at least long enough for them to use their ordnance; even her fledglings could manage to hit the ground.

Satisfied, Perrin clambered up into the cockpit, hooking up her flightsuit’s life support and electronic links with the ease of long practice as she ran through the final preflight steps and began taxiing to launch position.

“Comms check,” she ordered softly, vibrations from the Sabutai’s engines spinning up to full power rippling through its frame. Acknowledgements came back, loud and clear. “Okay, Fledglings, listen and listen well,” Perrin spoke in calm, level tones, more likely to get through the impulses of youth and training sharply curtailed to fill the ravenous maw of Mongol tactics - so-called - as she flipped up the plastic cover over the rocket boosters’ arming switch, her other hand on the throttle, ready to push it forward. “No formation flying today; as soon as your Point is off the ground, fly for the coordinates loaded into your nav modules. Fly as low as you dare, and as fast as your engines can manage. And Devra,” the youngest, least experienced of her pilots, flying the sedate Avar to try and compensate for her inexperience, “you are with me.”

Now you are taking responsibility for strays, Perrin. She shook off the dark thoughts; Devra deserved a chance to live, and only her cover fire might give the young pilot that.




The Falcon fighters weren't unnoticed once they got up to altitude and speed.  A thousand meters above, Squadron Captain Marquis Devers of the 92nd Aerospace Squadron noted the contacts and the course reported from the 8th Striker's Aerospace Group Command on the Penton.  His feet went to the acceleration pedals on his Typhoon OmniFighter and he pushed the stick forward to reduce altitude.  Sweat beaded on his ebon skin, his heart pounding from the anticipation of coming combat.  Mindful of his duties, he keyed the rest of his squadron, twelve fighters strong.  "All flights, enemy airstrike inbound on 2nd Battalion command elements.  Intercept and eliminate."

"Roger, Squadron Lead."  Two voices, one a German-accented woman and the other with a male New Earth English accent, echoed each other almost perfectly. The latter added, "Where in blazes did they come from?"

"Not our problem."  Devers cycled through the selection of his weapons.  The Typhoon Alpha mounted wing pulse lasers and an cluster-firing autocannon in the nose for dog-fighting.  His ammo feeds showed green and he readied a target lock on one of the enemy fighters. The Lyran-provided database marked the target as a Bashkir.  As he approached optimum firing range and his systems acquired a lock, he noted the fighter seemed to be weaving a little.  "Looks like nuggets," he said, surprised that despite the pilot's clear difficulty keeping their fighter level at this speed, they weren't breaking off even if their passive defenses had to have picked up his active sensor lock.  Either suicidally brave or…

His own systems screamed warning just before his finger could tense.  It did so anyway, spraying autocannon shells and laser fire ineffectually around the course of the enemy fighter, given he was wildly maneuvering to avoid the shots that would have done a number on his craft.  He noted one of the contacts was suddenly climbing right for him, a heavier fighter than the others marked as a Sabutai, bombs tumbling away from it to strike the forests below.  He banked sharply and accelerated to throw off his enemy's aim.

But no further attack came.  His wingman called out "I'm hit!" and briefly streaked past his cockpit, flame pouring from wounds in his fuselage, an emerald laser slicing further into the damaged structure.  As the flaming Typhoon swept past, the form of a craft identified as a Visigoth went by as well, beams clearly tracking on him.

Devers rotated his craft and evaded the fire on him.  The warning sensors stopped going off, there was no more active lock.  What?

"Bogey on my six!"  The call brought his attention to the rest of the squadron.  He righted his fighter and brought it back around.  His squadron's lighter-weight flight, in Lightning IIIs, were beset by the Visigoth and the thick-chinned craft being reported as a Sabutai.  The larger fighter's chin lit up with repeated emerald laser beams, big enough to be large-caliber weapons, that caught the fighter just as it broke off an attack run on the enemy fighters hugging the ground.  The Lightning clearly took damage, but the Sabutai pilot wasn’t even trying to finish them; the instant the Lightning broke off, they snap-turned left in a move that had to’ve stressed their fighter to its limits, going for another of the Lightnings trying to line up on a second Bashkir.  One by one the entire flight broke away as the enemy fighters struck at them.

Ah.  So they're not all nuggets.  "Looks like we've got a couple experienced pilots flying top-cover for the nuggets," he said into the squadron comms.  "C Flight, we'll give you a shot.  A and B, follow me.  Take down those two fighters."  He banked the Typhoon and started acquiring the Sabutai.

"No kill credits on the nuggets, either," added his squadron XO, Flight Lieutenant Tabitha Reynolds.

Devers frowned.  Not that he didn't agree that those remaining pilots weren't really worth the credit for a kill, and ace status, but he'd have to have a word with Reynolds later about timing.  For the time being he kept the Sabutai on his HUD.  The cluster rounds from his autocannon stripped armor from the Falcon OmniFighter without managing a penetrating hit, and follow up laser shots barely missed as the enemy pilot pulled a high-speed maneuver to evade his fire and Reynolds'.

Another of the icons on his display went out.  C Flight had a kill.  One less enemy fighter on a bombing run.  That more didn't disappear became clear as the Visigoth and Sabutai, defying the near four-to-one odds they faced, made a high speed pass to threaten C Flight.  A series of laser shots tore the wing from one of the Lightning IIIs, forcing the craft down, while the other pilots broke away to avoid a similar fate.

"They're determined," Reynolds said.  "Mix it up?"

"No."  Two fighters down, more damaged.  WC Popova will never let me live that down. "C Flight, maintain runs.  Everyone else, pin those damn fighters down!"  While giving the command he kept his eye on the Visigoth.  The pilot weaved through his attempted shots and those from Reynold and Reynold's wingmate.  Instead of trying to keep a tab on him, though, Devers broke away and maneuvered his fighter toward C Flight.  The remaining Lightning IIIs under Flight Lieutenant Yang's command reformed and made for the enemy lights coming in low and fast.  We'll get maybe two more chances before they're over the battlefield and hitting their targets.

As before the Sabutai and Visigoth came after C Flight, weaving between the other fighters.  Devers picked the Visigoth and bore down on the fighter, coming from a different angle from Flight Lieutenant Fischer's Typhoon.  Fischer's machine was configured differently, favoring all energy weapons.  While her lasers tore at the Visigoth, his autocannon's cluster rounds and his own laser beams converged on it as well.

The enemy pilot managed one shot that scoured armor from one of C Flight's craft before taking the hits from two angles.  At first it looked like the Visigoth's armor would hold, but a brief burst of light and flame erupted from the rear.  One of their shots managed a direct hit on the fusion engine.  The fighter lost power and dove toward the ground.  It was joined moments later by what the warbook called a Sulla from the enemy.  Only a second Bashkir and a fighter marked as an Avar remained.

The Sabutai raked Yang's fighter with repeated laser hits.  He broke off.  "Damage to control surfaces.  I'm out."

Frowning, Devers focused his attention on the Sabutai, now alone in its effort to protect the remaining light fighters.  This one's good he thought, watching his shots miss while the enemy fighter executed another series of high turn maneuvers, desperately trying to keep Yang's remaining pilots off the two inexperienced fighters.  "All fighters on those enemy nuggets.  Let's give our friend too many targets to handle.  Reynolds, on me.  Time to end this."



Perrin sucked in deep breaths of the high-oxygen mix through her mask. That was interesting; her heart rate had just spiked higher than her previous record.

Her flight suit squeezed and pulsed, working on pushing blood back to her brain as she wove a high-G slalom through the Lyran formation.  Laser fire repeatedly split the sky, emerald beam after emerald beam slicing at the fighters hunting her fledglings.  Some shots landed, others missed, but either way she considered it a success if it forced them to break off from the fledgings on their bombing runs.  There are so many…

All the while, her warning alarms screamed.  There were targeting locks on her, and a pair of fighters were doggedly pursuing hers, maneuvering to get shots that her maneuvering denied them.  Flashes of laser fire sometimes crossed just to the side of her cockpit, while bands of yellow and orange showed on her monitors to reflect lost armor to glancing strikes.  Sooner or later, these pilots would take her down.  If only she could see Devra and the other through to their target…!

"Stravag!  Star Commander, I'm hit, I'm…"  The remaining Bashkir disintegrated in mid-air, its weakened armor hit center mass by a pair of Gauss Rifle shots.

No!  Her maneuvers grew yet more furious and desperate, setting off warning alarms of their own while her suit strained to keep the blood in her brain. Time for desperate measures.

Perrin slammed the airbrakes on full, the G-forces like a kick in the spine from a Jupiter as her fighter’s airspeed plummeted. It was a trick she’d learned from her first Star Commander, a leathery old veteran of the Jihad; dangerous enough that even aerospace Falconers would not teach it, but when it worked …

Her display lit up red, showing where a weapon strike sloughed off the remaining armor over part of the right wing, but the gamble otherwise paid off.  Both of her pursuers shot past her.  Had she been fighting them in earnest, she'd have easily gotten onto the tail of one of them.

Instead she'd bought herself precious seconds.  Getting thrust back up to avoid stalling, she banked the Sabutai onto the Points of enemy fighters acquiring Devra.  Her finger stroked the triggers the moment she had a partial lock on one, spearing the enemy with a couple laser shots before moving on to the next.  The fighters maneuvered, trying to stay on Devra while avoiding her fighter's full fury, and letting the young warrior-pilot make her final approach on target.

Indeed, there was a surge of triumph that filled Perrin from head to toe at the call over the radio.  "Ordnance away!" Devra's bombs were in flight, and as she broke off, they sailed on towards the enemy command post and adjacent 'Mechs, certain to cause some havoc when they hit.  Devra banked hard - as hard as such a young, inexperienced warrior dared - and broke off her completed run.

The Avar disintegrated a second later.

Though her maneuvers meant she only had eyes on the sight for seconds, it seemed to hang in Perrin's vision as if those seconds were minutes.  Multiple autocannon rounds and laser pulses pelted the Avar until one wing blew off, then the tail.  "I am hit!  All control lost!" the young pilot cried.  The broken remains of the Avar spiraled toward the too-near ground.

"Eject!" Perrin ordered, throwing heat discipline - and her own survival - to the winds and pouring out laser fire as fast as her weapons could recycle, flaying away the belly armour off what seemed some variation on a Huscarl heavy fighter.  The machine survived the full fury, reflecting armor protection that likely exceeded her own, banking away from her.  Perrin refused to let the fighter escape.  While her systems screamed heat warnings into her ears, she lined up for another shot on the Huscarl-like fighter.  "Pilot Devra, eject!"

There was no reply.  The marker for the Avar was gone from her holotank.

Her shriek of fury was as worthy as a falcon's cry.  She lined her crosshairs up on Devra's killer and pulled the trigger again.  More lances of laser fire lashed out at her foe…

...and missed, as her foe suddenly fell behind her, as if standing still in the air.




Two can play that game.

Such was the thought that Squadron Captain Devers had when, seeing he couldn't immediately shake his tail, he went for his air brakes.  Much like the Falcon pilot had done to him and Reynolds, he extended them to full and cut thrust, rapidly dropping his damaged Typhoon's airspeed.  He was rewarded with laser light cutting through the air ahead of him, and the sight of the Sabutai shooting past.  He fired his weapons to little effect; the angle of attack was bad, and only his shorter, medium-grade pulse lasers managed a direct hit.  He had more pressing matters as stall warnings blared.  He pressed his acceleration pedals hard and shot the Typhoon right up to its maximum of 4.5 Gees.  His suit constricted, keeping the blood from being pressed out of his head and brain, and with every ounce of control he could manage Devers wrestled the stalling Typhoon back into level flight and then a rapid climb.

Going to have to thank Wing Commander Popova for all that training, he thought.  Popova, that hard-nosed Giausarovite, ran her pilots hard in the simulators to make sure they could pull such maneuvers to counter threats like the Dracs' nimble, over-engined Hakaze.

While climbing he checked his holotank.  Reynolds had a bead on the Sabutai and placed a couple well-aimed, targeting computer-assisted PPC shots into its body.  What might've been the killing shot missed, however, with the Sabutai banking hard and accelerating at full thrust to throw off Reynholds' shot.  Damn good pilot.  Just more interested in trying to kill us than to get away.  Devers brought his crosshairs over the enemy fighter and accelerated.  At the far range his autocannon's cluster rounds would more likely hit nothing but air, but he was just within range for the wing-mounted Mark 18 Vickers-Armstrong pulse lasers.  He let his systems acquire a partial lock before flipping his fire selector to single fire and pulling the laser trigger.

The first stream of sapphire pulses missed the Falcon fighter.  It twisted, still accelerating.  The pilot had to be near the end of their endurance.  Devers felt the blood rush in and out of his head at matching the maneuver, drawing closer while the other pulse laser fired.  This time he made a partial hit, stitching sapphire light over the tail fins of the Sabutai before the remaining stream struck open air.

The Clanner looped "upward", as if to climb, and Devers leveled to track.  Looks like they're going to bug out after all… wait.

Given the view on his holotank, no, the Clanner wasn't going to bug out at all.

They'd turned their fighter directly towards his.



The unending alarms failed to penetrate Perrin's conscious thoughts while she leveled her fighter out.  Her enemies were all that mattered.  The Huscarl-like fighters were the equals she would have otherwise demanded for this final chapter to her existence.  These unknown Lyrans who destroyed her command, cut down so many promising young warriors she was charged with blooding, they would be her isorla in death, if need be.  They would pay for taking her charges from her.

Her fighter's controls reacted sluggishly, no surprise given her damage and that she'd been liberally firing her energy complement.  Her heat was only beginning to level off and give her greater control.  Given all her high-energy maneuvering her fuel gauge continued to decline.  If she didn't break off and return to base soon, she would never make it.

I would not make it anyway.

Her fatalistic thoughts joined her interest.  Her opponent, far from trying to evade her plentiful laser armament, was meeting her as if they were knights at a jousting tournament.

Tyra Miraborg. The name came to her unbidden, the legend who’d bought an ilKhan as her isorla a century ago. Forcing the heat- and damage-addled fighter around as red continued to swallow more of the damage readouts, she lined up on the largest of the DropShips looming in the distance, opening the throttle as wide as it could go.

Her world seemed to narrow down to her target alone, energy beams and bursts of exploding shells barely worth considering. Optimistically, her free hand gripped the ejection lever.

Perrin found herself wondering idly if the ejection mechanism might still work.



The change in orientation of the Sabutai was quickly followed by word from Group Command over Devers' earpieces.  "Enemy contact is on collision course with the Penton, all craft intercept and destroy her!"

He banked and twisted the Typhoon, heedless of the G forces that involved and the way it shifted the blood in his body.  This kept the Falcon fighter roughly in his field of fire, and more pulse laser fire did score strikes.  But the fighter refused to move from its deadly course.

The Penton's gunners weren't blind to the danger.  Multiple missile launchers focused on the craft and fired, and dozens of LRMs corkscrewed through the air, some exploding on or around the fighter.  But while they blasted chunks of armor and fuselage from the Sabutai, they didn't deflect the fighter from its deadly course.  The azure lightning of PPC bolts likewise tried, and failed, to bring a stop to the suicidal Clan fighter.

More contacts showed on the holotank.  Four Skyfire interceptors, the Penton's embarked protectors, soared down from their top cover.  The pilots were skilled in their own right in their choice of angles of attack, and within moments their Gauss Rifles were firing while they got a bearing with their wing-mounted pulse lasers.  One, then two, made contact with the Sabutai, knocking it around and breaking off chunks of fuselage and wing.  The fighter began a controlled spin from the pilot's efforts to keep their craft on its deadly course.

No more time.  Regardless of heat, Devers fired everything he had.  Cluster rounds from his autocannon sprayed over the rear of the Falcon fighter, breaking up the remaining armor around the engines and the tail fins.  His lasers chewed and cut into those wounds, breaking up the engine assembly area of the Sabutai.  A splutter of plasma and light joined the death of the fusion-generated flame burning at the rear.  The Clanner's spin grew in violence and the pilot lost all control, their fighter wobbling through the air.

The surge of heat in his cockpit joined the warning sirens.  The heat of his weapon systems made his control systems sluggish.  Devers wrestled with his flight stick and forced the Typhoon to level, ensuring he didn't crash into the Penton or the ground as well.  It took a few seconds for the heat sinks to dump the excess heat into Great X's atmosphere, easing the controls.  He banked and gave himself a few of his kill.

The Sabutai covered the remaining meters to the Penton… and plowed into the ground before it, about a hundred meters short of one of the 'Mech bay doors, still closing.  The violence of the landing broke up the fighter, its pieces scattering every which way in a fan spread out toward the DropShip.  Sparks flew where random pieces of metal did in fact strike the ship's landing legs or surface, but as the seconds passed and it was clear there would be no blast from within, Devers let himself breathe.  They'd stopped the enemy in time.  "92 Squad to Group Command, enemy fighters splashed, I say again, enemy fighters splashed.  I'm running low on fuel and am RTBing."

"Roger that, 92 Squad.  Penton Actual thanks you for the help.  Projecting course to your nav system now."

The HUD reflected the flight path they assigned him.  Devers matched it, sighing with anticipation of the asschewing that his perfectionist Wing Commander undoubtedly had in mind.



In the heart of his command facilities on the Sinclair, General Bridger's attention on the enemy air strike briefly diverted him from the ground fighting.  He noted with grim satisfaction that it was over; all enemy fighters splashed, damage done and being dealt with.

Brigadier Laguna scowled at the figures on her holotank.  "Medics are still confirming if Colonel Stefanidis will make it.  Major Knowles is in command of the 2/8th Striker and rallying."

"I can see why the Clans are so feared on this side," Bridger responded.  His display showed the wider range of the battle.  That they were winning was evident, but nor was it predetermined.  The fighter strike, had it been more damaging on the Penton, could have dangerously destabilized the chain of command if the enemy exploited the attack.  "No other sign of assets?"

"Scouts are certain.  They've got some reserve, one of those combined arms 'Stars' or 'Novas', but almost everything's been committed to the Altar area.  Including everything the 3rd Talon has active."

"Then I think it's time we make the call."  He opened a tac-comm line.  "Colonel Ward, your people need to open the way for our flanking maneuver and isolate the 3rd Talon."

Her reply came through loud and clear.  "They got stopped cold by an artillery strike.  If they press on the casualties will be severe."

"A good thing we've dealt with their air power.  Standby, we'll get air strikes on the way to deal with their support units."

Laguna didn't have to be told more.  She opened her tac-comm lines.  "Group Command, commence strike sortie on enemy support.  And I want the 3rd and 4th Battalions in motion now.  Commence kesselschlacht maneuver."

Bridger got on another tac-comm line.  "Colonel Kell, status?"

"We've got Roshak's people tied down, and we'll likely finish them off in time.  But I'd rather not waste time and lives on this fight if we can get it done quicker, General."

"Nor would I.  Keep your people safe.  We're commencing the main phase now."

"Roger that.  Give the 3rd Talon hell."

Bridger could tell there was some disappointment, subconsciously anyway.  While the Hounds were certainly getting their fill of fighting the Falcons, it was the Mongol units that particularly had their ire.  Evan Kell would've likely preferred fighting the 3rd Talon.  But mixing their commands would be risky, especially against an elite unit; their handful of exercises on Timkovichi aside, the local Hounds were not yet synced with the 8th Strikers or their counterparts from Bridger's side of the Looking Glass.  And the 3rd Talons were best faced by the larger force given their skill level.

Maybe there'll be more on Zanderij or Yeguas, if we decide to make another strike.  That thought aside, Bridger put his attention on the unfolding battle, waiting for his orders to be followed up on.



Star Captain Malthus prided himself on many things.  Recognition of the Chingis Khan's vision, certainly, such that he didn't care for the rumors of her defeat and capture or death brought from Timkovichi.  The superiority of his warriors, and that those who dared oppose them should be utterly destroyed for the offense.  And finally, being far above the useless old rules and traditions that held the Falcons back for so long, and still dominated the feeble mind of that old washed up solahma Roshak.

From the cockpit of his Shrike he observed the 3rd Talon rending the enemy's "8th Strikers".  By numbers the Lyrans were a hard fight, but their pilots rarely showed the skill of his trueborn forces; the only concern he felt for them was that they had the numbers to overwhelm.  Killing four out of five Lyrans did little if the fifth survived to gut an exhausted warrior's machine.

His crosshairs spit upon one particularly enemy machine, a humanoid model of assault weight pouring laser fire into Star Commander Tomas' Flamberge.  With a stroke of his triggers long range missiles and PPCs converged on the humanoid assault 'Mech, destroying armor and compelling attention.  Tomas took advantage to flank the enemy humanoid, striking with his ATMs.  One skillful hit disabled the arm-mounted laser on the enemy machine.  A similar machine aided the foe, requiring Tomas to expand the distance when the heavy autocannon on the second 'Mech's arm roared, nearly hitting him.  "Keep your formations."

"Star Captain Malthus, we have enemy movement."  He recognized the voice of Star Commander Uther, commander of a Star of Reconnaissance machines on their right flank.  "More than two Stars worth… no, more.  Under fire!"  There was a sizzle and crackle; Uther was being fired on by PPCs.  "We will hold."

Suspicious, Malthus set the holotank for a more strategic display.  More contacts were indeed bearing on his right flank.  So were more on the left, braving the artillery of his and Roshak's support Stars.  Two Trinaries of "Mechs and armor infantry were coming from each side, if not more.

We are being flanked.  Cut off from Roshak.  Malthus frowned.  And I lack the forces to stop them.  This is their goal, then.  Surround and destroy the 3rd Talon.  I should be so honored they fear us such.

The bitter truth was, not only could he not stop them, he was quite sure this was it.  The 3rd Talon was going to be surrounded and destroyed, and all he and his warriors could do was die with their beaks in the throats of their foes.

I can still deny them their sought prize.  He keyed the 3rd Talon's HQ.  "Inform the technicians.  Wipe all data tracks at my order, or if my death is reported.  Destroy all spare machines and equipment."

"Aff," came the response.

As for the other element, he opened an entirely different line.  The Falcon who appeared on his holotank was a dark-haired male in the uniform of the Falcon Watch.  "What can I do for the Chingis Khan and her followers?" the man asked.

"It is time we dealt with the prisoners.  I will not leave any for the Lyrans to reclaim.  Begin the culling."

"In the name of the Khan."

"In the name of the Khan," Malthus agreed.  Now to kill as many of them as we can...

[idea weenie]

As for the other element, he opened an entirely different line.  The Falcon who appeared on his holotank was a dark-haired male in the uniform of the Falcon Watch.  "What can I do for the Chingis Khan and her followers?" the man asked.

"It is time we dealt with the prisoners.  I will not leave any for the Lyrans to reclaim.  Begin the culling."

"In the name of the Khan."

"In the name of the Khan," Malthus agreed.  Now to kill as many of them as we can...

Nova Commander Martina, this is why you were left behind.  To stop this from happening

[Shadow_Wraith]

Nice to see the story update.   Will the Jade Falcon survivor be allowed to see a video of their former Khan status as a vegtable?

[Steve]

Nice to see the story update.   Will the Jade Falcon survivor be allowed to see a video of their former Khan status as a vegtable?

As you might recall from Chapter 8, she's not a veg anymore, she did wake up.  Not that she's enjoying being awake now... 8)

[Hazard Pay]

Great story, hope to read more. Really digging the 2nd AoW verse.

[Steve]

Took a while, busy prepping to move among other things, but here's the second half of the situation on Great X!


Jade Falcon Bondsmen Camp X-Ray
Near St. Xavier, Great X
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
11 October 3142


The moment they were called from their workbenches, Basil knew something was wrong.

Or rather, more wrong than usual.

In truth, everything was wrong when it came to the Jade Falcons.  Basil, an infantry warrior of the true Clan Wolf now dwelling on Arc-Royal, felt nothing but scorn for his Clan's greatest foe.  The Crusaders were finally revealing their true nature in their rush to abandon the ways of the Clans, with their Mongol Doctrine such a violation of the Founders' vision that the word "dezgra" sometimes seemed woefully insufficient to describe the loathing he felt for it.

The circumstances of his captivity made clear how far the Falcons were fallen.  Crusader or Warden, Clan bondsmen were supposed to be treated better than this.  Eighteen hour work days on starvation rations calculated more for killing slowly than keeping a bondsman nourished and able to serve his or her new Clan?  Even the Falcons of old recognized that bondsmen should be treated as potential future warriors.  This was just slow murder.

Under the stern eyes of their guards, all of them from the Falcon Watch, Basil released the handles on the metal press and stood in place.  To either side were other bondsmen.  One, Molly Rogers from Morges, was a captured Kell Hound infantrywoman, the other was Joachim Liebknecht, a soldier from Tharkad.  They glanced at him briefly before turning at the barked command to do so. Basil did as well, trembling in fury as he contemplated what new dishonor the Falcon Mongols would bring to him and the rest of the captives.

They marched out of the room, past the lines of stamped and ready metal sheets for prefab field facilities, and towards the yard.  Other lines of bondsmen joined them, numbering in the hundreds by the time they arrived.  The entire camp seemed to be lining up there.  Usually this was for a formal review, but Star Colonel Roshak had one just the prior week, and such reviews included a stand and other measures not showing today.  The only thing present in the yard were the uniformed figures of the Falcon Watch, armed with the surplus rifles they'd brought out from captured stores, some possibly dating to the original Clan invasion.

The hair on his neck stood up on end.  Something has changed.  What are these stravag doing?

"Wonder what this is about?" Rogers murmured, her English lilted and lacking the bluntness of a Teutonic accent like Liebknecht's.

"More dezgra schemes," Basil grumbled as a reply.

"Quiet!"  A nearby Falcon shouted the word and leveled a scornful look at them.  Basil returned it, as if to dare the smaller man to do something, but said nothing.  There was no value in reacting at this time, not when so much was unknown.

They were lined to face the western fence.  Basil made out a line of Falcon Watch personnel, rifles in hand.  This alone was not unusual, but the lack of any sign that they were being addressed was disturbing.  He stole glances to his sides to see if he could make any more details, but the line to his left was already filling in as well.  All he could really make out were his fellow jumpsuited prisoners.

The first indication that something was wrong came from the cries on all sides, surprise and fright and terror.  Moments later came a familiar hammering in the air, the rapid cracks of assault rifles firing, joined by screams of pain and cries for mercy.  "They're killing us!" one voice shouted.

The lines broke up at that point. Some ran.  Some hit the deck.  That allowed Basil to get the glimpse that verified what was going on with gut-twisting clarity: the Falcon Watch were themselves in a line, rifles raised and firing.  This wasn't just an incident.  It was a massacre.

And he was going to die.

His heart raged at it.  Gunned down as a defenseless bondsman?  No honor to be won in battle, not even in defiance by fighting back?  His first instinct was to charge and find a Falcon's neck to twist and break.  Even if he died a moment later, he'd die a warrior!

"This way!"  Rogers took off towards the largest group of standing prisoners. Liebknecht followed her first while Basil briefly kept to his place.  Only briefly, as the thought occurred to him that this might at least let him get closer and take a weapon for himself.  He followed, running hard to catch up given the lost seconds.

It was quickly clear there was nowhere to go.  Ahead the sound of gunfire continued, accompanied by the screams of men and women going down with metal in their lungs and guts and necks, piling over the dead and the dying.  This wasn't going to be the way out.  He might even trip over them and be gunned down, preventing him from his only remaining goal: to put his hands on one of these dezgra before dying.

There was a splatter of blood ahead.  Liebknecht was hit.  He faltered forward and ran into Rogers as they came up toward the Falcon firing line.  Only a few of their fellow captives remained ahead.  They would likely die in the following seconds.

No.  There would be no vengeance.  Basil would not get to bring a Falcon with him in death.  But in that split second, he recognized that if he could not die fighting, he could still die a warrior by performing the other function of his caste: protection.

With one last heave of his thick, if weakened, muscles, Basil jumped onto Liebknecht and Rogers, bearing them both down and climbing on top of them, covering them with his own body.  He could not speak loudly, should a Falcon hear him, but his whisper still rumbled in his throat.  "Do not move or speak!  Stay still!  Stay—"

There was a sudden, painful impact against his head.  All consciousness ceased.




The battle on the Vicar's Altar plateau was definitely turning now, by Bridger's estimation.  Ward's Kell Hounds were firmly lodged between the 3rd Talon and 371st PGC and, with the help of Evan Kell's Hounds, rolling up the latter.  The 3rd Talon was nearly surrounded by the entirety of the 8th Strikers and being ground down with increasing speed.  All things said, the battle was developing as he'd hoped.  At some greater cost, it had to be said, but not too much.  Hopefully Colonel Stefanitis lives to see it…

"Sir."  His Chief of Staff Major General von Hammermark glanced up from his spot near the main holotank.  "Priority from recon flights, sir.  We've got activity in the suspected POW camps."

A fist closed around Bridger's gut.  "What kind of activity?"

"They're going over hi-res imagery now, relaying it…"  Hammermark looked up in time for a Tech to complete the connection and put up the display.  The high-resolution scanner on their recon craft showed the familiar layout of a prison camp, a network of fenced in buildings with guard towers, approach road, and a large open yard.  Hundreds of figures were forming into lines in the yard, surrounded by fewer ones visibly armed.  The fist in his gut tightened.

"Rat bastard," Bridger snarled.  "Sortie the rescue teams now!  Now!  I knew they'd pull something like this!"

Hammermark did as directed, or rather ensured the Techs sent the orders.  "Sir, you don't think…?"

Bridger's eyes remained locked on the image, all thoughts of the battle banished from his mind.  "There's no damn reason to line them up like that, not unless—"  He stopped speaking when the hi-res image clearly showed the camp guards raising their weapons.  The image was zoomed in enough to see the muzzle flashes from the assault rifles firing, with sprays of blood joined by people running or dropping to the ground.

"Mother of God," Hammermark gasped.

"Madre de Dios," echoed Brigadier Laguna.

"I want those rescue teams in, now!" Bridger shouted, even as his mind flashed back eight years, back to Vega, and the rolling heads of men and women he'd been responsible for.  He clenched his fists so tight his fingernails dug into flesh.  I am going to hang every last one of those sons-of-bitches! he swore to himself.  From the nearest ****** tree!



“Martina,” the voice of Star Colonel Roshak roused Martina from her efforts to centre herself, “Malthus has been exactly the blind, dezgra fool I feared. The code is Prinz Eugen.” He didn’t have to say more, and Martina slammed her battle claw onto the Zibler’s roof in fury as she blink-clicked open a channel to her Nova.

“The bondsman camps, go,” she snarled, bracing herself as the hovertank lifted beneath her, drive fans howling as it accelerated to full speed. The rest of her Alpha Point did the same, and Martina had time for satisfaction at that, at least, as she blink-clicked her transmitter inactive and began swearing in Lyran German at Malthus’s stupidity - for some things, Spheroid curses were just more satisfying.

The hovertank’s driver had, evidently and prudently, taken her anger as being directed at them if they didn’t hurry, engaging the supercharger the instant that the tank hit a straight logging path, hitting more than a hundred and sixty kilometres an hour down the dirt road. Trees flashed past, the other supercharger-fitted Zibler pacing them along a different trail. They were leaving the rest of her Nova behind, but that could not be helped; speed was the overriding necessity now.

With her venting of fury done, Maritna blink-clicked open the link to her warriors. “Remember, our objective is the preservation of life,” Martina ordered. “Use no more force than you must, and be cautious of what is behind your target.” There were muttered complaints at that, but almost pro forma - nothing that would justify a Trial of Grievance - and Martina settled for glaring each of her Alpha Point into silence.

“Coming up on Camp Zeta,” the hovertank’s driver called in, “Three minutes out.”

“Bargained well and done,” Martina responded; and it might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn the tank’s engine roared louder, and the hull itself shivered, as the driver coaxed forth a little more speed. She didn’t actually start counting, but her Alpha Point still chuckled darkly at the threat.

The trees thinned out as they hurtled down the trail, and then - right on the driver’s three minute estimate - out into the cleared area around Camp Zeta; a grandiose name for a square enclosed by barbed wire, cornered by guard towers and occupied by a cluster of long, low log-built barracks. Ordinarily clean and orderly, now it was swallowed by dark smoke and the sounds of gunfire.

Martina bit back another curse but snapping out orders. “Alpha Point, with me, north end. Beta Point, south; sweep, Hades pattern and meet in the centre. Omicron Point,” the tanks; as finely built as they were - Martina sneered internally for a moment; let the Lyrans boast of their clumsy assault armour, but second-line forces or not, the Davions built the finest tanks even Kerensky’s children could ask for - their medium-gauge lasers and Streak four-packs would be useless in the kind of blindsided firefight they’d be going into within the camp, “screen west.” At this point, she would not put it past that dezgra fool Malthus to have lied about his Cluster’s strength; and better to plan that way and succeed, than ignore the possibility and fail.

As the hovertank hit its closest pass to the camp, Martina leapt, hitting her jumpjets a moment later and giving vent to her feelings in a high, piercing avian war-shriek. Similar cries came from the rest of her point; and a deeper wolf-howl from Troy - abtakha from the Crusader Wolves - that turned into a curse as Troy’s boot tangled in the barbed wire.

Her armour’s visor display shifted automatically to composite imaging, painting the camp in a bewildering mix of icons and colours. Her mind sorted through them, building a clear, coherent picture as she leapt again, cataloguing dead and wounded bondsmen and keeping track of the rest of her Point on the tac-map display. This was why so many potential true Elementals faltered, washing out into the infantry or even as far as the police caste; inability to assimilate the raw volume of data their armour fed them.

Something in her visor stopped her woolgathering instantly, and Martina cut her jumpjets; a squad of the Watch’s Mongol thugs, stalking two wounded bondsmen and blind that things had changed. Time to even the odds.

One dropped with a scream that cut off as though severed by a laser bolt as her full, armoured weight struck them from above; a second, rifle falling from hands rendered nerveless by raw shock, dying as her battle claw smashed into their armour vest, dead-centre, with bone-shattering force. Her pulse laser cut a third into multiple sections, glowing white on infrared. The fourth simply ran, throwing away rifle, vest and webbing to run even faster; she let them, they could be dealt with later at need, and the cowardice would punish them worse than death.

The last, possessed of more nerve or just less sanity, armed a grenade, intent on taking the wounded bondsmen with them. Martina embraced them, twisting the hand holding the grenade between them and pinning the Watch soldier to her chestplate in a crushing bear-hug. A wet thump and a sickening splattering sound - that Martina knew would stick in her memories - accompanied the grenade detonating; a strip of yellow flared across her suit’s damage readout, dimming almost immediately as HarJel flowed to the damaged area.

Turning to face the two wounded bondsmen - a man and a woman, from what she could see - Martina was aware that she must look a nightmare - the hunched, troll-like immensity of her battle armour amplified by the bone and jade plating being scorched and splattered with blood and other, less mentionable things, even before adding the deep abyssal rumble the external address system made of her snarled command to, “Stay here.”

Martina took a moment to assess things. Ellara and Kristoff were well ahead of her, encountering minimum resistance - effectively none - and she could hear the metronomic crack, crack of Anne’s Gauss rifle. Martina found herself shivering reflexively at that; she had no problems with killing, but Anne enjoyed it, might have been fertile ground for the Mongols’ cause if not for her odd self-denying asceticism. As for Troy -

“Lead, Alpha Four. Requesting support, urgent.” The deep, chugging thunder of heavy machine gun fire underlined Troy’s voice, with the odd echo-effect that meant she was hearing it over the radio and normally at once. “Guard SecMech at my twelve.”

Never a dull moment.

“Alpha Point, converge and engage,” Martina ordered, bounding towards their new target.




Among the orbiting DropShips over Great X was one quite small vessel, a DropShuttle of two hundred tons weight with the rather unassuming designation of SDS-8.  Most DropShuttles tended to be cargo and personnel movers, lightly armed if at all.

But SDS-8 wasn't a standard DropShuttle.  It was a Spooky Insertion Craft; a fairly fast ECM-equipped craft built to maximize stealth characteristics, even if the fusion torches couldn't be hidden when they fired.  Pilots of these craft learned to be sparing with their main engines, employing lower-powered thrust engines with heat baffles integrated into them for directional control and landing, and main fusion drives only employed when speed mattered more than stealth.

Such as it did right now, with said drives at full burn as the shuttle abruptly and sharply plunged into the atmosphere.

Lieutenant Augusta Novan's battle armor fit snugly over her figure, honed to perfection through intense training and equally intense operations. The Longshot Rifle she favored for sniping and regular combat was fitted to its magnetic anchor on her Spectre suit for later use, and her mission compartment contained all the proper gear for the rescue-intervention mission they'd been on standby for.  Now an incredible four and a half Gs pressed her and the rest of the SOT into the g-cradles built into the transport compartment of the Spooky-type insertion shuttles.  It was only a bit spacier than it'd be in the cramped confines of a Darter or Great Eagle OmniFighter with cargo pods for battle armor deployment, the usual alternative method of rapid exoatmospheric deployment for the SOT.

The voice of the pilot in the compartment beyond was strained by the G-forces.  "Coming up on target area shortly.  Prepare for deployment drop.  Situation developing."

"Acknowledged," Captain Tosh stated from his armor suit, just two cradles away.  "Everyone ready for drop!"

This wasn't going to be the gentle kind of drop, where the shuttle came to a hover and they jumped from an open door.  Novan swallowed and readied her stomach for the next few seconds, as much as she could under the crushing acceleration strain anyway.  Despite all that mental prep, it was still a sharp surprise for the floor to suddenly open up from under her.  The cradle holding her suit in place opened and she fell through into the open sky of Great X.

Her armor's HUD lit up with data.  Air speed.  Available thrust in her suit jets.  Distance to the ground.  By pressing her middle fingers against her palms within the confines of her armored gloves she triggered the armor's jets to fire.  It was almost like opening a parachute with the kick of sudden deceleration, but it didn't last.  The engines could only burn for so long before they hit their heat threshold and cut off, and once that happened her descent continued picked back up.

Her mind flashed back briefly to her training at Fort Kerrigan, back on Arcturus, where the SOTs and jump infantry conducted insertion drop training.  Air speed was both life and death.  Too slow, enemy AA would kill you. Too fast, the ground would kill you.

Too fast right now.  Not sure about enemy AA.  Seeing that they'd cooled back down, she triggered her jets again, letting them nearly burn through before stopping.

Below the ground was approaching, and with it, the prisoner camp that was their target.  A high fence with barbed wire, watch towers, internal structures, and the telltale appearance of muzzle fire.  Their briefing, before the SDS-8 launched from one of the 8th Striker's DropShips on final orbital approach, made clear the goal: secure the prisoners, stop loss of life, put down the guards.  In that order.

Novan gave the jets a final kick as the ground rushed up toward her.  The deceleration was enough that the armor absorbed the impact enough to not break anything, although every part of her body hurt from the impact.  With clenched teeth she pushed the pain away and stood.  "Novan grounded," she spoke into the SOT secured comm-line.

Others reported in.  All but Private Jeffries, who finally croaked, "Bad landing.  Armor didn't take it.  Broken legs."

One jump in fifty. That was what Sergeant Harbaugh told her and the other trainees back at Ft. Kerrigan.  One jump in fifty would be bad when doing rapid insertion drops, from human error or system fault.  But usually human error.  By Harbaugh's count, Jeffries is lucky.  He only broke his legs.

"Stay put, Jeffries," Captain Tosh ordered.  "Everyone, double time!"

They ran, Alpha Squad in the lead.  One by one rifles or assault guns were pulled from their magnetic holsters on the suits.  "I'll take the near tower," Novan said, not waiting for the order.  Once she was close enough she triggered her jets and soared into the air, shutting them down at just the right moment to make a pinpoint landing on the tower platform.  A green-uniformed man with an avian-themed helmet turned toward her, battle rifle raised.  But her rifle was already pointing at him and she pulled the trigger with practiced efficiency. A supersonic round blew through the light protective vest under the uniform and pulped one section of the man's lung.  He fell in a strangled cry, doomed to either bleed to death or, more likely, drown in his own blood.

Novan might have taken the time for a second shot to the head, as a mercy kill, but there was no time given the gunfire and accompanying screams in the camp.  She went to the interior rail, dropped to a knee to steady herself, and activated the Longshot's targeting scope.  It tied into her HUD and projected the important tactical data for her work.  She sighted on one of the Falcons emptying a rifle's clip into a barracks building and pulled the trigger. Another supersonic round blew the brains out of the target.

By this time the camp guards were in full disarray.  They were under attack by just eighteen operators, but given their kit was for guarding unarmed prisoners, they might as well be unarmed themselves for fighting even light battle armor.  Chem-propellant rounds and needler shots rang helplessly off the allowed stealth armor of the Spectre suits while their weapons, being Gauss guns of varying type, were sheer murder on the guards.

For a time the camp remained the sight of a massacre, but now it was the outmatched guards who were the victims, not their captives.

When Novan ran out of targets she turned her attention outward, moving to the other side of the tower and setting up again.  "Novan, on overwatch."

"Kowalski, on overwatch."

"Cooper, on overwatch."

"Nyere here, still engaging hostiles."

Captain Tosh's reply came quickly.  "Acknowledged.  Maintain open tac-comm."

With her part in the taking of the camp done, Novan settled in for the long wait, just in case someone got it in their heads to counterattack.




For all that the main battle was the point of the exercise, Bridger found his attention drifting repeatedly to the secondary holotank and its display of blue markers descending on the identified prison camps.  The 8th Strikers' SOT already had one camp, and companies from the 8th Striker Jump Infantry Regiment were securing the others with light 'Mech support.

That left one camp painted in enemy red.  "Recon confirms weapons fire consistent with a fight," Hammermark said.  "It would appear the enemy reserve is stopping one of the massacres.  Major Gruenwald's command is observing and ready to intervene if necessary."

Bridger nodded in acceptance of that point.  Going in would complicate matters, and might cause unnecessary losses in the confusion.  The Kells' intelligence on Roshak seems to have been accurate.  This removed the local commander from the list of people he intended to see punished for this behavior, but it didn't cool his fury, nor his intention to deal harshly on the matter.  A message has to be sent.

He glanced back toward the main holotank.  Roshak's troops were doomed, that much was clear, and the 3rd Talon was steadily losing ground and forces, now amounting to little more than a reinforced company of 'Mechs and armored infantry, and that count was steadily declining with the 8th Strikers on all fronts pressing the attack.

The system reflected an incoming call from the field, which took the form of Evan Kell in his neurohelmet and cooling vest.  "Just got the update, General.  Good to hear we've got the camps in hand."

"They'll finish securing them over the next few minutes," Bridger predicted.  "How much longer until you've got the 371st down?"

"With Colonel Ward on their flank, not long at all, but we don't have to make this total.  Roshak knows he's beaten, and I'm bettin' a traditionalist like him is fuming over the Mongols trying to pull this.  They've dumped a load of manure all over the Clan's honor, over his.  You could likely end the fightin' now if you offer him hegira.  It'll let him walk away with honor intact."

"If the 371st is destroyed, you could consider Great X recovered for the Commonwealth," Bridger pointed out.

"No.  Not right now, anyway, we don't have the strength to reclaim anything.  Falcons would just send another unit to hold the planet, maybe a worse one, and a worse commander.  Roshak's not a saint, but the people here are better off with him in charge than a Mongol, until we get the reinforcements we need to see them all off.  Unless your side's got another unit they can call in to hold, I'd rather just leave him in place."

Bridger considered that point.  We do have units coming up for reserve, the 1st Lancers could hold the planet.  But he had no authority to call the Lancers in, so the rest of Kell's point remained valid.

"Put me on a broad radio-com signal, direct it toward the 371st's command unit," he instructed the CommTech.  After a few moments the young woman nodded.  "Attention Star Colonel Roshak.  Your forces are clearly beaten.  I've got no desire to smash them to nothing, so I'm offering you an honorable withdrawal.  'Hegira', as you put it."

After several moments of silence, Roshak's voice came over the line.  "Hegira for all of my warriors?"

"For the 371st Cluster, at least," Bridger said.  On the display, another group of icons for the 3rd Talon disappeared.  Colonel Olindo's 3rd Battalion was scything through their command unit even as they spoke.

"I… cannot, in honour, accept.  The 3rd Talon is under my command as well.  I must have hegira for both."

Bridger stopped himself from an immediate answer.  He could understand, quite easily, the obligations Roshak was referring to.  He had to see to the people under his command, whatever else may be true.  But given the reputation of the unit and officers involved, Bridger didn't want them getting away.  They might have even been responsible for these killings.

Roshak’s tone hardened. "I swear on my Bloodname, and the heritage of my Bloodhouse, that Star Captain Malthus will be called to account, in full, for his actions, and the same for every warrior who joined in this disgrace."

Roshak's now confirming he's involved?  Or at least he thinks he is.  Bridger checked the holotank.  More icons were missing.  A few blue, a few red.  His natural sentiment was to accept Roshak's word.  Not because of any belief in the alleged honor of the Clans, but because he owed it to his subordinates to not throw their lives away.  But he couldn't quite fight off the sentiment that Malthus and others might get away for the camp massacres if he did.  That the Mongols had to be destroyed utterly.

“If you wish,” Roshak continued, “you may send one of your officers, or come yourself, to bear witness to this accounting. I will guarantee, for any observer you choose to send, safcon until this matter is dealt with.”

For a moment Bridger thought it over.  He couldn't keep the thought out of his head, the images from eight years ago on the long burn out from Vega.  Letting an atrocity like that go unpunished, he couldn't do that again.

"Sir."  Hammermark kept his spine straight and hands at his side.  "Colonels Kell and Ward are awaiting instruction on whether to push forward."

Colonel Kell.  That reminded him that these were Kell's people.  Bridger was the visitor here, even if he was in command.

There was still a resistance that took him an extra moment to overcome before he spoke.  "I'll accept, for myself and Colonel Kell, if he chooses to come."  He shook his head at Hammermark, who immediately relayed orders for a ceasefire.  "I'll give you your shot at dealing with this, Star Colonel."

"Bargained well and done, General.  And you will not be disappointed.  I will give you coordinates for the matter at hand as soon as we are ready."  The line cut.

"The 371st has ceased fire," Hammermark said.

"And the 3rd Talon?"

Laguna watched her holotank.  "Not yet… okay, looks like they're holding off as well.  Colonel Pratt is opening a hole for them to withdraw through."

"Let her open up if they do anything but retreat," Bridger said.  "Otherwise, this fight's over."

[Steve]

Things moved faster than Bridger expected.  He'd barely had time to get the after-action reports readied and start post-battle inspections when Roshak radioed coordinates.  Evan Kell hadn't even made it back to his field base yet and had to be picked up by Bridger's VTOL on the way to what was evidently the Falcon planetary HQ, not far from the plateau they'd fought upon.

The Falcon units were clearly smarting from the fight, but what was most obvious to Bridger was the way they were lined up in the field, as if the 371st was there to keep the survivors of the 3rd Talon under the gun.  "Still no locks," the co-pilot said, her voice distorted a little by the speaker in his passenger's helmet.  "We're setting down."

Evan nodded.  "Like I said.  Old school type.  He'd never violate safcon."

"If only he could speak for all his people, otherwise this wouldn't have happened."

"If you don't mind me sayin' it, General, you don't look happy.  Don't worry, Roshak'll sort them out.  He's got to now, or his honor's nothing."

"Given what's happened, Colonel, the only thing making me happy would be the people responsible for the killings dangling from a noose," Bridger muttered darky.

There was a light jolt from the VTOL setting down.  The two men dismounted near an assemblage of figures.  Roshak was recognizable, and still in his cooling suit, as was a thin, wiry man that had an angry, hunted look about him.  He and several others were flanked by battle-armored infantry.  Bridger noted that some of the apparent prisoners were not in the same general uniform he'd seen Roshak in before.  "MPs?" he asked Evan, his voice low enough not to carry.

"Looks like Watch." Evan said, frowning.  "Clan military police, yeah, but twice as mean and half as smart as our kind of MP.  They're the warriors who barely made it in and know they won't be fighting any great battles."  The remark was likewise kept at a lower volume.

"Mercenaries," the wiry man groused, his eyes going from watching the approaching figures to Roshak's smoldering, quiet glare.  "What are they doing here, Star Colonel?"

"To witness," was the simple answer.

At first Bridger thought the remark was meant to be toward Kell, but realize the speaker was meaning him as well.  The 3rd Talon commander thought he was a mercenary.  The uniform is unfamiliar.  Of course.

Roshak continued, in a calm, level voice that frankly struck Bridger as a whole lot more intimidating than shouting would’ve been. “You disobeyed a direct order, Star Captain. You did not challenge it, as was your right, you simply disobeyed. For which, under the Code Martial, the penalty is death. More, you disgraced yourself, you disgraced our Clan, and you broke my word, out of naked spite, and petulance.” Contempt edged Roshak’s next words, “Would you call this the behaviour of a warrior?”

“And so you wish to challenge me, relic?” Malthus laughed, a cruel, unsettling cast to his laughter. “So be it; I can best you, augmented or unaugmented, on any battlefield you name.”

“No.” Roshak’s lips curled back in what - under a very charitable interpretation - might qualify for a smile. “Trials are for settling matters between warriors. Martina, deal with this refuse.”

One of the armoured infantry - wearing a bulkier, older looking suit - stepped forward, raising an arm, and Malthus’s expression barely shifted into shock before a stuttering burst of laser bolts cut him down.

"As for the rest of you.  By all rights, I would deal the same to you for your actions, and be fully vindicated.  But I will not even give you that."  Roshak gestured toward Bridger.  "General Bridger, Colonel Kell, your isorla for your victory.  Do with them as you please."

"Thank you, Star Colonel."  Bridger leveled a glare at his new prisoners, all some combination of shocked and outraged.  "In the name of the Royal Federation and our comrades in the Lyran Commonwealth, you're all under arrest."  He raised his radio to his lips.  "General Hammermark, send a transport VTOL with a squad of armored infantry for prisoner escort, my location."

"Yes sir."

"Some of the data promised was deleted by this stravag's treachery," Roshak explained, "but all that remains will be transmitted before you depart.  And the bondsmen are yours, of course."

Bridger nodded in acceptance.  "I'm satisfied, then."

”Well bargained, and well won,” Roshak nodded. "However, I have a question, if you will honor me with an answer."

"Go ahead."

"Who are you?" asked Roshak.  "Many of your machines are unfamiliar designs.  Your uniforms are like none in the Successor States.  And no mercenaries possess WarShips as you do."

Bridger kept his arms at his side.  The prospect of whether telling the truth would be advantageous or not was one that made him consider the answer to give.  They have to have noticed the Looking Glass.  So they know something is strange.  I suppose there's no harm in giving them some basic facts.  It might even serve to make them pause before trying anything.  "We're from the Royal Federation, or the Arcadian Federation as some call us, from an Inner Sphere with a different history than your own," he remarked candidly.  "A misjump brought us to your Inner Sphere and, suffice to say, things have progressed from there."

“A strange tale,” Roshak commented, in a tone of consideration rather than dismissal, “Yet, it is a time of strange things; and a great many of those."

"So it is."


The twilight hours were upon the Vicar's Altar when the first trucks arrived.  Evan's people took the lead in welcoming their countrymen to the landing zones for the strike force.  Rations were waiting, given their reported condition, and some were brought to the Kell Hounds' shipboard infirmaries.

Bridger observed from the open bay door of the Sinclair, Brigadier Laguna and Colonels Kell and Ward with him.  "We'll have enough room for the short haul, at least," Laguna said.  "Might need to transfer some to the Sara Proctor though."

"Important thing is they're going home."

"There's still the prisoners to handle, mind," Evan pointed out.  "Finding them a fair trial, I mean; God knows I don’t think I could put together a court-martial board that wouldn’t be just, ‘March the guilty bastards in, Sergeant-major’."

Bridger nodded, a deep frown on his face.  "They are guilty.  My first thought was a field court.  Have our rescued POWs identify them and the work crews can have the gallows ready by the time we're done.  Hang every last one of the sons of bitches."

“Yeah, that’d be one option,” Evan nodded. “Be military justice, which as my brother’s fond of saying, is to the real thing what military bands are to music, but I’m hard-put to think of any better, or at least fairer, options. Even if some of them are probably just guilty of doing what they’re told; remind me to tell you about the mess Thomas Hogarth left us with after SCOUR sometime.”

"Regulations allow field trials with forces caught in flagrante delicto committing war crimes or other offenses against the recognized laws of war," Laguna remarked delicately.  "It might not apply to all our captives, and it doesn't allow for people caught up in orders."

"You commit an illegal order, you're just as liable," Bridger replied.  "Only reason I haven't given the word to the work crews yet is that I didn't do it for Malvina Hazen.  And if I'm hanging any of these Clans, I'm starting with her. Which, no, I can't do now, she's on our side of the Glass and above my paygrade now." Despite his words, they could see that he very much wanted to give that order.  There was a steel in his eyes and voice, one matched by evident pain.  "Might as well see to your people, Brigadier."

Evan shot side glances to Laguna and Ward. “Brigadier, Colonel,” he spoke quietly, “I think this is something me and General Bridger need to talk about in private?”

Ward nodded knowingly.  "Vega," she murmured into Laguna's ear, just audible enough for Evan to make the word out.  Laguna sighed in recognition and joined the Kell Hound commander in walking away.

This left privacy for the two men.  "I get the feelin' this hit close to home for you, General," Evan said.  "Even more than what Malvina pulled in Cirenholm."

Bridger clenched a fist before nodding.  "Hits close, yeah.  Back in '34."  Noting the look in Evan's eyes, he decided to continue.  "SOVEREIGN SON.  I was CO of the Gienah Heavy Fusiliers RCT, proudest posting I've ever had.  We got sent in with the 8th and 10th Strikers and the Tharkad Rangers to Vega.  Better part of a year, given the six week burn time one way, the longest campaign I'd been in since the War."

Evan nodded. “Yeah, we used to wargame out attacks on Vega while I was at the Nagelring. That long transit run’s a real issue; you miscalculate, overcommit, and you’re in real trouble.” He grinned. “Wasn’t officially encouraged; High Command tends to frown on planning to attack a friendly power.”

Bridger grinned in amusement.  "They're like that.  We went in for bear, the 5th Sword of Light was on-world, as were a couple other outfits."

That drew a sour expression from Evan. “I’m guessing the Fifth Sword’re just as bad there as they are here?”

"Wouldn't surprise me.  The mission was to get out a claimant to the Galedon directorship, Musashi Honda.  His treacherous bitch of an aunt, Kori Honda, was the one who celebrated stabbing her grandmother's allies in the back during the War by declaring the Combine reborn, and she married into a Kurita line.  Musashi became a rival claimant that she wanted dead, so we wanted him alive.  It took two months of campaigning to secure enough of the planet to bring him out of hiding, against the biggest bastard I've ever known: Tai-sho John Ballymont.  He'd sic the 5th on settlements and towns he declared 'disloyal', had local leaders shot for the slightest failure.  We took to calling him 'Butcher Ballymont.'"

"Well, we got Musashi out, fell back on the LZ, and departed.  But you campaign that long on an enemy world, you end up having people lost.  Overwhelmed patrols and pickets, scouts hunted down… had a few left behind.  I wanted to get everyone back, but we had a WarShip burning in with a multiple regiment relief force, and we had to leave."

“I can figure the rest from that, yeah.” Evan looked pensive for a moment. “And Ballymont gloated, right? Made a big show of the whole butcherin’ work.”

"He started with an offer.  We turn a ship around and hand Musashi over, he gives all our captives back and safe transit out of the system."  Bridger's lip curled into a snarl.  "I don't think he expected us to say yes, it was just to twist the knife in.  And we didn't.  So a day later, he started sending us new holovid footage.  He and his officers personally beheading our captured comrades, and he kept it up until he'd killed all of them."

“I doubt he would’ve let them go, anyway,” Evan replied. “I know the sort, we’ve had history with them - a Fifth Sworder general, Palmer Conti, back during the Fourth Succession War, lot of Kuritan officers one way or another. Most of them,” a sharp, feral smile, “well, they came to bad ends, at our hands or someone else;s.”

"Glad to hear it.  Ballymont's still around, though.  Still got his boot on the necks of a lot of decent folk on Vega and surrounding worlds. I'd love to put a gauss slug through his cockpit, but haven't had the chance."  Bridger let out a breath.  "So yeah, this brought back memories.  Bad ones."

"Writing the letters is the hardest part," Evan said.  "Especially when it's like that."

"Felt guilty with every one.  Lost some good people there, promising young officers, veterans, lot of people with families."  Bridger shook his head.  "I had to tell them their loved ones were left behind.  That I couldn't find a way to get them out."

“And it doesn’t make you feel any better that, no matter how many times you refight that battle, in sims and in your head, you can’t think of a single ****** thing you could’ve done any better’n you did.” Evan’s voice held a shared, bitter experience at that.

"It was a close run thing often enough… couldn't change a thing, every time I think of it, no matter how much I want to."  Bridger let out a sigh and turned to Evan.  "As for the prisoners… They hurt your people, Colonel, so you and your brother, or Duchess Schmitt, I'll leave the decision for justice up to you.  I've got no objectivity, that's for damn sure."

"Martin'll have an idea.  Speaking of which… while I've not had the time to check the intel we got, between the debriefings for our recovered people and what Roshak handed over, I think we'll get at least a better picture of what's going on, better than anything we can do otherwise.  I figure we should head back to Arc-Royal or Timkovichi at this point, not press our luck."

Bridger nodded.  "I was thinking the same, at least for now.  Let's get your people home and we'll figure our next moves there."

[Shadow_Wraith]

nice story update! 

[Steve]

In keeping with how the sourcebooks are presented, this is meant to be the in-character introduction for Handbook: House Proctor.

By now you will have heard the reports and stories.  That there is another Inner Sphere.  It sounds like madness, or a science-fiction holovid come to life.  But I've seen the Looking Glass with my own eyes.  Through it is not just another star system, but that other, distorted mirror reflection of our own cosmos.

What I found on the other end was something hauntingly familiar, yet quite different.  There the story of Aleksandr Kerensky ended in tragedy wrought by the petulance of that Inner Sphere's Stefan Amaris, every bit the monster our history knew.  There was no Exodus, no Clans, and a Terran Union under Aaron DeChavilier to keep the light of human progress lit while the Great Houses broke themselves in the Succession Wars.  One by one they collapsed in the mid-29th Century, leaving the Inner Sphere a shattered mess of independent worlds dominated by warlords and pirates.

Yet just as with our history, the fall did not last forever.  Worlds rose from the disorder to gain a prominence they do not know in our own Inner Sphere.  New Successor States formed around them, small and weak compared to the grandeur of the Star League, but with the strength to claw back a sense of order and stability from the chaos of the Great Houses' collapse.

Among their number were the people of Arcadia.  We know them as a quaint, quiet world of agriculture and light industry, but here, they became something more.  They arose like a phoenix from the agonies of the collapse of the Commonwealth, and under the direction of Sara Proctor the Liberator, they forged an identity that now leads one of the strongest Successor States on the other side of the Glass.

Now, by chance, or perhaps by act of God, their destiny and ours are intertwined.  I am convinced they can be a powerful ally, but whatever our future holds, it is important that we understand them.  For that purpose, my staff and I compiled this document from educational and historical sources to provide a detailed look at House Proctor and their Royal Federation.

Lady Trillian Steiner-Davion
Special Envoy of the Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth
14 April 3143

[Steve]

14 - Reflective Moments


The Triad
Tharkad City, Tharkad
Donegal Province
Lyran Commonwealth
19 October 3142


For all that the Lyran Commonwealth was fighting for its life, one might never realize it from the perspective of life in the capital.  The late year social season was in full swing, the debutantes of a dozen planets were being presented for their first balls, lap kittens were all the rage, and aside from the growing number of LCAF uniforms at these occasions, signs of what was becoming an existential war were few and far between.

While the lack of interstellar communication created uncertainty, and brought news down to a crawl, this was as much a defiant gesture as it was ignoring an unpleasant reality.  They might be losing, and the Clans' war machines devouring the realm from two sides, but it was letting the side down to be worried about it, just as nobody mentioned the slow-burn economic collapse of the entire Inner Sphere between the war and the loss of the HPG network.

They might have shown more worry had they known the truth. That their own ruler, Archon Melissa, was no longer in power, deposed by the LCAF in favor of Hesperus' Duke Vedet Brewer.  Whatever one thought of Melissa's mistakes these past few years, the Steiners were the Lyran Commonwealth to many.  It was for precisely this reason that the fiction was maintained, that the Archon was battling illness and exhaustion while trying to fight the war that nobody would speak of, and Vedet Brewer was standing in for her.

In the Archon's office - his office - Vedet quietly stewed over the reports.  He was content to let high society continue to act as it had.  He didn't need them panicking.  But a part of him was growing tired with the facade, and his "supporters" in the LCAF refusing to make his appointment more permanent.  For all his contacts, the whereabouts of Melissa Steiner were unknown to him, and so long as she lived, she was a threat.  The Falcons, the damned Falcons, were steadily eroding his authority, no matter how many times Anastasia Kerensky thwarted or deflected Wolf strikes.  She couldn't do so indefinitely, and she couldn't be everywhere at once.  Sooner or later, if she lost…

Melissa will have me killed, there is no doubt.  That thought stuck in his head while he read a report transmitted from a newly-arrived JumpShip, speaking of another Wolf victory in the Dar-es-Salaam Theater.  It is me, or it is her.

The intercom on his desk buzzed.  He held down the transmit key on it.  "Yes?"

"Your Highness, General Maurer is here."

"Let him in."  Vedet drew himself up in the chair and set the reports aside.  For all Maurer helped him secure power, he remained immune to all Vedet's efforts to support public acknowledgement of his role.  He will regret it when I finally have the authority to deal with the High Command.

Maurer came through the doors and snapped a salute.  "Archon, we have news from the Falcon front.  Timkovichi."

"The Hounds are dead?"  Vedet said the words with more hope than he should have allowed.  The Kells were Steiner loyalists to a man, and alive their Hounds - and the blasted Clanners they kenneled with - posed a threat he hoped the Falcons would relieve him of; Martin Kell might be inclined to a patient, political solution to problems, at least, but Evan - Evan Kell was a hothead who Vedet knew very well had never liked him, and had a well-earned reputation for leaving very few of his enemies alive. The same was true of Khan Patrik Fetladral; if anything, that barbarian giant was even worse than Evan Kell for pure vindictiveness.  Yet, despite that, he needed them; their troops, at least, and those troops wouldn’t obey anyone he tried to put in charge.  It was … highly irksome.  "Did they manage to bloody the Falcons, at least?"

"The Kell Hounds are triumphant," Maurer said.  "Malvina Hazen's Golden Ordun are ruined.  The Horses lost one of their best Galaxies."

Vedet blinked at the news.  Hazen defeated?  He didn't know whether to be ecstatic or horrified.  "Their losses?  I cannot imagine they won easily."

"Not insignificant, but the Hounds remain an intact fighting force."  Maurer approached and presented a disc.  "You need to see this, Archon.  I cannot tell you what we have learned without you seeing it first."

"I have little time for such games.  Just tell me."

Maurer shook his head.  "You will not believe me otherwise.  Timkovichi has… changed a great many things, Archon."

Seeing Maurer would not relent, Vedet took the disc, holding himself back just enough to not snatch it from the general's hand.  He slipped it into his secured personal comp and accessed the visual file.

The holo-recordings played.  He played them again, just to be sure of what he was seeing.  The sudden emergence signature and jump, bringing forth more WarShips than had been seen together since the invasion of Terra over sixty years ago, and their swift and brutal annihilation of the Falcon cruiser just seconds before it would have wiped out the Kell Hounds.  A host of DropShips descended into the combat zone, bringing in four regiments of BattleMechs to utterly crush Malvina Hazen's Golden Ordun and the Horses' present forces.  Vedet noted Evan Kell didn't mince words on the matter, giving full credit to the new arrivals.  Duchess Schmitt-Levensky's report said much the same.

Vedet's first impulse was to dismiss this as a fantasy, some kind of trick by the Kells.  But he kept coming back to the question of benefit: obviously the Hounds survived, so why would they make something like this up? Were they covering for an ally they wished to keep secret?

"I considered if it might be fake as well, but the reports from the surviving officers of the Timkovichi Armoured Guards verified the particulars," Maurer said.  "Given everything we have learned about how the Blackout has changed hyperspace, maybe bridges to other versions of the Inner Sphere are possible?  The important matter is that the Falcon and Horse advance has suffered a major blow, the Falcon Khan is a prisoner of these 'Arcadians', and it might buy us time to stiffen defenses."

"So it would.  See about securing what confirmation you can, I want to know more about what we're dealing with.  As it stands to the populace…"  Vedet smiled.  'Well, we do not wish to misinform the public intentionally.  For now, we will simply indicate these were reinforcements rushed to the front.  We'll let the other information come out as the situation develops."

"A reasonable choice, Archon."

He could tell Maurer wasn't fooled.  He wouldn't stop it, but nor would he ignore that this was politics.  Vedet fully intended to claim credit for the situation and make himself the hero who was leading the Commonwealth's successful defense.  He already had the proposed statement to deliver to the Commonwealth Press and Donegal Broadcasting Company forming in his head.  Let them keep that psychotic Falcon bitch Hazen.

"There is still the matter of the Wolf front.  Reinforcements will be needed."

"We are arranging them as quickly as possible.  Perhaps some might even be shifted back in that direction, if the Falcon and Horse attacks are ceased," Vedet proposed.  "As things stand, Anastasia Kerensky continues to vex them."

"I am aware you place great stock in her forces. and why, but we cannot expect her to win forever," Maurer warned.  "Nor can she be everywhere at once.  The Wolves simply advance where she is not present."

"Where reinforcements can be arranged, they will be sent."

"Even your Hesperan Guards?"

Vedet's eyes narrowed.  I suppose you do wish me to send them to the front, all the easier to put me under your thumb.  "Until I can be sure that the former Archon's loyalists do not interfere with our war effort, they must remain.  Had you approved Lady Trillian's continued confinement, it may not be necessary, but she is loyal to Melissa and a threat to our current government in that respect.  We need to be on guard for any surprises she may spring on us."

"We have her under watch," Maurer said.  "There are contingencies in place if she were to go rogue, but we're confident that her loyalty to the Lyran Commonwealth and its survival is greater than any political ambitions she may foster."

Contingencies?  As if you're too good to admit you have agents on the Archon's Fist who will assassinate Lady Trillian if she steps out of line.  "Be that as it may, the security of our government requires the Hesperan Guards remain on Tharkad.  Unless you have other proposals for seeing to our security?"  He grinned at the general.  "Perhaps you are ready to make this arrangement more… permanent?"

Maurer, curse him, gave no evident reaction on his neutral expression.  "The High Command is satisfied with your performance so far, but until such a time as we can determine the appropriate way of handling Melissa Steiner, she will remain in our protective custody."

"And the Hesperan Guards will remain here, should she manage to foment rebellion in that custody," Vedet announced pointedly.  Hide her all you want, Maurer, but I will get to her eventually.  I will never let this throne go.  Never!


AFS Arcadia, Royal Road Recharge Station
Nadir Jump Point, Dar-es-Salaam System
Dar-es-Salaam Federal March
Royal Federation
20 October 3142


From the dark, the ghosts of the dead came for her again.

Malvina was small.  Weak.  Hungry.  She laid in her bed in the sibko barracks, shared with Aleks, the only being in the world that mattered.  They remained quiet in their famished misery, if only because giving voice to the pain from the void in their bellies would bring the wrath of the Falconers.  "Warriors persevere.  They accept.  They do not complain!"

The others saw her, saw Aleks, as weak.  They were coming for them.  Two less mouths to take the sibko's rationed food supplies meant more food for the others.  Malvina gritted her teeth.  She knew when the first would appear over the edge of the bunk and readied her hand into a fist.  The first blow would decide everything.

Except she had no hand.  She had no arm.  Nothing below her shoulders and hips.  She was helpless.

In a panic she turned to Aleks.  He was going to strike first anyway.  But the boy Aleks wasn't there.  Aleks' corpse, broken and battered, sat in the shattered command couch of a 'Mech.

Aleks is dead.  I am alone.  I have no one.

The first of her murderous sibkin appeared in her vision.  Malvina willed her nails to rake the figure's throat, but no arm moved to her defense.  She felt hands grip her throat and start to squeeze.  "Failure.  Die so the rest of us can eat!"

She tried to speak, to shriek, to scream, to do something, but she couldn't do a single thing.  Aleks was gone, her limbs were gone, she was alone and helpless and weak.  Her vision blackened as her lungs screamed for air that could not come.

"Die a failure!"  With those words, her attacker… kissed her.

Malvina's eyes opened fully.  She looked at her attacker, truly looked, for the first time, and saw it wasn't one of the sibkin who tried to kill her that night. For a moment, the face and body blurred, shifting; to David McKinnon, the ancient Paladin who’d frustrated her on Glengarry; Jana Pryde, wrapped in the austere formality of Clan tradition that failed to hide her contempt; Tara Campbell, the doll-like Countess of Northwind she hated above all but one other, somehow merged with her Hatchetman in a demonic fusion of the machine and woman that had ended the life of her brother. Then, it solidified into a dark mirror of the soul.

It was her.  The voice, the hands, the contempt, it was all her.

The pressure ended and the pain relented.  Malvina awoke again.  This time there were no sibko barracks, and she was not a child.  She was an adult and a cripple, a prisoner.

One of the white-suited nurses appeared over her before disappearing.  When she returned, the man in the red uniform reappeared.  She remembered him: Lieutenant Commander John, with that second name… All Bright?  She could never remember Inner Sphere names, not unless they were Bloodnames.  He was her jailor, or minder, or some such thing.  The bane of her existence.  "I invoke bondsref," she said.  "Kill me."

"I won't, and I couldn't even if I wanted to," he replied.  "Another nightmare?"

"Phantoms and dreams," she huffed, even though she could still feel the hands on her throat, the scream of her lungs for air.  "Is that all you care about, Commander John?  Or is this to torture me?  A punishment of some kind?"

"I don't punish, I'm a doctor," he replied.  "Responsible for you and Cynthy."

Cynthy.  Her bondswoman, her… ward?  This man had her.  "You have taken her as isorla?"

"No."  He shook his head.  "I'm her attending psychiatrist, at least for now."

Her lips curled into a snarl.  "Psychiatrist," she spat with scorn.  "Spheroid freeborn tripe."

Commander John remained beside her, presumably having his foot hooked along what passed for the floor so he remained in place in the zero-G.  "Your people don't study mental illness?"

"The Scientists do, for purposes of dealing with the lower castes," she answered.  "Or so they say.  But warriors do not need such things.  A warrior who needs to be coddled by soft speaking would die in the first trial they faced."  To her surprise, he chuckled.  "That amuses you?"

"It sounds like things I've heard from some of the more aggressive soldiers I've treated," he replied.  "Truth is, though, that mental illness doesn't give a damn how strong you are or how good you are in a 'Mech.  It's no different than having a problem with your stomach or your lung or your heart.  A part of you is malfunctioning.  Only thing is, it's not so easy to treat, because a problem with the mind doesn't always show on a body scan.  So we have to talk, and learn, and figure out what the problem might be, and if we can treat it.  It's a hell of a lot of work that we train hard for."

"Ah."  Malvina nodded at him.  "So you see this work as a challenge?  You test yourself against mental illnesses?"

"In a way."

"An enemy you cannot see, that you must stalk through words."  The idea became familiar to her in that respect.  The love of the hunt.  She smiled.  "Yes.  I can see the appeal, then, of becoming a hunter of mental illness.  It requires cunning and skill."

"An apt description."  John's eyes focused on her in a way Malvina did not quite like.  "Right now I think I'm on quite a hunt, in fact."

"You mean me.  You seek a mental illness in me."  Malvina laughed at him.  "I have been called many things, Commander John.  Crazy is but one."

"So I hear.  But I am still responsible for your mental health, it's my duty to attend to you," he insisted.  "It's these nightmares you keep having that are getting my attention.  They're recurring a lot.  We usually take that as a sign of acute PTSD, at the very least.  That's 'post-traumatic stress disorder', by the way.  Happens when a person experiences a significant trauma that their minds can't process, something they can't move on from.  So to speak.  It's very common in soldiers… in warriors."

"Such is the life of a warrior, Commander John.  At any moment a warrior in battle may die.  The victory, the honor, rests on every decision, and defeat is to lose everything."  She frowned.  "Victory is the only acceptable outcome, no matter what it takes.  Everything that fights you must be destroyed to ensure it."

"So your nightmares.  They're of a defeat?"

Her mind went back to that night.  She remembered the pain.  The blood.  Aleks' wounds and bruises.  The dead bodies under her, and the shouting Falconers pulling her off of her enemies.  "No.  A victory becoming a defeat," she answered.  She surprised herself at the admission.

He nodded.  "Even victories carry costs.  It can still be traumatic to experience the fight, even if you win it."

"To lose was to die."  As she said the words she thought of everything that came afterward.  The lessons it taught her, and how they brought her… to this place.  To her final failure.  "Your people will kill me eventually, no matter what you wish.  Why are you concerned with my… mental health?"  The combination of words was awkward, even uncomfortable, to her.

"Because it's my duty to attend to you, until you're removed from my care.  And…"  A slight grin finally appeared on his face.  "It's a challenge that I want to win.  Whatever is in your mind, I want to find it."

"A hunt then.  I look forward to seeing if you catch your prey," she replied.  Not that you will understand.  Freebirths, Spheroids, can never understand.



LCS Archon's Fist, Near Timkovichi Orbit
Timkovichi System, Coventry Province
Lyran Commonwealth
22 October 3142

Years of rushing about the Commonwealth had Trillian well-adjusted to zero-G living, almost to the point she could pass for a naval officer.  She gently floated from her DropShuttle with practiced ease after the hatch opened and went for the exit hatch from the shuttle bay.  She moved with a little urgency, though taking care to watch the hatchways and the corners.

I suppose rushing is unnecessary, given how fast things have gone.  Truth be told, she'd expected to just now be arriving at Timkovichi, not ending three days of careful meetings with Duchess Katarina Schmitt-Levensky, Captain Victor Hanson of the Epaminondas, Major Nadia Allard, and Major General Labh Khan Singh, the commander of the Arcadians' 2nd Royal Cuirassiers Regimental Combat Team.

For all she'd viewed the holos Martin Kell sent her, it was seeing things in Timkovichi that made it all real.  The unfamiliar uniforms and machines at Field Base Carroll, the sleekish wasp shape of the AFS Epaminondas when the Arcadian "light cruiser" met her incoming ship just a few days ago, and the Looking Glass itself.  They'd actually made contact with the inhabitants of another Inner Sphere, where the history was different.

At least they sounded receptive, she thought while clearing the final hatch.  Captain Hanson heartily approved of an alliance, and Major General Singh was likewise candid with her on his thoughts, including the barriers she would face.  His words played again in her head, in that Giausar-Punjabi accent.  "The Federation has enemies, and His Majesty cannot send many troops without incurring the fury of the Archdukes of his border Marches.  If you can persuade their supporters in the Parliament, however…"

Admittedly hearing of a "Parliament" made her think of that employed by the Free Worlds League, both the reborn one and the older, defunct body, but reading on it broke that conception in her mind.  The Estates-General is closer to the concept, except with a second chamber above the democratic one.  Winning them to the alliance would go a long way to fulfilling her plans, drawn up in that week of long nights with Martin Kell before she returned to the Archon's Fist and came here.  She already had the wording of the treaty ready, in fact, given the weeks of transit she spent to get here.

Normally she'd have headed for her quarters aboard, but she went for the ship's navigation bridge instead.  Set into the bow, it was generally manned by one of the ship's officers, working with those in the command center to navigate the Archon's Fist through the void.  The LCAF personnel aboard generally didn't like her going around the sensitive military areas, but the navigation bridge had few pieces of sensitive equipment, and sufficient space for her to observe.  An NCO let her through the hatch and dutifully closed it behind her.  Unlike some of the other crew, the man was in a full body space-suit with helmet, as were the others in the navigation bridge.  She floated over to a rail and gripped it, slipping her feet into the rail before securing herself into the seat behind it.

A naval Leutnant, a young woman with dark hair visible on her temples through the faceplate of her helmet, saluted her before handing her a face breather.  "Nice to see ye, Lady Trillian," she said in a chipper Donegal brogue.  The name "McCarter'' was emblazoned on her uniform spacesuit.  "It's the regs, Your Ladyship, and technically ye shud be in a full space suit, given the port's the first thing that'll go if the ship takes a hit in a fight.  But the breather shud be enough."

"Right."  She put it on and started pulling the straps to tighten it against her face.

McCarter helped her fit it.  "If ye've come to see the Glass up close, ye're right on time."

And indeed she was.  The transparent polymer that allowed this room, and this room only, to view the empty void was already pointed toward the ethereal anomaly left by the Arcadians when they'd suddenly appeared in-system.  Now that she was aboard, the Archon's Fist was maneuvering toward the rift.  "Alle Hände bereiten sich auf fusionsbrand und Orientierungsänderung vor," a voice called out over the ship intercom.

Trillian felt the tremor as the ship's fusion drives engaged.  "Forward" became "up" and "back" became "down".  She went from sitting upright to laying back, the ship's acceleration providing a false sense of gravity.  The sensation was part of life in space and she was well-used to it.  Instead her sole focus was on the pale blue light looming ahead, growing larger with every passing second.

"Zwei Minuten bis zur Feldgrenze," stated the intercom.

I'm going to another universe.  The thought was beyond the ken of anything Trillian imagined she would do in her life.  Her stomach flittered with excitement and terror as the minutes passed.  Even her mission was forgotten for the moment, buried under the enormity of the act itself.  The idea.  She was making history in a way more in line with the crews of the first JumpShips a thousand years ago, not in any way as she'd expected to in her life.

The Looking Glass now dominated the navigation window.  "Dreißig Sekunden bis zur Feldgrenze.... fünfundzwanzig... zwanzig... fünfzehn... zehn..."

She swallowed.  Singh and Hanson told her it felt less stressful than a jump, at least.  But it didn't stop the anxiety of the moment.

By the time the countdown reached zero the pale blue light filled the navigation bridge.  It overtook everything around Trillian until she saw nothing else.  The sensation was close to a jump.  An otherworldly feeling, like being outside of her body, filled her for a brief second.

The light vanished.  Empty void appeared through the window.  The officer from the bridge announced the all-clear over the intercom.

"Mother Mary, that was a rush," McCarter breathed.

"Yes, it was," Trillian agreed.

Several moments of quiet passed before the intercom rang again.  "Lady Trillian."  This time the voice was that of Kaptain Frederick Mullen, the Archon's Fist's commander.  "There's a ship signaling us from the Atocongo recharge station, identifying as the JumpShip Stars' Gleam.  They're jumping for Arc-Royal in three hours and have a spare collar for us to attach to."

She recognized the name.  "Captain Hanson said the ship would be waiting for us, go ahead and accept with my thanks."

"Doing so."

We're still a dozen or so jumps away, Trillian thought, although she focused enough attention to free herself from the seat.  The rest of the crew on the navigation deck returned to their duties under McCarter's watchful eye.  But every system along the way is supposed to have a recharge station, and possible rides besides that.  I could be to Arcadia in as little as a couple weeks if we run into the right JumpShips.  She drew in a breath once she was through the hatch.  Now that she'd actually done the act, and come through the Looking Glass, the enormity of her burden was coming down on her.  Everything she and Martin were planning relied on her coming back with a signed treaty.

She headed back toward her quarters and activated her computer systems.  Every scrap of data they had on the Arcadians was here and already studied.  But now that they were through the Glass, she could hopefully find even more.  Holovids, news reports, she needed it all if she was to convince the Arcadians to sign on the dotted line.  Melissa, Martin, the entire Commonwealth is counting on this.  I have to get the alliance, or Vedet's going to lead us into disaster.