The Huskarls' Hold

[Cidwm]

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 5-2

St. John
25 March 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 5-3

St. John
25 March 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

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

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

[Hellfire]

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

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

[ckosacranoid]

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 6-1

St. John
30 March 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wahlgren said, “Understood.”

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 6-2

St. John
30 March 3050

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

“Trouble?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Explain, Corporal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 6-3

DropShip Riziryanto Maru, Rodigo system
10 April 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 7-1

St. John
12 April 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neg.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you inform Ramon Sender of this?”

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

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

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

“Close enough.”

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

“I agree.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 7-2

Jump Ship Dire Wolf, New Bergren system
7 May 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 7-3

Jump Ship Dire Wolf, New Bergren system
27 May 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aff.”

“Did you succeed?”

“Aff.”

“Then why were you reprimanded?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None.”

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

“Neg.”

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

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

“Neg.  I was not defeated.”

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

“Five.”

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

“Lanfen defied my orders!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Aff.”

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

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

“But their defiance made you angry, quiaff?”

“Their treachery made harsh reprisal necessary.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did he also agree to a cease-fire?”

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

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

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

“Who accepted your batchall?”

“A political representative, Attaché Laura Nikula.”

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

“Attaché Laura.”

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

“Attaché Laura.”

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

“Attaché Laura.”

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

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

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

“Neg.”

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

“Neg.”

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

“Neg.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Zureal]

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 8-1

Kirchbach
17 June 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3rd Bat
Maxim CV, 1 Beagle, 2 Scimitars

A – hover hammer
      4 Saladins
      4 Saladins
      4 Scimitar missiles

B – hover
      4 Saladins
      4 Pegasus Missiles
      4 Scimitar Missiles

C – hover
      4 Saladins
      4 Pegasus Missiles
      4 Scimitar Missiles

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 8-2

Kirchbach
16 June 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 8-3

Kirchbach
16 June 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[robbybarbera]

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

[DOC_Agren]

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


corrected

[Siegfried Marcus]

Lt. Col. Soren Olmet

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 9-1

Rasalhague
20 June 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What can I do?”

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 9-2

12 July 3050
Rasalhague

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Are you cancelling my leave?”  she insisted.

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

“Why are you here?”

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

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

“I can’t.  I’m not fit to –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 9-3

Jump Ship Dire Wolf, Rasalhague system
7 August 3050

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unbelievable…  Sorry, no sympathy for the Devil.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 10-1

Rasalhague
12 August 3050

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

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

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

“They’re attacking on Reykjavik?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Set it up in my study.  I’ve got to hit the head.”  A few months ago every senior officer in the Republic wanted a slice of the pie, where are they all now?

Tobiassen sat in his study with his first, much needed, cup of coffee.  “Colonel Jacobsen, I need your help in an urgent and dangerous matter.”

Jacobsen replied, “Representative Tobiassen, I was told … this is highly irregular.  I’m not comfortable with you coming directly to me.”

If you’re uncomfortable now, just wait.  “Desperate times, desperate measures.  We don’t have the luxury of going through the chain of command.  This is a matter of survival for the Republic.  I’m going to need you –” 

“Stop right there, sir.  I’m not doing anything crazy for you.”

“This isn’t for me,” Tobiassen protested.  “This is for you – for all of us.  We have one hope to stop the Clans. The Prince is –”

Jacobsen cut him off again.  “I have the terrible feeling you are about to say something I can’t hear.  I’ll do whatever the Republic requires of me.  If this is over the General Numsalu’s head, I need to see authorization from the Prince or General Mansdottir.  The day I start taking orders from a politician is the day I put my head in a noose.  Now, out of respect for our history –”

Damn it, this isn’t going to work.  “Colonel, you have misunderstood me completely.  I was just trying to expedite things, but you are right.  You will receive all necessary communications through the proper chain of command in due time.  Good luck out there.”

Tobiassen let out a long sigh.  “Ashlyn, who else we got.”

Garza looked incredulous.  “Call him back.  The Prince has stacked the capital with his own officers.  You’ve got to get Jacobsen.” 

“What about the Huskarls?  Didn’t I turn the KungsArmé on its head to create them?”

“As you know, Andersson commands the First.  The Sixth and Eighteenth are in Hammerfest.  Bitar’s training regiment doesn’t have the cohesion, and neither do Wahlgren’s new auxiliaries.”

Tobiassen seized on that last name.  “Wahlgren from the Black Horse?  Now there’s a man I own.  Is his regiment in action?” 

Garza frowned.  “It’s not strong enough.  They are newly organized with second rate gear.  Few of the officers know Wahlgren personally, and, despite our best efforts, some of them are not politically reliable.”

“This isn’t a test of strength, it’s a test of will.  Wahlgren has the will.  And his head is already in the noose; he knows if I go down, he’ll be dragged down with me.  Where is he now?”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 10-2

Rasalhague
12 August 3050

Colonel Wahlgren never liked the narrow layout of the Tjugo.  The holo-display on his left cut him off from everyone but his XO.  Al-Bishi reached awkwardly to indicate the route for the Second Battalion.  Leave it to the Huskarls to cram a regimental HQ into a 20 ton chassis.  But then, if it weren’t for that kind of mentality, there wouldn’t be 28 Huskarl regiments.

The hastily assembled 28th couldn’t compare to the Black Horse he had formerly commanded.  The lances were only four strong.  He had no attack helos and no heavy tanks.  The Gustav As forming the core of his force used a standard AC-10 due to a shortage of the superior LBX.  His Third Battalion had no tanks at all, instead it consisted of an awkward mix of Harassers and Hetzers. 

Personnel problems compounded the deficiencies in equipment.  The crews were Huskarl volunteers from off-world.  They had the resolve to fight the Clan but no experience working together.  Many of the officers seemed to have been chosen more for their political allegiance than their battle readiness.  I know I’m lucky to have a command at all, but there’s no more time for this factional infighting.  The enemy is on our soil for God’s sake, and Tobiassen’s people are still concerned about how some lieutenant’s wife voted.  When the dust settles, I’m going to be awfully exposed on this.  But it’s too late to hedge now.  Not to mention we still have a war to win.

The main problem with off-world officers was that they had no resistance to the Fenris Plague.  The 28th had extra crews to account for this contingency, but not enough.  Wahlgren had gotten the Plague several years ago, and this bout wasn’t as bad.  Yet even with treatment, he endured headaches and vomiting.

If I had a couple more months, I could have made this a real fighting regiment.  Thank God the Clan went for Asgard instead of Reykjavik.  We’ve barely had time to assemble our defenses, much less prepare them.  My regiment will be ready enough, but who knows about the militia.

The capital world didn’t place much reliance on militia because of the abundance of regular KungArmé regiments.  The brass had planned to bargain away the militia, but they reversed that after initial contact with the invaders.  Now every reservist was being called to arms, but after weeks of hearing that they wouldn’t be needed or useful, they were of dubious value.  Yet each passing day made the fight more real.  Most people cared little about what happened on distant planets, but this was their home.  A hostile and alien people were on their soil, and this hardened their resolve.

As for his own regiment, Wahlgren had felt confident so long as he had been supporting the First Huskarl at Stenlille.  The First Huskarl was rife with cronyism and stocked with monarchists.  On the other hand, it had excellent equipment, good junior officers, and well-trained crews.  Besides, who has time for politics now?  The Clan threatens monarchists and parliamentarians alike.  Well I’ve got my regiment, and I’ve got my orders.  If we’re to be a speedbump, let’s be as bumpy we can. 

Wahlgren had just split his forces to be divided between two strongholds along the partially completed outer defenses.  Each stronghold would also have a battalion of KungArmé infantry and a couple regiments of militia.  If the Clan tried to bypass the stronghold, he was to harass them.  If they made a direct assault, he was to inflict “prohibitive losses” to drive them away.  It worked on St. John when the Black Horse teamed up with Meyer’s tenacious militia, but they were facing much longer odds this time. 

An urgent request came in from General Nurmsalu’s office.  What does he want?  I thought he was running the Southern District.  The Wolves are at our throat, and we still haven’t even figured out our bloody chain-of-command.  Wahlgren’s head-ache flared up as he opened the channel.  “This is Balsam Fir Actual.  Security protocol …”  The pounding in his head prevented him from finding the right procedures. 

A familiar voice said, “Save it, Wahlgren – no time.”

“Johan?  You can’t call me like this.”  Why would he be so careless? 

“I need your regiment in the capital ASAP,” said Tobiassen.  “There’s a crisis.  I’ll work on getting you orders, but I need you to move now.  Who are your most loyal company commanders?”

“Most loyal?  What kind of crisis is this?”  I’m talking to a politician; what does that tell me?

“You know exactly what I mean, Colonel.  I need officers who serve the Republic and its people above all else … even above the Prince.”

“Johan!  Are you insane?  How long do you think it will take for this to get back to Command?” 

Tobaissen said, “Longer than it will take Prince Magnusson to flee off-world with the Flying Drakøns.  Unless you stop him, Rasalhague is lost.”

“Jesus …”  A flash fever swept through him.  Suddenly Wahlgren noticed the looks his staff were giving him.  I’m all-in now.  He turned to Al-Bishi, “Get my regiment turned around, and pull the files on all our company commanders.”  Tobiassen gave a grunt of approval from across the comm. line.  Wahlgren said, “Johan, what can you do about Andersson’s First Huskarl?  They control the bridge at Stenlille.  Can we get through?”

“You have to.  I’ll do what I can.”

That’s not encouraging.  “When are we going to stop bickering and unite against the Clan.”

Tobiassen said, “Tomorrow.  I promise.  Good luck, Colonel.”

Wahlgren fought off another wave of aching and exhaustion.  On the way back to Stenlille, he reorganized his command.  I’m going to need my most reliable troops to face down whatever we run up against.  I’ve got some carryovers from the Black Horse, but some of them have questionable subordinates.  Tobiassen’s people gave me a few recommendations.  The lances from Radstadt and Spital should be good.  Olmet will lead.  If we present a solid front, the guys in the back will go along, especially if they don’t know what’s going on.  With any luck, they’ll only need to look impressive.  If shooting starts, they’ll have to return fire, right?  Still, I have an awful lot of weight to carry and only a  shaky grasp on this regiment.

He called up Olmet.  “I’m consolidating our most reliable soldiers on your battalion.  Pull out anyone who’s sick or afraid.  Also, I’m pulling Avery.  I’m giving you Frank instead and the best of Ando’s men.”

“Sir, Avery has more combat experience –”

Wahlgren said, “I know that, but we need people we can trust: parliamentarians.  Do you have rapport with any of Avery’s captains?”

Olmet hesitated, “Sir, this sounds really bad.”

“Yeah, I think you’ve got the picture.  I need names of officers you trust with this.  Also, look over the ones I’m sending you now.  We got ten minutes to get you a new battalion.”

Soon Wahlgren’s regiment arrived back at Stenlille.  Highway 20 cut across the defensive works and formed the only bridge for many kilometers.  Though he couldn’t see them through the dark, he knew the First Huskarl, was ready to oppose anyone who tried to cross without permission.  Wahlgren rode at the head of his column and climbed out into the cold to personally persuade Colonel Andersson to allow him to pass.  Spotlights blinded him and illuminated the vapor of his breath as he approached the checkpoint with Al-Bishi at his side.  This is no way to fight off the Fenris Plague. He shielded his eyes to see Colonel Andersson scowling in front of him.

Andersson said, “What are you doing back here?  Every minute you waste gives you less time to dig in.”

Wahlgren tried to sound casual but settled for weary.  “There was some kind of mix-up with the orders again.  Now they need us back in Reykjavik.”

“I think you’re the one who’s confused.  I still show you on the eastern perimeter.  And my orders are: no one gets through unless I hear otherwise.”

“Come on Andersson, we both know Command is a mess.  You worry about the First, and let me worry about the 28th.”

For a second Wahlgren thought he caught a glimpse of actual human decency from Andersson as he said, “I understand you are worried about your regiment.  They aren’t ready, and you drew a tough lot, but orders are orders.  I’ll check with General Hermansen; if he wants you back in the city, he needs to let me know.”

How dare this parade colonel lecture me on stepping up to the fight?  “Look Andersson, I didn’t know about it myself until 40 minutes ago.  The brass are even more turned around than usual right now, but I got urgent orders.  I’ll take full responsibility for the consequences.”  That part is for sure.  I’ll be lucky if I don’t get shot over this.

Andersson gave an indulgent smile.  “Let’s not have you stick your neck out.  I’ll make it easy for you.  You aren’t getting through without orders from the general.”

I can get you a general. Wahlgren turned to Al-Bishi, “Get me General Nurmsalu.”  He noticed the look of surprise from Andersson.  Andersson knows Nurmsalu is a parliamentarian.  I’m way out on a limb now. Andersson’s eyes flickered with doubt; he was about to respond when Wahlgren turned away.  Instead Andersson started barking orders at his own staff.

For the next few minutes radio messages flew back and forth as the two colonels’ staffs raced to muster authorization.  Wahlgren got to his general first, but Nurmsalu didn’t have any direct authority.  Nevertheless, they devised a new approach, and Nurmsalu fired off a message to General Hermansen.  This is a weak bluff to put it all on the line.  Moments later Andersson approached with a triumphant smile and handed Wahlgren a comm. saying,  “General Hermansen for you.”

The general spoke first, “What’s this Andersson says about you wanting to go back to Reykjavik?  I didn’t order that.”

“Yes Sir.  General Nurmsalu was supposed to coordinate with you, but I guess he’s been tied up all day.”

“We all are, you fool.  It’s like a bloody hurricane here.  I’ll see you flogged just for making me deal with this.  Whatever you’ve got it will wait until tomorrow.”

“No sir,” said Wahlgren.  “I promised my men that I’d get my sick out of the combat zone.  My regiment will hold those god-forsaken heaps of concrete so long as they’ve got breath and ammo, but not if I have to go back on my word with them.”

“What are you talking about?  Your regiment is 85% effective.”

“No sir.  We’ve been ravaged by a new bout of plague.  You know these guys aren’t local, and the plague is tearing through them.  There was some problem with the data upload on my last entry.  Maybe you show 85%, but I’m nowhere close.  General, I promised my soldiers.  If you send me back with my tail between my legs, I’ll have no cred with my men, but if you let me do right by them, we’ll be your rock.  Plus Southern can use some of our spare equipment.  Check with Nurmsalu.”

General Hermansen let out a belabored sigh, “Hold on … there is something.”  The line went silent for a moment.  Andersson gave Wahlgren a look of death.  He held out his hand to demand the comm. back, but Wahlgren refused.  Hermansen spoke again, “Wahlgren, you were out of line making promises like that without my approval, but what’s done is done.  I’m clearing you to get your sick out, and the rest of you get back in position.  You had no business bringing your whole regiment back in the first place.  You will answer for that later, but right now, I don’t want to hear another word about this.  Put Andersson back on.”

“Yes sir,” said Wahlgren.  He handed back the comm. I’ll have to put Olmet in charge.  Andersson will expect to see me lead the rest of my regiment back.  Olmet’s battalion is the only one I’d count on anyway.

“But sir,” said Andersson, “he’s changing his story … but …but sir.  Yes, sir.  I understand, sir.”  Andersson stiffly returned the comm. to his staff.  “Alright Wahlgren, whatever game you’re up to, you’re in deep now.  You’ve got just enough rope to hang yourself.”

[Siegfried Marcus]

Chapter 10-3

Rasalhague
12 August 3050

“Yo, Cologne, we’re up.”  Robert Latvala’s mates called him “Cologne.”  As if they hadn’t been just as eager to impress the Duchess of Clay Flats.  And last night I was the one who scored with … Kasumi, was it?  Not that the members of the Royal Guards Company needed much help with that.  It was the most prestigious posting in the Republic for a young mechwarrior.

Twitch pounded at the door, and Latvala shouted, “Alright, Twitch.  Le’ me get cleaned up.”  He climbed over the woman from last night.  This better not be another parade.

Twitch opened the door and said, “No time for preening, Casanova.  Major says report for duty in fifteen.”

Latvala grunted and started getting dressed.  For real this time?  Thank God.  I was afraid they were going to keep me standing around the palace like some toy soldier.  If anyone’s equipped to go toe to toe with these Clanners, it’s us.  A mech like Skoll deserves to see some action.

He respected the threat from the Clan mechs, but the Royal Guards Company fielded a new generation of battlemechs.  The Command Lance had two premium BattleMasters: a commander’s BLR-1C and a BLR-3M with an ER PPC.  Older models, a Thunderbolt and an Archer 2K, filled the other slots.  The Recon Lance had two of the Republic’s own Phoenix Hawk 3K prototypes, a Jenner, and a Firestarter.  The Battle Lance consisted of some of the most modern mechs in the Sphere.  A Grand Dragon DRG-5K served as a second command mech.  The Centurion 9D carried the Republic’s own LBX type AC.  Sadly, Twitch was still riding a standard Griffin while waiting for the new 3M model to arrive.  That left Skoll: Latvala’s own Wolverine 7K.

Latvala strode into the briefing twelve minutes later.  Only the Command and Battle lance were there, suggesting that Recon had moved out sometime earlier on secret orders.  The guys were debating whether they would deploy with the rest of the First Drakøns or cover potential weakness in the southern lines.  Most assumed that their status ensured they would fight alongside their fellow mechwarriors.  Some said they would form the vanguard of a special hunter-killer task force, while others said they would be used as a strategic reserve to counter enemy breakthroughs.  One thing was certain: this was something big.  Noxie’s brother was an officer in the Flying Drakøns and she said they were putting all their birds in the air.  Only Lt. Smets said nothing.  His expression suggested that his warriors were about to be disappointed.  I guess they can’t just throw us into the thick of it, but if we’re mobilizing now, they must plan on showing us some action soon.  We’re too good to sit this one out.

Moments later, Major Lundberg entered and began his briefing.  He would personally lead Battle Lance from the second cockpit of Smets’ Grand Dragon.  The Prince would ride with Command Lance … to the spaceport … where they would all board transports and escape off-world.  The briefing room erupted with indignation that momentarily derailed the briefing.  The major waited until the ruckus died down, then patiently explained that their mission – indeed their purpose – was to ensure the safety of the Prince.  The Prince had determined that he cannot rule from a planet under blockade, and so it was their duty to escort him to safety so that he can continue to lead the war-effort.  The briefing concluded with the details of their route and the necessity of their mission.  Despite grumbling and disgruntled looks, the mechwarriors resigned themselves to their duty. 

They make it sound like we’re beaten already.  A few minutes ago we were fired up to fight, and now they’ve sucked the life right out of us.  But what can we do?  The Prince himself made the call.  I can’t believe he would do that.  What’s the point of electing a warrior if he won’t stand and fight?  It’s got to be those Citadel generals behind this.  Them and the Parliamentarians.  Tobiassen and the rest, they got to him somehow and convinced him to run.  Just like they convinced him to turn his back on his fellow mechwarriors. 

Latvala climbed into the cockpit of Skoll and ran the diagnostics.  He had the standard load out for the new 7K model, making a it a heavy-hitting, short-range brawler.  The display on all those fancy weapons systems lit up showing off twice the firepower of his old Mech.  For a brief moment he imagined cutting up some Clan Elementals with his pulse lasers, then he remembered he would be doing nothing of the kind.  I’ve got a brand new mech with the latest engine, specialized lasers, and increased armor.  I should be taking this beast into battle.  Instead we’ll probably get toasted while docking and end up as space junk.  What a shameful way to go. 

It was a short trip to the spaceport.  He took point hopping along the rooftops.  Despite all the upgrades, Skoll still used the same underpowered jump jets of its predecessors.  None of the jumps were much over 100 meters.  No pushing the envelope on this mission.  No, we’re playing it safe all the way to … Radstadt maybe, Gunzburg, Skandia? Where does it stop?

Of course these wouldn’t be our only advanced mechs if it hadn’t been for the Huskarl reforms.  The Archer 5R was supposed to be in production by early last year.  If we had upgraded our mechs instead  of dumping money into antiquated tanks ….  The Huskarls might have made sense 20 years ago, but there’s a new generation of battlemechs, and we’re missing out thanks to those glorified militia.  Oh look, there’s a bunch of them now.

Latvala radioed Major Lundberg.  “Bow Tie, this is Cologne, I’m seeing a bunch of our armor parked in front of the A-25 bridge.  Are they part of the escort?”

“Negative.  Find out who they are.”

Latvala tried to radio them as he approached.  He touched down about 150 meters away and demanded an explanation over the loudspeakers.  Mostly Gustavs, definitely Huskarls, probably some honor detachment here to soak up the last dregs of prestige from this sad business.  Well it’s your fault you’ve undermined us real warriors who could have defeated the Clan. 

There was still no answer from the tankers.  There were a couple companies just sitting in front of the bridge.  Every barrel followed him with cold menace.  They don’t look very ceremonial.  They’re spattered with mud, and they’ve got grit in their treads.  Infra shows they’ve been running hard.    

“Bow Tie, I’m getting no response from these bus drivers.  Looks like Huskarls, but they don’t seem too friendly.”

“Cologne, remain in position, we’re right behind you.”

Three more mechs came racing onto the scene and took up position behind Latvala.  The implacable tanks still refused to respond.  Soon the Command Lance arrived but stayed a bit further back.  Latvalla wanted to fall back, but he couldn’t suggest any sign of weakness.  If it came to a fight, the Royal Guards would surely win.  Whether he would get out alive was not so certain.

The hatch opened on the lead tank, and an officer emerged.  He walked out halfway to Latvala’s mech, then spoke into a megaphone.  He seemed tiny standing there alone.  “This is Lt. Col. Olmet of the 28th Huskarl.  Subversive elements within the government have conspired to steal away our Elected Prince in our hour of greatest need.  I cannot allow that.”

The Grand Dragon stepped up in front of Latvala and spoke, “This is Major Lundberg of the First Drakøns.  I speak for the Prince, and you are in defiance of his orders.  A detachment of the Flying Drakøns is already en route to ensure his will.  You will stand down immediately or face execution for treason.”  So the Major has taken direct control of the Grand Dragon. 

From below Olmet said, “If it is treason to stand and fight for Rasalhague, then you may kill me now, Major Lundberg.  I refuse to believe that our Elected Prince, who has sworn to defend the Republic, would abandon his people.”  Olmet?  Why does that sound familiar?  He’s got heart, I’ll give him that.  Here are these second-rate tankers trying to make a stand against the First Drakøns.

Lundberg said, “You know nothing of the strategic situation.  Return to your command post, and obey your orders.  Time is short.” 

Olmet did not waiver.  “I’ve faced annihilation from the sky before.  On Kirchbach the Clan rained fire and death on us, but we fought on to secure victory.  And I saw what the Clan’s air power did to our people on St. John.  Is that the fate you will leave for Rasalhague when you take our fighters and run?”

The Grand Dragon’s posture slacked just a touch.  Oh yeah, Olmet was that Huskarl I met on Svelvik last year.  They did some hard fighting on St. John.  And he was on Kirchbach too.  Why are these Huskarls fighting at every turn, while we’re still in parade blue?  Do they really have the heart to stand in our way?  Olmet’s tanks remained inscrutable. A tank’s got a great poker face, not like a mech.  You can can read a mechwarrior from the stance of his machine.

Major Lundberg tried a new tactic.  “I know this isn’t easy.  Our leaving makes things harder on you, but the fight is bigger than that.  We all have our duty to the Prince.  If he lives then the Republic lives.  If the –”

“B.S.,” Olmet’s voice boomed out from every tank now.  “We have a duty to the Republic, and the Republic is the people.  These people.  This world.  A prince who abandons his people is nothing.  If you let the Clan tear the heart out of our nation, you’re the traitor.”

Siren’s Centurion rotated its ankle awkwardly, it’s head hung just a bit in shame.  The left arm of Twitch’s Griffin pulsed with agitation.  We’re mechwarriors!  I’ll be damned if I let these Huskarls put Rasalhague’s finest to shame.  Siren and Twitch feel the same; I can tell.  This is warrior’s blood in my veins, and I’d rather die than suffer this disgrace. 

Major Lundberg started to speak, but broke off when Latvala brought Skoll striding confidently past him.  The tank gunners took notice too, but Latvala let his arms hang slack.  He walked out halfway to Olmet then turned to face his company.  He said, “Above all else, I’m a mechwarrior.  Rasalhague is my home, and these are my people.  When future generations tell how the Clans came to take this world and enslave its people, let them say that Robert of the house of Latvala fought against them.”  Twitch started  walking toward him now.  Siren hung back only a second longer.  The Grand Dragon stood dumbfounded for a moment.  What are you going to do now Major, tell the airjocks to fire on their own regiment?  Noxie’s Archer broke ranks from the Command Lance and started walking toward them.  She hates the Huskarls more than I do.  It’s their fault she’s still riding a 2K.  But today we stand with anyone who will fight for Rasalhague.

The Grand Dragon lurched forward suddenly, then recovered its stance and spoke.  It was no longer Major Lundberg’s voice.  “This is Lt. Smets assuming command of this mech.  I stand with my lance and the people of Rasalhague.”  He turned to face the three remaining mechs. 

Olmet said, “Come out Prince Magnusson.  The threat is over.  Your loyal subjects will lay down their lives to protect you.  Now repay them by joining us on a tour of the city’s defenses.  Come down where the people can see you.  Take your place beside me atop the lead tank of our column.”

After a moment, the last three mechs stepped out.  Prince Magnusson’s voice waivered as he said, “It would be my honor to ride with the Huskarls.”

[DOC_Agren]

Nice to have it back