Waypoint EXETER
Deep Periphery
6 June 3038Natasha Kerensky was not a patient person. Although she had disciplined herself over a lifetime of military service to tolerate waiting, at least on a campaign there were timelines, deadlines and targets to hold to.
This was the furthest thing from a military campaign. She was floating down the central corridor of the Lion-class DropShip Powell, which was docked to the Wolfs Dragoons JumpShip Wanderer, itself floating at the nadir point of a star with only an alphanumeric designation instead of a name. On secret charts known only to a handful of Dragoons, this was Waypoint EXETER.
They had been here for three days, waiting for a rendevouz. In another three days, the Powell would have finished recharging, and if their contact had not turned up, the Powell and her impatient passenger would be returning to Outreach, to try again in six months, at another obscure star with another codename.
Kerensky really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The system was simple. Ten stars, two of which would be visited each year in a rotating cycle as part of the Clan Wolf Watch’s regular scouting of the periphery. The Dragoons had orders to leave information and material they wished to send back to the homeworlds at these stars. It was the only link they still had to the Clans.
Without thinking about it, she found herself at the hatch to the cargo bay. She’d already come here three times today. With a disgusted snort, she pushed back off the wall, intent on going somewhere else. But where? She’d already visited the bridge twice, and she knew she made the crew nervous. The mess deck had been graced with her presence also, her slot in the gym schedule was still four hours off, and she had no reason to be in engineering.
With a sigh, she arrested her backward movement by gripping a convenient handrail, then propelled herself into the cargo bay. Most of it was packed with provisions, but lashed to the deck on one side was a special cargo pallet - Natasha’s destination.
Locked into the frame of the pallet were hundreds of brick-sized boxes, stamped on the outside with sigils and labels.
Kerensky made her way with assurance to the far side of the pallet and pulled herself up to a box on near the top of the middle-third of the pallet, smoothly coming to a stop in from of the one that bore a Clan Wolf emblem and the label:
Star Captain Joshua (Wolf)
81-OA65014-32B
There were so many boxes, each containing the cremains of almost every Dragoon warrior and dependent who had died since they entered the Inner Sphere in 3005. Some of their comrades had fallen in ways and places that made their physical remains unrecoverable, but they were afforded a box nonetheless.
Kerensky had known almost all of them. Very well in most cases. But Joshua - Joshua had been special.
She didn’t speak aloud, she didn’t even form coherent thoughts. She simply stared at the little box with its label while a range of emotions and memories roiled in her.
She heard the cargo bay hatch open again and popped her head up over the pallet as Dechan Fraser floated over it to her side.
“Colonel,” he nodded as he settled in next to her, looking for the box a few above Joshua’s. The one that said:
Star Commander Jenette (Rand)
03-YQ33988-00X
“Major,” she replied as they floated side by side, otherwise silent. The visits to what they privately called “The Monument” had started the day they lifted from Outreach, and by now they had said all they wanted to say.
They were not the only ones to come here. Many in the crews of the Powell and Wanderer had also known some of the people whose remains were now cradled here, and they visited too, but for some reason, usually not when either Fraser or Kerensky were here.
Several minutes passed. As they floated, Fraser’s knee bumped Kerensky’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” he offered.
Kerensky grunted. “Still nothing out there?”
Fraser shook his head. “They’d have called us.” He put out a hand to check the twisting motion imparted to his body by the head-shake. “You want to go another round in the sims?”
“You’re a glutton for punishment,” snorted Kerensky.
“You’ve got about a century’s lead piloting OmniMechs on me,” Fraser shot back with a grin
“Steady there, whelp,”
“And besides, I’m closing the gap,” he finished.
“That’s such a load of-”
“Colonel Kerensky to the Bridge at the rush. Colonel Kerensky to the bridge at the rush,” barked the intercom.
Kerensky and Fraser traded a glance, and then pushed off for the door.
Less than a minute later, they arrived on the bridge, which was bustling with activity.
Captain Vernon spun his chair, to which he was locked by a five-point harness..
“We have an E-wave. Wanderer is reorienting to give our guns optimum clearance,” he jerked his head toward the viewport, where the stars were slowing shifting.
“Ten seconds to emergence!” called the painfully young sensor chief.
The bridge hatch opened again and Susan Tulliver entered. The third member of their little party, Tulliver was no warrior, though she had family in service with the Dragoons. An anthropologist and historian, she had charge of the terabytes of data on the Inner Sphere that they carried.
“Is it them?” she asked.
“Emergence!” announced the sensor chief somewhat redundantly as a flash of light briefly whited-out the viewport.
“Silhouette unknown!”
“Did you use the Enhanced Warbook?” snapped Captain Vernon.
“Er… no, sir! Sorry, sir. Running Enhanced Warbook now, sir!”
“Kids,” Captain Vernon grumbled under his breath, but Fraser was close enough to hear him.
“ID one Hunter-class Jumpship, hauling a Confederate-class Dropper. No IFF.”
“Thank you, Sensors.”
“Wanderer is challenging,” reported the CommTech.
Fraser, Kerensky and Tulliver crowded the viewport. The tiny-looking block shaped Hunter was starting to deploy it’s jump-sail, the near-sphere of a Confederate-class DropShip breaking the lines on one side.
Fraser was no expert on JumpShips, but having spent an appreciable fraction of his life in space, he knew his share, and he was certain he’d never seen the design before. Tulliver did voice his unspoken question.
“Yeah, Hunter-class. Unique to the Clans,” Kerensky confirmed, before Captain Vernon called her back.
“Colonel, our unknown is identifying herself at the Torvald Sælgeflåde ship Ståndaktig,” he finally got out, tripping over the unfamiliar pronunciation.
“If that’s a Jarnfolk trading vessel, I’m the Magestrix of the Canopians,” snorted Fraser.
“You don’t have the pins for it,” Tulliver commented, sotto voce.
Kerensky floated back to Vernon’s side.
“Tell Comms to put me on,” she said. Vernon nodded to Comms “Make it so,” while passing Kerensky a spare headset.
“Channel open, Colonel,” confirmed Comms momentarily.
“Presumed Clan Wolf vessel, authenticate GRANITE NINER GOLD,” she broadcast.
There was static for almost a minute. Fraser and Tulliver turned to watch Kerensky. As the ranking officer, it was all up to her.
Then, just as Fraser was about to say something, the static cleared:
“Powell, Clan Wolf Ship Hou Yi authenticating ZULU ZULU QUEBEC. Please transmit a transfer manifest.”
Fraser let out a breath, noting that the same thing seemed to be happening all over the bridge.
“Tulliver, give Captain Vernon the master manifest for transmission. Fraser, with me. Captain Vernon, I’m going to need to borrow a couple of your spacers.”
“Understood - Comms, page Chief Carnegie to Cargo-One, please,” agreed Captain Vernon as Tulliver slid up behind the CommTech and the two Dragoons officers left the bridge.
Half an hour later, Fraser and Kerensky stood by one of the Powell’s airlocks. The Hou Yi had dispatched an ST-46 shuttle. The arrowhead-shaped craft had docked with the Wanderer and now the Clan Wolf party was transferring to the Powell.
“Sorry I’m late,” muttered Tulliver as she pulled up behind the pair. “I was double checking the-”
The airlock status light changed to a steady green. A moment later, the heavy hatch hissed open, and Fraser saw live Clanners for the first time in his life.
The leader was a disappointingly ordinary man seemingly in his late forties. A pair of ugly scars crossed his shaved scalp. He wore what Fraser had been told was the utility uniform of Clan Wolf, and he bore the rank of Star Captain.
The man swept the corridor with practiced eyes, then floated out of the airlock, pivoted slightly to face Kerensky and brought his right arm up across his chest in salute.
“Star Colonel Natasha Kerensky, I am Star Captain Mulligan of the Clan Wolf Watch.”
“Star Captain,” nodded Kerensky, returning the salute.
Behind the Star Captain, three more members of his team entered. Even though Fraser had been briefed, it was still startling to see the petite pilot with her overly large head and eyes, followed by the pair of giant Elementals (the shorter of the pair stood about 210 centimeters) and both were muscled to the point of caricature. The two infantrymen carried half-rifles right out of history, but kept them pointed at the deck.
“Forgive me, Star Colonel, but we were not expecting to take on passengers,” the veteran intelligence officer continued. “There will be a slight delay while we open up a spare cabin.”
“That’s fine, Star Captain,” Kerensky nodded - and Fraser caught the Clanners wincing a bit at Kerensky’s use of a verbal contraction. Watch your words, he reminded himself.
“In the meantime, I would like to verify the manifest, with your permission, Star Colonel,”
“Of course, Star Captain,” Kerensky continued agreeably, and pivoted in place to head back to the cargo bay.
Once back inside the cargo bay, Tulliver took the pilot and Elementals to the pallets containing duplicate copies of their database, plus hard copy elements and physical samples.
Kerensky and Fraser led Mulligan straight to the Monument. The Star Captain pulled up short, awed by the size of the pallet and its contents.
“So, this is it,” he whispered reverently.
“Yes,” said Kerensky. “The Codices and Giftakes of four hundred and seventy-seven members of the Wolf Dragoons Reconnaissance Force, returning to the Homeworlds.”
Brunnel, Caph
Addicks Operations Area, Draconis March
Federated Suns
19 July 3039“Second Battalion, keep pushing!” snarled Sho-sa Seiichi Saito over the battalion push. He could sense the enemy perimeter faltering here. The tan-coloured ‘Mechs and armoured vehicles of the Wolf’s Dragoons Epsilon Regiment had held stoutly until now, but the relentless attacks of the Ryuken-san was shifting the momentum and initiative away from the mercenaries, and he could see little signs that his foe was rattled - here a tank shooting hastily, there a ‘Mech stumbling as it tried to move to a better position - and he knew they had to go now, before the Dragoons managed a recovery.
As he knew they would. All too well.
Saito had been a Chu-i in the original Ryuken, had trained alongside the Dragoons, and had fought them at Misery. He knew them doubly well, and they, him, for they had fought both together and against each other. Misery had left a bitter taste in his mouth, less because the Ryuken had been defeated by the Dragoons, more because it had been like brothers forced to fight each other.
And thanks to yet another intelligence failure, he was once again grappling with the Dragoons.
Caph was meant to be a raid for the Ryuken-san, partnered with their sister Ryuken-ni regiment. It was the third of four planets targeted by them as part of the DCMS’s desperate bid to stem the invasion of the Dieron Prefecture.
They’d been told that the world was garrisoned by the Third Crucis Lancers RCT, a solid unit, but not likely able to stand against two Ryuken regiments and their supporting forces.
Thus it had come as a major shock when, just after driving the Third from the field, their aerospace forces reported over twenty DropShips burning in on sub-orbital trajectories originating from the opposite side of Caph, carrying Beta, Gamma and Epsilon Brigades of the Dragoons.
Although the commanders of the two Ryuken regiments had calmly adjusted their plans and prepared for the turn of events, chaos erupted on first contact with their old trainers.
It was the younger members of the Ryuken, those who had not fought in the Fourth Succession War, who nearly caused disaster by leaping out ahead in order to come to grips with the Dragoons, who had defeated their regiments a decade previously. It had taken considerable personal intervention by company, battalion and regimental commanders to regain control of the situation (a rumour had even made the rounds to the effect that a company commander had executed one of their own busoshensi for ignoring an order to get back in line, but no one seemed to know any specific names or units).
In the end, it was only because the Dragoons apparently had the same problems with their newer members that allowed the Ryuken to break contact.
Forced on the defensive, the two Ryuken regiments had vigorously defended a gradually shrinking perimeter for the past six days, but the correlation of forces was adverse to start with and getting worse. Only their intimate knowledge of the Dragoons had allowed them to avoid outright defeat so far. Just the day before, one of Saito’s company commanders had realised that elements of Gamma Brigade were herding his battalion out of position just in time for him to reinforce the weakening flank and repel the real attack.
Unless the Ryuken did something different, they were destined to die on this hot planet that was most notable for having wildlife that resembled ancient Terran dinosaurs.
So Tai-sas Johnson and Kansa had decided to do just that. They would effect a breakout, with the less-damaged Ryuken-san acting as the Rupture Force while Ryuken-ni held the perimeter and launched deception attacks to obscure where the real breakout was going to occur. Once they had broken out, they would rendezvous with their own DropShips which had been holding in orbit, and lift from this world.
Saito’s Second Battalion found itself at the tip of the spear, thrusting at the section of the perimeter held by Able Battalion of Epsilon Brigade. It might have seemed counterintuitive to target the heaviest of the three Dragoons brigades, but they knew that with Elizabeth Nichole in command, Epsilon did best on the offence, and were willing to bet that they would not like being forced to back up.
So it was proving as Saito suited action to words, pushing the throttle of his Grand Dragon to the stop, his ‘Mech surging to eighty-five kph, the ‘Mech-sized sashimono flag bearing his personal mon (emblem) flying proudly from the pole attached to the Grand Dragon’s rear armour. Around him, the remaining twenty-six members of Second Battalion, many carrying their own sashimono, came on like a dark wave out of legend as they aimed for the lines of infantry, armour and ‘Mechs wearing the gold Epsilon.
Proving Ground 9, Hotei
An Ting, Matsuida Prefecture
Draconis Combine
10 August, 3025“Alright, alright, one more time,” conceded Lieutenant Thomas West. He turned back to face the south side of the small circle of Dragoons and Ryuken troops that had gathered in their temporary laager at the end of the day’s training. Chu-i Seiichi Saito saw that the Dragoons uniformly wore expressions of wry amusement, while his DCMS comrades maintained inscrutable faces for the most part.
Standing a meter from his comrades on the edge of the ring, West shifted his weight slightly, let out a breath, and dropped his hands to hang loosely at his sides, the right one just brushing the grip of his laser pistol.
“Ready,” he announced.
Twenty meters behind him, on the opposite side of what was now an open circle, Saito stooped to pick up another of the almost spherical, grape-sized red-brown pebbles that were sprinkled throughout this part of the Hotei continent.
He paused a moment, then heaved the pebble into the air, calling “Draw!” simultaneously.
Thomas West, the fifty-five year old commander of the Medium Lance in Fraser’s Company, spun with the reflexes and agility of a man half his age, his right hand clearing the laser pistol from its holster and coming to firing position in one smooth movement, almost too fast to follow.
Pistol followed eye as West tracked the barely visible pebble, which had just passed the apex of it’s flight and was now being reclaimed by gravity.
A split second later, West fired, and the pebble became a puff of dust, some of which kissed Saito’s face as it fell.
Amidst the cheers and sounds of astonishment from the audience, West straightened and reholstered his pistol, raised his hand to acknowledge the crowd, and strode toward Saito, who was ruefully shaking his head as he closed the distance.
“Five from five, Chu-i,” he announced matter-of-factly when he reached the Combine officer and the pair of them resumed their seats on the left foot of Saito’s Dragon. He liked the young officer. The personnel in the experimental Ryuken regiment had been picked for their willingness to learn and a certain social flexibility, which West and his comrades had found refreshing. Since they had entered the employ of the Draconis Combine two years previously, it was continually made clear to them that mercenaries like themselves were often considered only a step above bandits.
“Be glad there was no money riding on this, Chu-i,” said Captain Dechan Fraser as he walked past with most of the other MechWarriors, since it was clear that the show was definitely over now. “I’ve seen him do that seventeen times in a row before.”
“Are you going to see Captain Rand, Dechan?” West called to his company commander’s back. Fraser didn’t look back, just raised his right hand with the middle finger extended and kept walking. West threw back his head and laughed.
Saito muttered something in Japanese that West didn’t catch, but he was smiling too. The DCMS officer reached behind his back and snagged a pair of electrolyte-laced drinks, the ones gulped down by overheated and parched MechWarriors everywhere in the human sphere.
“Arigato,” West accepted one gratefully, cracking the top and downing a full third of the bottle in one gulp.
“You’re welcome,” replied Saito as he aped West’s chugging of the neon-green fluid. “So,” he continued when he had finished drinking, “West-san, your Griffin” - he inclined his chin to point at where the BattleMech stood in the embrace of a mobile servicing scaffold - “is named ‘Nova Cat’. Why that name?”
West took another drink, regarding his ride. Alpha Regiment generally used a reddish-brown paint scheme, but like about a quarter of the MechWarriors in the regiment, he’d modified the scheme. In his case, the lower part of the limbs remained reddish-brown, but the torso and upper limbs were midnight blue. In the centre of the chest was a black, snarling cat’s face, backed by a gold and red starburst, with the name written in a white scrawl below it.
“It’s a reminder about my birthplace,” he said finally. Saito nodded solemnly. The Dragoons only rarely mentioned their pasts, and never in detail.
“What does it signify?” Saito asked next. West cocked his head, looking up to the sashimono flying from the back of Saito’s ‘Mech, emblazoned with a stylised spiral star in red and blue.
“Something like your Clan’s mon,” West answered cryptically.
“Is that -” he began, only for West to cut him off.
“I’d prefer not to discuss that, Saito-san,” he said, not unkindly.
Saito bobbed his head. “I was actually meaning to ask if that was where you learned to shoot so well,” he explained.
“Actually, yes,” the grizzled mercenary said, still seemingly far away.
Brunnel, Caph
Addicks Operations Area, Draconis March
Federated Suns
19 July 3039
“They’re breaking! Press on!”
Pure adrenaline fueled Sho-sa Saito’s shout.
Second Battalion was down to a score of effectives, but they had savaged one Dragoons ‘Mech company and almost two each of armour and infantry. The remains of another armour company were retreating, shepherding a handful of Badger IFVs.
As he watched, his opponents were desperately trying to reform their lines and close gaps. At his eleven o’clock, Busoshensi Henderson delivered the coup de grace to a disabled Rommel tank with his Panther’s ER-PPC.
At two o’clock, Tai-i Tanaka was leading the survivors of his Medium Lance against a pair of battered Dragoons Enforcers. Saito drew a bead on the less damaged of the pair and fired both his ER-PPC and LRM-10 at it. His shots hit lower than he intended, thanks to the staggering heat-load he had already placed on his machine. It was still enough to amputate the enemy ‘Mech’s right leg just above the knee, which constituted a mission kill.
Saito forced his way forwards, the Grand Dragon moving sluggishly from the heat. A stray flight of LRMs clipped his right shoulder, and HUD changed the armour status of that limb to amber, leaving no part of his ‘Mech in the green.
The Dragoons were falling back, ‘Mechs and vehicles interspersed with IFVs and infantry on foot, trying to gain the protection of the next ridge.
Saito could see the balance of the Ryuken-san coming up fast behind him, and he knew the -ni would be hot on their heels as they collapsed their perimeter.
The way forward was clear - and then over a dozen new THREAT icons lit up his HUD.
Reinforcements! They’ve reacted already!
“Yon-company! On me! Go- and Roku-companies, continue original line of advance!”
He wrenched the Grand Dragon to the right, joined by the seven survivors of Fourth Company. He felt his ‘Mech accelerate as heat levels dropped.
The sensors had now nailed down the new enemy force as thirteen-strong, moving in four distinct sub-groups. That meant the remains of a company, with a separate command lance. So, the Battalion Commander knows how serious this is.
Range counters spun down with alarming speed, and suddenly, the first of the new enemy force crested the ridge - a pair of Hoplites.
Henderson welcomed the one on the left with his ER-PPC, while Busoshensi Goldman tagged the right one with his Phoenix Hawk’s Large Laser.
Then the Dragoon Command Lance came over the ridge - three ‘Mechs strong - a BattleMaster on the left, a Zeus on the right, and in the center -
Snarling cat’s face backed by a red and gold sunburst, over a field of midnight blue that covered the entire torso and upper limbs, fading to tan at the lower end of the limbs. Beneath the cat, a name in a white scrawl: “Nova Cat II”.
It was a Warhammer, not a Griffin, and there were several flat grey armour patches that ruined the paint scheme, but there was no question who the MechWarrior driving it was.
Saito shook his head violently inside his neurohelmet, grit his teeth and cleared his head. Somehow, without realising it, he’d slowed almost to a stop. With an inarticulate snarl, he reopened the throttle, driving straight for the man he once considered a friend.
A friend, yes, but now he was the enemy, and duty demanded his death.
But all the Ryuken veterans knew who had turned the Dragoons into their enemies, and they were all dead.
Wrestling with his joysticks, he dragged his crosshairs right onto the center of Thomas West’s ‘Mech, but hesitated even as the crosshairs flashed green to indicate a valid lock.
The Warhammer pivoted slightly to face the oncoming threat, and Saito saw the long barrel arms come up to point at him. But West didn’t fire either.
They both held like that for a moment, then two, then -
The BattleMaster loosed a shot from its PPC, catching Saito’s Grand Dragon squarely in the middle of the torso. Saito worked to keep his footing, even as, almost at the same time, Chu-i Ozawa, riding another Grand Dragon, hit West’s Warhammer in the left leg.
By pure reflex, Saito switched targets, returning fire with interest by blasting more than a ton of armour from the chest of the BattleMaster, which staggered out of line as its MechWarrior fought to keep his ride upright.
Saito saw that West had lost little of his gunnery skill with age - Ozawa’s Grand Dragon tumbled over courtesy of twin hits from West’s PPCs that destroyed the left hip.
He shifted left, determined to get to grips with the BattleMaster before it regained its equilibrium, but before he could finish aiming, a scarred Stalker in the colours of Third Battalion pulled up alongside him and unleashed a barrage from its LRMs and Large Lasers.
The assault ‘Mech drove forward, scenting blood as the BattleMaster lost its balance and fell, literally shaking the earth.
The Warhammer interposed itself between its fallen comrade and the onrushing Stalker, paused for a beat, and then spat twin blue-white spears of charged particles into the larger ‘Mech. West managed to find a gap in the Stalker’s battered armour - it lurched and staggered like an armless drunk, clear indication that the gyro was gone - before doing a belly-flop a mere hundred metres from West.
Saito had already shifted his Zeus, drawing a bead on the assault ‘Mech’s oversized canopy, but his shots were absorbed by a hastily raised left arm, which, did, however, result in the destruction of his opponent’s LRM launcher.
“Sho-sa! Almost all of the regiment has broken out! Ryuken-ni is now passing through!” reported Tai-i Tanaka as he moved his Shadow Hawk up to join Saito.
Saito blinked away sweat from his eyes and glanced at his secondary monitor where the status of Second Battalion was displayed. Half a dozen more fallen, he was down to fourteen ‘Mechs, but if he disengaged, West’s fresher and heavier forces could collapse the breach.
There was only one decision he could make. He punched up the regimental command frequency.
“Saito to Tai-sa Kansa.” He fired his Medium Laser and LRMs at the Zeus, trying to keep his heat under control, missing with the Medium Laser and achieving a bad spread of hits with his LRMs.
“Saito,” rumbled the deep bass of the regimental commander. “What’s your status?”
The Zeus speared his left wrist with the improved Large Laser that many of the Dragoons seemed to be equipped with, turning his Grand Dragon’s sole hand into so much junk metal.
“Second Battalion is down to one-third strength. We need to hold this flank or the Dragoons will close the gap.”
Tanaka jumped his Shadow Hawk to the Zeus’s left, pouring in an alpha strike on the wounded Epsilon brigade ‘Mech.
Saito took advantage of his opponent’s distraction to similarly hit the assault ‘Mech with his own Alpha Strike, gasping at the sudden blast of heat that flooded his cockpit.
“Hai - I concur, Sho-sa. You honour the Ryuken. Kansa out.”
Saito couldn’t reply - he was trying to avoid a reactor shutdown, maintain control of his battalion - what was left of it - and think ahead.
Before him, the Zeus finally fell to accumulated damage, its pilot managing to eject just as the mortally wounded ‘Mech tipped past 30 degrees.
Tanaka deftly stepped back to avoid the falling ‘Mech -
-and was impaled by a precisely aimed PPC shot that blew through Tanaka’s weakened front armour and explosively vented out the back, dropping the Shadow Hawk next to the corpse of the Zeus.
Saito wheeled his battered Grand Dragon left to confront Tanaka’s executioner, even as his primary display lit up with fresh gold icons approaching his position. Most of the red icons were moving swiftly toward the rendezvous point, under the shelter of Draconis Combine Admiralty fighters launched from inbound DropShips.
Limping toward him was Thomas West’s one-armed Warhammer, his unique paint scheme almost obliterated by damage, but still recognisable.
Behind him lay the remains of Ryuken ‘Mechs - many of them. With a start, Saito realised that he was the sole active member of Second Battalion.
It was almost as if he could read sadness and resignation into the movements of West’s ‘Mech.
With deliberation, they brought their weapons up and dropped their crosshairs on each other, pulling the triggers almost simultaneously.
