Hey folks; working away on the map and the production report, working through the TROs now. Still need to do the source books and the Objectives PDFs and then give it a last sweep to make the Canon material fit the Der Tag universe.
In the mean time, want to look at a revised draft of some Fiction I did? I'm not sure if I posted this before. Kinda looks like it, but I can't find it now.
Really interested to know what you think on this one.
***
Then...
1753Hrs, December 8, 3067
Somewhere in the Lyran Periphery
Demi-Precentor-XV Gamma Michelle Maypole looked out over the massive parade ground and the many faces gathered there and took a moment between the memorized paragraphs of her speech to collect herself before continuing.
At heart, she knew that like so many other names she had seen associated with this project, her involvement was forced because she was seen by her Blessed Order as both expendable and controllable. In this, she felt a certain peace; knowing her place in the greater machinery of ComStar. She also knew that she was wildly unqualified for her current assignment; but she had the rank, the seniority, the charisma...and the rest didn't bear thinking about...her past weaknesses, however terrible were no matter. She was heartbeats now from the formal completion of this assignment and thence; redemption.
It hadn't been so bad; even at a healthy 53 years, Terran-Standard, she still found space travel, however slow to be an enjoyable experience. The nearly two months spent in the changeable climate of an unknown world had been interesting to say the least and the soldiers almost all humoured her while she was around.
The inspections had been simple enough; innumerable parades and spot-checks, with her watcher and certain companion in purgatory; Acolyte-XXIV Hale of the ComGuards just able to make her look like she knew what she was supposed to be checking for. He did most of the work and she got all the attention. Perfect! It was a welcome change from her interminable banishment to the Order's Dieron administrative sub-complex following the last incident---and hadn't she behaved herself perfectly since then? Despite several opportunities to indulge over the last few weeks while her ROM-colleague was distracted and Acolyte Hale's experience demanded his attention or presence elsewhere.
It was this worthy who shattered her brief musing pause now with his hot breath at her shoulder.
Decades of training clicked in and she skillfully deactivated the low-profile voice pickup with a gesture before he began speaking---Chesterton, '47; everyone in Gamma knew the cautionary tale of Adept-XI Jaslov's pickup broadcasting word of the sabotage of a magnetic coil at the local HPG to a crowd of henceforth terrified schoolchildren.
"I'm sorry; what?" Decades of conditioning kept the stammer from her voice.
"Demi-Precentor;" He said precisely, hiding the stress in his voice. "The Star League has been disbanded. Wrap this up, we need to go; we have been recalled to Tukayyid."
She looked back, out over the gathered multitudes of soldiers; bored, tired, frustrated with the kind of long parade they were unaccustomed to. "But..." The words wouldn't come; she couldn't think. "What do I tell them?"
"Nothing; they are not cleared to know. End your speech; I've already spoken to that...*pirate* they keep as a counter-intelligence czar...We've made all the excuses we have to."
"But how do you tell the Star League Defence Force, that there isn't a Star League, anymore?"
***
Later...
2232 Hrs, December 8, 3067
Transcript of Message to all SLDF Forces from Lieutenant-General McKenna, CICNMA
Today was a difficult day; we had to get up extra early, spend hours practicing drill and looking pretty, then we stood on parade for hours while people talked at us for ages and then at the end some white-robed bureaucrat told us that the last couple years of our lives have been for nothing.
It won't be a shock to most of you that all of us with egg on our shoulders are as down about this as you are.
The past few hours have felt to all of us like trying to wake up from a bad dream, or maybe waiting for a death sentence to come down from a jury we wish to hell would just get on with it…
I want you all to know that the entire high command has been in conference since the announcement; trying to figure out what comes next.
A few minutes ago; we found out.
Three days ago, sidereal; following the dissolution of the Second Star League a week before that…Word of Blake Forces launched major attacks all over the Inner Sphere. Most notably Tharkad and New Avalon have been hit by WOB heavy forces and orbital bombardment and nuclear exchanges are reported from reliable sources. Whether or not this is connected to the fighting on Outreach and in the Terran system, ongoing these past months remains unclear.
I know there’s been a lot of talk since the parade about what we should do, what we can do; legally speaking, what our mandate says and what our hearts say. I can’t tell you now the answers to those questions, because when your world misjumps, it’s hard to be certain of anything.
But, I know for damn sure what the army whose legacy we carry would have done in this situation.
It's a basic tenet of leadership never to let your people get bored, especially in a bad situation and this situation is about ads bad as it gets. Bad leaders assign make-work; treat labour like it's free to keep idle hands busy. Good leaders know the cost of such thinking; the toll it takes on morale and families. Just the same; sometimes that make work is the work that needs doing. So with that in mind; I think it's time this command got off it's ass and found some rocks to paint white.
I happen to know where we can get the blood.
Get some sleep boys and girls: the war starts tomorrow.
***
Later Still...
1420 Hrs, June 4, 3081
Bad Tolz, Germany
Current Field Headquarters, Star League Defence Force (In Exile)
He forced out the breath he’d been holding; frustrated and fought the urge to tilt his head, it never made things make more sense anyways, but it felt right and at length spoke the words he’d been holding back for the past two hours.
"Well, you can just go ****** your hat. All of you. And tell the rest of 'em I said it that way too; especially to that ungrateful bastard, Ward."
"Steven." David Lear spat angrily; "You need to be reasonable! This petition has been signed by nearly every representative of the coalition, including all of the Great Houses and every leader of the former Free Worlds who could be reached."
Yes, and? He thought; What does that matter to me and mine? You all turned your backs on us about 15-odd years ago.
"Yes, I see that." Lord-Protector Steven McKenna replied evenly. "I was especially disappointed to discover the honour of the Dragon could be purchased so cheaply." He snarled at Hohiro Kurita, who barely held his own anger in check.
You punctilious bastard; you OWE us…They shared a silent glare; simple emotions and expressions for men who were very simple at heart.
"Steven, please..." Devlin Stone rumbled. "We've all fought together for so long; for a lasting peace. We can't tolerate a rogue army running around without civilian oversight after all we've accomplished, all we're trying to accomplish; it would undermine everything."
Civilian Oversight? What the ****** is he talking about?! What year does he think this is? Are the leaders of the Great Houses Civilians? What possible value could there be in handing over direction of an army to politicians and bureaucrats? Why not order around the dentist during your root canal?
"Yes." McKenna hissed back; "I imagine it would." He looked around the ancient wood-paneled conference room; how many armies before mine called his place home? he wondered. "But that's your problem; you're the ones disarming people at gun point; seizing control of worlds that haven't heeded Terra's word in 300 years. I tried to explain why this was all a terrible idea, but none of you would listen; I submitted alternatives to that situation and this one and you rejected them all. Hell; I offered to pick a replacement and retire; none of it was good enough."
Never mind just what I’d do with myself besides ****** myself into a coma and catch up on my reading…which is tempting, but even with Vanessa, I wouldn’t give these social scientists the satisfaction now.
"Mr. McKenna, the options we've laid out in the petition are simply the only ones we're willing to live with." Victor Stiener-Davion intoned, patiently. "You and the rest of the SLDF-In-Exile can stack arms and turn over all your equipment to the RAF and disband; which is our first choice. Or you can integrate yourselves into the RAF and accept our command and control, after you retire of course. None of us asked for your little army, we didn't frankly need it, we don't want it; we can live with it; but on our terms, only."
"Huh..." Mckenna leaned back against the wall he'd been pacing in front of and crossed his arms over his huge chest. Devlin is bad enough thought Victor. But with this barbarian around, I feel like there’s something wrong with me and that brings back far too many memories; it’s like standing between Peter and Father again when I was a boy.
"Well let's review;" McKenna began. "You've rejected my suggestion to reform the Star League. Further; you won't accept the SLDF as the international military force we were designed to be. As for needing us, well; I think the record of this campaign alone proves otherwise, but history will argue that point for me; the Kell Hounds, notwithstanding. I still have the remnants of three combat Divisions on-world and arguably the most powerful fleet in the system in Orbit. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, gentlemen?"
I’ll never understand charisma; personal magnetism. Is that how these people get things done? Is this it? Is this all the man each of these legends turns out to be? A hollow argument and social skills? I don’t get it; what are they trying to get across? What are they trying to tell me? They aren’t offering me anything I want more than to do what needs doing, they aren’t willing to fight me and they aren’t then in any reasonable position to fight me. And they don’t really want to negotiate… I don’t understand! I’m a warrior, not a salesman, what is this nonsense?
David Lear looked once to Devlin Stone, who returned his gaze evenly. Something passed between them; a look shared during their incarceration no doubt, but what it communicated none but they knew. McKenna was the only one in the room though to miss that it was significant.
Lord Protector McKenna beheld a room of the most powerful personalities in the Inner Sphere; Hohiro Kurita, Devlin Stone, David Lear and Victor Stiener-Davion. While the SLDFiE toiled outside and across much of Terra, inter-mixed with other allied forces, he'd been called from an inspection of one of The Schools; this one in Silesia, for this meeting. Things would look normal, but behind their opaque visors, every soldier in the Three Divisions was on alert that today might be their last day on humanity's birth world, one way or the other.
"I see..." He said slowly. "I take it the Bears are still in the neighbourhood, but they'd really rather not loose anymore ships, eh? You gentlemen are perhaps the most respected and powerful men in the inner sphere, maybe beyond..." McKenna Glared at Victor, daring him to point out how he'd willingly renounced all power and privileges like it really meant something, again. what a tedious little man he thought. "But you rely far too much on charisma and force of personality to get things done and not enough on the strength of a good argument and history. I know what I've done; by using my forces how I have, just by being here; I've disrupted your coalition, unbalanced it; I've made sure that this war was fought my way, whenever I could and I know it's undermined each of you, personally and the goals you set out to achieve."
“I’m not too swift on the politics, but I have people who can explain these things to me in small words I can understand later. I know what we represent to you…I guess I just hoped like hell that our record would speak for itself and you could see past your ideologies to the advantages of learning to live together. I’m not a salesman…” McKenna trailed off, before continuing, whatever else was on his mind would go unspoken, locked behind the bars of his failings.
"It's not important that you know why we won this war," He continued. "what does matter is that you know why *I* think we won it and that is because we were able to take it further; to apply more force better, ultimately than the Word of Blake was. But WOB was *willing* to take it farther than we were, to do more damage in worse ways; they simple were not *able* to do so. Fellahs; I am willing to stop-drop and fight my way off this world and out of the system. You might kill me, but you will not, can not stop my men; even if you use the very tools you have declared forbidden. If you insist on this course of action; you will suffer and you will bleed, and me and mine will come back someday and wipe your little experiment off the map. This is your plan. You already know I will not accede to your demands." He paused.
"The first alternative is that you leave this place and we pretend this conversation never happened. Me and mine go our way; you go yours and we let history decide which of us has the superior system, in time. We just see if we can all get along." He smiled without it ever reaching his eyes.
"I've seen your system, McKenna." Victor shot back. "Did you forget? I've seen how you train and how your people live and govern. I, for one; cannot live with that: It's just formalized feudalism on the micro level and I won't sit back while you continue to contaminate our people, our soldiers with your filth! You're as bad as the Clans!"
So, the macro-scale is so much better? Can Victor be so ignorant, can Stone? Lear? I Know Hohiro is too practical to think such nonsense; he had a front-row seat to reforming a major nation on the cultural-political level. I wonder if that’s what this is all about though? They really want to totally pull down the current socio-political system we have in the Inner Sphere…If they’re willing to follow that all the way to it’s natural conclusion…McKenna’s mind raced, making heuristic leaps as he played out scenarios and projections in a adrenaline-fueled storm. Could they be so married to an ideology? At that cost? Is that what war does to men like this? Humanists? Idealists? Intellectuals?
"That does concern us greatly, Steven." David Lear offered. McKenna snapped back into reality.
"Ah, but are you willing to go to war over it? Again? Right now?" McKenna asked, distantly, scanning the eyes in the room. "You know; I'm not good with people, but even I can tell there isn't a one of you who wouldn't see me killed and my men and women scattered to the wind right now, if you could actually do it. You’re all humanists are heart---well maybe not Hohiro, but his Father is---and you’re all utopians. You’re very good at convincing yourselves to do what you have to for the cause---“
“NO!” Devlin Stone roared. Both Victor and David moved towards him, but he rolled his shoulders, spasmodically; tight with repressed anger and harshly waved them both back. “I will not stand here and be cast in the same light as the Blakists, by this monster! I’d never allow that! Not after all we fought for---“ He stopped in mid-sentence, poleaxed by the realization, or maybe realizations; frozen; conflicted. He glanced at David Lear, wounded.
”Which returns us to extremes and the will and ability to go to them. I have both and I am willing to go much farther; today, than you are." McKenna continued, as if the outburst never happened. Now, I have them.
"Which brings us to our second alternative; the one that makes everyone happy *today* and gives the politicians in you time to weasel a solution later." McKenna smiled; this he understood. "We go our separate ways; I complete recovery operations; equipment, salvage, personnel and POWs. These classes at The Schools are the last; that's our contribution to remediation done. I take every one of our dead we can find...and we leave..."
“Oh, no!” Victor Shouted. “We aren’t done here, not by a long shot; those blasted ‘Schools’ are the next item on the agenda---“ He cut off sharply at Hohiro’s hand on his shoulder.
“Victor-Sama, there is more.” He said evenly, fury held in check behind iron discipline, once more.
There was silence and McKenna continued. "Along with everyone who wants to come with us."
That got them going alright and all four major leaders started shouting at once; about half the remaining ComGuard, the NovaCats and no one knew how many refugees and whoever else. That's what McKenna was talking about. The Cats would mostly stay in Irece Prefecture, but the forces Stone had been trying unsuccessfully to court to his side would undoubtedly refuse to join the RAF if there was an alternative with more meaning for them; they already shared close ties with the SLDFiE and the Diamond Sharks. The ComGaurds were far yet from a spent force and those who remained were hardened veterans; as the former strength of the 2nd Star League, but staunch Coalition members from the outset, it was anyone's guess where each individual guardsman would go and what kind of equipment might come with them. There were others in McKenna's camp; people tired of the way things were, but yet longing for something from the past as well. But no-one really knew who else or how many.
They argued for another hour, but no one was really offering anything. On one side were men who were the pinnacle of modern statesmanship; leaders steeped in both politics and war, with deep wells of charisma to draw upon. On the other side McKenna was blind and deaf to most of it, too damaged or incomplete in comparison; he was a Warrior, working from an open plan, but he feared these men, feared facing them in this setting; their faculties so far beyond his: so he dealt with them as he did most fear in his life; he ignored it, did his job and waited for it to pass. He'd speak with Vanessa about it later and see what sense she could make of their "Stupid Human Tricks" as he called them. In passing he regretted the white noise generators that would make the office` holo-recordings useless.
When they finally left; each man was certain he'd gained some deeper understanding of the one who called himself "Lord Protector." McKenna was sure of only one thing; he had the time he needed, but the Republic would dedicate itself to the self-righteous destruction of everything he'd built. He was convinced they literally meant everything they had said; they wouldn’t stop until they had destroyed everything he and his had built. Their system couldn’t survive with an alternative. The system he’d set up was toxic to most others on contact. An eventual conflict would be unavoidable.
But I think we can do something about that...come the day...He mused, wondering how long it was till dinner.
At the End
They’d been held together for over two weeks now and before then, separately for how long? Neither was sure. Both of them had been wounded and between the drugs, the holding cells and the constant movement, time was hard to keep track of.
But the end was near; they’d figured that out as soon as it was clear they’d be allowed to stay together from now, till the end.
The door opened and an infantryman trudged in; obviously exhausted. Not an MP; they were easy to spot and obviously not from the Crimson Guards either. He stopped by the table outside the cell door, un-slung his rifle and laid it on the table.
It was one of those massive Thunderbolts that were the primary weapon of the SLDF infantry; around 10kg fully loaded; a select-fire heavy gyrojet rifle, with an underbarrel heavy needler. A huge, brutal and reliable weapon. Next, he placed a very large two-handed vibroblade next to it. Star League infantry were almost Kuritan in their fondness for hand weapons and this soldier yet displaced a number of blades beside numerous holsters and empty, flapping ammunition pouches.
Part of him wondered if this was it. Another part wasn’t sure at all; years in prison camps and he had to admit that the Barbarians knew how to insert chaos into the routine POWs lived by. This could be anything, including an opportunity.
This was the closest he’d been to an SLDF infantryman, except for his capture and he wasn’t in the best frame of mind for observation then; a fault he’d often cursed himself for over the years; the best time to escape was as soon as possible after capture. He knew that. But when faced with it, he got caught up in the anger; the frustration and he couldn’t track the malfing details anymore.
The soldier, pulled out a 2-litre bottle from a hip pocket and plugged it into a short length of hose, which in turn fit into a port under a plug on the side of the helmet; could be useful; you could maybe get a knife in there, if you drove it in hard enough.
The soldier up-ended the bottle, holding it in first one hand, then the other as he waved the opposite arm up and down, pumped his legs and flexed and wiggled his torso around. It would have been comical in any other situation. Another personal failing; you had to keep your sense of humour.
At length the soldier finished his calisthenics and the bottle gurgled to empty. He wondered if that was how they were trained to take in a lot of water at once, but then the soldier un-hooked the bottle and hose and began opening taps at his wrists and on his boots and as he flexed and stretched some more; the water drained out to seek the central drain.
The helmet came off with a few simple clasps; it gave full protection and visibility; you couldn’t just wrench it off. And it had a flexible neck gasket behind an armoured gorget.
“The last of the holdouts in sub-complex 50 surrendered an hour ago.” The soldier panted. “Flamers.” As if that explained it all. “There’ll be die-hards for years, but for the most part; that’s done for organized resistance. We’ll fill the tunnels we can’t blast with a persistent Class V agent and call it a day.” He turned and gave them his full attention. The face was different; same prominent scars, but the eyes were tired. He had no doubt that he’d had more rest in the last day than McKenna had all week. He started thinking of ways to use that and then---
“****** off; you aren’t him.” Devlin Stone spat.
“Well, that settles which one of you is worth talking to…” He said gently, looking at David Lear, huddled, apparently near-catatonic in a corner. “How bad is he? The meds helping?”
“I’m not talking to you; McKenna wants to talk to me, tell him to come himself.”
But The Soldier wasn’t cowed; he pulled over a chair and sat down, heavily. “You know, it’s a pity; we’ve had the Helm Core for almost a century and the New Dallas Core for about half that; we *Have* a cure for early onset Alzheimer’s; it’s just that it’s a bitch to manage, easier as a childhood vaccine with gene therapy…And of course; once the damage sets in, it’s irreversible. But with what he have him on; he won’t get any worse. After some therapy; you two could get by with a PSW once a day. Maybe even get him running 10-ks again.”
Devlin, retreated to his husband’s side, sat down, put an arm around him and scowled at the intruder; into their cell and their lives.
Stone felt a deep, cold hate for the man across from him and struggled to fight it down to read the details; indeterminate age; but a natural male, the type would could be twenty or forty, which didn’t help. Big, enough, which did; you could fake that; you had to find someone naturally the same build. That was difficult; he knew it from both sides of the problem. Same hair, same scars, same eyes, right features. All easily faked or surgically modified. Devlin knew about that too from his own doubles and old Blakist tricks. This could be McKenna’s son for all he knew, but it couldn’t be him. The best anti-agathics in the Magistracy couldn’t do that. He felt the old, familiar pain between his eyes returning as his mind chased his own thoughts in the circles of clandestine thinking.
Silence reigned for some time, as The Soldier drank from a straw that bent into the side of his mouth; Devlin could see the bubbles move. Eventually, he sighed. “I’m not a salesmen; Dev. I’m not good at making people believe things like you lot were, I just tell the facts as I see ‘em. I can fight and lead and organize; those are my social skills. I can’t even argue. But you know we couldn’t live together in peace forever. And the last thing this Galaxy needs is another centuries-long vendetta.” He exhaled explosively.
“We have the vaccines and stuff. All the crap the old League had. The kids in the cadet units now; they’ll outlive anyone else alive today; except the Belters. They basically are Belters, or will be. That’s why I look like I do. You want good troops, you gotta sew the seeds early; so it’s standard across the board. Amazing what counts as a strategic military technology once you take it far enough.”
“I ain’t here to gloat. I want a meal and a sleep. I just wanted to let you know; it’s over. No treaties, no formalities, just over. And we ain’t killing you two. I tried to think of a way to do it that made sense, but...it’s not just about making sure you aren’t martyrs; we have education---our best weapon---for that and besides; there are a few forms of execution that take every ounce of romance out of the process; no one would envy you or look to you, believe me.”
“I could have you crucified, or impaled, maybe hung just right, but the fact is that neither the two of you did much, besides be wrong and that ain’t a crime. There’s no death camps; no major war crimes---there’s a few, but we’ll hang generals and paladins for those; make no mistake: you two are responsible, you were the figureheads at the very least, right up until today. But honour’s satisfied with the combat and theatre commanders. You just led this mess; helped keep it going. Pity none of the assassins worked out…”
“The rest: the survivors; will be discharged and paid out, if they want it; consolidated and employed if they don’t.”
“Bullshit.” Devlin shook his head. “It’s all malfing crap. Prefecture X will be a quagmire for you; we will never give up. We’ll never stop fighting. It’s what I taught them.”
“Dev, I ain’t here to convince you. Too ****** tired and better things to do. We expect some diehards; some guerillas and terrorists: it’s natural. The executions, the pensions and that we aren’t disbanding the RAF wholesale, like you wanted *us* to do way back when---that’ll help a lot. You talk ‘Quagmire’? Picture my boys and girls out of a job six months after the Jihad ended. Shit…” He shook his head.
“It won’t be enough; for every one you kill, ten more will take his or her place and make you bleed a river for every drop of our blood you take---“ Stone rose to his feet, his touch gentle and reassuring on David’s shoulders as he stood, warming to his subject, on familiar ground; he’d heard all this before.
The Soldier stood up, grabbed his helmet and slung his rifle, mag-locked his sword to his back. “We founded the New Model Army on a cadre of the best partisan-fighters’ humanity has ever seen.” He said, sadly, turning to leave. “I’m no salesmen Devlin, but the funny thing is that people eventually do come to agree with me in the end.”
“Enjoy your life as a community organizer, or whatever, Mr. Stone. You’ll excuse me though, I’m so ****** tired…”
As the door closed, Stone returned to David Lear’s side and pondered, not for the first time where the borders of reality lay and if he was still back in an isolation cell in RBMU 105, and if this was all some terrible dream or Blakist manipulation. He allowed his mind to wander inside itself and time passed as he wondered how much of his life was a dream he made to get through RBMU 105 and it just got out of control and never ended, if they were still hurting him now, back on Kittery and his mind was just elsewhere.
He held David tightly and wondered if he’d ever wake up
The so-called 5th Succession War (Sometimes argued as the 6th) was an example of Jacksonian warfare from people who took Sun Tzu and Clausewitz literally. It ignored the niceties warfare had accumulated over the past 400 years, while displaying a pessimistic understanding of human nature and the balance of Republic Politics few would have attributed to an organization led by an ogre like McKenna...
It was to be the 3rd time in less than 300 years that a major military campaign was waged in and around Terra and her surrounding worlds....
-Excerpts from "Shattered Dreams; The Rise and Fall of the Republic." By Jonah Levin, Paladin Press Imprint, New Avalon, 3156
