Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all.
It has literally been years since I posted anything here, mainly thanks to Real Life. In the intervening time, I've slowly sketched out a few stories. This one showed the most promise, and so I have decided to release it into the wild to see if it survives.
Full disclosure - a large portion of the first installment is taken straight from Michael Stackpole's
Lethal HeritageA final note before the story begins. I'm doing this to try to improve as a writer, so please give me some feedback. If you think my writing sucks, my ego can take it, but please do me a favour and tell me
why it sucks so I can try to do better next time.
And so, I give you:
A ReckoningAn Alternate Tale of the BattleTech Universe
Outreach
Tikonov Free Republic
16 August 3030Natasha Kerensky entered Colonel Jamie Wolf’s office as only she could - without knocking or hesitation, and with only slightly less force than she would have used had she been taking an objective in her iconic black
Warhammer. Marching right up to the Colonel’s desk, she held the yellow sheet of paper out for his inspection, but he looked straight through it and her. Seated behind a cluttered desk, he leaned back in his chair and pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. Only the rise and fall of his chest told her he was alive.
“It’s here,” she told him, slapping the paper down on top of the report Wolf had been working on. “The Tikonov Free Republic” - Jaime could almost hear the sarcastic quotation marks around the name of that new-born state - “has, after only a bit of strong-arming by the next First Lord, the war-god Hanse Davion, coughed up free and clear title to Outreach.”
The news brought animation back to Wolf’s face. Though a small man, he gave off an aura of strength and his presence was commanding. Still, long years of almost constant warfare had taken their toll. His once-black hair was shot through with white, while the lines around his eyes and creasing his forehead showed how heavy had been the weight of his burdens. The slump in his shoulders told that he knew more difficulties were in the offing, but the glint in his grey eyes left no doubt that he would face what he must.
He gave the Black Widow as smile. “Yes, Natasha. Thank you. This is welcome news indeed.”
Kerensky glanced out of the arched window near Wolf’s desk. “I thought we’d have more trouble getting this world for our home. I assumed Davion would be determined to keep it once he heard we wanted it.”
Wolf shrugged. “He knows Outreach was once the Warrior World. He knows the SLDF Martial Olympics were held here and that not quite all of the useful equipment has been stripped from it in the three centuries since the Exodus.”
The dying sun burned highlights into Kerensky’s hair as she turned to face him. “Do you think he knows exactly how much is left? He’ll have asked Quintus Allard to send some of his damnable operatives here to see what we would be getting.”
The leader of Wolf’s Dragoons smiled like a man with a secret. “Hanse has lived up to his nickname of ‘the Fox’ quite admirably on this one. Quintus Allard asked us to complete a technological survey because he claimed he couldn’t spare an agent for Outreach at this time, but Snord’s Irregulars have already been and gone. Hanse must certainly expect that we’ve withheld some information, but I don’t think it matters to him. He’s happy to have us here to prevent local rebellions or a strike from the Free Worlds League. The report we sent back to Allard should be enough to quiet any complaints that we were handed a treasure trove of lostech.”
The use of the idiom for valuable technology lost after the fall of the Star League brought a brief smile to Kerensky’s full lips , but her tone was worried. “Is our own survey complete yet? Is there enough equipment here for our needs?”
Wolf shook his head and steepled his fingers again. “It looks as though things like computers and obvious manufacturing resources were carried off long ago, but I don’t think anyone out there even guesses at the vast complex of stuff under the surface here. We’ve got the facilities we need to repair and manufacture BattleMechs. But whether it’s enough to complete our mission is hard to say.”
She groaned and thumped a convenient wall with the side of her fist. “****** the mission! We’ve done what they wanted. Let’s get ourselves healthy, get our machines at a hundred and ten percent, and then go kick some ass! Preferably Marik or Kurita, but I’m not picky.”
The Widow’s outburst made Wolf smile in spite of himself. “Natasha,” he said quietly, “I’d like nothing better, but you know I can’t agree to that. You also know that the others won’t be able to stop them. We’ve been entrusted with a mission that we cannot abandon.”
Natasha reflexively glanced over her shoulder and then leaned forward over his desk. “
Which mission, Jaime? Kerlin Ward’s mission, or the new one you and Blake cooked up over the last few months?”
Wolf stood abruptly and paced the length of the room. “They may be the same mission, when you come down to it.”
Her sharp laugh brought him up short. “Did you just miss the last two years, Jaime? Everything’s changed, including us! The Successor States have clubbed each other senseless, dozens of their best units are wrecked, we have break-away states seceding, not to mention what it’s done to us.” She paused for a moment at the look that flickered across Wolf’s eyes, and, she was sure, her own as well. “It’s hopeless,” she finished flatly.
“Not quite,” replied Wolf, his tone becoming quieter. “The Inner Sphere may be in sad shape, but not all of the military is. The Kell Hounds survived the war in good shape, as have the Eridani Light Horse and the Northwind Highlanders. I’ll admit they’re not enough to do everything, but it’s a place to start.”
Natasha seated herself on the edge of Wolf’s desk, watching him pace. “You’re not thinking of bringing them here to train, are you? You wouldn’t compromise our security that way!” Suddenly she slapped the open palm of her right hand against her forehead. “You
are planning to do that, aren’t you? That’s why Morgan Kell and his wife Salome are already heading here from their JumpShip. Are you mad? How much does Kell know?”
Wolf drew himself up to his full height. “Morgan Kell knows what I have trusted him with - and trust him I do. He and Salome are coming here so we can run some tests and help them with an infertility problem.”
The Black Widow’s mouth gaped open. “You told them about…”
The small man shook his head. “No, I’ve not told Morgan everything, though I imagine he has figured out what I didn’t. The man is a friend and I’ve decided to help him. He is also a MechWarrior of great skill and courage. I believe Morgan might be persuaded to prepare his forces to help us when the time comes. Furthermore, I think he would be willing to let us train certain of his people so that what we know can be passed on to others without jeopardising our security.”
A shudder passed through her body. “After jeopardising our security like that, I’d ask if you’re going to invite ComStar to set up a Class A HPG here on Outreach, except for the discussions you and Blake have been having.”
That suggestion won a bitter chuckle from Wolf. “Not a chance. ComStar’s benign pacifism died with Primus Tiepolo. The new Primus, this Myndo Waterly, is aggressive and dangerous. Under the old regime, we may have had a slight chance of swaying their support over to our side - although probably the best we could have hoped for is their neutrality - but that’s not going to happen now, and they will likely be an enormous obstacle when the Others come.”
Natasha smiled grimly. “Which is why you’re adding an impossible mission to our already impossible mission.” She sighed wearily. “Look at us. We’ve been fighting here for twenty-five years. We should be retiring, not worrying about preparing others for a war. That task should fall to the whelps up and coming.”
Jaime laid a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “I agree, but we have a problem. The youngsters have been raised here in the Successor States. We lost a good number of the originals fifteen years ago in the Free Worlds League, and then even more escaping from the Draconis Combine two years ago. The survivors weren’t raised with the same traditions as we. They barely understand that we’re different. And now we have outsiders among us. They, too, must be trained and inculcated with our ways. The only people who can do the training are those of us who have survived all these years.”
The Black Widow shook her head ruefully. “You’re right, of course. Damn it, you’re right again. At least you’re in charge of this whole circus, so I don’t have to do anything other than wait for you to tell me what to kill next. I’ll leave the grand strategy to you.”
Wolf spared a quick glance at his desk chronometer before fixing his subordinate with a steely look, only partially softened by a smile. “Oh, don’t be so sure, Natasha. What do you think’s on the agenda for this evening’s command conference?”
He turned and headed out of his office, then paused, hand on door knob, and called back to Kerensky. “Come on, Captain - we have five minutes and you know I hate being late.”
Kerensky’s response would have earned her a court martial in any normal military.
Outreach
Terran March
17 June 3032“Fraser’s Company, Able Battalion - front and center!”
Regimental Sergeant Major Rahul’s shout easily carried across the parade ground to where the twelve Epsilon Regiment MechWarriors stood at parade rest amongst two battalions of their comrades.
From his position on the reviewing stand, General Jamie Wolf watched the dozen smartly detach themselves from the ordered ranks of Able Battalion and march in lockstep toward him.
He noted approvingly that Fraser’s Company took pride in their bearing as they approached - a good sign for the future.
For the umpteenth time, he thanked a God that he didn’t believe in that he had turned away from the path of revenge for revenge’s sake.
It had been all too easy to go down that path in the aftermath of Crossing, the battle that had nearly finished the Dragoons just three years ago, given how personal that campaign had become. Wolf had even begun planning for the inevitable resumption of the Dragoons’ vendetta against the Combine as their unusually empty DropShips burned into the Outreach system for the first time.
Most of his surviving senior officers had agreed with him. But not all.
Wolf had shuttled over to the Solace, one of the Dragoons’ medical DropShips, doing the rounds of the wards to see the injured. He’d done so every couple of days during the transit. There were so many injured, but at least some of them were showing progress, like Thomas West, pulled unconscious from the wreckage of his Griffin eighteen hours after the Battle of Crossing ended. On Wolf’s last visit, the veteran MechWarrior and one of the few remaining original Dragoons had been bedridden. This time, he was sitting in the lounge when Wolf passed through, offering the Colonel a jaunty left-handed salute in deference to his cast-immobilised right arm.
On the other hand, Captain Dechan Fraser remained in the coma he’d been in since Misery, felled at the same instant he had brought down Michi Noketsuna. Noketsuna and Jenette Rand were now part of Wolf’s initial plan for revenge against the Draconis Combine. He did not expect to hear from them for some time, but he could be patient, he reminded himself as he nodded a greeting to a medical orderly just leaving a cabin.
Stepping into the same cabin, Wolf was heartened to see Major Stanford Blake sitting up in bed, perusing a tablet. Noticing Wolf, Blake set down the tablet and attempted to pull himself more upright.
“Colonel,” he began, as Wolf waved off his effort at formality.
“Stanford - how are you feeling today?” Wolf asked, taking the stool beside the injured intelligence officer’s bed. Blake unconsciously touched the bandages covering most of his head and one ear. “Well, the headaches and dizziness are manageable without drugs now,” he reported with more cheer than he really felt. Both he and Wolf knew that unless the chronic conditions cleared up, Blake’s days in the cockpit were over. They’d seen it happen to others.
There was a tense pause, before Wolf broke the silence. “What are you doing?” he indicated the tablet.
Blake picked up the compact computer and turned it to face Wolf. “I’m going stir-crazy in here, Colonel, so I’ve been doing some thinking.”
Wolf picked up the tablet. On it was a summation of the the current situation as it pertained to the Dragoons. It wasn’t pretty reading.
At the bottom of the screen was a question - “How to accomplish the mission from here?”
Wolf looked up, surprised.
Blake nodded, reading his CO’s mind.
“We’ve still got the mission, Colonel. The real question is how.”
Wolf stood abruptly, leaving the tablet on the bed. “Why should we?” he demanded, his voice almost as icy as that time when he had confronted Takashi Kurita at the Steiner-Davion wedding that had started the recent war.
Blake leaned forward, wincing at the stab of pain that went through him at the sudden motion. “Because they need us more than ever, Colonel! Jamie,” he added urgently “if the Others find out that two of the Successor States have merged and just about destroyed a third, how do you think they’re going to react?”
Forcing himself to calm down, Wolf considered the question. He took two paces to the door, all the space there was in the cabin, and turned back to face his Intelligence Chief.
“They’ll see it as a signal that Hanse Davion intends to reform the Star League with himself at its head - and without them. They’ll vote for invasion immediately.”
“And the Inner Sphere is in no position to stop them.” Blake completed the rough analysis. He leaned back against the pillows, briefly closing his eyes. “You’ve been talking to the Originals about striking back at Kurita -”
“How did you know that?” Wolf demanded. Those conversations had been private affairs.
Blake opened his eyes and cracked a smile. “I’m your Intel Chief, Colonel. Work it out.”
Despite himself, Wolf let out a snort of amusement. Blake pushed on.
“Seeking revenge against Kurita is understandable. I get it - I want my pound of flesh too - hells, Jaime, they shot me out of two ‘Mechs and I’m more than likely never suiting up again because of them!”
The stark statement caused a pang in Jaime - so many were already gone from the ranks, here was yet another.
“But Kurita is
nothing compared to what the Others could bring down on the Inner Sphere. And not even Dracs deserve to live under their rule. We’re the only ones who can help the Inner Sphere. Forget Kurita -”
“
No!”
The heated outburst was atypical for Jaime Wolf. It was hard to say which of the two men was more surprised by it. When Wolf showed no sign of continuing, Blake spoke again.
“I don’t mean forever.” He sighed. “I suspect Kurita won’t let us forget, anyway.”
Blake propped himself fully upright now, staring intently at the Dragoons’ commander. Wolf had the odd feeling that if Blake had had the strength to do so, he would be grasping him by the lapels.
“Jaime, Wolfnet is good, but we’re not invincible. Except for a bunch of emergency rendezvous coordinates, we’re completely cut off from the homeworlds. We have no idea what other efforts they’re making to gather intel on the Inner Sphere. We know ComStar has ships exploring the Deep Periphery - and while they have the largest operation, the Lyrans, Dracs and FedSuns all have their own little expeditions going.
“What happens if they and the Others stumble across one another? We cannot control that. The only thing we can control is how we prepare the Inner Sphere. Kerlin Ward said he thought he could delay an invasion by ten to fifteen years. We’ve used up twelve years of that margin, and our first attempt has failed.”
Blake collapsed back onto his pillow as his strength failed abruptly, cursing as he did so.
Wolf jumped forward to catch his friend.
“Stan! I’m calling a medic,” he reached for the call button at the head of the bed.
“No need,” groaned Blake. “Just tired.” Now that Wolf was right beside him, Blake did reach up to grab his collar.
“We need to refocus on the mission. Damnit Jaime,
I need you focused on stopping the Others.” He stared right into Jaime’s eyes as his commander waged a war within himself. Then, somehow seeing that Wolf had come to the right decision, Blake let go and sank into the thin mattress.
“Thanks for coming by, Colonel,” he said softly, closing his eyes.
“No, Stanford, thank you,” Wolf replied, patting Blake gently on the shoulder. “We will talk about this later. Get your rest, Major.”
Blake did not reply - he was already asleep.
Wolf made no more visits that day - there was work to do.
...and now, before him, some of the fruits of those works were blooming.
The dozen MechWarriors came to a stop at the prescribed distance from the reviewing stand, went to attention and saluted on command from Captain Fraser.
Wolf returned the salute. As his hand dropped to his side, Wolf addressed the scarred veteran in command.
“Congratulations, Captain Fraser. You’ve done well with your command.”
Fraser visibly straightened at the compliment - but so did the rest of the company. Good -
esprit de corps was strong here.
“It is my honour to promote you to the rank of Major, Dechan Fraser,” he continued, as an aide held out a pair of olive rank tabs marked with two red stars.
“Thank you, sir!” replied the newly promoted Major Fraser as Wolf attached the rank tabs to his collar.
“Your reputation has preceded you. You are hereby transferred to the Black Widow Battalion,” Wolf told Fraser as he shook the junior officer’s hand.
“I - thank you, sir. But, my company -” started Fraser.
“With the job you’ve done, I’m sure they will be in good hands under Captain West,” chimed in Colonel Elisabeth Nichole, Epsilon Regiment’s CO. She handed a pair of captain’s rank tabs to Fraser, who pinned them on his old comrade, both of them competing to have the biggest grin in the process.
“I suppose Strike Lance needs a new commander, huh?” West asked. And both of them turned to Corporal Emilia Tzu, a product of one of the first Dragoon Sibkos.
“General, would you do the honors?” asked Captain West.
“My pleasure, Captain,” smiled Wolf. Colonel Nichole handed a pair of white discs to him, and with that little action, the next stage in rebuilding the Dragoons began.
New Avalon
Federated Suns
6 November, 3035Quintus Allard was in Hanse Davion’s personal study for the third time today. The first time was at 0745 when he had delivered the morning intelligence summary, something which he still did once a week or so. It was really the job of a mid-level officer, but Allard liked to keep his hand in. He’d returned at 0930 to discuss the future integration of the LIC with his MIIO. When he returned to his own desk from that meeting, he found an Intelligence Estimate that had been flagged by Alex Mallory for his attention. The contents of said Estimate were the reason he was back in the First Prince’s presence as the sun set over Camelot.
Quintus sat back in the comfortable chair that faced Davion’s desk, watching his sovereign work his way through the three-page summary. He noticed how Davion held the papers almost at arm's length as he read.
Still refusing to use the reading glasses, thought Allard. Six months ago, an administrative memo had come from Hanse’s Senior Executive Assistant directing that all reports for the First Prince’s attention had to begin with a double-spaced summary no more than four pages long, with the text at least sixteen-point in size.
Hanse finished reading and placed the summary on top of his copy of the Intelligence Estimate. The centimetre-thick folder sat alone on the dark green blotter portion of the First Prince’s desk, but there were stacks of similar folders in trays to either side, differentiated mainly by their multi-coloured borders depending on their subject, security classification or both. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, covering it by also pinching the bridge of his nose as he contemplated what he had just read.
“Let me see if I understand this,” Hanse began as he reopened his eyes. “Wolf’s Dragoons are probably artificially growing a bunch of elite MechWarriors on Outreach, and have the means to outfit them with ‘Mechs.”
Quintus nodded.
Hanse picked up the summary again and flicked to the second page. “Alright, let’s go through this again. Six years after being reduced from five fully supported regiments to
one understrength combined-arms regiment, the Dragoons are better than halfway rebuilt, with
three fully supported regiments taking contracts and elements of the other two also spotted in the field as attachments. That would be an excellent job for one of our wealthier PDZs, but it’s downright remarkable for a single world.”
Hanse stabbed another point with his finger. “Their ability to re-equip with BattleMechs far exceeds the production facilities on Outreach, but that must be where the machines are coming from since they haven’t bought enough from outside manufacturers to rebuild even one regiment.”
Quintus nodded again. “Which means we’ve just proven that the survey done by Snord’s Irregulars before you signed over the world to the Dragoons is, at best, flawed and incomplete.”
“At worst,” Davion picked up the thread, “The Irregulars are collaborating with the Dragoons.”
“Actually, we now believe that they’re a clandestine unit of the Dragoons’ intelligence arm,” Quintus admitted.
Hanse merely grunted as his scenario got even worse, then flipped to the last page. “Replacing material is one thing, but finding warriors for all those machines is another. The Dragoons have taken in a lot of soldiers who lost their units in the last war, but only a few met their standards. Your analyst thinks that would be enough for…?”
Quintus didn’t need to consult his copy of the full report. “They took in enough MechWarriors from destroyed commands for about one battalion, plus about two squadrons’ worth of AeroWarriors, two battalions of armour crew, and an unknown amount of infantry, but certainly no more than a regiment’s worth.”
“So, still not enough. And that leads to this outlandish conclusion that somehow the Dragoons are growing their own troops?”
“Unfortunately, if you look at the evidence that’s accumulated since the Dragoons arrived thirty years ago, it’s a credible possibility.” Allard raised a finger. “One, the Dragoons’ military prowess tends to blind people to the fact that they have medical lostech. And that they’ve used that lostech to treat outsiders as well as their own since they came.”
Hanse nodded. “I know, one of my cousins went to them for…” Hanse’s tired eyes sharpened as he realised the implications of the rest of his sentence. “... fertility treatment.” He fairly hissed the final two words.
“She was far from the only one,” Quintus pointed out. “And this brings me to point number two. From what we’ve been able to reconstruct, after battlefield injuries, the most common way the Dragoons have used their advanced medical knowledge since arriving in the Inner Sphere is in the area of infertility treatments - with a remarkably high success rate, I might add.”
Hanse shifted his gaze to a spot on the back wall, over Allard’s head. “I remember when word got around the FedSuns nobility about the ‘wonder cures’ the Dragoons had, and the race to take advantage of it.”
“Which brings up point number three,” said Quintus. “Most of the people who sought medical help from the Dragoons have been nobles. It was true here, and we have no reason to suspect it was any different in the other states they worked for. The nobility of the Inner Sphere contains a significant proportion of MechWarriors and other military personnel.”
Hanse put down the summary sheet and looked straight at Allard. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”
Quintus ploughed on. “The Dragoons have been in a position to collect genetic material from many of the Inner Sphere’s finest warriors. When the Dragoon’s dependents arrived in the FedSuns from the Combine during the war, they contained substantially more children than they should have. From the information they gave Immigration Services, our analysts worked out that the average Dragoons family has three-point-oh-seven children - well above the FedSuns average as a whole, and only slightly less than some of our Outback Worlds.
“We don’t normally analyze the dependents of mercenary units, but with all the red flags popping up about the Dragoons, our team did so. The average mercenary unit employed by us has one-point-eight-six children per family.”
Hanse turned the summary back to the last page. “And then - “
Quintus jumped in. “Yes. We went back and looked at the blood samples they gave Immigration Services. We found that all of the children were related to at least one of their parents, but only around a third of them were actually related to both their parents. Concentrating on the anomalous two-thirds, what we found is not conclusive in and of itself, but taken along with all the other evidence...:”
Now it was Hanse’s turn to jump in. “So, they found genetic markers that tend to be more common in certain families, including -” he flipped open the Intelligence Estimate to the page cross-referenced on his summary sheet, and read the list of names “ - Stephenson, Zibler, Davions of Argyle, Davions of Victoria, McLeod, Ellerslie, McGuigan, Kim, Vu... Quintus, this is a veritable Burke’s Peerage of the top MechWarrior families in the Suns!”
“Yes, I know,” Quintus conceded. “For what it’s worth, they appear to have been equal-opportunity genetic pilferers. Our data is much more limited here, but we believe we have found children with lineages from the leading MechWarrior families in the Combine, Commonwealth, League and Confederation as well.”
“Katrina’s going to hit the roof when she finds out,” muttered Hanse, thinking of his mother-in-law’s propensity for decisive action. He reached for his glass of scotch, then paused with the drink halfway to his lips. “Quintus, do we know if they did the same with military personnel from other arms?”
Quintus sighed. “Unfortunately not, sire. We track MechWarriors mostly because of their prestige. We simply don’t have enough readily available data to do the same for say, tankers or artillerymen.”
Hanse grunted. “So much for being more egalitarian than the other Successor States.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “Put together a group to look at the implications and recommend courses of action - a small group,” he ordered.
“Already done, Hanse. Alex Mallory is heading it up. They aim to have some projections by the end of the week.”