Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
8 May 2760
“My lord, I appeal to you in the name of our common humanity. I share your pain at the destruction upon Demeter, but the responsibility does not lie with my revered Lady Liao.”
John raised his hand to cut off the words of the Capellan ambassador. While the Scots-Irish wasn’t the most noted demographic in worlds of the Capellan Hegemony, they were wide-spread enough that Warex Liao had found one – even found one with a mix of French ancestry – to represent him on New Avalon. Under other circumstances, John might even like the man but right now Javier McNeill’s maternal ancestry was inclining him towards volubility and one more filibuster might be too much for the First Prince’s patience.
“Your excellency, it has been the policy of Lady Liao – even before her father’s sad demise – to encourage what she has described as ‘the aspirations of the oppressed Chesterton people’ in public despite the fact that Chesterton remains under the rule of families descended from their original colonists and that they were incorporated into the Suns long before the Capellan Confederation ever came to be.”
“But Prince Da-”
John leant forwards. “Ambassador, I did not call you here to speak. Since you were appointed by the late Chancellor, I understand you have no mandate from his daughter. But you can hear me and you can relay my words to your new mistress.”
McNeill bowed his head. “My apologies, your highness.”
“Perhaps, now that she bears the weight of the Confederation, Lady Barbara will be more restrained. But unfortunately it is too late to avoid this going further. My military intelligence have an existing file on the Chesterton Liberation Battalion, you see.”
“I would never assume anything less.”
Activating a control, John brought up a head and shoulders display of a man in his twenties. “This is Edgar Borlenko. One of the ‘oppressed’ Chesterton people who decided to cross the border and from the Suns and take employment in the Confederation. Which is his right as a Star League citizen, although given his background is middle class and his family can be traced to Kestrel on one side and Terra itself on the other as recently as the middle of the last century, I’m not clear on how he’s oppressed or Chestertonian.”
He cleared the screen. “Mr Borlenko has been positively identified as a member of the CLB and as with all their known members, he’s now subject of a manhunt. But between his departure from the Suns for Capellan space and his return as part of CLB, would you care to know who employed him?”
“I really couldn’t say,” McNeill answered with a resigned dip of his head.
“The Maskirova,” John answered. “The Capellan state intelligence agency hired the man, trained him… and now he’s on one of my worlds claiming credit for the deaths of over a hundred people. That would be quite the coincidence if the Capellan government is entirely uninvolved.”
“Obviously I have no knowledge and could not offer any response.”
The First Prince nodded. “I fully understand.” He allowed his shoulders to relax. “I don’t believe for a minute you have any personal involvement in this, Ambassador McNeill. But this matter cannot be allowed to rest.”
“Perhaps independent adjudication could be arranged?”
“I placed that very proposal in front of the Star League Council yesterday.” John steepled his fingers. “General Kerensky indicated he was prepared to enforce martial law on Demeter and put the full resources of Star League Intelligence into investigating this. All he required was the support of both myself and the Chancellor – or failing that, a majority vote of the Star League Council to authorise those actions.”
“I’m sure that you understand that my lady’s position as a newly appointed Chancellor would be undermined if her first action was to place herself in a vulnerable position with regard to outside authorities.”
The ambassador’s response was met with a cold expression. “I am aware that a leader must sometimes bend to the demands of those they lead. And for that reason, please also advise the Chancellor that unless she changes her mind regarding this matter that I will yield to certain demands from my people. You’ll have seen those demands on placards in the streets outside your embassy earlier.”
From the way his eyes darkened, McNeill had. “Respectfully, Prince Davion, you are discussing war.”
“Yes.”
There was a long, ugly moment of silence before the ambassador stood. “As you said, I am here to listen and not to speak. I believe I have heard you out.”
John nodded.
“Pray remember, for the sake of your people, that the last time two Star League states went to war, it did not end well for the aggressors.”
“Wars don’t usually end well for anyone, ambassador. I wish you well on your journey to Sian.” John rose but didn’t offer his hand. “If you aren’t reappointed, I also wish you well in your future career.”
“I regret that under the current circumstances I can offer no similar well-wishes for your own endeavours.”
John waited until the doors had closed behind McNeill before tapping his intercom. “Owen, do I have any other appointments in the next hour or so?”
“No sire,” his secretary replied. “We cleared most of the afternoon for the ambassador and for the High Command meeting.”
“Right. Please advise Colonel Stopec that he’ll be chairing the High Command meeting in my absence. I need some time to think.”
“That leaves you clear until 17:30, sire.”
“Right – getting ready for General Dixon’s farewell dinner.” John shook his head. “I’ll take what I can get then, Owen. If you clear what’s on your desk before then you can take the rest of the day off – I won’t subject you to that and we might not get many breaks in the next few months.”
“I’ll see how that goes then, sire. Do have a good evening.”
John cut the intercom and then activated the security procedures that isolated his office electronically. “Fat chance of that.”
“Three days and he hasn’t even set off?” Hanse Davion had been sitting quietly in one of the chairs at the back of his office. Now he stood and moved to take the one that McNeill had been in. “I’ve got a few concerns about General Dixon.”
“Most of his force is on the way.” John realised he was being defensive and took a breath. “There aren’t enough jump-ship collars for everything to leave at once anyway, someone had to be last and it makes sense for him not to depart until everything’s in motion.”
“That’s a chief of staff’s job – the commander should be in the lead.”
The prince tilted his head side to side. “Arguable. Anyway, I’m sorry I haven’t had time for us to really talk until now.”
“There have been other priorities,” Hanse agreed calmly. “And I’ve had other things on my mind.”
“Your family,” offered John sympathetically.
After a deep breath, Hanse met his gaze evenly. “Victor has a good head on his shoulders. I’d have preferred it if we had longer to prepare him, but it is what it is. He’s got friends to stand by him, and Melissa’s a very able woman.”
“Does that help?”
“A little. Wondering if there are other things I should have said or done. Nothing I haven’t wondered before.”
“What’s the 31st century like? I assume from what you’ve mentioned so far that the Liao are still making trouble.”
“Oh yes, they’re very motivated about that.” Hanse bared his teeth. “Some of them, at least. Oddly enough, one of them is probably Victor’s best friends. Unfortunately his cousin’s the new Chancellor and that one’s an inventive little bastard. He’d just sent me notice that he was engaged to marry the Captain-General’s daughter.”
John winced. “Well, maybe it’ll go as well for them as it did for my great-aunt and my grandfather.”
“Not all marriages between Great Houses end poorly.”
“Name one.”
“Mine.” The redhead folded his arms. “My wife Melissa is Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth.”
“Oh.” John frowned at the idea. The Commonwealth and the Suns had rarely had much to do with each other – Lyran space was on the far side of the Terran Hegemony so communication had historically been indirect. Which wasn’t to say they hadn’t had some fruitful co-operation in the past. “How did the Star League Council take that?”
Hanse leant back in the chair. “The Star League is gone, John.”
“Gone?”
“Disbanded, destroyed…” He held his hands together and then moved them apart, spreading his fingers to simulate an explosion. “Dead. And we’ve spent generations fighting over its corpse. My wedding was the first time in two hundred and forty-seven years – almost to the day – that all five of the great lords were even in the same room at once.”
John swallowed. Almost two hundred and fifty years – and Hanse said that by his time I’d been dead around that long. “You don’t mean sometime between our lives, you mean… now. In my lifetime.”
He got a nod in reply. “Nineteenth August, 2781. It’s one of the dates every school child is taught. The day the Star League Council disbanded.”
“But why!” The question erupted from his throat. “I know we’re having our frictions but…”
“Most people in my time blame Stefan Amaris.” Hanse looked thoughtful. “It’s probably a little convenient – God knows, he deserves a lot of blame – but it’s easier than admitting that the fault lies with our predecessors. You and the other four members of the Council.”
“Why do you say four, five I mean? There are ten seats on the Council – six even if you just count the voting members.”
Hanse sighed. “Because there was no Cameron left to take his seat, to be First Star Lord. And none of you – none of you – could agree on a replacement. You all had a candidate in mind, you see, and there was no compromising. The Council disbanded… and the matter went to the final courtroom of kings, the battlefield.”
Who won? John realised the answer before he wasted time asking: no one. If they had then there would have been a League. “How long did that last?”
“It might be over in my time. Maybe. There’s no new Star League but I thought Theodore Kurita and Thomas Marik might be sensible enough to realise there probably wasn’t any point fighting over that. Then again, I didn’t think Marik would be open to a Liao marriage offer…”
“You… never stopped fighting? Another age of war, like before the Star League.”
“Oh no.” Hanse shook his head. “It was much, much worse than that.”
John stood, walked to a discreet cabinet and produced a bottle of bourbon. Filling a glass he returned to his seat. “Alright. Tell me.”
“Pour another glass first.”
“You can’t drink, Hanse.”
“I meant for you. Actually, just bring the whole bottle.”
.o0O0o.
The dinner for the departing Twelfth Avalon Hussars was fulsome. Drink flowed heavily among the Mechwarrior officers and John regretted the bourbon earlier, watering his drinks and even then restraining himself to sips.
“They’re a fine body of men,” Dixon assured him from the head table where they were sat. “We’ll show the Capellans what for.”
“Good.” He was trying to show quiet confidence in his men, but it was hard. Hanse was present, leaning against the wall and watching the room darkly. The tale that the man had spun in the afternoon was hard to take on but one thing that had come through clearly was a conviction that the AFFS wasn’t ready for war.
Unaware of these dark thoughts, the General raised his own glass. “A toast, to our noble prince and his gracious lady.”
Around the room, men and women found glasses – sometimes not even their own and drank to that.
Obligated to return, John looked at his own glass and searched for words that wouldn’t betray him. Fortunately, Edwina caught his mood and rested one hand on his in restraint. Taking her own glass she stood. “I thank you all. And may I in turn offer my own toast – to your swift, safe and victorious return.”
“Aye!” came a chorus of acclamation.
“Thank you,” John murmured.
She gave a direct look at the man on the other side of John and thankfully Dixon was sufficiently attuned to court that he gave them room, stepping aside with a winked excuse of visiting the smallest room.
“You’re thinking of your father, aren’t you?”
“Something like that,” he affirmed.
Edwina could have promised him it would be different now, that the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns had been improved vastly from the force that Joseph Davion had led to repel the Combine’s Mustered Soldiery. But it wouldn’t have mattered to the nine year old boy he’d been when he’d learned his father wouldn’t be returning so she didn’t waste her breath.
Instead she looked down the room and then back at him. “I’m glad it’s now and not later. Joshua has another year at the academy or he’d be sure to demand a place on the frontlines.”
A chill went through John at the thought. Many of the Mechwarriors were barely older than his heir. But she was right. And… “There’s no certainty this will be done before he’s old enough.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“I -”
“I know… but I have a year to hope that this will be over quickly.”
John nodded. “I understand. I hope so too.”
“Make it happen, John. Please.”
“I will do all I can.” He hid the weakness of his smile behind his glass, barely tasting the contents. “If you want to make excuses, then you don’t have to stay.”
“And leave you here with no support?”
Dixon returned and Hanse left the wall, moving to stand behind John. “They’re good troops, John. Don’t doubt the men and women down there.” The redheaded man paused and then circled his hand to gesture around him – at the high table. “Worry about whether the officers up here will let them down.”
Restraining the urge to look back at Hanse, John turned to General Dixon. “I’ll be leaving shortly – I need a good night’s sleep before meeting with the High Command to plan our overall strategy.”
“Of course, sire. I understand.” From the respectful look Dixon was giving Edwina, John doubted it but he let that go.
“There’s no higher responsibility I can place in anyone’s hands than the leadership of our soldiers in battle. I’m placing a great weight on your shoulders.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about, Prince Davion. I’ll give the Capellans the beating they deserve. The Liao won’t dare trifle with us a second time.”
John hoped his face didn’t give away how little that reassured him. Hanse’s face was a mask and he doubted that it was hiding approval.
.o0O0o.
Balbadd Valley, Valexa
Sarna Commonality, Capellan Confederation
16 July 2760
Given any choice on the matter, Susan wouldn’t have chosen the rice paddies that dominated the valley floor as a battlefield. The wet ground sucked at the feet of their ‘Mechs any time they stepped off the relatively narrow roads raised above the well-irrigated paddies – and if they stayed on the roads then they would be leaving themselves essentially without cover.
“Where the hell’s our relief!”
That’s what I want to know. “It’s on the way,” she answered Smythe’s complaint with all the confidence she could muster.
The attack had looked fine on paper – impromptu battle groups combining tanks, infantry and ‘Mechs were supposed to be sweeping down each of the river valleys leading to Leim City, where the rivers converged into a single more significant waterway. Taking the city would cut off a major transport node and let General Dixon – ‘Wang’ Dixon, the troops called him when officers were out of sight – trap the Sixteenth Liao Lancers and force their surrender.
There was a chirp from her communications panel and she accepted a private transmission from Sergeant Greaney. “Ma’am,” the grizzled sergeant advised. “The relief’s been ‘on the way’ for longer than it took us to get down here the first time. If we’re going to get out of here before the Chink artillery arrives, it’s going to be our own doing.”
“You’re probably right, Gav. But I don’t have any clever ideas. Do you?”
“Well we could shoot Smythe ourselves, to keep him from yapping, but that would probably be frowned upon.”
Susan was surprised she still had a laugh in her. “That’s a negative on friendly fire. Right now, the best idea I have is someone providing a diversion for the rest of the company to get away.”
“Just don’t try to be a lone hero in that, Lieutenant. Remember, Smythe’s life rests on me not being left in charge.”
Company was perhaps too strong a word. Battle Group Shadow had been made up of eleven ‘Mechs from Echo Company of Second Arcadian Cuirassiers, ten Manticore heavy tanks from the Seventh Panpour Panzer Regiment and three platoons of the 86th Light Infantry in hover APCs.
Nine of the tanks were probably forty kilometres behind them at the far end of the valley, right where they’d broken off once it was clear that the road’s bridges couldn’t bear the weight of them and the paddy floors were too soft for their tracks to get any traction. One of the tanks had been the price of that lesson.
Captains Abney and Cooke had pressed on though with just infantry and ‘Mechs. They probably wouldn’t have been able to push onto Leim City alone, but if they’d secured the town of Balbadd (whether the valley or town had been named first, Susan didn’t know) then they likely could have hung on and linked up with one of the other attacks.
If.
Assuming that either captain had had a contingency plan, neither had confided it to Leftenant Susan Sandoval, who now enjoyed the privilege of command over six Dervish BattleMechs with near empty LRM magazines and five infantry squads. Not one of the personnel carriers had survived the fusillade of fire from Balbadd as they tried to rush in under covering fire from the ‘Mechs.
The same fire was engaging anyone who tried to retreat back to the next embankment so that left the little force trapped. It was only a matter of time before the Capellans brought in reinforcements.
Susan glanced back at the road behind them. The promised relief force would be coming down there… but there was a pronounced lack of movement or other signs of them. Just the first of the APCs to be destroyed.
Her eyes narrowed. The armoured hover tank was actually more or less intact – shots had damaged one of the side-skirts as well as taking out part of the road it had been following. The result had flipped the ten ton vehicle over on its roof, as well as half-burying it in the paddy.
“Smythe,” she instructed. “Crawl your ‘Mech back and see if you can drag the APC that up-ended over to us.”
“Why?”
If the Mechwarrior hadn’t also started to back her Dervish towards the hovercraft, Susan might have shot her. “Because it might be our way out of here.”
“You won’t get all the infantry aboard her.”
“I’m not trying to. But it might be the diversion we need.”
Keeping her own Dervish crouched so as not to draw fire, she waded over to Smythe’s position. Waves kicked up reached where infantry were crouched on the rear of the embankment. While she couldn’t hear them cursing, she didn’t think they were thanking her.
Switching to the infantry frequency she looked for the effective leader remaining from the company. “Sergeant Watsuki. We’re recovering one of the APCs. Have someone check to see if it’s working, please.”
The sergeant – who didn’t look at all oriental – gave her a terse acknowledgement and picked to men to help him take care of the task. There was another wave of water as Smythe tipped the personnel carrier over, and it sank into the water, the ruptured plenum chamber flooding immediately.
Despite this, Watsuki seemed surprisingly upbeat about the vehicle’s prospects. “It’ll be a devil to drive, but the plenum chambers are redundant – as long as four of the six are intact it should be able to move.”
“And can it be set up to drive a pre-set course without anyone in it?”
The sergeant frowned. “We can set it off, but with the damage it’s anyone’s guess how close it’ll stick to the desired course.”
Susan felt a flood of relief. “That’s all I wanted to know, Sergeant. Get any salvageable kit out of the troop compartment and get the men ready to move. We’ll be retreating shortly.”
Less than five minutes work prepared them for the retreat. Most of that was spent getting the six worst wounded of the infantry up and into the ‘Mech cockpits, where they had to squeeze in behind the Mechwarriors.
Watsuki handed Susan a remote while her canopy was open. “Working with what I have,” he explained. “It’s all wired up. Just click twice to set it off and for god’s sake, keep the ride as smooth as you can.”
“Smooth is one thing I can’t promise, Sergeant. But it’s the only chance I can see short of surrender and I’ve heard some nasty things about Capellan prisoner of war camps.”
“Probably the same stories I’ve heard. I’d rather not find out for real.” He saluted and closed the canopy for her to lock down.
“Sound off that you’re ready to go,” Susan ordered.
There were five ayes, which was good enough for her. “Smythe, put it up.”
With a heave, Smythe’s ‘Mech lifted the front of the recovered APC and dragged it up onto the embankment. “Good as I can get it, ma’am.”
“Then it’ll have to do.” Susan clicked the remote twice.
For a moment nothing seemed to happen but then, just as she was about to query Watsuki, the hovercraft’s fans kicked into gear and lifted the skirts up and off the ground. The little – at least compared to the 55 ton Dervish – vehicle seemed to hesitate and then it accelerated up the slope, cresting and tipping over with a thump.
The impact seemed to jam the personnel carrier for a moment and the staccato bellow of an autocannon warned that it had been seen. Susan swallowed. If it was stuck then it was too close and…
The fans revved harder and the hover APC tore free, rushing forwards towards Belbadd.
More weapons opened up and Susan prayed to the God of her ancestors that the damage to the skirt would make it sufficiently unpredictable as to not be hit immediately.
Five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen…
Then sound and fire hammered into the air as something penetrated the little craft’s armour and hit what they’d prepared – almost half a ton of SRMs unloaded from the Dervishes and crammed into the infantry compartment.
“Go! Go! Go!”
Susan straightened her Dervish and ran for the next embankment back followed by the rest of the ‘Mechs, each clutching four or five men against their chests.
Stray shots chased them and Susan almost missed the embankment, focused on looking at the corners of her compressed 360 degree display for shots that might hit her vulnerable rear armour. Her ‘Mech lurched awkwardly as she adjusted and scrambled up it and made for the next.
.o0O0o.
The tanks were gone by the time they reached the head of the valley. Fortunately they found a farm truck that with minimal hotwiring could be used for the infantry – Susan suspected that if any of them had ever been impressed with the glamour of BattleMechs they’d gotten over it after the rough ride up the valley.
There was also absolutely no sign of a relief force.
“It’s a good job you pulled back,” Major Barnes told Susan wearily when she made contact on the radio. “We were going to swing Delta Company or Foxtrot Company around to take Balbadd from behind once they broke through -”
“Let me guess, neither of them managed that.”
“No, Leftenant.” The major didn’t add any weight to her rank. “Not for lack of trying, but they didn’t. I asked General Dixon’s staff to pull some other regiments in to help you but I haven’t had a response yet. I guess I can tell them to cancel that request.”
Susan bit back any further complaints. “Is it like this all over, sir?”
“Well we’re not winning, yet.” There was a break in the conversation and for a moment Susan thought they’d lost contact before Barnes spoke again: “Escort the infantry back to their regiment, Leftenant, and then report back to our firebase.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll be there… probably around midnight.”
“I’ll tell the techs to be waiting. We’ll need your ‘Mechs ready to fight again.”
Sunset, in the mountains, came swiftly. Watsuki lit up the road with the truck’s one working headlight while the ‘Mechs tramped along flanking him, hoping that anyone spotting them would miss the hulking Dervishes in contrast to the cone of light that preceded the infantry.
Fortunately they didn’t encounter anyone on the road but the first sign they had of the infantry was a SRM that came corkscrewing out of the darkness towards Greaney’s ‘Mech.
“Ambush!” snapped Smythe and fired her jump jets, the Dervish vaulting upwards as Watsuki responded to the attack by driving the truck into the ditch, half-pitching it over in the process.
Susan was about to fire on the source of the missile but the orange light of the jump jets lit up a familiar helmet shape. “Hold fire!” she screamed. “They’re AFFS!”
For a moment she thought the lance would ignore her, but for a wonder even Smythe kept her finger off the triggers.
Switching to speakers, Susan spread her ‘Mech’s arms. “Cease fire, we’re with the Second Cuirassiers!”
The man she’d spotted dived into the shadows and infra-red sensors suggested there were more men – and more missile launchers out there. No one fired though and after what seemed like forever but was probably only a couple of minutes, a jeep arrived carrying someone in authority.
In fact, it was the Eighty-Sixth’s colonel. “We’ve seen more hostile ‘Mechs than friendlies,” he said unapologetically. “Earlier today we got lucky and the Seventh Panpour had some tanks near enough to support us. Otherwise we need to rely on ambushes like this.”
“I hadn’t heard Capellan raiders were pushing through the lines.”
He laughed bitterly. “Lines is too strong a word. Thanks for bring Watsuki and the wounded back. Did Captain Abney give you any idea when the rest of the company will be sent back to us?”
Susan’s face must have given him the answer because the Colonel’s expression congealed before she could say anything.
“I sent almost a hundred men with you this morning, Leftenant! What the hell use are you mechjocks if you can’t support my men?”
“Sir.” Watsuki didn’t salute – that would have been a major breach of regs in the field – but his stance was parade ground attention. “Captain Abney led us into the mess. The leftenant got us out.”
Energy seemed to drain out of the infantry officer. “Right. My apologies, leftenant.”
“You’re not really any madder than I was, sir.” Susan looked up at her ‘Mech, feeling a strong urge to get back to the security of the cockpit. “I don’t know if I can do anything about getting you better support against the Capellans but I’ll tell Major Barnes what you said.”
“That would be appreciated, Leftenant. Doubly appreciated if anything comes of it – but I’ll not hold my breath.”
.o0O0o.
Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
3 August 2760
The maps of three worlds lit up the central table of the planning centre, marked with gold for the positions of AFFS units and green for reported locations of Capellan forces.
“According to General Dixon, he’s outnumbered almost two to one by the Capellan Armed Forces.” Stopec pulled up a forces display. “Military Intelligence disagree – by their count the frontline regiments on the three worlds are near parity for him, and the local militia were depleted in the last few years to build up frontline units so there shouldn’t be much of anything they can add.”
“Which do you believe?”
The grizzled Mechwarrior looked at his liege lord for a moment and then shrugged. “Likely somewhere between the two. MilInt’s ‘Mech numbers are pretty good but they tend to focus there – it could be there’s more infantry or tanks than they want to admit.”
“Given the raiding we’re seeing, I’d agree about ‘Mechs. And that pins down most of our Capellan March units. Dixon already has twice the regiments I originally planned and it doesn’t look to me as if he’s doing anything with them. At least casualty rates have dropped off.”
“Green troops always take the worst hit in their first weeks,” the third man at the table explained. Of course, John was the only one who could hear him. “It’s a leadership problem.”
“I’m tempted to relieve Dixon,” the prince told Stopec as if thinking aloud. “But I don’t know that we have anyone much better and a change of command could cause more confusion.”
“You’re probably right, sire. With your permission, I’ll use the data we’re getting for some exercises. The March Militia don’t seem to mind playing OpFor and maybe I can war game out some solutions.”
“Go right ahead.”
John watched as Stopec went to arrange for the data to be routed to his staff. Not turning his head to look at Hanse felt rude, but he’d forced himself to develop the habit – he couldn’t afford to look unstable. “You obviously have ideas what’s going wrong.”
“Given that neither side has any real advantage in numbers, equipment or doctrine, we’re looking at a deadlock,” Hanse told him unflinchingly. “In theory attrition would eventually swing the balance to us, but the forces involved are too small as a fraction of the total forces in service to make that realistic.”
“I see,” John agreed under his breath. “I can’t change the numbers all that much – or the equipment.”
“Changing doctrine is even harder, but that’s what you’re up against.” The redhead looked up at the ceiling. “You can’t retrain troops in the field – and the ones that are there are picking up experience. Rather than increasing the forces committed, what I recommend is pulling regiments out one at a time and replacing them with fresh troops.”
John almost risked turning and glaring but Stopec was on his way back. “If we rotated regiments after, say six months, we could adjust our deployments and rebuild the units that have seen action on postings in the Crucis or Draconis March,” he observed. “But I’m concerned that we’d see casualties spike again as new regiments get used to battlefield conditions.”
“That’s likely true. But it might be necessary, feeding replacement soldiers to the regiments isn’t really any better – if you break the numbers down the losses we’re getting right now are disproportionately the inexperienced.”
Hanse nodded in agreement with the Champion. “And the veteran troops can act as cadres for the regiments you’re still forming up, giving them practical experience to learn from.”
“It feels like we’re using this war just to blood our troops – and the casualties aren’t worth that,” John protested.
“You’re wrong,” Hanse said flatly. “It’s absolutely worth it – because those hundreds dead mean thousands, possibly tens of thousands live. Just as long as the lessons are learned.”
“That’s not what the war is about, sire.” Stopec’s words cut across Hanse’s. “The soldiers swore to fight for the Federated Suns and that’s what they’re doing. Doing already – and it’s up to us to make sure that it is worth it.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” John sighed. “Alright. Plan on a troop rotation, starting in two months and switching out one regiment each month. That shouldn’t leave Dixon too short on experienced troops at any one time. And while that’s going on, I’ll need you to figure out what we’re doing wrong – and to do it faster than the Capellans are. Because right now I don’t think they’re fighting any smarter than we are. God help us if they wind up learning faster.”