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Interlude: Forlorn Hope[]
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11/17/3051 | Tamar, Lyran Commonwealth
Duke Selvin Kelswa III took a long draught of brandy within the blacked out mansion that had for centuries held strong against the Draconis Combine in defense of the Lyran Commonwealth. It would not hold much longer; the Ghost Bears were in position on the hills. Hills that his family had enjoyed so often in his life. They were waiting for his answer before they stormed the walls.
COMSTAR had abandoned them. He understood why intellectually. However, the only salve he had for this was that Precentor Hoppe had honored his request to evacuate Morasha, Robert, and more civilians than they likely could hold to their mystery destination with them.
He could not, would not abandon his world though, nor was he going to wage a guerilla war. If these alien invaders meant to take this world, he intended to stand up to them, to his last breath if he must. He was too old for games now, but not for battle.
Many of his old friends had gathered downstairs in the grand hall, greying men that he had served alongside and even a few he served under during the Succession Wars, MechWarriors long past their prime. A solemn mood lay as heavily upon them as the pre-dawn darkness, He raised a glass, “To one last ride Lads! We shall enjoy it to the end. Leave nothing but empty bottles and terrible memories to the enemy.”
“Hier! Hier! Zum Herzog von Tamar!”
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Atlas Assault 'Mech
Outside a square company of Assault Mechs had gathered in the courtyard with a Battalion of lightly equipped Militia. Hauptmann Dieter van Kesh stood at attention in his gray tanker’s jumpsuit, the young Lieutenant had been thrust high above his station after the Ghost Bear’s ‘Elementals’ had decapitated his Kommandant and most of the other Militia Commanders. “Let us accompany you your Grace.”
“How old are you son?”
“Twenty three, sir.”
Selvin grabbed his shoulder roughly, “I’m giving you the order to make it to thirty, kid. Then we can talk. Let us old fellas handle this one would ya. Get out of town while you still can, lay low, wait for relief, then be brave. Du verstehst?”
“Ja, Sir!” The Militia watched them depart before driving their light tanks and trucks in the opposite direction, to safety he hoped. Szczepański’s Symphony no 7, his personal favorite, played over their battle-net.
His Atlas exited the Eastern Gate to see the lights of the Ghost Bear Galaxy camped upon the hills. “I have your answer Galaxy Commander Aleksandr Jorgensson.”
Minutes passed before a ‘Kodiak’ stepped forward with its command ‘Trinary’ the mech’s immense claws inspired as much fear as his own’s ‘Death Head’ but he had seen them in action before. “And what have you decided, Duke Kelswa, will you surrender?”
“Ich werde nicht.”
The claws opened, “Very well then. Sigma, destroy them, but leave the Duke to me.”