If We Turn To Dust
- Chapter 9 -[]
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SitRep Dieron[]
IZNAKKI INTERPLANETARY SPACEPORT
DIERON, DIERON MILITARY DISTRICT, DRACONIS COMBINE
NOVEMBER 9TH, 3027
The Cauldron of Dieron had seen massive and vicious dogfights in the skies over the world I was falling towards, seesawing the advantage back and forth as this or that unit fought their way onto the planet but never with any one side able to claim control.
Today, the advantage was on our side. With eight designed combat dropships and an upgunned Mule to shepherd, Wolf's people had pulled out a full three regiments of aerospace fighters to escort us down, and staged a series of airstrikes across the rest of the Combine's battle lines to divert pressure. It wouldn't have worked if Jerry Akuma had decided to make the same kind of full-court press to stop the landing that I'd seen on Vega; Combine air asset attrition had been higher than the Commonwealth's on Dieron, but not that much higher.
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Mule Class Dropship
But this was a dance that both sides had done several times over the course of the battle as reinforcements arrived from offworld, and the steps were well worn. Akuma decided not to pay the price for a maximum effort for 'only' one mercenary brigade, especially with many of his space-capable birds still undergoing repairs from the scrum around getting his own reinforcements down.
Most of what had made it down was supposed to be the 9th Dieron Regulars, who'd been driven off of Kessel earlier in the conflict, with scraps from a unit we hadn't identified - and a bit more than scraps from the 14th Legion of Vega.
Needless to say that that was a fact that failed to delight me; if I never heard Natasha Kerensky's name again it would be too soon.
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Mobile HQ Vehicle
Alois Hammer was neurohelmet incompatible; he operated his unit out of a Mobile Headquarters vehicle, basically the same role as a Patton-K but built on the chassis of an offroad-capable truck. With only Carlyle, Dessau, and me joining him over the main map table it would have been roomy; cramming in Hammer's battalion COs didn't help even without my having brought along Ludovic Claire and Lira Suzuki.
Those two had both served under me all through my career as a mercenary, from the day I inherited what was left of my absentee father's battalion and its regiment-or-so of cache salvage to the day I swore an oath to Katrina Steiner as her direct vassal; Lu was a mechwarrior and a good one, who'd become a soldier hoping to avenge the family he'd seen killed by pirates and then found a career in it. He'd been a better battalion commander, and an indifferent regimental one. His seniority had led me to make him the lord of the Baltazar system, which had held a small, well-hidden battlemech factory once built by the long-dead Rim Worlds Republic to supply their secret military buildup.
I was a little surprised to see Lu, but not surprised at all to see Suzuki. She'd been his opposite number in my armored force and had settled on Kwangjong-ni, the site of another hidden RWR mech plant, but her family had been deeply involved in the Draconis Combine's yakuza organized crime syndicates before they were forced to flee to the Federated Suns, and they were fanatical about personal loyalties. Knowing that I was in the field as something other than an LCAF officer, I'd have been more surprised if she hadn't shown up.
Of Hammer's officers, Jan Cibolla, the commander of his scout infantry battalion, was a skinny woman easily seven feet tall; sitting in a normal sized chair with her hands folded on the table, her knees and elbows stuck out into the personal space of those around her despite her best efforts otherwise; her face was placid and still as a pond - or a sniper's perch.
Edwin Hau, the hovercraft commander, was only a little shorter and fully rounded, in the way that a man who exercised a lot and ate a lot could be - well padded but muscular under it. He had dark eyes that almost vanished in his face, and a lot of smile lines around them.
Luke Broglie, a name I recognized, took up the least space of any of Hammer's four; he was a bit under six feet and broad shouldered, athletic, almost offensively handsome. From the way he'd smiled and said hello as everyone else filed in, he knew it, too. Despite my distrust of smoothness and all other organic poisons, I was confident in the job he'd do as a heavy armor commander.
Finally, Joachim von Steuben, the Slammers' senior mechwarrior, was nearly short enough to look me in the eye and slim enough to fight in my weight class. In contrast to everyone else's various fatigues he was dressed in a tailored uniform, perfectly barbered, and trailed by the faint scent of a tasteful perfume.
And everyone in the room, even Hammer, was giving him the respectful personal space a cobra would have demanded.
The last man into the room was a medium-sized, forgettable man in LCAF infantry uniform. I gave him a nod, and he returned it and stepped into the presenter's spot. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "I'm Hauptmann Oberth of the Fifth Royal Guards. On the map, you can see what are locally termed 'valleys', in this region running west southwest to east northeast. North of our location here-" the spaceport was marked clearly on the map projected on the table, "-in the Tahlwynn Valley lies the Aldinga Valley, and north of that, the San Martin Valley. Despite the name 'valley', they're closer to being geological provinces, and what the locals call 'ridges' between them are mountain ranges in their own right. The list of routes between the valleys sufficiently improved to take heavy military equipment is… Short."
Oberth leaned over the table and used a light pen to draw highlights along particular roads. "It's gotten shorter since we dropped into the Cauldron," he added. "Akuma hasn't been shy about ordering his people to blow them. By the middle of August…" he started adding little 'x's to most of the routes, then drew ovals along the line of the ridges surrounding the others. "There were only three left, because they'd stayed in Snake hands the entire time, with divisions dug in in the hills around them. So… General Wolf decided to take a look at a flanking movement."
He scrolled the map east. "Here, about three hundred kilometers to the east, the Vanith Ridge broadens and fills to a high plateau. The roads onto and off of the Caanane Valley are only rated to about fifty tons, but the approaches are relatively mild -"
"'Relatively'," Hau breathed, eying the slope markers.
"- and more importantly, they're short and direct, here and - here." Oberth marked the passes up to and down from the plateau. "Second Battalion were able to take control of the plateau itself before any Combine forces arrived, and when they did it was a pair of light armor battalions, using one of the less-improved roads… here."
"And then it went wrong." I said.
"And then it went wrong," he agreed. "The next Combine reinforcement wave put down in Aldinga, about fifty klicks past the southern approach up into Caanane. They punched west right after landing; the Sixth Arkab, so they run to fast lights - we had to bring up more troops to chase their mechs out, and by the time we did we found out that their infantry had dug a defensive line right across the damned valley. Lots of Bakas in disguised pits, that kind of thing. Most of the Sixth Arkab's artillery is sited on the north slope of Aldinga, so Caanane is in range for them, too - though ours is far enough forward it's mostly counterbattery on both sides."
"The entire damned division?" Dessau asked, looking slightly ill.
Oberth shook his head. "Maybe two thirds in the frontline," he said. "Call it two regiments of Bakas, their real armor, and most of their infantry. Mechs in reserve with the 14th Vega, and then the last of the Bakas and the rest of the infantry covering their south flank. The word I was given from HQ is that Roman Pass along our west flank is the best option for a main thrust, but the 19th Arcturan has orders to back any push you want to make on the Sixth… And honest truth, waiting for a chance to do it and reopen contact ourselves is the only reason the rest of the Proud Void are still on planet."
Carlyle leaned forward and indicated the terrain where the surrounding mountains split to create the high valley. "What's this ground like?" he asked.
"You could get a VTOL past it," Oberth said. "But it's what isn't boulders is cliffs too tall for jump jets. Jump infantry packs don't have the endurance to fly the full distance, and you'd have the devil's own time getting any kind of mech through it. Just forget armor entirely."
"And there are other units dug into the frontage of the range." Hammer said.
"They're just as concentrated around the passes as we are, but yes, some. Enough to sound warnings." Oberth said.
"This secondary route…" Suzuki said, tracing a road that ran lengthwise through one of the more southerly folds of the ridge between Tahwynn and Aldinga, "Have you taken a close look at it? I remember it being well built for a road of its class."
"The bits I had eyes on probably could have taken medium mechs twenty years ago," Oberth said, "but they're fill and concrete, not cermacrete or fused rock, and if they've gotten any maintenance in the last ten, I'll eat my oldest set of boots. Thirty-five tons at most."
"But once you reach this point," Suzuki mused, tapping her finger, "the pass is quite wide, enough for even hovercraft to move cross-country. I have family in the area, I've been there."
Oberth gave her a slightly nervous look, and she laughed. "I know where my loyalties lie, Hauptmann," she said, and waved at me. "The Dragon can go fuck himself."
The Royals man quirked a slight smile, while Steuben laughed out loud, pouring a glass of ice water down everyone's spines in the process. "No argument from me, Ma'am." the former said.
The units I'd brought myself were all too heavy for the road, but… "With three battalions of Ohkas, we'd need to split off almost every light company available to have the needed force. All of them from different formations and with no experience working together," I pointed out.
Carlyle, Dessau, and Hammer traded glances. "Our people can hack that." the first said.
"What is the supply situation like?" Hammer asked. "Artillery ammunition, especially."
Oberth grimaced. "I've seen worse," he said. "But it's not good. The third largest city on the planet right now is the main refugee camp we've set up west of the spaceport. Food shipments have been keeping up and the Kingsnake had a water filtration plant aboard that's mostly keeping ahead of needs, but that hasn't left much carriage for bullets and missiles."
"The 'Kingsnake'?" Hau asked.
"Jormugandr," Oberth said. "Don't ask me why."
"Kingsnakes are a family of Terran snakes that specialize in eating other snakes," I said. "And as for supplies, Beowulf was loaded to support a potential invasion of Terra. She's got more on board than Jormugandr could ever hold, and even one or two Mules making round trips will be enough to keep up."
"So we can afford to spread the artillery around," Hammer concluded. "If we can count on the Arcturans and the Royals to support it, we can probably go through the hard way… But turning their flank will keep losses well down."
"If you started moving at the end of this meeting," I asked Carlyle and Oberth, "do you two think that you could be in position by the time us clumsy, slow-footed types were ready to knock on the front door?"
"Probably," Oberth said, and the word overlapped with Carlyle's even simpler response.
"Yes." The two men traded a glance, and then Carlyle went on. "If you can get orders cut for at least some of the LCAF lights to link up with us, it won't matter how bad the road is or if the hovercraft can keep using it the whole way. Four or five light mech companies, working independently of each other and looking for targets of opportunity, can absolutely wreak enough havoc to force the Azami to withdraw someplace they can re-secure their flank, even if we can't win a stand-up fight."
I nodded. "And if they don't, you can rip apart any supply and repair depots that the 14th doesn't actively sit on, and they lose against a real push in force. Carlyle, it'll be your show."
"Yes, my Lady," he replied.
Fighting for Personal Cause[]
FIFTH MILITARY CORRIDOR, TAHLWYN VALLEY
DIERON, DIERON MILITARY DISTRICT, DRACONIS COMBINE
NOVEMBER 10TH, 3027
I'd never had that little to do with a force under my command before. Lu and Lira hardly needed my input on how to take care of battalions when they'd run regiments before, and as much as I was ultimately signing the paychecks, these battalions were theirs, put together from top to bottom under their eyes and shaken down over the trip from the Rift to here in the former Hegemony. Hammer and Dessau not only would have ignored any attempts to interfere with their units, they'd've bit my head off if I'd tried - and they'd have been right to.
Instead, I kept half an eye on the road Sweet Memory was stomping down, mostly trusting in the Royal Command autopilot to keep the mech on the road and not running into anything while most of my attention was on the files I was having my neurohelmet feed me.
One of the things about having a high level political job like my real one was that your time was scheduled. Half an hour for a working breakfast, fifteen minutes for a checkup meeting… Two hours for a family evening.
That record followed The Warden Of The Rift Approaches everywhere she went, and largely for convenience, it had always been mirrored to Marauder No. 2's systems and memory - and, like my security keys and neural profiles and display presets, had ended up on the chip I'd loaded into Sweet Memory.
I was going through the records of what had been planned, and making tick marks in a note file for things like how many family and relationship hours had been scheduled - for where low-priority business had been canceled in favor of sitting at a sick baby's bedside, or a makeout session, and vice versa.
Two different categories of vice versa; things that really had needed me to drop everything to deal with them, and things where that was just… easier.
The numbers I arrived at at the end weren't really a surprise by that point. They weren't what I'd expected at the start, certainly not what I'd hoped for, but…
Every instance of canceled business was for something like a medical emergency. There were both 'real' political emergencies and not so critical ones that had produced cancellations, but the latter outnumbered the former by more than an order of magnitude.
And they also outnumbered, though not as badly, the number of times I hadn't canceled on my wife and family.
I chewed on that knowledge as the column tromped through the ragged and blasted remnants of a Maryland's worth of quillar fields. As hard as it was to face squarely, I had been neglecting my family, my wife, in favor of my work.
Had Sophitia not trusted me to support her through the shock her bitch of a parent had given her, because I'd failed to support her earlier? Or was that just my own poor self-esteem making excuses for her mistakes?
I didn't know. I didn't see any way to know. But I had to.
The way my 'Phantom Talent' worked, it was all but impossible for other mechwarriors to initiate com-laser sideband links with me, since their computers couldn't register my own mech in order to start the handshake. But the technical workaround was fairly simple; a coded pattern of spotlight flashes, like a computer-guided version of a World War 2 morse blinker, let my own ride know what was needed, and then it would ask permission to initiate the link from my side.
The distraction was welcome and more than welcome; I hit the button.
"My Lady. Do you have a moment?" the voice on the other end was as smooth - and as ill-suited for its owner's muscular bulk and beetling brow - as ever.
"If anything," I admitted, "a distraction is welcome. What did you need, Mister Noton?"
Gray Noton, once Champion of Solaris and now, if I was reading between the lines correctly, a reliable if not entirely willing agent of the Lyran Intelligence Corps, had been one of the scatter of trusted and skilled mechwarriors Katrina's people had dragged up to fill out my bodyguard company on short notice.
"I was hoping to clear the air between us. When we met on Solaris, I exchanged remarks with your wife that were, plainly, insulting and unfair." he said. "I knew as much at the time, and sought only to provoke a confrontation."
Before I had met her, Sophitia had spent two years as the reigning Champion of Solaris - the most skilled and accomplished of the gladiatorial mechwarriors of the so-called Game World. When her previous lover had responded to their breakup by releasing a lurid collection of explicit photographs taken during their relationship, within days of her learning that her mother (the bitch) had embezzled better than half of her earnings rather than acting as an honest agent, she'd quit that business and taken her skills and Aspis, her battlemech, into a mercenary career.
A couple of years later, after we'd become involved, we'd ended up back on Solaris on other business.
"Both of us had concluded as much at the time, Mister Noton. Given how events turned out, if anything, I owe you an apology of my own." I said.
"For what?" Noton asked.
"When the attack was staged on Aspis," I said, "you were my first thought."
Gray Noton had become the next Champion after she left, and had challenged her at the first opportunity after her return. "I thought that you were intending to force her to make use of one of the unit's stock Centurions, to gain an advantage in the match."
Noton was silent for several seconds, then he laughed. "I can follow the logic. Quite a backfire if it had been me. And you asked the Archon if she could have her people look into the possibility."
The actual mind behind the sabotage that had been inflicted was that same embittered ex who hadn't quite caught the message that she didn't control her any more; the percentage of abusive relationships in my wife's life still concerned me.
"I was in a meeting with her when I got the news," I admitted. "And mentioned my gut suspicion at the time. Which was, I know now, unjust and a slander."
Another laugh, even blacker in tone than the first. "Untrue, at least." Noton said. "If it was as far off base as that, I'd've had nothing for them to find."
I sighed. "It's hard to recognize your own mistakes," I agreed. Then something else slipped out: "Especially when there've been mistakes from the other side, too."
Noton was silent for a moment. "You're talking about Braun leaving you," he said.
"It wasn't that simple," I denied. "Saying that someone 'left you' is 'I choose to end our relationship', and that's not a statement either of us have made."
"So you're walking into a war zone looking for someone who didn't quite tell you you were done. Just, what, ran out on you and went away to take the Archon's Kroner? That's quite a distinction to pin your life on." The former Champion wasn't arguing, but he did sound a bit incredulous.
"It's…" I started to say, then trailed off as I wrestled with my own tongue.
After a moment I laughed, just as bleakly has he had moments before. "I'm furious at her," I admitted. "For all but stabbing me in the back by springing that on me out of nowhere, and for, Christ, what it's asking of our kids, and for not trusting me enough to talk. And that's not fair to her, because god knows I know what it's like to have your whole head twisted up until you're so afraid and sick at heart you can't see the world straight.
"And, and what I've been chewing over since this morning is going back and finding all the ways I've fucked up, and didn't realize it. So now I don't know which of us is right or wrong, or where or if we've got… any place we can go from here.
"But I do know that what we have had, with each other is… was… amazing. That we've got three daughters who need and deserve our care. That I do love her, despite everything, and that she loves me. Both of us love our girls, and that we've had such good years together until now."
I took a deep breath, and let it out in a huff, reflecting on the inchoate word-vomit pouring out of my face. "So, thank you, Mister Noton. I've been wrestling with this bullshit, and saying it out to you has convinced me that I'm damned if I'm going to let Sophitia or my marriage, die without at least talking to her again."
He chuckled wryly on the other end of the line. "Glad I could help," he said, not without irony. "For what it's worth, I hope you're not the only one that committed to that."
"Yeah, me too." I admitted.
Plotting in dealing with a Spider[]
FIFTH MILITARY CORRIDOR, TAHLWYN VALLEY
DIERON, DIERON MILITARY DISTRICT, DRACONIS COMBINE
NOVEMBER 11TH, 3027
Standing in the kitchen, I looked around. The counters were polished wood, with a separate single-basin sink; the stove had three electric burners, the same coiled resistor-element type I remembered from a childhood a thousand years ago. The icebox was an actual icebox, cooled by the production of a small and simple icemaker. Even in the nineteen eighties, the combination would have been crude and a bit archaic.
Even in the poorest parts of the Rift Approaches, where electric ranges and ice on demand and, for that matter, mains electricity had been seven day wonders not just in living memory but in the last ten years, the quality of the materials and mass-produced units would be shabby. If my people had been cooking on wood fires, they'd been doing it with stoves and pans that had been made with better care than this, if not better resources.
And rural backwater or not, this was one of the Dragon's prize worlds, one of their showpieces. What a fucking hellhole House Kurita had built.
There was a protocol to face to face meetings between enemy commanders, a way of doing things. Especially when one of the sides involved was the Draconis Combine, with their long history of pretending that rules only applied to other people.
So, when I walked into the living room of what had been a modest farmhouse and sat down across from a dark-skinned man, pure African by looks, in DCMS uniform, both of us had already gone through an extensive search for hidden weapons, and we were under the eyes of my own security detail. They were, true, also disarmed… but he was alone.
He was waiting for me, despite the fact that I'd arrived at the meeting site earlier, as a matter of precedence, twice over. Once that he was the one who'd made the initial contact and request… and twice that he was a field-ranked military officer who was meeting one of the ten or fifteen most powerful people of the Inner Sphere.
(A not-so-small corner of my mind still 'eek'd helplessly at the thought.)
"General Salman," I said, taking the empty chair and lacing my fingers together under my chin. "You asked for a meeting. I admit I'm curious as to why."
Sho-Sho Hajime Salman hesitated for a split second, then said, "The matter itself is simple. But with your permission, I - think it will go better if you know all of the background."
I tilted my hands forwards, spreading the thumbs in a generous gesture. "By all means," I said.
For a moment, I got the impression that a remark was on the tip of his tongue, but what he ultimately said was, "Should I begin with the history of the Azami, or move to current events?"
"As I understand it, the Azami are a cultural group descended from African Muslims who settled in what's become Ashio and Algedi prefectures," I said. "A combination of military resistance and endemic diseases on your worlds convinced past Coordinators to move you to the 'coopt' column rather than the 'exterminate' one. The Arkab Legions are raised exclusively from Azami worlds."
Salman grimaced. "A hard way to put it, but I… cannot argue the substance," he said. "So. As a lead to current events… With the Steiner-Davion alliance having gained control of ComStar's HPG network, why have you chosen to leave communications active in the Combine? I ask because that choice has become… very relevant."
I raised an eyebrow. "Two reasons," I said. "First, because for all of our nominal control, the rank-and-file individuals involved in running the stations are still ComStar believers. Ordering them to keep civilization's lights on was more certain to be obeyed than ordering them to favor their former masters' rivals for control of the Inner Sphere."
He blinked. "Rivals?"
"Comstar's neutrality was never more than a gambit. They were as much a Successor State as any of the Great Houses," I said. "But even to their own minions, they avoided publicizing that. The second reason for leaving the network fully active was the desire to stabilize markets and trade within the Federated Suns and Lyran Commonwealth - the hope that, by showing business leaders that communication at least continued unaltered, it would help to ensure economic health."
Salman stared at me for a moment, then sighed, sounding pained. "Not even on purpose," he murmured, before recovering himself and sitting up straight again. "The biggest effect the maintenance of internal communication has had on the Combine," he said, "has been to spread panic and the news of disaster. The Dragon's own forces, from the District Regulars to we of the Legions, have been devastated, both by Lyran numbers and by the weapons of the Ryuken, whether wielded by or against traitors.
"Samsonov's 'Directorate of New Samarkand' and Tyr's 'Principality of Rasalhague' have only been the beginning. The garrisons of Nowhere and Land's End have raised their own rebellions, at least three hojo kideousensha rentai have gone rogue - the 8th Dieron Regulars only days before they were supposed to jump here - and now…"
He slowed to a halt, struggling with well-contained but obviously intense emotion. "The Coordinator has… broadcast his apology to his ancestors," he said.
It took a moment for that to penetrate. "Takashi Kurita… is dead," I said slowly.
"He is. It is… unclear what happened to the Otomo, or to the rest of Pesht's garrison in the aftermath," Salman said. "Warlord Chi is missing, and the personal guards of the nobility on the capital have broken out into fighting. The Gunji-no-Kanrei is said to have been forced to flee the Black Pearl, none know to where."
I closed my eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ," I breathed. "That's it."
Salman followed my thoughts - if he hadn't beaten me to most of them. "With a vacuum of power at the center, Warlord Akuma and Warlord Yoshiyori have both begun issuing orders to the entire Draconis Combine Mustered Soldier. Conflicting orders. As has 'Director' Samsonov. There have been more 'declarations of independence', from Turtle Bay and Bjarred. It seems… very unlikely that the Combine will be able to avoid entering a period of civil war and warring states."
"And neither the Commonwealth nor the Federated Suns will ever permit a reunification as anything but conquered provinces." I said.
He flinched like I'd struck him instead. "No," he agreed, then met my eyes. "Which means that… I and my fellow leaders of the Arkab Legions must now put in practice something that some of us have hoped for, and others have hoped to never need."
That sounded to me like an end to the preamble. I laid my hands flat on the table. "Oh?" I prompted.
"We… I must ask what price the Lyran Commonwealth would ask, in return for we of the Sixth Arkab Legion to be permitted to withdraw from Dieron and return to our homeworlds, there to establish a new Caliphate independent of the Draconis Combine." Salman's words came out in a rush that I estimated to be most unlike him.
"And you want to know what we will require of you in return for title to those worlds," I said. "Rather than just permission to withdraw."
I let him hang for a moment, then settled back in my seat and smiled. "Rukbat and Shitara are yours if you can hold them against whatever other takers your new Warring States Era can produce," I said. "For the rest, you'll need to negotiate with Davion. I would guess that you shouldn't hold out any hope for claim to Al Na'ir, but that they'll permit you to attempt anywhere else you like against… Well. What little Akuma has left."
"Al Na'ir is one of the centers of the Azami," Salman objected, but it was weak and I could tell he knew it.
"And it's too big a production center for the Federated Suns to leave un-taken." I said. "I doubt they'll care about the population, but unless you volunteer to pack up the battlemech lines and all the industry that supports them to be shipped into the Suns, it's unlikely they'll go for it. That said, House Davion has much less interest in local custom than House Kurita ever has."
He started to snarl, then fought the reaction down. "I think that if it becomes clear we cannot sustain our independence, we will come to you, the Commonwealth, again. There is… much ill blood, between we of the Legions and Davion's dogs."
"Perhaps there is," I agreed. "There's little, though, between us and Davion, and in twenty or fifty years, you may find that there is no difference left."
Despite the dark chocolate tone of his complexion, I could see his face pale a shade or two at the thought of what a FedCom union would mean in the context he saw coming.
"Or," I admitted, "the horse may learn to sing and we'll end up with a civil war or three of our own. In the meantime, if you'll consent to wait while I make a couple of calls, I believe we can get you set on the path to your Caliphate."
"I will remain." he promised as I rose.
I didn't lean on the wheels of order often. The more used people became to the idea that there was A Way Things Were Done, that the rules always applied, the harder it became for the ill-intentioned to slide around those rules and cause damage. The better, in short, for society.
But there were times and circumstances where it was truly necessary to take shortcuts, or risks.
<<"Wolf here,"?? growled the familiar voice on the other end of the landline.
Jaime Wolf had introduced himself to the Inner Sphere with a bang a bit over twenty years before, appearing at the head of five regiments of full strength, factory fresh battlemechs and placing their services up for sale. In an era where only the lords of the Great Houses could afford to keep even their personal mechs in that state, and even the most important worlds were being held by at most two regiments, 'Wolf's Dragoons' had made an enormous splash.
When I'd told Katrina Steiner that they were exactly what the worst-case scenarios had guessed - a reconnaissance-in-force scouting for an invasion by the descendents of the Star League Defense Force, whose desertion had taken the civilization-crushing Succession Wars from likely to inevitable - she'd reacted by setting a trap for them and hitting the 'You beat it, you own it' button the long late and unlamented Nicholas Kerensky had built into their native culture.
Most of the three regiments or so of Dragoons who'd survived the ten years of heavy fighting had been if anything relieved to sign on to Katrina's newly formed Lyran Foreign Legion, and they'd done well enough that she'd raised a fourth regiment from other sources - largely drawn, like the replacements that had filtered in to replace losses, largely from gallows bait willing to take up the Archon's bet that they wouldn't live the twenty years to see their clean new identities.
Of course, the most prominent of the Dragoons who hadn't taken to the LFL was Natasha Kerensky. The day that a Combine raid circling through the far side of Alarion Province had pulled her out of prison had been a black one.
"General Wolf, Warden Blackwing," I said. "How would you like to ship the Sixth Arkab off planet without a shot fired?"
<<"...I'm listening,">> Wolf replied. <<"But our orders were to destroy them, not chase them away.">>
If the Combine was listening into this line somehow, saying it out loud would definitely commit Salman's people to go through with it, but… "Takashi Kurita is dead, whoever succeeds him has lost at least two Military Districts and probably three, and will have to fight a civil war to get into power." I said. "They'll have everything they can do to hang onto control of Pesht and the coreward half of Benjamin. The Azami are eyeing their place in a post-Combine Sphere; with the Suns already allowing Galedon as a buffer state, I'm willing to gamble that they'll sign on for an Azami one, too."
<<"And Davion isn't willing to approve your venture?">>
We were using a voice line; Wolf couldn't see me. I shrugged anyway, winding the phone's cord around one index finger. "Then I, personally, have recompense to pay. I'll take the gamble."
<<"...Getting the Azami out of position will let me turn the flank behind you, but it won't deal with Natasha.">>
Jaime Wolf had lost both his legs on Solaris. Not to the guns of a Commonwealth battlemech, but when Natasha Kerensky had turned her fire on him despite her history as his late brother's all-but-wife - driven by an instant of unthinking rebellion.
But before that, they'd fought together for ten years without pause; there was no one in the Inner Sphere who knew her abilities better than he did - or his, better than she did.
"That," I said, "is what I brought artillery for."
<<"Do you think she'll hold still and take a shelling so easily?">> he asked.
"I don't think she'll make it easy," I admitted, "but if she wants to stop me, she's going to need to come out in the open and fight. If she isn't willing to do that, I'm happy to leave her to be someone else's problem."
<<"Your generosity is a wonder,">> Wolf replied, with irony. <<"But I don't think that your plan, such as it is, would work against the Natasha I knew.">>
I shrugged again. "It might not have," I admitted, "but I don't think that woman made it out of Badajoz. The impression I got on Vega was that she's… oversharpened. That she's lost a lot of her ability to weigh threats and intentions from others."
I don't think I was meant to hear his sigh and whispered, 'Dammit, Natasha', but he went on, <<"Regardless of her abilities, I won't be sending more support than is already present. That route is too narrow to put multiple brigades into.">>
"I understand," I said. He'd let the threat of the Nineteenth Arcturan force Akuma to draw forces away from the main line of advance - or get them through into the Combine rear, much like a larger version of the flanking maneuver I'd sent Carlyle on. "So, are we simply trusting the Azami to go exactly where they say they will?"
<<"If you don't, why are you suggesting this?">> Wolf asked.
Because I was in a tearing hurry, obviously.
I didn't say that. "Trust, but verify." I said instead.
<<"I have an idea.">> Wolf said, after several seconds of silence.
New Working Arrangements with Allies[]
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COMSTAR -=O COMSTAR -=O COMSTAR O=- COMSTAR O=- COMSTAR
Origin: Dieron Station, Priority A 11-11-3027/19:07
Destination: Hanse Davion, First Prince of the Federated Suns and Duke of New Avalon, c/o Tikonov Station
COMSTAR -=O COMSTAR -=O COMSTAR O=- COMSTAR O=- COMSTAR
Your Highness,
Today on Dieron I have been approached by officers of the Arkab Legions who seek to leave the service of the Draconis Combine and establish for their people an independent state in Ashio, Algedi, and surrounding spaces.
Keeping in mind both existing verbal agreements regarding worlds in that vicinity and mutual objectives on Dieron that would be substantively advanced by the cooperation of those Arkab Legions currently present, I have presumed to grant, in the political sphere, title to the Rukbat and Shitara systems, and in the military sphere, permission to lift from Dieron and modest support in doing so.
The Sixth Arkab RCT will remain in this system pending negotiations with your government and intelligence on the movements and status of the remaining Arkab Legions. I have advised them of my belief that the Federated Suns will accept no deal ceding control of Al Na'ir and its mechworks, but that the independence of other Azami-majority systems is not out of keeping with my understanding of Federated Suns strategic goals.
We will await the arrival of your word or envoy, and make LCS Thresher available for escort and support duties as required.
Your obedient servant,
Asha Blackwing, Warden of the Rift Approaches and Duchess of Finmark
COMSTAR -=O COMSTAR -=O COMSTAR O=- COMSTAR O=- COMSTAR
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Unexpected Guest[]
FIFTH MILITARY CORRIDOR, TAHLWYN VALLEY
DIERON, DIERON MILITARY DISTRICT, DRACONIS COMBINE
NOVEMBER 12th, 3027
If anyone in the bivouac had been asleep, the roar of aerospace fighters passing at low altitude would have woken them. Not just as a question of noise, of course, but of learned caution; asleep, they'd have no idea if the fighters they were hearing were friendly and safe to ignore, or hostile and therefore cause for them to dive for their mounts or the nearest bunker.
Of course, none of us were asleep.
>>"This is Gold Twenty,"<< came the call from Hammer's scout infantry, who'd infiltrated close in to watch the Combine lines. >>"We're seeing empty trenches… and weapons fire, back and forth. AC tracers, missile contrails, everything. Lasers are Combine red and a green I haven't seen, bluer than Liao used to use."<<
(("Hammer here.")) The man's scratchy voice was distinctive, even over the phone line. (("Gold, you have Uniform on this line. Feed them Combine targets only, understood?"))
It had all been in the briefing, but it was also the kind of thing that bore repeating for certainty's sake.
>>"Hammer, Gold. I understand call fire on red only."<<
One of my monitors in Sweet Memory's cockpit was showing a feed from the main tactical table in the command tank. I let the chatter of adjusted fire fill my ears and watched the contact markers; LCAF blue and my contracted ones in green on one side, waiting, and DCMS red wheeling away to refuse the suddenly open flank to the yellow our operators were assigning the Azami.
The Azami mech force, fast and agile, were feinting and slashing all along their former allies' flanks, wheeling wider to keep pressure on the slower (and cheaper) mechs of the Legion of Vega, and letting their better tank forces offer LRM fire in support… while their main bulk of troops, infantry and Ohkas alike, pulled straight back out of their trenches and raced for their original landing site and the dropships waiting there. By the time the Vegans had realized what was happening, the first orderly blocks were filing aboard the transports.
Even before the missiles and 240mm shells started landing from our artillery barrage, Kerensky or whoever else had their fingers on the proverbial button showed no signs of hesitating. A wave of shockwaves and smoke plumes marched along the Combine front line as small charges blasted the insides of individual bunkers and swept shrapnel up and down the trenches.
"You absolute fucking psychopaths," I whispered in the empty silence of my cockpit and dead mike. "You murderous bastards. You damned fools."
The Draconis Combine had deliberately set up explosive charges to murder their own troops if they twitched wrong. As much as they were actually getting their intended use out of them - or would have if they'd been quicker off the mark - the risks of having primed explosives in defensive positions that if nothing else they could expect the LCAF to be shooting at were frankly excessive. Accidental triggers, electrical surges, sympathetic detonation from shockwaves, and god forbid if they'd included tamper proofing…
A handful of yellow infantry icons went out, and so did another handful of retreating tanks, but the mechs were intact. I wondered idly if that represented better bomb-clearance from the Azami mech techs, or if the murder charges were less in place for disloyalty and more as encouragement for the attritional masses, then dismissed the question. The other opportunity this represented wasn't to be squandered.
"Usul, Nutcracker," I said, calling the command tank. "Take a note to save the recordings of this and pass them to Wolf's propaganda and intel sections. Even if they already think they know, it will probably be useful to reinforce just what their superiors think of them in the minds of the Combine's support forces."
A searing light on the horizon began to move as the first of the Azami dropships lifted, either full or not inclined to wait any longer with some of its intended cargo… not coming anymore. Smaller sparks swooped in and began to spiral around it as the first squadron of Lyran aerospace fighters settled in to escort them up to orbit.
<<"Nutcracker, Usul. Yes, Ma'am,">> the response came quickly, a moment before General Major Fuchs ordered the Nineteenth Arcturan into motion to close in on the Vegans.
That was the planned cue, and none of my people needed more orders to prime themselves for motion.
I hit the MAIN POW switch, fortunately without too much hunting in the still half-familiar cockpit. <{"I wake up to a clock that's ringing,"}> the unnatural tones of the voice synthesizer sang.
"Birds are singing on my telephone line." I replied.
<{"Reactor, Online. Sensors, Online. Weapons Systems, Online. All functioning systems, Nominal,"}> the VI reported dutifully, and I couldn't help going on under my breath.
"I work all day and I chase my woman - why don't you chase me sometime?"