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Chapter 31 - Time Enough For A Cat -

- Here Comes The Arm -
[]


Slipping into Orbit and Ready to Drop[]

Dropship Argo - Ichlangis Station
Ichlangis Orbit
Capellan Confederation
November 13th, 3028

"Helm, sound the thrust alarm," Sumire said confidently, standing on the bridge with a firm smile.

"Sounding thrust alarm," the helmsman said, before three short blasts echoed out. "Thrust alarm sounded."

"Very good. Engineering, standard load check procedure please."

"Rodger that, ma'am. Firing load check."

For a solid minute, nothing happened. I didn't say anything of course.

"Ma'am," the engineering station said, a little nervous. "No acceleration detected."

Sumire quickly facepalmed. "Should've thought of that," she muttered. "Engineering, fire all engines, ten second burn. I don't think the ship's been this full since it left Terra a few centuries ago."

"Ah, hm," Engineering muttered. "That'd… that'd track, ma'am. All engines, ten second burn. Logged, and… firing!"

This time, I felt a little pull, slowly dragging me to the floor. Not a big one, but a ten-second long one that put my boots on the decking.

"Calculating load," Engineering said, pulling a lever on his console, before eventually double-checking it with a pocket calculator. "Current ship load reading: nine hundred seventy thousand tons wet mass. We are on the ball for load, and well within expected measures."

"Excellent. Helm, take the charted course to the jump point. Good work, everyone."

The bridge of the Argo relaxed a small, tiny amount as thrust slowly, slowly started pulling us down to the decks again. Nodding at Sumire, I waited for her to clearly come back to me before engaging conversation.

"Good work."

"Nah, it was a half-baked slipup," Sumire instantly disagreed.

I shrugged. "Walk me through it, then?"

"Sure. We have to do a fire test to figure out how much the DropShip actually weighs, so we don't muck up our INS and related positioning. This is done with a known acceleration test, where we run the engines for a fixed burst of thrust. Then we just back-calculate off the resulting acceleration, and there you go."

"And firing one engine didn't cut it?"

"Nope."

I grinned at Sumire, much more honestly now. "Well, she is fully loaded now."

"That she is," the Taurian helmsman said, chuckling. "You might want to head to the wardroom, though: Wyrm told me she'd be looking for you once we got underway."

"Thanks for the notice."

"No problem."

It was a short hike over to the wardroom, and that's when I found out someone had called a general officer's meeting. Everyone was there- Wyrm, Sokoloy, and most of the battalion officers too. Worse, since we were on operation and the uniform rules were back in effect, it was like looking down a firing squad.

"Sup, Nyan?"

"Hey, Wyrm. How are things going?"

"Oh, pretty good," she said, grinning. "Now that I'm not the appointed governor of your little disaster demesne, that is. Seriously, Nyan, the place is a wreck, your entire staff there is corrupt, and most of the kids got their training practice in putting down noble rebellions."

"Well yeah, I knew the place was a dump when Kyalla pawned it off on me," I groused. "You want a raise or something?"

"I'll take a promotion. 'Colonel Wyrm' has a nice ring to it, and it'll help me go a-tard wrangling with the infantry."

"That would make me General Nyan, though."

"Oi! Everyone! Show of hands if you don't want Nyan to be General Nyan!"

Nobody moved. Not even Mersies, who was looking at me guiltily.

"My point is made," Wyrm concluded. "All hail General Nyan."

I glared at her, in the theatrical sort of way. "You have forgotten one critical rule, Wyrm."

"Oh?"

"No rank in the mess unless it's a formal meeting."

Some scattered chuckles rang out from the assembled colonels at that, and I got to the drinks bar and made up a cup of coffee. I could hardly tell I wasn't on a planet, so smooth was Argo's flight through the aether today. We still weren't up to a full gravity of acceleration, though, Sumire handling the near-millennia old girl with grace and care. As such, it was easy for me to take long, floating strides through the area and settle in next to Mersies.

"Alright, gather around. If you're this dead set on pinning me down, we're going to make it a formal meeting," I said, tapping the table. "We've got the CO's from every regiment here, right?"

"CO or XO, yeah," Wyrm said, tapping the table. "I assume we're getting ready to talk turkey on the speed bumps before Victoria?"

"Nope," I tossed back. "Those are pre-assigned. I've got mercenary tankers backing up PA(L) regiments to handle those worlds, We're here for something more important. Everyone, we're going on a field trip to the special troop bay."

"Oh no, the special troop bay," someone muttered, but everyone followed along as I went to one of the spinal freight elevators. With a clack, we were soon caged in, and down, down, down we went.

"Alright, so for those of you who are new here: the Harvest Blades has a contract with a failed Styrios; Doctor Gallowglass. Her specialty is cybernetic augmentation and surgical enhancement. If you're wondering why the Mech Corps has cat ears? That's why. While we were off doing reasonable, sane things, she's been bending science over her knee to bring us specialist troopers. Six battalions of 'em."

The cargo elevator hit the stops, and I lead the officer train through the storage stacks; thousands on thousands of one- and ten-ton storage units stacked up in towering monoliths. Finally, after five minutes of walking, we got to it: Frankenstein's Laboratories. Otherwise known as the Protomech Pens, and the five battalions of supporting units.

"Gentlemen, we are going on this tour for a simple reason: I do not want to have incidents with discrimination and unbrotherly behavior while we go about our operations," I said, looking as many of the officers in the eye as I could. "First things first: the Malik. Major Harrow, of the Green Battalion, if you'd come out please?"

Slowly, carefully, out came Magician Nine. I'd had a few talks with her- such as the fact that, as she preferred to fight with SRM packs in her turret over the LRM setup that she was therefore 'her' instead of 'him'- over the week we'd loaded her unit in, and the decision to make her a brevet major for authority and paperwork was done carefully. As Major Magician Nine would be a mouthful, she chose "Harrow" as a courtesy name to make everyone's lives easier around the issue.

Of course, when Magician Nine came out, so did a few of the other Malik. The decks clanked and buckled softly, each one of the eight-ton Protomechs causing everything around them to shift and settle as they carefully moved among their meaty companions.

"I'm glad to meet you all," Major Harrow- or Magician Nine- said calmly. "But why are you here?"

"We're making introductions," I explained. "If you know who you're fighting with, it makes the work easier. Makes it harder to have critical mistakes, too."

"I see. Would you like me to get the other battalion commanders."

"Certainly."

That's when the rest of my mother's freak show came in from where they'd been perched in the wings, and I remembered that the protomechs had internal and private comms systems. Thanks for the features, Mom…

First, but not least, was India-9. He was leading our battalion of Tau Zombies- excuse me, Barim- and no less inhuman than Juliet-12 was. However, he did have a chipper sense of humor, and was more than willing to go over what his people were good at versus poor at, which was quite useful. I'd per-emptively marked them for assault units, but after discussion with India-9 I'd instead put them into foot recon: equipped with parachutes and long-range satellite phones, we could trust them to serve as a nigh-invisible picket line that wouldn't be intercepted except with very careful units scouring the plains- which was critical, considering my planning for the rest of the planet.

After the Barim came the next unit: the Seraphim. Three guesses what these guys were armed with, and the first two don't count. If your answer was "wings, duh," get a cookie. An entire battalion of airmobile infantry, that could launch and be recovered without needing a plane or a VTOL to help them. Instant chaos anywhere I wanted! Provided, of course, I could handle the fact that they had mediocre training like the Barim, and zero previous combat experience. My dream of ghost paratrooper-raiders was dead for now: instead I'd have them as a rapid response unit highlighted for offensive operations. The fact they could literally fly past what were certain to be traffic jams meant I didn't have to worry about how they reached an AO, just that they'd get there.

Then there was the egg to this particular chicken, the Nestoriel. While the Seraphim had wings, the Nestoriel had the torso of a fairly normal- if TSM'd- human, with a mechanical equine underbody modification. They were centaurs. My mother had made centaurs. Why? Who the fuck knows. They said heavy weapons team members, but that was a bald-faced lie considering they weren't better recoil-management platforms, even if they could hang more power cells off their saddlebags than anyone thought reasonable. The issue was, I didn't need a battalion of heavy weapons teams. Dr. Gallowglass might, but I didn't: they'd be of limited utility in the urban slugfests I'd actually need a lot of heavy weapons teams in. Instead, they were forwarded to medivac. After someone volunteered to test, it turned out they could actually have a whole entire PA(L) trooper- all 500-ish kilos of man and suit- on their backs fairly handily, and if they could do the first leg of medical evac to the ambulance transporters then that would spare me putting unarmed ambulances in urban conflicts.

Anyone who thought the Capellans wouldn't shoot an ambulance clearly needed to get their eyes checked.

Last, but certainly not least, was an actually useful battalion! They were assault-level Battle Armor operators, and their setup was pretty good. Equipped with DNI hookups, their quad battle armors were very much like a miniaturized version of the Maliks- although painfully slower. Each one was armed with an LRM3 with three backup rounds of ammo, plus a heavy recoiless rifle that would definitely cause people to reconsider their choices, as well as a load of armor so heavy I wondered what could breach it shy of a direct AC/20 hit. Of course, once I was done marveling at the suits, I had to talk to their commander, Major Abernary. It was at this point I learned that while they weren't as blatantly modified as some units that they did have their own mods: specifically, they had drug pumps systems to keep their humors balanced (I jest, but the calculations involved were hellish) on their combat cocktails, as well as enhanced sensory suites. Now if only I didn't know they were kept on a low, constant dose of Feralize to properly use their suits! Straight to forward assault with you!

Either way, by the time we were wrapping up, the ice had been resoundingly broken and I was quite happy. Now all we needed to do was hit the ground running.


The Long Road to Victoria[]

Dropship Argo
Ichlangis Jump Point
December 201th, 3028

"Fleet BROADSWORD, jump on my mark!" Kamea yelled, putting on her best brave face from the bridge. "Three! Two! One! MARK!"

And then, with a sound of thunder and klaxon-


Dropship Argo
Pojos Jump Point
December 21st, 3028

-we started our front of the Fourth Succession War. Two small squadrons of dropships detached- several Unions and Leopards, along with a single Fortress- burning in-system to take this little slice of frontier nowhere. These were Kamea's troops: a regiment of the Restoration Army that was a little shaky, an armor battalion that was rock steady backed by a PA(L) battalion, and a Mech company that was loyal and vetted. If everything went right, they'd be able to rock the planet with the mechs and tanks, then PA(L) and the mechanized infantry could handle the rest.

If not, we'd amalgamate a regiment after Victoria and send them back to put the boots to it. Simple problems, simple solutions. The tension on the ship was palpable, though, as everyone made sure their rides were spic and span- and more importantly, repainted. Victoria III was a dry world, monocontinental, and damn near barren. As such, we'd be rolling in with rock and desert camo: splinter tan, with white and black dashes smeared all over our armor. I'd repainted first, of course, while the rest of the ship was working on cycling into paint booths to do the work tout-suite.

Still, as the ship buzzed, nervous tension could be cut through the air like a knife as I found out all-too-quickly heading back to my quarters, to find Reki and one of the maids- Jezebel? Jenifer?- pacing around in front of the door. Why a former Draconis spy turned bedwarmer and one of my waitstaff were at my rooms was a question for later, as I moved in carefully-

-and then Anne jumped me, wearing the sort of sheer negligee that suggested marital enthusiasm and the desire to break the bed right now.

"Tam! Good, you're here! Did you get the sacrifices prepped?"

"The what?!"

Anne spread her arms out widely. "Sacrifices! I've been in the middle of a dry spell, and jokingly asked for the two horniest sacrifices they've got down in Housekeeping."

"You have to be shitting me," I groaned. "This is some cockney-ass orgy planning?"

"Yep!"

"Did you ask your volunteers?"

"I was getting to that!" Anne griped, sticking her head, hair, and heaving bosom out the door. "Y'all down to fuck?"

Well. That settled that, especially when I got a pair of yells in enthusiastic consent. Once everyone was dragooned into the room, we got to work with a passion, burning stress and calories and trying to forget, just for a minute, the scale of the hornet's nest we'd kicked. I want to say it worked, all four of us in a pile of passed-out flesh and exhausted passion, but it didn't.

I dreamed of the spectre of Victoria for the next week, watching the world turning below me with a mocking allure. If one world could do this, then what could the siren's song of kingdoms do to the Carrion Lords?

I shuddered to think of the answer.

Campaign on Quimberton[]

Dropship Argo
Quimberton Jump Point
Capellan Confederation December 28th, 3028

"Second verse, same as the first?" I asked Kamea with a grin.

"A little bit louder, and a whole lot worse," she replied back, laughing.

Our plans for attacking Victoria had finished being set in stone three days ago. Kamea would capture the LZ, a plateau called Honore's Rest. It wasn't a great position, but it was about thirty kilometers away from six separate railheads. While this might look like an invitation to get surrounded and killed at the landing site, that implied those railheads were anything but bait: every single one of them was going to be in range of the Long Tom batteries Kamea planned to dig in as of minute one, and anything rolling into them was liable to get murdered.

Once we captured our railheads, it would be a straight shot for Bougainvillea, then up the heavy logistics trunk there that connected the mining towns with the refineries in Trellis that fed the military-industrial complex of the planet. From Trellis, we'd then capture the weapons factories and technical education areas, before making a march on the capital city of Barns. Between those two targets, we should be in position to engage and defeat every military force on the planet.

That night, our bed had six people in it. The result was cramped, but fun and exhausting enough for me to get an almost-dreamless sleep. Would that it stay that way.


Message from the adversaries[]

Dropship Argo
Victoria Jump Point
Capellan Confederation
January 5th, 3029'

"Alright people, you all know the drill," I said firmly, hands on the CIC rail to keep myself from floating off. "Bring the fleet up to point-eight gravity, then once we're all in formation, bring us to cruise. Despite what our local Sunny Feddies say, this isn't a race: measure twice and cut once."

A firm round of affirmations came off the CIC, before someone gulped. "Sir; there's a nav beacon out there playing a message."

"What's the message?" I asked, frowning.

"Video codec, scanning. No hostile signals… putting it on screen, sir."

On the CIC's main screen, a broad-shouldered and red-haired mercenary looked at the camera with a cheroot and a devil-may-care grin.

"If you're watching this, either you're that Cat they were so worried about, or you're some real fucking late FedRats. If it's the latter, thanks for the downtime ya bums. If its the former, well, good news. I'm Patrick Hart, I've brought all the boys in The Wild Ones from the Big MAC here on vacation unless you poke your nose on in, and about the only thing that'd make this trip more fun is a good scrap. So, here's your chance to run on back to the droppers. We won't even chase you out if you turn out to be chicken. Hart, out."

Well, shit.

"Someone get on database and tell me who the fuck this Hart guy is," I snapped. "Comms, send word to all fleet elements, I want us shaken out and ready to rock at full burn in an hour. ASF department, I want fleetwide notice: everyone's keeping a bay on ready-15, I'm not putting it past them to try and jump us before we even get to ingress. Staff, make sure you've got everything in line for the Restoration Army to secure our LZ."

"Sir, this is Records," someone called back. "That was the McCarron's Armored Cavalry XO, and an elite midweight mech regiment. We're in trouble."

I laughed at that. "We're not in trouble- if they sent the cream of the Big MAC's crop to stop us, that means they thought those were the only things that could stop us. They thought they were handling one mech regiment, guys. We brought three, and six assloads of everything else to boot."

It was effortless to exude confidence. "It won't be a picnic, gents, but we have the tools and they're sitting ducks. Time to show these pretentious Spheroids how we fight, out in the Periphery."

In moments, the mood lightened to a decent shade of determination, and Argo and the rest of her fleet thundered down towards Victoria.


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