So about 3-4 weeks ago I was in a story-telling mood in Discord, and in a private message chat with Kartr_Kana I related an incident I'd previously touched in brief when doing the histories of the Royal Federation's Royal BattleMech Regiments. But I had fun with it, instead of just copy-pasting I expounded upon it in a more... documentary style, may I even dare say in wording and phrasing I can imagine a certain BattleTech commentator with a whiskey-loving husky voice using if he were narrating this story. And so I figure I'll just share it with everyone since I spent the time writing all 2,000+ words and then editing and cleaning it up.
At some later date I will probably post other tidbits in this thread, maybe copy-pasted fluff or story bits from the original game, or other materials.
Anyway, we begin with a tale from the worst days of the Terran War. This is the story of the Whittington and Lake Gauley Massacres.
In the year 3057, Whittington was a quiet world of the Royal Donegal March, several jumps behind the lines of the Terran War. It had gone untouched through the earlier years of the war. It seemed the perfect place to set up ammunition production, and to protect that factory, the Armed Forces of the Royal Federation chose to muster and organize the Twelfth Royal BattleMech Regiment and brigade. The unit trained and prepared for the day it would go to the front, returning to their housing every day to the families they loved. The war was still over a hundred light years away.
Then came the day that the Terran 19th Armored Cavalry arrived.
Under the command of General Thomas Furlough, the 19th was on a mission to end Whittington's contribution to the war, butt they had not just come to level the factory complex. No. General Furlough boasted of his ancestry, of his bloodline to the great Terran patriot and hero Amos Furlough, and he was here on a mission to save the Terran people from the barbarian scourge at the gates. With Director-General Kerensky's Reprisal Doctrine orders in hand, he would bring war to those who defied the vision of the unified, Terran-ruled Humanity.
The 12th Royal were a new unit with some veterans in the ranks and knew what to do. When the 19th hit the ground they were ready and the battle was joined. But the 19th were built for this sort of fighting, and even as the 12th Royal held in one sector, lances of swift light 'Mechs were already on their flanks, past their rear, and hitting targets. The 12th's rear guard held the factory despite the costs, fulfilling their duty. But they were locked into combat and could not stop what was to come.
Individual lances, or just dual teams of 'Mechs, broke off from the main battle zones and entered the nearby cities and towns. They had their own mission, and they accomplishing it, leaving burning ruins and broken remains behind. Any dwelling that might conceivably house workers supporting the armaments factory was destroyed with ruthless efficiency, occupied or unoccupied. Another force of Terran 'Mechs and armored infantry overwhelmed the perimeter guards of the 12th's own base, leveled their facilities, and marched into their housing. The civilian dependents of the 12th Royal and its support formations were helpless as the Terrans turned their weapons upon their homes. Even those who had successfully escaped to the safety bunkers were not spared as the Terran battle armor burned through the hatches and hunted them down, room by room, leaving a trail of burned, machine-gunned, and lasered bodies in their wake. When the 19th finally withdrew every family of the 12th Royal, from those of the lowest infantry private to Brigadier Robert Macklin, had been annihilated, with only a handful of survivors who fled long enough and far enough to escape the massacre.
Once the deed was done, the 19th pulled back, abandoning their strike on the intact factory. They escaped on their DropShips with some few losses, leaving tens of thousands of dead civilians in the rubble they left behind. As they burned for their JumpShips the enraged 12th Royal's aerospace group flung themselves into sortie after sortie to stop the escape, but the 19th's defenses proved too strong. The handful of survivors landed to face the comrades, the dead families, they had failed.
The 12th Royal had survived. They'd done their duty and saved the factory. But for the men and women of that new unit the victory tasted like ash. Their slaughtered families left them hollow. No victory in the war, no final triumph, could be complete, and every soul in the brigade felt that realization as they buried their families in ceremony after ceremony. Nobody would have blamed them if they had walked away, if they'd given up, but they didn't. They were still sworn soldiers of the Royal Federation, they still had their oaths, their duty, and to a man the 12th Royal swore to fight on.
You see, Furlough and his soldiers had made a terrible mistake. The 19th Armored Cavalry had wounded the 12th deeply. They had taken the sweetness of their enemies' lives and destroyed it. They had robbed the men and women of the 12th Royal of the happiness that would come with final victory. But they had left the 12th Royal alive.
Two years passed. As regiment after regiment was worn down in the brutal slog the Terrans made of every one of their worlds, the need for frontline forces grew. Terra was looming ever so closer and the might of the Lyran Alliance was already landing upon New Earth. The 12th Royal were called to the front and the forces of OpForce Thunderhead, a contingent of Royal Federation, Principate, and Ghastillian troops ordered to seize the Terran world of Thorin. The campaign for Thorin would not just claim the planet but keep its defenders from reinforcing the TUDF's New Earth positions. The 12th Royal would have the fight of its life.
The Terrans fought hard, as they had on every Union world, and the 12th Royal was in the thick of the fighting for the approaches to Ecol City. Marching along the banks of the Gauley River, they made contact with a Terran force bearing down upon the flanks of the nearby Hyde Lancers. They rushed in to aid their comrades and found themselves facing off against the BattleMechs and vehicles of the Terran 19th Armored Cavalry. Fate, or God, or just random chance had delivered their tormentors into their gunsights.
The 19th wheeled about to avoid being flanked and the battle was joined. They were battle-hardened veterans and regained their poise quickly. Seeing the strength of the attacking force they fell back to regroup. Yet the 12th Royal pursued heedless of the danger, so the 19th Armored Cavalry fell back once more, and the 12th Royal pursued again. The Terrans' reserves caught the 12th Royal on their flank and yet they just kept coming. No matter how well the Terrans' shots landed, no matter how many 'Mechs and tanks and infantry of the 12th Royal died, the Federation troops fought like maddened bastards, driven on by the memories of their slaughtered families, each soul ready to die so long as a Terran of the 19th died with them. From sheer bloody tenacity the 12th Royal overwhelmed the flanking attack despite the losses. Wherever the Terrans fell, a 12th Royal 'Mech waited to end the life of whichever Terran MechWarrior or tank crewman remained. From above VTOLs and aerospace fighters screamed in, delivering attack runs that savagely punished the 19th Armored Cavalry wherever they tried to hold, all while being shot from the sky by anti-air fire. Finally the 19th Cavalry gave it all up and went into all-out retreat, seeking refuge with friendly units near Ecol City. But it was too late. As they tried to flee past the banks of Lake Gauley they ran into the 12th Royal's supporting cavalry regiment. The 19th Armored Cavalry had been outflanked and there was nowhere to run.
Furlough rallied his units into a river gulley feeding into the lake and took stock of the situation. WIth their air support swept away, they had no means of escape. Their damaged machines would never make it through the lake. All that remained was a final last stand or a surrender. And here, Furlough, the man who had happily proclaimed his descent from Amos Furlough, who had insisted he would fight to the last to save his people... he chose to live. The 19th would surrender after all. As the 12th rallied at the edge of the gulley for their final push, Furlough marched his damaged Atlas II forward and lifted a white flag with his 'Mech's remaining arm. He broadcast his surrender on an open channel to the 12th Royal and all their comrades.
From the ranks of the 12th's lines, a single battle-scarred 'Mech stepped forward. It was an equal to Furlough's Atlas, a Gae Bolg Assault BattleMech marked in the 12th's colors. Inside the cockpit sat Brigadier Robert Macklin, the man who had lost everything but his command on that horrible day on Whittington. Now he stood facing the bloody bastards who had killed his wife and children, who had killed so many families of the men and women he led, and with the fields behind them still littered with the corpses of his comrades. And they wanted to surrender. To live. They wanted mercy from Robert Macklin and his grieving soldiers, mercy that they had denied to the 12th Royal's families and all the civilians they had fought to protect. And to that plea, he responded with just one gesture. He had prepared for just such an occasion, and so he flipped a single switch. A flag unfurled above the head of his 'Mech; a flag of blood red with no markings. Every soldier knew what it meant.
No quarter.
Macklin's fingers squeezed triggers and a pair of Gauss-fired slugs cored Furlough's Atlas II, smashing through the engine. Furlough almost passed out from the feedback as his 'Mech fell over. From every edge of the gulley the 12th Royal marched in, firing into the mass of the 19th without mercy, without pause, every shot aiming for head modules on 'Mechs. Whatever hope the 19th might have had to sell their lives dearly ended as artillery and aircraft rained explosive death on them. Many of the 19th died in their machines. Some didn't. Some, like Furlough, survived to flee their broken 'Mechs. They crawled out of the hatches and into the waiting arms of the 12th Royal's armored infantry. The recordings from the armor cams told the story. Furlough himself screamed that he was a surrendering soldier and he invoked the Ares Convention, the same laws of war he'd happily thrown aside on Whittington. But that was all he managed before the Arcadian soldier blew his Goddamn head off with a magshot rifle.
By this time the rest of OpForce Thunderhead knew something was wrong. They'd been too pressed to interfere in the battle, but now a combat command of the Hyde Lancers was rushing to the scene. They'd initially come to fight beside their comrades, but as the screams and pleas for mercy filled the open airwaves, now they were racing to stop the slaughter. But the 12th Royal would not be denied, and they did not waste time. By the time Major Gunther Borden and his MechWarriors arrived, it was over. Every soldier of the 19th Armored Cavalry, every last one, was dead. On that day, the 12th Royal BattleMech Regiment earned the name it has worn in every battle and war since: The Vengeful.
It's easy to say it was just vengeance. But even if so, sometimes vengeance is justice. The 19th Armored Cavalry, and most of their sister regiments, were the embodiment of everything that had gone wrong with the Terran Union. They earned their reputation in the blood and broken souls of their victims. They deserved their fates, whether it was from a war crimes tribunal or because their victims took matters into their own hands. Maybe the world should be better, but often, it isn't, so you take justice where you get it.
If you're wondering, the AFRF wasn't too happy with Brigadier Macklin and his soldiers. Organized militaries tend to prefer their soldiers follow the laws of war, well, unless you're a Capellan or a Kuritan, anyway. Macklin was ready to face them all. He turned himself in right away with his whole command staff. The remaining survivors of the 12th Royal were marched into their DropShips and held until the mess could be sorted out. They'd done their part to win the victory, now it remained to be seen what should be done with them for their own vengeful war crime.
In the end, most of the surviving soldiers were just assigned to new units, and many would leave the AFRF, either by retiring or, well, feet-first, if you get my drift. Macklin and his officers were court-martialed for killing surrendering prisoners. They plead no contest. The evidence was, after all, inescapable. Their lawyers pleaded the circumstances but the gravity of their crime, of the execution of surrendering soldiers, was simply too great. The military court dishonorably discharged them and, in light of the circumstances and their service, gave them suspended sentences on the grounds they keep their noses clean and did nothing to tarnish the honor of the service.
That was no problem for Brigadier Macklin. With his final duty satisfied, he had nothing left. He went back to his quarters, took his sidearm and a picture of his slain wife and children, and put a bullet through his temple. But he did gain some immortality from the incident. It's why, they say, nobody touches civilian targets when the 12th Royal's on the field with you. Nobody wants to be the next dumb war crime-committing bastard to face "Macklin's Mercy."
"Tales from the Concertverse" (BattleTech AU - Assorted Fluff and Short Stories and Tidbits)
Moderator: LadyTevar
"Tales from the Concertverse" (BattleTech AU - Assorted Fluff and Short Stories and Tidbits)
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
Re: "Tales from the Concertverse" (BattleTech AU - Assorted Fluff and Short Stories and Tidbits)
Laws of the Free March on Potentially Hazardous Fuels and Substances
Substances like propane have been in use for over a millennium by Humanity, generally as gas-burning furnaces, cooking devices, or as fuel for the engines of work vehicles such as forklifts and ice resurfacing machines. Many of these substances are carbon-based petroleum or byproducts of petroleum refining or extraction, as well as natural gas processing. Because they pose hazard risks, they are regulated by the common and civil laws of the Free March's inhabited worlds.
The only law of the Free March on these matters is the Petroleum Product Control Act of 2958, which establishes a minimum guideline for the worlds of the Free March regarding the manufacture, transport, sale, and usage of these products. Beyond these guidelines, the worlds of the Free March have their own regulatory schemes.
To use an example, the regulation of propane. The PPCA provides that propane be mixed with an olfactory additive to ensure it is smelled if leaking from a container, that it be transported under hazardous signage reflecting its combustive possibility and the risks of inhalation, and that commercially-available tanks of the material be clearly labeled and manufactured to specific quality for the purposes of minimizing risk to consumers, including overfill protection devices.
The use of propane varies by world. According to data by the Free March Office of Energy Supply, Concord is the greatest consumer of the fuel, beating out Togwotee and Mariefred. Its most popular use among these worlds is for cooking by fueling portable barbecue grills, a device that is also the most popular on Concord but has wide popularity in Anglo-American communities across the Free March, where it is often employed for large gatherings and celebrations.
Another primary use, as a heating source, is seen in Mariefred's place as the third-greatest consumer of the gas, as the planet's plentiful supply of easily-accessed hydrocarbons makes it the Free March's largest producer of propane. It is a popular fuel for the furnaces of housing in rural and semi-rural areas of the planet, with a number of private services selling the substance by monthly order.
As noted, regulations on propane can vary by planet. Zwenkau, for instance, requires all propane containers not only be engineered to PPCA specs, they must also employ a dual-valve system and be of red color, while requiring empty propane tanks be inspected before they can be refilled and sold. A number of propane-fueled grills and stoves available to consumers on other worlds are not sold on Zwenkau as they do not fit the stringent guidelines the Zwenkau Bundestag has established for such things. Togwotee also requires a dual-valve system, but only requires labeling of the tank, and has more lenient regulations on cooking devices in comparison to Zwenkau. Nestor likewise requires propane tanks be of specific color, but does not mandate the dual valve. Mariefred requires special labeling, a dual-valve, and specific safety features on barbecue grills.
The only world more stringent than Zwenkau is Bondurant, where the Tara Plant Explosion of 2914 that leveled half of the town and killed several hundred people prompted the curtailing of all petroleum product use in the public commercial marketplace. Given the planet's use of a Star League-era microwave satellite power generation network and an accompanying capability for wide scale use of electric cooking, it was not seen as a great loss, despite the protests from the American-descended communities in Bondurant's Steuben-Hill Mountain District. The Steuben-Hill District Rebellion of 2930-2937 was partially attributed to the ban on propane-fueled barbecues and their unpopularity.
Substances like propane have been in use for over a millennium by Humanity, generally as gas-burning furnaces, cooking devices, or as fuel for the engines of work vehicles such as forklifts and ice resurfacing machines. Many of these substances are carbon-based petroleum or byproducts of petroleum refining or extraction, as well as natural gas processing. Because they pose hazard risks, they are regulated by the common and civil laws of the Free March's inhabited worlds.
The only law of the Free March on these matters is the Petroleum Product Control Act of 2958, which establishes a minimum guideline for the worlds of the Free March regarding the manufacture, transport, sale, and usage of these products. Beyond these guidelines, the worlds of the Free March have their own regulatory schemes.
To use an example, the regulation of propane. The PPCA provides that propane be mixed with an olfactory additive to ensure it is smelled if leaking from a container, that it be transported under hazardous signage reflecting its combustive possibility and the risks of inhalation, and that commercially-available tanks of the material be clearly labeled and manufactured to specific quality for the purposes of minimizing risk to consumers, including overfill protection devices.
The use of propane varies by world. According to data by the Free March Office of Energy Supply, Concord is the greatest consumer of the fuel, beating out Togwotee and Mariefred. Its most popular use among these worlds is for cooking by fueling portable barbecue grills, a device that is also the most popular on Concord but has wide popularity in Anglo-American communities across the Free March, where it is often employed for large gatherings and celebrations.
Another primary use, as a heating source, is seen in Mariefred's place as the third-greatest consumer of the gas, as the planet's plentiful supply of easily-accessed hydrocarbons makes it the Free March's largest producer of propane. It is a popular fuel for the furnaces of housing in rural and semi-rural areas of the planet, with a number of private services selling the substance by monthly order.
As noted, regulations on propane can vary by planet. Zwenkau, for instance, requires all propane containers not only be engineered to PPCA specs, they must also employ a dual-valve system and be of red color, while requiring empty propane tanks be inspected before they can be refilled and sold. A number of propane-fueled grills and stoves available to consumers on other worlds are not sold on Zwenkau as they do not fit the stringent guidelines the Zwenkau Bundestag has established for such things. Togwotee also requires a dual-valve system, but only requires labeling of the tank, and has more lenient regulations on cooking devices in comparison to Zwenkau. Nestor likewise requires propane tanks be of specific color, but does not mandate the dual valve. Mariefred requires special labeling, a dual-valve, and specific safety features on barbecue grills.
The only world more stringent than Zwenkau is Bondurant, where the Tara Plant Explosion of 2914 that leveled half of the town and killed several hundred people prompted the curtailing of all petroleum product use in the public commercial marketplace. Given the planet's use of a Star League-era microwave satellite power generation network and an accompanying capability for wide scale use of electric cooking, it was not seen as a great loss, despite the protests from the American-descended communities in Bondurant's Steuben-Hill Mountain District. The Steuben-Hill District Rebellion of 2930-2937 was partially attributed to the ban on propane-fueled barbecues and their unpopularity.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
Re: "Tales from the Concertverse" (BattleTech AU - Assorted Fluff and Short Stories and Tidbits)
And to go with that last post (the result of a flippant/bemused "request" on Discord from the other players back in the game days... the CPM-5 GasMech, for all your propane delivery needs!
Code: Select all
GasMech CPM-5
Mass: 20 tons
Tech Base: Inner Sphere
Chassis Config: Biped
Rules Level: Experimental Tech
Era: Second Age of War
Tech Rating/Era Availability: D/X-X-D-D
Production Year: 3037
Dry Cost: 946,240 C-Bills
Total Cost: 946,240 C-Bills
Battle Value: 239
Chassis: Reddington Armaments Standard
Power Plant: Ford-Chrysler Motor Company 100 Fuel Cell Engine
Walking Speed: 54.0 km/h
Maximum Speed: 86.4 km/h
Jump Jets: None
Jump Capacity: 0 meters
Armor: McKeenan Metals Industrial
Armament:
None
Manufacturer: Silver Brothers' Industrial Solutions
Primary Factory: Concord
Communications System: Porter TeleComm Civilian Systems
Targeting and Tracking System: Porter TeleComm Civilian SYstems
Overview:
New from Silver Brothers Industrial Solutions, the GasMech, from our patented
line of CPMs (Commercial Product 'Mechs)! Certain to meet all of your propane
and other gas delivery needs!
Capabilities:
Based in part on our successful ChemMech, the GasMech provides even greater
savings for the job of delivering propane to even the most distant communities!
Powered by a fuel-cell engine (for savings!) the GasMech has an 86km/h max
speed, ensuring swift delivery of this vital resource across every sort of
terrain, with a pair of extended fuel tanks allowing for long-range travel by
solo pilots! A pair of two-ton insulated containers, combined with a
specialized dispensary hookup, allows even a single machine to support
communities in any kind of environment!
All for the price of 950,000 C-bills! (Taxes, custom duties, and excise not
included)
Deployment:
We're pleased that several communities and businesses on Mariefred and Gallatin
have already made their orders, and the Gallatin Propane Grillers' and Cookers'
Association have declared our product "indispensable... it's about time someone
built a 'Mech to support propane deliveries!"
Additional:
Here at Silver Brothers we are proud of our innovations in the use of 'Mechs
for commercial and industrial purposes, at a price tag even a small firm might
afford! We're so certain of our product's quality that we'll give a one year
warranty even to offworld purchasers, including full service contract and
refunds!* So come on down to 894 Industry Lane, Hartford City, Concord, and
place your orders now! We also allow FREE online orders and orders through the
ComStar Merchant's Network!**
*Shipping and service fees may apply on interstellar orders. Except for Long
Tom Silver.
**ComStar fees not included
================================================================================
Equipment Type Rating Mass
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Internal Structure: Standard 33 points 2.00
Engine: Fuel-Cell Engine 100 4.00
Walking MP: 5
Running MP: 8
Jumping MP: 0
Heat Sinks: Single Heat Sink 1 0.00
Gyro: Standard 1.00
Cockpit: Standard 3.00
Actuators: L: SH+UA+LA+H R: SH+UA+LA+H
Armor: Industrial AV - 42 4.00
Internal Armor
Structure Factor
Head 3 7
Center Torso 6 6
Center Torso (rear) 1
L/R Torso 5 5
L/R Torso (rear) 1
L/R Arm 3 3
L/R Leg 4 5
================================================================================
Equipment Location Heat Critical Mass
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
2 Fuel Tanks CT 0 2 1.00
Cargo, Insulated (2.0 tons) RT 0 2 2.00
Cargo, Insulated (2.0 tons) LT 0 2 2.00
Gas Delivery Line and Protected Linkage LT 0 1 1.00
Free Critical Slots: 40
BattleForce Statistics
MV S (+0) M (+2) L (+4) E (+6) Wt. Ov Armor: 1 Points: 2
5 0 0 0 0 1 0 Structure: 2
Special Abilities: ENE, SRCH, EE, ES, SEAL, SOA
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
Re: "Tales from the Concertverse" (BattleTech AU - Assorted Fluff and Short Stories and Tidbits)
So to get serious again before Tev whacks me with the White Mage mallet, what I'm about to post isn't in the Tales thread on SB, though it was posted on SB originally over two years ago. These were the opening introductions for a round of characters I followed in the original GSRPG that became Concertverse, so this is set 110 years before the events of Emergence and Crusade. I've slightly altered the opening headers to fit the format I've adopted for later content. Enjoy!
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
30 December 3032
The capital city of the Arcadian Free March stretched out from the balcony of the Ducal Palace. Home to the planet's rulers since the era of the Star League, and the world's time in the Lyran Commonwealth, the Palace enjoyed its place on a promontory overlooking the harbor and Sinclair Bay beyond it. From her place on the balcony, March-Princess Sara-Marie Proctor could see the combination of fishing vessels, pleasure craft, and cargo barges that filled her capital on the daily basis.
Her homeworld was a planet of quirks. Sara-Marie mused, with a quiet grin, on a planet named for a reputedly idyllic region of Greece on Terra that had only a small Greek-speaking minority (her paternal grandfather, Baron Julio Kalios, had come from that community) and with cities named for everything from mid-2nd Millennium painters to old New England towns. Her capital was no different. Supposedly the old Terran surveyor, Henry Sinclair, named the settlement after the legendary Rose Line so important to esoterics and Grail scholars on Terra. Perhaps he felt inspired by the countryside. A couple hours' maglev trip would whisk one away to the environs of Loch Clydesford and the cool, green-covered mountainside of the planet's temperate zone. The ancestral Proctor hometown of New Salem was an hour's maglev trip to the east of that, on the Plymouth Peninsula of the Northern Ocean.
Baroness of New Salem. It was one of her lesser titles, a noble investiture to her grandmother to cement her acclamation as Duchess of Arcadia. The family kept a small estate there for vacation purposes, as much as the ruling family of a Successor State ever got such reprieves from the tasks of state.
Enough of letting my mind wander. Sara-Marie re-entered her personal study. Her eyes took in the paperwork that represented her duties of state, waiting ever so patiently for her at her desk. Above the ornate desk, a portrait of her grandmother in her prime of life continued its quiet vigil of her descendants. The oil painting was made by Tristan de Cunhal, one of the Terran Union's greatest painters of the 30th Century, depicting Duchess Sara Proctor of Arcadia a few years after her victory over the cruel "Prince and High Lord of Arcadia", Carl Tabot. Her grandmother, for all her reputation, had not been an exceptionally beautiful woman. Her face was plain, roundish, perhaps a little rosy. De Cunhal nevertheless caught that shine in her blue eyes, the glint of steel that turned the daughter of New Salem farmers into one of the most romantic adventuresses in the history of the Inner Sphere. A woman who claimed the throne of her homeworld by dint of blood and sweat and tears.
She wished she could remember more about her departed grandmother. Sara had children only later in life, when she was past forty years of age, and Sara-Marie's father William had himself married late as well after serving a long career as a MechWarrior of the Arcadian Guards. She had only wisps of memory as a small child, remembering a white-haired old woman who treated her kindly before she was gone.
Before she could turn her attention to the monotony of State, Sara-Marie's desk vid-phone came to life. The face of her husband, Prince-Consort Thomas Heresford, came into view. "Thomas. Anything I should be worried about?"
"Nothing but the drama one has with a sixteen year old pining for a girl he cannot have," Thomas guffawed. A nobleman of the major world Concord, his marriage to Sara-Marie was one of those arranged marriages that proved stronger than the usual noble match. What they had was love of a sort. Not the fiery, passionate love that poets and musicians touted, certainly, even if they'd had five children. It was the love of two people who knew what duty meant and helped one another bear the burden. "I am more worried about you, dear. I'm told Alex is being a headache."
The invocation of "Alex" - Alexander Proctor, the son of her uncle Jacob and a ranking General of the Armed Forces of the Free March - prompted a sigh and a nod. "The expansionists will not be completely denied, whatever sentiment may wish. I will deal with him as I must."
"Your darling niece will not be happy."
"No, but I am March-Princess, and the future of our people hangs on the razor's edge. I fully expect her to be engaged in the Skye War relief drives anyway." She settled into the desk chair. "You will be back for the New Year's Ball?"
"Of course. It's my place to be at your side."
And it will make the social duties tolerable. Already she could see the line of honorees, the writers and musicians and scholars and business magnates and military officers she would be expected to grant titles to as part of the New Year's Honors List. The list had to be assembled meticulously to keep the people of twenty worlds happy.
If Alex gets his way, it will be more than twenty worlds soon enough… She turned her attention to the paperwork and got to it, wandering what 3033 would bring to the Free March.
Arcadian Guards Base, Fort Defiance
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
31 December 3032
The morning's routines were a comfort to Thomas Proctor, Prince of Arcadia and heir to the throne of the Free March. The twenty-six year-old man, with his brown hair cut to the right-swept military perfection expected of the AFFM, preferred the bivouac and the barracks to the social affairs that his station required his attendance in. This evening would be no exception, with the New Year's Eve Ball as a sort of preliminaries for the New Year's Ball and Honors that he, likewise, would be expected to attend.
War is spreading across the Inner Sphere. Skye, Hesperus, New Dallas… and look at what's been done to Andurien. Not to mention Lancaster. And I have to go dress up to socialize.
The thought aggravated him in the midst of his usual favored part of the morning; piloting rounds. To enjoy the moment, and ready himself, he strode into the 'Mech hangar in cooling suit BDUs. It was a particular innovation from the cooling vests and light clothes that MechWarriors had worn for so long, one that the Free March had every right to be proud of. The twin gold bar with a hawk that marked him as a Captain was one of the few adornments, as was the patch of the Arcadian Guards, a hawk with swept-wings bearing a sword in its talons, a sheared pair of manacles in its wake. His great-grandmother had adopted that patch while leading the War of Liberation against Carl Tabot, and the Arcadian Guards bore it with pride.
For Thomas, there was an even greater reminder of his great-grandmother, the foundress of the Free March. It loomed ahead in the berth where he'd left it the prior day: Sara Proctor's Black Knight.
The machine that killed the Slaver Lord wasn't a standard Black Knight. It was a 6b variant, built right here on Arcadia in Kong Interstellar's BattleMech Factory in the Star League-era industrial complexes outside of the city of Roslyn. Sara claimed the first one to come off the resumed assembly lines when her forces captured the city in mid-2927, a replacement for the Crusader she'd had shot out from under her in a skirmish. Whatever lack of romanticism might come from having not won the war in the 'Mech she started it in, Thomas felt Sara more than made up for it by slaying Tabot in her new machine. She would never fire the guns of her 'Mech in anger again, it was said, as if she and the machine had seen their fill of bloodshed.
It still went down in legend as the Liberator, passed down from Sara to her son William, to William's daughter, and now, to Thomas himself.
The humanoid machine was painted in the red and blue dress colors of the Arcadian Guards. The unit patch was painted in exquisite detail on the chest, over where a person's heart would be. The family coat of arms - the sword of light and gold severing the chain linking shackles on a shield, the family motto wrapped about the emblem - was likewise present on the opposite breast of the machine. The weapons were all energy models, Star League technology, with the PPC an extended range weapon and the large lasers of the Pulse variety. It would run hot, but it could devastate 'Mechs of its weight class with accurate fire.
Not that I would know.
He readied to climb up the gantry to the cockpit when he noticed movement beside him. The long dark hair and sharp features of his cousin, Captain Angelina Grimke-Proctor, prompted his immediate attention. "So, do you think we could just go on extended maneuvers with our companies, Tom?" she asked in a bemused soprano. "We could avoid the entire miserable social occasion."
"Knowing my mother and your father, Brigadier van Reiter himself will get on the comms and call us back in," Thomas sighed.
"Probably," she agreed. By blood they were distant cousins, her maternal grandfather the uncle of Thomas' mother, but as they were born in the same year and raised in the Ducal Palace and the New Salem estate, Thomas felt Angelina to be more his sister than his actual sisters. "Your mother is going to try to hook you up again."
"She worries."
"What, that you'll be like your Grandpa Will? March-Prince William didn't marry young, after all."
Thomas shook his head. "I don't intend to repeat history. If someone proper comes along, well, I'll let things fall where they may."
"And if your parents don't need to marry you off for politics," Angelina pointed out, crossing her arms.
"Yes. True."
"Well, I'm told Duke Rayhan's got a couple lovely daughters, when he lets them out of the house," Angelina grumbled. The reference to the Duke of Dar-es-Salaam brought a twitch to her face. The Rayhans were mostly reconciled to their status in the Free March, but old pride and religious differences could still cause rankling, and Angelina had no love for the strict Islamic lifestyle the Duke and his nobles maintained. "A marriage alliance would consolidate things."
"Or cause even more problems, unless you think the people of Dar-es-Salaam want a Christian Duke," Thomas pointed out. He gestured upward before tapping his timepiece on the outside of his suit. "We don't have a lot of time left. I'd like some time on the range before spending the next two days in my dress reds pressing hands with half of the Free March."
"Fair enough." Angelina stepped away. Her own Black Knight was across the way. "One of these days we're going to need to run Bravo and Charlie Companies through another war game, you know. You might even win next time!"
He flashed her a grin as his reply before scaling up the gantry to his cockpit hatch.
Ducal Palace
The New Year's Eve Ball left Sara-Marie tired and ready to retire for the night. Only the quiet summons her chamberlain passed on kept her from returning to her bedroom to rest with her husband.
Instead, she found herself in a crowd of uniformed men and women, the leaders of the AFFM, wearing their red dress uniforms with blue trim and golden epaulettes. The stars on their collars marked their ranks as generals. At the head of the table the AFFM's Chief of Staff, General Lewis Harding, saluted respectfully. He was a commoner from Concord who rose through deserved merit. If he were from Arcadia or another world of the Free March he would have bowed at the waist, but Concord's people did not defer to nobility so easily. She was used to it, indeed, she found her husband's people to be refreshing with such lack of obeisance. "Serene Highness," he said, using her style fully with his gravelly voice.
Beside him was the quiet countenance of Her Grace Mary Katzenburg, Chief of Naval Operations and the Duchess of Hyde. She saluted as well. Military protocol was more important to her than social conventions. General Sir Moshe Golan, a tan-skinned Mizrahi Jew from Gienah, likewise saluted. He served as the AFFM's Air Marshal, the highest ranking officer to serve in the aerospace forces. Lastly she noted the stern presence of the Count of Ritterwald on Mariefred, General Manfred von Halbach. He was the AFFM's Field Marshal, the senior commander of the BattleMech regiments and other ground forces that defended the Free March's planets.
The other officers, almost all older than Sarie-Marie, made their salutes in turn. She recognized the head of the AFFM Planning Staff for the intent gaze he directed at her. Lord Alexander Proctor was a cousin, the son of her father's younger brother, although her father's late marriage meant Alexander had over a decade on her age-wise. He was a life-long AFFM man, like his father Jacob, and even his daughters and son were all in AFFM red. His wife was the Landgravine of Lowen on Hyde, though he remained officially an ennobled citizen of Arcadia.
When she nodded and the salutes were released, Alexander's eyes remained on her for a moment longer, the crow's feet beside his eyes the product of age and stress. He waited while Sara-Marie took a seat at the smaller table beside theirs, allowing the Command Staff to all look toward her. General Harding took the lead, as was appropriate. "We thank you, Highness, for taking the time to see us before the night was over. Time is running short."
"There have been new developments in the war?" she asked.
"Skye and the Interstellar Council are collapsing," stated another relative. Alexander's sister Tabitha, a noblewoman in her own right styled the Countess of Parnon as a reward for her decades of AFFM service, looked something like what Sara-Marie expected she would be like in twenty years, undoubtedly aided by her time with AFFM Intelligence. "Tabby" (whom no one would ever call such to her face) maintained a grim countenance befitting her wrinkled face and snow-colored hair. She tapped at a computer control and activated a holo-map of this side of the Inner Sphere. Several worlds were no longer showing IGC colors. "The Marik Commonwealth has already successfully detached the Grand Duchy of Zion from the Council. We expect the complete disintegration of the rest of the IGC and its war effort in the coming months, and while some of their worlds may go over to the Consolidant or other powers, we expect Marik will make a number of gains as well. The same is true of Skye, and we anticipate many of their worlds will end up under New Commonwealth or Consolidant control." Tabitha nodded gravely. "I have spoken with our top analysts and they concur with these assessments universally. Our neighbors are about to get much stronger."
"And you fear they will turn towards us at some point."
"It is an undeniable possibility, and poses an existential threat to the Free March," Alexander said.
Sara-Marie folded her hands on the table. "I have personally spoken with the ambassadors of the belligerents, and all expressed their continued peaceful intentions towards us. While I am not naive enough to believe such unconditionally, I fail to see any immediate threat. Neither side will want to introduce ten more BattleMech line regiments to the ranks of their enemies at this juncture. They need time to end the war, replenish their forces, and defend their new holdings. We can use that time."
"Indeed, and that is why we are here, Your Serene Highness." Alexander used the full formal style with clear deference. As far as Sara-Marie could tell, this meant he was trying to be respectful, and thus, trying to win her over immediately.
At the press of a key by Alexander, the map highlighted five worlds within one jump of the Free March's systems. One, Kitzingen, was Coreward of Eilenburg and Dar-es-Salaam. Fianna was another, in the direction of the DefHes Consolidant. Amity, Sheridan, and Gannett were all within one jump of McAffe and Concord, and at times each was the source of aggravating raids on Free March worlds. "The orders are ready. The ships are in place. We can have the units embarking in two days."
So it comes to this then. "You wish to secure the independent worlds before anyone else can?"
"Or before they can establish further defenses and force us to greater lengths to secure them," Harding confirmed.
"Negotiations with Duke Hatzfeld are continuing…"
"He is stalling. That much our intelligence has made clear," said Tabitha. "The Kitzingen defensive forces have been increasing their tempo of training. They know either we or Donegal will come for them. Hatzfeld is too arrogant, he believes he can play us against each other and retain his independence. His daughter is more pliable."
In other words, you would remove Duke Hatzfeld and convince his daughter to accept the Free March. "And you believe we can win with minimal bloodshed?"
"This is what the Arcadian Rangers train for, ma'am. We anticipate that if they do resist, the Rangers will be quite capable of breaking up their defenses. The 24th Militia Brigade will help mop up and secure the planet." Tabitha pressed another key. More worlds lit up. "We feel just as confident about the other worlds, particularly Fianna. The Arcadian Guards alone will make swift work of their militia if they try to fight."
Sara-Marie noted the listed units. Much of the line strength of the AFFM was being committed, including over two-thirds of their naval assets. "Five worlds. You know this will not be ignored by the other planets. Or the other governments."
"They all have their own concerns. And this is just the first wave," said Alexander. "Your Serene Highness, we have a year, maybe two, to consolidate our borders and bring new worlds into the Free March. By then the Skye War will be over, and whatever its ultimate outcome, we will face stronger opposition to any expansion. Our independence itself could be threatened. You speak of time? This is what we must do with our time. These worlds have resources. They will strengthen the economy of the Free March. Every world we add will give us the means to expand our forces and remain competitive. If we fail to take this opportunity, we will eventually be surrounded, and most likely, conquered or suborned."
It was clear that those at the table were all in agreement. The AFFM was officially asking her to let them loose upon the independent worlds.
Sara-Marie wasn't naive, whatever her thoughts. Whatever their ideals, her realm was not innocent of aggression. The Free March's expansion had always been a combination of diplomatic persuasion and military coercion. Dar-es-Salaam, in particular, resisted for years before they accepted the Free March. Father, you would give the order in a heartbeat, I know this, she thought, speaking to the spirit of a man who departed her life a quarter century ago. I know my duty too. But I think of the suffering of these people. The soldiers who will die. My sons, my daughter, who may face battle… That thought struck her particularly hard. She noted the Arcadian Guards were slated for one of the attack forces, so Thomas would be leaving, as were the 1st Free March Cavalry and her second son Mark. And Melissa's ship is in another attack force. Lord my God, three of my little ones face the fire.
"Highness?" Harding's voice sounded almost gentle. "I have had my disagreements with General Proctor, but I have to concur. The race for territory has consumed the Inner Sphere, and we are three years behind the other realms. We must act now, or the Free March may not survive to see its centennial."
"So that is to be it, then?" Sara-Marie asked. "We face the point of the blade, and our choices, my choice, is down to two: Expand… or Die."
"That is the choice, Highness," Alexander said.
A glance at the clock told her that she could beg this off. It was almost midnight. She had the New Year's Honors Ball tomorrow. She could reconvene them then, or the day after, or even the day after that, before making her final decision. They'd have to understand, given her many duties as March-Princess.
But that was the thing about duty. However her heart may quail at times over the necessities of her station, Sara-Marie would not, could not, shirk it. She was the granddaughter of the Liberator. The legacy of Sara Proctor, of all the men and women who died fighting so that Arcadia and her neighbors could be free, was on her shoulders. The responsibility lay with her and no other.
"Then my duty is clear," she said aloud, ending the silence in the room. "Expand."
Color lit up outside the windows of the Ducal Palace, a display of fireworks marking the coming of midnight to the celebrants of Roslyn.
The year 3033 had come, and with it, a new course for the Arcadian Free March.
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
30 December 3032
The capital city of the Arcadian Free March stretched out from the balcony of the Ducal Palace. Home to the planet's rulers since the era of the Star League, and the world's time in the Lyran Commonwealth, the Palace enjoyed its place on a promontory overlooking the harbor and Sinclair Bay beyond it. From her place on the balcony, March-Princess Sara-Marie Proctor could see the combination of fishing vessels, pleasure craft, and cargo barges that filled her capital on the daily basis.
Her homeworld was a planet of quirks. Sara-Marie mused, with a quiet grin, on a planet named for a reputedly idyllic region of Greece on Terra that had only a small Greek-speaking minority (her paternal grandfather, Baron Julio Kalios, had come from that community) and with cities named for everything from mid-2nd Millennium painters to old New England towns. Her capital was no different. Supposedly the old Terran surveyor, Henry Sinclair, named the settlement after the legendary Rose Line so important to esoterics and Grail scholars on Terra. Perhaps he felt inspired by the countryside. A couple hours' maglev trip would whisk one away to the environs of Loch Clydesford and the cool, green-covered mountainside of the planet's temperate zone. The ancestral Proctor hometown of New Salem was an hour's maglev trip to the east of that, on the Plymouth Peninsula of the Northern Ocean.
Baroness of New Salem. It was one of her lesser titles, a noble investiture to her grandmother to cement her acclamation as Duchess of Arcadia. The family kept a small estate there for vacation purposes, as much as the ruling family of a Successor State ever got such reprieves from the tasks of state.
Enough of letting my mind wander. Sara-Marie re-entered her personal study. Her eyes took in the paperwork that represented her duties of state, waiting ever so patiently for her at her desk. Above the ornate desk, a portrait of her grandmother in her prime of life continued its quiet vigil of her descendants. The oil painting was made by Tristan de Cunhal, one of the Terran Union's greatest painters of the 30th Century, depicting Duchess Sara Proctor of Arcadia a few years after her victory over the cruel "Prince and High Lord of Arcadia", Carl Tabot. Her grandmother, for all her reputation, had not been an exceptionally beautiful woman. Her face was plain, roundish, perhaps a little rosy. De Cunhal nevertheless caught that shine in her blue eyes, the glint of steel that turned the daughter of New Salem farmers into one of the most romantic adventuresses in the history of the Inner Sphere. A woman who claimed the throne of her homeworld by dint of blood and sweat and tears.
She wished she could remember more about her departed grandmother. Sara had children only later in life, when she was past forty years of age, and Sara-Marie's father William had himself married late as well after serving a long career as a MechWarrior of the Arcadian Guards. She had only wisps of memory as a small child, remembering a white-haired old woman who treated her kindly before she was gone.
Before she could turn her attention to the monotony of State, Sara-Marie's desk vid-phone came to life. The face of her husband, Prince-Consort Thomas Heresford, came into view. "Thomas. Anything I should be worried about?"
"Nothing but the drama one has with a sixteen year old pining for a girl he cannot have," Thomas guffawed. A nobleman of the major world Concord, his marriage to Sara-Marie was one of those arranged marriages that proved stronger than the usual noble match. What they had was love of a sort. Not the fiery, passionate love that poets and musicians touted, certainly, even if they'd had five children. It was the love of two people who knew what duty meant and helped one another bear the burden. "I am more worried about you, dear. I'm told Alex is being a headache."
The invocation of "Alex" - Alexander Proctor, the son of her uncle Jacob and a ranking General of the Armed Forces of the Free March - prompted a sigh and a nod. "The expansionists will not be completely denied, whatever sentiment may wish. I will deal with him as I must."
"Your darling niece will not be happy."
"No, but I am March-Princess, and the future of our people hangs on the razor's edge. I fully expect her to be engaged in the Skye War relief drives anyway." She settled into the desk chair. "You will be back for the New Year's Ball?"
"Of course. It's my place to be at your side."
And it will make the social duties tolerable. Already she could see the line of honorees, the writers and musicians and scholars and business magnates and military officers she would be expected to grant titles to as part of the New Year's Honors List. The list had to be assembled meticulously to keep the people of twenty worlds happy.
If Alex gets his way, it will be more than twenty worlds soon enough… She turned her attention to the paperwork and got to it, wandering what 3033 would bring to the Free March.
Arcadian Guards Base, Fort Defiance
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
31 December 3032
The morning's routines were a comfort to Thomas Proctor, Prince of Arcadia and heir to the throne of the Free March. The twenty-six year-old man, with his brown hair cut to the right-swept military perfection expected of the AFFM, preferred the bivouac and the barracks to the social affairs that his station required his attendance in. This evening would be no exception, with the New Year's Eve Ball as a sort of preliminaries for the New Year's Ball and Honors that he, likewise, would be expected to attend.
War is spreading across the Inner Sphere. Skye, Hesperus, New Dallas… and look at what's been done to Andurien. Not to mention Lancaster. And I have to go dress up to socialize.
The thought aggravated him in the midst of his usual favored part of the morning; piloting rounds. To enjoy the moment, and ready himself, he strode into the 'Mech hangar in cooling suit BDUs. It was a particular innovation from the cooling vests and light clothes that MechWarriors had worn for so long, one that the Free March had every right to be proud of. The twin gold bar with a hawk that marked him as a Captain was one of the few adornments, as was the patch of the Arcadian Guards, a hawk with swept-wings bearing a sword in its talons, a sheared pair of manacles in its wake. His great-grandmother had adopted that patch while leading the War of Liberation against Carl Tabot, and the Arcadian Guards bore it with pride.
For Thomas, there was an even greater reminder of his great-grandmother, the foundress of the Free March. It loomed ahead in the berth where he'd left it the prior day: Sara Proctor's Black Knight.
The machine that killed the Slaver Lord wasn't a standard Black Knight. It was a 6b variant, built right here on Arcadia in Kong Interstellar's BattleMech Factory in the Star League-era industrial complexes outside of the city of Roslyn. Sara claimed the first one to come off the resumed assembly lines when her forces captured the city in mid-2927, a replacement for the Crusader she'd had shot out from under her in a skirmish. Whatever lack of romanticism might come from having not won the war in the 'Mech she started it in, Thomas felt Sara more than made up for it by slaying Tabot in her new machine. She would never fire the guns of her 'Mech in anger again, it was said, as if she and the machine had seen their fill of bloodshed.
It still went down in legend as the Liberator, passed down from Sara to her son William, to William's daughter, and now, to Thomas himself.
The humanoid machine was painted in the red and blue dress colors of the Arcadian Guards. The unit patch was painted in exquisite detail on the chest, over where a person's heart would be. The family coat of arms - the sword of light and gold severing the chain linking shackles on a shield, the family motto wrapped about the emblem - was likewise present on the opposite breast of the machine. The weapons were all energy models, Star League technology, with the PPC an extended range weapon and the large lasers of the Pulse variety. It would run hot, but it could devastate 'Mechs of its weight class with accurate fire.
Not that I would know.
He readied to climb up the gantry to the cockpit when he noticed movement beside him. The long dark hair and sharp features of his cousin, Captain Angelina Grimke-Proctor, prompted his immediate attention. "So, do you think we could just go on extended maneuvers with our companies, Tom?" she asked in a bemused soprano. "We could avoid the entire miserable social occasion."
"Knowing my mother and your father, Brigadier van Reiter himself will get on the comms and call us back in," Thomas sighed.
"Probably," she agreed. By blood they were distant cousins, her maternal grandfather the uncle of Thomas' mother, but as they were born in the same year and raised in the Ducal Palace and the New Salem estate, Thomas felt Angelina to be more his sister than his actual sisters. "Your mother is going to try to hook you up again."
"She worries."
"What, that you'll be like your Grandpa Will? March-Prince William didn't marry young, after all."
Thomas shook his head. "I don't intend to repeat history. If someone proper comes along, well, I'll let things fall where they may."
"And if your parents don't need to marry you off for politics," Angelina pointed out, crossing her arms.
"Yes. True."
"Well, I'm told Duke Rayhan's got a couple lovely daughters, when he lets them out of the house," Angelina grumbled. The reference to the Duke of Dar-es-Salaam brought a twitch to her face. The Rayhans were mostly reconciled to their status in the Free March, but old pride and religious differences could still cause rankling, and Angelina had no love for the strict Islamic lifestyle the Duke and his nobles maintained. "A marriage alliance would consolidate things."
"Or cause even more problems, unless you think the people of Dar-es-Salaam want a Christian Duke," Thomas pointed out. He gestured upward before tapping his timepiece on the outside of his suit. "We don't have a lot of time left. I'd like some time on the range before spending the next two days in my dress reds pressing hands with half of the Free March."
"Fair enough." Angelina stepped away. Her own Black Knight was across the way. "One of these days we're going to need to run Bravo and Charlie Companies through another war game, you know. You might even win next time!"
He flashed her a grin as his reply before scaling up the gantry to his cockpit hatch.
Ducal Palace
The New Year's Eve Ball left Sara-Marie tired and ready to retire for the night. Only the quiet summons her chamberlain passed on kept her from returning to her bedroom to rest with her husband.
Instead, she found herself in a crowd of uniformed men and women, the leaders of the AFFM, wearing their red dress uniforms with blue trim and golden epaulettes. The stars on their collars marked their ranks as generals. At the head of the table the AFFM's Chief of Staff, General Lewis Harding, saluted respectfully. He was a commoner from Concord who rose through deserved merit. If he were from Arcadia or another world of the Free March he would have bowed at the waist, but Concord's people did not defer to nobility so easily. She was used to it, indeed, she found her husband's people to be refreshing with such lack of obeisance. "Serene Highness," he said, using her style fully with his gravelly voice.
Beside him was the quiet countenance of Her Grace Mary Katzenburg, Chief of Naval Operations and the Duchess of Hyde. She saluted as well. Military protocol was more important to her than social conventions. General Sir Moshe Golan, a tan-skinned Mizrahi Jew from Gienah, likewise saluted. He served as the AFFM's Air Marshal, the highest ranking officer to serve in the aerospace forces. Lastly she noted the stern presence of the Count of Ritterwald on Mariefred, General Manfred von Halbach. He was the AFFM's Field Marshal, the senior commander of the BattleMech regiments and other ground forces that defended the Free March's planets.
The other officers, almost all older than Sarie-Marie, made their salutes in turn. She recognized the head of the AFFM Planning Staff for the intent gaze he directed at her. Lord Alexander Proctor was a cousin, the son of her father's younger brother, although her father's late marriage meant Alexander had over a decade on her age-wise. He was a life-long AFFM man, like his father Jacob, and even his daughters and son were all in AFFM red. His wife was the Landgravine of Lowen on Hyde, though he remained officially an ennobled citizen of Arcadia.
When she nodded and the salutes were released, Alexander's eyes remained on her for a moment longer, the crow's feet beside his eyes the product of age and stress. He waited while Sara-Marie took a seat at the smaller table beside theirs, allowing the Command Staff to all look toward her. General Harding took the lead, as was appropriate. "We thank you, Highness, for taking the time to see us before the night was over. Time is running short."
"There have been new developments in the war?" she asked.
"Skye and the Interstellar Council are collapsing," stated another relative. Alexander's sister Tabitha, a noblewoman in her own right styled the Countess of Parnon as a reward for her decades of AFFM service, looked something like what Sara-Marie expected she would be like in twenty years, undoubtedly aided by her time with AFFM Intelligence. "Tabby" (whom no one would ever call such to her face) maintained a grim countenance befitting her wrinkled face and snow-colored hair. She tapped at a computer control and activated a holo-map of this side of the Inner Sphere. Several worlds were no longer showing IGC colors. "The Marik Commonwealth has already successfully detached the Grand Duchy of Zion from the Council. We expect the complete disintegration of the rest of the IGC and its war effort in the coming months, and while some of their worlds may go over to the Consolidant or other powers, we expect Marik will make a number of gains as well. The same is true of Skye, and we anticipate many of their worlds will end up under New Commonwealth or Consolidant control." Tabitha nodded gravely. "I have spoken with our top analysts and they concur with these assessments universally. Our neighbors are about to get much stronger."
"And you fear they will turn towards us at some point."
"It is an undeniable possibility, and poses an existential threat to the Free March," Alexander said.
Sara-Marie folded her hands on the table. "I have personally spoken with the ambassadors of the belligerents, and all expressed their continued peaceful intentions towards us. While I am not naive enough to believe such unconditionally, I fail to see any immediate threat. Neither side will want to introduce ten more BattleMech line regiments to the ranks of their enemies at this juncture. They need time to end the war, replenish their forces, and defend their new holdings. We can use that time."
"Indeed, and that is why we are here, Your Serene Highness." Alexander used the full formal style with clear deference. As far as Sara-Marie could tell, this meant he was trying to be respectful, and thus, trying to win her over immediately.
At the press of a key by Alexander, the map highlighted five worlds within one jump of the Free March's systems. One, Kitzingen, was Coreward of Eilenburg and Dar-es-Salaam. Fianna was another, in the direction of the DefHes Consolidant. Amity, Sheridan, and Gannett were all within one jump of McAffe and Concord, and at times each was the source of aggravating raids on Free March worlds. "The orders are ready. The ships are in place. We can have the units embarking in two days."
So it comes to this then. "You wish to secure the independent worlds before anyone else can?"
"Or before they can establish further defenses and force us to greater lengths to secure them," Harding confirmed.
"Negotiations with Duke Hatzfeld are continuing…"
"He is stalling. That much our intelligence has made clear," said Tabitha. "The Kitzingen defensive forces have been increasing their tempo of training. They know either we or Donegal will come for them. Hatzfeld is too arrogant, he believes he can play us against each other and retain his independence. His daughter is more pliable."
In other words, you would remove Duke Hatzfeld and convince his daughter to accept the Free March. "And you believe we can win with minimal bloodshed?"
"This is what the Arcadian Rangers train for, ma'am. We anticipate that if they do resist, the Rangers will be quite capable of breaking up their defenses. The 24th Militia Brigade will help mop up and secure the planet." Tabitha pressed another key. More worlds lit up. "We feel just as confident about the other worlds, particularly Fianna. The Arcadian Guards alone will make swift work of their militia if they try to fight."
Sara-Marie noted the listed units. Much of the line strength of the AFFM was being committed, including over two-thirds of their naval assets. "Five worlds. You know this will not be ignored by the other planets. Or the other governments."
"They all have their own concerns. And this is just the first wave," said Alexander. "Your Serene Highness, we have a year, maybe two, to consolidate our borders and bring new worlds into the Free March. By then the Skye War will be over, and whatever its ultimate outcome, we will face stronger opposition to any expansion. Our independence itself could be threatened. You speak of time? This is what we must do with our time. These worlds have resources. They will strengthen the economy of the Free March. Every world we add will give us the means to expand our forces and remain competitive. If we fail to take this opportunity, we will eventually be surrounded, and most likely, conquered or suborned."
It was clear that those at the table were all in agreement. The AFFM was officially asking her to let them loose upon the independent worlds.
Sara-Marie wasn't naive, whatever her thoughts. Whatever their ideals, her realm was not innocent of aggression. The Free March's expansion had always been a combination of diplomatic persuasion and military coercion. Dar-es-Salaam, in particular, resisted for years before they accepted the Free March. Father, you would give the order in a heartbeat, I know this, she thought, speaking to the spirit of a man who departed her life a quarter century ago. I know my duty too. But I think of the suffering of these people. The soldiers who will die. My sons, my daughter, who may face battle… That thought struck her particularly hard. She noted the Arcadian Guards were slated for one of the attack forces, so Thomas would be leaving, as were the 1st Free March Cavalry and her second son Mark. And Melissa's ship is in another attack force. Lord my God, three of my little ones face the fire.
"Highness?" Harding's voice sounded almost gentle. "I have had my disagreements with General Proctor, but I have to concur. The race for territory has consumed the Inner Sphere, and we are three years behind the other realms. We must act now, or the Free March may not survive to see its centennial."
"So that is to be it, then?" Sara-Marie asked. "We face the point of the blade, and our choices, my choice, is down to two: Expand… or Die."
"That is the choice, Highness," Alexander said.
A glance at the clock told her that she could beg this off. It was almost midnight. She had the New Year's Honors Ball tomorrow. She could reconvene them then, or the day after, or even the day after that, before making her final decision. They'd have to understand, given her many duties as March-Princess.
But that was the thing about duty. However her heart may quail at times over the necessities of her station, Sara-Marie would not, could not, shirk it. She was the granddaughter of the Liberator. The legacy of Sara Proctor, of all the men and women who died fighting so that Arcadia and her neighbors could be free, was on her shoulders. The responsibility lay with her and no other.
"Then my duty is clear," she said aloud, ending the silence in the room. "Expand."
Color lit up outside the windows of the Ducal Palace, a display of fireworks marking the coming of midnight to the celebrants of Roslyn.
The year 3033 had come, and with it, a new course for the Arcadian Free March.
”A Radical is a man with both feet planted firmly in the air.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED
"No folly is more costly than the folly of intolerant idealism." - Sir Winston L. S. Churchill, Princips Britannia
American Conservatism is about the exercise of personal responsibility without state interference in the lives of the citizenry..... unless, of course, it involves using the bludgeon of state power to suppress things Conservatives do not like.
DONALD J. TRUMP IS A SEDITIOUS TRAITOR AND MUST BE IMPEACHED