So I figured I'd try to get something done and start posting more Concertverse stories. As a foreword, while I have done some new scenes and editing, most of the content in this short story is from almost three years ago, written in August-September 2020 by myself and the SB user named Fulton for the game that became the Concertverse. As such it was done primarily as vignettes to cover/complement what the mods were ruling based on our orders and the resulting dice rolls.
Depending on the interest and my mental focus and health, I may post/repost/write other content from the original game timeframe (Fulton's long storyline with the Marians is fully deserving of such attention!). There were a number of stories that went untold.
Anyway, here is the opening and prologue to Die Rettungsaktion.
"Imperator Sean's restoration to his father's throne was a bloody affair, but it was decisive. More importantly, it did not affect the timetables or operational plans of the MHAF. For years, the Hegemony had plotted a final showdown with the Principality of Bolan and the Grand Duchy of Tamarind for thwarting their earliest attempts to advance into Lyran territory. The rivalry between their foes becoming open battle still has no single explanation, but there is little doubt the Ordo Vigilis contributed. The strike on Promised Land by Baron Kessel of Cavanaugh with his own and troops in Bolanese colors provided Sean's legal justification for an invasion, as much as such meant to the Inner Sphere of the 3030s. While Tamarind would have once worked to constrain the Hegemony, the Promised Land campaign guaranteed there was no political will to aid one aggressor against another. Bolan would fight a hopeless war alone and friendless." — Excerpt from "A Critical History of the 'Anni Gloriae'", by Titian Fulton, Professor Emeritus of the College of Interstellar History, Oxford University. Published 3126
Prologue
Terran Union Defense Forces Headquarters
Geneva, Swiss Confederation, Europe
Terra
Terran Union
19 December 3033
Major Harold Cutter walked through the brain of the most powerful military force in the Inner Sphere as if it were just another day for him. It was a self-defense measure. Normally the thirty-two-year old TUDF officer would spend his day at the Intelligence Information Center sorting through reports from field sources and the encrypted messages that ComStar diligently handed over every week. The intelligence gleaned from those sources kept the Terran military and government on top of the doings of their "neighbors", that pack of feral dogs tearing into each other over the systems of Humanity.
We should just smash the whole lot of them, Cutter thought. They can't stop the Navy from wiping their rebuilt factories out. If the Director-General would just give the order this so-called "Second Age of War" would be strangled by our fleets and armies. A pity Congress and that bastard Tiepolo won't back her play.
His passcard and the system's recognition of his purpose saw him through the security checkpoints separating the outer offices from the inner. Power armor-clad infantry remained at attention as he passed; in doors and under their watch posts they had no requirement to salute, and he only occasionally let out a clipped "As you were" as he passed by, hand still firmly gripping the secured noteputer bearing the intelligence he'd been instructed to hand off and explain.
His temporary clearance brought him to a chamber he'd never dared hope to visit. After an outer office of secretaries and visible holotanks, a yeoman waved him through a pair of glass doors bearing the Terran Union seal. On the other side, a windowed office gave a panoramic view of the Geneva skyline. The glass was thicker than a 'Mech's cockpit glass and could take autocannon bursts, not that any such weapons would get close enough with the 149th Royal BattleMech Division's best troops watching the grounds. He saluted crisply at the uniformed, dark-haired figure in the desk chair in front of him. "Director-General, ma'am, the latest intelligence from Bolan."
Director-General Natasha Kerensky glanced up from her reading. She was fairly young, one of the youngest Director-Generals to ever serve at her age of thirty-nine. Hard green eyes met his and Cutter forced himself not to flinch. By reputation the Director-General did not suffer fools lightly, nor did she tolerate disrespect. They say the Eridani Light Horse tossed her out for breaking the unit's code. Well, maybe we need to start doing that to keep the Successor States in line, don't let them think we've gone soft. If Tiepolo thinks he's got a puppet over the TUDF then by God is he in for a shock! "Approach, Major," she said in a clipped tone, her accent audibly Russian.
Cutter did so. He offered the secured noteputer. A press of her thumb to the security scanner confirmed the Director-General's identity and the data he'd helped analyze flashed onto the screen. He remained standing while she spent several minutes scanning the text and accompanying 2D images and data tables.
"So they're drawing it out," she finally said. "The Marians could've had Bolan wrapped up weeks ago if they pushed."
"Yes, we concur," Cutter said, not remarking on the fact they'd predicted just that. "It looks like the Hegemony is conserving their forces and strangling the Bolanese instead. They're swapping forces in and out of the front lines and even the system, keeping their formations intact and putting fresh ones in."
He spoke those words with full confidence. Their communications intercepts meant a near-real-time order of battle for all sides was regularly available. The Successor States' encryption analysts were getting better and it was taking more time to decrypt them, but the advanced computers at the IIC were more advanced than anything they could hope to match. All codes broke in time. And it wasn't like the neobarbs had black boxes or their own HPGs. ComStar was their only means of interstellar communication, and whatever the stockholders thought, the board of directors and the corporate officers at Hilton Head knew that the Union owned them. Military communications were always copied and provided to the TUDF.
Director-General Kerensky continued to read, but her words were a reply to his. "Reckless. That little brat on Alphard must be truly confident nobody will interfere."
"We could crush their entire invasion with a single corps, if you give the order," Cutter said, impulse overtaking him. He drew in a breath and cursed his impertinence. Damn this room, just being here makes my head spin!
Those green eyes of burning cold narrowed. But instead of the reprimand or fury he expected, he was answered with a quiet smile. "So we could. But the Chancellor and Congress have made their will clear. No interventions. If the Successor States want to kill each other, we let them. After all, they're paying us for the weapons."
"Right. My apologies for speaking out of turn, ma'am."
"Do not do it again, Major," she warned before resuming reading. He turned to leave, but before he'd taken his first step he heard "Stop" and did so. The Director-General was still reading when he turned back. "It would appear an intervention may happen anyway. Or do you disagree?"
"It is unlikely," Cutter replied. "Katrina Steiner's New Commonwealth is busy recalling troops from the Skye War and seeing to their own consolidation campaign. The Mariks and Brewers and Steiners are all eying each other or the Communalists. The Arcadians are tied down with their campaigns. The Rim Worlders" - he refused to call the Amaris spawn 'Ghastillians' or whatever it was they used - "are too far, and the Rift Republic too weak. And to attack Marians would invite war with their allies."
"All very good reasons, but yet, these troop movements do not lie, nor the supply ship hiring." The Director-General tapped the device. "The Arcadians seem to be planning something."
Cutter shook his head. "That is Major Banacek's expectation, but I believe she is overestimating them. They lack the depth for a war against the Marians and their allies, and their diplomatic overtures to Hesperus and Atreus were rebuffed. The Mariks and Brewers would rather ally with Sean O'Reilly to fight each other, not stand united against him."
"Yet it is clear Katrina Steiner and Raquel Steiner have been more supportive. More to the point… do you understand anything about the Arcadians, Major?"
Cutter shrugged. "Another one of a few dozen small states that clawed out of the muck their kind made of the Inner Sphere after defying General DeChavilier and destroying the Star League. Honestly they rise and fall so often we're trying to keep up with it."
"Try harder," Kerensky retorted. "They're a pack of wild dogs ripping each other apart over the bones, but they've got personality. And the Arcadians define themselves by hating slavery. The Marians aren't just a political threat, they're a moral one."
"They waited too long to do anything about it," Cutter said. "Their army's just ten field regiments and they've been running them ragged the past year with their offensive campaigns. If they intervene the Marians will…" His brain cried out for him to note the penetrating stare of his highest superior and he stopped. This gave him time to think beyond his immediate visceral reaction to what was, in the end, just another bunch of backward Successor State types. He considered the data he'd seen. "...well, Imperator Sean will certainly scream for a reprisal, may even declare war, but the Hegemony's been burning everything to keep up its offensive pace. The invasion of Bolan's costing them a fortune, and they've got an ally starting to fall apart at the seams in Cajamarca. Pushing the legions on to Arcadia, through their defensive regiments, might not work. Not with their supply lines as they are."
"And it may just make Kenneth Brewer and Elias Marik pay attention to something more than their mutual hostility," the Director-General added. "And the prospect of a slaving horde of Periphery barbarians sacking worlds halfway towards Terra might just change opinions in Congress. Sean O'Reilly may be a childish twerp given too much power, but he'll have advisors who can read the news. Advisors who can restrain him."
"Then it would depend upon what the Arcadians would seek to accomplish. If they do intervene."
"I have my suspicions," the Director-General said. "Now, before you go, I'd like to discuss our progress with restraining the Lexington Concord and Penelope Reynolds' overweening ambitions. The electronic sabotage proposal has merit…"
"Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Moderator: LadyTevar
"Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
”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: "Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Chapter 1
Free March Army Bivouac
Medzev
Arcadian Free March
31 December 3033
Word was spreading that the 1st Free March Cavalry were heading off-world. A mercenary unit from some minor contractor was already burning in and due to deploy on the day after New Year's, at which time Mark and his unit would already be embarked and ready to launch. He'd heard a dozen rumors about their next destination. Some said they were heading back to Rexburg, others thought the Marik border, and yet others claimed to have heard this or that plan to commence an operation against the Marians.
He knew his parents would be ashamed to know that he was hoping it was the latter. Not only did they need to be stopped, Mark hoped he'd get a chance to help do it. Another opportunity to show what he could do.
A Christmas message from his parents played. It was affectionate, and kind, and virtually the same thing they'd said to him last year when he was on McAffe, and the year before that when the Cavalry were posted on Hyde. He wondered if they realized how similar each message was. How it made him feel, as if he were just a chore and not their son…
Don't blame them, Mark. They love you. You know they do, he admonished himself. He switched to another message, a simple text one sent via Kitzingen from Melissa's ship.
Got the promotion, brother. Let me know when you get yours! - Melissa
Mark had to smile. Melissa deserved it as much as he did. Life on a carrier was hard, given all the zero-G and the conditions. How she puts up with it...
There was a knock on the door of the prefab officers' barracks room. Since he was the only officer currently present, he turned. Major Mnyampala stood at the door. "Lieutenant," he said. "Have the layouts done?"
"I do, sir," he said. "It's similar to how we packed on Rexburg. We'll be able to combat deploy right away, wherever we go."
"Good."
Mark couldn't hold himself back. "Sir, the Promotion Board, have you heard back?"
"We did." Mnyampala's face remained blank and Mark's stomach twisted. "You were rejected, Lieutenant. I'm sorry."
Now his stomach burned. Mark felt his jaw clench involuntarily. "I… was rejected? Even after my engagements here on Medzev? Or the fighting on Rexburg? My work on our embarkations?"
"Yes. There were only so many Captaincy slots open, and the Board's reply was that there were more deserving personnel who'd put in their time at Lieutenant. They've agreed to reconsider you in three months' time."
A raw fury built up in Mark's heart that all of his discipline failed to restrain. "Right. Of course. I'm only twenty-four, I've still got time, right? There've got to be deserving officers older than I am." But not in the Aerospace Forces, I guess, he groused mentally.
"Something like that."
"My brother was twenty-four when he made Captain," Mark said. "My sister, my twin sister, she just made Squadron Captain. And here I am, still below them."
"A lot of deserving personnel revealed themselves, and we've been fortunate that casualties among the company commanders have been light over the year's campaigning. Keep heart, Lieutenant. You might yet make Captain before your twenty-fifth birthday." Sensing his young officer wanted to remain alone for the moment, Mnyampala departed the barracks.
Mark turned back to his desk. Melissa's message looked back at him. Taunted him. Of course. Isn't that how it always goes? Melissa always gets her way first. It was a bitter thought and he chastised it as unworthy.
But yet the frustration, the resentment, it festered. What did he have to do to get the recognition he deserved? To be seen as the scion of Sara Proctor's line that he was? Did he have to charge a dozen Marian BattleMechs? Survive a week in the wilderness in SERE conditions? Conquer a world by himself? What did he have to do to be equal to his damned siblings?!
"I'll make it," he assured himself. "I'll be just like grand-uncle Jacob. I'll make it to the top!"
Near Mumbai City
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
18 January 3034
“Contact.” Came the call from Legatus Dashel Avery’s Assassin. Drusa’s hands clenched over the control stick of her Stinger. Seven months of near constant action had done nothing to diminish the sheer terror of combat.
“Two demolishers northwest, infantry in support.” The Legatus clarified and Drusa relaxed a little. That area was the 2nd cohort’s problem, not hers. She shook as much of the tension out of her hands as she could manage and pushed her Stinger forward down the 15th concession. Boris, an older man from Illyria, swept his way down the 16th.
This had been farmland once. The concessions separated the farms centuries ago, back when this was the most productive farmland on Bolan. It was long gone now, carved up into subdivisions that were then ripped out and replaced with condos. Now, those condos were barren husks at best, and piles of rubble at worst. Maybe it was the circle of life, and they would return to feeding the people one day soon?
Drusa wasn’t optimistic. In her experience, broken things had a tendency to stay broken.
She focused back on her sensors. The swarms of VTOLs had long since been swatted out of the sky, but the city was still crawling with infantry and battlemechs. The commanders told them they were winning, but they’d been winning for seven months, four of them in this very city. How was it possible to win and yet still not make any progress?
Hell, this was her fifth time fighting down this very street. Two of them going the other way. She hoped it would be the last. It very nearly was.
“Drusa, Boris, above you!” Cornelia called out. She heard a wave of missiles from behind slam into the building to her left. She slammed the throttle forward, but the sound of mag boots on metal clanked around her. She pitched right, turned a corner, and drove straight for Boris. “Jumpers! Spray me!” She shouted as he came into sight. She saw jump troopers crawling all over his mech too and instantly began to blow them off with her machine guns.
Boris leveled his guns at her, then the back of his head exploded. The explosion tipped his Stinger forward and it collapsed in front of her. Drusa dropped her medium laser and grasped around, grabbing for the jump troopers. She grabbed one with her left hand and crushed the life out of it, then another with her right. Then, a wave of heat as the remaining jump troopers leapt away. She retrieved her and admired her captive for a moment. She’d been just gentle enough that the trooper was still alive, but they seemed to be writing in pain regardless.
Drusa stood there, staring at Boris’ mech until Cornelia’s Wasp caught up to them. “I’m sorry, then only came up on my sensors at the last second.”
“It’s ok, I mean, Boris and I missed them too.”
“Drusa….there’s something on the back of your head.”
Drusa froze and pulled her hands back from the controls. “Is it a breaching charge?”
“Uh, yeah, it looks like it. It’s smoking too. Centurion Reyes, check this out.”
“On my way. Patel, get up and high and act as lookout.” The Centurion responded.
Reyes’ Centurion approached from behind. Cornelia’s voice was cracking as words tumbled from her mouth. “What do we do? Should she bail? Can we get a bomb squad? Do we even have a b-”
Reyes reached forward, ripped the charge off and threw it. “Get on with it. Clodia, take Ivanov’s position, scout with Flavia.”
They did as they were told. Cornelia switched to a private channel. “That was fucking crazy! He could’ve killed you!”
“I...I….just, keep going.”
“But-”
“No, please, just, let’s go. Talk about it later.”
They continued deeper into the city. They’d been this deep once too, two weeks ago. It had been right in the heart of enemy territory. But it was just empty now. Something wasn’t right. It was too defensible, the heart of the government district, where they’d had plenty of time to prepare defenses. Drusa squeezed through a gap in the wall and paused to scan the area.
“This isn’t right.” Drusa said as she twisted her mech through the full range of motion. Something caught the corner of her eye. What looked like wreckage at first seemed far too solid to be abandoned. “Cornelia! Jump back now!” She turned on her own jets and landed just in time to hear a robotic woman’s voice chime with “BattleMech power-up detected.”
A pair of battered Wyverns followed them over the wall, which a Hunchback barreled right through. “Contact! Two Wyverns and a Hunchback.”
“HBK-2 or HBK-4P?” The Centurion responded.
“I didn’t see!”
“It’s a big fucking difference, Legionnaire! It’s also your job. Find out.”
An autocannon blasted a car-sized hole through the office building Drusa was hiding behind. “HBK-2!” She called as she took off down a side street.
“Right. Patel, we’re taking them head on. Clodia, Flavia, get behind them and pray to the Imperator for victory.” The Centurion charged into a hail of Bolanese fire. Drusa lost sight of him in the smokey rubble, but played her part, picking the heavier machines to pieces from the sides.
The close in fighting was brutal. The Bolanese were outfitted for city fighting, but their mechs hadn’t worked right even before the war. The heavier mechs exhausted themselves battering each other to pieces. When the shooting stopped, only Drusa and Cornelia’s mechs were still standing. Drusa broadcast their victory on the cohort-wide frequency, but no one responded. No response from the battalion frequency either. “Fuck these Bolan machines.”
“What do we do?” Cornelia asked.
“I’ve had enough for today. We go back to base.”
They worked their way through the rubble, more carefully than they’d done so with a Centurion barking at them. It was quiet now, as expected, but the Bolanese were tricky. It wouldn’t be the first time they were ambushed by forces they’d bypassed on their way deeper into the city. Hell, it wouldn’t even be the first time today.
Drusa began to get complacent as the stadium they’d been using as their temporary mech bay and prisoner processing center came into view. It was still kilometers out, but the sight of what counted for home eased her mind.
That slip led her face to face with a one armed Commando as she turned a corner without waiting for Cornelia’s signal. Drusa snapped back to reality immediately and trained her laser on the Commando. Her eyes darted quickly around the scene. It should have been an awful matchup at short range, but a quick glance showed the mech was out of missiles and had deep laser burns across the torso. The Commando froze, it’s lone working weapon trained on her. Neither of them fired.
What had looked at first like a platoon of infantry were on second glance mostly unarmed. A small handful wore Bolanese uniform, but most wore the white tunics and collars of Marian slaves.
Drusa held her hands over the triggers that could end the lives of all of them. She and her Bolanese pilot stood there, looked in a standoff for what felt like an eternity before Cornelia’s Wasp landed on a lowrise behind them. “Drusa! What are you doing?”
“I can’t do it.” She whispered. “No, I’m not doing it.” She said, more firmly.
Cornelia sat in silence with them. The slaves began to hurry down an alley. The Commando turned and disappeared into the field of lowrise tenements.
“What the fuck was that?” Cornelia said after they had all gone.
“That would have been murder.”
“Do you know how much bounty we could have earned from bringing them in?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok, just making sure.” Cornelia was silent for a long time after that. “Drusa, I get it. You know I’ve always got your back. Just, please, don’t tell anyone. Let’s go home.”
They turned and headed back towards the stadium. The makeshift fortress was patrolled by an entire cohort of gladiators and at least a cohort of infantry.
“How the hell did they even get out?” Drusa mused to herself.
AFMS Liberator, Zenith Jump Point
Gypsum System
Arcadian Free March
21 January 3034
The command of OpForce Tubman went to Vice Admiral Dame Julia Andros. For her part, the Concord native wasn't sure why she'd been tapped. The daughter of a family living in Kansas State on Concord, ambition and a desire to see foreign stars brought her into the naval college at AMSA, and now thirty-three years later - after years of everything from boring picket duty to commanding ships into action against pirates or other forces - she was a Vice Admiral and a Knight of the March.
And it all lead me to this.
Being on the command bridge of the Liberator brought back memories. Twelve years ago she'd been Captain of the Liberator for a 20 month stint before putting in time as a Naval College instructor and getting her first star as a Commodore. And like her successor, Captain John Campbell, it was the highlight of her career. A Star League-era WarShip, it seemed to come from another, better age, even if people on Concord knew it to have been a tainted age.
Beside her, the commander of the ground element stood with a rigid back and a firm countenance. Major General Olivia Armstrong, Baroness of Briggs, was from the Arcadian nobility, even wearing her family's coat of arms as a sigil on her uniform depicting a roaring bear standing on two feet. She wore the red of the AFFM as if born to it, wearing her officer's sword even here on the deck of a WarShip. Her hair was still a rich yellow tone without a trace of gray or white yet showing. Normally she would be staying on the Liberator to serve as Chief of Staff to the whole force, but with six regiments and attached assets under the command, she would be transferring to the Galatine and landing when the time came.
"I want readiness signals from all ships," Andros said aloud. "Zero hour is here." She checked the timer. Five minutes left.
Over the next few minutes, the fleet checked in. The Liberator's sister ship, Guardian was fine, as were the three corvettes Harrier, Hawk, and Falcon and their carriers, Audacious, Reprisal, and Formidable. The plethora of JumpShips, military and hired civilian, had many more DropShips attached. Some were loaded with troops. The others had vital supplies aboard to fulfill their mission.
Last year we were on the offensive, swallowing world after world. I wonder what this year will bring. At least we have a better cause than expansion…
"Admiral, all vessels report ready," said her comms officer.
The ship's astrogation officer spoke up next. "Engineering reports a full charge in the K-F drives. We can jump at your mark."
We do this right. Not a moment too soon. "Jump on my mark."
The bridge filled with anticipation and tension as the clock ticked to zero. Everyone knew the stakes. What was on the line. They were ready to do their duty and get the troops where they needed to go.
The timer hit thirty seconds. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten… nine… eight…
At five, she took in a breath. At one, she spoke.
"Mark."
By the time the clock hit zero, energy was already surging into the Liberator's K-F drive. Everyone felt the familiar displacement that came from violating Einstein's laws before reality re-asserted itself.
Their destination system appeared on the central holotank. Andros didn't miss a beat in giving the order. "Commence entry burn, all ships."
The vessels maneuvered to the programmed course and commenced the ordered burn, keeping formation as they did so. Admiral Andros watched with satisfaction as the holotank updated to show their projected course intersect with the planned destination.
Bolan.
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
The time difference meant it was the middle of the day for the March-Princess. Sara-Marie had a number of issues of state she should be handling, including planning for the year's Liberation Day celebrations and her imminent Speech from the Throne to the assembled Legislature.
But at the moment, all she could do was stare at the central holotank in her personal Military Operations Center in the heart of the palace. While red-uniformed AFFM personnel, mostly intelligence and analyst officers, went about their business, she watched the icons for most of the Free March Navy and what were the best regiments of the Army make the transition. One moment they were at Gypsum; the next, Bolan.
"Serene Highness."
She turned. Her cousin, Lord Alexander, stepped up beside her. His eyes were tight with worry. "Our children march off to battle once more," he said. A low sigh came from his throat. "Sometimes I think of asking Parson Howard just how it is that God can let things get to this point. Parents sending their children to fight and maybe die, all because a spoiled brat feels the need to conquer and enslave a people to prove his might."
"The Lord works in mysterious ways," she murmured in reply, knowing that their pastor, the white-haired Parson of the Palace, would say the same. She made a mental note to check in on him and seek counsel. "All we can do is pray that they come out safely, and that our efforts are not in vain."
"We worry ourselves sick over the Skye War, and who is it we first draw our swords on? A nation acting like the damned Romans." Alexander chuckled sourly. "Even now I worry that our calculations are wrong. The Marians may escalate this to all-out war, and while I tell myself it is proof they would have come for us anyway, well, sometimes I wish I might have talked you out of this."
"A part of me wishes you had. What of our other preparations?"
"The militia overhaul continues. The fissioning of our existing brigades is complete and we are employing hired transport assets to re-deploy them across the March, although most of our activity will come once this operation is complete and we can disperse the transport fleets to accelerate re-deployment. As for other matters, Colonel Sinclair is hard at work on establishing the new Striker Regiment on McAffe, and Brigadier Lockhart already has the First Cuirassiers set up to occupy Fort Defiance until the return of the Arcadian Guard. The battalion of Black Knights the Defense Works constructed last year will serve as familiarization training for the MechWarriors of the regiment until the other machines for the unit arrive."
"And the Bolan troops?"
"Colonel Jackson is taking a portion of the AMSA training cadre to Gypsum to train their battalions up to standard while the upgrade kits are applied to their machines, and we have orders to build line-quality BattleMechs for the regiment of Bolan MechWarriors who got to our space. We'll be raising new support units to join them all at the end of the year. If all goes according to plan, the Bolan Hussars, the Bolan Rangers, and the Bolan Cavalry Brigade will be added to the rolls on the first of next year, the same as the First Cuirassiers and the Eighth Striker Regiment. Additionally, that fighter wing that got away is being assigned to the Free March Cavalry for the time being, bringing their aero group up to full strength as we now consider it."
"And the other militia forces who escaped?"
"We've organized them into the First and Second Bolan Irregulars, they will be garrisons on the new border with the Hegemony," he replied succinctly.
"Thank you," she replied, grateful for the chance to speak of something other than the fear on her mind. Her eyes, however, could not pull away from the lit up dot of light on the tank that represented Bolan. Almighty Jehovah, Lord of Hosts, I pray to You to stand with our armies as they fight in a cause worthy of You. In Your name, Amen.
Planetary Defense Command, Bolan City
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
21 January 3034
Princess Amita Umayr, Heiress-Apparent and currently Regent for the small, pitiful remains of the Principality of Bolan, climbed down from the cockpit of her family's wrecked Phoenix Hawk LAM with death in her heart and on her mind. Death was their only future, it seemed. Either the death of body and mind, to move on in whatever cosmic joke existence brought forth for Humanity, or the living death of slavery, of being reduced to a piece of property. Being chattel.
Her feet hit the ferrocrete of the PDC 'Mech hangar and she looked up toward the machine her family inherited from the fallen Star League. The Phoenix Hawk LAM was a rare machine, a BattleMech that could transform into an aircraft and back, but this one wouldn't be doing transforming any time soon. The delicate conversion machinery was damaged by fire from the Marians, or rather their Boyz Movers mercenaries, and the parts needed to fix the machine were lost to the Marian advance. Given the state of things, she shouldn't even be piloting the machine, barely-armored wreck that it now was, but it was still one of the relatively few 'Mechs capable of walking and firing thanks to its energy complement.
The hangar once held an entire battalion of the First Principality Guards. Now it held about a company and a half. Lieutenant Choudhury's damaged Commando was to her immediate side, and Captain Khan's Warhammer on the other was missing both arms. Their MechTechs worked feverishly on both trying to fix them, but parts were getting as low as food. Even fuel was going to be an issue soon.
The Marians have us. We can't win. But to surrender, after all this… to waste all of those lost lives, and commit myself to those damnable pens where my parents and brother are kept. She wanted to cry at the cruelty of it all, but her upbringing kept her locked down. She couldn't. Not in front of her troops. Not with the few remaining men and women fighting to protect their world and their comrades from these Periphery bandits with delusions of civilization.
She entered the locker room, put up her cooling vest, stripped the sweat-soaked clothing off, and took to the showers. The water was barely lukewarm. The reactors were at fifty percent capacity to save fuel, and the hot water heater was one of the bits where they were making that power stretch out. Feeling the chill on her dark olive skin made her miss warm baths in the palace, as much as she'd disliked living there instead of in the field. But she made the best of it, using the sliver of remnant soap in her things to wash off.
Once done she left the stall, one towel draped around her torso to cover her from below the shoulders to the middle of her thighs, the other holding her damp black hair to dry. She took a seat on a bench and thought of her family. Jagdish was alive, they said, in the slave pens with their parents, while Rama was here, an eighteen year old boy whose dreams of martial glory were now a horrific nightmare. Lalitha was safe, offworld, probably on Arcadia by now. Word came from ComStar that Duke Constantin's world of Gypsum successfully transferred their allegiance to the Free March and that the Marians, aside from a mild protest through their allies in the Kashamarka Antisuyu, were respecting that. A free Umayr line, although her children will be Marghilomans, not Umayrs. But still free…
Should I kill myself? Just… take a bullet and end it? Spare my family the dishonor of whatever awaits me on Alphard, under that spoiled brat playacting a Roman Emperor? ...no. Whatever else, I am kshatriya. I am a warrior and I will not abandon my comrades in such a cowardly way. If we die, we die together in battle with the foe.
"Amita!"
She turned toward the exit of the locker room. Rama rushed in wearing the one-size-too-big military uniform they'd found for him. He was supposed to be starting his military education. Would have, if the Marians hadn't come. They shared the same shade of green in their eyes while Rama was of a lighter skin tone. Facial hair was growing on his chin, although not with consistency. "Amita, you should come."
Her first thought was that the Marians had penetrated their defensive line, and that the final destruction was upon them. Or maybe her officers were losing heart and ready to surrender. "Why?"
"A fleet of ships just jumped in system!" Rama cried out. "We're saved!"
No. It was foolish. The Marians were rotating troops in and her overeager brother was grasping at a false hope. That was what it had to be. Nothing else would happen, nobody else would come…
...would they?
For a moment she let herself hope, enough that she stood. "I'll get my uniform and join you." He remained a constant buzz of excitement while she got dressed in the tanned uniform of the PBAF, taking care with the insignia marking her as a Captain of the Principality Guard. She felt the eagerness and hope around her as they journeyed to the command center, but dared not let it take her over. Someone would have to bring them down from their disappointment.
At the entrance she was saluted. Lord Raju and Lord Indra, the two generals not dead or captured, stood by the holotank in the center of the room. The power flickered briefly before a technician zoomed in on an image coming in from a perimeter satellite out at the Bolan Nadir point.
A gasp came from Amita's throat. There were a lot of ships. More than Bolan could possibly still have. More than the Marians were said to have. Could it be? Are we getting aid at last?! "Are we getting a communication? Do we have IFF codes?"
"Checking now… confirmed." The young woman looked up from her station. "Codes are coming in. Highness!" the tech looked up and Amita could see the hope on her face. "Arcadian IFF codes, Highness."
The perimeter satellite took time to relay the visual. It showed a formation of combat vessels. Amita felt her heart swell at the sight of two Star League-era vessels and a pair of what looked like Arcadia's corvettes. Two aerodyne-like DropShips of significant size accompanied them with a screen of Lightning and Zero fighters. Numerous DropShips came up in the rear, spheroid and aerodynes, including a large one that looked like a Fortress-type ship. Toward the rear another corvette and carrier DropShip watched the van.
They came, she thought. They… they actually came! Hope swelled inside of her. A force that large, the Marian Navy couldn't fight that. And they must have five regiments at least!
"Do we have active communications?"
"We don't have access to an HPG to reach them, so radio only. It'll be hours before we get a reply."
"Let me know when it comes."
Five hours passed before Princess Amita got the call. She returned to the PDC's command chamber and received a printed note. The contents made her brow furl. "They want us to prepare for an evacuation?" She glanced at Lord Indra. "What is this? Aren't they coming to drive the Marians off of Bolan?"
"I discussed the matter with General Vajpayee before we received the message. One of the possibilities was that they did not come to drive the Hegemony off but to extract the royal family and our surviving troops," Indra replied.
"But… why? With their forces we could force them out!"
"For now, perhaps, but in the long term? The Marian Hegemony has no other borders requiring significant defense and a larger number of line units than the Arcadians. They are already taking a risk coming to our aid as they are. They are unlikely interested in fighting a wider war."
"So it will be for nothing!" she shouted. "All they're doing is giving us the means to retreat, to become exiles! Bolan will still fall and this, our comrades' deaths, will be for nothing!"
"Hardly, Highness." Indra's voice was harsh. "They are our last hope, and I'm taking it. I've already given the order to prepare for the evacuation and to halt all counter-raids on the Marians. We'll preserve our lines against any renewed attack and await Arcadian rescue."
She narrowed her eyes. He was her superior officer in the military, but as she was acting Regent (for what little was left), she had political authority he lacked. She could countermand the order. If I didn't mind undermining our remaining troops. "So we run?"
"No, we survive," he said. "Our comrades' deaths will not be in vain, as we will get off this world with you and your mother and your brothers. The Umayrs may go into exile, but in exile they will be a symbol of resistance to Marian occupation. In time, with aid from the Arcadians and others, we might yet return. It is a damned better alternative than surrender and you know it, HIghness."
Amita bit into her lip. It's not good enough! Our people deserve more! They deserve better! But deep down, she could see his point. We live to fight another day, just as we are already doing. Survive today to keep the hope alive of winning tomorrow…
Very well. That is our duty, and I will see it through. It is the only way to honor my comrades now.
Gladiator Headquarters, Bolan City, Bolan
Cornelia paced back and forth through Princess Aahana Memorial Stadium. Her footsteps echoed throughout the cavernous halls meant for thousands. Drusa sat on a bench instead, next to the private box that served as Legatus Avery’s office. They’d been waiting an hour already. Cornelia hadn’t stopped the entire time.
“What the fuck does he even want?” Cornelia muttered for probably the fifth time in as many minutes.
Drusa suspected the answer, but didn’t want to voice it. She figured Cornelia did too, even if she was too afraid to name it.
“Why’s he making us wait?” Cornelia continued.
“Part of the punishment?” Drusa offered with the first words she’d said since they’d arrived.
Cornelia stopped and stared at her, her face a look of disgust, though Drusa couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or the Legatus. “Fuck me.”
“I don’t think you need to ask, I think the Legatus has plans for that.”
“This is serious Dru! What is wrong with you?”
Drusa spread her arms and shook her head. “You know how I get when I’m stressed.”
“It’s not fucking helping.”
“So, what does help? Wearing a rut in the floor sure doesn’t seem to be doing you much good.”
“Can we talk about it, finally?”
“I think that’s already on the to do list for today, given the meeting-”
“Stop it. Just, try, please. You know what I mean. We need to talk. Why did you do it?”
She’d grappled with the question for days since she’d let the Bolanese escapees go. She didn’t understand why at first. It just hadn’t feel right. But nothing about war ever felt right, just necessary. The next day, with time to process, she’d come up with lots of reasons. Mercy, honour, the rules of war. They all made sense, but nothing of them felt right. She wondered if it was just her mind trying to rationalize illogical choices with whatever logical justifications she could come up with. She wanted to explain it all to Cornelia. She wished she had the words to do so. All that came out was. “I just couldn’t do it.”
Cornelia slapped her hands to her face and groaned.
The worst reason though, was the one she suspected was right: empathy. Life on Pompey was hard, almost unbearable for a poor pleb. How bad was it for the slaves? How could she condemn someone to a life of utter misery like that? An enemy killed in cold blood, sure, fine. That’s war. But to do that to a fellow human being?
“Dru, please. Think, really think about this. There’s a reason.”
“I just...I just couldn’t. I can’t really explain it.”
“Try! We have to tell him something!”
“How does he even know what we did?”
“I don’t know, he just does! What else could this be for?”
“Promotion?” Drusa said with a shrug and a nervous laugh.
Cornelia shoved Drusa’s shoulder against the wall. “This is fucking serious! There’s ten thousand kids on Pompey alone that would literally kill for our mechs, and millions more around the Hegemony. We need to have an answer. I’m not going back!”
Drusa searched her mind for the right words. They wouldn’t come. Cornelia stared, unblinking, unflinching, into her eyes. She was furious, but her eyes seemed to be pleading for an answer.
The Legatus’ assistant rescued her from having to answer, for now anyways. “The Legatus will see you now.”
Legatus Dashel Avery didn’t look up from his computer screen. The two stood at attention in front of him as he worked his way through whatever was on the screen. The assistant came back with a cup of coffee. Only when it was one did the Legatus address them. “You know why you’re here?”
Drusa spoke first. “No, sir.”
“Yeah, you do. That was a statement, not a question.”
Drusa glanced towards Cornelia.
“Look at me, not at her.” The Legatus said with a stern, but still calm voice. “Your new Centurion’s report was incomplete. I’ve already spoken to her, and she says she included everything you said about the action on January 18th. Second chance. What did you leave out?”
It was a bluff, Drusa hoped. He might not know. But she knew Cornelia would say it, and that the guilt from it would fester between them if she did. Drusa spared her and spoke first. “We encountered a damaged Commando with at least twenty infantry, many of whom appeared to be escapees from the processing centre. We failed to engage them.”
Avery nodded. “Good first step. Next step, why?”
She reached for the right words, words that would convince him, but nothing came. The seconds were slipping by and she knew he wouldn’t wait long. “I couldn’t do it. I think it’s awful what we do to people, forcing them into slavery. My dad saw what happened in the mines. The stories he told, they were horrific. I wouldn’t condemn them to that sort of life.”
Drusa stood in agonized anticipation every moment as Avery took a moment himself before replying. “You know I grew up on Canopus. Do you think it’s easy for me to do this? Everyone is free on Canopus, freer than anywhere else in the galaxy. I don’t like enslaving people either. But it is my job. With the choice of this or starving on the streets, I chose to work.”
“I joined to protect the country, not enslave-”
“No, you joined because your life was grinding you into nothing and you wanted out. The Hegemony doesn’t care, because they let you join because they want you to take slaves to keep the gears of the economy grinding on. This is your job. This is exactly why you exist. Now make peace with it. If this happens again, it could be you wearing a white tunic and chains.”
He turned to Cornelia next. “Do you feel the same?”
“I just wanted to support her.”
“She doesn’t outrank you, and you were both under standing order to destroy the enemy and take prisoners where possible. You failed to carry out those orders. If she fails to carry out her orders, then it’s your job to ”
“I’m sorry sir, It won’t happen again.” Cornelia squeaked out, her eyes downcast. “May I ask a question, sir?”
Dashel nodded.
“How did you know?”
Avery turned around the monitor for his computer. It showed the standoff on a loop. “Every MHAF mech has cameras, several of them, built into it. Always have, always will. Most militaries do it. Not everyone checks it, and those who do not all the time. But your Centurion’s report says you managed to finish off a Wyvern and a Hunchback after the rest of the Maniple was destroyed with a pair of the lightest, shittiest mechs in the Inner Sphere. People call those things bugs for a reason, heavier metal swats them like buts. That’s impressive, and the film backs it up. I think to myself ‘maybe one or both of these pilots should be put on the track to Centurion herself.’ So I keep watching. And then I see this, and suddenly, I’m in this position. I don’t like this position. I’m a gladiator, not a babysitting, not a school teacher with a ruler. Shape the fuck up, or I’m sending you back home. If it hadn’t been for your exemplary action earlier in the day, and in the rest of the tape I pulled from earlier actions, you’d be out on your asses already.”
“Get to know your mechs better too. Work with your MechTechs, learn from them, ask question. You should know every square inch of your mech by now, and the fact you didn’t see the cameras earlier tells me you’ve got a lot of hours to log-”
An electronic siren screamed.
“Fuuuuck.” Avery said as he shot up and dashed for the door.
“Legatus! What’s going on?”
“Something just jumped into the system. For that alarm to go off with that tone, something big.”
“What do we do?”
“You? Go talk to your MechTechs, learn your machines, like I already fucking told you. And try not to have an aneurysm over the next week from the stress of knowing a real army is about to drop on your head. Me? I’ve got a lot of shit to do to make sure we survive when they get here.”
Free March Army Bivouac
Medzev
Arcadian Free March
31 December 3033
Word was spreading that the 1st Free March Cavalry were heading off-world. A mercenary unit from some minor contractor was already burning in and due to deploy on the day after New Year's, at which time Mark and his unit would already be embarked and ready to launch. He'd heard a dozen rumors about their next destination. Some said they were heading back to Rexburg, others thought the Marik border, and yet others claimed to have heard this or that plan to commence an operation against the Marians.
He knew his parents would be ashamed to know that he was hoping it was the latter. Not only did they need to be stopped, Mark hoped he'd get a chance to help do it. Another opportunity to show what he could do.
A Christmas message from his parents played. It was affectionate, and kind, and virtually the same thing they'd said to him last year when he was on McAffe, and the year before that when the Cavalry were posted on Hyde. He wondered if they realized how similar each message was. How it made him feel, as if he were just a chore and not their son…
Don't blame them, Mark. They love you. You know they do, he admonished himself. He switched to another message, a simple text one sent via Kitzingen from Melissa's ship.
Got the promotion, brother. Let me know when you get yours! - Melissa
Mark had to smile. Melissa deserved it as much as he did. Life on a carrier was hard, given all the zero-G and the conditions. How she puts up with it...
There was a knock on the door of the prefab officers' barracks room. Since he was the only officer currently present, he turned. Major Mnyampala stood at the door. "Lieutenant," he said. "Have the layouts done?"
"I do, sir," he said. "It's similar to how we packed on Rexburg. We'll be able to combat deploy right away, wherever we go."
"Good."
Mark couldn't hold himself back. "Sir, the Promotion Board, have you heard back?"
"We did." Mnyampala's face remained blank and Mark's stomach twisted. "You were rejected, Lieutenant. I'm sorry."
Now his stomach burned. Mark felt his jaw clench involuntarily. "I… was rejected? Even after my engagements here on Medzev? Or the fighting on Rexburg? My work on our embarkations?"
"Yes. There were only so many Captaincy slots open, and the Board's reply was that there were more deserving personnel who'd put in their time at Lieutenant. They've agreed to reconsider you in three months' time."
A raw fury built up in Mark's heart that all of his discipline failed to restrain. "Right. Of course. I'm only twenty-four, I've still got time, right? There've got to be deserving officers older than I am." But not in the Aerospace Forces, I guess, he groused mentally.
"Something like that."
"My brother was twenty-four when he made Captain," Mark said. "My sister, my twin sister, she just made Squadron Captain. And here I am, still below them."
"A lot of deserving personnel revealed themselves, and we've been fortunate that casualties among the company commanders have been light over the year's campaigning. Keep heart, Lieutenant. You might yet make Captain before your twenty-fifth birthday." Sensing his young officer wanted to remain alone for the moment, Mnyampala departed the barracks.
Mark turned back to his desk. Melissa's message looked back at him. Taunted him. Of course. Isn't that how it always goes? Melissa always gets her way first. It was a bitter thought and he chastised it as unworthy.
But yet the frustration, the resentment, it festered. What did he have to do to get the recognition he deserved? To be seen as the scion of Sara Proctor's line that he was? Did he have to charge a dozen Marian BattleMechs? Survive a week in the wilderness in SERE conditions? Conquer a world by himself? What did he have to do to be equal to his damned siblings?!
"I'll make it," he assured himself. "I'll be just like grand-uncle Jacob. I'll make it to the top!"
Near Mumbai City
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
18 January 3034
“Contact.” Came the call from Legatus Dashel Avery’s Assassin. Drusa’s hands clenched over the control stick of her Stinger. Seven months of near constant action had done nothing to diminish the sheer terror of combat.
“Two demolishers northwest, infantry in support.” The Legatus clarified and Drusa relaxed a little. That area was the 2nd cohort’s problem, not hers. She shook as much of the tension out of her hands as she could manage and pushed her Stinger forward down the 15th concession. Boris, an older man from Illyria, swept his way down the 16th.
This had been farmland once. The concessions separated the farms centuries ago, back when this was the most productive farmland on Bolan. It was long gone now, carved up into subdivisions that were then ripped out and replaced with condos. Now, those condos were barren husks at best, and piles of rubble at worst. Maybe it was the circle of life, and they would return to feeding the people one day soon?
Drusa wasn’t optimistic. In her experience, broken things had a tendency to stay broken.
She focused back on her sensors. The swarms of VTOLs had long since been swatted out of the sky, but the city was still crawling with infantry and battlemechs. The commanders told them they were winning, but they’d been winning for seven months, four of them in this very city. How was it possible to win and yet still not make any progress?
Hell, this was her fifth time fighting down this very street. Two of them going the other way. She hoped it would be the last. It very nearly was.
“Drusa, Boris, above you!” Cornelia called out. She heard a wave of missiles from behind slam into the building to her left. She slammed the throttle forward, but the sound of mag boots on metal clanked around her. She pitched right, turned a corner, and drove straight for Boris. “Jumpers! Spray me!” She shouted as he came into sight. She saw jump troopers crawling all over his mech too and instantly began to blow them off with her machine guns.
Boris leveled his guns at her, then the back of his head exploded. The explosion tipped his Stinger forward and it collapsed in front of her. Drusa dropped her medium laser and grasped around, grabbing for the jump troopers. She grabbed one with her left hand and crushed the life out of it, then another with her right. Then, a wave of heat as the remaining jump troopers leapt away. She retrieved her and admired her captive for a moment. She’d been just gentle enough that the trooper was still alive, but they seemed to be writing in pain regardless.
Drusa stood there, staring at Boris’ mech until Cornelia’s Wasp caught up to them. “I’m sorry, then only came up on my sensors at the last second.”
“It’s ok, I mean, Boris and I missed them too.”
“Drusa….there’s something on the back of your head.”
Drusa froze and pulled her hands back from the controls. “Is it a breaching charge?”
“Uh, yeah, it looks like it. It’s smoking too. Centurion Reyes, check this out.”
“On my way. Patel, get up and high and act as lookout.” The Centurion responded.
Reyes’ Centurion approached from behind. Cornelia’s voice was cracking as words tumbled from her mouth. “What do we do? Should she bail? Can we get a bomb squad? Do we even have a b-”
Reyes reached forward, ripped the charge off and threw it. “Get on with it. Clodia, take Ivanov’s position, scout with Flavia.”
They did as they were told. Cornelia switched to a private channel. “That was fucking crazy! He could’ve killed you!”
“I...I….just, keep going.”
“But-”
“No, please, just, let’s go. Talk about it later.”
They continued deeper into the city. They’d been this deep once too, two weeks ago. It had been right in the heart of enemy territory. But it was just empty now. Something wasn’t right. It was too defensible, the heart of the government district, where they’d had plenty of time to prepare defenses. Drusa squeezed through a gap in the wall and paused to scan the area.
“This isn’t right.” Drusa said as she twisted her mech through the full range of motion. Something caught the corner of her eye. What looked like wreckage at first seemed far too solid to be abandoned. “Cornelia! Jump back now!” She turned on her own jets and landed just in time to hear a robotic woman’s voice chime with “BattleMech power-up detected.”
A pair of battered Wyverns followed them over the wall, which a Hunchback barreled right through. “Contact! Two Wyverns and a Hunchback.”
“HBK-2 or HBK-4P?” The Centurion responded.
“I didn’t see!”
“It’s a big fucking difference, Legionnaire! It’s also your job. Find out.”
An autocannon blasted a car-sized hole through the office building Drusa was hiding behind. “HBK-2!” She called as she took off down a side street.
“Right. Patel, we’re taking them head on. Clodia, Flavia, get behind them and pray to the Imperator for victory.” The Centurion charged into a hail of Bolanese fire. Drusa lost sight of him in the smokey rubble, but played her part, picking the heavier machines to pieces from the sides.
The close in fighting was brutal. The Bolanese were outfitted for city fighting, but their mechs hadn’t worked right even before the war. The heavier mechs exhausted themselves battering each other to pieces. When the shooting stopped, only Drusa and Cornelia’s mechs were still standing. Drusa broadcast their victory on the cohort-wide frequency, but no one responded. No response from the battalion frequency either. “Fuck these Bolan machines.”
“What do we do?” Cornelia asked.
“I’ve had enough for today. We go back to base.”
They worked their way through the rubble, more carefully than they’d done so with a Centurion barking at them. It was quiet now, as expected, but the Bolanese were tricky. It wouldn’t be the first time they were ambushed by forces they’d bypassed on their way deeper into the city. Hell, it wouldn’t even be the first time today.
Drusa began to get complacent as the stadium they’d been using as their temporary mech bay and prisoner processing center came into view. It was still kilometers out, but the sight of what counted for home eased her mind.
That slip led her face to face with a one armed Commando as she turned a corner without waiting for Cornelia’s signal. Drusa snapped back to reality immediately and trained her laser on the Commando. Her eyes darted quickly around the scene. It should have been an awful matchup at short range, but a quick glance showed the mech was out of missiles and had deep laser burns across the torso. The Commando froze, it’s lone working weapon trained on her. Neither of them fired.
What had looked at first like a platoon of infantry were on second glance mostly unarmed. A small handful wore Bolanese uniform, but most wore the white tunics and collars of Marian slaves.
Drusa held her hands over the triggers that could end the lives of all of them. She and her Bolanese pilot stood there, looked in a standoff for what felt like an eternity before Cornelia’s Wasp landed on a lowrise behind them. “Drusa! What are you doing?”
“I can’t do it.” She whispered. “No, I’m not doing it.” She said, more firmly.
Cornelia sat in silence with them. The slaves began to hurry down an alley. The Commando turned and disappeared into the field of lowrise tenements.
“What the fuck was that?” Cornelia said after they had all gone.
“That would have been murder.”
“Do you know how much bounty we could have earned from bringing them in?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok, just making sure.” Cornelia was silent for a long time after that. “Drusa, I get it. You know I’ve always got your back. Just, please, don’t tell anyone. Let’s go home.”
They turned and headed back towards the stadium. The makeshift fortress was patrolled by an entire cohort of gladiators and at least a cohort of infantry.
“How the hell did they even get out?” Drusa mused to herself.
AFMS Liberator, Zenith Jump Point
Gypsum System
Arcadian Free March
21 January 3034
The command of OpForce Tubman went to Vice Admiral Dame Julia Andros. For her part, the Concord native wasn't sure why she'd been tapped. The daughter of a family living in Kansas State on Concord, ambition and a desire to see foreign stars brought her into the naval college at AMSA, and now thirty-three years later - after years of everything from boring picket duty to commanding ships into action against pirates or other forces - she was a Vice Admiral and a Knight of the March.
And it all lead me to this.
Being on the command bridge of the Liberator brought back memories. Twelve years ago she'd been Captain of the Liberator for a 20 month stint before putting in time as a Naval College instructor and getting her first star as a Commodore. And like her successor, Captain John Campbell, it was the highlight of her career. A Star League-era WarShip, it seemed to come from another, better age, even if people on Concord knew it to have been a tainted age.
Beside her, the commander of the ground element stood with a rigid back and a firm countenance. Major General Olivia Armstrong, Baroness of Briggs, was from the Arcadian nobility, even wearing her family's coat of arms as a sigil on her uniform depicting a roaring bear standing on two feet. She wore the red of the AFFM as if born to it, wearing her officer's sword even here on the deck of a WarShip. Her hair was still a rich yellow tone without a trace of gray or white yet showing. Normally she would be staying on the Liberator to serve as Chief of Staff to the whole force, but with six regiments and attached assets under the command, she would be transferring to the Galatine and landing when the time came.
"I want readiness signals from all ships," Andros said aloud. "Zero hour is here." She checked the timer. Five minutes left.
Over the next few minutes, the fleet checked in. The Liberator's sister ship, Guardian was fine, as were the three corvettes Harrier, Hawk, and Falcon and their carriers, Audacious, Reprisal, and Formidable. The plethora of JumpShips, military and hired civilian, had many more DropShips attached. Some were loaded with troops. The others had vital supplies aboard to fulfill their mission.
Last year we were on the offensive, swallowing world after world. I wonder what this year will bring. At least we have a better cause than expansion…
"Admiral, all vessels report ready," said her comms officer.
The ship's astrogation officer spoke up next. "Engineering reports a full charge in the K-F drives. We can jump at your mark."
We do this right. Not a moment too soon. "Jump on my mark."
The bridge filled with anticipation and tension as the clock ticked to zero. Everyone knew the stakes. What was on the line. They were ready to do their duty and get the troops where they needed to go.
The timer hit thirty seconds. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten… nine… eight…
At five, she took in a breath. At one, she spoke.
"Mark."
By the time the clock hit zero, energy was already surging into the Liberator's K-F drive. Everyone felt the familiar displacement that came from violating Einstein's laws before reality re-asserted itself.
Their destination system appeared on the central holotank. Andros didn't miss a beat in giving the order. "Commence entry burn, all ships."
The vessels maneuvered to the programmed course and commenced the ordered burn, keeping formation as they did so. Admiral Andros watched with satisfaction as the holotank updated to show their projected course intersect with the planned destination.
Bolan.
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
The time difference meant it was the middle of the day for the March-Princess. Sara-Marie had a number of issues of state she should be handling, including planning for the year's Liberation Day celebrations and her imminent Speech from the Throne to the assembled Legislature.
But at the moment, all she could do was stare at the central holotank in her personal Military Operations Center in the heart of the palace. While red-uniformed AFFM personnel, mostly intelligence and analyst officers, went about their business, she watched the icons for most of the Free March Navy and what were the best regiments of the Army make the transition. One moment they were at Gypsum; the next, Bolan.
"Serene Highness."
She turned. Her cousin, Lord Alexander, stepped up beside her. His eyes were tight with worry. "Our children march off to battle once more," he said. A low sigh came from his throat. "Sometimes I think of asking Parson Howard just how it is that God can let things get to this point. Parents sending their children to fight and maybe die, all because a spoiled brat feels the need to conquer and enslave a people to prove his might."
"The Lord works in mysterious ways," she murmured in reply, knowing that their pastor, the white-haired Parson of the Palace, would say the same. She made a mental note to check in on him and seek counsel. "All we can do is pray that they come out safely, and that our efforts are not in vain."
"We worry ourselves sick over the Skye War, and who is it we first draw our swords on? A nation acting like the damned Romans." Alexander chuckled sourly. "Even now I worry that our calculations are wrong. The Marians may escalate this to all-out war, and while I tell myself it is proof they would have come for us anyway, well, sometimes I wish I might have talked you out of this."
"A part of me wishes you had. What of our other preparations?"
"The militia overhaul continues. The fissioning of our existing brigades is complete and we are employing hired transport assets to re-deploy them across the March, although most of our activity will come once this operation is complete and we can disperse the transport fleets to accelerate re-deployment. As for other matters, Colonel Sinclair is hard at work on establishing the new Striker Regiment on McAffe, and Brigadier Lockhart already has the First Cuirassiers set up to occupy Fort Defiance until the return of the Arcadian Guard. The battalion of Black Knights the Defense Works constructed last year will serve as familiarization training for the MechWarriors of the regiment until the other machines for the unit arrive."
"And the Bolan troops?"
"Colonel Jackson is taking a portion of the AMSA training cadre to Gypsum to train their battalions up to standard while the upgrade kits are applied to their machines, and we have orders to build line-quality BattleMechs for the regiment of Bolan MechWarriors who got to our space. We'll be raising new support units to join them all at the end of the year. If all goes according to plan, the Bolan Hussars, the Bolan Rangers, and the Bolan Cavalry Brigade will be added to the rolls on the first of next year, the same as the First Cuirassiers and the Eighth Striker Regiment. Additionally, that fighter wing that got away is being assigned to the Free March Cavalry for the time being, bringing their aero group up to full strength as we now consider it."
"And the other militia forces who escaped?"
"We've organized them into the First and Second Bolan Irregulars, they will be garrisons on the new border with the Hegemony," he replied succinctly.
"Thank you," she replied, grateful for the chance to speak of something other than the fear on her mind. Her eyes, however, could not pull away from the lit up dot of light on the tank that represented Bolan. Almighty Jehovah, Lord of Hosts, I pray to You to stand with our armies as they fight in a cause worthy of You. In Your name, Amen.
Planetary Defense Command, Bolan City
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
21 January 3034
Princess Amita Umayr, Heiress-Apparent and currently Regent for the small, pitiful remains of the Principality of Bolan, climbed down from the cockpit of her family's wrecked Phoenix Hawk LAM with death in her heart and on her mind. Death was their only future, it seemed. Either the death of body and mind, to move on in whatever cosmic joke existence brought forth for Humanity, or the living death of slavery, of being reduced to a piece of property. Being chattel.
Her feet hit the ferrocrete of the PDC 'Mech hangar and she looked up toward the machine her family inherited from the fallen Star League. The Phoenix Hawk LAM was a rare machine, a BattleMech that could transform into an aircraft and back, but this one wouldn't be doing transforming any time soon. The delicate conversion machinery was damaged by fire from the Marians, or rather their Boyz Movers mercenaries, and the parts needed to fix the machine were lost to the Marian advance. Given the state of things, she shouldn't even be piloting the machine, barely-armored wreck that it now was, but it was still one of the relatively few 'Mechs capable of walking and firing thanks to its energy complement.
The hangar once held an entire battalion of the First Principality Guards. Now it held about a company and a half. Lieutenant Choudhury's damaged Commando was to her immediate side, and Captain Khan's Warhammer on the other was missing both arms. Their MechTechs worked feverishly on both trying to fix them, but parts were getting as low as food. Even fuel was going to be an issue soon.
The Marians have us. We can't win. But to surrender, after all this… to waste all of those lost lives, and commit myself to those damnable pens where my parents and brother are kept. She wanted to cry at the cruelty of it all, but her upbringing kept her locked down. She couldn't. Not in front of her troops. Not with the few remaining men and women fighting to protect their world and their comrades from these Periphery bandits with delusions of civilization.
She entered the locker room, put up her cooling vest, stripped the sweat-soaked clothing off, and took to the showers. The water was barely lukewarm. The reactors were at fifty percent capacity to save fuel, and the hot water heater was one of the bits where they were making that power stretch out. Feeling the chill on her dark olive skin made her miss warm baths in the palace, as much as she'd disliked living there instead of in the field. But she made the best of it, using the sliver of remnant soap in her things to wash off.
Once done she left the stall, one towel draped around her torso to cover her from below the shoulders to the middle of her thighs, the other holding her damp black hair to dry. She took a seat on a bench and thought of her family. Jagdish was alive, they said, in the slave pens with their parents, while Rama was here, an eighteen year old boy whose dreams of martial glory were now a horrific nightmare. Lalitha was safe, offworld, probably on Arcadia by now. Word came from ComStar that Duke Constantin's world of Gypsum successfully transferred their allegiance to the Free March and that the Marians, aside from a mild protest through their allies in the Kashamarka Antisuyu, were respecting that. A free Umayr line, although her children will be Marghilomans, not Umayrs. But still free…
Should I kill myself? Just… take a bullet and end it? Spare my family the dishonor of whatever awaits me on Alphard, under that spoiled brat playacting a Roman Emperor? ...no. Whatever else, I am kshatriya. I am a warrior and I will not abandon my comrades in such a cowardly way. If we die, we die together in battle with the foe.
"Amita!"
She turned toward the exit of the locker room. Rama rushed in wearing the one-size-too-big military uniform they'd found for him. He was supposed to be starting his military education. Would have, if the Marians hadn't come. They shared the same shade of green in their eyes while Rama was of a lighter skin tone. Facial hair was growing on his chin, although not with consistency. "Amita, you should come."
Her first thought was that the Marians had penetrated their defensive line, and that the final destruction was upon them. Or maybe her officers were losing heart and ready to surrender. "Why?"
"A fleet of ships just jumped in system!" Rama cried out. "We're saved!"
No. It was foolish. The Marians were rotating troops in and her overeager brother was grasping at a false hope. That was what it had to be. Nothing else would happen, nobody else would come…
...would they?
For a moment she let herself hope, enough that she stood. "I'll get my uniform and join you." He remained a constant buzz of excitement while she got dressed in the tanned uniform of the PBAF, taking care with the insignia marking her as a Captain of the Principality Guard. She felt the eagerness and hope around her as they journeyed to the command center, but dared not let it take her over. Someone would have to bring them down from their disappointment.
At the entrance she was saluted. Lord Raju and Lord Indra, the two generals not dead or captured, stood by the holotank in the center of the room. The power flickered briefly before a technician zoomed in on an image coming in from a perimeter satellite out at the Bolan Nadir point.
A gasp came from Amita's throat. There were a lot of ships. More than Bolan could possibly still have. More than the Marians were said to have. Could it be? Are we getting aid at last?! "Are we getting a communication? Do we have IFF codes?"
"Checking now… confirmed." The young woman looked up from her station. "Codes are coming in. Highness!" the tech looked up and Amita could see the hope on her face. "Arcadian IFF codes, Highness."
The perimeter satellite took time to relay the visual. It showed a formation of combat vessels. Amita felt her heart swell at the sight of two Star League-era vessels and a pair of what looked like Arcadia's corvettes. Two aerodyne-like DropShips of significant size accompanied them with a screen of Lightning and Zero fighters. Numerous DropShips came up in the rear, spheroid and aerodynes, including a large one that looked like a Fortress-type ship. Toward the rear another corvette and carrier DropShip watched the van.
They came, she thought. They… they actually came! Hope swelled inside of her. A force that large, the Marian Navy couldn't fight that. And they must have five regiments at least!
"Do we have active communications?"
"We don't have access to an HPG to reach them, so radio only. It'll be hours before we get a reply."
"Let me know when it comes."
Five hours passed before Princess Amita got the call. She returned to the PDC's command chamber and received a printed note. The contents made her brow furl. "They want us to prepare for an evacuation?" She glanced at Lord Indra. "What is this? Aren't they coming to drive the Marians off of Bolan?"
"I discussed the matter with General Vajpayee before we received the message. One of the possibilities was that they did not come to drive the Hegemony off but to extract the royal family and our surviving troops," Indra replied.
"But… why? With their forces we could force them out!"
"For now, perhaps, but in the long term? The Marian Hegemony has no other borders requiring significant defense and a larger number of line units than the Arcadians. They are already taking a risk coming to our aid as they are. They are unlikely interested in fighting a wider war."
"So it will be for nothing!" she shouted. "All they're doing is giving us the means to retreat, to become exiles! Bolan will still fall and this, our comrades' deaths, will be for nothing!"
"Hardly, Highness." Indra's voice was harsh. "They are our last hope, and I'm taking it. I've already given the order to prepare for the evacuation and to halt all counter-raids on the Marians. We'll preserve our lines against any renewed attack and await Arcadian rescue."
She narrowed her eyes. He was her superior officer in the military, but as she was acting Regent (for what little was left), she had political authority he lacked. She could countermand the order. If I didn't mind undermining our remaining troops. "So we run?"
"No, we survive," he said. "Our comrades' deaths will not be in vain, as we will get off this world with you and your mother and your brothers. The Umayrs may go into exile, but in exile they will be a symbol of resistance to Marian occupation. In time, with aid from the Arcadians and others, we might yet return. It is a damned better alternative than surrender and you know it, HIghness."
Amita bit into her lip. It's not good enough! Our people deserve more! They deserve better! But deep down, she could see his point. We live to fight another day, just as we are already doing. Survive today to keep the hope alive of winning tomorrow…
Very well. That is our duty, and I will see it through. It is the only way to honor my comrades now.
Gladiator Headquarters, Bolan City, Bolan
Cornelia paced back and forth through Princess Aahana Memorial Stadium. Her footsteps echoed throughout the cavernous halls meant for thousands. Drusa sat on a bench instead, next to the private box that served as Legatus Avery’s office. They’d been waiting an hour already. Cornelia hadn’t stopped the entire time.
“What the fuck does he even want?” Cornelia muttered for probably the fifth time in as many minutes.
Drusa suspected the answer, but didn’t want to voice it. She figured Cornelia did too, even if she was too afraid to name it.
“Why’s he making us wait?” Cornelia continued.
“Part of the punishment?” Drusa offered with the first words she’d said since they’d arrived.
Cornelia stopped and stared at her, her face a look of disgust, though Drusa couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or the Legatus. “Fuck me.”
“I don’t think you need to ask, I think the Legatus has plans for that.”
“This is serious Dru! What is wrong with you?”
Drusa spread her arms and shook her head. “You know how I get when I’m stressed.”
“It’s not fucking helping.”
“So, what does help? Wearing a rut in the floor sure doesn’t seem to be doing you much good.”
“Can we talk about it, finally?”
“I think that’s already on the to do list for today, given the meeting-”
“Stop it. Just, try, please. You know what I mean. We need to talk. Why did you do it?”
She’d grappled with the question for days since she’d let the Bolanese escapees go. She didn’t understand why at first. It just hadn’t feel right. But nothing about war ever felt right, just necessary. The next day, with time to process, she’d come up with lots of reasons. Mercy, honour, the rules of war. They all made sense, but nothing of them felt right. She wondered if it was just her mind trying to rationalize illogical choices with whatever logical justifications she could come up with. She wanted to explain it all to Cornelia. She wished she had the words to do so. All that came out was. “I just couldn’t do it.”
Cornelia slapped her hands to her face and groaned.
The worst reason though, was the one she suspected was right: empathy. Life on Pompey was hard, almost unbearable for a poor pleb. How bad was it for the slaves? How could she condemn someone to a life of utter misery like that? An enemy killed in cold blood, sure, fine. That’s war. But to do that to a fellow human being?
“Dru, please. Think, really think about this. There’s a reason.”
“I just...I just couldn’t. I can’t really explain it.”
“Try! We have to tell him something!”
“How does he even know what we did?”
“I don’t know, he just does! What else could this be for?”
“Promotion?” Drusa said with a shrug and a nervous laugh.
Cornelia shoved Drusa’s shoulder against the wall. “This is fucking serious! There’s ten thousand kids on Pompey alone that would literally kill for our mechs, and millions more around the Hegemony. We need to have an answer. I’m not going back!”
Drusa searched her mind for the right words. They wouldn’t come. Cornelia stared, unblinking, unflinching, into her eyes. She was furious, but her eyes seemed to be pleading for an answer.
The Legatus’ assistant rescued her from having to answer, for now anyways. “The Legatus will see you now.”
Legatus Dashel Avery didn’t look up from his computer screen. The two stood at attention in front of him as he worked his way through whatever was on the screen. The assistant came back with a cup of coffee. Only when it was one did the Legatus address them. “You know why you’re here?”
Drusa spoke first. “No, sir.”
“Yeah, you do. That was a statement, not a question.”
Drusa glanced towards Cornelia.
“Look at me, not at her.” The Legatus said with a stern, but still calm voice. “Your new Centurion’s report was incomplete. I’ve already spoken to her, and she says she included everything you said about the action on January 18th. Second chance. What did you leave out?”
It was a bluff, Drusa hoped. He might not know. But she knew Cornelia would say it, and that the guilt from it would fester between them if she did. Drusa spared her and spoke first. “We encountered a damaged Commando with at least twenty infantry, many of whom appeared to be escapees from the processing centre. We failed to engage them.”
Avery nodded. “Good first step. Next step, why?”
She reached for the right words, words that would convince him, but nothing came. The seconds were slipping by and she knew he wouldn’t wait long. “I couldn’t do it. I think it’s awful what we do to people, forcing them into slavery. My dad saw what happened in the mines. The stories he told, they were horrific. I wouldn’t condemn them to that sort of life.”
Drusa stood in agonized anticipation every moment as Avery took a moment himself before replying. “You know I grew up on Canopus. Do you think it’s easy for me to do this? Everyone is free on Canopus, freer than anywhere else in the galaxy. I don’t like enslaving people either. But it is my job. With the choice of this or starving on the streets, I chose to work.”
“I joined to protect the country, not enslave-”
“No, you joined because your life was grinding you into nothing and you wanted out. The Hegemony doesn’t care, because they let you join because they want you to take slaves to keep the gears of the economy grinding on. This is your job. This is exactly why you exist. Now make peace with it. If this happens again, it could be you wearing a white tunic and chains.”
He turned to Cornelia next. “Do you feel the same?”
“I just wanted to support her.”
“She doesn’t outrank you, and you were both under standing order to destroy the enemy and take prisoners where possible. You failed to carry out those orders. If she fails to carry out her orders, then it’s your job to ”
“I’m sorry sir, It won’t happen again.” Cornelia squeaked out, her eyes downcast. “May I ask a question, sir?”
Dashel nodded.
“How did you know?”
Avery turned around the monitor for his computer. It showed the standoff on a loop. “Every MHAF mech has cameras, several of them, built into it. Always have, always will. Most militaries do it. Not everyone checks it, and those who do not all the time. But your Centurion’s report says you managed to finish off a Wyvern and a Hunchback after the rest of the Maniple was destroyed with a pair of the lightest, shittiest mechs in the Inner Sphere. People call those things bugs for a reason, heavier metal swats them like buts. That’s impressive, and the film backs it up. I think to myself ‘maybe one or both of these pilots should be put on the track to Centurion herself.’ So I keep watching. And then I see this, and suddenly, I’m in this position. I don’t like this position. I’m a gladiator, not a babysitting, not a school teacher with a ruler. Shape the fuck up, or I’m sending you back home. If it hadn’t been for your exemplary action earlier in the day, and in the rest of the tape I pulled from earlier actions, you’d be out on your asses already.”
“Get to know your mechs better too. Work with your MechTechs, learn from them, ask question. You should know every square inch of your mech by now, and the fact you didn’t see the cameras earlier tells me you’ve got a lot of hours to log-”
An electronic siren screamed.
“Fuuuuck.” Avery said as he shot up and dashed for the door.
“Legatus! What’s going on?”
“Something just jumped into the system. For that alarm to go off with that tone, something big.”
“What do we do?”
“You? Go talk to your MechTechs, learn your machines, like I already fucking told you. And try not to have an aneurysm over the next week from the stress of knowing a real army is about to drop on your head. Me? I’ve got a lot of shit to do to make sure we survive when they get here.”
”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: "Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Chapter 2
Marian Hegemony Armed Forces HQ
Sutlej
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
28 January 3034
Holographic light splashed red and blue over the face of Enis Yassin. Now elevated beyond regular praetor rank to the elevated title of Augusti Pro Praetore Imperium, the responsibility of conquering Bolan in the Imperator's name was his. With the orders to minimize losses his rotation strategy and slow grinding pressure, with attendant praise from Alphard for the low casualty and material losses, had been certain to win him a triumph.
And yet, he now regretted it.
"Where is the Sixth's Second Cohort?!" he demanded of his staff huddled around him. "We need to counterattack these landings before they gain a foothold!"
"Still coming in from Baluchi Province, Praetor," replied Princeps Indira Choudhuri. She was one of the rare plebian officers to reach her rank, and reflected that in how carefully she moderated her tone. "Our aerospace centuries are asking permission to shift priority to air superiority. Their losses over Bolan City are becoming prohibitive. We've already lost two maniples."
Yassin fumed at that. Air dominance had long been enjoyed in this war, but the Arcadians were not the Bolanese. Their carrier-based fliers were sweeping his cover from the skies, allowing the landing forces' support to hit the troops hard. If I lose a legion, I might as well drink poison, he ruminated. Sean will kill me for sure.
At least, if I lose an imperial legion… He noted the markers on the holotank. The Arcadian forces dropping by orbital pod and assault DropShip were coming down on the gladiators, not a line legion. On the one hand, this meant they were wreaking havoc. Even though they were piloting mostly light machines by reports, those machines had high quality Star League technology and were vastly outperforming the Collapse-era machines the gladiators employed. On the other hand, they weren't doing this to either V or VI Legio. Every moment the gladiators endured the onslaught of the enemy elite and air power was a moment his real soldiers were granted to get into position to hold the enemy.
They chose to hit the gladiators, why? Why land in that sector and not… Horror came over him as his eyes glanced towards one of the more prominent structures in the Gladiator Auxilia's current zone. No. No no no no…! "Vector in aerospace forces to the Aahana Stadium!" he ordered. "The enemy is trying to free our slaves!"
The order was sent, but even as the command went out, Yassin could only watch as the glowing red icons of enemy aerospace and DropShips descended upon the site in force. What will I tell the Imperator?!, he groaned internally.
Hegemony Slave Processing Center, Bolan City
The Princess Aahana Memorial Stadium, built for Bolan's beloved football competitions and for other events, was repurposed to less-festive means by the Marian legions upon their arrival: it was the location they employed for processing prisoners of war and marked captives for export to Alphard as slaves. Here the captives, clad in white tunics and little else, were held in pens while the legions awaited the final fall of the Bolan's last defenders in the heart of the city.
Among them was Gita Umayr herself, the Grand Princess of Bolan. Caught in a Marian ambush while visiting the troops, she was consigned to this place to await the same fate as her soldiers and many others, all while some of her own people changed their coats and sided with the invader to win favors. They gave her no special confinement, simply leaving her in a pen with several other captives, a collection of military personnel and captives from other major cities selected for enslavement by the collaborators aiding the Marians. Twenty people per pen, with mats for sleeping and buckets for other matters. Collars marked whether someone was to be given as a slave to a collaborator among the planet's population or shipped to Alphard once the campaign was over. Her own collar was a special sigil, marking her for delivery to Imperator Sean himself. He wants me and my family for trophies, she thought bitterly, knowing her son Jagdish was in another pen and her husband Mohinder reportedly in the infirmary from a failed suicide attempt. She glanced down at her cot, made of plastic with paper sheets so she couldn't make a working noose out of them. Even her tunic, while cloth, was of a lightweight material that ripped when she tried to strangle herself.
If all else fails, maybe one of the others will strangle me, she thought. Then I won't be a trophy. Amita will have our crown and might yet escape to join Lalitha…
"Do not lose hope, Highness." The voice was that of General Lord Sandip Nibhanupudi, captured when she was. He drew closer to her. "I overheard a new captive in another pen. A fleet is burning in to aid us."
"Do not dash my heart with hope, General," she said bitterly. "We sought aid before, and none came. Our armies are broken, our ships fled or captured or destroyed. Who would bother to aid us now, with our defeat all but assured, when they would not come three or six months ago?"
"It is no mere rumor. You can see it in our guards. They're nervous. They're expecting combat."
She tuned Lord Sandip out and uttered another prayer that Amita might yet get away, that maybe some loyalists would get her on a DropShip and a friendly JumpShip would take her away. Exile would be bitter, but it was better than their fate on Alphard.
It was odd. As her children grew up she saw them only occasionally, usually to admonish them as to their duties and insist they behaved with the right comportment. But now that she faced the end of their world, she regretted it all. Amita, Jagdish, Lalitha, Rama, all of those little ones she had, all the pride she had for them, but how much did they know it? How much of a mother had she been?
Such is the price royalty has always paid. My father was no different toward me, nor his parents to him. We have Duty to attend to. Our children learn the same. But now… now it is all so hollow.
"Highness." The word was said in a hushed tone, but there was energy in it. Lord Sandip gestured upward. "Look."
She did. Through the transparent plastic at the top of the slave pen she looked up at a twilight sky beset with crimson, the kind her ancestors might have seen in the heart of India millennia ago.
But now the crimson sky was lit up with ruby and emerald and sapphire beams that lashed out faintly, joined by the occasional cerulean bolt. Every few seconds a ball of fire formed.
Can it be? she wondered. Has someone truly come?
At first nothing else seemed different. Not until the roar of fusion jets filled the air. Tracer fire lashed out from the Marian anti-air units near the stadium, accompanied by streaks of missile fire and energy weapons that lashed downward. The roaring got louder and louder…
And then it came into view. An aerodyne DropShip, its surface bristling with autocannon and laser emplacements, coming toward them from the north while sapphire beams and golden flame lashed at unseen foes. The vessel was painted a fine azure, with an insignia that Gita couldn't quite make out from the angle. It flew overhead, doors opening. From those doors figures, humanoid but not quite human, jumped out. Jets of flame erupted from their backs and she realized they were jump infantry… no, not jump infantry, battle armor infantry.
The air filled with quick thunderclaps. Cries of pain and surprise echoed through the air. Gita's head turned left and noted a couple of the miles running forward, rifles at the ready. The lead Marian went down in an explosion of blood from his chest. The second had only a moment to react to his friend's death before his head exploded. The result left a grisly smear of red and gray on the transparent plastic wall of the pen.
For all Gita had no sympathy for her captors, she felt sick at the sight of it and forced herself to turn away. Even then she still closed her eyes, as if willing the sight to vanish from her memory.
It did not.
This is what happens. All of those years, selling weapons from our factories… and this is the result. I am just as responsible, I should be facing it, but yet I can't. I can't face that… that grisliness…
"Highness!"
The firmness in Sandip's voice brought Gita back to her senses. She looked up to see her fellow captives, all of them, were assembled around her such that nobody outside could see her. Sandip was crouched at her side. "Please, pull yourself together, Your Highness. I know it's terrible."
"I…" An instinct to lash out at this man for humiliating her came, but she quashed it. He is protecting me. Be grateful. "Of course, General. My thanks."
"They're coming!"
The group dispelled, allowing Gita to see some of the nearby pens were already open. Men in sky blue battle armor approached. The left arm of the human-shaped armor ended with a vicious claw of five sharp fingers and the barrel of a light machine gun. The right arm had a standard five-fingered hand with a large cannon barrel built into it, although she wasn't sure if it was a laser aperture or some other weapon. The stock of a rifle of some sort was visible over the left shoulder. The suit helmet's black visor prevented her from making any eye contact with the occupants.
One of them opened the pen up by ripping through the plastic with its claw and tearing the door off. "Everyone out, single file," a female voice ordered, her voice crackling slightly through the external speaker of the armor. "It's safer inside the structure interior than out here."
"Who are you?" Gita asked.
"Major Catrina Michaels, Arcadian Rangers Armored Infantry Battalion," the woman replied. "Your Highness?"
Gita nodded. She imagined that facial recognition systems were alerting her liberators to her identity, however ragged she looked. "I am Grand Princess Gita of Bolan, yes."
"If you'll follow me, Your Highness, we'll see to your safety. Major General Armstrong's given explicit orders for you and your family to be secured and kept under protection, the same for all of your senior advisors."
The Arcadians have their own motives then… But very well. They don't take slaves at least. "I am at your disposal, and would very much like to see my husband and son, when you find them."
"Lieutenant Nowitzki!" Michaels turned to another squad of armored soldiers. "She's the Princess of Bolan. Help her find her family and get them into the structure, ASAP."
"Yes, Major!" a German-accented voice replied.
Embassy of the Arcadian Free March
Dakar, West Africa
Terra
Terran Union
The sea breeze moderated the heat of the equatorial West African climate that the people of Dakar were long accustomed to. For Max Wenck, Landgrave of Windhoek on Eilenburg, it was a reminder of his own coastal semi-arid home in Windhoek Province, where his estate awaited his eventual return after his tour of duty on Terra. The fifty-three year old diplomat was at the end of a career that took him the length and breadth of the former Lyran Commonwealth and Free Worlds League. Curse the African heat, he thought from his office balcony. The skyline of Dakar filled his vision, including the Star League Hall's spire-topped dome in the distance. The Terrans' spire was deliberately formed in the shape of a Cameron Star. From the southeast the elongated horizontal point was only slightly visible, as it was orientated towards Unity City a hemisphere and continent away. All show, Wenck thought contemptuously. Expenditure meant as a quiet insult to the rest of us, those who 'destroyed' the Star League. As if the Terrans had been innocent babes betrayed by the Great Houses.
That contempt reflected in the Terrans' choice for embassy locale. Instead of foreign embassies being seated in Geneva, where the Union government met, or even the old Star League, they'd been shunted to Dakar. It was at least in a similar time zone and a mere hour or so away by DropShuttle, but none could fail to note the importance of the distance. The Terran government did not exchange ambassadors, it exchanged ministers, and the Successor States would have their deliberation hall well away from the far more important business of the Terran Congress in Geneva. No, they were to spend their time sitting in Dakar and negotiating and dealing within the Star League Hall, all while while waiting for their Terran betters to deign them an audience or, more rarely, an address by the Chancellor or Director-General. A session was soon to start there and Wenck would assume the floor. Everyone in the Inner Sphere was watching now.
Having gotten his desired whiff of fresh air with peace and quiet, Wenck retreated back into his office. The door swung open and admitted his aide, Lawrence Castel. The Concord man nodded and in that typical Concordian way acted without regard to their social ranks. "The media's waiting outside. Word's fully spread and the Marians are demanding a formal answer."
"I will give it. But the media will come first."
Castel raised an eyebrow. "Really? That doesn't sound appropriate."
"It is not preferred, but my remark will be short, and the official response preserved for my peers." Wenck gathered his noteputer and stepped out of the office, through the office foyer, the halls, and to the main foyer of the Embassy. From the upper landing he could see the assembled representatives of media outlets across Terra and the Inner Sphere. Private, public, and state-run media, all here to get word of what was happening on Bolan and what the official diplomatic position of the Free March was. From their perspective, his place on the upper floor and landing placed him behind the Free March's seal emblazoned on the railing, the white gold-winged hawk on a field of blue and red. It will make for an image.
Wenck had labored over the best way to express what was happening. He didn't have the time or energy to give twenty questions, or parse for the reporters and the masses the diplomatic language he'd gotten from Arcadia. A soundbite will work better. "I am due at the League Hall," he said brusquely. "I will take one question."
A Rengo reporter was quickest. "Free March forces are confirmed engaged in battle on Bolan against the Marian Hegemony. Is this a formal Arcadian intervention into the Hegemony's war on the Principality of Bolan?"
Wenck grinned and shook his head. "Nicht ein schlacht," he said, making sure his voice carried for their benefit, "ein Rettungsaktion."
He promptly turned away, leaving them to shout more questions while heading towards the rear exit and his waiting aircar.
Bolan City, Disputed Territory
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Hegemony
29 January 3034
The last twenty-six hours of Dani Verdes' life had been the greatest ordeal she'd known since her mother drove her from the house at the age of eighteen.
Combat wasn't new. She'd seen it on Fianna and Radostov. The intensity, however, that was new. The planetary defenders of those worlds had barely been live fire exercises compared to the ferocity with which the Marians resisted their expanding landing zone. Even where their machines were sometimes subpar, they fought tenaciously and forced the Arcadian troops to earn every meter in fire and blood. It was already being said that the Arcadian Rangers' battle armor contingent was down by fifty percent. As Marian reinforcements moved up that was sure to get worse.
Dani had other problems. Charlie Company's job was to hold a major throughway that would link them to the city center and the Bolanese defense perimeter. The Marians undoubtedly realized what that meant, so over the last several hours they'd send a couple of company-sized attacks to test the defenses… and were now putting what felt like an entire battalion in the field against them.
A shot from a Bulldog battle tank chipped armor from the hip of her Marauder. She might have shot the thing with a PPC, but she was already running hot from finishing off a Marian Grasshopper and her heat levels wouldn't let her fire just yet, not without risking an ammo cookoff. She maneuvered her 'Mech to the side to avoid at least some of the incoming missile salvo from the tank.
Several emerald beams speared the tank's front plate, hitting in close enough proximity that one drilled through and set off the ammunition inside the tank's body. The machine blew apart from the inside.
At Dani's side, Lt. Jonny Kono's Thunderbolt looked battered. The right arm was missing, depriving the machine of a large-caliber laser, but the trio of torso-mounted medium lasers were still in play.
"I owe you one, Charlie One-Four."
"Don't mention it, One-Two. Just keep our Prince alive, ya?" Jonny spoke English with the particular accent of an Iaukean Islander, a unique people on Arcadia of combined Polynesian, Balinese, Filipino, and Papuan descent.
"Trying," she promised, turning her attention to a Centurion about to menace Prince Thomas in Liberator, the inherited Black Knight of House Proctor. She fired on the machine with her autocannon, tearing armor from its torso and drawing its attention… and it's fire. Golden flame on its right arm accompanied the autocannon shells that stripped her left arm down to the myomer.
The arm was still functional, though, and with her heat reduced further Dani brought both of her arm-mounted PPCs to bear. The extended range Star League model weapons packed a punch. Cerulean energy flayed armor from the fittingly-named Marian machine. Two PPC hits were enough to worry a pilot in such a machine, but this one took a third, as Prince Thomas recognized the threat and fired a shot into his prospective attacker as well. Smoke billowed from inside the Centurion's torso. They'd hit something vital.
Another contact was already showing up in red on her secondary flat display. The holotank shifted to show the new threat; an Orion. Before she could adjust to meet it the hip-mounted autocannon of the heavy 'Mech fired. Only a last minute turn kept most of the barrage from striking in its entirety to tear the arm off, but she lost what was left of the armor and got a warning light for actuator damage in the elbow.
One PPC nearly useless… couldn't have fired again from the heat anyway. Dani brought her right arm up and squeezed off a shot. She thought she'd miss given the Orion pilot's movement, but it wasn't enough to keep her shot from playing over the side of its torso above the hip autocannon. The excited particles of the cannon burned deep into said armor…
In an expanding cloud of flame and metal, the entire side of the Orion came apart, sending the weapon-tipped arm flying away. Dani could hardly believe her luck. Got through the armor, hit his AC ammo. It all cooked off. Lucky shot!
The Orion's woes weren't over yet. A barrage of missiles descended on the machine, pummeling it with at least forty projectiles, over half of which connected. The pilot struggled in vain to keep his war machine from falling over.
The perhaps temporary loss of his ally didn't stop the Centurion from fighting back as well. After discharging their autocannon at Thomas' Black Knight, the pilot swapped targets and fired the medium lasers and missile launcher at Dani.
The laser hits cut through the Marauder's left arm like a scalpel. The limb's indicator on her status screens went black, showing it as lost. Dani gave little attention to it as she was busy trying to keep her machine standing against the missiles pummeling it, seven in all. With some effort the Marauder didn't lose its footing.
"Charlie 1-2, watch your six," Jonny warned.
"What, we've got them behind us?!" Dani tracked the Centurion with her remaining PPC and autocannon. Shots from both blew into the torso of the machine. Its autocannon-mounted right arm fell dead, still attached to the machine but unmoving. Another barrage of missiles from the fire support unit hit the Centurion until it toppled, a smoking ruin made of its heart.
"Negative, 1-2," said Thomas, his voice grave. "There are civilians back there."
Dani had only a moment to see what he meant, but she gasped at it. With the other roadways blocked off or in Marian hands, this was the only feasible route for people fleeing the combat zone and the prospect of a Marian-ruled Bolan. Her sensors showed their vehicles as they raced along, trying desperately to not be noticed.
I don't know what the Marians will do to them, but they clearly don't care about shooting in their direction, she thought But someone has to. Remembering her place as Lance Lieutenant for Prince Thomas, she gave a firm order. "Everyone stay focused, and keep them off the road. We have to keep them off this road!"
The others affirmed the order. Despite the heavy damage to her machine, Dani pressed on through the fight.
For all his life, Angus Campbell never saw such ferocious fighting as this. The McAffe native had twenty years of experience that included being one of the few journalists that the mad High General Cutter of the Cutter Brigade allowed to remain embedded with his troops. He'd seen much of the heavy fighting on Hollabrunn when the Free March annihilated Cutter's psychopathic mercenaries.
But even their bloody demise didn't have the destruction that over six months of continuous warfare brought to Bolan. Bolan City had some intact quarters, but only those sections of the city that fell quickly to Marian invasion; this section and many others were filled with half-destroyed buildings or just outright piles of rubble.
Campbell and his crew were embedded with the Arcadian military for the duration of the campaign. After signing the usual forms affirming their awareness of the risks and that they would abide by the laws of war, they headed off under an escort of MPs and battle armored soldiers to get a glimpse of Bolan City. The residents were running low on food, as were the besieged Bolanese troops, and even the Marians were reportedly being careful with rations. Bolan was a dry, mountainous world, and it did not yield crops easily.
After some interviews and a near miss with a maniple of Marian soldiers, Campbell and his crew joined a convoy heading back to the Arcadian zone. The refugees in it were eager to take up the Arcadian relocation offer, especially those in the liberated slave camps.
Despite his hopes, they didn't make the journey quietly. They were partway out of the city when the first explosions were heard. Some drivers peeled off but most kept going, eager to get to safety as they were. The people here were used to explosions.
And then it came. A fierce fight on the northwest side of the road. BattleMechs — Arcadian and Marian — were in a hot firefight.
"Put th' bloody camera that way!" Campbell shouted at his man. Donald Kildare was the fellow's name, and he seemed determined to defy his own name by being, well, something of a pantywaist, or so Campbell thought. Sure, he was just brave enough to be here, but he didn't understand the nature of the job to know where to look.
Still, he did at least listen, and now their holo-camera was pointed squarely at the fighting. Campbell knew enough about the machines to recognize the Centurion - in Marian colors - and the Marauder, and it was the latter machine he had the focus put onto as the pilot pulled off some maneuvers and took some really skilled shots. The single shot that blew the side off another big humanoid 'Mech was a thing of beauty.
In fact, it was perfect. This whole thing was perfect. This was the kind of footage embedded journalists would kill to have to their name.
Missiles from the Centurion pummelled the Marauder while twin laser beams cut the arm off the machine. A couple missiles flew past and rained down around the road. A shockwave hit their vehicle and the driver nearly lost control.
Kildare dropped the camera and ducked back down. Campbell did look for cover for a second, after which he rose. "Well, get the camera back on!" he shouted.
"To hell with that!"
"Bloody useless…" Campbell picked up the machine himself. It looked like it was no longer transmitting, but it could record. He'd just have the rest of the footage sent out later.
Maybe I'll finally get a show of my own…
Outside Bolan City
The rubble of ruined buildings and the faint crimson skies of the fires consuming the Bolanese capitals painted a picture of utter desolation for Second Lieutenant Njoki Kihoro. The Arcadian woman wondered if she would ever get used to it. For a moment she imagined the sight in her home city of Nakuru on the Mull continent's northeastern coastline, the cool ocean winds curling the rising smoke and bringing in fresh air to fuel the flames of war.
Fourteen months ago, war seemed so far away, she thought. Now I am invading a fifth world in the span of so many months. Kitzingen and Zvolen had submitted without a fight, but the fighting on Sterling and Radostov had been sharp, if short. The devastation hadn't reached this level.
The other 'Mechs in her lance moved alongside her in the rubble. The Jaegers of her fellow lieutenants, Koroneva and Saban, were a block ahead, their machines' humanoid forms towering over most of the ruined buildings. Behind and to her left, First Lieutenant Alex Shawcross' Shadow Hawk was perched atop of the rubble of a former housing block and shop. The Terran-built machine, from Lang's factories on Caph, was one of the heaviest in the regiment, but its powerful XL engine gave it the speed to keep up with the rest of the lance. The autocannon perched on the shoulder gave the machine its classic outline with its eighty millimeter caliber barrel. Unlike the traditional Shadow Hawk, Shawcross' machine had a medium laser in each arm, the right arm bearing an extended range model and the left a pulse model. The head-mounted SRM was likewise gone, though the chest LRM remained. The model used its remaining weight savings to mount electronic equipment, an active probe and ECM system, to make it an effective heavy scout as well as a scout-killer.
Her role was to back up all three with her Lynx. The squat chicken-walker was a pride design of the Free March, incorporating regained Star League technologies like an XL engine, ferro-fibrous armor, and an endo-steel chassis. The colossal RussTech Coilgun that made up the Lynx's elbowless right arm could core most 'Mechs in just one to two good shots, and the torso and arm mounted Vickers-Armstrong lasers to the left of her cockpit and in her left arm were dangerous extended range models for any enemy light that drove to get within the Coilgun's minimum effective range.
Their lance moved into the no-man's-land at the rough junction of Marina, Bolanese, and Arcadian lines. The Marians were still scrambling to stabilize their lines and their lances, or "maniples", frequently crossed through here, cutting through the evacuation convoys with terrifying speed and brutality. Njoki tried not to think of the remains she'd seen earlier of an unlucky, unescorted convoy. The Marians left no survivors, though whether they dragged anyone off to slavery was something she would never know.
"Still no contacts, Lance Loo," Saban said, his Gienahese Hebrew accent thick in his English. "Looks like the sector is clear."
"Move east then, Square Hotel-Indigo-Twenty-Six," Shawcross replied.
The lance moved in line with those orders. They managed a block when Shawcross raised the right arm of his Shadow Hawk. "Wait. I've got something on the probe…" Four heat signatures formed on Njoki's thermal scan. "...Ambush!"
Njoki immediately juked her machine, and for good reason. From a pile of evident rubble, a Marian Centurion erupted, flanked by a Griffin and a pair of lighter Javelins. The latter two immediately hurled a salvo of SRMs into the air. Their impacts blew armor from the right arm and leg of Shawcross' machine and chewed into Saban's Jaeger. He returned fire with his Jaeger-2B's own SRM batteries. Most of his salvo hit. For a split second it seemed only armor would be taken, but the Javelin's torso blew open in a violent detonation of ammunition. I wonder if their armor was only patched and not intact?
The -1A Jaeger belonging to Koroneva twisted its torso to bear on the Griffin. The two machines fired simultaneous, exchanging particle bolts. Koroneva's lighter machine took the worst of the hit with her shoulder armor failing, allowing the bolt to go clear through and wreck the actuator. Her particle bolt left blackened, glowing-hot metal on otherwise intact armor plate.
Njoki's first instinct was to engage the Griffin, but the Centurion's autocannon fire quickly won her attention. Heavy autocannon model, not regular! The large bore weapon chewed armor and endo-steel from Shawcross' Shadow Hawk in a direct hit above the left hip. Shawcross retaliated with medium laser fire, a solid beam and a barrage of emerald darts blackening the armor plate over the Centurion's chest. Njoki drew in a breath, settled her crosshairs on the enemy machine's arm, and pulled her triggers.
The medium lasers struck first, emerald light slicing along the armor above the elbow. A moment later the Coilgun fired. She felt the recoil as magnetized coils accelerated a nickel-ferrous slug to supersonic velocity. An instant later the deadly heavy autocannon fell free of the Centurion, its right arm blown away at the elbow by her shot. That model only has LRMs in addition to the autocannon, it's too close! She turned her attention to the Griffin in time to see its missile launcher flare to life. Wait, those aren't LRMs! The missiles blasted away at Shawcross' 'Mech, most hitting the limbs or intact torso armor, but one took advantage of the armor loss to inflict serious damage within. Burning coolant spilled from the wound and the Shadow Hawk staggered.
A quick glance told her Saban's machine was also in trouble, taking the brunt of a second salvo from the surviving Javelin even as Koroneva's PPC blew one of its arms and half its torso off. Visible hip damage nearly toppled Saban but he held himself up.. He returned fire with his own missiles just as Njoki turned back.
The Griffin's PPC arm was already rising. As it came up the autocannon on the Shadow Hawk roared, its firing rate at full despite the jamming risk. Both lasers likewise fired. Armor melted or blew away with wreaths of sparks and flame for wounds, but all along the left side that housed no weapons to hit. The Griffin twisted back to present its PPC arm for another deadly shot. Njoki moved her crosshairs over it and fired once more.
To her chagrin, her lasers hadn't managed a solid targeting lock. Only the arm-mounted beam successfully cut through armor. After a moment power shifted and the coilgun thundered once more. The shot blew through the armor around the PPC and sent a cascade of sparks flowing from the resulting wound now visible on both sides of the limb. The Griffin fired a moment later. The impact of her shot threw off the Marian's arm and he missed.
Once more the lasers and autocannon on the Shadow Hawk fired. This time, Shawcross fired with deadly intent, made clear as 80mm shells blasted through the head module's armor plate. It remained intact for only a moment before pulse laser fire played over the module, leaving it a blackened ruin. The 'Mech toppled.
"Bravo-Two, to your right!" Njoki heard the warning in time to twist her torso, preventing a salvo of half dozen SRMs from striking her main gun. Only one missile impacted on the coilgun, its warhead failing to do more than blacken the armor covering of the sensitive capacitors within the weapon. Two missiles corkscrewed past and three more took minor chunks of armor off her machine's hide.
She had no opportunity to return fire. Koroneva fired her PPC again. The Javelin's chest blew open from the impact. The pilot ejected just before their 'Mech toppled.
That left the Centurion. The pilot was desperately looking to retreat, but given the machine's speed versus their own, they'd never get out of minimal missile range. The Marian had gambled on getting to panic them with the heavy autocannon, and that hadn't paid off.
"Bravo Lance." The voice of Captain Rosenbaum, their company CO, boomed over the line. "Charlie-Two is asking for backup, roughly five klicks from your position. They have Marian 'Mechs pinned down but can't push in on their own."
"Roger, Company Lead. I'm sending someone now." Shawcross turned his battered Shadowhawk towards Njoki. "Bravo-Two, you and Bravo-Three move on, respond to the call. Keep moving and try to avoid trouble with the enemy. You're lead here."
"Roger, sir. Bravo-Three, with me!"
Koroneva obediently took up a position beside her. They darted off through the ruins, running over and around broken machines to the aid of their distant comrade. We keep running, Njoki thought. Don't let them ambush again. She verified her tac-comm links and called out, "Charlie-Two, this is Bravo-Two, friendlies en route, ETA about two minutes." She jump jets to hurdle over a ruined overpass, not wanting to lose time to going around.
"Roger, Bravo-Two. I've got small lance here. Verified a Stinger, an UrbanMech, and a Commando, sheltering over a hill here. I can't risk flushing them out by myself, and they're not budging."
"Stay still, we'll be there." She considered her options. Koroneva can jump in, her Mk. 5 PPC is extended range and doesn't have a minimum range problem. We flank to keep the range, she flushes them out, we take them down. Just have to get there…
Charlie-Two's voice kicked in again. "Relocating, backing off a bit…. movement! I've got movement! They're jumping in! Stinger's jumping… others coming in too! They're inside my coilgun range!"
No! "Fall back! We're almost there!"
"Jumping out of-" The report gave way to a cry of utter surprise.
Njoki swapped to magscan as they came up towards the hill. She could see the Lynx in mid-jump, flailing towards the ground, the Stinger literally dangling behind it with an arm stretched out. The Marian grabbed him! They grabbed him when he jumped! She brought her crosshairs over the UrbanMech but her system refused to confirm a shooting lock. If she fired now she'd probably miss. Just a little closer…! she thought while seeing the range close.
But she was too late. The UrbanMech and Commando fired, sending laser, missile, and autocannon fire into her prone comrade. Flame and bits of blasted, molten metal erupted, joined by the smoke of burning coolant.
Njoki's crosshairs turned gold. Target lock and range confirmed. Her finger tensed over her index finger trigger.
The shot hit home on the low domed figure of the UrbanMech. It toppled without fanfare. Gyro hit. Her first impulse was to turn her weapon on the Commando, but the Stinger was rising and presented too tempting a target to pass up. Her finger tensed over the trigger once, twice, three times, and on the third the capacitor had finished its recharge. Her Lynx shuddered from the sonic boom formed by the slug's firing. The Stinger's chest blew open in a shower of coolant and steel. A second later the head module blew open as well and the command couch soared skyward. They ejected. Quick thinking.
The Commando turned to run. A sizzling particle bolt from Koroneva blasted through its right hip. The pilot couldn't keep the 'Mech straight with the sudden loss of myomer and the actuator. Their machine toppled over. After several seconds of running Koroneva took the air with jump jets. She fired a second shot. Once more smoke rose from the broken body of a BattleMech.
Njoki brought her Lynx up beside its shattered sibling. The hope she felt within turned to twisted dread at seeing the bloody spatter over the inside of the cockpit. Autocannon hit. The UrbanMech. Her mouth went dry and her chest constricted. It took her several seconds to remember her duty. "Bravo-Two to Company Lead. I'm sorry, Captain. They got to Charlie-Two before I could close the range." She thought back to the company roster. Charlie-Two was Second Lieutenant Andrew Henry of Togwotee. He'd been a militia prodigy that got sent to OCS and assigned to the Rangers. Captain Rosenbaum will have to write the letter. If only I'd been a few seconds faster…!
It was a long few seconds before a reply came. "Enemy status?"
"All down. One ejected, two did not."
"Confirmed. Battalion HQ is sending a recovery team out, assume defensive position and follow ROE. Alert me immediately if there are any new enemy movements."
"Roger that, Company Lead." Njoki turned her attention to her various scanner displays. "Bravo-Three, head on a swivel," she said. "We're on overwatch until relieved."
"Confirm that, Bravo-Three." The Jaeger moved to the hill and crouched. Njoki glanced over her display, noted her low ammunition supply, and settled in to wait for relief or action. I did what I could, she reminded herself. I did everything I could. And as true as it was, somehow, she knew she'd die believing she hadn't.
AFMS Galatine
Arcadian Landing Zone
The end of the second day of fighting satisfied Major General Armstrong. The Baroness of Briggs had her troops planetside without major losses and the Marian troops were just now starting to check their expansion. What forces had initially opposed them - mostly older and often beaten up machines - were falling back from significant casualties.
Still, she had concerns. The Fifth and Sixth Legions were only now starting to engage, spending most of the last day hotly engaged with Bolanese troops acting to tie them down. Once they were against the perimeter, it would be harder fighting to keep expanding that, even if they wished its expansion.
The campaign was, indeed, only yet beginning, and it was no time to get overconfident. The Marians had the edge in sheer combat experience, and it was up to the AFFM to overcome that. It simply remained to be seen if they would.
Marian Hegemony Armed Forces HQ
Sutlej
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
28 January 3034
Holographic light splashed red and blue over the face of Enis Yassin. Now elevated beyond regular praetor rank to the elevated title of Augusti Pro Praetore Imperium, the responsibility of conquering Bolan in the Imperator's name was his. With the orders to minimize losses his rotation strategy and slow grinding pressure, with attendant praise from Alphard for the low casualty and material losses, had been certain to win him a triumph.
And yet, he now regretted it.
"Where is the Sixth's Second Cohort?!" he demanded of his staff huddled around him. "We need to counterattack these landings before they gain a foothold!"
"Still coming in from Baluchi Province, Praetor," replied Princeps Indira Choudhuri. She was one of the rare plebian officers to reach her rank, and reflected that in how carefully she moderated her tone. "Our aerospace centuries are asking permission to shift priority to air superiority. Their losses over Bolan City are becoming prohibitive. We've already lost two maniples."
Yassin fumed at that. Air dominance had long been enjoyed in this war, but the Arcadians were not the Bolanese. Their carrier-based fliers were sweeping his cover from the skies, allowing the landing forces' support to hit the troops hard. If I lose a legion, I might as well drink poison, he ruminated. Sean will kill me for sure.
At least, if I lose an imperial legion… He noted the markers on the holotank. The Arcadian forces dropping by orbital pod and assault DropShip were coming down on the gladiators, not a line legion. On the one hand, this meant they were wreaking havoc. Even though they were piloting mostly light machines by reports, those machines had high quality Star League technology and were vastly outperforming the Collapse-era machines the gladiators employed. On the other hand, they weren't doing this to either V or VI Legio. Every moment the gladiators endured the onslaught of the enemy elite and air power was a moment his real soldiers were granted to get into position to hold the enemy.
They chose to hit the gladiators, why? Why land in that sector and not… Horror came over him as his eyes glanced towards one of the more prominent structures in the Gladiator Auxilia's current zone. No. No no no no…! "Vector in aerospace forces to the Aahana Stadium!" he ordered. "The enemy is trying to free our slaves!"
The order was sent, but even as the command went out, Yassin could only watch as the glowing red icons of enemy aerospace and DropShips descended upon the site in force. What will I tell the Imperator?!, he groaned internally.
Hegemony Slave Processing Center, Bolan City
The Princess Aahana Memorial Stadium, built for Bolan's beloved football competitions and for other events, was repurposed to less-festive means by the Marian legions upon their arrival: it was the location they employed for processing prisoners of war and marked captives for export to Alphard as slaves. Here the captives, clad in white tunics and little else, were held in pens while the legions awaited the final fall of the Bolan's last defenders in the heart of the city.
Among them was Gita Umayr herself, the Grand Princess of Bolan. Caught in a Marian ambush while visiting the troops, she was consigned to this place to await the same fate as her soldiers and many others, all while some of her own people changed their coats and sided with the invader to win favors. They gave her no special confinement, simply leaving her in a pen with several other captives, a collection of military personnel and captives from other major cities selected for enslavement by the collaborators aiding the Marians. Twenty people per pen, with mats for sleeping and buckets for other matters. Collars marked whether someone was to be given as a slave to a collaborator among the planet's population or shipped to Alphard once the campaign was over. Her own collar was a special sigil, marking her for delivery to Imperator Sean himself. He wants me and my family for trophies, she thought bitterly, knowing her son Jagdish was in another pen and her husband Mohinder reportedly in the infirmary from a failed suicide attempt. She glanced down at her cot, made of plastic with paper sheets so she couldn't make a working noose out of them. Even her tunic, while cloth, was of a lightweight material that ripped when she tried to strangle herself.
If all else fails, maybe one of the others will strangle me, she thought. Then I won't be a trophy. Amita will have our crown and might yet escape to join Lalitha…
"Do not lose hope, Highness." The voice was that of General Lord Sandip Nibhanupudi, captured when she was. He drew closer to her. "I overheard a new captive in another pen. A fleet is burning in to aid us."
"Do not dash my heart with hope, General," she said bitterly. "We sought aid before, and none came. Our armies are broken, our ships fled or captured or destroyed. Who would bother to aid us now, with our defeat all but assured, when they would not come three or six months ago?"
"It is no mere rumor. You can see it in our guards. They're nervous. They're expecting combat."
She tuned Lord Sandip out and uttered another prayer that Amita might yet get away, that maybe some loyalists would get her on a DropShip and a friendly JumpShip would take her away. Exile would be bitter, but it was better than their fate on Alphard.
It was odd. As her children grew up she saw them only occasionally, usually to admonish them as to their duties and insist they behaved with the right comportment. But now that she faced the end of their world, she regretted it all. Amita, Jagdish, Lalitha, Rama, all of those little ones she had, all the pride she had for them, but how much did they know it? How much of a mother had she been?
Such is the price royalty has always paid. My father was no different toward me, nor his parents to him. We have Duty to attend to. Our children learn the same. But now… now it is all so hollow.
"Highness." The word was said in a hushed tone, but there was energy in it. Lord Sandip gestured upward. "Look."
She did. Through the transparent plastic at the top of the slave pen she looked up at a twilight sky beset with crimson, the kind her ancestors might have seen in the heart of India millennia ago.
But now the crimson sky was lit up with ruby and emerald and sapphire beams that lashed out faintly, joined by the occasional cerulean bolt. Every few seconds a ball of fire formed.
Can it be? she wondered. Has someone truly come?
At first nothing else seemed different. Not until the roar of fusion jets filled the air. Tracer fire lashed out from the Marian anti-air units near the stadium, accompanied by streaks of missile fire and energy weapons that lashed downward. The roaring got louder and louder…
And then it came into view. An aerodyne DropShip, its surface bristling with autocannon and laser emplacements, coming toward them from the north while sapphire beams and golden flame lashed at unseen foes. The vessel was painted a fine azure, with an insignia that Gita couldn't quite make out from the angle. It flew overhead, doors opening. From those doors figures, humanoid but not quite human, jumped out. Jets of flame erupted from their backs and she realized they were jump infantry… no, not jump infantry, battle armor infantry.
The air filled with quick thunderclaps. Cries of pain and surprise echoed through the air. Gita's head turned left and noted a couple of the miles running forward, rifles at the ready. The lead Marian went down in an explosion of blood from his chest. The second had only a moment to react to his friend's death before his head exploded. The result left a grisly smear of red and gray on the transparent plastic wall of the pen.
For all Gita had no sympathy for her captors, she felt sick at the sight of it and forced herself to turn away. Even then she still closed her eyes, as if willing the sight to vanish from her memory.
It did not.
This is what happens. All of those years, selling weapons from our factories… and this is the result. I am just as responsible, I should be facing it, but yet I can't. I can't face that… that grisliness…
"Highness!"
The firmness in Sandip's voice brought Gita back to her senses. She looked up to see her fellow captives, all of them, were assembled around her such that nobody outside could see her. Sandip was crouched at her side. "Please, pull yourself together, Your Highness. I know it's terrible."
"I…" An instinct to lash out at this man for humiliating her came, but she quashed it. He is protecting me. Be grateful. "Of course, General. My thanks."
"They're coming!"
The group dispelled, allowing Gita to see some of the nearby pens were already open. Men in sky blue battle armor approached. The left arm of the human-shaped armor ended with a vicious claw of five sharp fingers and the barrel of a light machine gun. The right arm had a standard five-fingered hand with a large cannon barrel built into it, although she wasn't sure if it was a laser aperture or some other weapon. The stock of a rifle of some sort was visible over the left shoulder. The suit helmet's black visor prevented her from making any eye contact with the occupants.
One of them opened the pen up by ripping through the plastic with its claw and tearing the door off. "Everyone out, single file," a female voice ordered, her voice crackling slightly through the external speaker of the armor. "It's safer inside the structure interior than out here."
"Who are you?" Gita asked.
"Major Catrina Michaels, Arcadian Rangers Armored Infantry Battalion," the woman replied. "Your Highness?"
Gita nodded. She imagined that facial recognition systems were alerting her liberators to her identity, however ragged she looked. "I am Grand Princess Gita of Bolan, yes."
"If you'll follow me, Your Highness, we'll see to your safety. Major General Armstrong's given explicit orders for you and your family to be secured and kept under protection, the same for all of your senior advisors."
The Arcadians have their own motives then… But very well. They don't take slaves at least. "I am at your disposal, and would very much like to see my husband and son, when you find them."
"Lieutenant Nowitzki!" Michaels turned to another squad of armored soldiers. "She's the Princess of Bolan. Help her find her family and get them into the structure, ASAP."
"Yes, Major!" a German-accented voice replied.
Embassy of the Arcadian Free March
Dakar, West Africa
Terra
Terran Union
The sea breeze moderated the heat of the equatorial West African climate that the people of Dakar were long accustomed to. For Max Wenck, Landgrave of Windhoek on Eilenburg, it was a reminder of his own coastal semi-arid home in Windhoek Province, where his estate awaited his eventual return after his tour of duty on Terra. The fifty-three year old diplomat was at the end of a career that took him the length and breadth of the former Lyran Commonwealth and Free Worlds League. Curse the African heat, he thought from his office balcony. The skyline of Dakar filled his vision, including the Star League Hall's spire-topped dome in the distance. The Terrans' spire was deliberately formed in the shape of a Cameron Star. From the southeast the elongated horizontal point was only slightly visible, as it was orientated towards Unity City a hemisphere and continent away. All show, Wenck thought contemptuously. Expenditure meant as a quiet insult to the rest of us, those who 'destroyed' the Star League. As if the Terrans had been innocent babes betrayed by the Great Houses.
That contempt reflected in the Terrans' choice for embassy locale. Instead of foreign embassies being seated in Geneva, where the Union government met, or even the old Star League, they'd been shunted to Dakar. It was at least in a similar time zone and a mere hour or so away by DropShuttle, but none could fail to note the importance of the distance. The Terran government did not exchange ambassadors, it exchanged ministers, and the Successor States would have their deliberation hall well away from the far more important business of the Terran Congress in Geneva. No, they were to spend their time sitting in Dakar and negotiating and dealing within the Star League Hall, all while while waiting for their Terran betters to deign them an audience or, more rarely, an address by the Chancellor or Director-General. A session was soon to start there and Wenck would assume the floor. Everyone in the Inner Sphere was watching now.
Having gotten his desired whiff of fresh air with peace and quiet, Wenck retreated back into his office. The door swung open and admitted his aide, Lawrence Castel. The Concord man nodded and in that typical Concordian way acted without regard to their social ranks. "The media's waiting outside. Word's fully spread and the Marians are demanding a formal answer."
"I will give it. But the media will come first."
Castel raised an eyebrow. "Really? That doesn't sound appropriate."
"It is not preferred, but my remark will be short, and the official response preserved for my peers." Wenck gathered his noteputer and stepped out of the office, through the office foyer, the halls, and to the main foyer of the Embassy. From the upper landing he could see the assembled representatives of media outlets across Terra and the Inner Sphere. Private, public, and state-run media, all here to get word of what was happening on Bolan and what the official diplomatic position of the Free March was. From their perspective, his place on the upper floor and landing placed him behind the Free March's seal emblazoned on the railing, the white gold-winged hawk on a field of blue and red. It will make for an image.
Wenck had labored over the best way to express what was happening. He didn't have the time or energy to give twenty questions, or parse for the reporters and the masses the diplomatic language he'd gotten from Arcadia. A soundbite will work better. "I am due at the League Hall," he said brusquely. "I will take one question."
A Rengo reporter was quickest. "Free March forces are confirmed engaged in battle on Bolan against the Marian Hegemony. Is this a formal Arcadian intervention into the Hegemony's war on the Principality of Bolan?"
Wenck grinned and shook his head. "Nicht ein schlacht," he said, making sure his voice carried for their benefit, "ein Rettungsaktion."
He promptly turned away, leaving them to shout more questions while heading towards the rear exit and his waiting aircar.
Bolan City, Disputed Territory
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Hegemony
29 January 3034
The last twenty-six hours of Dani Verdes' life had been the greatest ordeal she'd known since her mother drove her from the house at the age of eighteen.
Combat wasn't new. She'd seen it on Fianna and Radostov. The intensity, however, that was new. The planetary defenders of those worlds had barely been live fire exercises compared to the ferocity with which the Marians resisted their expanding landing zone. Even where their machines were sometimes subpar, they fought tenaciously and forced the Arcadian troops to earn every meter in fire and blood. It was already being said that the Arcadian Rangers' battle armor contingent was down by fifty percent. As Marian reinforcements moved up that was sure to get worse.
Dani had other problems. Charlie Company's job was to hold a major throughway that would link them to the city center and the Bolanese defense perimeter. The Marians undoubtedly realized what that meant, so over the last several hours they'd send a couple of company-sized attacks to test the defenses… and were now putting what felt like an entire battalion in the field against them.
A shot from a Bulldog battle tank chipped armor from the hip of her Marauder. She might have shot the thing with a PPC, but she was already running hot from finishing off a Marian Grasshopper and her heat levels wouldn't let her fire just yet, not without risking an ammo cookoff. She maneuvered her 'Mech to the side to avoid at least some of the incoming missile salvo from the tank.
Several emerald beams speared the tank's front plate, hitting in close enough proximity that one drilled through and set off the ammunition inside the tank's body. The machine blew apart from the inside.
At Dani's side, Lt. Jonny Kono's Thunderbolt looked battered. The right arm was missing, depriving the machine of a large-caliber laser, but the trio of torso-mounted medium lasers were still in play.
"I owe you one, Charlie One-Four."
"Don't mention it, One-Two. Just keep our Prince alive, ya?" Jonny spoke English with the particular accent of an Iaukean Islander, a unique people on Arcadia of combined Polynesian, Balinese, Filipino, and Papuan descent.
"Trying," she promised, turning her attention to a Centurion about to menace Prince Thomas in Liberator, the inherited Black Knight of House Proctor. She fired on the machine with her autocannon, tearing armor from its torso and drawing its attention… and it's fire. Golden flame on its right arm accompanied the autocannon shells that stripped her left arm down to the myomer.
The arm was still functional, though, and with her heat reduced further Dani brought both of her arm-mounted PPCs to bear. The extended range Star League model weapons packed a punch. Cerulean energy flayed armor from the fittingly-named Marian machine. Two PPC hits were enough to worry a pilot in such a machine, but this one took a third, as Prince Thomas recognized the threat and fired a shot into his prospective attacker as well. Smoke billowed from inside the Centurion's torso. They'd hit something vital.
Another contact was already showing up in red on her secondary flat display. The holotank shifted to show the new threat; an Orion. Before she could adjust to meet it the hip-mounted autocannon of the heavy 'Mech fired. Only a last minute turn kept most of the barrage from striking in its entirety to tear the arm off, but she lost what was left of the armor and got a warning light for actuator damage in the elbow.
One PPC nearly useless… couldn't have fired again from the heat anyway. Dani brought her right arm up and squeezed off a shot. She thought she'd miss given the Orion pilot's movement, but it wasn't enough to keep her shot from playing over the side of its torso above the hip autocannon. The excited particles of the cannon burned deep into said armor…
In an expanding cloud of flame and metal, the entire side of the Orion came apart, sending the weapon-tipped arm flying away. Dani could hardly believe her luck. Got through the armor, hit his AC ammo. It all cooked off. Lucky shot!
The Orion's woes weren't over yet. A barrage of missiles descended on the machine, pummeling it with at least forty projectiles, over half of which connected. The pilot struggled in vain to keep his war machine from falling over.
The perhaps temporary loss of his ally didn't stop the Centurion from fighting back as well. After discharging their autocannon at Thomas' Black Knight, the pilot swapped targets and fired the medium lasers and missile launcher at Dani.
The laser hits cut through the Marauder's left arm like a scalpel. The limb's indicator on her status screens went black, showing it as lost. Dani gave little attention to it as she was busy trying to keep her machine standing against the missiles pummeling it, seven in all. With some effort the Marauder didn't lose its footing.
"Charlie 1-2, watch your six," Jonny warned.
"What, we've got them behind us?!" Dani tracked the Centurion with her remaining PPC and autocannon. Shots from both blew into the torso of the machine. Its autocannon-mounted right arm fell dead, still attached to the machine but unmoving. Another barrage of missiles from the fire support unit hit the Centurion until it toppled, a smoking ruin made of its heart.
"Negative, 1-2," said Thomas, his voice grave. "There are civilians back there."
Dani had only a moment to see what he meant, but she gasped at it. With the other roadways blocked off or in Marian hands, this was the only feasible route for people fleeing the combat zone and the prospect of a Marian-ruled Bolan. Her sensors showed their vehicles as they raced along, trying desperately to not be noticed.
I don't know what the Marians will do to them, but they clearly don't care about shooting in their direction, she thought But someone has to. Remembering her place as Lance Lieutenant for Prince Thomas, she gave a firm order. "Everyone stay focused, and keep them off the road. We have to keep them off this road!"
The others affirmed the order. Despite the heavy damage to her machine, Dani pressed on through the fight.
For all his life, Angus Campbell never saw such ferocious fighting as this. The McAffe native had twenty years of experience that included being one of the few journalists that the mad High General Cutter of the Cutter Brigade allowed to remain embedded with his troops. He'd seen much of the heavy fighting on Hollabrunn when the Free March annihilated Cutter's psychopathic mercenaries.
But even their bloody demise didn't have the destruction that over six months of continuous warfare brought to Bolan. Bolan City had some intact quarters, but only those sections of the city that fell quickly to Marian invasion; this section and many others were filled with half-destroyed buildings or just outright piles of rubble.
Campbell and his crew were embedded with the Arcadian military for the duration of the campaign. After signing the usual forms affirming their awareness of the risks and that they would abide by the laws of war, they headed off under an escort of MPs and battle armored soldiers to get a glimpse of Bolan City. The residents were running low on food, as were the besieged Bolanese troops, and even the Marians were reportedly being careful with rations. Bolan was a dry, mountainous world, and it did not yield crops easily.
After some interviews and a near miss with a maniple of Marian soldiers, Campbell and his crew joined a convoy heading back to the Arcadian zone. The refugees in it were eager to take up the Arcadian relocation offer, especially those in the liberated slave camps.
Despite his hopes, they didn't make the journey quietly. They were partway out of the city when the first explosions were heard. Some drivers peeled off but most kept going, eager to get to safety as they were. The people here were used to explosions.
And then it came. A fierce fight on the northwest side of the road. BattleMechs — Arcadian and Marian — were in a hot firefight.
"Put th' bloody camera that way!" Campbell shouted at his man. Donald Kildare was the fellow's name, and he seemed determined to defy his own name by being, well, something of a pantywaist, or so Campbell thought. Sure, he was just brave enough to be here, but he didn't understand the nature of the job to know where to look.
Still, he did at least listen, and now their holo-camera was pointed squarely at the fighting. Campbell knew enough about the machines to recognize the Centurion - in Marian colors - and the Marauder, and it was the latter machine he had the focus put onto as the pilot pulled off some maneuvers and took some really skilled shots. The single shot that blew the side off another big humanoid 'Mech was a thing of beauty.
In fact, it was perfect. This whole thing was perfect. This was the kind of footage embedded journalists would kill to have to their name.
Missiles from the Centurion pummelled the Marauder while twin laser beams cut the arm off the machine. A couple missiles flew past and rained down around the road. A shockwave hit their vehicle and the driver nearly lost control.
Kildare dropped the camera and ducked back down. Campbell did look for cover for a second, after which he rose. "Well, get the camera back on!" he shouted.
"To hell with that!"
"Bloody useless…" Campbell picked up the machine himself. It looked like it was no longer transmitting, but it could record. He'd just have the rest of the footage sent out later.
Maybe I'll finally get a show of my own…
Outside Bolan City
The rubble of ruined buildings and the faint crimson skies of the fires consuming the Bolanese capitals painted a picture of utter desolation for Second Lieutenant Njoki Kihoro. The Arcadian woman wondered if she would ever get used to it. For a moment she imagined the sight in her home city of Nakuru on the Mull continent's northeastern coastline, the cool ocean winds curling the rising smoke and bringing in fresh air to fuel the flames of war.
Fourteen months ago, war seemed so far away, she thought. Now I am invading a fifth world in the span of so many months. Kitzingen and Zvolen had submitted without a fight, but the fighting on Sterling and Radostov had been sharp, if short. The devastation hadn't reached this level.
The other 'Mechs in her lance moved alongside her in the rubble. The Jaegers of her fellow lieutenants, Koroneva and Saban, were a block ahead, their machines' humanoid forms towering over most of the ruined buildings. Behind and to her left, First Lieutenant Alex Shawcross' Shadow Hawk was perched atop of the rubble of a former housing block and shop. The Terran-built machine, from Lang's factories on Caph, was one of the heaviest in the regiment, but its powerful XL engine gave it the speed to keep up with the rest of the lance. The autocannon perched on the shoulder gave the machine its classic outline with its eighty millimeter caliber barrel. Unlike the traditional Shadow Hawk, Shawcross' machine had a medium laser in each arm, the right arm bearing an extended range model and the left a pulse model. The head-mounted SRM was likewise gone, though the chest LRM remained. The model used its remaining weight savings to mount electronic equipment, an active probe and ECM system, to make it an effective heavy scout as well as a scout-killer.
Her role was to back up all three with her Lynx. The squat chicken-walker was a pride design of the Free March, incorporating regained Star League technologies like an XL engine, ferro-fibrous armor, and an endo-steel chassis. The colossal RussTech Coilgun that made up the Lynx's elbowless right arm could core most 'Mechs in just one to two good shots, and the torso and arm mounted Vickers-Armstrong lasers to the left of her cockpit and in her left arm were dangerous extended range models for any enemy light that drove to get within the Coilgun's minimum effective range.
Their lance moved into the no-man's-land at the rough junction of Marina, Bolanese, and Arcadian lines. The Marians were still scrambling to stabilize their lines and their lances, or "maniples", frequently crossed through here, cutting through the evacuation convoys with terrifying speed and brutality. Njoki tried not to think of the remains she'd seen earlier of an unlucky, unescorted convoy. The Marians left no survivors, though whether they dragged anyone off to slavery was something she would never know.
"Still no contacts, Lance Loo," Saban said, his Gienahese Hebrew accent thick in his English. "Looks like the sector is clear."
"Move east then, Square Hotel-Indigo-Twenty-Six," Shawcross replied.
The lance moved in line with those orders. They managed a block when Shawcross raised the right arm of his Shadow Hawk. "Wait. I've got something on the probe…" Four heat signatures formed on Njoki's thermal scan. "...Ambush!"
Njoki immediately juked her machine, and for good reason. From a pile of evident rubble, a Marian Centurion erupted, flanked by a Griffin and a pair of lighter Javelins. The latter two immediately hurled a salvo of SRMs into the air. Their impacts blew armor from the right arm and leg of Shawcross' machine and chewed into Saban's Jaeger. He returned fire with his Jaeger-2B's own SRM batteries. Most of his salvo hit. For a split second it seemed only armor would be taken, but the Javelin's torso blew open in a violent detonation of ammunition. I wonder if their armor was only patched and not intact?
The -1A Jaeger belonging to Koroneva twisted its torso to bear on the Griffin. The two machines fired simultaneous, exchanging particle bolts. Koroneva's lighter machine took the worst of the hit with her shoulder armor failing, allowing the bolt to go clear through and wreck the actuator. Her particle bolt left blackened, glowing-hot metal on otherwise intact armor plate.
Njoki's first instinct was to engage the Griffin, but the Centurion's autocannon fire quickly won her attention. Heavy autocannon model, not regular! The large bore weapon chewed armor and endo-steel from Shawcross' Shadow Hawk in a direct hit above the left hip. Shawcross retaliated with medium laser fire, a solid beam and a barrage of emerald darts blackening the armor plate over the Centurion's chest. Njoki drew in a breath, settled her crosshairs on the enemy machine's arm, and pulled her triggers.
The medium lasers struck first, emerald light slicing along the armor above the elbow. A moment later the Coilgun fired. She felt the recoil as magnetized coils accelerated a nickel-ferrous slug to supersonic velocity. An instant later the deadly heavy autocannon fell free of the Centurion, its right arm blown away at the elbow by her shot. That model only has LRMs in addition to the autocannon, it's too close! She turned her attention to the Griffin in time to see its missile launcher flare to life. Wait, those aren't LRMs! The missiles blasted away at Shawcross' 'Mech, most hitting the limbs or intact torso armor, but one took advantage of the armor loss to inflict serious damage within. Burning coolant spilled from the wound and the Shadow Hawk staggered.
A quick glance told her Saban's machine was also in trouble, taking the brunt of a second salvo from the surviving Javelin even as Koroneva's PPC blew one of its arms and half its torso off. Visible hip damage nearly toppled Saban but he held himself up.. He returned fire with his own missiles just as Njoki turned back.
The Griffin's PPC arm was already rising. As it came up the autocannon on the Shadow Hawk roared, its firing rate at full despite the jamming risk. Both lasers likewise fired. Armor melted or blew away with wreaths of sparks and flame for wounds, but all along the left side that housed no weapons to hit. The Griffin twisted back to present its PPC arm for another deadly shot. Njoki moved her crosshairs over it and fired once more.
To her chagrin, her lasers hadn't managed a solid targeting lock. Only the arm-mounted beam successfully cut through armor. After a moment power shifted and the coilgun thundered once more. The shot blew through the armor around the PPC and sent a cascade of sparks flowing from the resulting wound now visible on both sides of the limb. The Griffin fired a moment later. The impact of her shot threw off the Marian's arm and he missed.
Once more the lasers and autocannon on the Shadow Hawk fired. This time, Shawcross fired with deadly intent, made clear as 80mm shells blasted through the head module's armor plate. It remained intact for only a moment before pulse laser fire played over the module, leaving it a blackened ruin. The 'Mech toppled.
"Bravo-Two, to your right!" Njoki heard the warning in time to twist her torso, preventing a salvo of half dozen SRMs from striking her main gun. Only one missile impacted on the coilgun, its warhead failing to do more than blacken the armor covering of the sensitive capacitors within the weapon. Two missiles corkscrewed past and three more took minor chunks of armor off her machine's hide.
She had no opportunity to return fire. Koroneva fired her PPC again. The Javelin's chest blew open from the impact. The pilot ejected just before their 'Mech toppled.
That left the Centurion. The pilot was desperately looking to retreat, but given the machine's speed versus their own, they'd never get out of minimal missile range. The Marian had gambled on getting to panic them with the heavy autocannon, and that hadn't paid off.
"Bravo Lance." The voice of Captain Rosenbaum, their company CO, boomed over the line. "Charlie-Two is asking for backup, roughly five klicks from your position. They have Marian 'Mechs pinned down but can't push in on their own."
"Roger, Company Lead. I'm sending someone now." Shawcross turned his battered Shadowhawk towards Njoki. "Bravo-Two, you and Bravo-Three move on, respond to the call. Keep moving and try to avoid trouble with the enemy. You're lead here."
"Roger, sir. Bravo-Three, with me!"
Koroneva obediently took up a position beside her. They darted off through the ruins, running over and around broken machines to the aid of their distant comrade. We keep running, Njoki thought. Don't let them ambush again. She verified her tac-comm links and called out, "Charlie-Two, this is Bravo-Two, friendlies en route, ETA about two minutes." She jump jets to hurdle over a ruined overpass, not wanting to lose time to going around.
"Roger, Bravo-Two. I've got small lance here. Verified a Stinger, an UrbanMech, and a Commando, sheltering over a hill here. I can't risk flushing them out by myself, and they're not budging."
"Stay still, we'll be there." She considered her options. Koroneva can jump in, her Mk. 5 PPC is extended range and doesn't have a minimum range problem. We flank to keep the range, she flushes them out, we take them down. Just have to get there…
Charlie-Two's voice kicked in again. "Relocating, backing off a bit…. movement! I've got movement! They're jumping in! Stinger's jumping… others coming in too! They're inside my coilgun range!"
No! "Fall back! We're almost there!"
"Jumping out of-" The report gave way to a cry of utter surprise.
Njoki swapped to magscan as they came up towards the hill. She could see the Lynx in mid-jump, flailing towards the ground, the Stinger literally dangling behind it with an arm stretched out. The Marian grabbed him! They grabbed him when he jumped! She brought her crosshairs over the UrbanMech but her system refused to confirm a shooting lock. If she fired now she'd probably miss. Just a little closer…! she thought while seeing the range close.
But she was too late. The UrbanMech and Commando fired, sending laser, missile, and autocannon fire into her prone comrade. Flame and bits of blasted, molten metal erupted, joined by the smoke of burning coolant.
Njoki's crosshairs turned gold. Target lock and range confirmed. Her finger tensed over her index finger trigger.
The shot hit home on the low domed figure of the UrbanMech. It toppled without fanfare. Gyro hit. Her first impulse was to turn her weapon on the Commando, but the Stinger was rising and presented too tempting a target to pass up. Her finger tensed over the trigger once, twice, three times, and on the third the capacitor had finished its recharge. Her Lynx shuddered from the sonic boom formed by the slug's firing. The Stinger's chest blew open in a shower of coolant and steel. A second later the head module blew open as well and the command couch soared skyward. They ejected. Quick thinking.
The Commando turned to run. A sizzling particle bolt from Koroneva blasted through its right hip. The pilot couldn't keep the 'Mech straight with the sudden loss of myomer and the actuator. Their machine toppled over. After several seconds of running Koroneva took the air with jump jets. She fired a second shot. Once more smoke rose from the broken body of a BattleMech.
Njoki brought her Lynx up beside its shattered sibling. The hope she felt within turned to twisted dread at seeing the bloody spatter over the inside of the cockpit. Autocannon hit. The UrbanMech. Her mouth went dry and her chest constricted. It took her several seconds to remember her duty. "Bravo-Two to Company Lead. I'm sorry, Captain. They got to Charlie-Two before I could close the range." She thought back to the company roster. Charlie-Two was Second Lieutenant Andrew Henry of Togwotee. He'd been a militia prodigy that got sent to OCS and assigned to the Rangers. Captain Rosenbaum will have to write the letter. If only I'd been a few seconds faster…!
It was a long few seconds before a reply came. "Enemy status?"
"All down. One ejected, two did not."
"Confirmed. Battalion HQ is sending a recovery team out, assume defensive position and follow ROE. Alert me immediately if there are any new enemy movements."
"Roger that, Company Lead." Njoki turned her attention to her various scanner displays. "Bravo-Three, head on a swivel," she said. "We're on overwatch until relieved."
"Confirm that, Bravo-Three." The Jaeger moved to the hill and crouched. Njoki glanced over her display, noted her low ammunition supply, and settled in to wait for relief or action. I did what I could, she reminded herself. I did everything I could. And as true as it was, somehow, she knew she'd die believing she hadn't.
AFMS Galatine
Arcadian Landing Zone
The end of the second day of fighting satisfied Major General Armstrong. The Baroness of Briggs had her troops planetside without major losses and the Marian troops were just now starting to check their expansion. What forces had initially opposed them - mostly older and often beaten up machines - were falling back from significant casualties.
Still, she had concerns. The Fifth and Sixth Legions were only now starting to engage, spending most of the last day hotly engaged with Bolanese troops acting to tie them down. Once they were against the perimeter, it would be harder fighting to keep expanding that, even if they wished its expansion.
The campaign was, indeed, only yet beginning, and it was no time to get overconfident. The Marians had the edge in sheer combat experience, and it was up to the AFFM to overcome that. It simply remained to be seen if they would.
”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: "Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Chapter 3
Marian Hegemony Armed Forces HQ
Sutlej
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
14 February 3034
The tension among Yassin's officers was oppressive. All expectations had been the fall of the last Bolanese pockets by this time, but the Arcadians' forceful intervention had thrown the entire timetable to hell. The six BattleMech regiments and assorted support formations were all line formations, a massive force by the standards of the fighting the legions had known, and his loss figures showed it. Whatever edge in experience his troops enjoyed, it wasn't enough to overcome the enemy's numbers.
The two figures Yassin had most to be considered with were the legionary prefects. Felix Khan of V Legio knew he commanded a crack formation and never let Yassin forget it. His troops were giving as good as they'd gotten in most cases, but even they were having trouble dealing with the quick raids of the Arcadian Rangers and the flanking maneuvers of the Proctor Light Horse regiments and their advanced machines. The Arcadian Guards had likewise repulsed Khan's every attempt to break into the "liberation zone". His frustration with this state of affairs, with a legion that had previously conquered all before it, was palpable.
Prefect Marcellina Scipio showed a better temper. Her all-'Mech VI Legio was used to playing flank guard and dealing with tactical frustrations, and her losses were noticeably heavier. But her troops had yet to break, only bend.
If only we had another frontline legion, we could crack the Arcadian defenses. But the Gladiator Auxilia is a broken mess and barely holding the line.
"The enemy's First BattleMech Regiment continues heavy probes along the M6," Scipio noted, motioning to the road linking Sutlej to Bolan City. "The auxilia armor and infantry hold them well enough but my cohorts will be needed if they launch a stronger strike."
"That would pull you from my legion's flank and give the foe the position to advance on Mumbai," Khan replied. "I need the Sixth's cohorts where they are!"
"And if the enemy strikes directly here? The distance is great but their aerospace power and fast regiments make it a serious threat."
So it does. Yassin considered the map carefully. Other data came up as he cycled it over. "They continue to move DropShips in and out daily, it seems. The Navy is cautious, they fear trying to engage the enemy fleet for its size no matter how it divides."
"A reasonable fear given the disparity. If only the Hegemony's WarShip program were further advanced, or our allies' fleet was here," Khan lamented.
"They are not. Still, this traffic is too heavy to be for military supplies. If this were an invasion, perhaps, but the Arcadians would be pressing us harder."
"My legion's attacks keep them on the backfoot, and they are timid."
Khan's boast was appealing, but Yassin wasn't sure. "Perhaps they have another strategic goal. Look at how much they invested into recovering Princess Gita and her family. And their operations have been about holding roads and running convoys of civilians to their LZs. Could they be evacuating the populace?"
"Six BattleMech regiments for an evacuation?!"
For a time none answered Scipio's heated question, but a new voice spoke up. "Makes sense to me."
Yassin and his legionary commanders turned to the presence they'd chosen to ignore until now. "Do you have something to share, Legate Avery?"
Dashel nodded. Yassin noted the gladiator's cool expression. He wasn't afraid to speak among his betters, but he wasn't being intentionally obtrusive either, and was undoubtedly aware that he was only here because his commander could not be. His legion had no true prefect as CO, just the ceremonial appointment of Solaris stable owner and entertainment mogul Richard "Dick" Cox. Tribunus Flava ran his formation and was still in the infirmary. Useful, not stupid. At least he has that. Surprising for a Canopian.
"I'm pretty sure the Hegemony outlawed it on censorship grounds, but I saw the new holovid about the Arcadians' founding," Dash said. "House Proctor was founded by an escaped slave, Sara Proctor. She raised an army, overthrew her master, and took her world over to free all the slaves. The Free March formed around her and that whole story. So, you ask me, it actually fits that they're here to free captives and spirit them off so you can't make slaves of them. Fits their worldview and it sends the Hegemony a message that someone's ready to fight back."
Scipio's expression curled in disgust. "An entire interstellar ruling house built by a slave? The notion turns my stomach! What kind of wretches didn't put her in her place?!"
Legate Avery said nothing, but Yassin could see the sliver of contempt in his facial expression. He wasn't a supporter of the Hegemony's system either. But he was a Canopian and that was to be expected.
"Prefect Scipio." Yassin turned to her. "Pull your cohorts towards the M6 highway."
"Praetor!"
He turned his head towards Khan at the V Legio commander's angry protest. "Yes. I know it will expose your flank. And that's what I want. Let the Arcadians see the way to Mumbai clear. Let them send a force towards the city." He nodded back to Scipio. "And when they do, you will turn and strike their flank while the Fifth comes around their front and rear. We will catch them in a trap and destroy them."
The recognition of the merit of his plan showed in the eyes of both legionary COs. It is time the Arcadians learn the mettle of the legions of the New Rome, Yassin thought with satisfaction.
Marathi Ridge
Near Mumbai, Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
16 February 3034
After two and a half weeks of heavy fighting, something was bound to go wrong for the Arcadian forces. It was Prince Mark's misfortune that it came down on his unit.
The 1st Free March Cavalry Brigade's charge on Mumbai to open up an evacuation route won initial successes, driving back elements of the Marians' Legio V to approach within twenty kilometers of the city. It was only as they got into the outskirts that the Marian plan became evident. Legio VI and elements of what was left of the Gladiator regiments counter-attacked on the flanks of their advance. Now the First Launum Armored Cavalry were fighting desperately to keep contact with the vanguard formation, the Hyde Lancers.
The fighting was especially fiercest with Mark's company. While their air cavalry formations and aerospace support fought over their heads, his unit was busy trying to hold the Marathi Ridge's northern face against numerically-superior Marian troops. BattleMechs and tanks provided cover for the Marian infantry trying to get in close with their satchel charges and man-portable Inferno SRMs. The battle armor company assigned to back up the First LAC fought them off as best as they could, but between the artillery shells and the fire from the 'Mechs and tanks, they were taking losses they couldn't sustain.
Mark's focus was on the enemy armor and 'Mechs, directing his lance's fire as best as he could. Vickers' Centurion's long range missiles battered a Marian Manticore tank with the cooperation of the autocannon and long range missiles from Neumeyer's Shadow Hawk. Selassie's Crab let loose a fusillade of laser fire on a Marian Assassin drawing too close. Mark brought his crosshairs over and triggered a full strike on the 'Mech from his Fusilier's weaponry. Autocannon shells tore into the machine's shoulder while the ruby beam of his left arm's laser narrowly missed the head.
The torso-mounted weapons hit home, the other medium laser and the PPC catching the Assassin in the knee. The pilot tried to catch himself, but couldn't stop the 'Mech from toppling over. Before he could rise Selassie and Vickers pumped laser fire and an autocannon burst into the machine's thinner rear armor. Fusion plasma briefly surged from within, signaling an engine hit, before ceasing. The 'Mech stopped moving.
The Manticore fired its PPC… and the cerulean blast went clear through Vickers' cockpit.
Mark's heart froze. His comrade was dead. Just… gone. Like that. Inside there would be nothing but some carbonized muscle and bone.
His 'Mech shook from the impacts of missiles. The Manticore fired some of them, but the others came from a Centurion coming up with the rest of its lance and a fresh platoon of Marian armor. Mark checked for his side. "Bravo Lance here, enemy reinforcements, artillery support requested."
"Already denied," Captain Harrow said. "Hold, Lieutenant. If we get pushed back the Hyde Lancers won't make it out."
"Everyone, fire for effect, starting with that damned Manticore!"
The lance heeded the order. Autocannon shells, long range missiles, and laser fire lashed out at the machine until its front plate disintegrated. Mark's PPC blew through the remaining structure and gave its crew the same terrible end that Lieutenant Vickers received.
The medium lance of Marian 'Mechs returned fire with vigor, scoring several hits on all three machines. Beneath their notice, the Marian infantry was coming up on the ridge line, a number of them already preparing their SRM launchers while another set up a recoilless rifle. The battle armored troops from both sides met in a fierce collision, ensuring neither could aid the 'Mechs or stop the infantry.
If only one of the anti-infantry lances were here, he thought, bringing his lasers down toward the ground. A flash of ruby left two dead Marians and a destroyed rifle. A second flash caught a trooper about to lug his Inferno launcher onto his shoulder.
But there were more, and their missiles started firing. A few missed, but those that hit left burning napalm on the surface of Selassie's Crab, the heat of the chemicals in the payload certain to make the 'Mech unable to maintain its firing rate. Until the fuel of the reaction was consumed, the Crab was going to burn.
His 'Mech stuttered as recoilless rifle rounds, armor-piercing ones, started chipping his armor away. Reflexively he triggered his PPC at one of the groups, killing an entire squad with the shot.
Only then did he realize his mistake. Or rather, his mistakes.
While his comrades kept up with his orders, the firepower they had to bear only resulted in a hobbled Vindicator, and the other 'Mechs were now in close range. Had he joined them, more damage might've kept them back. That was mistake one.
Mistake two was not recognizing the lack of medium laser ports on the Centurion.
Now that it had the range, its autocannon arm came up and fired. Mark moved his machine to evade with no avail; the Marian pilot's aim was still true. Powerful shells ripped through armor and tore some of the guts out of his PPC, rendering the weapon inoperable. He switched his autocannon to its expanded burst fire mode and pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
He noted the red light on his status screens. Ammunition jam!
"All lances, pull back!" Harrow ordered over the line. "Artillery strike inbound!"
"Pull back!" Mark shouted, sending his comrades and their supporting forces back over the top of the ridge. Still aflame, Selassie's Crab made it first, another recoilless rifle shot striking it in the shoulder as it got over the ridge line. Neumeyer's Shadow Hawk jumped into the air, flying backward with lasers and missiles firing even in mid-air as harassment fire more than effective shots.
That left his machine. He backed it up, firing his medium lasers again and again at the Centurion with its menacing heavy autocannon. Laser fire melted armor from his machine's torso as he did, but his armor held against them. He felt the Fusilier's feet crest the ridgeline and took a step down.
The Centurion's autocannon fired again.
The shells tore through the weakened armor on the Fusilier's leg and blasted the bone in two. Mark cried out in surprise as his 'Mech toppled over, a cripple with just one leg. The 'Mech being laid out on its back at least gave him the chance to shoot back, which he did as a speedy Assassin crested the ridge first. His lasers joined with Neumeyer's autocannon and Selassie's available lasers, melting scores of armor from the machine, but they hit nothing vital.
The incoming artillery strike did the rest. On the opposite side of the ridge explosion after explosion sent tremors through the earth, creating a wall of flame that Mark imagined could be a gate to Hell itself. The Assassin was caught from behind by anti-'Mech cluster rounds from the incoming artillery, blasting its weak rear armor and blowing the machine apart.
I hope the infantry got out too, Mark thought. I'm not sure what could survive—
An artillery shell went off overhead. For an instant there was a shower of glass and the feeling of sharp pain everywhere… and then nothing.
AFMS Galatine
Arcadian Landing Zone
17 February 3034
Major General Armstrong was not a happy woman.
The Mumbai operation was a disaster. The Marians sacrificed some of their garrison-quality units, and elements of what was left of their Gladiator regiments, to bring the bulk of both their main line legions down on the Free March Cavalry. Now the Hyde Lancers were virtually gone, with not even a company's worth of machines and pilots left, and the other battalions were so damaged they were effectively hors d'combat. Good for nothing but serving as walking wounded to help keep order for the evacuating civilians.
The presence of Admiral Andros was another matter of instinctive contention. As far as Armstrong was concerned, she should remain in space with her ships and leave the fighting to Armstrong and her staff, and having her come down for any reason felt like an intrusion by the Navy into Army matters.
The final reason for her unhappiness was why she couldn't blame Andros for her presence.
The two of them stood quietly in the tiny observation room for the Gallatine's surgical theater. Through the glass, Army surgeons were working feverishly to keep the March-Princess' son alive, with the outcome still uncertain.
"It was friendly fire?" Andros asked.
"An artillery round fell short," Armstrong said, her voice firm and subdued. "He was covering his lance's retreat and had his machine crippled, so he was not in the absolute safety zone. We also lost two squads of battle armor covering the retreat of their comrades."
"And now I have to report to the Command Staff what happened."
"War is chance. They'll understand," Armstrong said. "He's not the only man we've lost these last two days. The Marians have recovered their poise and fighting hard to keep us from getting into other cities. We're going to need to begin the withdrawal in the next two weeks to meet our timetable."
"We'll be ready to cover for you. The transports we sent back to Gypsum to unload the evacuees should be back by then."
"They'd better be, or we're going to have a tough situation."
"I've seen the tent cities and camps, I know. But we'll get them out. That's what we came here to do."
You mean my people will get them out, with their own blood and sweat, while your spacemen watch from beyond the killing. It was an unworthy thought, but a natural one. She wouldn't feel guilt over it. Although if those Marian warships get involved, the shoe will be on the other foot. Ha, that would serve me right, wouldn't it?
Quietly she turned her attention back to the theater, watching the operation unfold alongside Admiral Andros, and waiting to see if she would have to write a letter of condolence to the March-Princess herself.
Marian Hegemony Armed Forces HQ
Sutlej
Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
14 February 3034
The tension among Yassin's officers was oppressive. All expectations had been the fall of the last Bolanese pockets by this time, but the Arcadians' forceful intervention had thrown the entire timetable to hell. The six BattleMech regiments and assorted support formations were all line formations, a massive force by the standards of the fighting the legions had known, and his loss figures showed it. Whatever edge in experience his troops enjoyed, it wasn't enough to overcome the enemy's numbers.
The two figures Yassin had most to be considered with were the legionary prefects. Felix Khan of V Legio knew he commanded a crack formation and never let Yassin forget it. His troops were giving as good as they'd gotten in most cases, but even they were having trouble dealing with the quick raids of the Arcadian Rangers and the flanking maneuvers of the Proctor Light Horse regiments and their advanced machines. The Arcadian Guards had likewise repulsed Khan's every attempt to break into the "liberation zone". His frustration with this state of affairs, with a legion that had previously conquered all before it, was palpable.
Prefect Marcellina Scipio showed a better temper. Her all-'Mech VI Legio was used to playing flank guard and dealing with tactical frustrations, and her losses were noticeably heavier. But her troops had yet to break, only bend.
If only we had another frontline legion, we could crack the Arcadian defenses. But the Gladiator Auxilia is a broken mess and barely holding the line.
"The enemy's First BattleMech Regiment continues heavy probes along the M6," Scipio noted, motioning to the road linking Sutlej to Bolan City. "The auxilia armor and infantry hold them well enough but my cohorts will be needed if they launch a stronger strike."
"That would pull you from my legion's flank and give the foe the position to advance on Mumbai," Khan replied. "I need the Sixth's cohorts where they are!"
"And if the enemy strikes directly here? The distance is great but their aerospace power and fast regiments make it a serious threat."
So it does. Yassin considered the map carefully. Other data came up as he cycled it over. "They continue to move DropShips in and out daily, it seems. The Navy is cautious, they fear trying to engage the enemy fleet for its size no matter how it divides."
"A reasonable fear given the disparity. If only the Hegemony's WarShip program were further advanced, or our allies' fleet was here," Khan lamented.
"They are not. Still, this traffic is too heavy to be for military supplies. If this were an invasion, perhaps, but the Arcadians would be pressing us harder."
"My legion's attacks keep them on the backfoot, and they are timid."
Khan's boast was appealing, but Yassin wasn't sure. "Perhaps they have another strategic goal. Look at how much they invested into recovering Princess Gita and her family. And their operations have been about holding roads and running convoys of civilians to their LZs. Could they be evacuating the populace?"
"Six BattleMech regiments for an evacuation?!"
For a time none answered Scipio's heated question, but a new voice spoke up. "Makes sense to me."
Yassin and his legionary commanders turned to the presence they'd chosen to ignore until now. "Do you have something to share, Legate Avery?"
Dashel nodded. Yassin noted the gladiator's cool expression. He wasn't afraid to speak among his betters, but he wasn't being intentionally obtrusive either, and was undoubtedly aware that he was only here because his commander could not be. His legion had no true prefect as CO, just the ceremonial appointment of Solaris stable owner and entertainment mogul Richard "Dick" Cox. Tribunus Flava ran his formation and was still in the infirmary. Useful, not stupid. At least he has that. Surprising for a Canopian.
"I'm pretty sure the Hegemony outlawed it on censorship grounds, but I saw the new holovid about the Arcadians' founding," Dash said. "House Proctor was founded by an escaped slave, Sara Proctor. She raised an army, overthrew her master, and took her world over to free all the slaves. The Free March formed around her and that whole story. So, you ask me, it actually fits that they're here to free captives and spirit them off so you can't make slaves of them. Fits their worldview and it sends the Hegemony a message that someone's ready to fight back."
Scipio's expression curled in disgust. "An entire interstellar ruling house built by a slave? The notion turns my stomach! What kind of wretches didn't put her in her place?!"
Legate Avery said nothing, but Yassin could see the sliver of contempt in his facial expression. He wasn't a supporter of the Hegemony's system either. But he was a Canopian and that was to be expected.
"Prefect Scipio." Yassin turned to her. "Pull your cohorts towards the M6 highway."
"Praetor!"
He turned his head towards Khan at the V Legio commander's angry protest. "Yes. I know it will expose your flank. And that's what I want. Let the Arcadians see the way to Mumbai clear. Let them send a force towards the city." He nodded back to Scipio. "And when they do, you will turn and strike their flank while the Fifth comes around their front and rear. We will catch them in a trap and destroy them."
The recognition of the merit of his plan showed in the eyes of both legionary COs. It is time the Arcadians learn the mettle of the legions of the New Rome, Yassin thought with satisfaction.
Marathi Ridge
Near Mumbai, Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
16 February 3034
After two and a half weeks of heavy fighting, something was bound to go wrong for the Arcadian forces. It was Prince Mark's misfortune that it came down on his unit.
The 1st Free March Cavalry Brigade's charge on Mumbai to open up an evacuation route won initial successes, driving back elements of the Marians' Legio V to approach within twenty kilometers of the city. It was only as they got into the outskirts that the Marian plan became evident. Legio VI and elements of what was left of the Gladiator regiments counter-attacked on the flanks of their advance. Now the First Launum Armored Cavalry were fighting desperately to keep contact with the vanguard formation, the Hyde Lancers.
The fighting was especially fiercest with Mark's company. While their air cavalry formations and aerospace support fought over their heads, his unit was busy trying to hold the Marathi Ridge's northern face against numerically-superior Marian troops. BattleMechs and tanks provided cover for the Marian infantry trying to get in close with their satchel charges and man-portable Inferno SRMs. The battle armor company assigned to back up the First LAC fought them off as best as they could, but between the artillery shells and the fire from the 'Mechs and tanks, they were taking losses they couldn't sustain.
Mark's focus was on the enemy armor and 'Mechs, directing his lance's fire as best as he could. Vickers' Centurion's long range missiles battered a Marian Manticore tank with the cooperation of the autocannon and long range missiles from Neumeyer's Shadow Hawk. Selassie's Crab let loose a fusillade of laser fire on a Marian Assassin drawing too close. Mark brought his crosshairs over and triggered a full strike on the 'Mech from his Fusilier's weaponry. Autocannon shells tore into the machine's shoulder while the ruby beam of his left arm's laser narrowly missed the head.
The torso-mounted weapons hit home, the other medium laser and the PPC catching the Assassin in the knee. The pilot tried to catch himself, but couldn't stop the 'Mech from toppling over. Before he could rise Selassie and Vickers pumped laser fire and an autocannon burst into the machine's thinner rear armor. Fusion plasma briefly surged from within, signaling an engine hit, before ceasing. The 'Mech stopped moving.
The Manticore fired its PPC… and the cerulean blast went clear through Vickers' cockpit.
Mark's heart froze. His comrade was dead. Just… gone. Like that. Inside there would be nothing but some carbonized muscle and bone.
His 'Mech shook from the impacts of missiles. The Manticore fired some of them, but the others came from a Centurion coming up with the rest of its lance and a fresh platoon of Marian armor. Mark checked for his side. "Bravo Lance here, enemy reinforcements, artillery support requested."
"Already denied," Captain Harrow said. "Hold, Lieutenant. If we get pushed back the Hyde Lancers won't make it out."
"Everyone, fire for effect, starting with that damned Manticore!"
The lance heeded the order. Autocannon shells, long range missiles, and laser fire lashed out at the machine until its front plate disintegrated. Mark's PPC blew through the remaining structure and gave its crew the same terrible end that Lieutenant Vickers received.
The medium lance of Marian 'Mechs returned fire with vigor, scoring several hits on all three machines. Beneath their notice, the Marian infantry was coming up on the ridge line, a number of them already preparing their SRM launchers while another set up a recoilless rifle. The battle armored troops from both sides met in a fierce collision, ensuring neither could aid the 'Mechs or stop the infantry.
If only one of the anti-infantry lances were here, he thought, bringing his lasers down toward the ground. A flash of ruby left two dead Marians and a destroyed rifle. A second flash caught a trooper about to lug his Inferno launcher onto his shoulder.
But there were more, and their missiles started firing. A few missed, but those that hit left burning napalm on the surface of Selassie's Crab, the heat of the chemicals in the payload certain to make the 'Mech unable to maintain its firing rate. Until the fuel of the reaction was consumed, the Crab was going to burn.
His 'Mech stuttered as recoilless rifle rounds, armor-piercing ones, started chipping his armor away. Reflexively he triggered his PPC at one of the groups, killing an entire squad with the shot.
Only then did he realize his mistake. Or rather, his mistakes.
While his comrades kept up with his orders, the firepower they had to bear only resulted in a hobbled Vindicator, and the other 'Mechs were now in close range. Had he joined them, more damage might've kept them back. That was mistake one.
Mistake two was not recognizing the lack of medium laser ports on the Centurion.
Now that it had the range, its autocannon arm came up and fired. Mark moved his machine to evade with no avail; the Marian pilot's aim was still true. Powerful shells ripped through armor and tore some of the guts out of his PPC, rendering the weapon inoperable. He switched his autocannon to its expanded burst fire mode and pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
He noted the red light on his status screens. Ammunition jam!
"All lances, pull back!" Harrow ordered over the line. "Artillery strike inbound!"
"Pull back!" Mark shouted, sending his comrades and their supporting forces back over the top of the ridge. Still aflame, Selassie's Crab made it first, another recoilless rifle shot striking it in the shoulder as it got over the ridge line. Neumeyer's Shadow Hawk jumped into the air, flying backward with lasers and missiles firing even in mid-air as harassment fire more than effective shots.
That left his machine. He backed it up, firing his medium lasers again and again at the Centurion with its menacing heavy autocannon. Laser fire melted armor from his machine's torso as he did, but his armor held against them. He felt the Fusilier's feet crest the ridgeline and took a step down.
The Centurion's autocannon fired again.
The shells tore through the weakened armor on the Fusilier's leg and blasted the bone in two. Mark cried out in surprise as his 'Mech toppled over, a cripple with just one leg. The 'Mech being laid out on its back at least gave him the chance to shoot back, which he did as a speedy Assassin crested the ridge first. His lasers joined with Neumeyer's autocannon and Selassie's available lasers, melting scores of armor from the machine, but they hit nothing vital.
The incoming artillery strike did the rest. On the opposite side of the ridge explosion after explosion sent tremors through the earth, creating a wall of flame that Mark imagined could be a gate to Hell itself. The Assassin was caught from behind by anti-'Mech cluster rounds from the incoming artillery, blasting its weak rear armor and blowing the machine apart.
I hope the infantry got out too, Mark thought. I'm not sure what could survive—
An artillery shell went off overhead. For an instant there was a shower of glass and the feeling of sharp pain everywhere… and then nothing.
AFMS Galatine
Arcadian Landing Zone
17 February 3034
Major General Armstrong was not a happy woman.
The Mumbai operation was a disaster. The Marians sacrificed some of their garrison-quality units, and elements of what was left of their Gladiator regiments, to bring the bulk of both their main line legions down on the Free March Cavalry. Now the Hyde Lancers were virtually gone, with not even a company's worth of machines and pilots left, and the other battalions were so damaged they were effectively hors d'combat. Good for nothing but serving as walking wounded to help keep order for the evacuating civilians.
The presence of Admiral Andros was another matter of instinctive contention. As far as Armstrong was concerned, she should remain in space with her ships and leave the fighting to Armstrong and her staff, and having her come down for any reason felt like an intrusion by the Navy into Army matters.
The final reason for her unhappiness was why she couldn't blame Andros for her presence.
The two of them stood quietly in the tiny observation room for the Gallatine's surgical theater. Through the glass, Army surgeons were working feverishly to keep the March-Princess' son alive, with the outcome still uncertain.
"It was friendly fire?" Andros asked.
"An artillery round fell short," Armstrong said, her voice firm and subdued. "He was covering his lance's retreat and had his machine crippled, so he was not in the absolute safety zone. We also lost two squads of battle armor covering the retreat of their comrades."
"And now I have to report to the Command Staff what happened."
"War is chance. They'll understand," Armstrong said. "He's not the only man we've lost these last two days. The Marians have recovered their poise and fighting hard to keep us from getting into other cities. We're going to need to begin the withdrawal in the next two weeks to meet our timetable."
"We'll be ready to cover for you. The transports we sent back to Gypsum to unload the evacuees should be back by then."
"They'd better be, or we're going to have a tough situation."
"I've seen the tent cities and camps, I know. But we'll get them out. That's what we came here to do."
You mean my people will get them out, with their own blood and sweat, while your spacemen watch from beyond the killing. It was an unworthy thought, but a natural one. She wouldn't feel guilt over it. Although if those Marian warships get involved, the shoe will be on the other foot. Ha, that would serve me right, wouldn't it?
Quietly she turned her attention back to the theater, watching the operation unfold alongside Admiral Andros, and waiting to see if she would have to write a letter of condolence to the March-Princess herself.
”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: "Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Chapter 4
Planetary Defense Command
Bolan City, Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
7 March 3034
There was scarcely a moment to rest at this point in the campaign. With time ticking down and military intelligence confirming Marian reinforcements were en route and would touch down by the end of the month, if not sooner, the order was given to end the evacuation. Now the Arcadian troops were beginning to contract their perimeter slowly, buying time for straggling evacuees to come in. Within four days, they would be lifting off.
Despite misgivings from Admiral Andros, General Armstrong herself permitted Brigadier van Reiter to leave Thomas in the frontlines, which was why his company was now in position at the Bolanese Planetary Defense Command. While the PDC was linked to the perimeter and had been for weeks, the focus on the other operations meant it was still as manned as when the Arcadians showed up. That would end today. Inside combat engineers from both services were making the final demolition procedures while on the outside the non-essential personnel and some of the remaining combat troops pulled out via APCs and commandeered vehicles.
"We came just in time," Dani said over the radio. "If we hadn't shown up, I doubt they'd still be here."
"Probably not. But it's best not to say anything," he replied.
"Didn't plan to."
Thomas split his attention between his personal screens and the tac-comm lines. The Marians were pushing aggressively not far from here, trying to fight their way to the major Bolanese factories, but their troops were putting up a stubborn defense now that they had Arcadian-provided supplies and repairs to fight with.
"They're fighting awfully hard for a delaying action."
So they are. What are the Bolanese up to?
The vehicles that came out now included cargo trucks bearing damaged yet serviceable VTOL craft. A line of repaired 'Mechs in the colors of the Principality Guard followed. Whatever their capabilities before the invasion, the Bolanese MechWarriors who survived the siege carried themselves like veterans, and Thomas would welcome fighting at their side any day.
His systems identified a particularly unique machine, a Phoenix Hawk LAM. He keyed over to the agreed-upon comm channel with the Bolanese. "Your Highness, good to see you in health."
"Your Highness. A pleasure to see you again, and my prayers for your noble brother's recovery." Princess Amita's voice was carefully toned as ever, her English spoken with a distinct Bolanese accent. "We are almost complete with our preparations. I will remain here until the last of our troops withdraws."
"Then we shall remain too," he replied. "My orders are clear in that regard."
"So they are. I admit that I welcome a company of BattleMechs with Star League technology as an ally, if only we had fielded such machines months ago things might be different."
The comment sounded innocent, but Thomas heard the edge in it. Nor could he be surprised. Had we come six months ago, we might have thrown the Legions off Bolan. We might not have saved the Principality, but we might at least have saved Bolan.
It wasn't that simple, of course. The invasion hadn't been expected, and the Arcadian military was already in motion surging rimward to make a border with the Mariks. Given the near-dozen jumps between those worlds and Bolan due to the placement of inhabited systems, they would've never arrived before October, perhaps November, well after most of the damage was done.
And it implied Arcadia could throw them back, a prospect that the recent weeks' fighting showed to be difficult. For all the disgust the Marians' embrace of slavery enkindled in the Arcadian people, their martial prowess was regrettably undeniable.
In the end, he let the comment pass without a word.
They waited in some silence as more vehicles and 'Mechs passed. In the distance a great explosion flowered over the Bolan skyline, quickly joined by more. Thomas watched with some incredulity at it. The Galatine couldn't be firing into the city, could it? Could the Long Tom even wreak such havoc?
"They succeeded. Good."
Amita's remark drew his attention back to her. "Succeeded at what, Highness?"
"My forces have set off demolition charges in our BattleMech factories. The Marians have inherited naught but rubble." Her voice had a bitter edge. "I will not deny we did not use those factories wisely, but the Marians would be even more undeserving of their output."
I can't disagree with her there, Thomas thought, and on both counts. Bolan caused so much trouble with its 'sell to anyone' policies…
As time passed more units came by, bearing battle damage. Thomas realized they must have been the forces holding the factories long enough for the engineers to do their work. Now they marched on to guard what proved to be the last convoy. After another ten minutes, several more APCs and personnel vehicles pulled out of the PDC.
"The charges are set, Your Highness. We should depart."
"Agreed. We'll take the rear."
Amita's 'Mech made a nodding motion. She and a lance of surviving Bolanese 'Mechs continued ahead of the last vehicles. Thomas' company took up the rear. As they got to the half-kilometer mark, the city around them lit up from a fireball, such that Thomas was certain the center of the Bolanese military was no more.
Bolan's industries are rubble now, as is the heart of her military. The soul remains though. I wonder how Imperator Sean will take it...
Arcadian Landing Zone
Near Bolan City, Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
15 March 3034
Brigadier Rayhan of the 1st Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry stood on the command deck of the AFMS North Star and kept his eye on the clocks. They were running behind schedule for the liftoff due to the excess number of refugees that made it through before the Marians closed off all the roads into the LZ. Now packing all of these people into the North Star and the other transports was taking up time, valuable time, while his regiment's embarkation was being hopelessly delayed.
He noted a call come in for him from the Galatine. At a button press the cold blue eyes of Major General Armstrong were directed at him. "Brigadier, what's the status of your loading?"
"Delayed, General. We're still processing the last refugees, and I've had to send ship's crew to help keep them from fighting for space aboard."
Her eyes narrowed. "It's imperative we launch in conjunction, do what you can to get them aboard and get your units embarked. Armstrong out."
Rayhan bristled. There was little he could do that didn't involve simply refusing to board more refugees, which might start a riot and make things worse. All he could do was pass down the order to his subordinates to do everything possible to expedite the process.
"We are held back by the need to balance their food supplies with our own," a lieutenant said from nearby. "Perhaps we should just them board? If we run low on edibles we can ask the other ships for more."
"If we just let them come aboard they will be an even greater nuisance," Rayhan replied. "This must be done with organization. See to it."
He returned his attention to the scene outside of the North Star and the other ships in the Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry's LZ. With the carriers providing top cover he'd already had the unit's fighter wing recovered and stowed on the transports. Damaged 'Mechs were likewise aboard, but the remains of his infantry and the other 'Mech units, as well as the artillery, were all still deployed. Given the skirmishing around the perimeter, he couldn't afford to bring them back in until they were ready for liftoff. Which had to wait while the refugees were processed and assigned spaces aboard each ship to avoid overcrowding.
He was just about to ask about their progress when a call came over their tac-comm links. "Command, this is 1st Battalion Company Bāʾ, enemy forces attacking on our sector, we need assist—" The line cut abruptly.
While the North Star didn't have the command facilities of a Fortress-type DropShip, it did have a rigged holotank on the bridge for ground command capability. Rayhan gestured to it and an NCO dutifully went to work. The holotank came alive, showing a section of his unit's perimeter. Red icons surged through a screen of blue ones, numerous enough that it was clear that a major Marian counterattack was underway.
Over the next twenty minutes, Rayhan rallied his units as best as he could. But with so many of them re-embarked or damaged, they couldn't maintain cohesion in the critical minutes after the Marian breakthrough. The legions of the Periphery's New Rome were poised to charge right up to the North Star and the other DropShips, and the result would be a slaughter, a slaughter of the evacuees still being boarded and of his troops.
"Galatine is bringing her Long Tom to bear on our behalf," reported a comm officer. "They're firing now."
The barrage, when it came, was the kind that could break most attacks. But whether through discipline or anger or sheer bloody-mindedness, the Marian charge continued through the barrage. The force, an ad hoc combination from the V and VI Legions, refused to let anything stop them, brushing past Rayhan's troops with little care.
After weeks of frustration, after having their glorious conquest of Bolan spoiled and their trophies snatched from them, after having the captives that would have enriched them with their bounties taken away, the Marian troops were having their day, and there was nothing Brigadier Rayhan could do to stop them.
Outside of the relative safety of the DropShips, Lt. Colonel Sergei Semyenov directed the Nineteenth Free March Artillery's efforts to help hold the line. But the enemy's charge was too quick and their forward spotters were too swiftly overwhelmed. The battle armor troops were worn down and struggling with loss, and the light 'Mechs had already embarked and couldn't provide the spotting necessary. All he could do was fire blind.
Uncultured Periphery barbarians, he snarled to himself while considering the terrible fact before him: his command was doomed. The Ninteenth's vehicles were not swift, and not very well armored, and there were hundreds of terrified Bolanese between them and the DropShips. If he pulled them back to try and get them away, he would only add to the chaos hindering the evacuation. And that… that left only one option.
"All gunners, man your batteries!" he cried. "Stand ready for Action Close!"
He'd trained the Nineteenth well, and his men and women did not question his order, knowing as they did he was denying them escape. The artillery gunners of the Nineteenth went to work, moving their vehicles into place and lowering the guns. Turning them, effectively, from howitzers into literal cannons. Anti-armor cluster rounds were loaded at a single command.
The first Marian 'Mechs to approach were light models, Panthers and Javelins and Stingers rushing ahead to continue destabilizing the Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry's defensive posture. Semyenov carefully guessed the ranges and, when he felt the right moment was at hand, gave the order to fire. The artillery vehicles thundered with fury, looking more like tanks or self-propelled anti-tank guns at that moment than they did artillery pieces. Their shells boomed across the ground until the preset range was met and their fuses went off. A spray of armor-piercing shrapnel perforated several of the leading Marian 'Mechs, shredding the thin armor of the machines and their cockpits. Several toppled, their pilots killed instantly, and others staggered under the shots.
Semyenov's men already had the next rounds loaded. "Fire!" he shouted once more, and another wave of explosive rounds struck home. They too detonated in mid-air, creating great explosive shockwaves that toppled the light 'Mechs still standing.
The Marian charge faltered, if for an instant, before the first of the fast mediums rushed in, the Cicadas and Vindicators and Assassins of the Legions. Semyenov's guns fired once more, again with the anti-armor cluster shells, and while they inflicted damage they did not claim as many of these more-thickly protected machines. A number of the machines returned fire as best they could, and while their shots mostly missed, those that connected did terrible damage. One of Semyenov's pieces blew apart from a penetrating PPC hit, then a missile struck the ammunition storage of another. The cries of burning, dying men echoed around him, but Semyenov did nothing but give another order to fire, again and again, not flinching at the approaching enemy.
While the artillery continued to fire, the Marian charge did not lose impetus, and in minutes they would be in the midst of the DropShips. They were on the cusp of success.
...if not for the counter-charge.
Lt. Colonel Fariq Hadi walked his Marauder off of the North Star with a handpicked group of MechWarriors from all of the assembled battalions. Thirty machines strong, theirs were the least damaged, and the pilots, among the most skilled and brave. Amongst them came all of the remaining armored infantry troopers of the Rayhan House Guards, a company and one and a half platoons in strength. The Bolanese refugees parted as the sea before them, as did the regimental personnel trying to keep the evacuation as organized as possible. The thunder of the artillery guns could be felt even inside his machine, or so it seemed.
It was when they were in range to see the approaching Marian companies of BattleMechs and armor that he keyed his tac-comm. "Come, my friends. We will hold the pagans until our comrades can get the civilians away. And I will see you again in Paradise, Inshallah." He let his crosshairs settle over a Marian Shadow Hawk and tensed his fingers on the triggers. Twin PPC bolts joined a barrage of shells that stitched across the machine. One of the bolts missed, barely, and the other struck the armored housing of the other 'Mech's shoulder autocannon.
The others joined him in opening fire, joining that of the surviving artillery guns. Hadi keyed his comms and external speakers to transmit together and let out the furious cry he felt burning in his heart.
"Allahu Ackbah!"
Hadi's 'Mech, and the others, broke out into a run.
One of the most dangerous things a successful attack can face is a counter-charge. Even if their numbers are greater, even if victory is at hand, it could still fail against a counter-charge of the right size, the right energy, and the right timing. The attackers' instincts to evade the charge overpowers them and their impetus breaks. They lose momentum, and with that loss, everything falls apart and their formation must regroup.
Such was what the Marians now faced. While they were no strangers to facing charges, the moment was just right for their momentum to fade. Under the artillery fire, under the barrage of Hadi's impromptu force as it rushed eagerly to meet them, their tide ebbed. With their losses mounting, the Marians ceased the attack and began defensive maneuvers. Their experience kept them from breaking and their commanders went about the work of reforming their ranks for another push, all while long range fire whittled away at the last stand defenders of the Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry, targeting by preference the surviving artillery.
As the Free March artillery died, vehicle by vehicle, the Marian offensive resumed. They still had the numbers, they still had the position, and there would be no relief coming to aid the LZ. The victory was theirs for the taking. They pressed on, less a sharp thrust and more an unstoppable juggernaut of numbers.
Yet their enemies did not waver either. The Marians took losses for every meter, and the ferocity and skill of the resistance impelled them to the methodical advance that pressed the new perimeter of the LZ backward, bit by bit, while detached infantry and armor dealt with pockets of resistance cut off on the rest. Success was inevitable.
And yet, their fullest success eluded them, as was plain to see when, one by one, the DropShips lifted off from the LZs, unharmed and fully laden with the Bolanese refugees.
Semyenov watched the DropShips take off and felt as if a weight came off his shoulders. They'd done it. He'd succeeded in his mission, his duty, and all that was left was to go down fighting rather than risk his soul with suicide.
He ran over to one of his surviving guns and jumped onto the vehicle. "Forward!" he demanded. Knowing what was coming, the driver yet obeyed, and the vehicle started lumbering ever closer to the front, its gun thundering whenever it could fire without risking the dwindling number of their allies. Had he not been about to die, even Semyenov's ear plugs would have failed to save him from permanent hearing loss.
Whatever his intentions to die, Semyenov was not immune to the fear of death. More acutely, he feared the grief and pain of his family back in Dimitrovgrad. I'm sorry my children, my dear Maria. I am not coming home after all. He breathed a silent prayer to the saints of the Church to tend to his family and that his sons grew up to be wise and strong.
Semyenov used his binoculars to observe the effect of their fire. A shell hit home, an explosive round that toppled three Marian 'Mechs and devastated a tank. A Centurion stood back to its feet and leveled its autocannon at them. Semyenov kept his jaw clenched and readied himself for the shot. Whether they missed or not, he was ready.
They didn't miss.
Hadi overheard the calls on the tac-comm, confirmation that Colonel Semyenov was dead. He was a Christian, yet a good man. Allah give his soul the rest he deserves. "Artillery, maintain fire," was his only order in response.
They did, and his 'Mechs and infantry did. They maneuvered, and they fought, and they inevitably died under the sheer volume of fire, but none surrendered. Not a one.
The weight of metal against Hadi soon duplicated. An Orion, a Grasshopper, and a Victor all targeted him. He kept his 'Mech moving, dodging the incoming fire as best as he was able while returning it with his weapons, ignoring the heat buildup until his 'Mech felt as hot as the Empty Quarter itself. With an eye on the heat he fired his last autocannon burst, which chewed armor from the Grasshopper's leg as it took flight. Missiles from the Orion pummelled him, blasting armor away from his left arm until one blew apart the shoulder actuator, rendering the limb a limp appendage.
He ignored that. The Grasshopper pilot was his concern, as he brought all seventy tons of his machine down in an attempted "death from above" jump. The pilot was good, he had the landing perfectly.
Hadi was yet better.
He moved at the last moment, causing the Grasshopper to miss, if only just. He kicked at the 'Mech while it was still off-balance and discharged his sole usable PPC, point blank, into the knee actuator of the machine. With the previous damage from his autocannon, the armor gave at that point and his laser sliced cleanly through the armor, severing the limb at the knee. The machine tumbled and fell over onto its back. Hadi brought his 'Mech's foot up to smash in the cockpit.
The Victor's autocannon roared, spraying heavy shells into his side and right arm that tore open a wound in both. More importantly, the impacts threw him off balance and his foot struck the ground beside the Grasshopper's head, not on it. Hadi glanced back at the foe spared by his ally's timely aid.
Just in time to see the torso-mounted large laser fire. Bright blue light overtook his vision until nothing remained.
AFMS Liberator
Departing Bolan Orbit
Marian Hegemony
Admiral Andros found the Bolanese royal family on the rear observation deck. Beyond the brilliant flare of the Liberator's fusion engines, their homeworld was a gradually shrinking orb, its large and mountainous continents slowly receding from sight. Grand Princess Gita's hands held her younger sons' hands tightly. Rama was weeping despite himself, and his eldest sibling, the Princess Amita, had her fists clenched and looked taunt as a wire. "Your Highnesses, your quarters are arranged," Andros said. "And we've made the arrangements, one of our DropShips will be ferrying you and our worst wounded to Arcadia by way of a partial command circuit. You may have to wait a few days at Kitzingen, depending on the scheduling, but you should be on Arcadia by the end of the month." She swallowed and added. "My condolences, by the way, for the loss of your world. I wish we had the means to do more."
Gita slowly turned from the vision of her lost world to face Andros. "Thank you, Admiral, for your arrangements and your kind words. They do not fill the hole in my heart, but I appreciate the sentiment."
There was silence, and Andros wondered how much of that was genuine and how much was diplomacy. They have to resent us for not coming sooner. I know I would.
"I want to resent you," Gita said. "I want to be angry that your aid was 'too little, too late'. But you did not have to come. You could have kept your army safe and ready to defend yourselves and left us to our fate. But you came anyway, risking the wrath of Sean O'Reilly, and rescued us all. Your people bled and died to save so many of our thousands from their chains, even one of your princes lies maimed in the name of our liberation." She drew in a breath and glanced back to the window. "The Umayrs lost our patrimony, but we will at least keep our dignity and honor instead of being trophy slaves for O'Reilly. And we will not forget the blood your people shed on our behalf."
"Hopefully one day we'll be strong enough to come back."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps karma demands we remain in exile for a time, to teach us humility and wisdom that we forgot. Either way, I will leave that future to the gods."
Andros nodded. Before she could say more the ship intercom squawked. "All hands, set Condition YANKEE. Enemy ships on intercept course. I repeat, set Condition YANKEE…"
"It looks like the Marians are going to harry us on the way out," she said to them. "I'll make sure crew sees you to safety if an action begins." With that she departed.
AFMS Galatine, Zenith Jump Point
Bolan System
Marian Hegemony
22 March 3034
The timer for their jump out of Bolan was down to a few minutes, and chance had Thomas with Angelina and his Lance Lieutenant, Dani Verdes. The flight out from Bolan hadn't been a comfortable one, with the Marians' "pocket" WarShips, their non-jump capable corvettes, repeatedly firing rounds toward the evading fleet. No hits were recorded, and every time they were challenged the ships broke off, but as they kept coming back it made for a tense week with repeated calls to alert status and restrictions to travel around the ship.
But that was all over. They'd rendezvoused with their JumpShips out at the Zenith point and the jump to Gypsum was imminent. Thomas allowed himself a breath and glanced at his cousin. "So, your final mission in the Guards is a success. I'm sure your new comrades in the Cuirassiers will benefit."
She smiled and shook her head. "It'll be the Strikers now. Command made sure to send me updated orders just before we cut the links from the HPG here. They're calling off the mustering of the Cuirassiers due to the need to make good our losses. I'm heading for McAffe now."
"Oh. The Strikers, then? They're bringing back Granddad William's old raider battalions?"
"Not a battalion anymore, a full regiment, the 8th Strikers. Chappy Sinclair is mustering them on McAffe, I'll be getting a company in their heavy battalion. I'm not looking forward to the combat drop training, I've always thought the Rangers mad for doing that."
"They're insane," Dani said, joining in. "But they did good work in opening the way for us."
"They did, and I'm sure the Strikers will too. I just prefer to keep solid ground under my 'Mech." Angelina nodded to her. "How are you and the girlfriend, by the way? You both came out alright?"
Dani blushed a little. With all the fighting she'd forgotten the entire Guards knew about them. "She never got hit. And I wasn't injured in the fighting, although my Marauder's still getting some of the combat damage dealt with."
"You came out well. Especially in that early fighting, holding the road like that. Your whole company was the pride of the regiment."
A squawk came over the PA. "All hands, brace for jump."
"Well, there we go," Angelina said. "We're heading home."
Dani asked, "Think the Marians will follow?"
"They'll regret it if they do," Angelina replied, a grin on her face.
A moment later they jumped. The Bolan Rescue Operation was officially over.
Planetary Defense Command
Bolan City, Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
7 March 3034
There was scarcely a moment to rest at this point in the campaign. With time ticking down and military intelligence confirming Marian reinforcements were en route and would touch down by the end of the month, if not sooner, the order was given to end the evacuation. Now the Arcadian troops were beginning to contract their perimeter slowly, buying time for straggling evacuees to come in. Within four days, they would be lifting off.
Despite misgivings from Admiral Andros, General Armstrong herself permitted Brigadier van Reiter to leave Thomas in the frontlines, which was why his company was now in position at the Bolanese Planetary Defense Command. While the PDC was linked to the perimeter and had been for weeks, the focus on the other operations meant it was still as manned as when the Arcadians showed up. That would end today. Inside combat engineers from both services were making the final demolition procedures while on the outside the non-essential personnel and some of the remaining combat troops pulled out via APCs and commandeered vehicles.
"We came just in time," Dani said over the radio. "If we hadn't shown up, I doubt they'd still be here."
"Probably not. But it's best not to say anything," he replied.
"Didn't plan to."
Thomas split his attention between his personal screens and the tac-comm lines. The Marians were pushing aggressively not far from here, trying to fight their way to the major Bolanese factories, but their troops were putting up a stubborn defense now that they had Arcadian-provided supplies and repairs to fight with.
"They're fighting awfully hard for a delaying action."
So they are. What are the Bolanese up to?
The vehicles that came out now included cargo trucks bearing damaged yet serviceable VTOL craft. A line of repaired 'Mechs in the colors of the Principality Guard followed. Whatever their capabilities before the invasion, the Bolanese MechWarriors who survived the siege carried themselves like veterans, and Thomas would welcome fighting at their side any day.
His systems identified a particularly unique machine, a Phoenix Hawk LAM. He keyed over to the agreed-upon comm channel with the Bolanese. "Your Highness, good to see you in health."
"Your Highness. A pleasure to see you again, and my prayers for your noble brother's recovery." Princess Amita's voice was carefully toned as ever, her English spoken with a distinct Bolanese accent. "We are almost complete with our preparations. I will remain here until the last of our troops withdraws."
"Then we shall remain too," he replied. "My orders are clear in that regard."
"So they are. I admit that I welcome a company of BattleMechs with Star League technology as an ally, if only we had fielded such machines months ago things might be different."
The comment sounded innocent, but Thomas heard the edge in it. Nor could he be surprised. Had we come six months ago, we might have thrown the Legions off Bolan. We might not have saved the Principality, but we might at least have saved Bolan.
It wasn't that simple, of course. The invasion hadn't been expected, and the Arcadian military was already in motion surging rimward to make a border with the Mariks. Given the near-dozen jumps between those worlds and Bolan due to the placement of inhabited systems, they would've never arrived before October, perhaps November, well after most of the damage was done.
And it implied Arcadia could throw them back, a prospect that the recent weeks' fighting showed to be difficult. For all the disgust the Marians' embrace of slavery enkindled in the Arcadian people, their martial prowess was regrettably undeniable.
In the end, he let the comment pass without a word.
They waited in some silence as more vehicles and 'Mechs passed. In the distance a great explosion flowered over the Bolan skyline, quickly joined by more. Thomas watched with some incredulity at it. The Galatine couldn't be firing into the city, could it? Could the Long Tom even wreak such havoc?
"They succeeded. Good."
Amita's remark drew his attention back to her. "Succeeded at what, Highness?"
"My forces have set off demolition charges in our BattleMech factories. The Marians have inherited naught but rubble." Her voice had a bitter edge. "I will not deny we did not use those factories wisely, but the Marians would be even more undeserving of their output."
I can't disagree with her there, Thomas thought, and on both counts. Bolan caused so much trouble with its 'sell to anyone' policies…
As time passed more units came by, bearing battle damage. Thomas realized they must have been the forces holding the factories long enough for the engineers to do their work. Now they marched on to guard what proved to be the last convoy. After another ten minutes, several more APCs and personnel vehicles pulled out of the PDC.
"The charges are set, Your Highness. We should depart."
"Agreed. We'll take the rear."
Amita's 'Mech made a nodding motion. She and a lance of surviving Bolanese 'Mechs continued ahead of the last vehicles. Thomas' company took up the rear. As they got to the half-kilometer mark, the city around them lit up from a fireball, such that Thomas was certain the center of the Bolanese military was no more.
Bolan's industries are rubble now, as is the heart of her military. The soul remains though. I wonder how Imperator Sean will take it...
Arcadian Landing Zone
Near Bolan City, Bolan
Principality of Bolan/Marian Occupation Zone
15 March 3034
Brigadier Rayhan of the 1st Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry stood on the command deck of the AFMS North Star and kept his eye on the clocks. They were running behind schedule for the liftoff due to the excess number of refugees that made it through before the Marians closed off all the roads into the LZ. Now packing all of these people into the North Star and the other transports was taking up time, valuable time, while his regiment's embarkation was being hopelessly delayed.
He noted a call come in for him from the Galatine. At a button press the cold blue eyes of Major General Armstrong were directed at him. "Brigadier, what's the status of your loading?"
"Delayed, General. We're still processing the last refugees, and I've had to send ship's crew to help keep them from fighting for space aboard."
Her eyes narrowed. "It's imperative we launch in conjunction, do what you can to get them aboard and get your units embarked. Armstrong out."
Rayhan bristled. There was little he could do that didn't involve simply refusing to board more refugees, which might start a riot and make things worse. All he could do was pass down the order to his subordinates to do everything possible to expedite the process.
"We are held back by the need to balance their food supplies with our own," a lieutenant said from nearby. "Perhaps we should just them board? If we run low on edibles we can ask the other ships for more."
"If we just let them come aboard they will be an even greater nuisance," Rayhan replied. "This must be done with organization. See to it."
He returned his attention to the scene outside of the North Star and the other ships in the Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry's LZ. With the carriers providing top cover he'd already had the unit's fighter wing recovered and stowed on the transports. Damaged 'Mechs were likewise aboard, but the remains of his infantry and the other 'Mech units, as well as the artillery, were all still deployed. Given the skirmishing around the perimeter, he couldn't afford to bring them back in until they were ready for liftoff. Which had to wait while the refugees were processed and assigned spaces aboard each ship to avoid overcrowding.
He was just about to ask about their progress when a call came over their tac-comm links. "Command, this is 1st Battalion Company Bāʾ, enemy forces attacking on our sector, we need assist—" The line cut abruptly.
While the North Star didn't have the command facilities of a Fortress-type DropShip, it did have a rigged holotank on the bridge for ground command capability. Rayhan gestured to it and an NCO dutifully went to work. The holotank came alive, showing a section of his unit's perimeter. Red icons surged through a screen of blue ones, numerous enough that it was clear that a major Marian counterattack was underway.
Over the next twenty minutes, Rayhan rallied his units as best as he could. But with so many of them re-embarked or damaged, they couldn't maintain cohesion in the critical minutes after the Marian breakthrough. The legions of the Periphery's New Rome were poised to charge right up to the North Star and the other DropShips, and the result would be a slaughter, a slaughter of the evacuees still being boarded and of his troops.
"Galatine is bringing her Long Tom to bear on our behalf," reported a comm officer. "They're firing now."
The barrage, when it came, was the kind that could break most attacks. But whether through discipline or anger or sheer bloody-mindedness, the Marian charge continued through the barrage. The force, an ad hoc combination from the V and VI Legions, refused to let anything stop them, brushing past Rayhan's troops with little care.
After weeks of frustration, after having their glorious conquest of Bolan spoiled and their trophies snatched from them, after having the captives that would have enriched them with their bounties taken away, the Marian troops were having their day, and there was nothing Brigadier Rayhan could do to stop them.
Outside of the relative safety of the DropShips, Lt. Colonel Sergei Semyenov directed the Nineteenth Free March Artillery's efforts to help hold the line. But the enemy's charge was too quick and their forward spotters were too swiftly overwhelmed. The battle armor troops were worn down and struggling with loss, and the light 'Mechs had already embarked and couldn't provide the spotting necessary. All he could do was fire blind.
Uncultured Periphery barbarians, he snarled to himself while considering the terrible fact before him: his command was doomed. The Ninteenth's vehicles were not swift, and not very well armored, and there were hundreds of terrified Bolanese between them and the DropShips. If he pulled them back to try and get them away, he would only add to the chaos hindering the evacuation. And that… that left only one option.
"All gunners, man your batteries!" he cried. "Stand ready for Action Close!"
He'd trained the Nineteenth well, and his men and women did not question his order, knowing as they did he was denying them escape. The artillery gunners of the Nineteenth went to work, moving their vehicles into place and lowering the guns. Turning them, effectively, from howitzers into literal cannons. Anti-armor cluster rounds were loaded at a single command.
The first Marian 'Mechs to approach were light models, Panthers and Javelins and Stingers rushing ahead to continue destabilizing the Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry's defensive posture. Semyenov carefully guessed the ranges and, when he felt the right moment was at hand, gave the order to fire. The artillery vehicles thundered with fury, looking more like tanks or self-propelled anti-tank guns at that moment than they did artillery pieces. Their shells boomed across the ground until the preset range was met and their fuses went off. A spray of armor-piercing shrapnel perforated several of the leading Marian 'Mechs, shredding the thin armor of the machines and their cockpits. Several toppled, their pilots killed instantly, and others staggered under the shots.
Semyenov's men already had the next rounds loaded. "Fire!" he shouted once more, and another wave of explosive rounds struck home. They too detonated in mid-air, creating great explosive shockwaves that toppled the light 'Mechs still standing.
The Marian charge faltered, if for an instant, before the first of the fast mediums rushed in, the Cicadas and Vindicators and Assassins of the Legions. Semyenov's guns fired once more, again with the anti-armor cluster shells, and while they inflicted damage they did not claim as many of these more-thickly protected machines. A number of the machines returned fire as best they could, and while their shots mostly missed, those that connected did terrible damage. One of Semyenov's pieces blew apart from a penetrating PPC hit, then a missile struck the ammunition storage of another. The cries of burning, dying men echoed around him, but Semyenov did nothing but give another order to fire, again and again, not flinching at the approaching enemy.
While the artillery continued to fire, the Marian charge did not lose impetus, and in minutes they would be in the midst of the DropShips. They were on the cusp of success.
...if not for the counter-charge.
Lt. Colonel Fariq Hadi walked his Marauder off of the North Star with a handpicked group of MechWarriors from all of the assembled battalions. Thirty machines strong, theirs were the least damaged, and the pilots, among the most skilled and brave. Amongst them came all of the remaining armored infantry troopers of the Rayhan House Guards, a company and one and a half platoons in strength. The Bolanese refugees parted as the sea before them, as did the regimental personnel trying to keep the evacuation as organized as possible. The thunder of the artillery guns could be felt even inside his machine, or so it seemed.
It was when they were in range to see the approaching Marian companies of BattleMechs and armor that he keyed his tac-comm. "Come, my friends. We will hold the pagans until our comrades can get the civilians away. And I will see you again in Paradise, Inshallah." He let his crosshairs settle over a Marian Shadow Hawk and tensed his fingers on the triggers. Twin PPC bolts joined a barrage of shells that stitched across the machine. One of the bolts missed, barely, and the other struck the armored housing of the other 'Mech's shoulder autocannon.
The others joined him in opening fire, joining that of the surviving artillery guns. Hadi keyed his comms and external speakers to transmit together and let out the furious cry he felt burning in his heart.
"Allahu Ackbah!"
Hadi's 'Mech, and the others, broke out into a run.
One of the most dangerous things a successful attack can face is a counter-charge. Even if their numbers are greater, even if victory is at hand, it could still fail against a counter-charge of the right size, the right energy, and the right timing. The attackers' instincts to evade the charge overpowers them and their impetus breaks. They lose momentum, and with that loss, everything falls apart and their formation must regroup.
Such was what the Marians now faced. While they were no strangers to facing charges, the moment was just right for their momentum to fade. Under the artillery fire, under the barrage of Hadi's impromptu force as it rushed eagerly to meet them, their tide ebbed. With their losses mounting, the Marians ceased the attack and began defensive maneuvers. Their experience kept them from breaking and their commanders went about the work of reforming their ranks for another push, all while long range fire whittled away at the last stand defenders of the Dar-es-Salaam Cavalry, targeting by preference the surviving artillery.
As the Free March artillery died, vehicle by vehicle, the Marian offensive resumed. They still had the numbers, they still had the position, and there would be no relief coming to aid the LZ. The victory was theirs for the taking. They pressed on, less a sharp thrust and more an unstoppable juggernaut of numbers.
Yet their enemies did not waver either. The Marians took losses for every meter, and the ferocity and skill of the resistance impelled them to the methodical advance that pressed the new perimeter of the LZ backward, bit by bit, while detached infantry and armor dealt with pockets of resistance cut off on the rest. Success was inevitable.
And yet, their fullest success eluded them, as was plain to see when, one by one, the DropShips lifted off from the LZs, unharmed and fully laden with the Bolanese refugees.
Semyenov watched the DropShips take off and felt as if a weight came off his shoulders. They'd done it. He'd succeeded in his mission, his duty, and all that was left was to go down fighting rather than risk his soul with suicide.
He ran over to one of his surviving guns and jumped onto the vehicle. "Forward!" he demanded. Knowing what was coming, the driver yet obeyed, and the vehicle started lumbering ever closer to the front, its gun thundering whenever it could fire without risking the dwindling number of their allies. Had he not been about to die, even Semyenov's ear plugs would have failed to save him from permanent hearing loss.
Whatever his intentions to die, Semyenov was not immune to the fear of death. More acutely, he feared the grief and pain of his family back in Dimitrovgrad. I'm sorry my children, my dear Maria. I am not coming home after all. He breathed a silent prayer to the saints of the Church to tend to his family and that his sons grew up to be wise and strong.
Semyenov used his binoculars to observe the effect of their fire. A shell hit home, an explosive round that toppled three Marian 'Mechs and devastated a tank. A Centurion stood back to its feet and leveled its autocannon at them. Semyenov kept his jaw clenched and readied himself for the shot. Whether they missed or not, he was ready.
They didn't miss.
Hadi overheard the calls on the tac-comm, confirmation that Colonel Semyenov was dead. He was a Christian, yet a good man. Allah give his soul the rest he deserves. "Artillery, maintain fire," was his only order in response.
They did, and his 'Mechs and infantry did. They maneuvered, and they fought, and they inevitably died under the sheer volume of fire, but none surrendered. Not a one.
The weight of metal against Hadi soon duplicated. An Orion, a Grasshopper, and a Victor all targeted him. He kept his 'Mech moving, dodging the incoming fire as best as he was able while returning it with his weapons, ignoring the heat buildup until his 'Mech felt as hot as the Empty Quarter itself. With an eye on the heat he fired his last autocannon burst, which chewed armor from the Grasshopper's leg as it took flight. Missiles from the Orion pummelled him, blasting armor away from his left arm until one blew apart the shoulder actuator, rendering the limb a limp appendage.
He ignored that. The Grasshopper pilot was his concern, as he brought all seventy tons of his machine down in an attempted "death from above" jump. The pilot was good, he had the landing perfectly.
Hadi was yet better.
He moved at the last moment, causing the Grasshopper to miss, if only just. He kicked at the 'Mech while it was still off-balance and discharged his sole usable PPC, point blank, into the knee actuator of the machine. With the previous damage from his autocannon, the armor gave at that point and his laser sliced cleanly through the armor, severing the limb at the knee. The machine tumbled and fell over onto its back. Hadi brought his 'Mech's foot up to smash in the cockpit.
The Victor's autocannon roared, spraying heavy shells into his side and right arm that tore open a wound in both. More importantly, the impacts threw him off balance and his foot struck the ground beside the Grasshopper's head, not on it. Hadi glanced back at the foe spared by his ally's timely aid.
Just in time to see the torso-mounted large laser fire. Bright blue light overtook his vision until nothing remained.
AFMS Liberator
Departing Bolan Orbit
Marian Hegemony
Admiral Andros found the Bolanese royal family on the rear observation deck. Beyond the brilliant flare of the Liberator's fusion engines, their homeworld was a gradually shrinking orb, its large and mountainous continents slowly receding from sight. Grand Princess Gita's hands held her younger sons' hands tightly. Rama was weeping despite himself, and his eldest sibling, the Princess Amita, had her fists clenched and looked taunt as a wire. "Your Highnesses, your quarters are arranged," Andros said. "And we've made the arrangements, one of our DropShips will be ferrying you and our worst wounded to Arcadia by way of a partial command circuit. You may have to wait a few days at Kitzingen, depending on the scheduling, but you should be on Arcadia by the end of the month." She swallowed and added. "My condolences, by the way, for the loss of your world. I wish we had the means to do more."
Gita slowly turned from the vision of her lost world to face Andros. "Thank you, Admiral, for your arrangements and your kind words. They do not fill the hole in my heart, but I appreciate the sentiment."
There was silence, and Andros wondered how much of that was genuine and how much was diplomacy. They have to resent us for not coming sooner. I know I would.
"I want to resent you," Gita said. "I want to be angry that your aid was 'too little, too late'. But you did not have to come. You could have kept your army safe and ready to defend yourselves and left us to our fate. But you came anyway, risking the wrath of Sean O'Reilly, and rescued us all. Your people bled and died to save so many of our thousands from their chains, even one of your princes lies maimed in the name of our liberation." She drew in a breath and glanced back to the window. "The Umayrs lost our patrimony, but we will at least keep our dignity and honor instead of being trophy slaves for O'Reilly. And we will not forget the blood your people shed on our behalf."
"Hopefully one day we'll be strong enough to come back."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps karma demands we remain in exile for a time, to teach us humility and wisdom that we forgot. Either way, I will leave that future to the gods."
Andros nodded. Before she could say more the ship intercom squawked. "All hands, set Condition YANKEE. Enemy ships on intercept course. I repeat, set Condition YANKEE…"
"It looks like the Marians are going to harry us on the way out," she said to them. "I'll make sure crew sees you to safety if an action begins." With that she departed.
AFMS Galatine, Zenith Jump Point
Bolan System
Marian Hegemony
22 March 3034
The timer for their jump out of Bolan was down to a few minutes, and chance had Thomas with Angelina and his Lance Lieutenant, Dani Verdes. The flight out from Bolan hadn't been a comfortable one, with the Marians' "pocket" WarShips, their non-jump capable corvettes, repeatedly firing rounds toward the evading fleet. No hits were recorded, and every time they were challenged the ships broke off, but as they kept coming back it made for a tense week with repeated calls to alert status and restrictions to travel around the ship.
But that was all over. They'd rendezvoused with their JumpShips out at the Zenith point and the jump to Gypsum was imminent. Thomas allowed himself a breath and glanced at his cousin. "So, your final mission in the Guards is a success. I'm sure your new comrades in the Cuirassiers will benefit."
She smiled and shook her head. "It'll be the Strikers now. Command made sure to send me updated orders just before we cut the links from the HPG here. They're calling off the mustering of the Cuirassiers due to the need to make good our losses. I'm heading for McAffe now."
"Oh. The Strikers, then? They're bringing back Granddad William's old raider battalions?"
"Not a battalion anymore, a full regiment, the 8th Strikers. Chappy Sinclair is mustering them on McAffe, I'll be getting a company in their heavy battalion. I'm not looking forward to the combat drop training, I've always thought the Rangers mad for doing that."
"They're insane," Dani said, joining in. "But they did good work in opening the way for us."
"They did, and I'm sure the Strikers will too. I just prefer to keep solid ground under my 'Mech." Angelina nodded to her. "How are you and the girlfriend, by the way? You both came out alright?"
Dani blushed a little. With all the fighting she'd forgotten the entire Guards knew about them. "She never got hit. And I wasn't injured in the fighting, although my Marauder's still getting some of the combat damage dealt with."
"You came out well. Especially in that early fighting, holding the road like that. Your whole company was the pride of the regiment."
A squawk came over the PA. "All hands, brace for jump."
"Well, there we go," Angelina said. "We're heading home."
Dani asked, "Think the Marians will follow?"
"They'll regret it if they do," Angelina replied, a grin on her face.
A moment later they jumped. The Bolan Rescue Operation was officially over.
”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: "Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Chapter 5
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, East Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
24 March 3034
The HPG message came straight from Gypsum. OpForce Tubman's bloody work was done. Unlike the aggressive expansion campaign of the prior year, there were few protests over this action. Even the worlds forced into the Free March were rallying to the fight and offering what support they could, save for those with active insurgents unmoved by the matter.
The message's timing was excellent, as it allowed for the news to be disseminated in time for Arcadia's great holiday of the modern era. The planetary flag - a phoenix joined by forested, snowcapped mountains and fields - flew proudly beside the blue and red of the Free March, their twin bird-themed insignia evoking the sentiments of freedom so appropriate for the holiday.
Liberation Day.
For the second year in a row the parade lacked one of the line units of the army, busy as they were. The First Militia Brigade made up for it, painting their old 'Mechs in fine ceremonial parade color and the pilots, as green as they were, nevertheless keeping their machines in step to the cheers of the crowd. Sara-Marie followed behind them, her husband and youngest son beside her waving at the adoring crowds. She and Prince-Consort Thomas were in AFFM dress red instead of civilian clothing, and even William was in the uniform of the Arcadian Youth Scouts. Behind them were the civilian leaders of the planet and the Free March, waving from their vehicles as well.
The path of the parade brought them down the March Esplanade to their terminus. The steps leading up to the Free March Assembly Building had a raised stage and a podium ready for her. The Proctor family coat of arms shined brilliantly on the podium, while a large Free March flag hung horizontally at the back of the stage.
Sara-Marie stepped up to the podium with her family in tow. "Greetings, citizens of our proud worlds," she said. "Today we remember the end of the Age of Chains. The final victory of my grandmother over those who thought their might gave them the right to make slaves of their fellow human beings. Through the sacrifices and blood of Sara Proctor and those who rallied to her banner, the Slaver Lords were defeated. Today the heritage of the peoples of Arcadia and of all the worlds of the Free March is the cherishing of human freedom. Of the liberties granted by Providence to all free souls."
"I wish today could be a day of celebration only. But alas, it cannot. Today, we must also mourn. We must mourn the loss taken to so many of our families in the fighting on Bolan." Sara-Marie gripped the podium and tried not to think of Mark. "The sacrifice they have made was in the same spirit as that made by so many untold thousands before the fall of Carl Tabot. They fought and died to shatter the chains of slaves, so that others might be free. As great as our pain at their loss is, we must remember that with pride, and join our laments to God with thanks to Him that He brought them into this world. Them, and all others willing to pay the cost of Freedom."
"These martyrs of freedom have thrown to us the torch of liberty, to hold aloft against the dark tide that has struck at the Inner Sphere. The Marian Hegemony, seeking to emulate the Romans of old, have adopted the worst of that ancient people, embracing slavery such that the blood and sweat of their slaves oils the machine of their economy. The fall of Bolan, regrettably, could not be prevented, but it is my hope that by the rescue of the last heroic defenders of Bolan and of her people taken in chains, bought at such a terrible price in blood, we have raised a standard for all of the free worlds of the Inner Sphere and the Periphery to rally around. With courage and resolution, we can yet hold the dark tide back. We must, for the sake of all those who have fallen before, and all who are yet born. We will not seek war, but we will not shirk that holy duty should the tide continue advancing. We will hold firm against the darkness of slavery, the living death."
Rarely did Sara-Marie make strong gestures in speech. It was not the place of the monarch to behave like a popular politician. But this was not a normal place, not a normal time, and with thoughts of her son's suffering in her heart, she was seized by an impulse that might very well have been divinely-inspired. Instead of merely raising her fist, she reached for the ceremonial officer's sword of the AFFM dress uniform and drew it from the scabbard. The blade shined brilliantly in the sunlight as she raised it high, just as she raised her voice to a shout to close out the speech with words she and her speechwriters hadn't even planned on uttering.
"For Arcadia! For the Free March! For God and for Liberty!"
The crowd's reply was a thunderous roar of approval, while among the officers sword after sword came from scabbards to likewise point skyward.
Imperial Palace
Nova Roma, Gaul Continent
Alphard
Marian Hegemony
“To summarize, estimate total losses at over 350 BattleMechs, and nearly 4,000 MHAF personnel, and well past 20,000 slaves between the dead and the escaped. A full accounting may take months given the damage to the city.” The HPG message ended and Enis Yassin’s face was left frozen on the wall screen of Sean’s war room.
Sean hurled his drink at the frozen image. “And the whole of Bolan Salvageworks you fucking twatwaffle!” The glass smashed against the screen, breaking both. Sean felt a tinge of regret at the action. The war room was his father’s last gift to him. Every single piece of equipment and personnel had been hand picked by Marius O’Reilly. There was a good chance the factory that made that screen had been destroyed by the Black Warriors attack. There would never be another.
Sean redirected that rage towards the men and women around him. They were supposed to be the best and brightest in the Hegemony. Yet so was Yassin, and he’d led his legions into a debacle. “Three legions worth of mechs wiped out! This is a humiliation that the Hegemony must answer!”
The people around the table exchanged glances with one another, dithering as Sean had expected. The surviving Praetorian Prefect, Xiahou, was the first to finally speak. “Imperator, it is not nearly so bad as it appears. The vast majority of those losses were suffered by the Gladiator Auxilla, while the Limitanei suffered a good portion of the remainder. Disposable people with disposable machines! Your father didn’t even want them—”
Sean instinctively reached for his drink to throw, but finding nothing, balled his hand into a fist and slammed it down onto the holotable. “Disposable people? These were MechWarriors brave enough to fight in my name! They are my warriors, and none of them are disposable. My father knew every man, and every machine have their use. Do you have the courage to face a modern seventy five ton mech in a surplus twenty five ton bug? Those Gladiators did! I can’t let that go!”
Nehkii Khan held up her good hand and spoke in the most patronizing voice Sean had heard since he’d gone into exile. “Please, Imperator, this is not a humiliation. We drove them off of the planet. The bloody nose we gave them will keep them away. Besides, with the Roraii battalions and replacement parts en route the Imperial Legion will be back to fighting trim in a few months.” Khan was a recent addition to the senate, a newly elected senator who retired after grievous injuries in the Circinus campaign. They’d chosen her to lead the Senate Committee on Military Affairs. He’d respected her at first. But the Circinans must have taken her spirit at the same time as they’d taken her leg and eye.
Sean was on his feet now. He loomed over the old warrior across the table. “If the Imperial Legions can bounce back, then they should strike back! This is just the last insult. First they take Gypsum, rightfully ours. Then they come here, steal away our slaves, steal away our glory and take away Princess Umayr and her family before we can have vengeance on them! How hard has Umayr tried to bring us down? Remember Timbiqui, when she and the Duke of Tamarind blocked my father? Or their aid to the Circinians?! Those same weapons took down your mech on Circinus!”
Khan stayed still, her voice narrow, despite Sean’s posturing. “And the factories that build them are either ours or in rubble. Bolan is ours, almost the entire country, and with far fewer lives lost than the campaigns in Vincente or Colorado.”
“The country didn’t do shit to me! Their Princess did! I want her and I’ll go all the way to Arcadia to get her!”
“The Princess is irrelevant without her kingdom.” The Senator shot back.
Ambrose put a hand out in front of Sean, under the table. Sean knew it was well intentioned, but he seethed. Regardless, he sunk back into his seat and let Ambrose take the floor. Slowly, Ambrose rose. “Prefect, Senator, the Princess still has a kingdom in Gypsum. She still has an army too, and it’s backed by far more. Perhaps you haven’t read the Vigilis briefings on what’s happening in Colorado, but a pretender with no army and no kingdom is running rampant. What could the Umayrs do to us? A whole hell of a lot. We do need to strike back, and it needs to be something that can get Umayr, or at least her emigre army.”
The two young men glared down the old soldiers across the room. Each daring the other to speak first. Sean scowled. If Lucius had still been around, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have punched Arcadia back. That’s what a real man did. How could it be that the only loyal advisor he had had was a mercenary?
“M...May I speak, Imperator?” Quaestor Aurelia Ulpius spoke, barely loud enough for Sean to hear. Sean gestured for her to speak. She seemed to have trouble doing so under his gaze, but after a few false starts, managed to spit something out. “Imperator….please….I know you’re right about the need to fight back. But...the Bolan campaign...it stretched our finances to the breaking point. We can’t support a major offensive. We were barely able to pay for last year’s campaign. The Boyz Movers alone cost nearly half of our supply stockpiles. Even a small campaign will divert resources from our efforts to bring order to the minor independent worlds on our border.”
Sean scowled at her, to which she sunk deeper into her chair. But the mousey bureaucrat was right. The advisors father had stocked his war room with hammered home father’s favourite maxim in every lesson: a soldier cannot fight without a full belly and a good pair of shoes. Sean thought he had a head for war, but even he saw that he didn’t have a head for numbers. “What the fuck do we have the supplies for?”
“I am no general, but a world or two, with a handful of legions, four at most. For perhaps one, two seasons at most. Even then, it would leave little for next year.” Aurelia squeaked out.
Metellus’ chair squeaked as he rearranged himself. Even though he was sitting next to Sean, it was easy to forget his bodyguard was there given how rarely he spoke at council meetings. “You want supplies, just take it from them. Worked for me when I was quarterman of the Circus.”
“A raiding campaign is certainly within our budget. Gypsum, that was the border world you mentioned before? Surely they have supplies there?”
“No.” Ambrose interjected. “They’re expect a counter-strike, and that’s where they’ll be waiting. We need to look deeper. The Umayrs are probably on their way to Arcadia by now. But Vigilis intel says the Bolanese are regrouping on Sierpc and Rosice. We want to take revenge, show them who's boss, that’s where we hit.”
“It’s a start, but it’s not enough.”
“I have a few other options, Imperator. There’s an active insurgency on Drosendorf against Arcadian rule. They rode to the rescue on Bolan, and we’re gonna ride to the rescue on Drosendorf.”
“Keep going.”
“To be honest Imperator, our forces aren’t equipped for raiding, but I took a look at Aurelia’s numbers earlier, and we do have just enough budget for this unit.” He slid a datapad across the table to Sean. On it was the symbol of a kraken ripping apart a jumpship.
The tension finally broke in the room as Sean laughed at the image. “The fuck is this? You had a giant space squid and didn’t tell me?”
“Nah, look at page two. Terror From the Deep are the most experienced raiders in the sphere. Pirate level of viciousness, but pro merc level of reliability. We let them loose on the Arcadians, and they will bring the pain, and every Arcadian is going to think twice before challenging you again,”
Sean nodded along and slid the pad across the table to Khan and Xiahou. “Get it done.”
Marian Field Hospital
Sutlej, Kashir Continent
Bolan
Marian Hegemony
29 March 3034
Drusa lay on the floor next to Cornelia’s cot. She had her own cot in a prefab building a five minute shuffle away from her. She chose to grab the paper thin mattress and take it here instead. After the third time her nurse had security drag her back, they’d given up. The number of the wounded was too high for the system to handle, even supplemented by sympathetic city-states like Sutlej. They’d been overwhelmed with their own wounded, civilian and military, even before the Arcadians came.
She tossed and turned as she lay. Her sleep was seldom quiet these past weeks. The doctors weren’t sure if it was a result of the head injury, or the stress of battle. When she was lucid enough to know things, Drusa knew it was guilt.
The normalcy of the week after the alarm, the routines of military life, the patrols deeper into Bolan City, it made it all seem surreal. Like they weren’t there at all. Then suddenly they were, hundreds of them in what seemed to be out of nowhere. Dropships flying above, and then dots in the sky. Then the Urbanmech next to her exploded.
The shock of it helped her to open her eyes. She sat upright, slowly. The room spun, but less than last time, she thought. Assuming what she was remembering was the last time anyways. She looked at Cornelia, leaned over her cot and grabbed her right hand. Her only hand, now. The doctors promised prosthetics, but the Gladiators got shit everything else. Drusa feared the best her friend would get was a hook.
“The Centurion is gone.” Cornelia replied, as matter of factly as she could. Losing Centurions had become routine, but not this way. Wave after wave of Arcadian fighters pummelled the Gladiators. Their own fighters had long abandoned them in favour of the Imperial Legions. The Arcadians would follow, they always did.
“Two enemy lances behind us, moving like lights. Gotta be Bolanese” Cornelia called out.
Drusa switched channels, “Legatus, we have a lance of Arcadians coming from east-south-eat and two of Bolanese come from the west. Both Centurions are dead, need assistance.”
“Negative. heavily engaged with Arcadian Rangers.” Came the reply.
Fuck, not the Rangers again. “Second Century, we’re pulling back through the Bolanese, we need to cut through before the Arcadians get here and regroup with Legion command.”
They turned and charged. The century was brave, but too slow. Drusa cut down one of the Bolanese Stingers personally, then paused at the trail of humanity huddled behind them. Another caravan of refugees trying to get to the Arcadian zone. She shuddered and pushed on, shearing the autocannon off of an Urbanmech.
“Under fire.” Cornelia’s voice came in with a healthy dose of static, but Drusa still recognized the quiver of fear. Drusa watched as Cornelia ran for cover, but she couldn’t outrun the pursuing Griffin’s PPC. Her mech crashed to the ground. She didn’t eject.
Drusa screamed inside. She fought every emotion to stay and protect her, but she’d taken control of the century and the four survivors were counting on her.
She woke again, her head laying on the cot. Someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes and saw her Legatus. He squatted down next to her. “How’s Clodia doing today?” Drusa lifted her head to speak, but the words felt enormous, like they were too big to come out of her mouth. The room started to spin again.
Somewhere, the Arcadian Lynx was waiting for her. A single shot from it’s Gauss Rifle had caved in the cockpit of the Locust on her left. She’d remained crouched behind a hill for almost an hour after that relying on passive sensors, in the hopes she and the survivors of the maniple could outwait the Arcadian.
The hills were tall and rough here, hard to move through. Most advances had to be done jumpjets, and that exposed them to the enemy fire. Still, Drusa was glad that what remained of the Retiarii had been given this approach rather than the easier ones. The Thraex were literally wading through the bodies of refugees.
She heard something moving ahead of her. It had to be the Lynx. She slammed on the jumpjets and landed right in front of it. She fired everything she had into it. It was too close in for the Arcadian’s gauss, but the thing still had the edge in firepower. An Urbanmech and Commando jumped next to them, evening the score. The Lynx blasted it’s jumpjets and Drusa reached out, with her Stinger’s free hand, catching the mech off balance, the jets dragged them across the rocky ground and they both collapsed in a heap. The others surrounded the Lynx and hammered it with everything they had.
Drusa struggled to her feet. Her head was pounding and she could feel what she hoped was coolant leaking down her forehead. She had risen just in time to see the Urbanmech topple foreward, it’s gyro shattered by a Gauss round. She looked to the Lynx on the ground, but the mech lay still. “Run no—” Was all she could say before the second Lynx blasted a hole straight through her Stinger’s chest. She was in the air suddenly, she didn’t remember pressing the eject. Her mind blocked out what happened after.
She was on the floor again. Legatus Avery was there too, sitting in a chair at the end of the cot. “Flavia? You back with me now?”
She sat up, using her hands to prop herself up. She closed her eyes to protect her brain fro the blinding power of the ceiling light. “Yeah….I think so.”
“I know Clodia here means a lot to you, but you need to look after yourself.”
“I know. But...I just….I can’t leave her.”
“You’re going to need to, eventually. Especially if you want to get back at the dicks who did this to her.”
“What? I thought they were all gone.”
“From here, yeah. But they’ll be back if we don’t teach them there are consequences for their actions. We’re going to where they live, and we’re gonna hit them, hard. Word is the place we’re going is where the Bolanese forces bugged out to. We’re going after them, Volunteer only. If you want to stay here, with her, that’s fine. No judgement.”
“Why are you telling me? I’m a fuck up, and even I can’t even see straight.”
“We won’t hit them until a month from now, Doc tells me you’ll be fine by then, if you’re careful and do what he says.”
Drusa lay back down on the floor. I should be here,with her. She thought. Then the image of Cornelia, covered in gore, one arm hanging by a thread and the other holding in her guts came back, and with it came the rage. “I’ll do it.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down. You’re getting a promotion with it.”
“What! How?”
“You think one mistake sinks you forever? No, you took charge out there, made hard choices. You’ve scored eight mech kills in the year we’ve been here. You know how many Legionnaires have matched that, Miss 34? Three others. Two of them are dead, and the other one is a Principes. Least I can do is bump you up to Centurion.” He smiled weakly and looked out the window at the row of other prefabs. “Besides, someone has to step up, and I’m not exactly rolling in options here.”
“One condition. When I get there, I want my mech. Firestarter. If we’re gonna get revenge, I want to do it right.”
Dash smiled down at her, a real one this time. “Deal. We leave in a week. Do what your doctors say until then.”
Military DropPort, Fort Angelescu
Pantelimon
Gypsum
Arcadian Free March
The Galatine rested comfortably behind Thomas and the other members of his company, now being ferried away by a transport bus to their quartering on Fort Angelescu. The complex was the home of what was now the Gypsum Division of the Free March Army, the planetary militia that went over when Gypsum defected to the Free March. It would be, at least for a time, the home of the Arcadian Guards and the Arcadian Rangers, who were slotted to spend the next three months on garrison duty with extended leaves.
He found that he already missed Angelina's presence. She'd been transferred to the same DropShip carrying Mark and the Umayrs to Arcadia. Without a need for a request she'd pledged to check in on Mark and let him know if anything changed. "Focus on your people, and let me handle your brother," she insisted.
Beside him Dani gazed ahead quietly. "Missing your cousin?" she asked.
"Hrm?"
"Captain Proctor-Grimke. You were always speaking to her. Now she's gone. Have any other friends in the regiment?"
"Oh, no, I'm afraid not," he said. "At least, none as close as we were. We often spent time together growing up, when she wasn't on Hyde at the Grimke estates. We came up through Ayrshire together too."
"Ah. And you went into the Arcadian Guards together?"
He grinned and shook his head. "No. I started in the Guards, but she was initially in the First Regiment. Made lance commander there before they transferred her at an available opening. We did make Company CO in the same year though."
Second Regiment for me, at first," Dani confirmed. "For two years, then the Guards had a slot open and I was a top-testing candidate."
"Right."
The bus came up to the barracks… and kept going. Thomas and Dani exchanged glances before turning their attention to the driver. "Corporal, you've missed the stop."
"I've got orders, we're heading to the courtyard," the young woman said, her English accented in Gypsum style. "A press conference or something."
Thomas sighed. "Of course. It wouldn't been nice if van Reiter warned me at least."
"So we don't get to unwind in our new barracks because the locals want a chance to flaunt the Heir?" Dani shook her head. "Okay everyone, remember, you can't blame him, he wasn't involved."
"I'm never involved," Thomas protested. "It's always the media people who want me seen. They insist it drives up recruitment and the prestige of the family."
"They say that about every noble," Dani remarked dismissively. "It's not why people sign up. I mean, I guess it might help if they've got footage of you kicking Marian ass on Bolan."
"You exaggerate. That was not a one-sided fight."
He noted that Dani's response was a sly grin. "Not overall, but they weren't going to mess with the Guards after those initial fights. We hurt them every time they struck at us. You took down like eight 'Mechs yourself on the campaign."
"You got ten, I believe?"
"Depends, Machteld and I could be argued to have shared credit on that Stalker."
"Still…" Thomas chuckled. Occasionally he felt a bit of soldierly discomfort with Dani's relationship with Lt. Shameel, especially as the two women were giving up on trying to hide it, but he appreciated her spirit, and she was one of the best natural MechWarriors he'd ever met. He'd overlook some social impropriety for such a comrade, especially one as proven as she was.
The bus pulled up to the rear of a constructed stage in the fort's courtyard. The driver opened the door and they filed out.
The officers facing them included a dark-skinned woman with a Major's rank insignia and an officer sporting Major General insignia. Thomas led his company in saluting as they lined up. He noted that the Major's branch insignia was a shield overset by a pair of quilled pens, marking someone from Media Relations. The Major and General snapped reply salutes. "Captain Proctor, I'm Major Keisha Mackey," the woman said. "This is Major General Lord Anton Albescu, the commander of the Gypsum Division."
"General," Thomas answered correctly.
"Captain. I am sorry you were not warned, there was a miscommunication on the matter. His Grace is most eager to have the curiosity of our people, and the whole Inner Sphere, sated."
"I see." Major Kamau would have warned me and told me what I should say. A 'miscommunication' indeed. More like the Duke of Gypsum wants me to say something passionate and not approved by the Army. Thomas kept the suspicion from showing on his face. "Well, a few words can certainly not hurt, but I will only take limited questions."
"Of course, that's appropriate. Please, come."
The two officers led the pilots of Charlie Company up the steps to the stage and to the curtains. They were each handed a small microphone that would broadcast their voice over speakers, which Thomas thought a poor sign of what was to come.
It was as he feared. This wasn't just a dozen or so people but at least a hundred, of all colors and, by their dress, nationalities. Holocameras in the crowd and on the stage were undoubtedly broadcasting this across Gypsum and to the rest of the Free March, possibly the Inner Sphere as well. "Just smile and wave when prompted," he murmured to the others before fitting his microphone to his uniform lapel. "I'll handle this."
They lined up on the stage together in a line, Thomas not stepping forth. Major Mackey stepped up ahead of them. "Everyone, here they are. Charlie Company of the Arcadian Guards' Second Battalion, commanded by His Highness Prince Thomas, the Count of Roslyn." She stepped off to the wings of the curtain, leaving the stage to them.
"Greetings to you all," Thomas said, effecting his most proper English. Unlike his relatives who remained in Plymouth, his English was more of a refined, Anglo-Scot English, the accent of Roslyn and its English and Scots-descended residents. "I have no prepared statement, but my officers and I are prepared to take your questions." He remained silent afterward, prompting the questions to come.
"Lieutenant Verdes, will you accept a knighthood if it's offered? Do you think you might be given a title?"
"Lieutenant, the civilians, did they all make it through?"
"Is your machine destroyed? Did they repair that Marauder you defeated all those Marians with?"
"Are the Bolanese going to reward you as well, Lieutenant?"
"Lieutenant, a word on what it was like in the battle!"
Thomas' control briefly slipped. The universe seemed to have stepped out of tune. He glanced over at his subordinate and saw the complete shock on her face, her green eyes clouded from confusion and just trying to sort it out. "Uh…" She blinked. "I've no idea why I'd be made a knight or a noble, the civilians did make it through with some bumps and bruises I believe, my Marauder was banged up but is being repaired, nobody's told me anything about Bolanese rewards, and the battle was six weeks of fighting a lot of very angry slavers."
"Do you think the March-Princess made the right decision, sending you in?" asked another voice.
Dani's eyes flashed and, without pause, she announced, "Yes, she did, and we did the right thing. They had people in pens like animals, they forced them to piss and crap in buckets and eat slop you wouldn't give to anyone.. They were going to ship them to work to death in mines or God knows what else. We stopped that. Some of us died stopping it, and there's a lot of hunting families right now, but there's also a whole lot of Bolanese who aren't getting shipped off to be slaves. It was the right call."
The categorical announcement was echoed by nods of agreement from the others. "Your Highness, do you have anything to say about the Lieutenant's words? Or what happened?"
"She spoke for all of us," Thomas answered. "We went in to uphold the highest ideals of our Free March, the ideals my great-grandmother bequeathed to us all. And we succeeded about as well as we could have been expected to."
"Is there any news about Prince Mark?"
"My brother is alive last I heard. He is in bad shape, but the doctors are cautiously hopeful."
A few more questions came, most for Dani, until the conference ended. As they returned to the bus Dani shook her head. "What was up with that? I thought you'd be their focus, Captain."
"So did I."
"You didn't know?" asked Mackey.
Dani and Thomas turned their heads to face her. "Know what, ma'am?"
"Angus Campbell was recording that fight a couple days after you landed, when your company held off those Marians on the road," she explained. "The entire Inner Sphere watched you fighting like the devil to protect people. Your Marauder was the center of the action in the video, and someone did a close-up of the image and found your name on the machine." Mackey grinned at her. "I thought you'd have been told by now, but since you weren't… congratulations, Lieutenant Verdes. You're now the AFFM's golden girl for press relations."
Somehow, Dani wasn't reassured by that.
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
30 March 3034
The arrival of the DropShip Nightingale was the news across the capital. For many it was the camera coverage of Prince Mark, covered in bandaging, being transported to an ambulance for transfer to the Dr. Nancy Corey Military Hospital near the Esplanade of Laughlin. A few also noted footage of the arrival of the Umayrs of Bolan. The Grand Princess, her husband and three children, and her sister and brother and their families were all shown together, rescued from Bolan (and most of them from the Marian slave cages).
Sara-Marie had their rooms arranged and a scheduled meeting planned, but she didn't see them right away. Her first trip was to the hospital with her husband and youngest son to see Mark. She almost broke down weeping at seeing Mark so badly off. The doctors on the Gallatine and Liberator did their level best for him, which was why he was alive, but between the tissues that had to be removed due to coolant exposure and the damage to his limbs, he was going to lose at least two limbs and require months of careful surgery and wound care to gain any semblance of a life back. The doctors were fairly confident they could save his right leg, and the left arm might get salvaged. The other limbs were basically gone.
Once visitation was over, they returned to the palace, and Sara-Marie got to business. She received the visiting Umayrs in formal fashion, wearing her AFFM uniform for the occasion as most of them were in uniform. She'd only met Gita once before, over an extremely expensive real-time HPG call, and the battered woman before her was not the same as Sara-Marie met before. Her husband Mohinder held her hand and the others remained silent, waiting for either to speak. Sara-Marie, as host, went first. "Your Royal Highness, Your Highnesses and Lordships, welcome to Arcadia. It warms my heart to see you are all well and safe."
"Thank you, Your Serene Highness," Gita said. "We have said our prayers for the recovery of your son, Mark, and mourn your people lost in our rescue. They will be remembered with great fondness by the Bolanese people for centuries to come."
Sara-Marie nodded. 'Your people have safe refuge among us. The Duchess of Zvolen freely offers her world's island-continent of Pokorný for your settlement. The cities there are widely depopulated due to the remoteness from the rest of Zvolen's continents, but your people would find new homes there and revitalize the continent's economy. The whole planet would benefit."
"So it would," said Gita. "We accept. And that leaves the final matter." She stepped forward before getting on her knees before Sara-Marie. She lowered her head while her family followed her actions. "March-Princess Sara-Marie, daughter of the line of Sara Proctor the Liberator, I offer you my oath of fealty as the Grand Princess of Bolan. The Umayr family will serve House Proctor as loyal vassals."
Sara-Marie briefly eyed Lord Prestwick, but he said nothing to indicate he'd brought the matter up. But neither could be surprised by the gesture. The Umayrs were exiles, and their homes would be on territory that rightfully belonged to other rulers. Swearing fealty to House Proctor was the surest way to stabilize their position in the Free March, even if it guaranteed that upon liberation Bolan became part of the Free March, not an independent world. It will complicate matters somewhat with Duchess Jozefína, but she is counting on the Bolanese to revitalize her world's economy. I think she will accept the arrangement. She locked her eyes on Gita. "I, March-Princess Sara-Marie, the Duchess of Arcadia and sovereign ruler of the Free March, accept your oath of fealty, Your Highness. While you are no longer sovereign, the title of Grand Princess of Bolan and all related titles of your family are recognized as lawful. Your family and people are welcome in the Free March, and as noble citizens of the March, I bid you stand as free men and women, as is your right."
Gita and the others stood. Sara-Marie noted the expressions on them. Not everyone agreed, she suspected, knowing it spelled the end of their independence even were Bolan regained, but it was a remarkable acceptance of their weakened status.
"Now that I am your vassal, I have but one request concerning my forces," Gita said. "I ask your aid in replenishing their units, and that you allow for Bolanese command in some way or another."
"I will discuss the particulars with the Command Staff, but a way can surely be found," Sara-Marie replied. "For the time being, please, rest, and enjoy the hospitality of the palace."
"Again, we thank you for the hospitality," said Gita, at which point the meeting ended.
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, East Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
24 March 3034
The HPG message came straight from Gypsum. OpForce Tubman's bloody work was done. Unlike the aggressive expansion campaign of the prior year, there were few protests over this action. Even the worlds forced into the Free March were rallying to the fight and offering what support they could, save for those with active insurgents unmoved by the matter.
The message's timing was excellent, as it allowed for the news to be disseminated in time for Arcadia's great holiday of the modern era. The planetary flag - a phoenix joined by forested, snowcapped mountains and fields - flew proudly beside the blue and red of the Free March, their twin bird-themed insignia evoking the sentiments of freedom so appropriate for the holiday.
Liberation Day.
For the second year in a row the parade lacked one of the line units of the army, busy as they were. The First Militia Brigade made up for it, painting their old 'Mechs in fine ceremonial parade color and the pilots, as green as they were, nevertheless keeping their machines in step to the cheers of the crowd. Sara-Marie followed behind them, her husband and youngest son beside her waving at the adoring crowds. She and Prince-Consort Thomas were in AFFM dress red instead of civilian clothing, and even William was in the uniform of the Arcadian Youth Scouts. Behind them were the civilian leaders of the planet and the Free March, waving from their vehicles as well.
The path of the parade brought them down the March Esplanade to their terminus. The steps leading up to the Free March Assembly Building had a raised stage and a podium ready for her. The Proctor family coat of arms shined brilliantly on the podium, while a large Free March flag hung horizontally at the back of the stage.
Sara-Marie stepped up to the podium with her family in tow. "Greetings, citizens of our proud worlds," she said. "Today we remember the end of the Age of Chains. The final victory of my grandmother over those who thought their might gave them the right to make slaves of their fellow human beings. Through the sacrifices and blood of Sara Proctor and those who rallied to her banner, the Slaver Lords were defeated. Today the heritage of the peoples of Arcadia and of all the worlds of the Free March is the cherishing of human freedom. Of the liberties granted by Providence to all free souls."
"I wish today could be a day of celebration only. But alas, it cannot. Today, we must also mourn. We must mourn the loss taken to so many of our families in the fighting on Bolan." Sara-Marie gripped the podium and tried not to think of Mark. "The sacrifice they have made was in the same spirit as that made by so many untold thousands before the fall of Carl Tabot. They fought and died to shatter the chains of slaves, so that others might be free. As great as our pain at their loss is, we must remember that with pride, and join our laments to God with thanks to Him that He brought them into this world. Them, and all others willing to pay the cost of Freedom."
"These martyrs of freedom have thrown to us the torch of liberty, to hold aloft against the dark tide that has struck at the Inner Sphere. The Marian Hegemony, seeking to emulate the Romans of old, have adopted the worst of that ancient people, embracing slavery such that the blood and sweat of their slaves oils the machine of their economy. The fall of Bolan, regrettably, could not be prevented, but it is my hope that by the rescue of the last heroic defenders of Bolan and of her people taken in chains, bought at such a terrible price in blood, we have raised a standard for all of the free worlds of the Inner Sphere and the Periphery to rally around. With courage and resolution, we can yet hold the dark tide back. We must, for the sake of all those who have fallen before, and all who are yet born. We will not seek war, but we will not shirk that holy duty should the tide continue advancing. We will hold firm against the darkness of slavery, the living death."
Rarely did Sara-Marie make strong gestures in speech. It was not the place of the monarch to behave like a popular politician. But this was not a normal place, not a normal time, and with thoughts of her son's suffering in her heart, she was seized by an impulse that might very well have been divinely-inspired. Instead of merely raising her fist, she reached for the ceremonial officer's sword of the AFFM dress uniform and drew it from the scabbard. The blade shined brilliantly in the sunlight as she raised it high, just as she raised her voice to a shout to close out the speech with words she and her speechwriters hadn't even planned on uttering.
"For Arcadia! For the Free March! For God and for Liberty!"
The crowd's reply was a thunderous roar of approval, while among the officers sword after sword came from scabbards to likewise point skyward.
Imperial Palace
Nova Roma, Gaul Continent
Alphard
Marian Hegemony
“To summarize, estimate total losses at over 350 BattleMechs, and nearly 4,000 MHAF personnel, and well past 20,000 slaves between the dead and the escaped. A full accounting may take months given the damage to the city.” The HPG message ended and Enis Yassin’s face was left frozen on the wall screen of Sean’s war room.
Sean hurled his drink at the frozen image. “And the whole of Bolan Salvageworks you fucking twatwaffle!” The glass smashed against the screen, breaking both. Sean felt a tinge of regret at the action. The war room was his father’s last gift to him. Every single piece of equipment and personnel had been hand picked by Marius O’Reilly. There was a good chance the factory that made that screen had been destroyed by the Black Warriors attack. There would never be another.
Sean redirected that rage towards the men and women around him. They were supposed to be the best and brightest in the Hegemony. Yet so was Yassin, and he’d led his legions into a debacle. “Three legions worth of mechs wiped out! This is a humiliation that the Hegemony must answer!”
The people around the table exchanged glances with one another, dithering as Sean had expected. The surviving Praetorian Prefect, Xiahou, was the first to finally speak. “Imperator, it is not nearly so bad as it appears. The vast majority of those losses were suffered by the Gladiator Auxilla, while the Limitanei suffered a good portion of the remainder. Disposable people with disposable machines! Your father didn’t even want them—”
Sean instinctively reached for his drink to throw, but finding nothing, balled his hand into a fist and slammed it down onto the holotable. “Disposable people? These were MechWarriors brave enough to fight in my name! They are my warriors, and none of them are disposable. My father knew every man, and every machine have their use. Do you have the courage to face a modern seventy five ton mech in a surplus twenty five ton bug? Those Gladiators did! I can’t let that go!”
Nehkii Khan held up her good hand and spoke in the most patronizing voice Sean had heard since he’d gone into exile. “Please, Imperator, this is not a humiliation. We drove them off of the planet. The bloody nose we gave them will keep them away. Besides, with the Roraii battalions and replacement parts en route the Imperial Legion will be back to fighting trim in a few months.” Khan was a recent addition to the senate, a newly elected senator who retired after grievous injuries in the Circinus campaign. They’d chosen her to lead the Senate Committee on Military Affairs. He’d respected her at first. But the Circinans must have taken her spirit at the same time as they’d taken her leg and eye.
Sean was on his feet now. He loomed over the old warrior across the table. “If the Imperial Legions can bounce back, then they should strike back! This is just the last insult. First they take Gypsum, rightfully ours. Then they come here, steal away our slaves, steal away our glory and take away Princess Umayr and her family before we can have vengeance on them! How hard has Umayr tried to bring us down? Remember Timbiqui, when she and the Duke of Tamarind blocked my father? Or their aid to the Circinians?! Those same weapons took down your mech on Circinus!”
Khan stayed still, her voice narrow, despite Sean’s posturing. “And the factories that build them are either ours or in rubble. Bolan is ours, almost the entire country, and with far fewer lives lost than the campaigns in Vincente or Colorado.”
“The country didn’t do shit to me! Their Princess did! I want her and I’ll go all the way to Arcadia to get her!”
“The Princess is irrelevant without her kingdom.” The Senator shot back.
Ambrose put a hand out in front of Sean, under the table. Sean knew it was well intentioned, but he seethed. Regardless, he sunk back into his seat and let Ambrose take the floor. Slowly, Ambrose rose. “Prefect, Senator, the Princess still has a kingdom in Gypsum. She still has an army too, and it’s backed by far more. Perhaps you haven’t read the Vigilis briefings on what’s happening in Colorado, but a pretender with no army and no kingdom is running rampant. What could the Umayrs do to us? A whole hell of a lot. We do need to strike back, and it needs to be something that can get Umayr, or at least her emigre army.”
The two young men glared down the old soldiers across the room. Each daring the other to speak first. Sean scowled. If Lucius had still been around, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have punched Arcadia back. That’s what a real man did. How could it be that the only loyal advisor he had had was a mercenary?
“M...May I speak, Imperator?” Quaestor Aurelia Ulpius spoke, barely loud enough for Sean to hear. Sean gestured for her to speak. She seemed to have trouble doing so under his gaze, but after a few false starts, managed to spit something out. “Imperator….please….I know you’re right about the need to fight back. But...the Bolan campaign...it stretched our finances to the breaking point. We can’t support a major offensive. We were barely able to pay for last year’s campaign. The Boyz Movers alone cost nearly half of our supply stockpiles. Even a small campaign will divert resources from our efforts to bring order to the minor independent worlds on our border.”
Sean scowled at her, to which she sunk deeper into her chair. But the mousey bureaucrat was right. The advisors father had stocked his war room with hammered home father’s favourite maxim in every lesson: a soldier cannot fight without a full belly and a good pair of shoes. Sean thought he had a head for war, but even he saw that he didn’t have a head for numbers. “What the fuck do we have the supplies for?”
“I am no general, but a world or two, with a handful of legions, four at most. For perhaps one, two seasons at most. Even then, it would leave little for next year.” Aurelia squeaked out.
Metellus’ chair squeaked as he rearranged himself. Even though he was sitting next to Sean, it was easy to forget his bodyguard was there given how rarely he spoke at council meetings. “You want supplies, just take it from them. Worked for me when I was quarterman of the Circus.”
“A raiding campaign is certainly within our budget. Gypsum, that was the border world you mentioned before? Surely they have supplies there?”
“No.” Ambrose interjected. “They’re expect a counter-strike, and that’s where they’ll be waiting. We need to look deeper. The Umayrs are probably on their way to Arcadia by now. But Vigilis intel says the Bolanese are regrouping on Sierpc and Rosice. We want to take revenge, show them who's boss, that’s where we hit.”
“It’s a start, but it’s not enough.”
“I have a few other options, Imperator. There’s an active insurgency on Drosendorf against Arcadian rule. They rode to the rescue on Bolan, and we’re gonna ride to the rescue on Drosendorf.”
“Keep going.”
“To be honest Imperator, our forces aren’t equipped for raiding, but I took a look at Aurelia’s numbers earlier, and we do have just enough budget for this unit.” He slid a datapad across the table to Sean. On it was the symbol of a kraken ripping apart a jumpship.
The tension finally broke in the room as Sean laughed at the image. “The fuck is this? You had a giant space squid and didn’t tell me?”
“Nah, look at page two. Terror From the Deep are the most experienced raiders in the sphere. Pirate level of viciousness, but pro merc level of reliability. We let them loose on the Arcadians, and they will bring the pain, and every Arcadian is going to think twice before challenging you again,”
Sean nodded along and slid the pad across the table to Khan and Xiahou. “Get it done.”
Marian Field Hospital
Sutlej, Kashir Continent
Bolan
Marian Hegemony
29 March 3034
Drusa lay on the floor next to Cornelia’s cot. She had her own cot in a prefab building a five minute shuffle away from her. She chose to grab the paper thin mattress and take it here instead. After the third time her nurse had security drag her back, they’d given up. The number of the wounded was too high for the system to handle, even supplemented by sympathetic city-states like Sutlej. They’d been overwhelmed with their own wounded, civilian and military, even before the Arcadians came.
She tossed and turned as she lay. Her sleep was seldom quiet these past weeks. The doctors weren’t sure if it was a result of the head injury, or the stress of battle. When she was lucid enough to know things, Drusa knew it was guilt.
The normalcy of the week after the alarm, the routines of military life, the patrols deeper into Bolan City, it made it all seem surreal. Like they weren’t there at all. Then suddenly they were, hundreds of them in what seemed to be out of nowhere. Dropships flying above, and then dots in the sky. Then the Urbanmech next to her exploded.
The shock of it helped her to open her eyes. She sat upright, slowly. The room spun, but less than last time, she thought. Assuming what she was remembering was the last time anyways. She looked at Cornelia, leaned over her cot and grabbed her right hand. Her only hand, now. The doctors promised prosthetics, but the Gladiators got shit everything else. Drusa feared the best her friend would get was a hook.
“The Centurion is gone.” Cornelia replied, as matter of factly as she could. Losing Centurions had become routine, but not this way. Wave after wave of Arcadian fighters pummelled the Gladiators. Their own fighters had long abandoned them in favour of the Imperial Legions. The Arcadians would follow, they always did.
“Two enemy lances behind us, moving like lights. Gotta be Bolanese” Cornelia called out.
Drusa switched channels, “Legatus, we have a lance of Arcadians coming from east-south-eat and two of Bolanese come from the west. Both Centurions are dead, need assistance.”
“Negative. heavily engaged with Arcadian Rangers.” Came the reply.
Fuck, not the Rangers again. “Second Century, we’re pulling back through the Bolanese, we need to cut through before the Arcadians get here and regroup with Legion command.”
They turned and charged. The century was brave, but too slow. Drusa cut down one of the Bolanese Stingers personally, then paused at the trail of humanity huddled behind them. Another caravan of refugees trying to get to the Arcadian zone. She shuddered and pushed on, shearing the autocannon off of an Urbanmech.
“Under fire.” Cornelia’s voice came in with a healthy dose of static, but Drusa still recognized the quiver of fear. Drusa watched as Cornelia ran for cover, but she couldn’t outrun the pursuing Griffin’s PPC. Her mech crashed to the ground. She didn’t eject.
Drusa screamed inside. She fought every emotion to stay and protect her, but she’d taken control of the century and the four survivors were counting on her.
She woke again, her head laying on the cot. Someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes and saw her Legatus. He squatted down next to her. “How’s Clodia doing today?” Drusa lifted her head to speak, but the words felt enormous, like they were too big to come out of her mouth. The room started to spin again.
Somewhere, the Arcadian Lynx was waiting for her. A single shot from it’s Gauss Rifle had caved in the cockpit of the Locust on her left. She’d remained crouched behind a hill for almost an hour after that relying on passive sensors, in the hopes she and the survivors of the maniple could outwait the Arcadian.
The hills were tall and rough here, hard to move through. Most advances had to be done jumpjets, and that exposed them to the enemy fire. Still, Drusa was glad that what remained of the Retiarii had been given this approach rather than the easier ones. The Thraex were literally wading through the bodies of refugees.
She heard something moving ahead of her. It had to be the Lynx. She slammed on the jumpjets and landed right in front of it. She fired everything she had into it. It was too close in for the Arcadian’s gauss, but the thing still had the edge in firepower. An Urbanmech and Commando jumped next to them, evening the score. The Lynx blasted it’s jumpjets and Drusa reached out, with her Stinger’s free hand, catching the mech off balance, the jets dragged them across the rocky ground and they both collapsed in a heap. The others surrounded the Lynx and hammered it with everything they had.
Drusa struggled to her feet. Her head was pounding and she could feel what she hoped was coolant leaking down her forehead. She had risen just in time to see the Urbanmech topple foreward, it’s gyro shattered by a Gauss round. She looked to the Lynx on the ground, but the mech lay still. “Run no—” Was all she could say before the second Lynx blasted a hole straight through her Stinger’s chest. She was in the air suddenly, she didn’t remember pressing the eject. Her mind blocked out what happened after.
She was on the floor again. Legatus Avery was there too, sitting in a chair at the end of the cot. “Flavia? You back with me now?”
She sat up, using her hands to prop herself up. She closed her eyes to protect her brain fro the blinding power of the ceiling light. “Yeah….I think so.”
“I know Clodia here means a lot to you, but you need to look after yourself.”
“I know. But...I just….I can’t leave her.”
“You’re going to need to, eventually. Especially if you want to get back at the dicks who did this to her.”
“What? I thought they were all gone.”
“From here, yeah. But they’ll be back if we don’t teach them there are consequences for their actions. We’re going to where they live, and we’re gonna hit them, hard. Word is the place we’re going is where the Bolanese forces bugged out to. We’re going after them, Volunteer only. If you want to stay here, with her, that’s fine. No judgement.”
“Why are you telling me? I’m a fuck up, and even I can’t even see straight.”
“We won’t hit them until a month from now, Doc tells me you’ll be fine by then, if you’re careful and do what he says.”
Drusa lay back down on the floor. I should be here,with her. She thought. Then the image of Cornelia, covered in gore, one arm hanging by a thread and the other holding in her guts came back, and with it came the rage. “I’ll do it.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down. You’re getting a promotion with it.”
“What! How?”
“You think one mistake sinks you forever? No, you took charge out there, made hard choices. You’ve scored eight mech kills in the year we’ve been here. You know how many Legionnaires have matched that, Miss 34? Three others. Two of them are dead, and the other one is a Principes. Least I can do is bump you up to Centurion.” He smiled weakly and looked out the window at the row of other prefabs. “Besides, someone has to step up, and I’m not exactly rolling in options here.”
“One condition. When I get there, I want my mech. Firestarter. If we’re gonna get revenge, I want to do it right.”
Dash smiled down at her, a real one this time. “Deal. We leave in a week. Do what your doctors say until then.”
Military DropPort, Fort Angelescu
Pantelimon
Gypsum
Arcadian Free March
The Galatine rested comfortably behind Thomas and the other members of his company, now being ferried away by a transport bus to their quartering on Fort Angelescu. The complex was the home of what was now the Gypsum Division of the Free March Army, the planetary militia that went over when Gypsum defected to the Free March. It would be, at least for a time, the home of the Arcadian Guards and the Arcadian Rangers, who were slotted to spend the next three months on garrison duty with extended leaves.
He found that he already missed Angelina's presence. She'd been transferred to the same DropShip carrying Mark and the Umayrs to Arcadia. Without a need for a request she'd pledged to check in on Mark and let him know if anything changed. "Focus on your people, and let me handle your brother," she insisted.
Beside him Dani gazed ahead quietly. "Missing your cousin?" she asked.
"Hrm?"
"Captain Proctor-Grimke. You were always speaking to her. Now she's gone. Have any other friends in the regiment?"
"Oh, no, I'm afraid not," he said. "At least, none as close as we were. We often spent time together growing up, when she wasn't on Hyde at the Grimke estates. We came up through Ayrshire together too."
"Ah. And you went into the Arcadian Guards together?"
He grinned and shook his head. "No. I started in the Guards, but she was initially in the First Regiment. Made lance commander there before they transferred her at an available opening. We did make Company CO in the same year though."
Second Regiment for me, at first," Dani confirmed. "For two years, then the Guards had a slot open and I was a top-testing candidate."
"Right."
The bus came up to the barracks… and kept going. Thomas and Dani exchanged glances before turning their attention to the driver. "Corporal, you've missed the stop."
"I've got orders, we're heading to the courtyard," the young woman said, her English accented in Gypsum style. "A press conference or something."
Thomas sighed. "Of course. It wouldn't been nice if van Reiter warned me at least."
"So we don't get to unwind in our new barracks because the locals want a chance to flaunt the Heir?" Dani shook her head. "Okay everyone, remember, you can't blame him, he wasn't involved."
"I'm never involved," Thomas protested. "It's always the media people who want me seen. They insist it drives up recruitment and the prestige of the family."
"They say that about every noble," Dani remarked dismissively. "It's not why people sign up. I mean, I guess it might help if they've got footage of you kicking Marian ass on Bolan."
"You exaggerate. That was not a one-sided fight."
He noted that Dani's response was a sly grin. "Not overall, but they weren't going to mess with the Guards after those initial fights. We hurt them every time they struck at us. You took down like eight 'Mechs yourself on the campaign."
"You got ten, I believe?"
"Depends, Machteld and I could be argued to have shared credit on that Stalker."
"Still…" Thomas chuckled. Occasionally he felt a bit of soldierly discomfort with Dani's relationship with Lt. Shameel, especially as the two women were giving up on trying to hide it, but he appreciated her spirit, and she was one of the best natural MechWarriors he'd ever met. He'd overlook some social impropriety for such a comrade, especially one as proven as she was.
The bus pulled up to the rear of a constructed stage in the fort's courtyard. The driver opened the door and they filed out.
The officers facing them included a dark-skinned woman with a Major's rank insignia and an officer sporting Major General insignia. Thomas led his company in saluting as they lined up. He noted that the Major's branch insignia was a shield overset by a pair of quilled pens, marking someone from Media Relations. The Major and General snapped reply salutes. "Captain Proctor, I'm Major Keisha Mackey," the woman said. "This is Major General Lord Anton Albescu, the commander of the Gypsum Division."
"General," Thomas answered correctly.
"Captain. I am sorry you were not warned, there was a miscommunication on the matter. His Grace is most eager to have the curiosity of our people, and the whole Inner Sphere, sated."
"I see." Major Kamau would have warned me and told me what I should say. A 'miscommunication' indeed. More like the Duke of Gypsum wants me to say something passionate and not approved by the Army. Thomas kept the suspicion from showing on his face. "Well, a few words can certainly not hurt, but I will only take limited questions."
"Of course, that's appropriate. Please, come."
The two officers led the pilots of Charlie Company up the steps to the stage and to the curtains. They were each handed a small microphone that would broadcast their voice over speakers, which Thomas thought a poor sign of what was to come.
It was as he feared. This wasn't just a dozen or so people but at least a hundred, of all colors and, by their dress, nationalities. Holocameras in the crowd and on the stage were undoubtedly broadcasting this across Gypsum and to the rest of the Free March, possibly the Inner Sphere as well. "Just smile and wave when prompted," he murmured to the others before fitting his microphone to his uniform lapel. "I'll handle this."
They lined up on the stage together in a line, Thomas not stepping forth. Major Mackey stepped up ahead of them. "Everyone, here they are. Charlie Company of the Arcadian Guards' Second Battalion, commanded by His Highness Prince Thomas, the Count of Roslyn." She stepped off to the wings of the curtain, leaving the stage to them.
"Greetings to you all," Thomas said, effecting his most proper English. Unlike his relatives who remained in Plymouth, his English was more of a refined, Anglo-Scot English, the accent of Roslyn and its English and Scots-descended residents. "I have no prepared statement, but my officers and I are prepared to take your questions." He remained silent afterward, prompting the questions to come.
"Lieutenant Verdes, will you accept a knighthood if it's offered? Do you think you might be given a title?"
"Lieutenant, the civilians, did they all make it through?"
"Is your machine destroyed? Did they repair that Marauder you defeated all those Marians with?"
"Are the Bolanese going to reward you as well, Lieutenant?"
"Lieutenant, a word on what it was like in the battle!"
Thomas' control briefly slipped. The universe seemed to have stepped out of tune. He glanced over at his subordinate and saw the complete shock on her face, her green eyes clouded from confusion and just trying to sort it out. "Uh…" She blinked. "I've no idea why I'd be made a knight or a noble, the civilians did make it through with some bumps and bruises I believe, my Marauder was banged up but is being repaired, nobody's told me anything about Bolanese rewards, and the battle was six weeks of fighting a lot of very angry slavers."
"Do you think the March-Princess made the right decision, sending you in?" asked another voice.
Dani's eyes flashed and, without pause, she announced, "Yes, she did, and we did the right thing. They had people in pens like animals, they forced them to piss and crap in buckets and eat slop you wouldn't give to anyone.. They were going to ship them to work to death in mines or God knows what else. We stopped that. Some of us died stopping it, and there's a lot of hunting families right now, but there's also a whole lot of Bolanese who aren't getting shipped off to be slaves. It was the right call."
The categorical announcement was echoed by nods of agreement from the others. "Your Highness, do you have anything to say about the Lieutenant's words? Or what happened?"
"She spoke for all of us," Thomas answered. "We went in to uphold the highest ideals of our Free March, the ideals my great-grandmother bequeathed to us all. And we succeeded about as well as we could have been expected to."
"Is there any news about Prince Mark?"
"My brother is alive last I heard. He is in bad shape, but the doctors are cautiously hopeful."
A few more questions came, most for Dani, until the conference ended. As they returned to the bus Dani shook her head. "What was up with that? I thought you'd be their focus, Captain."
"So did I."
"You didn't know?" asked Mackey.
Dani and Thomas turned their heads to face her. "Know what, ma'am?"
"Angus Campbell was recording that fight a couple days after you landed, when your company held off those Marians on the road," she explained. "The entire Inner Sphere watched you fighting like the devil to protect people. Your Marauder was the center of the action in the video, and someone did a close-up of the image and found your name on the machine." Mackey grinned at her. "I thought you'd have been told by now, but since you weren't… congratulations, Lieutenant Verdes. You're now the AFFM's golden girl for press relations."
Somehow, Dani wasn't reassured by that.
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
30 March 3034
The arrival of the DropShip Nightingale was the news across the capital. For many it was the camera coverage of Prince Mark, covered in bandaging, being transported to an ambulance for transfer to the Dr. Nancy Corey Military Hospital near the Esplanade of Laughlin. A few also noted footage of the arrival of the Umayrs of Bolan. The Grand Princess, her husband and three children, and her sister and brother and their families were all shown together, rescued from Bolan (and most of them from the Marian slave cages).
Sara-Marie had their rooms arranged and a scheduled meeting planned, but she didn't see them right away. Her first trip was to the hospital with her husband and youngest son to see Mark. She almost broke down weeping at seeing Mark so badly off. The doctors on the Gallatine and Liberator did their level best for him, which was why he was alive, but between the tissues that had to be removed due to coolant exposure and the damage to his limbs, he was going to lose at least two limbs and require months of careful surgery and wound care to gain any semblance of a life back. The doctors were fairly confident they could save his right leg, and the left arm might get salvaged. The other limbs were basically gone.
Once visitation was over, they returned to the palace, and Sara-Marie got to business. She received the visiting Umayrs in formal fashion, wearing her AFFM uniform for the occasion as most of them were in uniform. She'd only met Gita once before, over an extremely expensive real-time HPG call, and the battered woman before her was not the same as Sara-Marie met before. Her husband Mohinder held her hand and the others remained silent, waiting for either to speak. Sara-Marie, as host, went first. "Your Royal Highness, Your Highnesses and Lordships, welcome to Arcadia. It warms my heart to see you are all well and safe."
"Thank you, Your Serene Highness," Gita said. "We have said our prayers for the recovery of your son, Mark, and mourn your people lost in our rescue. They will be remembered with great fondness by the Bolanese people for centuries to come."
Sara-Marie nodded. 'Your people have safe refuge among us. The Duchess of Zvolen freely offers her world's island-continent of Pokorný for your settlement. The cities there are widely depopulated due to the remoteness from the rest of Zvolen's continents, but your people would find new homes there and revitalize the continent's economy. The whole planet would benefit."
"So it would," said Gita. "We accept. And that leaves the final matter." She stepped forward before getting on her knees before Sara-Marie. She lowered her head while her family followed her actions. "March-Princess Sara-Marie, daughter of the line of Sara Proctor the Liberator, I offer you my oath of fealty as the Grand Princess of Bolan. The Umayr family will serve House Proctor as loyal vassals."
Sara-Marie briefly eyed Lord Prestwick, but he said nothing to indicate he'd brought the matter up. But neither could be surprised by the gesture. The Umayrs were exiles, and their homes would be on territory that rightfully belonged to other rulers. Swearing fealty to House Proctor was the surest way to stabilize their position in the Free March, even if it guaranteed that upon liberation Bolan became part of the Free March, not an independent world. It will complicate matters somewhat with Duchess Jozefína, but she is counting on the Bolanese to revitalize her world's economy. I think she will accept the arrangement. She locked her eyes on Gita. "I, March-Princess Sara-Marie, the Duchess of Arcadia and sovereign ruler of the Free March, accept your oath of fealty, Your Highness. While you are no longer sovereign, the title of Grand Princess of Bolan and all related titles of your family are recognized as lawful. Your family and people are welcome in the Free March, and as noble citizens of the March, I bid you stand as free men and women, as is your right."
Gita and the others stood. Sara-Marie noted the expressions on them. Not everyone agreed, she suspected, knowing it spelled the end of their independence even were Bolan regained, but it was a remarkable acceptance of their weakened status.
"Now that I am your vassal, I have but one request concerning my forces," Gita said. "I ask your aid in replenishing their units, and that you allow for Bolanese command in some way or another."
"I will discuss the particulars with the Command Staff, but a way can surely be found," Sara-Marie replied. "For the time being, please, rest, and enjoy the hospitality of the palace."
"Again, we thank you for the hospitality," said Gita, at which point the meeting ended.
”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: "Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Chapter 6
Dr. Nancy Corey Military Hospital
Laughlin Capital District, Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
24 April 3034
The darkness finally receded, and as it did, pain came. Just a general, body-wide agony, with itching that couldn't be satiated, and a weariness that made movement feel impossible.
Such was the way Prince Mark Proctor returned to consciousness.
He opened his eyes to a dimly-lit hospital room, and even that bit of light was almost too much for him. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust. He tried to move his right hand, but strangely, the limb wouldn't respond. Even though he could swear he felt it, it seemed completely asleep.
His left arm responded, somewhat, and it gave him just enough leverage to sit up…
...and realize his left leg was gone.
It was from surprise more than horror that he cried out. Which, as it turned out, alerted the nurses that he was awake.
Half an hour later, Mark looked up at the opening door to see his parents rush in. His mother, defying all the regal dignity demanded of her in public, rushed to his side and threw her arms around him. "Mark, you're awake. You're awake, thank the Lord!"
"Mum…" With his left arm in a splint and his right arm missing at the shoulder, he couldn't return the embrace. "Mum, I… my arm and leg are gone. And I can't use the ones left either, they just… they just won't…"
"I know," she said, tears running down her face. She moved enough for Mark's father to give his son a gentler embrace. It was clear Consort-Prince Thomas was struggling with his emotions, trying to maintain the proper Fordian "stiff upper lip" inherited from their English ancestors on Terra. And it wasn't entirely working. "The doctors say it will take time and therapy to regain the use of your remaining limbs. As for the others, we will see about prosthetics."
"Prosthetics." Mark drew in a breath. It was finally hitting home. He was a cripple. His body was broken by what happened to him. He may never ride a 'Mech again, never fight again. He'd never make captain or major, never rise like he wanted, never prove himself…
His control failed. He started to weep.
"It's going to be okay, Mark," Sara-Marie insisted, trying to console him. Her hand wiped the tears flowing from his eyes.
"I just wanted to show you I was a Proctor," he wept. "To show everyone… that I could be as good as Thomas… as special as Melissa… now I'm just a cripple…"
As his crying intensified, Sara-Marie's arms drew him closer. "No, God no, you needn't prove anything to us, Mark. We love you, it's as simple as that, and we're going to get through this. Have faith in that."
He wanted to. To have faith in the future he faced, a chance to be something more than the prince everyone would pity. But for the moment, all he could do was weep over his shattered body, the price of the glory he'd sought so readily.
Battle Site, near Tambov
Rosice
Arcadian Free March
12 May 3034
Corporal Danesh Marya, of the newly-formed First Bolan Irregulars, raced his patched-up Jenner alongside his other comrades in the light battalions of the regiment. "Confirmed, heat signatures from 'Mechs", a voice said over the comms. "Looks like Marian raiders."
"Do we have permission to engage?" asked one of Danesh's comrades.
"Yes," was the immediate answer. The idea of not engaging the enemies that took their homes and threatened to enslave their families was unthinkable to Danesh and so many of his comrades.
Indeed, with permission granted, the entire unit started dashing into range of the marauding Marian 'Mechs. They bore the colors and insignia of the Gladiators, presumably the survivors of the trouncing inflicted on them on Bolan itself. Danesh centered his crosshairs on a Marian Stinger and triggered the four medium lasers that acted as his machine's primary weapons. It was a rash attack given that at least one of his heat sinks wasn't functioning, but he wanted to put the Marian down.
Unfortunately his shots were not connecting. Only one of the four made any kind of hit, a glancing one that sheared some armor off an arm. The Stinger kept maneuvering, evading missiles from a Locust and a Javelin as it did. A beam of ruby red energy sizzled through the air and sheared armor and metal bone from the Locust's leg. The Stinger followed up the strike by dashing close and colliding with the light 'Mech, toppling it. Its arm-mounted weapon came up to deliver a killing shot to the Locust's cockpit.
Danesh fired, triggering a wave of heat and warning klaxons from his 'Mech's systems as he did. Four laser beams of the same color lashed out, catching the Stinger this time and melting copious amounts of armor off the light machine. With his comrade rescued, Danesh shouted in pure anger and fired once more, two beams connecting this time. His systems threatened to shut down.
He didn't have to fire again, though. Instead his overheating 'Mech slammed into the Marian machine. It lacked any arms to use for grappling, so Danesh brought the left leg up and delivered a kick that broke through half-molten, shoddy armor and into the 'Mech's fusion plant. The Stinger's power died from the critical wound.
Danesh exulted in victory, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough to make up for the loss of his homeworld Biloela. Not enough to meet his need to avenge the family he may have lost forever, still trapped in Marian territory. Like many of his escaped comrades, he had a passion to fight against those that took everything from him.
We'll fight for a hundred years if we must, Bolan, and Biloela, will be ours again!
The rolling hills of Rosice passed quickly under the rushing feet of Drusa's newly-issued Stinger. The STG-3M model was a new build bought from Terran arms merchants on the Imperator's denarii and Avery had personally assigned it to her. Everything about the machine was new to her, even her field uniform was different, with the Terran-made cooling suit more comfortable than the combination of tank top, shorts, and cooling vest her last machine used. Her firepower was more than doubled now that each arm carried a medium laser, an extended range model from the Terran-based Krupp Armaments, with a smaller laser on the chest for a bit of extra firepower up close. At a regular run this Stinger could manage nearly a hundred and thirty kilometers in an hour, a significant speed boost made possible by the XL fusion engine, and the jump was well over two hundred meters if she pushed the eight jump jets to full.
Now she led a century of gladiators piloting this model towards the outskirts of Tambov. The Bolanese troops organized by the Arcadians had a supply base here that was to be stripped of all useful materials and torched by order of Praetor Augusti Yassin, and her century was tasked with dealing with the defenders before the cargo helos arrived. The collection of quonsets and low warehouses had only a fence as a perimeter, but heat signatures made clear the presence of several tanks and a lance of 'Mechs. Two Wasps, a Commando, and a Jenner. The latter machine was the biggest threat with its SRMs, but she had speed on it. "Chaka, Tiva, handle the Wasps and keep an eye on that Commando. Trajania, you and I are taking down that Jenner, get at its back and slice it open. Watkins, mind the tanks, don't worry about taking them out, just rattle their crews and let us focus on our 'Mech adversaries. And whatever else and of you do, keep moving. We have speed, let's use it!"
A host of affirmatives answered her as they closed the final span of distance. The enemy's machines started moving into place to intercept them. A Hunter turned on her and fired a full salvo of twenty missiles. Drusa ducked and weaved the Stinger, evading most of the entire salvo with only light damage to the shoulder. I could've never pulled that off in the old Stinger. "Focus fire on that Hunter, gladiators!" she shouted into the century commlink. She set her crosshairs on the offending tank and waited for the range to close enough that her targeting systems confirmed a solid shot. Emerald light melted armor and steel. Other laser shots converged on the machine, melting away armor until one beam made it through. Smoke and flame issued from the vehicle. The hatches opened and the crew started to clamber free of their machine. Scorpion tanks started scattering while one darted in to recover their crew. Drusa considered firing on them, but held back. She had more important targets.
Chaka and Tiva broke off to bring down the Wasps. Watkins lasered one of the Scorpion tanks She ignored the Commando and its short range missiles, focusing instead on the more dangerous Jenner. Two emerald beams fired at her and she retaliated in kind, jumping as four SRMs flew her way. One impacted and penetrated her armor but without damaging anything inside the Stinger. She landed behind the Jenner and swung around to fire. The Bolanese pilot was trained enough to juke to the side, avoiding her right hand laser. The left hand beam played over the armor housing protecting its left-side lasers. She followed up by triggering the small laser and was rearded with the ruby light cutting through armor and producing sparks from within. Laser hit!
The Jenner hit her with its remaining lasers. She leaned and knelt, throwing off one shot while her right arm's armor protected her from another. The final one played over a leg. No armor pens, she thought, noting her displays. The sensors still showed those limbs as red; the laser shots had degraded the armor integrity to make them unable to resist further fire.
Before she could get a shot off, warning klaxons sounded. Drusa's feet slammed her pedals and launched her Stinger into the air a split second before ten SRMs passed through the air she'd been in. One clipped her 'Mech's right foot, triggering an actuator damage warning light as she settled back down with her jump jets nearly exhausted. The Stinger's weight started to shift and she fought against it, keeping the light 'Mech standing despite the foot damage. Had that entire barrage hit me… still, the Jenner is more dangerous. She turned to engage it again.
She needn't have bothered. Trajania's Stinger was behind the Bolanese 'Mech and her shot was perfect. Twin medium lasers bore through the Jenner's weak rear armor in an emerald flash, drawing forth a massive fireball that blew the 'Mech apart, pilot and all. "Good kill!" she shouted before turning her weapons on the Commando that'd tried to kill her. It maneuvered, the pilot trying to buy time for a fresh salvo of SRMs to load, but she refused to give the Bolanese MechWarrior the time they needed. She rushed at the 'Mech and shoulder-checked it hard. The five tons of difference was off-set by her speed and timing. The Commando fell over on its side. Without hesitation Drusa directed all of her lasers at its back. A moment later she jumped backward, getting the distance she needed as the Commando likewise blew apart from its SRM magazine cooking off. "That one's for you, Cornelia," she said quietly. "Even if it's not a damned Griffin." Your century needs you she reminded herself. She turned towards one of the Bolanese Wasps and directed her crosshairs on the machine, rejoining the fray.
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
28 June 3034
Taking time away from Mark's recovery always gave Sara-Marie guilt. Her son needed her, clearly, and his emotional state was still fragile. But her responsibilities to their people could not be avoided.
Today was an important meeting in particular. The Marian attacks on Drosendorf and Rosice were over and done with, but the leaders of the Free March had to decide on how to proceed. She had to decide. So she called a meeting of her realm's foremost planners and experts. The Dukes of Togwotee and Dar-es-Salaam were present, as was Lord Prestwick and Sir James Bronson of SIS. Lord Alexander and his sister Lady Tabitha appeared with General Harding and the Duchess of Hyde, the leader of the Navy.
"The Marians have given a shot in the arm to the insurgents on Drosendorf," Tabitha reported in a bitter tone. "Their new surfeit of weapons is bringing them volunteers, or in some cases forced conscripts I'd say. Toyama's cult is becoming particularly aggressive. We're going to need a larger garrison than the 1st Regiment, and another year minimum to put them down."
Her brother went next. "The action at Rosice cost some damage as well, but the 1st Bolan Irregulars kept it from being worse. For all the unit's poor equipment and inexperience, they made up for it with spirit."
"So the question is how we respond," said Duke Abdulla Rayhan. Here he was dressed in Arcadian style business attire, unlike the robes he'd wear back on his homeworld, save for the traditional keffiyeh. "Another strike, perhaps? We could call off the planned attack on Alula Borealis. The Arcadian Rangers and Proctor Light Horse would make short work of these gladiator units, Inshallah."
"A reprisal attack is certainly to be considered," Alexander agreed. "Anything less and they will think we are afraid. I say gather our top units and hit them again, harder this time. Without the need to run a rescue mission we could wipe the floor with one of their legions."
"And have them retaliate in kind? A smaller demonstration, more in line with their actions, might be better," suggested Duke Simon Allen of Togwotee. "As Duke Abdullah suggested, we could launch a counter-raid. There are still some insurgent elements on Bolan we could arm."
"I suggest we do nothing."
Sir James' words spread silence through the room like an ink drop filling a vessel of water. Every set of eyes focused on the spymaster. Sara-Marie pre-empted her more bellicose advisors by asking, "You would have us do nothing?"
"These attacks are a relief for us, Serene Highness," Sir James said. "If the Imperator's forces could do more, they would. We anticipated a larger response, up to a full-scale assault on Gypsum. Instead they sent harassing raids. Word is they may deploy the Terror from the Deep mercenary unit against us as well, but so far, no indications show a more substantial campaign. This is a sop for Sean O'Reilly's reputation, nothing more. He has no means to prosecute a war against us at this time. Not with the damages taken fighting Bolan, or the costs fo resupply. This is how he can justify a lack of further attacks to his people."
"And if you're wrong, and he intends to attack?" Alexander asked pointedly.
"Given his personality, he is unlikely to hold back for misdirection." Sir James folded his hands on the table. "I suggest we send the Guardian and her battlegroup back toward the area. Commence naval patrols moving through all of our systems. If they send the mercs in, we might catch them. Either way, doing more would be foolhardy. We have stepped away with a lighter price for our deeds than we anticipated. Let's be thankful for that and move on with more pressing matters, like the renewal of the Skye War."
"We'll still have the Legions on our Anti-Spinward front," said Harding. "We can't ignore the problem."
"We won't, but we don't let obsession ruin our freedom of action. Sean will be facing other matters, I suspect, and we have time before he moves again. We have other matters that will demand our energies."
While many of the others were displeased, Sara-Marie thought the SIS Director's appraisal sounded authentic. "For the time being, we will follow Sir James' proposal. Our other operations will go as planned."
Dr. Nancy Corey Military Hospital
Laughlin Capital District, Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
24 April 3034
The darkness finally receded, and as it did, pain came. Just a general, body-wide agony, with itching that couldn't be satiated, and a weariness that made movement feel impossible.
Such was the way Prince Mark Proctor returned to consciousness.
He opened his eyes to a dimly-lit hospital room, and even that bit of light was almost too much for him. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust. He tried to move his right hand, but strangely, the limb wouldn't respond. Even though he could swear he felt it, it seemed completely asleep.
His left arm responded, somewhat, and it gave him just enough leverage to sit up…
...and realize his left leg was gone.
It was from surprise more than horror that he cried out. Which, as it turned out, alerted the nurses that he was awake.
Half an hour later, Mark looked up at the opening door to see his parents rush in. His mother, defying all the regal dignity demanded of her in public, rushed to his side and threw her arms around him. "Mark, you're awake. You're awake, thank the Lord!"
"Mum…" With his left arm in a splint and his right arm missing at the shoulder, he couldn't return the embrace. "Mum, I… my arm and leg are gone. And I can't use the ones left either, they just… they just won't…"
"I know," she said, tears running down her face. She moved enough for Mark's father to give his son a gentler embrace. It was clear Consort-Prince Thomas was struggling with his emotions, trying to maintain the proper Fordian "stiff upper lip" inherited from their English ancestors on Terra. And it wasn't entirely working. "The doctors say it will take time and therapy to regain the use of your remaining limbs. As for the others, we will see about prosthetics."
"Prosthetics." Mark drew in a breath. It was finally hitting home. He was a cripple. His body was broken by what happened to him. He may never ride a 'Mech again, never fight again. He'd never make captain or major, never rise like he wanted, never prove himself…
His control failed. He started to weep.
"It's going to be okay, Mark," Sara-Marie insisted, trying to console him. Her hand wiped the tears flowing from his eyes.
"I just wanted to show you I was a Proctor," he wept. "To show everyone… that I could be as good as Thomas… as special as Melissa… now I'm just a cripple…"
As his crying intensified, Sara-Marie's arms drew him closer. "No, God no, you needn't prove anything to us, Mark. We love you, it's as simple as that, and we're going to get through this. Have faith in that."
He wanted to. To have faith in the future he faced, a chance to be something more than the prince everyone would pity. But for the moment, all he could do was weep over his shattered body, the price of the glory he'd sought so readily.
Battle Site, near Tambov
Rosice
Arcadian Free March
12 May 3034
Corporal Danesh Marya, of the newly-formed First Bolan Irregulars, raced his patched-up Jenner alongside his other comrades in the light battalions of the regiment. "Confirmed, heat signatures from 'Mechs", a voice said over the comms. "Looks like Marian raiders."
"Do we have permission to engage?" asked one of Danesh's comrades.
"Yes," was the immediate answer. The idea of not engaging the enemies that took their homes and threatened to enslave their families was unthinkable to Danesh and so many of his comrades.
Indeed, with permission granted, the entire unit started dashing into range of the marauding Marian 'Mechs. They bore the colors and insignia of the Gladiators, presumably the survivors of the trouncing inflicted on them on Bolan itself. Danesh centered his crosshairs on a Marian Stinger and triggered the four medium lasers that acted as his machine's primary weapons. It was a rash attack given that at least one of his heat sinks wasn't functioning, but he wanted to put the Marian down.
Unfortunately his shots were not connecting. Only one of the four made any kind of hit, a glancing one that sheared some armor off an arm. The Stinger kept maneuvering, evading missiles from a Locust and a Javelin as it did. A beam of ruby red energy sizzled through the air and sheared armor and metal bone from the Locust's leg. The Stinger followed up the strike by dashing close and colliding with the light 'Mech, toppling it. Its arm-mounted weapon came up to deliver a killing shot to the Locust's cockpit.
Danesh fired, triggering a wave of heat and warning klaxons from his 'Mech's systems as he did. Four laser beams of the same color lashed out, catching the Stinger this time and melting copious amounts of armor off the light machine. With his comrade rescued, Danesh shouted in pure anger and fired once more, two beams connecting this time. His systems threatened to shut down.
He didn't have to fire again, though. Instead his overheating 'Mech slammed into the Marian machine. It lacked any arms to use for grappling, so Danesh brought the left leg up and delivered a kick that broke through half-molten, shoddy armor and into the 'Mech's fusion plant. The Stinger's power died from the critical wound.
Danesh exulted in victory, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough to make up for the loss of his homeworld Biloela. Not enough to meet his need to avenge the family he may have lost forever, still trapped in Marian territory. Like many of his escaped comrades, he had a passion to fight against those that took everything from him.
We'll fight for a hundred years if we must, Bolan, and Biloela, will be ours again!
The rolling hills of Rosice passed quickly under the rushing feet of Drusa's newly-issued Stinger. The STG-3M model was a new build bought from Terran arms merchants on the Imperator's denarii and Avery had personally assigned it to her. Everything about the machine was new to her, even her field uniform was different, with the Terran-made cooling suit more comfortable than the combination of tank top, shorts, and cooling vest her last machine used. Her firepower was more than doubled now that each arm carried a medium laser, an extended range model from the Terran-based Krupp Armaments, with a smaller laser on the chest for a bit of extra firepower up close. At a regular run this Stinger could manage nearly a hundred and thirty kilometers in an hour, a significant speed boost made possible by the XL fusion engine, and the jump was well over two hundred meters if she pushed the eight jump jets to full.
Now she led a century of gladiators piloting this model towards the outskirts of Tambov. The Bolanese troops organized by the Arcadians had a supply base here that was to be stripped of all useful materials and torched by order of Praetor Augusti Yassin, and her century was tasked with dealing with the defenders before the cargo helos arrived. The collection of quonsets and low warehouses had only a fence as a perimeter, but heat signatures made clear the presence of several tanks and a lance of 'Mechs. Two Wasps, a Commando, and a Jenner. The latter machine was the biggest threat with its SRMs, but she had speed on it. "Chaka, Tiva, handle the Wasps and keep an eye on that Commando. Trajania, you and I are taking down that Jenner, get at its back and slice it open. Watkins, mind the tanks, don't worry about taking them out, just rattle their crews and let us focus on our 'Mech adversaries. And whatever else and of you do, keep moving. We have speed, let's use it!"
A host of affirmatives answered her as they closed the final span of distance. The enemy's machines started moving into place to intercept them. A Hunter turned on her and fired a full salvo of twenty missiles. Drusa ducked and weaved the Stinger, evading most of the entire salvo with only light damage to the shoulder. I could've never pulled that off in the old Stinger. "Focus fire on that Hunter, gladiators!" she shouted into the century commlink. She set her crosshairs on the offending tank and waited for the range to close enough that her targeting systems confirmed a solid shot. Emerald light melted armor and steel. Other laser shots converged on the machine, melting away armor until one beam made it through. Smoke and flame issued from the vehicle. The hatches opened and the crew started to clamber free of their machine. Scorpion tanks started scattering while one darted in to recover their crew. Drusa considered firing on them, but held back. She had more important targets.
Chaka and Tiva broke off to bring down the Wasps. Watkins lasered one of the Scorpion tanks She ignored the Commando and its short range missiles, focusing instead on the more dangerous Jenner. Two emerald beams fired at her and she retaliated in kind, jumping as four SRMs flew her way. One impacted and penetrated her armor but without damaging anything inside the Stinger. She landed behind the Jenner and swung around to fire. The Bolanese pilot was trained enough to juke to the side, avoiding her right hand laser. The left hand beam played over the armor housing protecting its left-side lasers. She followed up by triggering the small laser and was rearded with the ruby light cutting through armor and producing sparks from within. Laser hit!
The Jenner hit her with its remaining lasers. She leaned and knelt, throwing off one shot while her right arm's armor protected her from another. The final one played over a leg. No armor pens, she thought, noting her displays. The sensors still showed those limbs as red; the laser shots had degraded the armor integrity to make them unable to resist further fire.
Before she could get a shot off, warning klaxons sounded. Drusa's feet slammed her pedals and launched her Stinger into the air a split second before ten SRMs passed through the air she'd been in. One clipped her 'Mech's right foot, triggering an actuator damage warning light as she settled back down with her jump jets nearly exhausted. The Stinger's weight started to shift and she fought against it, keeping the light 'Mech standing despite the foot damage. Had that entire barrage hit me… still, the Jenner is more dangerous. She turned to engage it again.
She needn't have bothered. Trajania's Stinger was behind the Bolanese 'Mech and her shot was perfect. Twin medium lasers bore through the Jenner's weak rear armor in an emerald flash, drawing forth a massive fireball that blew the 'Mech apart, pilot and all. "Good kill!" she shouted before turning her weapons on the Commando that'd tried to kill her. It maneuvered, the pilot trying to buy time for a fresh salvo of SRMs to load, but she refused to give the Bolanese MechWarrior the time they needed. She rushed at the 'Mech and shoulder-checked it hard. The five tons of difference was off-set by her speed and timing. The Commando fell over on its side. Without hesitation Drusa directed all of her lasers at its back. A moment later she jumped backward, getting the distance she needed as the Commando likewise blew apart from its SRM magazine cooking off. "That one's for you, Cornelia," she said quietly. "Even if it's not a damned Griffin." Your century needs you she reminded herself. She turned towards one of the Bolanese Wasps and directed her crosshairs on the machine, rejoining the fray.
Ducal Palace
Roslyn, Eastern Islay
Arcadia
Arcadian Free March
28 June 3034
Taking time away from Mark's recovery always gave Sara-Marie guilt. Her son needed her, clearly, and his emotional state was still fragile. But her responsibilities to their people could not be avoided.
Today was an important meeting in particular. The Marian attacks on Drosendorf and Rosice were over and done with, but the leaders of the Free March had to decide on how to proceed. She had to decide. So she called a meeting of her realm's foremost planners and experts. The Dukes of Togwotee and Dar-es-Salaam were present, as was Lord Prestwick and Sir James Bronson of SIS. Lord Alexander and his sister Lady Tabitha appeared with General Harding and the Duchess of Hyde, the leader of the Navy.
"The Marians have given a shot in the arm to the insurgents on Drosendorf," Tabitha reported in a bitter tone. "Their new surfeit of weapons is bringing them volunteers, or in some cases forced conscripts I'd say. Toyama's cult is becoming particularly aggressive. We're going to need a larger garrison than the 1st Regiment, and another year minimum to put them down."
Her brother went next. "The action at Rosice cost some damage as well, but the 1st Bolan Irregulars kept it from being worse. For all the unit's poor equipment and inexperience, they made up for it with spirit."
"So the question is how we respond," said Duke Abdulla Rayhan. Here he was dressed in Arcadian style business attire, unlike the robes he'd wear back on his homeworld, save for the traditional keffiyeh. "Another strike, perhaps? We could call off the planned attack on Alula Borealis. The Arcadian Rangers and Proctor Light Horse would make short work of these gladiator units, Inshallah."
"A reprisal attack is certainly to be considered," Alexander agreed. "Anything less and they will think we are afraid. I say gather our top units and hit them again, harder this time. Without the need to run a rescue mission we could wipe the floor with one of their legions."
"And have them retaliate in kind? A smaller demonstration, more in line with their actions, might be better," suggested Duke Simon Allen of Togwotee. "As Duke Abdullah suggested, we could launch a counter-raid. There are still some insurgent elements on Bolan we could arm."
"I suggest we do nothing."
Sir James' words spread silence through the room like an ink drop filling a vessel of water. Every set of eyes focused on the spymaster. Sara-Marie pre-empted her more bellicose advisors by asking, "You would have us do nothing?"
"These attacks are a relief for us, Serene Highness," Sir James said. "If the Imperator's forces could do more, they would. We anticipated a larger response, up to a full-scale assault on Gypsum. Instead they sent harassing raids. Word is they may deploy the Terror from the Deep mercenary unit against us as well, but so far, no indications show a more substantial campaign. This is a sop for Sean O'Reilly's reputation, nothing more. He has no means to prosecute a war against us at this time. Not with the damages taken fighting Bolan, or the costs fo resupply. This is how he can justify a lack of further attacks to his people."
"And if you're wrong, and he intends to attack?" Alexander asked pointedly.
"Given his personality, he is unlikely to hold back for misdirection." Sir James folded his hands on the table. "I suggest we send the Guardian and her battlegroup back toward the area. Commence naval patrols moving through all of our systems. If they send the mercs in, we might catch them. Either way, doing more would be foolhardy. We have stepped away with a lighter price for our deeds than we anticipated. Let's be thankful for that and move on with more pressing matters, like the renewal of the Skye War."
"We'll still have the Legions on our Anti-Spinward front," said Harding. "We can't ignore the problem."
"We won't, but we don't let obsession ruin our freedom of action. Sean will be facing other matters, I suspect, and we have time before he moves again. We have other matters that will demand our energies."
While many of the others were displeased, Sara-Marie thought the SIS Director's appraisal sounded authentic. "For the time being, we will follow Sir James' proposal. Our other operations will go as planned."
”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: "Die Rettungsaktion" - A Story of the Concertverse Inner Sphere
Epilogue
Ducal Palace
Tamarind City, Main Continent
Tamarind
Grand Duchy of Tamarind
10 October 3034
His Excellency Suresh Khan, Baron of Kurind on Giasaur, served the Free March as its ambassador to the Grand Duke of Tamarind's court. They were one of the few realms to have such relations with Tamarind, mostly due to proximity, given Tamarind's insular behavior.
He arrived at the palace in Punjabi court wear and allowed the Duke's Guard to show him to a meeting chamber. Sculptures and paintings lined the walls, the former on pedestals, while in the middle of the chamber a long table of finely-crafted tropical wood, a local sandalwood-like product, was lined with chairs of red velvet cushioning. Baron Khan took the proffered seat and awaited what he assumed was the pleasure of either the Grand Duke himself or his foreign minister, Prince Ranesh.
When the door opened again, however, neither man entered.
Instead, Ambassador Aleksander Zielinski rolled in on an electric wheelchair. His toga marked him as a Marian, and the purple embroidery as a servant of the Imperial family. He was old and frail, but the mind that had built the largest gladiatorial games outside of Solaris remained as sharp as it had been in his youth.
Khan remained quiet at the sight of his Marian counterpart, waiting to see if any remark would be offered first. None was immediately forthcoming, simply a quiet, steely gaze from the older man. Khan wondered if the man would even be capable of returning to his homeworld given his current physical health, but more importantly, he wondered what the Tamarindians were up to.
After a couple minutes of quiet, the doors opened again. Prince Ranesh entered, in a resplendent court gown with a turban on his head. He offered namaste to both of them, which Khan reciprocated with a polite nod, as did his counterpart. "Your Excellencies." Ranesh spoke Star League English with a smooth accent. "Thank you for your attendance."
"Your Highness." Khan said nothing else, waiting to hear what Ranesh had to say.
"Your Highness." Zielinski's words were spoken with a particular accent, partly Slavic and partly Latin.
"I shall get to the point. It grieves His Majesty, my lord, to see such great nations and neighbors war with another. He fears that a wider conflict make break out, and instructed me to meet with you to see if a peaceful solution can be arranged."
Khan glanced to his counterpart before speaking. "We are ready to hear terms, if they are honorable. The Hegemony has spoken with its actions as of late."
Zielinski continued to look to the Prince, ignoring the Arcadian entirely. “It was Arcadia that threw the first stone, your Highness. The Imperator did not want this war, he merely responds in kind. He is a man of peace at heart.”
That remark required a great deal of Khan's reserve to hide the snort it might have otherwise elicited. Ranesh glanced toward him with a disarming smile. "So both parties are ready to stop this fighting. A good first step, but only the first. What terms would you seek?"
“The Marian Hegemony’s actions in Bolan were to contain a rogue state, your Highness. Your nation was as much a victim as ours, given the unprovoked Bolanese attack on Promised Land. Bolan is no longer a threat to either of our nations, yet the people who made the decision to launch said attack, and to sell weapons to terrorists in our territory, they remain free. We are willing to guarantee the border as it stands and promise an end to all retaliatory raids should Arcadia make a public declaration acknowledging the same. But in exchange, we demand the Umayrs and their top advisors be returned to us for justice, for their crimes against both our nations.”
Khan laughed. "You mean you want the Grand Princess and her family to parade as trophy slaves. This has little to do with justice for any attack and everything to do with vengeance for Bolan's earlier checks on Marian expansion." He focused his eyes on Ranesh. The Grand Duke of Tamarind had likewise once put up a barrier to said expansion, after all. "Highness, we were as aghast at the attack on Promised Land as anyone else. But this is sophistry. The Marians wanted an excuse to attack and conquer another state, and it was provided. Had the Hegemony restricted itself to, say, the seizure of Cavanaugh II, this would be a very different conversation. As the matter stands, we will not hand over a vassal of Her Serene Highness to be subjected to whatever 'justice' awaits them on Alphard."
"I can understand that, but the Marian Hegemony's point remains. My nation suffered Umayr aggression, yours did not. Certainly you can provide assurances on the matter?"
"The Umayrs are an exiled ruling family now, and have sworn fealty to House Proctor. They pose no threat to the Tamarindian or Marian peoples, and that is our solemn promise to you regardless of the outcome of this meeting." He leveled a look at Zielinski, who continued to offend by pretending he didn't exist. "We are willing to call an end to any plans for reprisals to the recent Marian attacks, and to honor the border as it stands. And as I am informed of prisoners being taken, we are more than willing to return them to their families in the Hegemony as part of a prisoner exchange."
“The Hegemony is willing to accept a prisoner exchange. We will release any Arcadians taken as prisoners in exchange for the release of Marian prisoners.” Zielinski looked to Khan for the first time and smiled as wide as he could. “As for the Bolanese, well, they are now legally state property. They will not be released, although we would consider a trade. We’ll release 10,000 for the Grand Princess herself.”
It was clear Zielinski was trying to bait him. Had Khan been an actual Arcadian or Gienahite, it might have worked. He nodded once. "Our legal position on your idea of human beings as property is well known and need not be repeated here. As for your proposed second exchange, the term is rejected. More to the point, any Bolanese soldiers seized in your reprisal raid on Rosice were in Arcadian colors and must be included in the exchange."
Zielinski shrugged. “The Gladiators were not in the mood to take prisoners, so there were so very few… very well. An exchange of prisoners and a mutual acceptance of our borders. The Imperator will, of course, have final say, but he should be satisfied with the status quo ante bellum for a conflict he did not want.”
"I will inform my government." Khan turned his head toward Ranesh. "The Free March thanks His Majesty the Grand Duke for his intercession in this matter."
"I will inform him of your words," Ranesh said pleasantly.
This was easier than I imagined. The Marians want peace as well, at least for now. Khan thought he could see a flicker in Ranesh's eyes as he made the same realization, one that he thought should make the man nervous. It may at least give us time to see to the Skye War issue...
"I thank you, Your Excellencies, for your attendance today," Ranesh continued. "Please, enjoy the hospitality of the Palace while alerting your governments as to the proposal."
"The reprisal raids for the Arcadian intervention on Bolan were not a reasoned military counter-offensive, nor a planned reprisal campaign. They were a temper tantrum by an angry teenager at those who had defied him. The final strike by the Terror of the Deep on Zvolen was the suitable conclusion, then, as the mercenaries met a foe they could not terrorize and melted away. With Sean's fury spent and his eyes cast in other directions and March-Princess Sara-Marie's government distracted by the resumption of hostilities between Hesperus and Atreus, the way was open for a peaceful accord to end the fighting. Thus the Marian-Bolan War ended." — Excerpt from "A Critical History of the 'Anni Gloriae'", by Titian Fulton, Professor Emeritus of the College of Interstellar History, Oxford University. Published 3126
Ducal Palace
Tamarind City, Main Continent
Tamarind
Grand Duchy of Tamarind
10 October 3034
His Excellency Suresh Khan, Baron of Kurind on Giasaur, served the Free March as its ambassador to the Grand Duke of Tamarind's court. They were one of the few realms to have such relations with Tamarind, mostly due to proximity, given Tamarind's insular behavior.
He arrived at the palace in Punjabi court wear and allowed the Duke's Guard to show him to a meeting chamber. Sculptures and paintings lined the walls, the former on pedestals, while in the middle of the chamber a long table of finely-crafted tropical wood, a local sandalwood-like product, was lined with chairs of red velvet cushioning. Baron Khan took the proffered seat and awaited what he assumed was the pleasure of either the Grand Duke himself or his foreign minister, Prince Ranesh.
When the door opened again, however, neither man entered.
Instead, Ambassador Aleksander Zielinski rolled in on an electric wheelchair. His toga marked him as a Marian, and the purple embroidery as a servant of the Imperial family. He was old and frail, but the mind that had built the largest gladiatorial games outside of Solaris remained as sharp as it had been in his youth.
Khan remained quiet at the sight of his Marian counterpart, waiting to see if any remark would be offered first. None was immediately forthcoming, simply a quiet, steely gaze from the older man. Khan wondered if the man would even be capable of returning to his homeworld given his current physical health, but more importantly, he wondered what the Tamarindians were up to.
After a couple minutes of quiet, the doors opened again. Prince Ranesh entered, in a resplendent court gown with a turban on his head. He offered namaste to both of them, which Khan reciprocated with a polite nod, as did his counterpart. "Your Excellencies." Ranesh spoke Star League English with a smooth accent. "Thank you for your attendance."
"Your Highness." Khan said nothing else, waiting to hear what Ranesh had to say.
"Your Highness." Zielinski's words were spoken with a particular accent, partly Slavic and partly Latin.
"I shall get to the point. It grieves His Majesty, my lord, to see such great nations and neighbors war with another. He fears that a wider conflict make break out, and instructed me to meet with you to see if a peaceful solution can be arranged."
Khan glanced to his counterpart before speaking. "We are ready to hear terms, if they are honorable. The Hegemony has spoken with its actions as of late."
Zielinski continued to look to the Prince, ignoring the Arcadian entirely. “It was Arcadia that threw the first stone, your Highness. The Imperator did not want this war, he merely responds in kind. He is a man of peace at heart.”
That remark required a great deal of Khan's reserve to hide the snort it might have otherwise elicited. Ranesh glanced toward him with a disarming smile. "So both parties are ready to stop this fighting. A good first step, but only the first. What terms would you seek?"
“The Marian Hegemony’s actions in Bolan were to contain a rogue state, your Highness. Your nation was as much a victim as ours, given the unprovoked Bolanese attack on Promised Land. Bolan is no longer a threat to either of our nations, yet the people who made the decision to launch said attack, and to sell weapons to terrorists in our territory, they remain free. We are willing to guarantee the border as it stands and promise an end to all retaliatory raids should Arcadia make a public declaration acknowledging the same. But in exchange, we demand the Umayrs and their top advisors be returned to us for justice, for their crimes against both our nations.”
Khan laughed. "You mean you want the Grand Princess and her family to parade as trophy slaves. This has little to do with justice for any attack and everything to do with vengeance for Bolan's earlier checks on Marian expansion." He focused his eyes on Ranesh. The Grand Duke of Tamarind had likewise once put up a barrier to said expansion, after all. "Highness, we were as aghast at the attack on Promised Land as anyone else. But this is sophistry. The Marians wanted an excuse to attack and conquer another state, and it was provided. Had the Hegemony restricted itself to, say, the seizure of Cavanaugh II, this would be a very different conversation. As the matter stands, we will not hand over a vassal of Her Serene Highness to be subjected to whatever 'justice' awaits them on Alphard."
"I can understand that, but the Marian Hegemony's point remains. My nation suffered Umayr aggression, yours did not. Certainly you can provide assurances on the matter?"
"The Umayrs are an exiled ruling family now, and have sworn fealty to House Proctor. They pose no threat to the Tamarindian or Marian peoples, and that is our solemn promise to you regardless of the outcome of this meeting." He leveled a look at Zielinski, who continued to offend by pretending he didn't exist. "We are willing to call an end to any plans for reprisals to the recent Marian attacks, and to honor the border as it stands. And as I am informed of prisoners being taken, we are more than willing to return them to their families in the Hegemony as part of a prisoner exchange."
“The Hegemony is willing to accept a prisoner exchange. We will release any Arcadians taken as prisoners in exchange for the release of Marian prisoners.” Zielinski looked to Khan for the first time and smiled as wide as he could. “As for the Bolanese, well, they are now legally state property. They will not be released, although we would consider a trade. We’ll release 10,000 for the Grand Princess herself.”
It was clear Zielinski was trying to bait him. Had Khan been an actual Arcadian or Gienahite, it might have worked. He nodded once. "Our legal position on your idea of human beings as property is well known and need not be repeated here. As for your proposed second exchange, the term is rejected. More to the point, any Bolanese soldiers seized in your reprisal raid on Rosice were in Arcadian colors and must be included in the exchange."
Zielinski shrugged. “The Gladiators were not in the mood to take prisoners, so there were so very few… very well. An exchange of prisoners and a mutual acceptance of our borders. The Imperator will, of course, have final say, but he should be satisfied with the status quo ante bellum for a conflict he did not want.”
"I will inform my government." Khan turned his head toward Ranesh. "The Free March thanks His Majesty the Grand Duke for his intercession in this matter."
"I will inform him of your words," Ranesh said pleasantly.
This was easier than I imagined. The Marians want peace as well, at least for now. Khan thought he could see a flicker in Ranesh's eyes as he made the same realization, one that he thought should make the man nervous. It may at least give us time to see to the Skye War issue...
"I thank you, Your Excellencies, for your attendance today," Ranesh continued. "Please, enjoy the hospitality of the Palace while alerting your governments as to the proposal."
"The reprisal raids for the Arcadian intervention on Bolan were not a reasoned military counter-offensive, nor a planned reprisal campaign. They were a temper tantrum by an angry teenager at those who had defied him. The final strike by the Terror of the Deep on Zvolen was the suitable conclusion, then, as the mercenaries met a foe they could not terrorize and melted away. With Sean's fury spent and his eyes cast in other directions and March-Princess Sara-Marie's government distracted by the resumption of hostilities between Hesperus and Atreus, the way was open for a peaceful accord to end the fighting. Thus the Marian-Bolan War ended." — Excerpt from "A Critical History of the 'Anni Gloriae'", by Titian Fulton, Professor Emeritus of the College of Interstellar History, Oxford University. Published 3126
”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