Warrior: Coupé (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Three): BattleTech Legends, #59

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The Primus nodded in agreement. “I do not mind delaying reports that will kill warriors, but I refuse to expose spies. That would be akin to killing the goose that lays the golden eggs. We will continue to accept their reports as though we are transmitting them, but the information will come here for analysis.”

  Precentor New Avalon cleared his throat. “If any Davion spies were exposed, I am certain Quintus Allard would be able to recruit new ones and keep their identities safe from us—at least in the short term. Better the devils we know…”

  Myndo brooded silently. You’re a bunch of weak-kneed farmers’ wives. You chase after the chicken you want for dinner, hoping it will die. You wait and plot and plan when all you really need is a sharp axe. She watched the Primus carefully. When I take your place, ComStar will become a force greater than anything you can imagine. The Word of Blake will become known for the truth that it is.

  The Primus smiled but without a trace of warmth or pleasantness. “If you do not want to be embarrassed, Precentor Dieron, I suggest not calling for a vote on interdiction. It seems that we choose to stand by our earlier agreement.”

  Myndo nodded. “Very well. I am content to wait until House Davion attacks Sarna—but no later.” Now all I need do is restructure enough spy reports to make Sarna look very tempting. Into her mind, unbidden, came an image of Hanse Davion. Perhaps, with the Fox doing the planning, I will need do no work at all…

  BOOK I: TRUTH

  “The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

  Oscar Wilde

  Chapter 1

  NEW AVALON

  CRUCIS MARCH

  FEDERATED SUNS

  3 MARCH 3029

  Hanse Davion squinted his ice-blue eyes against the harsh glare of the lights, while around him, the applause from the reporters jamming the small auditorium thundered. Tall and regal in his blue dress uniform, the Prince of the Federated Suns stood at the wooden podium, smiling as he waited for the ovation to die down. When it gave no signs of abating, he raised his hands to quiet the enthusiastic crowd.

  “Please, let us at least have the appearance of an objective press…” He joined in with the journalists’ laughter at the remark, then set his face in an expression of calm dignity. “I have a statement, ladies and gentlemen, before I take questions.”

  Hanse’s left hand smoothed his closely cropped auburn hair. “Few would argue that warfare is mankind’s oldest profession—and oldest obsession. Wars have decided the course of history in the seven thousand years of recorded time, and the art of warfare was no doubt forged in a crucible of even greater antiquity.”

  Hanse paused for a moment to drink from the glass of water set beside the podium. “The history of warfare often glorifies the feats of courage that win battles, or the valiant efforts of those who fought and lost. Historians freely second-guess an order given by this or that general, but they seldom count the human factors entering into the equations. The barbarity of war can be reduced to statistics, but individuals feel the pain of losing a family member in emotional rather than mathematical terms.

  “Even wars fought in accordance with the Ares Conventions—warfare that minimizes the impact of battles on civilian populations—are not without loss and pain. Yet it is a rare death that affects a whole nation. Today I have the sad duty of informing you, my people, of just such a death.”

  Hanse watched the reporters glance quizzically at one another. No, your sources have not leaked this piece of information. The only way you will hear it is from my mouth. Hanse let his lower lip tremble and injected a huskiness into his voice.

  “Today we received confirmation of the death of Duke Michael Hasek-Davion.” The Prince paused as the reporters’ shocked outbursts echoed off the room’s walls, then resumed his narrative as silence fell over the assembly. “He died—actually was brutally murdered—at the hands of Maximilian Liao. I take full responsibility for Michael’s death. He died pursuing a policy he believed I favored.

  “It is no secret that Duke Michael and I had our disagreements in the past, but they were not so dark and divisive as you, the members of the press, characterized them. There is a universe of difference between being fierce rivals and the relationship I shared with Duke Michael. You saw him as my enemy. I saw him as loyal opposition.” Hanse sighed heavily. “He will be sorely missed, and his death will not go unavenged.”

  The Prince’s expression did not change, but his voice rose to its normal range. “Liao’s assassins were also ordered to destroy another individual in their efforts to please their mad master. In a move that can only be described as psychotically paranoid, Liao ordered the death of Colonel Pavel Ridzik. With the Maskirovka’s usual efficiency, they failed to kill the colonel, but maimed and murdered hundreds of innocent bystanders when the hit team exploded an entire city block trying to get one man.”

  Hanse allowed the hint of a smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. “Driven by concern for his people, the people of Tikonov, Colonel Ridzik sought us out. After a series of negotiations, we have agreed to recognize the Tikonov Free Republic and to terminate all hostile operations within its borders in return for a pact of mutual protection and defense. Once again, all the people of the Successor States have proof of our support for political freedom and each individual’s right to pursue his or her destiny.”

  The Prince looked out over the press corps, then smiled wryly. “You will no doubt ask why we are at war with the Capellan Confederation if this is so. Why not let them live in peace? I ask, can anyone be truly free when so unscrupulous a leader lurks nearby? Liao thought nothing of destroying a whole city block to kill one man. Can the concepts of personal liberty and freedom mean anything to such a mind? The answer, quite simply, is no. We will do what we must to bring an end to Liao’s madness.”

  The Prince set aside his prepared text, then braced his hands against the edges of the podium. As reporters shot to their feet for questions, the Prince pointed to a slender man in the center of the pack.

  The other reporters sank quietly into their seats as the man introduced himself. “Joe Adams of the Information Network. Highness, how was Duke Michael killed, and how was news of his death transmitted to you?”

  Covering his mouth with his fist, Hanse coughed lightly before answering. “We have nothing even approximating an autopsy, Mr. Adams, but preliminary reports indicate death was the result of a gunshot wound to the head. It is possible he was beaten beforehand. As for how we learned of his death, we received a communiqué from ComStar officials to arrange a transfer of the body from Liao hands to ours on Spica.”

  Again, the reporters stood up en masse, but the Prince singled out a dark-haired woman near the front. “Yes, you, Ms. Watkins.”

  The reporter glanced down at her compad’s LCD display, then smiled at the Prince. “You said you accepted responsibility for the death of Duke Michael Hasek-Davion. Could you explain why?”

  Hanse hesitated for a moment, then exhaled heavily. “Michael, concerned about a Liao slash at the Capellan March, took it upon himself to travel to Sian. He wanted to negotiate a settlement with Maximilian Liao, but things obviously turned sour on him. The reason I accept responsibility for his death is because I did not attend fully to Michael’s concerns about the Capellan March. This happened because of my preoccupation with the war, but that does not absolve me of guilt.”

  A sandy-haired reporter won the shouting match to get the next question in. “Alf Cordes, New Avalon Broadcasting. How can you embrace Colonel Ridzik as a guardian of freedom when he was the author of the Truth Massacre in which three thousand men, women, and children were butchered by MechWarriors? We know Colonel Ridzik is an ambitious man, and quite probably engineered the death of Tormax Liao to ensure Maximilian’s accession to the Capellan throne. Are you not afraid to let such a man get close to you?”

  Hanse Davion’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Mr. Cordes, I am well aware of Colonel Ridzik’s record. I could stand here sharing with yo
u a host of rationalizations, but I will spare you. Colonel Ridzik’s support means we are able to reduce garrison forces, which ensures fewer casualties both on the front and behind the lines.”

  Hanse allowed himself the hint of a smile. “As for being afraid of Colonel Ridzik—I have always respected his abilities as a leader and a politician. I am not afraid of him. I am wary of him. There is, I assure you, a world of difference between the two conditions.”

  The Prince pointed to a reporter in a wheelchair for the next question, a genuine smile brightening his face. “Yes, Brandon. You’re next.”

  The reporter smiled. “Thank you, Colonel, I mean…”

  Hanse waved away the gaffe. “Not to worry, Brandon. I’m just glad someone remembers my days in the regiment.”

  Brandon Corey let the other reporters’ laughter die out before framing his question. “Highness, recalling your days in command of the Davion Heavy Guards, would you have imagined that an assault the size and scope of your Capellan invasion could be so successful?”

  Hanse Davion smiled. “As ever, Brandon, your questions do not allow for simple answers. I must admit that as the commander of the Davion Heavy Guards, I never envisioned a military strike of these dimensions. That is because military academies throughout the Successor States have preached the idea that a strategic advance is impossible.”

  The Prince raised his right hand to forestall questions while he continued his explanation. “In the six centuries since BattleMechs first strode onto a battlefield, combat has become rarefied. When we look at a BattleMech, we see a ten-meter-tall amalgam of metal and munitions. Too often, we see a ’Mech as a chivalrous knight’s armor and charger all bound together, and we imagine battles as fought between individual pilots, not faceless squads and divisions of soldiers.

  “It dawned on me, during a casual conversation with Colonel Ardan Sortek, that we’d overlooked a central fact about BattleMechs.” Hanse held his left hand out palm up, then curled the fingers in to form a fist. “To Napoleon… to Patton… to Rommel, a BattleMech would have represented the strength of a company or a division. Those generals, armed with communications technology that looks infantile compared to ours, easily commanded companies and divisions. They controlled armies composed of hundreds of thousands of individual warriors just to get the firepower of one of our ’Mech companies. If they could do that then, I asked myself, why can’t we do it now?”

  Corey leaned forward in his wheelchair. “That is when you decided to conquer the Capellan Confederation?”

  Hanse shook his head. “That’s when I decided we would organize the Operation Galahad exercises in 3026 and ’27 to test out the idea. When those exercises indicated that large numbers of troops could be moved effectively, we looked at dealing with the Liao threat.”

  A man behind and to the left of Corey stood quickly, and the Prince let him speak next. “Ron Kilgore, Nebula News Network. Reports of Liao attacks on a number of Federated Suns worlds have begun to filter back from the front. Have you any comment about them?”

  The Prince stood stiffly. “You know well, Mr. Kilgore, that military security bars me from discussing troop deployments and strengths with you, but your question does need to be answered. Yes, Liao forces hit several of our worlds in both the Draconis March and the Capellan March. Their objective was to capture or destroy supplies being held on those worlds in preparation for staging our next advance. Liao’s intelligence service, the Maskirovka, had interpreted certain bits of data to suggest that this would be a crippling attack. However, it was our Ministry of Intelligence, Information, and Operations who fed them the information. In intelligence circles, that’s knows as bait.”

  The Prince smiled as the reporters laughed. “Let me assure you that though Liao forces did land, none of them got away again.”

  Hanse nodded to another reporter. “Mr. St. James.”

  “Thank you, Highness. Last September, in your first press conference concerning the invasion, you said, ‘It will continue as long as it must.’ Do you now have a better idea how long that will be?”

  Hanse Davion shook his head resignedly. “At one time, I thought we could subdue Liao by taking away the industrial worlds in the Tikonov Commonality, but he does not seem to realize he has lost his ability to wage an effective war. Indeed, the attempted assassination of Pavel Ridzik and the murder of Duke Michael Hasek-Davion point out that our assessments of Liao’s mental stability have been far from the mark. Now Liao seems more like a rabid animal that must be put down than a shrewd leader of men.”

  Hanse frowned. “Please understand that this war is a hardship for me, just as it is for every one of my subjects.” He looked up and out beyond the auditorium’s wall. “This war keeps me apart from my wife. This war has cost me my brother-in-law, Michael. And every day I must send men and women off to die, which is a painful duty.”

  A woman with short black hair stood. “Highness, we have heard rumors that Justin Xiang, a man you exiled two years ago, now serves as Maximilian Liao’s advisor on intelligence matters dealing with the Federated Suns. Xiang is the son of your Quintus Allard, Minister of Intelligence, Information, and Operations. Is it true that you launched this invasion as a preemptive strike to prevent Liao from doing damage based on secrets known to Xiang? And if he has hurt the Federated Suns, will you sack his father?”

  The Prince cleared his throat, but the look of contempt remained on his face. “Based on how the Capellan forces fell into our ambush, Justin Xiang must be an important advisor to Maximilian Liao. Xiang might once have been considered a capable company commander. As an intelligence advisor to Maximilian Liao, he could easily be considered an asset to the Federated Suns. As for Quintus Allard, it was he who planned Operation Ambush and carefully orchestrated its successful execution. I have the utmost confidence in him, and he will remain at my side until the day he chooses to leave my service.”

  A grizzled older man stood to ask the next question. “Shifting from the Liao front for a moment, Highness, we’ve heard rumors that a Liao unit, the Northwind Highlanders, landed and drove two Kurita regiments off the planet Northwind. Could you comment on this, and tell us if there are any plans to liberate the world from the Liao forces?”

  Hanse half-smiled. “Again, for reasons of military security, I cannot answer you fully. Suffice it to say that the arrival of the Northwind Highlanders on the world their forebears left centuries ago was not unanticipated or unwelcome.”

  With that, Hanse Davion held up his hands. “No more questions,” he said. “I have much work to do. But we will do this again… soon. I do respect your right to know the truth, and I will share it will with you as often I can.” Ignoring the shouted questions, Prince Hanse Davion turned from the podium and retreated through the doorway behind him, deeper into the sanctuary of his palace.

  Chapter 2

  NEW AVALON

  CRUCIS MARCH

  FEDERATED SUNS

  3 MARCH 3029

  As the CID guards closed the auditorium doors behind him, the Prince looked up to see his white-haired Minister of Intelligence, Information, and Operations waiting for him. “Morning, Quintus.” By the dark look on the other man’s face, the Prince knew something was wrong. “What is it?”

  “I now know why we did not find Morgan Hasek-Davion this morning,” Quintus said. “A holovid disc arrived during the night from the ComStar station here in New Avalon City. The label read, ‘M. Hasek-Davion.’ It was delivered to Morgan about three hours before dawn.”

  Hanse felt an icy hand claw at his gut. Dear God, no! Morgan was not meant to see that disk, at least not before Quintus and I had gone over it. The Prince swallowed hard. “Where is he?”

  Quintus pointed down the hallway. “He’s with Melissa. Kym Sorenson is there as well—your wife summoned her. Morgan’s feeling betrayed, Highness, and very angry.”

  Hanse nodded, then started along the corridor with long-legged strides. As Quintus caught up with him, the Prince asked, “Do
es Morgan know about Kym? Does he know his lover is one of your agents, and that she’s keeping an eye on him for us?”

  “Not a clue,” Quintus said. “Kym’s too good for that. But if he found out, it would devastate him.”

  The Prince nodded. “You and I are the only ones who know. I’ve not even told Melissa.”

  The two guards at the door to Hanse’s personal chambers snapped to attention. The Prince acknowledged them with a nod, then opened the door and passed through. Quintus followed him and closed the gold-leaf trimmed door with a secure click.

  Melissa Steiner-Davion, her blond hair a radiant frame to her beautiful face, met her husband at the door. Hanse did not hear nervousness in her greeting, but he felt it in the tremor of her moist palm as she grasped his hand. That’s fear I see in her eyes. Morgan must be in great pain, but it’s pain I cannot relieve.

  Melissa kissed him lightly on the cheek. “He’s angry, Hanse. Take care. He strikes out blindly, but you can help him.”

  Hanse nodded to his wife, then walked across the small foyer and into the larger sitting room. There he saw Morgan Hasek-Davion seated on a couch staring at the holovideo monitor. Normally tall and noble-looking, Morgan had slumped down on the cream-colored sofa until his back rested on the seat cushion and his long legs extended into the center of the room. His reddish-gold hair, worn long and unbound, hooded his strong-featured face.

  Beside him, clinging to his right arm and stroking his hair, sat Lady Kym Sorenson. Worry and fear drained the usually bright look from her pretty face. The way her blond hair was gathered back from her face and her casual dress told the Prince she’d come immediately when called. I wonder if it was something more than duty that prompted her quick response?