Grudgingly, Fairfax gave in with a nod.
Major Hinesick quietly murmured from his corner seat, "My God, Ria, I hope you're right."
5
Knights' Hall, Marik
Palace Atreus, Marik Commonwealth
Free Worlds League
15 December 3058
1030 Hours
Many light years away from Kikuyu, on the planet Atreus in the Free Worlds League, a similar scene was being played out. The Knights' Hall of Marik Palace was vastly different in appearance from the warm, wood-paneled briefing room in Fort Telemar. The Hall was a large, stone-walled edifice, modeled after the Knight's Hall of a medieval castle back on Terra. Thomas Marik, Captain-General of the Free Worlds League, had ordered the building constructed in the spring of 3055. He had founded the Knights in 3054 as a response to what he viewed as the wave of barbarism consuming the Inner Sphere. To Marik, and to many others, the Knights were the figurative reincarnation of Arthur's Round Table, the embodiment of the ideal that "right is might," and "might for right." The ancient code of chivalry was their guide in all circumstances.
Seated at the chief place in the hall was Colonel Paul Masters, a dark-haired man of forty years or so. His uniform tunic was devoid of any decoration save one, the crest of the Knights of the Inner Sphere. Around him sat his fellow Knights, warriors gathered from all across the Inner Sphere, bound to one goal the rebirth of the chivalric ideal. Of the one hundred fifty seats lining the Hall, there were a number of empty places. Most of the vacancies belonged to warriors away on missions whose critical nature prevented their recall. A few of the elaborately carved, wooden chairs were occupied only by an archaic barrel helmet, mantled with somber black silk. These were silent memorials to those who had fallen in battle and whose places had not yet been assigned to new, younger Knights.
Seated to the right of Masters was an older man, gray of hair, with a horribly scarred face. Though he occupied the second place in the hall, the fire in his brown eyes and the air of authority that he wore like his purple mantle revealed that he was second to none of those gathered in the stonewalled chamber. This was Thomas Marik, Captain-General and ruler of the Free Worlds League. Though he was liege lord of the Knights and their chief commander, he graciously allowed Paul Masters to sit at their head. Thomas Marik's presence in the Hall, though not a rare occurrence, lent an air of solemn magnitude to the gathering.
When the last of the Knights had filed silently in, Marik got to his feet, rising with an ease and grace that belied his sixty-eight years.
"Sir Knights," he began slowly, quietly. "By now, you have all heard some of the momentous events that transpired at the Whitting Conference. The Star League has been reborn. A new era is dawning over the Inner Sphere. The first action of the renewed Star League will be to strike out at the greatest threat to its future existence. You, sirs, the Knights of the Inner Sphere, will take part in ridding the Inner Sphere of that threat." Thomas half-turned to face the man on his left. "Sir Masters?"
Thanking the Captain-General, Masters stood as Marik resumed his seat. He surveyed the assembled warriors, collecting himself. He knew it was a great honor that the Captain-General was permitting him to deliver the news. A feeling of pride swelled in Masters' chest, a proper, righteous pride, born of the knowledge that the Knights were being included in the task force both as a powerful combat unit and to act as its conscience.
He knew that an operation whose goal was the destruction of an enemy's war-making capability would have the tendency to overstep the boundaries of "civilized warfare"; that, once the destruction started, the possibility existed that it would not stop until the Smoke Jaguar homeworld had been reduced to a smoldering cinder, and every last Jaguar warrior as well as every civilian man, woman, and child lay dead. Masters was determined that this would not come to pass, not so long as he had breath enough to oppose it.
When he had gathered his thoughts, he began.
"Knights of the Inner Sphere, we stand on the threshold of a new era. The Star League has been reborn. Even as we speak, the best combat units of the Inner Sphere are gathering for one powerful, crushing strike against the greatest enemy mankind has ever faced, the Clans. We, the Knights of the Inner Sphere, have been asked by our liege lord to join with them in this quest. Sirs, this quest is the one we were born to undertake, just as Arthur's Knights of the Round Table dedicated themselves to the quest for the Grail."
The Knights listened intently while Masters recounted the events of the Whitting Conference. When he revealed the Conference's intent to launch an all-out offensive against the Smoke Jaguars, a quiet ripple ran through the Knights. The gist of the comments was, "It's about time."
The Jaguars were the most hated of the invading Clans. The memory of the savagery of the destruction of Edo burned like a signal fire in the minds of the Knights. Warfare against those who could fight back was an honorable thing. But the wanton slaughter of civilians or prisoners and the indiscriminate destruction of non-military targets was despicable. Long had the Knights burned for the chance to strike out at the Clans, but for political reasons, the Free Worlds League had held itself apart from the fighting during the Clan invasion. To many of the Knights, the Jaguars were an abomination among men.
"As of right now," Masters continued, "security will be tightened around the Hall until all preparations are completed. All available Knights are to take ship for the planet Defiance in the Federated Suns, and must arrive no later than mid-February. There, we will begin a brief period of training and integration exercises before setting out on our mission."
"What exactly is our mission?" Sir Robert Dunleavy stood to face his commander, as tradition dictated. "And who are we going to be integrated with?"
"What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room," Masters said. "The Knights of the Inner Sphere have been asked to participate in a long-range strike against the Smoke Jaguars. We will be following a route laid out for us by a ComStar agent. The target of our strike will be the Jaguar homeworld, a planet named Huntress."
Masters paused, taking the opportunity to consult his notes, while the uncharacteristic hubbub of surprise ran through the Hall. When the murmur subsided, he continued, choosing his words carefully.
"Even as we are departing the Inner Sphere, another push will be led by Prince Victor Steiner-Davion against the Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone here at home. While Prince Victor grasps the Jaguar by the throat, our objective will be to break the Jaguar's back by striking at his homeworld. We are also to destroy all war-related industry, and thus destroy the Jaguars' ability to attempt any further aggression against the Inner Sphere."
"Sir Masters," a Knight interrupted. "It sounds as though we will be attacking civilian areas. That cannot be true."
"No, Sir Anropov, that is not true." Masters knew that what he was telling his subordinates was only partly accurate, and the half-truth rankled. The Knights would not be attacking civilian areas of Huntress. Still, invasion on a planetary scale and the destruction of a culture's war-making capability would certainly result in civilian casualties. "In fact, I broached that very subject with Marshal Morgan Hasek-Davion, the man who will command this operation. I told him that the Knights are not given to the sort of wholesale destruction this operation might involve.
"The Marshal assured me that he had no intention of crossing that line, which leads me to the second aspect of our role. This comes straight from the Marshal himself. The Knights of the Inner Sphere are to serve as the conscience of the task force."
Another murmur ran through the Knights' Hall. This rumble of hushed voices carried with it a note of pride and relief. Here at last was a task worthy of the Knights and of the ideal that had spawned them. They were going to face an opponent possessing considerable strength and questionable honor. The Knights had been tasked with freeing the Inner Sphere of a ruthless oppressor and with seeing to it that the liberators did not themselves become butchers.
"As far as the other unit
s making up our task force," Masters called over the quiet babble of voices, "I can tell you that we will be joined by some of the most illustrious warriors from each of the Successor States, as well as two of the most famous mercenary companies in the Inner Sphere."
"The Dragoons . . ."
"No, Dame Marta, Wolf's Dragoons will not be joining our expedition," Masters told the woman from Tamarind. "I am referring to the Northwind Highlanders and one other.
"We will be fighting alongside the last vestiges of the old Star League, and the firstborn of the new, the Eridani Light Horse."
* * *
It is amazing how beautiful it looks from here, was the thought that ran through Tai-i Michael Ryan's mind as he stared through the Tengu's forward viewport. Before him hung the cloud-shrouded capital of the Draconis Combine, Luthien, the black pearl of House Kurita. The high, heavy cloud cover swirled slightly in places, possibly indicating a storm. Ryan tried in vain to place the location of the storms, but was frustrated in his attempts until he realized that he was looking at the planet "upside-down." Once he mentally corrected his orientation, he was able to place the largest of the spiral cloud formations over the Shaidan River Basin.
"Attention, all personnel, making final course corrections. Atmospheric interface in five minutes."
In response to the intercom's metallic announcement, Ryan took a firm grip on the polished brass rail that ran along the tough polymer viewport. Through the rail, and in the soles of his feet where they touched the deck, he felt a noticeable shudder in the Nagumo Class DropShip's airframe. Luthien shifted its position toward the bottom of the viewport by about thirty degrees, as the Tengu's captain brought the ship into a more favorable "glide-slope" for entering the planet's atmosphere. The maneuver had the added effect of obscuring the lower quarter of the green and white disk, forcing the tall DEST officer to lean forward over the rail to see the planet's southern pole.
As he stood there, the top of his head pressed against the viewport, the observation lounge's door hissed open.
Feeling vaguely foolish, Ryan straightened. A slight burning sensation on the back of his neck told him he was blushing slightly. He'd been caught gaping dreamily at his homeworld, like a school boy on his first space flight. It took a moment to recover his composure. Ryan turned to face the newcomer, hoping that the lounge's dim lights would hide his embarrassment.
When he saw the lean face and tall, spare form of the man making his careful way across the lounge, Ryan's embarrassment gave way to surprise and a sense of awe.
"Konnichiwa, Kurita Theodore-sama." Ryan executed a surprisingly deep and elegant bow, given the difficulty of doing anything gracefully in freefall. "I was just leaving."
"Wait, Ryan-san. Please, stay. Make yourself comfortable." Theodore Kurita returned the bow, though his was a nod compared to Ryan's. Straightening, the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine moved effortlessly to the viewport.
"Thank you, Tono," Ryan said, making his way toward one of the synthleather-covered chairs bolted to the deck near the large window.
For long moments he sat, held in his seat by the lightly padded straps installed by the vessel's designers to keep the chair's occupant from floating away in zero- or micro-G environments. Trying not to stare, Ryan watched the face of the man who was the embodiment of the Dragon, the heart and soul, and ruler of the Draconis Combine.
Theodore-sama was no longer a young man, but his sixty-one years barely seemed to have touched him. His face was somewhat lined and more drawn, to be sure. There was also a great deal more silver in his thick, black hair than on the day he ascended to the throne of the Draconis Combine. But, there was a youthful spring in his step, and a bright, sharp gleam in his eye. To Ryan, it seemed that the Coordinator exhibited the strength and timeless grace of a Masamune katana. Here was the man whom he and countless others had sworn their very lives to protect.
A thin, almost invisible, scar creased the Coordinator's left cheek, the legacy of a failed assassination attempt less than six months ago. The memory of the attack on Theodore Kurita still kindled a fire, made of equal parts anger and shame, in Ryan's belly. Dissidents who hated the Coordinator for his recent military and political initiatives had made a dramatic attempt to end Theodore-sama's life during the annual holiday celebration of his birthday. The fact that many of the would-be assassins had been members of DEST still caused Ryan even more shame and anguish. To think that men who had once sworn to defend the Dragon, and by extension, the Coordinator, could turn on and betray him filled him with a hunger for revenge.
Ryan had been among the millions thronging the streets of Imperial City on that shameful afternoon. How fortunate he had felt to have a place so near the Coordinator's reviewing stand. He'd seen the huge, white Sunder Omni-Mech turn its weapons on the Coordinator's position. He'd heard Tai-sa Kiguri's treacherous words. He'd even witnessed the close-quarters brawl between the Coordinator, his few loyal bodyguards, and the men Ryan had once called comrades. Through it all, there was nothing he could do but watch in helpless fury. Ryan would have leapt, barehanded to Theodore-sama's defense, but Tai-sho Yoshida had raised a thick transpex shield around the reviewing stand, cutting the Coordinator off from outside help.
Since that day, the entire Internal Security Force had been purged of disloyal agents, some of whom had been "invited onward," the polite euphemism for being ordered to commit seppuku—ritual suicide. Many DEST commandos had likewise been purged. Most of this latter group had simply disappeared. Ryan himself had been interviewed no less than five times by surviving loyal Internal Security Force agents, seeking to determine where his loyalties lay. When it was all over, DEST had been reduced to its smallest numbers ever. Only eight teams remained in operational readiness. Ryan, a mere Tai-i, was now one of the most senior field operatives. Still, what the teams lacked in numbers, they more than made up for in their utter devotion to Theodore-sama, to the Dragon. It was because of this newly confirmed loyalty that Ryan had been ordered to accompany the Coordinator to Tharkad as part of his bodyguard.
"Ryan-san ..." Theodore broke in on his thoughts. "Michael... May I call you by name?"
"Of course, Tono ..."
The Coordinator cut him off with an upraised hand. "Just Theodore right now," he said. "We are both soldiers, neh! I'd like to talk with you like a soldier, not Coordinator to Tai-i."
"Of course, Tono . .. Theodore." Ryan stumbled in his reply, but his mind was racing far ahead of his words.
The Coordinator wants a man-to-man talk, but why me? What of Sho-sa Yodama? Or Sho-sho Ishmaru? Why should he want to talk to me?
"Michael, what is your estimate of the Whitting Conference?"
Ryan's racing thoughts came to a screeching halt. Little of what had transpired at the conference had been revealed to the public, for obvious reasons. The only information to be released was that the heads of the Successor States had gathered on Tharkad to discuss how they might deal with the Clans.
Owing to his newfound position within the Draconis Elite Strike teams, Ryan had become privy to information normally unavailable to a mere Tai-i. He knew that he was shortly to be given command of not just one, but three full strike teams. That these strike teams would represent the Combine in a coalition force aimed for the heart of Clan Smoke Jaguar, their homeworld of Huntress. The teams were being sent both because their specialized training suited them to the task, and because the Combine could not spare any front-line units from the Inner Sphere phase of the overall operation. Sho-sho Ishmaru had already told him as much.
Being asked to give counsel to the Dragon himself was another matter entirely.
"Tono, I believe that the leaders of the Inner Sphere have made a wise decision in their plan to force the Clans to go on the defensive—"
"That isn't what I asked you, Michael. I want a simple, direct answer. No politics, just straight from the shoulder."
"Hai, Tono." Ryan took a moment to cast his thoughts into some frame of order. "I think the i
dea of a deep-penetration strike against the Clan homeworlds is a strategically sound move. Striking at the enemy's homeworld puts him off balance. It lets him know he is not safe anywhere, either on the front or snug in his bed at home.
"In hitting his rear area, we will force him to pull units off the front line to meet our attack. That will surely benefit the other half of the overall operation.
"History bears out the notion that the destruction of a combatant's rear area, particularly his civilian areas, have a massively negative effect on his morale."
As he spoke, Ryan began to relax. Suddenly, he was no longer addressing The Dragon, but chatting with a fellow officer, a man who had commanded troops in the field and who had faced death at the hands of his enemies. Leaning forward in his seat, he rested his elbows on his knees.
"Tactically, this is going to be Hachiman's own nightmare," he said, naming the ancient Japanese god of war.
Theodore Kurita blinked at the frankness of the words, but made no comment. "This task force is going to be made up of—what—eight regiments, give or take? Each of them from a different Successor State. Until the Clans appeared, most of these people were trying to kill each other. Now, it is expected they will band together, like nothing ever happened, to attack a common enemy.
"Next, you've got ComStar. Yes, I know they defeated the Clans on Tukayyid, but a lot of mainline troops don't trust them. Why did they keep their army a secret for so long? Why didn't they step in sooner against the Clans? We all know their 'official answers,' but are the 'official' reasons the real reasons?
"Then, just to round out this traveling carnival, you've got the Eridani Light Horse and the Northwind Highlanders. Mercenaries. Hired soldiers who fight for nothing more than pay. I've heard all the stories about the Light Horse, how they are the 'last vestige of the Star League,' but I don't believe it. Neither do a lot of other people. Why didn't they ever bother to join one of the Great Houses? I know I'd have more respect for them if they'd signed on with Davion, or Steiner, or even Marik, rather than fighting for whoever waved the most money in front of them.
Twilight of the clans III: the hunters Page 5