And as protector of the planet, a new calling.
Asked if he could defend Irian, Blatz's conditioned response was to declare, "Yes, sir!" His basic nature, the part that knew he and his men were castoffs, wanted to respond, "Not a prayer." He stilled both voices and considered the tactical situation.
"Our garrison was left with the minimum of ordnance," he said. Let the governor puzzle out why. "We are a viable fighting force, but against the combined arms of several worlds?"
He frowned at the near edge of the governor's desk.
"They must realize the bulk of the Dragon's Fury is out of position to come to our aid," he continued. "Against seven worlds, any long-term defense would have to involve allies. Which, given the political situation you've described, would mean the Republic of the Sphere."
He paused, waiting for the governor to respond, but Syrmar was once again regarding him with that measuring stare. He was waiting for Blatz's full analysis before responding.
Which wouldn't have been so daunting if Blatz had actually analyzed the full strategic situation. In truth, his thoughts had not gone far beyond wrestling with the reality of his—of their—abandonment. What did he know of The Republic's resources? There was a Highlander Republican Guard unit on Alphard, but with the Highlanders putting out fires all over The Republic, he suspected they were as stripped to the bone as his much too light battalion. Beyond that he was not sure. But he was sure they would commit all available assets against the threat of Senate Alliance expansion.
"If—if—the Irian Planetary Militia and the private security forces of Irian Technologies could be placed under our command," he said carefully—he thought he had a fair understanding of their assets at any rate—"we could mount a defense that would hold the planet until Republic of the Sphere forces arrive."
"How long do you anticipate that being?"
"Without knowing what else The Republic would be facing at that time, I would not dare guess," Blatz said without hesitation. "However, the defense I envision would hold Irian for weeks. Perhaps months."
"And if you do not secure the cooperation of the IPM and IrTech security?"
"If we defend the world piecemeal, we will be defeated piecemeal." Blatz illustrated with a series of small chopping motions with the edge of one hand along the other palm. "And quickly."
Governor Syrmar nodded and rose to his feet.
Blatz was ready for the move, having sensed the ending of the interview. He was at attention before the governor again extended his hand across the desk.
"Thank you. Colonel," he said. "You've given me much to think about."
One formal pump of the proffered hand and an about- face and Blatz was in the corridor. He waved away the taxi the doorman had summoned. He needed fresh air. His red dress boot heels clacked on the sidewalk in rhythm to his thoughts as he made his way around the central park toward the office he'd been assigned in the building—now mostly empty—that had been the Dragon Fury's formal headquarters.
He noticed no one as he strode through the urban evening. He had just promised the governor of Irian— and through him Senator Hughes, Legate Martinez and, most importantly, the people of Irian—to defend their world against all comers in exchange for overall command of every defensive force on the planet.
Now his only problem was devising some way for those brave words to be true.
9
Jamison's Juggernauts compound
Galatea, Prefecture VIII
11 July 3135
"Jerry?"
Jerry Jamison looked up from his desk terminal, from another letter to a family about a husband and father who had died serving Jamison's Juggernauts. He knew the face he turned toward Don Avison was haggard. Not the face of an inspiring leader.
He was usually proud of his unit, of his people. He was still proud of his people; it was himself he was sour on. The unit banner and the name seemed to taunt him. The Juggernauts weren't very much like lords of the earth now. They'd been beaten, almost broken, and it was going to take a while to recover. They'd believed a client's intel and walked into an opposing force that outnumbered them four to one. They'd given a good account of themselves, the ratio was down to three to one by the time he'd managed to extract his forces. But it had been costly, too costly, and there was no way he could pretend it had been a victory of any sort.
"Whatcha got, Don?" he asked. For it was clear his second in command had something. Something he was excited, or at least intrigued, by. He looked more animated than he had since they'd made planetfall.
"You are going to have to come and see this," Don said, stepping aside and indicating his commander should precede him through the door. "Someone to see you at the main gate."
Jerry shut down his workstation, feeling a bit guilty that he was relieved to do it, and settled his cap on his head. Leading his XO into the late-morning sunlight, he cast a sour glance at the clear spring sky above. He was not in the mood for perfect weather.
Galatea hadn't adopted the centralized BattleMech hangars Outreach had. Good thing, too, considering what had happened in '67. The rebuilders had expanded on that practice, providing rental compounds that allowed each mercenary command its own self-contained 'Mech and vehicle facilities. The compounds were arranged in looping crescents—no fast, direct route from place to place—in a district across from the giant Drop- Port of Galatea City. Jerry had usually enjoyed the long walk from his office in the rear of the compound to the front gate. Walking past his command had given him a sense of place and of accomplishment. Now, with nearly a quarter of the bays empty, it gave him a sense of loss.
He was aware of Don watching him as he looked at the hangars and garages.
And he heard Don chuckle when he caught sight of the main gate and stopped dead in his tracks. Not quite a spit take.
"That is an Orion IIc."
"If you'll turn your head a little to the left," Don said. "You'll see it's brought a Thor, a Goshawk with a strange set of arms, and something I don't recognize along with it."
"Predator," Jerry supplied. "Pretty rare."
As was the Goshawk variant, mounting a missile rack—sealed, of course, so he couldn't count the tubes— where most had a large pulse laser, and what looked like a medium laser in place of the usual machine guns. Not set up for fighting infantry.
"These are Clan 'Mechs," he said aloud, running a professional eye over their lines. Black rectangles announced where unit insignia had been; a poor disguise considering the distinctive brown-and-silver paint scheme. "What do the Steel Wolves want with us?"
"That you're going to have to hear from them."
Following Tom's pointing finger, Jerry saw a knot of strangers just inside the gate. One was a blond man of average height in MechWarrior gear—glancing back at the Orion lie he noted the open hatch and dangling chain ladder—two others were men in nondescript battle fatigues, and the fourth was a muscular woman of enormous proportions. An Elemental? He had met perhaps a dozen in his life; none had been particularly friendly.
He almost asked Don another question, but realized in advance what the answer would be. Dropping his game face into position, he stepped out to meet the newcomers.
All he could judge of the Clanners as he approached was that their game faces were every bit as good as his. They could have been four composite statues for all the information their expressions or body language revealed. Except. . . their physical positions offered mutual cover. They were outside their comfort zone big time.
Useful intel.
He stopped one stride outside arm's reach. Or at least he thought he was outside the Elemental's reach. At over two meters and something close to two hundred kilos, she looked dangerous at any distance.
"I'm Colonel Jerry Jamison," he said. "Commander of Jamison's Juggernauts. You wanted to see me?"
"I am Star Commander Tal Sender of—" The blond MechWarrior stopped midword. "Star Commander Tal Sender. I propose an alliance."
"Not interested." J
erry turned on his heel.
"Our assets are mutually beneficial," Sender said to his back.
Jerry stopped a stride later and looked back at the knot of Clanners. And Avison, whom he noticed hadn't followed him.
"What do you know about my assets?"
"Anastasia Kerensky made a thorough investigation of all mercenary units on Galatea. I read her records,"
Sender said as though it made perfect sense. "The Juggernauts are honorable warriors. You were betrayed by an unscrupulous employer. A force many times your size trapped you through treachery and would have destroyed you, but you fought your way free with three- fourths of your assets intact."
And half a hundred letters to write to grieving families.
"Nice to know Annie did her homework," Jerry said aloud, again turning away. "But tell her I have no interest in an alliance with the Steel Wolves."
"We are not the Steel Wolves."
The one-step-then-turn-back pattern was getting tiresome. Jerry resolved not to turn his back on the Clan- ners again until he'd heard them out.
"From the top," he said.
Four blank stares.
"That is an idiom," Jerry explained, remembering to whom he spoke. "It means a brief and concise summary of events or information."
"From the top," Sender repeated, nodding as he filed the phrase. "Anastasia Kerensky has determined that the Steel Wolves will become mercenaries. She banned trials and declared those who did not wish to follow her were free to leave. We chose to leave."
End of brief and concise summary.
"But you've got no transport and you're not a big enough unit to survive on your own," Jerry said, leaving alone the mind-skidding intel that Anastasia Kerensky was going mere. "You're seeking an alliance before someone bigger forces you into Absorption?"
Sender nodded.
Beside the Clanner, Don raised his eyebrows in a "Didn't I tell you?" expression. No need to ask how Sender had come by Anastasia Kerensky's dossiers on the other units. Clan concepts of privacy and security— even after generations of exposure to the Inner Sphere- were legendary in their absence.
"Just how many of you are there?" he asked.
"My Nova," Sender said with a note of pride, "chose to follow me."
Jerry knew a Nova could be just about anything. But if he could see only four 'Mechs over the top of the compound fence, there was probably a parade pulled up in the street outside.
"Can you form up here?" he asked, indicating the formation area between the vehicle garages and the gate with a jerk of his head. "I want to see what we're talking about."
Sender measured the space with his eyes, then nodded once.
Two minutes later the four BattleMechs, two Mithras light tanks, ten Elementals with a brace of Svantovit armored personnel carriers, and fifty Clan infantry were drawn up in a rather cramped review formation. Jerry made a point of taking ten times that long going down every line and looking at each trooper. Seemed the least he could do considering the effort they had gone to. Everything was perfect.
More than the equipment, Jerry eyed the Clanners themselves. Mindsets seemed to range from the resignation of troopers standing through yet another inspection to carefully banked curiosity about the guy doing the inspecting. No defeat and no more than the usual amount of Clanner arrogance.
These boys and girls don't looked disgraced to be here. But they aren't as cocky as they could be. Things are changing on them and they're not sure what to do about it.
"Assuming the Elementals' battlesuits are in the Svan- tovits," Jerry said when Tal Sender had again descended from his Orion lie and the other three—one each from the tanks, Elementals, and infantry he now saw—had rejoined him, "I see everyone has full kits. What I don't see are techs or spare parts."
The Clanners said nothing. Whether they hadn't thought of that or no techs had been willing to follow was likely to remain a mystery. Another mystery was why they kept reforming into a committee to talk to him. they're out of their depth.
"You're not in a position to offer an alliance," he said. "At least, not the kind I think you mean. And you're in no danger of being absorbed. We offer contracts—formal commitments to each other that end when all parties agree they end."
The four looked at each other. The Elemental was the first to nod. Jerry caught her eye and smiled, letting her know he'd seen her place in the decision-making process. Her blank expression became slightly less frozen.
"Jerry Jamison," he said.
"Fiona Cooper."
Something in her stance indicated she expected a response of some sort. Evidently he'd missed something. Making a mental note to figure out what, he turned his attention to each of the others in turn.
Each of them glanced at Sender before answering.
"Aziz."
"Bailor."
Single names, which in contrast to the two double names meant something—probably Bloodnames. But he'd also met Clanners with last names that— apparently—had nothing to do with Bloodnames, though he wasn't sure of the ins and outs of all of it. Jerry knew enough about Clan culture to get by—more than most— but he was aware of the holes in his knowledge.
"What are the—terms—of these contracts?" Sender asked, bringing Jerry back from his mental side trip.
"On our side, we maintain and repair your equipment at no cost to you and pay you fair market rates for its use," Jerry said, keeping it basic. "We provide food, housing, equipment, and pay you a living wage for your time and commitment. There is no pay scale. You get the same as me and the cook. There is combat pay and bonuses for going above and beyond the expected. You will not at any time be asked to fight against any former affiliation, including home world—or, in your case, Clan."
He paused, but there were no questions.
"In exchange you accept assignment to whatever unit or duty I see fit," Jerry said. "And you submit to my orders or the orders of any officer or noncom I place over you. Understood?"
"Aff."
Jerry looked past the foursome to the troopers still drawn up in review lines under the late spring sun. Arranged in his formation yard was what looked to him like the best chance he had to get the Juggernauts back into viable, wage-earning shape fast.
It surprised him a little how quickly he'd already accepted that notion. But Clanners working with freeborn—under freeborn? If the Clanners were going to be at all touchy it would be best to find out now.
"Okay, that hits on something else," Jerry said. "Lives depend on communication. Communication has to be clear and fast. The Juggernauts use basic English. Do all of your people speak English?"
"Aff."
"Aff isn't English," Jerry pointed out. "If you mean affirmative, say 'affirmative.' If you mean negative, say 'negative.' Better yet, say 'yes' or 'no.'
"I'm not going to tell you to start using contractions, but I am telling you the Clan habit of smirking every time someone else does is not allowed," he said. "If you think efficiency and conservation of resources is lazy, you're welcome to your mistake. If all of humanity was as opposed to getting the job done, we'd all be living in Terran trees. You understand?"
All four of the Clanners were watching him with blank expressions. Not anger, just shut down.
'Aff," Sender said after a moment. Then: "Yes."
"The Juggernauts are not big on sir and ma'am and salutes because everyone knows what their job is and who fits where." He glanced at each. "If you join us, there's going to be a period of adjustment while we figure out which of you fits where in the organization."
Let's push a little harder.
"And this is not Clan. You don't get a job because you can punch somebody out. You get a job by proving you can do it better than anyone else." Again the measuring look at each in turn. "Lives depend on it.
"Flip side—" Let them figure out that idiom. "If you know you're the best at something and you don't do it, your laziness might kill people. Screwing up's one thing. Everybody does sooner or later. But if
any Juggernauts die because you didn't do your job. I'll kill you. Understood?"
Again a long moment of shut-down silence.
"Colonel," Cooper said at last. "If that was a test of our reaction to freebirth prejudice, it was singularly limp."
Jerry grinned at her choice of words despite himself. He was surprised at how her answering smile lit her eyes.
* * *
"I wonder if she realizes what she's done," Jerry said as he loaded the seventy-four new contracts into the data file two hours later. No way he was going to leave them a cohesive unit within the Juggernauts, but integrating them into the roster was going to be a balancing act.
Better than writing letters.
"What did who do?" Don asked. He was seated across from Jerry balancing budgets on his own noteputer.
"Anastasia Kerensky," Jerry said. "She broke the myth, the mystique of being Clan."
"What?"
"What are the Steel Wolves?"
"Pirates," his XO answered instantly. "Used to be, anyway—planet raiders. Went legit fighting the Jade Falcons."
"Ask a Steel Wolf and he'd tell you he was part of this great race come to save humanity from itself," Jerry countered. "Raiding planets was only necessary because we didn't understand we were supposed to just give 'em stuff for rescuing us."
"Ha."
"I'm serious." Jerry said. "And they followed their leader because she was the one with the map leading them on this great quest.
"Annie K. screwed up by telling them they could be mercenaries." He considered the updated spreadsheet as the rated skills of the newest Juggernauts popped into place. "Now the battle isn't to save humanity, it's to make a C-bill. No great purpose, no mystique, no reason to follow her." "If she's in it for a buck, they can do the same."
" 'Specially since the Clans are sort of strong-arm communists." Jerry nodded. "If someone works for you, you take care of them. But if you can take something, it's yours."
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