Initiation to War

by Robert N. Charrette

  "Whazzit ya want ta see me about, Ms. Palatine? Returns ain't satisfactory enough?"

  It was a challenge, since they both knew he and his were skimming. She ignored it. Such dishonesty she could afford. For the moment.

  "To be honest, Major, the returns have not been as expected, but I will say that they have been satisfactory nonetheless."

  "Glad ta hear you're satisfied. A nice lady like you oughta be satisfied." He leered. "Always leave 'em satisfied, I say. Ain't never had no complaints."

  She gave him an unamused smile. "Officially this meeting is about the anti-raider campaign. I heard the interview you gave ENN. You sounded quite upset that your Mech Warriors failed to bring the bandits to bay."

  "I did, didn't I?" He gave her a self-satisfied smirk. "That Carol Genetian's a sweet thing. Got a soft spot for soldiers, ya know. Really, she does. I can always tell. It's in the eyes. The way they look at ya, ya know."

  He stared straight into her eyes. She returned his gaze, level and steady and cold. "And what way would that be?"

  "I don't have ta tell ya," he said, winking. "Now do I?"

  Price frowned at him. Stereotypical pirates, save for a very few fictional semi-heroes, were not known for their good manners and polite behavior, and in that, Crawford fit the stereotype. But despite his barbaric look and presentation, Crawford was canny. Price recalled the tough bargaining that had gone into his recruitment and knew the Mech Warrior's gruffness and crudity were acts, a facade calculated to gull the unwary. Price was not unwary, but she was uninterested in his boorish advances. "Major, I hired you and your Mech Warriors expecting that you would apply your brains as well as your brawn to the problem at hand. We have a business arrangement. That is all. Do I make myself clear?"

  Crawford shrugged. "Ya already said ya ain't got no problems with how I'm doing my job."

  "Publicly I may have to be somewhat less contented. There will be factions of my government that will remain sympathetic, however. Did you hear Minister Waterhouse's remarks? He was quite explicit in not calling your operations a failure."

  "Kind of him."

  "As you know kindness had nothing to do with it, nothing at all. The public has heard that the Duvic Palatine has been subject to increasingly bold bandit activities, just like most of the jurisdictions on the Northern Continent. It is important that people hear that we, unlike certain of our neighbors, send our Mech Warriors out to try and catch the raiders."

  "Even if we don't manage to catch them slippery bandits." Crawford grinned.

  "Especially if no bandits are caught. Some jurisdictions suffering from similar raids do not even send out the BattleMechs they supposedly acquired for that purpose. This is an important distinction that I wish brought to the attention of all Epsilon Eridani citizenry."

  "That's not what I do."

  "But you can make comments about how quickly a 'Mech force can be put into the field against raiders. Your forces can be seen to conduct such operations, however unfortunately lacking in results they will be."

  "Ain't never been paid for chasing my own tail before, but I kinda like it. Beats getting your tail shot off."

  "I want to see an end to the allegations that the Duvic Palatine is hiring mercenaries for other purposes."

  "Stories coming a little close ta home?"

  "Close or not, I want the public's attention elsewhere."

  Entirely too many people, not the least that insufferable media darling Romano Shu, were harping on Price's public Expansionist position. It was a position that had its uses. It had gotten her into power, hadn't it?

  But Expansionist programs were ultimately doomed, and Price had no intention of going down with them. It was all well and good to dream of expanding the Epsilon Eridani sphere of influence, to build the world into a power in the Inner Sphere. Desirable: Seductive. But practical? Hardly. Any efforts at founding a new Successor State with Epsilon Eridani at the heart were hopeless, a child's dream.

  In the Chaos March, nothing could be built that would be free from the influence of the great houses. Any freedom planets like Epsilon Eridani experienced was temporary, born of neglect by the great powers who were too busy elsewhere. Such conditions could not be expected to last forever. She intended to be ready when the tide turned. The signs were already showing up. Expansionism swayed President Benton and had gotten Epsilon Eridani involved with the Duchy of Small and its ambitious duke. Nothing good was likely to come of that alliance.

  But to survive, she needed a personal power-base before the day Epsilon Eridani's dream of independence and influence evaporated. She wanted to be well positioned to deal with House Liao, or whoever, when the time came. But she could not afford to be open about it. She remembered what happened to the Liao insurgents who had challenged Benton's independence movement, and she was well aware of the strength of belief in the planet's hard-won independence that was so prevalent among those who could not see as clearly as she did. She could not yet be open about her plans, not even to her co-conspirators.

  "Looks like it's your attention that's elsewhere, Ms. Palatine."

  Crawford's remark drew her back from her musing. She could not afford to let her attention wander if she was to succeed in her plans. Such a lapse in front of someone more significant than this hireling MechWarrior could have dire consequences, and she much preferred that dire consequences befall her opponents.

  "A brief contemplation, Major. I was just considering how to put your participation in Palatine affairs into the best light and show those who listen to our detractors just how wrong they are to do so.

  "Rumor can be a powerful tool, Major. People hear a rumor repeated and they lose track of the source. They hear more of it and they come to believe it as true."

  "Everybody wouldn't be saying it if it weren't true."

  "Exactly, Major. It is in this way that the public's conviction is growing regarding my dear neighbor Count Shu. Each day more and more people come to see him as a money-grubbing, exploitive capitalist who is using the turmoil engendered by the bandits to encroach on Duvic Palatinate resources. Rumors, quite true as it happens, are beginning to surface that he has nearly completed training his new BattleMech battalion. Some people are saying that this is a strike force, that soon he will toss away his mask and reveal his true, aggressive nature."

  "Then we smash 'em."

  "It would be a pleasant outcome, and I am confident that you will have a notable part in that 'smash.' " Price made a show of glancing at the calendar on her wall screen. "But the game still has several turns to be played before that comes to pass."

  Crawford looked even more eager. "More bandit raids?"

  "If there are more of those unfortunate events, I will not be surprised. Perhaps they will even occur while you are visibly doing your duty."

  "You're drifting on me, Ms. Palatine."

  Price savored his confusion. "Let me 3sk you this. Have you had a chance to meet any of the 48th?"

  The new mercenary unit had arrived two weeks previously, a full week ahead of their contracted time. It was a punctuality that their commander Major Namihito dismissed as simple courtesy.

  "You mean the Kuritans?"

  "The ex-Kuritans. They were most adamant in denying any connection with the Combine."

  "Snakes lie," Crawford said, with feeling.

  "In this case, the best information suggests that the only Kuritan connection lies in the ethnicity of many of their soldiers. In any case, I wish your opinion on the suitability of these mercenaries. Specifically, I wish to know if you believe that Namihito's people are the sort who can blend seamlessly with your operations."

  Crawford leaned back and tucked his thumbs into his belt. "So, ya want my opinion, eh? I gotta tell ya I think they're a little skewed. They call themselves the 48th. I mean, what kind of a name is that, I ask ya, hunh? The 48th what?"

  "Major."

  "Ya got a number, you're supposed ta have something ta go with it. Like the 2nd Prosepina Hussars
, or the 1st Khorsakov's Cossacks. Even using numbers is hokey if ya ain't house military. Mercs need a good name, ya know. Something ta sell ya and impress the marks. It's a—"

  "Major." She let her exasperation slip out. "Have you done anything more than take umbrage at their name?"

  "Yeah, I met some of 'em. I went round when their DropShip landed. Me and the guys brought 'em a keg, all friendly like. They sat and drank with us, but we might as well been at a wake. That Major Cold Fish Namihito-sama is such an old-fashioned Kurita samurai type that he might as well be fossilized. His guys are halfway to rock like their boss."

  "Are you suggesting that I may have made a mistake in hiring them?"

  "Depends what ya want 'em ta do. They'll fight sure enough. Probably regular hellions, or at least as much as anybody can be in those weenie tin men they ride. But as ta the more, er, delicate parts of this operation, I'd look ta yer own people first."

  It wasn't the answer she wanted. "Very well then. I will proceed with alternatives. A wise player hedges her bets, Major Crawford."

  "Ya don't trust me and my guys ta get the job done?"

  "No, I am not saying that." Saying it would be most unwise. Doing it was dangerous enough. "Let us say that I am pursuing more than one path toward my goal and leave it at that."

  A calculating suspicion in Crawford's eye showed that he wasn't sure how to take her remark. To lure him back into more familiar waters, she said, "It is unfortunate that the 48th are not all that they might be. I was rather hoping for a more, shall we say, flexible unit. They are mercenaries after all."

  Crawford raised his bushy eyebrows. "And here I thought ya had a high opinion of mercenaries. Now I see it's just me ya like."

  "Some mercenaries are worthy of high opinion, Major, but not all mercenaries are created equal."

  "Or paid equal."

  Price pretended offense. "Are you suggesting that the Duvic Palatine does not provide equal pay for equal work."

  "Just giving ya a reminder." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "And I wasn't talking to Duvic, Ms. Palatine. Me and my guys are doing serious work for ya.

  Expensive work. Good work. We ain't no samurai knights in shining armor, but we get the job done."

  "I understand, Major." She opened a drawer in her desk and removed the envelope she had prepared earlier.

  He grinned as he took the appreciation. His grin widened when he placed the unmarked chip into his beltreader. "I do so like an understanding employer."

  "And I appreciate an understanding employee. Especially one who does his work without demanding overmuch of his employer's time."

  "And I do so like being appreciated. But I can't sit around all day basking in it. I got me a job. Why I bet those raiders will be picking out their next target tonight."

  "Yes," she agreed as she showed him the door. "I expect they will be doing just that."

  13

  Mirandagol District

  County Shu, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  6 January 3062

  Grouchy, bleary-eyed, and brain-numb, Kelly stumbled his way through morning PT. He'd gotten less than the four hours of sleep the Whipmaster had promised, though he couldn't blame anyone but himself for that. His brain had been spinning, working over the results of the exercise and looking for ways to improve his performance. He was sure that he was on the edge of a brilliant tactic when he finally fell asleep. Reveille, it seemed, came immediately thereafter, snatching away the solution his fevered brain had been offering. Neither breakfast nor the supposedly invigorating exercise had restored his lost ingenuity.

  He was split-legged on the tarmac, head down, working on stretching his lower back when a familiar voice spoke.

  "My, but they do look sweet when they get sweaty, like people doing real work."

  It was LaJoy-Bua, standing at the head of a gaggle of techs loaded down with tool satchels and gray-cased umpires. She was senior among the unit's techs, or to be more accurate, the unit's working techs. The technical staff of the CSVB didn't have an absentee landlord like the Mech Warriors' Phantom Major, but everyone above LaJoy-Bua in the chain of command spent their time on administration and logistics. LaJoy-Bua, however, spent as much time as possible on the unit's machines.

  She did spare a little time for games. At least that's what Kelly thought of her subtle and not so subtle passes at him. She was, as she'd be the first to admit, just a "lowly grease gopher" of a NCO tech and he was an officer Mech Warrior. Liaisons between officers and non-coms were seriously frowned upon by the Powers That Be, though no longer forbidden as they had been under the old Liaoist regime. With the Whipmaster encouraging his pilots to have good relationships with their techs, Kelly had played along, flirting right back. It wasn't going anywhere. Not that LaJoy-Bua wasn't attractive, she was, but besides the issue of rank, there was the fact that Kelly had his eye elsewhere.

  "What would you know about real work, you old grease gopher?" he asked. "And don't give me that creaky 'I'm not an officer, I work for a living' crap."

  "Hey now, Mr. Chill, you ought to watch what you're saying. If you keep calling the living truth 'crap,' the gods are going to strike you down where you stand. Or squat. Or whatever you call that position you've gotten yourself into." Adding in an aside to the techs accompanying her, "Not that I don't mind the free peek at cheeks."

  "It's my 'Mech that's supposed to have your attention, not my glutes."

  "I got enough talent to cover both," she said, winking.

  "Today isn't the day I find out if you're as good with people as with 'Mechs. Speaking of 'Mechs shouldn't you and your people be about seeing that they're ready for today's exercise?"

  LaJoy-Bua rolled her eyes. "Whipmaster Junior speaks."

  "He speaks truth," said Hayes, JJ's tech, apparently bored with listening to his boss's bantering.

  She nodded. "Too right. Off you go, grease gophers. Time to minister to the mighty 'Mechs of our lords and masters." Instead of leaving with her team, she crouched beside Kelly and spoke seriously. "We've been having some pilferage and more techno-glitches than I care to see. Not that I'm calling it sabotage or anything, but still one ought to be careful. Especially about things you care about." She patted the gray-cased umpire, no different in appearance from the ones the other techs carried. "I thought I'd install yours myself. You know, make sure it's done right."

  "You take good care of me."

  "I could take better care."

  She leaned close enough for him to feel her body heat. He caught her scent, a sweet spicy odor not yet drowned in the stink of lubricant, myomeric gel, and cooling fluids. Then a glimpse down the throat of LaJoy-Bua's no doubt intentionally loose coverall set Kelly to considering the offer. But before his hormones took complete control of his brain, a shadow fell on him and the tech. Kelly looked up to see Sam, sweat-soaked tee hugging her curves, and he remembered why he wasn't taking LaJoy-Bua up on her offers.

  Sam quirked up one side of her mouth. "Shall I tell the Whipmaster that you've got a better offer?"

  Caught in a mental gear shift, all Kelly managed was a confused look.

  "Briefing?" Sam cocked her head quizzically at him. "In five?"

  The impulse for self-preservation flushed Kelly's system. Five minutes was the usual span it took to double time it from the exercise area to the briefing hall, and Whipmaster Veck waited for no pilot. He scrambled to his feet and lit out after Sam and the rest of the lance.

  He made it—barely—sliding into the room reserved for Veck's own lance just before the Whipmaster tapped the button to close the door.

  "Now that you're here, Subcommander Kelly," Veck said dryly, "we'll get down to business."

  Business was the day's rematch between the Vigilantes and the Champions. It was not going to be exactly the same as the previous day's exercise. This time the Vigilantes were to head out into the field first and set up an ambush for the Champions. Kelly liked that; he figured that by attacking from cover they
had a far better chance to avoid damage to their 'Mechs than they'd had in the previous day's engagement. Sam reached the same conclusion.

  "A nice hull-down ambush sounds good to me," she whispered. "The less damage we take, the less punishment duty we pull."

  "You cover my back, I'll cover yours," Kelly suggested.

  "You sure it's your back you want covered?"

  Their exchange was cut off as Veck thundered, "Have you had a tactical revelation, Liu? Kelly? No? Then this briefing is over, 'Mech monkeys. I have received word that all umpires are installed and synched. You will proceed to your machines and start them up carefully. Note I said carefully." Veck's eyes fell on Slug who blushed brighter than the heat status bar on a shutdown-level overheat. "We move in thirty."

  The rest of the group was spilling from their own unit briefings as the Vigilantes entered the corridor. Boasts and insults were the order of the day. It was friendly camaraderie, the sort of thing that high morale troops did. At least most of it was friendly. Subcommander Sten's shots were pointed, barbed, and regularly poisoned, especially when they were aimed at Kelly. JJ claimed that Sten's animosity was born of Kelly outpointing the Blowhard on just about every exercise and evaluation, but Kelly figured it Went deeper than that. Sam usually out-pointed the Blowhard too, but she rarely was the target of his jibes. On short sleep, Kelly found it harder than usual to stick to his unilateral ceasefire, and he struggled to let the Blowhard's shots glance from his armor of indifference. It got easier when they hit the tarmac.

  Magnificent in the morning light, the CSVB 'Mechs stood upon the field. When he had risen for PT, the sun had barely touched the chests of the taller 'Mechs. Now it had worked its way down the machines, illuminating them from head to ankle actuators. The tall machines gleamed in the bright light like twin ranks of titanic knights assembled as an honor guard to some ancient king of the giants. It was a sight that never failed to stir Kelly to his soul.