Trillian gritted her teeth. There was no advantage to telling the duke the truth, that the archon was making a preemptive attack. I don’t want him in a position to use the truth against the archon if he doesn’t play along.
Brewster’s pacing accelerated slightly as he began to talk. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lady Steiner, but this offer seems out of character for the archon in terms of her relations with me. My years of negotiating deals have taught me to be cautious. I want some assurances that this is not a ploy on the part of the archon to set me up for failure.”
Trillian smiled. “While I am not inside my cousin’s mind, I can say this—she is not plotting against you. To paraphrase the old quote, it is better to keep your allies close and your rivals closer.” This assurance was not a lie. Trillian usually avoided lying because she believed she was bad at it. Instead, she preferred working with partial truths and, when possible, simply supporting the assumptions others believed to be true. I will have to accept my share of guilt however this turns out. I don’t need to compound my problems by
lying. “As I said, I will be on the front as well. I am not willing to gamble my life to put you at risk. My role is to negotiate peace when the time comes, and serve as your liaison as necessary.”
Her answer seemed to soothe the duke’s concerns. “Anson Marik rekindling our old fears by bringing the Silver Hawk Irregulars back to life makes sense. It’s a classic move on his part. But Fontaine Marik . . . he’s an old man. My political advisers say his best days are long behind him. While his claim to the House Marik bloodline is strongest, I just have a hard time seeing him working with Anson on a combined military operation.”
“I have been told,” she said with complete honesty, “that the Duchy fears reprisals from us should Anson strike alone.” That tidbit from the Lyran Intelligence Corps was true. “We cannot ignore this risk.”
Stopping behind a high-backed chair, the duke rested his hands on the top rail. “You don’t seem concerned that I have never led a military operation before.”
“We’re not, really. You’ll have the support of a very experienced command staff, and you’ll be working from a number of plans for this kind of operation that have been in place for decades. We’re able to give you flexibility in putting together your immediate support staff. You won’t be a figurehead, but you don’t need to reinvent the wheel.
“If you agree to head up this operation, I will have Colonel Wehner provide you with complete details as soon as they have been determined. The primary option we are looking at now is aimed at striking a crippling blow to the two Free Worlds fiefdoms on the border. We want them each to keep a few worlds, but ultimately be too weak to pose a serious threat for a long time.”
Brewster moved smoothly from behind the chair to stand in front of her, dominating the space between them. “You know, Lady Steiner,” he said, his voice low and seductive, “when the dust settles, those who win this little war will be in a position to carve out a portion of the conquered worlds for themselves. You could have a place at the head of such a holding.”
He’s testing my loyalties—albeit in a particularly limp fashion. “I serve at the bidding of the archon.”
“Don’t we all?” He flashed a broad smile. “I was not implying otherwise. I simply suspect that you are someone to watch.”
She studied him intently. She had refused his bait and now he was lying, but she knew she had to let it go.
“Time is tight, Duke Vedet. Our meeting face-to-face was necessary given the security requirements of this situation, but I must depart immediately. I have to move to the border myself, and the archon will be expecting an answer from you. I realize that this seems rushed, but I would need to know whether you plan to accept this offer.” Time, she had found, was a powerful bargaining chip.
He wet his lips. “Please inform the archon that I am honored to lead this assault. It will be one for the history books.”
“These are your orders,” she said, handing him a folded set of papers.
“It appears we are both going to be leaving shortly,” he said, as he stared at the papers. “I hope time will be an ally for both of us.”
Duke Vedet and Colonel Nordhoff watched as their visitors’ DropShip departed.
“You accepted the offer, sir?”
“Of course I did,” Vedet snapped. “This is the perfect opportunity for me—no, for us.”
“I analyzed her voice-stress patterns and compared tone readings from her previous visit. She was holding something back, but unless she’s so polished that she can bluff our sensors, then she was not lying.”
“Trillian is very good, but if the archon thinks that by saddling me with her cousin she’ll keep me in check, she is making a grave mistake. Though Lady Steiner is formidable and skilled, her cousin is putting her in a game in which even she is in over her head. Even if she steps up to the tempo of this dance, a war zone is a dangerous place.”
“You are planning to kill her?”
Vedet shook his head wearily. “Bernard, you misunderstand me. After all I have done for you and your family, I would expect you to make a better effort. I am not a killer—that is not my style. I am simply saying that combat is a strange, unpredictable situation. Accidents can happen if one is inexperienced and does not know how to behave.”
Duke Vedet smiled, and it was not a pretty sight. “We will not manufacture the right situation. But if it occurs naturally, I know I can count on you to do the right thing.”
3
LCAF Staging Base Boelcke
Cavanaugh II
Bolan Military Province, Lyran Commonwealth
10 May 3137
The Yasha cut power to its two massive lift fans and dropped quickly, kicking them back on at the last possible moment. The buglike VTOL was only a few meters above the ground, throwing up a wild storm of dust and debris that almost obscured Trillian’s view. The forward weapons array fired a low-power burst of lasers, catching the stunned Griffin on its side. The lasers were tuned for practice and only peeled paint, scoring points in the exercise rather than inflicting real damage.
The Griffin swung away, exposing its rear to a squad of Gnome battlearmor. Their shots mostly went wide, but a few found their mark—enough to log additional damage to the Griffin. The Yasha’s fans tilted the VTOL radically forward and it headed up the hillside. Watching from the bunker, Trillian was impressed by the pilot’s skill.
Then the Rifleman IIC emerged.
Just standing there, the BattleMech was impressive— three stories tall and bristling with enough firepower to devastate conventional opponents. As it strode to the top of the hill, it was obvious it was the king of the battlefield. Based on its utilitarian lines and form, Trillian guessed it was a Clan design. From the amount of fresh green and gray paint applied to replacement armor, it was obvious the machine had endured a lot of damage recently. The Yasha saw it looming and attempted to bank, revving the fans hard in an attempt to gain some altitude.
A Demon wheeled antitank vehicle fired a barrage at the Rifleman; some of the shots went wide, but others hit. The simulated damage was minimal, however, and the Rifleman shrugged it off. It was after the VTOL. In a half dozen strides, it moved down the hill and caught the Yasha, whose attempt to flee proved too little, too late. The Rifleman IIC fired a targeted burst of autocannon fire combined with pulse laser at the Yasha. The underpowered shots and dummy warheads pummeled the VTOL. Its battlecomputer registered devastating damage and it dropped low; this time the pilot barely maintained control as the computer simulated real damage. The pilot popped the tiny landing prods out just as the Yasha touched the ground. The power to the turbofans died and the billows of dirt and dust quickly settled.
The camo-painted Rifleman turned toward several squads of infantry that fired and then tried to scatter. It pursued them over the far edge of the hill, dropping down the other side and out of line of sight.
“That was Roderick, wasn’t it?” Trillian as
ked, lowering her enhanced binoculars.
Klaus Wehner nodded. “It was, Lady Steiner.”
“I’m surprised they are letting him back in the field again so soon after all of the press coverage.” Wehner did not require an explanation of her reference to the incident on Algorab. Anyone who followed the news knew what had happened there. While the ordinary man and woman in the Commonwealth sympathized with Roderick Frost and what had happened to him— the ordinary man or woman did not control the military legal system. His steadfast insistence on protecting the men and women with whom he served at the price of his own reputation and career was the stuff of legend. There was talk of holomovies, but Frost had shunned the idea of profiting from the situation, making him even more popular with the average citizen.
After what had occurred on Algorab, it was necessary to subject Frost to a court-martial. In most such cases, the disciplinary action would have been a formality and the officer would have been discharged. But Frost had been hung out to dry pretty dramatically by upper command; the situation was too widely covered in the news, and Frost had been portrayed as too skilled a soldier for the military to simply dismiss him without suffering embarrassment itself.
Someone had to pay the price for the failure of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces on Algorab, and Roderick had been set up to take the fall. Frost provided his own defense, walking away with a suspended sentence and his rank reduced to leutnant. The press controlled by those who had set him up told the public that the debacle on Algorab was his fault. Only the independent news services hinted that he had been made a scapegoat.
Because she had access to the trial transcripts and the after-action reports, Trillian knew that he had not performed well on Algorab—he had performed brilliantly. If not for his actions, many more men and women would be dead. He had turned an untenable situation into a merely ugly situation and saved lives. She knew a truth that no one outside a very small circle of people would ever see.
“From what I have been able to gather, not too many commanders want him around.”
“Ma’am?”
She smiled. “He’s fine where he is, Klaus.” She looked off two kilometers distant as the Yasha poked its head up for a moment above the emerald crest of the hill. “For now, anyway.” She tucked the binoculars away and motioned for her aide to join her. She ran her fingers across the pendant of the necklace she wore. She was usually able to suppress this nervous habit. She knew she rubbed the necklace when she was forcing herself out of her comfort zone. Involving Roderick in her plans had its risks—primarily, that he would refuse to join her. Stubbornness was a family trait that she fully understood and had to respect. “Let’s go see what the general staff has cooked up for dealing with the Free Worlds League.”
The conference room was nestled in the center of Boelcke Base, reinforced from every sort of attack, even nuclear. The base was part of the chain of Lyran worlds and facilities along their border with the Free Worlds League. She surveyed the room. It was a sophisticated command center complete with a holographic “sand table” for outlining operations. It was the best computers and gear that could be provided— by the lowest bidder.
As three more officers entered the room, she wondered for a moment how many of them would soon be dead. Her jaw set. No. She couldn’t afford to think that way. She looked away from the men and her eyes caught on the upright mailed fist symbol of the Lyran Commonwealth. Her jaw relaxed. Melissa was right. If they didn’t start this war, if they didn’t strike at the Free Worlds states along the border, that fist-flag would be lost. One of the flags of the Free Worlds League would be there instead. The men she had seen enter, they would be dead or prisoners of war. We are doing this for the right reason . . . we are protecting our people from an age-old threat.
General Heinrick braced himself on his hands and leaned over the display table as if he were embracing it. “If I could have your attention, please. I’d like to go over the conclusions my team in the strategic planning section have arrived at and what the archon has agreed to, in principle.” The officers in the room moved to stand around the table. Klaus Wehner moved to her right side, right where he belonged.
“Lady Steiner, my esteemed colleagues, I present to you Operation Hammerfall.” There was a dramatic ring to his voice, and a sense of pride. The lights dimmed slightly, adding to the effect.
Above the table a map of the border between the Lyran Commonwealth and the Free Worlds League flickered to life. The Lyran worlds were highlighted in a regal blue color. Those of the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth appeared in purple. Those of the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey appeared in orange. The worlds that the Jade Falcons had seized in the former Duchy of Skye were brilliant green. The worlds of the Republic’s Prefecture VIII were a dark gray. Trillian saw them with a tinge of sadness. Left alone to fend for themselves outside the invisible wall of Fortress Republic, these vestiges of Devlin Stone’s dream seemed doomed.
General Heinrick’s voice dominated the room. “Hammerfall calls for a first wave to punch through the gap of planets between the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey and the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth.” Arrows appeared on the map over the former Free Worlds planets colored black: not owned by either government. “This should prevent them from coordinating their efforts and massing their forces. At the same time, we will hit the borders of both worlds. Our deepest strike will go to Helm in the Marik-Stewart holdings.” Additional arrows appeared. While the border of Tamarind-Abbey took some hits, the drives into the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth were deep, like ugly stab wounds.
The general paused to allow those in the room to study the map, letting the image rotate slowly above the holographic table. “The Lyran Intelligence Corps places the Silver Hawk Irregulars on three worlds, all of which are targeted in the first wave—Concord, Danais and Bondurant. If Anson Marik’s plan is to use that unit to strike into Lyran space, we will crush it right at the start of this fight.”
Trillian couldn’t prevent her brow from wrinkling at his words. Military commanders always seemed to speak with such bravado, and things rarely worked out as planned. Anson Marik was no fool. While the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces had drawn up numerous plans of attack, Marik surely had done the same thing. The Silver Hawk Irregulars must have cost him a great deal to create; he wouldn’t just hang them out there to be smashed at the beginning of the war. She wondered if General Heinrick really believed what he said, or simply stated it out of belief that his conviction would make it so.
She cleared her throat. “The archon asked that we present options for a demonstration of sorts against the Jade Falcons in Skye. What are your plans there, General?”
He poked at the holographic controls and a few more arrows appeared. “It’s a little tricky, what you and the archon handed us, Lady Steiner. Hitting the Jade Falcons directly could cause repercussions that, frankly, could cripple Hammerfall completely. Instead, we plan to hit them where they are not. We are going to strike at three Skye worlds that the Jade Falcons haven’t taken yet. The intent here, from a strategic sense, is to control those worlds and deny them to the Falcons. If they want to take them, they will be starting a war with us.”
The names of the worlds were highlighted as the arrows reached out to them. New Kyoto, Algorab and Vindemiatrix. It was a good move. It honored their commitment to Clan Wolf without sparking a direct confrontation with the Falcons. “Those moves are to be treated as contingency plans and to be launched at my discretion. Include several variations, General.” She was counting on Vedet’s ignoring the plans for these strikes. On paper they seemed unrelated to the objectives of Hammerfall, but it was Vedet’s reserves who were allocated as the resource for this element of the strategy. Played at the proper time, she could use this part of the plan to keep the duke off balance.
“As you wish, milady,” the steely-eyed general responded. “To continue, the second-wave strikes are where Hammerfall shifts. We will drive right into the core of the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth,” he said as
he activated the long arrows illustrating the second wave. The drives were impressive on the map. Indeed, if the operation went as planned, Anson Marik would find his holdings cut almost in two.
“Our forces in the wedge between the Duchy and the Commonwealth will punch deeper and swing around, cutting off Tamarind, and our forces will rendezvous on Tamarind itself. The defenses of the world are formidable, but they will be surrounded, taking hits from all sides. Crush them there, and the Duchy is out of the fight.” He toggled a control that showed the arrows merging on Tamarind. It was alone, cut off, poised for destruction. She almost pitied Fontaine Marik, the duke who ruled Tamarind-Abbey. He was an old man and might not survive the surprises the Lyran command had in store. If his government was captured or capitulated, the entire Duchy would be left weak and isolated—ripe for the picking.
“The last wave,” General Heinrick continued, activating the final assault arrows, “will isolate the world of Marik. It will be cut off, left weak along its border with the old Republic. We can then shift our resources from the Duchy to mop up the worlds that are cut off.” His voice rang with confidence.
Trillian studied the map. It was an impressive strategy, she had to admit. The Lyran borders would be safe for generations if the plan worked as laid out. And this plan didn’t take into account the agreement with Clan Wolf. General Heinrick and Duke Vedet couldn’t factor them into the plan, but she could. They will pounce on the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth. The remains will not be isolated, they will be devoured.
The general waited a full minute before speaking again. “Lady Steiner, I understand that this plan requires your endorsement before it can be sent to the new . . . operational commander.” That probably wasn’t what he or anyone else on the command staff wanted to call Duke Vedet Brewster. In their eyes, he’d be nothing but a political interloper—and a politician leading professional soldiers was not going to play at all well with command. But that was for her cousin Melissa to smooth over.
Fire at Will Page 4