“I won’t need the gun. If Fontaine doesn’t want to play along, your troops will land. People will get scared. It’s one thing to talk about an abstract war, it’s another when it lands on your doorstep. I’ll let him know there are additional forces on the way. He will have no choice but to enter into negotiations.”
“Additional forces? This Duke Vedet is going to show up and save our butts if the Duchy opts to resist?”
“Yes.” There was more bravado than belief in her voice, and even Trillian could hear it. She wanted to believe that Duke Vedet would do what he was ordered to do. But she could see by Roderick’s face that he had picked up on her slight hesitation.
“I have to trust that he will do what is right. He has orders.”
“If you die, his orders are left to interpretation,” Roderick fired back.
“The part of that scenario that I hate is the part where I’m dead,” she snapped sarcastically. Trillian understood the risks. This also was why the archon had sent her: she was willing to take the necessary risks. But she was not stupid. She had an ace in the hole . . . and he was standing right in front of her. “You won’t let anything happen to me.”
“I may have my hands full if the shit hits the fan, Trill.”
She flashed him her best smile. “I wanted your unit put together from day one just for this scenario. That’s why you are in command. Melissa and I both know that you are one person who will do whatever it takes to protect me and to protect the Commonwealth.”
He stared at her for a long moment in silence. “I don’t trust politicians,” he replied flatly.
“I’m a politician, Roderick.”
He sneered. “Not you—Vedet. From what you’ve told me, he’s gunning for Melissa’s seat. I don’t trust a royal with ambition.”
“Oh, I don’t trust him either, cousin. At the same time, if I can broker a peace or surrender of the Duchy quick enough, we’ll take the wind out of his sails. His victories to date will be overshadowed— negated—by the peace. It is important that House Steiner comes out as the victorious leader in this fight. If that happens, Duke Vedet becomes a footnote.”
“You always were the passionate one, the keeper of the family faith,” he said fondly. “All right. I’m there. Not as a Steiner—you know that, and so does Melissa. I’m here because you are my family. I’ll do what is necessary to ensure your safety. How could I live with myself if I let anything happen to you?” He patted her on the shoulder in a brotherly manner. Trillian reached up and clasped his hand.
He saw a short female MechWarrior sauntering across the tarmac. “I have to go.”
“Problem?”
“Just doing my job.” He took off after the other officer at a jog.
She watched him disappear and hoped to see him again soon. Then again, she hoped she wouldn’t need to see him at all.
Roderick caught up with Jamie Kroff and she gave him a casual salute. He didn’t place much weight on formality, but Kroff’s performance as an officer was proving difficult to reconcile with unit discipline. Many of his troops, especially the officers, came to him with a chip on their shoulder, but most of them had slowly become less rebellious and more appreciative of the opportunity he was offering them. Kroff was just the opposite; while the rest of the Broken Swords were bonding, she was becoming more insubordinate.
“Sir,” she said, eyeing him cautiously.
“We need to talk. Walk with me, Leutnant.” He took a long stride out across the tarmac.
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“How are your ’Mech’s repairs going?”
“Ball-Buster is just about done. They’re just re-stringing the myomer in the left leg.”
Ball-Buster . . . it fits her to a tee. “You and I need to arrive at an understanding.” Roderick stopped and turned to face her, and she stopped as well, crossing her arms. “In every simulation we have run, you have managed to get that Violator of yours knocked out of the fight. I knew you were aggressive, and that works for you—but in our first engagement you did the same thing.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “I took out that Marauder. That was the Fang’s commanding officer—sir. I took him out and crippled their command structure.”
Roderick frowned. “Don’t feed me that line of crap, Leutnant. You weren’t taking down that Marauder to hurt the militia. That wasn’t tactics. You took it out because you have some sort of problem that you need to resolve. For some reason, you rush into fights and damn near get yourself killed each time.”
“That’s not entirely true, sir,” she retorted. “I came out of this without a scratch.”
"Your BattleMech required two Prime Haulers to scoop it up from the battlefield,” he said angrily. “And while you were trying to get your brains blown out, your unit was forced to rely on NCOs to hold together.”
“We won the fight.”
She was right. But he needed her to demonstrate some control—some restraint befitting an officer.
Without it, chaos would take down her entire unit. “Kroff, you are very good. One of the best MechWarriors in our unit.”
“Yes, I am,” she said simply, but with an arrogant grin.
She has no idea how much she’s pushing me. “Here’s my problem. I have an outstanding MechWarrior who is an officer, in command of troops that need her expertise, but who has a knack for getting herself knocked out of a battle too quick.”
“Like you said, I am one of the best MechWarriors you have, Hauptmann Frost.” She stumbled over using his formal rank.
“You know, they pay me to make the tough decisions. Leaving you in a prison cell was a waste of all the training the Commonwealth gave you. Putting you in my unit was a good idea—or it will be, if you can get past your personal issues and learn to fight as part of that unit. Here’s the problem put another way. In a command of independent thinkers and self-involved egos, you still manage to find a way to stand out.”
“I take it that’s not a compliment, sir.”
“Knock off the crap, Jamie.” He used her first name to take off some of the edge of his tone. “You need special handling. The troops respect you. They know how talented you are. And you scare the crap out of them with your reckless attitude.”
“I don’t need handling.”
“I disagree.”
“You’re a rule-breaker yourself, sir. Everyone knows what happened on Algorab when those Falcons dropped during that exercise. You didn’t let the rules get in your way.”
That stung. Algorab. It was with him all the time. Even when it wasn’t said out loud, people muttered about him and what happened there. It was just like his grandfather always said—if people knew the truth, they would judge him on that relationship rather than who he really was. Instead, most people thought that the events on Algorab defined Roderick Frost—a mistake, to say the least. At least Kroff had the guts to say it out loud. “Don’t try to change the subject. This isn’t about me.” He gritted his teeth as he spoke, so that she understood just how hard it was for him to control his temper at that moment.
“Leutnant, here’s the deal. In the next fight, you keep Ball-Buster operational throughout. I need a fighting commander, not a downed hero. If you don’t stay up, I will send you back to the jail cell that I liberated you from. You will not muster out of the army and you will not get a chance ever to pilot a BattleMech in combat again. I will make sure that you spend many long years in jail.”
Her face flushed. He knew what she was thinking; it was written clearly on her face. “You’re thinking that I wouldn’t dare do this. I assure you, I can and will. Do we have an understanding, Leutnant Kroff?”
She still stared at him, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. “Understood, sir.”
“Good.” He smiled. “Now get over to the ’Mech bay and get those techs to expedite your repairs. I need you primed, locked, loaded and charged for what we’re going to be facing.”
17
LCAF Forward Staging Base
Stealth
McKeesport Proper, Millungera
Lyran Commonwealth (formerly Duchy of
Tamarind-Abbey)
5 November 3137
Vedet Brewster felt more alive and energetic than he had in weeks, even though sleep had evaded him during transit to Millungera. The sleeping pills he had taken softened the bitter edge he felt after Bondurant, but then his subsequent rendezvous with Trillian Steiner had made him angry practically beyond reason.
Now she was here on Millungera, and he found his last briefing with her equally frustrating. Just when he felt like things were coming back under his control, he would discover Trillian Steiner blocking his every move. It made him angry again, and in that anger he discovered some solace. Trillian was planning on going right into the lion’s den to barter for peace. If that failed—and he was confident it would—she was counting on a unit of misfits, these Broken Swords, to save her. And when they failed, she was counting on him to save them all.
As he stared at the holographic map of the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey in the isolated briefing room, he thought of all the troops on the base that were mustering for operations. Hitting Tamarind was one of those objectives, but there were others. The military strategy for finishing off the weakened Duchy was complicated.
The duke stared into the map and at the next target world. He summoned up the anger he had felt when the archon had given the green light to send troops into Skye. The plans for Skye were there, right in front of him, buried in the details. Trillian Steiner and her cousin had used the details to trip him up. There had to be a way to pay them back, to do the same thing to them. I owe those bitches one for slowing my operations in the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth.
The door opened, and General Nordhoff walked in. The man was much more slender than he had been at the start of the war. Weeks spent fighting in a cockpit had aged him, made him lean, hardened. Vedet said nothing to his aide until the door clicked closed behind him.
The general’s face betrayed no emotion—not joy, not frustration—nothing. The final attack on Bondurant had made the duke suspicious of Nordhoff. His Atlas had been pummeled by friendly fire, a barrage ordered and targeted by the general. He had waited for Bernard to apologize, to say something to acknowledge his error, but that admission never came. I have taken care of this boy, guided his career, ensured his success—and now he tries to kill me? It was too hard for the duke to believe, and he still didn’t fully subscribe to the notion. At the same time, he watched the young general carefully, searching for any indication of betrayal.
“You’ve reviewed the plans that Lady Steiner provided? “ Duke Vedet asked.
Nordhoff nodded. “I have. Lady Steiner’s plan is aggressive, perhaps overconfident. And attempting to force the surrender of the Duchy may be premature.
We have pummeled them, but they hold their capital world and can still opt to fight it out.”
Vedet Brewster nodded. “I tend to agree, Bernard. Our mission is to bail her out should her attempt at negotiations fail.”
“The report I was briefed on says she is taking in this new battalion with her.”
“The Broken Swords . . .” the duke replied with contempt.
Nordhoff allowed himself a lone chuckle. “That’s not how the Lyran command refers to them. They call them the Misfits, and from their personnel records I’d say the description isn’t too far off. The man commanding them, Hauptmann Frost, he’s the man who was tagged as being responsible for that debacle on Algorab.”
“He has whipped the losers in that unit into shape, from what I have gathered.”
“True. But the stink of failure follows him. The general staff thinks this is all folly. More than one of the generals I’ve spoken to would be relieved if these misfits were wiped out.”
“Well, from the plans Lady Steiner has laid out, that may just happen.” He stabbed at the controls for the small holotable. The map flickered out of existence and was replaced with the city of Zanzibar, one of the two seats of Fontaine Marik’s government on Tamarind. Zanzibar City was the site of the winter palace, and Padaron City was the official capital. The two cities were dramatically different, and on the opposite sides of the planet. Fontaine rotated between the two, but Zanzibar was where he was likely to be at the moment; and it was where the Lyran Commonwealth’s embassy was located. After the Jihad, Fontaine had taken to using Zanzibar City for less-formal functions and Padaron City as his formal palace. Sitting alone, in barren wastelands, it looked more like a desert oasis out of The Arabian Nights than a modern city.
Bernard stood at parade rest, looking at the map.
“Our current orders are to go to Simpson Desert first. The intent was to hit Tamarind from multiple directions. “ Simpson Desert was a world nestled deep in the belly of the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey. Seizing it would split off a third of the Duchy worlds from their capital. Initially, Tamarind was to be bypassed, encircled, then pounced upon. That plan had not changed, except that Trillian Steiner was going to Tamarind first. The duke supported the original plan because it was bold, assertive and left the Duchy reeling. But if Trillian was able to secure a peaceful resolution . . . there would be no victory, no public adoration, no parades, no calls for him to ascend to the archonship. . . .
“Simpson Desert seems like a small challenge. What does intelligence say are its defenses?”
“A battalion of second-rate troops. They have mostly vehicles and infantry, a few BattleMechs. On paper, I should be able to mop them up quickly.”
For a moment Vedet said nothing. On paper, the Silver Hawk Irregulars were supposed to be easy to defeat, yet with each encounter they had inflicted heavy casualties and withdrawn. More importantly, their fighting style had hatched numerous partisan groups with alleged ties to the Irregulars. All across the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth, there were units committing crimes against Lyran soldiers in the name of the Irregulars. Professional warriors like Bernard always spoke in terms of battles and timetables. The duke had come to learn that in war, there are only best guesses and approximations.
As he paused to mentally critique the military mind-set, his mind drifted back to Bernard’s words. “You said that you should be able to mop them up quickly. What kind of time frame are you estimating?”
“I plan on dropping with the two battalions of the Third Regulars that have been refit. Given what the LIC has provided us in terms of identification of defenses, ammunition dumps and so on, I would estimate that we can subdue the defenders in four days with mop-up operations lasting another week.” Bernard took out his noteputer and apparently was double-checking his estimates.
“What if it took longer?” the duke pressed.
“It won’t, sir,” Bernard replied. “My battle plan calls for us to drop right on top of them and to seize their airstrip and supply points in the first few hours of fighting. Isolated, cut off from logistics, driven into the region known as the Verdun Wilderlands—it’s really just a matter of forcing their surrender.”
“What happens if it does take longer?” Vedet prodded again.
“Our garrison forces arrive to augment us, assist in mop-up operations. But again, it’s not going to happen. The defenders on Simpson Desert are not a real threat. I’m not underestimating them—I’m just sure they can’t hold out against us.”
He isn’t hearing what I’m asking. Typical military officer. “General Nordhoff, what happens to Trillian Steiner on Tamarind if your operations are extended? “
The younger man paused, at last grasping the intent of the question. “Ah. Simply put, sir, she is relying on us to show up to reinforce these Broken Swords of hers. If negotiations fail, she may be caught or killed and the Broken Swords could be scattered. If we arrive late, we would miss the party.”
“An excellent summation. Her efforts at securing peace may fail. We would arrive on Tamarind in time to take care of the remaining defenders, but there is no way her Broken Swords would be able to hold out. We land, seize control of Tamarind and
possibly Fontaine Marik himself and come out of this as the heroes.”
Bernard’s face remained blank of any emotion. “I am not interested in being a hero, sir.”
“What you want is not important, Bernard. Remember what I’ve done for your career.” That brought a wave of red to the younger man’s face. Good—he hasn’t forgotten who I am and what I can do.
“Sir, operations on Simpson Desert could be slowed. Loki has gotten information wrong in the past, which could cause a change in our deployment—at the last minute of course—if you ordered it. In all honesty, you may need . . . a bigger excuse. We are talking about the betrayal of a member of the Steiner family.”
Duke Vedet flashed his massive smile for the first time in a long time. “I’m glad we understand each other. Look over the intelligence reports. We can ill-afford things to go wrong on Simpson Desert. It is best that we take this slow and careful, and get it right. In fact, I want you to work out three alternate landing zones, in case we need to divert our forces. As you indicated, we need to be vigilant of all the opportunities. We have to find a way to make this operation drag out longer than necessary.”
“I assume no one in the upper command needs to see these plans?”
He shook his head. “Lady Steiner taught me an important lesson. You can make changes as long as there is a good trail of documentation. Let’s see how she likes having the tables turned on her.”
BOOK III
Undesired Thoughts
“A political problem thought of in military terms eventually becomes a military problem.”
Fire at Will Page 15