“I am asking that you divert some of your and General Nordhoff’s forces from the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth and send some experienced forces on to Vindemiatrix. Those forces need assistance. While the Jade Falcons have suffered losses, our forces have been turned and are fighting for survival. Our commitment to Skye cannot be seen as weak. I am counting on you to ensure that none of our efforts in this war lose their momentum.”
The duke grinned broadly. “Got your tit in a wringer don’t you, Melissa?” he muttered under his breath. He allowed himself a chuckle. “The best part is you need my help to get out.” He saw that there was a holovid file attached to the message. This could be what I was looking for, an excuse to not show up on Tamarind to save your cousin Trillian.
He paused the recording and stabbed at the comm unit with his long fingers. “Bridge.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Awaken General Nordhoff. Tell him to meet me in the tactical operations room immediately.”
The Jade Falcon Broadsword-class ship arced slightly as it came into view. It was close, so close you could make out the lights and silhouettes in the view ports. The turret spun and fired. The ship that the image was being taken from rocked as the stabbing beams of emerald light flickered on. A jagged piece of armor on the target ship, a Union-class vessel, was so badly ripped that it appeared in the field of vision. A cloud of hissing gas, probably oxygen, appeared just below the image—a foreboding sign.
Missiles traced through space at the Broadsword. At the last moment, the Jade Falcon vessel pitched hard to the side, exposing its underbelly as it moved away. The missiles hit everywhere along the bottom of the Broadsword, each silent explosion violently rocking the ship.
Both ships quaked as they plowed deeper into the ionosphere of the world and the turbulence jarred them. The Falcon ship swung wide and another ship, ovoid in shape, came into view. An Overlord. This ship was massive, capable of carrying a Binary or Trinary of Clan troops into battle, and bristling with turrets. Each turret rotated as the Union ship fired another salvo of long-range missiles. Unlike the Broadsword, the massive Overlord-class ship didn’t rock under the blasts. It was as if the missile hits were lost on the larger ship, they were so small they seemed almost insignificant.
Bernard reached out and shut off the holovid. “I don’t need to watch this,” he said hoarsely, rubbing his night’s growth of dark black beard. “So it was like that all the way to the LZ?”
The duke nodded. He was surprised that Bernard did not want to watch the rest of the holographic file that had come with the message. In a way, it disappointed him. He would have thought that a military man would want to watch it all, to drink it in. “The Falcons apparently were skimming in the upper atmosphere, which was why sensors didn’t pick them up. They went in on the same vector as our Royals troops, landing right next to them at almost point-blank range. It turned into a bloodbath.”
Bernard continued to rub his thick beard. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but the archon is right— we have to divert troops to help the Royals. The Jade Falcons are the nastiest of the Clans, and it would be wrong to leave those troops trapped there.”
“I have no intention of abandoning them,” the duke fired back. “But what troops can we send?”
Bernard took out his noteputer and thumb-scrolled down the list. “The Fourth Royals have troops designated to rotate off Bondurant and strike at Danais in the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth. While there have been hits by units on Bondurant that claim to be the Silver Hawks, we could strip half of the occupation force there and divert it to Vindemiatrix. That will get a fast response, but it’s going to place the forces hitting Danais at risk, especially because we don’t know where Anson Marik has put the real Silver Hawk Irregulars.”
“Are there any other troops we can send?”
General Nordhoff raised his head slowly. “We could use your Hesperus Guards to assist with operations on Danais. It will force us to use two of my companies of troops as your reserve, but the plan is workable. Whichever of us needs the reserves can tap them first.”
That’s the right answer. “This could mean that we are tied up on Simpson Desert for longer than planned.” He could not hold back the grin that rose to his face.
“It will take us longer with reduced forces. And where my Guards go, I go, General. We will have to fall back on some of the alternate battle plans and drop zones we discussed.”
“You see, Bernard—sometimes opportunities present themselves just when you need them. The advantage of the corporate mind is seeing where those opportunities are and how to leverage them.”
The younger general nodded. “Sir, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve tangled with the Silver Hawks. If the Fourth Royals Regiment lands in a reduced configuration on Danais and the Falcons are there, they’ll be in for a hell of a fight.”
“Yes,” Duke Vedet replied. “Of course, Bernard.”
“Do you want those orders to go out?”
“Make it happen, General,” he said. Ordering around generals gave him a sense of satisfaction. How many times did I have to kiss the brass’ behind to get a sale or an order for merchandise? Thousands? Now the tables are turned.
Bernard sat in his quarters and looked at the TO&E for his unit. He had made sure that his men were loyal, some more loyal than others. Likewise, he knew that the duke’s private unit, the Hesperus Guards, was full of die-hard loyalists. Bernard had pulled up their backgrounds and found similarities with his own history with the duke. Duke Vedet had been a busy man, putting many officers through military academies, manipulating their careers, as well. The difference was that these other men loved it—and Bernard resented it.
He had identified the true hard cases, the ones who were true believers in the duke. When the orders went out, he was going to make sure they were sent to Danais. At the same time, he made sure that any troops that were questionable in his own regiment were also going to be sent on the relief mission.
Yes, I will “make it happen,” Duke. But I will do it my way. If the opportunity presents itself, I will not pass up a chance to make sure your trip to Simpson Desert or Tamarind is a one-way voyage.
20
Major Goolies Bar
McKeesport Proper, Millungera
Lyran Commonwealth (formerly Duchy of
Tamarind-Abbey)
20 November 3137
Major Goolies was a less-than-popular watering hole only a block from the military base the Lyran forces were using on Millungera. It was a place that catered to the military crowd—loved their money, hated the damage they inflicted. As Roderick approached, he saw military police vehicles outside, the officers decked out in riot gear, and a few cars of the local authorities. They had the bar surrounded. He shook his head as he approached, showing his ID to the officers when they challenged him.
Nothing good ever starts with a call in the middle of the night saying, “You need to get down to this bar right away, sir.” The call had come from a friend who was an MP, a man whose brother had once served under Roderick. No one liked to get a call like this; he was only surprised it hadn’t come up before now, given the composition of his unit.
When he finally got into the bar, he stared in dismay. It looked as if a tornado had torn through the middle of Major Goolies. Chairs and the remains of chairs littered the floor, and the mirror behind the bar—usually almost invisible due to the grime—had been broken into jagged shards, along with dozens of bottles of watered-down alcohol. Only two tables remained upright. The air stank of spilled beer and an eye-watering mix of liquor.
Then there were the bodies.
Leutnant Matt Rust of Savage Company was laid out with a nasty gash across his forehead that was still oozing blood down the side of his face and onto the floor. Roderick reminded himself that head wounds always looked worse than they actually were. At least two unconscious and two wounded soldiers were being tended to by comrades wearing the patch of the Fifth Lyra
n Regulars. He felt a momentary satisfaction that his troops had gotten the best of the fight so far.
At the other end of the room, spread out as if preparing for another assault, were his troops. In the center of the group, her hair disheveled, her eyes blazing, was Jamie Kroff. Trace Decker stood at her side, holding the leg of a broken chair in his hands like a sword, clearly poised to rejoin the battle. Well, if Trace was involved, I can’t level the blame entirely on Kroff. He just assumed that Jamie had started the fight . . . it fit her style.
He could see nasty round bruises on Kroff’s shoulder and arm. Rubber bullets. They had actually blasted her at least once, and still she was up and ready to take more. Her lip was swelling around a cut and her hands were balled into fists—not at the Fifth Lyran Regulars, but at the military police.
The first leutnant in charge of the MPs was holding his club in front of him and barking commands to Kroff. “Listen here, Leutnant, drop to your knees and put your hands on your head.” Jamie was ignoring him. Her blood was up and she was still looking for a fight, even one she couldn’t win.
Roderick reached out to the MP and touched his shoulder. The man jerked around. “Who in the hell are you . . . sir?”
“I’m their CO. What happened here?” Roderick avoided giving his name, since this past year it seemed to earn scorn more often than respect.
“What does it look like?” the officer shot back. He seemed as fired up as the brawlers.
“Let me handle this,” Roderick said, in a reassuring tone.
“They’re all going to the brig,” the MP snapped.
“That’s not necessary,” Roderick said, then raised his voice to carry throughout the bar. “You have to trust me, whatever you have planned for them is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to them.”
The MP became visibly calmer. “Even so, you’ll need to address the damages, sir.”
Roderick looked around. “Seems to me that in these cases, everybody is equally responsible for compensation, “ he remarked as he took out a wad of bills and divided it in half. “We could spend time in court figuring this out, or you can give the owner my unit’s half, and the boys and girls from the Fifth Lyran can foot the rest.”
The MP took the money and slid it into his breast pocket. “Seems fair.”
“My unit is shipping out tomorrow anyway,” Roderick said loudly. “The last thing I need is my officers in the brig. Trust me, the duty they get as a result of this little incident is going to be more than enough punishment.” He saw Jamie lowering her fists as he spoke.
The MP smiled. “Saves me a ton of paperwork. Watch her, though.” He jabbed his nightstick at Kroff. “She’s got issues.”
“Really?” he spat sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed.”
An hour later he assembled the troops who had participated in the destruction of Major Goolies in one of the empty ’Mech hangars. An hour’s time had not improved their appearance. Most bore the marks of a bar fight, the bruises and gouges of hand-to-hand combat. He had them lined up at attention for a full thirty minutes before stepping out in front of them. Between the humidity created by the light rain that had started to fall outside and the warmth of the hangar bay, they stung not only from their fight, but from their sweat.
“Perfect move, people . . . just frigging perfect,” he began. “You’re damn lucky I had a friend in the MPs who owed me a favor, or you’d all be in the brig right now.” Roderick mustered his deepest, most commanding voice as he spoke.
“Sir—” Trace began.
“Shut up, Leutnant!” he barked. No playing favorites. “Let me guess, they made disparaging comments about our unit. They called you some names. You all had a little to drink, you wanted to defend your unit’s honor. So the only way to do that was to bust the snail-snot out of a bar and deck a bunch of your fellow troopers.”
He paused. “Well, did I hit the mark?”
“It wasn’t just that,” Trace said nervously. “They called us losers. And a penal unit—and not the kind of ‘penal’ that means prison. Then they went after you, bringing up Algorab. They said you were a coward and a disgrace.”
“So that’s what set you off? They slammed me?”
“No, sir,” Kroff jumped in. “They said that we were nothing but a suicide unit that Lady Steiner had thrown together. Then they said some things about her that were, well, not exactly ladylike.”
“So you were defending the honor of Trillian Steiner? That’s why you started the brawl?” That he could understand.
Kroff shook her head, wincing from the pain. “Not exactly, sir. We held off even at that. We owe a lot to Lady Steiner and you, and knew you’d be pissed off if we started a fight, so I held everyone back.”
“You did?” That came as a surprise. Kroff was the definition of a hothead, and bore a lot of wounds from the battle at Major Goolies. It took a lot to believe that she had held her temper in check.
“Yes, sir.” Trace picked up the story. “We held off until—well, they said we were not fit to wear the uniform and fight for the archon. Sir, that went too damn far. We’ve proven ourselves. We told them that . . . but they laughed at us. They goddamned laughed at us,” he said bitterly. Trace looked as if he were ready to throw another punch, and Roderick understood why. These folks had all made mistakes in their careers, or, like him, had been a scapegoat for someone else’s failure. But they had put their lives on the line like every other soldier. To be laughed at by their so-called peers was just plain wrong.
Roderick bowed his head and shook it in the negative. “You shouldn’t have thrown the punch, and you know it. As your CO, I have to respond appropriately.
“Ten-hut!” He thought for a moment as the battered members of his unit snapped to a precision attention. They are a good military unit. Time to treat them like one.
Since Algorab, everyone had tried to treat him as a failure, a coward, a liar and a traitor. Negative treatment had not made him a better MechWarrior or leader. What had made him a better leader was that he had moved past that incident, and risen above other people’s opinions of him. It was time to teach them the same lesson. It was time for them to learn that he was truly proud of what they had become.
“All right. Consider yourselves punished. Get to your barracks and stay there. Don’t let those bozos from the Fifth Regulars see you or I’ll end up with a pile of paperwork. Besides, tomorrow you leave to put your butts on the line for the Commonwealth.”
They stared at him, shocked, as he saluted them, turned and walked out of the hangar bay.
There was only one thing left to do to make this really right. . . .
Lyran Diplomatic Compound
Zanzibar, Tamarind
Klaus was leaning over the desk, which was covered with hard-copy reports and noteputers. Trillian stood silently behind him, watching him work. He was not as methodical as she had thought. He fluttered from one pile of paper to another, shuffling reports, shifting to noteputers, loading data cubes, flipping through another report. It was like watching his mind work. Klaus Wehner always had a lot of balls up in the air and somehow managed to juggle them. There were times when Trillian didn’t appreciate how much pressure she put on her staff. It was good to remind herself occasionally by observing them in action.
“What are you working on?” she asked. She surprised him, and he jumped slightly and started to rise. She held out her hand to indicate that the courtesy was not necessary. One of the things that endeared Klaus to her was his willingness to observe the formalities, even when he knew they were not required.
“Duke Vedet,” he said. Two words that carried a great deal of weight.
“Anything in particular?”
“I’ve been going over his profile and that of General Nordhoff. We know that Vedet considers Nordhoff something of a protégé. I’ve been trying to find a way for us to leverage that to our advantage.”
Interesting angle; typical of the kind of work Klaus did. “Did you find anything?”
/>
“Maybe,” he said, shuffling through the papers to pull out one particular printout. “Nordhoff recently reassigned several officers in seemingly unrelated but subtly connected moves. He’s loaded the Third Regulars with some friends from his academy days and childhood buddies from Hesperus. He has positioned some with him, and has reassigned some back to Hesperus."
"Why?"
“He’s probably just doing some favors for old friends. It happens all the time when someone breaks into the upper command ranks. Regardless of his real reasons, I think we can use this to our advantage. If we were to leak this information to the duke and position it that Bernard is planning some sort of coup back on Hesperus . . . it might drive a wedge between the two of them.”
She thought for a moment. It was possible that Nordhoff was simply doing favors for old friends. At the same time, she had to consider the security of the Hesperus Defiance Industries’ ’Mech and armaments works, which was critical to the future of the Lyran Commonwealth. Trillian felt it was entirely possible, even likely, that Bernard Nordhoff could be playing out his own agenda. “I like the idea of driving a wedge between them. There was that friendly-fire incident I saw in the reports from Bondurant. Wasn’t the duke caught in an artillery barrage ordered by Nordhoff?”
Wehner nodded. “That incident was what started me thinking about this. The preliminary investigation found that Nordhoff did call the strike to the coordinates occupied by the duke and his unit, but that it was an appropriate risk with the potential to catch the Irregulars.”
Fire at Will Page 17