A burst of laughter drew Morgan's attention to the far corner of the room, where Captain Roger Montjar of the Fox Fives exchanged gibes with DEST commander Michael Ryan. To Morgan, this seemed the strangest of all the friendships that had sprung up between the unit commanders during their short time on Defiance. Montjar and his two squads of "Rabid Foxes" would have killed Ryan or any of his thirty DEST commandos had they met anywhere else prior to the Whitting Conference. Now, the special forces leaders laughed together like close comrades.
Morgan had heard, as had most of the command staff, of an incident in Jerseyville, where the DEST troops on liberty, despite the AFFC uniforms worn by way of a disguise, had been set upon by a number of local miners. He'd been told that the assault had less to do with any suspicion that the commandos were "Dracs," than with the fact that they had apparently "stolen" a couple of the miners' girls. Though outnumbered, the DEST troopers had given a good account of themselves, until a few of the miners' friends joined the fray. At that point, according to the "unofficial" story, a half-dozen or so Rabid Foxes leapt into the melee on behalf of the Combine commandos. By the time the local authorities arrived, the brawl was over, and the soldiers were nowhere to be seen. That incident seemed to have sealed the friendship between the Rabid Foxes and the DEST members.
Morgan was less willing than Montjar to accept Ryan at face value. He had always been uncomfortable around zealots of any stripe, and the cold, ruthless killers of the Draconis Elite Strike Teams were perhaps the most rabid of an essentially fanatic type. The presence of the DEST officer couldn't help but raise Morgan's hackles.
Well, Montjar seems to trust him, Morgan thought wryly, I suppose that's what they mean by friendship forged in battle.
Their quiet laughter drew the attention of Colonel Samuel Kingston. Of all the unit leaders assigned to the task force, Morgan trusted him the least. Neither Kingston nor his regiment of Capellan troops, the Legionnaires, had done anything to earn Morgan's enmity. He knew it had to be some old bitterness left over from the days of the Fourth Succession War.
Only the mercenaries seemed at ease. Ariana Winston chatted easily with the officers commanding the Eridani Light Horse's three regiments. Occasionally, Colonel William MacLeod added his rolling burr to the mix, boasting of the exploits of his regiment of the Northwind Highlanders.
Beside MacLeod sat Major Loren Jaffray, commander of the recently formed Northwind Hussars. The unit had been formed expressly to fight the Clans after Jaffray had encountered the Smoke Jaguars on the Periphery world of Wayside V. Morgan knew that much of the Hussars' equipment had been acquired by the mercenary regiment during that expedition. The experience gained in that campaign was almost as valuable as the captured Omni-Mechs were. The Hussars had put their knowledge to good use during the training. Between them and the Invader Galaxy, Task Force Serpent had gained much insight into the Clans, and the Smoke Jaguars, in particular.
Whatever distrust Morgan felt for Kingston, the feeling was magnified five-fold where Loren Jaffray was concerned. Though Jaffray had never given Morgan any reason to doubt him, the man had once been a House Liao Death Commando, one of the fanatical warriors sworn to give their lives for the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation. In Morgan's mind that put Jaffray in the same catagory as Michael Ryan, a zealot and a stone-cold assassin. Colonel MacLeod had personally vouched for Jaffray's integrity as well as his loyalty to the Highlanders and to the task force. Morgan hoped that MacLeod was right.
The briefing room door hissed open to admit Demi-Precentor Regis Grandi, the commanding officer of the Com Guards Second Division. "Sorry I'm late," he muttered. "I got tied up in a meeting with my technical staff."
As the commander of Task Force Serpent, Morgan had no doubt that the men and women under his command would obey his orders in combat, once the time came. What worried him was that long march to war. Trent, the Smoke Jaguar MechWarrior turned ComStar informer, who had provided the task force with the navigational data to take them to the Jaguars' home world, said it would take nearly a year to make the outward journey.
For himself, Morgan was eager to jump out on what would be the most important mission of his career. There was a special anticipation in his heart. For years he had served House Davion and the Federated Commonwealth as a line officer. More than once, he had placed his life on the line in attempting what Andrew Redburn often called, "crazy, impossible stunts." But with his promotion to the head of the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth, his opportunities to actually face an enemy in 'Mech-to-'Mech combat had dwindled away. Now, at last, he faced the possibility of having a hundred tons of fighting steel beneath him once more, and the prospect filled him with the anticipation and joy that only a warrior can know.
A lot can happen in a year, Morgan thought. But nothing's going to happen unless we begin.
"All right," he said, then took a moment to be sure he had everyone's attention. "Let's get started. Status reports. Colonel Masters?"
"The Knights are ready to go, sir," Masters said confidently.
"I wish the Light Horse was that ready," General Winston chimed in. "A number of our 'Mechs were damaged during the training, especially during that class-A malf-up with the Knights. Six of our light 'Mechs went down with leg and ankle damage. The ground in the Tel Burnas was a lot rougher than the maps showed. Some of the Eleventh's recon units got twisted up pretty bad. Most of the repairs are pretty well finished.
"Our biggest problem is RSM Young's Archer. When the computer shut down his 'Mech during that last exercise, the blasted thing didn't lock up the legs. So, a 70-ton 'Mech took a header into a big pile of boulders. Young's OK, just bruises and a broken nose. The problem is his 'Mech. The fall bent the left-knee driver rod almost in half. The damage was so bad that he couldn't get the thing back on its feet. We had to drag it into the repair bay on a flatbed. When the techs tried to do repairs, they couldn't get the rod free of the yoke assemblies. We had to swap out the entire left knee joint. That meant removing all the armor on that leg, cutting the joint shaft and bearings free of the strut yokes, and welding new ones in place. None of that was especially tricky, just hard, physical labor.
"The real problem is getting the leg to move. Our techs can't seem to get any power to the lower leg now. They've put in three different actuator packages and completely rewired the power harness, but they still can't find the problem. I'm giving them two days to trace it. If they can't get it fixed by then, we'll either have to replace the entire leg or leave the 'Mech behind."
Morgan nodded as he scribbled a memo on the comp pad on the table in front of him.
"Um-hum," he looked up from his notes. "Do we have any spare legs for an Archer?"
Winston checked her own portable data unit. "Not on planet. The nearest AFFC garrison big enough to have the equipment we need is the Crucis March Militia post on Tsamma. If we get an HPG message to them stat, we could probably have the replacement leg here in a week."
"Too long." Morgan looked up from his comp pad. "Any equipment that can't be made ready by oh-one May can be moved aboard the DropShips and repaired in transit. Those that can't be moved will have to be left behind. I'll make arrangements for picking up replacement 'Mechs from an AFFC garrison somewhere en route."
Winston shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The Light Horse had a reputation for being one of the most efficient, reliable units in the Inner Sphere. The balky left leg on Regimental Sergeant Major Young's Archer wasn't anyone's fault. That didn't make it any easier to tell Morgan that her unit was not one hundred percent ready to start the operation.
"Don't worry, sir. We'll be ready when the balloon goes up, even if we have to carry Young's 'Mech aboard."
"Uh-huh." Morgan's reply carried a note of playful skepticism.
"Colonel MacLeod?"
The Northwind Highlanders commander shot a grin at Ariana Winston. Since their arrival on Defiance, the mercenary companies had been involved in a friendly rivalry. Morgan knew that s
everal thousand C-Bills had changed hands as a result of wagering on the outcome of the engagements fought by the mercs. Andrew Redburn had sheepishly confessed to winning two hundred C-Bills on the Light Horse's last exercise. Morgan's only comment was his relief that Redburn hadn't bet against him.
"Well, Marshal, the Highlanders are a champin' at the bit. We're ready to mount up as soon as you give the word."
"I'll take that as a 'ready.'" Morgan said, to the accompaniment of laughter from the other officers. The Scots burr of MacLeod and many of the other Highlanders had been the subject of many good-natured jokes since their arrival.
"I have to go along with General Winston, sir," Sho-sa Ryan interjected without being asked. "All of the special teams could use a bit more time, both to develop more integrated tactics, and to build a bit more trust. I know it's different for you 'Mech-jockeys, but with us special ops guys, trust is kind of hard to come by. We have to count on each other implicitly, especially in the field. We have to know what the other guy is thinking without asking. That kind of relationship is hard to build in a few weeks."
Morgan raised one hand to stop the DEST officer's flow of words. "I know what you're saying, Major, but we simply don't have the time it takes to build that kind of tight-knit integration."
"Yes, sir. I know that, But... "
"No buts, Major Ryan. I need to know if your people are ready to go."
"Strategically, I'd have to say yes." Ryan paused, lifting his hands in apparent concern and frustration. "Tactically? No. We could use more time to get more fully integrated."
"I'm sorry, Major, but you heard what I told General Winston. All repairs and drills will have to be done en route. You'll have plenty of time for integration while we're on our way to the target. You can conduct boarding exercises to your heart's content while the fleet is sitting at recharge points, but May first remains the jump-off date."
"Yes, sir."
Morgan nodded and moved on. One by one, he queried the various unit commanders regarding their troops' state of readiness. Each assured him that their units would be ready to take ship when the time came, and each stated their wish for more practice time. Finally, Morgan looked straight at the Com Guard commander.
"Demi-Precentor Grandi, what about the Guards?"
Grandi reviewed his notes before speaking.
"The Second Division will be ready to go by the first. I received a message from the Precentor Martial yesterday. Marshal Hasek-Davion, sir, you already know the contents of this message. I'd like to inform the other commanders."
Morgan nodded. "Go ahead, Demi-Precentor. But just the first section." Morgan paused as a faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I want to tell them the rest myself."
Grandi smiled in return.
"The Precentor Martial informs me that the additional JumpShips necessary for the transportation of this task force will be arriving on or about the twenty-seventh of this month. The bulk of this fleet will be made up of ComStar vessels, under the command of Precentor Alain Beresick. The fleet is to include the ISS Invisible Truth, the last Cameron Class battle cruiser known to exist in the Inner Sphere."
A ripple of surprise ran through the briefing room. General Winston, whose Eridani Light Horse maintained one of the largest fleets of JumpShips outside of any Successor State navy, stared open-mouthed.
It was now known that ComStar had for centuries maintained a small fleet of WarShips left over from the old Star League, hidden away among the many uninhabited systems of the Inner Sphere. But no one imagined that the organization had managed to preserve one of the most powerful WarShips ever built.
Grandi waited until the murmuring had ceased before continuing.
"The Federated Commonwealth has agreed to send two Fox Class corvettes, while the Draconis Combine has assigned their newest Kyushu Class frigate, Haruna, to the task force."
Andrew Redburn stirred at this last announcement. "I thought the Combine only had seven Kyushus," he whispered to Morgan. "I don't remember seeing that name on any intelligence reports."
"Neither did I," Morgan replied, equally sotto voce. "When Theodore told me he'd be sending me his newest frigate, I thought he meant the Victory at Wolcott. When I told him so, he reminded me of their Phoenix Program. Who would have guessed that they were building War-Ships in secret to go along with all their new ground units?"
Again, Demi-Precentor Grandi was forced to stop his briefing until the whispered conversation subsided. Morgan felt a subtle flush of embarrassment, but he was also glad that, after all the campaigns and battles he had seen, he could still feel fear and excitement at the beginning of an operation.
Before Grandi could resume his briefing, a low chuckle rippled through the room. Colonel Kingston looked up, meeting Morgan's questioning gaze.
"At least we can repay the Jaguars for Turtle Bay," he said, grim satisfaction glittering in his dark almond-shaped eyes. "We have the WarShips now. If we have to, we can level their whole planet."
"No, we will not," Paul Masters said through gritted teeth. "Not so long as my Knights are part of this task force."
"Sir Masters is right." Morgan raised his right hand, forefinger extended, curtly silencing Kingston's reply. "We will not use the war fleet's weapons to level Huntress. If we do, we're no better than the Jaguars."
"I must agree with the Marshal," Demi-Precentor Grandi added. "Remember, ladies and gentlemen, that the success of this mission depends upon speed and secrecy rather than raw firepower." Grandi paused to consult his notes. "Those units possessing their own JumpShips, like the Knights and the Light Horse, will be expected to transport DropShips carrying combat troops from other units.
"The Precentor Martial has urged me to send his regards, and wishes us good luck and godspeed."
Grandi sat down in silence while the assembled commanders digested the message they had just received.
A few moments later, Morgan rose and cleared his throat before speaking. He knew the import of the message he was about to read and was, frankly a little awed by it. He cleared his throat again, tugging at the collar of his tan uniform jerkin.
"As you know, there was a second half to that message. By agreement of the various heads of state represented by this task force, all officers and men of Task Force Serpent shall be issued new uniforms.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the members of this task force will be the first in almost three hundred years to wear the uniform of the Star League."
A second wave of excited murmurs rumbled across the briefing room.
No one in the briefing room was more pleasantly surprised than the Eridani commanders. Colonel Amis took the cigar from his gaping mouth. Winston, a huge smile creasing her face, leaned toward Colonel Antonescu, whose hands had frozen in mid key-stroke on his comp pad.
"I can't wait to see Scott's face when we tell him."
Antonescu smiled thinly. Colonel Hinesick was one of the staunchest proponents of a return to the Star League. Only Sandra Barclay showed no reaction, sitting with hands clasped on the table in front of her.
When the commotion quieted, Morgan continued.
"Since ComStar is providing the uniforms, there is a side note here from Precentor Martial Focht. He says he is sorry that these new uniforms will not be the technological equals of the originals." The original Star-League era uniforms were made using the same lostech knowledge as the 'Mechs of that bygone era. Neurohelmets were lighter and more efficient. Infantry and armor uniforms afforded the soldiers a greater degree of protection with less bulk. Even the helmets worn by the humble ground-pounders were a marvel of technology, boasting voice-controlled sensors and anti-laser glazing. Even having the Gray Death memory core and the technology gleaned from the Clans hadn't granted Inner Sphere developers the ability to replicate such advanced equipment.
"All personnel will be granted Star League ranks equivalent to that which they currently hold. All personnel will wear the Star league crest, in addition to their Successor State an
d/or unit insignia. All 'Mechs, fighters, ships, and other vehicles will have the Star League crest painted on them, in addition to their original markings.
"Finally, all personnel and equipment will bear the insignia developed for this task force."
With that, Morgan turned and pulled away the white sheet that had been tacked to the wall, covering the large, painted crest. It showed a black serpent, its fanged jaws open, ready to strike, coiled around the Cameron Star.
13
Fort Defiance
Defiance, Crucis March
Federated Commonwealth
25 April 3059
1350 Hours
Ten minutes later, after Morgan had dismissed the meeting, a Com Guard infantry sergeant slapped Kasugai Hatsumi on the shoulder.
"Hey! You Seida?" the soldier yelled over the noise in the 'Mech bay. The nekekami leader, responding to his alias, nodded. The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "There's a call waiting for you in the Officer of the Day's office."
Without waiting for an acknowledgment, the soldier walked off in the direction of the office. Hatsumi followed a few moments later. Though he had been trained to operate nearly any type of vehicle, from motorcycles to BattleMechs, the one device his instructors had left out was exoskeletons. In his role as a Com Guard astech, Hatsumi had been assigned to work in the Guards' 'Mech bay. He had been loading cassettes of cluster ammunition into a Champion's LB 10-X autocannon when the call came through. The job required the use of a heavy exo-skeleton. Adapting to the ungainly "mini-Mech's" slow, clumsy movements had been a major task for one who had been trained to walk with the smooth, easy grace of a hunting cat.
Hatsumi felt a tremor of anticipation as he switched off the exoskeleton's power cell. It had been easy to fit into the role of assistant technician that his employer had provided for him. Out of habit, he had picked up some valuable information on the everyday goings-on of the Com Guards, but he had yet to learn the nature or target of his mission. His training prohibited him from speculating on these subjects. Prior notions, however accurate, would influence how he and his team responded when it was time to carry out their assignment.
Twilight of the clans III: the hunters Page 12
