by Andrew Keith
* * *
Roger DeVries couldn't believe what he was hearing. The officers from the Gray Death actually claimed that they could defend Glengarry against what they thought was a Free Skye armada. And if that weren't enough, they seemed determined to drag the civil government down with them. It hadn't taken his own people long to discover the presence of the invasion fleet at Glengarry's nadir jump point, but General von Bulow's announcement had caught him off guard nevertheless. Still, it was nothing compared to what he was hearing from the legionnaires now.
His mind raced as Major de Villar outlined the Legion's need for support from the Planetary Guard. The appearance of the Free Skye fleet changed the entire situation on Glengarry. The invaders obviously had the military power to overcome any defense Carlyle's people could muster, especially with their much-revered leader and many of their best troops away from Glengarry, and far out of reach. But DeVries believed the only titling the mercenaries could accomplish by resisting the invaders was to bring the full horror of war to the planet. The issue of victory or defeat wasn't in doubt—only the issue of how much damage the Free Skye rebels would inflict before they won.
And the kind of damage a modern army could inflict on a planet wouldn't leave Roger DeVries much to rebuild. What was the use in aiming for a landhold if the fief would be devastated in some useless campaign?
But plainly the Gray Death people didn't see it that way. Their acting commander was talking as if mounting a futile resistance was the only option they were even willing to consider.
"We won't have much time to prepare," de Villar was saying. The intercom picked up a babble in the background, probably other officers debating. "But every armed man can count for something. How many do you think we can mobilize in two days?"
"Ah, look, Major, I'm not so sure about all this," DeVries stalled. "I mean, do you really think we can fight these people? Wouldn't. . . wouldn't some kind of negotiations be a better idea?"
The saturnine major frowned. "There are precious few grounds for negotiation here, Governor. It's either surrender or fight . . . and we believe our contract obligates us to fight."
"I . . . ah, see." DeVries hesitated. "I'm not sure just how much we can muster, Major. Let me put my staff on it and get back to you as soon as we know what's feasible. Say, three hours? It's the middle of the night, you know, and I'll have to get my staff organized before they can do anything."
"No more than that," de Villar said gruffly. "Every minute counts, Governor." The screen went blank.
DeVries leaned back in his chair. His office suddenly seemed very small. These mercenaries were pushing him into a damned tight corner, and he didn't like the feeling. He couldn't see any point in offering resistance to the invaders, but if he didn't go along with the Legion, he'd be nothing more or less than a traitor. He had taken an oath of fealty to Grayson Carlyle as landholder, and if he violated that oath no one in the Federated Commonwealth would raise a hand in his defense.
There has to be an option, he told himself. If there was one thing free traders and politicians had in common, it was the certainty that there were always alternatives. You just had to know where to look . . .
DeVries leaned forward again and stabbed the button on his intercom terminal. "Kennedy. I want a commlink with the invader flagship, right away." He paused. "And make sure it's a secure channel. I don't want any eavesdroppers. Understand me?"
Yes, there had to be another option. And DeVries would find it, one way or another.
17
Deep Space, Glengarry System
Skye March, Federated Commonwealth
2 April 3056
"What is it, Johann?" General-Kommandant von Bulow asked irritably, looking up from his trideo planning display and the preliminary plans for Operation Firestorm, one of the options he had to review in case an assault on Glengarry became necessary. It was tiring work, and he'd had little sleep the past few days, but von Bulow had never been fond of delegating authority for anything as important as a major military operation.
"Communications has just filed a message for you, Herr-General," his aide said as the door slid shut behind him. "From the planet."
Von Bulow frowned. "So . . .the Gray Death negotiates? Somehow that doesn't sound right. Not their style at all."
"Not the mercenaries, no, Herr General," Albrecht said. "The Planetary Governor General."
"Ah ..." von Bulow tapped a set of keys in front of him and scanned his file on the man. "An off-worlder. Merchant background. Interesting. I had not considered the possibility that the civil government might respond. Any mercenary leader worth his water would keep their administrators under tight control."
"But perhaps not Carlyle," the aide commented. "He is weak, that one."
"Not weak. Merely sentimental. He truly believes that a feudal military society must somehow be answerable to the common rabble, even serve them." The General-Kommandant made a dismissive gesture. "I've met many who claim to believe it, Johann, from Victor Davion to Richard Steiner. But I'm beginning to see that with Carlyle it's more than just words."
"Do you really think the locals will negotiate, Herr General? Or is this some kind of trick?"
"That will only be clear after we are firmly in place. But any sign of dissent, any group willing to treat with us rather than fight, is to be encouraged. Promise whatever concessions seem most likely to win them to our side."
"His Grace would not approve of granting too many concessions, Herr General," Albrecht pointed out.
"Not would I, Johann," von Bulow said with a half-smile. "Nor would I. Concessions may be promised, to weaken the enemy. If we can encourage the government to break with the mercenaries, even fight them openly in the name of Free Skye, we weaken their resistance. And we gain a better excuse for intervention to liberate our valiant friends on Glengarry from the oppression of Victor's band of hirelings. That will play well elsewhere as we consolidate our hold. But as for actually granting concessions . . . well, promises aren't worth much to a leader who is dead. Or sitting in His Grace's correctional facilities on Skye. True?"
"Yes, Herr General." The aide matched von Bulow's smile.
"Well, I suppose I should review this governor's message, eh? See what might have inspired him to contact us so quickly. Set it up on my monitor, Johann, and then turn in. I will not need you for a few hours, at least."
General von Bulow looked down at the three-dimensional terrain display once again. If all went well, he thought, Glengarry might yet fall into His Grace's hands without a blow being struck.
* * *
Roger DeVries leaned back in his chair, frowning at the monitor screen in his main office. He didn't like conducting long-range negotiations. His preference was always for face-to-face dealings, where he could read the body language of his opposite number and pounce quickly on any opening or l perceived weakness. That wasn't possible here, with the engthy interplanetary time lag still turning each transmission into a set-piece speech rather than an interactive conversation.
On the screen General von Bulow had his head cocked to one side, his sound pickups muted while he apparently reviewed something DeVries had said in his last message. Then, abruptly, the man began to speak.
"I understand your. . . dilemma, Governor," von Bulow suid with a faint smile. "Loyalties can become very tangled when you start mixing politics and policy, wouldn't you agree? The best policy for the administration on Glengarry is surely to avoid hostilities. Even with the protection of the Ares Conventions, war is brutality, pure and simple. We want to spare Glengarry that kind of misery. It is certainly not in our best interests to destroy a planet that could be an important part of an independent realm of Skye, after all. So I would hope to avoid bloodshed, and I am delighted to learn that you share my point of view. That leaves your mercenary planetholders as the sole obstacle to a settlement that will benefit all of us."
The general held up a hand. "Please don't misunderstand me, Governor. I don't preach a betray
al of loyalties lightly. After all, I would expect you to be loyal to the Provisional Government if and when we do reach an agreement." He smiled again. "But I think I can safely say that it is on the issue of loyalty that this whole matter hinges. It is the Duke of Skye's position that the grant of Glengarry to these mercenaries was invalid from the very beginning, in that it originated with the lackeys of House Davion. Everyone saw how even the Archon Melissa fell under the complete domination of her so-called husband and later their fool of a son. His Grace maintained that the Davion alliance and all its works are illegal, against the Lyran Commonwealth's constitution, and hence cannot be considered valid."
There was a pause before von Bulow went on. "What does this mean to you? Simply this, Governor. First, Duke Richard Steiner has claimed the mantle of leadership over House Steiner in lieu of the discredited line of Katrina, Melissa, and Victor Davion. He repudiates the Federated Commonwealth alliance, which has placed Lyran territory under the jurisdiction of the false F-C government. As the legal head of House Steiner and the Lyran Commonwealth he may now dispose of all property and contracts belonging to either the House or the government.
"Second, Colonel Carlyle's contract was and always has been with House Steiner, which means that his men are answerable to the authority of the rightful leader of that House—again, His Grace Duke Richard. Third, the grant of Glengarry to Carlyle's Legion is not recognized as valid by His Grace, and in any event can be revoked by His Grace at will. In fact, it already has been. His Grace of Carnwath has reaffirmed that I am the legitimate holder of the fief of Glengarry, for the better order and governance of the region. Therefore, you need not be concerned with the implications of the planethold arrangement. It is, in fact, triply invalid. Pro-Davion elements might attempt to argue the matter, but the truth is that there is ample legal precedent for you to renounce the Gray Death Legion's authority if you so desire."
The general smiled. "In other words, my dear Governor General DeVries, if you are sincere in your desire to spare your planet the horrors of war—and who except professional soldiers would want such conflict?—then you have at your disposal all the legal justification you need to protect Glengarry's civilian population. I would be more than happy to accept your declaration of neutrality in this dispute between His Grace and the usurpers who have betrayed his family. That is all I seek, your declaration of neutrality . . .with your acceptance of a few minor safeguards to guarantee that neutrality hereafter. And if you are bold enough to take the steps toward that neutrality, the Gray Death Legion will be hard pressed to go against your decision. They depend on your civil government for their very existence, and with sufficient dedication on your part at this juncture I think we can see to it that these military men do not sabotage the cause of peace on Glengarry."
DeVries paused the playback and settled back into his seat, regarding the general's frozen image on the monitor with a wry smile. General von Bulow, according to the governor's computer database, had spent the last several years as part of Duke Richard Steiner's personal staff, and it was obvious that he had learned the language of diplomacy in those years. It was equally obvious to DeVries that the man's smiles and platitudes and carefully framed legal arguments were all a smoke screen to hide his real intent. The rebels from Skye needed to neutralize the Gray Death Legioin based so close to the heart of their nascent realm. It was in Richard Steiner's best interests to take the Legion out of action with a minimum commitment of time and resources, especially since the planet Hesperus, a second major center of Davion resistance, would also require Free Skye attention in this early stage of the rebellion.
The question confronting DeVries was whether it was also in his own best interests to go along with the rebels. Before receiving the general's reply to his message he had spent a long time examining the strategic map of the Federated Commonwealth seeking a better understanding of the overall situation. Everything he saw tended to sway him to take the side of Free Skye in this rising. The Isle of Skye region was the sole connecting corridor between the old separate states of the Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth. If the Isle of Skye managed to secede from the Federated Commonwealth alliance, it would effectively cut Victor Davion's empire in half. And that, in turn, would likely trigger other former Lyran regions to rise in revolt. With the continuing threat of the Clans on the Lyran border, and the ongoing tensions with House Kurita to occupy Davion forces on the old Federated Suns borders, a chain-reaction of secession and revolution would be hard for Victor Davion to counter. In all likelihood, then, despite the disparity in strength between the rebels in Skye and their Davion overlords, Skye would likely end up free, no matter how much resistance the Gray Death Legion offered.
So if Duke Richard was to become the new overlord anyway, what could Glengarry—or its governor—gain from resistance?
Still, there were dangers. DeVries was not about to accept everything the Free Skye general said at face value, no matter how attractive it sounded. And it would be impossible to make a move without first accounting for the Legion itself. That would take finesse.
He turned to another monitor screen and punched in the intercom code for his legal department. It was still the middle of the night, local time, but all his advisors and senior staffers were at their posts in response to his earlier orders. Passing a copy of the general's transmission and strict orders for secrecy on to the head of the department, DeVries cut the man off with a minimum of explanation. Before actually making up his mind, he'd get his own expert opinion on von Bulow's claims of neutrality as a legal, viable option for the planetary government.
His next call was to Colonel Max Walthers, a tough off-world mercenary who served as commander of the Residence Guard. "Walthers, double all security details inside the Castle Hill compound, effective immediately. All of them."
The colonel's scarred face registered surprise. "But Governor, the Gray Death is already on alert. We've got equal contingents of Legion and Guard troops at every post as it is."
"Precisely. And I want the Guards to hold the upper hand." DeVries paused. "In case of a . . . dispute."
The mercenary was quick to take his meaning. "As you wish, Governor. Should I brief the men to be expecting some kind of . . . trouble?"
"Not yet," DeVries said. "But I would suggest you put together a pool of senior NCOs who can be mobilized quickly to take command of key positions in case something comes up. I'll let you know when and how to brief them."
Walthers nodded. "I'll see to it, Governor. If anyone from the Legion questions the orders, I'll inform them that you've increased the Guard watch to ease the pressures on the legionnaires. That should commend itself to their officers."
The governor smiled coldly. "Very good, Walthers. Exactly what we need. For the moment, that is. I'll have some special orders for you later." DeVries cut the connection. Walthers had been his personal choice for command of the Residence garrison, and it was good to see the decision paying off. The man wasn't committed to any of the local interests, to other members of the Twenty, or the thanes, or even Carlyle's people. His loyalty was entirely to his paycheck—and to the man who issued it.
DeVries turned back to the first monitor and let the general's message resume. The pieces were in place now. All DeVries had to do was play the game out carefully, and he could outmaneuver the other players without risking his own position. He'd bring Glengarry and its people through this crisis intact. And after that? The possibilities were still wide open to the man who was willing to seize them.
18
Dunkeld, Glengarry
Skye March, Federated Commonwealth
2 April 3056
Alex Carlyle walked purposefully into the briefing room of the Castle Hill command center. "Here's the information you asked for, sir," he said, putting a data disk on the table in front of Major de Villar. "Captain Vargas sends his apologies, but he hasn't had time to put together a full summary yet. He said he hopes this would give you everything you needed."
De Villar regarded the disk with a weary eye. "More reports to go through," he said, sounding as tired as he looked. The briefing conference had broken up, but only to the extent that the various officers had scattered to attend to their own duties. Vargas and Radcliffe, with Ross adding his local knowledge of the enemy's potential, were back at work gathering intelligence and making threat projections, while Major Owens had been assigned to deal with the logistical problems of mobilizing the depleted Legion for active duty. Most of the other officers, those not needed to actively monitor the situation in the Snake Pit, were at work pouring over the variety of operational plans on file in the headquarters computers, trying to adapt them to the present circumstances so that they could meet the invaders with at least some preparation behind them.
That left de Villar and McCall alone in the briefing room, on call to handle problems as they arose. And Cadet Carlyle, as aide, to run errands and generally try to make himself useful.
It was a side of leadership Alex had never really considered before. In a training exercise, there was a single quick briefing, and then it was into the 'Mech cockpits to wait for the "Fight's on!" call. Classroom work covered such diverse matters as strategy, operations, logistics, and all the rest, but they were always secondary to the immediate question of learning to fight a BattleMech. Now Alex was beginning to realize that complex military situations required a great deal of preliminary work long before two forces ever drew up on the field of battle.
"Did the captain hae any specific comments on this lot, young Alex?" McCall asked him, gesturing toward the data disk.
"The Doppler readings are constant, sir," Alex replied. "At least, that's what I heard Captain Vargas telling Captain Radcliffe. He didn't say anything else to me. But I overheard him saying that the entire intruder fleet was making a constant three gees."
