Initiation to War

by Robert N. Charrette

  "What are you doing here?" Augustus Kelly barked.

  "I'm on leave, Dad."

  "You don't take leaves, Mr. My-Life-Is-The-Military."

  "They didn't give me a choice this time."

  "Cashiered then," he concluded, sounding somewhat pleased as he slung his coat onto the coat rack behind the door.

  "I haven't been cashiered!"

  "No? Too bad. Then you might have no choice but to get a real life."

  "Augustus!" his mother warned.

  "The boy's better off as a tech."

  "I'm not a boy any more," Kelly protested. "I'm a man. And I'm going to be a MechWarrior." The old familiar argument began again.

  "You're telling me you want to get yourself dead."

  "Grandfather was a MechWarrior. He didn't die."

  His father's expression hardened, eyes focused far away. "It was different then."

  "What was different?" Kelly asked, not for the first time. He watched as his father limped into the living room and fell gracelessly into an armchair.

  For some reason today, instead of walking away when he got the usual stony silence in reply, Kelly persisted and said something that had been in his mind for years. "It's your leg, isn't it? You never talk about how you lost it, but I bet a MechWarrior was involved and now you can't stand them. That's it, isn't it?"

  His father continued to stare off into the distance.

  Something snapped in Kelly and he hissed, "I bet you lost your leg crouching in the dark while soldiers fought to defend you."

  The ice in his father's eyes and voice warred with the flush creeping up his thick neck. "You don't understand, boy."

  "Make me understand. Tell me what was different," he demanded.

  "Everything," his father said softly. "There's more to lose than just a leg. You don't understand."

  That was no answer. "Do you think I'm too stupid to get it?"

  His father started to reply, but his mother spoke first. "It's not you, Tybalt. It's never been you."

  It seemed to Kelly that it really was about him, at least where his father was concerned. When he was a boy, his father had told him to be strong, to not let anyone get in the way of him being what he wanted to be. Yet his old man had stood square in his path since the day he was thirteen and he'd announced that he wanted to be a MechWarrior. At first it was a sort of a game, flaunting the idea and seeking the forbidden. As his suddenly estranged father had grown more abusive about Kelly's dreams, it had become open rebellion fueled by a stubborn determination to prove the old man wrong, specifically about who and what MechWarriors were. And, more importantly, about whether Kelly had what it took to become one.

  Before Kelly joined the military he'd looked for, and occasionally found, opportunities to prove his father wrong and had taken joy in it. Once he'd signed up, things had gotten even more distant and he'd pretty much given up on trying to break through the wall, accepting his father's hostility as the way it was going to be. He still nursed a hope that one day his father would see the light. Until then, Kelly was unwilling to give up on the rest of his family. He kept in contact, though not often nor for long.

  Coming home had opened the old wounds. Still, after all these years, he thought his father might have learned something about his character.

  "I'm not stupid," Kelly insisted.

  His father snorted. "Wanting to be a Mech Warrior says otherwise."

  "Augustus—"

  His mother's protest was stifled by a single glare from his father, but he made a concession and changed the subject. "What's for dinner?"

  That shut down the argument for the moment, bui everyone knew nothing had been settled. Life would go on in the Kelly household as it had been going on for years, which is to say, badly.

  The dinner was awkward, with no real conversation. The next one was less so, mostly due to his mother and Cordelia. Kelly women were always peacemakers, even if having peace meant hiding things in the closet. By the next dinner, Kelly and his father had established the latest in their series of cease-fires.

  * * *

  As the week wore on, Kelly settled into a routine. He'd exercise in the morning and take a turn around the neighborhood. For some reason, 'Mech simulator games, once the mainstay of his idle hours, didn't call to him, so he spent most his day flopped in front of the vidscreen. When he couldn't find an entertainment of sufficient interest, he'd call up the Epsilon News Network.

  On his eighth day home, Carolyn Genetian, ENN's top military affairs reporter, was commenting on the latest bandit raid.

  "With one battalion of the elite Eridani Guard still committed off-planet, General Horatio Sung of the Planetary Defense Office says that forces just were not available to intervene. However, the general has assured this ENN reporter that pursuit of the raiders' DropShip is underway. Eridani spacecraft are on an intercept course and contact is expected within the next thirty hours. What the general did not say was whether the raiders will reach their JumpShip before the intercept and disappear—as have entirely too many other such pirates."

  "Do you think they will?" Cordelia came into the room and handed him a bottle of beer: Kai Lung, a Capellan brand and his avowed favorite. He took it, slopping a little of the expensive brew as she slumped onto the couch at his side. "Well, will they?"

  "Will they what?"

  "Catch the raiders."

  "Maybe," he said, though he really didn't think there was a chance. Any really successful seizure had to be made on the ground, or at worse, in orbit. Since only a madman would fire on a JumpShip—those fragile craft were mankind's only links across the depths of space— the raiders were safe once they reached theirs, something they were likely to do given their head start on the EE aerospace forces.

  "I hope so."

  "Report's not done," he said, hoping to distract her so he wouldn't have to burst her bubble.

  Genetian's report went on to explain that the government's position was that the Eridani Guards were required to remain in the central and southern regions. One battalion guarded the heavily populated areas around the capital, while the other defended the strategically and economically vital Kressily Warworks from threat, especially from raids by the increasingly aggressive bandits.

  It was those more numerous raids and lack of success in the government's defense policy that had changed the nature of the Epsilon Eridani military. The raiders were no longer confining their depredations to the hinterlands of the northern and southern continents. President Benton had hired mercenary forces to deal with the problem, but the recent raid was just the latest evidence of the failure of that program. In several regions, "Volunteer" units were being raised by certain counts and palatine authorities. Count Shu's BattleMech force was one such unit.

  "These Volunteer units are effectively private armies," Genetian concluded. "And many outside the government see in them a sign that Epsilon Eridani stands poised on the brink of feudal anarchy."

  "Better loyal household troops than mercenaries," Kelly growled back to the screen.

  A rebuttal commentary from some government spokesperson emphasized the legitimate and legal nature of defense forces raised by legitimate and legal heads of political units, making a rational argument to support the position that Kelly knew was right. The commentary was followed by a recruitment commercial for the planetary militia. Not a coincidence, he was sure. There were lots of 'Mechs in the ad. Kelly knew it was hype, but the shots of the mighty battle machines in action revved his engines anyway.

  It took him back to his adolescence, when all he could think about was being a MechWarrior. He'd scanned everything he could find on the great Warrior Houses, those bastions of honor. He'd tutored himself in the glory stories of MechWarriors, played all the game-sims, followed the exploits of notable Mech Warriors (though not the faked triumphs of the Solaris arena-warriors) and decorated House units. He could cite unit histories and describe battles in minute detail the way most of his schoolmates could babble about professi
onal teams and recount sporting events. He'd known then that he was set apart from his contemporaries.

  When his father had objected and he'd made it his goal, he hadn't really had any idea how to make it happen. The only martial connection that offered itself was Honorable Duty Time. He'd taken it not just because it had gotten him out of his father's house, which it had, but because he'd believed it to be an open door for a kid without—Grandfather aside—a MechWarrior family tradition. Despite his objections to his father's characterization of him as stupid, he had to admit he'd been stupid at the time. His two years of HDT had been strictly infantry with no 'Mechs to be seen save in training videos, and when his hitch had come to an end, he had realized that the army of Epsilon Eridani was in sad shape. It was not the planetary force that public relations made it out to be. In fact, each region was almost autonomous, with their branches of the planetary militia under the local authorities' command, and the only true planetary force, and the only BattleMech force, was the elite Eridani Guards, and they never recruited except among veteran Mech Warriors. Kelly's lofty dreams had looked like they were going to founder on the rocks of reality, as his father had so often said they would.

  Kelly had feared that he was faced with mustering out and returning home with his tail between his legs—something he absolutely did not want to do—or staying on in the militia as a groundpounder, a hardly more appetizing prospect.

  Then he had heard that Count Shu was inaugurating a 'Mech force. The timing seemed heaven sent. So when his HDT was over, he'd headed straight for the County Shu recruiting desk and announced his intentions.

  He still remembered how the force commander at the desk had looked him up and down. "So you want to be a MechWarrior?" The expression on his weather-beaten face had been suitable for a high-stakes poker game. "It's tough. Not every wannabe makes it."

  "I will!" Kelly had said confidently.

  "There's tests."

  "I'll take em!"

  "They're tough."

  "I'll pass'em!"

  "The Count can't afford to test any old body. There're only a few slots, and only the best in the army will make it."

  "I'll make it!"

  "Think so?"

  "I do."

  "Okay. Sign here."

  Kelly had signed. "When do I take the tests?"

  "When you're told you can. You're in the army now. The infinite wisdom of the brass now rules your destiny."

  He had been so young and stupid to think it would be that easy! After a year of grueling work proving himself, he was finally allowed to test in a live trial for a 'Mech. And he had failed miserably.

  "So when do you get your 'Mech?" Cordelia asked.

  Apparently when the hells all freeze over. "I'm expecting orders any day now."

  "I think you're gonna look great in a Guard uniform."

  "Sis, I'm not going to be wearing a Guard uniform any time soon." Or maybe any time at all. "They only take veterans. And there aren't any slots anyway."

  "What do you mean there are no slots?"

  His father's voice shocked him into almost dropping his beer bottle. He should have heard the old man coming down the stairs, but the days of soft living at home had dulled him.

  "Tyb says the Guards are full," Cordelia explained.

  His father raised an eyebrow. "Really? It was a fool's hope anyway. Get smart, boy. Let it go the way of your pipe dreams about being part of a Capellan Warrior House. Not that those over-rated megalomaniacs saved the Capellan Confederation for all their supposed greatness."

  "The Warrior Houses—"

  "Are gone! And good riddance, I say. We'd all be better off if all Mech Warriors were gone."

  Cordelia fled the gathering storm; she knew this wasn't a time for peacemaking. Kelly tried his own avoidance technique. He just stared at the ceiling. He couldn't go down this path again. He knew it led nowhere. A warrior doesn't fight a battle he cannot win.

  "Nobody told you to join the military," his father went on. "I made no complaint when you did your Honorable Duty Time.

  Untrue.

  "Then the militia. You had to join the militia. Well, I had to say something then, and I did, but did you listen? Of course not. You had to be a soldier. No, not just a soldier, but a Mech Warrior!"

  A warrior's warrior.

  "Nothing to say, boy?" His father's glower grew stronger with Kelly's silence. "You like to say that you believe in the best that Capellan culture has to offer, that you cleave to their ideals."

  I do. His focus on the ceiling was unwavering.

  "What about the Capellan ideal of filial piety? What happened to honor thy father? You could have had a good career in something technical. God knows you're good enough at all those things. But no, you had to chase after being a no-damned-good MechWarrior! Why, I'll never understand."

  Because you don't want to, Kelly wanted to say. You don't even want to listen.

  "Give it up, boy. Get out while you can. Before it's too late. Find yourself a real life."

  I have a life and sometimes, like today, it's all too real.

  "Nothing to say?"

  Kelly took a swig of his beer and said levelly, "I'm expecting orders any day now."

  His father's nostrils flared, and he stalked from the room. Kelly sat and sipped his beer. The vidscreen droned on.

  5

  Barrhead

  County Shu, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  6 December 3061

  When Kelly's orders finally did come, all they said was: reassignment. That, and a time and pick-up point in Mirandagol. He got his tickets, packed his bag, and made his good-byes. His father's parting words were, "You've dug your grave, go lie in it."

  Despite his secret misgivings, Kelly was determined to keep his mind set on the positive. He decided to take his father's words as a proverb, like the one about making a bed or the one about lemons and lemonade. Yes, he had chosen his path, and so, yes, he was going to take advantage of it, even if it didn't mean a BattleMech assignment. Whatever came his way would be a chance to prove his father wrong. He would make the best of it, no matter what.

  The weather didn't cooperate in supporting Kelly's optimism. From his seat aboard the bus, he watched as rain showers swept across the roadway. The day was gray, the lowering clouds shifting between full weeping gloom and hints of hidden warmth and light. The chancy weather suited Kelly's shifting mood. Heading back to duty was a relief, but the vague orders didn't offer a hint at what his fate was to be. Was he heading back to an ignominious life as a groundpounder? Or was there sunshine just around the corner?

  The bus dumped him at the Mirandagol station. He shouldered his duffel and hoofed it from there. The orders said he'd be picked up in the parking lot of the city stadium. Early, he circled the locked and shuttered sports palace twice before he spotted the hump-shouldered silhouette of another soldier toiling down the road.

  Like Kelly, the guy was one of those who had tested nearly two weeks ago, but beyond that, they didn't know each other and had little to say. Another soldier showed up. Kelly didn't recognize her at all, but she knew the next guy to arrive and they drifted off for a private conversation. When the fifth guy showed, Kelly revisited his fears that he was doomed to being a groundpounder. He could see more hunched figures humping their way toward the stadium. More soldiers on the same orders. Hadn't he been told that there were only four MechWarrior slots? They couldn't all be going to MechWarrior school.

  The sixth guy to reach the stadium was JJ. His orders were no clearer, but he had suspicions of the reason behind them. "You hear about the raid at Trophilly?"

  How could Kelly not have? Yesterday, Trophilly became the first town in Count Shu's territory to be hit by raiders since the count had announced his intention to cease relying on President Benton's troops to defend the county. A BattleMech had disabled an ore barge, then a CargoMech had come in and looted the ore, the two machines lighting out before any response could be organized agains
t them. The count's troops hadn't been positioned to catch the bandits. Neither had Duvic troops been able to cut off the raiders when they crossed into Palatine territory, since the Duvic forces were busy reacting to a raid against one of their own mining facilities. General wisdom held that these brigands had established a base somewhere out in the hinterlands. The only problem with finding them was that there were a lot of hinterlands on the northern continent.

  "I'm guessing that's why we're mobilizing. We're going to go on a hunt," said JJ, stretching his broad shoulders. "Suits me. Benton doesn't seem to know how to do anything, so Count Shu is going to show him."

  It made sense, but if Kelly was going hunting BattleMechs, he wanted to do it from inside one. Watching the straggle of soldiers gathering made that seem more and more unlikely. The clouds did the crying for Kelly, opening up and driving the soldiers to huddle in alcoves along the stadium's outer wall. Two of the new arrivals picked the same haven Kelly and JJ had taken. Kelly recognized both: Bayard Sten, with a permanently applied sneer, who seemed to be becoming Kelly's personal affliction; and Harry Trahn, a rangy fellow with a unruly thatch of straw blond hair escaping from his cap, who Kelly recognized as an old schoolmate. He and Trahn had played together for a season on the Barrhead High School soccer team before Trahn had transferred out, but beyond that the quiet, well-off Trahn and the rowdy Trade Union desk jockey's son Kelly hadn't had much in common. Times seemed to have changed.

  "Hello, Harry, what you doing in such trashy company?"

  Sten didn't give Trahn a chance to respond. "Hello, JJ, have you found yourself a batman?"

  "Call me Jorge," JJ replied, smiling coldly up at Sten. "And, no, I haven't got a servant. Could use one, though. You want the position? On second thought, forget it. I don't need the stiff neck. We're here on orders, just like everyone else."

  Sten ignored JJ's jibe. He looked at Kelly and quirked up his mouth. "That true, Gropo? You have orders to be here?"