Initiation to War

by Robert N. Charrette

  He didn't intend to give them a chance. The approach they were taking would bring them down a narrow street well in his fire arc. He sighted in, waiting till the Vedettes were screened before sending a single short laser shot in to confirm the range. It was too far for his autocannon to hit accurately, but a piece of cake for his big lasers.

  When the lead Vedette nosed down the street, he let the militia tank have it with both barrels. For good measure, he ripped off with his lighter lasers, too. His heat spiked, but it was worth it. Armor exploded from the side of the tank. There weren't any secondary explosions, but the Vedette slewed to the side, spewing track links from beneath its skirts. It might not be dead, but it was stopped. More importantly, its hulk blocked the road. Its companions would have to back off and move around if they wanted to close on the Axman.

  Sweating, he watched as the two survivors reversed. But instead of heading down the crossroads, they used the intersection to turn around and head back the way they had come. Clearly they wanted nothing to do with the BattleMech that had taken down their lancemate.

  The Axman's pilot laughed his scorn at the craven militiamen.

  And he'd been worried they might harry him back to base. With the defenders on the run, he was free to do what he wanted in Severagol, but what he wanted most was to get this raid over with.

  As he moved back through the rail yard, he noted a loaded cargo net suspended from a crane. Whatever was in that net was valuable enough to string it up away from ordinary hijackers. He got a grip on the net with the Axman's left battlefist and used the right to snap the cable. Satisfied that he had the net securely snagged, he locked the fist down and started after his companion. The Axman sagged a little to the left, but that was easy enough to compensate for. That extra mass meant he'd gotten himself a little bonus.

  Another fine night's work on Epsilon Neversunny.

  9

  Mirandagol District

  County Shu, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  8 December 3061

  The next day, Veck began their first official day of 'Mech training with his usual abrupt manner. "We have all heard about the raid on Severagol. That is not your concern," he barked.

  Veck's stern glare quelled any objections from the trainees, keeping even Kelly's mouth shut, though it didn't prevent him from wondering about Veck's attitude. How could any patriotic soldier not be concerned? The bold raid against one of the count's cities was the very sort of thing that the County Shu Volunteer Battalion had been formed to combat.

  "I will tell you what you may be concerned about," Veck continued. "You will be concerned about your training. You are here to become Mech Warriors. Once you have achieved an adequate level of expertise, you may be allowed to chase those bandits, but not until then. These raiders have demonstrated a ruthless efficiency, and I will neither send nor lead you against such an enemy until you are something other than hapless.

  "You may also have heard rumors about trouble with our neighbors. That is also not your concern.

  "Now, I do not object to you keeping yourselves informed. An informed MechWarrior is a live MechWarrior. But news, rumors, even letters from home don't mean nothing. Until you 'Mech monkeys evolve, you exist outside of time. When you return to reality depends on you. Frankly, I'd rather see it sooner than later. That would make me happy. And you do want to make me happy, don't you?"

  "Sir! Yes, sir!"

  "That is good. Now, it will also be good if you 'Mech monkeys give your undivided attention to the following recorded message which our beloved commander has sent to us. It will answer many of your questions, not the least of which is what your lance assignments are."

  Kelly wondered why Ling-Marabie didn't make the address in person. A Warrior House commander would have done so. But he didn't spend time pondering the issue because the screen lit up and a House MechWarrior would, as Veck had said, give his undivided attention to the message. And so he did.

  It turned out the battalion was to be organized in a novel manner, according to the dictates of Major Essie Ling-Marabie. As the commander's recorded briefing explained, the Clan-originated star, a tactical unit of five BattleMechs; was the most efficient and flexible way to organize the smallest 'Mech unit. Also, according to her, Clan organization fell down in units above the star, but no more so than standard Inner Sphere structures. She had a superior model in mind, and fortuitous political accommodations, combined with Count Shu's commendable will, had played into her hand. The County Shu Volunteer Battalion was to consist of five companies, each of two lances, conventional naming for an unconventional structure of five 'Mechs. Thus the CSVB, once complete at fifty 'Mechs, would be nearly half again larger than the standard Inner Sphere battalion and nearly as large as one of the Clans' mid-range clusters, while being more tactically flexible than either and eminently suited to the needs of County Shu and the demands of Epsilon Eridani. Unfortunately, the CSVB was far from complete. The Major assured her troopers that she was fighting to gather more 'Mechs and materiel, but that some obstacles were proving difficult. Nevertheless, she had done all that was humanly possible to balance her force, juggling both machines and pilots into what she expected to be a potent unit, one of which she would be proud.

  Kelly hoped she was right. Only First and Second companies had their full complement of BattleMechs. Third Company was understrength. The short-handed Fourth Company was made up of trainee/replacements without 'Mechs—they of the "special manuals." Fifth Company was purely notional. The CSVB was a far cry from the major's dream unit.

  Each company was to consist of a Strike Lance of relatively heavy 'Mechs and a Vanguard Lance of relatively lighter 'Mechs. And it was no small source of pride to Kelly that he was assigned to the Franny Lazlo's First Company, already being called the "Old Guard." Liu had been right; the original Old Guard pilots were staying together. Yi Cha-song and "Black Sartaq" O'Reilly in their Cataphracts and Bua and Dok Li in their new Lineholders were serving with Lazlo in the company's Strike Lance.

  But the pride of belonging to the Old Guard's Vanguard Lance was tempered by the fact that the Vanguard Lance was to be commanded by Jeremy Veck. Kelly foresaw that Veck's School of the MechWarrior was one from which he wouldn't be graduating; he would be stuck with the hard-bitten veteran even after training was finished. At least he expected to be suffering in good company since JJ and Harry Trahn were in his lance. And so was the intriguing Samantha Liu; the Powers That Be had not, as she had predicted, split up the count's Commandos.

  Kelly was pleased to hear Sten and his one-armed Caesar assigned to Third Company, the smallest of the formations. They had ribbed the Blowhard about getting the mutilated 'Mech, but to little effect. The sneering Sten asserted, "Of course, I got the Caesar. I asked for it." But Kelly didn't believe the Blowhard's protests about needing to be handicapped to prevent him from showing up the other recruits. Still, he let it drop and urged JJ to do the same; goading Sten wouldn't help intra-unit relations. The sooner, and smoother, they got though Veck's syllabus, the sooner they'd see action.

  Kelly made that point again with his lancemates as soon as Ling-Marabie's message was complete and they broke formation. They groused, but agreed to a temporary moratorium on ragging the Blowhard. Liu demanded a caveat before she agreed: "Unless he asks for it."

  Sten soon lost his position as the most bothersome person in their universe. Commander Veck usurped that place. Before their first day of training was out, JJ had dubbed him "the Whipmaster."

  Training wasn't exactly by the book, or the simulator. Veck disparaged the simple simulators, which were all that were available, as being no more sophisticated than commercial game simulations. Having sat in a real hot-seat, Kelly understood. He still burned a little at the memory of his test, remembering how different it had been from simulated 'Mech combat. And that hadn't even been a real fight. He could only imagine how different that would be, believing when Veck assured them all that it was.

  And
he swore he'd be ready when the time came. Vowing that he would live up to Warrior House ideals, and that he would not be caught unnerved as he had been for his test, he accepted Veck's grueling regimen with resolute satisfaction.

  Every day from dawn to dusk, and often longer, the County Shu Volunteer Battalion trained in their 'Mechs. They ran maneuvering trials and fired on the training ranges and conducted endurance exercises that took them across the badlands in the upper reaches of the Red Elk River region that surrounded the training facility. And when they needed a 'Mech-on-'Mech exercise, they used the same umpires as had been used in the testing. A M-v-M wasn't quite live fire, but it was a lot more intense than a simulation. Unfortunately, it wasn't always real enough, since the computer interfaces were sometimes faulty, failing to register hits properly and even occasionally forgetting that some weapon or system was available. And sometimes they just flat out quit, locking up a 'Mech until the techs could get out to it and reboot the machine's systems from a portable diagnostic console.

  Every day, the pilots of the County Shu Volunteer Battalion got better.

  And every night, when they weren't on a march or night operations exercise, the pilots of the County Shu Volunteer Battalion retired to Hall A for their mess and their precious free hours. They mostly spent their time slumped in exhaustion, but a few, like Samantha Liu, seemed to be filled with nervous energy that needed to be burned. The lances tended to hang together, save for the officers who had their own circle, and Veck's pet monkeys were no exception. Since "Slug" Trahn, having proclaimed himself "King of the Couch," usually stuck his nose in a tech manual and JJ developed a strained knee ligament that only seemed to act up when he was off-duty, Kelly was Sam's usual playmate and victim. Pushing him past exhaustion though it did, it had an upside: they spent time together.

  And that, Kelly had come to believe, was a good thing.

  Besides being easy on the eyes, Sam was a good pilot. Of course, she had to be good material or she wouldn't have made the cut, and she wasn't just a one trick pony either, like a lot of the trainees who excelled in only one area. Some like JJ were good shots with one or another weapon system, and some were good at certain aspects of 'Mech operation, like the way Slug excelled at moving his machine through terrain. Sam was good at just about every aspect of BattleMech operations. Sort of like Kelly himself. In fact, the two of them tended to trade off top ratings on the lance's scorecard.

  It was developing into a rivalry that worried Kelly because he couldn't remember a rivalry that hadn't ended in animosity. That wasn't the road he wanted to take. But there was no doubt about it, Sam liked to win. When she did, she put on a smile that lit up the planet. When she didn't—well, a hike in one of the northern continent's infrequent but spectacular thunder tempests was more inviting.

  With each passing day, he found the sunshine of her smile more indispensable. But he wasn't ready to do anything other than his best. If it meant he edged her out on a gunnery or maneuver test, all the better. He liked to win too.

  His dilemma didn't keep him from playing hard at the night's exercise, a fast-paced round of ping-pong. It'd been several weeks since they'd begun their official training and he'd sweated less on the firing range that afternoon than he was now. Sam was glistening too, as she slammed a hard cross-table shot. Though he shifted fast, his paddle didn't quite make the intercept. He retrieved the ball and came back to the table to find her smiling.

  "That's 20-18," she reminded him, catching the ball. "Good shooting today, Mr. Chill."

  Sam's use of JJ's tag for him rankled. He didn't want her thinking him chilly toward her. "Thanks. I didn't think the scores had been posted."

  "Haven't. Want to bet you come in second?"

  He learned better than to bet against her when she sounded that sure. She chuckled when he shook his head. "You nearly matched my score. Of course, I wasn't trying very hard."

  That, he knew, was bluff. She never gave less than her all, which she proved in the next volley. He worked just as hard. He thought he had her when he got a blooper just over the net, but she dove around the table and caught it before it hit the floor. It should have been an easy return for him, a simple tap to the other side of the table which she couldn't possibly reach in time. But she had gotten a spin onto the ball and it bounced unexpectedly to the left of his paddle, giving her the winning point. Sam grinned, sending the wattage up in the room and burning away the sting of defeat. The beer she bought was additional balm. They racked the paddles and ball and headed for the holovid alcove where their lancemates were snugged. Instead of the usual ENN, some action flick was running.

  "Hey, where's the news?" complained Kelly.

  JJ didn't bother opening his eyes while informing him that, "The Whipmaster has declared a black-out."

  "Why would Veck do that?" Sam wondered aloud.

  "And how come you know and we haven't heard about it?" Kelly asked.

  "As to number two," he said, raising his head off the couch, "it's because I listen at after-action briefings instead of spending my time going over the kill count and comparing myself to Sweet Sammy." JJ ducked away from Sam's swat with practiced ease and continued. "As to number one, I cannot read the Whipmaster's mind. But I'm guessing it's not his idea, after all 'an informed MechWarrior is a live MechWarrior.'" He settled back and closed his eyes again.

  "The major?" Veck might have claimed that the raid on Severagol and the trouble brewing with the Duvic Palatine were not the business of MechWarrior trainees, but Kelly was pretty sure that someone—probably their politically focused, absentee major—was anxious to see that they were ready to make it their business. Somebody had to be holding Veck's feet to the fire. "Somebody higher up?"

  "Who cares who? What I want to know is why?"

  "Why what, Subcommander Jurewicz?"

  JJ's eyes popped open at the sound of Veck's snarl. Despite the Hall A rules that suspended normal protocol, he jumped up and snapped to attention. "Why we're not getting the news, sir!"

  "At ease, Jurewicz." Kelly almost thought he saw a smile try to crawl onto the Whipmaster's face as he strode into the room. "This is Hall A. Liberty Hall where the cat can be called a bastard."

  "So why aren't we getting the news, sir?" Kelly asked.

  "Because you don't need to know, Subcommander. The order came down. It's implemented. You got a problem with that? Any of you?"

  Their raggedy "No, sir" would have brought down a tempest on the drill field, but here in Hall A, the Whipmaster let it pass unremarked.

  "But you know, don't you sir?" Sam asked.

  Something flickered behind Veck's eyes. "Apparently, I don't need to know either."

  10

  Port Tsing

  County Shu, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  27 December 3061

  The shouts and insults cut off as the door to the armored limousine closed. Gabriel Shu sank into the seat, grateful of the silence. The darkened windows, fragrant incense, and the soft strains of zheng strings made the compartment a velvety cocoon of serenity, an utter contrast to the turmoil without.

  Romano handed him a crystal goblet tinted lavender by the rich plum wine within. He took it with murmured thanks. She waited until he'd had a sip before speaking.

  "I'd say you were not successful."

  "They do not want to listen."

  Gabriel had hoped that his appearance at this rally would have a calming effect, that he could show the people that he was concerned that they understand his policies, that he cared. But the crowd seemed to be more inclined to chant their inflammatory catch phrases than to listen to his facts and explanations of the toll situation.

  It saddened him to think about which would make it to the evening news.

  Most of the crowd were from the Truckers' Union of the Duvic Palatine, but there were others as well, including a sympathy contingent from the County Shu Truckers' Union, who were far better mannered than the Duvic rowdies. And none of them carried any o
f those awful signs accusing Gabriel of stealing food from children, of turning out families homeless into the night, and even of complicity in the deaths of unfortunates who could not afford the cost of medical treatment.

  It was nonsense, of course.

  What hurt him most was that there were some of his own citizens in the crowd, jeering along with the Palatines. The loudest seemed to be all wearing the lapel badge of the Fairness League. It was a new organization, but fast-growing and very vocal. Their latest cause was the supposedly outrageous tolls and taxes that County Shu levied on goods moving through the state. Security was suspicious of them, though thus far Colonel Bua's ferrets had failed to find anything more incriminating than some tentative links to the noxious Word of Blake. Despite those ties, which could be nothing more than personal connections, the Fairness League seemed to be what it claimed to be: simple citizens expressing their opinions, however wrong-headed and ignorant those opinions might be.

  "Our grandfather would never have put up with this sort of thing," he observed. "No Liao landholder would. The Davions changed our world."

  "You used to speak of their liberating conquest with some pleasure." Romano's voice held mockery. "Are you wishing for the past?"

  He sighed. "No. The last thing I want is to be back under the repressionist Liao regime. Life improved when the Davions took our world from Liao. We did even better under the benign neglect of the Steiner-Davion regime. I only wish we'd managed to maintain such prosperity since our true independence. But to be honest, I wouldn't even want the Steiner-Davions back. I just wish . . ."

  "That Cara Price would dry up and blow away," she suggested.

  It was a delightful thought, but not the one he'd been thinking. "I just wish it wasn't my problem."

  "Don't even think of passing the succession on to me."

  "If I were to die today, the county would be yours."

  "My, we are morbid today."