Trillian wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, nor did she dread it. Dealing with the duke was her responsibility, and she could certainly understand his anger. She had deliberately buried the plans for the Skye incursion among a myriad of other plans and contingencies, precisely so that they had been easy for the duke to overlook. Trillian had taken early responsibility for the overall plan of assault, and so she felt no qualms in facing down the duke and his complaints.
Stripping him of reserves limited Lyran operations in the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth, but Clan Wolf was due to strike at Marik-Stewart planets as well. While Duke Vedet saw only the limits being placed on his capability to strike, she knew that redirecting his troops did not affect the overall strategy for the war.
He had left General Nordhoff to clean up the resistance on Bondurant. The militia there, the Bombardiers, had painted their ’Mechs and vehicles to mimic those of the Silver Hawk Irregulars. Ever since the Irregulars had lifted off-planet, the militia had been lashing out, launching raids all over the southern continent. The local population loved them. Roderick was right about Anson Marik’s plan to use them as an idea as well as a military force. The locals rallied to them, supplied them, hid them. General Nordhoff would have a busy few weeks.
Brewster’s shuttlecraft was coming alongside Der Samthandschuh to dock. Using boots with magnetic soles, she was able to walk easily through the lack of gravity to the air lock. There were two fully armed ships’ guards waiting there. Trillian’s jumpsuit was snug but comfortable—most clothing felt good in zero-g. As the air lock light went green over the doorway, it hissed slightly and opened.
Duke Vedet looked tired. His eyes were more sunken than the last time she saw him. His ebony skin seemed to glisten with sweat. His massive brow was wrinkled, as if he were deep in thought. He also wore a simple jumpsuit, but his revealed the muscles he had developed since the last time they had met. War has changed him already, Trillian thought. How much more will it change him before all of this is over?
“Duke Vedet,” she said cordially.
He stepped through the air lock. “Lady Steiner. I assume you have a cabin where we can talk?” Anger bled into his voice.
“Of course. Follow me.” She moved down the gangway. The guards remained at the air lock, securing the hatch. She led him through several passages to a small conference room usually used by the ground troops on the DropShip to coordinate their operations. It contained little more than a single table, a few chairs and a ventilation duct that blew cool air down Trillian’s neck. She ignored the discomfort. As the duke entered, she closed the hatch and took a seat across the table from him.
“I came as soon as your message reached me,” she said calmly.
“Let’s cut to the chase. I need those reserve troops that were diverted to this damned foolish errand into Skye—the Royals Regiments. You have no right to pull them away from me.”
She shook her head slightly. “Those troops are already committed. There are numerous political benefits to wooing those Skye worlds back into the Commonwealth fold.”
“This is supposed to be a war against the Free Worlds League. Hopping into Skye diverts needed regiments to assignments that have nothing to do with our primary objectives.”
“These plans were submitted as part of Operation Hammerfall from the start.”
“Bah,” he snorted. “The plans contained contingencies for dozens of different scenarios. No one— certainly not I—expected the archon to launch any of those operations.”
“The time to have objected to these contingencies was months ago. Matters are out of my hands, and out of yours.”
“I will not be treated like an inept junior officer! You forget to whom you are speaking,” he shouted, pounding his fist on the table. The thin veneer of control over his anger was melting away. His eyes showed his rage.
“Let me make a few things clear to you, Duke. These plans were devised by the archon. I have known Melissa Steiner my entire life. I feel perfectly comfortable in speaking for the archon on this matter. Regardless of who you are, or what you think you control, those forces are going into Skye. If you are not willing to follow orders, someone who can will be found and put into your position. Do you understand what I am saying?” Trillian was not lying or bluffing; she knew that Melissa was a difficult person to shift once she had made a decision. More than that, she would not be bullied by this man.
“You have no idea what battle is like,” he said, his voice once more under control. “You haven’t killed another man or woman. I was there, personally leading assaults. I have seen the results of war up close and personal.”
She could tell that his words were sincere, almost like a confession, but there was something he was holding back. “I intend to change that. After the Broken Swords have finished on Labourgiere, I intend to go to Tamarind. The Broken Swords Battalion will follow me a few days later.”
There was a pause. The duke focused his reddened eyes on her. “The Broken Swords—is that what they’re calling themselves? So far they are untested in real combat. The only fighting they’ve done is in bars. Take them to Tamarind, and they will be quickly crushed by the local defenses. Tamarind is the capital world of the Duchy, Lady Steiner. They won’t give it up without a fight. A mere battalion of troublemakers and malcontents is not going to be worth a damn against what is digging in right now on Tamarind.” He ended his speech with a chuckle, as if he got a joke that she didn’t.
Interesting, he’s checking into Roderick. “They may not have to fire a shot. Their primary mission will be to demonstrate their strength, scare the locals—scare Fontaine Marik to the bargaining table if he won’t come peacefully. He’s already lost nearly half his domain. Having Lyran troops on their capital world will shatter what little morale remains in the Duchy troops.”
“We shouldn’t negotiate with these Marik wannabes, “ Duke Vedet argued, leaning across the table toward her. “We should finish them off. The Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey is a hollow shell. Give me the troops you and the archon are frittering away on this crazy Skye gambit and I will hand you the Duchy in its entirety.”
She studied him. He wanted to press the war full scale. How much of what he wants is for his own glory versus the good of the Commonwealth? Even Trillian found the prospect tempting. The Lyran high command had declared that they could devour the Duchy and the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth. The idea was seductive to her and to them, but she was supposed to be above seduction. Melissa didn’t want to wipe out the Free Worlds, only cripple them and remove the threat. It was not up to Trillian, or the duke, or any general to question that. This is the reason Melissa sent me here.
“Destroying the Duchy isn’t our mission, Duke Vedet. We are tasked with hamstringing the Free Worlds League, and I am adhering to those mission criteria.” As will you. “I will take Frost’s unit to Tamarind. You will reinforce me a few days later. If diplomacy doesn’t work, we will do it your way. Do you understand?”
His bitterness at being forced to accept her word twisted his face. “Yes, Lady Steiner.”
“I will send you a timetable as to when and where to land on Tamarind. I expect you there on time. If you are right, and the Duchy chooses to fight it out with us, we can only hold a few days without reinforcements.”
“I understand completely,” he said slowly.
Trillian could practically read his thoughts on his sullen face. There was a good chance he wouldn’t be there when needed . . . deliberately. She knew the duke saw her only as an obstacle to the advancement of his own career. I will have to make sure we—I— don’t fail. “Excellent. I will transmit our timetable to you when you are back aboard your ship.”
“I ask again, Lady Steiner. Will you release the troops committed to the operations in Skye? If I don’t have those reserves, it will slow down our operations even more in the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth.”
“The archon’s mind is made up, and I support her decision,” she replied. As if to drive the p
oint home, she rose to her feet and extended her hand. He took it, though he offered no pressure in return. “Thank you again, Duke Vedet. Your service in this campaign has been exemplary.”
He said nothing in reply, but responded with a slow nod. His silence said more than any words could convey.
Hecla Gorge
Labourgiere
Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey
Roderick crouched his Rifleman IIC and lined up another shot as his ammo cycled. The display to his left showed a green light, and he artfully brought the targeting reticle onto the Stinger. The planetary militia ’Mech was light and fast moving, but that didn’t matter to him. He anticipated its movement and his battle computer adjusted the targeting of his autocannon. Smoothly he squeezed his secondary target interlock trigger. A stream of shells spat out of the arms of the Rifleman, catching the Stinger on the side and riddling the armor there and on the right arm.
The militia BattleMech shook under the armor-piercing rounds as they burrowed deep into the tiny ’Mech, blasting through her internal mechanisms. The Stinger slowed slightly and turned, suddenly pitching back violently. Another hit? No. His shots must have damaged the gyro. Without it, keeping the ’Mech upright at any speed was a dangerous and difficult proposition. It fell back hard, bending at the knees as if pushed down by a punch from the heavens. Its final shot went wild, almost straight up, as if the MechWarrior were defying the owner of the gravity that pulled him down. Shooting at God isn’t going to help you.
“Sit rep. Savage One, come in, have you got the far bank?” The Hecla Gorge was a dirty little stream surrounded by a deeply banked valley. For two days the Labourgiere Militia, the Fangs of Marik as they called themselves, had been running from his unit. Leutnant Kroff had been sent with her company on a long sweeping maneuver. They should be on the ridge that marked the far bank, opposite the stream. If they were in position, there was nowhere for the Fangs of Marik to go.
“Savage One here. I’m down, the rest of the company is in place and moving toward your position, about one-third of the way down into the gorge.”
Typical Kroff maneuver. “How can you be down, Leutnant?”
“One of the buggers, their CO, was piloting a Marauder . He needed a lesson in what close-quarters combat is all about.”
“You deliver that lesson?”
“My ’Mech is lying on top of his. I’m alive. I don’t think he is. At least I’d be shocked if he was, with my drill sunk through the middle of his cockpit.”
“Sword One, this is Hilt Five,” came back Leutnant Lasalle’s voice. “I’ve got a signal from the enemy. Apparently they have realized we are on both sides of the river and they would like to discuss terms of surrender.”
“So much for the Fangs of Marik,” Roderick said with a chuckle. “Signal all commands, cease-fire. Tell them I will meet with their designated representative in half an hour at my coordinates. Tell him that we are holding fire, but if his troops move so much as a meter, we will open up, and no one from his unit will walk out of this hole alive.”
“Those words, sir?”
“Yes, Lasalle. I’ve got a timetable to meet.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. The next sound he heard was her passing on the word to the other commands to hold their fire. Trace Decker signaled him next. “Word is that the Fangs want to talk peace.”
“Yes. Their bark was worse than their bite.”
“Kroff is down, again.”
“I heard.” There was more that he could have said but didn’t. Kroff piloted a Violator, and it was configured for close-quarters combat. It fit her style. Roderick only wished that he could change her style from time to time.
“I don’t think there wasn’t a simulation we ran where she didn’t go down,” Decker added.
“Yeah. I need to talk to her about that. She probably took out their heaviest hitter, but in a long-term fight, I need her at the party for more than a few days.”
“Thank you, sir,” Trace added. Roderick smiled. They had been friends for years; it sounded good to hear him refer to Roderick by rank. He had been worried about whether he would get that sign of respect in front of the troops.
His Broken Swords had held together very well. Three vehicle and ’Mech casualties, more with the poor infantry. The cost to the Duchy had been a reinforced company of ’Mechs and vehicles, some of which would be refitted and used by his men.
Not too bad for the first time out. “All right, Broken Swords, look sharp. If this is some sort of trick, let these bastards have it.” It was too early in the war for him to end up dead . . . that much Roderick Frost knew for sure.
16
LCAF Forward Staging Base Stealth
McKeesport Proper, Millungera
Lyran Commonwealth (formerly Duchy of
Tamarind-Abbey)
31 October 3137
The bivouac of forward staging base Stealth had been home to the Millungera Militia only a few months ago. The Duchy forces on Millungera had put up a fight, but in the end it had not been enough. Like so many of the worlds along the border with the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey and the Lyran Commonwealth, it had been hit hard and fast. The flag had changed, but Trillian doubted the typical citizen would notice much difference.
Perhaps that was part of the problem with what they were trying to accomplish. When governments changed in this part of the Inner Sphere, nothing changed for the common man. It wasn’t like the Capellan Confederation’s push into the former Republic. They would impose a new order; lives would change on a daily basis. The same was true of the Draconis Combine or the Clans. But here, on the border with the small governments of the Free Worlds League, the flag would change, but life would not.
She sighed, inhaling the stink in the air of the base. Military bases all had the same smell, regardless of which side owned them. There was a hint of petroleum products and ’Mech coolant, a hint of sweat, a musty aroma that clung to the air. She doubted that the men and women of the military even noticed it. As she moved through the base, security checked her badge, then her body. Trillian had gotten used to security procedures over the years and the process didn’t bother her. Most of the men who admired her lacked the courage to say anything, let alone take action.
Moving into the ’Mech hangar, she could see the Archon’s Pride out on the tarmac. Roderick stood near the foot of his BattleMech, the massive Rifleman IIC. She surveyed it swiftly; there were only a handful of replacement armor plates, indicating he had suffered only light damage. Good—his after-action report from Labourgiere had been accurate. The fighting had been fast, and the flight of the Duchy forces had been even faster.
Her cousin spared her a quick glance as he signed off on some sort of requisition form that a warrant officer was holding in front of him. Trillian sidled up next to him. “Congratulations on your success.”
“The militia, these Fangs of Marik, were not a real test. Even a third-string unit could have taken them on and won. We did some very easy flanking, got them on the run, then boxed them in. I’d love to tell you that I pulled off some sort of tactical miracle, but realistically you could have taken them out with two companies of academy cadets and a handful of monkeys for infantry support.”
“You always did have a hard time accepting responsibility for your actions, good or bad.”
Roderick looked up at his Rifleman IIC as he spoke, rather than looking at her. “I saw your plan for the next operation, Trillian. Pretty gutsy. We anticipate that there will be at least a regiment, maybe more, defending Tamarind. It’s their damn capital. I know you don’t track a lot of military jargon, but that’s three times our size.”
“They’ll be spread out all over the world. And I’m using the press to stimulate stories and rumors via Loki agents on Tamarind about your victory on Labourgiere. That adds a certain fear factor to your presence there. We will show force, but the real hope is that I can negotiate with Fontaine Marik, get him to see the futility of continuing to fight. We do this right, and
we may not have to fight at all.”
“There will be a fight,” he said bluntly. “People like me have to always pick up the pieces after diplomats and politicians fail.”
“The plan is simple,” she said, ignoring his comment. “I am going to land a few days before you and attempt to convince Fontaine Marik of the folly of attempting to continue this war.”
“Fontaine Marik is a tough old coot,” Roderick fired back. “I don’t think he’s going to roll over as quickly and easily as you expect.”
“We’ve taken away part of his realm. It will force him to do some serious thinking.”
He smirked. “If I were him, I’d toss your butt in jail.”
“Diplomatic immunity. I’m landing to parlay. There are rules to follow in these situations.”
“House Kurita might adhere to all that formality, but this is the Free Worlds League. These folks hosted a nest of the Word of Blake during the Jihad. There’s a reason they’re all broken up into little fiefdoms— everyone still remembers what happened the last time they were united. Fontaine Marik may be old, but you don’t live to become an old Marik without learning a trick or two. You’d better not rely on your court rules to keep you safe.” As if to emphasize his point, he handed her a sleek chrome laser pistol.
She held the gun and looked at him. “Where did you get this?”
“The symbol of surrender from the Fangs of Marik. Their CO gave it to me. I’m not big on souvenirs, but it’s a very nice laser. Tuck it away. If diplomacy fails, you’ll have something to fall back on.”
Trillian looked at the gun. She was trained in its use as well as in martial arts. Paraphrasing her cousin, One doesn’t survive as a Steiner without learning a trick or two. Yes, she was a trained diplomat and negotiator; at the same time, she had spent close to a year of her life being trained in self-defense. She took the gun and slid it into the hip pocket of her jumpsuit. It was a lot easier than trying to argue with Roderick about it. He was like a big brother, just trying to make sure she was taken care of, and she appreciated that.
Fire at Will Page 14
