—George C. Marshall
The courtroom was small, hot, humid, joyless. The flag of the Lyran Commonwealth, the massive upright mailed fist, hung on the wall behind the bench where the three judges sat. They looked more like an operations planning board than judges—officers with bright clusters of medals adorning their chests. Roderick stood at attention and studied them carefully. Old men, each one of them; each one had already arrived at his decision—it was written on their faces. This is all just a formality. That thought didn’t cause him to waver. The heavy, stale air tried to suffocate him with each breath, but he simply resisted.
“Hauptmann Frost.” The oldest of the officers, the one in the center, spoke with a deep, dusty voice. “We have heard the testimony of how you were cut off from Colonel Quentin’s authority and how you successfully disengaged your forces from the Falcon attack force. We’ve also heard how you directly defied his orders, even to the point of encouraging a mutiny. Only one queston remains. Why did you do this?”
Why? Yes, they had heard the testimony of Colonel Drew Quentin. He had painted a rosy picture of the events and of his sterling leadership. It was all a carefully constructed lie, but they had heard what they had wanted to hear. “Sir, with all due respect, Colonel Quentin couldn’t find his ass with a flashlight and both hands.” The small audience began to growl in protest at his words. I owe it to the soldiers who died there to tell the truth on record. Their families deserve closure. He continued speaking before they could cut him off. “The Jade Falcons had dropped on Algorab to hone the mettle of their warriors. We were going to be their fodder. Their fight was with The Republic and the Skye Militia, not with us. I ordered disengagement, per my testimony, because I had the guts to do the right thing.”
“I move that the defendant’s comments be stricken from the record,” the prosecutor said.
“The truth hurts,” Roderick said under his breath. He cast a cold glance at his former commanding officer, smug and arrogant in his seat in the audience. Nothing bad was going to happen to Colonel Quentin; he had political connections. The full blame for the operation was falling on Roderick. And I’m going to take it.
“You are not helping yourself at all, Hauptmann Frost,” one of the other judging officers said.
“Why bury this? Quentin froze in combat, I took command and did what was right. You have the wrong man up here and you all know it. If it weren’t for the families of the soldiers who died, I would make sure he got what he deserved.”
“Your Honors,” the prosecutor pleaded. “You must inform the defendant that his comments are only hurting his cause, and that the Lyran high command must determine who will be brought up and on what charges.”
Roderick felt a wave of rage wash over him. They are more worried about how this plays in the press than they are at arriving at the truth. “You can do what you want to me, but you have to make sure that man”—he stabbed his finger at Colonel Quentin— “never leads men into battle again. His indecisiveness at a critical moment cost men and women their lives.”
“Yes,” the prosecutor said. “Fifty-two people lost their lives on Algorab. Fifty-two men and women are dead because you assumed command without proper authority, made a series of bad judgment calls and defied the orders of a superior officer.” His tone was acidic. The nods in the room told Roderick that he was very much alone.
“I pray for those men and women each night. But I also thank God for the 187 that managed to get off Algorab alive. The dead are worth mourning, but the living are here because of the choices I made.”
“That will be all, Hauptmannt Frost,” the judge warned.
18
Marik Winter Palace
Zanzibar, Tamarind
Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey
10 November 3137
Trillian sat in the chair in the waiting area while Klaus Wehner paced about the room. They had been waiting in the plush and gaudily decorated room for two hours. Klaus was not pleased. Arms folded, he walked back and forth across the tiny space while she watched. The dull yellow-orange sun of Tamarind sank slowly outside. She watched the image of the light on the floor and used it to track the time rather than her watch. She understood the nuances of the waiting game.
Their arrival on Tamarind had been uneventful, which was something of a surprise. The capital city of Zanzibar was the antithesis of Tharkad in the Lyran Commonwealth. She would have preferred going to Padaron City, but her embassy told her that Fontaine Marik was currently managing affairs from Zanzibar. Sitting atop the muddy Zanzibe River, the city consisted of buildings that grew to a pinnacle near the center—a planetary communications hub. The spaceport was outside the city, a flat, arid slab of ferrocrete in the middle of a sea of dark sand. As she had entered the city, she passed dozens of tiny markets.
Duke Fontaine Marik had not communicated with her directly, but through channels at the consulate. He had agreed to extend diplomatic courtesies to her and Klaus. Yet there were unmistakable signs of military buildup throughout the city; not the mustering of local militias, but the heavy-duty BattleMechs of the Duchy’s regular army. The number of armed squads wandering about was intimidating. Fontaine was doing his best to impress upon her that he was not bargaining from weakness.
Fontaine was one of the old men of Inner Sphere politics. After the Jihad, the Free Worlds League had fragmented into numerous little fiefdoms, each with its own more or less legitimate claim to the captain-generalcy. Fontaine’s claim was strong, as he was a direct descendant of Therese Brett-Marik, daughter of former Captain-General Janos Marik. Unlike many of the pretenders, Fontaine had blood on his side, if not age. He was an old man now, but his declining health did not mean that his negotiation skills had diminished at all. This waiting game was a perfect example.
“You should sit down,” she said, motioning to the brocade chair next to her own.
“I dislike these stalling tactics,” Klaus said.
“That’s why they do it,” Trillian replied. Suddenly a door opened in the room and a balding man wearing long purple robes, both garish and regal, stepped in. “Lady Steiner, the duke will see you now.”
She rose to her feet with Klaus following a good two paces behind. As they entered the main audience chamber, her eyes were drawn to the deep purple curtains draped over the three-story windows. The brilliant colors of the city were muted by the draping, diminished in the massive room.
The throne was audacious, decorated almost to the point of appearing tacky. Like so much of what made up the Free Worlds League, it was a remnant of a much brighter era that was now fallen to decay. Trillian surveyed the room before giving the man on the throne her attention.
Duke Fontaine Marik was old, yet he wore an air of defiance. His face and long nose bore remarkable resemblance to former Captain-General Janos Marik, a look he probably deliberately cultivated. His pristinely groomed eyebrows were oddly dark, hinting at his former striking looks. His forehead held deep furrows of age. He sat oddly askew on the throne, as if he was trying more for comfort than worried about appearance. His grip on the massive arms of the throne seemed to hold him in place on the seat. A goblet in an ornate stand was within reach of his left hand.
Standing at his right side was his grand vizier, Sha Renkin. He said nothing, but she saw complete confidence in his gray eyes. Despite all that had happened to the Duchy, all their losses, he stood behind Duke Marik.
It was the duke’s eyes that commanded her attention. They were brilliant, almost on fire, a bluish gray that somehow seemed regal. Despite his age, there was still power in those eyes. Trillian focused on them as she stepped forward to stand before his throne. She bowed her head with respect.
“A member of House Steiner here?” Marik’s voice boomed. “I would ask what I have done to deserve this dubious honor, but I assume you have come to finish the blood work of savaging my realm.”
He’s certainly pulling no punches. She knew that the best way to deal with such raw emotion was to respect it. “Duke Mari
k, I have come here at the behest of the archon of the Lyran Commonwealth. It is my hope that you and I will be able to bring an end to these hostilities.” Slowly she lifted her head and fixed her gaze on his radiant eyes.
Duke Marik paused, instilling even more tension into the air. “You people create false pretenses to start a war. You invade my nation, a peaceful people, and ensnare them. You dare come here and talk of ending these hostilities? Very well, Lady Steiner, tell your cousin to remove her troops. She started this war, she can stop it right now by withdrawing.” His words rang with anger.
“You were increasing your military presence along our shared border, Duke Marik,” she countered. “And let us acknowledge that the Free Worlds League has a reputation for crossing that same border and invading Lyran worlds. Our actions were aimed at ensuring the sovereignty of our nation and the protection of our people.”
He waved his hand as if to dismiss her words from the still air in front of him. “Trumped-up intelligence. Outright lies! You have not found vast armies waiting for you, have you? No. In my realm you have found garrisons and militias that added only a few units here and there to protect my realm.”
“Duke Marik, I am not here to debate the reasoning behind recent actions. I hope that further loss of life on both sides can be avoided.”
“Of course you don’t want to discuss the reasons for your illegal and immoral invasion . . . because you are wrong and you know it.”
Trillian felt her face flush. “By your own admission, you were increasing your military presence along the border. You cannot deny that both your Duchy and the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth have long pressed claims on worlds that are in the Lyran Commonwealth. We were fully justified in launching this war, if only to ensure that you did not attempt to fulfill those claims.”
The mention of the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth seemed to add wrinkles to Fontaine Marik’s brow. “Do not presume to associate my nation with that of my upstart relative Anson. Each Free Worlds League nation stands alone, for now at least . . . until the true captain-general emerges to unite the whole. You cannot easily paint me with the same brush as him, Lady Steiner.”
There was a note of confidence in his voice that caught Trillian off guard, especially when he spoke of the true captain-general. What does he know that I do not? She caught her mind wandering and returned her focus to his argument. He wants to argue about the cause of the war, not ending it. I need to alter tactics. “Of course, you are correct, Duke Marik. But surely you see where our nation had reason to be concerned. And surely you must see the value of this diplomatic mission to determine if there is a way we can bring these hostilities to an end.”
“You can withdraw your troops,” he repeated, in a calmer tone.
She held his eyes. “There are many ways for us to arrive at peace. Yes, we could withdraw, but given the politics involved with this war, I cannot see the people of the Lyran Commonwealth agreeing to such a resolution. There must be some middle ground, a compromise that we can mutually seek, that can achieve an end to this fighting.”
Fontaine said nothing for long moments. The room was quiet enough for her to hear her own heart beating as she stood before the elevated throne that held the Marik heir. He cleared his throat, and the moment he did, an aide stepped forward with a glass of water. Fontaine drank it slowly, carefully, released his lock on her eyes for only a moment.
“If we were to engage in talks, will your forces stand down for the duration? Or will you continue to press forward into my realm?”
He was shrewd, much sharper than she had anticipated. Even with armies all around his capital world, he was still attempting to bargain from a position of power. Fontaine was not desperate; he was brave and cunning—a dangerous combination. “A negotiator always seeks to find the means to maintain an upper hand, Duke Marik. With the lack of HPG communications, it would be difficult for me to stop any military operations currently under way, even if I felt inclined to do so. As it happens, I do not feel that doing so would be in the best interests of the Commonwealth at this time. If I feel such a move would assist us in reaching an accord, I will do what I can to slow operations.”
“You are brave, Lady Steiner, that much I can say about you. Your nation invades mine, and you come asking me to agree to peace. You brought about this war, not me. The Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey has suffered a great deal under your onslaught only because we were unprepared to wage war, despite your propaganda efforts to the contrary.
“That does not mean we are weak. I have mustered our reserves and have shuffled our troops accordingly. You will find that the remaining worlds of the Duchy are heavily fortified and will not be caught off guard, as we were when you first struck at us. Tamarind itself is an armed camp. We will not be intimidated.”
“I have not come to intimidate you, Duke Marik. I have come to try to find some grounds where further loss of life can be averted.”
Fontaine paused for a moment before replying. “I have much to attend to, Lady Steiner. Since you are unwilling to suspend your assaults, I must continue to rally my people and prepare them for a long and bitter war. I will hear the terms the archon is considering. Schedule with my grand vizier Sha Renkin for us to meet again in the next day or so. This will give you time to contemplate what your nation has been doing to our people and to refine your archon’s vision of peace.”
Trillian bowed. “I appreciate your time, Duke Marik, and look forward to our next meeting.”
In the privacy of their quarters in the Lyran Consulate, Trillian stood at the bulletproof window and stared out at the city beyond the walls of the compound. The tiny market she could see sported brilliantly colored tent covers. The people of Zanzibar did not seem to realize that war was so close.
“Duke Marik seemed quite agitated,” Klaus said.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been on the losing side of a conflict. I’m not sure I would react much differently.” She could not conceive of the Lyran Commonwealth losing this war. She would not allow it—nor would Melissa. Not against a divided Free Worlds League . . . not with The Republic of the Sphere paralyzed by its own problems. Not with the Wolves—ah, the Wolves. What were they up to?
“I did not expect him to be so . . . spry.”
“This war seems to have shaken the malaise I have always associated with him.”
“What is our next step, Lady Steiner?” Klaus pressed.
“We meet with him and sue for peace. Each day he waits, more of his realm is consumed. Soon we’ll have troops landing on Tamarind. If that doesn’t shake him, nothing will.”
“It may require more than that,” Wehner added. “It may require us to beat him into acknowledging defeat. Is Roderick Frost really the man for that?”
She flashed a smile. “Yes—and much more, Klaus. Much more.”
19
Dropship Defiance IV
Outbound to Nadir Jump Point, Millungera
Lyran Commonwealth (formerly Duchy of
Tamarind-Abbey)
20 November 3137
Duke Vedet jerked himself awake at the sound of the buzzer in his quarters. The zero-g of his cabin allowed him to drift as he instinctively tried to sit up, bumping his head on a shelf. The sudden stab of pain and the continued ringing of the warning buzzer left him disoriented and confused. A blinking red light allowed him to focus. He pushed off and drifted the two meters across the cabin, fumbling simultaneously with the buzzer and the light switch.
The intercom came on under his fingers as he rubbed his head with his left hand. “Apologies for the disturbance, Duke Vedet. We have a priority-one message coming in for your attention.”
His mind flew as he tried to ignore the pain where he bumped his head. Priority one? In wartime, that could only be bad news. He wondered for a moment if something else had gone wrong in the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth. The Silver Hawk Irregulars were still unaccounted for, but the Lyran garrison forces had been reporting attacks on supply bases and barracks by units
claiming ties to the Irregulars. Was it a political crisis? For a moment he was worried that Trillian Steiner had been wildly successful. That wasn’t possible . . . was it? “Go ahead, authorization Defiance Alpha.”
The tiny vidscreen on the wall panel flickered to life. The mailed fist of the Lyran Commonwealth came up first. Then the image changed to a flat 2-D image of Archon Melissa Steiner. “Duke Vedet, I hope this message catches you before you depart the Millungera system. A transmission has come to the high command from Vindemiatrix,” she said.
The duke rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Vindemiatrix? Where is that? Then he remembered—Skye. It was one of the worlds that Skye still held in the shattered remains of The Republic. “I have had our intelligence people scrub the image. This was taken from the Second Royals Regiment during their drop onto the world.” The image of the archon faded and was replaced with a slide show of ten images, each one showing dangerously close DropShips adorned with the Jade Falcon emblem on their hulls. Two were aerodyne Broadsword-class ships. The other three were much larger, much more menacing. Two massive Overlord ships and a smaller Union C-class. It was not just a probe; this was a large force of Clan warriors. And not just any Clan; these were Jade Falcons. How did they get images with such detail? They must have been close—very close.
The archon’s voice continued. “During their drop to the Plains of Saxonburg, this Jade Falcon force suddenly appeared on the exact same drop vector. They were heading for the same DZ as the Second Royals. We believe that the Jade Falcons’ arrival at the same time and place was purely coincidental, but its results were devastating. The Second Royals have suffered over fifty percent casualties in a contested battle for the drop zone.”
Sounds just like what happened to Frost back on Algorab.
Melissa Steiner looked uncomfortable. She wasn’t in her throne room. Where was she? Obviously a world with a working HPG, like him. It must have taken a hell of a lot to coordinate getting her the data and having her reach out to him. Now I wish that ComStar had not gotten the HPG on Millungera working again. She shifted uncomfortably, pausing for a moment. “I must ask for your assistance as the ranking commander in the field. The Second Royals are holding on and have disengaged from the Falcons. They cannot last forever. Since these Royals were designated as reserves for the operations in the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth, we are finding ourselves strained in terms of resources.
Fire at Will Page 16
