Craon nodded solemnly, and the look of sincerity on his face caught Justin by surprise. Perhaps I can trust him, after all.. .
Justin glanced at the screen, then stopped the information flow with an almost casual movement of one long finger. "I want you to know that you're subject to this disciplinary action because of your insubordination, not because of your particular actions at the time of the incident." Looking up at Craon, he added, "I don't care that you called me a .. . Ah, how did you put it?"
A smirk twisted the corners of Craon's mouth, and Justin felt his own anger leap up like a solar flare. "I believe that I called you the half-wit whelp of a Capellan whore forced upon a Davion noble to prevent a war."
Justin studied the computer screen again and nodded. "Almost word for word. You must have practiced." Since your early years, no doubt. Let's hope your racism has not warped your reason. Craon beamed triumphantly. "I aim to be accurate.”
“I did not ask for a comment, Private!" Justin snarled. He rose slowly and deliberately. As the two men stared at one another in that instant, both knew that physical size meant nothing in the battle between them. "I don't care that you hate me because my father's first wife was a Capellan whom he met while serving in the Federated Suns embassy on Sian. What you regard as an error in judgement belongs to my father, not me. Your bigoted opinion of me is not the reason you will be disciplined."
Justin angrily twisted the screen on his computer to where Craon could see it. "The report indicates that you disobeyed Leftenant Redburn's direct order to return to your watchpost. The report does not mention the altercation that erupted after that, but I assume Leftenant Redburn had his own reasons for not including it."
Craon swallowed again and looked down. He shifted his jaw from side to side and winced as it popped. "Yes, sir."
Justin's stiff posture relaxed slightly. "Believe me, Robert, when I say that I understand your resentment of my dismissing Sergeant Philip Capet. I know he was assigned to your training company after he guided you all through boot camp. I know he's a legend here in the Capellan March. And I know how you all looked up to him."
Craon's head came up fast, color flooding his cheeks. He hesitated a second, then his blond eyebrows narrowed in anger. "He was the goddamn best, Major, and you kicked him out for disagreeing with your policies toward the indigs. He offered to go man-to-man with you, to fight it out, but you just gave him his walking papers. Damn! He won the Gold Sunburst for his actions on Uravan. He wasted bunches of Liao 'Mechs and gave his boys time to get themselves and their wounded comrades out of that ambush. He was a hero, and you spit him out of the corps without a second thought!"
Having spent his long-pent fury, Craon now seemed at a loss for words. His hands, clenched tightly into fists, rose as though to strike, but he made no move toward Justin.
Give him time to recover his wits, Justin thought. He can be salvaged. Justin waited silently for the emotion to drain from Craon's body, then he spoke slowly and evenly, measuring his words. "I know what Capet was to you men and of the dreams you all shared. You were to become his new unit to avenge the other boys lost in battle. With you, he would win new awards and would once again become a symbol, a hero, for the Capellan March. With you to lift him up, he would once again dine at Duke Michael Hasek-Davion's right hand."
Justin seated himself again and typed out a new request for information on the keyboard. The computer searched for a moment, then spilled reams of data over the screen. "What you don't know, Robert, is that Capet's men, the ones he saved on Uravan, should never have been in danger in the first place." Craon opened his mouth to protest, but Justin raised a hand to silence him.
"Yes, Robert, a Capellan company did ambush them, but they were ambushed because Sergeant Capet led them into an area where he had no authorization to be. Capet's family lived and, regrettably, died in the village he tried to rescue. His family might still have died in that Liao raid, but if Capet had kept his head about him, a half-dozen MechWarriors would not have perished with them."
Justin drew in a deep breath and again forced himself to calmness. He looked up at Craon guilelessly. "All I've just told you is part of a classified report prepared for Hanse Davion to determine if Capet would get his Gold Sunburst. He had become the darling of a holo-drama, and so the High Command hoped that he would also accept an early retirement at the time of the award. When he refused to step down, they gave him a training cadre." Justin lowered his voice and shook his head. "When intelligence sources learned of his plan to hijack a JumpShip to go back and get his revenge on Liao, I refused to let him kill you in such an idiotic scheme."
The color had drained from Craon's face, and his hands had returned to their place at the small of his back. "I appreciate your trust in sharing this information with me, sir. I stand ready to receive whatever punishment you name."
Justin nodded solemnly. "You realize that I could have you dismissed from this training cadre for what you have done?" Craon winced unconsciously. "Yes, I thought you knew that," he added, looking hard at the soldier standing before him. He saw no fear in Craon's blue eyes, only self-loathing at his own stupidity.
You’re learning to admit that you can make a mistake. Good. That's the first step toward avoiding them, and the only way to survive as a MechWarrior.
Justin smiled carefully. "You have, in the past, evidenced some leadership ability. As your punishment now, I have decided to let you hone that ability. Until further notice, you will act as shepherd for all of your cadre's exercises. You'll eat everyone else's dust, Robert, and you'll keep them all in line—or it will be your career." Justin watched a faint smile come over Craon's lips. "And, you'll help the Techs keep your 'Mech in perfect working order after each exercise."
Craon snapped to attention and saluted smartly. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Justin stood and returned the salute. "Dismissed."
Craon turned and left the room, but left the door open. Justin smiled at his retreating back, then sat down again to attack some of the paperwork piled on his desk. He initialed a stack of reports and tossed them into a basket for filing. The sooner the whole of Kittery is tied into the computer system, the easier this job will be.
He shook his head. You’re not being paid for easy duty, Justin. If you were, they'd not have put you in charge of a local training battalion, especially not on a planet where your Capellan blood makes you a sworn enemy. Prince Hanse Davion put you here because you're half-Capellan and can understand the Capellan natives. Dealing with these sons and daughters of Federated Suns carpetbaggers, on the other hand...
Justin glanced at the holograph of Hanse Davion and himself that had been taken at the ceremony awarding him the Diamond Sunburst. The tall leader of the Federated Suns towered over then-Captain Allard. As Justin twisted the holograph to examine it closer, he saw that Davion's expression of gratitude and trust was sincere.
In presenting the award, Hanse Davion had said to Justin, "Once again, I find my realm indebted to your family. I hope the Federated Suns is ever worthy of your courage and sacrifice." It was Davion's trust in Justin that had brought this posting to Kittery, for the Prince hoped Justin could help to normalize relations with the newly conquered population. I only wish that more of his subjects understood that being able to get along with the Capellan natives is not a prelude to giving the Capellan March to Maximilian Liao and his Capellan Confederation, Justin thought ruefully.
Just then, a smiling man of average height and build paused in the doorway and tapped lightly on the open door. "Major, we've got to get moving."
His musing interrupted, Justin righted the holograph, looked at the time on his watch, and then cursed softly. "Come in, Andy. Close the door behind you." Justin narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the stack of papers the man was carrying. "What are those? I can't deal with anything routine right now. Besides, you know as well as I do that the only reason I can head out with you this afternoon is because the stack of requests you sent through chan
nels is taller than any other mound on this desk."
Leftenant Redburn crossed to Justin's desk and set the papers on top of the computer monitor. Clad in boots, shorts, and a cooling vest that revealed a well-muscled, if somewhat pale, body, the man smiled and ran a hand over his cropped auburn hair. "Forms, filled out in triplicate, for this afternoon's exercise. I've filed an environmental impact statement for every meter of the turf we're to cover today, and the locals have just issued us a 'parade permit.' " He sighed loudly. "Sometimes I wonder why the Duke of New Syrtis just doesn't give this world back to Liao. Michael Hasek-Davion's let so many of them into the government here that he might as well cede the place to Capella."
Justin smiled slyly. "Leftenant Redburn, now you sound like your men when they complain about having a Capellan half-breed as their commanding officer."
Redburn's cheeks immediately flushed red with embarrassment. "Sir, if you think I was saying . .."
Justin held up his hand and quieted the young officer. "Easy, Andrew. I understand what you're saying." Justin unbuttoned his jacket and walked to the dressing chamber annexed to his office. His voice echoed through the open doorway. "The idea of turning in a centimeter-by-centimeter description of our line of march doesn't thrill me, either, but there's nothing we can do. This is Michael's domain, and his word is law."
Redburn nodded. "I trust him and his bureaucrats about as far as I can toss Craon."
Justin laughed. "Indeed, and just how far is that?"
"What?"
Justin stepped from the dressing chamber in boots, shorts, and open cooling vest. Muscles and veins stood out on a body virtually without fat. "Your report said nothing about the battle I heard about between you and Craon."
The Leftenant shrugged. "Wasn't really a fight. I cracked him a good one on the jaw, then concentrated on his bread-basket." Redburn unconsciously rubbed the ribs on his right side. "He got a couple of punches in, but it ended quickly." He smiled like a child remembering the taste of stolen melon. "Was hardly worth mentioning."
Justin chuckled. "I accept you at your word, Leftenant." Justin nodded at his subordinate. Thank you for your efforts on my behalf. Redburn returned the nod, and Justin knew he'd been understood. "I've assigned Craon to be shepherd for this little outing. How many 'Mechs will we have with us?"
Redburn thought for a half-second. "Thirty-two, including us. I have four lances of four and three with five. As usual, I did not assign you to any one lance. I'll be in the Spider and I've given you the Valkyrie on loan from the Kittery Borderers. You know, those damned regulars said that they were only handing over the 'Mech because you're a real MechWarrior. Everyone else gets a Stinger."
Justin nodded. The two men left the office and quickly made their way through the tiled corridors to the massive 'Mech bay that loomed over the smaller Base Command Center. The roof, supported by metal beams and a skeletal framework, arched some fifteen meters over the ferrocrete floor. The translucent plastic used to form and seal the roof let in enough of the gold light from Kittery's F9 sun to illuminate the metal giants housed within the hangar.
Ringing the room like silent tomb-sentinels, BattleMechs gleamed in the sun's bright light. Techs and astechs in green jumpsuits swarmed like insects over units in need of repair, and spare parts dangled from powered winches running on beams above the war machines. Five times the height of the men who worked on them, 'Mechs were objects of fascination rather than fear for the men and women who nursed them back to health. At the moment, these broken giants stood docile and in dire need of the steady hands and diagnostic genius of the Techs before any would again march into battle.
Other 'Mechs, armed and operational, stood waiting with their canopies open. Spilling down their chests like comical ties were rope ladders that allowed men and women to mount the huge machines they would pilot into battle. The Stingers, 20-ton light 'Mechs often used for training MechWarriors, did not look any less deadly than the heavier 'Mechs scattered throughout the bay. The massive medium laser grasped pistol-like in each Stinger's right hand seemed lethal enough for anyone's taste.
As Leftenant Redburn and Major Allard entered the bay, the 1st Kittery Training Battalion, including a hastily arriving Robert Craon, stood at attention in ranks. When Justin nodded approvingly to Sergeant Walter de Mesnil, the one-eyed MechWarrior turned to face his troops. "At ease," he rasped.
Justin cleared his throat. "This afternoon Leftenant Redburn and I will take you through an evaluation exercise. Please bear in mind that your 'Mechs are fully armed and powered. As always, we wish to minimize damage to the surrounding area. Target practice on livestock owned by the natives is discouraged and will be punished by immediate dismissal from the training program." Justin emphasized the word "native" so that his troops would note that he was not using the slang "indig," which most of his trainees preferred. "I know you think I speak of the people here as natives because I am half-Capellan, but you must learn that to accept them is to have them accept you. And that is a major part of our mission on Kittery." He turned to Redburn. "Leftenant."
Redburn nodded and accepted command. "Sergeant de Mesnil... Corporals ... form up your lances and conduct them outside." He turned to Weird three trainees—two men and a woman—and nodded to the largest man. "James, head out after Sergeant de Mesnil and wait for me to join you." He scanned the crowd and caught one Corporal's eye. "Hugh, Private Craon has been assigned shepherd duty, so your lance will run last. Dismissed."
The MechWarriors broke ranks and ran to their 'Mechs while the two officers walked over to where their own 'Mechs waited. Redburn swung up the ladder that hung from a Spider. Unlike the Stinger, this 30-ton humanoid 'Mech carried no weapons in its hands, but the twin medium laser snouts jutting from the center of its chest left no doubt about its battleworthiness. Reknowned tor its speed and the "jumping" abilities that allowed it to range behind enemy lines to wreak havoc, the Spider was the perfect Mech to ride herd on a company of trainees.
Justin quickly climbed up and into the cockpit of his Valkyrie. He strapped himself into the pilot seat and punched a button that reeled in his ladder and slowly closed the polarized canopy. As it shut, the cockpit became pressurized and Justin had to open his mouth wide to equalize the pressure in his ears.
He laced up his cooling vest and plugged the power cord into the socket to the right side of his command chair. After carefully pressing the adhesive monitoring discs to his upper arms and thighs, he fed the leads from them up toward his throat. Then he settled the olive-green neurohelmet pad over his shoulders, and threaded the monitor disc leads into their proper connections. Finally, Justin reached up and pulled the neurohelmet down over his head.
Justin shivered unconsciously as the helmet cut out all external noise and made his breathing rumble thunderously in his ears. He adjusted the helmet until the roughly triangular viewplate had centered itself in front of his face and he could feel the pressure of neuroreceptors in the proper places around his skull. He plugged wires from his 'Mech into the appropriate sockets at the helmet's throat and then spoke.
"Pattern check. Major Justin X. Allard."
Justin listened to the static crackling through his skull, then smiled as the 'Mech's computer replied, "Voiceprint pattern match obtained. Proceed with initiation sequence."
Justin's eyes narrowed. "Code check: Zhe jian fang tai xiao. Authorization code: Alpha Xray Tango Bravo." Now the computer was checking his codes against the vast list of authorizations and personal passwords stored within its memory. Unlike most 'Mechs, which responded only to the secret code locked into it by its pilot, training 'Mechs had to be able to accept numerous codes. Each pilot in the training cadre had his own code, which meant that anyone performing an irregular action—such as stealing a 'Mech—could be pegged by checking to see which code had last been used to activate the 'Mech.
Justin knew that it was unorthodox for him to have a personal check code in Capellan, but it ensured that none of these clowns would steal h
is machine. He laughed to himself. Even if they could figure out that his code meant, "This room is too small," none of them would understand the humor, nor would they be able to pronounce the words correctly. A sudden new thought sent a chill up Justin's spine as he realized that if his code ever did become known, it would only confirm the bigoted opinions about him. Stupid, Justin, he thought. Better change it after this exercise.
The computer's metallic voice knifed through his thoughts. "Authorization confirmed. Glad to have you aboard, Major." In response to the correct codes, the control console came alive with lights and flashing buttons. The heat scales on the internal systems monitor all sat low in the cool-blue range. The data readouts on the rack of long-range missiles housed in the left side of his 'Mech's torso and the medium laser that replaced the 'Mech's right hand both reported the weapon systems operational but unarmed. Justin caressed two buttons on the targeting joystick with the fingers of his left hand, and the systems armed themselves.
Other data displays told him that both jump jets on his Valkyrie's back were ready to boost him up to 150 meters at a blast. The mechanism for reloading his missiles also reported itself ready to supply twelve full flights of ten missiles apiece, though Justin knew this included the brace of missiles already loaded into the launchers.
Justin drew in one last breath of cool air, then closed his eyes and flexed his fingers. He exhaled slowly, then cleared a radio link to Leftenant Redburn's Spider. "Ready, Andy?"
"Yes, sir," rang out Redburn's reply.
"Good. Let's get out of here and see what these kids have learned."
2
Kittery
Capellan March, Federated Suns
27 November 3026
Justin stopped his Valkyrie just below the crest of a hill and turned back to watch the trainees straggling through the meadow below. The stark, snowy-white color of the 'Mechs made them a sharp contrast to the golden-brown of the dying summer grasses. A breeze swirled down into the valley's bowl and rode through the grasses in waves until it hit the wide swath of destruction made by the marching 'Mechs.
Warrior: En Garde Page 2
