"Fighting there will be unique, to say the least," Loren whispered back. "A masterpiece of understatement," Mulvaney said.
3
The Fort Tara, Northwind
The Chaos March
13 May 3058
Loren Jaffray shuffled through some of the hardcopy reports he had spread out on a back corner table of The Pub that had unofficially become his office. The small Pub, which also served as the Officer's Club for the Highlanders, was one of the places in The Fort where he felt most at ease. The dark wood panelling and timeworn furnishings gave him a sense of warmth and comfort, perhaps because it was here that he'd first understood his true place within the Highlanders. And as much as the Pub was an icon in the hearts and minds of the Highlanders, her bartender was an icon of the Pub.
Mr. Pluncket brought over a pint of Northwind Red Ale, limping heavily on his artificial leg. So engrossed was Loren in his work that he only looked up when he sensed the ageless bartender and former Sergeant Major looking over his shoulder at the reports he was studying.
"We've known each other fer a while, haven't we, laddie?" Pluncket said.
"Yes, Mr. Pluncket, that we have. You're one of the first people I met when I came to Northwind." Loren knew this was leading somewhere.
"And we are friends, true enough?"
Loren nodded. The two had fought side by side against the Davions, in the process also saving the lives of many in both MacLeod's and Stirling's regiments. "Yes, you're one of the handful of people I can call friend."
"Perhaps you can tell me then, one friend to another, what in the name of St. Richard's ghost is goin' on around here?" Pluncket threw up his hands in frustration.
Loren smiled and shook his head. Sergeant Major Pluncket was the self-appointed internal intelligence officer for the Northwind Highlanders—a gossip. He kept his ears tuned for anything and everything. The injuries that kept him from active duty only made him all the more hungry for information. "I'm not sure what you're referring to, Mr. Pluncket," Loren said, all innocence.
"You know bloody well what I'm talking about. The spaceport is sealed up tighter than a drum of toxic waste. The Assembly building has double the normal guards, and even the local media wags are being kept outside the gate. Security people—not ours, but strangers—have been seen even inside the Fort. But everybody's lips are buttoned up even though I know the Assembly has been holed up in debate. I think there's some sort of contract negotiation going on, and I want to know who it's with."
Loren understood Mr. Pluncket's frustration, but he couldn't violate the sanctity of the Warrior's Assembly, not even for a friend. "Mr. Pluncket, sometimes security is necessary, you know that. And maybe you're reading too much into a few coincidences." The truth of the matter was that the Assembly had completed its deliberations over the contract with the Combine, and the question had passed to the Highlander regimental officers for final recommendation. Once the decision was reached to proceed formally with the talks, each of the four regimental commanders had weighed the pros and cons of his or her unit taking the contract. The First and Second Kearny Regiments were the freshest of the Highlanders, not having engaged in combat for over a year. MacLeod's Regiment had been badly mauled during Northwind's brief fight for independence from the Federated Commonwealth. Stirling's Fusiliers had also been hit hard in the fighting. Both had taken several months to rebuild, stepping up recruitment and using the fallen FedCom booty 'Mechs as a source of resupply. Theoretically, any of the four regiments was up to taking on the mission, but Loren was sure that MacLeod's would not be in the running. It was still too early for them to accept any contracts other than relief or garrison duty, not until their new recruits had more time to become integrated into the regiment. So it was between the two Kearny regiments and the Fusiliers.
"If d better not be any of these little crap governments springing up in the Chaos March," Pluncket fired off, still fishing for some clue. The recent split of the Federated Commonwealth and the brief war with Houses Marik and Liao had left the former Sarna March a hotbed of independent worlds, each struggling to retain some identity and to survive attempts by the various factions to seize them—either overtly or covertly. Pluncket was expressing an opinion that many Highlanders felt. It was better to stay out of the petty dirty fighting that was going on. The Highlander regiments had a long and glorious reputation of service—and they preferred to win honor by serving one of the large House governments.
"Sergeant Major, I think I can safely say, without violating security, that none of us is going to be shipping out to the Chaos March," Loren told him.
Sergeant Major Pluncket leaned down over the table as Loren covered up the logistics planning sheets he'd been working on. "Laddie, you can tell me. Who are you officers entertaining up there in the Assembly?" So intent was he on being conspiratorial that he never noticed the figure moving silently up behind him from the rear of the dimly lit Pub.
"Perhaps," the figure said, "you should ask me, bartender." Pluncket spun at the sound of the voice that he must have recognized instantly as that of Colonel Andrea Stirling. Loren suppressed a smile at the sight of the portly bartender flushing beet red but trying mightily to recover. "Colonel Stirling, sir, I didna see ya enter, lass."
"I came in the back door," Cat Stirling said, sliding into the seat between him and her Executive Officer. "Colonel's prerogative," she added, a bit acidly. "Now then, I need a few minutes alone with my XO. Regimental business." Pluncket bowed his head in acknowledgment and backed away from the two of them. Stirling did not lift her gaze from the man until he was out of earshot, then she turned to Loren.
"Remind me sometime to tell you how he lost his leg," she said. "But for now, let me ask you what you think about the contract we've been offered."
"Colonel, more than anything else, I want to go up against the Clans and beat them in battle."
Stirling smiled. "That bad?"
Loren only nodded in response, once, slowly.
"Me too. You want this job to test the training program you've put together. And I want it to test my troops in a fight after all the rebuilding."
Loren nodded. "To be frank, Colonel, I also want this for personal reasons that are beyond the training and simulation missions we've been running."
"Having a hard time adapting to life as a Highlander, Major?"
"At times, yes. There are those who still see me as a Capellan officer first despite everything that's happened since I first came to Northwind. Then there's the politics of running a regiment. Politics has never been my forté. But let me loose on a battlefield in the cockpit of a BattleMech, and I'm in my natural environment. I think a mission like this will bind together our regiment, will forge the Fusiliers into thinking and acting as one." Let me do this because it is what I am good at.
"You set your goals high, Major, and that is admirable."
"Thank you sir," he returned. His mind danced with her words. This is what I am and what I do. There were only two things that would stand in his way, the two other Majors in the Fusiliers.
Stirling must have been reading his mind. "Something wrong?" she asked, cocking her head to study his face. "No, sir, nothing I can't handle."
"Then it must be you're thinking about Craig and Blakadar," she said, giving him a knowing smile.
He sighed deeply. "They've resisted me on every front thus far. And now I know they've been coming to you, behind my back. I don't expect them to like me, but they're attempting to undermine my authority."
"As I've said before, Major, my door is always open."
"I understand sir."
"They are good officers. They see you as an outsider still. You'll see just how good they are soon enough."
Loren sat up straighter, unable to hide his excitement. "Are you saying that we're going to get the assignment, Colonel?"
"We four Colonels have been strong-arming each other for hours, but I think it's safe to say I've drawn the mission. You'll have a lot of work to
do. That map the Explorer Corps gave us, I want some names thrown on it. Highlanders don't die for terrain marked with numbers. And we're going to need a plan, one hell of a plan, for pulling this off."
Loren felt his whole body and mind race with excitement. "Sir, I've already got a plan in mind. It's called Case Granite . . ." He gathered up the papers spread out on the table and began to show her just how he intended to beat the Smoke Jaguars.
* * *
Ruth Horner and Precentor Mercedes Laurent sat facing the four regimental commanders of the Northwind Highlanders. The Executive Council meeting room was small, and the lone oblong table made the meeting seem unbalanced as the two sides squared off against each other in the negotiations. Only a few meters away was the door leading to the Hall of Warriors, where they'd first met what seemed like days ago.
"Sho-sa Horner, I thank you for meeting with the Executive Council," Colonel Senn began. "The goal of this discussion is to determine the terms of the contract, should the Northwind Highlanders opt to undertake it."
"Thank you, Colonel. I trust you and your other commanding officers have reviewed all of the data that I have provided?"
"Indeed we have," Colonel MacLeod said. "I was a little surprised by the information you've been able to gather thus far on the Smoke Jaguar world in the Deep Periphery. The stellar navigation charts provided were most useful." He cast a quick glance at the ComStar Precentor, who only nodded in reply. "Especially when we saw that Clan Nova Cat is only a few jumps away with their own string of supply posts."
The maps the Explorer Corps had given them provided a picture of deep space beyond the Inner Sphere that few people had ever seen.
"Colonel MacLeod, I come here with no hidden agendas. Everything we have is open to you." A nod from the Explorer Corps Precentor confirmed that the two organizations were of the same mind on the mission.
"My fear, lass, is that the Nova Cats might move in to attempt to help their fellow Clan. Despite their differences, the two Clans have worked together before. Can we be sure the Cats won't jump in and try to aid the Smoke Jaguars?"
Horner shook her head. "The two Clans have a strong dislike for each other. They only work together when forced to. Our analysts believe that even if the Smoke Jaguars were on the verge of losing every planet they've conquered, the Nova Cats would not intervene to aid them. Remember, each Clan is bent on one goal—getting to Terra first and re-establishing a new Star League. In this effort, they are at odds with each other."
"Well spoken," said Cat Stirling, pushing a hand back through her dark hair as she spoke. The edges of her hairline were shaved at the points where neurohelmet connectors would be attached, the mark of a MechWarrior. "My concern deals specifically with the issue of salvage. Your original proposal to the Executive Council indicated that the Combine wishes all salvage rights from this mission."
"Our contracts with mercenary units thus far have always ensured that we take ownership of everything recovered," Horner said calmly. There was a reason for that provision of the contract. The Combine military had been badly mauled by the Clans. Their capital world almost fell to their might. The advanced Clan technology that had been recovered was helping to re-equip the DCMS.
Stirling's Scottish drawl seemed to emerge again, a hint of things to come. "You're askin' us to undertake a mission into the unknown, with intelligence information already out of date. We understand yer government's need to recover battle tech, but we're sure to take damage in this unusual mission. I recommend we split the salvage."
"Splitting some tangibles is difficult, Colonel Stirling. How does one divide a PPC or a laser into equal parts?"
Not one to let go, Stirling locked her jaw like a pit bull engaged in a biting spree. "What I suggest is not a percentage, Sho-sa. Anything recovered as a result of battlefield operations becomes our property. Anything in the warehouses, the real targets of this operation, belongs to the Combine."
Ruth Horner considered the point long and hard. "I believe I can get my government to agree to those terms, provided the Highlanders pay the costs of transportation."
Colonel Senn leaned over and huddled with his fellow Colonels. After a minute or so of whispered discussion, Colonel Cochraine turned again to Horner with their decision. "Agreed. As long as the Combine agrees to underwrite any costs incurred by our DropShips on this mission and the recovery op and also agrees to provide us loaners if our ships are unable to move the recovered goods off-planet."
Ruth Horner listened, paused, and made a series of notes on her pad. "I believe that I can agree to such terms."
"And on the issue of transportation," Colonel Cochraine said, looking at the copy of the contract he had in front of him, "I just want to make sure I fully understand. The Combine will arrange for a command circuit into the Deep Periphery and will provide JumpShips for the trip to and from. The Highlanders will foot the costs of everything from the Periphery and back; your government will cover everything else."
Horner nodded slowly. "A command circuit is already being put into place in anticipation of the successful conclusion of these talks. Wayside V is sixty-five light years from the Combine border, but the route we must take is roundabout and we don't want to lose precious time. We will pay for all travel in the Inner Sphere. Beyond that, we will provide the hardware; your unit will pay at a modest per diem."
Stirling shook her forefinger in front of her. "This contract still isn't sealed, Sho-sa. It isn't over until we say it is."
Horner bowed her head slightly. "I did not mean to offend or assume, Colonel Stirling. I merely wished to point out that, thus far, we have not stumbled into any minefields in terms of negotiations."
"The day is still young, lassie," Stirling returned with her cat's smile.
"Which brings us to one other point we need to resolve, and frankly it is a pressing one as far was we are concerned," Colonel Senn added. "That is of the role of the PSL on this mission. The Northwind Highlanders must be fully in control of the operation, not reporting to a representative of the Provisional Soldiery Liasion. We're going to be too far from headquarters and a real chain of command to have that kind of relationship."
"And," Stirling put in, as usual seeming to thrive on adding tension to the discussion, "we'll want none of your ISF types in the PSL team. The last thing we need are commandos attempting to call the shots in the middle of battle."
"This is a sensitive subject," replied the Combine negotiator carefully. "The role of the PSL is to ensure that the objectives of the Combine are fulfilled to the best of your ability."
William MacLeod spoke up at the insinuation. "We're not wet-behind-the-ears cadets here, Sho-sa Horner. You're recruiting the Northwind Highlanders. We're one of the best units in the Inner Sphere." His tone made even the Precentor squirm slightly in her seat. "Having a watchdog is one thing, having a boss there is another."
"I understand, esteemed Colonels." Ruth Horner gave them one of her inscrutable smiles. "The PSL rep is there as an advisor and observer. He or she has no authority to command your forces on Wayside unless you defy the terms of the contract. However, he will bring a company of Combine troops with him to assist in any way possible."
Stirling cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward. "That sounded like a concession to me."
"It is," Horner said. "As long as you agree to the terms laid out in the original offer." From her tone, she was not looking forward to any other negotiations.
"The price was never an issue, Sho-sa," replied Colonel Cochraine. "You'll find that with the Highlanders, self-determination is more important that money. We fight for our own reasons. In this case, we too recognize that the Clans represent a clear threat to our own world. Not now, but in the future."
"May I inquire then, what is the next step for approval of the contract?"
"A quick vote, a formality really. With the four of us supporting it, only a unanimous vote by the Assembly could stop it. And that won't happen."
"Excellent," she replied
. "So that I will know what to include in the final draft of the document, what regiments have you chosen to fulfill the operational requirements?"
"Stirling's Fusiliers will lead the assault," Colonel Senn told her. "The Command Battalion of MacLeod's Regiment will follow them by thirty-six days as rotational relief and garrison. Stirling will take care of this second-line cluster you say is there, and MacLeod's people will help with the clean-up if it's needed—otherwise they can relieve the Fusiliers and let them come home. I think it's safe to say that these Smoke Jaguars are no match for what we'll be tossing at them."
4
The Fort Tara, Northwind
The Chaos March
14 May 3058
Major Kurt Blakadar, the commanding officer of the Fusiliers' Second Battalion, The Black Adders, entered Loren's office first. He was tall and wore his light brown hair in a crew cut that helped conceal his true age. He wore reading glasses when not in the cockpit of his BattleMech and had them on now for the meeting Loren had called of the Fusilier commanders.
Blakadar virtually ignored Captain Colin Lovat, who sat at the far end of the small conference table. Colin's recent promotion to Intelligence Officer was seen, like Mitch's, as an unwelcome change in the eyes of the older staff officers.
Loren tried not to let it get to him, knowing he needed to keep his focus on the job at hand. Mitch and Colin were both good officers. They didn't play regimental politics, and they knew their stuff. If Blakadar and Craig really cared about the Fusiliers, why did they keep wanting to play it by the old book, the old ways?
He took his usual seat as Major Cullen Craig came in next. Cullen was much shorter and broader in the chest than either of his fellow Majors. Commander of Third Battalion of the Fusiliers, he behaved with an arrogance that was almost palpable. He looked straight at Blakadar and smiled thinly, as if amused at some joke understood only by the two of them. Loren knew that the whole little display was for his benefit, but he was content to let them think they had the upper hand for a few moments more. They'd find out soon enough that these games of power politics had no place in his command. The time had come to remind them of rank and position, of honor and duty.
Impetus of War Page 4
