In a Clan military, Tamara would have already challenged for a Trial of Position. Or Alexia would have simply invoked a Circle of Equals to put the other woman back in her place.
Whatever the Inner Sphere equivalent was, it looked about to happen.
Tamara saw her approach, staring at the leutnant-colonel over the noteputer she held in both hands.
“Kommandant,” Alexia greeted her with bare civility. “We seem to have a problem.”
“No problem.” Tamara used a stylus to check something off on the screen. “One two-ton gyroscope. And an actuator and several tons of armor.”
It was all stacked up on the flatbed, being lashed down by the crew under her command. Hauptmann Vic Parkins labored alongside another of the Rangers’ warriors and half a dozen techs to secure the load. “We have what we need.”
“If you have a crippled ’Mech, load it on a recovery vehicle and bring it in. All repairs are handled here.”
“With two of your Strikers seen for every one of my Rangers.” Tamara turned her back on Alexia, her dark hair swinging across her shoulders, closing a curtain on the argument.
Alexia felt her hands wanting to curl into fists. “This is our operations area,” Alexia reminded the other woman, working on a diplomatic solution. Jasek would not appreciate losing one of his best field commanders to a hospital stay. “I agreed to lend support to the Rangers after you lost one of your maintenance depots.”
“A maintenance depot, two munitions dumps, and a nighttime attack two days ago that cost us a pair of salvage vehicles.” Tamara whipped around to face Alexia, temper coloring her skin. “We’re facing the brunt of the Jade Falcon push into this district while your Strikers handle the light loads.”
Swallowing back the metallic taste of anger, Alexia Wolf stepped right up into Tamara’s face. Quietly, coldly, she said, “You point out one vehicle being repaired in this Assemblies plant, or one of my people laid up in the field hospital, and tell me who is getting off lightly. Kommandant.”
In fact, her losses had been staggering. It might be true that the Rangers saw more desperate fighting, but then, her Strikers were quite a bit greener and had nowhere near the level of materiel readiness that had been prepared for the Lyran Rangers. Alexia might share Jasek’s favor, but the Stormhammers’ commander did not let that interfere with sound military decisions. And neither would she.
She roped in Vic Parkins by eye. “Hauptmann. You will unfasten that materiel and see that it is placed back where it belongs.”
With a hard glance toward Tamara, Parkins shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Colonel.” He braced himself up stiffly. “Orders.”
This was not the confident officer who had walked the fine line of insubordination a few months before. Alexia wondered how Tamara had finally gotten to him.
As it turned out, she hadn’t. Tamara thumbed a new screen onto her noteputer and flourished it in front of Alexia’s face. Orders, countersigned by Colonel Petrucci, commandeering specific parts and supplies. In Jasek’s absence, and that of Colonel Vandel, his rank held sway among the Stormhammers. Even over her.
“Is there a problem?” Niccolò GioAvanti asked, stepping up at Alexia’s shoulder. She wasn’t certain if he had followed her over earlier or had just arrived.
“No problem,” both women said at the same time. Alexia with a touch of darkness, Tamara smug.
GioAvanti reached in and took the noteputer from Tamara’s hands. There was never any doubt in his demeanor that she would surrender it. The man looked calm and well appointed, even in the frantic sweatshop his family’s local factories had become. The braid he wore down the left side of his face was tucked back behind his ear, and pale blue eyes skipped over the screen.
“This looks legitimate,” he said evenly, drawing hard stares from both women, if for different reasons.
Of course it was legitimate, though Alexia had a good idea how Antonio Petrucci had come to pull rank over her Tharkan Strikers. It was a violation of military courtesy, taking advantage of Alexia’s offer to share resources from her operations area. It wouldn’t have happened unless someone—a particular someone—had whispered in Petrucci’s ear that Jasek would back his play. When the landgrave returned.
If he returned.
“Anything else?” Alexia asked curtly. “Perhaps there is something more that you need, and cannot get for yourself?”
Tamara’s face pulled down into a neutral mask. She read between the lines, all right. “More armored plating would be of help.”
“Is that specifically requested in those orders?” She knew that it was not. Tamara shook her head. “Then clear that truck out of my area.”
“We’ll be back,” Tamara Duke promised her. Knocking on the cab window, she made a complicated gesture which basically came down to an order to pull the truck outside of the Assemblies plant. Tamara jumped up onto the running board. On the back, the work crew hunkered down for the drive.
“Cut the support we are giving the Rangers by one-third,” Alexia told GioAvanti when it was just the two of them left. “I will answer for it when Jasek returns.”
Still staring after Tamara Duke’s departure, GioAvanti shook his head. “No. I will answer for anything that goes on at this facility.” He turned his impassive stare back to Alexia. “And I won’t slow the Rangers down any more than necessary. Take an additional maintenance bay and bump back the next Ranger machine by one slot. Skye needs both of you at the best strength possible.”
It was a fair decision, and Alexia knew better than to let her personal feelings interfere with intercaste relations. As she had found out at her own Trial of Position, being in the right—even being the better warrior—was not always enough.
“When Colonel Petrucci marches in here and cuts further into our maintenance and repairs?” she asked. “What then?”
“I will do what I can to keep the Stormhammers functioning smoothly,” the young merchant promised. “Even if that means letting the Rangers have their head.”
From a man who had quietly but confidently supported her Strikers over the last several weeks, the hedging answer seemed a borderline disrespect. “Whose side are you on, Niccolò?”
The man shrugged. “Jasek’s,” he answered simply.
There was no arguing that. Though Alexia Wolf could not help one last glance at the retreating truck. “So should we all be,” she said. “So should we all.”
But she was beginning to doubt it.
29
Let no one be deceived by Caesar’s glory.
The Prince, by Niccolò Machiavelli
Norfolk
Skye
9 December 3134
Jade Falcon forces holding the Shipil Company’s Norfolk dockyards had been strengthened until it was the Clan’s entire center of operations against the allied defenders.
It had been Noritomo Helmer’s Seventh Striker Cluster that first secured the facility, only a day after their terrifying course through New London, and the Star colonel had quickly converted the same set of offices used by the Steel Wolves into his command post. In this room, which had once been an executive dining area, Clan technicians removed high-current vending machines and an array of personal cooking devices, installing in their place a holographic tank and several computer terminals. It made for an adequate tactical planning room if one could ignore the baked-in smells of grease and the seasoned tomato sauce that Skye civilians apparently liked to pour over most food.
He stood inside the holographic display, walking like a titan over the rocky plateau of Bar-Tania where a double lance from his Striker Cluster protected the salvage of a Stormhammers Behemoth. The assault tank was much slower than Jade Falcon warriors preferred, but as losses mounted on both sides, such an asset was crucial to future operations.
For this reason, and this alone, he ignored Malvina Hazen for several critical moments while he used the satellite-imaged map to set a picket line in case the Lyran Rangers should try to double bac
k and rescue their machine.
Wearing a command glove, he drew a circle in the air above a line of jagged, boulder-strewn hills. A white halo formed where he had sketched it. The computer added intersecting lines to turn it into horizontal crosshairs, and then the entire device flashed down to lay itself over the scrub brush and sparse grass.
It changed to a pulsing red.
With one finger, he tabbed open a nearby icon that floated above the plateau like a miniature sun. A drop-down window opened up, listing several communication codes. He chose one, double tapping it with the same forefinger. On his headset, a channel crackled to life.
“Aff, Star Colonel?”
“Bogart. Set a pair of strategic missile carriers out here behind this slope. They will have some protection, and a good range of open coverage.”
The freeborn Star captain acknowledged the order, and the circle changed from pulsing red to gold. Forces were on their way.
When Noritomo finally turned back to Galaxy Commander Hazen, it was with a measure of trepidation. Malvina gripped the fencing that bordered the holotank with white-knuckled strength. Bloodless fingers formed claws around the metal rail, and her right eye burned with a fire that was new. She started to speak, twice, and both times found herself unable to use her voice.
Noritomo had seen Malvina Hazen angry. Furious, even. He’d also seen her burning with a cold rage that threatened to consume anyone who crossed her at that moment—and he had been the closest one just then.
But until now, he had not believed her possible of a spitting fury that threatened all reason.
“Your forces,” she said slowly, “were in position to move against Cyclops, Incorporated. Why did you not attack?”
He stripped the headset from his ear, tossing it to a nearby aide who would continue to monitor the salvage operation. The command glove he kept, tucking it into his belt.
“I saw no benefit to spending military resources against an impotent target. The Roosevelt Island complex has been neutered. Instead”—he gestured to the holographic terrain around his feet—“we managed to inflict severe damage against the Lyran Rangers as they shifted their base camp.”
“The insult behind their televised rebuke is reason enough,” Malvina nearly shouted. “Tara Campbell dares take me to task?”
No honor guard, Noritomo noticed then. No Beckett Malthus to restrain the Chinggis Khan’s more violent impulses. This was Malvina Hazen pressing her will against Noritomo, and it would be best if there were no witnesses. He nodded a dismissal to his aide, and to several technicians who had frozen in place throughout the small cafeteria.
They left with a hurried relief.
“Tara Campbell has identified our weakness,” he said as diplomatically as possible.
“I am not weak, Star Colonel Helmer.”
“The Jade Falcon desant is,” he replied. “For the same reason we identified our primary targets inside The Republic as military-industrial and economic strongholds, we need to capture and stand on the industrial strengths of Skye if we plan to contest this planet over any length of time.”
“Reinforcements arrive from Glengarry and Ryde. We have sufficient force on planet to take this world.”
“But not to hold it. Not if the allied defenders burn every major production facility behind them as they retreat.” He braced himself up, showing no hint of weakness before his commander. “You can bring me into a Circle of Equals for saying so, Galaxy Commander Hazen, but if you continue to match Tara Campbell in this way, you will lose. We all will.”
It was enough to push Malvina nearly over the edge. She pulled down the makeshift fencing, stepping over the fallen rail to confront her Star colonel face-to-face. Her scar stood out in livid color where it hooked down the left side of her face.
“We will not lose. What we will do is show this Tara Campbell that her presumption is far beyond her grasp. I want the Roosevelt Island complex leveled. You will take a DropShip and land it on top of the assembly facility, deploy forces, and sweep the entire island into Truxton Sound.”
In the face of such vitriol, the only thing Noritomo Helmer could do was keep a calm front. “Galaxy Commander Hazen.” He pulled himself stiffly to attention. “If you order an attack on Roosevelt Island, under those priorities, I will be forced to demand a Trial of Refusal. My people are better employed elsewhere.”
Malvina’s dark glower piled up like warning storm clouds. “And where do you believe you are better spent, Star Colonel?” Her emphasis was not to be missed. Noritomo was walking a knife’s edge.
“Securing Skye for Clan Jade Falcon. Taking down victories on the battlefield.”
“Then you could bring me a victory over Roosevelt Island’s garrison force.”
“I could.” She still had not ordered him. Not yet. He found that interesting. “I believe it is a wasteful effort, however. If you are committed to such a path, blow it to hell from orbit.”
Far from being insulted, though, Malvina actually smiled. There was no humor in her eyes. “We do think alike, occasionally. That was my first choice, Star Colonel. In fact, if the Emerald Talon had been in position, I would have done so yesterday in hopes of catching Duke Gregory and Campbell at the location.”
He sensed there was more. “And?”
“We detected the infrared signature of an arriving JumpShip at the L3 Lagrange point. I diverted the Talon from high orbit and sent her after the contact.” And there was not much a Nightlord–class WarShip could not handle.
“Republic reinforcements trying to sneak in?”
“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But with the Talon guarding the way, the captain of that relief team is very foolish.”
“Or very confident.”
Reluctantly, Malvina allowed him a sharp nod. Then her eyes narrowed. “I could say the same thing about you, Star Colonel. Three times now, I should have ordered you killed for failing me. Kimball II and Chaffee, and your deliberate perversion of my orders concerning New London. Three times.”
“It is within your power to order me into a Circle of Equals at any time, Galaxy Commander.” He paused. Certainly it was in keeping with her somewhat erratic behavior since losing her brother. Yet the more he clung to the Way of the Clans, the more she tolerated his actions. Well, it was only the two of them now.
“Why have you not?” he asked.
“Would you really like to know?” Her tone suggested not. But she did not give him time to debate. “I believe that it is just what Bec Malthus would like for me to do.” He must have looked alarmed, despite wrestling a mask over his features. “It is nothing personal. I do not think Malthus cares one way or another if you live or die. But it matters to him whether or not I do it.”
Because Galaxy Commander Malthus wanted her isolated by her own hand. It wasn’t enough that Malvina had lost her brother through their competition with each other. Whatever his plans for—with—Malvina Hazen, and they could be big, he wanted her off-balance and ready to strike out at anyone.
She had been right. Noritomo had not wanted to know this. Being privy to the secret struggles taking place between your betters was not conducive to a long and glory-filled career within the Clans.
He swallowed dryly, then forced a calm over himself. “May I assume at this time that you will not be demanding my death, and that I am not being directly ordered to attack what is in my eyes a worthless target?”
“Assumptions are a dangerous thing, Star Colonel. But yes. You may. At this time.”
“What are the Galaxy commander’s orders?”
She waved a hand dismissively over the holographic tableau. “Salvage your toys and equip your warriors. Take down these Stormhammers if you can. But stand ready, Star Colonel. The next time I call for someone’s head, you will deliver it.” Malvina Hazen stepped back, allowing him some personal space in which to finally relax. “Or I will have yours.”
“Bargained well,” Noritomo agreed. “And done.”
The formal words were o
ut of his mouth before he thought better of them. It was tradition, after all, and the Galaxy commander had proposed a bargain that he would have had to live with regardless. Her humorless smile, though, and his memory of her earlier words haunted him.
When the time came for her to call out that name, it might very well be Becket Malthus’. And then how much would his life be worth?
DropShip Himmelstor Over Skye
“We are at plus six and looking at occlusion in one hour,” Eduard Goran reported to the Himmelstor’s bridge.
The radio signal was faint, broken up by the proximity of Skye’s moon, Luna. It helped that Jasek knew the timetable as well as the spacer, even if he didn’t understand all of the intricacies. His breathing was labored under the 1.8– gravity burn that thrust the Excalibur–class DropShip at Skye. He drew in a deep breath, pushing at the bands of steel tightening around his chest.
“Brevet Kaptain Dawkins is about to roll us over for deceleration burn,” he said. Isaiah Dawkins was Goran’s first officer aboard the Himmelstor. Red hair, cropped short, spacer-thin, and far, far too young, the leutnant was eager to prove himself in this difficult planetary insertion. Maybe too eager. “I am beginning to wish you had remained aboard.”
“Your idea,” Goran reminded him, frowning from the screen. He hadn’t liked the idea of remaining aboard the JumpShip.
Jasek swallowed the lump in his throat as the DropShip cut its main drives and swung end for end on attitude jets. Gravity pirouetted sickeningly through the entire operation, and he gripped his chair’s armrests with panicked strength. “Your expertise is needed over there. Bring them in safe, Eduard. Only you can do it.”
“Just be sure to draw a few of that Nightlord’s assault shuttles after you.” The captain scowled, not liking the need to wish assault vessels after his lord and master or after his ship. Maybe both. “If this doesn’t work, we’re going to spend a week or better hanging around in system with our pants down around our ankles.”
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