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These Hasek... They sometimes remind me of the Draconis Combine Warlords in Wolves on the Border.

You have been rather productive of late.

The Burning Brand
Samantha Calderon Memorial Spaceport, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
June 5, 3026

Sean stood and he extended his to the mercenary who sat across from him.  Major Donal Faulkner stood up and he smiled broadly.  “You will have no regrets for signing us on, Colonel.  None.”

“Understand me on this Major Faulkner—I am hiring you to follow my orders.  If I have any regrets, your Wild Geese will find themselves stuffed and roasted for Christmas dinner.”

The red-haired Irishman chuckled, the grin never leaving his face.  “I’ve never yet reneged on a contract, Colonel Walker—honor of the Regiment and all,” he laughed, but then his smile faded.  “Out here in the Periphery, Colonel . . . we are only as good as our given word—I’ve given you mine, and that should be good enough for you and any other man.”

Sean held out both hands in a placating manner.  “No offense, Donal.  I just want to be clear—once we lift, my orders go.”

“Aye, Colonel.  Can I buy you a spot of whiskey to seal the deal?”

The commander of the Roughnecks laughed.  “I have too much paperwork, Major Faulkner, but I will take a rain-check.”

“Such an optimistic man, he is,” the merc answered with his smile returning.  “Here he is a-thinking that we be coming back from this mission!”

With a final handshake, the commander of the Wild Geese moved out, to let his boys and girls know that the contract had been signed—and that he had their advance pay ready for them.

Sean sat back down at the table and he sighed.  The Wild Geese were a combined arms unit, with five lances of light and medium-weight ‘Mechs (organized in two short companies and a command lance, led by an ancient Ostsol, their sole heavy-weight BattleMech), two companies of tanks (one of light hovers and the second tracked medium-weight models), and a company of infantry.  Just four aerospace fighters, though.  Sean shrugged; mercs took what they could get—and Faulkner’s ‘Mechs and vehicles and fighters and DropShips were well-maintained . . . his people had inspected them before the serious negotiations had begun.  And they had a reputation for getting the job done—regardless of what it took.

That was why they were out here in the first place.  Their last job in the Inner Sphere had put Faulkner and his people up against a full Regiment of Capellans . . . after they had been told they were facing just a few companies of militia.  So, with their contract hanging in the balance, Faulkner’s infantry had infiltrated the Capellan barracks and gassed two full battalions of sleeping ‘MechWarriors in their bunks.  They got their objective and withdrew after a short, sharp fight with the final battalion.

But their employer had balked at their methods—and he hung them out to dry.  Declared bandits and war criminals by the Confederation, the League, and the Federated Suns, the Wild Geese had fled to the Concordat . . . after making a combat drop directly on the estate of the man who had hired them and extracted their pay from his body.

The Taurian shrugged again.  He had been lucky that the Wild Geese were here on Taurus and that they needed a contract; by far the majority of the commands on Henri’s little list were outfits that were shaky at best—downright bandits and pirates at worst.  Most had ‘Mechs held together with spit, baling wire, and prayer to boot.  Their past atrocities aside, the Wild Geese were about the best that he could expect, along with the Red Scorpions Battalion of Major Claudia Dreyfus he had signed the contracts with earlier.

Like his own Roughnecks, the Scorpions were a full-strength battalion of four companies of BattleMechs—forty-eight ‘Mechs and eight Aerospace fighters.  No armor or infantry assets, but all of the MechWarriors in Dreyfus’ command were TDF veterans  trying to augment their retirement as soldiers of fortune.  Much like the Wild Geese (and the vast majority of state and mercenary commands in existence today), the Scorpions had a hodge-podge assortment of light and medium ‘Mechs, lacking any heavies and assaults.  But they were fast-moving and highly capable, despite their lack of firepower.  A good complement to his own Roughnecks, whereas the Wild Geese would bring to the game their reputation for innovation and inventiveness.  Sean sighed and he sat back in his chair.  Yes, with these two units, he was done.  The rest weren’t fighters—they wanted to show up and draw a paycheck, but they weren’t willing to risk their machines and ‘Mechs, a good portion of which weren’t even operational, to earn that paycheck.

He closed the folder and signaled the waitress . . . one beer wouldn’t hurt before he returned to base, after all.  That was when a shadow fell across his table.

Sean looked up at the man who stood there blocking what little light was available in the tavern.

“Señor Coronel Walker?” he asked as he took a seat, taking off one heavy leather gauntlet, then the other seating them both on the table before him.

“Si, Señor . . . ?”

“Don Raphael Francisco Alejandro Diego de Montoya y Navarro, at your service," he answered with a slight incline of his mustachioed head.

Sean blinked; he was certainly used to the hidalgo portion of the Concordat citizenry, but few modern families retained the epic naming practices of their distant ancestors of Earth.  But then he smiled.  “And what may I assist you with today, Don Raphael?”

“You may address, if you wish, Señor Coronel, by my familiar name or by my rank of Capitan-Padre.”

“Father-Captain?  You are a priest?” Sean asked.

“Instructed at the Jesuit Seminary on Celentaro, and ordained by the Cardinal of Taurus . . . but I am a simple man who follows in the ways of St. Samuel.”

“St. Samuel?”

“Si.  God may have made Men, Senõr Coronel, but it was Samuel Colt who made them equal.”

Sean smiled and he chuckled softly as the waitress came to the table.  “A honey mead, my dear—and for my guest?”

“Alas,” Raphael said with down-cast expression, “I have taken strict vows to give up the consumption of all alcohol but the blessed wine of the sacrament.  Perhaps a latte, if you would be so kind, Señorita?”

Sean nodded and she moved away; the Capitan-Padre sighed at her swaying hips.  “God has put much temptation in my path tonight, Señor Coronel.  But, to business!  I understand that you are seeking out soldiers to deal with those who have attacked our fair Concordat—and slain young Edward Calderon, Prince and Heir to the Protector.”

“I am,” Sean answered simply.

Raphael smiled and he sat back.  “Excellent.  You shall have the use of my brothers and sisters in this task—I shall lead them and together we shall wipe the stain of these vermin from the universe itself.”

“Pardon me, Don Raphael, but you are saying that you command a mercenary unit?” Sean asked in disbelief.

“Heaven forbid such a thing!  Mercenaries?  Bah!” the amused hidalgo answered.  “We are servants of God, and we serve him and the Concordat well—have you not heard of the Order of the Holy Knights of the Temple of the Hyades, Señor Coronel?  The Black Templars of Navarro, as we are sometimes called?”

Sean jerked upright in his chair.  “You are that Navarro?”

“Indeed,” the warrior-priest replied with a grin as the waitress returned with a mug of ale and a small cup filled with a rich, creamy coffee.  Raphael placed his hand on her buttock, and she smiled, but slapped him all the same.

And then he frowned.  “Such blatant disrespect for the authority of the Church, Señorita!” he admonished as he unwrapped the scarf to reveal his clerical collar.  “But I forgive you of the sin in the name of God—shall we discuss what other sins he will forgive us both this night?”

She giggled and leaned down, whispering in the warrior-priest’s ear and then she sashayed away.

Raphael sighed again.  “It is amazing what temptations the Good Lord seeks to place in my path—luckily, he knows well that I am only human and fallible and will request his forgiveness once my time in her loving arms is finished.”  He stopped and stared at Sean’s eyes.  “Have you a use for my company of Warriors of God, Señor Coronel?  The Church has agreed to pay for our services as they have always done.”

Sean blinked.  Not once, but twice, for the Black Templars were indeed well known to him—by reputation, not personally.  Warrior-Monks knighted to serve the Concordat by the Church and the Protector alike, they seldom left Taurus, and only in the direst of circumstances.  And they piloted only assault-weight BattleMechs; they could provide him with a hammer that that the expedition lacked.

He cleared his throat and took a deep sip of the mead.  “Of course, Capitan-Padre Navarro—certainly we could make use of you and your Warriors.”

“Good!  Now, before I leave with that young woman for a night of debauchery before I offer my confession to God—have you need to offer unto me your own litany of sins for forgiveness?”

General Headquarters, Taurus Defense Force
Mount Santiago Defense Complex, Taurus
Taurian Concordat
June 6, 3026

“Can you not just hire these JumpShips?” Henri asked in a plaintive tone.  “I have already given you your budget!”

Sean shook his head.  “We are heading into the Badlands, Henri—no commercial skipper is going to risk their JumpShip in that area, not any with a sense of self-preservation.  And none of the merc units I have hired have their own JumpShips.  I need at least three vessels, with a minimum of six collars that I can trust will remain on station—and that means I need ships from the Fleet.  I would prefer nine collars to tell you the truth, but we can get by with six.”

Morton Grenadine and Janice O’Connor nodded their agreement.  “Nine collars would allow for you to lose one ship to a helium seal failure without stranding any of your troops—plus the redundant collars can be used by cargo ships for any possible salvage,” Commodore Erik Flannagan stated flatly.

“Salvage?  Of what possible use is salvage?” Henri asked.

“Salvage, Henri,” confirmed Marshal O’Connor.  “There is always some salvage to be gathered if there is a large fight and this promises—if our informant is correct—to be a very large fight.”  She smiled, “Depending upon how much Walker and his people recover, it could go a long way in repairing any holes in your budget, and provide the Defense Force with a stockpile of spare parts and supplies.”

Sean smiled.  “Indeed it would—but you forget that Henri granted my Roughnecks, and the other mercenaries units involved, first rights to 50% of the salvage in this expedition.”

O’Connor winced and Henri blushed, then his face hardened.  “But as you do not have the transport capability, perhaps we can renegotiate that section of the contract.”

The commander of the Roughnecks shook his head and grinned.  “The contract is already signed, notarized, and filed with the Concordat Courts; no Henri, we will not be giving up the salvage rights.”

“Ah, but you need transport—that is a separate contract, is it not, Monsieur Walker?”

“You can argue that before the Courts, Henri . . . I think they might be able to squeeze in a hearing in a month’s time.”

“Both of you stop,” growled Janice O’Connor.  “The expedition cannot be delayed—Commodore Flannagan, can the Fleet spare a few JumpShips for this mission?”

He nodded.  “I’ll have the orders cut this afternoon.  Abraham Hall’s Flotilla is at the zenith point, with an Invader, a Tramp, a Merchant, and a Quetzalcoatl.  That gives you eight collars, Colonel Walker—and the Quetzalcoatl’s fighter complement will make certain I get my ships back in one piece.”

“Works for me, Commodore,” Sean answered with a grin.  “She’s flying Skyhawks?”

“Hall has a division each of Sabers and Skyhawks aboard the ship, plus four of the Super Tigress gunboats; they should do the job.”

Sean whistled.  “I’d say so, Commodore.  Well,” he continued as he stood.  “I think we have everything we need, gentlemen, madame.  Marshall O’Connor, the expedition can depart as soon as the JumpShips are ready—our commands are prepared to lift upon your orders.”

“The order is given, Colonel Walker—good hunting.”

Sean gave the uniformed commander of the Taurian Defense Force a crisp salute, and then he spun on his heel and exited the briefing room.

Is Padre Raphael first name also Spanish?

Yep.  Raphael Francisco Alejandro Diego de Montoya y Navarro.  I used Don as an honorific, not a name.  Raphael can be as I have it or alternatively as Rafael; I have seen both for Spanish historical figures.  So I used the first.

MA

Yep.  Raphael Francisco Alejandro Diego de Montoya y Navarro.  I used Don as an honorific, not a name.  Raphael can be as I have it or alternatively as Rafael; I have seen both for Spanish historical figures.  So I used the first.

MA

I know Don is a title but I had never seen Raphael written like that in Spanish, hence my question.

Celestial Palace
Forbidden City, Sian
Capellan Confederation
June 10, 3026

Maximillian Liao smiled as he sat on his throne of jade and rare exotic woods.  He held his hands before him and lightly tapped the tips of his fingers together with their opposites, and his gaze swept over the highest advisors of his court.  “Clever, whoever is behind these deeds.  They are very clever indeed.”

Pavel Ridzik, the Senior Colonel of the Capellan Confederation Armed Forces inclined his head.  “How so, Celestial Wisdom?  The Taurians have not the numbers of ‘Mechs to fight off the Davions should they be provoked, after all.  They do not have the numbers of ‘Mechs to fight off us were we able to devote our full attention to them!”

The Chancellor sighed and his smile turned into a frown.  “Candace, would you care to explain to my idiot Strategic Military Director why that would be a horribly bad idea?”

“Certainly, Father,” the Duchess of St. Ives answered with a slight bow.  “Director Ridzik, the Taurian Defense Force is weak in BattleMech Regiments, to be sure—they field less than a third the strength of our own CCAF and barely one-sixth that of the AFFS.  But each of their most valued worlds is also home to large numbers of armored formations, artillery, and infantry regiments.  Not since the Reunification Wars when the entire might of the Star League itself and all of her member states was brought to bear against them has so much a single Taurian world fallen into the hands of some other power.  Consider that amid the scores of worlds which have changed hands here in the Inner Sphere over that same time.”

Ridzik frowned and he shook his head.  “That is because they possess nothing of value, Duchess Liao.”

“With all respect due your rank and title, Director Ridzik, that statement is false.  On just two worlds of the Taurian Concordat—New Vandenberg and Taurus—they produce half the number of BattleMechs manufactured each year on all of the worlds of the Confederation combined.  If their government wanted to, they could double the size of their ‘Mech force within four years time—but they make too much money selling those ‘Mechs to mercenaries,” Candace answered quickly.  And she smiled.  “Three-fifths of the ‘Mechs on the market each year for mercenaries come from the foundries of Taurus and New Vandenberg.  Does the Strategic Military Director consider that to be nothing of value?”

“Periphery trash—our ‘Mechs are more advanced, have greater quality.”

Max sighed again.  “Pavel be silent.”  He leaned back in his throne and he nodded to his eldest daughter.  Then he turned his gaze to his younger.  “And what would Romano suggest that the Celestial Throne do about this situation upon our borders?”

Romano licked her lips and she glanced envious eyes at her sister.  “Celestial Wisdom, we watch as two of our ancestral enemies tear themselves apart.”

The Chancellor raised one eyebrow.  “Observe only, dear daughter?”

She blushed.  “W-we . . . we use the Maskirovka agents in place upon worlds of the Concordat and Federated Suns alike to feed the tensions.  A few random bombings on strategic worlds by our agents, with claims of responsibility made to appear as Calderon or Davion, will goad them even further . . . and push them into actual conflict.”

Max smiled again.  “Just so, dearest daughter.  Just so.  Pavel . . . place our forces upon alert—but do not let them cross the border in raids.  We do not need to divert Hanse Davion’s attention at this moment.  And . . .” Maximillian paused and he stroked his long, thin beard for a moment.  “Review our contingency plans.  If the Fox pushes the Taurians hard enough, they may well collapse—they may not.  If they do, I want New Vandenberg and Taurus to belong to the Confederation and not the Suns.  But we start nothing without my explicit orders . . . is that understood by everyone?”

And all present bowed low answering, “Yes, Celestial Wisdom.”

Maximillian Liao sat back against his throne once more and he smiled again, stroking his beard with one hand.