OBT Forum

Interesting. Just something else of note MA. Hollings York was (according to ISP) a member of the Blood and so to may his kin.

Yes, but Michael might not want to advertise that, yes? 

MA

Very nice.  I didn't realize how wavy those wave lines would be; I was trying to keep everyone around the same number of target systems in each wave (but Corridor Epsilon ran out of planets!).

For Chainelaine, it is complicated.  Several Clans share worlds, and one system (Fredotta) has three Clans.  While other Clans have an entire system for themselves.  Your solution is probably for the best, but here are the Chainelaine possessions (enclaves):  Vannes (Jade Falcon); Ingvolstand (Wolf; Coyote); Fredotto (Blood Spirit; Fire Mandrill; Nova Cat); Idrmach (Smoke Jaguar); Syrstart (Cloud Cobra; Star Adder); Haublan (Diamond Shark); Rondane (Ghost Bear; Goliath Scorpion); Paran (Hell's Horses; Snow Raven); Far Reach (Ice Hellion); and Chaine Cluster (Steel Viper).

MA

It was easier to keep Chainlaine as one grouping, too many lines mess things up.  I'll redo part of the map to clear uo Chainlaine.

What I thought of doing for the invasion is what Oystein does.  Primary Clans have white worlds, shared worlds are half white/half grey and worlds owned by the Secondary Clans are all grey.

This should work better for Chainlaine.

CIKS Victory
Star’s End, Near Periphery
July 22, 3043

Every member of the Clans in the Invasion Force waited as they watched the monitors set in the bulkheads of their WarShips, their JumpShips, their DropShips, their BattleMechs, their Aerospace Fighters.  At precisely 2200 hours, the monitors showed a burst of static and then it cleared, revealing the ilKhan of the Clans.

From Rondane to Porthos, every Clan Warrior waited for her words with a held breath.

“Trothkin, hearken to the words of your ilKhan.  Today is the day that we begin the Liberation of the Inner Sphere from those who robbed our ancestors of their homes.  Make no mistake, our opponents are no cowards; they will fight us for every millimeter of land.  They will do their best to kill us, to turn us aside, to make us be other than the Clans of Kerensky.”

“They will fail.”

“Sixteen Clans today will take part in the Return that the Great Father promised one day would come.  We will all see combat before this is finished, but in the end, it is the Clans who shall hold Terra and restore until all of Mankind the rule of the Star League that should never have fallen!”

“Trothkin!  We have trained, we have amassed supplies, we have honed our edge to a razor, and today shall that weapon you have become be unleashed.  Each of your Khan’s has given you your orders—you know your objectives, and you will not disappoint the Founder’s whose blood flows within your veins.”

“There are but three last orders I must give unto you.  First, the enemy we fight will break; they will attempt to flee.  This must not be permitted—you are to engage their transport ships and not allow them a means of escape.  We will prevent them from learning by having their survivors regroup and train new troops to face us.  Capture those ships, if possible; destroy them otherwise, but strand each formation you fight on the world where they stand, so that they no choice but to face us.”

“Second, some of your opponents will be honorable.  To these we will extend the courtesy of zellbrigen; but to those who act as dezgra you shall treat as dezgra.  This is the order of your ilKhan—and all Clans shall follow it.  We will not slake our anger at their warriors upon their civilians; we are better than that, trothkin.  We shall turn our fury on those who earned it and annihilate them; without mercy, without remorse, without a second thought.”

Yvonne paused and she looked at the timer display quickly descending towards zero.  “My final order, brothers and sisters of the Clans, is this:  GO!  Depart into the Inner Sphere, bid well, fight well, and seize from those who hounded your Founders from their own worlds Victory!  Return with honor,  or return not at all!  Ship commanders, prepare to Jump to your target systems.  VICTORY, my trothkin!”

And aboard more than five thousand DropShips, JumpShips, and WarShips, every Clan Warrior, across an arc of space measuring nearly a thousand light-years, returned her primal battle cry:  VICTORY!

And the ships jumped.

Its on!

Knife Dance Keshik, Invasion Corridor Epsilon
New Bergen, Free Rasalhague Republic
July 25, 3043

“That was not part of their batchall!” A warrior in Nikolai’s command Trinary snarled.  The Khan smiled at the righteous indignation of the young Star Commander.

“Aff, Star Commander Scott.  It was not—but then we know that our enemy will practice deceit and outright lies in order to win; it was expected, quiaff?”

The chastised young man quickly responded.  “Aff, my Khan.”

Still, it was intimidating, Nikolai thought.  A horde of light vehicles was zooming over the far ridge ahead of the Keshik—two hundred plus six-wheeled, ten-ton armored cars, tearing up the sod and soil in rooster-tails behind them as they speed towards the Clan Cluster as quickly as a Locust could run.  “Knife Dance Keshik,” the Khan broadcast, “they have broken their batchall and fielded forces not included in their bid—zellbrigen is hereby suspended.  Engage at will.  Star Colonel Myers—the 25th Cuirassier is needed; execute your drop.  Star Colonel Dinour—I want the 8th Dragoons to screen our right flank; we haven’t encountering their actual bid forces yet and I would prefer not to be surprised while we are dealing with this.”

The Cluster commanders responded with a quick “Aff”, as the Knife Dance Keshik opened fire upon the STAGs rapidly approaching.  An acronym for Single-crew Tactical Assault Gun-carrier, the STAG was an inexpensive, ICE powered, lightly armored, and lightly armed vehicle with tremendous mobility.  Armed only with a six-tube SRM launcher and a machine-gun, it was woefully short-ranged; but when used en masse, it posed a clear and present danger even to Clan OmniMechs.  But the weak armor was no match for the Clan weapons—and dozens, scores of STAGs erupted in balls of fire as single Gauss Rifle slugs, ER Large Laser beams, and ER PPC bolts tore through them, igniting fuel and munitions.

But the sheer numbers of the STAGs tearing across the landscape meant that some would enter range to engage the Keshik—or so it appeared.  Lines of crimson and cyan fire lanced down from the heavens as a star of Scorpion Zulu-class fighters streaked by in Nap of the Earth flight mode; their lasers ripping through the mass of STAGs as all ten crisscrossed the battlefield—scores more of the armored cars exploded beneath the strafing runs.

Half of the New Bergen militia force was now dead or crippled, but still the remainder closed, and Nikolai nodded to himself as in respect for the bravery of those Warriors facing him.  “Reserve Artillery Alpha—final protective fire grid coordinates 14-537-242; cluster rounds, one salvo.”  He reached down to a touch screen monitor at his knee and he drew a box indicating where he wanted the fire.

The Star Captain commanding the Scorpion’s artillery reserves did not question the order, even though the coordinates were just meters outside the danger zone of the blast and fragmentation from the ‘Mechs and Elementals of the Keshik.  His only answer was, “Shot,” and Nikolai turned his attention back to the wave of vehicles, triggering his own ER Medium Lasers and LB-10X autocannon upon three who had gotten a shade too close for comfort.

Clouds of SRMs blossomed from the lead STAGs, and Nikolai’s Summoner II quivered as the Anti-Missile System swiveled and engaged the lead flights.  A hailstorm of tungsten slugs flew outwards from the front lines of the Keshik and missiles exploded prematurely—but not all of them.  Explosions tore into his ‘Mechs and Elementals, but fully half of the missiles fired missed!  A combination of the range, the evasive movements of the STAGs, and the generally poor gunnery on the part of their militia pilots.

“Splash,” a voice called out on his radio as the grassy plain in front of Nikolai heaved when twenty Arrow IV artillery rockets split apart to deploy hundreds of sub-munitions, each containing a self-forging high explosive penetrator at its core.

It was too much for the Rasalhagi militia-men.  The survivors—barely sixty in all—broke and began to speed away, but the Knife Dance ran behind them, shooting them as they tried to evade.  The lead STAG crossed over the ridge, it’s wheels leaving the ground as the pilot did not slow—and it exploded in mid-air as the retreating vehicles ran straight into the fresh medium, heavy, and assault-weight ‘Mechs of the 25th Cuirassier!

In moments, the last of the gallant militiamen were put down, and Nikolai took a moment to assess his status.  Over half of his OmniMechs had suffered at least some damage—three had been destroyed by lucky hits.  Seventeen Elementals were killed as well, and many of the survivors had significant damage to their armor—but he had eliminated two full Regiments of light armor in exchange. 

“Knife Dance actual, Whip-Tail actual.  Fortified line of infantry bunkers and vehicle defilade positions in the woods to your east.  Estimate two plus regiments of infantry, supported by Axel, Vedette, and Scorpion tanks.  Correction, they have artillery as well—receiving Sniper and Thumper fire.”

“Aff, Whip-Tail actual.  Fall back on my position!  Star Captain Suvorov!”

“Yes, my Khan?” the pilot answered.

“Recon pass, one point, wood-line to the east of this ridge, back to the fens,” he said as his finger sketched out the flight path he wanted.  “Find those artillery pieces—your Star is loaded with cluster and inferno bombs?”
 
“Aff.”

“Set the woods ablaze, Star Captain.  Star Commander Baba, follow her in and hammer the woods with your full load.  Reserve Artillery Trinary—engage in counter-battery fire!”

“Aff.”  "Aff."  "Aff."

“Knife Dance Keshik skirt the woods to the south—25th Cuirassier to the north.  Whip-Tail, advance head-on once the bombing run is completed.”

“Aff.”

The Scorpions moved out quickly and precisely as eight Zulus screamed past, loosing their drag-retarded bomb loads over the woods.  Blossoms of inferno gel erupted in smoky plumes as the cluster bombs tore apart the trees and vehicles—and the dry underbrush and timber ignited in a firestorm.  A firestorm that grew in intensity as a full star of heavy-weight Huns followed, unleashing their own bomb loads and pouring PPC fire blindly into the thick wode.

“Scorpion OmniMechs advance into the fire!  Elementals move to engage the artillery!”

The OmniMechs moved in through the blaze, trusting in their heavy heat sink loads to deal with the flames.  The entire forest was criss-crossed with interlocking bunkers for infantry, razor wire, dug-in positions for tanks, and mines—but the New Bergen Armored Brigade had not expected the sudden incendiary attack from the air.  Entire companies of infantrymen were cremated where they stood as the white-hot gel showered down upon them; the mines detonated from the heat; the vehicles were blackened and burnt out—but it was only the first line.  Had the militia stayed in their defenses in the second and third lines, they might have slowed the Scorpions—but panic set in amongst them and they abandoned the fortifications to flee.  And were cut to ribbons by APG and cluster LB-X fire, even as the internal combustion tanks exploded at the touch of heavy energy weapons.

“Knife Dance actual, Gamma Recon Lead—eight Thumper, four Sniper at grid coordinates 15-214-100.  Supported by heavy tanks and missile carriers.” A dull explosion resounded over the radio.  “And air-defense.  Returning to base to refuel and rearm.”

“Aff, Gamma Recon Lead.  Reserve Artillery Alpha—pour it on that target until you exhaust your munitions, then return to the DropShips and reload.”

“Aff.”

“Star Colonel Myers, I want the 25th to take those artillery vehicles at the run—recover your Elementals and eliminate them.  Star Colonel Dinour—break into stars and form a skirmish line to uncover additional ambushes.  Your target is the capital city—do not stop unless you run into overwhelming resistance.”

“Aff.”  “Aff.”

“Knife Dance—press the attack against these tanks!  Do not let them escape!”

Nikolai pushed his Summoner II forward, his weapons spitting death towards the fleeing Rasalhague tanks and infantry.

Not bad for two hours work, the Khan thought as he pressed the throttle forward to the stops.

Resistance Cell, Estwyk
New Bergen, Clan Goliath Scorpion Occupation Zone
August 18, 3043

“How can we fight them, Gunthar?” asked one of the men gathered in the basement of the former nobleman’s home.  “They destroyed our defenses and militia in a single day!  And now they have brought down these . . . these Constabulary units, and they are everywhere!”  Lars Nielson raised his arm, and pointed out the codex he had been issued.  “And all of us have to wear these things; they might be able to track us with them!”

“Our fathers and grand-fathers fought the Kuritas, Lars; we can and will fight these Scorpions,” Gunthar Hitchens answered calmly.  “New Bergen’s people won’t forget that these occupiers are not of Rasalhague—they will fight, and they will resist.”

A third man snorted.  “And they will die, Gunthar.  Have you paid no attention to what this Clan has instituted since they arrived?  They outlawed all existing currency, and replaced it with these so-called Scorpion-bills.  But they are not bills; no, everything is now electronic, through this codex they have forced us wear.  And they provided a 1.5-1 exchange on existing saving accounts and people voluntarily turning in their currency!  Their Khan met with the leaders of each city, and told them of how other Clans treated their new conquests—he frightened them into accepting Scorpion rule with nary a protest!  It has not helped that he has tread but little on the people here—and he removed all charges for education and health care!”  Erik Storn, shook his head.  “Other than a few changes in the laws that govern us, they have done nothing to provoke the people of New Bergen—except the removal of nobles like you from power.”

“Aye,” the fourth man spoke up, an older man who had fought for Rasalhague independence.  “These Scorpions do not attend our services or join the congregations, but they have made no effort to shut down the kirks.  He has promised that any integration into their caste system will be slow—over a generation; and while some resent wearing a codex, for others it is less of a burden than all of the associated papers and wallets we used to carry—especially under the Snakes.  They brought in twenty-thousand of their own civilian castes, and are upgrading our infrastructure.  Every home will have power, they have promised; every child will be educated to the limit of his ability to learn.  And they have done away with all of the conflicting laws and regulations passed by the Elected Prince!  They even retained our local magistrates and sheriffs; and I need not remind you of how the women reacted when they rushed Magdalene’s daughter into surgery and saved her life—then shot the hospital administrator who had turned them away because they couldn’t afford the treatment!”

Erik snorted, as he quoted Nikolai Djerassi.  “All Scorpions will have whatever medical treatment they need—and you are now Scorpions.  Putting profit ahead of health care is an evil we have long done away with!”

Lars nodded.  “You believe that will not resonate among the people, Gunthar?”

“I built that damned hospital—I have the right to earn back what I invested!” the nobleman snarled.

“Yes, you do,” the fifth man said calmly.  “But you won’t until we force these Scorpions from our world.  We need people—angry people—who are willing to die for the cause of liberty.  And I know where we can secure the materials for bombs.”

The old man winced.  “Olaf, indiscriminate bombings will kill our own people as well.”

“Yes.  They are peasants and collaborators—but we can blame it on the Scorpion reprisals.  If we play this correctly, we can incite the entire city to rise up and overthrow them once their forces leave.”

“At least some of their Constabulary will remain, Olaf,” warned Erik.  “And I think you may well be overestimating how willing the average New Bergen is willing to cast away this . . . egalitarianism the Scorpions espouse.  ‘Among the Scorpions,’ Khan Djerassi says, ‘a man holds high office or great power not because of birth, but through merit.  All Scorpions have the same opportunity to rise—or fall—depending upon their quality and character.’  Many here didn’t like the nobility that Magnusson installed—they would prefer trying a new system that doesn’t rob them blind at every turn.”

“Then they are traitors!” Gunthar thundered.  “My family earned its place; my House was charged with New Bergen as our fief, and I will be damned if I just give it up to the unwashed masses!”

Erik glowered at the former ruler of New Bergen.  “If you had not ordered the militia to attack them in a foolish cavalry charge—a head-on assault!—and let them encounter our fortifications instead, we might not be having this discussion.”

“It was a sound plan, Erik—General Stavanger agreed.”

“Stavanger is dead; we have only your word for what he agreed to, Gunthar.  But I believe the plan was to ambush them at close range, melt away, and repeat it again and again and again—only you got impatient and demanded the 3rd and 4th Volunteers sweep away the invaders.  I heard that from your own former butler.”

“And so?  I paid for those militia—I paid for those useless vehicles!  And if they have been worth a half c-bill, they would have crushed this so-called Khan.  They outnumbered him four-to-one!”

Erik winced and the old man shook his head.  “Numbers do not equate to victory, Gunthar.  I served my time in the Rasalhague Regulars of old—I know well that fact.  You do not.”

“And your time is well past, Hans.  Go back to the nursing home, and let real men lead this resistance,” Gunthar snapped.

The old man’s blue eyes turned ice-cold and he glowered at Gunthar with such force the younger man looked away.

Olaf cleared his throat, and the tension in the room slowly ebbed.  “The hospital will be our first target—bombs will destroy the main part of the building, but we will ‘discover’ the paperwork that shows the Scorpions are sterilizing our people in the ruins.”

Hans spat on the floor.  “You would kill our own people, to regain your power?  Both of you are monsters, and I will have nothing to do with this.”

“Take care, old man,” snarled Gunthar.  “You are either on our side, or you stand on theirs!  Lars?  Erik?  Are you with me and Olaf or not?”

Lars slowly nodded his head, but Erik shook his and he stood beside Hans.  “No.  We will resist the Scorpions, but we will not kill our own people to do it.  And neither will you three.”

“And how do you plan on stopping us?”

Erik smiled.  “Lars was right.  The codex each of us wear has a tracking device—and a radio transmitter.  Mine has been active this entire meeting.”

Shocked expressions came over all four of the other men, but before another word could be spoken, the doors to the street above were kicked in and a stream of heavily armed Scorpion Constabulary flooded into the basement.  Lars, Gunthar, and Olaf were quickly handcuffed and removed—neither Erik or Hans were so much as touched.  The three noblemen were dragged outside, and their screams ended with the chatter of sub-machine gun fire.

And then Nikolai Djerassi walked down the steps into the basement.  “I thank you, Erik Eriksson; I do not mind fighting with those who disagree with me,” he nodded to Hans, “but those who indiscriminately slaughter the innocent and unarmed are reprehensible and without any sense of honor.”

“I will resist you,” the old warrior said.  And Nikolai smiled.  “I look forward to it, Hans Petrovich.  You two are free to go about your business.”

“You are not going to shoot us as well?” Hans asked suspiciously.

“Neg.  I will shoot you if you act in a violent fashion against Scorpion rule—but today both of you stood up to them.   I kill when I must, Warrior Hans, and when it is not required I do not kill.  I take no pleasure in the deaths of others; especially the death of a former Warrior who has much which to teach the next generation.  I could use a man like you—New Bergen could use a man like you, Hans Petrovich.”

“I think I will wait, Khan Djerassi.  Perhaps your occupation will be short-lived.”

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  But in the meantime, you would deprive the youth of this world the legacy of your experience; you have much to teach—and not much time remaining to impart those lessons.  If you reconsider, there will be a slot open for you in the New Bergen sibko that my Constabulary is organizing.  Good day, gentlemen.”

And the Scorpion Khan turned, ascended the stars, and left.

“Erik,” the old man whispered, “I believe that our troubles are only just starting.”  The younger man only nodded.