OBT Forum

Royal Palace, The Triad, Tharkad City
Tharkad, Lyran Commonwealth, Federated Commonwealth
August 22, 3043

Hanse woke with a start, and he took a moment to catch his breath.  The bed that he and Melissa shared was empty on her half, but he could see the faint illumination of light coming from her private study.  He swung his feet out of the bed, and shivered as they hit the cold flagstones; he quickly found his slippers and then pulled on a warm robe that he belted tight against his taut frame.

He crossed the room and eased the door open, and Melissa turned away from a map hanging on the wall and smiled at him.  “I couldn’t sleep, Hanse,” she said and she turned back towards the multi-colored image that highlighted the projections of the Clan’s next two waves.  “Twenty more worlds—and we aren’t putting up a fight on any but a handful,” she whispered.  “Thirty-nine lost members of the Commonwealth.  We need to be doing more.”

Hanse stepped up behind his wife and he put his arms around her and held her tight.  “We are, love.  These Wave II worlds are lost—we know that.  But each has some form of a defense; more really than we can afford.  I know, I know, I was the one who insisted that the 39th Avalon Hussars remain in place to get a feel for the attacker—and we lost all of them.  Right now, we’ve got elements of ten RCTs on those worlds, Melissa, every last one of them volunteers.  They know they have to bleed the Clans.”

“Before they die,” the Archon whispered.

“Before they die,” her husband echoed in a whisper.  “Wave III is where we really start the defense—fifty BattleMech Regiments, more than a hundred regiments of armor, two hundred of infantry, and seventy battalions of artillery.  Spread across twenty-two worlds.  And we have had the time to build the fortifications—this is where we stop them.”

“And if they break through?”

“They won’t.”

“If they do, Hanse?”

“We are assembling another force—an even larger force—at Pandora and La Grave.  And those Regiments are getting the first of the new production straight from Hesperus II and Coventry and New Avalon and Talon/Wernke and Oliver.  And all of the other factory worlds.  And by that time, we will have done our job to bleed them—and then it is Jaime Wolf’s turn to go on the offensive.”

“I went to school with Davis Winfield, you know,” she said quietly.  “He wanted to be a history teacher, but his father insisted he take a commission and carry on the family name.  He’s one of your volunteers in Wave II, Hanse.”

“I know,” the Fox whispered and he kissed his wife’s hair softly.

“What about this operation General Winston briefed us on?  Will it make that much of a difference?”

“Trust me, love,” Hanse Davion said, “if we can destroy their supplies in Chainelaine, it will be well worth losing all twenty of the Regiments we are sending with Ariana.  It is that important.”

“So another forlorn hope?”

“They might have only garrison forces there, Melissa—they might not.  But if they do, the regiments we are sending might be able to get in and get out—maybe even with a few DropShip loads of those supplies they have stockpiled.  But for that operation, speed and mobility counts—that is why we only gave Ariana ‘Mech regiments, not RCTs.”

“And you appointed Stephen as the second-in-command,” she whispered back.

“Aye.  He’ll bring back the Armored Cavalry if anyone can—and if he can’t he will give the Clanners pure Hell until they put him down.”

“Aunt Nondi is having a fit—I told her we needed to replace those four regiments in Wolf’s Grand Army.  She still thinks the entire thing is a ruse and he is going to come after us.”

“He had the chance five years ago to kill all of us on Northwind, Melissa.”

“I know that—but I will let you convince Nondi.”

Hanse chuckled.  “That woman hates me worse than the Clans, Melissa.  If I told her Tharkad was cold, she’d go outside in a bikini just to prove me wrong.”

Melissa started to laugh, and then she punched Hanse in the ribs with her elbow—lightly.  “Don’t make me laugh when I’m being serious!”

She leaned back into her husbands arms and she slowly nodded.  “So this is how Mother—and you—felt in the 4th War?”

“Every time I’ve sent men to their deaths, I’ve prayed it was the last time, Melissa.  Maybe this will be the last time I have to do this—you have to do this.”

“Amen,” she answered.  And the two just stood there, holding each other in front of the map.

DropShip Knife Dance Alpha, Upper Atmosphere
Rasalhague, Free Rasalhague Republic
August 26, 3043

The Scorpion-class troop carrier shivered as it dropped like a stone through the upper reaches of Rasalhague’s atmosphere.  But Nikolai was well used to such high-speed entries and he ignored the groans and creaks coming from the stressed structural members, the pops and snaps of equipment as the glowing outer hull tried desperately to shed its heat on those within.

The Khan ignored all of that and he waited until the static cleared from his display and showed that the DropShip had passed through the communications blackout of reentry.  They certainly had spirit, he thought, as he watched the icons of Rasalhagi aerospace fighters and assault ships vanish from the small display—but they didn’t die alone.  Bear and Scorpion aerospace fighter casualties were a full twenty percent higher than anticipated—and Nikolai fully expected their reserves were waiting for an opportune moment.

But WarShips were stationed at every known proximity point—although few JumpShips had been captured; instead they fled the moment that the Clans began to emerge.  Good enough, Nikolai thought, that they are not here to evacuate their troops from the surface.  A light on his command console suddenly glowed a brilliant crimson and Nikolai touched a control on the edge of the monitor; it retracted into a slot built obediently.

“Knife Dance Actual,” the voice of the DropShip commander called out, “we have another wave of Rasalhagi fighters inbound.  Our pilots are engaging, but there could be leakers—we are dropping your forces early.”

“Acknowledged,” Nikolai answered as he tightened the straps which held him in place one last time.  The red light began to slowly flash as the bay door covering the drop chute was retracted and the howl of the wind filled the bay.  The Khan jerked as the machinery lifted his seventy-ton Summoner II and its cubicle like a toy and locked into place.  A miniaturized systems schematic showed that four other OmniMechs were in position, along with the two fighters and ten Elemental infantry of his Command Trinary.  Seven more OmniMechs waited their turn, and then the red light blinked rapidly three times and went out.  An emerald light replaced it—and Nikolai’s stomach lurched as the catapult fired him and ‘Mech away from the DropShip at a sharp angle.  The Khan kept his hands away from the controls as the computer automatically stabilized the OmniMech, plunging downwards with ever increasing velocity.

One after the other, the five jump jets fired in sequence keeping the ‘Mech upright and slowing its descent.  Far above him, Nikolai could see faint traces of the crimson lasers burning outwards form the now so tiny DropShip, and in the distance there was a puff of smoke as a fighter—either one of his Scorpions or a Rasalhagi defender—exploded under the pounding of beams and shells.  Then the ‘Mech plunged into the thick cloud cover and Nikolai could see nothing outside his red-lit cockpit but the drops of condensing water on the outer surface of his canopy.  He was coming down far to the east of his assigned drop-zone, and it appeared that he would be the last to make rendevous.  He smiled; no plan survives contact with the enemy, he thought.

The jets were firing for longer and longer durations, as the ground below rapidly approached, but his airspeed was slowing, Nikolai noted.  Still, he kept his hands clenched tightly on his safety harness, trusting in the computer to do its job.  The fuel gauges on the external tanks harnessed to his Summoner II were dropping precipitously, and now the jets did not slacken their full-throated roar.  Suddenly a warning light began to blink as hostile sensors began to reflect off the surface of his 'Mech.  Nikolai activated his Summoner II Primes ECM Suite and set his anti-missile system to auto-engage as he passed through 800 meters and exited the clouds.

“Stravag!” Nikolai cursed as he saw the collection of Rasalhague ‘Mechs and tanks beneath him.  Now he grabbed the controls and adjusted his course to slid behind the shelter of a low ridge; thankfully, the Rasalhagi were as startled as he was!  That didn't keep them from flushing missiles at him as he passed just within range, but the combination of the inclement weather (drizzling rain), the electronic screams of the ECM Suite, the range, and the rate of his descent towards the ground and away from the troops below combined to generate misses for all but one flight, which his AMS tore into with a vengeance.  Still three surviving missiles made it through and started the 'Mech spinning as they struck the right hip.

Nikolai stood on his jump jet pedals and he pulled out of the spin, and slammed into the ground hard at a full run, just as the last of the external fuel was consumed.  Almost without thinking, Nikolai cut out his jump jets and jettisoned the external tanks—and he brought his guns on-line, and launched a remote sensor pod.  He activated the assembly beacon and it began singing the siren song to his trothkin as the Khan of Clan Goliath Scorpion took aim and fired an ER PPC bolt into the bow of the Patton tank adorned with the crest of Hansen’s Roughriders as it crested the ridge.  These weren't Rasalhagi troops!

Four Warrior H-7 helicopters slid over the ridge further to the south, and they began firing burst after burst of light autocannon fire towards Nikolai as he continued to back up.  The Scorpion swiveled his torso and pressed the firing stud, and the two surviving VTOLs quickly pulled back out of range.  The console beeped, and Nikolai looked down at the information streaming across the telemetry feed to the sensor pod—which suddenly ended as one of the mercenaries shot it.  Discretion is the better part of valor, he told himself firmly as he ceased backing up and fired his jump jets to clear another ridge—and saw with his own eyes the masses of ‘Mechs and tanks and infantry now forming up in pursuit, before he turned and began to run after hitting the ground.

“Knife Dance Actual to all Scorpion and Bear units.  Confirm elements of at least six mercenary regiments on planet.  Repeat at least six mercenary regiments.  Rock Minders and Knife Dance Keshik form up on my location at grid coordinates 23-1074-441.”  Nikolai transmitted the sensor data—including the unit crests of all three regiments of the Lexington Combat Group, the 21st Centauri Lancers, Narhal’s Raiders, and Hansen’s Roughriders.

“Knife Dance Actual, Ourse Actual,” Amanda Tseng’s voice came over the radio.  “Golden Bears and Night Howlers are engaged with KungsArmee elements outside the capital.”  She paused and then her voice came back.  “That is thirty kilometers from your assigned drop-zone, Knife Dance Actual, quiaff.”

“Aff.  We had to drop early and I was the first out of the DropShips—and landed the furthest east.”

“We are heavily engaged, Knife Dance Actual—do you require assistance?”

“Neg, Ourse Actual,” Nikolai answered as a Gauss slug slammed into the rocky ridgeline he was crossing; he jumped again, turning 360-degrees and his ER PPC spat a bolt that blew the turret off of the Vedette-class medium tank that shot at him!  Hah!  But he didn’t tarry.  “I have five Clusters, Ourse Actual—if I cannot handle six regiments of mercenaries with that, then I need to die today.”

“Acknowledged, Knife Dance Actual,” Amanda replied with a chuckle.  “Just remember what you told me about over-confidence—often enough it turns around to bite you in the ass.  Ourse Actual out.”

Oh, Amanda, he thought as he weaved and dodged and stayed one step ahead of his pursuers.  I am confident my Scorpions can defeat these mercenaries—whether I live to see it happen or not is quite another matter.  An amber light on his console lit, and Nikolai smiled.  “Reserve Artillery Alpha, I have a fire mission for you—FASCAM on my current position in line north-to-south, six salvoes, extend it for two kilometers,” his finger traced the box on the touchscreen between his knees.  “Mark.”

“Shot,” replied his artillery commander.  Nikolai smiled, the rest of his Scorpions should be massing just ahead of him.

Trinary Command, 14th Scorpion Hussars
Rasalhague, Free Rasalhague Republic
August 26, 3043

Almost a score of scarlet icons on the display screen circled around a single golden unit, and saKhan Randall Posavatz pressed the throttle of his Stormcrow II-A forward again; but the OmniMech was already at maximum power.  Spread out to either side of the second-ranking officer of Clan Goliath Scorpion were the rest of the fast light and medium OmniMechs of the 14th Hussars, trailed in the distance by 8th Dragoons, the Knife Dance Keshik, and then the 24th and 25th Cuirassier.  Just a few moments longer, my Khan, he thought as he weaved in and out amongst the strands of forest and jumped over obstacles that would slow his progress.

He raced up to the top of a steep ridge, and now he could see the fight with his own naked eyes.  Nikolai’s Summoner II had stopped running and it was squaring off against nearly twenty ‘Mechs built for pursuit:  three Phoenix Hawks, an Assassin, a Clint, two Vulcans, two Firestarters, a Jenner, an ancient Falcon, four Stingers, and four Wasps.  Five more ‘Mechs were lagging behind (a Cicada, a Hermes II, and three Locusts), their lack of jump jets having separated them from the ad-hoc mercenary force sent after the Khan.

And yet more hostiles were just now entering the range of Randall’s sensors.

That did not matter, of course; the saKhan snorted with derision.  What mattered was to keep the Khan alive—then the Scorpions would defeat these enemies in detail.  Randal raised his arms and targeted the closest Phoenix Hawk.  He could hear the buzz of the fire control computer as it locked onto the antiquated machine and he squeezed his twin triggers.  The brilliant beam of an ER Large Laser tore across the torso and shoulder of the unsuspecting ‘Mech, even as the LB-10X autocannon thundered in fury sending a pattern of cluster munitions down-range that erupted in explosions across the chest, upper legs and arms of the scout leader.

Randall snarled as the remainder of the Scorpion Warriors picked out their own targets—only eighteen of the Hussars fired, each one picking a different enemy below.  Randall charged down the hill and his thumb activated the radio transmitter on a wide-band non-encrypted frequency.

“FREE-BIRTH!” he bellowed.  “Have you no honor in battle?  Are you that barbaric that you must outnumber your foe nineteen-to-one in order to still lose against a worthy opponent?  Today, you face the Scorpions!  I, Randall Posavatz, saKhan of Clan Goliath Scorpion, face you today!  Flee, you cowards!  Flee in shame and cringe in terror at what you have brought upon yourselves!”  He squeezed the triggers again, and once more the Phoenix Hawk below rocked under the assault—then he pressed a second thumb switch and an ER Medium Laser lanced out to add its measure of destruction to the carnage ripping apart the ‘Mech below.  Steam rose in the cockpit and Randall blinked away a few beads of sweat, but the powerful cooling system quickly compensated for the heat spikes.

The mercenaries began to withdraw—but the appearance of the 14th Scorpion Hussars, named Swift Retribution—had been too sudden, the firepower disparity had flipped overwhelmingly in the Clan’s favor, and fully half of their ‘Mechs crumpled to the ground at the first exchange of fire.  The Scorpions were in no mood to allow their foes to escape either, and the Hussars kept pace with the fleeing enemy, pouring fire into the pursuit force with a vengeance.

Randall fired a third time, leaving the autocannon to cool, but the two lasers were enough to finish off the Phoenix Hawk.  He walked up besides his Khan’s heavier and slower Summoner II.  “Needed help with only nineteen-to-one odds, my Khan?  Are you slipping in your old age?”

Nikolai chuckled; his armor was deeply gouged and blackened with missile impacts and laser fire and the star-patterned penetrations of autocannon shells—even a few splintered patches from machine-guns and scorch marks from flamers adorned the heavy OmniMech.  “Pull the Hussars back to the far side of the ridge, Randall,” he ordered quietly.  “There is a lot of firepower out there hoping they get too close.”

“Aff,” he answered and he barked the orders out—and the Hussars broke off their pursuit and pulled back .  “I sent in two recon flights—their air defense is good, my Khan.  Three of the fighters were shot down, but the fourth indentified several batteries of artillery.  I had Reserve Artillery Alpha send them a opening gift.”

“The Bears?” Nikolai asked he jogged his OmniMech over the crest of the ridge and into the sheltering valley beyond.

“Fighting the KungsArmee for every inch of ground in Reykjavik against six regiments of regulars and a hodge-podge of mercenary battalions and companies nearly equal in size to what we are facing off against.  And they reported a single Capellan regiment as part of the defense.”

Nikolai stopped.  “Did you say a Capellan Confederation unit is defending the capital of the Free Rasalhague Republic?”

“I did, and so say the Bears.  They identified the Capellans as Kingston’s Legionnaires.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Nikolai whispered.  “I expected an increase in the defense, Randall—I did not expect nearly nineteen regiments, exclusive of militia.  Still, that is for later.  When our complete force has assembled, we are taking the fight to these mercenaries—we cannot allow them to link up with the defenders of Reykjavik.”

“Twenty minutes, and The Rock Minders will be massed, my Khan.  What of our planned objective?”

“The enemy is here, so the battle is here as well,” Nikolai answered.  “Taking our assigned objective will not matter if this force can consolidate within the sprawl of Reykjavik.  Status on our fighters?”

“Rearming and refueling,” the saKhan paused.  “We lost over thirty in the landings.  A full fifth of our air cover.”

“It cannot be helped now; luckily we have a point of supply relatively close by, saKhan.  When will they be available?”

“Thirty minutes . . . but the DropShips had to return to orbit with our supplies.”

Nikolai winced.  “At least the majority of our OmniMechs utilize lasers and PPCs, but our artillery . . .”

“Is down to twelve more fire missions.”

“We will try to land the supplies again once we begin our attack—their own fighters will be torn between saving their parent formations or savaging our DropShips.  Pass the word to the DropShip commanders and crews—they are to land regardless of opposition this time.”

“Aff, my Khan.”

“And Randall?”

“Yes, my Khan?”

“The odds started out at twenty-four-to-one; you will find my five kills scattered between here and my initial landing point.”

saKhan Posavatz began to laugh.

Mercs know nothing of honor. 24 to 1 whittled down by a True Warrior

And he is still alive? Those Mercs must go to training 

The Mercs are Inner Sphere Scum We of the Clans are True Warriors. The Best of the Clans are Clan Fennec and our Brother Clan Clan Ice Hellion and this version of the Goliath Scorpions. We are the True Warriors Seyla.

Scorpion Field Headquarters
Rasalhague, Free Rasalhague Republic
August 26, 3043

The rain had finally stopped and the clouds parted to reveal the sun half concealed on the horizon as it slowly set.  Eleven straight hours of maneuver and skirmish and counter-maneuvers had led to this.  The enemy had learned—rather quickly—that the Scorpions could out-march and out-flank him at will.  And his one attempt to break through to the beleaguered Rasalhague capital forty-five kilometers distance away had been repulsed with heavy losses in his lead elements.  So instead of attacking head-on, the commander on the opposite side had instead withdrawn by overwatch elements, his flanks protected by artillery fire and hastily laid minefields.

But now he had stopped running and Nikolai frowned as he considered the ground that his enemy had chosen to defend.  The high ridge on the other side of the wide valley was the tallest and steepest that the Khan had yet seen on Rasalhague, nearly a bluff in places.  Some of their vehicles had required the engineers to winch them up the final few meters to the heavily forested crest.  But leading up to the steep slopes was long gradually sloping field some 2,000 or so meters across with no cover other than a few ragged bushes and rain-fed grass perhaps waist high on a man.

To the north, a raging river flowed down from the not-so-distant mountains and their glaciers, and it protected that flank with a deep ravine which the water had worn away through solid stone over the eons.  It wasn’t so wide that most of Nikolai’s OmniMech couldn’t jump it—but it was wide enough that none of his heaviest units, or his Elementals, had the reach.  Several ancient moss-covered moraines, evidence of the planets distant glaciations, bordered the bluff on the south, even steeper and more treacherous than the frontal approach.  And behind the bluff, the foothills of the mountains beyond extended down.

“Our enemy knows good terrain, quiaff?” Nikolai asked.

“Aff, my Khan,” Randall answered.  “He is concentrated up there and set up to gun us down as we cross the fields—but he has no line of retreat, not for his tanks and support elements.  We do have Serket in orbit.”

“Neg,” Nikolai replied sharply.  “I will not be the Khan who opens that can of worms, Randall.  And they just might have an escape route after all—the maps show there is a pass behind them, leading up and over this stretch of mountains.  Narrow and tight—the perfect terrain for them to defend in.”

“If they can get their vehicles up there; some of those elevation changes are pretty steep, my Khan.”

“No, their commander is smart, saKhan.  Aerial recon showed that he had a supply base set up here—I am willing to wager that he was already having his engineers work on that pass before we ever arrived, just in case he had to withdraw.”

The saKhan grunted.  “If he gets up in the mountains and through that pass, we will be fighting an insurgency on the sea coast for weeks.  And with the number of boats down there, they could redeploy anywhere on this half of the continent.”

“Aff,” Nikolai answered as he considered the problem.  “saKhan Posavatz, I want you to pull all the Deathstalkers from the 24th, 25th, and the Knife Dance.  That gives you thirty-five OmniMechs.  I am attaching seven Stars of Elementals to your command as well.  Board ship and redeploy to here,” Nikolai tapped the very center of that long, narrow pass on the map with his finger.  “You will have disembark on the other side of the mountains and you must move fast to reach that point before they can start their withdrawal, quiaff?”

“Aff.”

“Star Colonel Myers, I am breaking up your 25th to temporarily fill the gaps in the 24th and the Knife Dance Keshik and to bulk up the 8th Dragoons—you will assume command of the 14th Hussars in place of the saKhan.  Exchange your OmniMech for his.”

“Aff,” the veteran Star Colonel answered, with only a twinge of regret.  Nikolai smiled.  “Star Colonels Dinour and Collesano—I want the 8th Dragoons, the 24th Cuirassiers, and my Knife Dance Keshik on their northern flank after night fall.  We are going to sweep around wide and hopefully miss any pickets they might have posted; but in case we do not miss them, our Elementals will already have infiltrated those woods and be stationed as our own picket line, 500 meters short of the ravine.  Star Colonel Myers, the 14th Hussars are to demonstrate here along the front—keep their attention, but do not get yourself drawn into to a short-range fire-fight, quiaff?”

“Aff.”

“Your elementals will be assigned to the flanking party.  Star Captain Wagner.  Reserve Artillery Alpha has enough ammunition for three good fights since the DropShips landed, quiaff?”

“Aff.”

“I want it used tonight.  I want you to keep their attention focused on the 14th and your artillery ‘Mechs.  You will suffer counter-battery fire—and their guns outrange yours.  Keep moving and do not let them rest up there; I do not want five minutes to go by without a cluster or inferno warhead landing their midst.  Mix it up a bit—keep them guessing and throw in some FASCAMs, Illumination, and Masker rounds.”

“Smoke, my Khan?” the artillery officer asked.

Nikolai smiled.  “Smoke—after you drop a couple of loads of riot-gas first.”  The Scorpion officers chuckled at the evil idea.  “Star Colonel Suvorov—you are now the ranking pilot in Alpha Galaxy, quiaff?”

“Aff,” she answered.

“At precisely 2300 hours, I want every Hun and Zulu we have left to rip through their defenses along the northern flank.   Then stand by for on-call airstrikes.  Star Captain Wagner, at 2257, you will salvo every tube you have on their defensive lines on the western face until your magazines run dry—make them think that we are coming up and over the bluff.   At the same time, I want the 14th to advance in line abreast with your ECM set to deception mode; I want those mercenaries to believe that there are five Clusters of us advancing on them, Star Colonel Wagner.  Make them redeploy to face you, but then pull back to defensive position on our ridge here when the airstrike goes in.”

“Aff, my Khan,” the solidly build officer replied, nodding his appreciation for the danger of his role.  If the mercenaries up there came after him—without Elementals and neither heavy or assault-weight OmniMechs—he would be in serious trouble.

“The 8th Dragoons, 24th Cuirassier, and Knife Dance will cross the ravine immediately after the fighter strike passes by—with full loads of mechanized Elemental battle armor.  Warriors, we are going to get in knife range under the cover of darkness and we will then proceed to tear them apart from the inside out.  Quiaff?”

“Aff.”

“saKhan Posavatz—the survivors are going to storm up that pass.  You have to be in place to plug that gap and hold.”

“They shall not pass, my Khan,” Randall replied.

“And we will be pushing them, my Scorpions,” Nikolai paused.  “We will take heavy casualties, but you must set that aside.  Star Colonel Myers—once they start to break, your light elements in the 14th are to meet up with us to keep the pressure on these mercenaries.  If I should fall, tactical command will pass to Star Collesano—strategic command will rest with the saKhan.” He looked sternly at his officers one by one and then he firmly nodded.  “There is no margin for error here.  We win and prove that we are better than they are, or we die.  Either way, Warriors, we shall do so as Scorpions.”

“Seyla,” snapped Randall Posavatz.

“SEYLA!” thundered the assembled commanders of Alpha Galaxy.  And Nikolai stood up straight.  “Randall board ship—have your Warriors get what shuteye they can before you set down in the lower pass on the far side.  Everyone else, make certain your men and women get a hot meal and take an hour or so for sleep.  The 8th, 24th, and Knife Dance move out in two hours—you have that amount of time to make your preparations.  Dismissed.”

So much info kept hidden.
Can't the Clans work together?