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Trinary Command, Knife Dance Keshik
Rasalhague, Free Rasalhague Republic
August 26, 3043

Nikolai nodded as he checked the time on his cockpit display; they were ahead schedule and already approached the ravine, which lay less than half a kilometer away.  For the past half hour, the Scorpions had moved slowly and carefully forward; while there were vibration sensors that could detect them, the irregular rain of artillery rockets on the mercenaries should keep trigging those systems.  His Elementals had rejoined the OmniMechs, and reported that there were no pickets on this side of the small river canyon.

Now it was just a matter of waiting until the appointed time.

“My Khan?” the voice of one of his youngest Warriors sounded in Nikolai’s cockpit.  The Khan frowned . . . while the chance of detection was minuscule, given the frequency-hopping encrypted burst transmission radios in use by the Clans, the broadcast was an unecessary risk.

“Yes?”

“My Khan, I wonder why we are carrying out such a complex plan?  Clausewitz teaches us that everything in war is simple; but the simplest things are difficult.  The difficulties accumulate and end by producing a kind of friction that is inconceivable unless one has experienced war.”

“Star Commander Jason Scott!” a second voice barked out; that belonging to Star Colonel Gloria Dinour, the commander of the 8th Dragoons.  “Now is neither the time nor the place to question the Khan!  And one of your rank cannot question him regardless!”

“With all due respect, Star Colonel Dinour, we are Scorpions not Vipers.  It is our duty to question, to Seek the Truth.  Even to question our leaders.”

“Enough, Star Colonel,” Nikolai interjected with a frown.  “Star Commander, we have not much time here; I chose this plan to ensure that none of our opponents could escape and to keep them unsuspecting.”

“Aff, my Khan.  I understand that—but could not a simpler plan have accomplished the same?”

Nikolai stared at his command console in surprise.  He started to give a heated reply—but then he paused and gave the question serious thought.  At last he asked a question of his own.  “What would you have suggested then, Star Commander?  Since we have at least five minutes before the airstrike passes.”

Now there was a pause on the other end of the radio transmission, but then the strong confident voice of the young warrior came back.  “If an assault were the only solution, I would have suggest a high-altitude Elemental drop into the center of their perimeter.  The storm clouds above would have masked their descent, leaving no more than few seconds of warning before they landed.  While our opponents were dealing with the Elementals, hit them with all of our forces at once, including close-air support.  And the division of our forces was . . . needlessly complicated.  If we needed to block the pass, it would have been better to detach entire Trinary formations, no disrespect intended, my Khan.  All of our stars lost Warriors whose reactions we have come to anticipate and rely upon—now we are attacking with new members, hastily plugged into place.  It disrupts our well-knit combat teams.”

“However,” the young man pressed on, “we might well have forced their surrender by sending one of our Warriors to negotiate—a comprehensive discourse on how Serket could deal with them might well have convinced them of the futility of continuing resistance and led to their surrender with no more casualties among our Clan.”

“You realize that I do not intend to usher in orbital bombardment, quiaff?”

“Aff.  I know that, and you know; their commander does not know that, my Khan.”

Nikolai slowly nodded.  “You speak well, Star Captain Scott,” he finally said.  “But it is too late to alter our course now.”

The voice on the other end of the radio transmission gasped.  “Star Captain?  My Khan, I am a Star Commander!”

“Neg, Star Captain Scott.  Few others would have questioned me—fewer still would have presented not one, but two options, when I asked.  But enough of this.   Scorpions,” Nikolai broadcast as the artillery bombardment began raining down on the mercenaries in full force.  “Ready yourselves for battle.”

Trinary Command, Knife Dance Keshik
Rasalhague, Free Rasalhague Republic
August 26, 3043

“Repeat the target zone is hot.  Proceed on mission.”

Nikolai winced.  “Scorpions!  They know we are coming—advance once the fighters are past . . . and make every shot count!  Colonel Myers,” he transmitted.  “Move the 14th Hussars out—we are going to need your command as well.”

The wood-line on the opposite side of the ravine erupted in chain of tremendous explosions and the Scorpion Khan pressed his throttle forward and began to run towards the edge—and the precipitous drop into the river down below.  At the last second, he fired his jump jets and the 70-ton heavy OmniMech flew across the gap, his LB-10X barking flame and thunder as he fired cluster munitions into the flank of a Demolisher that had survived the bombing run.  The cluster munitions detonated against the side of the assault-tank, but that did not prevent the crew from firing both of the AC-20s at the chest of Nelson Elam’s Mongrel II.  One shot missed—the second connected and his aide’s lighter OmniMech spun around and nearly fell, but Nelson managed to keep his feet beneath him.

The Elementals riding his Summoner II activated their jump-jets and leapt onto the Demolisher’s hull and began tearing into the turret with battle claws and plasma cutting torches.  Three cyan bolts streaked past Nikolai’s cockpit and he in turn trigger his own ER Large Laser at the distant Schrek.  Then Nikolai took a step backwards as an Atlas painted in the colors of Narhal’s Raiders emerged from the woods and unleashed a hail of fire at the Khan.  The OmniMech staggered under a rain of missiles, shells, and laser beams, but the Khan returned fire with his autocannon and three ER Medium Lasers, melting deep gouges in the thick armor of the beast before him.  And at that moment, the night was transformed into daylight as hundreds of lasers and PPCs and autocannons streaked down from the sky—four cyan bolts caught the Atlas in the chest and the armor didn’t melt this time, it shattered!  An ejection seat launched from the death’s head cockpit and the assault ‘Mech crumpled to the ground.

The Khan fired his jump jets and he advanced deeper into the camp, which was a chaotic scene from a surreal nightmare of some necrosia-addled addict.  Scorpions fought mercenaries at point blank range, lit only by the raging fires, the brief illuminations of autocannon and missiles; the bright beams of lasers and glowling bolts of PPCs.  OmniMechs, BattleMechs, vehicles, Elementals, and infantry were exchanging fire in an orgy of death and destruction; there were no clean lines nor was any attempt made to fight fairly—in this battle both sides grasped for every advantage they could wring out.

An alert sounded and Nikolai spun around as a lighter ‘Mech wielding a . . . a massive ‘Mech-sized axe leapt out at him.  The Khan triggered his weapons and the Hatchetman staggered, but then the three-ton tungsten axe slammed into the shoulder of the Khan’s OmniMech and he staggered beneath the blow.  Red lights began flashing in the cockpit as his engine took damage and the mercenary before him raised the axe in a two-handed grip.

And the Hatchetman exploded under a fusillade of fire into his rear armor as Elam caught up with him.  “Thought you might need a hand, my Khan,” the aide said as he guarded Nikolai so that his commander could catch his breath.  “Fighters are RTB back to the DropShips to rearm and refuel—the fighters we have left, my Khan.  We lost forty-three—including Star Colonel Suvorov.”

Nikolai winced as he stood his heavily damaged Summoner II, but then he heard Nelson’s sudden command.  “DOWN!” his aide yelled as he snapped his arms up into the firing position.

Nikolai instantly dropped prone as Nelson exchanged fire with a battered Marauder, putting himself between the Khan and the enemy commander.  But the Marauder wasn’t alone.  Four ‘Mechs from the Lexington Combat Group’s command battalion poured their combined fire into Nelson’s already damaged Mongrel II and he was forced to eject.  Then they turned back to Nikolai.

“Surrender and you will live.  Please be too proud to do the smart thing,” Nikolai heard the mercenary commander snarl over the radio.

Fifteen LRMs streaked out of the darkness and slammed into the right weapons pod, the right torso, and right leg of the Marauder, quickly followed by a blazing PPC bolt that severed the merc’s right arm from the ‘Mech, and two emerald beams of lasers that melted away the rest of the right torso armor, and ate their way instead—to find the munitions bin for the autocannon carried by the heavy ‘Mech.  The explosion sent the ‘Mech to the ground, even as another ejector seat rocketed upwards.

The remainder of the LCG’s command turned towards the new arrival and opened fire with every weapon they had:  and between an Orion, a Rifleman, and a Centurion, firepower they had plenty of.  But the new Warrior danced and weaved his 65-ton Hellbringer II with an agility and grace that few ever managed to master and many—not all, but many—of the shots missed.

“I am here, my Khan,” Nikolai heard the calm voice of Star Captain Scott as he jumped behind the Rifleman and contemptuously fired only his three medium lasers into its back—all three shots sliced through the weak rear armor and another ammunition explosion ripped the 60-ton BattleMech apart. He did not quit moving however, and he circled the remaining two ‘Mechs, trying to keep between the Khan’s near helpless OmniMech and their guns.

The Centurion missed Jason with his autocannon, but his laser burnt a strip along one leg; the Orion backed up and salvoed his missiles and autocannon, and he hit with both.  Seven missiles peppered the Clan heavy, and the slug tore into Jason’s right arm.  Jason aimed his PPC at the Centurion, and a single bolt took off the ‘Mechs arm at the shoulder—and he fired a single low-powered laser at the Orion.  The pilot of the mercenary heavy ‘Mech salvoed every weapon he had, but although Jason staggered under the fire, he kept the TAG system steady on his foes chest—and out of the darkness four homing Arrow IV artillery rockets streaked down and engulfed the Orion in a massive explosion.  The Centurion charged in, his left arm raised to punch Jason’s Hellbringer II, but the Scorpion Warrior only lifted his left arm and flushed fifteen LRMs directly into face of oncoming ‘Mech—when the smoke cleared the headless medium ‘Mech fell over backwards.

Nikolai noticed movement on the ground and he activated his flood-lights to reveal several dozen mercenary infantrymen—infantrymen who fired a hail of short-range missiles into the Hellbringer, engulfing Scott in inferno gel.  But Scott had bought enough time for the Elementals attached to Nikolai and Nelson to catch up, and ten APGs tore into the conventional infantry, who quickly died under the fire. 

“Still with us, Star Captain Scott?” Nikolai asked.

“Aff, my Khan,” answered the young man over the radio.  “I am roasting a bit in here, but no internal penetrations.  It looks as though we are among the survivors.”

Nikolai nodded and noted that he hadn’t said victors.  Scott stood guard over the Khan until OmniMechs with hand actuators arrived to remove the remains of the Marauder which had pinned Nikolai’s Summoner II in place.   â€œThe mercenaries?”

“Running up the pass towards the saKhan,” answered Star Colonel Myers.  “They still have a sizeable force—three plus regiments en route to his position.”

“Our casualties?”

“Heavy, my Khan.  We lost sixty two OmniMechs and more than two hundred Elementals.  Every survivor is damaged—and at least half of our surviving OmniMechs are in critical need of repairs.  Including yours.  I can assemble a force of sixty-five OmniMechs and eighty-five Elementals to pursue the mercenaries, but no more than that.  Star Colonels Dinour and Suvorov are dead; Star Colonel Collesano has been critically wounded and is being evacuated to Serket's surgery.”

Nikolai was silent as he considered the . . . disaster that this battle had been.  Finally freed, he slowly stood his ‘Mech.  “Star Captain Scott.”

“Yes, my Khan?”

“Do I still have a Warrior willing to convince those mercenaries in the pass to surrender?”

“With the bluff of using Serket’s weapons, my Khan?”

“Neg.  If they refuse, I will annihilate them with our cruiser—can you convince them to lay down their arms and spare us from that fate, Star Captain?”

The Hellbringer II, scorched and blackened, executed a slow bow, and Scott’s voice came over the radio receiver in the Khan’s cockpit.  “Aff, my Khan.  I believe that I can.”

Borthas Pass
Rasalhague, Free Rasalhague Republic
August 26, 3043

Colonel Fredrick Tolliver of the 241st Battle Group (Lexington Combat Group) frowned as the scout finished his report.  Apparently, there was a pavilion tent set up in the pass ahead—a tent flying a white flag of truce.  “Z, any contact with the General?” he asked his executive officer, Frederic Zaffson.

“None, sir.  The survivors of the 180th Dragoons and 32nd Recon said he led the HQ Battalion to cover their retreat—we’ve also had no contact with Narhal’s Raiders since the Clan assault.”

Tolliver nodded.  “You said you talked to this Clanner?” he asked the scout.

“Yes, sir,” the woman answered.  “It was pretty damned weird, Sir.  There’s just one of them there, sitting at a field table with three empty chairs.  He said he wishes to discuss ending this campaign with you—and he asked for you, Wolfgang Hansen, and Colonel Kusaka by name, Sir.”

“Are they chasing us, Fred?”

“No, sir—they have blocked the entrance to the pass.  And recon flights have indicated that have a second force at the summit . . . comprised completely of assault ‘Mechs.”

A chill went through Tolliver.  According to the survivors there had been NO assault-weight BattleMechs part of last night’s assault—and they had still torn apart more than three Regiments of ‘Mechs, support by close to five of tanks and artillery, and two of infantry.  “How many?”

“We estimate their strength at around a full battalion, Sir—and they have those damned Toads.  Close to two hundred of the bastards.”

Just a couple of battalions, but they were defending the narrowest part of the pass, which meant that Tolliver would have to engage them a battalion or two at a time.  He shivered again, and then he nodded.  “Well, if we are talking, then no one else is dying.  Send a chopper for Hansen and Kusaka—let’s hear what this Clanner has to say.”

********************************************************************

The Clan Warrior stood waiting outside of the tent as the Ferret landed several dozen meters down the pass.  Tolliver noted that he stood at parade rest and wore a set of dark grey fatigues.  He was unarmed—so far as the Lexington Combat Group Colonel could tell.  He waited patiently for the mercenary commanders, ignoring the blast of wind from the still turning rotors of the helicopter that tore through his dark brown hair.  The whine of the engine slowly faded as the pilot shut down the machine and the crew chief—manning the door-mounted machine-gun spat on the ground as he shifted the weapon slight to where he could sweep the entire pass.  The Colonel patted the crew chief on the shoulder as he dismounted from the bird and stepped aside for Wolfgang Hansen and Erina Kusaka, who frowned as Hansen offered her his hand and simply jumped down.

Tolliver smiled at that—Wolfgang was still quite young for a regimental commander at 26; he had taken command from his father just six months ago, just as Erina Kusaka had assumed control of the 21st from her father Thaddeus three years ago.  She was twenty years his elder, however, and a veteran warrior in her own right; she neither wanted nor needed coddling.

He approached the Clanner, who snapped to attention and saluted smartly.  “Star Captain Jason Scott, assigned to the Knife Dance Keshik, Clan Goliath Scorpion Touman,” the young man—the boy—said in a crisp accent.  Tolliver automatically returned the salute, but then he blurted out, “How old are you?”

“I celebrated the 19th anniversary of my decanting earlier this year, Colonel Tolliver.  My Khan has charged that I discuss with you a range of options that are now available, in the hopes that we can resolve this campaign without further needless bloodshed.  Shall we exit the wind?  I have a heater set up within the tent, along with water if any of you thirst.”  Jason extended one arm towards the tent, and Tolliver went ahead and entered, followed by Hansen, Kusaka, and Scott in turn.

There was a heater in the tent, and the canvas sides did cut out the bitter wind that funneled through the pass.  A simple table and four chairs (three on one side and one on the opposite) was the only furniture, but a communications unit was set on the surface, along with a decanter of water and four glasses.  Tolliver took the middle seat, with Hansen on his left and Kusaka on his right; while Jason sat down facing them.

The Clan Warrior poured himself a glass of water and took a sip, and then Kusaka poured herself a glass.  What the hell, the veteran officer thought as he poured one for himself and a second for Hansen. 

Scott nodded and he smiled.  “My Khan commends you for a battle well-fought; your commands have proven their bravery and their skill in the truest Trial of all—combat.  Although you did not abide by our rules of engagement, we understand that in your society there are no such rules; hence we honor you by adapting to your own tactical protocols.”

“That’s all well and nice, boy,” snapped Kusaka, “poetic even, but can we get down to business?  Although I dislike the idea of treating with the descendents of those who abandoned the Inner Sphere to centuries of war; who ignored their oaths and failed their duty.”

“As you wish, Colonel Kusaka,” Jason answered.  “I do not agree with you, of course, but I understand how you might see things in such a light.  I am here so that the four of us can come to an agreement and put an end to the bloodshed.  You are no doubt aware that last night Alpha Galaxy routed your rear-guard forces, destroying or capturing in excess of half your total combat strength—four-fifths of your artillery.  Your aerospace forces are scattered and incapable of providing further support, certainly not against the assets we can bring to bear.  The pass ahead of you is defended by fourteen Stars of OmniMechs and Elementals—assault-weight OmniMechs which were lacking in last night’s assault.  You will find that assaulting Clan Assault OmniMechs in a defensive position across open ground a far cry than defending yourselves from assault atop a wooded bluff from light, medium, and heavy Clan Omnimechs.”

“Further,” Jason continued, “the narrowness of the pass will restrict the number of forces you can bring to bear, allowing for us to defeat you in detail should you press onwards.  At the base of the pass behind you, there is the remainder of Alpha Galaxy.  Unlike you, our artillery is untouched and fully rearmed; we have air-support that you do not.  And while there is more room to maneuver at that end of the pass, our numbers are great enough that you will remain bottled up, as your provisions, fuel, and munitions stocks dwindle.”

Jason took a sip of water as he let the three mercenaries seated across from him absorb that information.  Hansen shook his head.  “Do you expect us to just surrender without a fight?”

“Colonel Hansen, there is a time and a place for all things under heaven.  There is a time to fight and a time when fighting will only be futile.  I ask only that you consider the situation in which you find yourselves—and that you consider well exactly what you are facing here.  Even if you should prevail against our blocking forces, Clan Goliath Scorpion has a fresh Galaxy—that is correct, another Galaxy—that we have not yet committed to Rasalhague.  They are eager for a chance to prove themselves in combat operations.  In addition to The Sand Runners—as Beta is known among us—ask yourselves this:  should you, somehow, manage to defeat Alpha and Beta completely, where will you go?  We control the orbitals and we have Serket, a Sovetskii Soyuz-class heavy cruiser in orbit.  Colonels, we are willing to turn her weaponry against you should you prove to be intransigent.  We do not want to, but we will do so if it becomes necessary to achieve victory.”

“Do that and you will sign your own death warrants—every House will unleash their stockpiles of nuclear weapons upon you.”

“And we will all lose, but you will lose more.  Our Homeworlds will remain untouched and it will be your worlds which are reduced to radioactive ash.  As I said,” continued Jason, “that is a contingency for if you manage to defeat not only Alpha, but Beta.  Which, if I may remind you, is at 100% of strength, fully supplied, and has Warriors who are rested.”

The three Colonels looked grim and Tolliver shook his head.  “And if we surrender, we become your slaves—Jaime Wolf has briefed us on your Clans.”

Jason shook his head and smiled.  “I think you will find that Jaime Wolf’s information is . . . shall we say, out of date.  Has he briefed you on our customs?”

“He did.”

“Ah.  Did he perhaps tell you of the rite of hegira?”

Tolliver frowned.  “Not to my recollection.”

Jason smiled.  “Well, he should have.  Hegira is the ritualized acknowledgement of honorable defeat.  It carries with it the right to withdraw under safcon—that is, safe conduct.  It extended to opponents who have proved themselves worthy, but it can only be requested by the side which has been defeated in battle; not offered by the victor.”

Kusaka barked out a bitter laugh.  “You would just let us go?  Because we asked?”

Jason shrugged.  “It is our way when dealing with honorable and worthy opponents—there would be conditions, of course.”

“What conditions?” Tolliver asked.

“In exchange for hegira, should you ask for it, since I cannot offer it, my Khan would be willing to accept your oath that you will not be used in the future against Clan Ghost Bear and Clan Goliath Scorpion—where else you are sent is none of our concern.”

The Scorpion smiled as the three Colonels exchanged glances and he nodded.  “I see that you need to confer—but before I leave you to deliberate upon your decision, I should inform you that General Feinman is alive; wounded but alive and receiving care.  If you wish to speak with him, he is waiting on the other end of the comm.  My Khan also instructs me to tell you that those of your comrades who were captured yesterday will be granted hegira as well, should you ask, along with your dependents who await you in the coastal cities.  The equipment we captured last night and yesterday, however, we will retain as isorla—the spoils of war.  Your forces here, which have not yet been reduced to bloody ruin, are free to retain their equipment and weapons . . . that is, should you choose to ask for hegira.”

Jason stood.  “It is your decision, Colonel Tolliver, Colonel Kusaka, Colonel Hansen.  Will your regiments live . . . or will every last single one of you die?”

And with that, Jason exited the tent.

Good chapter!

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that’s

You have the good Star Captain using contractions, easy to do when writing the Clans, I do it all the bloody time.

Thanks.  I tried to avoid it, but sometimes one or two slips by.  I will fix.

MA

Unless you've changed it, or mentioned it elsewhere, then Nikolai would be well aware that Terra has no SDS outside of the ground-based Laser/Mirror system. Alexandr Kerensky was systematic in his destruction of any and all remaining SDS systems after the civil war.

If you're going to have an SDS at Terra, I'd suggest making mention of it in an earlier ComStar-led chapter.

I agree with MA, I thought there were several ground bases left, but no orbitals.