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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #150 on: December 09, 2008, 05:30:29 PM »
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Quote from: wolfcannon on December 04, 2008, 10:05:41 PM
he got off toooo easy. Angry he shoulda suffered. id puta one in his belly and let him suffer. but hey ima sadomasichist.
With the risk of losing her men?
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In Turn they tested each Clan namesake in trial against the Ice Hellion's mettle. Each chased the Ice Hellion, hunting it down. All failed to match the predator's speed and grace. Khan Cage smiled and said, "And that is how we shall be."
The Remembrance (Clan Ice Hellion) Passage 5, Verse 3, Lines 1 - 5
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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #151 on: December 11, 2008, 07:08:34 AM »
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from what im reading the would have prefered a court trial then sentancing etc etc. which would wind up where we are at now. still puttin a bullet in him and making him suffer. honestly criminals get off wayyy to light anymore. we need more public executions Grin
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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #152 on: December 15, 2008, 09:39:59 AM »
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Chapter Twenty-Eight
September 1, 2767
5 kilometers from Fort Preston Lee
North America, Terra
Empire of Amaris (Terran Hegemony)
They crept through the thick undergrowth as silent and invisible as panthers in the dark woods. The entire group was deployed on this mission—and each wore the best field gear possible. Cache 19-Kilo had enough supplies that finally every last person in her teams had armored fatigues, night-vision helmets, and weapons. And explosives, we can’t forget the explosives, she thought. Every man and woman carried a R-11, plus a sidearm and a combat knife. Vince and Bernie—two of her ‘heavy’ weapons team leaders—each carried an ancient MG-79D machine-gun in place of the combat rifle. Cradled in their beefy arms, the bulky weapons looked like assault rifles. The four men assigned to their teams—two to each of the former linemen—carried heavy loads of ammo for the voracious weapons.
Two more heavy weapons teams—of two men each—were also here tonight. But they carried a single dual launcher for man-portable SRMs—Short Range Missiles. One carried the launcher, the other a dozen reloads. Almost all of the rest of her forty-two people were carrying two SRM rockets as well, or another belt of the machine-gun ammo. They had learned from the simulators they had run through—ammo was cheap, lives aren’t. Not in the grand scheme of things.
Right now, the group was spread out across two hundred meters of dense Northwest rain forest, making their way slowly and carefully down the steep hillside towards the stream at the bottom. Ahead of her, the man on point—José—raised his right fist and slowly sank down to a squatting position. Liz—and the rest of her team that could see José—did the same. So did those following behind her.
She listened to the sounds of the woods at night, trying to pick up what José had seen or heard. Then she saw it down below along the stream bed. A pair of Rim infantry troopers was walking the perimeter, one holding the leash for a dog. The soldiers were alert, and scanned the surrounding forest with the night-vision gear in their helmets—but her teams were in thick brush. Their fatigues shielded them from giving off heat signatures as well, except at the lower legs and feet, and the ferns covered that signal. The dog stopped and sniffed—but the SLDF gear included scent neutralizing agents infused within the clothing. Detecting nothing more than a few wild rabbits, maybe a distant deer or elk, the door resumed its trot alongside the Rim troopers. After a few more moments—an eternity—they passed around a bend in the stream and out of sight.
José stood, and waved forward with his left hand, his rifle held tight against his body. Liz and rest stood and once again began to pick their way down the slope.
*****************************************************************************
In the base of the stream—hidden among the rocks brought down from the mountains by glaciers eons past—they quickly found the old storm drain leading from the ruins beneath what had become Fort Preston Lee. Centuries ago, there had been a military base here—cast aside by the Terran Alliance—that had fallen into ruin. After the formation of the Star League, the new government had built a new base—and buried the old beneath the foundations. It was cheaper than clearing the old foundations and structures, after all. But the Corps of Engineers had used the old drainage systems as a way to keep the Fort dry. After all, why dig new ones, when the old ones would work just as well? But they hadn’t worked all that well. So, one hundred and thirty-five years ago, Preston Lee received brand new storm drains, leading down to the Columbia basin. Big drainage tunnels that would not become obstructed or jammed, with tunnels large enough to allow soldiers to bypass the perimeter. So the SLDF had placed monitoring systems in the new tunnels, and those systems had worked. And they slowly forgot about the old ones.
The Rimmers probably didn’t even know the old tunnels still existed. After all, so many ancient towns and bases had been in this area that they were always finding something new that turned out to be ancient and led to nowhere. But they did know the security center at Preston Lee monitored the drainage systems. And they depended on those systems to protect them from infiltration.
But the old, forgotten ones were not monitored. Vince and Bernie, along with José and the rocket teams and twenty-five of her riflemen were setting up a covering position upslope. Reuben was with her, though, along with fourteen more riflemen—the ones carrying the plastic.
Leslie and Gail wrapped therma-cord around the old grate and then backed up, trailing a long wire behind them. Gail attached it to a remote and twisted the handle. A brief sputter hissed as flaring light erupted and then died away. Holding her rifle tight against her chest, Liz walked up to the now open grate and crossed over to the tunnels within, the rest of her team following behind.
*****************************************************************************
It took three hours to slowly walk—occasionally crawl—through the tunnels. But her inertial mapper said this was the spot. Above them was a ladder leading to a sealed hatch. And according to the construction plans, above that hatch was the main drainage tunnels. This deep inside the perimeter, there were no longer any monitoring systems—why should there be? Anyone entering the tunnels would have passed a dozen or more already, after all.
The problem was, the hatch had been covered by two inches of concrete and rebar. But that wouldn’t be a problem for long. Liam climbed the ladder and applied a thick coat of perma-seal—an epoxy that formed a nearly indestructible bond—and then carefully set loop after loop of therma-cord. Once that was sealed in placed, the applied more perma-seal and slowly pressed heavy ceramic plates into place. The heat-resistant ceramic would direct the force of the thermite charge up and through the steel and concrete, carving a nice hole, without a loud explosion.
His job done, he scampered back down, trailing the wires behind him. Giving them to Leslie, he hunkered down, as did Liz and the rest. Another hissing sputter, another flash of light, and a round steel and concrete disk slammed down into the water of the old tunnel; the heat from the edges causing steam to rise and the stagnant mess to bubble and boil.
Liz slowly counted to two hundred, giving the concrete and metal time to cool, then said “Go.â€
Mason and Terry were the first up—and neither man fired, or was fired upon. She hurried over to the ladder and began to climb up.
It took only three minutes for the entire team to assemble, and then Liz pointed down one of the connecting tunnels—the one headed north. They followed that tunnel for five minutes until they could see shafts of light from above. The light descended from the ‘Mech hanger being used by the 22nd Amaris Dragoons, just four meters over their heads; one hundred and eight ‘Mechs were housed there, less those out on patrol. And she planned to blow it to hell.
The team worked quickly, planting the explosives along the side of the tunnel. Beyond the tunnel wall on that side was the bunkers used to store the liquid hydrogen used to fuel the fusion power generators of the ‘Mechs, at least according to the construction plans. To breach the wall and the armored fuel bunker, she and the fifteen men and women of her team each carried fifteen kilos of plastic explosive—just about everything that 19-Kilo had on hand. They worked quickly, Reuben directing them, as Liz stood watch.
From above they could hear the Rimmers shouting to each other as cutting and welding torches flared and metal plates screeched as sections of armor were being pulled apart to allow the Techs to reach some defunct component. A few sparks and pieces of molten metal dripped down, but their fatigues protected them from injury. As they placed the explosives under Reuben’s direction, they worked quietly, making no sound that could be heard above.
Finally, the charges were set, and Liz placed the detonator. She waited until her team had already begun to retrace their steps, and then set the clock to four hours. As she pressed the button, its display changed to 3:59:59, then 3:59:58, but she was already following in their footsteps.
*****************************************************************************
As the group made their way back towards 19-Kilo, Liz felt a buzz on her arm from her watch. She lifted her right fist and turned back to the west. Ten seconds later, a massive fireball lit the sky, and then the sound of the concussion reached them. She smiled, and turned back towards the cache, slogging onward.
September 3, 2767
Black Watch Cache 19-Kilo, Wickup Mountain
North America, Terra
Empire of Amaris (Terran Hegemony)
Lisa Buhallin sat on the outcropping of rock scribbling away in a journal book. She was so intent on her work that she did not notice Liz approaching until she heard the soprano voice.
“Mind if I join you, Lisa?â€
The young woman looked up at the soldier. She seems so tired, Lisa thought. “Why not, Sarah.â€
Liz sat down next to her and took a sip from a canteen. Tomorrow, they would have to move on—this area would very quickly become too hot after the raid night before last. But for now, she could just sit and enjoy the view.
She glanced over at what Lisa was sketching, and was surprised to see a stylized version of the Black Watch crest, surrounded by spectres or banshees or some other spirit thingee.
“What is that?â€
Lisa looked up at her. “I like to record my thoughts as they happen, so I don’t forget anything that could be important. This came to me in dream earlier this afternoon. They were like ghosts in the night out there in the woods, Sarah. Vengeful ghosts of those who were murdered; returned among the living to mete out true justice to their killers. We are not guerillas or insurgents or terrorists—we are the Ghosts of the Black Watch. And we shall not sleep until justice is gained for our honored dead.â€
Liz’s jaw dropped. “It’s not Sarah, my name. It’s time I shared the truth with all of you Ghosts—really began to trust in you, Lisa Buhallin. I am Captain Elizabeth Hazen of the Royal Black Watch Regiment—and you have just named us.â€
“No, Captain Elizabeth Hazen—you named yourselves. You just couldn’t see it because you were too close.â€
Liz gave the young woman a tight hug. Yes, she would do fine.
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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #153 on: December 15, 2008, 10:54:06 AM »
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Thanks for giving us another fix, master arminas! Excellent work as always! Grin
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All I want is just a nibble of 'Mech armor & myomer... is that so wrong? Wink
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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #154 on: December 15, 2008, 04:06:26 PM »
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I really like the last part with the Ghosts of the Black Watch.
Just a couple of comments/questions:
"the door resumed its trot alongside the Rim trooper"
I guess it is the dog.
Also, why does Elizabeth know about the old tunnels forgotten by everyone?
The explosives are set to fire 4 hours later but it does not seem that it take that much time before they explode (maybe a sentence more would do the trick).
Are they carrying enough explosives to destroy all the 'Mechs?
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In Turn they tested each Clan namesake in trial against the Ice Hellion's mettle. Each chased the Ice Hellion, hunting it down. All failed to match the predator's speed and grace. Khan Cage smiled and said, "And that is how we shall be."
The Remembrance (Clan Ice Hellion) Passage 5, Verse 3, Lines 1 - 5
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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #155 on: December 16, 2008, 09:33:07 AM »
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Part II
Chapter Twenty-Nine
December 27, 2767
Fort Tobias Harrison
North Continent, Asta
Terran Hegemony
Even for Asta, the morning was cold, but the skies were clear. In the early morning sky the constellations closely resembled those of Old Earth, just twenty-eight light years distant. The field was quiet as the man walked out on the carefully maintained grass. He was fairly short, but stocky, and if age had caused his muscles to lose some of their temper it failed to show in his appearance. He wore SLDF combat fatigues, but not the heavy body armor that would normally be layered atop. Underneath the fatigues he wore a cool-sock—an insulating body suit originally designed for MechWarriors and vehicle crews to manage their body heat in cockpits and crew compartments that could become furnaces—that ensured his core temperature did not drop too much in the frigid air.
Instead of a helmet, he wore a garrison cap. And about his neck, a whistle descended on a length of para-cord. The man looked down at his watch, and then up at the sky. It was slowly brightening in the east. Tucking the clipboard he carried beneath one arm, he turned to face the flagpole set in the center of the field—spotlights gleaming up from the four cardinal points. A five man detail stood by, waiting for the time. It arrived, and the bugle sounded as two of the men attached the flag to the line and a third began raising it. The man snapped to attention and cocked his right arm in salute as the flag of the Star League rose over the field.
The cold was intense, but his bare hand did not tremble, his body did not shiver; he stood there at attention until the flag was fully raised and fluttered in the stiff wind. And then, in time with the distant detail, he lowered his salute once, and raised it again. The detail lowered the flag to half-mast, and the bugle died away. The man lowered his arm and glanced once again at his watch, then at the sky. Thin streaks of golden light were appearing far, far above, but the horizon was still dark.
The man turned back towards the barracks facing the field, and stood at parade rest, his hands joined behind his back, still holding the clip board. A look of disgust spread across his face.
“WHY IS YOUR SERGEANT-MAJOR STANDING ALONE ON THE PARADE FIELD?†he bellowed. Lights snapped on in the barracks, and whistles blew as his cohorts—already briefed and waiting—set upon the new troopers within. They pushed and prodded the half-asleep, half-naked men and women out of the building and onto the parade field. Some of the new arrivals had been through this before, in other units, on other worlds, in better times—they were the ones dressed for the weather.
He waited, until the one hundred and twenty men and women were standing before him in lines of thirty, four ranks deep. Then he began to walk along the lines, shaking his head.
“My name is Sergeant-Major Gerald Howe, of the Star League Defense Forces. You may call me SIR. Better yet, you will not address me what-so-ever until you have earned the right to do so, or unless I ask you direct question. Each of you has volunteered to join the Royal Black Watch. Every one of you has stepped forward to serve the Star League. And for my sins, I get to see if you have what it takes to become one of us.â€
Gerald stopped and looked at tall, burly man, full dressed in field fatigues. “YOU. What is your name?â€
“MechWarrior Abraham Stolz, 3rd Davion Guards, SIR!â€
“WE HAVE NO RANKS HERE AMONG YOU MAGGOTS. NONE! Stolz, why are you turned out in that fashion?â€
“Sir, it is the uniform of the day, Sir!â€
“THEN WHY IS THE REST OF YOUR CLASS NOT WEARING IT, STOLZ? YOU HAD TIME TO GET DRESSED, WHY DIDN’T YOU WAKE THEM?â€
“Sir, I, ah . . .â€
“SHUT YOUR HOLE.â€
“We are not a line unit. WE are not a PARADE unit. We are the best trained killers and breakers and body-guards in the entire FRAKKING HISTORY OF MANKIND! And we are a team. With one purpose. TO KEEP THE FRAKKIN FIRST LORD AND HIS FAMILY ALIVE! DO YOU GET ME?â€
A ragged chorus yelled out, “Sir, yes, Sir!â€
“If, IF, any of you are accepted into our ranks at the end of this course, then you will have earned the right to be here. To stand among us. To stand post ready to defend the First Lord with your FRAKKIN LIFE if need be. Right now, I don’t know what your unit commanders were thinking. Sending me a bunch of frak-ups and retards and babies who want to suckle at mommies breast. I AM NOT AMUSED, PEOPLE!â€
“We are the best of the best. And you have to earn your place here. You have ten minutes to be properly dressed and back on the parade field from the sound of my whistle. If any of you children decide that you want to go home—be in that nice warm barracks one second after that. Those of you who are dressed, you will do calisthenics while the rest of your class gets ready. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?â€
“Sir, yes, Sir!â€
“I don’t give a damn if you are Davion or Kurita; Astan or long-service SLDF trooper; a pacifist from the frakkin Outworlds Alliance or a former frakkin pirate. THE ONLY WAY YOU ARE GOING TO BE ACCEPTED TO SHOW ME YOU HAVE HEART.â€
“STOLZ!â€
“Sir, yes, Sir!â€
“Do you know who they named this post after?â€
“Sir, no, Sir!â€
“A sixteen year old kid. A kid who didn’t know jack—but a kid who had heart. HE HAD COURAGE AND IT WAS MY HONOR TO KNOW HIM. Because he died taking a bullet meant for the First Lord. HE DIED DOING YOUR JOB. Some of you will die—believe it. BUT IF WE ACCEPT YOU THEN NONE OF YOU WILL EVER BACK DOWN OR RUN AGAIN. BECAUSE YOU ARE WHAT?â€
“Sir, the best, Sir!â€
“BULL TURDS! RIGHT NOW YOU PEOPLE ARE NOTHING. UNTIL I SAY YOU ARE SOMETHING. ALL I ASK IS THAT YOU SHOW ME YOU HAVE HEART! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, YOUR TEN MINUTES JUST STARTED!†He picked up the whistle and blew it, and the formation disintegrated as the shivering men and women ran for the barracks and their clothes. Seventeen men and women remained—wearing the uniform of the day.
Gerald walked up to the Davion Guardsman and smiled. “Stolz, let us begin this morning with something to warm you up. ASSUME THE FRONT LEANING REST POSISTION!â€
*****************************************************************************
Four hours of calisthenics later, Gerald walked down the lines, looking at the sweating, straining volunteers. He stopped and knelt next to one young woman who was struggling to wring out one more push-up.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just give up. Give up and go back to being whatever the hell you were before you got here. There’s no shame in it.â€
“Sir, NO, sir!†she grunted, as her arms locked. The non-com nodded and patted her on the shoulder as he stood and watched the rest. “CLASS, HALT! Remain in the front leaning position.â€
“Welcome to hell, maggots. For the next four weeks, you belong to me. Anyone want to quit now—cause I guarantee it is going to get worse? No. Ok, then. ON YOUR FEET!â€
The volunteers stumbled up from the ground. All of them were breathing heavy—some looked ready to drop. Easy, Ger, he thought to himself. Can’t wash them all out, not on the first day.
“CLASS, ATTEN—HUT!â€
They snapped to attention, a few weaving slightly with the blood rushing back into their heads.
“One year ago today, First Lord Richard Cameron was assassinated by Stefan Amaris. His entire family—except Stephen Cameron and his daughter—died shortly thereafter. In order to accomplish that, Amaris had to kill every last one of the Old Regiment. Today is a day of mourning for the rest of the universe—but for us, it’s just another day. I want you to think about what the Old Regiment did a year ago today—and how they died. Cause if you remain here, if you are accepted among us, there might come a day when you have to decide how dearly you sell yourself. Go get some chow—we reassemble at 1100 hours in the barracks to start your real educations. CLASS DISMISSED!â€
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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #156 on: December 16, 2008, 04:58:23 PM »
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The new Black Watch, interesting.
This Sergeant Major is so classical Grin
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In Turn they tested each Clan namesake in trial against the Ice Hellion's mettle. Each chased the Ice Hellion, hunting it down. All failed to match the predator's speed and grace. Khan Cage smiled and said, "And that is how we shall be."
The Remembrance (Clan Ice Hellion) Passage 5, Verse 3, Lines 1 - 5
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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #157 on: December 16, 2008, 05:29:46 PM »
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Ah back to Asta at last. As much as enjoyed the occupied Earth of Amaris, Hazen, and Green I have waited to see what is next on Asta.
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Re: Blood and Steel
« Reply #158 on: January 05, 2009, 10:44:08 AM »
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Chapter Thirty
January 17, 2768
Fort Tobias Harrison
North Continent, Asta
Terran Hegemony
Gerald Howe shook his head as he scowled at the corporal driving the jeep slowly across the Fort. Strangely enough, his look of displeasure seemed not to faze the young man, which only increased his frustration.
“Sorry, Sergeant-Major, the speed limit applies to everyone—even the top kick,†the young man repeated himself.
“Son, if you don’t get the lead out of your trousers and into that boot, I will have you on every shit-detail this post has to offer, I swear to God.â€
The driver grinned, not taking his eyes off of the road. “But Sergeant-Major, you have arrived,†he chuckled as he turned the wheel and slid the vehicle into a parking slot alongside the temporary headquarters of the Royal Black Watch Regiment.
The old non-com opened his door and stepped out, then stopped and glared back at the driver. “You wait right here. As soon as I find out just what has gotten so screwed up that I get pulled back from a field exercise to straighten it out, you are going to take me back to where you found me. Got that, Corp?â€
“Yes, Sergeant-Major Howe. Wait for you right here—got it.â€
Gerald slammed the door shut and stormed into the building.
“All right McCormick, just what the hell is so important it couldn’t wait until I finished today’s exercise?â€
The sergeant seated as the desk rose as he entered the room—but it wasn’t Irene McCormick. He had never seen this NCO before, and the man was wearing the shoulder flash of the Black Watch on his undress uniform.
“Good morning, Sergeant-Major,†he said. “Sergeant McCormick has been relieved, on the orders of the new commanding officer of the Regiment, Colonel Barclay. If you would care to take a seat, I will inform the Colonel that you have arrived.â€
“New commanding officer, Master Sergeant, ah Franklin?†Gerald read the noncoms name from the plaque set on Irene’s desk. “Why wasn’t I informed of any personnel changes?â€
“The SLDF is not in the habit of informing non-critical personnel of every change of command, Sergeant-Major. Colonel Barclay likes to make a surprise inspection of the units he is appointed to command.â€
“So you have served with him before?â€
“For five years, Sergeant-Major,†Franklin answered as he lifted his telephone and whispered into it. He nodded and set it back in the receiver. “Go right in, Sergeant-Major.â€
Gerald nodded and walked back to the office of the commanding officer—always in the same location in the modular one-size-fits-all modular buildings that the SLDF seemed to be stuck with for quick assembly in the field. There was no name on the door, but he rapped the polymer casting twice, and was rewarded with a “Come!†from the other side. He opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him, and took three steps towards the desk.
Snapping to attention, he saluted the Colonel and barked out, “Sir, Sergeant-Major Gerald Howe, reporting as ordered, Sir!â€
The man was immaculate in his field undress uniform—complete with service ribbons. The ribbons showed he had twenty years in the service, and plenty of awards—but not a single one for combat. Great, Gerald thought, a frakkin REMF. None of his hairs were out of place, though they were thinning atop the crown of the head. A crown he could see clearly, because this officer did not look up. No, he kept staring at a file folder while Gerald stood there and held the salute.
Finally, he looked up, and Gerald could see the ice in his eyes.
“Stand easy, Sergeant-Major. As you are do doubt aware, I am Colonel Patrick Barclay—the officer designated to command this regiment. You have never served with me before; a pity, that. If you had, then you would know how disappointed I am in the status of this unit. Were you aware that only the NCOIC was present at headquarters this morning on my arrival?â€
“Of course you were,†Barclay pressed on before Gerald had a chance to reply. “And you knew it was a violation of regulations. ‘When in garrison, all units of the line shall maintain a headquarters staff consisting of the commanding officer, the executive officer, their aides and assistants, the regimental operations officer, the regimental intelligence officer, their aides and assistants, plus a staff of non-commissioned officers and enlisted personnel reporting to the Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge, to facilitate the processing and handling of reports, service records, and semi-annual qualifications.’ ‘Such non-commissioned officer and enlisted personnel shall consist of one person for every twenty serving members of the regiment of the line.†I believe that those are the pertinent regulations, Sergeant-Major, yes? I am waiting, Sergeant-Major.â€
Gerald Howe took a deep breath to steady the sinking feeling in his gut; great, he thought, just frakkin great. “Sir, Colonel Barclay, Sir; yes those are the regulations as they apply to regiments of the line. The Black Watch has never been considered as such, however, Sir. With our current lack of personnel, it would be a waste of manpower to post such an extensive HQ staff—right now we are strained to find enough qualified manpower to fill the protection details and handle the training of the new personnel.â€
“Regulations, Sergeant-Major, are not impediments to get in our way. They exist for a reason. And as for my Regiment not being a combat unit, that is a gross misperception.â€
“Line unit, Sir, not . . . “
“Don’t you dare interrupt me!†Barclay sprang out of his seat, placing both hands on the desk, and leaned across to put his face inches away from Gerald’s nose. “I will not tolerate insolence or insubordination, Sergeant-Major! NONE. Which is why Sergeant McCormick was escorted to the stockade by base military police shortly before you arrived. Master Sergeant Franklin is preparing the report for her court-martial—of course, she cannot remain in my Regiment.â€
Gerald counted to three, making certain that Barclay was not going to continue. “I am certain that it was misunderstanding, Sir. Sergeant McCormick has proven herself in combat and as . . . “
“That trooper threw away anything she had done in the past when she violated the UCMJ, Sergeant-Major. There was no misunderstanding, I assure YOU,†he said as he sat once more and picked up a thick file. “This Regiment is the premier unit of the entire SLDF, Sergeant-Major Howe. It is the very best that the Defense Force has to offer. Which brings us to you. Twenty-seven years of active duty service, the last six assigned to Diplomatic Protection Services—that is Foreign Affairs, not SLDF. Explain.â€
“My last platoon leader was Stephen Cameron, Sir. When he was wounded and discharged from service I requested to be reassigned to his detail.â€
“Climbing the ladder of ambition, eh, Sergeant-Major?â€
“No, Sir. I wanted to continue to serve the finest officer I have ever known—even if it meant leaving the Marines.â€
“Nearly five years on Terra with the First Lord—only he was not at the time—followed by a year here on Asta. First as his detail commander, and then as the senior NCO of the reformed Black Watch. Let’s talk about your protection detail, Sergeant-Major. You came here with eighteen men and women—plus yourself—and today only five, six if we include you, survive. You lost over two-thirds of your first command.â€
“We evaded Amaris forces for nearly ten months until the Liberation, Sir. And we fulfilled our primary mission—keeping Lord Cameron and his family safe.â€
“Yes, you did, which is why you assigned to the Regiment, Sergeant-Major. Sentiment, no doubt, played a part in that assignment. I have a slight problem, however; you are not qualified for a position within it.â€
“Sir?â€
“The Royal Black Watch Regiment—please note that use of the word ‘Royal’—is the elite of the elite. All of our members must be graduates of the Advanced Tactical Combat Course on Mars. For MechWarriors—such as myself—such graduates gain the honor of wearing the crossed six-guns of the Gunslingers. Armor, VTOL, and infantry have their own designations and nicknames of course, as do our artillery and aerospace assets. You have never attended ATCC, have you, Sergeant-Major?â€
“No, Sir.â€
“And neither have the five members of your detail—Master Sergeant Pappas and Sergeants Candless, Dietrich, Rayborn, and Schell. None of you are qualified for this assignment. What is more, Sergeant-Major, is that you all have missed your last two semi-annual fitness tests and weapon qualifications. As of today, you are relieved of duty. You and the five personnel I named will report tomorrow morning at 0600 to base medical to undergo your testing, followed by range time for your weapon quals.â€
“Sir, we were behind enemy lines!â€
“That does not excuse the fact that you have not met your requirements. If you and your people fail to pass—and my standard for admittance to this Regiment is far higher than the SLDF pass/fail line—then you will be either reassigned or discharged, depending on the severity of your failure.â€
A vein on Gerald’s head began throbbing as he stared at the man seated before him.
“Dietrich and Schell shall be reassigned regardless, Sergeant-Major. As I believe that I have said, we are a ROYAL Regiment—that means that only native born Hegemony citizens are allowed entrance. Neither of them was born on a Hegemony world.â€
“Have you cleared this with the First Lord—or Tai-Sa Tanaka, Sir?â€
“Tai-Sa Tanaka and his DEST detachment will be returning to Kurita service. I issued orders less than an hour ago for him to be placed on the next transport off-world. And as for the First Lord, no Sergeant-Major, I have not. The command of this regiment—and its personnel—is mine, not his. His job is to rule the Star League—mine is to keep him safe. I need not clear any personnel changes with him or his office.â€
Gerald’s jaw dropped, and Barclay smiled. “Now, before you are dismissed, why have you changed the Table of Organization and Equipment for my Regiment, Sergeant-Major? Sergeant-Major?â€
“Sir, traditionally, the Black Watch consists of three ‘Mech battalions and a jump infantry battalion, plus a company of armor, two of VTOLs, and a wing of aerospace fighters. But that was when the First Lord had the entire First Army and the Reagan SDS as back-stops. With the current conflict—and the need to provide constant security against assassination attempts—Tai-Sa Tanaka and I decided to reverse the proportions. One battalion of ‘Mechs—Gunslingers, of course, with substantial combat experience—and three battalions of the best damned grunts we could find, plus the supporting elements. That is why we requested the Nighthawk XXI powered armor suits for the infantry—they give far better protection and let us carry heavier weapons, without a loss of mobility. When combined with the stealth and onboard ECM, plus the sensor arrays, it makes two troopers the equal of a squad. Now for the personnel themselves, we picked only the best candidates—regardless of their place of birth—but required them to undergo both mechanical and chemical interrogation. The ones we started through the program are fanatical in their personal loyalty to the First Lord—that, Sir, was our number one priority.â€
“Do you know how much the Nighthawk suits cost, Sergeant-Major? The High Command did not assign them to the Black Watch because we don’t NEED them. WE are not going to be dropped atop of Geneva, after all. Three battalions of irreplaceable suits—all the factories that produce them are in the hands of Amaris—are a little bit much, no? The requisitions have been withdrawn. And as for the reorganization—it is denied; three battalions of ‘Mechs with one of infantry is the correct proportions for this Regiment and we will return to it.â€
Barclay slid a piece of paper across the desk, rows of names appearing on it. “Here is a list of all those that did not meet my qualifications, Sergeant-Major. Would you care to inform them, or shall I?â€
Gerald bent down and lifted the paper; it was filled with over three-quarters of those in the three separate training classes and two-thirds of the current personnel.
“Sir, you can’t just cut these people. We need . . . “
“I would advise you, Sergeant-Major—while you still remain a Sergeant-Major—not to tell me what I can or cannot do. This REGIMENT needs to be filled according to regulations. Not with a bunch of foreign CRIMINALS, Sergeant-Major. Take this man Stolz, for example: a Davion Guardsman with a felonious record for vehicular theft—forty-seven over the course of thirty months.â€
“Sir, Abraham Stolz was a fifteen year old kid when he learned to boost cars for his gang—and never assaulted anyone while doing it. When he was arrested and brought before the magistrate at the age of seventeen, he was given a choice—to join the AFFS or go to jail. He chose the AFFS and the magistrate dropped the charges once he was certain that Stolz would not return to his former lifestyle. Since then, his record has been pristine. And you are deluding yourself, Sir, if you think that the ability to hot-wire any ground vehicle in existence in less than fifteen seconds is a skill that the First Lord might not need someday!â€
“You will watch that tone with me, Sergeant-Major. I will not bring you up on charges—yet—but you are confined to quarters until your exams and quals tomorrow morning. During that time, you may not communicate with anyone except the MPs; who are ever so fortunately waiting outside. I must say, Howe, you have certainly lived down to my expectations. Dismissed, Sergeant-Major.â€
Gerald Howe—Regimental Sergeant-Major of the Royal Black Watch Regiment—turned in place without a salute and walked out of the office. Waiting for him were two burly looking troopers from the 147th MP Battalion, assigned to Fort Harrison. Master Sergeant Franklin wore a smile that told Gerald it had all been planned—and that simpering syphocant was in line to become the new RSM. He shook his head in disgust. Barclay was one of the most bone-headed idiot REMFs he had ever met. ‘The command of this regiment—and its personnel—is mine, not his.’ ‘I need not clear any personnel changes with him or his office.’ He smiled. Too bad he would not be here to witness the eruption when Stephen learned of this field-grade ass. He smiled, and the chuckles began.
One of the MPs stepped forward. “Sergeant-Major, I’m sorry, but we have orders to escort you to your quarters. Sergeant-Major? Sergeant-Major, are you ok?â€
The MPs nearly called an ambulance, Gerald was laughing so hard.
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Re: Blood and Steel
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Chapter Thirty-One
January 17, 2768
Branson House, Hawkins
North Continent, Asta
Terran Hegemony
Aaron DeChevilier took a long pull from the San Martino cigar that the First Lord had offered him. Part of the personality he had forged long ago, the cigars he smoked tended to the cheap and irritating—good for annoying staff pukes and the bureaucrats. He only smoked the good cigars in the midst of a fight, or in the company of a few select friends. But for a San Martino, he would make an exception. He had arrived at Asta three days ago with the vanguard of the vast shoal of ships bearing the armed might of the SLDF. It had to have set some sort of record, he thought, as he released the smooth, rich smoke in a perfect ring that floated up into the air. We raced from Terra to New Vandenberg with almost half the Regular Army—and fought the separatists for a year and a half before word of the Coup arrived. Then we cut orders and made plans for the entire surviving SLDF—less the handful of divisions and regiments selected to probe the defenses of the Hegemony—to rendezvous more than a thousand light-years away on the other side of known space to invade Amaris’s home worlds. We fought another bitter campaign against the fanatical holdouts in the forts that WE built in the first place, all the while reorganizing men and machines into completely new—but battle-hardened—formations. THEN, we raced back to Asta, another journey of five hundred or so light-years, almost back to where it began. And we did it all in less than three years. More than two thousand light-years traveled, and scores of battles fought.
Only his vanguard had so far arrived—three Field Armies to join what was left of Montoya’s 11th. Two of his Corps had departed a month earlier with Prince Davion and his own AFFS Corps to relieve the Marines still holding out on Carver V. That assault should be taking place tomorrow. Montoya’s remaining Corps—V Corps, the Victory Corps—had remained behind on Asta to reinforce the 3rd RCT, the ‘Ridgeback’ Brigade, and the Combine forces led by Minoru Kurita himself. The remaining eight Field Armies he had set forth into motion would be arriving over the next month. Two more—8th and 13th—commanded by General Andrea Bates, had remained in the Rim Worlds to protect those worlds, and ensure that the Rim Worlders understood just how much their situation had changed. Once they all arrived, he would command more than 2.5 million troopers—united in one command, and for one purpose; the Liberation of Terra itself.
Aaron was one of the very few that knew of the plans the new SAHQ (Supreme Allied Headquarters) was preparing. As the new Commanding General of the SLDF, he had been in that tight-knit circle of those outside the SAHQ that had been fully briefed on Ragnorak. Admiral Jean Kirkpatrick was another, and she was seated across the table from him—as far away from the mellow smoke as she could get without making a scene. To her would fall the task of coordinating the more than 5,400 WarShips and 9,600 Transports of the Fleet. Fifteen thousand K/F drive vessels—it would be the largest single Fleet ever assembled in the history of man.
Lord Protector—and Supreme Allied Commander—the General Kerensky also sat in the room, nursing some hot tea in a crystal glass set in a silver holder. Aaron’s smile faded, as he considered how—once again—just how close they had come to losing the man he called a friend. The man who had chosen him as his hand-picked successor to lead the SLDF and command Ragnorak. His disability had not slowed him, and along with Minoru Kurita he had coordinated the forces of three realms—five, if you counted the Liao and Marik volunteers. Thomas Marik—brother to the late, unlamented Kenyon Marik—sat on the couch alongside Aaron. The Captain-General of the Free Worlds had appointed his nephew as his representative to the SAHQ; as more than that, as Deputy Commander. But Thomas, unlike his brother, knew his limitations. He did have the ‘feel’, as the General put it; that knack for knowing how to command and command well. But he still felt out of depth. Aaron shook his head; that feeling would eventually go away, or at least he hoped it would, for he still felt it himself on occasion.
In an overstuffed chair next to the fireplace sat Minoru Kurita, Coordinator of the Draconis Combine. His son Zabu—now heir to the throne—remained on Luthien, but the Dragon himself was here. He would command the forces of the Combine during Ragnorak—in the first wave, no less! That, Kerensky had told him, was non-negotiable. From the DCMS, Coordinator Kurita had assembled his assault force—forty-eight Regiments of BattleMechs organized in a single overstrength Corps of four divisions. No infantry, no armor, no artillery; just ‘Mechs and aerospace fighters. That number represented a full third of the BattleMech Regiments of the Draconis Combine. The Draconis Corps had been built specifically to drop from orbit directly into the teeth of enemy fire and tear open a landing zone for the following waves. The commander of the other half of the initial drop shared the sofa with Kirkpatrick. Connor Stirling—Senior Colonel of the Northwind Highlanders, but serving in effect as a Corps General—had built his own Corps on Northwind from the Highlanders and Liao volunteers. In nearly constant communication with Kurita, Kerensky, and Cameron, he had decided to build a counter-part to the Kurita forces. The two men—samurai and highlander—had bonded so well that they decided to shift troops between them—so that each Corps was half Draconis and half Highlander and Liao. The two formations were a most potent mixture of firepower, mobility, and fanaticism. If anyone could secure the landing zones, it would be those two Corps, and those two men.
Only eighteen of the Northwind Highlanders would not be making the drop. Those eighteen—three from each of the six Regiments—Stirling had hand-picked for the Royal Black Watch. All had blood-kin in the old Regiment, murdered in their defense of the First Lord by Amaris. But those eighteen had set aside the blood feud to protect the new First Lord. They had been accepted by Hiroyoshi Tanaka and Gerald Howe without a second thought—once they had passed the interrogations, that is. But the Highlanders had not been insulted; they all knew of Wallace Turner. His execution on December 27th had been broadcast across all of Northwind, as well as Asta—uncensored in both cases.
The next-to-last seat was taken by General Sam Anders—liaison to Minoru Kurita. But he was more than that; he was one of the few men that the First Lord trusted implicitly. Because of that trust, he was here in this room, despite his lack of seniority. But Anders sat easily, for in the past year he had proven himself worthy to be in this gathering. Like Minoru, Sam Anders sat ramrod straight, the saucer for his cup of tea held steadily in an unwavering hand. Aaron smiled as he remembered the transmission where he first saw then-Colonel Anders. Then—as now—he had marveled that the military bureaucracy had gotten it right for change.
The last of the eight was the First Lord of the Star League, Stephen Cameron, who sat in his own chair across from Minoru beside Aleksandyr Kerensky. Unlike the formal china cups or crystal glasses his guests drank from, the First Lord held a plain old ceramic mug, filled with steaming, scalding coffee. No guards were in the room, but only the First Lord wore a weapon. Aaron knew that Tai-Sa Tanaka had insisted upon that, once it became clear that even his personal detail would be excluded from these meetings. EVERYONE, even Minoru and Aleksandyr, was checked for weapons, pathogens, and toxins before entering. And they would be, every time they met. Like many other men Aaron had known—like himself, if he would admit to it—Stephen Cameron was fairly stubborn about many things. But Tanaka had insisted, and Aaron wholeheartedly agreed. So did the rest of the ‘inner circle’.
Wallace Turner’s treason had galvanized the SLDF. They had lost one First Lord, and then one of their own tried to kill the only living adult heir? Never again, they vowed. So, Stephen Cameron wore the pistol—loaded and ready—that Tanaka had insisted he wear; and his guests willingly went through the searches and scans. He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present, and saw the First Lord grinning at him. He, apparently, had noticed Aaron’s interest in the pistol.
“Wondering if I know how to even take off the safety, General DeChevilier?â€
“Of course not, First Lord. I have READ your service file, after all. You were on the Academy pistol team for marksmanship and qualified Master with projectile sidearms and laser sidearms before you graduated. No, I was wondering if you are going to begin cutting notches on the grip.â€
A series of chuckles circled the room, and the First Lord openly smiled as he sat back. “I’m not the Gunslinger, here, Aaron.â€
“Touché, my Lord.â€
“Any other questions about my keeping score? No; then let’s move on to the next item on the agenda today. Aaron, I want a full Field Army headed out for the Davion-Calderon border region by next week.â€
Aaron shook his head. “A Corps is more than enough, Sire. Enough to handle what either of them have left in the region, at least.â€
“I’m not worried about that. Neither the Davion troops nor the Taurians will start a fire-fight. We are playing fire brigade in the occupied worlds there, at least until the elections—and probably afterwards as well. A Field Army—and a Fleet.â€
“First Lord,†said Aleksandyr. “We don’t have the troops to spare, or the ships.â€
“We do. According to the intel we have got from the Catholic Church before Amaris destroyed Vatican City, he has twenty-four Corps on planet. But each of those Corps are—on average—at only two-thirds strength. From other sources we know that he has about the same number of troops deployed on all the occupied Hegemony worlds. Call it about 290 Divisions, 150 of which are on Terra. That’s about the equivalent of five or six of your Field Armies, right?â€
Kerensky sighed. “Yes, First Lord.â€
“We have—or soon will have—more than ELEVEN Field Armies here on Asta. Counting Stirling’s Corp on Northwind, Minoru’s Corp here, the Ridgeback Corps, V Corps, and the Marik volunteers, that gives us around THIRTEEN. Both Minoru and John Davion have pledged an additional Field Army apiece, for FIFTEEN. That’s either around three-to-one, Aleksandyr. We can spare one Field Army to ensure that fanatics on either side don’t screw up our chance to hold this whole shebang together after the campaign.â€
“We can spare the troops and the ships, Sire,†said Aaron, “but, it would eat into our reserves. If Amaris redeploys his own forces—and we don’t pick up the intelligence on it—it could cut our numerical advantage in half. That, is if we don’t take casualties among the ground troops inbound to Terra. Lady and gentlemen, we will take casualties.â€
The First Lord turned to his leading naval advisor. “Jean?â€
She leaned forward and stared at Stephen until he nodded. And then she nodded in reply. “Perhaps not, General DeChevilier.â€
“Admiral?†rumbled Aleksandyr Kerensky.
“The First Lord briefed me in on the bare bones of Ragnorak two days ago, and asked me to look at it from the naval point of view. The Reagan SDS is the toughest, most intricate defensive network the Star League has ever built. Contrary to what is available as public knowledge there are NOT 250 Caspers in the Terran system—that number is a deliberate lie to down-play the strength of those defenses. There are 600 active and on-line. Each of those M-5 Drone WarShips carries eighteen M-11 Drone Aerospace fighters—a system we have never admitted to having. The M-11, or ‘Voidseeker’, is a mid-range fighter with decent acceleration, fuel, armor, and pretty heavy weapons. The Caspers can refuel and rearm their parasites, even in the middle of battle. However, it doesn’t carry any external ordnance for them—that’s the good news; that and the fact that the M-5’s can’t deploy nuclear-tipped ordnance.â€
“The bad news; despite the destruction of half of Amaris’s WarShip fleet here at Asta two and a half months ago, he still has the 180 older ships he deployed against Saffel. We estimate there are probably as many again scattered throughout the Core. Those ships CAN deploy nukes. But so can our ships.â€
The room was suddenly quiet and still.
“Admiral, we will NOT use nuclear weapons against Terra,†growled Aleksandyr.
“Lord Protector Kerensky,†said the First Lord, “none of us are asking for that. The effects of nuclear detonations IN SPACE, on the other hand; well, in space the greens can’t scream.â€
He pointed his hand at Minoru, and continued. “The Combine weapons production facilities are just now coming to full production—as are the Davion facilities. Very shortly we will have more than enough nukes to outfit every ship we send in—and lay waste to the M-5’s and the Rim Worlders alike. Jean, please continue.â€
“Yes, First Lord. I want to suggest sending an advance force of several hundred—perhaps a thousand—WarShips deep in-system, using a pirate point in Mars or Terra orbit. This force—volunteers only—will jump in once the transports begin their attack run from the Zenith and Nadir points. Only WarShips, and their onboard fighters and DropShips will go in—and we will have full magazines of nukes when we do. The M-5’s will swarm us—we will be in range to attack Terra, and THAT is something their hardwired systems cannot let us do. But when they do so, we will rip out their guts with nuclear fire.â€
“And your ships will die, Admiral,†mused Minoru.
“And my ships and crews will die, Coordinator. However, given enough nuclear-tipped Killer Whales—and enough volunteers—I will guarantee your transports get to orbit safely, General DeChevilier. And even provide you with three or four thousand fresh WarShips to silence the ground bases.â€
“Who will command this forlorn hope?†asked Aaron.
“We will ask for volunteers, for the sake of morale, at least,†replied Kirkpatrick. “It will not matter, however. I have already informed the First Lord that I will direct the spoiling attack from my own bridge.â€
Aleksandyr closed his eyes, but eventually nodded. Jean stared at the new General, Commanding. “They may have gotten out, Jean. You don’t have to do this,†he pleaded.
“My parents would never have left, at least alive. And if they did not, my husband and children would not. They are dead in Olympia, Aaron—we all know it. And while it may be a suicide run, if it keeps those damned Caspers off your transports, then it’s worth it in the end. Isn’t it?â€
*****************************************************************************
“Tai-Sa Tanaka?†Gretchen called from the outer office. He glanced at the guards on the First Lord’s office—one each from Asta, the Highlanders, his DEST teams, and the SLDF. Jarl Halvin nodded; no reason that the four natural-born killers couldn’t handle his absence for a few moments. He walked across the inner office and crossed over into what some of men had termed ‘Gretchen-space’. The middle-aged woman who tended the First Lord’s office was pleasant to look at and listen to, but she had the soul of a drill instructor. Almost perfect was not good enough. The staff had learned to quickly flee when they saw her approach with her red marking pen.
His guards—and he himself—had been amused. The petite woman inspired more fear than THEY did. But not today. Today, Gretchen looked scared. And he turned to eyes to the squad of military police standing in her office.
“Gentlemen, may I assist you?â€
“Tai-Sa Hiroyoshi Tanaka, we have orders to escort you and your DEST teams to the space-port. Immediately, sir.â€
“May I see those orders, Lieutenant?â€
The senior MP—an officer from the Eridani—passed a datapad over to Hiroyoshi. Patrick Barclay? “What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?â€
“Sir, I have no idea. We have received direct—and legal—orders, however, to escort you and your commandos to the space-port and put you aboard the DropShip Simon Gelder, bound for Benjamin. The orders stipulate you are to have no contact with anyone once we have ‘taken you into custody’. And that I am not to discuss my orders with anyone—other than you. So since I don’t have you in custody yet, Tai-Sa, would you please contact someone before I get my ass chewed out?â€
The corner of Hiroyoshi’s mouth lifted involuntarily. He scanned the man’s nametag. Truscott. “You didn’t apply for a position with the Black Watch, Major Truscott. Why, may I ask?â€
The man’s eyes grew hard. “It’s not my loyalty, Tai-sa. But the Black Watch are going to spend this war here on Asta keeping that man safe. I intend to command in combat, and I am not sitting this one out on the side-lines.â€
“Fair enough, Lieutenant Truscott. Fair enough. Gretchen, would you mind, ah, thank you,†he finished as she picked up the direct line into the First Lords office.
From outside on the stairs, he could hear Cassie’s high-pitched wail—her distress call, he thought of it. And Lady Cameron’s stern voice. It was not a happy voice—and it was not directed at Cassie.
“Hold that call, Gretchen,†he said, as he started for the door.
“Sir, you can’t just . . .,†Lieutenant Truscott began.
“Lieutenant, you and your men follow me, please, that way you would not be in violation of your orders, which also stipulate that you are keep me in sight at all times.â€
Absalom Truscott shook his head and waved his men forward, muttering to himself, “It would have been a really good career, it would have been.â€
From the top of the staircase, he could see another detail of MPs, locking Thom Pappas and Heather Schell in restraints. Cassie was in the arms of another of her detail, Patrice Danzler, who was holding her tight and trying to calm her down as the little girl shouted and cried at the men leading her very own personal bodyguard away. He heard a sudden slap, and his eyes pivoted to Lady Cameron—the very pregnant Lady Cameron—as she slapped a Captain wearing the armband of an MP.
“Damn you, sir, I don’t give a frak who signed the frakkin order! You will wait here or I will have my husband take you out back and bury your ass!â€
The Captain almost lost it—and his head—when he cocked his fist, but two of his DEST members already had their swords out and on either side of his neck.
“AT EASE!†Hiroyoshi bellowed. And to his surprise everyone froze, even Cassie and Lady Cameron. Damn, it worked like Gerald had promised. Since they had never heard him yell, everyone was surprised. He descended the stair-case, but pointed his arm at the MP Captain, and then down at the tiled floor of the foyer. His DEST commandoes grabbed the man, took his weapon and forced him down the stairs in his wake.
“That’s right, you miserable frak, that’s my husband’s pet SNAKE that is about to rip you a new asshole. Asshole. Make my baby cry, will you; make me get up when my back hurts and I have to pee.†She popped the sullen officer on the back of the head—HARD—and slowly made her way down the stairs, two more of her detail helping her.
By now, the MPs at the bottom of the stairs were turning white. Cassie saw Hiroyoshi and wiggled in Patrice’s arms, until she came free and ran over to hug his leg.
“Mister Hiroyoshi, they are taking away Heather! Don’t let them take Heather away! Please?â€
He knelt, and wiped her face as her mother got to the bottom of the stairs at last. “No one is going anywhere, my Lady Cassandra. Perhaps you should inform your father; he is in office at the moment, but,†he said grabbing her arm as she began to run, “for your mother’s sake, take the lift? Please?â€
“Ok, Mister Hiroyoshi. Sorry, mother.â€
The two of them walked over to the concealed elevator set to the side of the foyer and climb aboard. And Hiroyoshi stood and smiled.
“Now, then, gentlemen. You have about one minute to explain to me before you have to explain to the First Lord himself. And then SOMEONE gets a brand-new rectum.â€
He smiled broadly.
*****************************************************************************
“I know it’s risky, but the whole Ragnorak operation is risky. Admiral Kirkpatrick ran the simulations, an
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Topic: Blood and Steel - Book II of The Cameron Legacy: The Fall of the Star League (Read 32451 times)