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To quote Robin Hood Men in Tights "Why don't we Fox them?" 

FSJS Samuel Davion
Zenith Point, Flintoft
Federated Suns
November 5, 3025

Ardan Sortek cursed as he reread the dispatch from New Avalon—the command circuit had brought him here in just nine days—and if he had received this message eighteen hours ago, he would have been IN the New Syrtis system to put a stop to this, this . . . idiocy of Michaels.  But the newly approved command circuits had not yet been fully built—and there weren’t enough ships to make it a two-way circuit.  It would be almost a week before this JumpShip could recharge its drives and head back . . . and New Syrtis was two jumps behind him.

Hopefully, the commanders of the units following Michael would heed Marshal Cline when he made contact—and Ardan shivered.  Alan Cline wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was unflinchingly loyal to the House of Davion in general and Hanse Davion specifically.  He wouldn’t hesitate to salvo a squadron’s worth of Alamos and tear out the heart of forces loyal to New Syrtis—if that became necessary.

“Marshal Sortek?” the voice of the commanding officer aboard Samuel Davion broke Ardan from his reverie.   â€œWe have detected the pre-emergence wave from Midale—it should be our guests.”

“Alert the troops, Commander Talbot, and prepare to hail them upon arrival,” he ordered.  Lars Talbot nodded and passed along the orders to the crew of his Invader-class JumpShip—and to the detachement of the Davion Heavy Guards embarked aboard the three docked DropShips . . . an Overlord, an Intruder, and a Union-CV fighter carrier.

“Emergence,” the rating at Tracking called out in a clipped voice.  “Confirm one Merchant-class JumpShip, two docked DropShips—one Union and one Fortress.  Broadcasting Taurian IFF,” he finished.

“Hail them, Commander Talbot,” Ardan snapped.

“Taurian vessel, this is the Federated Suns JumpShip Samuel Davion with Marshal Ardan Sortek aboard—we have been assigned by the First Prince to escort you through Davion space to New Avalon.”

“Samuel Davion, this is the Taurian Concordat DropShip Black Bull; requesting permission to speak with Marshal Sortek directly,” the speakers broadcast.

“Black Bull, this is Sortek.  Go ahead.”

“Marshal Sortek, this is Edward Calderon—we were not expecting an escort,” the young man’s voice echoed across the command bridge.  “I take it that word of our mission has preceded me?”

“You could say that, Lord Calderon,” Ardan answered.  “We have much to discuss—events have been set in motion that could have . . . disastrous effects upon that mission of yours, Lord Calderon.”  Ardan paused.  “Request permission to come aboard your vessel.”

Now the speaker remained silent; not for long, but it felt like an eternity to the Prince’s Champion.  Finally, it bristled with static and then cleared.  “Permission granted, Marshal Sortek—for yourself and a small party . . . an unarmed party.”

“Agreed, Lord Calderon.  I will shuttle across in an unarmed small craft—until then, follow the instructions of Flintoft Traffic Control and prepare to begin recharge operations.”

A third Taurian voice emerged from the speaker, that of the commander of the JumpShip.  “Understood, Samuel Davion.  Auroch standing by for parking instructions and deployment of jump sail.”

“Radio transmissions end at source,” the rating reported.

“Commander Talbot,” Ardan began.

“A bus is fueled, prepped, and standing by in Small Craft Bay Two, Marshal,” the commander answered with a slight grin.  “I’d feel better if you went across with an armed escort, Sir.”

“No need to make our guests too paranoid,” Ardan answered with a shake of his head.  Besides, he thought, this news from home will do that all to well.

TCDS Black Bull
Zenith Point, Flintoft
Federated Suns
November 5, 3025

Ardan sat quietly as the twenty-three year old man across from him absorbed the news—in a rather surprisingly calm and rational manner, he thought to himself.  But if the silent and reflective heir to the throne of Taurus was calm, his companions were not.  The moment that Ardan had revealed what Michael Hasek-Davion was attempting, the cacophony had begun—until that boy, that man, had simply raised one hand and slowly silence came back into existence.

He—Edward Calderon—certainly had not been what Ardan was expecting.  Not that he had really given much thought to his expectations—until this very moment, that was.  Standing just an inch—maybe an inch and a half—shy of six feet (and Ardan snorted; even in this age of universally recognized metrics, the archaic term of ‘feet’ was still used to denote height!), the Taurian Prince was stocky rather than lean.  One could almost say ‘soft’ was the word to use—until one noted that the muscles beneath Edward’s skin were well-toned . . . and his green eyes were like flints of pure malachite.  No, Ardan thought, soft is a cover that he wears . . . for camouflage, perhaps?

Contrasting with the green eyes, Edward’s hair was dark brown—not black, nor sable, nor even a shining mahogany—but just plain old dark brown.  Dark brown hair closely trimmed, just as his face was clean-shaven. 

But it was the look on Edward’s face which gave Ardan Sortek shivers—it reminded him of a much younger version of Ian Davion . . . long before he had been killed on Mallory’s World.

“This,” Edward finally said, “this could be bad.”

“An understatement, Lord Calderon . . .,” Ardan began.

“We Taurians have many traditions,” Edward interrupted sharply.  “You may not realize it by looking in, but we are a rather egalitarian society.  Our nobles are those who have earned their titles in service to the Concordat, Marshal Sortek.  I may be a Calderon—perhaps even the heir-designate for the Protector—but until I earn my title, I should not be addressed as ‘Lord’, ‘Prince’, ‘Your Grace’ or any other of the feudal trappings you people have enshrined.”  Edward smiled.  “Unless you are a sworn servant of my Father’s house in which case you may, legally, be entitled to address me as Lord Calderon—although you would have to renounce all obligation to Hanse Davion in order to be sworn as such.”

“Then what should I call you?” Ardan asked with a chuckle as he shook his head in an empathic gesture of NO.

“My rank of Subaltern I have earned, Marshal—it is, somewhat, equal to your AFFS rank of Captain.  Or you may address me as Messer, or Mister, Calderon, but for today,” Edward’s smile broadened, “perhaps you can just call me Edward.  And I will address you as Ardan—unless that insults your dignity, of course?”

“Your ship, your rules—Edward.”

The young man bowed his head slightly.  “Touché, Ardan,” and then his smile faded.  “Protector Calderon will—I am sad to say—renounce any collaboration with the Federated Suns if even a single one of those units set foot on a Taurian world and attack our people and our industry.  Reason does not enter into this; this gesture of sending me is the limit of how far he is willing to go towards trusting you Davions.  If your Michael Hasek lands his troops, the Protector will call me home at once—and there will be no exchange of information and financials between Taurus and New Avalon.”

“Prince Hanse did not authorize this and he is willing to use nuclear weapons on these units—including one of his own Guard regimental combat teams!—in order to stop it.  Does that mean nothing to you?”

“It means a great deal to me, Ardan—but I am not my Father; nor am I Protector of the Taurian Concordat.  It pains me to say it, but if even ONE of your troops manages to land and kills a SINGLE Taurian on our own soil, I will be recalled.  And the Protector will instead make a deal with Janos Marik for the Core.”

“If we stop them though—will he recall you?”

“We are under Interdiction, may I remind you,” Edward said with a grin.  “If you stop them before they enter Taurian space, he will not.  Even if they enter Taurian space and you manage to get them to turn around and leave—if my compatriots in the TDF and TCN allow them to leave,” and Edward’s grin turned cold at that, “he will probably agree to any bargain that Hanse Davion and I strike.  But you can kiss that good-bye if Michael lands any troops on the surface of those worlds.”

“Understood,” Ardan growled softly.  “I’ll just have to make sure that Michael doesn’t cross your border, then.”

“That would be for the best, Ardan,” Edward answered a bit more warmly.  “And, need I remind you, that we Taurians believe that all officer and diplomats need to be capable of acting on their own initiative when orders do not suffice.  I have a small contingent of the finest soldiers at the Concordat here as my escort—can we be of any service in this matter?”

Ardan snorted.  “One company of ‘Mechs, one of armor, two of infantry, and less than three squadrons of Aerospace Fighters—you aren’t offering me much to work with, Edward.”

“Ardan,” Edward said with a broad grin as he shook his head and went tsk, tsk, tsk.  “This is a Taurian ship, bearing aboard it the Heir of the Protector—travelling into the very heart of our most hated long-time foe . . . well, only considering the SLDF and the Star League are dead and gone, that is.  You mentioned that Marshal Cline and his 2nd Hussars are going to be packing nuclear weapons drawn from your depot on Frazer?”

And Ardan froze—then he slowly nodded.

Edward grinned and chuckled a bit.  “Well, it just so happens that we are carrying four . . . ah, devices . . .  of our own—just in case Hanse Davion decides that a hostage would be better than an agreement.  You understand, of course?”

“Suicide devices or deliverable weapons?” Ardan asked coldly.

“A little of each, actually,” laughed Edward.  “Rest assured, I do not in any way intend to nuke New Avalon—but Father insisted that I have the option; just in case.  Now about those traitors of yours—would four Santa Annas deter them from going where the angels fear to tread?”

FSJS Bonecrusher
Nadir Point, New Syrtis
Federated Suns
November 6, 3025

Stephan Cooper drummed his fingers on the arm of the observer’s chair aboard the Monolith-class command JumpShip Bonecrusher, assigned so many decades ago as the lead transport for his Assault Guards.  He snorted.  His.  Yeah, in name only—and only until Marshal Ashley managed to come running and take it away again.  But what choice did he have?  In the absence of orders from New Avalon, Field Marshal and Duke Hasek-Davion was the command authority in the Capellan March.

Damn it.  He wasn’t supposed to be the one making these decisions; Winston Ashley would have told Michael Hasek-Davion to go fuck himself—he had the connections with the Court on New Avalon that would have kept him from facing a courts-martial.  But not Stephan Cooper, Coop thought as he sighed.  No, I just started my climb on the ladder of rank—hell, I’ve been a Colonel for only four bloody months!  Other officers—Generals Ames and Gavin, the COs of the Infantry and Armor Brigades, respectively—outranked him, but tradition held that in the absence of the RCT commander and executive officer (Major General Erin Sorensen having retired last month and had yet to be replaced), the CO of the BattleMech Regiment at the heart of the Guards RCT was the acting commander.  Cooper’s Regiment.

“Sir,” a rating called out from his station.  “The final transport from the Sixth has completed their jump—we are next in the queue.”

“Very good,” replied the commanding officer of Bonecrusher.  “Time to scheduled jump?”

“Three minutes with all transports jumping in sequence.”

“Start the clock—Bonecrusher will take the rear.”

“Status change!  Emergence in the entry lane—clear of our safety perimeter, Sir!” tracking snapped.

Coop breathed a sigh of relief—the vast majority of ships were well aware that New Syrtis, indeed most civilized systems, had a designated area of the two major jump points for incoming and a separate one for out-going vessels.  But there were always morons who violated the protocol . . . and when that occurred, if the incoming JumpShip emerged too close to an outbound vessel BAD THINGS tended to happen.

The communications Tech tensed at her station, and then she rotated her chair.  “Skipper!  The new arrival is broadcasting an omni-directional radio signal—SWORD encryption protocols, attention all AFFS vessels.”

“Authenticate, confirm, and decrypt!” barked out Stephan Cooper as he spat out a swallow of coffee.  SWORD protocols were used only for dispatches directly from the First Prince of the Federated Suns.

“Authenticated and confirmed—computers are decrypting transmission . . . now.”

Over the ship’s speakers, a very familiar voice—that of Hanse Davion—began to play.  “All AFFS units of the Capellan March—this is the First Prince of the Federated Suns.  Stand down any and all offensive action into the territory of the Taurian Concordat effective immediately.  Return to your normal garrison stations and await further instructions—disregard this order at your peril; I will consider any unit of the AFFS that violates this instruction to be in the act of mutiny against the Federated Suns and will pursue action against that unit and their officers accordingly.  The Federated Suns and Taurian Concordat remain at peace—any offensive action against worlds of the Taurian Concordat is in direct violation of my authority.  In addition, Duke Michael Hasek-Davion is to be immediately placed under arrest and transported to New Avalon on the first available transport.  There he will be tried for conspiracy with Maximillian Liao against the Federated Suns and their rightful Prince.  To repeat, . . .,” and the words began to repeat themselves.

“SIR!  General Ames is demanding to speak with you!” the comm Tech shouted.  “General Gavin, as well!”

Cooper closed his eyes.  “Put me on the all-ships frequency,” he ordered.  “All Crusher elements—this is Crusher Alpha-Six.  Abort jump.  I say again, abort jump!  Stand by to receive new jump coordinates to our garrison station on Frazer.”

The Davion officer opened his eyes and turned his chair to the commanding officer of the JumpShip—that man nodded and snapped his fingers; techs and specialists raced to recalculate the jump coordinates.

“Commander Hale,” Coop said quietly.  “Are all units complying with the message from Prince Davion?”

“1st Dragoons and New Syrtis CMM have stood down—the Fifth and Eighth Fusiliers are arguing with the courier over the legitimacy of the order.”

“Open mike,” he commanded.  “All Crusher and Lion elements,” he began, referring to the Dragoons and his own Assault Guards, “launch ASF contingents and prepare to embark boarding parties to take the Fusilier JumpShips.  Syrtis Fusiliers,” he continued, “you will stand down or you will be fired into.”

Calls of protest arrived over the speakers, but Stephan Cooper just shook his head.  “Marshals Hasek, I don’t give a shit if you think that the First Prince cannot issue those orders—he has!  And by God and Davion, madames, I will fire into the first one of your ships to attempt to make a jump—stand by to be boarded!  You will receive new navigation coordinates to return to your assigned stations.”  And with that, Coop made a slashing gesture, and the comm tech cut the radio broadcast.

“What about the Sixth?  And Duke Michael?  They’ve already departed,” asked the CO of Bonecrusher in a whispered voice.

“Frankly, Commander Hale, I don’t give a damn what happens to them,” Coop answered just as quietly.

Nuked?  Somehow I doubt it.

OTOH, with the 6th jumping in alone and unsupported, I have little trouble imagining them being swarmed and forced to surrender well short of planetfall.

I imagine the Taurians will return them...eventually.  And I cannot but think that Hanse will force Michael to pay every penny of the ransom out of his own pockets as a reminder of just who rules the Suns.  Assuming he doesn't just have him shot.

Either way it would be better from his point of view if he got nuked. Quick and basicly painless.

Chapter Two

TCDS Black Bull
Zenith Point, Flintoft
Federated Suns
November 6, 3025

“We managed to stop all but one of Michael’s units—the Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers,” Arden reported.  “That is the good news, Edward.  The bad news is that every one of his RCTs was assigned their own route to their targets . . . and Michael didn't share that information with the other commanders.  On the plus side, we know when they expected to arrive at New Vallis; on the bad side that gives us seven routes through uninhabited systems to get there.”

Edward Calderon nodded as he considered the map.  “And the briefing indicated that Cline’s Second Hussars have one of the jump points on one of those routes picketed—I presume that you are moving his Combat Commands Alpha and Charlie to cover two more of the routes?”

“I sent those orders immediately through the Flintoft HPG—Cline should be able to get into position to cover these three,” and Ardan pointed at three flashing lines, “well before Michael can make transit.  But that still leaves four routes uncovered.”

“Four routes, yes,” Edward said with a sigh.  “But we are forgetting something here—Hasek-Davion can choose to use either the Zenith or Nadir Point; well, he could also select a Pirate Point, but that is unlikely for such a large scale movement.”  Ardan nodded.  “Cline can only picket one of the two points—which means he can cover just three of the fourteen possible paths that your Duke of New Syrtis will use.”

“True . . . but what else can we do?”  Ardan shook his head.  “Even if your Protector gave us permission to picket New Vallis itself—which he won’t—that means we have to cover as many of the approaches as possible to have a chance of stopping Michael.  Maybe we can get lucky here,” he whispered, even though he well knew that even adding his command to the routes would still give Michael Hasek-Davion a five-in-seven chance of slipping through.

Edward sighed again, and he sat down.  “There is one chance that I see of avoiding the worst of this, Ardan.”

The older man looked over at Edward and he frowned.  “Why do I get the distinct feeling that I am not going to like this chance?”

“Because you aren’t,” Edward snorted.  “And neither is Hanse Davion.”  The young man pointed at a chair, and Ardan’s lips twitched as he followed the unspoken command and sat as well.

“If soldiers of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns strike a Taurian world, my Father will go utterly ballistic, Ardan.  He will recall me and he will end this chance at normalizing relations—and you won’t get a copy of the Core.  Which would be a bad thing for the both of us—I might not trust Hanse Davion fully, but he is rather more trust-worthy than Max Liao or Janos Marik . . .,” Edward’s lips twitched, “and with the purse of the Lyran Commonwealth behind him, he has more to offer us financially than those two combined.”

Edward paused and he shook his head looking at the map again.  Then he steeled himself and looked Ardan square in the eyes.  “The key words here being ‘soldiers of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns’.”

Ardan inhaled deeply.  “There are many officers and men in the ranks of the Sixth who remain loyal to the Federated Suns—and many who belong to powerful families, Edward.”

“As I said, neither you or your boss will like it—but it has to be done.  Hanse Davion has to—publically—declare the Sixth Fusiliers as mutineers and renegades no longer associated with the Federated Suns.  He has to declare that they are pirates, acting under no laws but their own.  And he has to do it today.”  Edward sighed again.  “Today, Ardan.  The news has to be circulated via HPG AND cross into the Concordat aboard a merchant vessel . . . which means that he has to make the announcement and distribute it to everyone.  He can’t try and pull a fast one—he has to throw the entire RCT under the bus . . . if he wants the Core.  There isn’t another way; not in the time-frame we have.”

Ardan shook his head.  “Even if Hanse agrees—and I am not so certain that he will—Michael will land on New Vallis like the hammer of an angry god.  And the Sixth Fusiliers are better than any unit you have—with perhaps the sole exception of maybe your First Battalion of the Taurian Guards.”

Edward nodded.  “And New Vallis has only a Corps HQ and two BattleMech Battalions as its rapid-reaction force.  Plus the local armor and infantry and the Constabulary—but those are barely even regular forces in terms of experience,” Edward said with a snort.  “The regular Armor and Infantry have been thoroughly trained and spend a LOT of their time in the field . . . but they don’t ever rotate off-world and their combat experience is almost non-existent.  Hell, even the 3rd Battalion of the Concordat Jaegers and the 1st Battalion of the Hyades Light Infantry have the majority of their combat experience in company-scale engagements against pirates—not in full-scale battalion or regimental operations.  Whereas your Sixth constantly operates in at least battalion strength, and often enough in multi-regimental strength.”

Edward ran his hand through his hair.  “Brigadier Tanis Verbet is the senior of the Battalion COs, but it is Corey Calderon,” Edward smiled, “yes, another cousin of my Father, Marshal Sortek; Corey is the Marshal commanding I Corps—and New Vallis is his HQ.  Corey is pushing seventy—and he hasn’t commanded in the field for two decades.  Tanis, on the other hand, she’s a devious sort and I wouldn’t put it against her to give Michael Hasek-Davion a run for his money.”  Edward paused.  “But she’s seriously outgunned.  The Sixth has an entire reinforced regiment of one hundred and thirty-two BattleMechs, plus four regiments of tanks, six of infantry, a battalion of artillery, and eighty aerospace fighters—a full wing at the RCT level and one more for each of their ‘Mech battalions.  If they are at full strength, which I doubt,” Edward drawled and Ardan nodded.  “However, even at full strength Tanis would have just ninety-six ‘Mechs of her own—and just thirty-two ASF—to fight the Sixth Fusiliers; plus around five hundred tanks and around ten thousand relatively static infantry.”

“If she can draw him into a fight in the fortifications where our infantry and artillery are positioned, she might be able to win—but I don’t see your Duke or his commanders being that dumb, Ardan.”

“Gee, thank you, Edward.”

“No problem.  No, once he realizes that Hanse has cut him loose, he’ll do his best to preserve the Sixth’s fighting strength—and take as much salvage as he can before he runs off to . . . well, somewhere else to live and fight another day.”

“Agreed.”

“So he won’t fight Tanis in range of her fortifications—he will make her have to come to him.  And Corey, God knows I love him, but the man is a hard-headed ass almost the equal of the late Grover Shraplen, will order her to do just that because, of course, we can’t permit Davion boots on our worlds,” Edward continued with a wince.

“You can always nuke the Sixth on the approach,” Ardan said with a shake of his head. 

“Eighty to thirty-two in ASF.  At best, Ardan.  Throw in another sixteen gunboats against your Assault DropShips . . . those aren’t odds I’d favor of getting into Alamo range,” Edward mused.  Then he shook his head.  “We might slip one or two nukes by, but we’d lose our entire air support in the process and the Sixth would STILL manage to land.  And New Vallis isn’t New Vandenberg or Taurus—we won’t be popping out nuclear firecrackers on our own soil until and unless we have no other options, Ardan.  And if he’s smart—and I think that even if he isn’t quite as smart as he thinks he is, he remains very smart—he won’t land in the area covered by the missile silos at I Corps HQ, which removes those from play.”

“You’ve given this some thought,” Ardan said softly as he looked down at the worried young man, who snorted again and began to chuckle.

“We Taurians have dreamed up nearly every possible scenario for a future Davion invasion—and we have contingency plans for each,” Edward said with a grin.  “What happens to the calculus if we add another ‘Mech Regiment to Tanis and her forces?  Actually, a Regiment, a Battalion, and a Company?”

“Oh, Christ,” Ardan muttered.  “Edward Calderon, are you suggesting that I take my force and your body-guard and proceed to New Vallis?  Thomas would utterly lose his shit at that.  And where are you planning to get that other Regiment, by the way?”

“I believe that Wylie’s Coyotes are garrisoning Bromhead—it’s on the way.  Did I mention that I am quite wealthy, Marshal Sortek?” Edward asked.  “More than sufficient in my own right to hire the Coyotes even with a ComStar Interdiction . . . provided that Hanse releases from their contract early and a . . . trusted friend of the First Prince gives his personal assurance that I will pay them.”

“And my troops?  Because your father will shit a brick if I land on New Vallis with a battalion of the Davion Heavy Guard.”

“That’s the second part of what you personally are going to hate—you all have to turn in your resignations, and become mercenaries.  How does Ardan’s Avengers grab you for a name?  Or Sortek’s Slashers?”

The older man winced.  “Thomas will see right through this, young man.”

“Yes, my father isn’t an idiot, Ardan,” Edward barked right back, and then he forced himself to calm down.  “But if we give him a legitimate excuse to officially overlook that you are really Davion troops and instead go with a fiction that you are all mercs?  I can convince him to overlook that and your boss will get his copy of the Core.”  Edward shook his head.  “And if in the process of defending New Vallis, we utterly and completely kick the ass out of the vaunted Sixth Syrtis Fusiliers—that’s icing on the cake, Ardan.”

“What if your father doesn’t?  What then, Edward?”

“Then he will have to disavow and disown me, Ardan,” Edward said simply.  “Taurian law allows for an officer in the field to make decisions of great import—but he bears full personal responsibility for those decisions.  If I am wrong, if my Father disagrees with me and this call, then he will have to publically renounce my actions.  Strip me of all my lands and titles and wealth and . . . he will have to remove  me as his heir.  Send me into Exile.  That is what I’m putting on the line here, Ardan Sortek—what is Hanse fucking Davion risking here?  A battalion of house troops?  A regiment of mercenaries?”

Ardan stared at the young man for a moment and then he nodded.  “Foxhounds.  I think I can live with the name Foxhounds.  And yes, I do believe that I convince Enzo Wylie to accept your contract . . . my Lord Calderon.”

“See,” Edward said with a laugh.  “THAT time you used it in the proper context, Ardan Sortek of the Foxhounds mercenary company.”